A Place to Call Home

by Tania Crosse

  As the merriment subsided, however, Meg saw Mrs C shake her head. ‘I can’t say I’ll be sorry to see her go,’ she sighed. ‘But I hope she knows what she’s doing. It hasn’t been long. Hitler could be biding his time. I’d hate to think of those little girls caught in a raid. Or worse.’

  The jolly atmosphere at once turned sombre. None of them wanted to think about such horrendous possibilities.

  ‘Well, we can’t make up her mind for her,’ Penny said, bouncing her head up and down. ‘It’s up ter us ter keep our heads high, and show Herr Hitler he can’t keep us Brits down.’

  Her words seemed to inspire everyone to go back to whatever they were doing before the interruption. Meg met Mrs C’s wistful eye as the older woman turned back towards the drawing room. Each knew exactly what the other was thinking. Was this just the calm before the storm? Would Wig be in danger at the factory? Whichever force he went into, would Ralph, or Bob or Vic for that matter, be safe? The parents of their charges, Penny’s husband who worked on the railways? It didn’t bear thinking about.

  Mrs Durr and her two little girls had departed at the weekend, and the remaining children had been enjoying their half-term from school. That day, the weather was mild, and as Mrs C and Ed’s parents played joyfully with the children down near the lake, hoots of laughter wafted up to the terrace. You’d think that all was well with the world, Meg considered as she headed indoors. Certainly Mrs C seemed to adore taking charge of the children and racing around the grounds with them at any opportunity. And Doris seemed quite at home with all the dogs now. The four bigger ones were joining in the game, barking their heads off. Patch was no doubt toasting himself by the range back in the kitchen.

  Meg waved cheerily and went to cross the terrace, but seeing her, Doris called out and raced up to her.

  ‘You know Mummy and Daddy are coming to visit on Saturday?’ she asked excitedly, eyes shining. ‘Can you help me finish off my painting later on? I want it to be perfect for them to take back with them.’

  ‘Yes, of course I can,’ Meg grinned at her. ‘I know how excited you are. Erm, I reckon I can leave Cyril to milk the cows on his own. We could do it then.’

  ‘Oh, thanks, Meg!’ Doris flung her arms about Meg, and then flew back down to rejoin the fun down by the lake. Meg watched her go. In the few weeks she’d been there, the girl had grown in confidence. What a change her parents were going to see in her!

  As she turned down the side of the house and went in through the servants’ entrance, Meg thought about the changes in the house as well. Mr W and Mrs C had never stood on ceremony, but everything was definitely more relaxed nowadays, and there was no longer any need for the formalities of a parlourmaid. Indeed, the very idea would appear somewhat ludicrous now. Instead, Meg just pitched in wherever she was needed.

  ‘How much sugar did yer say ter put in this, Ada?’

  Penny Higginbottom’s voice boomed through the doorway as Meg entered the kitchen. She couldn’t believe how the loud, overweight woman had blustered her way into everyone’s affections, but particularly those of Ada Phillips. Under Penny’s influence, the cook was even happy to be addressed by her Christian name by everyone nowadays. The two women had become as thick as thieves. Penny was so open-minded about everything, and it was rubbing off on the cook. She was also a hard worker, and seemed to be able to peel vegetables and chop onions with baby Bella tucked under one arm.

  ‘We’re making double quantities, so eight ounces,’ Ada replied. ‘And here you are, Johnny,’ she said to Penny’s middle child who was seated at one end of the vast table. ‘A bit of pastry for you to play with.’

  The kitchen was in utter chaos. Louise, who’d been a quiet, diligent member of the staff since before Meg had come to the house, was tackling a pile of carrots and cabbages, Penny was making a terrible mess but certainly powering through the tasks Ada gave her, Jane was running around collecting up all the dirty utensils and pans to wash in the sink, and Nana May was dandling baby Bella up and down on her lap. All was in alien disorder, but, as ever, Meg knew that the meal would arrive on time and every hungry mouth would be satisfied.

  Meg lingered a moment on the threshold. It had always been a happy household, but now it exuded jollity and friendship. How strange that war could have such an effect on people’s lives. But Meg prayed to God that this phoney war never developed into anything else.

  *

  ‘No, we don’t want ter go back ter smoky old London, do we, Cyril?’ Leslie retorted defiantly, flinging his arm around his brother’s shoulder, though Meg suspected it was more for moral support.

  ‘Yer’ll do as yer bloody well told!’

  Mr Langport raised his mean fist, but seemed to think better of it when Ralph and Gabriel stepped forward in unison. He’d found his sons in the kitchen garden, helping their two new heroes. Langport had already judged that the younger man, though slender of waist, was broad-shouldered and looked fit and strong. Even the elderly chap was tall when he straightened up, and was wielding a garden fork that looked decidedly menacing.

  Langport changed tack. ‘Me and yer muvver’ve come all this way ter fetch yer,’ he went on, cajolingly now. ‘She really misses yer, and she’ll be right upset if yer don’t come back wiv us.’

  ‘So where’s she now, then?’

  ‘Having a cuppa and some cake in the kitchen—’

  ‘If she’s so anxious ter see us, then why didn’t she come straight out?’

  ‘Yer cheeky devil!’ Langport roared, and then his face moved into a sneer. ‘Is it that yer’ve gone chicken since yer’ve been here? Well, there ain’t no bombs falling on London, so yer’ve no need ter be so soft.’

  ‘I’m not frightened of no bombs,’ Leslie challenged him, ‘and I’m not frightened of you, neither. So we’re not coming.’

  ‘Prefer ter be wiv yer new hoity-toity friends, do yer?’

  ‘Mr Langport, I really think—’ Ralph tried to put in.

  ‘Yeah, as a matter of fact, I do!’ Leslie squared his young shoulders bravely. ‘I don’t want ter be like you, Dad, going from one odd job ter the next, never knowing where the next meal’ll come from. I want ter make somefing of meself.’

  ‘And how does me little Mr High and Mighty propose ter do that?’ Langport mocked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  ‘I’m gonna be a gardener. Ralph and Mr Gabriel’s gonna teach me. When I leave school, I can do an apprenticeship,’ he nodded triumphantly, ‘and it won’t cost yer nuffing.’

  ‘Oh, yeah? Who says?’

  ‘The boy shows promise,’ Ralph attempted again.

  ‘And what about you, Cyril?’ his father jeered. ‘Suppose you want ter be one, and all.’

  ‘No. I want ter be a farmer.’ Cyril’s face was set determinedly, even though Meg thought he looked to be on the verge of tears. ‘At least, I want ter work on a farm, even if I don’t know enough ter have me own tenancy.’

  Langport roared with laughter. ‘Yer own what, Gaud help us?’

  Meg had heard enough. Even though Ralph shot her a warning glance, she stepped in front of the obnoxious bully. ‘Look, Mr Langport, I can understand you and your wife missing the boys. But don’t you want them to do well? By the look of you, you’re young enough to be conscripted. What if you have to go and fight, and… and something happens? Wouldn’t you want to… to go, knowing your boys had a future?’

  ‘Nah, this war’s not going nowhere—’

  ‘Well, I think you’re wrong there. But be that as it may, wouldn’t you want your boys to have the best chance in life?’

  Langport glowered at her, and Meg saw that Ralph, bless him, was coiled ready to spring, fist bunched, if there was any trouble. But Langport seemed to reconsider, rubbing his stubbly chin.

  ‘Well, I suppose put like that…’

  ‘You and your wife can come and visit whenever you like,’ Meg got in quickly – not that she hoped they would.

  ‘And who’s gonna pay our fares, then? I suppose
that nice Mrs Stratfield what’s-her-name wouldn’t help us out occasionally?’

  Meg felt sickened. The brute had changed his tune when he thought there might be something in it for him! A free day out for him and his wife. And she didn’t suppose they’d be too worried about seeing their sons!

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Meg murmured evasively. ‘You’d have to ask her yourself.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Langport’s face fell a little, but instantly brightened again. ‘Here, yer couldn’t spare some of them spuds, could yer?’ he asked, eyeing the wheelbarrow full of potatoes his sons had been helping the men to dig up. ‘And a few carrots and onions wouldn’t come amiss, neither.’

  Meg saw Ralph bite the inside of his cheek to stifle his anger. ‘Go and see your mum,’ he said quietly to the twins. ‘And when you come back, ask Mrs Phillips for a small paper bag.’

  ‘Thanks, Ralph,’ the twins chorused, and started for the house at a run, their father scurrying on behind, looking very pleased with himself.

  Ralph watched them, puffing out his cheeks. ‘Phew, I didn’t think that was going to end so well. I was worried he was going to thump you.’

  ‘I saw you were ready to protect me,’ Meg grinned.

  ‘Just don’t you ever do anything like that again.’

  Meg’s smile slackened. ‘Who knows what any of us might do if the war gets going.’

  ‘Better make that when, girl,’ Gabriel said glumly.

  Meg gazed across at the old man, and her stomach turned over.

  *

  Doris was positively bouncing along the lane as she walked into the village with Clarrie and Meg on the Saturday. Her parents would be arriving on the mid-morning bus, and she wanted to be waiting for them at the bus stop. The child was brimming with excitement. Oh, she couldn’t wait to see her mummy and daddy again, and to show them the wonderful place where she was living and introduce them to all her new friends.

  ‘Mrs C, is it all right if I take them up to my room?’ she asked as she skipped along, unable to contain her happiness.

  ‘Of course, my dear. I’m sure they’ll want to know everything about where you’re staying.’

  ‘And can I show them all the gardens and the woods? And Meg, can I show them all the animals, too?’

  Meg chuckled as she nodded. What a difference in Doris those couple of months had made. Instead of being terrified of the dogs, she was now totally at ease with them. Topaz had even become her constant companion, and she’d even asked if she could bring the Labrador into the village to meet her parents off the bus.

  ‘And they’re going to love the painting you helped me do for them,’ she chattered on. ‘Oh, what’s the time? We’re not going to be late, are we?’

  Clarrie shook her head in bemusement. What had happened to the shy little girl who’d arrived at the start of September? To the child with the bright red curls, just like Rosebud? Fate could play such strange tricks. First Meg had come to them as the result of a tragic accident, and now Doris had arrived because of the fears of war. No bombs had fallen on British soil as yet, and pray God they never would. But if that fear had brought so many young people under her care, Clarrie hoped that they would stay for as long as possible, and at least until the conflict was totally resolved, unlike the Durr Family. In such a short time, Clarrie had become so fond of all her charges. But if she were honest, Doris was probably her favourite. And she knew why.

  She waited by the bus stop with Doris while Meg went off to buy a few items Ada wanted from the grocer’s. Doris was hopping up and down, and Topaz, at the end of his lead, kept standing up and sitting down again, not sure what was going on. When the bus trundled round the corner, Doris nearly took wing with uncontained joy.

  A few moments later, she was crushed in her mother’s embrace, and then her father might have tossed her in the air had he not noticed she was holding the lead of the big, golden dog by her side. So he just lifted her off her feet instead. Doris’s heart was bursting and she grinned up at both her parents, not knowing which one to hug again next.

  ‘And you must be Mrs Stratfield-Whyte?’ Jeremy Sergeant said, holding out his hand. ‘Doris has told us so much about you in her letters.’

  ‘Oh, do please call me Mrs C. Everyone else does.’

  ‘Well, Mrs C, we can’t thank you enough for making our daughter so happy, even if we do miss her dreadfully.’

  ‘It truly is my pleasure,’ Clarrie beamed back.

  ‘And who have we here?’ Mrs Sergeant asked, nervously eyeing Topaz.

  ‘Oh, Mummy, there’s no need to be frightened of dogs anymore.’ Doris’s voice rang with confidence as she scratched Topaz behind the ear and the animal turned his head to push against her hand. ‘Not most dogs, anyway. You know I told you there’s five of them at the house. This one’s called Topaz and he’s a real softy. Well, they all are, but Topaz is extra soft because of his breed, and he’s so obedient. Oh, and this is Meg I’ve told you about. She’s the one who taught me not to be frightened of dogs.’

  Meg took Mr Sergeant’s proffered hand as she came up to the little group by the bus stop.

  ‘A pleasure to meet you, Meg. We’ve heard so much about you. You’re in charge of all the animals, I believe.’

  ‘And you’ve been helping her to improve her painting, too, a little bird told me,’ Mrs Sergeant put in with a wink. ‘We’re really grateful to all of you for taking such good care of Doris. We have heard of some children ending up in some awful places.’

  ‘We have a little surprise for you later on, don’t we, Meg?’ Doris grinned, her eyes shining like stars. ‘And you’ve got to meet everyone else, too. Joyce and Maureen. They’re sisters, and their mum and dad are coming to see them tomorrow. That’s because they run a baker’s shop and so Sunday’s their only day off. Maureen’s the same age as me, but Joyce is a year older. But we’re in the same class at school because we have to double up to fit in all the evacuees from around the village. And then there’s the twins, and Mrs Higginbottom with her three little ones. We just call her Penny, though. She’s ever so funny! And then there’s Mr and Mrs Hillier’s Ed, and Mrs Phillips, or rather Ada, the cook, and—’

  ‘Whoa!’ her father laughed. ‘Slow down! I know you’ve told us about them all in your letters, but maybe we’d better wait until we get there.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve never known you to chatter on like this,’ Mrs Sergeant laughed.

  ‘Well, come along, then!’ Doris grabbed her mother’s hand. ‘It’s this way. About half an hour. We have to walk because Mr W won’t be back from London with the car until this afternoon. And anyway, his petrol ration’s only enough for himself and his work.’

  Meg and Mrs C shared a look as Doris pulled her mother along, still holding Topaz’s lead in her other hand. Mr Sergeant hurried along beside them, adoration gleaming in his eyes. They were clearly a close-knit family, and it was lovely to watch them together.

  Clarrie and Meg instinctively hung back. Later, perhaps, the Sergeant family would have lunch with all the residents of Robin Hill House, and see everything that went on within its walls and outside in the grounds. But for now it was time for the little family to be alone. To relish each other’s company. For the day would pass far too quickly for them, and Mr and Mrs Sergeant would be returning on the late bus. And who knew when they might be able to see each other again after that? And besides, Clarrie thought as they let the gap between them lengthen, she could have Meg all to herself again on the long walk home.

  Nine

  ‘Meg? Oh, Meg, thank goodness! There you are. I couldn’t find you!’

  It was a Friday morning in November. The younger children were at school for the day, and the twins were helping Ralph and Gabriel in one of the huge greenhouses, the weather was so miserable. But it had left Meg free to get on with the new shirts she was making for the Langport boys who’d arrived at Robin Hill House in clothes little better than rags. And they were growing so fast, they’d need new garments for
the approaching winter, anyway. Meg had already made them a pair of trousers each, and Nana May had knitted them several pairs of socks as they’d only had the ones they’d been wearing.

  Now Meg was plying her needle up in the sewing room while Nana May’s knitting needles were clicking their way through a jumper each for the twins. Knitting was easier on her arthritic hands than sewing. And she was one of those people who amazed Meg by being able to knit without looking at what she was doing, which was less strain on her old eyes. The two women had been chatting happily as they worked, and hadn’t heard Clarrie’s hurried footfall outside.

  ‘Oh, hello, Mrs C,’ Meg greeted her, glancing up as the door opened. ‘What can I—?’ But she broke off as she saw Mrs C’s distraught expression.

  ‘Oh, Meg, dear, come quickly! It’s Patch! I think, oh God, I hope not, but…’

  Oh, no. Meg felt something jerk inside her chest. She knew that Patch, the little cairn terrier, was thirteen years old and had been showing signs of his age ever since she’d known him. The clock had been ticking for him for some time. Meg knew that Mrs C adored all the dogs and the two cats, but it had always been obvious that, being her first pet, Patch was Mrs C’s favourite.

  Meg sprang up. Poor Mrs C’s face was disintegrating, her eyes great pools of anguish.

  ‘Where—?’

  ‘In the study. I was doing the household accounts.’

  Meg shot forward, noticing out of the corner of her eye that Thimble, who’d been lying at her feet as she sewed, was getting up with a long, languid stretch. It might have been better if Thimble had stayed put, but it would be even worse if Meg drew attention to the young dog by commanding her to stay. So Meg followed Mrs C as she ran along the corridor with Thimble close behind, and down the servants’ stairs, a marginally quicker route than going down the main staircase.

  The fire hadn’t been lit in the study, but the radiator was on, so the room was by no means cold. Patch was lying on the carpet, on his side with his little legs stretched out, his usual preferred sleeping position. But he did look alarmingly still.