by Lily Baxter
Poppy blinked and said nothing; she had lost all idea of time and had not even realised today was Saturday. Mum would have gone down the road to the shops to get food in for Sunday dinner, or luncheon or whatever it was called; she was becoming confused. And Joe would be home from work and getting washed and smartened up ready to take Mabel out to the pictures.
‘Have you listened to a word I said, Poppy?’ Pamela’s voice was as scratchy as an old needle on a gramophone record.
‘Yes, ma’am.’
With an exasperated sigh, Pamela glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens, I’ll never get changed in time for dinner at this rate. Good night, Rupert darling.’ She blew him a kiss and as she hurried from the room Poppy heard her murmur. ‘I think that girl is a bit simple.’
Next morning, Poppy took Rupert to the lake where they fed the ducks with scraps of bread saved from their breakfast. The early September sun turned the surface of the water into molten gold, and across the sweep of green parkland the gently rolling hills were blue with morning mist. Poppy sat on the daisy-studded grass while Rupert chased butterflies. He was at a safe distance from the water’s edge and she allowed her attention to wander, attracted by the purring sound of the big black car which had collected her from the station yard. It was a Bentley, unless she was very much mistaken. Joe had a passion for cars and the walls in his room were covered with pictures cut from glossy magazines. It was his ambition in life to own a car but unless he won the football pools it was very unlikely. The Bentley glided along the tree-lined avenue, stopping outside the lodge. The chauffeur climbed out and opened the tall wrought-iron gates.
Losing interest in the family’s progress towards the village church, Poppy lay back on the grass looking up at the sky through the branches of a horse chestnut tree. Out here in the open, the sky looked bigger and bluer than it did when viewed through the tightly packed terraces in London. There seemed to be more of everything here in the sweet-smelling country air. The grass grew thicker and greener here than it did in West Ham Park. Dandelions and daises were allowed to riot in profusion instead of being viciously beheaded by the park keeper’s mower. She had picked little posies of the flowers to take up to the nursery when they went indoors, but sadly they were already wilting in the warmth of the sun.
She sat up, calling to Rupert, who had strayed a little too near the water for safety. He toddled back towards her clutching a dandelion in his chubby hand and beaming as though he had just struck gold. She took it from him and gave him a hug. ‘Is that for me?’
He nodded his head but his attention was distracted by the sound of a car engine. Poppy turned her head to see a smart yellow and black open-top roadster roaring up the drive. She leapt to her feet as she recognised Guy at the wheel and she waved frantically, trying to attract his attention, but then she saw that he was not alone. His companion was a pretty young lady with a halo of golden curls. Poppy’s hand dropped to her side as the car shot past them. Neither of its occupants had noticed her and the wheels spun on the gravel as Guy turned in the direction of the stable block.
‘I might as well be blooming invisible,’ Poppy said, catching hold of Rupert and fastening him into his reins despite his loud protests. ‘Let’s go for a walk before dinner and maybe you’ll sleep all afternoon.’
After a complete circuit of the lake, Poppy’s stomach was rumbling and Rupert was a dead weight on her back. His little legs had given out before they were halfway round the large expanse of water, and she had had to give him a piggyback. His arms were too short to reach round her neck and he had not quite mastered the art of hanging on. He had fallen asleep before they reached the house and Poppy’s muscles were beginning to ache. The sound of the Bentley’s engine confirmed her suspicions that it was getting late, and another car was following close behind. She had a nasty feeling that this must be Rupert’s father, the man who expected to see his son spruced up in his Sunday best, not covered in grass stains with muddy knees and jam on his face. She broke into a run, heading for the servants’ entrance.
She had just managed to get Rupert washed and dressed when the nursery door opened and Violet erupted into the room. ‘They want Master Rupert in the drawing room double-quick.’
‘Show us the way,’ Poppy said boldly. ‘There’ll be trouble if I get lost again.’
‘For Gawd’s sake, Popeye. Haven’t you heard the news? We’ve declared war on the Germans. They’re all at sixes and sevens below stairs, and there’s Sunday lunch to serve. I haven’t got time to pander to the likes of you.’
Poppy stood her ground. At this moment she was more scared of Mrs Carroll than she was of Violet. ‘I don’t care about all that. Please, you must show me the way.’
‘Oh, all right then. Get a move on.’ Violet grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her roughly towards the door.
‘Let me go.’ Poppy wrenched her arm free. ‘What’s the matter with you? Why are you being like this? I haven’t done anything to you.’
‘I don’t like you,’ Violet said, pinching her arm. ‘You’re a dirty city kid from the slums, that’s what they’re all saying. I bet you got lice in your hair and fleas too.’
Rupert had begun to snivel and Poppy picked him up, giving him a cuddle. ‘Shut up, Violet. You’re frightening him.’
‘You think you’re something special because Miss Pamela lets you look after Master Rupert, but you’re not. She’d let the cat take care of him if she could get away with it. You’re just convenient, that’s what you are.’ Violet turned on her heel and stalked out of the room with Poppy hurrying after her.
‘Don’t go so fast, Violet. Rupert’s heavy and I can’t keep up.’
‘See if I care. It’s you who’ll get into trouble, not me.’ Quickening her pace, Violet ran down the first flight of stairs, pausing on the landing to glance up at Poppy and cock a snook at her.
Incensed, and worried that she might lose her way for a second time, Poppy hurried after her. She was unfamiliar with the main staircase, having grown accustomed to using the back stairs, and Violet obviously knew this. She wanted her to be late, Poppy was certain of that, and she was equally determined to arrive in the drawing room on time. She hefted Rupert over her shoulder, ignoring his loud protests, but halfway down the stairs she slipped and fell against Violet, catching her off balance. With a loud scream, Violet missed a step, tottered on the next one, lost her footing and fell down the remaining stairs bumping off each tread. She landed on the polished parquet floor with a sickening thud and there was an eerie silence.
Poppy stopped, frozen to the spot, thinking that she had killed her, but with a sudden intake of breath Violet began to howl as if all the demons in hell were after her. A door flew open and Mr Carroll emerged followed by the rest of the family. Violet was suddenly the centre of attention.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ Edwin Carroll demanded angrily.
‘She pushed me down the stairs.’ Violet pointed a shaking finger at Poppy. ‘She’s a wild thing, sir. She attacked me.’
Poppy stared aghast at the sea of faces. Violet had lied and now she was going to take the blame. Mrs Carroll’s expression of cold rage was far more frightening than anything Violet could do to her, and she knew that if she did not speak up she would get the blame for Violet’s accident. Rupert was holding on to her for dear life and any moment now he was going to set up a wail equal to anything that Violet could produce. She hurried down the remaining stairs. ‘I never did, sir. I tripped and almost fell down them bloody stairs meself.’
Pamela hurried forward to snatch her son from Poppy’s arms. ‘I won’t have that sort of language used in front of Rupert.’
‘Get up, Violet.’ Mrs Carroll’s voice was icicle sharp. ‘Stop that noise at once and get back below stairs, and as for you, Poppy Brown, come into the drawing room. I want a word with you.’
Everyone filed back into the drawing room and Marina took her seat, folding her hands in her lap. ‘What was the meaning of that disgraceful outburst?
I won’t tolerate that sort of behaviour in my house.’
‘It weren’t my fault, ma’am,’ Poppy said with a defiant lift of her chin. ‘I never pushed her.’
‘So you say, but I only have your word for it. This really is the last straw, my girl. Tomorrow morning I’ll contact the billeting officer and have you taken away. You’re not fit to live in a civilised household.’
Poppy stood alone in the centre of the room holding her head proudly, filled with righteous indignation, and raging inwardly against the injustice of being blamed when it was not her fault. She wished her dad were here to sort these people out, or even Joe; he was big and strong and could shout much louder than Mrs Carroll. Gran could be fierce too; Mrs Carroll might think twice before taking her on, and Mum would stand up for her even though she didn’t like arguments and fights.
Rupert was crying loudly and resisting all his mother’s efforts to calm him.
‘What were you thinking of, Pamela?’ The man who Poppy thought must be Miss Pamela’s husband was glaring at her as if she had just crawled out from under a stone. She knew she had it right when he turned away to frown at his wife. ‘How could you entrust our son to the care of a street urchin?’
‘That’s not fair, Hector,’ Guy said calmly. ‘Give the poor kid a chance. She’s done all right so far. I never did like that girl Violet, or her foxy-faced family come to that.’
Poppy could have rushed over and kissed him. She resisted the temptation but she would be eternally grateful to him, and he obviously shared her dislike of the Guppy family.
‘Don’t encourage her, Guy.’
Mrs Carroll sounded slightly calmer to Poppy’s ears. It was obvious that she thought a lot of her son, but then that’s what mums did in Poppy’s opinion. Joe could get away with murder.
‘Poppy, go to the nursery and stay there until the billeting officer comes for you tomorrow.’ Mrs Carroll dismissed her with a wave of her hand. ‘Pour me a large sherry, Edwin. My nerves are shredded.’
‘Mother, this isn’t fair,’ Guy protested. ‘Don’t you think you should give Poppy a chance to explain?’
Marina shook her head. ‘Such conduct is indefensible. Get out of my sight, Poppy.’
‘Just a moment, Mrs Carroll.’ A light, girlish voice coming from somewhere behind the tall figure of Hector Pallister caused everyone to turn their heads to look at the petite and pretty blonde whom Poppy had seen earlier in Guy’s car.
‘My mind is made up, Amy.’
‘I understand your feelings, Mrs Carroll,’ Amy said, moving swiftly to Poppy’s side. ‘But haven’t we enough trouble with war being declared just this morning? Isn’t this poor little girl one of the first victims, torn away from everyone she knows and loves and thrown in amongst total strangers?’
‘Steady on, sis. You’ll have us all in tears in a minute,’ Algy said, grinning.
Guy nudged him in the ribs. ‘Put a sock in it, Algy. Let Amy speak.’
Amy slipped her arm around Poppy’s shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. Looking up at her, Poppy was lost in admiration. She was prettier than Joe’s girlfriend, and even lovelier than Ginger Rogers who was Poppy’s favourite film star at the moment, although not so long ago she had thought that Olivia de Havilland was quite beautiful.
‘You all know that I’ve just come home from Switzerland,’ Amy said in a voice that shook with emotion. ‘I went into the sanatorium a year ago and I was alone, away from those I love. Mummy and Daddy were away in Singapore and Aunt Jane was too old and crippled with arthritis to cope with travelling all that way to visit me. I was scared stiff, just as this child must be now. I was amongst strangers and I hardly spoke any French and no German at all because I was a complete duffer at school.’
‘That was quite different, Amy,’ Marina said, raising her voice to make herself heard above the sympathetic murmurs. ‘You were ill and you were there to be cured.’
Edwin frowned at her over the top of his spectacles. ‘Let Amy finish, my dear.’
‘Go on,’ Guy said with an encouraging smile. ‘You’re doing splendidly, darling.’
Amy took a deep breath. ‘I think all that Poppy needs is someone to spend a little time with her. I had to learn the rules and regulations in the sanatorium and it made things easier when I had grasped a little of their language. I think it’s terribly unfair to take a child out of her own environment and expect her to fit in immediately.’
‘Well said, Amy.’ Guy took her hand and raised it to his lips.
Pamela bent down to snatch Rupert up in her arms as if he were in imminent danger. ‘I don’t trust her to look after Baby.’
‘She’s only a child herself,’ Amy said angrily.
‘She’s a wildcat,’ Pamela argued. ‘If she’s prepared to push Violet down the stairs who knows what she might do to my son?’
‘Absolutely,’ Hector said, ruffling Rupert’s hair in an absent-minded way. ‘Can’t be too careful when there’s a little one involved.’
‘I think you’re being very unfair,’ Amy protested. ‘I feel very sorry for Poppy.’
Marina reached for her glass and put it to her lips. ‘So may I take it that you are offering to tame the wild beast?’ She drained the glass and held it out to her husband. ‘I’ll have another, Edwin. I can feel one of my heads coming on.’
Obediently, as if he had been trained to obey the slightest command, he poured her another drink and placed it in her hand. He turned to Amy with a worried frown. ‘My dear girl, are you willing to give up your time and spend it with one young evacuee when there are so many more important things to do now?’
‘You are supposed to be resting, sweetheart,’ Guy added gently.
‘I haven’t forgotten, but if Poppy is prepared to let me help her, I’ll be glad to spend some time with her.’
‘Do you hear that, Poppy?’ Edwin said sternly. ‘Will you be guided by Amy and do just as she tells you?’
‘I’ll do anything she says, sir. She looks like an angel.’
‘She is an angel, kid,’ Guy said, smiling. ‘And if you play her up or tire her out you’ll have me to answer to.’
The awkward silence that followed was broken by a squawk of protest from Rupert who began to wriggle violently in his mother’s arms. ‘I’m taking Rupert back to London with me,’ Pamela said, setting him down on the carpet. ‘I’ve changed my mind about leaving him here. I’d sooner risk the bombs, Mummy.’
‘Quite right, my dear,’ Hector said, eyeing his son, who was trying to climb up his pinstripe trouser leg. ‘Perhaps someone should ring for Violet to take him back to the nursery. Has the boy been fed?’
‘He’s eating with us, darling. It’s Sunday.’ Pamela tucked her hand in the crook of Hector’s arm. ‘And Rupert hasn’t seen his father for almost a fortnight.’
Olive poked her head round the door, peering in nervously as if she expected to find that the invasion had begun and the room was filled with German soldiers. ‘Luncheon is served, ma’am.’ She retreated hastily, closing the door behind her with a dull thud.
‘You’d better return to the nursery, Poppy,’ Marina said, rising from her chair. ‘Violet will bring you your lunch on a tray.’
Poppy made a move to leave but Amy had her firmly by the hand. ‘If you wouldn’t mind too much, Mrs Carroll, I think it would be a nice gesture to allow Poppy to eat lunch with us today.’
Marina looked as if she was about to argue, but Guy forestalled her. ‘It’s not every day we declare war on Germany, Mother. I’m sure that the kitchen is in such an uproar that the poor child wouldn’t get fed if she had to rely on Violet.’
‘The damned Germans have a lot to answer for already,’ Marina said bitterly. ‘Come along, Edwin. The rest of you can do what you like.’ She stalked out of the room followed by her husband.
The rest of the family filed out of the drawing room in a respectful crocodile, which reminded Poppy of the animals going into the ark two by two. She was considering this when
Amy took her by the hand.
‘Come along, Poppy. You shall sit next to me.’
‘Thank you, miss.’
‘You call me either Amy or Miss Fenton-Jones, but as I call you Poppy, which is a very pretty name by the way, I think it only fair you should call me Amy.’
Poppy felt oppressed by the Carrolls’ formal dining room. The vast mahogany table seemed to stretch into eternity. The cutlery was confusing and she watched Amy carefully to see which spoon she used for the soup and which knife and fork was right for the fish course. By the time the roast lamb was served, accompanied by an astonishing array of vegetables, Poppy was feeling more at ease, although she had never seen anything as grand as the feast set before her. She memorised each small detail, from the cut crystal wine glasses which she was not allowed to use, and had to make do with a beaker of water, to the delicately patterned bone china dinner service, which must have cost an arm and a leg. She would write about it in her next letter to Mum and Gran.
After lunch Poppy would have been quite glad to slink away to the nursery but Amy insisted that they go for a walk as the doctors had stressed that she needed plenty of fresh air and exercise. Poppy plucked up courage to ask if they could post her letter and Amy not only agreed wholeheartedly but also persuaded Mr Carroll to donate a postage stamp. Amy and Guy walked hand in hand with Poppy following a discreet distance behind them, clutching the envelope in her hand. She could not hear what they were saying to each other but it was obvious that they were stepping out together in the same way as Joe and Mabel. By the time they reached the post box in the village Amy was breathless and had to sit down on the nearest wall.
‘You’ve overdone things,’ Guy said anxiously. ‘We shouldn’t have walked so far.’
