He opened it, flattened it on the table and saw that it had been written by, of all people, the woman he so disliked, the new Lady Campbell. He read: Please inform Leading Stoker Andrew Stewart that his mother is at present a patient in the Morningside Nursing Home. After this came the address and, Mrs Stewart will be convalescing for the next few weeks after a severe attack of influenza. Please inform Leading Stoker Andrew Stewart that it is unnecessary for him to make the journey to Ingersley.
This last sentence was both odd and superfluous; Ingersley was the last place he'd want to be unless Ma was there. He drank the tea quickly and went out to the telephone kiosk, where he put in a call to Mr Davidson's house. He had been unable to get through at nine o'clock this morning. Now he drummed his fingers on the black metal coin box while he waited. There was no reply. He pressed button B, got his money back and tried again. Still no reply.
'Blast!' he said under his breath to cover his anxiety with anger. 'Where are they?' They could be at some church thing, or rehearsing. But why had she not written?
He left the gloomy station and stepped out into daylight and the freezing air of a January day. He ran up the ancient stone steps that led, wide and steep, to Princes Street, where he caught a tram to the Morningside convalescent hospital. There, he found Ma in a three bed ward on the third floor, sitting propped up, tucking into a plate of ham and chips. She looked thin and pale, but was full of good humour.
'Andrew!' she cried in delight. 'You're an officer.'
'Not yet, Ma.' He kissed her. 'Acting petty officer. But I'm going for a commission!' and while he stole chips and bread and butter from her tray he told her all about the forthcoming months in Portsmouth. 'I'll probably get a week's leave when it's over,' he said as he swilled down a cup of tea. A nurse appeared bringing another tea tray, for himself.
'Ta!' He smiled at her and saw a pink blush come to her face. Then he said to his rna, 'So. Tell me all about it. How long have you been here in all this luxury?'
'Three days,' she said. 'It is luxury.'
'Who's paying for it?'
'Lady Campbell.'
‘She's had a change of heart then,' he said. Ruth Bickerstaffe had never done a good deed in her life, in his opinion. There must be a reason for this uncharacteristic act. 'When do you go back?' he asked, and followed it quickly with, 'I don't want you to go back. Leave Ingersley if it's making you ill.'
'Lady Campbell came down to the ward to see me.'
'Ward?'
'At Ingersley. It's a hospital.'
‘Right. I remember.' He said, 'You must have been very ill.'
Ma had gone even paler. She closed her eyes for a few seconds then leaned back against the pillows to get her second wind. 'Lady Campbell came down to see me in the ward of ten beds that used to be the drawing room. She said, "Mrs Stewart, influenza is a serious illness, ye ken.’ I said, ‘But wee Bessie's gone doon. How can ye manage?’She said, Your health is mair important, Mrs Stewart! Besides, we are at war. We all have to go short of something, ye ken.’
Andrew grinned at Ma's attempt at a cut-glass accent but said, 'Some hope of her going without anything.'
Ma's face was all alive, remembering. She told him not to be so cynical, then she was off again, retelling what she saw as her moment of glory. 'It was a surprise. She said, "I've been forced out of my ain harne, Mrs Stewart. I must needs look after myself under vairry cramped conditions. You ken that ladies with no children will be obliged to work? We cannae justify having servants when the country needs all the workers it can get.’
Ma heaved herself up high against the pillows. "'We must all make sacrifices. I must do for myself.” I said, "What do you want me to sacrifice, Lady Campbell?" and she said, "I shall find you a position, Mrs Stewart. Until the war is over. I know many places that are looking for lady cooks and paying vairry good wages, too. I shall make certain that your conditions and accommodation are equal to Ingersley. "
Andrew gave a dry laugh. 'They'll have to be a damn sight better, Ma -or I'll see her and tell her …’
'You'll do nae such thing,' Ma said, and went on, 'She said, "I will close the South Lodge. Your home will be waiting for you when this terrible war is over."' Ma smiled. 'She's on the billeting committee. She'll keep our house off the list, I'm sure of it.' A look of worry crossed her face briefly. 'What do you think?'
'She's up to something. I'm sure it's nothing trivial,' Andrew said.
'She's going to visit me when she has something fixed up. And Andrew ...?'
'What?' There was a look of pride on Ma's face as she waited a few seconds before announcing, 'She paid me off handsomely. A hundred pounds in notes and I'll be getting twice as much in wages. Four pounds seventeen and six a week if I get into one of the good army billets.'
Andrew dared not upset her. 'She's up to no good, Ma. But it can't affect us and I'm glad you're getting out of it. Take no notice of what she suggests. I want you to find a good house. I'll pay the rent. Expense no object.' He implored her, 'Don't use your own money. I'll be on twenty-four pounds a month. And on my next leave, Flora and I are getting married!'
Ma's face split into an enormous smile. 'Did she say yes?'
'Aye.' He picked up her hand and whispered so only she could hear, 'We both want children and a happy home. We want you to live with us, in Edinburgh.'
'Och! Not many lasses want their mother-in-Iaw-'
'Flora hasn't got anyone else in the world but you and me, Ma,' he said. 'I need to know you are looking after one another - and waiting for me to come home.'
He gave her his new address in Portsmouth and left the hospital to take a tram to Portobello. It was growing dark by 4.30, and the buses and trams ground slowly up Lothian Road. Andrew felt a quick thrill of recognition sweep through him when he made out the frozen white branches of the weeping tree in the graveyard under the castle. The tram turned the comer and the dynamo picked up pitch and speed as they went faster towards the East End of Princes Street. He pressed his face to the window to see where they were, but the monuments on Princes Street had either been taken down or sandbagged into neutrality, for he could not pick out one recognisable feature as they trundled on, leaving Princes Street for the pitch blackness of the road to Portobello.
It seemed odd, not seeing people about. Houses and shop windows were blacked out. Here and there he saw a faint flicker of light where a lone pedestrian flashed a pencil torch beam for a few seconds while he crossed a road or turned into a close. It was, as Flora had told him in her letters, dangerous to be out at night. The tram's speed could not have been more than fifteen miles per hour, for it was not until an hour later, at nearly six o'clock, that he got off at the power station in Portobello.
He walked along the deathly cold esplanade, where there was reflected light from the moon over the water. Then he was there - and knocking anxiously at Mr Davidson's door.
There was no sound - no reply to his knock. His anxiety grew. He tried the back gate. It was bolted. He climbed the wall and dropped six feet down into the back yard. The house was still. He put a bare hand on the window pane to melt the ice, and when he had cleared a patch he saw that the blackout curtains were not pulled and no fire glowed in the kitchen.
Alarmed, he climbed the wall again and headed towards St Philip's church. That, too, was closed but he could hear someone moving in the church hall. He rattled the door. A man who must be the old verger drew back the bolt and ushered him inside quickly so as not to show a chink of light. The place was deserted. Andrew asked, 'Do you know where I'll find the organist, Mr Davidson?'
'He was not at church last week,' the verger said. 'We are having to make do with the Sunday school pianist.'
'What about Flora? The girl who keeps house?'
'Nobody's seen her. They say she's left. That's why he can't get to church.'
Left? How could she just leave? Where had she gone? She had nobody. Worry was gnawing at him as he went back to the house. Stamping his feet, clapping his ha
nds together to warm them, he waited - but not for another half-hour did he remember Flora's mentioning the woman next door, who took an inordinate interest in her movements.
In the blackout it was impossible to know if anyone was at home, but smoke was drifting thinly from the next door's chimney. He knocked hard before opening the letter-box flap and peering in. He saw an elderly woman coming towards the door.
'Who is it?' came her harsh voice.
'Andrew Stewart. I'm looking for Mr Davidson.'
The bolt was drawn. The door opened a little way and he rushed to say, 'I'm looking for Flora - my sister. She's nowhere to be found.'
She opened the door further and allowed him into the hall, then pulled a curtain across the door he'd come through and switched on a light, which showed her to be considerably older than Mr Davidson. A bad-tempered look was etched on her thin, lined face. 'You may well ask where Mr Davidson is,' she said. 'That sister of yours let him down, badly. Going around with a painted face.'
'That's enough!' Andrew said. He would not stand and listen to this. 'Flora would not upset Mr Davidson.'
'Then why wouldn't she let him know where she'd gone?' the woman snapped back. 'The first thing he knew was that she'd fallen on the ice and had been taken to hospital. A nurse came round. Then a different woman came by the next day to collect her belongings.'
'She fell? Which hospital?' He'd wasted all this time. He could have gone to half a dozen hospitals.
'I don't know. The woman didn't say.'
'Who was this woman? A nurse, you say?'
'I never saw her. She told Mr Davidson that Flora wasn't badly hurt, but the poor man was worried sick. And he was in a dreadful state the next day when the other woman came and asked for the girl's clothes and said she wouldn't be back.'
'How long ago?'
'About ten days.'
Flora had not written for at least three weeks.
'No explanation! The poor man has gone to live with his sister in Kelso. He'll not be back, I shouldn't wonder.'
Andrew was wasting his time talking to her. There was nothing for it -he'd have to ask Greg to spend a day of his leave making enquiries in every hospital in the area, as well as the shops and munitions factory here in Portobello. Meanwhile he must hope she'd written to him. The Royal Navy would send mail on wherever he was. His service number, not the name of the ship, ensured it.
Chapter Nine
In the attic room she had not left since she came to Ingersley, Flora was in bed when she heard, from outside, the slam of the door of the Armstrong Siddeley. It was early evening and Lady Campbell had told Nanny by telephone yesterday that she would leave Invergordon early so as to arrive back at Ingersley before dark. She had made it.
Flora's mouth went dry while she waited for news of Andrew. Lady Campbell was not a woman to beat about the bush, as Flora had learned on her second day here, when Lady Campbell reported back to her Mrs Stewart's horror at being told about Andrew's wrongdoing. It made no difference that Flora cried and protested that she was as much to blame as Andrew. Lady Campbell replied, 'You were an under-age child. Andrew Stewart was committing a criminal offence. No court in the country would believe that he was not aware of it.'
When Flora tearfully repeated that Andrew had told her to go to his Ma if she needed anything, Lady Campbell said, 'Mrs Stewart has been transferred to a convalescent home. But she says she will not return here where she and her son are under a cloud of shame.'
Now, Flora thought, Lady Campbell would want to rest and eat before she came to her, and she jumped when, barely five minutes later, Lady Campbell came in, still wearing her driving coat and scarf.
Flora heaved herself up the bed and blurted out, 'Did you see Andrew? Did you give him my letter?'
Lady Campbell dropped on to the side of the bed and gripped Flora's hand. 'Did Andrew come to see you?' she asked eagerly, as if her life depended upon it. Her eyes were bright.
'No,' Flora replied, hesitantly.
'You have had no word -no contact?'
‘No.' Flora held her breath.
'My dear.' Lady Campbell's face grew calm. She bit her lip, looked away for a second, then, 'I don't know how to tell you this.'
Flora knew her own face was pale because her mouth was stiff and numb and she could barely speak. 'You gave him my letter?'
'I left it at the office. He would have got it before he left the ship.' Lady Campbell stood up and took off her sheepskin coat. 'What did you write?'
For ever afterwards Flora would associate the thick, sweet smell of sheepskin with the helplessness and vulnerability she felt as she waited a few moments before finding the strength to say, in a voice that was little more than a whisper, 'I told him about the baby - begged him to come.'
Lady Campbell dropped on to the bed. 'He knew where to find you. And I left your new address with Mr Davidson.' She pursed her lips and frowned. 'I'm sorry, Flora. Andrew Stewart has left you to your fate.'
Flora let herself fall back against the pillows as the awful truth swept over her and Lady Campbell continued to spell out to her how dire was the trouble she was in.
After a few moments spent observing her, Lady Campbell said, 'I had to tell my husband, the Commander. You do realise that 1 had to do this?
Flora pulled herself upright again, jumping with the pain that grew worse by the day. 'What did he say?'
'I don't think he believed it of Andrew. Andrew has been sent on an officer training scheme on my husband's recommendation. He would certainly not have promoted a man who had any civil action pending.'
'Where is Andrew?'
'I don't know. He is no longer a member of the Rutland's crew. I don't have his new address. I have no way of contacting him.' Lady Campbell put a hand to her brow, gave a slight shake of the head and said, 'I'm sorry, my dear. I have left no stone unturned. I asked the regulating officer to tell him that you needed to see him. I said it was urgent, that you were injured.' Here Lady Campbell's pretty brows drew together. Again she took Flora's hand and held it fast in hers. 'I will leave you alone if you like.'
'No. Don't go.' Flora was all alone now. There was nowhere for her to go. She had to force out her words: 'What can I do?'
'I have been thinking of little else these last few days. I could send you away, far away, to have your baby, and when it is all over and the child has been put up for adoption you could return and make a new life for yourself.'
Ruth affected a troubled look as she met Flora's stricken gaze. She pressed Flora's hand and said softly, 'You are not the first young woman to be betrayed, you know. It happens every day and to girls of all classes.' She hesitated, saw the girl's eyes fill with tears and went on, 'Their babies, if healthy and from respectable stock, will be found good homes. The girls then return and put the whole affair behind them. Nobody need know.'
Ruth waited for a few seconds for a reply, but Flora had closed her eyes, and as the desperation of her position sank in, her tears dried on her pale cheeks.
Ruth patted her hand. 'I'll help you through it.' It was best to leave it at this. Soon the girl would clutch at any suggestion that offered a ray of hope. She tiptoed out of the room and went in search of Nanny.
Nanny was in the kitchenette, stirring a pot of soup that was simmering on the solid electric plate of the new modern cooker. Ruth came to stand beside her, looked over Nanny's shoulder and sniffed appreciatively. 'Did you make it yourself, Nanny?' she asked. 'I didn't know you could cook.'
'Just simple dishes. Soups and stews. Nursery food.' Nanny pulled off the half-apron she wore over her grey dress. She tied the strings and hung it over the towel hook. 'Leek, potato and celery. Afterwards a beef stew with dumplings and carrots. It's what that poor girl needs to get her strength up - or she won't be on her feet before the baby's born.'
So, Flora had told Nanny everything while she was in Invergordon. Ruth said, 'You know all about it, then?'
'Yes. I think it's wonderful that you are looking after th
e poor lass.' Nanny fetched a tray from inside the new kitchen cabinet, which had little sections for everything a cook might need. She placed the tray on the pull-down flap and set it with a cloth and cutlery and the small silver salt and pepper pots. 'I've lost all regard for Mrs Stewart. She should have taken the girl in.'
'Mrs Stewart has gone to a convalescent home,' Ruth said as she went to warm herself at the two-bar electric fire that the hospital had lent to them.
Nanny was indignant. 'And by hired car. She didn't even wait for the ambulance. She isn't coming back. Flora told me.'
Ruth allowed Nanny to work herself up into a state of indignation about Mrs Stewart whilst she set the table. Ruth had to do this every day now that Mrs Stewart was no longer here and Bessie was ill. But it was an enjoyable task. The white enamel-top table had been a gift from either the Ministry or the hospital itself. Laid with a velvet undercover and then an embroidered cloth it made an acceptable dining table for one or two and gave Ruth a taste of the simple pleasures of the poor, who had the blessings of a life without servants.
While Nanny set Flora's tray to her satisfaction and went into her mother hen routine, practically clucking over the dish of stew she had taken from the oven, Ruth said, 'I want to talk to you about Flora, Nanny.'
'Yes ...' Nanny set the dish on the top of the stove, peered inside, stirred it and put it back in the oven before coming to sit at the table.
'Gordon and I have come to a decision about the baby.'
'You have told Gordon? Was that wise? We don't want to give him home worries.’ Nanny's eyebrows shot up.
'Nanny. Listen!' Ruth tapped slowly on the cloth with the handle of a table knife. 'We all know that there is no help for a girl like Flora. She has nobody to turn to, and though there are places other than the workhouse hospitals, her child will have to be adopted or spend a lifetime in a home.'
The Weeping Tree Page 18
