It was the gown, the lovely soft rose pink silk, with full skirts and deeper pink flounces. She was embarrassed to be showing so much decolletage, but the other women in the room were, many of them, showing much more, so she squared her shoulders, smiled confidently, and held her head high.
'My precious one, you look like a duchess,' Richard declared, and Marigold dissolved into helpless giggles.
'If they only knew,' she murmured, watching the waiter bow almost double as he presented her with the menu.
That night their love making was more intense than usual, and Richard carried her to heights of ecstacy she'd never dreamed possible. When she thought they were both sated, exhausted and replete, the slightest touch would set her afire again, tingling with the need to hold him close, to meet his every demand with joy and delicious abandon. It was dawn before they fell into a contented slumber, wrapped in each other's arms, to awaken in the middle of the day and revel even more intensely in the toils of sweet desire, more poignant because later in the afternoon Richard had to return to his unit.
*
'My beloved Marigold,
'Your last letter finally caught up with me. We have been moving about such a lot, flying over different parts of the front. It was good of you to send the hamper. Thank you also for the books. There are often days when we cannot fly, and then time would hang heavily without them to read. The potted meat and sardines were much appreciated, and we are keeping the Christmas pudding for the day itself, when you may be sure I shall be thinking of you.
'Not that I don't think of you and long for you all the time, my darling, but it will be particularly sad not to be together on our first Christmas. And to celebrate the anniversary of our first meeting. Two years. Sometimes I feel I have known you for ever. Certainly I have always known you were there waiting for me. But let us hope that next Christmas we can be together, with our child, and for ever after that.
'Many thanks also for the coffee and chocolate you added. It is amazing how, when one cannot obtain something, one develops an insatiable craving for it. Harrods made a good selection with their hamper, and apart from the food the matches and soap are invaluable, neither being easy to obtain here. And when one does find some matches they are probably unusable because of the damp!
'I am so pleased you are happy with the Cranworths. They have been very good friends to us. You don't say whether you have heard from your mother? I am surprised, if she receives your letters, that she does not reply. She was brave enough to defy your father and come to our wedding.
'The situation here seems to have settled into a stalemate, with troops of both sides preparing defensive positions, and settling in for the winter into their "dug-outs", deep trenches which from all I hear are filled either with mud or water. The poor devils have to endure those conditions, in the freezing cold, for days on end. Flying, and driving the generals about, are far preferable occupations, so you can be thankful your brother and I are not down in those awful holes.
'In fact we move about quite a lot, and sometimes our quarters are large hotels, or even private chateaux. Quite luxurious compared with the poor devils in the trenches.
'I had a letter from Henry a week ago. He has just been posted to France. He implies, although from my own knowledge of Father I think it is more hope than true belief, that Father was displeased Mother threw us out without referring to him. Perhaps I should have been less impetuous and demanded to see him first, but I cannot help feeling it is all for the best. You are happier with Lexie than you would have been with the old folk, as Mother is so uncompromising.
'It will soon be Christmas. The country here is far from festive. Many of the people have left and gone further into France. I can see on my reconnaissance flights that the nearby villages on the far side have been devastated. They are deserted, often razed to the ground, with just a ruined church tower and a few stone walls as reminders of what they once were, thriving communities. Many of their people came across the border, fleeing from the Germans during the first weeks of the war. God knows what has happened to them. Many must have died by the wayside.
'All the barns and farm buildings are occupied by the troops, or their horses. This kind of war, with constant bombardment over a vast area, is not the sort of warfare the cavalry know how to deal with. It seems strange that we are fighting with men on horseback, as has been done for thousands of years, as well as the latest weapon, my flying machines which are so very new.
'They are not much use for fighting, though. We cannot get near enough to enemy planes. Pistols are not very effective at such long range, nor when you are flying in one direction and aiming in another, trying not to hit the wings or propellors.
'There is much debate about our carrying machine guns. It must come, if we can solve the problem of how to aim them. We already carry grenades to toss out at suitable targets, and fire bombs, and darts, but none of them are very efficient. Neither is the rifle our observers carry.
'One of our squadron actually chased a German pilot to the ground, forcing him down and landing himself. He cornered the poor fellow in a barn and brought him back in triumph.
'Soon we may have faster planes, able to fly above seventy miles an hour. Though this varies with the wind, much faster going out, sometimes desperately slow coming back with the wind against us, as it invariably is. We call it the "uphill run home."
'It's neither foggy nor raining at the moment, so we can fly today, and I must finish. I'm flying a Henry Farman at present, but hope to get my hands on a BE8 soon, they are much superior.
'I am writing to you so much, can you please send me some more writing paper when next you send a parcel? That is something else unobtainable here. 'You are always in my thoughts, beloved. I need you, and praise God for giving you to me. Take excellent care of yourself and our baby. Perhaps I may be able to have some leave before you are confined. God bless you both,
'Your devoted
'Richard.'
*
'Dear Mother,
'As it is almost Christmas won't you forgive me, as least enough to write and tell me all is well with you?
'I have sent letters every week, but received no word from you. I realise you were ashamed of me, but I am sorry only for hurting you, not ever for loving Richard, as we had so little time together before he had to go to this dreadful war.
'How is Pa? I hope his headaches are getting better. Please beg him to forgive me. I love you both too, and hate not hearing from you.
'Give my love to Poppy and Ivy, and Lucy if you see her. I would like to write to Johnny, but have no address, and just pray he is not amongst the casualties.
'Will you let me send you something for Christmas? It will be almost the first time I can afford to, but Richard is so generous I have far more money than I need and would like to give you all something.
'I am always,
'Your loving daughter,
'Marigold Endersby.'
*
'Where's that dratted Ivy? Lizzie, have you seen her? She's never here when there's a job to do. She should have been home from school an hour ago, and I've all this shopping to carry back. I told her to meet me here and help me.'
'I thought 'er was ill,' Lizzie replied, turning away from the brightly lit shop window. 'Ain't that a smashin' 'at? Wish I could 'ave it.'
'What do you mean, ill? Where is she?'
' 'Er weren't at school terday.'
'She didn't say anything this morning. Do you think she could have fainted or something on the way? Where is she?'
'I'll goo an' ask our Sam.'
'Sam? Why should he know anything about where she is?' Poppy demanded, even more bewildered, but Lizzie had darted across the road and into Mr Potter's shop.
Before she could move on Sam appeared in the doorway, shrugging on his coat and pulling his cap firmly down on his head.
'Poppy? Lizzie says your Ivy might be ill. I 'aven't seen 'er. 'Er didn't come in fer any medicines.'
'Why
on earth should she? She hasn't got any money to pay for medicines.'
Sam gave her a strange look and was about to speak, but Poppy rushed on.
'Where can she be? She's so late, and it's dark, and – do you think it could be any of these men working on the camps? Could she have been up on the Chase picking these wretched plants of hers?'
' 'Ere, let me carry some o' yer bags. I shouldn't worry, there's nowt ter pick this time o' year.'
Poppy allowed him to take some of the shopping, and hurried on in front of him, almost running up the steep hill.
'I'll have to go and tell Mom. Oh, but it's nearly time for her to come home. I might miss her, I know she was going to get some more things on the way home.'
She fretted as they went, and didn't notice when Sam followed her into the kitchen and put the shopping down on the table. She bent to pat Scrap, who bounced eagerly towards her, his tail wagging furiously.
'Where's yer matches? I'll light the gas,' Sam offered. In the glow from the fire he turned on the gas taps and put a match to the mantle. It plopped noisily and then glowed steadily.
'I don't s'pose 'er'll 'ave come to any 'arm,' he said awkwardly, and as Poppy stood there, indecisively staring about her, he stepped across and tried to take her in his arms.
'Sam! Get off! What do you think you're doing?' she asked, startled. She backed away from him, an odd feeling in the pit of her stomach.
'I were just tryin' ter 'elp, gi' a bit o' comfort, like.' he muttered, turning a bright red. 'I likes yer, Poppy. Yer real pretty, an' I likes red 'air. Won't yer walk out wi' me on Sunday after Church? We could go an' see 'ow much o' the camp they've done.'
Poppy turned away, embarrassed. It was the first time a boy had asked her to walk out with him, and though she knew her parents wouldn't allow it, she felt flattered. Even though she didn't like Sam. She didn't want to walk out with him.
A wave of jealous fury swept suddenly and unexpectedly over her. She wanted a handsome, rich young man like Richard, not a clumsy oaf like Sam. She wanted someone to take her away from Hednesford, to give her the sort of life Marigold was now no doubt enjoying. Why didn't Marigold write to them? Was she too grand now she was married and had money and a motor car?
'Will yer, Poppy?'
She was recalled to the present as Sam came up behind her and put his arms round her, pulling her close against him. Suddenly she felt hot and uncomfortable, and his hands were sweaty as they grasped her own.
'Don't!' she gasped, but somehow he had twisted her round and she was clamped to him, face to face, and he was breathing down on her.
'Gi' us a kiss, Poppy! Just a kiss! There's no 'arm in a little kiss!'
His breath smelt of onions, and he was sweating profusely. As well as the revolting stale body odour he stank of nameless potions from the chemist's shop, which had been absorbed into his coat for many months past. Poppy struggled furiously but he was too big and strong for her.
'I wouldn't ever walk out with you, Sam Bannister!' she gasped, and as he bent his lips to hers she bit hard, and kicked out as he stepped back, yelping in pain and fury and disappointed masculine pride.
In the respite gained Poppy looked round for a weapon, and bent swiftly to grab the poker. Scrap tried a tentative growl, and finding it came out from his throat satisfactorily, repeated it with growing confidence as he approached Sam, stiff legged and bristling.
'Get out, and don't ever come back, or I'll tell Mr Potter!' Poppy threatened, sobbing now with shock and disgust.
Sam edged round the table, his eyes on the poker.
'All right, yer spiteful little cat! See if I'll carry yer shoppin' 'ome fer yer again!'
He went, aiming a kick at Scrap and slamming the door behind him. Poppy flopped onto the chair by the fire and hugged Scrap to her. Tears threatened, but she blinked them back. She thought once more of Ivy, and began to shake. What should she do? Where was the child? Could she find Mom, or would she be wasting her time. Mom could be in any of the shops in the High Street, or other roads nearby, and be home before Poppy could get to the Andrews', or search all the shops.
Fortunately she heard footsteps in the yard. For a moment she thought Sam was coming back, and she picked up the poker again, then she realised they were much lighter steps. Ivy was home.
*
Marigold slipped out of the house by herself. She had to get a very special Christmas present for Lexie. She took a cab to the bank in Colmore Row, where Richard had opened an account for her. Afterwards she went to one of the shops in the Great Western Arcade, where she'd seen a pretty fob watch a few days earlier.
She left the shop, the watch safely tucked away in her purse, and walked back towards St Philip's Churchyard. She was by the Blue Coat Schools when she heard someone calling her name. Startled, she looked up, and saw Ivy running towards her.
'Marigold, wait! Pleae wait for me!'
'Ivy! What are you doing here? Is Mom with you?' Marigold demanded, hugging Ivy fiercely to her. 'Oh, how I've missed you all!'
'I came on my own,' Ivy confessed. 'On the train. I saved up the pennies I earned running errands, until I had enough to pay for my ticket. I've wanted to see you for so long. I love you so much, Marigold. Pa won't let us even say your name!' she added more quietly.
'Did you get my letters?' Marigold asked.
'I've only seen one.'
'Well? What did they say? Why didn't someone answer it?'
'Pa – said he wouldn't read it,' Ivy hung her head. 'At least, I heard him shouting one night after we'd gone to bed, and that's what I think it was about. He spent days in bed afterwards, like he does after he's been angry.'
'I sent them to Mom!' Marigold said. 'Does she refuse to read them too?' She experienced a pang of mingled anger against her father, and distress that both he and her mother seemed to have rejected her.
'I found a bit of it, in the fire. The next morning. Most of it was too burnt to read, but this bit had floated out and was hidden under the tongs. I don't know if they read it. It had your address on, that's how I knew where you were.'
'Well, you came. Look, let's walk through to New Street, there's a refreshment room there where we can go and have a cup of tea and some cake. Would you like that?'
Ivy nodded eagerly, then paused.
'Are you rich enough to afford that, Marigold? As well as not having to go out to work?'
Marigold nodded, a lump in her throat. She thought briefly of how much Richard gave her each month, a vast sum which would have kept her whole family in comparative luxury. Most of it was still unspent, for her needs were few and she was not accustomed to buying anything but bare essentials.
'How is Mom managing, now both Johnny's and my money have stopped?' she asked.
Ivy shrugged. 'It's not so bad, I think. Poppy will get a job soon, and Mom says if she can afford it I can stay on at school as long as I like. I wish we lived here in Birmingham. There's a special art school here. I could go to that.'
'Do you still draw a lot?'
'I brought these for you,' Ivy said with a smile, and drew a roll of paper, carefully protected with a piece of cloth, from her deep pinafore pocket.
Marigold spread out the drawings and felt tears pricking her eyes. They were so lifelike! Then she looked more closely. They all had slightly odd expressions she had never before noticed. Her father, instead of whittling away at his animal carvings, which was how Ivy usually drew him, was staring into the fire. He seemed in some peculiar way sad and old. She couldn't see how Ivy had managed to convey this, but it was there. Her mother also looked old, far more so than when they had met at her wedding, and as she bent over some embroidery she screwed up her eyes so that she looked about to weep. Marigold could not bear to dwell on this thought, and passed on hastily to the next drawing.
Poppy stared out at her, looking cross and resentful, just as she did when things went wrong, and Marigold felt a wave of pity for her. There was a lost, forlorn look in her eyes even though her m
outh was twisted in anger.
Although she hadn't felt the same urge to escape, she knew how her younger sister fretted, and how hopeless she thought her chances were of getting away to a better life.
Johnny was handsome and brave in his army uniform, but there was a remoteness about the eyes which made him look afraid. And Lucy, clinging to his arm, looked smug, proud and possessive.
'These are wonderful, Ivy. Are they really for me to keep?'
'If you want.'
'I do. They're better than photographs. But there isn't one of you. Can you draw yourself?'
'There isn't a proper mirror,' Ivy said, grinning at her. 'I have to draw what I see, and there would be cracks across my face and spots where it's all flyblown. You wouldn't like that!'
Marigold laughed, but there was pain in her laughter.
'Come home with me, and after we've had dinner you can try using one of our mirrors. Will you have time to get home if you do that?'
Ivy nodded. 'Yes. I can be home before Mom gets back from work. Oh, Marigold, I didn't like coming without telling anyone, but I couldn't, or they'd have stopped me. Pa would be so cross if he found out.'
Marigold had been wondering whether she could use this opportunity to send some money home for her parents, but at these words she realised how impossible it would be to involve Ivy. She must find some other way of helping them. Perhaps, after a while, when the hurt they felt had dimmed, she would just go home. They would hardly turn her out of the house if she just went to visit one Sunday.
'Come on then,' she said briskly. 'I'll buy you some paper and charcoal on the way home. Perhaps you'll do one of Mrs Cranworth for me, if there's time?'
'Who's Mrs Cranworth?'
'My friend. I'm living with her while – while Richard's away.'
Lexie was delighted to meet Ivy, praising her daring in coming to visit Marigold. Ivy did a rapid sketch of the two of them, and shyly presented it Lexie for her approval.
Lexie looked at it in astonishment.
The Cobweb Cage Page 21