Soldier's Daughter, The

by Goodwin, Rosie

  Briony got all the latest war news from her grandfather, whom she now saw at every opportunity when her grandmother popped out, usually to some chapel function or other. She would make a cup of tea and take it in to him, and they would chat about everything and nothing. When he talked about her mother, which he often did, she would see the regret and sadness in his eyes and she knew how deeply he missed her. She still gave Sebastian a wide berth – which wasn’t too difficult to do as he tended to be out during daylight hours. On the evenings when he was at home she had taken to listening to the wireless in the kitchen once the children had gone to bed. She finally felt as if she was getting somewhere with Mabel. The little girl only wet the bed spasmodically now rather than every night, and the nightmares were less frequent too, which was a relief. But she still seemed to have a deep-rooted fear of men – something that Briony found very disturbing.

  One evening, Briony decided to have an early night. It was wild and windy outside and she was feeling tired so she had a nice hot bath and after peeping in to check on the children she curled up in bed with a hot-water bottle, a library book and the latest letter she had received from her mother. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered to read them. They all seemed to say exactly the same thing in slightly different words. Even so, they were a link to home and she kept them all together, tied with one of her hair ribbons, in her bedside drawer.

  Soon she fell asleep but was woken in the early hours of the morning by raised voices. Knuckling the sleep from her eyes, she struggled up onto her elbow, thinking that it was one of the children before realising that the voices were coming from the kitchen. Her heart leaped into her mouth as she tried to remember if she had locked the back door. She doubted that she had. The Heights was so isolated that strangers in the area were rarely seen, and even in the village people seldom bothered to lock their doors. Pulling on her dressing gown, she crept along the landing and down the stairs.

  ‘Didn’t you fucking hear me? I told you I’d get it, didn’t I?’

  It was Sebastian’s voice and she stopped dead in her tracks.

  ‘When? The end of never?’ a sarcastic voice retaliated. ‘I tell yer now, mate. The gaffer won’t wait much longer. He’s really pissed off, and I don’t need to tell yer what that means, do I?’

  ‘Look . . .’ Sebastian’s voice was wheedling now. ‘Just give me another day. I’ll have it for you by this time tomorrow. I swear it! I just need to soften the old girl up in the morning when my father is out of the way.’

  There was a loaded silence before the other man told him, ‘Tomorrer then. But where am I supposed to sleep? I was expecting to drive back tonight, not have to hang around in this dump.’

  Briony could hear the relief in her uncle’s voice as he said quickly, ‘There’s a makeshift bed in the back of the barn. It’s hardly the Ritz but it’ll be better than sleeping the night in the cab of the van.’

  ‘I suppose that’ll ’ave to do then.’

  Once the back door had closed behind them, she tiptoed down to the kitchen window and twitching the curtain aside, she watched their progress across the yard until they disappeared behind the back of a large van. She thought it might be the one she had seen there before but it was so dark that she couldn’t be sure. Time passed and she could hear nothing but the sound of the wind as it battered the house and bent the trees surrounding the yard almost double. Then above the van she saw one of the barn doors that was kept locked opening and she scuttled away back to bed. Sebastian had obviously got himself into some debt again, so no doubt he would be badgering his mother for more money tomorrow. She sighed, because whenever he upset her grandmother, it was Briony and the children who took the backlash of the woman’s temper; she had a horrible feeling that tomorrow wasn’t going to be a good day.

  She had barely settled back into bed when she heard the engine of the van start up and it was driven away. That was odd. Perhaps Sebastian’s visitor had decided against staying in the barn after all? Yawning, she turned over and was soon fast asleep.

  When she served breakfast to her grandparents the next morning, Briony noticed that Sebastian’s chair was empty.

  Her grandmother tutted with annoyance. ‘Oh, where has he got to?’ She looked at Briony and said, ‘Go up to my son’s bedroom immediately, girl, and tell him that his breakfast is served.’

  She never referred to Sebastian as Briony’s uncle. It was as if by doing so she would have to acknowledge that Briony was a member of the family. This didn’t trouble the girl at all; what did trouble her was the fact that she had no idea where his bedroom was. She had never gone beyond the top of the stairs in the main house.

  ‘I don’t know where his bedroom is,’ she answered calmly and her grandmother glared at her as if she was a half-wit.

  ‘It’s the third door along to the left on the first-floor landing,’ she said impatiently.

  ‘Briony couldn’t have known that, Marion,’ her husband said in Briony’s defence.

  ‘Well, she does now. So go and do as you’re told – girl!’

  Briony smiled at her grandfather as she left the room without another word. She’d soon discovered that it was much easier to do as she was told rather than argue.

  She mounted the stairs, marvelling again at how grand this part of the house was, and when she came to the bedroom she’d been directed to she tapped at the door. There was no reply so she knocked again, harder this time. Still nothing, so she cautiously tried the door handle. It was unlocked, so she inched the door open just enough to see that Sebastian’s bed was still neatly made. Mrs Dower cleaned the family rooms each day and all was neat and tidy.

  Briony would have liked to have a nose around, but deciding against it she hurried back downstairs and announced: ‘He isn’t there and the bed hasn’t been slept in, by the look of it.’

  ‘What?’ her grandmother spluttered. ‘But he must be there! He was here at bedtime last night and he didn’t mention that he was going out.’

  ‘Perhaps he was called out to deal with a death?’ William suggested.

  ‘Well, I didn’t hear the telephone ring,’ his wife answered.

  Briony wondered if she should tell her about what she had overheard in the kitchen and Sebastian’s late-night visitor, but then decided against it. It was just as well she did, because at that moment the door opened and Sebastian himself strode in, with a face as dark as a thundercloud. He looked slightly dishevelled and his chin was covered in stubble. There was also a large bruise on his cheek.

  ‘Where have you been? And what’s happened to your face?’ his mother asked.

  ‘I got called out to collect a body and take it down to the funeral parlour and I hit my face on the side of the hearse as I was loading the corpse in.’

  His father stared at him, clearly not believing a word he said.

  ‘Bit clumsy, wasn’t it?’

  Sebastian shrugged as he took a seat at the table and began to load his plate with bacon and eggs. ‘It was dark and I was very tired. But do you mind if I get on with my breakfast now?’

  Briony turned and beat a hasty retreat, feeling very much in the way. It was a relief to get back to the kitchen where the children were putting their coats on ready for school.

  Sarah had developed a cold and Briony wondered if she should send her, but the little girl insisted that she was well enough and so they set off. Thankfully the wind had dropped but a thick mist had floated in from the sea and they could barely see more than a few feet in front of them.

  ‘I think we’ll go through the orchard and cut through the fields today so we avoid the cliff path,’ Briony told them as they crossed the yard. ‘There’s no point in taking unnecessary risks in this fog.’

  Once she had dropped the children safely off at the school gates she hurried back the way she had come, but somewhere along the path she must have taken a wrong turn, for eventually she found herself in the yard of what appeared to be an empty farm. This must be the one that Mrs Dower told me a
bout, she thought as she peered through the windows. It was a lovely place and she thought how sad it was that it had been standing empty for so many years. But then she stood and tried to get her bearings before setting off again . . . and shortly afterwards she was relieved to find herself heading towards the orchard.

  Howel was in the kitchen unloading the supplies onto the table when she got back, and she told him about her little adventure. The cold air had made her cheeks glow, and with her long black hair shining like coal he thought how attractive she looked.

  ‘Ar, that’ll be the Kerricks’ old place, Chapel Farm,’ he answered. ‘Shame it is, but there you go. I don’t reckon your grandpa could afford to keep it up. Me and my family lived there at one time till we lost our parents, then the Kerricks took it over for a time. No doubt it will be left empty to go to rack and ruin now.’

  ‘How sad.’ Briony had been quite taken with the place. ‘Do you think he’d mind if I went and had a look around if I get a bit of free time?’

  He shook his head. ‘I shouldn’t think so. I’ll tell you what – I’ve got an hour free early this afternoon. Do you want me to take you over there before you fetch the children from school?’

  ‘Oh yes please, I’d love that!’ Briony responded. She could always jiggle her jobs about, and the way she saw it she was due a little time off.

  ‘Right, I’ll call for you after you’ve served that lot their lunch. Shall we say about one o’clock?’

  She nodded as Howel went out into the yard to fetch the logs in while she put the kettle on. He was a little later than usual this morning but she hoped he would make time to stay for a cup of tea.

  When they sat together drinking it at the kitchen table a short while later she told him about Sebastian’s late-night visitor. ‘It’s really weird because the man had said that he was going to stay the night in the barn,’ she confided. ‘And when I first came down they were arguing in the kitchen. It sounded like Sebastian owed money again.’

  ‘Well, you’ll soon find out,’ Howel said caustically. ‘If he does, he’ll be trying it on with Mrs Frasier again today.’

  A couple of hours later as Briony was mopping the floor in the hallway she heard voices arguing in the sitting room and knew that Howel had guessed correctly.

  ‘And how much do you need this time?’ Marion Frasier sounded exasperated.

  ‘Er . . . well . . . two hundred pounds.’

  ‘How much?’ The woman’s voice had risen alarmingly.

  ‘I’ll pay it back – every penny,’ Sebastian said in a wheedling voice.

  ‘Oh, you will, will you? And just how do you intend to do that? The funeral parlour and the farm are barely making enough money to pay the bills and you said you’d repay the last couple of sums I let you have. No, son, I’m sorry, but this time I shall have to ask your father about it. That’s a tremendous amount of money. Gambling debt again, is it?’

  Briony didn’t hang about to hear any more but grabbed the mop and bucket and went quietly back to the kitchen. It would never do if they thought that she was eavesdropping. Sebastian was asking for two hundred pounds as if it was nothing! He really was the most selfish, odious person she had ever encountered.

  Howel called for her at one o’clock as arranged. She had served her grandparents their lunch by then but there had been no sign of Sebastian and she had noticed that William was in an unusually grumpy mood, no doubt after being told of his son’s latest debt. But now as she set off with Howel she was in fine spirits and looking forward to her outing.

  Chapel Farm stood a mile or so away from The Heights and as they approached it now she was better able to see it because the weak sun had burned off the early-morning mist. It lay in a small dip, its fields surrounded by drystone walls that put her in mind of a patchwork quilt, and as they walked towards it she thought how pretty it looked with the wild Cornish moors stretching away behind into the distance. It wasn’t quite as big as Kynance Farm where the Dowers lived, but the farmhouse walls were built of warm Cornish stone that the sun and sea had mellowed to shades of grey and yellow, and it had a thatched roof. They walked through double gates, at the side of which a large rowan tree grew and Briony recalled Mrs Dower telling her that these trees were planted to ward off evil spirits. A large barn stood to one side of the farmhouse, and as they crossed the yard, Howel informed her that it had living accommodation on the first floor reached by stone steps that led up to a stout oak door. There was also a stable block and a number of pigsties to the other side of it. At the back of the house was an overgrown orchard, the branches of the fruit trees dipping with the weight of rotten fruit. In front of that was what had clearly been a large vegetable patch. Brambles and long grass had encroached upon it now, but Briony knew that without too much work it could be beautiful and productive again. The windows were diamond-leaded and they glinted in the sun as they approached.

  ‘Oh, it’s like something off the cover of a chocolate box,’ Briony gasped in delight.

  Howel ceremoniously opened the door to the kitchen for her; she stepped past him and gazed about. Most of the furniture was still in place but it was festooned with cobwebs and dust now, and the sight made her feel sad. The moths had had a feast of the curtains, which hung in tatters, and the grate was full of ashes that had spewed out onto a tiled hearth. In the centre of the room stood a large oak table with four sturdy matching chairs and either side of the fireplace were two easy chairs that had seen better days. A door in the far wall led into a parlour. Again, most of the furniture was still there and without realising that she was doing it she began to picture aloud how it could look with a little tender loving care.

  ‘This sideboard could be lovely with a good polish,’ she remarked as she traced her finger through the thick dust all across it. ‘And I think those fire-irons on the hearth are solid brass. They’re badly tarnished but I reckon they’d come up a treat with a bit of elbow grease.’

  Howel grinned but remained silent as she turned about and headed for a staircase in the corner of the kitchen. Upstairs she found three bedrooms and a small box room that she declared could be just right for converting into an indoor bathroom. The huge wooden wardrobes were old-fashioned but solid and Briony pictured herself cleaning them.

  ‘I’d have flowered curtains and a flowered bedspread in here,’ she told Howel in the largest room as her imagination ran riot. ‘And I think these beds are brass too. They just need a good clean although I dare say the mattresses would have to be replaced. They’re damp.’

  Howel chuckled as he leaned against the doorpost and watched her with his arms crossed.

  ‘Thinking of buying, it are you?’ he said teasingly and his words brought her back to earth with a bump.

  ‘Of course not. I just think it’s a shame for a lovely farmhouse like this to stand empty. Perhaps you and your girlfriend could live here once you get married?’

  ‘I reckon that’s some way away,’ Howel said abruptly. ‘And now if you’re done we’d best get back.’

  ‘Oh er . . . yes, of course.’ Briony meekly followed him back outside wondering what she might have said to upset him and they made their way back to The Heights in silence.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  As Briony approached the school to collect the children she saw a small cluster of women gathered at the gates. Their heads were bent together and when they saw her, they called her over.

  ‘Have you heard about little Bethany Tiler?’ one woman asked. She was the mother of one of the girls in Sarah’s class.

  Briony shook her head.

  ‘Poor little soul got taken away in an ambulance not an hour since,’ the woman told her in a hushed voice.

  Briony frowned. ‘Oh dear, I hope it isn’t anything too serious?’

  The woman pursed her lips. ‘We hope it isn’t either, but rumour has it that the little lass has contracted polio.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Briony’s hand flew to her mouth. She had heard horror stories about that particula
r disease, of children existing in monstrous great iron lungs that breathed for them. And of others who were left with wasted limbs and callipers on their legs. ‘But isn’t that highly contagious?’ she said fearfully, and when the others nodded, her stomach did a somersault. ‘When will we know if it is that or not?’

  The woman replied, ‘All I can tell you is that they’ve taken her to the cottage hospital for now and put her in isolation while they do the tests. A doctor from Truro who specialises in that sort of disease is on his way to look at her and if it’s confirmed, they’ll move her to the sanatorium where he works.’ She tutted, her face a mask of concern. ‘If you ask me, I’d say it’s probably one of the evacuees from London that’s brought it here.’ Then suddenly remembering that Briony was caring for such a child, she added apologetically, ‘Not that it’s their fault, of course, but it’s a known fact that polio is rife in the slums.’

  The school bell rang then, frightening a moorhen that was perched on the school fence. It flapped away indignantly as Briony waited for the children, trying to keep outwardly calm. She had the urge to take them all home and wrap them in cotton wool until the panic was over, but she knew that this wasn’t possible. They would all just have to wait for the results of Bethany’s tests and pray that they were negative.

  The news when it came three days later was not good. Bethany did have poliomyelitis and had been transferred by ambulance to a sanatorium in Truro. Her parents were distraught after being told that for the duration of her treatment they would not be allowed to visit her, and the headmistress ordered the school to be closed for two days while the premises were given a thorough clean.