A Summer Promise (32 page)

Maddy had blown out the candle as soon as she had climbed into bed but now she reared up on her elbow and stared at the lump in the blankets. ‘Leave the army?’ she said blankly. ‘Just like that? Oh, Gran, I wish I
could
just walk out, but I’d be court-martialled. I’m sure if I explained to my commanding officer they’d arrange for me to be given compassionate leave whilst I sort things out here, but I can’t possibly desert my whole battery. I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to, would you?’

In the stuffy darkness Maddy could not see much, but she guessed that Gran’s mouth would have turned down at the corners, and a furrow appeared between her brows. ‘Fine talk,’ she said jeeringly. ‘So your battery comes before your dear old grandmother, does it? Ho, yes, I can see you being glad enough when your commanding officer doesn’t give you passionate leave and you find some village idiot to help me cope what’ll probably murder me in my bed. It’s rather the devil you know than the devil you don’t, and Eileen and myself got on fine until you decided to turn up.’

‘Oh, but Gran . . .’ Maddy began, dismayed by the turn the conversation was taking, but she stopped speaking as Gran suddenly reared up and gripped her arm.

‘Did you hear that?’ she hissed. ‘That’ll be the tatty-headed niece; she’s in your old room next door and she’s got ears like a donkey. Now she’ll go and tell Eileen and there’ll be hell to pay.’

‘I don’t see . . .’ Maddy began, but Gran snorted and wriggled under the covers once more.

‘Let well alone,’ the old woman said crossly. ‘You go ahead and get that taxi, because I could do with a day away from this damned place, but I won’t promise to try to change things, not if it means the O’Hallorans will take themselves off. It ’ud be different if you could swear on the Bible that you’d take their place, but I reckon you can’t, can you? And now I’m going to sleep, so you can just shut your gob.’

Maddy sighed, and following Gran’s example was very speedily asleep.

When Maddy arrived back at Larkspur in the taxi she had hired, she had a secret fear that Gran might have chickened out and gone back to bed, for Mrs O’Halloran had made it plain at breakfast that she disapproved of their expedition. Gran had said firmly that it was not every day her granddaughter planned a day out for her old gran, but Maddy had placed no reliance on her sticking to her guns once she herself was out of the house. However, when Maddy jumped out of the taxi and ran to the back door, it shot open to reveal Mr and Mrs O’Halloran, wreathed in smiles. They had already got Gran into her coat and hat, and now they helped her tenderly across the yard and into the waiting vehicle. Maddy half expected that one of them would try to get into the taxi as well, but this was not the case.

‘You enjoy your outing, my dear,’ Mrs O’Halloran said, giving Gran a kiss on the cheek. She turned to Maddy. ‘There’s rabbit pie and maybe even a few fried taters for supper,’ she announced. ‘I’ll serve up around six. Can you be back by then?’

‘Oh, sure to be,’ Maddy said airily, wondering just what had been said whilst she was out of the way.

After putting the old bath chair in the boot and strapping it in place, Mr Gray, the taxi driver, told Maddy that it would be cheaper if she took the bus from the village to the town, but Maddy shook her head.

‘I want my gran to have a proper little holiday and not to have to worry about bus times,’ she said. ‘We’ll have our lunch at the Court House Café, and a cup of tea and a bun at Betty’s before leaving. If you wouldn’t mind picking us up say at five o’clock, we’ll be home in time for rabbit pie and a nice big mug of tea.’

‘Right,’ Mr Gray said breezily. He turned his head to wink at Gran. ‘I’ve not seen thee outdoors for heaven knows how long, Mrs Hebditch; ‘appen that’ll be a nice change for you.’

When they reached the town square Mr Gray unstrapped the bath chair and helped Gran into it. Then he drove off, promising to pick them up at the same place at five o’clock, and Maddy smiled at her grandmother. ‘Lead me to the solicitors,’ she said gaily. ‘We’ll soon have that Deed of Gift rescinded and then we can get on with our lives. After all, we don’t have to tell the O’Hallorans what we’ve done, so they won’t be any the wiser. And as soon as we’ve finished our little bit of business we can take a look at the shops.’

‘Oh, is that your plan?’ Gran said disagreeably. ‘You’re as devious as the O’Hallorans, in your own way. As I recall, the lawyer’s office is in that old building over there, the one with the green painted door and a brass plate on the side. Good thing it’s on the ground floor.’ She chuckled unkindly. ‘I’d like to see you carting this bath chair up a staircase.’

As they crossed the square and opened the green painted door, a question occurred to Maddy. ‘When you signed the Deed of Gift you must have come into town to do so. Did you come by taxi? Only Mr Gray would have said, and he’s the only one I know of.’

‘Then you don’t know everyone, or everything,’ Gran said derisively. ‘Mr Tebbit came to Larkspur, if it’s any of your business, but I know his offices from way back. Your grandfather said he was the best solicitor in town, and so I told the O’Hallorans when they asked if I knew one.’

‘Oh, the Hebditches only deal with the best,’ Maddy said breezily, pushing the bath chair along a short corridor into what was probably the reception area, though it was just a small and dusty room with a desk bearing an elderly typewriter upon which an even more elderly female was typing.

Here Gran hesitated, so Maddy stated their business in a firm voice. ‘We’ve come about a Deed of Gift which was drawn up by one of your partners and needs an alteration,’ she said. ‘Is it possible to see Mr Tebbit?’

The woman looked doubtful. Maddy thought she must be in her late sixties, judging by her old-fashioned tweed skirt, starched purple blouse and sensible brogues. ‘I’ll have a word with someone, if you’ll wait a moment,’ she said, pulling a notebook towards her. ‘Name? And your business?’

Maddy gave both her own name and Gran’s, and repeated that they had come about a Deed of Gift. The woman disappeared through a door at the back of the room, which opened again to reveal a small and harassed man wearing steel-rimmed spectacles and a navy suit, shiny with age, who beckoned Maddy and Gran into his office.

Maddy had thought it would be a simple matter, but it turned out to be anything but. The little man, who said his name was Arnold, explained that Mr Tebbit had been called up late in the war and he himself had been brought out of retirement because everything was in a bit of a muddle, but he would see what he could do. Naturally, he had not had time to check the files, but he could tell them in general terms that Gran could only rescind the agreement if the recipient was also present. This rocked Maddy back on her heels, and when she asked if they might have a copy of the Deed when he found it the little man pushed the small spectacles further down his nose and looked at her over the top of them. It was not a happy look. ‘I’m afraid Mr O’Halloran would still need to be present . . .’

Maddy stared at her grandmother and was just in time to see a little self-satisfied smile cross that lady’s face before Gran had wiped it free from any expression. ‘Gran? Did you know that Declan would need to be present?’ Maddy asked, and could have shaken her grandmother when she replied tranquilly: ‘Well, I didn’t know, but maybe I suspected. Not that it makes any difference, because I’ve been thinking, and I don’t mean to rescind it. I gave my word that the O’Hallorans should have Larkspur, provided they kept me in good health. Should I fall ill and there be any question that my health had been jeopardised by any member of the family, then the Deed would be null and void anyway.’

‘But Gran, we discussed all this last night and I told you that Larkspur is not your property to dispose of at will; it’s mine as well, my very own home, and I explained that as soon as the war was over I would be coming back to look after you myself. Don’t you see? I remember you telling me once that you came from a long-lived family. I’ve no idea how old you are, but I’ve sometimes thought you aren’t as old as you pretend. All sorts of things could happen; things which could leave me having to work for the O’Hallorans, if indeed they would employ me! Oh, Gran, can’t you see what you’ve done? If only you’ll let me re-draft the Deed . . .’

But her grandmother only tightened her lips. ‘I won’t have you drive Eileen and Declan away,’ she said. ‘Maybe they’ve been good to me for their own ends; but they were there when I needed them. And now let’s go and look at the shops; you promised, you know you did!’

This time it was Maddy’s turn to tighten her lips. ‘All right, I did promise, and we shall visit the shops, but that doesn’t mean to say that I admire the way you’ve behaved,’ she said. ‘And if you think that’s the end of it, you’re very much mistaken, because we must arrange a meeting in this office . . .’ here Maddy tapped the desk, ‘where we can all see the Deed of Gift and discuss my own claim. That’s right, isn’t it, Mr Arnold?’

The little man nodded nervously. ‘You can make an appointment with the secretary in the outer office,’ he said, ‘at any time which is convenient for all parties, of course.’

As they left the office, Maddy turned to Gran. ‘Don’t you see? After you die my inheritance will belong to the O’Hallorans. You can make a will leaving it to me, but as long as the Deed of Gift is in place I shall have no legal claim, any more than you have. Larkspur Farm has been in the Hebditch family for over three hundred years, and you’ve given it away to strangers!’

Tom awoke to darkness and intolerable pain. He could hear someone groaning. Where was he?
Who
was he? He turned his head a fraction and felt something touch his cheek for an instant. A pillow? Desert sand? He did not know, could only guess. If only the groaning would stop! He wanted to call out, to ask the other fellow what was the matter, but his lips seemed sealed in some mysterious way, and the blackness was frightening. Desperately, Tom fought to move his head, but it was heavy as lead and could only move an inch or so, and even the slightest movement brought the pain ripping through him, so he stopped trying. They had captured him, he was imprisoned in his own body . . . oh, God, who
was
he? It was not until he stopped attempting to move that he realised the groans were coming from him.

At that, another consideration, even more bizarre, rose through the muddled sea of turbulence which was his mind. I’m the only survivor, the only person left in the whole world of war, he thought. And I’m blind and paralysed, so what is the point of crying out except that everyone wants to be in contact with another human being? But if I’m the only person left alive, even if I could scream as loud as a train whistle no one would come. He made one more effort to force a sound from between parched dry lips. A tiny croak was the only result, but suddenly he had the impression that there was a way out of his nightmare. If he could just remember the magic, then he might at least know who and where he was. Pictures flashed before his inner eye – places he had been, people he had known – and even this little glimpse of his one-time reality cheered him immensely. There might be no life in this terrible place of darkness and fear, but there had been life once, proper life, the sort that one wanted to return to. If he could only concentrate, force the darkness back . . . but for now, at any rate, darkness reigned.

Tom woke again, or at least he thought he did. He was still in darkness and even the slightest attempt at movement sent the excruciating pain knifing through him, but if he hung on grimly to what passed as his consciousness he could begin to make sense of things, even as he slipped down once again into the dark pit. His name was Tom! He could not remember his surname, but at least he knew he was Tom. Desperately, he tried to stop himself sliding back into the darkness and fear from which, it seemed, he had managed to escape, if only for a short period. What was I when I was alive, he asked himself desperately, knowing it was an unanswerable question, yet putting it to himself all the same. What was Tom?

Just as he gave up and let go and swam back into the darkness, an answer popped into his head. I’m a chimney sweep! That’s why I can only see black. I’m not blind or paralysed, I’m just stuck in a chimney, waiting to be rescued by – by someone who loves me, loves me enough to come up the chimney and guide me back down into the real world. I hope my rescuer comes soon, but at least I know where I am.

Once more he tried to move his head, and this time, staring upwards, he thought he saw, high above him, a pinprick of light; a light so brilliant that he had to close his eyes. Closing them, he fell into the darkness once more, but this time hope flowered within him. He was
not
alone. Someone knew he was trapped in this chimney, unable to move without triggering the pain, so help would come eventually. When he felt stronger, he would try once again to cry out so that they knew where to look when they came to bring him back into the light.

This time he registered that the worst pain was in his left leg, up his left side and into his left arm. Vaguely, he thought that this side of him must have snagged on something in the chimney, which was why he could not change his position without awakening the snarling beast of pain. Keep still, his mind told him. Don’t make things worse for yourself. Wait for rescue with all the patience you possess and it will come.

And even as he forced himself to relax, willing his mind to recall pleasant interludes, he heard a voice. It was a small, steady voice and one he recognised, though he could not, for the moment, say whose voice it was. He listened eagerly, but it seemed to be in the far distance, though it was rapidly growing closer. Then he could hear it; hear it distinctly what was more, and understand its message. ‘. . . only me; I’ve come to see you and tell you that you’ll soon be well. Can you hear me?’

Tom tried to nod, but even that slight movement broke the thread which joined him to the voice, which grew smaller and smaller until he could hear it no longer. But its message was clear: the owner of the voice would help him out of the chimney, would understand his fears, would be on hand to comfort him.