Tall Poppies (25 page)

Livia burst into tears at the thought of sending the children back to the orphanage. She'd worked hard to gain their trust and affection, and if the major succeeded in his quest, the lives she'd created for them would be shattered.

‘None of this is my fault, Connie.'

‘Aye, so you say. You turned out to be as bad as the other one, working behind everyone's back to attract the interest of the master of the house,' Connie sniffed, beginning to run out of steam. ‘What's more, I'm going to pack my bags and leave now. You can do your own cooking.'

‘But where will you go? At least wait until you've had time to arrange some accommodation.'

Connie thought for a minute or two. ‘Aye, that makes sense, and I daresay Mr Beamish and Florence will put me up until I sort myself out.' That settled in her mind, she stomped off, then turned, glaring, to fire her last shot. ‘We can't all be favoured with rent-free cottages, but it's you who will get her comeuppance and be thrown out on the street in the end, you mark my words.'

Florence, deciding to take Connie's side, walked around with her nose in the air and barely spoke to Livia for the next few days.

Beamish seemed to be the only one sympathetic to her plight. ‘Don't you worry, Mrs Sangster. I'll sort the pair of them out. I reckon I can buy a right nice house with the money the captain has left me. Me, Florence and my dad can live in that, and Connie can rent the rooms over the shop if she wants.'

‘Thank you, Mr Beamish. That's taken one worry from my mind.'

‘Oh, I daresay Connie will calm down. She won't want to part on bad terms. You settle in that nice little cottage and prepare for the arrival of the baby. I'll come and visit the next time I'm passing through if you don't mind, and if you need me I'll be at the end of the telephone.'

She hoped she'd never have to take advantage of this kind man. And he was right about Connie. She made a teary apology for her outburst and they hugged each other tight. ‘Now, you let us know whether you have a boy or a girl, since Florence and I have got a wager on it,' she said, trying to cover her embarrassment at the need to part on good terms and the necessity to back down to achieve it.

‘I will.'

Livia drove them to the station along with their luggage, and the three of them left together. She felt lonely when the train disappeared into the morning mist.

The house she returned to was suddenly an empty husk, except for silent echoes of a past Livia didn't feel part of. She stood in the hall, listening to snatches of Richard's laughter, of his childhood feet pattering on the stairs, and of time ticking her life away on the same grandfather clock that had ticked his life away. The hands had moved on, and now she must do the same.

She was given the incentive to move when Mrs Anstruther began to shroud the furniture in dustsheets. She now felt like a small nut in the big shell of what had been her home when Richard was alive.

‘Come on, Esmé. We'd better pack our things into the car. It will take us a few trips.'

‘Don't you do too much, Mrs Sangster, not in your condition,' Mrs Anstruther said. ‘Tell me what you want to take, and Matthew will carry it down. We'll help you at the other end, too. We've got time on our hands now. And you'll need the cradle and the cot from the attic, and the bedding for it from the linen cupboard. I'll make sure it's all in order and clean, and if Matthew may borrow the car, he can deliver it.'

‘He may borrow the car at any time he wishes for estate business. He need only telephone me.'

‘That's kind of you, Mrs Sangster. Then perhaps he could drive me to the market tomorrow like he usually does. I need to go to the butcher. You could come with us; you really do need to get out a bit. We could look at baby clothing, and buy some napkins. And you'll need a perambulator. It's likely we'll find one for sale second hand.'

‘What about our six chickens?' Esmé cried out in sudden alarm. ‘We can't leave them behind else they'll be lonely.'

‘You tell Matthew which six are yours, and he'll catch them and bring them over. We'd better pack some feed for them, and some straw.'

‘Oh, Matthew knows which ones are ours; he helped me name them. They are Lavinia, Susannah, Alice, Joan, Maisie and Mistress Cluck, and they'll come running when he calls their names.'

The next day the hens arrived at Nutting Cottage, in a rather undignified manner, tied in a sack. Matthew had made sure the garden was in order, and after a few ruffled feathers and disapproving clucks at being uprooted again, the birds settled happily in the henhouse Richard had designed, and which Beamish and Chad had built.

It was a rather grand affair, with painted windows and an arch for a front door with a portico. The opening was large enough for the hens to enter and leave with ease. Each hen had its own coop. The construction looked rather like a manor house, with a red roof on brass hinges that lifted up, allowing for ease of egg collection and cleaning.

There was a name painted over the door: ‘Cluckington Hall.' ‘That will keep the foxes at bay. I should have designed chicken coops instead of wasting my time becoming a lawyer,' Richard had said, and had smiled proudly at it. ‘Well done you two.' She remembered that Chad had beamed with pride at being praised.

Whiskers found that his former patch of afternoon sunlight on the windowsill was still there, and he settled on it and set about cleaning behind his ears.

‘It means it's going to rain – at least, that's what Florence said,' Esmé told her.

Bertie investigated the hedge round the garden, renewing his boundaries and trying to flush out a few mice he could dispose of.

The sewing machine also went back into its original position. She would need that shortly.

It had been as though Livia had never left, except for the burden she carried. She smoothed her palm over her stomach, trying to eradicate the persistent niggle of resentment that this pregnancy had been forced on her. Feeling the new life inside her respond with a strong surge, she told herself once again that the child was innocent of any wrong. If only her nature was as generous and forgiving as Richard's had been.

She sighed, and supposed she should start getting a layette ready for the child. After all, there was only four weeks to go, and she prayed it would arrive late rather than early.

Tomorrow she'd purchase a pattern book and some wool and needles, and hoped she could remember how to knit.

The day after Livia left, Rosemary Sangster arrived at Foxglove House. There was no answer to the doorbell.

She still had a key to the place, and she let herself in. She was, after all, a Sangster now, and had a legitimate excuse to be in the family home. Henry had turned out to be a bore. He was weak, too, and lived a life far beyond his means.

She'd had no idea that he was so broke. And neither did he have a living now. All he was good for was keeping her satisfied.

The furniture was shrouded in dustsheets. Only the housekeeper's quarters looked as though they were occupied. That upstart, Livia, must have moved back to the cottage.

Rosemary went upstairs and collected the few items she'd left behind, then quickly made her way to the room where Mrs Sangster had died.

The safe was hidden behind a carved panel in a cupboard, the key kept in a secret compartment inside a drawer. She pushed the concealing panel of wood aside, took the key and applied it to the lock.

Inside the strongbox was Margaret Sangster's jewellery box. Opening it, she gazed at the glittering contents, a smile on her face. There was nothing else worth having in the safe. She locked it, then put the key back in its place and tucked the box under her arm.

She was just about to go downstairs when she heard a noise from the hall. Her heart quickened as she listened, but she heard nothing else except the tick of the clock.

There were letters on the mat. She picked them up. One was an account, the other was addressed to someone called Mrs Anstruther. She must be the new housekeeper.

The letters reminded her that she'd seen an address book in the housekeeper's room. Throwing the letters on the hallstand she went to the housekeeper's quarters and flicked the book open. Under Beamish, Joseph and Florence, she found an address and phone number. Beamish & Son Ironmongery, Ashley Road, Parkstone.

Considering what she'd been up to, she'd best not show her face at the cottage, or in the village, she thought. She didn't want anyone to know she'd been here, including Henry. Besides, this might be her way out.

Within minutes she was on her way.

The ironmongery was in a busy part of town, and people went in and out.

After a while she saw Beamish come out and stroll towards the bank. She crossed the road to the shop. There was an old man inside.

‘Is Florence in? she asked.

‘She's in the back room. Florrie, someone here to see you,' he called out.

She came out from behind a curtain, her smile fading. ‘Oh, it's you. Can I get you something – a pound of tin-tacks to eat for dinner, perhaps?'

‘Don't be like that, Florence. I was in the district and thought I'd look you up and take you out for afternoon tea. There's a café across the road.'

Florence looked gratified and began to remove her apron. ‘Can you manage for half-an-hour or so, Dad?'

‘I reckon so, since I managed by myself before you came here and took over, with your bossy ways. Aren't you going to introduce me?'

‘You are a nosy one, aren't you? It's Mrs Rosemary Sangster.'

‘How do, Mrs Sangster. I was sorry to hear about your husband.'

Florence gave an exasperated sigh. ‘It's not that Mrs Sangster  . . . that were Livia Sangster. This here is the older Mrs Sangster; the one who married the major.'

Insulting cow, Rosemary thought.

‘The one having the baby?' He gazed her up and down, like most men did. Only this one was too old to be any use to anyone. ‘I thought you were a bit on the slim side to be in the family way, Missus.'

Rosemary forced a smile to her face. How dare this common little man be so personal?

‘Get off with you then, Florrie. Don't be long, else Joseph will wonder where you are.'

‘Let him wonder. He's gone off to look at a house for sale, so he'll be ages, I expect. Mr Richard left him one thousand pounds in his will,' she said, sounding self-important. ‘That will set us up nicely.'

They went into the café a little way up the road and Rosemary ordered tea and cakes.

‘So, Livia is having a baby, is she? Such a shame when she's lost her husband.'

Florence selected a lemon curd tart. ‘She knew he was dying when she married him. As for the baby  . . .' She looked around her and lowered her voice. ‘I reckon she's further gone than she's letting on  . . . but we'll see.'

‘Never.'

‘It was a quick wedding with a special license  . . . though if you ask me, Richard Sangster didn't look as though he could find the energy to father a child, poor bugger.'

With a bit of prodding, Florence told Rosemary all she wanted to hear. That most of it was supposition didn't bother her.

‘I don't suppose you'd put that in writing, would you?'

‘In writing?' Florence looked dubious. ‘I can't read and write very well. It would take me a month of Sundays. Besides, I gave a statement to that lawyer fellow.'

Rosemary seized on that. ‘He needs another one. Look  . . . I'll write it for you and read it back to you. Then you can sign it. You do know how to sign your name, don't you?'

‘Course I do  . . . the doctor taught me. And talking of doctors, we thought it was young Doctor Elliot Livia were after. He looked ever so disappointed when he came home and found she'd married the captain. And at Richard's party the pair of them stood behind the potted plant. Very close they were, and whispering together  . . . like lovers.'

Like most gossips, Florence didn't know when to stop.

‘It was observant of you to see that, Florence dear. Why don't you eat that last cake while I'm doing this? Oh, by the way, I'll pay you five pounds for your trouble.'

Florence's eyes began to gleam as Rosemary took out a notebook and pen and began to write.

Sixteen

Chad arrived home from school flushed with the success of his second term of exams. A pity he didn't have Richard to share it with, Livia thought. It fell on herself and Doctor Elliot to lavish praise on him after he proudly showed off his report.

Denton telephoned to congratulate him one evening, and they had a short, mostly one-sided conversation, with Chad chattering about school, cricket teams and other manly pursuits. Their parents would have been proud of him  . . . but then, Chad couldn't remember a time when he had parents, and now the male influence of Richard had gone it looked as though Denton would be the one to bear the brunt of his youthful exuberance.

‘When are you coming home, Doctor Denton?' Chad said at last, and his glance turned her way. ‘Yes, Livia is here. Did you want to speak to her?'

Indeed she was there, hovering by the telephone and impatient to hear his voice.

He sounded far away, and rather remote when he said, ‘Livia, how are you keeping?'

‘Apart from feeling rather fat, I'm well. You?'

A low chuckle reached her ear. ‘Well, but rushed off my feet  . . . in fact, I've only got a few minutes before I'm due to go to the theatre.'

‘I won't keep you then. Thank you for remembering Chad. I appreciate it, and I know he does.'

‘I'm proud of him and the progress he's making, and I'm sure Richard would have been. Chad is certainly proving his worth in our sponsorship of him. I'm surprised to hear that you moved back into the cottage, though. I thought you and Richard wanted the baby to be born in Foxglove House.'