The Soldier's Daughter (21 page)

Briony was so shocked at the suggestion that she almost dropped the jug of milk she was unloading from the tray. Anger seethed through her, and her eyes as she stared at her grandmother were as cold as ice.

‘Alfie already has very good manners for a five-year-old,’ she said. ‘And I sincerely hope we won’t be here long enough for you to send my little brother away to boarding school. You would need our mother’s permission to do that anyway.’

‘Whilst you are all here under my roof
I
shall make the decisions on what is best for you,’ the woman answered, her lips set in a thin line.

‘Look, perhaps we should continue this discussion at a more appropriate time,’ her grandfather put in hastily, hoping to avoid what looked in danger of turning into a row. Then to Briony: ‘You get back to the children, dear. And the porridge is delicious, by the way.’

She smiled at him gratefully before walking briskly from the room, slamming the door resoundingly behind her. Well, at least the girl has spirit, her grandfather thought as he studiously avoided his wife’s eyes. He rarely disagreed with her, but on this occasion he had felt she was out of order and needed to be curbed.

Briony’s temper had simmered down a little by the time she got back to the kitchen, and not wanting to upset the children she smiled at them before starting to fry the bacon and the eggs that they had collected. It was a novelty to have fresh eggs again instead of the disgusting powdered variety they had been forced to eat back at home, and the children cleared their plates, mopping up the sunny yellow yolks with some of Mrs Dower’s wonderful home-baked bread.

By late morning Briony felt as if she had already done a full day’s work. After struggling with the boiler in the outside laundry room the children’s clothes had been washed and rinsed before being put through the mangle and they were now flapping gently on the line strung across the yard. Mrs Dower had informed her the day before that she took the family’s laundry back to the farm once a week to wash and iron it, so at least Briony knew now that she would only be responsible for her own and the children’s washing, which was a relief. She had an idea that her grandmother wouldn’t have appreciated her doing something as personal as washing her clothes for her. Now the soup that Briony had made was simmering on the stove and the apple pie was browning nicely in the oven.

She had glimpsed Sebastian briefly, just after breakfast when Morris Page had called to pick him up in a little Austin Seven. She guessed that they would be going to the funeral parlour to prepare the body of the man who had died the night before for burial, and the thought of it made her shudder.

At lunchtime she served the family their meal and left the dining room as quickly as possible. She had no wish to have another confrontation with Marion Frasier. In fact, she had once more determined to keep out of her way as much as possible in future.

By mid-afternoon the kitchen and the dining room were gleaming, and Briony looked about with a sense of achievement. The flagstone floor had been scrubbed and she had even washed the windows with vinegar and water – not that she expected her grandmother to notice. The latter was treating her more like a servant than a member of the family.

But now she wanted to give the children a treat, so stepping out into the yard she called them to her and they set off for the farm. With luck they would be able to spend a couple of hours there exploring before it was time to come back and help Mrs Dower prepare and cook the evening meal.

‘I’ve had a letter from the children!’ Lois brandished the envelope in the air as she barged into Mrs Brindley’s kitchen with a rapturous smile on her face. It was mid-afternoon and luckily she was sober, although Martha wasn’t sure how long that state might last. Still, it was nice to see her neighbour smiling so she ushered her to the table.

‘Wonderful! Yer could per’aps read it to me while I pour us both a cuppa. It’s been mashed a while so it might be a bit stewed, but at least it’s wet an’ warm, eh?’ Gone were the days when precious tea could be tipped away if their rations were to last for a week.

Whilst she filled two cups with the dark-brown lukewarm liquid Lois read out the letter.

‘Hmm, don’t tell you much, does it?’ the other woman said thoughtfully when Lois had finished. ‘About what sort o’ greetin’ they got from their gran’parents, I mean.’ Then, seeing Lois’s face fall, she added hastily, ‘But then it certainly don’t say anythin’ bad so that must be a good sign, an’ they sound ’appy enough, bless ’em. I dare say yer dyin’ to write back to ’em now.’

Lois stirred half a spoon of sugar into her drink and grimaced as she sipped it. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘I shall do it just as soon as I get back from work this evening. With any luck I’ll be able to get it in the last post.’

‘I might write to ’em an’ all, though I ain’t that good at letter-writin’ an’ me spellin’ is atrocious. Still, at least they’ll know I’m thinkin’ of ’em, won’t they? Mebbe yer could let me slip mine in the envelope wi’ yours? Saves a stamp, don’t it?’

Lois nodded as she quickly rose and headed for the door, telling her, ‘Of course you can. But I shall have to get off now or I’ll be late for work. See you later, Martha.’

‘Bye, luvvie.’ Mrs Brindley lifted the cups and was just carrying them to the sink when her second visitor of the day arrived.

‘Afternoon, Mrs Brindley.’ Ruth stuck her head round the door and Martha beckoned her in. The girl had been coming regularly in the hope that there might have been a letter from Ernie, but up to now she had been sadly disappointed.

‘Before you ask, no, I ain’t heard nothin’ from me laddo,’ she told her teasingly. ‘But Lois ’as ’ad a letter from Briony. She just read it out to me afore she set off for work. Speakin’ o’ which, why aren’t you there today?’

‘I’ve got toothache,’ Ruth answered, then coloured slightly as she admitted, ‘Well, that’s what I told me mam but truthfully I just couldn’t face another day standin’ in the shop starin’ at bare shelves with hardly any customers to serve. I wonder if it’s even worth the place openin’ sometimes – an’ after the air raid last night I’m dead on me feet.’

Mrs Brindley yawned. She had had a sleepless night too, much of it spent stuck in the shelter with Lois who had snored her way through the whole raid. But then she had been so drunk Mrs Brindley suspected she could have slept through anything.

‘I had a letter from Briony too this morning,’ Ruth now informed her. ‘And it doesn’t sound like the war is affecting them much where she is, lucky devil.’

Taking the letter from her coat pocket, she read it aloud.

‘It’s almost identical to the one she sent ’er mam,’ Mrs Brindley commented. ‘Don’t say a lot, does it?’

‘Ah well, at least we know they’re all right now and that they arrived safely.’ Plonking herself down at the table, Ruth began absentmindedly to play with the fringe of the chenille cloth.

‘I just wish we could hear from Ernie now and know that he’s safe too,’ she muttered worriedly. ‘Every time I hear a plane go over I wonder if it’s him and if he’s going to come back and land safely. I don’t think I could bear it if anything happened to him.’

‘I know what you mean, luvvie, I feel just the same.’ Mrs Brindley squeezed the girl’s shoulder. Only now was she beginning to realise just how much her son meant to this girl, and she thought it was a shame, because she had a sneaky suspicion that Ernie’s affections – if he had ever had any for Ruth in the first place, that was – had now shifted to Briony. Not that Briony wasn’t a lovely girl too, of course, she told herself.

It was time to change the subject. ‘I’ve joined the WVS,’ she told Ruth proudly, hoping to shift the anxious look from the girl’s face. ‘I got to thinkin’ I ought to do me bit, an’ it’s gettin’ me out o’ the house. Whenever there’s a raid I make me way to the nearest church hall where they take the poor sods whose houses ’ave been bombed. It’s ’eartbreakin’, I don’t mind tellin’ yer. Some of ’em are left wi’ nothin’ but what they’re stood up in, but we give ’em a place to sleep an’ make ’em food an’ drink.’

‘How awful for them,’ Ruth sighed, and in her gentle heart she prayed that this dreadful war might soon be over.

In Cornwall, Briony was heading inland to the farm with the children skipping ahead of her. Seagulls were wheeling in the sky above her and behind her she could hear the waves slapping onto the beach. This, she thought, must be as close to heaven as you could get. Already there were roses in the children’s cheeks and their arms and legs were lightly tanned from playing outside.

As they drew closer to Kynance Farm she was surprised to see that it was much bigger than she had imagined it to be, with a number of outbuildings, including a Dutch barn, set around it. A tractor was parked beyond the barn and sheep and cows were contentedly grazing in the fields, which were bordered by drystone walls. She could hear pigs grunting and chickens clucking in the yard beyond a door, which Briony assumed backed on to the kitchen. A large black and white sheepdog bounded towards them, barking furiously, and for an instant they froze. But then as he reached them he began to wag his tail and in no time at all the children were petting him. A large ginger cat was curled up on a wall enjoying a nap in the late afternoon sun and for an instant the children were sad as they thought of Tigger back at home.

‘I hope Mam’s rememberin’ to feed him,’ Alfie said to Briony.

‘Oh, I shouldn’t get worrying too much about that. If she doesn’t, Mrs Brindley will – and anyway, cats are more than able to catch their own food. Think of all the mice he used to bring home.’

Happy again, he and Sarah scooted ahead, and after they had all let themselves into an enclosed yard through a double farm gate, the younger ones headed for some pigsties set at the far end.

As Briony approached the kitchen door she heard the wireless, and peeping inside, she saw Mrs Dower rolling pastry at the table. When she saw Briony, the woman swiped her floury hands down her apron and hastily switched off the news and beckoned her inside.

The girl glanced about her appreciatively. The kitchen here was nowhere near as big as the one back at The Heights but it was still a good size and very warm and homely. An inglenook fireplace stood in one wall and the smell of freshly baked cakes and bread hung on the air. On another wall were a number of shelves that had been painted a soft cream colour; on these were arranged Mrs Dower’s blue-and-white china. Briony recognised it as willow pattern and noticed that quite a few pieces were chipped, but even so from the way it was displayed it was clearly much cherished. Pretty flowered curtains lined with blackout material hung at the windows. The same material as the curtains had been used to make cushion covers that were strewn along a settee and two easy chairs, and a pipe rack containing a collection of pipes sat in the hearth. It was so much cosier than the kitchen she had just left that Briony was enchanted with it. Mrs Dower clearly had the gift of being able to make a house into a home.

At one end of the table, a tray of scones was cooling. Pointing to them, the woman told Briony, ‘The butter and jam are over there, and the clotted cream. Butter a couple for me, would you, and take them out to the children. They should fill a hole till dinner tonight. I’ve cooked you all a nice leg of pork.’

Briony almost drooled.
A leg of pork!
Back home they were lucky to see a pork chop once a month now, but here no one would have believed that rationing was in place. Again she wished that her mother could be there to enjoy it with them, but if the way her grandmother had received her was anything to go by, the chance of reconciliation between the two women was highly unlikely.

‘So how did your first day of cooking the breakfast and the lunch go?’ Mrs Dower asked, watching Briony’s face closely.

The girl split two scones in half and began to butter them. ‘Well . . . put it this way: no one complained.’

‘Hmm, but I bet you never got a word of thanks either,’ Annik Dower said drily with a toss of her head. ‘I reckon it’s a disgrace, the way your grandmother is carrying on. You’d think she’d be over the moon to have you young ’uns staying with her.’ She winked then and went on, ‘I believe your grandfather is secretly pleased you’re all there though.’

The kind words were Briony’s undoing. She had buried the hurt she had felt at her grandmother’s reception of her and put a brave face on things, even standing up to her, but now tears stung at the back of her eyes as she muttered, ‘I don’t think my grandmother likes me at all, Mrs Dower. I don’t think my uncle is too keen on me either.’

‘Ah, my poor little maid.’ Mrs Dower was round the table in a breath and drawing the girl into her arms. ‘Your grandmother won’t like you because you’re so like your father, God bless his soul. And she won’t take to little Sarah either if I’m any judge, because she’s too much like your mother. Those two never did get on. Your grandmother was jealous because Lois and her father were so close. And your Uncle Sebastian is scared of anyone replacing him in her affections. Inheritance, see?’ She nodded wisely. ‘Between you and me, I reckon he was pleased as Punch when your mum took off with your dad. It left the road clear for him to claim the lot when anything happens to his parents. So he’s going to be very worried now you lot have turned up, isn’t he? Stands to reason, though, the only one she’ll take to is little Alfie. He’s the double of Sebastian at that age, and your grandmother always doted on him. I think that’s why he’s such a selfish bugger now. But now come on. There’s no point in upsetting yourself. You just stand up to her and you’ll be fine.’ She cleared her throat and said comfortably, ‘Right, lass, get those scones out to the children and then we’ll have a nice hot drink.’

Briony sniffed and pulled herself together, then plastering a smile on her face, she went out into the yard. The children were leaning over the wall of the sty laughing uproariously at the antics of the pigs, and she gave them each a scone which disappeared in seconds.

‘Look at the little piglets, Briony.’ Sarah pointed excitedly, spraying crumbs everywhere. ‘I wish we could have one.’