Coming Home to Island House

by Erica James

  Pamela exchanged a glance with Webster, who hadn’t touched his drink and now looking positively green about the gills. What a contemptible specimen of a man he was.

  ‘Perfectly clear,’ muttered Pamela.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  It had taken considerable effort and persistence on Romily’s part to persuade Lady Fogg to agree to have tea with her at the Cobbles Tea Room. Not for a minute did Romily underestimate the amount of courage it must have cost the woman to sit here with her, or what a blow to her pride it had to be.

  But here they were, centre stage and the focus of just about everybody’s attention, this being Lady Fogg’s first public appearance since going into hiding at Melstead Hall. Nobody had actually been rude to her, or even directly snubbed her, but it was obvious from the glances and not-so-discreet mutterings emanating from the tables around them that her crimes were a long way from being forgotten. For many it would be a case of delicious Schadenfreude, of enjoying the spectacle of seeing how the high and mighty could be felled. Probably their only disappointment was that Lady Fogg had been saved, very likely at her husband’s intervention, from a spell behind bars.

  Romily’s insistence on meeting here in a public place was not based on some kind of perverse pleasure in seeing the woman suffer, but more from a desire to try and help repair the damage Lady Fogg had inflicted on herself. She really did believe that there was enough hostility in the world right now, Melstead St Mary didn’t need to have its own private war going on. She also believed that meeting publicly would send out an unambiguous message that Romily Devereux-Temple was not the type of woman to kick a person when they were down, or hold a grudge. Her hope was that others might follow her example.

  ‘Any news from your husband as to when his business commitments might allow him to return?’ she ventured to ask Lady Fogg. She strongly suspected it wasn’t business keeping the man in town, but she was prepared to go along with the pretence if it saved Lady Fogg a little more face. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor woman, looking as she did, a shadow of her former self, discernibly older and greyer, her skin sallow and powdery. She had lost weight too.

  After dabbing her mouth with her napkin, Lady Fogg shook her head. ‘It’s all very tiresome. People make such demands upon him and he’s too good-natured to say no. As a consequence, he’s constantly rushed off his feet.’

  ‘Quite,’ said Romily, thinking that what she had encountered of Sir Archibald provided her with scant evidence to support such a claim about his nature. She further suspected that far from rushed off his feet, he was hunkered down at some prestigious club enjoying innumerable whisky and sodas while hiding behind a newspaper.

  She steered the conversation on to the latest news coming in from across the Channel. She had it on good authority from Tony that a small armada of vessels of various sizes was being amassed on the south coast in order to help with a massive rescue operation to bring home the stranded troops of the British Expeditionary Force. Florence was frantic for news about Billy; many others in the village were also waiting anxiously for the safe return of their loved ones.

  With the household still in shock after the sinking of the Arcadia and Kit’s death, a small piece of good fortune had come their way in the arrival at Island House of seventeen-year-old Lotte Gelder. The moment Romily heard about the Jewish refugee through an agency in London that had been recommended to her, she had known in an instant that she would employ her as a maid. The girl was in need of work, but more importantly, she was in need of somewhere she could call home.

  Lotte had arrived in England last year, leaving behind her family in Austria, and for various reasons had been shunted from pillar to post as a result of misfortune, as well as a series of appointed guardians failing in their responsibility to take proper care of her. With the help of a Quaker couple who had befriended her in St Albans, where she had been housed in a hostel for refugees, she had managed to obtain a domestic work permit. She had only been with them for a few days, but already Romily knew that she fitted in perfectly. Mrs Partridge had taken an immediate liking to her, as had Florence. She was a quiet girl, thoughtful too, but a willing worker, and always spoke politely in her clipped English, learnt, she said, from listening to the wireless since arriving in England.

  ‘You haven’t heard a word I’ve been saying, have you?’ said Lady Fogg from across the table, a flash of her old feisty and scolding spirit surfacing.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Romily. ‘I was just thinking about how events have turned out recently, one really doesn’t know what’s around the corner, does one?’

  Lady Fogg’s brow creased and she lowered the cup in her hand to its saucer. ‘You’re right, and I must confess to being more than a little surprised by your invitation.’

  ‘I’m sure you were. Doubtless you suspected my motives.’

  ‘I did. I thought perhaps you just wanted the opportunity to gloat over my unfortunate fall from grace.’

  ‘I’m sorry you would think that of me, but I do understand why you might have done. I assure you that wasn’t why I invited you. I don’t like seeing anyone down on their luck, or condemned out of hand; after all, let he cast the first stone who is not guilty of some crime or other. We’ve all had a lapse of conscience and done things we shouldn’t have and then had to face the consequences. But after that,’ she added, ‘in an ideal world it should be an end to the matter.’

  ‘I don’t think anyone here is going to let me forget what I did. My actions were selfish and very, very wrong, and counter to all that we’d been told.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain anything to me,’ said Romily.

  ‘But I’d like to, since you’ve gone to the bother to ask me here today.’ Lady Fogg took out a handkerchief from her handbag and gave her nose a long, hard blow.

  ‘You probably won’t believe this,’ she continued, ‘but I didn’t mean it to happen the way it did. I just thought it would be sensible to stock up on a few crucial items, things I know Archie is fond of, but before I knew it, it had all got out of hand and I couldn’t stop myself. It became so easy. And worse still, justifiable.’ She dabbed at the corners of her mouth with a shaking hand, as though the confession was costing her dear.

  ‘The petrol wasn’t for me,’ she went on, ‘it was for Archie; he does so grumble when he can’t use the Daimler. I just wanted to see him happy. So little in life pleases him these days. Least of all me. And now I sound as if I’m looking for sympathy, which I’m not.’ She took a sip of her tea. Then: ‘You’re an intelligent woman, Mrs Devereux-Temple, so I’m sure you don’t believe a word about Archie having business commitments in London.’

  Romily nodded, but didn’t say anything. She sensed that Lady Fogg wanted – maybe even needed – to unburden herself yet further.

  ‘He’s gone there to get away from me,’ she said, her voice low. ‘I have no idea when he’ll be back. He … he says I should stop badgering him and be grateful that he managed to pull the necessary strings to avoid me being punished as I ought to have been. He says he’s ashamed of me.’

  ‘How very pompous of him,’ remarked Romily, ‘and also, if you don’t mind my saying, how cowardly of him to run off to London. He should have stood by you. Jack would have stood by me no matter what I did.’

  ‘I admire your certainty,’ said Lady Fogg with a sniff.

  ‘But you don’t believe me, do you?’ said Romily. ‘You think Jack would have abandoned me in the same way as your husband has you.’

  Lady Fogg shook her head. ‘I’ve learnt over the years that there are very few people in life one can rely upon fully.’

  ‘That’s probably true. But one would hope one’s own husband would be included in the few.’

  ‘You’re young; you still believe in the inherent goodness of others, don’t you?’

  ‘Now you’re making me sound as naive and gullible as a child
who believes in the tooth fairy.’

  ‘In my experience, youth fills a person with far too much hope.’

  ‘I’m hardly youthful,’ Romily countered with a smile. ‘But I do believe there’s more goodness in the world than bad.’

  ‘Is that why you invited me here today, because you believed there might still be a spark of decency in me?’

  ‘No, I invited you out of friendship.’

  ‘Friendship?’ repeated Lady Fogg, recoiling from the word as though Romily had called her a harlot. ‘I don’t believe that for a minute; more likely I’m a charity case for you to be pitied. A pet project. Maybe something for you to put in one of your penny-dreadful books!’

  Her voice had risen to its customary strident pitch, and in the confined space, there was no chance of people not hearing. Or even pretending they hadn’t caught every word and weren’t loving it.

  ‘Well,’ said Romily, amused, ‘I’m glad we’ve cleared that up. Anything else you’d like to get off your chest now that you’re back to your usual malevolent self?’

  The tea room had fallen completely silent, and with her back ramrod straight, her chin up and her nostrils flaring, Lady Fogg glared furiously at Romily, her lips pursed.

  ‘Go on,’ urged Romily. Ironically, she welcomed the exchange; she preferred Lady Fogg in full flight than the beaten woman she had allowed herself to become. ‘You can do better than that,’ she taunted her. ‘I guarantee there’s a lot more bile in that poisonous spleen of yours to pour out yet.’

  Audible gasps were heard, and if it were possible, Lady Fogg’s nostrils flared even more. And then the most extraordinary thing happened. Laughter rang out, and it didn’t come from the surrounding tables; it came from Lady Fogg herself.

  Even more extraordinary, the laughter continued, and in turn Romily began to laugh too. As did those around them. It wasn’t cruel, mocking laughter; it was genuine high spirits at the absurdly comical situation in which they’d found themselves.

  When the laughter finally died down, Lady Fogg rose from her chair. She looked horribly like she was about to make a speech.

  ‘I know there’s been a lot of talk and speculation in the village about me recently,’ she began to say, confirming Romily’s fear, ‘all of which I thoroughly deserve. I behaved appallingly and I couldn’t be more ashamed of what I did.’

  She hesitated and looked down at Romily, and as if sensing she needed encouragement, Romily nodded up at her. Why stop her when actually she was doing a pretty good job of explaining herself?

  ‘I’m well aware that because of what I did I’ve lost your respect, and—’

  ‘You never had mine,’ someone muttered sotto voce.

  ‘Shh!’ said somebody else. ‘Let the old dragon speak.’

  ‘No, no, that’s quite all right,’ went on Lady Fogg, putting a hand in the air. ‘I understand, and I know I have no right to ask this of you all, but if you could find it in your hearts to forgive a very foolish old woman who still has some way to go in learning to be just a fraction as generous-hearted as this woman sitting here with me, I’d be most grateful. There, that’s it. That’s all I have to say.’

  She plonked herself back down heavily in her chair, rattling the cups and saucers on the table as she did. A brief hush followed, and then it was broken by the sound of somebody clapping. Another person joined in, and then another, until everybody was applauding.

  ‘I think that’s your answer,’ said Romily above the noise. ‘You’re forgiven.’

  Lady Fogg’s lip wobbled and she reached for her handkerchief again. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘Thank you so very much.’

  Chapter Sixty-Eight

  Reluctant to attract further criticism, Lady Fogg had not dared to drive into the village as she would normally, and now, having set off for home together on foot, Romily parted company with her at the divide in the road, where to the right Melstead Hall lay half a mile distant, and to the left Island House about the same.

  A good day’s work, Romily decided, with Lady Fogg’s words of gratitude still playing in her head. She knew from personal experience what it felt like to be the focus of gossip – the tongues had barely stopped since she’d made her first appearance in the village – but whereas it was water off a duck’s back for Romily, it was very different for somebody of Lady Fogg’s ilk. Her standing in the community mattered to her, and only time would tell if she would change her behaviour to ensure she was no longer a figure of fun and disrespect.

  At the sound of an engine behind her, Romily glanced over her shoulder. Seeing an RAF staff car approaching, she moved over onto the grass verge of the narrow lane to give it room to pass. But it didn’t pass; instead the driver gave the horn a friendly pip-pip and brought the Austin 10 to a stop alongside her.

  ‘Darling, I’d know those elegant legs and determined stride anywhere!’ came a voice from the open passenger window. It was Sarah, with Tony next to her behind the wheel of the car.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here, Sarah?’ asked Romily, taking in her friend’s shorter haircut and smart blue uniform, thinking how transforming it was. She looked quite debonair and very at ease in the well-fitted tunic, but then Romily would have expected nothing less. In Sarah’s hand, resting on the sill of the car window, was a cigarette – smoking was a habit neither of them had taken to in the past, but evidently her friend had now adopted the habit.

  ‘Coming to see you, of course,’ said Sarah. ‘Hop in!’

  ‘I hope it’s not a bad time to land on you like this,’ said Tony, looking at Romily in the rear-view mirror once she was settled on the back seat.

  ‘Of course it’s not a bad time,’ said Sarah, answering on her behalf. ‘Never is between chums. Am I right, darling?’

  ‘You’re right as always,’ said Romily with a smile, happy to see her friend. ‘But presumably you haven’t come all this way just to see me, and more to the point, what are you doing hitching a ride in an RAF staff car?’

  ‘I flew in a couple of hours ago. Had to deliver a trainer to the good wing commander’s airfield. Makes a welcome change from risking hypothermia on the usual run up to northern parts. But today was a doddle: breakfast in Hatfield, lunch in Suffolk, and dinner at Island House, I’m rather hoping,’ she added with a laugh. ‘During which I plan to lure you away from your country idyll. You did get my last letter, didn’t you?’

  ‘Indeed I did.’

  Sarah twisted in her seat to look at Romily in the back of the car. ‘I wasn’t kidding when I said the RAF underestimated the number of pilots they require to move training aircraft around the country. Just ask Tony here. And trust me, it won’t stop there; before too long, demand will be such that us girls will be needed to ferry operational aircraft too.’

  Romily exchanged a look with Tony in the mirror as he slowed his speed and turned into the driveway of Island House. ‘It’s true,’ he said simply.

  ‘Sarah, I can’t,’ said Romily later that evening when Tony had returned to the airfield and it was just the two of them sitting in the boathouse. They’d brought their tumblers of whisky with them, and though the day had been warm, the night air had a chill to it, and so they were wrapped in woollen blankets as they looked out over the still moonlit water of the lily pond. ‘You know I can’t leave Island House,’ she reiterated, ‘I have commitments here now. I’m responsible for a child; I’m her guardian.’

  ‘But as you said, that’s only the case until her father returns.’

  ‘And who’s to say when Elijah will return? Moreover, he can’t just abdicate his duty as a soldier because of Isabella.’

  Sarah tutted. ‘I’d never have imagined that you of all people would pass up the chance to do something of such importance, not to mention throw yourself into the adventure of it all. Don’t you want to prove to those absurd men out there who think we women are fit only for knitting balac
lavas and scrubbing floors that we’re capable of a damned sight more?’

  ‘Don’t you think I would if I could?’

  ‘But darling, you can! Isabella is a baby; she doesn’t have a clue who you are. Leave her in the care of those who can do just as good a job as you, if not better. Then when the war is over, you can coo and fuss over her to your heart’s desire.’

  Romily smiled. ‘God help any child you have, Sarah.’

  ‘Phooey! Best way to bring up a child is with a good dose of healthy neglect. It didn’t do either of us any harm, did it?’

  Thinking of Jack’s family, and how they had suffered from being denied the two things they needed most as children – love and stability – Romily sipped her whisky thoughtfully, savouring its agreeably peaty taste. But as important as it was to her to do her duty by Jack’s family, the temptation of doing something new – something exciting and challenging – had its appeal.

  Was Sarah right? Was she stagnating here? Could Hope manage the household without her? After all, she wouldn’t be alone; she would have Florence, Mrs Partridge, Mrs Bunch and now Lotte to rely on.

  ‘I can hear the cogs grinding inside your head,’ said Sarah. ‘You’re tempted, aren’t you? And don’t lie to me.’

  ‘Even if I was tempted, what about the next book I’m expected to start writing?’

  ‘Good God, surely I don’t have to remind you there’s a war on? If the Germans make it across the Channel, as they’re planning to do, reading will be the last thing any of us will be doing! You know the situation is dire right now, don’t you? Or have you lost sight of what’s going on beyond the parameters of your cosy life here?’

  With emotion rising in her chest, her face reddening with outrage, Romily knocked back the last of her drink in one furious swallow. When she could trust herself to speak, she said, ‘I certainly have not lost sight of what’s going on. Far from it. But whereas you have no commitments to bind you, I have plenty. I’m needed here.’