Half turning away, Melissa gave a careless shrug of her bare shoulders. ‘I expect Mama mentioned it in one of her letters.’
‘If so, then that would have been after I was arrested and Camille and Adèle had left Paris, so you would then know their new address.’
Melissa’s cheeks flushed crimson. She took a sip of champagne, pausing for some seconds before she responded. ‘I must be wrong about that. Probably it was Mary Dobson, the solicitor’s secretary, who told me.’
‘Why would she know? I haven’t mentioned it to her either, or the solicitor. It didn’t seem relevant to what I was asking of them, and far too painful to discuss.’ Brenda’s eyes narrowed with suspicion as she glared at her sister-in-law. How much more did she know that she wasn’t telling?
Hugh came to join them just then, carrying a glass of wine for Brenda and one for himself. ‘Melissa, do you need yours topping up?’ he asked with a grin.
‘No thank you. I can do that for myself.’
Brenda watched as she strode back indoors, chin held high and her silver-blonde hair swaying in the evening breeze, convinced there was something she wasn’t telling her. What a difficult woman she was. It crossed Brenda’s mind to speak to Hugh about what his sister had just said, but as he took her hand in his, she instantly changed her mind. She may not be guilty of scheming to make this relationship happen but really had no wish to destroy whatever was developing between them. In any case, surely the best way to deal with Melissa’s snobby attitude was to ignore it.
*
The next morning, being a Sunday, Prue was taking a much-needed rest with her husband. So it was Brenda who let the hens out of their coop, welcoming a day off from baking. Young Ross came scampering over. ‘Ain’t Nobody Here But Us Chickens,’ he sang, watching them scratch about for food.
Laughing as he carried on singing, Brenda joined in. ‘Hobble, hobble hobble hobble with your chin.’
Ross burst into a fit of giggles. ‘I’ve fetched the basket, Bren. Do we collect the eggs now?’
‘You can if you like, while I give the coop a little clean.’
‘Why are some eggs white and others brown?’ he asked, as he carefully picked them out of the nesting boxes. ‘Is it because of what kind of hens they are?’
‘Clever boy, yes it is. Some of these hens are mixed breed and lay white eggs, while the Rhode Island Reds lay brown. But they all taste delicious.’
‘I asked Mama if we could keep hens, but she said no. So did Dad. Yet some of my friends do.’
‘That’s because eggs have been rationed for so long, keeping your own flock in the back garden is the only way to get more than the one egg a week allowed. Even poultry food is rationed, but you can give hens a bit of mash and vegetable scraps as well, as long as you don’t have too many to feed.’
He listened with close attention to her explanation, then began to count the hens. On reaching ten and perhaps unsure of what numbers came after that, he looked around at the large flock poking and scratching in the grass and the dusty holes they made. ‘Why are you allowed to have so many, then?’
‘We are fortunate because we have a farm, although I still use powdered egg for my baking. Does your mummy?’ Brenda cheerfully asked, so enjoying the conversation with this bright little boy.
Ross shook his head and gave another little giggle. ‘Mama doesn’t cook.’
‘Oh, of course not, I forgot. Well, she’s probably right not to keep hens, as you live in the centre of London. They do need a garden and have to be well fed and properly looked after or they won’t lay well,’ she added.
‘I shall have a garden when I grow up,’ he solemnly informed her.
‘Ross, where are you, boy?’
He froze, tightening his mouth in agony when he heard his mother’s voice and the clatter of her heels crossing the farmyard. Pushing the basket into Brenda’s hands, he turned and dashed off, running as fast as his little legs could carry him to hide behind the hedge.
‘Have you been exploiting my son yet again?’ Melissa snapped, standing before the hen coop with clenched fists upon her hips.
Brenda paused in her cleaning to gaze at her, eyes wide with innocence. ‘No idea what you’re talking about. As you can see, Ross isn’t here.’
‘He damn well was, I heard him singing. Where is he?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Brenda said, and turned back to her sweeping and cleaning, not wishing to get involved with this mother-and-son issue. But then she heard a little cry.
‘Ouch!’ The small boy came tumbling out of the hawthorn hedge rubbing his arms and legs, obviously having been pricked by the thorns on the branches.
‘Come here this minute,’ Melissa roared.
Brenda stepped quickly forward. ‘Please don’t tell him off, or shout. He’s done nothing wrong. He’s just having fun.’
‘Don’t you dare keep interfering with my child. You’d no right to teach him to cycle on that filthy old bike, or to have him help with these hens. Leave him alone.’ The moment he reached her, Melissa swung him round and smacked his bottom. He let out a yell, but ignoring his cries she smacked him again.
‘That’s enough!’ Brenda said.
‘Mind your own business,’ and sweeping him up, his wriggling body tucked under her arm like he was a naughty puppy, she marched away.
*
‘I can’t believe what a dreadful bully that woman is. How can she justify being so harsh towards that child?’ Brenda fumed when she joined Mrs Harding for a cup of tea and a slice of cake later that afternoon. The housekeeper was appalled to hear what had taken place.
‘So that’s why she’s shut the poor lad up in his room for most of the day. He didn’t even get any lunch. That’s no way to treat a little one.’
‘Goodness, he must be so hungry.’
‘Nay, I took him up some leftover ham sandwiches while she were enjoying her own fine lunch,’ Mrs Harding admitted with a smile. ‘He looked so bored, but very grateful. He’ll be fine.’
Later that evening, on her way to Jack’s room, which now felt like her own private little world, Brenda sneaked in to see if Ross really was all right. She took him a small piece of cake and a cup of milk for his supper, but found him fast asleep. Gazing down upon him in wistful envy, she thought what a lovely little boy he was. Life would have been such fun if her own son was still with her. In her head she saw him as a baby, with soft blue eyes and tiny fingers and toes, and he was always in her heart. How she ached to find him again, to see how he had grown. Setting the cake and cup on the bedside table, it was then she noticed a small cuddly toy monkey tucked up beside the child.
Twenty-Eight
It was as if a light bulb had exploded in her head, filling her with joy. This was her son! She wanted to scream and shout: I’ve found him, I’ve found him at last! Brenda remembered buying this cuddly toy back in Paris just days before he was born. She loved it because it was so unusual, a beautiful silver grey, and rather French. Not at all like the simple teddy bears that British children generally had. No wonder she’d felt an attraction to this little boy from the moment they first met, and an even closer bond had developed between them since. All these years she’d been searching for him, and he’d been back home with his family, safe and well the entire time.
Brenda longed to wrap him in her arms but, restraining her desire to touch him, she bent to look at the toy more closely. The child suddenly woke to gaze up at her with his soft brown eyes.
‘Hello,’ she whispered. ‘Is this your favourite toy?’
He gave a little nod. ‘Minki is my friend. Mama doesn’t like him and keeps throwing him away, but I always rescue him.’ And grasping hold of the monkey, he hugged him close.
‘Take good care of him, sweetie. Never lose a friend.’
Or a son, she bleakly reminded herself. And as his eyes closed and he fell back to sleep, she quietly slipped out, her heart pounding with excitement.
It wasn’t until Brenda was lying alone in t
he big double bed in her late husband’s room that grief dissolved the burst of joy she felt, and she buried her face in the pillow to muffle the sound of her sobs. How could she ever hope to win him back? In his young mind Melissa was his mother. Remembering the stories Emma had related in her many letters, she knew this could be virtually impossible to achieve, even if she took the matter to court.
Overwhelmed by emotion, Brenda spent a sleepless night, feeling utterly stunned and betrayed. She could scarcely believe that despite accusing her of being a fraudster and a charlatan, it was Melissa herself who had lied, as she must know who this child really was. Could that be why she was always so caustic towards her? Although how she’d got hold of him in the first place was a mystery still to be resolved. Nor did the pair of them appear to be particularly close. Melissa was constantly smacking and bullying the poor child, which could be because she hated to see him spending time with his real mother. Brenda felt quite unable to get her head around how to deal with this issue.
Had the entire family been aware of who he was all along, and was that the reason no one had welcomed her, not even Hugh? Had they all been determined to evict her from the house in order to keep secret the fact they’d stolen her son? If that was the case, what a cruel and heartless lot they were. Yet Hugh seemed to have softened towards her lately. Was that a genuine emotion, or was he attempting to disguise this wicked plot? Perhaps he just felt the need of a few favours and fancied having her in his bed. How could she trust any member of this family, save for dear Prue?
And what would be his reaction were she to tell him what she’d just discovered? He was the kind of man who always demanded proof, so how could she hope to simply use a cuddly toy in order to prove her case? Quite impossible.
It came to Brenda in that moment that she could be entirely wrong. This toy monkey might well be available in England too, and just a coincidence. She decided it would be wiser to keep quiet on the subject until she’d found some way to investigate it more thoroughly.
As dawn broke, a pink sheet of light flooded the background of hills. Propped against her pillows, Brenda again wrote to Emma, telling her dear friend what she’d found and asking for advice. She then quickly dressed and cycled to the bakery as she had a great deal of work to do, dropping the letter in the post box on the way. She lived in hope that Emma could help.
*
Despite seeing Hugh on and off during the course of the day, Brenda steadfastly held her tongue, saying nothing.
‘Sales of cakes are getting better and better,’ he told her with a satisfied smile. ‘Well done! The new plan is working brilliantly and profits are improving daily. I’m so pleased you won me round to the idea, but then, you are a very tempting lady.’ And kissing her on the cheek, he strolled off whistling.
How she longed to run after him and tell him what she’d discovered. Just the feel of his warm smile set her heart tingling with happiness, but she managed to hold herself in check. You still have very little proof, she sternly reminded herself.
On returning to Trowbridge Hall late in the afternoon, Brenda spotted Nanny Holborn walking in the garden and went over to chat with her. ‘Hello. How unusual to see you without the children. Where are they?’ she asked with a friendly smile as she fell into step beside her.
The stocky, solemn-faced woman gave her a weary glance. ‘Whenever separated from her husband, either because he’s abroad or too busy in London to spend much time with her, Mrs Fenton soon becomes bored. She tends to fill her time with social functions, meals out with friends, shopping and beauty treatment, leaving the children entirely in my care. Today, however, she has taken them to the circus, which arrived in the village a few days ago. Apparently she used to love the show as a child, and thought her own children might enjoy it too.’
‘How lovely, although according to Hugh, Jack did not enjoy such visits. He hated seeing lions and elephants confined. I have some sympathy with that. I can remember being taken to the circus once as a child by the nuns, and was terrified of the clowns.’
‘Oh, I didn’t care for them either,’ Nanny Holborn agreed with a smile. ‘Fortunately I was not invited to join them on this occasion. But let’s hope these little ones do enjoy it.’
‘Have you worked for the family long?’
She shook her head. ‘Only a few years.’
‘Just in time to help with her latest birth, I suppose?’ Brenda blithely remarked, feeling her heart start to pound in her chest.
‘No, the baby was a few months old by the time I was appointed.’
‘Really, so who was the nanny before you?’
‘A delightful young woman I happened to know, who found herself sacked after some disagreement or other with Mrs Fenton.’
‘Oh dear, did you find out what that was about?’
‘She didn’t say and I never asked. None of my business. But then, Mrs Fenton is not an easy woman to work for,’ she added, giving a droll little slant to her dark brown eyes.
‘I don’t suppose she is,’ Brenda agreed, her mind racing as she struggled to decide how to get the necessary information. ‘Actually, I have a friend in need of a nanny. Would you mind telling me this young woman’s name and where she lives?’ It was a complete lie, of course, and would Nanny Holborn even possess such information?
She was looking a little doubtful. ‘It’s likely she’ll have found another job by now. But you never know, she could well be in need of employment in this difficult post-war world. She’s called Nancy Seymour and lives in Hackney, London,’ she said, and happily gave the address.
‘Thank you,’ Brenda said with a smile, even though Manchester would have been so much more convenient, as she could then have met the woman face to face. But she would write to her, without delay. ‘I’m most grateful.’
The family car drew up in the drive at that moment and Nanny Holborn looked at it in stunned disbelief. ‘Goodness, back already? They’ve only been gone an hour.’
The little girls bounced out of the back seat, all three of them weeping. Then Ross appeared, dragged screaming out of the car by his furious mother. He began to stamp his feet, fully engrossed in a tantrum.
‘Stop this racket, you naughty boy,’ Melissa shouted, giving him a rough shake.
‘This is all his fault. The stupid boy ruined our afternoon when he started screaming and crying,’ Claire yelled, sounding as angry as her mother, while her twin sisters sobbed.
‘Don’t like them animals!’ he yelled, falling flat on his back to beat his heels on the gravelled drive.
‘Oh dear,’ Nanny murmured to Brenda. ‘Not a happy bunny. Looks like he didn’t much care for the circus either. I’d best go and help,’ and she dashed off, calmly calling out to him as she ran. ‘There, there, don’t cry, dear. Come with me and I’ll put you down for a little nap.’
‘Do indeed,’ his mother snapped. ‘And keep him confined to his bed until I say he can get up. I’ll take the girls for a picnic instead. Please speak to Mrs Harding and get us a hamper of food.’ And flinging the child into Nanny’s arms, Melissa stalked off, her three daughters running along beside her. How Brenda longed to gather the little boy into her own arms and rescue him from this dreadful bitch of a woman.
*
It took Brenda longer than usual to work out what to say in this vital letter to a complete stranger, struggling over how frank she should be. In the end, after tossing away several failed attempts, she blatantly told the truth. If she needed this young woman to be open and honest with her, then she must be the same. It was most definitely time to speak of the traumas and loss she’d suffered to anyone who asked. Finally satisfied with what she’d written, she sent up a silent prayer of hope as she dropped the letter in the post box while taking Kit out on his evening walk.
‘You could have told me you were going for a walk,’ Hugh said, coming to meet her as she walked back across the lawn. ‘Then we could have enjoyed it together.’
‘Sorry, it didn’t cross my mind.’ Per
haps there was a slight expression of distrust in her eyes as she avoided his gaze, which caused him to frown.
‘So, relaxing together no longer appeals? You prefer the dog’s company to mine, is that it?’ he quietly asked, rubbing Kit’s ears as the collie happily wagged his body.
Something inside of her seemed to crack with pain. Was her life falling apart yet again? ‘That’s not at all what I meant. Actually, I’m not in a good frame of mind right now. I’ve got a bit of a problem to deal with.’
Taking her arm in his, Hugh gently led her to the bench in the summer house. There was a chill breeze in the air and dusk was falling, but she made no protest, his presence feeling so warm and comforting. Kit trotted after them and, turning round and round a few times, settled himself in a corner. ‘Tell me what the problem is. Maybe I can help.’
Drawing in a breath and valiantly keeping a tight hold on the information she still must keep private until she’d found the proof she needed, Brenda opted for a different problem. ‘As you are fully aware, Melissa is most bombastic towards me. Even the fact that I taught Ross how to cycle did not go down well. She keeps accusing me of interfering in her family. And she still refuses to accept the truth about my relationship with Jack, seeing me as inferior, a harlot interested only in stealing money off her and her children, which is entirely untrue.’
‘I’m afraid that’s how she is. Argument over status is an obsession with my dear sister, as if she needs to prove her own value in some way.’
‘Even worse, last evening at the party she accused me of seducing her husband, which is entirely untrue. He did make an attempt to kiss me once, but I managed to slap him off.’ She decided not to mention how he had slipped into her room the other night, in case Hugh took that as a reason to again dismiss her from the house.
‘Good lord, but then Gregory is a bit of a womaniser.’
‘I pretty well implied as much, absolutely denying it was my fault. And as I explained, nor did I stay at that brothel. I am not a whore, yet she refuses to believe that too.’
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