by Tania Crosse
‘Well, maybe you and I could go one day,’ Bob suggested. ‘Wait till next year, mind, when the days are longer. We can get the train.’
‘Oh, Bob, that’d be marvellous! I’d love to go again. And look. I’ve been wearing the necklace you gave me.’
Bob nodded, and then Meg watched him saunter off into the dusk, evidently with some task to take care of before the evening closed in completely. The promised return to the seaside with Bob would be wonderful. She felt she would dream of it all winter long! Meanwhile, she was happy to relate every detail of her day to her friends.
‘Bloody lucky you, going to the seaside,’ Esme sneered in her ear later on.
Meg spun round, eyes blazing. ‘Well, I’m sorry you’re so jealous,’ she hissed back. Esme glared at her, and then stalked off. Meg stared after her, bewildered. But why should she care about yet another nasty remark from Esme who nobody liked much anyway? She certainly wasn’t going to let it spoil what had turned into such a wonderful day!
Later on, Meg was presented with a huge birthday cake decorated with seventeen candles. She’d just blown them out when Mrs C and Nana May appeared in the servants’ hall, Bob following them in carrying Mr W’s precious gramophone.
‘I thought it was about time we all had a bit of fun together,’ Mrs C announced with a broad smile. ‘Set it down there, would you, Bob? And put on something jolly. A charleston, perhaps? You know how it works, don’t you?’
Everyone in the room was happily surprised. This was a first, but then times were changing.
Nana May declared that her old legs weren’t up to such frivolity, but Clarrie joined in whole-heartedly. Everyone fell about with laughter as Mrs C and Meg tried to remember the dances Mrs Sofia had attempted to teach them, and pass the moves onto the others.
After about half an hour, much as she would have loved to stay on at her dearest Meg’s little party, Clarrie decided it was appropriate for her and Nana May to retire and leave the staff to continue to enjoy themselves on their own. But oh, how she’d enjoyed herself! And to see the happiness glowing on Meg’s face had filled her with joy.
The younger people danced on until their feet were aching. Bob found some waltzes among the records to slow down the tempo. Neither Ralph nor Esme had been seen all evening, and Mrs Phillips had gone home by then, so while Jane and Louise partnered each other, Meg danced the last waltz in Bob’s arms. It was only as the last notes died away, that Ralph popped his head round the door to say goodnight.
‘Oh, have I missed all the fun?’ he smiled ruefully. ‘I didn’t realise you were having a party.’
Meg bit her lip. ‘Nor did we. Mrs C surprised us all at the last minute. Oh, I’m so sorry, Ralph. I should’ve come down to fetch you. I just didn’t think. And after the lovely day you gave me.’
But Ralph gave a casual shrug. ‘Not to worry. I’ve got two left feet, anyway. Goodnight, all. And sleep tight, birthday girl.’
He was gone in an instant, leaving Meg feeling mortified. Especially when Bob told her that Ralph was actually a good dancer. Meg promised herself that she’d apologise to Ralph again in the morning, but now she was ready to climb the stairs to bed. But a little later, as she listened to Jane’s deep breathing in the other bed, she found herself unable to get to sleep. The events of the day kept swirling about in her head. Her birthday the previous year had been so different, a lonely affair when her world had caved in and she scarcely wanted to carry on with her life. She’d lost her family and her home, and more recently her beloved Mercury. Nothing could ever change that. But now she had something new. She had the companionship, and dare she say it, the affection of this wonderful family. She’d even come to like Ralph, if she was honest with herself, and had very much appreciated the day they’d spent together.
And visiting the farm? Well, it had saddened her, it was true. But at the same time, it was gratifying to find it was in such good hands. But it had also caused that spark of determination inside her to burst into flame. The plan still smouldered in her heart, the very core of her being. One day… one day… and finally she drifted into a deep and peaceful sleep.
In the room below, Clarissa, too, was finding sleep elusive. The evening she had spent with Meg had made her feel like a mother again, and it had set her soul free. If that joy never came her way again, she would cherish it in her heart until the day she died.
Twenty-Eight
Esme suddenly breezed in through the kitchen door, duster and polish in hand, looking somewhat pleased with herself.
‘I just saw Mr W,’ she announced. ‘He said he’d like some refreshment. He’s in the study.’
Meg raised an eyebrow. Mr W didn’t usually like to be disturbed when he was working. But she supposed that he had asked for something, after all.
‘Did he say what he wanted?’
‘No, he didn’t.’
Well, that wasn’t very helpful, was it? But if she went in to ask him, that’d mean interrupting him twice, which wouldn’t do. So what would he normally have at this hour of the day? She plumped for tea, taken with lemon rather than milk. And one of Mrs Phillips’s homemade macaroons.
She set the tea tray and then carried it the few steps along the corridor to the study, being careful not to let the tea slop out of the spout. Knocking gently on the door, she hoped she wouldn’t be met with a grunt of irritation. She wasn’t. Mr W’s reply was quite affable. When Meg entered the room, she found him seated at the desk with his back to her. The expression on his face when he turned to her was one of mild surprise which turned to twinkling delight as his eyes fell on the tray.
‘Ah, Meg, my dear, some sustenance!’ he grinned at her. ‘How did you know? Oh, and my favourite biscuit, too, I see. You must have read my mind.’
Meg had to catch her breath. Mr W might have been lost in concentration, but he wouldn’t have forgotten ordering some refreshment! Meg managed to contain her seething anger as she placed the tray on a side table away from the detailed work on the desk. Esme had tried to trick her, hadn’t she? Trick her into interrupting Mr W and getting herself into trouble. Not serious trouble, but it was the second time Esme had done such a thing. How could the girl be so horrible, and more to the point, why?
Meg screwed down her emotions as she returned to the kitchen. She could cheerfully strangle Esme. But she wasn’t going to give the other girl the satisfaction of witnessing her anger. No. She’d turn the tables round instead.
‘Well, Mr W was delighted with that,’ she declared lightly as she went back into the kitchen. ‘Now, where was I?’ she questioned with a contented smile.
As she turned away, she glimpsed the look on Esme’s face. It reminded her of a storm cloud, and she suppressed a satisfied grin.
*
The autumn wind snarled about Meg’s ears and she pulled the knitted bobble hat further down on her head. She was on her way down to the pigs with a bucket of kitchen leftovers: potato peelings, discarded outer leaves of cabbage and suchlike. And she could see Ralph was on his way towards the kitchen garden.
Although still considered his father’s domain, he was helping Gabriel more and more, and there was always work to be done, even though they were heading into the winter months. Root vegetables had to be dug up and stored, brassicas nurtured and certain salad items cultivated in the greenhouses. To the uninitiated, winter appeared a quiet time in the gardens, but in fact, just as with farming, the opposite was true. Ralph had been helping Meg to lift the mangolds she’d planted in the fields where they used to keep sheep, and store the swollen roots before the hard frosts set in. They were already using the turnips, and soon they’d start feeding the flatpoles to the livestock while they were still fresh.
Ralph must have noticed her as well, and stopped to wait for her. Meg reflected that not so long ago, she would have shunned his company, but now she felt her spirits lift. For a day or two, they’d done little more than pass the time of day together, and now she wouldn’t mind having a longer chat with him
. She’d come to recognise that her opinion of him had been coloured by circumstances, and that she’d misjudged him. Twinges of guilt pulled at her conscience, and she wished they could turn back the clock. That wasn’t possible, of course, but the least she could do was to be pleasant to him in the future.
‘That for the pigs?’ he asked, nodding at the pail as she caught up with him. ‘Let me take it. You don’t want to get your parlourmaid clothes dirty.’
Meg blushed slightly to think that once again Ralph had noticed what she was wearing. She’d quickly slipped her feet into her wellington boots, but the hem of her smart serge skirt evidently showed beneath her old duffel coat.
‘Thank you,’ she smiled as he took the bucket from her, the tingle as his strong, brown hand brushed against her fingers taking her by surprise. ‘It didn’t seem worth changing just to bring down the kitchen slops,’ she told him with a forced shrug.
‘Keep you busy in the house, don’t they?’ Ralph observed as she fell into step beside him. ‘You’d rather be outside though, wouldn’t you?’
‘Oh, well, I quite enjoy being parlourmaid,’ she answered truthfully as they reached the pigsties. ‘And I’m still doing some small-scale farming, aren’t I? So in a way, I’ve got the best of both worlds. I’ll always love the animals most, though,’ she sighed wistfully, leaning over the low wall as Ralph tipped the contents of the bucket into the feeding troughs and the sows immediately poked their snouts into it, snorting loudly.
Ralph gave a light laugh, and Meg was astonished to find the sound so pleasing. ‘Silly old things,’ he said, and then, ‘D’you think you’ll ever go back to farming full-time?’
Meg had to check herself. Of course she did! But she didn’t want it getting back to Mr W or Mrs C. ‘Maybe. One day,’ she answered enigmatically, and went back to contemplating the pigs.
‘And… how are you feeling now?’ Ralph dared to venture after a moment or two.
Meg glanced at him sideways. ‘You mean about Mercury?’ Her voice dropped of its own accord as he nodded. Nothing more had been discovered as to Mercury’s death. Meg had been trying to push it to the back of her mind, but she suddenly felt that talking about it might help. ‘Well, on my birthday when you took me to the seaside that really cheered me up. But whenever I think of poor Mercury, it still makes me so angry, I can barely cope with it,’ she replied, aware that she’d begun to shake. ‘It’s hard enough when a pet you love dies of natural causes, but when somebody deliberately kills it… At least when my parents died, I had Nathaniel Green to blame. I don’t know if that helped, but it gave me somewhere to direct my anger. But until they find out who poisoned Mercury, which seems unlikely now, I’ve got nowhere for my anger to go. So all I’ve got now is a deep emptiness inside me.’
She realised she’d been staring blindly at the gobbling pigs, and that beside her, Ralph had been doing the same.
‘Well, I know it’s a bit of a cliché, but if there’s anything I can do, you only have to say,’ he said huskily.
Meg met his glance with a rueful smile. She was astounded at how she’d felt able to describe her feelings to Ralph. Everyone had been so kind and understanding – bar Esme, of course. But why, leaning over the pigsty, she’d suddenly felt able to unburden herself so fully to Ralph, she didn’t know.
But she was infinitely glad that she had.
*
‘Ah, Meg. There you are. I spoke to Peregrine on the phone earlier today.’
Meg blinked in surprise as she carried in the first course, and placed it on the table. ‘Oh, yes, Mr Wig?’
‘He was telling me how impressed he was with your drawing.’
‘Oh, well, I haven’t done much recently. I haven’t found I’ve had a lot of time. But maybe I will during the winter.’
‘I’m sure that’d be good for you. But would you mind fetching some of your work for us to look at?’
‘What, now, Mr Wigmore? At table?’
‘I won’t tell if you won’t,’ Wig joked with a conspiratorial wink. ‘While we sup this delightful soup, why don’t you retreat to your room and bring us some fine ammunition for our conversation?’
Flushed with astonishment, Meg hurried up to the top of the house and the bedroom she shared with Jane. She kept her artwork in the bottom drawer. Quickly, she sifted through the sheets of paper until she found some of her favourites.
In seconds, the ache in her throat as she gazed into Mercury’s trusting eyes swelled to a raging pain, and she had to choke it back. There wasn’t time for sadness. She’d be needed to clear away the empty soup dishes in a few minutes, and prepare to serve the main course.
And so, forcing her sorrow aside, she ran back down the stairs and along to the dining room. Finishing his soup, Wig got to his feet, dabbing at his mouth with his napkin.
‘Spread them out on the side table,’ he instructed. ‘Don’t want to spill anything on them.’
‘Thank you.’ Meg suddenly felt quite embarrassed, and was happy to leave Mr W, Mrs C and Nana May to peruse her drawings while she went about her duties.
‘Well, I can see what Perry means,’ Wigmore nodded as Meg brought in the main course. ‘Not that I profess to know a lot about art. But I reckon you’ve captured the movement of the animals very well, and your plant paintings are exquisite. Now, Perry’s coming up to London for an exhibition next week. What I’d like to do is take some of these for him to have a good look at. This one, and… that one, I think.’
Meg’s heart kicked in her chest. They were her two very favourites of Mercury. No, Mr W couldn’t have them! And yet she didn’t want to appear ungrateful for his attentions.
Her emotions must have shown on her face.
‘I can see they’re very precious to you,’ Wig said gravely. ‘But I will deliver them personally into Perry’s hands, and I know he’ll guard them with his life.’
Meg bit her lip. His voice rang with sincerity, and she supposed she should be able to trust Mr Peregrine. So when Mr W raised a pleading eyebrow at her, she reluctantly agreed.
*
‘Hmm.’ Wigmore’s grunt was a deep rumble as he flicked the broadsheet in his hands, and Meg was aware of the tense frown that furrowed his forehead.
‘Is anything the matter, Mr W?’
Wig glanced over the top of his reading spectacles. ‘Well, young Meg,’ he began tentatively. ‘D’you remember our conversation some while ago about when we made shell cases at the factory during the last war?’
Meg felt her lips tighten. ‘Yes, I do. And I’m still of the same opinion.’
‘Well, you might start to change your mind, even if doesn’t feel morally right. You’re a bright girl. You know how Mussolini annexed Abyssinia last year, way before you came to live with us?’
Meg pursed her lips. The memory of her dad, frowning at the newspaper, just as Mr W was doing now, sprang painfully into her mind. ‘Yes, I remember my father mentioning it. I think I was too young at the time, though, to think much about it.’
Wig nodded. ‘Yes, you probably were. But I’m sure you remember that this spring, Mussolini and our friend Herr Hitler bombed Guernica at Franco’s behest, basically? Even though they’d signed a treaty with Britain and France that none of us would interfere? Well, the situation isn’t going away. There’s another very concerning article about it in the paper today. We’re developing our air force, and so’s France, but it’s reported it’s nothing compared to the rearmament Germany’s undertaking. It’s all very, very worrying.’
‘Some people say we could be heading for another war, don’t they?’ Meg said cautiously. She’d been trying not to think about it on top of everything else that had happened.
‘They do indeed, my dear Meg. And God knows, I hope they’re wrong. But the way Hitler’s persecuting the Jews in his own country and wanting to interfere elsewhere, I wonder where he’s going to stop. We might have to go to war to defend ourselves, let alone anyone else. And if we do, I will be involved in making arms again.
I do hope you understand that, Meg. It really is lovely having you here living with us, and I’d hate anything to spoil it.’
Meg met his earnest gaze. No, she couldn’t understand how nations could go to war. What was the point in killing each other when they’d be far better off trading and working with each other? But she’d read about the Hitler Youth Movement, and how this strange little man with the comical moustache was inspiring racial hatred among his countrymen. He seemed to be brainwashing them. How did you deal with someone like that? So, perhaps she did understand Mr W a little after all.
Twenty-Nine
Christmas 1937
‘It’s going to feel strange, not having Mr W and Mrs C and Nana May here over Christmas.’
‘Hark at you,’ Esme sniped back, ‘when it’s only your second year here. Think you know it all, don’t you?’
‘Well, perhaps it’s because, just like you, I’ve nowhere else to go,’ Meg retorted. ‘And I still reckon it’ll be odd with just the few of us rattling around in this big, empty house when Christmas is usually the time for family gatherings.’
‘Well, I can’t say I’ll miss having to cook a full Christmas dinner for all the family, and with every trimming imaginable,’ Mrs Phillips put in, nodding her head emphatically. ‘And I won’t have to bother with all that vegetarian malarkey. We can have us a nice relaxed meal together, and then I’ll probably take myself off home early. Not that I’ve got any other company but the cat, but it’ll be nice to put me feet up of an evening.’
‘Mrs C’s said Louise and me can have the whole of Christmas off to spend with our parents,’ Jane chimed in. ‘She said we can go as soon as everything’s done tomorrow.’
‘And not a moment sooner, my girl,’ Mrs Phillips cautioned her, at which Jane pulled a face. But only for a few seconds, so excited was she at the prospect of spending Christmas with her mum and dad.
‘Huh, lucky old you.’
Meg caught Esme’s snide remark but chose to ignore it. Why was it the housemaid always seemed to want to find fault with everything she or Jane said? She supposed she ought to feel some sympathy with Esme for never having known a proper family life, but really, the older girl took the biscuit!