Danny nodded. ‘Yes, Matthew Hilton was ya mam’s dad . . .’ he paused and pulled in a deep shuddering breath as he added hoarsely, ‘and mine.’
There was a world of sadness and pain in his tone as he went on. ‘It was all kept such a dark, dreadful secret that we had no idea. We grew up together, ya mam and me. We were kids together and when we fell in love, well . . .’
Ella looked down again at her mother’s grave, imagining how they’d felt, loving each other and yet knowing they could never, ever, be together.
‘We were shattered – devastated,’ Danny said hoarsely. ‘Our whole world was torn apart.’ He swallowed and then, more strongly, continued his story. ‘Years before, Matthew Hilton lived in the row of cottages at the Point and Beth, my mam, lived next door. They’d been sweethearts, were “walking out together” as they used to call it.’
It was a quaint, old-fashioned phrase, but neither of them were in the mood for smiling just now. Ella remained silent, patiently waiting while Danny explained everything in his own time. She could sense he was finding it difficult to recall the heartbreak of all those years ago and what had caused it; a pain that perhaps he had tried to keep locked away for years. That he was reliving it, for her sake, touched the young girl deeply.
‘Matthew was, by all accounts, a bit of a flirt. He had an eye for the girls, y’know? When ya gran arrived at Fleethaven Point, like I was telling you earlier, well, he made a play for her. But she was having none of him.’
He paused and Ella could not resist asking, ‘Then how come she married him?’
‘Well, now.’ Danny seemed to hesitate. ‘This is where it all gets a bit, well, messy. Ya gran, as you now know, was born illegitimate and, I think, because of it, all her life she’s been rigid in her views of right and wrong. You know what I mean?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Ella said bitterly. ‘I know what you mean all right. I suppose that’s why she wouldn’t believe me and Rob.’
‘It’s been her own moral code. You can’t blame her for that, really.’
‘I suppose it’s understandable when she obviously suffered so much because of the circumstances of her birth and why,’ the girl added, as compassion came slowly with the unfolding of the tale, ‘she turned against my mum – and – and me.’
His arm tightened about her shoulders.
‘So?’ she prompted him to continue. ‘What happened?’
‘Ya gran held out against Matthew, wouldn’t give in to him and the more she did that, the more he was mad to have her.’
‘But your mother? She did?’
He nodded. ‘She didn’t see it as wrong if you truly loved someone. And she thought he loved her . . .’ Danny turned his dark brown eyes to look into Ella’s bright blue gaze. ‘I think he did, but he found that out too late.’
‘Let me get this straight,’ Ella said. ‘Matthew and Beth were going out and gran came along and he left your mother when she was expecting you, I take it?’
He nodded, but said swiftly, ‘But he didn’t know that, not until later. Not till after he’d married Esther.’
‘So he left your mother, married Esther and then found out your mother was pregnant by him?’
Danny nodded.
Frowning, Ella asked, ‘When did your mother marry Robert Eland, then?’
‘Soon after Matthew had married Esther and just before I was born. He was a good few years older than her but he’d always loved her and he married her to give me a name. As far as anyone outside Fleethaven Point knows, I’m his son. I thought I was too – for years. He was as good a father as anyone could hope to have. That’s why we called young Rob after him.’
‘So that’s what all the family feud is about between your mother and Gran?’
‘Er, well, there’s a bit more yet.’
‘More!’ Ella’s eyes widened and she sighed with mock exasperation. ‘Go on, then.’
‘I like to believe that your gran was genuinely fond of Matthew, but there’s a lot of folks, my mother included, of course, who think she only married Matthew because she couldn’t have the tenancy of Brumbys’ Farm in her own name. Squire Marshall wouldn’t give it to a woman and when old Sam Brumby died, Esther was in danger of being homeless again. I’ve heard say that she nursed Sam at home and that it was only because of her devotion the poor old boy was able to die in his own home.’ Danny sighed. ‘I suppose that’s what started all the trouble, really.’
‘Sam Brumby dying, you mean?’
‘Sort of. When the old man was so ill, Matthew moved into Brumbys’ Farm to help Esther look after him and keep the farm going. I don’t doubt, though,’ Danny added and there was a dry amusement in his voice, ‘that mebbe young Matthew had his own reasons for doing so.’
They were silent for a few moments, each busy with their own thoughts.
‘Do you mean,’ she began hesitantly, not wanting to believe it possible, ‘that my gran only agreed to marry Matthew so that she could get Brumbys’ Farm?’
Danny wriggled his shoulders uncomfortably. ‘That’s what folks say, but as I said, I’m not sure I agree with them. I’ve always admired and respected your gran.’
Ella snorted. ‘You and Rob both.’
He grinned. ‘Aye, they’re great pals.’
‘Used to be, you mean. I’m not so sure now.’
‘I was very bitter against her for a while when Kate and I found out the truth. If only they’d told us earlier, it would have saved a lot of heartache.’ There was such anguish in his voice that Ella slipped her arm through his and hugged it to her side. Trying to draw his thoughts away from his unhappy memories, she asked, ‘Where does Grandpa Godfrey fit into all this then?’
‘Matthew guessed I was his child, not Robert’s, and he was very bitter with ya gran after that, but then she had ya mam – Kate.’ His tone softened even when just speaking her name.
‘With the outbreak of the war in ’fourteen Matthew volunteered. While he was away ya grandpa happened to come to the Point, met ya gran and they fell in love.’
Ella gasped. ‘By heck!’ she cried, falling into using Rob’s favourite expression. ‘She’s a fine one to be so high and mighty then.’
‘Now, now, don’t go judging her, Ella. Jonathan went away again, back to the war, and at that time she had no idea whether he was still alive or not. After the war, it was Matthew who came back a broken wreck of a man and she nursed him back to health. She devoted herself to him and gave up any hope she might have had of finding Jonathan again. She’s always had a very strong sense of duty, ya gran. She’s never shirked from doing what had to be done.’
‘No,’ Ella said sadly, ‘not even when it came to bringing up her orphaned bastard granddaughter.’
‘Now, now,’ he chided her again gently, but as he squeezed her shoulder again, she knew he understood. ‘There’s just one more thing I want you to understand, Ella. It’s important to me that you know and – and . . .’ his voice was husky, ‘for the sake of your mother’s memory.’
She stared at him, waiting. She sensed he was finding it difficult to talk about feelings he had kept buried for so long. ‘We – we loved each other very much, but when we found out we were so closely related, we knew we could never be anything but brother and sister. It took us a long time to come to terms with it and I suppose, deep down, we never stopped loving each other in a very special way.’
Ella nodded. ‘I know,’ she whispered. ‘I saw it whenever you both met. Even as a child, I could see.’
He sighed. ‘But life moves on. We both found other people to love. Rosie . . .’ He smiled fondly as he thought of his wife and said, with modesty, ‘Evidently Rosie had always loved me and I found I could love her too. Perhaps not in the same way I once loved Kate. Differently, maybe, but just as much. I’m so lucky,’ he murmured, ‘that because Rosie loved Kate too, she’s always understood.’ He paused and then ended softly, ‘So now, you know it all.’
Not quite, Ella mused, but she kept her thoughts to herself.
I still don’t know who my father is. As they turned away and, with one last silent farewell to her mother, headed back towards the car, an idea began to form in her mind, growing until it became a pledge.
One day, she vowed, I’ll find my dad.
Twenty-Four
When they walked through the back door of Brumbys’ Farm and into the kitchen, they found Esther sitting at the kitchen table, her arms resting on the scrubbed surface, gazing into the distance as if she, too, were taking a trip back in time. Slowly she lifted her head and her eyes focused on the present again, on Danny and Ella. They stared at each other for a long time, and, suddenly, the young girl thought she caught a glimpse of a strange expression in the older woman’s face; one she had never expected to see. It was fleeting, yet she was sure she had seen it; a silent plea for understanding. It was gone in an instant and the resentment was back.
Danny, trying to warm the icy atmosphere, sat down on the other side of the table. ‘Get that kettle singing, Ella lass,’ he said, but his gaze never left Esther’s face. ‘I’m fair parched after all that yakking.’
‘Aye, I should think there’s been plenty of that!’ the older woman said acidly.
Danny reached across and took her wrinkled hands in his. ‘I told it fairly, Missus.’
‘Ya’d have done better to hold ya tongue altogether, Danny Eland.’ There was a pause, then she added with grudging reluctance, ‘Still, if she had to be told, then I’d rather it be you do the telling than anyone else.’
As Ella turned away and busied herself over the hob, she heard her grandmother ask softly, ‘Did she say owt?’ and Danny, equally quietly, answered, ‘Not much. But then, it’s a lot to sink in all at once.’
At that moment they all heard the rattle of the back door and Jonathan came into the kitchen, filling the room with his gentleness. He sat down at the table and a few moments later when Ella set cups of tea before them, they were all chatting, the tension lifted by Jonathan’s presence.
Ella, sitting down too, listened quietly. No wonder, she thought, Gran had fallen in love with him all those years ago. She felt a sudden stab of sadness at the thought of what she had learnt recently: that this kind, lovable man was not her real grandfather.
Now, having learnt today how that came about, she could not help wondering about the man who overshadowed all their lives, even to this day; her grandfather, Matthew Hilton. Just what had he been like?
That night when Ella went up to bed, she paused on the landing, listened a moment and then, holding her breath, stealthily lifted the latch on the door of her grandparents’ bedroom. She tiptoed across the room to the mantelpiece and, holding the candle she carried higher, picked up the photo of the man in the old-fashioned uniform.
In the flickering light she gazed down at the young face. So this was Matthew Hilton. This was her real grandfather and he was Rob’s grandfather too. No wonder the photograph had reminded her of Rob.
Ella chewed thoughtfully at her lip. Kate, her mother, had inherited the auburn hair of her own mother, Esther. But she, Ella, was neither dark like her grandfather, nor auburn like her mother and grandmother. So, from whom did she get her blonde hair?
There could only be one answer: from the man who was her father.
Carefully, she replaced the photograph and went into her own bedroom. She stood in the centre of the room and her gaze was drawn towards the huge blanket box in the corner where she knew all her mother’s belongings were still stored and had been ever since they had been brought from their home in Lincoln. Almost holding her breath, she tiptoed across the room and lifted the heavy lid. She propped it open with the lift-up bar at one side and, almost with a kind of reverence, she lifted out her mother’s handbag. The leather was stained and the fastener was rusty. She forced it open and the fusty smell of sea-water wafted from its interior. The memories crowded into her mind and she swallowed hard. Such a feeling of loneliness and longing flooded through her that Ella felt like the ten-year-old girl she had been then when she had packed her mother’s things into this chest. She hadn’t opened it since that time, not once. Even now, she still wanted to close the lid and leave the sad memories locked away. But if she wanted to find any clue about her father, then she had to search her mother’s papers.
Determined not to be diverted, she took a deep breath, put in her hand and pulled out all the items still resting there. All the personal, intimate things brought her mother’s presence suddenly into the room. The girl swayed and clutched at the side of the chest.
‘Oh, Mum,’ she whispered, ‘I still miss you so.’
Resolutely, she steadied herself and spread everything out on her bed. It was the letter that intrigued her: maybe that was the one her mother had received that had made her go off that day? But the crinkled sheets were just a blotchy wash of blue ink; not one word was legible.
She sighed and put everything back into the bag, holding each item in her hands for a few moments: Kate’s lipstick and powder compact, even the keys to Peggy’s house in Lincoln; they were all still there just as she had packed them away, undisturbed for six years. She closed the stiff fastener and laid the bag aside.
Next she carefully removed the folded garments, one after another, until she came to a square box. She lifted it out and carried it back to her bed and tried to lift the lid, but the box was locked.
Back at the blanket box she leaned over, scrabbling to the very bottom amongst the clothes, a box of books, a cardboard box in which she found an assortment of baby clothes, but there was nothing in the way of a key which might fit the small box. She leant against the chest and stared at the box on the bed. There was something niggling at the back of her mind. She could remember searching for the key before, and when the police had brought Kate’s handbag back, she had been sure that it would be there. She recalled her disappointment when it wasn’t. But there was something else, something she ought to know, but Ella just couldn’t pull it to the forefront of her mind, and the more she tried, the more elusive the memory seemed to become.
Sighing, she packed all the clothes back into the chest, and, lastly, put the small polished wooden box back, but on the top of all the other items. She closed the huge lid of the chest and began to undress.
Sleep did not come easily. Her mind was too full of all that she had heard from her uncle Danny that day, her head full of pictures of the places they had visited, the memories he had evoked, not only for himself but for her too. Memories of her lovely gentle mother; of life in the little house in Lincoln with Aunty Peggy. There had been just the three of them, cosy and secure in their little world with never, as far as she could recall, a cross word between them. She couldn’t remember ever being in trouble then with either her mother or Peggy.
Was it only since she had come to Brumbys’ Farm that she had become a wild, rebellious, naughty child, forever in disgrace with her strict grandmother?
She couldn’t remember falling asleep, but suddenly she sat bolt upright. The room was in total darkness. The key! She could remember seeing a key and now she knew where: in her mother’s sewing machine. In the small box which held bobbins and machine attachments, there had been a tiny key. She remembered seeing it when she had made her blouse and skirt. It was exactly the sort of place her mother would have kept the key to her precious box; close beside her every day as she worked.
Ella slipped out of bed and padded across the floor to the door. Holding her breath she opened it, wincing at every little squeak. She crept down the stairs, pausing to listen every time a stair creaked.
In the living room, she drew aside the heavy blue velvet curtain so that moonlight beamed in. Quietly, she lifted the lid from the machine and took the smaller lid from the box at the side. She scrabbled amongst the clutter there until her fingers closed on the key. Replacing the lid and leaving the machine as she had found it, she sneaked back upstairs. Once in the safety of her bedroom, she breathed easily again and with the door firmly shut she lit her candle, wishing, not for the
first time, that her grandmother would agree to have electric light, and went again to the blanket box.
Taking the smaller box back to her bed, she wriggled her cold feet under the covers and, sitting up, rested the box on her knees. Mentally crossing her fingers, she inserted the key into the lock. It fitted, but was stiff to turn through lack of use. Ella found her heart was thumping with excitement as she opened the lid. The box was a vanity case with glass bottles each in their own place. In a small central compartment with a padded lid there was an envelope with the words ‘Danielle Hilton, aged three’ written on the front. Inside was a photograph of Ella and a curl of strawberry blonde hair wrapped in tissue paper. Ella smiled and laid the envelope to one side on the bed. Next she found her mother’s WAAF badges and a photograph of Kate with Mavis and Isobel, all in uniform. In the background, Ella could see the huge shape of an aircraft. There was an old, rather faded, photograph taken in the front garden of the farmhouse of her grandmother and Jonathan standing beside an old man leaning heavily on a stick. That must be Esther’s father, Will Benson, Ella thought, the man whose grave she’d seen the previous day.
There was nothing else in the small compartment and Ella felt a stab of disappointment. Surely there must be something else . . . letters, photographs – there must be more.
She ran her fingers round the box, feeling its polished smoothness. Then at the side, she noticed two tiny ring handles and pulled them up. The whole of the top of the box lifted out to reveal another, deeper, compartment below and Ella’s eyes gleamed. In it lay a bundle of papers and letters. And on the top sat a huge, perfectly formed whelk shell. She picked it up and cradled it on the palm of her hand for a moment. Now why on earth, she pondered, would her mother keep a whelk shell? She placed it beside her on top of the quilt and then, with mounting excitement, Ella began to look carefully through each item.
The first was her own birth certificate, and as she opened the long, stiff paper, she found she was holding her breath.
The Fleethaven Trilogy Page 105
