Tall Poppies (10 page)

The major nodded. ‘Yes  . . . I think so. What do you think, Beamish?'

‘The captain is tired from the journey at the moment, and would welcome a rest. We'll work out a routine over the next few days.

‘This gentleman with him is Mr Beamish, Livia. He will be Richard's man. Beamish, this is our housekeeper, Miss Carr.'

A searching glance came her way. ‘How do you do, Miss Carr?'

‘Please call me Livia. This is Florence Hutchins, and our cook, Connie Starling.'

‘How do you do, Florence.' He gave the maid an easy smile that made her blush fiercely, then turned to cook. ‘Ah yes, and you, Mrs Starling. The captain told me you were the most wonderful cook in the world. He used to discuss your Sunday dinners in the trenches, while our stomachs were as hollow as logs. I'm looking forward to my dinner.'

‘He'll never go hungry again, not while I've got breath in my body.' Cook and Florence both dimpled smiles at him.

Rosemary made her way down the stairs in an ankle-length hobble skirt and finely pleated tunic under a long blue cardigan. She posed four steps up, her beringed hand fluttering against her chest.

‘My dear Richard, how wonderful. Will you not greet your new stepmother?'

Livia saw the captain's hand tighten on his man's arm. Beamish smiled. ‘He rarely speaks to strangers, Mrs Sangster, especially when he's tired.'

‘Oh, how disappointing,' Rosemary drawled. ‘I was hoping he'd tell us all about his daring exploits on the front.'

Richard Sangster began to tremble.

‘Follow me, Mr Beamish,' Livia said quickly, and set off up the wide staircase, with Beamish and his burden bringing up the rear.

She closed the door behind them to keep the warmth in, and indicated the bed. ‘This is Captain Sangster's room. I've had his own furniture installed so he'll feel at home. Your room is through that door.'

The trembles had become violent jerks and the man's teeth chattered. Beamish placed him on the bed. Out of instinct Livia gently rubbed Richard's hand, and felt the strength in the muscle spasm. ‘Is there anything I can do to help?'

‘These spasms don't last very long, but sometimes they make him cough, and that tires him. When he's angry he swears, or he might lash out. You must be prepared for that.'

‘I will, but we mustn't talk about him as if his mind is elsewhere. I'm quite sure it's not.'

She gazed at the wreckage of this once golden and healthy young man. A scar tracked through his Adonis curls like a livid parting. His eyes were open, but she couldn't tell if he was looking at her or over her shoulder, or whether he even understood what she was saying.

When he winked she was uncertain of whether it was accidental or a twitch. Beamish remained impassive, gazing at her from his towering height.

She gave him a faint grin before turning back to the patient. ‘I'm not as delicate a flower as I look, Captain Sangster, and neither am I stupid. I think I might swear too if I were in your position. But let me warn you of one thing  . . . if you lash out at me I shall box your ears, because I won't put up with it.'

The shaking stopped and his bluer-than-blue eyes widened as they focussed on her. ‘S  . . . saucy mad  . . . am.' A grin flitted around his lips.

She caught Beamish's approving glance on her, and was heartened by it. ‘Now we all know where we stand, don't we? If you need anything to make life easier, let me know. I'll bring you up some tea in a little while. Welcome home, Mr Sangster. Mr Beamish, you'll be a welcome addition to the staff, and we'll do our best to make you feel comfortable here.'

‘Thank you, Ma'am.'

When Richard Sangster stuck his tongue out and saluted untidily, Livia sighed. ‘You've only just got here and already you're being a childish pest. Behave yourself.'

She left the room accompanied by the low chuckle Beamish gave. It was going to be hard keeping any sort of control over these two, she feared, trying not to laugh.

Old Mr Bugg disappeared one day, replaced by a much younger version, who informed her that he was old Bugg's grandson, just back from the war.

‘Grandpa's rheumatism is playing up so he's decided to retire. I've come in his stead. Call me Matthew,' he said.

She didn't know whether to inform anyone or not – so she didn't.

‘Mr Bugg said he'd find me a small Christmas tree for Nutting Cottage.'

‘Aye, I'll see to it for you.'

She wondered if she should perhaps tell Mr Stone, then decided against it. The major could do that if it occurred to him.

Matthew Bugg stayed on, and along with Beamish was useful around the house when anything heavy needed lifting, or the windows needed washing.

‘Who
is
that person?' the major said to her one day.

‘Mr Bugg. He usually works in the garden.'

Vaguely, he said, ‘Ah yes, so he does; I thought he was an older man.'

Livia had worked out her routine with Beamish. She would have very little to do on her shift, apart from relax, keep Richard company, and walk him around the garden in his wheelchair if he felt like some air.

Richard Sangster responded to her attempts at conversation with grunts and the occasional word. He stuttered badly if he tried to converse, swore and banged his hand on the arm of the chair before stuttering out, ‘S  . . . sorry.' She learned to handle his moods with calmness, for they stemmed from frustration.

In the week before Christmas Livia took possession of Nutting Cottage. She made the beds, using painstakingly repaired linen that had been discarded for rags. It would do until she could afford some of her own.

She went there after dinner each evening and usually fell asleep in the armchair, waking cold and disorientated when the fire went out.

The new Mrs Sangster called her to the drawing room the next day. ‘This is not good enough, Livia. I rang the bell twice last night. A housekeeper needs to be on call twenty-four hours a day.'

‘I was at Nutting Cottage preparing for the arrival of my sister and brother. I've worked through my schedule with the Sinclair trust. As long as the kitchen staff are familiar with the menu and the housekeeping is kept up to date, my evenings are free to spend with my sister and brother, when they arrive.'

Her mouth pursed. ‘You certainly managed to manipulate the former Mrs Sangster. Well, don't think you'll do the same with me. We're very different.'

Livia could say the same about her with the major. ‘Yes, Madam, you most certainly are. Is there anything else?'

‘You can take my underwear and give it to Florence to wash.'

‘I understood it was washed yesterday.'

‘It was not washed well enough.'

Raising an eyebrow, Livia gazed at her. ‘You know how short-staffed we are. Florence has a lot to do, and I would suggest you wash it yourself if you're not satisfied. Florence has other tasks.'

‘You're refusing a direct order. Be very careful, Livia. You might find yourself losing that cosy little home you're making for your family.'

Fear leaped in her chest, digging its claws in as she whispered, ‘You wouldn't do that  . . . be so mean towards two innocent children.'

‘Wouldn't I?'

Yes, she certainly would  . . . but could she? Livia thought. The cottage didn't belong to Major Sangster  . . . yet. Out of habit she washed the underwear herself, otherwise the woman would make everyone's life a misery

Esmé and Chad arrived the next day, just after lunch. From Richard Sangster's window she saw Mr Stone's car come up the driveway, and a pair of pale faces looking out.

Excitement fermented inside her.
At last  . . . at long last!
Thank you, God. ‘It's my sister and brother,' she said, beaming a smile at the two men. ‘They've arrived.'

‘You'll want to get them settled into the cottage, so we can manage without you this afternoon,' Beamish said.

Richard stammered, ‘G  . . . give them  . . . something  . . . eat.'

‘Thank you.' She flew down the stairs and out of the front door.
‘Esmé! Chad.'

The pair huddled together, looking bewildered. They were pale and thin, and carried no luggage. How lethargic they both were. Again, Livia was kept at a distance by the blank gaze one usually gives a stranger. Esmé clung to Chad, and he said, ‘It's all right, Es. It's our sister. She won't hurt you. Hello, Olivia.'

Both children took a step back when she approached, and Esmé began to cry. ‘I want to go back to the home.'

Tears pushed against Livia's eyes. ‘You won't have to go there again  . . . not ever  . . . come here, darling.'

Chad pushed her forward, and Livia took her sister's thin little body in her arms. The girl began to struggle and scream. Wrenching away from Livia's arms, she hurled herself against Chad, who put a protective arm about her. ‘It's all right, Esmé.' He gave Livia an angry glare. ‘She needs time to get used to you. Don't make a fuss and she'll come round.'

Connie came out. ‘Bring them into the kitchen where it's warm. There's some broth to eat, and if you're still hungry after that, I might find a slice of roly-poly jam pudding and custard apiece.' She ruffled Chad's hair and took Esmé's hand in hers. ‘Say thank you to Mr Stone and let's get inside, where it's warm.'

They did as they were told.

Simon Stone smiled benignly at her after they'd gone. ‘I have a son and a daughter about their age. The children are tired and hungry, I think. I have some business to conduct with Mr Richard Sangster while I'm here.'

‘I'll go up and inform him. If you'd like to wait in the small sitting room, Beamish will bring him down. Thank you so much for bringing the children. I hope they weren't too much trouble.'

‘None at all. This is a big change for them, Miss Carr, but it won't take them long to settle down. I should be about an hour. If you're ready, I'll drop you all off at Nutting Cottage before I go home.'

‘That's kind of you.'

‘It was my pleasure. They said they couldn't remember being in a car before, and your brother was most interested.' He hesitated a little, then said, ‘I thought your sister was a little lethargic. She slept for most of the way, and has a cough. Chad said she'd had it for some time. I do think it might be a good idea for the doctor to examine them both.'

‘Thank you; I'll take your advice on that.'

‘I'll leave the bags in the car then. I took the liberty of buying them some suitable clothing, since they only had what they stood up in.'

‘It didn't enter my head that they wouldn't have clothing. Oh dear  . . . you must allow me to reimburse you out of my wages.'

She was filled with relief when he smiled, saying quietly, ‘You'll need your wage, which is little enough to manage on. I'm sure the trust can absorb the cost. How are you managing with Captain Sangster?'

She laughed. ‘You'll have to ask him that. He's very brave, and I feel so sorry for his plight. I also like him. He has a sense of humour and doesn't feel pity for himself. All the same, he's a bit of a challenge, since I never know whether he's teasing me or being serious. I'll do my best to help make him comfortable, of course. Mr Beamish is very good with him.'

‘They went through the war together. Beamish saved his life at the front. He came looking for him after he returned home to discover that his own wife had become a victim of the flu.'

Livia had not known. Poor Beamish, she thought, and felt so very glad that her own kin had survived it. Perhaps her prayer had helped after all.

A little later, she, along with the children, copious bags, a fruitcake and a freshly made loaf of bread donated by Connie from the Foxglove House larder, were deposited at the cottage. She had to admit that Mr Stone had been generous with the trust's money.

The little Christmas tree was in a bucket in the sitting room. She'd put some cotton wool on the branches to resemble snow, and had made an angel out of a paper lace doily for the top. It looked a little bare, but pretty, and the children could make some paper lanterns to hang on it.

After she lit the kitchen stove and collected the milk from the shelf in the porch, she went inside to find the children sitting on the settee. She smiled at them, feeling slightly awkward, because the reunion had not gone as she expected. ‘Haven't you been upstairs to see your bedrooms yet?'

When the children looked at each other doubtfully, she said, ‘You have a bedroom each, and you don't have to ask permission to go anywhere inside the house.'

‘For ourselves  . . . a whole bedroom each?' Chad said.

‘They're only small, but if you go up those stairs you will find your rooms through the two doors on the right. I sleep in the one on the other side of the landing.'

‘How will we know which one belongs to us?'

‘Go and look. You'll know. Take a bag up with you so we can put your stuff in the chest of drawers.'

There was also a large trunk in the hall, which was too heavy to take up by herself. She'd unpack the contents later, when she had time.

She followed the children up to the rooms, which she'd freshened up with a couple of coats of whitewash. Esmé's room had a gaudy pink patchwork quilt Connie had bought from the market, and a kidney-shaped dressing table with a glass top and a front curtain of printed pink rosebuds that matched the curtains. There was a rag doll sitting in a wickerwork chair, which had also been given a coat of white paint.

‘Florence made the doll for you.'

‘For me?'

‘You must thank her when you see her.'

Nodding, Esmé smiled and picked the doll up. ‘She's pretty.'

‘Isn't she?' Between them, the three women had crocheted squares and made a blanket quilt for Chad's room, in dark blue, red and white. Livia had found a telescope in the attic, polished it and set it up at the window. ‘You'll be able to look at the stars through it,' she said.