Sealed With a Loving Kiss (5 page)

‘Thank you so much, Mrs Williams, that's incredibly generous of you.'

Mary realised she was laying it on a bit thick, so she stopped babbling and ran up the stairs. She detached the wooden ladder from the hooks fastened to the wall, drew it out to its full length and made sure it was firmly balanced before she climbed up to push at the hatch and slide it to one side.

‘Hold on tight to the ladder, Ivy,' she called down as it wobbled a bit.

She balanced on the top rung and hauled herself up. There was a cord dangling to her right, and when she pulled it, the attic was flooded in light. It was a large space beneath the roof, and there seemed to be few cobwebs although everything was covered in a thin layer of dust.

Mary looked round at the neatly stacked boxes and suitcases, and saw several large, ornately framed paintings, a child's rocking horse, some broken chairs, hat boxes, a dressmaker's dummy and two trunks. Sitting on top of one of the trunks were three cases – one for a violin, one for a trumpet and one for a flute. Poor old Doris had certainly done her best to encourage her tone-deaf son into being a musician.

‘What's she got hidden up 'ere?' asked Ivy in a stage whisper as she emerged through the hatchway.

‘Nothing much,' said Mary, ‘but I have found the violin and more besides.' She walked back to the hatch. ‘We'd better get back down, she's bound to be watching and listening, and actually there's nothing up here of any interest,' she said softly.

‘Blimey, you're no fun at all, are yer?' Ivy grumbled as she reluctantly withdrew from the hatchway.

Mary turned off the light and handed Ivy the three cases before replacing the cover over the hatch and descending to the landing. She put the ladder back and they hurried into their bedroom to examine what Mary had found.

‘It's a good-quality instrument,' she murmured as she lifted the violin out of the silk-lined leather case. ‘And looks as if it has all its strings as well as spares, and the bow is almost brand new.' She grinned at Ivy. ‘If Fran really can play this, then we could do some Irish jigs.'

‘Yeah, well, don't get too carried away,' said Ivy as she gave the flute and trumpet a cursory examination. ‘Singing's one thing, dancing's quite another. There won't be room to swing a cat in that place now word's got out you're playing again tonight.'

Mary settled the lovely violin back in its bed of silk and shut the case before she inspected the flute and trumpet. All three instruments seemed to be in excellent condition, but of course she couldn't really tell until someone played them. She returned them both to their respective cases, dusted off the leather with her handkerchief, and thought perhaps she should find a little present for Doris by way of thanking her.

Supper was a vegetable stew, which Mary and Ivy ate in the kitchen as Doris had gone out. Mary had wanted to ask her permission to borrow all three instruments, but as she wasn't there, she decided to risk taking them anyway.

They washed their dishes and cleaned the kitchen, then grabbed their coats, gas-mask boxes and instrument cases and headed for the Anchor.

Peggy was waiting for them outside the pub. ‘Goodness me,' she said as she saw what they were carrying. ‘My sister must have been keen on getting poor Anthony to play something.' Her smile broadened. ‘I haven't said anything to Fran, because I didn't want to disappoint her if Doris had sold the violin.' She gave a little shiver of pleasure. ‘Oh, my word, we shall have some fun tonight.'

Mary hesitated as Peggy opened the heavily studded oak door. ‘Is …? Will …?'

Ivy, who knew all about what had happened with Tommy Findlay, gripped her hand. ‘He won't be no bother, gel – not with me about. I got a very sharp knee,' she said darkly.

Peggy smiled at Ivy. ‘That won't be at all necessary, Ivy – not tonight, anyway. He's out and not expected back until late.'

A sense of relief flooded through Mary, and she followed Peggy and Ivy into the crowded bar quite happily. She was greeted warmly by everyone as she squeezed past them to get to the table by the inglenook fireplace. Rosie, Cordelia and all five girls were sitting there chatting and they beamed with pleasure as she greeted them.

Rosie gave her a swift hug, mindful of her bandaged hands. She waved away Mary's concern and explained about Monty and the barbed wire. ‘It looks worse than it is now I've cleaned them up,' she said dismissively. ‘Now, I understand you might have a bit of a surprise for us tonight,' she added excitedly, her glance taking in the instrument cases.

Mary looked across at Fran and held out the violin case. ‘You said you liked to play, so I brought this along,' she said, and smiled.

Fran leapt to her feet with an excited squeak and grabbed it. Fumbling to undo the catches, she drew the instrument out and sighed with pleasure. Her green eyes lit up and she tossed back her tumble of russet curls as she rested the violin on her shoulder and began to tune it with expert ease.

Mary and Ivy sat down and watched breathlessly as the notes became clearer, and an expectant hush fell over everyone in the bar.

Fran shot them all a playful smile. ‘And to be sure, I'm betting none of you believed I could play, did ye?' Then she drew the bow across the strings and the sweet, haunting melody of ‘I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen' filled the room.

Mary noticed there were tears in many of the boys' eyes, and her clear soprano soared as she joined everyone in the chorus.

‘Oh! I will take you back, Kathleen,' she sang along with Ivy and the others. ‘To where your heart will feel no pain, and when the fields are fresh and green, I'll take you to your home again!'

There was a stunned silence at the end, and then the place erupted with the clapping of hands and the stamping of feet as they called for more.

‘You don't need me at all tonight,' shouted Mary delightedly over the noise.

‘Ach, 'twould be a shame if ye didn't join in,' shouted back a flushed and happy Fran. ‘For it looks like we have someone to play the trumpet as well as the flute, and if I'm not mistaken that American has a harmonica, Ron's got spoons, and I can see at least two penny whistles. All we need now is a set of drums and we'll be well away.'

Mary looked round at the gathered servicemen and laughed. ‘I can see you lot came prepared,' she said.

‘Aye, we have that. So let's get going and set this place jumping,' yelled a sandy-haired Irish guardsman.

Mary and Fran grinned at one another and headed for the piano as more people crowded into the pub and Rosie shot off to help her two middle-aged barmaids serve them. The crowd parted like the Red Sea under Moses' command, and those with instruments stood by the piano awaiting instructions.

‘We should start with something lively after that,' said Fran. ‘How about “Wild Rover”? There's quite a lot of Aussies in here as well as Irish and Americans.'

From the moment she and Mary played the intro the others joined in, and soon the old rafters of the Anchor were ringing with the sound of music and song. Ron played the spoons quite expertly; one of the Americans was beating out a drum rhythm with his hands on a wooden stool; another was playing his harmonica with rather more enthusiasm than skill – and the two boys on the penny whistles were fairly dancing a jig as they played. Considering that none of them had practised together, and the tune wasn't familiar to everyone, they were coping remarkably well.

As they played one tune after another the crowd around them grew, the beer flowed and a young boy pushed his way through to stand by Fran with his banjo. He couldn't have been more than fifteen, and shouldn't really have been in the pub at all – but for once Rosie turned a blind eye, for he could play his banjo superbly, and before long, Mary found she was being led into unfamiliar American folk songs. She stumbled a bit at first, but soon found the refrain and got through them.

A long while later Rosie appeared at her side with a laden tray of drinks for the musicians. ‘There's a cup of tea for you on the table,' she said quietly to Mary. ‘Go and have a break.'

Mary gratefully went back to Peggy and the others and sat down to drink the very welcome tea. She was hot and perspiring, for the temperature in the room had risen considerably with so many people crowded into it and the fire burning in the hearth.

She looked round expecting to see Fran coming to join them, but there was no sign of her, and poor Rosie and her barmaids were frantically trying to serve the customers who were lining the bar three deep. Ron had given up on the spoons and was lending a hand too, and Ivy had deserted her to go and flirt with a rather dashing American airman.

And then silence fell as the sweetest notes began to fill the room and all eyes went to Fran, who'd been lifted onto a table, the violin nestled beneath her chin, her glorious hair tumbling down her back as she closed her eyes and played ‘Danny Boy' with no accompaniment.

There wasn't a dry eye in the house and the previously raucous voices were hushed as they softly sang the melody, for the blood of the Irish ran strongly through many of them, and this song touched a chord deep within them all, for it was a call from their loved ones, and the dream of returning home.

Mary blinked back her own tears and smiled at Peggy, who was busy dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. ‘She's wonderful,' Mary breathed. ‘To be able to hold an audience like that is a talent that can never be taught.'

Peggy watched Fran in awe. ‘I would never have guessed,' she murmured. ‘She looks so at peace and so beautiful – and the way she's playing …' She faltered and blinked away her tears. ‘Goodness me, how very silly. I'm getting all emotional.'

So was Mary and just about everyone else in the room. As the song came to an end and the final haunting note drifted into silence there was a long pause, and then everyone was on their feet to applaud and beg for more.

Fran looked over at Mary, raised a finger to signify she would play one more before she took a rest, and then with a nod to the boy beside her and the other musicians, she led them all into a lively Irish jig.

As the admiring crowd clapped their hands and stamped their feet in time, the old walls shook and the brick floor shuddered, making bottles and glasses dance across the tables. ‘She'll literally bring the house down in a minute,' shouted Peggy in delight.

‘I think it's been standing long enough to weather it,' Mary shouted back.

Cordelia was beside herself with excitement and three glasses of sherry as she gripped Mary's hand. ‘What fun it all is,' she twittered. ‘My goodness. Is it going to be like this every weekend?'

‘Only if Fran and I are off at the same time,' said Mary. She eyed the flushed little face and the empty glass Cordelia had pushed towards her. ‘Wouldn't you prefer a cup of tea now?'

‘Oh, no, dear. I want another sherry,' she replied firmly as she nudged the glass nearer.

Peggy looked over Mary's shoulder and her happy expression instantly became one of dislike. She reached for Cordelia's glass. ‘I'll get it,' she said.

Mary frowned and looked round to see what could possibly have brought such a change to Peggy's happy mood. And then she saw him and went cold.

Tommy Findlay was leaning in the doorway to one side of the bar, his hands in his pockets, his blue eyes trawling the throng of people and settling speculatively on Fran before slowly moving to Ivy and her friends.

A shiver of apprehension ran down Mary's spine as she saw Peggy approach him. Whatever she said to him made him shrug nonchalantly before he went back to his creepy surveillance.

Mary seemed to be momentarily frozen in her seat as those feral eyes settled on her for a lingering moment. She felt trapped, the perspiration chilling on her skin as her pulse raced so fast she could barely breathe. And then she told herself not to be so silly and found the courage to stare back at him, coldly, defiantly, bolstered by the knowledge that she wasn't alone and he wouldn't dare approach her.

His steady gaze broke as Ron pulled on his arm and turned him away from the door, virtually pushing him into the hallway that led to the upstairs rooms. Ron had him against the wall, his finger jabbing angrily at Findlay's chest as he spoke to him.

Mary found she'd been holding her breath, and she let it out in a deep sigh as she turned away and picked up her rapidly cooling cup of tea. She had survived the encounter and would do so again if necessary – though she didn't relish the thought of ever bumping into him on a dark night.

She drank the tea and looked across at Ivy, who winked and jerked up her knee. Grinning back, Mary relaxed. A knee was certainly a good weapon, and she'd make sure to use it should he accost her again.

Peggy returned with Cordelia's sherry and a large glass of water for Mary. ‘Sorry about that. Rosie's banned him from the bar, so he shouldn't have even been there. Ron's giving him a right ticking off, I can tell you.'

Mary drank half the glass of water and stood up. ‘Thanks for that, Peggy. Now I really must get back to the piano and give poor Fran a rest.'

OVER THE FOLLOWING
two weeks there had been several more nights when Mary and Fran had entertained an ever-growing number of admirers and musicians at the Anchor. There was an Argentine airman who'd brought a set of bongos, which were very exotic for Cliffehaven; more penny whistles and a couple of recorders; and dear old Reg Farmer, who was as ancient as the hills and used to play in revues on the end of the pier, and could still get a jolly good tune out of his accordion.

Having spoken to Peggy first to get her advice, Rosie had relented and allowed Tommy to serve behind the bar. She'd found she and her barmaids hadn't been able to cope with so many customers, and Ron couldn't always be there due to his Home Guard duties – neither could she find anyone willing or able to step in who she could trust. And to Peggy's relief, it seemed that Mary had got over her earlier fear of him and could now carry on as if he wasn't even there.