Darkest Before Dawn (52 page)

As he climbed the steps which led into his signal box he realised that the trip down to the stream had done him a great deal of good. To be sure, he had been very snug inside the box, but he had not realised how lethargic he had become. Now he felt awake and tinglingly alive and his limbs rejoiced in the work he was giving them; quite reluctant, it seemed, to return to the sedentary life they had enjoyed for the past few days. However, there was work to be done in the box. Toby cast one last regretful look at the beauty of the scenery around him, noticing that the cutting was completely filled in so that the land looked flat, then heaved his bag of ice into the warmth, hastily tipping it into the big tin jug and setting this close to the stove. Presently, he would decant some into a pan, put the pan on the stove and when the water was good and hot have a strip-down wash. But he must skin and joint the rabbit for the pot first, since that was mucky work.

Mucky work it certainly was, but it got easier as the rabbit thawed out and soon he was able to pour off some hot water to wash in and slip the rabbit joints into the remainder. He had already prepared carrots, turnips and potatoes, thinking to make a vegetable stew – or blind scouse as Liverpudlians called it – so he tipped the vegetables in with the meat, replaced the pan lid and pulled it over the flame once more. Then he turned back to the tin bowl, got out the soap and a towel, and began to remove his clothing. Clad only in underpants and vest, he washed briskly, his eyes still on the scene outside the windows, though he had to rub himself a little porthole in the steamy pane in order to see out.

It had been bitterly cold outside, but it was almost too warm within so he padded around the box in his underwear, setting things in order, and thinking how grand it would be if rescue came soon so that they might share the rabbit stew. A solitary life was all very well, but he realised he was beginning to feel lonely. However, he knew that whilst the permanent way was impassable the LMS would be losing money, so the bosses would attach a snow plough to a locomotive and get the gangs out on the road just as soon as they thought it safe to do so.

On the stove, the stew began to bubble and Toby pulled the pan to one side, since he knew rabbit stew should simmer and not boil briskly. Then he opened the door and tossed his washing water out into the snow. As he did so, he realised that the wind had changed direction. It was no longer the dreaded ‘helm', as the locals called it, but a warmer wind out of the west, bringing the promise that spring – and a thaw – was on its way.

But it was still cold, so Toby closed the door once more. Though the snow now had a glistening crust, he knew it would take more than a bit of sunshine and a change of wind direction to thaw this lot out. Snow ploughs and gangs of plate layers, plus any casual labour the bosses could get their hands on, would be needed, for Toby knew from what others had told him that not even the strongest snow plough could get through a blocked tunnel; that needed a gang of determined men to get it clear. A snow plough, after all, pushes the snow to left and right, and in a tunnel this is simply not possible.

Toby glanced towards where he knew the tunnel lay, then up the track whence help would come. He was about to turn back to his stew when a movement caught his eye. Someone was coming! In the far distance, trudging along the snow-covered permanent way, was a tiny black figure. Tom? No, he would not come from that direction. One of the inspectors then? But that did not seem likely. Another hard stare convinced Toby that it was not the ganger, being nowhere near big enough. But it might be one of his men, trekking ahead of the gang, sent forward to tell Toby to put the kettle on, since the plate layers would need a mug of something hot when they stopped for a breather.

Toby looked, consideringly, at his stew, then filled the large blackened kettle and stood it beside the pan on the stove. After all, the man walking along the line might or might not be the precursor of a larger group; if he was not, then he was welcome to share the rabbit stew, but such a stew needed a couple of hours' cooking at least, and his visitor would probably appreciate a cup of tea while he waited.

Toby went back to the window; the small figure was nearer and he suddenly remembered his state of undress and went cold all over. Some chance he would have of promotion if an inspector found him in vest and pants, more intent upon his forthcoming dinner than upon his work. Hastily, he scrambled into his uniform, got out the old tea towel he used as a cleaning cloth, and began to wipe the steam off the windows. Then he opened the little side lights, knowing that this would keep the panes at least partly clear, and checked, for the hundredth time, that the lamps were filled and ready for evening, that his timesheet was completed correctly, and that the steps leading up to the door of the box were clear of snow and ice. Then he returned to his vantage point. The figure was closer now, but still completely unrecognisable. It could, Toby told himself, be almost anyone: man, woman or child, or even a visitor from another planet. It also occurred to him, rather belatedly, that the figure might not be heading for the signal box at all but might merely be using the permanent way as a means of getting between the villages on either side.

Toby decided that he would call out to the chap as soon as he got within hailing distance. He went to the door, opened it, and leaned out, then realised there was no need; the figure had changed direction and was heading straight for the signal box. Toby held the door a little open, eyeing the muffled figure with considerable puzzlement. If this was a railwayman, it was the smallest one Toby had ever met. He opened the door a little wider, began to speak, and then stopped short as the figure pulled a muffling scarf away from its face and grinned up at him.

Toby gasped; he would have known that grin anywhere, and those big brown eyes. ‘Evie!' he said, and heard his own voice rough with surprise and emotion. ‘Oh, Evie, you little devil! How in God's name have you got here? There've been no trains for days, nor buses, not even a tractor. How . . . ?'

But then his arms were round her and he was pulling her into the box, slamming the door shut behind him, unravelling scarves, removing her soft woollen hat, and in an excess of love and relief kissing her wide brow, her small straight nose, her pointed chin.

Her reaction was surprising. ‘Stop it, Toby,' she said pleadingly. ‘I've come a long way to give you . . . oh, dear . . . to give you bad news. It's all been my fault; I let you believe what I believed, only it wasn't true. And what does it matter how I got here?' she added. ‘I'm here, and you've got to listen to me.'

Toby stepped back, feeling as though she had slapped his face. He had known all along that she could not love him, but even so, her rejection hurt. To cover his emotion, he began to help her out of her coat and to push her gently towards the stove. ‘I'm sorry, Evie,' he said humbly. ‘I didn't mean – I know you couldn't possibly . . . but what's this bad news you have for me?'

Evie held out her hands towards the stove, then began to rub her fingers briskly, giving an involuntary little moan as she did so. ‘I thought it was bad enough when my hands went freezing cold, and then stopped being anything at all, but it's worse when the feeling starts to come back. Oooh, it's perishing agony.' Then she took a deep breath and turned to face him. ‘I let you think Seraphina was really in love with you and that was why her marriage wasn't working. It was all my fault, because Fee wasn't very nice to you, was she, so I should have guessed . . . but I didn't, I'm afraid. And – and then she came home at Christmas and brought a fellow called Eddie with her. We all liked him but I couldn't believe anyone, not even Seraphina, could prefer him to you, Toby. I thought that as soon as she was free – properly divorced from Roger Truelove, I mean – that she'd realise where her heart lay and want to marry you.'

Toby snorted and began to speak, but Evie hushed him with a small, icy cold hand across his mouth. ‘No, let me finish,' she commanded. ‘And then, three or four days ago, Fee came home. She told us her decree nisi had been finally granted and she and Eddie meant to marry as soon as he came home from Egypt. And instead of smiling to myself and thinking she would soon come to her senses, I asked her outright how she felt about you and she said – she said . . .'

Toby grinned down at her and took both her hands in his own warm clasp. ‘You always were a bossy kid, Evie Todd,' he told her. ‘But I don't want to know what Seraphina said because I've known, oh, for ages, that she didn't care a button for me. And since we're being truthful for once, I'd better tell you that I don't care a button for her. It took me a long while to realise it because I got confused. Now, young woman, tell me the truth: who was it stayed with me all night when I came home after Dunkirk and had such terrible nightmares? It wasn't Seraphina, was it? I wanted to think it was, then, but now I think it was the same person who wrote me letters every week when I was in the POW camp, even though I could receive none of them. And it's my belief the lovely thoughts you put into those letters got through to me somehow, I don't know how.' He looked down at her, a painful question in his brown eyes. ‘You seemed fond of me and I believe fondness . . . no, dammit, love . . . can work all sorts of miracles. Sleep is something every POW craves, sleep and dreams of home. Is it too much to believe that you gave me those things by writing to me?'

Evie looked down at their clasped hands. ‘Yes, I did stay with you after Dunkirk,' she said quietly. ‘And I do love you, Toby. I think I always have. Only at first it was just kid's love, like you said. It was only later, when I started to dream about the prison camp, that it turned into something more. Only I
knew
that you loved Seraphina, so I just thought I'd be your sister-in-law and love you in that way.' Toby caught her in his arms and gave her an exuberant hug, then sat down with a crash in the chair by the fire, and began to kiss her. ‘Stop it!' Evie squeaked. ‘You – you're sorry for me, that must be it. You couldn't possibly love me the way you loved Seraphina.'

Toby nuzzled the back of her neck, blowing away the strands of soft brown hair as he did so. ‘Little idiot, I never loved Seraphina,' he said reprovingly. ‘I had a crush on her when we were both young, and when she rejected me my pride was hurt, so I determined to win her back. But all that had ended . . . oh, ages ago. I believe I was actually in love with you from the moment I came home after Dunkirk. Do you remember sending me five Woodbines? I kept them in the breast pocket of my tunic all through my time on the beaches. I was at a pretty low ebb, I can tell you, when I finally fished out those cigarettes, but when I handed them round to my mates, just for a moment, I felt like a king and I knew who I had to thank; it made me think of you, and even then, it was a good thought.' He turned her in his arms so that he could look into her face. ‘Did you hear what I called back to you as the train left Lime Street station? I knew I shouldn't have said it, but it was the truth.'

‘No,' Evie said. ‘The train was kicking up such a racket . . . what did you say, Toby? And why shouldn't you have said it, anyhow?'

‘I shouldn't have said it because I'm years older than you and don't have a marvellous job with wonderful prospects,' Toby said, his voice low. ‘My face is scarred, but my mind is as well, though I'm beginning to come to terms with it. I'm not fit to marry anyone.'

‘Oh, rubbish. What
did
you call to me as the train drew out?' Evie asked, stroking the scar which ran from brow to chin. ‘And the scar isn't so terrible. I like it. It adds character, as my teacher used to say.'

Toby gave a crack of laughter, then began to kiss her, their mouths meeting with an urgency which might have frightened Evie once, but now merely made her give a purr of satisfaction. When they drew apart, her eyes were shining like stars, but she said, as steadily as she could: ‘What did you say to me, Toby Duffy? If you don't tell me I'll – I'll not agree to marry you, so there!'

‘I said “I love you, little Evie”,' Toby said softly. ‘And now I'll say the other bit. Will you marry me, sweetheart?'

Evie leaned up and kissed him gently. ‘Of course I will,' she said. ‘Oh, Lord, what was that?'

‘It's our dinner, boiling over,' Toby said. He stood up, tipping Evie off his lap, then glanced towards the window. ‘Oh, God, it's flaming well snowing again, and by the look of the flakes, the wind's changed direction. We could be stuck here for another three days!'

Evie giggled. ‘That's the best news I've heard for ages,' she said, contentedly. ‘Oh, I was feeling so bad on the way here, thinking I was going to break your heart, and now . . . well, it just goes to show it's true what they say: it's always darkest before dawn.'