In the blackout it was impossible to know if anyone was at home, but smoke was drifting thinly from the next door’s chimney. He knocked hard before opening the letter-box flap and peering in. He saw an elderly woman coming towards the door.
‘Who is it?’ came her harsh voice.
‘Andrew Stewart. I’m looking for Mr Davidson.’
The bolt was drawn. The door opened a little way and he rushed to say, ‘I’m looking for Flora – my sister. She’s nowhere to be found.’
She opened the door further and allowed him into the hall, then pulled a curtain across the door he’d come through and switched on a light, which showed her to be considerably older than Mr Davidson. A bad-tempered look was etched on her thin, lined face. ‘You may well ask where Mr Davidson is,’ she said. ‘That sister of yours let him down, badly. Going around with a painted face.’
‘That’s enough!’ Andrew said. He would not stand and listen to this. ‘Flora would not upset Mr Davidson.’
‘Then why wouldn’t she let him know where she’d gone?’ the woman snapped back. ‘The first thing he knew was that she’d fallen on the ice and had been taken to hospital. A nurse came round. Then a different woman came by the next day to collect her belongings.’
‘She fell? Which hospital?’ He’d wasted all this time. He could have gone to half-a-dozen hospitals.
‘I don’t know. The woman didn’t say.’
‘Who was this woman? A nurse, you say?’
‘I never saw her. She told Mr Davidson that Flora wasn’t badly hurt, but the poor man was worried sick. And he was in a dreadful state the next day when the other woman came and asked for the girl’s clothes and said she wouldn’t be back.’
‘How long ago?’
‘About ten days.’
Flora had not written for at least three weeks.
‘No explanation! The poor man has gone to live with his sister in Kelso. He’ll not be back, I shouldn’t wonder.’
Andrew was wasting his time talking to her. There was nothing for it – he’d have to ask Greg to spend a day of his leave making enquiries in every hospital in the area, as well as the shops and munitions factory here in Portobello. Meanwhile he must hope she’d written to him. The Royal Navy would send mail on wherever he was. His service number, not the name of the ship, ensured it.
Chapter Eight
In the attic room she had not left since she came to Ingersley, Flora was in bed when she heard, from outside, the slam of the door of the Armstrong Siddeley. It was early evening and Lady Campbell had told Nanny by telephone yesterday that she would leave Invergordon early so as to arrive back at Ingersley before dark. She had made it.
Flora’s mouth went dry while she waited for news of Andrew. Lady Campbell was not a woman to beat about the bush, as Flora had learned on her second day here, when Lady Campbell reported back to her Mrs Stewart’s horror at being told about Andrew’s wrongdoing. It made no difference that Flora cried and protested that she was as much to blame as Andrew. Lady Campbell replied, ‘You were an under-age child. Andrew Stewart was committing a criminal offence. No court in the country would believe that he was not aware of it.’
When Flora tearfully repeated that Andrew had told her to go to his ma if she needed anything, Lady Campbell said, ‘Mrs Stewart has been transferred to a convalescent home. But she says she will not return here where she and her son are under a cloud of shame.’
Now, Flora thought, Lady Campbell would want to rest and eat before she came to her, and she jumped when, barely five minutes later, Lady Campbell came in, still wearing her driving coat and scarf.
Flora heaved herself up the bed and blurted out, ‘Did you see Andrew? Did you give him my letter?’
Lady Campbell dropped on to the side of the bed and gripped Flora’s hand. ‘Did Andrew come to see you?’ she asked eagerly, as if her life depended upon it. Her eyes were bright.
‘No,’ Flora replied, hesitantly.
‘You have had no word – no contact?’
‘No.’ Flora held her breath.
‘My dear.’ Lady Campbell’s face grew calm. She bit her lip, looked away for a second, then, ‘I don’t know how to tell you this.’
Flora knew her own face was pale because her mouth was stiff and numb and she could barely speak. ‘You gave him my letter?’
‘I left it at the office. He would have got it before he left the ship.’ Lady Campbell stood up and took off her sheepskin coat. ‘What did you write?’
For ever afterwards Flora would associate the thick, sweet smell of sheepskin with the helplessness and vulnerability she felt as she waited a few moments before finding the strength to say, in a voice that was little more than a whisper, ‘I told him about the baby – begged him to come.’
Lady Campbell said, ‘He knew where to find you. And I left your new address with Mr Davidson.’ She pursed her lips and frowned. ‘I’m sorry, Flora. Andrew Stewart has left you to your fate.’
Flora let herself fall back against the pillows as the awful truth swept over her and Lady Campbell continued to spell out to her how dire was the trouble she was in.
After a few moments spent observing her, Lady Campbell said, ‘I had to tell my husband, the Commander. You do realise that I had to do this?’
Flora pulled herself upright again, jumping with the pain that grew worse by the day. ‘What did he say?’
‘I don’t think he believed it of Andrew. Andrew has been sent on an officer training scheme on my husband’s recommendation. He would certainly not have promoted a man who had any civil action pending.’
‘Where is Andrew?’
‘I don’t know. He is no longer a member of the Rutland’s crew. I don’t have his new address. I have no way of contacting him.’ Lady Campbell put a hand to her brow, gave a slight shake of the head and said, ‘I’m sorry, my dear. I have left no stone unturned. I asked the regulating officer to tell him that you needed to see him. I said it was urgent, that you were injured.’ Here Lady Campbell’s pretty brows drew together. Again she took Flora’s hand and held it fast in hers. ‘I will leave you alone if you like.’
‘No. Don’t go.’ Flora was all alone now. There was nowhere for her to go. She had to force out her words: ‘What can I do?’
‘I have been thinking of little else these last few days. I could send you away, far away, to have your baby, and when it is all over and the child has been put up for adoption you could return and make a new life for yourself.’
Ruth affected a troubled look as she met Flora’s stricken gaze. She pressed Flora’s hand and said softly, ‘You are not the first young woman to be betrayed, you know. It happens every day and to girls of all classes.’ She hesitated, saw the girl’s eyes fill with tears, and went on, ‘Their babies, if healthy and from respectable stock, will be found good homes. The girls then return and put the whole affair behind them. Nobody need know.’
Ruth waited for a few seconds for a reply, but Flora had closed her eyes, and as the desperation of her position sank in, her tears dried on her pale cheeks.
Ruth patted her hand. ‘I’ll help you through it.’ It was best to leave it at this. Soon the girl would clutch at any suggestion that offered a ray of hope. She tiptoed out of the room and went in search of Nanny.
Nanny was in the kitchenette, stirring a pot of soup that was simmering on the solid electric plate of the new modern cooker. Ruth came to stand beside her, looked over Nanny’s shoulder and sniffed appreciatively. ‘Did you make it yourself, Nanny?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t know you could cook.’
‘Just simple dishes. Soups and stews. Nursery food.’ Nanny pulled off the half-apron she wore over her grey dress. She tied the strings and hung it over the towel hook. ‘Leek, potato and celery. Afterwards a beef stew with dumplings and carrots. It’s what that poor girl needs to get her strength up – or she won’t be on her feet before the baby’s born.’
So, Flora had told Nanny everything while she was in Invergordon. Ruth said, ‘You
know all about it, then?’
‘Yes. I think it’s wonderful that you are looking after the poor lass.’ Nanny fetched a tray from inside the new kitchen cabinet, which had little sections for everything a cook might need. She placed the tray on the pull-down flap and set it with a cloth and cutlery and the small silver salt and pepper pots. ‘I’ve lost all regard for Mrs Stewart. She should have taken the girl in.’
‘Mrs Stewart has gone to a convalescent home,’ Ruth said as she went to warm herself at the two-bar electric fire that the hospital had lent to them.
Nanny was indignant. ‘And by hired car. She didn’t even wait for the ambulance. She isn’t coming back. Flora told me.’
Ruth allowed Nanny to work herself up into a state of indignation about Mrs Stewart whilst she set the table. Ruth had to do this every day now that Mrs Stewart was no longer here and Bessie was ill. But it was an enjoyable task. The white enamel-top table had come from either the Ministry or the hospital itself. Laid with a velvet undercover and then an embroidered cloth it made an acceptable dining table for one or two and gave Ruth a taste of the simple pleasures of the poor, who had the blessings of a life without servants.
While Nanny set Flora’s tray to her satisfaction and went into her mother hen routine, practically clucking over the dish of stew she had taken from the oven, Ruth said, ‘I want to talk to you about Flora, Nanny.’
‘Yes . . .’ Nanny set the dish on the top of the stove, peered inside, stirred it and put it back in the oven before coming to sit at the table.
‘Gordon and I have come to a decision about the baby.’
‘You have told Gordon? Was that wise? We don’t want to give him home worries.’ Nanny’s eyebrows shot up.
‘Nanny. Listen!’ Ruth tapped slowly on the cloth with the handle of a table knife. ‘We all know that there is no help for a girl like Flora. She has nobody to turn to, and though there are places other than the workhouse hospitals, her child will have to be adopted or spend a lifetime in a home.’
‘Exactly. That’s why I’d like to see Mrs Stewart. Tell her a few home truths.’
‘Nanny!’ Ruth stopped her before she could say more. ‘Gordon and I are willing to adopt the child.’
There was a long silence. Nanny looked at first disbelieving then puzzled, but she watched and listened carefully as Ruth said slowly and calmly, ‘We are going to adopt the baby with the utmost secrecy. We all know that it is best for an adopted child never to learn the truth. Such children suffer dreadfully, knowing their true parentage – that their mothers were deserted, unmarried women of feeble morals.’
At this Nanny’s hackles rose. ‘There are unfortunates, Ruth. Flora is not one of those children of low moral fibre’, she said.
They had evidently established a rapport in Ruth’s absence. Ruth must choose her words with care. ‘Precisely. Gordon and I and you, Nanny – will know where the child came from; the stock. We will have no fears that the child could turn out to be a thief or an imbecile. This is more than most adoptive parents can know–’
Nanny came in fast, interrupting her. ‘A child is a child. An adoptive one is no less likely to turn out badly if it has a good home.’ She was incredulous. ‘You say Gordon suggested this? As soon as he heard about it?’
‘Of course.’ Ruth looked away. Nanny had an uncanny knack of ferreting out the truth.
Nanny said, ‘But they are on the same ship. They docked at the same time and received their mail when they arrived. How could Gordon have known that Andrew would not immediately come home to Flora and shoulder his responsibilities?’
Ruth had not foreseen this. Blood rushed to her head before the quick clarity of thought that always came to her rescue. ‘Gordon does not confide everything in me, Nanny. He is a man of decision. When I gave him the news he told me to leave the ship for a couple of hours to rest and to eat – I’d driven all that way …’
‘Did he ask Andrew for an explanation when you were gone?’ Nanny asked.
Ruth paused for a second or two, then, ‘I can only assume so. And I can only assume that Andrew denied it and Gordon believed him.’
Nanny’s face fell. ‘So, who to believe? Flora or Andrew?’ she said. ‘But if Gordon had any doubt, I can’t think why he’d suggest a secret adoption.’
‘I can,’ Ruth said quietly. ‘Gordon has always wanted a child. A child is something to live for, especially in times of danger.’ She stood up, went to the corner cupboard and took out a bottle of claret, which she had placed there earlier. She brought it to the table and put it front of Nanny.
‘Can you uncork it, Nanny?’ she said and a Machiavellian excitement thrilled the pit of her stomach as she saw the relief on Nanny’s face. ‘We both need a little sustenance.’ She gave a small, tight smile to cover the growing sense of her own power of control. Once Nanny was sure she was doing it for Gordon, it would be easy.
Nanny fished a corkscrew out of the drawer and expertly withdrew the cork as she said, ‘But even if Flora agrees, how are you going to conceal it? It is not easy to hide a young pregnant woman.’ She quickly found two wine glasses and poured.
Ruth smiled, watching her. She would only have a sip or two of wine and Nanny would finish the bottle. If Nanny went to Flora this evening certain that this was the best course for everyone, then the first hurdle was crossed. Ruth sipped her wine and put the glass down. ‘It will all depend upon Flora’s co-operation,’ she said. ‘She must be convinced that this is her best course of action.’
‘How and where–?’ Nanny took a long draught from her glass.
Ruth looked down at her hands for a second, then up with a pleading look at Nanny. ‘Nanny, dear, it’s a lot to ask of you …’ She took a deep breath and bit her lip. ‘… but would you take Flora in until the birth? Deliver the baby at Ivy Lodge?’
‘Yes. But …’
‘Keep your apartments here, of course. Go back and forth as normal. I will take Bessie on as nursemaid and you can teach her …’
‘You don’t want to keep Flora here?’ Nanny sounded doubtful. Ruth came back firmly, ‘No. As soon as she can be moved you will drive her to Ivy Lodge. It would be too distressing for all of us if she were to remain here.’
Nanny said lamely, ‘Ivy Lodge is off the beaten track. There is no public transport. Flora will be house-bound.’ Ruth was safe now. ‘Nanny! Flora is not going to be fit to go anywhere. The doctor says she will be unable to walk far, in fact bed-ridden very soon. Far better for her to be under your wing. An expectant mother needs rest, peace and quiet.’
‘I know, but …’ Nanny said.
‘You will deliver the baby at Ivy Lodge. As soon as the child is born, you will bring it to me.’
Nanny looked puzzled. She took a quick sip of wine. ‘How will you explain the arrival of an adopted baby in the dead of night?’
Ruth sighed. ‘Gordon and I are not going to explain. We will accept the child as ours from the moment of its birth.’
‘How?’
‘If all goes smoothly, then a few weeks before the birth I shall let it be known that I am expecting a child. I will say that I was not even aware of my condition.’
Nanny’s eyes flew wide open. ‘You are going to feign a pregnancy to deceive the staff? But the doctor–?’
‘I’m perfectly healthy. You are a qualified nurse and midwife.’
Nanny said as she topped up her glass, ‘I will do anything for Gordon, but I’m amazed he’s asked you to do this when you are newly married and with every prospect of having your own children.’
Ruth snapped, ‘Nanny! Impertinence!’ then, to mollify her, ‘Gordon will have the child he’s always hoped for and nobody will know it is not his own. We have to keep it secret. I’m sure you can understand that.’
‘What about registering the birth?’
Ruth sighed. ‘I will register the baby as my own, Nanny.’
Nanny said, ‘What about Flora?’
‘As soon as the baby is handed over she will
be given a hundred pounds to leave the estate and make a fresh start. A long, long way from here. She cannot come back to this area,’ Ruth said.
‘But …’
‘But nothing!’ Ruth snapped. ‘If she has money she will be able to put it all behind her. She may marry in a few years’ time. Her husband need never know. It happens all the time, you know that. How many unmarried women have you delivered? Some of the most respectable women you will ever meet have their little secrets.’
‘I was going to say that Gordon is a magistrate. He must know that he is breaking the law in giving false information on the birth certificate. That’s all.’ Nanny drained her glass and put it down. ‘I’d better see if the potatoes are done,’ she said. She put on her apron, went to the stove, opened the door and took out a tray of golden-brown, crispy roast potatoes. ‘Done to perfection,’ she said. ‘I’ll take Flora’s tray up before I put ours out.’
‘Don’t say anything of this to Flora until you are sure yourself, Nanny,’ Ruth said. ‘We don’t want to give her false hope. For unless it is done this way … it is simply not going to happen.’
‘I’ll speak to her later,’ Nanny replied, glancing at the half-empty bottle of claret as she took Flora’s tray over to the stove and began to ladle soup into her bowl. ‘I’ll mull it over, over dinner.’
‘Anything I can do?’ Ruth asked, as if she had not given another thought to Flora. She was hungry after all the effort of the last few days, when she had barely touched food. ‘Do you think we could manage another bottle between us, Nanny? Or perhaps a small brandy?’
Five weeks had passed since Flora had moved in to Ivy Lodge with Nanny, and there, the arrangement was working well. There was only one other delivery scheduled for Ivy Lodge. It was for next week and the girl would be company for Flora. Nanny slept at Ivy Lodge and spent her days doing her nursing rounds or, as today, at Ingersley, where she was busy turning one of the attic rooms into a nursery.
Ruth was obliged to show willing and offer help, and when Nanny said, ‘When I first came the whole attic floor was the nursery wing,’ she replied, ‘Yes, Nanny. And it looks as if everything – clothes, toys, cots, furniture – has been stored up here.’ She glanced idly round the box room. ‘This top floor can hardly be classed as an attic, though.’ There were seven small rooms, each with its own box room, as well as a bathroom, landing and four large, sloping-ceilinged bedrooms for the family’s use.
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