Tomorrow Brings Sorrow

by Mary Wood

  Now he sat here like a bloody idiot. Where the hell was Rita?

  One thing had pleased him: he’d passed Mrs Fellam going out in her car, and then just as he got here, he’d seen Fellam crossing the field towards their daughter’s cottage. All a bit strange, he thought, as they’d left the door to the house open. Then, just now, two of the Land Girls had left and gone that way, too. Still, he couldn’t worry about whatever had taken them all away; at least none of them would be around to do anything about the fire or, worse, would be hurt in any way by it. Though there was one other girl who must still be here. Oh God, the fact that someone might get hurt hadn’t really occurred to him before. But no, he couldn’t start imagining something like that. He’d get help here before anyone tried any heroics. That’s if there even was a bloody fire! Come on, Rita, for Christ’s sake.

  Sitting back and trying to relax his taut sinews, Terence thought about how, for the first time since he’d been a member of the parish council, it had been of use to him. His father had put him forward for the job once he could no longer continue in the role himself. Not that the role meant anything – not to him, it didn’t. He rarely attended their bloody meetings. Oh, he’d put his face around the door, but always with a ready excuse. After looking at the agenda, he’d give his views on each item and then leave.

  Pater might or might not know there was no meeting, but that was of no real consequence. He would understand why Terence had used this as an excuse when he presented them with the made-up reason he’d had to leave – one he could not share, for fear of upsetting Mater. He would say he’d come to the farm because he had suspicions over something Rita had said to him. Which brought him to the last part of his plan: that, as he drove up to Fellam’s farm, he could see the flames, and all his fears came true.

  He’d tell them that when he got nearer, he saw Rita standing watching the flames take hold, then turn and run away. He’d then say he stopped and ran towards the fire, but it was already too fierce for him to tackle. And, this was the best bit: with Fellam out of the way, he could say he went to the house to raise the alarm, but no one answered; and, in his panic, he didn’t think of using their phone, even though the door was open. So rather than waste any more time, he drove home as quickly as he could to phone for help. He smiled to himself at this, because he knew that however quickly he got help to the scene, it wouldn’t save the stable – not with it being seventy per cent wood, and dry at that. So his mission would be accomplished. And more than that, Rita would be out of his hair.

  As to Rita’s alleged motive, that had been a bit more difficult to come up with. He’d come to the conclusion that he would have to shame himself a little. He would say he’d had an attraction for her when she’d first arrived, and he’d been silly enough to show it and confide in her his dearest wish to have his own stud farm and tell her the reason why he couldn’t have it. Then, he would make out, the girl had become obsessed with him and had tried many tricks to compromise him. Even to the point of making herself useful to his sister, having seen how close Theresa and he were.

  He’d say Rita would hang around him, making any excuse to talk to him, and – out of politeness and because he had given her the wrong impression, and because of his desire not to hurt or embarrass her – he’d made time for her, while being careful to keep to propriety. He’d go on to say that he had begun to sense her sexual frustration, and she’d got to the point where she would say things like ‘I’ll do anything for you, guv – anything. You only have to ask, yer know.’ He’d say that at first he thought she was offering him sexual favours, which had prompted him to distance himself from her and to be very cold and businesslike in his dealings with her. But it hadn’t worked, and Rita had started to intimate that she could help him in his quest to achieve his dream.

  He’d tell them that although he’d had fears, he couldn’t discuss them with anyone – he would have looked foolish, and there was nothing he could back it up with, other than his own concerns and intuition.

  The final nail in her coffin would be relaying his suspicions about what Rita intended and how he had been alarmed when, after telling him she was going to visit the girls over at Fellam’s, he’d found that the drum of petrol kept for the tractors had been interfered with. The cap had been left off, and there were small stains of petrol on the floor leading out of the shed. This part of his story would have the ring of truth, as he’d asked Earnshaw if he knew anything about what he’d discovered. Of course he did, as Terence had made sure he was around to see Rita coming out of the shed.

  He would need Penny on his side. She knew too much about his relationship with Rita, and that mustn’t come out. But he felt confident that he could get her to keep quiet. If she didn’t play ball, he’d say she was a liar; that Rita ruled Penny and made her tell lies about him. He would be believed. After all, he was the son of a lord. Rita and Penny were just East End scum.

  He also needed to account for his own presence at Fellam’s, so he’d worked out to say that, whilst getting ready for dinner and mulling over the incident of the tampered petrol, he’d had a horror-struck moment when Rita’s real intentions had dawned on him – she’d said she would help in his quest to achieve his dream! Could that mean she intended to destroy the main obstacle standing in his way? Hence he’d made his excuses and dashed over to Fellam’s. It was fantastic, and the story was flawless – except that he’d been here ten minutes already and the bloody deed hadn’t yet been done. Christ! How was he going to explain the time-lapse?

  Taking his glove off and running his finger around his collar, Terence flinched at the cold touch of it, as his agitation mounted. Such a perfect plan, with every bloody ‘i’ dotted and every ‘t’ crossed, and that . . . that—

  His thoughts were suspended as the barn door opened and Rita appeared. Hardly breathing, he watched her make her way around the back of the stables. He waited a moment. When she didn’t reappear, he got out of the car and hurried after her.

  It was done! The flames licked at the wooden prop, caught the grass and took hold quicker than he could have imagined. Elation gripped him, but so did fear about his position. Running like he’d never run before, he made it back to his car in seconds. He cranked the engine, which, still being warm, fired up on the first turn of the starting handle. Thank God!

  Sweating in a lower-class way that appalled him, he reversed out into the space behind the barn, his wheels spinning on the pebbled surface. Please, God, don’t let me get stuck now.

  32

  Louise & Terence,

  Dorothy & Iris

  A Searing End to an Era

  ‘M’Lord, there is a Land Girl from Fellam’s at the door, with some distressing news that requires your urgent attention.’

  Lady Crompton jumped in, before Lord Crompton could answer. ‘Really? Oh, dear, where is Terence? Where is he?’

  Louise stood up and went over to Lady Crompton’s chair. Sitting on the stool next to it, she said, ‘I am sure he is all right, Lady Crompton.’ Then, turning to Lord Crompton, she asked, ‘Would you like me to see who it is, and what is wrong?’ Her heart pounded with worry. What could have happened? They were all safe when she’d left.

  ‘Thank you, dear, but I think we should have the girl sent in. Please see to it, Frobisher.’

  ‘Yes, m’Lord.’

  Comforting his wife, Lord Crompton sat on the arm of her chair and put his arm around her. ‘Daphne, my love, please don’t upset yourself too much. Let’s hear what has gone on first, shall we? It can’t possibly have anything to do with Terence. He is at a meeting. It’s very bad form of him, and not like him at all not to be home when he has a guest. But that doesn’t mean you should jump to conclusions, dear.’

  A tap on the door stopped the speculation, because when it opened, Frobisher announced Mildred. One look told of her anguish. Louise ran to her. ‘My dear, what is it?’

  ‘Mrs Fellam . . . Jack . . . Sarah . . . Oh God!’

  ‘What? Has something
happened to them?’

  Mildred’s body swayed. ‘Oh, Louise. Megan, sh – she’s dead!’

  ‘Oh my God!’

  This, from Lord Crompton, increased the goosebumps on Louise’s skin. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Mildred, having released the shocking news, revealed everything she’d seen. ‘He’s dead, too, that son of hers; and Sarah’s in a bad way. She’s obviously been beaten and she’s in shock, curled up like an animal in a corner of the room. And Jack, poor Jack. He – he’s just rocking back and forth, and a terrible noise is coming from him. His m – mouth is frothing, and his eyes . . . Oh, Louise.’

  Lord Crompton was by her side, and together they caught Mildred. Neither could speak as they helped her to a chair, but before they could gather themselves to say or do anything, the door crashed open and stopped them.

  Terence, looking just as distraught as the rest of them, stood framed in the open doorway. ‘Pater. Oh, Pater, there’s . . .’ His head swivelled and he gaped at Mildred.

  ‘We know. Dear God, how did it happen?’

  ‘How can you know? Where did she come from? She couldn’t have got here before—’

  ‘What are you talking about, Terence? Look, we’ve no time. I have to telephone the police and an ambulance. Where have you been? You’re never here when we need you!’

  Terence looked from Louise to his father’s retreating back, then back to Louise. His face held utter bewilderment. She sought to enlighten him. ‘There’s been . . . Look, something appalling has happened.’

  ‘I know, but how could this young woman have got here before me? I—’

  ‘I was at the cottage, sir. I saw them – the bodies . . . the blood . . . Oh—’

  Louise only just managed to get out of the way of the vomit that exploded from Mildred’s mouth. A moan behind her had her turning and, seeing the state of Lady Crompton, she shouted at Terence, ‘See to your mother, Terence. She has had a massive shock.’

  ‘But . . . ?’

  ‘Frobisher, we need water for Lady Crompton and for my friend Mildred. And please bring someone to clear up this mess.’

  Behind her, Louise heard Terence speaking. ‘Mater, dear, it will be all right. Come on, my dear.’ As she turned to look at him, his face had a bewildered expression. ‘What was the girl on about? The – the cottage? I came to tell of a fire.’

  ‘What? Oh dear, everything is so confusing. I’ll tell you what I know, but a fire?’

  ‘Yes. Dear God, where is Pater? We need to get everyone fighting it . . . The horses. That bloody Rita, she—’

  ‘Look, Terence—’

  ‘Whatever it is will have to wait, Louise. I have to phone the fire brigade. I have to get help.’

  When Terence returned, followed by his father, who now looked as though someone had punched him in the stomach, Louise told him what Mildred had said. At the end of her telling, she thought Terence would faint. His face had the pallor of death. His mouth hung open and he dropped his head into his hands.

  ‘What is your news about a fire? Where? And what girl? Terence, please, I have to know.’

  After hearing him out, Louise felt sick. Had the world gone mad? Two deaths and a fire – and God knew how many horses. And the new foal . . . It is all unbearable, unbelievable.

  Dorothy held onto Jack’s body. Her own body trembled, and her eyes held the unspeakable horror of the room, even when she closed them against it. She’d tried to get near Sarah, but Sarah had kicked out and screamed ‘No!’ in an awful, howling wail, whilst shrinking away from her. But although this meant Dorothy hadn’t been able to comfort her physically, she hadn’t given up trying to coax Sarah out of the blank stare fixed on her face. Using gentle words of reassurance, which she didn’t feel, brought about no change in Sarah.

  Inside, Dorothy begged and begged for someone to come. Anyone, but please, please come. Make the horror go away, or remove her from it.

  ‘Jack. Come on, Jack, let’s get downstairs, eh? Will you help me with Sarah? We need to get her out of here. Please, Jack.’ His head felt heavy on her shoulder as he cringed against what she’d asked of him. Oh, why had Mildred run? Why hadn’t she used the phone here? But then, Dorothy couldn’t blame her. If it hadn’t been for the pull of Jack on her heart, she’d have run, too – run as far away as she could.

  These thoughts showed her what needed doing, and made her realize she was behaving just as stupidly. It must be the shock. The practical side of her had closed down, as she’d responded only to the emotions surging through her, making her want to comfort and make things right for the man she loved. Yes, she could admit it now. Feelings that had lain dead inside her, since her husband had died in the accident, had been rekindled the moment she’d first laid eyes on Jack. Working with him on a daily basis had deepened the strength of the emotions he had awoken in her. Finding him like this, sitting in a hell she thought none of them would ever recover from, and with his life in devastation all around him, it had only occurred to her to console and reassure Jack. But now she knew she must do something to get help, and not just rely on Mildred doing so.

  Easing Jack’s body away from her, she rested him against the wall. There was no protest in his hollow moans. Straightening her stiff limbs to get the life back into them took her a moment, and then she stood up. Without looking over to where the two bloodied, staring-eyed corpses lay, she made her way out of the room and down the stairs.

  The operator took an age to answer. When she finally heard ‘What number do you require?’ all she could do was gasp, ‘Help me, help me!’

  ‘What’s wrong, lass? Tell me as clear as you can. Is it police you want? Where are you? Give me the number you are calling from.’

  She read out the number written in the centre of the dial on the phone. When she stated the address, she was relieved to hear the girl say, ‘Oh, right, love. Well, there is help on the way. I’ve dealt with calls about the trouble at that cottage already. Lord Crompton made them, and about the fire, so don’t worry – someone’ll be with you soon. So what’s happened then? Only his Lordship didn’t give me details or owt.’

  ‘I – I’m sorry. I—’

  Dorothy replaced the receiver, unable to engage in conversation about what was happening. All that mattered was that help was on the way. But then a question came to her. Fire? What fire? Suddenly she registered that the windows were lit with an unnatural light for this time of the evening. Looking out, she saw the glow of a huge fire coming from the direction of the stud farm, and it was too much for her to take in. Slumping against the wall, she slid to the floor. Oh God, no . . . No!

  For a moment her mind couldn’t sort out all the horror around her, and in its confusion it told her stories of invasion, of bombs, of troops of German soldiers torching buildings. But then another thought hit her: Iris and Rita . . . the horses. Please let them be safe!

  Iris woke and looked around her. Her head hurt. Had Rita hit her with something? No, she wouldn’t. Why would she? But what had caused the blow to her head when she’d turned to go across to the kitchen area? And where were the others?

  Fear clutched at her. Her head began to clear and to give her a picture of events: Louise leaving; Dorothy worrying about the family and thinking something was wrong; Rita being agitated at Dorothy and Mildred leaving. Then, when they were alone, Rita being cross with her for being afraid to stay alone on the farm. Rising to make a pot of tea, then feeling a massive blow on her head.

  When she stood on shaky legs and tried to move, her foot hit something on the floor. A brass candlestick. It must have been Rita! Rita had hit her, but why?

  Unshed tears of panic made her eye sockets feel as though they’d filled with sand. Only one candle remained alight. It flickered, its wick having reached a pool of melted wax. The thought of it going out spurred Iris into action. She must find another candle. She couldn’t bear the darkness; she’d not survive that. But then it wasn’t dark . . . why? Everything in the room glowed. Not with a still glo
w, but a dancing yellow glow.

  When she got to the window, what she saw halted her thoughts and gave release to the scream she’d knotted inside her since waking. Flames licked the black sky. The sound of crackling and spitting penetrated her mind and mingled with the terrified neighing of the horses. Her thoughts filled with the beautiful beasts, their huge liquid eyes and the pleasure they gave her when they nudged her body whilst she fed and groomed them. No! No, they can’t die!

  Smoke swirled around Iris, catching and burning her throat, smarting her eyes and making it difficult for her to see. But she didn’t care. Nor did she heed the searing heat as she neared the stable. Only the desperate, terrified screams of the horses pierced her thoughts.

  Once nearer the building, she saw that one half of it wasn’t yet alight. There was a door at the far end, and if she could get to it, she could release the horses from the bays in which they were trapped.

  Close to the door, another sound confused her. A pounding sound. The doors rocked on their hinges to its rhythm. As she lifted the latch, sudden clarity came to her, but it came too late. A huge, powerful, petrified horse stampeded towards her. Her body hit the ground. A tremendous weight crushed her. Pain stung every part of her until a zinging noise enclosed her and the light around her became blackness – a blackness that sucked at everything she was, before swallowing her into its raging, swirling centre.

  33

  Hattie

  A Final Goodbye

  Hattie stood by the open grave, a lone figure, too encased in grief to cry and too drained to think. Megan’s coffin lay on top of Issy’s. ‘She’ll be a comfort to you, Megan, lass.’ The words croaked from her parched throat.

  Is this what happens when your heart is splintered? At this moment it felt as if hers was damaged beyond repair, and it wouldn’t be possible to feel anything ever again. But then, she did feel something: she felt hate – a hate so vivid it consumed her, and it was directed at Billy.