Moonlight and Ashes (30 page)

‘I trusted you and now you’ve
totally
abused that trust,’ Eric stormed. ‘I told you quite clearly that this room was
out of bounds
, didn’t I? How
dare
you come in here! I
knew
I should never have agreed to take you in.’

Again Danny told him, ‘I’m s . . . sorry, sir. Really I am.’

They faced each other for some seconds until Eric’s shoulders suddenly stooped. ‘I’m deeply disappointed in you, though I dare say there’s no harm done,’ he finally muttered. ‘But I would ask you to keep quiet about what you’ve seen in here tonight. I don’t like all and sundry knowing my business.’

Danny’s head wagged furiously in agreement. ‘I won’t say a word to no one, honest I won’t. But did you
really
do all these?’

As he spread his hands to encompass the beautiful paintings that surrounded him, Eric reluctantly nodded. ‘Yes I did.’

Danny turned his attention to a picture of a ship in full sail on a choppy sea and sighed with admiration. Lifting his hand, he stroked it reverently. It was so lifelike that he could almost imagine he was on board; could feel the waves tossing him this way and that.

‘I’d do anythin’ to be able to paint like this,’ he breathed.

Eric came to stand beside him. ‘You could, one day, if you listen to what I tell you. You have a natural gift. I saw it in the first sketch you left lying about.’

‘They must be worth a small fortune,’ Danny said quietly. ‘Ain’t you ever thought of sellin’ any of ’em?’

Instantly, Eric’s face was hard again as he turned away. ‘I think it’s high time you were in bed now, don’t you?’

Danny scooted nervously past him but at the door he paused to look back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised contritely again, then he scuttled across the yard and up to his room where he lay in bed with the wonderful scenes Eric had created once again before his eyes.

 

Down in the village, Lizzie huddled in the outside privy, or the
ty-bach
as Mrs Evans called it, and listened to the furious row that was taking place in the cottage kitchen.

Earlier that evening, despite her protestations, Mrs Evans had cut Lizzie’s hair to shoulder-length. It would be easier to brush and to manage now, she had explained to the child as her curls fell to the floor in great long lengths. But Lizzie had an idea that it was more to do with the fact that she now looked more like the little girl in the picture that stood in pride of place on Mrs Evans’s mantelpiece.

Mr Evans had borne out her theory when he emerged from his sickbed to get a glass of water and stretch his legs. ‘Ah, Mother!’ he exclaimed in horror as he gazed at the shining tresses strewn about the floor. ‘Whatever possessed you to do this? The child’s mother will not be pleased that you’ve done this without her permission.’

Mrs Evans stuck her chin out defiantly. ‘Whilst she is in my care,
I
shall decide what’s best for her,’ she declared.

Lizzie shot past her, glad of a chance to escape, and sat with her knickers round her ankles as the row raged on. Strangely, she liked the
ty-bach
, for it was one of the few places that Mrs Evans didn’t follow her to. Set at the bottom of the garden, at the end of a twisting path, it was surrounded by trees that tapped at the roof in the wind. Lizzie supposed that it was a fairly crude building, with its corrugated roof and thick stone walls, but she loved the earthy smell of it and the little sheets of newspaper cut into neat squares that hung on a string from a nail in the wall. The toilet itself was nothing more than a plank of wood with a hole cut in it, beneath which Mr Evans regularly laid a fresh bed of cinders. Lizzie escaped to it as often as she could, and there she would think of her mother and home. Now in the comforting darkness her hand explored her freshly shorn hair and she wondered what Maggie would say when she saw it. She had an awful feeling that she would be very angry, as she remembered back to how Maggie would painstakingly twist rags into it on bath nights to tease it into ringlets. A great fat tear trembled on her lashes as homesickness swept over her. She had no doubt that Mrs Evans meant to be kind, but sometimes Lizzie felt as if she was suffocating her, especially when she insisted on calling her Megan. Only today during her lunch-hour, Mrs Evans had whispered to her that from now on, whenever they were alone, she must answer to the name of Megan. ‘But,’ she had said, ‘it must be our secret.’

Too afraid to argue, Lizzie had nodded her agreement but something didn’t feel right. After all, her name was Lizzie, so why should she have to answer to another name?

Becoming aware that the arguing had stopped, she climbed down from the seat and inched the privy door open. Even bedtime was becoming a nightmare now, for Mrs Evans would creep into her room and whisper endearments into her ear. Hoisting her thick cotton knickers up, Lizzie tucked her Liberty bodice into them and straightened her cotton petticoat, before running through the rain back to the warmth of the kitchen.

 

‘Have you heard anything from the children yet?’ Jo asked as she threw her coat off and held her hands, which were blue with cold, out to the comforting warmth of the fire. She was late and Maggie had just begun to get worried about her.

Maggie shook her head as she slipped Lucy’s nightdress over her head. ‘No, not yet, but with the way the post is I’m not sure when they would have got their letters, so I’m not overly concerned yet.’

Crossing to the table, Jo sat down. ‘When are you going to go and see them and tell them about their dad?’ she asked tentatively.

Maggie shuddered at the thought of it. ‘I shall go to see them as soon as I can,’ she told her, not relishing the thought of breaking the news to them. ‘But how has your day been? I was just beginning to get a little worried about you.’

‘I er . . . I had an appointment,’ Jo hedged.

She seemed preoccupied as she stared down into her mug, and Maggie frowned. Now that she came to think about it, Jo hadn’t seemed herself for some days. She was just about to ask Jo if there was anything she could help her with, when the back door suddenly swung open and her mother-in-law appeared, closely resembling a drowned rat.

Lucy ran to her in delight, throwing her arms about her grandma’s thick waist, but instead of lifting her as she normally would, the woman just smiled at her vaguely. Something was wrong; Maggie could tell from the woman’s pale face.

‘Get that wet coat off and come and sit by the fire,’ she said, desperately trying to postpone what would surely be yet more bad news. Jo tactfully disappeared upstairs, her own news untold.

Beryl Bright wrung her hands together as she looked across at her daughter-in-law. Maggie had had so very much to put up with lately, and here she was about to deliver another blow. Her own heart felt as if it was about to break and she just wanted to get this over with as soon as possible, but Maggie wasn’t making it easy for her.

‘Maggie, I have to tell you that—’

‘Isn’t it cold for the time of year?’ Maggie interrupted, intent on putting off whatever it was Beryl had come to tell her. ‘Why, when Jo got in, her poor hands were blue with—’

‘
Maggie
! For God’s sake, stop rabbiting on! Don’t make this harder for me than it already is,’ Beryl pleaded. ‘I have to say it and then I’ll be gone.’

Maggie’s shoulders suddenly sagged and she became silent as she gazed at her mother-in-law. ‘Something’s happened to David, hasn’t it?’

When Beryl slowly nodded she screwed her eyes tight shut as pain, sharp as a knife, stabbed at her heart.

‘I had a telegram today,’ Beryl muttered. ‘David is missing.’

Relief flooded through Maggie as her eyes snapped open. ‘
Missing
? But that means that he might still be alive then! He could have been taken prisoner, or even be in a military hospital somewhere.’

‘He could be,’ Beryl said heavily, ‘but I don’t think we should raise our hopes up.’

Maggie’s chin jutted with annoyance. ‘All right then - you think the worst if you like, but
I
certainly shan’t,’ she said rudely. ‘As far as I’m concerned, David is still alive somewhere and I refuse to believe anything other until we’re told differently.’

Beryl wiped her hand wearily across her eyes. One of her sons was dead and now the other was missing, and yet she supposed there just
might
be something in what Maggie had said. She would certainly try to hold on to that thought, for at the moment she felt as if her life was falling apart. Seeing the dejection in the woman’s face, Maggie swiftly crossed to her and wrapped her in her arms.

‘I’m so sorry but we’ll get through this,’ she whispered softly. ‘We’re family.’ But inside she was thinking, What is left of us.

Two days after her mother-in-law’s visit, Maggie got up to find Jo slouched in the chair at the side of the dying fire.

‘What’s wrong with you then? Not feeling so chipper today?’ She watched Jo curiously as she bent to rake out the ashes before throwing some coal onto the glowing embers.

Jo shook her head and pulled Maggie’s old dressing-gown more tightly about her. She had already decided that she wasn’t going into work today, even if it meant risking the wrath of Miss Hutchinson, who ran the shop where she worked with a rod of iron.

‘How about I make you a nice bit of breakfast then, eh? Everything always looks better on a full stomach,’ Maggie offered, but Jo merely shook her head and continued to gaze off into space. In no time at all the fire was burning brightly and they were sitting opposite each other. Maggie was determined to find out what was wrong with Jo, for she seemed pre-occupied and edgy. Her mother had mentioned it too, so Maggie felt that now was as good a time as any to try and get to the bottom of what was troubling her.

‘So, how about you tell me what’s wrong then? I know something’s been on your mind. You haven’t been . . . oh, I don’t know. You just haven’t been yourself for the last few days.’

When Jo dragged her eyes away from the flickering flames, Maggie was shocked to see the misery in them. Deciding that she might as well get it over with, Jo plucked up her courage and said, ‘Maggie, you’ve been as good as gold to me. In fact, I don’t know how I would have got through the last few weeks without you. But the thing is . . .’ she swallowed and forced herself to go on. ‘The thing is, I shall be moving out soon.’

‘You’ll be what?’ Maggie was shocked to her core. She and Jo had become close during the time that Jo had been living with her in Clay Lane, and the thought of losing her was a shock. ‘But why, Jo? I thought you liked living here. Is it something I’ve done?’

‘Of course it isn’t. I love living here, but I . . . Well, let’s just say I have to go.’

‘Are you in some sort of trouble, Jo?’ Maggie asked slowly. ‘If you are, I’m sure we could sort it. You know what they say - a trouble shared is a trouble halved.’

Jo laughed then - a hard, cynical laugh that tore at Maggie’s heart. ‘You couldn’t halve this one,’ she said bitterly.

‘Right, so you are in some sort of trouble then,’ Maggie declared triumphantly. ‘Come on, spit it out. This is me, Maggie . . . remember?’

Tears suddenly spilled over Jo’s lashes and trickled down her cheeks. ‘All right then, but I warn yer - you ain’t goin’ to be pleased. Yer see, the thing is . . . I’m in the family way.’

Maggie was filled with dismay. ‘But how? I mean - who?’

Jo shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. Just when I have the chance to put the past behind me, this has to go an’ happen. It’s sod’s law really, ain’t it? I was always so careful in that department, or at least I thought I was, but obviously I slipped up, didn’t I? So I suppose yer could say it serves me right.’

Maggie sat in stunned silence as she tried to digest what Jo had just told her, but eventually she asked, ‘Are you quite sure? What I mean is, you’ve gone through a lot lately an’ sometimes that can make your monthlies stop.’

‘Oh, I’m sure all right,’ Jo told her. ‘That’s why I was late home the night Beryl came around. I’d been to the doctor’s and I was goin’ to tell yer then but I didn’t have the heart to when I knew yer were worryin’ about David.’

‘How far gone are you?’ Maggie asked.

‘About three months, accordin’ to the doctor. The way I see it, I’ve got three alternatives. One, I could pay a visit to Old Lady Moon in Beagle Street. Trouble is, I’ve heard horror stories about the damage she’s done to some young women who’ve gone to her for help. She uses a knitting needle to rid them of their problem apparently.’ She shuddered at the thought of it and went on, ‘Two, I could disappear fer a few months an’ give the little ’un up fer adoption when it puts in an appearance. Or three, I could settle somewhere away from here an’ make out that I was a widow an’ keep it.’

Maggie stared at her thoughtfully for a few moments before suggesting, ‘Or four, you could stay here with me and brazen it out.’

‘I could hardly do that, could I, what with Old Man Massey next door knowin’ how I used to make a livin’?’ Jo scoffed. ‘He’d never let me live it down. I’d be the talk of the street, if I ain’t already, an’ so would you be fer puttin’ me up.’

‘So?’ Maggie was indignant. ‘Let them talk. You and I both know that you didn’t do what you did from choice. What other people choose to think is up to them. And please don’t worry about me. This is
my
house and I’ll have in it who I choose. But the thing is, Jo, what do
you
want to do? Would you like to keep the baby?’

Jo shook her head miserably as her hand settled on her stomach. ‘No, I don’t,’ she admitted. ‘Every mornin’, I get up an’ hope that I’ll be bleedin’, that it will just go away - but I ain’t that lucky. I reckon I’ll have it an’ then give it up fer adoption.’

‘Well, the choice is yours,’ Maggie said, as she reached out to squeeze her hand. ‘But I’ll stand by you, whatever you decide.’