Throughout this time, she had been bedbound with acute rheumatoid arthritis and sharing a ward with three other young women. The patients were attended by nuns and nursing sisters. Several of these have been interviewed and confirm Mrs. Tilbury’s account.
When the eighteen-year-old Gretchen Edel, as she then was, went to her doctor in November 1946 with sickness, fatigue and aching breasts, she thought she must be suffering from a virus. She was amazed to be told by the doctor who examined her that she was expecting a baby.
“I had never even so much as kissed a man,” she told me over tea and cake in her immaculate suburban parlor. “I thought, they’ll soon realize they’ve made a mistake.” But as the weeks passed and the pregnancy became visible, it was clear that there was no mistake.
With the support of her own mother, who never doubted her daughter’s story, Gretchen resolved to keep her baby rather than give her up for adoption. Margaret was born on April 30—a dark-haired, blue-eyed replica of her mother . . .
Jean stopped typing, interrupted by the ringing of the telephone on her desk. She could tell, even from the almost inaudible intake of breath before he spoke, that it was Howard.
“Hello,” she croaked, her throat raw from smoking.
In front of her, the ashtray overflowed with the evidence of her unease. She had been putting off this conversation, but there could be no deceiving him.
“Can you escape?” he asked. “I’ve some news.”
From the steady tone of his voice she couldn’t be sure whether or not she needed to worry.
“And I have some, too,” she said as brightly as she could manage.
“Oh? Good or bad?”
“Well, that rather depends.”
“I’m outside.”
“All right. I’m on my way.”
“I love you.”
“Yes.”
They crossed the railway line to Willett’s Wood and followed the path through the trees. Over the years Jean had often escaped here to eat her lunch, or to clear her head from the stuffiness of the office.
Within minutes they could no longer hear cars or any man-made sound apart from their own footsteps. It was a beautiful, cold day. A few tenacious leaves clung to the bare branches, scraps of red cloth against the blue sky. Frost had crusted the ridges of mud with silver; puddles of ice crackled underfoot.
“So, tell me,” said Jean, lacing her hand in his and feeling his returning grip.
“I have to go and see Aunt Edie tomorrow,” he said. “To help her move. Will you come with me? We could stay overnight in one of the empty rooms.”
“I can’t. Mother is back home from the hospital and she’s still very unsteady. I can’t leave her overnight.”
“Oh. Well that’s good news about your mother. Grim for us, though. How will I survive the weekend without you?”
“With your usual stoicism, I expect. Where is Aunt Edie going? She’s not moving in with that Wally chap?”
She stumbled over a tree root and felt his arm tighten to support her.
“No, she’s found a hotel in Maidstone that has boarding for long-term residents. They seem to have a few of her sort there already.”
“Does she have a sort?”
“You know—educated gentlewomen of modest means.”
“Goodness—what a title. I thought she was determined to stay in her house and go down in a blaze of gunfire.”
“Thankfully, I think that was an exaggeration. The prospect of another winter in the house was a bit daunting. It’s a beast to keep warm and there’s no hot water.”
“What will happen to all her things?”
“She can take a little with her. The rest will go to the auction house, the salerooms, jumble sales. The thing is, she wants to sell the house and give me the proceeds.”
“That’s very generous. Are you her only nephew?”
“Yes—she said it’s all coming my way eventually, so I might as well have it now so that I can come to some sort of financial settlement with Gretchen.”
There was a loud cracking of twigs, and a dog came bursting through the trees and bounded toward them. It was a large, muscular setter, brown and shiny as a conker.
“What a beauty,” said Howard as it jumped up and planted its front paws on his chest, leaving muddy prints on his tweed jacket.
He stroked its head and ears before gently disengaging himself. The dog wheeled around and plunged back into the woods. Howard laughed and dusted himself down.
“I don’t like the idea of Gretchen living in that apartment. I’ve not seen inside the place myself but to hear Margaret, you’d think it was a hovel.”