A Valentine for Daisy

He had been there all the time, going to and fro with his houseman and registrar, making sure that the children were recovering, but Daisy had been too occupied to see him. Now he took the matter smoothly into his own hands.

‘A most unfortunate thing to happen; luckily, none of the children is seriously affected.’ He glanced down at the wan-faced small boy clutching his mother’s hand. ‘This little chap will be fine in a couple of days—Sister has told you what to do, I expect? This young lady is an assistant at the nursery school and is not to be blamed in any way. The matter will be investigated by the proper authorities but it is evident that the cause was either in the cooking or in the food. I suggest that you take the matter up with the principal of the school.’

Daisy, listening to this, reflected that he had a pleasant voice, deep and unhurried and just now with a hint of steel in it. Which might have accounted for the ungracious apology she received before the small boy was borne away.

‘The last one?’ asked the doctor.

‘Yes. Only I’m not sure if I’m supposed to stay—there are the children who are to remain here for the night; their mothers are here but they might want to ask questions—the children’s clothes and so on.’

‘What’s the telephone number of this nursery school?’

She told him, too tired to bother about why he wanted to know. She would have liked to go home but first she would have to go back and get her bike and very likely Mrs Gower-Jones would want a detailed account of what had transpired at the hospital. She yawned, and choked on it as Dr Seymour said from behind her, ‘Mrs Gower-Jones is coming here—she should have been here in the first place. You will go home.’ It was a statement, not a suggestion and he turned on his heel and then paused. ‘How?’

‘I have my bike at the school.’ She hesitated. ‘And my purse and things.’

‘They’ll be there in the morning; you can fetch them. The place will be closed as a nursery school at least for the time being. Did you come like that?’

She frowned. ‘Yes.’

‘I’ll drive you to your home. Come along.’

Daisy, a mild girl, said, ‘No, thank you,’ with something of a snap. But that was a waste of time.

‘Don’t be silly,’ advised Dr Seymour, and he caught her by the arm and marched her briskly out of the hospital and stuffed her into the Rolls while she was still thinking of the dignified reply she wished to make. No girl liked to be told she was silly.

‘Where to?’

‘Wilton.’

‘Where in Wilton?’

‘If you put me down by the market square…’

He sighed. ‘Where in Wilton?’

‘Box Cottage—on the way to Burcombe. But I can easily walk…’

He didn’t bother to answer as he drove through the city streets and along the main road to Wilton. Once there, within minutes, he turned left at the crossroads by the market. ‘Left or right?’ he asked.

‘On the left—the last cottage in this row.’

He slowed the car and stopped, and to her surprise got out to open her door. He opened the little garden gate too, which gave her mother time to get to the door.

‘Darling, whatever has happened? You said the children were ill—’ Mrs Pelham took in Daisy’s appearance. ‘Are you ill too? You look as though you’ve been sick…’

‘Not me, the children, Mother, and I’m quite all right.’ Since the doctor was towering over her she remembered her manners and introduced him.

‘Dr Seymour very kindly gave me a lift.’

‘How very kind of you.’ Her mother smiled charmingly at him. ‘Do come in and have a cup of coffee.’

He saw the look on Daisy’s face and his thin mouth twitched. ‘I must get back to the hospital, I’m afraid; perhaps another time?’

‘Any time,’ said Mrs Pelham largely, ignoring Daisy’s frown. ‘Do you live in Wilton? I don’t remember seeing your car…?’

‘In Salisbury, but I have a sister living along the Wylye valley.’

‘Well, we don’t want to keep you. Thank you for bringing Daisy home.’ Mrs Pelham offered a hand but Daisy didn’t. She had seen his lifted eyebrows at her name; Daisy was a silly name and it probably amused him. She wished him goodbye in a cool voice, echoing her mother’s thanks. She didn’t like him; he was overbearing and had ridden roughshod over her objections to being given a lift. That she would still have been biking tiredly from Salisbury without his offer was something she chose to ignore.

‘What a nice man,’ observed her mother as they watched the car sliding away, back to the crossroads. ‘How very kind of him to bring you home. You must tell us all about it, darling—’ she wrinkled her nose ‘—but perhaps you’d like a bath first.’

When Daisy reached the nursery school in the morning she found Mrs Gower-Jones in a black mood. The cook had disappeared and the police were trying to trace her, she had had people inspecting her kitchen and asking questions and the school was to be closed until it had been thoroughly cleaned and inspected. A matter of some weeks, even months. ‘So you can take a week’s notice,’ said Mrs Gower-Jones. ‘I’ve seen the other girls too. Don’t expect to come back here either; if and when I open again parents won’t want to see any of you—they’ll always suspect you.’

‘I should have thought,’ observed Daisy in a reasonable voice, ‘that they would be more likely to suspect you, Mrs Gower-Jones. After all, you engaged the cook.’

Mrs Gower-Jones had always considered Daisy to be a quiet, easily put-upon girl; now she looked at her in amazement while her face slowly reddened. ‘Well, really, Miss Pelham—how dare you say such a thing?’

‘Well, it’s true.’ Dasiy added without rancour, ‘Anyway I wouldn’t want to come back here to work; I’d feel as suspicious as the parents.’

‘Leave at once,’ said her employer, ‘and don’t expect a reference. I’ll post on your cheque.’

‘I’ll wait while you write it, Mrs Gower-Jones,’ said Daisy mildly.

She was already making plans as she cycled back to Wilton. She would have to get another job as soon as possible; her mother’s pension wasn’t enough to keep all three of them and Pamela had at least two more years at school. They paid the estate a very modest rent but there were still taxes and lighting and heating and food. They relied on Daisy’s wages to pay for clothes and small extra comforts. There was never any money to save; her father had left a few hundred pounds in the bank but that was for a rainy day, never to be spent unless in dire emergency.

Back home, she explained everything to her mother, carefully keeping any note of anxiety out of her voice. They would be able to go on much as usual for a week or two and surely in that time she would find a job. It was a pity she wasn’t trained for anything; she had gone to a good school because her father had been alive then and the fees had been found, although at the cost of holidays and small luxuries, and since she had done well the plan had been to send her to one of the minor universities, leading to a teaching post eventually. His death had been unexpected and premature; Daisy left the university after only a year there and came home to shoulder the responsibilities of the household and take the job at the nursery school.

Her mother reassured, she went out and bought the local paper and searched the jobs column. There was nothing; at least, there was plenty of work for anyone who understood computers and the like and there were several pigpersons wanted, for pig breeding flourished in her part of the world. It was a great pity that the tourist season would be over soon, otherwise she might have enquired if there was work for her in the tearooms at Wilton House. Tomorrow, she decided, she would go into Salisbury, visit the agencies and the job centre.

It was a bad time of year to find work, she was told; now if she had asked when the season started, no doubt there would have been something for her—a remark kindly meant but of little comfort to her.

By the end of the week her optimism was wearing thin although she preserved a composed front towards her mother and Pamela. She was sitting at her mother’s writing desk answering an advertisement for a mother’s help when someone knocked on the door. Pamela was in her room, deep in schoolwork; her mother was out shopping. Daisy went to answer it.

CHAPTER TWO

DAISY recognised the person on the doorstep. ‘Lady Thorley—please come in. The twins are all right?’

‘Quite recovered,’ said their mother. ‘I wanted to talk to you…’

Daisy led the way into the small sitting-room, nicely furnished and with a bowl of roses on the Georgian circular table under the window, offered a chair and then sat down opposite her visitor, her hands folded quietly in her lap, composedly waiting to hear the reason for the visit. It would be something to do with the nursery school, she felt sure, some small garment missing…

‘Are you out of a job?’ Lady Thorley smiled. ‘Forgive me for being nosy, but Mrs Gower-Jones tells me that she has closed the place down for some time at least.’

‘Well, yes, she has, and we all had a week’s notice…’

‘Then if you are free, would you consider coming to us for a while? The twins—they’re a handful, more than I can cope with, and they like you. If you hear of something better you would be free to go, but you would be a godsend. There must be other nursery schools, although I don’t know of any. I thought that if you would come while I find a governess for them…only I don’t want to be hurried over that—she will have to be someone rather special. Would you give it a try?’

‘I could come each day?’