The Darkest Hour

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘I saw the tears in your eyes,’ she said gently. ‘I am so sorry. You’ve lost someone you love.’

  He nodded. What was the point in correcting her. After all, he had lost someone, and it was someone he had loved almost more than life itself. They walked together out into Trafalgar Square and strolled up the Strand to the Lyons Corner House where they had a cup of tea together. He never knew her name, or why she had been in the gallery. She too had lost someone, that was obvious, and for a couple of hours they kept one another company, then it was time for him to go.

  He took the train north, heading back to his parents’ farm and from there he was to restart his law studies in Edinburgh, no longer a Squadron Leader, just a student lawyer once again.

  He graduated three years later and joined the Faculty of Advocates as a rising star. If he thought about his times at Westhampnett, and his visit to the National Gallery in London he did not mention it to anyone, not even his parents. Why should he?

  Saturday 14th September, midnight

  Mike left the vicarage without seeing Lucy again. Sadly he climbed into his car and headed back to Rosebank Cottage. He couldn’t get the image of the slashed face of the young pilot out of his head.

  He was standing on the back lawn, staring up at the night sky when his phone rang suddenly. He groped for it in his pocket. ‘Lucy?’ He wasn’t sure why he had thought it would be her. Not after the way she had run out of the room. Whatever he said to her it seemed to be the wrong thing, but he hoped he was right and that she was trying to make up for her hasty disappearance. In the chapel they had waited for a while, then Huw had gently placed the painting facing the wall and the two of them had walked slowly downstairs to meet Maggie. Minutes later Mike had made an embarrassed exit from the vicarage.

  He paused now, waiting for her to reply, but the moment of silence was followed by a harsh laugh.

  ‘No, sorry, not Lucy. It’s Charlotte. I need to talk to you.’

  Christmas 1947

  Rachel was waiting for Evie in the kitchen at the farm when she came in.

  ‘Hello, Mummy,’ She greeted her mother. She gave Johnny a gentle push so that he ran on, heading straight for the biscuit tin on the table. ‘What is it?’ She had seen Rachel’s face, which was pale and drawn. ‘How is Daddy?’

  ‘He is all right.’ Rachel took a deep breath. ‘I’m sorry, Evie, but I don’t know how long we can go on like this. Eddie has gone too far this time.’

  Evie was taking off her hat. She threw it down on the sideboard and turned to her mother with a sigh. ‘What has he done now?’

  ‘He’s brought a baby.’ Rachel sat down abruptly and ran her fingers through the tight greying curls of her hair. ‘He says it is going to live here and that you have agreed.’

  Evie stared at her ‘A baby?’

  ‘A child.’

  For a moment, Evie was speechless for several seconds, then at last she said, ‘Where is he?’

  ‘He took it upstairs.’

  ‘Keep Johnny down here.’ Evie headed for the door, slamming it behind her before heading for the stairs.

  ‘Come in. Don’t say a word.’ Eddie looked up at her as she walked into the bedroom.

  The baby was lying on the bed asleep.

  Evie looked down at him. ‘That’s Paul, I take it.’ Her voice was harsh.

  Eddie looked up. ‘George. He’s called George.’

  She frowned. ‘It is Lavinia’s baby?’ Her hands were shaking.

  He nodded and she was astonished to see tears in his eyes. ‘Lavinia is dying.’ He bit his lip hard. ‘They took her into hospital three days ago.’ He sounded completely helpless. ‘Her landlady was looking after George. She rang me and I went to see Lavinia.’ There was a tremor in his voice. ‘Her heart is failing. They said she only has a few days to live.’ He swallowed hard. ‘I told her I – we – would take the baby and rear him here. I promised her. She said she trusts you. She said you knew about him and you had been to see her. She said she gives you her blessing; she wants you to be his mother.’ Again his voice trembled and then it failed altogether. He stood looking helplessly at the sleeping child on the bed. The little boy was wearing grubby pyjamas with teddy bears on them and he was wrapped tightly in a woollen blanket. He smelled of dirty nappy. ‘Please, Evie.’

  She stared at Eddie. She had never, in all the years she had known him, seen him so vulnerable.

  She took a deep breath. ‘Does she not have any relations?’

  He shook his head. ‘Her parents died before the war. Her brother was killed at Monte Cassino. I was the only one there for her, and I was cruel to her. I bullied her. But I loved him. From the first moment I saw him, I loved him.’ His voice was husky.

  Evie felt a sharp twinge of resentment. ‘You bully me and Johnny,’ she whispered. ‘I doubt you would cry if I were to die; or give Johnny your love.’

  He turned away from her and wandered over to the window. ‘Johnny wasn’t mine,’ he said.

  ‘And Paul is not mine.’

  ‘Please, Evie. I can’t make myself love Johnny. He reminds me that you loved his father as you have never loved me, but I will try, I promise I will try to treat him better. He will never know –’ he paused and took a deep breath, ‘he will never know that George is not his real brother. I will treat them the same.’

  ‘Why do you want to call him George?’

  ‘After my dad.’ He held her gaze. ‘Our family have never been close to one another. It would please my father so much.’

  ‘And how are you going to explain the sudden arrival of a ready-made grandson?’

  ‘I’ll tell them the truth.’

  ‘But no one else?’

  He shook his head. ‘If anyone asks, he is adopted. People will forget soon enough.’

  ‘And my parents?’

  ‘They will do whatever you want.’

  ‘Will they?’ Evie was thinking about Rachel and Johnny downstairs. Eddie has gone too far this time. Her mother’s words echoed in her ears.

  Sunday 15th September, morning

  Charlotte was on the doorstep at Rosebank just after nine. Mike greeted her without enthusiasm. ‘I don’t know why you have come back. You are lucky that I didn’t call the police after the stunt you pulled last time.

  She pushed her hands into her pockets defiantly. ‘Up to you. There are things I can tell you about your precious Evie. If you don’t want to know –’

  ‘What can you possibly tell me?’

  ‘Dolly gave me some of her stuff. Her writing case.’

  ‘Dolly did?’ He stared at her. She was dressed in tight designer jeans and a loose-fitting silk blouse, low at the neck. Round her throat was the crystal necklace he had bought her for her birthday. She looked undeniably sexy. ‘When?’

  She dropped her gaze. ‘A while ago. I was asking about Evie and Dolly told me I could look through her stuff and take anything I wanted.’

  Mike narrowed his eyes suspiciously. ‘I doubt that very much.’

  ‘I don’t frankly care what you doubt,’ she said, her voice harsh. ‘The fact is, I’ve got it.’

  ‘So where is it, this case?’

  ‘At home. I wasn’t going to bring it here and have you take it off me by force.’

  He sighed. ‘I have never used force against you, and you know it.’

  She smiled and pushed past him. ‘So, where is the lovely Lucy?’

  ‘She is not here. Charlotte, if you have something of Evie’s I would like you to return it. It could be important.’

  ‘It is important.’ She glanced into the sitting room and headed towards the kitchen. ‘Are you living here? I have been to the London house several times and there has been no sign of you.’

  ‘You’ve been in?’

  She gave that sweet smile again. ‘You gave me a key, darling, remember?’

  ‘Which I took off you. Did you have a copy made?’ He let his disgust show in his voice.

  She ignored the question. ‘I
rang the office and they said you were taking some leave and working from home. They seemed astonished that I didn’t know. I had to pretend to have a failing memory.’

  In the kitchen she looked round critically. ‘No tidier than I remember and no cleaner.’ She ran a finger over the surface of the table. ‘It’s time you sacked Dolly. She is completely past it.’

  Mike gritted his teeth. ‘Charlotte –’

  She opened the back door and stepped outside, staring at the studio. ‘The damage isn’t too bad, is it, considering?’ She turned to face him. ‘Mike, I think you should consider your next move very carefully. I have the capability to do you and your research worker,’ her voice dripped with venom, ‘a lot of harm. I have items which probably have a great deal of value, some of which would burn oh so easily, some, jewellery, which I could sell down the Portobello Market for a fortune, some sketches which I gather are irreplaceable. Did you really think I sat around here knitting while you and Miss Lucy were chatting over Evie’s pathetic scraps? You thought there was nothing there, didn’t you. Had you even bothered to look? There was a mass of stuff lying around in drawers and boxes, clogging up this house. I put a lot of it in the studio and then I thought, why am I doing this? Why don’t I take some of it home if it is so valuable? I remember you telling me she had no jewellery. She did. She had a lot of lovely stuff and now, as you didn’t even know you had it, and as you could never identify it, it is mine.’ She put her hands on her hips and waited for him to say something.

  He took a deep breath. ‘Charley –’

  ‘Oh, Charley is it now? Do I sense a change of tone?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘So, where is Lucy?’

  ‘She is not here. That is all you need to know at the moment.’

  She eyed him with amusement. ‘So, you finally saw through her.’

  ‘My relationship with Lucy is none of your business. The important thing is that ours is over, Charley.’ His exasperation was obvious in his voice. ‘If there was ever a chance of picking it up again after what you did, you have scuppered it now. This attempt at blackmail is pathetic.’ He began to walk across the lawn. ‘If you have property of mine I would like you to return it. My guess is that you’ve made all this up.’

  She stood and watched him head towards the tool shed at the top of the garden. ‘Made it up, have I?’ she whispered under her breath. ‘I’ll show you, Michael Marston.’

  He watched as she made her way back into the house in an agony of terror that she might do something else to destroy his home but he managed to force himself to wait ten minutes before strolling back towards the kitchen. She had gone and as far as he could see all was as it should be; to convince himself he opened the front door and, after scanning the lane, actually walked up a little way up it to make sure that her car had gone, then he went back indoors and rang Dolly.

  ‘Are you accusing me of something?’ He heard the indignation and hurt in her voice as soon as he explained why he was ringing.

  ‘No,’ he said wearily. ‘I didn’t believe her, but I had to be sure. You might have said something she misinterpreted, or you might have seen her take something which she said I had given her. She has been, is, very manipulative. You were right, Dolly. You were a far better judge of character than I was.’

  There was a pause. ‘I am glad you recognised the fact,’ Dolly said at last, obviously mollified.

  He gave a wry smile. ‘So, what do I do?’

  There was a short silence. ‘You believe that she has stolen things from the house?’

  Stolen? The word brought him up short. ‘I suppose I do, yes,’ he said. ‘She talked about a writing case. I don’t remember a writing case.’

  Dolly made a noise which might have been a laugh. ‘It used to sit on top of Evie’s wardrobe.’

  ‘And when did it go, can you remember?’

  ‘A couple of weeks ago. I was going to give it to Lucy if it had papers in and when I went to fetch it down it had gone. I assumed you had already given it to her.’

  Mike grimaced. ‘If only I had.’

  ‘So you are regretting telling her to go away.’ She sounded smug.

  ‘I don’t know what I am feeling, Dolly. I don’t know what to do.’ He found himself wishing suddenly that it was one of Dolly’s days, that she would arrive soon and make them both tea and produce some homemade biscuits from her tin on the dresser. He gave a bitter little laugh. ‘I am not doing very well with women, am I?’

  ‘Go and see Lucy, Michael,’ Dolly said firmly. ‘Today. Now.’

  29

  Sunday 15th September, afternoon

  Hannah went home meekly when Christopher arrived to collect her and the expected row had not ensued. He was too relieved to see her safe and well, but as they drove up the drive to Cornstone House everything changed.

  ‘I am not going back in there!’ Hannah was sitting in the front seat of her father’s car, peering through the windscreen in sudden complete terror. ‘You can’t make me.’

  ‘Hannah, darling, there is nothing to be afraid of.’ Christopher turned off the engine and withdrew the keys, jiggling them up and down in the palm of his hand. ‘I am going to be there with you.’

  Hannah shook her head. She buried her face in her hands, her hair hanging down over her shoulders. ‘I can’t go in, I can’t!’ she whispered.

  Christopher sighed. He reached for the handle and pushed his door open. ‘I’ll go and find your mother. Perhaps she can make you see sense.’ He climbed out of the car and ran up the steps into the house.

  Hannah closed her eyes. She was trembling.

  It was a long time before her mother appeared. Ollie was with her.

  ‘Darling –’

  ‘No!’ Hannah cried. ‘I can’t. I can’t go in.’ She had clenched her fists so tightly her nails had dug into her palms. ‘I don’t want to go in there ever again.’

  Frances glanced at Ollie helplessly. He pushed past her and crouched by the car window. ‘Listen, Hanny. Why don’t you and I go back to Granny’s at least until Grandfather’s funeral? Would that make you feel better? Could we, Mum? She can take us back to school and that will give you and Dad a chance to get the house exorcised or something.’

  Hannah still hadn’t looked up but he could see by the tenseness of her shoulders that she was listening.

  ‘Would you like to do that, Hanny?’ It was a long time since he had called her by her baby name. ‘Mum can pack your stuff. You needn’t go back in. You would drive us back to Scotland, wouldn’t you, Mum? Or we could go by train –’

  ‘I’ll drive you,’ Frances broke in. She turned back to the house. ‘Wait there with Hannah. I will go and speak to your father.’

  Hannah was persuaded to get out of her father’s car and agreed to walk down into the village where she waited for them in a coffee shop while the arrangements were made and at last Frances appeared with Ollie beside her. Her car was loaded with all their school gear as well as holiday clothes. Hannah smiled weakly at her mother as she joined them and climbed into the back seat. ‘I am sorry to be such a coward.’

  ‘You are not a coward, Hannah,’ Frances said firmly. She peered into the mirror, shocked at the paleness of her daughter’s face. ‘It was very brave of you to do what you did to try and get rid of –’ she paused, at a loss for a moment as to how to describe him, ‘the man in the attic. I would never have dared do all that. Your father will deal with it. Just look on this as a lovely extension to your holiday.’ She paused. ‘And a holiday for me too. I think I will stay up north for a while. It is such a long way I might as well take the chance to have a break myself.’ Turning on the engine she pretended she didn’t see Ollie turn to look at his sister and raise his thumb at her with an expression of relieved triumph.

  January 1948

  ‘You are not telling me that you are going to adopt that child?’ Rachel stared at her daughter incredulously.

  Evie was wiping George’s face with a damp flannel after giving him his breakfast. She glanc
ed up at her mother, her face white with exhaustion. ‘His mother has died, Mummy. He has no one and he is Eddie’s son. What do you expect me to do?’

  Johnny was sitting at the table drawing. Every now and then he sent a puzzled look towards the little boy sitting at the other end of the table. ‘Is George my brother now?’ he asked at last.

  ‘Yes, darling.’ Evie bent over him and gave him a kiss. ‘Lots of your friends have got brothers. When he is a bit bigger he will be someone to play with.’

  ‘How old is he?’ Rachel asked as she hung a dishcloth near the range.

  ‘He’s two. I’m not sure when his birthday is. I went to see him when he was a baby. His mother was a nice woman, Mummy. It wasn’t her fault that the men in her life had let her down.’

  ‘It is always the woman’s fault.’ Rachel sniffed. ‘If you have an affair with a married man, what can you expect?’

  There was no reply.

  Rachel sighed. ‘Well, I can tell you now, your father is not happy. He does not want that child in this house.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to leave.’ Evie’s temper was rising. ‘I think I’ve made enough sacrifices for Daddy over the years. It is time for him to make one for me. If he can’t support me over this, it is better that we move out.’

  ‘Maybe it’s better that way anyway,’ Rachel said after a long pause. ‘You don’t seem to realise, Evie, how ill your father is. Having one child careering round the house is almost too much for him. Two children would kill him.’

  ‘I thought Daddy loved Johnny,’ Evie said quietly. Her father had been ill for so long she no longer reacted to her mother’s threats. If he was at death’s door, he had been lingering there for years now. Another shock would not make any difference as far as she could see.

  ‘He does love Johnny. But he is ill,’ Rachel protested again, almost automatically. ‘He is getting tired.’ Her eyes flooded suddenly with tears. ‘Just think about it, darling. Look for somewhere else, please.’