He stared into a pair of impossibly violet eyes. ‘So we begin,’ he said, running a finger down the side of her face. ‘Because you are a determined madam, and because I love you to the point of insanity, we have opened the baby-making factory. And I wilt keep thine issue fed and watered—’
‘You didn’t wilt.’
‘I’m sorry I laughed – couldn’t help it. If he’d said “wilt” once more, I would have slid off my chair.’
‘It was a pity that the Tudor thrones were in storage – they’re all hand-carved and special. But it was a fun wedding, wasn’t it?’
‘Will it be fun if we have a coloured child?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know whether having a child is fun or agony. But I do prefer dark-haired people, because their faces have a frame. Blonde hair blends with fair skin, so it’s a bit bland, no punctuation.’
‘Maybe we’ll get a dark-skinned blonde?’
She agreed that such a person might have an interesting appearance. ‘As long as any child of ours doesn’t get your father’s red hair.’
‘Don’t discriminate,’ he whispered.
‘Don’t wilt.’
‘OK.’
A group of anxious people sat in welcome shade outside the Pack Horse Inn, which was well placed in the centre of a truly magnificent city. They sipped on chilled fruit juices and waited. Waiting wasn’t easy. Theo and Tia clutched at each other’s hands while Delia tried hard to ignore her watch. ‘Juliet may be talking to Matron about doing midwifery in Liverpool,’ she said eventually.
Isadora agreed, as did Nancy. ‘You’re right, love. She’ll have loads of mates down here, too, won’t she? This is where she done all her learning until now. I hope Maggie likes this colour. I’ll keep it meself if she doesn’t.’ She touched her husband’s arm. ‘I’m right, aren’t I, love? About Juliet seeing all her friends, like?’
‘Course you’re right, Nancy.’ He sighed heavily. ‘And to think we were at a wedding round the corner just over twenty-four hours since.’ He ran a hand through what was left of his hair. He and Nancy had heard most of Rosie’s pain. Closing his eyes, he confronted the sound of Rosie crying, of the shed door banging shut, of his wife weeping while she made jam butties or banana butties or a pan of chips for that poor kiddy.
Isadora studied him. ‘Don’t, Tom,’ she whispered. ‘We can’t mend Rosie’s past, but we sure as hell can make her a suit of armour for the future.’
Nancy changed needles. ‘You’re right, Izzy,’ she pronounced.
‘Maggie will be nervous.’ Tia leaned her head against her man’s shoulder.
‘We couldn’t all go to the hospital,’ Theo said. ‘It would have been like an invasion. Juliet knows what she’s doing, and all the docs know her. They’ll be doing a thorough job, that’s all.’
Theo got busy writing I LOVE YOU on Tia’s palm.
She responded by outlining WILT NOT on his.
Nancy surprised the whole company by putting down her knitting and standing up. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said.
‘Where are you going?’ Tom asked his wife.
‘Shop next door to the wool shop, love. Toys. They have nice paintboxes and big books with blank pages. And they had a skipping rope with ball bearings in the handles, so it’ll turn smooth. I’ll ask if they sell glue not as runny as that stuff she uses now. I’d be frightened of putting my knitting down when she’s cutting and sticking.’
Tom blinked and his jaw dropped. His wife had delivered a speech. ‘Shopping in Canterbury? On your own?’
‘That’s right. I’m going all by myself.’ She walked away.
‘Well,’ Tom folded his arms, ‘there’s a first time for everything, I suppose. It took months to make her go round the corner without me.’ He paused. ‘She was left locked in the house when she was a child. Her mother had to go to work, see. I think that’s why Nancy felt so bad for Rosie when she got shut in with the coal.’ He smiled. ‘Look at my Nancy now, crossing a main road without me. It’s a bloody miracle.’
‘You love the bones of her,’ Theo said.
‘Don’t Liverpool sayings sound odd with an American accent?’ Tia asked.
Isadora laughed. ‘Your husband has a lovely accent, Portia.’
Delia agreed. ‘And a fabulous ambulance.’
‘Don’t start,’ Theo warned. ‘It has to get us home first.’
‘I’ll drive you home.’
‘Cordelia?’ Isadora’s tone was quiet but firm. ‘Behave yourself. If Theo wants to make a gift of the van, let him do it in his own good time.’
Theo shrugged. ‘It’s not a problem, Ma.’
Isadora grinned. ‘Ma! I have a son. At last, I have a son.’
‘And me. You’ve got me.’ Rosie was prancing about on the pavement. ‘They made a hole in me and pinched my blood. Loads and loads and loads. They put a sticky plaster on it, but it’s coming off. I must be nearly empty. Nana says I can have pineapple juice. I have to get re-hided.’
‘Rehydrated,’ Juliet explained. ‘Not because of blood loss, but the weather’s hot. She didn’t like hospital orange juice and she took just a sip of water.’
Juliet and Maggie stood behind the bouncing child. Both were smiling.
‘She did very well,’ Maggie told them. ‘Never cried when the needle went in, and she told him he was taking too much. He said he needed a bucketful, and young miss here just laughed at him.’
Rosie motored on. ‘The doctor with joined-up eyebrows said I was healthy, and if everyone was as healthy as me, he’d have no job. I’ve got chips on a clavicule . . . something like that.’
‘Clavicle,’ Juliet told them.
‘And my broke ribs mended theirselves. Me hair’s frackshered.’
‘Hairline skull fracture,’ Nurse Juliet said, shaking her head. ‘Proof of historic damage.’ She gave Rosie a shilling. ‘Go to the bar and ask for iced pineapple, there’s a good girl.’
When the child had disappeared, Maggie spoke again. ‘The blood tests will take a few days, but the upshot is that even if Sadie does get better, it’s unlikely she’ll be having Rosie back. The poor baby probably slept for days after her skull got fractured. The doctor said she might well have had concussion. She’s lucky to be alive.’
Delia’s face was brightened by anger. ‘It’s a good thing that Tunstall’s dead, or I’d be in jail for rearranging his future. Whoever killed him deserves a knighthood. As for the child’s mother . . .’ She stopped. ‘Sorry, Maggie.’
Maggie nodded. ‘You’re not in the wrong, love, so don’t be worrying. Sadie was out of control on gin, and she’s lost control altogether now because of it. My daughter never put Rosie first. Trouble was, I always put my daughter first, and she turned into a—’ She spotted Rosie on her way back. ‘Well, we all know what she turned into.’ She eyed her granddaughter. ‘That’s not pineapple juice.’
‘No, it’s tomato, Nana.’
‘Oh?’
‘Well, they stuck a needle in the bend in me arm and pinched thousands of blood. Millyuns. This is nearly the same colour, so I can get re-hided.’ She took a sip. ‘I don’t like it, but it’s red.’ She shrugged. ‘I shown him at the bar the needle hole. He said I’ll have a big bruise tomorrow and I can charge people a penny for a look at it. See, Nana? They’re just the same as Liverpool people except for talking funny.’
The whole company dissolved into laughter. Rosie held her nose and swallowed the rest of the red stuff before placing Juliet’s shilling on the table. ‘I got it free cos I’m beautiful. Well, that’s what he said, but he wears glasses.’
‘You are beautiful,’ Isadora insisted.
‘It’s cos I got nice clothes.’ She grinned at Tia.
Nancy returned bearing gifts. Within minutes, a supposedly bloodless child was leaping about with a special skipping rope, one with ball bearings in the handles.
‘Psychologist?’ Theo asked quietly.
‘There’s evidence of some damage,’ was Juliet’s re
ply. ‘But she’s immensely clever and good-natured. She spent ten minutes making him laugh about some poor woman so fat that she looks like Woolworth’s with a hairnet. Rosie’s afraid of the dark and of closed doors – understandably so.’
‘Gasworks with the same hairnet,’ Maggie explained. ‘She means poor Nella from Ivy Lane. She has to go sideways into Povey’s shop when she wants a loaf. You could hide a whole school of children behind her. Lovely woman – it’s a damned shame.’
The group sat and smiled while Rosie tried to master double-unders.
Isadora rose to her feet. ‘Come along, everyone. Let’s go inside for our cream tea.’ We have the beginnings of a battle plan. Letters from the hospital will win us support from the NSPCC. Rosie will be fostered by Portia and Theo, or I’ll die trying. The child’s looking well, some flesh on her bones, confidence in her voice. Oh yes, we shall overcome.
Rosie, undiminished by her ordeal by medics, interviewed the waiter on the subject of clotted cream. Neither he nor she had the slightest idea about making clots in cream, but her thirst for information brightened her eyes, just as it always did. She ate two scones, an enormous amount of strawberry jam and more than her fair share of cream. She finished with two cups of milky tea and a hand on her full stomach. ‘Perhaps they have special cows and it comes out clotted. What do you think, Nana?’
Maggie smiled and sighed simultaneously; she felt a bit better after taking Daphne Melia’s blood tonic . . .
The weekend was spent in happy chaos at Bartle Hall. Managing to forget all about her close and miserable relationship with coal, Rosie Stone leapt head first into the priest hole game. She found six and, with a little help from Juliet, managed to work out the mechanisms that would gain her admission to the dusty spaces behind the panelling. In every hole, there was a present for her. She found books, a spinning top, clothes, ribbons, a pink necklace, and a large pencil case full of crayons and pencils and pens.
‘You’re nearly there,’ Juliet informed the excited child. ‘Just one more to go. There are seven altogether, and the last is the most interesting.’
Rosie wiped her forehead. ‘Can we have a rest? Can we visit Mr and Mrs Quinn? We haven’t seen them since hospital day.’
Juliet explained gently that Theo and Tia were on their honeymoon. ‘It isn’t that they don’t care about us, but this is their alone time before they have to get back to normal.’ She stroked Rosie’s hair. ‘They love you. We all love you.’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘You and I will be sleeping in the gypsy caravan tonight; it’s in the garden behind Rose Cottage. We can lie there and tell stories and jokes. See? Another adventure for you. But now I’m going to show you Bartle Hall’s biggest secret. It’s the seventh hole, and it’s a big one. We call it Seventh Heaven, because it’s up in the eaves and nearer to God, and it’s a holy place.’
‘A holy hole?’
Juliet laughed. ‘It’s rather larger than the rest, sweetie.’
They ascended a narrow, tortuous stairway that reminded Rosie of a corkscrew. Eventually, they emerged on a landing that opened out into the roof space where rejected items were stored. Juliet switched on a torch. ‘The floor remains solid enough for people of our size. Follow me.’
They reached a wall. ‘Now.’ Juliet placed the torch on a scarred table. ‘Can you see where it is?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘It’s just a wood wall like you have downstairs.’
‘A flap in the bottom lifts just enough for a man to crawl through. Inside, it has bolts so that the priest was truly hidden and safe. This was his last chance to avoid being murdered.’ She knelt after picking up her torch. ‘Follow me.’ Lifting a section of the wall, she crawled through with Rosie hot on her heels. They both stood in total blackness until Juliet swept light across the area.
The little girl gasped. ‘But this is a church, a teeny-tiny church.’
There were just two short pews facing the altar. A white altar cloth was falling to bits, though the central tabernacle seemed to have survived. ‘Why did it happen?’ Rosie asked.
‘Hatred. Christians killing Christians. They couldn’t accept each other’s differences. This is a Catholic chapel. But the Catholics did their unfair share of torture and killings, too. It’s stupidity. Never imagine that grown-ups know everything, because they don’t.’ She picked up an item from the pew to her right. ‘This seemed suitable as a gift from Seventh Heaven. It’s a Bible with coloured pictures in it.’
‘Thank you. Are you a Christian, Juliet? Miss Bellam— I mean Mrs Quinn says you are.’
‘I am. But I allow myself to worship just about anywhere, Methodist chapels, Catholic churches, Church of England – I’m not proud. It’s one God and one Jesus. The rest is unimportant to me. But you’ll find your own way, Rosie.’
Rosie pondered for a few moments. ‘What about people who don’t believe in Jesus? You know, in jungles and all that. They don’t know about Jesus.’
‘They have their own chosen faiths which must be honoured. As long as they do good in their lives, they’re on the same journey, but they take a different road. It’s a case of doing your best.’
‘Like Nana?’
‘Exactly like Nana. Now, let’s grab some lunch. I heard a rumour about apple pie with pink custard.’
‘My favourite colour.’
‘Exactly. But you must eat your sandwich first.’
They descended the corkscrew staircase.
‘Juliet?’
‘Yes?’
‘Do you think you might stay in Liverpool with Dr Heilberg?’
‘It’s all under discussion.’
Rosie swallowed hard. ‘I don’t want to lose you.’
At the bottom of the staircase to Seventh Heaven, Juliet hugged the little girl. ‘You won’t lose me, baby. Wherever I am, you’ll always be in my heart.’
‘Thank you, Juliet. I love all of you, too.’
‘We know that, sweetheart. Come on – pink custard. Apple pie made from our own home-grown fruit. Scrummy.’
As they walked towards lunch, Juliet held on to her young charge. I want a daughter just like this one, pretty and strong almost to the point of unbreakability. We have to save her. If necessary, I’ll smuggle her out of the bloody country. But first, pink custard.
While Rosie was interviewing Mrs Melia on the subject of how to make custard pink instead of yellow, Theo and Tia were considering getting out of bed. Lying stark naked on top of the covers, they were still roasting. Theo made a unilateral decision. Water from the previous evening would still be tepid, so they could share a bath.
As he walked towards the door, Tia looked at his scars again. She wasn’t allowed to pity him, but the marks on his back made her angry. Angry wasn’t good, since it made her even warmer, so she forced herself out of bed to open the window fully. Lighting a fire every evening wasn’t a good idea, but it was the only way to get hot water. ‘I’ll buy one of those immersion things,’ she said. She heard him cursing; the hot tap was spitting water and air; the whole place needed newer plumbing.
He stood in the doorway. ‘Get in the bathroom,’ he ordered, amazed when she blinked just once before showing signs of doing as she was told. Am I taming her? Do I want to tame her? ‘We have to share,’ he said. ‘I’ll take the end near the taps.’ What’s the matter with her? ‘What’s the matter with you? You’re quiet.’ He followed her to the bathroom.
She climbed into the bath and awarded him one of the more brilliant of her collection of smiles. ‘I just thought I’d never love so quickly and so hard. I love you more than I did on our wedding day.’
‘Three days ago, Portia.’
She nodded. ‘I feel very . . . fortunate, but that’s an inadequate word. Join me – the water’s lovely.’
They sat opposite each other, chins resting on knees.
‘You make me happy, Teddy Bear. I feel as if the glass slipper fitted and I got the prince.’
‘No. I won first prize, baby. Come on; we re-joi
n the rest of the world today.’ My heart’s dancing like those loonies with bells on their socks. Or maybe I’m the village idiot, risking pain by allowing myself to love this wonderful woman. We have given ourselves to each other so quickly, yet I feel I couldn’t live without her, and she says she feels the same.
‘Do you know where we’re taking them?’
He grinned. ‘Just onward, baby. I have the map.’
‘Leeds Castle?’ she asked. ‘And hop fields?’
‘Yes to the first, and the second will prove unavoidable. But without you, I’d have no map. You’re my way home, baby. Let’s clean up the act and go.’
Four people spilled out of the van and stared at the most beautiful castle in England. Tia, Theo, Juliet and Rosie had left the others behind. Nancy was knitting in the garden of Lilac Cottage, Tom was engrossed in A Tale of Two Cities, Maggie was chatting in the kitchen with Mrs Melia, while Izzy had gone to take Sunday afternoon tea with friends in Chaddington Green. Delia, who had been extra nice to Theo, had returned to London on the train and was doubtless telling her bandmates that there was a chance of a better van.
Theo recognized the building immediately from the film Kind Hearts and Coronets. ‘This is Leeds Castle, Rosie. Nine centuries old, but it’s been changed and extended many times since the eleventh century. If the owner hadn’t placed himself on the side of the Parliamentarians, it might have been destroyed.’
Inevitably, Rosie filed a questionnaire at this point, thereby causing an American citizen to fill in the gaps about monarchists and republicans and Oliver Cromwell with his ‘warts and all’. He explained the moat. ‘It’s there to stop people getting into the castle. What? Oh, they used drawbridges to get out and to let in people they wanted to see.’
Rosie pondered. ‘Captain Webb on the matchboxes could have swum it. He went from England to France.’
Theo sighed. She had an answer for everything, and she put him in mind – just slightly in mind – of Colin Duckworth. ‘Yes, Matthew Webb probably could have done it, but he didn’t.’
Meet Me at the Pier Head Page 36