Poppy's War (6 page)

Marina rose to her feet. You’re right, Algy. Pamela, tell the girl what to do. We’ll wait for you in the car.’

Poppy spent the rest of the day keeping Rupert amused. She fastened him into his leather leading reins and took him for a walk in the grounds, taking care not to let him go too near the lake when they fed stale bread to the ducks. She managed to finish her letter to her mother while he took his afternoon nap, and she tucked it carefully into an envelope she had found in the desk. It had a bit of scribble on the back, but she did not think that their postman, Ted Johnson, would mind. He had been doing their round for as long as she could remember, riding his red bicycle no matter what the weather, and he lived next door. He kept pigeons in his back yard and she knew that Grandad shared his passion, although he pretended that the birds were a bit of a nuisance when they ate his pea crop. Gran said they were nasty feathered things and spread disease, and so Grandad had to make do with second-hand pigeon fancying. Poppy wondered if she ought to write a note to Mr Johnson on the back of the envelope, but then she decided that he might think it a bit cheeky and the men in the sorting office would think he had a girlfriend in the country. Mrs Johnson would not be amused. She was a force to be reckoned with, so Mum said. Poppy licked the sticky bit on the flap and pressed it down with her fist. She wondered if she dared ask Mrs Pallister for a postage stamp, and then
she
decided that Guy would be a safer bet.

She settled down to read a copy of
Treasure Island
that she had found in a cupboard. She had read it before but she loved the tale of the high seas and adventure and she was just getting into the story when Rupert woke up. She put the book aside and went into the night nursery to lift him from his cot. She gave him a cuddle and took him into the bathroom to change his nappy. After that there was nothing to do other than to wait for Violet to bring them their tea, which she delivered with a few personal and rather spiteful remarks. She stomped off when Poppy refused to retaliate and they were left alone until Pamela came to the nursery to kiss her son goodnight.

‘He seems well enough,’ she said, patting Rupert’s head as if her were a puppy rather than a twenty-month-old toddler. ‘Did he eat his meals, Poppy?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Did you bath him properly and wash behind his ears?’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Good. If Nancy is still unwell, you may look after Master Rupert tomorrow, which of course is Sunday. We all attend church in the morning, except Rupert, who is too young, and so you will have to keep him amused until midday. You must bring him down to the dining room in time for luncheon, and I want you to make certain that he’s wearing his best clothes, as his father should have arrived from London by then.’

Poppy blinked and said nothing; she had lost all idea of time and had not even realised today was Saturday. Mum would have gone down the road to the shops to get food in for Sunday dinner, or luncheon or whatever it was called; she was becoming confused. And Joe would be home from work and getting washed and smartened up ready to take Mabel out to the pictures.

‘Have you listened to a word I said, Poppy?’ Pamela’s voice was as scratchy as an old needle on a gramophone record.

‘Yes, ma’am.’

With an exasperated sigh, Pamela glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens, I’ll never get changed in time for dinner at this rate. Good night, Rupert darling.’ She blew him a kiss and as she hurried from the room Poppy heard her murmur. ‘I think that girl is a bit simple.’

Next morning, Poppy took Rupert to the lake where they fed the ducks with scraps of bread saved from their breakfast. The early September sun turned the surface of the water into molten gold, and across the sweep of green parkland the gently rolling hills were blue with morning mist. Poppy sat on the daisy-studded grass while Rupert chased butterflies. He was at a safe distance from the water’s edge and she allowed her attention to wander, attracted by the purring sound of the big black car which had collected her from the station yard. It was a Bentley,
unless
she was very much mistaken. Joe had a passion for cars and the walls in his room were covered with pictures cut from glossy magazines. It was his ambition in life to own a car but unless he won the football pools it was very unlikely. The Bentley glided along the tree-lined avenue, stopping outside the lodge. The chauffeur climbed out and opened the tall wrought-iron gates.

Losing interest in the family’s progress towards the village church, Poppy lay back on the grass looking up at the sky through the branches of a horse chestnut tree. Out here in the open, the sky looked bigger and bluer than it did when viewed through the tightly packed terraces in London. There seemed to be more of everything here in the sweet-smelling country air. The grass grew thicker and greener here than it did in West Ham Park. Dandelions and daises were allowed to riot in profusion instead of being viciously beheaded by the park keeper’s mower. She had picked little posies of the flowers to take up to the nursery when they went indoors, but sadly they were already wilting in the warmth of the sun.

She sat up, calling to Rupert, who had strayed a little too near the water for safety. He toddled back towards her clutching a dandelion in his chubby hand and beaming as though he had just struck gold. She took it from him and gave him a hug. ‘Is that for me?’

He nodded his head but his attention was
distracted
by the sound of a car engine. Poppy turned her head to see a smart yellow and black open-top roadster roaring up the drive. She leapt to her feet as she recognised Guy at the wheel and she waved frantically, trying to attract his attention, but then she saw that he was not alone. His companion was a pretty young lady with a halo of golden curls. Poppy’s hand dropped to her side as the car shot past them. Neither of its occupants had noticed her and the wheels spun on the gravel as Guy turned in the direction of the stable block.

‘I might as well be blooming invisible,’ Poppy said, catching hold of Rupert and fastening him into his reins despite his loud protests. ‘Let’s go for a walk before dinner and maybe you’ll sleep all afternoon.’

After a complete circuit of the lake, Poppy’s stomach was rumbling and Rupert was a dead weight on her back. His little legs had given out before they were halfway round the large expanse of water, and she had had to give him a piggyback. His arms were too short to reach round her neck and he had not quite mastered the art of hanging on. He had fallen asleep before they reached the house and Poppy’s muscles were beginning to ache. The sound of the Bentley’s engine confirmed her suspicions that it was getting late, and another car was following close behind. She had a nasty feeling that this must be Rupert’s father, the man who expected to see his son spruced up in his Sunday best, not covered in grass stains with muddy knees and jam on his face.
She
broke into a run, heading for the servants’ entrance.

She had just managed to get Rupert washed and dressed when the nursery door opened and Violet erupted into the room. ‘They want Master Rupert in the drawing room double-quick.’

‘Show us the way,’ Poppy said boldly. ‘There’ll be trouble if I get lost again.’

‘For Gawd’s sake, Popeye. Haven’t you heard the news? We’ve declared war on the Germans. They’re all at sixes and sevens below stairs, and there’s Sunday lunch to serve. I haven’t got time to pander to the likes of you.’

Poppy stood her ground. At this moment she was more scared of Mrs Carroll than she was of Violet. ‘I don’t care about all that. Please, you must show me the way.’

‘Oh, all right then. Get a move on.’ Violet grabbed her by the sleeve and pulled her roughly towards the door.

‘Let me go.’ Poppy wrenched her arm free. ‘What’s the matter with you? Why are you being like this? I haven’t done anything to you.’

‘I don’t like you,’ Violet said, pinching her arm. ‘You’re a dirty city kid from the slums, that’s what they’re all saying. I bet you got lice in your hair and fleas too.’

Rupert had begun to snivel and Poppy picked him up, giving him a cuddle. ‘Shut up, Violet. You’re frightening him.’

‘You think you’re something special because Miss Pamela lets you look after Master Rupert, but you’re not. She’d let the cat take care of him if she could get away with it. You’re just convenient, that’s what you are.’ Violet turned on her heel and stalked out of the room with Poppy hurrying after her.

‘Don’t go so fast, Violet. Rupert’s heavy and I can’t keep up.’

‘See if I care. It’s you who’ll get into trouble, not me.’ Quickening her pace, Violet ran down the first flight of stairs, pausing on the landing to glance up at Poppy and cock a snook at her.

Incensed, and worried that she might lose her way for a second time, Poppy hurried after her. She was unfamiliar with the main staircase, having grown accustomed to using the back stairs, and Violet obviously knew this. She wanted her to be late, Poppy was certain of that, and she was equally determined to arrive in the drawing room on time. She hefted Rupert over her shoulder, ignoring his loud protests, but halfway down the stairs she slipped and fell against Violet, catching her off balance. With a loud scream, Violet missed a step, tottered on the next one, lost her footing and fell down the remaining stairs bumping off each tread. She landed on the polished parquet floor with a sickening thud and there was an eerie silence.

Poppy stopped, frozen to the spot, thinking that she had killed her, but with a sudden intake of breath Violet began to howl as if all the demons in hell were
after
her. A door flew open and Mr Carroll emerged followed by the rest of the family. Violet was suddenly the centre of attention.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Edwin Carroll demanded angrily.

‘She pushed me down the stairs.’ Violet pointed a shaking finger at Poppy. ‘She’s a wild thing, sir. She attacked me.’

Poppy stared aghast at the sea of faces. Violet had lied and now she was going to take the blame. Mrs Carroll’s expression of cold rage was far more frightening than anything Violet could do to her, and she knew that if she did not speak up she would get the blame for Violet’s accident. Rupert was holding on to her for dear life and any moment now he was going to set up a wail equal to anything that Violet could produce. She hurried down the remaining stairs. ‘I never did, sir. I tripped and almost fell down them bloody stairs meself.’

Pamela hurried forward to snatch her son from Poppy’s arms. ‘I won’t have that sort of language used in front of Rupert.’

‘Get up, Violet.’ Mrs Carroll’s voice was icicle sharp. ‘Stop that noise at once and get back below stairs, and as for you, Poppy Brown, come into the drawing room. I want a word with you.’

Everyone filed back into the drawing room and Marina took her seat, folding her hands in her lap. ‘What was the meaning of that disgraceful outburst? I won’t tolerate that sort of behaviour in my house.’

‘It weren’t my fault, ma’am,’ Poppy said with a defiant lift of her chin. ‘I never pushed her.’

‘So you say, but I only have your word for it. This really is the last straw, my girl. Tomorrow morning I’ll contact the billeting officer and have you taken away. You’re not fit to live in a civilised household.’

Poppy stood alone in the centre of the room holding her head proudly, filled with righteous indignation, and raging inwardly against the injustice of being blamed when it was not her fault. She wished her dad were here to sort these people out, or even Joe; he was big and strong and could shout much louder than Mrs Carroll. Gran could be fierce too; Mrs Carroll might think twice before taking her on, and Mum would stand up for her even though she didn’t like arguments and fights.

Rupert was crying loudly and resisting all his mother’s efforts to calm him.

‘What were you thinking of, Pamela?’ The man who Poppy thought must be Miss Pamela’s husband was glaring at her as if she had just crawled out from under a stone. She knew she had it right when he turned away to frown at his wife. ‘How could you entrust our son to the care of a street urchin?’

‘That’s not fair, Hector,’ Guy said calmly. ‘Give the poor kid a chance. She’s done all right so far. I never did like that girl Violet, or her foxy-faced family come to that.’

Poppy could have rushed over and kissed him. She resisted the temptation but she would be
eternally
grateful to him, and he obviously shared her dislike of the Guppy family.

‘Don’t encourage her, Guy.’

Mrs Carroll sounded slightly calmer to Poppy’s ears. It was obvious that she thought a lot of her son, but then that’s what mums did in Poppy’s opinion. Joe could get away with murder.

‘Poppy, go to the nursery and stay there until the billeting officer comes for you tomorrow.’ Mrs Carroll dismissed her with a wave of her hand. ‘Pour me a large sherry, Edwin. My nerves are shredded.’

‘Mother, this isn’t fair,’ Guy protested. ‘Don’t you think you should give Poppy a chance to explain?’

Marina shook her head. ‘Such conduct is indefensible. Get out of my sight, Poppy.’

‘Just a moment, Mrs Carroll.’ A light, girlish voice coming from somewhere behind the tall figure of Hector Pallister caused everyone to turn their heads to look at the petite and pretty blonde whom Poppy had seen earlier in Guy’s car.

‘My mind is made up, Amy.’

‘I understand your feelings, Mrs Carroll,’ Amy said, moving swiftly to Poppy’s side. ‘But haven’t we enough trouble with war being declared just this morning? Isn’t this poor little girl one of the first victims, torn away from everyone she knows and loves and thrown in amongst total strangers?’

‘Steady on, sis. You’ll have us all in tears in a minute,’ Algy said, grinning.

Guy nudged him in the ribs. ‘Put a sock in it, Algy. Let Amy speak.’

Amy slipped her arm around Poppy’s shoulders, giving her a comforting squeeze. Looking up at her, Poppy was lost in admiration. She was prettier than Joe’s girlfriend, and even lovelier than Ginger Rogers who was Poppy’s favourite film star at the moment, although not so long ago she had thought that Olivia de Havilland was quite beautiful.