The Tulip Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Ah,’ Sir Peter said shortly and leant back in his chair again. ‘I see.’ There was a silence in the room before he said, ‘If I waive a year’s rent, would that help?’

  ‘Well, it would, sir, but . . .’ Frank said no more but the meaning in the unspoken words was plain enough.

  ‘Mm, well, I’ll give the matter some thought, Brackenbury,’ was all Sir Peter would promise before they were shown out and found themselves walking down the front steps to the car.

  ‘Oh well, it was a good try, lass, but it’s obvious he’s not keen.’

  ‘But he did say he’d think about it.’

  Frank cast her a wry glance. ‘I wouldn’t like my life to depend on him saying “yes”, though.’

  Maddie pulled a comical face in return. ‘Neither would I,’ she was forced to admit.

  ‘I can’t believe it. You and your father before you have been farming his land for years and never a bad word between you and the landlord. You told me so yourself. So why can’t he trust your judgement now?’

  Maddie gaped at the housekeeper in astonishment. Harriet was incensed, but it was Frank who voiced Maddie’s own thoughts. ‘I thought you didn’t agree with us anyway. I’m surprised you don’t say “I told you so”.’

  ‘That’s as maybe,’ Harriet bridled. ‘What I say in this house is one thing, but when it comes to an outsider disagreeing, that’s different.’

  Frank smiled gently. Harriet Trowbridge, it seemed, regarded the household as her own family. She would strongly disagree with them in private, but was prepared to present a united front to the world at large.

  ‘He’s no right to stop you if it’s what you really want, Mr Frank,’ she railed. ‘If you really think it’s a good idea . . .’ Maddie felt the woman’s resentful glance rest on her for a brief moment before she added, ‘and it’s what you want us to do, Mr Frank. Then that’s what we’ll do.’

  ‘Oh Harriet,’ Frank ran his hand through his hair. ‘I don’t know now. I really don’t. If I go against him, he could give me notice.’

  Harriet’s mouth dropped open. ‘He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t dare.’

  ‘There’s no “dare” about it. He owns the land, when all’s done and said.’

  In a voice so low that Frank did not hear, although Maddie’s sharp ears caught her words, Harriet said, ‘We’ll see about that.’

  As the woman turned away and went back to her kitchen, Maddie saw a strange gleam in Harriet’s eyes.

  Now what, she thought as she gazed after her, was the housekeeper up to?

  The following morning Maddie was even more astonished to see Harriet putting on her black coat and felt hat.

  She rarely left the farm, Maddie knew. Either Michael or Nick did any shopping they needed. She never went into the nearby town nor even down to the village shop. She didn’t even seem to have any family or friends who came to the farm to visit her. Her whole life was centred around Few Farm and Frank Brackenbury. Apart from her visit to the orphanage and that one trip into Wellandon at Frank’s insistence, Maddie could not now recall ever seeing the housekeeper leave the farm.

  So Maddie’s mouth almost dropped open when the housekeeper came to stand close by her. ‘Now, girl, just you keep quiet about me going out,’ she said in a low voice, glancing furtively about her to be sure no one was either watching or listening. ‘Not a word to Mr Frank, nor to Michael. You hear me?’

  Maddie shrugged. ‘Nothing to do with me, Mrs Trowbridge. Is there anything you want me to do for you while you’re out?’ And she added sadly, ‘As I’ve no dairy work now.’

  ‘You can start the bedrooms for me. But leave Mr Frank’s. I’ll see to that.’

  Maddie hid her smile. Thursday was the day of the week when Harriet always ‘did’ the bedrooms. Not even an obviously necessary trip out could be allowed to interfere with her routine.

  ‘Right you are, Mrs Trowbridge. Off you go and have a nice time.’

  ‘Huh. I don’t know about that,’ was the housekeeper’s sour reply as she opened the back door. Maddie, following her into the wash-house to collect cleaning materials, watched as Harriet paused on the threshold, glanced quickly around the yard making sure no one was about and then hurried towards the gate.

  ‘What is she up to?’ Maddie murmured.

  The mystery was solved three days later when, on the Sunday morning, Theo Mayfield rode into the yard of Few Farm on horseback.

  Dismounting, he tethered the horse to the gatepost. Maddie was in her bedroom changing her dress ready for Church in half an hour and saw him from the window as he walked towards the back door.

  She hurried down the stairs calling, ‘Mr Frank, Mr Frank. There’s a gentleman coming across the yard. I think it’s Mr Theo.’

  ‘What?’ Startled Frank leapt up from his chair by the fire, throwing down the Sunday newspaper he was reading and then hastily stopping to pick it up and fold it neatly. ‘Go and let him in, Maddie. Bring him in here.’ He stood before the mirror over the range to straighten his tie and smooth down his hair that had already been combed into neatness ready for Church. But the action betrayed his nervousness.

  ‘Good day. Miss March, isn’t it?’ Theo Mayfield actually touched his riding hat with the end of his whip in a courteous gesture. ‘Is Mr Brackenbury at home?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Please come in.’ She turned and led the way through the kitchen and into the living room where Frank was waiting anxiously.

  ‘Won’t you sit down, sir? Can I offer you a drink or . . .?’

  ‘No, no, Mr Brackenbury.’

  Maddie was swift to notice that, unlike Sir Peter, Theo gave Frank the courtesy title of ‘Mister’. ‘I can see that you and your household are about to leave for Church. I’ll not delay you, but I felt I should ride across to tell you that my father is ill.’

  Frank cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Nothing serious, I hope.’

  Theo’s face was sober. ‘I’m afraid it may be. He suffered a stroke the night before last and the next few days are critical.’

  ‘Oh, I am sorry.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Theo nodded and was obviously touched by the older man’s genuine concern. Maddie saw that the young man pulled in a deep breath as he went on. ‘Fortunately, my father had mentioned to me your idea of turning your land into growing tulips.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Frank began doubtfully. ‘But Sir Peter didn’t seem very taken with the idea.’

  ‘Well, I think it’s a very good idea. I told him so and he did seem to be coming round to your way of thinking. So, as he’s obviously going to be incapacitated for some time and I have come home to take up the reins of running the estate, I’m happy to tell you that I’m in full agreement with your proposal.’

  ‘Are you sure, Mr Theo? I mean, I wouldn’t want you to go against your father’s wishes.’

  ‘No, no. No more would I, but, as I said, we talked at length about it and I think he began to realize that there’s very little else you can do in the circumstances. Although I think it was the visit from your housekeeper that clinched it for you.’

  ‘My housekeeper? Harriet?’ Frank’s surprise was obvious.

  ‘Why, yes. Didn’t you know? She was closeted with my father in his study for almost an hour on Thursday morning.’ The young man laughed and shrugged. ‘I don’t know what she said to him, but she was obviously very persuasive because afterwards he just said to me, “I think we’ll let Brackenbury have his way.” Besides,’ Mr Theo added, and this was obviously his own belief, not that of his father, ‘the land is perfect for it.’

  ‘Well, I’m very grateful to you, sir, if you’re really sure?’

  ‘I am. I understand, also, that when he spoke to you my father offered to waive a year’s rent?’

  ‘He did, sir, but that was to give us time to restock.’

  Theo smiled at the honesty of the man. ‘Well, you’ll still have to buy stock, only bulbs instead of beast. And it will be some time before you get your firs
t harvest of blooms so we’ll still stick to that offer.’ His smile broadened. ‘I’m sure my father would agree.’

  Frank’s weather-beaten complexion, was even more ruddy. ‘That’s very generous of you, sir.’

  ‘There is just one more thing. You’ll have to write to the authorities – the County War Agricultural Executive Committee.’ He pulled a comical face. ‘A mouthful, isn’t it? They’re called War Ag’s for short. They came into being in the War to oversee food production, but I think they still have some powers as we’ve still got quite a lot of rationing. I think you’ll have to get clearance from them, Mr Brackenbury.’

  ‘Oh.’ Frank scratched his head, clearly puzzled. ‘Well, yes. Thank you, sir.’

  Maddie could see that Theo had noticed Frank’s dilemma. He didn’t know how or where to start.

  ‘Tell you what,’ the younger man said. ‘I’ll make the initial contact for you. I know one of the chaps there. Philip Taylor. I’ll have a word with him, if you like, and ask him to get in touch with you.’

  Plainly relieved, Frank said, ‘I’d be most grateful, sir. That would be very kind of you.’

  Maddie found herself beaming at the young man, who had not only given them his approval but had made a practical and helpful offer too.

  ‘And see Bill Randall,’ Mr Theo went on. ‘He’s a good-hearted fellow and I’m sure he will give you all the advice he can.’ Theo held out his hand. ‘Good luck, Mr Brackenbury, and please don’t hesitate to let me know if there’s anything more I can do.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. You’ve been most kind.’

  Maddie felt the young man’s glance linger on her for a moment as he said softly, ‘Good day to you, Miss March.’

  She smiled and said, ‘Goodbye, Mr Theo and – thank you.’

  Both Frank and Maddie followed the young man to the door and watched him walk back across the yard to his horse.

  ‘Well, that’s a surprise, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is, lass. But all I hope is that the lad won’t get into trouble when his father recovers and finds out what he’s agreed to.’ He shook his head, mystified. ‘And I still can’t understand why Harriet thought she could help.’

  Maddie begrudged giving praise to the housekeeper, but her innate honesty made her say, ‘Well, she obviously did.’

  ‘Yes, she must have done. But how?’

  ‘I don’t know, but it sounds,’ Maddie said slowly, ‘as if you’ve no need to worry about Sir Peter being well enough to object for some time.’

  And though she was not, by nature, a vindictive person, Maddie could not find it in her heart to be sorry for Sir Peter Mayfield.

  Twenty-Four

  ‘So then what do we have to do, Mr Randall?’

  The big man laughed, the sound seeming to come from deep within his rotund belly. ‘By heck, mate, you’re keen, I’ll say that for you.’

  Maddie chuckled. She had met Bill Randall only once before and his habit of calling everyone he met – male or female, young or old – ‘mate’ always amused her. But it was a friendly term and Maddie warmed to him.

  His expression sobered now. ‘And I’ll give you all the help I can, because I was sorry to hear about what happened to Frank Brackenbury. Very sorry. He’s a good man and dun’t deserve to lose his livelihood in such a cruel way. So, mate, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall us? Has Frank got approval from the War Ag’s?’

  Maddie nodded. ‘Mr Taylor visited us the day before yesterday and told us what we can do. Mr Frank’s got seventy-five acres altogether. We’re to plough up the meadows and plant about ten acres of bulbs to start with, he said, and the rest to potatoes and vegetables for a while, or wheat if we want to. Then we should be able to increase our bulb production gradually as the regulations relax.’

  Bill Randall raised his eyebrows. ‘I don’t know if you’ll manage ten acres in your first year, mate. It’s not a good time to be setting up, y’know.’

  Maddie’s heart plummeted as the man went on. ‘Bulbs is very expensive still, since the War, see. We’re still having to import a lot and not only are we restricted in how many acres we can grow, but we can’t get hold of the bulbs easy.’

  Maddie bit her lip and nodded, but the big man was still smiling at her. ‘Tell you what, though, I’ll have a word with a few of my mates and we’ll see what we can do to help old Frank.’

  ‘Oh thank you, Mr Randall.’

  ‘And you could try the bulb auction. They hold one in the cattle market every Tuesday in Wellandon. But be careful, don’t go paying too much. And another thing, you do know that bulbs become like another crop? You have to rotate them along with whatever else you grow?’

  Maddie nodded. She wasn’t quite sure what he meant but she would report faithfully back to Frank and Michael everything that Bill Randall said and they would understand.

  ‘I was forced to cut my bulb production right back in the War, y’know,’ he was saying, ‘and they’re still only letting me increase steadily. A lot of our production went to America.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of the War, their supplies from Holland were cut off.’

  ‘Oh.’ Maddie tried to show polite interest but she didn’t really understand. She was far more interested in finding out how Few Farm could get started with its first few bulbs. Mr Randall’s next words brought her further disappointment.

  ‘’Course, it’s the wrong time of year for planting, but I’ll tell you what could be a good idea for Frank. A greenhouse.’ The man beamed as if he personally had solved all of Frank Brackenbury’s problems.

  ‘A greenhouse?’

  ‘Yes. Forcing flowers to grow out of season, ’specially in time for Christmas. It got very popular in the Twenties, but, of course, even they had to turn their greenhouses over for food production in the War. Y’know, tomatoes and such. But that way, you can get better prices. It’s like everything else, mate. If you get a glut of flowers all ready at the same time, the price drops. But if you,’ he winked down at her and tapped the side of his nose, ‘can be the one to have flowers ready when no one else has. Well, then, you can up the price.’

  ‘I see,’ Maddie said slowly. ‘At least, I think I do.’

  With a willing listener, Bill Randall launched into the practicalities of forcing bulbs to bloom earlier than nature intended. ‘It’s hard work, lass. You pick out the biggest bulbs for forcing. They need to be in a cold store for a while and then you plant them in boxes outside in autumn. Keep them well watered and bring them into the heated greenhouses in batches, so that when they flower they’ll do so at different times.’

  Maddie smiled and nodded. ‘I understand, so that you’ll have a few trays ready for Christmas then a few at the beginning of January and so on?’

  ‘You’ve got it, mate. That’s the idea.’

  ‘But wouldn’t it be very expensive to build a big greenhouse?’

  ‘Well now, it just so happens that I know where’s one going for a song. Weatherall’s old place. It’s a bit dilapidated. The woodwork would need painting up and some of the glass needs replacing. But it could be taken down and moved to Frank’s yard without a deal of trouble.’

  Maddie pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure how Mr Frank would react to hearing that it’s from Mr Weatherall’s.’

  Mr Randall looked puzzled for a moment before he said, ‘Oh aye, I was forgetting.’

  Maddie tried to make a joke of it. ‘He might think it’d carry some sort of disease that tulips get.’

  The big man laughed. ‘Well, I don’t think a bit of timber and glass could do that. You won’t be using his soil, now will you? You’d need to make your own foundations first and then just buy the wooden frame and the glass.’

  ‘I’ll see what he says.’

  ‘Don’t forget to tell Frank that he’s got one thing in his favour.’

  ‘What’s that, Mr Randall?’

  ‘His own electricity supply. He’ll be able to run pipes from that boiler house of his to heat a
greenhouse and control it with a pump . . .’ The man beamed, ‘Run by his electricity.’

  Maddie’s smile widened. ‘I’ll tell him, Mr Randall. And thank you for all your help.’

  ‘Think nowt on it, mate, think nowt on it. I’m looking forward to the day when I can look over yon hedge and see your field of tulips.’

  Frank, Michael and Nick listened intently to all that Maddie had to relate. Even Harriet, though she tried hard not to look as if she was taking any interest in the project, hovered within earshot.

  When she came to the point of telling Frank just who owned the greenhouse that was ‘going for a song’, Maddie hesitated. But she need not have worried. Frank laughed wryly and said, ‘Well, I reckon old man Weatherall owes me one, don’t you? So now, we’ve just got to let Mr Theo know what we’re doing and then . . .’ Frank stood up and look around. ‘We can get started.’

  Michael gave his father a slap on the shoulder and then turned and slapped Nick on the back, too. But he put his arms about Maddie’s waist and picked her up and swung her round.

  ‘My little Tulip Girl,’ he said. ‘It’s going to happen, Maddie. We’re going to make it happen. And it’s all thanks to you.’

  Maddie wound her arms about his neck and hugged him hard, the lump in her throat too big to let her speak.

  Then, over his shoulder she caught sight of the venomous look in Harriet’s eyes and the joyous moment was spoilt.

  They ended up with not one, but two greenhouses.

  As Frank and his near neighbours, and even the village folk and the townsfolk too, counted up the cost of the winter’s blizzards and began to try to restore some sort of normality to their lives, Mr Theo called again at Few Farm. He arrived one blustery late April day when the noise of Mr Randall’s concrete mixer filled the yard.

  Michael, stripped to his sleeveless vest, shovelled gravel, sand and cement and tipped water into the rotating drum whilst Nick barrowed each mix to where Maddie and Frank waited. For a week they had dug out an oblong shape approximately eight inches deep to the length and breadth of Mr Weatherall’s greenhouse for the foundations. They had put wooden boards all around the inside of the oblong – shuttering, Frank told Maddie – and now Nick tipped barrow load after barrow load of concrete mix into the hole for Frank to spread with a spade.