Tall Poppies (9 page)

Livia hadn't questioned who'd paid her wages, mainly because there was little left by the time it reached her pocket. She smiled. ‘In that case, I won't overstep the boundary of my authority if I tell you that you're welcome to stay for lunch, Mr Stone? There's steak and kidney pie on the menu, and Connie Starling is a very good cook. You can either join us in the kitchen, or dine in solitary splendour at the big table.'

He looked startled for a moment, before smiling in return. ‘I'm partial to steak and kidney pie, and would very much like to join you all in the kitchen. I can then explain the changes to everyone.'

Where Livia had expected lime-washed cob, she got red bricks. Where she'd expected to see thatch, she saw grey slate. A clematis threaded in and out of a wire support around the door. The cottage was not far from the village, where she could walk to the small general store, or she could get a seat on a bus that drove passengers into Creekmore to shop once a week.

The sitting room had French windows looking out over a small terrace and the garden. The kitchen was big enough to eat in. There was a dining room and a laundry room with a clothes boiler, mangle and ironing table. The privy was outside.

Upstairs were three bedrooms with sloping ceilings. The two at the back would be for the children. Livia would have the bigger one for herself. There was a downstairs bedroom for guests, though it was filled with junk. Should anyone care to visit her it could be cleaned out.

Her eyes began to shine. The place wasn't fussy, but it was roomy and comfortable, with patterned winged chairs and dark wooden floors with rugs here and there. There was gas lighting.

She gave a plant in a pot a drink of water from the pump in the sink. ‘There, that should stop you from wilting,' she said.

‘Well  . . .?' Simon Stone asked.

Livia experienced a pride of ownership so fierce that she wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. ‘It's lovely. I wish Mrs Sangster were here, so I could thank her. When can I move in?'

‘Whenever you wish, after the tenant has vacated the place. I'll make arrangements for the children nearer the time, and I'll drive them down myself. I'll telephone you first to let you know when we're coming.'

Just in time for Christmas, she thought. They'd be together at last, a family again. Her siblings would get rid of that unhealthy pastiness, and she'd fill them with nourishing food and sweet country air.

‘Will I be able to have a cat? The children would like that.'

He smiled. ‘I don't see why not.'

She was full of happiness, yet uneasy, as if it were all too good to be true  . . . a sweet dream while she slept, and when she woke up it would evaporate and remain unfulfilled. Simon Stone wasn't real. He didn't exist. So she pinched herself, and resisted the urge to pinch him, and her mood fluctuated between happiness and despair as she cleaned and sewed a pretty smock for Esmé to wear for best, out of one of Mrs Sangster's dresses. She went to the market and bought them an outfit each  . . . and the weeks drifted slowly past.

Finally she received a call from Simon Stone, but it wasn't what she'd expected.

‘I'm so sorry, Miss Carr. Your sister and brother have been taken ill,' he said.

Dear God! Let it not be the epidemic that had gripped hold of the country and spread throughout the world. It was cutting through the population like a true servant of the grim reaper, leaving thousands dead in its wake.

‘They have the flu.'

It was such a short sentence, but so much fear was stored in its scorpion tail. Livia's anguish was a raging twist of misery, fear and loathing, and she gave a sharp cry. ‘It's not fair! It can't be true  . . . I must go to them.'

‘My dear. Please don't come. You won't be able to see them, since they're in the isolation ward. You must put your trust in God.'

She dropped the receiver, leaving it swaying back and forth on its cord. A fine thing to be given such hope, only to have it crashed down. Was this some sort of test to see if she was worthy? Livia went to her room and stared out over the wilderness of a garden with its secret places. The children would love the freedom of living in the country, and she'd promised them they'd all be together as a family.

She crawled on to the bed, curled up small and began to cry in big swooping sobs. Although her chest became sore, she couldn't stop sobbing until she was scooped up against someone's warm body. She became aware that somebody was rocking her. It was soothing, like she was a child again, and her mother was cuddling her close.

Only it wasn't her mother, it was Dr Elliot. ‘It's not right, my poor sister and brother getting that horrible disease,' she whispered. ‘I feel so guilty, and I can't bear it.'

‘You can and you must, my sweet, brave girl,' he told her. ‘Chad and Esmé have each other, and it doesn't mean they will die.'

‘They're twins. If one dies, the other will, because they won't leave each other behind.' She gazed up at him, hope in her eyes. ‘Do you think they will survive it? Will praying help?'

‘I'm a doctor. I deal with broken bodies, and sometimes broken minds. I don't profess to have any special knowledge of the spiritual, except we are urged to have faith. I would like to think so, though.'

‘It's such a cruel thing to do  . . . allow me to have such hope after four years apart, then just when happiness is within my grasp, and that of my sister and brother, to bring this down upon them. They've hardly lived.'

‘But they are not dead, so their bodies are fighting the disease. You mustn't think that way, Livia. There is still hope.'

‘I feel as though I've been robbed of hope as well as a purpose in life.'

‘Of course you do, but we have more than one purpose in life, and you will find another if need be, and will have the strength to carry that through.'

There came a knock at the door.

‘Come in, Connie.'

The cup rattled on the saucer Connie carried. ‘Is Livia all right, Doctor? I was that worried.'

He placed Livia on the bed and removed her shoes. ‘She's had a dreadful shock, and must rest. I'm going to give her a sedative to take with her tea.' He gazed down at her. ‘You'll feel stronger and more able to cope when you wake. Connie will help you into your nightgown, and I'll pop in again in the morning to see how you are.'

Sleep  . . . yes  . . . just for a while so she could forget this awful disease that travelled the world with the sole purpose of slaughtering the innocents. She took the pill and soon the outside noise had retreated past the curious fuzziness that surrounded her. She remembered a line from a prayer from childhood  . . . one she'd taught the twins.
If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul will take.

‘They are so innocent and it was just words, you don't have to take heed of them,' she muttered, and tears trickled from under her lashes. She had been given the time to plan their lovely life together in that sweet little cottage  . . . if they died she'd be left with nobody to love. Just herself  . . . and she'd never pray for anything again.

What had the doctor said  . . . that she'd find another purpose? Well, let it be soon, for she couldn't stand to lose the warm feeling inside her where love and hope for the future resided. Perhaps she'd been presumptuous by leaving her heart in the sweet cottage she'd fallen in love with, and had thought of as home. She'd certainly left her dreams there.

She was selfish, feeling sorry for herself, when it was her brother and sister who were in danger.

The next day she threw herself into her work, nearly dropping from exhaustion every night. There had never been a house so clean.

Six

The Spanish flu epidemic picked up pace. It spread across the globe like wildfire, killing millions of people, both healthy and ill. Sparing others.

It spared Chad and Esmé, but only just.

The world powers ran out of fight in the face of it. In September 1918, Bulgaria withdrew from the war, quickly followed by Austria, Turkey and Hungary. The troops were exhausted and short of supplies, and another winter in the trenches was beyond human endurance, as well as impractical. The Germans initiated peace terms and the armistice was formally signed on the eleventh of November 1918.

There was a weary relief in the air, and people looked to Christmas with muted eagerness, and some with joy, for there was now a new hope in the air that their loved ones would return intact.

Even Livia felt it, for her own lost siblings had been restored to her, at least in spirit. Soon she would make a home for them.

Her concern over their illness had taken her into womanhood, and although she was twenty-one she felt as though she was ten years older in maturity.

They had not seen hide nor hair of the major, though they'd heard that he'd married Mrs Mortimer. Towards the end of November, on a miserably wet day, the pair turned up without any warning, traipsing mud into the hall. The major stamped his feet all over the newly polished floor.

Rosemary Mortimer was very thin and very elegant, her face nestled in fur. Her grey glance went from one servant to another and settled on Florence. ‘You may take my luggage up to my room, Hutchins.'

‘And which room might that be, Mrs Mortimer?'

‘My name is no longer Mrs Mortimer, but Mrs Sangster. You will address me as Madam  . . . That goes for all of you. You may take my luggage to the former Mrs Sangster's room, Florence. Is that clear enough?'

So  . . . she was going to rub their noses in it, was she? Livia thought.

‘We were keeping the master bedrooms clean and ready for when Mr Richard returns home,' Connie told her.

She looked down her nose at Connie. ‘Were you  . . . were you indeed? On whose authority?'

Livia answered. ‘On mine, since Mr Stone put me in charge of the household. It was on the advice of Doctor Elliot, since the rooms have already been adapted to suit the needs of an invalid and carer. The Sinclair trust will adapt it further to meet any special needs Captain Sangster might have. It has a bathroom and a room for a nurse adjoining it.' Livia nodded at Florence. ‘Take
Madam
's luggage to the best guest room, Florence.'

‘Henry, did you hear that?' Rosemary said petulantly, and before Florence had found the time to move a step, ‘Who does she think she is? Am I to be a guest in our own home?'

He turned a frown her way. ‘Strictly speaking, this is Richard's home, Rosie. We are his guests.'

‘But he'll need you to handle his affairs. I do hope you don't expect me to stay in this dreary house long term, because I won't.'

‘Oh, do stop whining, dear girl. The arrangement sounds perfectly reasonable to me. Richard
will
have special needs. Off you trot now, Florence. The guest rooms it is.'

Major Henry came to where Livia stood. ‘I heard about your sister and brother. It must have given you a fright, and they were lucky to survive.' He patted her on the shoulder as if she were a dog. ‘You'll be glad to get them back, I imagine. Nutting Cottage will be just the tick to bring them up in.'

‘Yes I will. I believe I have you to thank for that.'

‘Margaret really, it's what she wanted.' He shrugged, and his eyes darted to his new wife as he lowered his voice and said with a candid honesty, ‘She wouldn't have liked Rosie using her bedroom, and I owed her that dignity in death. It didn't seem right letting anyone else but Richard have it.'

She felt sorry for him. ‘Thank you, anyway, Major.'

His glance fell on her mouth before lingering a while on her breasts. He gazed into her eyes and smiled. ‘You've gained a little weight, but you're still a pretty, lively little thing. Always thought so, you know.'

Colour seeped under her skin.

His new wife snapped from halfway up the stairs, ‘Do stop gossiping with the maid and come upstairs, Henry.'

‘I'm the housekeeper,' Livia said, reminding the woman of her former status. ‘Do let me know if there's anything you need  . . .
Madam.
'

Henry managed a wry grin and tossed a wink at Livia before he said on a sigh, ‘I'm coming, darling.'

‘I'm going to be bored to death living here again,' Rosemary complained as they went off up the stairs. ‘All that beastly country food clogging up the system.'

Connie sniffed.

It was obvious that Major Henry was beginning to lose his affable manner, for Livia heard him say with some impatience, ‘It's only while Richard is still with us.'

‘That could be years.'

‘I do hope so  . . . I thought we might give him a proper Christmas while he can still enjoy it. The poor boy's had a bad time of it.'

‘It would be better if he'd died, rather than linger on like a rotting vegetable.'

‘Rosemary, I rather think we've exhausted this conversation. If you're not prepared to be civilized and would rather spend Christmas in London with your fast friends, then by all means do so.'

‘Perhaps I will,' she said sulkily.

Connie's grin could only be described as satisfied when she whispered, ‘It sounds to me as though the honeymoon is over.'

Wrapped in a cosy red blanket, Richard Sangster arrived home in the Rolls, driven by his father. Livia had forgotten how blue his eyes were, and how fair his hair. She remembered him as being bigger, and more robust  . . . and she remembered her heart fluttering every time he'd smiled at her.

Florence gazed at him with her mouth open, and Connie burst into tears.

Livia and Florence had prepared Richard's rooms and had lit a fire. Livia didn't know whether to address the invalid, or the silent man in whose arms he was secured. She decided on neither, instead saying to the major, ‘Will Mr Richard be going upstairs to his room?'