Because I pictured Jack Crowell as a tower of strength, I could not imagine him taking his own life. But could I really get my mind around just how awful trench warfare in northern France had been during the First World War, and wasn’t it possible that there might be a breaking point, even for a man as strong as Jack?
“Jack also told me that his younger brother, Tom, was killed on the Somme in July 1916. That was all he had to say, and I didn’t ask for details.”
From the time I had first met Jack, when he had mentioned the town memorial to those killed in The Great War, I knew that someone he cared about was memorialized on the stone monument on the village green. I remembered Jack telling me about Harvest Home and the two brothers walking the children around the fountain on ponies. His face had lit up at the memory.
My head was bobbing up and down on Rob’s shoulder as we rode the Underground to Mrs. Dawkins’s house. An occasional grunt reassured Rob that I was listening.
“By the way, I’m having dinner with Jack at the Engineer’s Club on Wednesday. He thinks by that time he’ll be climbing the walls, being in such a small flat with two females, even if one of them is only a baby.”
Since Rob would be having dinner with Jack, I decided to make a surprise visit to see Beth and baby Julia. I packed up some sandwiches and coleslaw that Mrs. Dawkins had made, but before heading over to James’s flat, I reread the letter Beth had given to me at the Savoy.
3 March 1948
Dear Maggie,
As I am sure you have already guessed, I am Elizabeth Lacey of Montclair. My parents were Sarah Bolton and Edward Lacey, and I had three brothers, Trevor, Matthew, and Reed. They are all gone now, and I am the only Lacey left. First, I must apologize for the untruths I told you, and I hope that you will forgive me. I wanted you to hear the story of my family, but I was not prepared to place myself at the center of it. Jack’s been after me ever since your second visit to Crofton Wood to share this information with you.
In my defence, I must say that you were not the first person to knock on our door asking about the Lacey/Darcy connection. We British like to be close to our poets and authors. We read Wordsworth in the Lake District and the Brontës in Yorkshire. They can also be very demanding. Several asked us to justify their belief that we were related to the Darcys. After that, I cautioned Don Caton about sending just anyone down to the house even if it meant denying Jack an afternoon of talking to the curious about Montclair.
I believe Jack mentioned that my grandmother, Marianne Dickinson Lacey, loved the novel and was captivated by the Lacey connection to it. When she married my grandfather in 161, Franny Lacey, Will and Elizabeth’s older daughter, was living at Montclair, and she had all of these wonderful stories about her parents, which she shared with Grandma. When Grandma’s health began to fail, she had the servants gather up everything relating to Elizabeth and Will and had them placed in chests and taken below stairs. The information we have been sharing with you came from diaries, letters, and other papers stored in those chests, and I have enclosed selected entries from Elizabeth’s diaries.
Elizabeth and Will Lacey had some wrinkles to iron out in their marriage, but they did succeed and lived full and happy lives. Enjoy!
Fondly,
Beth
Now that the secret was out, I was already thinking of the many questions I would like to ask her. I felt so much of what she wished to keep private was contained in the first paragraph: “I had three brothers… I’m the only Lacey left.” Maybe, when Rob saw Jack at the Engineer’s Club, he would learn something of the brothers, but I was not going to press Beth.
Chapter 13
When Beth opened the door to the one-bedroom flat, I could tell she was pleased to have company. Behind her, baby Julia was lying on a blanket on the floor surrounded by chewing toys.
“What a pleasant surprise,” Beth said. “I am all alone because children as young as Julia are not Jack’s strong suit. He prefers them when they’re capable of catching a ball. I’ll give him his due, though; he did change one dirty nappy. After that, he decided to spend the afternoon at the library.”
“Is he looking for anything in particular?” I asked.
“He reads a lot of the old newspapers and regimental histories from the First War. I think he’s trying to figure out how things could have gone so badly. Did you know Jack’s brother was killed on the Somme?” I told her that I did. “But let us talk of happier times,” she quickly added.
As I sat beside Beth on the floor, she took my hand in hers and asked if I had read her letter. “Will you forgive me for not being honest with you?”
“Of course,” I said emphatically. “But now that everything is out in the open, I have to say I know more about your great, great grandmother than I do about you and your family. Would ‘happier times’ include telling me about growing up at Montclair?”
Beth laughed. “You should be a reporter, Maggie. You know how to pursue a story.”
Julia was sitting contentedly between my legs gumming a teething ring. She looked a lot like her mother with her tuft of black hair and olive complexion. Looking at this beautiful child, I thought about Capt. James Crowell’s good fortune in staying in Angela’s village in Italy long enough for them to fall in love. But was it any different than a girl from Minooka, falling in love with a man from Arizona, while living in England?
Beth began by telling me about her parents. Like many people of the British upper class, Edward “Ned” and Sarah Lacey led lives that were very independent of each other.
“Wasn’t your father a broker?” I asked.
For a few seconds, Beth put her head back and looked at the ceiling before saying, “Not really. Oh, he had the title, and he’d pop into the office now and then, but he left the running of the office to the professionals. Jack thinks I don’t know how little my father actually worked, and I don’t want him to know that I know.
“My grandfather, Andrew Lacey, did not like to entertain, so he delegated that job to my father. It was my mother and father who hosted the lawn parties, summer teas, and excursions to the Peak District. It was Papa who was in charge of the shooting parties and who traveled to Scotland to shoot grouse and go salmon fishing. Even though he did all those things, his passion was for motor racing and football. He put together the first organized football club from Crofton. It was made up of boys who worked at the pottery kilns or for the tradespeople and, of course, the boys who worked for us.
“My mother’s passion was for horses. Our family often hosted the hunt, which was a very big event and great fun.”
“Were Jack and his brother involved in the hunt?”
“It was such a big affair, with so many guests, that everyone had a role. Before the start of the run, there would be lawn meets where the riders would gather to drink and eat and generally get in the mood for the chase. Even though Tom and Jack were not servants, their father insisted they help out, and I’d catch Jack looking at me. I really wanted to stay behind to talk to him, but such a thing ‘simply wasn’t done.’ One of the things that was done on these weekends was for husbands and wives to end up in bedrooms with people other than their spouses. Matthew was two years older than I, and Trevor four years. They loved sneaking around to see what went on after my parents retired.