The Flight of Swallows Read online

  ‘. . . she’s ever so nice, Charlie, and said that any time I wanted to I could go over to see her. The Dower House, it’s called . . . no, get down, Taddy, for goodness sake,’ as the young dog had come in with the boy and the pair of them seemed to make up a whirlwind that threatened the safety of the many pretty ornaments that stood on low tables about the room. ‘Have you been over there, Charlie? It’s lovely and she – she’s called Jenny – is going to stay there with Kizzie. D’you suppose I could live there, too?’

  ‘What a bloody good idea,’ Brooke roared, startling both Charlotte and the boy, but Robbie was in no way dismayed. He had found a new friend who seemed to like him and he liked her and he could not wait to tell Charlie all about it.

  ‘Anyway,’ he went on, ‘get down, Taddy . . . what do you think?’

  ‘Well, for a start you will get that animal off the drawing room sofa and remove him to the stable where he belongs with the other dogs. Dear God, you don’t find them leaping about in the house.’

  ‘Well, you don’t let them,’ Robbie began, ready for a fight since he had expected to be greeted with his sister’s usual loving interest in his concerns.

  ‘Isn’t it time you were in bed, boy?’ Brooke asked from between clenched teeth. He had the most painful swelling in the crotch of his breeches and his breath was not yet steady from the delightful and totally unexpected advances of his wife. She had been lovely in his arms, for some reason not at all the acquiescent young woman he had known in the past months. Exciting, excited, eager, whimpering in her throat as though begging him to take her but now this little sod had, as usual, spoiled it all and she was ready to laugh, to laugh at his exploits and even, he thought, to make excuses for him.

  ‘Oh, Brooke, let him tell us what he has been doing. I haven’t seen him all day. Now then, darling,’ turning to her young brother who ran into her arms followed by the puppy. ‘Tell me all about your new friend. Brooke and I are about to have dinner and—’

  Brooke strode across the carpet and rang the bell with such force it nearly came away from the ceiling. Both Charlotte and Robbie watched him in amazement and when a breathless Nellie knocked on the door and entered bobbing a eurtsey her master snarled at her.

  ‘Where is that woman who has the boy in her care? What’s-her-name?’

  ‘Kizzie, sir?’ Nellie bobbed another curtsey just to be on the safe side.

  ‘Fetch her here at once.’ He glared round the room and Robbie huddled next to Charlotte which further incensed her husband.

  ‘She’s over at Dower ’Ouse, sir, wi’—’

  ‘Yes, yes, well, send for her immediately. It is time Master Robert was in his bed and—’

  ‘’E ’asn’t ’ad ’is supper yet, sir,’ Nellie was unwise enough to say.

  ‘I believe he has had something and if he hasn’t Kizzie can give him what he needs. Now look sharp, woman. My wife and I are waiting to dine.’

  Again Nellie curtseyed then scuttled from the room.

  ‘He’s in a tearing temper,’ she told the others, managing to speak without dropping her aitch.

  ‘He were in one this mornin’ an’ all. What’s he want?’

  ‘Someone’s ter fetch Kizzie an’ get Master Robbie ter bed. Not that lad’s happy about that, I can tell yer, an’ that dog’s enough ter give yer the screaming ab-dabs, yappin’ an’ . . . oh, fer the Lord’s sake, Rosie, run over ter’t Dower House an’ fetch Kizzie or there’ll be murder done in’t drawin’ room.’

  They ate the delicious meal Mrs Groves had prepared for them, barely speaking. Brooke Armstrong was not a man to make small talk and every attempt on Charlotte’s part to start a conversation was brusquely parried.

  ‘We’ll take coffee in the drawing room, Johnson,’ he told the butler. He stood up and politely held his wife’s chair, took her hand and led her, somewhat bemused, in to the drawing room where, when they were settled with their coffee and the servants had left, he addressed her coldly.

  ‘Why should you feel the need to dress tonight, Charlotte? Usually you run in to the dining room in whatever you happen to have on. More often than not in your riding clothes but tonight, for some reason, you are beautifully dressed, correctly dressed and I wonder why.’

  He had lit a cigar and as he waited for her answer he blew a perfect smoke ring up to the ceiling.

  She smiled defiantly. ‘Well, and why shouldn’t I put on one of the lovely gowns you bought me in Paris. I particularly like this one—’

  ‘The truth if you please,’ he interrupted her, dragging on his cigar.

  ‘That is the truth.’

  ‘You wanted to impress me, did you not? To please me. To – what is the expression? – soften me up, so that you could persuade me to let you have your way on this new scheme you have devised.’

  ‘It is not some scheme, Brooke, or if it is then I think it is a charitable one. That girl out there has been wronged.’

  ‘It takes two, my dear Charlotte, unless she is claiming young master Denton raped her.’

  ‘No, she is not but he lied to her. He is to go to university and told her she was to go with him. He would put her in a cottage where she would have their child but when his mother questioned him he said that Jenny had made it all up. It is disgraceful . . .’

  ‘It is disgraceful, if it is true.’

  ‘Brooke, how can you say that. She is—’

  ‘Clever, I would say. She has deceived you and thinks herself to be lying in a bed of roses but that is not my problem. What I don’t like, Charlotte, are your efforts to deceive me.’

  She was shocked. ‘I have not deceived you, Brooke. You were not here and—’

  ‘Is it not a deception to dress up like a—’ he almost said whore but stopped himself in time. The bitterness and disappointment of an hour ago when he had been triumphant in his belief that the gown and the embrace, the kisses, were from her heart, that she truly felt what he did, were like ashes in his mouth. ‘It has all been done to slither me quietly into something I might be sorry for. A woman in my grandmother’s house, a woman bearing an illegitimate child, perhaps more than one, for when it gets abroad that young Mrs Armstrong is offering a comfortable bed under a dry roof and food galore, all the prostitutes in Wakefield, Leeds and Huddersfield will come flocking.’

  ‘No, no, that will not happen and besides, if they are as badly done to as Jenny, then let them come.’

  ‘If you want something, Charlotte, ask me for it, honestly. I cannot bear you to come up on the sly . . .’

  ‘Sly, I am not sly.’ She was incensed. She stood up, trembling with rage and dishonour. ‘I don’t know how I got the idea but I always thought you were a generous man, with a good heart, but it seems I was wrong. But hear this. I will not put Jenny out nor will I turn away from my door any woman in need.’

  He was consumed with a black snarling anger as he reached for her. Sweeping her from her feet he lifted her into his arms and slammed through the drawing room doorway, knocking Nellie, who had come to see if more coffee was needed, to one side as he raced up the stairs. He shouldered his way into their bedroom and with an inarticulate cry threw her on the bed, stripped first himself then her and for the first time since their wedding night made her cry out in a voice that could be heard in the silent kitchen. Well, if mistress wasn’t with child by morning it wasn’t for want of trying on master’s part!

  10

  The servants were to be disappointed, as was their master when, during the following months it was made clear that the mistress was not with child. When she was not over at the Dower House, which the servants quickly got used to, she rode out most days on Magic, astride, which Mrs Dickinson and Mrs Groves grieved over, for how was she to give the master a son – which was everyone’s hope – if she was forever galloping about the park. It was well known that riding jiggled a woman’s inside about allowing nothing to settle, meaning the heir to King’s Meadow. Mind you, it certainly kept young Master Robbie happy to ride with his sist
er at the weekend and Percy was heard to say the boy was becoming a grand little horseman. He was allowed to ride out on his own now and was a different lad from the mardy kid who had come with his sister to King’s Meadow on her marriage last June. The tenant farmers kept an eye on him when he played with their children round the farmyard and the fields and his one wish was to join the hunt with his brother-in-law and his own father who was Master of Foxhounds. When he was a year or two older, the master told him, he might consider it and in the meanwhile stop sulking!

  That was another thing the master and mistress had argued about. His schooling! It was not the thing for a boy of his social standing to go to the village school although it certainly made life easier for every one of the staff since the boy had started to attend the school where the children of the tenants went. Well, as the mistress said to the master, and Nellie overheard it, her brother was no scholar and he would be off to join his brothers in a year or two where he would learn to be a little gentleman. At the grammar school he made no friends other than Webb but Webb lived some distance away and could not be expected to come over to King’s Meadow to play with Robbie except infrequently. In the meanwhile, if she was to make life easier between herself and her husband the boy must have friends of his own age closer to King’s Meadow and the grammar school in Dewsbury was too far away.

  Before she made her final decision Charlotte drove the little gig into the village of Overton with the idea of investigating the standard of education at the school which the children of their tenants and the village children attended. It stood on the main road with a bare playground to the front and on the ground hopscotch squares were painted and skipping ropes were available, plus whips and tops which suggested that some enterprising person had made an effort not only to teach children but to make their play more varied. She was pleasantly surprised. She had expected a sort of mix between Dame and Sunday school but the Education Act some thirty years ago had led to the first state schools and this was one of them.

  ‘May I help you?’ a pleasant voice asked her as she stood hesitantly in the doorway. A young woman in her mid-twenties wearing a dark, serviceable dress with a white apron over it stood in the doorway of a classroom. She could hear childish voices chanting what she was later to learn were verses from the Child’s Easy Reading Book dating back to mid-Victorian times but found to be very effective.

  Higgledy, Piggledy, my black hen,

  She lays eggs for gentlemen,

  Sometimes nine and sometimes ten.

  Higgledy, Piggledy, my black hen,

  One, two, three, four, five,

  Once I caught a fish alive,

  Six, seven, eight, nine, ten,

  Then I let it go again.

  Why did you let it go?

  Because it bit my finger so.

  Which finger did it bite?

  This little finger on the right.

  The book was a mixture of pictures, of the hen, the eggs, the fish and the finger, with the numbers in figures and letters and was surprisingly effective in teaching the children, she was to learn from the young woman who had accosted her. Miss Seddon had been born in Overton and had attended the school in which she was now the headmistress. At the age of twelve, ambitious, bright and clever, she had become a monitor which meant a teaching assistant. When she was thirteen she had become a pupil teacher. At great sacrifice from her family she had entered the Queen’s Scholarship Examination and as a successful candidate she had won a place on a real teaching training course and with a first-class qualification she had returned to the school where she had begun her education.

  There was an infant class up to the age of six. A dozen or so well-scrubbed but ragged children were crammed on benches in varying degrees of boredom with, here and there, a bright child eager to learn, all in charge of a pupil teacher. Another larger classroom housed the older children. Both rooms had narrow windows, purposely high so that the children could not see out of them and be distracted and here, thanks to the improvements fought for by Miss Seddon, two children shared a dual convertible desk. The walls were painted a plain white but were covered with paintings by the children. The only defect in this otherwise well-set-up school was the heating. It was December and the cast-iron stove provided the only warmth in the main classroom. The children all wore their outdoor clothing, as did Miss Seddon.

  Charlotte was impressed with Miss Seddon and with the girl who taught the infants and while Miss Seddon’s monitor took over her class, she and Miss Seddon, who thought she could see a benefactor in the wife of the wealthiest landowner in the parish, discussed young Robbie Drummond’s future schooling and it was decided that he would begin lessons at the Overton village school after Christmas.

  Robbie was delighted. He could ride his pony to school, as did the friends he had made with Jack Emmerson’s lad, and the offspring of Cec Eveleigh, Davy Nicholson from Primrose Farm and the sons of Jeff Killen of Foxworth. He was settling in and with his new routine and the attachment he had formed with Jenny Wainwright who was getting close to her time and needed, she told him, someone to fetch and carry things for her and generally be her friend since she had no other, they saw less and less of him in the big house. Whenever Brooke was out of the place, hunting, shooting with friends, riding his acres, fishing his trout stream and inspecting his farms, Charlotte spent time with Jenny and, with a sigh of relief, the servants relaxed in the general atmosphere of calm that now pervaded King’s Meadow.

  It was in January that Charlotte, walking round to the Dower House on a bright, frosty morning, first got what she called her revelation. She had been made love to by her husband every night since the terrible day of Jenny’s arrival and Brooke’s explosion of rage over Robbie. She realised that he desperately wanted a son, wondering at the same time why gentlemen were so obsessive about it but supposed it was only natural that an heir was needed to continue the line. She also realised that every night he was unconsciously stamping his own possession of her. She obliged him willingly, remembering that wild night when he had carried her upstairs and, she decided, he had almost raped her but at the same time knew that was not so. He had brought her to a height of what she could only call exhilaration. She knew no word to describe how she felt but for that one time only she had matched Brooke in his explosive and, to her, unaccountable frenzy. He had kissed her cheeks, her mouth, the outline of her ears and throat, the length of her breastbone and thighbone, turning her this way and that, totally absorbed until her body was ready to dissolve into his, to flow over him and through him. She was lost, bemused and when he entered her in a turbulence of male joy she had shouted out her own. She had been mindlessly content but it had never happened again and she thought that perhaps she was trying too hard to achieve it.

  The ground was hard with frost and the sun was a hazed pink disc in the sky. Smoke drifted from the Dower House chimneys and the grass on which she walked was stiff and crisp beneath her feet. There were pink flushes on the frozen soil and each twig and blade sparkled separately as the sun caught them in its brightening pink glow. The world was so crisp you could almost hear it crackle, she thought as she knocked on the door and entered the house. There was a blazing fire in the grate and Jenny sat before it, sewing serenely, her face placid and plump, for the months she had spent at King’s Meadow had produced in her not just the normal weight of a pregnant woman but the bonny bloom that was naturally hers and which hard work and worry had denied her.

  Kizzie sat opposite her but rose immediately to ‘mash’ the tea or would Miss Charlotte like a cup of chocolate? she asked.

  They sipped contentedly, the three women, for when Master Robbie was at school this was a solely female establishment.

  ‘What are you making, Jenny? I should have thought you had enough baby garments to clothe the whole village by now.’

  Jenny smiled. She did all Miss Charlotte’s sewing, mending torn hems, darning Master Robbie’s socks, repairing the rips in his breeches and even embroidering motifs
on Charlotte’s nightgowns but this was not one of those. She did exquisite sewing. She had a small pile of torn-up rags in a basket by her side and in her lap lay a piece of what looked like hessian; she pushed through the hessian with some sort of a hook, then drew a thin strip of material selected from the pile in the basket through the hessian and out to the front.

  ‘Nay, don’t tell us tha’ve never sin a rag rug, Miss Charlotte,’ Kizzie asked. ‘We allus ’ad one in front of fire at ’ome. That way tha’ use up all yer old bits o’ material from clothes what are no use ter wear. Mind, this ’un is what Jenny calls a “wall ’anging”. She’s gonner purrit on t’wall on a sorta frame. Isn’t that right, chuck?’ Kizzie had become rather fond of Jenny in the months she had lived with her.

  Jenny nodded and held up her work for Charlotte to see.

  ‘Why, Jenny, that’s quite lovely. Where did you get the design?’

  ‘She medd it up ’erself. Drew it on t’ hessian and then follers the outline with that there ’ook.’ Kizzie was as proud as punch of her clever protégée just as though the whole thing was her idea and it was then, with Kizzie obviously made up with her relatively new position, confident and doing all the talking, for Jenny was still a shy little thing, that Charlotte began to form her idea. That was all it was. Not even an idea really, just a little light shining in the darkness of her mind. What Jenny was to do when her baby was born had not yet been discussed. She would not give up her child, she had said stoutly, but somehow she must earn a living. No matter what Charlotte said or did or how she pleaded in the kitchen with the maidservants, it was very evident that Jenny and her illegitimate child would never be accepted by them, not even as a lowly scullery-maid.

  Charlotte had taken an instant liking to the young teacher at the school in Overton and trusted her to put as much learning into Robbie as he was capable of imbibing. He was happy and no longer clung to her as the only stable thing in his rocky world, or the world he had once known. He had become more confident and since he was not in his, or Charlotte’s company as much, was less inclined to annoy his brother-in-law. Sometimes Charlotte rode over with him to school, not to intrude but to discuss his progress with Miss Seddon.