The Soldier's Daughter (31 page)

When they sat together drinking it at the kitchen table a short while later she told him about Sebastian’s late-night visitor. ‘It’s really weird because the man had said that he was going to stay the night in the barn,’ she confided. ‘And when I first came down they were arguing in the kitchen. It sounded like Sebastian owed money again.’

‘Well, you’ll soon find out,’ Howel said caustically. ‘If he does, he’ll be trying it on with Mrs Frasier again today.’

A couple of hours later as Briony was mopping the floor in the hallway she heard voices arguing in the sitting room and knew that Howel had guessed correctly.

‘And how much do you need
this
time?’ Marion Frasier sounded exasperated.

‘Er . . . well . . . two hundred pounds.’

‘
How
much?’ The woman’s voice had risen alarmingly.

‘I’ll pay it back – every penny,’ Sebastian said in a wheedling voice.

‘Oh, you
will
, will you? And just
how
do you intend to do that? The funeral parlour and the farm are barely making enough money to pay the bills and you said you’d repay the last couple of sums I let you have. No, son, I’m sorry, but this time I shall have to ask your father about it. That’s a tremendous amount of money. Gambling debt again, is it?’

Briony didn’t hang about to hear any more but grabbed the mop and bucket and went quietly back to the kitchen. It would never do if they thought that she was eavesdropping. Sebastian was asking for two hundred pounds as if it was nothing! He really was the most selfish, odious person she had ever encountered.

Howel called for her at one o’clock as arranged. She had served her grandparents their lunch by then but there had been no sign of Sebastian and she had noticed that William was in an unusually grumpy mood, no doubt after being told of his son’s latest debt. But now as she set off with Howel she was in fine spirits and looking forward to her outing.

Chapel Farm stood a mile or so away from The Heights and as they approached it now she was better able to see it because the weak sun had burned off the early-morning mist. It lay in a small dip, its fields surrounded by drystone walls that put her in mind of a patchwork quilt, and as they walked towards it she thought how pretty it looked with the wild Cornish moors stretching away behind into the distance. It wasn’t quite as big as Kynance Farm where the Dowers lived, but the farmhouse walls were built of warm Cornish stone that the sun and sea had mellowed to shades of grey and yellow, and it had a thatched roof. They walked through double gates, at the side of which a large rowan tree grew and Briony recalled Mrs Dower telling her that these trees were planted to ward off evil spirits. A large barn stood to one side of the farmhouse, and as they crossed the yard, Howel informed her that it had living accommodation on the first floor reached by stone steps that led up to a stout oak door. There was also a stable block and a number of pigsties to the other side of it. At the back of the house was an overgrown orchard, the branches of the fruit trees dipping with the weight of rotten fruit. In front of that was what had clearly been a large vegetable patch. Brambles and long grass had encroached upon it now, but Briony knew that without too much work it could be beautiful and productive again. The windows were diamond-leaded and they glinted in the sun as they approached.

‘Oh, it’s like something off the cover of a chocolate box,’ Briony gasped in delight.

Howel ceremoniously opened the door to the kitchen for her; she stepped past him and gazed about. Most of the furniture was still in place but it was festooned with cobwebs and dust now, and the sight made her feel sad. The moths had had a feast of the curtains, which hung in tatters, and the grate was full of ashes that had spewed out onto a tiled hearth. In the centre of the room stood a large oak table with four sturdy matching chairs and either side of the fireplace were two easy chairs that had seen better days. A door in the far wall led into a parlour. Again, most of the furniture was still there and without realising that she was doing it she began to picture aloud how it could look with a little tender loving care.

‘This sideboard could be lovely with a good polish,’ she remarked as she traced her finger through the thick dust all across it. ‘And I think those fire-irons on the hearth are solid brass. They’re badly tarnished but I reckon they’d come up a treat with a bit of elbow grease.’

Howel grinned but remained silent as she turned about and headed for a staircase in the corner of the kitchen. Upstairs she found three bedrooms and a small box room that she declared could be just right for converting into an indoor bathroom. The huge wooden wardrobes were old-fashioned but solid and Briony pictured herself cleaning them.

‘I’d have flowered curtains and a flowered bedspread in here,’ she told Howel in the largest room as her imagination ran riot. ‘And I think these beds are brass too. They just need a good clean although I dare say the mattresses would have to be replaced. They’re damp.’

Howel chuckled as he leaned against the doorpost and watched her with his arms crossed.

‘Thinking of buying, it are you?’ he said teasingly and his words brought her back to earth with a bump.

‘Of course not. I just think it’s a shame for a lovely farmhouse like this to stand empty. Perhaps you and your girlfriend could live here once you get married?’

‘I reckon that’s some way away,’ Howel said abruptly. ‘And now if you’re done we’d best get back.’

‘Oh er . . . yes, of course.’ Briony meekly followed him back outside wondering what she might have said to upset him and they made their way back to The Heights in silence.

As Briony approached the school to collect the children she saw a small cluster of women gathered at the gates. Their heads were bent together and when they saw her, they called her over.

‘Have you heard about little Bethany Tiler?’ one woman asked. She was the mother of one of the girls in Sarah’s class.

Briony shook her head.

‘Poor little soul got taken away in an ambulance not an hour since,’ the woman told her in a hushed voice.

Briony frowned. ‘Oh dear, I hope it isn’t anything too serious?’

The woman pursed her lips. ‘We hope it isn’t either, but rumour has it that the little lass has contracted polio.’

‘Oh no!’ Briony’s hand flew to her mouth. She had heard horror stories about that particular disease, of children existing in monstrous great iron lungs that breathed for them. And of others who were left with wasted limbs and callipers on their legs. ‘But isn’t that highly contagious?’ she said fearfully, and when the others nodded, her stomach did a somersault. ‘When will we know if it is that or not?’

The woman replied, ‘All I can tell you is that they’ve taken her to the cottage hospital for now and put her in isolation while they do the tests. A doctor from Truro who specialises in that sort of disease is on his way to look at her and if it’s confirmed, they’ll move her to the sanatorium where he works.’ She tutted, her face a mask of concern. ‘If you ask me, I’d say it’s probably one of the evacuees from London that’s brought it here.’ Then suddenly remembering that Briony was caring for such a child, she added apologetically, ‘Not that it’s their fault, of course, but it’s a known fact that polio is rife in the slums.’

The school bell rang then, frightening a moorhen that was perched on the school fence. It flapped away indignantly as Briony waited for the children, trying to keep outwardly calm. She had the urge to take them all home and wrap them in cotton wool until the panic was over, but she knew that this wasn’t possible. They would all just have to wait for the results of Bethany’s tests and pray that they were negative.

The news when it came three days later was not good. Bethany did have poliomyelitis and had been transferred by ambulance to a sanatorium in Truro. Her parents were distraught after being told that for the duration of her treatment they would not be allowed to visit her, and the headmistress ordered the school to be closed for two days while the premises were given a thorough clean.

Briony and a number of women from Poldak village descended on the school armed with copious amounts of disinfectant and mops and buckets, and they scoured everything within sight. Curtains were taken down and sent away to be washed, and every single wall, chair, desk and floor was thoroughly cleaned. Even the pencils were disinfected. Precious paper that the children had been writing on was burned and replaced with new, and by the end of the first day the smell of disinfectant was so overpowering that Briony could practically taste it. Her hands were red raw with scrubbing but she was happy to do what she could to prevent the infection from spreading. Windows were left wide open as they worked, and the cold wind whipping in from the sea made them all shiver as they tackled one room at a time. Briony was sick with worry. Sarah was still unwell and she was terrified that she might be incubating the awful disease. She had never been a strong child since developing whooping cough as a toddler, and every winter she seemed to catch every cough and cold that was going. She mentioned this fact to her grandmother who grudgingly allowed her to call out the family doctor to look at her.

Dr Restarick was a plump, elderly man with snow-white hair and a bushy white beard who put Briony in mind of Father Christmas. When he arrived he got out his stethoscope and examined Sarah thoroughly, as Briony stood by with her heart in her throat.

Half of the parents in the village were panicking and since Bethany had been diagnosed, the good doctor had been run off his feet.

Straightening, he smiled at Briony kindly, wondering why he had to examine the Frasiers’ granddaughter in the kitchen. He would have expected her to be in one of the bedrooms in the main part of the house, with a roaring fire on the go and her grandmother fussing in attendance.

‘Of course, it’s too soon to be sure but as far as I can tell it’s just a nasty chest infection,’ he told Briony, hoping to allay her fears. ‘I’m going to give your sister some medicine and she should start to feel better in a few days. Meantime I suggest you keep her in the warm and give her plenty of fluids. Does she have a fire in her bedroom?’

Briony looked embarrassed as she stammered, ‘Er . . . no, she doesn’t.’ How could she tell him that she and the children slept in the servants’ quarters? It was bitterly cold up there now, although Briony did put a hot-water bottle into all their beds each night before the three youngsters went up.

‘In that case I should keep her down here, just for a couple of nights until we see how she is. Do you think you could manage that?’

She nodded. ‘Of course. And thank you, Doctor.’

Snapping his bag shut, he smiled before heading for the door to the hallway saying, ‘Don’t worry about seeing me out, my dear. I might look in on your grandfather before I leave.’ And then he was gone, closing the door softly behind him as Briony fussed over Sarah and tucked her blanket snugly about her.

The following morning the children were surprised when their grandmother strode into the kitchen and threw an envelope onto the table. ‘That’s come for
her
.’ Her lip curled slightly as she glanced towards Mabel and then she turned and went out.

Mabel had paled alarmingly and her eyes looked huge in her small face. ‘I bet it’s from me ma,’ she said fearfully. ‘Yer don’t think she’s gonna make me go back, do yer?’

‘I shouldn’t think so for a minute, but why don’t I open it and see? I can read it for you, if you like?’ Briony answered gently. The little girl had begun to tremble and knowing what a tough little thing she was, Briony found that surprising. The child had never gone to school regularly back at home in London and now she was only just beginning to learn her alphabet.

When Mabel nodded Briony slit the envelope open and after taking out a single sheet of rather grubby-looking notepaper, she read aloud:

Dear Mabel
,

I hope you is ok an behavin yerself. I got yer postcard wi yer address on an it sounds very posh where yer stayin. Fings are much the same ere. The bombin don’t get no better but up to now we’ve bin lucky an ain’t bin too badly it. I’ve met a nice man. Is name is Charlton an e’s an American GI so I’m getting plenty o nylons. I’m getting a bit o stick from the neighbours cos e’s black but they’re just jealous. Ain’t eard nuffink from yer bruvvers or sisters but suppose there all right
.

Make sure yer be good else I’ll tan yer arse when yer get ome. I shan’t write again cos yer know I’m no good at writin letters
.

Luv Ma x

A look of pure relief swept across Mabel’s face as she let her breath out in a long sigh. ‘So she ain’t sayin’ I ’ave to go ’ome then?’

‘Not at all,’ Briony assured her. ‘She’s just letting you know that she received the postcard we sent her.’ And then she was shocked when Mabel suddenly sidled up to her and placed her small hand in hers. It was the first real show of affection the little girl had ever given her and Briony was touched.

*

Mid-afternoon they heard Sebastian’s car pull into the yard and he marched through the kitchen without giving any of them so much as a backward glance. That suited Briony just fine. The atmosphere in the house had been tense to say the least, ever since the night when he had offered to let the man sleep in the barn.

‘
No!
You’ll have not a penny more!’ It was Grandfather’s voice, audible through the walls, and Briony could hear the controlled rage in it. She bit her lip in consternation. Arguing like this wouldn’t do his heart any good. Mrs Dower had told her that William was living on borrowed time and she felt resentment towards Sebastian for upsetting him.

‘You’re a grown man now, Sebastian, and it’s about time you learned to stand on your own two feet,’ the same voice thundered. ‘I cannot afford to keep bailing you out, so you’ll have to sort it out yourself this time.’

Sebastian’s reply was lost.

It was some minutes later that William rang the bell for her and she entered the sitting room to find him wiping the sweat from his brow. He looked very pale and Briony was concerned for him. There was no sign of her uncle and she rightly guessed that he had stormed out because he hadn’t got his own way.