‘Are you all right?’ Kate asked a violently trembling Christina.
Christina nodded, ‘Yes. And you? Your face is still bleeding.’
‘And my hands and my knees,’ Kate said with an unsteady laugh, vastly relieved to be suffering from nothing more than cuts and gashes. ‘How did you know I was pregnant? Was it just a guess?’
Christina shook her head, a dark wing of hair falling across a soot-smudged cheek. ‘No, Carrie told me.’
They looked at each other, realizing for the first time the way they were clinging on to each other. Neither of them released their hold.
‘I think I’m becoming very English,’ Christina said, a hint of a giggle in her voice. ‘I’m in desperate need of a cup of tea!’
‘So am I,’ Kate said as Albert’s horse and hearse clattered into the Square. ‘And I think my house is going to be quieter than yours. Come on. We can patch ourselves up with iodine and sticking-plaster while we’re waiting for the kettle to boil.’
With their arms still tight around each other’s waist, they began to walk across the grass.
‘God works in mysterious ways,’ Nellie Miller said to Bob Giles. ‘That fidgety bastard Hitler’s done those two quite a good turn if he did but know it!’
Chapter Twenty-One
The following Saturday, leaving Daisy in Carrie’s care, Kate travelled by train to Taunton. Although she had written a postcard to Joss Harvey, telling him of the date and time of her arrival, no chauffeured Bentley was waiting for her. She was in too happy a mood at the prospect of being permanently reunited with Matthew to be much put out. The wartime postal service was erratic and Joss Harvey had obviously not yet received her postcard.
She stood on the pavement outside the station in the late February sunshine, her cherry-red coat buttoned up to her throat, her long mane of flaxen hair prudently twisted into a coil in the nape of her neck. She could phone the house, saying that she was at the station, and then no doubt the chauffeur would come and collect her. Or she could get a taxi. She wondered what a taxi would cost.
‘Excuse me, Miss,’ a young man in a clean butcher’s apron said a little nervously, ‘you’re Mr Harvey’s daughter-in-law, aren’t you? I’ve seen you when I’ve been delivering to Tumblers. Is anything wrong? You look as if you have a problem.’
‘I’m just trying to make my mind up about something,’ Kate said with a friendly smile, recognizing him as one of Joss Harvey’s regular tradesmen. ‘And I’m not Mr Harvey’s daughter-in-law. I’m Miss Voigt.’
The sandy-haired young man coloured slightly. He was as well aware of her single status as everyone else who worked or had business at Tumblers, but it hardly seemed manners to draw attention to the illegitimacy of Mr Harvey’s great-grandchild.
‘If I can be of any help . . .’ he said hesitantly, eager to remain in her company for a little longer.
‘I was just wondering what a taxi would cost to Tumblers.’
‘I wouldn’t know about the price of taxis,’ the young butcher said, ‘not ever having any call for them. It’s a fair distance, though. Whatever the price, it won’t be cheap.’
Kate frowned slightly . . . She hated the thought of telephoning and specifically asking to be collected from the station. It was too much like asking a favour of Joss Harvey. On the other hand, she couldn’t afford an expensive taxi journey.
Thinking out loud, she said regretfully, ‘I think I’ll have to telephone the house.’
‘There’s no need for that, Miss,’ the young butcher said helpfully. ‘I’m on my way out there now. That’s my van across the street. If you’d like a lift, it would be my pleasure.’
It was a far pleasanter ride than usual. He chatted to her about Toby, referring to him as ‘Mr Toby’. ‘I’d be about twelve and Mr Toby would be fifteen or sixteen,’ he said as they motored gently through the undulating countryside. ‘He took me fishing and I caught the biggest trout I’ve ever seen in my life. It were a grand day. He never had no pretensions, Mr Toby. No pretensions at all.’
The pang of loss she always felt when she thought of Toby swept over her. Her hands clasped a little tighter in her lap. Thank goodness Leon had come into her life. Toby would have liked and approved of Leon. Unlike Lance, Toby had possessed no snobbishness or prejudice where class or creed or colour were concerned. As her present companion had said so succinctly, he had had no pretensions. None at all.
When they reached Tumblers the butcher dropped her off at the front of the house and then motored round to the rear and the tradesmen’s entrance.
She pressed the doorbell, fizzing with happiness at the thought that she would never do so again, at least not in order to visit Matthew.
‘Mr Harvey would like to see you, Miss Voigt,’ the maid who opened the door to her said, avoiding her eyes. ‘He’s in the drawing-room.’
Kate suppressed a surge of impatience. She didn’t want to see Joss Harvey. She wanted to dash up the stairs to the nursery and scoop Matthew into her arms and never let him go.
Briskly she walked across the hall to the drawing-room door and opened it. Joss Harvey had been grudgingly civil to her ever since it had occurred to him that she might one day marry Lance Merton and the last thing she expected was a reenactment of their terrible interview in his boardroom. The minute she saw his face, however, she knew that that was exactly what was going to happen.
‘You got here then?’ he barked ungraciously.
‘Yes.’ Her eyes held his unflinchingly. If he wanted to mar the occasion with rudeness and hostility then there was nothing she could do about it, but she certainly wasn’t going to allow him to intimidate her.
‘And I suppose you think you’ve come for my great-grandson?’
He was standing in front of the marble fireplace, his legs apart, his hands clasped behind his back.
‘I don’t think,’ she said, stung into waspishness. ‘I know.’
‘No, you don’t.’ There was such triumph in his voice that warning bells began ringing in her ears. ‘I had a visitor last week,’ he continued, ‘and my visitor told me a lot of very interesting things about you, Kate Voigt.’
She knew then. Before he said another word, she knew what was about to come. His visitor had been Lance. Lance had told him about Leon and that she was pregnant. And Joss Harvey’s attitude towards Leon was quite obviously exactly the same as his informant’s.
‘I’m going to the nursery,’ she said crisply, turning away from him, knowing there was absolutely no point in remaining to talk to him.
‘Feel free.’ Joss Harvey rocked back comfortably on his heels. ‘You won’t find anyone or anything in there. If it comes to a court case I have no doubt at all that the law will be on my side. You’re nothing but a trollop and totally unfit to have care of a child, certainly not my great-grandchild . . .’
She whipped round to face him, hardly able to believe her ears. At the gloating relish in his eyes the blood drained from her face. He wasn’t going to give Matthew back to her. He had never had any intention of giving Matthew back to her.
‘What have you done with my son?’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘Where’s my baby?’
‘Where you won’t find him,’ he said succinctly.
Her heart felt as if it had ceased to beat. Without wasting another second in fruitless argument she spun on her heel, running from the room; running across the hall; running up the broad, curving staircase; running along the corridor towards the nursery; running, running, running.
The nursery door rocked open. The room was empty. Not even the chest of drawers that had contained Matthew’s clothes remained. Around the lemon-painted walls nursery figures jeered down at her. Miss Muffet. Tom, the Piper’s Son. Humpty-Dumpty. Wee Willie Winkie.
She spun on her heel, panic bubbling high in her throat. He’d taken Matthew and hidden him but he couldn’t get away with it. He couldn’t!
‘I can,’ Joss Harvey said with terrible certainty. ‘Two illegitimate children in little mo
re than two years? The second one to a black sailor? No judge in his right mind would grant you custody of Matthew when he could grant custody to me. You may have made a fool out of my grandson and a fool out of young Merton, but you haven’t made a fool out of Joss Harvey. I knew what you were the first minute I set eyes on you. A scheming, money-grabbing, Kraut-trollop . . .’
She didn’t wait to hear any more. Nothing could be gained by staying to argue with him and he certainly wouldn’t listen to reason. She needed to get back to London as quickly as she could and she needed advice; professional advice.
She rushed out of the house at such high speed that the butcher, a delivery made and an order taken, almost ran her over.
‘Do you want another lift?’ he asked unnecessarily. ‘Hop in. I’m going straight back to Taunton.’
‘’E’s done what?’ Miriam exclaimed, standing over her steaming copper, drumming the clothes clean with a posser. ‘’E can’t ’ave!’
‘You must go to the police!’ Christina said urgently, sitting at the kitchen table, Rose on her knee. ‘The police will help you. Kidnapping is a crime . . .’
‘You need a solicitor.’ Carrie had been putting her father’s shirts through the mangle, being careful to keep the buttons to the very edge, free of the rollers, so that they wouldn’t break.
She let go of the mangle handle. ‘I don’t know where you’ll find one, but Miss Godfrey will know.’ With her eyes dark with compassion she crossed the kitchen floor, hugging Kate tightly.
‘There’s something else you have to know,’ she said, her voice cracking. ‘Leon’s ship has been torpedoed. It was on today’s lunchtime news. There are reports that some survivors were picked up by a U-boat, but that losses were heavy. I’m sorry, Kate. Truly sorry.’
The next few days were a nightmare. She wasn’t officially Leon’s next of kin, although when the naval authorities knew that she was carrying Leon’s child they were duly sympathetic. Even so, there was very little they could tell her.
‘Some survivors of The Maiden were picked up by the U-boat that sank her,’ she was told when she enquired. ‘How many we still don’t know. Eventually the Red Cross may be able to provide us with a list of names of those taken prisoner, but that won’t be forthcoming for quite some time. If we have further news we will of course contact you.’
‘Kidnapping?’ the sergeant at Shooters Hill police station said, scratching the top of his bald head. ‘But didn’t you say, Miss, that the gentleman in question is the child’s grandfather . . .’
‘Great-grandfather.’
‘And that he’s Mr Harvey of Harvey Construction Ltd?’
‘Yes.’
‘And that the child has been an evacuee with him since last March?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I don’t rightly see how Mr Harvey, having removed his great-grandchild to a place of safety, can be accused of having kidnapped him. You’re worrying unnecessarily, Miss, if you don’t mind my saying so. All mothers of children still evacuated feel the same way, it’s only natural.’
‘But Mr Harvey no longer has Matthew with my consent!’ Kate persisted passionately. ‘And I don’t even know where he is!’
‘No-one knows where anyone is, these days,’ the sergeant said wryly. ‘Take my eldest boy. He’s with the Eighth Army in North Africa, but whereabouts in North Africa, God only knows. As for Mr Harvey, he’s a very respected and responsible citizen. When those houses in Point Hill Road were bombed it was Mr Harvey who saw to it that temporary accommodation was erected on the site almost immediately. Believe me, Miss, your little lad couldn’t be in better hands.’
‘And Mr Joss Harvey is the great-grandfather of the child in question?’ the solicitor Miss Godfrey had referred her to asked, taking his spectacles off his narrow nose and placing them on his leather-topped desk.
‘Yes.’
‘And you were not married, or ever married, to the father of the child, Mr Harvey’s grandson, Toby Harvey?’
‘No. We were engaged to be married when he was killed at Dunkirk.’
‘And Mr Harvey has accepted that the child in question is his grandson’s child?’
‘Yes,’ Kate said, disliking the solicitor’s tone intensely.
‘And as I understand it, Mr Harvey’s objection to returning the child to your care is that you are at present pregnant again?’
‘Yes.’
‘And still unmarried?’
‘Yes.’
The solicitor picked up his glasses and replaced them carefully on his nose. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Voigt. Under the circumstances I don’t think I can act for you. Mr Harvey’s reputation is unimpeachable and . . .’
Kate didn’t wait to listen to any more. As she strode out of the stuffy offices into the brisk March air, she wondered savagely if she would have been treated in such a cavalier manner if she had been a man and had fathered two children out of wedlock.
‘So what are you going to do now?’ Carrie asked as they walked across the Heath, Hector and Bonzo bounding ahead of them.
‘I don’t know,’ Kate’s hands were plunged deep in her coat pockets, the knuckles clenched. ‘But I’ll think of something and I’ll get Matthew back. Nothing is going to stop me getting Matthew back!’
That evening, when she had put Daisy to bed, she sat before the fire, racking her brains for a way of gaining the kind of support that she needed. If only she knew whereabouts Matthew was, it would be a help. The fire crackled and spat. Wherever he was, she had one thing to be thankful for. He was in the care of Ruth Fairbairn and being well looked after.
Her heart seemed to miss a beat. Ruth! Ruth had always been sympathetic towards her. Ruth wouldn’t have taken Matthew to another address if she had known that by doing so she was colluding in a virtual kidnapping. If only she could get in touch with Ruth Fairbairn her problem would be solved!
‘Try contacting her via the Lady magazine,’ Harriet suggested helpfully. ‘All nannies read it because it’s stuffed with adverts for nannying jobs. It’s where Mr Harvey probably advertised Ruth’s position.’
The notice Kate had inserted in the Personal column was short and to the point. Would Miss Ruth Fairbairn please contact Miss Kate Voigt, 4 Magnolia Square, Blackheath, London. Urgent. ‘If Ruth sees it, she’ll contact me,’ Kate said to Carrie, deep circles carved beneath her eyes. ‘God, but I can’t believe anyone can behave as Joss Harvey is behaving!’
‘I can’t believe so many people seem to think he’s behaving rationally and within his rights,’ Carrie said grimly, thinking of the police sergeant and the solicitor. ‘Mum always says if she’s ever born again she’s going to be a man. I’m beginning to understand what she means.’
The week-long wait until the next copy of the Lady was published was the longest week of Kate’s life. What if Ruth didn’t buy the magazine that week? What if none of her friends did either and no-one told her of the notice in the Personal column? Even worse, what if it came to Joss Harvey’s attention and he dismissed Ruth and moved Matthew to a different address with a different nanny?
‘Cheer up, it might never ’appen!’ Billy called out to her cheekily as she set off down to Lewisham market to do some shopping. Clad in a moth-eaten jumper and short trousers and a balaclava helmet and hob-nailed boots, he was straddling a branch of Miss Godfrey’s magnolia tree, waving a rusty bayonet high in the air. ‘Do you like it?’ he shouted down to her. ‘I scrounged it from the ammunition dump. I’ve got loads more at ’ome. If the Jerries ever land I’m goin’ to multicrush ’em . . .! Pulverize ’em!’
Kate continued towards Magnolia Hill, wondering what else Billy had scrounged from the ammunition dump. It would be typically careless of Mavis to have allowed him to amass an arsenal in their back garden. From behind her she could hear him singing lustily:
‘Whistle while you work!
Hitler is a twerp!
Goering’s barmy
So’s his army
Whistle while you work!’
Despite all the worries on her mind, a smile touched the corners of her mouth. Billy, at least, was having a good war.
‘I didn’t see any sense in simply writing,’ Ruth Fairbairn said to her, standing on the doorstep looking like a vision from heaven, Matthew jumping up and down excitedly in her arms. ‘As soon as I read the message I knew that you didn’t have a clue where Matthew was and that Mr Harvey had lied to me.’
‘Mam . . . Mam . . . Mam . . . Mamma,’ Matthew chanted, stretching out chubby arms towards her.
Kate was beyond speech. With a sob of joy and with tears of relief streaming down her face she reached out hungrily for him.
‘Mr Harvey told me you were quite happy with the new arrangements but that you wouldn’t be visiting as often because you were having another baby and the travelling was difficult,’ Ruth said as Kate hugged Matthew so tightly that he yowled with protest. ‘I shall lose my job now, of course, but I don’t care. He was never an easy man to work for.’
Between pressing kisses on Matthew’s rosy cheeks Kate said, ‘Come in, Ruth! Please come in! I’ve been out of my mind with worry! I was terrified you wouldn’t see the message and I didn’t know what I would do if you didn’t!’
Ruth followed her into the house saying, ‘I never did like the set-up down in Somerset. Even though it was awkward, you not having been married to Matthew’s father, there was no need for Mr Harvey to have made it quite so awkward. The staff didn’t even know your name when you first visited.’
Kate wasn’t listening to her. She was feasting her eyes on her son’s face, saying joyously, ‘You’re home, Matthew! You’re home and you’re never going to go away again without me, not ever!’
Ruth stayed with her for the rest of the day, accompanying her down to the Jennings’ where Daisy was playing with Rose. They were still there, eating jam-filled pancakes that Leah had made for them, when Bob Giles arrived.
‘What a nice vicar,’ Ruth said later as they eventually made their way home. ‘Did you say he was widowed? I like this part of London, Kate. It has all sorts of unexpected attractions. I might try and land a job in Blackheath and if I do I might just start going out to church again!’
The Londoners Page 39
