The Secret Orphan

by Glynis Peters

  ‘Are you drunk, Susie? Put that glass down. I thought it was lemonade?’ Elenor said and picked up Susie’s glass. She sniffed at the contents. Titch grinned.

  ‘Did you put something in her drink Titch?’

  ‘So what? Lighten up a bit and enjoy the night.’

  Susie gave a horrified look at her glass and then to Elenor.

  ‘I never knew, I swear.’

  Elenor turned to say something to Titch but she’d disappeared, and Elenor felt it just as well.

  Furious, Elenor watched Dottie call the band leader to the edge of the stage. The band leader clapped his hands and called for attention and all eyes turned his way.

  ‘It appears we have a local singer in our midst whom, and I quote, “sings like an angel to her cows”. Now I’ve not heard this for myself, but I also understand she has been in a few shows in Coventry before the war. I’d like to invite our very own Elenor Cardew to the stage.’

  Whistles and applause thudded around the room and an embarrassed Elenor glared at Dottie.

  ‘What did you do that for? I’m in no mood for goodness’ sake.’

  Dottie grabbed her by the hand and tugged her to her feet.

  ‘Lose the mood. We get to hear you sing all the time, give these guys something to take with them when they go back to barracks. A happy memory.’

  Cheers rang out as Susie and Dottie pushed her forward. The clarinettist helped her up the steps and onto the stage. She felt her face burn with embarrassment, but she also tingled with excitement. It had been years since she’d stepped onto a stage and sung to an audience, but now she looked out at the eager faces, she wanted nothing more. Then she remembered Jackson was in the room and her nerve left her. She went to walk away but the bandleader thought she was about to suggest a song and moved closer. There was no way off the stage without embarrassing herself even more. She whispered her song choice when a man called out from the audience.

  ‘What about the one about a sparrow in a square?’

  Laughter rang out and Elenor giggled. She nodded to the band and the first few notes of ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkley Square’ shushed the room and slowly people moved with the tune around the dance floor. It gladdened her heart to see such love and affection under one roof. Although her hands trembled as she held onto the microphone, her voice was steady and clear. At the end of the song the roar of approval and calls for more deafened her. She went to walk away but soon realised she had to satisfy her audience with another song. Three songs later, and after a joint rendition of ‘Roll out the Barrel’, she relented to one last song. Susie offered her up a glass of water and she took a sip.

  ‘Sing your favourite, the way you sing it is beautiful,’ Susie said.

  As Elenor handed back her glass, she risked a glance in the direction of where she’d seen Jackson standing with his friends. To her disappointment in his place stood another pilot with his arm around Titch. The clapping audience urged her to sing an encore, and she moved to the band leader, explained she liked to sing ‘All the Things You Are’, with a slow, soft rhythm and he picked up on her key.

  A hush fell around the room within the first few lines, and Elenor allowed her voice to soar with emotion. She sang her message to Jackson loud and clear. He was her promised kiss, someone to warm her in winter, and he reminded her of her most precious things. She wanted him to hold her and be hers in one divine moment. The haunting notes of the soft clarinet bled into her soul and Elenor allowed the words of the song to fall from her lips with a passion she had never experienced. She let it express her love for the man who’d relit a flame which burned deep inside. Elenor became aware all childlike feelings had fled, and Jackson had drawn out the woman she suppressed.

  When the last note dwindled away she received the applause, drew a breath and re-joined her friends.

  ‘You were brilliant, Elenor. That last song made the hairs on my arms stand to attention. They love you, look at ’em trying to get a chance to speak with you. Did you see your man?’ Susie said and jumped around with great excitement.

  ‘Stand still, you’re worse than Rose at Christmas,’ Elenor said and laughed at her friend.

  ‘Bleedin’ ’ell. You sang that for someone. Made me tear up,’ Titch said.

  ‘It was beautiful,’ Dottie said and moved closer to Tom. ‘The words were lovely.’

  ‘Shame your man isn’t here,’ said Susie. ‘He missed a treat.’

  ‘I have no man, and so long as you all enjoyed the song, I’m happy,’ Elenor said and placed a restraining hand on Susie’s shoulder to stop her jumping up each time she saw a Canadian airman walk into the room.

  She spent most of the remaining time dodging waist grabbers and cheek kissers who declared their love for her in loud, slurred voices. By the end of the evening, the thrill of singing on stage was still with her, but there was also a stab of sadness. She could not see one Canadian uniform in the hall and it meant only one thing: they’d been called back to their camp taking with them her opportunity to apologise to Jackson.

  Spilling out of the hall with the crowd, Susie and Elenor took a slow walk to Susie’s home, where she was informed Rose was sound asleep and no bother. Susie stayed home with her sister and said she’d bring Rose home after breakfast.

  Elenor walked on for the next five minutes to the farm with Dottie and Tom.

  ‘You’re all right about it, Elenor? I’ll stay home if not,’ Dottie said.

  ‘Yes, go. Be together. Goodness knows we need time to enjoy ourselves. Night, and Dottie, take your time tomorrow. Have the morning off.’

  She watched them walk hand in hand towards the cottage and a stab of envy hit her.

  Seth heard her approach the door and barked from inside the house.

  ‘Hello you,’ she said, and let him out into the fields, where he ran from one side to the other sniffing out rabbits. He returned every minute or so to check upon her. A drop in temperature made her shiver and while Seth still raced around on the top field she slipped inside for her cardigan. For once she wasn’t tired and decided to look at the stars for a while. She climbed onto the fence and perched on the top watching the dog chase a rabbit. The tune of her last song came to her and knowing she was alone she gave into the urge to sing it once more. With no one within earshot she didn’t hold back. Seth raced to the fence and gave an excited bark, jumping up at the fence.

  ‘Calm down lad, it’s only me.’ She climbed down and went to the gate to let him back into the yard.

  ‘I think it’s me he’s barking at. You were busy singing and didn’t hear me arrive.’

  From behind her, Elenor heard Jackson’s unmistakable accent and deep gravelled voice. Hardly daring to move, she clung to her cardigan and pulled it tight around her. Inhaling and catching the scent of his sandalwood soap, she closed her eyes, then swung around to face him. She took in his masculinity. He had a power over her she couldn’t explain and she trembled.

  Fight, Elenor, don’t cave in, he’s an untouchable, and he’s a pilot from another country. He’ll die and let you down.

  Her mind rampaged with words of defensive encouragement. When she opened her mouth, she’d pulled up a drawbridge of emotional protection.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here at this time of night?’ she demanded and immediately chided herself for sounding such an old maid.

  Jackson took a step backwards and Elenor’s heartbeat troubled her. It gained speed at the thought he was about to walk away, but the innocent girl in her didn’t know what to do. She was about to barrage him with another set of questions when he interrupted her thoughts.

  ‘I heard you sing in the hall and couldn’t bear not to tell you how your words of that last song touched me. I was outside and about to leave …’

  Jackson stood tall and to attention, his relaxed body language of his previous visit carefully hidden. Elenor realised if he walked away now he would never return and the chance to let him into her life, even for one night, was dwindling. Seeing
him stand there, she knew there was no time to waste on starchy comments and taking yet another swipe at him with a spiteful tongue. He deserved better.

  ‘At ease Airman. I won’t bite.’

  ‘Are you alone? I should leave,’ he said and turned to look at the house in darkness.

  Walking towards him, Elenor smiled.

  ‘I am but will invite you in for a nightcap just the same.’

  She gave a half turn and held out her hand. He took it and Elenor shook off all thoughts of the future. She wanted to embrace the present and bathe in its promise of a pleasant few hours.

  Chapter 41

  June 1941

  Sweetheart. Honey. My girl. The words once alien to Elenor now changed her life – her identity. At nearly twenty-one, Elenor had embraced the love of a man who had returned the love, allowing her to trust him throughout their lovemaking.

  Jackson had confessed his nerves but proved to be a gentle lover. A fleeting pang of a guilty conscience filtered away with each kiss or a stroke of his hand.

  With coffee-scented breath he’d kissed her with such passion she could still feel the pressure after he’d gone. With concern for her reputation he’d slipped away before Rose returned home. And now, two months later, Elenor’s busy days on the farm filled the hours but not her desires. She wanted the comfort of her man, to be held in his reassuring arms, and to listen to the beat of his heart as she laid her head across his chest. She wanted their last few precious hours repeated time after time, but his duty prevented him from visiting Tre Lodhen. She’d received one hastily scribbled note following their night together, and she kept it close, reading it each day before she slept. He’d simply written, I have your song in my heart, and she understood his message. It was a lifetime of letters if he never made it back on British soil.

  Each time she heard the thud of a bomb or the distinctive sound of enemy planes, she braced herself for the day a message would come her way. Jackson had promised to make sure word got to her if anything happened to him.

  Every night she leaned against the tree she’d once swung on as a child and would lift her head skyward wondering which aeroplane took her lover overseas. She was glad she never knew, and she rarely counted them out, for when she did, she dared not count them back home. The nights were the worst, they were her lonely times. Not like the loneliness of her past, but the loneliness of the new future promised to Elenor. Her nights were her burden as May gave way to June.

  During the day she had people to talk with and it helped the days feel less drawn out.

  The German POW workers gave her no trouble and their captors watched over them ensuring they gave no cause to fear their presence. Every day they called hello, but she only gave a simple nod. She could not shake off the nagging truth; they were the enemy. Their compatriots were a threat to Jackson’s life. She needed a project to take her mind off hatred, and get used to the idea the men were around until the end of war.

  Elenor approached the sergeant in charge of the prisoners to ask for assistance with the whitewashing of the walls of the front room, and help moving the furniture. Two prisoners were selected and Ron watched over them, although Elenor often found him with one eye on Susie when the girl took them sustenance, and the POWs were entertained by Titch more often than Elenor liked.

  Once the front room was given an overhaul, Elenor’s next project was Susie’s room, and she had her bed moved in with Rose.

  She’d invested in a piano for Rose to complete the front room, and arranged for it to be delivered whilst Rose was at school. The day had arrived, and the POWs pushed it around the room until she was satisfied of where she wanted it to stay. Elenor couldn’t wait to see Rose’s face.

  Seth announced her arrival, and Elenor closed the front room door just as the back door burst open.

  ‘I’m home,’ Rose called out and slammed the door shut.

  ‘So I hear. Have a good day?’ Elenor said and stepped into the kitchen.

  She prepared a glass of milk and an apple and placed the plate onto the table. Rose washed her hands at the sink and sat at the table swinging her legs. Elenor could see something worried her and with her arms folded, waited patiently for Rose to confide in her. She never had to wait long.

  ‘Sort of. Not really. We had to write about our parents today. I wrote down Mummy and Daddy were dead, but Mr Drake said that it wasn’t enough.’

  She took a sip of milk.

  ‘I told him, it’s all I’ve got. I think you might hear from him. Sorry. I tried not to be rude, but he said I was.’

  Rose looked so forlorn, and at seven years old, she should never have been subjected to such a question. Especially when the master was fully aware of her orphan status. Elenor pushed her snack towards her.

  ‘I’ll explain you were telling the truth. Don’t fret darling. When you’ve finished, I need you to help run the duster over the front room furniture. The work upstairs is creating dust everywhere. We can’t expect Susie to do it all.’

  ‘Mm, mm, yes,’ Rose said and chomped into her apple.

  Elenor marvelled at how well-behaved Rose was; she rarely had to speak to her about her behaviour. Listening to people in the village who’d taken in evacuees, Elenor knew how lucky she was to have an obedient child under her roof. Clambering down from her chair, Rose tossed the apple core into the pigswill bucket, and snatched up a duster. Elenor watched her push open the front room door and waited.

  ‘For me?’

  Rose peered from around the door, and her grin spread from ear to ear. Elenor shook her head.

  ‘No, for me,’ she said.

  ‘You fibber, you can’t play a tune,’ Rose said and giggled.

  ‘Yes, it is for you. Go, practise. It’s been too long since you played.’

  A hush from upstairs fell when the first notes of a practice tune sounded, a tune Elenor recognised from when Rose first learned to play. Susie called down from the top of the stairs.

  ‘Is that her? She’s a little star.’

  ‘You haven’t heard anything yet. You wait,’ Elenor replied.

  Chapter 42

  Papers piled high on her desk, each one read and studied time and time again. Elenor sighed. Finding Rose’s identity papers or any form of paperwork acknowledging her existence had reached a dead end. Elenor’s next quest was to decide whether to register Rose as her adopted daughter.

  She’d not spoken to Rose about formally adopting her and decided to wait until told it was possible. She glanced at her watch; it was time to leave for her appointment with her new solicitor in St Columb Major. There were so many things she needed to attend to in order to secure Rose’s future at Tre Lodhen.

  As she headed to her bedroom, a loud bang rang out from Rose’s room. Male voices growled out what she could only assume were German curses. Ron also swore, and his words she recognised loud and clear. She marched into the room.

  ‘What they said is neither here nor there, but I’d ask you not to use language like that in my house, thank you,’ she reprimanded him, and he had the courtesy to blush and apologise.

  ‘What happened?’ She looked at a photograph frame lying on the floor and stooped to pick it up.

  ‘Pair of clumsy ars … idiots, knocked into the cabinet when shiftin’ this wardrobe,’ Ron said, hitching his shoulder towards the POWs.

  ‘Accidents happen. It’s not broken. I’ll keep it safe in my room. It’s Rose’s parents, and it’s all she has left of them. She looks like her mother,’ she said. Ron nodded.

  One of the POWs leaned in for a closer look and frowned.

  ‘Pleaze, me?’ he said and took it from Elenor’s hand.

  ‘The glass is not broken, look,’ Elenor said, slowly and in the hope he understood as she watched him stare at the photograph.

  He nodded, looked back at the photograph and frowned again, then gave a smile.

  ‘Gut,’ he said and handed it back.

  Back in her room Elenor looked over the frame for damage and no
ticed a small splintered section. She slid her nail across it and made a note to smooth it over. As she did, she spotted a small white fleck inside the hollow frame. She eased it to the surface with her fingernail and saw it was a piece of paper. Another glance at her watch told her it was time to leave and once downstairs she placed the photograph on her desk for when she returned.

  The appointment with the solicitor was a favourable one. He told her that under the circumstances with Rose, he could move things forward with regard to getting her official papers reinstated and would begin the adoption process.

  Hooking her coat on the hanger, Elenor walked to the front room when she noticed a movement on the stairs. The POW who’d asked to see the photograph that morning, sat motionless on the top stair, listening to the music coming from the front room. His face had a pained expression, almost a haunted look. Elenor gave a gentle smile – she wondered if he’d got a daughter who’d played the piano back in Germany. It was easy to forget they were no different from the men who’d left her village, leaving behind families to fight the enemy.

  ‘Good?’ she whispered.

  He stared down at her with a surly expression, stood up and walked back to continue with his work.

  She shrugged and pushed open the door allowing the music to fill their home. The noise from upstairs stopped, and when Rose hit the last note applause rang out from everyone upstairs.

  Rose came out from the room and with a cheeky grin gave a curtsey. The men laughed.

  The German who’d ignored Elenor earlier took a step forward, but Ron prevented him with an outstretched arm.

  ‘Stay there, sunshine,’ he commanded.

  With a smart salute, Ron addressed Rose.

  ‘Well little lady, you are one clever little girl. I wouldn’t know where to start when it comes to reading music.’

  Rose giggled.

  ‘I find the beginning is the best place, it flows better.’

  ‘Rose Sherbourne, don’t be so cheeky,’ Elenor said.

  ‘Nah, she’s all right. Like my nephew. Same age I reckon.’