Summer House

by Nichols, Mary

  One day she was careless and the woman turned round and confronted her, demanding to know why she was following her.

  ‘I was admiring the little girl. She is so pretty.’

  ‘God, you’re perverted. I’ve a good mind to call the police.’

  ‘Please don’t do that. I mean no harm, I promise you.’

  ‘Why pick on my child?’ She waved her arm to encompass other children playing in the park. ‘There are dozens to choose from.’

  ‘She is my daughter.’

  ‘Rubbish. Where did you get that idea?’

  ‘Oh, but she is. My flesh and blood. She was born in St Mary and Martha Clinic on March the fifth, 1918, and handed over to you by an unscrupulous doctor and his assistants.’

  The woman was obviously flustered, but was not going to give in without a fight. ‘No. Laura is mine, mine and Tom’s. I have her birth certificate to prove it.’

  So that was why her search of the records for Olivia had been so fruitless! The child had been registered as Laura Drummond. ‘Then you falsified it. That is surely a crime.’ She did not know why she was being so belligerent, except that seeing the child run to the other woman with a buttercup she had picked and calling her ‘Mummy’ was breaking her heart.

  ‘Who’s going to prove that? Not you. You gave her away. You didn’t want her.’

  ‘That’s not true. I did want her. If you only knew—’

  ‘I don’t want to know. If you do not go away and leave us alone, I’ll call a bobby.’

  ‘Do that, if you like. You are the one who has broken the law, Mrs Drummond, not me. And I could go to the newspapers.’

  ‘You wouldn’t.’ The woman had gone very pale. ‘If you love her, as you say you do, you would never subject her to that.’

  Unfortunately that was true. As a blackmailer, she was a complete failure. ‘No, I don’t think I would. But let me tell you what happened—’

  ‘I don’t want to hear it.’

  ‘Why not? Are you afraid you might start feeling sorry for me?’

  ‘No.’ Helen, watching her draw Laura onto her lap and cuddle her, wished she could wrest the child away from her, but knew it would be an act of stupidity. ‘Did you mean it when you said you did not want to give her away?’

  ‘Yes.’ She began slowly, but little by little the story came out, all of it; she held nothing back and ended with her last sight of her daughter being carried away. Anne listened, grudgingly, it was true, but in the end she admitted Helen had been hard done by, though in no way relinquishing her right to Laura. In her place Helen wouldn’t have done either. ‘You can’t have her back. She is happy with me and Tom, it would break her heart to be separated from us. Surely you can see that?’

  ‘Yes, but I want to keep in touch, to know that she is well and happy, and if there is ever anything I can do to help, I want you to tell me. I am not without means.’

  There was no immediate answer and Helen watched the expressions flitting across the woman’s face: sympathy, doubt, fear, mostly fear. At last she said, ‘I will let you know from time to time how Laura is getting on, if you promise never to contact me again, never try and see her or speak to her. Ever.’

  How could she make such a promise? But what else could she do? Her child’s happiness was more important than her feelings. ‘Very well. I will stay away, so long as you promise to tell Laura the truth when she is old enough to understand. Will you do that?’

  ‘I don’t know. You are asking a lot.’

  ‘You are asking a lot of me. And surely she deserves to know the truth. There may come a time when she may need me.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘All the same, will you give me your word?’ She dug in her handbag and brought out her card with her name and address embossed on it, and a snapshot of herself, taken in front of the summer house, and offered them to her. ‘Show her these, tell her I loved her.’

  ‘All right. You keep your promise and I’ll keep mine.’

  It was all she could do. With a last anguished look at her child, she returned home to the problems of day-to-day living, things like disappearing servants, how to keep the house going on the money she had inherited, and fielding questions from Great Aunt Martha as to why she had not found a nice young man to marry. She shut up half the house and managed with Mr and Mrs Ward as butler and cook/housekeeper and a daily woman to do the rough cleaning and laundry. It was as if her life were on hold.

  The chill in the rain-laden air brought her back to the present and she stirred her cramped limbs and returned to the house. Here she was rattling round in a huge mansion, apparently safe and sound, when Anne and Laura were in the thick of it in Stepney. The thought that her daughter might be hurt, even killed in an air raid and she not know a thing about it, made her quake with fear. If she had not made that promise to Anne, she could have invited her and Laura to stay with her. Surely that would be better than living in air raid shelters? Was she justified in breaking her word on those grounds? Had Anne kept hers? Had she told Laura the truth? The thought that her daughter might have been told and did not want to know her hurt. It hurt badly.

  Chapter Four

  ‘STEVE!’ JENNY, ENCASED in a yellow oilskin cape with a hood, had been all round the village searching everywhere she thought the twins might be and, drawing a blank, had decided to cycle to Attlesham Station in case the boys had decided to try and board a train. Halfway there she had seen the tall, uniformed figure of her brother striding towards her. ‘Does Mum know you’re coming?’

  ‘No, I thought I’d surprise her. Anyway, I couldn’t be sure I’d get away. Where are you off to?’

  ‘I’m looking for the twins. They’ve gone off again and Mum is worried. You didn’t see them skulking about on your way, did you?’

  ‘No. Do they often run away?’

  ‘Not run away exactly, but they do go missing for hours at a time.’

  ‘Nothing new in that. I used to do it myself when I was their age. I always came home when I was hungry.’

  ‘Yes, they are probably at home now.’ She turned the bicycle round and he put his bag on the carrier and took it from her to wheel it to towards home. ‘Couldn’t you get a taxi from the station?’

  ‘Not a one to be had, so I decided to walk. How is everyone?’

  ‘Same as usual. Josh still grumbles, Meg and Daphne still laugh at him, Dad still fills in endless forms and Mum is mum to everyone.’

  ‘But the boys are a handful?’

  ‘Yes. Their dratted mother hasn’t been to see them and all they’ve had is one measly letter saying she might come at Christmas. You should have seen their faces. Poor little devils, they had been counting on her coming for the summer holidays, especially after all their pals went back to London and they were left behind.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s just as well they were. I had to cross London to catch my connection. It’s a mess.’

  ‘How long have you got?’

  ‘Seven days.’

  ‘Then you’ll be here for Saturday’s dance. Daphne and Meg are going. I can guarantee you won’t be without partners.’

  ‘Thanks, Sis. Speaking of the twins, look over there.’

  She looked up and saw the two bedraggled boys apparently coming out of the gates of the Hall. They had their hands in their pockets. ‘Donny, Lenny, where have you been?’ she called out. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

  ‘We went for a walk,’ Donny said, falling in beside her.

  ‘I’ve got wet feet,’ Lenny informed them.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Steve said. ‘It’s too wet for plimsolls.

  Why didn’t you wear your wellies like your brother?’

  ‘’Cos I’ve got a blister on me ’eel.’

  ‘Then going for a walk was hardly a sensible thing to do, was it?’

  ‘Nothing else to do.’

  ‘Where did you go?’

  Lenny opened his mouth and was silenced by a look from Donny, which was not los
t on Steven. He was not so old he couldn’t remember the things he used to get up to as a child and he guessed they had been doing something they knew they shouldn’t. ‘Let me guess. You’ve been exploring the grounds of the Hall and found the boathouse.’

  Lenny gasped and Donny managed a grin, though he could feel the loot in his pocket weighing it down. ‘Yes, but we didn’t take the boat out, honest.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t. I’d be surprised if it’s watertight. But you know you aren’t supposed to go in there. It’s private property.’

  ‘We weren’t doin’ no ’arm. An’ the lady didn’t mind.’

  ‘You mean Lady Barstairs?’

  ‘Dunno her name. She said to say hallo to Aunty Kathy.’

  ‘Then I expect it was. Run along now and get out of those wet clothes before you catch your death of cold.’

  ‘Can you die from a cold?’ Lenny asked.

  ‘I shouldn’t think so.’

  ‘Oh.’ He paused. ‘But you can get ill though?’

  ‘Oh yes. Headache, stuffed up nose, aches and pains, but you needn’t worry, Aunty Kathy will cure you.’

  ‘Can we take the bike?’ Donny asked. ‘We’d get ’ome quicker on that.’

  Steve removed his bag and the boys got on the cycle, Donny on the pedals and Lenny on the saddle. They wobbled off down the lane. Steve laughed. ‘They’ll probably end up in a heap on the road.’

  ‘No, they’ve become quite adept. They seem more cheerful than they have been, which is strange considering how wet and bedraggled they are. I’d guess they’ve been up to something.’

  That was a view shared by Kathy when she scolded them for disappearing without saying where they were going and getting soaked into the bargain. Donny had slipped out of his boots as soon as he entered the house, but Lenny had to sit on the scullery floor to undo his plimsolls.

  ‘Take your coat off first,’ she said. ‘Then go upstairs and change. Put your pyjamas on. You can have your tea in your dressing gowns.’ Dressing gowns were garments they had never had before coming to Beckbridge, but Kathy had gone to the WVS clothing exchange and found a couple, together with some other items of clothing they needed. Steve came in the door at that point so she did not immediately notice that, instead of hanging their raincoats on the rail in the lobby, they ran upstairs with them on. ‘Steve! Oh, how lovely to see you.’ Eyes alight, she ran and embraced him. ‘Why didn’t you say you were coming? We could have met you at the station.’

  He kissed her cheek. ‘I didn’t know which train I’d be on and, anyway, I enjoyed the walk.’

  ‘In the rain? You are as wet as the twins. Go up to your room and change. I’ll do a few more vegetables and make the meat go round. More gravy and dumplings should do it. Oh, it’s so good to have you home safe and sound. Jenny, be a dear and go and tell Dad and the girls Steve’s home and we’ll be eating in half an hour.’ She bustled about peeling potatoes, shredding cabbage and laying an extra place at the table, humming happily to herself, while upstairs the twins emptied their pockets and hid the contents on the top of the wardrobe.

  ‘Now what?’ Lenny asked.

  ‘Get into jim-jams and go down for supper.’

  The taxi Helen took from Liverpool Street Station stopped at the end of Prince Albert Lane. ‘Can’t go any further, missus,’ the cabbie told her. She got out, paid him and set off up the street. Except there was nothing left of it. A few walls still stood, carefully roped off, and the craters where some houses had been were half filled with dirty water. The street itself had been swept clean and a coal cart, pulled by a horse, trundled along it. At the far end, one house, with its windows boarded up and its sidewall propped up by large timbers, had a notice pinned to its door. ‘Still living here.’ She knocked and waited.

  A voice from inside called. ‘This door don’ open. Come round the back.’

  She stepped gingerly round the foundations of what had been the house next door and was met by an elderly woman with two small children clinging to her skirts; her grandchildren, Helen surmised, and wondered where the mother was. Killed or at work? All were ill-clad. ‘I’m looking for Mrs Drummond and her daughter, Laura,’ she said.

  ‘Don’t know nuffin’ about anyone called Laura; her daughter’s name is Maisie, but Mrs Drummond copped it when her ’ouse ’ad a direct ’it.’

  Helen felt herself begin to tremble. Surely, surely not? She would have known, somewhere inside her a voice would have told her that all she lived for had been brought to a sudden and bloody end. ‘I’m sure she was called Laura. Mrs Drummond would be about my age, not very tall, fair hair, a little plump.’

  The woman eyed Helen up and down, taking in her fur coat and stylish hat, and the look was one of curiosity. ‘Oh, then yer must mean the other Mrs Drummond. Tom’s wife. They moved away, years ago.’ She stopped to think. ‘The little girl had just started school, as I recall.’

  Helen’s had heart plummeted into her boots. ‘Do you know where they went?’

  ‘No. Maisie might know where to find ’er.’

  ‘Where does she live?’

  ‘Dunno. Not round ’ere. Moved up in the world, she ’as, married to a tailor.’ She laughed. ‘Making uniforms for the troops fit to bust, ’e is, so she told me when she came up to arrange the funeral. The war ain’t bin bad for everyone.’

  ‘Do you know her surname?’

  ‘Not that I c’n recall. Sorry I can’t ’elp yer.’

  ‘Thank you anyway.’ She pressed some coins into her hand. ‘For the children.’

  The woman accepted them and ushered the children back into the house and Helen trudged back down the street, ready to howl. She was very, very angry. And it hurt to think she had scrupulously kept her word and been rewarded with betrayal.

  There were no taxis to be had and she caught a bus back to the station. She found a seat in a crowded carriage and sat down to endure the return journey. She was not aware of the slowness of the train, the frequent stops, the growing dusk and the feeble yellow light in the carriage. Her head was spinning. Why had Anne never told her of their change of address? Had she gone up in the world or down? Was she in want? Did she need help? To find out, she had to find her again, but the memory of the weeks and weeks of searching before – the letters, the questions, the disappointments when a promising lead came to nothing, the bribery and bullying tactics and the sheer expense of it – daunted her. Could she find her again? Did she have the stamina to do it? But if she did nothing, her daughter would be lost to her for ever.

  ‘Are you all right?’ The woman who was sitting opposite her leant forward and touched her hand.

  Startled out of her reverie, she blinked to clear her vision and realised silent tears were running down her cheeks unchecked. She smiled wanly. ‘Yes, thank you. I’m afraid I’ve had bad news. The war, you know—’

  ‘I’m sorry. It’s the same all over. If I had Hitler here, I’d strangle him with my bare hands. All this suffering, lives gone, houses demolished… There, there, dear, don’t cry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear me rabbiting on.’ But she did rabbit on, which, in some measure, saved Helen from brooding. She left the train at Ely and boarded another for Attlesham. It was gone midnight when she arrived, but the stationmaster called up a taxi for her and twenty minutes later she was home. It had been a long, long day and nothing achieved. Perhaps she was not meant to achieve anything.

  The twins, who were too healthy and well-fed to catch cold, waited until after Steve had returned from leave the following Sunday to pay a return visit to the summer house. It looked exactly as they had left it but they approached cautiously, Lenny dragging reluctantly behind his brother. It was all very well for Donny to say they could get some more things but they still had to hide them. He was terrified of being caught. Aunty Kathy would tell Mum, and Mum, instead of coming down to give them a hug and a kiss and take them home, would give them a belting. Beltings hurt. Donny didn’t agree; he said Mum would be so pleased she wouldn’t care
where the stuff came from, and maybe he was right. In any case, he wouldn’t have dreamt of letting Donny go alone; where his twin went, he went.

  With a quick look round him, Donny took off the padlock and opened the door. ‘It’s OK,’ he said, walking straight over to the locker. Lenny followed. The door banged behind them, making them jump out of their skins. They whipped round to find Ian Moreton grinning at them.

  ‘Well, well, the little magpies. I thought it might be you.’ He had been mystified to find some of his hoard missing. It was annoying because the summer house had been a particularly good hideout, sheltered from the elements, cool and dry and, as long as he kept an eye out for Lady Helen, he could come and go undetected, taking out what was needed for customers and putting in any new stuff he had acquired. Puzzled and angry, he had been about to bundle all that was left into his bag and take it somewhere else but changed his mind. If the thieves were clever enough not to take the lot, it meant they intended to return and all he had to do was keep his eyes peeled.

  The boys stared at him in consternation. ‘Narth’n to say for yarselves?’ he asked.

  ‘We weren’t doin’ no ’arm,’ Donny said. ‘Jus’ lookin’ round.’

  ‘Lookin’ round and helping yarselves, eh?’

  ‘Helping ourselves?’ Donny queried, trying to brazen it out.

  ‘To suff’n that don’t belong to you.’ He was speaking quite reasonably, but they both recognised the underlying threat.

  ‘We thought it belonged to a spy, Mr Moreton,’ Lenny put in. ‘We was going to catch ’im and turn ’im in.’