by Lily Baxter
‘Can’t I sleep in the nursery?’
‘Not until I’ve given Miss Stokes the sack, unless you want to share a bed with her, and she has whiskers growing out of her nose and on her chin. I don’t think she’d make a very exciting bedfellow.’
‘Thanks,’ Poppy murmured. ‘I think I’ll take Guy’s bed.’
Pamela led the way to a room on the first floor. ‘You’ll have a nice view of the lake in the morning. I’m afraid there’s no hot water. The beastly fuel shortages mean we only have the boiler going twice a week. It was miserable in the winter without the central heating, but I only came down a couple of times. Now it looks as though I’m going to be stuck here for the duration; such a bore. Anyway, goodnight, Poppy. I hope you sleep well.’
The door closed and Poppy was alone in Guy’s room. The faint and achingly familiar scent of him assailed her senses. Moonlight slanted through the square windowpanes, making trellised patterns on the carpet. She felt that she had walked into a surreal world where everything was painted in shades of silver and grey. The furniture was undoubtedly Edwardian: heavy, masculine and uncompromising. A desk stood against the wall between the two tall windows, and a leather captain’s chair was set at an angle as if the person who had been sitting in it had risen and left the room without bothering to put it straight. Moving like a sleepwalker, Poppy went to the window and looked out at the ploughed field which had once been grassy parkland with the glassy shimmer of the lake beyond. A shadowy black shape slunk across the carriage sweep, its telltale brush warning that the fox was on the prowl for its supper. She drew the curtains and was instantly plunged into darkness.
Feeling her way across the room she switched on the light. The eerie dreamlike quality of moonlight was replaced by the glow of a hundred-watt bulb, and the room was suddenly bathed in colour. The soft shades of blue and old gold in the curtains, carpets and bed covers were exactly what she would have imagined in Guy’s room. Whether or not he had chosen them for himself she had no idea, but the subtle hues suited his character: conservative, reserved and understated.
She undressed and slipped on her flannelette pyjamas before climbing into bed and snuggling down beneath the Egyptian cotton sheets that smelt even more strongly of Guy. As she laid her head on the pillow she found a comfortable hollow where his head must have rested on his last night in Squire’s Knapp. She closed her eyes, wondering if she had just made the biggest mistake of her life in returning to a place with such mixed memories.
‘Poppy, wake up.’
Someone was calling her name and shaking her. Poppy opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light. ‘What?’
‘I’ve brought you a cuppa.’ Jean put the cup and saucer down on the bedside table with a clatter. She perched on the edge of the bed, smiling broadly. ‘So you came then. We didn’t think you would.’
Poppy raised herself on one elbow. ‘What time is it?’
‘It’s half past eight.’
Poppy sat up and reached for the tea. ‘What about Mr Carroll? Is there any news?’
Jean’s face crumpled. ‘That’s what I came to tell you, love. He passed away in the night. They telephoned from the hospital in the early hours.’
‘No.’ Poppy shook her head in disbelief. ‘He can’t have gone just like that.’
‘Careful, you’ll spill your tea.’ Taking it from her, Jean put the cup back on the table. ‘I know it’s upsetting. He was a lovely man and it’s been a terrible shock to all of us. It doesn’t seem fair that he’s gone and the old witch is clinging to life like a blooming limpet.’
Poppy stared at her in surprise. ‘That’s not like you, Jean.’
‘You’ve been away from here for a long time. She’s become more and more unreasonable. I think power had gone to her head.’
‘How bad is she? Pamela was a bit hazy about Mrs Carroll’s condition.’
‘Bad enough, but I think the old cow is making the most of it. Anyway, I’ll leave you to drink your tea. We can chat later but you’re needed downstairs as soon as possible. Mrs C hasn’t been told yet and the brat is playing up this morning. I don’t envy you your task, I really don’t.’
Poppy swung her legs over the side of the bed. ‘All right, I’ll get dressed right away. Is Pamela with her mother?’
‘She went to the hospital first thing. She left a message saying we weren’t to tell Mrs C anything.’
‘I understand. What about Rupert?’
‘He needs a firm hand, or a good spanking, I don’t know which, but he’s not the sweet little boy he was when you left. He’s a four-year-old monster, and that’s no exaggeration.’ Jean made for the door. ‘I’ll leave you to it. Come down to the kitchen when you’re ready and have some breakfast. You’ll need all your strength if you’re going to cope with the Carroll family.’
In the kitchen Mrs Toon was sitting at the table with an untouched cup of tea in front of her, her head bowed and her shoulders hunched. She looked up when Poppy entered the room and her eyes were reddened from crying. She rose to her feet and held out her arms. ‘Poppy, thank God you came.’
Poppy crossed the floor to give her a hug. She had not expected such a welcome, but neither had she thought she would arrive to find the household teetering with the news of Mr Carroll’s sudden death. ‘Of course I came,’ she murmured. ‘Although I don’t know what good I can do.’
Mrs Toon sank back on her chair and Poppy noticed that she had lost weight. The skin on her face and neck seemed to have stretched and hung in folds like old elastic. She took a hanky from her apron pocket and blew her nose. ‘I never thought I’d say it, but I miss Olive and Violet. They weren’t the most willing helpers but they did their bit even if I had to keep an eye on them all the time. I’m stretched to the limit these days, Poppy. What with doing invalid food for Madam upstairs and trying to make meals out of next to nothing, it’s a nightmare. Then there’s that new nanny. Don’t get me started on her; she’s an idle, stuck-up piece. You’d think she was a duchess, not a blooming nursemaid.’
Poppy refilled her cup with tea. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to take some of the pressure off you, Mrs Toon. I’m not much good at cooking, but I can peel vegetables and do the running about for you.’
Mrs Toon raised the cup to her lips. ‘You always were a good little girl, and now you’re grown into quite a young lady. Jean tells me you’re a nurse.’
‘Only a probationer as yet, but I want to finish my training and then I’ll be a properly qualified nurse.’
A bell jangled and Mrs Toon raised her eyes to peer at the board on the wall above the door. ‘That’s her in the nursery. Nanny Stokes. If she thinks I’m going up all them stairs to find out what she wants, she’s got another think coming.’
The bell rang again. ‘I’ll go,’ Poppy said firmly. ‘I want to meet Nanny Stokes.’
‘Best take your tin hat with you,’ Mrs Toon said with a hint of her old spirit. ‘She’s got a temper on her, has that one.’
‘So have I when roused,’ Poppy muttered as she headed for the back stairs. She could hear Rupert screaming even before she reached the final flight leading up to the nursery. She raced up the remaining stairs and burst into the room without knocking.
Nanny Stokes had Rupert over her knee and was whacking him with a slipper. His screams were genuine and tears poured down his cheeks as he fought and struggled.
‘Bite me, would you, you little beast?’ Nanny Stokes lifted her arm as if to strike again but Poppy sprinted across the floor and snatched the slipper from her hand.
‘How dare you hit that child,’ she cried, tossing the offending item of footwear across the room. ‘Put him down at once.’
Nanny dumped Rupert unceremoniously on the rug, rising to her feet and folding her arms across her chest. ‘And who do you think you are, barging into my nursery and telling me what to do?’
Poppy bent down and picked Rupert up. He was heavy and she staggered beneath his weight, but he clung to her, sobbing agai
nst her shoulder. She held him in her arms, rocking him as she had when he was a toddler and had fallen and hurt himself. ‘There, there, Rupert. Poppy’s here.’
‘P-Poppy,’ he repeated, hiccuping. ‘P-Poppy, she hit me.’
‘Well she won’t do it again.’ Poppy glared at Nanny Stokes. She would have liked to take the slipper to the awful woman and beat her until she cried for mercy. ‘I suggest you get your things together, because Mrs Pallister will send you packing the moment she gets home.’
‘And who are you to lay down the law?’ Nanny moved closer to Poppy, causing Rupert to scream with fright.
‘Get away from him,’ Poppy snapped. ‘Touch him again and I’ll report you to the police for child cruelty.’ She hitched Rupert onto her hip and stalked out of the nursery. If she stayed a moment longer she would do something she would regret later, and anyway it was more important to look after Rupert than to argue with a sadistic old woman who should never have been allowed to look after a dog let alone a small defenceless child. No wonder Rupert had turned into a brat if that was the kind of treatment to which he had been subjected behind closed doors. She carried him downstairs to the kitchen and sat him on the table.
‘Good Lord, what’s the matter with him?’ Mrs Toon rose to her feet, staring at the sobbing Rupert in dismay. ‘He hasn’t been told, has he?’
Poppy shook her head, sending her a warning glance. ‘No, nothing like that. I caught the nanny beating him with a slipper. I’ve told her to leave, but of course I haven’t got any authority and she knows it.’
A frantic thudding on the ceiling sent a shower of plaster floating down on them. Mrs Toon looked upwards, shaking her head. ‘That’s Madam. She’s got a stick and she bangs the floor when she wants something. I can’t manage them stairs again, Poppy. Could you run up and see what she wants?’
Poppy thrust Rupert into her arms. ‘Mrs Toon will look after you for a moment, sweetheart. Poppy will be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’ She kissed him on his hot cheek, and ignoring his outstretched arms with difficulty, she hurried from the kitchen for the second time.
She found Mrs Carroll in the drawing room, slumped in her usual chair by the fire, which had died down to embers and ash. Outside the sun was shining but there was a noticeable chill in the large room. Marina turned her head slowly, glancing at Poppy without any noticeable glimmer of recognition. Her handsome features were distorted on one side of her face and her left arm hung limply at her side.
Poppy approached her cautiously, not wanting to startle her, but Marina’s expression remained impassive. ‘Mrs Carroll, it’s Poppy.’
Marina nodded wordlessly.
So far so good, Poppy thought, moving nearer. ‘Can I get you anything?’
Again a nod.
Poppy had had a little experience of working with stroke victims, and she studied Marina’s face. She was staring at the empty cup and plate on a table at her side. ‘Would you like something to drink.’
Marina’s lips moved but all she managed was a sound between a grunt and a hiss.
‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
Marina raised her right hand and pointed to the plate.
‘And something to eat?’ Poppy noted the flicker of an answer in Marina’s hazel eyes, and she was moved with a sudden and deep feeling of pity. The helpless woman seated in the chair was a mere shadow of the person who had treated her as an unnecessary encumbrance when she was little more than a child. Putting her feelings aside and adopting a professional approach, she laid her hand on Marina’s with a brief comforting touch. ‘I’ll see to it right away, Mrs Carroll.’
Edwin Carroll’s funeral took place on a warm, sunny morning in the village church which was filled to capacity. Dressed in black from head to foot, Marina was wheeled down the aisle to the front pew by Guy, who had been granted twenty-four hours’ compassionate leave. Algy had also managed to get time away from the aerodrome, much to Jean’s delight. Poppy could not help wondering what Marina thought when she saw them sitting together in the family pew. She would disapprove, that was certain, but trapped in her lonely inner world there was nothing she could do about it.
Following behind Pamela and Hector, Poppy took a seat in a pew on the opposite side of the aisle. She had been back less than a week but already she had assumed much of the responsibility for the running of the house as well as taking care of Rupert and attending to Mrs Carroll’s more intimate needs. Pamela was prepared to sit with her mother and made an effort to keep her spirits up by endless chatter, which Poppy could see drove Marina almost to screaming point, but Pamela refused to do anything that entailed physical contact. It was left to Poppy to bathe and dress Marina and to help her on and off the commode. Such tasks came under the heading of nursing duties, Pamela said firmly. One did not embarrass one’s parent by treating her as if she were a helpless baby.
Poppy might have resented Pamela’s cavalier attitude had it not been for the fact that she was obviously deeply distressed by her father’s sudden death. Leaning on Hector’s arm she was weeping openly, although even in her grief she still managed to look as though she had stepped straight from the pages of Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar. Rupert had been judged to be too young to attend the service and had been left in Mrs Toon’s care. He had been a different child since Nanny Stokes’ dismissal so everyone said, although to Poppy he was still the dear little boy she had known and loved. He followed her round all day and she guarded their time together jealously. They resumed their walks in the grounds and fed the ducks daily. When she could get away from the house, Poppy took him to help the girls with their chores on the farm, and he loved nothing more than being in the stables with the horses. Poppy had promised him that on her return from the church she would take him for a ride on Goliath, which would serve two purposes: it would keep Rupert amused and she would not have to face Guy.
After their uncomfortable last meeting she did not quite know how to treat him, and he had barely spoken more than a few words to her. He had arrived early that morning but had spent most of the time with his mother. Poppy had kept out of the way. She had Rupert to look after and Mrs Toon had needed help to prepare a buffet lunch for the mourners. Out of necessity it was to be a simple affair consisting of a couple of chickens that Edie had somewhat unwillingly surrendered for the meal, although the birds were past laying and likely to die of old age quite soon anyway. Growing up in the East End, Edie had never had contact with animals other than household pets, but since coming to Squire’s Knapp she had developed a passion for the poultry in her care and protected them as if she were the mother hen.
‘You’d think I’d asked her to sacrifice one of her children instead of a couple of old boilers,’ Mrs Toon said as she basted the birds. ‘I had to stew them for hours last night or they’d have been too tough to eat.’
Poppy listened sympathetically, but she was tempted to tell Mrs Toon that they lived like lords here in the country compared to city people who had to eke out their meagre rations every week. She sat Rupert on a stool at the table and showed him how to mix the potato salad, but even that did not pass without a comment from Mrs Toon.
‘Bottled salad cream,’ she muttered, eyeing the mixture in the bowl. ‘Time was when we made mayonnaise with olive oil and egg yolks. I can’t abide that shop bought stuff.’
‘I’m sure no one will notice,’ Poppy said, shaking her head at Rupert as he licked the spoon.
Mrs Toon sniffed and turned her attention to the egg and cress sandwiches. ‘At least the bread is homemade.’
‘Can I have one?’ Rupert held out his hand.
Hastily wiping a telltale smear of salad cream from his cheek, Poppy gave him a sandwich.
‘You shouldn’t feed him between meals.’ Mrs Toon removed the plate to a side table and covered it with a damp tea towel. ‘It’s as well Mr Carroll can’t see what we’re putting before the mourners. It’s not like the old days, Poppy,’ she said, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘We’d have had a
whole ham, an assortment of cold meats and poultry, and salads of every description, not to mention syllabubs, trifles and jellies made with champagne. This is the sort of spread I’d have done for the staff, not for the gentry.’
This conversation came back to Poppy as she stood dutifully by the table in the dining room while the guests filtered in to help themselves from the buffet. In spite of Mrs Toon’s reservations it was an ample meal, elegantly served on silver salvers with white damask table napkins neatly folded by Mavis who had been called in at the last moment to help lay the table. Edie had elected to take Rupert to the stables, which robbed Poppy of her means of escape. Pamela and Guy were in constant attendance on their mother and Hector appeared to be doing his best to circulate amongst the mourners. Algy was moving about amongst the guests, his normal exuberance suitably subdued for the occasion. He had taken Poppy aside whilst they were waiting for the main body of mourners to arrive at the house, and had welcomed her return with such sincerity that it had brought tears to her eyes. Really, she thought, Amy and Algy were two of the nicest people she had ever met. He had kissed her on the cheek and told her that his sister would be proud of her, but his kindness only underlined Guy’s chilly reception. She did her best to melt into the background but this was not difficult as most of the guests walked past her as if, like a well-trained servant, she was invisible.
The mourners continued to arrive. Poppy had not seen as many people in the house since Guy and Amy’s engagement party, although the atmosphere now was subdued and the mood sombre. It seemed that everyone was here, from the town dignitaries and the members of the various committees that Marina had once chaired to the local doctor and the Carrolls’ tenants from the village. The postmistress was drinking sherry with the vicar’s wife and there was a fair representation of the Guppy family. Violet and Nancy were dressed to the nines in very short skirts, and unless Poppy was mistaken they were wearing nylons provided by generous American GIs.
