The Flight of Swallows Page 37

  Her babies, her precious jewels, the bright stars in the sky of her life, her sunshine, the centre, with her husband, of her whole life, and that bugger of a man, the man who had given her life, was doing his twisted best to destroy it all.

  She would kill him first!

  30

  The dry-stone walls meandered along both sides of the deserted lane, a focus of wildlife and a delight to the eye. Everywhere was a variation of form and colour and the walls themselves were a symbol of the passage of the seasons, the symphony of green mosses and lichens that mark the end of winter but in the summer are progressively submerged by a rising tide of growth. Sweet cecily, fragrant with the scent of aniseed, standing waist-high, almost blocking the sunken verges at each side with full green foliage and luxuriant blossoms, unlike any other white flower. Hedge parsley, dock and nettle, succeeded in the autumn by meadow cranesbill, ragwort, foxglove and willowherb. Others flourished on the stones themselves, like stonecrop and feverfew, a boon to the arthritic, it was said, but it was not any of these that the woman sought. She was tall, wide-shouldered, with bright nut-brown hair that glowed in the sunlight, bending forward as she walked, peering into the damp ditches and at last she found what she was seeking. The vivid yellow of the lesser celandine! Picking a great bunch of the pretty flower she placed it carefully in a canvas bag and, turning, sauntered back the way she had come until she came to a cottage. She passed through the white gate and entered the kitchen at the back of the cottage.

  ‘Are yer there, Mam?’ she called but there was no one at home. At once she began to strip the fresh leaves and stems from the plants she had gathered, put them in an old pan that she had brought with her in the bag, added a pint of water and, placing the pan on the fire, brought it to the boil. Leaving it for just one minute she snatched it from the fire and poured the decoction into a jar that she took from her pocket. She slipped the pan and the jar into the bag that had contained the plants and left the cottage, walking quickly towards her workplace. Before she got there she looked about her for several moments to make sure she was unobserved, then, fetching a small trowel from her pocket, she dug a fairly deep hole, buried the pan and hurried on until she reached her destination.

  Everyone agreed that Toby was a little so-and-so, bless him. Take your eyes off him for a minute and he was off, his sturdy legs carrying him incredible distances, usually with one of the dogs at his heels, for they seemed to regard him as part of their pack and to be protected. They were the same with the little girls, of course, but Lucy and Ellie were not quite so adventurous, happily playing on the lawn with their dolls, old Ginger and Dottie panting at their side, their tongues lolling out, their eyes closing and opening, keeping an eye on them as Aisling and Rosie did. Taddy, for once, lay with them in the warmth.

  This day Charlotte was sitting in a basket chair, Ellie and Lucy curled against her as she read from a book of nursery rhymes which they loved, but which bored or were probably not understood by Toby.

  Blow, wind, blow! And go, mill, go!

  That the miller may grind his corn;

  That the baker may take it

  And into bread make it,

  And send us some hot in the morn.

  ‘That’s for our breakfast, you see, my darlings, when we make toast.’

  ‘Winter has come, Mama,’ they begged. ‘Say winter . . .’

  ‘Very well, but this must be the last.’

  Cold and raw the north wind doth blow,

  Bleak in the morning early,

  All the hills are covered with snow,

  And winter’s now come fairly.

  ‘Will we play in the snow, Mama?’

  ‘Yes, my darling, when the winter comes, but now it’s time for tea.’

  John and Ned were deadheading the roses and for several minutes none of them noticed that Toby and Floss had vanished, but as Charlotte lifted her head to call to her son her heart missed a beat for he was nowhere in sight. But then was that not typical of the engaging toddler who was everybody’s friend? He had been known to escape from the nursery, slide down the stairs on his plump bottom and make his way to the kitchen where a great fuss was made of him. They all loved him, indulged him and were always pleased to see him, which he knew, the little tinker!

  She stood up so abruptly both little girls spilled to the grass, protesting loudly. ‘John, where’s Toby? Is he with you?’ But she could see he was not, wondering at her own foolishness.

  The gardener looked about him and Ned moved slowly towards the lake. ‘’Appen ’e’s gone round t’back, ma’am. I’ll run an’ see.’ And run he did at such a speed that the three dogs who had leaped to their feet, alert at once to the panic, could not keep up with him!

  Brooke was out doing the rounds of the estate, calling at each farm as was his custom, but the rest of them, even overweight Mrs Groves, ran about like ants spilled from an anthill, getting in each other’s way, searching the same place twice. Ned, who was young and strong, plunged into the lake, wading up to his waist, brushing aside the reeds and lily pads, causing the ducks to protest loudly.

  Charlotte’s face was like bleached bone and her eyes stared into the terror that had haunted her for years now and when his voice called out she put out a hand to steady herself on John’s shoulder, not at all surprised.

  ‘Is this who you’re looking for?’ it said. ‘He wandered through the wood on to my property and, since he is my grandson, I took the liberty of engaging him in conversation. I told him he was to call me Grandfather but he didn’t seem to understand. In fact he reminds me strongly of Robert.’

  The child cowered away from the man who held him and the moment he saw Charlotte he held out his arms to her.

  ‘Mama . . . Mama,’ he quavered, straining towards her and with a cry she leaped forward and would have taken him but her father shook his head pleasantly.

  ‘I think not, Charlotte. I’ll bring him inside, since he appears to have wet himself, just like Robert used to do, and will need his nurse’s attention.’

  ‘I’ll run fer’t master,’ John murmured in her ear but she turned on him like a wild cat so that he cowered back.

  ‘You will not. You will not. It’s what he wants. And my husband would kill him. Stop where you are, John, and tell the other men that if one of them goes for my husband he will be dismissed on the spot.’

  ‘But lass . . . lass,’ whispered John, almost in tears, for the mistress and the children were obviously very frightened.

  ‘Come inside, Father, and bring my son. Aisling, take Master Toby from Mr Drummond . . .’

  ‘Inside, Charlotte, where I would be glad of a word and perhaps refreshments before that ruffian you call husband returns.’

  ‘Very well.’

  They moved into the hallway, Toby crying piteously for his mother who had, for the first time in his young life, let him down. The two little girls were whimpering against the skirts of the nursemaids who lifted them into comforting arms while the mistress and her father, watched by the others, entered the drawing room.

  ‘May I have my son, please?’ Charlotte asked tonelessly.

  ‘In a moment.’ Arthur Drummond sat down, the boy on his knee, and Charlotte did the same.

  ‘May I offer you a brandy?’

  ‘I think a cup of hot chocolate, if I may. It’s a bit early for spirits, even for me.’

  ‘I’ll ring the bell.’

  Nellie answered, bobbing a curtsey or two and then disappeared rapidly.

  ‘She wants chocolate,’ she said to the distressed servants who stood about as though not knowing what exactly they should do, or why they were so frightened since Master Toby had been returned safe and unhurt.

  But before she had even finished the sentence Kizzie was busy with milk and setting the tray even though it was not her job. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said in a strange voice, pushing Tess to one side. They were all so demoralised they meekly stepped away, their minds dwelling on the man who had their baby, the man of
whom they were all deadly afraid.

  In the drawing room Arthur Drummond was reproving his daughter, who watched him like some small animal caught in the deadly stare of a cobra. Her mind was blank with no thought in it except now and then the dart of something ominous like a shark in black waters. Her eyes were fastened on her son who, just as Robert had once done, had fallen into a still, almost shocked state. All his life he had been protected, loved by everyone around him but young as he was he appeared to recognise that he was in the presence of evil.

  ‘May I have my son, please, Father? He is afraid since he does not know you.’

  ‘And whose fault is that, my dear?’ He planted a dry kiss on the boy’s rounded cheek, which was more frightening than a smack. The boy flinched. ‘I expected a call from you, Charlotte, perhaps one of apology after that nasty scene in the hotel. Your husband is a lout, really he is, and how he ever became accepted in a gentleman’s world is beyond me. But still, I am not concerned with him. I saw him ride off in that arrogant way of his so, with this lad here, I took the opportunity to call. I think it is very responsible of me to bring him home, do you not think so, Charlotte? He might have been hurt in that wood all alone. You should take more care of him. Now, since he is wet and I believe he smells’ – a disgusted look came over his face – ‘you may take him off me and perhaps send him to be changed.’

  There was a quiet knock on the door and Kizzie entered carrying a tray set with an immaculate white cloth and two cups of chocolate. She placed the tray on a small table, then she put one cup on its saucer on a smaller table she drew up beside her former master.

  ‘Would you like a sip of Grandfather’s chocolate, boy?’ Arthur Drummond asked but the boy strained away and, suddenly losing interest, Drummond almost threw him at his mother.

  ‘I’ll take him, Mrs Armstrong,’ Kizzie said calmly, scooping the boy up into her arms and almost running from the room. ‘He needs changing.’

  She was so relieved to see her frightened little son rushed from the room in arms that he loved it did not occur to her to wonder why Kizzie had brought in the chocolate instead of Nellie. Kizzie was housekeeper now, in charge of the others; she ran Charlotte’s home, among her other duties at the Dower House, but then, like the other servants, their fear for Toby’s safety had probably sent them all into a spin and Kizzie would be the first to bring order!

  ‘Now then, daughter, when may I expect a visit from you? Not with the children if you don’t mind. We will leave that for later. I thought it would be . . . pleasant for us to be alone for an hour or two, catch up, so to speak.’ He smiled his wolfish smile, sipping his chocolate and watching her with the same candid expression that said he had nothing in mind other than a return of their supposed former affectionate relationship. Charlotte felt sick, as though her own chocolate, which she did her best to get down, were choking her but she sat with her back as straight as a ruler, for she would not show the desperation she felt. She longed for Brooke to come home and share this torment with her but at the same time she listened in terror for the sound of Max’s hooves on the gravel drive beyond the window. She could hear the trill of a meadowlark high in the heavens before it fell in its daredevil swoop to its nest somewhere on the estate. The voices of John and Ned, Ned having changed into dry clothes, came through the open window, low and cautious and obviously not far away. Keeping close in case she should need them. Her servants were all around her, the men ready to fight for her safety, the housemaids too, no doubt, as she knew they were fond of her but there was nothing to be done. Nothing. This man held all the cards and he would have his will of her, his smiling face said.

  ‘Well, my pet, shall we say tomorrow for coffee? I am usually ready about eleven then we can . . . talk until lunchtime; in fact it would be pleasant if you could take luncheon with me and we could resume our conversation in the afternoon. I’m sure we must have plenty to talk about and I am free all day. One thing, I should not tell your husband of . . . our reconciliation if I were you. He might not understand. Make up some excuse about calling on friends, that is if you have any.’

  He finished his chocolate and stood up and so did she.

  ‘About eleven then. Perhaps you could ride over. No need to disturb your coachman, or have you a gig of your own? Yes, then perhaps that would be convenient for you. And I should like to see you in one of your elegant morning gowns. So much more feminine than riding gear, don’t you think?’

  He seemed to find nothing wanting in her lack of response but let himself out, striding across the lawn and, as she watched, paralysed, barely able to walk to the window to see him go, he disappeared into the trees. The two gardeners stood to watch him, then turned to one another with the relaxed attitude of ‘good riddance to bad rubbish’!

  Kizzie must have heard the front door open and close, for the next minute she entered the drawing room and without a word put her arms about Charlotte and held her as she began to shake. Her teeth chattered and she clamped her lips together but strangely Kizzie was calm, patting her back then holding her away for a moment to look into her face.

  ‘Don’t fret, my lass,’ she murmured, then kissed her cheek.

  ‘Kizzie . . . oh, Kizzie . . .’

  ‘Tha’re not ter fret, my lamb. Dost understand? Everything’ll be all right. Now go an’ play wi’t bairns, give that Toby a cuddle fer ’e needs ’is mam.’

  She did as she was told, curiously comforted, but even so, how could Kizzie tell her not to fret when the devil himself was about to make her his plaything?

  The children were clamorous in their childish pleasure when she strode into the nursery and Toby ran to her with his arms flung wide, lapsing into the babble of three months ago before he had begun to speak more clearly. He was cross with her, he said, in words only she and the nursemaids understood, for letting that man kiss him, but she held him close, in fact she managed to hold all three of them on her lap as she sat on the floor and the nursemaids watched and understood. The lad, and the little girls would never again be let out of sight until that man was behind bars, they all told one another in the kitchen,

  That evening as she and Brooke sat at dinner she did her best to appear her usual self, asking him about his day, laughing at his description of the antics of Davy Nicholson’s new calves who were as playful as kittens, marvelling at what promised to be a bumper harvest, but it was an effort and she thought he had begun to notice her forced merriment.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked abruptly when they were sitting in the drawing room where they took their coffee.

  ‘What d’you mean, my love?’

  ‘You seem . . . preoccupied. Oh, I know it is hard for you to keep in touch with the Carpet Shop through Jenny and by means of the telephone but hopefully it won’t be for long. Surely your father will see that he is beating his head against a brick wall and give up. If only some woman would come along, like Ellie’s mother, who would keep him occupied. Or perhaps when the hunting season begins he will be too busy to bother us. Let’s hope they make him Master.’

  ‘Yes, let’s hope so.’

  Brooke looked down at her where she nestled in the crook of his arm. ‘You know I would never allow him to harm you, or the children. You must know how much I love you, my sweetheart. I would kill him with my bare hands without a qualm if he stepped foot on this estate and so would the men. I would take my chances with the law, in fact.’

  ‘No, no, let it be, darling.’ She had prayed to some being who must exist somewhere that the children, when he went up to play with them before bedtime, would not tell him of the stranger who had come into their small world that day. Toby might try to say something but Brooke wouldn’t really be able to understand his infant chatter, not like she and the nursemaids did, and the girls had not really been involved. But the terrible strain it imposed on her, and the servants who were bewildered by the way her father acted, was beginning to tell on them all. Of the servants, only Kizzie seemed calm, even unmoved.

  Suddenl
y she turned in his arms and clung to him passionately, for only in his goodness and love could she find any peace.

  ‘Take me to bed, Brooke,’ she whispered.

  ‘What, now?’ He was laughing as it was still full daylight outside. ‘Mind you, dearest girl, I’m not averse—’

  ‘Take me to bed. Tell me of the heart . . . tell me of love,’ by which she meant, in her own mind and body and soul, in contrast to the filth with which her father coated her.

  The servants nodded sagely but were accustomed to their master and mistress slipping to their bedroom early and Mrs Groves said wisely to Kizzie that there’d be another on the way soon. They went upstairs with their arms about one another and into their own private, candlelit space where he made love to her with a tenderness that made her weep, but when he asked her why, kissing away her tears, she shook her head wordlessly.

  ‘Our life is so beautiful,’ was all she would say and when he slept with his head on her breast, she prayed again, pleading in silent sorrow for release.

  They were awakened in the dark of the night by the piercing shrill of the telephone and though Mr Johnson, whose job it was, usually answered it, Brooke jerked awake, he didn’t know why. None of his tenants had a telephone, besides which, if they had one, what on earth would they ring about at this time of night?