Tracing Shadows: Love-in-War, #3

By Susan Leona Fisher

When Ellen Roberts opens her front door and finds her long-absent granddaughter Janie standing there, little does she expect she will be confronted by the past.

For, once Janie unearths a box of correspondence from the First World War hidden in a cupboard, memories come flooding back—how Ellen solved the mystery of those letters, the romance she found along the way, and a guilty secret she's kept from her daughter Frances for years.

That history belongs as much to Frances and Janie as to Ellen. Will she have the courage to share it?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Susan Fisher
• Release date: Jan 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201063207

Susan Leona Fisher

Susan Leona Fisher began writing fiction on her retirement, having been a technical/academic writer in her former working life. She was born in London and now lives in the Yorkshire Dales, having lived in various places in between, due to  her clergyman husband’s various postings. Her route to publication was via the New Writers’ Scheme run by the Romantic Novelists’ Association, of which she is a member. She has written 20 historical romances in settings ranging from the ever-popular Regency period to the Second World War. One of them, A Master of Litigation, made the final for historical romance in the Romantic Novel Awards 2018. She has also written several contemporary romances and one non-fiction biography.

Book preview

Foreword

A few years ago my granddaughter unearthed a box of old correspondence in my house. It was written during the First World War between my own grandmother and the young man she loved. Tragically, he was to die just a year after they met. He never returned from the war.

I’d forgotten all about it, that box of family history. Not that anyone with a historian’s discipline such as mine ever really forgets. I’d put it in the back of a cupboard, just as I’d banished the painful memories associated with it to the back of my mind. When I first discovered those bundles of letters in 1963, after my grandmother’s death, I was just as curious as my granddaughter to find out more about the young man, and why, apparently, Grandmama’s parents so took against him. For a while back then I became a historical detective and the heroine of an unexpected and wonderful romance, with which the paths of my daughter and granddaughter are inextricably linked.

My granddaughter has long urged me to write it down so it is not lost to future generations, and the imminent arrival of my first great-grandchild has at last prompted me to do so.

This is our story. It is a journey through loss, pain and betrayal, but also of love and, ultimately, forgiveness.

Ellen Roberts, July 2013

Prologue

Autumn 1916

She was on duty when he came, yet again, to visit his friend. This must be a week, at least, of daily visits, a colleague in the reception office had commented. They were used to relatives and friends coming once, and then not being able to face it again. He was being a very faithful friend or brother. It had been she who had first directed him to the correct ward. Though not a nurse herself, she knew from friends among the nursing staff what it meant, that ward, and judging by his grim expression as he approached again, his steps echoing on the tiled surface of the hospital’s large main entrance hall, he too was aware of the inevitable outcome.

He was tall, with thick wavy hair, a neat moustache and a military bearing, though he did not come in uniform, being on leave as she later discovered. It was his eyes she particularly noticed, dark brown and kind-looking, giving you his whole attention as he conversed with you. The face was handsome, broad of brow, aquiline nose, and strong cleft chin. The voice was pleasant, quite deep and with a hint of the north. She met all sorts here, and had become quite skilled at placing people.

Her period of duty was about to end, so it seemed he was arriving at his usual time. She would normally see him come in, but had gone home by the time he left. Today was different, for he reappeared a few minutes after going along the corridor which led to the wards. She had just finished briefing the colleague who was taking over for the night, and they both glanced up for a moment, surprised at hearing him return so soon. He walked slowly, apparently deep in thought, shoulders slightly slumped, hands in pockets, head downcast. Drawing level with the desk, he raised his eyes briefly towards the women talking there as he walked on past. Putting on her coat with a hope the night goes okay to her colleague, she turned to go just as he looked up again. Their eyes met and held.

Can I help? she asked, but she already knew, from his manner and the sadness in his eyes, that she couldn’t.

A moment’s silence, and then he replied. No, I don’t think so... Thanks for asking. The bed’s empty now, he died early this morning, they say. As expected, she thought. He turned away and continued walking towards the main door.

Excuse me, she said, and he stopped and looked at her expectantly. Did you...um...you could.... It’s probably not too late, you know, if you’d like to ask the ward sister if you can see him. She wasn’t used to dealing with this sort of thing. He must think her quite inept.

You’re very kind to suggest that, but no, he said gently, I don’t think I want or need to. I’m glad for him really. It was pretty bad, he added, his eyes downcast, remembering. He paused, and with the trace of a smile, said, It looks like you’re finished here for the day. Are you going straight home, or might you have time for a cup of what passes for coffee these days to cheer up a tired and grieving soldier?

Chapter 1

September 2008

Ellen had intended this to be a quiet day of self-indulgence, taking advantage of the late summer sun to sit in the garden, start a new library book, maybe do a bit of early pruning and generally relax. The first interruption to her planned day of comfortable solitude came when the nice young family next door, who’d moved in a couple of months ago, invited her for coffee. Somehow she ended up agreeing to babysit the two children that evening. They were used to her, for she’d already helped out a couple of times before, but they were quite a lively pair and she hoped they’d be tired enough to sleep and leave her in peace to read her book.

How life comes round, she mused. Forty years ago a previous occupant of the same house, now long dead, had babysat Ellen’s own daughter. Before that, in many ways she’d been a second grandmother to Ellen herself when she was growing up. How gratifying to have good neighbours, with whom she’d already exchanged front door keys. The ones immediately before this family had not been so friendly.

She’d just prepared some lunch when the phone rang.

Hello, she answered, an old habit. She never gave the number or her name.

After a second or so’s pause, a man’s voice came down the line. Cousin Ellen? he said.

She recognised the accent and the voice straight away. Ed, is that you? Oh how delightful. How are you? ...And the family?

Just fine. And you?

Quite good on the whole. Everything all right with your parents? she asked, her anxious tone evident to herself. She hoped that wasn’t the reason he was ringing, for this was unusual. They normally made their transatlantic calls at Christmas and in June, when various family birthdays fell.

Amazing, really, they keep very active. They know I’m calling, and both send their love.

And mine back to them, Ed. What a relief!

Now then, Ellen, you might be wondering why you’re hearing from me today. Well, I was hoping you might like to have a visitor next weekend. I’ve got a bit of a surprise for you.

Of course, do come. How long can you stay?

And so it was arranged. Instead of taking her lunch outside as planned, Ellen ate more quickly than she should have, at the kitchen table, before going upstairs to clean the main guest room and put fresh linen on the bed. It was quite a while since she’d had anyone visit. By the time she’d finished it was nearly four o’clock, and she made herself a large mug of tea, intending to take it outside and catch the last of the sun, which was sinking fast. But then the front door bell went. She sighed, half hoping it would be next door saying they’d changed their minds about going out, so she could have an early night.

She was astonished on opening the door to find a young woman standing there. She was wearing quite shabby jeans, and what looked like a man’s shirt tied at the waist with the sleeves roughly rolled up. She had a frayed rucksack over one shoulder, and wore an equally worn and faded baseball cap from which protruded a few spikes of dark hair. Ellen gasped.

Janie? she said, as recognition dawned. Janie! How lovely to see you. Come in, come in.

The girl hesitated, glancing down. Oh, thought Ellen, where’s that lovely spontaneous smile she used to have? Then Janie looked up again and their eyes met. Ellen found herself looking into her own eyes, for they were quite alike. Forty-five years ago she remembered seeing a reflection of her own expression just like this one before her now, a kind of defeated sorrow.

I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch to let you know... Janie said, still not moving. I wasn’t quite sure where I was going when I was dropped off, and I kind of ended up here. Is it okay?

Ellen could see the tears welling up. Of course it is, I’m so very pleased to see you... She’d been going to add safe and well but thought better of it. The dear girl looked so vulnerable, as if she had an impenetrable shield around her, protecting an apparently quite fragile state.

The doubts about whether Ellen should breach it only lasted a moment before she stepped down the two front steps, gently placed one arm around her granddaughter’s bony shoulders and steered her into the house. How thin she’s become, Ellen observed, knowing she mustn’t comment.

Ellen led her across the square hall, which was big enough to be a room in itself. This part of the house had changed very little in many decades. She noticed Janie glance at the small oak dresser in the corner, with the old china jug which Ellen always kept filled with flowers. Today they were red roses, the flower of love and sharp pain.

Come on into the kitchen, Ellen said. I’ve just made a mug of tea. You have that one, I’ll make another. Then you can tell me all your adventures.

Ellen had noticed that Janie wasn’t just shabby, she was quite smelly as well, either her clothes, her body or both. Time enough to deal with that. She hoped her expression didn’t convey her shock. The last time she’d seen Janie had been at her seventeenth birthday celebration, over three years ago now. Not long after that she’d dropped out of her A-level courses and gone off with a small touring theatre group. At least she’d let them know she was all right, with the occasional phone call to her mum, and by sending postcards from the various places she was touring. How relieved they’d been to know she was safe in a provincial town, rather than potentially travelling by tube in the capital, when news of those awful bombings hit the headlines just a month after her departure.

Ellen still recalled the phone call which broke the news of Janie’s sudden change of direction almost word for word. Mother? Frances had asked. As if anyone else would answer this phone.

Hello, Frances, how are you?

Not brilliant. Your dear granddaughter has done something rather stupid.

Is she hurt? Is she all right?

I’m hoping so. She’s run off.

Run off?

Well, I know where she is. It’s a travelling theatre group, and there’s at least one other girl who she knows from school, older than her by a year or so. I know the mother a little. I spoke with her yesterday.

Oh Frances, didn’t she talk it through with you first? And her A-levels are about to happen.

She’s not taking them. She left me a note. It didn’t say much, only not to worry and she needs some space to sort herself out.

Trusting she was with people who would look out for each other, they’d agreed to respect that, hard as it was. Now, with no warning, here she was, slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, looking down at her hands cupping the mug of tea, almost as though to warm them, even though it was far from a cold day. Oh dear, thought Ellen, as she sat down, opposite rather than beside her. We used to have such a natural way with each other. How can I get close to her now? Years of experience as a history lecturer, student tutor and finally professor, dealing with young people of this very age, should have been helpful, but somehow she was at a loss.

She decided to chat about other things. You’ll find I’ve got new neighbours now, she told Janie, a really nice family with two young children. In fact, they came round last weekend and played in the garden. You won’t be surprised to know that your old den under the rhododendron was quickly annexed. Janie looked up at that.

We did a bit of work with children, the theatre group, Janie said, and I actually helped with the production that time, not just backstage. I didn’t have to speak much, mostly operate the puppets.

Where was that? Ellen asked.

Manchester. We did two seasons there.

Sounds very satisfying. Quite hard work, though? she queried.

Yeah, but nothing compared to doing Edinburgh. We’ve just come from there, my fourth visit. It seems to get more crowded and more difficult to find somewhere to stay every year. And it just about bankrupts the smaller companies like ours every time, but it’s a way to get noticed.

Were you helping with the administration? Ellen asked.

Mostly the money side, advertising, venue booking and ticket sales and that sort of thing, Janie explained, so I know how much the Festival costs us. It’s one of the few non-profit-making ventures.

You always were good at maths, Ellen commented, so you’ve been putting your skills to good use. Would you rather act, or be behind the scenes?

Janie thought for a minute. She was looking at Ellen now, and sitting up straighter, more animated. Well, I loved working with the kids, she replied. But that’s lots of play and fun. I don’t think I could do the more serious adult stuff.

So the group’s—what do they say—resting now, is it?

No, they’ve gone on to Brighton this week. She paused before adding, I’ve left them, actually. It got a bit difficult with someone.

She said no more and Ellen knew better than to ask, so she changed the subject again. You certainly travel light, she commented, indicating the small rucksack.

Janie gave a wry smile. Not intentionally. We had some bags stolen from the van in Edinburgh, most of my clothes among them. Er...I don’t suppose you’ve got anything that will fit me, have you?

If you mean jeans and T-shirts, I just may be able to help out, Ellen replied, smiling at the amazed expression on her granddaughter’s face. You’re about the size I used to be in the sixties, and it so happens I’ve still got a few items from then. I could never get into them after your mum was born, but I kept some of them for... Let’s say I guessed they might come in useful one day. She’d been going to say for sentimental reasons, which was nearer the truth. There’s plenty of hot water. Why don’t you have a lovely soak in the bath and I’ll look out some options for you? Oh, and there’s also a late Christmas present that I think may come in useful. I’ll put it out on the bed with the other things.

While Janie was in the bathroom, Ellen went to make up the bed in the back bedroom, which Janie had always used when she’d stayed before, the one that used to be Ellen’s own room as a young woman. From the cupboard in the same room she extracted a couple of likely pairs of jeans and some shirts, together with the Christmas gift, and left them on the bed. After that, she went to the phone, in the quiet of her own bedroom, and dialled her daughter.

* * * *

Wrapped in the softness of one of Gran’s super large bath towels, Janie padded barefoot from the bathroom across the landing into her usual room at the back. It basked in the warm evening sunshine, and she felt a pang of regret for her long absence. The same feeling she’d experienced as she’d approached this house in its quiet tree-lined street in West Hampstead. It was just the same—the glowing red brick, the crunch of the gravel drive, the mellow bell ring, the shrubs in the front, the vase in the hall. This place was a trusted constant, like her grandmother, who seemed to take everything in her stride, even a wayward granddaughter. Janie did wonder what she was really thinking and what she might be holding back on saying.

On top of the neatly folded clothes on the bed lay a small packet, beautifully wrapped, as Gran’s presents always were, with an envelope attached bearing her name and Christmas 2005. So even though she’d been out of contact most of the time, Gran hadn’t wanted to exclude her. A lump came to Janie’s throat and her eyes prickled, but, with her usual practice at suppressing vulnerability, she pushed it right down again. She flipped open the envelope and found a card with a robin on the front, her favourite bird. Gran found a new version every year. She read the brief note written inside the card.

My darling girl, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to get this to you, but just to say we’re thinking of you and hoping everything is going well and I did appreciate the postcard you sent in October. It’s on the notice board in the kitchen and I think of you every time I look at it, which is every day of course. I hope it won’t be too long before you’re back with us. Hope this is still your favourite colour. My very fondest love, Gran.

Swallowing hard, she held back the tears and opened the gift. It was a set of fairly skimpy underwear, a bra and two pairs of matching panties in a soft lilac, with lacy bits fringing the edges. They fitted perfectly, though perhaps she didn’t fill the bra cups as much as she would have once, as she’d got very skinny. Gran’s old jeans were almost loose on her.

As she went back downstairs, tantalising aromas greeted her. Gran was heating some soup and she could smell garlic bread. She looked up from stirring the pan when Janie appeared.

Feeling refreshed?

Yeah, more time in a bath than I’ve had in the whole last three years put together. I won’t tell you what colour the water was when I’d finished. And thanks for the undies, Gran, they’re great.

And those things fit okay too. You must keep them and, tomorrow, do go through the top cupboard in your room. There’s more there. Help yourself. I probably should have chucked the lot long ago, but I’m so glad I didn’t. Jeans are fairly timeless aren’t they? I’ll also look out a night-shirt from somewhere for you.

Ellen began to serve the soup into two large bowls. Would you like to get the bread out of the oven, dear? Now then, I hope this is all right, you’ll have to fill up on cheese and fruit later. I’m due next door to babysit in half an hour.

Oh—how old are the kids? Janie asked as she placed the tray of warm bread on the table and slipped the oven gloves back on the Aga rail.

Oliver’s seven and Becky’s five. They’re delightful, but I’m hoping their parents have worn them out, as I’ve had quite a busy day and would appreciate a peaceful evening!

Janie sat down and gazed at her soup, for a moment overwhelmed by a sense that she didn’t really count. She’d been away for so long and life had moved on for those she’d left behind. Her grandmother had forged new friendships and was, by the sound of it, a surrogate grannie for the children next door. She glanced at her grandmother now. She was tearing off a piece of bread and hadn’t noticed anything—or perhaps was pretending she hadn’t.

She slid the dish across to Janie. Get started, she told Janie, it’ll get cold.

Janie took a sip and glanced up again. Tasty, she said, I’m quite hungry. After a pause she spoke again. Gran, I’m sorry for landing on you like this. Perhaps I can come round and help this evening?

Are you sure you’re not too tired? That would be lovely. If you’re very lucky, you might be asked to do the bedtime story.

When they came back in, quite late, both went straight upstairs. Janie found her grandmother had put what appeared to be a large man’s T-shirt on the bed for her. It looked vaguely familiar. Of course—it was once Ben’s. He must have left some clothes here. She guessed Gran hadn’t liked to throw them out. It felt odd, but strangely comforting, to put it on.

Chapter 2

At eleven the next morning, the front door bell rang and Ellen found Oliver and Becky standing there, with a big bunch of flowers.

We just picked these for you, the little boy said.

For your special vase, his sister added.

Well, come on in, Ellen said. Let’s find the vase and you can arrange them for me. She waved at their mother, who was watching from her front garden. Don’t worry, I’ll bring them back in a bit, or Janie will, if she ever gets up. She shepherded her little charges inside.

The activity had evidently stirred Janie, and ten minutes later she appeared in the kitchen to find the roses dispossessed of their former home and a session of flower-arranging in progress.

Janie, called out the two children together. The flowers were forgotten as they both climbed down from the chairs they’d been kneeling on and rushed over to give her a hug, which she bent down to receive.