Soon after Christmas the snow arrived, thick and deep, making everything beyond the hospital window look brand new. Grace felt totally at home and safe with the nuns now and enjoyed learning all she could about the Catholic faith. In February, a thaw set in and the rains came and suddenly they were into March and the world started to come alive again. Primroses peeped from beneath the hedgerows, tender green leaves began to unfurl on the trees and the air was filled with birdsong.
One day when the sun was shining tentatively the older nun, Sister Agatha, who was in charge of the others, came to see her.
‘Sit beside me, child,’ she invited, patting the bed. ‘I have good news for you. We feel that you are clear of the fever now and so we are going to allow you to go home. I shall be ringing your father this afternoon to arrange for him to come and fetch you.’
‘Really?’ Grace felt a mixture of emotions. Of course, she was happy at the thought of seeing her mother again and yet she also felt sad to be leaving the nuns. She had come to look upon them almost as family and she knew already that she would miss Sister Agatha. The elderly nun had never shown her anything but kindness and after seeing the way she selflessly nursed the sick, Grace was full of admiration for her. Sister Agatha had even given her a set of rosary beads, which Grace would always treasure, and had taught her a great deal about the Catholic faith. Grace found it fascinating. So much so that she intended to ask her mother for permission to attend more of the services in Our Lady of the Angels Catholic Church in Riversley Road when she got home.
‘When do you think I might be able to go?’ she asked. It seemed such a long time since she had seen her family and the people she really cared about.
‘I see no reason why you shouldn’t go home this Sunday, providing your father is able to fetch you of course,’ the kindly nun told her.
On Sunday afternoon, Jacob Kettle once more pulled up at the hospital ready to do battle to be admitted if need be, but this time, the gatekeeper opened the gates immediately and even tipped his cap to him.
‘Afternoon, sir.’
Jacob glared at him before roaring down the drive. Once he was admitted a nun took the new clothes he had brought for Grace to go home in and he paced up and down impatiently as he waited for her.
At last he heard footsteps approaching on the highly polished tiled floor and looking up he saw Grace walking towards him gripping the hand of an elderly nun.
He forced a smile and tried not to look shocked, for he scarcely recognised his own child. She was taller but her new clothes hung from her skinny frame and she was deathly pale with huge dark circles beneath her eyes. But it was her hair that shocked him the most. Where once it had hung almost to her waist in thick, gleaming waves, it was now chopped to just below her chin, although it was still the same rich, vibrant auburn colour he had been so proud of.
‘Grace …’ He was so choked with emotion that for a moment he was rooted to the spot then he hurried forward and clasped her so firmly that she gasped.
‘Please be gentle with her, sir,’ the nun scolded. ‘And try to remember that she has a way to go until she is fully recovered. She is still very weak and she will need to rest often.’
‘Oh … yes … yes, of course, sister. I apologise.’
She smiled then as she turned to Grace and gave her a gentle hug. ‘Go with God, my child, and may He watch over you.’
‘Thank you, sister.’ Suddenly Grace wasn’t so sure that she wanted to leave. Here in the hospital she had felt safe and serene but now she would have to go out into the world again and it was a daunting thought. But still, at least I will get to see Mother, she told herself sternly and forced her legs to propel her towards the door. She had thought that Sister Agatha would come outside to wave her off but the nun turned and walked away. Her job with Grace was done, now there were others that needed her attention.
Once she was seated in the car, her father tucked a warm travelling rug about her legs and seconds later they were off. Grace snuggled down into the seat and said very little on the way home. After the close confines of the hospital everywhere suddenly felt so big and she knew it was going to take some getting used to.
Grace dozed on the journey home and when they arrived, despite her protests, her father lifted her from the car and carried her inside. Her mother, Mabel, Mrs Batley and Harry were all in the hallway waiting for her and at sight of their dear faces Grace burst into tears. She hadn’t realised until that moment just how much she had missed them all.
‘But what have they done to your beautiful hair, pet,’ Mrs Batley cried as she stroked her shorn curls.
‘I had to have it all cut off because they said it would sap my strength,’ Grace informed her solemnly. ‘But it’s growing back again already. It’s past my chin now. When they first cut it, it was just below my ears.’
Secretly they were as shocked at their first sight of her as her father had been. Mrs Batley decided there and then that it was up to her to cook some tempting treats so the child would put a bit of meat back on her bones again. There was no time like the present so she asked, ‘What do yer fancy for dinner, lass? I’ll cook whatever yer like.’
‘Actually, Sister Agatha informed me that she must eat little and often,’ Jacob told her as he placed his arm about Grace’s frail shoulders. ‘Nourishing things like chicken soup and fish. And she must also get plenty of rest so I wonder if she shouldn’t go upstairs for a little lie-down.’
‘Oh, but Father, I slept on the way home and I’m not tired yet,’ Grace objected. ‘I’d like to go into the drawing room and speak to Mother for a while, if you don’t mind. I can lie on the sofa if I get tired and Mother can read to me.’
‘Very well,’ he replied grudgingly. He had hoped to spend some time with her himself but he didn’t want to upset her on her first day home. He watched then as she took Madeline’s hand and walked away before turning on his heel and retiring to his study with his lips pursed in a thin line.
Over the next few days, Grace slept a lot. Mrs Batley plied her with home-made egg custards and chicken soup and anything she could think of to tempt her to eat and Mabel fussed over her like a mother hen. Grace was happy to be home and gradually a little colour crept back into her cheeks and she began to gain a little weight.
‘I shall be very fat at this rate,’ Grace told her mother one afternoon as they sat either side of the roaring fire in the drawing room. ‘I’m beginning to feel a little stronger already. In fact, I think I might write to Myfanwy this afternoon. She must have been very worried about me and I was so pleased when she came to see me at the hospital.’
Mrs Batley had just entered the room bearing a tray laden with jam tarts and a pot of tea and she almost dropped it as she glanced at Madeline in alarm. The look was not lost on Grace and she asked innocently, ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Just when did Myfanwy come to see you, darling?’ her mother asked gently.
Grace screwed up her eyes and tried to think. ‘I’m not sure but I think I had been in the hospital for about four weeks, so it must have been round about the end of September. None of the nuns ever mentioned her visit so I didn’t either in case Myfanwy had managed to sneak in. I knew we shouldn’t have visitors. But I do remember I was very poorly and she came very late one night. Why do you ask?’
Madeline gulped.
Grace noted she had gone quite pale and then in a very small voice her mother told her, ‘It couldn’t have been Myfanwy, sweetheart. You see, she got scarlet fever too and sadly she died round about the time you say she came to see you. So I’m afraid she can’t have come to visit you. I was waiting until you were a little stronger to tell you. I’m so very sorry. Aunt Gertie and Mr and Mrs Llewelyn are all heartbroken.’
Grace looked stunned. ‘But she can’t be dead!’ Her head wagged from side to side in disbelief. ‘She was with me. She told me she was my best friend and she ordered me to get better … for her.’ And then suddenly, as she realised that what her mother was saying
must be true, she began to sob – great tearing sobs that shook her whole body.
Chapter Nineteen
It was on a cold and frosty morning in November that Grace walked into the kitchen unexpectedly to find Harry and Mabel with their heads bent over a book, which Mabel hurriedly slammed shut.
‘Oh … we were, er …’ Mabel began, but Harry interrupted her.
‘It’s all right,’ he told her. ‘I don’t mind Miss Grace knowing.’ Then turning to Grace, shamefaced, he explained. ‘The thing is, Mabel discovered some time ago that I couldn’t read or write … so the long an’ the short of it is, she’s been teachin’ me in any spare minutes we have.’
‘And very well he’s doin’ too,’ Mabel butted in proudly. ‘He can read almost as good as me now an’ he only struggles on the hard words.’
‘But you should have told me, Harry. I would have helped you too,’ Grace assured him.
He shook his head. ‘Thanks for the offer, miss. But I don’t reckon your dad would take very kindly to that.’
‘Mm, I suppose you’re right,’ Grace admitted. Her father didn’t like her mingling with the servants more than she had to, although Grace looked upon them as part of her family. ‘But I could help you in the day when Father is at work and Mabel is busy. I do tend to get very bored. I shall be glad when I can go back to school.’
She did actually look much better now, although the news of Myfanwy’s death had set her back terribly for weeks. Nothing anyone said could convince her that Myfanwy hadn’t visited her at the hospital and she would carry that belief close to her heart for the rest of her life. It was only after she had spoken to Aunt Gertie on the phone that she was forced to accept that her friend was really gone and she had grieved for her.
Now Harry answered doubtfully, ‘Well … I suppose if I have nothin’ to do an’ you’re not busy we could.’
Mabel nodded her approval. She knew how bored Grace got and thought helping Harry might give her something useful to do.
Grace took a seat at the table while Mabel made a pot of coffee. Looking from Mabel to Harry, she noticed how much more relaxed they seemed in each other’s company these days. She had often heard Mrs Batley tell her mother that Mabel had a soft spot for Harry and she wondered if now a romance might be developing. She hoped so because she loved them both dearly and wanted them to be happy. Still, there’s plenty of time yet, Grace thought as she went to join her mother for morning coffee in the day room. Father O’Rourke from Our Lady of the Angels was visiting, and Grace was looking forward to seeing him.
Over the last couple of weeks, she had been visiting the Catholic church with her mother’s permission. After almost losing her, Madeline was quite happy for Grace to do anything that made her happy, within reason. Harry would drive her there and back, for everyone felt that she wasn’t fully recovered yet, but she didn’t mind that. Within the walls of the church she had found the same peace as she had in the chapel in Sarn Bach and in the hospital, and Father O’Rourke, the priest, had taken a great shine to her.
‘There is something about her,’ Father O’Rourke told Madeline as they waited in the day room for Grace to join them. ‘Something indefinable that seems to shine from within her. She is full of grace and joy. But how do you feel about your daughter embracing a different faith? I believe you and your husband are Church of England?’
Madeline nodded as she strained tea into a dainty cup and saucer. ‘We are,’ she agreed. ‘But truthfully I believe at the end of the day that we all worship one God so if Grace gets happiness from attending a Catholic church I have no objections.’
‘And your husband?’
Madeline looked slightly embarrassed. How could she tell him that she believed her husband only attended church at all because he felt he should? As a judge, it was expected of him but she didn’t think he was particularly religious. In fact, the services seemed to bore him.
‘Whatever makes Grace happy makes him happy,’ she replied cautiously and the priest seemed content with that explanation.
Later that day, Mabel was dusting in Jacob’s study, humming softly to herself. There were a number of papers on his desk and she lifted them gingerly to dust beneath them. As she did so a piece of paper fluttered to the floor and she silently cursed. The judge had always told her that she was not to disturb anything in there but the desk had looked so dusty that she hadn’t been able to resist giving it a quick wipe. She bent to lift the paper and put it back in its place, but as she did she couldn’t help seeing what was written on it in a large scrawl. I’M WATCHING YOU.
Mabel dropped the paper as if it had bitten her and gasped in shock. Then, deciding that the study was tidy enough for today she scuttled away to the kitchen where Mrs Batley was kneading some dough for a new batch of bread.
‘You’ll never guess what I’ve just seen in the judge’s office,’ she whispered after glancing around to ensure that they were alone. When Mrs Batley raised an inquisitive eyebrow, Mabel hastily told her.
‘Well, he’s a judge, ain’t he? He sentences people to prison so he’s bound to have enemies.’
‘Mm, I suppose yer right.’ Mabel shivered. ‘But it still gave me the creeps.’
‘It could have been anybody,’ Mrs Batley pointed out. ‘Perhaps someone who’s just come out o’ prison, or maybe a relative o’ someone he’s put away? I dare say he’s used to it.’
Despite her reassuring words, from then on Mabel found herself watching the judge’s post more closely. As far as she was concerned, there was no doubt that someone wished him harm.
By the time Christmas came around again, Grace and Mabel between them had Harry reading almost as well as they could and now they were teaching him basic maths. Grace was as bright as a button and Mabel was the first to admit that Grace knew far more than she did.
‘I went to school when I could if me mam didn’t need me,’ she admitted. ‘So, although I know the basics I can’t hold a candle to Miss Grace even though she’s just a child.’
‘Not such a child anymore,’ Mrs Batley replied regretfully. ‘Since bein’ so ill an’ losin’ that little friend of hers, Miffan – Myfen … Oh, whatever her name was, Grace seems to have grown up all of a sudden. I think she’s far too old for her years but then I think part o’ that is down to her father. It ain’t natural how he still don’t like her mixin’ with folks her own age. But she’ll rebel, you just mark my words. She’ll probably run off wi’ a chimney sweep or the first chap to show her a bit of attention soon as she reaches sixteen.’
‘Oh, I think Grace would have more sense than to do that.’
When Mrs Batley glanced at her she saw that she was blushing and asked, ‘An’ is there anythin’ you want to tell me?’
‘No … well … yes.’ Mabel got all flustered. ‘Harry’s asked me to go to the music hall with him this Friday evenin’ … that’s if you don’t need me for anythin’, that is,’ she added hastily.
‘Hallelujah! It’s only taken him eleven years to get around to it.’
Mabel blushed an even deeper shade of red as Mrs Batley threw a damp cloth over the yeast and put it on the hearth to rise.
‘We’re just going as friends,’ Mabel retorted and Mrs Batley chuckled.
‘Well, it’s a start, I suppose, an’ yer know what they say, everythin’ has to start somewhere.’ Then with a wry grin she got on with her chores.
Late that night, Grace heard her bedroom door creak open. She peeped over the top of the blanket and saw her father approach her bed. She quickly closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep hoping he would go away. These night visits were becoming a regular occurrence and they made her feel uncomfortable. Not that her father had ever hurt her; he would just stand there and look at her for a time and then he would kiss her forehead before leaving the room. But only a few nights ago, he had actually kissed her on the lips and Grace hadn’t liked it.
‘You are my perfect angel,’ he had crooned and Grace had shuddered. ‘You will stay with m
e always and be a comfort to me in my old age when your mother has gone.’
Grace didn’t much like the thought of that. She didn’t know what she wanted to do when she grew up as yet but she did know that she wouldn’t want to live with her father for always. She hadn’t told him that, of course, but she had tentatively asked her mother if she was old enough to have a key for her bedroom door now.
‘Why ever would you want to lock your door, darling?’ Madeline had looked surprised. ‘What if you were ill? If your door was locked no one could come in to help you. No, let’s wait until you are a little older, shall we?’
Grace had nodded. It looked like for now she would just have to put up with her father’s night visits. Now she lay very still and tried to regulate her breathing. She could smell the peculiar mixture of him: Macassar oil, cigar smoke and whisky all rolled into one. After a moment, he leaned forward and stroked a lock of her hair from her face then thankfully he tiptoed from the room. Grace let out a sigh of relief.
The following morning Grace was woken by the muffled sound of raised voices coming from her father’s study. She pulled herself up onto one elbow and frowned, wondering what time it was. Dropping her legs over the side of her bed, she yanked her dressing gown on and padded downstairs. Mabel was in the hallway wringing her apron between her hands.
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