Secrets and Sins, page 37
Robert nodded. He’d been totally absorbed in watching the locomotive going through its paces, slowing and then finally stopping before it had properly linked up with its carriages. It was also then, just towards the end of that manoeuvre, that he’d felt something – something of a premonition as though somebody had tapped him on the shoulder, urging him to turn round.
The feeling was fleeting and when he actually did turn round, he wasn’t surprised to find himself alone. He was getting used to being alone, but also of hoping and dreaming that the past had never happened and Lydia was still alive.
‘That’s it for today, then?’ he asked, pulling the brim of his hat forward.
‘Until 3.15, Sir. That’s if we can get this locomotive out of the way.’
Robert grunted. ‘Is it likely to take long?’
The stationmaster shook his head. ‘I couldn’t say, Sir. But if you would like to wait… I could supply you with a cup of tea and a biscuit.’
His eyebrows rose questioningly, his eyes wide and glassy. It wasn’t often he invited anyone in to take tea in his comfy little office, but now and again he felt a need for good company. This gentleman looked a likely contender.
The atmosphere in the stationmaster’s officer was congenial and warm by virtue of a glowing coal fire. A copper kettle of indeterminate age and myriad dents sounded as though it were chortling with mirth as the water boiled.
‘I’ll let it mash,’ said the stationmaster as he poured on water then stirred the contents of a big brown pot.
They talked generally whilst waiting for the tea, the subject always coming back to the war and what each of them had done in it.
‘I was reserved occupation of course,’ said the stationmaster. ‘Had to keep the trains running, didn’t we?’
‘Of course you did.’
‘In the trenches were you?’
‘No. Flying through the air.’
The stationmaster adopted the look of utter amazement that Robert had become used to. Some people could still not quite believe that a man could fly through the sky like a bird – or an angel.
‘It’s wonderful times we live in,’ remarked the stationmaster, shaking his head in amazement. ‘Can’t say I fancy the idea meself. A bit too dangerous for me. Hats off to you though. Can’t ’ave been easy.’
‘It wasn’t. I was shot down a couple of times. I won’t ever be able to run a race, but I can still walk. I’m grateful for that.’ The sun suddenly came out, filling the room with light and extra warmth. Robert eyed the view from the window. The station was small and surrounded by rolling fields and bare trees.
Although not looking their best at this time of year, he thought how beautiful their bare branches seemed. Here and there the snow had buried into crevices in the trees’ trunks.
‘It is nice around here,’ he said softly to himself.
‘It is that, Sir. Never found a better place,’ echoed the stationmaster.
Robert fell to silence. The steam engine was silent. There was no sound from the driver and his fireman, the latter whose job it was to feed the fire with shovelfuls of Welsh steam coal. ‘You can almost hear a pin drop,’ said the old stationmaster.
He wasn’t to know it, but his comment was in tune with what Robert had been thinking. It was so peaceful here and what exactly was there in London? Nothing. All he would do in London was visit old haunts and those friends that were still alive. He would also have visited Doctor Miller and together they would have discussed Lydia – but that, he realised, was like opening up an old wound. He could now understand why Lydia’s father never mentioned her mother, had no memento of her in the house, and had avoided celebrating his daughter’s birthday, which was also the day his dear wife had died. It was best to forget, to live with the memory but not wear it on one’s shoulder.
‘I think I’ll forgo that trip to London.’ He rose to his feet. ‘I think there’s snow in the air.’
After thanking the stationmaster for the tea, he went outside and looked around him, taking big lungsful of air as he did so. The truth hit him that he belonged here in this tranquil place where the grass was still green and muddy fields were only that way when they were under the plough, not churned up by shell fire or the tracks of that other new weapon of war, the tank.
The muffled bell of a telephone in the stationmaster’s office suddenly disturbed the calm.
He heard somebody call out.
‘Sir! There’s a telephone call for you.’
He turned to see the stationmaster waving at him.
He didn’t bother to ask who it was for. He could guess. There were few telephones in the area. The stationmaster had one, so did the local doctor. Heathlands had the other. He wondered who it was and what they might want. He should have been on the train by now, so how did they know they could reach him?
He took the telephone from the stationmaster.
‘Sir!’ Quartermaster always sounded out of breath even though his duties were far lighter than in the past. He’d specifically left his sister’s and retirement because he was bored. However, it hadn’t occurred to him that he wasn’t so fit as he was. Quartermaster was an old dog who wouldn’t lie down.
‘What is it?’ Robert asked.
‘Miss Lydia, Sir. Doctor Miller rang to say she caught the train and should be there with you now. Doctor Miller’s telephone has been out of order for a while. He’s been trying all day to get in touch with you.’
Robert felt as though a clapper from a monstrous bell was banging around in his head. Had he really heard what he thought he’d heard? Was he going mad? Surely Quartermaster was wrong. He couldn’t really mean Lydia – could he?
‘Sir? Are you still there?’
The telephone with its speaking device was fixed to the wall. The earpiece hung limply in Robert’s hand.
A voice in his head told him to pull himself together. He asked Quartermaster to repeat what he had said.
‘You say she’s here? She’s alive? Is she alone?’
It wouldn’t have surprised him if she wasn’t alone, perhaps with a new man in her life. It had been so long.
‘With a child, Sir. A little girl. I believe her name is Olivia and she is just coming up to four years old.’
Robert let the speaking device fall, clutching it to his chest as he attempted to collect himself.
He addressed the stationmaster. ‘Did you see a young woman with a small child alighting from the London train?’
The stationmaster reached under his cap and scratched his head. ‘Yes, I did. She asked about a taxi and I told her there weren’t none. Don’t know where she went though. Set off in that direction she did. Walking I should think.’
Robert dashed to his car. Perhaps he might meet her on the road, or perhaps she might make it to Heathlands by the time he got back.
His thoughts reeling, he turned the nose of the car towards home. ‘Please don’t let this be a dream,’ he said to himself. ‘Let it be real. Let Lydia be alive.’
And the child? Olivia, Quartermaster had said. Her name was Olivia.
The sun was shining bravely through the trees and although most of the snow had melted, it still clung in dirty heaps to the edge of the drive.
Lydia had planned to walk up the long drive to the front door, knock lustily and beam broadly at the sight of a host of surprised faces. It was the only plan she could think of, in fact not really a plan at all. She was too apprehensive for a proper plan; too much emotion was involved.
As it turned out, the feeble plan came to nothing thanks to Olivia who had skipped in and out of the trees bordering the drive. A squirrel, out to top up his winter food, descended from his home high up in a beech tree and ran towards the lake.
Olivia ran after it, calling loudly to it. ‘Olivia! Come back!’
Lydia ran after her. At one point she slipped and stumbled on the icy grass. By the time she’d righted herself, Olivia was out of sight.
Through a sudden gap in the trees, she saw a flash of sunlight on water. Water was a magnet for all children. Lydia only hoped her strong-minded daughter wouldn’t come across a patch of frozen water and presume she could walk on it.
It began snowing, small flakes swiftly growing into big ones.
‘Olivia! Come back. Don’t go any further. I’m warning you, don’t go any further!’ Her voice soared, but there was no response and no sound of a breathless child, oblivious to danger and the wishes of her mother. The child was high spirited and curious, always asking questions, always wanting to explore the unknown.
Smooth cobbles formed the path running down through the trees to the lake. Even the crêpe soles of her brown suede boots slipped on the worn surfaces. She had to get to Olivia. Where was she?
The grotto! Even after all these years, the thought of the grotto chilled her to the bone. Olivia would be as attracted to a cave as she was to water.
The entrance to the grotto loomed like a black toothless mouth on the other side of the water. Just as when she had been here before, rushes, their leaves dried from cold, rustled in the wind. She heard the sound of something – possibly a rat – sliding into the water.
The closer she got to the grotto, the faster her heart beat. The shadows of late afternoon were lengthening and if they didn’t get back to the station soon, they would miss the train.
It might have been her imagination, but something moved in the dark chasm of the grotto.
Pan.
There was no Pan of course, but anything could happen in that dank, dark place.
‘Olivia!’
She heard the sound of footsteps. Olivia stepped out of the grotto, her hand in that of a man, a man Lydia instantly recognised.
‘Robert!’
She noticed one of his shoulders was held slightly higher than the other, a direct result of an injury to his leg. There was a more drawn look to his face, but then, she thought, most men who had fought in the war had that look.
‘I parked the car in the drive. I saw the red coat flashing through the trees. I know how children are with water – I followed her…’
He stood there, shaking his head, his eyes filling with tears – speechless. ‘She is mine, isn’t she?’
Lydia nodded. ‘Yes.’
Olivia looked up at him and there was no fear in her face. ‘Are you Santa Claus?’ she asked.
‘Better than that,’ Lydia managed to say. ‘He’s your father.’ Tears poured down Robert’s face. Lydia fell against his chest. His arm wrapped around her, crushing her against him, his cheek resting on her head. Their tears mingled.
‘There’s so much I want to know,’ he said to her.
‘And so much I want to tell you.’
‘Can I have a cuddle too?’ asked Olivia. Her round little cheeks had turned pink with cold, but her eyes were bright with interest.
Her parents reacted automatically, both of them reaching down to bring their child into their hug.
Robert whispered into Lydia’s ear.
‘I can’t believe you managed to escape the firing squad. The circumstances must have been exceptional.’
Lydia tilted her head back and looked up at him.
‘You remember the men on either side were singing carols and lighting candles in the trenches that Christmas?’
‘I did hear of it.’
‘Well, I had something of my own Christmas truce. I had to be examined by a doctor before being shot – odd, but true. One must be healthy to be executed. It’s thanks to Olivia that I’m here. It appears I was expecting twins. I lost one but the other hung on. It happens sometimes.’
‘When I was sent your journal I was told you were most likely dead.’
‘The hospital was shelled. We were lucky to get out alive, but had to run for it. I didn’t have much choice but to go where I was told to go. Forgive me for letting you think I was dead, but I thought you would have settled down yourself. I thought you and Agnes…’
Smiling sadly, he shook his head. ‘We’re too closely related I’m afraid. Sir Avis has a lot to answer for.’
‘I didn’t know that at the time. News was slow incoming, but now…’
Lydia looked up at him, noticing lines where none had been before, the small flick of grey hair above a red mark on his temple. He’d been injured more than once. ‘You survived, Robert. I am so glad! Does your leg hurt?’
He shook his head impatiently. He didn’t want to talk about himself. He wanted to know what had happened, why she was alive when he’d been led to believe she was dead.
‘Tell me what happened, Lydia. For God’s sake, tell me what happened.’
She nodded. ‘Yes. There was a law forbidding the execution of a pregnant woman because the child was innocent. It had a right to be born. Therefore, I was acquitted, though only on the understanding that I would reside in Germany under the supervision of the Krupp medical facility, until the war was over. It was a long war, Robert. Four years I waited. Four long years. I was taken to Essen. That’s where the Krupp factory is. I gave birth to Olivia there. After that, I nursed in the company’s hospital. Once the armistice was declared, I made arrangements to come back here.’
‘My darling.’ He kissed her forehead. ‘You should have written to say you were coming.’
‘I wasn’t sure I would be welcomed. I thought if I wasn’t around, you’d marry Agnes.’
‘That could never be,’ he said, more vehemently than he should have done. ‘There was an impediment…’
His voice trailed away.
Lydia cocked her head to one side. ‘An impediment?’
He looked away. It wasn’t easy to drag family skeletons out of the cupboard. Normally he would have kept the door firmly shut on the lot of it, but this was Lydia he was speaking to, the woman with whom he wished to spend the rest of his life.
‘There was never a Tom Stacey. Did you know that?’
Lydia smiled and shook her head. ‘I am not a fool, Robert. Sir Avis’s fondness for Agnes was far more than a master for his servant – or the daughter of his cook. There was also a likeness. I never mentioned this before, because… well… it didn’t really matter. I don’t care about background. If I like someone, I like them. That is all that counts. But what difference would that have made to you marrying her? Sir Avis was only your uncle…’
She saw him shake his head and saw the look in his eyes. This was what it meant, she thought, to love a man this much. She didn’t need him to speak. The look in his eyes said it all. Sir Avis was more, much more than an uncle and judging by Robert’s expression, he had been his father both figuratively and literally. Such things happen in wealthy families, so she’d heard.
He smiled, his eyes filling with tears. ‘I can barely…’
She touched his lips with her fingers as though attempting to catch the sob she knew was coming.
‘Agnes and her mother are up at the house, with Agnes’s husband. We’re going to have a Christmas like the ones we used to have.’
‘Will it be like a birthday party?’ asked the young child he now knew was his daughter.
Robert smiled down at her and then at her mother, all the time stroking Olivia’s forehead. ‘Oh yes. A birthday party on Christmas Eve and then it’s Christmas Day.’
EPILOGUE
There was another party on Christmas Day, though not until the evening. First there was the wedding of Robert Ravening and Lydia Miller, their daughter as bridesmaid. The local vicar having been moved by their tale of lovers reunited – and also the fact that the groom was the new lord of the manor – had agreed to marry the couple, unusually on the twenty-fifth of December, hardly an unknown occurrence but one arranged at short notice. Thus, the wedding was attended by their friends at the house, plus people from the village and what family they had. Lydia’s father and Kate came up from London. Her father had recovered from the strain of his war years and his grief for the daughter he’d thought he’d lost, but the experience had taken its toll. He was not the man he had been, but his wife had given up her career and stood by him.
The bride’s bouquet consisted of white Christmas roses and variegated ivy.
‘Just like the ivy clings to the wall, so you’ll always cling together,’ Agnes had said to her with a smile.
The two friends had cried on seeing each other again. In the short time since Lydia’s return from the dead, they had swapped brief versions of what had happened to them since they’d last met.
‘There’s so much to tell,’ Agnes had said. ‘So much we’ve been through but we’ve plenty of time to catch up now.’
The smell of the evergreens decorating the church permeated the air, and although it was a cold day outside, the warmth of their companionship overcame that.
Lydia had met Agnes’s new husband Darius, had seen the loving looks he exchanged with Agnes, and knew her friend was happy.
It had also emerged that Sir Avis had left Agnes and her mother a small inheritance and a cottage on the estate. That was where Sarah now lived with her own mother, Ellen Proctor. Having been reunited with the love of her life, Lydia thought her happiness was complete but then her father had wished her a happy birthday on the eve of her wedding – Christmas Eve.
He’d tried to explain how he’d felt at the news that she’d been executed.
‘I thought of all those birthdays never celebrated and the fact that you would be having no more birthdays. I was devastated. I so wanted to put the clock back, and now suddenly I’ve been given another chance. Happy birthday, Lydia my dear.’
Lydia felt full up with so many heartfelt emotions. They had all been through so much, and so much had changed. Not just the world at large, but people had changed and that included her father.
The grief he’d once carried as a chip on his shoulder now only existed in his heart, and that, she concluded, could only be a good thing. The world was changing but with Robert at her side, good friends and family in their lives, the future seemed infinitely brighter.
HISTORICAL NOTE
Nurse Lydia Miller is a character of fiction, a figure caught between two opposing factions.
