Chocolate 12, Papaya 26 [Divide and Rule]
Title: Tea and Sympathy
Author: lost_spook
Story: Heroes of the Revolution (Divide & Rule)
Flavor(s): Chocolate #12 (understanding), Papaya #26 (when you least expect it)
Toppings/Extras: Brownie + Rainbow Sprinkles + Gummy Bunnies (“comfort food or item/feeding someone” square for hc_bingo)
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 8360
Notes: Oct 1973/Aug 1927/Oct 1938/May 1952/1960; Nancy Long/Isabel Andrews, Liz Cardew, Edward Iveson, Amy Long, Caroline Sheldon. (Rainbow Sprinkles for the summer challenge. Warnings for references to childbirth & death/suicide/grief, plus some mid-twentieth century attitudes).
Summary: Nancy was always close to her cousin Edward; it makes the betrayal all the harder to bear.
***
October 1973
The young woman at the door was a stranger, yet she seemed oddly familiar. Nancy remained cautious nevertheless, waiting for her visitor to speak first. Times had changed too much not to be careful when people came calling.
“Miss Long?” the girl said, twisting the end of her scarf with her fingers as she spoke. “It is, isn’t it? I hope you don’t mind me turning up like this, but you see, my father was your cousin, and I’ve been trying to -”
Nancy cut her off, letting go of the door and almost dragging her in, making her stand in the light so that she could take a good look at her. “Emily,” she said, because now that she’d said, the truth was obvious. If nothing else, she had a striking resemblance to her Aunt Elizabeth, more so than to either of her parents. “Good heavens. Emily. My dear girl, I’m so sorry - I should have known it was you at once!”
Emily gave an awkward smile. “I wouldn’t expect you to remember. It’s been so long - I must have been nine the last time you saw me.”
“Well, yes,” said Nancy, but patted the girl’s cheek with a short laugh. “That’s true, but now that you’ve said - I can see it’s you all grown up.”
Emily followed her down the hallway, explaining that she was usually called Liz these days, using her middle name - Elizabeth, after her grandmother, which was peculiarly apt, Nancy thought, given the likeness.
“Isabel,” said Nancy, leading her long lost relative into the sitting room. “Isabel, you’ll never guess who this is - Emily, Edward’s daughter.”
Isabel jumped up, sending papers flying from the sofa and the coffee table. “Oh!” she said, and turned to shake Liz’s hand, giving her a long look, much as Nancy had done, and seeing the truth in her appearance. “Well, we’re very glad to see you again! We’ve met before, but I don’t suppose you remember me.”
“I do,” said Liz. “I think so anyway. I - I wish I’d come before, but it wasn’t really possible.”
Nancy caught at her hands and made her sit down. “But, Emily - Liz, sorry - what happened to you? And your mother? Is your mother still alive?”
“Nancy,” said Isabel with slight reproach, and asked Liz if she would like some tea - herbal tea and maybe some very plain biscuits, before disappearing out to the kitchen to fetch them.
Liz looked back at Nancy, and closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging. “Oh. Aunt Nancy, I’d hoped you would know.”
“Well,” said Nancy, doing her best to hide her own disappointment at that response, “why don’t you tell me where you’ve been all this time?”
Liz leant back into the chair. “After Father died, Mother took me to my new family - the Cardews. Mother said that she would come back as soon as she could - but she never did. I didn’t know why any of it had happened, but I was always given to understand that something terrible might happen if people knew who they were. I had to call myself Elizabeth Cardew and keep my real name a secret. I know - I know what Father did, but I don’t know why. Please, surely, you must have heard something?”
“If anything you know more than I do,” she told her. “I don’t know why your father did what he did, either.” She avoided Isabel’s gaze as she brought in a tray with the tea things. It was always going to be a sore subject with Nancy, who’d grown up with Edward, and Isabel knew it. “I never saw your mother again after the funeral. I’ve always been led to believe that it had something to do with what happened next - the fall of the government, Mr Hallam coming into power - but I don’t know anything for certain.”
Liz nodded. “I thought the same, but everything was so long ago and I was too young to understand much of it. I don’t suppose anyone else in the family might know more?”
“They would have told me,” said Nancy. “Your Aunt Amy went to Canada years before it all happened, and if anyone had written, she would never keep that from me. But I’ll give you her address if you like - she would love to hear from you.” She got up and hunted around for the address book, but then turned. “Oh, why didn’t Julia bring you to me?”
She stopped, again trying not to look at Isabel. There was an obvious answer to that question, but she would prefer not to think that of Julia, either.
“I only know what I was told,” said Liz. “Mother seemed to think I wouldn’t be safe if people knew who I was, so she had to send me somewhere else. That’s what she said, and I think it must have been true - or she believed it was.”
Nancy nodded, forcing herself to smile. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long, and I really did think you were dead, too. So, now we must just be glad that you’re not. And, while I understand if you still want to be careful, I think maybe you could risk dropping by every now and then, don’t you?”
~o~
August 1927
There was a hill, about four or five miles away from their house that was known in the family as Avalon. Nancy had once asked Aunt Daisy why and she’d told her that it was because of the way it stood noticeably alone in the landscape and they could see it from the garden, so it had become that in their games. Her father, when she’d asked him, had said it was because of the way it often had a sea of mist around it, and Avalon was supposed to be an island. Nancy had concluded that nobody really knew and wished she could have asked Aunt Elizabeth for her version, but they hardly ever saw Aunt Elizabeth these days. Whatever the truth, it was a favourite day trip for Nancy and Edward, too.
“Come on,” said Edward, lying on the grass next to her. “Mother told me it’s an unbreakable family rule to tell the truth on Avalon. And you can’t really like that awful girl.”
Nancy thought about that and decided that Ned had probably made that part up, the same way his innocent suggestion of a walk up here had been a chance to lecture her about Diana. “Yes, I do,” she said. “Stop being mean.”
“I’m not being mean, and she is awful,” said Edward. He’d been lying on his back, his hands behind his head, and now he rolled over to look at her.
Nancy stared resolutely up at the clouds, putting her hands over her ears.
Edward poked her. “Don’t ignore me. I’m trying to tell you - I couldn’t say to Aunt Anne, but Amy was right about Diana being unkind to her. All because Amy’s got sense.”
“Oh, shut up, Ned,” she said, sitting up, and drawing her knees in against herself. “I don’t complain if you have friends to stay, do I? Anyway, what do you mean?”
Edward lay back down again, pulling a face. “Look, I couldn’t say because it was just something I overhead. Uncle Ted let me work in the study and I was busy with that and I only realised Diana was talking outside the window too late. And I’m not sure exactly what she did say to Amy, but the tone was pretty rotten, I can tell you.”
“So, for all you know, Amy might have done anything to annoy her.”
Edward looked over at her. “Diana’s fifteen. Amy’s only ten.”
It was unreasonable of him to drag her all the way up here to tell her all the sorts of things she’d already been thinking deep down, so she merely shrugged, hunching her shoulders.
“You usually like much better people,” he said. “What’s wrong with Milly Cotton suddenly?”
Nancy shifted away from him and lay back down, this time on her front, resting her weight on her elbows, and tugging out blades of grass and twisting them round her fingers. “Yes, well, had you forgotten that Mrs Cotton doesn’t like us very much at the moment?”
Milly Cotton, she thought, was much nicer indeed. Much, much nicer. She sighed, because it was true about them not being allowed to see the Cottons after that business with the pond, which all the grown-ups had decided was obviously Edward and Nancy’s fault. Really, that was only true insofar that it was their idea; everybody else had joined in happily enough, and it wasn’t fair. Besides, there were things Nancy couldn’t explain even to Edward, like the way there was a world of difference between sometimes getting to kiss Milly Cotton when they were playing at being a prince and princess or whatever it might be, and Diana who was older and more sophisticated and knew things. Nancy felt the warmth fire up in her face and made sure she turned her head away from Edward.
“I think we could do something about that,” said Edward, and then sat up. “But I’m not trying to be mean, Nan, honestly. Maybe it isn’t the same, but it just - well, there are chaps like her at school - have the younger boys soft over them, and keep them running errands and choosing favourites - it’s not a nice game. I wouldn’t have thought you’d let someone do that to you. That’s all. If you really like her, though -”
She screwed up her face, trying not to laugh and not to cry, and then she pulled herself up and threw the loose grass at him, most of it blowing back against her. Sometimes Edward was very unfair. “It’s not exactly like that, I promise,” she said. “And maybe she is a bit awful sometimes, but - well, she’s here till Wednesday, so you’ll just have to lump it!”
Edward grinned suddenly. “Oh, but I told you. I think we can get the Cottons back, and Charlotte Cotton might take Diana off our hands for a day at least. What do you say?”
“She was mean to Amy?”
Edward nodded. “I don’t think that was the only time, either, and I don’t see -”
“Shh!” said Nancy, suddenly sitting upright, having heard something.
“Nan?”
“Shut up,” Nancy said, still trying to listen. Impossible as it seemed, she was sure she’d heard Amy crying. It must have been someone else, she knew, but she couldn’t shake that conviction. She got to her feet and hurried back down the hillside, going too fast along the steep path to have stopped if she needed to. She turned her head to see if Edward was following and he was, at a more cautious pace and with both the knapsacks.
She saw Amy then, sitting on a tuft of grass near the bottom, not crying now, but sniffing and hugging a grazed knee and generally looking pitiful.
“Amy,” said Nancy, reaching her and plumping herself down beside her. “What are you doing here? You’re going to get us all into trouble!”
Amy sniffed again. “I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t. It just happened.”
“How could you possibly walk all the way here without meaning to?” Nancy demanded, torn between annoyance and sympathy for her sister, as Edward arrived beside them.
Amy raised her head, suddenly stubborn. “That girl smacked me. So I came after you two, but I was too slow to catch up - and I didn’t know you were going to Avalon! You didn’t say.”
“I’m sure we did,” said Nancy. “You should pay attention.” Then she put her arm around Amy and hugged her. “There now, baby. We’ll sort everything out, promise.” She looked up at Edward. “Hanky,” she instructed him. “And water.”
Edward obliged with a relatively clean hanky. “I’m afraid we’ve only got lemonade.”
“Oh, well,” said Nancy, tying the hanky round Amy’s knee. It probably didn’t really need it, but it ought to make Amy feel better. “Then I won’t bathe her knee in that, but let her have some. There was a bun left, too, wasn’t there?”
Edward was already passing Amy the bottle, and once he had, fished out the slightly squashed bun. Nancy looked up at him then. “Ned,” she said. “How do we get her back? She’s already done in.”
“I think there’s a bus?” said Edward, looking at his watch. “We might not be too late and I’ve got some money.”
They made their way directly across the fields, towards the main road, heedless of whether or not they should be there, Edward giving Amy a piggy back and Nancy trying to support her as much as she could to take some of the weight. Every so often, they stopped and put Amy down, half-dragging her between them as she complained at the manhandling.
They reached the road, but there was no sign of a bus. Edward checked his watch again, and pulled a face at Nancy. She wasn’t even sure the bus came this way in the first place, but she decided there was no point in starting what would inevitably turn into an argument by raising the question.
“Oh, no,” said Nancy. “Perhaps we should go to the village and find somebody to ask for help?” She cast another glance at Amy, who had sat down on the verge, her eyebrows set in a stubborn line. The village wasn’t that near, not from where they were now.
Edward looked about them. “Well, how about we carry along the road for a while? Maybe we’ll see someone - and if not, it’s not much further to the next place, and at least we’ll be nearer home then.”
Nancy nodded, and then they exchanged another glance, and hauled up the protesting Amy between them.
“You followed us,” said Nancy. “If Diana wasn’t nice to you, then I’m very sorry, but you should have gone to Mother or kept out of her way until we got back. You didn’t have to run after us. You knew we’d taken a picnic even if you didn’t know where we were going. So, come on: no fuss now, baby.”
They’d walked for another five minutes, before Mr Fielding from Three Acres Farm came along with the haycart, and seeing them, stopped, wanting to know if they needed a ride home.
“We,” said Nancy, sitting in the cart with her arm around Amy, “are going to be in so much trouble.”
Edward nodded.
“Which is so unfair,” said Nancy. “Again. That plan of yours about the Cottons had better be a good one.”
“I didn’t say it was a plan,” he said. “Just that I knew how to get them back. What about Diana?”
Nancy waved her free hand. “Oh, I can see to her,” she said, airily, although she hadn’t quite decided what the solution would be. She would think of something. Slapping Amy was the outside of enough, even if her little sister could be annoying. And, she thought, rewards for errands really was a bit much when she was almost a fourth-former now, and that was all it was when you came down to it - not the sort of thing that people did if they really cared about you. It was infuriating, but sometimes Edward was right.
“Well,” said Edward, with some hesitation, “I think if we bought some flowers and took them round to Mrs Cotton and apologised again -”
“That’s not a plan!”
“I did say it wasn’t.”
“And it was the Cottons every bit as much as us - and Bobby Smith -”
Edward raised his eyebrows at her. “Do you want them to let us see each other or not?”
“Yes,” said Nancy. “But it wasn’t our fault, not really. I don’t see why we should spend our pocket money - we have much better flowers in our garden than down at the shop and Mother can’t complain if we’re using them for a sensible purpose like that. It’ll mean more if it’s our flowers, won’t it?”
It turned out later that Mother could and did complain about them taking flowers from the garden without telling her, following on from the scolding they’d got for taking Amy with them, leaving Diana behind, and for the ride home (that one was apparently making an exhibition of themselves). Still, Mother didn’t ban them from seeing the Cottons since Mrs Cotton had been won over by the apology. “But,” she said, “next time ask and don’t use the prize chrysanthemums!”
“So, all in all,” said Nancy later, “it worked.” She would, in her heart of hearts, have preferred an elaborate plan that involved, say, climbing up to Milly and Sarah’s window and helping them to escape, but she was getting older and knew that wouldn’t really have helped their cause. And asking Charlotte Cotton nicely if she would be so kind as to take Diana into town with her tomorrow would be a more realistic solution than locking Diana in the shed at the bottom of the garden, but it was a shame, Nancy thought. Growing up did have its drawbacks, after all.
~o~
October 1938
Marjorie had gone. Nancy sat down on the small sofa in the cottage and wondered what to do now. She’d known something was wrong, but she’d hoped that they could work something out, especially with a day or two away together. However, she’d said something unwise that sparked off not only another argument but had precipitated Marjorie’s confession that it was already over and she was moving elsewhere, and that this visit had been merely an act of farewell. Nancy had lost her temper then, rebelling at the idea of having one last time together as some sort of pitying pat on the head before the end, and told her that she’d really rather not; that she should just go.
Except, Nancy thought, now they’d parted more sharply than either of them had intended and she was left alone here, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She’d raged for the first half-hour or so, and spent the rest in tears. She’d then contemplated doing something drastic - smashing something to relieve her feelings or sitting down and getting drunk, but in the end she’d got up and made herself a cup of tea.
She looked at her mug and sighed, thinking what a terrible curse it was to be sensible. Even in the middle of her own personal world ending, she thought about having to clear up later and awkward explanations and the fact that she would still have to go back to work on Monday. So, why not have a nice cup of tea instead?
She glared at the tea and held back from drinking it. So there, she thought, and tried not to laugh at herself, because she knew she would only cry again and, really, she had done enough of that. It wouldn’t mend any of the last few months and it certainly wouldn’t bring Marjorie back.
Even as she thought that, there was a knock at the door, and she jumped violently, and then leapt up to answer it, almost falling over the end of the sofa in her haste. It could only be Marjorie - but what did she want? Oh, thought Nancy, under no illusions of a happy ending, really, it was no good dragging things out. If they were over, they were over. She mentally prepared herself, and then opened the door only to find Edward outside.
Nancy stared at him, trying to explain his presence there and failing.
“Nancy,” said Edward eventually, “it is raining out here, you know. Can I come in?”
She stood back and let him in, shutting the door after him, still at such a loss that she wondered for half a second if she was hallucinating in her distress. But then, if she was going to imagine things, she didn’t think any of them would be Edward. “Ned, what are you doing here?”
“Well,” said Edward, removing his coat and hanging it on the hook, and then halting awkwardly. “Er, yes. I came to see you.”
Nancy leant back against the wall, giving a slight laugh in her bafflement. “But how could you even have known I was here, and why would you -?” She closed her eyes, working out the only possible explanation even as she said it. “Oh. Marjorie telephoned you?”
He nodded. “She said - well, she said what had happened, but the point is, she realised she had driven off in the car and left you stranded.”
“Oh,” said Nancy, who had not got as far as registering that fact yet. “Well, honestly. Stranded is hardly the word. It’s not so far to the train station that I couldn’t walk, and there must be a bus to - well - somewhere -”
Edward shrugged. “She has a point. The train only goes twice a day. I should have sent a telegram to let you know and driven down tomorrow, but I’m afraid I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I know you can hardly want me here, but I’ll keep out of your way for now and just drive you back in the morning.”
“Thank you,” said Nancy, now that the shock was wearing off. She hadn’t wanted anyone there, it was true, but she didn’t mind too much if it was only Edward. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything silly, you know. Well, I did have wild plans for a moment of getting drunk, but it didn’t seem worth it and I’m not even sure there’s any alcohol in the place, so I had some tea.”
He looked suddenly hopeful, and said, “Is there still some in the pot?”
“Oh!” said Nancy. “Is that what you came for? Yes, there is. Help yourself!”
Edward shook his head at her. “Yes, Nancy, obviously it was much easier to drive sixty miles or so in the dark and rain than brave my kitchen, and I couldn’t possibly buy any in a little place like London. That’s why I’m here.” He disappeared into the kitchen before she could tell him what she thought about abusing sarcasm like that.
She headed back into the sitting room and threw herself back into the sofa. Edward returned from the kitchen with a second mug and a tin of shortbread.
“I found these,” he said, taking a piece and then passing the tin across to her.
Nancy shook her head. She still hadn’t even drunk any of the tea. “I don’t want anything,” she said, feeling very tired suddenly. There had been far too much emotion for one evening. “You needn’t worry. I won’t die of starvation in one night. I’ll just have the tea. In a minute.”
“Yes, sorry,” said Edward and stood again. “I’ll take a book and go to the spare room and leave you in peace.”
Nancy gave a wan smile, pressing her head against the sofa cushion as she turned to look at him. “Oh, since you’re here, you might as well be here. I’ve raged, I’ve cried, and I don’t know what the hell to do now. Just - talk to me.”
Edward sat down, but before he could oblige, she straightened herself again and gave him a hard look.
“Why you?” she said. “I didn’t think you liked Marjorie any better than the rest of them?”
Edward swallowed a mouthful of shortbread with a guilty expression. “To be honest, when I realised who it was, I thought something awful must have happened to you. I was so relieved that wasn’t the case that I didn’t really think to ask any questions. And I don’t dislike her, you know. She was on the defensive with all of us - and I suppose that’s understandable - but the few times she wasn’t - well, you’ve liked plenty of worse people.” He gave her an apologetic smile.
Nancy nodded, not quite trusting herself not to start crying again and she was determined not to. Neither of them said anything for a while, and she rested her head on the side of the sofa while Edward finished his piece of shortbread.
“At least you know how it feels,” said Nancy later. “There is that.”
Edward stopped on the point of drinking his tea. “It’s hardly the same, is it?”
“Oh, how could you?” she said, too tired to muster up the energy to be fully angry, but hurt all the same. “I wouldn’t have thought you -” She halted herself and shrugged. “Yes, of course it can’t be the same. Of course, it doesn’t matter as much. It’s all just unnatural, isn’t it? I think the vicar was onto us; he was saying so the other week. Or maybe this is the part where I get to go to hell; it feels like it!”
Edward stared back at her for a long few seconds, and then said, hesitantly, “That wasn’t what I meant. I promise. Only that Caroline and I were together properly for less than three months and most of that was so awful I was relieved when she left. I don’t know still how I felt about her, not really. Whereas you two were together for years. It can’t be the same.”
“Oh,” said Nancy. “Oh, well. You can stay. And have some more shortbread, if you like.”
He shrugged. “Well, I’m here, so I suppose if it helps to vent your feelings at someone - only not too much, Nan, thanks. And, you know, while you don’t have to tell me it’s not the same again, if it’s any consolation, we’ll be going to hell together, won’t we?”
“I think,” said Nancy, sliding down until she was lying rather than sitting on the sofa, “I think actually that only counts when you marry someone else. Or, I suppose, not marry someone else. Which do you suppose is worse?” She was rambling now, she thought, and shut up, laying her head down on the cushion. She nearly missed the significance of his sudden silence, but she glanced over in time to also see his expression. “Oh,” she said. “Goodness. Really?”
“What?” said Edward, but his ears had gone pink at the edges, and she wasn’t fooled.
“And I thought you were the prim and proper one.”
“Look,” Edward said, “I know you must be feeling pretty rotten, but that’s uncalled for.”
Nancy gave a slight, weary shrug and then closed her eyes. She might easily have gone to sleep there if Edward hadn’t suddenly touched her lightly on the shoulder. She opened her eyes again and glared at him. “Leave me be!”
“Hey,” he said. “Are you going to waste that tea? It must already be lukewarm, you know. Come on - sit up, and drink it.”
She didn’t have the energy to argue, and she knew that he was right and that it probably would help. There really was no defence against being sensible. “Very well,” she said, and swung her legs back round and picked up the mug, taking a swig of it. “There. Happy now?”
“Well,” Edward said, “mostly, but you might as well have this, too.” He held out a piece of the shortbread. “These need eating up. How long have they been here?”
She gave an unwilling laugh, and took a bite. Edward was right; they’d gone practically soft. “Yes, nanny,” she said. “Anything else?”
“No, I think that’ll do,” he said. “Do you want me to leave you alone now?”
Nancy shook her head. “No, no. Stay. Talk about normal things. You know.”
Edward nodded, but only watched her finish the tea and then said, “You say that and then I can’t think of anything.”
“Twenty questions?” she said.
He eyed her warily. “If you must.”
“Are you really having an affair?”
He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, but eventually said, “Well, yes. I suppose so.”
“Goodness,” she said again. “Do I know the person?”
“No.”
Nancy raised her eyebrows. “And you’re not going to say?”
“I can’t, can I?” he said, lowering his voice, as if someone might overhear them even in this hidden spot. “Honestly, Nancy.”
She gave a smile. “Well, you’ve liked plenty of the wrong people, too, you know.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“No, sorry,” she said. “I don’t even want to know, but for heaven’s sake, Ned, be careful.”
“I thought you wanted me to talk to you, not to interrogate me.”
“Yes,” she said. “Tell me about work or something.”
Edward smiled then. “Oh, so, you want to be sent to sleep, yes?”
“Hmm,” said Nancy, once he’d finished telling her about something that Mr Carlisle had done the other day, “you know, I always thought the damned were supposed to have much more interesting Friday nights than this.”
“Didn’t you know?” said Edward, at his most solemn. “It’s true: the road to Hell is paved with shortbread.”
~o~
May 1952
Nancy made her way down the hospital corridor. It was a little ironic, she thought, that she’d gone to great lengths to make emergency arrangements to take the day off from the pharmacy only to spend the time in a different hospital.
She finally spotted Edward, sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting room staring ahead. He didn’t look even when she sat beside him.
“Ned,” she said, and when he turned his head, she put her hand on his arm. “Any news yet?”
He shook his head, and then frowned at her. “Nancy, what are you doing here?”
“Representing the family,” she said. “You phoned Aunt Daisy, who phoned Mother, who phoned me. What did you expect?”
He put a hand up his head. “To let people know,” he said. “I wasn’t asking anyone to come down here.”
“No, but Mother was worried, and since everyone else was in quarantine for mumps, she wanted me to pop over and keep you company. So, here I am. I have today at least, and I brought some tea and sandwiches, too.”
He shook his head as she offered him the flask, and then said, sagging a little, “Nan, something’s wrong. I’m not sure what - I think they said, but I didn’t really take it in, and I’ve not seen anyone since they took Julia away.”
“Tea,” said Nancy firmly, and patted his arm again, before pouring some out of the flask and into the lid, and passing it over. “Careful. It’ll be hot. Now, you wait there, and I shall go and see if I can find someone. At least I’m more versed in the arcane ways of the health service; I can even translate doctor-speak some days. And, Ned, I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seemed, whatever it is.”
Nancy set off down the corridor again in search of anyone who might be able to tell her something more useful. She had dismissed her mother’s anxiety as fussing, even though she’d come down here regardless, but she mentally apologised to her. She should know by now that Mother had some sense and if she’d thought that Edward sounded worried on the telephone, then she was likely to be right. It probably wasn’t anything serious, she thought, but any complications were alarming. She was happy to help Ned if she could, but she did not want to be the one to tell him if something had happened to Julia or the baby.
Having hunted around to find a sensible Sister to clarify the situation, Nancy returned only to find the doctor talking to Edward. She hung back, not wanting to barge in, but Edward glanced over and saw her, waiting for her to join them.
“You did say you could translate if necessary,” he told her, after the doctor had gone. He sounded more like himself, even looking slightly amused, now that he had some news and an assurance that there was no danger and that they should let him see Julia again soon.
Nancy sat back down and offered him a sandwich again.
“Nancy,” he said. “I don’t know if you’re allowed.”
She passed it over regardless. “Well, then, quickly before someone sees you.”
Edward laughed and took the sandwich, unwrapping it carefully. Halfway through eating it, he looked at her again, with a frown. “Nancy. Did you say mumps?”
“In quarantine for it,” said Nancy. “Yes. Little Sam started picked it up from a playmate, but it turns out nobody else had had it. David managed to escape - Amy, too, but Matthew went down with it - and so did Aunt Daisy. She had rather a bad time of it, I’m afraid.”
Edward screwed up the paper wrapping in his hand. “Why did no one tell us?”
“Well, you couldn’t have gone down there, could you? And you know what Aunt Daisy is. She was highly embarrassed at the whole thing, besides not wanting to worry you at a time like this.”
Edward leant back in the waiting room chair, stretching himself. “Someone should have told us, you know. I’d had it anyway - went round the school when I was in Second Form.”
“Well, I didn’t know you didn’t know, and it’s hardly important now. Everyone’s on the mend - and I think that nurse is coming this way.”
The nurse let them in to see the baby; Julia not having come round yet. Nancy went over immediately, but Edward still had questions for the nurse about Julia. She raised her eyebrows at the tiny red and wrinkled mortal, who opened her eyes and wriggled as if she knew she had attention, even if not yet from the right people.
“Well, hello,” said Nancy. “And don’t worry, I promise that if your parents make a habit of ignoring you like this, your Aunt Nancy will step in and kidnap you.” Then she turned round with a cut off sigh of impatience, because really how many times did one have to make the nurse say that Julia was all right? “Edward,” she said, wondering at his being so dense. “Edward.”
~o~
1960
Nancy had gone through the last two weeks or so feeling like a fraud when everyone tried to be sympathetic, even at the funeral. The whole thing was unreal in so many ways: the funeral was not as private as it would have been for anyone else, considering the circumstances, nor, considering the circumstances could it be a state funeral for the Foreign Secretary. She still found it strange to think of Edward in that light; found it baffling that he was someone whose affairs merited comment from the BBC; that she could not hide from the situation by listening to the radio.
It might have been different if she had seen Julia properly since the morning the news had come. She had been at the funeral, but there hadn’t been a chance to speak to her then and none of the family had heard from her since. Maybe, though, it wouldn’t make any difference, because Nancy couldn’t make it real, couldn’t grieve: she was too angry. She was furious with Edward, rigid with rage through the funeral, too much so to trust herself to speak. She couldn’t understand how he could do this to them all, how he could betray his office and leave himself open to all this retrospective commentary that they had to hear, not him. She was too hurt for words that he would use her as he had to get Julia out of the house, and more than anything else that he was not there for her to tell him exactly what she thought of him.
Isabel kept asking if she was all right, which was a stupid question, thought Nancy, because she was fine. Mother had been very upset over the whole thing, Father wouldn’t talk about it at all, and she’d had a distressed cross-Atlantic phone call from Amy to deal with, and Julia seemed to have shut herself away somewhere, but Nancy was fine, and so she told Isabel.
Isabel looked at her. “You don’t usually bite my head off for asking the question. I’m only worried.”
“There’s no reason to be.”
Isabel continued to look at her.
“Oh, I know,” said Nancy. “I’m sorry, love. I am all right. It’s just that I feel so - so angry. I suppose I shouldn’t. There isn’t much point in it any more, but how could he?”
“Hmm,” Isabel said, biting her lip for a moment, and then disappearing for a good five minutes before returning with a candle, which she set in the candlestick on the table, and a pack of cards. She fetched a book from the shelf that Edward had given Nancy, and added that to the collection of things.
Nancy watched in bemusement. “What are you doing?”
“Well, it seems the only answer,” said Isabel, laying out the cards with great concentration. “We’ll have a séance and raise his spirit for you to shout at.”
“Have you lost your senses?” said Nancy, roused from her apathy in a sudden panic, but Isabel only ignored her, pulling the curtains across. “I’m not taking part in anything of the kind, so you can put all that nonsense away, thank you!”
Isabel lit the candle and gave her a smile. “Don’t worry; it’s not as if we’re going to make a habit of it. Come on. You’ve done nothing but snap at me for a week, so I think I deserve to be humoured now, don’t you? What harm can it do? Or do you think I might actually manage to call up the devil?”
The devil, thought Nancy, would be a good deal less alarming than Edward. She glared at Isabel. “Honestly, Isabel. I’m going upstairs until you’ve stopped being so ridiculous. What on earth has got into you?”
“Oh, well, never mind,” said Isabel, sitting down at the table. “Then I shall have to do my best down here alone. What would you like me to say if I succeed?”
Nancy reached the door and turned back. “You’re going to go through with this?”
“I can’t have you like this,” said Isabel. “If this is what it takes, then I don’t see why not.”
Nancy walked slowly back to the table and sat down, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Very well, but I am not taking responsibility for this, nor am I going to sit here chanting or - or anything.”
“Of course not,” said Isabel. “You don’t know the proper words anyway.” Then, closing her eyes and calling out for the spirits. Nancy sighed heavily and shut her own eyes, and let Isabel take hold of her hands across the table.
After a while, Isabel said, in a low tone, which, to Nancy’s annoyance, coupled with the dimness of the room did seem to create an atmosphere, “I think we have a window to the spirit world. One of my cards just moved.”
This was all such nonsense, thought Nancy. Did a séance even work like this? She didn’t have the first idea, but she doubted it. Somehow, though, she couldn’t quite say so to Isabel.
“You have until the candle burns down,” said Isabel solemnly. “To say what you want to.”
Nancy had nothing to say, and merely watched the candle before shutting her eyes again. She pulled her hands away from Isabel, and a little while later, Isabel slipped away. Nancy wasn’t going to go along with any of this still, but, she thought, none of it was fair, none of it was right. They were supposed to go to hell together, after all.
Isabel came back in an hour later and pulled back the curtains. Then she crossed back to Nancy, now on the sofa, considerably more tear-stained, and handed her a mug of tea. “There,” she said, and hugged her briefly, not as careful of the tea as she should have been.
Nancy swallowed, and then tried to smile at her. She didn’t know if she felt better or worse for being angry at a candlestick, but somewhere objectively, she knew it was usually a good thing to express one’s feelings rather than bury them. “Isabel, what do you even know about séances?”
“Oh, Nan, love, practically nothing,” said Isabel, kissing her before sitting down beside her. “Only I was fairly sure I knew more than you. I’m sorry. It was a stupid, awful thing to come up with, and I don’t know why I did it, except I thought it must be time to try something. I am sorry.”
Nancy managed a short laugh, but it seemed to hurt. “No,” she said. “I think it probably is better this way.”
“And, Nan,” said Isabel, suddenly more serious, causing Nancy to turn her head towards her, “I didn’t hear most of what you said, I promise, but - I - well - don’t think too badly of Edward, not for what he did. If he had reached that point, I don’t suppose he was really thinking of things as he would normally. And maybe you should think of it the other way round: he wanted Julia to be with someone he trusted when she heard the news. He sent her to you, and why wouldn’t he?”
Nancy pushed back into the sofa slightly, not ready to talk about it. “Maybe,” she said. “But I still don’t understand how anyone could do that, let alone Edward.”
“Then, that’s something for you to be thankful for, isn’t it?” said Isabel, her voice matter of fact but lowered with a quiet sadness.
That got through. Nancy looked up again. “Isabel?”
“Years ago,” she said. “Why doesn’t matter now. Why probably wasn’t the point even then. But I’m still here because, luckily for me, I was even more clueless about these things than I am about holding a séance. So, what can I say about anyone else in that situation?”
Nancy took a sip of the tea, and then put it down on the small coffee table, taking Isabel’s hand and then pulling her in against her.
“Nan,” said Isabel after a while. “Are you feeling more yourself now? Because there’s something I need to ask, and I think it’s important.”
Nancy sat up again. “Yes, of course. What is it?”
“I always got the impression that Julia didn’t have much in the way of family of her own.”
“She doesn’t. There used to be an uncle she hated and I think she was in touch with some cousins or other, but no, not really.”
“Well, then,” said Isabel, leaning forward to hand Nancy back her tea, “where is she?”
Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know. With friends, I suppose, or with Mrs Whatsit at the house. I suppose you can understand her wanting not to be with Edward’s family just now. Why?”
“Yes, but she isn’t at the house,” said Isabel. “You haven’t been reading the papers, have you?”
Nancy put down the tea again. “No, no, I haven’t. I don’t want to know what the papers have to say about Edward, thank you. I’m sure they’re busy imagining every murky possibility they can and I would only get angry again.”
“Well, what they’re saying,” said Isabel, “now that Julia is missing, is that they think that’s what it was all about - that Julia was having an affair and has now run off to be with whoever it is.”
“But that’s ridiculous! Good God, Isabel, why are you bothering with what the gutter press says?”
Isabel sighed. “It’s hard not to read things like that when you see them all over the place. But don’t you see what I’m saying? I don’t think that story sounds very likely, either, so where are Julia and Emily? Are you sure no one in the family has heard from them?”
Nancy still didn’t quite see what Isabel was worried about. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to face Julia yet; it would be hard to avoid the painful topic. Julia feeling the same way about the Longs was perfectly natural. It was equally understandable that she would want to try and escape the press. “I don’t think so, but honestly, Isabel, I can’t imagine how she’s feeling just now. It’s bad enough for us. I think if I were her, I’d run and hide with a friend, too.”
“But wouldn’t she at least tell your mother where she was?” Isabel said. Then she leant back slightly. “Nancy, your cousin was a Cabinet Minister. We don’t know why any of this happened; we don’t know what he was involved in. All sorts of people might be interested in Julia if they can’t get hold of Edward any more.”
Nancy closed her eyes. “Isabel,” she said, “I love you dearly, but will you save your imagination for your novels? First that séance and now this. What has got into you?”
“Look,” said Isabel, “will you at least think about making some enquiries? Please?”
Nancy could hear the earnest note in her voice, and she looked at Isabel again. It wasn’t like her to be quite this fanciful.
“Must I spell it out?” said Isabel. “You always think about him as only your cousin, and of course you do. But he was the Foreign Secretary and now he’s dead and his wife and daughter have gone missing and wherever they are, it’s enough of a secret that the press haven’t worked it out. Add to that the fact that none of us have heard from her, either, and surely you can see why it’s worrying?”
Grudgingly, Nancy supposed she could, though she did nothing more than nod. She could ask a few people, she thought. It would be reassuring to know that Julia and Emily were all right.
Much to Nancy’s surprise, it turned out that Isabel had a point. Nancy made tentative enquiries, first with Mrs Crosbie, but Julia hadn’t said anything to her, either, and hadn’t even left a forwarding address or telephone number. Mrs Crosbie was alarmingly grateful to have Nancy trying to find out something for her. She tried the Colonel and Mrs North next, who were family friends, and all the Colonel had to say was something even more improbable about not having seen Julia since he gave her a gun and then that probably he shouldn’t have told her that.
Nancy realised then how entirely ignorant she’d been of what friends Edward and Julia had. They’d moved in completely different circles and she knew some names, but given how many of them were politicians, not which ones she could go to with a possibly sensitive enquiry. It was hard for Nancy to get her head around the concept that somebody you telephoned merely wanting to know if they’d seen someone else might try to make use of that. She would, she decided, certainly never manage in politics.
Eventually, it occurred to her that she actually knew someone who did sometimes move in those circles and might be able to give her some of the names of people Edward and Julia knew well, and went to see Caroline Sheldon, Edward’s first wife.
“You mustn’t,” said Caroline as soon Nancy broached the subject, in earnest, as ever. “I can’t possibly say anything more, but you won’t help them if you go around asking questions. You’ll draw people’s attention to the fact that she really is missing.”
Nancy was startled into silence; unable to think how to respond. She hadn’t expected Caroline to know more than she did. She thought that if that were the case, then perhaps she hadn’t known Edward anything like as well as she had believed, and felt hurt again. “I don’t understand,” she said, when she’d found her voice.
“Oh, I can’t explain,” said Caroline. “There’s so much I don’t really know myself, and I wish I could - I wish Julia had gone to you, or to Amy, I truly do.”
“Then why don’t you tell me where she is?”
Caroline looked down and then up again. “I don’t know that. If I did, I would tell you. All I do know is that you could easily make things so much worse if you try to find her like this. It might have been a long while since we’ve been friends, but you really must trust me.”
“How do you know?” Nancy couldn’t help it; she couldn’t keep the hurt from bleeding out. “How could he tell you and not me?”
Caroline put out a hand to Nancy’s briefly, a little awkwardly. “Nancy, Edward didn’t tell me anything. There was something he asked Jack to do - and Jack only told me this much because I asked much the same question as you did. That’s all. But this - this business - it should be over one day, maybe very soon, and when it is, then you’ll have them back.”
~o~
October 1973
That had been over ten years ago, and while Nancy had waited and watched for a long while for any sign of Julia or of Emily, once the events of those next few years had played out - Martial Law, the fall of the government, civil war, Hallam establishing himself in power - she had lost hope. It would not be sensible to carry on believing they were still out there, not any more.
Now, it seemed, she was wrong, as far as Emily - Liz - was concerned, anyway. She wondered rather painfully about Julia, and whether or not she should perhaps start hoping again, even making enquiries. Still, the thing was, for today at least, that Liz was here, and that would have to make up for everything.
“Why don’t you tell us what you’ve been up to?” Nancy said. “We’ve some catching up to do, haven’t we?”
Liz gave a slight smile. “I don’t think there’s anything very exciting to tell.”
“It doesn’t have to be exciting,” said Nancy. “You’re here; that’s the thing. There are too few of our family left now, you know. I just wish I’d known how to find you sooner. Still - better late than never, don’t you think?”
***
Author: lost_spook
Story: Heroes of the Revolution (Divide & Rule)
Flavor(s): Chocolate #12 (understanding), Papaya #26 (when you least expect it)
Toppings/Extras: Brownie + Rainbow Sprinkles + Gummy Bunnies (“comfort food or item/feeding someone” square for hc_bingo)
Rating: Teen
Word Count: 8360
Notes: Oct 1973/Aug 1927/Oct 1938/May 1952/1960; Nancy Long/Isabel Andrews, Liz Cardew, Edward Iveson, Amy Long, Caroline Sheldon. (Rainbow Sprinkles for the summer challenge. Warnings for references to childbirth & death/suicide/grief, plus some mid-twentieth century attitudes).
Summary: Nancy was always close to her cousin Edward; it makes the betrayal all the harder to bear.
***
October 1973
The young woman at the door was a stranger, yet she seemed oddly familiar. Nancy remained cautious nevertheless, waiting for her visitor to speak first. Times had changed too much not to be careful when people came calling.
“Miss Long?” the girl said, twisting the end of her scarf with her fingers as she spoke. “It is, isn’t it? I hope you don’t mind me turning up like this, but you see, my father was your cousin, and I’ve been trying to -”
Nancy cut her off, letting go of the door and almost dragging her in, making her stand in the light so that she could take a good look at her. “Emily,” she said, because now that she’d said, the truth was obvious. If nothing else, she had a striking resemblance to her Aunt Elizabeth, more so than to either of her parents. “Good heavens. Emily. My dear girl, I’m so sorry - I should have known it was you at once!”
Emily gave an awkward smile. “I wouldn’t expect you to remember. It’s been so long - I must have been nine the last time you saw me.”
“Well, yes,” said Nancy, but patted the girl’s cheek with a short laugh. “That’s true, but now that you’ve said - I can see it’s you all grown up.”
Emily followed her down the hallway, explaining that she was usually called Liz these days, using her middle name - Elizabeth, after her grandmother, which was peculiarly apt, Nancy thought, given the likeness.
“Isabel,” said Nancy, leading her long lost relative into the sitting room. “Isabel, you’ll never guess who this is - Emily, Edward’s daughter.”
Isabel jumped up, sending papers flying from the sofa and the coffee table. “Oh!” she said, and turned to shake Liz’s hand, giving her a long look, much as Nancy had done, and seeing the truth in her appearance. “Well, we’re very glad to see you again! We’ve met before, but I don’t suppose you remember me.”
“I do,” said Liz. “I think so anyway. I - I wish I’d come before, but it wasn’t really possible.”
Nancy caught at her hands and made her sit down. “But, Emily - Liz, sorry - what happened to you? And your mother? Is your mother still alive?”
“Nancy,” said Isabel with slight reproach, and asked Liz if she would like some tea - herbal tea and maybe some very plain biscuits, before disappearing out to the kitchen to fetch them.
Liz looked back at Nancy, and closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging. “Oh. Aunt Nancy, I’d hoped you would know.”
“Well,” said Nancy, doing her best to hide her own disappointment at that response, “why don’t you tell me where you’ve been all this time?”
Liz leant back into the chair. “After Father died, Mother took me to my new family - the Cardews. Mother said that she would come back as soon as she could - but she never did. I didn’t know why any of it had happened, but I was always given to understand that something terrible might happen if people knew who they were. I had to call myself Elizabeth Cardew and keep my real name a secret. I know - I know what Father did, but I don’t know why. Please, surely, you must have heard something?”
“If anything you know more than I do,” she told her. “I don’t know why your father did what he did, either.” She avoided Isabel’s gaze as she brought in a tray with the tea things. It was always going to be a sore subject with Nancy, who’d grown up with Edward, and Isabel knew it. “I never saw your mother again after the funeral. I’ve always been led to believe that it had something to do with what happened next - the fall of the government, Mr Hallam coming into power - but I don’t know anything for certain.”
Liz nodded. “I thought the same, but everything was so long ago and I was too young to understand much of it. I don’t suppose anyone else in the family might know more?”
“They would have told me,” said Nancy. “Your Aunt Amy went to Canada years before it all happened, and if anyone had written, she would never keep that from me. But I’ll give you her address if you like - she would love to hear from you.” She got up and hunted around for the address book, but then turned. “Oh, why didn’t Julia bring you to me?”
She stopped, again trying not to look at Isabel. There was an obvious answer to that question, but she would prefer not to think that of Julia, either.
“I only know what I was told,” said Liz. “Mother seemed to think I wouldn’t be safe if people knew who I was, so she had to send me somewhere else. That’s what she said, and I think it must have been true - or she believed it was.”
Nancy nodded, forcing herself to smile. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long, and I really did think you were dead, too. So, now we must just be glad that you’re not. And, while I understand if you still want to be careful, I think maybe you could risk dropping by every now and then, don’t you?”
~o~
August 1927
There was a hill, about four or five miles away from their house that was known in the family as Avalon. Nancy had once asked Aunt Daisy why and she’d told her that it was because of the way it stood noticeably alone in the landscape and they could see it from the garden, so it had become that in their games. Her father, when she’d asked him, had said it was because of the way it often had a sea of mist around it, and Avalon was supposed to be an island. Nancy had concluded that nobody really knew and wished she could have asked Aunt Elizabeth for her version, but they hardly ever saw Aunt Elizabeth these days. Whatever the truth, it was a favourite day trip for Nancy and Edward, too.
“Come on,” said Edward, lying on the grass next to her. “Mother told me it’s an unbreakable family rule to tell the truth on Avalon. And you can’t really like that awful girl.”
Nancy thought about that and decided that Ned had probably made that part up, the same way his innocent suggestion of a walk up here had been a chance to lecture her about Diana. “Yes, I do,” she said. “Stop being mean.”
“I’m not being mean, and she is awful,” said Edward. He’d been lying on his back, his hands behind his head, and now he rolled over to look at her.
Nancy stared resolutely up at the clouds, putting her hands over her ears.
Edward poked her. “Don’t ignore me. I’m trying to tell you - I couldn’t say to Aunt Anne, but Amy was right about Diana being unkind to her. All because Amy’s got sense.”
“Oh, shut up, Ned,” she said, sitting up, and drawing her knees in against herself. “I don’t complain if you have friends to stay, do I? Anyway, what do you mean?”
Edward lay back down again, pulling a face. “Look, I couldn’t say because it was just something I overhead. Uncle Ted let me work in the study and I was busy with that and I only realised Diana was talking outside the window too late. And I’m not sure exactly what she did say to Amy, but the tone was pretty rotten, I can tell you.”
“So, for all you know, Amy might have done anything to annoy her.”
Edward looked over at her. “Diana’s fifteen. Amy’s only ten.”
It was unreasonable of him to drag her all the way up here to tell her all the sorts of things she’d already been thinking deep down, so she merely shrugged, hunching her shoulders.
“You usually like much better people,” he said. “What’s wrong with Milly Cotton suddenly?”
Nancy shifted away from him and lay back down, this time on her front, resting her weight on her elbows, and tugging out blades of grass and twisting them round her fingers. “Yes, well, had you forgotten that Mrs Cotton doesn’t like us very much at the moment?”
Milly Cotton, she thought, was much nicer indeed. Much, much nicer. She sighed, because it was true about them not being allowed to see the Cottons after that business with the pond, which all the grown-ups had decided was obviously Edward and Nancy’s fault. Really, that was only true insofar that it was their idea; everybody else had joined in happily enough, and it wasn’t fair. Besides, there were things Nancy couldn’t explain even to Edward, like the way there was a world of difference between sometimes getting to kiss Milly Cotton when they were playing at being a prince and princess or whatever it might be, and Diana who was older and more sophisticated and knew things. Nancy felt the warmth fire up in her face and made sure she turned her head away from Edward.
“I think we could do something about that,” said Edward, and then sat up. “But I’m not trying to be mean, Nan, honestly. Maybe it isn’t the same, but it just - well, there are chaps like her at school - have the younger boys soft over them, and keep them running errands and choosing favourites - it’s not a nice game. I wouldn’t have thought you’d let someone do that to you. That’s all. If you really like her, though -”
She screwed up her face, trying not to laugh and not to cry, and then she pulled herself up and threw the loose grass at him, most of it blowing back against her. Sometimes Edward was very unfair. “It’s not exactly like that, I promise,” she said. “And maybe she is a bit awful sometimes, but - well, she’s here till Wednesday, so you’ll just have to lump it!”
Edward grinned suddenly. “Oh, but I told you. I think we can get the Cottons back, and Charlotte Cotton might take Diana off our hands for a day at least. What do you say?”
“She was mean to Amy?”
Edward nodded. “I don’t think that was the only time, either, and I don’t see -”
“Shh!” said Nancy, suddenly sitting upright, having heard something.
“Nan?”
“Shut up,” Nancy said, still trying to listen. Impossible as it seemed, she was sure she’d heard Amy crying. It must have been someone else, she knew, but she couldn’t shake that conviction. She got to her feet and hurried back down the hillside, going too fast along the steep path to have stopped if she needed to. She turned her head to see if Edward was following and he was, at a more cautious pace and with both the knapsacks.
She saw Amy then, sitting on a tuft of grass near the bottom, not crying now, but sniffing and hugging a grazed knee and generally looking pitiful.
“Amy,” said Nancy, reaching her and plumping herself down beside her. “What are you doing here? You’re going to get us all into trouble!”
Amy sniffed again. “I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t. It just happened.”
“How could you possibly walk all the way here without meaning to?” Nancy demanded, torn between annoyance and sympathy for her sister, as Edward arrived beside them.
Amy raised her head, suddenly stubborn. “That girl smacked me. So I came after you two, but I was too slow to catch up - and I didn’t know you were going to Avalon! You didn’t say.”
“I’m sure we did,” said Nancy. “You should pay attention.” Then she put her arm around Amy and hugged her. “There now, baby. We’ll sort everything out, promise.” She looked up at Edward. “Hanky,” she instructed him. “And water.”
Edward obliged with a relatively clean hanky. “I’m afraid we’ve only got lemonade.”
“Oh, well,” said Nancy, tying the hanky round Amy’s knee. It probably didn’t really need it, but it ought to make Amy feel better. “Then I won’t bathe her knee in that, but let her have some. There was a bun left, too, wasn’t there?”
Edward was already passing Amy the bottle, and once he had, fished out the slightly squashed bun. Nancy looked up at him then. “Ned,” she said. “How do we get her back? She’s already done in.”
“I think there’s a bus?” said Edward, looking at his watch. “We might not be too late and I’ve got some money.”
They made their way directly across the fields, towards the main road, heedless of whether or not they should be there, Edward giving Amy a piggy back and Nancy trying to support her as much as she could to take some of the weight. Every so often, they stopped and put Amy down, half-dragging her between them as she complained at the manhandling.
They reached the road, but there was no sign of a bus. Edward checked his watch again, and pulled a face at Nancy. She wasn’t even sure the bus came this way in the first place, but she decided there was no point in starting what would inevitably turn into an argument by raising the question.
“Oh, no,” said Nancy. “Perhaps we should go to the village and find somebody to ask for help?” She cast another glance at Amy, who had sat down on the verge, her eyebrows set in a stubborn line. The village wasn’t that near, not from where they were now.
Edward looked about them. “Well, how about we carry along the road for a while? Maybe we’ll see someone - and if not, it’s not much further to the next place, and at least we’ll be nearer home then.”
Nancy nodded, and then they exchanged another glance, and hauled up the protesting Amy between them.
“You followed us,” said Nancy. “If Diana wasn’t nice to you, then I’m very sorry, but you should have gone to Mother or kept out of her way until we got back. You didn’t have to run after us. You knew we’d taken a picnic even if you didn’t know where we were going. So, come on: no fuss now, baby.”
They’d walked for another five minutes, before Mr Fielding from Three Acres Farm came along with the haycart, and seeing them, stopped, wanting to know if they needed a ride home.
“We,” said Nancy, sitting in the cart with her arm around Amy, “are going to be in so much trouble.”
Edward nodded.
“Which is so unfair,” said Nancy. “Again. That plan of yours about the Cottons had better be a good one.”
“I didn’t say it was a plan,” he said. “Just that I knew how to get them back. What about Diana?”
Nancy waved her free hand. “Oh, I can see to her,” she said, airily, although she hadn’t quite decided what the solution would be. She would think of something. Slapping Amy was the outside of enough, even if her little sister could be annoying. And, she thought, rewards for errands really was a bit much when she was almost a fourth-former now, and that was all it was when you came down to it - not the sort of thing that people did if they really cared about you. It was infuriating, but sometimes Edward was right.
“Well,” said Edward, with some hesitation, “I think if we bought some flowers and took them round to Mrs Cotton and apologised again -”
“That’s not a plan!”
“I did say it wasn’t.”
“And it was the Cottons every bit as much as us - and Bobby Smith -”
Edward raised his eyebrows at her. “Do you want them to let us see each other or not?”
“Yes,” said Nancy. “But it wasn’t our fault, not really. I don’t see why we should spend our pocket money - we have much better flowers in our garden than down at the shop and Mother can’t complain if we’re using them for a sensible purpose like that. It’ll mean more if it’s our flowers, won’t it?”
It turned out later that Mother could and did complain about them taking flowers from the garden without telling her, following on from the scolding they’d got for taking Amy with them, leaving Diana behind, and for the ride home (that one was apparently making an exhibition of themselves). Still, Mother didn’t ban them from seeing the Cottons since Mrs Cotton had been won over by the apology. “But,” she said, “next time ask and don’t use the prize chrysanthemums!”
“So, all in all,” said Nancy later, “it worked.” She would, in her heart of hearts, have preferred an elaborate plan that involved, say, climbing up to Milly and Sarah’s window and helping them to escape, but she was getting older and knew that wouldn’t really have helped their cause. And asking Charlotte Cotton nicely if she would be so kind as to take Diana into town with her tomorrow would be a more realistic solution than locking Diana in the shed at the bottom of the garden, but it was a shame, Nancy thought. Growing up did have its drawbacks, after all.
~o~
October 1938
Marjorie had gone. Nancy sat down on the small sofa in the cottage and wondered what to do now. She’d known something was wrong, but she’d hoped that they could work something out, especially with a day or two away together. However, she’d said something unwise that sparked off not only another argument but had precipitated Marjorie’s confession that it was already over and she was moving elsewhere, and that this visit had been merely an act of farewell. Nancy had lost her temper then, rebelling at the idea of having one last time together as some sort of pitying pat on the head before the end, and told her that she’d really rather not; that she should just go.
Except, Nancy thought, now they’d parted more sharply than either of them had intended and she was left alone here, she didn’t know what to do with herself. She’d raged for the first half-hour or so, and spent the rest in tears. She’d then contemplated doing something drastic - smashing something to relieve her feelings or sitting down and getting drunk, but in the end she’d got up and made herself a cup of tea.
She looked at her mug and sighed, thinking what a terrible curse it was to be sensible. Even in the middle of her own personal world ending, she thought about having to clear up later and awkward explanations and the fact that she would still have to go back to work on Monday. So, why not have a nice cup of tea instead?
She glared at the tea and held back from drinking it. So there, she thought, and tried not to laugh at herself, because she knew she would only cry again and, really, she had done enough of that. It wouldn’t mend any of the last few months and it certainly wouldn’t bring Marjorie back.
Even as she thought that, there was a knock at the door, and she jumped violently, and then leapt up to answer it, almost falling over the end of the sofa in her haste. It could only be Marjorie - but what did she want? Oh, thought Nancy, under no illusions of a happy ending, really, it was no good dragging things out. If they were over, they were over. She mentally prepared herself, and then opened the door only to find Edward outside.
Nancy stared at him, trying to explain his presence there and failing.
“Nancy,” said Edward eventually, “it is raining out here, you know. Can I come in?”
She stood back and let him in, shutting the door after him, still at such a loss that she wondered for half a second if she was hallucinating in her distress. But then, if she was going to imagine things, she didn’t think any of them would be Edward. “Ned, what are you doing here?”
“Well,” said Edward, removing his coat and hanging it on the hook, and then halting awkwardly. “Er, yes. I came to see you.”
Nancy leant back against the wall, giving a slight laugh in her bafflement. “But how could you even have known I was here, and why would you -?” She closed her eyes, working out the only possible explanation even as she said it. “Oh. Marjorie telephoned you?”
He nodded. “She said - well, she said what had happened, but the point is, she realised she had driven off in the car and left you stranded.”
“Oh,” said Nancy, who had not got as far as registering that fact yet. “Well, honestly. Stranded is hardly the word. It’s not so far to the train station that I couldn’t walk, and there must be a bus to - well - somewhere -”
Edward shrugged. “She has a point. The train only goes twice a day. I should have sent a telegram to let you know and driven down tomorrow, but I’m afraid I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I know you can hardly want me here, but I’ll keep out of your way for now and just drive you back in the morning.”
“Thank you,” said Nancy, now that the shock was wearing off. She hadn’t wanted anyone there, it was true, but she didn’t mind too much if it was only Edward. “I wasn’t planning on doing anything silly, you know. Well, I did have wild plans for a moment of getting drunk, but it didn’t seem worth it and I’m not even sure there’s any alcohol in the place, so I had some tea.”
He looked suddenly hopeful, and said, “Is there still some in the pot?”
“Oh!” said Nancy. “Is that what you came for? Yes, there is. Help yourself!”
Edward shook his head at her. “Yes, Nancy, obviously it was much easier to drive sixty miles or so in the dark and rain than brave my kitchen, and I couldn’t possibly buy any in a little place like London. That’s why I’m here.” He disappeared into the kitchen before she could tell him what she thought about abusing sarcasm like that.
She headed back into the sitting room and threw herself back into the sofa. Edward returned from the kitchen with a second mug and a tin of shortbread.
“I found these,” he said, taking a piece and then passing the tin across to her.
Nancy shook her head. She still hadn’t even drunk any of the tea. “I don’t want anything,” she said, feeling very tired suddenly. There had been far too much emotion for one evening. “You needn’t worry. I won’t die of starvation in one night. I’ll just have the tea. In a minute.”
“Yes, sorry,” said Edward and stood again. “I’ll take a book and go to the spare room and leave you in peace.”
Nancy gave a wan smile, pressing her head against the sofa cushion as she turned to look at him. “Oh, since you’re here, you might as well be here. I’ve raged, I’ve cried, and I don’t know what the hell to do now. Just - talk to me.”
Edward sat down, but before he could oblige, she straightened herself again and gave him a hard look.
“Why you?” she said. “I didn’t think you liked Marjorie any better than the rest of them?”
Edward swallowed a mouthful of shortbread with a guilty expression. “To be honest, when I realised who it was, I thought something awful must have happened to you. I was so relieved that wasn’t the case that I didn’t really think to ask any questions. And I don’t dislike her, you know. She was on the defensive with all of us - and I suppose that’s understandable - but the few times she wasn’t - well, you’ve liked plenty of worse people.” He gave her an apologetic smile.
Nancy nodded, not quite trusting herself not to start crying again and she was determined not to. Neither of them said anything for a while, and she rested her head on the side of the sofa while Edward finished his piece of shortbread.
“At least you know how it feels,” said Nancy later. “There is that.”
Edward stopped on the point of drinking his tea. “It’s hardly the same, is it?”
“Oh, how could you?” she said, too tired to muster up the energy to be fully angry, but hurt all the same. “I wouldn’t have thought you -” She halted herself and shrugged. “Yes, of course it can’t be the same. Of course, it doesn’t matter as much. It’s all just unnatural, isn’t it? I think the vicar was onto us; he was saying so the other week. Or maybe this is the part where I get to go to hell; it feels like it!”
Edward stared back at her for a long few seconds, and then said, hesitantly, “That wasn’t what I meant. I promise. Only that Caroline and I were together properly for less than three months and most of that was so awful I was relieved when she left. I don’t know still how I felt about her, not really. Whereas you two were together for years. It can’t be the same.”
“Oh,” said Nancy. “Oh, well. You can stay. And have some more shortbread, if you like.”
He shrugged. “Well, I’m here, so I suppose if it helps to vent your feelings at someone - only not too much, Nan, thanks. And, you know, while you don’t have to tell me it’s not the same again, if it’s any consolation, we’ll be going to hell together, won’t we?”
“I think,” said Nancy, sliding down until she was lying rather than sitting on the sofa, “I think actually that only counts when you marry someone else. Or, I suppose, not marry someone else. Which do you suppose is worse?” She was rambling now, she thought, and shut up, laying her head down on the cushion. She nearly missed the significance of his sudden silence, but she glanced over in time to also see his expression. “Oh,” she said. “Goodness. Really?”
“What?” said Edward, but his ears had gone pink at the edges, and she wasn’t fooled.
“And I thought you were the prim and proper one.”
“Look,” Edward said, “I know you must be feeling pretty rotten, but that’s uncalled for.”
Nancy gave a slight, weary shrug and then closed her eyes. She might easily have gone to sleep there if Edward hadn’t suddenly touched her lightly on the shoulder. She opened her eyes again and glared at him. “Leave me be!”
“Hey,” he said. “Are you going to waste that tea? It must already be lukewarm, you know. Come on - sit up, and drink it.”
She didn’t have the energy to argue, and she knew that he was right and that it probably would help. There really was no defence against being sensible. “Very well,” she said, and swung her legs back round and picked up the mug, taking a swig of it. “There. Happy now?”
“Well,” Edward said, “mostly, but you might as well have this, too.” He held out a piece of the shortbread. “These need eating up. How long have they been here?”
She gave an unwilling laugh, and took a bite. Edward was right; they’d gone practically soft. “Yes, nanny,” she said. “Anything else?”
“No, I think that’ll do,” he said. “Do you want me to leave you alone now?”
Nancy shook her head. “No, no. Stay. Talk about normal things. You know.”
Edward nodded, but only watched her finish the tea and then said, “You say that and then I can’t think of anything.”
“Twenty questions?” she said.
He eyed her warily. “If you must.”
“Are you really having an affair?”
He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, but eventually said, “Well, yes. I suppose so.”
“Goodness,” she said again. “Do I know the person?”
“No.”
Nancy raised her eyebrows. “And you’re not going to say?”
“I can’t, can I?” he said, lowering his voice, as if someone might overhear them even in this hidden spot. “Honestly, Nancy.”
She gave a smile. “Well, you’ve liked plenty of the wrong people, too, you know.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“No, sorry,” she said. “I don’t even want to know, but for heaven’s sake, Ned, be careful.”
“I thought you wanted me to talk to you, not to interrogate me.”
“Yes,” she said. “Tell me about work or something.”
Edward smiled then. “Oh, so, you want to be sent to sleep, yes?”
“Hmm,” said Nancy, once he’d finished telling her about something that Mr Carlisle had done the other day, “you know, I always thought the damned were supposed to have much more interesting Friday nights than this.”
“Didn’t you know?” said Edward, at his most solemn. “It’s true: the road to Hell is paved with shortbread.”
~o~
May 1952
Nancy made her way down the hospital corridor. It was a little ironic, she thought, that she’d gone to great lengths to make emergency arrangements to take the day off from the pharmacy only to spend the time in a different hospital.
She finally spotted Edward, sitting on one of the chairs in the waiting room staring ahead. He didn’t look even when she sat beside him.
“Ned,” she said, and when he turned his head, she put her hand on his arm. “Any news yet?”
He shook his head, and then frowned at her. “Nancy, what are you doing here?”
“Representing the family,” she said. “You phoned Aunt Daisy, who phoned Mother, who phoned me. What did you expect?”
He put a hand up his head. “To let people know,” he said. “I wasn’t asking anyone to come down here.”
“No, but Mother was worried, and since everyone else was in quarantine for mumps, she wanted me to pop over and keep you company. So, here I am. I have today at least, and I brought some tea and sandwiches, too.”
He shook his head as she offered him the flask, and then said, sagging a little, “Nan, something’s wrong. I’m not sure what - I think they said, but I didn’t really take it in, and I’ve not seen anyone since they took Julia away.”
“Tea,” said Nancy firmly, and patted his arm again, before pouring some out of the flask and into the lid, and passing it over. “Careful. It’ll be hot. Now, you wait there, and I shall go and see if I can find someone. At least I’m more versed in the arcane ways of the health service; I can even translate doctor-speak some days. And, Ned, I’m sure it’s not as bad as it seemed, whatever it is.”
Nancy set off down the corridor again in search of anyone who might be able to tell her something more useful. She had dismissed her mother’s anxiety as fussing, even though she’d come down here regardless, but she mentally apologised to her. She should know by now that Mother had some sense and if she’d thought that Edward sounded worried on the telephone, then she was likely to be right. It probably wasn’t anything serious, she thought, but any complications were alarming. She was happy to help Ned if she could, but she did not want to be the one to tell him if something had happened to Julia or the baby.
Having hunted around to find a sensible Sister to clarify the situation, Nancy returned only to find the doctor talking to Edward. She hung back, not wanting to barge in, but Edward glanced over and saw her, waiting for her to join them.
“You did say you could translate if necessary,” he told her, after the doctor had gone. He sounded more like himself, even looking slightly amused, now that he had some news and an assurance that there was no danger and that they should let him see Julia again soon.
Nancy sat back down and offered him a sandwich again.
“Nancy,” he said. “I don’t know if you’re allowed.”
She passed it over regardless. “Well, then, quickly before someone sees you.”
Edward laughed and took the sandwich, unwrapping it carefully. Halfway through eating it, he looked at her again, with a frown. “Nancy. Did you say mumps?”
“In quarantine for it,” said Nancy. “Yes. Little Sam started picked it up from a playmate, but it turns out nobody else had had it. David managed to escape - Amy, too, but Matthew went down with it - and so did Aunt Daisy. She had rather a bad time of it, I’m afraid.”
Edward screwed up the paper wrapping in his hand. “Why did no one tell us?”
“Well, you couldn’t have gone down there, could you? And you know what Aunt Daisy is. She was highly embarrassed at the whole thing, besides not wanting to worry you at a time like this.”
Edward leant back in the waiting room chair, stretching himself. “Someone should have told us, you know. I’d had it anyway - went round the school when I was in Second Form.”
“Well, I didn’t know you didn’t know, and it’s hardly important now. Everyone’s on the mend - and I think that nurse is coming this way.”
The nurse let them in to see the baby; Julia not having come round yet. Nancy went over immediately, but Edward still had questions for the nurse about Julia. She raised her eyebrows at the tiny red and wrinkled mortal, who opened her eyes and wriggled as if she knew she had attention, even if not yet from the right people.
“Well, hello,” said Nancy. “And don’t worry, I promise that if your parents make a habit of ignoring you like this, your Aunt Nancy will step in and kidnap you.” Then she turned round with a cut off sigh of impatience, because really how many times did one have to make the nurse say that Julia was all right? “Edward,” she said, wondering at his being so dense. “Edward.”
~o~
1960
Nancy had gone through the last two weeks or so feeling like a fraud when everyone tried to be sympathetic, even at the funeral. The whole thing was unreal in so many ways: the funeral was not as private as it would have been for anyone else, considering the circumstances, nor, considering the circumstances could it be a state funeral for the Foreign Secretary. She still found it strange to think of Edward in that light; found it baffling that he was someone whose affairs merited comment from the BBC; that she could not hide from the situation by listening to the radio.
It might have been different if she had seen Julia properly since the morning the news had come. She had been at the funeral, but there hadn’t been a chance to speak to her then and none of the family had heard from her since. Maybe, though, it wouldn’t make any difference, because Nancy couldn’t make it real, couldn’t grieve: she was too angry. She was furious with Edward, rigid with rage through the funeral, too much so to trust herself to speak. She couldn’t understand how he could do this to them all, how he could betray his office and leave himself open to all this retrospective commentary that they had to hear, not him. She was too hurt for words that he would use her as he had to get Julia out of the house, and more than anything else that he was not there for her to tell him exactly what she thought of him.
Isabel kept asking if she was all right, which was a stupid question, thought Nancy, because she was fine. Mother had been very upset over the whole thing, Father wouldn’t talk about it at all, and she’d had a distressed cross-Atlantic phone call from Amy to deal with, and Julia seemed to have shut herself away somewhere, but Nancy was fine, and so she told Isabel.
Isabel looked at her. “You don’t usually bite my head off for asking the question. I’m only worried.”
“There’s no reason to be.”
Isabel continued to look at her.
“Oh, I know,” said Nancy. “I’m sorry, love. I am all right. It’s just that I feel so - so angry. I suppose I shouldn’t. There isn’t much point in it any more, but how could he?”
“Hmm,” Isabel said, biting her lip for a moment, and then disappearing for a good five minutes before returning with a candle, which she set in the candlestick on the table, and a pack of cards. She fetched a book from the shelf that Edward had given Nancy, and added that to the collection of things.
Nancy watched in bemusement. “What are you doing?”
“Well, it seems the only answer,” said Isabel, laying out the cards with great concentration. “We’ll have a séance and raise his spirit for you to shout at.”
“Have you lost your senses?” said Nancy, roused from her apathy in a sudden panic, but Isabel only ignored her, pulling the curtains across. “I’m not taking part in anything of the kind, so you can put all that nonsense away, thank you!”
Isabel lit the candle and gave her a smile. “Don’t worry; it’s not as if we’re going to make a habit of it. Come on. You’ve done nothing but snap at me for a week, so I think I deserve to be humoured now, don’t you? What harm can it do? Or do you think I might actually manage to call up the devil?”
The devil, thought Nancy, would be a good deal less alarming than Edward. She glared at Isabel. “Honestly, Isabel. I’m going upstairs until you’ve stopped being so ridiculous. What on earth has got into you?”
“Oh, well, never mind,” said Isabel, sitting down at the table. “Then I shall have to do my best down here alone. What would you like me to say if I succeed?”
Nancy reached the door and turned back. “You’re going to go through with this?”
“I can’t have you like this,” said Isabel. “If this is what it takes, then I don’t see why not.”
Nancy walked slowly back to the table and sat down, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. “Very well, but I am not taking responsibility for this, nor am I going to sit here chanting or - or anything.”
“Of course not,” said Isabel. “You don’t know the proper words anyway.” Then, closing her eyes and calling out for the spirits. Nancy sighed heavily and shut her own eyes, and let Isabel take hold of her hands across the table.
After a while, Isabel said, in a low tone, which, to Nancy’s annoyance, coupled with the dimness of the room did seem to create an atmosphere, “I think we have a window to the spirit world. One of my cards just moved.”
This was all such nonsense, thought Nancy. Did a séance even work like this? She didn’t have the first idea, but she doubted it. Somehow, though, she couldn’t quite say so to Isabel.
“You have until the candle burns down,” said Isabel solemnly. “To say what you want to.”
Nancy had nothing to say, and merely watched the candle before shutting her eyes again. She pulled her hands away from Isabel, and a little while later, Isabel slipped away. Nancy wasn’t going to go along with any of this still, but, she thought, none of it was fair, none of it was right. They were supposed to go to hell together, after all.
Isabel came back in an hour later and pulled back the curtains. Then she crossed back to Nancy, now on the sofa, considerably more tear-stained, and handed her a mug of tea. “There,” she said, and hugged her briefly, not as careful of the tea as she should have been.
Nancy swallowed, and then tried to smile at her. She didn’t know if she felt better or worse for being angry at a candlestick, but somewhere objectively, she knew it was usually a good thing to express one’s feelings rather than bury them. “Isabel, what do you even know about séances?”
“Oh, Nan, love, practically nothing,” said Isabel, kissing her before sitting down beside her. “Only I was fairly sure I knew more than you. I’m sorry. It was a stupid, awful thing to come up with, and I don’t know why I did it, except I thought it must be time to try something. I am sorry.”
Nancy managed a short laugh, but it seemed to hurt. “No,” she said. “I think it probably is better this way.”
“And, Nan,” said Isabel, suddenly more serious, causing Nancy to turn her head towards her, “I didn’t hear most of what you said, I promise, but - I - well - don’t think too badly of Edward, not for what he did. If he had reached that point, I don’t suppose he was really thinking of things as he would normally. And maybe you should think of it the other way round: he wanted Julia to be with someone he trusted when she heard the news. He sent her to you, and why wouldn’t he?”
Nancy pushed back into the sofa slightly, not ready to talk about it. “Maybe,” she said. “But I still don’t understand how anyone could do that, let alone Edward.”
“Then, that’s something for you to be thankful for, isn’t it?” said Isabel, her voice matter of fact but lowered with a quiet sadness.
That got through. Nancy looked up again. “Isabel?”
“Years ago,” she said. “Why doesn’t matter now. Why probably wasn’t the point even then. But I’m still here because, luckily for me, I was even more clueless about these things than I am about holding a séance. So, what can I say about anyone else in that situation?”
Nancy took a sip of the tea, and then put it down on the small coffee table, taking Isabel’s hand and then pulling her in against her.
“Nan,” said Isabel after a while. “Are you feeling more yourself now? Because there’s something I need to ask, and I think it’s important.”
Nancy sat up again. “Yes, of course. What is it?”
“I always got the impression that Julia didn’t have much in the way of family of her own.”
“She doesn’t. There used to be an uncle she hated and I think she was in touch with some cousins or other, but no, not really.”
“Well, then,” said Isabel, leaning forward to hand Nancy back her tea, “where is she?”
Nancy shrugged. “I don’t know. With friends, I suppose, or with Mrs Whatsit at the house. I suppose you can understand her wanting not to be with Edward’s family just now. Why?”
“Yes, but she isn’t at the house,” said Isabel. “You haven’t been reading the papers, have you?”
Nancy put down the tea again. “No, no, I haven’t. I don’t want to know what the papers have to say about Edward, thank you. I’m sure they’re busy imagining every murky possibility they can and I would only get angry again.”
“Well, what they’re saying,” said Isabel, “now that Julia is missing, is that they think that’s what it was all about - that Julia was having an affair and has now run off to be with whoever it is.”
“But that’s ridiculous! Good God, Isabel, why are you bothering with what the gutter press says?”
Isabel sighed. “It’s hard not to read things like that when you see them all over the place. But don’t you see what I’m saying? I don’t think that story sounds very likely, either, so where are Julia and Emily? Are you sure no one in the family has heard from them?”
Nancy still didn’t quite see what Isabel was worried about. She wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to face Julia yet; it would be hard to avoid the painful topic. Julia feeling the same way about the Longs was perfectly natural. It was equally understandable that she would want to try and escape the press. “I don’t think so, but honestly, Isabel, I can’t imagine how she’s feeling just now. It’s bad enough for us. I think if I were her, I’d run and hide with a friend, too.”
“But wouldn’t she at least tell your mother where she was?” Isabel said. Then she leant back slightly. “Nancy, your cousin was a Cabinet Minister. We don’t know why any of this happened; we don’t know what he was involved in. All sorts of people might be interested in Julia if they can’t get hold of Edward any more.”
Nancy closed her eyes. “Isabel,” she said, “I love you dearly, but will you save your imagination for your novels? First that séance and now this. What has got into you?”
“Look,” said Isabel, “will you at least think about making some enquiries? Please?”
Nancy could hear the earnest note in her voice, and she looked at Isabel again. It wasn’t like her to be quite this fanciful.
“Must I spell it out?” said Isabel. “You always think about him as only your cousin, and of course you do. But he was the Foreign Secretary and now he’s dead and his wife and daughter have gone missing and wherever they are, it’s enough of a secret that the press haven’t worked it out. Add to that the fact that none of us have heard from her, either, and surely you can see why it’s worrying?”
Grudgingly, Nancy supposed she could, though she did nothing more than nod. She could ask a few people, she thought. It would be reassuring to know that Julia and Emily were all right.
Much to Nancy’s surprise, it turned out that Isabel had a point. Nancy made tentative enquiries, first with Mrs Crosbie, but Julia hadn’t said anything to her, either, and hadn’t even left a forwarding address or telephone number. Mrs Crosbie was alarmingly grateful to have Nancy trying to find out something for her. She tried the Colonel and Mrs North next, who were family friends, and all the Colonel had to say was something even more improbable about not having seen Julia since he gave her a gun and then that probably he shouldn’t have told her that.
Nancy realised then how entirely ignorant she’d been of what friends Edward and Julia had. They’d moved in completely different circles and she knew some names, but given how many of them were politicians, not which ones she could go to with a possibly sensitive enquiry. It was hard for Nancy to get her head around the concept that somebody you telephoned merely wanting to know if they’d seen someone else might try to make use of that. She would, she decided, certainly never manage in politics.
Eventually, it occurred to her that she actually knew someone who did sometimes move in those circles and might be able to give her some of the names of people Edward and Julia knew well, and went to see Caroline Sheldon, Edward’s first wife.
“You mustn’t,” said Caroline as soon Nancy broached the subject, in earnest, as ever. “I can’t possibly say anything more, but you won’t help them if you go around asking questions. You’ll draw people’s attention to the fact that she really is missing.”
Nancy was startled into silence; unable to think how to respond. She hadn’t expected Caroline to know more than she did. She thought that if that were the case, then perhaps she hadn’t known Edward anything like as well as she had believed, and felt hurt again. “I don’t understand,” she said, when she’d found her voice.
“Oh, I can’t explain,” said Caroline. “There’s so much I don’t really know myself, and I wish I could - I wish Julia had gone to you, or to Amy, I truly do.”
“Then why don’t you tell me where she is?”
Caroline looked down and then up again. “I don’t know that. If I did, I would tell you. All I do know is that you could easily make things so much worse if you try to find her like this. It might have been a long while since we’ve been friends, but you really must trust me.”
“How do you know?” Nancy couldn’t help it; she couldn’t keep the hurt from bleeding out. “How could he tell you and not me?”
Caroline put out a hand to Nancy’s briefly, a little awkwardly. “Nancy, Edward didn’t tell me anything. There was something he asked Jack to do - and Jack only told me this much because I asked much the same question as you did. That’s all. But this - this business - it should be over one day, maybe very soon, and when it is, then you’ll have them back.”
~o~
October 1973
That had been over ten years ago, and while Nancy had waited and watched for a long while for any sign of Julia or of Emily, once the events of those next few years had played out - Martial Law, the fall of the government, civil war, Hallam establishing himself in power - she had lost hope. It would not be sensible to carry on believing they were still out there, not any more.
Now, it seemed, she was wrong, as far as Emily - Liz - was concerned, anyway. She wondered rather painfully about Julia, and whether or not she should perhaps start hoping again, even making enquiries. Still, the thing was, for today at least, that Liz was here, and that would have to make up for everything.
“Why don’t you tell us what you’ve been up to?” Nancy said. “We’ve some catching up to do, haven’t we?”
Liz gave a slight smile. “I don’t think there’s anything very exciting to tell.”
“It doesn’t have to be exciting,” said Nancy. “You’re here; that’s the thing. There are too few of our family left now, you know. I just wish I’d known how to find you sooner. Still - better late than never, don’t you think?”
***