The Clouded Land

by Mary Mackie

  ‘I think she just needs time,’ I said.

  ‘Of course she does. We all do! But we should share our grief. I’m relying on you to sow the seeds. Eddy belongs here, at Denes Hill. Make her see that.’

  Fortunately she was moving away from me and didn’t see my face. Did she expect Saffron and Eddy to move to Denes Hill? Saffron would never agree to that.

  ‘And find some way of softening her attitude to Oliver,’ came the next order. ‘I realize her accusations were a result of overwrought emotion, but it makes things difficult.’ The sharp blue eyes spitted me. ‘Well? You can do that, can’t you? Speak up for Oliver? Vicky certainly appears to believe you’re willing to do so.’

  I felt as if someone had rammed me in the stomach with an oar. My face was suddenly burning, my throat all but closed. ‘I don’t know what Vicky told you, but…’

  ‘My dear child,’ Grandmother replied with a glance that managed both to reprove and to condescend, ‘she told me nothing I wasn’t already aware of. Now run along and pack.’

  What, exactly, did she mean by that enigmatic answer?

  With Saffron, amnesty came less easily. She didn’t want to hear Oliver’s name, or anything about Denes Hill. Back at Hawthorn House she summoned her own friends around her. And all she talked about was Harry. I was not sorry when duty obliged me to return to London and final cramming before the second-year exams.

  Fifteen

  Over the next month, I acquired a growing bundle of letters which I bound in green ribbon. Philip had said he wasn’t good with words, but, however stiff his phrases on paper, I preferred them to the glib compliments which had come so easy to Carl-Heinz.

  I replied with equal caution, telling him my news, while in a private notebook I poured out my heart in love poems which, one day, perhaps, I would show to him. I sent my letters care of the post office in King’s Lynn, where Philip could collect them on market day. The notebook I kept to myself.

  The more I learned of him, the more I loved him. Since his older brother had been expected to inherit the farm, Philip had been sent to boarding school to ‘make something’ of himself. He had dreamed of being an aviator and had hoped to go to university, but Michael’s death had altered everything: at the age of sixteen Philip had left school to work on the farm. He was philosophical about it rather than bitter: the farm was where he was needed. He was also anxious for me to understand his father. The old man was embittered, but not wholly bad. Once he knew me, he could not help but love me. So my darling Philip said.

  With the added joy of being in communication with him, constantly assured of his feelings for me, I continued my studies, sat my exams and, in early July, like a lark set free from its cage to soar away and find its mate, travelled back to Norfolk. Fellow passengers on the train must have wondered at the smile on my face as I watched the passing scene and heard the wheels chant Philip’s name.

  Grandmother sent the wagonette, driven by her outdoor man, Garret, to meet me at Eveningham station. Tom came, too, rushing to greet me with beaming smiles and bear hugs.

  As he scrambled up to sit opposite me, a movement behind him drew my eyes to where a man in shirtsleeves was leaning on a post, doffing his cap to cuff sweat from his brow while his other hand held the bridle of a chestnut horse tethered beside him. Philip… My heart flipped a somersault, bounced off my stomach and set my insides aquiver, for his smile told me he was not there by chance.

  As the wagonette set off, Philip eased himself to his feet and leapt up to the saddle of his chestnut hunter – named Troy, short for Troilus, ‘because he’s faithful’, so he had told me in a letter. He blew me a kiss in sheer exuberance before setting off at a furious gallop, heading down the beach road, while I bit my lip to stop myself from grinning like an idiot. Philip. Oh, Philip, Philip, Philip…

  Over dinner, Grandmother quizzed me about school and life with Mrs Armes. I had the impression she had heard hints about the ‘young chap in London’, though I assured her I had met no one special while I had been away. That was, of course, the truth. Just not the whole truth.

  Only Grandmother and Vicky were in residence at Denes Hill. Emmet was now based in Lincoln, learning the engineering business, and Frank had gone away again: would his search for inspiration take him to Llandudno, where Judy Love was appearing that summer?

  How fortuitous it now seemed that my room lay well away from the others’ and that the back stairs led conveniently to the side entrance. That door was never locked – it was the door Tom used for visiting his animals at all hours, and now it provided me with easy means of exit and ingress whenever I chose.

  That first evening I crept out to a rendezvous Philip and I had long planned – ten o’clock, on the path that crossed the railway cutting. As I crept through the woods I remembered the warnings that had come from my lost uncle, John, seeming to tell me to beware of involvement with Philip. But that night John remained remote. Perhaps he knew nothing could stop me. When love beckons so strongly, no force on earth can gainsay it – not reason, not common sense, not conscience…

  A twinkle of light from a torch showed ahead of me. I stopped, briefly nervous. Then the light blinked: once, twice, three times – our agreed signal! My feet took flight, impelling me towards the tall figure that waited in the starlight, arms opening wide…

  * * *

  Oliver Wells had said that I was not a good liar, but my talent for deception improved daily. If I had been free to confess my love for Philip I would have done so happily, but his being a Farcroft and my being from the hill complicated matters.

  By day, I found books to read, and walks and cycle rides to take. In Hunstanton, Butcher Ehrenfried had become Butcher Enfield, though the change of name hadn’t brought back the customers who had deserted him. By boycotting someone they had known and liked for years, the good folk of Huns’ton displayed their patriotism. Other days, I delivered hundreds of ‘Votes for Women’ leaflets, or accompanied Mrs Lacey on doorstep visits, trying to raise more support. I also wrote – articles for Gudrun in Berlin, essays, stories and, always, poems for my notebook, telling of my deepening love for Philip. Such activities served to pass time, to fill the gaps that yawned between our meetings.

  By night, under a sky filled with afterglow, my love and I strolled on the beach or down dark unfrequented lanes, discovering each other’s minds and hearts. At times I was sorely tempted to suggest that we might also explore more forbidden delights, but Philip always drew back before we could topple over that slippery brink. For that I loved him the more, and was grateful: his strength and self-control served for us both.

  I was able, at last, to tell him about Carl-Heinz. Darling Philip, so upright himself, didn’t understand how any man could behave in such an ungallant manner; no gentleman would have done such a thing – no English gentleman, anyway. He was glad I had told him – Philip valued honesty. It worried him that, by meeting me in secret, he himself was being less than honourable, but we dared not confess the truth to my family and when he tried talking about me at home Mad Jack refused to listen. My grandfather had denied him his shooting rights; my mother had spurned his older son; he didn’t even want to hear my name mentioned.

  ‘He’s never been the same since Michael died,’ Philip said one evening as we walked hand in hand along the ridge under the stars. ‘And losing Mother was another fearful blow. He blamed your family for all of it. But he will come round, Kate. One day, he must.’

  As if disturbed by his doubts, he pulled me to him and we stood holding each other in the darkness, trees whispering above us and in the distance the slate-grey gleam of the sea. Rubbing my face softly against the curve of his throat, I let my lips taste his skin, breathing in the scent of him, feeling his body respond as he bent to kiss me. I wrapped my arms about his neck, giving in to the drowning wonder of being near him.

  All too soon, he let me go and moved on, walking so swiftly and furiously that I had to trot to keep up, and holding my hand so tightly that it hurt
. I couldn’t have put a name to what he was enduring. I only knew that I felt the same aching need and that sometimes I wished he would let the tide sweep us both away.

  ‘What’s wrong, Philip?’

  ‘Nothing,’ came the gruff answer, then, ‘There’s something I ought to have told you, Katie.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I have to go away.’

  What? As the words sank in, I stopped, and since I was holding his hand he had to stop, too, a pace ahead of me. ‘Away where?’

  ‘Training camp.’ He turned to look at me. ‘I told you we had a camp every July, didn’t I?’ In the darkness I couldn’t see his face, but his defensive tone told me he felt guilty. ‘It starts tomorrow.’

  I could hardly think for a spurt of hot dismay. ‘Tomorrow?’

  ‘’Fraid so.’

  ‘But… why didn’t you say? Can’t you get out of it? You don’t have to go, surely?’

  ‘I can’t duck my responsibilities, not even for you. It would mean telling even more lies…’

  Disappointment made me pull away from him. ‘Heaven forfend that you should lie for me! I do it for you all the time!’

  ‘And whose choice is that?’ he responded. ‘I’ve never asked you to lie for me. I hate having to do it. Shall we go up to Denes Hill right now and tell them—’

  ‘No!’ I moaned.

  ‘No, I thought not.’

  ‘We can’t. Not yet. You know that. They’d be sure to find some way of separating us. Oh, Philip!’ Hating to be at odds with him, I threw my arms round his neck and huddled against him. ‘I’m sorry. Of course you must go to your rotten training camp. But I hate to think of you being a soldier. And it’s beastly unfair. I thought we’d have the whole summer together.’

  ‘I’ll be back in two weeks.’

  Two weeks… it seemed like forever.

  Though we parted with sweet kisses, neither of us was happy. I felt bitter, cheated. Trailing home along the main coast road, with the moon rising over the woods, I even wondered if he really cared about me. Then I wanted to run back and find him, and tell him I was sorry, that I loved him and would wait for ever if necessary. But, for the first time since my birthday, I felt the cold draught of reality blowing through my dreams. I was horribly afraid there might be no future for Philip and me.

  Halfway down the Denes Hill drive, I stepped aside into deep shadow and sat down on a clump of grass at the foot of a tree, arms about my knees, calling up irritation to counter my sadness. I didn’t want him to go away. He ought to have warned me earlier! Well, I wasn’t going to sit around sighing for him. If he chose to go off playing soldier, then I, too, would go… to Lynn, to stay with Saffron and Eddy. Yes, that was it. Go to Lynn. But, two whole weeks without him…

  A slight sound in the night made me look up to see someone squatting not many feet away, bathed in moonlight with his tousled fair head on one side in an attitude of concern. After a moment of sheer fright, my heart settled to a steady gallop.

  ‘Tom? You startled me!’

  ‘What’s wrong, Kate?’ he asked, creeping closer.

  ‘Nothing. Nothing at all.’

  He came to help me up and draw me out into the moonlight, where he stood rubbing my arm as if to comfort me. ‘It was that man, wasn’t it?’

  Dismayed, I looked into his ingenuous boy’s face. ‘What man?’

  ‘Young Farcroft.’

  My heart paused and then plunged on at a rate that left me breathless. ‘You know him?’

  ‘’Course I do. He comes from the farm. I’ve seen you with him. Did he hurt you? I don’t like it when things get hurt.’

  ‘I know you don’t.’ I took his arm, turning him towards the house. ‘No, he didn’t hurt me, Tom, dear. He’s my friend. My very good friend. Have you… Have you told anyone about my seeing him?’

  ‘No, ’course not,’ Tom said at once, and a sly little smile crossed his face. ‘I keep lots of secrets.’

  ‘You do? Then will you keep this one for me?’

  ‘Of course I will. You can trust me, Katie B.’

  ‘Katie B’ – that was what Emmet sometimes called me, nicer than that other epithet, my initials, C.L.B., used as an insult.

  ‘Will you walk me home?’ I asked. ‘I’m starving. Shall we raid the larder?’

  Poor Tom was easily distracted. On the way to the house we shared a piece of soggy toffee with brown paper sticking to it. Heaven knows how long he’d had it in his pocket.

  * * *

  In Lynn with Saffron and young Eddy, hating being separated from Philip, I must have been sadly unsociable. But Saffron herself was abstracted, when she wasn’t engaged in some frantic activity. She filled her emptiness with charity work and women’s causes that kept her from too much thinking, and she still talked about Harry more than I found comfortable – I was too young to know that that is often how people deal with grief.

  A message from Oliver requested me to visit him at his office in the town and I went hopefully, thinking he might have heard from Mother. But what he wanted to tell me was that he hadn’t received a reply from Berlin, though delays were inevitable. He could have told me that by post, I thought.

  As I was leaving, he revealed his true purpose in summoning me: he followed me to the door, saying, ‘I don’t suppose… You wouldn’t consider having dinner with me this evening, would you? There’s a band concert in the Walks. We might have a stroll, take the evening air, and then go for a meal somewhere. The Duke’s Head, perhaps.’

  The Duke’s Head being the most expensive hotel in town, I was tempted – I liked Oliver, thought of him as a kindred spirit in many ways, and I must admit to being annoyed enough with Philip to contemplate, just for a second… but only for a second. ‘I’m sorry, Oliver, but—’

  ‘That’s all right,’ he said at once. ‘It was just a thought, since you were here in town.’

  But despite the brave words he couldn’t hide his disappointment, and that made me feel badly. ‘There must be someone else you can ask! You’re a fine-looking man Oliver. Any woman…’

  ‘Any woman except the one I want,’ he answered softly, and reached out to touch my cheek before turning away. ‘Run along, Kate, before I do something we shall both be sorry for.’

  That evening, for the first time since Harry’s funeral, Saffron and I talked about Oliver.

  ‘He came to see me and we had a long talk,’ she confided. ‘I’m not saying I shall ever like him, but at least I now realize he’s a human being, d’you know what I mean? He was really very kind. He brought a lovely teddy bear for Eddy. Frank would probably call it bribery, but—’

  ‘Frank would! Poor Oliver can’t do anything right for him.’

  Saffron regarded me in surprise. ‘“Poor Oliver”? Why, Kate… don’t tell me Vicky was right, after all? She did make some remark about you and Oliver, but I never dreamed… I thought you had a young chap in London?’

  ‘Who told you that?’ I demanded.

  ‘Frank did. In confidence, of course.’

  Much as I adored Uncle Frank, he was turning into as big a gossip as Judy Love.

  On my last Saturday in Lynn – when Philip was due home – Grandmother and Vicky came over to attend a suffragette rally. They also brought a letter which had arrived for me, from Mother. ‘It will be a comfort to you,’ was Grandmother’s comment.

  I eagerly tore open the envelope. Mother said that she and the Menschen were well; she sent a photograph, showing the boys round her knee. How they had grown! They were all staying at the von Wurthe family residence, in East Prussia, ‘where it’s safer,’ she wrote, though she didn’t say safe from what.

  Grandmother and Vicky expressed dutiful relief, while Saffron studied the photograph, asking which of the boys was which, and what was the building in the background? I assumed it must be Schloss Lindhafen, where lived Pa’s older brother, the present Baron von Wurthe, and his family. I had met them, from time to time, though I had never been to the ancestral home. Nor
did I know its exact location, so I couldn’t write to Mother there. In future my only route was via Berlin, where Pa would no doubt vet all correspondence. I suspected he had allowed Mother to write to me only as a result of Oliver’s enquiry. Nevertheless, it was good to have heard from her.

  On the station platform that sunny evening we encountered a bronzed and smiling Uncle Frank, also on his way home to Denes Hill. He looked fit enough, but he was awfully thin.

  ‘I do wish you would warn us when you’re coming!’ Grandmother chafed. ‘Have you lost weight? Haven’t been ill, have you?’

  ‘Been cycling a lot,’ he said. ‘In France. Paris sends its love.’

  Since Emmet had also arrived for the weekend, the family party was complete. We enjoyed a convivial dinner, though I was aware of time passing: I had promised to meet Philip as soon after nine o’clock as I could manage.

  It was nearer half past nine before I could safely retire to my room, and then I had to wait to be sure no one was about before I crept down and let myself out by the side door. Late as I was for the rendezvous, our favourite place among the dunes was deserted, so I sat down to watch the sea and wait, growing ever more anxious as the minutes passed.

  Mild night breezes wafted tendrils of my hair, under a sky full of stars with the moon waxing towards harvest. Then: Kate! The call, rippling along my nerves, brought me to my feet expecting to see Philip nearby. But the dunes were empty, stretching away on either side, greyed by moonlight. Something drew my glance to the sea, where a figure stood knee-deep in the shallows, dark against the glitter of moonlit waves. Was it John? Was he wading towards me? A drift of cloud shut off the light and when the moon cleared again the apparition had gone. The night wind sighed about me, making me shiver. What was he trying to tell me? Some warning connected with Philip? Had something happened to—