A Place Called Home (13 page)

‘I sometimes sleep in here with them,' Meg whispered, handing Lucy a nightgown she had taken from her own room. ‘This will be too large, but we'll sort something out tomorrow. It's a pity Linus didn't think to bring your clothes, but gentlemen rarely consider such things.' She leaned over to kiss Lucy on the cheek. ‘Goodnight, dear. Sleep well.' She left the room, closing the door softly.

Next morning, having been awakened early by Bertie and Vicky bouncing on her bed, with Peckham seeking refuge beneath the covers, Lucy had little option but to get up and take the children downstairs. They arrived in the kitchen to find Hester up to her elbows in flour as she kneaded bread dough. She dusted her hands off and seized Bertie, who was about to follow Peckham out into the yard. She closed the door, ignoring Bertie's howls of protest, and set him down on the floor. ‘They're a handful,' she said with a wry smile. ‘I love them dearly, but I'm getting too old to run round after little ones, and with another on the way it's going to be very hard work indeed.' She picked up the dough and slammed it down onto the table top, sending up a cloud of flour. ‘You could make yourself useful in that direction, my girl.'

Lucy kept a wary eye on Vicky, who was attempting to climb onto a chair. ‘I don't know nothing about kids, but them two would try the patience of a saint.'

‘Your grammar is appalling,' Hester said, sniffing. ‘But I don't suppose that matters if you're prepared to help keep an eye on the little ones. Meg sees to most of their needs, but she's delicate and ought to rest. Maybe you were sent here for a purpose after all.'

‘I want to find my granny. I can't stay here, miss.'

Hester placed the dough in a bowl and covered it with a damp cloth. ‘All in good time, Lucy. I want you to promise not to pester Meg with such talk. First things first, and you need something to wear. That pretty tartan frock is all but ruined. I've washed it and hung it out to dry, but in the meantime we'll tie a pinny round your waist and hitch the nightgown up so that you don't trip over the hem.' She wiped her hands on her apron and reached up to snatch a clean one off the drying rack. ‘Come here, and I'll fix it for you.' Somewhat reluctantly, Lucy stood very still while Hester tied the strings. ‘There, that's better.' She surveyed her work with a satisfied nod. ‘We'll have to get you some new clothes, but the market in Epping isn't until Monday week, so you'll have to wear your tattered frock until Meg and Bram go there to sell our eggs and any milk we have to spare.'

‘I know about markets,' Lucy said eagerly. Here at last was something with which she was more than familiar. ‘Me and Granny sold clothes at the Rag Fair.'

‘Then you'll know what to look out for. Maybe some of the stallholders travel as far as London. You might even meet someone who knows your grandmother.' Hester had to raise her voice in order to make herself heard over the sound of the two small children's demands for food. She lifted a saucepan from a hay box and set it on the table. ‘Porridge,' she said tersely. ‘Serve the little ones first and then help yourself, Lucy. Bram's already had his, and Meg has hers in bed. That's if she's feeling up to eating.'

Lucy found some bowls on the pine dresser and she gave the children their food before serving herself. She took a seat at the table. ‘I'm Lucy,' she said, giving them an encouraging smile. ‘I think we must be related in some way, but I'm not sure how. Anyway, you two are going to be good for me, aren't you?'

Bertie spooned porridge into his mouth. ‘No.'

‘Don't worry,' Hester said hastily. ‘He's going through that naughty stage. It's “No” to everything with Master Albert Southwood.'

Lucy met Bertie's defiant gaze with a casual shrug of her shoulders. ‘If that's the way he wants it.' She turned her attention to Vicky, who had spilled most of her porridge down her front. ‘You seem to have difficulty finding your mouth, little 'un. We'll have to get Peckham to clear up the mess on the floor, and if you're good we'll go outside and throw sticks for him.'

‘Me too,' Bertie said eagerly.

Lucy glanced over her shoulder. ‘Would you like to play with the dog?'

Bertie opened his mouth as if to make his usual response and then closed it. He nodded vigorously.

‘What do you say?' Lucy asked, trying hard not to giggle.

He hung his head. ‘Yes.'

‘Yes, what?'

‘Yes, please, Lucy.'

She smiled. ‘Good boy.'

‘I couldn't have done better myself,' Hester said with a nod of approval. ‘I'll just take the tray to Meg . . .' She broke off as the door opened and Meg wandered into the kitchen with her hair tied up in rags and a shawl draped over her nightgown.

‘It's very quiet in here,' she said, gazing at her children in surprise. ‘I came to give them their breakfast.'

‘We have a born nursemaid in Lucy.' Hester placed Meg's breakfast on the table. ‘Sit down and eat, my dear. Lucy can take the little ones outside as she promised.'

‘But they're not dressed for outdoors,' Meg protested. ‘They'll catch cold.'

‘It's warm and sunny. They don't need coddling. Fresh air and good food is what youngsters need, and the freedom to run round and enjoy themselves. Have your breakfast in peace for once, Meg, and let Lucy look after them.'

Lucy rose to her feet, lifted Vicky in her arms and held her hand out to Bertie. He ignored the friendly overture with a toss of his head and raced outside into the yard. Lucy followed more slowly with Vicky, and Peckham walked sedately at her side.

Bram was mucking out the stall where the donkey was stabled at night. He stopped, leaning on his broom as the small procession crossed the yard. ‘What's all this? How did you persuade Meg to let them come outside?'

‘I didn't. It was Hester.'

He balanced the broom against the wall and strode over to them, picking Bertie up and swinging him round. ‘So you've decided to stay, have you, Lucy?'

‘Only until Monday week. Hester said you'd take me to market to get some new clothes, and I might find a stallholder who knows Granny and can give me an idea where she might be now.'

‘I wouldn't pin too much hope on that, nipper. But there's no harm in asking, and we might just be lucky.'

‘You will help me, won't you, Bram?'

‘Yes, but only if you promise you won't wander off into the forest on your own again. You might not be so lucky next time.'

‘I promise.'

‘Throw sticks for doggie,' Bertie said, tugging at Lucy's skirt.

Bram ruffled his hair. ‘Don't be a pest, Bertie.'

Lucy bent down and picked up a sliver of bark from the log pile. She gave it to Bertie. ‘Throw it for him and see if he'll fetch it.'

‘He'll wear you out and the dog,' Bram said, laughing. ‘I'd best get back to work or I won't get through my chores.'

‘Maybe I can help a bit. I daresay these two have naps.'

‘Tire them out and then they might fall asleep, if you're lucky. It's no wonder my sister is exhausted.' Bram's expression darkened. ‘I hate Daubenay. He's the one who brought her to this, but she won't hear a word against him.'

‘I'm sorry. I know how you feel. He's a wicked man and she deserves better.'

Lucy hurried away to rescue Vicky, who had fallen over and was lying on the ground sobbing. It was, she thought, going to be a long day, and judging by the boundless energy displayed by Bertie she knew who was going to flag first, and it wasn't Peckham.

She had some respite later when both children were put to bed for an afternoon nap. Meg was in the small room at the back of the house which served as a parlour and dining room when Linus was at home. She was sitting by the window in order to take advantage of the sunlight, and had her workbox on a small table at her side. She stopped sewing and looked up with a welcoming smile. ‘I thought you might like to help me,' she said eagerly. ‘I have two shirts to finish before we go to town, and I'm a bit behindhand. Do you know how to sew a straight seam, Lucy?'

Lucy went to sit beside her, pulling up a stool. She shook her head. ‘Not really. I was supposed to be embroidering a sampler but I didn't get very far with it.'

‘Can you do backstitch?'

‘That's the only stitch I know.'

‘That's wonderful.' Meg put her sewing aside and reached for another pile of fine white cambric. ‘I've already tacked the seam. You just have to work along it in backstitch, keeping it neat and straight and using small stitches. Do you think you could do that?'

‘I can try, but I'm not very good.'

‘Let's see what you can do.'

Lucy tried hard, but she kept pricking her finger and her stitches were anything but even. ‘I can't do it,' she said in desperation.

‘It comes with practice.' Meg took the material from her and examined it closely. ‘I'm afraid I'll have to unpick this, but thank you for trying.'

‘Why do you have to sew shirts? Don't he give you enough to live on?'

Meg looked up, startled. ‘My goodness, you are direct. No, I'm afraid Linus has a great deal of expense in London. He gives me what he can afford.'

Lucy thought of the IOUs, and the vast amount that Linus had won and lost at the gaming tables. She decided that there were some things that even a grown-up person did not need to know. ‘I'm sorry,' she murmured, staring at her unsuccessful attempt at a fine seam.

Meg folded the material. ‘You tried, my dear. That's the most important thing. Why don't you go outside and see if you can help Bram?'

‘Ta, miss.' Forgetting everything that Miss Wantage had attempted to instil in her, Lucy leapt to her feet and bounded out of the room.

She found Bram tending the vegetable bed in the small patch of kitchen garden. He stopped hoeing. ‘It's too hot to keep this up,' he said, wiping a trickle of sweat from his brow. ‘I'm going for a swim.'

‘A swim in the forest?'

Bram threw back his head and laughed. ‘No, silly. Come on, I'll show you.' He threw down the hoe and strode off in the direction of the trees. Lucy was reluctant at first; the memory of being lost and frightened had kept her from making a further attempt to escape, but Bram knew his away around and she trusted him. She ran after him, catching him up just as he entered the cool green shade of the forest.

They walked along barely discernible paths with Lucy clutching Bram's hand. He seemed to sense her fear and diverted her attention by pointing out and naming the different trees. Squirrels leapt from branch to branch overhead, and Peckham raced on ahead causing small animals to dash for safety in the hollow trunks of fallen trees. Sunbeams filtered through the thick canopy of leaves, casting golden shadows on the carpet of dead leaves and beech mast. Lucy was entranced. This was a different world, unlike any other she had created in the game, and with Bram at her side she felt happy and carefree.

Then, quite suddenly, they were in a clearing and sunlight sparkled on the still surface of a large pond. Patches of wild iris made vivid splashes of yellow amongst the tall reeds, and on the margins of the water spikes of feathery white bogbean poked their heads up through a spread of olive-green leaves. ‘It's fairyland,' Lucy whispered. ‘I never seen nothing like it, Bram.'

He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it on the ground. ‘Can you swim?'

‘No. I was taught never to go too near the water's edge. They pull corpses out of the Thames every day.'

‘You can sit on the bank and dip your feet in,' he said, chuckling. ‘I'm going for a swim.' He dropped his trousers and waded into the water, and to Lucy's consternation Peckham leapt in after him, and soon their heads were bobbing about side by side, sending ripples across the surface of the pond. She did not know whether to laugh or cry for help, but after a few anxious moments she began to relax. Bram was obviously a strong swimmer, as was Peckham, but after a while the dog obviously decided that enough was enough and was heading for the bank. He scrambled to safety and shook himself all over Lucy, who jumped aside too late to miss the worst of it. Her freshly laundered tartan frock was spattered with mud and Hester would be cross. Lucy shrugged and sighed. Grown-ups were difficult to please at the best of times.

‘Take your boots off and have a paddle,' Bram called out breathlessly as he swam towards her.

She backed away. ‘No, ta. Don't think I will.'

He reached the shallows, and finding his footing emerged from the water with sunlight caressing his bronzed torso. He stretched, shaking droplets from his wet hair, and raised his arms above his head. Lucy stared at him in wonder. She knew that she ought to look away, but he was a picture of youth and physical perfection. She had seen bare-arsed street urchins, and the shrivelled members of old men pissing in the street, but Bram's nakedness was a thing of beauty. He might have stepped out of an old master's painting she had once seen in the National Gallery, but he was a living, breathing example of male perfection. The feelings he aroused in her were as thrilling as they were alien. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks and she forced herself to look away.

‘Oy!' he shouted, breaking the spell. ‘Throw my shirt to me, there's a good kid.'

On the way home and that evening she found she could not look at him without blushing, and she was sure that everyone noticed her embarrassment at supper that evening although no one said anything, least of all Bram, who seemed oblivious to everything other than the planned outing to Epping market. ‘It's my one chance to see a bit of the world,' he said, spearing a boiled potato on his fork. ‘We might be lucky and find someone who knows your granny, Lucy.'

She nodded, staring down at her plate. ‘I do hope so.' But the thought of leaving them had lost some of its appeal.