He shunted around some of the other big items, putting boxes on top of the chest, clearing the bed and making a good space.
“Thank you,” I said begrudgingly. “And no, we’re not expecting a guest.” I looked out of the small window to the treetops in the back garden, where a lone magpie stood watching me from the branches. “At least, not yet.”
3 CHURCH ROW,
CHILBURY,
KENT.
Thursday, 1st August, 1940
Dear Clara,
Today I happened upon some extremely useful information, a trump card to trump all trumps. The morsel of which I speak is news that the Brigadier’s unwed daughter is pregnant. And you’ll never guess where I found this nugget of dirt—it was from the foolish girl herself.
There was a muffled knock at my door at about four this afternoon, and when I answered, there she was, all prettily done up but clearly flustered. She almost barged past me into the sitting room, looking behind her to check if anyone saw. Her rudeness was outstanding, but such was my intrigue that I planted a welcoming smile on my lips and followed behind.
“I need you to help me, Miss Paltry,” she said in quivering tones.
I sat down, brightening at the prospect. “Of course I can help, my dear. What do you need?”
“I need an abortion,” she said through gritted teeth, and the elation within me rose like a choir invisible, singing the praises of a new unprecedented opportunity.
And you know me, Clara. I wasn’t going to let it get away.
“How many people know you’re pregnant?” I asked quickly.
“But can you help me?” she snapped. She was in a trough of a mood, her face contorting into that of her odious dead brother.
“Of course I can help you, my dear,” I went over and patted her lap. “I know a specialist in Litchfield who can do it easy as pulling a chicken’s neck.”
She pulled away with a grimace on her face, and I beamed forward at her. “But it has to be hush-hush, so does anyone know? Your parents?”
“No, of course they don’t know,” she snapped, getting up and smoothing down her skirt, her nostrils screwing up as if she smelled the whiff of cat about the place. “It’s not Mrs. Nees, is it?”
“Not Mrs. Nees?” I repeated quickly with a frown. Who’d she been talking to if she knew that name? Of course Nees is the only one round here, but I quickly had to pretend I knew someone else. “I’ve never heard of Mrs. Nees,” I said all innocent. “But I’d never let you go to anyone bad, if that’s what you mean. A nice lady like you. I have a much better specialist in mind, a man who used to be a doctor.”
She didn’t sit back down, just looked out the window at the banks of the pond, as if remembering something. “Why isn’t he a doctor anymore?”
“You can’t ask too many questions, girl. I tell it to you straight. He’s done an all right job in the past. No deaths yet.” I coughed a little. “To my knowledge.”
Her face suddenly dissolved into tears, and she ran for the door.
“Shall I ask him if he’s free?” I called after her as she raced across the green, the heels of her shoes sinking into the grass as her white shawl billowed out behind her, like one of those Greek statues, like a perfect daughter.
Except I knew the devil cringing inside her dirty little womb.
I backed into my house and locked the door. I wasn’t keen on getting an abortion for her anyway. No, I was interested in the much bigger prize glittering from the hand of the Brigadier. How debilitated he would be at the news of his daughter despoiled by a commoner. I would ask him for the rest of my money straightaway, and if he put up any resistance, I’d play my trump card.
I had to strike fast in case he found out from someone else first, and remembered I’d overheard Kitty at choir saying that he was in London today. You see how useful joining their ridiculous choir has been? She said he was at a supposed war meeting, more likely meeting his mistress if you ask me. I quickly worked out that he’d be on the evening train, the 9:21. So after dinner I took myself off to the station to wait.
I arrived early and stood outside the station reading the timetables, just in case I was spotted. I didn’t want company for my little chat with the Brigadier. But the only person who came off the train was the Vicar back from Litchfield.
I stormed around for a few minutes and was just about to take off when I heard voices from the platform. On poking my head around the corner, I saw the Brigadier giving the guard strong words about something, the train being late, or untidy, or too jerky. He had been on the 9:21 after all.
And he was clearly not in a good mood.
I drew back outside and took a deep breath. It was almost dark, the sky a dappled dark blue with stars squinting through the gaps, and the sound of the train chuffed into the unknown. I shivered with discomfort, but the deed had to be done. I had to remember that I had the winning hand.