Dear Mother

Dear Mother

Published by Sonya C. Dodd at Smashwords

Copyright Sonya C. Dodd 2013

For mothers everywhere.

Other titles available by Sonya C. Dodd:

A Whisper in the Wind

Harbour of Dreams, a sequel to A Whisper in the Wind

Brass Buttons

The Root of all Evil

Siren Call

Echo of a Siren, a sequel to Siren Call

Affirmation of the Sirens, a sequel to Echo of a Siren

With Hindsight

Chapter One

October 1937

The brambles tore at her clothes but Sarah ignored them. Small scratches on her arms from the thorns and tree branches drew blood, but the pain was nothing to her.

Her long, wet, wavy, red hair hung loosely, dripping water down over her clothes and throat. The darkness of her hair made her fair skin seem deadly pale. Her green eyes looked haunted and sorrowful.

She shivered, but did not feel the cold. She heard the thunder, but did not know whether it was overhead or in her heart.

Blindly she continued on her way, ignoring the paths of the woodland, intent on getting home as quickly as she could, without being seen.

The grey sky was momentarily lit by a flash of lightning, which seemed to intensify the heavy down pouring of rain.

Feeling wretched, Sarah stifled a sob as it rose in her throat, desperate not to be heard or to give in to her emotions until she reached the sanctuary of her bedroom.

The ground was uneven, strewn with tree roots, fallen branches and broken remains of old trunks. The remaining leaves on the trees were grateful for this sudden October storm taking them to their final resting place; to Sarah it felt as if the weather was mimicking the storm of turmoil she was experiencing inside herself. Never had she felt as wretched as this – not even the day her mother had died leaving a, then, eight year old Sarah and widower husband, both traumatised by the swiftness of her illness and death from influenza.

That had been eight years ago and Sarah still missed her mother every day. And today, on her sixteenth birthday, the pain of that loss had been magnified. Sarah recalled, her mother’s death had seemed like the end of the world to her father. He had aged immensely, seemingly overnight, and she knew, it was only for his daughter’s sake, he got up each morning and struggled to find his way through the day.

For the first time since her mother’s death, Sarah could see her face before her and wished she could not. She felt so ashamed of herself and did not want her mother to see her like this.

Stumbling as her foot caught in a tangle of briars, Sarah reached out and grabbed onto a tree to prevent herself from falling. She paused, panting slightly from the exertion, and wiped her wet hand across her face. Her lip felt sore and when she looked down at her fingers, she saw there was blood.

Had she bitten her own lip and not realised? Or had he done it? Sarah shook her head, determined not to allow those thoughts into her mind, not here. She tucked her hair behind her ears, out of her face and carried on.

She knew these woods well, had lived amongst these trees, on this land all her life. This is where she considered herself at home, safe and happy – at least, until now.

Suddenly, Sarah came upon the clearing, where she could look down at their cottage. Her father should be out at work; she knew there was a shoot on today and as head gamekeeper, he would have to be there. Nevertheless, she stood at the edge of the trees: watching, waiting and regaining some of her composure.

If, by some chance, he was there, how would she explain her appearance? Sarah looked down at her ripped blouse, her muddied, wet skirt.

It seemed as if it had been such a long time ago, they had sat and had breakfast together.

He had wished her: ‘Happy birthday’, and presented her with a hand-made card and present: a notebook, fountain pen and pot of ink. He knew how much Sarah loved putting down her thoughts on paper.

It had been something she had begun when her mother died. She used to write letters to her, believing she would come and read them, whilst Sarah was sleeping. It had proven therapeutic and she had found her own comfort in the content of those letters.

Smiling, Sarah recalled her father telling her how grown up she looked today. She had made a special effort with her appearance, as she had arranged to go and see them.

The smile left her face, as the memories of the morning changed from carefree to fearful. Her happiness and innocent joy on her sixteenth birthday, a landmark she had looked forward to for a long time, had been robbed from her, torn from her and ripped to shreds and at this moment in time, she could not imagine ever being able to feel any kind of happiness again.

Confident the cottage was definitely empty, Sarah left the shelter of the trees. Today she was glad of the isolation of their small home. Tied to her father’s job, the Gamekeeper’s Cottage was on the edge of the woodland where he worked.

The front door was unlocked; they never locked it, there had never seemed a need to do so.

Sarah went into the front room where the fireplace, flanked by two chairs, was the focal point. She slipped off her shoes and felt the cold flagstones through the thin layer of her stockings.

Their dining table marked an invisible boundary between sitting room and kitchen. Sarah went to the sink and ran the tap until ice cold water escaped from it, then splashed her face and drank from her cupped hands. Turning off the tap, she wiped her face dry with a towel, whilst looking out of the small window over the sink.

A few rows of neglected vegetable plants marked out their garden. Every year her father had good intentions of growing fresh vegetables, and each year he soon forgot about looking after them. Fortunately, the cook at the Hall often gave Sarah bits and pieces, which were past their best and deemed unsuitable for his Lordship’s table.

She pushed the thought of ‘them’ away and went upstairs to her bedroom. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Sarah realised she was shaking. Unaware of whether it was because of the shock of what had happened or due to her wet clothes, she knew she needed to get warm, dry and into clean clothes quickly.

Slowly she unbuttoned her blouse and let it drop to the floor; her beautiful, white blouse: ruined. There was no possibility of even an accomplished needle worker repairing those tears.

She stepped out of her skirt: muddied and damp. Even her underwear felt disgusting next to her skin, because he had touched it. A shiver ran through her bruised body. Sarah realised she was crying silent tears.

Once she was standing naked, Sarah bundled up the pile of clothes and stuffed them into the bottom of her wardrobe. She knew she could never bring herself to wear any of them again and she would have to dispose of them, somehow.

Wrapping a blanket around herself to try and get rid of the shivers, which seemed to be coming more frequently, Sarah caught a glimpse of her face in the mirror hanging on the wall.

She looked as though she had been in a battle: mud and tears stained her cheeks; her hair was peppered with tangles and leaves and would probably take her an age to deal with.

The edge of her top lip was slightly swollen and bloody; she touched it with her tongue and tasted the blood.

Then Sarah looked long and hard into the reflection of her eyes. She looked different: older, guilty and ashamed. Would her father notice the same things? she wondered.

A loud banging woke her from her reverie. Someone was at the door. Surely he hadn’t come after her; suddenly she was frightened once more.

Listening, she heard footsteps downstairs. It couldn’t be her father, could it? He couldn’t see her like this; it would break his heart.

Then a familiar voice called out her name: Sarah?

It was Edward. What was he doing here? Did he know what had happened?

Sarah remained quiet, leaning against the inside of her bedroom door, wrapped in the blanket and praying he would just go.

Dear, sweet Edward. He was always so kind and thoughtful; the most pleasant member of that family by far. But she couldn’t face him now, couldn’t bear for him to see her shame. Please go away, Edward, she thought to herself.

Then she heard his hesitant footsteps on the wooden stairs. He must know what had happened; he would not be so presumptuous as to come upstairs if he didn’t know.

Again he called out her name; she said nothing.

There were only two rooms upstairs: Sarah’s and her father’s. There came a knock on the other side of her door, she held her breath.

I know you’re in there, Sarah. Please let me in; I need to see you.

Sarah could hear the concern for her in his voice which made her feel even more miserable. Go away, Edward. I don’t wish to see anyone. Her voice came out barely louder than a whisper as she battled to suppress the sobs threatening to rise from her throat again.

Please, Sarah. I’ve seen Rupert. I know something bad has happened and I need to satisfy myself that he hasn’t hurt you in any way.

So, he didn’t know everything then. Sarah remained silent. At least this fact made her feel slightly better. She couldn’t bear the thought of Edward thinking she was, in some way, partly to blame for what had occurred earlier.

I’m not leaving until I’ve seen you, he persisted. The door handle turned and Sarah felt the door push against her.

No, Edward, don’t, she gasped, surprised by his perseverance. I’m not decent; you can’t see me like this.

The pressure from the door ceased and it clicked shut. Very well, he began. I will wait for you downstairs but I am not leaving until I have spoken to you face to face, he concluded.

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed as she listened to his footsteps retreating down the stairs. Then, all was silent. He was sticking to his word; he was still in the house. It was no good, she would have to see him or he would still be there when her father returned home.

Outside the rain had subsided to a steady drizzle. Having dressed hurriedly, Sarah stopped at the foot of the stairs. Edward sat with his back to her, in her father’s chair. She was convinced he must be able to sense her presence.

As usual, he was being thoughtful, she realised; despite his urgency to see her, he was waiting for her to come to him.

He looked so out of place in their small, humble cottage. Goodness knows how long it was since any decoration had taken place and the fireside chair, upon which he sat, was probably older than her father.

Typically, Edward’s carefully chosen attire showed his social status and sense of fashion, dressed as he was in country tweeds. He was a tall man; a man now, no longer a child like her. Was that how he perceived her? When the three of them had been younger, their ages and backgrounds had seemed irrelevant.

Always the youngest and the only girl, Sarah’s only friends and play mates had been Rupert and Edward Addington. As children, the fact she was the child of an employee of their father’s and they were the sons of a lord had been immaterial.

Now Edward was twenty two, had graduated from Oxford and was back home. Why couldn’t Rupert have been more like his older brother? At eighteen, Rupert could be arrogant and enjoyed an extravagant lifestyle afforded him by his status and parents’ indulgence. Driving too fast, drinking too much and partying too hard: they seemed to be the rules he lived by. Rupert was always disappearing up to London and then coming home when funds dried up or he needed to recover ready for the next round of parties.

Edward was much taller and fairer than his younger brother and the more handsome by some distance as far as Sarah was concerned. She sighed, annoyed with herself; Edward Addington would never even look at someone like her. He must have girls queuing up to be courted by him, being the heir to such a large estate. However, he was a real gentleman, unlike his brother.

Sarah coughed and came to sit in the chair opposite Edward. Despite her efforts to quickly tidy herself up, Sarah couldn’t help but notice the ill-disguised look of horror which Edward tried to conceal when he saw her.

What can be so urgent, Edward, which makes you come bursting into my home like this? she asked quietly.

He looked at her. Edward had watched this wilful girl blossom into a beautiful young woman. She had no idea how attractive she had become; there was no doubt in his mind she would soon be turning heads with her striking red hair and those eyes which were like deep pools drawing you in to her: quite mesmerising.

I’ve seen Rupert, he stated simply.

So you said earlier, she replied abruptly. What do you want me to say? Sarah knew she was fighting a losing battle against the emotions raging inside herself but she was determined to find out what Edward knew.

I want you to tell me what my brother did to you.

Why? She cried in despair. It won’t change anything. You should have been there, like you promised. Then it would never have happened; everything would have been fine.

I’m sorry; I had to go through some papers with father. I told Rupert to go ahead without me because I didn’t want you to think we had both forgotten your birthday. He sounded desperately apologetic and guilty for letting Sarah down but clearly had no idea of the severity of the chain of events which his earlier absence had set off.

Well, you’ve seen me now so please leave, Sarah said, standing up and going over to the door, she held it open for him resolutely.

Edward walked over to where she stood; her chin was raised determinedly. He smiled, looking down at her. Don’t shut me out, Sarah. I accept I broke a promise but don’t blame me for my brother’s behaviour.

I just want you all out of my life. I don’t belong in your world, I realise that now. It would be simpler if you didn’t come here again and I certainly will not be venturing up to the Hall.

Don’t say such a thing, Edward sounded genuinely hurt by her words. We’ve been friends forever; I thought you trusted me. Tell me what happened this morning with Rupert and then I will leave you in peace.

Sarah shook her head and looked away from him, remembering the events of the morning.

Did he hurt you? He spoke gently and laid his hand on her arm.

Sarah jumped as though scolded by his touch. Don’t touch me. Yes, he did hurt me but I will not discuss it with you or anyone, now or ever.

If he laid one finger on you, then so help me God, I’ll kill him. His raised voice startled her and his words, spoken with such conviction, were full of venom.

Don’t do anything stupid, Edward. Promise me you’ll do nothing, she beseeched him. You’ll only bring yourself down to his level, and, you’re right, you are better than him.

How can I make such a promise? You’re my friend and if Rupert’s hurt you then he must pay.

What did he say when you saw him? Sarah asked with resignation.

He said … he said you’d shown your gratitude for the necklace he’d given you as a birthday present. Edward spoke slowly, watching Sarah’s face for signs of truth or falsehood as she listened to his words.

He said something about being surprised by your reaction and you should consider yourself fortunate he was prepared to give you his undivided attention.

Sarah felt sick with disgust. Rupert was clearly demented in some way. Did he really think he could get away with this? Of course he did; who would believe her story over his? After all, he was the one with money and connections; she was nothing. No, she was worse than nothing at this moment in time.

Tell me what he meant, Sarah, he begged.

Sarah felt some relief. Edward clearly didn’t know as much as she had feared. She didn’t wish to come between the two brothers and cause a rift in their family.

If that is what he said, then you must believe him, she replied.

But why are you so full of anger and sadness if it was just some tomfoolery? He asked innocently.