The Flight of Swallows (35 page)

When they were at last back in their bedroom, Brooke frozen in his chair, she knelt at his feet, her head on his knee while his hand smoothed her hair, his gaze unseeing at the garden where for the first time there was no activity since all the men and the two boys who often rode their new bicycles – Christmas presents from Robbie’s brother-in-law – up and down the long drive were all at the back, huddled together in dread. They were aware that Mrs Armstrong’s father had made some threat. Why else would the master roar as he had done? He had been outraged, they were aware of that, too, but what the dickens could it be? For comfort they stayed together, sitting or standing about, drinking the strong tea Mrs Groves considered a heartener, debating what was amiss in quiet voices, and when Kizzie bustled into the kitchen she was stopped in her tracks by the silence and the frightened faces that turned to look at her.

‘What’s up?’ she asked, but they only shook their heads sadly.

In the bedroom Charlotte stirred, looking up into Brooke’s face then asked the same question but in different words.

‘He wants Ellie, or rather he doesn’t want her but he is using her to blackmail us into keeping quiet about the young girl who died.’

‘Maudie?’

‘Yes. I knew there was nothing I could do within the law to punish him so I told him I would have him ostracised in the county. I could, too. I have some powerful friends, many of whom are in my debt so he said, “Go ahead, but fetch my daughter from your nursery and I will take her home.”’

‘No,
no
!’ she leapt to her feet and again the servants clutched at anything that would steady them, a chair, the solid table, each other, and Robbie, who, in his opinion, was now grown up as he was eight years old, buried his face in Mrs Groves’s protective arms. He was to go to the grammar school in Wakefield in the autumn and Brooke, who he thought the world of now, was to pay for Tad to go with him. He didn’t know what was happening but the shouts and now Charlie’s screams frightened him to death. He knew his father had been here and in his terror he thought it might mean he was to go back to live with him.

‘Now, now, Master Robbie, don’t fret, chuck,’ Mrs Groves murmured.

Upstairs, Brooke recited in a toneless voice what had happened between himself and Arthur Drummond, even his comment about the Dower House being a ‘house of ill-repute’ filled with prostitutes and their illegitimate offspring and therefore available to any man with the brass to help himself to one. He had ‘helped himself’ to Maudie, promising her God knows what and the result had been her death. And the implication was that if there was another of his daughter’s girls he fancied he would do it all again. He felt no guilt, nor shame that the silly bitch had taken her own life and that of her child, driven to desperation by his denial of her and therefore could see no reason for Brooke to take any action.

A week later, with a face carved in stone, Brooke Armstrong agreed to Arthur Drummond leaving his younger daughter in his elder daughter’s care for the time being, the inference being, though not spoken for there was no need, that should a breath of scandal touch him through Brooke’s
machinations
the child would at once be taken back to her home with her father. Arthur Drummond also implied that now and again he might be short of a guinea or two and he was sure his old friend and son-in-law would help him out.

After he had ridden off, cock-a-hoop, Kizzie said bitterly, having been told the whole story, Charlotte wept in her husband’s arms and Brooke felt the frustration of a man who had once been strong and invincible and who was now unable to protect those he loved.

‘He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it,’ Charlotte moaned. ‘He killed Maudie as surely as if he had thrown her in the mere and held her under. And how are we going to defend the girls we have at the Dower House? They are ignorant working girls who will be in awe of a man of my father’s class who takes an interest in them. They have been taught their place and to believe what the ruling classes tell them. But I cannot allow Ellie to be torn from us and given to her father. I would kill him first,’ she raged while Brooke tried to soothe her.

‘My sweetheart, I wouldn’t let him.’

‘But he is her father.’

‘We will come to some arrangement.’

‘You mean
buy
her.’ Her voice was wild.

‘If necessary, yes.’

‘But it must be legally binding.’

‘Darling, trust me,’ he shushed her, cursing inwardly the bloody bull and not just the bull, which was only doing what was in his nature, but himself for his carelessness and his inability to deal with this chaos as he would like. What
would
he like? He knew what he wanted to do more than anything in the world, but since it was not possible to beat a man to pulp and get away with it he summoned his solicitor instead and after a long and protracted interview in which the intricacies of the law were discussed it was sadly agreed there was nothing to be done.

‘Could I not adopt her?’ he had asked hopefully, his wife clinging to his hand.

‘Not unless he agrees to it, I’m afraid.’

‘But he is cruel. My wife and her brothers could testify to that. He beat them all.’

‘A man is allowed to chastise his children, Mr Armstrong. It is not against the law.’

‘Then there is nothing . . .?’

The solicitor shook his head sorrowfully. He had heard of Arthur Drummond’s supposed connection with the young girl who had taken her life and that of her child in the mere, and who had been buried only the day before and but for Brooke Armstrong’s influence it would have been in a suicide’s grave. Mrs Armstrong, her maid Miss Aspin and, strangely, Doctor Chapman had been the only mourners.

Wallace Chapman called the next day and sadly told Charlotte that he did not think he should bring any more girls to the Dower House. It might not be safe, especially for the thirteen-year-old who was recovering at his own home in his wife’s care.

‘With a man such as your father luring young women as he appears to think is his right, and as they are all ignorant and, though I do not like to say it, easily tempted, he has only to accost one and . . . well, I will say no more. You will know what I mean.’

Brooke brooded for days on his own inability to do ‘bugger all’ as he said coarsely to his wife, the only time he showed any sign of peace when he nursed the two babies on his knee. They were his joy, both of them, and so alike apart from the colour of their eyes they might have been sisters. As spring drifted into summer and they began to crawl they no longer wanted to be nursed but struggled to escape his loving grasp and explore the many things in the room. Brooke was now attempting to manage on his crutches and the day he stood up and took his first faltering steps was a day for champagne, he declared, and every member of his household must drink a glass. He could not manage the stairs but with the help of two of the men was carried down them and out into the sunshine. A rug was spread on the lawn and the babies placed on them but they were off before their parents, as they thought of themselves, had barely got settled and the gardeners were kept busy heading them off from the small lake and the flowerbeds, which were filled with lupins in every colour of the rainbow, French marigolds, sweet william, larkspur and stock. They scuttled about on their bottoms, since neither seemed to get the proper concept of crawling on hands and knees, their plump, dimpled hands reaching for anything that took their fancy: worms, daisies from the grass, great fat bumble bees lazily drinking from the blooms. They yelled furiously together, as they did everything, when they were placed in their perambulator. Aisling and Rosie were heard to complain that they might as well sit by the nursery fire as the master and mistress took over what they considered was their work but as Brooke said, if Drummond should take it into his head to intercept the two young maids while they were out alone and help himself to his own daughter, they would be too terrified to resist him. They both were aware of the danger, as were all the staff and the babies were always in view of one or two of the men.

They often drove the small pony and trap, which could easily be manoeuvred about the grounds, Brooke at the reins, travelling round the paddock to feed the horses with apples and lumps of sugar and down to the lake to throw bread for the ducks. Had it not been for the fear of her own father, Charlotte thought it was the happiest time of her life. Brooke was beginning to walk about the house unaided and was talking about getting a motor car! Their love-making was a joy to them both though they were careful not to exert too much pressure on Brooke’s wound. Damn, bloody thing, he called it, as a sudden movement, of which there were many, for how the hell could you make love to your wife without a bit of energy, caused him agony. The only flaw in their idyllic days was the work at the Dower House which was slowly drawing to a halt. Jenny and Kizzie did their best to keep the girls busy but with their own children growing and needing more supervision it seemed they were becoming restless, wanting to go into town, take the money they earned and enjoy themselves. They had all recovered from their experiences and like all young things tended to forget what they had gone through. Maudie’s death had alarmed them and Kizzie had warned them to beware of the ’toff who had lured her away, but again, being young and healthy they did not take a great deal of notice.

Charlotte and Brooke sat for hours during the unseasonably warm spring in the comfortable chairs put out for them on the terrace by the servants, watching Lucy and Ellie wrestle with one another on the newly mown grass, studying the motor magazine
Autocar
, discussing the merits of the Lanchester, the Daimler, the Mercedes and though neither of them, even Brooke, knew the first thing about the new mode of travel it appealed to them both and took their minds off the constant, quiet worry of Ellie Drummond.

‘I wish we could change her name to Armstrong,’ Brooke reflected one day out of the blue.

‘He wouldn’t allow it,’ Charlotte answered flatly. ‘It might give us an advantage over him. Tell me, has he asked you for anything yet? I mean money. I know you had a telephone call the other day but—’

‘Yes.’

‘A lot?’

‘A hundred guineas. A gambling debt,’ he said, ‘and he’d seen a horse he liked the look of. A hunter, but he’d let me know . . .’

Charlotte put her hands to her face and bent her head. ‘Dear God, can we live with this hanging over us, my love?’ The two little girls, almost walking now, one determined to keep up with the other, were shouting in a language only they seemed to understand, falling down, getting to their feet, chasing the dogs on unsteady legs, laughing, showing their new teeth, rosy with the golden tint to their flesh from the summer sunshine. She groaned and Brooke held out his hand, drawing her from her chair to sit on his knee. Her arms were round his neck and the two babies began to stumble towards them to join in what they evidently saw as a game.

It was then that Johnson came from the house, a silver salver in his hand on which rested today’s newly delivered third post. Still curled up on her husband’s knee, the children swarming about them, what they had thought was almost unendurable proved not to be
almost
but absolute.

It was a letter from Arthur Drummond. It was couched in a polite and even gracious tone. He wished to invite both his daughters to take tea with him one afternoon at their own convenience, of course, as he wished to discuss something with Charlotte. If she could let him know by return he would be most obliged!

23

Brooke wanted to come with her but when she insisted that her father would prove awkward – which was a ridiculous word to describe how he would
really
react – he reluctantly allowed that if she took Todd to drive the carriage he would let her go alone with Ellie, then if she met with any difficulty at least she would have one of their own men to defend her. He was not quite sure what he meant by that but his instinct told him that Arthur Drummond could be a dangerous man to defy.

Mr Watson, the butler who answered Todd’s sharp tat-tat on the door, was clearly astonished to find Miss Charlotte, a baby in her arms, standing on the doorstep.

‘Miss Charlotte . . .’ he stammered, then remembering who she now was, hastily changed it to, ‘Mrs Armstrong, we were not told you were expected.’

‘Were you not,’ Charlotte answered crisply. ‘My father asked me to call with . . . with his daughter so if you would tell him we are here I would be obliged.’

‘Very well, madam; perhaps you would wait in the drawing room.’

‘Thank you,’ making her way through the familiar hallway.

‘I’ll be in’t carriage, Mrs Armstrong,’ Todd told her with a warning glance at the butler’s retreating back, a remark that conveyed to her that she had only to shout or scream or make some commotion and he’d be inside the bloody house before that jumped-up butler could say, ‘Aye up’.

‘Thank you, Todd.’

Mr Watson made no other appearance and Charlotte was thankful to sit down on the sofa, her knees almost giving way beneath her, doing her best not to tremble. It was almost two years since she had been in this house and the very atmosphere seemed to be redolent with the terrible dread under which she and her brothers had lived. Ellie squirmed in her arms, a lively bundle at five months old, her vivid green eyes filled with curiosity as she peeped about her. Her little arms waved enthusiastically and she turned to smile up into Charlotte’s face. She and Lucy seemed to have brought each other on in their development, one watching the other and then copying a movement, a sound, a concerted effort to sit up. She was lively and alert and smiling. It was May now, for Drummond had allowed a few weeks to pass before inviting his daughters to visit him.

Had it not been for her destination Charlotte would have enjoyed the short journey from King’s Meadow to the Mount. It had rained during the night and the hedgerows and the wild flowers in the ditches and the newly burgeoning meadows were heavy with what appeared to be sparkling, diamond dewdrops. Primroses were still thick on the banks and many of the apple orchards attached to the cottages along the lane were in full bloom. The oak trees in the woodland through which the lane ran were showing the first signs of golden, bronze foliage. Cowslips, red campion and wild hyacinths shouted the approach of summer, the passing of spring, the flowers embroidering the newly green of the waving grasses, and as the horses clip-clopped along the lane, a robin, as though disturbed by their clatter, flew directly from the hedge over the carriage. It was mild, almost warm, a lovely day for a drive, but Charlotte’s heart was heavy in her breast. It had been difficult to leave Lucy, who had never been parted from Ellie, and the baby had wailed disconsolately as Charlotte, with Ellie in her arms, had left the nursery. Brooke, rigid with disapproval and with a curious fear, had lifted her from her little bed and did his best to pacify her, but it was plain that both of them had been distressed at being left behind. Aisling and Rosie had hovered restlessly about the room, wondering when
they
were going to get a look-in as the mistress dressed Ellie and the master cradled his daughter, exchanging glances and raising their eyebrows, sighing with ill-concealed reproach.