Chapter 38 Elise
Elise
Sylvia Hammond was in her element with a microphone in her hand, her blonde hair piled up in an elaborate bun on her head, teeth gleaming white as she smiled at the assembled crowd.
Different altogether to the jet-lagged, dismayed woman Sam and Elise had met six months previously when she’d arrived unannounced at Marsh House.
“My,” she’d said then. “I really thought you’d be further along with things than this.”
Somehow, Elise hadn’t felt apprehensive. She recognised weeks of despair behind Sylvia’s greyish, washed-out complexion. “I do hope your husband’s a lot better now?” she asked, and Sylvia’s smile flashed briefly, relief softening her features.
“Yes, thank you, he is. It’s a very slow process, but he’s getting there.”
Elise returned her smile. “I’m so glad,” she said, and then she proceeded to tell Sylvia the story of why the work at Marsh House had fallen so behind and why part of the mural of the marshes now sported a painting of Selkey Mere slap-bang in the middle of it.
Six months on from that conversation, Sylvia’s lip gloss gleamed as she smiled at the crowd.
Esther was there with her husband. Gran, near the front, looking extremely glamorous in a long ruby-red dress, with a couple of Gran’s equally glamorous friends from her volunteering days at Charleston, the house that had first inspired Sylvia’s idea for the project.
“When I first bought Marsh House and began to make my plans, I had no notion of including a museum as a part of it all, but, then, I had no notion of the amazing life of Lilias Carter-Brown, who lived here for more than forty years. Lilias’s courage and sacrifice saved the lives of many people during World War Two, and it’s only fitting we celebrate and honour that incredible achievement here, in the grounds of the home she loved so much.
I hereby declare the Lilias Carter-Brown Museum open. ”
As Sylvia stooped to cut the red ribbon, which was stretched across the museum entrance, Elise felt Sam squeeze her hand.
She turned to smile up at him, squeezing his hand back as everyone in the invited crowd clapped and cheered and began to filter inside to take a look at the carefully displayed exhibits.
These were the result of both painstaking research and the journals and books of photographs Elise and her gran had discovered amongst Ruth’s possessions after her death, and covered the whole span of Lilias’s life, not just her final few months of active service.
There were enlarged photos of Lilias’s travels with her father hung next to the paintings she’d made on the trips, side by side with day-to-day objects that had formed a part of life in wartime Britain for the family as well as photographs taken at the time, including many of Compass, her much-loved dog.
But the main draw of the museum was the story of Lilias’s secret work in occupied France and her tragic end at the hands of the Nazis, and, in a glass case, the George Cross that had been awarded to her posthumously for her efforts.
Elise hadn’t experienced anything supernatural at Marsh House since Harry’s body had been discovered and the truth about Gran and Lilias had come out.
It was as if she’d helped Lilias to achieve what she had wanted to achieve, and now she was at peace.
Elise had sensed, as she restored the mural of the marshes, that, now she’d communicated her message, Lilias was quite happy for her to paint over the picture of Selkey Mere.
And now, as she and Sam stood together looking at Lilias’s George Cross, they shared a smile.
Only family members and Sylvia knew it was a replica, that the real medal was safely at Gran’s house, a cherished memory of a mother she’d never been given the chance to know.
This part of Lilias’s story was not reflected in the museum’s exhibits.
Even if Nonna hadn’t died so soon after revealing the truth about her actions, it wouldn’t have seemed respectful to reveal such a scandal to the world.
Ruth herself had lived on for a few short weeks, and had therefore been able, in a limited way, to get to know her niece.
For that, Elise was grateful, though she often found herself missing her and wishing she’d known of her existence earlier.
That Marsh House had been a part of her memories of growing up.
Yet, it would continue to be a part of her life now. At least for the next twelve months, anyway. Because Elise was to stay on locally in a nearby holiday rental—to work on at the house as one of four artists in residence, along with a weaver, a potter, and a silversmith.
“Your portrait is a huge hit,” Sam told her, indicating the crowd that had gathered around it, close to the case with the George Cross.
Elise smiled. She’d put her heart and soul into a large portrait of Lilias, portraying her amongst a swirl of chickens, sea lavender, parachutes, and the Eiffel Tower.
There was also an evacuee—her great-uncle David—holding hands with another boy.
The two boys were smiling at each other; a smile that promised hours of fun and mischief.
Elise didn’t think Lilias would mind having Charlie painted into her portrait.
In fact, she was confident she’d approve.
Beyond the boys, Elise had painted a procession of troops—the men Lilias had ultimately given her life to save.
Right at the front of the procession, dressed in the uniform he’d have worn if he hadn’t died before he could report for duty, was Harry, a Jack Russell terrier by his side.
And, tucked away in a corner at the top, there was a baby, swaddled in a blanket. Gran.
Jasmine pushed her way through the press of people to reach them. “I’ve looked at everything now,” she said. “Can we take Lulu for a walk, Elise?”
In the past year, they’d come a long way together, Elise and Jasmine.
Lilias may or may not have played a part in that, because, very mysteriously, Elise’s phone and Jasmine’s phone kept ringing each other.
It was either Lilias or a telecoms glitch, but anyway, at first Jasmine had been annoyed about it.
But then one of the times it had happened, Jasmine had been upset because some friends had been mean to her, and she’d ended up talking to Elise about it.
After that, things were easier between them.
And Sam had helped, of course, by always being supportive and giving them time to get to know each other.
“Yes,” Elise answered Jasmine’s question, “we can. After all, you have been cooped up here a lot lately, helping to get everything ready. Are you coming, too, Sam?”
“Of course he is!” Jasmine declared. “C’mon, then. What are you waiting for?”
Sam and Elise both laughed, stopping to tell Gran where they were going before they followed Jasmine to Elise’s new studio in the garden, where they’d left Lulu.
But when they opened the studio door, Lulu seemed very busy with something.
And although she waved her tail in greeting, she soon turned back to her game, chasing round and round the room, moving as if she were dodging something or somebody.
“Whatever’s she up to?” Sam asked as the little dog began to yap with what sounded like delight, her front legs going down in a play bow before she leapt up and began to chase around the room again.
“She’s playing!” Jasmine said, and Elise smiled, watching her dog, a thrill of excitement coursing right through her. Jasmine was right—Lulu was playing. But not in the way she usually played when she was on her own. She was playing as if there were another dog—or a child—in the room with her.
How many times had Elise watched Charlie rush around a room with Lulu like this before he’d become too ill to do it any longer?
Many, many times.
The memories were so vivid, Elise could almost hear her son’s cries of delight as the pair of them chased and dodged around the kitchen diner of their London home.
Could Charlie possibly be here with them now?
“Everything all right?” Sam asked, noticing the glitter of unshed tears in Elise’s eyes, and Elise nodded.
“Oh, yes,” she said, “everything’s fine. Better than fine, in fact.” She smiled to back up her words.
“Good,” Sam said, pulling her close, and, as he did so, the sun shone through the crystals Elise had hung up in the window, filling the room with rainbows.