Poppy's War (31 page)

Mabel was in the kitchen making cocoa. She glanced up and smiled when she saw Poppy. ‘Well?’

‘Well, what?’

‘What did you say to him?’

‘You knew?’

Mabel put the saucepan back on the gas ring, beckoning to Poppy. ‘Come in and shut the door.’

‘How could you?’ Poppy demanded, closing the door. ‘Why didn’t you warn me?’

‘I promised Dennis that I wouldn’t breathe a word. He said that with Joe away in the army I was the closest you’ve got to family, and he asked me if I approved.’

‘And you said you did? Why, Mabel? I’m sorry, but it’s got nothing to do with you or anyone else.’

‘Love, you’re under age. You can’t get married without your guardian’s consent and I suppose that’s me.’

‘Well, you needn’t have worried. I said no.’

Mabel stared at her with the heaped teaspoon of cocoa clutched in her hand. ‘You turned him down?’

‘Of course I did. I’m only sixteen, and I’m not even halfway through my training. I don’t want to get married now or in the near future.’

‘It’s wartime, Poppy. Things are different, and Dennis is a good man. He’d see you right and he’s got a nice little house. You could do worse.’

Poppy eyed her curiously. ‘You know, don’t you? Your mum told you.’

Adding the cocoa powder to a little cold milk in each mug, Mabel began stirring vigorously. ‘Told me what?’

‘About my mum and Harry Beecham.’

Mabel gave a trill of self-conscious laughter. ‘Oh, that old chestnut. I’d heard something but it’s just gossip, love. Take no notice.’

‘So it’s true. I thought as much.’ Poppy snatched the saucepan off the heat as it was about to boil over. ‘I want to find him, Mabel. I want to meet my real father.’

‘That might not be a good idea, ducks.’

‘I’ve got to see him. I need to find out where I came from and who I really am. Come on, Mabel, you know where they worked. Please tell me.’

Three weeks later, on her first full weekday off, Poppy caught the train to Epping. Mabel had been persuaded to give her the address of Beecham House which was situated on the edge of the forest a couple of miles from the market town. They had kept her mission secret from Mrs Tanner and her sisters, and Poppy had set out with a degree of trepidation. Harry Beecham might be dead for all she knew, but she could not rest until she had found out as much as she could about the father she had never known.

After enquiring at the local post office, she followed their directions and walked the rest of the way. The trees on the edge of the forest were almost in full leaf and the hedgerows were lacy with fading heads of cow parsley, red and white campion and ragged robin. Poppy had become conversant with some of the wild flower names whilst living at
Squire’s
Knapp and the scent of the countryside in May took her forcibly back to what seemed now like halcyon days. With every step she became more and more nervous. This might go horribly wrong. Her father was almost certain to be married with a horsey wife and numerous offspring. Until now she had been living in the make-believe world of the movies where the long-lost daughter turns up and is welcomed with open arms, tears of joy and finds a happy family waiting to embrace her. But when she came to the brick wall surrounding the property and the wrought iron gates secured by a rusty padlock, she knew that the reality was going to be very different.

Peering through the ornate scrollwork she could see the carriageway cutting a swathe through overgrown gardens knee-high in weeds and brambles. At the far end, the burnt-out shell of what must once have been a great country house stood out against the sky like a romantic etching of a ruin. She stared at the blackened walls in disbelief. The person behind the counter in the post office had failed to mention the fact that the house no longer existed, but then she had only asked its whereabouts. Perhaps they had thought she was a sightseer or an artist who wanted to paint fallen masonry with moss growing all over it. But this was no ordinary pile of bricks and rubble. This was the house where her mother had fallen in love with a young man well above her station in life, and he with her. The irony of the
situation
was not lost on Poppy. It seemed that history had repeated itself when by chance Marina Carroll had picked her from the line-up of evacuees. The circumstances were not the same but she, like her mother before her, had been taken into a household far different from the one in which she too had been raised. She too had fallen in love with the son and heir, although there the similarity ended. Hers was an unrequited love; a childish crush, nothing more.

That did not alter the fact that the home of her forebears had been razed to the ground. Her bright dreams of being part of a family had once again been shattered to dust. She turned away from the scene of desolation, and was about to start walking back towards the town when she heard a sound behind her. She paused, glancing over her shoulder as a man riding a bicycle drew level with her. She could see by his dog collar that he was a man of the cloth. He stopped, steadying himself with one foot on the ground. ‘Good morning. It’s a fine day for sightseeing.’

‘Good morning, vicar. Yes, I was just looking at the ruins.’

‘Ah, yes, Beecham House. It was a fine building before the fire.’

‘You knew the family?’

‘Very well indeed.’

‘My mother worked there a long time ago. I wanted to see the house.’

He held out his hand. ‘Raymond Hayes. How do you do?’

‘Poppy Brown. How do you do, sir?’

‘Are you going back to town, Poppy? If so, perhaps you’d allow me to walk with you.’

‘I’d like that, sir. Perhaps you could tell me something about the family?’

‘I’m sure your mother has more interesting stories to tell.’

‘My parents were killed in a bombing raid. That’s one reason I came here. I wanted to see where she worked.’

‘I understand, and I’m sorry for your loss. What would you like to know?’

By the time she reached Epping station, Poppy had learned the history of Beecham House and the Beecham family whose ancestor came to England with William the Conqueror. Poppy could not help thinking that if true it was one in the eye for Mrs Carroll. It was a pity she would never know that the kid from the East End had aristocratic forebears, even if she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. The Beecham family, according to the vicar, had suffered many reversals of fortune through the centuries. One of their privateering ancestors had become fabulously wealthy and had built the manor house, but the succeeding generations had either gambled the fortune away or made huge losses on the stock market. In the nineteenth century, Sir Timothy, a sober-sided man determined to salvage
the
reputation of his once respectable family, had become an MP and had pulled the family back from the brink of bankruptcy. But once again, in the nineteen twenties, the money had been frittered away by Sir Hereward Beecham, who fancied himself as a film producer and had spent what was left of the family fortune making films of questionable artistic merit that had flopped at the box office.

At the station entrance, Poppy paused. ‘What happened to the rest of the family? My mother mentioned someone called Harry.’

Raymond Hayes smiled. ‘Harry was a delightful young man. Very good-looking as I recall, but quiet and unassuming, totally unlike his father who was what you might describe as larger than life. Harry left to join the army, quite suddenly and to the surprise of everyone, including the family.’

‘Is he …’ Poppy could hardly bring herself to frame the words. ‘Was he killed in the fire?’

‘No, he wasn’t there when it started. They never did find the cause of the fire, but the gossipmongers said it was arson. Sir Hereward was accused of starting the conflagration with a view to claiming on the insurance but it was never proved. He died of a heart attack soon afterwards, and the estate fell into disrepair. The villagers always hoped that Harry would return one day, but so far he hasn’t shown any signs of wanting to take over the reins so to speak.’

‘What about the rest of the family? Do they still
live
round here?’

‘There were two younger sisters, both of whom married well and moved away from Essex. I believe that Sophia and her husband live in Northumberland and Margery married a Guards officer. I think they have a house in Chelsea, although my information is probably out of date by now.’

Poppy held out her hand. ‘Thank you, vicar. It was good of you to spare the time to talk to me.’

He smiled, shaking her hand. ‘Not at all. I enjoyed our little chat.’ He was about to mount his bike but he hesitated. ‘By the way, you didn’t tell me your mother’s name. I might remember her.’

‘Mary Fitzpatrick. She was just a maid.’

‘Mary, of course. I can see the likeness now. She was a very pretty girl and lively too. She was always smiling, as I recall.’ His smile faded and he frowned as if another and less happy memory had clouded his vision. ‘Well, I must be getting on, my dear. It was nice to meet you, Poppy.’

‘Wait.’ Poppy reached out to catch hold of his sleeve. ‘There’s something you’re not telling me.’

‘It’s nothing. Just a bit of gossip that went round at the time. I’d forgotten all about it until now.’

‘Won’t you tell me? I think I might know already, but I need to be sure.’

‘It was a long time ago and so I suppose I’m not breaking any confidences.’ He smiled gently. ‘I was fond of Harry and it was obvious to anyone who knew him that he was very much in love with Mary
and
she with him. It was common knowledge in the town as they’d been seen together on numerous occasions, walking arm in arm, oblivious to the world around them.’

‘Why was that so wrong?’

‘Things were different years ago. Sir Hereward had plans for his son that did not include his falling in love with a girl from a less privileged background.’

‘But Harry loved my mother.’

‘I think pressure was brought to bear on poor Mary. She left Beecham House quite suddenly. Harry was sent to Sandhurst and entered the army as a commissioned officer. As far as I know he never married.’

‘Thank you, vicar. You’ve been very helpful.’

‘Mary was happy though? I wouldn’t like to think of her living a life of regret.’

Poppy nodded her head. ‘I think she was content, although I can’t be sure now. She was a good mother and I miss her every day.’

‘Goodbye, Poppy, and good luck, my dear.’ Raymond Hayes mounted his bike and pedalled off towards the centre of town, wobbling from side to side.

Poppy went into the station to wait for her train. As she stood on the platform she tried to picture her mother when she was young, before worry and hard work had worn her to a shadow of her former self. The plump, motherly woman in her saggy skirt and
ill-fitting
hand-knitted cardigan did not fit with the description of a pretty young thing full of life and laughter. She must have loved Harry very much to have given herself to him body and soul even though she was a married woman. What had she felt when she discovered that she was pregnant by him?

The train rumbled into the station. Carriage doors opened and passengers stepped out onto the platform. Poppy found a window seat in an empty carriage and settled down to mull over what she had learned from the vicar. The train pulled out of the station and she was on her way back to the metropolis, away from the place where her mother had lived, loved and lost. She stared out of the carriage window at green fields, hedgerows and farmland flashing past but it was just a blur. She would never know what had been in her mother’s heart, but at least she had found out a little about Harry Beecham.

‘My real dad’s an army officer, Mabel,’ Poppy said in a low voice as they washed up in the tiny kitchen that evening after supper. She had been longing to talk about it ever since she arrived home, but it was almost impossible to get Mabel on her own. She seized her chance safe in the knowledge that neither Mrs Tanner nor her sisters would offer to help with the chores, although Auntie Dottie had been known to listen at keyholes if she thought there was anything interesting going on.

‘And you saw the ruins of the big house?’ Mabel stopped swishing the block of hard green soap around in the water in an attempt to make lather. She glanced at Poppy with shining eyes. ‘How exciting. Was it a grand house before the fire?’

‘I don’t know, but the vicar said it was very old, so I suppose it must have been pretty imposing. Anyway, I’m not interested in the house, but I would like to find out more about Harry. I wish I’d thought to ask what regiment he was in.’

Mabel smiled triumphantly. ‘I think I can answer that one. Joe told me ages ago that his dad was in the London Rifle Brigade. He was batman to a Colonel Gerald Beecham and that’s how he came to meet Mary. Colonel Beecham was Sir Hereward’s brother and he was staying at the house. It’s just possible that Harry joined his uncle’s regiment after the affair was discovered and Mary was given the push.’

‘It’s something to go on,’ Poppy said thoughtfully. ‘But I don’t suppose it will be easy to find any information about Harry until this wretched war is over. I’d probably be arrested as a spy and end up in the Tower if I started making enquiries.’

Mabel flicked suds at her, giggling. ‘Don’t do that, love. I’d be left all alone with the awful aunts and Uncle Fred. If he pinches my bum once again I’m telling Auntie Ida and hang the consequences.’

‘He’s caught me once or twice,’ Poppy acknowledged, grinning. ‘He pretends to be a respectable businessman but I’ll bet he chases his secretary
round
the office, and he’s probably got a couple of mistresses tucked away in seedy bedsits in Plaistow. I’d love to tell his clients what he’s really like.’

‘He’s my problem, not yours.’ Mabel pulled the plug out of the sink. ‘Anyway, you’ve got two posh aunts of your own now if what the vicar said was true. You’ve got rich relations, Poppy girl.’

‘Maybe, but they wouldn’t be interested in me. I’d be one of those blot things on their escutcheon, or whatever you call it.’

‘I dunno what that is but it sounds painful. You talk like you’ve swallowed the dictionary these days, Poppy, but I suppose that’s what a fancy education does for you.’ Mabel wiped round the sink with the dishcloth. ‘You’re too grand for the likes of us. I’m not being funny, ducks, but you was always a bit different even before you was evacuated. Now I know why.’