Softly Grow the Poppies (8 page)

‘Oh, Harry, I must go and tell Alice at once. She will be overjoyed.’ Rose jumped to her feet and made for the door but Harry stood up and caught her hand, and kept hold of it.

‘Let her sleep now, Rose,’ and in his eyes were the words, ‘dear, dear Rose’ which was not missed by Dolly. ‘Wait until it is arranged so that she will not be devastated should it not happen.’

Her hand lay in his where it longed to be and if Dolly had not been present they would have exchanged their first kiss.

T
hey stood for the second time in two days at the altar of All Hallows Church which was so close to Summer Place it was hardly worth getting out the old carriage to take Sir Harry Summers and his brother Charlie to the lych-gate through which the bride would enter. Still, as Charlie declared, he and his brother, who was to be best man, could hardly walk to his own wedding, could they? The carriage was almost falling to pieces, poor old thing, and it had been kept for sentimental reasons really. Their mother, Lady Summers, had used it for years to take her into Liverpool, driven by the coachman who had long since gone to his maker, but Enoch, roped in for the task, did his best to make it presentable, and with a borrowed horse donated by Dan Herbert, the farmer from Oak Hill, and with Enoch ‘done up’ in his best suit at the reins, they felt they would not shame Alice. They’d even tied some white satin ribbon to the carriage.

As he waited for his brother in the hallway of Summer Place Harry’s mind wandered back to the days since his father had died and Alice had arrived at Beechworth House, pregnant and distraught. He had telephoned his contact at the War Office the moment he heard the news.

‘Tom, is that you?’ he had asked the moment he was put through to the high-ranking officer with whom he had shared a room at Harrow. ‘It’s Harry – Sir Harry Summers now, and though I hate to throw my weight about, or rather my title, it certainly helps with difficult folk who are impressed by it. Yes, my father, today . . . Thanks, Tom, that’s kind of you. I have a favour to ask and pray that you will be able . . . Yes, yes, that’s it exactly. Can you get Charlie a forty-eight hour pass to attend the funeral? I’ll be honest with you, Tom. There is also a young woman . . . yes, I know Charlie always was a man for the ladies but this is genuine. They are exceedingly fond of one another, so much so . . . er . . . she is pregnant and has been thrown out by her very respectable family so you can see the difficulties. No, she is not with me but with a very dear friend of mine whom I hope to . . . well, that’s another story.’

Tom had pulled many strings and at this time of year with the two armies bogged down in their trenches, German and British facing one another in an absolute stalemate after the Battle of Ypres it was felt that Captain Charlie Summers should be allowed the compassionate leave he so richly deserved. He had been noticed. He had fought like a tiger at Ypres and his command of his men, and the respect they held him in, went a long way to granting him leave. He had arrived home with the mud of the trenches still staining his uniform and though it had only been four months since he had gone to war he was already a changed man. He did his best, teasing Mrs Philips as he had as a boy and cheerful young man but he was not the same. He had seen such horrors, men mutilated, horses with their entrails hanging out as they fought to keep their feet, the death of his own Lady who had been blown to a mist of blood and bone as she was hit by a shell, she and Burton the groom who was fetching her to Charlie.

He had walked silently into Alice’s open arms. Harry had offered him his own stallion Corey for the ride to Beechworth, but he had refused as though the killing of Lady was something he would never get over and Harry wondered whether Charlie would ever ride a horse again. Instead they had driven through the winter lanes in the trap. It was a bitterly cold day, sunny with ice thick and sparkling on every hedge and blade of grass, but Charlie had not noticed as though his eyes were so full of other unbearable sights that they had no room for beauty.

He had put his head on Alice’s shoulder and stood trembling in her warm embrace and it was not until she reached for his hand and placed it on her swollen belly and he felt the movement of his child that he became himself for a while. He smiled and held her close, kissing her with such tender love those who were in the kitchen felt they were watching something private, something sacred to these two.

Now he was to become her husband and the sight of her coming up the aisle towards him restored him as nothing else could.

As they waited at the altar for the bride to walk towards them Charlie glanced over his shoulder. Present were what Charlie called the same hordes of ‘vultures’ who had attended his father’s interment the day before and to Harry’s dismay he had been about to harangue them but he was saved by the arrival at the porch door of the bride.

‘Behave, Charlie,’ Harry had warned him yesterday, knowing his brother was ready to do battle with anyone or anything that offended him. ‘He was their squire after all, and they have come to pay their respects. Not to gawp as you think.’

They were gathered in the church and even among the gravestones to see Sir George laid to rest and now they had come to see Sir George’s handsome son marry the Weatherly girl who, it was whispered, was already with child. And herself only a child at eighteen. But then there was a war on and there were hasty weddings taking place up and down the country in these terrible times. Already two young men, sons of farmers and known to them all, had been killed in the trenches. Those hasty marriages were not called ‘shotgun weddings’ any more, for the soldiers were more than willing to marry their sweethearts before they returned to the trenches. But they were not the proper events that would have meant six months’ engagement at least. The birth rate had gone up considerably in the days following the declaration of war! Those of a more charitable nature sympathised as who could blame young men, many of them virgins come straight from school, wanting to know the delights of love before they left for the Western Front. Up and down the country it was beginning to be realised that this war that was supposed to be over by Christmas – which had come and gone – would be a long time in reaching a conclusion as the casualties poured back across the Channel.

As she came down the aisle Alice held the arm of the person who was to give her away and Harry smiled, for who else would have the audacity to take what should have been Alice’s father’s place but Rose Beechworth! A gasp of consternation rippled round the congregation and the vicar almost dropped his prayer book but there was nothing written that said it was illegal.

They both looked splendid but in different ways. Alice was almost ethereal in her young beauty. She wore the wedding gown that Rose’s mother had worn, and let out skilfully. White lace backed with satin with a high neck and long sleeves and between them, she, Rose and Dolly had cleverly draped a length of chiffon across the front of the skirt so that the bump of her child was barely noticeable. Tucked into her silvery hair, which was piled on the top of her head in a froth of curls, was one white rosebud – which still flowered in Tom’s greenhouse – and she carried another. In contrast, Rose was dressed in oyster satin and carried a small bouquet of oyster-coloured roses. Her hat was a boater on which Fanny and Carrie from Beechworth had arranged a circlet of apricot–coloured roses around the crown, thrilled to the core to have been given the run of Tom’s hothouse. They had even taken the liberty of adorning their own bonnets with pink roses, smiling at their mam as they walked up the aisle behind Miss Beechworth and Miss Weatherly who would soon be Mrs Summers. Their mams and the rest of their families were as proud of the maids as if one of them were the bride!

Rose was at least six inches taller than Alice but both of them smiled serenely as though there was nothing unusual in one woman giving away another. Most of the women were in tears as the lovely girl became the wife of the brave Captain Charlie Summers who would be going back to the fighting the very next day.

She herself, the bride, had become tearful as she contemplated her wedding day. ‘What am I to wear, Rose? I can hardly stand at the altar in the morning gown in which I came to you.’

She looked down at the tailor-made, woollen, button-through frock which, while smart, was not fit attire for a bride who was to marry the man she loved in church. ‘Perhaps we could marry in a registry office but . . .’ Although she knew that had she come to the altar in one of Dolly’s working frocks with a pinny tied round her waist Charlie would not have cared. But he had stipulated to Harry that he wanted to marry Alice in church for all to see their joy, not hiding away in some neutral office with only strangers about them.

‘If we marry in church there must be the calling of the banns. What of them?’ Alice had asked but it seemed the new squire had thought of everything in his cool, disciplined mind and had obtained the special licence.

‘And who shall give me away, Rose? Do you think I could walk up the aisle on my own?’ looking appalled at the very thought.

‘Dear Alice, I know who will give you away. I shall give you away for I feel that you are part of my family now. All of us at Beechworth feel great affection for you and will continue to do so when you become Charlie’s wife.’

Rose had begun to love this sweet-natured little creature almost from the moment they had met on the road to Liverpool. They all thought the world of her. Dolly, Nessie the cook and her husband Tom, Esther, Rose’s maid, Fanny, Carrie and Polly the kitchen skivvy, plus the men who worked outside who watched over her when she went for a walk about the grounds. Dolly had told her she must not wrap herself in cotton wool just because she was with child. Exercise was what she would need and Tom took it upon himself always to be working where she walked.

They were all to go back to Beechworth House after the wedding ceremony and share the wedding breakfast that Nessie had prepared. With the captain off to France the next day the new Mrs Summers would move to her position as the mistress of Summer Place with Mrs Philips to
look
after her and Rose would visit her every day. They had tried to persuade her to stay at Beechworth House but Alice had felt it was her duty to live in what had been Charlie’s home and his child would be born there as generations of Summers had before.

There was champagne to toast the newly married couple and even the outside men and the housemaids were to share in the celebration. It was noticed that soon after their arrival at Beechworth the bride and groom disappeared to the room that Fanny and Carrie had lovingly prepared for them and they were not seen again until the next morning. And who could blame them, for though the captain had been his old self, making them laugh with tales of the funnier side of life in the trenches – he told them nothing of the other aspects of his soldiering and the men he commanded – and drank champagne and kissed his wife and even Dolly, when he came down the next morning, while he was better than when he had arrived, his face was frozen in that expression every soldier wore when he was about to return to France.

So the year progressed and it was February when Harry turned up at the back door of Beechworth House, putting Corey into the hands of a nervous Fred, for Corey was known to be skittish.

‘For God’s sake, man, be firm with him or he’ll lash out at you.’

‘That’s all very well fer thi’, sir, but this un’s a bugger, if tha’ll pardon me language.’

‘Well, do your best. Is your mistress at home?’

‘I think so, sir. ’Er Foxy’s still in’t stable.’

‘Right, I’ll go in then.’

Dolly was sitting by the fire, a cup of tea in her hand, black, strong, with two teaspoons of sugar, just as she liked it, sipping slowly, a calm look on her face which vanished as Sir Harry strode in. Nessie was doing something at the stove, stirring a saucepan and Polly was busy in the scullery scrubbing vigorously as Nessie insisted upon.

‘Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were expected.’ Nessie bobbed a curtsey and Polly would have done the same if she had seen him. She was singing the song popular with the soldiers.

‘I beg your pardon, Miss Davenport. I left Corey in the yard so I came in this way. I’m sorry I didn’t knock but I just wanted a word with Miss Beechworth. Is she in?’

Miss Beechworth!
When last Dolly had been in the company of Rose and Sir Harry it had been
Rose
and
Harry
! Well, who was she to question the new squire? After all he was gentry and she was not and the gentry were known for their peculiar – to the working classes – habits.

‘She’s in the breakfast room, sir. She was late up and—’

‘The breakfast room is where?’ His voice was cool.

‘I’ll show you, sir,’ struggling to get up from her comfortable chair.

‘No, don’t bother.’ And without further ado he passed through the swing door that led to the hallway and she heard him looking in one room after another until he apparently found Rose.

‘Oh, there you are,’ she heard him say, then the door closed and there was silence.

Rose was daydreaming by the fire that had been lit in the breakfast room, a cup of coffee on the small table beside her, Ginger dozing on her knee, gazing into the glowing coals. She was dressed in a pair of beige breeches that had been especially made for her and a warm woollen jumper in a soft heather blue. At the neck could be seen a shirt collar, the sort gentlemen wore. Thrown carelessly over a chair was a tweed jacket, again like those young men wore.

She turned, startled by the sudden opening and closing of the door. At once she smiled, for it was of him that she had been dreaming. Then the smile dropped from her face. ‘Is it Alice? I was with her only yesterday and she was blooming.’

‘Ah, good morning, Miss Beechworth,’ he said. ‘No, it’s not Alice. She is, as you say, blooming and she has settled in nicely. The servants are . . . well . . . it is not Alice but something else entirely. I hoped to catch you before I left since there is much to discuss.’