The Soldier's Daughter (16 page)

As the woman’s eyes raked her up and down, she sneered. ‘So
you
are the firstborn! No doubt whose daughter you are, is there?’

Briony was so shocked that she was speechless, but already the woman’s eyes had settled on Sarah and again she looked as if there was a dirty smell under her nose. ‘And you are
truly
your mother’s daughter. I just hope you haven’t inherited her ungrateful nature . . . But where is the boy?’

Briony tugged Alfie, who was looking absolutely terrified, from behind her and he clung to her hand.

It was then that a transformation took place, for the woman’s eyes gentled.

‘You must be Alfred,’ she said softly. ‘Come over here and let me look at you, child.’

‘Me name is Alfie an’ I wanna stay over ’ere wi’ Briony,’ he said defiantly, jamming his thumb in his mouth.

Briony held her breath, expecting the woman to shout at him, but instead she chuckled. ‘Ah, so you have spirit! Not only do you
look
like your Uncle Sebastian but you sound like him too. But come . . . I won’t bite, I promise you.’

Alfie looked up at Briony uncertainly and when she gave an imperceptible nod he inched his way across the carpet towards his grandmother, looking for all the world as if he were about to enter a den of tigers.

This gave Briony time to study the woman a little more closely and she was shocked at what she saw. She was nothing like her mother had described her, although the family likeness was undoubtedly still there. Her faded fair hair was heavily streaked with grey and straggled on her shoulders, and her blue eyes had a slightly wild look about them. Her clothes, a pale-blue twinset and a thick tweed herringbone-patterned skirt, although clearly of good quality, were creased and hung off her bony frame, and about her throat was a string of pearls that gleamed in the dull light. She put Briony in mind of a witch, so she quickly transferred her attention to the man sitting in the wheelchair. He looked very frail and ill, and his legs were swathed in a thick warm blanket, but when she met his eyes she saw that they were kindly and he gave her a gentle smile. She guessed that his hair must have been very dark once, although it was snow-white now. His face was deeply lined and haggard and the hands that poked from the sleeves of his thick brown jacket and rested on his lap looked almost skeletal, but as she returned his stare he said softly, ‘You must be Briony?’

‘Yes, sir.’ She stuck her chin in the air, reluctant to let him see how nervous she was. There was a pungent smell in the room – of sickness and of something else that she couldn’t identify – and suddenly she just wanted to snatch the children up and run back home with them. To calm herself, she looked around the room. Just as her mother had told her, it must once have been quite magnificent! Now it merely looked tired. The heavy velvet drapes were faded and moth-eaten and the fine Persian carpet was threadbare in places. Even so, there were some fine pieces of furniture dotted about – although they looked badly in need of a good polish – as well as some very valuable-looking pieces of china. Briony had only ever seen anything like them in the antique-shop window back in Nuneaton.

‘So, girl!’

Her grandmother’s voice made Briony’s eyes snap back to her.

‘I don’t want you to think that this is going to be a holiday for you. We have been struggling to get help here since the beginning of the war, so once the children start their new school you will be expected to help Mrs Dower in the house and garden.’ The words were said almost as a threat but Briony stared back at her with her head held high.

‘I am quite happy to help with anything that needs doing,’ she responded coldly and just for an instant she could have sworn she saw a spark of amusement flash in her grandfather’s eyes.

‘Good, then you girls go and find your way about. Alfred can stay here with us.’

‘Don’t want to!’ Alfie responded, shooting back to stand at his big sister’s side.

Briony watched conflicting emotions flit across her grandmother’s face. She was clearly used to being obeyed but then her face softened again and she told him, ‘Very well then, dear. But perhaps you could come back and speak to me and your grandfather later on?’

He sniffed and lowered his eyes as Briony turned and led the children towards the door. They were almost there when her grandmother said, ‘Oh, and by the way, girl. It will be your job to keep the children quiet and under control. Your grandfather is not in good health and I do not want him disturbed. Do you understand?’

‘I understand perfectly.’ Briony’s eyes were as cold as her grandmother’s. ‘And my name is Briony, not
girl
.’ And with that she marched from the room as her grandmother gaped after her.

‘It is just as I feared,’ Mrs Frasier muttered to her husband once they were alone. ‘Headstrong, impudent – just like her mother. I think we are going to have trouble with that one!’

He grinned, showing her a flash of the man he had once been. ‘Give her a chance and don’t be too hard on her, Marion,’ he said gently. ‘After all, she can’t help looking like her father – and she didn’t ask to be born, did she?’

‘No, she didn’t, William, and she wouldn’t have been, had it not been for that common lout turning our daughter’s head.’

‘Well, lout or not he’s done a very good job of bringing up his children. I thought they were all quite charming.’

Marion Frasier was so shocked at him standing up to her that she was momentarily speechless.

*

‘I don’t think I’m going to like it ’ere after all,’ Alfie whined as they stepped back out into the bright sunshine. ‘An’ I don’t think Grandmother likes us although Grandfather seemed all right.’

‘Oh, you just have to give them a bit of time to get used to us,’ Briony told him, keeping her voice light. ‘Don’t forget, it’s strange for them too having us here.’

‘Grandmother said I was truly my mother’s daughter. What did she mean, Briony?’ the little girl piped up. Her bottom lip was trembling and Briony could see that she might burst into tears at any moment.

‘She just meant that you look just like our mum,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Which is a nice thing. But now what would you like to do? It’s a wonderful day and it would be a shame to waste it. We don’t have to be back for lunch for ages.’

‘Go to the beach,’ the children cried in unison, just as she had expected.

She smiled at them fondly. ‘I think we’ll save that treat for tomorrow, but for now how about we go for a walk into Penzance? We couldn’t really see it properly when we arrived last night, and I wouldn’t mind betting there’ll be some boats in the harbour.’

Alfie was instantly all for it so they began to walk down the long drive away from the house with the children in a slightly happier frame of mind. The same couldn’t be said for Briony, however, although she was determined to keep her fears to herself. The children were unsettled enough as it was, so the way she saw it, it was up to her to make sure that they were as happy as they could be for as long as they were there. She would take care to keep them out of their grandmother’s way as much as possible. Deep inside she was stinging at the way the woman had looked at her and spoken to her, and her hopes of settling the children and returning home to her mother were already beginning to fade. But Grandfather didn’t seem so bad, she consoled herself. Perhaps she would find an ally in him? She could only hope so.

Penzance was even more beautiful than it had appeared the night before, and as they walked around the narrow cobbled streets the children felt as if they were in another world. The little thatched cottages were so picturesque, and the people seemed friendly too, smiling at them and calling a greeting as these young strangers passed. It was so peaceful here, it was hard to believe there was a war on. They came to the High Street and walked past rows of tiny shops displaying their wares in the windows. There was a sweet shop full of big glass jars of sweets of every shape and size, and bars of chocolate and trays of home-made toffee. No shortages here! Briony promised the children that she would remember to bring some money with her the next time they came so that she could treat them, and was rewarded with two beaming smiles. Next to that was a butcher’s. Sarah wasn’t so keen on that shop after seeing the rabbits hanging in the window, so they hurriedly moved on. There was a baker’s, and the smell of fresh-baked loaves and cakes made their mouths water; then came a hardware shop full of buckets and mops and everyday things. Further along the street was a blacksmith’s – and then they came to a shop with Frasier & Sons on a swinging sign above a window in which stood a huge bowl of fresh flowers.

‘This must be Grandfather’s undertaking business,’ Briony muttered, and shuddered. It was hard to believe on such a beautiful day that beyond the window, dead people could be lying, waiting to be buried. Glancing up, she saw a quaint church with stained-glass windows that twinkled in the sunshine. It was surrounded by a large churchyard and Briony made a mental note to go and visit it just as soon as she could.

The three hurried on and came to an inn where some elderly men sat outside on a bench with pints of beer, smoking their pipes beneath the shade of a huge oak tree. The men touched their caps and smiled pleasantly at the three youngsters as they passed and they all smiled a greeting in return. The smell of the sea was growing stronger with every step they took, and as they emerged from the end of a cobbled lane there, spread before them, was a small harbour with boats of all shapes and sizes bobbing gently on a crystal-clear blue sea. A number of ruddy-faced seamen from the fishing boats were unloading their catch and the visitors gazed in awe at the huge buckets of fish, some of them still wriggling in protest. Women were sitting repairing large nets on the quay and the children were so fascinated by the scene that it was all Briony could do to eventually drag them away.

Suddenly nothing seemed quite so bad any more, and Briony determined to make the best of their stay in Cornwall.

By the time the children had climbed the hill back to Poldak, Mrs Dower was busily preparing a cooked lunch, and after the long walk in the fresh air they sniffed at the aroma appreciatively.

‘I’m making you all a steak and kidney pie and some nice fresh vegetables out of the garden to go with it today,’ she told them cheerily as she stood at the table rolling pastry.

‘It smells delicious,’ Briony said sincerely, glancing curiously at a young woman who was standing at the sink peeling carrots.

Mrs Dower followed her eyes. ‘This is Talwyn,’ she said. ‘My granddaughter. She usually stays at the farm doing odd jobs there, but she wanted to meet you all so I let her come along with me today.’

The girl turned, and Briony thought how very beautiful she was. She looked to be in her early twenties and was quite striking, with long, dark-brown hair and the largest brown eyes that Briony had ever seen. Her hair curled down her back with golden glints shining in it where it had been kissed by the sun, and she had dimpled cheeks and a very sweet, shy smile.

‘Why do your grandchildren live with you?’ Briony asked and then immediately wished that she hadn’t. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as a blush rose to her cheeks. ‘It’s really none of my business, is it?’

‘It’s all right, my lovely.’ Mrs Dower’s hands became still and a look of great sadness clouded her face. ‘It’s no secret, everyone hereabouts knows why. The thing is, my son Peder – Talwyn and Howel’s father – was killed in an accident when my daughter-in-law, Gwen, was carrying their second child. Gwen was six months’ gone at the time, and the shock of losing Peder sent her into early labour. It was touch and go for a time whether the baby would survive. Sadly, her mother died shortly after the birth so me and Caden were left to bring the two children up. The family lived at Chapel Farm – the other farm that you asked about last night.’ She gave a gusty sigh. ‘It was such a happy place. After that the Kerricks lived there for a time, but it’s stood empty since then, and Talwyn – well . . .’ she glanced towards the girl who had returned to peeling the carrots. ‘She’s a little bit slow . . . if you get my drift. The doctor reckons it was because she was born too soon. But she’s a good-hearted girl for all that, and I wouldn’t be without her, though we have to keep a close eye on her. There’s those that could take advantage of a girl like her, and the fact that she’s such a lovely-looking maid doesn’t help.’ She sighed again, then went back to rolling the pastry.

Briony was saddened. Talwyn was so lovely, and just by looking at her it was hard to believe that there was anything wrong with her.

‘And how did your first meeting with your grandparents go then?’ Mrs Dower asked, to change the subject. Seeing the girl’s face drop gave her the answer she had been expecting.

‘Not so good, to be honest.’ Briony sat down at the table and rested her chin on her hand. ‘Grandmother clearly didn’t take to me or Sarah, but she did seem smitten with Alfie.’

‘Ah well, that’ll be ’cos he’s the spit of Master Sebastian. Always was her favourite,’ Mrs Dower said, loading the pastry into a dish and trimming it. ‘Spoiled him rotten when he was a kid, she did – and now she’s reaping the rewards.’ Between you and me,’ she went on, ‘she never did pay your mum much attention. Lois was always much closer to her father.’

‘Yes, Mum did tell me that her mother favoured her brother,’ Briony admitted. After the picture that had been painted of him she was almost dreading meeting Sebastian, although she knew she would have to, sooner or later.

‘Oh, you might be pleasantly surprised. He’s a good-looking chap and he’s got the gift of the gab. Problem is, he’s not to be trusted.’

‘But why does he keep disappearing off to London?’

‘He
says
he’s going to collect coffins.’ The housekeeper rolled her eyes. ‘Since old Mr Tollet the coffin-maker in the village died, that’s the only way he can get them. He brings them back in a big van a dozen at a time, and stores them in the barn; the one that’s locked up. But between you and me, I reckon he’s a bit of a gambler and all. I think his mother has had to bail him out of his debts more than once, although the master wouldn’t know about it. She tends to hold the purse-strings since Master William took bad, bless him. Your grandfather is a gentleman, and he’d have a fit if he knew half of what his son gets up to. Not so very long ago, a young maid from the village turned up here saying she was carrying his child, and when she told him, he dropped her like a hot potato! And she wasn’t the first, may I add.’