She had told him that a woman of her age had no interest in married love and that if he wished he could take a young mistress. Gordon had been horrified at the suggestion, saying that he would abide by her decision but that he hoped she would change her mind once the baby was here. She would not. She could no longer bear his lovemaking, the timid fumblings and his gratitude when he was so quickly and easily satisfied.
Today he wore uniform, which made him appear authoritative and handsome. Behind him stood two nurses, one of them with a bundle in her arms. Gordon quickly lifted Robert, who held a bunch of carnations, on to the bed, saying, 'You wanted to come and see your mummy and baby brother, didn't you?'
Ruth screeched, 'Get him off me. My God - my stitches!' as Gordon set down the frightened child, who began to cry loudly: 'Don't whip me, Mummy. I'm sorry…sorry… sorry!'
'Robert didn't know..' Gordon began, but at that moment one of the nurses came forward quickly to help Ruth into a sitting position, while the other held out the bundle, saying, 'Can you manage, Lady Campbell, or shall I hold baby?'
She must get it over with. Gordon was displeased by her outburst against the brat who was the apple of his eye. She made a half-hearted attempt at a smile. The nurse gently placed the bundle into her arms and Ruth looked with polite curiosity at the tiny face of her baby.
She knew they were all waiting for her to say something but she could not, for as she looked at the baby, the room seemed to fade about her. There came a terrible pain in her throat and her heart, then a sudden, searing surge of emotion that immobilised her in the stillness of the room. Tightening her arm around him to hold him secure, and with the peppery, heady scent of carnations filling the space around her, Ruth gently pulled back the shawl so that she could better see this tiny, blond, pink and perfect creature.
Never in her life had she felt this powerful, protective force. Never had she seen a child so beautiful. Love for him overwhelmed her as she looked up, starry-eyed, at Gordon. 'He's your living image. He's beautiful, Gordon,' she whispered. 'Thank you.'
Gordon came to sit at her side, embarrassed now. 'No need to thank me, darling,' he joked. 'You did it all, you know.'
Robert came clambering on to Gordon's lap. He put a restraining arm around the child but said, 'Have another look at your brother, Robert.'
Ruth watched, horrified, as the brat poked his great ugly head into the baby's face. She shouted, 'Get your head out of the way!' and pushed her open hand hard against Robert's face to send him toppling backwards on to Gordon's lap.
'Steady on!' Gordon said as he held Robert close and comforted him. The child cried harder. Gordon had seen enough. 'Come on, my boy. Let us leave Mummy and baby to rest a while.'
He stood and held fast to Robert's hand. 'Where do you want to go?' he asked, smiling, rumpling his son's dark curls affectionately. 'You are still my first-born, my son and heir. You will always be number one to me, Robert,' he said.
When they had gone, Ruth put the angelic bundle on to the bed. The baby cried. Ruth picked him up and he stopped crying at once. Smiling, she put him down again. Again he started to cry. The nurse was still in the room and Ruth turned to her. 'Bring a cradle in here, Nurse,' she said. 'I have changed my mind. I'll keep him beside me, day and night.' She gazed down at her baby. He was so fair, sweet and content. To think she had given life to this wonder. He. was her; he was herself but new and shiny. She would mould him to be herself but better. He was Napoleon. He was Jesus Christ. There had never been such a child. All else faded into insignificance as the nursing sister came back, wheeling the cradle, took the sleeping baby from Ruth and wrapped him firmly in the shawl.
She placed him in the crib and left the room while Ruth lay, watching her miracle; Edward, she would call him. He was snuffling with his tiny, delicate hand waving in front of his face. All her pains had gone. She reached over and placed her little finger in his hand. The infant grabbed it with surprising strength. She smiled and whispered, 'You, Edward, are the real son and heir.The rightful son and heir of Ingersley. It will be yours. I have been keeping it for you. Nobody shall threaten you, my lovely, my darling.'
13 May 1945
Suddenly it was all over. After almost six years, the war was over. In London, 50,000 people went wild with joy, shaking hands, kissing and hugging strangers, dancing in the streets and gathering around Queen Victoria's statue at the Palace, demanding 'We want the King!' until eight times the Royal Family came on to the balcony, waving to the joyful people celebrating their victory below.
In the North Atlantic on that day, the frigate on which Andrew, now first lieutenant, was on duty as officer of the watch slowly circled on the flat, calm sea, waiting for the word. He could do nothing but watch the horizon around them, the dull sky overhead, the blank radar screen, as they turned ninety degrees to port every half-hour, obeying orders, waiting, waiting. They had been steaming for two days and two nights at a steady ten knots, getting nowhere; keyed up in case there were any last-minute attacks.
At ten o'clock the signal came: Hostilities terminated. All U-boats have been ordered to surrender. The signal is a large black flag. There were no V -boats in the waters around them, Andrew was certain. V-boat attacks were sporadic now.
Then the beaten foe emerged. All over the Atlantic, where they had been lying or hiding, they surfaced. Some, he later learned, scuttled themselves. Most, like the two he now saw before him, rose dripping and silent on the horizon, their hard shapes topping the grey sea level.
The captain ordered them to sail towards the foe in a swaying, corkscrew pattern but there would be no last-minute desperate torpedoes for their ship. When they drew near Andrew saw that the two V -boats were side by side, stationary, with the black flags drooping at the mast-head. The decks were crowded with men, as their own decks were. Their war was ended. Andrew would enjoy the victory, the parades, the recognition, the homecoming …and then what?
Three months later, he went home for a blessed leave. He followed up every slender lead he had in the search for his Flora. He'd discovered that she was the elder of the two young Flora Macdonalds in Edinburgh. A younger Flora Macdonald than his had been issued with a ration book. His own darling Flora had worked at the munitions factory in Portobello until she injured her back and left. He checked the registers at every hospital where she might have been taken.
There was no Flora Macdonald on any of their lists. It seemed that both Flora Macdonalds had vanished. But then, hundreds of people passed through Edinburgh during the war and disappeared from the records. He would not, could not stop searching.
A week before he returned to his ship, Andrew and Ma received an invitation from Sir Gordon Campbell to join the VJ Day celebrations at Ingersley on Saturday 18 August. Andrew would not be demobbed for another year and Sir Gordon was going to continue until he retired, but the victory in August, when Japan surrendered after Hiroshima, had been celebrated with street parties up and down the land. Ingersley was doing it in style and Andrew would be able to put aside his search for the day.
He wore his best uniform and Ma decked herself out in an apple-green dress of crepe de Chine with a picture hat in fine white straw. Bessie's occasional visits to the flat meant that Ma had 'kept up', as she put it, with the goings-on at Ingersley and in the East Lothian area, and now she regaled Andrew with second-hand stories.
Bessie had told her of the excitement when a Heinkel was brought down over Davey Hamilton's land. She told of the prisoner-of-war camps at Gosford where 3,000 Germans were held and the overcrowding there which meant that other camps had to be opened in Haddington. They were still there, Ma said, but she doubted if they'd be allowed to go and look around.
Andrew said, 'Why would I go and stare at German POWs?'
'You know Ingersley stopped being a hospital, don't you?'
'Really?' he said, to please her.
'Aye. They requisitioned a bigger place, outside the danger zone. Ingersley couldn't hold enough patients so it was used
for administration instead until a month ago. Now it's the family home of the Campbells again. As long as, Lady Campbell doesn't ask for the furniture back,' she added, as they set off for the VJ party.
'Too bad,' Andrew said. 'She got rid of you cheaply.'
'Don't, Andrew. You don't still feel bad about them, do you?'
'No. I'm grateful to Sir Gordon. He made me pull my socks up and join the navy. He treated us well. But you owe nothing Lady Campbell.'
'She's a cruel woman. Bessie says so.'
It was not like Ma to speak unkindly and Andrew raised his eyebrows in enquiry and asked what she meant.
'She was cruel from the start to wee Robert. Never took to him. I don't think she ever really wanted one. It didn't matter so much that she was cold-hearted, though. Bessie and Nanny doted on him. When Edward was born it all changed. Lady Campbell thinks the sun shines out of his bottom, Bessie says. She favours him all the time over Robert, who's a poor weakling of a lad. And no wonder. He doesn't get enough to eat. Bessie bakes treats for him and sneaks food up the stairs to him at nights.'
Andrew felt his hackles rise. What sort of a woman would be cruel to her own flesh and blood? He said, 'Then Miss Taylor and Bessie had better do right by him. Sir Gordon can't know about it.'
Ma said, 'Lady Campbell's going to send the poor little thing away to a boarding school when he's seven.'
'That's the way of the upper classes,' Andrew said. 'They don't have any real feelings.'
'Bessie's going to leave when they send him away. She says Nanny Taylor goes the other way to make up, keeping the wee lad from his mother as best she can.'
It sounded like mere servants' gossip to Andrew.'Don't listen, Ma,' he said. 'Come on -are you ready?'
There had been many changes since Andrew had last seen it, but that day Ingersley looked good. The sun shone and they could hear children's happy laughter ringing out as they went through the wooden gates beside their old South Lodge home.
The house was still unoccupied, though the Campbells had engaged a new cook from the village. The smell of cut grass was sweet in the golden afternoon sun as they walked on the mown lawn, where little folding tables had been set for the adults. In the centre was a long trestle table for the children of the villages and estate. The trestle table was laid, Ma noticed, with hospital plates and beakers. Volunteers were needed. Ma was one of the first to offer, and soon she had shanghaied a team of women into carrying out ashets laden with sandwiches, jellies, cakes and trifles to children who could barely contain their excitement.
Sir Gordon Campbell and his wife mingled with the guests, shaking hands with all. 'Pleased to see so many friends,' said Sir Gordon when they reached Andrew and Ma.
Lady Campbell had not changed. She was still pretty and looked good in a pleated silk frock of patriotic red, white and blue, and a small, whining child clung to her hand, taking most of her attention. She gave Andrew the impression that she was pretending indifference whilst watching him closely, yet she managed to look down her nose at him as she held out a limp hand. 'Andrew,' she drawled. 'You are unscathed, too. How nice to see you.'
Sir Gordon asked if Andrew would continue in the Royal Navy.
'No, sir. The police are recruiting. I thought I'd join.'
'And leave the sea?' Sir Gordon's eyebrows lifted in astonishment. 'I can't bring myself to cut all ties,'
Andrew smiled. 'I shall buy a small boat and join a sailing club.'
Sir Gordon could not linger for too long with anyone guest. He had just started to say, 'You will stay for the dancing and the evening entertainment -you and your mother. We'll have a talk then ...' when a skinny little livewire of about five years old came tearing across the grass, laughing and shouting, 'Daddy! Daddy! Here I am!' His dark curls fell across his eyes, blinding him as he launched himself at Sir Gordon's legs and, as he did so, knocked to the grass his baby brother, who started to cry.
It was ordinary childish high spirits and did not warrant the violent reaction of Lady Campbell. Andrew had never seen anyone roused so quickly from passiveness to fury. It was shocking to him and must have terrified the child. Her eyes were wild. 'You wicked boy!' she snarled. She snatched the child from Sir Gordon's legs with fingers like talons, roughly enough to bruise the arm of the young boy, whose face was suddenly white with terror as his mother said, through clenched teeth, 'You will go to your room. No tea. No party for you. I will deal with you later!'
Ignoring the shaking child's sobs, Lady Campbell called out for Nanny, who came racing to protect the heartbroken child from his mother and take him away. The punishment was harsh and excessive and Andrew found himself fighting back the urge to defend the little lad.
Sir Gordon picked up his younger son and remonstrated with his wife. 'No punishment today, Mummy,' he said firmly. 'My son, Robert, meant no harm.'
Andrew silently noted the phrase, My son, Robert, and wondered what Sir Gordon had meant by it. Was it a slip of the tongue? Whatever it was, the Commander must have made his point. Robert was included in the tea party and Andrew felt enormously relieved, as if he himself were the child's protector.
Later there was another incident. Ma was talking to Lucy Hamilton who had her child, Phoebe, by the hand, when little Robert, without adult supervision, came up to them and slipped his hand into Andrew's. He stuck his other thumb in his mouth and regarded Andrew solemnly. Andrew smiled and bent down to talk to him. He was a dear little chap.
The child took his thumb out but still held fast to Andrew's hand. 'You're a sailor,' he said. 'Sandy's daddy is a sailor.'
'Is he?' Andrew, puzzled, smiled at him.
Lucy Hamilton laughed. 'Sandy is Robert's imaginary friend. Nobody has ever seen him ...'
'I have,' said Robert, still with his hand in Andrew's, but at that moment Nanny Taylor, displaying the energy of a young girl, came haring across the grass again to take the child away. It was as if the boy were Nanny's own.
'It's all right,' Andrew said, as Nanny lifted Robert off his feet and held him fast. 'We were having a nice little talk weren't we?' but Nanny looked at him with eyes wide with alarm, as if he were about to kidnap her precious child. She did not say a word but turned and scorched across the grass to the house, the boy laughing in her arms and waving back at Andrew.
All in all, though, he and Ma agreed on the train home, it had been a good day of celebration. The old drawing room cleared of desks and equipment but not yet restored to its former elegance had made a fine place for dancing. A band had been hired and in the smoky, dusty room that had once been so grand, masters and servants, with social barriers gone, danced to the eightsome reel, the Dashing White Sergeant and the energetic Scottish country dances.
On the train home Ma said, 'I shouldn't say this, son but did you see Lady Campbell dancing the Gay Gordons with Mike Hamilton?' She giggled. 'She was swooning in his arms. She must have had a drop to drink.' Then she added, 'I don't think Sir Gordon noticed.'
'No,' Andrew said. 'People never see what's under their noses.' And he sat back to think about the day and to wonder whether the favoured son was Mike Hamilton's.
By 1946 it should have been easy to forget and consign to the past the lies and the fear of being found out. But never a day passed when Flora did not ache for her lost son, though her working and home life was secure and happy.
Aunt Dorothy and Uncle John loved her like a daughter, and Alexander, who would start school soon, was their 'little big guy' who followed Uncle John everywhere. Alexander was a delight; a happy, contented and outgoing child who was easy to please and devoted to the man in his life, Uncle John. He was six years old, tall and strong, and had an enormous, healthy appetite. He had dark wavy hair like Andrew's and eyes that everyone said were like Flora's own; large and round and liquid green. Alexander could read a few words, talk like an angel and pick out a tune on the cottage piano. He was not allowed to go up to the sawmill with Uncle John for safety reasons, but he'd come flying across the yard or along the
deck whenever he heard the engine of the Dodge arriving, and always he'd yell, 'I'm here –I’m here, Uncle John. Wait for me and Campbell.'
Flora would startle every time he said it. Lonely children often had imaginary friends, but there was more to it with Alexander. Flora's own guilt and pain came to taunt her day and night. Alexander had probably got the name Campbell from the letters from Nanny that Dorothy read out to them - news of Robert and the Campbell family, once even a photograph of Nanny and Robert but taken from so far away that it was impossible to make out their features or Robert's shape, though he looked smaller and thinner than Alexander. But then Robert's birth weight had only been half Alexander's, and rationing was still severe at home. Flora told herself not to worry because you couldn't tell a thing from a photo.
However, Campbell was not a childish phase. Campbell had been there from the start – even from infancy, when Alexander would reach out and cry when he found that his arms were empty. When Flora avidly read the British newspapers that were sent to Bancroft -the Edinburgh Evening News amongst them -Alexander would sit, thumb in mouth, watching, once making her heart almost stop by pronouncing solemnly as Flora scrutinised a newspaper photograph of a group of naval officers, 'Campbell's daddy is a sailor. Like my daddy - wasn't he, Mommy?'
Flora asked, 'Where does Campbell live?' Alexander took his thumb from his mouth and replied solemnly, 'Stockland. Silly.'
Flora had to set an extra place at table for Campbell. Alexander would shout, 'Don't close the door. Campbell's not in yet,' or, 'Hold Campbell's hand too, Mommy.' It was an obsession.
When she forgot, for a few hours, her anxiety for Robert and her guilt over both boys, Flora was happy and lucky, she believed. She went down on her knees every night to thank God for delivering her into the Murray family, who now declared themselves fearful that she might leave them to find something better.
The Weeping Tree Page 24