The Soldier's Daughter (27 page)

They had only been downstairs a few minutes when Howel appeared with his usual bags of supplies.

Mabel slunk away to the table and kept a watchful eye on him the whole time he was there and once he’d gone she asked, ‘Is ’e yer chap then?’

‘My
chap
? No, of course he isn’t. He’s Mrs Dower’s grandson. I don’t have a chap.’

‘Well, I reckon ’e wants to be yer chap. I can tell by the way ’e looks at yer. ’E wants to shag yer.’

‘
Mabel!
’ Briony almost dropped the bowl of porridge she was carrying to the table. ‘That’s an awful thing to say – and you shouldn’t even know about such things at your age!’

‘’
Course
I know.’ Mabel stuck her chin in the air. ‘That’s ’ow women earn money, by lettin’ men shag ’em. Me mam told me so.’

Briony was at a loss as to how to answer that, so she clamped her mouth shut, intending to continue the conversation later that day, out of earshot of Sarah and Alfie whose ears had pricked up.

‘Well, we’ll talk about this another time, shall we?’ she choked, trying hard not to show her distress. ‘But for now I think we ought to have our breakfast and think about getting you all to school. And Mabel . . . no more bad language today,
please
!’

All day Briony thought of the implications of what Mabel had confided and she felt sick. Could it be that some of the men she’d spoken of had interfered with her? But then Mabel was just seven years old. Surely no man would stoop so low?

She shared her concerns with Mrs Dower when the woman arrived later that afternoon, and the housekeeper listened carefully.

‘Perhaps that’s why the poor little soul is wetting the bed and having nightmares,’ she said tentatively. ‘Stands to reason something like that is going to leave scars, doesn’t it? Poor little bird. But then we’re jumping to conclusions. No doubt she’ll tell you the whole story when she’s good and ready. Meantime, don’t ask questions, that’s my advice.’

Briony nodded as she set off to fetch the children. The day was dark and drizzly as she trod over the crisp golden leaves that were swirling about her feet. Gulls squawked and swooped in the sky above her but she hardly noticed. Her thoughts were too firmly fixed on what Mabel had said and she was concerned that if her worst fears were realised and the child had been mistreated in that wicked, vicious way – then brave little Mabel might never get over it.

Martha Brindley stood out on the pavement and stared at the tightly drawn curtains of her neighbour’s house. It was well after nine o’clock in the morning now but it didn’t look as if Lois was up – yet again. She’d had to pound on the door for the last few mornings to ensure that Lois got to work on time, but it looked as if she was going to ignore her altogether today. Shaking her head, the big woman headed back to her own kitchen tutting with irritation. Her feelings for her neighbour veered between sympathy and annoyance. Of course she was sorry that Lois had lost her lovely husband – but hadn’t
she
lost her Clal too? And
she
hadn’t hit the bottle, even though the pain of his loss weighed like a heavy stone in her heart. Everyone was being affected by this damn war and they were having to get on with it! But then she would feel guilty for being so unfeeling. After all, Lois wasn’t made of such stern stuff as she was, and she knew that she was missing the children dreadfully. If truth be known, Mrs Brindley was missing them too – although she still felt that Lois had done the right thing in sending them to a safer place.

She found Tigger curled up in front of her fire and went to fetch him some food. He seemed to spend more time round at her house now than he did at home; no doubt because he knew that he had more chance of being fed there. Lois didn’t bother to feed herself half the time any more, let alone the cat, and seemed to be surviving on pure alcohol. She was the talk of the whole street, not that it seemed to bother her. It broke Mrs Brindley’s heart when she thought of what Lois had looked like not so very long ago. Everyone had envied her then but now they pitied her. The weight seemed to have dropped off her bones and her once glorious blonde hair was now scraped back in a greasy ponytail. She never even bothered to wear a bit of lipstick now and yet at one time she wouldn’t have dreamed of stepping out of the door without her full war-paint in place.

She bent and placed the saucer of scraps in front of Tigger with tears in her eyes, but then she became aware of someone standing in the doorway and when she glanced up the breath caught in her throat.

Suddenly she was across the room. ‘Aw, luvvie. I can’t believe it’s you!’ she cried joyously. ‘I thought I were seein’ bloody things fer a moment back there.’ She was hugging her son to her and he patted her back affectionately.

‘No, you ain’t seein’ things, Mam. It’s really me,’ Ernie assured her, throwing his kitbag down. ‘An’ yer goin’ to have to put up with me fer a while ’cos this damn leg ’as been playin’ up again an’ the doc says I’ve to rest it.’ He thumped the offending leg with frustration. ‘It ain’t never been the same since Dunkirk,’ he told her. ‘Left it weak, so the doc says, but hopefully I shouldn’t need more than a couple o’ weeks an’ I’ll be back in the air.’

Staring up at him and thinking how handsome he looked in his uniform, Mrs Brindley realised how much he had changed in the past year. He had gone off to war as little more than a boy but he had come back to her as a man, and she was proud of him.

‘So come on then,’ he grinned now. ‘Get that kettle on an’ then yer can tell me all the gossip, eh?’

‘Huh! I don’t quite know where to start,’ Mrs Brindley grumbled. Despite his cheerful façade, her mother’s instinct screamed at her that something wasn’t right. She could see the haunted look in his eyes and guessed that he had probably seen atrocities that would stay with him for the rest of his life. War was an abomination. But for now she was just glad to have him home and intended to make the most of every minute they had together.

Over tea she told him about Briony taking the children to Cornwall and she saw his face fall. So I was right then, he has got feelings for her, she thought. Although she loved Briony almost like a daughter she was sad to think of how Ruth would take the news, should she ever find out. Of course it was inevitable that she would, and Martha Brindley was sure it would break the girl’s heart. Putting that aside, she went on to tell her son about the drinking problem Lois had developed.

‘It would be losing James that has done that to her,’ he commented. ‘Losing someone close can do funny things to people.’ His face crumpled then, and she saw that there were tears sparkling in his eyes. ‘My best mate didn’t come back from a flight last week,’ he told her hoarsely and she knew then that he wasn’t just home for his leg; his nerves had been stretched to breaking-point. ‘He was shot down over the sea,’ he went on huskily. ‘No chance of ever recovering his body. I stopped off the train in Ledbury on my way here to deliver a letter he had left with me for his parents.’ He laughed then; a hollow sound that held no mirth. ‘We do that, you know. Leave letters for loved ones with mates just in case we don’t come back. The one I had given him for you must have gone into the sea with him.’

‘Oh, lad.’ His mother’s hand closed over his, and for one of the very few times in her life she was speechless. Words just seemed so inadequate.

‘The week before, we were flying over London when the Jerries were bombin’ the docks. I managed to get in really close to one of their bombers before I let him have it. So close that just for a second we were looking each other straight in the eye. Then I fired the bombs and next thing his plane was on fire and he was hurtling down into the Thames. It’s a terrible thing to kill someone, Mam, even if it’s a case of you or him. This war is just so bloody senseless!’

And then the tears came, fast and furious and she was rocking him in her arms as she had when he was a little boy, comforting him with the love and consolation that only a mother can give.

It was early on Saturday evening when Mrs Frasier strode imperiously into the kitchen to tell Briony, ‘You are to have the children ready for ten o‘clock in the morning. They will be attending the service at the Methodist Chapel with me in Poldak.
That
one can stay here with you. I doubt she’s ever walked into a church in her whole life and I can’t have her showing me up.’ The last was addressed at Mabel, who glowered back at her. She didn’t like the missus at all and wasn’t afraid to show it.

‘But I don’t want to go to church,’ Sarah said. ‘I want to stay here wi’ Briony.’

Briony expected her grandmother to object but Marion surprised her when she said indifferently, ‘Very well, you can stay here with her. But I must insist that Alfred comes along.’

Alfie opened his mouth to object but then promptly shut it again. He was scared stiff of his grandmother.

Briony gritted her teeth. ‘Very well,’ she said politely. ‘I shall make sure that he is ready.’ She had soon realised that Alfie was the only one that her grandmother was vaguely interested in and she knew that it would be pointless to argue. But at least she could keep Sarah with her. The little girl had developed a slight temperature and Briony wanted her to stay in the warm, and try to get her well enough for school on Monday.

On Sunday morning a very reluctant Alfie set off for church with his grandmother and once they were gone Briony began to prepare the vegetables for Sunday dinner. She had taken over the breakfasts and lunches herself now but Mrs Dower still insisted on cooking the Sunday roast and the main evening meal until Briony felt a little more confident.

‘Crikey, somebody didn’t ’ave a very good night,’ Mrs Dower commented when she came in armed with a large goose all plucked ready for the oven. The circles under Briony’s eyes were so dark that they looked like bruises and she appeared worn out.

‘Actually for once it wasn’t Mabel that disturbed me last night.’ Briony lowered her voice as she glanced towards the two little girls who were engrossed in playing cat’s cradle. ‘It was Sebastian. He and that friend of his from London were loading the van with something out of the locked barn and it seemed to go on for ages. Goodness knows what they were doing.’

Mrs Dower frowned. ‘Well, I know he stores the coffins in there and I did hear that Jim Tolly from Land’s End passed away last night, but I can’t see Master Seb fetching a coffin at that time of night. Does your grandmother know about it?’

‘I doubt it. She and Grandfather wouldn’t hear anything at the front of the house but my bedroom looks directly down onto the yard so I couldn’t help but hear it.’

‘Up to no good, I expect,’ Mrs Dower remarked as she lit the oven.

By the time Alfie returned from the chapel he was in a rare old mood.

‘That were so borin’. We ’ad to sing hymns an’ everythin’,’ he complained, slinging his cap onto the chair.

Mrs Dower grinned before pottering off to set the table in the dining room for the family. Marion Frasier had attended the Methodist Chapel every Sunday morning for as long as she could remember and when he had been well enough her husband William had gone too. Now instead Sebastian would carry his father upstairs to the bathroom each week while the missus was gone, so William could have his weekly bath. When Sebastian was at home, that was. If he was away, Howel would sometimes carry the old chap up if he had time, or William would have to make do with bed baths administered by his adoring wife. Annik Dower knew that it went sorely against the grain for her master. Until his health had failed he had been such an energetic man. His illness had also greatly affected his wife, and sometimes, even more of late, Mrs Dower wondered if she was quite right in the head. Still, as she often told herself, she wasn’t paid to wonder so she just got on with whatever she was asked to do.

Now she could hear their voices through the sitting-room door, which Marion had absentmindedly left ajar, and she detected a note of irritation in William’s voice as he said, ‘You really
must
stop giving him money now, Marion. Our finances will not stretch to funding Sebastian’s gambling habits. He’s a grown man! If he gets himself into a mess in future, he must get himself out of it.’

Mrs Dower hurried on, her mind working overtime. It sounded as if Sebastian had been tapping his mother for cash yet again. It didn’t surprise her. She’d never known him do a hard day’s work in his entire life, which was why she’d been so surprised when he joined up. Not that it had lasted long; he’d been back at home in no time with his wounded hand. She had strong suspicions about that injury. After all, how easy would it have been to do that to himself? It was just the sort of stunt he would get up to – although she had no proof, of course. It was just something he had said to Howel one day that had rung alarm bells.

‘Worth losing a couple of fingers to be safe back home again, isn’t it?’ he had sneered. ‘But I can still hold
my
head up because unlike you, at least I went and showed willing!’

She knew that his comments had been meant as a slur on Howel, who had stayed at home to keep growing food for the country; without farmers, everyone would starve! She also knew that the words had cut Howel to the quick. But then he’d always been a snide little sod, had Master Seb. His mother had ruined him shamelessly and now she was reaping the rewards.

The family were just finishing their Sunday dinner when there was a loud hammering on the front door. The sound echoed through to the kitchen where Briony and the children were eating their own meal, and Briony quickly rose from the table to go and answer it, wondering who it could be. They didn’t get many visitors at The Heights, as she’d discovered since living there. Mrs Dower had gone back home at Briony’s insistence. Sunday was supposed to be a day of rest, she had reminded Annik jokingly, and she was more than capable of clearing up on her own.

She opened the front door to find a respectably dressed middle-aged couple standing on the step. ‘Hello, may I help you?’ she asked politely.

‘I doubt it, but that devil who lives here probably can!’ the woman snapped as she clutched her handbag in front of her.