by Molly Green
‘“What’s going on?” Sister demanded, glaring at Edwin, who was looking at me, and honestly, Max, if looks could kill I’d have shrivelled like a prune. “Mr Blake …” I started to cry – real tears.’ Pearl looked at Maxine and grinned. ‘After all, I am an actress. Sister gave me a sympathetic look. “Don’t cry, Miss Burton. I’ll be dealing with this.” She rounded on Edwin. “Matron will send word to you, Mr Blake. I’m sure she will want to see you in her office immediately.” She just stood there, arms folded, waiting for him to leave. A bit later she stopped by and said, “You don’t have to worry about Mr Blake anymore. He’s no longer your surgeon. And in fact, he’ll be lucky if he ever does another operation again.”’ Pearl grinned as she caught Maxine’s eye and gulped down the rest of her tea. ‘Are you proud of me?’
Maxine swallowed, hardly knowing how to answer. But she had to say something – her cousin was looking so delighted with herself. ‘I think you’re very brave,’ she said. ‘I just hope there aren’t any repercussions. I still don’t trust him.’
‘I don’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but I trust Matron. She was marvellous. She had me go to her room later that day and told me she was sending in her report and that he’d be struck off the register.’
Somehow it didn’t make Maxine feel better. She was relieved that Pearl would now be safe from Edwin’s despicable intentions, but it didn’t alter the fact that he was one of the top surgeons in his field and now his skills would be wasted. A disgraced member of the medical profession he may be, yet he was still the father of her child. But she wouldn’t remind Pearl of that. She made herself smile and got up to hug her cousin.
‘You were wonderful, Pearl. Now all you have to do is get that leg completely healed and get back on that stage!’
Chapter Thirty-One
‘Parcel for you,’ June said, holding out a large brown package.
‘It’s actually for you.’ Maxine grinned at June’s puzzled expression. ‘Your wedding dress to be.’
June’s face lit up. ‘Oh, lovely. Can I see it?’
‘Not yet. It’s a surprise. I’ve already measured you so I want to cut it down and tack it together first. Then we’ll do a fitting.’
The problem with finding another nurse hadn’t been resolved, but June had decided to leave it until after Christmas.
‘That’s when people sometimes look for a fresh start,’ she said. ‘I want to concentrate on the children. Peter seems to have settled better since Hilda’s been gone, don’t you think?’
Maxine was sure Peter hadn’t settled in as well as June seemed to think. He’d become extremely introverted and rarely joined in with games. She tried hard to talk to him, especially about his family, sure that by bottling up his feelings he would feel worse, but he usually shrugged her off by saying none of the children liked him but it didn’t matter because he didn’t like them either, though he’d taken to Freddie as a playmate. The little dog seemed to understand the boy’s struggles and always wagged his tail when he spotted him, knowing he’d be going for an extra walk if Lizzie wasn’t around. But try as Maxine and June might, they couldn’t force the children to make friends with Peter. Hilda’s outburst had destroyed any burgeoning friendships he’d begun with Alan and Bobby. After classes in the afternoon he appeared at his most content, curled up in the library with a book, often on the subject of historic warfare. Had his father instilled this fascination? Maxine’s skin prickled at the thought.
‘Can we do a fitting this evening?’ Maxine popped her head in June’s office. Her eyes stung now with straining too long sewing under the dim light in the ward so she didn’t disturb the sleeping patients. But she was pleased with the way the dress was taking shape, her needle flying as she’d tacked the last seam on what was her last night shift for a week.
‘How exciting.’ June looked up and gave Maxine her wonderful beaming smile. ‘Do you want to come over to the cottage after supper this evening?’
Maxine was about to answer when Ellen interrupted.
‘Please, Matron, there’s someone here to see you.’
June frowned. ‘Oh, Ellen, I’m rushed off my feet this morning. Can you find out what she wants?’
‘I did try to ask, but she said it was an urgent matter which she couldn’t discuss with anyone. But she’s carrying what looks like one of them portable safes.’
June gave Maxine an apologetic smile. ‘It sounds as though I’ll have to see her. Do you want to hear what she has to say that’s so urgent?’
‘Yes, if you’d like me to.’
June nodded. ‘Then show her in, Ellen.’
‘Right you are.’
The maid was back in a few moments. ‘Mrs Brown, Matron,’ Ellen announced with a bob of her head.
The middle-aged woman looked about her as she heaved a large basket onto June’s desk, then shook out her umbrella.
‘Good Morning, Mrs Brown.’ June rose from behind her desk. ‘Let me take your umbrella. Ellen should have put it in the stand by the front door.’
‘I like to keep me eye on me things,’ the woman said.
Maxine and June exchanged glances as Mrs Brown pulled off her knitted glove and they all shook hands. Her thin fingers felt almost dead to Maxine’s touch. Poor woman – she looked exhausted and terribly underweight.
‘Do sit down,’ June said, gesturing to one of the visitor’s chairs. ‘I’m sorry but I’ll only be able to give you a few minutes. We’re really busy today.’
‘It won’t take up much of your time,’ Mrs Brown said, sitting on the edge of the chair as though she was ready to spring up at any moment. She looked washed out. ‘It’s a long way up the drive from the bus stop. I’m soaked.’
‘Oh, dear, it is quite a walk when you’re not used to it. Why don’t you take your hat and coat off? You’ll be far more comfortable.’
‘No, I’m all right as I am. It’s not that warm in here. Not that I’m grumbling, mind, what with the war on an’ all.’
June smiled. ‘Yes, we’re lucky here with food for the children, but we’re short on coal and coke, as everyone is. But let me arrange for a cup of tea for you.’
‘That would be right welcome, Miss Lavender. That would warm me up nicely. And perhaps a biscuit or two to go with it.’
Maxine hid a smile. What a strange woman. ‘I’ll ask Bertie to bring us all one, shall I, Matron?’
June nodded and Maxine hurried along to the kitchen.
‘I’ll see to it, hen,’ Bertie said. ‘You go back and see what she’s up to. Ellen will be there in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
When Maxine took her seat again in June’s office, she was amused to see a look of relief in her friend’s eyes as she caught her own. Then June directed her gaze on the woman, who was shifting nervously in her seat and grabbing up folds of her shabby brown coat which had the top button missing.
‘What were you saying, Mrs Brown?’ June asked encouragingly.
‘That I think you’ll be interested in what I’ve brought with me. That box’ – Mrs Brown nodded her head towards June’s desk – ‘when the house took a hit – you know what boys are like—’ A sudden moan escaped her lips and her face drained of blood.
Immediately Maxine sprang to her feet but was too late to catch Mrs Brown as her chair slid backwards and tipped her onto the floor.
‘Oh, goodness, is she all right?’ June rushed to her other side.
‘She’s just fainted,’ Maxine said. ‘Can you help me get her back onto the chair?’
Even though the woman was so scrawny, Maxine and June had a struggle to lift her, but finally they got her slumped into a seating position. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes.
‘Wh-where am I?’
‘You’re at Bingham Hall, the Dr Barnardo’s home,’ Maxine answered.
‘Am I hurt?’
‘No, Mrs Brown, I don’t think so,’ Maxine said. ‘Unless you feel any pain.’
Mrs Brown shook her head very slowly, but
Maxine could tell she was dazed by the way her eyes stared blankly back at her.
‘Why am I here?’
‘You brought in a metal box to show us,’ June prompted.
‘I need my smelling salts. In my bag.’
Maxine opened the cheap black handbag and felt around until her fingers closed over a tiny glass bottle. She opened it and put it under Mrs Brown’s nose, who promptly coughed and spluttered. June handed her a handkerchief and Mrs Brown dabbed at her eyes, when there was a knock at the door. Ellen appeared with the tea tray.
‘Thank you, Ellen,’ June said, taking the tray from her. Pushing the basket containing the metal box to one side, she set it on her desk.
‘Can I help you with anything, Ma’am?’ Ellen asked, curiosity making her eyes almost pop from her head as she glanced towards the slumped figure in the chair who by now was sneezing into June’s handkerchief.
‘Nothing, thank you, Ellen. She’ll be fine with a cup of tea and biscuits inside her.’
Ellen quietly closed the door behind her.
‘I don’t know what came over me,’ the woman spoke, her words slurring a little. She put the bottle of smelling salts to her nose again, and Maxine felt her own nostrils clear with the sudden release of the ammonia.
‘Don’t worry at all,’ Maxine said. ‘Would you like to lie down for a while after you’ve had your tea?’
‘No, no, I have to get back. But I’ve come to give you this box.’
The two women waited.
‘It’s quite a story,’ Mrs Brown said, seeming to gather her wits. ‘And it was a good job I was home at the time.’
Maxine drew in an impatient breath. At this rate they’d be here all morning.
‘Go on,’ June said, nodding.
‘The box was my neighbour’s – Mrs Goodfellow’s. But it weren’t hers really – no, it belonged to her daughter.’
Maxine and June exchanged glances. Mrs Brown was obviously still confused.
June frowned. ‘I’m not sure I’m following you, Mrs Brown. Who is Mrs Goodfellow?’
‘My neighbour. Mrs Best’s mother,’ Mrs Brown said with a tinge of impatience.
Maxine gave a start. ‘Do you mean Peter Best’s grandmother?’
‘Yes, that’s who I mean. Grandmother to the German boy.’
Maxine cringed. Would people ever stop labelling Peter in such a condemning way, as though he had anything to do with the war?
‘Well, I said I’d do the favour cos I liked the old girl, and she trusts me. You can’t trust everyone these days. You have to be careful who you talk to. But she’s English, or was, God rest her soul. Though if her daughter hadn’t been one of us as well I wouldn’t have dreamed of getting involved. It wouldn’t’ve been my business. I was just sorry for her having a daughter who was married to a Nazi.’ Mrs Brown lifted the cup to her lips, but not before Maxine had seen the disapproval hardening them. She gave a deep slurp, then took a biscuit, crunching it while her eyes darted from June’s to Maxine’s faces.
‘We try not to use that word, Mrs Brown,’ June said firmly. ‘It’s bad for the children to hear such names, and we do sometimes get German Jewish children staying with us – and we treat them all exactly the same. Dr Barnardo himself would not tolerate hatred or discrimination of any kind. The children have enough difficulties trying to come to terms with the loss of their parents, whatever their circumstances.’
‘I didn’t mean no harm, Miss.’ Mrs Brown’s bony hand stretched out for another biscuit.
‘I’m rather confused,’ June said. ‘Did you know Mrs Best, Peter’s mother?’
‘Oh, yes. She came to see her mother two or three times, bringing the boy. Until she got ill, that is. Luckily she gave the box to her mother – that’s Mrs Goodfellow – the last time she visited.’
‘Why did Mrs Goodfellow give you her daughter’s box?’
‘She didn’t. I saw it once after her daughter died and Peter went to live with her. She showed me where she hid it – at the back of her wardrobe. She told me if anything happened to her …’ Mrs Brown lowered her voice, ‘… she got cancer, you see. Here.’ She pointed to her own left breast. ‘That’s when her daughter came over from Germany. Mrs Goodfellow got over the op, but then a year or so later her daughter died of TB. She were broken-hearted. What mother wouldn’t be? So Peter was sent to her to live.’ Mrs Brown gave herself a little shake. ‘What was I saying? Oh, yes – if anything happened to her and Peter was taken away, I was to give the box to him. Important papers in it, she said. She would never-a known she’d be killed by a bomb and the house would be practically sliced in two. She was always worried it would be the cancer to get her, leaving Peter with no one.’ She looked at the two women as though to make sure they were taking it all in,
‘Do go on, Mrs Brown,’ June said, tapping her fingers on the desk.
‘Well, some boys found it in the rubble. You know what little devils they can be, messing around on the bomb sites.’ She pursed her mouth. ‘I was in a state meself, I can tell you. Shaking like a leaf, I was. Luckily, I remembered the box and came out and saw them with it. Threatened I’d go to the police if they didn’t hand it over.’ She paused for breath, and blew her nose, then continued. ‘I thought I’d better take it to the council and let them deal with it, and then I thought, no, Mrs Goodfellow said not to let it out of my sight until I gave it to her grandson. Took a while before I found out he were at Bingham Hall, so here I am.’ She looked up triumphantly.
‘You did exactly the right thing, Mrs Brown,’ June said. ‘Would you like more tea … and another biscuit?’
‘They’re very nice,’ Mrs Brown said, helping herself to two more. June topped up her cup and Mrs Brown took a deep gulp. ‘Shall I open it for you?’
‘Before you do, Mrs Brown, have you already looked inside?’
‘Oh, no.’ Mrs Brown’s eyes gleamed and Maxine was sure she wasn’t telling the truth. ‘Well, I may have had a peep, but it ain’t my business to poke my nose into someone’s personal stuff. Especially not them letters.’
June gave an imperceptible shrug, and Maxine rolled her eyes.
‘We’d be grateful if you’d open the box,’ June said. ‘Was there a key with it?’
‘Oh, yes. It’s locked, all right.’ Mrs Brown delved into her bag and brought out a purse, then drew out a small key. It made a little click as she turned it. She opened the lid, twirled it round, and pushed it towards June. ‘Here, Miss Lavender. You see what you can make of it.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Maxine watched as June pulled out a black velvet bag from the metal box Mrs Brown had unlocked and gently shook out a string of pearls. They gleamed up at the two women under the electric bulb over June’s head that she’d had to switch on during these dark winter mornings. June put her hand inside the bag again.
‘There’s more,’ she said, pulling out a pearl bracelet and matching drop earrings.
‘It’s beautiful – a beautiful set,’ Maxine said, picking up the necklace and turning it over. She swallowed, imagining Herr Best fastening the necklace around the soft white throat of his English wife. How could she accept such presents from a Nazi? But he was her husband and presumably she loved him. Or did she? Had she been disgusted to see her husband in the Nazi regime? Was she simply using her sick mother as an excuse to take her child out of a country which wasn’t hers – which she no longer wanted to live in? Or be part of? What a dilemma the poor woman must have been in.
There were a few sepia-tinted photographs which June looked at before handing them to Maxine. She studied them closely. One was of a couple on their wedding day, dressed in Edwardian fashion. They must have been Peter’s grandparents on his mother’s side as they looked so English. Yes, the boy looked a lot like his grandfather – same nose and mouth, but his eyes were exactly the same shape, depth and expression as his German father’s. And then a black-and-white photograph of a young smiling woman, her hair curling softly underneath, and her mout
h slicked with lipstick. She could easily have been a film star, Maxine thought, but she was certain she was looking at Peter’s mother.
June laid a bundle of letters tied up with a blue-ribboned bow on the desk.
‘Here, Maxine.’ June gently pushed the pile over to her. ‘Why don’t you have a look? They might throw light on things … not sure what. I’ll get Peter’s file out.’
Maxine untied the bow and picked up one of the envelopes. She peered at the postmark but the print had blurred. Lifting her head, she saw June looking curiously at her.
‘Don’t you think we should open it?’ June asked.
Maxine shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. It’s private property … though maybe we should just check to see what language they’re written in.’
June nodded and handed her the letter opener. Maxine immediately slit it open, conscious of Mrs Brown leaning towards her, trying to peer over her shoulder. She caught a whiff of a stale odour on the woman and, trying hard to ignore it, pulled out two single handwritten sheets. She read: Mein liebling Chrissie, then skimmed her eyes to the bottom of the page, not understanding a word, written as it was in German. Disappointed, she turned to the second page and wasn’t surprised to read that it was signed: Your Carl.
The proximity of Mrs Brown was making Maxine feel quite uncomfortable. But at least the envelopes didn’t appear to have been tampered with in any way. She would have thought Mrs Brown wouldn’t have been able to stop herself from ripping them open. Maybe she’d been worried she would have been in trouble from the authorities. She glanced at the writing again and spoke to June. ‘This is from Herr Best to his wife.’
‘Love letters, by the looks of all them kisses at the end,’ Mrs Brown put in, her lips pursed as though with disapproval that a man should be so sentimental about his wife.
To Maxine’s relief June was obviously thinking along the same lines as herself.
