Isobel's Story

by Jennie Walters

  ‘You’re a good girl, Izzie. I wouldn’t have missed our time together for anything.’

  ‘Well, it’s not over yet,’ I said desperately. ‘Now don’t wear yourself out. Go back to sleep and you’ll feel better when you wake up.’

  ‘No, I want to talk. I want you to understand.’ She squeezed my hand, then let it go. ‘I’ve had a happy life, all in all - so many wonderful memories to look back on. But I miss your grand-dad, and my darling boy, Tom. Lately I’ve been feeling them very close by. If I went off to join them, would it be such a bad thing?’

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Gran! I can’t bear it.’ I lowered my head so she couldn’t see the tears welling up in my eyes. ‘It would be a bad thing for me, a terrible thing.’ I couldn’t say any more.

  ‘Oh, you’ll be all right. You’ll be sad, of course, but you’ve got your mother to look after you and the rest of your life to be getting on with.’ She coughed. ‘Maybe I will have that drink of water after all.’

  I went to pour a glass from the jug on the side table, trying to control my feelings but within a whisker of throwing myself on the bed and crying like a baby.

  She took a sip. ‘Of course it’s wrong to have favourites, and don’t ever breathe a word of this to your aunties, but I've always had a soft spot for Grace. Such a fierce little thing, she was! So proud. I tried to protect her, but it didn’t do any good. She had to have her own way.’

  Just like you, I thought, though I knew better than to say so.

  Gran lay back on the pillow. I’d just decided she’d gone back to sleep when she suddenly said, ‘There is something you could do for me, dear. You know that pretty writing desk in the far corner of the library?’ I nodded. ‘Well, if you take the top righthand drawer out, there’s a little compartment behind it. There are some letters in there. If anything should happen to me, will you give them to your mother? She’ll understand.’

  ‘What shall I tell her?’ I asked, but Gran didn’t answer. She was soon properly asleep while I sat in the chair, watching her. I wanted to stay close by for ever, but a little while later Mum came in and told me she would take over, in a voice that couldn't be argued with.

  ‘You can go down to the gate lodge for a rest as well,’ she said. I didn't want to - not when my head was buzzing with so many thoughts and unanswered questions that going to sleep would be out of the question - but she stood at the door and watched me go; I didn’t even have a chance to call by the library and look for the mysterious letters. There was no hurry to find them, though. Nothing was going to happen to Gran if I could help it.

  It felt good, walking down the drive in the fresh, faintly smoky air, away from the chaos and muddle of the house. I’d managed to force the suitcase open and change into my own clothes which was an important step towards feeling more normal. Pushing my hands deep into the pockets of my coat, I stood looking at the front door of the gate lodge and wondering what to do. Taking a rest seemed feeble, unadventurous; I wasn’t an invalid any more, and there was a shilling buried amongst the crumbs and fluff in my lefthand coat pocket. I turned my back on the lodge and headed away from Swallowcliffe towards the bus shelter. Gran wasn’t the only person on my mind. An image kept flashing into my head of Andreas, alone in hospital with no one to visit him, no one who really cared how he was - and his mother, hundreds of miles away, not even knowing what had happened to him.

  It took nearly an hour for the bus to arrive, another half hour as it pottered along the narrow country lanes before eventually arriving in Hardingbridge, and twenty minutes on top of that for me to walk from the bus stop to the hospital. ‘Visiting time’s nearly over,’ said the stern-faced lady behind a desk in the hall. ‘You’ll have to hurry. Which ward do you want?’

  ‘I’m not sure. The men’s ward?’ Maybe they wouldn’t even let me go there on my own. ‘I’ve come to see my … cousin,’ I added. ‘He’s about sixteen or seventeen.’

  ‘Don’t you know which?’ She looked at me over her glasses. ‘Try Carnegie first, the children’s ward: end of the corridor, turn right, right again and up the stairs. If he’s not there he’ll be in the men’s. Faraday, it is: straight on, left at the end of the corridor, first right and second on the left.’

  Andreas wasn’t in Carnegie, which took me a good five minutes to find. By the time I’d made my way to Faraday, I was so flustered and so worried visiting hours might have ended for the day that I simply marched straight in. Several elderly men were asleep, sunken mouths open and teeth in a glass on the bedside table; a few had visitors sitting quietly on iron-framed chairs next to the bed. A large man wearing a neck brace was surrounded by his family - wife seated, children standing in a line from tallest to shortest - whose heads immediately swivelled around to stare at me as I walked down the room. I didn’t care. Andreas was sitting in bed in a far corner of the ward, wearing a faded pyjama top with both sleeves cut away. His left arm and hand were completely covered in bandages while his right arm was strapped down to the wrist, and the skin on one side of his face was red and tight, glistening with some kind of ointment. It was painful even to look at.

  He stared at me too, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. ‘Isobel! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Thought you might want a visitor.’ I took the chair, trying not to notice how loud our voices sounded in the sepulchral hush. ‘Sorry I haven’t brought you anything. It was a spur of the moment decision.’

  ‘That’s all right. It is good to see you. Please, tell me how is everybody?’

  I leaned forward. ‘Nancy’s going to be fine. Isn’t it wonderful? You saved her life and I told Lord Vye so. Has he been in to see you? He said he would.’

  ‘Thank you. I worried about her.’ He shifted in the bed, and I could tell the effort hurt. ‘No, Lord Vye has not been here. He is busy, I think. What happens with the house?’

  ‘Well, you haven’t got a bedroom any more and the studio’s gone. That wing’s pretty much gutted but the main house isn’t too badly damaged. It’s mostly the back staircase and the night nursery that were affected. The firemen think a window at the top of the stairs must have been open and the air coming in sucked the fire up there.’ So Eunice had told us over dinner; trust her to have found everything out. ‘But how are you feeling?’ I tried not to look too obviously at his bandages.

  ‘Not so bad. They will keep me here for a week or maybe longer. I am sorry for my face. Does it look bad?’

  ‘No, not at all! Just a bit red.’ I wanted to hug him. ‘You were so brave, bringing Nancy out of the nursery. How did you find the courage?’

  ‘There was no time to think, and I knew she would be under the bed. That was my place to hide when I thought the Nazis will come.’ He smiled at me lopsidedly. ‘You were brave, too. What happens to the girl who was afraid of everything?’

  ‘But I couldn’t go in there. If it had been up to me - ’ A scraping of chairs on the linoleum floor made me look around; people were gathering up their bags and saying their goodbyes. A clock on the wall read five to four, and visiting hours were obviously coming to an end. There was something I had to ask. ‘Andreas, can you tell me what you remember about the fire? From the beginning, when it started.’

  ‘I was deep asleep,’ he said. ‘When I wake up, the studio already burns very badly and I cannot go through. I run outside and see the fire up the side of the house, but there is no way in - the front door is locked. I have to break a window in the kitchen and climb by that. The back stairs are on fire, so I run up the main stairs and along the passage to find you. And the rest you know.’ He looked at me curiously. ‘Why do you ask this question?’

  I tried to keep my voice light. ‘Oh, no reason in particular. Only trying to get the picture straight.’

  He must have read something in my face. ‘No, that is not all. A policeman came here this morning and ask me these same things.’ His voice grew louder, too loud for the quiet room. ‘You think this fire is because of me, don’t you? It is something I
have done!’

  One of the nurses looked over at us, then glanced pointedly at the clock. It was two minutes to four and I was the only visitor left. ‘No, that’s not what I think at all,’ I assured him, getting up. ‘Of course it was an accident, I know that. But you see, apparently the fire started in the studio and nobody else apart from you ever uses it except Lord Vye, and he wouldn’t be there in the middle of the night, would he? Maybe if you’d left one of the lamps burning or something…’

  ‘I never do this!’ Andreas pushed himself bolt upright with his better arm, glaring at me. ‘Always I am careful.’

  ‘I know, that’s why I wanted to ask you,’ I gabbled. The nurse was walking towards us, her shoes squeaking over the linoleum floor. ‘Try to think, Andreas! Can you remember anything else that might explain it?’

  ‘Time for you to be going, young lady.’ I felt a hand under my elbow that meant business.

  ‘Just one minute, please, dear Nurse Phillips.’ Andreas gave his crooked smile and I could see her melting. ‘I must say this very important thing to my friend, Isobel.’

  She folded her arms. ‘You can have one second. And it better had be important.’

  I bent down beside the bed. ‘For some time, I think someone comes near the studio at night,’ he said urgently. ‘I hear a noise in the garden - two, maybe three times. And this night, I see from outside that a window of the studio is open when always I close them. What if somebody else comes in and starts the fire?’

  ‘But why would anyone do that? It doesn’t make sense.’

  He grabbed my arm with his free hand. ‘It is all I can think. Please, Isobel! You must help. They must not think this bad thing is because of me. If they send me back to Germany then it is the end of everything. There is nothing I can do here in this hospital. Can you find out what happens? Promise me you will!’

  Fourteen

  Advice to Refugees

  Do not criticise England or the English. Do not explain, however truthfully, that certain things are much better managed in Germany. The English are quite capable and quite ready to do their own criticism of their Government and institutions.

  From a leaflet given to refugee children arriving at Dovercourt camp in 1938/9

  All the way back on the bus, I thought about what Andreas had asked. How could I possibly find out whether someone had broken into the studio and started a fire, accidentally or otherwise? It crossed my mind that maybe this idea of the open window and an intruder was a story he’d come up with to distract attention away from himself. No, I knew him better than that. If he’d had anything to do with the fire, he’d have said so, I was sure of it. Even if it meant he might have been thrown out of the house, though? Possibly sent back to Germany? I sat there with the sunlight warm on my face, and wondered.

  When I arrived at the Hall, Mum was in her usual place, the chair next to Gran’s bed. Tendrils of hair stuck out all around her face and she looked harried. ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked. ‘Is everything all right?’

  Gran was shifting about uncomfortably and her face seemed subtly different; she was pale, but patches of colour burned in each cheek. There was a bowl of water and a face cloth on the table beside her and a smell of eau de cologne in the air.

  ‘She’s running a temperature,’ Mum said. ‘Dr Hathaway called in this afternoon and he says she must have developed an infection. I’m glad you’re here, Izzie. What are the boys up to? Are they all right?’

  Luckily I’d called in at the gate lodge and seen Stan, Alfie and Tristan absorbed in an elaborate game with an army of lead soldiers which Mr Oakes had brought down from the house. The firemen had rescued a wooden toy chest from the schoolroom, as well as the rocking horse and the dolls’ house. Miss Murdoch’s charts and mottoes on the wall were black with smoke, but who cared about those? ‘The boys are fine,’ I told Mum. ‘Busy down at the lodge with Tristan.’

  She let out a sigh of relief. ‘That’s one thing less to worry about. Lady Vye came in earlier as well, to see how your granny was doing. She’s come up with a plan. Mrs Oakes is going to take over as housekeeper for the time being, so she and Mr Oakes will be moving up to the house. It makes more sense for them to be here, keeping an eye on everything, and we can look after Gran in the gate lodge. The only trouble is, Dr Hathaway says she’s too ill to go anywhere for the moment. We’ll have to wait till her fever’s broken.’

  ‘How long will that be?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe a day or so.’ She handed me the bowl. ‘Could you get some more cold water, lovie? This is tepid already.’

  When I came back, Gran was tossing and turning on the pillow. ‘Don’t burn the sausages,’ she muttered. ‘And there mustn’t be any white stripes either. Nice and golden all over.’

  ‘She’s been saying all sorts of strange things,’ Mum said, smiling in spite of herself as she wrung out the face cloth. ‘Just now it was something about breaking the china and getting her cards from Lady Vye.’

  ‘It’s nice of Lady Vye to let us stay in the gate lodge for a while, isn’t it? Where you used to live.’ That seemed surprisingly thoughtful of her.

  Mum leant forward and gently sponged Gran’s face. ‘I suppose so,’ she muttered. ‘But all this bowing and scraping and having to be grateful to the Vyes - I can’t bear it. I wish they didn’t have to be involved.’

  ‘What’s going to happen in the long run?’ I asked. ‘To us, I mean. There’s only another week or so left of the school holidays.’

  ‘We’ll have to see how Granny is. Maybe by then she’ll be well enough to come back to London for a while.’

  I couldn’t imagine Gran in London for more than a few days; it wasn’t her kind of place. Whenever she came to see us, she and Mum usually ended up tight-lipped by the end of the visit, and I knew they were both relieved when it was over. And what about Mum’s job? How could she work and look after an invalid at the same time? I took a deep breath. ‘I think Gran would sooner stay where she is.’

  ‘She may not have much choice. I can’t look after her here. What else are we going to do?’ Mum tipped the flannel back into the bowl, stifling a yawn. She didn’t protest when I offered to take over so she could go off for a rest or a cup of tea.

  Time passed very slowly. It felt as though the whole world had shrunk to the size of this one room and nothing mattered beyond it. I dozed in the chair for a while, on and off, but couldn’t let myself fall deeply asleep. Gran was restless and when I wiped her face, the cloth grew warm between my fingers. I couldn’t believe she’d gone downhill so quickly. The worst of it was, she seemed so agitated and uncomfortable. ‘I did what I thought was best,’ she said at one point. ‘You can’t blame me for that.’

  ‘It’s all right, Gran.’ I smoothed the hair off her burning forehead. ‘No one’s blaming you for anything.’

  ‘You told me to do it, Iris,’ she said, looking straight at me. ‘I only took the baby because you asked me to. And I found a good home for him, truly I did!’

  What was that? She must have thought I was her old friend, Iris Baker. So Iris had had a baby, and Gran had taken him away somewhere? There was probably one reason for that: Iris couldn’t have been married. She must have been one of the fallen women Reverend Murdoch collected for. I stared at Gran, wondering if any of this could be true or if it was all a product of the fever. ‘Here, have a drink,’ I said, holding the glass to her lips. Half of me wanted her to stop this incoherent rambling; the other half was eager to find out more.

  Gran pushed the glass away. ‘Mrs Chadwick knows all about you, Iris, and I gave her the locket for Ralph when he’s older. She’s a kind woman, she’ll care for him like one of her own. He’s at a vicarage. That’s nice, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it’s lovely,’ I said, since she seemed to want an answer.

  She sank back on the pillow. ‘May I have some elderflower cordial? Nobody makes it like you.’

  ‘Here we are.’ I offered her the glass again and this time she took a
sip, though it made her cough. She turned her head to one side, closed her eyes and didn’t say anything else.

  It was strange: the name Chadwick sounded familiar to me. Ralph, too. Ralph Chadwick - now where had I heard that name before? Suddenly I sat bolt upright in the chair, the skin on both arms tingling as though an electric current had passed through them. There had been a Mr Chadwick here, in this very house! I’d shown him around with his wife, the day we heard Hitler had invaded Czechoslovakia. What had she called him? Something beginning with R, I was sure of it. And he was the right kind of age to be Iris’s son - about ten years older than Mum.

  No, it was too much of a coincidence; there were bound to be a number of R. Chadwicks in the world. I racked my brains to come up with some more details about the man I’d met. He’d been in the army and stayed at the Hall when it was a convalescent home, that was it. Had Gran seen him again then? There must have been so many patients passing through, she might not have known all their names. He’d just retired from teaching, his wife had said. She’d also said - and now a tingle danced the length of my spine - that his father had been the vicar of a nearby village.

  ‘He’s at a vicarage. That’s nice, isn’t it?’

  So Iris’s son had come back to the house where his mother used to work. He didn’t know anything about her or the Swallowcliffe connection, it was obvious, and Gran had had no idea he was there. We had to bring them together!

  ‘What are you looking so excited about?’ Mum was back, carrying a basin, a clean face cloth and a towel on a tray.

  ‘Gran’s been talking about the old days. Do you know she had this friend called Iris Baker? We visited her grave when I first came down here.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard about Iris.’ Mum put the tray down on a side table. ‘What exactly did Gran say?’

  I hesitated, suddenly shy about raising such a sensitive matter. ‘Well, apparently Iris had a baby and Gran took him away to a vicarage to have him adopted.’