There was no sign of her husband when she arrived at the house. But this was not unusual; Jeremy took a stroll out in the mornings to buy a newspaper, and would then meander through Kensington Gardens on his way home.
Mary went about her usual chores, thinking how many would feel it strange that she preferred to do the menial work herself when it was entirely possible to employ someone to do it for her. She had dismissed the housekeeper when she’d first wed Jeremy, feeling uncomfortable under what she had perceived as a patronizing eye, and had only a daily maid to help her run the big house. But there was still a pleasure and a joy in providing a neat, clean, well-run home for her husband and child.
At midday, when she had prepared a light lunch for Jeremy and herself, but had not heard the key turn in the front-door lock, Mary wondered if exhaustion had caught up with him, and he was still sleeping where she’d left him.
“Jeremy? Jeremy?” she called as she went from room to room downstairs. Jeremy’s study was empty, as was the drawing room, the library and the dining room. An edge of panic filled Mary. One of the ways in which Jeremy had survived since his ordeal was with routine. It was unheard of for him not to be in for lunch at the appointed hour. She climbed the stairs with a sense of foreboding, pushed open the door to their bedroom and saw the bed was empty.
“Where are you, pet? Are you here?” she called as she walked along the landing toward his dressing room. She knocked on the door and received no answer, so she opened it.
It took a while for her eyes to adjust to what she saw. A pair of highly polished shoes dangled in front of her nose. She looked up, and saw the rest of his body attached by a rope to the light fitting above him.
• • •
After the doctor had arrived, pronounced Jeremy dead and called for the police to come and cut his body down, Jeremy was laid on the bed. Mary sat with him, unable to stop herself from stroking his pale, gray skin. Catatonic with shock, she couldn’t process what had happened.
“Do you have any reason to suggest why Mr. Langdon might have taken his own life, madam?” the policeman asked.
Mary, holding her dead husband’s hand, nodded. “Perhaps.”
“I’m sorry to ask these questions at what is a very difficult time for you, madam, but I’d be grateful if you could elucidate. And then we won’t have to bother you again.”
“He”—Mary cleared her constricted throat—“he thought he was to be called up again. He suffered from shell shock, you see.”
“And was he? To be called up?”
“He’d been invalided out of the army after the last war. I told him, over and over, they wouldn’t want him, but”—Mary shook her head in despair—“he wouldn’t believe me.”
“I see. If it’s any comfort, madam, my uncle was the same way. Nothing you could do or say would take away the fear. You mustn’t blame yourself.”
“No. But I do . . . I do . . .”
The doorbell rang downstairs. “That’s probably the ambulance, madam, come to take your husband away. I’ll pop downstairs and let them in. While I do that, would you be kind enough to check your husband for anything you might wish to keep?”
Mary nodded. She watched as the policeman left the room then slowly laid her head on Jeremy’s chest. “Oh, my darling, why did you have to leave me and Sophia? Could you not have trusted us to help you make it better? I loved you, pet, with all my heart. Didn’t you know that? Couldn’t you feel it?”
Mary shook her head despairingly into the silence, understanding he would never answer her again. As the policeman had requested, she removed his watch, then moved her hands inside Jeremy’s pockets, searching out anything that might be there. Her hands felt paper in the left-hand pocket, and she pulled out an envelope. Sitting up, she saw the words On His Majesty’s Service in the left corner. It was similar to the brown envelope Sean had received when he’d been called up for duty in the Irish Guards.
Mary turned it over and saw that it was unopened. Slowly, she tore the paper and pulled out the letter, knowing now what had caused her husband to take his own life.
Army Pensions Department
5th October 1939
Dear Mr. Langdon,
This is to inform you that your army pension will be rising from £5.15s a month to £6.2s. This will be effective from January 1940.
Yours sincerely,
The stamped signature at the bottom was illegible.
The letter fell from Mary’s hands as she laid her head back down on her husband’s chest and wept as if her heart would break.
• • •
Mary and Sophia alone attended Jeremy’s funeral. Mary had no idea of the whereabouts of Jeremy’s parents. More painful still was the absence of Anna, whom Mary had written to and informed.
All that got Mary through the dark month of October was Sophia and her need for comfort. Mary thought it was a blessing she didn’t have time to focus on herself. For she too might have chosen the same way out as Jeremy, so deep was her pain. She also knew there were things she must investigate soon. For example, Jeremy had provided her each week with an amount of housekeeping money. She was currently using her own savings from the days she had been in service. And although there was no likelihood of their running out in the near future and she could always resort to dressmaking again, she had no idea where she stood in terms of the house, or whether she had been provided for in his will.
The situation was made clear for her a week later, when the doorbell rang and a balding gentleman, dressed in black, doffed his bowler hat to her.
“Mrs. Langdon, I presume?”
“And who may be asking?” said Mary suspiciously.
“Sidney Chellis, of Chellis and Latimer, Solicitors. I’ve been sent here by Lord and Lady Langdon, your late husband’s parents, to discuss a business matter. May I come in?”
Wearily, Mary nodded. As she led him to the drawing room, she realized Jeremy had never said he was the son of a lord. Or, in fact, much about his family at all.
“Please, sit down. May I get you some tea?” she asked him.
“That will not be necessary. What I have come to say should not take very long.” The solicitor was pulling some papers out of his briefcase, which he placed on his knee.
Mary sat down nervously opposite him. “Have I . . . done anything wrong?”
“No, Mrs. Langdon, you are certainly not in any trouble. That I am aware of anyway.” He looked over his glasses at her and raised his eyebrows. “You know, I’m sure, that your husband made a will, leaving this house, his war pension and his private income to you?”
“No, Mr. Chellis, I have not so far thought to investigate the matter. I’ve been too occupied with grief,” Mary replied truthfully.
“Well, he lodged his will with our firm, who have been the Langdon family’s solicitors for over sixty years. However, there is one small problem.”
“And what might that be?”
“This house was originally given to Mr. Langdon’s godmother by his grandfather. It has been in the Langdon family since it was built, two hundred years ago. The codicil in his godmother’s will indicates that your husband was to have use of the house for his lifetime. But on his death, it would return to the Langdon family.”
“I see,” said Mary quietly.
“Now, you and Mr. Langdon have produced one child. A girl named”—Mr. Chellis consulted his papers—“Sophia May. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
“And she is currently ten years old?”
“That is correct.”
“The problem we have here,” and Mr. Chellis removed his glasses and wiped them on his waistcoat, “is that, put simply, Sophia is a girl. When she marries, she will take her husband’s name. And if, say, Sophia and her husband were to divorce, or in fact Sophia herself was to die, there would be a problem keeping the house in the Langdon family. Are you following what I am saying?”
“Yes, Mr. Chellis. Unfortunately I am.”
“I mu
st tell you that, in the eyes of the law, if you wished to challenge the codicil in the will, it might be possible that a court would uphold it. After all, you are Mr. Langdon’s widow, and you have his progeny. However, this would be a costly business and”—Mr. Chellis visibly shuddered—“quite undignified. Therefore, Lord and Lady Langdon have made a suggestion. In return for your vacant possession of this house, they are prepared to offer you a substantial sum in compensation. And, on top of that, as a gesture for relinquishing the rights to your late husband’s private income, a substantial settlement would be made on the head of your daughter, Sophia.”
“I see.” Mary digested what the solicitor was saying. “So, Mr. Chellis, the truth is that Lord and Lady Langdon wish for myself and my daughter to be out of their lives, like their son?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, Mrs. Langdon. It is obviously unfortunate there has been an estrangement between Lord and Lady Langdon and their son, but that is not for me, as their solicitor, to comment on. The settlement they have suggested in return for the house is a sum of one thousand, five hundred pounds. On top of which, the sum of five thousand pounds will be made in favor of Sophia.”
Mary listened silently. As she had little idea of what the house was worth or, in fact, what Jeremy’s private income would amount to, she could not comment on whether what she was being offered was fair. Besides, the whole business brought bile to her throat.
“I have set the offer down here for you to consider. My address and telephone number are at the top of it. When you have thought about it and made a decision, I’d be grateful if you would contact me directly.”
“And what about Lord and Lady Langdon? Do they not wish to see their granddaughter?” she mused, almost to herself. “After all, Sophia is their flesh and blood.”
“As I indicated earlier, Mrs. Langdon, I am simply the messenger. Certainly, it was not indicated to me that they wished to meet Sophia.”
“No . . . of course not.” Mary raised her eyes and stared at Mr. Chellis. “After all, the child of an Irish nursemaid wouldn’t be acceptable to the gentry, now would she?”
Mr. Chellis lowered his eyes in embarrassment. He busied himself with replacing his papers inside his briefcase. “As I indicated, if you would be so kind as to contact me when you’ve made your decision, I will see to it that the arrangements are made.” He rose and nodded to her. “Thank you for seeing me, and I fervently hope that all can be worked out to the satisfaction of both parties.”
Mary followed him silently to the door. “Good-bye, Mr. Chellis, I’ll be in touch when I’ve had the time to think on your offer.”
• • •
Over the next few days, Mary began to make some inquiries about her late husband’s mysterious family. She discovered that Jeremy was the second son of Lord and Lady Langdon, whose family estate stood in five hundred acres of Surrey countryside and was known for its plentiful pheasant and duck shoot. And a collection of valuable Holbein paintings. Mary also investigated how much the house she currently called her home would be worth if she placed it up for sale.
Even though the process was painful, Mary’s thoughts were simply for Sophia. And what was rightfully hers as Jeremy’s daughter. A few years ago, she’d have turned her back on any offer, but Mary was older and wiser now, and understood clearly how the world worked. And on behalf of her child, however much what amounted to blackmail galled her, she knew she must see it through.
Mary also knew that what she had done in the past precluded any thought of fighting Jeremy’s family in court. Who knew where it might lead if the case reached the newspapers? What if someone from the past recognized her and her connection with Anna? And put two and two together . . .
• • •
Mr. Chellis’s office was in Chancery Lane. Mary presented herself in front of his secretary and sat, waiting to be shown in, steeling herself to keep her nerves and emotions under control.
“Mrs. Langdon.” Mr. Chellis appeared at the door of his office. “Please step inside and come and sit down.”
“Thank you.” Mary followed him in and sat on the edge of an uncomfortable leather chair. “I have thought about your offer, Mr. Chellis.” Mary gathered her strength to say the words. “And if you are prepared to double the amount I will receive in lieu of my home, I will accept it.”
Mr. Chellis hardly raised an eyebrow. As Mary had suspected, this had been expected.
“I shall have to consult with Lord and Lady Langdon, but I think somewhere in that region may well be acceptable to them. You would obviously be asked to sign a legal document, negating all rights to your husband’s will. And any claim Sophia might make in the future on the Langdon estate.”
“I understand that.” Mary stood up, not wishing to prolong this pact with the devil any longer than she had to. “I’ll wait to hear from you. Good day, Mr. Chellis.”
• • •
Two months later, Mary stood in the entrance hall of her home and took one last glance around the house in which she had enjoyed such happiness. The car would arrive at any moment, and the two trunks which held clothes for herself and her daughter, plus a third trunk full of mementoes, would follow on behind them. Mary sat down on the bottom stair, feeling drained of energy. She comforted herself that even had she been able to stay here in the house, it was unlikely she would have done so. Every sight, every smell inside these walls, reminded her of what she had lost.
She saw Sophia walking down the stairs toward her and held out her arms for her daughter. Sophia went into them and Mary stroked her hair. “All set?”
“Yes.” Sophia nodded. “I’m scared, Mother.”
“I know you are, pet. But it’s for the best. I’ve spent one war already in London town, and they say this time the bombs will be far worse.”
“I know, Mother. But—”
There was a knock on the front door. “The car’s here, sweetheart.” Mary released her from her arms, then smiled at her and took her hand. Together, they walked slowly to the front door, both saying a silent good-bye to the life they were leaving behind. Mary led her outside and into the car.
It was time to go home.
Aurora
Oh dear. It’s probably not done for authors to cry at their own stories, but I find Mary and Jeremy’s tale so dreadfully sad. They loved each other so much yet, at the end, not even love could win through and make it better. Sometimes, as I am learning on my voyage through my history, love cannot overcome the terrible wounds inflicted on a person by the past. If only Jeremy had opened that envelope, had seen it contained a raise in his army pension, not his call-up papers . . .
If only.
Well. I suppose one could say that about everything in life . . . especially mine.
But then, if Jeremy had opened that envelope, the rest of my story would be very different, and perhaps not worth writing. I’m starting to understand how pain gives you strength and wisdom—I have certainly changed—and is as much a part of life as happiness. Everything has its natural balance, and how would you know you were happy if you weren’t sad sometimes? Or feel healthy if you were never ill?
I’ve been thinking about the concept of “time” recently. Mary and Jeremy had a moment in time together when they were exquisitely happy. And perhaps those moments are as much as we humans can hope for. As is always the way in fairy tales, bad has to happen as well as good. We human beings survive on hope that those good moments will come again. And when all hope of that has disappeared, like Jeremy’s did, what is there left?
To be truthful, I am currently struggling to hold on to mine. I have little left.
But where there’s life . . .
Anyway, enough of me. I’m going to move back to more modern times now, after Grania has been told her great-grandmother’s story by Kathleen. And I was taken down to Dunworley Farmhouse for the first time . . .
23
Dunworley, West Cork, Ireland
So, I presume ‘home’ was Ireland?”
Grania was sitting at the kitchen table in her parents’ house, nursing a mug of tea. She’d decided to bring Aurora down to the farmhouse and, at the same time, ask Kathleen what more she knew of Mary’s story.
“Yes. Mary came back with Sophia and bought a pretty cottage in Clonakilty.”
“And never married again?”
“No.” Kathleen shook her head. “From what my mother told me, Mary had enough heartbreak in London town to last a lifetime.”
“But the connection with the Ryan family continued?”
“Yes, and there’s irony there, to be sure,” agreed Kathleen. “Of course, it wasn’t Mary who ended up marrying Sean, but her daughter, Sophia, who married Seamus Doonan, the son of Sean’s younger sister, Coleen, and had me!”
“Oh my goodness, Mam!” Grania listened in amazement. “So, Bridget and Michael Ryan were your great-grandparents? And if he had lived, Sean would have been your great-uncle?”
“Yes. Coleen moved into the new farmhouse that had been originally built for Sean and Mary, when she married Owen, my grandfather. Then they handed it over to their son, Seamus, who married my mammy, Sophia. And when my daddy died, me and your father took up the reins on the farm,” explained Kathleen.
“So your mother, Sophia, had English blood in her, and titled blood at that?” added Grania. “Your other grandfather was Jeremy Langdon?”
“Yes. Which means you and Shane do too.” Katheen’s eyes twinkled. “There now, not such an Irish peasant as you thought yourself, Grania! Not that you’d ever have noticed it in Sophia. My mammy was just like her mother, Mary: kind, home-loving, not an air or grace upon her. Not like that adopted sister of hers, that Anna.”
The Girl on the Cliff Page 20