The Carpenter's Children (30 page)

Aaron had gone, and for Ernest too the war was over, though he cared little now whether he lived or died; both of them were reported as ‘missing’ on the telegrams that were sent to the Mundays and the Pascoes.

Tom Munday opened the door to his daughter.

‘Hallo, Dad. I came as soon as I could. Lady Neville sent old Mr Standish with her pony trap
to meet me at Everham Station.’

‘Isabel! Thank heaven, you’re just in time. She’s rallied all these weeks, but I think she’s near the end now. She sleeps a lot o’ the time, and Grace and I’ve been trying to give her sips of brandy and milk, but she can’t swallow. Come and see her.’

Isabel took off her hat and jacket and followed her father upstairs to her parents’ bedroom, where Violet Munday lay. Grace was sitting at her side, and rose.

‘She may not know you, Isabel,’ warned Tom. ‘She’s been wandering a lot lately.’

Isabel looked at her mother’s closed eyes, her yellowish papery skin. One hand lay on top of the counterpane, and Isabel placed her own right hand over it.

‘Mum – dear Mum, it’s Isabel.’ She saw her mother’s eyelids flicker, and leant over to kiss her forehead. Grace left the room.

‘Where’s Tom?’ whispered Violet, almost inaudibly.

‘I’m here, Violet my love. Isabel’s come to see you,’ he said brokenly.

‘And…is…Ernest…too?’

‘Yes, my love, he’s on his way.’ Isabel glanced quickly at her father, but he shook his head and put a finger to his lips.

‘Ernest,’ whispered Violet, and her mouth formed a half-smile before sinking back into sleep.
Tom motioned Isabel to follow him out of the room.

‘I’ll send Grace up to her again,’ he said. ‘Oh, I’m that glad to see you, girl. It’s a pity you’ve had to leave the babies behind.’

‘Sally Tanner’s looking after them. She’s a wonderful help in every way. Life isn’t easy, Dad, and old Mr Storey’s staying on to look after the parish for the time being, because Mark isn’t fit; in any case, he says he’s giving up the church and looking for a post in a school as a teacher of English and Latin.’

‘My poor girl,’ said her father, shaking his head. ‘And now you’re losing your mother. You heard me telling her that Ernest was on his way home?’

‘Yes – I take it you only said it to comfort her?’ asked Isabel sadly.

‘That’s right. He’s not coming. We got the telegram yesterday – he’s missing.’

‘Oh, Dad, what trouble! Good God, will the world ever be right again?’ She flung her arms around his neck just as Grace came in with a tray of tea.

‘There’s some soup to heat up, and bread and cheese,’ she said. ‘Dad and I haven’t felt like eating much.’

‘I’m sorry I’ve hardly spoken to you, Grace,’ her sister apologised. ‘Thank goodness you’re here for Mum and Dad.’

‘Well, it stands to reason you can’t be in two places at once,’ said Grace with an edge of bitterness in her tone. Suddenly she burst out with, ‘You’ve got two babies to look after, and I haven’t got any!’

In the silence that followed this remark, Tom Munday understood. He wondered why he had been so slow to realise the truth. All he could feel now was relief that Violet would never know.

And she never did. Tom was by her side when she died in her sleep as dawn broke on the following day. Outside the birds had just begun to sing.

Tom Munday awaited his son’s return with oddly mixed feelings. The wild rejoicings of the Armistice being over, a weary nation was settling into the new conditions of peace, the return of the survivors, including the prisoners of war, men who had so longed for ‘England, home and beauty’, only to find that the remembered England of their childhood had gone for ever. Many of them found that their families had no idea of the horrors they had come through, and their terrible memories could only be shared by their comrades-in-arms, too many of whom lay in unknown graves abroad, leaving behind a generation of women doomed to spinsterhood, women who had lost their husbands before they had even met them. Relief and rejoicing had largely given way to disillusionment, and Tom wondered
how Ernest would adjust to a future without Aaron; he suspected that his son’s life had probably been saved when he’d been taken prisoner, for without his beloved friend he might have become careless of his own safety and followed him into the dark.

Aaron’s younger brother Jonathan was home from the war and living with his family in Whitechapel, for the Pascoes had returned to London after the Armistice. Tom had never shared his worries about the friendship between his son and Aaron, tolerated in the horrendous conditions of the war, but which could have been a very different story in civilian life: they might even have been prosecuted for committing a criminal offence. Now that would never happen, but Tom wondered what life would hold for Ernest, and felt powerless to advise him.

And there was Grace, his sad daughter who had come home to nurse her mother and now kept house for her father as any dutiful daughter should. Everybody remarked on the change in her; not yet twenty years old, she was no longer the bold, self-centred girl North Camp remembered; she had become quiet and thoughtful, and there was sometimes a wistfulness about her that made people wonder if she had lost a sweetheart in the war. When Tom was asked about this, he replied tersely that many a young woman had lost many a young man, and curiosity could bring them no comfort. Lady Neville made a genuine effort to interest Grace in
good works such as she did herself, like parish visiting of the sick and housebound, but Grace had not Lady Neville’s authority, and found it disheartening as often as not. Tom sometimes came upon her brushing away a tear, and ached with pity for her loss and loneliness, while respecting her secret, not revealing to her that he knew it.

And there was Isabel. His poor Isabel, too young to have to bear the burden she carried. At Easter 1919 there was a new incumbent in St Barnabas’ vicarage, and the Storeys had moved to The Oaks, a boys’ preparatory school in Surrey, where Mark taught English and Latin. His father had found the place and persuaded the headmaster to take Mark on; the post held the great advantage of a house adjacent to the school, where the Storeys could live for a very low rent, in return for some extra-curricular duties towards the two-thirds of the boys who were boarders. Sally Tanner had begged to be allowed to move with the family, and had got a cleaning job in the school, where she worked very hard for a low wage, all of which she paid Isabel for her board. Old Mr Storey had returned to his Gloucestershire cottage with his wife, both of whom had aged ten years in the last four.

It had sounded like an ideal arrangement, but Tom Munday could read between the lines of his daughter’s determinedly cheerful letters. She never once criticised her husband, but wrote that ‘poor
Mark sometimes finds the boys and other members of staff difficult; they have no idea of what he has been through,’ and ‘the dear children are a
never-failing
joy and comfort to me,’ and ‘Sally Tanner is a true friend, always ready to help me, even after a busy day at the school; fortunately the headmaster is most kind and understanding.’

And he’d better stay that way, thought Tom grimly, suspecting that Mark was only tolerated for the sake of his long-suffering young wife. He was careful about what he said to Grace, knowing that she would be upset at the thought of little Becky living in a tense and anxious atmosphere. Much as he missed his wife, Tom could only be thankful that she was spared the trials of their three grown-up children.

The only good news was that with the war over, there was a demand for handymen of all kinds, and carpenters and decorators like Tom and Eddie found themselves with more work than they could undertake. With the return of the surviving servicemen, Tom decided to take on two as apprentices, and advertised in the
Everham Weekly News
. He got several replies from which he chose a shell-shocked local boy, Charlie Brown who lived with his parents, and one who lived in lodgings in Everham. Tom went to see Charlie, and took him on for a month’s trial, then decided to drop in on the other at his lodgings, a Rob Nuttall who impressed Tom by his candour,
admitting frankly that he had no home, having been brought up in the Everham Union, and missed the comradeship the army had given him. What did not impress Tom was the shabbiness of the lodgings, the smell of stale cooking fat and the suspicious attitude of the stout landlady.

‘’E ain’t in no kind o’ trouble, is ’e?’ she asked Tom. ‘’Cause if ’e ’is, ’e can beat it out o’ here. There’s plenty more respectable chaps lookin’ for clean lodgin’s.’

Tom told young Nuttall that he would be taken on for a month’s trial, and that lodgings would be found for him in North Camp, to save him travelling four miles each way every day.

‘Thank yer, Mr Munday, it’s good o’ yer, and I’ll do me best for yer,’ said the young man eagerly as they shook hands and agreed on an early starting date.

With the help of Lady Neville who usually exchanged a few words with Tom after the morning service at St Peter’s, lodgings were found with a sad married couple whose son had been killed in the war, and young Nuttall presented himself at 47 Pretoria Road on the following Monday morning, with the other new apprentice.

Tom formally introduced them both to his daughter.

‘Grace, this is Charlie Brown, somebody we all know in North Camp,’ he said. ‘He thinks he’d like
to work with wood, now that he’s home from the war. Charlie, this is my daughter, Miss Munday who keeps house for me.’

Grace nodded at the young man, who gave her a nervous smile.

‘And this is Rob Nuttall who served in Flanders, and left the army as a corporal,’ began Tom, but stopped when he saw his daughter staring in astonishment, a light of recognition dawning in her eyes.

‘
Ratty
!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, Ratty, I mean Rob, how nice to meet you again! I’ve often wondered what happened to you after the Railway Hotel!’ She stepped forward to shake his hand with genuine pleasure, while he stood wide-eyed and incredulous.

‘Miss Munday! Miss Grace Munday! I’ve never forgotten—’ He broke off, seeing Tom Munday’s frown at her reference to the Railway Hotel, which had not been a happy episode in his younger daughter’s life. Grace saw his look, and eagerly turned to face him.

‘Don’t worry, Dad, Ratty – sorry, I mean Rob – was the one good thing about that place, and it’s wonderful news that he wants to be your apprentice. Oh, I’m really glad to see you, Rob – shall I put the kettle on for us all?’

‘Yes, let’s reminisce over a cup of tea,’ said Tom Munday, having not seen his younger daughter so enthusiastic for a very long time.

Lieutenant Colonel Cedric Neville had returned to Hassett Manor in the new year, to find his mother closing the rooms that had been used as wards, and covering their furniture with dust sheets. Beds were returned to their donors, and the various modifications dismantled. It was a melancholy task, and her guilt over Letitia’s death had taken its toll of Lady Neville. She told Cedric that Sir Arnold was asking her to come out and join him at the hill station in northern India.

‘He says he doesn’t think England would suit him, now that he’s been a district commissioner out there for so long,’ she told Cedric. ‘Besides which, your brother has met a girl he wants to marry, from among the ex-patriates there. Arnold thinks I’d enjoy life on the hill station; the weather’s good, not too hot, and servants are plentiful.’

‘It sounds like a good proposition, Mother. How do
you
feel about it?’

‘I’m very attached to Hassett Manor and my life here,’ she admitted. ‘But since Letitia died, there isn’t any real reason to stay – except for you, of course, Cedric. How do
you
feel? Do you think you’ll marry?’

Cedric smiled and shrugged. ‘I intend to farm the estate if possible, and of course I’d like you to stay, Mother, if that’s what you wish. As to marrying, I haven’t yet met a girl who’s free to marry.’

‘My dear Cedric, does that mean that you’ve been
in love with a woman who’s
not
free to marry?’ asked his mother, searching his face. ‘A
married
woman?’

‘No, I’d never let that happen, Mother,’ he replied seriously. ‘I mean that the only girl who’s ever moved me to that kind of admiration is very definitely married, so unless another one like her comes along, who’s willing to take me on, I’ll stay as I am!’ He smiled as if at a joke, and Olivia Neville privately resolved to stay at Hassett Manor as long as Cedric remained there as a bachelor; if at some future time he married, perhaps
then
would be the right time to join her husband and elder son in their
pleasant-sounding
colonial life.

Ernest returned at Easter. He embraced his father and sister, both of whom were taken aback at how much older he looked; at twenty-five his hair was receding and his forehead deeply lined; he wore spectacles which partly hid the sadness in his eyes.

‘Have you any plans as to the future, son?’ asked Tom when the three of them were sitting at table after supper. ‘You look as if you could do with a good long rest.’

‘I’d like to return to Schelling and Pascoe’s, Dad, if they’ve got a place for me,’ Ernest replied, at which his father urged him to wait a while, thinking that his son probably needed to make a fresh start; the familiar office would surely awaken so many memories of Aaron. Nevertheless, Ernest cycled to Everham
the very next day, and threw his arms around Mr and Mrs Schelling as lovingly as if they too were his parents. After the Pascoes had returned to London with Greta and Devora, Mr Schelling had managed the office alone with the aid of a female clerk who also acted as typist. Business had slumped.

Abel Schelling came straight to the point. ‘Are you willing to come back to the firm, Ernest?’

‘It’s always been my hope, Mr Schelling, that Aaron and I would return and be as we were,’ said Ernest, equally direct. ‘And now that there’s only me, and if you still want to take me on…’

‘My dear boy, what a question! The Lord knows we want you back! You’ll be junior partner in place of our dear nephew, and the firm’s name will change to Schelling and Munday from now on.’

‘Oh, Mr Schelling, how can I say what I…’ began Ernest, but could not continue. Ruth Schelling came to his side and took his hand.

‘We’re so grateful to have you back, Ernest, and we’ll be your uncle Abel and Aunt Ruth, as we were to Aaron. No more formality!’

‘And all we need to know now is when you’ll be ready to take up your position here,’ said Abel Schelling.

Ernest looked from one to the other, and tentatively suggested, ‘Tomorrow?’

Amid laughter and tears the date was agreed upon, and Ernest became one of the firm and the
family. Within a month of his appointment he spoke seriously to his father and Grace about a suggestion made by the Schellings.

‘Abel and Ruth want me to move into their home, Dad. I’d have Aaron’s room and sleep in the bed that was his. And I’d like to do this, now that Aaron has…has gone, and I’ve been made a partner. Would you mind very much if I did?’

Tom Munday said he understood, though it hurt a little to know that his son now considered Aaron’s relatives closer than his own. However, he concealed his feelings, and assured Ernest that whatever suited him best also suited his father; it was a relief to know that Ernest was looking forward and not back. He turned to Grace, and found her unexpectedly smiling.

‘Think about it, Dad, we’ll have Ernest’s room, so why don’t we ask Rob Nuttall to move in with us?’ she asked. ‘It’d be much more convenient for him, and homelier than lodgings – and we’ve got room enough. It’d be a convenient arrangement all round, don’t you think so?’

Tom Munday saw the brightness of her face, and was willing to agree.

‘You’re quite right, Grace, it’s a splendid idea, and I’ll ask Rob how he feels about it, first thing tomorrow.’

Ernest flashed his sister a grateful look, though he addressed his father.

‘Thank you, Dad, I’d have hated to seem ungrateful after all you’ve done,’ he said, shaking his father’s hand; and so the arrangement was settled to the satisfaction of all concerned. As for Rob Nuttall, when the idea was put to him, he took Grace’s hand and pirouetted with her round the kitchen.

With Ernest settled at Schelling and Munday, and hearing Grace’s peals of laughter at some of Rob’s observations on their clients, witty but never malicious, Tom Munday began to feel that life held more hope and less anxiety. The coming of spring once again in all its vernal beauty seemed a sign of better times to come.

Until in May there came news of a calamity that plunged Tom into despair again. The Reverend Mr Saville, grave and deeply sympathetic, came knocking on the door one evening with a message he had received from the headmaster of The Oaks, to say that Mark Storey was dead, a victim of the virulent ‘Spanish ’flu’ that had ravaged Europe for the past year, finding easy victims among the undernourished, war-weary civilians. Just as it seemed to have burnt itself out, the infection suddenly struck at The Oaks at the start of the summer term, and boys and staff members had gone down with it in their dozens.

A hastily scribbled letter from Isabel followed with more details. ‘I didn’t tell you that the ’flu had broken out at the school, Dad, as I knew you’d
worry,’ she wrote, ‘but circumstances have overtaken us. The epidemic became out of control, the sick-bay was full, and the headmaster advised parents to come and take their sons home, away from the infection. Poor Mark rather unwillingly agreed to sleep in a separate room so as not to bring it home to the children, but then he collapsed in front of a class he was teaching, and was brought to his room where he soon became feverish and delirious. I nursed him as well as I could, and Sally Tanner took complete charge of Paul and Becky – oh, Dad, I could never find words to praise her enough, she’s been such a friend. In his weakened state, Mark couldn’t fight off the infection, and he died within forty-eight hours. The Lord granted him the time and the lucidity to tell me he loved me, and to ask forgiveness for his changed character, and of course I told him that there was nothing to forgive, and soon after that he left us.’