Sons and Daughters (45 page)

‘They can breed like rabbits, but it seems you’re barren, girl,’ Osbert goaded Charlotte crudely. ‘I hope you’re doing your duty by your husband. I want a grandson.’

At such times, Charlotte would silently turn her back on him and walk out of Buckthorn Farm to her home, where there were no recriminations. Miles never once broached the subject, though secretly Charlotte consulted the doctor to see if it was her fault. Dr Markham declared her fit and healthy and told her not to worry.

‘Sometimes conception doesn’t happen, my dear, because you want it too much. You’re too tense. Just relax and enjoy your life. You’re happy, aren’t you?’

‘Very. I’ve never known such happiness,’ she confided. ‘But I know Miles so wants a daughter.’

‘A daughter, eh? Well, well,’ he murmured, knowing full well the humiliations that had been heaped on Charlotte’s head all her life for being a girl. ‘Life’s strange, my dear, isn’t it?’

In time, Philip gained a place at university to study law and after qualifying found work in London. Ben attended agricultural college and at the end of the course he came home to help run the estate. His career was mapped out for him and it seemed he was happy to follow it, gaining a quiet confidence in his own abilities and his future.

As for Georgie, all he wanted to do was to learn to fly aeroplanes and the RAF seemed to be the best place he could do that.

‘Cranwell, Father,’ he said as he neared his eighteenth birthday. ‘That’s where I want to be.’

But Miles had frowned. ‘I’m not so sure, Georgie. There are storm clouds gathering in Europe, I fear. And if there’s a war, the RAF would be in the front line.’

Georgie only grinned. ‘Then I’ll be a fighter pilot.’

He’d not altered at all. Of course, he’d grown and was now tall and handsome with fair, curling hair and a strong, lithe body, and seemed always to have a permanent grin on his face. But he was still the same mischievous, lovable scamp he’d always been.

‘Georgie’s never-failing good humour can get a little wearing,’ Philip would remark loftily on his rare visits home. ‘Is he ever going to grow up?’

Privately, Charlotte hoped Georgie would never change. She couldn’t help him being her favourite, though she would never have voiced such a thing. She treated all three boys fairly and only Miles was aware that her eyes lit up and her mouth curved into a smile when Georgie entered the room or even when his name was mentioned.

Nothing could dissuade the young man from applying to join the RAF and though they did nothing to try to stop him, both Miles and Charlotte felt their hearts sinking with fear when he waved the letter of acceptance, dancing a jig around the breakfast table.

Miles reached across the corner of the table and covered Charlotte’s hand where it trembled on the white cloth. ‘He’ll not be far away. Cranwell’s still in Lincolnshire. And Ben’s home now.’

He did not mention Philip, sensitive as ever to the fact that his eldest son and his young wife had an uneasy relationship. Though it was never talked about, it was sometimes like watching two fighting cocks, skirting each other warily. He dreaded the day when one might push the other too far and there would be a flurry of feathers.

Charlotte continued her painting and Felix would visit every so often and bear away several canvases and watercolours, sending her what she regarded as a ridiculously large cheque when he sold them in his London gallery.

The only thing that she remained adamant about was refusing all attempts to encourage her to advertise her talents as a portrait painter. Those she confined to the people around her whom she loved, presenting them, rather shyly, with a work of art they would cherish.

She visited her mother, aunt and uncle in Lincoln regularly, often taking Miles with her, but her mother steadfastly refused to come to Ravensfleet.

‘As long as I can see you from time to time and hear from you by letter, that is all I ask,’ Alice declared. And for once, even Euphemia could not move her.

‘They’ve quite a stubborn streak,’ Miles laughingly commiserated with Charlotte’s aunt. ‘For such seemingly docile creatures, they can dig their heels in at times. I cannot get Charlotte to paint portraits by commission. She’d be in great demand, I know she would.’

Euphemia had smiled at him archly. ‘The only thing she wants to do is to make you happy, dear boy.’

He’d smiled readily, even though there was the longing for a daughter that never left him. ‘Oh, she does.’

‘And you make her supremely happy,’ she’d patted his arm, ‘I never thought to see the dear girl so contented.’

Euphemia had not alluded to the ‘patter of tiny feet’ making their idyll complete. Her own childlessness made her sensitive to the feelings of both Miles and Charlotte.

At a few minutes past eleven on the morning of Sunday, 3 September 1939, the whole family at the manor sat in Miles’s study, clustered around the wireless set listening to Mr Chamberlain’s solemn pronouncement that the country was now at war with Germany. Electricity and even the telephone had come to the manor in recent years, though not to Buckthorn Farm. Osbert Crawford resolutely refused to have ‘such newfangled nonsense’ installed.

Miles switched off the set and sighed heavily. Charlotte’s eyes widened with fear, but Georgie, having driven over from Cranwell for the day, rubbed his hands together gleefully. ‘Now we can get at ’em. Hitler’s been allowed to get away with far too much already.’

Philip, home from London, paced the floor. ‘I suppose I shall have to enlist.’ He glanced at his father. ‘Do my bit.’

‘You needn’t. You could wait until you’re called up. And even then, with your job, you might be able to apply for a dispensation.’

Philip gave a wry laugh. ‘I doubt it, Father. Everyone’s going to be too busy to be needing lawyers.’

Miles glanced at Ben. ‘You’ll be all right, son. The list of reserved occupations includes farmers.’

Ben stared back at him and seemed to straighten his shoulders. With quiet determination, he said, ‘But I don’t want to do that, Father. I shall volunteer for the army.’

Georgie clapped him on the back. ‘Good for you, old boy.’ He grinned at Philip. ‘Now, Phil, you just need to join the navy and we’ll have all three services covered.’

Charlotte moved to stand beside Miles’s chair and rest her hand on his shoulder. Softly, she whispered, ‘You won’t have to go, will you?’

‘No, my love, not this time. Though . . .’

Fear clutched her heart. ‘What?’ she demanded swiftly.

‘I think we should do something to help the war effort.’

‘What?’ she asked again.

Miles twisted his head to look up at her. ‘Take in evacuees. They’re coming in droves from the big cities. It started three days ago.’

For a moment, she stared at him, then smiled. ‘Of course. What a brilliant idea, Miles. We’ve heaps of room here.’

‘Right,’ Miles heaved himself to his feet, ‘no time like the present. I’ll go and see the billeting officer in Ravensfleet this very minute.’ He turned briefly and touched Charlotte’s cheek. ‘Do us good,’ he smiled, though the smile did not quite reach his eyes. ‘To have something else to think about other than these three reprobates.’

The house felt very empty with only Ben still at home. Philip had returned to his law firm in London and Georgie, fairly bouncing with excitement, had headed straight back to camp leaving only Ben to carry on the work of Home Farm and the estate.

‘What about the Warren boys?’ Charlotte asked Miles. ‘Do you think they’ll go?’

‘Shouldn’t think so for a minute. They’ll be in a reserved occupation for sure. Besides – ’ he chuckled – ‘I think you’re forgetting just how old those “boys” are now?’

Charlotte thought for a moment, then smiled. ‘Heavens, yes, I suppose I am. And I’m forgetting how old I am, too.’ For a moment, her eyes were bleak. There was still no sign of a baby and the clock was ticking . . .

Breaking into her thoughts, Miles added, ‘Apart from Thomas. How old is he now?’

‘Twenty,’ Charlotte whispered.

Of all the Warren family, Thomas was the only one who’d decided he didn’t want to work on Purslane Farm. He’d turned out to be the brightest one in the family and was in the middle of a university degree studying medicine.

‘I’d’ve thought he’d be a good bet to be granted a dispensation, if he applies. But I don’t really know, Charlotte,’ Miles said. Then his face brightened. ‘Mr Tomkins – he’s the billeting officer for Ravensfleet – telephoned this morning. He has an evacuee for us.’ His smile broadened. ‘A little girl.’

Charlotte forced her thoughts back to the present moment. ‘How lovely. How old is she? Where is she from? When is she coming?’

‘Whoa, whoa there.’ He took her hands in his. ‘She arrived three days ago with the party of children from London.’

‘Three days!’ Charlotte was puzzled. ‘So why hasn’t she been found a billet – a home with someone – before now?’

‘Er – well,’ Miles was hesitant. ‘She did. In a way.’

‘Then why – ?’

‘She was sent back because she’s – she’s – difficult.’

‘Difficult? How d’you mean?’

‘She had head lice when she arrived. A lot of the children did, but this little girl was unlucky enough to be placed with two spinster sisters in Ravensfleet who just threw up their hands in horror and dispatched her back into Mr Tomkins’s care. He and his wife have done their best, but he says she’s very wilful and has tantrums. They can’t get her to wash and they certainly haven’t been able to deal with the lice.’

Charlotte’s eyes softened. ‘Poor little scrap. Sent away from her home. She must be so lonely and afraid. Oh Miles, let’s fetch her. Now. Let’s go this minute.’

Miles hugged her swiftly. ‘I knew you’d say that. I’ll get the car . . .’

As they walked up the front path of Mr Tomkins’s neat cottage, they could already hear the high-pitched screaming from inside. Charlotte and Miles glanced at each other.

‘Poor mite,’ Charlotte murmured. ‘She only needs a little love and care, I’m sure . . .’

As Mr Tomkins opened the front door to their third loud knock, Charlotte thought she’d never seen the usually calm, mild-mannered man look so harassed.

‘Thank goodness you’ve come, but I’m not sure I’m doing you any favours . . .’

He was interrupted by a whirlwind of blond hair, wiry limbs and a face like thunder, pushing past him and then between Miles and Charlotte. The child ran down the path, flung open the gate and started off along the road.

‘I ain’t stayin’ here no longer,’ she shouted over her shoulder. ‘I’m going ’ome. I’d sooner face old ’Itler’s bombs than stay here anuvver minute.’

‘I’ll go after her,’ Miles said grinning from ear to ear, completely unfazed by the child’s tantrum. ‘You talk to Mr Tomkins, dear.’

He set off after the girl, his long strides soon shortening the distance between them, for the child had slowed to a walking pace, though she still marched towards the railway station with a grim, determined set to her jaw.

Mr Tomkins smoothed his hand through his thinning hair and ran his forefinger round the inside of his collar as if it was restricting his neck. ‘Do come in, Mrs Thornton. Mabel’s just clearing up the mess. The child threw her breakfast on the floor. Dear me, I’ve never seen such a temper in a child. Perhaps we’d better let her go back.’

‘No,’ Charlotte said swiftly. ‘We can’t do that. We can’t send her back into danger, if it’s going to be as bad as they say.’

‘Mm,’ Mr Tomkins murmured. ‘I suppose you’re right, but the expected onslaught doesn’t seem to be happening.’

‘Not yet,’ Charlotte said quietly, her thoughts drifting to Georgie. Resolutely, she turned them back to the little waif, sent far away from her home to strangers. ‘But we can’t take that risk.’

‘Charlotte.’ Mrs Tomkins came into the room. She and Charlotte were a similar age and had known each other from childhood even though Charlotte had never been allowed to make friends.

‘Mabel.’ Charlotte greeted her warmly and held out both her hands. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll take her home. Do our best.’

Mabel grimaced. ‘I wish you luck, because I think you’re going to need it.’

‘Where do you think they’ve gone?’ Charlotte said, stepping to the front window and peering out through the lace curtains.

‘She said she was going home, but she’s not taken her belongings.’ Mabel sniffed. ‘Mind you, they’re hardly worth taking. She’s only got the clothes she’s wearing and they’ve seen better days. Poor little lass. The only other thing she brought besides her gas mask was a moth-eaten old teddy.’

‘And she’s gone without it?’

Mabel nodded.

Charlotte’s eyes gleamed as an idea formed in her mind. ‘What’s his name?’

‘Her name, you mean? Jenny Mercer.’

Charlotte laughed. ‘No – I meant the teddy bear’s, actually.’

Mabel shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’

‘No matter,’ Charlotte murmured, heading for the front door. Leaving the cottage, she headed down the path and out into the road. In the distance she could see that Miles had caught up with the wilful little girl. They were at the corner and were standing facing each other. Or rather, Miles was squatting so as to bring his face level with Jenny’s.