The Child From Nowhere

by Freda Lightfoot

  Kate couldn’t bear even to consider how such a decision might affect Callum and Flora. From now on, for the rest of her life perhaps, she would have to be vigilant in protecting them.

  Lucy came the very next morning, rolling up in her new motor which was piled high with her personal treasures, pictures, vases, objets-d’art and a fine set of Moroccan leather luggage, not forgetting the French maid, just as if she owned the place.

  Mrs Petty, the cook-housekeeper, was heard to remark to Ida that it was as if they’d been struck by a hurricane, and the entire household had got caught up in the blast.

  ‘I’ve never stopped since first light. That one could make a donkey run.’

  Ida, who hadn’t risen much beyond skivvy in all the twenty years she’d worked at Tyson Lodge, nodded in agreement that she likewise hadn’t sat down all day either. Even so, she scurried about the kitchen, tidying things away, slicing bread, pork and pickle for Mrs Petty’s late lunch, pouring boiling water into a bowl with a measure of cold, well laced with mustard which Mrs Petty swore was a sure cure for her bunions.

  ‘Hurry up, Ida, me poor feet are fair killing me. By heck, but we’ve seen it all in this house. Such comings and goings we’ve had.’ With a deep sigh of relief she sank her feet into the near scalding water, tucking up her skirts to reveal a pair of fat knees encased in pale pink Directoire knickers.

  ‘From the day Kate O’Connor arrived in her mucky boots and handed over that starving brat of hers for adoption, everything has been out of kilter in this household. And poor Madam, poor sweet Amelia, dying like that, thinking she was having a child of her own at last, when really she was suffering from a terrible tumour! Since her death we’ve had the abduction, the aunts descending upon us like a pair of meddling old crows, an illegitimate daughter, and the shock of the master marrying the nursemaid, our lovely Kate as she now is: the girl from Poor House Lane as she then was. Lord save us, what a pantomime!’

  ‘Don’t forget the war an’ all,’ said Ida, wanting to add her own two pennyworth to this litany of disaster.

  ‘Yer right, lass. Even the bleeding Hun had to stick his oar in. What we’ve suffered! Hurry up with that cuppa, I’m fair clemmed. And I’ll have a piece of that shortbread an’ all.’

  ‘Right, Mrs Petty. And a slice of the fruit loaf to go with it?’

  ‘Aye, just to keep it company, why not? Lunch and tea all rolled into one. And what next, I ask you? Where will it all end up? In tears, mark my words.’

  Having finally satisfied the demands of her superior, Ida settled herself at the table with her own stacked plate. The good food she’d always enjoyed at Tyson Lodge had fattened her up, and she was no longer the skinny wench she’d been when taken in as a girl by the first Mrs Tyson, picked from the workhouse out of charity. And hadn’t that been a red letter day! Ida had never stopped counting her blessings since, even if there’d been far too much work for her to do since Fanny the housemaid had upped and gone to work for Kate, the new Mrs Tyson, making army boots. Fanny was married now and expecting her third, while Ida herself was still here in this kitchen, waiting on everyone hand, foot and finger, in particular Mrs Petty’s feet, or saving her legs from walking up and down stairs.

  Still, all in all, Ida really felt very content. And she and Mrs Petty did enjoy a good moan together about them upstairs. Made life more entertaining, like.

  Ida took a huge bite of her fruit loaf and began to talk, spitting a few crumbs as she did so. ‘Madam Lucy wanted to know why Mr Tyson hadn’t got round to having a second bathroom installed, and sez how a hip bath is so Victorian! Oi really do hexpect to ‘ave hot water at the turn of a tap, Eliot dear.’ Ida attempted to put on a posh voice, mimicking Lucy with wicked accuracy, and Mrs Petty gave a merry chortle, making her several chins shake and producing a loud burp from her over-stuffed stomach.

  ‘Eeh, lass, you’ll be the death of me with your intimations. But don’t talk with your mouth full, it’s rude. If I’ve told you once ... Well, I do hope you told her that we’ve better things to do in this house than run up and down stairs with jugs of hot water for the likes of her?’

  Ida, who would never dream of saying such a thing to a lady, even one she didn’t like, and had simply bobbed a curtsey and scurried away, agreed that she had said exactly that.

  ‘Quite right too. We’ll make that madam rue the day she ever set foot in this house again, let alone make the young master out to be a liar. And we have our ways and means, don’t we, Ida?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Petty.’

  ‘Indeed we do. Indeed we do.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Eliot’s decision drove a wedge between husband and wife. No more frolicking in the bath or tumbling in the hay. Kate lay on her side of the bed in frozen silence, and he on his.

  She tried to be understanding, to reason with herself that he had only been trying to be fair. Kate rather thought he’d chosen to believe Lucy rather than Callum because he was already wracked with guilt over his brother Charles’s suicide. He’d no wish to make a bad situation even worse. Far easier to sweep the matter under the carpet, in true Tyson fashion, and dismiss past events as an unfortunate childish prank gone wrong.

  And on top of all that guilt, Kate was well aware that her husband must still be suffering from the trauma of his war years, so how could she condemn the action he’d taken? He simply wasn’t up to making a sound judgement. His soft heart, his great desire for peace and a quiet life, would be bound to affect him, particularly in the light of Callum’s continued resentment.

  She would have to work on that particular problem, somehow persuade her son to accept the situation, and Eliot as his father. He must learn to put the past behind him.

  And she must also work on Eliot. Kate still felt strongly that he’d made a bad mistake and felt duty bound, for the sake of her beloved children, to make him understand this. After a few nights of obstinate silence, and days spent circling each other, avoiding the topic, the situation became unendurable and Kate could bear it no longer. She had to speak.

  ‘You didn’t believe him.’

  ‘I’ve no wish to discuss the matter. The case is closed.’

  ‘It is not a case. This is my son, our son, we are talking about here, and you absolutely refuse to believe him.’

  ‘Callum failed to prove his case.’

  ‘But he should be innocent until proven guilty, not the reverse. You made him out to be a liar, and Flora too.’

  ‘They are children, perhaps not properly understanding the consequences of their sulks and petty actions. You’ve spoiled them, though who can blame you, in the circumstances?’

  ‘’T’was not pettiness, and how can you spoil children by loving them? I believe what they say. Had you seen Flora that day ...’

  ‘That’s enough, Kate. I’ve already told you that the case is closed. I’ve heard all sides of the argument and made my decision. Like it or not, Lucy is family. I’m surprised you didn’t inform me of this situation years ago, when it all first blew up.’

  ‘I thought you had enough to worry about, with the war, and then your injuries. How could I?’

  He looked at her properly then, recognising the sincerity in her soft grey eyes, and remained thoughtful for some moments. ‘I can see you might think that. Perhaps you were right, my dear. We will say no more on that score, but now I am home again and the matter has been dealt with, settled once and for all.’

  He seemed so cold, so distant. Fear gripped her heart. She couldn’t stand to lose him. It didn’t bear thinking about. Perhaps she shouldn’t push the matter too hard, not at first. It was too soon. She’d need to soften him up slowly, little by little.

  Kate wriggled closer to her husband and tentatively stroked his arm. ‘And are we still friends? You’ve been so indifferent towards me these last few days.’

  He turned to her then with something of his old eagerness. ‘Of course we are still friends. Don’t I love you with all my heart? You are my beloved wife and
I adore you. Our children will survive and grow out of their sulks and their adolescent moods. Trust me. It’s a storm in a teacup. And you and Lucy will learn to get along. Give it a month or two and you’ll be like sisters, as Lucy told me you once were.’

  ‘Lucy said we were like sisters?’

  ‘She did, both doing your bit for the war effort. So doesn’t that prove that I’m right?’

  The urge to say that Lucy had barely lifted a finger to justify her existence during the war, demanding to be waited on by Kate as if she were still a servant and not her new sister-in-law, that she was the one who lied, was almost overwhelming. Yet Kate hesitated. Where was the point in arguing further? Lucy had won, for now at least.

  Besides, any further discussion was halted as Eliot began to kiss her, peeling her nightgown from her shoulders, and Kate was so relieved, so delighted that all was well between them again, that further protests and argument were set aside. There would be time enough later, when Eliot was feeling more himself.

  Everywhere that Kate went she seemed to hear Lucy’s strident voice calling out for Ida, or Mrs Petty, to bring her a tray of tea to the parlour, hot water to her room, a pill for a headache, or to sponge and press a gown. And if they didn’t immediately answer her call, she would throw a veritable tantrum and shriek at the top of her voice, demanding to know if there was anyone in the house at all.

  ‘Is anyone listening to me!’

  Not if I can help it, Kate would think, making a point of hurrying out of sight as quickly as possible. Lucy was frequently in a foul mood because she didn’t believe she was receiving the kind of attention she deserved.

  ‘If she had got what she deserved, she certainly wouldn’t be living like a queen in this house,’ Mrs Petty tartly remarked on more than one occasion. Kate always pretended that she hadn’t heard.

  The French maid had lasted no more than a few days, departing in a huff because she was not allowed to take her meals with the family and thought it beneath her to eat in the kitchen. Not that Kate blamed the poor girl entirely. Mrs Petty was not particularly welcoming, and didn’t Kate know how that felt? She had somehow survived her own baptism of fire, which hadn’t been easy, involving being sent to Coventry for a number of weeks when she’d first arrived in Mrs Petty’s kitchen. But she’d won the cook round in the end.

  This poor girl had been less fortunate. There’d been something of a scene the very first day she arrived with Mrs Petty making rather rude remarks about frogs, and Ida doing a good deal of giggling behind her hand over the fancy frocks and furbelows the French maid insisted on wearing. But Ida’s laughter had soon turned to sulks when she realised that Madame Celeste, as she liked to be called, expected to be waited on as much as her mistress.

  ‘Nay, I’ll not do it. I’ll not! ‘Oo does she think she is? I telled her, ma’am, I did. I’m not paid to wait on the likes of her,’ Ida informed Kate, outrage sharp in her voice.

  Kate hid a smile. ‘I rather think the master would say that you are paid to do whatever he tells you to, and this girl is employed by him and requires feeding.’

  ‘Aye, fair enough,’ agreed Mrs Petty, weighing in on Ida’s behalf. ‘But that doesn’t mean she can’t fetch her own hot water or clean her own shoes, do it?’

  ‘Er, no,’ Kate conceded. ‘Perhaps not. But I’d be obliged if you would at least try to get along, for all our sakes. It isn’t going to be easy getting used to the changes around here.’

  She hadn’t needed to spell it out that she meant getting used to having Lucy around, and a chastened Mrs Petty and Ida both promised to do their level best.

  Evidently their best wasn’t good enough, as the girl left by the end of the first week. The rather superior French maid had made too many demands and, sadly, her fate had been sealed from the start as Mrs Petty did not suffer fools gladly. When Celeste began to criticise her cooking, something previously unheard of, and had insisted that her lamb be cooked rare, not till it was falling off the bone as Mrs Petty liked to do it, she’d been presented with a plateful that was almost raw and stone cold. Celeste had duly taken offence and left.

  Lucy was not pleased, and even less so when Eliot refused to replace her, very sensibly pointing out that if Kate could manage without a personal maid, so could she.

  It was July before Eliot casually remarked he was ready to return to work. The roses were almost in bloom and Kate had hoped that he would be content to wander in the garden and nurture them into full flower, but it was not to be.

  ‘First thing on Monday morning I intend to go into the office. I am well on the road to recovery, for all my knee still pains me occasionally. It’s long past time I got my nose back to the grindstone and take my proper place in charge of Tyson’s Shoes, or Tyson Industries as it has now become. You can stay in bed and spoil yourself for a change, my darling.’

  ‘I’d rather come in to the office as usual. I’m in the middle of several matters which require my attention. Customers are depending on me.’

  Kate felt some guilt over the way she’d neglected the business in these weeks since Eliot came home. She really should be working on the new designs for the line of ladies’ shoes she was planning. Women were now demanding lighter shoes in more fashionable styles, and she and Toby were investigating ways of changing the method of manufacture in order to make this possible.

  Toby Lynch had first started working for Kate when she was out on the road, selling her army boots. He was a wiry man in his mid-thirties, of medium height with a tousle of blonde hair and a cheery grin. He’d had plenty of experience in the shoe trade and Kate both liked and trusted him. Since he’d never once let her down, she’d had no hesitation in making him the new foreman of Tyson Industries after Swainson left.

  Yet despite Eliot being newly home, she hadn’t missed going in to the factory once. Every morning she would slip in for an hour or two, if only to check on progress, to talk things through and reassure herself that all was well. Toby constantly told her to stop worrying and enjoy this precious time with her husband. But Eliot was right. It was time for him to get back to work. It might help him to start looking to the future instead of back into the past.

  ‘I will come in with you. It will give me the chance to explain everything we currently have in hand, since it’s your first day.’

  ‘Absolutely not. I forbid it. I can manage perfectly well.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘I will hear no buts.’

  Kate adopted her most coaxing tone, using the lilt of her accent and all her feminine whiles to beguile him. ‘Will you stop yer blathering and let me do this? Haven’t I said that we need to talk, and don’t I still need to have a role? I’m not ready to be put out to grass yet awhile. We’d make a good team.’

  ‘Of course we’re a team, and your role is clear and straightforward. You are my wife. No, no, my darling, you have done enough. It is my turn to take care of everything now. You can safely leave the factory to me from now on.’

  Stubbornly, Kate persisted. ‘I shall come in later in the morning, then. I haven’t had the chance to properly explain my ideas, my plans for the future. I’ll do it then, so I will, when you’ve had time to get yer bearings.’

  Eliot laughed softly, as if humouring her, yet absolutely refused to shift his ground. ‘We will discuss them later, over dinner one evening. I will be obeyed in this, Kate, I do not want you at the factory on this day, not on any account.’

  And Kate was compelled to let her arguments subside, thinking that perhaps it was fair enough that he be allowed to proceed alone, on his very first day back. Toby would be around to show him the ropes, in any case. And Eliot was still the master after all, perhaps needing to prove that fact, to reassert his authority with the workforce after his long absence. There would be time enough later for discussions and plans.

  Eliot left, as promised, shortly after seven but Kate couldn’t stay in bed, not for another minute. She was too used to rising early and going into the office. She q
uickly dressed, took some breakfast, then went about her domestic duties, of which there were few since Mrs Petty ran the establishment with commendable efficiency.

  Kate attempted not to think of Lucy triumphantly ensconced in her room upstairs, although she was acutely aware of her presence by the toing and froing of Ida with jugs of hot water and breakfast on a tray. She’d also seen evidence of clothes taken to be pressed and ironed, shoes polished.

  Some new house rules would have to be applied. Lucy needed it pointing out to her that the war had affected the servant situation quite badly. Tyson Lodge no longer employed the number of staff it used to in its heyday. Young girls nowadays had far more interesting and remunerative jobs to go to, and a good thing too in Kate’s humble opinion. Lucy must learn to fend for herself a little more. She could at least take breakfast downstairs.

  Admittedly the installation of one or two more bathrooms might be a good idea. This was the modern age after all, and renovations and refurbishments had been sadly neglected for years because of the war. New bathrooms would save all that carrying of hot water. Kate made a mental note to speak to Eliot on the subject when the moment seemed right.

  Callum went off to the factory at his usual time, and Flora to school. Kate saw them both off, tidied up their rooms for want of something to do, and then wondered what to tackle next.

  Lucy still hadn’t risen, for which Kate was secretly thankful. She really had no wish to see or speak to her.

  But Kate was at a loss to know what to do with herself. She was bored, nervous of the long hours, the endless day stretching ahead of her. Never in all her life had she been in a situation where she had time on her hands, hours in which she didn’t have the first idea what to do with herself. It felt strangely unsettling.

  What on earth did people do when they had no need to work? Kate wasn’t really the sort to be content with embroidery or take up charity work as Amelia had done, the first seeming too indolent and frivolous, and the second an affront to human dignity in her opinion.