Sons and Daughters (9 page)

Peggy glanced around the rather bare walls of their cottage. ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind one of her pretty pictures on my wall if she’s as good as you say she is, and that’s a fact.’

‘She’s good all right,’ Joe said firmly. ‘Just a pity her father doesn’t appreciate her a bit more. And not just for her painting, either.’

The return invitation to dine at the manor came towards the end of May. And this time, because Miles had insisted on Charlotte being present, Osbert could not avoid taking her.

Charlotte had no choice of fine gowns to wear. Her one good dress – a deep purple, plain, shapeless garment that reached to her ankles and had not a scrap of likeness to the fashionable shorter skirts that were all the rage of the mid-twenties – would have to suffice. She scraped her shining black hair back from her face and plaited it, coiling it up into the nape of her neck. She did not possess even one item of jewellery to brighten the drab garment and what she thought of as her one good feature was masked by her round, steel-framed spectacles. No wonder, she thought as she regarded herself solemnly in the mirror, her father didn’t want to take her anywhere. She was a sad disappointment, as he never tired of telling her. Not only was she not the son he so obviously desired, but she was also plain and had inherited none of her mother’s beauty. With a sigh, she left her room and went down the stairs to find him waiting impatiently in the hall.

‘I don’t know why it takes you so long to get ready,’ he grumbled. ‘However long you spend in front of the mirror you’re not going to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Come on, we don’t want to be late. It’s impolite. And I don’t want to offend the Thorntons.’

Charlotte handled the reins of the pony and trap, whilst her father clung on to the sides.

‘Not so fast, girl. Are you trying to have me thrown out?’

Charlotte pulled the horse to a slower speed as they entered the gates of the manor and trotted up the drive. Coming to a halt outside the front door, Osbert clambered down.

‘Take it round to the stables,’ he ordered. ‘You can come in the back way.’

Grousing under his breath, he mounted the steps up to the front door and rang the bell. As Charlotte manoeuvred the vehicle round the side of the house to the stable yard, Miles Thornton’s manservant, Wilkins, opened the door.

As Osbert stepped inside, Georgie ran towards him across the wide hallway. ‘Good evening, Mr Crawford,’ the boy began, smiling a welcome. Then his face fell. ‘Where’s Miss Charlotte? Hasn’t she come?’

‘Yes, yes,’ the older man said irritably. ‘She’s taken the pony and trap round to the stables.’

Georgie beamed once more. ‘That’s all right, then. I’ll go and meet her.’ He skipped towards the front door, which Wilkins began to open for him. But Osbert’s next words stopped the boy in his tracks. With a growl he said, ‘I’ve told her to come in the back way.’

Georgie turned and stared at the man for a moment before marching purposefully back across the hall towards the door leading to the kitchens.

‘Wilkins, please show Mr Crawford into the drawing room,’ the young boy said with a maturity exceeding his tender years, ‘whilst I find Miss Charlotte.’

‘Certainly, Master Georgie. May I take your hat and coat, sir, and then if you’d come this way . . . ?’

When Georgie burst into the kitchen, he found Charlotte already there talking to Mrs Beddows and Lily Warren.

‘
There
you are. I’ve come to find you,’ Georgie said. ‘I thought you might get lost.’

The cook turned to smile at him. ‘Master Georgie, Miss Charlotte has brought the recipe for that pineapple pudding you liked so much.’

The boy clapped his hands together. ‘Oh thank you. Please thank Mrs Morgan, too, won’t you?’

‘Of course, I will.’ Charlotte held out her hand. ‘And now we’d better go up.’ She glanced at Mrs Beddows and Lily and they were in no doubt that she’d be much happier down there with them in the kitchen than facing the ordeal of a formal dinner party upstairs.

But with the excitable Georgie at the table there was little formality. He’d arranged the seating to his own liking. He’d seated Charlotte at one end of the polished mahogany dining table, with his father at the opposite end. Georgie sat on Charlotte’s right-hand side and opposite him, was his brother, Ben. Osbert and Philip sat on either side of their host.

Miles smiled. ‘I’m not sure my son has complied with the rules of etiquette.’

But Osbert was not going to criticize. He was where he wanted to be – sitting opposite the eldest son.

As they sat down, Charlotte glanced around her. The dining room was spacious, with gleaming mahogany furniture, lovingly polished by Lily, no doubt. The table sparkled with cut glassware and silver cutlery. A square of thick, luxurious carpet covered the floor and over the fireplace was another portrait of Louisa. This one, unlike the one in Miles’s study, showed an older woman with her children. Leaning against her knee was a golden-haired child of five or so, and sitting on her lap was a baby. Seeing her staring at the picture, Ben leaned forward and whispered. ‘That’s our mother – with Philip and me.’

‘She’s lovely,’ Charlotte said, smiling at him. She could see the sadness in Ben’s eyes. He would have been about six, she reckoned, when Louisa died and he would have only fleeting, disjointed memories of her. Just as Charlotte had of her own mother. She glanced down the table towards Philip and saw that his gaze, too, lingered on the portrait every so often. Aged ten or so when she died, he would have much sharper memories of the beautiful woman. Perhaps that was the reason for his abrasive manner; he still missed her dreadfully.

‘So, the General Strike didn’t last long, then, Philip,’ Osbert opened the conversation.

Philip actually smiled. ‘No, sir. It did not. Just as you predicted.’

‘But the miners are carrying on their strike, aren’t they?’ Before she’d stopped to think, Charlotte, who’d followed the news avidly during the strike, which had affected the whole country for nine days at the beginning of May, spoke up.

There was a moment’s awkward silence. The girl held her breath, expecting to be banished from the table for her impudence in daring to join in the conversation. She heard her father’s sharp intake of breath and waited for his wrath to descend. But before he could speak, Miles said softly in his deep voice, ‘You’re quite right, Miss Charlotte, and I can’t say I blame them. It seems hardly fair to dock their pay and then expect them to work longer hours, too. And it’s one of the most dangerous and unhealthy jobs I can think of.’

Charlotte cast him a grateful glance down the table.

‘I wouldn’t want to be a miner,’ Ben said quietly at her side. ‘I’d hate to have to work in total blackness like that.’ He shuddered.

‘Do you know,’ Georgie piped up, ‘they take a canary down there just to make sure the air’s good. If it isn’t, the poor bird might die. Don’t you think that’s cruel, Miss Charlotte? To the canary, I mean.’

Osbert and Philip laughed, but Ben and Charlotte – and even Miles – took Georgie’s comment seriously.

After that, whilst the meal was served and eaten, the table seemed to divide into two. The two adults and Philip at one end talked politics, whilst Charlotte, Ben and Georgie talked about the local countryside.

‘I haven’t seen the sea yet,’ Georgie said. ‘And we’ve been here two months already.’

‘Then perhaps your papa would allow me to take you one day,’ Charlotte offered. ‘Do you ride a pony?’

‘Papa’s just bought one for me to ride. She’s called Gypsy. Philip has a big horse called Midnight, but he’s rather wild at the moment. Phil can’t ride him yet.’

‘I’d love to see them.’

‘Why don’t you come over tomorrow after Sunday school?’ Georgie suggested excitedly. ‘You could come back in the motor car with Brewster and me.’

‘Well, I . . .’ Charlotte hesitated and glanced down the table to their host, but Miles was listening intently to something Osbert was saying and she couldn’t catch his eye.

‘That’s settled then,’ Georgie said firmly and there seemed no point in arguing with the determined little chap. Charlotte hid her smile.

As the meal ended, Georgie raised his voice again. ‘Papa, thank you for my dinner. Please may I leave the table?’

‘You may, Georgie.’

‘And may Miss Charlotte and Ben come up to the playroom?’

‘I’m not sure that Miss Charlotte—’ Miles began, but she interrupted swiftly.

‘I’d be happy to, Mr Thornton.’

The three made their escape from the solemn talk at the opposite end of the table, giggling as Georgie led the way to the second floor of the big house.

‘Oh my!’ Charlotte gasped as the boy flung open the door of what had once been the nursery. ‘I’ve never seen so many toys.’

In pride of place in the centre of the room stood a huge rocking horse, looking very much the worse for wear. It had obviously been ridden and played with so often that its mane was shaggy, its paint peeling.

‘This is Starlight,’ Georgie said, patting the horse’s neck. ‘He was father’s when he was a little boy, but now he’s ours.’

Charlotte stroked the toy’s nose just as if it was a real animal.

‘And this is Georgie’s new toy,’ Ben said softly. ‘He got it for his birthday recently.’

Charlotte turned to see a motor car that Georgie was able to sit in and pedal.

‘He frightens us all to death tearing up and down the landings.’

‘I bet!’ Charlotte laughed.

There were teddies, mechanical toys and games galore. Georgie ran around picking up one thing after another. At last he said, ‘What shall we play, Miss Charlotte? Snakes and ladders? Ludo?’

‘I . . .’ Charlotte faltered. She wasn’t very good at games. She had never had any playmates during her childhood – only her governess and Mary. Her upbringing had been severe. Miss Proudley had been told that her sole purpose was to instruct the child, whilst poor Mary was kept fully occupied running the house. So games and play had not figured very much in Charlotte’s childhood. Only at Sunday school had she learned how to act out the Bible stories, as she did now with her own class. Though sometimes, she remembered ruefully, even that went wrong.

But now she smiled. ‘We’ll play whatever you want. You can teach me.’

‘Ludo, then,’ Georgie said promptly. ‘Me ’n’ Ben play it, but it’s better with three or four.’

‘Phil won’t play now,’ Ben whispered. ‘He says he’s too old for puerile games.’

Charlotte chuckled inwardly, not in the least surprised that the superior young man had abandoned such childish pursuits. As for herself, she couldn’t wait to play.

They were in the middle of a second noisy game of Ludo, Charlotte having surprisingly won the first, when Lily came to say that her father was ready to leave.

Charlotte scrambled up from the floor at once, but Georgie cried, ‘Do let’s finish the game first. Your papa won’t mind, will he?’ Without waiting for Charlotte’s reply he addressed the maid. ‘Please tell Mr Crawford we’re just finishing a game. We won’t be long.’ He grinned. ‘Because I’m winning.’

‘I really don’t think . . .’ Charlotte began but Lily had already disappeared.

Five minutes later, Georgie whooped with glee as his last counter arrived ‘home’.

‘Now, I must go,’ Charlotte said standing up. ‘Thank you so much for a lovely evening, I—’ Georgie launched himself at her, flinging his arms round her and pressing his cheek against her waist. ‘You’ll come tomorrow and see Gypsy and Midnight, won’t you?’

‘Yes, yes,’ she said, stroking the child’s hair with gentle fingers. She was touched by his affectionate gesture. ‘I promise.’

As she turned towards the door, her glance caught sight of a magnificent dolls’ house sitting in the corner of the room. Her eyes widened and she stopped. ‘What a beautiful dolls’ house. I – I always wanted one.’ She forgot her father waiting impatiently below. She forgot that their host might want them to leave. She forgot that it was perhaps way past George’s bedtime. She forgot everything except the sight of the magnificent toy. She crossed the floor, drawn to it against her will.

Georgie got there first. ‘We don’t play with this,’ he said, opening the front of the house to reveal the tiny, perfectly replicated furniture and the family of dolls in residence. He laughed delightedly. ‘Father was so sure I was going to be a girl that he bought this in readiness. I think he really wanted a girl, didn’t he, Ben?’ Gleefully, almost as if he had engineered it personally, he added, ‘But I was a boy.’

Charlotte glanced at him but the child had no sense of being a disappointment to his father. He knew himself dearly loved. Not like . . . Charlotte pushed away the unwelcome thoughts. Enchanted, she fell to her knees in front of the house and touched the furniture and the dolls with gentle fingers.

‘You can come and play with it, Miss Charlotte, if you like,’ Georgie offered generously, but Ben nudged him.

‘Miss Charlotte’s too old to play with toys,’ he said, but fell silent as he watched her rearranging the furniture and putting one of the dolls into the bed in one of the upstairs rooms. ‘Or maybe not,’ he murmured under his breath.

The two boys watched as Charlotte continued to kneel in front of the house, taking in every little detail.