She gave a wide smile. A few weeks ago that smile would have melted him. Now, it was just a broadening of her mouth.
‘I don’t suppose yer mum’ll be keeping the baby,’ she said. ‘After all, it’s not yer father’s child. It wouldn’t be right for him to bring it up, now would it?’
Henry felt a rush of anger. It took him all his concentration to speak in a soft voice the way she did.
‘Dad told me he would look after the baby, don’t you remember? And Molly too. He said it would be like having a ready-made family.’
‘Well I never,’ she said. ‘He’s a kind man. Too kind for his own good, perhaps?’ And she tipped her head to one side. ‘You don’t want a baby around, do you?’
‘I’ll be the baby’s half-brother,’ said Henry gently.
His gran’s face changed dramatically and for a fraction of a second he spotted the cruel expression he had seen in one of the photographs he had taken.
‘Of course,’ she said, the smile quickly returning, ‘but you’ll have to think about what’s best for the baby, won’t you? And Molly.’
‘Molly’s looking forward to the baby coming.’
‘She’ll forget. She’s young. She can start new too.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Adoption. That’s the best thing for the little horror, don’t you think?’
There, it was out in the open. Henry shook his head.
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘She’s not going away,’
There was an awkward silence and then she smiled again.
‘Your dad told me about that girl you were with,’ she said brightly. ‘What was her name?’ She looked away for a moment as though she was thinking and then clapped her hands. ‘Grace! That was it.’
Henry looked away from her eyes.
‘Very nicely spoken, he said. Do her parents know she’s walking out with a boy? Your father said she only looked about twelve.’
‘She’s thirteen,’ Henry said quietly.
‘Very young, dear.’
‘And we’re not walking out together.’
‘Just a friend, eh? Still, I don’t think her parents would be too happy to know she goes out on her own with a boy, a boy from a secondary modern school. I sometimes see her aunt about. Elderly woman. Refined. Number 52, that’s where she lives, ain’t it?’
Henry stared at her. So that was it. Lose Molly and the baby, or lose Grace.
‘And she’s always popping into that house. Do her parents know that the woman what lives there is sheltering the wife and son of a deserter and that an unmarried woman lives there with her . . . ’
He began to count to ten inside his head and picked up the bucket.
‘I’ll go and get some more coal,’ he muttered.
11. Surprises among the china
‘HIGH TEA?’ REPEATED HENRY, MYSTIFIED. ‘IS THIS A DIAMOND?’
They were sitting in Mrs Beaumont’s sitting room with the door firmly closed.
‘This is a case of digging one up,’ she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. ‘Your grandmother is threatening to tell Grace’s great-aunt about the terrible company she’s keeping. Let’s pip her at the post and invite her great-aunt here for tea before she can get to her. I’ll unpack my parent’s silver and china, hunt through some recipes and we’ll treat her like royalty. But whatever you do, don’t tell your grandmother, otherwise she’ll be over there like a shot. And thank you for having the guts to tell me it’s she who’s our informer. Though I have a small confession to make.’
‘Mum told you?’
She nodded. ‘Soon after you told her.’
She sprang to her feet and walked briskly out of the room into the hall. Henry stood in the doorway and watched her pick up the phone and begin dialling. She caught his eye and winked at him.
‘Hello, Miss Forbes-Ellis,’ she said. ‘It’s Mrs Beaumont speaking . . . It’s about Grace . . . No. She’s not being any trouble at all . . . On the contrary I’m delighted with her work, which is partly why I’m calling you. I and the other ladies who are teaching her would like you to come to tea tomorrow afternoon and look at her work. I also thought you’d like to meet their sons. They occasionally chaperone Grace.’ She glanced at Henry and smiled. ‘I know it’s rather late notice but . . . Oh, good! . . . That would be delightful . . . About five o’clock? . . . We’ll look forward to seeing you then. Yes. Goodbye, Miss Forbes-Ellis.’
She replaced the receiver and then dashed into the study where Jeffries was measuring and cutting up pieces of elastic for his mother, who was half hidden behind a wall of half-made peach and pink corsets. Henry wondered nervously if Mrs Beaumont was going to tell them about his gran, but to his relief she explained that the tea was a way of breaking the scholarship news.
‘We need all the help we can get,’ she finished. ‘And then after she’s had a lovely time I’ll tell her.’
Mrs Jeffries was beaming.
‘Black treacle!’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ve a tin in your cupboard. I could make some dark gingerbread.’
‘It’s been there for some time.’
‘It’ll still be better than adding gravy browning. We’ll need to buy bread, of course, rather than baking it ourselves. We must use any flour and eggs we have to make cakes.’
‘Cakes!’ said Jeffries over a box of suspender clips.
‘We’ll need your help too, boys,’ said Mrs Beaumont.
‘We’ve only done a term of cookery,’ said Henry.
‘Not cooking. Cleaning the silver. And I’ve just remembered there’s a damask tablecloth upstairs. It’s wrapped up inside a suitcase.’
Between the four of them they brought down the suitcase, one box of tarnished silverware and two boxes containing glasses and crockery wrapped in newspaper.
They carried the drop table into the centre of the study, lifted the sides and slid them all together, making a long table. Mrs Jeffries unwrapped the packaging around the tablecloth and lifted it tenderly out of the suitcase.
‘Oh, it’s beautiful!’ she whispered. She struggled to unfold the starched material but it stood in the centre of the table like a stiff, lopsided, white pyramid. ‘Let’s leave it overnight. If it hasn’t softened up by the morning, I’ll iron it. Now,’ she said eagerly, ‘let’s take the boxes down to the kitchen and find out how much we have left in the way of flour, sugar and colouring.’
‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ said Mrs Beaumont.
‘Absolutely. It’s far more exciting than making corsets.’
They carried the boxes down to the kitchen and placed them carefully on the table.
‘Henry, will you explain to your mother what it is we’re planning to do and ask her if she’s willing to give any of her rations for this week,’ said Mrs Jeffries, ‘and I’ll ask Pip’s mother. Now let’s see what’s in these boxes.’
Gingerly they unwrapped each small object. After half an hour the kitchen table was littered with elegant bone china, cups and saucers, a silver sugar bowl, tiny silver teaspoons and the smallest forks Henry had ever seen.
‘They’re for eating cakes with,’ Mrs Beaumont explained.
‘I’ve never seen my mother eat a cake with a fork before,’ said Henry.
‘She can copy me. And talking of your mother, you’d best get home.’
‘We must make sure Gran doesn’t leave the house tomorrow,’ said his mother in the scullery.
‘I’ll make up her fire in the morning,’ Henry offered, ‘and give her breakfast.’
‘Would you, love? Then I can go earlier to the shops and get to the head of the queues. Once I’m back I can keep an eye on her. Whatever happens we must stop her going out before five o’clock.’
The following morning Henry’s mother woke him early. Downstairs he discovered that she had already been sorting out some ingredients. A pot of homemade blackberry jam, several other tiny parcels and an egg were on the table.
‘Dried fruit,’ she whispered. ‘Not much but I’
ll bring back this week’s ration of flour once I’ve been to the shops.’
Henry packed the food into his rucksack, crept up the stairs with the egg and wedged it between an old jersey and some socks on the shelf in the wardrobe. He was just taking the camera down when a small voice from behind made him jump.
‘Molly clever,’ she said proudly, holding a tin chamber pot with a chipped green rim. It was not empty.
Henry took the pot from her and held her hand. He walked quietly downstairs to the kitchen.
‘Henry look after Molly,’ he said. ‘Give Molly breakfast. Mum gone out.’
And then he realised that he was speaking like her.
‘Molly clever,’ she repeated, smiling up at him.
‘Molly very clever,’ said Henry, realising that if he didn’t praise her she would repeat it again.
‘Henry wipe Molly’s bottom,’ she demanded.
Henry nodded and led her out into the yard to the toilet.
After he had washed his hands and dressed her, he cut her a slice of bread. He had just handed it to her when there was a loud knock on the wall.
‘Auntie hungry,’ stated Molly. ‘Auntie wants tea.’
By the time Uncle Bill had returned from the night shift and gone to bed, Henry had lit Gran’s fire and given her breakfast. Unfortunately her fire kept spitting, and what with her knocking on the wall for him to put on more coal and move the fire guard, and Molly demanding his attention, he had to use every ounce of energy to control his temper. He longed for his mother to return from the shops but when she did, hours later, she looked shattered. Henry quickly took the shopping bags from her and she sank gratefully into a chair. Immediately Molly tried to climb on to her lap, getting cross because there was less space now that his mother’s pregnancy was more advanced.
‘I’ll make some tea for you,’ he said, worried.
‘Thanks, love, but don’t use the new tea leaves. Use the damp ones in the vacuum flask. I’m going to give some of our tea ration to Mrs Beaumont for this afternoon.’
She was interrupted by a loud banging on the wall.
‘I’ve got to cook lunch,’ she said wearily.
‘I’ll go and see what she wants.’
They smiled at one another like conspirators but Henry was still worried about her. She looked so pale.
‘Would you like me to take Molly with me when I go round to Mrs Beaumont’s?’
‘Oh, yes!’ she murmured. ‘Would you, love?’
He remembered that the district nurse had told his mother to take an afternoon nap. He couldn’t see Gran allowing her to do that.
‘Why don’t you come too?’
‘I wouldn’t be much help. I’m done in.’
‘You can have a sleep on her settee. We’ll all be down in the kitchen.’
‘But don’t we need someone here to keep an eye on Gran?’
At that moment there was another bang on the wall.
‘I’ll come with you,’ she said quickly.
The table was laid with scones, slim wheatmeal tinned-salmon sandwiches, mock banana sandwiches, jam sandwiches, gingerbread, carrot cookies and chocolate buns made from cocoa powder. What remained of the sugar ration was now in the silver sugar bowl with its ornate handles. Draped over the silver jug filled with milk was a tiny lace cover. Blackberry jam was in the blue glass dish in the silver container and strawberry jam was in a small cut-glass bowl next to a bowl of artificial cream. Three silver spoons lay beside them.
‘The bowls are downstairs ready for another little treat. Mrs Jeffries and Mrs Morgan have made ice cream and a little lemon sorbet,’ said Mrs Beaumont.
‘But you don’t have a refrigerator,’ Henry’s mother said, puzzled.
‘The Plaza has. Mrs Morgan has taken it over there and she’s going to whip back and pick it up during the tea.’
‘The table looks beautiful!’
‘Henry, take that wonderful egg downstairs before the heat of your hand causes it to hatch.’
‘There are more bits and pieces in his rucksack,’ said his mother.
‘Any flour?’
‘Yes. And jam.’
‘Splendid.’ Mrs Jeffries took Molly into the hall. ‘I have some very important stirring for you to do.’ She looked at Henry’s mother and pointed firmly in the direction of the sitting room. ‘Go and lie down. You can join us when you’ve had a sleep.’
Down in the kitchen Pip was flattening out pastry using a bottle as a rolling pin, and Jeffries was stirring a cocoa mixture. Pip’s mother was removing another tray of scones from the oven.
‘Hello, love,’ she said, smiling. ‘Oh, my word!’ she cried. ‘An egg! Just in time. Our ration of eggs is all used up. Lovely!’
There was a loud knock at the front door.
‘That’ll be Grace,’ said Pip excitedly and he presented the milk bottle to Henry to take over and fled from the room.
‘They’ll be doing their rehearsing,’ said Mrs Morgan.
‘They’re going to give Miss Forbes-Ellis a little concert,’ Mrs Beaumont explained.
By a quarter to five, Henry and Jeffries were wearing flannel trousers, jackets, shirts and ties, their hair slicked back. Pip was wearing his concert outfit minus the tails.
‘Now remember to tuck your napkin in your collar and sit with your stomach touching the table,’ said Mrs Morgan, ‘so that if any ice cream or jam falls, it won’t touch your trousers. You’ve got to keep your clothes clean for the Plaza.’
Henry was standing with his friends in the hall when there was a knock on the heavy outer storm door, which had been left open. A shadow appeared in the porch and across the stained glass window of the hall door.
‘She’s here!’ whispered Mrs Beaumont and she frantically beckoned them to take Molly downstairs. ‘Not you, Grace!’ she said, grabbing her arm. ‘You need to stay with me in case she asks any questions about your work.’ Once out of sight, Henry hovered by the kitchen door eavesdropping, while Pip and Jeffries kept Molly amused.
‘Good afternoon, Miss Forbes-Ellis,’ Henry heard Mrs Beaumont say. ‘Do come in. Would you like a glass of sherry?’ and then there was the sound of the sitting room door closing.
After a while there were footsteps on the steps and Mrs Jeffries and Mrs Morgan appeared. They closed the kitchen door behind them.
‘What’s she like?’ whispered Jeffries.
‘Grim,’ said his mother.
‘Let’s just say she’s not giving anything away,’ added Mrs Morgan.
‘When we go into the dining room, remember not to sit down until she sits down,’ said Mrs Jeffries, ‘and don’t start eating until she starts eating.’
The door swung open. It was Mrs Beaumont.
‘Up to the sitting room, you boys. Time for introductions.’
An elderly white-haired woman was sitting bolt upright on the edge of the settee, dressed in navy blue from her neck to her ankles, aside from a tiny lace collar, a cameo brooch at her throat and a pair of cream leather gloves. She wore a navy blue hat and navy blue lace-up shoes with a small heel. Staring at the severe expression on her wrinkled face, Henry was reminded of a Victorian photograph.
‘Miss Forbes-Ellis, may I introduce the three boys who occasionally chaperone Grace when she goes to the cinema, Henry, Roger and Pip.’
They nodded one by one as she said their names.
Miss Forbes-Ellis gave them a regal nod. There was an icy silence. She doesn’t approve, thought Henry. Just then, Molly came flying in and stopped in front of her. The old lady scowled.
‘Are you the birthday lady?’ Molly asked.
Grace’s great-aunt shook her head, still unsmiling. Grace was looking on nervously.
Henry’s mother came forward.
‘This is my daughter, Molly,’ she said hurriedly. ‘Molly, this is the lady who’s been invited to tea. It’s not her birthday but . . . ’
‘Do you like cake?’ she asked, ignoring her mother.
The woman nodded sol
emnly.
‘Me too,’ and she beamed and took hold of her hand.
To Henry’s amazement Miss Forbes-Ellis allowed herself to be taken by his determined half-sister and Henry was certain he spotted the flicker of a smile.
In the dining room everyone waited until she had sat down before doing so themselves and copied Mrs Beaumont when she opened her serviette. Mrs Jeffries walked in with a pot of tea.
‘I notice you have a piano,’ said Miss Forbes-Ellis politely.
‘My elder brother used to play it,’ said Mrs Beaumont.
Miss Forbes-Ellis leaned forward as if to ask another question but then stopped. They gazed at one another.
‘The Great War,’ answered Mrs Beaumont to her silent question. ‘I lost two brothers. And my husband.’
She gave a sympathetic nod.
‘But Pip uses it now.’
‘Oh, yes?’ she commented, giving him a cursory glance. ‘Do you have a piano teacher?’
‘Yes, Miss Forbes-Ellis,’ said Pip.
‘A lady called Miss Bradley,’ added his mother.
‘Miss Bradley!’ She stared at them astonished. ‘Why, she’s a friend of mine.’
‘She’s coming to the Plaza this evening to listen to Pip play in the interval.’
‘But I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘She told me it was a boy called Edward.’
‘Edward is his first name but his friends call him Pip.’
‘Good gracious,’ she said, staring at Pip in disbelief. ‘She’s always singing your praises,’ and with that she gave a broad smile.
Henry observed that everyone suddenly looked relieved. It looked as though Mrs Beaumont’s tea party idea was going to work.
‘Grace tells me you boys are learning French at your school,’ she said. ‘You’re very lucky. It’s a wonderful language and a wonderful country.’
‘You’ve been there?’ Mrs Beaumont asked.
‘I used to live there. In Paris.’
‘How long did you stay?’ asked Mrs Jeffries.
‘Years! I went there in the 1890s as a young woman, fell in love with it and refused to return home. My family were very shocked, but then everything about me shocked them.’
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