The Flight of Swallows Page 21

  ‘Aye up,’ he said smilingly the next day, in a fair imitation of the Yorkshire dialect that was all around him in his own servants. ‘Would you chaps bugger off and let me have a few minutes alone with my wife and daughter? That means you as well, Robbie,’ who would have curled up on the bed beside his sister. Robbie had just begun to realise that with the arrival of Lucy Jean – Lucy for Brooke’s mother, Jean for Charlie’s, and his own, of course – he would have two rivals for his sister’s attention and was doing his best to stake a claim while the ‘kid’, as he called her, was bundled in her father’s arms. For the past three or four months, as Charlie became more cumbersome – apparently, astonishingly, the baby was growing inside her! – he had, when he was not at school or playing with Jed or Tad Emmerson, or Davy Nicholson, accompanied Charlie on ambles through the fields and woodland of King’s Meadow. He had just turned eight now and could be trusted to watch over her, a trust he was proud of and he did not care for the idea that this new kid might spoil things. It was Jed who had told him where the baby was to come from, Jed being a farm lad and knowledgeable about such things. He had not believed him at first but as his sister grew fatter and fatter he was forced to admit it must be true.

  Reluctantly he climbed from the bed and followed his four brothers from the room. They all donned warm coats and after teasing the maidservants who were all in a swoon over the new baby as they went through the kitchen and persuading Mrs Groves to give each of them a huge piece of her second Christmas cake, the first being saved for Christmas Day, they dashed out into the drifts of freshly fallen snow to play. Even Henry, who was a great boy of seventeen, threw snowballs with enthusiasm, all the brothers falling about in hysterical laughter as the four dogs chased the snowballs and looked so funny and bewildered when they failed to catch them. They would have galloped off on the horses that their brother-in-law kept in his stables but the snow was too deep, drifting several feet high against walls and hedges. Their high-spirited shouts could be heard even in their sister’s bedroom.

  ‘Thank God for that,’ Brooke pronounced with a heartfelt sigh, ‘a bit of peace at last,’ moving to the bed where his wife lay. He held his precious child possessively in his arms, unaware, as all of them seemed to be, that the infant was quite ordinary as all other newborns are, red-faced with indignation, with no more than a blob for a nose, an open mouth revealing shining gums and a tongue aquiver ready to give voice. She had not yet revealed the colour of her eyes but her hair was what could only be called ginger, a throwback to Charlie’s side of the family who had all been what had been called ‘carrot-tops’. ‘And where the devil did she get the ginger hair?’ Brooke asked plaintively, accusingly, but grinning just the same, since in his eyes the baby was perfect. ‘And we’ll have to watch those lads and the servants, for the child is in a fair way to being spoiled with all this adoration.’

  ‘And who is the worst culprit?’ Charlotte asked him indulgently. ‘You would have taken her into your own bed last night if I’d let you, though that nurse you insist should remain would have had something to say. That’s another thing, Brooke. As soon as I’m allowed to put a foot out of this bed she’s out of the door. I swear if she calls me “mother” once more I’ll throw something at her.’

  He looked at his wife in her nest of pillows, her hair still lank from the sweat of her labour, her eyes deep and tired in her pale face and his own softened with love. He was distracted for a moment from his doting contemplation of his child and began again the argument which had been going on for the past six weeks when Doctor Chapman had told her and Brooke he had engaged a nurse to be installed a week before the baby was expected.

  ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ Brooke had said. ‘I know we can trust you to find some sensible, experienced woman to care for Charlotte and the child. My wife will—’

  ‘Your wife is quite capable of caring for her own child, thank you, Brooke Armstrong, and will be up and about—’

  ‘We’ll see about that, lady,’ Brooke had snapped. ‘If Doctor Chapman thinks a nurse is necessary, and I agree with him, then that is all there is to say about it.’ He turned to the doctor who sat awkwardly balancing a cup of coffee on his knee. ‘You will attend to it, won’t you, Doctor?’

  ‘No, he won’t! Now, Doctor Chapman, you know I am a young, strong and healthy woman, don’t you? Not one of those faint-hearted ladies who insist upon remaining in their beds for weeks on end after giving birth.’

  ‘Well, yes, Mrs Armstrong, but if your husband wishes you to—’

  ‘I do, Doctor. I am of the opinion that Charlotte should stay where she is for at least a fortnight then keep to her room and rest. A wet nurse will be needed . . .’

  Brooke had explained the matter delicately to Milly Pickford – for it was not quite the thing a lady and gentleman should discuss – in a quiet moment when he was dining with Chris and Maddy Hill. Milly had given birth four times and all her children had lived, so he chose her to explain why his wife could no longer move about in society. Not that Milly Pickford was eager to resume her acquaintance with Brooke’s wife after the fiasco at the hunt ball but it was the custom for ladies in their society to retire from the social scene when they were with child and to stay hidden for at least four weeks after giving birth and she had told him so.

  ‘Well, I’m not sure I agree, Mr Armstrong,’ the doctor told him now, for Wallace Chapman treated women who, a day after being delivered, were back at their looms or scrubbing buckets, leaving the new infant in the care of the half a dozen children they already had. It was, of course, not necessary for Mrs Armstrong, who had a dozen servants and a doting husband to care for her, but a month seemed overlong to him.

  Since Charlotte had disclosed her condition to him Brooke had known a time of great peace and contentment. He had been ready to weep with joy in the most unmanly way when, with a cool expression, she had told him she was to have his child. He was jubilant. Not only was she pregnant but her condition would surely put a stop to the nonsensical scheme she had devised in the Dower House. He meant to find homes for all the girls who were housed there. Somewhere they could keep their children, so surely that would please her and the one without a mother could be adopted by a worthy childless couple. She would be too busy caring for her own child, which was one reason he was willing to allow his wife her way on the subject of the nurse. He’d said nothing to her of his plans, naturally, for a pregnant woman must not be upset, especially if the pregnant woman was his wife. He would let her play her role at the Dower House if it kept her happy for the period of her pregnancy but when the child came and they were both safe, he would clear it all up. He had influence and power in the town and no one would suffer. Besides, she would need Kizzie to help her with his new daughter and the other children he meant to give her as soon as she was recovered from the birth of Lucy. He had gathered the servants together and instructed them that they were in no way to interfere with their mistress’s philanthropic arrangement at the Dower House. Let her have her way. The only activity she was forbidden, which was only right and proper, was that she was not to ride! Percy and Arch would make sure of that. They would not be entertaining until the baby was born since no undue exertion must trouble her.

  They were all intoxicated with the birth of the child and needed no instructions from the master to watch over her, to coddle her, to give in to her smallest whim. A baby in the house! At last! And what a pet she was, they told one another, though where that ginger hair came from was a bit of a facer. Still, perhaps it would darken to the same colour as the mistress’s. And the master was made up. Coddle her! The mistress and her new daughter would have more coddling than she knew what to do with, for they would be fighting with one another to share in the joy a baby in the house would bring. They all had their own jobs to do, true, but if there was any task they could perform, preferably to get one in the eye of that stuck-up nurse, they would be there ready to do it!

  Charlotte watched her husband as he strolled around the ro
om, the baby in his arms, crooning some tuneless noise and wished he would go away. Put the baby in her arms and leaVe her to study the tiny creature with no one studying her. The tiny fascinating human being who was her daughter and who was not yet a day old. A scrap with a red little face and Charlotte had not the faintest idea what to do with her but whatever it was she meant to be alone to get on with it. She was amazed by her own helplessness, for after all she had nursed, winded, dressed, even bathed babies over at the Dower House but then they had not been her own and there had been a mother to hand them to. But this newborn infant who could not even hold up her head defeated her, filled her whole mind with anxiety and she longed for the door to close on the pair of them and leave her to puzzle it out.

  ‘Shall I take her to her wet nurse, Charlotte?’ Brooke was asking her. ‘She’s waiting in the nursery and if I don’t get her back there within the next few minutes the dragon will be down to claim her.’ He rocked his child with an expression on his face Charlotte had never before seen. She had sometimes noticed the tail end of it when she had caught him looking at herself but she really could not identify it. He was gazing down at his new daughter, his face transformed with tenderness, a love, a possessive bewitchment that was unmistakable. ‘I’ll have to go,’ he added, bending his head to kiss the rounded cheek nestling against his chest. ‘Boyle’ – who was the cowman in charge of Brooke’s small herd – ’is taking Clover up to Fuller’s Farm to his bull and I said I’d give him a hand. It’s a bit unmanageable – the bull I mean – and will take some handling.’

  He moved towards the bell to summon the nurse but Charlotte held out her arms. ‘No, give her to me. What with first you and the boys and then every servant in the house making some excuse to sidle in and see her I’ve hardly had a chance to get a good look at her myself.’

  Reluctantly he placed the baby in Charlotte’s arms as though not quite trusting his precious child with anyone but himself, even the child’s mother, then after a brief kiss on his wife’s forehead he left the room.

  Lucy stirred then, taking Charlotte by surprise, turned her rosy mouth to Charlotte’s breast and, though it was covered by the plain nightgown the nurse had thought suitable for her to wear, nuzzled against her nipple. Quite without thinking, for had she not seen the girls at the Dower House do the same, she uncovered her breast and allowed the eager mouth to latch on.

  It was as if a bolt of lightning went through her. It didn’t hurt, in fact it was quite glorious and inside her something glowed, melted, ran like honey in her veins and a great, peaceful love came. A love that she had never known before, not even for Robbie. So this was motherhood! This tiny human being had been a stranger to her, just a heaving burden she had carried inside her but she was that no longer. She was her child and she would defend her to the death if called for.

  While her child slept at her breast she let her mind drift back over the past six or seven months and all that had taken place during that time. It had allowed her, while Brooke was jubilant with her long-awaited condition, in fact he was euphoric, believing it would finally curtail her activities, to carry on without restraint the scheme she had long planned but which he had balked at ever since it had been brought to his notice. She was aware that her pregnancy gave her power to do as she pleased, within reason, and she was sharp enough to know the boundaries – for it was believed that gravid animals, and that included human beings, must not be upset, must not be denied, however lunatic their desires. Nobody interfered with the growing number of young women at the Dower House nor the comings and goings of wagons containing labourers, painters, bricklayers, carpenters and their materials. Others brought furniture, stoves, bedding and all the necessities for decent living and the doctor was a frequent visitor since there were so many babies and young mothers who needed attention. They followed Moss Lane, turning into what was simply called the Lane. It was on the very boundary of Brooke’s land with Birks Wood on the right, with no houses or cottages so that no one was disturbed or even saw them reaching the gate that led into the back yard of the Dower House. It had once been used to deliver coal directly from Caphouse Pit, groceries and such, to whoever was in residence at the Dower House and could not be seen from any window in the main house.

  There were six young women there now and six babies. Jenny’s Rose was almost a year old, an exquisite toddler on whom Jenny doted. Indeed she was so grateful to Mrs Armstrong not only for taking her in but also allowing her to keep her precious daughter, that she was willing to do any job asked of her. She worked on her special rugs which Mrs Armstrong called ‘wall hangings’, whenever she had a moment because she now helped Kizzie and Meggie with the running of the house. She and Rose – the only mother and child to do so – shared a bedroom in the house, and she was even allowed, providing she kept away from the main house, to take her child walking in the lovely gardens. John and Ned were considerably startled one day when they came face to face with her, for not only was she a stranger but she was very pretty, as was the baby whose hand she held. One of Mrs Armstrong’s waifs, they were aware, and John, who was a family man himself with two grandchildren, immediately hunkered down and held out his hand to her but, never having seen a man except the doctor, Rose hid behind her mother’s skirts. When Charlotte was told of the incident by Kizzie she felt a great sadness for the Dower House children.

  Pearl, Ruth’s abandoned child, had been more or less adopted by Meggie since no one else wanted her. She was the same age as Rose but was wilful, stubborn, plain, naughty, causing many an argument between Kizzie and Meggie, for Kizzie thought a smart smack on the bottom was the answer and refused to listen to her sister who said Pearl was ‘high-spirited’. A child of barely twelve months! Violet named her little girl Pansy, and Aisling, who had almost been killed she was so badly beaten and had miscarried her child, recovered and begged to stay, pleading with her almost indecipherable Irish accent, even though, without a baby in her arms, Doctor Chapman could have found her employment elsewhere. This was the first home Aisling had ever known, for her savage and drunken father and indifferent mother had a dozen other children – those who had lived – and had neither the inclination nor the brass to make one. She was a quiet girl, bonny now that her bruises had healed with that look of her Irish ancestry, green eyes, freckled complexion and lustrous dark hair.

  Cassie, Edna and Maudie were the last three to be brought in by the doctor, for he could see the place had reached its capacity. All three were bashed about and pregnant, Edna and Maudie bearing sons. Cassie named her child Anne, Edna’s boy was Arthur and Maudie gave birth to Jack. Charlotte and Kizzie often pondered on why these poor, mistreated girls chose the names they did for their children. Was it some memory of a loved family member, or in the case of Edna and Maudie the names of the men who had got them into this sad condition?

  The ground floor of the building opposite the Dower House had gradually been turned into a sizeable workplace where the shoddy was stored and rugs of every size and colour began to pile up in readiness for the day when Charlotte would seek out a market. Jenny did all the designs and taught the girls to work them, for these were not to be any of the haphazard floor mats flung down before kitchen ranges as seen in cottages up and down the country. They were in themselves works of art and Charlotte had secret hopes that the high-class carpet shop in the Bull Ring in Wakefield might be interested. If not, there were always the market stalls in the weekly market at the back of the cathedral.

  On the upper floor a large dormitory and a bathroom were built, the bathroom a marvel to its occupants since none of them had ever used anything but a tin bath – occasionally – and an outside privy. There was a comfortable, warm bed and a chest of drawers for each girl, with cots or cradles for the babies and though it was impressed upon them that they were free to leave whenever they wanted, to take their chance in the unforgiving world, none of them, with the exception of Ruth, did so.

  But Jenny’s work was special. Charlotte had brought her a bo
ok from the library at King’s Meadow, a book of paintings by famous artists, such as Gainsborough, Romney, Turner, Constable, Landseer, Millais, Whistler, plus the French who were scarcely known, Monet, Cézanne, Matisse but not Picasso since he would not be understood! From these Jenny chose the simple, countrified, pretty pictures that a family might enjoy. Each one took her a long time to accomplish but it was accepted among the other girls that she was the ‘top’ girl. She was in charge of the workroom, the supervisor, the designer.

  Charlotte had also been busy, as Miss Seddon hoped she would, at the school at Overton. New stoves had been put in both classrooms and a constant supply of coal was readily available. New books, the latest in child education, were delivered, separate desks, one for each child, bright pictures for the walls, milk, a nourishing meal at dinnertime, and already those children were showing the benefit. They had all the amenities Charlotte meant for her own nursery and schoolroom though it crept into her mind that Lucy could do no better than Miss Seddon but what Brooke might say to his precious child going to the village school was a bit daunting. Anyway there was plenty of time for that. Five years!

  And that was one of the problems she would have to overcome, for no child, or children, of hers was to be taught by a third-rate governess as she and her brothers had been. Robbie was to go to the grammar school in Wakefield in the autumn, which had been in existence since 1590 and had a wonderful reputation, and there was a girls high school where, when she was old enough, Charlotte meant to send Lucy.