Her mother was true to her word, and so it was two days later tea was served at the carefully laid table at precisely three o’clock as had been arranged with the vicar’s housekeeper, the formidable Mrs Chubb. ‘Reverend Hayles is a busy man you know,’ Mrs Downer had said earlier as she set out the china, as though he were bestowing them with the greatest of gifts with his visit. Constance had nodded meekly as she carried on with the dusting task she’d been set. She knew she was not in a position to comment.
Throughout the reverend’s visit, Constance sat with her eyes cast downward seemingly entranced by the intricate lace flowers of her mum’s best tablecloth brought out for the occasion. She was willing this nightmare to end. The reverend, with his perfect shiny dome for a head surrounded by its shock of white that looked as though pieces of unspun wool had been pasted on, cut a portly almost comical figure across the table from her. He reminded Constance of the Friar Tuck painted on the pages of a Robin Hood picture book she’d loved as a child. The idea of robbing the rich to give to the poor had caught her fancy. It was still tucked away upstairs on her bookshelf, but its pages would be gathering dust these days.
Ginny was seated to her left, and she held her hand under the tale, giving it a reassuring squeeze now and again as mother, father and Reverend Hayles talked over the top of their heads. Their agenda: to decide what to do about the problem that was Constance.
She listened, feeling as if she were floating slightly above them all, to the reverend as he told her parents of a Mother and Baby Home he had connections with through the church. It was a reputable home and was run by the good people of The Salvation Army. He’d manage to secure a place for Constance there. The words bounced back and forth across the table with it transpiring the home was near where a cousin of Ginny’s lived in Salisbury, and a plan was hatched over a generous slice of mum’s cake.
It was as if she was on a train which would not stop, Constance thought as the voices bounced back and forth around the table. Ginny compliant in the conspiracy, would go and stay with her cousin; the poor girl was recently widowed. She would be glad of the company and people would understand Ginny’s decision to leave Wight; she needed a fresh start. Constance inclined her head to look at her sister-in-law, and for the first time since her baby’s stillbirth, she saw hope flicker on her pretty features. She wondered why.
It was decided that the tale to be told to anyone forthright enough to enquire, was that Ginny had gone to Salisbury to stay with her cousin, also a war widow. They could be of comfort to one another. It was too painful for her to stay here in Ryde, so it was the obvious solution for them both. Now that it was deemed safer for the girls to travel with the Allies gaining strongholds and keeping the Jerrys at bay, Constance would go with her to help settle her in for as long as it took given her fragile state.
It was her mother who wondered out loud as to Constance’s baby being handed to a stranger after it was born and wouldn’t it be lovely if the wee one could somehow stay in the family? Ginny’s intake of breath was sharp as the hope Constance had seen flickering suddenly flared. ‘I’d love the baby as my own,’ she whispered, squeezing Constance’s hand so tightly that Constance would have cried out had she not been numb. ‘Perhaps we could say my cousin was pregnant, but she died in childbirth and there was no one else but me to care for the baby?’
The air itself seemed to sigh with Ginny’s sentiment. It was then that Constance understood that this had been the plan all along. They were all acting out their parts in an elaborate charade. She looked to each parent and saw their faces unknot. She read their expressions. They’d have their grandchild after all, and young Ginny would get to be the mother she deserved to be. It was a white lie they would all tell for the greater good. As for Constance, well, she’d return home, and it would be as it was before. All their lives would carry on without the blight of scandal marring the future because nobody except the five people seated at the table need ever know of the circumstances that had befallen Constance.
A solution amenable to all had been found, and the reverend coughed before glancing at his watch. Mrs Chubb would have his sherry poured by the time he got home to the vicarage. Mother nudged Constance with her foot under the table.
‘Thank you, Reverend,’ she said quietly.
His smile was kindly as he assured her that God still loved her and that she was not the first to slip but that she should learn from the error of her ways.
Constance nodded then dropped her gaze to the lacy cloth once more as her parents left the room with him, their hushed voices floating up the stairs as they finalised the arrangement. They were good people, mum and dad but their lifeblood was the shop, and its business had already suffered from the effects of the war. The shame of an unwed pregnant daughter would destroy their standing in the community. They’d had so much to cope with already. This, she knew was the right thing to do. There was a part of her too that was relieved to have matters taken out of her hands. She felt Ginny’s questioning gaze seeking reassurance.
‘It’s for the best Ginny, it’s the right
