Chapter 15
November had taken over from October in Somerset, pushing away the golden days of low, honeyed sun and bringing its own particular grey to the countryside, like a monotonous bore at a party.
You had to put up with it until December arrived, with its promise of jollity ahead, and in the meantime, you had to find ways to cheer yourself up.
She took out her notebook to write a shopping list of the things she needed to buy after she’d been to Dr Shaw.
Charming though Breverton was, it left a lot to be desired on the sartorial front and wasn’t up to much where toiletries were concerned either.
And Alfie needed new pyjamas. There were one or two unacceptable holes in his current pairs, and although she could see the funny side they were bordering on the indecent.
Not that she was the kind of wife who dictated what her husband should wear, but he would look very enticing in a smart new pair.
She’d go to Fenwick, she decided, as that was near Brown’s Hotel where she and Henrietta had arranged to meet.
She looked up as the compartment door slid open and a woman and a young boy fell in, laughing and breathless.
‘In here, Ted, we’ve got it to ourselves. Oh!’ The woman stopped as she saw Clementine. ‘Sorry. Do you mind if we sit here? We nearly missed the train.’
‘Of course not.’ Clementine smiled at her.
The woman was dazzling, with porcelain skin, pewter eyes and a tumble of red hair that fell halfway down her back.
Clementine was intrigued. As the woman settled into the seat opposite, Clementine took in every detail.
Her clothes were a little worn, but she had a certain style: a Scotty dog brooch on the lapel of her fitted jacket, a polka-dot dress with a full skirt underneath, high heels.
The little boy had a coat on that was too big and trousers that were a little short, and a corduroy cap that swamped him so she couldn’t see his face.
As he swiped it off and chucked it on the seat next to him, Clementine saw his features and her heart skipped a beat.
Edwin. He was the spitting image of Edwin.
Elizabeth kept enough photos of him as a young boy around the house for Clementine to recognise the similarity.
The swoop of gold hair across his brow, the straight nose, the full top lip and the slight dimple in the chin.
She tried not to gasp but she couldn’t help putting her hand to her mouth.
Aware that the woman had seen her gesture, she cleared her throat to feign a cough.
‘Excuse me. It’s the steam.’
She patted her chest. The woman gave a polite nod as if accepting her excuse, then busied herself getting exercise books out of the bag she was carrying.
‘Right, young man. We need to do your spellings, if you’re going to miss school today. We might as well do them now as Mr C won’t have a clue if you get them right or wrong. He can’t spell to save his life. Specially not in English.’
The boy gave a dramatic groan and slumped back in his seat.
‘Telephone,’ said the woman.
‘T-E-L-Y –’ the boy began to recite.
‘Nope.’
He frowned. ‘It must be.’
She shook her head. ‘Tel-E-phone.’
He harrumphed. ‘T-E-L-E-P-H-O-N-E.’
‘Correct! Apology.’
‘Why do I have to apologise?’
The woman laughed, a glorious cascade of sound that came from deep inside her. ‘Spell it, you nit. Apology.’
‘A-P …’
Clementine sat back in her seat and pretended to be looking at her list while they went through the spellings.
She was racking her brain to try to find an explanation for the two of them.
The Arbutuses had lived in Breverton for generations.
Was the little boy a cousin of Edwin and Alfie’s she hadn’t been told about?
Entirely possible, she supposed. Perhaps the son of an estranged brother of Michael’s that they never talked about?
There was probably a lot she didn’t know about the family.
‘Muuuum.’ The boy had had enough. ‘I’ve done ten. No more.’
‘We need to do twenty.’ Her voice was firm.
So she was his mother. But who on earth was she? Logic told Clementine the woman must be from Breverton, as that’s where she’d got on, but her accent wasn’t the soft Somerset burr she’d come to hear in the shops. She was London through and through.
Was there some family secret that they were keeping from her?
After about half an hour, the spellings were finished and put away, an apple was produced and eaten and the boy announced he needed the lav.
‘Come on, then.’ His mother jumped up. ‘Let’s go and find it.’
She looked at her bag, then over at Clementine.
‘Would you keep an eye on our things?’
‘Of course.’
‘Ta. Come on, Ted.’
She bustled him out of the compartment. Clementine stared over at the bag, her mind racing. She wondered how long she had got before they returned, if she had time to look in the bag and find a clue.
This was going to be her only chance to get at the truth.
Unless she struck up a conversation, but even then she couldn’t quite imagine what line of questioning would get her the answers she wanted.
She stood up, crossed the space between the bench seats, hooked open the bag with her finger with one eye on the window to the corridor, then looked inside.
A purse. A hairbrush. Another apple. And underneath, a sheaf of paper wrapped up in a red ribbon.
It was too dark inside the bag. She’d have to open it wider.
It didn’t take long for a small boy to have a wee.
She had seconds. She prised it open, letting the light from the window fall onto the page at the top.
The Towpath Gang. Stella Knight.
On the seat next to the bag was the boy’s spelling book. Clementine flipped it open. Inside the front cover was printed Breverton Infants’ School and underneath was a list of the people who the book had belonged to over the years. At the bottom was his name.
E. Knight.
Could his name be Edwin? Was that what Ted was short for?
And if so, did that mean what she was wondering?
Could he be Edwin’s son? A wartime indiscretion?
Edwin had been engaged to an American heiress when he died.
Stella – Clementine presumed that was her manuscript inside the bag – was not an American heiress. Far from it.
She shot back to her seat and sat down with moments to spare.
Ted threw back the door and bounced inside, then headed for the window as Stella gave her a smile of thanks and settled back down.
They were about to stop at Newbury station.
The train came to a wheezing halt and all along the platform doors clanged open and shut.
‘How much longer, Mum?’ asked Ted.
‘A good hour, love.’
‘I’m hungry.’
Stella looked anxious. ‘You’ll have to wait till we get to Mr C. He’ll make you some lunch.’
He gave a melodramatic sigh and flung himself back in his seat, clutching his stomach. ‘I’m going to die of starvation.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said Stella with a grin. ‘You had a massive bowl of porridge before we left. Here, have my apple.’
‘I’m not apple kind of hungry.’
‘Well, you can’t be hungry at all, then.’
Ted rolled his eyes but he was grinning. He wasn’t being a brat, he was just a little boy. Probably a bit bored and probably, yes, a bit hungry. They were gannets at that age.
Clementine opened her own bag. She had a bar of Bournville chocolate tucked in there. She took it out and held it up to Stella surreptitiously, so Ted couldn’t see it. She raised an eyebrow, nodding her head towards him and mouthing ‘Can I?’
Stella’s eyes widened and she smiled. She held up her finger and thumb to indicate a little bit, then nodded.
‘I wonder,’ said Clementine, leaning towards Ted, ‘would you share this with me? I can’t possibly manage it all, and it needs eating up.’
Ted stared at the red wrapping with the golden paper. Then looked at his mother.
‘Go on, then,’ said Stella. ‘And say thank you to the kind lady.’
‘Cor, thanks!’ Ted looked thrilled as Clementine snapped off a chunk and handed it to him.
The train clattered on. Stella stared out of the window, her fingers worrying at a chain around her neck, sliding a ring along its length, backwards and forwards.
Clementine looked more closely. She knew that ring.
It was an exact copy of Alfie’s signet ring.
The bloodstone with the pelican engraving.
She would know it anywhere. Michael wore one too, so presumably Edwin had had one. Could that be his? Or a copy?
She could hardly start grilling Stella about where she’d got it. She turned over all the clues in her mind. A child the spitting image of Edwin. A ring with the family crest. A stunningly beautiful woman. None of it made sense.
She longed to say something, but she didn’t want to crash into their little world.
Stella and Ted seemed to have such a special bond.
Clementine wondered with a pang if she was ever going to have that experience herself.
She tried not to worry about the miscarriage, and whether it would happen again, but seeing the two of them, the way Ted was leaning against his mum, munching his chocolate, and her absent-mindedly running her fingers through his hair, without him seeming to mind – it sent a sharp longing through her. So she stayed quiet.
As the train drew into Paddington, Stella jumped up, grabbing her bag and Ted’s hand.
‘Come on, love. We need to hurry.’ She darted a smile at Clementine. ‘Thank you so much for the chocolate.’
And they were gone.
Perplexed, Clementine made her way out onto Praed Street and put her hand up for a passing taxi. It glided to an obliging halt.
‘Harley Street, please,’ she said, and clambered in.