Maggie's Girl (10 page)

Daisy hardly felt the arm her younger daughter slipped round her. She longed suddenly, desperately, to run outside, and carry
on running, until she'd outpaced every terrible thing that had occurred over the last few hours.

She wanted Castle Maine, damaged though it was. She longed for its hills and valleys, the big bright meadow full of flowers, and the sun climbing high over the factory.

She was a Derbyshire lass. Home was where she belonged, not here, with all this terrible uncertainty.

‘Shall we go back?' Mary said quietly. ‘I want to know how Maggie is.'

And Daisy took her hand.

‘Silas, a terrible thing has happened …'

There was something badly wrong, Silas could hear that in Adèle's voice.

‘What is it now?'

He'd washed and changed, eaten a hasty breakfast and then come straight to his study to try to find building materials, ringing the length and breadth of Derbyshire.

Imagine having to apply for permission to rebuild a factory producing for the war effort! Blast Hitler!

‘Maggie,' Adèle said. ‘The girl who helped Nanny, remember?'

‘Of course I remember!' Silas knew something bad was coming. ‘What is it, Adèle, for heaven's sake?'

His wife's hands twisted in agitation.

‘She was caught up in the second blast.'

Her words shocked him to the core. He half rose, then sat down again heavily.

‘Tell me!'

‘It sounds bad, Silas. They've taken her to the General. Stamps thought I – we – ought to know. They're full of it downstairs!'

Silas drew in his breath and wiped his hand over his face, waiting as patiently as he could for things to stop looking blurred. Then he sprang up.

‘Tell me it's not true.' He stared down into her face. Adèle was able to watch his feelings in his eyes, and suddenly realised …

‘You know!' she said, just before he spoke. ‘You know about Maggie!' Her hands flew to her face.

Oh, Lord, how was he to get out of this?

‘I've no idea what you mean.' He sank back into his chair. ‘You're not making the slightest sense, woman.'

‘I'm making perfect sense!'

He threw her a long hard look, and knew there was no point in further denial.

Their eyes locked, full of sadness, pain, regret for all the things that might have been, if only they'd been honest with each other from the start.

‘How did you find out?' His hands were over his face.

‘Did you think I wouldn't know my own?' Adèle was shocked. ‘I saw it when Holly was a babe in her mother's arms! She's the spit of Ned, and so is Harry.'

‘What a waste, Adèle.' His hands fell away. It was his first, his only thought.

‘There's no time for this now.' Adèle, practical as ever. ‘Maggie's our grandchild, Silas. We must go to her. I want to know how she is.'

‘And you think I don't? I'll tell Stokes to bring the car.'

Adèle opened the door.

‘We'll say we were just passing. We're looking in to see if they need help. It would be the most natural thing, after all. Maggie cared for John all those years!'

Silas's face turned brick-red.

‘Be hanged to that!' he snapped. ‘I want my grandchild, Adèle. I have every right to see her! I've been cheated long enough.'

Good had to come of this, despite the desperate
circumstances
! The girl was strong, she'd recover, she must.

The one obstacle in his path had just been removed. Adèle knew about Maggie. No one on earth was going to stop him laying claim to Ned's daughter now.

Daisy, sitting at her daughter's side, was almost overcome by the smell of antiseptic, which she hated. The atmosphere in the narrow ward, with its neat line of beds, was warm and cloying, and contained something else, too – fear. She could almost smell it.

There were folk here who'd never expected to see the inside of a hospital ward. This wasn't anything like the time Peter had been in here for his leg operation.

She'd managed finally to persuade the rest of the family to take a break – Peter, with the children, back to their temporary digs in Nottingham; Billy home to Castle Maine, with Mary to look after him – but not until she'd promised faithfully to
telephone
news as soon as she had any.

They were all dead on their feet. Sleep was no longer a luxury, but a necessity. Peter was coming to relieve her later, but for now, her eldest child belonged to Daisy alone.

She leaned carefully towards the bed, watching the
motionless
figure of her first-born.

‘Oh, Maggie. Maggie, lass!'

Maggie's eyes were closed, her hands folded on the top sheet just as when they'd brought her in. One foot dangled from a hoist, and there was a kind of frame under the blankets, lifting the weight of the bedclothes.

Maggie was deathly pale; a large bruise covered the side of her head. One hand was bandaged. She looked as if she was sleeping peacefully …

Daisy brushed away tears, ashamed of her weakness. She had to be strong for Maggie's sake. She reached for the unbandaged hand, trying with all her will to transfer some of that strength.

‘I wish things were better between us, Maggie,' she murmured, as if her daughter could hear. And then the words began to pour out; all the things she should have said long since, if only she hadn't been so pig-headed. Well, if only they both hadn't. Maggie was too like her.

‘If only Dad hadn't told you about Ned, my darling … I should have been the one who told you! I always meant to. I was just too scared, I suppose, too ashamed. Yet I know sure as anything you'd never have been ashamed of me!'

Maggie had never forgiven her for it, either. That wretched thought, on top of the whole night's calamitous events, proved too much. Daisy Bridges laid her head down on the pillow beside her daughter's and wept as if her heart would break.

‘Don't take on, Daisy please …'

‘Doctor Hardaker! I didn't see you.' She sprang up guiltily. ‘I wish there was something I could do!'

‘Take a break. Go for a walk!' he urged. ‘The fresh air will do you a power of good. I'll keep an eye on things here.' His voice was soothing, calming, exactly what she needed to hear.

She paused as she turned.

‘You'll call me if …'

‘I'll call you!'

She nodded curtly and walked briskly away, not looking back.

As the ward doors shut Andrew stood at Maggie's bedside. He felt for the inside of her wrist with his fingers. The faint pulse steadied him, and he straightened the covers. Turning to leave, he was puzzled. His every instinct pulled him back towards the bed.

Something extraordinary had happened – was happening; it caught his breath, almost bowling him over.

He loved her! Why had it taken him so long to recognise it? He'd always loved her … Maggie lay at death's door, but he was filled with a crazy joy.

‘You've come to your senses. I see, Doctor – and about time, too!' Sister Aspen materialised suddenly at the other side of the bed. Had he spoken out loud? Or had she merely read his thoughts?

‘I don't know what you mean.'

Sister's eyebrows rose fractionally, and he knew there was no point in denying it. She saw everything that went on in her precious ward, and she'd seen through him.

‘You should tell her how you feel,' she murmured.

‘But how can I?' he cried. ‘We don't even know yet if …'

He couldn't bring himself to say it.

‘She's a strong girl,' Sister answered briskly, ‘and she's always been a fighter. She'll pull through, God willing.'

He lifted the chart at the end of the bed. He couldn't bear to see the pity in Sister's eyes. It would have undone him completely.

‘She's involved with someone else – they were on the point of getting married,' he muttered wretchedly. ‘He was killed in the blast. I can hardly trouble her with my feelings now …'

He returned the chart to the end of the bed, and his pen to his pocket.

He felt the fleeting touch of a hand on his arm. When he looked round, Sister Aspen was staring down at Maggie in a way that would have amazed her if only she'd been awake.

‘Work's the answer, Andrew,' she said softly.

‘I'm thinking of joining up,' he blurted out. ‘I feel I must do something more to help. There's a war on, I can't ignore it!'

‘You're needed here!' she retorted sharply. There again, he'd hardly expected an enthusiastic response. She cared about her hospital.

‘I can't be in two places at once!' he muttered.

‘I'd advise you to think hard.'

‘I have no choice!'

He stared at Sister Aspen. He couldn't hide his feelings for Maggie any longer, but the war had given him good reason to get away.

‘Oh, Maggie, my dear!' For once, Adèle's guard slipped. She hurried over to the bed and took firm hold of Maggie's
work-worn
hand. Her own hands had never known a day's hard labour in her life, but it didn't seem to matter.

This was her grandchild, and she loved her dearly. Why should she deny it? Just for this one precious moment, she would deny herself nothing.

She sank down in the chair, oblivious of the curious glances from the rest of the ward, her whole being centred on the woman in this narrow hospital bed.

‘Is she asleep, Silas? Oh, my darling, wake up!'

Silas came to stand at the foot of the bed.

‘Of course she's not asleep! She's unconscious – she can't hear you.'

He might have saved his breath.

‘How much she reminds me of Ned! It's in every line of her face! Silas, look, can't you see it, too?'

He sighed, so deeply that Adèle's head shot up. Her face
softened
.

Poor Silas!

‘It's all right, dear. I know we've never been able to
acknowledge
her, but just this once, we're visiting, why shouldn't we? She is our grandchild and she's had an accident.'

All the years they'd missed, the consolation they might have found, taunted her. She averted her head, not wanting Silas to see her tears.

‘I'm past pretence, Adèle.' He turned to look about the ward.

‘Where's the blasted doctor? Where's Hardaker? Is she to be left on her own, unattended?'

‘What are you doing here?' a low voice enquired.

Daisy was back, gazing at them both, anguish in her face.

Adèle let go of Maggie's hand.

‘I have every right to be here!' Silas growled.

How dare this woman put him in the wrong! It made him all the more belligerent, and Daisy, seeing it, was filled with dread.

Silas Bradshaw knew everything there was to know about her and Ned! Hot colour flooded her face.

‘You promised you'd never tell him.' She turned to Adèle, her voice full of reproach. ‘How long has he known?'

‘That's the second occasion someone's asked me that today,' Silas said drily.

‘I deserve an answer.' She straightened her back.

The words already forming in Silas's defence died on Adèle's lips, as she caught a sudden movement from the bed.

Maggie's hand had moved … Or had she imagined it? Was she getting so desperate she was beginning to see things?

‘Quiet, the pair of you,' she snapped, and they turned to look at her.

She stared hard at Maggie's hands, praying it would happen again. Adèle went to church, but often because she had to. She didn't often pray, but now—

Her eyes widened. One finger had moved.

And then Maggie's hand moved upwards before fluttering back down. Her eyelids were flickering.

Adèle's cry of delight rang out just as Maggie's eyes sprang open.

‘Mam? What's happened?' She gazed round in shocked surprise.  

‘M
aggie Bates! You've been told to rest,' Daisy warned, coming down from making the beds to catch her daughter hobbling across the room with the paper in her hand.

‘Give over, Mam!' Maggie eased herself into the chair. ‘I'm a nurse, remember. Fetching the newspaper's not taxing my strength.'

She was smiling, Daisy was happy to see, and had some colour about her face.

If it hadn't been for that second operation to set her ankle right, Daisy believed she'd be well on the road to recovery by now.

Physically, at least. She tipped the last of the potatoes Peter had dug this morning into the sink. The mental scars were
something
else.

It was over three months now since the raid on Castle Maine, and on the surface things were back to normal.

Maggie was home, and Daisy was looking after them all. It was anyone's guess how she managed to juggle work, two houses and two fractious grandchildren, never mind their even more fractious mother!

‘Have you had a chance to have a talk to Holly yet?' she said over her shoulder.

‘I don't need to talk to her, Mam. She's not joining the ATS, and that's that!'

It wasn't like Maggie to be so adamant. Usually she went her children's way whenever possible – making up for Hughie's absence, Daisy supposed. She filled the potato pan and turned back towards the room, keeping her tone deliberately light.

‘I think you might at least talk to her, love.'

‘Schooling's more important,' Maggie retorted. ‘She'll never get a second chance.'

‘She'll never have a second chance at doing something useful, either.' Daisy cursed herself, too late. Why couldn't she keep a civil tongue in her head?

‘I want more for her than factory work,' Maggie muttered, rattling the paper.

Now they were getting to it!

‘More than I gave you, you mean?' Daisy took a deep breath and swallowed her rising anger.

‘This war won't go on for ever, love. Holly wants to do
something
, and you can't blame her. Be careful, or she'll end up resenting you.'

‘When she grows up with the chance of a good job and the qualifications to do it with, she'll thank me. She's stubborn, Mam! She'll grow out of it.'

That was true enough. Daisy dug the peeler into a deep-set eye. It was on the tip of her tongue to say she knew where she'd got it from.

She finished peeling the rest of the potatoes, then lit the gas and moved the pan across.

If only her relationship with her own daughter was better! Since the explosion, Maggie had grown even more reserved, exposing a growing brittleness.

‘We'll have a bit of dinner shortly.'

‘I'm not hungry, Mam.'

The usual response. It seemed Maggie couldn't be bothered with food. No wonder she'd lost weight.

Sensing her mother's thoughts, Maggie folded the paper and gave up even the pretence of reading. She'd been unable to concentrate on anything for long. There was little she could do, bar sewing or helping Harry with his homework. She couldn't stand for five minutes unaided.

‘I wish I could get back to work, Mam,' she fretted.

‘You will, love! Give it time.'

Maggie settled back in her chair, trying to ignore the
throbbing
in her ankle. If only she could return to work she could forget, doing something useful for a change!

Sometimes, even now, she forgot, and expected to see Tony come striding up the path …

‘Love, you are all right, aren't you?'

Daisy, drying her hands on the tea-cloth, was looking worried. If only Maggie could tell her how she really felt – but lately she just couldn't talk to her mother. And there was no one else. Andrew Hardaker had left to join the RAMC – the one person in the world she could say anything to! Maggie had never felt so lonely.

‘Tony deserved better than me, Mam.'

She'd said it.

‘Who could he have had better than you?' Daisy was perplexed. ‘You'd only to see the way he was with you.'

Maggie shook her head.

‘No, Mam. Tony loved me, but I took him for granted. He asked me to marry him, and I turned him down.'

Maggie wished immediately she'd kept that to herself. She could see her mother was shocked. 

If Maggie had guessed what was going to happen just after she'd told him, would she still have turned him down?

Her pain must have shown in her eyes, for Daisy's hand reached out towards her helplessly.

‘There's more.' Maggie ploughed on, needing to get this out into the open.

‘We fell out when I told him. The last thing he ever said to me was I'd never got over losing Hughie.' Her voice rose in anguish.

‘He was right, Mam! I haven't. It was a dreadful thing I did, leaving Tony hanging on!'

‘He wouldn't have wanted you remembering that, and nothing else,' her mother told her. ‘Think of all the good times you had!'

‘Why Tony, Mam? What had he done wrong?' She was demanding an answer to the unanswerable, and Maggie knew it.

‘It must be me,' she finished quietly. ‘First Hughie, then Tony. I'm not safe to be with!'

At last the healing tears began to fall. Daisy crossed the kitchen and knelt to draw her daughter's unyielding body into her arms.

Then there came a sharp rap on the door. Cursing the untimely interruption, Daisy went to see who it was.

Silas Bradshaw stood uneasily on her doorstep, his two broad hands resting on the walking stick that had become so much a part of him.

‘Daisy. May I come in?'

She stood back to let him through. This wasn't entirely
unexpected
– Adèle had been to see Maggie several times since she'd come home, and mentioned Silas might come up.

‘He isn't as bad as you think, Daisy. Losing the boys has much to answer for the way he is.' 

Daisy understood what losing both sons to a senseless war must have done to both the Bradshaws. Now he was here, but what timing. Just when Maggie had opened up for once.

‘Ah, there you are, Maggie! I was just passing; I thought I'd call.'

As an attempt at joviality, it failed miserably. Maggie sat up quickly, kneading the palms of her hands against her eyes, her distress still clearly visible.

‘Would you care for a cup of tea?' Daisy forced herself to speak civilly, because this was Maggie's grandfather – a fact now out in the open, whether she wished it or not.

‘Thank you, but I'm not staying,' Silas answered. ‘Are you sure you're quite well, Maggie?'

‘Well enough, thanks.' How cold she sounded. She eased her damaged leg from the footstool, and stood up.

She knew he meant well, but she couldn't forget she'd once been nothing more than a servant in his house, and now he wanted to pretend none of it had happened. He wanted to lay claim to her.

The look she threw his way was anything but welcoming. How could she ever feel for him an iota of what she'd felt for Gramps?

‘I have things to do upstairs.'

She reached for the stick resting against the chair, but Silas got to it first and held it out. She took it from him silently and hobbled away, leaving him to stare after her retreating back.

An embarrassed silence fell as they listened to Maggie's awkward gait manoeuvring up the stairs.

‘You can't blame her!' Daisy blurted out. ‘It's a hard thing for her to accept. I should have told her about her father – long before now.'

If the confession surprised her, it seemed to surprise Silas, too.

‘You must have had your reasons. It couldn't have been easy.' His gaze swung back to her.

‘I didn't make it easy,' he added.

‘You certainly didn't!' Daisy was stung by thoughts of how difficult this man had made things.

‘You didn't make it easy for your son, either.'

She would have recalled the words, but the damage was done. Silas was hurt, she could see.

‘I – I loved him,' she mumbled. The realisation of how much she'd loved Ned Bradshaw washed over her anew. ‘I really did love him.'

‘Aye, I suppose you did.'

‘There was no suppose about it,' Daisy snapped.

Silas's hand momentarily gripped the edge of the table.

‘It may surprise you, but the fact you loved him and he loved you happens to be something I'm grateful for! I'm pleased my boy had a little comfort in his life before—'

‘Comfort! Is that what it was?'

Talking about Ned had brought back things she'd rather not think about, even after all this long time. How dare this pompous old man sit in her father's kitchen and talk to her of comfort, when scant comfort he'd afforded either of them?

‘I put it badly.' Silas saw she was upset, and paused, collecting his thoughts.

‘Confound it, woman! Do you want me to spell it out? I'm pleased Ned found someone to love. You gave him happiness, and I'm grateful for it.

‘How could I regret anything that brought Maggie into the world? She's my grandchild!'

The fact of saying it out loud seemed to give him great
satisfaction
. His head, with its white mop of hair, nodded rapidly.

‘I only wish something had come of it long before now,' he added.

‘Aye, well, if wishes were horses. Perhaps we all do.'

They watched each other curiously, a little warily, shocked at how much they had revealed.

Silas recollected himself first, reaching for his stick.

‘I've a lot to do. I'll call again when she's not so busy?'

Was that what he called it? Daisy nodded. But Ned's father had shown her a side to his nature this morning she hadn't guessed at till now. Who would have thought Silas Bradshaw would be soft as butter inside?

‘You must be busy,' she said. ‘You've a lot on with the factory?'

Even Silas Bradshaw couldn't hold back time, and she saw how cautiously he got to his feet.

‘They're getting on with it!' he said. ‘I've rented a warehouse in Amberside. The machines are up and running. I bus the workers in and out.'

‘So I've heard.' She looked at him thoughtfully. The man was worn out.

‘You're doing too much,' she said daringly, and was
astonished
to see a twinkle in those piercing eyes.

‘Nonsense, woman!'

At a noise from upstairs, he glanced up.

‘Give her time! She'll come round,' Daisy said gently.

Bidding her a brief ‘Good morning', Silas let himself out of the house. She watched him hobble off down the path. He stopped at the gate, his hand gripping the gatepost. Was he ill? Feeling faint?

In the time it took her to wonder if she should run down, he'd pulled himself upright and walked stiffly on towards the car.

Stokes opened the passenger door, Silas eased himself inside, and the car rolled smoothly away.

He must have been all right.

Daisy sniffed. What was that burning? The potatoes! She turned and rushed inside.

The bus swung to the far side of the road, slowing as it passed the Home Guard platoon. The driver stuck out a cheery thumb, and at the platoon's head, Peter Bridges saluted smartly.

As the men receded into the distance, Holly Bates lifted her head from the back seat.

That had been a close call! If Granddad had spotted her he'd have been straight to Gran, and then wouldn't she have been for it. Bunking off school was a hanging offence in Gran's eyes – never mind what her mam was going to say when she
discovered
her only daughter had upped and joined the ATS!

A bubble of laughter rose in Holly's throat. Stretching out slender legs, she lay back in the seat, dwelling on the agreeable thought of how grown up she'd look in uniform. Not a child any more, but a woman, with a mind of her own! A mind to leave school and do something useful with her life.

And serve her mam right, too. There was a war on.

Little stone villages interspersed with endless stretches of fresh green countryside puttered by the window. Any other time, she might have enjoyed her jaunt, but today she was only relieved when the bus finally jolted into Derby bus station.

She went to the ladies' cloakroom to change into the fitted skirt and blouse she'd brought with her.

Lipstick – yes, that would do. She dropped her bag, with her
school uniform inside it, at the left luggage office, crossed the road and walked smartly up St Peter's Street.

Past the church, and here was the recruitment office on the Spot. She ground to a halt – she hadn't expected to be nervous.

‘Are you going in or not?'

A boy of roughly her own age was watching her curiously.

‘Of course I'm going in!' she declared huffily. ‘I'm joining up.'

‘Are you sure you're old enough?' He leaned against the door frame, arms folded, disbelieving. He had dark curly hair, wide, long-lashed eyes, and film star good looks.

‘I'm twenty!' Holly heard herself saying.

‘I believe you.'

He so obviously didn't that she could have slapped him.

‘I'm joining up today.' His eyes were sparkling with mischief. ‘Take you for a cup of tea afterwards to celebrate?'

There was no mistaking the admiration in his voice, and at any other time she might have taken heart from it – given the fact her heart was already taken.

‘You needn't bother,' she muttered, following him inside, up a steep and narrow staircase to two rooms at the top of the landing. She was thankful to see that here they parted company.

‘Good luck,' he whispered grinning broadly.

‘How old?'

The voice registered incredulity. It appeared the large, brisk lady recruitment officer didn't believe her either.

Holly had sat on in the cluttered little office for what seemed hours, sipping lukewarm tea from a regulation mug, until her name was called.