Maisie had picked up on the serious talk that was going on in the rectory between Luke and Patience, and sometimes Audrey was included as well. She knew it was something to do with Audrey having no relations now that both her parents had died, and they were talking about her becoming Luke and Patience’s daughter. Although she couldn’t be a real one, surely? To be a real daughter she would need to have come there as a baby, wouldn’t she? Maisie was confused and, though she knew it was very wrong of her, a little bit jealous too.
‘Aunty Patience, can I ask you something?’ she said, one evening in October. The evenings were no longer light, but Maisie liked the drawn curtains keeping out the darkness, and the intimacy of the glow shed by her bedside lamp on to the silky blue eiderdown.
‘Of course you can,’ said Patience. ‘I hope you know that you can ask me anything, Maisie. What is it?’
‘Well, it’s about Audrey… Is she going to be your daughter? I mean…will she be called Audrey Fairchild instead of Audrey Dennison? I feel a bit…well, a bit muddled up.’
Patience smiled fondly at her, then she put an arm around her. ‘You mean…you’re feeling a little bit upset? A wee bit…jealous, perhaps?’
Maisie nodded silently. There was a few seconds’ pause, then she said, ‘It’s real horrid of me, isn’t it? I know it is. But…if it had been me – I mean, if it had been my mum that had…gone – would you have wanted me to be your daughter, like you want Audrey?’
‘But of course we would,’ replied Patience. Maisie knew at once that there was no doubt that Aunty Patience meant what she said. ‘You surely didn’t need to ask that, Maisie? Listen…we have grown to love both of you very much. But you still have your mother. And you love her, don’t you?’
‘Yes…yes, I do,’ answered Maisie.
‘And now she is living up here, very near to us. You are really quite a lucky girl, Maisie.’
‘Yes…yes, I know I am.’
‘Whereas poor Audrey, she has been left an orphan, hasn’t she?’
An orphan… The words sounded dreadful to Maisie’s ears. Orphans featured in story books; there were quite a few in the Angela Brazil books, but those were usually rich, posh orphans. And there were poor ones too, like that little Oliver Twist who lived in that awful place and never had enough to eat. She hadn’t read the book; Dickens’s books were too difficult for her at the moment and the printing was hard to read, but she knew the story. She couldn’t think of Audrey as being like that, and yet she was an orphan too.
Maisie looked at Patience intently, a new and surprising thought suddenly occurring to her. ‘Aunty Patience, I’ve just been thinking…Audrey’s really been dead lucky, hasn’t she? I mean, if her mum hadn’t sent her up here with the evacuees, she’d still have been in Leeds, wouldn’t she? And she wouldn’t have known you and Luke, and she’d have had nobody to look after her now, would she? And…and she’d have had to go to an orphanage…’
Patience laughed a little. ‘Your reasoning is spot on, Maisie. Yes; I expect that is what might have happened. But we can’t go through life saying ‘if this’ and ‘if that’. We must be thankful that things have turned out the way they have for Audrey, and that Luke and I are only too pleased to adopt her. I suppose we might say that this is one good thing that has happened as a result of the war. It has been very confusing for her as well, you know. She still misses her mum and dad, but she is beginning to understand now what is going to happen. And I believe she is happy about it. So you must try to be happy as well, my dear.’
‘Yes…yes, I am. Really I am,’ said Maisie. ‘Will she be called Audrey Fairchild?’
‘I expect so,’ replied Patience. ‘That is what she will be called, legally.’
‘And…and will she call you and Luke, Mum and Dad?’
‘I very much doubt it,’ smiled Patience. ‘I guess we will always be Aunty Patience and Luke. But Audrey knows that her home is here with us, for as long as she wants it to be, and that is the important thing. Now…’ Patience kissed her cheek. ‘Off you go to sleep, and no more worrying!’
It might have been possible to imagine, in the northern dales, that there was no war going on at all. The skies above Middlebeck were clear and blue, or grey, as the autumn progressed, with never a sign of enemy aircraft. It was only the blackout and the rationing of food that made the inhabitants aware of the true situation; and, of course, the news reaching them every day of the bombing, not only of London, but of other large cities, Birmingham, Manchester, and Sheffield, and then the dreadful news in November of the devastation of Coventry. The major ports were suffering, too; Liverpool, Glasgow, Bristol, Portsmouth…and Hull. The thoughts of many of the folk of Middlebeck were with the evacuees who had come from Hull and had, all too soon, returned home again.
Patience opened the door one morning in early December to find an elderly woman standing there. She was clearly distressed and it took Patience a few moments to remember who she was.
Then, ‘It’s Mrs Roystone, isn’t it?’ she said. The lady was a fairly frequent attender at St Bartholomew’s church, but Patience and Luke had met her and her husband more particularly when little Timothy Clegg, their evacuee, had had the accident in the builder’s yard. ‘Do come in, my dear, and tell me what is the matter.’
The woman sat down or, rather, collapsed, into an easy chair. She gave a deep sigh, then blew her nose and wiped away her tears. ‘It’s dreadful news, I’m afraid, Mrs Fairchild. You remember Ivy and little Timothy, our evacuees? Well, I’ve just heard that Ivy has been killed in a bombing raid, and Timothy…’
‘Oh no, not both of them! Timothy as well?’ breathed Patience.
‘Well, no; not Timothy, thank God,’ replied Mrs Roystone. ‘That is, if we can thank Him for owt at the moment, but that’s another matter. No, it was Ivy, and her mam and dad as well. The three of ’em have been killed. A direct hit on their house, but by some miracle little Tim escaped. He’s in hospital. He’s got a broken leg, and he’s in shock, of course, but…poor little lad, he’s an orphan now, Mrs Fairchild. And God only knows what we can do about it.’
‘Tell me,’ said Patience, gently, ‘how do you know all this? If I remember rightly those two children went back under rather a cloud. The mother was annoyed, wasn’t she, about the accident, and insisted on taking them home with her?’
‘Aye, you’re quite right. But she came round, like, afterwards, did Mrs Clegg. She knew she’d been a bit hasty and that Bill and me weren’t to blame. She kept in touch with us, and she must’ve left word that if owt were to happen, then we had to be told. It was a friend of hers that’s wrote to us. Oh dear, Mrs Fairchild…I’m getting all upset again.’ She sniffed and wiped her eyes, then opened her bag and took out a letter. ‘Here; read it for yourself…’
Patience read the letter. It was a very sad one, from Mrs Clegg’s friend. She was a woman called Enid Howarth who lived in the same area of Hull, but a few streets away, and her home had escaped the bombing. This time, she added. The raid in which most of the Clegg family had been killed had been a sudden one and many folk had been unable to get to their air raid shelters.
‘So poor little Tim is now an orphan,’ she wrote, ‘and Sheila and Joe (Mr and Mrs Clegg) have no close relations, at least none that have come forward, to look after him. He is fretting, poor little chap. He’s upset about his mam and dad and his sister, of course, and he keeps asking for his Aunty Mabel and Uncle Bill. That is why I am writing to you, Mrs Roystone, and also because Sheila said would I tell you if anything happened. She said to me many a time since this bombing started that she wished she had left the children where they were, safe with you up in north Yorkshire. But it seems as though it was not to be. I was wondering if you could see your way to having Timothy with you for a little holiday before it is decided what is to be done for him. There is some talk of him going into an orphanage. Me and my husband don’t want that to happen, but we have quite a big family of our own. So have Sheila’s other friends and we re
ally don’t know what to do for the best. I hope you will be able to help. It is all so very sad…’
Mabel Roystone looked anxiously at Patience whilst she read the letter. Then she said, ‘It seems to me as though this woman, this Enid Howarth, is asking if we will do summat for him. Permanently, I mean, not just for a holiday, but I don’t see as how we can. Bill and me, we’re well into our sixties now. We had kiddies of our own – three of ’em – but they’re all married now and have their own families. We can’t start again, not at our age.’
‘No…no, I quite understand. Of course you can’t,’ replied Patience. ‘It’s so terribly tragic. It is just the same thing that happened to Audrey, except that was not the result of a bombing raid. You know, I expect, that Audrey is living with us permanently now? We are adopting her.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard about that. Poor little lass…but she seems very happy with you, Mrs Fairchild, and that other girl that’s with you, that Maisie. Ivy was real fond of those two little lasses, and Doris from t’ farm. Dearie me, I wish they’d never gone back.’
‘I know,’ said Patience gently. ‘Believe me, I know how you feel. Luke is out at the moment, but I will tell him what has happened, and I’m sure he will agree to go down to Hull and bring Timothy up here for a holiday. He could stay with you and your husband, could he, for a little while?’
‘Of course; we’d love to have him, but not for good, if you see what I mean. He was a dear little lad when you got to know him. But ever so timid and shy and – oh dear! – he used to get that upset if he thought he’d done owt wrong. He needs a loving home, Mrs Fairchild, not to be put in one o’ them orphanages. I’m sure they do their best, but it can’t be right for Timothy.’
‘We will sort something out,’ said Patience. ‘Don’t you worry. First of all we must make sure that it is in order for us to have Timothy up here for a holiday. My husband will see to everything… Now, Mrs Roystone, you and I are going to have a cup of coffee before you go back home.’
Patience waited until Maisie and Audrey had returned to afternoon school before telling her husband the tragic tale. She had not yet told the girls the sad news about Ivy. Luke smiled knowingly at her.
‘I can guess what you are thinking,’ he said. ‘Little Timothy, as well as Audrey? Am I right?’
She nodded slowly and soberly. ‘Yes…I think so, Luke. I feel it would be right. The child needs a home and someone to love him. We have plenty of room…and enough love to go round, haven’t we?’
‘Indeed we have, my dear. Yes…I, also, think it would be the right thing to do. But we would need to go into it more thoroughly, as we did with Audrey. There shouldn’t be any problems. There must be scores of orphans – hundreds, possibly – and the powers that be will be only too pleased if suitable people wish to adopt them. First things first, though. We must try to find the words to tell Audrey and Maisie that Ivy has been killed…’
Both girls burst into tears at the news, but were then relieved to hear that Timothy, at least, was safe and relatively unhurt. Their motherly instincts came to the fore when they were told that he would be coming up to Middlebeck to have a holiday with Mr and Mrs Roystone, and then, possibly, he would stay at the rectory for a little while. That was as much as they needed to be told at the moment.
‘He’s a nice little boy,’ said Maisie tearfully. ‘Aw…what a shame! Poor little Timothy. He used to cling to Ivy; d’you remember?’
Audrey nodded. ‘Mmm…We’ll have to be big sisters to him, won’t we, while he’s up here?’
‘Aunty Patience,’ said Maisie. ‘Will you go and tell Miss Mellodey and Miss Foster about Ivy? We don’t want to tell them, do we Audrey? It’s so sad.’
‘Yes, I will,’ replied Patience. Sad news is par for the course these days, she reflected. How she wished there could be good tidings, just for a change.
The children of Standard Four were distressed when their teacher told them that Ivy Clegg had been killed in a bombing raid. Several of the girls shed tears, as they had when they were told about Miss Mellodey’s fiance.
At playtime Gertie Flint and Norma Wilkins came over to talk to Maisie, Audrey and Doris. Following their overture earlier in the year to make friends with their former rivals, there had been no dramatic upsurge of friendliness, but neither was there any cat-calling and spitefulness as there had been before.
‘We feel awful,’ said Norma, ‘don’t we Gertie?’ Of the two of them it was Norma who had the finer feelings; she was the one who had always been slightly less aggressive.
‘Yeah…s’pose we do,’ said Gertie, but a trifle half-heartedly. ‘Y’see…Norma thinks it’s our fault, about Ivy.’
Maisie guessed at once what they meant. ‘You mean because we had that snowball fight an’ Tim got hurt, an’ then their mum took them home again?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Norma. ‘If that hadn’t happened, Timothy and Ivy might still’ve been here, and then Ivy wouldn’t’ve been killed. An’ I feel awful ’cause we were so horrid to poor little Tim.’
‘But he’s not been killed has he?’ said Gertie. ‘And we don’t really know what would’ve happened. They might have gone back to Hull later, even if they hadn’t gone at Christmas.’
‘Aunty Patience says you can’t keep saying ‘if this’ and ‘if that’,’ said Maisie in a grown-up manner. ‘We feel dreadful too, me and Audrey and Doris, ’cause we were in that snowball fight as well an’ everything went wrong. We didn’t mean for Tim to get hurt, none of us. But he’s coming back here for a holiday when he comes out of hospital. So you’ll be able to make it up to him, won’t you?’
‘Yes, we’re going to be like big sisters to him, aren’t we, Maisie?’ said Audrey.
‘Oh…all right,’ said Gertie. ‘We’ll try and be nice to him. Like Maisie says, we were all to blame, I suppose. But we’re going to be friends now, aren’t we?’
‘Oh goody,’ said Norma. ‘I’m glad he’s coming back. I liked little Tim really, but he was a bit of a softie.’
‘Yeah…that’s why we teased him,’ said Gertie. ‘But happen he’ll have grown up a bit now. Do you lot want to have a go with our skipping rope before we go in?’
‘No, thank you; I don’t think so,’ said Maisie seriously. ‘We’re feeling too upset, like, at the moment, to play games. Perhaps tomorrow…’
‘There’s a friend for little children,
Above the bright blue sky…’
they sang in Sunday School the next time they met. Maisie’s thoughts flew to Ivy, especially when they sang the verse about the ‘home for little children’.
‘No home on earth is like it,
Nor can with it compare;
For everyone is happy
Nor could be happier there…’
Was Ivy really happy up there in heaven she wondered? Happier than she would have been in her own home? And…was there really a friend up there, above the bright blue sky, caring for all the children? Maisie tried so hard to believe it, but sometimes it was all so very, very difficult to understand.
Chapter Twenty-One
Archie Tremaine raised his glass. ‘So let’s drink, shall we, to peace? Peace…in the near future, God willing. And to Victory for our brave soldiers, sailors and airmen…’
‘Peace…’ they echoed, and ‘Victory…’ as they all lifted their glasses and took a sip of the sherry, the wine which was always provided by Archie and Rebecca for the Christmas toast.
The company, this Christmas of 1940, differed slightly from that of the year before as the rectory folk were celebrating in their own home. Around the fully extended table in the dining room of Tremaine House twelve people were gathered; Archie, Rebecca and Bruce; Lily, Maisie, Joanie and Jimmy; and five land girls who had decided not to go home for Christmas as they lived too far away, but to take their leave at another time.
Everyone agreed that the meal was superb, just as sumptuous as it had been the year before. But Rebecca knew that there was less fruit in t
he pudding, less cream in the brandy sauce, and that the cake, to be cut at teatime, was covered this year with mock marzipan. They had still had turkey to eat, raised on Walter Nixon’s farm; but the Ministry of Food was insisting that more and more land must be ploughed over for the growing of essential food crops. Folk living in the country areas were fortunate and they knew it, but in the towns and cities the shortages were felt more keenly.
Maisie and Bruce, sitting next to one another, exchanged smiles – a rather shy one, on Maisie’s part – as they, too, raised their small glasses and took a sip of the sweet sherry. Maisie liked the taste, but her mother would let her have only a titchy amount. It made her feel all warm and glowing inside; but she knew that this feeling was not due entirely to the sherry. She was realising that she liked Bruce very much indeed. She was far too young, she knew, to think of him as a boyfriend; she was ten and would be eleven in May whereas Bruce was almost sixteen. But one of the reasons she liked him so much was because he treated her as though she was as grown up as he was and not just a silly kid. They met infrequently, though, with him being away at boarding school for the greater part of the year.
‘I believe you have another little visitor at the rectory now?’ he said. ‘Timothy Clegg? I was really sorry to hear about Ivy. She was your friend, wasn’t she? I remember seeing her with you and Audrey and Doris, but I don’t think I ever saw her brother. Will he be staying long?’
‘He’s here for good; at least I think so,’ replied Maisie. ‘I think Aunty Patience and Luke are going to adopt him, like they did with Audrey. They haven’t said very much, not to me and Audrey…but I can tell,’ she added meaningfully. ‘There’s a lot of talk going on.’
Above the Bright Blue Sky Page 32
