Lost Angel. Kitty Neale
far is it to your place?’ Hilda asked.
‘It’s a fair trot, and don’t expect too much. By the time we get there you’ll find yourself in the middle of nowhere, and as for those daft shoes, forget it. Like me, you’ll need boots and the same goes for Ellen.’
‘Gertie, I can’t believe how different you look. In London you always looked so smart, if a bit severe, and I never thought I’d see the day when you’d wear trousers and wellies.’
‘Needs must,’ Gertie said dismissively, ‘and anyway, I prefer them.’
‘You said in your letters that you’re fine, but it’s been years since Susan left. Have you found anyone else?’
‘No, and I don’t want to.’
‘Aren’t you lonely?’
‘Not really. I have my animals, and – unlike people – they don’t let you down.’
‘You sound so bitter, Gertie.’
‘What do you expect?’ she replied, eyes flashing. ‘I lost everything for Susan, my reputation, my career, then after moving here she left me.’
‘You could have returned to London.’
‘At first I wanted to lick my wounds in private, then, as time passed, I became used to the seclusion. I love it now. I’m self-sufficient and I doubt I’ll ever leave.’
‘At the moment you’re better off here. London is hell. Since September we’ve had bombing raids day and night, but mostly at night now.’
‘You’ll be safe here.’
‘Have you heard from your father?’ Hilda asked. ‘Is he still in London?’
‘I expect so, but I haven’t heard from him and doubt I ever will. You know what happened when he found out. He almost had an apoplectic fit and said I’d disgraced the family name. He’ll never forgive me.’
Ellen was at a loss to understand this strange conversation. Forgive Gertie for what? She spoke of licking wounds, and what on earth was an apothingy fit? Ellen wanted to ask, but knew better than to interrupt her mother when she was talking. She’d learned that if she kept quiet, sometimes adults would forget she was there, but one sound, one word, and they’d either stop speaking or chase her out.
They had left the town behind; the countryside they were passing through wintry and bleak. It was so quiet, so peaceful and warm beneath the cover that Ellen closed her eyes. She felt the sway of the cart and found the voices drifting, growing distant.
Hilda saw that Ellen had fallen asleep again and held her close. She sighed heavily, the tension in her neck easing. Gertie had welcomed them and at last they were away from the bombings. Surely in the peace of the countryside Ellen’s nerves would heal?
‘It’s lovely to have you here, Hilda, and yonks since I’ve seen you. Just how long have we been friends?’
‘I’ll have a go at working it out. I was about eight years old when my mum started work as a domestic in your father’s house and you were the same age. I think we saw each other occasionally, though at that time I’d hardly call us friends.’
Gertie chuckled. ‘Yes, I remember now, and my goodness I was such a stuck-up little bitch.’
‘Don’t remind me,’ Hilda said ruefully.
‘When my mother died and I was sent to boarding school, it was a rude awakening. I missed her so much and hated it, yet it was worse when I came home during school holidays. My father had changed so much and, other than religious instruction, he ignored me. If it hadn’t been for your mother’s kindness, my life would have been very bleak.’
‘Mum was a good woman, but even then you and I rarely saw each other. I think it all changed when you were expelled and by then we must have been close to twelve years old.’
‘I wasn’t sorry to be expelled; in fact, I think I pushed for it by behaving so badly, yet I came unstuck. It was worse being tutored at home and I was so bloody lonely. My father was wrapped up in his work, the church, and was hardly ever home. After lessons I just rattled around in that huge house, with only your mother and the cook for company.’
‘That was when Mum started dragging me to your house every weekend and during school holidays.’
‘She dragged you! Was it that bad?’
‘Gertie, I hate to say it, but it was at first. I hardly knew you, and, let’s face it, you were a lot different from my usual friends. To me you sounded posh, upper class, and in fact, you still do.’
‘It certainly didn’t rub off on you though,’ Gertie said, but the sting was taken out of her words by her warm smile. ‘You’ve never mentioned it, but you must have resented having to come to Kensington, especially when my father would only allow you to play with me if you joined us in religious instruction.’
‘I must admit I didn’t like all that stuff from the Old Testament.’
‘Oh, yes, he loved to talk about God’s wrath, of fire and brimstone.’
‘It frightened the life out of me, but Mum still made me join you. It was years later before I found out why. She thought a lot of you, Gertie, and knew that I’d have to keep it up or be banned from the house. I think in some ways she came to see you as her second daughter.’
‘Did she? I thought your mother was being kind because she felt sorry for me. In fact, I envied you your family – the closeness you shared.’
‘I don’t know why. Compared to mine, your home was like a palace.’
‘My life was so restricted that it was more like a prison. Thank goodness you came along and we became more than just friends. I wish I’d known that your mother saw me as a daughter, because to me you were like a sister, one who stood by me through thick and thin.’
‘Now don’t exaggerate,’ Hilda protested. ‘As adults we went our separate ways. You for teacher training, and me, well, until I met Doug, I only worked in a local shop.’
‘Yes, but we always stayed in touch, and unlike everyone else you didn’t judge me, or ostracise me.’
‘Why should I? You’re still the same person and a good one at that. Take now for instance. If it wasn’t for you I’d have been forced to have Ellen evacuated to strangers.’
‘When I read your first letter, asking if Ellen could come to stay with me, I can’t tell you how much it meant to me. When the school found out, they couldn’t get rid of me quickly enough. I was treated like a monster, a bad influence and unsafe to be around children. My father was the worst, saying I was an abomination in God’s eyes.’
‘That’s rubbish. There’s nobody I’d trust more with Ellen.’
‘Thanks, and it’s nice you’ve arrived just before Christmas. Mind you, I’ve had enough religion stuffed down my throat to last me a lifetime, but as it was once a pagan festival I won’t feel like a hypocrite if we have a bit of a celebration.’
Hilda’s throat tightened. She didn’t want to think about Christmas – her first one without her parents – yet for Ellen’s sake, she’d have to make some kind of effort.
Ellen stirred, sitting up to look around her. ‘Are … are we there yet?’
It was Gertie who answered. ‘Sorry, but we’ve still got a way to go. Are you hungry?’
Ellen nodded. ‘Ye … yes.’
‘I’ve left a beef casserole braising in the range and it’ll be ready when we arrive.’
‘Cor,’ Ellen said, fully awake now.
‘I’m not much of a cook, but