Blue Moon (42 page)

Shot for desertion? Victor didn’t even die at the hands of the enemy, but was shot by a firing squad made up of his own countrymen. She had been poleaxed. For days she couldn’t function, and she was eventually sent to Graylingwell Hospital, which was doubling up as a military hospital at the time. The civilian patients were eventually moved on, but not before she had met a few injured soldiers walking in the grounds. It was then that she discovered the awful truth. Not only was her husband shot by the British Army, but the men who made up the firing squad were his own pals – the very men who had persuaded him to go to war in the first place. His greatest and most serious misdemeanour had been smashing up his rifle.

At first she was numb. That was followed by a rage so strong she felt as if she was drowning in it. Over the years it had settled down, only to become like the magma in a volcano – still there and hot, waiting for the moment when it was time to erupt and spew out hellfire and judgement.

Her son had grown up by the time she came out of
hospital in 1922. Everyone was thrilled when she ‘recovered’. Someone from Hastings had looked after the boy, and he was working. Her release came at the same time that the war memorial was unveiled in Alexandra Park by the Earl of Cavan. Other men would be honoured, but as a convicted man, her own darling would never be remembered. Although she hid it well, the anger she still felt convinced her that she was far from ‘cured’, and for nearly ten years she had done what was expected of her, even though the desire to dance on the graves of those who had taken her husband never went away. Jack Harris was the first. He’d been hit by a lorry but the others lived on.

When she got the job in Worthing she was elated. No one there knew her now. She had put on nearly four stone and her hair was white, but she could relive the memories of a happier time. A neighbour had persuaded her to visit Mrs Knight, but nothing ever happened in her seances. But then, when she least expected it, Victor had come to her. She still remembered the thrill when he’d spoken to her the first time.

Her son kept asking questions, of course. Checking up on her, he was. She didn’t want him hanging around, but he was a persistent little sod. She was glad in the end, as his ability to track people down came in useful. Some of the firing squad had died in the war and then, one by one, the accidents kept happening. She didn’t care, of course. Why should they have long and happy lives when Victor was in his grave?

Chipper Norton was next. Victor had told her what
to do. She’d been looking out for him for several days and when she overheard someone talking in the post office as she queued for a stamp, she was delighted. ‘Me and the wife are off to Portsmouth with Chipper Norton and his missus to celebrate. It’s a coach trip – very reasonable. You should come. There’s plenty of seats left.’

‘Umm,’ said the friend. ‘I might just do that. Which coach company is it?’

‘Southdown,’ said the friend.

In her position it was easy enough to take a day off work, so she had booked a ticket straight away. She’d spotted the friends booking up a trip around the harbour and had bought a ticket for that too. Chipper was leaning against the rail of the ship, looking out to sea. Little did he realize that the piece of rail doubled as the gate where they put up the gangplank. She would never have thought of the idea but, at Victor’s suggestion, she’d stood beside Chipper and released the catch. Of course she could never tell anyone what really happened, but as he cried out and fell, he would have seen her smile. It was so satisfying to watch him sink like a stone into the murky water, his raincoat billowing out and, as it took on water, sucking him under the waves. She’d held her breath as the rescue attempt got under way, but it was to no avail. Chipper was well and truly dead by the time they pulled him out, and when she told them that she’d seen him playing with the catch like Victor told her to, and how she’d warned him to be careful, they believed her.

Victor had planned Nelson’s demise very carefully. In common with other fishermen, he was very superstitious about having a woman on board. During a stroll or two along the seafront he’d pointed out that there was a tarpaulin at one end of Nelson’s boat, which covered the fishing gear. At the last minute she’d changed her mind and decided to go to his house with a knife, but she had been surprised to hear Victor’s voice as she waited in the shadows. She wasn’t really concentrating, but he’d spoken to her all right: ‘Go back to the beach, Freddie, and get into the boat.’

She’d had to run like the wind to get to the boat before Nelson did and hide herself, but she’d managed it. She heard later that Nelson and his son had fallen out that night. He was alone in the boat and, when she stood up with the white sheet over her head, he’d been so startled and terrified that he’d got himself tangled in his own nets, in the panic to get away, and toppled over the side. He might have managed to scramble back on board, but once he’d realized that she wasn’t a ghost, she’d panicked and pushed the weighted nets overboard with him. She was no sailor and had a bit of a job getting back to the shore, and had to abandon the boat a little way out. The water was terribly cold and the swim to shore almost finished her off, but the tide was coming in and she made it. When she got home, she wondered whether to tell their son everything, but something told her that she must keep her secret.

She’d had a stroke of luck when George Gore came to Nelson’s funeral. Once again, Victor told her what
to do but she’d had to follow George almost all the way back to his home before she got an opportunity. As luck would have it, the trains were delayed and, as they waited on the platform, she spotted someone with an open carriage door as the train pulled in. With Victor’s encouragement, a good push did the trick. They always screamed when it happened, and that gave her a headache, but afterwards, when she was resting and she heard her husband’s voice again, it was worth it.

Dispatching Linton Carver was easy. She’d been calling on him for months and nobody takes any notice of a middle-aged woman visiting a sick man in hospital. She just had to wait for Victor to tell her when. Then she’d heard the girls at work talking. ‘Roob reckons Percy is in the BUF head office. Her mum had a letter from a Colonel Blatchington, telling her so.’

She’d pricked up her ears. Blatchington was the officer in charge when they had killed her best beloved. True, the Blatchington the girls were talking about was a colonel, but after all these years he was bound to have been promoted. A decent sort of bloke, Victor had called him once; but what sort of decent bloke would stand by, ready to shoot a defenceless man in the head to make sure he was dead? She’d asked the girls a few questions and had discovered that Ruby’s wedding was being organized in haste. The stupid girl was probably pregnant. Ruby wouldn’t have much money to spare, so her offer to do the flowers free of change was gratefully received.

She’d deliberately made the child’s bridesmaid’s
bouquet far too big to give her an excuse to stay behind and have a look around Nelson’s house. Once alone there, she’d searched the drawers on the dresser, found a brown address book and, sure enough, Blatchington’s address was there. So was a letter in Linton’s own hand.

The letter was a revelation. Linton had been nothing if not thorough in his confession, and her hatred of them all burned with a passion. She’d heard most of it before. For some time she had been encouraging Linton to talk to her, playing the part of a sympathetic matron with a deeply held religious need to help her fellow men. To him, she’d been a gentle simpleton who dispensed tea and cake as he unburdened his soul. Through Linton she’d already found out about Nelson and George, but he’d never spoken about Blatchington; and Charlie Downs was a new one to her as well. She toyed with the idea of putting the letter on the fire, but in the end she couldn’t resist taking it with her. She’d heard someone try the door handle and froze. They’d all be coming back soon, and she had to leave. She’d been in the house for ages and there was no reason why she should still be there. Then a voice called through the wood, giving her no option but to open the door. Now she wished she hadn’t.

She picked up Victor’s photograph now and kissed the glass. ‘Darling, I’ve made a stupid mistake. Help me. Tell me what to do to make it right.’

CHAPTER 38

Rex took Bea and May to the beach. Not in Worthing, but to a secluded beach at Elmer Sands partway between Littlehampton and Bognor. The place had remained unspoiled until ten years before, when the farmer sold some land to people who had built a few weekend cottages. More recently he had sold more land to developers, who had expanded it and called it Elmer Sands Estate. A line of trees screened the new estate from Bailiffscourt, and roadways had been created. Building was slow, because of the chronic shortage of builders (so many having been killed during the war), and the houses themselves were simple. Heating them by paraffin stoves and using only pump water merely added to the rustic feel of the place.

‘My parents brought me here as a child,’ he told Bea as he unpacked the car.

He had certainly come prepared, with a picnic hamper from Warnes and two folding chairs.

‘Warnes …’ she remarked. ‘Last time you stayed at the Savoy.’

‘I fancied a change,’ he replied.

‘I left you a note at the Savoy.’

He stared at her in surprise. ‘A note?’

‘I went to see you last year, and they put a note in the safe for you.’

‘Oh, Bea, I’m sorry.’

‘What if I had been unable to come today?’ Bea laughed as he spread a plaid rug on the sand.

‘Then I should have had another very lonely Sunday,’ he said, straightening up and kissing her lips. ‘Right, young lady,’ he said to May, ‘you need a bucket and spade.’

There was a small kiosk nearby and, taking May by the hand, Rex walked her to it. She came back kitted out with everything she would need for a happy time: bucket, spade, shrimp net and even a tray to put her ‘catch’ in. He’d also bought her a sunhat and a windmill. May was beaming as if it was Christmas Day.

‘What do you say?’ Bea reminded her.

‘Thank you,’ said May dutifully and, as she headed towards the water’s edge, Rex sat down next to Bea.

‘You’ve been very generous to her,’ she smiled. ‘Of course, you do realize it was all a dastardly trick, just to get you alone,’ he said.

‘I would expect nothing less from a captain in the British Army,’ she replied coyly.

‘Ex-captain,’ he corrected her, ‘and I’m not sure I deserve such an accolade. When I was in office, I did something unforgivable.’

Bea glanced at him with a puzzled expression.

‘I seduced another man’s wife and fell hopelessly in love with her.’

‘She didn’t take much seducing,’ said Bea. ‘I have it
on good authority that she was already head-over-heels in love with you.’

He caught her hand and drew it to his lips. Bea watched as he kissed her fingers. ‘My poor darling. Was it awful?’

‘It wasn’t easy,’ she conceded, ‘but I still had the hope that we might be together one day. That’s what kept me going, but I never thought it would take this long.’

‘Eighteen years,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘I was cruel,’ she said. ‘I should never have made you promise to wait for me. I should have let you go and live your life. Please forgive me.’

‘Nothing to forgive,’ he protested. ‘I would have waited anyway.

‘Nelson never let me forget what we did. After he knew I was pregnant with Ruby, he didn’t touch me.’

Rex looked out to sea, where May was crouched over a rockpool. ‘But you went back to him in the end?’

‘Remember when we bumped into you?’ said Bea quietly. ‘We were in Hastings visiting friends, and we saw you going into someone’s house – a patient, I suppose. You had your doctor’s bag.’

‘I remember.’

She shook her head sadly. ‘Nelson must have seen something in my eyes – my reaction to you … I don’t know. I tried to laugh it off, pretend it never happened, but he was so angry.’

‘So May …?’

She looked down at her lap. ‘Nelson was a big man. That night he forced me. It was easy enough.’

He seized her hand. ‘Oh, my poor darling …’

Bea looked up at him and he saw the tears standing in her eyes. ‘She doesn’t know,’ she said deliberately, ‘and she must
never
know. I love my daughter, Rex. It’s not her fault.’

He nodded and looked back at the little girl playing in the rockpools. ‘Your secret is safe with me, but I hate the thought of what he did to you,’ he said brokenly.

Bea reached for his hand. ‘You mustn’t dwell on it, my love,’ she soothed. ‘It’s all in the past now. You’re here, and you still love me. That’s all I want in life.’

‘How can you brush it aside so easily?’

‘I saw what holding onto a hurt did to Nelson,’ she said, ‘so I made up my mind to forgive him. It wasn’t easy, but it released me from him. Please don’t feel sorry for me. I’m no martyr. I made a choice to love you, and I made a choice to save my children from the workhouse. I made a deliberate decision not to hold anything against him. I don’t regret anything. Nelson only did it the once. He was insanely jealous, and yet he hated me for trapping him into marriage. I’d made up my mind to leave him, once May was old enough to fend for herself. But although he never hurt her, I was too afraid to take the risk.’

A far-away child’s voice called, ‘Mummy, come and look at this.’

They both stood up. ‘How did he come to die?’

‘Ruby and I think he was murdered.’

‘Murdered?’ Rex gasped.

‘Mummy … look!’

Bea was pulling her shoes off. She put her finger to
her lips. ‘I’ll tell you later.’ Then, calling to May, she said, ‘Coming, darling. Have you caught something nice?’