by Shirley Mann
Elizé eventually allowed her to pick her rigid body up and carry her onto the train, ignoring all the heads that had poked out of windows to see what the commotion was. She bundled Elizé into the carriage in front of them where a kindly-looking woman reached out and helped them both to climb aboard.
Once in the carriage, the guard blew his whistle and the train started to move off.
Elizé had her face buried in Bobby’s shoulder. The carriage was packed but an elderly man stood up to let them both sit down.
‘There now,’ a woman with a wicker basket on her knee said in a broad Norfolk accent. ‘You see, pet, it’s all right. Your mummy won’t let anything bad happen to you. Here, I’ve got a nice jam sandwich. You tuck into that. You’ll soon feel better.’
Elizé peeped out from Bobby’s collar. She saw a carriage full of kind faces, all smiling at her and she slowly began to relax. She reached out her hand and took the sandwich, biting warily into it. It tasted good and she started to munch it.
‘Thank you,’ Bobby said. ‘She’s had a tough time.’
‘I know, I know,’ the woman said, patting Elizé’s knee. ‘But you’re all right now, aren’t you, duckie?’
The woman kept up a steady chatter that lulled Elizé to sleep as the train’s clickety-click wheels sped them across the country.
It was late in the afternoon when they arrived at Norwich. Bobby thanked the woman, who had favoured the carriage with the story of her entire life during the journey. Bobby had welcomed the lack of pauses and said very little.
She tumbled out onto the platform, pulling Elizé behind her and started walking towards the bus stop.
‘Bobby, Bobby,’ a voice called from behind her.
‘Archie! What are you doing here? How did you know?’
‘I didn’t, just here to pick up some supplies.’ He pointed at the two boxes in the back of the cart. ‘They’re some seed we needed. Came in on the last train. I can’t believe it’s you, lassie, what on earth are you doing here?’ He paused and then added, ‘You’re looking a bit pale.’
He peered into her face, assessing every strained muscle and tight sinew. Something had been going on. Then he spotted Elizé, who was hanging back, looking in awe at the large, solid man in front of her who seemed to treat her heroine as a child.
‘And who’s this, then?’ Archie asked.
‘This is Elizé. She’s . . . she’s with me.’ Bobby had no idea what more to say. She was going to have to do better than this. Fortunately, Archie had spent his life watching the Hollis family from close quarters and was quite used to keeping his thoughts to himself.
‘Right you are, well, in the cart both of you. You’ll just be in time for supper.’
Elizé’s eyes grew bigger. She suddenly realised she was very hungry indeed.
‘Welcome to Norfolk, young miss.’
His strong arms swept Elizé into the back of the cart and she leaned against the seed bags. He went to help Bobby but she was already sitting in the passenger seat.
He frowned. It was not like Bobby to concede the chance to drive. This was all too peculiar.
‘So, how are you, Bobby Hollis?’ he asked casually.
‘Fine, Archie, just fine.’
‘Hmm, if you say so,’ her old friend muttered, glancing sideways at her.
‘Sorry, Archie, I just need to think for a minute.’
‘Yes, of course. You just sit there and see how a proper driver deals with this mutt.’
Bobby smiled at him and then leaned her head on his broad shoulder as they drove along. She needed to work out what she was going to say to her family. She had to give them some explanation.
Chapter 27
Mrs Hill was busy in the kitchen, taking the potato pies out of the oven with a singed oven glove. She had given up trying to follow the butcher’s wife’s suggestion to use Vaseline as a fat after an article in the paper claimed it could cause bowel cancer. A traditional cook, she was almost relieved to go back to the sparse potato recipe she had used over the last few years and was assessing the cooked pies with a professional air, prodding the crimped edges. Bobby came in the back door and sniffed the air gleefully; there was no sign of turnip soup here.
She crept up behind Mrs Hill and put her arms around her. The cook jumped and then spun round.
‘Bobby Hollis, you gave me a fright. Where on earth did you spring from?’
‘Happened to be passing, just thought I’d pop in.’ Bobby tried to sound as casual as she could.
‘Wonderful, you’re just in time for supper,’ Mrs Hill exclaimed, too busy working out in her head how many portions of pie there were to express surprise at Bobby’s sudden appearance. Then Elizé’s head peered round from behind Bobby, her eyes popping at the warmth and bustle of the kitchen.
‘And who’s this little mite?’ Mrs Hill asked, wiping her hands on her pinny.
‘This is Elizé, she’s going to be staying here for a while.’
Mrs Hill looked sharply at Bobby, who gave her a warning look.
‘Of course, poppet. How lovely. I bet you’re starving, aren’t you? Rachel, take our little . . . Elizé?’ She waited for confirmation, ‘into the morning room and give her some milk and some of those nice carrot biscuits you’ve made. She looks ravenous.’
Elizé’s eyes grew even larger and she looked round the kitchen taking in the fresh eggs from the hens, the vegetables from the garden and the pies that were being prepared. It was too much for her and she started to sink to the floor.
Bobby swept her up in her arms and looked at her watch. It was six o’clock and her family would probably be about to start eating.
‘I think she’d prefer some pie if there is some. Maybe we could take it with us into the dining room? Is everyone in there?’ she asked Mrs Hill.
‘Yes, of course, lovey, you’ll want her to meet everyone. You go in, we’ll bring something in for the pair of you.’
Bobby stopped outside the oak-panelled dining room door knowing that once she had opened it, she would have to have something sensible to say.
But at that moment, the back door flew open and a familiar voice boomed from the kitchen.
‘Hello, Mrs Hill, thought I’d pop in and say hello. Just on my way back to barracks. My mother sent these apples. Everyone in the dining room? Shall I go through?’
The whirlwind that was Harriet Marcham put Bobby into a tailspin. She knew her vague explanations would not be accepted as readily by her friend as by her family.
While she hovered in the hallway, the door from the kitchen burst open at the same time as the dining room one was opened. Bobby, with Elizé in her arms, was standing in the middle of the hallway looking in both directions while her friend emerged from one side and her aunt came out from the other.
‘Bobby!’ they both said at the same moment.
There was a stunned silence as they took in the bedraggled state of Bobby and the wan child in her arms.
‘This is Elizé and she’s really hungry,’ Bobby stated.
Deciding that confidence was the best weapon, she marched into the dining room to find her parents sitting at the table.
‘Hello, Mother, hello, Father. How are you?’
Aunt Agnes swept into the room and Harriet, not wanting to miss a moment of this unexpected drama, followed close behind. She had made herself at home at the farm since she was little and had never stood on ceremony, but then she remembered her manners and was the first to speak.
‘Good evening, Mr and Mrs Hollis, I hope you’re well. Sorry to intrude, but my mother sent you some apples.’
Bobby’s aunt turned to sit at the table next to her sister, taking a moment to assess the situation. Her niece had constantly surprised her during her young life but turning up with a small, and, if she was not mistaken, Jewish child, was an unexpected scenario that was going to take some explaining.
‘Bobby, it’s good to see you,’ she finally said, ‘and you, Harriet. The child may sit h
ere next to me. Would you all like something to eat?’ She did not wait for a reply. ‘Rachel, could you set for three more please?’
Bobby had a burning desire to giggle. It was as if she were the vicar calling in for afternoon tea, not a daring escapee from France with a child in tow.
Elizé was staring open-mouthed at the typically English scene in front of her. Her father had told her about life in England, but she had never expected it to look like the scene from the lid of the old shortbread biscuit tin her mother kept in the pantry. The flowered curtains were held in place by plaited ties, the backs of the tapestry chairs had lacy covers on them and on the sideboard were crystal goblets and a decanter. It was like she imagined the king’s palace to be.
‘So, Bobby,’ the scary, tall woman in the grey dress was speaking. ‘Are you going to keep us in suspense or are you going to tell us who this young woman is?’
Elizé suddenly shrank backwards, willing the large swirls on the rich carpet to swallow her up.
Bobby reached down and took her hand. ‘Aunt, Mother, Father, this is Elizé. She is part French, part English . . . and she needs a home for now.’
Put so simply, there was no argument.
‘Of course,’ her father said immediately. He had seen children like Elizé standing at the roadside in France during the Great War. At the time, he had wanted to gather them all up and bring them home but somehow when he got home to his own child, he could not find any of that paternal feeling to lavish on his own daughter, only ever seeing her as a reminder that he had lost his son. But seeing this little girl standing forlornly in front of him, he was shocked to feel a wave of emotion he had not experienced for years.
His wife jumped out of her chair and unexpectedly gathered the child in her arms. Here was a chance for her to show her husband she could be a good mother.
Bobby looked in surprise at the unexpected change in the woman in front of her. For a second, she felt a pain in her stomach as she thought of all the times as a child that she had longed for such a hug from her mother but then she saw the smile on Elizé’s face and felt ashamed of herself. This child had lost everything and deserved a hug so much more than she had ever done.
Aunt Agnes looked quizzically at Bobby trying to prompt her into sharing some more information but received a blank stare back. The full story was going to have to wait, probably until the end of the war, Bobby wearily realised.
‘Oh well, that seems settled then. Here, child, have some milk.’ Agnes reached behind her to take a glass from Rachel and gave it to the little girl. ‘Rachel, could you prepare the small, spare room for Elizé, please?’
Elizé sipped at a little of it, realised it was real milk and gulped it down.
‘We’re lucky,’ Bobby explained gently to her, ‘We have our own cows and although most of it has to go to the Government for rationing, we do pinch a little for ourselves. They don’t miss it but don’t tell them.’
Elizé had spent so much of her young life being hounded by the authorities, the thought of not obeying the rules was beyond her comprehension. Even though she spoke English like a native, she felt like a foreigner in this strange land.
Harriet broke the tense silence that had emerged. ‘So, Bobby, what have you been up to? What’s the news?’
She looked meaningfully at Elizé but Bobby determinedly ignored her.
‘How’s Coltishall?’ Bobby returned.
Always easily distracted, Harriet launched into a description of a dance she had gone to the previous Saturday where there were some new GIs from a nearby RAF station flaunting their wealth.
‘They get so much more money than our lads, you should have seen the girls flocking round them. Our chaps were livid. They couldn’t compete.’
‘And what about you, Harriet?’ Agnes butted in. ‘Are you in love with the Americans like all the other girls?’
‘Not me,’ Harriet laughed. ‘I prefer homegrown gorgeous men. Although,’ she paused, her head on one side, ‘if they could get me some nylons, I might be tempted.’
Mr Hollis’s right eyebrow raised in disdain. Bobby and Harriet looked at each other and grinned.
‘How long have you got, Harriet?’ Agnes asked.
‘Long enough to catch up with all Bobby’s gossip,’ she said, meaningfully.
Harriet looked at Bobby’s parents and aunt and then at Bobby. She jerked her head towards the garden.
Bobby gave a slight nod, not actually sure whether she wanted to have a tête-à-tête with her friend or not but then Rachel put plates of food in front of them both, which gave her time to think.
‘Just let’s eat first, Harriet,’ she said.
Mathilda Hollis looked delightedly around the table. During the past few weeks, she had been having long chats with the new local doctor. He had read her file with interest and she had found it easy to explain to his kindly face how she had been living in a confused world where shadows and ghosts became muddled in her mind. He gave her some small, white tablets, organised an hour of help with a kindly older man called a psychiatrist every week and it was as if a fog was beginning to clear. For the first time since her husband had come home from the war, she decided she would speak out and asked the question everyone had been longing to voice.
‘So where’s Elizé come from, then?’
Agnes looked proudly at her sister while Bobby sat transfixed. Her aunt had written to tell her of her mother’s new confidence but she had not realised how much things had changed since her last visit home. Aunt Agnes nudged her niece to carry on. After taking a deep breath, Bobby launched into the story she had fabricated in the hallway three minutes earlier.
‘She’s the niece of Ellen, one of the girls at Hamble. She’s got family in France, some of them managed to get out but Elizé’s mother is still there and the child needs a place to stay. Ellen’s home is in Scotland, which was far too far for Elizé to travel, so I brought her here. It’s OK isn’t it?’
She sat back in relief. She had thought of something vaguely plausible. Agnes caught Harriet’s eye. They both looked sceptically at Bobby but she was cutting into the pie in a determined fashion.
Elizé stared with surprise at Bobby on hearing about her newly-invented family, but she shrugged and got on with the milk and delicious pie in front of her. She desperately wanted to stay in this wonderful house with these strange people and was prepared to be anyone Bobby wanted her to be if it meant she could stay here. She looked at Bobby’s mother, who reminded her of her lovely grandmother, who had died two years ago. Mathilda reached out her arm and clasped the child’s small hand in hers. For the first time she could remember since the horrid war began, Elizé felt safe.
After supper, Bobby put her arm around Elizé’s shoulders and said she would take the little girl up to show her to her bedroom.
When Bobby opened the door to the chintz-wallpapered room with a view over the garden, Elizé clapped her hands with delight and ran around the room, examining every nook and cranny. She could not believe she was going to have this lovely room all to herself. At home, she had been crammed into a corner on a mattress opposite her parents’ bed. But then, suddenly the room looked too big and she felt a sharp pang of loss and her face crumpled.
Bobby patted the bed. ‘Come and sit down, Elizé, I have to talk to you.’
Elizé frowned. She did not like the seriousness of Bobby’s tone.
‘It’s all right, I know it’s all strange, but you have to be very brave.’ Bobby held her close. ‘You can stay here, but tomorrow I have to go back to work. Everyone will look after you and I will come when I can. Will you be all right?’
Elizé looked doubtful, but then Mrs Hill bustled in, carrying an old, scruffy teddy bear.
‘I’m sorry to intrude, Bobby, but I thought Elizé might like this. It belonged to my niece, before she got too big for it. I thought Elizé could look after him, his name is Mr Ted.’
Elizé hugged the bear, who looked so comfortable and friendly, she f
elt sure she could tell him her secrets when she felt lonely.
Bobby looked gratefully at Mrs Hill, who stood with a benign smile on her face. There was a noise behind her and Mathilda peered round the door.
‘I’ve got a lovely ribbon, here. I thought it would look wonderful in Elizé’s hair.’ She edged into the room and sat down to thread it through the child’s long, wavy strands. Elizé leaned back, like a kitten being groomed by its mother.
An embarrassed cough came from the landing.
‘I’ve got to go to check the stock in a minute,’ Bobby’s father called. ‘I wondered whether Elizé might like to come with me before she retires for the night.’
Bobby was stunned and even more so when Aunt Agnes appeared behind her mother and said, ‘Here, let me help with that ribbon.’
She stood up and looked gratefully round at her family. Somehow, without her even having said a word, they were prepared to accept the story behind Elizé’s appearance at the house. The table lamp shone behind Elizé’s head, throwing a glistening ray through her brown curls. Bobby drew a sharp breath, wondering whether things were finally beginning to change at Salhouse Farm; was this child an angel sent to dispel the ghosts that had pervaded the house since her brother Michael had died? Time would tell, but she suddenly felt more optimistic than she had ever done.
Harriet broke the spell. She charged into the room and took hold of Bobby’s hands.
‘I have to go soon, can we have a few minutes to catch up, do you think?’
Without waiting for a reply, she pulled her friend past everyone and dragged her downstairs and out of the back door, leaving the family and Mrs Hill to fuss over Elizé.
Chapter 28
Harriet turned to face Bobby, her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t think you can just march in here with a small child and get away with it. What exactly is going on?’
Bobby looked behind her to make sure no one was listening and pulled Harriet further towards the barn to sit on some straw bales. She suddenly felt nervous that her friend would see into her innermost thoughts and decided to distract her with the intrigue about Elizé.