The Tulip Girl

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Have you hurt yourself, love? I shouldn’t be letting you carry these heavy boxes. I ought to have got Michael or Nick to do it.’

  ‘I – I’m all right, Mr Frank. Please. I must have tripped . . .’ She bit her lip, not wanting to tell him a deliberate lie yet determined not to admit that she had been feeling queasy for the past week now. She couldn’t be ill. Not now when there was so much work to do.

  ‘You look a bit pale, love. You’ve been overdoing it. We shouldn’t let you work so hard.’

  Slowly Maddie got to her knees and then, carefully, she stood up. Frank held her arm, supporting her. ‘We’ve all been working hard, Mr Frank.’ She made herself smile at him, even though the waves of dizziness were still washing over her.

  Frank nodded and looked down at her. ‘We have. But you, harder than any of us.’ Gently, he added, ‘You didn’t need to prove yourself to us, you know. We wouldn’t have blamed you even if your idea hadn’t worked.’ Then he smiled broadly. ‘But it is doing, lass, I know it is. You should be feeling very proud of yourself.’

  Maddie swallowed the bile that threatened to rise into her throat. ‘We all should, Mr Frank,’ she insisted, but nevertheless she was very touched by his words.

  She took a few deep breaths and began to feel a little better. Together they knelt down and gathered the spilt bulbs back into the box.

  ‘I just hope I haven’t harmed these. They damage very easily, don’t they?’

  ‘Mm,’ Frank agreed. ‘I sometimes wonder if we shouldn’t have daffs as well. They’re a bit hardier. But I don’t know.’

  ‘Maybe we could. In time.’

  He chuckled. ‘You had thought about it, then?’

  ‘Oh yes, I’d thought about it.’

  Now Frank laughed louder. ‘I thought you might have.’

  They stood up together as he lifted the tray from the ground. ‘Now, young lady, I’m carrying this into the greenhouse for you and you’re not to carry any more heavy boxes today. And you get an early night. You hear me?’

  Maddie managed to smile and say, ‘Yes, Mr Frank.’

  ‘You little slut!’ The bedroom door was flung open so violently, it struck the bed behind it and ricocheted, shuddering.

  Maddie, spittle running from her mouth where she had been retching into the bowl, raised bleary eyes to see Harriet towering over her.

  ‘You’re in the family way, aren’t you?’

  Horrified, Maddie straightened up and reached for the towel to wipe her mouth. ‘What – what do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve heard you. Every morning this week you’ve had your head over that bowl there. You’ve got morning sickness, girl. And last night when Mr Frank said you’d fallen in the field and looked as if you were going to pass out, then I was sure.’

  Maddie gasped, her eyes widening. ‘No. Oh, no.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ the housekeeper said grimly. ‘Well, we’ll see what Mr Frank has to say about this little lot, shall we?’

  Maddie reached out and grasped the woman’s arm. ‘Please don’t tell him, Mrs Trowbridge.’

  Maddie didn’t think she had ever seen such malice in anyone’s eyes. Such venom, such glee. ‘I can’t wait to tell him.’

  ‘Look, I know you want me gone from here. So, all right, you win. I’ll go away but not until we’ve got all the cropping done at the end of April, and maybe the lifting in June. Then I’ll go. But please don’t tell Mr Frank. I mean – I mean you don’t want to cause him any more worry, do you?’ She was babbling now in her anxiety. ‘He’s just getting back on his feet. The flowers from the glasshouses made good money in London at Christmas and New Year and they’re still selling well. But there’s a lot of work. I can’t possibly go yet.’

  Harriet’s face was a sneer. ‘How do you think you’re going to hide it, eh? You’ll start to show before then. Don’t you know anything about having babies?’

  Maddie didn’t answer. No, she knew nothing or she would have already guessed. Instead, she said, ‘Then I’ll go before I start to – to show. Mr Frank needn’t know. No one need know.’ Casting about frantically for another reason, she added, ‘And you don’t want him blaming you for not having kept a better eye on me.’

  ‘Blame me!’ She was indignant. ‘I’m not the one to blame. He was too soft with you from the start. Letting you go to the village dances and round on the milk cart with young Michael. And then giving way to your ridiculous scheme to grow flowers.’ She almost spat the next question. ‘Whose brat is it, anyway?’

  Maddie gasped aloud. ‘It’s Michael’s.’

  ‘Huh! I don’t believe that for a minute. It’s some village lad’s, I don’t doubt.’

  ‘It is Michael’s. It is.’ Maddie was almost in tears at the injustice of the woman. How could she believe that it could possibly be anyone else’s?

  ‘I love Michael. I wouldn’t let anyone else . . .’ she hesitated and then added, ‘touch me.’

  Harriet’s lips were a thin, unforgiving line. ‘You dirty, foul-mouthed little trollop. Well, if it is his, you’ve led him on. I don’t blame him. I blame you. You’re out on your ear now, that’s for certain. Because I’ll not stand by and see you pull a fine young man like Master Michael down into the gutter alongside you, saddling him with your little bastard.’

  She pulled her arm from Maddie’s grasp and turned to leave the room. The girl sank down onto the bed and groaned. She knew what Harriet had said was true. She had no reason to doubt the older woman’s knowledge and during the past week she had wondered why what she had first thought was a bilious attack was going on so long. It had struck her as very odd. Now she knew why.

  That the housekeeper would take great delight in telling the rest of the household, Maddie had no doubt, so she dragged herself up again and dressed.

  Better face the music, she told herself.

  Halfway down the stairs, she heard the raised voices. Frank’s and then Michael’s.

  ‘How could you? A young girl in our care, Michael. And she’s still under age. You could go to prison for this, never mind the trouble you’ve brought on her and shame upon this house.’

  As Maddie opened the door leading from the stairs into the living room, she saw that Michael and his father were standing on the hearth rug in front of the fire, staring at each other. His face white, Michael said, ‘What do you mean, under age?’

  ‘She’s only fifteen, for God’s sake.’

  ‘No. Oh no. She can’t be. She’s sixteen. Surely, she’s sixteen?’ He was casting about frantically. ‘She had a birthday. She told us so. We had a party. She’s got to be sixteen.’

  ‘She was fourteen when she came here,’ Harriet put in. ‘So now she’s fifteen.’

  ‘Fourteen?’ Michael’s voice was a strangled whisper of disbelief. ‘How could she have left school at fourteen? I was fifteen when I left. So was Nick.’

  Frank ran his hand through his hair. ‘You stayed on a little longer because you were at a Grammar School and Harriet wanted Nick to stay on a little longer too. The statutory school-leaving age has only gone up to fifteen this last year.’

  ‘I didn’t know, Dad. I swear I didn’t. I thought she was sixteen. I never touched her until after that party. And I wouldn’t have done so yet, if – if . . .’

  His voice trailed away and he looked so desperate and almost afraid that Maddie longed to run to him, put her arms about him and tell him that she would take all the blame. She wouldn’t let anything dreadful happen to him. But she remained quite still just inside the door, watching and listening.

  Then she heard Michael pull in a deep, shuddering breath. ‘I’ll take care of her, Dad. I’ll . . .’

  ‘And how are you going to do that? The farm is barely supporting us now. With another mouth to feed and without Maddie able to work, how do you think we’re going to manage? And changing to growing blasted flowers. I wish I’d never listened to her now. In fact, I wish to God . . .’

  Frank became aware of Maddie standing, ashen-faced, i
n the doorway. He glanced at her and then looked away, running his hand distractedly through his thinning hair yet again. Harriet, standing at the end of the table, her arms folded beneath her bosom, watched the scene unfolding before her, a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes.

  Nick was sitting at the table, his eyes downcast on his cereal bowl, though he was not eating. Only Michael came to her. He put his arms about her and his voice was gentle now as he said, ‘Oh Maddie. I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I . . .’ At his kindness, Maddie felt the tears spill over as she laid her cheek against his chest. ‘I didn’t know.’

  Now he held her at arm’s length and looked down at her. ‘What do you mean, you didn’t know?’

  Blinking through her tears, she stammered, ‘I didn’t understand why I was being sick in the morning.’

  ‘You mean you haven’t seen a doctor?’

  Maddie shook her head.

  ‘Oh well, then . . .’ Instantly there was relief in his voice. ‘Maybe you aren’t.’

  ‘But Mrs Trowbridge . . .’ she began.

  Now his tone was bitter. ‘Oh aye, we all know that our dear housekeeper would do almost anything to get you sent away.’ He looked over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing as he looked towards Harriet and speaking directly to her now. ‘But what I can’t understand is why you brought Maddie here in the first place.’

  ‘Her sort should be punished. They bring misery to good folk around them with their devious, scheming ways. And I was right, wasn’t I? She’s brought trouble on this house, just like I said she would.’

  ‘So why?’ Michael persisted. He had let go of Maddie and was moving back towards Harriet now. ‘Why did you bring her here?’

  ‘That’s my business,’ she snapped.

  ‘Let’s not go into all that now,’ Frank said wearily. ‘We’ve got to think what’s the best thing to do.’

  Harriet rounded on him. ‘Whatever do you mean? There’s only one thing to do. Throw her out. Out on the streets where the little slut belongs.’

  ‘Harriet, no one is going to be thrown out. My son is as much to blame as Maddie.’

  ‘Oh no. No, no, no,’ Harriet screamed at him. ‘I won’t have you blaming Michael. He’s not to blame. It’s her. She led him on. It could be anybody’s. Any one of the village lads. She’s always running to the village to see that Jenny. How do we know what she gets up to when she’s away from here?’

  Very slowly and deliberately, Frank said, ‘Maddie stays here.’ There was a moment’s silence in the room before he added with a heavy sadness, ‘It is Michael who must go away.’

  Now it was Maddie who cried, ‘No, oh no.’

  Frank came towards her and though he didn’t touch her and his eyes were shadowed with sorrow, there was understanding in his tone. ‘Look, it’d be better if he went away. At least, for a while.’

  ‘See how you’ve broken up this family.’ Harriet’s spiteful tone would not be silenced.

  For the first time in her life, Maddie’s resolve crumbled. Tears poured down her cheeks and she flung herself against Frank, begging, pleading hysterically. ‘Please, oh please, Mr Frank, don’t send him away. I’d sooner you sent me away. Not Michael.’

  ‘Let her live in the woods,’ Harriet said. ‘That’s where her sort belong.’

  Frank turned and glared at her. ‘If you don’t shut up, Harriet, it will be you leaving this house.’ The woman stared back, but, for the moment, she said no more.

  Frank stroked Maddie’s hair. ‘There, there, love. Don’t get so upset. It’s not good for the child. You must think of the bairn, now, you know. After all . . .’ Gently he released her limpet hold on him and looked down into her face. ‘It is my grandchild.’

  Fresh tears welled and she buried her face against him. ‘Oh Mr Frank, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  The argument wrangled on for several days. Michael did not want to go.

  ‘I don’t want to leave you, Maddie. Dad’s right. It is my fault just as much as yours. You’ll be sixteen very soon. In March. I can’t understand why we can’t get married then.’

  Bending over the tray of budding tulips, she asked in a small voice, ‘Do you really want to marry me, Michael, or are you just saying it now because – because of . . .?’

  Standing beside her in the warm greenhouse, he answered quickly, ‘Of course I want to marry you. It’s just a bit sooner than we’d thought, isn’t it? That’s all.’

  They’d never talked of marriage before, so even though she wanted to believe him with all her heart, Maddie couldn’t quite believe, deep inside her, that he wasn’t just saying it now because of the coming child. What was the phrase – a shotgun wedding? Well, no one was holding a shotgun to Michael’s head. He had no need to marry her.

  They worked on in silence. ‘I think,’ Maddie said. ‘Your dad’s worried that with me having no family, the authorities might start asking too many questions, about my age and that.’

  ‘I just don’t know how you’re going to manage all the work, if I do go away like Dad suggests, that’s all.’

  ‘I know.’

  The silence between them grew longer. There was nothing left to say – it had all been said – and there seemed no way round the problem.

  Michael straightened up and eased his back. ‘You go into the house, Maddie. You look so tired and there are dark shadows under your eyes. I don’t like to see you looking like that.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘No “buts”,’ he said firmly. He stepped in front of her and put his hands on her shoulders. He looked down into her upturned face. ‘Oh Tulip, I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world, but I think it would be best if I did go.’

  ‘No, please, Michael. Please don’t leave me.’ She clung to him again, desperately, not caring now who saw them.

  Gently he disentangled himself from her clinging arms, but held her hands between his own. ‘I must. But I will come back. I promise you faithfully, I will come back.’

  Tears blurred her vision as she pulled away from him and stumbled blindly out of the greenhouse, quite forgetting in her misery to open and close the door carefully so that she did not cause a sudden rush of cold air, uncaring, for once, about her precious flowers.

  She did not go into the house. She could not face Frank’s worried expression nor the glee in Harriet’s eyes. Instead she went out of the gate, into the lane and turned towards the village, but halfway along she took the fork in the road that led to the woods belonging to Mayfield Park. She met no one and was thankful. Sobbing, she ran on and on until she came to the edge of the trees. Gasping for breath she leant against a trunk for a moment but then plunged into the leafy shadows. Mindless of the briars scratching her legs and tearing at her clothes, she crashed her way through the undergrowth until she came to the clearing.

  The bed of tulips that grew year after year without, so far as Maddie knew, any tending showed nothing now of the colourful display that would be there in three months’ time. Now the ground was cold and hard and bare.

  Maddie flung herself down where the golden flowers would bloom, digging her fingers into the ground. She rested her head on her arm and cried until exhaustion overtook her.

  She didn’t see a figure amongst the trees, who stood uncertainly, watching her weep.

  Twenty-Eight

  ‘But where can she be?’

  ‘I thought she’d come into the house. She was looking so tired,’ Michael, facing his father, spread his hands. ‘I told her to come in and I’d finish off in the greenhouse.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  ‘Just after two.’

  Frank turned to Harriet. ‘Did she come in?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘Not that I saw.’

  ‘Nick? Have you seen her?’

  ‘No, Mr Frank. And I’ve looked all round the outhouses. Even . . .’ He cast a sly look towards Michael. ‘Even the hay shed.’

  ‘She might have gone to see Jenny, Dad,’ Michael sug
gested.

  ‘That’s a thought. I’ll go . . .’

  ‘No, I’ll go. I can be there in five minutes on my bike.’

  Half an hour later Michael returned with a breathless Jenny, who had run all the way alongside him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Her eyes were wide and fearful.

  ‘Hasn’t she told you?’ Harriet feigned surprise. ‘I thought you’d have been the first to know. I thought you were like sisters.’

  ‘Told me what?’ Poor Jenny’s glance was going from one to the other, her voice frantic now. ‘Tell me? What’s happened to her?’

  Harriet bent and thrust her face close to the girl’s. ‘She’s got herself pregnant, that’s what.’

  The words were said harshly, without a vestige of feeling or understanding and the woman smiled maliciously as Jenny’s open mouth formed a horrified, ‘Oh no.’ But at least Jenny didn’t need to ask who was the father of Maddie’s child, for her glance went straight to Michael.

  Frank’s deep voice intervened. ‘Do you know where she might have gone, love?’

  ‘She was very upset when she left me,’ Michael said. ‘I – I’d just told her that I thought it best if I did go away for a while . . .’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘We thought she might have come to you?’ Frank went on, but as Jenny shook her head, he asked, ‘Do you think she would go back to the Home?’

  Now the shake of her head was vehement. ‘She rather die than go back there . . .’ And then realizing what she’d said, the girl clapped her hand over her mouth with a little squeak and tears filled her eyes.

  Frank put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Don’t worry, love. We’ll find her.’

  Maddie roused to the sound of soft and gentle singing, like the crooning of a lullaby. She blinked, rubbed her eyes and sat up and then she blinked again, this time in surprise. Sitting on the opposite side of the tulip bed was a woman. A pretty woman with long, curling fair hair. She wasn’t looking at Maddie but at the ground, her fingers gently pull out a stray dead weed and then patting the earth as if she were willing the blooms to sprout up under her touch. Maddie held her breath, not wanting to break the spell of the pale winter sunlight shining through the trees on to the woman’s hair, casting a golden halo around her head. She looked up and Maddie stared straight into her blue eyes. Slowly, Maddie let out her breath, yet, still, she dare not speak even though the singing had now faded away. The woman’s eyes were looking at her and yet they didn’t really seem to be seeing her. There was a vacant look in them. No, Maddie decided, that wasn’t quite fair. It was more a dreamy expression, as if the woman were lost in a world of her own; an imaginary world that, to her, was far more real than life around her.