Tall Poppies

by Janet Woods

  Connie had packed the lunch in a square tin, along with the gingerbread men for the children. She must carry it carefully. Slinging her bag over her shoulder she set out, feeling glad to be alive on such a day.

  Though cold, the sun was just peeping over the horizon. Mist rose from the hedges and hovered in a head-height cloud before it curled off into the air and evaporated. It was as if the earth was breathing as it began to wake. The hedges were brown and peppered with orange hips of rambling roses. Daisies dotted the fields, waiting for the touch of the sun to open their petals. Catkin flowers drooped from winter-bare branches and blue-tits had already begun to quarrel with the great-tits over territorial rights. It seemed that everything in nature went to war at one time or another.

  Livia reached Creekmore Halt station and bought a ticket to London. She was the only passenger waiting for the train, and she stood on a platform of wooden railway sleepers until it came steaming into the station. The last carriage was empty, and she took a corner seat facing the engine.

  The whistle had just sounded when she heard a shout, and footsteps pounding. It was a soldier, almost level with her window. She managed to throw open the door as the train lurched forward. His kit bag came in first and she staggered backwards with it clutched against her body. Her reverse momentum was interrupted by the edge of the seat, which effectively tipped her over backwards. The door slammed, the train gave another couple of jerks and picked up speed.

  The bag was hauled off her and a pair of brown-flecked, dark-green eyes gazed down at her. Amusement fought with concern in his expression. ‘I’m awfully sorry . . . are you all right? I cut that a bit close.’

  ‘I’m just a bit winded, so you can laugh if you wish,’ she said, scrambling upright.

  The chuckle he offered her was a pleasant, low rumble. ‘I’m relieved to see I didn’t squash you completely.’

  ‘How on earth did you manage to run carrying that bag? It’s so heavy.’

  He tossed it into the rack with a certain amount of pânache, as though it weighed nothing. ‘Necessity. If I’d missed this train, my superiors would have stood me against a wall and shot me.’

  The colour drained from her face at the thought of such a horrible fate for this handsome young man, and her eyes widened. ‘How frightful.’

  ‘Hey, you look quite pale . . . you’re not taking me seriously, I hope. They won’t shoot me, I promise.’

  Now she blushed a little. ‘You must think I’m silly.’

  ‘I think you’re rather sweet for caring. I’m actually a very good liar, and on the strength of it was offered the leading role in the pantomime in my last year at Cambridge. I turned it down, of course.’

  ‘Why, of course?’

  ‘It was Cinderella.’

  When she laughed he leaned forward and held out his hand. ‘I’m Captain Denton Elliot . . . you may call me Denton if you wish.’

  ‘I’m Olivia Carr, though most people call me Livia.’ An imp of mischief lodged in her mind. ‘You may call me Miss Carr if you wish, Captain Elliot.’

  ‘Your wish is my command, Miss Carr.’ His glance went to her hat. ‘One of your feathers is bent.’

  They both laughed as she took the hat from her head to examine the damage.

  ‘I found them in the garden and sewed them on. Vanity, I suppose.’

  ‘It’s natural to want a feather in your hat. It always amazes me that a bird can fly on such fragile supports.’

  ‘I read somewhere that their bones are hollow, which makes them light. Why did you say it was natural to want a feather in your hat?’

  ‘To see what your answer would be, of course.’

  His eyes came up to hers and they gazed at each other for a moment. A slow, beautiful smile lit up his face. ‘So, you’re intelligent as well as everything else. The shaft of this is broken so you’ll just have to fly on one feather. You have pretty hair, you know. I like the shiny golden reddish bits amongst the brown colour.’ He pulled the broken feather from her hat, snapped off the end and stuck it into the band of his army cap, which he’d placed on the seat next to her tin of food. ‘I’ll take this one with me if you don’t mind. It will remind me of home . . . and of a girl called Livia.’

  He’d probably forget her the moment the train reached his destination. ‘Home? Do you live far from the station?’

  ‘A couple of miles. My father has a medical practice . . . I’ll be joining him after the war, I expect. You?’

  ‘Foxglove House.’

  ‘I know the Sangster family. I was at Cambridge with Richard, and we joined up together. We were sent in different directions though, and I haven’t seen him since. How is he?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . he’s away you see,’ and she shrugged. ‘France, I think.’

  For a moment his eyes held an expression of such suffering that she caught her breath. ‘Ah . . . yes, I suppose he would be there, considering. I don’t envy Richard that. And the rest of the Sangster family, how are they holding up?’

  ‘Mrs Sangster is still an invalid after an accident.’

  ‘I remember it . . . such a sad thing to have happened. Margaret was such a lovely woman and didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘Does anyone? The major does something at the war office.’

  Denton Elliot nodded. ‘Give Mrs Sangster my best wishes, if you would be so kind. Tell her I’ll call in on her next time I’m down this way. I should have done so this time, but you know how it is . . . the war has changed everything. Now I’ll have you to visit as an extra incentive.’

  He would have a shock when she served him tea, she thought wryly, and wondered if she should tell him she was the maid. But no . . . she wasn’t a maid today. She was Livia Carr, on the way to London to visit her sister and brother.

  Gradually they picked up people at every station. The carriages quickly filled so they were packed end to end, mostly with soldiers and sailors.

  She watched with curiosity as they stood in a fug of pipe and cigarette smoke, exchanging badinage and talking of this and that; avoiding the war; giving occasional hearty bursts of laughter, and mindful of their language and manners. But it was all in a self-conscious manner that drew attention to the fact that they were on their best behaviour in the company of a female.

  Most were tall, young men, some just of an age to fight for their country. The veterans could be recognized by their gaunt cheeks, and by hollow eyes that had seen too much. They carried with them all the despair, and all that was brave in the world. But they didn’t mention the war that was going on barely more than twenty miles across the English Channel. Some of them just stared out of the window, watching the countryside go past, lost in a world of their own making. What were they thinking . . . of what had gone past, or of what lay ahead? Of loved ones they might never see again? How courageous they all were. How sad they made her feel.

  Most of them disembarked at Southampton, including Denton Elliot. They were probably destined for the drab grey troop ship, of which she could glimpse the upper structure with its sinister smoking funnels.

  A little shiver ran through her and she reached out and touched his face, saying gently, ‘Goodbye, Denton Elliot, it was nice to meet you, and good luck.’

  He took her hand in his. ‘Let’s make that au revoir, because I enjoyed meeting you and intend to do so again, Livia. In the meanwhile I have my lucky feather to keep me safe.’ He leaned forward to lightly kiss her mouth, laughing when she blushed and called him a rogue . . . but she couldn’t be cross with him.

  The next time she saw him was when the train pulled out. He was speaking to another officer on the platform, but he turned and his eyes sought hers and he blew her a kiss, smiling when she blew one back.

  The encounter left her feeling strangely happy.

  Two

  It was obvious that the orphanage suffered from the same food shortages as the rest of England. From where she stood she saw that the twins were dirty, thin and wore ill-fitting clothes. Chad’s wri
sts protruded from his jacket sleeves like bones and he had bruises; Esmé’s light brown hair was matted. And their eyes were dull. Both of them had runny noses.

  Livia went to see the harassed-looking matron, and said, ‘Most of my wages go into the support of my sister and brother, yet they look neglected.’

  The woman shrugged. ‘We’re overcrowded, so we don’t have time to give the children individual attention, whatever their circumstance. We’re also under-staffed, what with the war casualties – and there’s an influenza outbreak.’

  ‘Flu . . . that’s the first I’ve heard of it.’

  ‘Well, you mightn’t have, living in the country, and all. But you will, because they expect it to spread quickly once it takes a real hold. There’s only a few cases as yet, but the death rate is high amongst those who are infected, and the soldiers are beginning to bring it back from the front. They’re calling it Spanish flu. It’s going to be a bad one.’

  A chill of fear ran through Livia as she thought of Mrs Sangster. ‘Is there anything to help guard against it?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘Otherwise perfectly healthy people are dying. If you can stay out of crowded areas it might help. Take your sister and brother to the country if you can. You must understand, that with so many children orphaned we can’t give them the individual attention they need.’

  The many empty rooms in Foxglove House came into her mind, and she wondered if she’d be allowed to take her brother and sister there. But no . . . that’s what orphanages were for . . . and Foxglove House wasn’t an orphanage.

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry I complained.’

  ‘They’re good kids on the whole, though the boy is getting a bit sullen. He hasn’t been well lately,’ the woman told her. ‘They’ve both had colds on their chests. He’s got a good brain, but he’s not doing at all well at school.’

  ‘How did Chad get those bruises?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘He’s a boy . . . they all get bruises. He’s small for his age, and he’s probably being picked on by the older boys. They tend to form into packs.’

  Livia sighed. ‘I’ll see if I can make other arrangements for them . . . until I can, they’ll have to stay here.’

  The twins hadn’t been expecting her and hadn’t looked up when she approached them.

  ‘Esmé . . . Chad . . .? It’s me . . . Livia.’

  Chad stared at her. Recognition flickered in his eyes, replaced by anger. ‘You’ve been gone a long time,’ he accused. ‘We thought you’d died.’

  Esmé gave a shuddering sniff then burst into tears. ‘I don’t want to stay here any more, Livia. Have you come to take us away?’

  Livia gathered them both into her arms. Esmé clung, but Chad’s body was tense and resistant to her.

  ‘Let go else they’ll think I’m a sissy,’ he said. He relaxed a little when she did, but it nearly broke her heart. If only he knew how much she loved them.

  Feeling wretched, she said, ‘My darlings, I can’t at the moment . . . I have nowhere for us to go. But I’ll do my best to find somewhere where we can be closer to each other.’ They were empty words, to give them hope. She made an attempt to cheer them both up by opening the tin. ‘I’ve brought you a birthday treat.’

  The cook had been generous. There was three of everything.

  A couple of boys who’d noticed what was going on sidled up like thin greyhounds and gazed through hungry eyes at the contents of the tin. Chad lashed out when one of them made a grab for the gingerbread, snarling, ‘Get away, you’re not having any. It’s ours.’

  ‘That’s not very nice, Chad,’ she remonstrated.

  ‘He spilled Esmé’s porridge yesterday and she was hungry all day. I hate him! I hate them all!’ He turned his head against her chest and burst into scalding tears.

  ‘I didn’t do it on purpose; my sleeve caught on it and knocked it from the table,’ the boy who’d tried to steal from them called out. ‘Stop being a cry-baby-bunting. Just you wait and see. When you’re asleep I’m going to put a spider in your mouth and it will eat all your insides.’

  ‘No you won’t.’ Esmé jumped to her feet and kicked him in the shin. ‘If you don’t go away I’ll tell on you and you’ll get the strap, Billy Bastard!’

  Shocked, Livia stared at her. ‘Esmé! It’s naughty to call people names like that.’

  ‘No it’s not, because it’s the truth. He is a bastard, so is his brother . . . they haven’t got a father and their mother’s a jam tart.’

  ‘It’s not my fault, and your mother and father are mouldy bones, so there,’ the boy said, a dribble of saliva appearing at the corner of his mouth as his eyes went to the food again.

  She sighed. He wasn’t going to go away. In fact he seemed the type of lad who would fall on the floor and lick up the crumbs, just to make her feel guilty. All the same she felt sorry for him. ‘Come here, Billy.’ He slid towards her like a beaten dog, and if he’d had a tail she knew it would have been tucked firmly between his legs.

  ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me off, Miss?’

  ‘No, though some better manners from all of you wouldn’t go astray. I was having a celebration with Chad and Esmé for their eighth birthday. It’s not much use having a party without guests, but I don’t want you to ruin it for them. Here, you and your brother sit with us. You can share it if you wish, but don’t snatch anything.’

  She divided the repast into four, ignoring her own hunger, as well as the glares Esmé and Chad were exchanging with the boys. They’d get over it. As for herself, cook would keep her dinner warm for when she got back.

  The four of them forgot their angst at the sight of the boiled eggs, cheese, and some ham and bread. They pushed the food into their mouths, eating quickly, and barely chewing it before swallowing. By the time they got to the gingerbread men they had slowed down and were smiling at each other.

  Their parents would have been ashamed of the twins, behaving like this, she thought. But then, if they hadn’t died, the twins wouldn’t be in here. They’d be at home.

  Livia knew she couldn’t act as an example to them, either. The children were surviving as best they could, in an environment, which, although not the best, had become a familiar one to them over the years. It was their home. They’d adapted to it, and knew how it worked better than she did. It was she who was the outsider – she who didn’t understand.

  ‘Thank you, Miss,’ Billy said afterwards, and grinned at her surprise.

  ‘I really will try to arrange something better, even if it’s only to get here to see you more often. Give me a hug now, the pair of you.’ And she whispered in Chad’s ear when they did, ‘Chad, slide your hand into my bag. There’s a bar of chocolate on top for you to share with Esmé when you’re on your own. The lady I work for gave it to me to give to you. Put it in your own pocket, and don’t eat it all at once in case it makes you sick.’

  She kissed his cheek while the exchange was taking place. ‘Promise me you’ll try and do better at school. The matron said you’re clever and only need to put your mind to it. Your future depends on getting the best education you can, you know, so don’t waste what’s on offer.’

  ‘I promise.’

  Esmé clung tightly to her as Livia told her, ‘I want you to stop saying dreadful things to other people. Mummy and Daddy would have wanted you to grow up being polite, and they would have been ashamed to hear you sounding so . . . rough.’

  ‘Were they a nice mummy and daddy?’

  ‘They were the best in the whole world. Our mother was like a princess, and you look very much like her, Es. Daddy was so handsome. He was very clever, and was a parliamentary secretary.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Chad asked.

  Livia wasn’t sure. All she knew was that when her parents died in a boating accident they were in so much debt that there was nothing left to support their children. ‘It means he was an important man and worked for the government. They loved us all, and I love you both. Always remember that.’<
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  ‘I love you too, Livia,’ Esmé said. ‘I’ll be good, I promise.’

  Livia sighed as her gaze went to her brother. ‘You as well, Chad.’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘I promise.’

  It was a promise they’d probably forget as soon as she was out of sight, and an impractical one under the circumstances. But she was doing her best to keep the thread between them intact.

  She was surprised when Billy’s brother crept up to gaze at her through large dog-like eyes.

  Billy laughed. ‘Tom’s a sissy. He wants a hug too. He hasn’t said a word to nobody since we’ve been in here. He misses our mum, I reckon.’

  She slid her arm about the boy’s waist and pulled him close. He was a thin little thing. ‘Do you miss your mum, Tom?’

  When he nodded she gave him a big hug and kissed his cheek.

  Billy tousled the grinning boy’s head. ‘That will have to do you till the next time she visits.’

  ‘What about you, Billy?’

  Alarm filled his eyes. ‘I’m not much for hugging.’

  In any case, Chad pushed between them, making it obvious that, although he’d been forced to share the food, he didn’t intend that his elder sister should share her affection with anyone except his twin.

  It was hard tearing herself away, since the children clung to her. Livia was as upset as her siblings seemed to be at the parting.

  The train was crowded, but once again she managed to get a seat in a corner. The smell of bodies mingled with the tobacco smoke, and the sniffs and coughs from the travellers reminded her of what the matron had said about the coming flu epidemic. She placed her handkerchief against her nose. It had a faint smell of lavender to it, for Mrs Sangster had given her a lavender bag to place in her top drawer. ‘It will keep the moths away,’ she’d said.

  It was dark when she alighted at Creekmore Halt, bitterly cold, and drizzling with rain. She set off at a fast pace, hoping the rain wouldn’t get heavier, and that she wouldn’t step on a hedgehog or fall into a pothole on the two-mile walk.