But when Jenny drew back her bedroom curtains her bedroom was flooded with sunlight and after breakfast, they set off.
‘Let’s see if the samphire is ready,’ he said as they mounted the hill, their feet sinking into the soft sand. He stood on the top and shaded his eyes. ‘The tide’s a good way out, that’s good. We’ll try over there. Now, we’d better take our shoes and socks off. We’ll leave them here in the sandhills.’
‘Won’t they get nicked?’
He glanced at her in surprise. ‘Eh? Oh no, they’ll be safe enough.’
‘I don’t want to lose my best shoes,’ she warned. ‘Charlotte bought me these and I’ve never had a brand new pair all of my own before.’ Her tone was quite matter-of-fact and she was quite unaware of the pathos in her words that made the brave fighter pilot swallow hard.
They collected the pegs and the white rags from the box hidden in the sandhills and then Jenny skipped beside him, holding his hand, across the sand and the mud to where the samphire grew on the salty marsh.
When they reached the place, Jenny asked, ‘Is that it? That green stuff.’
‘Yes, we’ll take some home and Mrs Beddows will show you how to cook it. But first, do you remember everything I told you last time about the tides? Charlotte taught me when we first came to live here, Jenny, and it’s very important.’
Jenny repeated everything he’d told her.
‘And promise me you’ll always be careful when you come to the beach?’
She looked up at him, still and quiet, aware of the seriousness in his tone. Jenny nodded solemnly. She would promise Georgie anything, but even the city child realized the importance of what he was telling her.
For half an hour they picked the fleshy plant, placing it in a basket to carry home. Georgie stood up and eased his aching back. ‘Come on, Jen. Time to go home, the tide’s coming in.’
But the promised cookery lesson with Georgie and Mrs Beddows was cancelled. When they arrived back home, there was an urgent message for him that all leave was cancelled.
‘I have to go back to camp now,’ he told Jenny as he packed his things into his kitbag. She stood in the doorway of his bedroom watching him. ‘Why?’
He came and squatted down in front of her. ‘Because I have to go and fly my plane.’
Jenny stared at him. Even she, young as she was, could see the haunted look in his eyes, the kind of fear that she’d felt when she’d first arrived here at the emptiness of the flat land and the wide open spaces, the huge sky above her head. She put her arms around his neck and her cheek close to his to whisper. ‘You will come back, won’t you?’
There was a moment’s hesitation before he said brightly, ‘Of course. Just try and keep me away.’ But it was a forced gaiety; even Jenny could recognize it.
Downstairs he said goodbye to the rest of the family. He picked Jenny up and swung her round before setting her down again. He ruffled her hair. ‘Be a good girl, won’t you?’
She nodded, unable to speak for the lump in her throat as she watched him hug Charlotte and then he was gone.
As the door closed behind him, Charlotte, her voice unsteady, held out her hand to Jenny. ‘Come, let’s go and cook that samphire.’
Britain and the Commonwealth now stood alone and whilst the Battle of Britain was being fought by the RAF over the south of England, Philip and Ben completed their basic training and managed to come home on leave before they were posted abroad. Miles had taken over the running of the farm and the estate during Ben’s absence but he was a reluctant farmer and happily handed back the reins, even though it would only be for a short time. Philip didn’t seem to want to do anything. He sat on the terrace reading the newspapers or just gazing into space, avoiding anyone’s company.
Jenny stood for several minutes watching him from behind a pillar on the terrace. She’d sensed – though at her tender age she was unable to put it into words – that Philip somehow didn’t fit in with the rest of the family. He seemed aloof and there was a definite constraint between Charlotte and him. Jenny knew only too well what it was like to feel lonely, to be the odd one out. She’d never felt as if she belonged anywhere. She was a misfit. At least, she had been until she’d come here, to the manor. Miles and Charlotte and Georgie – oh especially Georgie – had made her so welcome. Even Ben, in his quiet way, leading her around the farm, showing her the animals and how, if she always treated them with respect, there was no need to be afraid of any of them. Not even the big, lumping cows.
‘They’re gentle creatures, really, as long as you don’t startle them,’ he’d said in his soft voice. She couldn’t imagine Ben becoming a soldier and having to shoot the enemy. But Philip – she could imagine him being a major or something and leading others into battle. He was the sort who won medals. But today Philip looked lonely. Suddenly, she felt sorry for him. After all, he was Georgie’s brother and Georgie was fond of him, she knew.
Jenny had an idea. She crept away and ran up to the nursery, picked up a book and returned to her position behind the pillar. She stood again for several moments until the man became aware that he was being watched.
‘What d’you want?’
‘Georgie’s not here.’
‘No-o,’ Philip said slowly as she moved nearer.
‘And Charlotte’s gone to see that grumpy old man.’
‘Ye-es.’
‘And the mister’s busy, so – ’
‘So?’
Jenny tweaked the newspaper from his grasp and dropped it on the floor.
‘Will you read to me?’ She held out the book. ‘It’s the one Georgie gived me.’ She clambered on to his knee. ‘We’ve got to Chapter Eight where Mr Toad’s just been put in a dinjun.’
‘A dungeon,’ Philip said mildly.
‘That’s what I said – a dinjun.’ With Bert clutched under one arm, she put her thumb in her mouth, curled up on his lap and, resting her head against his shoulder, waited for him to begin.
Philip opened the book. ‘My mother used to read this to me.’
‘Your real mum? Not Charlotte.’
‘Mm.’ He was fingering the pages gently as if reliving memories from his own childhood. Then, slowly, he began to read.
‘You have to do the funny voices like Georgie does,’ Jenny ordered.
‘Ah yes. Sorry. I’ll try to do better.’ But his words were sincere. For once, there was no sarcasm in his tone.
Until his leave ended, Jenny monopolized Philip, who laughingly allowed himself to be commandeered into all sorts of escapades. He even joined in the rowdy games of football on the lawn after lessons finished.
But at the end of a week both he and Ben had to go too.
Eighteen
There were no lessons at the manor during the summer holidays, but by now Jenny had made one or two friends amongst the local children as well as her fellow evacuees. And she was more confident out of doors.
‘Can I come to Buckthorn Farm with you today, Charlotte? Alfie might be there.’ The two had become firm friends. The boy had almost replaced Bobby in Jenny’s affections. Almost, but not quite. Jenny still wondered where her best friend was. Despite Miles’s efforts, they hadn’t been able to find out where Bobby and Sammy had gone.
‘Of course, dear,’ Charlotte said.
‘I won’t have to see the grumpy old man, will I? He always frowns at me and tells me I should have been a boy.’
Charlotte laughed out loud. ‘He always told me that too.’
‘Why’s he always so grumpy?’ the child remarked but before Charlotte could think of a suitable reply, Jenny added, ‘I ’spect it’s ’cos he lives on his own.’
‘Maybe, but he’s got Mr and Mrs Morgan to look after him.’
‘I like Mrs Morgan. Do you think she’ll have any scones and jam and cream today?’
‘I’m sure she will. You can sit and talk to Mary whilst I see the – ’ Charlotte chuckled – ‘the grumpy old man.’
Mary Morgan was always as kind and
as welcoming as Mrs Beddows and Jenny was soon seated at her scrubbed kitchen table, munching scones, the cream and jam spreading around her mouth. ‘Have you worked here long, Mrs Morgan?’
‘Years and years.’ Mary smiled as she beat a cake mixture with a wooden spoon. ‘I came here when Miss Charlotte’s mother was first married and I’ve looked after Miss Charlotte ever since.’
‘Is her mother here, then?’
Mary pursed her lips and shook her head.
‘So, I haven’t got a dad and Charlotte hasn’t got a mum.’
Mary Morgan didn’t answer but concentrated on beating margarine and sugar together until it was a thick, smooth cream.
Jenny watched for a moment and then asked, ‘What happened to her mum? Did she die?’
‘I – you’d better ask Miss Charlotte about that, love.’
‘Don’t you know?’ The candid blue eyes stared at Mary.
‘Well – er – yes, but it’s not my place to be gossiping.’
‘Oh!’ There was a pause and then, ‘Why do you call her Miss Charlotte?’ Jenny had noticed that a lot of people called her that instead of the expected ‘Mrs Thornton’.
Mary laughed with relief as the child’s attention turned to an easier question. ‘I’ve always called her that and old habits die hard.’
At that moment, Charlotte appeared back in the kitchen. ‘Better in health than temper, as usual,’ she laughed, sharing the joke with Mary. Then she held out her hand to Jenny. ‘Let’s go outside and see if Alfie’s around. Maybe he’ll play with you while I have a talk to Eddie.’ As Jenny scrambled down from her chair and took Charlotte’s hand, she said politely, ‘Thank you for the scones, Mrs Morgan. They were lovely.’
‘You’re welcome. Come and see us again soon, won’t you?’
Outside, they turned towards the outbuilding that had been converted years earlier into a farm office. As they entered, the man sitting behind the desk looked up and smiled. ‘Miss Charlotte, just the person I need to speak to. Can you spare a few minutes?’ His glance flickered to Jenny. ‘Hello, there, Jenny. Alfie’s cleaning out the hen house, if you want to go and find him.’ He glanced at Charlotte. ‘Alfie helps out now and again.’
Charlotte raised her eyebrows. ‘You mean he works here? On Buckthorn Farm?’
‘Yes. I didn’t think you’d mind.’
‘Of course I don’t mind, Eddie. But I haven’t seen his name on the wages’ sheets.’
Eddie Norton laughed. ‘Oh, I don’t pay him.’
Quite seriously, Charlotte said, ‘Then you should. Or rather, we should.’
Eddie smiled. ‘Well, if you’re sure. He’s a big lad now and he is very useful about the place.’
‘Then all the more reason for him to have a wage.’
‘But your father—’
‘Never mind my father. What the eye doesn’t see . . .’ The words were lost on the young girl, but Charlotte and Eddie exchanged a look of understanding, of conspiracy almost. ‘Does he want to go into farming when he leaves school?’
‘I think he’d like to do what Master Ben did. Go to agricultural college.’ Eddie grinned ruefully. ‘He’s the clever one of the family.’ His voice was only a whisper as he added. ‘Must tek after his dad.’
‘Now, now, Eddie,’ Charlotte said quietly and, again, another look of a shared secret passed between them.
Eddie shuffled the papers on his desk and stood up. ‘Off you go, then, young ’un. Alfie’ll show you around Miss Charlotte’s farm.’
Jenny twisted her head to look up at Charlotte. ‘Is this your farm? I thought it was your dad’s.’
Before Charlotte could answer, Eddie said, ‘Miss Charlotte’s been running Buckthorn Farm since she was not much older than you.’
Jenny’s mouth dropped open as Charlotte began to laugh. ‘There you go, exaggerating again, Eddie. I was a bit older than ten.’
‘Eleven,’ Jenny put in. ‘I was eleven last week.’
Charlotte stared down at her. ‘It was your birthday? Last week?’
Jenny nodded.
‘Oh Jen, why didn’t you say? We would have had a party.’
The girl blinked. ‘A party? For – for me?’
‘Of course. A birthday party. Miles is going to be so upset we didn’t know. And Mrs Beddows too. She’d have made you a cake.’
‘Mum always gets cross if I remind her that my birthday’s coming up,’ Jenny said in a small voice. ‘She says it looks as if I’m asking for presents.’
‘We’d never think that of you.’ Charlotte squeezed her hand. ‘Tell you what, we’ll still have that party and you can invite all your friends.’
‘Right,’ Eddie said with a broad wink at Jenny. ‘A quick look around the farm and then I’ll find you some eggs and butter to take back to Mrs Beddows if she’s going to be busy baking a birthday cake.’
As they walked home, Jenny asked tentatively, ‘Charlotte, you know I’ve got a mum but I haven’t got a dad. Not a real dad.’ Charlotte waited, wondering what was coming. ‘Well, you’ve got a dad, but – but you haven’t got a mum, have you?’
There was a short silence until Charlotte said softly, ‘I have. She lives in Lincoln. I go there sometimes to see her.’
‘Oh, is that where you go when you’re away for a whole day and Miles fetches you home from the station just before dinner?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Why don’t your mum and dad live together? Did they fall out.’
For a moment Charlotte’s face was bleak. ‘Yes. A long time ago. I was only small. I think my father blamed my mother because I wasn’t the son he wanted and he was unkind to her. So she – she went away.’
Jenny was thoughtful for a moment before she said, with a child’s frankness, ‘You can’t blame her then, can you?’ With her curiosity satisfied, she skipped ahead to tell Miles about the promised belated birthday party, leaving Charlotte staring after her and murmuring, ‘No, I don’t suppose you can.’
As Charlotte had predicted, Miles was mortified when he heard that they’d missed Jenny’s birthday. ‘And not a card or a letter from her mother – again,’ he muttered angrily.
‘We’ll make up for it,’ Charlotte tried to placate him. ‘We’ll give her the best birthday party she’s ever had.’
But Miles was not to be comforted. ‘From what she says, it’ll be the only party she’s ever had.’
‘Well, maybe it’s the first, but as long as she’s with us,’ Charlotte said, ‘it’ll not be the last.’
It wasn’t quite the right thing to say for the bleak look on Miles’s face told her that her words had reminded him that Jenny wasn’t theirs and that one day she would have to go back home.
‘Will Georgie be able to come home for my party?’ Jenny asked, and then, as if afraid she might offend them if they were not included, added, ‘And Philip and Ben too?’
‘I don’t think Philip and Ben will be able to come home; they’ve only just gone. But I’ll telephone Georgie’s camp and see if I can speak to him.’
Jenny’s eyes widened. ‘’Ave you got a telephone?’
Miles smiled. ‘Yes, it’s in my study. Why, is there anyone you’d like to telephone?’
Jenny was thoughtful and Miles waited, fully expecting that she would say she’d like to speak to her mother, but instead she said, ‘Could we telephone Mr Tomkins and see if he’s heard where Bobby is yet?’
‘Of course we can.’
But Mr Tomkins still had no idea where the other children had gone. ‘But I’ll keep trying,’ he promised Miles.
Two days later, the day before the party, Mr Tomkins rode up the drive on his bicycle.
‘I’ve found out at last that they went further north. Somewhere in north Lincolnshire, but I understand that they’ve gone home – back to London. I think they went back before Christmas. As you know, the expected bombing never happened.’
Miles held his breath. He was sure now that Jenny would say, ‘Then I want to go hom
e too.’ But instead, she just looked anxious and her voice trembled as she looked up at him and asked, ‘Have I got to go back too?’
‘No, no, of course not,’ he reassured her swiftly, relief flooding through him that she didn’t seem to want to go. ‘You can stay with us as long as you want to, but I’m sorry we can’t invite your friends to your party.’ The girl shrugged no longer too upset now that she’d been told she could stay at the manor.
The party was a huge success; the table was loaded with all the food that children love. Mary Morgan had contributed and she and her husband, Edward, who was Mr Crawford’s manservant at Buckthorn Farm, came to help. Mary was welcomed into the kitchen by a flustered Mrs Beddows and Wilkins looked as if he was about to hug Edward Morgan. ‘Am I glad to see you! Having them here for lessons is bad enough, but they’re going to go wild at a party.’
But Wilkins’s doleful predictions were unfounded. True, there was a lot of noise, shouting and laughter as they played the various party games and, outside on the lawn, they ran riot. But sitting around the dining table, instead of the kitchen table, they were all remarkably well behaved.
As Miles, Charlotte and Jenny stood on the steps to wave them goodbye, Jenny sighed with happiness. ‘Thank you for my lovely party,’ she murmured. ‘I just wish Georgie could have been here too.’ But when she felt Charlotte squeeze her hand and Miles touch her shoulder, though neither of them said a word, the child knew they were both feeling exactly the same.
Nineteen
There was something wrong; Jenny could feel it.
Charlotte had been away all day in Lincoln. ‘That’s a big city about forty miles away,’ Kitty told her. ‘She’s gone on the train.’
‘She’ll have gone to see her mum.’ Jenny nodded wisely. Kitty’s eyes widened but she said nothing.
Jenny was playing in the garden, kicking the football and waiting for Miles to join her as he had promised when she saw a boy in a kind of uniform ride up the drive to the front door. He jumped off the bicycle and leaned it against the pillar at the foot of the front steps. Absently, Jenny nudged the ball with her foot, but her gaze was on the boy as he climbed to the front door and rang the bell. When Wilkins opened the door, she saw, from where she stood, the boy hand him what looked like a letter. The door closed and the boy ran back down the steps, mounted his bike and pedalled away, much faster than he had arrived.
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