‘If that is another complaint about money, may I simply say in my own defence that I hope that I do my duty, what I believe to be right. However, my pockets are not bottomless pits overflowing with brass, Lucy. Times are hard.’
How tired she was of hearing those words. ‘Kate O’Connor is doing well enough, despite the war, stealing business from Tyson’s hand over fist. So why aren’t you doing something about it, instead of running away?’ His lack of response to this barb as he continued to eat his meal, even politely commenting on the tenderness of the beef and making Cissie flush with pride at the compliment, infuriated Lucy all the more.
That damned nursemaid was making her advancement at their expense, and Eliot didn’t seem to care whether there would be a business left for them to inherit. Why didn’t he do something to stop her? Lucy felt a rage building up inside. She could taste the sourness of it in her throat like bile. She refused to allow this dreadful family to treat her so callously, as if she were of no account. Not for one moment had she imagined her life would turn out this way, stuck at the Lodge as some sort of dependant relative with no say over what went on. She was the mother of three children who should join this business one day. And it was surely her task, as their mother, to ensure that there was something worthwhile for them to take over in the fullness of time, particularly considering all the trouble she’d taken. She needed to make that point clear at least. ‘If you weren’t so selfish, you would provide me with a home of my own. Don’t my children deserve that much, at least?’
‘I was under the impression that your children were very well provided for. They certainly cost enough.’ Eliot sighed as he reached for the wine decanter to refill his glass, a rather fine claret, though how much longer he would be able to afford such luxuries was a moot point.
‘That you resent paying for.’
‘That’s not what he said, Lucy,’ Aunt Vera chipped in. ‘Dear Eliot is merely advocating prudence.’
‘And thrift,’ echoed Aunt Cissie, slipping a delicate slice of beef to her favourite dog.
‘What about my precious darlings? Don’t they deserve the very best of care? You destroyed their father, would you destroy them too?’
‘My word, Lucy, that’s a bit below the belt,’ Aunt Vera sternly reprimanded her in vinegar tones. ‘We all know that Charles was the author of his own misfortune, as are you my dear, to a degree.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
Eliot patiently flapped a hand to calm heated tempers. Poor Vera was puffing like an old steam train and he rather expected steam to rise from her ears at any moment. ‘Speaking for myself, I can’t help admiring Kate O’Connor’s tenacity and entrepreneurial spirit but fear not, it might be a struggle but Tyson’s will survive. One cannot expect to have things all one’s own way in business. Matters could change radically after the war. The army won’t require so many boots and she might be the one in difficulties, whereas Tyson’s will have it’s classic lines to fall back on.’
‘There you are, Lucy dear,’ said Aunt Vera with waspish satisfaction. ‘You will simply have to be patient.’
Lucy smiled at the older woman with all the sweetness of acid.
Fanny took to her new job without any problems whatsoever, finding it quite a treat to be with girls her own age. And to Kate’s enormous relief, she paid no attention whatsoever to Dennis, walking past him in tight-lipped silence, with her nose in the air in that stuck-up way of hers. Kate wondered how Mrs Petty and Ida would cope without housemaid, gardener or chauffeur, doubting they’d manage to replace any of them just now. Coping with the aunts would not be easy, and who would Lucy find to boss? Not that it had anything to do with her what went on at Tyson Lodge. She had her own problems to think of, after all, but she was finding it difficult to concentrate on practical concerns today. All Kate could think of was that Eliot had enlisted. She sat plaiting her daughter’s hair, listening to her chatter on about what her teacher had thought about a picture she’d drawn, what she was going to do today in school and how many gold stars she’d won lately.
A small hand tugged at her sleeve. ‘Mammy, are you listening? I want to go to Maggie’s for tea. Will you let me?’
‘Of course, darling, if her mother is happy to have you.’
‘Oh, she is, she is. We’re going to make jam tarts. Maggie’s mummy does things like that with her all the time.’
Not like me, Kate thought, with a nudge of motherly guilt. ‘Well, perhaps Maggie’s mummy doesn’t have to go out to work, as I do.’
‘Course she don’t. Maggie’s got a daddy to do that.’ Flora shook her head, making the streaks of fire in her dark auburn curls dance and bounce with health. The child was vain enough to be constantly demanding that they be allowed to fall loose on her shoulders in soft waves, but Kate insisted that plaits were far more practical. Then as if asking the question for the first time, which wasn’t the case at all, ‘Why don’t I have a daddy?’
‘Oh my, now look at the time. Aren’t we going to be late, if we don’t get a move on.’ Callum had been too young to understand that his daddy was dead, that he was never coming back from the river. It had been easy to talk of heaven, and Jesus needing him more, since he didn’t fully appreciate the finality of death. It seemed to be much more difficult with Flora, who was a child filled with questions and curiosity. But how could she tell her the truth, when she couldn’t bring herself to even admit that Eliot was her father.
Kate found the image of Flora’s pretty little face blurring as her eyes filled with unexpected tears. Flora’s daddy was going to France to fight and she didn’t even know it. Dear God, how would she survive, not knowing how or where he was, not even able to write to find out if he was still alive? Kate wanted to hate him, but she couldn’t. She wanted never to think of him again, never to need him, but that seemed impossible. She felt trapped by the weakness of her own emotions.
Flora said, ‘And will we go to the market soon? I want another candy twist, and to see my friend again.’
‘And what friend is that?’ Kate said with a laugh. ‘Now will ye fetch yer coat, or your teacher will give you a black mark, not a gold star.’
‘The one I shared my sweet with. You know, I told you, the boy on the farmer’s cart with the red hair.’
Kate felt as if she had been drenched in cold water. But if so, then why did she instantly feel all hot and prickly, her fingers going numb so that they became paralysed, unable to fasten the buttons on her daughter’s coat.’
‘Let me do it Mammy. You’re so slow,’ Flora complained.
‘Where did you see him, this boy? How old was he? What did he look like? Which cart was it? Did it have a name on it? What was the farmer called?’
But these were too many questions for Flora. Besides, she’d grown tired of the conversation, was far more engrossed with showing off her new-found skill with buttons. ‘Mammy look, I can nearly do shoe laces too. My teacher says I’m the cleverest girl in the class.’
‘Flora, listen to Mammy. I want you to try to remember. How old would you say the boy was?’
It took some time and a great deal of patience before Kate could get anything more out of her. ‘Oh, I don’t know. He was bigger than me. And he was hungry. That fat lady hit him.’
And then an image of the fat farmer’s wife clouting a boy about the head, whom she’d taken to be the woman’s own son, came into her mind and a wave of sickness hit her. Had that been Callum? Could it possibly have been him? Oh Dear God, had she been so near, and never realised it was him? Oh, let it not be him. Much as she longed to find him, let him not be so ill treated.
Kate walked her daughter to school that day, as she did every morning, but this time, instead of hurrying back to the workshop to get on with the mass of orders and tasks piled up on her desk, she dashed to the town hall in a frenzy of agitation, demanding to speak to councillors, to the Town Clerk, to anyone who could tell her the names of the farmers who attended the market. She was told only that it was a
free market. That farmers came and went at will.
For the last five years Kate had studiously managed to avoid Eliot Tyson, catching no more than the odd glimpse of him at a distance, for all Kendal was a small town. She hadn’t wanted to see him. The mere sight of him had served only to bring back all the pain of loving him, and the agony of losing Callum.
Occasionally, she’d see the two aunts going into the post office on Finkle Street or shopping on Branthwaite Brow. And once or twice she’d spotted Lucy marching into Berry’s Drapers on Highgate, her three children trailing after her like a line of ducklings being led to the slaughter. But Kate always made sure that none of them ever saw her.
She also made a point of steering clear of the far side of the river, where she’d be sure to run across him. Yet Kate was ever aware that he was not too far away. On her way back from her fruitless errand to the Town Hall, she looked across the river to the grey stone, square mansion, to the turrets and windows that she’d once known so well, imagining him closeted in his study, a fire burning in the grate, a book on his lap. But no, he would be taking breakfast with the aunts and Lucy, before hurrying on to his work, as she should be doing. She’d often hoped and prayed that he might be missing her, that he was lonely too, yet telling herself that he deserved to be so for rejecting her so heartlessly. That he might, perhaps, come looking for her one day. But of course he never had, and in the end she’d come to see that it was foolish to go on hoping, telling herself she didn’t want him anyway.
Didn’t she hate him for choosing Lucy over her? Wasn’t she at least trying to hate him, and to prove that she could stand on her own two feet. And damn it, hadn’t she succeeded? Until now.
Should she tell him about this possible sighting? Did she need his help? Maybe later, when she had more information.
She went to the market place, empty today, it not being the right day, but she visited all the shops asking shop keepers if they had seen a red haired boy minding a cart with a fat farmer’s wife. None had. No one knew the name. None could help her.
Kate stood in helpless misery and wept. If only she had paid more attention at the time to what Flora had been saying. If only she’d gone back to remonstrate with the woman for clouting the boy. But she’d thought it none of her business. Didn’t it happen all the time, mother’s chastising their sons. It didn’t necessarily mean that he was being ill treated, or that he was unhappy. Or even that it was Callum. There must be any number of other red headed boys in Westmorland. But somehow, in her heart of hearts, she knew that it was him, that this was a clue, and she felt a kernel of excitement despite her despair. How many farmers were there in this county? Not so many surely that she couldn’t find him. All she had to do was visit all the other markets. Ambleside, Buttermere, Coniston, Keswick, Kirkby Lonsdale, wherever farmers gathered to sell their produce. Somewhere amongst them, she would find him.
Wasting no time, she ran to find Dennis. ‘Forget the deliveries today. I have a more important job for us to do.’
‘Are your sure, Kate? That Mr Rumley don’t like to be kept waiting, and Joseph Webster is a stickler for his boots being delivered on time, even to the hour. He’ll have his lads on standby, waiting to unpack the boxes the minute we arrive.’
‘Well, he’ll be disappointed today.’ She was flying around, answering queries, giving out hasty instructions, calling for Millie, wanting to tell her friend what she’d discovered. When she succeeded in finding her, gabbling out her tale at breathless speed, Millie’s eyes opened wide in wonder. She hugged Kate tight, instantly promised to collect Flora from school and keep an eye on things here, and sent Kate on her way with all her love.
‘I shall have every finger crossed. Bring him home, Kate. Bring him home.’
They drove miles that day, through town after town, it seemed as if it might be the length and breadth of the county, though how could it be, pottering along far too slowly for Kate’s liking, and with far too many stops. Dennis would need to refill the tank with petroleum, mend a puncture or simply cool down the engine. It was an exhausting trip and utterly fruitless as it turned out. Either there was no market that day, or no sign of a red haired boy with or without a fat farmer’s wife. It was near midnight by the time they arrived back home again, tired and discouraged.
‘We can try another day,’ Dennis consoled her, fully understanding what it was all about by this time. ‘But not tomorrow. We have to deliver those boots.’
They tried again a few days later, deliveries or no, sadly with equal lack of success. And as if this wasn’t bad enough, on Sunday a train was leaving with the next batch of recruits off for training. No doubt Eliot would be amongst them.
The last thing she wanted was for him to go to France and run the risk of being killed. Kate couldn’t begin to contemplate a world without him, a time when she didn’t know that one day, whether or not their differences were ever settled, she couldn’t at least see him about town and know that he was safe and well. However much she might deny it, didn’t she love him still? Wouldn’t she always love him, drat the man.
There was no question in her mind but that she would have to go on Sunday and see him off. How could she escape it? But not for a moment would she allow him to see that she cared.
Kate could see at once that he was surprised to see her. He stood on the station platform in his smart overcoat, his bag at his feet, and looked at her as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were telling him.
‘Is it really you, Kate? You look well.’
‘Thank you.’ She’d made sure that she did look well. She was dressed in a brand new burgundy coat and ankle-length skirt, a pale blue silk jabot at the throat and a matching hat with a long feather atop her neatly coiffured head. She’d bought the outfit especially for the occasion and the open admiration in his warm brown eyes was gratifying, if painful to witness. She came briskly to the point. Without removing her black kid gloves, she handed him an envelope. ‘I heard you were going off on training today and wanted to bring you this. It’s the return of the money you loaned me.’
‘Good lord, Kate, that wasn’t a loan.’
‘Well, I’ve treated it as such. I’m a decent, hard working woman, and I don’t take money from men, not even gentlemen.’ She met his startled gaze unblinking. Kate had every intention of keeping this meeting strictly formal. Not for a moment must he be allowed to guess the inner turmoil she was suffering.
‘I’m sure you don’t. I mean – I never thought that you . . .’
‘I wanted to make that quite clear, considering our past circumstances. And there was one other thing I thought you should know. A young boy was spotted on the market place the other day, a boy with red hair. I don’t know whether it’s Callum or not, as I haven’t been able to find him yet. But I intend to keep searching, just in case. I’ve already visited quite a few other markets, to no avail, but I’ll keep looking. I wanted you to know that – before you went away. I won’t give up, and I’ll tell the aunts, if I get any news. Now, I wish you well, a safe homecoming and bid you good day.’
She turned on her heel, had walked for some yards before he came out of his stunned paralysis and in two long strides was by her side, looking as if he might snatch hold of her arm but then seemed to think better of it.
‘Kate, don’t rush away. I can’t believe what you’re saying. You think it might be him?’
She gave a helpless shrug. ‘I can’t be sure till I find the boy. It might all be a waste of time. I’ve followed up so many leads already, but there’s always a chance, don’t you think?’
‘The trouble is, Kate, he’ll have changed so much by now. He’s a grown boy, almost a young man, so how can we know what he’ll even look like? All these lost years! So much we’ve missed, been deprived of. He won’t have that soft baby voice any more, nor your Irish lilt in it. He won’t giggle and chuckle as he used to do. He could look and sound like a Westmorland farmer. He might not even be in the county.’
‘Oh, don’t
say that. Don’t I drive around in me pony and trap every Sunday, just on the off chance I might spot him. And day after day I’ve had Dennis drive me over half the county in the van, when really we should be working. If he’s here, I’ll find him, so I will.’
Neither of them mentioned the possibility of his being dead. They never had and never would. Not until a body was found to prove it, Callum would remain forever a lost child.
As she turned her eyes up to his, he saw the anguish written in their grey depths, the need for reassurance, and something more.
Impulsively, Eliot took her hand and squeezed it. ‘If anyone can find Callum, you can. But please don’t go, not like this. At least wait till the train departs. I’d like to see you standing there, on the platform, when it draws out of the station. Will you do that for me?’
She looked sideways up at him, at the pleading in his eyes, shielding her own with a sweep of long, golden lashes. She’d meant to be entirely practical and businesslike, to simply return the money, inform him of this new lead which she was desperately trying not to get too hopeful about, and walk away. But soon, when the short training was over, he would be off to the front. Tommy Hodgson had gone to France and never returned. What if the same thing were to happen to Eliot and she never saw him again either? How would she feel about refusing this very simple request? How would she ever be able to live with herself? Kate felt herself weakening. ‘Very well.’
‘We’ve time for a cuppa, I think. Would you care for one?’
Chapter Five
Kate sat almost in a trance, oddly drained of emotion, feeling spent and exhausted, unable to think of a thing to say.
‘So, tell me, how you are doing, Kate. How is the baby - er - how is she?’
It was astonishing, though typical of him, that he should start by asking about her child and not the business. They sat on a bench in the teeth of a cold wind, since the tea rooms were heaving with young men and their families, and drank their tea to the strains of Tipperary played by the town band. Kate could see the Mayor in his robes and chain, and what were presumably various members of his corporation all walking about, trying to look important as they reassured men that they would not lose out by volunteering, that their families would be looked after and well provided for.
The Child From Nowhere Page 5