by Evie Grace
In the dining room that night, Rose had a lump in her throat as she looked around the table. Only Donald was missing and it wouldn’t be long until he was released from gaol, having served his sentence.
Arthur made a toast as Pa had done at Willow Place.
‘Let’s raise our glasses and drink to health and happiness, and the jolliest of times,’ he said, standing up with a glass of claret in his hand. ‘To Freddie and Rose for their hospitality, to Minnie, to Aunt Marjorie and last but not least, to my dear wife for her patience.’
‘To health and happiness,’ Rose said.
‘And the jolliest of times,’ Arthur repeated.
They drained their glasses, and Freddie responded by thanking their guests for joining them and suggesting a visit to Canterbury the following day.
It was quite an outing, Rose thought as her husband held her hand and helped her into the carriage early next morning.
‘Tabby has decided to stay with Aunt Marjorie and the children. The younger one has a sniffle and she doesn’t want him out in the cold,’ she said as she took a seat and rested the bouquet of evergreens she’d had one of the gardener’s boys cut for her across her lap. ‘It is the four of us: you, me, Minnie and Arthur.’ She wished Donald had been there with them – she’d wanted to see him, but it was too late to arrange a prison visit.
‘Don’t you want a blanket?’ Minnie asked.
‘Just a foot-warmer for now, please,’ she said, moving along to make room for her husband.
The groom slammed the door shut and the four dapple-grey horses fidgeted, their hooves crunching in the gravel. The coachman cracked his whip and the carriage lumbered forward, picking up speed as the horses trotted down the drive with Jack, Freddie’s manservant, riding alongside. Rose wasn’t sure if it was something she’d eaten or the motion of the carriage, but she began to feel overheated and nauseous. She had thought that the worst of it was over, but it kept reappearing from time to time.
She pressed a lace handkerchief to her mouth.
‘Are you well?’ Freddie whispered.
‘I’m not quite myself, but I’ll be all right. Don’t worry.’
Freddie held her hand, and the journey passed more quickly. Soon, they were approaching the Westgate.
‘Look, there’s the river,’ Minnie said, pointing.
‘Does this feel like home to you, Rose?’ Freddie asked.
‘Not any more,’ she said wistfully, recalling good and bad times. ‘I’m home when I’m with you, my dear. Thank you for bringing us here today.’
‘It’s my pleasure.’ Smiling, he squeezed her fingers.
‘To be truthful, I’m not looking forward to going to the cemetery. I haven’t been there since our parents were buried.’
‘I think I’ll find it upsetting, but I have so much to tell them,’ Minnie said.
‘They know everything,’ Arthur countered. ‘They watch over us day and night. That’s my belief anyway, and I find great comfort in it.’
The carriage came to a rumbling halt.
‘What is going on?’ Rose asked, hearing the sound of voices. Freddie opened the door. Rose looked past him at the crowd milling around outside the Weavers’ House where the town crier, dressed in flamboyant robes, was ringing his hand-bell and yelling, ‘Oyez, oyez, at twelve midday, two gentlemen from London are to cross the Channel in a balloon. Oyez, oyez, meet at Wincheap to marvel at their bravery. Oyez, oyez, don’t delay!’
Even though the coachman tried to make his way through, they were stuck for a few minutes while the town crier moved up the road and the crowd began to disperse.
Freddie turned to Rose. ‘Shall we go and see this historic event after we’ve paid our respects?’
‘I’d like to,’ Arthur cut in.
‘I’m asking my wife in case she doesn’t feel up to it.’
‘I should like to observe this spectacle,’ Rose said, ‘but is it safe?’
‘They’re brave men,’ Freddie said, ‘but they’re unlikely to get as far as the sea, let alone France. I’ve read about them in the newspapers this week – the flight has already failed twice when the wind shifted the wrong way.’
They travelled to the cemetery where Rose laid the evergreens at the foot of the shared headstone. Arthur bent down and pulled up a weed that had escaped the caretaker’s attention and Minnie began to sob. As Rose cried with her, she felt Freddie’s hand on her arm.
‘My dear,’ he whispered.
‘Thank you. I’m sorry for embarrassing you like this.’
‘I’d be more embarrassed if I thought you felt nothing.’ He smiled. ‘I’m glad we came. I never met your parents, but I feel closer to them now. I hope they would be proud of me, and happy to have me as their son-in-law.’
‘Oh Freddie, they would have loved you almost as much as I do.’ The sun crept out from behind the clouds, revealing the inscription on the gravestone: Oliver Cheevers and Agnes Cheevers; Beloved by All Who Knew Them. Rose swallowed hard. ‘Let us go,’ she said softly.
‘We can stay as long as you wish.’
‘I’m afraid I’m finding this too much to bear.’ She removed one of her gloves, reached out and felt the cold marble beneath her fingertips. ‘Goodbye, dear Ma and Pa. Until next time,’ she whispered before turning back to her handsome husband. ‘Let’s go and watch this balloon. Pa wouldn’t have missed something like this.’
They took the carriage to Wincheap but were forced to disembark a little way away because of the number of people gathering to watch. Suddenly, a young man emerged from the crowd and came running across to greet them.
‘Mornin’, Miss Cheevers, or should it be afternoon?’ he said, taking off his cap. ‘Fancy seein’ you here!’
‘Baxter! It’s wonderful to meet you again, but I can assure you that it’s still morning,’ she said, smiling. ‘And you can address me from now on as Mrs Freddie Wild. Allow me to introduce you to my husband.’
‘Time moves on, don’t it?’ He scratched his head. ‘I can’t recall when I saw you last.’
‘It was a couple of summers ago when we asked you to mind the barrow. I seem to remember that you drove a hard bargain.’
‘If you don’t ask, you don’t get.’ He grinned. ‘I have news of my own – I’ve got a permanent job at the tannery, taking Mr Jones’s place when he retires.’
‘Congratulations,’ Rose said.
‘I’ve turned out better than expected, thanks to your schooling. Mr Milsom was impressed when he found out I’d mastered the basics of ’rithmetic. He said it would come in handy when working out how much bark to put in the pits, and measuring the size of the butts.’
‘Do you still live with your family?’
‘I support them now – Pa respects me for that.’ He changed the subject. ‘I don’t know if you’ve heard about the Kingsleys?’
‘Not recently,’ Rose said.
‘After they sold the tannery, Mr Kingsley lost his marbles through drink and Mrs Kingsley pegged it – I mean, she passed away, Mrs Wild, due to what rumour said was indiscreet and excessive use of sleeping drops. She looked awful poorly when I last saw her traipsing the streets of Can’erbury.’
‘Are you all right?’ Freddie asked, taking Rose’s arm.
‘I’m fine.’ Aunt Temperance had received her comeuppance and she felt nothing, not an ounce of sorrow. ‘Good day, Baxter.’
‘Good day, Mrs Wild.’ He put his cap back on, straightened it and sauntered off.
‘He’s turned out well, Freddie,’ Rose said. ‘He was one of our pupils. Do you remember him, Minnie?’
She smiled wryly. ‘He used to pull my hair.’
‘Did he? Oh, I wouldn’t have put it past him back then.’
‘Let’s not hang around,’ Arthur said. ‘It can’t be long before the balloon goes up.’
Freddie stopped to speak to a policeman. ‘Where’s the best place to see this?’
‘From the promenade above the Dane John, or in the field beside
the gasometer,’ he said.
‘Thank you, Constable,’ Freddie said. ‘We’ll try the field.’
They paid a small admission at the gate and walked across the grass, lining up in front of a crowd of onlookers who had climbed on top of a stack of hop poles for a better view.
‘Is that it?’ Minnie said, her voice filled with excitement. ‘I don’t know why, but I thought the men would travel in the balloon.’
‘No, they’ll go in the car,’ Arthur said.
The car was a tiny box, its dimensions no more than a few feet in each direction. It had a cork gunwale with The Colonel painted on the side, and was attached to the balloon, a delicate structure about eighty foot tall that trembled in the breeze as a couple of men filled it with gas from a long pipe leading from the gasworks. Several others hung on to the balloon via ropes. Every so often one would cry out as his feet lifted from the ground, and a member of the crowd would rush forward and grab on to his legs to pull him back down.
‘We’re here just in time,’ Freddie observed, as the intrepid fliers shook hands with the mayor and sheriff and a few other gentlemen before squeezing themselves inside the car. ‘That’s Colonel Brice, and his companion, Mr Simmons.’
‘They are madmen,’ Rose said. ‘There’s nothing that would induce me to get into that tiny car and float away without any means of power except the force of nature, wind and gas.’
‘What about travelling in a flying machine? Would you not go in one of those with me?’ Freddie said.
‘To die together?’ she said.
‘No, to fly together.’
‘Are we not flying high right now?’
‘Yes, I suppose we are, my dear wife,’ Freddie said as a cheer went up and the men let go of the ropes. ‘We are part of history.’
The balloon rose slowly into the sky to a point where it seemed to hang and quiver like a hovering bird, deciding whether to flap its wings or dive to the ground, before it started to drift slowly in the direction of France. The crowd sent up another cheer, their exhalations seeming to give the balloon an extra nudge.
‘They have brandy, beer and cheese – at least they will die happy,’ Freddie said before quickly adding, ‘I’m joking. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. They are brave men indeed. Let’s go and eat. My man has booked us a table at the Dining Rooms in Mercery Lane, not far from here. Unless you wish to go straight home, Rose?’
‘I’ll be all right,’ she said, thankful for his consideration.
They had a late luncheon in the eatery, which was crowded with people talking of the balloon. Afterwards, as they took a tour of the cathedral, they heard a report that a carrier pigeon had arrived with the message that the Colonel and Mr Simmonds were halfway across the Channel, but they couldn’t stay any longer to hear the outcome because the sky was darkening and the coachman didn’t want to risk the horses in the pitch-black later in the evening.
It wasn’t until the day after that the newspaper came with a report that the two men had been seen getting off the train from Dover on the same evening as they had left Canterbury in the balloon. Freddie read the article to Rose when they dined together.
‘Apparently, most of their pigeons refused to fly – they kept coming back to settle on the car.’
‘I didn’t realise pigeons had so much sense,’ Rose smiled.
‘They ditched in the sea with good fortune, right beside the Calais mail steamer, Foam. The captain Jutelet helped them aboard and there was little damage. Their provisions were intact although the crew had had to cut a hole in the balloon to release the gas when it became entangled with the rigging. Ah, they will be able to try again.’ He changed the subject. ‘You’ve been a little out of sorts for a while – I thought you might be tiring of me.’
‘Of course I’m not.’
‘How are you now? I haven’t asked.’
‘You have asked me at least five times today,’ she said with a chuckle, unable to contain herself any longer. ‘I wanted to wait until I’ve seen the doctor, but I have no doubt. I don’t need anyone else to confirm it.’
‘What is it, my darling?’ His voice quavered and he gazed into her eyes, his expression a mixture of hope tinged with apprehension. ‘It’s good news …?’
Six months later Rose stood just inside the nursery door, playing with the sixpence on the silver chain at her throat. Ever thoughtful and romantic, Freddie had taken the two halves of the coin to a jeweller in Canterbury and had them mounted together, presenting the finished article to her as a gift to celebrate the birth of their first child.
Her breast filled with love and pride as she watched Freddie lift their son out of the crib to show him how the rays of the late summer sun caught the stained-glass butterfly set in one of the windows and cast its bright colours across the floor.
Donald was beside her, his arm around her shoulders.
‘I wish you didn’t have to go,’ she said, turning to him. His chin was squarer and he’d grown taller than when she’d last seen him in gaol. ‘You can stay as long as you like, you know.’
‘I’ve been here long enough, and Arthur’s expecting me to join him in London. I want a fresh start where people don’t judge me for what I was before. I’ve changed, but there are many around here who can’t accept that.’
‘You will visit us, though?’
‘Of course.’ He grinned. ‘If you’ll have me.’
She laughed. ‘You’ll always be welcome – you’re one of the family.’
She turned her attention to the table where Aunt Marjorie was sitting with Minnie, who was bouncing her daughter on her knee. Aunt Marjorie was peeling an apple for Edith, who was already fifteen months old.
‘Be careful,’ Minnie warned. ‘Don’t break the peel.’
‘I won’t. I’ve had plenty of practice.’ Aunt Marjorie was fighting a losing battle against the grey whiskers growing on her chin, and her hands shook as she turned the paring knife against the apple until the peel dropped on to the table in one piece. ‘There you go.’
Minnie picked up the peel and threw it down on the floor.
‘What does it say? What letter does it make?’ Aunt Marjorie said.
‘It’s a B.’ Minnie frowned. ‘I don’t know anyone whose name begins with B.’
‘There’s Bill, the woodcutter,’ Donald contributed.
Minnie’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Not that old bloke! I’m not marrying him. That can’t be right. Aunt Marjorie, please can you peel another apple?’
‘Not now,’ she smiled. ‘One apple a day keeps the doctor away. Two will have a detrimental effect on the digestion. No, you must wait until I’ve cut it into quarters and taken the pips out,’ she added as Edith reached out to try to grab it. ‘If you eat the pips, you’ll end up with apple trees growing out of your ears.’
‘No, you don’t,’ Donald said, smiling. ‘I’ve eaten the pips hundreds of times.’
Aunt Marjorie looked up and gave him a playful glare.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, backing down. ‘Edith, you must do as Aunt Marjorie says. She has the wisdom that comes with advanced age.’
‘Excuse me, we’ll have less of the age.’ Aunt Marjorie wagged her finger then started to cut into the peeled apple, the knife trembling in her hand.
‘Let me do that.’ Donald stepped up to the table to take over quartering the apple and removing the core and pips.
‘Thank you, dear,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to get old – it can be a terrible trial, although it does have its compensations: wisdom, as you’ve said; the satisfaction of reflecting on a life well-lived; the joy of knowing that Edith and little Matty have the best start possible’ – her eyes sparkled with humour – ‘with help from the manual of etiquette to guide them.’
As if to express his disapproval of the idea of learning etiquette in the future, the baby let out a fretful cry.
‘I’ll take him,’ Rose said quickly as Freddie turned towards her, his expression one of mild panic.
‘He needs his ma,’ she said, walking across to her husband who gently placed their son into her arms.
‘There, there,’ she whispered, stroking his cheek. With his blue-green eyes and shock of blond hair, he was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen. His face crumpled as if he was about to cry again, so she held him against her shoulder, cupping the back of his head and inhaling his sweet, milky scent as he settled. ‘That’s better.’ She gazed out of the window, leaning back against Freddie as he slid his hands around her waist.
Rose couldn’t believe her luck after all they’d been through. Her patchwork family had been unpicked by various unfortunate disasters – a few of their own making and some not their fault. It had been stitched back together, albeit in a different pattern, and as Pa would have said, there was nothing wrong in that. They were no ordinary family, but they were a happy one. She smiled to herself. Here in her beloved Freddie’s arms with little Matty breathing softly against her ear, and her family around her, she had finally found a place to call home.
Acknowledgements
I should like to thank Laura at MBA Literary Agents, and Cass and the team at Penguin Random House UK for their enthusiasm and support.
I’m also very grateful to my family for their help with researching how life would have been in Victorian Canterbury and Faversham.
Did you love A Place to Call Home?
Travel back in time and learn about Rose’s mother in…
Canterbury, 1853: Agnes Berry-Clay might have been born into rags but she is growing up with riches.
Given away as a baby by her real mother, she was rescued and raised by her darling Papa and distant Mama. Agnes wants for nothing, except perhaps a little freedom.
But as new arrivals and old resentments push Agnes to the peripheries, the consequences of one fateful day shatters her dreams for the future.
