Daisychain Summer

‘Alice gave you the reference, Tom …’

‘Aye, but written in your hand, Miss, and it was you signed Alice’s name to it. I’m grateful.’

‘Then don’t be. Any man who had the guts to desert that war has my understanding. And Tom, there’s one thing I’d like to say to you. You must not call me Miss Julia. Not only am I Mrs MacMalcolm, now, but I am also a guest in your house. Alice calls me Julia – I would like you to do it, as well.’

‘But it wouldn’t be right! I used to work for her ladyship and you are still her daughter.’

‘Those days are long gone and besides, Alice is my friend. I still look on her as my sister and it would please me if you would treat me as she treats me.’

‘It’ll be a mite strange …’

‘Alice found it strange, too, but it didn’t take her long.’

‘I can but try,’ he smiled, touched and embarrassed both at the same time. ‘Though how you can show such kindness to someone who ran away –’

‘But I understood and my mother understood, too. Alice told us how it was. It was a terrible thing to have to shoot a man – a boy – in cold blood. That you threw down your rifle afterwards and risked the death sentence for what amounted to an act of mutiny, was a brave thing to do.’

‘No, it wasn’t.’ He shook his head vigorously. ‘I was beside myself with disgust; all twelve in that firing party were. One man stood there shaking as if he was going to throw a fit and another was sick. I just stormed up to that officer and told him I wouldn’t do a thing like that again, and they were all of them in such a state that I got away with it. But I wasn’t acting the hero. It’s this temper of mine …’

‘I can understand. I’ve got one, too. My mother calls it my Whitecliffe temper,’ she laughed. ‘Act first then think afterwards. You and me both, Tom.’

‘Aye. I was thinking on the way here about Rowangarth and that no matter how much I miss the old days, it’s as well I’m here. If Alice and me lived there, then I’d always be on the lookout for him.’ His eyes sought hers, asking understanding.

‘Elliot Sutton, you mean?’ Her gaze met and held his. ‘So you know?’

‘I know. Alice told me. It bothered her, you see. Told me it all.’

‘I see. And do you agree, now, that we did what we had to do? Giles needed a son and had just been told he would never father one – his injuries, you see – and Alice was demented with worry about your death and the pregnancy she didn’t want – a child she could never accept, or bring herself to love.’

‘And her ladyship …?’

‘She believes what Giles told her; that Drew is Giles’s son, conceived in a single act of compassion. She accepts it. She even thinks that Drew was meant to be.’

‘I’ve come to accept it, too.’ Tom slowed down the pony at the crossroads, turning to the right. ‘Almost there. And I’m grateful to Sir Giles. He was a decent man, and a brave one, too. Geordie and me would go out into No Man’s Land at night with the stretcher bearers, picking up the wounded. We’d hide ourselves and keep watch; try to give them some protection if they were seen by the German gunners. It took a brave man to be a stretcher bearer, like Sir Giles was. Brave fools, we called them – and the orderlies and doctors who went under the barbed wire with them.’ He slid his eyes to where she sat and saw her sudden sadness. ‘I’m sorry, Miss. We must try not to look back …’

‘Oh, but you are so wrong, Tom! We must always look back. We must remember, so it won’t happen again to Drew and Daisy. But we must always remind ourselves that the pain of remembering will grow less – or so I’m always being told.’ She lifted her head, and smiled. ‘I’m so looking forward to being with you both. I’ve missed Alice so. And as for seeing my god-daughter – oh, this will be such a wonderful holiday for me!’

Alice stood at the gate, waiting impatiently for the sound of the pony and cart. Beside her, in her shiny black perambulator, her baby girl slept.

The house was clean and shining; a joint of beef roasted in the fire oven. Vegetables stood ready for cooking; an apple pie cooled on the slate slab in the pantry.

Flowers from the garden were newly arranged in her best vases; Julia’s bedroom was as perfect as ever it could be. She hoped Julia would not find it inconvenient, there not being a bathroom at Keeper’s Cottage, but no one hereabouts had one. Water, except at Windrush, came out of wells or pumps or rain butts.

And why was Daisy asleep? Why couldn’t she be awake to fix Julia with brilliant blue eyes? She didn’t smile, yet, but she recognized voices and turned towards familiar sounds. She knew the minute Tom gave his warbling whistle. Tom loved her so much …

Impatiently, she walked to the turn in the lane, standing still, listening; walking back to the gate, again, sure the wheel must have fallen off the cart.

Then she heard a faraway sound and held her breath, making out the steady clopping of hooves, the round grinding of wheels. Her cheeks reddened; she felt a sudden tensing of her hands.

Then Tom was pulling on the reins, smiling, calling, ‘Well, here she is, now!’

Slowly, carefully, Julia got down, then stood, not moving nor speaking, as if she didn’t believe any of it. Then as one they ran, arms wide, clasping each other tightly, saying not a word, standing close, cheek upon cheek.

‘Oh, my word!’ Alice was the first to find her voice. ‘Let me look at you. My dear, dear Julia – I’ve missed you!’

‘And I you.’ Julia’s eyes pricked with tears and she blinked rapidly, smiling through them. ‘Sixteen months! It’s been so long. And do let me see her!’

‘Asleep, as usual,’ Alice sniffed, pulling back the pram cover. ‘Don’t know what I did to deserve such a placid babe.’

Daisy Dwerryhouse lay on her pretty pink pillow, face flushed from sleep, half-moons of incredibly long eyelashes resting on her cheeks.

‘But she is beautiful! She is incredible!’

‘If you don’t mind, I’ll leave the pair of you to it.’ Tom deposited suitcases on the doorstep. ‘Best take the pony back. Supper at half-past six, will it be?’ He didn’t even try to conceal his pride.

‘There or thereabouts,’ Alice nodded. ‘Let’s go inside, Julia? You must be fair gasping for a cup of tea. The kettle’s on the hob and the tray set and oh, my dear, it’s so good to be together again!’

‘It is,’ Julia whispered throatily. ‘So very good …’

When Tom had excused himself after supper and Daisy had been fed and settled in Julia’s arms in the fireside rocker, Alice set about restoring order in the kitchen.

‘You must be tired, love,’ she murmured.

‘Not if you aren’t.’ Julia cupped the little head protectively in her hand, smiling softly. ‘She smells of breast milk and baby soap. She has a mouth like a little rosebud. You should have called her Rose …’

‘No. Her mother is a buttercup girl and daisies go best with buttercups. Now – tell me about Aunt Sutton? How was she, when you called?’

‘She insists she came back to London to see her bank manager, but she let it slip that she also visited her doctor – then went to great pains to hide it. Said she might as well let him have a look at her, whilst she was over, but she was altogether too casual about it. It’s my belief she came especially to see him and when I said as much she told me it was all stuff and nonsense and that she had no intention of taking the pills he’d given her. A fussy old woman, she called him.

‘She’ll be back in the Camargue, now, and I’ve got a peculiar feeling about it all. I wonder if I should try phoning her doctor – get to the bottom of it.’

‘He wouldn’t tell you – you know he wouldn’t.’

‘No, and nor would Aunt Sutton. All she said was, “Fiddle-de-dee!” If only Andrew was here …’

Alice remained silent, then, drying her hands, she walked to where Julia sat, standing behind her chair, hands on her shoulders. For a moment she stood there, then said softly, ‘Is she asleep? Why don’t you take her upstairs to her cot? I don’t have to tell you how to do it, now do I?’

Julia was quite composed by the time she came downstairs and Alice was setting out cups and saucers.

‘Kettle’s just on the boil,’ she smiled, removing her apron. ‘Now we can have that chat. Tom won’t be back, yet.’

‘Does he always work this late?’

‘Bless you no – leastways, not these days. Windrush was very run down when Mr Hillier bought it. The Army were in it right through the war – the place had gone to rack and ruin. Game covers overgrown and hardly a pheasant in them. Tom’s had to start from scratch. There was no shooting last back end, though he’s hopeful there’ll be good sport come October. He’ll need another keeper, by then. Mr Hillier is keen to have his business friends from London for a few shoots, so Tom wants it all to be in good order.

‘Said he was going to make up the hour he took off, this afternoon, but really it’s only to let you and me have a good gossip.’

‘And you’re happy, Alice? No regrets – about leaving Rowangarth, I mean, and starting afresh here?’