by Janet Woods
Inside, she found that her sister and brother were sound asleep. Connie was in her dressing gown, her hands around a cup of cocoa.
Meggie was wide awake, and just beginning to become agitated as her stomach told her it was empty.
‘She’s been awake since eight-thirty, so she should be good and tired after she’s had her supper.’
‘She wasn’t a nuisance, was she?’
Meggie let out an impatient warble at the sound of her mother’s voice.
Above it, Connie said, ‘Esmé kept her amused for an hour. She’s just beginning to get fractious. Another tooth on the way, I think.’
‘I won’t be a minute, my love.’
Livia changed into her nightclothes, by which time Meggie was bellowing to be fed. Livia made her comfortable and put her to her breast. Her mouth nudged frantically back and forth, and the noise stopped abruptly as Meggie attached herself and began to suck strongly. A feeling of contentment and love stole through Livia.
‘Did you have a good time?’ Connie asked.
‘Yes . . . most of the village was there. Denton danced my feet off, and I’ll be glad to get to bed. You haven’t got to wait up, Connie.’
‘Can I get you anything? I’ve still got to fill our hot-water bottles, so it won’t be any trouble, since I’ll be going to the kitchen.’
‘A cup of cocoa would be nice. It will help me sleep.’
‘That Doctor Denton . . . he’s a nice man. I always thought he’d taken a shine to you.’
Livia didn’t answer, and after a moment the door closed behind Connie. She ran her fingertips through her daughter’s dark wisps of hair. She could do nothing to jeopardize Meggie’s future. She loved her too much. And she loved Denton too much to ruin his future, too. Better to let him go to Australia. He would meet someone else he could love there.
Later, she took the letter from its hiding place under the drawer lining and gazed at it. Denton’s handwriting was strong, but it didn’t give her any clues as to the contents. She didn’t want to open it – didn’t want to read what he’d written from his heart.
The clock chimed eleven. Time was getting on. Hands trembling, she slit the envelope along the top with the blade of the scissors and removed a single sheet of paper.
Livia.
I’m not a man who can write fine and persuasive words. But I do write this sincerely, and from the feelings I hold within my heart for you.
It seems appropriate for me to express my intention this way. I’d be honoured if you would agree to become my wife.
As you know, I’m expecting to further my professional standing, which will ensure a comfortable recompense into the foreseeable future. I will do my best to cherish and keep you, and to care for, and guide, Chad and Esmé until they reach adulthood.
You have given me reason to believe (or hope) that you hold me close in your affection. I am grateful for that small encouragement. I know I’ll love you always, and will wait for you. Nothing can change that.
Truly yours,
Denton.
She closed her eyes and held the sheet of paper against her beating heart. Something could change it – the question mark hanging over Meggie’s head.
Sooner or later Denton would hear the gossip, and begin to suspect that all was not as it seemed. He was not like Richard, who’d twisted things to suit the situation. He’d possessed the ability to laugh off any scandal with his devil-may-care attitude, and persuaded her to believe it didn’t matter, too.
‘Let people wonder,’ he’d have said.
But then, the lie had involved his family’s reputation, so he’d had reason to handle it, and hush it up in the way he had – the only way.
Richard had lied rather easily. In a social situation he’d sensed what people wanted to hear, and more often than not, agreed with them, whether he had his own opinion or not. That had made him popular.
She wondered now if he’d have married her without the incentive of a scandal hanging over their heads, and doubted if she could maintain the lie when faced with Denton’s honesty.
She went to bed, her mind torn between doing what was right for Meggie and what was right for Denton, and not giving any thought as to what was right for herself.
Twenty
Major Henry had decided to escape from the prison camp he was in. He was going home. That morning, after his interrogators had gone, he’d put on his uniform.
Now he threw his greatcoat over his arm, pulled his cap down over his eyes and left the hospital, following a group of visitors.
The prison was short of staff and the male attendant gave him a cursory glance, smiled and tossed him a sloppy salute as he locked the door behind them. ‘Enjoy the weekend, Sir.’
Henry smirked as he marched off, feeling rather pleased with himself.
There was a small amount of money in the coin pocket sewn into his overcoat lining. He took a bus to Waterloo Station, and spent some time in the café, eating buns and drinking coffee, until it was time to board the train. He was looking forward to seeing his wife and son again. Richard had married, he thought suddenly, and didn’t he have a grandchild?
He shook his head. He kept getting confused about things. He must talk to Dr Elliot about it.
He boarded the train, taking a seat in the corner of a first-class apartment, next to the window, where he could watch the winter landscape speed by. It was quite a novelty after his time in the prison camp. There was a rather stout woman dressed in black on the opposite seat in their compartment. She smelled of mothballs and kept smiling at him.
He was no longer interested in women. They were full of deceit, and only wanted a chap for what they could get from him.
She leaned forward and tapped him on the knee, her smile smug. ‘Surely you remember me, Major Henry?’
‘Of course I remember you. Mrs . . . um . . .’
‘Ada Rothwell.’
He remembered an Ada . . . a dancer from the Adelphi. It was not long after he and Margaret had married and he’d been in a bit of a bind. Richard had been on the way and Margaret wouldn’t allow him any ease. The Ada he remembered had been a neat little thing in a frilly dress, and he’d had her in the dressing room while she’d sat astride his lap. Surely this stout creature wasn’t her?
The door slid open, allowing a ticket inspector to intrude into the compartment on a cold draught. ‘Tickets please.’
The major patted his pocket, feeling confused and distressed. ‘A ticket? I don’t think I’ve got one. I do have a warrant card somewhere. I think somebody has stolen it, though . . . my money as well.’
‘I’m sorry, Sir. I must see the warrant card else you’ll have to pay your fare. If you can do neither I’ll have to escort you off the train at the next stop. ’
When an embarrassed Henry began to go through his pockets, the woman leaned forward and pressed a pound into his hand. ‘Allow me, Major. You can repay me when you’re able.’
He handed the money to the inspector. ‘Will that do, my man?’
He was issued with a ticket and the door slid shut. The inspector gave him a warning look as he moved on.
Mrs Rothwell simpered, ‘I’d heard you were in hospital. Are you home for good, Major?’
So that was the tale they’d put around? The Sangsters wouldn’t want anyone to know he’d been in a prison camp, of course. It just wasn’t done in his family. One died rather than allowed oneself to be captured. He nodded.
‘I’d heard you’d been ill.’
Had he? He couldn’t remember being ill. His eyes narrowed in on her as he wondered if she was one of his tormentors at the prison camp. But he couldn’t remember seeing her before.
As the train sped towards Dorset the woman began to prattle. Henry closed his eyes. He was tired and cold, and all he wanted to do was to get home, not make conversation with a woman who was a stranger to him.
Then he remembered what he’d forgotten, and his eyes shot open. ‘Red garters!’
‘I beg
your pardon.’ She gave a horrified gasp.
‘You wore red silk garters.’
Shock appeared in her eyes. ‘How dare you, Major! I don’t know what the world’s coming to if a decent woman can’t travel on public transport without being accosted. I shall tell my husband. No doubt he’ll have words with you about this.’
Henry remembered a grey little man, a browbeaten accountant who dropped food down his front and who wouldn’t say boo to a goose. He got very little peace from his wife, Henry imagined.
All the same, it had been bad form on his part to give her garters a public airing, and all he could do was apologize and say something nice. ‘Sorry, m’dear. You had shapely legs, so a bit of titillation for your husband wouldn’t have gone amiss.’
A pair of plump feet withdrew under her skirt, like snails retreating into their shell. She sniffed, then gathered up her bag and left the compartment, her body tightly confined by a whalebone corset.
He was pleased she’d gone. Not that she was any temptation to him now. Smiling with relief, he closed his eyes again and listened to the wheels clackety-clack over the rails. After a while he went to sleep.
The major overshot Creekmore Halt. He got out at the next station and began to walk, grumbling a little because he was hungry and cold, and it had come on to rain.
He finally made it to Foxglove House. The lights were out, but smoke came from the chimney. He took the spare key from its hiding place in a crack between two bricks and let himself in.
‘Margaret! Richard! I’m home,’ he shouted.
There was no reply.
He went to the kitchen and found some bread and cheese. The decanter was on the dresser. He poured himself a brandy. It was a little rough, and he was tempted to go to the cellar and find something better.
His coat had begun to steam with the heat from the fire. ‘God, I’m weary,’ he said. He downed another brandy. It tasted better the second time round. It was strong, but warming. A third one would see him right. He staggered as he made his way upstairs, glass in hand.
He frowned. Everything was covered in dustsheets. It was typical of Margaret to make him feel unwelcome. Swigging back the brandy, he placed the glass carefully on the shrouded dressing table,
He dragged some blankets from the box at the foot of the bed, wrapped himself up and pulled the dustsheets back over. He chuckled. When Margaret and Richard came home he’d give them both a bloody fright, and serve them right.
The christening of Meggie took place after the Sunday service. The twins looked proud as they stood up with Connie and Mr Beamish as godparents, though the reverend had been a little dubious about allowing children to take on such an important role.
Livia told him, ‘They spent several years in an orphanage, and this duty will help remind them that they’re a part of a family. Our parents would have wanted that too. The alternative is to put the christening off for ten years, until the twins have grown up.’
The reverend gave in gracefully.
A few people stayed after the service to watch the ceremony, hoping to catch a glimpse of the baby. Mrs Anstruther was absent, having left that morning to spend some time with her daughter. Matthew Bugg brought old Bugg to the ceremony. He looked surprisingly spry with a drop of whisky inside him to ward off the cold.
Meggie behaved like an angel, quite happy to be the centre of attention, bestowing bountiful smiles on everyone and attracting comments. ‘She’s a dear little thing,’ and depending on the eyes of the observer, ‘so much like her grandmother-mother-sister-brother-father-grandfather.’ Livia was glad that nobody thought to throw Denton’s name into the ring.
And from those who thought they knew better, ‘Not really like anyone in the Sangster family. She must have jumped a generation.’ Significant pause. ‘She has her own look . . . don’t you, dear?’
Meggie’s angelic frame of mind lasted until the reverend sprinkled cold water on her head, then she heaved in an indignant breath and let out a roar that made the rafters rattle and set the candle flames flickering.
‘It’s the holy water. It drives the devil out,’ Florence told anyone who would listen.
A few people had been invited back to the cottage, including the Elliots, the Buggs, the midwife who’d attended Livia after the birth of Meggie, and the reverend. Connie had prepared a delicious buffet lunch, and after giving Meggie a feed to keep her happy, as well as fill her up, Livia helped Connie to carry the plates in.
Denton cornered her in the kitchen. ‘Have you read my letter?’
‘I have.’
‘And?’
‘It was a lovely letter, Denton; but this is not the time or place to talk.’ It wasn’t fair of her to keep him hanging on a thread much longer, and she must decide one way or another whether to cut him free. She kept telling herself that her deceit would never be found out, yet sometimes she felt as if the truth was tattooed all over her forehead.
‘When then?’
‘Can you make it tomorrow, in the afternoon? Connie has decided to go back with Beamish and Florence, to help them through the birth of the baby.’ She grinned. ‘Connie’s experience here has made her an expert. The children will be attending Suzanne’s birthday party.’
He touched her face, his eyes searching hers, as if looking for a clue. His mouth took on a wry twist and he said quietly, ‘Bear in mind that I won’t take no for an answer.’
Duly, Denton presented himself. He hadn’t imagined Livia would put him through all this. He was a surgeon, a damned good one with a good future, and if he didn’t love this difficult woman to death he would have walked away from such an indignity.
As it was he’d go on his knees and kiss her feet if that’s what she wanted from him. But all the same, he felt uneasy. Nothing was going as he’d planned, and he wanted – and intended – to know the reason why. It was time to take the gloves off.
She landed her blow first, before he’d had time to put his case – one in the solar plexus that left him gasping like a stranded fish.
‘I’m sorry, Denton. If I’d received the letter a month or two earlier I would have accepted your proposal.’
He hit back, and more savagely than he’d intended. ‘Before Meggie made her presence known to you, do you mean?’
He hated himself when she flinched. The hurt he’d dealt her lingered on in her eyes, and he wondered if it was as agonizing as the hurt he felt.
‘No . . . I meant before . . . Richard.’
‘I’m a living, breathing man, and you’re a living, breathing woman. I can stand playing second fiddle to Richard’s shining star, but you’ve beatified him in your mind beyond reason. He’s so perfect I can’t compete with his bloody ghost. It’s beyond my capabilities.’
When tears sprang to her eyes, he hated himself once more.
‘You’re not in competition with anyone, and you’ll never be second fiddle to him. You never have been. I just can’t marry you.’
‘Why, for God’s sake?’
Her eyes pleaded with him. ‘Don’t ask me why.’
‘That’s not good enough, Livia. All this time you’ve led me to believe you cared for me.’
‘I do care for you, more than you’ll ever know. I just can’t marry you.’
He gazed at her, frustrated beyond measure.
The telephone rang.
She gazed at it for a moment then lifted the receiver to her ear. Her face fell and she dropped the instrument on to the table and sank into the chair, ashen-faced.
He grabbed it up, wondering what the hell had induced that reaction in her. ‘This is Denton Elliot. I’m a doctor. Mrs Sangster can’t answer your call at the moment. Can I be of help?’
‘It’s Simon Stone. I’ve just received word that Major Henry has walked out of the hospital. He’s not considered dangerous, but he’s been without his medication for some time and could be confused or agitated. He could be heading for Foxglove House.’
The major was in a mental institution? It was the
first he’d heard of it. ‘Does my father know? The major is his patient.’
‘Ah . . . I’m not sure. I imagine the institution would have been in touch with him. It’s not something the family would have wanted to get round, you understand.’
The major’s family being Livia and Meggie, and that was a tenuous link at best. He gave Livia a glance, but she was gazing down at her hands, twisting her wedding ring around.
He had in his pocket an engagement ring he’d bought for her nearly two years ago. He’d never been given the chance of putting it on her finger.
He frowned. The news shouldn’t have had such an effect on her. ‘Leave this with me, Mr Stone. I’ll find Matthew Bugg and search the place, then call you back if we find anything. In the meantime my father can ring the institution and find out what medication he’s on. It’s probably a phenobarbital. If need be, I’ll arrange for him to be driven back to the institution.’
Denton rang his father and they discussed the matter. He turned to Livia afterwards. ‘My father has reminded me that we’ll need your permission to enter Foxglove House. The major could be there.’
‘I have a key to the house. It’s hanging on a hook on the kitchen dresser. Matthew stayed with his grandfather last night, so should be safe. I’ll ring him and tell him to meet you there.’
Nobody answered the phone. ‘They must be out visiting, but I don’t think Matthew will mind you going in and looking.’
‘Will you come with us?’
‘No. I can’t leave Meggie here by herself, and she’ll need to be fed when she wakes.’
He nodded.
‘Take care, Denton, especially if the major has been drinking, because when he’s drunk he’s strong, and he can’t control himself.’
Denton had never known the major to be aggressive, and he found the statement slightly odd.
‘Is that why he ended up in an institution?’
‘I understand that he tried to shoot himself in the head after his wife left him. The neighbour heard the shot and called the police to investigate. He’d broken his wrist in the attempt.’