“I didn’t dream it up, Miss Paltry.” She looked directly into my eyes, her voice calm and collected, a judge revealing the final sentence. “The facts led me to believe it to be true.”
I took a deep breath, searching for some facts of my own. Then I remembered. “Both of the mothers already knew the sex of their babies before I took them away. They’d been delighted. I’d been so pleased. Why would I have needed to do such a terrible thing?”
“Neither of the women actually saw her child close up before you whisked it away, Miss Paltry.” Her voice was mellowing, like an overripe plum, lowering in tone, gaining confidence. “Both told me that the only reason they knew the sex of their baby was because you had announced it.”
“Oh now, don’t be putting ideas together from different stories. I know you’re just upset because you weren’t there, but it can’t be helped.”
She leaned forward and her eyes bored into me, and that’s when she came out with the one thing I would never have imagined she knew. “You made a deal with the Brigadier, didn’t you?”
I was scared. If she knew the Brigadier was involved, and let him know that she knew, then I’d be dead meat. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you met him the night of the bomb, and I have a good idea of the information you were attempting to sell.”
I gazed up at her with shock. How could she have known that? There’d been no one around. I swear on it. Just me and the Brigadier, alone. “We just happened to cross paths. Had a chat about the trains. The delays are appalling—”
“Wasn’t it a little late for you to be catching a train?”
Something inside me snapped. What right had this stupid woman to walk in here and pester me with accusations? In any case, my nicey-nicey approach wasn’t getting me anywhere. I was just a sitting duck for her. I needed to get her out of here.
“I can catch a train whenever I like, Mrs. Tilling.” I glowered, my voice rising. I sat up more straight, adjusting my leg on the bed. “How dare you come in here and start accusing me of these ridiculous crimes. How dare you, of all people a nurse! You should know to let a convalescing person stay quiet and calm.”
She sat poised, watching my gathering annoyance, a serene calm on her face.
“It was the moment I saw Venetia with baby Rose in her arms that I knew,” she said, showing off how clever she’d been to work it all out, just like bleeding Miss Marple. “The baby looked so very much like her. Venetia could have been her mother.” She looked at me, an eyebrow tentatively raised. “Or her sister.”
Goddamn that baby, and that wretched girl. If she weren’t so beautiful no one would have noticed a thing. I felt trapped, like a weasel in a poke hole.
With a sudden burst of ingenuity, I knew exactly how I could smash her little intimidation to smithereens. I reached for the glass jug next to my bed and shouted as loud as I could, “Nurse! Nurse!” And with a tiny laugh, I let the jug slip from my fingers, sending it tumbling to the cold, tiled floor.
A colossal crash broke the silence as a thousand splinters of glass soared into the air before cascading down, silvering the floor, the beds, the furniture with a delicate crust of icy glitter.
It would take hours to clean.
The nurses came rushing over, dashing here and there with brooms and mops, moving Mrs. Tilling out of the way, taking the chair, changing my blankets, reassuring me that everything was going to be all right.
I tried to look disheveled and innocent, nodding to the nurses apologetically. When I peeked over to Mrs. Tilling, she was standing away from the bed, hands clasping her bag, fury on her frowning face. She remained smoldering from afar, until a nurse went and had a word with her, fetched her navy coat, and led her to the door. Her long face turned to me as she was marched off, annoyance in her eyes and perhaps a ghost of the Mrs. Tilling of old, being pushed and shoved around again. Only this time she wasn’t happy about it. She wanted her own way now. I felt a chill over the back of my neck as the door swung shut behind her.
But what will she do next? My first thought, of course, was that she could try to blackmail me, extract some kind of reward for her silence. Thing is, it’s not the Tilling woman’s style. She has enough money for her practical little lifestyle. She would be more likely to do something for morality or decency, or some equally nauseating reason. She has a sickening desire to be an upstanding member of the community, and this little victory could perch her on a new throne.
Of course there is a chance she could do us all an almighty big favor and let the whole thing go. Why should she bother taking it further, after all? She has no proof. Her precious Hattie is now dead. Mrs. Winthrop is overjoyed with her boy. Swapping the babies back is not in anyone’s interest. It would just break up their little community and cause more trouble than it’s worth. Everyone would hate her. She’s not such a fool that she doesn’t know that.
Which brings me to my final, most alarming outcome. She might go and blab to the Brigadier, tell him I betrayed him, use it to get power in this little place.
And the Brigadier will come in here and break my bleeding neck, as he promised to do if anyone found out. Lord, I feel like a trapped fox with the hounds circling.
I made sure they moved my bed next to the nurse to be on the safe side, and just as I was settling in, who should walk in but Elsie. All fancy in a green floral dress and looking pretty as a young swan, until she opened her gob.
“I heard it off Kitty that a lad was looking for your money.” She leaned close. “And I know some of that is rightfully mine.”
“Don’t threaten me, my girl,” I said. “In any case, I ain’t got no money. It’s gone. It was found and then stolen. If you want money, you need to look elsewhere.”
She tidied her hair, preening. “I’ve got that in mind, too,” she said. “Got a plan to get a rich husband. Need a little pocket money, see? Make myself look the lady.”
I gave a snort of a laugh. “You’ll have to do better than look good if you want to get a nob.”
“I’ll show you,” she sniffed. “But I need cash, and I know things about you that’ll make you cough up.”
I was getting cross. “Elsie, I haven’t got any money to give you.”
“Well, where’s the money gone then?”
“Tom thinks it was Ralph Gibbs, if you want to let him know I want it back.” I was angry now. “It’s my money and he ruddy well knows it.”
A thoughtful look came over her beautiful complexion, her lips twisted. “Well, best be off then,” she said, a resolution clearly made, probably to go and snatch it off him herself. And with that she pranced out, a confident smirk on her wide mouth like she’d swallowed a toad.
I rolled my head back on the pillow and groaned. That’s all I needed. Another person in search of my money as well as the Tilling woman and the Brigadier after me.
You’d better burn this letter, Clara, and the rest, in case the old you-know-who gets wind of it. You never know which walls have ears these days.
Edwina
Thursday, 8th August, 1940
What not to do
I heard about Venetia and Henry. Silvie told me, running up to the stables to find me.
“There’s news,” she called as she saw me in the stable yard saddling up Amadeus, who started shuffling away nervously.
“What news?”
“Venetia is going to marry Henry,” she panted, coming up next to me, an intense expression on her face. “She said yes!”
“What?”
“Henry asked Venetia to marry him, and she said yes,” she repeated, her face creased with worry.
“She can’t,” I said matter-of-factly. “She’s pregnant with Slater’s baby.”
“I know. That’s why she’s marrying him.”
“That’s not fair!” I said, struggling with the enormity of it all. “Poor Henry! Won’t he find out? Won’t it all have to be called off?”
“I don’t know,” she answered, coming up beside me.<
br />
“But why would he ask her to marry him when he’s engaged to marry me?”
“Maybe he forgot,” she said softly. “He likes Venetia a lot, Kitty. He always wants to talk to her.”
I turned and screamed at her, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She ran, faster than I’ve ever seen her go, and I was left stroking Amadeus, convincing myself she was mistaken, that this was just some ludicrous joke.
“Come on, Amadeus,” I whispered into his neck. “Let’s go for a ride.”
Once I had climbed onto his back and sat above my surroundings, looking over the green-and-gold patchwork of countryside, I felt more at ease to consider the possibility of Silvie’s news.
Reasons why Venetia can’t marry Henry
She’s in love with Mr. Slater
She’s pregnant with Mr. Slater’s baby
Henry’s supposed to marry me
It simply wasn’t the way things were meant to be. When I look into the future, I always see Henry and me, living at the Hall with four children, three cats, and a big dog called Mozart. I don’t see Venetia there. She wouldn’t suit living in Brampton Hall, I don’t think she aims to have quite so many children, and she doesn’t even like dogs, or Mozart.
It just wouldn’t work.
I trotted Amadeus down the path and broke him into a racing gallop over the pasture. I wasn’t really thinking about which way I was going, but it didn’t surprise me when I found myself in front of Brampton Hall, the sprawling redbrick, Gothic-style mansion gleaming in the brilliant sunlight. It was built a few generations ago by the original Brampton trader who got rich in India. Now they’re a grand local family, with Mrs. B. determined to make them even grander.
It was Henry himself who came to the door when I rang, looking rather flustered, and I remembered that all their servants had left.
“Henry.” I beamed.
“Kitty? Nice to see you.”
“I thought you might like to go for a walk?”
He glanced back into the house. “All right. Let me just tell Mama.”
He left the door open and strode off.
I returned to Amadeus. “You see, he’s not engaged to Venetia. Silvie was wrong.”
He reappeared, and off we went, walking up the path to the lane, while he hastily buttoned his collar and smoothed his hair. I was on foot, running slightly to keep up with his long strides, Amadeus trotting beside me. We quickly reached the lane, with steep grassy banks up each side, and the sky blue and cloudless over us.
“I’m afraid I can’t walk for long today, Kitty,” he started. “You see, I have some wonderful news.”
“Oh, about the war?” I asked, feeling the earth beneath me uncertain, like a tremoring earthquake waiting to rupture open the ground.
“No.” He looked at me with a grin. “I suppose I need not keep it from you, of all people. Venetia has made me the happiest man in the world by agreeing to marry me.”
I stopped, rooted to the spot, terrified. “It’s true,” I uttered, the sunshine piercing a blinding light into my eyes. “It’s true.”
“Yes.” He stopped and turned to me. “Did you already hear about it? I say, are you all right, Kitty?”
I looked up at him. “But we were supposed to be married, Henry,” I cried out. “You said we would be married once I was old enough. You said so.” Tears had begun forming fat, pointless fingers of water that rushed down my cheeks.
Henry looked horrified. “But, Kitty,” he said quietly. “I never said that. When? Where?”
“By the river on the picnic to Box Hill. You said if I helped you find Venetia you’d marry me.”
“Did I really? What a dreadful thing to say. I’m so sorry, Kitty. It must have been a misunderstanding, or a joke, or, well, something.” He spread out his hands, and a short, embarrassed laugh escaped him. “But now you’ll be my sister, and I’ll be your brother, and that’ll be even better than being married, won’t it?”
“No, it won’t,” I shouted. “I don’t want you to be my stupid brother, even if you do end up marrying my sister, which I doubt very much.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s pregnant with Slater’s baby,” I yelled into his face, spit flying out of my mouth with every word. He took a step back, his face empty, looking at me.
“Now, Kitty, you shouldn’t joke about things like that.”
“Just go and ask her. She’s in love with him. She wants his child. But he’s disappeared. So she has to take you instead.”
His shoulders fell forward, and his eyes grew hollow, and like a mirror of horror, I saw my utter distress pass from me to him, coursing out of me like a thick jet of yellow and black and surging into his body with a flood of rage and despair. He sat back on the grassy bank, his knees up before him, and his head in his hands, murmuring something to himself. I stood and watched him for a while, my hero deflating before my eyes, and I began to sense the enormity of what I had just done.
“Go away, Kitty,” he said, quietly, calmly, not looking up at me.
“Henry, I’m sorry, I—”
“I’ll say thank you for telling me, and now leave.” He raised his head, his eyes suddenly angry and wild.
“But, Henry—”
“Stay away from me,” he snarled under his breath, getting up and standing above me. “If I told you what I’d like to do with you right now, you’d wish you’d never met me. Now go. Leave.” He was shouting, threatening. I could never imagine he could be like this, his beautiful blue eyes turning black like a fury of snakes.
I grabbed hold of Amadeus’s reins and ran, sobs heaving uncontrollably from my mouth, feeling like the end of the world had truly come.
Once I was back in the dark, shadowy, stable, I laid an old horse blanket on the floor in the corner and curled up on it as tight as a shell. I stayed there sobbing, Amadeus nudging me with his soft nose in sympathy.
Why had I done this? Why had he done this?
A few hours later, I heard the sound of a small voice behind me. It was Silvie peering into the shadows.
“What do you want?” I demanded.
“I have sandwiches,” she said in her quiet voice.
“Put them on the bench outside.”
“Everyone is looking for you,” she said.
I didn’t say anything, just let the words flow in and be absorbed. Of course Daddy will be furious. He wanted Venetia to marry Henry. It had all fit into place. Venetia staying in bed. Daddy trying to talk to her. Mama trying to negotiate. Venetia changing her mind about Henry and agreeing to marry him. Mama weeping late into the night. And next? Daddy will surely kill me, if Venetia doesn’t get to me first.
“Thank you for the sandwiches,” I said quietly to Silvie, remembering she was now my only ally. She backed away into the dusk, unsure whether I was a wise choice of friend.
It was night before I went back to the house, cold and hungry, shivering with fear. The pantry door was left unlocked for me, and someone had left a roll in the bread bin. I scooped it up and crept up the back stairs into my bedroom, which is where you find me now, dear diary. The house is in silence. I had anticipated the family waiting for me, everyone shouting, everyone crying. But this, this stillness, is somehow more disturbing.
I think that tonight, when it’s past midnight and everyone is asleep, I shall pack a few things together, and vanish.
CHILBURY MANOR,
CHILBURY,
KENT.
Thursday, 8th August, 1940
Dear Angela,
I write again, this time to tell you that the engagement is dramatically off. I can only thank God for a narrow escape—how was I to know that Henry Brampton-Boyd could be such a monster? I feel numb and exhausted, and the whole business has given me a fever. I am to stay in bed, which I confess I am more than happy to do.
It was with mixed feelings that I heard his arrival early afternoon. He hadn’t been due to come back until late afternoon—Mama had
insisted that I needed to rest, and I was looking forward to a chance to recover from the whole ordeal. But abruptly, at around one, I heard the bell pull hard, and then again, and the sound of raised voices rang through the hallway, my name being called, shouted.
I knew that something had happened. I knew he must have found out. I took a deep breath, smoothed down my yellow dress and padded out onto the landing overlooking the hall, where I could see him looking up at me, red-faced and furious, his fists clenched, his fair hair disheveled, his uniform open at the neck, skewed and fraught.
“Venetia,” he yelled. I’ve never known Henry to be angry, but not in a thousand years would I have imagined him as ferocious, as crazed, as he was then. He’s always been so gentle, so dignified. It was like seeing a Labrador transformed into a wolf.
I walked down the great staircase slowly, holding my breath, praying for this encounter to be over quickly.
“I need to have a word with you, my girl,” he said under his breath, grabbing my arm and dragging me into the drawing room, where he closed the door so that Mama, who had been hovering in the alcove, couldn’t follow. As it happened, it made no difference, as she could hear every word out in the hallway. I never knew he could raise his voice to such a level. The whole house vibrated with his bellowing, the crystal chandeliers thrumming in his wake.
“Now tell me,” he demanded, shoving me down on the sofa, standing over me raging. “Are you pregnant?”
I nodded slowly. To be honest, Angie, I was so done in by the entire drama that I simply couldn’t find the energy to fight back. I was petrified of him, in a way I would never have thought possible, and frankly overwhelmed with relief that he was going to break it off. That I would be free, whatever burdens I knew this would entail. I knew then, at that moment, that I was strong enough to get through this, with or without my family’s support.
The Chilbury Ladies' Choir Page 25