The Flight of Swallows Page 25

  ‘Charlotte – I may call you Charlotte, mayn’t I – Brooke is in good hands. There was an abscess which has been drained. Charlie Preston is the best surgeon I have ever known. Like me he was in Africa working with the wounded and . . . well, he has done his very best. Now you must go home and get some rest.’

  She leaped to her feet. ‘Oh no!’ She was horrified. ‘I cannot leave him. I shall stay here until he is . . . until he can . . .’

  ‘Sit down, Charlotte. No one is forcing you to go home but remember you have a baby.’

  ‘There are women to look after her. Kizzie will—’

  ‘Kizzie is here.’ And from the far end of the corridor Kizzie approached, walking steadfastly towards them. ‘She is come to take you home. You have a telephone and I promise that you may—’

  That stubborn jut of her jaw and the flame of determined colour in her cheeks told them they were to have trouble with this woman who, it seemed, cared for no one except the man who lay so quietly in his bed.

  ‘I am staying here.’

  Kizzie, practical, capable and far-sighted, reached them and her kind face and soft eyes told Charlotte that she knew exactly what she felt though she herself had never known love between man and woman. But she loved Charlotte and she held Brooke Armstrong in a deep affection. She took Charlotte’s hands and sat her down, then knelt at her feet.

  ‘Lass, tha’ll be no good to tha’ ’usband if tha’ fall ill thissen. When ’e is able ter come ’ome, ’e will, an’ I promise thi’ an’ me’ll nurse ’im with the ’elp of the nurse Doctor Chapman will recommend—’

  ‘That other nurse for the baby was no good,’ Charlotte shouted, turning heads along the corridor, doing her best to pull away from Kizzie, but Kizzie wasn’t having it.

  ‘That’s true but us managed. This ’un will be looked over by thi’ an’ me an’ if we don’t like ’er tha’ shall say so. Now, get on tha’ feet, say goodbye ter’t master though ’e still be asleep an’ come wi’ me.’

  ‘Oh, Kizzie, I can’t just leave him. I love him so . . . I only liked him at first but really it was love and I didn’t know it and now, when it might be too late, I find I . . .’ She was babbling and Wallace Chapman knew she was near to the end and that if she wasn’t got home and into bed with Kizzie to watch over her she would collapse.

  ‘I know, chuck, I know,’ Kizzie soothed, ‘but tha’ll tell ’im thassen soon.’

  They got her home and put her to bed and she slept for twenty-four hours under the influence of the sedative the doctor had added to her cup of tea. She didn’t even wake when her husband was carried in on a stretcher and placed in the bed next to her. She had insisted on sleeping in the truckle bed, saying Brooke would need their bed when he came home. When she woke there was a woman in a nurse’s uniform, a properly trained nurse from the hospital who had consented to look after Mr Armstrong and Mrs Armstrong if it was needed, bending over him and he was smiling at her and Charlotte felt a massive wave of jealousy wash over her, since she should have been the first to receive that smile.

  ‘Brooke, darling . . .’ She leaped from her bed in the flimsy nightdress Kizzie had put her in, considerably startling Nurse Chambers, herself a spinster lady who wore sensible nightdresses and had never seen such an article in her life. She was ready to throw herself down next to him and bugger the nurse, but Nurse Chambers was in charge and Charlotte was soon to learn it.

  ‘Please don’t touch my patient, madam,’ she said in an icy voice, ‘unless you wish for a relapse. Doctor Preston, who, by the way, will be here soon to examine Mr Armstrong, has been extremely obliging to allow Mr Armstrong to come home but . . . well, I am a thoroughly competent nurse and would have been caring for him in hospital. Doctor Chapman convinced him that Miss Aspin was sensible and so, unless you try to interfere, he may be nursed at home, otherwise he will go straight back to—’

  ‘Now you just listen to me, Nurse, this is my husband who is . . . much loved and he—’

  ‘Charlotte, my love, be a good girl and shut up,’ a weak voice said from the bed. ‘I am home, with you, and perhaps the nurse will allow us . . . a gentle kiss and if you are very, very good, to hold hands . . .’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘Now, my darling, you will shock the nurse with your bloodys so go away and allow me to rest.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Armstrong,’ the nurse said, smiling at her patient who winked at her, and Charlotte sat back on her little bed and did as she was told.

  She caused another ruction when she learned that the bloody nurse was to sleep in the truckle bed next to Brooke, but after her bath and change of clothes and a large bowl of Mrs Groves’s hearty vegetable soup and after Doctor Preston had lectured her sternly and threatened to take her husband back to the Clayton she reluctantly gave in and agreed to sleep in Brooke’s dressing room, though she was often to be found prowling about outside the bedroom door. Nurse Chambers allowed her to visit, visit her own husband once a day when she gave her permission.

  Charlotte spent time with her baby but her mind was forever wandering back to the sickroom and her frustration that the nurse was in charge and said what was what and when Charlotte could visit her husband. Her tiny sister thrived beside Lucy and the pair of them were the pride and joy of their nursemaids and the rest of the servants. Rosie seemed to have gained in self-importance now that she was no longer scrubbing and scouring and on her knees all day in the scullery, and had proved her worth as a nursemaid under Aisling, though Charlotte often wondered where Aisling got her knowledge.

  One morning, when Rosie had been permitted to take the babies round the garden in the double perambulator, it being a fine day, Charlotte found Aisling on her own, scrubbing the table where the babies were changed, so she sat her down and proceeded to question her. She had not known Aisling as well as the first girls, since Aisling spoke with a rich, lilting Irish brogue you had to listen to carefully to decipher and Charlotte had been too busy with her own troubles. But it seemed Kizzie had decided the girl was competent and could be trusted.

  ‘What happened to you, Aisling, that you should finish up at the Dower House, if you don’t mind telling me? Why were you . . . er . . .’

  ‘In the family way, so?’

  ‘Yes. I know you lost your baby. I’m sorry.’

  ‘No, thank the Blessed Virgin I did, ma’am. ’T’were me daddy’s, yer see. Me mammy was took, God bless her soul’ – crossing herself – ‘an’ there was thirteen of us. Not that they all lived. He was drunk as a fiddler’s bitch. I were ’andy an’ . . .’

  Charlotte put a hand to her mouth in horror, though come to think of it she didn’t know why for it seemed to be a common occurrence among the inhabitants of Thornes Lane in the stews of Wakefield where the Irish who had reached there in search of work clung together as exiles will. There was work in the coal fields and though not many of them had seen the green hills of Ireland they still spoke in the broad brogue. Aisling, after several months at the Dower House and with careful attention, was learning to speak so that others could understand her. Not that she mixed much with Jenny and Violet now that she was in the nursery at the big house but she had made a tentative friendship with Nellie who admired her gumption, her obsession with cleanliness, her care and affection for the babies and her loyalty to the mistress. Not that Nellie spoke what was known as the King’s English – now that the old Queen was dead – for Nellie was Yorkshire born and bred, but she could read and write and she meant, when they had a day off together, to ask the agreeable young nursemaid to accompany her. Nellie, unusually, liked art galleries, museums, walking in Clarence Park, taking afternoon tea in the smart café there, studying the goods for sale in the best shops in Westgate and the Bull Ring and now that Aisling was as decently dressed as she was and had a few bob in her pocket and could be understood, Nellie had taken quite a fancy to her. They often sat of an evening before the nursery fire when the babies slept and Rosie went down for a crack with the others who now a
ccepted her as equal to themselves. Aisling had never quite got on with the girls at the Dower House, not quarrelling but not mixing with them though she had worked hard, but she was in her natural element now.

  ‘You are happy here, looking after the babies, Aisling?’ her mistress asked her now.

  ‘Yes . . .’

  ‘You don’t sound too sure, Aisling. Is there something bothering you that I can put right?’

  Aisling hesitated as though she were not quite sure whether to speak, then she smiled and shook her head. ‘No, ma’am, to be sure I’ve niver been happier. ’Tis lovely here an’ them babies is a joy ter me an’ Rosie. And Rosie’s a good girl.’

  She was an attractive young woman, her green eyes wide and deep-set in a fringe of long eyelashes as dark as her hair. Charlotte knew it was curly and reached as far as her buttocks since she and Kizzie had bathed her when she first came to the Dower House but it was tucked firmly, even grimly beneath her white cap as though she were determined to have it well hidden. Since she had been fed on the good food available to the servants she had put on weight and had a good figure. Charlotte wondered if one of the men had what they called ‘tried it on’ with her and that was why she was not out in the sunlit garden with Rosie who was plain and thin as a stick.

  ‘Well, I just wanted to make sure you and Rosie were . . . were coping.’

  ‘Oh yes, ma’am, to be sure, an’ when I’ve cleaned up here I’ll get into the garden and walk a bit. We like ter go down ter the paddock. Oh, I know the bairns’re only a few weeks old but you’ve seen how they look about them. Sure an’ I’ve never known such clever . . . well, the master’ll be wantin’ them ter ride an’—’

  ‘Oh, not yet for a while, Aisling.’ Charlotte laughed, then rose and Aisling stood up at once.

  ‘An’ can I be askin’ how the master is, ma’am? To be sure I’d love ter take Lucy ter see him.’ For was not Lucy his own child though in Aisling’s opinion Ellie was just as lovable but she was no relation to the master.

  ‘Oh, Aisling, I wish I dare but that nurse would probably not allow it. He is recovering slowly but when the drain comes out—’

  ‘The drain?’

  ‘Yes, the badness has to drain out of him, you see, and he has to have dressings changed and the wound irrigated; it is very painful for him but . . .’ Her face was so sad that the nursemaid wanted to put her arms about this woman who had been so good to her and who had changed her own tragic life.

  ‘Ma’am, it’s not me place ter . . . but wouldn’t the sight of his own lovely daughter . . . well, ter be sure, if that nurse ses . . .’

  Charlotte brightened immediately and with a lovely gesture leaned over and kissed Aisling on her cheek. ‘You’re right, of course you’re right. I shall go down to the garden and collect Lucy and take her to see her father this very minute. That woman . . . don’t get me wrong, she’s a wonderful nurse and is devoted to my husband, but I’m going to defy her – disobey her. I want to sleep . . . well, I must go and collect Lucy. Thank you, thank you, Aisling.’

  Nurse Chambers had just finished the morning treatment of her patient’s wound and he lay in a sweat which she was carefully sponging with gentle hands. She was not a cruel woman, in fact she was sorry that she had to cause such pain with the irrigation of his wound but she could see that Mr Armstrong was slowly improving. His fever was gone and if she could just get some of Cook’s good broth, soups, egg custards and all the nourishing dishes she sent up into him he would improve even further. The doctors were very pleased with him and though Doctor Preston only came now and again since the wound was beginning to heal, Doctor Chapman, conscientious man that he was, came every day for a few minutes.

  There was a tap at the door and before she could get from the bed to see who was there, it opened and Mrs Armstrong, with her child in her arms, marched in and strode across the room to where Mr Armstrong lay naked apart from the towel that Nurse Chambers had placed across his stomach.

  ‘Darling, you look quite delicious lying there and if Nurse and Lucy weren’t here I should climb into your bed and ravish you if you promised not to scream.’

  ‘My love, I would not even struggle so go to it.’

  Mrs Armstrong bent over the bed and with their child between them kissed her husband long and lingeringly and the child gurgled with what seemed to be approval.

  ‘Mrs Armstrong, please, my patient is not dressed and—’

  ‘Don’t worry, Nurse, I’ve seen him more undressed than this in the past. How d’you think I got this baby? See, darling, your daughter thought it was high time to visit her father so here she is and if you will put your arm out flat I will lay her in it; no, leave it, if you please, Nurse, my husband is in need of a cuddle with his daughter. There . . . see . . . she is quite happy and you, my love, is she hurting you?’

  ‘No, by God, and if she were . . .’ Brooke slowly put his arm about his child, straining to look down at her where she lay in the circle of his arm. ‘I’d like to kiss her, Charlotte, if it could be managed . . .’

  ‘Mrs Armstrong, really. Mr Armstrong must not strain himself or—’

  ‘Don’t worry, Nurse, do you think after all the wonderful care he has received at your hands I would allow him to be injured?’

  Slightly mollified, Nurse Chambers stepped back, though she kept a careful eye on Mrs Armstrong who she knew to be wilful.

  Lifting the placid baby from her father’s arms, Charlotte sat carefully on the edge of the bed and held the child under her arms so that her toes almost touched his chest.

  ‘Dear God . . . oh dear, dear Lord, she’s beautiful, like her mother,’ Brooke breathed and as though she were aware that this was a very special moment, the baby gave a wavering smile. Holding her firmly, Charlotte lowered her until she was face to face with her father and he was able to press his lips against her satin, rosy cheek. Her head wobbled and the nurse gasped but Charlotte held her firmly, cheek to cheek with her father, no other part of her touching him.

  When she lifted their daughter and held her in her arms so that Brooke could still see her there were tears in her eyes and his, and truth to tell even Nurse Chambers had a lump in her throat.

  ‘Now, please, Mrs Armstrong, I must ask you to leave and . . . well, I will admit that the sight of his child seems to have done your husband good,’ hoping in her medical way that the flush on his cheek was not a return of the fever.

  She had no need to worry, for each day Mrs Armstrong brought the child in to see him and he seemed to take no harm from it; in fact the doctors were so pleased with him there was talk of him moving from his bed to a chair by the window from where he could watch the nursemaids with the perambulator, the gardeners who took it upon themselves to wave to him and the dogs racing about. It was March now and the spring flowers were beginning to burgeon in great swathes of daffodils, hyacinths, tulips, scillas and ranunculus, lovingly tended by John and Ned.

  And just inside Beggers Wood, which lay at the edge of Brooke Armstrong’s land, a man tethered his horse to the branch of a tree and began to make his cautious way to the back of the house.

  21

  Charlotte had not been over to the Dower House since Brooke’s accident so on the day the doctor gave him permission to sit in a chair by the window she busied herself in the nursery dressing the two babies and wrapping them up against the cold with the intention of pushing them in the perambulator to see the girls there. Aisling and Rosie fussed around her, clearly convinced that though she was the mother of one baby and the sister, well, half-sister of the other, they should really be in charge. After all, that was what they were employed for. Mrs Armstrong had meant to care for her baby herself with perhaps the help of one nursemaid but since the terrible circumstances of the master’s confrontation – though they did not use that word – with Jack Emmerson’s bull, she had been totally absorbed with her husband. Which was as it should be. It was a great pity that the shock, or so the doctor explained in their presence, had dr
ied up her milk but then again it meant she had more time for her husband and both the babies had taken to Mellin’s baby food. There were Mellin’s Food Biscuits for the next stage in their development, all recommended by Doctor Chapman, and the babies were thriving.

  They rarely cried but snorted and gurgled as though to each other, waving their hands about as if grabbing at something only they could see. They even turned their heads to stare with great interest into each other’s faces. Lucy’s eyes were the colour of her mother’s, an amazing aquamarine, while Ellie’s were green as her own mother’s had been. When you bent over them in their shared cot, which was extra large to accommodate them both, their eyes would look straight into yours, their smiles revealing shining gums, their bodies wriggling with joy, then their gaze would shift to a shadow on the wall. And when they were both asleep their nursemaids hung over them anxiously, for surely being so quiet they must be dead! They were adored by every member of the household, even Arthur Drummond’s child who was so pretty and sunny-natured; when they were in the garden the perambulator was surrounded by an admiring group of men who poked awkward fingers into their questing little hands.

  Today was the first spring-like day, the end of March and the babies were three months old. All the skylarks were up and singing in the high blue sky and the short walk across the stable yard and then to the back of the Dower House was bathed in glorious sunshine. At the base of the fences that bordered the paddock enormous primroses were in bloom and the celandine buds were ready to burst forth. There were blue periwinkle and white violets and the song of the thrushes and blackbirds flirting in the hedges filled the air. She had deliberately brought the babies the back way, for she and Brooke had not yet talked about the enterprise that was beginning to take shape at the Dower House and knowing his previous aversion to the idea she had no wish to upset him as he slowly recovered his strength. Jenny seemed very capable but she was not awfully sure about some of the girls. Though they had been so grateful to find shelter and protection there when their babies were born and they themselves in such dire straits, now that they were recovered showed signs of resenting Jenny’s authority. After all, she was only one of them even if she had been put ‘up the spout’ by the son of the house where she had worked. Kizzie stood no nonsense, of course, and did her best to keep the peace but she was often at the big house helping Charlotte with Brooke, and Meggie was too busy with a nursery full of babies.