‘So that’s why you never came to our school,’ Maddie said. ‘I wondered why I couldn’t remember either of you. Did you go to the same school as Nick, Michael?’
‘Part of the time.’
‘He went to the Grammar School here in town. He’s clever, is our Michael.’ Once more, there was a tiny hint of resentment in Nick’s tone, but Michael laughed it off easily. ‘Oh, an absolute genius, that’s me. I must say I use a lot of French on my milk round.’
‘Did you learn French?’ Jenny was round-eyed with admiration.
‘Well, they tried to teach me it,’ Michael said, ‘but I don’t think I learnt a lot.’
‘He could have gone to university if he’d worked harder and stayed on,’ Nick contradicted.
Michael pulled a face as if in embarrassment but, at that moment, their meals arrived and the subject was dropped as the hungry foursome picked up their knives and forks.
‘Oh I couldn’t eat another thing.’ Jenny leant back in her seat and placed her hand over her stomach. ‘I’m full right up to busting.’
‘Me too,’ Maddie said.
‘Yes, not bad. Not bad at all,’ Michael remarked and, raising his voice, he called across to his father and Harriet. ‘Not up to your mark, Mrs T, but not bad at all.’
‘Oh, go on with you, Mr Michael,’ but Maddie could see that the housekeeper, flushed with the drink that Frank had bought for her, was flattered by Michael’s remark.
As they stood up to leave, Maddie noticed that as Frank went to pay the bill, Harriet, with head lowered, scuttled towards the door and out into the street. As they followed her, Maddie whispered to Nick, ‘Doesn’t your mother like crowds?’
‘Eh?’ His grey eyes were owlish behind the lenses of his spectacles. ‘Oh – er – no. She doesn’t really like coming into town. Likes to keep herself to herself. Says the townsfolk are a lot of nosey parkers.’
‘And do you?’
‘Do I what?’
‘Like to keep yourself to yourself?’
He shrugged and for the first time she heard the bitterness in his tone that this time was most definitely directed at his mother. ‘I ain’t had much choice one way or the other.’ There was a significant pause before he added, ‘Yet.’
Maddie grinned at him, confident that, given another year or so, he would stand up to his mother and be as rebellious as she would be in his shoes.
As Frank and Harriet joined them and they were about to cross the street towards the cattle market once more, a large black motor car drove slowly towards them, the market day shoppers parting, like the Red Sea, to let it pass.
‘That’s Sir Peter’s car,’ Maddie said, immediately recognising the vehicle she had seen parked outside the Home on many occasions.
They stood on the pavement for the car to pass by but as it drew alongside them, Harriet suddenly stepped off the kerb and stared in at the windscreen.
‘Harriet!’ Frank cried in alarm. He grasped her arm and pulled her away from the moving vehicle, steadying her as she tripped against the kerb. ‘Whatever are you doing? You could have been knocked over.’
But her gaze was still on the black car moving on beyond them now. Maddie, too, stared after the car and saw, through the rear window, the pale face of a young woman. Long blonde hair curled onto her shoulders, though her eyes were shaded by the brim of her hat. The car moved on and the image became blurred.
‘Good Lord!’ Frank exclaimed. ‘That must be Miss Amelia. You don’t often see her out. I . . .’ Frank stopped whatever he had been going to say and looked anxiously towards Harriet.
But Harriet Trowbridge did not appear to have heard a word he said. She was staring after the car, transfixed as if she had seen a ghost.
Ten
‘Are you sure you’re all right, Harriet?’
‘Yes, yes, I’m fine, Mr Frank. I – wasn’t thinking, I’m sorry. My mind was on other things.’
‘Well, you must be more careful, my dear. There’s getting to be more traffic about now than we’ve been used to.’
‘I don’t like the town. You know I don’t. I didn’t even see the car.’
Maddie glanced at Harriet. Why, the woman had been staring straight at it. She looked at Frank and saw the puzzled expression on his face. Maddie could see that even he, this time, did not quite believe Harriet.
‘In that case,’ he said slowly, ‘you’d better take my arm, Harriet.’
Maddie watched as he held out his crooked arm towards his housekeeper and she, with a sudden smile of satisfaction, put her hand through it.
‘Now, are you sure you’re all right?’
‘Oh yes, Mr Frank. I’m fine. It – just shook me up a little.’
‘I want to have another look at those beast in the cattle market and then I think it’s time we went home.’
‘I’m just popping into that shop over there,’ Michael said. ‘I shan’t be a minute. I’ll catch you up.’ Whistling, he sauntered across the street, his hands in his pockets, his cap set at a jaunty angle.
Maddie’s gaze followed him until she felt Jenny suddenly clutch her arm. ‘Look, there’s that gypsy from the fair talking to that woman. She’s holding her hand and looking at her palm. I bet she’s telling her fortune. Oh Maddie, let’s have our fortune told.’
‘I haven’t any money,’ Maddie whispered.
‘Oh.’ The girl’s face was crestfallen. ‘Neither have I but I thought you would have. Now you’re working.’
‘Ssh,’ Maddie said, ‘I don’t want . . .’
‘What is it, love? What is it you want? Here . . .’ Frank was pulling coins from the depths of his pockets.
‘No, no, mester. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’ Jenny was flustered with embarrassment now.
‘I know you didn’t, love. I should have thought to give Maddie some spending money before we set out.’ He caught hold of Maddie’s hand, held it palm upwards and tipped the coins into it.
‘Don’t you go frittering good money away on such things.’ Harriet had overheard the younger girl’s suggestion. ‘A lot of nonsense. Fortune telling.’
Frank glanced towards the darked-haired woman dressed in colourful gypsy costume.
Michael, rejoining them, asked, ‘What’s going on?’
Frank turned to his son. ‘The girls would like to have their fortune told. Harriet doesn’t approve, but I should like to know whether I’m going to become a millionaire.’
Michael laughed and slapped his father on the back. ‘No chance, Dad, you’ll still be fetching the cows in for milking when you’re a hundred.’
But they all moved towards the Romany woman, who smiled a welcome. Only Harriet Trowbridge seemed reluctant, though she still stood with her arm through Frank’s, close enough to listen to what was being said but not close enough to be involved. She doesn’t want to miss anything, Maddie thought shrewdly.
‘You stand by me, Nicholas. I won’t have you taking part in such nonsense.’
Scowling, Nick obeyed his mother. So much for rebellion, Maddie thought wryly.
The Romany was much younger than she expected. In Maddie’s imagination all gypsies were old and wrinkled, but this one’s face was unlined, her black hair as shiny as a raven’s feathers and her dark violet eyes were bright and knowing. Her flowing skirt and shawl were patterned with vivid, colourful scrolls and gold bracelets jangled on her wrists.
‘Isn’t she lovely?’ Jenny whispered.
‘Yes, yes, she is,’ Maddie agreed, admiring the vibrance that was not just in the young woman’s clothes but in her eyes too.
‘How much for all of us?’ Frank asked.
The woman smiled, showing even teeth, brilliantly white against her olive skin. She named a sum and Frank dug deep into his pocket. She took his hand into her own and studied his palm. With long fingers she traced the lines.
‘You work hard. On the land?’
Frank nodded and Maddie heard Harriet sniff. ‘Should’ve thought that was obvious to anyone
.’
Maddie saw the Romany woman flash a quick, hooded glance at Harriet. ‘You have a son . . .’
Harriet’s muttering came again. ‘That’s obvious too, considering he’s standing right beside him and looks the spitting image of him.’
‘One son,’ the gypsy said firmly. ‘And she . . .’ Now she looked fully at Harriet. ‘Is not your wife.’ She turned her brilliant smile upon Frank, ‘Your housekeeper, maybe?’
‘Why, yes. Yes, she is.’
‘And that . . .’ the gypsy pointed to Nick, ‘is her son, but not yours.’
‘Yes, yes. That’s right.’
‘That doesn’t take a lot of guess work,’ Harriet was scathing now, as if she feared Frank was getting drawn into believing the woman’s powers.
Frank ignored his housekeeper. ‘Go on, love,’ he urged the fortune teller.
‘You are a kind man, but that generosity of spirit is going to lead you to make a great sacrifice to save a loved one. Yet that sacrifice will bring you both happiness and sadness, too. A mixed blessing.’
Gently she closed Frank’s fingers over his palm and looked deeply into his face. ‘You will not see it as a sacrifice,’ she said gently.
‘Huh,’ came Harriet’s mutter again. ‘Such nonsense.’
The woman turned to Michael. She studied his palm for several moments, until Michael grinned and said casually, ‘Go on, tell me I’m going to die young and all the girls for miles around will weep at my grave.’
The gypsy did not smile but looked up to meet his gaze. ‘No, you are not going to die the hero. But you are going far away, and though your heart will remain here, you will not return home. Not for many years. Maybe never.’
‘’Course he’s going away,’ Harriet said. ‘His National Service is coming up next year when he’s eighteen.’
Next the Romany turned to Maddie and Jenny and stood looking at them both, from one to the other and back again, before she picked up Maddie’s hand.
‘You are going to be very successful. Everything you touch will turn to gold. You will have a child . . .’ She paused and frowned. ‘You will know great love but also deep heartache. Joy and sorrow in equal measure.’
She turned away abruptly, as if not wanting to say more. She took Jenny’s hand then and studied it but let it drop and, turning away without even looking into the young girl’s face, she said, with almost a sharpness in her tone, ‘You are too young. I do not read the palms of children.’
‘But I’m only a few months younger than Maddie.’ Jenny was disappointed. ‘You read hers.’
The gypsy turned once more and regarded them thoughtfully. Quietly, she said, ‘There are sometimes things it is better not to say. I’m sorry.’
Now she looked towards Harriet and Nick. She made no attempt to take their hands, to do a proper reading. Instead, she pointed towards them. ‘You have great bitterness in your hearts. Both of you – mother and son. It will cause destruction.’
With that, she turned quickly away and walked back towards the fairground.
‘Well!’ Harriet was indignant. ‘If ever there was a waste of good money, Mr Frank, then that was it. I’m surprised at you.’
But Frank was staring after the gypsy, lost in thought.
Back home, Michael insisted on showing Jenny all round the farm. As Maddie began to follow them out of the back door she heard the housekeeper’s voice. ‘You can help me set the tea, girl. And then you’d better get set into the milking.’
Harriet put her white apron around her waist, twisting the ties to form a bow behind her back with an angry movement. ‘All this gallivanting. I don’t know,’ she muttered. ‘And work here not getting done.’
Maddie cast a disappointed look across the yard to see Michael waving his arms, gesturing towards the barn, the crewyard and the hen-house, whilst Jenny trotted beside him. Sighing, she went into the kitchen to help set the table for tea.
Later, as they were finishing the meal, Jenny said, ‘Can I stay and watch you milk the cows?’
Frank glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece. ‘Well, I did promise to have you back home before dark, but you’ve time enough to see the start and then Michael can run you home in the car.’
Jenny’s eyes widened. ‘Can you drive?’
Michael nodded and his father went on, ‘Everyone on a farm ought to be able to drive. Nick can too, but he’s not old enough yet to drive on the road.’ He glanced towards Harriet and smiled, ‘The only person I haven’t been able to persuade to get behind the wheel is Mrs Trowbridge.’
‘Shall you teach Maddie when she’s old enough?’
‘Oh yes,’ Frank said, and Maddie felt a warm glow, but her growing confidence in belonging somewhere at last was cut short as she heard Harriet’s familiar sniff followed by the words, ‘That’s if she’s here that long.’
Eleven
‘You go with Michael to take Jenny home,’ Frank said, as dusk crept across the fields. ‘Nick and I can manage the rest and Ben can take the cows back to the field.’
Maddie straightened up and carefully moved the bucket of milk. ‘If you’re sure, Mr Frank?’ Then she turned towards the boy. ‘Thanks, Nick.’
For a moment he looked a little sullen at being left out of the car ride, but then he smiled, perhaps remembering, Maddie thought, her offer to clean out the hen-house so that he could tinker with the car’s engine – a kind gesture that had almost resulted in her missing the day out all together. His next words confirmed it.
‘We’re quits now, then.’
Maddie grinned and nodded and then hurried to change out of her Wellingtons.
In the yard, Jenny was playing with Ben, throwing a stick for the excited young dog to fetch and carry back to her. ‘Isn’t he lovely, Maddie? I wish there was a dog at the Home.’
‘Maybe there’ll be a dog where you go to live when you leave there.’
The girl’s face sobered. ‘I reckon the only job I’ll get is at the Home. Peggy, one of the kitchen maids, is leaving to get married. Mrs Potter did say that if she can’t fix me up, she’ll give me a try.’
‘Oh no,’ Maddie cried. ‘Don’t stay there all your life, Jen. Get out. Do anything rather than stay locked up in that place.’
‘I would, but nobody else seems to want me.’
‘You’ll find something.’ Maddie put her arm around the younger girl’s thin shoulders and hoped she sounded more convincing than she actually felt. ‘I’m sure you will. Why, look at me. Mrs Potter thought nobody would ever take me off her hands.’
Jenny smiled. ‘Yes, you’ve been lucky. They’re so kind to you. That Mrs Trowbridge is a bit sharp, but I expect that’s just her way.’
Not for the first time in their young lives, Maddie marvelled at Jenny’s placid nature, at her acceptance of what life handed her. Despite being abandoned by her mother and not even knowing who she was, despite living under the strict regime of the Home, despite being small, being picked on and teased by the majority of the other girls, little Jenny Wren rarely said an unkind word about anyone. It was as if she thought it was she who was at fault and deserved the treatment she received.
‘Don’t make excuses for her, Jen. She’s a bad tempered old beezum . . .’ Jenny giggled as Maddie grinned herself and added, ‘But meeting Michael has made up for anything she can throw at me. I can handle her. What was it Brer Rabbit used to say?’
The two girls, who had often sat huddled together to read their favourite stories, now repeated the words together. ‘ “Born and bred in a briar patch, Brer Fox. Born and bred in a briar patch.” ’
Jenny was thoughtful. ‘I know what you mean, but Mrs Potter does have a nice side to her. I’m not sure that Mrs Trowbridge has. She seems – well – spiteful, somehow.’
Maddie stared at her friend. To most people Jenny Wren appeared to be childish for her age and weak, but every now and again she surprised even Maddie with her shrewd observations.
‘You’ve hit the nail on the head, Jen. Tha
t’s just what she is. Spiteful.’
Jen sighed. ‘Like some of the girls at the Home. And I’ve got to go back to them.’
Maddie hugged her. ‘Not for much longer. You’ll get a job and get out of there. You’ll see.’
‘Come on then, you two,’ Michael was calling. ‘It’ll be dark soon and I don’t want someone waving a big stick at me when I pull up outside the Home.’
The two girls sat in the back of the car, laughing and chattering, the doll between them, but as the car drew nearer and nearer to the Mayfield Home, Jenny fell silent, her face pale, the joy dying in her eyes.
‘Oh Maddie,’ she said flinging herself against her. ‘I’ve had such a lovely day. I don’t want to go back.’
Maddie hugged her. ‘Come on, Jen, chin up. It’ll not be for long. Look . . .’ She picked up the doll and put it into Jenny’s arms. ‘You take her.’
‘Oh no, no, the others’ll take her off me.’
‘No they won’t. Stand up to ’em, if they do.’
‘I – I can’t. You know I can’t.’ The whimper was back in the girl’s voice.
Maddie grinned. ‘Then let me know and I’ll come back and sort them out. I won’t let anyone take her off you. You keep her to remember the day.’
‘Oh I don’t need anything to remind me of today,’ Jenny breathed and she was smiling again, if a little tremulously. But she hugged the doll to her. ‘Thank you, Maddie. I’m going to call her Miss Amelia after that pretty lady we saw in the back of Sir Peter’s car today.’
When Michael drew the car to a halt outside the front door, there was no one in sight. He got out of the car and held open the door for Jenny to clamber out.
‘I hope you don’t get into trouble. We’re a bit later than we should have been.’
The Tulip Girl Page 7