Soldier's Daughter, The

by Goodwin, Rosie

  He nodded in agreement. ‘You’re right there, but we’re still a lot better off than most of the country, and at least we’ll be having a nice fat juicy goose for Christmas dinner. I read in the newspaper that most families inland will be lucky to get an old fowl. Now, how’s Mrs Frasier?’ he asked then and Briony shrugged.

  ‘I can’t make her out,’ she said, taking a sip of her drink and then blowing on it as it was boiling hot. ‘Sometimes she can talk as lucidly as you and I are doing now, but then at other times she doesn’t even seem to know where she is.’

  ‘I reckon losing the master tipped her over the edge.’ His face hardened. ‘And that swine of a son of hers doesn’t help matters. Is he in?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I heard him tell his mother he wouldn’t be back till the day after Boxing Day.’

  ‘Good!’ Howel grunted. ‘At least we’ll be able to have Christmas in peace. But it just goes to show what sort of a character he is. I mean, who’d go off and leave their mother like that when she’s just lost her husband and her daughter?’ He bit his lip. The daughter he was speaking of was also Briony’s mother. He muttered hastily, ‘Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I know you must miss your mother too.’

  ‘I do!’ Briony said chokily. She stared down into her cup as she blinked back tears. ‘But it helps somehow knowing that she’s close. I go up to the churchyard sometimes when I’ve taken the children to school, and . . . and I talk to her.’ She added, ‘I know she’s gone, of course, but it just sort of consoles me.’

  ‘I can imagine it would.’

  He would have said more, but at that moment the door creaked open and a sleepy-eyed Mabel appeared, knuckling the sleep from her eyes.

  ‘I ‘ad a bad dream,’ she said in a wobbly voice, and before Briony could say anything, Howel patted his lap.

  ‘Come and sit with me for a while then,’ he encouraged her. ‘We’ll talk about Father Christmas and all his reindeer, and chase the bad dreams away, eh?’

  Mabel pottered over to him and clambered onto his lap, and again Briony thought what a remarkably nice man he was. And so good with the children too. He would make a wonderful husband and father one day for some lucky girl. Her thoughts suddenly rolled back to Megan’s words at the dance hall, I can’t remember a time when he looked at me as he looks at you now.

  Hastily gathering the empty cups, she carried them to the sink and ran cold water over them. Megan was so wrong, she told herself. Howel and I are just friends. He knows that I love Ernie. She wondered then what sort of Christmas Ernie might be having as she wiped down the wooden draining board.

  Christmas Day passed as pleasantly as it could do under the circumstances, and Mabel and Alfie were thrilled with their presents. Mrs Frasier had bought her grandson a lovely toy car that Briony guessed must have cost a fortune. It had proper little windows, and the car doors and the boot on it opened, and when he wound it up it zoomed across the kitchen. There were no presents for Mabel or Briony, not that she had expected any. When she served her grandmother her breakfast on Christmas morning, Briony gave her the silk scarf.

  ‘Oh!’ the woman said in surprise once she had opened it. ‘It’s er . . . very nice. Thank you.’ It was the nearest she had ever come to being civil to her, and for Briony that was enough. Marion looked so lonely sitting at the enormous dining table all alone that she couldn’t help but feel sorry for her.

  ‘You could come into the kitchen and have your Christmas dinner with us, or we could come in here and have it with you, if you preferred?’ she suggested.

  The woman hesitated for a second as the silk scarf pooled in her lap, reflecting the light from the window, but then she shook her head. ‘Thank you, but we will leave things as they are.’

  Briony sighed – but at least she had tried and she could do no more.

  It was the day before New Year’s Eve when Mrs Dower told Briony, ‘There’s another dance on at the village hall tomorrow, and Howel wondered if you might like to go with him. It would beat sitting here all on your own and I’d be happy to keep an eye on the children. I can bring my knitting over and listen to the wireless. Be a change from breathing in my husband’s pipe smoke.’

  Mrs Dower had recently taken to unravelling every woollen garment she could get her hands on, and she used Alfie and Mabel to help her wind the wool into balls for reusing, to knit socks for the troops. ‘It makes me feel as if I’m doing my bit for the war,’ she confided. Then, staring at her latest efforts, she tutted: ‘Trouble is, they’re more holey than righteous. Still, what’s a few dropped stitches, eh? At least they’ll keep our boys’ feet warm.’

  Briony’s first instinct was to refuse the invitation because this Christmas had been the first one without her parents, and she had felt their loss greatly. But then she thought of another lonely night sitting in on her own and accepted. Social events were few and far between, here in the back of beyond, so she knew she should make the most of them.

  Howel called for her, looking very dapper in his one and only suit and a crisp white shirt and once Briony had kissed the children goodnight they set off. It was a bitterly cold but wonderfully clear night and a million stars twinkled above them.

  ‘Why is it that there always seem to be so many more stars in the sky here than there were back at home?’ she mused.

  He looked up and shrugged. Never having lived anywhere else, he had never known any different. ‘Perhaps it’s because we’re by the sea?’ he offered. ‘But put your arm through mine now. There’s a rare frost on the ground and we don’t want you to do the foxtrot before we even get there, which is a possibility in those shoes.’

  Briony giggled as she did as she was told, secretly pleased to have a strong arm to hold.

  Once again they found far more women than men at the dance, but it didn’t spoil their enjoyment. Everyone had a good time. The band were elderly, but good musicians for all that, and those present danced and let their hair down, praying that the coming year might herald the end of the war.

  Just before midnight, they all formed a circle and joined hands, and someone switched the wireless on to hear Big Ben in Westminster chime in the New Year. And then the haunting sound of ‘Auld Lang Syne’ echoed from the rafters of the village hall as they all sang, and Briony felt a choking lump form in her throat. ‘Goodbye, Mum, goodbye, Dad, sleep tight,’ she whispered. But then everyone was kissing each other and wishing each other a Happy New Year, and when Howel pulled her into his arms she went willingly, glad to feel the contact of another human being.

  ‘Happy New Year, Briony.’ His eyes were shining in the dim light and he pecked her on the cheek. And then their eyes locked and before she knew it his lips came down on hers and just for the briefest of moments she responded before suddenly pulling away. What was she thinking of? She loved Ernie. Her lips felt as if they were on fire and her cheeks were burning . . . but then someone else spun her about and kissed her cheek, and she didn’t feel so bad. Everyone kissed each other on New Year’s Eve, so what was she getting so worried about? It was then that she saw Megan Brown sidle up to Howel and kiss him soundly and she felt a little pang of jealousy.

  ‘Pull yourself together,’ she muttered beneath her breath. ‘It’s just those two glasses of sherry you’ve had that are making you so silly. Why shouldn’t Megan kiss Howel?’ Even so, she swung about and waltzed off to the ladies’ cloakroom to collect her coat.

  Once outside the hall she hesitated. She had had every intention of walking home alone, but everywhere looked so different in the dark and she was afraid that she might stray too close to the cliff-edge. Then Howel appeared – and when he saw her waiting, he sighed with relief.

  ‘Where did you get to?’ he scolded, tucking her arm through his. ‘I was looking for you and began to worry that you’d gone without me.’

  ‘I was just about to,’ she told him stroppily, although she had no idea why she should be annoyed.

  ‘Well, I’ve found you now,’ he grinned, and turning up
the collar of his coat he hurried her through the darkness.

  On 6 January Mrs Dower was mortified to hear on the wireless that Amy Johnson, the first female flyer who had made history by flying solo to Australia, was missing, feared dead.

  ‘Her plane went down in the Thames, poor young lady. They’ve found the wreckage, but no sign of her body.’ Mrs Dower tutted. ‘Who’d ever have thought that man – or woman, for that matter – would fly?’ She found the whole concept of air travel incredible.

  Briony agreed that it was a great shame, but nothing could spoil her mood that day because she had finally received a letter from Ernie. Although it was heavily censored, reading between the lines she guessed that he was in Italy. She knew that the RAF had recently bombed Naples as well as some of the Italian bases in Libya, and the idea that he was involved in those raids was frightening.

  I think of you all the time when I’m in my plane, he told her. And it’s the thought of coming back to you that keeps me strong. I don’t know when I will be home again, but please wait for me.

  I’ll wait forever, Briony promised him, and she carried the letter about with her for days in her apron pocket.

  The winter was severe and they all began to feel like prisoners, but at last in March the weather took a turn for the better and daffodils and tulips began to push through the earth. Soft green buds appeared on the trees and everything was slowly coming back to life after a long hibernation.

  Briony was becoming ever more concerned about her grandmother’s health and had mentioned it to Dr Restarick one day when he came to give them an update in person on Sarah’s progress. Thankfully, it was good news: the little girl might well be home within a couple of months, although he warned Briony that her sister’s leg had been severely affected by the disease.

  ‘Does that mean she will have to wear a calliper?’ Briony asked fearfully, and when he lowered his head she had her answer. It seemed unbelievable that the child could be crippled for life, but then Briony supposed that she should count her blessings. At least Sarah had survived, unlike the little evacuee boy from the village who would never be going home.

  ‘And my grandmother?’ she asked Dr Restarick now. ‘What can I do to help her? She doesn’t even seem to know who I am most of the time, although she is more like her old self whenever Sebastian is home.’

  ‘There’s not a lot you can do for her, other than keep your eye on her,’ the doctor told her truthfully. He was secretly disgusted at the way Sebastian treated his mother and would have liked to take a horse-whip to him. ‘But if you get really concerned, let me know and I’ll come straight out. I doubt she’d tolerate a nurse coming out to see to her.’

  Briony thanked him, and when he was gone she began to make plans for Sarah’s homecoming even though it might still be some weeks away. It seemed such a long time since they had seen her, and she intended to guard the girl with her life when she came back.

  Her happy mood was marred later that afternoon when Sebastian returned with two of his cronies in tow. She had seen neither of these two before, but she didn’t like the look of them at all. They were big burly men who both spoke with a broad cockney accent, and eyed her lasciviously as she served them afternoon tea and cake in the dining room. Sebastian informed her curtly that they would only be staying the one night, so that was something to be thankful for at least. Even so, she kept the children close to her after she had fetched them home from school, and she bolted shut the green baize door leading to the main house. The way she saw it, there was no point in asking for trouble.

  Mrs Dower came as usual to cook the main meal and as soon as it had been eaten they heard Sebastian and his friends leave the house.

  ‘I’m praying they’ll be gone tomorrow,’ Briony commented to Mrs Dower.

  ‘Well, we can live in hope!’ the woman responded. She hadn’t liked the look of the men any more than Briony had.

  Just before she left, she looked at the dwindling log-pile by the side of the fireplace and asked, ‘Hasn’t our Howel been over to stock up the logs yet?’

  Briony shook her head. ‘No. I haven’t seen him since he brought the supplies over this morning.’

  ‘That’s strange. I could have sworn he said he was coming over to do it this evening. Mind you, he’s been getting the sheep back up into the top field all afternoon now the weather’s picking up a bit, so one of them might have started to lamb and he wouldn’t leave till the ewe had delivered safely.’

  Briony wasn’t overly concerned. She was more than capable of getting a few logs in if need be. Howel was very reliable and she had no doubt he’d get there as soon as he could, so she went about her work and didn’t give it a second thought.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The night was darkening as Mrs Dower looked towards the kitchen window at Kynance Farm and commented to her husband, ‘Howel’s late back, isn’t he? He should have been home hours ago. Do you reckon everything’s all right?’

  As Caden Dower tapped out his pipe in the hearth he said. ‘The boy is a bit late, now you come to mention it. I reckon I’ll put my boots on and take a wander up to the top field to see what’s keeping him. He might be having problems with one of the pregnant ewes.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Annik agreed, and her knitting needles began to click furiously again as her husband got ready for the outdoors.

  It was pitch black now but the dark held no fears for Caden Dower. He had been working this land since he was a young lad and could have found his way about blindfolded if need be.

  Whistling softly, he crossed the yard, but Ben his sheepdog didn’t appear so he knew that his grandson must have taken him along with him to round up the sheep. He headed surefootedly for the top field, keeping a constant lookout for Howel and straining his ears – but all he heard was the sound of the night creatures.

  When he reached the top field, Caden hopped over a stile with surprising agility for a man his age, and then hands on hips, he peered ahead. The sheep were grazing, which told him that Howel had completed his job – but where was he? He whistled once again and this time was rewarded when he heard what sounded like a whimper coming from close to the hedge further up the field. Seconds later, Ben came wagging up to him, but knowing his dog as he did, Caden saw that he was upset.

  ‘What’s up then, my fine lad?’ The old man bent to stroke the dog’s coat, and when Ben took off again – limping, he noticed – he followed him closely.

  Seconds later, Ben began to bark and as Mr Dower caught up with him he felt as if he had been winded. A dark shape lay in the lee of the hedge, and as he knelt down, he saw that it was Howel and that the young man wasn’t moving.

  ‘What the . . .’ His words trailed away, and at that moment the moon sailed from behind the clouds and he gasped: Howel was covered in blood.

  Mr Dower thrust his hand beneath Howel’s shirt and then sent up a silent prayer of thanks as he found a heartbeat.

  ‘You’ll have to stay here a while longer, my fine boy, while I go for help,’ he muttered to the still figure. ‘There’s no way I could carry you all the way back to the farm, but I’ll be back afore you know it.’ And then he was off, running like a hare across the field as he headed for the inn at Poldak. There would be men there who would help him to get Howel safely back home, and he didn’t have a moment to lose.

  *

  Annik Dower wrenched open the kitchen door, heedless of the blackout for now, when she heard a small procession of men crunching across the yard. They were carrying what appeared to be a door.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she demanded. ‘Is someone hurt?’

  ‘It’s poor Howel,’ her husband answered. ‘He’s hurt, but don’t fret. They telephoned the doctor from the inn when I went for help, and he should be here at any minute.’

  The men carried the door into the kitchen, and Mrs Dower’s hand flew to her mouth as she saw the state of her beloved grandson. Talwyn had been sitting quietly in a chair by the fire but now she began
to rock to and fro, whimpering in distress.

  It was clear that Howel had taken a severe beating. Both of his eyes were so swollen that she doubted he would have been able to open them even if he had been conscious, and a deep gash on his cheek was oozing blood. His mouth was swollen too, although it was hard to assess how bad his injuries were because of the amount of blood that was even now drying on his face. He was also deathly cold.

  ‘Lord help us,’ one of the men said now. ‘Looks like the lousy swines had a go at poor old Ben and all – look!’ And true enough, they saw that the old dog was drooping now; there was blood seeping out of his side.

  ‘He’d have attacked them if they were hurting his master,’ Mrs Dower said chokily and stood for a moment indecisively, not knowing which of the casualties to see to first. Howel had been just a young lad when they took on Ben, and the dog totally adored him. But then thankfully Dr Restarick strode into the kitchen, asking, ‘What’s gone on here, then?’

  Caden Dower hastily told him all he could.

  ‘Right – well, carry this door through to the sitting room for me,’ the doctor ordered, shrugging out of his coat. ‘Then I’ll have a look at the damage. Meantime, you’d best attend to the dog. He doesn’t look in too good shape to me.’ It was true. Now that his master was safely home, Ben had slunk into a corner and dropped like a stone, his breathing shallow.

  Mr Dower quickly went to him while his wife hovered at the sitting-room door, waiting for news of her beloved grandson.

  It was some time before the doctor came out and informed her briskly, ‘From what I can see, your grandson has been very lucky. There’s no sign of hypothermia. He’s got a nasty gash on his cheek which I’ve cleaned and stitched up, but the rest is only superficial cuts and bruising, although I reckon he’ll look as if he’s done ten rounds with Joe Louis, come morning. He’s got a cracked rib as well. I’m afraid this will mean he’s going to be off his feet for a few weeks. He may have some concussion as well when he comes round, but keep him warm, get plenty of liquids inside him and make him rest if you can.’ Then glancing towards Caden, who was gently cleaning the blood from his dog’s flank, he asked, ‘And how’s the old boy doing?’