Is Geoffrey reliable? All that silly business playing the aristocrat and trying to put him in his place. Good heart though, with the boy. Not many take one of those on. And Audrey. Magnificent woman. That red hair and slender waist always stirred him more than was comfortable.
He’d need help with food storage, too. Each area needed a secret food storage facility. Not going to be easy. Geoffrey might be able to help, probably the best person, actually.
Sir Ronald’s stomach growled. His wife wanted to put them both on a diet. He didn’t consider himself fat, just well built. She was rather more solid than he’d like, though. Not like Audrey. Fine figure of a woman, that. He sighed.
He’d give Geoffrey a ring later and make sure he came to the office this time, official business and all that.
12
Sarah’s eyes fluttered and closed, finally. She looked frail under the blankets, sadly incomplete with only one long mound where there should be two. Never plump, she needed feeding up. Betty thought she’d ask Lady Audrey, generous soul that she was, for some extra bacon and stew meat rations, just until Sarah got some flesh back on her bones. They’d been ever so good to them up at the Manor when the news came through. They’d paid for her to get the train up to London. Derek and her had seen to the funeral and visited Sarah in hospital. They’d had to leave her there until she was well enough to travel. Derek, always on his way to somewhere else, asked Roy to bring her down and he’d come to see her in a few weeks. Of course Betty agreed to take her sister in and hadn’t bothered to ask Frank. What could he say? “Family is family,” Betty told him, even though she knew he hadn’t got any and couldn’t grasp the idea. Poor girl, however would she get on in life now?
The clock downstairs chimed nine. Another hour till the pub closed, although the landlord sometimes let a few regulars stay on. Would Frank be sloppy drunk or nasty drunk tonight? Sarah had spotted the bruises on Betty’s legs when the wind blew her skirt up yesterday in their little back garden. Sarah hadn’t believed the “I tripped” story, but finally let her be.
Betty hoped Frank would be quiet tonight—it wouldn’t take much to wake Sarah. She’d only been here a week, and Frank had already got drunk down the pub twice. He wasn’t too pleased about Sarah being in the house. Afraid the girl would tattle about him, although who could she tattle to? Just about everybody blown up, both the little ones, even the neighbors on both sides. Derek wouldn’t be any help. He was in the army now and had quite an important assignment from what she understood. Roy had stayed long enough to drink with Frank in the pub one night and gone straight to the station after closing. Frank kept talking about how Roy “knew his way around.” Betty remembered Roy being quite a wild boy. She hoped he hadn’t grown into a bad lot. Derek seemed to attract bad lots.
Frank kept saying how Sarah looked down on him. She could seem a little stuck-up sometimes. Their family wasn’t ever anything special, nothing to brag about, but none of them laborers or maids. Until Betty married Frank. She’d been that happy when she met Frank at their local one evening and he’d asked her out. She’d always been popular, especially after the boys had put a few beers away. Fat plain girls had to be jolly and easy to get along with, you had to face reality. But she never got asked out much, not for a proper outing to the flicks and a bite to eat, only for doorway groping and wet kisses. They hardly ever tried to do much with that hardness they pressed into her, only once or twice.
Mum and Dad hadn’t been that impressed with Frank—none of them had—but they’d put a good face on for their little wedding. She hadn’t expected to have to work so hard, but she didn’t mind. She loved sex, and he said he loved her big body, loved to bury his face between her breasts as he squeezed her bottom, and loved feeling his sinewy thin legs between her plump thighs.
Frank wanted a baby, he even more than Betty. That’s where it had all started to go wrong. Two years, no baby, and he’d turned on her. It started with the drinking and hitting, and after that he called her names, even sober. One night, just before Sarah came, she’d refused him because she had her period. He’d gone berserk and lashed out and lashed out until she found herself curled up in a corner, holding her head and crying. When she’d calmed down and raised her head, he was slumped in a kitchen chair snoring like an old dog, drool looping from his slack lower lip.
Peculiar, him reacting that way to not having a baby. Was it somehow tied up with proving himself a man? Frank was about her height, shorter than most of the other laborers, but they’d learned not to tease him about it, learned the hard way, she’d heard. Or was it being brought up in a Dr. Bernardo’s home? Frank said it hadn’t been a happy place, but wouldn’t say more. He needed his very own family that was probably it.
Betty still loved Frank, God knows why. But the morning after that beating, she sat across the kitchen table from him and looked him straight in his red squinty eyes.
“You hit me like that again and I’ll leave you. I mean it.”
“Leave me?” His face arranged itself into a cruel mask. “And go where? No family that I can see. Unless you think a one-legged chit of a girl and a brother at the front are going to be any use. And who do you think’s going to take up with a fat cow like you? You’ve got a face like a pudding and you can’t make babies. And this cottage is tied to my job, not yours.”
There wasn’t much Betty could say to that. Frank about got it right, beastly spiteful though it was. Still he hadn’t hit her for a while. She had to go to the doctor again soon. She’d see what he had to say this time. She was due to get her period in another week or so. She hoped to God that didn’t start another row. Not in front of Sarah. She didn’t want to be shamed in front of her sister. And Betty wanted Sarah to feel safe and comfortable in her home.
Betty never thought about the others, especially the little ones. She couldn’t bear it. She pushed them all down and away. Time to get into bed and try to sleep, or at least pretend to be asleep. She wasn’t in the mood for his drunken fumbling tonight. Never was, these days.
The doctor had said last time that it wasn’t necessarily the woman who had something wrong, sometimes the men didn’t have enough of something or other. Betty had asked him about that again. She hadn’t mentioned it to Frank. He’d go mad.
Supposing it was Frank’s fault? He couldn’t blame her then. But he would, of course, he’d make her life a living hell. What if Betty found someone else to have a romp with? Tested it out. Shocking idea, she didn’t know what made it pop into her head. But the thought excited her, made her shiver. How on earth could she manage something like that in a small place like this? How could she get away? And anyway, who would want her? There were plenty of willing lonely girls around, after all, lots of them pretty. Interesting thought, though.
Miss Rosamund said she would visit Sarah tomorrow. She’d mention that to Frank. He would want Sarah and Betty to be at their best. It might make him simmer down.
13
Rosie watched Jamie trying to eat his boiled egg. Or, rather, trying to decapitate it with the edge of his spoon. Absorbed in the task, his forehead raised and creased under his wavy fair hair as he worked at it. He wasn’t getting anywhere. The egg wobbled and cracked, but it wouldn’t be sliced.
“Jamie, I like to do my eggs this way,” she said. “Look.” She put the egg in the eggcup and, with the bowl of the spoon, cracked it gently all over the top. She pulled off the little pieces of shell and put them on the side of her plate.
“See, now it’s easy to chop off its head,” she said as she spooned off the top. “See how I’ve cut my toast into soldiers? Dip them in like this,” and she brought the eggy toast up to her mouth where it dripped on her chin.
“Oops,” Jamie said, laughing.
“Well, I usually manage better than that. Here, you crack the egg and I’ll cut your soldiers.”
They ate alone as Rosie’s mother was in bed nursing a headache and her father had a fencing problem to attend to in the upper pastures. Rosie was
looking forward to Jamie’s first day back with them. Life had been very lonely since she’d broken up with Robin. Damned war, what a bother, what a thumping big bore.
They planned to practice reading together after breakfast, and then they’d take Laddie out for a long walk. Jamie said he wanted to help Evans every day, so he could do that in the afternoon while Rosie caught up with her letters.
The breakfast room was Rosie’s favorite place in the house, especially on a beautiful spring day like this. The windows, huge and partly mullioned, had cushioned seats beneath them where she loved to curl up with a book. Sun streamed in and reflected off the lemony walls and leached the light out of the satinwood dining table, always faintly scented with lavender polish. Outside, hundreds of tall daffodils nodded in the border that lined the path down to the lake. Rosie’s eyes focused abruptly as she saw a figure dart out from behind the boathouse and into the bushes that led from the lake to the woods.
“What’s the matter, Rosie?” asked Jamie, his eyes following hers.
“I thought I spotted someone out there. By the lake.” She looked for a few minutes more, but saw no one. “Maybe a deer, or maybe even Laddie, I haven’t seen him since I got up.”
“Maybe your mum went out for a walk.”
“Mummy’s in bed. When she’s got one of her migraines—that’s a bad headache—she usually has to stay there all day.” And if Mummy got some fresh air and exercise, maybe she’d have fewer of those wretched headaches. It got more and more difficult to be sympathetic as the years went by. People lost loved ones and picked themselves up and got on with it. Twenty years, for God’s sake!
“Aren’t you going to see her? When Gran had headaches, I used to put a flannel in cold water and put it on her head. She said it made her feel better.”
“No, that’s all right, Jamie. Mummy likes to be left alone when she’s ill, doesn’t want anyone near her.” Mummy never needed her daughter for comfort when she was going through one of her sad times. Never needed her for anything.
“Oh. I like someone looking after me when I get ill.”
“Everybody’s different, Jamie, you know that.”
“Yes, I’m learning about that. I didn’t see people much when I was with Gran. But she talked to me lots. She told me about people. I’ve finished my toast soldiers. I’ll just use the spoon now. I like eggs your way.”
“Good. You nearly ready? Tell you what; let’s go for our walk before we read. Do you mind? I fancy a look at the lake today. We might find some wildflowers.”
“Yes, I’ll pick some flowers for your mum. They always make people feel better.”
“Better wipe your mouth, it’s all yellow.”
Betty sidled in. “Can I clear away, miss?” Rosie nodded. Betty Lester—she couldn’t remember her married name—had rather a sly manner and was not to be trusted in Rosie’s opinion. Rosie hated the way Betty always carried her head low and spied on the world from under her eyebrows. Her eyes wandered all over the place, even though her head stayed straight. She didn’t miss much. Mummy had just shrugged her shoulders when Rosie told her how she felt. The girl was fat and as plain as a pikestaff, too. She’d heard rumors about her husband beating her, but never saw any signs of it. Lucky to be married at all with a face like that.
They went out of the French doors and walked down the path to the lake, always farther than it looked. Most things were green now and the huge rhododendrons were in early bud, even though they wouldn’t flower until the end of May. They’d be magnificent; they always were. Queens of any Hampshire garden.
“Jamie, we’ll have a picnic in the New Forest in a few weeks. Mummy takes us every year for a ride down the Ornamental Drive. It’s got all these huge great bushes with great big flowers. They’re called rhododendrons. People come from miles around to see them. Wouldn’t you like that?”
“Yes, I would like that.” A big smile lit up his face. So handsome, so sweet, so nearly perfect.
“Rosie, can George come one day? He’s my best friend in that place. He’s there all alone now. That makes me sad. I expect George is sad.”
“Of course. But how can we get him here?”
“His chair can be made small. If there’s someone here that’s strong, he can carry him into the car. I saw them do it once when his cousin came. But his cousin can’t come anymore because he moved away. George didn’t cry when he told him because he’s a big boy. But he wanted to, I could tell.”
“That’s so sad. Here we are. Jamie, you mustn’t ever come here on your own. If you can’t swim, it’s dangerous. Promise?”
“Promise. What’s this little house?”
“It’s the boat house. It’s only a little lake, but we have a couple of small rowing boats so we can get to the island in the middle. We sometimes take picnics over there when it’s hot.”
“Can I go? Please?” She realized Jamie couldn’t quite believe all the new treats he was hearing about.
“You’ll have to learn to swim. Think you could try?”
“Hmm. I’ll have to think about that.”
Rosie opened the door to the boathouse. No cobwebs slung across, thank heavens. She hated their sticky, ghostly touch. The grimy windows didn’t let in much light and the place smelled of mold and damp wood. The boats, upside down at the end, were dusty and the ropes and oars hanging on the walls were swathed in cobwebs. Strange the door had been clear. As her eyes adjusted, she noticed a pile of boxes next to the cupboard. She didn’t think they’d been there last year. And they looked quite clean. She’d have to ask Daddy. They were all taped up, so she didn’t like to open them. Jamie had a sudden attack of sneezing.
“Come on, let’s go outside, it’s too dusty in here,” she said, taking him by the hand. When they got into the sunshine, Jamie’s eyes ran as he sneezed some more.
Rosie looked around; she felt nervous. Silly on a lovely day like this. Still, there had been someone, she was quite sure.
“Let’s walk all the way around the lake, Jamie.”
“Is it a very long way?”
“Not that far.
Jamie ran ahead, doing a little skip and jump, his arms flailing as he worked to keep his balance. His face, half joyful, half tentative, seemed torn between experience and hope. He’d started to fill out, begun to grow into his gangly legs. A pang very close to love struck Rosie at that moment. She’d never known brothers or sisters. The sister who’d come before her, and soon left again, only a wraith, a perfection never to be stained by the absolutes of language, a being whose quintessence remained beyond reach.
Years ago, after overhearing Cook tell a new maid that there had once been a sister, she’d asked about her at dinner. Her mother went up to bed with a migraine, and her father’s fine, uncluttered face hardened and then closed. He offered nothing. Nothing for a bewildered little girl to hold onto. She’d understood then that she had uttered the unspeakable. And how she had longed for a brother, a rough-and-tumble brother who could be her best friend. Now she had a gentle boy for a brother, and one who needed her. Better, perhaps.
She’d looked inside a box in her father’s closet one day when they were out. Right at the bottom, under some other old papers, she’d found a birth certificate and a death certificate. Fiona Catherine McInnis, born February 22, 1919. Fiona Catherine McInnis, died August 28, 1920. Cause of death, influenza. No pictures. She’d have liked pictures, to see this child who’d abducted her parents’ hearts. She hadn’t felt sad, just angry they couldn’t forget Fiona and instead be content with Rosie. It did no good to dwell on things.
“Jamie,” she called. “Have you seen Laddie this morning?”
“No, I haven’t. I miss him. Where did he go?”
“I don’t know. It’s odd he wasn’t with us at breakfast.”
They whipped around as they heard barking and frantic yipping. A roaring figure cut out of the woods, closely pursued by a snarling dog on a mission.
“Bernhardt!”
“You know him,
Jamie?”
“Yes, he’s from where I was before. Laddie, leave him alone!”
Rosie whistled and the dog braked and dropped, fixing Bernhardt with intense beady eyes. The man, red-cheeked and thin-lipped, prudently stood still. He didn’t look at Jamie.
“What are you doing here? This is private property!”
“Then I apologize, miss.” He performed a stiff little bow. “I was just taking a long walk. It is my day off today. I did not know I had crossed into a private place.” He stared into the dog’s eyes, an unwise thing to do to a dog that’s already agitated.
“I’ll hold the dog and you can go back the way you came,” said Rosie. She called Laddie to her side and grabbed his collar.
Bernhardt nodded, turned on his heel and strode off as if he had urgent business elsewhere.
“He’s foreign. Do you know where he’s from, Jamie?”
“I heard him say at breakfast once. Holly?”
“That can’t be … oh, Holland, perhaps.”
“Think so. He didn’t say hello or goodbye to me. That was rude.”
He was the man she’d seen earlier, she was sure of it. He hadn’t just been walking. He’d been skulking.
“Jamie, I have to go and talk to Daddy. Why don’t you find Evans.”
“What about reading?”
“We’ll do it later, promise.”
* * *
“Daddy, I need to talk to you.”
“I’m on my way out. Got some fences down in the upper pasture.”
“It’s important.”
“All right, Rosie, what is it?” He looked down at her. So tall and fit, he must have been very handsome once.
Off-hand at first, he became intent as she went on.
“Dutch, you think. That rings a bell. Rosie, I’ll take care of this. Don’t wander too far around the grounds, please. And don’t mention it to anyone. Off you go now, I have to telephone through to Sir Ronald.”
The Blitz Business Page 13