Sunshine Spirit

by Barbara Willis

  Jane, stunned, didn't move or speak. When at last she processed the words, she wondered whether she had even breathed during the revelation and the ensuing silence.

  Mrs Cartlyn was intimidating and sure. Jane had always known there was more; but she'd suspected softness and warmth beneath the harsh and spiky exterior not secrecy and an almost masculine power. She was lost for words.

  'Jane.' Her named was spoken. 'Jane.' She took a few moments to shake off the surprise, the complete bewilderment, which had settled on her before she could respond. 'Jane, would you like a drink? You look a little pale.' Softness? Not sure. But humanity? Yes. Jane shook her head at the offer.

  'No, thank you Mrs Cartlyn. I'm just a little, just a little…'

  'Stunned? Shocked? Scandalised?' Mrs Cartlyn almost smiled. 'It's a sorry fact but also, conversely, a useful one that when one sees an old woman (or indeed an old man) they don't see their story, suspect their history or acknowledge their past youth. They don't see a strong young woman carrying babies or working like a Trojan, they don't picture a handsome and virile young man fighting for his country or his family. We were all young once Jane. Everyone has a story to tell and some will surprise. Dare I say it, a few might inspire or even revile but we all have a story.'

  'Mrs Cartlyn, I don't mean to offend by my surprise.' Jane offered diplomacy, fearing her shock may have caused affront. She had believed without question that only three people knew of the arrangement between Hugh and Will, but just as astonishing were Mrs Cartlyn's own subtle but shattering revelations.

  'Jane, I'm not at all offended,' she said smiling. 'Your wonderment is reassuring. The fact is the provision of anonymity from one's past is a blessing.' She straightened in her chair. 'Anyway, explanation over; that's as much as you'll get so don't ask any questions. Do not poke this tree for fruit.'

  'I'm sorry, I'm completely lost Mrs Cartlyn.'

  'Don't be sorry Jane. Only apologise when you've done something wrong. My disclosure serves only to provide you with some reassurance and add credence to my words. You're not alone, Jane, and you need help; both you and Mr Batten. Hugh has put the pair of you in an untenable position.' Of all the things Mrs Cartlyn had disclosed, exposed and confided, this Jane did understand. 'I can help Jane.'

  'I'm sorry but I don't see how Mrs Cartlyn.' The woman clearly knew what was going on, or at least had as much idea as Jane, so there was no point in trying to lead her gently away from it. And despite Will's pleading, now that she had stumbled across someone who seemed aware of Will's folly (and someone, thankfully, who Jane liked and trusted) she felt relief and camaraderie. 'I don't wish to be rude, but fear that's how this will come across; why would you want to help?'

  Jane thought maybe Mrs Cartlyn would cite a soft spot, religion, boredom, lack of her own family, altruism, humanity…

  'It's a favour to an old friend of mine; Dora Cavendish.'

  Jane was glad she was sitting down.

  The old woman looked almost pleased with herself to have dropped such a revelation and watched Jane's reaction.

  'My Mrs Cavendish?'

  'Your Mrs Cavendish.'

  Mrs Cartlyn waited.

  'How?'

  'Jane, I've known Dora Cavendish for many years; longer than I knew my husband. We lost touch a long time ago, but she contacted me before she left London. She asked me to keep an eye out for you in the absence of anyone else to ask. She could never have guessed I would do any more than note your safety and report to her that all was well with you and your former housemates. I think she wanted a spy in the city, to keep tabs on you and her other ex-lodgers. As it turns out, her request couldn't have been more intuitive could it?'

  'That does sound like Mrs Cavendish. Can I ask how you know each other?'

  'No, you may not.' Mrs Cartlyn saw Jane's face drop, so added 'We were in a similar line of work when we were girls. I owed her a favour or two.' Jane's questions ran into hundreds sprouting from how different the two women seemed and how the paths of their lives, their fortunes, had clearly been so conflicting. 'What's the strongest part of a tree Jane?' Jane was sure that she visibly jumped at the strange question.

  'The trunk.'

  Mrs Cartlyn shook her head. 'What holds the trunk up?'

  'The roots?'

  This time Mrs Cartlyn nodded. The analogy wasn't lost on Jane. Mrs Cartlyn knew Jane understood. 'You don't always see what shapes someone Jane, or what bolsters them, or what holds them up, or holds them back. As I said, everyone has a story.' Jane certainly knew that, after the last few minutes. 'Enough idle gossip now. I know what I know and that's that. Now, down to business.' Mrs Cartlyn straightened in her chair. 'Jane, the best thing that you and Mr Batten can do right now is leave the city.' As Mrs Cartlyn was talking she turned to a small walnut side table against the wall and pulled open a small drawer. She withdrew some keys and turned back to Jane, still talking. 'I have property and I have a house that's empty. It's at your disposal. A lady called Mrs Grey keeps an eye on it for me and I've telephoned her to say there may be visitors shortly.' Jane's addled brain struggled to grasp the last few strands of convention, trying to hold on to anything ordinary. Mrs Cartlyn said nothing, appreciating the plight of the poor girl that she was surprised to have a fondness for; Jane, in turn, was one of the few people in many years who had crossed the old lady's path and not found it stony and hard.

  Moments passed with Mrs Cartlyn's hand outstretched in offering, holding the keys out to Jane. Eventually Jane's own hand slowly reached forward to take the proffered items. As she did so, Mrs Cartlyn spoke again. 'Mrs Grey will make up the beds and so forth and give the place an airing. She'll stock up the logs and put a few things in the pantry. The place is always fresh and clean, ready for visitors.'

  'It's very kind of you Mrs Cartlyn, but I really don't think it's necessary.' Mrs Cartlyn's hand rose to silence the younger woman.

  'Oh it is Jane, trust me.'

  'But I'm sure it will all be sorted out. It's just a case of mistaken identity. Intentionally mistaken at first, I agree, but I'm sure the continued confusion can all be ironed out.'

  'That is exactly the point Jane; mistaken identity, yes, but guided mistaken identity.' The woman's voice was firm. 'Mr Batten was supposed to be mistaken for Hugh; one really can't just turn off the fact that certain people think he is someone else. Hugh is an honourable and decent man, whatever doubts you may have had considering his recent arrangement with your beau.' Jane's secret self jumped at the term Mrs Cartlyn used to describe Will. 'However, his country and his duty come above all. Even above daily honour and decency. He's exposed your Mr Batten to some danger. Until the situation is resolved, one way or another, you both have to be somewhere else. It isn't a case of just telling someone they've made a mistake.'

  Jane looked directly into Mrs Cartlyn's eyes to find sincerity, competence and command.

  The decision was made.

  'That's ridiculous Jane.' Came Will's categorical response that evening. Jane looked around to see if anyone else out for a stroll in the early evening might have heard Will's firm, and rather louder than normal, voice.

  'Why is it? Why is it Will?'

  'Jane, if I leave I have no job. No job means no money. No money means nothing more to send to Jack and Maggie. Not to mention nothing to live on.' He closed his eyes then, sighing, opened them. 'I trust your judgement Jane, and your faith in the old lady, but I need to stay. I'd like you to go though. As I've said before I'd feel happier if you weren't here while I sort this mess out. If you won't go to your mum's, go to Mrs Cartlyn's place.'

  Jane shook her head. 'I'm not going on my own. We go together or not at all.' Will took Jane's hands and kissed her cheek.

  'What a bloody mess eh?'

  'Will, please. Mrs Cartlyn said you're safe while Hugh's away. That's why I've not seen him and, unbeknown to us, why there's been no danger. They know he's not here, but once he's back they'll be back. Whoever they are. He's due back tomorrow Will and
you have to be gone before then.'

  'Look Sunshine, I really think your old lady has blown this out of proportion no matter how good her intentions are. Maybe she does have a mysterious past, or her husband did, or they both did, I don't know. But have you thought that maybe Hugh's just in trouble with someone, gambling or a woman probably.' He smiled cheekily. 'As soon as he pays his debt, monetary or otherwise, things'll be fine.'

  Jane withdrew her hands from Will's sharply to emphasise her mood. 'Unless it's you who ends up paying his debt.'

  'Maybe the beating was the debt paid; angry husband appeased. Maybe your faith in Mrs Cartlyn is misplaced.'

  'Will, we're going round in circles. I thought you trusted my judgement. I can't put my finger on it, but I trust her. She knows so much more about Hugh than she'll say. I think you're wrong; I think Hugh is involved with something big and secretive, national security or something. And I don't think he would have risked your life for anything so minor as appeasing a jealous husband.'

  The seriousness seemed lost on Will; after his initial fear for Jane immediately following the accident he seemed to have calmed and put everything into his own perspective, but his perspective didn't match Jane's.

  Will again grabbed Jane's hand in one of his and wrapped his arm around her waist. Spinning her round he started to hum Waldteufel's Skaters' Waltz.

  'Come on Sunshine, lighten up. Dance with me, come on.' Jane couldn't help but let herself be whirled around as the dark mood clouds above her dissolved to make way for blue sky and sunshine. A few people smiled as they walked past the dancing duo, and went on their way in a brighter disposition. When the dancing was finished, Will walked Jane home.

  Despite the warmth of the waltzing, their goodbye was different. Will was jovial and sweet, while Jane was quiet and a little curt. As the door closed behind her Jane sighed and closed her eyes for a moment before her feet led her up the stairs. Before she turned at the top there was a knock at the front door. It could only be Will in that short space of time so she turned back, calling to her landlady that she'd answer it.

  Jane opened the door to find Will leaning against the doorjamb and smiling apologetically.

  'Fancy going to the pictures tomorrow night?' Jane sighed inwardly at his complete lack of absorption of their earlier conversation. She wasn't sure if he'd consciously dismissed it or denied it had even taken place. He seemed intent on carrying on as if the suspicious accident, the beating and Mrs Cartlyn's warning were imaginary. 'Come on, it'll be nice,' he prompted at Jane's silence. He tilted Jane's chin up with his finger and flippantly enticed with a raise of the eyebrows, 'You can ride on the sloper,' he cooed, jesting about the ancient bike. In the absence of the battered Sunbeam, now languishing in a barn, Mr Hall had re-commissioned an almost twenty year old motorcycle. It had waited patiently at the farm, rarely used but kept in acceptable working order 'just in case'. In fact, it was the very vehicle on which Will had learned to ride, nicknamed for the angle at which the petrol tank sloped. 'Please. For me.' Will smiled the most disarming smile in the world, assuring Jane's immediate submission. She nodded despite wanting to reprimand him. 'Good stuff. We'll see The Philadelphia Story.' Then he added in his best James Stewart voice 'I'll pick you up at 6.30.'

  The girls harboured concern and anger in equal measure and weren't afraid to say how they felt, although each favoured a different approach to the problem, dilemma, crisis.

  All three girls had been delighted to learn of Jane's burgeoning romance. Jane knew they'd like Will but was still relieved when each confirmed the fact. They all warmed to him immediately and maybe even felt the secret presence of a tiny wish that they were Jane. They all knew that Will was very special to Jane and could see, without question, that he felt the same towards her. On the occasions that they met him, there was no feeling of 'odd one out' or of him being an interloper to their tightly formed group; he was an extension of that unit and was welcomed happily by Dorothy, Aggie and Florence.

  When Jane said she needed to speak with the girls, Dorothy foretold a rushed union, Aggie predicted new life and Florence prophesied Jane leaving the city.

  Instead of all these forecasts, each aptly connected to Will, they were instead told that someone was trying to kill him or at least kill the man they thought he was. The whole idea seemed more than ridiculous, until Jane's face told them otherwise.

  'I'd go to the police or the war office, or something. Someone must be able to help. Isn't that their job?'

  Florence shook her head at Dorothy's suggestion. 'No Dorothy. That's no good. If it's top secret they'll deny any knowledge. One man's death is a by-product. No, Jane, you need to fight fire with fire. Don't ask me how yet; I'm still working on that one.'

  It was Aggie's turn to put forward a proposal. 'Jane, can't you two run away?' The picture of fleeing lovers lit a small fire in Aggie's romantic eyes, although this was quickly extinguished by a good dousing of concern. 'Although I don't know how or where.' She frowned, aware that the holes in her daydream were big enough for the lovers to fall through and land flat on their faces at the feet of reality.

  Jane found herself smiling despite the horrors in her head. She should have confided in her friends straight away and now felt guilty that she hadn't. However, their warm unflinching friendship rinsed through her guilt. She should have known the girls better. Despite their dispersal after the demise of Alderney Street, the girls now closed ranks around their friend.

  Jane let out a long sigh as she thought of their approaches to her problem and replied to each one.

  'There's no-one to turn to Dorothy; not in any official capacity anyway. I already broached that with, well, with someone. What they didn't say gave me the answers they wouldn't say. It's all like something from a spy novel. And Florence we can't fight these people, mentally or otherwise. Believe me, I've run over every scenario a hundred times. If we knew who it was, could we tell them they have the wrong man? No. And even if we knew who or where they are, I can't imagine booking an appointment and there being a friendly chat over a cup of tea with them accepting the explanation and apologising for their error.' Jane turned to Aggie and smiled. 'And we had the chance to run away Aggie. Mrs Cartlyn gave us the keys to a home that she owns but we're still here.'

  'Hang on. Hang on. Back pedal please. Mrs Cartlyn from the Grandchester?' Aggie asked as all the girls, surprised, waited for Jane's answer.

  'Yes. She's a very wise lady with a well hidden gentle streak.' Florence half huffed, half snorted at the kindness in Jane's words.

  'Well I thought she was scary, but you know best,' Aggie added.

  'Yes, on this subject I do. I know when I've told you bits about the Grandchester guests before I've probably painted her as a bit of a dragon and, yes, she might seem remote and harsh at times but really she's not. Anyway, regarding her house, Will refused to go.'

  'And just why did she offer you her house? How would she know you needed one?' Florence's interest had been poked. Jane looked at each of the girls, all waiting.

  'Alright, here goes. Mrs Cartlyn has contacts and pointed out the seriousness of Will's situation. She's being kind to me.' Jane hoped that explanation would invite no more questions, but added. 'And that's all I know so don't ask me anymore. Please.'

  The girls were all silent until Dorothy spoke. 'Why is it that wars need to be fought? I mean, I know the politics and all that, but why are so many innocent lives taken, or broken, or changed forever? We tell children not to fight, to sort things out like grown-ups. But that's just what grown-ups do, they fight.'

  No one moved until Florence, fiery, theatrical, red head tapped her cigarette on the edge of the ash tray. 'It seems to me girls that the solution to Jane's problem is simple.' The other three all watched her expectantly but Florence's eyes remained on the ashtray. 'Someone needs to kill the real Hugh Callaghan.' And she bent the stub in two as the cigarette snuffed itself out right on cue, adding dramatic emphasis to her joke. Then she raised her eyes to Jan
e's to show that no glint of mischief or mirth was behind them.

  Her joke was unveiled as a suggestion.

  After a weighty silence which went on for much too long, all the others spoke at once. That's ridiculous. You're joking. You're mad. That's absurd. Leave the theatrics at the theatre. You're being no help whatsoever. There was head shaking and tutting and other demonstrations of horror, dismay and dismissal. Florence said nothing and the silence returned as all the girls looked at each other, waiting for someone else to speak. In the end it was Dorothy; she spoke calmly and quietly.

  'Well, without wishing harm on the man it may well happen anyway. These people have been targeting Will, thinking he's Hugh. I would guess that it's only a matter of time before they get the right man and Hugh gets what they've been trying to give Will. Hugh obviously knows the risks in his…line of work. So maybe, you know, maybe that's his…well, his destiny, or at least a possibility he's accepted. Will just needs to lie low. Once Hugh's gone, Will's free.'

  There was another brief silence as all the girls thought about this.

  'But what if they murder the wrong man?' Jane's words cut through any thoughts of a positive outcome. And the word murder was used for the first time. 'They've been pretty useless at getting the right man so far.'

  Florence had been quiet since throwing her suggestion into the air, and had been calmly thinking it through. 'Or maybe they just don't know the right places to look.'

  'Are you suggesting that they should be told where to look?' Aggie's distaste of Florence's ideas left a sour burn on her tongue as she wrapped words around it in disbelief. 'That's as bad as doing the job yourself Florence,' she gasped 'you'd have a man's blood on your hands just the same.' She reached her hand to cover Florence's and almost begged, 'You're not really saying that we should hand him over are you?'