The Flight of Swallows Read online

  ‘You said the word, not me, but these girls you have taken in have been disgraced in the eyes of decent women and they do not wish to work with them.’ He hesitated, uncertain how to go on and she waited expectantly, a small bud of hope blossoming in her heart. He smiled, a smile that did not reach his eyes. He longed to go to her, take her in his arms, tell her of his deep, yearning love, that she was his world, his reason for living and if it meant letting her have her way in this mad idea, to have her love him in the same way, then she was to go ahead. That they would let polite society go to the devil no matter what they thought of her, no matter what they might say of her, but he couldn’t. This was his sphere in life, his inheritance, how he had been brought up and she must conform, as he did, as his friends and neighbours did.

  ‘You wish to . . . to house these women and children?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said eagerly, leaning forward so that her lovely breasts almost escaped the flimsy lace of her nightgown. For a moment he was totally bewitched and his breeches became uncomfortably tight at the crotch.

  ‘Is Kizzie to help you?’ His voice almost cracked with emotion but he remained cool, disinterested, as though her answer meant very little to him.

  ‘Oh yes, she will remain in the Dower House to supervise their living arrangements, the children and their needs. She has her sister, Meggie, to help her.’

  ‘And the . . . the rug-making?’

  ‘Jenny is the expert there. She will—’

  ‘Jenny is . . .?’

  ‘One of the girls. She has a baby, Rose, who is several weeks old now, and then there—’

  ‘So there is really no need for you to be involved as far as I can see.’

  ‘Of course there is. I will supervise the—’ She broke off in mid-sentence since it seemed he had tripped her up. At the moment she was not needed, that was true, for with only two girls, Jenny and Violet, to produce the rugs, with Kizzie and Meggie to run the house they could manage without her but this was not what she had planned. She intended to make the empty building across the yard into a rug-making factory, to employ at least half a dozen girls under the tutelage of Jenny, and Charlotte would be in charge of it all: buying the shoddy, arranging for its delivery, the book-keeping and finding an outlet for the finished product. But he had said compromise so what had he in mind?

  He was leaning against the door frame, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his riding jacket to hide their trembling, his lean, tanned face expressionless, his silvery grey eyes watchful. A thought flitted through her mind, a vague thought that surprised her, of how attractive he was.

  ‘Charlotte, I am not in favour of this scheme but I must admit that I cannot bring myself to turn out women and their children with nowhere for them to go. No, don’t get excited,’ as she leaped to her feet with the evident intention of throwing her arms about him in gratitude. Much as he desired it, he knew she would not care for what he had to say next.

  ‘I am prepared to let them stay for a month or until the second young woman has had her child. You have already bought the raw materials so it would be logical to use them. The side gate that lets into the lane and is not overlooked by the rest of the house can be used since I will not have wagons and carts or whatever else is involved trundling up and down my drive, perhaps blocking the carriage turn-round. This is a trial only and providing it does not interfere with or disturb the running of our home let us see what they make of it. But – and this is not for discussion – there are to be no more. Girls, I mean.’

  ‘But Doctor Chapman has some terrible cases of ill-treatment—’

  ‘Then he must deal with them at the hospital.’

  ‘And afterwards, when their babies are—’

  ‘I said I would not argue with you. There are two of them there now, you say, and when the second one bears her child, three infants. Kizzie and her sister can look after them quite comfortably I should have thought so in that case there is no need for my wife to be involved. Do you understand? You will not go near the Dower House. If there is a problem Kizzie will attend you here. I think that is all I have to say.’

  She jumped to her feet so violently he recoiled, her face flaming with indignation.

  ‘Well, that might be all you have to say but this is what I have to say. I am trying to help young women who were unfortunate enough, or perhaps foolish enough, to allow themselves to be seduced, or even raped by a man and then abandoned. There is the workhouse, of course, but here they can—’

  ‘Yes, yes, so you have said but my decision is the same. They may work for a month, then if they have been discreet and are a nuisance to no one, by which I mean the other servants, I will consider your continuing your experiment. But I repeat, you will have absolutely nothing to do with it. It will not concern you. You are the wife of a gentleman and will act as such. You will supervise the running of this house, entertain when I ask you, call and be called upon by our friends—’

  ‘Your friends,’ she spat at him.

  ‘Accept invitations from these friends, mix in polite society, conform to society and carry out your social duties as the wives of other gentlemen do.’

  Before she could speak again he turned abruptly, opened the door and left the room.

  Within half an hour she was bursting through the door of the Dower House into the kitchen, considerably startling Jenny who was peaceably nursing her child by the fireside.

  ‘Nay, what’s ter do?’ she quavered, starting up so violently that the baby was torn from her bursting nipple and let out a roar of outrage.

  ‘Where’s Kizzie?’ Charlotte’s gaze swept round the cosy kitchen as though expecting Kizzie to pop up from behind the rocking-chair.

  ‘She’s upstairs wi’ Violet, Miss Charlotte. Violet’s poorly an’ Kizzie’s sent fer’t doctor.’

  ‘Poorly? What does that mean?’

  ‘She’s startin’ wi’t babby.’ Jenny sank back and urged little Rose’s pursed mouth back to her breast. ‘She took badly in’t night an’ that bairn o’ Ruth’s yellin’ ’er ’ead off fer want o’ summat ter eat. Real bedlam it be,’ though she herself seemed unconcerned by it all.

  ‘Who has telephoned the doctor?’ Charlotte asked anxiously as she reached for an apron that hung on the hook behind the door.

  ‘Master Robbie were ’ere an’ offered to fetch ’im ’cos Kizzie were that busy.’ Jenny bent her head over her child who stared up at her with total absorption, her starfish hand lying contentedly on Jenny’s bounteous breast.

  ‘When did this happen?’ Charlotte was halfway up the stairs marvelling at the undivided attention a mother gives her child to the exclusion of all else. Was it common among all women or was Jenny, having no one else on whom to lavish her love, unique in her manner? She seemed not to care about anyone or anything other than Rose, refusing even to share her milk, of which she had plenty, with Ruth’s abandoned and somewhat sickly child.

  Violet was lying in her bed in the room she shared with Jenny, her body still for the moment, but even as Charlotte entered she began to writhe and moan. Meggie was on the far side of the bed, her hand clutched painfully by the woman giving birth. Both she and Kizzie were in a state of disarray, with stained and crumpled aprons, hair hanging from their caps and anxious expressions on their flushed faces. From the next-door bedroom came the sound of Pearl wailing.

  Kizzie turned. ‘Oh, thank the good God, lass. Will tha’ see ter’t bairn? There’s milk ready on’t range in a saucepan an’ only needs warmin’ up.’

  ‘But what—’

  ‘Nay, lass, tha’ can see we’re up to us eyes in it ’ere.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that, but I thought Violet’s baby wasn’t due for another two months so . . .’

  ‘Well, it’s on its way now an’ bugger’s arse first so . . .’

  ‘Arse first?’

  ‘Look, Miss Charlotte, us’ve no time ter be chattin’ ter thi’. Doctor’ll be ’ere soon, I ’ope, but until then will tha’ see ter’t bairn wha
t’s skrikin’ its ’ead off. That there Jenny might’ve ’elped but no, she ’ad ter feed ’er own as if that couldn’t wait. I dunno, tha’d think—’

  She was interrupted by a shout from downstairs as the doctor arrived, accompanied by a beaming Robbie full of his own importance at being what he considered the saviour in the drama.

  ‘Now then, Violet, what’s this then?’ Wallace Chapman said cheerfully as he entered the room, very loud and competent and at once all four women, even the one labouring on the bed, felt better. ‘Let’s have a look at you. We’ll soon have you to rights. A bit soon or have you mixed up your date? It’s happened before and it will happen again, I’m sure.’

  He proceeded to inspect Violet, prodding and poking and peering, but gently, speaking in a soothing voice so that all was calm.

  ‘The child is the wrong way round and the mother is exhausted,’ he said in an aside to Kizzie, ‘so we must help her.’ Pearl continued to wail piteously.

  ‘Feed the baby, Mrs Armstrong, if you please,’ he went on, so, loth to leave the room, Charlotte ran next door, plucked the crying infant from her crib, scurried down the stairs and placed her unceremoniously in Robbie’s arms, where the baby looked up at him with unfocused interest and he looked down at her in horror.

  ‘Charlie . . .’ he cried.

  ‘Feed her, Robbie. There’s the milk in the pan and there’s the bottle. Jenny will tell you what to do. See, Rose has gone to sleep, so please, Jenny, give him a hand.’

  ‘Surely there’s no need fer all on yer ter—’

  Charlotte’s voice was stern. ‘Jenny, remember who took you in when you were in dire straits. Now, help Robbie, if you please.’

  Jenny, who had no idea what ‘dire straits’ were, nevertheless covered her breast, which had caught Robbie’s fascinated attention, put her child in the Armstrong family cradle and, tutting irritably, put the milk on to warm and reached for the bottle.

  ‘I don’t know, all this fuss,’ she was muttering as Charlotte ran back upstairs.

  The breech presentation was dealt with and after a judicial snip to widen the birth canal, Violet’s child was born, a girl yelling lustily.

  ‘Well, if she’s seven months my name’s not Hezekiah Aspin,’ Kizzie said tartly as she watched Doctor Chapman cut the cord then place a stitch in the cut he had made. ‘An’ another lass, an’ all. A house full o’ women we be.’

  ‘I’ll give her something to help her sleep and Meggie can wash the child. A healthy infant and as you say, Miss Kizzie, a full-term child. Now, I think a cup of tea would be welcome then I must be getting back. Put the baby to the breast as soon as Violet awakens. I must say she looks a great deal better than when I brought her here. Which brings me to . . . where is Mrs Armstrong? Ah, there you are,’ he said, moving from the narrow staircase into the kitchen. He took the tea offered him and sat down tiredly in the second rocking-chair, sighing.

  ‘I have another young woman at my house. She arrived last night, badly beaten up but no longer with child, thankfully. She hasn’t spoken a word yet except what sounds like “begorra” so we don’t know who did this to her. Irish, I would say, which didn’t take much working out! I left my wife tending to her but she is badly in need of somewhere to stay. She can remain with us for a day or two while I keep an eye on her but if she could come to you it would be a godsend. She has a broken arm and, I suspect, broken ribs and is not fit for work so . . .’

  ‘Of course, Doctor. There is room for her here and work when she’s recovered. Jenny is to start training these girls as soon as possible. The raw materials are stored in the stable block and as soon as we have set out the working area, the heating and so on, the girls will start working. It will be a while before we can produce anything saleable but with Jenny in charge and with her skill we should be up and running in no time. I think all girls are familiar with hooked rugs but Jenny will show them how to make something rare and beautiful, won’t you, Jenny?’

  Jenny preened, her composure restored, but their smiling complacency was short-lived when the front door burst open with such a clatter they all, including the doctor who spilled his tea, nearly jumped out of their skins.

  It was Brooke Armstrong. He was dressed for riding but his outfit was muddied, his hair tumbling about his forehead, his cheek cut and he was slapping his riding crop dangerously against his leg.

  ‘Mr Armstrong,’ the doctor began, ‘you seem to have taken a fall. Is there anything—’

  ‘Good morning, sir,’ Brooke answered him politely, his voice like ice, his gaze sweeping from the doctor to his wife at whom the ice was directed. ‘That is kind of you but I have come to take my wife home where she belongs.’

  ‘Brooke, I really must stay for the moment. Violet has just given birth—’

  ‘Which is nothing to do with you, madam, so if you would—’

  ‘I cannot come just now but—’

  ‘There seem to be enough women to deal with whatever is going on here and therefore no need of your help. So, be so kind as to get your coat and come with me.’

  He was dangerous and Doctor Chapman took a step towards him but one look from Brooke stopped him.

  ‘I do not wish to give offence but I would advise you not to interfere, sir. This is between my wife and myself. You will be hearing from her very soon, through me, I might add. Now then, Charlotte, you and I will take our leave.’

  Charlotte stood quite still. His words pricked like needles over the surface of her skin making their way reluctantly to her brain. He had been in a hot, violent rage before and had hit her but now his anger was cold and his eyes told her she had best not defy him or she would suffer the consequences, or rather these women and their children would be the ones to suffer. It was in her hands. She had come here this morning with the intention of telling Kizzie what had transpired and then leaving quickly but she had become, without meaning to, embroiled in the drama of the birth of Violet’s baby.

  ‘What must I do?’ she asked him quietly while the others in the room, including Robbie who had no idea what was happening, stared in apprehension at the cruel face of the man who had shown them nothing but kindness.

  ‘Come home with me, and stay there!’

  16

  None of the guests who attended the hunt ball, at least at the beginning of the evening, were aware of the frozen stillness with which Brooke Armstrong and his lovely young wife contained themselves and were not awfully sure of the precise instant when they realised that something, they didn’t know what, was seriously awry. Was it when she icily refused his polite invitation to waltz with him and then in the very next moment, as her husband stood beside her, accepted Joel Denton, leaving Brooke stranded at the edge of the floor? She laughed and chatted and, they thought, flirted with young Denton, allowing him to swing her off her feet, the hem of her exquisite gown riding almost up to her knees and showing a great deal of her lacy stockings in a most shocking manner. When the waltz ended, instead of returning to her husband she continued to dance with Joel Denton which was simply not done! She grew flushed and even lovelier, her gleaming, tawny coil of hair, the colour of the fox with which the event was associated, coming loose with curls escaping in tendrils about her ears.

  Brooke stood, outwardly unperturbed by his wife’s improper behaviour, listening to his wife’s father complain about he knew not what, nor cared, for he was focused on the sight of his wife swinging and swaying around the floor, this time in the arms of Jack Ackroyd. She was wearing one of the elegant gowns he had bought her in Paris made of ivory lace moulded tightly round her slender waist and cut low over her splendid bosom, the bodice slipping from her shoulders in a provocative way he did not care for. He had bought her jewels, emeralds and diamonds and rubies, and a necklace of aquamarines because, although they were not precious, they were the exact colour of her eyes. She wore none of them, instead choosing a simple necklace of seed pearls that had belonged to her mother and she was magnificent. It was clear every man in the ro
om thought so, while the women thought her fast.

  ‘. . . and I was saying only the other day to Elizabeth it was high time we had my daughter and her husband to dine. Now that Charlotte has settled into her new life as mistress of King’s Meadow and has, presumably, become accustomed to entertaining surely we may expect—’

  Arthur Drummond was startled when Brooke turned on him.

  ‘What?’ he snapped and all about them a sudden silence fell.

  ‘I was only saying, my dear fellow, that after – what is it? – nine, ten months of marriage, you and Charlotte might care to begin entertaining your neighbours.’ He smirked, unshakable in his arrogant belief that he and his wife were welcome in his daughter’s home, or indeed anyone’s home, anyone of note, that is, and was only surprised that, as yet, no invitation had been forthcoming. He met Brooke Armstrong on the hunting field during the season but now that it was ended he was keen to continue what he saw as an advantageous connection. He and his new wife were welcome in many houses but none of their owners was as wealthy or influential as his son-in-law. Arthur was somewhat strapped for cash at the moment as a result of one or two schemes into which he had gambled money and lost, so when he had heard that Charlotte and her husband were to be guests at the hunt ball he had hoped to sound out Brooke delicately on the question of a loan. His own wife was not in attendance this evening, her husband’s reason for her absence given as a slight cold, the black eye and swollen cheek he had given her hidden from all the servants bar her discreet maid. She was, or had been, in the first months of their marriage, inclined to argue with him, and even to run to her home at Hill Edge and her elderly parents, but her father Sir Clive had soon put a stop to that since he had been glad to get her off his hands at the age of twenty-five and had told her she had made her bed and must lie in it. Arthur’s own children, had they been asked, which they weren’t, could have told Elizabeth that her husband’s complete belief that he should be the absolute ruler in his own home was set in stone and that to argue with him was not only useless but physically dangerous.