Sons and Daughters (55 page)

Charlotte rose at once and hurried as fast as her bulk would allow her to out of the room. As she began to pull herself up the stairs, she asked, ‘Where is the master?’

‘Out riding, ma’am. He’s been gone about half an hour.’

‘Send someone to find him. Tell them to go to the beach at Lynthorpe. That’s his favourite ride.’ She paused at the top of the stairs. ‘Is he bad, Kitty?’

The girl nodded. ‘Nurse is with him. She’s telephoned for the doctor, ma’am.’

Charlotte nodded, unable to speak for the tears stinging her eyes. She blinked and pulled in a deep breath. She mustn’t cry, she told herself firmly. She must be strong for Philip – and for Miles.

When she entered the bedroom, the sight of him shocked her. He was obviously in great pain. His face was grey, his cheeks hollow and the suffering in his eyes was unbearable. Sweat glistened on his forehead. Nurse Monty stood at the side of the bed, gently wiping his face. She looked up as Charlotte came into the room. Her solemn expression and her dark eyes told Charlotte that the end was very near.

Philip tried to smile and he held out a trembling hand. ‘Sit beside me, Charlotte,’ he gasped, his breathing laboured. ‘Hold my hand.’

Discreetly, the nurse moved to the other side of the room, where she could not overhear their whispered words, but was still near enough if she was needed.

‘Try to rest, my dear,’ Charlotte said gently, wiping his forehead with the flannel Nurse Monty had passed to her. ‘Save your strength.’

Philip closed his eyes but he opened them again to say, ‘No – no. There’s no time. There are things I need to say to you. Especially to you, Charlotte.’ He paused, summoning up the strength to carry on. ‘I haven’t always been kind to you and I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t, Philip. None of that matters. It never did.’

‘It – matters to me. I was a conceited oaf and I’m ashamed. Say you forgive me?’

‘Philip – there’s nothing to—’

‘Please – say it. I need you to say it.’

‘Of course, I forgive you with all my heart.’

‘I wasn’t lovable like Georgie or even our quiet Ben. I was prickly and difficult and – and openly hostile to you, wasn’t I?’

‘I understood. You were the one who could remember your mother the best. It hurt you to see someone else in what you thought was her place. But I never presumed to do that, Philip. No one could ever replace Louisa in your father’s heart or in yours. Certainly not me.’

‘You’ve done a damned good job,’ he rasped with some of his old spirit. ‘You’ve come close. We all adore you, Charlotte, you must know that.’ She felt him squeeze her hand. ‘Even me – in the end.’

She felt the tears welling again and fought to hide them. Behind her, the door opened and Miles came into the room, still in his riding habit. He strode to the other side of the bed, pulled up a chair, and sat down.

‘Hello – Papa.’ Philip’s use of the name the boys had used in their childhood threatened to be Miles’s undoing. But, like Charlotte, he took a deep breath and managed to say gently, ‘Son.’

‘This is it, then,’ Philip whispered. ‘I’m so sorry I can’t wait to see my little sister and – and to see old Georgie come home.’

‘The doctor’s on his way. He’ll—’

‘Papa – he can’t work miracles. Let’s face it – I need you both to help me face it.’

Miles and Charlotte exchanged a grief-stricken glance.

‘Charlotte,’ Philip said, ‘I want to ask you something. Will you – if your baby’s a girl – will you call her Louisa?’

‘Philip, you can’t ask—’ Miles began, but Charlotte held up her hand.

‘Of course I will,’ she promised. ‘I’d be proud to.’

Philip let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes. For a moment, they both thought he’d slipped away, but then his eyes fluttered open again. ‘I’ve written a letter to your father asking him to make my son, Alfie, his heir. I don’t know if he will, but I hope you don’t mind, Charlotte. By rights, of course, he should leave the farm to you.’

‘No – no – you did the right thing.’

‘But—’

‘No “buts”, Philip.’ She stroked his forehead. ‘If it is left to me, I’ll see Alfie gets it.’

‘You will?’

‘Of course I will.’

‘But it should come to you and then, one day, to your daughter.’

‘You’re so sure it’s going to be a girl, then?’

‘Oh yes. It – it has to be – for – for Papa . . .’

They were to be the last words he ever said. His voice faded away and he slept. Though they sat beside him for the remainder of the day, he did not wake again and as darkness fell, Philip died peacefully in his own bed with his father and Charlotte beside him.

Ben came home for the funeral, resplendent in his uniform and wearing the George Cross on his chest. Philip was laid to rest in the village churchyard beneath the shade of a beech tree.

‘He’s free of pain now,’ Miles said, trying to comfort them all. As they turned to leave they saw Eddie, Lily and Alfie standing a respectful distance away. Miles went across to them. ‘Thank you for coming. It would have meant a lot to Philip.’

Lily bobbed a little curtsy and said. ‘I’ve telled him, sir. Alfie knows the truth now.’

Miles nodded and smiled at the boy who was dry-eyed but solemn-faced. He looked up into Miles’s face and said, ‘Eddie’s me dad, sir, but I’m glad I got to know Mr Philip.’

Eddie put his arm round the boy’s shoulder. ‘I’ll always look after him, sir. You can be sure of that. I’ve never made no difference between him and me own bairns, an’ I never will.’

‘I know that, Eddie. But if you – any of you – need help at any time, you only have to ask.’ He smiled and held out his hand to shake the boy’s hand. ‘After all, I am your grandfather.’

For a moment the boy looked startled and then he grinned. ‘By heck, Dad, I’ve got a toff for a grandad.’

They all laughed and it didn’t seem at all irreverent or unfeeling, Charlotte thought. It was the way Philip – the Philip of the last few months – would have wanted it.

That night, Miles drew Charlotte into his study, ‘There’s something I want to show you.’ He settled her in a chair beside his own at the desk and reached down a large old-fashioned bible from the bookshelf. He laid it reverently on the desk and opened it up at the flyleaf. On the page that should have been blank was a handwritten list of the births, marriages and deaths of the Thornton family going back several generations.

‘Oh.’ Charlotte smiled. ‘How lovely. I’d heard of this being done in a family bible, but I’ve never seen one. Miles, do tell me about them all.’

They sat together with Miles’s arm round her shoulders, their heads bent close as Miles pointed to each name in turn.

‘It begins with the birth of my great-great-grandfather, then his marriage and the births of his two children.’

‘Is that his handwriting, do you think?’

‘I’m not sure. I suspect it was a later generation who began the list, starting with names and dates as far back as he knew. See, the writing doesn’t change until my own father wrote his marriage date and the birth dates of my brother, Christopher, and me.’

Charlotte looked up at him in surprise. ‘A brother? You have a brother.’

Miles shook his head. ‘No, not any more. He was killed in 1915 at Ypres in the Great War. See, here’s his death date.’

Charlotte read the dates and felt the sadness behind the written words. ‘The war to end all wars’, they’d called the carnage of those years and yet now it was happening again.

‘I think,’ Miles said, bringing her thoughts back to earlier generations, ‘it was my grandfather who started writing it all in this bible.’ He pointed to the name Josiah halfway down the page. ‘He would know his own father, Joseph, and he was old enough by the time his grandfather, Luke Thornton, died in 1835 to have known him too. He’d have been eleven. But look, Charlotte, this is what I wanted to show you – every generation – it’s all boys. Luke had Joseph and Marmaduke, who never married because he died at twenty. Joseph had only one child, Josiah, and although Josiah had three children, again they were all boys; my father, Philip, and my uncles, Richard and Henry.’

‘He only lived a few days,’ Charlotte murmured pointing to Henry’s name. ‘How sad.’

‘And it’s even more sad that no one ever spoke of him. It wasn’t the thing, you know, in those days to speak of the dead.’

Charlotte rested her head against his shoulder and whispered. ‘We’ll always talk about Philip. We’ll keep his memory alive.’

Miles reached for his pen to write the last heartbreaking entry of Philip’s death below that recording Louisa’s death, but for a moment he hesitated. ‘You see, I couldn’t bring myself to enter Georgie’s death. Not until we knew for certain. And now I’m so glad I didn’t.’

Still he hesitated to begin writing. ‘I wonder if I ought to write in the entry of Alfie’s birth. I mean, he is Philip’s son.’ A small, wistful smile played on his mouth. ‘But these austere gentlemen would never have entered an illegitimate child into the family bible, now, would they?’

‘Darling,’ Charlotte said softly, ‘it’s your bible now. You must write in it what you want to. Everyone around here knows Alfie is Philip’s son. Even Alfie knows now. So, if you want to include him, you should.’

‘Another son,’ he murmured as he began to write with honesty.

Alfred, the illegitimate son of Philip Thornton and Lily Warren, born 30 June 1927.

Beneath that he wrote the details of Philip’s death, adding,
As a result of his wounds.

When the ink was dry he closed the book and turned to Charlotte. He touched her face gently. There was no need for words, not any more. Despite his sadness at the loss of his son, which they’d known for some time was inevitable, his overriding anxiety now was for the safe delivery of Charlotte’s baby.

She could see his overwhelming love for her in his eyes and, now, she had no more doubts. Miles truly loved her.

She smiled and kissed him. ‘And the next entry, my darling, will be a much happier one.’

He held her close and she felt his tears wet against her neck.

With cruel irony, only a week after Philip’s death, Charlotte felt the first labour pangs. If only he’d lived another few days Philip would have seen her child born. But it was not to be.

Knowing that his wife’s confinement could not be long away, Miles had asked the nurse to stay on another few weeks. Nurse Monty had beamed. ‘I’d be delighted,’ she’d said. ‘I am a qualified midwife, too. My last appointment before coming here was to a Mrs Marshall in Lincoln, who had twins. Both born healthy, but a handful for a young mother.’

So Nurse Monty was on hand when Charlotte appeared out of her studio late one morning, clutching her stomach. ‘Oh – oh. Miles –
Miles
. . .’ she called and everyone came running.

Nurse Monty took charge with her customary calmness and organization. Charlotte was soon in the room on the first floor that had been set aside for the birth and where everything had been ready for weeks.

‘Shall I call the doctor?’ Miles hovered anxiously outside the door.

‘There’s no need for him to come yet,’ Nurse Monty said, forbearing to say that she could manage to bring a child into the world without the aid of any man, doctor or not. She was aware of the circumstances within this household, however, and was sympathetic. The poor man had lost one wife through childbirth and the present Mrs Thornton was forty-one and this was her first baby. There could be complications. Nurse Monty was confident of her own capabilities, but she was no fool. The nearest hospital was several miles away and the doctor might be out on a home visit anywhere over a widespread area if called at the last minute. No, better to be safe than sorry, was Nurse Monty’s maxim. So she added comfortingly, ‘But it would be wise to let him know that Mrs Thornton has gone into labour, though we are in the early stages at the moment.’

But even the knowledgeable nurse was caught unawares by the speed with which Charlotte’s labour progressed. Nurse Monty had expected a long, protracted labour, but within an hour, the contractions were coming closely together. Unable to leave her patient, Nurse Monty sent Kitty with an urgent message for the master, who was pacing the hall below. ‘Send for the doctor at once.’

‘Sir – sir – ’ Kitty flew down the stairs almost tripping in her haste. ‘Nurse says can you send for the doctor.’

Miles stopped in his pacing and stared up at the girl, terror in his eyes.

‘’Tis all right, sir. Nothing wrong, but babby is coming quicker than Nurse thought.’

Miles ran to the front door and dragged it open, then he stopped and heaved a sigh of relief. Dr Markham was climbing down from his pony and trap outside.

‘Bennet’s on holiday,’ he said, mounting the steps. ‘I’m acting as locum, so I thought I’d just look in. How is she?’

Miles felt relief flood through him. ‘Further on than expected.’

‘Ah, good – good. That’s excellent.’

‘Is it?’

‘Of course, my dear fellow. Much less tiring than a protracted labour,’ Dr Markham said, patting Miles’s shoulder and then heading swiftly to the stairs. ‘We’ll keep you posted, Miles. Try not to worry.’