Sons and Daughters

by Margaret Dickinson

  ‘Wilkins, please show Mr Crawford into the drawing room,’ the young boy said with a maturity exceeding his tender years, ‘whilst I find Miss Charlotte.’

  ‘Certainly, Master Georgie. May I take your hat and coat, sir, and then if you’d come this way . . . ?’

  When Georgie burst into the kitchen, he found Charlotte already there talking to Mrs Beddows and Lily Warren.

  ‘There you are. I’ve come to find you,’ Georgie said. ‘I thought you might get lost.’

  The cook turned to smile at him. ‘Master Georgie, Miss Charlotte has brought the recipe for that pineapple pudding you liked so much.’

  The boy clapped his hands together. ‘Oh thank you. Please thank Mrs Morgan, too, won’t you?’

  ‘Of course, I will.’ Charlotte held out her hand. ‘And now we’d better go up.’ She glanced at Mrs Beddows and Lily and they were in no doubt that she’d be much happier down there with them in the kitchen than facing the ordeal of a formal dinner party upstairs.

  But with the excitable Georgie at the table there was little formality. He’d arranged the seating to his own liking. He’d seated Charlotte at one end of the polished mahogany dining table, with his father at the opposite end. Georgie sat on Charlotte’s right-hand side and opposite him, was his brother, Ben. Osbert and Philip sat on either side of their host.

  Miles smiled. ‘I’m not sure my son has complied with the rules of etiquette.’

  But Osbert was not going to criticize. He was where he wanted to be – sitting opposite the eldest son.

  As they sat down, Charlotte glanced around her. The dining room was spacious, with gleaming mahogany furniture, lovingly polished by Lily, no doubt. The table sparkled with cut glassware and silver cutlery. A square of thick, luxurious carpet covered the floor and over the fireplace was another portrait of Louisa. This one, unlike the one in Miles’s study, showed an older woman with her children. Leaning against her knee was a golden-haired child of five or so, and sitting on her lap was a baby. Seeing her staring at the picture, Ben leaned forward and whispered. ‘That’s our mother – with Philip and me.’

  ‘She’s lovely,’ Charlotte said, smiling at him. She could see the sadness in Ben’s eyes. He would have been about six, she reckoned, when Louisa died and he would have only fleeting, disjointed memories of her. Just as Charlotte had of her own mother. She glanced down the table towards Philip and saw that his gaze, too, lingered on the portrait every so often. Aged ten or so when she died, he would have much sharper memories of the beautiful woman. Perhaps that was the reason for his abrasive manner; he still missed her dreadfully.

  ‘So, the General Strike didn’t last long, then, Philip,’ Osbert opened the conversation.

  Philip actually smiled. ‘No, sir. It did not. Just as you predicted.’

  ‘But the miners are carrying on their strike, aren’t they?’ Before she’d stopped to think, Charlotte, who’d followed the news avidly during the strike, which had affected the whole country for nine days at the beginning of May, spoke up.

  There was a moment’s awkward silence. The girl held her breath, expecting to be banished from the table for her impudence in daring to join in the conversation. She heard her father’s sharp intake of breath and waited for his wrath to descend. But before he could speak, Miles said softly in his deep voice, ‘You’re quite right, Miss Charlotte, and I can’t say I blame them. It seems hardly fair to dock their pay and then expect them to work longer hours, too. And it’s one of the most dangerous and unhealthy jobs I can think of.’

  Charlotte cast him a grateful glance down the table.

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be a miner,’ Ben said quietly at her side. ‘I’d hate to have to work in total blackness like that.’ He shuddered.

  ‘Do you know,’ Georgie piped up, ‘they take a canary down there just to make sure the air’s good. If it isn’t, the poor bird might die. Don’t you think that’s cruel, Miss Charlotte? To the canary, I mean.’

  Osbert and Philip laughed, but Ben and Charlotte – and even Miles – took Georgie’s comment seriously.

  After that, whilst the meal was served and eaten, the table seemed to divide into two. The two adults and Philip at one end talked politics, whilst Charlotte, Ben and Georgie talked about the local countryside.

  ‘I haven’t seen the sea yet,’ Georgie said. ‘And we’ve been here two months already.’

  ‘Then perhaps your papa would allow me to take you one day,’ Charlotte offered. ‘Do you ride a pony?’

  ‘Papa’s just bought one for me to ride. She’s called Gypsy. Philip has a big horse called Midnight, but he’s rather wild at the moment. Phil can’t ride him yet.’

  ‘I’d love to see them.’

  ‘Why don’t you come over tomorrow after Sunday school?’ Georgie suggested excitedly. ‘You could come back in the motor car with Brewster and me.’

  ‘Well, I . . .’ Charlotte hesitated and glanced down the table to their host, but Miles was listening intently to something Osbert was saying and she couldn’t catch his eye.

  ‘That’s settled then,’ Georgie said firmly and there seemed no point in arguing with the determined little chap. Charlotte hid her smile.

  As the meal ended, Georgie raised his voice again. ‘Papa, thank you for my dinner. Please may I leave the table?’

  ‘You may, Georgie.’

  ‘And may Miss Charlotte and Ben come up to the playroom?’

  ‘I’m not sure that Miss Charlotte—’ Miles began, but she interrupted swiftly.

  ‘I’d be happy to, Mr Thornton.’

  The three made their escape from the solemn talk at the opposite end of the table, giggling as Georgie led the way to the second floor of the big house.

  ‘Oh my!’ Charlotte gasped as the boy flung open the door of what had once been the nursery. ‘I’ve never seen so many toys.’

  In pride of place in the centre of the room stood a huge rocking horse, looking very much the worse for wear. It had obviously been ridden and played with so often that its mane was shaggy, its paint peeling.

  ‘This is Starlight,’ Georgie said, patting the horse’s neck. ‘He was father’s when he was a little boy, but now he’s ours.’

  Charlotte stroked the toy’s nose just as if it was a real animal.

  ‘And this is Georgie’s new toy,’ Ben said softly. ‘He got it for his birthday recently.’

  Charlotte turned to see a motor car that Georgie was able to sit in and pedal.

  ‘He frightens us all to death tearing up and down the landings.’

  ‘I bet!’ Charlotte laughed.

  There were teddies, mechanical toys and games galore. Georgie ran around picking up one thing after another. At last he said, ‘What shall we play, Miss Charlotte? Snakes and ladders? Ludo?’

  ‘I . . .’ Charlotte faltered. She wasn’t very good at games. She had never had any playmates during her childhood – only her governess and Mary. Her upbringing had been severe. Miss Proudley had been told that her sole purpose was to instruct the child, whilst poor Mary was kept fully occupied running the house. So games and play had not figured very much in Charlotte’s childhood. Only at Sunday school had she learned how to act out the Bible stories, as she did now with her own class. Though sometimes, she remembered ruefully, even that went wrong.

  But now she smiled. ‘We’ll play whatever you want. You can teach me.’

  ‘Ludo, then,’ Georgie said promptly. ‘Me ’n’ Ben play it, but it’s better with three or four.’

  ‘Phil won’t play now,’ Ben whispered. ‘He says he’s too old for puerile games.’

  Charlotte chuckled inwardly, not in the least surprised that the superior young man had abandoned such childish pursuits. As for herself, she couldn’t wait to play.

  They were in the middle of a second noisy game of Ludo, Charlotte having surprisingly won the first, when Lily came to say that her father was ready to leave.

  Charlotte scrambled up from the floor at once, but Georgie cried, �
�Do let’s finish the game first. Your papa won’t mind, will he?’ Without waiting for Charlotte’s reply he addressed the maid. ‘Please tell Mr Crawford we’re just finishing a game. We won’t be long.’ He grinned. ‘Because I’m winning.’

  ‘I really don’t think . . .’ Charlotte began but Lily had already disappeared.

  Five minutes later, Georgie whooped with glee as his last counter arrived ‘home’.

  ‘Now, I must go,’ Charlotte said standing up. ‘Thank you so much for a lovely evening, I—’ Georgie launched himself at her, flinging his arms round her and pressing his cheek against her waist. ‘You’ll come tomorrow and see Gypsy and Midnight, won’t you?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ she said, stroking the child’s hair with gentle fingers. She was touched by his affectionate gesture. ‘I promise.’

  As she turned towards the door, her glance caught sight of a magnificent dolls’ house sitting in the corner of the room. Her eyes widened and she stopped. ‘What a beautiful dolls’ house. I – I always wanted one.’ She forgot her father waiting impatiently below. She forgot that their host might want them to leave. She forgot that it was perhaps way past George’s bedtime. She forgot everything except the sight of the magnificent toy. She crossed the floor, drawn to it against her will.

  Georgie got there first. ‘We don’t play with this,’ he said, opening the front of the house to reveal the tiny, perfectly replicated furniture and the family of dolls in residence. He laughed delightedly. ‘Father was so sure I was going to be a girl that he bought this in readiness. I think he really wanted a girl, didn’t he, Ben?’ Gleefully, almost as if he had engineered it personally, he added, ‘But I was a boy.’

  Charlotte glanced at him but the child had no sense of being a disappointment to his father. He knew himself dearly loved. Not like . . . Charlotte pushed away the unwelcome thoughts. Enchanted, she fell to her knees in front of the house and touched the furniture and the dolls with gentle fingers.

  ‘You can come and play with it, Miss Charlotte, if you like,’ Georgie offered generously, but Ben nudged him.

  ‘Miss Charlotte’s too old to play with toys,’ he said, but fell silent as he watched her rearranging the furniture and putting one of the dolls into the bed in one of the upstairs rooms. ‘Or maybe not,’ he murmured under his breath.

  The two boys watched as Charlotte continued to kneel in front of the house, taking in every little detail.

  ‘It’s lovely,’ she whispered at last, ‘but I really should go.’

  But for several more minutes she made no move to leave.

  As they hurried down the stairs at last, Charlotte could see her father waiting impatiently in the hallway. He scowled up at her, but Georgie explained guilelessly, ‘It was my fault. I made Miss Charlotte stay to finish the game of Ludo. You see – ’ He spread his hands and widened his eyes as if it explained – and excused – everything. ‘I was winning.’

  Charlotte saw Miles hide his smile, but her father merely transferred his glare to the boy.

  As Wilkins opened the front door, they saw that it was raining hard.

  ‘You can’t drive home in the pony and trap in this,’ Miles insisted. ‘You’ll get soaked. I’ll get Brewster to drive you home in the motor car. Your pony will be fine in our stables and I won’t take “no” for an answer.’

  The Thorntons’ chauffeur drove them home but once inside his own door, Osbert still complained. ‘Noisy contraptions. Don’t you go getting ideas we shall ever have a motor car, girl.’

  ‘No, Father,’ Charlotte said obediently. But it was not something that worried her. She much preferred riding a horse anyway, even if it was only the pony or one of the huge, cumbersome shires.

  And tomorrow, on Georgie’s invitation, she was to visit the manor again.

  Her heart lifted with excitement, anticipating the pleasure in store.

  Eleven

  ‘I won’t be in for lunch today, Mary,’ Charlotte said as they got ready for church the following morning. ‘I’m going over to the manor straight after Sunday school.’

  Mary cast her a quizzical look but didn’t ask questions. Charlotte smiled. ‘On Georgie’s invitation. He wants me to see his pony.’

  Mary smiled and nodded. ‘That’ll be nice.’ There was a pause before she added, ‘Are you telling your father?’

  Charlotte shrugged. ‘I don’t think he’ll notice.’ The remark was made without self-pity, which, to Mary, was remarkable. She couldn’t understand why the girl couldn’t see that she was treated like a servant. Less than a servant, Mary thought bitterly. At least employees got paid, pittance though it was.

  Charlotte never took meals with her father but always ate in the kitchen with Mary, Edward and the kitchen maid if there was one. It had always been so. Osbert had never wanted the child at his table and the practice had not changed even now that his daughter was an adult.

  Mary sighed. She supposed Charlotte accepted it because she’d never known any different.

  ‘Right, are we ready?’ Charlotte asked, pulling on her coat and jamming her hat on to her head. ‘Where’s Edward?’

  ‘He fetched the pony and trap back from the manor first thing this morning, so they’ve gone already.’

  ‘Oh heck! We’ll be late.’

  As usual, the women walked down the long lane together to the church in Ravensfleet. On a normal Sunday, the pews were comfortably full and the Sunday school in the little room at the back of the church was well attended. But at Christmas, Easter and especially at harvest time when the congregation swelled, it threatened to burst at the seams.

  ‘Your father’s already there,’ Mary panted as they came in sight of the gate.

  Charlotte bit her lip but said nothing. Father didn’t like them to be late. He was waiting in the porch, scowling. He opened his mouth to say something, no doubt to berate them, but then his gaze moved beyond them. To her surprise, Charlotte saw him begin to smile as she heard the sound of the motor car from the manor pulling up at the gate.

  Briefly, his gaze came back to his daughter. ‘Get inside,’ he snarled. ‘And don’t let this happen again.’

  Charlotte’s mouth dropped open. Her father always demanded that she and his servants enter church following meekly in his wake. Yet now he was sending them in ahead whilst he waited to greet the Thornton family.

  She glanced at Mary, but she was already marching through the door, a grim expression on her face. As she made to follow, Charlotte looked back over her shoulder to see Georgie wave and begin to run towards her. She hesitated.

  ‘Get in!’ her father hissed and, raising his stick, hit her across the shoulders. Mortified that the young boy had witnessed his action, Charlotte hurried into the church, her back smarting. Red faced with shame, she sat beside Mary, and bowed her head. She heard quick footsteps coming down the tiled aisle. They stopped beside her and Georgie’s small hand crept into hers.

  ‘Miss Charlotte,’ he whispered anxiously. ‘Are you all right?’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, dear. I’m fine.’

  ‘Can I sit with you?’

  ‘Well, yes, but won’t your father—?’

  ‘Papa won’t mind.’ He grinned mischievously. ‘And you’ll keep me in order, won’t you?’

  Despite her humiliation, Charlotte smiled down at him. He was such a dear little imp. Her golden boy. How she wished he really was hers.

  He slid in beside her and bowed his head in prayer as he’d been taught to do on taking his place in the church. Charlotte watched him, longing to stroke his blond curls. As the rest of his family passed her and entered their own pew, she caught Miles Thornton’s eyes and raised her eyebrows in a silent question. His glance rested briefly on his small son. He smiled and nodded his approval. But when her father sat down in front of them, Osbert glared round at her and muttered, ‘I’ll see you at home, miss.’

  Just as before, Georgie’s tiny hand crept into Charlotte’s and held it tightly all through the service.
/>   ‘Papa, Papa.’

  Georgie ran down the church path to his father and brothers as they were leaving after the service.

  Miles turned. ‘What is it? Aren’t you staying for Sunday school this morning?’

  ‘Yes, Papa, but last night I invited Miss Charlotte to come back with me afterwards to see my pony. And she’d like to see Midnight, too,’ he said beaming up at Philip. ‘She likes horses.’ He turned back to Miles. ‘May she stay to luncheon, too, Papa?’

  ‘Of course.’ Miles nodded.

  ‘Thank you, Papa,’ the boy shouted back over his shoulder as he ran back to Charlotte.

  ‘Did you really have to invite that dreary creature again, Father?’ Philip muttered. ‘Wasn’t last night enough?’

  ‘Now, now, Philip,’ Miles admonished gently. ‘Don’t be unkind.’

  ‘Philip’s always unkind, Father,’ Ben said. Shocked, his father and brother stared at him. ‘Haven’t you noticed?’ He turned away. ‘I think I’ll go to Sunday school too.’

  ‘Well, well, well,’ Miles murmured, his gaze still on his middle son as he walked away. So, the quiet, shy one of the trio did have some spirit after all. The man felt a warm glow.

  ‘Huh,’ Philip muttered, his mouth twisting cruelly. ‘The worm turns, does it? He’d better watch it.’

  The glow in Miles Thornton’s heart died instantly.

  ‘So, Ben, have you got a pony or a horse?’

  They were sitting in the motor car on their way to the manor after Sunday school had ended.

  ‘I did have a pony.’ The boy’s eyes were bleak. ‘But he had to be put down just before we moved here.’

  ‘He was very old and got sick,’ Georgie put in. ‘Father said we shouldn’t let him suffer.’

  ‘That’s quite right,’ Charlotte said gently. ‘But it doesn’t make it any easier, does it?’

  Ben smiled at her.

  ‘Father promised to get Ben a bigger horse when we moved.’

  ‘There’s a horse fair at Horncastle. It’s not until August, but that’s only ten weeks or so away.’ Charlotte said. ‘Would you like me to have a word with your father? Tell him about it?’