‘Oh, I’m sure we could do better than that,’ replied Serena. ‘Wouldn’t you rather go in a motorcar?’
Beata too agog to respond, Kit jumped in. ‘You’ve got a motorcar?’
‘Arthur has, yes.’
Kit was unimpressed. ‘I thought you were off to the coast? Going back into York will take you out of your way. Besides, Old William will be here any moment and I’m not about to turn his kind offer down.’
‘No, of course not.’ Serena appeared contrite, then apologized to Beata, who looked disappointed, not understanding why her aunt had forbidden this pleasure.
‘I’ll go make a pot of tea. Beat, you stay and keep our guest company. Serena, would you mind?’ Kit gestured for her daughter to follow.
With an apologetic look at Arthur, Serena shadowed her aunt to the kitchen.
Here, Kit spoke in a confidential hush. ‘Have you any idea of what you could be getting yourself into, love?’
Serena raised an eyebrow for her aunt’s audacity. ‘I beg your pardon, Aunt Kit, but you don’t know anything about—’
‘I do!’ An earnest-looking Kit grasped the younger woman’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t normally interfere but I’m worried for you. I’ve met men like him. He won’t marry you.’
‘For heaven’s sake, what is this obsession you people have with marriage?’ Serena rebuffed Kit’s act of concern, becoming quite annoyed. ‘He and I are merely enjoying ourselves.’
‘Your idea of enjoyment and his might be two different—’ Kit broke off upon remembering that this was the exact phrase that Amelia had used to her in an attempt to stem disaster. Looking deep into Serena’s brown eyes, she recognized that same air of defiance that she herself had worn, the attitude that had heralded her downfall. She must prevent her daughter from making the same mistakes. ‘He’ll use you, then throw you aside like a piece of rubbish,’ she said bluntly. ‘I won’t allow you to waste yourself on him.’
Serena gasped. ‘You won’t allow? I beg your pardon, Aunt, but who are you to say what I may and may not do?’
Kit could have told the truth right then, but she resisted the urge. Besides, there was no time to say anything for Serena added angrily: ‘You know nothing about me!’
Sadly, this was true. Kit became entreating. ‘No, no, you’re right, but if you knew how deeply I care for—’
‘Treating me as if I’m some, some innocent! Well, let me just put you straight, Aunt Kit. I know all about what men want, I learned about it long ago and if it suits me to oblige them then it’s nobody’s business but my own!’ And before a shocked Kit could hand out any more advice she had swivelled on her high heels and minced back to the parlour.
Arthur glanced round in surprise as his companion flopped angrily beside him.
Serena let out a breath and turned to him, murmuring through her teeth. ‘Aunt Kit was just giving me the benefit of her experience; seems to think that running a farm in Yorkshire qualifies her to give advice on how the rest of the world should live.’
He winced and proffered a cigarette, which she refused.
A moment of angry silence followed. But Serena was not one to yield to bad moods and now donned a stoical expression. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to allow it to ruin our day out. We’ll just have our cup of tea and go.’
He nodded, then nudged her, trying to make her laugh. ‘I see now what you meant about your aunt. I’ve never met anyone quite so huge.’ There was awe in his voice.
Almost back to her previous good form, Serena grinned at him.
Then a look of panic crossed his face. ‘You’re not thinking of inviting her to come with us? My springs—’
‘No, silly!’ She elbowed him laughingly. ‘If she wouldn’t fit through the door of a train carriage she sure as heck won’t squeeze in your motorcar.’
‘And here’s me thinking you were exaggerating.’ Arthur shook his head in amazement.
‘I knew you did! That’s why I just had to bring you here and show you. My God, I couldn’t believe it when they manhandled her in with the bicycles and baskets of livestock as if it were normal. I nearly died from embarrassment!’
Beata watched and listened as they continued to denigrate her aunt, speaking quite openly as if the child were not even there. Then Serena turned to address her directly, her air conspiratorial. ‘I’ll bet you kids make all sorts of jokes about her too, don’t you, Beata? Come, share some with us. I won’t tell.’
Beata shrank, not wanting to answer. Though the visitors had their backs to the doorway, she could see Aunt Kit on her way back with a tray of teacups.
‘Come on!’ A devilish gleam in her brown eyes, Serena prompted the child. ‘I’ll bet you don’t know anyone else so enormously fat.’
‘Not outside a zoo, anyway,’ chuckled the man.
Serena had warmed to her subject and was shaking in mirth over some new witticism.
Using her eyes, Beata urged the pair to look behind them, but they remained oblivious until it was too late.
All at once aware of Kit’s presence, Serena looked uncomfortable and began to twitter excuses.
‘Don’t bother, I heard every word.’ The hurt in Kit’s breast was now overtaken by anger. Did they not consider it enough to rob her of what had been meant to be a wonderful afternoon, that they had to callously insult her too? Still smarting over the previous exchange, she was now absolutely furious at what she had overheard, though she controlled it well, sitting down and pouring the tea to all intents and purposes quite calm.
Serena watched her aunt’s hand tremble under the weight of the teapot and experienced a twinge of regret for this poor unfortunate woman. ‘Aunt Kit, we didn’t mean anything it was just – well, you have to admit it was funny, you having to travel in the guard’s van.’
Kit spoke quietly, concentrating on filling the cups. ‘I hope you’ll consider it so hilarious when you’re my age and have the same problem.’
To cover her shame, Serena was flippant. ‘Oh, come, we meant no harm, I was told you appreciate a joke!’
‘Then I trust you’ll appreciate my little joke when you find you’ve been left nothing in my will.’ Kit glanced up from her pouring. ‘Aye, stopped laughing now, haven’t you? First thing tomorrow I’m off to my solicitor’s to change it.’
Serena looked only slightly chastened. ‘Do as you must, but I repeat, it was merely a joke.’
‘It wasn’t an amount to be sniffed at, you know! I was leaving you the entire lot. But not now. Oh, no.’ Kit enjoyed the look of puzzlement this invoked on her daughter’s face. ‘I can see you’re trying to work out why a fat old aunt whom you’ve hardly ever met would want to leave you all her money.’
Serena shrugged, then started to rise, announcing casually as she did so, ‘It’s hardly of interest now you’ve changed your mind. Come, Arthur, let’s not waste any more of the sunshine.’
It was this total lack of concern, the air of boredom on her daughter’s face that finally provoked Kit into taking the path she had avoided for so long, one which she would never have taken had she not been so maddened by anger. ‘I wonder, would you have made such a joke at your mother’s expense? Called her fat and ugly?’
Serena pursed her red lips. ‘That’s hardly—’
‘No, I’d really like to know!’ It was not a maternal way to act, but suddenly Kit wanted her daughter to realize the depth of her hurt and the only way for this was by learning the truth. ‘Would you have made fun of your mother like that?’
Serena tilted her chin impatiently. ‘No, I have to admit—’
‘But you thought you’d make me the butt of your humour because I’m just your silly, fat old aunt. Well, I’ve got news for you, I’m not your aunt, I’m your mother and I am hurt!’
Serena went pale and for a second could utter no response. Then – ‘That’s a pretty low way to get back at me!’
‘I’m not getting back at you. I want you to know the truth! I was the one who gave birth to you, who was force
d to give you away because—’
‘It’s a damned lie! Mother told me the dreadful tales you used to make up to get yourself out of trouble.’
Kit was enraged. ‘Do you honestly imagine I’d lie about something as important as this? I’ll bet you’ve never seen a copy of your birth certificate, have you?’
No, she had not. Smitten by horror, Serena’s mind raced through all her memories, recalling her parents’ reluctance to let her handle any official document even into adulthood. It was they who had organized her naturalization papers – had even acquired a passport for her so that if she wished to travel in the future it was all in hand. Even after they died she had never dreamed of examining the private papers in their desk, to question her heritage, had chosen simply to believe what they had told her, assuming it to have been done from the overprotective urge that they had always displayed towards their only daughter.
Aunt Kit was about to disabuse her of this notion.
‘Why do you think Amelia never had any other children? It was because she and Albert couldn’t have any! So they took mine! Took you away when you were only this big!’ With piteous gesture, she held her hands barely apart to show how small her baby had been when ripped from her arms.
‘Shut up!’ Horrified, Serena covered her ears.
‘Look in the mirror!’ urged Kit, forgetting that she was lined and grey. ‘We’ve got the same hair, the same—’
‘I’m nothing like you!’ Serena’s voice was filled with disgust and loathing at being likened to such a gross spectacle of obesity.
‘Like it or lump it, it’s the truth!’
‘No! I don’t want to hear it! Take me away!’ Serena screamed almost hysterically at her male companion, whose face showed he was regretting his involvement with her. When she dashed from the house and along the rutted track he moved swiftly afterwards.
Kit’s voluptuous breast was still rising and falling when the sound of a car engine ripped through her thoughts, taking Serena out of her life again. Oh, dear God, dear God, what had she done?
During all this Beata had sat there frozen to her chair and was still too shocked to move.
Only now did Kit’s devastated gaze fall upon the little girl, glistening with furious tears. ‘Eh dear … what have I gone and done, Beat?’
Moved by her air of poignancy, Beata came immediately to Kit’s side and gripped her hand.
Kit’s expression was fast turning from one of anger to despair, her voice hollow. ‘I think I can hear Old William coming.’
Beata craned her neck to look anxiously through the window. Sure enough, a farm cart was wending its way up the track.
‘Best get yourself off, love.’
‘I don’t have—’
‘Just go to your party, Beat!’ A tormented Kit squeezed her eyelids shut. ‘Please…’ Then she opened them again, trying hard to convey sincerity. ‘Have a grand time, love.’
Wanting to appear reluctant, though in truth desperate to get away, Beata forced herself to creep towards the door. ‘If you’re sure. See you tomorrow, then, Aunt.’
Kit performed a weary nod, then called, ‘And, Beat!’
The child turned.
‘No need to mention any of what’s just gone on to your father.’ Beata gave a nod, then finally left, closing the door as quietly as she could.
Alone, Kit was suddenly overwhelmed by pain and nausea. Whether or not it was the argument with her daughter that had caused it she did not know, but it seemed real enough, a bubble of bile forming in her throat. Overtaken by dizziness and grasping items of furniture to aid her passage, she made for the bed by the fireplace. Perhaps if she were to lie down for a moment it would go away … though the awful scene with her daughter never would.
* * *
As Aunt Kit had requested, upon arriving in York Beata made no mention of what had occurred to anyone, and as the thrill of the party took hold it soon left her mind altogether. Her siblings were as delighted to see her again as she was them, and even more pleased with the fancy dress costumes they were wearing. These had been made by various aunts, though obviously some collusion had taken place for the Kilmaster children found themselves representing the League of Nations, each sporting a different national dress and going on to share first prize.
Aunt Charlotte too had made no small contribution, helping their father to string his house with bunting, acting as waitress to the children, ready to dole out jelly and custard, attending to their every whim and thoroughly enjoying herself.
‘You look as if you’ve won a hundred pounds.’ Seated next to her in the evening sunshine, the celebrations still going on, this was Probyn’s way of paying compliment to her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, unable to bring himself to say she looked pretty, for Charlotte would never be that.
‘Oh, I haven’t had such a good time in ages! And it’s lovely for the children to be with their brothers and sisters again.’ She smiled at him warmly.
‘Aye, if only for the day.’ He smiled back. ‘I wish it could be permanent.’
Charlotte’s voice turned poignant. ‘If only Grace could be here too.’
‘Yes, she’d no doubt be playing the piano for that lot.’ He gestured at the couples dancing along the street to the music of a gramophone. ‘Or dragging one of us up for a jig.’
‘I haven’t danced in ages.’ Charlotte sounded wistful. ‘In fact the last time was with Grace.’
Both smiled at fond memories.
Then Probyn asked, ‘Do you think she’d mind if her husband were to dance with her best friend?’
‘I think she’d approve greatly!’ Wearing a broad smile, at least as broad as her tiny mouth could deliver, Charlotte allowed him to lead her into the middle of the street to join the revellers.
Unaware of how risky was this bodily contact for a man who had been deprived for months, the children seemed to enjoy the sight of their father and aunt dancing, and went to twirl around them, calling encouragement for them to repeat the episode again and again. It was their attitude which set the idea working in Probyn’s head, causing him to become smilingly thoughtful as he danced. Out of breath and his legs aching, after only a couple of sessions he begged to be allowed to return to his seat, and Charlotte sat beside him, remaining there until it was time to go home.
‘Aw, do we have to go to bed?’ wailed the children as the tables were cleared and carried indoors along with the chairs, the litter-strewn pavement swept. ‘It’s still daylight.’
‘It might be light but it’s past ten o’clock,’ said Probyn. ‘Come on now, don’t sulk. You’ll be back in your own little beds for the night.’
‘Squashed up, you mean,’ grumbled Maddie. ‘I have a bed of me own at Aunt Rhoda’s.’
‘Oh, you’ll be pleased to go back there tomorrow then, madam?’ teased her father.
She sought to placate him. ‘No, I’d rather stay here.’
He patted her. ‘Well, it might not be long as you think before we can arrange it. Kiss Aunt Charlotte good night and then up to bed.’
Receiving the younger ones’ kisses, Charlotte then turned to Probyn. ‘Thanks for a wonderful day, Probe.’
‘Nay, you’ve helped in the making of it, I only put up some Union Jacks.’
‘You risked your life dancing with my big clod-hopping feet,’ replied Charlotte, ‘and I truly appreciate it.’
‘They’re not that big.’ It was clearly a lie.
Charlotte planted a kiss on his cheek. ‘You’d go well in the diplomatic service, Probe. Good night!’
‘Why don’t you come next Sunday for your tea?’ blurted Probyn, all at once lifted by her affectionate gesture. ‘If you’ve nothing more important to do.’
Noting something different in the way he addressed her, Charlotte turned to look at him, studying his face. ‘Thank you … I’d like that.’
Probyn said he would look forward to it, and suddenly for him next Sunday could not come quickly enough.
* * *
The following day, his children went back to their respective foster parents, each with mixed emotions. For Beata, it was a confusing time; still blighted by the tragedy of her mother’s death, she was also happy that her father, whom she adored, had given her half a crown for her birthday, with which she had bought a book. Clutched tightly against the jarring of the cart on which she travelled, it was blue with gold lettering and amongst its stories was ‘The Little Match Girl’, which she intended to read to her aunt this evening.
Thanking the carter who had given her a lift, Beata scampered into Aunt Kit’s house, calling, ‘I’m back, Aunt!’ – full of things to tell Kit about yesterday’s street party. ‘Ooh, sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’ She stopped abruptly at the sight of Kit still in bed with her eyes half open and her mouth ajar. But then she saw that her aunt was fully clothed and not in the bed at all but merely upon it. The fire was out too, and there was the most awful smell as if the midden men had been.
Butterflies in her stomach, the book clutched under one arm, the nine-year-old wandered up to make closer inspection, performing a nervous darting motion with her fingers to encounter a hand that was only faintly warm. When the hand slipped from the bed to dangle lifelessly the shock of it caused her to back away, heart thudding. She had retreated almost to the door when someone opened it and barged into her, causing her to scream in fright.
‘Gee, I’m so sorry!’ After a distressful night Serena had come back to interrogate Kit but was now forced to accommodate the child. ‘I didn’t mean to startle—’ She broke off and followed Beata’s pointing finger to the one who lay by the inert fire.
Relieved at having someone older to take charge, the anxious child looked to the woman for help, but Serena appeared to have been rendered dumb. She just stood there, glued to the spot, still wearing her summer hat and gloves, her jaw hanging loose. Several moments passed. With no advice forthcoming, Beata knew that something had to be done. Despite her own upset, she laid her book on a chair and moved to the door.
To reach the nearest cluster of buildings meant a lengthy dash across a field and by the time she had arrived and knocked at the door of a cottage it took her a while to catch her breath, allowing the woman who opened it to forestall her.
A Different Kind of Love Page 34
