Escape by Moonlight (8 page)

‘I wish I knew where she was. I’d go and find her. Haven’t you any idea where she might have gone?’

‘No, and d’you think she’d want you? She could have took you with her but she didn’t, did she?’

This was a truth that hurt. ‘Are you turning me out?’

‘I’m tellin’ you to marry Frank Lambert. He’s right keen to have you. You’ll be all right with him. His mother’s cottage will come to him and he’s got a safe job. They won’t call him up.’

‘I don’t care if they do. I am not marrying him and you can’t make me.’

‘No, but he can make it so you dussn’t say no.’

Frank had already tried that, but she decided not to tell him so because he would want to know how she had escaped and she wouldn’t tell him about Jack.

She stood up wearily. ‘I’d better dish up your dinner.’

He ate it and left again, no doubt to tell his new lady-love that he had broken the news. He had not returned by the time she went to bed. She had been miserable enough before he came home, but now she was in the depths of despair.
She crossed to the window. From where she stood she could see the crossing gate and the signal box and, across the line, the dark outline of Nayton wood. Beyond it, though she could not see through the trees, was Nayton Manor. Jack would be there, perhaps with his family, perhaps alone in his room touching up the painting that would not now be finished. She must let him know she couldn’t meet him again and, more importantly, she must decide what she was going to do.

Jack sat at the table in his room, studying the portrait. It was coming along better now. Lucy’s soft, dreamy expression was there in the mouth and eyes and her lovely figure, with the shawl carelessly thrown over her shoulder, hiding very little, hinted at pleasures to come. He had been looking forward to today’s session, hoping that he might persuade her to allow more than a few chaste kisses, but that miserable cur, Frank Lambert, had spoilt it. For two pins he’d have beaten the living daylights out of him when all the man had been doing was something Jack himself had in mind, though not so brutally. But it was funny how rescuing her had changed how he felt about her. He found himself being touchingly protective, wanting to cherish her, to make her feel safe. He was becoming too soft for his own good.

He was unsettled, fidgety, and it was all to do with the war. Many of the young men in the village had already enlisted in one or other of the armed forces. Amy had overcome their father’s objections and was training to be a nurse and Elizabeth appeared to be running the farm in Dransville single-handedly. He ought to be doing his bit. Working in the drawing office of the de Lacey
engineering factory, even though it was working flat out making engine parts, was boring and not enough. He’d be called up sooner or later anyway, so he might as well volunteer. If he did that, he could put Lucy from his mind. He looked at the picture and sighed. Pity, but there it was.

He was walking to the station early the following morning, intending to put in a token appearance at the office and then go to the recruiting office. He expected to see Lucy on the platform or manning the gates when he would tell her of his intention to join up and not finish the portrait. He was forming the words in his head, something about winter setting in and it being too cold now, when he met her hurrying towards him. She was wrapped up in a plain wool coat with a headscarf covering her hair. Her head was hunched in her shoulders, her eyes were looking at the ground.

‘Lucy, where are you off to at this time of the morning?’ he asked. ‘The eight o’clock train is due any minute. I thought I’d see you at the station.’

She looked up startled. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ Her eyes were swollen and red from weeping.

‘What’s the matter?’ He stopped in front of her, making her stop too. ‘Has Lambert been bothering you again?’

‘No.’

‘What then?’

‘Don’t ask me, Jack, please. I was going to the cottage to leave a note to tell you I wouldn’t be able to see you again.’ Tears were very near the surface and she choked them back.

The fact that he had come to the same conclusion went out of his head in the face of her distress. He took her arm
and guided her off the road into the shelter of the trees. ‘Why? Has your father found out and forbidden it?’

‘No, it’s not that. I’ve got to go away.’

‘Go away? Why? Where to? When?’

She sniffed and tried to smile. ‘Questions, questions …’

‘I want answers. Something is very wrong, that’s obvious. Come on, Lucy, out with it. You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word to a soul, but I might be able to help.’

‘You can’t.’

‘I’m not letting you go until you tell me.’ He took her shoulders in his hands and noticed her wince. ‘Are you hurt?’ He undid the top button of her coat and pushed her blouse off her shoulder. ‘You’re black and blue. Is that why you’ve been crying?’

‘No, course not. What’s a bruise now and again? I’ve had plenty of those.’

Did she mean her father? He pulled her clothes back in place and buttoned the coat again. ‘But it is something to do with Frank Lambert?’

‘Pa says I’ve got to marry him.’

‘Of course you haven’t got to marry him, that’s nonsense. You don’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to.’

‘Pa wants to marry again and he says there’s no room for two women in the house.’

‘God! I can’t believe any man would do that to his own daughter. Whatever is he thinking of?’

‘He says …’ She stopped and gulped. ‘No, I can’t tell you …’

‘Go on. You’ve got this far.’

‘He says I’m not his daughter.’

He whistled. ‘Do you believe that?’

‘I don’t know what to believe. He told me he couldn’t have children on account of his war wound and Mum had been unfaithful to him, but he decided to bring me up anyway. Now he’s turned on me.’ The tears, so near the surface, spilt over and ran down her cheeks. ‘If only I could find my mother …’

‘You mean she’s alive? I always assumed …’

‘She left when I was nine. He says he doesn’t know where she went and he’s going to have her declared dead so he can marry again.’

‘Oh, my poor, poor darling.’ He took her into his arms and held her close. ‘We’ll think of something. You’re not marrying that lout just to please your father.’

‘But it’s nothing to do with you.’

‘Did you think I would abandon you, just because—’ He stopped. He knew exactly what it was like to be a bastard; it coloured a lot of what he did, how he felt, and his heart went out to her, making him feel more protective than ever. ‘Where were you planning on going?’

‘I don’t know. I’ll have to find a job.’

‘On the railways?’

‘I thought of that but it would be easy for Pa or Frank to find me if I did that. I could work in a factory, but then I’d have to find somewhere to live as well and I haven’t got any money. Oh, Jack, it’s all such a muddle. Perhaps I’d be better marrying Frank …’

‘Over my dead body!’

‘What can you do?’

‘Quite a lot. I can find you a job and somewhere to live. Leave it to me.’

‘Could you?’ Her eyes brightened through her tears. ‘Would you?’

‘Yes. Can you bear to stay at home until I’ve arranged it?’

‘Yes. Pa thinks I’ll give in.’

‘Then let him think it. I was going into Norwich today. I’ll scout around while I’m there and let you know. Come, let’s go back to the station. I don’t want to miss my train.’

‘You go. I’ll follow when the train’s gone and shut the gates again.’

‘Cheer up, all is not lost.’ He dropped a kiss on her forehead and left her.

It wasn’t until he was sitting on the train and it was drawing away from Nayton, that he asked himself why he was bothering with her and the answer was that he didn’t know, except he felt sorry for her. He was a bastard himself but he had been fortunate that his mother had married Lord de Lacey and he had enjoyed a privileged upbringing. How much worse it must be for Lucy Storey living with that sour old man, knowing her mother had abandoned her. He’d get her a job and find her some clean lodgings. He brightened suddenly. He’d be able to finish the portrait after all, indoors where it was warm.

On the surface, Dransville was as peaceful as ever. Everyone was trying to carry on with their usual occupations, looking after their livestock, making butter and cheese as they always had and, notwithstanding they were at war, the people at the local hotels were getting ready for the winter season and the visitors they hoped would still come to take advantage of the skiing.

Elizabeth had fully recovered and was learning a lot about the work on the farm. She found herself milking cows and goats, making butter and cheese, collecting eggs, getting in hay for the winter feed, mending hinges,
replacing windows, clearing out gutters, digging up potatoes and cutting cabbages. She had even overcome her squeamishness enough to wring the neck of a chicken now and again for Grandmère to cook for dinner. And she had shot a rabbit with Grandpère’s shotgun which had made a tasty meal. She had learnt to shoot on her father’s estate and realised if food became scarce it was a skill which might come in useful.

Grandpère was recovering slowly but he couldn’t walk properly and his speech, though still slurred, was improving. She would wheel him out to the yard in a bath chair so that he could see what was going on and make sure she did things the way he liked, but when the weather became very cold, he preferred to stay in the warmth of the kitchen. If it wasn’t for the ever-present shadow of the war and everybody making their own guesses about when and where something would start to happen, Elizabeth would have been as happy as a sandboy.

Russia had invaded Finland but that was too far away to bother them and Hitler seemed reluctant to attack the west. The weather wasn’t in his favour. By early December it was already exceptionally cold. Everywhere was frozen, even the canals and rivers, which hampered the movement of supplies and equipment on both sides. The ground was frozen so hard the troops found it impossible to dig the trenches and defensive works on the border with Belgium which had been ongoing ever since the BEF arrived in France. Everyone was fed up with the situation and called it the Bore War, but some, who had been in France since September, were cheered by the news that they would be granted leave to spend Christmas with their families. Max decided to go to Dransville.

He found Elizabeth in the cowshed, her head in the flank of a cow, her fingers skilfully easing the milk into a pail. ‘Your grandmother said I’d find you here.’

The sound of his voice made her whirl round on her stool. ‘Max!’ She abandoned the cow to stand up and hug him. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I had a spot of leave and thought I’d spend Christmas with you. That’s if you’ll have me.’

‘Of course we’ll have you. It’s a wonderful surprise.’ A swish of the cow’s tail reminded her she had an unfinished job to do. ‘I must finish the milking. Go indoors and I’ll be with you in two shakes.’

‘I’ll stay and watch.’ He released her reluctantly and she went back to the cow. He stood leaning against the byre door, smiling at the sight of her. She was dressed in a simple gathered skirt, a blouse and cardigan, topped by a sacking apron; her lovely hair was hidden beneath a headscarf. Her feet were encased in rubber boots. ‘Very rural, you look.’

She laughed. ‘If I’d known you were coming, I’d have dressed up.’

‘I didn’t know myself until yesterday. I caught the first train out of Paris this morning.’

‘You must be hungry.’

‘Hungry for the sight of you.’

‘Give over.’ She laughed as she emptied the milk into a churn and took the pail out to the trough to wash it before taking it indoors to be properly scrubbed. Then she took his arm and led him into the kitchen.

It was warm inside. Grandmère was busy cooking. Food was already becoming scarce, but they were almost self-sufficient on the farm and there would be no problem
with the Christmas dinner. There was a stuffed goose on a shelf in the larder ready to be put into the oven first thing the next morning.

‘What news of the war?’ Albert asked from his chair by the hearth after Max had taken off his cap and greatcoat and taken a seat opposite him.

‘No news at all. A few skirmishes, a few patrols to see what the other side is up to, but that’s all. The French troops are calling it La Drôle de Guerre.’

‘Hitler’s afraid to take us on,’ the old man said. The arrival of Max and someone different to talk to seemed to stimulate him to speak more clearly.

‘Seems like it,’ Max said. ‘But the weather isn’t helping him. Nor us either, come to that. It’s why some of us have been granted leave.’

Elizabeth perched herself on the arm of Max’s chair. ‘Why didn’t you go home to England?’

‘What for?’ He put his arm about her waist. ‘You’re here and that’s where I want to be. My sister is busy looking after her own family and, besides, if I went back to Scotland, half my leave would have been spent travelling.’

‘We’re glad to have you,’ Grandmère said. ‘Justine is coming later today and Pierre and Jeanne and the boys tomorrow, so we’ll have a good party and forget the war for a little while.’

‘Wish we could,’ Albert put in. ‘We don’t know how long Henri and Philippe will avoid call-up, and if they have to go, how’s Pierre going to manage? I can’t help him.’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Perhaps the war will end sooner than we think.’

‘Have you thought any more about going home, Liz?’ Max asked her.

‘I won’t go while I’m needed here. And I can’t see there’s any danger staying. Hitler seems to think he can win the war at sea and Haute Savoie is a long way from the sea.’

Max laughed at her naivety, but he wouldn’t disillusion her. ‘At least while I’m in France I’ll be closer to you, though if anything bad happened I’m not sure what I could do.’

The conversation was being conducted in French and though Max’s accent was most decidedly English, he was able to hold his end up much better than he had on his previous visit. ‘Your French has improved no end,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Have you been taking lessons?’

He laughed. ‘I’ve been working alongside French troops for three months, some of it’s bound to have rubbed off. I only hope I haven’t learnt bad habits.’