‘Yes, with Daisy Denham.’ Ewan didn’t see what business it was of Albert Stokeley’s, the Easton family bailiff who had once worked for the Denhams, but who had apparently been lured to Easton on Henry Denham’s death with the promise of a better cottage and much higher pay.
‘I don’t think you should see her any more,’ continued Agnes. ‘You might give certain people the wrong impression.’
‘We only go for walks,’ said Ewan, hoping Albert Stokeley hadn’t seen them kissing. Or hadn’t seen Ewan kissing Daisy, and Daisy jumping up and running off.
‘Well, please don’t go walking with Miss Denham any more.’ Agnes turned to face him. ‘Sir Michael is getting up a fishing party for tomorrow, and he would like you to go along. He thinks your casting needs a lot more work.’
Ewan sighed, but then he thought that maybe he would go with the old men. It would stop his mother wittering, and Daisy had been so annoyed with him she probably needed to cool down a bit before she’d talk to him again.
‘I suppose it does,’ he muttered.
‘You’ll go fishing, then?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, I’m very glad.’ Agnes came to sit beside him on the window seat. ‘Chloe says Daisy Denham – well, that girl’s not quite the thing.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh darling, I don’t know. But there was some gossip in the war years. The usual business, I suppose. Maybe Mrs Denham had a baby rather soon after she married. Or perhaps before.’
Agnes’s face grew pink. ‘Dear Chloe isn’t one to scandal-monger, as we know, but she wants to keep us on our guard.’
Dear Chloe, thought Ewan, sourly. Since when had it been dear Chloe? Agnes Fraser hadn’t had one good word to say for Chloe when she’d first married Michael Easton. When Ewan’s father was alive, Agnes had made remarks about people covering up their pasts, about how poor Michael could have had any girl he wanted, and didn’t have to stoop to marrying a grasping divorcee.
But it seemed that now the boot was on the other foot, that Agnes was the pauper whose broker had invested in stocks and shares which these days were practically worthless, and Chloe the baronet’s influential wife, Agnes and Chloe were the best of friends.
I could leave school, thought Daisy. I could get a job. I could learn typing, work as someone’s secretary, perhaps. Yes, I could help them out.
She left the stables, crossed the yard and went into the house. She made her way upstairs to Rose’s and Alex’s bedroom, where Rose took her baths in one of the old zinc tubs they had to lug up to their rooms, then fill with water from the kitchen copper, jug after tedious jug.
She could hear Alex talking, and was about to knock on the door when something made her freeze.
‘I think you’re exaggerating, darling,’ Alex said.
‘No, Alex, I am not,’ retorted Rose. ‘There’s been so much gossip since we first came home. Someone’s bound to say something soon, you know it. But Daisy should hear about it all from us, not somebody in the village.’
‘You were the one who didn’t want to tell her when we were in India.’
‘When we were in India, she didn’t need to know.’
‘So do you think we ought to tell her now?’
‘Well, not this evening, obviously,’ said Rose. ‘But soon, when the twins are out of the house, and the three of us can all sit down together quietly. Pass me that towel, please?’
‘You’re sure you’ve got the right address?’ asked Alex, several moments later.
‘I have that one in Leeds,’ said Rose. ‘If she went to America after all, maybe the people in Leeds could forward something. Alex, I need another towel now, this one’s very wet. I left a pile on the landing.’
Then, before Daisy could step back, could run downstairs, could duck into another room, Alex was suddenly there in front of her, a strange expression on his face which Daisy couldn’t read.
‘Oh, there you are, we wondered where you’d gone,’ he said in a husky voice not like his own.
‘You were talking about me,’ began Daisy.
‘You shouldn’t listen at doors.’
‘You shouldn’t talk about people behind their backs!’ retorted Daisy. ‘Or that’s what you’ve always told me, anyway.’
She glared at him, her offer of going out to work and helping save the family fortunes totally forgotten. ‘What did Mum mean, she’s got an address in Leeds? Who do you know in Leeds?’
‘You’d better come in,’ said Alex.
Rose was sitting on the bed wrapped up in several towels, fingering out the knots in her wet hair. She took one look at Daisy’s face and sighed.
‘Come and sit down, sweetheart,’ she began. ‘We have something to tell you.’
After she’d given Daisy the bare facts – that Daisy had been born in the East End, there’d been an air raid, her mother had disappeared for several weeks when Daisy was a few hours old, so Rose had brought the newborn baby back to Dorset – she kept saying over and over, ‘Daisy, it doesn’t matter who your actual parents were, you’re our daughter, and we love you.’
‘But you lied to me.’ Daisy looked from Rose to Alex, willing herself to wake up from this nightmare. ‘When I was little, and I used to have that dream, when I saw the lady with black hair, you must have known she was my mother, but you never told me.’
‘You were too young to be told.’
‘But now I know.’ Daisy swallowed hard. ‘So I’m a misfit, aren’t I? You’re a proper family. Mummy, Daddy, your two little boys, and I’m the cuckoo in your nest.’
‘Daisy, don’t ever talk like that, don’t even think it!’ Alex cried. ‘We’re your parents. You’re our child. We’d give our lives for you.’
Rose wrapped one arm round Daisy. ‘You’re our lovely daughter, always have been, always will be. So don’t you ever think you’re not, do you hear me?’
‘I suppose so.’ Daisy shrugged. ‘What’s my mother’s name?’
‘It was Phoebe Gower. But now she’s Phoebe Rosenheim, or she was going to be. I don’t know if she married her fiancé.’
‘So my father’s name is Rosenheim?’
‘No, I don’t think so, Daisy. She became engaged to Nathan Rosenheim quite a few years after she had you.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘She came from Bethnal Green, in the East End of London, and then she went to Leeds. But I don’t know where she lives today.’
‘Mum, don’t lie to me!’
‘Daisy, it’s the truth, I promise you.’ Rose hugged Daisy tightly. ‘She didn’t keep in touch. When we were in India, I must have sent a hundred letters to that address in Leeds. I sent photographs of you. She didn’t reply. Before we went to India, she told me she was going to America. I don’t know if she went.’
‘She didn’t want me, did she?’
‘It was wartime, she was very young, she didn’t have a family or a home.’
‘So she abandoned me.’ Daisy was still trying to digest all this, but she felt that something was stuck deep in her throat, that if she breathed too deeply she would choke.
‘She couldn’t keep you,’ Rose said gently. ‘So we said we’d adopt you, which we did.’
‘How did you meet her, anyway?’
‘She was the younger sister of a nurse I knew in France, during the war,’ said Rose. ‘Maria and I were working on the ambulance trains, and the Germans often used to bomb them. If Maria hadn’t been killed, she would have adopted you, I’m sure.’
‘Daisy, love,’ said Alex, who was sitting on Daisy’s other side, ‘please don’t think too badly of us. We did what we thought was best for everyone concerned.’
‘I know you will be curious about her,’ added Rose. ‘Maybe you’ll want to find her, get to know her, and
we’ll try to help you.’
‘Why should I want to find a woman who abandoned me?’ Daisy laid her head on Alex’s shoulder. ‘Dad, I hate her, and I don’t want you to mention her again.’
‘I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner, sweetheart,’ Rose said softly.
‘Oh, don’t worry, Mum, I understand.’ Daisy shrugged and got up from the bed. ‘Get dry, you’ll catch a chill.’
‘Where are you going now?’
‘To get some supper, if the brats have left me anything.’
‘Let me put on my dressing gown, and I’ll come down and make you scrambled eggs.’
‘Mum, I’d like to be by myself, all right?’ Daisy still felt as if she was choking, that she’d swallowed something hard and indigestible. She needed to breathe some clean, fresh air. She had to get away.
‘She didn’t ask about her natural father,’ whispered Rose, when they were certain Daisy was downstairs, and could hear her clattering plates and saucepans in the kitchen.
‘One thing at a time,’ said Alex.
‘She’s bound to want to know eventually.’
‘Let’s hope she doesn’t ask us yet,’ said Alex. ‘I don’t think I could cope with it right now. Rose, come here, you’re shivering. Let me dry your hair.’
‘We need to find a tenant for the bailiff’s cottage,’ Rose told Alex. ‘If we get the place spruced up and rent it out, that will bring in some cash.’
‘You’re right,’ said Alex, as he towelled her hair. ‘We should have done it months ago.’
‘We’ve both been rather busy. But, once the place is habitable, someone from the village is sure to want it. There’s an enormous garden, plenty of space to keep a flock of chickens and a pig, as well as raise a dozen children.’
‘At least,’ said Alex. ‘I believe the Stokeleys had fourteen.’
‘Alex?’
‘Yes?
‘Do you think we’ve been unfair to Daisy?’
‘I honestly don’t know.’ Alex picked up a brush and started brushing Rose’s hair with long, hard strokes. ‘We did what we thought was best, and maybe we were wrong.’
‘I couldn’t love her any better if she was my own.’
‘I know,’ said Alex. ‘Let’s hope that after we’ve all slept on it, everything will settle down again.’
Daisy spent a sleepless night, turning things over and over in her mind, coming to no conclusions, hating Rose and Alex for lying, or at least misleading her, loving them still for loving her so much, then hating them again.
She got up very early, had her breakfast before anyone else was up, then left the house. She wanted to see Ewan, who would be sympathetic, she was sure, and who would understand.
She walked to the place they usually met.
She sat on a stile, waiting.
Chapter Four
Phoebe Rosenheim buttoned up her dress. She met the doctor’s calm, professional gaze. ‘So you don’t think there’s any ’ope,’ she muttered.
‘I didn’t exactly tell you that,’ the doctor said, but now he turned his head away.
‘It’s like I told you, I’ve already ’ad one baby. I didn’t ’ave no bother with my labour, so why can’t I have more?’ demanded Phoebe. ‘I’m only thirty-five, so surely I ain’t past it yet?’
‘My dear Mrs Rosenheim, some things aren’t meant to be.’ The doctor spread his clean, white hands. ‘You can rest assured there’s nothing seriously wrong. You have a little internal scarring, and although that can make conception hard, I wouldn’t say it was impossible.’
‘So just keep tryin’, eh?’ Phoebe put on her elegant straw hat, settled the smart, black veil over her eyes, then pulled on her new gloves. ‘Nathan, he don’t say nothin’,’ she murmured, ‘an’ he’s very patient. But I know ’e wants kids. He’s worked so hard, an’ now he wants somebody to take over his business when ’e’s gone.’
Phoebe’s great dark eyes were full of disappointed tears. ‘God knows he’s done enough for me,’ she cried, ‘an’ now I wants to give ’im somethin’, too. Dr Stein, I wants to make ’im happy!’
‘You say you’ve had one child already,’ said the doctor, as he glanced at Phoebe’s notes again. ‘That was back in England, was it?’
‘When I lived in London.’ Phoebe nodded. ‘It was born in Bethnal Green, poor little devil, just like me.’
‘So don’t give up all hope.’ The doctor coughed, clearing his throat. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Rosenheim, but did your baby die?’
‘No, it was fine,’ said Phoebe. ‘But I wasn’t married then, an’ so it was adopted.’
‘Do you know by whom?’
‘The bloke was in the army. The woman ’ad been a nurse with our Maria – that’s my sister, but she’s dead – durin’ the war.’
Phoebe shrugged, as if to suggest all this was ancient history. ‘They was good, kind people, so I didn’t mind leavin’ it with them. Then I married Nathan an’ we came to the States, but I couldn’t ’ave brought the kid along. It wouldn’t have been fair to Nathan, after all he’d done.’
‘The child was not your husband’s, then?’
‘No, she was some soldier’s.’ Phoebe shrugged again. ‘You wouldn’t think it now, seein’ me dressed up so nice, an’ all respectable, but I used to go with soldiers then. It was that or starve.
‘Anyway, like I was sayin’ the people who ’ad the kid, they wrote to me when I was livin’ in Leeds. I didn’t keep the letters. I didn’t want to know.’
‘Where are these people now?’
‘I don’t know, Dr Stein.’
‘It would be possible to find them, wouldn’t it? You surely have their names?’
‘Of course I have their names.’
‘If you could be reunited with this child you lost, do you think it would help you?’
‘No, it bleedin’ wouldn’t.’ Phoebe looked Dr Stein as if he was insane. ‘Sorry, doctor, ’scuse my French, but I want Nathan’s baby, not some other bloke’s. I want to be a proper family!’
‘Just give it time.’ The doctor stood up, led Phoebe from his office and asked the receptionist to call a cab.
Ten minutes later she was in a taxi, surrounded by the noise and rush and bustle of New York City. It was still a vibrant, busy place, despite the Crash, despite the fact that these days sober-suited businessmen were standing on the sidewalks, selling stuff from trays.
But Phoebe didn’t see them, because in spirit she was back in Bethnal Green. Maybe Dr Stein was right. Maybe she should try to find the baby she had lost, so many years ago? Or had she waited far too long, and was it too late now?
Daisy sat and waited the whole morning before she finally accepted Ewan wasn’t coming.
She wondered if he knew.
Then she told herself, don’t be ridiculous. Of course he doesn’t know.
Then she remembered what he’d said the first time they had met, about how his mother and Lady Easton talked about her, how they knew her name and where she lived. They probably knew the rest of it, as well.
Now Ewan would know it, too.
The week went on, the glorious Dorset summer of blue and gold contrasting cruelly with the bitter winter that had frozen Daisy’s heart. She must have looked so miserable, she realised, that even the brats were pleasant, and this was restful but alarming. Rose insisted that the twins knew nothing, but the boys were acting as if somebody had died, and Daisy was chief mourner.
Mealtimes were impossible. She was given the best of everything, but didn’t feel like eating. ‘Why don’t you have another pilchard, Daze?’ asked Robert, one bleak supper time, on the third or fourth day after Rose’s revelations. He didn’t wait for Daisy to reply, but slid one off his toast, then plonked the blank-eyed corpse on Daisy’s plate.
‘You can have one of mine, as well.’ Stephen wobbled a fish across the table on his fork.
But Daisy couldn’t have eaten the wretched pilchards if she’d tried. Their blind, dead eyes stared up at her reproachfully. The thick tomato sauce looked like fresh blood. Gagging, she got up and left the table.
She knew she had to pull herself together. She was Rose’s and Alex’s daughter still. They’d said so, and she knew they really meant it, that they loved her dearly and would always be her mum and dad, no matter who her natural parents were.
But she was in such a muddle.
Superficially, everything in Charton was the same. The people in the village were as pleasant as they’d ever been. But now all their enquiries about her parents and her brothers seemed sarcastic, not polite. Now, she could imagine all the whispering and gossiping there must have been when the Denhams first came back to Dorset. She wondered just how much these strangers knew, when she’d known nothing.
Even dear old Mrs Hobson had become an enemy – one of the conspirators who had always known the truth, and hidden it – so Daisy had stopped going to the kitchen when Mrs Hobson was around. Sometimes, Daisy even hated Rose.
She thought, I need to get away from Charton.
But where could I go?
One hot morning, she was making for the headland, meaning to sit on the cliffs and think the whole thing through again, when she saw Ewan coming down the road from Easton Hall.
She turned back, walking quickly. But he ran after her and caught her, falling into step beside her, hands pushed in his trouser pockets, staring straight ahead.
They walked in silence for a hundred yards. But the silence soon became so heavy and oppressive that Daisy couldn’t bear it any longer. ‘You never came to meet me!’ she began. ‘I waited hours that morning!’
‘I thought you were so annoyed with me that you wouldn’t come,’ he muttered, scowling at the path.
‘Why should I be annoyed?’
The Golden Chain Page 4