‘Afternoon, Mrs Brindley.’ Ruth stuck her head round the door and Martha beckoned her in. The girl had been coming regularly in the hope that there might have been a letter from Ernie, but up to now she had been sadly disappointed.
‘Before you ask, no, I ain’t heard nothin’ from me laddo,’ she told her teasingly. ‘But Lois ’as ’ad a letter from Briony. She just read it out to me afore she set off for work. Speakin’ o’ which, why aren’t you there today?’
‘I’ve got toothache,’ Ruth answered, then coloured slightly as she admitted, ‘Well, that’s what I told me mam but truthfully I just couldn’t face another day standin’ in the shop starin’ at bare shelves with hardly any customers to serve. I wonder if it’s even worth the place openin’ sometimes – an’ after the air raid last night I’m dead on me feet.’
Mrs Brindley yawned. She had had a sleepless night too, much of it spent stuck in the shelter with Lois who had snored her way through the whole raid. But then she had been so drunk Mrs Brindley suspected she could have slept through anything.
‘I had a letter from Briony too this morning,’ Ruth now informed her. ‘And it doesn’t sound like the war is affecting them much where she is, lucky devil.’
Taking the letter from her coat pocket, she read it aloud.
‘It’s almost identical to the one she sent ’er mam,’ Mrs Brindley commented. ‘Don’t say a lot, does it?’
‘Ah well, at least we know they’re all right now and that they arrived safely.’ Plonking herself down at the table, Ruth began absentmindedly to play with the fringe of the chenille cloth.
‘I just wish we could hear from Ernie now and know that he’s safe too,’ she muttered worriedly. ‘Every time I hear a plane go over I wonder if it’s him and if he’s going to come back and land safely. I don’t think I could bear it if anything happened to him.’
‘I know what you mean, luvvie, I feel just the same.’ Mrs Brindley squeezed the girl’s shoulder. Only now was she beginning to realise just how much her son meant to this girl, and she thought it was a shame, because she had a sneaky suspicion that Ernie’s affections – if he had ever had any for Ruth in the first place, that was – had now shifted to Briony. Not that Briony wasn’t a lovely girl too, of course, she told herself.
It was time to change the subject. ‘I’ve joined the WVS,’ she told Ruth proudly, hoping to shift the anxious look from the girl’s face. ‘I got to thinkin’ I ought to do me bit, an’ it’s gettin’ me out o’ the house. Whenever there’s a raid I make me way to the nearest church hall where they take the poor sods whose houses ’ave been bombed. It’s ’eartbreakin’, I don’t mind tellin’ yer. Some of ’em are left wi’ nothin’ but what they’re stood up in, but we give ’em a place to sleep an’ make ’em food an’ drink.’
‘How awful for them,’ Ruth sighed, and in her gentle heart she prayed that this dreadful war might soon be over.
In Cornwall, Briony was heading inland to the farm with the children skipping ahead of her. Seagulls were wheeling in the sky above her and behind her she could hear the waves slapping onto the beach. This, she thought, must be as close to heaven as you could get. Already there were roses in the children’s cheeks and their arms and legs were lightly tanned from playing outside.
As they drew closer to Kynance Farm she was surprised to see that it was much bigger than she had imagined it to be, with a number of outbuildings, including a Dutch barn, set around it. A tractor was parked beyond the barn and sheep and cows were contentedly grazing in the fields, which were bordered by drystone walls. She could hear pigs grunting and chickens clucking in the yard beyond a door, which Briony assumed backed on to the kitchen. A large black and white sheepdog bounded towards them, barking furiously, and for an instant they froze. But then as he reached them he began to wag his tail and in no time at all the children were petting him. A large ginger cat was curled up on a wall enjoying a nap in the late afternoon sun and for an instant the children were sad as they thought of Tigger back at home.
‘I hope Mam’s rememberin’ to feed him,’ Alfie said to Briony.
‘Oh, I shouldn’t get worrying too much about that. If she doesn’t, Mrs Brindley will – and anyway, cats are more than able to catch their own food. Think of all the mice he used to bring home.’
Happy again, he and Sarah scooted ahead, and after they had all let themselves into an enclosed yard through a double farm gate, the younger ones headed for some pigsties set at the far end.
As Briony approached the kitchen door she heard the wireless, and peeping inside, she saw Mrs Dower rolling pastry at the table. When she saw Briony, the woman swiped her floury hands down her apron and hastily switched off the news and beckoned her inside.
The girl glanced about her appreciatively. The kitchen here was nowhere near as big as the one back at The Heights but it was still a good size and very warm and homely. An inglenook fireplace stood in one wall and the smell of freshly baked cakes and bread hung on the air. On another wall were a number of shelves that had been painted a soft cream colour; on these were arranged Mrs Dower’s blue-and-white china. Briony recognised it as willow pattern and noticed that quite a few pieces were chipped, but even so from the way it was displayed it was clearly much cherished. Pretty flowered curtains lined with blackout material hung at the windows. The same material as the curtains had been used to make cushion covers that were strewn along a settee and two easy chairs, and a pipe rack containing a collection of pipes sat in the hearth. It was so much cosier than the kitchen she had just left that Briony was enchanted with it. Mrs Dower clearly had the gift of being able to make a house into a home.
At one end of the table, a tray of scones was cooling. Pointing to them, the woman told Briony, ‘The butter and jam are over there, and the clotted cream. Butter a couple for me, would you, and take them out to the children. They should fill a hole till dinner tonight. I’ve cooked you all a nice leg of pork.’
Briony almost drooled. A leg of pork! Back home they were lucky to see a pork chop once a month now, but here no one would have believed that rationing was in place. Again she wished that her mother could be there to enjoy it with them, but if the way her grandmother had received her was anything to go by, the chance of reconciliation between the two women was highly unlikely.
‘So how did your first day of cooking the breakfast and the lunch go?’ Mrs Dower asked, watching Briony’s face closely.
The girl split two scones in half and began to butter them. ‘Well . . . put it this way: no one complained.’
‘Hmm, but I bet you never got a word of thanks either,’ Annik Dower said drily with a toss of her head. ‘I reckon it’s a disgrace, the way your grandmother is carrying on. You’d think she’d be over the moon to have you young ’uns staying with her.’ She winked then and went on, ‘I believe your grandfather is secretly pleased you’re all there though.’
The kind words were Briony’s undoing. She had buried the hurt she had felt at her grandmother’s reception of her and put a brave face on things, even standing up to her, but now tears stung at the back of her eyes as she muttered, ‘I don’t think my grandmother likes me at all, Mrs Dower. I don’t think my uncle is too keen on me either.’
‘Ah, my poor little maid.’ Mrs Dower was round the table in a breath and drawing the girl into her arms. ‘Your grandmother won’t like you because you’re so like your father, God bless his soul. And she won’t take to little Sarah either if I’m any judge, because she’s too much like your mother. Those two never did get on. Your grandmother was jealous because Lois and her father were so close. And your Uncle Sebastian is scared of anyone replacing him in her affections. Inheritance, see?’ She nodded wisely. ‘Between you and me, I reckon he was pleased as Punch when your mum took off with your dad. It left the road clear for him to claim the lot when anything happens to his parents. So he’s going to be very worried now you lot have turned up, isn’t he? Stands to reason, though, the only one she’ll take to is little A
lfie. He’s the double of Sebastian at that age, and your grandmother always doted on him. I think that’s why he’s such a selfish bugger now. But now come on. There’s no point in upsetting yourself. You just stand up to her and you’ll be fine.’ She cleared her throat and said comfortably, ‘Right, lass, get those scones out to the children and then we’ll have a nice hot drink.’
Briony sniffed and pulled herself together, then plastering a smile on her face, she went out into the yard. The children were leaning over the wall of the sty laughing uproariously at the antics of the pigs, and she gave them each a scone which disappeared in seconds.
‘Look at the little piglets, Briony.’ Sarah pointed excitedly, spraying crumbs everywhere. ‘I wish we could have one.’
‘But you don’t have pigs as pets.’
‘Why not?’
Briony was lost for words for a moment. How could she tell them that these sweet little creatures would likely end up on their plates one day? ‘Because they grow too big,’ she said instead and thankfully the children seemed happy with that explanation. In all fairness the piglets were delightful with their little pink snouts and their curly tails, and suddenly the thought of the roast pork they were going to have for dinner that evening wasn’t quite so appealing.
While they were standing there, Talwyn appeared from nowhere, and sidling up to Briony, she slipped her hand into hers and smiled shyly.
Briony was touched and squeezed the girl’s hand affectionately.
‘We’ll be going home to The Heights soon with your gran to cook the dinner. Would you like to come with us?’ she asked.
The smile froze on Talwyn’s face and she snatched her hand away before Briony could say another word. Then she was off like the wind across the yard and vanished into one of the barns.
The children stared at Briony in amazement.
‘What was up with her then?’ Alfie asked in his usual forthright way.
‘I have no idea,’ his sister admitted. ‘But I’m going back in to Mrs Dower so you two behave yourselves and don’t get disappearing. We’ll have to be heading back soon.’
When she told Mrs Dower what had happened with Talwyn, the woman said, ‘I’m not surprised. She rarely ventures over there because she’s scared of Master Seb. She only came with me yesterday because she was curious to see you. She doesn’t often get to meet strangers out here. But now I’m just about done here so I’ll cut a few sandwiches for Caden and Howel to keep them going, then we’ll be off. We don’t have our dinner till I’ve seen to that lot over there. The men are picking the late potatoes down in the bottom field at present, so no doubt they’ll be starving by the time they get back in.’
As they meandered through the orchard and entered the yard of The Heights, Briony saw Sebastian outside, talking to the man who had been there the night before. As she watched, her uncle handed the man a large envelope, which the shady-looking character instantly put into the inside pocket of his overcoat, and then both men headed to the barn and proceeded to carry some large boxes out to a waiting van.
‘Now you know whereabouts in Bristol you’re taking them to, don’t you?’ they heard Sebastian say before Mrs Dower shooed them all into the kitchen. Luckily they hadn’t been spotted returning from Kynance Farm because it was already getting dusk.
‘Best keep well away from some of the blokes Master Seb has coming here,’ Mrs Dower advised as she reached for her apron. Then lowering her voice she confided to Briony, ‘I don’t think your grandparents know the half of what he gets up to. Personally, I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. But that’s just my opinion.’ She then lit the oven, grateful to see that Briony had already peeled the potatoes and prepared the vegetables, whilst the girl made an attempt to clean the children up a little.
Later that evening, when the children had had a bath and were in bed, Briony sat at the kitchen table and read the newspaper that her grandfather had discarded. Mrs Frasier went into the village each day to get one for him so they were a day old by the time Briony got to read them. But at least it helped her to keep abreast of what was happening in the war and in other parts of the country. It seemed that London was still being heavily bombed, but worse still, the Jerries were targeting Coventry now too. The fact terrified her because it was so close to Nuneaton, but all she could do was pray that her mother and the other people she cared about back home were safe.
A tide of homesickness swept over her. She missed her mother and Ruth and their trips to the cinema. She missed Martha Brindley and her kindly ways. She missed Ernie, who was never far from her mind – but most of all she missed her father, whom she now knew she would never see again. The pain of that pierced through her like a knife and lowering her head, she wept with all her heart.
Chapter Twenty
‘But why can’t you come with us, Briony? I don’t wanna go with her!’
As Briony straightened Alfie’s tie she smiled at him encouragingly. It was Monday morning and the children were just about to set off with their grandmother for their first day at school. Personally, Briony could see no reason why she couldn’t accompany them – but the woman was adamant that she would take them herself.
‘I suppose she wants to take you on her own because she’s so proud of you.’ Briony didn’t want to make things any worse for the children so she was putting a brave face on it. ‘And anyway, there’s nothing to worry about. You’ve already met some of the children there and your new teacher, Mrs Fellows. You’re going to love it.’
At that moment their grandmother strode purposefully into the room, once again looking like she was about to attend a wedding in yet another big hat that was adorned with peacock feathers; these wobbled about when she moved as if they were alive.
Briony saw Sarah blink in amazement and hoped that she wasn’t going to break into a fit of the giggles.
The woman’s eyes raked up and down the children critically as she pulled on a pair of soft kid gloves.
‘Ah, you’re all ready to go,’ she said approvingly. Like her other clothes, the smart dress she was wearing hung off her, and Briony thought that she must have lost a lot of weight. It was the ill-fitting clothes that gave her such a strange appearance; had they fitted properly, they could have looked wonderful. They were obviously of very good quality.
The woman swept towards the children and grasped their hands, then almost dragged them from the room as they shot appealing glances at their big sister.
‘Good luck. Have a lovely time,’ Briony shouted, but her words were drowned out by the slamming of the door. Sighing, she set about her chores. Once she had finished in the kitchen she intended to polish the banisters in the hallway today. She had made a start on them the day before, but there were so many that she hadn’t managed to get them all done in one day. However, her plans were altered some time later when her grandmother reappeared and told her, ‘I would like you to tidy yourself up and go down to the funeral parlour this morning. Mr Page has an appointment and Sebastian has to go to London again so I need someone to be there to keep the place open.’
The idea didn’t appeal to Briony one little bit. She asked nervously, ‘But what will I have to do there?’
Her grandmother rolled her eyes. ‘Just be there of course!’ she snapped. ‘In case a call of a bereavement comes in. If it does, you will telephone me here and I shall have to get Mr Dower to come and fetch the hearse and collect the body. I’m sure even you are capable of doing that aren’t you?’
Briony’s chin came up and she answered calmly, ‘Yes, Grandmother, I am perfectly capable. I used to work in an office and am quite used to dealing with people, although the majority of my work involved accounts.’
Marion Frasier narrowed her eyes at this snippet of information. ‘Did it now? And would you happen to know how to keep books up to date?’
Briony nodded. ‘I certainly would. That was part of my job.’
‘In that case I might allow you to look at the ledger for the funeral parlour.
’ She said it as if she were bestowing some great gift. ‘My son Sebastian is always so busy, you see. And keeping the records up to date has never been his strong point. Perhaps if it is quiet you could go over the accounts to make sure that all the figures tally? You could then tell me what the profits for the last year are.’
‘I suppose I could, if you tell me where the books are kept,’ Briony said somewhat reluctantly.
‘Very well.’ The woman eyed her clothes disapprovingly. ‘And do change into something a little smarter. I can’t have you greeting people in the funeral parlour looking like that. Do you have a black dress?’
‘I have a black skirt and a white blouse.’
‘I suppose that will have to do. And do tie your hair back too, and then come through to the sitting room for the keys.’
Briony got washed and changed in record time. She brushed her hair and tied it with a thin black ribbon into the nape of her neck before presenting herself to her grandmother in the sitting room. Her grandfather was sitting in his wheelchair at the side of the fireplace and he winked at her over his wife’s shoulder as she entered the room.
‘You look very smart, dear,’ he told her.
Briony’s grandmother glared at him before saying acidly, ‘I would hardly call that outfit very smart, but I dare say it will have to sufffice.’ She then went on to tell Briony in detail what she expected her to do and where the accounts records were kept, and as Briony took the keys from her and turned to leave the room, she added, ‘And if someone should call to tell you that they have lost a loved one, be sure to be sympathetic. The reputation of our business is second to none, and I do not want you spoiling it. Tell them that someone will be with them just as soon as possible, then take their details and telephone me immediately, girl.’
Briony didn’t even bother to respond but strode from the room with her lips set in a grim line. The woman was utterly . . . she searched her mind for the right word. Insufferable! Yes, that would do very nicely. Mrs Frasier had agreed with Mrs Dower – albeit very reluctantly – to pay Briony a small allowance each week. It was a fraction of what the girl had earned in her job at Woolworths, but at least it would keep the children and herself supplied with a few treats and necessities. The trouble was, that ever since then, Mrs Frasier had treated her granddaughter even more like a hired skivvy and sometimes Briony felt like Cinderella, locked away in the kitchen at her wicked stepmother’s beck and call.
Soldier's Daughter, The Page 17