Nobody’s Girl

by Tania Crosse

  Wig turned his attention back to lighting his pipe. As the tobacco caught and he drew on the mouthpiece, he sat back with a deep sigh. If only fate hadn’t been so cruel to them. He loved his wife with every breath of his body, and he just prayed that, even though he very much liked the girl himself, this young stranger who’d come into their lives so unexpectedly didn’t bring them further tragedy.

  *

  ‘Well, that’s as neat as anything I could do,’ Nana May declared as she inspected a patch Meg had sewn over a rip where Clarissa had caught the sleeve of a jacket on a bramble while walking in the woods.

  ‘I’ve had plenty of practice,’ Meg grimaced, although at the same time a frisson of pride over her handiwork tingled through her. ‘My mum taught me well. We had to mend everything we could.’

  Nana May nodded gravely. ‘Clarrie has to watch the pennies, too, you know, so she’s always looking for ways to economise. So if you’re as good at mending as this, she’ll be more than pleased. And to be honest,’ she confided, ‘I’m none too happy with a needle in my hand these days. These old eyes of mine don’t see as well as they used to. So if I can hand the sewing over to you, I’d be delighted.’

  ‘Well, with so few animals to look after, I think I’m going to have plenty of time on my hands,’ Meg answered her. ‘So I’m quite happy to do as much mending as you like.’

  Nana May tipped her head to one side and smiled. ‘I think we’ve found a little gem in you, child. Your parents must have been very proud of you.’

  Meg’s heart jerked. There’d been moments during the day when her mum and dad had actually left her thoughts, the heavy black cloud that pressed constantly on her head temporarily releasing her from its greedy clutches. Her reaction was to blame Nana May for dragging her back into her grief, but she realised the words had been kindly meant. And in a way it was a relief to talk openly about her parents, rather than brushing the tragedy under the carpet. She wanted to start having the happy memories in her head, just as Mrs C had said she would in time.

  ‘Yes, I’d like to think they were,’ she said quietly. ‘And I was proud of them.’

  ‘I’m sure you were.’ The old lady laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘If you ever want to talk about them, I have more time than most in this house. But talking of time, before it gets dark, would you go outside and find either Gabriel or Ralph, and bring in whatever cut flowers they have on offer. You seem to be able to turn your hand to anything, so we’ll see how you are at flower arranging.’

  ‘Flower arranging?’ Doubt at once flooded into Meg’s mind. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever done much of that. We could never afford to buy flowers. We had quite a few daffs come up in the spring and we used to pick some of those and pop them in a jam jar, but that’s about it.’

  ‘I’m sure it’ll come naturally to someone of your talents. I’ll give you a few tips to get you started. Now off you go and see what there is. We only need enough for a couple of vases. I’ll be in the servants’ hall getting them out.’

  Meg left the sewing room and hurried down through the house to the servants’ entrance, her pulse trundling nervously. This wasn’t something she’d envisaged! But it couldn’t be that difficult – could it?

  She slid into her duffel coat and wellington boots and went outside, followed by Mercury who’d suddenly appeared in the main hall. He certainly seemed to have made himself at home with the other dogs, so that was one thing she didn’t need to worry about. It was lovely, though, to escape outside with him, even though the day had remained dank and miserable, the fine drizzle never having lifted all day and promising an early dusk. Meg checked the walled garden first, but she could see that Ralph had finished its winter tidy and was nowhere to be seen. So she walked across the terrace, looking down over the flower borders, but there was no sign of either Gabriel Hillier or his son. It wasn’t until she went into the walled vegetable garden that she finally found the two men at work.

  She marched straight up to the head gardener. She didn’t want to have anything to do with Ralph if she could help it. He might have passed the time of day with her on the journey to Robin Hill House a few days previously, but he’d been pretty curt with her out in the rose garden, and as luck would have it, they hadn’t run into each other since.

  ‘Mr Hillier,’ she said, addressing Ralph’s father, ‘Nana May’s sent me out for whatever flowers you have for arranging. Enough for two vases, she said.’

  Gabriel straightened up, lifted his cap and scratched his head. ‘Now then, Ralph’s more the flower man than me. Ralph!’ he called, and Meg’s heart sank. ‘Little miss here’s been sent for some flowers.’

  Ralph lifted his head, a bunch of freshly dug carrots dangling from his hand, and Meg’s lips firmed to a rebellious line. Just her luck!

  ‘Christmas is only a month away,’ he said stiffly, ‘so I need to keep back what I can for then. Anyway, come with me, and let’s see.’

  He put the carrots down by his garden fork and strode brusquely away, leaving Meg to trot after him like some humble lackey. How dare he? She was only doing what she’d been told. There was no need to be so short with her! And when they reached the old greenhouses, he went inside one of them without a word.

  ‘You can have some of these,’ he finally said, stopping in front of an array of flowers Meg recognised as chrysanthemums. ‘The outside ones are all finished but we manage to keep some going a bit longer in here. And there’s a dahlia or two that won’t last.’

  Meg watched in tense silence as he produced some secateurs from the pocket of his old waxed jacket and snipped off several blooms on long stems.

  ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting them towards her. ‘Hold them near the heads, then they’re less likely to get snapped off.’

  Meg had to bite her lip. Surely that was common sense; he was treating her like an idiot. She took the flowers from him without uttering any thanks. If he thought he was doing her any favours, he was mistaken.

  ‘You can have some gypsophila as well,’ he said, setting off down the long greenhouse again. ‘It’s finished, of course, but the flowers are still pretty even when they’ve dried out. And I’ve left some papavers and alliums in the border along the terrace. The dry seed heads look good in a flower display.’

  He handed her a bunch of tiny, frothy flowers on pale stems which she added to the others. The effect of the dainty cloud against the other stronger blooms was instant, and Meg reluctantly admitted that Ralph indeed knew what he was about. He smiled tentatively at her as he gestured for her to walk back along the narrow walkway as there was no room to pass, but she had no intention of returning his smile.

  ‘So what d’you make of this business with the king and Mrs Simpson?’ he asked as they walked back towards the house, Mercury still trotting along behind them.

  Meg blinked in surprise at the unexpected question, but she supposed Ralph was just trying to make polite conversation. And it was a bit of a shock to remember that life was carrying on outside her own world of sadness and loss. ‘Well, I think it’s ridiculous he can’t marry the woman he loves just because she’s been divorced and what have you,’ she replied with a shrug, recalling what had been going on in the news for months. ‘I mean, why don’t they say he could marry her, only she couldn’t be queen, and any children couldn’t be in line to the throne? Only the government won’t allow it. She’s probably too old to have children anyway, so I don’t suppose that bit would worry them too much.’

  ‘Yes, the situation’s something like that,’ Ralph concurred. ‘I know I’d be spitting feathers if it was me. If I was faced with the choice, being king or marrying the woman I love, I know which I’d go for.’

  ‘Which?’ Meg asked abrasively.

  But it seemed to wash over Ralph. Instead he answered, ‘The woman I love, of course.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Why, d’you think I’m hard-hearted or something? Only I haven’t found her yet and I’m never likely to be king, so the questio
n won’t arise, will it?’ He threw her an enigmatic look, which Meg wasn’t sure how to interpret, so she was almost glad when he asked, ‘So how are you finding living here so far?’

  Meg caught her breath. It was such a direct question that she couldn’t get out of answering it. ‘All right, I suppose. Looking after so few animals is a piece of cake, and learning to be a lady’s maid is hardly difficult. Nana May’s a good teacher.’

  ‘And you’re a good pupil, I’m sure.’

  He shot her a sideways glance, the expression on his face so inscrutable that she was unsure if he’d meant to be sarcastic or not. Whatever it was, he was making her feel uncomfortable.

  ‘Of course I am,’ she retorted frostily. ‘You can’t run a farm if you’re stupid.’

  ‘As you’ve so rightly said before.’

  Before Meg had time to think of a suitably curt reply, Ralph stopped partway along the lawn. He stepped into the narrow bed against the retaining wall of the terrace to cut some of the dried seed heads he’d mentioned. Meg waited, so immersed in indignation that she didn’t notice Mercury follow Ralph into the border and sniff around at the plants.

  ‘You make sure you keep your dog off the flower beds,’ Ralph instructed her sharply as he turned back, holding out the final items for the indoor arrangements. ‘It’s bad enough chasing off the family pets, let alone yours as well.’

  ‘He’s not done any harm,’ she answered caustically.

  ‘Not this time, but just you train him to keep off.’

  ‘He’ll need a lot less training than the others. Come on, Mercury. We know where we’re not wanted.’

  She clicked her tongue and, relieved that Mercury instantly came to heel, she stalked off up the steps and across the terrace to the side of the house. After all, Nana May was waiting to give her this lesson in flower arranging. So blow Ralph Hillier, who seemed to think he owned the place!

  Ralph watched her go. Damn it, he hadn’t meant to upset her, but she had a knack of riling him. Did she have to be so tetchy? He could understand how she must be steeped in grief, but did she have to be so defensive all the time? But perhaps that was her way of coping with her emotions, and she would become more relaxed as time went by. In the meantime, he’d steer clear of her, and if he did come into contact with her, he’d keep the conversation to essentials only. He certainly had better things to occupy him than some prickly young girl, even if he did feel sorry for her.

  He shook his head and pensively turned back in the direction of the vegetable garden. His dad would still be there. His mum was just a stone’s throw away in their cottage by the orchard. He was so lucky, wasn’t he? Perhaps he should count his blessings more often.

  Nineteen

  ‘Fire! Quickly! Fire!’

  In the servants’ hall, Meg was laying the table for supper, and looked up as Jane rushed in like a demented chicken, shouting at the top of her voice. In seconds, the scullery maid had scooted back out again, leaving Meg to gaze after her in utter bewilderment.

  ‘What did you say?’ she called after her, not believing her own ears as she hurried to the kitchen door.

  Jane was circling the table, throwing her arms in the air, and nearly knocked over Esme who was washing her hands at the sink.

  ‘Fire!’ Jane repeated, her eyes wild with fear.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t know! Fire!’

  Meg exchanged glances with Mrs Phillips. ‘Better get everyone out,’ she said, instinctively taking charge since none of the men were there, Bob having gone to the village pub with it being his evening off, and Vic was in London with Mr W. ‘I’ll fetch Mr Yard.’

  Mrs Phillips nodded, but had no need to tell Esme, who in the blink of an eye had pushed past them in her headlong rush to get out of the house. Mrs Phillips grabbed hold of Jane’s arm to calm her down, and then started shepherding her outside together with Tabitha and Louise, sensibly telling them to put on their coats as they left.

  Meg knocked on the door to Mr Yard and Mrs Phillips’s private room. She didn’t wait for a reply but went straight in.

  ‘Mr Yard, there’s a fire!’ she announced at once.

  The butler lifted his head from his newspaper. ‘Fire! Where?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was Jane who found it, and she’s too scared to say—’

  ‘Well, wherever it is, if you’d please get Mrs Clarissa and Miss Whitehead outside,’ Mr Yard addressed her briskly, ‘I’ll telephone for the fire brigade.’

  It was in that instant that a barb of horror darted into Meg’s heart. The photo of her parents beside her bed. Oh, dear God, she simply couldn’t let that go up in flames. Did she have time to dash up all those stairs to save it? But she must! It was the only image she had of them! But Mercury was, as ever, on her heels, and she couldn’t risk his life as well, as he’d be sure to follow her even if she commanded him not to.

  It was during that moment of tortured indecision that Nana May appeared, coming out of the dining room. ‘Oh, no, Mr Yard, the fire’s not here. It’s in south London somewhere. But it’s huge! Come and see for yourself.’

  Meg glanced in through the open door to the dining room and, as if in a dream, followed the butler inside. Mrs C was gazing out of the side window that faced north towards London and now she turned to Meg and Mr Yard, a worried look on her face.

  ‘Come and see,’ she invited them. ‘The curtains weren’t quite drawn properly, and Nana May noticed it.’

  ‘My goodness,’ Mr Yard exclaimed. ‘That’s one massive blaze.’

  ‘Yes. Oh dear, I must ring Wig to make sure he’s all right. I know it’s silly but it’s reminded me of those appalling explosions at the munitions factories during the war. And you know what Winston Churchill’s saying about the Nazi threat. What if the Germans are setting fire to London?’

  As Mrs C hurried from the room, Meg didn’t know whether to slump with relief that the house wasn’t about to burn to the ground, or to be wrapped in fear for the capital. She’d heard about this Winston Churchill who apparently lived not that far away. For some while now he’d been trying to warn the government about the situation in Europe, but everyone said he was just scare-mongering. In a somewhat strange moment, Meg had actually discussed it with the master. She’d been walking Mercury in the grounds some way from the house when she’d come across Wigmore taking a stroll.

  ‘Miss Chandler, Meg,’ he’d addressed her amicably. ‘We haven’t had much chance to talk since you came to live with us. How are you getting on?’

  ‘Quite well, I believe, thank you,’ she answered cautiously, since she hadn’t got to know him so well as she had Mrs C. But she felt confident enough to go on, ‘It’s wonderful to be looking after farm animals again, even if there aren’t many of them. And I do love the house and gardens. And I’m learning a lot about how to be a lady’s maid, too.’

  ‘So, you’re reasonably happy, then?’

  Meg paused to search inside herself. ‘Yes, I suppose I am, under the circumstances.’

  ‘Yes.’ Wig bunched his lips, nodding pensively. The girl was so mature for her age and he couldn’t help but like her. And he appreciated the grief she must be suffering. ‘It takes time to recover from such loss,’ he went on sympathetically. ‘I was never that close to either of my parents and yet both their deaths made me feel bereft. But when you’re as close to your parents as you evidently were, being with them all day every day, it must be devastating. So you’ve done well to forge yourself a new way of life.’

  Meg was helpless against the bitterness that spurred her tongue into action. ‘I didn’t really have much choice,’ she snapped back.

  Wig’s brow wrinkled. ‘Oh, but you did. You could’ve sat back like a wilting wallflower, but you’ve been brave enough to pick up the pieces. I have to say I wondered about the wisdom of you coming to live here, but it seems to be working out well. I know my wife’s become very fond of you,’ he concluded, giving Meg a searching look. And if he were honest with hims
elf, he had, too.

  It made her feel awkward and she bent to stroke the smooth dome of Mercury’s head as he sat beside her, clearly anxious to be off on his walk again. ‘Mrs C has made me very welcome,’ Meg murmured, ‘and I’m grateful to her. To both of you,’ she added with a frown. Was he trying to tell her something? She really wasn’t sure.

  ‘Well, it’s good of you to say that after what happened. I can understand why you were against us at first, and no doubt you still sometimes feel like that. But I’m so pleased we seem to have reached an understanding, shall we say? And also that we’ve been in a position to offer you our support.’

  ‘All this, you mean?’ Meg gestured to the house and grounds. ‘It is all lovely, and I appreciate being here. But I have to say it makes me feel uncomfortable knowing it all came from profiteering during the war. From making bombs to kill people with.’ There, she’d said it. The one thing about her new situation that had horrified her when she’d heard about it from the staff.

  But Mr W wasn’t going to be ruffled. ‘Ah, is that what you’ve heard?’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Well, I have to tell you that wasn’t quite the case. Making bombs, as you put it, kept the factory working to full capacity, it’s true. It gave work to hundreds of women as well as men unfit for the army, a full-time wage when they’d have been on the breadline otherwise. But I made little out of it myself. Just enough to cover the running expenses of our home. We lived in London then, as I’m sure Clarissa has told you. In the house my grandfather purchased when he’d set the factory up and it was thriving. During the golden age of Victorian industry. We sold that house to move here. So, no, I don’t consider I was ever guilty of war profiteering.’

  ‘But you still made bombs,’ Meg insisted.

  ‘Shell cases, yes. But we were at war. And now the government’s going for appeasement with Hitler while Germany’s rearming itself to the hilt yet again. From what I’ve read in the papers, I’m inclined to agree with Winston Churchill that Britain needs to rearm as well. God knows I don’t want there to be another war like the last one, but if I’m required to start making shell cases again at the factory, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.’