Annie shifted on the bed. Turning a tear-stained face up to her mother she thrust a bundle of letters at her. ‘Read these. Take them down to the kitchen and when you’ve read them make him read them. When you’ve both done you can come back up here and tell me that what he’s done is for the best. Until then, I just want to be left alone.’
Chapter 34
When Walter returned to the house later that evening there was no smell of cooking in the air. He entered the kitchen and found Harriet huddled on a chair beside the window. Five letters were scattered on the table beside her.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded. ‘Have I upset everyone so much I’m to be starved?’
When Harriet looked up, her eyes were red-rimmed and watery. ‘I’m sorry, Walter, I just didn’t feel like cooking. Sit down and get warmed up. I’ll put a pasty in the oven and make up the fire - it won’t take long.’
Pointing to the sheets of paper on the table, he asked, ‘Are those Annie’s letters?’
Harriet nodded, unhappily. ‘She wanted us to read them. I already have. You can look at them while you’re waiting for your supper. In the meantime. I’ll make you a cup of tea.’
‘I don’t want to read no letters from that young man!’ Walter spoke emphatically. ‘He’s caused enough trouble in this house. Anyway, he’s gone away now. The best thing we can all do is forget about him.’
Harriet shook her head. ‘I doubt we’ve heard the last of him, Walter. As for causing trouble in the house - I think it’s us who’ve done that. Annie certainly thinks so and I’m inclined to agree with her.’
It seemed Walter would continue the argument, but Harriet said, ‘Just read the letters before you say any more. We’ll do any talking that’s needed afterwards.’
Walter’s education had been minimal and he was a very slow reader. He had not completed the first letter by the time a cup of tea was placed on the table in front of him. The tea was still untouched when he finished reading the last.
For some minutes he remained silent, seated with the fingers of his hands locked together on the table in front of him, chin sunk on his chest.
The letters had been an outpouring of Perys’s happiness that Annie had given him a half-promise that she would wait for him. The happiness had changed to concern when he received no reply to any of his letters. The final letter had informed her of his intended visit to Heligan. In this, Perys had spoken of all the arguments that might be used to prevent them from marrying. They were the very arguments that Walter - and Harriet, too - had used to try to convince Annie that nothing could ever result from their relationship.
In this letter Perys had written at some length of the fact that he would never be fully accepted by the family whose name he bore. Because of this he believed his future lay in his own hands. He told her that for the first time in his life he had felt comfortable - at Tregassick Farm, with Annie and her parents.
Finally, Perys had asked Annie if she would consider making the arrangement between them more permanent and public. If she agreed, he would tell his family that he intended marrying Annie as soon as he reached an age when their consent would not be needed. He was aware he was able to offer her little in the way of security immediately, but he felt certain there would be a commercial use for his skills as a pilot once the war was over. He was also convinced they could be very happy together.
It was apparent to anyone reading the letter that it was from a sincere and honest young man who genuinely loved Annie.
Walter Bray did not doubt Perys’s sincerity. Nevertheless, when he spoke, it was to say, ‘He’s too young to know his own mind, Harriet. Why, he’s hardly out of school!’
‘And how old were you when you asked me to marry you, Walter?’ Harriet retorted. ‘He’s old enough to pilot an aeroplane and fight for his country. Not only that, he’s willing to tell the world how he feels about our Annie. That’s why he came to Heligan, all the way from London.’
Walter fell silent again for a long time before saying, ‘Our Annie . . . does she feel the same way about him?’
‘You don’t need me to give you an answer to that question, Walter. Of course she does. That’s what all this fuss is about.’
‘What of Jimmy? He’ll have to be told.’
Tight-lipped, Harriet shook her head. ‘That’s where our interference has caused the biggest problem of all. Annie doesn’t love Jimmy, but she likes him well enough. He’s gone off to France to fight in this war thinking he’s left a girl back home who’ll marry him when he returns. Our Annie won’t disillusion him while he’s out there fighting and likely risking his life every day. She says she’ll wait until he comes back and she’s able to explain it to him face-to-face. I admire her for that, Walter. It makes me very proud of our daughter. Far more proud than I am of you right now for getting her into this mess in the first place.’
Walter was upset, both by his wife’s words and by what he had read in the letter from Perys. ‘What if I go and speak to Jimmy’s folk? Tell them what I’ve done and how she really feels about things?’
Harriet shook her head. ‘We’ve interfered quite enough in our daughter’s future.’ Heaving a big sigh, she added, ‘We’re living in the past, you and I, Walter. When we were Annie’s age we did what our parents told us. They ordered our lives in a way that isn’t acceptable to the young people of today. We must leave this to Annie now. Leave her to do things her way. If she wants our help she’ll ask for it.’
‘And if she doesn’t?’ he asked.
Harriet shrugged. ‘If she doesn’t then we’ll need to stand back and bite our tongues.’
‘That isn’t going to be easy for me to do, Harriet. I care for her far too much.’
‘Be certain she knows that, then step back and leave her to make her own decisions about her life. She’ll make mistakes, as everyone does, no matter what their age, and they’ll hurt us quite as much as they do her. Yet if we interfere again and are proved as wrong as I believe we are over this affair, everyone will be hurt a whole lot more and we might lose our Annie for ever.’ Her expression softened and she gave her husband a sympathetic half-smile. ‘It’s going to be hard for both of us, but we have to accept that our Annie is not a young girl any more, Walter. She’s a woman.’
Chapter 35
For a number of days after his return to London, Perys found it difficult to settle at Maude’s Knightsbridge home. Aware that he was unhappy about something, Maude and her two daughters encouraged him to take part in their preparations for Christmas.
The two girls were still nursing, but France was experiencing atrocious weather, which meant that troops in the opposing armies now faced a common foe. Both were preoccupied with the problem of survival.
Spasmodic fighting still erupted along the network of opposing trenches which extended on a line almost six hundred kilometres long, but no major offensives were planned for the immediate future. As a result, the tidal wave of casualties which had threatened to overwhelm hospitals during the late autumn had slowed to a trickle. Morwenna, Arabella and their friends were able to resume a normal working routine once more.
This Christmas had assumed particular importance to Maude. Morwenna had told her of her acceptance by the Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service - the QUAIMNS - fully expecting her mother to be horrified. Instead, Maude told her daughter she was proud of her spirit and courage in wanting to work where she could most help wounded soldiers, regardless of the dangers she would face.
Maude was also determined that Perys should enjoy a memorable Christmas among relatives who cared for him.
Christmas morning was a busy time for the whole family. The two girls were on duty, and Maude and Perys went along to the hospitals where they worked, distributing cigarettes and chocolate to wounded soldiers, the comforts purchased by Maude at her own expense.
The family celebrations took place that evening and proved far more successful than Maude could have anticipated.
One reason was that Rupert shared the evening with them. He had telephoned the night before to ask if he might pay a fleeting visit to the family. He would be in London, prior to returning to his squadron in France on Boxing Day. He was delighted to accept Maude’s invitation to dinner.
It was a meal the family would share with the young trainee doctor with whom Arabella was currently infatuated. And Grace Ballard, Morwenna’s friend who had been Perys’s partner for their enjoyable evening out with Rupert, would also be with them.
Ian Cameron, the young doctor, was a rather shy man who was spending Christmas a long way from his Scottish home. He proved to be a talented pianist and provided much of the evening’s entertainment, occasionally accompanying Grace who possessed a fine voice.
It was during one of Grace’s songs that Morwenna and Rupert slipped quietly out of the room. Everyone pretended not to notice, but after they had been absent for some fifteen minutes or so, Maude excused herself from the company and she too left the room.
The others were aware she had gone in search of the young couple and Perys said, ‘Do you think we should try to find them and warn them?’
Amused by his concern, Grace smiled, ‘Would you know where to look?’
When Perys was forced to admit he would not, Grace added to his mild embarrassment by asking, ‘What do you think they are likely to be doing?’
‘I . . . I really don’t know,’ he confessed.
‘Well, I probably know Morwenna better than anyone else,’ Grace declared, ‘and whatever she and Rupert are doing, it will be nothing her mother need worry about. Quite the reverse, I would say.’
In spite of Grace’s confident assertion, as the minutes passed Perys became increasingly concerned. Then, some twenty minutes after Maude had left the room, she returned. With her were Rupert and Morwenna.
Calling for the attention of those already in the room, Maude said, ‘I must apologise for deserting you for so long, but when I tell you the reason, I am certain you will forgive me.’ She smiled at Morwenna and Rupert before continuing. ‘As I am quite sure you realised, I went off in search of Morwenna and Rupert. I found them in the conservatory. When I spoke to them I was very happy indeed that I had not disturbed them before. Rupert had just proposed to Morwenna.
She was interrupted by the congratulations bestowed on the couple by Arabella and the guests. When they had run their course, Maude continued, ‘Morwenna accepted his proposal, of course, but my approval was required before it could become an official engagement. Needless to say I am absolutely delighted to give them my whole-hearted blessing. Indeed, I am quite overcome. This is a truly memorable day. Perys, will you accompany me to the cellar. Such an occasion can only be celebrated with the help of the very best champagne.’
After offering Rupert and Morwenna his warmest congratulations, Perys followed Maude down some stairs to the cellar. Along the way she asked him, ‘Were you aware that Rupert was going to ask Morwenna to marry him, Perys?’
‘No,’ he replied truthfully, ‘but it comes as no great surprise. I have known for a long time how he felt about her.’
‘I have always hoped they might one day marry, but until recent months I was beginning to believe it was no more than a fond parent’s dream.’
Maude continued her happy chatter about the ‘realisation of a mother’s dream’ until they reached the cellar. She selected six bottles of vintage champagne, and with Perys carrying four bottles and Maude two, they returned upstairs.
As she put down her bottles and locked the cellar door behind her, Maude asked, ‘How are you getting on with Grace?’
‘She’s a very lovely girl,’ he replied honestly. ‘Great fun to be with and she’s dedicated to the work she does. In fact, just the sort of girl I would expect Morwenna to have for a best friend.’
‘Do you see her only as Morwenna’s best friend, Perys? Nothing more?’
The loss of Annie still hurt and Perys said, ‘I have to make my way in life before I can think seriously about becoming involved with anyone, Aunt Maude.’
‘Nonsense! You are still very young, of course, but so too is Morwenna. And you are a young man with considerable prospects. Your grandfather is a very wealthy man and you are his sole heir.’
Astonished by her words, Perys shook his head. ‘My mother was virtually disinherited when I was born, as I am sure you know. Grandfather has always made it quite clear that I am an embarrassment to him - someone to be kept out of sight and out of mind. Besides, there are a number of nieces and nephews on my grandmother’s side of the family who are much closer to them than I. No doubt they will be the beneficiaries of anything my grandparents have to leave.’
Maude gave Perys a sympathetic look. ‘Your grandfather is a stubborn and intractable man, Perys. The family were well aware of the attitude he had adopted towards you, but we were reluctant to interfere lest he cut you off completely. We were wrong. However, your grandfather - yes, and your grandmother too - are beginning to be aware that they face a lonely old age. I believe they regret not taking a greater interest in you in the past.’
With the door safely locked and the key tucked in a pocket, Maude smiled at him. ‘There, that is another happy thought for this very special Christmas.’
* * *
On the morning Perys was due to set off to report to the Royal Flying Corps training depot in Wiltshire, he had an early morning visitor. Grace arrived at the Tremaynes’ Knightsbridge home still wearing her nurse’s uniform. She had come direct from night duty at St Thomas’s Hospital.
When Perys expressed his surprise at seeing her, she explained, ‘I wanted to see you off and wish you good luck. I also wanted to give you this.’ Handing him a small, velvet-covered box, she said, ‘It’s a Saint Christopher medallion. He’s the patron saint of travellers. I hope he will keep you safe, always. I had it specially made for you.’
Opening the box, Perys saw a gold medallion on which was a scene showing the saint fording a river, carrying a child on his shoulders. Turning the medallion over, he saw his name engraved on the reverse.
‘This is beautiful, Grace, but you really shouldn’t have spent your money on me . . . it must have cost you the earth.’