by Lily Baxter
‘You’ll have plenty of people to get out and push.’ Miranda leaned out of the window as they pulled out on to the Esplanade. ‘There they are.’
He indicated and drew the cumbersome vehicle to a halt at the kerbside. Miranda jumped down to the pavement. ‘This is the best we could do, Granny.’
Maggie did not look too impressed. ‘Is it safe? And who is that man?’ She squinted short-sightedly at Raif as he climbed out of the driver’s seat, pausing for a moment to put on his cap.
‘It’s Flight Lieutenant Carstairs, Granny. He gave Rita and me a lift when the wheel came off Tommy’s cart.’
Maggie’s lips tightened into a thin line of disapproval. ‘So that’s the fellow.’
‘How do you do, Mrs Beddoes?’ Raif tipped his cap, but his smile faded as he met her ice-cool gaze.
‘How do you do?’ She turned to Miranda, lowering her voice. ‘That contraption doesn’t look roadworthy.’
‘It’s probably the last vehicle in town, Granny. I think you ought to thank Mr Carstairs for putting himself out like this.’ Flushing with embarrassment, Miranda shot a sideway glance at Raif but if he had heard he did not seem unduly put out by her grandmother’s ungrateful reaction.
‘I’m glad to be able to help in an emergency,’ he said smoothly. ‘But I think we’d best get the women and children on board as quickly as possible, don’t you?’
Maggie answered with an almost imperceptible nod of her head. ‘I suppose so.’
He moved swiftly to the rear and opened the tailgate. ‘I’m afraid this isn’t exactly the height of luxury, but we should be able to get everyone in.’
Maggie peered into the truck. ‘Whoever used it last didn’t bother to clean up after them.’ She beckoned to Tommy who was leaning against the railings with Rita at his side. ‘Make yourself useful. There’s a pile of sacks in the far corner. Climb up and spread them on the floor so that the ladies have something to sit on.’
Tommy scowled at her. ‘I ain’t here for me health, missis. What’s in it for me?’
‘Nothing, but you might get a better character reference when you next come up before Major Beddoes if you do as I ask.’
He sidled across the pavement and climbed into the truck. When he had finished Miranda was quick to observe that Raif slipped him a florin for his pains and Tommy sauntered off to get his cart.
With Raif’s help they managed to get the women and children settled, with Miranda and Rita the last to clamber onto the truck. Maggie sat in the cab with Raif and they set off for Highcliffe with everyone clinging on for dear life.
Halfway along the beach road Rita decided that the older children would benefit from a singsong and after a lot of encouragement she had them carolling ‘Ten Green Bottles’ at the tops of their voices. Miranda had never experienced anything like it and was frankly embarrassed by such loud behaviour in public. She was uncomfortably aware that they were receiving some strange looks from people walking or cycling home from work. By the time Raif pulled up outside Highcliffe they had started on ‘Run Rabbit Run’ and somewhat self-consciously Miranda had joined in, but the sight of a telegram boy in his navy-blue uniform sent a chill running down her spine and she held her hand up for silence. Not for nothing were these youngsters known as messengers of death. She jumped down from the truck and stood, frozen to the spot, staring at the fresh-faced boy who clutched a yellow envelope in his hand.
‘Telegram for Mr and Mrs Beddoes.’
Miranda closed her eyes, praying silently. Don’t let it be my father. Please God, don’t let it be him.
There was complete silence as Maggie opened the envelope and stared at the telegram. Even the babies had stopped crying and their mothers were staring at her with anxious faces. Then, to Miranda’s amazement, her grandmother threw back her head and laughed. A murmur of consternation rippled round the women. ‘It’s shock,’ one of them whispered. ‘I was like that when our cat got run over.’
Her companion nudged her in the ribs. ‘Shh.’
‘Granny, what is it?’ Miranda’s lips were so dry she could barely frame the words.
‘I’ll kill that son of mine,’ Maggie said, wiping her eyes on a lace-edged hanky. She took a deep breath, tucking the crumpled telegram into her pocket with a rueful smile. ‘I’m so sorry, everyone. I must apologise for the drama caused by my thoughtless son Jack. I’ll have more than a few words to say to him when he gets here.’
Miranda found herself clutching Rita’s hand so tightly that her knuckles stood out beneath her skin. She let go with a murmur of apology.
‘It’s not bad news then, Mrs Beddoes,’ Raif said politely.
‘On the contrary. My errant son says he’s got leave and he’s on his way home. If the Luftwaffe don’t kill him I very well might.’
‘You don’t mean that, Granny.’ Miranda glanced anxiously at Raif, hoping that he did not think that the entire Beddoes family was mad.
‘No, of course I don’t, but I just aged about twenty years. Then that’s my younger son all over. Thoughtless, feckless and utterly charming, just like …’ She broke off, frowning. ‘Never mind.’
The telegram boy cleared his throat in an attempt to attract her attention. ‘Any reply, lady?’
Maggie opened her handbag and took out her purse, handing him a coin. ‘What I have to say to my son would set the paper on fire. No reply, thank you.’ She turned to Raif. ‘Thank you for your help. I’m sure the ladies are very grateful to you, but now I expect you want to get the truck back to its owner.’
If her cool tone came as a surprise after his efforts to help, Raif did not betray his inner feelings. He smiled. ‘It was my pleasure.’ He turned to the women who were attempting to control their overtired and over-excited children. ‘Goodbye, ladies. I hope you find comfortable billets and that you can return to your homes in the not too distant future.’ He climbed into the cab and drove off.
With mixed feelings, Miranda watched the vehicle lumber down the hill on its journey back to town. Fate had thrown her quite literally into Raif Carstairs’ path twice that day, but now he was gone and it seemed unlikely that they would meet again. She should have been happy that the message in the telegram was good, but she felt deflated and even a little depressed. She came back to earth as Rita nudged her with a bony elbow. ‘Wake up, sunshine. I think we’re supposed to be helping.’
There was a sudden burst of conversation as her grandmother marshalled the women and children through the garden gate. Miranda was about to follow them but her legs felt like jelly and she was certain that they would give way beneath her if she attempted to take a single step.
‘What’s up with you?’ Rita demanded.
‘Nothing. I’m fine.’
‘You’re as white as a sheet.’
‘I thought the telegram was telling them that my dad had been killed in action.’ Miranda choked on a sob.
‘Yeah, well, it happens. I never knew mine so I wouldn’t know if he was alive or dead. Anyway, yours is okay so stop snivelling and do something useful. If we don’t get in quick we’ll find ourselves dossing down with dozens of snotty kids.’
Rita’s abrasive manner was all that was needed to goad Miranda into action. ‘You’re right. I don’t mind sharing my room with you at a push.’
‘Ta, your majesty. That’s very gracious, I’m sure.’ Rita tempered her words with a cheeky wink and a grin. She linked her hand through Miranda’s arm. ‘I’m glad it wasn’t your dad, and I can’t wait to meet Jack. He sounds like a bit of all right.’
‘Rita, you wouldn’t! He’s twenty-seven if he’s a day.’
‘I like older men. They’re much more fun than boys my age and they’ve got more money. Has Jack got a girlfriend?’
‘Lots. You’ll have to join the queue and I don’t fancy your chances.’
‘We’ll see about that. In fact, I’m beginning to think I’ll like it here after all. Let’s hope Mrs Proffitt doesn’t get better too quickly.’
Mirand
a had no answer to this. ‘We’d best go indoors and see what we can do to help.’
The moment they set foot in the house Miranda and Rita were sent to help Annie find enough clean linen to make up beds while Maggie allocated rooms, sorted out squabbling children and soothed anxious mothers with promises of tea and cakes. Miranda had overhead the last remark and smiled to herself, wondering if the ladies knew what they had let themselves in for.
‘You’ll have to share your room with Rita,’ Maggie said as they passed her on the stairs. ‘I’d have let the women use Jack’s room, but as he’s turning up like the proverbial bad penny they’ll have to double up in the guest rooms.’
Annie stuck her head over the banisters. ‘How many are we talking about, Mrs B? There seem to be dozens of kids running loose. Can’t their mothers keep them under control?’
‘They’ve just lost everything,’ Maggie said severely. ‘The least we can do is to help them rest and get themselves straight before they go on their way. But in answer to your question, there are seven mothers and eighteen children, although six of them are babes in arms. We can take drawers out of the tallboys to use as makeshift cots and I think there are some camp beds stored in the attic. We’ll need to bring them down and all the bedding you can find.’ She continued downstairs without waiting for anyone to question her.
Annie shook her head. ‘Madness. That’s what it is. You heard what your granny said, Miranda. You and Rita can fetch the camp beds and put them in the spare rooms and I’ll see to the bedding. I don’t trust you two in my linen cupboard, you’d muddle everything up.’
‘Come on, Rita.’ Miranda took the remainder of the stairs two at a time. She paused on the landing waiting for her to catch up.
‘How many rooms in this gaff?’ Rita demanded, staring around wide-eyed and obviously impressed. ‘It’s like a blooming hotel.’
‘There are six bedrooms and a boxroom on this floor and then up the next flight is my Uncle Jack’s room, that’s my favourite because it leads out to the widow’s walk. There are some smaller attic rooms, but they haven’t been used for years.’
Rita followed her along the landing and up the second flight of stairs. ‘What’s a widow’s walk when it’s at home?’
‘It’s just a balcony really, overlooking the sea. This house was built in Victorian times by a sea captain. His wife used to watch for his ship coming home from the widow’s walk.’
Rita frowned. ‘But if she was a widow her old man would be dead.’
‘I suppose a lot of the seafarers didn’t return, and I don’t think it’s a proper widow’s walk. As far as I know they’re more American than English, so I think it’s probably just a story that somebody made up to explain why they put a balcony at the top of this crazy old house.’
‘Let’s go and have a look,’ Rita said as they reached the second floor. ‘I want to see this widow’s walk.’
‘We haven’t got time. Maybe later.’
‘Spoilsport.’
Miranda spun round, glaring at her. ‘Look, Rita. I’m not mad about this either but if you’re going to stay here you’ll have to fit in and do what my grandparents say. It’s their house and they’ve taken you in.’
‘You too, don’t forget.’
‘I’m family.’
‘Thanks for reminding me that I haven’t got one.’
Miranda met her angry gaze and was instantly ashamed of her hasty words. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean it to come out like that.’
‘You’ll be going back to your cosy home at the end of the summer holidays, but I’ll be stuck here with the old lady I’ve never met, if she ever gets out of hospital.’
‘I won’t as it happens. Our house was bombed and I’m going to have to stay here for the duration, but I know I’m lucky and I’m sorry if I spoke out of turn.’ Miranda held out her hand. ‘Come on, Rita. Let’s go and find these camp beds. I don’t like going in the rooms where the maids used to sleep, it’s spooky.’
‘You mean the house is haunted?’
‘Not that I know of, but I don’t like the feel of them. I’d hate to have been a servant in those days.’
‘It would have been better than starving in the gutter, mate.’ Rita strode on ahead to the next door, which had been left ajar, but as she pushed it open a furry mass leapt out at her and she fell backwards with a cry of fright.
‘It’s all right,’ Miranda said, chuckling as she bent down to stroke the irate cat. ‘It’s only Dickens. He must have come up here to escape from the kids.’
‘The bloody thing almost gave me a heart attack.’ Rita fanned herself with her hand, glaring at the cat who was now purring loudly and arching his back with pleasure as Miranda fussed over him.
‘Poor old boy. Did that nasty girl frighten you?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake stop drooling over the animal and let’s get this over.’ Rita hesitated in the doorway, peering into the room. ‘If you’re a ghost get out of me way. I’m coming in.’ She marched through the doorway. ‘There’s nothing in here but a lot of old junk and spiders’ webs.’
Eventually, after a lot of running up and down stairs carrying the ancient wood and canvas camp beds, they turned drawers into makeshift cots for the babies and the spare rooms became dormitories for the mothers and children. Miranda was relieved to find that her grandmother had not allocated her old room to anyone else, even though she would have to share it with Rita.
It was now late afternoon and the sunlight streamed through the large bay window that overlooked the back garden and the wide sweep of the bay. Rita flung herself down on one of the twin beds and closed her eyes. ‘I could kip for a week,’ she said, yawning. ‘Wake me up in time for tea.’
Miranda would have liked to unpack her cases and hang her clothes in the bird’s-eye walnut wardrobe, but she had barely begun when Annie poked her head round the door and informed them that their services were needed in the kitchen. It was a command rather than a request and Miranda knew better than to argue. She followed Annie downstairs with Rita trailing behind them.
The air in the kitchen was blue with cigarette smoke and filled with steam from the kettle singing away on the hob. Maggie had already made one pot of tea and was in the process of making another. She left this to Annie and instructed Miranda to give the children milk or lemonade, and Rita was left to dole out the remainder of the rock cakes and given a packet of Rich Tea biscuits to hand round.
Miranda was pleased to see that the women seemed to be in better spirits and beginning to talk things over between themselves. She felt genuinely sorry for them and it was obvious that they were all deeply distressed by their recent experiences, but the older children seemed to think the whole thing was a game, and fortified by food and drink they began to explore. Annie was struggling to cope with the air of a martyr about to be burnt at the stake, but Maggie appeared to be in her element. Miranda could only guess that the years her grandmother had spent as an army wife both in India and East Africa must have prepared her to rise to such an occasion, which she was doing magnificently.
‘Miranda.’ Maggie took her aside. ‘We have to think about feeding these people. I want you to go to the coach house and liberate the sack of potatoes that Elzevir delivered to your grandfather earlier this afternoon.’
‘But he needs them for his experiments.’
‘Feeding hungry mouths is more important.’ Maggie pressed a large iron key into her hand. ‘Go now while he’s taking his constitutional along the cliff top, and you’d best take Rita with you. A hundredweight of potatoes is too much for one girl to carry.’
Miranda unlocked the door but Rita was first inside the coach house, exclaiming in wonder. ‘I thought places like this was just in the flicks. What with haunted attics and this old ruin, you could make horror films here. Before Mum got sick we used to go to the pictures once a week. I loved The Raven with Boris Karloff, and then there was Sweeny Todd: the Demon Barber of Fleet Street with Tod Slaughter. I can’t get enough of creepy movi
es.’
‘It’s just an old coach house, only now it’s used as a garage and Grandpa’s workshop. You’ve got an over-active imagination, Rita.’ Miranda headed for the place where her grandfather kept the sack of potatoes, but when she realised that she was on her own she had to retrace her steps. She caught Rita peering beneath Chloe’s dust sheet.
‘Blooming hell! It’s a posh motor. Don’t tell me that your grandad drives this.’
‘He doesn’t and don’t touch. This is Chloe and she belongs to my Uncle Jack. Now leave her alone and help me with the sack. I can’t lift it by myself.’
Rita replaced the covers with a sigh. ‘I’d give me eye teeth for a ride in that thing. I wonder what else you got hidden in the Gothic mansion.’
‘Shut up,’ Miranda said, losing her patience. ‘For the last time, Rita, are you going to help me or not?’
Later that evening, when the evacuees had been fed on mashed potato and fried eggs, and the mothers had taken their children up to their respective rooms, the house was suddenly quiet. Miranda had left Rita unpacking her suitcase with strict instructions not to move her things. Sharing the room that had been hers for as long as she could remember was not something she would have agreed to had it not been forced upon her, but she kept telling herself that she must be kind to Rita, who had lost everything. She must not be mean and selfish. She did not want to end up like Auntie Eileen who had houseboys to wait on her hand and foot, and according to Annie expected the same treatment whenever she deigned to visit her parents.
Miranda made her way downstairs, moving as quietly as possible so that she would not disturb anyone. Clutched in her hand was the photograph of her father in its dented silver frame, the only personal item she had managed to salvage from her parents’ room before the chimney stack collapsed. She tiptoed to the drawing room and placed it on the mantelpiece next to a photo of her grandfather in his army uniform. The startling likeness of father and son brought a lump to her throat and she stood for a moment, gazing at the smiling images of the two most important men in her life. ‘Goodnight, Dad,’ she whispered, closing her eyes and screwing up her face as she had done as a child when she said her prayers at bedtime. ‘Please God keep my dad safe from harm, and Maman too, wherever she is now.’