The Flight of Swallows Page 16

  Kizzie’s voice interrupted her thoughts again.

  ‘If yer ter keep these lasses an’ their bairns an’ if what Doctor Chapman ses, others from ’is place, I’ll need some ’elp. I can’t manage ’em on me own. Oh, I know when Jenny’s on ’er feet again she’ll do ’er share but I’m none so sure of t’other ’un. I don’t trust that Ruth, I’ll tell yer that fer nowt. Anyroad, what d’yer say ter fetchin’ over one o’ me sisters? Our Megan’s lookin’ fer work. She’s fourteen an’ a good lass an’ does as she’s told. She could sleep wi’ me an’ then when—’

  ‘I’m going to open a sort of factory, Kizzie. With Jenny to show us how to do it, and you too, for you say you are familiar with rug-making, we can set up that building on the other side of the courtyard and set the girls to work. There’s plenty of room for . . . for whatever Jenny thinks necessary and with . . . well, I shall have to find out where to get the materials needed and—’

  ‘’Old on, lass, ’old on. ’Ave yer thought what the others’ll say?’

  ‘What others?’

  ‘Your ’usband fer one. Them over at big ’ouse fer another.’

  Charlotte lifted her head and set her shoulders in that defiant way she had and which had got her into trouble with her father in the past.

  ‘Oh, you leave all that to me, Kizzie. I’ll convince them – all of them!’

  13

  Robbie would be delighted to ride over to the cottage where Kizzie’s mother lived, he told them, and should he bring back the sister Kizzie asked for on the back of his pony? Merry was not very big but she was strong and he was sure she could manage a double load. And where on earth had these babies come from and what were they doing in the Dower House?

  It was Saturday and since he was not at school he had eaten a good breakfast at the table in the kitchen where Mrs Groves indulged him with bacon, eggs, mushrooms, tomatoes, sausages and fried bread, followed by several rounds of toast and butter, with marmalade, of course. Well, the master had gone off with himself at first light, the mistress was over at the Dower House so there seemed no point in setting the breakfast room table for one small boy. He was just about to run out to the stables when the mistress had come in from the stable yard that adjoined the back garden of the Dower House and had asked Master Robbie to accompany her as she had a job for him.

  ‘What sort of a job?’ he asked suspiciously and all movement about the kitchen stopped as the maids waited for the answer. They were all aware that the mistress had been at the Dower House; that the doctor had been called and, by way of the grapevine that existed in all households, that a young woman had arrived with a baby and that . . . that loose woman who had been living there for months had given birth. Mrs Armstrong looked tired, still dressed in the same outfit she had worn yesterday, so what new disaster had come to plague their poor master?

  ‘Come with me and I’ll tell you,’ Charlotte told Robbie but then she sighed, for the servants would have to know some time what had happened so what was the use of being secretive now?

  She turned and addressed the room. ‘Jenny’s baby was born last night, a girl, and another . . . young woman has also had her child, a girl as well, and came to our door for help. We need a maid to give Kizzie a hand and as I know none of you is willing to help these unfortunate girls . . .’

  There was a loud sniff and eloquent ‘hmmph’ from Nellie, and Mrs Groves turned away in disgust, not at Nellie but at the way the mistress was going on about these wicked girls. No wonder the master had stormed out this morning, his face like thunder and her, his cook, only just out of bed and pulling herself together with scarce a cup of tea in her hand. Connie and Tess, who were always up first, had stared in amazement as he banged the door to, then exchanged knowing glances. There was a storm brewing, no doubt about it.

  ‘So, Robbie, if you have had your breakfast will you come over to the Dower House and . . . darling, it’s only a message I want you to deliver.’ And the message had been for Kizzie’s mother who would be doing them all a big favour if she could send her daughter, Megan, Kizzie had said, to help her sister.

  Robbie, who was capable of saddling Merry himself by now, did so and then led her through the gate that divided the big house stable yard from the one at the back of the Dower House. He tied her to the ring in the wall, and entered the kitchen door from where he could see Kizzie in the scullery, vigorously pounding what looked like towels in the sink, her arms going ten to the dozen. There seemed to be a big pile of laundry in a bucket waiting to have the same treatment.

  ‘Miss Charlotte’s in’t kitchen, lad, but be quiet. She’s just got them bairns ter sleep.’

  ‘Bairns?’ he faltered.

  ‘Aye, my lad. Bairns. Babies. Two on ’em an’ if tha’ don’t get over ter me mam’s an’ fetch our Megan both me an’ Miss Charlotte’ll be dead on us feet.’

  ‘Kizzie.’ He was astonished. Though he had heard the talk of babies in the kitchen at the big house he had not known who Charlie was talking about. Jenny lived there, that he knew, but now there seemed to be not only Jenny but babies as well. ‘Where did the babies come from, Kizzie?’ he asked, but Kizzie was cudgelling the towels as though her life depended on it and had no time for idle chatter, her attitude said.

  ‘Tha’ll find out soon enough, Master Robbie. Now, ’op on that pony o’ thine and ride ter me mam’s. She lives in Green Lane. Go through Birks Wood and on ter Wood Lane until tha’ comes ter Rose Cottage. Tell ’er there’s a job goin’ fer our Megan an’ for ’er ter get over ’ere quick smart. ’Ave tha’ got that, lad?’

  Megan Aspin, called by all and sundry by the diminutive Meggie, was on the kitchen doorstep at the big house within the hour and was astonished when she was greeted by an irritable maidservant who told her she was not required here and to get back to where she came from.

  ‘But our Kizzie sent fer me,’ she stammered.

  ‘Well, yer’d best get round there then. Through that gate,’ Nellie said shortly, nodding at the gate in the stable yard and shutting the door in Meggie’s flabbergasted face.

  ‘Am I glad ter see you,’ Kizzie greeted her as she pulled her into the kitchen, which she eventually found. There had been a man in the yard, just about to lead a horse from the stable, who had directed her, for it seemed the male servants of the household were not so censorious as the female.

  ‘See, sling tha’ shawl on that there ’ook an’ then ’ang that washin’ on’t line, will tha’ chuck, though it’ll probably freeze in this weather. Kettle’s on an’ when tha’ve done that we’ll ’ave a nice cup o’ tea. Miss Charlotte’s seein’ ter’t bairns but she an’ Jenny’d be glad of a sup. Ruth’s still asleep. Now don’t stand there wi’ tha’ gob ’anging open. Do as tha’s told an’ then I’ll tell thi’ all about it.’

  Meggie was the double of her older sister though not quite so tall. A big-boned lass with strong arms and an even stronger back, her mam had been reluctant to part with her but she was fourteen and needed a job. Their Kizzie had gone to the Mount at the same age and then on to King’s Meadow when Miss Charlotte had married. She had done well and regularly sent money home and there were good prospects for a hard worker like their Meggie. She would not have been so sanguine if she had known that her innocent lass was to work among ‘fallen girls’ which was how Jenny and Ruth would be described.

  Robbie was in the fire-glowed kitchen, having got there before Meggie. It had proved impossible for his pony to carry the two of them so Meggie had walked over. He was gazing into the cradle that Charlotte had brought over from the big house and in which the prettiest little baby was asleep. Rosy rounded cheeks, long dark lashes, a rosebud of a mouth which sucked hopefully as though on her mother’s nipple and a wisp of a curl were all he could see but he was quite enchanted. The other infant, cradled in his sister’s arms, was not so endearing but then, in Charlotte and Kizzie’s opinion, her mother was not half so pretty as Jenny and since the father was unknown who could say where she got her looks
. And she was thin, pallid, her head seeming too big for her body. Robbie was not enchanted with this one!

  ‘Charlie, where did they come from and where’s Jenny?’ he urged her to tell him.

  ‘This one’ – pointing to the baby in the cradle – ‘is Jenny’s daughter. She is to call her Rose, and this one . . . do you remember Ruth? She didn’t stay long, but this is hers.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Look, sweetheart, Kizzie and I are very busy with all this going on and really have no time to explain but we will soon. You have been an enormous help fetching Megan but I think it might be a good idea if you went over to Fuller’s Farm and your friends there and . . . well, played with Mr Emmerson’s children.’

  Robbie wasn’t exactly sure he wanted to ride out again on this frosty morning but he was satisfied that Charlotte and Kizzie were pleased with him.

  ‘Can I come again? I’d like to see Rose though the other one’s not as pretty, is she?’

  ‘Well, we can’t all be—’

  ‘Mmm, I know what you mean. There isn’t anyone as pretty as you, Charlie.’

  Charlotte smiled. ‘Come and give me a kiss then.’

  He permitted himself to be kissed then, with a shouted goodbye to the two women in the scullery, dashed through the back door and attempted a flying leap on to the back of his pony. He managed it, trotting off with the feeling that so far it had been a darn good morning.

  She was in bed when Brooke returned, so deeply asleep she didn’t even feel him climb into bed next to her. He had struggled with himself, still deeply angered by her behaviour of the night before, on whether to sleep alone in his dressing room. He had spent the day inspecting his tenanted farms and had actually had a meal with Jeff Killen and his family at Foxworth which was why his servants had not seen him until late afternoon. He knew something had happened at the Dower House, of course, since it was his wife’s sudden exit at Kizzie’s behest that had enraged him. For a startling but exquisite moment in time he and Charlotte had been equal in their desire, lifted to heights he had never before known, with her or indeed any woman, and he had been triumphant that at last she was responding as he had dreamed she one day would. Nevertheless she had gone, left him in that stunned state a man reaches when he is at the peak of his desire and ready to climax. He had said he would never forgive her but as he studied her sleeping face in the dim glow of the fire he knew he would always love her, always, always forgive her, do his best to accept whatever she did. Or so he believed at this moment. Her good heart, her generous nature would not allow her to turn away from whoever needed her and he must let her see that he was one of them. One of those who needed her. He was naked and she was in one of the flimsy nightdresses they had bought together when they were in Paris.

  He bent his head to kiss her shoulder, sliding his lips along the curve and up to her throat and in her sleep she smiled and murmured something. Encouraged, he slipped his hand inside the nightdress and cupped her breast, gently rolling her nipple which rose at once into a peak.

  ‘Darling . . . darling,’ he whispered, turning her towards him and when she opened her eyes he bent and kissed her lips.

  ‘Brooke . . . there you are,’ she murmured, not at all surprised to find him beside her.

  ‘Yes, here I am. Who did you expect to find in your bed?’

  ‘My husband . . . darling . . . where have you been?’

  ‘Here, always here, my love . . . my love . . .’ He did not know what he was saying, nor care in the sweet tenderness of the moment. He ran his hand down her body, his lips still busy with her lips, her throat, her breast, then lifted her nightdress and in one practised movement, lowered himself on to her and slowly entered her. She was moist and ready for him. Her arms wound round his neck and she arched her body to meet his and together for only the second time in their marriage they moved to a peak of ecstasy which made them both cry out.

  ‘Charlotte . . . Charlie . . . my love . . . my sweet . . .’

  ‘Brooke . . . Brooke . . . that was . . . wonderful . . .’ she sighed then at once fell asleep, curving her body close to his. He smiled in the firelight then, with her entwined in his arms, he too fell asleep.

  When he awoke she was gone!

  And so was Ruth when Charlotte burst into the kitchen of the Dower House. Meggie was on her knees scrubbing the floor, Kizzie was at the range stirring something in a pan that smelled delicious and Ruth’s baby was grizzling piteously in the drawer that Kizzie had filled with soft little blankets and made into a makeshift cradle. There was no sign of Jenny or her child.

  ‘She’s gone,’ Kizzie said.

  ‘Who?’ though of course she knew.

  ‘Can tha’ not guess?’

  ‘Dear God!’

  ‘Aye, dear God indeed, fer that lass’ll kill herself the way she’s goin’. ‘Course she left bairn which’ll not last the day.’

  ‘Jenny . . .?’

  ‘Oh, she’s all right. Loves ’er bairn and is feedin’ it right now but she ’asn’t enough milk fer two. Or . . . or . . . she don’t want ter feed the child an’ tha’ can’t blame ’er. ’Er own comes first. When that there doctor comes ’appen ’e’ll know ’ow ter get ’old o’ summat ter feed poor kid. Our Meggie might ’ave ter run ter’t chemist fer some o’ that baby feed.’

  Charlotte sat down wearily, watching as Meggie’s arm swept back and forth on the already clean floor, moving her bucket with her. The girl was going to be an asset, there was no doubt about it. She had been here last night to allow herself and Kizzie to get some much needed rest but, sleeping beside her sister in the big bed Kizzie occupied, she had not heard Ruth creep out.

  She sighed deeply and stood up. She was just about to go up the stairs to have a word with Jenny when the door burst open and her husband, whom she had left peacefully sleeping, burst into the house and then into the kitchen.

  ‘I thought I might find you here and it won’t bloody well do, Charlotte. I wish you to come home at once and sit down, as my wife, to breakfast with me. Mrs Groves is cooking right now and I’m hungry. She informs me that you have not eaten so you must be, too. Come along. Your place is with me not . . . not with . . .’ He swept an arm in an arc to indicate Kizzie and Meggie who were both pressing themselves up against the side of the range.

  He was incensed, maddened, not only by his sense of betrayal after the wonder of last night but also by a desperate anguish, for he had thought that at last they had come to an understanding. She was his wife, his beloved wife who last night had seemed to love him, or at least to be on the edge of it, and now, here she was again turning from him and he couldn’t stand it. There was a terrible blankness in his eyes. A dangerous, almost murderous expression clamped on his face born of his frustrated disappointment. Charlotte backed away from him but he had not yet done with her.

  ‘Are you to come then?’ he asked almost pleasantly.

  ‘Presently . . .’ she faltered.

  ‘Oh no! You will come now or I will close this place down. Dismiss Kizzie and this other woman, turn out these women you have brought to my home, and their brats, and . . . and . . .’

  He had run out of words.

  ‘Brooke, please, you can’t mean it.’ Her face was deathly white and her expression haunted. She too remembered last night and the loveliness of it. She did not want it to end like this, which it would if she did not do as he asked. In fact, if she did as he asked it would end, for she would never forgive him.

  ‘And by the way,’ he continued, having got himself under control. ‘We have a card in the post this morning from Patsy Ackroyd confirming her invitation to her party and about which I knew nothing. When were you going to tell me, Charlotte? Well, never mind, get your cloak and let us go home. Good morning, Kizzie and . . .’

  ‘Meggie, sir, my sister.’

  ‘I see, then good morning to you both. I trust you can manage without my wife, for you will not see her over here again. If you do it will be in direct opposition to my wi
ll and this place will immediately be shut down. Charlotte?’

  She moved like an automaton towards him, allowing him to take her arm and lead her from the room and from the house. And from the vision she had had of a life for herself. She was not a socialite like Patsy Ackroyd and others of her sort. She was not cut out to live the life of the wife of a gentleman who expected her to receive callers, make calls in return, entertain his guests, be smart and amusing as Patsy was. To ride to hounds, to attend shooting parties, house parties, balls and dances which he enjoyed, to travel here, there and everywhere to what were called ‘Fridays to Mondays’. So what was she to do with herself if she was denied a natural outlet for her ambition to be herself, to use her brain? She was not prepared to be treated like a child or some woman Brooke employed to run his home.

  She didn’t know. Not yet. But by God, she’d fight. When she had recovered somewhat from the shock of his declaration she’d fight like a tigress to be what she wanted to be, whatever that was, to do what she wanted to do, whatever that might be. She would . . . she would compromise, give in on things that didn’t matter like this damn party on Saturday but she’d have her way, choose how, as Kizzie often said.

  So, each day, when he left the house on his estate business she slipped out of the side door and visited the Dower House. She would see the doctor’s gig by the side gate, well away from the servants’ gaze, meet him in the kitchen of the Dower House where he was desperately trying to save the scrap of humanity that was Ruth’s baby, confer with him on the best course to take – he had suggested trying baby food – and generally help Kizzie and Meggie for the short time she allowed herself. She was pretty certain the servants knew and she felt slightly guilty because she knew Brooke trusted her. But she could not just sit in her drawing room and twiddle her thumbs waiting for God knows what. She couldn’t even embroider for heaven’s sake!