The Flight of Swallows (20 page)

‘Recourse to the streets,’ he finished for her.

Her face lit up and he thought idly how lovely she was. Her face glowed with good health and her incredible blue eyes, the colour of the aquamarine in the ring he had put on his wife’s finger when they married, inherited from his grandmother, were pierced with the brilliance born of her enthusiasm. He loved his wife dearly, they were well suited, both being of a practical, no-nonsense sort of nature. She was bonny, with a good figure like this young woman but she had given him no children, or perhaps
he
had given her none, so the work they did with the underprivileged gave them both a great deal of satisfaction. He had a feeling this night’s events were to be of great importance to him and to Emily.

He stood up and placed his empty cup on the table. Both the women stood with him, waiting to hear what he had to say. He was satisfied with both his patients though the second girl’s baby was very frail.

‘I’ll come tomorrow if I may, Mrs Armstrong. I think . . . how many rooms do you have?’ he asked abruptly, surprising both Charlotte and Kizzie.

‘There are four bedrooms here but across the courtyard is a building with a second storey in which . . . why, Doctor? What have you in mind?’ Charlotte asked eagerly while Kizzie shook her head dubiously, for she knew Charlotte’s generous impetuosity and where it might lead.

‘Some of the women I treat – put together again really – are not fit to leave but we have not the room to accommodate them all and some are in a pretty bad way. They come off the streets and have a rest then are forced to go back because they must earn money. Their babies are put in the orphanage and it’s very distressing. But if . . . may I talk this over with my wife and—’

‘What have you in mind?’ she asked again.

‘Mrs Armstrong, I am very tired and my wife will be waiting up for me. I have patients to see tomorrow, the infirmary at Wakefield, the Clayton Hospital and girls in our care.’

He drifted towards the door in an absent-minded way. Charlotte followed him, walking with him to his gig and when he had gone returned thoughtfully to the Dower House. She scarcely noticed the bone-biting cold as she let herself in to find Kizzie still sitting by the fire. She sat down opposite her, putting her hands to the blaze and for several minutes neither of them spoke. The first one was Kizzie.

‘What d’ost mean ter do, my lass? What’s on tha’ mind? Summat is an’ it’s ter do wi’ these girls an’ Jenny’s rug-makin’. But whatever it is I can tell thi’ this, the master won’t like it.’

‘No, I realise that, Kizzie, but it can’t be helped. I shall try to make him see that it will make no difference to our marriage,’ hesitating as she thought back to that bewildering moment in their bed only hours ago. She had been carried on a wave of longing, of passion, of a need for Brooke’s body to merge with hers but, with one exception, not in the way it had done up to now. All the nights she had submitted to his love-making, though they had not been unpleasant for he had never been rough with her or, after that first time of penetration, hurt her, none of them had exploded in her as strongly as this night had done. She had wanted to roll her hips and buttocks until she rode him as she might her mare, to explore him as she had never done before, from head to toe, to pore over him, to stun him with her own naked body, to glow and purr like a cat and make him do the same. God in heaven, where had such thoughts come from and why, on this particular night? What had she felt for him? Was it . . . could it be love? Or was it just the simple climax of two healthy bodies coming together – at last . . . at last – both feeling the same incredible sensations? She didn’t know; she only knew that it would take something special to regain it. She could see that cold anger on his face and then . . . nothing, for he had a trick of wiping all expression from his face and she was saddened. But she could not turn from this road she had chosen, chosen months ago when Jenny had fallen at her doorstep and Brooke had been no more than a shadow in her life as he went his own way. Only in their bed had he shown any emotion and that had been his body crying out, not his heart or his clever mind. His body had wanted hers and so he had taken it. She had become used to his cool, appraising stares but now she was confused and lost and—

Kizzie’s voice interrupted her thoughts again.

‘If yer ter keep these lasses
an
’ their bairns an’ if what Doctor Chapman ses, others from ’is place, I’ll need some ’elp. I can’t manage ’em on me own. Oh, I know when Jenny’s on ’er feet again she’ll do ’er share but I’m none so sure of t’other ’un. I don’t trust that Ruth, I’ll tell yer that fer nowt. Anyroad, what d’yer say ter fetchin’ over one o’ me sisters? Our Megan’s lookin’ fer work. She’s fourteen an’ a good lass an’ does as she’s told. She could sleep wi’ me an’ then when—’

‘I’m going to open a sort of factory, Kizzie. With Jenny to show us how to do it, and you too, for you say you are familiar with rug-making, we can set up that building on the other side of the courtyard and set the girls to work. There’s plenty of room for . . . for whatever Jenny thinks necessary and with . . . well, I shall have to find out where to get the materials needed and—’

‘’Old on, lass, ’old on. ’Ave yer thought what the others’ll say?’

‘What others?’

‘Your ’usband fer one. Them over at big ’ouse fer another.’

Charlotte lifted her head and set her shoulders in that defiant way she had and which had got her into trouble with her father in the past.

‘Oh, you leave all that to me, Kizzie. I’ll convince them – all of them!’

13

Robbie would be delighted to ride over to the cottage where Kizzie’s mother lived, he told them, and should he bring back the sister Kizzie asked for on the back of his pony? Merry was not very big but she was strong and he was sure she could manage a double load. And where on earth had these babies come from and what were they doing in the Dower House?

It was Saturday and since he was not at school he had eaten a good breakfast at the table in the kitchen where Mrs Groves indulged him with bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, sausages and fried bread, followed by several rounds of toast and butter, with marmalade, of course. Well, the master had gone off with himself at first light, the mistress was over at the Dower House so there seemed no point in setting the breakfast room table for one small boy. He was just about to run out to the stables when the mistress had come in from the stable yard that adjoined the back garden of the Dower House and had asked Master Robbie to accompany her as she had a job for him.

‘What sort of a job?’ he asked suspiciously and all movement about the kitchen stopped as the maids waited for the answer. They were all aware that the mistress had been at the Dower House; that the doctor had been called and, by way of the grapevine that existed in all households, that a young woman had arrived with a baby and that . . . that loose woman who had been living there for months had given birth. Mrs Armstrong looked tired, still dressed in the same outfit she had worn yesterday, so what new disaster had come to plague their poor master?

‘Come with me and I’ll tell you,’ Charlotte told Robbie but then she sighed, for the servants would have to know some time what had happened so what was the use of being secretive now?

She turned and addressed the room. ‘Jenny’s baby was born last night, a girl, and another . . . young woman has also had her child, a girl as well, and came to our door for help. We need a maid to give Kizzie a hand and as I know none of you is willing to help these unfortunate girls . . .’

There was a loud sniff and eloquent ‘hmmph’ from Nellie, and Mrs Groves turned away in disgust, not at Nellie but at the way the mistress was going on about these wicked girls. No wonder the master had stormed out this morning, his face like thunder and her, his cook, only just out of bed and pulling herself together with scarce a cup of tea in her hand. Connie and Tess, who were always up first, had stared in amazement as he banged the door to, then exchanged knowing glances. There was a storm brewing, no doubt about it.

‘So, Robbie, if you have had your breakfast will you come over to the Dower House and . . . darling, it’s only a message I want you to deliver.’ And the message had been for Kizzie’s mother who would be doing them all a big favour if she could send her daughter, Megan, Kizzie had said, to help her sister.

Robbie, who was capable of saddling Merry himself by now, did so and then led her through the gate that divided the big house stable yard from the one at the back of the Dower House. He tied her to the ring in the wall, and entered the kitchen door from where he could see Kizzie in the scullery, vigorously pounding what looked like towels in the sink, her arms going ten to the dozen. There seemed to be a big pile of laundry in a bucket waiting to have the same treatment.

‘Miss Charlotte’s in’t kitchen, lad, but be quiet. She’s just got them bairns ter sleep.’

‘Bairns?’ he faltered.

‘Aye, my lad. Bairns. Babies. Two on ’em an’ if tha’ don’t get over ter me mam’s an’ fetch our Megan both me an’ Miss Charlotte’ll be dead on us feet.’

‘Kizzie.’ He was astonished. Though he had heard the talk of babies in the kitchen at the big house he had not known who Charlie was talking about. Jenny lived there, that he knew, but now there seemed to be not only Jenny but babies as well. ‘Where did the babies come from, Kizzie?’ he asked, but Kizzie was cudgelling the towels as though her life depended on it and had no time for idle chatter, her attitude said.

‘Tha’ll find out soon enough, Master Robbie. Now, ’op on that pony o’ thine and ride ter me mam’s. She lives in Green Lane. Go through Birks Wood and on ter Wood Lane until tha’ comes ter Rose Cottage. Tell ’er there’s a job goin’ fer our Megan an’ for ’er ter get over ’ere quick smart. ’Ave tha’ got that, lad?’

Megan Aspin, called by all and sundry by the diminutive Meggie, was on the kitchen doorstep at the big house within the hour and was astonished when she was greeted by an irritable maidservant who told her she was not required here and to get back to where she came from.

‘But our Kizzie sent fer me,’ she stammered.

‘Well, yer’d best get round there then. Through that gate,’ Nellie said shortly, nodding at the gate in the stable yard and shutting the door in Meggie’s flabbergasted face.

‘Am I glad ter see
you
,’ Kizzie greeted her as she pulled her into the kitchen, which she eventually found. There had been a man in the yard, just about to lead a horse from the stable, who had directed her, for it seemed the male servants of the household were not so censorious as the female.

‘See, sling tha’ shawl on that there ’ook an’ then ’ang that washin’ on’t line, will tha’ chuck, though it’ll probably freeze in this weather. Kettle’s on an’ when tha’ve done that we’ll ’ave a nice cup o’ tea. Miss Charlotte’s seein’ ter’t bairns but she an’ Jenny’d be glad of a sup. Ruth’s still asleep. Now don’t stand there wi’ tha’ gob ’anging open. Do as tha’s told an’ then I’ll tell thi’ all about it.’

Meggie was the double of her older sister though not quite so tall. A big-boned lass with strong arms and an even stronger back, her mam had been reluctant to part with her but she was fourteen and needed a job. Their Kizzie had gone to the Mount at the same age and then on to King’s Meadow when Miss Charlotte had married. She had done well and regularly sent money home and there were good prospects for a hard worker like their Meggie. She would not have been so sanguine if she had known that her innocent lass was to work among ‘fallen girls’ which was how Jenny and Ruth would be described.

Robbie was in the fire-glowed kitchen, having got there before Meggie. It had proved impossible for his pony to carry the two of them so Meggie had walked over. He was gazing into the cradle that Charlotte had brought over from the big house and in which the prettiest little baby was asleep. Rosy rounded cheeks, long dark lashes, a rosebud of a mouth which sucked hopefully as though on her mother’s nipple and a wisp of a curl were all he could see but he was quite enchanted. The other infant, cradled in his sister’s arms, was not so endearing but then, in Charlotte and Kizzie’s opinion,
her
mother was not half so pretty as Jenny and since the father was unknown who could say where she got her looks. And she was thin, pallid, her head seeming too big for her body. Robbie was not enchanted with this one!

‘Charlie, where did they come from and where’s Jenny?’ he urged her to tell him.

‘This one’ – pointing to the baby in the cradle – ‘is Jenny’s daughter. She is to call her Rose, and this one . . . do you remember Ruth? She didn’t stay long, but this is hers.’

‘But—’

‘Look, sweetheart, Kizzie and I are very busy with all this going on and really have no time to explain but we will soon. You have been an enormous help fetching Megan but I think it might be a good idea if you went over to Fuller’s Farm and your friends there and . . . well, played with Mr Emmerson’s children.’

Robbie wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to ride out again on this frosty morning but he was satisfied that Charlotte and Kizzie were pleased with him.

‘Can I come again? I’d like to see Rose though the other one’s not as pretty, is she?’

‘Well, we can’t all be—’

‘Mmm, I know what you mean. There isn’t anyone as pretty as you, Charlie.’

Charlotte smiled. ‘Come and give me a kiss then.’

He permitted himself to be kissed then, with a shouted goodbye to the two women in the scullery, dashed through the back door and attempted a flying leap on to the back of his pony. He managed it, trotting off with the feeling that so far it had been a darn good morning.

She was in bed when Brooke returned, so deeply asleep she didn’t even feel him climb into bed next to her. He had struggled with himself, still deeply angered by her behaviour of the night before, on whether to sleep alone in his dressing room. He had spent the day inspecting his tenanted farms and had actually had a meal with Jeff Killen and his family at Foxworth which was why his servants had not seen him until late afternoon. He knew something had happened at the Dower House, of course, since it was his wife’s sudden exit at Kizzie’s behest that had enraged him. For a startling but exquisite moment in time he and Charlotte had been equal in their desire, lifted to heights he had never before known, with her or indeed any woman, and he had been triumphant that at last she was responding as he had dreamed she one day would. Nevertheless she had gone, left him in that stunned state a man reaches when he is at the peak of his desire and ready to climax. He had said he would never forgive her but as he studied her sleeping face in the dim glow of the fire he knew he would always love her, always, always forgive her, do his best to accept whatever she did. Or so he believed at this moment. Her good heart, her generous nature would not allow her to turn away from whoever needed her and he must let her see that he was one of them. One of those who needed her. He was naked and she was in one of the flimsy nightdresses they had bought together when they were in Paris.