The Consequences of Fear by Jacqueline Winspear (speed reading book txt) 📕

another breath,feeling as if a weighted cloak had wrapped itself around her. She wanted to reach out and hold on to Priscilla, but couldnot move. She sought words to continue, trying to remember the script she had crafted in her mind over and over again duringa sleepless night. “Given the nature of the accident and the location, Elinor has already been buried with full honors, thoughwe can go to the cemetery together, if you wish—it’s down in the west country, which I think she would have liked. Her commandingofficer will render all assistance with the planning of a memorial service, again, only if you wish, but as Elinor listedyou as her next of kin, it’s—”

“Stop it! Stop it, stop it, stop it now!” Priscilla closed her eyes and broke down, falling forward as she wept. Maisie went to her, kneeling on the floor and holding her friend so close she could feel her heartbeat. “Oh my God, Elinor. Elinor! Oh Maisie—I owed her so much.” Priscilla gulped back tears. “I was clueless when I had Tom. I had this squealing little red thing, and though I wanted to do everything myself and I tried for months on end, I finally asked my aunt to find me a doughty English nanny—and she sent me this very young Welsh girl who saved us. Tom would have died before he was a year old if it hadn’t been for Elinor.” Priscilla pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and wiped her eyes. “And she saved me too—she taught me how to be a mother, how to love my child, and for heaven’s sake, it was as if she were a mother to me, too, and she was barely out of school. She just knew how to do everything. And with each boy, she just got on with it. If it hadn’t been for Elinor, they would have grown wild, but she taught me how to make men of them, how they could be good boys and still be themselves, each one of them. And now this . . .”

“What’s going on? What is it?”

Maisie turned to face Douglas Partridge, who had come into the room, followed by Tarquin.

Maisie broke the news again. Douglas reached for his wife, and pulled her to him.

“Darling—oh my darling.”

Tarquin stood speechless, his eyes wide. Maisie put an arm around her godson’s shoulders.

“Tante Maisie,” said the boy, almost choking on his words as he turned to Maisie. “I’d better let my brothers know. I shouldget messages to them, so they know to telephone us.”

Maisie nodded and released Priscilla’s youngest, a boy-man almost as tall as his father. She watched as he walked away towardthe telephone, his shoulders shaking as he gave in to tears.

“I’ll go now,” said Maisie, as Douglas turned to face her. “I’m so sorry to be the bearer of this news, but I was asked todo so because of our personal connection. Elinor was loved by us all—the accident was a terrible, terrible tragedy.”

“Thank you, Maisie—thank you for being the one to come, though I cannot imagine how this must have tormented you.”

“Please let me know if there is anything more I can do. Elinor listed Priscilla as her next of kin, but I am sure she hasrelatives in Wales; I can help you find them if you don’t already know their addresses.”

“Driving a bloody lorry,” said Priscilla, her face tear-streamed and red. “Serving your country by driving a lorry, and shegets killed. It’s not bloody well fair.”

“No, it’s not fair, Pris. Nothing in war is ever fair. We both know that only too well. But I saw her not long ago, and shewas happy. She was proud to be doing her bit—that’s what she told me. That she was proud to be doing anything to stop Hitlermarching into Britain.”

“Well, that was Elinor,” said Priscilla. “Even when she was mixed up with that most unsuitable Basque man while we were inFrance, she put us all first, before everything. We loved her, Maisie. We all loved her so much—she was family.”

“I know—”

“And heaven only knows how she thought she was going to stop Hitler with a lorry.”

Maisie turned to leave, but lingered when Priscilla called out to her.

“Maisie, darling, I think you might know how to contact my niece. She should be told. Pascale and Elinor became quite friendly,you know. She’ll be very upset.”

Maisie nodded. “I’ll find out the name of someone who could relay a message to her. So yes, you can rest assured she’ll beinformed.”

 

“Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!”

Anna rushed into Maisie’s arms outside the school.

“Mummy—you’re crushing me!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, darling—I just have so many cuddles inside me, I suppose they all came out at once,” said Maisie. “Come along, let’s go home for a cup of tea and you can tell us all about school today.”

This was one of the most cherished parts of Maisie’s week—coming home. Each Wednesday or Thursday afternoon, when she returnedto the Dower House at Chelstone Manor following several days in London, she ached for half past three in the afternoon, whenit was time to begin her walk to the village primary school. She would wait by the cast iron gates to hear the bell signifyingthat lessons had finished, then watch as children streamed from the Victorian building, some looking for their mothers, otherssetting off home because their mothers were working, perhaps on one of the local farms. Maisie would open her arms wide assoon as she saw the little girl with olive skin run toward her, her satchel half open and sometimes spilling a book and herpencils. Two almost jet-black braids would be bouncing off her shoulders, though it was not unusual for the ribbon to havebeen lost from one plait and then replaced with a rubber band supplied by the teacher. Anna would launch herself at Maisie,clinging to her with arms around her neck and legs around her hips.

As Maisie and her daughter walked home along the lane, Anna maintained a constant dialogue. “I wrote about Emma today in composition.The teacher