A Mother's Secret (28 page)

‘How rural,’ Flora murmured, gazing round the room as if it found little favour in her eyes.

‘It’s very cosy,’ Belinda said hastily. ‘A charming room, Mr Mullins.’

He puffed out his chest. ‘Aye, it is to be sure. My late wife made the rugs with her own hands, ma’am. My Emily was a fine woman, but she died young.’

‘How sad.’ Belinda’s lips drooped in a sympathetic sigh. ‘And you have no children?’

‘My wife died in childbirth, ma’am. The infant perished with her. They’re buried in St Mary Magdalene’s churchyard, along with several generations of the Mullins family.’

‘I have every sympathy with them,’ Flora said, shivering. ‘Did you mention hot rum punch, Mullins?’

He beamed at her. ‘I did indeed, ma’am. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go and fetch it from the kitchen.’ He backed out of the door as if bowing to royalty.

‘Flora,’ Belinda said sternly. ‘Stop tormenting the poor man. Can’t you see he’s doing his best?’

‘I knew that I shouldn’t have come.’ Flora subsided onto a wooden settle by the fire, wrapping her cloak around her even though the others had discarded their outer garments.

There was an awkward silence as they waited for Mullins to return with the rum punch, and at the sound of his booted feet on the flagstones, Cassy ran to open the door. He gave her a cheery grin as he strode past her carrying a large pan filled with steaming liquid. ‘This will warm the cockles of your heart,’ he said, setting it down on the hearth. He ladled the punch into earthenware cups which had been laid out in readiness on a side table. He offered the first cup to Flora. ‘Ma’am. Will you partake?’

Flora almost snatched it from him and raised the cup to her lips. Her eyes opened wide as she swallowed a mouthful and she took a deep breath. ‘Excellent punch, Mullins, if I do say so.’ She held the cup out for a second helping and a hint of pink tinged her pale cheeks.

By the time everyone had had their share, Flora had downed three cupfuls of hot buttered rum punch and she was exuding goodwill. ‘I’d like to have a tour of the house, Mullins,’ she said, rising to her feet. ‘Are you girls coming with me?’

Cassy glanced nervously at Farmer Mullins. She was not at all sure that he would welcome three women traipsing around his home, but he was nodding his head and smiling. ‘Splendid idea, ma’am. I’ll have Dora show you the house while I take the gentlemen round the farm. Then we’ll have a bite to eat afore I drive you home.’

Dora Cope turned out to be an elderly lady with white hair and a stick-thin body. She did not look as though she had the strength to raise a duster, let alone clean and polish such a large house, but her movements were sprightly and there was a martial sparkle in her eye when she addressed herself to Flora. They followed her from room to room, and Cassy could tell by her silence that Flora was impressed. She made no comment at all on the size and shape of the dining room, which boasted a refectory table large enough to seat twenty people, as well as a slightly rusting suit of armour perched precariously on a plinth by the stone fireplace. Neither had she anything to say about the enormous farmhouse kitchen. It was left to Belinda and Cassy to admire the sheen on the copper pots and pans and the cleanliness of the scrubbed pine table where luncheon was being prepared. A plump girl from the village was in the scullery peeling vegetables and the aroma of roasting beef made Cassy’s mouth water. Two apple pies with crusts glistening with sugar had been set aside to cool, and a bowl filled with eggs and a pitcher of warm cream hinted at custard waiting to be made.

The dairy was tacked on to the side of the house, and a quick scrutiny revealed equal attention to cleanliness and order. The milk churns shone like silver and the skimming ladles, ewers and butter churn were spotless. Cassy could imagine that any flies which dared to trespass into Dora’s domain would meet a swift and brutal end.

There was a smaller parlour on the far side of the kitchen and a room sparsely furnished with a desk and a chair and shelves lined with ledgers, which Dora explained up until now had been kept by a bookkeeper, but Mr Mullins was hoping to take over this task himself once the good lady had brought him up to scratch with his reading and writing. Numbers he could do, she added proudly. There wasn’t a man in Essex who could tot up figures like Farmer Mullins.

An inspection of the rooms upstairs revealed four good-sized bedrooms. Their exploration was interrupted by the scullery maid who raced upstairs puffing and panting to say that something was burning in the oven. Dora flew off after her flapping her arms like a demented crow, and she could be heard scolding the unfortunate creature all the way down the stairs until the sounds faded as they reached the kitchen. This left Belinda and Cassy free to examine the master bedchamber in greater detail, although Flora feigned lack of interest and perched on the edge of the four-poster bed complaining that it was too soft. Belinda opened the clothes press and marvelled at the neat array of flannel shirts, neckties, and starched white collars, presumably for Sunday best. She opened a drawer and closed it hastily, blushing rosily when she admitted that it contained undergarments and perhaps they should stop prying into Farmer Mullins’ private things. Cassy had lost interest in clothes and had picked up a small daguerreotype of a young woman with a merry face and laughing eyes. ‘How sad,’ she whispered. ‘This must be poor Emily, who died in childbirth. She looks such a lively soul too.’

‘Let me see.’ Flora had risen to her feet and come up behind them unnoticed. She snatched the frame from Cassy’s fingers. ‘Hmm, she looks common.’

‘Flora, how can you speak so of the dead?’ Belinda took it from her and placed it back on the chest of drawers amongst an untidy litter of cufflinks and collar studs.

‘I speak as I find,’ Flora said airily. ‘Anyway, I’ve seen enough of the house and I’m hungry. Let’s go downstairs and see if the woman can turn out a passable meal that won’t leave us all with bellyache.’

Cassy and Belinda exchanged despairing glances. ‘She’s determined to be difficult,’ Belinda whispered in Cassy’s ear as they followed Flora down the wide, shallow stairs.

‘I may be difficult,’ Flora snapped, ‘but I’m not deaf. I only came here on sufferance. I shan’t come again. Ever.’

Chapter Eighteen

The gaslight outside the parlour window glowed orange and blue before turning a golden yellow as the lamplighter did his bit to keep the night at bay. It was late afternoon and darkness was swallowing the city in great greedy gulps, but the parlour in Pedlar’s Orchard formed a warm cocoon around Cassy and Lottie as they sat by the fire.

‘Do you mean to tell me that the farmer has invited all of you for Christmas dinner?’ Lottie’s eyes shone with amusement.

‘He did. He asked Flora in front of me and Ma,’ Cassy said, giggling. ‘She was so taken aback that she gave in without a murmur and said yes.’

‘I’d love to have seen Mrs Brown lost for words. Tell me more about this budding romance between the grand lady and the farmer.’

This image made Cassy laugh outright. ‘Don’t be absurd, Lottie. Flora treats the poor man as if he were less than nothing as it is, and can you imagine her living in the country, let alone being a farmer’s wife?’

‘Stranger things have happened,’ Lottie said, tapping the side of her nose and grinning. ‘They say that opposites attract. Maybe she’s ready to take on husband number four.’

‘Number five, I think.’

‘Never.’

‘First there was Gunter, who was killed in a hunting accident,’ Cassy began counting them off on her fingers. ‘Second there was Captain Rivers who was lost during an expedition up the Amazon. I think some wild animal ate him or he died of a fever, I can’t remember which. Number three was Harcourt Fulford-Browne who died of apoplexy and number four was the Italian gigolo. You know all about Leonardo.’

‘Four husbands,’ Lottie said, shaking her head. ‘I doubt if I’ll even marry once.’

Cassy was about to shovel coal onto the fire in the parlour but she stopped, staring at her friend in surprise. ‘Why would you say that, or even think such a thing?’

Lottie shrugged her slender shoulders. ‘I’m what they call a bluestocking. Gentlemen don’t like clever women.’

‘Who told you that, Miss Solomon?’

Cassy turned with a start to see Oliver standing in the doorway. ‘Ollie, you shouldn’t be eavesdropping,’ she said, noting the flush that coloured Lottie’s cheeks. She could sense her friend’s embarrassment as if it were her own. The bond that they had developed during their school years was too strong to be broken now that they were approaching womanhood. She loved Lottie as if she were her own sister. ‘You should have said something,’ she added.

‘I did,’ Oliver retorted unabashed. ‘I said . . .’

‘I know what you said.’ Cassy cut him short. ‘What do you want anyway? I thought you were going to meet your friend Captain Peters.’

‘Not today, my sweet. Peters is attending some boring charity function in the City, run by an ex-army officer who set up a hospital for wounded soldiers or some such thing. He invited me to go, but it sounded deadly dull, although the ball this evening might prove entertaining. Anyway, I’m at a loose end at the moment and there’s nothing I’d enjoy more than to sit by the fire on a bleak December day and take afternoon tea with two beautiful young ladies.’

Lottie rose to her feet. ‘I really should go home. Pa will worry if I don’t get back before dark.’

Oliver held up his hand. ‘No, I insist that you take tea with us, Miss Solomon. I went out earlier and bought some muffins, which hopefully Mrs Wilkins will have toasted to perfection. You must stay and I will see you safely home later, if you agree.’

Lottie glanced at Cassy, her slanting black eyebrows raised in a silent question.

‘Yes, do stay,’ Cassy said, tossing coal onto the fire and clambering to her feet. ‘I’ll fetch the tea things while you chat to Oliver. Perhaps you can teach him some manners.’

‘I hear you’re training to be a doctor, Miss Solomon,’ Oliver said, motioning her to resume her seat. ‘I’m impressed by your courage and determination. I’d say if you were a fellow and a soldier, you’d make general before you were thirty.’

‘It might be easier than trying to break into the male world of the medical profession,’ Lottie said, smiling up at him.

Satisfied that peace was restored, Cassy left the room and made her way down the back stairs to the basement kitchen where she found Bailey and Freddie divesting themselves of their outdoor garments. ‘Is your friend still here?’ Bailey asked as he unwound Freddie’s muffler and draped it over a chair. ‘She’s a nice girl, Cass. Clever too.’

‘Lottie’s staying for tea. Ollie insisted on it, having embarrassed her so much that she was ready to leave there and then.’ Cassy took a plate of buttered muffins from the range where Mrs Wilkins had left them to keep warm. ‘We’ll miss these treats when you and Ollie go back to your regiment.’

‘It’s a crying shame they have to leave so soon,’ Mrs Wilkins said, placing the teapot and hot water jug on a large wooden tray. ‘It’s livened the place up having two young gentlemen to stay.’

‘You’re a brick, Mrs W,’ Bailey said, giving her a hug. ‘I’m going to adopt you to be my mother, and send you violets on Mothering Sunday, when I’m in England, of course.’

‘You and your soft soap,’ Mrs Wilkins said, chuckling. ‘Get on with you, Bailey. You’ll have forgotten about us the moment you set foot on that boat back to India.’

‘Never,’ he said, clutching his hand to his chest. ‘My heart will stay here in London with all of you.’ He was smiling but Cassy knew that he meant every word he said.

‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ she murmured. ‘And I wish this horrible war with the Afghans would end soon so that you can all come home.’ She picked up the tray, but Bailey took it from her hands.

‘Amen to that,’ he said softly. ‘I haven’t forgotten my promise to look after you, Cass.’

‘Me too,’ Freddie cried, grasping Bailey’s coat tails. ‘Don’t forget me.’

‘As if I would, young ’un. Go on ahead and open the door, and maybe there’s a poke of toffee in my pocket for you.’

‘You spoil that boy,’ Mrs Wilkins said in a sombre voice. ‘I dunno what he’ll do when you go. He’ll take it bad, mark my words.’ She slumped down on her chair by the range. ‘Wars,’ she muttered as they left the room. ‘It men’s madness.’

As they reached the top of the stairs, Bailey allowed Freddie to search for the toffees and he sent him back to the kitchen with a promise to read him a story after supper.

‘You do spoil him,’ Cassy said, smiling. ‘He really looks up to you, Bailey.’

‘He’s a good boy. I won’t let him down, nor you neither, Cass.’

‘We’ll be together some day soon, like a real family,’ she said softly. ‘When the war is over we’ll find a house and take in youngsters like Freddie, and give them a proper home. Not like old Biddy’s dreadful baby farm in Three Herring Court.’

‘Is that what you want? For us to be a family?’

‘Of course,’ she said, surprised. ‘It’s what we’ve always planned, isn’t it? You’re my dear brother and I love you, like always.’ She opened the door and preceded him into the parlour. ‘I hope Ollie hadn’t been boring you with army stories, Lottie.’

Lottie shook her head. ‘No, he’s been most entertaining.’ She glanced up at Bailey. ‘Is something wrong? You look as if you’ve lost a shilling and found sixpence.’

‘No, it’s nothing,’ Bailey said, curving his lips into an attempt at a smile. ‘I just realised that our leave is nearly over and we’ll be returning to the battlefield as soon as Christmas is out of the way.’

‘And we’re going to make the most of every minute,’ Oliver said, taking the plate of muffins and offering them to Lottie. ‘I say, I’ve just had a thought.’

‘There’s always a first time for everything,’ Cassy said, chuckling.

‘I’ll ignore that, miss.’ Oliver took a muffin before returning the plate to the tray. He bit into it chewing thoughtfully. ‘What say we take the girls to the charity ball, Moon?’

Bailey almost choked as he sipped his tea. ‘You’re joking.’

Oliver shook his head, his eyes bright with mischief. ‘Not at all. Peters gave me an open invitation, and we have two lovely young ladies with time on their hands. What about it, Miss Solomon, or may I call you Lottie?’

She shot a questioning glance at Cassy. ‘You may call me Lottie, but I really should be going home now.’

‘But you’d like to go to a ball, wouldn’t you?’ Oliver gave her his most disarming smile. ‘One might say it was your patriotic duty to accompany two gallant soldiers to a charity function.’

Cassy frowned. ‘That’s not fair, Ollie.’

‘War isn’t fair, my dear,’ Oliver said, adopting a sepulchral tone.

‘Hold on, sir,’ Bailey protested. ‘Perhaps Lottie doesn’t want to accompany you to the ball, and even more likely, her father might disapprove of such a jaunt.’

‘And I haven’t anything to wear,’ Cassy protested. ‘I’m not Cinderella. I haven’t got a fairy godmother to turn a pumpkin into a coach and conjure up a ball gown from nothing.’ She glanced over her shoulder as the door opened and her mother glided into the room.

‘What’s the matter?’ Belinda asked, eyeing them curiously. ‘It sounds as though you were having an argument. Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘You could produce two ball gowns, Belle,’ Oliver said lightly. ‘I wanted to take the girls to a charity ball this evening, but they say they haven’t anything to wear.’

Belinda smiled. ‘I think it’s a splendid idea. After all, Cassy, tomorrow is your birthday. I’ve been racking my brains trying to think of something we could do to celebrate, and this might be just the thing.’

‘But Ma, I can’t go in rags,’ Cassy said, lifting her skirt to demonstrate the patch just above the hem.

‘And I have nothing suitable,’ Lottie added. ‘I’d have to ask my pa, and I’m not certain he’d allow me to go.’

‘He might if I asked him,’ Belinda said thoughtfully. ‘As to the gowns, I have two that I couldn’t bear to leave behind in Duke Street. I was going to take them to the pawnshop so that I could buy Cassy a present for her seventeenth birthday, but I think this might be a better use for them.’

Cassy and Lottie exchanged eager glances. ‘It might be fun,’ Cassy whispered.

‘If your mother could speak to my pa, he might let me go.’

‘My dear Lady Belle, how can I refuse when you put it that way?’ Eli spoke with obvious sincerity. ‘You’ve been kind to my Charlotte, and I can’t deny her this chance to enjoy herself. She works so hard at her studies.’

‘I’m sure she does,’ Belinda agreed. ‘My stepson will look after her and bring her home when the ball is over.’ She sent a warning look to Cassy and Lottie as they whooped with delight.

‘Alas, they grow up too soon,’ Eli said, sighing. ‘I know my daughter must move on, but her leaving has left a gap in my life that only another parent could understand.’

Cassy shifted nervously from one foot to the other. She thought for a terrible moment that Mr Solomon was going to change his mind and withdraw his permission.

‘I do sympathise, Eli,’ Belinda said gently. ‘And we owe you a debt of gratitude for the way you took us into your home. I realise you might not celebrate Christmas as we do, but perhaps you could stretch a point and accompany us to Whitegate Farm in East Ham. Mr Mullins has invited all of us to join him for Christmas dinner, and I know he would be only to happy if you and your daughter would join us.’

‘Oh, please say yes, Pa,’ Lottie said clapping her hands. ‘I’ve never visited the countryside, and I don’t have to return to my studies until after Christmas.’

Eli took Belinda’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘You’re very kind, Lady Belle. We would be happy to accept, providing the gentleman has no objections.’

‘I’m sure he won’t mind. And can I take it that Lottie is allowed to go to the ball? It is a sort of birthday present for Cassy, after all.’

‘Please say yes, Pa,’ Lottie urged. ‘I’ll work twice as hard when I get back to my studies.’

Eli took off his glasses and polished the lenses on a scrap of cloth. Without them he looked suddenly small and defenceless. Cassy had to resist the urge to give him a hug. He nodded his head. ‘Go and enjoy yourself with my blessing, dear one.’

Outside in the street, Bailey was waiting for them in a hackney carriage. ‘How did it go?’

‘Pa said yes,’ Lottie cried excitedly. ‘I’m allowed to go to the ball, and we’ve been invited to join you for Christmas at the farm.’

‘I do hope Farmer Mullins doesn’t mind,’ Belinda said, climbing into the cab with Bailey’s assistance. She arranged her skirts around her, making room on the seat for Cassy. ‘I felt so sorry for poor Eli, left on his own. He needs a good woman to look after him when you are at your studies, Lottie, but you can’t give your life up for your father, it wouldn’t do at all. You’re destined for great things, my dear.’

‘I don’t know,’ Lottie said doubtfully. ‘Being a bluestocking isn’t much fun. The male medical students either tease me or ignore me. They’ve made it quite plain that they resent my being there.’

‘All the more reason to stick to your guns,’ Bailey said firmly. ‘You’ll show them, Lottie. I know you will.’

An hour after they arrived back in Pedlar’s Orchard, Cassy and Lottie descended the narrow staircase to find Oliver and Bailey resplendent in their uniforms and eager to be off.

‘Cassy, you look absolutely spiffing,’ Oliver said enthusiastically.