Charlotte rose with an outward calm she wasn’t feeling inside. ‘You take them all home and I’ll mount a search party.’
‘Easier said than done,’ he muttered, but turned away to do as she suggested.
‘Be careful,’ she called after him, knowing he would drive like the wind, taking the corners in the narrows lanes far too fast in his haste to get back.
This time Jenny was not in the studio, nor in any other part of the house.
‘Where can she be?’ Charlotte worried, biting the edge of her thumb as she hovered in the hall, uncertain what to do next. ‘Where might she go?’
But she couldn’t answer her own question. Jenny was still a little afraid of the great outdoors unless there was someone else with her.
‘If only you were here, Georgie,’ she murmured sadly, ‘she wouldn’t have gone missing. She’d be stuck to your side like a limpet.’
Miles burst in through the front door.
‘They’ve told her,’ he blurted out. ‘Those little buggers have told her. About Georgie. That’s why she’s run off.’
Charlotte gasped and her eyes widened. ‘Oh, how could they?’
He ran his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. ‘I suppose we shouldn’t blame them. The whole village knows. The kids are bound to pick it up and – and they don’t understand . . .’
‘But where’s she gone? I’ve looked everywhere I can think of.’
‘Where did Georgie take her? Where did they go together?’
‘The shore!’ Charlotte gasped. ‘Last time he was home, he took her to the seashore.’
Fifty-Nine
Within minutes they were both on horseback riding towards the sea, neither of them daring to voice their fears. Jenny didn’t understand the ways of the sea, its tides and treacherous currents and creeks. She wouldn’t know what to do if the water came swirling in around her . . .
They galloped down the long lane towards the sea bank. Pausing at the top of the rise, they scanned the beach.
‘The tide’s coming in,’ Charlotte cried.
‘Samphire? Where’s the samphire.’
‘Yes, yes. They collected samphire. She was painting a picture. This way.’
Leaving their horses, Charlotte led the way carefully across the marshy ground to where the samphire grew.
‘There – over there. I thought I saw something . . .’ Miles pointed. ‘No – I’m imagining it.’
They walked on, scanning the marsh and the creeks around them. And with every second the incoming tide was coming closer and closer. After a few moments Miles shouted again. ‘There! There, Charlotte. I did see something.’
Charlotte too had caught a movement a short distance in front of them – something white and fluttering in the breeze.
‘Look!’ She pointed excitedly. ‘She is here. There’s a peg with a piece of white rag tied to it.’
Miles frowned, then he remembered. ‘You – you think Georgie told her what you told us all those years ago? So she could find her way back?’
‘I’m sure of it.’
They quickened their pace towards the peg and its makeshift flag.
‘There’s another – and another,’ Charlotte cried.
Just then, a figure bobbed up, stretching up to glance around her, watching the tide and the encroaching water.
‘There she is,’ Miles breathed. ‘Thank God.’
‘Don’t be angry with her, Miles. Please. If she’s just been told about Georgie . . .’
Jenny had seen them and was standing perfectly still watching them approach, a look of fear on her face. She knew she was in trouble.
‘My, you’ve collected a lot. Mrs Beddows will be pleased.’ Miles smiled down at her, reining in his instinct to either shake her roundly or clutch her to him in a thankful embrace. Instead, keeping his tone level and calm, he went on, ‘But the tide’s coming in now, love. Time we were heading back. Come on. We’ve got the horses on the sea bank. You can ride in front of me.’
They walked back the way they had come, collecting the pegs and pieces of cloth as they went. Miles hoisted her up on to the horse’s saddle and then swung himself up behind her. She was still clutching the bag of wet samphire she’d collected.
‘I was all right, mister. Honest. Georgie told me to watch out for the water comin’ an’ how to set the pegs. I wouldn’t have drownded. Georgie . . .’ Her voice broke and her head dropped. Miles held her close feeling the thin little body racked with sobs.
Beside them, Charlotte rode in silence, her throat full of tears, remembering how she’d taught Georgie about the tides and how to mark the path back across the marsh.
And he’d passed the knowledge on to little Jenny. Georgie had kept her safe even though he’d not survived.
Late one afternoon in October, when Charlotte and Miles were having tea in the morning room, the door was flung open with a crash and Jenny leapt on to the end of the sofa.
‘There’s an ’orrible noise an’ banging,’ Jenny wailed. ‘I don’t like it.’
Miles got up and went to the window, whilst Jenny scrambled along the sofa and snuggled up to Charlotte. ‘I don’t like it,’ she muttered again and put her thumb in her mouth.
‘It’s only the sirens,’ Charlotte said, thankful that they were far enough away from Lynthorpe for them to be no louder than they already were.
‘And planes,’ she heard Miles mutter. ‘There are planes almost overhead.’
Jenny gave a scream and buried her head against Charlotte as more dull thuds sounded in the distance. ‘It’s ’Itler. He’s comin’.’
Intrigued rather than frightened, Charlotte tried to untangle herself from the child, but Jenny held on tightly.
‘What’s happening?’ Charlotte asked.
In a low voice, Miles said, ‘They’re dropping bombs. On Lynthorpe.’
‘Don’t like it,’ came Jenny’s muffled voice. ‘And Bert don’t like it neither.’
The banging ceased and soon the ‘All Clear’ sounded.
‘There, there, it’s all over now,’ Charlotte comforted Jenny.
It was over for that day but, a month later, several incendiaries fell in a field belonging to one of Miles’s tenant farmers. No one was hurt but the incident was to bring Miles and Charlotte more heartache than they could ever have imagined.
‘I want ’er back ’ome with me, where she belongs, an’ there ain’t nuffin’ you can do to stop me.’
Miles and Charlotte stood on the driveway facing the stranger, helpless in the face of her anger. Jenny clung to Miles’s hand and made no move towards the woman, whom Charlotte presumed to be her mother.
‘I ain’t coming,’ Jenny blurted out and pointed a trembling finger at the tall, thin man lounging against the motor car, smoking a cigarette. He was thin faced and handsome, Charlotte supposed, in a flash kind of way. She fought back a rising bubble of laughter. The man reminded her of Max Miller, the outrageous comedian, whom they’d seen once at the theatre and heard often on the radio. This man sported a thin, neatly trimmed moustache and was dressed in a flamboyant check suit. Loud, Miles would have called it. ‘Not if he’s still there.’ Jenny spat out the final words.
Charlotte saw the flash of anger in the man’s face and he pushed himself upright, jabbing towards Jenny with his cigarette.
‘Now look here, young ’un, I’ve been good to you, I have.’ The man smirked. ‘And even better to yer ma, so don’t you go bad-mouthing me to these nice people.’
Jenny cowered behind Miles, her boldness deserting her suddenly.
‘Mrs Mercer . . .’ Miles released himself from Jenny’s grasp and strode towards the woman, holding out his hand in welcome. ‘Shall we go inside and have a cup of tea and maybe something to eat? I’m sure you must be—’
‘We gotta get goin’ if we’ve to be back before the blackout,’ the woman said. ‘It’s a long way to London.’
Keeping the smile firmly fixed on his face, Miles glanced towards the man and
spread out his hands. ‘You could both stay here tonight. You’re more than welcome.’
‘Nah thanks, guv’nor,’ the man answered again. ‘Like the little lady ses, we’ve got to get back. I’ve got mi business to think of.’ He winked broadly at Miles. ‘Know what I mean.’
Miles didn’t, but he could make a shrewd guess: black market ‘business’.
‘I’m staying here,’ Jenny’s shrill voice piped up. ‘I ain’t going back wiv ’em.’ She turned to Miles. ‘I’m all right here, ain’t I?’
‘Of course you are, Jenny.’ He held out his hand to her. ‘But let’s go inside and talk it over.’
‘Well – ’ the woman hesitated and glanced at the man. ‘Just a cuppa while she gets her things together.’
They turned towards the house, all except Jenny. She tore her hand from Miles’s grasp and began to run across the grass towards the little gate leading to the lane to Buckthorn Farm.
‘ ’Ere, come back, our Jen. Don’t you want to come home with your ma?’ the woman called after her, but Jenny kept on running.
Inwardly, Charlotte smiled. She guessed exactly where the child was heading. Buckthorn Farm. But she wasn’t worried. Mary would look after her. And, later, when the couple had gone, Charlotte would fetch her back. But meanwhile, she would play the perfect hostess.
When they’d had tea, Charlotte offered, ‘Would you like to see Jenny’s bedroom? To see for yourself how well we’re looking after her? Won’t you leave her with us a while longer, Mrs Mercer? She’ll be so much safer here.’
‘No, I want her home. She’s been away a whole year now, an’ I don’t want no one sayin’ I’m a bad mother, sending my child to live wiv strangers.’
‘I’m sure no one would think that,’ Miles said smoothly, carefully avoiding Charlotte’s glance lest his face should give him away. ‘In fact, quite the contrary. You’ve shown remarkable unselfishness in sending your daughter to safety. You are to be commended.’
The woman stared at him, clearly not understanding if she was being insulted or complimented. She sniffed. ‘Well, that’s as may be, but we want her home now, don’t we, Arfer?’
Arthur shrugged. ‘Whatever you say, Dot.’ Again he winked at Miles. ‘Just like to keep the little ladies happy, don’t we, guv’nor?’
Miles beamed at him, recognizing an ally, albeit for very different reasons. The man didn’t want Jenny back with them any more than Miles wanted to let her go.
But Dot was the little girl’s mother and she was adamant. ‘All the other kids is back now. Jen’s the only one in our street not back home and folks is talking.’ She nodded towards Arthur. ‘’Specially now Arfer’s moved in. But we’re getting married, ain’t we, Arfer? And we want her back. We want to be a family.’ She smiled archly. ‘You never know, there might be a little brother or sister for ’er one day.’
Miles was amused by the flash of sheer terror which flitted across the man’s face, but Arthur hid it manfully and forced a thin smile. ‘Yer never know yer luck,’ he murmured.
‘So,’ Dot said, standing up, ‘if you can let me have her things, missis, we’ll be on our way. Arfer, go an’ call ’er. She can’t be far away.’ She shuddered dramatically. ‘She’ll not like all them open spaces we drove through to get here, I know.’
‘I don’t know where she’ll be. Look, Dot, she don’t want to come home. It’s obvious. Why don’t you—?’
‘Shut up, Arfer. She’s comin’ back with us and that’s final.’ She turned back to Miles. ‘You’d best find her, mister, ’cos I ain’t going back without her.’ Dot sat down again, a stubborn look on her face.
‘She could be anywhere – ’
‘Then you aren’t looking after ’er very well if you let her run wild like this.’
‘We don’t – I mean – ’ Miles was floundering and Charlotte stepped in.
‘Jenny will be quite safe,’ she said calmly, pushing aside the memory of their own panic when the girl had gone missing. ‘She knows the area well now, and—’
‘Well, you’d best find ’er, missis,’ Dot said again. ‘ ’Cos I’m staying here till you do.’
Charlotte caught sight of Miles’s face and her heart turned over with love for him. They were going to lose Jenny and he was devastated. They were no match for this determined woman, who was, after all, the girl’s mother. Miles sighed heavily and turned away. ‘I’ll send out a search party,’ he murmured.
‘I’ll go,’ Charlotte said at once and hurried out of the room before anyone could stop her. ‘I’ll organize it.’
The November afternoon was turning to dusk and there was still no sign of Jenny.
‘Dot, we’ll have to go,’ Arthur insisted at last. ‘We’ll be all night getting home now. Have to go slow, y’know,’ he winked at Miles, ‘in the blackout.’
Miles nodded absently. He rather thought the man would break the blackout regulations, put his car lights on full beam, and drive like the wind.
‘Oh, all right. Have it your way.’ Dot stood up and wagged her finger at both Miles and Charlotte. ‘But I want her home. I’m going to the authorities when I get back.’
Miles’s face was bleak. But, at least, for the moment, Jenny would be staying.
Sixty
Charlotte found Jenny in the place that had been her own childhood hideaway; the hayloft at Buckthorn Farm. The girl had fallen asleep, nestled in the dry hay. Charlotte sat beside her, gazing out of the small, square window until Jenny roused herself, rubbed her eyes and sat up.
‘Have they gone?’
‘Yes – for the moment. But your mother wants you home, darling.’
Jenny’s lower lip trembled. ‘But I don’t want to go. I like it here. Don’t you want me any more?’
Charlotte put her arm round Jenny’s shoulders. Her voice was husky and not quite steady as she said, ‘Miles and I would like you to stay for ever, and that’s the truth, but your mum loves you. She wants you to go home.’
The girl was silent for a long time before she said in a small voice, ‘Are they coming back to get me, then?’
Charlotte sighed. ‘Your mother said she would be going to the authorities when she got home. Darling – if she does – there’ll be nothing we can do.’
‘I could hide here again. They wouldn’t find me.’
Charlotte was silent. She didn’t tell her that she’d told the searchers not to go into the hayloft at Buckthorn Farm. She’d guessed that was where the girl would be. She’d deliberately prevented them from finding Jenny. She sighed inwardly. She knew the girl would have to go back to London sooner or later, but at least she’d won them a little time. Time in which they could all get used to the idea.
Especially Miles, though she doubted he would ever come to terms with letting Jenny go.
Christmas was always going to be difficult. It was their first since the awful news that Georgie had been posted missing and now it was likely that very soon Jenny would have to leave them. There’d been no word yet from Dot, but they all knew it was only a matter of time. Even if she’d changed her mind and decided to let her daughter stay in the country, once the war ended the little girl would have to go home.
‘I don’t suppose,’ Miles murmured one night as they lay in each other’s arms, ‘that they’d let us adopt her?’
Charlotte sighed. ‘I don’t think so. The mother seemed – well – possessive. It didn’t seem like real affection to me, more like a status symbol. That she wanted to appear a good mother in front of her neighbours. I got the impression that was why she wanted Jenny home. Because all the other children in the street were back.’
‘Mm. She said as much, didn’t she?’
There was a pause before Charlotte said, ‘Maybe Dot latched on to what you said and has gone back lording it over everyone about how she had been selfless in allowing Jenny to stay with us.’
‘Perhaps,’ he murmured, sounding doubtful.
Philip arrived home on Christmas Eve. ‘I’m one of the lucky o
nes,’ he told them, dropping his kit bag and a pile of gifts on to the floor of the hall. ‘I’ve got five whole days.’ His face sobered as he took a deep breath, ‘But it’s likely I’ll be posted abroad soon after Christmas, so . . .’
He forced a bright smile and, before either Miles or Charlotte could make any comment, added, ‘We’re going to make it a good one, especially for little Jen.’ Seeing their subdued faces, he glanced from one to the other. ‘What? What is it?’
Charlotte sighed and moved to kiss his cheek, whilst Miles held out his hand to shake his son’s. Drawing Philip into the morning room whilst Charlotte sent for tea, he told Philip about Dot Mercer’s visit.
‘I doubt we’ll be able to hold out for ever. She was very determined and – ’ he sighed heavily – ‘she’s the girl’s mother.’
‘Then let’s do our best to make it a memorable Christmas for her.’ Philip glanced at Charlotte as he added softly, ‘It’s what Georgie would have wanted us to do.’
To everyone’s amazement, Philip was the ‘life and soul’ of Christmas. Ben hadn’t been able to get leave, so it was Philip who took Jenny out that afternoon to collect holly and ivy to decorate the house. Then in the evening he commandeered everyone into helping with the decorating of the Christmas tree in the hall. And just before Jenny’s bedtime, he suggested she should ask Mrs Beddows for a mince pie for Father Christmas and a carrot for his reindeers.
‘We’ll put them near the tree in the hall. He’ll be sure to find them there.’
‘Whatever made you think of doing that?’ Charlotte asked. ‘What a lovely idea.’
‘One of the lads at camp was talking about his kids and it’s what they do.’ For a brief moment, his eyes were haunted. ‘Poor feller. He was posted abroad last week. He’ll not get home for Christmas.’
Just after midnight, Philip dressed up in a red dressing gown and cotton wool beard and crept into Jenny’s bedroom with an armful of presents to fill the pillowcase that the excited little girl had hung on the end of her bed. And he was up at six o’clock the following morning, grinning from ear to ear as Jenny woke the whole household with her cries of ‘He’s been! He’s been! And ’ee’s eaten the mince pie.’
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