War Baby

by Lizzie Lane

  Bettina sucked in her lips at mention of her close acquaintance; she didn’t always see eye to eye with her. ‘Not at first, but I managed to persuade her to find us a bit more.’

  Mary stopped knitting. It was getting to the stage when she couldn’t remember when she wasn’t knitting baby clothes.

  There was a querulous look on Bettina’s face and a firm set to her chin.

  ‘You didn’t strong arm her, did you?’

  Bettina chuckled into her hand before resting it on her cheek. She could still see the scene in Mrs Darwin-Kemp’s kitchen. Eleanor had been quite adamant that she was giving all she could, declaring that working-class people were used to surviving on a lot less than people of some standing in the community.

  ‘I mean, you can’t expect us to manage without butter and a decent piece of beef, now can you? Henry’s job means that I sometimes have important people to entertain. I can’t give them tripe and onions.’

  ‘She asked if you could bake a cake for her if she found the ingredients. It’s for a family gathering. I said I would ask you, though I did stress that you might be too busy what with your radio broadcasts and the fact that you were expecting your first child.’

  Bettina was the most forthright and honest person Mary had ever met, but all the same, she couldn’t help getting the impression that other things might have gone on or been said at Mrs Darwin-Kemp’s house.

  ‘I don’t mind doing it. Ruby’s gone up there with her bread order this morning plus a plum pudding she ordered.’ Her eyes met those of her husband’s aunt. ‘She supplied the ingredients for that too.’

  Bettina clamped her mouth shut. Should she air her suspicions or keep them to herself?

  The knitting needles ceased their incessant clicking. They were both silent, each engrossed in their own thoughts. It was Mary who broke the silence. She sighed. ‘I wish Mike was here.’

  Bettina nodded. ‘It’s hard for a young wife when her husband goes to war.’

  ‘I suppose it’s hard at any time. Those poor widows who …’ She paused, suddenly aware of what she’d said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Mary went back to her knitting. ‘You don’t need to apologise.’

  ‘I think I do. It just came out. Do you still miss your husband?’

  The sudden question seemed to send a jolt through Bettina’s body. She sat bolt upright. ‘Well,’ she said, sounding as though the breath had been knocked out of her – which indeed it had. ‘Now there’s a question.’

  ‘Do you mind me asking about him?’

  The older woman shook her head smiling slightly sadly. ‘It’s nice to remember.’

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘He liked his food, his drink and he liked women. Not in a philandering kind of way as such. He was fascinated by women, strong women. He didn’t much care for women who didn’t have an intelligent thought in their head.’

  ‘Mike told me he fought in the war.’

  Bettina clasped her hands rotating one thumb around the other as she considered her thoughts. ‘Yes. He fought in the last war. And he came back. So many didn’t …’

  Her voice seemed to melt away like ice in springtime.

  ‘It must have been hard for you – when he was away.’

  Bettina gave a little laugh, a short laugh somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. ‘It was hard. It was hard too when he came back, not that his despair seemed that obvious at first. I’d just catch him looking at something quite ordinary, and then suddenly seeing tears roll down his cheeks. Half the time he wasn’t seeing what was in front of him. He was back there. The memories of what he saw were still disturbing him.’

  ‘But you helped him recover.’

  ‘Of course. But then, I was one of the lucky ones. I had a husband. A lot of women of my generation never had a husband and were never likely to. Three-quarters of a million of our young men died in that terrible war, leaving behind too many women and not enough men. Too many women who would never have a child of their own to cuddle and love.’

  Mary was silent, seemingly concentrating on her knitting. One purl, one plain …

  ‘I want Mike to live,’ she said suddenly.

  Bettina looked at her. She was such a pretty girl, such an innocent she thought in some departments. ‘Of course you do.’

  Mary stabbed her needle into the knitting. ‘I want him to come home in one piece. I couldn’t bear if he came home crippled or changed by his experiences.’

  ‘Then let’s hope he won’t be,’ murmured Bettina.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  THE OLD VAN they used to deliver bread had been stored in the rear shed once they had the use of the van supplied by the Ministry of Food.

  Even so, they rarely used the ministry van for bakery business so Ruby had taken the bicycle, the old one her brother Charlie used to ride, the loaves of bread and the plum pudding filling out the wicker basket at the front.

  Mrs Darwin-Kemp’s house with its high gables and chunky chimneys loomed up out of the mist, the smell of springtime flowers and fresh buds on the trees leaving a crisply tangy smell in her nostrils. Ignoring the notice to pull the iron bell pull hanging above the gate, Ruby pushed open the back gate, squeezing between the box hedges and along the gravel path.

  Old Tom, a geriatric gardener who lived in one of the almshouses at the bottom of Willsbridge Hill, was using his hoe between pristine rows of vegetables on the other side of a green lawn. Unlike most people, Mrs Darwin-Kemp had kept her lawn preferring to hold tea parties for her friends rather than grow cabbages. The vegetables were pushed to the sidelines.

  It was a typical April day that brought a promise of things to come. Ruby couldn’t help thinking about bluebells and house martins arriving to build their nests under the eaves. The trees and elegant shrubbery whispered in the wind, and apart from Tom there didn’t seem to be anyone else around.

  Never mind. She would do as she’d done before and leave the order on the kitchen table. With that in mind she made her way to the kitchen door and after parking the bicycle pushed it open and went inside.

  The kitchen was very large, an old range at one end, the fire bed rumbling with heat. There was also a gas stove, quite a large one, in fact. There might be a war on, but Mrs Darwin-Kemp still entertained as often as she could and didn’t seem to scrimp that much on fuel.

  There was gossip in the village that she was holding a dinner party for American officers from the base. No doubt her husband had issued the invitation through one of his colleagues in London.

  After setting out the loaves and the plum pudding on the table, Ruby looked through the single glass pane in the door dividing the kitchen from the rest of the house. She needed to tell somebody that she’d delivered the ordered goods as promised.

  ‘Hello?’ She rapped at the door. Nobody came.

  The hall on the other side seemed totally deserted. Believing that was indeed the case, she opened the door and poked her head out. The door led out on to an inner hallway which in turn led to a larger one where visitors were received and food was taken from the kitchen and into Mrs Darwin-Kemp’s dining room. Ruby called out, her voice echoing over the empty walls and ornately plastered ceiling.

  The wood block flooring was a picture of gleaming cleanliness, polished to within an inch of its life. The shine was achieved by the generous application of a beeswax polish, the smell of which permeated the air. Thick rugs were placed along the shiny wooden flooring. Halfway along the hall stood a long case clock, its monotonous tick the only sound.

  The house was very grand and much too large for two people. At one time it had been full of servants, though not so many now.

  ‘Ruby.’

  Her name was hissed by Gertie, the girl who had replaced Mrs Darwin-Kemp’s regular parlour maid. Gertie did everything and anything around the house. She was Mrs Darwin-Kemp’s Jill of All Trades. There was no such thing as a parlour maid nowadays unless you were royalty. Women, men too, earned better money working for t
he war effort.

  ‘She’s having tea in the drawing room with some of the Ladies’ Guild. They’re planning their next plan of campaign,’ she whispered, her fingers over her mouth stifling a giggle. Gertie pulled off the pale-coloured gloves she was wearing. ‘I tell you, Ruby, her ladyship is getting to be a right old slave driver. I’ve waited on them with their tea and cakes – thanks for those, by the way. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t made them.’

  ‘Mary made them. They looked good.’

  Gertie jerked her head. ‘Well, they seem to be enjoying them. Hope all these officers she’s invited for this dinner party on the nineteenth appreciate them too.’

  Ruby grinned. ‘I did hear about it.’

  ‘I think she wants you and Mary to cater for it,’ she hissed, still keeping her voice low so that Mrs Darwin-Kemp and her guests heard nothing. ‘She’s invited all the high-ranking officers from the base and keeps hinting that a famous general is coming too. She’s desperate to bag herself a general.’

  ‘You make him sound like a pheasant brought down by a shooting party,’ Ruby whispered back.

  Gertie grinned broadly. Her crooked front teeth did nothing for her looks, but her sense of humour made up for it.

  ‘Them officers and that general – if she gets hold of that important a personage – won’t know what’s hit them – not once Mrs Darwin-Kemp’s got ’em in her sights!’

  Both Ruby and her friend smothered a laugh, one hand clasped tightly across their mouths. Not that the laugh could be kept in any more than the giggles that exploded behind their hands.

  Ruby finally controlled herself. ‘I’ve left the bread on the kitchen table. I trust she’ll let us know about the catering.’

  Gertie bobbed her head. ‘Everything gets left on that kitchen table. If you could see the meat and the cheese and—’ Suddenly Gertie bit her bottom lip, her focus shifting nervously sidelong. ‘Forget I said that.’

  The moment she said it, Ruby knew she would most certainly not forget it. Something was going on here and Gertie was doing her best to hold on to her job – not there were likely to be any takers in this day and age. Bettina had told Mary she suspected Mrs Darwin-Kemp, for all her social connections, was buying food on the black market. Mary had dutifully shared the information with her sister.

  ‘I’ll let myself out then. I take it the money’s in the usual place?’

  It was Mrs Darwin-Kemp’s habit to leave payment for goods in the teapot and to trust that if nobody was around, a person’s honesty would prevail and nothing other than what was due would be taken. All the same, Ruby preferred to let somebody know she had been and was also taking what she was owed.

  Ruby went back into the kitchen. Seeing as no cooking was going on at present, there was no light on. Even so the kitchen was bright enough; in fact, it had a warm atmosphere, a bit like the bakery after a batch of loaves had been baked. There was no smell of cooking, no smell of anything much except for the earthy aroma of a basket of vegetables left on the draining board.

  She put the bread in the white enamel bread bin. The plum pudding was destined for the larder.

  On opening the door she found herself faced with a large truckle of Cheddar cheese and the biggest leg of lamb she had ever seen. Both were stamped US Army.

  She bit her lip. Buying food on the black market was an offence. It was obvious the meat and cheese had come from the base, but via a third party. That was how the black market worked: food was stolen and handed out of the back door of an establishment – such as an army base – by somebody on the inside.

  Mrs Darwin-Kemp could get in a lot of trouble buying black-market goods.

  She was still in there, her body hidden behind the door when she heard somebody come in from outside. Presuming it was old Tom come in for his afternoon cup of tea, she called out a cheery hello.

  ‘I’ve brought teacakes. Would you like one with your cup of tea? I made one or two extra, so don’t worry about her counting them and finding one missing.’

  ‘I sure would, honey, but perhaps another time, another place.’

  She popped out from behind the door to find herself looking into a pair of blue eyes and a tanned face. His expression was one of deadly seriousness. His uniform was US Army, though differed from most that she’d seen. His shoulders were broad, his chin square and he was looking down his nose at her as though considering whether he should clap her in irons.

  ‘I’m here on official business.’

  He certainly seemed as though he meant business, standing there, legs slightly apart, hands clasped behind his back.

  ‘Is that so?’

  She stood facing him, arms folded. He hadn’t introduced himself and she considered his manner overly officious, a shame really. If he wasn’t so rude he’d be quite attractive.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I have to warn you here and now that depending on the answers you give me, we may have to involve the local police.’

  Ruby raised her eyebrows. This was quite amusing. She was pretty sure he was assuming she was the lady of the house and seeing as he had failed to introduce himself properly, she wouldn’t enlighten him.

  ‘Now what can I have done to deserve that?’

  Her tart response did nothing to puncture his air of superiority or lessen the ramrod stiffness of his stance, as though his spine was made of iron. ‘I think you know the answer to that, ma’am. Supplies have been going missing from our supply depot, such as …’ He dipped two fingers into his breast pocket. They emerged with a notebook and pencil. ‘One large cheese, one leg of lamb …’

  She seized her chance to teach Mrs Darwin-Kemp a lesson. ‘I think you’ll find them in the larder behind you.’

  What to him must have sounded like a confession obviously surprised him. He looked taken aback at first but recovered swiftly, and in one sweeping gesture he had opened the larder door and surveyed the contents.

  Ruby came to stand beside him. Side by side they both regarded the cheese and the leg of lamb, the latter wrapped in muslin.

  ‘Are those the items you have on your list?’ She couldn’t help the amusement in her voice.

  ‘I’ll have to confiscate these items, ma’am.’ He sounded very decided. ‘I’m sorry, but they’re the property of the US Army.’

  ‘As I understand it, they were destined to be eaten by members of the US Army.’

  A flicker of puzzlement came to his eyes and in that instant he seemed to see her for the first time, though almost guiltily, drinking her in then closing down again.

  ‘I’m not sure I get your meaning, ma’am.’

  ‘Well Mr whoever you are, I’ll leave you to sort it all out. I’m off home. Goodbye.’

  She was almost at the door when he headed her off.

  ‘You don’t live here? This isn’t your home?’ His expression flickered between surprise and disbelief.

  ‘No.’

  ‘But you never said …’

  ‘You never asked. And you never introduced yourself.’

  He made a groaning sound and rolled his head like somebody does when their neck was aching.

  Ruby tilted her head to one side. ‘I’m getting the impression that you haven’t done this kind of thing before. Just arrived have you?’

  ‘Two weeks ago. Declan O’Malley. Lieutenant. Military police. But I have done this before. I used to be a cop in New York. I need to know your name so I can check it out.’

  ‘Ruby Sweet. Kitchen Front advisor. Ministry of Food.’

  He took hold of his notepad and pencil. ‘Address?’

  Ruby was getting fed up. She needed to get home and although this young man was very handsome, there was another imprisoned in a Japanese prisoner of war camp that held her attention more. She had a half-finished letter to him awaiting her back at home. She kept writing the letters though so far had not received a reply.

  She gave the officer her address and he wrote it down. She was just about to go when he stopped her again. ‘W
hat did you mean about those supplies being eaten by members of the US Army?’

  Ruby couldn’t help looking smug. ‘Mrs Darwin-Kemp who lives here, is holding a dinner party for your senior officers. I hear there might even be a general in attendance.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t know who of course. Things like that are top secret.’

  A look of doubt and uncertainty how to proceed flickered in his eyes.

  She was feeling pretty uncertain herself.

  ‘Have you arrested anyone with regard to these missing supplies?’ she asked him.

  He nodded. ‘We have indeed, ma’am. One of yours I’m afraid. A local man not long out of prison named Gareth Stead.’

  Ruby hummed to herself all the way home. Mrs Darwin-Kemp would be allowed to keep her supplies because it was destined for officers, but would be issued with a warning. Gareth Stead, one-time landlord of the Apple Tree public house, had been caught red-handed with a number of other items and would receive a prison sentence. She didn’t know how many of his other black-market customers he’d fingered, probably only Mrs Darwin-Kemp, a presiding magistrate who’d sent him down once before. On this occasion she might not find it quite so easy – her on the bench, the defendant who had supplied her standing in the dock. How would she get out of that? Ruby smiled. She’d probably excuse herself as being sick and another magistrate would take her place.

  Still, there was a plus side to her run in with the American military police – the Snowdrops, as she’d heard them called. She’d asked Declan O’Malley whether he was coming to the village dance. These dances were happening on a regular basis now and both the American soldiers and the local girls were loving it.

  ‘Is that a personal invitation?’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t do that. You have to sign the list your colonel says he’s put on the notice board.’

  ‘Yeah. Sure. I think I saw it.’ Something flickered in his eyes.

  ‘I’ll see you there then.’

  ‘I’ll think about it.’

  ‘No you won’t. I can tell by the look in your eyes. You’ve already signed it.’