The Black Mountains (35 page)

In his office, Alfred was mopping his face with his pocket handkerchief, weak from the exertion of controlling his temper. It was enough to give him a seizure, he thought, but here, at the office, nothing was more important than preserving the image of a reasonable man.

“You shouldn't have let him get away with it, sir,” Joey Bird twittered from the doorway. “ The youth of today … well …”

“Disgraceful, I agree. But I see no point in making further trouble, Mr Bird,” he said magnanimously.

As Joey went back to his cabby-hole of an office, Alfred found he was actually smiling to himself. This time, he was certain, he had taken the trick—and shown his staff his admirable self-control at the same time. Taken all in all, he was not displeased with his day's work.

AS THE DAYS went by, Ted, frustrated and angry, realized there was nothing he could do but wait for news of Rebecca, and Marjorie was his only contact. He hung around the drapery shop so much that Mrs Ford started complaining and Marjorie had to tell him to stay away.

“You're getting me a bad name,” she complained. “ I promise I'll let you know the moment I hear anything, but you can't keep waiting outside for me.”

“Do you think it would do any good to go and see her mother?” Ted asked. But Marjorie shook her head.

“Not a bit. She's just a shadow of him and scared out of her wits. Leave it to me, Ted. I'll find out, but I can't rush it, or it'll look odd.”

And seething though he was, he had to be content with that.

Late summer became autumn, and still there was no news. Life went on as usual, but Ted felt distant, removed from it. His only thoughts were of his sweet Rebecca.

The constant talk of war began to irritate him. Couldn't people think of anything else? Everybody seemed to have a story to tell about a relative at the Front, or if they didn't, they discussed ‘slackers' and ‘shortages' and the way things should be run.

It was different when it came to Fred, of course. For all his preoccupation with Rebecca, Ted always read with interest his brother's hastily scribbled letters. But although Fred wrote in general terms of days spent marching along mile after mile of dirt tracks, of nights passed in a convenient cow-shed or byre, and of the distant rumble of guns, he wrote little about his own exploits. It was Peggy who first told Charlotte about Fred's promotion to corporal in telecommunications, having heard it in a letter from Colwyn. And it was the same at the beginning of September when news got back of what the papers were later to call his “heroic exploit”.

It was a Sunday morning when Peggy got Colwyn's letter, and as soon as she had read it, she ran along the rank to see Charlotte.

For a change these days, the house was full. It was Amy's weekend off, so she was at home, and Jim, Sarah and Alex had come to dinner. Sarah's second baby was due in two weeks' time, and she was glad of the chance to take things easily for once, leaving Harry to play happily with Alex and keep him quiet.

James and Jim had just put on their caps to go out for a pint when Peggy arrived, waving the letter excitedly.

“Did you know your Fred's a hero?”

“A hero—what be talking about?” James asked.

“Come and listen to this!” Peggy said importantly, and when they had clustered around, she smoothed the letter out on the table.

“Now, this is the bit about your Fred.

All the boys were talking about Fred Hall today. You know he's in telecommunications now? Well, it seems he was trying to send a message yesterday and found the lines dead. He climbed a telegraph pole to investigate and found the wires cut. Well, you know Fred. Never one to give up. Off he went and jumped on his bike to deliver the message himself. He hadn't gone far before he came under shell-fire, but he went on, with firing all around him. Of course, he couldn't get away with it. One shell exploded right over him, but he managed to jump off his bike and into a ditch just in time. The shell knocked all the spokes out of his bicycle wheel, but Fred's all right, thank God.

She stopped, looking round. Charlotte had gone chalky white, and the others were almost as shocked. Amy sat with her hands pressed over her mouth, and even the boys were quiet.

“Our Fred—under shell-fire?” Charlotte said at last. “ On his bike?”

“Oh, Lotty, I'm sorry!” Peggy touched her arm. “I didn't mean to upset you—I didn't think …”

“That's all right, Peg,” James said roughly. “It was good of you to let us know.”

But Peggy was overcome with guilt. “I just thought, well, it was a heroic thing to do. And I'm always that thrilled when I get a letter from Colwyn.

“I know,” Charlotte said. She knew the feeling well enough, the intoxicating sense of relief that was followed too soon by the sharp realization that since the letter had been written, anything could have happened.

“Oh, I wish our Fred was here!” Amy cried, and they all started talking at once.

Only Sarah said nothing. She sat in the fireside chair, her lip caught between her teeth, hands pressed against her stomach.

“Sarah, it's all right. Fred wasn't hurt,” Ted said, turning and noticing her.

Sarah nodded and gave an odd little laugh. “ I know. It's not Fred. It's me. I think …” She broke off, looking at Jim, and he crossed the room to her, all thought of Fred forgotten.

“You don't mean—the baby! Oh, Sal, it can't be, can it?”

“I don't know,” Sarah said in a frightened voice. “But it feels like it …”

“Well, we've got the expert here,” Charlotte said. “Come on, Peg, you didn't expect to get roped in for this, I know, but all the same …”

Peggy smiled. “And if it is the baby, you'll all blame me, anyway. All right, you men, out you go. I'll have a look at her.”

They went, but before long, the house was in uproar again. The baby certainly was on the way, and according to Peggy, it wasn't going to be long. Clearly there was no time for Sarah to get home, and her own parents, next-door-but-one, were away for the day visiting. So Sarah had to be taken upstairs and put to bed in Amy's room.

“I think somebody ought to go for the doctor,” Peggy said, rolling up her sleeves and issuing instructions like a sergeant-major. “She had a bit of trouble last time, didn't she? And it might happen again, you never know.”

“I'll go,” Ted offered, pleased of the excuse to get out of the house. “It'll have to be Dr Froster, won't it, now that Dr Scott's gone off to France.”

“Yes, more's the pity,” Charlotte said. Compared with the genial younger man, Dr Froster was so abrupt.

Ted put on his cap and set off. He turned down the hill, walking briskly, but before he had gone far, he saw a familiar figure coming towards him.

Marjorie, he thought. Oh no, it couldn't be. He must have her on the brain. But as she came closer he could see he had been right. It
was
Marjorie.

His breath began to come more rapidly, and his mind churned. She couldn't be coming to see him—could she? But he'd never seen her on this side of town before—and before dinner-time, too …

“Hello, Marjie,” he said as he reached her.

She stopped, panting with exertion. “Phew, what a climb! I'm glad I've met you so I don't have to go any further. Not that I knew where I was going, anyway.”

“You mean, you were looking for me?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. I've got some news for you. Becky's in London.”

“London?” he repeated.

“Yes. It seems her Aunt Amelia, her father's sister, is a kind of companion with a titled family who live there, and she's got Becky in as a personal maid to the daughter. From what I can gather, the aunt has been angling for her to do that for some time, but nothing had come of it because Alfred's got plans for marrying her off to some cousin or other.”

Ted nodded grimly. “Yes, so he told me.”

“Oh!” She looked surprised. “ Well, anyway, Becky's mother told my mother that he's decided now that she would be better off well out of your way. So she's been packed off to these people—the Harcourtes, I think they're called.”

“So I'm no further on then,” Ted said, depression returning, but Marjorie opened her bag and pulled out a sheet of folded paper.

“I've got the address if you want it,” she said.

“Marjie!” he snatched it from her eagerly. “ Marjie, you're a treasure.”

“I know,” she said with a smile. Then: “Where were you off to in such a hurry, anyway?”

All of a rush he remembered Sarah and the coming baby.

“Oh Lord!” he said “I shall have to go. Are you going back down the hill now?”

She nodded. “Yes. The things I do for you and Becky!”

WHEN TED got back with Dr Froster, riding in his pony and trap, the house was still in turmoil, with Peggy rushing about and Charlotte trying to cook the vegetables for dinner on the same hob as the boiling water. Although he grumbled, Dr Froster remembered the trouble Sarah had had on the last occasion and went straight to her room. Ted, his duty done, left the house and went down the garden.

It was pleasantly quiet there, with only the Clement's hens clucking in the next-door garden, and for some reason Ted found himself remembering the time the Durrants' pig had got out and rooted up the parsnips. They'd never kept one after that, and the rank had said it had done a good morning's work. But how long ago now it seemed!

He took the sheet of paper Marjorie had given him from his pocket and read it again.

Windsor Square, Belgravia. It sounded a very grand place. But what should he do about it? Should he write to her? If the aunt had been warned, her mail might be intercepted and he wouldn't know. Besides, after all this time, a letter simply was not enough …

I'll go and see her, he thought. I'll go and see O'Halloran tomorrow and tell him I want to take a couple of days off, and then I'll go to London myself.

Satisfied with his decision, he turned back to the house, and as he crossed the yard, he heard a thin, unmistakable wail coming from Amy's bedroom, window. At the same moment the back door opened, and Jim rushed out, smiling proudly.

“The baby's come then, is it?” Ted asked.

“Yes, and it's a little girl.” Jim punched him playfully on the shoulder. “A pigeon pair. Try beating that, laddie!”

“Well done, Jim. Congratulations,” Ted said. And it seemed to him that the birth of a niece might be a very good omen.

TWO DAYS later Ted, squeezed into his best blue suit and clutching his new cap firmly in his hand, stepped off an omnibus on the corner of Windsor Square, W. 1., and stood looking about him.

When he had told them what he planned to do, James had been scornful and Charlotte incredulous.

“Go to London? Have you taken leave of your senses?” she had asked between running upstairs to see to Sarah, who was obliged to remain in Amy's bedroom for the next week or so.

But Jack, surprisingly, had seemed to understand, and so had Hal. With his daughter Grace separated already from her newly-wed husband, Dr Scott, he was feeling sympathetic towards young lovers.

And so Ted had found out about trains, made the necessary arrangements, and now here he was, in the capital of England for the first time in his life.

It was a bright autumn afternoon, and here in Belgravia the red and gold of the trees that lined the streets were lending bright splashes of colour to the grey of the pavements and the tall, gracious houses. What surprised Ted was that they were all identical behind their ornamental railings, and each was joined to its neighbour on both sides.

“It's just like a glorified rank,” he thought, unable to suppress a feeling of disappointment “And I'll bet they haven't got half the ground on them that the Rectory has.”

For a moment it occurred to him to wonder if Marjorie might have somehow made a mistake. Then a shiny black motor car turned the corner and drew up outside one of the houses, and as he watched the lady passenger alight, cross the pavement and mount the flight of stone steps to the front door, he realized that he certainly must be in the grandest part of London. That lady was unmistakably gentry. And if she lived here, so might the family who were employing Rebecca.

Although he had already memorized it, he looked again at the sheet of paper on which Marjorie had written the address—number 114. Then, with a pulse beating beneath the tight white collar of his shirt, he started along the pavement in the direction of the Square.

It seemed he walked forever, looking at the numbers on the identical front doors, but at last he found it, and stood for a moment looking at the stuccoed pillars and the windows veiled in heavy curtain nets. A flight of stone steps led up to the front door, a second flight curved downwards, below street level, and it was to these he turned. A nerve was throbbing in his throat, and he was worried now that they might send him away without letting him see Becky. If Alfred's sister was anything like Alfred, she could be a dragon …

He went down the steps. The basement door was set immediately beneath the bridge leading to the front entrance, so that daylight hardly reached it, and there was a chill in the air that made him even more nervous. It seemed deserted, somehow, shut up. Conquering his anxiety, he rapped on the glass window at the top of the door. No answer. After a minute he rapped again on the wooden panelling, but there was still no reply. Desperation making him bold, he tried to peer through the window, but the heavy nets obscured his vision.

After banging once more on the door with no response, he climbed the steps and went to the front door. He hadn't wanted to disturb the butler, or whoever was in charge, but it seemed he had no choice. He found a bell in the stuccoed stonework and rang it, louder and longer than he had intended, but although it echoed through the house it called up no more response than the basement had.