The Darkest Hour

by Barbara Erskine

  Ollie stared indignantly. ‘But it wouldn’t work –’

  ‘Of course it works. Is she in there?’ Christopher stretched past Ollie and turned the door knob. Silently, almost obediently the door swung open. Ollie watched as his father stepped into the room and turned on this light as well. There was no sign of Hannah. Christopher looked round carefully scanning the piled boxes then turned out the light and closed the door. ‘Where the hell is she? Wretched girl.’ He turned and ran back downstairs leaving Ollie standing where he was. Ollie glanced back at the door.

  ‘Hannah?’ he called softly. ‘Where are you?’

  There was no answer.

  May 8th 1945 VE Day

  There was to be a service in the church and then in the evening a party in the village hall. People had been putting up red, white and blue bunting all over the village. Rachel and Dudley and Evie went to church with Johnny sitting proudly beside them in the pew, then they went back to the farmhouse. There was no sign of Eddie. Outside it was drizzling, the blossom on the trees hanging wet and disconsolate, some of it being torn down and scattered on the ground. The actual day was almost an anti-climax after it had been predicted for so long, and it seemed wrong to celebrate when the war was still going on in the Far East, but Hitler’s death had been announced on 1st May and that in itself was reason to celebrate. Evie helped with the refreshments in the village hall and danced once or twice with the old men from the village. The Civil Defence and the Home Guard had already been disbanded and there were some young men around, mostly those who had been invalided out of the Army or the Air Force, so there were plenty of partners for her to choose from, but everyone there was conscious of the heartbreaking gaps which would never be filled, boys like Ralph and the son of the village baker.

  And, of course, there was still no sign of Eddie. Was he with Lavinia, she wondered. If he was she found she didn’t care. Good luck to the poor woman.

  That night she wrote it all down in her diary, complete with some sketches of the dance. The entry made cheerier reading than many she had written lately.

  Saturday 14th September, evening

  Mike had been back at the cottage for only a few minutes when a car drew up outside, parking in the narrow lane with two wheels on the bank by his front steps. Christopher climbed out and ran up to the front door. Mike answered the aggressive knock at once. One glance told him something was wrong as he stepped back to allow his cousin into the hall.

  ‘Is Hannah here?’ Christopher burst out.

  Mike shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen Hannah for years. Why would you think she might be here?’

  ‘Because of this Evie business.’ Christopher pushed past him into the sitting room and stood there looking round. ‘She’s disappeared. We can’t find her; wherever she is, she’s not got her mobile with her, which is unheard of. There is no trace of her anywhere in the house at home. She has been missing for hours.’

  Mike perched on the arm of the sofa. ‘Have you told the police?’

  Christopher shook his head. ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because she must be somewhere. We have been ringing people up and down the country. Frances’s parents – Hannah loved being with them in the holidays. Her school friends –’ He paused abruptly, thinking of the awkward conversation he had had at Ollie’s instigation with the mother of Hannah’s schoolfriend Tab before she had passed the phone to her daughter. The girl’s superior laugh, her enigmatic pseudo, American spook-film-psychic speak. ‘I sense she has gone beyond the veil; you must seek her in the land of the dead …’ Christopher had frozen at her words, then dismissed them as he heard the manic laughter the other end. He wanted to wring her neck, to kill her, to demand her to give the phone back to her mother, but he hadn’t. He had frozen her out with a caustic reply and hung up.

  ‘Well done, Dad,’ Ollie had said. He had been listening in the doorway. ‘If she does know where Hanny is, you will never get her to talk now.’

  Ollie had told him about her fascination with the ghost and the fact that Hannah had collected some books on the subject, that the basket of herbs was something to do with calling up the dead. How could he go to the police with a cock-and-bull story like that? He gave Mike a brief outline of events.

  Mike shook his head slowly. ‘This ghost – did you actually see it yourself?’ He didn’t smile when Christopher glanced at him sharply.

  ‘I don’t know. I suppose for a moment …’

  ‘You saw it in the attic, you said?’

  Christopher nodded.

  ‘Have you got any of Evie’s pictures stored up there?’ He saw the sudden suspicion and anger which flashed across Christopher’s face. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because there seems to be a bit of an issue with Evie’s paintings at the moment.’ Mike realised suddenly he didn’t want to tell Christopher that he had been right all along and that Lucy did have one of the pictures. ‘I have been hearing stories of some kind of ghostly interference going on with one or two of the pictures which are out there in private hands.’

  His cousin looked at him sharply. ‘There aren’t any pictures out there.’

  Mike shook his head. ‘You mean you have every single one?’

  ‘No. No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just that I have never heard of any in private hands.’

  ‘Well, there are a few.’

  ‘And I suppose Lucy Standish told you that?’

  ‘Yes, she did.’ No harm in admitting that much.

  Christopher tightened his lips, but said nothing, so Mike went on, ‘There seems to be some kind of malign influence surrounding them.’

  ‘And you are suggesting, what exactly?’ Christopher’s antagonism seemed to have changed to fear. ‘That the ghost has kidnapped my daughter?’

  ‘No, I don’t know what I mean except that is it possible something happened to frighten her?’

  The two men remained silent for a moment. ‘Have you ever thought that this house might be haunted?’ Christopher asked suddenly.

  Mike shook his head. ‘Not for a moment. I suppose I get the feeling that Granny might be keeping an eye on things occasionally, but the atmosphere of this cottage is gentle and benign. I have never felt afraid here. After all, she loved the place. And,’ he couldn’t resist adding, ‘there are none of her pictures here.’

  Christopher ignored the jibe. ‘You think I should go to the police?’

  Mike nodded. ‘She’s only –’ He paused, realising that he didn’t even know how old Christopher’s children were.

  ‘Fourteen.’ For a moment Christopher looked haggard with worry, then he straightened his shoulders. ‘I’ll go back. If you hear anything …’

  ‘I’ll let you know at once.’ Mike stood up. ‘How is Frances coping?’

  ‘She’s beside herself.’

  After he had gone Mike wandered into the kitchen and stood staring out of the window into the dark. If Hannah had seen anything like the ghost that Maggie and Huw had described the child would be terrified out of her wits. Fourteen. Too young to drive. Half child, half young woman. Probably full of wild certainties and unproved convictions about her own capabilities. He found himself wishing he and Christopher were on better terms so that he could have had the chance to get to know his – he was about to describe them to himself as niece and nephew, but of course they were cousins of some sort.

  August 1945

  ‘I will finish the painting when I am ready! I’m too tired to do it now,’ Evie shouted. It was weeks now since she had touched the canvas on her easel. She was exhausted and depressed, and Johnny, sensing the atmosphere at the farm, was playing up all the time.

  ‘So, what have you got to be so tired about?’ Eddie retorted. ‘It’s not as though you have a baby to occupy you and that child will be going to nursery school soon.’

  ‘No, I have no baby to exhaust me!’ she yelled back at him. ‘And whose fault is that?’ Her eyes filled with tears.

  ‘Well, luckily I
don’t have to look to you to give me a son. There are other women who are still capable of bearing my child!’ His sneer was delivered with vicious suddenness.

  The silence that followed was electric. Evie sat down suddenly. ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice was dangerously quiet.

  Eddie took a step backwards. ‘Never mind. Forget it.’

  ‘No. I won’t forget it. I am hardly likely to forget a statement like that,’ she said. ‘What did you mean?’

  Eventually he told her. What was the point of denying it? Besides, he was proud of his son.

  ‘Lavinia Gresham,’ she echoed quietly. Of course, she had known it was still going on but she had chosen to ignore it.

  Two days later she drove into Arundel and parked outside the woman’s house. There was a pram in the garden. She let herself in through the gate and went to peer inside it. The child was sleeping peacefully, tightly tucked in beneath a warm white blanket.

  ‘So, he told you.’ The voice behind her made her jump. She turned. Lavinia was standing on the doorstep, a cigarette in her hand.

  ‘Yes, he told me.’

  ‘I thought he would. I’m sorry. That was cruel of him, but then he is a cruel bastard, isn’t he?’ Lavinia leaned against the doorpost and took another puff from the cigarette.

  Evie was trying to hold back her tears. ‘What is he called?’

  ‘Paul.’ Lavinia smiled. ‘Eddie hates the name.’

  Evie gave a wry smile. ‘He would hate any name he hadn’t chosen himself.’

  ‘Do you want to come in? He’ll be all right there for a bit longer.’

  The woman led the way back inside and put on the kettle as Evie sat down at the table in the front window. From there she could see the pram. A small pink fist was waving from the blankets. Lavinia put a cup down in front of her and glanced outside. ‘He’s woken up. He’ll be screaming blue murder in a minute. Do you want to go before I bring him in?’

  Evie shook her head slowly. ‘Can I hold him?’

  ‘You really want to?’

  Evie nodded. ‘Please. Just this once. Then I’ll go. I won’t bother you again.’

  28

  Saturday 14th September, 10.30 p.m.

  Lucy was sitting in her bedroom at the vicarage staring into space. What was she going to do now? She had no one to blame but herself for this débâcle with Mike. If all her research fell apart now what would she do? How could she bear not to know what happened next in Evie’s life? And how could she bear not to see Mike again?

  She frowned. Where had that thought come from? How could she? How could she be so disloyal to Larry’s memory? She was chewing miserably on her thumbnail when she heard Huw and Maggie’s car turn in on the gravel below.

  Five minutes later there was a quiet knock at the door. ‘Lucy?’ It was Maggie.

  ‘Come in,’ she said despondently.

  Maggie opened the door and put her head round it. ‘Lucy, dear. Mike is with us. He wants to see the portrait.’

  Lucy felt a shaft of panic run through her then she sighed. ‘Why not?’

  ‘It’s up to you.’ Maggie walked over and sat down on the bed beside her. ‘He phoned Huw. He is very confused and hurt, but I have a feeling if you can explain to him why you didn’t tell him he will understand.’

  Lucy gave a grim smile. ‘I doubt it.’ Standing up, she pushed her hair back behind her ears. ‘Come on then. Will we need a screwdriver or something to open the crate?’

  They walked down the landing and Maggie opened the door to the little chapel. She let out a small scream. ‘Oh my God!’

  ‘What is it?’ Lucy peered over her shoulder.

  The crate appeared to have been chopped open with an axe. The painting was lying in front of the altar, the canvas ripped.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Lucy stood stock-still, aghast. At the sound of Maggie’s cry Huw raced up the stairs from the hall, followed closely by Mike.

  Huw walked over to the picture and gently picked it up. ‘It’s the boy’s face. Ruined.’ He leaned it against the altar and squatted down in front of it.

  Mike followed him and peered over his shoulder. ‘It’s a lovely portrait of Evie. She looks so young and happy.’

  ‘But Tony.’ Lucy said sadly. ‘Why is it always Tony he attacks?’

  ‘This wasn’t a ghost!’ Mike said firmly. ‘Don’t try and tell me that. Someone has been in here.’

  Huw was thoughtful. ‘That is what we say each time this happens. But how did they get in? Where? The house was locked. We were here. Lucy was here.’ He glanced round at his wife helplessly. ‘Maggie, can you sense him? Can you sense anybody?’

  Maggie had moved away from the others and was standing with her eyes closed, her hands held slightly in front of her as though she were testing the quality of the air. ‘I can sense immense anger. If it was a thief they would have taken the picture which, if what you all say is true, is worth a good bit of money. This person has attacked the young man in the picture and been careful not to touch Evie. How, using such force, could he have been so discriminating?’ She moved forward and gently ran her fingers over the tears in the painting. She shuddered. ‘It’s the same person, Huw, as at the gallery. I can almost see him. His fury and –’ she hesitated, ‘his jealousy are so strong. He is full of hatred.’

  Lucy shuddered. ‘Who is he?’

  ‘It is Eddie Marston,’ Maggie said quietly.

  There was a stunned silence. Mike stared at her. ‘What on earth makes you say that?’

  ‘Hannah recognised him from a picture in your mother’s dining room. She saw his ghost hovering near the paintings in their house in Midhurst.’

  ‘Hannah?’ Mike said quickly. ‘When did you see Hannah?’

  ‘This afternoon.’

  ‘Christopher came to see me this evening,’ Mike said. ‘Hannah is missing. They are frantic about her.’

  Maggie frowned. ‘I understood they knew she was staying with your mother,’ she said slowly. She sighed. ‘I’ll go and ring Juliette now, just to check what is going on.’ She turned and left the room, leaving them standing in a semi-circle round the picture.

  ‘I thought it would be safe in here,’ Huw said, shaking his head. ‘My prayers were not strong enough. I am so sorry. I failed.’

  ‘It’s not your fault!’ Lucy cried. ‘I won’t hear of that. It is the fault of this malicious man; and mine for coming here. I shouldn’t have brought the picture here.’

  ‘If not here, Lucy, where else?’ Huw said sadly.

  The room was silent for a moment. ‘My grandmother looks so very happy,’ Mike said at last. He cleared his throat. ‘You think this man was her lover?’

  Lucy looked at him almost apologetically. Was there a resemblance there to the face which had been so viciously hacked about in the portrait? Without the photo she wasn’t sure. ‘Yes, I think he was. His name was Tony Anderson and he was stationed near Box Wood Farm. I don’t know where she met him, perhaps through her brother, Ralph. But it didn’t work out and later he was killed.’

  ‘And she married my grandfather on the rebound?’

  Lucy nodded. ‘That’s what it looks like. She was devastated when Tony died.’

  Mike gently touched the torn margins of the canvas. ‘Can this be repaired?’

  ‘I am sure it can. It is just such a shame. The face had been painted out when Larry bought the painting. He was cleaning the canvas when he realised that something had been over-painted.’ She looked at him pleadingly. ‘The painting wasn’t signed. It had no attribution in the auction. It has never been verified.’

  ‘I recognise her,’ Mike whispered.

  She smiled sadly. ‘You knew her. We didn’t. Not then.’

  ‘But you guessed. Your husband obviously thought he recognised it,’ Mike said harshly.

  She nodded again. ‘He did, yes. He hoped it was a Lucas. It was looking her up, and trying to find out about her that made me want to write about her. She is one of the great women war artists, but somehow she h
ad slipped out of sight. I submitted a plan for the book and applied for a grant and the acceptance came after Larry died.’ There was a long pause. Lucy’s face had fallen into an expression of intense sadness.

  Mike cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  ‘I still do not see why you chose to keep the fact that you had this picture from me.’

  ‘Maybe I suspected that you would react the way your cousin did. Suspicious and resentful and attributing all kinds of horrible motives to me,’ she snapped. ‘I wasn’t wrong, was I? That was exactly what happened. From the moment you knew it existed you suspected me of all that and more.’ She took a deep breath, but it was too late to stop now. ‘I am not planning to exploit Evie,’ she cried. ‘I want her recognised for her talent and her skill and her brilliance. I haven’t stolen the painting. We bought it legitimately. I have the receipt!’ For a moment she stared wildly from Mike to Huw, then for the second time, unable to confront him, she turned and ran out of the room.

  June 1945

  Tony was still in Egypt when VE day came. Shortly afterwards he returned to Britain, leaving Port Said for Toulouse and then Dieppe. He stayed a few days in London before heading back to Scotland. While he was in London he went to the National Gallery and there he had stood for a long time in front of a painting entitled The Madonna of the Blitz. He found himself lost in the picture, feeling the desolation, the anguish and the love of the mother for her child. He stood there so long, lost in the sadness of his dreams that he did not at first feel the touch of the woman’s hand on his arm. He jumped, and looked at her, almost expecting it to be Evie. It wasn’t. It was a middle-aged woman in a black suit with a small black velvet hat with a half veil. Her face was pale and tired but very kind.