Daughter of Dark River Farm (24 page)

‘She’s not a toy,’ McKrevie snapped, ‘and you’re too old to be gushing over a stranger’s child, Louise. If you had one of your own you wouldn’t need to.’

‘It’s not my fault you frighten everyone away!’ Louise snapped, and stood up, smoothing down her dress. ‘No wonder Mother refused to come down with us. I’m going out for a walk.’ She turned to her sister. ‘Are you coming?’

The younger girl sent me an apologetic shrug, and followed Louise from the room. I saw McKrevie watching them with a look of exasperated affection on his face that was wiped away as soon as he turned back to me.

I bent and picked up the clothes Frank had found for Amy, and put them back in her bag. ‘Am I to understand that, despite what Father Steven said, you’re not—’

‘Don’t use that tone with me, girl,’ McKrevie said. ‘And it’s got nothing to do with Father Steven. This is
my
house, not his, and I won’t have you making me out to be the one at fault.’ He sat back in his chair and regarded me calmly. ‘Furthermore, I don’t believe that child has any connection with you, and I don’t believe you’re trying to find her a home because you’re going out to France, either.’

‘Belgium,’ I said. I thought back to my first few nights at our little ambulance station, Number Twelve. ‘I’m going to be attached to a unit just outside Dixmude. You can call and check in a few days, if you like. Ask to speak to a Captain Buchanan. My name is Katherine Maitland. You can describe me.’ I held my head up and let McKrevie have a good look, but I knew all he’d remember would be ‘short, plumpish and red-headed.’ It would be enough; Archie would realise something was afoot, and would back up my story even if he didn’t understand it.

I felt a twist of longing for him that hurt, and turned away from McKrevie so those shrewd eyes would not spot any of the pain in my face. ‘I don’t know what you think I’d have gained by—’

‘Gained? What I think you’d have gained, girl, is the right to call back in a week, or a month, or even a year, when that child is firmly established under my roof, and in the hearts of my family, and demand some kind of payment for letting her remain here. And you know you’d get it.’

I saw how it looked then, and my resentment fled. ‘I understand. You’re wrong, but I understand. I won’t trouble you any further, Mr McKrevie. Thank you for hearing my request.’

He stood up. ‘Cardew will show you out.’ Then, to my surprise, he held out his hand. ‘Perhaps your motives are pure after all, in which case I wish you and the child well. But you must understand I cannot open my house to every waif and orphan that comes calling. And many do, especially since the war started.’

I shook the hand he offered, remaining cool by reminding myself he’d just turned us out without any idea that I had anywhere else to go. But I did have somewhere. I would take Amy to Dark River as I’d planned, and we would look after her until Frank had found the means to take her away somewhere…anywhere. She couldn’t go back to her mother, to that life. It would be no life at all.

I was almost at the park, and wondering how Frank would feel when he saw his daughter again—he was sure to have mixed emotions—when I heard a timid voice just behind me.

‘Miss?’ I turned to see the McKrevie girls, looking a little embarrassed, but quite friendly.

I nodded in greeting, and smiled. ‘Don’t worry. I quite understand your grandfather’s position. We’re strangers to him.’

‘Aye, he’s not a bad man,’ Louise said. ‘I think, because of his job, and the house, people think he’s richer than he is. But it’s an old family home. We’re no that rich really.’

‘What is it your grandfather does?’ I didn’t like to ask about their father; he would be fighting age.

The girls looked at each other, and I saw Louise give a tiny shake of her head. With my thoughts on Archie, the first thing that came into my mind was secret war work, but that wouldn’t have made sense, if people were trading on his job to coax favours. It wasn’t my business though, and I could feel Amy tugging at my hand—she’d seen the open parkland just ahead.

‘Thank you for speaking up for me,’ I said to the younger girl. I realised they’d not been introduced by name, but it didn’t matter now.

‘But where will ye go?’ She sounded genuinely concerned, and I bit my lip. The lie was in danger of spiralling too far; Amy was sure to run to Frank as soon as she saw him, and the love he held for her would be impossible to hide.

‘I’m going to meet my brother,’ I said. ‘He’s been helping me care for Amy since he came home from France.’

‘A soldier?’ Louise asked, and I saw the familiar flash of excitement I saw everywhere, in girls who’d had no experience of the truth of war.

‘Yes. He lost an arm, so if you come along please don’t stare.’

‘Och, I’ll no trespass on your time with your brother,’ Louise said. ‘And you shouldn’t either, Helen,’ she added. ‘Come away now. It’s been nice meeting you, miss,’ she said to me, ‘and I wish you well.’

‘I don’t want to come back yet,’ Helen said. ‘Might I please walk with you a while, miss?’

I fought down a frustrated groan, and made myself smile. ‘Of course.’

‘I’ll be home in a wee while,’ she said to Louise. ‘Dinna look at me like that; I’m no going to embarrass myself.’

Amy let go of my hand the moment her feet touched the grass, and she looked up at me, her eyes huge in her pale little face.

‘Why it’s as if she’s never seen grass before,’ Helen said, as Amy stooped to pat the ground with a bemused but fascinated expression.

‘She’s lived in the city all her life,’ I said. ‘Run along, Amy. It’s all right; I’m right behind you.’

‘Amy!’ A man’s voice cut across the space between us and a bench several yards away, and I looked up to see Frank scooping her up, the expected mingling of happiness and disappointment on his face. He looked over at me, and I knew I had to stop him from saying anything, but before I could speak, the McKrevie girl shielded her eyes and pointed with her closed parasol.

‘Is that your suitcase?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is your uniform in there? She asked, looking interested. I wondered if another year or two of war would see her going out there herself. She seemed to have too much energy to be cooped up at home.

I shook my head. ‘No, we’ll get those when we arrive.’ More lies, but I took solace in the fact that I
had
served, at least. ‘Anyway,’ I said briskly, ‘time is getting away from me, and we have to catch a train.’

‘Where will you go?’ she asked again.

‘I have one more hope of a place for Amy; Evie told me of a kind lady in Devon.’ As I spoke the words I felt the longing for it sweep through me, so fierce it was an ache. ‘Dark River Farm, near Plymouth.’

‘Plymouth!’ she exclaimed, then blushed. ‘Is it pretty there?’

‘The moors aren’t what you’d call pretty, but it’s certainly as beautiful as parts of Scotland, I should think. Very dramatic, and quite bleak in places.’ I picked up my suitcase.

‘I miss Scotland,’ she said. ‘Mother won’t leave it, and Grandfather says we’ll all maybe go back there to live someday.’

‘Why are you living with him, anyway?’

‘His health wasn’t too good for a little while, and Mother thought it would help to have someone living in, since he can’t seem to keep a housekeeper for more than a month.’

Small wonder, if the way he’d spoken to me was any indication. ‘Do you like it here?’

‘I like it better than Glasgow,’ she said. ‘And Grandfather’s no so bad as he seems. I miss my father though.’

‘Is he away fighting?’ I asked gently.

She looked at me steadily, then glanced around to make sure no-one was listening. ‘No. He’s a…a conscientious objector. He’s at the Princetown Work Centre on Dartmoor. Used to be the prison, aye?’

‘I know it,’ I said slowly, astonished that she would tell me, a relative stranger, such a grim family snippet. That explained her reaction to my telling her where I was going. I searched for a way to take the sad look from her face. ‘They work outside, you know, on the moors. And they’re not locked away like prisoners.’
Like Oli
.

‘Oh, aye, I know. I’m no worrit about him. It’s just…people say things, you know? He’s no a coward though. He’s what they call an absolutist: willnae do a stroke of work that’ll further the war effort.’

‘And how do you feel about that?’ I asked. My tone had become sharp. ‘When you see brave men like him—’ I nodded at Frank ‘—who might be pleased of some help. Soldiers, who would welcome someone who’s safely tucked away at home to make them strong boots to keep out the mud. That wouldn’t be a bad thing, surely?’

‘Nowhere’s safe,’ Helen said, echoing Frank’s words. Her eyes went to the skies and I felt a familiar shiver of fear; the air raids had changed of late, but not for the better; there fewer of those ugly, cigar-shaped Zeppelins now, and more bomber aircraft—only a short while ago an enemy attack on the Milwall Docks had gone shockingly awry, and had hit a nearby school instead. Eighteen children had died; few of them had been over the age of six. I looked over at Amy and my heart clenched tighter; already I knew I would be ready to kill for her.

‘They bombed Edinburgh in April, you know,’ Helen said, and then repeated, more quietly, ‘Nowhere’s safe.’

‘But we’re safer here than out there,’ I pointed out, ‘and those boys don’t ask much of us. It’s our duty to do what we can for them.’

Helen bit her lip. ‘If my father willnae do anything that’ll help to kill another human being, surely he can’t be held to account for that? He didnae choose the war.’

‘So he stays here, helping no-one.’ All I could think about was the men I’d nursed, those who’d died, and those who were maimed… The war marched on, and the boys fell, and this girl’s father spent his days breaking rocks. ‘I really should go,’ I said, disappointed at the way the conversation had turned sour. ‘Thank you again.’

‘I hope the Devon lady takes yon wee girl in,’ she said, nodding at Amy, who was coming towards us with a handful of daisies. She looked at me again. ‘He’s no a coward,’ she repeated, and I touched her arm in mute apology for my harshness.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Not many people understand. At least you’re not one of those women who can’t pass a man of fighting age in the street wi’out handing out judgement along wi’ their white feathers.’

‘It’s just…I’ve seen…’ I gave up and shook my head. ‘You’re right. I don’t understand, but that doesn’t make it wrong, I suppose. I hope you see your father again soon.’

‘And I hope you see the one you’re missing.’

‘Missing?’

She smiled then, and seemed older, even older than her sister. ‘The one hidin’ in your head, makin’ you want to be fighting at his side,’ she said. ‘There is one, aye?’

‘Yes,’ I managed, my throat suddenly tight. ‘How did you know?’

‘Because of the way ye looked when ye talked about fighting men, and what they need from us. Has he been away long?’

‘Since the start.’ I wiped furiously at the tears that had sprung to my eyes. ‘His name’s Archie. He’s a Scot, too.’

‘Then he’ll be fierce when he has to be, and careful when he must,’ she said. ‘You’d better get your train. It was nice meetin’ you, Miss Maitland.’

‘And you,’ I said, getting myself under control again with an effort. I watched her walk away, back to the grand house that wasn’t a home, and turned my thoughts away from Archie with difficulty and reluctance.

‘Well,’ I said to Frank as he drew level. ‘I tried.’

‘Yes,’ he said, and let go of Amy’s hand so he could touch mine. ‘I’m grateful; don’t think I’m not.’

‘But?’ I looked at him warily.

‘But I don’t know that I can let her go. Not all that way.’

I couldn’t believe it. His face was tightly drawn, his mouth a thin line and his eyes cast down, away from mine. He had the most determined look on his face I’d ever seen, yet I could sense in him the longing to be convinced.

‘Mr Markham,’ I said gently, instead of giving him the sharp truths that sprang to my lips, ‘please think about what you’re saying. If Amy stays here, with you, it will only be a matter of time before Ruth sends her…’ I cast about for the word, but failed to find it ‘…her
men
, up here. She can give them an address. They’ll take her. You know they will.’ I gestured to his left arm, not liking myself for drawing attention to it, but there was no help for it. ‘You’ve said yourself, you can’t properly care for her, so how will you protect her?’

‘I…I don’t…’ He took a short, ragged breath, then looked at me, finally. ‘I’ll find somewhere.’

‘Look, let me take her just for a little while. Until you do find somewhere. You’d be welcome to come and visit her at any time, and you’ll see she’s in a wonderful, wonderful place. She’ll love it. I promise you.’

He wavered. ‘And it’s a proper farm?’

I smiled. ‘It’s a proper farm. With cows and sheep and chickens. And even a pony and trap. I’ll give you the address.’ I saw both relief and acceptance in his face, and took his arm. ‘Come on, we need to find the time of the next train to Plymouth.’

Frank paid for the tickets, although I still had the money Evie had given me. ‘Keep it. You may find yourselves hungry later.’

Gratefully, I slipped the money back into my purse; in truth I hadn’t even considered food; I’d had enough—put quietly into my bag by Mrs Hannah—for the trip back to Devon, but Amy and I had shared that on our way to Blackpool. We had another hour to wait for the train, and I told Frank he needn’t wait, but he insisted.

We sat in the waiting room, Amy clutching her spoon and oblivious to the smiles she drew from the other waiting passengers, and Frank withdrawing further and further into himself as the minutes ticked by. He’d only known her for a week, but it was easy to see how she had become part of his life already; she felt like part of mine after only a few hours.

Seeing Frank’s returning doubts, I began to talk to Amy about where she was going, and what she would see. ‘Lots of animals,’ I said. I had guessed, by now, that she was a long way behind in her development—she was more like a toddler. ‘Do you like animals?’

‘Mulls?’

‘Like sheep. Ba-a-a-a. Do you know what a sheep is?’ She shook her head doubtfully. ‘They’re white, and woolly, and a little bit silly. They live in the fields and give us their wool to make our clothes. Warm and cosy.’ I snuggled her close and she giggled, and I looked at her in amazement; it was the first time, apart from when I’d reached for her spoon, that I’d seen anything but blank acceptance of her surroundings on her face. A glance at Frank told me I was actually making things worse; her laughter hurt him, knowing he had no idea when he might hear it again. I cleared my throat, and sat Amy upright again so I could watch her face.