Wish Me Luck

by Dickinson, Margaret

  Jake closed his eyes, sighed and shook his head. ‘They’re not my secrets to tell, Fleur love. If they were, then of course I would tell you. But . . .’

  ‘But Robbie’s gone. It . . . it can’t hurt him now, can it?’

  ‘No,’ Jake said sadly. ‘It can’t and I can’t tell you how sorry I am that that’s the case. Poor Meggie. To lose her boy . . .’ He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and coughed to clear the emotion catching his throat. He sighed. ‘Well, if I do tell you, you must promise me one thing first, Fleur.’

  ‘Anything, Dad. I just want to know. I want to understand.’

  He sighed heavily. ‘You might not understand even when I’ve told you it all.’

  ‘I’d like the chance to try. Mum and I have always clashed – you know that – but I don’t want us to carry on like this – like we are now. It . . . it’s tearing our family apart.’

  Jake sighed. ‘To be perfectly honest, I don’t think your knowing about the past will help that. It’s more this business with Kenny that’s coming between you and your mum now.’

  ‘What about you, Dad? Do you blame me for Kenny joining up?’

  His answer was swift and certain. ‘No, love, not for a minute. Like I’ve said before, I’m proud of him – and of you – even though I’m worried sick about you both. But your mother just wants to keep you safe. She doesn’t even want to see the wider picture.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘I think she’d even rather Hitler marched in unhindered than lose either of you.’

  Fleur shuddered. ‘Well, I don’t think any of us would last long if he did, do you? Can you imagine his jackbooted cohorts tramping through Britain?’

  Jake shook his head. ‘No, I can’t and I don’t even want to try. It doesn’t bear thinking about.’ He glanced at her, their faces almost on a level and so close. ‘We can’t let that happen, Fleur, and it’s up to you and Kenny and all those wonderful young people just like you to stop it. Whatever it costs.’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Whatever it costs.’ Already it had cost her everything. It had taken away her future. There was no future for her now that Robbie was gone. Yet she had to summon up the courage to continue the fight Robbie had believed in so passionately. What would happen after the war was over, she dared not think. She couldn’t face the thought of the empty years stretching ahead without Robbie.

  Jake was speaking again, pulling her thoughts back to the present. ‘I want your promise that even if you go on seeing his mother now and again – as I’m sure you will – you’ll never breathe a word to her about what I’m going to tell you. It’s not something she’ll want to talk about or even like to think you know about. I don’t want to hurt Meg any more than she’s going to be hurt now. This is going to devastate her, Fleur. Oh, love—’ He touched her arm. ‘I don’t mean to minimize your grief. But you’re young. You’ve a whole life ahead of you—’

  Fleur closed her eyes and groaned. ‘But it means nothing without Robbie, Dad. Don’t you see?’

  ‘I know it feels like that now, but . . . but in time—’

  ‘No, Dad. You’re wrong. Eternity wouldn’t be long enough. I’ll never get over this. He was all I ever wanted. The only man I’ll ever love.’ She lifted her head and stared him straight in the eyes. ‘And now I want you to tell me about the past. I swear I won’t breathe a word to his mother. But I have to know. I have to try to understand what it is that makes Mum so bitter that she can hardly bring herself to say she’s sorry he’s dead.’

  Jake blinked as if that shocked even him. Then he sighed again as he said heavily, ‘All right, then. I’ll tell you. But you must promise me not to say anything to Meggie. Not a word. Not ever.’

  ‘I promise, Dad,’ Fleur said solemnly.

  ‘I’m being dreadfully disloyal to her.’ His eyes were full of pain at the thought, though Fleur wasn’t sure if her father was referring to his wife or to Meg Rodwell.

  There was a long silence before Jake, haltingly at first, began to speak.

  ‘I’ll go right back to the beginning. It’s time you knew a few other things besides matters that concern Robbie. It’s high time you knew about your mum and me too.’

  He paused again and pulled in a deep breath as if he was about to launch himself over a precipice. Perhaps that’s how it did feel for Jake to talk about things that had not been spoken of for years.

  Thirty-Eight

  They leant on the gate, watching the sheep, whilst Bess lay panting beside them, as Jake began to speak. ‘You know the big building on the outskirts of South Monkford?’

  ‘The one that used to be a workhouse? It’s some kind of convalescent place for the forces now, isn’t it?’

  Jake nodded. ‘That’s where I was born. And your mum came into the workhouse as a young girl when her mother died.’

  ‘You were both in the workhouse?’ Fleur was shocked. She would never have imagined that the successful farmer owning Middleditch Farm and all its acres, the man who was well liked and respected in the neighbourhood, could have been born into such lowly circumstances. Then another thought struck her. ‘But . . . but you had a mother. Gran.’ She spoke of the woman who had lived with them for the last few years of her life.

  ‘Yes.’ Jake’s voice was husky. ‘But I didn’t know I had until . . . until – well, all the bother happened.’

  ‘All the bother?’

  ‘Mm.’ He was silent again.

  Though she was impatient for him to continue, Fleur held her tongue. Quite literally, for she had to hold it between her teeth to stop all her questions tumbling out.

  ‘All I knew as a lad was that I’d been born in the workhouse,’ Jake went on as he gazed out across the rolling fields that were all his now. But he was seeing, Fleur knew, pictures and events from the past. ‘I thought I was an orphan. A feller called Isaac Pendleton ran the place. He was what they called the master of the workhouse and the matron was his sister, Letitia Pendleton. Miss Letitia Pendleton.’

  ‘But that was Gran’s name. Except – well – I always thought it was Mrs Pendleton. I never knew that she was a . . . a “Miss”. She was always just “Gran”. I’m sorry, Dad. Go on.’

  ‘As a young girl she’d fallen in love with Theobald Finch.’

  Now Fleur gasped and before she could stop herself she interrupted his tale again. It was impossible not to show surprise or ask questions, so she gave up trying. ‘The Finch family who live at the Hall?’

  ‘Aye, but there’s only Miss Clara Finch left there now. Mr Theobald’ – he paused over the name, still unable to refer to the man in any way other than the name by which he’d always known him – ‘died a while ago.’

  ‘I do vaguely remember seeing him in the town. I think Mum pointed him out to me once.’ She glanced sideways at her father but his gaze was still far away.

  ‘Dad, was he – Mr Finch – your father?’

  Slowly, he nodded. ‘My mother loved him,’ he said simply, ‘but his family didn’t think her good enough for him. At the time, Isaac – her brother – was running the workhouse with his wife. But she left him – so the rumour went. Isaac took me in as an orphan and Letitia became matron.’ He smiled wistfully. ‘She took the job so that she could be near me, yet she was not allowed to acknowledge me openly.’ Now his smile broadened. ‘As a lad I always wondered why she favoured me. She saved me many a beating from Isaac.’ Now he chuckled. ‘Though I still got plenty.’

  ‘Oh, Dad!’ Fleur rested her cheek against his shoulder, tears filling her eyes. Jake put his arm about her shoulders and held her close.

  ‘Don’t cry, love. It’s all a long time ago now.’

  ‘I know, but I can’t bear to think of you as a poor little boy, believing yourself an orphan and being beaten and growing up in a workhouse. I mean, I know it’s a magnificent building, but it was still a workhouse. Why, even now the old folk in the town fear it, don’t they?’

  ‘Oh yes. We all still live in the shadow of the workhouse. Those of us who grew
up there.’ He smiled gently. ‘And even some of those who didn’t. It’s still a threat hanging over us all even if it isn’t a workhouse any more.’

  Fleur wound her arms tightly around his waist and nestled her head against his shoulder. She said nothing. The lump in her throat wouldn’t let her, but her actions implied: you’ll never go back in the workhouse, Dad. Not while I’m around.

  ‘There, there,’ Jake murmured, feeling her compassion. ‘I was a tough little tyke. And then’ – he smiled fondly – ‘Meggie arrived at the workhouse. And she changed my life.’

  He didn’t need to elaborate. By the tone of his voice, Fleur could tell he remembered that time as very special. That Meg was very special.

  ‘She was so – so alive,’ he went on. ‘So spirited and . . . and full of daring. D’you know, Fleur, I’d lived in that place all my life and I was— Let’s see, I’d be about fifteen by the time she came and in all that time I’d never ventured out. Never asked to go out to seek work, never really gone out of my own accord. Oh, I knew how to get out. Several of the others did. There was a hole in the wall. And once or twice I went through the gates, but I never went more than a few yards.’ He laughed aloud now. ‘Not until she came and took me out with her one day. She went looking for her dad.’

  ‘The old man? Pops?’

  ‘Well, he wasn’t old then, love. He was a young man and a bit of a rascal, by all accounts.’ He gave her shoulder a squeeze. ‘We were all young once, lass. Even me and Meg.’

  ‘Oh, I think she still looks young, Dad. She looks years younger than Mum.’ The words were out before she could stop herself. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .’

  ‘’S all right, love. There’s only you an’ me here.’ He glanced down at the dog, dozing at their feet. ‘And Bess won’t say owt, now will she? But just think a minute. Your poor mam’s a busy farmer’s wife. She can’t dress like Meg and wear those flimsy shoes, now can she?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Fleur said hurriedly. Privately, she was thinking that her mother could still make a little more effort even if it was only now and again. ‘But I don’t think Robbie’s mum’s had it that easy. The front room at their house is her sewing room. She’s worked to keep them all. Herself, Robbie and the old man.’

  Again, Jake had a faraway look in his eyes as he continued with his tale. ‘Her father, Reuben Kirkland – the old man as you call him – worked for the Smallwoods and so did Meg. She worked in the dairy. And then, Meg’s father had an affair with the Smallwoods’ daughter, Alice.’

  Fleur was shocked. ‘Pops did?’

  ‘Yes. Pops.’ Jake was adamant. ‘Of course, they dismissed him and his daughter, Meg, and then turned the whole family out of their tied cottage – the one old Ron lives in now. Reuben took his family – his pregnant wife Sarah, Meg and her little brother Bobbie – to the workhouse, promising to return to get them out when he’d found other work.’

  Fleur was ahead of her father, guessing what had happened. ‘And he never came back for them? He ran away with Alice?’ She paused, taking in all the startling revelations. Then she asked, ‘Did Meg know?’

  ‘Not then. Not when she first came into the workhouse. She believed him, trusted him. She told everyone that they wouldn’t be there long. That he’d come back for them. She didn’t know why they’d been dismissed. For a while I think she blamed herself.’ He smiled fondly again. ‘She was a cheeky little tyke and she thought the missis – Mrs Smallwood – didn’t like her friendship with her daughter.’

  ‘Her friendship? Meg was friendly with Alice too?’

  ‘Yes. Complicated, isn’t it? So, you see, when she did find out about their affair, she felt doubly betrayed. By her father and by her best friend.’

  ‘So how did Meg find out?’

  ‘Her mam gave birth to a stillborn child in the workhouse and Meg went in search of her father to tell him. Of course, she didn’t know about her dad and Alice then. She just went to try and find him to tell him about her mam. And she took me with her. We went to the racecourse. She thought her father might be trying to find work there. He was good with horses.’

  Fleur nodded. South Monkford racecourse was famous, though sadly neglected since the war had begun.

  ‘Did you find him?’

  ‘Oh yes.’ Jake’s face was grim. ‘He was with her. With Alice. Bold as yer like, walking round the racecourse with his arm around her.’

  Fleur gasped. ‘Oh, poor Meg!’

  ‘Yes,’ Jake said thoughtfully. ‘D’you know, as far as I can remember, it was the only time I ever saw Meggie cry.’ Again, he used the pet name as he spoke of her fondly. ‘She was heartbroken and vowed never to forgive her father. Said she’d cut him out of her life for ever.’

  ‘Well, she can’t have done because he lives with her now.’

  ‘She’s changed. But back then, she swore that she’d never forget and never forgive.’

  ‘Did she?’ Now Fleur was surprised. ‘She doesn’t strike me as being like that.’

  ‘No. Like I say, she’s changed since then. Life changed her. I know now that she’s sorry for everything she’s done. I could see that when I met her at your wedding. I asked her about her father and she said, “How could I turn him away, when I’d been just as bad?”’

  ‘But she hadn’t done anything, Dad. It was her father’s fault,’ Fleur said, mystified. She still couldn’t reconcile the picture of the sweet old man sitting by the fire in the little house in Nottingham with the heartless womanizer who’d dumped his family in the workhouse and run away with his mistress.

  ‘I’m coming to that, love. But I want you to see the whole picture. And to do that, you have to hear what led up to – well – what Meg did.’ Even now, though he had promised to tell her everything and had begun the tale, there was reluctance in his tone. He still didn’t want to speak ill of Meg. Not even after all these years.

  ‘Whatever did she do, Dad, that was so bad?’

  He was silent for a moment, lost in memories in which Fleur had no part. Now, in short staccato sentences, he answered her question, explaining everything. ‘After she found out about her father and Alice she became very bitter. The tragedies didn’t end there. Her little brother, Bobbie, died. Then Isaac Pendleton – he was a one for the ladies, an’ all – he took up with her mother. And that was the last straw for Meg. She never forgave her mother – called her some wicked names. And Meg herself became hard and calculating. There was only one person she cared about then. Herself. She left the workhouse and got a job working for Percy Rodwell.’ Now Jake’s mouth suddenly became a hard line. ‘She wound him round her little finger and he fell for it. Poor sod!’

  Fleur twisted to look up into her father’s face. She saw his pain and, yes, now there was anger and disgust there too. ‘Were you in love with her, Dad? Were you in love with Meg all those years ago?’

  Jake stared down into his daughter’s eyes. ‘Oh yes. I loved her then and—’

  There was a breathless silence until Fleur whispered, ‘And you love her now, don’t you, Dad? You’ve always loved her.’

  ‘Fleur, love.’ He squeezed her shoulders again. ‘I know you feel now that you’ll never love again. That Robbie was the love of your life – and maybe he is. Who’s to say? But you may well meet someone one day, fall in love, get married—’

  ‘Never! I could never love anyone the way I love Robbie.’

  ‘Listen to me, love.’ Her father gave her a gentle shake. ‘No, not in the same way, maybe you won’t, no. I can understand that. He was your first love and that’s very special. But you might love someone else differently. There are all kinds of love, Fleur. Passionate, overwhelming and for life. Then there’s infatuation that seems like love, but isn’t and dies as quickly as it flared. And then . . .’ He paused again and took a deep breath before he said, ‘And then there’s the way I love your mother. After Meg went, I left the workhouse and I came to work for the Smallwoods here. Their daughter had gone, of course, and they
never heard from her again as far as I know. A year or two later, Betsy came to work at the farm too. In fact, I sort of got her the job there. She’d spent several years in the workhouse. She was a shy little thing and I always felt protective towards her. The Smallwoods treated us both as their own and Betsy grew and blossomed. She was a pretty lass and – well – that’s how it happened. I married her before I went to the war, and when I came back you were born and then Kenny.’

  There was a long silence whilst Fleur digested all that he had told her.

  ‘There’s a bit more you ought to know,’ Jake said at last.

  ‘More!’ Fleur forced a smile.

  ‘When Meg went to work for Percy he was engaged to Miss Clara Finch – had been for years – and when he married Meg Clara sued him for breach of promise.’

  Fleur gasped. ‘Never!’

  ‘Oh yes. There was a big court case and it was the talk of South Monkford for weeks.’ His mouth twitched. ‘You see, the judge found in Miss Finch’s favour, but he awarded her damages of one farthing.’

  Fleur stared at him for a moment and then burst out laughing, but Jake’s face had sobered now. ‘Clara was a bitter, dried-up old spinster, and after Percy Rodwell died, she tried to force Meg to hand over her baby – Robbie – because she believed in her twisted mind that the child should have been hers. Hers and Percy’s. When Meg refused, Clara had her turned out of the shop and her home – the Finches owned both properties – and she tried to kidnap Robbie and have Meg thrown back in the workhouse. With the power the Finches wielded in South Monkford then, I doubt Meg would ever have seen the light of day again if . . .’ He stopped and was silent.

  Intuitively, Fleur whispered. ‘You helped her, didn’t you, Dad? You helped her get out.’

  ‘She was locked in the punishment room and her boy was missing. We found him – Robbie – in the dead room in a coffin. Clara, in her twisted mind, had had him hidden there until she could take him home. Just think.’ Jake tried to inject a note of lightness into their conversation. ‘Your Robbie might have been a toff and brought up at South Monkford Hall.’