by Carol Rivers
‘So what do you make of that?’ asked Mrs Bell, a frown on her forehead.
‘She’s told you a lot about what’s going on,’ said Flora, who was impressed at the length of the letter. ‘And she hasn’t forgotten your pound.’
‘She could have bought material for ten dresses with that.’
‘Hilda likes quality.’
‘I would have thought she had plenty of quality in the clothes she took with her.’
‘It could be a working dress.’
Mrs Bell tapped the paper. ‘Someone special, eh? Could he be one of the footmen?’ She screwed up her small eyes and studied the letter again. ‘If so, the girl is sure to be dallied with! Footmen are usually too handsome for their own good.’
‘Hilda might have impressed Lady Bertha,’ suggested Flora, ‘which would explain why she needed the pound for a dress.’
‘You could be right,’ agreed the cook doubtfully. ‘But you know Hilda, always with an eye for the men.’
‘But Hilda’s ambition is to be a lady’s maid,’ Flora reminded the cook. ‘That’s why she went to Adelphi.’
Mrs Bell’s face softened as she folded the letter away. ‘I knew you’d put me mind at rest, Flora, love. So I might send her a little something.’
‘Hilda’s very lucky to have you.’
‘Oh, what’s a pound to me? When it might make all the difference to how Hilda’s looked upon by the uppers.’ Mrs Bell looked pleased and she nodded in satisfaction.
‘I’m afraid I have some sad news,’ Flora said, reluctant to spoil the cook’s pleasant mood. ‘It’s been confirmed that Dr Tapper’s son, Wilfred, is dead.’
‘Oh, my dear!’ Mrs Bell clapped her hands on her cheeks. ‘When are they bringing him home?’
‘Wilfred’s remains are buried near the front line.’
‘Oh, to think of it! The doctor’s one and only child, gone for ever without a proper resting place. What will the doctor do now?’
‘Lieutenant Appleby has driven him to Bath to see his sister.’ Flora couldn’t hide her blush at the mention of Michael.
Mrs Bell sat up. ‘Lieutenant Appleby? Who might he be?’
Flora told Mrs Bell about Michael’s injury and the treatment that had been prescribed by the doctor. ‘Dr Tapper even asked him to dinner on Christmas Day.’
‘My goodness, what for? Hasn’t he got family of his own?’
‘Mrs Appleby was wintering in Scotland and I think the doctor was thinking of Wilfred and saw in Michael something of his own son.’
Mrs Bell looked keenly at Flora. ‘So you spent your Christmas in the company of this young man? You didn’t say anything about it at the midnight service.’
‘I didn’t know if he would turn up.’
The cook replenished the teapot, crooking an eyebrow at Flora. ‘How old is he, may I ask?’
‘Twenty-four.’
‘And you, barely sixteen. I hope you’ll remember he’s a soldier.’
‘I can’t forget that.’
‘The government is very short of men,’ Mrs Bell was swift to remind her. ‘Haven’t you seen the lines of recruits marching down the street in their civilian clothes to the recruiting depot at Bow? Should this young man recover, he’ll not be long in England.’
‘I know.’
‘Just you take care, my love.’ Mrs Bell lifted her hands and sighed. ‘The war is a long way from ending. On both the Eastern and Western Fronts, the conflict shows no sign of stopping. You may be tempted to start a friendship that is very difficult – and painful – to stop.’
Flora thought about Mrs Bell’s warning as she made her way home. Michael had asked her to write to him if he rejoined his regiment. It was only fair to give him her answer. After all, the time he was spending driving her out and about, and taking her to fashionable hotels for tea, he could be spending with someone else. A girl who would be happy to comply with his wishes.
At this thought, a violent emotion gripped her. Flora stopped still. Her legs had gone quite weak and her pulse raced. What was this she was feeling? At the thought of Michael with another girl, she felt very miserable. How painful jealousy was!
On Monday, the surgery seemed very empty without the doctor. Flora had to tell the patients he was away in Bath and unlikely to return that week. Most of them understood when they heard that Wilfred had perished and the doctor was making arrangements for a remembrance service.
‘I suppose we’ll have to walk all the way to Blackwall,’ one patient complained. ‘To see the miserable old goat who calls himself a doctor and charges a shillin’ just for stepping over his doorstep, never mind the cost of the medicine.’
Flora reminded the irritable lady that Dr Tapper never charged his patients unless they could afford to pay. Many of them couldn’t, but he continued to treat them anyway. She added that he gave his time and attention to anyone who was sick and always without complaint.
‘Me rheumatics will have to wait I suppose,’ conceded the lady, which brought a smile to Flora’s face. She knew that there were very few men like Dr Tapper and most of their patients appreciated that.
On Tuesday, a tall figure wrapped in a heavy driving coat arrived at the surgery door. ‘I delivered the doctor safely,’ Michael told her as he stepped in. ‘I’m to return for him on Sunday.’
Flora smiled, a little embarrassed as, after her talk with Mrs Bell, Michael had often been in her thoughts. ‘Will there be a service for Wilfred in Bath?’
‘Yes, it’s where he spent a lot of time as a child, I was told. He was very close to his aunt.’ Michael hesitated. ‘Would you mind if we postpone my treatment today?’
‘Are you in pain?’ Flora asked anxiously.
‘No, in fact, quite the opposite.’
‘Perhaps an improvement is all the more reason to keep up your exercises,’ Flora scolded gently.
He laughed. ‘What a hard taskmaster you are!’
Flora felt guilty. She knew it was not up to her to tell Michael anything.
‘Oh, please don’t look so sad.’ Michael reached out and touched her arm. ‘I was only teasing. Let me reassure you that I shall come for my exercises later this week, but there is something I would like to ask you, Flora.’
Flora waited as he transferred his cane to the other hand. What was he about to say?
‘Could we go somewhere a little more, well, homely,’ he asked after an awkward hesitation.
Flora knew he meant the airey. She had never asked him in before. It would seem improper to invite him into her home, unaccompanied.
‘I promise I won’t take up too much of your time. It’s just that here I’m reminded of this,’ he nodded at his leg, ‘and don’t really feel at ease to talk.’
He had such a hang-dog expression on his face that she found herself unable to refuse. And few minutes later, after she had locked the surgery door, they were making their way down the steps to the airey.
Michael looked around approvingly. ‘Your home is most charming.’ He began to peel off his coat and driving gloves, though she hadn’t offered to take them.
‘Would you like some tea?’ Flora felt obliged to ask. She was feeling very nervous. What could he want? Having given her the brooch, which must have been very expensive, did he expect something in return?
‘That would be perfect. Thank you.’
Flora felt her hands trembling as she put out the china and warmed the teapot before stirring the freshly brewed leaves. Could he be about to ask more of her than she was prepared to give? The thought made her feel as miserable as the other thought of someone else being with him. She tried to slow her movements. Was she reading too much into this? But he had never spoken this way before.
‘So this must be Will,’ Michael said when she returned with the tray. He was standing at the mantel, studying the photograph of Will in uniform.
‘It was taken before he left the East End.’
‘A handsome young man.’ He sat down in the chair beside the fire. ‘How
are things going for him?’
‘Very badly, I’m afraid.’
‘But he has survived so far.’
‘Yes, though in his last letter he admitted to wishing he could join his dead comrades.’
‘I’ve heard some men say this.’ Michael’s voice was a rough whisper. ‘Men who’ve lost all hope.’
‘War is so terrible,’ Flora said as she poured the rich brown tea into the cups and added the milk. ‘Why do we have to have them?’
He paused for a while before answering. ‘Some would say war is in the nature of man. Others would argue that their baser nature could be transformed, if worked on, to another state altogether.’
She was amazed to hear him speak such words. ‘But you are a soldier. And not a volunteer. You must believe in the conflict.’
‘I believe it’s my duty to fight for king and country.’ His eyes slipped away to the fire. ‘Though war has come to mean something very different to me now.’ They were silent for a moment until he asked curiously, ‘Does Hilda write to Will as conscientiously as you?’
Flora shook her head. ‘Hilda isn’t one for letter writing. Although she loves to receive letters, almost as much as Will does.’
He looked at her for a long while. ‘So you and Will have grown even closer? Forging a bond, I suspect, that is very strong.’
‘Yes, a bond that is unbreakable even by war,’ Flora agreed as she drank her tea, thinking of Will. Michael was right. She was the only one who Will could exchange such life and death confidences with. The war had come to mean something very different to him too, just as Michael had experienced.
‘I want to ask you,’ Michael said after a while, ‘if you would like to come with me when I next visit Mama? She would be most pleased to meet you.’
Flora sat up in her chair. ‘But . . . but why?’
He laughed, his face surprised. ‘She would love to meet you. I’ve told her all about you.’
‘You have?’
‘Please say you’ll come.’
‘But . . . but what will I wear?’ Flora burst out. She didn’t have anything except her blue suit. And Michael had seen it on Christmas Day.
‘You will look delightful in whatever you wear.’
In the warm glow of the fire, her heart beat very fast. She gazed into his eyes.
‘Good, we’re agreed then. We’ll go at the end of the week after I’ve had my treatment.’
‘But what about the surgery?’ She was beginning to panic and said the first thing that came to mind. ‘Perhaps someone might call who doesn’t know the doctor’s away— ’
‘Then we’ll leave a note on the door to explain.’
Flora stared into his amused green eyes as he almost dared her to argue the point. But she couldn’t. It was a perfectly sensible suggestion.
Chapter Twenty-One
Shire Street, filled with leafless March trees, was a long, slightly bumpy lane, set to the north of Poplar. Flora hadn’t even known this road existed. It was pleasantly situated between two parks, and no house resembled the other. At one end, she noticed a crumbling Victorian villa standing next to a new development of houses. The builders were still demolishing the old buildings. Further up the lane, Michael slowed the car, stuck out his gloved hand to indicate a right turn and, before she knew it, Flora found herself in front of a large cream-coloured house. Its tall, lower windows were covered by faded, striped awnings and the long glass doors were thrown open onto the lawn. The uncut grass was bordered by what Flora guessed must be beds of last year’s roses. A bicycle or two stood propped against the walls of the house; wooden flower troughs were propped lopsidedly on bricks and overflowed with straggly green and white ivy. A small patch of cropped grass stood to one side, with a number of croquet hoops driven into the ground. Facing this was a large, wooden hut. On the balcony of the hut were several wooden mallets, two wrought iron chairs with faded floral cushions and an artist’s easel.
‘You have a lot in common with Mama. She loves to draw and paint.’ Michael brought the car to a shuddering halt. ‘Once there’s a glimmer of sunshine, she’s off to the wood to paint.’
‘But I only drew your car.’
‘Mama liked it very much.’
‘You showed it to her?’
Michael chuckled. ‘Of course.’ He looked at her. ‘I’m very glad you wore your brooch today. It sits very well on your jacket.’
Flora reached up to touch her brooch. She still couldn’t believe that Michael had given her such an exquisite gift. The butterfly consisted of small jewels that Michael had told her were marquisate. Every time the light caught them, they sparkled.
‘The brooch doesn’t come close to the beauty of its owner.’ Michael looked at her as he said these words.
Flora blushed. Did he really mean what he said?
‘I can see I’m embarrassing you. Let’s go in, shall we?’
Flora loosened the scarf that she’d placed over her straw hat. She had tried to keep her hair in place as they had driven in the car with the hood down. Although it was a sunny March day, there was a stiff breeze. But the excitement was making her feel very warm indeed.
The drive from the island had been wonderful. Flora loved the feeling of the air rushing over her face. She’d decided to wear a plain dark-blue suit with a jacket that folded neatly around her waist. It was the suit she had worn to her interview with Dr Tapper when she’d left the orphanage. Fortunately, she had grown taller but not wider. With adjustments to the hem and the addition of her white button up blouse, together with the boots Mrs Bell had given her, she hoped to look presentable enough for her first meeting with Mrs Appleby. And of course there was the brooch, outstanding enough to distract anyone’s eye away from her simple dress.
Flora wasn’t quite sure what to expect by way of a greeting. Had Michael told his mother he was bringing an orphanage girl for tea? Did she even know of Flora’s existence or of the role she played in her son’s physical rehabilitation?
‘Are you sure your mother won’t mind me coming?’ Flora asked again, as she peered through the windscreen to the wood at the rear of the house. ‘If she’s trying to work—’
‘Don’t worry, dear girl, Mama is used to all sorts of interruptions.’
This didn’t reassure Flora at all. Was she to be regarded as an interruption? Although Michael had invited her for ‘tea’ perhaps this just meant a cup of tea? Flora began to feel that she had misunderstood what he had told her. Had she listened properly to his invitation?
‘Michael, perhaps it’s better if—’ Flora began but Michael was already climbing out of the car.
‘Come along, take my arm,’ he told her as he opened her door. ‘I can’t wait to surprise Mama.’
Flora froze. ‘So she doesn’t know I’m coming?’ Her voice felt very small. She wanted to climb back in the car.
‘Of course she does!’ Michael laughed, his shining green eyes framed by his ruffled brown hair. He looked so handsome in his driving suit, a checked two-piece with leather knee boots and shiny leather gloves to match.
Flora grabbed his arm and held on tight. He led her round the side of the house to the green croquet lawn in front of the wooden hut. ‘Mama uses the hut as her studio.’
‘Your mother must be a very gifted painter.’
‘Yes, I’ve often thought so.’
Suddenly, there was a rustle in the thicket of trees ahead of them. From out of the bushes rushed two black dogs, leaping and barking as they flew towards them.
‘Steady there!’ Michael commanded, holding up his cane. One of them sped towards Flora. She had never had anything to do with animals and was a little frightened as the dog sniffed around her.
‘This is Jack,’ said Michael with a grin. ‘And Ivy. Do you like dogs, Flora?’
She smiled, daring to pat Jack’s soft head. As a warm, rough tongue slid over the bare wrist above her glove, she giggled. ‘I think I do.’
He laughed again. ‘They’re quite harmless.
All bluster and show. But you’ll soon get to know them.’
Flora stroked the two dogs, laughing with Michael as the dogs panted and fell on their backs, vying for attention. She loved their gentle nature.
‘Michael! I didn’t hear that contraption of yours arrive!’ A tall, slim woman, wearing a paint-smudged smock and a large floppy hat, rushed from the trees. ‘But Jack and Ivy told me you’d arrived.’ She threw her arms around Michael and kissed his cheek. Turning to Flora, she gave a wide, friendly smile. ‘And you must be Flora? Welcome, my dear.’ Mrs Appleby greeted her with a gentle embrace. ‘I’ve heard so much about you.’
Flora blushed. ‘And I’ve heard a lot about you too, Mrs Appleby.’
‘You have?’ There was a twinkle in the older woman’s brown eyes as she glanced at her son. She quickly slipped her hand through Flora’s arm. ‘Please call me Lillian.’
‘I hope we haven’t interrupted your work?’ Flora said softly as they strolled towards the wooden hut, leaving Michael with the dogs. Flora thought how handsome Lillian Appleby was. She had Michael’s thick brown hair and olive skin and though the colour of her eyes was dark, they had the same warm expression.
‘I welcome the company, Flora. Michael is only home by virtue of his . . .’ she gave a little sigh, ‘. . . his injury. Before he met you, and of course the good doctor, the time passed very slowly for him. How grateful I am that he has found hope again. Lately, he seems to be moving much easier.’
‘Dr Tapper thinks so too,’ Flora said as they stepped up on the wooden veranda of the hut. ‘He’s hoping the improvement will continue.’