Daisychain Summer

  ‘And he did?’

  ‘Oh, yes. No blame attaches to him on that score. But one night I couldn’t sleep. I was getting big and clumsy and I couldn’t rest easily, no matter which way I lay. So I got out of bed. I meant to go downstairs and read a book I had left there – but I saw Elliot. He was walking carefully; it was obvious he didn’t want to attract attention. He didn’t see me, so I followed him – to Natasha’s bedroom!

  ‘And don’t ask me if I’m sure, because I heard them. I stood, listening. They were making love, Nathan, and I don’t know how I stopped myself banging on the door, throwing it open, confronting them. But I walked away, shaking and trembling so much I could hardly stand.

  ‘When Elliot came to my room later to say goodnight to me, I told him I knew what he’d done. I asked him how long it had been going on and he said he would do what he wanted in his own home – especially as he got no comfort from his wife.’

  ‘And that was when you lost control, Anna? But you were provoked. You mustn’t blame yourself.’

  ‘I must, Nathan. I do. I was reared always to keep a hold on my feelings; never to raise my voice, never to do anything unladylike. Yet I flew at Elliot like a wild thing. I kicked and thumped and screamed. I think the whole house must have heard it. I was out of control. I hated Elliot so much it frightened me. I wanted to kill him, but instead I killed my child.

  ‘The shock must have done it. It was why I had such a difficult labour. The poor little thing was already dead inside me. He couldn’t help himself to be born.’

  ‘Anna dear, hush.’ He reached for her, cradling her in his arms, making small soothing sounds, insisting she was in no way to blame. ‘It was my brother’s fault. In his own home, such a thing was unforgivable. Please don’t cry? It’s over and done with, now. Next time – if there is a next time – all will go well, I know it. And be sure about one thing. Elliot can’t divorce you, Anna. Rather, it is the other way round, although it would be his word against yours.’

  ‘Proof, you mean? I already have that.’

  ‘Of course you have – and Elliot would be the last to deny it in the normal course of events. But if you threatened him with divorce, then you would have to have a witness – and you haven’t got that!’

  ‘Oh, but I have. Natasha, you see. She came to my room this morning. When nurse went for her breakfast, Natasha slipped in. She knelt, weeping, begging my forgiveness, saying Elliot had forced himself on her.’

  ‘So she would bear out your story – if you insisted? I think it best, though, that she leaves Denniston House – for her own sake, I mean.

  ‘I have already decided that, Nathan. Tonight, my mother is coming to see me. She arrived from London last evening and is staying at Pendenys. I will ask her to take Natasha back to London, when she returns. She must. Natasha is pregnant.’

  ‘She is what!’ Nathan jumped to his feet, walking to the window, staring out, seeing nothing. ‘Is she sure? Is it Elliot’s child?’

  ‘She is sure. She says it can only belong to my husband, and I believe her.’

  ‘And does Elliot know?’ Nathan began to pace the floor, his body stiff with anger. ‘What has he to say for himself? More to the point, what is he going to do for the poor girl?’

  ‘He doesn’t know and he mustn’t know. Natasha begged that he isn’t told. She fears what he will do, if he finds out. It is best, that way. And if he knew he would taunt me with it. Your brother knows how to hurt. Oh, I would like nothing better than to return to London with Mama and Natasha. Elliot dare not harm me, there. I would have Igor’s protection. I could stay at Cheyne Walk until I was well enough to return to my – to my husband’s bed.

  ‘But I dare not even think about going. Elliot would say I was deserting him; he would use it against me. What am I to do, Nathan? I’m in such a turmoil I can hardly think. I should be angry with Natasha, but I feel nothing but pity for her – a stranger in a strange country. How she must long for her mother, now.’

  ‘And what is to happen to her, to her baby? Who will support her? God! I am so angry!’ Nathan drove a clenched fist into the flat of his hand. ‘If my brother were to walk into this room now, I would give him the thrashing of his life!’

  ‘No, Nathan! Remember I have just spoken to a priest. I am sorry, but you cannot, must not, do anything about it. It is what I want. Mama and I will help Natasha. It may be we can find somewhere for her to go until the baby is born. After that, we will have to think again. Perhaps she will want to keep it; perhaps she will not. It is too far ahead for us to decide.

  ‘All I ask is that you pray for her, and if there is any mercy left in you, Nathan, will you pray for me, too? Will you beg forgiveness for what I did to my son?’

  ‘I will, my dear Anna. It is the very least I can do. In some way, you see, I am responsible. My calling demands that I be my brother’s keeper, though how I am to hold my tongue let alone my temper, I don’t know.

  ‘But I accept that what you have told me must not be spoken of again, and I will try to think what is to be done for the best, for you all. You know I will help in any way I can?’

  ‘You have already helped more than you know. Come and see me again, if you can spare the time.’

  ‘I will find the time. And when I come, I shall expect to find you much better. Perhaps to have Tatiana home will help, though if it distresses you to tell her about the baby, let me do it for you?’

  ‘I never told her – and she is too innocent to have noticed any change in me. I shall tell her I have back-ache and that I must rest for a while. She will accept it.’

  ‘Then I will go.’ He took her hands in his, kissing her cheek. ‘Try not to worry too much …’

  Nathan Sutton had reason to be glad he had not driven to Denniston House in his motor; rather that on a fresh April day he had chosen to walk there. Now, he could walk back to his vicarage, slamming his heels down in anger with every step he took; walk the shame and disgust out of him.

  Quickly he descended the stairs, nodding his thanks to the housemaid who handed him his hat and gloves, wanting nothing more than to be out of the house in case he should come face to face with his brother.

  He strode down the drive, head down, hands in pockets, crunching his feet into the gravel, wondering what was to become of Anna in her unhappiness and of Natasha, whom his brother called the servant in black.

  He was glad that Julia had gone south else he might have been tempted to trust her with Anna’s confidences. Julia would have understood. She, more than anyone – except perhaps Alice – knew the full extent of Elliot’s wickedness. Dear, proud, lonely Julia who must never know how much he loved and wanted her.

  ‘Damn you, Elliot!’ he spat.

  Drew Sutton waited at the front gate of Keeper’s Cottage, impatient for Daisy to come home from school, eager to tell her that Lady was making a tea party for them and that Keth was invited, too.

  Drew liked Daisy and Keth; liked having someone to play with. Rowangarth was quite the nicest place to be and his lessons with Uncle Nathan were fun, most of the time, but at Windrush there were young ones to roam with and Lady baked cherry buns and Uncle Tom let him help feed the dogs and lifted him high to peep into birds’ nests. Uncle Tom made everything come right again; made him feel less sad that his father had died because of that war. Yet grandmother had said that many small boys and girls had no father – only heroes to be proud of.

  He pushed the war out of his mind because to think of it would spoil his holiday and staying at Daisy’s house was almost as nice as Christmas.

  Best of all, though, about coming to Windrush was the big, fat double bed he shared with his mother, snuggling close to her when he awoke, smelling her sweetness.

  At Rowangarth he had his own room and his own bed, but at Keeper’s it was fun, sharing with mother.

  He stopped his thoughts, stilling the swinging gate, tilting his head the better to hear the distant footsteps. Then he ran towards them calling, ‘Daisy! Keth! We�
�re here!’ laughing as Daisy threw herself on him and hugged him tightly. He grinned at Keth who understood about girls and that Daisy was like that.

  ‘Hullo, Keth,’ he smiled, disentangling Daisy’s arms, picking up her discarded satchel. ‘Lady is making us a party and she says you are to come, too. Sherbet and red jelly and gingerbread men. We’re to ask your mother first, though.’

  They linked arms, glad to see each other, all at once finding they had nothing to say though it didn’t matter because they were together again.

  ‘Keth got caned at school today,’ Daisy broke the silence dramatically. ‘Bang! Wallop! All over him!’

  ‘One stroke on my hand,’ Keth sighed, raising his eyes protestingly skywards. ‘For looking out of the window and not paying attention. She always – always …

  ‘Exaggerates?’ Drew offered.

  ‘Yes. She’s always doing it.’

  ‘Girls do,’ Drew sympathized, recalling Tatiana’s tantrums.

  ‘Stop saying things about me or you won’t come to tea,’ Daisy cried. ‘I’ll eat all the gingerbread men and give the jelly to the dogs!’

  Then she ran ahead of them, giggling, because she was happy about the party and Aunt Julia coming to stay and because she loved Drew very much; almost as much as she loved Keth.

  But mostly she was happy because when Aunt Julia visited Mam was extra happy and talked a lot and laughed a lot and made red jelly and gingerbread men with curranty eyes.

  ‘Ten more minutes and then what time will it be?’ Tom demanded of his daughter.

  ‘Half-past, Dada.’

  ‘And half-past seven is bedtime!’

  ‘Oh, not tonight? Not when Drew is here! Please, Dada, can’t we stay up – just this once?’ She fixed him with wide blue eyes, smiling appealingly. ‘Can’t we finish our pictures? We’re nearly done.’

  Aunt Julia had brought wax crayons and colouring books. Aunt Julia brought lovely presents on account, Daisy had long ago decided, of her being very rich and living at Rowangarth which was very big and creaky and lovely to have holidays in.

  Eyebrow raised, Tom glanced across at Alice who smiled and said just this once – if they weren’t too long finishing and didn’t prolong it. Daisy wasn’t quite sure what prolonging it meant, though Mam was always telling her she was good at it. She smiled across at Drew, who smiled back and said, ‘We’d better write our names on our books or we’ll get them mixed up.’

  ‘Oh, all right,’ Daisy sighed. ‘Though my name is longer than yours. It takes ages to write it. It was awful when I was learning it at school. It’s the longest name in our class. Wish I was called Daisy Sutton,’ she grumbled.

  ‘Well, you can’t be. You have to have the name you were born with,’ Drew explained patiently. ‘I must be called Sutton because people who live at Rowangarth are always called Sutton.’ He stopped then, frowning. ‘Mother is Mrs MacMalcolm, though. Sometimes I think I would like to be called MacMalcolm, like she is. Drew – Andrew MacMalcolm. That would be a longer name to write, Daisy,’ he smiled comfortingly. ‘Almost as long as yours.’

  Julia’s head jerked up at the sound of the dear familiar name; her eyes met Alice’s, warily. Tom rose to his feet.

  ‘Think I’d better see to the dogs,’ he murmured, giving the sleeping Morgan a prod with the toe of his boot. ‘Come on, old lad – dogs can’t sleep indoors. And happen I’ll check the coops,’ he added, ‘since I reckon you’ve got something to talk about.’

  Alice raised her eyes to his and because he loved her so, because he understood every smallest thing about her, he answered her unspoken question without hesitation.

  ‘Aye, bonny lass – all of it,’ he said softly, closing the door behind him.

  All. Alice closed her eyes. Not just about Drew being called Sutton, but because once she, too, had had that name and borne a Sutton child.

  ‘Drew, darling.’ Julia cleared her throat noisily and for a moment Alice thought the telling would pass; wanted it to pass. ‘Drew – do you remember that not so very long ago you asked why you and I had different names?’

  ‘Yes, but I’ve forgotten what you said.’ He stared down, concentration creasing his forehead, at the daffodil he was colouring.

  ‘That, I think, is because Mary brought in tea – and there was chocolate cake.’ She tried to smile, but her lips were all at once too stiff.

  ‘I like chocolate cake.’ Drew laid down his crayon, selecting another of light blue. Chocolate cake was more important than what a boy was called. He began to fill in the outline of a periwinkle and Daisy, too, resumed her crayoning. She wasn’t interested in names; only if they were long ones or short.

  ‘Daisy, love.’ Alice’s voice sounded strange. It caused her daughter to lift her head at once. ‘I think you’d better listen, too. What Aunt Julia – what we are both going to tell you – concerns you, as well.’

  Without comment, Daisy closed her book, then made a fist with her hand on the table top, resting her chin on it. She knew she must listen. Mam’s face was serious; exactly like when she had said No, to a bicycle. Not until she was eight …

  ‘Drew – you do know that I love you very much and that Lady loves you very much? Lady is my sort-of sister, you see, and –’

  ‘That’s because I haven’t got a father, isn’t it? I get two lots of love from you and Lady.’

  ‘Partly so,’ Julia nodded. ‘But there is more to it – something very important and it’s time you should know. Come and sit on my knee, sweetheart?’

  ‘Do I have to?’ Sharing a bed was one thing; sitting on your mother’s knee in public – especially when you’ll be eight at Christmas – shouldn’t be expected.

  ‘Not if you don’t want to. Perhaps you’re getting a bit old for cuddles,’ she said softly. ‘I suppose, really, that you’re old enough to know why I am called Mrs MacMalcolm and your name is Drew Sutton.’

  ‘You said important. Very important, is it?’

  ‘More like serious. You know that your father was a very brave soldier and that he died, not long after the war was over?’

  ‘Yes. On the day I was born. Grandmother told me that. Did my mother die, too?’

  ‘Drew! You have been thinking, wondering …’

  ‘No, not really. It was just something I sort of – felt. Really, I didn’t want to know, because I wanted you to be my mother. And no one seems to mind that you are …’

  ‘You want to belong to me, darling?’ Julia’s eyes pricked with small, sweet tears. ‘I think that’s the nicest thing you’ll ever say to me.’

  ‘Is it?’ he demanded, mystified, anxious to get back to his colouring book. Then he frowned. ‘I know my father’s name – what was my mother called?’

  ‘Alice.’ Julia’s reply was little more than a whisper.

  ‘But that’s Mam’s name, too!’ Clearly, Daisy was delighted.

  ‘My name,’ Alice stressed softly. ‘But did you know, Drew, that once I was called Alice Sutton?’

  Drew shook his head, unspeaking, realizing all at once how important their talk had become.

  ‘Drew – you do know how much Lady loves you? Well, it’s a special kind of loving.’ Julia’s voice was firm, now, though it had lost none of its compassion. ‘And she loves you because that night your father died, she had you. You are her son. Lady and Giles were once married. In France, it was, when she and I were nurses there.’

  ‘Lady?’ Drew’s eyes grew wider, his lower lip trembled. Then noisily he pushed back his chair to stand beside Julia, as if in need of her protection. ‘It was Lady had me, then gave me to you? Why didn’t you want me?’ he demanded of Alice. ‘Was I a horrid baby? Did I cry a lot and keep you awake at night?’

  ‘No. That wasn’t the reason,’ Alice whispered. ‘You did cry a lot, though, when you were first born, but I didn’t hear you …’

  ‘Lady was very, very poorly after you came, Drew, and you cried because you were hungry.’ Julia took the small, pale face between gentle hands, forci
ng their eyes to meet. ‘Lady had influenza, and you hadn’t to go near her. You were such a precious little baby, you see. Your father had died and your Uncle Robert; we wanted you to grow up well and strong, or there would have been no one to care for Rowangarth.’

  ‘Inherit it? Isn’t that the word? When I’m twenty-one, Uncle Nathan said. I knew about that, but I don’t understand. I really belong to Lady, don’t I?’ There were tears, now, in his eyes, and Julia gathered him to her, resting her cheek on his head.

  ‘No, Drew. You belong to Rowangarth, just as one day Rowangarth will belong to you. Lady married Uncle Tom, then, and came to Windrush to live with him. It was best you stayed with grandmother and me. Lady knew it, too, and she knew I was sad and lonely because my Andrew had been killed and I had no one to love. No one but you, Drew. You were so important to me and to grandmother, too.’

  ‘And is that why I’m called Andrew? Did you call me that because –’

  ‘No, Drew.’ Alice ran her tongue round lips gone dry. ‘It was I who called you Andrew. I chose your names. You are called for three brave, good men; names to be proud of. And I hope you’ll forgive me for leaving you. Uncle Tom was my first sweetheart, you see. The Army told me he’d been killed, at Epernay, and I married Sir Giles and we had you.

  ‘But Tom wasn’t dead. It had all been a terrible muddle. A long time after the war was over, he came back to England and asked me to marry him. He said you were welcome to come and live with us. Tom wanted you, Drew, but you are Sir Andrew Sutton. Your place is at Rowangarth, not in a gamekeeper’s cottage. A Sutton has lived at Rowangarth for more than three hundred years.’

  Drew sniffed loudly, pulling his sleeve across his eyes. ‘I’m not crying – not really – but it’s all very sad, isn’t it? I don’t think I like wars.’ He turned large, grey eyes on Julia and her heart contracted with sudden pain, because they were Andrew’s eyes. ‘Why were they fighting, mother?’