Always In My Heart

Seven

France, 1941

Brenda kept her head down in the Paris apartment for a couple of weeks. By the end of that time she was beginning to feel quite claustrophobic and anxious to get back to her normal routine. Surely she’d be reasonably safe, or at no greater risk than anyone else? Resistance was increasing. They were bombing railway lines and derailing trains in order to block the lines and make things as difficult as possible for the occupiers of their land, just as Jack had insisted they should. But the Germans always retaliated brutally. As did the British. There were frequent air raids upon the city, and they lived in fear of the apartment being bombed.

It was late one afternoon when she was coming home loaded with shopping, after venturing out to one of the many local markets in the city, that the bridge over the railway line she was about to cross suddenly exploded in front of her. Brenda found herself flung off her feet and knocked to the ground. One moment lights had flashed all around her, then darkness descended.

She came round to find rubble, dust, stones and scraps of burning metal scattered all over her. Terror erupted within her, and gently moving her limbs, she felt deeply relieved to find they were still working, if rather cut, bruised and stinging from the burns. Brenda felt fortunate to still be alive. Had she arrived at the bridge a few moments earlier, it could have been an entirely different story. Staggering to her feet, she gathered up the remnants of her shopping and slowly made her way back to the apartment.

Yet again Camille was shocked to the core at the sorry state of her when Brenda came limping into the drawing room. ‘Oh, my dear girl, what has happened this time? Not more trouble?’ she cried.

‘Don’t panic, I’ve no serious injuries. Just feel a bit shell-shocked,’ Brenda assured her, gathering her strength. Then quickly telling them about the bombed bridge, she glanced across at the baby fast asleep in his crib and sent up a silent prayer of thanks that her precious child had not been with her. Keeping Tommy safe was becoming a serious concern.

Adèle at once rushed to fetch hot water, bandages and iodine to tend to the injuries on Brenda’s arms and legs.

In the days following, Brenda suffered yet more sleepless nights, nightmares and constant flashbacks, as if locked back in time and experiencing the incident over and over again in her head. At other times she felt entirely disconnected from the world, as if she’d dropped back into that black pit she’d fallen into following Jack’s death. She would feel entirely unable to concentrate or remember anything, riddled with an intense fear, a sense of helplessness and horror-sensations she valiantly fought to block out.

Camille strived to help her deal with her distress by feeding and comforting her, as well as encouraging her to speak of how she felt, which Brenda found almost impossible to do.

‘You should return to England, dear girl,’ Camille suggested, as she had a dozen or more times. ‘You need to take Tommy home to the house and estate he will one day inherit, and where he will be safe. That is what Jack wished, as it is where his son belongs.’

Remembering the will Jack had written to protect their future family, Brenda fully intended to ensure his wishes were carried out. She looked forward to showing Tommy the farm and land that would one day be his; the great stone barns filled with the sweet scent of hay, the milking parlour and sheep-folds, the lush green intake land close to the house where the flock was wintered. There was so much she’d loved about living and working there. Yet when that could happen was beyond imagining.

‘Sorry, Camille, but is this the right moment? Trying to find a safe way out of France will present enormous difficulties.’

Her mother-in-law let out a heavy sigh. ‘We could make a few enquiries, quietly among friends.’

Later, sitting drinking a mug of hot chocolate, Brenda met the anxious expressions of these lovely ladies with a suggestion that had been gnawing at her for some time. ‘I wonder if we should all leave Paris and find somewhere safer to live outside of the city.’

‘Oh, that’s an excellent idea,’ Adèle said, clapping her hands. ‘I’ve said as much to Camille more than once. We could go and live in my house in the Loire Valley. We’d be much safer there, far away from any bombing, let alone the presence of those dreadful brothels.’

‘Why not?’ Camille said with a nod. ‘At least until we find a way to get Brenda and Tommy safely back to England.’

And so it was agreed.

Wasting no time, they were in the midst of packing clothes and other essentials the following morning when there came a loud hammering on the door. The next moment it was flung open and a bunch of German guards marched in. ‘We need to see your papers,’ they demanded.

Fear invaded her heart once more as Brenda obediently handed over her passport, realising what was about to happen. She was at once ordered to pack a small bag, which she quickly did, helped by Camille, while Adèle carefully kept the baby safely out of sight. This was what Brenda had dreaded for so long. And what bad luck that it should happen now, just when she’d finally persuaded Camille to leave Paris. Then she remembered that rogue, Étienne Bresson, who’d lured her into his brothel. Had he taken revenge for her refusal to accept his offer by reporting her to the Gestapo?

As Brenda bravely attempted to remain calm, she slipped off her wedding ring and secretly pushed it into Camille’s hand. She had no wish for these Nazis to steal this precious item from her. Receiving a little hand-squeeze by way of response, she interpreted this as a promise that her mother-in-law would take good care of it.

Glancing back over her shoulder as she was marched out into the street, Brenda gave her a desperate pleading glance, silently begging her to take good care of her son too, who was far more important. With tears in her eyes and a hand clasped tightly over her trembling mouth, dear Camille gave a little nod by way of assurance.

Tommy at least would remain safe with his grandmamma, Brenda thought with relief as she was hustled into a black police van and driven away into the unknown.

*

She was taken across Paris to the Gare de l’Est, together with dozens of other women: dancers from the Folies Bergére, governesses, nannies and even prostitutes, despite that rogue’s assurance that such a job would keep a woman safe. They were all bundled on to a train. More arrived in the hours following as they waited in the cold and the dark, with no light or heating on board. Like everyone else, Brenda was suffering badly from anxiety about where they would be taken. Germany, perhaps? The only comfort she could find to stem the flood of emotional trauma pulsating through her was that at least her child was safe. If she was to be interned in a prison camp, the last thing she would have wanted was for Tommy to suffer that too.

‘Why are they doing this to us?’ she couldn’t help but ask the woman sitting next to her, as anger ricocheted through her.

‘It’s in revenge for the British government interning supposed enemy aliens, including Germans and Italians.’

‘So we women are putty in their hands, despite being entirely innocent?’ Brenda snapped.

‘We are indeed, as are many of those interned in England.’ She was a most elegant lady clad in a fur coat with a small turban wrapped around her fair hair. ‘I’m Emma. Happy to make your acquaintance, particularly in these circumstances,’ she said, holding out a hand sparkling with rings. ‘We were here in France because my husband is involved in the silk industry. He’s also been arrested for having a British passport. I pray to God he will be safe.’

‘I’m Brenda.’ They shook hands and soon became good friends as they shared their agonies of war.

The journey took days, the train constantly shunted into a siding where it would stand for hours on end. In a way they welcomed this, as with no toilets on board it allowed them to go outside and relieve themselves—if, sadly, in front of the guards. When there were no stops for hours on end the very young and old found it hard to hold on to their bladder, and the stink in the carriages was horrendous. Brenda would use a spare bag, then empty it out of the train window, curling her nose in disgust as she did so. Many women spent much of the journey weeping, children screaming, having tantrums or being sick.

Sometimes they’d stop at a station to queue for food and water, as there was none of that on the train either. It would generally be soup, or bread and sausage provided by the Red Cross or German nurses.

Eventually they arrived in Besançon, an internment camp that looked very like a fortress situated quite close to Switzerland in the foothills of the Jura Mountains.

‘At least we’ve not been sent to Germany,’ Brenda said on a sigh of relief.

‘Which would be far worse,’ Emma agreed. ‘And we can now finally leave this foul-smelling train.’

The town appeared ancient but rather beautiful, encircled by a river with woods stretching for miles all around. ‘I’d love to explore it,’ Brenda said. ‘Although I doubt they’ll ever allow that to happen, as we are about to be interned.’ Camille and Adèle would presumably be on their way to the Loire Valley by now. How she envied them. It occurred to Brenda in that dreadful moment as they climbed out of the train on to a platform slippery with ice, that she had no idea of the address. Bugger! Why hadn’t she thought to ask? Sadly, there’d been no time to check such details, as she’d been hustled off under arrest in such a rush. She would simply have to be thankful that at least Tommy was safe.

The women were met at the station by German soldiers barking orders furiously at them. Exhaustion and the freezing cold made her feel so numb, Brenda could barely take in a word they were saying. Not that she understood a word of German. Packed into lorries, the women were taken to the camp, then lined up in the courtyard while the luggage was brought from the train. The cast-iron gates were finally closed and locked behind them.

So here they were, trapped in hell.

Eight

1944

‘By heck, you’re a good little baker, chuck,’ the housekeeper said, reaching for another slice of the blackberry shortbread Brenda had spent the afternoon making. ‘Where did tha learn this?’

Brenda laughed. ‘As you know, the nuns taught us all how to cook, clean, wash and iron. They considered such skills necessary for every woman. And, of course, I learned a lot from you when I worked here, Mrs Harding. Then while in France with Camille, I was in charge of all the cooking.’

‘Well, tha’s improved a great deal, I’d say that for thee,’ Mrs Harding said as she happily chewed the biscuit. ‘The sweet taste of these blackberries makes up wonderfully for the lack of sugar, since rationing puts it in short supply. What are thee making now?’ she asked, seeing Brenda start to grate a Bramley apple.

‘Bread-and-apple pudding,’ Brenda told her. ‘Can’t use up too much of your flour, but we do at least have some butter from the farm cows, and there’s some bread in the bin that’s a bit past its best. I thought I’d add apple and a few currants, if we have any to spare.’

‘Eeh, I’m sure Master Hugh would love that. I take it you’ll be joining the family for dinner tonight? I believe Miss Melissa is expected too, coming up by train today from London, where she now lives.’

Brenda bit on her lower lip as she looked up at the housekeeper in dismay. ‘Hadn’t thought of that. Not sure they’d welcome me, particularly Miss Melissa.’

Carter the butler gave her shoulder a gentle pat. ‘I’m sure they will. Miss Prudence certainly would. And you really shouldn’t be working in the kitchen with us. You’re no longer a servant, remember.’

‘Hugh might disagree with you on that.’

Giving a little chuckle, he said, ‘I could ask if you will be expected to attend?’

‘Don’t bother, I’m really not eager to intrude.’ Then with a slight frown, she instantly changed her mind. ‘Although perhaps I should, as before I head off to Manchester tomorrow in search of a job I need to know the name and address of the family solicitor. That’s where Jack sent a copy of his will. I’ve no idea what’s in it but really should find out, as his mother instructed.’

Carter gave a sad nod of his head, then quickly disappeared up the back stairs.

Brenda pondered this decision as she returned to the kitchen table. A lawyer might also be able to help her find Tommy, for which she’d no doubt need a considerable sum of money to pay him. But she was willing to work her socks off to achieve that. Determined to keep her mind off her worries by remaining busy she thinly sliced the bread, added a drop of lemon juice, lined a basin, then sprinkled on raisins, grated apple and a touch of cinnamon. Topping the pudding off with a second layer of bread, she added a drop of milk to moisten it before putting it in the oven.

Just as she started the washing up, Mrs Harding having nodded off in her chair, the butler returned. He wore a grim expression upon his usually cheerful face as he burst through the kitchen door, his round cheeks flushed scarlet, clearly as much from anger as the heat and steam from the baking.

Woken from her sleep by the bang of the door, Mrs Harding cried, ‘Dear lord, what’s going on?’

‘I’m afraid the answer is no to both questions,’ Carter sourly remarked. ‘Master Hugh made it very clear that he has no wish for you to join them for dinner. And absolutely refused to provide the address of the family solicitor.’

‘Oh, my word.’ Mrs Harding looked horrified. ‘Does this young lady not have the right to see her late husband’s will?’

‘Good question. I did ask him that, but since she cannot prove that they truly were married, he says no, she has no right at all.’

Brenda sighed with frustration. ‘He clearly has no notion of how difficult life was in France for us British. I’ll perhaps have a quiet word with him, and try again to convince him.’

‘No need,’ Carter said. ‘I can provide you with the necessary information. I’m fully aware of the name of the family solicitor, and where his office is situated in Manchester.’

‘That would not be a safe thing for you to do, Mister Carter. Were Hugh to realise you’d revealed it to me, he could very well dismiss you, as his father did me. I will not allow you to take that risk. I think perhaps I will go in to dinner with the family. Surely I have that right as his sister-in-law?’

‘And you did bake the pudding,’ chuckled Mrs Harding.

*

Rummaging through the few clothes she’d managed to bring with her, Brenda found little fit to wear, settling for a very plain brown skirt and a white blouse she’d bought at a market in Spain. They were at least clean, as dear Mrs Harding had washed everything for her. Walking down the grand staircase and across the slate-tiled hall took her back to the days when she’d been a humble servant here. She felt as if she should be setting the table, preparing and serving food, as she’d done back then. No wonder Hugh could not get his head around the fact that she was now a member of his family.

Melissa was in the dining room when Brenda entered; standing alone smoking a cigarette, glass in hand by the grand marble fireplace. ‘Good gracious, so you are that whip of a girl who ran off with my brother? You’ve absolutely no right to come back here.’

Gazing upon her gloriously grand sister-in-law wearing a cocktail dress of blue silk organza with a tiered skirt and low neckline, Brenda felt like a piece of scum caught on the heel of a boot. Melissa was a classic beauty with an enchanting oval face, grey-green eyes and a haze of soft, silver-blonde curls; the kind of looks that would turn any man’s head. And Mrs Harding had surely been wrong about the threat of bankruptcy. It was quite obvious this young woman was not short of money. Facing her with the courage she’d acquired over the years, Brenda managed a polite smile.

‘As you know, Jack and I left under orders from his father, and were so in love that we married. However, I am fully aware of your brother’s doubts on the status of our relationship.’

‘I’m not at all surprised,’ Melissa curtly responded as she walked over to the sideboard to pour more gin into her glass. ‘If you imagine you can stay for dinner, you couldn’t be more wrong. You were definitely not invited.’

‘That is perfectly all right. The kitchen staff are most friendly, so I would have no objection to sharing a meal with them.’

‘Which is where you truly belong.’

‘They would not agree with you on that point, not now that I’m Jack’s widow,’ Brenda firmly contested. The pomposity of this woman was irritating her enormously. Her sister-in-law clearly believed that being rich and able to parade herself in a grand dining room decked out with glorious chandeliers, velvet curtains, elegant Chinese cabinets and a table long enough to host twenty people, gave her the right to be dismissive of an ordinary working-class lass. Had she no manners? ‘There is a reason I am here. With war having broken out, Jack did make a will, to ensure that I was properly provided for. But in order to prove that we truly were man and wife, I need the details of the family solicitor. He could hopefully retrieve the necessary paperwork from France.’

Tossing her half-smoked cigarette into the fire, Melissa snorted with laughter, making her firm aquiline nose puff out. ‘Don’t be ridiculous! Why would he waste time and money on such a pointless task?’

Brenda quietly ground her teeth while keeping a bland smile fixed upon her face. Now was surely the moment to reveal reality. ‘It’s not pointless at all. Jack told me that he’d sent a copy of his will to the family solicitor, and as I must consider our son’s future, I need to see it.’

The silence following this statement was slightly unnerving, making Brenda almost regret having revealed the truth. The last thing she wished to talk about was the fear she felt for her lost child. A deep voice from behind broke the silence with a snarl of harsh fury.

‘What the hell are you talking about? You’ve made no mention of any son.’

Hugh had chosen that moment to walk in. Turning to face him, her heart pounding, Brenda met his gaze full on. ‘You never asked. Thomas, or Tommy, as we call him, was, sadly, not born until after his father’s death. Yet Jack was fully aware I was expecting, and looking forward to the birth of his child. As I have attempted to explain, he did make the necessary provision for his family’s future security.’

‘Where is this alleged son?’ Melissa scornfully asked, eyes narrowing as she sipped her gin. ‘We’ve no proof that he even exists.’

‘Ah, that is the problem,’ Brenda confessed. Her voice dropped as she briefly explained how she’d left him with Camille when she was arrested, believing him to be safe. And had then failed to find him once she’d escaped years later.

‘Arrested? Escaped? Are you claiming to be a spy, or do you just like making up yet more stupid stories?’ Hugh accused her.

Brenda firmly lifted her chin. ‘I’m telling you exactly what happened.’

‘Utter nonsense,’ Melissa scoffed.

Battling to remain calm, Brenda had never felt more furious. What on earth had possessed her to imagine the Stuart family would believe anything she said? Jack had been the kindest, sweetest man on earth, so why wasn’t his brother, who looked so like him, equally kind? Dressed for dinner in a smart black suit with bow tie and white shirt, he appeared most handsome, yet his manner was rude, arrogant and completely unfriendly, even if she did find herself enthralled by the sparkle in his grey eyes. ‘It is not a subject I find easy to talk about in any detail, as it’s quite painful to remember those years in an internment camp. But if you feel it necessary, I will do my best to describe how it was.’ She’d most certainly never admit to all that had happened there. Wouldn’t that give them the excuse they sought to claim that Tommy was not Jack’s son?

Hugh gave a snort of derision. ‘I’ve heard enough of your lies. Why would I believe this child to be my brother’s son when you cannot even prove you were married?’

‘What’s going on? What are you accusing Brenda of?’ Prue had walked in and glared at her sour-faced brother, a puzzled frown on her face.

‘This chit is telling even more lies in order to get her hands on our family’s money,’ Melissa stated in an imperious tone. ‘She’s claiming to have had a son by Jack, but there’s absolutely no evidence of that fact.’

Prue gasped, and with a happy smile on her face clutched Brenda’s hands. ‘You have a son? Why didn’t you tell me?’

Brenda nodded, tears filling her eyes. ‘Because I find it so hard to talk about. He’s lost, as is Camille’s cousin, who was helping to look after him. I’ve spent years searching for him, and came back in the hope he might be here with his grandmother. But with Camille gone, I can’t understand why Adèle hasn’t been in touch. Where is she? And how on earth am I going to find my son if no one has her address?’

‘So you’re attempting to put the blame upon other people when it was you who abandoned your child,’ Hugh retorted. ‘Even when you know from personal experience how wrong that is. If you were planning to move him out of Paris, you would surely know where he was going?’

Hating his tone of voice, Brenda stuck firmly to her courage. ‘I was arrested, quite out of the blue, simply for being British. There was no time to organise or check anything.’

‘Why would we believe a word you say?’ Melissa pompously stated. ‘This is a tale you’ve invented in order to get your greedy hands on Jack’s money. I have four children and will not for one moment allow you to rob them of their rightful inheritance.’

Prue put her arm about her friend. ‘I do not believe Brenda is attempting any such thing. She is simply doing what is right for her own child.’

‘We have absolutely no evidence that he really is Jack’s son,’ her sister staunchly repeated. ‘And Mama did once write to say that this strip of a girl accepted an invitation to join a brothel. So we’re perfectly well aware she’s a whore.’

Brenda gasped, shock reverberating through her as she met the scathing gaze of this snobby young woman. ‘How dare you accuse me of such a thing? I did nothing of the sort! Yes, a man did offer me a job in what I presumed to be a hotel. But when I found out exactly what it was, I immediately left. I ran away as fast as I could, in fact.’

Melissa gave a caustic little laugh. ‘You expect us to believe that too, do you?’

‘It is the truth.’

‘You no doubt bestowed your favours upon the Germans like the harlot you clearly are. Otherwise why would Mama mention that fact in her letter?’

‘I do not for a moment believe that dear Camille accused me of being such an immoral creature. She would simply have been describing how difficult life was in France back then. And how the Nazis were so against the British, it put me in grave danger.’

‘She’s just making excuses,’ Melissa retorted, turning to her brother. ‘Blaming the war and everyone else for her own stupid mistakes.’

Hugh stepped forward to confront Brenda with a weary sigh. ‘I’m afraid my sister is making a valid point. This child could well be the illegitimate son of a German, and not our brother’s at all. Having chosen to stay in Paris and live with the enemy following Jack’s death, you were probably willing to spread your favours in order to remain free of internment, although it clearly didn’t work.’

‘I did not choose to live with the enemy, nor give myself to them!’ How dare they accuse her of such behaviour? No wonder she’d found it difficult to admit she’d given birth to Jack’s child after his death. Yet Brenda did still need to find her son, and then consider his future. Even Camille had insisted that she make a rightful claim for Tommy’s inheritance. Oh, if only the poor lady were here to support and welcome her.

Giving a disdainful little smile, Melissa set down her empty glass and smartly folded her arms. ‘You are no longer welcome here.’

Brenda almost laughed. ‘I never was.’

‘Then please leave now,’ Hugh ordered, and firmly pressed the bell to call Carter.

The butler instantly appeared, his expression looking very much as if he’d been listening outside the door to the entire conversation.

‘Show this madam out, please, Carter, and do not allow her to enter the house ever again.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Prue cried, looking shocked. ‘You can’t do this to her.’

‘It’s all right, Prue,’ Brenda said, blinking back tears. ‘I need to return to Manchester anyway in order to find myself a job. We can deal with this matter some other time.’

As Carter held open the door to show her out, Prue stepped up to her brother with anger etched into every line of her lovely face. ‘What on earth is happening to you? You’re turning into a real bully, just like Papa. You’ve no right to treat dear Brenda in this cruel fashion.’

‘I can do what I damn well please. I’m in charge here, not you! And we’re all aware of your love of rebellion. This is no longer even your home, as you chose to occupy one of the cottages we should be letting out to a tenant.’

‘Thank goodness I did, since I have every right to my independence and not be ruled by a tyrant like you. Like me, Brenda is a widow and she too has rights, namely to see her late husband’s will.’ And smartly spinning on her heel, Prue stalked out of the room in the wake of her friend.

They met up some ten minutes later in the kitchen where Brenda was putting on her coat, hat and scarf. Carter the butler fetched her brown suitcase and Mrs Harding quickly packed some food into a paper bag for her journey.

‘You surely don’t have to leave this very minute,’ Prue said.

‘I’m afraid that’s what I’ve been instructed to do. Don’t worry, Carter is taking me to the station and I’m sure there’ll be a train along soon. I’ll be able to stay with Cathie in Castlefield. If not, I’ll sleep in the waiting room,’ Brenda assured her. Wrapping her arms about her friend as they said goodbye at the kitchen door, Prue whispered in her ear: ‘Fairhurst and Emmerson is the firm of solicitors used by the family. You’ll find them in John Dalton Street. Do remember you are welcome to come and stay with me in my little cottage any time you like. Please do, lovey.’