‘Gran, there’s something I need to talk to you about.’
She was up and dressed in a skirt and cardigan, sitting in a chair by the window. ‘Come on in, then,’ she said. ‘Don’t be shy.’
My heart was thumping. She still looked so frail, the skin sunken between her collarbones and the neck of the jersey gaping, her bony wrists sticking out of the sleeves. Was Mum right? Would this shock be too much? I’d been expecting Ralph Chadwick to write back to me, not turn up without any warning; I could have shown Gran his letter and she would have had time to decide whether she wanted to see him. But here he was in person, and he’d be coming back down to the gate lodge as soon as he found out where we were. I had to prepare her.
‘It’s to do with your friend, Iris Baker,’ I said, kneeling by Gran’s chair. ‘Remember when you showed me her grave? Well, when you were ill, you said something about her baby.’
‘Did I, indeed?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘And what did you make of that?’
I decided to stick to the bones of the matter. ‘The thing was, you mentioned his name. It was Ralph. Ralph Chadwick, wasn’t it?’ She didn’t reply, but I pressed on regardless. ‘His name rang a bell because the thing is, Gran …’
‘What?’ she demanded. ‘What is this wretched thing? Come on, out with it.’
I took her hand. ‘Well, he came to the Hall one day, with his wife. You were resting and I showed them around the house.’
Her fingers tightened around mine. ‘No,’ she said distantly. ‘It’s not possible. It couldn’t be him. Not Iris’s Ralph. Not here, not after all this time.’ She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘How do you know? What did he tell you? Does he know about her?’
‘This Mr Chadwick’s father was a vicar not far away,’ I said carefully, ‘and he stayed at the Hall in the war when it was a hospital but he didn’t say anything else about it. Certainly nothing about Iris.’
She sank back in the chair. ‘Dear Lord. I thought he must have been killed in the war like all the others. Can it really be true? After so long?’
‘He was nice, Gran. He tipped me half a crown.’
She shook her head. ‘That little mite! I’ve prayed for him every day of my life. I smuggled him out of the workhouse, you know, wrapped up in a shawl under my cloak, and took him to my village. Little Rising, it was. But after my mother died I didn’t go back to the place so often and then the Chadwicks passed away and nobody could tell me where he was. It had to be kept a secret, you see, because of the family. I didn’t tell a soul, not even William.’ She seized my hand again. ‘It’s been eating me up all these years. Where is he, Isobel? Where’s Ralph? I have to see him!’
‘He’s here,’ I said. ‘Up at the house. I expect he’ll be down any minute.’
She didn’t sound at all surprised. ‘Bring him to me as soon as he arrives.’ She leant back and closed her eyes. ‘But I should like a drop of brandy from the corner cupboard first. Mr Oakes has kindly left a quarter bottle behind.’
I poured her a small glass and went to wait for our visitor at the front door. Mr Chadwick was not the first to arrive: Mrs Hathaway pipped him to the post, abandoning her motor-car skew-whiff on the grass verge beyond the house. I’d kept my promise and run to the village telephone box to ring her before doing anything else. ‘I won’t see Polly till after he’s been,’ she said, installing herself in the kitchen. ‘She’ll want a little time now to collect her thoughts.’
I started to fill the kettle. ‘Let’s hope the shock won’t be too much for her.’
Mrs Hathaway flapped a hand dismissively. ‘Don’t you worry. It’d take more than a minor commotion like this to knock our Polly off her stride.’
The time crawled past as we waited, sitting opposite each other at the table. I was praying Mum wouldn’t arrive first; it was too much to hope that Mr Chadwick would have come and gone by the time she came back from the village. Then at last we heard a knock on the front door and there they were: Mr Chadwick and Dr Hathaway. ‘I was up at the Hall, seeing Lionel,’ he said, ‘so I thought I’d bring this gentleman down myself. I believe you know each other.’
‘Isobel? I came as soon as I could.’ Mr Chadwick held out his hand. ‘Thank you for your letter. We have a lot to talk about.’
I remembered his open, honest face - particularly the piercing blue eyes - but knowing he was Iris Baker’s son made it even more appealing. Shaking his hand felt like reaching back into the past, to a time when Gran had been young and the Hall was in its heyday.
‘It’s my granny you need to talk to. She knows you’re coming.’ I hesitated. ‘She’s been ill, though, like I said in my letter.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I won’t stay long. As soon as she seems tired, I’ll leave.’
Mrs Hathaway was lurking in the kitchen doorway. ‘Show him in,’ she said. ‘Then we’ll all introduce each other afterwards.’
I opened the door to the front room but Mr Chadwick walked through on his own. This was a private moment, it seemed to me; Gran wouldn’t have wanted an audience. The Hathaways and I went into the kitchen and made conversation to show we weren’t eavesdropping. ‘Do you know what all this is about?’ Dr Hathaway asked his mother. ‘Sounds very mysterious. I thought I’d better stay to make sure Mrs Stanbury’s all right.’
‘Two words,’ she replied significantly. ‘Iris Baker.’ I could tell the name meant something to him, but at that very moment the back door opened and Mum came in.
‘What is it?’ She looked at each of us in turn. ‘You’re all very serious. Is there something I should know?’ And then, as she heard the voices, ‘Who’s that talking to Ma?’
‘It’s Ralph Chadwick,’ I told her. ‘He came back.’
Her shopping basket fell on the floor. ‘Oh, Isobel! You silly girl! What have you gone and done?’
Seventeen
I have little doubt that Hitler knows quite well that we mean business. The only question to which he is not sure of the answer is whether we mean to attack him as soon as we are strong enough. If he thought we did, he would naturally argue that he had better have the war when it suits him than wait until it suits us.
Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, July 1939
‘The issue we’re so delicately skirting around,’ said Mrs Hathaway, resting both hands flat on the table, ‘is not so much Mr Chadwick’s mother as his father. Who happens to be Edward Vye, my older brother. The sixth Lord Vye, Lionel’s father,’ she added for my benefit.
Dr Hathaway spluttered over a mouthful of tea. ‘Good Lord.’
‘You knew all along!’ Mum stared at her. ‘How? I thought I was the only one who’d found out.’
‘Thirteen-year-old girls take in a lot more than people give them credit for,’ Mrs Hathaway said. ‘I had my suspicions at the time, so a few years later I asked the housekeeper. She was a sensible woman, Mrs Henderson, and she knew I’d be discreet. It was dreadful, what happened to Iris. Made me ashamed to be part of the family.’
‘With good reason.’ The sharpness in Mum’s voice had me wincing, but Mrs Hathaway didn’t seem to notice.
‘By that time it was too late to help the poor girl,’ she went on, ‘but we ought to do right by her son. He and Lionel are half-brothers, after all. He doesn’t have any claim on the title, being illegitimate, but he ought to have a stake in the house.’
‘But we can’t let Ma find out!’ Mum spoke in a fierce whisper. ‘She adored Lord Vye - Edward Vye, I mean - worshipped the ground he walked on. If she learned he was the father of Iris’s baby, it would kill her. That’s why I didn’t want you raking up the past, Isobel. Why couldn’t you listen to me for once?’
‘Because I thought she’d want to see him,’ I protested. ‘And surely Mr Chadwick should know who his mother and father were. Why do we have the right but not him?’
‘Don’t be so impertinent.’ She glared at me. ‘I’m only thinking of Gran. She mustn’t be upset, especially not now.’
I jumped up f
rom the table. ‘Then don’t go dragging her off to London when she doesn’t want to go, just because it suits you!’
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d gone too far. Mum flushed with anger. ‘Go to your room at once,’ she said in an icy voice. ‘And don’t come down until you’re prepared to apologise for such appalling behaviour.’
She was quite justified: I had been unforgivably rude. I just couldn’t bear the way she kept lecturing me, as though she were the only one who knew what was best for Gran. I was certain Gran would want to see Ralph Chadwick as much as anyone in the world, and she had. What I’d have given to be a fly on the wall during that conversation! A hum of voices drifted up from downstairs. I was too embarrassed to venture out and sat glumly on the edge of the bed, wondering what was happening below.
Half an hour or so later, I heard Mr Chadwick emerge from the front room. From what I could make out, the Hathaways were going to take him back up to the Hall. Perhaps they were planning to introduce him to Lord Vye? Eventually the front door slammed behind them and the house was quiet. It took another couple of hours, though, before I could summon the courage to go downstairs and say sorry.
Mum was scrubbing the oven with Vim, her hair tied up in a flowery headscarf. ‘I should think so!’ She sat back on her heels. ‘In front of the Hathaways, too. I was ashamed of you, Isobel - there’s no other word for it. What on earth possessed you?’
I tried to explain. ‘You made me feel so awful. I love Gran too, Mum, and I sort of understand how she feels about Swallowcliffe. Of course I shouldn’t have put it like that, but I really don’t feel we ought to take her to London if there’s any way round it. No matter how much you hate being beholden to the Vyes.’
‘You deliberately disobeyed me! I told you not to try and find Ralph Chadwick and you went right ahead and did it. Goodness knows how.’ She went back to the oven, her arm flying to and fro like a piston as tiny flecks of Vim paste splattered the kitchen floor. ‘You should have left well alone. How do you think Gran’s going to feel when she learns she’s been wrong about Iris all her life?’
I couldn’t see that mattered so much, not compared with the joy of seeing Iris’s son, but Mum didn’t wait for an answer. Abruptly, she threw the scouring cloth into the sink and peeled off her rubber gloves. ‘But I’ve had a talk with Dr Hathaway and he thinks much the same. So I’ve written to the school, asking for two weeks’ emergency leave. I can set the boys some work to do here and you’ll just have to study by yourself. And I’ll be paying the Vyes rent, so everything’s fair and square. Don’t think it’s anything to do with your little outburst, though,’ she added darkly. ‘Speak to me like that again and you’ll have your bottom spanked, big as you are.’
‘Yes, Mum.’ I backed out of the room, careful to sound penitent rather than triumphant. Thank goodness! Gran would be staying here for a while and so would we; there might even be a chance to find out how the story with Ralph Chadwick would unfold. ‘Can I see Gran now?’ I asked from the doorway.
‘Not for the minute. She’s resting and I don’t want her disturbed. You can take yourself off somewhere - see if Mrs Oakes has anything for you to do. There’s a pasty on the table for your dinner.’
I set off up the drive with my pasty wrapped in greaseproof paper and an apple, feeling I’d got off lightly. Sunshine was turning the blades of grass into so many shiny emerald needles and I couldn’t bear the idea of going straight to Mrs Oakes and doing housework. Instead, I skirted the house and climbed up to sit on the bench at the bottom of the Fairview Tower. There’d be such a lot to tell Andreas when I next saw him! Maybe Lord Vye was right about destiny. It seemed to me that Ralph Chadwick was meant to come to the Hall at this particular time, even though I’d stepped in to bring it about - just like Gran smuggling baby Ralph out of the workhouse. Two little figures were walking along the terrace, far below. It was difficult to tell for sure from this distance, but I thought Lord Vye might have been showing his newly found half-brother around the grounds.
I walked on for ages through the fields, looking for a good spot to eat my picnic and thinking about life. Mum didn’t really care whether I helped Mrs Oakes or not, she only wanted me out from under her feet, so I didn’t feel guilty about pleasing myself all afternoon and going straight back to the gate lodge in the early evening. The boys were weeding the front garden and Mum was nowhere to be seen. Quietly, I opened the door to Gran’s room. She’d gone to bed in a fleecy bedjacket, but she wasn’t asleep.
‘Izzie! I’ve been waiting for you.’ She patted the bed. ‘Come here and talk to me.’
‘Was it all right, Gran?’ I bent over her. ‘Seeing Mr Chadwick, I mean.’
‘Better than that. We had such a wonderful talk, dear. I told him all about her.’
I started to pull over a chair from the window, but it was a heavy old thing. ‘Leave that,’ Gran said, patting the mattress. ‘There’s plenty of room here. Kick off your shoes and lie next to me where I can see you properly. I’ve something to show you.’
When I was settled, she held out a silver locket. ‘This was my mother’s. When you press this button on the top, it opens up. See?’ Inside was a photograph of a girl with a frilly servant’s cap perched on her fair hair. ‘That’s Iris.’ Gran passed me the locket for a closer look. ‘Wasn’t she lovely?’
I stared at the small picture. There was such an arresting expression on Iris’s face: bold and wary at the same time, as if her mouth couldn’t help smiling but her eyes knew the danger. ‘Ralph brought the locket with him,’ Gran said, ‘so I’d know he was the one. It was my mother’s. I put in Iris’s picture and left it with Mrs Chadwick all those years ago so he could see what his own mother looked like.’ She closed my fingers over the silver frame. ‘I want Grace to have this when I’m gone, and then it will come to you. Give Ralph the photograph, though.’
‘Oh, Gran! Don’t even talk about it.’ I passed the locket back to her and arranged the coverlet snugly over my legs. ‘Are you sure you’ve got enough room?’
‘Plenty.’ There was hardly anything of her under the blankets.
I gazed out of the window. The sky was quite beautiful: a pale milky blue with marshmallow clouds flushed pink and gold from the setting sun. Gran stroked my hair. ‘Dear Isobel,’ she said softly. ‘You’ve been a great blessing to me.’
‘And vice versa.’ I wanted her to know that. ‘We’re lucky, aren’t we?’
‘I should say so.’
It was so comfortable, lying there, that my eyes began to close; Gran was dozing, too. The sky gradually turned darker, swallowing up the clouds. ‘Listen!’ she said at one point, turning her face towards the window. I could hear a twittering, squeaking sound as dozens of black arrows darted about the house eaves, swirling though the velvety dusk. ‘The swallows are here.’ Gran smiled at me. ‘Summer’s coming.’
I watched them with a wonderful sense of contentment. We were all together, and safe, and everything would turn out fine. A short while later, some instinct made me turn to Gran. Her head was slumped forward a little on her chest and she didn’t look comfortable.
‘Are you all right?’ I asked, adjusting the pillow behind her.
‘Perfectly,’ she whispered, but her voice was very faint and now her breathing was beginning to sound strange, irregular. I sat up, wondering if I should call Mum.
There was no time. Gran suddenly raised herself and looked past me into the depths of the room, her eyes shining with joy and one hand lifted a few inches, still holding the locket, as though greeting an old friend she hadn’t seen for some time. The next second, all that light and life had left her face. She fell back against the pillow, the locket slithering through her fingers on to the floor, and I knew she was gone. Laying my head against the soft woollen bedjacket, I wept - not for her, but for myself.
Gran’s funeral was held at the church in Stone Martin. We sang her favourite hymn, ‘Jerusalem’, Reverend Murdoch said something about a sense o
f duty and a life well lived, and then Lord Vye read a lesson from the Bible. Aunt Hannah and Uncle Alf had travelled down from Yorkshire and both the Hathaways were there, along with the Swallowcliffe staff and pretty much the whole village. It was a blessing Mr Tarver didn’t turn up. I couldn’t have borne to see him, knowing what he’d put Gran through. And Lady Vye was still in London with Tristan and the girls; they were staying with the Gordon-Smythes until the Dower House was ready. Andreas came, though, wearing a special cotton glove to protect his left hand. I saw a few people turn around to stare at him as he took a seat near the back of the church. His face looked much better but the mark of the fire was still on it, and perhaps always would be.
After the service, we trooped along to the village hall for refreshments. I stood pouring endless cups of tea, lost in a fug of misery. It was impossible to believe Gran had gone. I’d never be able to talk to her again, never share with her the good things and the bad that would happen in my life, never have her warm smile to comfort me.
‘I’m so sorry, Isobel.’ Dr Hathaway was holding out two cups for a refill. ‘I’ve known your grandmother since I was a child. We shall all miss her enormously.’
I put down the teapot. ‘May I speak to you for a moment, privately?’ The thought had been tormenting me that I could have been responsible for Gran’s death; that if I hadn’t brought Ralph Chadwick back to the Hall, she might still be alive. We found a quiet corner and I asked the question, dreading what he might say.
Dr Hathaway considered it seriously. ‘To be honest, I think she could have gone at any time. She was very weak. But I saw her after Mr Chadwick had left and she seemed peaceful rather than agitated.’ He put an arm around my shoulder as we walked back to the throng. ‘Sometimes people need permission to die. I had the feeling your grandmother’s mind had been put at rest, and that counts for a lot.’
Isobel's Story Page 17
