She opened the children’s book of Bible stories that formed the basis of her Sunday school teaching and stood in front of them, waiting patiently until the shuffling stopped and silence reigned. She had to wait quite a while, for there was a lot of nudging and whispering.
At last she said, ‘Quiet now, children, please. We must begin. Today, as it’s Palm Sunday, I’m going to read you the story of how Jesus rode on a donkey into Jerusalem.’
For the next half an hour she read the story of Palm Sunday to them and then asked questions, but the children were still inattentive and fidgeting.
Then, in the second row, a hand shot into the air. ‘Please, miss,’ Tommy Warren – with a cheeky grin so like Jackson’s – asked, ‘can we do a play? Like we did last week with the loaves and fishes?’
Charlotte smiled. The children loved to act out whatever story she’d read. They got rather excited and noisy, but Mr Iveson didn’t seem to mind. He encouraged it. Sometimes, if he arrived to visit the class, he joined in and took one of the parts. Not like the previous vicar – old, crusty and certainly of the ‘children should be seen and not heard’ brigade. He’d heartily disapproved of her even reading anything that was not straight out of the Bible itself. He hadn’t liked her reading the simplified stories, but Charlotte knew the children could understand them so much better and that performing them brought the tales to life. They really remembered them.
‘So, you want to act out the story of Jesus riding into—?’
‘No, miss. Can we do the story you read us last week? About the Good Samaritan. It were brilliant, miss.’
‘Well . . .’ Charlotte said, but, glancing around the class, she saw that all the scuffling and the chatter had ceased and they were sitting up straight, their innocent eyes turned towards her. ‘Very well, then.’
She was organizing who was to play which part when Tommy piped up again. ‘A’ ya goin’ to let Georgie have a part, miss?’ Two other boys beside him giggled and clapped their hands to their mouths to stifle the sound.
How thoughtful they are, Charlotte thought, to include the new little boy so soon. ‘That’s a very good idea, Tommy. Now – ’ she turned towards Georgie – ‘what part would you like to play?’
‘He could be the chap who gets set upon by thieves, miss,’ Sammy Barker, one of Tommy’s friends, suggested.
The golden-haired little boy nodded eagerly and slid off his chair. When all the parts had been arranged, Georgie and Tommy and his two friends, who were to be the robbers, took their places at the front of the room.
‘Now,’ Charlotte directed, ‘you go over there, Georgie, and you three go to the opposite side of the room. Now, you’re travelling along a road, Georgie, and these three robbers jump out and attack you. We’re just pretending, of course . . .’
Scarcely had the words left her mouth, before the three boys launched themselves at Georgie, punching and kicking him. Fists flailed as the small boy fought back. He landed a punch in Tommy’s eye but he was no match for the three of them. They wrestled him to the ground as Charlotte rushed forward. ‘No, no!’
Horrified, Charlotte dragged them away. It had all happened so quickly. ‘Sit down at once,’ she cried. The three boys returned to their seats with Tommy holding his eye. But they were all grinning.
‘That’ll show the “little cherub”,’ she heard Sammy mutter. She’d deal with the three of them in a minute, but first she bent down in front of Georgie. A cut on his lip was oozing blood. Charlotte’s heart missed a beat. Oh, dear Lord, the child was hurt, but to her surprise, Georgie was grinning. ‘What did you stop us for, Miss Charlotte? They were robbing me like the story said.’
‘Yes, I know, but they were only supposed to act it, Georgie, not do it really.’ She took a clean hanky from her pocket and dabbed at his lip. ‘Whatever will your father say?’ she murmured, mortified to think what a bad impression the locals would have made on their new squire.
At that moment, Mr Iveson chose to appear. He entered at the back of the room and strode to the front. Charlotte looked up at him with worried eyes. She hated telling tales, but it would be obvious to him at once that all was not well in her class this morning. She gave her handkerchief to Georgie. ‘Keep pressing that on your lip, dear. It’ll stop the bleeding.’
The little boy shrugged. ‘It’s nothing, Miss Charlotte. Honest. I’m always in the wars. Father says I’m – ’ he paused, his smooth brow wrinkling in thought – ‘I’m accident prone.’
The child was nonchalant about the whole incident and comical too, but Charlotte didn’t feel like laughing. The naughty boys had attacked the newcomer deliberately and she was very angry with them.
She sighed as she stood up and turned towards the vicar.
‘What happened?’ Cuthbert asked.
Before she could speak, Georgie piped up. ‘We were doing a play, sir. The Good Samaritan. Please may we carry on now?’
‘But you’ve hurt your mouth,’ Mr Iveson began, but Georgie ignored him and beckoned the three boys to come to the front again. ‘Let’s show the vicar.’
Tommy, Sammy and Michael sidled out of their seats once more, glancing at one another uncomfortably. What was the new boy playing at? Now the vicar had arrived, they were going to be in such trouble.
‘Right – ’ Now it was Georgie directing. ‘Let’s start again and – ’ Charlotte saw him glare at the other three boys in turn – ‘let’s do it properly.’
She almost gasped aloud. His fierce look was warning them. She couldn’t believe a boy of six could act with such maturity. But the three miscreants were meekly taking up their places again. Georgie turned to her. ‘Tell us what to do, Miss Charlotte.’
Charlotte swallowed, embarrassed under Mr Iveson’s watchful eye. ‘Er – well,’ she stammered, her usual composure quite deserting her. She took a deep breath to calm her jangling nerves. ‘You’re walking along the road when three robbers jump out at you and’ – Charlotte turned what she hoped was a stern gaze on the other three boys – ‘you three attack him but you’re only pretending.’
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cuthbert raise his eyebrows, but he said nothing and the three urchins looked suitably chastised.
This time they threw mock punches at Georgie but not one of them touched him, though the younger boy cried out with realistic terror as Tommy pulled his off his sailor jacket. Georgie fell to the ground, but intentionally now. Michael pulled off Georgie’s boots.
‘That’s enough,’ Charlotte cried, suddenly afraid that the three boys were going to strip the child naked in the interests of authenticity. The three ‘robbers’ ran to the back of the room, whilst Charlotte beckoned the two children who were to act out the roles of the priest and the Levite, who ‘passed by on the other side’.
Georgie lay on the floor, moaning and reaching out with pleading hands. ‘Help me, oh please help me.’
‘He’s a good little actor, isn’t he?’ Cuthbert murmured, coming to stand beside Charlotte.
‘Now you, Phoebe,’ Charlotte instructed. ‘You’re the Good Samaritan . . .’
The girl walked shyly towards Georgie and held out her hand to help him up. Then she put her own shawl round him and led him off to the side of the room.
All the other children clapped.
Cuthbert moved to the front of the class and began to ask questions about what they had all learned from the story. The children glanced at each other and then one or two hands were raised tentatively. Then, with growing enthusiasm, the answers and comments came thick and fast, with the vicar nodding and smiling, pleased at such a good response.
As the hands on the clock on the wall reached twelve, Mr Iveson dismissed the class, but Charlotte raised her voice above the scraping chairs and scuffling boots. ‘Tommy, Sammy and Michael – I want a word with you. Stay here until I come back.’ She held out her hand towards Georgie. ‘We’ll see if your father’s motor car has come back for you.’
They went outside to see Brewster le
aning against the vehicle, reading a newspaper whilst he waited for his young master.
‘I’m so sorry about what happened,’ Charlotte said to the boy. ‘I – I’ll come and see your father later to explain.’
Georgie grinned up at her. ‘There’s no need really, Miss Charlotte. Father always says we must stick up for ourselves and fight our own battles. And not be a telltale,’ he added.
‘You’re certainly not that. But I feel I must explain to your father. I’m responsible for all the children while they’re in Sunday school.’
Georgie was thoughtful for a moment. Then he nodded. ‘Just so long as you promise not to tell him their names.’
Charlotte sighed. It would be a difficult interview with the new squire but she felt duty bound to see him. She felt it was all her fault.
‘Very well,’ she promised and the little boy’s grin widened.
As the motor drew away, Charlotte returned to the schoolroom. Cuthbert had disappeared back into the church, but the three boys were waiting for her looking ill at ease. Sammy – not so brave now – looked as if he might cry at any moment. His father would give him a beating if he found out what had happened. And what on earth Joe would do to his son, Charlotte dared not think.
‘Now,’ Charlotte said severely, ‘what you did was very naughty. You know very well when we do our little plays about the Bible stories, we are pretending. So why did you all hit Georgie?’
Even as the question came out of her lips, Charlotte already half guessed the answer herself. Their action had been a kind of primeval instinctive reaction against someone who was different. Georgie was from a privileged home. He wore a smart suit. He was articulate and bright and outgoing. And hearing their mothers gushing over the angelic-looking little chap, the local boys had taken an instant dislike to him. Luckily, Charlotte thought, it was most unlikely that Georgie would be attending the village school. And he probably wouldn’t want to attend Sunday school again.
She turned towards the one she knew had been the ringleader. ‘Tommy Warren, I’m surprised at you. Whatever were you thinking of?’
Tommy went red and hung his head, afraid that Miss Charlotte would tell his father. ‘I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t think.’
‘And you, Sammy. Your father is now Mr Thornton’s tenant.’ Saltwort Farm, where the Barkers lived, was part of the Ravensfleet Estate.
Tears were running down Sammy’s face now. ‘Please don’t tell me dad, Miss Charlotte. He’ll whip me.’
‘So’ll mine when he finds out,’ Tommy muttered.
Charlotte bit her lip. She so wanted to tell them that she thought it unlikely that their fathers would get to know of their escapade. But a few hours, days maybe, of fear would be an apt punishment.
‘Well, I hope you’ve learned your lesson. And the next time you see young Georgie Thornton, you apologize to him. D’you hear me?’
Three heads nodded vigorously. ‘We’re sorry, Miss Charlotte.’
‘Just mind you tell that to Georgie, too. You may go now.’
She watched them walk out of the schoolroom and down the path through the churchyard. There was no running and whooping and yelling. They were suitably subdued, their heads together, no doubt swapping stories of what punishment awaited them. She felt mean but was determined to stick to her resolve.
Besides, the little rascals had put her in an unenviable position. Feeling responsible for what had happened to his son, she felt obliged to face Miles Thornton.
Five
As Charlotte walked up the long lane leading to the manor on the edge of the town the following morning, she was trembling all over. Her palms were sweaty and her stomach churned.
Knowing some of the servants there, she went round to the back door.
‘Miss Charlotte,’ Lily Warren cried, ‘whatever are you doing here?’ The girl’s welcoming smile faded suddenly. ‘Oh!’ She clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Nothing’s wrong at home, is it? Don’t say it’s me grandad!’
‘No, no, Lily,’ Charlotte reassured her swiftly. ‘Nothing’s wrong. I’m so sorry – I never thought.’
Lily breathed a sigh of relief. ‘It’s all right, miss. It’s just me being silly. But you know how bad me grandad gets.’
‘I do and I’m sorry. I’ll call at the cottage on my way home and see your mother. See how things are.’
‘Would you, miss? Oh, that is kind. We’ve been so busy just lately with the new family arriving.’ But Lily was smiling as she said it, as if the changes in their lives were very welcome. Lily had worked at the manor since the age of fourteen, starting as a scullery maid and working up to become first housemaid. Now she wore a black dress, a frilly white apron and cap. Servants were fast becoming a dying breed since the end of the Great War. Women had begun to look for work in offices, shops and even factories. Menial housework was beneath them, they felt, but Lily liked her life at the manor. She loved living in the grand house and she could see her family often. Any other employment would have meant her leaving the countryside she loved.
There was a pause before the girl asked again, ‘So – what are you doing here?’
Charlotte pulled in a deep breath. ‘I’ve come to see Mr Thornton.’
‘Oh – right. Come away in, then. I’ll introduce you to Cook. Mr Thornton brought his own cook.’
‘What’s happened to Mrs Overton? Has she been dismissed?’
Lily laughed. ‘No, no, nothing like that. When old Mr Davenport died, Mrs Overton left to go an’ live with her widowed sister in Bognor. She was getting on a bit anyway and her legs were bad. So it all worked out well.’
‘What about the rest of you?’
‘We’ve all been kept on, miss. ’Course, when the old man died it was a bit worrying, like. Not knowing who might buy the place and if we’d all still have jobs. But the master only brought Cook and his chauffeur with him and a tutor for the two younger boys. But of course we hadn’t got one of them anyway.’
Charlotte was relieved. The manor had a large household of servants, some of whom would have been hard pressed to find new employment locally either because of their age or the scarcity of jobs available.
‘And the oldest son – ’ Lily went on. Did Charlotte fancy it, or did the girl’s tone of voice alter? She glanced at the housemaid to see a pink tinge in the girl’s cheeks. ‘Goes to boarding school, but he’s home for Easter just now.’
Lily opened the kitchen door and ushered Charlotte inside. Cook was standing in front of the huge range but she turned at the sound of the door opening and smiled a welcome.
‘Cook, this is Miss Charlotte Crawford from Buckthorn Farm. This is Mrs Beddows, Miss Charlotte.’
The cook wiped her hands on her apron and came forward. ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Crawford.’
Charlotte took the plump hand. ‘Please call me Miss Charlotte. Everybody does.’
Mrs Beddows smiled, invited her to sit down at the table and take a cup of tea and a slice of her chocolate cake, but all the while Charlotte was uncomfortable under the woman’s scrutiny. Not that the cook was being impolite, just curious. Charlotte wondered what she’d been told. She could imagine what might have been said. ‘Miss Charlotte’s plain as a pikestaff. She’ll die an old maid at the beck and call of that miserable old devil of a father.’
It was not how she would have chosen to be described, but Charlotte was honest enough to realize that it was the truth.
‘You go an’ get on with your work, Lily, whilst me an’ Miss Charlotte here have a nice little chat.’
When the girl had left the room, Mrs Beddows said, ‘I didn’t know how they’d all accept me, to tell you the truth. But since the last cook left of her own accord, it’s been easy. They’re a nice bunch what works here.’ She leaned forward, confiding. ‘And they can’t get enough of my chocolate cake – it’s a speciality of mine.’ She nodded towards the half-eaten piece in Charlotte’s fingers. ‘All right, is it?’
‘All right? It’s delicious.’
/>
Mrs Beddows smiled and sat back. ‘So, what brings you to the manor?’
‘I’ve come to apologize to Mr Thornton.’
‘Apologize? Whatever for?’
Charlotte sighed. ‘Georgie stayed on yesterday after Morning Service to attend my Sunday school. We were acting out the Good Samaritan and the three “robbers” got a little – well – shall we say over enthusiastic.’
‘Ah, so that’s how he got a cut lip?’
‘I’m afraid so.’ There was a moment’s pause before Charlotte asked, ‘He didn’t say?’
‘Little Georgie wouldn’t tell tales and his father wouldn’t encourage it, I assure you. In fact, my dear, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll not give the master any names either.’
‘I wasn’t going to. Georgie asked me not to and I admire him for that. I’m just here to apologize for not keeping better control of my class.’
Mrs Beddows laughed. ‘Boys will be boys. It’s not the first time Master Georgie’s been in a scrape and it’ll not be the last.’
Charlotte began to feel a little easier, but she was still determined to see the boy’s father. ‘Is Mr Thornton at home?’
‘I believe so. He’ll be in the room he’s had fitted out as his study.’ Her face clouded. ‘He spends a lot of his time on his own since his poor wife died.’
‘You’ve been with him a long time?’
‘Ever since they were married. Mrs Thornton appointed me when she set up house. Lovely lady, she was. So sad.’
‘What – I mean – when did she die?’
‘Three days after little Georgie was born. She got the childbed fever.’
‘How dreadful.’
‘The master’s never got over it and I don’t think he ever will.’
‘He must have loved her very much,’ Charlotte said huskily.
‘Oh he did, he did.’ The cook sat a moment, lost in memories in which Charlotte could have no part. Then she shook herself and heaved herself to her feet as Lily came back into the room.
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