by Rue Allyn
Katie rewarded him with a wide smile of relief.
“See!” Roy said. “She does look like Rita Hayworth, when she smiles.”
Michael looked up and studied Katie’s face as if she was an exhibit in the British Museum. “I suppose she does.”
Then he returned to his newspaper and did not utter another word.
• • •
After breakfast, the children clattered into the hall to get their school satchels and Katie followed them, taking the opportunity on the way to explain to his lordship the problem with Bob’s missing suitcase.
“I don’t know if there’s any point in hoping that it will turn up,” she said.
“Probably not. It may have been stolen — people will do anything for clothing now that the shortages are starting to bite.”
“I wish they’d start proper rationing for clothing, to be honest, like they do with food. At least it would be fair. I was wondering if you had any old clothes of your own that you don’t use any more. I might be able to cut them down to make a pair of school shorts for Bob. My sewing isn’t up to a blazer, but I might manage a pair of pants.”
“There’s a stack of my old clothes upstairs in the Chinese Room. It used to be my room when I was … ” he obviously didn’t want to say something like able-bodied. “It was my room when I was at school. Take anything you want. There’s even an old dinner jacket in there somewhere that you can cut that up if you like.”
Katie was surprised. “That’s very generous of you, sir. But are you sure you won’t be needing it?”
He scowled. “Oddly enough, I haven’t felt the need to dress up much, stuck in this thing.”
Katie nearly commented that his lordship always looked “dressed up.” He seemed to have an endless array of elegant, stylishly tailored garments, and though none of them were new, it was all of the very best quality. He could have posed for society magazines. In fact, Katie realized with a slight shock, he probably had.
She turned to leave, but Michael called her back.
“There won’t be a repeat performance of yesterday’s bad behavior, will there? The children cannot be allowed to racket about in my house like bandits.” He waved his hand imperiously at the chairs on either side of the door that led to his rooms. “My mother spent hours making those needlepoint covers for the hall chairs, don’t you know?”
“No, I hadn’t realized. Maybe we could put those chairs in a safer place, sir, where they won’t come to any harm?”
“Perhaps the little ruffians could be taught to treat other people’s things with more respect. My parents would have a fit if they could see what’s going on in their house.”
For the first time, Katie wondered what had happened to Michael’s parents, but it didn’t seem the right moment to ask.
“I’ll do my level best, sir, to encourage the children to be more orderly and civilized.”
“Thank you.”
She thanked him again for his generosity with the clothing, and went to find her hat and coat. She had promised to walk down to the village with the children to show them where the school was, ready for Monday morning.
She hoped, desperately, that the children would behave themselves on their first day. She had a feeling that for Roy, at least, that might be a bit of a challenge.
Chapter Five
It was almost two weeks before Michael began to suspect what had happened. To understand the real reason Katie had walked back into his life. He sat in the bay window of his study watching her run around on the front lawn with the children. Her auburn hair kept escaping from her beret, curls bouncing as she moved. And he loved the way her slim skirt delineated her trim little figure. What a firecracker.
He picked up the receiver of the large black telephone that sat on his rosewood desk, and asked to speak to Mrs. Mallory.
“How did you manage to find her?” he wanted to know.
“Find who?”
Michael exhaled sharply. “Katie Rafferty, the Irish girl.”
“She was recommended to me by a friend of a friend.”
“Rubbish. She’s the girl I met in London. The one I told you about,” Michael insisted.
“Are you sure? There’s a coincidence!” Mrs. Mallory’s deep plummy voice didn’t lend itself well to feigning surprise.
“Don’t give me that nonsense, Marjory. I told you I’d helped a girl out in a bombing raid, and the next thing I know she turns up on my bloody doorstep.”
Mrs. Mallory must have realized she was caught out, so she gave in gracefully. “You did say you wished you knew what had happened to her, dear.”
“I didn’t say I wanted her living under my roof!”
“Do you have some complaint about the girl? Has she disappointed you in some way?”
“Not yet.”
“Then you must give her a chance. You helped her before. She needs your help now, she needs somewhere to live.”
“How did you trace her? I didn’t tell you her name — I didn’t know it myself.”
“Michael, dear, you told me the girl was in labor when the station was bombed. It was obvious that there must have been dozens of witnesses, and it didn’t take long to find somebody who knew where she was. You could have found her yourself if you’d put a little effort into it.”
“Very ingenious. Why go to all that trouble to find someone I only mentioned once, in passing?”
“You mentioned her several times, Michael, when you were recovering from your accident. Each time I came to see you in hospital. You seemed very troubled about it.”
Mrs. Mallory could be right. He had been in so much pain and distress after the accident, on so much morphine, that he might have said just about anything about anybody. He hoped he hadn’t made a complete fool of himself.
“I wondered what happened to her, that’s all.”
“Yes. And now you have the chance to find out. Aren’t you going to thank me?”
“No, Marjory. This is hideously embarrassing for the girl and for me. She denies all knowledge of that night in London, you know?”
“Does she, dear? Well, you must try using your charm. It hasn’t failed you yet, has it?”
Michael closed his eyes in frustration. Charm, indeed. As if he had any charm now. A broken man who couldn’t do anything, that’s all he was. “You should not have interfered, Marjory.”
“You need a bit of a shake-up. And Katie’s a little spitfire, so I’m told.”
“Will everyone stop going on about bloody Spitfires!”
“Temper, temper!”
Michael sighed. Mrs. Mallory only meant to be kind. “Do you know what happened to her baby?” he said.
Mrs. Mallory paused. “There was some hearsay, but it wouldn’t be fair to Katie to pass it on. She’ll tell you herself, when she’s ready.”
Mrs. Mallory refused to divulge anything else, so Michael put down the phone and gazed out of the window at Katie, so he could continue his surveillance of her.
He always tried to be discreet and surreptitious, but he had taken up watching Katie whenever he got the chance. He didn’t mean to be sneaky, but it was dreadfully boring being housebound, and she intrigued him. If he knew she was in the kitchen, he would wheel himself silently along the corridor and stay in the shadows to peek through the doorway, hoping she wouldn’t notice him there.
He had watched her cleaning and scrubbing the floor. He’d seen her check her lipstick in the reflection of a copper pot hanging on the wall. He’d seen her sorting out his old clothes on the kitchen table, assembling a set of things that Bob could wear. In the late afternoons, when the children came back from school, he wheeled his chair through to the back of the house, and watched them through the window. He saw the children running and laughing outside in the paddock — and Katie teaching them how to play leapfrog and some Irish version of tag. She obviously adored children, so why was she not looking after her own?
Michael heard all about the first day crisis with Roy — how he picke
d a fight and achieved a sort of celebrity status on the playground as a result. Katie gave him a good talking to, then promised him a brand new set of knuckle jacks if he got through the rest of the week without incident.
She was a determined young woman for sure, and she knew how to manage the little blighters. She took them all down to the village shop to buy new sets of knuckle jacks. She taught the little ones how to play. She removed a knuckle jack that George had experimentally inserted, with tearful consequences, up his own nose. She organized a system of gold stars and peppermint drops for homework done, with extra credit for a low inkblot count. She held races to see who could shine his shoes for school the fastest, and she made bedtime into a great game.
Michael sighed. He wouldn’t have minded playing a few bedtime games with her himself — if things had only been different.
• • •
Katie stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips, confronting Mrs. Jessop about the food. “You’re telling me that there isn’t even butter for the children’s tea? Here, on a farm!”
“No, and the margarine is almost gone, too.”
“Where did it go?”
Mrs. Jessop was silent.
“And what am I supposed to give the children for their tea? Bread and water?” Katie’s hackles rose and she knew she was on dangerous ground.
“It wouldn’t hurt them, just for once.”
“But it’s absurd! We’ve got the coupons for something a bit more substantial than that — I’ll go down to the village and pick up some supplies if you’ll find the ration books.”
“The coupons are all gone, Miss Rafferty. There’s a war on, you know.”
Every time someone uttered that sentence, Katie wanted to scream.
“Mrs. Jessop. The children have precious little in their sandwiches each day, and we’ve had bread and jam for supper all week. On Saturday, we had mushrooms on toast, and the long-awaited Sunday lunch was an egg flan with only the merest hint of cheese in it. What, exactly, has happened to our meat ration?”
“It’s been very difficult to get meat this week.”
“Then let me go down to the butcher’s and see what I can find today. Where are the ration books?”
“I told you. We haven’t got the coupons.”
“We seem to be going in circles in this discussion. You’ve been given four extra ration books only last Friday; five if you include mine that you made me hand over when I arrived. I know exactly how many coupons were in mine, and the children’s books were almost full. We have plenty of coupons for what we need today, unless you’ve already spent them.”
“Are you suggesting that I would misappropriate the children’s food?”
“It is looking more and more as if you have, since you won’t show me the ration books.”
“Well! I won’t stand for this.” Mrs. Jessop grabbed her coat and hat. “Over thirty years I’ve cooked for the family, and never had any complaints until you come along. You can cook supper yourself and see how well you can manage it, then, Miss Upstart Rafferty, because I won’t stay here and be insulted.”
“You’ll have to leave me the ration books, because there isn’t anything to cook.”
But Mrs. Jessop was already putting on her coat.
“I’ll have to tell his lordship,” Katie threatened.
“His lordship doesn’t trouble himself with domestic matters, Miss Rafferty. He’s always had complete faith in me.”
It was true, Katie knew. Michael’s disinterest in the way that the house was run was legendary. But she wasn’t backing down now. “The ration books?” she demanded.
“You’ll lose your job over this,” Mrs. Jessop almost spat the words at Katie. “I’ll give notice tomorrow, and I’ll only come back when you’re gone, you little Irish hussy!” With that, she stormed out through the kitchen door, slamming it in bitter protest.
“And good riddance!” Katie yelled, still raging inside, though what her employer would say when he found out what she’d done she dreaded to think. She sighed and shook her head, only to turn around and see him in the doorway.
She gasped. He ought to wear a bell, she thought, so he couldn’t slink up behind her like a cat. She knew he had probably heard the whole thing, but he gave her a questioning stare.
“What the blazes were you saying to Jessop?”
“I asked her to give me back the children’s ration books.”
“You said a hell of a lot more than that, Katie. She’s gone home. She’s talking about giving me her notice.”
“Good. You’ll be better off without her.”
“You can’t take it upon yourself to dismiss my servants!”
“You can’t see what’s going on in front of your eyes, can you? Not even if you sit down to a pauper’s meal every night!”
Michael’s blue eyes flashed with anger and confusion.
Katie sighed. “She’s stealing the coupons, sir. The meals she serves us aren’t fit for the pigs. The children need the little bit of meat that we can get for them — they’re growing kids. If you ask me, she’s stealing our rations to feed that great idle lump she calls a husband. He gets a nice beef dinner, and we get the leavings.”
Michael frowned. It was perfectly clear. He sighed.
“For God’s sake, Katie. You should have approached me if you had a complaint.”
“And what, may I ask, would you have done? Precisely nothing. I can’t have the kiddies going hungry, sir. They fight all the time. They hit each other. They steal from other children at school, and they might even get rickets or something terrible like that. Jessop has no right to their food!”
“No.” He paused, taking it all in. “But she was my last servant from the old days,” he said pitifully. “She knows how the place ticks, Katie. She wasn’t the best, but now we have nothing. We have six people to feed, and no cook.”
“I can cook, sir. It’s getting hold of the food that I’m worried about. She still has the ration books.” Katie looked out of the window, still rankling with anger. “And she wouldn’t give them back, no matter how hard I tried.”
Michael frowned. “Would it implicate her, if they were returned?” His tone of voice was softer, milder now.
Katie nodded. “She’s spent the coupons.”
“What do we do?”
“You could report her to the police,” Katie suggested, but she knew the idea was a non-starter the minute it was out of her mouth.
Michael was horrified. “I couldn’t do that to old Jessop after thirty years. We need to be more diplomatic, Katie.”
“Yes, well, you sit at your desk being diplomatic and I’ll steal something for our dinner.”
• • •
Katie flounced across the kitchen, cheeks burning and auburn hair flying. She hunted around in the pantry and found flour and salt. She might be able to make soda bread. But the children needed a bit more than that after walking all the way home from the village school. On impulse, she grabbed her coat and rushed down the lane, heading for Home Farm. Maybe she could beg something to cook for dinner, just for tonight. She’d have to think of an excuse, though. Mrs. Jessop was taken ill, and the groceries hadn’t been delivered. Something diplomatic.
What if she had burned her boots with his lordship? What if he gave her the sack? She hurtled down the lane, blinded by the tears that came unexpectedly into her eyes.
She almost ran smack into someone in her haste. It was Harry Hammond.
“Hullo! Where are you going in such a hurry, love?”
“Not now, Harry.”
“You remember me name, then?” he said with a smug smile. He was chewing on a piece of straw, like a farmer in a comic book. “Old Mrs. Jessop was in a bit of a tizzy as well,” he observed, philosophically. “Went past just half an hour ago.”
“Jessop is a thief,” Katie said, diplomacy be damned.
Hammond laughed. “You are a little cat among the pigeons, aren’t you, my pretty little thing?”
&nbs
p; “I’m not exactly ‘little,’ I will never be yours, and I object to being called a ‘thing.’ Get out of my way, Mr. Hammond. I have to get to Home Farm right away.”
She stalked past him, misjudged her step, and fell. The cart had made ruts in the lane and they were full of water. She fell straight back into the puddle, much to her ignominy and embarrassment.
Hammond came over, laughing wildly, and offered her a hand. She took it, most reluctantly, and when she was nearly up he let her fall back and laughed some more. The second time she managed to get to her feet. She practically screamed at him to get out of her way, but he leaned forward and snatched the chance to kiss her on the cheek. She pushed him away and tried to stalk off.
“Katie, I know you’re in a hurry to get to the farm,” Hammond said, with a rather smug sort of laugh, “but have you taken into account the fact that I’m the one in charge there? If it’s farm business your calling about, I’m the man you’re needing to see.”
Katie could have hit him, but he was right.
• • •
Dinner was on the hob and Katie was about ready to dish up. The boys had just been warned to clear their homework off the scrubbed pine table.
Michael appeared in the doorway and hesitated. Katie glanced questioningly at him. He didn’t come into the room and didn’t seem to want to go away.
“It smells good, Katie,” he said, in a rather subdued tone of voice.
“It’s a beef stew with a dash of Guinness in it. Maggie at Home Farm gave me the beef — with Hammond’s permission of course — and George found some root vegetables in the back of the larder. There’s soda bread to go with it, and apple pudding after. I was planning to feed the children straight away,” she explained. “I will bring you some on a tray, sir, at your usual dinner time.”
Michael gave an unexpected smile. “Katie, you don’t expect me to come in to that marvelous aroma and then toddle off and wait for the leftovers, do you? That would be cruel.”
“Of course we would be honored to have you eat with us, sir,” she said. “I didn’t like to presume.”
“That’s funny, you were quite presumptuous earlier,” he observed.