Poppy's War (3 page)

She slid off the bed and made a brief foray into the white-tiled bathroom with its huge cast iron bath standing on claw feet, a washbasin big enough to bathe in and a willow pattern lavatory. The toilet at number 18 had its own little house situated just
outside
the back door, which the Brown family considered was quite superior to the back-to-back terraces in the poorer part of town where the lavatory was at the bottom of the yard if you were lucky, and at the end of the block if you were not. She cleaned her teeth and washed her face in what Gran would have called a cat’s-lick, deciding that she could not possibly be dirty after the scrubbing she had received at Violet’s hands. Reluctantly she dressed in Miss Pamela’s cast-offs, and after an unsuccessful attempt to get the comb through the tangles she tied her hair back with a piece of string she found in the day nursery.

She wondered what she was supposed to do now. Her stomach rumbled and she realised that she was extremely hungry, but it seemed that she had been forgotten. She might starve to death up here and her skeleton be found years later amongst the cobwebs in the disused nursery. She opened the door and made her way along the narrow corridor to the landing at the top of the stairs. Leaning over the banisters she strained her ears for sounds of life, and, hearing nothing but the tick of a slender grandmother clock on the floor below, she made her way down three flights of stairs to the kitchen. A wave of sound enveloped her as she opened the door and Violet flew past her carrying a dustpan and brush.

‘I’d clean forgotten you, Popeye,’ she said, grinning. ‘Better keep out of Mrs Toon’s way, she’s on the warpath.’ She slammed the baize door that
kept
the noise from below from disturbing the genteel calm of the family rooms.

‘Oh, it’s you!’ Kneading bread dough as if she were pummelling her worst enemy, Mrs Toon glared at Poppy. ‘I can’t be doing with you under my feet today, there’s too much to do.’

Poppy stood uncertainly at the foot of the stairs, creating patterns on the floor with the toe of her brown sandal. Mrs Toon’s cheeks were bright red, the colour of the geraniums that Gran liked to grow in an old sink in the back yard. Strands of grey hair escaped from her white cap, bouncing about like watch springs as she wielded a floury rolling pin at her. ‘I suppose you’re hungry. Kids always are in my experience. There’s some porridge in the pan on the Aga. Help yourself.’

Poppy approached the monster cautiously and was about to reach up to grab the ladle when Mrs Toon happened to glance over her shoulder. ‘Not like that!’ she screeched. ‘For heaven’s sake, girl, you’ll scald yourself.’ She bustled over and, snatching the ladle, she filled a china bowl with porridge and thrust it into Poppy’s hands. ‘There’s sugar in the bowl on the table. Don’t take too much! And there’s fresh milk on the marble shelf in the larder. Don’t spill it.’

Poppy tucked herself away in the corner of the kitchen and ate her porridge, watching in awe as Mrs Toon barked orders at two women who appeared from the scullery at intervals, carrying huge bowls of
peeled
vegetables. With a face that Mum would have described as a wet weekend, Olive looked distinctly put out as she clattered down the stairs carrying a tray full of dirty crockery.

‘I hate bloody shooting parties,’ she said bitterly.

‘Language, Olive,’ Mrs Toon muttered as Olive disappeared into the scullery.

There was a loud clatter and she flounced back into the kitchen wiping her hands on the tea towel. She stopped and her eyes narrowed as she spotted Poppy, who was trying her best to appear inconspicuous. ‘You’d best keep out of my way today. I don’t want madam making me look after you as well as doing all my other work.’ She snatched an apple from a bowl on a side table and bit into it. ‘By the way, Mrs Toon, best keep some breakfast hot for Mr Guy. He went out for his morning ride and hasn’t come back yet.’

This piece of information did not seem to go down too well with Mrs Toon, and Poppy finished her food quickly. Taking her empty bowl into the scullery she made her escape through an outside door and found herself in a cobbled yard surrounded by outbuildings. The familiar smell of coarse soap and soda billowed out in clouds of steam from the washhouse, bringing a lump to her throat and a wave of homesickness as she listened to the washerwomen laughing and talking while they worked. She hesitated in the doorway, longing to go inside and find a motherly soul who would give her a cuddle
and
tell her that everything would be all right, but it seemed as if she was suddenly invisible. They were all too busy to notice her.

She was just wondering what to do when she spotted a gateway in the stone wall, and on closer examination she discovered that it led into the stable yard. The smell of horse dung, damp straw and leather was unfamiliar but not as unpleasant as she might have imagined. A horse stuck its great head out of its stall whinnying at her and stamping its hooves and she backed away. Those teeth looked as if they could bite a girl’s head off with one great snap of the mighty jaws. She had been chased once by a carthorse that had seemed intent on trampling her underfoot, and she had been scared of the brutes ever since. She glanced round as a stable lad shouted something unintelligible at her and she panicked, thinking she must have done something wrong. She ran through the yard, past the carriage house and into the safety of a large clump of rhododendrons. The leaves slapped her cheeks and twigs scratched her bare legs as she forced her way through the tangle of branches. A large pigeon flew out of the bush close to her head and she screamed in fright as its wing feathers made a loud flapping noise.

Suddenly, she was out in the sunlight again and her heart was beating a tattoo inside her chest. Her feet crunched on the gravel as she ran headlong down the drive. Close by she could hear a dog barking. Too late she was aware of horse’s hooves
pounding
on the hard-baked grass, and the shouted warning to get out of the way. She turned her head and was paralysed with fright at the sight of flailing hooves. The horse reared on its hind legs as its rider swerved to avoid her. She raised her arm to protect her face and plunged once again into a sea of blackness.

Chapter Two

POPPY REGAINED CONSCIOUSNESS
slowly and found herself looking up into a pair of angry, hazel eyes, deep-set beneath dark brows that were drawn together in a frown. ‘Are you Errol Flynn?’ she murmured. His clean-cut features and strong jawline would have made him stand out in a crowd, but he looked decidedly cross.

‘Oh God, she’s concussed, Guy. Better send for the doctor.’

Poppy realised that she was lying on soft cushions and there was ceiling above her where the sky had been. A crystal chandelier dangled somewhere high above her and the female voice belonged to a young and attractive lady with blonde hair who looked just like Ginger Rogers.

‘I’m a doctor. Well, halfway there, anyway,’ Guy said, with a wry smile. ‘And she’s not concussed, she just fainted. She went down like a ninepin, having terrified poor old Goliath out of his wits and almost unseated me into the bargain.’

‘Who is she anyway?’ Pamela asked, staring curiously at Poppy. ‘And aren’t those my old clothes?’

‘She’s an evacuee from London. Mother has decided to do her bit for the war effort.’ Guy raised himself from his knees, ruffling Poppy’s hair with a careless hand. ‘What’s your name, kid?’

‘Poppy Brown, mister.’

‘How do you do, Poppy? My name is Guy and this is my sister, Pamela. I’m afraid you haven’t had a very auspicious start to your time here.’

Poppy had not the faintest idea what auspicious meant, but he seemed to understand how she felt and he was really good-looking when he smiled. She remembered what Mum had taught her about manners. ‘I’m quite well now, thank you. And I’m sorry if I frightened your horse, mister, but it scared me first.’

‘We’ll have to do something about your fear of animals, young lady. You can’t live in this part of the country and go round fainting every time you see something on four legs.’

Poppy snapped into a sitting position. ‘The greengrocer’s horse chased me up the road and bit me bum. Don’t make me go near them nasty things, mister.’

‘Don’t tease the child, Guy,’ Pamela said, frowning. ‘And we don’t say bum in polite circles, Poppy. Your grasp of grammar is appalling. If you’re going to stay here for a while I think you ought to be enrolled in the village school as soon as possible. I’ll have a word with Mother when she gets back from the morning shoot.’

Poppy stared at her in amazement. ‘Is she shooting Germans?’

Guy threw back his head and laughed. ‘I’d back my mother against the Germans any day.’

‘Don’t encourage her, Guy. The child has a lot to learn and she’ll get herself into trouble if she comes out with things like that in front of other people.’

‘That’s Mother’s department, I’m glad to say.’ Guy leaned down so that his face was close to Poppy’s. ‘And as for you, young lady, we have a date with Goliath when you’re feeling better.’

She blinked up at him, intoxicated by the scent of damp Harris tweed and spice-scented cologne. She was suddenly the centre of attention and it seemed that at least someone cared about her. All right, she thought, so he isn’t quite as handsome as Errol Flynn, but he’s not half bad. The girls at school would be green with envy if they knew she was living in the same house as someone who looked like a film star. He strolled through the open French windows into the garden. She realised with a start that Pamela was saying something.

‘You haven’t heard a word I said, Poppy. Are you sure your head doesn’t hurt?’

Poppy gazed up at Pamela, searching for some resemblance to her brother and finding none. ‘I’m sorry, miss. What was it you said?’

‘Never mind. I’ll ring for Olive. She’ll know what to do with you.’

Poppy did not think much of that idea and she
scrambled
to her feet. ‘I’m all right now, honest.’

‘Then you’d better go to the nursery and read a book, or go into the garden and play ball, or something,’ Pamela said with a vague wave of her hands. ‘Just make sure you keep to the servants’ quarters while the shooting party have lunch in the dining room, and that goes for tomorrow as well. In fact the luncheon parties go on until the end of the week and you mustn’t make a nuisance of yourself. If you don’t know what to do, just ask Olive or Mrs Toon.’

Poppy eyed her warily. ‘If you don’t mind me asking, miss. Who are they shooting if it ain’t the Hun?’

‘It’s way past the glorious twelfth, girl. The shooting season has begun. I thought everyone knew that.’ Pamela hurried from the room leaving Poppy none the wiser.

‘Ah, there you are, Poppy Brown. I’ve been looking for you.’

Guy’s voice startled Poppy so that she almost fell out of the tree. She had thought she was well concealed amongst the greenery of the ancient oak where she had taken refuge from the house full of strangers. She had no idea how long she had been perched on the branch, but from her vantage point she had seen the return of the shooting party and the toffs in their tweeds, wearing flat caps that didn’t quite look the same as the ones that Dad and Joe
wore
when they went to watch West Ham play at home.

‘I can see you, kid, so you might as well answer me.’

‘How did you know where I was?’ She had bunched her skirt up into her knickers in order to make climbing easier and she was suddenly conscious of the fact that she was showing rather a lot of leg. Gran always said that ladies never showed their knees. She would have a fit if she saw her now.

Guy pulled himself up into the branches with the ease of an athlete and straddled the bough beside her. ‘This is where I used to hide when I didn’t want anyone to find me.’

‘I didn’t know it was your tree.’

‘Well now you do, Poppy! But I give you permission to use it as and when necessary.’

‘But you’re grown-up. You don’t need a place to hide.’

The smile on his lips did not quite reach his eyes. ‘Everyone needs a place to hide sometimes, Poppy. Grown-ups are no exception.’

‘I see.’ She did not understand at all, but she was flattered to think that Guy had seen fit to confide in her. He seemed to have forgotten her for a moment and he took a cigarette case from his breast pocket, selected a cigarette and lit it with a flick of his silver lighter. Poppy watched him with open admiration as he blew smoke rings up into the branches. ‘I wish I could do that.’

‘Don’t even think about it. Smoking isn’t for little girls.’

‘I’ll be fourteen next April.’

‘That makes all the difference, of course.’

‘Now you’re laughing at me. That’s not nice.’

He shook his head. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I can remember what it’s like to be sort of halfway between childhood and being an adult. No one takes you seriously.’

His smile would have melted an iceberg and Poppy was ready to forgive him anything. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she murmured, turning her head and hoping he had not seen the blood rush to her cheeks.

He tossed the butt onto the ground where it glowed for a moment before being extinguished by the damp soil. ‘And now, Poppy,’ he said seriously, ‘I think it’s time for your first riding lesson.’

She almost fell out of the tree in fright, but he had already lowered himself so that he could drop the last few feet, and he was standing below encouraging her to jump. She half climbed, half fell off the branch and was caught by a pair of surprisingly strong arms, stronger even than her dad’s when he lifted her up on his shoulders to pick apples off the tree in their tiny back garden.

Guy set her on her feet and strode off in the direction of the stables. She trotted on behind, torn between the desire to follow him to hell and back or to run away and lock herself in the nursery
bathroom
. Forgiving him for teasing her was one thing; learning to ride one of those fearsome animals was quite another.

When they reached the stable yard he summoned a lad with a wave of his hand and told him to saddle up Goliath. Poppy sidled away, swallowing convulsively as the bile rose in her throat. She felt faint and sick and was about to make a bolt for the safety of the rhododendrons when Guy seemed to sense her fear. His hand shot out and caught her wrist in a vice-like grip.