Title: The Long Shadow

Authors: dancesabove and jewell

Rating: T+

Disclaimer: The creative rights to the characters and plotlines in Foyle's War belong to Anthony Horowitz, but no infringement is intended and we in no way profit from the story we've written.

Feedback: Always very welcome. Let us know!

Authors' Note: An epilogue will follow this chapter.

Chapter 14

When she looked back on it, Caroline had known for weeks before she admitted it to herself. She somehow knew what it was, the odd-but-not-unpleasant feeling deep within her. She knew it, but hadn't put a name to it until now.

She was pregnant.

With the nausea and now missing another monthly, there was no doubt.

On the surface there was no hint of scandal—she was a married woman who was expecting. A Blessed Event. But underneath the respectable trappings was her belief that the baby was a child created by love, not duty. It was Christopher's baby. She felt that with all her heart and soul. It had to be.

And if she believed it was Christopher's baby that she carried and not her husband's, what then? Christopher had received his orders just last week. In seven days he was to embark on the SS Folkestone bound for France and then to his unit entrenched in the Belgian countryside east of Calais. The fighting in France seemed to grow more intense as this year drew on, and the casualty lists grew longer still.

The four days for which she and Christopher had slipped away were still fresh in her mind. It had been a wondrous, passion-filled interlude. It was easy to imagine life with this man—her love, her lover—just this way in future. There had been one evening in front of the fire in the lakeside cottage when Christopher had spoken of their future—perhaps emboldened by Caroline's dreamy question that first night about the child they might someday have. She gulped and pressed her hands together in front of her face now to think of it, because the child had already been forming…

Christopher had sat on the rug near the fire with Caroline's back tucked against his chest, lightly stroking her arms, his lips pressed against her hair. He had spoken forthrightly, even starkly, about what their future away from war and together would be like.

"Being married to a policeman is a harder life than many women expect, y'know," he told her miserably. He thought of the large staff of servants at Whitefriars; in various of their conversations she had mentioned several employees. "Not much domestic help—maybe, in time, a girl to help with cooking and cleaning and a man to come in once a week to deal with the garden and such. But the wife—but you—would have to do the lion's share of the housework, and not only that, make do on a policeman's salary. Which isn't very much," he finished lamely.

Caroline shifted so that he cradled her and she could look him in the eye. "I think it sounds wonderful. I know I'll be surprised at the amount of work it takes… but it will be a smaller house." She smiled at him so warmly that he longed to believe that it might not matter to her. He knew that she loved his little cottage.

"But I do have some idea… whenever my family took an extended holiday, it was just us. Mrs Morton, our cook, and Nanny Sarah had their holiday then, too."

Caroline thought now about the hope that had dawned in his eyes at her enthusiasm. No, it wasn't the thought of life as a policeman's wife that gave her much turmoil; it was life without her dear constable if he failed to return.

Life by herself, divorced and disgraced, to raise a child on her own.

If she divorced Charles, even her own parents might not take her in. Not only would she not have servants, she might have to hire herself out to provide a home for herself and her baby. Of course she would love any child of Christopher's with all the energy she had left after working long hours, but… What kind of a life would that be for the child?

Especially when she contrasted that life with the one the baby would have growing up as the eldest son or daughter of Sir Charles Devereaux. The child would be loved, well cared for, and well educated. Her little one would then have all the advantages that only a few children in England were privileged to receive: a doctor almost instantly available for childhood diseases, good and abundant food, a nanny, a governess—and then admission to the best schools in the land. And the advantages wouldn't stop after childhood. A dowry for a girl, an inheritance and a title for a boy.

Yesterday she and Anna had read the casualty lists just sent from France. Together they had counted the names; the numbers were appalling. The news of the French forces fighting at Verdun was even more shocking. And Christopher was returning to it. In seven days.

It was not likely that Christopher would return from Belgium or France. Or if he did return, could he even work as a policeman? The hospital continued to receive more and more wounded. Artillery attacks caused missing limbs and mangled bodies. The gas attacks left young men blind and in agony with bad lungs. Perhaps her perception of Christopher's chance of return was coloured dark by her work in the hospital. Perhaps. But could she take that chance for her child?

Charles was not an evil man. He had never been any more violent than to yell at her occasionally—usually when she had done something to provoke him. He would be pleased that she was pregnant, especially if the baby turned out to be a boy. An heir… that was what would make Charles happy. And then, perhaps, she could learn to love him after all. And even if she didn't, it was what was best for the child she was carrying.

Five days before he was to ship out, Christopher and Caroline planned to meet near Hastings Pier. In the middle of the week it was less likely there would be people about, and she told him she'd be at her milliner's that afternoon. In truth she did not want them to be in the cottage when she told him what she needed to tell him. That would make it impossible for her to say goodbye.

She got there first, shivering slightly in the sea breeze, despite the warmth of the sun and the long lightweight wrap she was wearing. He saw her rub her arms for warmth as he stood at the railing alongside Eversfield Place watching her, trying to memorise her; then he walked down to make his way to her across the sand.

The movement caught her eye and she watched him approach, looking heart-rendingly handsome in his new high-collared wool dress uniform, despite the fact that his weight loss had made it hang slightly on his frame. This was accentuated by the broad, S-hooked belt fastened trim at his waist. Leather leggings wrapped from knee to boot below his jodhpurs and his buttons and silk braid shone bright.

The joy that lit up his face when he caught her eyes was the image of his face that she wanted to remember from this day. The rest of it would be too painful to recall.

He tried to smile as he noticed her troubled countenance and pulled her into his arms for a brief but intimate kiss.

"Darling," he said hoarsely, "I'll miss you so much, but just knowing—"

"Christopher, I'm pregnant."

She watched as several emotions flitted across his expressive face. The first she saw was sheer happiness, and seeing that almost dissipated her resolve. Worry, alarm, sadness—and finally, love.

"You're going to have our child… that's wonderful," Christopher's words were almost convincing. Caroline didn't doubt that he was sincere about wanting the baby, but the uncertainty of their future tempered his joy.

Caroline steeled herself. It's for our child. This is the only solution.

"Not our child, Christopher. My child. Mine and Charles's."

The devastation on her lover's face was terrible to see. She looked away so she wouldn't falter. So she wouldn't throw her arms around the man she truly loved and beg him to marry her. She kept her eyes from his until he spoke.

"Not our child? But, you mean… ?" His face said it all. It had never occurred to him that she would have, could have, been with Charles in the past months.

"Christopher, I'm so sorry. I can't see you again, and I want you to promise that you'll never, ever try to contact me again, whatever happens."

"Caroline, no…"

She quailed and tried to shut out the agony in his voice, to hide from him that it ripped her soul. Clenching shut her eyes, she braced herself again. "Now I have to think about the child, so I'm going back to Charles. There's no other way. You don't know him. Please, for the sake of everything we've been to one another, please forget me."

His eyes, wide with shock, gazed blindly at the sand. He exhaled a shaky breath, but before he could speak, she turned away.

"Christopher, I'll always love you… but it has to be this way. Goodbye."

"Caroline!"

She walked towards the steps leading away from the beach. Midway up them her determination faltered; she turned back to look at him. He hadn't moved; even from this distance she could see the pain etched on his face and repeated in his body. He stood defeated and questioning. But she left him there.