Lady Pixie's War Ch. 11: Dark times

The next year - June 1940 to June 1941 was the worst I have lived through; in that I was at one with all my fellow Britons.

It was one thing to declare our defiance via Winston, but quite another to make any headway. It was one thing to name de Gaulle as the leader of the "Free French," but quite another to make that a reality. In practice, on both my fronts, things went from bad to worse. True, the Royal Air Force managed to keep control of our skies in September, but that simply led to what became known as "the blitz," heavy German bombing raids on London. For nearly four weeks from September through to October, London was bombed every night. The damage was huge. As for de Gaulle, few rallied to his side, and by October the Foreign Office was making it clear that he was "Churchill's folly." That did not help relations between Archie and me. Ironically, the General also became an unexpected source of great pleasure, even as the darkness grew.

He and Jack turned up at The Hall the day after my memorable reunion with Beccy; they were accompanied by Mme de Gaulle and their two daughters, Élisabeth (sixteen) and Anne (twelve). As had been the case at Colombey, to see de Gaulle with his family was to see a very different man from the public figure. His love for Élisabeth was clearly deep and reciprocal, and to see him with his arm round her in the grounds of The Hall was to witness something which spoke volumes about him as a man. But it was darling Anne who brightened every day.

"Learning difficulties," they said, "spastic," said others. "My daughter," said de Gaulle. No one who was unkind to her was ever forgiven; no one who showed her love was ever forgotten.

De Gaulle was delighted when Anne recognised me.

"Ma petite Pixie!" She declared, before throwing herself into my arms for a hug. As for little Hope, she soon became "Ma bébé" and Anne liked nothing more than to sit with her and sing. Beccy took Anne into her heart, and that, too, was reciprocal. Once the "menfolk" were gone on their war-like business, myself, Beccy, Yvonne de Gaulle and her daughters would sit with Hope, taking turns to help her, but with Anne always insisting she was "ma bébé." The first time the General saw her with Hope, I saw a tear in his eye.

"This," he said, speaking as he rarely did, in English, "is Eden for my little Anne. Thank you, milady for providing this for them - and for your service to France."

I was touched. Jack said that he had never seen the General so happy, and given that the story of the Free French across the year was from one disappointment to another, I was glad that The Hall gave the man some refuge from his trials. I was also able to help him with a London base, as 4 Carlton House Terrace was vacant, and I intervened with the Curzons to persuade them to let it to the Free French. It was a joy to go back there recently to unveil the statue to the great man; it so reminded me of him and those times of turmoil.

By early October I had come to two conclusions: the first was that it was not safe for Lady Cecily and Jenny to stay in London; the second was that if that was so, we should also seek to make room for children who were being evacuated. I talked with Maja and Anna, as well as Mellors, and we decided that some of the cottages could be multiple-occupancy, and that the remaining rooms at the Hall could also be used. I did write to Archie, but he remained stubbornly incommunicado.

Anna said that she, and some of the other Polish women, had some experience teaching children, so we took the village hall and turned it into a school.

Archbishop Temple, who came to stay in late October said that it was "an example of what we should be doing nationally," and as later events would show, he meant it.

I still went up to Town for Church business and for my work with de Gaulle; the latter was more fruitful than the former. I did try to catch Archie, but caught he would not be - until the blow fell.

Up in Town for a meeting about de Gaulle, I finally, literally, bumped into Archie in the corridor of the Lords. To my horror he looked thin and rather wasted; he seemed to have aged ten years in the six months we had been apart. He did a double-take.

"Pixie, why are you here, have you heard?"

The poor thing seemed anxious, perhaps a natural enough state for a man living in a city being bombed, and trying to run a foreign policy which was getting nowhere very fast.

"Hear what, darling?"

"Edward is going to Washington!"

"And you, darling?"

"Dégommé!"

"Oh darling, what, are they not offering you anything?"

"No," he said, sounding gloomier than I had ever heard him. "Winston is getting rid of the appeasers, as he calls us, and while Edward is important enough to be offered the Washington Embassy, small fry like me get the boot. Eden will succeed him, and he does not want me."

My heart went out to the poor darling. After the best part of twenty years as a junior minister, he was to be cast out. Of course, he would remain a member of the Lords, but, as he put it:

"Othello's occupation is gone!"

"Silly goose!" I said, hugging him. "Home needs you darling, and I need you. Please come back to The Hall!"

Standing away from me, he looked at me.

"You mean that?"

"Oh you silly, silly goose, of course I do. We've been married nearly twenty years, and the issue that caused the rift has been removed. Please come home!"

And so, home came the wanderer.

A quiet word with Winston's private secretary ensured that Archie was offered the post of Lord Lieutenant of Suffolk, an honorific post, but one in keeping with his position, and, to everyone's amazement but mine, it turned out the dear boy was a very efficient representative of the Crown in the county. Delighted by Temple's approval of what we had done at The Hall, Archie threw himself into trying to replicate it elsewhere.

"You seem happier," Beccy said a week after his return.

"Sex is not everything darling," I said, as she raised her eyebrows. I giggled: "Archie and I rub along well enough; I did miss the silly old thing."

Leaning in, she kissed me:

"You like your waifs and strays, Mama, speaking of which, we need to begin making arrangements for Jenny's confinement."

I had worried about bringing Jenny to Suffolk, partly because, as we had both agreed, she was no country girl, but if I am honest with myself, it was mainly because I feared there might be friction between her and Beccy. But I should have known better - there was something about Beccy which precluded jealousy.

As the mother of an eight-month-old baby, Beccy simply took to mentoring the eight-month pregnant Jenny as a duck takes to water. She pulled her into her confidence, listening to her, asking questions, and offering answers to Jenny's. I knew things were fine when, within a week of arriving, Jenny said to me:

"I can see why you adore Beccy."

"You can?" I said, by way of a ranging shot.

"I can - she's adorable!"

That was the truth of it.

It was as well that Archie was busy with his new duties and touring the county, because, as Maja put it, The Hall came more and more to resemble a "commune for women."

The School worked well, and we soon had the village children wanting to join with the refugees; it was, I thought, a microcosm of what the country could be - if only we had the will.

Of course it all cost money, and when Billy Temple asked me how we paid for it all, I suspected he was expecting me to say that I paid for it all. In fact, as I told him, I was the banker of last resort.

Our foresight with the home farm meant that we had produce in some abundance to sell, and some of the profit went into funding the school and health care. On top of that, everyone who worked on the estate put a tenth of their earnings into an insurance policy to pay for health and education. Sir William Beveridge, who was asked by Winston to look at how we might create a better Britain after the war, took copious notes, and I was delighted when, in his 1942 Report, Beveridge suggested applying these principles nationwide.

In his own peculiar way Archie paid us a great tribute by calling it "bloody communism, Pixie style," as he began to refer to me as "Mrs Stalin."

If December 1940 marked the end of one career, it also began a new life, and all my fears about Jenny and Beccy not getting along were laid to rest by the circumstances of the birth of Jenny's son.

Jenny, much I think to her own surprise, enjoyed the prospect of being a mother. One evening, just after Archie's sacking, we sat in the drawing room, curtains drawn because of the blackout, Jenny heavily pregnant and Beccy nursing Hope, who was now at the babbling stage. The fire was lit, the room warm. Beccy pulled a breast out to feed, and Jenny suddenly asked:

"How does it feel to feed?"

"Why don't you try?" Beccy smiled.

Jenny looked at me.

"Go on," I said.

Hope fed, Beccy put her down in her basket and offered her other breast to Jenny.

"It feels sexy, make me tingle, so go ahead."

Jenny got onto the sofa and leaned in to begin to suck. I could see the milk leaking as Jenny began to suck. Beccy was not the only one tingling.

I got onto the floor and crept between Beccy's legs, opening them. I could see, and smell her arousal, and she lifted, allowing me to pull her knickers down.

My tongue slide between her outer lips, licking upwards to tease her clit from its hiding place.

"Oh Jenny, oh Mama, sooo good!"

As she was wide open, I licked along each lip, up, pressing her clit, and then down, ending at her swollen and wet entrance. I could feel her shake. Making a tube of my tongue, I pressed in until my nose was pressing her clit, which I nuzzled, causing her to moan.

From my position under her skirt, I could her both her muffled moans and those of Jenny. Well, as Jenny was lying and suckling, I extended my hand until I found her skirts, and then slid my hand up. I could not reach where I wanted to get to, but could stroke her as I licked and sucked Beccy.

As I lapped at her pussy, I felt her begin to relax - always the prelude with her to an explosion, and sure enough, once I had managed to press three fingers into her gooey mess, she groaned loudly - and then, shuddering into my face, came hard. I stayed long enough for her to calm down before venturing out from under her skirt - to attend to Jenny.

Pregnancy has its effect on our bodies (not that I know from personal experience, alas), and as I reached Jenny's pussy, I encountered one of them - a change of taste. She was sweeter than I remembered, and as my tongue made contact, I felt her shiver with pleasure.

"Let me suck your tits, Jenny, fair's fair!"

"Oh Beccy, that was so tasty."

"Well, I am going to taste you there. I can see Mama Pixie is fully occupied down below."

"Makes a bloody pleasant change from the midwife's fingers, I can tell you!" She joked.

The weight Jenny had added during pregnancy just made her even curvier and sexier for me. I slid her forward to have access to her arsehole as well as her pussy, and proceeded to tease both, though keeping my fingers away from her pussy.

With Beccy sucking on her tits and me between her legs, Jenny didn't take long to cum. She tasted delicious, and I told her.

"Gawd, you two," she breathed heavily.

We snuggled together.

"I seem to have two girls," I said, grinning.

Smiling, Jenny said:

"You can be my Mama too."

I made us a bedtime drink and then we retired for the night.

Just after midnight I heard a cry.

Donning my robe I dashed to Jenny's room. Lady Cecily was already with her.

"Her waters have broken, Pixie!"

I got Anna and one of the maids to get us hot water and towels a-plenty and phoned for the doctor.

Beccy came in. She took one look at Jenny and said:

"Let me feel."

She put her hands on Jenny's bump.

"Mama Pixie, the baby is not the right way round!"

My blood froze. I could only hope that, as it was a good night for driving, that Dr Meredith would be here soon, but Beccy was galvanised.

"Mama, and you Lady C, let's help her."

Beccy massaged and manoeuvred the baby, whilst we helped. Anna provided the towels and the hot water.

Fortunately, the birthing process slowed down, and Meredith arrived, confirming that Beccy's hard work had helped get the baby where it ought to be.

We spent a long and anxious night with Jenny. Unlike Beccy, she did not deliver speedily, and by the afternoon was growing weaker.

"You must take something, darling," Beccy pressed her.

She drank a little.

We stayed with her. And then, late on the afternoon of 23 November, little Jack made his appearance.

"It's boy!" Dr Meredith announced.

Jenny, who looked exhausted, said she wanted the baby to be called "Michael" after her father.

"That's a sweet name," Beccy said.

"Just a reminded, Mrs Jagger, that you will need to register young Michael, and of course his father."

Jenny looked at the doctor:

"It's Miss Jagger, and the father does not wish to be registered."

I hastily shuffled Meredith to the door. I could see his disapproving look, and did not want Jenny subjected to that in her condition.

"It is complicated, Meredith," I told him, "the father is a senior American official and whilst he will pay for the child, he cannot acknowledge it."

I thought the fact that the father was "senior" and rich would soften the doctor's attitude; alas, I was right.

"Oh, I see, well, of course, that alters things somewhat. If I might advise, malady, perhaps get some willing fellow to allow himself to be registered. We would not want a little bastard on our hands."

I stifled the words that were in my head. Why did people have to be so judgmental?

"Of course, thank you," I said, ushering him out and assuring him that I would, of course, be paying his fee.

It was, I thought, typical of human nature. We were in the throes of a war which might change everything - but what would survive were our prejudices. There was no point being surprised, and less in being frustrated. In times of change, people clung more tightly to their certainties.

The arrival of little Michael brightened our lives in the dark times, and next to his mother, the person most delighted was Anne de Gaulle, who would sit with Jenny and her baby for hours on end. It amused her sister, Élisabeth, not least as Anne asked if she was going to be the next one to produce a baby! Yvonne de Gaulle smiled at me.

"This is a good place for my Anne. You are all sweet to her."

"Yvonne, she is a joy, and you know how loved she is."

But in the midst of life, we are, as the Good Book says, in death.

A week after the baby was born, Lady Cecily popped in to see me at the School where I was talking with Anna and the other teachers about our Nativity Play - complete with donkey. I could see from the look on her face that all was not well. Excusing myself, I went outside with her.

"Pixie, I have your sister, Lady Flora on the phone."

Absent from my chronicles are my birth family - and for good reason. My father, the earl of Barton, had forbidden my mother and sister to have any contact with me when he discovered my liaison with my maid, Annie. I never knew who told him, but it was fatal to my relationship with the three of them. My Mama, Lady Emily, had left me in little doubt that my immortal soul was in peril, and she had accused me of being a "perverted adulterer." My sister, Lady Flora, had, of course, followed suite. As I had not heard from any of them in a decade and more, it could not be good news that Flora was on the phone. I went with Lady C.

"Pixie?"

"Yes, Flo, to what do I owe the honour?"

"I am sorry to say that Papa has had a stroke. They do not think he will survive until Christmas. Mama wants you to come to say goodbye to him."

It was not the time for recriminations or sarcasm. I could have asked what the bloody use of that was, and why, now he was dying, it was fine for the "pervert" daughter to visit, but I did not. I tried to live my faith, and much as I hated the prejudice directed at me because of it, I would not lower myself.

"I shall pack a bag and be there as soon as I can!"

"Thank you, Pixie. And you know it was never my wish not to talk to you, don't you?"

I knew. But I also knew she craved the comfort of convention - and the fact that her eldest son would inherit the land and the title; so she did as she was told.

Lady Cecily kindly offered to come with me, but I thought the whole thing best done alone.

Ironically, from the The Hall, it was less than two hours by car to the ancestral pile.

Hardy, the chauffeur, drove carefully, and as we reached the old familiar lanes, I felt a wave of what might have been mistaken for nostalgia sweep over me. But I have always thought that emotion has some tenderness and longing attached to it; I had none of that for Ravenswood.

My size and health, not to mention my sex, had rendered me a disappointment to my parents. They had not bothered sending me to school and had me educated at home. As we drove through the grounds, I saw the old familiar landmarks - my favourite stand of oak tress where, as a little girl, I had lain and watched the sun through the branches on a summer day. I smiled, knowing that little Holly and little Michael would have the love I had never had. Yes, things could get better, even in these dark times.

Old Metcalfe answered the door.

"Lady Cynthia, Milady is in the drawing room."

And so she was.

It felt eerie to be back here. Mama looked grim.

"You should say goodbye to your Papa, Cynthia!"

And that was all she said.

Flora hugged me.

I went with her upstairs, past the suits of armour and the family portraits, and thence to Papa's room.

I felt a chill. I saw him lying there. That volcanic temper at last subdued - the volcano itself all but extinct now.

I said a prayer.

"It's okay to cry, Pixie," Flora said. But there were no tears. I kissed his brow.

"Goodbye Papa," I said, and then turned and left.

Flora and I talked over supper.

I stayed the night. I was woken by Flora at five in the morning with the news that he had died in the night.

I stood with her and Mama by his bedside. It was as though I was looking down on us. How had it come to this? One thing I knew, as I left, it would be different for Hope and Michael.

The farewells were grim. Flora was in tears, and Mama, well she was Mama. Young George, Flora's eldest, was the new Lord Barton, and as the old order passed, I could only hope the new one would be better.

And yet, in spite of that, the Christmas of 1940 was in some ways the sweetest one I ever spent. We had Hope's first birthday, baby Michael, and Beccy, Jenny and Lady Cecily. Along with Mme de Gaulle, Élisabeth and Anne, it was no wonder that Archie complained of living in a matriarchy. It was moderated slightly by the unexpected, but delightful, arrival of Jack on leave, two days before Christmas. That he was accompanied by de Gaulle, evened up the balance.

That allowed us to do what I had wanted to do for a year - get Hope Christened, and we added Michael to the register at the same time. Despite the fact that the world seemed determined to go to the dogs, at The Hall, God was in His Heaven, and all was right with our little piece of Eden.