As soon as the door had closed behind Joan, Selina grabbed up her penknife and slit open the letter from her fiancé, her heart thumping with nerves. It had been some time since Johnny’s last letter, and although she knew there could be many reasons for his long silence, her spirits had begun to flag in recent days, fearing that something might have happened to him.
There was also a nagging suspicion that his attachment to her was not as strong as it had once been.
For some months, Johnny’s letters had lacked that spark that had made her heart sing in the early days of their relationship. The first year they’d been apart, his letters had often made her blush, some of his comments not fit to be read aloud even to her friends. Lately though, he had kept to dull news of regimental movements and local information, signing off with a simple Johnny, instead of something more affectionate.
Johnny was still overseas, of course, with his regiment, the brave lads all working hard to put things right in France now the war was over. But he had promised faithfully that they would be wed on his return, and had even said she could begin to plan the event if she wished.
No doubt the long delay had made him glum too, that was all. And she could hardly blame him. It was easy for two people to stay in love when they could see each other every other month or so, but she hadn’t seen Johnny since his last official leave over six months ago, when he’d hitched a lift to Porthcurno to see her for one magical evening before disappearing again.
That visit already felt like a lifetime ago.
His lengthy absence from Britain had surprised her, for he’d assured her earlier that the troops would be allowed home for Christmas, perhaps for as long as three days. But then he’d written to warn her not to expect him, saying his permission slip had not come through.
Sometimes, lying in the dark, a silly fear would nag at her, that her darling Johnny had told a little fib. That he had in fact been given leave for Christmas, but had visited his parents instead, and not told her.
Yet why would he do that? It was such nonsense. Johnny loved her and she loved him, and the only thing that might be causing a problem was the blasted army, who had so far refused to allow him home to marry her.
Of course, if he’d decided to see his parents instead of coming all the way to Cornwall to spend a few hours with her, that was understandable. But she would have liked the truth.
Worse, it wasn’t possible even to check on his story. They had met right here in Porthcurno, where he’d been stationed as a guard on the listening post that had kept information flowing smoothly in and out of Britain during the war. But his home was in Kent. Where exactly, she had no idea. Johnny had often sworn that he would take her to Kent when he got back from France, to meet his parents and siblings before they tied the knot. But he’d never shared his parents’ address with her.
Still, her darling had written now. And that would have to suffice.
Seating herself below the attic skylight, Selina tucked her feet under her knees and unfolded the single sheet of paper she’d found in the envelope. His letters were usually two sheets at least. Surely this must be a very short message, then. The date when he could come home and finally marry her, perhaps?
Dear Selina,
I’m sorry that I haven’t written in such an age. But I did not have the heart to write before. You see, what I have to say will hurt your feelings. And I wish I had better news. The thing is, I’ve changed my mind about getting married.
Please know, it’s not your fault. You have been a wonderful fiancée. But I’ve met a girl here. She’s French, but she speaks very good English, and we’ve been seeing quite a bit of each other recently. I’m awfully sorry and I know this will upset you, but I’ve had to ask her to marry me, and she’s said yes, and that’s all there is to it. Maybe one day you will forgive me.
I wish you all the best in the world.
Johnny
Selina felt curiously numb, her body frozen despite the sunshine. A splash of something wet struck the date on the sheet of paper and trickled down, blurring the ink below.
She was crying, she realised, but didn’t move to wipe her eyes.
Stunned, she re-read the letter several times, the cruel words echoing in her mind. Then she gave a howl of furious agony, crumpled the letter into a ball, and flung it across the room with all the violence she could muster.
I’ve met a girl here. She’s French, but she speaks very good English, and we’ve been seeing quite a bit of each other recently.
Collapsing onto the bed, her face buried against the hard bolster pillow to muffle the tell-tale sounds, Selina sobbed until her sides ached and her eyes were sore.
I’ve had to ask her to marry me.
There was only one thing that could mean. He and this French girl had been … intimate. And now she was expecting his baby. So getting married had been the only honourable solution.
Maybe one day you will forgive me.
She would never forgive him, Selina promised herself bitterly. Nor trust another man with her heart.
Never, ever, ever.
And what on earth could she tell the others? She’d been boasting about her engagement to Johnny for ages, and discussing the plans for her wedding and her honeymoon with anyone who would listen. She knew they were all heartily sick of the topic but lately it had become an obsession. Perhaps this was why, she thought miserably. She’d been so nervous about Johnny’s increasingly few-and-far-between letters that she had grown ever more feverish about the wedding, determined to nail down every detail as perfectly as she could. And now the whole thing had crumbled beneath her …
Selina groaned, rolling over and burying her face in her hands. She was never going to live this down. The Land Girls might pretend to be sympathetic, but she knew they’d be laughing as soon as she was out of earshot. As for Violet and Joe … Well, the Postbridges were kind people, and she knew they would never laugh, but it was still so humiliating. Her fiancé was going to marry another woman. A woman he had clearly made pregnant. It was as shameful as it could possibly be.
Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. She didn’t want to lie. Yet how could she admit the truth without breaking down and making a complete fool of herself in front of everyone?
Hearing Caroline on her way back from the washroom, Selina sat up hurriedly and rubbed her hanky across damp cheeks. It was futile though. There was no way to hide the fact that she’d been sobbing her heart out. Still, she could trust Caroline, couldn’t she? Apart from the odd spat, they’d been friends ever since the two of them had joined the Land Army and ended up at Postbridge Farm together. All the same, she was too embarrassed to admit the full truth.
Perhaps it wouldn’t be a lie if she simply omitted the most awful part of the story.
‘Golly, it makes such a difference, washing all that mud off …’ Dressed in a bathrobe and still vigorously towelling her hair dry, Caroline stopped dead in the middle of the room as her astonished gaze locked on Selina’s face, which no doubt bore the marks of half an hour’s wild sobbing. ‘Goodness, whatever’s wrong? What’s happened? Oh, you poor thing …’ Without waiting for an answer, Caroline dashed forward and threw her arm about Selina’s shoulders, giving her a quick squeeze. ‘You can tell me. I won’t breathe a word, however bad it is.’
Selina pointed across the room to the crumpled-up letter, which now lay forlornly beside the chest of drawers they shared. ‘I … had a letter from … Johnny. We … We’re not getting married anymore.’ Her voice wobbled and she drew an unsteady breath before hurrying on. ‘There’s nothing I can do about it. Looks like he … he was the wrong man for me.’
‘Oh, Selly, I’m so sorry. That’s rotten luck.’ Caroline grimaced. ‘But you’re right, Johnny can’t have been the right man for you, can he? Or he wouldn’t have called it off.’
Selina swallowed hard. She wanted to tell Caro about the French girl he’d met. And the shameful acknowledgement that he’d had no choice but to marry her. But the wound was still too raw.
‘Exactly.’ She sat up, dabbing at her eyes with the now sodden hanky. ‘I shall just have to … to forget him, shan’t I? And at least we hadn’t booked the church or the honeymoon hotel. All my arrangements were only on paper.’
‘Then you can tear those stupid plans up and throw them in the bin,’ Caroline told her stoutly.
‘Yes, that’s what I’m going to do. Right now, in fact.’
Selina jumped up, found the notebook where she’d listed all her wedding arrangements and ideas, her hopes and dreams for the future, and ripped out the pages she’d been so fervently scribbling on for the past few months. These she scrunched up viciously and threw across the room after the dismal letter from Johnny.
‘I’ll take them all down to the kindling basket later,’ she declared, her voice a gasp. ‘Violet can use them as twists to light the fire. That … That’s all they’re good for.’
‘That’s the ticket.’ Towelling her hair again, Caroline gave Selina an encouraging smile, though it was clear she was still concerned for her friend’s well-being. ‘Feeling better?’ When Selina gave a jerky nod, she smiled and bent to the chest of drawers to fetch clean clothes for herself. ‘I’d better get dressed. It’ll be teatime soon.’ She shot Selina a cautious look over her shoulder. ‘Are you planning to tell everyone else? Tonight, I mean. Or will you wait?’
Selina hugged herself. Now the news had truly sunk in, she felt miserable and rather chilly. She certainly wasn’t looking forward to seeing everyone’s faces when she explained about the broken engagement. But now that Caroline knew the truth, it would be ludicrous to keep it hidden from the others, even for a day or so.
Besides, if she tried to keep it quiet, it would soon look as though she was embarrassed to admit what had happened. And though she was, she didn’t want anyone else to guess her inner sense of humiliation. She would just have to be brave, that was all.
‘Yes, of course.’ Selina pushed her chin in the air. ‘I’ve nothing to be ashamed of.’
Though if that were true, why did she feel so empty and hurting inside?
At dinner, Selina helped lay the table as always, her face averted whenever anyone looked her way. She had checked her reflection in the washroom before coming downstairs and knew that her cheeks were pale and blotchy, and her eyes red-rimmed, a sure sign that she’d been crying. But she was not ready to answer any questions until everyone was seated. That way, she wouldn’t have to repeat herself. Bad enough having to make the announcement to the whole household, without missing anyone out and having to say it all over again.
Mrs Newton, sharp-eyed as ever, broached the subject first. Her knife and fork hovering over the rabbit stew that she and Violet had prepared, Mrs Newton looked directly at Selina and asked, ‘’Ere, Selina, love … You look bloomin’ awful. Was it that letter that come for you today? I don’t want to pry if you’d rather not say, but …’
Slowly, Selina put down her cutlery and swallowed her mouthful of food. Nervously, she glanced up and down the long kitchen table, aware of everyone’s gaze on her face.
‘Yes, it was a letter from my fiancé, Johnny. I’m afraid to tell you that … Well, the thing is, he’s broken off our engagement. So, there isn’t going to be a wedding after all.’ She had intended to say more but her voice wavered and she fell silent, tears pricking at her eyes as she stared dully down at her dinnerplate.
Never had rabbit stew looked less appetising.
A hubbub of voices broke out around the table. Joe swore under his breath and was reprimanded by his wife. Tilly exclaimed, ‘What? But that’s horrible!’ Caroline muttered something supportive from beside her, and Joan said clearly above the noise, ‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Selina.’
Tutting furiously, Sheila Newton shook her head. ‘Well, I never … Young men can be stupid, you know. Maybe he’ll come around in time.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Selina admitted miserably, still not looking up. Something deep inside forced her to add in a rush, ‘He’s going to marry someone else. A French girl. He didn’t tell me her name but … I believe she may be in the family way.’
Silence met this appalling admission. Then Tilly, who was still only eighteen, gave a little gasp as she belatedly worked out what Selina meant, and whispered, ‘Golly,’ behind her hand.
Joe swore again, and this time Violet said nothing.
‘Sounds to me like you’re better off without such an irresponsible young man,’ Mrs Newton said wisely, and continued eating. In between mouthfuls, she added indistinctly, ‘Some fellas can’t keep their hands to themselves … Oh yes, you can wait a long time for the right one to come along … I was lucky with my two husbands. Proper gents, both of ’em, gawd rest their souls.’ She gave a gusty sigh. ‘Pass the salt, Joe, there’s a dear.’
Joe did as instructed as everyone began commiserating with Selina at once, their voices beating at her in a wave of sympathetic murmurs and apologies. Selina managed a wan smile, thanking them in a small voice, then struggled to finish eating her stew without giving way to the tears building up inside again.
At the end of the meal, collecting the dirty plates with Tilly’s help, Violet Postbridge paused beside her seat. ‘Didn’t you say you have a sister, love? You told us you’d written to her a few months back to tell her about the wedding.’
‘That’s right. Bella. She was widowed in ’44. Her husband Sebastian was wounded in Normandy, soon after D-Day. They hoped he might recover but he died of an infection a few months later.’ She saw Joe’s look of surprise, for she had never discussed her family with them before. ‘Her letter telling me about it went astray, so I missed the funeral.’ She paused, feeling unaccountably guilty. ‘She has three children.’
‘How awful,’ Mrs Newton muttered, shaking her head. ‘Poor lambs.’
‘Three kids? Your sister must have married young,’ Violet said, blinking.
‘Bella’s quite a bit older than me,’ Selina explained. ‘Thirty-nine next birthday.’
‘You should write and tell her about Johnny,’ Violet advised her.
Selina felt even more miserable. She couldn’t even manage a smile as she said, aware of everybody listening with interest to this exchange, ‘The thing is, we don’t really see eye to eye. Not since she got married herself. I doubt she’d even care.’
‘Of course she’ll care!’ Violet peered at her over the stack of dirty plates. ‘You should never lose touch with a sister. I lost mine in the Blitz and there’s not a day goes by that I don’t think of her.’
‘Oh yes, my dear Betsy, my first-born,’ Mrs Newton agreed, her eyes misting. ‘She gave us Lily and Alice before she departed this world. Such lovely girls. But I don’t ’alf miss Betsy.’
‘Write to your sister,’ Violet advised Selina sternly. ‘Even if she don’t reply, you’ll know you’ve done the right thing, eh? When things go wrong, there’s nothing like family to support you.’ Hurrying to the sink, she threw back over her shoulder, ‘Though we’re here for you too, love. If you’d like a finger or two of my mum’s home-made gin, there’s still some left in the bottle. That’ll take you out of yourself in no time, I swear.’
‘Aye, if that’s what you call being flat on your face on the kitchen floor,’ Joe mumbled, but lapsed into silence on catching his mother-in-law’s eye.
Selina choked, half laughing, half crying. It was strange, but she did feel less wretched now that she’d admitted the whole sorry fiasco to the household. These people might not be family, but they were friends. Still, the idea of writing to her widowed sister was not one that appealed. She and Bella had not got along in a long time. Missing Sebastian’s funeral had not been her fault – her sister’s letter had genuinely gone astray at the time – but she knew from Bella’s brief note afterwards that her sister had assumed the worst, that she simply hadn’t been bothered to turn up.
All the same, Violet was probably right. Perhaps it was time to try again with her sister.
After sharing some sloe gin with the Postbridges after supper, Selina took paper and a pencil out to the barn, where she could work quietly and without interruption. There, she sat in the fading light to work on a draft of her letter to Bella. She sucked on the end of her pencil, trying several times to explain what had happened between her and Johnny. In the end she gave up, and decided to pen her sister a simple note, explaining that their engagement was off and there would be no wedding. Further details didn’t seem necessary.
Besides, she couldn’t bear the idea of her sister triumphing over her failure. Growing up motherless and under the care of a father with fragile health and little interest in his daughters, Bella had hooked her beau early on and married him without delay, not long after their father died. Her husband, Sebastian March, had been a shy Oxford academic, and Bella had wasted no time in persuading him to make a home in Cornwall once they were married, where they could start a family in peaceful rural surroundings.
Although she and Selina had grown up in Oxford, a student city of narrow lanes and ancient colleges, Bella had been eager to leave those familiar surroundings, especially once she’d learned that Sebastian’s family owned a large Cornish manor house on the fringes of Bodmin Moor. No doubt she’d yearned to play lady of the manor. Once her new father-in-law had passed away, leaving her husband everything he possessed, she must have got her wish.
When Selina had been posted to Cornwall as a Land Girl, she had written to let her sister know. But Bella had not replied. Perhaps she’d been too busy, raising her young family and looking after her husband. The only contact between them until Selina’s engagement had been a brief note from Bella to let her know that her husband, by then an officer in the British army, had been wounded in action in France. Then had come that awful misunderstanding over Sebastian’s funeral, and when Selina had belatedly heard from her sister again, she’d written back with condolences at once and an apology for missing it, but had heard nothing since. Perhaps Bella had been so offended by her absence at the funeral, she’d decided never to speak to her again.
But Violet was correct – wouldn’t be right not to inform her only flesh and blood about something so important, even if Bella never responded.
Given how little contact there’d been between them, Selina was amazed to receive a response from her sister only a few days after she’d written to her.
‘It’s postmarked Bodmin,’ Mrs Newton remarked, passing her an envelope over lunch later that week. ‘That will be from your sister, I daresay. You see? There’s nothing like family when there’s a crisis.’
At the stove, Violet turned to study her, and even young Tilly leaned forward to peer at the envelope with undisguised interest.
‘Excuse me.’ Selina left her lunch half eaten and hurried away into the sunlit farmyard for privacy, keen to read what her sister had written without so many curious eyes on her.
Dear Selina
I’m so glad to hear from you at last, though I’m dreadfully sorry about your news. That young man should be ashamed after what he’s put you through. I know this will be little consolation now, but it may turn out to be a blessing in disguise, since he was clearly not a good choice of life partner. Let us not think of him again.
As you know, I was unhappy when you didn’t come to Sebastian’s funeral. But I should not have written to you as I did. I know the post has not been reliable since the war and I do accept that you were unaware of his passing. I hope you can forgive me for that, and for not keeping in touch since that time. It seems incredible to me now that we never invited you to visit us here at Thornton Hall, and I apologise for my coldness, for which I have no excuse.
Now for some difficult news of my own. A few months ago, I went to Dr Ford over a lingering cough and various aches and pains. I fully expected him to give me a pick-me-up tonic and send me on my way. Instead, he insisted on hospital tests, and these showed tumours in both my lungs. You’ll remember, perhaps, that I contracted tuberculosis as a child, and was very unwell for almost a year. The doctor thinks this may have weakened my lungs, and made it easier for the tumours to take root. Either way, I’m afraid he’s given me a rather grim diagnosis. There’s nothing to be done and I only have months to live.
I know this will come as a terrible shock. I’ve been struggling with it myself, and haven’t yet had the heart to tell the children. Peter is thirteen, and will inherit the estate when he comes of age. I’ve been holding the estate in trust for him since Sebastian’s death. Poor boy, he’s barely got over his father’s passing. Now I’m going to leave him and my two girls too. Jemima is eleven and a clever, capable girl. But Faith is only four and still needs a mother. I dread to think how my littlest one will cope when I die. Just thinking of it leaves me cold with fear. But I have to face the truth. I’m not going to be here to watch them grow up, so I need to make provision for them now.
My dearest Selina, I know we’ve been estranged for many years, and that’s mainly my fault, but please don’t blame the sins of the mother on my children. I beg of you to please come and live with us during this dark time, and to stay on after I’ve gone. The children have a nanny, and the estate should continue to pay her wages, and the same is true for the housekeeper, so you would not be run off your feet. But it would soothe me to know my own sister will be here to care for my three children when the worst happens.
The estate goes entirely to Peter at eighteen, and the girls both have allowances when they reach their majority. You would receive a small allowance for living at the hall, plus housekeeping money, so you would not be out of pocket either. It would all be administered by our family solicitor, Mr MacGregor, who is an excellent man. You can trust him with anything. I know you are still working as a Land Girl, but once it is clear that you have children to look after, you should be released from your official duties.
Please don’t fail me, dear sister. With all my love,
Bella
She dropped the letter to the cobbles, her fingers numb, her mind reeling … Her sister Bella was dying? And wanted Selina to live with her and her three children on Bodmin Moor?
Bella had been like a mother to her once, their own mother long dead, and their father having become sick when Selina was barely six, while Bella herself had only just turned eighteen. No doubt the responsibility of looking after her sister had become too much in the end, for she’d married Sebastian after their father’s death and vanished to far-off Cornwall, leaving Selina in Oxford with an elderly aunt. Looking back, Selina could understand Bella’s desire to start her own family and build the kind of close-knit home life they’d missed out on when growing up. But at the time she’d been deeply hurt. Her aunt had often complained about Selina’s behaviour, but if she had been a demanding child at times, it wasn’t all that surprising, given how lost she’d felt without her big sister.
Now Bella was only months away from death herself, and calling on Selina to perform much the same duty for her as she’d done when their father had died.
It seemed too cruel and impossible.
Besides, Selina thought with a stab of guilt, she knew nothing about being a parent. She wasn’t even sure she liked children. Most of the kids she’d known, like the three evacuees they’d housed at the farm during the war, had been noisy and annoying …
Yet now her sister needed Selina to take on responsibility for her three children. It was almost a deathbed wish.
How could she refuse?