The Chilbury Ladies' Choir(52)
TELEPHONE: PARNHAM 47
Friday, 26th July, 1940
Dear Mrs. Tilling,
I want to thank you for coming to Parnham to give me the ring. I imagine it was not a pleasant task, and realize that you had no obligation to come, which makes me all the more grateful for your visit.
Since then, I have become employed, which serves a dual purpose of getting me out of the house and providing me with more to think about than the war and lost friends. The surgeon came and deemed me unfit to fight for the time being, and so I have been given a job at Litchfield Park, pushing pieces of paper around and phoning people up to tell them what’s on the pieces of paper. It’s rather dreary but they say they’ll move me into something more interesting as soon as they can. I’m hoping to be sent to London, which would mean a lodging to myself.
If ever you are in the area, please do come and say hello, as I feel I wasn’t as polite as I could have been, and want to thank you properly for coming so far out of your way to visit. If there is anything I could possibly do for you, please do not hesitate to ask. I would only be too delighted to reciprocate in whatever way I can.
With thanks and very best wishes, Lt. Rupert Carrington
CHILBURY MANOR,
CHILBURY,
KENT.
Saturday, 27th July, 1940
Dearest Angie,
Everything is getting more complicated at every turn. I was sent to Dover yesterday to assess the bomb damage, and the place was half demolished and fast earning its nickname “Hell-Fire Corner.” Even while I was there enemy planes appeared in the sky, circling loudly, their Nazi swastikas clearly visible on their sides. I thought I was going to be sick. A few of our chaps in Spitfires and Hurricanes came along to drive them out, and it became a bit of a dogfight, right there in the skies above us. Some of the locals came out of shops and stood in the High Street cheering them on, but I couldn’t bear it. All this charade for more deaths, more ruined lives. What has become of us?
A great deal seems to have happened since last I wrote. The main news is that I think I’m pregnant. I’m not at all sure how to feel about this, and I’m rather hoping that I’m not. I thought I was being careful, but I suppose one never knows with these things. Obviously I haven’t breathed a word to Alastair or anyone else. I do so wish you were here, Angie. I know you’re thinking that it’s all frightfully simple, Alastair and I will have to get married. But, you see, I’ve also come to suspect that Alastair is involved in the black market. Instead of being the wife of a romantic artist, living in a tumbledown castle on an island in a river, I would be the wife of a hardened criminal, always on the run, always afraid. Frankly, Angie, it’s not the life I had planned at all.
I found out through Kitty, of all people, in the middle of one of our stupid rows. Just as I thought we’d finished, she rounded on me, announcing that she’d spotted Alastair in Peasepotter Wood doing business with a common crook. I can’t get over it. It seems so unlike him, so contrary to the gentle, sophisticated artist. I know I’ve had my suspicions. But this!
I stormed off, but then I had to pull myself together for Rose’s christening, which was this afternoon.
We’d done some extra practicing so that the Chilbury Ladies’ Choir could do something special, processing out of the choir stalls and surrounding Hattie and Rose, singing a gorgeous rendition of “All Things Bright and Beautiful.” When it reached the part that goes, “Each little flower that opens, each little bird that sings,” we were all gathered round them, and Hattie looked like she’d burst with joy.
After the service, everyone went to Hattie’s house in Church Row for a small afternoon tea party, and I stayed to tidy up afterward, although I was more keen to get her advice about Alastair.
“Kitty saw him in Peasepotter Wood with a black marketeer. He was doing business with him, Hattie!” I was getting a bit upset, pacing up and down the living room clearing the plates and crashing them into the sink.
“Goodness,” Hattie said, moving Rose’s pram away from the activity—she’s getting frightfully mother-hennish. “Well, perhaps it’s time to give him up, Venetia. I don’t mean to be heartless, but I worry about you, and I don’t think getting involved with him will bring you any happiness.”
“I don’t know.” I flopped down in a chair. “All I know for certain is that I can’t stop being with him without breaking my heart in the process. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can’t leave without getting to the bottom of it. It simply means too much to me.”
“What does your mother think of all this?”
“Mama is completely taken up with baby Lawrence, who still won’t keep down any milk. She’s also busy with Daddy as he’s become so volatile. Kitty’s running amok, and Silvie’s being looked after by Kitty and old Nanny Godwin from what I can gather. No one seems to care what we do or what’s happening.”
“Well, don’t worry about them for now. Think of what you need to do.” She patted my hand gently. “Isn’t there a way you could find out more before deciding?”
“I’ve made up my mind to follow him,” I told her with sudden conviction.
She sighed a great sigh, and it dawned on me that she’s the only one who ever really looked after me. “Well, just be careful,” she said. “And please give up if it gets too dangerous, Venetia. You don’t always have to be the brave and daring one.”