'But ..’
‘But nothing! You will put on a dressing gown -and look as if you have at least had a disturbed ight -you wait for the arrival of Bessie and the doctor and you give the doctor the impression at least of post-partum tiredness. Do not let him examine you.'
All was well at Ivy Lodge. Flora was bathed and dressed. She said, 'Look, Nanny. Weeks ago I altered this dress. I let out the seams while I was lying in bed. It fits me!' She unfastened the front opening, picked up the baby and said shyly, 'He knows how to feed.'
Nanny stayed with her, watching as Flora contentedly nursed her baby. She would not stay too long, for she herself now had all the new-mother instincts, chief of which was never to let her infant out of her sight. Flora appeared to have accepted the fact that she could only keep the one baby. The heartbreak had not happened for her yet. But watching her, Nanny knew with a sinking, sick feeling that it was all going too much according to plan. Would the apple cart soon come crashing to the ground and bring them all down with it? Nanny was not cut out for deceit.
She returned to Ingersley towards midday to discover that Ruth was nowhere to be seen. To Nanny's relief, Bessie came to the door of the nursery, the sleeping babe in her arms and a big, broad smile on her face. She said, 'The doctor came, Nanny.'
'What did he say?'
'He checked the baby. He said, "What a surprise!" and he offered to check Lady Campbell over.'
'Oh?'
Bessie giggled. 'She gave him a good ticking-off!'
Relieved, Nanny took charge. 'Where is Lady Campbell?'
'In the drawing room -making telephone calls,' Bessie said. 'I'll go and make something to eat.'
'Don't get anything for me. I'll have a rest and listen out for the baby,' Nanny said. She settled the infant in his crib then went to her own bedroom and lay down, but she left the door slightly ajar so that she would hear the baby's cries. Her eyes were closed but sleep would not come because of the powerful feelings she now had for a child who was not her own. It was totally unprofessional to allow herself the natural mother's bond with the baby. Her stomach churned. It could all go disastrously wrong. There was a bottle of whisky in the cupboard - for medicinal use. She got up and poured a large measure, sipped it and sat by the open dormer window, from where she would hear every little sound from the adjoining nursery.
After a few moments she must have drifted off but was pulled back into alert consciousness with a start when from the next room she heard a man's voice. 'I came straight up. You all right?'
Then came Ruth's reply. 'Perfectly. Why shouldn't I be?'
'It was so quick. And you've only known for two months.'
Ruth laughed. 'It was painless.'
Footsteps crossed the nursery and Nanny heard the creak of the cradle on its spring, then Mike Hamilton's voice -for she recognised it now -saying, 'Who's the father?'
Nanny's hand shook. She put down the glass.
Ruth said, ‘Who do you imagine?'
A coppery taste came into Nanny's mouth and a sinking sensation to her stomach. Mike Hamilton's voice was thickening. He said, 'It is nine months exactly since you and I ...'
And Ruth, on a triumphant note, replied, 'So! You will never know -is it yours, born on time, or Gordon's; born early?'
Nanny was shaking from head to foot. What was Ruth saying? Why lying? Why laughing? This was no laughing matter.
'Christ, woman! He even looks like me. Gordon will never believe that you and he produced a dark-haired son.’
'Gordon will believe it's his. I gave birth two months early. Gordon will be as pleased as Punch.'
Strangled sounds came to Nanny's ears. Mike Hamilton, who had surprised everyone by fussing over Lucy's condition, protective and proud, was crying. Deep, throaty sobs were shaking that great frame as he cried, 'My son! My son!'
Ruth was hushing him, telling him to stop crying, and Nanny herself was cold to the marrow and shaking with fear and distrust. Ruth had duped her. Far worse, Gordon had not only married a faithless woman but was to be deceived into fatherhood.
She tiptoed to the door and closed it so as not to alert them, then crept quietly back to bed, closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. Why, oh why had she not foreseen this? She had questioned Ruth's insistence on secrecy, she had condoned all the lies, but never once had it occurred to her that she was implicated in a plot to cheat her beloved Gordon. A dozen questions came one after the other. Had Ruth given Andrew the letter from Flora? Did Andrew know nothing at all? Had Mrs Stewart's departure from the estate been engineered by Ruth? Surely Ruth was not so wicked as to plan all this, was she.
Nanny told herself to stop thinking this way. She tried to look at it from a different viewpoint and understand how this terrible thing might have come about. When Ruth and Hamilton 'fell from grace' war was coming and two young people, thrown together for company when Gordon was away, had done something they would later regret. There could be no more to it than that. Nanny had to believe it, for if she did not she'd have to take the baby right back to Flora. Now.
But that was impossible. The baby was here. Her angel had been seen by the staff and the doctor. And where could they go? There was not another berth to be had on the boat to Canada. Nanny had pulled strings, pulled rank, cajoled and paid money to get a berth for Flora, and while nobody would turn away a passenger with a new-born infant, they would not accept a mother with twins. There was nothing she could do. They had all been delivered into Ruth's hands, exactly as she had intended.
Six weeks later, in the nursery, with the baby sound asleep in her arms, Nanny's fears had not subsided; rather they had grown with the awareness that Ruth actively disliked Robert. She looked again at the clock. It was ten minutes past two. Where was Ruth?
All at once the door was flung open and Ruth came into the room in a noisy flurry of, 'Oh, Nanny -1 forgot!' The baby began to cry and the crying became a scream as Ruth, annoyed, bent over him, saying, 'Stop that noise at once!' followed by, 'Put it in its cot, Nanny. 1 can't think.'
Nanny settled him into his cot. 'He's six weeks old. Today you can take him out in the pram.'
Ruth looked into the cot. 'He'll be asleep soon. I have brought a book.'
'Baby needs fresh air every day. Rain or shine,' Nanny told her, 'Bessie or you or I will.'
Ruth interrupted with a coarse laugh. 'I certainly won't be taking him for walks in the rain.'
Nanny cringed at her harshness and brought the pram forward. She had made it ready with a frilly pillow and an embroidered eiderdown. Ruth would change her mind would want to push the baby out when she saw how adorable he looked. Nanny picked up Robert and handed him and his woollen coat to Ruth, and then winced to see how roughly Ruth handled the infant, who began to cry lustily again.
It was a terrible thing for Nanny not to trust the baby's mother, but she dared not leave Ruth in sole charge of him. Only when Bessie was on duty did Nanny have peace of mind. Bessie,promoted to nurserymaid had a cheerful disposition and the simple goodness of a country girl. Ruth had a cruel streak that led her to tease and almost to torment a defenceless baby whose birthright was the care and safety of a loving mother's arms.
Ruth held Robert at arm’s length on the edge of her knees. 'Let us go down to the farm,' she said in the shrill voice that set the baby screaming in terror. 'We'll see Lucy Hamilton. We'll see if she is receiving yet, shall we?' Ruth had also acquired the habit of speaking to Nanny through the baby. She said, 'That is, if Nanny thinks that a week is long enough?'
Lucy's baby girl had been born a week earlier than expected after three days of labour that had left her weak and probably unable to have more children.
‘I expect Lucy has already scrubbed every floor in the house.' Ruth laughed. 'If we can't see Lucy then we'll show you off to Mike. Here, Nanny. Put it in the pram. I'm ready.'
When they had gone Nanny passed a hand over her eyes. What could she do? She dared not tell Gordon the truth for if Gordon rejected the baby he would also reject Ruth,
and most certainly and with justification, herself as well. And the baby? What was his future? He had no protection, except that which Nanny could provide. She would give him her undivided love and attention and would not allow him to suffer.
The Canadian Pacific Steamship Company's White Empress slipped out of Greenock at night. When Flora awoke the following morning, she fed Alexander and went up on deck. Yesterday, she and Joan Almond, the friend she'd made, had been given a four-berth cabin and at this moment Joan and her eight-year-old daughter Mary were minding Alexander for her. The cabin was small and they had agreed that the only way to have privacy would be if, when Alex awoke at six o'clock, Flora fed him and left the cabin. Joan and Mary would then pull back the curtains on their bunks and wash themselves whilst watching Alex. It was a good arrangement, and Flora found herself on deck at 7a.m.
It was already warm and there was no swell on the sea. High in the clear blue sky above them an RAF flying boat circled lazily. On the horizon Flora could make out the smoke of the distant convoy they were to join, and behind, though too far away to recognise anybody standing on the decks, a corvette shadowed their progress.
She knew it was a corvette because two nights ago a group of four sailors -two of them from the corvette had come into the bar of the small, seedy hotel where Flora had been living for the last five weeks. It was there that she'd met Joan, the young Scottish wife of a Canadian pilot. Joan and her daughter were going to stay for the duration of war with her husband's family in Montreal.
The four sailors were young, harmless boys who wanted to enjoy their last night before putting to sea again. One of them played the piano, and when he called out for a singer, a barmaid who had heard Flora singing, ran upstairs to ask her if she would oblige. With the baby sound asleep and the barmaid's assurance that she'd listen out for him, Flora went down to the room behind the public bar. It would be her last evening in Scotland until heaven only knew when. She may as well savour and remember it.
Enjoy it she did, for the requests came thick and fast, at first for the latest dancing tunes, 'Dancing with my Shadow', 'Begin the Beguine', 'Tea for Two'. Soon the place was full. People crowded into the spaces between tables and around the piano and Joan, who played the fiddle, was persuaded to join in. They sang the rousing patriotic songs that were currently on everyone's lips, the community songs that everyone knew and ended with the old Scottish songs, 'Over the Sea to Skye', 'Westering Home' and 'It's Oh But I'm Longin' for my Ain Folk'. The evening ended with the sailors buying port and lemonade for Flora and Joan, promising to wave from the deck of their corvette should it come near enough to the White Empress and urging the girls to go on the stage.
In Flora's room later, she and Joan talked far into the night. Joan said, 'If it doesn't work out for you, Flora -with your relatives in Ontario -come to Montreal, will you?
Flora said, 'I'll keep some money aside, in case.' Nanny's sister Dorothy and her husband John, had two sons. One had joined the Royal Canadian Air Force at the outbreak of war, the other was studying to be a doctor. The family kept a general store not far from Bancroft, a small town in northern Ontario where Flora would find a safe haven for the present. Then, seeing a shadow of disappointment cross Joan's face, she added, 'I won't stay indefinitely. I have to make a life and a home for myself and Alexander. I shall find work.'
'You are so brave,' Joan said. 'You and Alexander will fare well, I know you will. You are so confident.'
Flora would long remember this evening, when she'd stood in a bar with four sailors and sung her heart out for strangers, but she had not realised until Joan said the words that at last she had lost her shyness. With a baby to protect she was transformed. She said, 'You are my dear friend, Joan. I can't tell you how much it means to me to know you.'
When Joan went to her own room, Flora did the remainder of her packing, humming softly to herself as she pushed her belongings tight into the tin trunk which, with Alexander's little Rexine folding pram and a small suitcase for him, was all the luggage she was allowed to take aboard. Then she went to the window to have a last look at her country, for they would embark in the morning and wait for orders to sail.
Outside, she saw and heard a sailor on a Norton motorcycle. He came tearing through the town, as he'd done on the last couple of nights. Tonight, though he could not possibly have seen her, something about him made her wave and wonder if he too would be on one of the escort ships that would protect them on their dangerous journey across the Atlantic.
When she had finished her packing, Flora knelt by her bed and said her prayers. She recited to herself the words she had heard in St Philip's church in Portobello. She said the prayers she loved, the prayers she had always said for Gran's soul. Though she'd told Nanny that she despised Andrew, it was not true. God knew the secrets of everyone's heart and she begged Him fervently to love and bring Andrew home safely. Last of all she prayed, as she had from the very hour they were born, for her two babies. 'Dear God. Keep my babies safe. Watch over the one who will never know me. Make him good and strong and true. And, please God, if ever he finds out what I have done and blames me for denying him his brother, let him know I loved him and help him forgive me.'
Then, quietened and comforted, she took Alexander into bed beside her where she could feed him and hold him close and feel his little heart beating against hers. And in the dark emptiness of the night she knew there would never be a day of her life when she would not long for the missing son who had been conceived in love under a weeping tree.
Now, standing on the deck of the White Empress in the early morning, with her baby being minded by Joan, Flora told herself that she must put the past behind her. She and Alexander were taking their first steps into the unknown and yet she was not afraid. She had been told at the emigration office that they would be part of an eight-lane, ten-mile-long convoy, threatened by V-boats which, someone said, scored at the rate of four ships sunk on every crossing. The White Empress carried four hundred unaccompanied children, many mothers with young babies and as many other adults, old and young.
She looked up. The sky was clear and empty. The aeroplane had gone. Some distance behind was the comforting presence of their escort.
Half a mile astern of the White Empress, Andrew stood at watch, binoculars to hand but not needed. The tail of the convoy was well within sight. They would collect more ships off the Irish coast, then, heading due west, would shadow them until the halfway point, where Canadian boats would take over. The Iris meanwhile would escort the eastbound convoy back to Britain.
He lifted the binoculars to keep station on the ship in front a CPSS he recognised as the White Empress. He did not know how many ships would join the convoy at Dublin - nor the names of any of them though the captain would. Throughout the trip they would be in constant contact by wireless and light signals with the other RN ships' commands. The crew was never told anything until they were underway. The RN ships' names had been painted out and sailors' hat bands were blank. Secrecy was all, for the docks were natural feeding grounds for spies.
Only this morning Andrew had had to put on orders two sailors from the Iris. They'd returned late last night after spending the evening in an hotel bar at Greenock. Quite an evening by the sound of things. Two women who were going west on the White Empress, to sit out the war with relatives, had joined in the fun, one singing, one playing the fiddle.
Andrew had come down hard on the sailors, saying, 'You knew it was an offence. The night before we sail is not the time to get loose-tongued with cheap women in a bar on the docks. Explain yourselves.'
'Sir. We said nothing. I played the piano. My oppo sang. The women Joan Almond and Flora Macdonald were decent types. One was a married woman, the other a young widow. They were going out to Canada with their children.'
Andrew's heart leaped. Then he pulled himself together. Flora Macdonald was a much more common name than he'd have believed -as he was discovering in his search. There were at least four in Edinburgh including
an old lady of ninety, an actress, a younger girl and his own Flora. He said, 'You told them that you were sailing on a corvette, escorting the convoy?'
'Yes.'
'You will be reported.' He had let them off lightly. They would probably lose two days' pay - but it was an eleventh-hour offence such as he might have made had he been in their shoes, enjoying the company of women, forgetting for one night what might lie ahead for all of them.
As the White Empress drew closer to Canada, tempers on board were becoming frayed. Everyone, the children included, was quieter than at the start of the trip. Bored now with the long journey under the cramped conditions of the cabin, Flora and Joan were starting to snap at one another, then, as quickly, apologising. Over the last week, so as not to aggravate a fraught situation, Flora had spent as much time as possible on deck, no longer keeping a lookout for the grey blobs in the distance that were the other ships in the convoy but instead allowing feelings of homesickness and doubt to assail her. Was she running away again? Should she have fought to keep both her babies? She could never go back unless the biggest deception of all came to light - the existence of the baby she had left behind. The questions went round and round in her head as she gazed back over a swirling, zigzagging wake.
Then, early in the morning of 1st July, as soon as she went on deck she noticed a change in the air. It was warmer and there, ahead, was the first sight of land in three weeks. It was a wonderful, welcome sight and the negative mood of the last week evaporated in an instant. She ran back down the stairs and passageways to their cabin, where Joan was dressing young Mary, and said, 'Joan -quick! Come up on deck! Land ahoy!'
Joan grinned. She had done this trip before. 'Go ahead,' she said. 'We'll bring Alex up. Don't miss any of it.'
'I was beginning to think we'd sail on for ever,' Flora said. 'How long before we dock?'
'Hours yet. Let's get breakfast.'
Excitement was building in Flora as she washed Alexander, changed him and put him in the little pram which she must now remember to call a buggy. They made their way to the dining room for what would be their penultimate breakfast and listened carefully to the loudspeaker system and the repeated announcements that 'We will dock at midday. Will those passengers who disembark today please have their trunks packed. Those who wish to remain on board until tomorrow are requested not to block the passageways and stairs with their luggage. There will be ample time when today's passengers have left.’
The Weeping Tree Page 22