The Tulip Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘It’ll have been worth it even if I do,’ Jenny smiled up at him.

  As Maddie watched, Michael drew a small parcel from his jacket pocket. ‘Here, I’m sorry I couldn’t win a doll for you, but I got you this to make up for it a bit.’

  Jenny pulled in a breath of surprise. ‘For me? Oh thank you, thank you.’

  ‘You don’t even know what it is yet. You might not like it.’

  ‘Oh I will. I will like it – whatever it is,’ the girl said fervently, clutching the brown paper bag to her chest along with the doll. Then she turned and bent her head to look into the car once more. ‘’Bye, Maddie.’

  ‘’Bye, Jen.’ Now, Maddie had to force a smile on to her mouth. ‘See you soon.’

  As she ran up the steps and reached the top, Jenny turned to wave before disappearing behind the heavy front door.

  ‘Come and sit in the front with me, now,’ Michael said as he climbed in behind the wheel.

  She did as he suggested but she did not look at him or speak to him. They had travelled about half the distance between the Home and Few Farm when he said, ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Yes, there is. Are you sad to see her go back to – that place?’

  ‘Yes.’ She was, but it was not the reason she was sitting so silently beside him.

  ‘She’ll soon be able to leave, won’t she?’

  ‘September.’

  ‘Well then?’

  Maddie said nothing.

  ‘It’s more than that, isn’t it?’

  Still she did not reply.

  ‘Ah. I know. You didn’t like me giving her a present.’

  ‘Of course I didn’t mind that,’ she answered quickly. Too quickly.

  He took one hand from the steering wheel and reached out to touch her hand, squeezing it for a brief moment. His touch was warm and sent a shiver through her whole being. ‘I only gave the poor kid a bottle of shampoo. Like I got for you.’

  That was just it, Maddie thought. Like you got for me. She swallowed the lump in her throat and felt angry with herself. How can you be so selfish? she told herself sternly. And over poor little Jen too.

  ‘That was kind of you,’ she said and hoped he didn’t notice the tremble in her voice. ‘She’ll love it – as long as the other girls don’t take it off her.’

  ‘Oh. I never thought of that. Will they really do that? Does that sort of thing happen a lot when you live in – in a Home?’

  ‘Yes, but mostly only to someone like Jen. It never happened to me.’

  Now Michael threw back his head and laughed aloud. ‘I bet it didn’t.’

  As they pulled into the yard at Few Farm, even Maddie was smiling again.

  Just before supper, Maddie thanked Frank for the day.

  ‘You’re very welcome, love.’ He smiled gently. ‘I don’t think your little friend wanted to go home.’

  ‘She didn’t. She – she . . .’ Maddie hesitated, for once in her life not wanting to appear pushy. ‘She said she wished she could stay here for ever.’

  Frank’s eyes clouded. ‘She was a nice little thing,’ he murmured, ‘but we haven’t the work for another lass. And she’s even smaller than you.’ Now his eyes twinkled with merriment. ‘I must admit, Maddie, that when you first came, I didn’t think you’d be up to the work. But you have proved me wrong, lass. And, for once,’ he added comically, ‘I am pleased to have been wrong.’ He shook his head. ‘But yon little lass, well . . .’ He paused leaving the unspoken words hanging between them.

  Now Maddie had to be honest, but there was a note of disappointment in her voice that the man could not miss. ‘No, she wouldn’t be strong enough, Mr Frank.’

  ‘Well, you invite her to come here to visit whenever you’ve time off, love. She’ll always be welcome.’

  Maddie’s eyes shone. ‘Oh thank you, Mr Frank. Thank you.’

  At that moment Harriet’s shrill tones came from the kitchen. ‘Where are you, girl? I need a hand.’

  Maddie grinned at her employer and turned away to help lay the table for supper.

  ‘Reckon you two smell it,’ Maddie said when Michael and Nick appeared as the last dish was placed on the table.

  ‘’Course we do.’ Michael leant over the table and sniffed appreciatively. ‘Rabbit pie. My favourite. And that pastry looks a treat, Mrs T. There’s nobody can make pastry like Mrs T.’ Michael nodded towards Maddie. ‘You’ll have to get her to teach you how to make it.’

  Maddie watched as Frank at the head of the table served the pie, cutting through the flaky pastry with a sharp knife. Then with a spoon he lifted out the portions of pinkish-brown meat and the rich, tasty gravy.

  ‘Leg all right for you, Maddie?’

  She blinked. ‘I – er – I’ve never eaten rabbit before, Mr Frank.’

  ‘Ah. Then I’ll give you a tiny piece to try and if you like it, you can have another helping.’

  The plates were passed down the table for Harriet to put the potatoes on. Trying to blot out the vision of the cute fluffy little animal that the meat on her plate had once been, Maddie put a piece in her mouth. To her surprise it was sweet-tasting and different from anything she had tried before.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Michael asked and when Maddie nodded he reached across, lifted her plate and held it out towards his father. ‘Give her a bit more now, Dad.’

  For a while, there was a silence around the table whilst they all ate. Then, thinking she might learn more by feigning ignorance, Maddie said, ‘Who was the lady in the back of Sir Peter’s car? Miss Amelia, did you say her name was?’

  Four pairs of eyes regarded her, but no one spoke.

  Frank glanced away, down at his plate again and said nothing.

  ‘Mr Theo was sitting in the front with Sir Peter,’ Michael said. ‘I did see that, but I didn’t notice anyone else.’ He turned to Maddie. ‘Mr Theo’s his son, but I expect you know that.’

  Maddie nodded. ‘There was a lady sitting in the back. A pretty lady,’ she went on. ‘With long blonde hair and . . .’

  ‘It was her, wasn’t it?’ Harriet’s voice was harsh and she was staring down the table at Frank.

  ‘Aye. It was,’ Frank, though reluctant, was obliged to agree. ‘It’s many a long year since she was seen in the town.’

  ‘But who is she?’ Maddie persisted.

  Down the table, Frank and Harriet looked at each other for what seemed to Maddie, waiting impatiently for an answer to her question, an age.

  ‘The lady was Sir Peter’s daughter,’ Frank murmured, but his gaze was still on Harriet’s face. ‘Miss Amelia Mayfield.’

  Harriet sniffed. ‘I’m surprised at him. Bringing her out in public.’

  Frank sighed. ‘Oh Harriet. It was all a long time ago now. The poor girl can’t be locked away for ever.’

  ‘I thought she’d gone a bit . . .’ Harriet tapped her temple with her forefinger.

  ‘Who could blame her if she had?’ Frank murmured.

  ‘Well, she brought it on herself, didn’t she?’

  ‘I suppose so, but . . .’

  ‘Is she the one who planted the flowers in the woods?’ Maddie began. ‘Is she the one whose sweetheart . . .?’

  Harriet reached out across the corner of the table and gripped Maddie’s wrist so tightly that the girl cried out in pain. ‘Get on with your supper, girl, and speak when you’re spoken to and not afore.’

  Maddie couldn’t sleep. The events of the day were buzzing around her brain. She was reliving the excitement of it all. The bustle of the market place, the strange and yet exciting atmosphere in the pub and then, the touch of Michael’s hand on hers in the darkness of the car.

  Her heart thumped loudly at the memory and every nerve twitched and jumped so that sleep seemed impossible. But as tiredness eventually overcame her and she drifted into sleep, Maddie’s dreams were disturbed by the memory of that sweet, sorrowful face looking back at her from the window of the car. Then the image became distor
ted and Miss Amelia’s face became Jenny standing at the top of the steps at the Home, clutching the doll and Michael’s gift, tears running down her face as she waved goodbye.

  Twelve

  ‘If you’re going to be late up just because you’ve had a day out, then I’ll mind you don’t have another.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Trowbridge. I couldn’t get off to sleep.’

  ‘Too much excitement. Well, get on then, girl, now you are up.’

  Maddie raced to the field and up the slope to round up the cows. This morning the bulb field, bereft of all its magnificent colour, did not distress her so since she had seen for herself the previous day that people were able to buy at least some of the pretty flowers to take home. She had stood in front of the colourful stall in the market marvelling at the vibrant colours, red, yellow, pink and purple, and although she could understand now the necessity for their removal – it was a matter of business – she still thought it a shame that some way could not be found to make use of the discarded flower heads that she could see heaped in the corner of the field.

  This morning she watched the workers in the tulip field, wishing, for a moment, that she was one of them instead of having to milk smelly cows twice a day.

  ‘There you are,’ was Frank’s greeting as she herded the cows into the yard. ‘Overslept a bit, did we?’

  ‘Sorry,’ she began, but he held up his hand. ‘No matter, love, we’re only just ready for these anyway. You take the ones we’ve milked back to the other field and we’ll see to these few.’

  Prompted by his words, Maddie said, ‘Why’s it called Few Farm?’

  ‘Eh? Oh that.’ Frank chuckled. ‘Someone with a sense of humour, I suppose. Way back. Afore we ever came here.’

  Michael, shooing the beast from the cowshed and into the yard joined in. ‘A few acres, Maddie. A few cows, a few pigs and a few hens. And . . .’ he added pointedly, glancing at his father with a cheeky look. ‘Far too few workers to cope with all the work.’

  Maddie laughed aloud, the sound ringing through the sharp morning air. ‘Come on then, Daisy,’ she slapped the rump of the nearest cow. ‘I’ll take you a few yards down the lane back to your field.’

  Maddie felt a surge of happiness run through her. She loved it here. Already she loved Mr Frank and Michael. Her heart beat a little faster. Well, every time she even thought about Michael she got a strange trembly feeling in her legs and when she saw him, there was a funny sort of fluttering just below her ribs.

  If only, she thought, Mrs Trowbridge and Nick were a little more friendly, life would be just perfect. Although, she had to admit, that once away from his mother, Nick was so much nicer.

  The following Saturday morning, Michael said, ‘Would you like to ask your little friend to come to tea this afternoon?’

  ‘Oh yes, please,’ Maddie said, but then her face clouded. ‘Would Mrs Trowbridge mind?’

  ‘Not if I ask her,’ he said, grinning, and Maddie giggled. Michael had even the strait-laced Mrs T wrapped around his little finger.

  ‘But how can I let Jenny know? It’s too late to post a letter to her.’

  ‘Ring her up.’

  ‘Ring her. On a telephone you mean?’

  ‘Well, we haven’t got bush-telegraph, young’un. There’s a phone box in the village. Come with me on the round this morning and we can ring her from there.’

  Perched up on the front of the milk cart beside him, Maddie smiled up at him.

  ‘I can’t believe Mrs Trowbridge has let me come with you. Whatever did you say to her and how did you get Nick to do the dairy work?’

  Michael winked at her and tapped the side of his nose. ‘I have my methods, young’un.’

  He paused and as she was still looking up at him expectantly, he said, ‘I just reminded him about the day of the hen-house and how you had taken all the blame upon yourself.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Oh, indeed.’ His voice was grim now, though still gentle towards her. ‘Are you used to taking the blame for what others do?’

  Before she answered, Maddie thought back. It was not so very long ago and yet it seemed an age away. Slowly, she said, ‘Yes, I suppose I did sometimes.’ She smiled, remembering. ‘Usually for Jen. Always for Jen. But I would never tell tales, see. Not about anyone. So I sometimes took the blame for others too.’

  ‘I thought as much,’ Michael muttered and then added firmly, ‘Well, in our house, you need never take the blame if it isn’t your fault. You hear me?’

  A warm glow spread through her and there was a catch in her voice as she said, ‘Yes, Michael. I hear you.’

  They drove for a while without speaking but the silence between them was comfortable, although Maddie was acutely aware of his arm brushing hers every now and again.

  At last Michael said, ‘First call is Mayfield Hall.’

  Maddie glanced sideways at him. ‘Shall we see her?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The pretty lady we saw in the back of the car yesterday. In Wellandown.’

  ‘Oh. Miss Amelia. Shouldn’t think so. I’ve been coming here for three years now – more if you count all the times I helped me Dad out even when I was still at school – and that’s the first time I’ve ever set eyes on her.’

  ‘Really?’

  Michael nodded and his face was solemn as he added, ‘Kept hidden away, she is, poor thing. She’s . . .’ he hesitated and stumbled over the words. ‘Well, I don’t quite know how to put it without sounding unkind.’

  Maddie remembered Mrs Trowbridge’s action the previous night when talking about Miss Amelia. She had no intention of repeating the housekeeper’s unfeeling gesture, so she murmured, ‘I know what you mean.’ There was a pause before Maddie said, ‘Perhaps she’s getting better. Perhaps that’s why she had a ride out in the car yesterday.’

  ‘Maybe. I rather think,’ Michael said slowly, ‘that Mr Theo might have had something to do with that. He’s a nice chap, Mr Theo. Now, I do meet him sometimes when I come to the Hall. He goes riding early most mornings and because we have to go round to the back door, I often see him going to the stables. Mind you, he’s away a lot. At university, I think. Doing a law degree, somebody said.’ Michael grinned down at her, his eyes twinkling. ‘He’s a very handsome chap. I shall have to keep my eye on you, else he might be running off with you, young’un.’

  He was teasing her, she knew he was teasing her, but it was a nice kind of affectionate teasing. What she couldn’t say to him was that however handsome Mr Theo Mayfield might be, he didn’t stand a chance with her. Not whilst Michael Brackenbury was around.

  But as they drove up the long driveway and round to the back of the imposing house with its arched windows that always reminded Maddie of the windows in a church, they saw no one except the kitchen maid who answered the door to take in the milk.

  Leaving Mayfield Park, they reached the outskirts of the village and Michael pulled the cart to a halt outside the first house and said, ‘You run to the door and get Grannie Barnes’s can.’

  Not sure exactly what he meant, Maddie skipped up the uneven flagged path. As she raised her hand to knock at the door, it opened and a wizened old woman appeared. Her toothless mouth sank in and her white hair was drawn back from her face, but the brown eyes were sharp and knowing.

  ‘So you’re the little lass young Michael’s been telling us about, are you?’ She thrust a white enamel milk can towards Maddie. ‘Well, let’s see if you can fetch me milk without spillin’ it, eh?’

  Dutifully, Maddie trotted back to the cart, waited whilst Michael filled the can and then carried it carefully back to the old woman.

  Taking it from her, she put the coins into the girl’s hand, nodded and taking a step back, said, ‘Ta, see you again.’

  Maddie smiled. ‘Thank you, Mrs Barnes. Good morning.’

  After half a dozen such stops, Michael said, ‘D’you know, I could do with you coming on the round every day. We’re getting done in half the time.’
>
  Maddie beamed, feeling again the fluttering beneath her ribs.

  At the phone box, Michael showed her how to make the call.

  ‘I think you’d better do it. Mrs Potter won’t believe me.’ She pulled a wry face, remembering the hen-house again and Harriet. ‘Nobody ever seems to believe me.’

  For a moment, squashed together in the red phone box, Michael looked down into her face. Softly, he said, ‘I’ll always believe you, Maddie.’ It was the first time she could remember him using her name instead of his nickname for her. ‘I don’t reckon you could tell a lie if you tried.’

  She felt hot all over and suddenly tongue-tied. He was so close that she could feel his breath warm upon her face, smell the earthiness of him, see that the dark eyelashes fringing his brown eyes curled slightly. His skin was smooth and weather-beaten and there was a faint growth of dark stubble on his jaw. His black hair was covered with a checked cap, but tendrils escaped from beneath it and curled into his neck.

  ‘Right,’ he said, breaking the spell that had enveloped them both for a moment. He picked up the receiver and whispered, ‘D’you reckon I can sound like me Dad?’

  The tension broken, Maddie giggled. ‘You look like him, so maybe you can.’

  Moments later after dialling, feeding coins into the slot and pressing button A, Michael said, ‘May I speak to the matron please?’

  ‘Mrs Potter,’ Maddie hissed.

  There was a long wait and Maddie heard the pips and watched Michael frantically feed in another coin.

  ‘Ah, yes. Hello, Mrs Potter. This is Mr Brackenbury of Few Farm . . .’ Maddie stuffed her hand into her mouth to stifle her laughter. How neatly Michael was avoiding telling a deliberate lie.

  ‘We so enjoyed having Jenny Wren with us last week, we would like to invite her to tea this afternoon.’

  There was a pause, then Michael said, ‘Right . . . Yes . . . Yes . . . That will be fine. Three o’clock, then. Thank you. Goodbye.’

  He replaced the receiver in its cradle and Maddie clutched at his arm. ‘What did she say? Is it all right? Can she come?’

  ‘’Course she can. We’re to fetch her at three o’clock.’