‘Not too strong,’ he said. ‘I can’t get used to the way you English drink tea.’
‘Would you rather have coffee? It’s only that bottled Camp, I’m afraid.’
‘No, tea is fine.’ Camp coffee was the equivalent of dishwater as far as he was concerned. He went to his haversack and produced a packet of real coffee, a tin of peaches and another of corned beef. ‘I thought you could use these.’
‘Peaches!’ Lily exclaimed. ‘I hen’t had any o’ them since the start o’ the war.’
‘Ma, course, you hev,’ Ian said. ‘I give you a tin only a month ago.’
Joyce turned to him. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘No, well, what the eye don’ see the heart don’ grieve over.’
Joyce hurriedly changed the subject. ‘How long can you stop, Wayne?’
‘I’ve got seven days’ leave. I thought I’d find a hotel or something in the village, then I could explore.’
‘I’n’t narth’n to explore,’ Ian said.
‘Don’t be silly, man, he wants to see where his mum was brought up and married, i’n’t that so, Wayne?’
‘Yes, and to visit with you, of course.’
‘Then you don’t need a hotel, you can have our Ken’s room,’ Joyce said.
‘I don’t want to put you out.’
‘You i’n’t puttin’ us out. We’re glad to hev you. It’s Sunday tomorrow, so I c’n take you around and introduce you to people.’
‘I already met Miss Wainright. She gave me a lift from Attlesham.’
‘Oh, what did she tell you?’ Lily asked.
‘Only that she’s a schoolteacher and her father’s a farmer and her brother and Cousin Ken are serving together.’
‘That’s right,’ Joyce said. ‘I’m glad Ken is with Steve; he’ll look out for him. Couldn’t bear it if he got burnt like them poor devils up at the Hall. Makes you shudder to see them.’
‘Miss Wainright mentioned that it was being used as a hospital. I’d like to see it. Mom’s talked so much about it.’
‘Hev she so? What about your father, does he talk about it?’ This from Lily.
‘Not so much, but he never lived there. Mom said he went there with some pals because the old fellow, Earl somebody or other, let them have baths and gave them tea, and she was working there and that’s how they met.’
‘The Earl of Hardingham, that was his name,’ Lily said. ‘I was working there too, under cook, I was. No end of servants, they had then: kitchen maids, parlour maids, chambermaids, butler and cook, not to mention outdoor staff. Not a one left now except Mr and Mrs Ward, and they took theirselves off when the bomb dropped and had to be persuaded to go back. Lady Muck was left all alone ’til she got that Laura to live with her. Bit of a mystery, that.’
‘Why?’ Joyce demanded. ‘What’s so mysterious about having someone to run the hospital? She couldn’t do it, could she? And Laura Drummond’s not the only one, there’s several nurses there and a couple of doctors.’
‘Laura’s the only one that’s the spitting image of Lady Helen.’
Wayne looked from one to the other, unable to follow the conversation, but it intrigued him. According to Miss Wainright, nothing much happened in the village, but it seemed to be a hotbed of gossip. He was looking forward to his tour of the village and more revelations. It would be something interesting to tell when he wrote home.
‘You’ll never guess who I picked up in town,’ Jenny told her parents at dinner. ‘A Canadian Captain—’
‘Picked up, Jen?’ her mother enquired. ‘Was that wise?’
‘Oh, it wasn’t like that. He spilt coffee down my front and insisted on buying me a new skirt and blouse.’
‘I wondered why you suddenly decided you needed a new outfit. You have to be careful with clothing coupons, you know. And picking up strange men.’
‘He was most insistent. But you haven’t heard the interesting bit. He asked me how to get to Beckbridge and it turns out his name is Wayne Donovan. He’s Joyce Moreton’s nephew.’
‘Good God!’ Alice said, which struck Jenny as a strange reaction.
‘He’s on leave. I took him to Beck Cottage. He says he wants to meet his folks and explore where his mum and dad met.’
‘That’ll put the cat among the pigeons,’ Alice said.
‘What do you mean, Gran?’
‘Oh, nothing,’ she said vaguely, looking at Kathy, who was concentrating on eating and would not meet her eye. She knew perfectly well what had happened all those years ago. She’d had the devil of a job persuading Kathy that what the eye didn’t see the heart wouldn’t grieve over and she certainly should not write to Richard on the subject of his wife and Oliver Donovan. She suspected Louise had sent Helen to Scotland to separate her from him. Poor girl! Aunt Martha had been a tyrant and lived in seclusion in a remote village in the Highlands; if it was meant to be punishment, it was certainly that. And the irony was that Richard hadn’t survived. Oliver had come back at the end of the war, married Valerie and taken her to Canada. Alice doubted if Helen, living in seclusion as she did, close-watched by her parents, knew anything about that.
Meg and Daphne looked at each other and shrugged. There was an atmosphere around the table that could be cut with a knife. ‘I’m going to the dance tonight,’ Meg said, deliberately changing the subject. ‘You coming, Daphne?’
‘Might as well.’
‘What about you, Jenny?’
‘I ought to do some marking, but I can do it tomorrow. Dad, can we borrow the car?’
‘Is there any petrol in it?’ he asked mildly. ‘You’ve already taken it to Attlesham and back today.’
‘Oh, go on, Dad. You can get some more, can’t you?’ Although the threat of invasion had faded, the Local Defence Volunteers, now renamed the Home Guard, were still recruiting and he was involved with that, for which it was conceded he needed extra petrol. He complained about the time it took up, but it never occurred to him to try and get out of it.
‘All right, go on with you. I don’t want you walking home.’
When they got there, they found Stella with Wayne, who promptly joined them.
‘I didn’t think when I set out this morning that I’d end up with a bevy of beauties at a dance,’ Wayne said, after he had been introduced to Meg and Daphne.
He had accepted his aunt’s offer of accommodation because it would have been rude to refuse, but he had been taken aback by the primitive state of the place. They had no electricity and no water laid on, let alone a flushing lavatory. He found he was expected to make his way down the garden path to a little shed, which had a bucket under a wooden seat with a hole in it. He dare not conjecture how that was emptied. He had been given a kettle full of hot water to take up a narrow winding stair which led directly from the sitting room to his bedroom, where he found a jug of cold water standing in a china bowl on a marble-topped table and a waste bucket underneath it. Chuckling to himself, he had set about having a wash and getting himself ready for the evening meal, which he learnt was cooked on a range, heated by coal. How his aunt managed he did not know, but she produced a feast of roast chicken and vegetables, which was followed by the tin of peaches drenched in cream. It was good and he had complimented her on it. His grandmother joined them and entertained him with stories of the village and what it was like working at the big house, some of which he had heard from his mother.
It was Stella who had suggested the dance. She was a forward little miss for her age, made up with face powder and bright red lipstick. She wore high heels and no stockings, admitting that the colour was painted on her legs and her mother had drawn the seam with an eyebrow pencil. For the dance she had put on a flowered cotton frock with a square neckline and the waist cinched in with a wide bright red belt. Jenny’s outfit was more muted: she wore the skirt and blouse he had bought for her and though she used lipstick it was pink rather than red. But then she was older, and a schoolmistress at that. But she danced well.
‘I didn’t thank you pro
perly for giving me that lift,’ he said, as they danced a foxtrot.
‘Oh, I am quite sure you did. I bet your aunt was surprised to see you.’
‘She was. I met my grandmother, too. She’s a character, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, one of our older inhabitants. What she doesn’t know about Beckbridge and its people isn’t worth knowing.’
‘She was talking about the Hall and how she and Mom used to work there when Mom met Pop. Hinted at a mystery, something to do with the lady who owns it and the one who runs the hospital.’
‘There’s no mystery that I know of. Aunt Helen and Laura’s mum were friends, and when her mum died, Aunt Helen asked Laura to live with her and help with the hospital, seeing as she’s a nurse.’
‘Aunt Joyce says she’ll show me round the village tomorrow and she’ll take me up to the Hall to have a look round. Do you think your relative will mind?’
‘I shouldn’t think so. While you’re out, ask Joyce to bring you to see us. I know Mum would like to meet you. She was a bit surprised when I turned up this afternoon in this skirt and blouse.’
He smiled. ‘They suit you.’
‘I’m sure I did not express my gratitude sufficiently.’
‘Think nothing of it. It meant I got to know you, didn’t it?’
‘I’ve no doubt you would have done anyway if you’re staying in the village. It’s a small place, everyone knows everyone else and most of their business too. It’s hard to keep a secret in Beckbridge.’ Speaking of secrets reminded her of Gran’s comment, that his arrival would put the cat among the pigeons. And now he had said Lily Wilson had hinted at a mystery. It was all very intriguing.
The music ended and he returned her to their table and then danced a quickstep with Stella, did a foxtrot with Daphne and stumbled over a valeta with Meg, before returning to Jenny for a waltz. At the end of the evening they all crammed into the Ford and Jenny drove them home, singing as they went, though they were all as sober as when they started.
Small as it was, it took ages to see round the village because Joyce kept stopping to introduce Wayne to all and sundry, many of whom were on their way home from church. ‘This is my Canadian nephew,’ she said. ‘He’s spending his leave with us.’ The result of that was that he was pumped about life in Canada and if he had yet seen any action, and the older inhabitants who had known his mother asked after her, all of which required answers. It was midday before she stopped at the end of the drive to the Hall.
‘It used to have big iron gates,’ she told him. ‘But they took them away, alonga the railings round the vicarage and the school playground to make ships and aircraft. At one time there was someone living in the gatehouse who opened the gates when people came to call in their carriages.’
‘Do you remember that? The carriages, I mean.’
‘No, but Mum does. She’ll tell you all about the grand life they used to live up there. The Earl and Countess have been dead over twenty years and there’s only their daughter up there now. She’s a widow from the first war and, just like everyone else, she’s trying to make ends meet and cope with rationing. I’ll take you to meet her.’
He followed as she set off up the drive. ‘Won’t she mind?’
‘No, course not, not when she knows who you are. She’ll mebbe remember your father. You’ll have something to talk about.’
There were men in blue suits and red ties strolling or sunning themselves about the grounds. Some were in wheelchairs or on crutches, one had lost a hand, most were scarred about the face. He stopped to talk to some of them.
‘Canada, eh?’ one queried. ‘Been here long?’
‘A few months.’
‘What do you reckon to old England?’ asked another. ‘Not beat yet, are we?’
‘Not by any means.’
‘He’s half English,’ Joyce put in. ‘His mother’s my sister.’
He looked up to see Stella coming towards him carrying a baby. ‘You came then,’ she said. ‘This is Robby.’
He put his finger under the baby’s hand and found it gripped firmly and an attempt made to convey it to a rosebud mouth. Stella laughed. ‘Everything goes into his mouth.’
‘He’s a handsome little feller,’ he said, repossessing his finger.
‘Come and meet his mother. She’s over there.’ She nodded towards a woman in a navy blue uniform and a frilly cap who was bending over a patient in a wheelchair, tucking a rug about his legs.
Followed by Joyce, Stella led the way. ‘Sister Drummond, this is my Canadian cousin I told you about. He’s come to look round.’
Laura straightened up and held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Captain.’ She found herself looking into clear blue eyes which were regarding her with undisguised admiration. For a moment it unsettled her, which was surprising considering her patients often looked at her like that. It meant nothing except that she was young and female and lavishing attention on them. ‘Stella tells me your parents met here at the Hall.’
‘Yes, during the last war. Mom’s often spoken of it and I couldn’t go home without saying I’d seen the place.’
‘I haven’t lived here very long, Captain. The person you should speak to is Lady Helen. I think she might be in the kitchen helping Mrs Ward. Come on, I’ll take you. And Stella, don’t carry Robby about, he’s getting too heavy. Put him in his pram and take him for a walk.’
Laura took him to the kitchen door and ushered him inside. The kitchen was vast, the ceiling so high that a clothes line strung across it was out of reach above their heads and lowered on a pulley. A huge dresser displayed crockery and a long shelf on another wall held a row of gleaming pans. There was a very upright, middle-aged woman standing at the kitchen table shredding cabbage and a woman in a white apron was basting something on a huge black cooking range.
‘Helen, this is Captain…’ She stopped and turned to Wayne. ‘I’m sorry, Stella didn’t say your name.’
‘Wayne,’ he said. ‘Wayne Donovan.’
The cry Helen emitted was because she had cut her finger. She sat down suddenly and put it into her mouth, where she sat sucking it and looking up at him, trying to tell herself it couldn’t be, it just could not be. There must be hundreds of people called Donovan and he wasn’t a bit like Oliver, not with that carroty hair. He was looking a little disconcerted. ‘I didn’t mean to startle you, ma’am.’
She took her finger from her mouth and wrapped her handkerchief round it. ‘Careless of me,’ she said. ‘I know that knife is sharp. How do you do.’
‘This is Lady Helen Barstairs,’ Laura completed the introduction. ‘She has lived in this house all her life, so she can tell you anything you want to know.’ And to Helen. ‘Shall I find you a plaster?’
‘Please, before I bleed all over the place.’ She waited while Laura fetched a plaster from the first aid box in the cupboard and wrapped it round her finger. It gave her a little time to compose herself, though she was still shaking.
‘There, that should do it,’ Laura said. ‘Shall I make the captain a cup of coffee?’
‘Oh, please don’t trouble,’ he said. ‘I only came up to say hallo.’
‘Hallo,’ Helen echoed. He may not look like Oliver, but he certainly sounded like him. It was the accent, she told herself, trying to still the swift beating of her heart.
‘He’s my nephew,’ said Joyce, who had followed them into the kitchen. ‘His dad married my sister, Valerie. You remember Valerie, don’t you, my lady? Valerie Wilson. She used to work here in the old days alonga my mum.’
‘Yes, I believe I do.’ This wasn’t happening, she was having a nightmare. She forced herself to speak normally. ‘Wasn’t she one of the chambermaids?’
‘That’s right. She married Oliver Donovan. He came up here during the last war when all those officers used to come for tea and sandwiches and hot baths. You remember, don’t you?’
‘Oh yes, I remember.’ It was said with a kind of weariness. She knew it would hurt, but she had to know mo
re. ‘I believe he went to France.’
‘So he did,’ Wayne said. ‘He was wounded towards the end of the war and came back here. That’s when he and Mum decided to get married.’
So he had come back, but not to her. She gulped at the cup of coffee Laura had put in front of her, glad she was sitting down because her legs would not have supported her if she had been standing. As it was she had to use two hands to get the cup to her lips. ‘Were they married here in Beckbridge?’
‘I believe so.’
‘Not exac’ly,’ Joyce put in. ‘It was the Registry Office in Attlesham. It was a quiet do, ’cos Oliver didn’t have no relations to see him married and they decided to have a church service when they got to Canada.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ he told her.
‘What a small world, it is,’ Laura said, looking from him to Helen and back again. She knew her friend well enough by now to know that something about the visit had upset her. ‘Are you going to be in Beckbridge long, Captain?’
‘Oh, Wayne, please.’
‘He’s going to stay a whole week,’ Joyce said triumphantly. ‘And now he’s found us, I hope he’ll spend all his leaves with us, then he can tell Valerie and Oliver all about us.’
Helen felt faint. How many times had she wondered if Oliver had survived? How many times had she wondered if he ever thought of her? How many hours had she spent down in the summer house holding imaginary conversations with him, talking to him about Laura, imagining his replies, always loving, telling her he had not forgotten her? But he had forgotten her. Had the affair with the chambermaid been going on before he left for France? She wanted to weep and rail at herself for believing his protestations of undying love. Great Aunt Martha had been right all along and the knowledge was as bitter as gall. And now she was paying for it all over again. Here was Laura and here was his son, half-brother and-sister. God, what was going to happen now?
‘I won’t keep you,’ he said in the gap in the conversation, which no one seemed inclined to fill. ‘It was great to have met you.’
He was going. Suddenly she wanted to detain him, to hear more. How was Oliver? What did he do for a living? Did he have other children? Did he ever mention her and if so, in what context? Did she really want to know all that? Shouldn’t she hate him for marrying someone else, and one of her father’s servants at that? She was so confused, she couldn’t look at Wayne, lest he detect something was wrong. She found herself saying, ‘Come again, Captain.’ What possessed her to say that: mere politeness or some masochistic streak?
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