The Darkest Hour

by Barbara Erskine

  For a long time she stood there staring out, then suddenly she turned towards her desk and rummaged in the drawer for some paper.

  Darling Tony, she wrote. I can’t bear this. Please, please can we talk?

  At Westhampnett the CO called Tony into his office. ‘A bit of a change for you, old boy. We’ve a bod from the Air Ministry coming down to do some portraits of you chaps. I’ve put you on the list.’

  Tony flinched as though he had been hit. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Station Commander’s orders, I’m afraid. We can’t argue. I’m being done as well.’ He glanced at Tony. ‘I know this is not particularly tactful and all that, but we have to do what we are told. Evie is not official.’

  ‘Evie and I are over. She hasn’t been down here for days.’

  ‘No. So, we have to submit to orders. I am told this chap won’t take more than a couple of hours on each picture.’

  Turps Orde was a man in his early fifties. He settled Tony down on a stool in the front room of the old house they used as a Mess and reached for his sketchbook and charcoal. ‘So, you’re one of the chosen few.’ He had a friendly manner and put Tony at his ease. ‘I’m told your girlfriend is a painter too.’

  Tony nodded Glumly. ‘She’s had paintings commissioned by the WAAC.’ No point in telling him she was no longer his girlfriend.

  ‘Good for her. I shall keep a lookout for her work.’ Turps reached for a piece of white chalk and began stroking highlights into his drawing. ‘I’m having trouble doing portraits of you chaps. By the time the thing is finished you’ve probably been awarded a new medal.’ He peered over his glasses.

  Tony shook his head, embarrassed. ‘Not me.’

  ‘Ah.’ Turps grinned. He tapped the side of his nose. ‘Perhaps we should leave a space. I only sketch the best, you know, and a little bird told me there might be something in the pipeline for you, young man.’

  15

  Sunday 11th August, evening

  Lucy was standing by her desk in the window. It was ten minutes since she had put down the phone and she was still staring out towards the floodlit spire of the cathedral which she could just see beyond the rooftops of the houses on the far side of the road. Huw was out. Before Robin had gone she had left a message begging Huw to come. Now there was nothing to do until she heard from him.

  She glanced over her shoulder at the living room door. She had closed it behind her, leaving the kitchen across the landing with every light switched on and the radio playing quietly.

  She paced up and down restlessly for a few minutes, then sitting down at last she reached for the pile of files on her desk. She still wasn’t sure about what she was going to tell Mike and she was filled with foreboding. She didn’t want to destroy their relationship. She paused, frowning. They didn’t have a relationship; they were more like colleagues in a project. But whatever it was she didn’t want to spoil it. The whole thing depended on her and Mike having complete trust in each other and now the mysterious Christopher was threatening to blow the whole thing out of the water. She couldn’t afford to let that happen. With a sigh she pushed aside the files of documents and pulled Tony Anderson’s log book towards her. Tony, whose face had been obliterated from Evie’s portrait. Was she even sure it was Tony in the picture? No. Of course not. She wasn’t sure of anything. She riffled through the book gently to see if there were any photos stuck in between the pages. There were a few pieces of paper, she had noticed before. Folded notes, one or two receipts at the end of the book which he had obviously tucked there for safekeeping and one letter on thin blue paper. Lucy unfolded it and caught her breath.

  Darling Tony,

  I can’t bear this. Please, please can we talk? I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you. I had a letter from your mother this morning. She sounded so kind. She said you had told her all about me and that then you had written to her and told her that our engagement was off. She thought it was my fault. She said you were unhappy.

  I’m unhappy.

  Please can I see you? I am going to ride down to the airfield gates this evening and bribe one of the guards to give you this. If you can, come up tonight.

  I’ll be waiting. E xxxxxxxxx

  Lucy stared down at the flimsy sheet of paper. It had been folded and unfolded so often that it was falling apart at the creases. Had he gone? Had Tony gone up to the farm? Had they made up their quarrel?

  The sound of the front doorbell from the gallery below made her jump. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was nearly nine o’clock.

  Huw looked exhausted when she pulled open the door and let him in. ‘I’m sorry I’m so late. Duty called. I had to go to the hospital,’ he said as he followed her upstairs, ‘but you sounded so distraught I felt I should come as soon as I could.’

  Lucy felt a pang of guilt as she ushered him into the kitchen. ‘I am really sorry. I didn’t think. It wasn’t late when I rang,’ she defended herself.

  He put his hand on her arm. ‘It doesn’t matter. I wasn’t complaining.’ He smiled. ‘I was just worried that you had had to wait so long on your own. It sounded as though there had been developments.’

  ‘There have.’ Lucy glanced at the studio door. ‘Let me show you.’

  On the threshold of the studio she paused and took a deep breath before reaching in to flick on the lights. She led the way over to the painting on the easel and stopped dead.

  ‘What is it?’ Huw asked. He scanned her face and following her gaze turned to look at the picture. ‘Is something wrong?’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘No, nothing is wrong.’ Her voice was flat. There was no damage, no fresh paint. The young man’s face, as cheery as ever peered over Evie’s shoulder, unblemished. ‘The whole corner of the painting was damaged,’ she whispered. ‘His face had been painted out.’ She lifted a shaking finger and pointed. ‘The picture was scratched. I found it on the floor.’ For several seconds more she studied the portrait then she turned round to face him. ‘Robin was here. He will tell you. He saw it. He helped me pick it up. He touched the wet paint and got some on his finger.’ Again she faced the picture. She stepped up to it and examined it even more closely. ‘It was so violently done I was afraid. We both were, and we decided it must have been an intruder, a real person, Huw, who had come in along the roof, perhaps, or slipped up from the gallery. Someone determined to destroy the picture, or at least the image of the young man. But now –’

  ‘Now?’ he responded gently.

  ‘It wasn’t, was it? Not a real person. A real person couldn’t have made all that go away. But,’ she gazed at him helplessly, ‘it wasn’t Ralph.’

  ‘What makes you think it wasn’t Ralph?’

  ‘I could sense it. I could feel it. It was a different –’ She paused. ‘A different sense,’ she repeated lamely. ‘As though …’ Once again her voice petered out. ‘That was why Robin and Phil stayed with me last night. I was suddenly so afraid.’

  Huw waited several seconds. ‘As though what?’ he prompted again.

  ‘It was someone quite different, that’s all I know. Ralph is anxious, helpless, frustrated. This man was angry and strong and threatening.’

  ‘You are sure it was a man?’

  She nodded. Her back to him she approached the easel again. She bit her lip. ‘Oh, yes. It’s a man. No woman would have done this.’

  Huw looked sceptical for a second, but he kept his thoughts to himself. ‘And you were afraid,’ he said gently. ‘Both of you? How did Robin react to all this?’

  ‘I told you. He thought it was a real person. So did Phil.’

  ‘And they were prepared to leave you here alone?’

  ‘No. They wouldn’t go until I rang you.’ She turned at last and smiled a little sheepishly. ‘I told them you were on your way or they wouldn’t have gone.’

  ‘I’m sorry it took me so long.’

  ‘It didn’t matter. I was safe in the living room.’

  ‘You didn’t sense him in there?’
/>   ‘No.’

  For a long moment they were both silent, then Huw let out a drawn-out sigh. ‘I will pray for the repose of the soul of whoever is haunting this place. That is all I can do, Lucy. Would you like to stay in here while I do it?’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘I’ll go and put the kettle on.’

  Huw smiled. ‘Fair enough. I will join you shortly.’

  In the doorway Lucy hesitated for a moment. Why not join him? Why not support him with a murmured prayer even if she didn’t think it would do any good? But what was the point of that? It might dilute whatever it was that he believed.

  But, if she didn’t believe in him why had she rung him?

  Why had she rung him if, with part of her brain, she believed Robin; that whoever had done this was a real person, someone who had set her up? Someone who was determined she should abandon her research and leave Evie to her anonymity. Someone who was trying to scare her to death. Mike, or more likely, his cousin, Christopher Marston.

  With a small perplexed grimace of confusion she made her way into the kitchen, gently pulling the studio door closed behind her. Reaching for the kettle she turned up the volume on the radio so that she couldn’t hear anything that was happening behind the door.

  Moments later she heard a shout followed by a crash. Footsteps pelted across the floor and someone was scrabbling frantically with the door handle. Frozen with terror for a second she couldn’t move, then she ran towards the door just as it flew open and Huw almost fell into the kitchen. His face was ashen. Turning, he dragged the door shut then he staggered to the table and sat down. She could see the gleam of perspiration on his face. His hands were shaking as he brought them together on the table top and clasped them. She wasn’t sure if he was praying or trying to steady himself.

  ‘What happened?’ she whispered.

  He shook his head. ‘He didn’t wait to see what I was going to do. He picked up the canvas and threw it at me. I felt a rush of icy cold! I couldn’t breathe! I felt hands round my throat!’

  Lucy felt herself grow pale.

  ‘You are right,’ Huw went on. ‘It is a man. A strong man. My dear,’ he looked at her suddenly with such compassion she wanted to cry. ‘I am sorry. This is beyond my experience and my capability. I must contact the bishop’s office. This needs someone who is properly trained in the art of deliverance. I am not strong enough.’

  Wearily he pushed back the chair and stood up. ‘I want you to pack a case now, and come away with me. My wife will make you up a bed and in the morning we will discuss this with people who understand these things better than I. I was wrong and conceited and overconfident to think I could do this. A prayer for a lost soul is one thing. A confrontation with an angry and vengeful spirit is quite another.’

  Lucy’s immediate response was one of denial. ‘I can’t leave the gallery,’ she gasped.

  ‘Of course you can. Lock up, leave the lights on, set your alarm. It will be quite safe.’

  ‘But not safe from him,’ she said shakily. ‘I will ring Robin and see if he and Phil will come back. Please, don’t say anything to the bishop’s office. This is my problem. I thought you could help me, but I don’t want anyone else involved.’

  ‘I have to tell them, Lucy.’

  ‘No!’ To her own surprise she shouted the word at him. ‘No, I absolutely forbid it!’ She paused in the sudden shocked silence that ensued. ‘I don’t think it’s a ghost, Huw. I shouldn’t have called you in. I think someone is trying to scare me off. I am not getting the Church involved. If it was a ghost, you would have been able to get rid of it. You would have sent it away. But if you can’t do it, then it’s not a ghost. I would rather you left. Please.’ She was aware that she was sounding irrational, perhaps even a little mad. She tightened her lips. ‘I am sorry but I would like you to go now. Whatever it is, however they did it, you’ve stirred things up. You’ve made it worse,’

  ‘Lucy, my dear!’ Huw looked anguished. ‘I can’t leave you here. I just can’t! If you come with me we can discuss all this with my wife. Would you do that, at least? She is deeply intuitive, much more so than I am. She is nothing to do with the Church, I promise. In fact she probably feels as strongly about it as you do.’

  Lucy shook her head. ‘No. Thank you, Huw, but no. Please go.’

  ‘But I can’t leave you like this. At least let me stay with you till morning.’

  She almost stamped her foot. ‘Daylight makes no difference. It only seems more frightening in the dark, but he was here in broad daylight, in the sunshine. Please, just go.’

  ‘Then let me wait until your friends arrive,’ he pleaded. ‘You mustn’t be alone. If you now feel there is a real person behind this, then all the more reason you shouldn’t be alone.’

  ‘No need. Robin and Phil will come at once. I would rather you left.’ She was suddenly desperate to have him out of the house. If he stayed, perhaps it would lead to a confrontation. Ghost or man, she was too frightened to contemplate it.

  Huw rose to his feet. With a glance over his shoulder towards the studio door he moved away from the table and slowly pushed the chair back into place. ‘I am so sorry to let you down. Remember, Lucy, it is my competence that has failed here, not God’s.’

  Lucy pursed her lips. ‘I know you did your best. I don’t blame you. Thank you for coming.’

  He waited for another few seconds as though hoping she would change her mind then with a sigh he turned towards the door. She stood without moving as he walked slowly downstairs, listening for his footsteps as he headed towards the gallery door, opened it with the faint jangling of the bell and then closed it again behind him. Then there was silence.

  She put her face in her hands. She wasn’t thinking rationally. She wasn’t thinking at all. Why had she sent him away? At least he was company. At least he was there. With another glance over her shoulder she went through into the living room where she couldn’t see the accusing blank which was the closed door of the studio. Reaching for the phone she punched in Robin’s number. It went straight to voicemail. ‘Oh, no!’ She tried his mobile, then Phil’s. All switched off. Desperately she glanced at her watch.

  It was barely midnight and she was only just holding herself together.

  Rosebank Cottage was in darkness. There had been no sign of Mike’s car in its accustomed place and he had not answered the cottage phone. He must have gone back to London. The cottage was a refuge and she had the keys in her pocket. Cautiously she opened the front door and peered in. The place was very silent, the accustomed smell of polish and flowers and old wood surrounded her as she stepped inside and quietly pushed the front door closed behind her. She reached for the light switch and sighed with relief. It was as if she had been holding her breath for a very long time. If there were a ghost here it would be Evie, and Evie would keep her safe.

  It didn’t seem right to sleep upstairs. She pulled an old tartan rug off the settle in the bedroom, wondering how it had escaped Charlotte’s modernising frenzy and huddled beneath it on the sofa in front of the empty fireplace. Exhausted by the events of the night she fell asleep at once.

  October 22nd 1940

  Evie woke suddenly, staring up into the darkness of her bedroom. It came again, a sharp crack against the window. She slid out of bed and tiptoed across the floor, pushing aside the blackout curtains and peering out into the night. There was a figure standing out in the yard looking up towards the window. ‘Tony!’ She turned and ran for the door, pattering down the stairs in bare feet and across the hall to the kitchen. She pulled open the back door and went out. ‘Tony?’ she whispered.

  He appeared round the corner, pausing as he saw her in her white cotton nightdress and bare feet. ‘Evie!’

  In seconds he had wrapped her in his arms.

  ‘Why didn’t you come in?’ she whispered when at last she could speak. ‘You know the back door is never locked.’

  ‘I was afraid I might run into one of your parents.’

  ‘They are
asleep, you silly. They are both so tired each night they would sleep through an air raid!’

  Silently she took his hand and led him back towards the door. Her finger to her lips she guided him through the darkness of the kitchen to the staircase and up towards her bedroom. Once in there, the door closed, the key turned in the lock, they stood for a long time, their arms around one another, not speaking, not moving. She was the first to stir. Pushing him away slightly she groped for his belt and then his jacket and began to pull it off his shoulders. Quickly she unbuttoned his shirt and then reached for the waistband of his trousers.

  ‘Evie,’ he murmured. ‘Are you sure?’ She put her fingers on his lips to quiet him and determinedly went on divesting him of his clothes. Then she pulled him towards her bed.

  It was a long time before they surfaced from beneath the eiderdown, tousled and giggling. ‘I can’t stay much longer, Evie. We might have a pre-dawn call,’ he whispered. ‘Sometimes Jerry sends spy planes over early ahead of the daytime attacks.’ He ran his hand over her stomach and up to her breasts. ‘Oh my darling, how I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Then why did you break it off?’ She rolled away and sat on the edge of the bed, the sheet round her shoulders as she groped for the matches so she could light the bedside candle, less risky than the overhead light. Suddenly she was shivering.

  ‘I didn’t. Evie, believe me it wasn’t my idea.’ He put his hand on her arm. ‘Darling girl. I would never have broken up with you.’ He climbed out of bed, reaching for his clothes. ‘It wasn’t my idea, sweetheart. Ralph had a word. He said there were reasons we couldn’t be together.’ He fastened his belt then he sat down next to her and put his arm round her shoulders. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Ralph told you?’ Evie said after a short pause.

  Tony nodded. ‘And your Dad sent me a note.’

  Oh God! Ralph. Eddie. Her father’s loan. Evie’s shoulders slumped as she remembered. Turning to him she put her arms round him and clung to him. That explained everything and she couldn’t tell him however much she wanted to. Not yet. It was not her secret to tell.