‘You don’t think they’ll want Charlotte to go back to London, do you?’ Miss Edie voiced her fear now.
‘I wouldn’t think so,’ Avril replied, trying to sound reassuring. ‘She’d be in far more danger living in London than she’ll be in down here.’
‘Yes, that’s what I thought,’ said Miss Everard, the relief clear in her voice.
At that moment the vicar came in, shaking snow off his coat. ‘Direct hit,’ he said ruefully. ‘That Malcolm Flint’s a dead-eye shot!’ He smiled at Miss Edie and said, ‘Hallo, Miss Everard, how nice to see you. How’s Charlotte this morning?’
‘She’s doing well,’ answered Miss Edie. ‘Young Billy Shepherd came over and took her back to the farm for lunch. Just what she needed, a change of scene and something else to think about.’ She gestured to the paper Avril still held in her hand. ‘I’ve just been showing your wife what Charlotte wrote this morning.’
‘Let’s have a look.’ David held out his hand for the paper. ‘Quite a lot of information there,’ he said. ‘Only a few gaps.’
‘I thought I’d ring Caro with the information about the foster parents and see if she can find them,’ Avril said.
‘Good idea,’ David said, ‘provided Miss Everard agrees that’s the way forward. She’s Charlotte’s foster mother now.’
All the way home Miss Edie nursed those words in her heart: ‘her foster mother’. She was standing in for Charlotte’s lost mother. She was a mother. Something she never thought she’d be. A mother.
When she’d gone Avril said, ‘Well, that’s good news, isn’t it? We should be able to find her London foster parents and set their minds at rest as to where Charlotte is. Caro will be delighted.’
*
By the time Billy and Charlotte arrived at the farm the sun had broken through and the whole landscape was shining, the trees and buildings etched against the pale blue sky, the distant hills rising against the last of the clouds. It was bitterly cold and the wind that had blown away the snow clouds cut through their many layers of clothes, making them shiver.
‘Better go and tell Ma you’ve come,’ Billy said, ‘let her know it’s just you and not Miss Everard, too.’ They went to the back door and shed their boots and coats before going into the warm and welcoming kitchen.
‘Charlotte, you’ve come, my lover. Welcome. Miss Everard not coming too?’
‘No,’ answered Charlotte, ‘but she said thank you for asking her. She goes back to work tomorrow and had things to do.’
‘I understand,’ said Mrs Shepherd comfortably. She hadn’t expected that weird old stick, Miss Everard, to come all that way through the snow. Indeed, she thought, it was much better that she didn’t. It was still a holiday and she didn’t want a ghost sitting at her feast.
‘Well, lunch won’t be ready for another hour at least, so why don’t you go and have a look at they puppies?’
They went back outside and across to the stable. It was chilly over there, but Billy assured Charlotte that the hay in the dogs’ loosebox made it quite warm enough for the puppies. As soon as they closed the stable door behind them, two of the puppies came prancing over to the loosebox door to see who was there. Billy opened this door and the two of them edged inside before the curious puppies could escape. One of them was Jet, the dog Billy had already chosen for his own, but for a moment Billy ignored him and bent down to pick up the other one. He passed her over to Charlotte, who held her close, her face against the dog’s warm fur.
‘Oh, you’re beautiful,’ she cooed and was rewarded by having her face washed with a small pink tongue. Billy sat down in the hay to play with his dog and Charlotte, putting the puppy back on the ground, sat down beside him. The puppy danced forward again, darting away when Charlotte held out her hand.
‘You have to move slowly or you spook them,’ Billy said. ‘Just sit there for a moment and they’ll come to you. They’re very nosy.’
He was right and within minutes not only the original puppy came back to her, but the others, made braver by their siblings, edged closer, sniffing and snuffling at the two humans who’d invaded their world.
‘Doesn’t their mother mind them coming to us?’ wondered Charlotte, as one of the puppies attempted to clamber over her legs and fell backwards, its little legs paddling helplessly in the air.
Maisie was lying against a straw bale, watching her offspring exploring, apparently indifferent to their excursions.
Bill laughed. ‘No, she knows they’re safe enough with us. If another dog appeared, well, that’d be a different matter.’
As they sat in the hay, playing with the pups, Charlotte said, ‘I got my memory back now, a bit anyway.’
‘Have you?’ Billy didn’t sound particularly interested. ‘What you remembered then?’
‘That I’m German...’
‘Well, we knew that,’ Billy said, bending forward to extricate his trouser leg from Jet’s needle-sharp teeth.
‘But I’m not a Nazi, I’m a refugee. My parents have disappeared, and my brother. I think the Nazis have taken them away somewhere, but I don’t know where.’
‘That’s sad,’ Billy said, ‘but I expect you’ll find them again when we’ve won the war.’
‘Will we win?’
‘Of course we will,’ asserted Billy. ‘It may take a while, but we will win, I promise you.’ And it was clear to Charlotte that he had no doubt at all about that. It cheered her a little to hear his confidence.
‘You don’t mind that I’m German?’ she asked tentatively, almost dreading the answer.
‘Mind? No, why should I? You’re you. That’s what matters.’
At that moment the bell sounded out across the farm and reluctantly they shut the puppies into their loosebox and went back to the kitchen. Today there was only one extra hand at the dinner table, a small, quiet man whom Mrs Shepherd introduced as Ned Barnes.
‘Pity Jane’s not here,’ said John Shepherd as they sat down to the table. He turned to Charlotte. ‘She’s a nurse, you know, but couldn’t get leave for Christmas. Still, we hope she’ll be home for a couple of days before too long.’
Mrs Shepherd picked up a huge pan from the range and began to dole out piping hot bubble and squeak. The fried vegetables, well flavoured with home-grown onions, smelt wonderful, and scattered among them were chopped pieces of chicken from the previous day’s roast. Each plate was piled high and topped off with a fried egg.
As they all tucked in, Billy said, ‘Remember what you said, Dad?’
‘Said about what?’
Billy pulled a face. ‘You know what about.’
‘Oh, that!’ his father replied airily. ‘No, I haven’t forgotten.’
‘Well?’ Billy’s voice took on a note of frustration.
‘Well, let your dad eat his dinner,’ said his mother, but she was smiling.
‘The thing is, Charlotte,’ said Mr Shepherd as if he and Charlotte were already in the middle of a conversation. ‘I was wondering if you could help me out.’
Charlotte look across at him in surprise. ‘Please. How can I help you?’
‘I need a good home for one of my puppies and I wondered if you’d be kind enough to give her one.’
‘A puppy? For me?’ Charlotte’s face lit up with pure joy, causing everyone to laugh with her. ‘You’re giving me a puppy?’
‘If you would like one and,’ John Shepherd added seriously, ‘if Miss Everard will let you have one.’
Charlotte’s smile faded and she said, ‘This I don’t know.’
‘I will write a note to her, explaining,’ Mr Shepherd said. ‘The pup’s not quite ready to leave her mother yet, and when she is we’ll keep her for a few more weeks and get her house-trained, so that there is no problem for Miss Everard. Before you go home today come and get the letter from me.’
Charlotte was so excited that she couldn’t stop beaming. When they had finished their dinner, she and Billy went back to the stable.
‘You can have whichever of
the bitches you want,’ Billy said as he opened the loosebox door.
‘Bitches? What is “bitches”?’
‘Girl dogs.’
As before, Jet pranced forward as soon as he heard Billy’s voice, and the other brave one was soon behind him. Charlotte picked her up.
‘Is this a girl dog?’ she asked.
Billy laughed. ‘Yes, she is.’
‘Then I choose her,’ said Charlotte, gathering the little dog up into her arms.
‘I think she’s already chosen you,’ Billy replied.
When they reached Blackdown House, just before it got dark, Charlotte had the note from John Shepherd safely in her pocket.
‘Don’t say anything to Miss Edie about the puppy,’ she said to Billy. ‘I will ask her later.’
Billy shrugged. ‘All right,’ he said.
‘Did you enjoy yourself?’ Miss Edie asked when the curtains were drawn against the night and they were settled by the fire.
‘Yes, it was a lovely dinner. Bubbles.’
‘Bubbles?’
‘All potatoes and vegetables.’
‘Bubble and squeak,’ laughed Miss Edie.
‘Yes, with an egg.’
‘Sounds delicious, I’m sorry I missed it. I don’t know the Shepherds, only by sight. They sound very kind.’
Now, Charlotte decided, was the moment to produce the note that was burning a hole in her pocket. Miss Edie seemed relaxed and was thinking well of Billy’s family.
‘Mr Shepherd gave me this,’ she said, extracting the letter from her pocket and handing it over.
Miss Edie saw her name on the envelope and opened it. Charlotte watched her read the short note it contained. When she looked up Miss Edie saw such hope mixed with entreaty in Charlotte’s eyes that the reservations that had come to her mind were dashed away. Charlotte needed something to love, something that would return her love unconditionally. They’d overcome the problems of having a dog as they occurred. She smiled at her charge and said, ‘What a kind offer. A dog of your own. You lucky girl!’
Charlotte stared at Miss Edie for moment and then flung her arms round her, enveloping her in a huge hug, and Miss Edie knew that whatever problems having a young dog in the house meant, they were worth it.
And so a month later, Bessie, named for Princess Elizabeth, joined the household at Blackdown House.
25
When Dan had finally got through to Naomi and told them that their home had gone, she broke down and begged him to come up to Feneton and stay with her.
‘You ain’t got nowhere to live now,’ she said, her voice quavering with shock. ‘Just get out of London, now, while you still can.’
‘Not as easy as that,’ Dan said gently. ‘I still have to earn us a living. Can’t just jack it all in.’
‘Come up here and get a job,’ Naomi begged. ‘Just get out of London before you’re killed. Nicholas and I need you, Danny. Please?’
As Dan was about to answer, the pips went and the call was over. He’d heard the tears, the desperation in her voice, and he was tempted to ring straight back and say he was on his way, but a moment’s thought made him wait. He didn’t know what to do and until he’d thought through all the possibilities, he didn’t want to commit himself. He went back to the house and down into the cellar. He didn’t relish sleeping there, but at least he was on hand if decisions were to be taken about what was going to happen to the house.
The London sky was still filled with smoke, swirling in the wind among the gently swaying barrage balloons, and it was clear that many fires were still burning. Perhaps he should go to the fire post to see what he could do to help. He would go later, he decided, but first he’d go to the railway arches to pick up his cab. It was already nearly midday, but he might as well ply for hire during the afternoon. In the evening he’d go back to the post as usual and join his fire-watching team. On his way to the arches he went into the Dog and Duck and used the men’s toilet. It was cold and dank and supplied only cold water, but at least he could wash his hands and remove the soot and grime from his face before he tried to pick up passengers. There was a cracked mirror over the single basin and Dan stared at himself. Unshaven, with red-rimmed eyes and hair standing up on end, he didn’t look a good prospect for any work today, but until he could sort out some more clothes there was little more he could do. He damped his hair and tried to smooth it down with his hands. There was no towel, and so he came out of the toilet flapping his hands before wiping them on his trousers.
Feeling marginally better, he had a pint and a sandwich and then set out for the railway arches. The taxi was still there, undamaged by the raid, and Dan gave a sigh of relief. He still had a way of supporting them all. He was about to get into the cab and drive out into the street, when a man in the uniform of a fire service officer appeared at the entrance.
‘This your cab?’ he demanded without preamble.
‘Yes,’ Dan said cautiously.
‘Requisitioning it,’ said the man. ‘Need it for the fire service.’
Dan stared at him. He knew they’d been requisitioning cabs on and off for some time now, but his had not been taken. ‘My cab? Am I to drive it?’ he asked.
‘No,’ replied the man. ‘It’ll be converted to carry water tanks and hoses. A regular fireman’ll drive it. You’re to take it to this depot.’ He handed Dan an official-looking form with an address on it. ‘Take it there now and you’ll be given the requisition paperwork. Weren’t enough vehicles last night,’ he added, ‘and we’ve lost too many.’ He looked round at the two other taxis which were still parked under the arches. ‘Know who owns these?’ he asked.
Dan did, but he wasn’t going to say so. ‘Not always the same cabs parked here,’ he hedged.
‘I see,’ replied the man. ‘Well, you get along to the depot, the sooner they get to work converting yours the sooner it’ll be out on the street.’
‘Yeah, all right,’ said Dan, knowing there was nothing he could do about the requisition.
The fire officer seemed to relent a little and said, ‘Good man. Need all the help we can get. Bad raid last night.’
‘I know,’ snapped Dan, resenting the man’s patronising attitude. ‘I was firefighting till dawn.’
‘Weren’t we all,’ the man retorted. ‘Bloody fires are still burning. Still,’ he added as he turned away, ‘at least we saved St Paul’s.’
Dan drove his cab to the depot and there he handed it over to the fire service. He was given a receipt and told that when the war was over he might seek recompense.
Recompense indeed! he thought as he strode away to reach his fire post on foot. Be lucky if I see a single penny.
John Anderson was already back at the post when Dan got there, but the scene round it had entirely changed. The warehouse where Dan and Arthur had been watching had lost its roof and top floors. A thin column of smoke still drifted up from this blackened section. The fire brigade had sent a fire engine as soon as the fire had been phoned in. Paint, so combustible, would burn out of control and they’d done all they could to contain the blaze. They’d had some measure of success; it was the upper floors, where the offices were, that had been burned out, the lower levels had survived the attack and the feared inferno had not burst forth. All round the area were damaged buildings, skeletal trees and blackened patches on road and pavement where incendiaries had been doused before they could take hold.
‘Christ, Dan, you look rough!’ John Anderson exclaimed by way of greeting. Dan pulled a face.
‘Lost my house last night,’ he snapped. ‘No other clothes and nowhere to clean up!’
John looked lost for words and simply clapped Dan on the shoulder and said, ‘So sorry, chum. Glad you came back. We’ll need every pair of hands tonight if they come again.’
‘Where’re you going to stay if your house has gone?’ demanded Arthur when he heard what had happened to Kemble Street.
‘Cellar’s still all right,’ Dan told him. ‘It’s got a mattress, I
can doss down there.’
‘Don’t be silly, mate,’ cried Arthur. ‘Come round ours. Matty’ll be pleased to see you.’
Dan smiled wearily. ‘Thanks, pal,’ he said, ‘but I’ll go back home when we’ve done here. Need to keep an eye on the place. Not much to steal, you know, but don’t want anyone else moving in just cos I’m not there. Assessor bloke was round this morning. Thinks they may bulldoze the lot. Need to be there, you know?’
The night was another busy one; so many fires from the raid the previous night were still burning, a beacon to the incoming planes, but at last John Anderson sent them home.
‘You sure you won’t come to us?’ Arthur offered again. ‘Be no problem, for a few days at least. You know, just till you get sorted?’
‘No, thanks again, mate, but I think I’ll head on home for now. Maybe take you up on it later, if they flatten.’
Dan had told none of the firefighters that his taxi had been requisitioned. He’d keep that to himself until he’d decided what to do next. He had no income now and no way of earning any. As he walked back to his burned-out home, he thought about Naomi and Nicholas in Feneton. He had no reason not to go up and join them now – well, the fire-watching – but he was a volunteer, not part of the auxiliary fire service. He had nothing to bind him to London and perhaps Naomi was right, he could get some sort of work up in Suffolk. Suddenly he wanted to be back at the Feneton Arms, his own arms round his wife. His longing for her was intense, a physical ache.
It was almost dawn when he reached home and he crept into the ruined house and down into the cellar. It was bitterly cold, but at least he could lie down and catch a few hours’ sleep before finally making up his mind. He gathered the blankets they’d kept down there and, lying down on the lumpy mattress, piled them on top of himself in an attempt to keep warm. At last, despite the cold and his continuously churning thoughts, he finally drifted off to sleep. He awoke in the late morning, his mind made up as he slept. He’d go to Suffolk and look after his wife and son. He’d done his bit in London, he’d fought fires and he’d given up his cab. Now, he decided, he’d do his proper job in life and provide, somehow, for his wife and child.
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