Betty was still staring at the letters. ‘I’m not sure, but all these letters were sent during the war.’
‘When did Great-great-grandad meet Great-great-grandmother?’
‘My mother told me they met near the end of the war at a tea dance that the islanders had arranged to keep spirits up. It was love at first sight.’
Betty’s eyes softened and her voice was tinged with nostalgia as she painted the scene. ‘Picture this. The island’s village hall. Inside, the air was alive with laughter, and the faint clink of teacups, and the melodic strains of a small orchestra playing a waltz. Beatrice was in her early twenties and wearing a pale blue dress that shimmered like the sea under the lantern light, or so she told me. Her auburn hair was swept up with delicate combs, and my mother said she had a way of carrying herself that caught everyone’s attention.’
Betty’s eyes twinkled as she continued. ‘Arthur was a young officer. He wasn’t much for social gatherings, but his mates had dragged him along, saying he needed to remember what life was like beyond the trenches. He stood at the edge of the dancefloor, feeling out of place, until he saw Beatrice laughing with her friends. She was radiant, her laughter like a melody that outshone even the orchestra, he told me once.’
‘Did he go straight up to her?’ Clemmie asked.
Betty chuckled. ‘Oh no, he hesitated. He was nervous, you see. War had hardened him in some ways, but the idea of asking a beautiful stranger to dance made his palms sweat. But Beatrice, oh, she was bold. She caught him staring and, instead of waiting for him to make a move, she walked straight up to him and said, “Well, are we going to dance or shall we just stand here all night?”’
Clemmie giggled. ‘What happened next?’
‘He was completely flustered,’ Betty said with a laugh. ‘But he managed to nod and take her hand. The moment they stepped onto the dance floor, it was as if the rest of the world faded away. They moved in perfect harmony, as though they’d been dancing together their whole lives. My mother told me once that it was in that moment he knew she was the one.’
‘How romantic,’ said Clemmie.
‘By the time the night ended, they had exchanged addresses, and they soon became inseparable. When Arthur proposed, he did so on that very same spot they’d met on Puffin Island, under the light of the same lanterns that had witnessed their first dance. It’s stories like these that remind us where we come from, Clemmie. Love, courage, tradition, they’re all part of who we are.’
‘With such a beautiful story, the Earl had to be just a friend. I wonder how they met, though. Baking somehow seems to be a passion for both of them,’ chipped in Amelia. ‘Perhaps, during the war, the Earl visited Puffin Island and stumbled into the café by chance? And because of his status, their friendship had to remain under wraps.’
‘Maybe we will never know,’ added Clemmie.
Betty placed her hand over her heart and let out a nervous laugh. ‘For a moment I thought we were going to discover a huge love affair between Beatrice and the Earl.’ She gave a soft chuckle, the tension easing from her shoulders. ‘There’s one more letter,’ she stated.
Unlike the other envelopes, this one was sealed with wax. Clemmie carefully broke the seal and unfolded the letter. Her eyes scanned the page, the words jumping out at her with each line.
July 3, 1918
Dearest Beatrice,
This will likely be the last letter I send, though I cannot be certain. Circumstances are evolving faster than I anticipated. As you know I’ve already formally broken off my proposed engagement to Princess Alexandra. It is only right. I could not continue to live this charade while my heart belonged elsewhere.
I’ve surrendered my title– I know I do not deserve it, not after the choices I’ve made– and I’ve stepped away from public life.
Your secret and my secret will now stay buried together, along with the rest of the letters. They will remain sealed in the box, locked away from prying eyes. To retrieve them now would be too dangerous– too many are still watching. But should you ever need those letters, they are yours. The royal solicitor’s address is enclosed below and he will be able to guide you to the letters’ location. The code to open the box is our special number; you know the one.
Beatrice, I owe you more than words can say. Your kindness and your friendship have been my light in dark times. Though I must let you go now, I will be with you very soon. You are remarkable, and the world is better for having you in it.
All my love,
Henry
Clemmie’s hands shook as she finished reading. Her mind raced with questions and implications. She hadn’t expected this, not by a long shot.
Amelia was the first to speak, her voice barely above a whisper. ‘He… he broke off an engagement with the Queen’s daughter? Then left his aristocratic life behind?’
Clemmie’s eyes were wide. ‘What are all these secrets and where does Arthur fit in to this? This letter suggests they both have a secret. Is it the same secret? Did your mum ever let anything slip?’ asked Clemmie.
Betty shook her head, her brow furrowing in concentration. ‘I’m just trying to do the maths,’ she murmured. ‘My mum, Emily, was born December 1918, which means Clemmie’s great-great-granny, Beatrice, must have fallen pregnant around… March 1918.’
Amelia nodded, fascinated. ‘So your mum is Emily, Emily’s mum is Beatrice, and it’s Beatrice who’s connected to the Earl. This is all very intriguing. How old were you when you had Clemmie’s mum Belinda?’
The moment Amelia spoke Betty’s face crumpled, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’
Betty took a deep breath, gathering herself. ‘It’s okay,’ she said, but her voice faltered. ‘They say time is a healer, but some wounds never really mend, the loss of your own child.’
