The Soldier's Daughter (26 page)

‘Don’t worry about it, and do yourself a favour and keep out of his way. I know I shouldn’t say it with you being part of the family, but he’s a right nasty piece of work.’

The conversation was stopped from going any further when Mabel suddenly appeared at Briony’s elbow to ask, ‘Can I ’ave some more?’

She sounded just like Oliver in
Oliver Twist
, and stifling her amusement, Briony kept her face solemn as she replied, ‘Yes, you can, but only if you eat it properly and don’t gobble.’ Now seemed as good a time as any to start teaching the child some table manners.

‘Whadda yer mean?’ Mabel asked indignantly.

‘I mean you should eat it nicely without slurping. Eat a little more slowly like Alfie and Sarah, and try to do so
silently
.’

Mabel cast a withering look at the other two and seemed on the point of refusing, but then she said in a long-suffering voice: ‘All right then.’

Briony refilled her dish and carried it to the table for her, and after she was seated Mabel lifted her spoon and began to eat a little more slowly, taking note of how Alfie and Sarah were eating theirs. She didn’t look too happy about it, but it was a step in the right direction.

‘Lesson one,’ Howel chuckled as he made for the door. ‘Have a good day, kids. See you later, Briony. I’ll be bringing another load of logs over later for the fire. The weather’s on the turn now and you wouldn’t believe how cold it can get here with the wind from the sea. Oh, and by the way, Ma sent these over as well. They’re some more clothes she dug out for Mabel. The coat she mentioned is in there.’ He nodded towards a large bag he had placed down by the door and Briony thanked him.

As the door closed behind him she realised with a little jolt how much she had come to look forward to his visits. He and his mother were the only people she ever got to see who gave her the time of day and it could get lonely here with just the children for company, even though there was enough cleaning to keep her busy for the next year.

Quickly sorting through the bag of clothes, she was delighted to find some flannelette nightdresses as well as the coat. It was navy blue wool and double-breasted and in surprisingly good condition, apart from a little bobbling on the arms. She judged that it might be a little large for Mabel at the moment, but then beggars couldn’t be choosers and seeing as the child didn’t have one it would do very nicely, for the weather was turning chilly.

‘You can write to your mum on the postcard the Red Cross lady left for you when you get home this afternoon and tell her our address,’ she told Mabel as she buttoned her into the coat to try it on a short time later. It actually fitted better than she had thought it would and the little girl looked quite smart in it.

Mabel lowered her head and frowned. ‘I can’t write. Nor I can’t read.’

‘In that case I’ll do it for you,’ Briony told her. ‘And don’t worry, you’re only seven. Lots of children your age can’t read and write yet.’

Mabel sniffed, clearly not much bothered one way or another, and Briony grinned. This little lady was a law unto herself – and a force to be reckoned with.

‘Miss Valentine, might I have a word, please . . . in my office.’ Mrs Marshall’s face was screwed up so tightly that she looked as if she was sucking on a wasp.

She was the teacher who had been put in charge of the new class that had been set up for the evacuees, and Briony smelled trouble. She wondered what had Mabel been up to now.

She didn’t have to wait long to find out.

‘I must ask you to see that Mabel Wilkes curbs her foul language in future,’ she said primly as she adjusted the steel-rimmed glasses that perched on the end of her nose. They looked as if they were trying to escape and Briony couldn’t blame them. Mrs Marshall really was one of the ugliest women she had ever seen, although she had heard that she was an excellent teacher. She had arms like a wrestler that strained against the sleeves of the blue cardigan she was wearing, and a huge bulbous nose.

Briony tried not to stare at the woman’s moustache as she asked, ‘What has she done?’

‘I’m afraid there was an incident in the playground with one of the little girls from the village,’ Mrs Marshall said. ‘Daisy asked Mabel where she had come from and Mabel told her to f— Well, I don’t care to repeat what she said, but it was more suitable for men working on the docks than a little girl. Could you please speak to her about it?’

‘Of course I will.’ Briony was desperately struggling to keep a straight face. She could just imagine what Mabel must have said.

‘Of course I think it’s
wonderful
that dear Mrs Frasier has agreed to take the child in,’ the woman gushed. ‘Especially as she has taken your family in too, and I also understand that some of the evacuees from the inner cities have not been brought up as . . .’ she hesitated here as if choosing her words carefully and ended lamely, ‘. . . as our local children have. Even so, I really think that we must try to maintain our standards.’

‘Of course.’ Briony was desperate to escape now before a fit of laughter got the better of her. In fact, she was going red in the face trying to contain it. Not that she thought it was funny; she agreed that Mabel’s language was unacceptable, but the child was only seven years old after all and she had clearly never been taught any better.

‘Leave it with me,’ she choked, and rushed for the door before the woman could say any more.

The children were all waiting at the school gates for her and Mabel eyed her warily as she approached, knowing that she was going to be in trouble.

‘I only cussed at that Daisy ’cos she said I talked funny – cheeky mare!’ she defended herself.

‘Well, that’s as maybe, but will you at least
try
not to swear in future,’ Briony pleaded, doing her best to sound stern.

Mabel ran her hands down the front of her new coat and sniffed. It was the finest thing she had ever owned and she would have kept it on all day if the teachers had allowed her to.

‘’S’pose so,’ she mumbled ungraciously and at last they set off for home.

Mrs Dower was there when they arrived and the appetising smell of a chicken roasting met them.

‘It’s a chicken dinner with a cherry pie and custard to follow tonight,’ she told them cheerily. ‘How does that sound?’

‘Lovely,’ the children chorused as they took off their coats. Once they had scampered away to fetch jigsaws and colouring books, Mrs Dower told Briony quietly, ‘There’s been another bomb attack on Buckingham Palace. Remember how the Royal Chapel was wrecked, back in early September? Good job Princess Elizabeth and Princess Margaret Rose were at Balmoral, isn’t it?’ And then on a happier note, ‘Your grandmother brought a letter in for you by the way, while you were at the school. It’s over there on the table – look.’

Briony pounced on it, hoping it was from Ernie. She saw at a glance that it was Ruth’s handwriting but that was almost as good and she could hardly wait to read it.

‘It’s from my best friend, Ruth, back at home,’ she told Mrs Dower as she tore the envelope open.

‘How nice. I dare say she’s missing you. Let’s hear what she has to say then. It’ll take my mind off peeling these sprouts.’

Briony read aloud:

Dear Briony
,

I hope you and the children are settling down at your grandparents. There’s nothing very exciting to tell you from this end, I’m afraid. We’ve had some more air raids but luckily nothing too bad up to now. Mrs Brindley heard from Ernie a few days ago and he says he is well, thank goodness, but his letter was so heavily censored that we couldn’t make head nor tail of where they’re sending him. He did say though that he might get a few days leave soon, so that’s something to look forward to
.

Everything is the same at work, nothing to report there. It’s as boring as ever and you’re well out of it. I’ve seen your mum a couple of times and she seems OK too. I don’t half miss our trips to the pictures! It just seems to be all work at the minute. Will you be coming back for a visit soon? It would be lovely if you could time it for when Ernie has his leave. We could all get together again then like old times
.

Grandad hasn’t been well so I’ve been going round to help out a bit. His gout is playing him up something terrible! Poor old devil. Rationing is as bad as ever here. What’s it like down there? There’s no decent clothes to be had in the shops and I’m sick to the back teeth of vegetable soup. Have you heard that the government is on about giving us clothing coupons now? As if things aren’t bad enough already
.

Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I’m missing you. You will write back, won’t you? Have you met anyone tall, dark and handsome yet? Oh – and rich, of course!

Lots of love
,

Your friend Ruth xxxxxxxxx

‘Who is Ernie?’ Mrs Dower asked and Briony blushed to the roots of her hair.

‘He’s my next-door neighbour’s son,’ she answered. ‘We were brought up together, and me, him and Ruth used to go everywhere together. He’s in the RAF now though and his mum Mrs Brindley is worried sick about him.’

‘I can understand that.’ Mrs Dower shook her head. ‘It must be awful for mothers and wives who have menfolk away fighting, never knowing if the dreaded telegram is going to arrive.’ She stopped abruptly then as she saw Briony’s face crumple and silently cursed herself for being so thoughtless. Hadn’t the poor girl received just such a telegram about her father?

‘And this Ernie,’ she said quickly, hoping to lighten the mood. ‘Sweet on him are you?’

‘It wouldn’t make any difference if I was,’ Briony confessed. ‘Ruth has adored him since we were at the first school together and she’s my best friend. If she thought I had feelings for Ernie, she’d think I’d betrayed her.’

‘Oh dear, so you’re
both
sweet on him then? That’s awkward, but who does Ernie favour?’

‘I haven’t the faintest idea,’ Briony said, and quickly rammed the letter back into the envelope before starting to set the table for dinner.

So that’s the way the land lies, Mrs Dower thought to herself. Sounds to me like young Briony has a soft spot for this young fellow but she doesn’t want to step on her friend’s toes. It seemed a shame, but then things had a way of sorting themselves out in the end. If the lad came back from the war, that was. Everyone knew what a dangerous job the pilots were doing, risking their lives every time their planes took off. She was just grateful that Howel hadn’t had to go, although she knew that he had wanted to.

*

Later that evening, when all was quiet, Briony reread Ruth’s letter. The unsettled night she’d had with Mabel was catching up with her now and she hoped that tonight would be uneventful.

She grinned when she came to the part of the letter where Ruth asked if she had met anyone tall, dark, handsome – and rich. There was Sebastian, but he was her uncle and he didn’t count. Then there was Howel. He was tall and handsome in a quirky sort of way, but he wasn’t dark or rich. Still, two out of four wasn’t bad, apart from the fact that he was already spoken for by a girl in the village. When she went over the part about trying to get home whilst Ernie was on leave, she sighed heavily. By getting her grandmother to agree to take Mabel on, she had narrowed down the chances of that happening. Who would take care of the children if she were to go home? Mrs Dower was already run off her feet and she certainly couldn’t see her grandmother volunteering. Apart from showing everyone how kind she was by taking the Valentine children to school on their first morning there, she hadn’t even spoken to them since. Briony had already asked if she could pass on their telephone number so that her mum and Ruth could phone her from the kiosk at the end of the street back home, but she had been told in no uncertain terms that the telephone was there purely for business purposes – so that had put paid to
that
idea.

Briony was concerned that Ruth had said so little about her mum. Ruth had promised that she would visit Lois regularly – and yet in the letter she had said that she had only seen her a couple of times. Briony prayed that her mother hadn’t hit the bottle again and that Ruth wasn’t keeping the fact from her. Still, Lois did have Mrs Brindley next door, and she had no doubt that their neighbour would be keeping an eye on her mum, which was something at least.

As she glanced around the kitchen, Briony felt a little glow of satisfaction. It looked so different now from how it had when she had arrived. She had scrubbed every inch of it as well as the enormous hallway. The turned wooden banisters now shone, and instead of the musty smell that had greeted them originally, the house now smelled of beeswax polish and of the greenery that she had dotted about in vases she had found beneath the sink. Tomorrow she intended to start on another room if her grandmother would allow it, and hopefully in time she would have the whole house back to how it had been kept in her mother’s day. But for now she was tired, so after switching off the lights and placing the guard in front of the fire, she made her way to bed.

Mabel had another nightmare that night. Once again, the stink of urine met Briony full force when she went to wake the girls the next morning, and once again Mabel shrank away from her.

‘It doesn’t matter. Accidents happen,’ Briony said tiredly as the child stood shivering to one side whilst Briony stripped the wet bedding from the mattress again. It was getting harder to dry the washing outside now that the weather had turned damp, and she knew that she would have to try and dry it on the line strung across the kitchen once it had been washed.

‘Ain’t yer gonna belt me one?’ Mabel asked, her eyes looking too large for her small face. ‘Me mam used to belt me when I wet the bed back at ’ome. But she didn’t bovver to change the sheets. I just slept in ’em till they got dry again.’

‘Oh, you didn’t wet the bed every night then?’

‘Nah, only when the blokes come back an’—’ Mabel suddenly clammed up as Briony looked at her, horrified. What had the child been about to say? She clearly wasn’t about to say any more and so Briony didn’t push it. The girl would tell her when she was good and ready.