Maggie's Girl

by Sally Wragg

  It had cost him the best part of a day’s wages.

  Billy scooped Eddie into his arms, hiding his hurt.

  ‘You’d come with your old uncle, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I tum, silly Billy.’ Eddie’s little fingers patted his face amiably, and Peter looked away, already torn in two. He’d have snapped Billy’s hand off once – they always used to go to the football together.

  He leaned over the wall of the sty, his gaze firmly fixed on Dolores, rooting amongst the swill he’d brought up earlier.

  He hardly understood himself. Why was he being so stubborn, when deep down what he wanted more than anything was to go? Surely this war was meant to pull folk together, not drive them apart?

  ‘I’ll see.’ He straightened up.

  ‘I’m not promising, mind,’ he added, alarmed at the pleasure Billy wasn’t taking the trouble to hide.

  The latch clicked, and they looked round to see John and Mary walking up the path, holding hands. Peter was startled, then delighted.

  ‘I’ll go down our back garden!’

  Daisy had only been saying this morning how worried she was about the state of their daughter’s marriage.

  ‘John! It’s good to see you, lad!’ A broad grin spread across Peter’s face. Happiness was infectious, and this pair were happy. Wait until he told Daisy – she’d be made up!

  John let go of Mary’s hand reluctantly, and bent down to scoop Mattie up into his arms, his eyes meeting his wife’s over the child’s head.

  Miraculously, it seemed to Mary, warmth and happiness flowed between them, a tangible thing, bringing at long last the promise of good times to come.

  Daisy Bridges, finding the press of people overwhelming, had slipped quietly out of the Bradshaw drawing-room and climbed the stairs.

  Bright sunshine was spilling through the diamond-shaped patterns of the landing window, falling full on the portrait of Ned, her Ned, and his brother.

  Ned’s arm was flung carelessly round Clifford’s shoulders, his eyes full of the devilment she remembered only too well.

  Maggie had told her about this picture, and she hadn’t been able to resist seeing it for herself.

  A sudden pain swelled in her chest. Ned was the image of Silas! Why had she never seen it before?

  ‘Daisy, are you all right?’ A light touch on her arm brought her back to her senses.

  ‘Adèle! I hope you don’t mind?’ Her hand waved vaguely towards the picture. ‘I had to see it. He’s just as I remembered.’

  Adèle took her arm.

  ‘Please don’t worry. I’m so glad we’ve seen each other – and I’m really glad you came to the funeral.’ Adèle smiled at the woman with whom her life had become so inextricably entwined.

  ‘I nearly didn’t, but I’m glad now, too.’

  In the end, she’d followed her instincts and slipped into the back of the church, paying her respects to Ned’s father, who hadn’t been nearly as bad as she’d painted him all those years.

  ‘I can’t deny it gave me a bit of a turn, seeing Maggie such a part of the family,’ she admitted honestly.

  It had hurt, to see Maggie leaving the church just behind Adèle, shepherding the children into the funeral car as part of Silas Bradshaw’s closest family. No wonder folk spilling from the church stopped and wondered. It had made Daisy wonder, an’ all!

  But they were family. People could think what they liked – the war alone was changing everything.

  ‘It’s good it’s out in the open at last,’ Adèle said, and Daisy nodded. Let their Maggie give Adèle some comfort, if she could!

  They linked arms and went back downstairs.

  ‘I went for a walk after the funeral,’ Daisy said. ‘Up by the Chevin – I used to go there with Ned …’ She stopped.

  ‘Please go on,’ Adèle encouraged. ‘I like to think of you with Ned.’

  What memories it had stirred, Ned and Maggie, the whole business. What might have happened in Daisy’s life, if only…

  She’d leaned against the solid security of the wall at the top of the little country lane, feeling its rough contours through the thin cotton of her one and only decent black dress, her gaze roaming along the red, squat factory, over the bowl of the valley to the pitheads against the sky beyond. What a mess Silas Bradshaw had made of the town, one way or another!

  ‘There was something wrong with the view,’ she explained to Adèle. ‘I couldn’t imagine what it was, but of course, it was the chimney – the chimney wasn’t smoking.’

  ‘The girls were given the day off.’ Adèle nodded. ‘I was surprised how many came to church, or lined the route.’

  It had seemed to Daisy as if the chimney, too, was in mourning for its owner. But then, the whole town was diminished by the lack of Silas Bradshaw, like a light going out. Silas Bradshaw had been Castle Maine.

  ‘I miss him, Adèle,’ Daisy murmured. She hadn’t expected that.

  Adèle Bradshaw did something she’d been longing to do for a while. To Daisy’s surprise and gratitude, she threw her arms around her and gave her a heartfelt hug.

  ‘I’m glad you changed your mind, Dad.’ Billy ignored his father’s grunt of disapproval as they walked towards the Baseball Ground.

  Thoughts of spending the afternoon watching Peter Doherty’s neat footwork added an extra spring to his step.

  ‘Raich Carter an’ all!’ He was still trying to elicit some response. ‘I still can’t believe they’re turning out for us! It’s just our good luck they’re both based at RAF Loughborough.’

  Still no answer, and Billy’s spirits began to plunge.

  They’d caught the football special from Castle Maine into Derby, walking up St Peter’s to the Spot and calling at the pub for a quick half, before taking the short cut through the arboretum.

  A steady stream of folk, mostly men, were making their way towards the famous ground, and Billy felt a rush of affection. The old girl was already full by the sounds of it, the excited roar rising above the brick-built terraces that surrounded the stadium.

  The players must be out! They were late.

  ‘Hurry up, Dad!’ Billy picked up the pace.

  Spectators clutching rattles, wrapped in black and white scarves despite the sunshine, were queuing patiently to get in. The Baseball Ground roar had grown to a crescendo by the time they finally pushed their way through the creaking turnstile on to the shabby little terrace at the Normanton Road end.

  There was nothing like the atmosphere here on match days, the press of bodies, the fug of cigarette smoke, the roaring swell which seemed to suck the ball goal-wards. No wonder opponents quailed!

  The ref blew his whistle and the match kicked off. Billy grabbed hold of Peter’s arm and barged through until they were near the halfway line, his eyes on the stocky, charismatic figure of silverhaired Raich Carter, already speeding goal-wards, the ball glued to his feet.

  He shot. The crowd roared, the goalie saved and they all surged forwards.

  ‘Glad you’ve come?’ Billy grinned, regaining his feet, and Peter grabbed the safety barrier, heaving himself upright, his eyes full of excitement.

  ‘Suppose.’ His eyes were on the green and hallowed turf. ‘Blimey, ref, that was a foul! Did you see that, our Billy?’

  Despite efforts to the contrary, the football drew him in. How could he be amongst this vast crowd and think of anything else? They both forgot they were at loggerheads, forgot the war and their respective opinions on it.

  ‘Pass it – pass it now! Ref, are you blind! Brilliant save, goalie. That were never a corner! Pass it here – too late! Now you’re for it …’

  The afternoon flew by. Half-time passed, and there was no end to the stalemate.

  Miraculously, with five minutes to go, Peter Doherty robbed the Forces’ full-back, skirted neatly round their winger and centred.

  Raich Carter, hair glinting like a halo, rose above the packed penalty area, and met the ball with a bullet header which bulged the back of the ne
t.

  A split second of incredulity, and then Peter and Billy were propelled by the sheer joy of the moment into each other’s arms, their yells swallowed in a cacophony of sound.

  They sheepishly drew apart when the noise began to die down.

  ‘Brilliant!’ Peter cried, beaming happily. What did anything matter? Billy was his son, and he loved him.

  ‘Dad!’

  It was all Billy could say. He turned away to wipe the tears, aware only of his father’s hand resting lightly on his arm.

  Shaking the rain from her umbrella, Maggie threw open her grandmother’s front door and ushered Mary inside. She had a couple of days off between shifts, so the sisters had spent the morning shopping in town, while Peter had the dubious pleasure of looking after the twins.

  They’d had a grand time, pretending for once things were as they used to be before the war.

  Maggie dropped the shopping to help Mary off with her coat, relieved to see the bloom back on her sister’s face. The trip had done her good.

  She’d never heard the full story of what had gone wrong between Mary and John, though she could have made an educated guess.

  Bless John, if she was right, for if ever two people were totally in love—

  ‘I’m really pleased things are working out for you and John,’ she said.

  ‘And what about you and Andrew?’ Mary’s eyes were twinkling. ‘Any sign of wedding bells? You should have heard me mam this morning going on about a new hat!’

  Maggie shook her head, remembering Andrew’s last leave. He’d been desperate to rush her off to the registrar’s.

  ‘Let’s get to the end of this wretched war, and we’ll see.’

  Which was roughly what she’d said to Andrew, even though she knew her answer was a disappointment. It just had to be the right time.

  ‘I can’t help wondering what’s going to happen, now the Second Front’s started,’ she added. Both John and Andrew were involved in the fierce fighting in Europe. Dangerous times, no matter how close the war was to ending.

  ‘There you are!’

  Adèle appeared at the drawing-room door, and Maggie’s eyes softened.

  ‘You won’t believe the amount of shopping we’ve done! How are you?’

  ‘Better for seeing you, my dear.’ Adèle smiled at them both. ‘And Mary’s here – well done! Mr Brownlow’s just arrived. You’ll join us for tea?’

  ‘Thanks, but we called in at the Pavilion tearooms.’

  At first sight the room looked full, though it was far from that. Stamps stood by the tea-tray, Bertie and Connie Bertram were drinking tea by the empty fireplace, and the family solicitor sat at the polished mahogany table, case open, shuffling papers.

  Maggie had been dreading the day Silas’s will would be read. Any reminder of her darling husband was hard for Adèle to bear.

  Mr Brownlow looked up quickly. All interested parties were present, a remarkably small gathering, he thought. A family tree that should have been large and thriving so cruelly cut down by the last war.

  Maggie gave Adèle’s hand a small and reassuring squeeze as Mr Brownlow stood up.

  Conversation ceased.

  The solicitor shot a glance towards Adèle, who gave a nod.

  ‘If that’s as you all wish. We’ll start with the small bequests.

  ‘A trust fund for the hospital. Small sums to each of his favourite charities. Two thousand pounds each to the family retainers, Harold Stokes and Albert Stamps, in recognition of loyal service.’

  The butler’s gasp was audible. The old man leaned briefly on the tea table before pulling himself upright.

  ‘I, Silas Bradshaw, being of sound mind—’

  ‘Oh, get on with it!’ Bertie interrupted testily.

  ‘Bertie, let the man speak!’ Connie laid a hand of restraint on her husband’s arm.

  The solicitor sighed. ‘I leave Bradshaw House and my residual estate to my beloved wife, Adèle, for her lifetime. After her death it is to be divided equally between my much-loved grandchildren, John Bertram and Maggie Bates …’

  Gasps of shock rippled round the room. Maggie’s eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth. Adèle’s grip on her arm tightened.

  ‘Given my grandson John Bertram’s often expressed wish to follow his father into their family business, and knowing his future to be assured, I leave my businesses – the mines, the Bradshaw Works and Bradshaw Cotton Spinners – in the more than capable hands of my granddaughter, Maggie Bates.’

  This time the shock was palpable. No one spoke, but Bertie Bertram let out a long whistle.

  Maggie began to tremble. Voices ebbed, but Adèle took hold of both her arms, bringing her gradually back down to earth.

  ‘You’ll be fine, don’t worry,’ her grandmother whispered. ‘This was exactly what Silas wanted.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  The roses were just coming into bloom. Stokes had been busy since before VE Day filling the Bradshaws’ garden with flowers, as an alternative to the vegetables that had seen them through the war years.

  Maggie strolled down the path, her hand lingering over the blowsy petals of a white rose which reminded her instantly of Hughie, and the roses Granddad Oakes had grown for their wedding all those years since. She remembered going with Gramps to pick them the morning they were wed. White roses and tiny pastel coloured wild flowers – how beautiful they’d been!

  Dear Hughie. They’d been so much in love, so full of plans for their future. How could they have guessed the way things would turn out!

  She sighed. It was true. As her mother said, sometimes it was best not to know …

  ‘There you are!’ Daisy’s voice reached her long before she rounded the corner by the laburnums. She was in a flap, Maggie saw at once.

  ‘Happen you’ve forgotten you’ve a wedding on?’ she scolded, her face red with the rush of the morning. ‘If you’re not at the door in ten minutes flat, madam, the car will be off to church without you.’

  ‘Isn’t the bride supposed to keep the groom waiting?’ her daughter teased.

  ‘Waiting is one thing,’ came the tart response. ‘We’ve no need of the vicar locking up and going home. A reception and no wedding? Is that what you’re after?’

  Something about her mother’s expression brought the smile back to Maggie’s face. She was looking forward to the reception, and what was more natural than it should be held here? She’d moved into the big house with the children months since, ostensibly to live somewhere more in keeping with their new position in life. They all knew it was so she could keep an eye on Adèle, who’d grown increasingly frail of late.

  And this morning, Maggie was marrying Andrew Hardaker at St Swithin’s, the church where the Bradshaw family had always worshipped, rather than St Mark’s, where she’d married Hughie.

  Daisy was standing, hands on hips, gazing at the girl.

  ‘If you’re having second thoughts, I wish you’d say so.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘It’s never too late!’

  ‘Give over, Mam! Who’s got pre-wedding nerves, thee or me?’ Maggie’s smile broadened. She and Andrew were so right for each other.

  She laid her hands gently on her mother’s shoulders.

  ‘You know how much I love him,’ she said, and Daisy relaxed, returning the smile. Even she, born worrier that she was, was forced to agree Andrew and Maggie loved each other. It was obvious to everyone.

  ‘Is it this other business with the inheritance?’ she insisted. ‘I know Andrew isn’t exactly happy about it.’

  ‘Of course he isn’t happy!’ Maggie cried. ‘He proposed to a staff nurse, not the owner of half of Castle Maine.’

  Daisy herself was still reeling from the shock. If her own poor father had ever had the slightest idea Silas would up and leave his business empire to Maggie!

  ‘It’s a big thing for anyone to take in,’ she conceded.

  ‘Andrew won’t let a little thing like money come between us, if that’s what you mean! It’s who
we are inside that counts.’

  ‘Then what is it?’ Now they’d started, Daisy was determined to get to the bottom of things.

  ‘I’m not sure I can cope with all this.’ Maggie flapped her hands, vaguely encompassing Castle Maine, but most of all the factory. ‘Even Andrew thinks it’s too much.’

  ‘He’s right. It is too much,’ her mother answered quietly.

  ‘But I am trying, Mam!’

  Maggie had given up nursing to spend all her time trying to acquaint herself with her new environment. It was mostly a question of sitting and hearing what other folk had to say. What else could she do?

  She stepped back, chewing her bottom lip.

  ‘The girls resent me, you know, Mam.’

  ‘Of course they don’t!’

  ‘They do, and why shouldn’t they? Most of the other women know me as Maggie Bridges, factory girl, or Maggie Bates, staff nurse. They don’t know how to treat me any more. Come to that, I hardly know myself!’

  Blind panic about described it. Maggie was no businesswoman, and at first it had seemed an impossible burden. She’d known the town would run wild at the news, but she’d never guessed it was going to be this bad.

  ‘Do you know the worst thing, Mam? I thought Silas loved me!’ Maggie’s fine blue eyes clouded. ‘And then he leaves me his business empire. Why? Was he trying to make a fool of me?’

  ‘Oh, Maggie! Of course he loved you.’ Even Daisy knew that now. She drew her daughter into her arms.

  ‘You’ll make a success of this, don’t you worry!’ She gazed into the eyes that were so like Silas’s. ‘Don’t forget there’s Bradshaw blood in your veins.’

  ‘Andrew!’ Herta Fleischmann shouted upstairs. ‘The car’s arrived! You want to keep your bride waiting?’

  And such a beautiful bride. The refugee’s soft heart was warm with joy at the delightful way everything had turned out.

  Maggie Bates was so right for this quiet and reserved Englishman who had taken in Herta and her husband.

  Herta’s life was very different now. With Andrew’s help, she and Klaus had found themselves a small flat in the centre of Castle Maine.