The Soldier's Daughter (22 page)

‘But you don’t have pigs as pets.’

‘Why not?’

Briony was lost for words for a moment. How could she tell them that these sweet little creatures would likely end up on their plates one day? ‘Because they grow too big,’ she said instead and thankfully the children seemed happy with that explanation. In all fairness the piglets were delightful with their little pink snouts and their curly tails, and suddenly the thought of the roast pork they were going to have for dinner that evening wasn’t quite so appealing.

While they were standing there, Talwyn appeared from nowhere, and sidling up to Briony, she slipped her hand into hers and smiled shyly.

Briony was touched and squeezed the girl’s hand affectionately.

‘We’ll be going home to The Heights soon with your gran to cook the dinner. Would you like to come with us?’ she asked.

The smile froze on Talwyn’s face and she snatched her hand away before Briony could say another word. Then she was off like the wind across the yard and vanished into one of the barns.

The children stared at Briony in amazement.

‘What was up with her then?’ Alfie asked in his usual forthright way.

‘I have no idea,’ his sister admitted. ‘But I’m going back in to Mrs Dower so you two behave yourselves and don’t get disappearing. We’ll have to be heading back soon.’

When she told Mrs Dower what had happened with Talwyn, the woman said, ‘I’m not surprised. She rarely ventures over there because she’s scared of Master Seb. She only came with me yesterday because she was curious to see you. She doesn’t often get to meet strangers out here. But now I’m just about done here so I’ll cut a few sandwiches for Caden and Howel to keep them going, then we’ll be off. We don’t have our dinner till I’ve seen to that lot over there. The men are picking the late potatoes down in the bottom field at present, so no doubt they’ll be starving by the time they get back in.’

As they meandered through the orchard and entered the yard of The Heights, Briony saw Sebastian outside, talking to the man who had been there the night before. As she watched, her uncle handed the man a large envelope, which the shady-looking character instantly put into the inside pocket of his overcoat, and then both men headed to the barn and proceeded to carry some large boxes out to a waiting van.

‘Now you know whereabouts in Bristol you’re taking them to, don’t you?’ they heard Sebastian say before Mrs Dower shooed them all into the kitchen. Luckily they hadn’t been spotted returning from Kynance Farm because it was already getting dusk.

‘Best keep well away from some of the blokes Master Seb has coming here,’ Mrs Dower advised as she reached for her apron. Then lowering her voice she confided to Briony, ‘I don’t think your grandparents know the half of what he gets up to. Personally, I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him. But that’s just my opinion.’ She then lit the oven, grateful to see that Briony had already peeled the potatoes and prepared the vegetables, whilst the girl made an attempt to clean the children up a little.

Later that evening, when the children had had a bath and were in bed, Briony sat at the kitchen table and read the newspaper that her grandfather had discarded. Mrs Frasier went into the village each day to get one for him so they were a day old by the time Briony got to read them. But at least it helped her to keep abreast of what was happening in the war and in other parts of the country. It seemed that London was still being heavily bombed, but worse still, the Jerries were targeting Coventry now too. The fact terrified her because it was so close to Nuneaton, but all she could do was pray that her mother and the other people she cared about back home were safe.

A tide of homesickness swept over her. She missed her mother and Ruth and their trips to the cinema. She missed Martha Brindley and her kindly ways. She missed Ernie, who was never far from her mind – but most of all she missed her father, whom she now knew she would never see again. The pain of that pierced through her like a knife and lowering her head, she wept with all her heart.

‘But
why
can’t you come with us, Briony? I don’t wanna go with
her!
’

As Briony straightened Alfie’s tie she smiled at him encouragingly. It was Monday morning and the children were just about to set off with their grandmother for their first day at school. Personally, Briony could see no reason why she couldn’t accompany them – but the woman was adamant that she would take them herself.

‘I suppose she wants to take you on her own because she’s so proud of you.’ Briony didn’t want to make things any worse for the children so she was putting a brave face on it. ‘And anyway, there’s nothing to worry about. You’ve already met some of the children there and your new teacher, Mrs Fellows. You’re going to love it.’

At that moment their grandmother strode purposefully into the room, once again looking like she was about to attend a wedding in yet another big hat that was adorned with peacock feathers; these wobbled about when she moved as if they were alive.

Briony saw Sarah blink in amazement and hoped that she wasn’t going to break into a fit of the giggles.

The woman’s eyes raked up and down the children critically as she pulled on a pair of soft kid gloves.

‘Ah, you’re all ready to go,’ she said approvingly. Like her other clothes, the smart dress she was wearing hung off her, and Briony thought that she must have lost a lot of weight. It was the ill-fitting clothes that gave her such a strange appearance; had they fitted properly, they could have looked wonderful. They were obviously of very good quality.

The woman swept towards the children and grasped their hands, then almost dragged them from the room as they shot appealing glances at their big sister.

‘Good luck. Have a lovely time,’ Briony shouted, but her words were drowned out by the slamming of the door. Sighing, she set about her chores. Once she had finished in the kitchen she intended to polish the banisters in the hallway today. She had made a start on them the day before, but there were so many that she hadn’t managed to get them all done in one day. However, her plans were altered some time later when her grandmother reappeared and told her, ‘I would like you to tidy yourself up and go down to the funeral parlour this morning. Mr Page has an appointment and Sebastian has to go to London again so I need someone to be there to keep the place open.’

The idea didn’t appeal to Briony one little bit. She asked nervously, ‘But what will I have to do there?’

Her grandmother rolled her eyes. ‘Just
be
there of course!’ she snapped. ‘In case a call of a bereavement comes in. If it does, you will telephone me here and I shall have to get Mr Dower to come and fetch the hearse and collect the body. I’m sure even
you
are capable of doing that aren’t you?’

Briony’s chin came up and she answered calmly, ‘Yes, Grandmother, I am
perfectly
capable. I used to work in an office and am quite used to dealing with people, although the majority of my work involved accounts.’

Marion Frasier narrowed her eyes at this snippet of information. ‘Did it now? And would you happen to know how to keep books up to date?’

Briony nodded. ‘I certainly would. That was part of my job.’

‘In that case I might allow you to look at the ledger for the funeral parlour.’ She said it as if she were bestowing some great gift. ‘My son Sebastian is always so busy, you see. And keeping the records up to date has never been his strong point. Perhaps if it is quiet you could go over the accounts to make sure that all the figures tally? You could then tell me what the profits for the last year are.’

‘I suppose I could, if you tell me where the books are kept,’ Briony said somewhat reluctantly.

‘Very well.’ The woman eyed her clothes disapprovingly. ‘And
do
change into something a little smarter. I can’t have you greeting people in the funeral parlour looking like that. Do you have a black dress?’

‘I have a black skirt and a white blouse.’

‘I suppose that will have to do. And
do
tie your hair back too, and then come through to the sitting room for the keys.’

Briony got washed and changed in record time. She brushed her hair and tied it with a thin black ribbon into the nape of her neck before presenting herself to her grandmother in the sitting room. Her grandfather was sitting in his wheelchair at the side of the fireplace and he winked at her over his wife’s shoulder as she entered the room.

‘You look very smart, dear,’ he told her.

Briony’s grandmother glared at him before saying acidly, ‘I would hardly call that outfit very smart, but I dare say it will have to sufffice.’ She then went on to tell Briony in detail what she expected her to do and where the accounts records were kept, and as Briony took the keys from her and turned to leave the room, she added, ‘And if someone should call to tell you that they have lost a loved one, be sure to be sympathetic. The reputation of our business is second to none, and I do not want
you
spoiling it. Tell them that someone will be with them just as soon as possible, then take their details and telephone me
immediately
, girl.’

Briony didn’t even bother to respond but strode from the room with her lips set in a grim line. The woman was utterly . . . she searched her mind for the right word.
Insufferable!
Yes, that would do very nicely. Mrs Frasier had agreed with Mrs Dower – albeit very reluctantly – to pay Briony a small allowance each week. It was a fraction of what the girl had earned in her job at Woolworths, but at least it would keep the children and herself supplied with a few treats and necessities. The trouble was, that ever since then, Mrs Frasier had treated her granddaughter even more like a hired skivvy and sometimes Briony felt like Cinderella, locked away in the kitchen at her wicked stepmother’s beck and call.

As she approached the funeral parlour down in Penzance, Briony’s stomach tightened into a knot. Hopefully Mr Page would be back for one o’clock at the latest, but she wasn’t looking forward to the next few hours at all. Up to now she had never seen a dead body – and she hoped it would remain that way.

As she slotted the key into the door her hands began to shake, and once inside, the silence closed in on her. Outside was the squawking of the gulls and the sound of the sea in the harbour, but in here there was nothing to be heard but the ticking of a clock on the wall. She gulped as she stared at the telephone standing on a highly polished mahogany desk and prayed that it wouldn’t ring. A thick Turkish carpet covered the floor, and on the walls were illustrations of various caskets and urns that the families of the departed could choose from. The walls were painted a deep dark red colour, making the room feel quite claustrophobic, and although Briony didn’t particularly like the colour she wondered how they had managed to obtain it. Back home, the choice of paint colours for some long time had been restricted to khaki or Air Force grey, which were the colours they painted the planes. A potted fern stood on a table at the end of a row of easy chairs.

A large guest-book was open on the desk, and after giving it a quick glance she moved towards a door at the back of the room that was concealed by a thick purple velvet curtain. Her grandmother had told her that this would take her into a corridor. One of the rooms leading off it was the Chapel of Rest and Briony couldn’t resist a quick peek inside. It was a small room with a stained-glass window set high in the wall, before which stood a small altar with a highly polished brass cross upon it. To either side were a number of hard-backed wooden chairs, and resting on two trestles in the centre of the room was an oak coffin with brass handles. Guessing that this must hold the body of the man that Mr Page and Sebastian had been to fetch a few nights ago, she hastily shut the door again without even venturing inside. She vaguely remembered Mrs Frasier mentioning that he was to be buried the following day, and she shuddered.

The next room proved to be a small office and the place where her grandmother had told her she would find the accounts. There was nothing very special about this room. It contained a small, rather battered desk and chair and a number of metal filing cabinets, but other than that it was bare. A dark blue blind covered a window that looked out onto a tiny yard bordered by a high brick wall. Briony knew that she should find the accounts ledger and start to look at it, but her eyes were drawn to the final door . . . Overcome by curiosity, she approached it and inched it open. She instantly wished that she hadn’t. On the far wall of the square, whitewashed room were a number of small doors which she guessed opened on to shelves where the dead bodies were stored – and in the centre of the room was a raised concrete slab that looked remarkably like an operating table. Etched into the floor on either side of it were deep grooves that led to a drain. A chrome table on high legs containing scalpels and other equally daunting-looking equipment was placed at one side of it, and a number of white shrouds in various sizes hung on a wall. The smell in there was awful too – a mixture of strong disinfectant and the various chemicals that were used when the bodies were prepared for burial.

Briony slammed the door shut as quickly as she could whilst she tried to catch her breath and then tried to block the sights from her mind.

She sped back to the office, and once she had found the ledgers in the desk where her grandmother had told her they would be, she located the one for 1939–40, and began to go over the last year’s accounts. Thankfully everything appeared to be in order and all the figures matched, so she tucked the book into her bag to take it back to The Heights as requested. She then wandered back into the front shop where she tried to while the time away. She thought of Ernie and wondered what he was doing, then of the children, hoping that they were enjoying their first day at their new school. She began to wish that she had brought a book with her to read. The time passed very slowly but then to her relief, just before one o’clock Mr Page appeared, looking every inch the undertaker in a smart black suit, white shirt and black tie. She saw that he was quite elderly. His hair, when he removed his bowler hat, was white as driven snow and his face was heavily lined, but his faded blue eyes were kindly.