Poppy's War (38 page)

‘I’ll be seventeen in April, sir.’ Even as the words left her lips she had the feeling that she was answering an unspoken question.

‘Excuse me, sir.’ Captain Fellows poked his head round the door. ‘The convoy has just arrived at the gates.’

Brigadier Beecham nodded briefly. ‘I’m coming.’ He smiled at Poppy. ‘If there’s anything that Mrs Carroll needs please don’t hesitate to come and see me or my aide, Captain Fellows.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Captain Fellows shot her a smile as he closed the
door
, and she could hear the sound of their leather-soled shoes crunching on the frosty brick path. Running to the window she was in time to see them climb into the staff car. It moved off, followed by the convoy of army vehicles.

‘What?’ Marina’s strident voice made Poppy turn away from the window.

‘Yes, Mrs Carroll?’

‘What’s the matter?’

The expression on Marina’s face was enough to convince Poppy that she would not be satisfied until she had wormed the truth out of her. She went to sit beside her on a footstool. ‘I know I can’t keep anything from you, Mrs Carroll. I think that Brigadier Beecham could be my real father.’

Marina nodded vigorously, tapping the floor with her stick. ‘More.’

She had to tell someone or she would burst. Poppy told her everything she knew about her mother and Harry Beecham. ‘It could all be a huge coincidence but he looks familiar even though I’ve never seen him before in my whole life.’

Marina seemed about to try to speak but was prevented from doing so by Mrs Toon who bustled into the room carrying a tray of tea. She thumped it down on the burr walnut occasional table that they had brought from the main house. ‘I don’t know how I’ll manage on that silly little electric cooker, and the boiler needs more coke, Poppy. Go out and fill the hod, there’s a good girl, and bring some logs in for
the
fire. Atkins said he left a good supply in the lean-to.’

Poppy rose to her feet. ‘Yes, of course.’ As she bent down to pick up the log basket, Marina patted her hand.

‘Good,’ she murmured, smiling her lopsided smile. ‘Good girl.’

Poppy squeezed her fingers in return. For the first time since she arrived at Squire’s Knapp, a frightened little girl far from home, she felt that she had reached a definite understanding with Marina Carroll, and that they were now on the same side. She was as close to being considered one of the family as anyone who had not been born a Carroll.

The days went by and Poppy hugged her secret to herself. She could not bear to tell Jean or the others in case she was proved wrong, and Brigadier Beecham was not her father. She did not know if his name was Harry, and even if she dared ask the question she lacked the opportunity, as the house was always surrounded by tight security. It was off bounds to everyone except the military and most of the grounds had been turned into a giant army camp filled with khaki tents and overrun with soldiers. The farm work continued although there was little to do in what fields were left until the ground was soft enough for ploughing and spring sowing. It was a similar story in the gatekeeper’s lodge. Mrs Toon managed the house and Marina was growing more
independent
with each passing day. The doctor was pleased with her progress, but had warned Poppy not to expect too much. Mrs Carroll, he said gravely, was unlikely to recover completely, but strength of character and determination could work wonders and Marina Carroll had these traits in abundance. He arranged visits from a physiotherapist whom Marina disliked on sight, but Poppy decided that this was probably a good thing as it provided her with another incentive to overcome her disability.

After Poppy had taken Rupert to school each morning she was able to spend more time helping Jean, Edie and Mavis with work on the farm. Her hopes of getting to know the brigadier a littler better were dashed when she discovered that he had been recalled to London. She was left in limbo, not knowing when or even if he would ever return to Squire’s Knapp. She bitterly regretted her lost opportunity. If only she had said something to him on that first day. As the weeks went by she became resigned to the fact that she might never know the truth.

Life fell into a set routine, and it really was a case of ‘make do and mend’. Food was scarce, rationing was strict and new clothes were out of the question. Even if they saved their coupons there was little choice in the Fairford shops. Edie and Mavis showed Poppy how to redden her lips with beetroot juice and old clothes were cut up and restyled. Poppy became adept with a needle and thread and struggled to
master
the art of knitting. In her spare time she exercised Goliath, riding out into the country lanes and occasionally following the route she had taken once with Guy. She felt quite jealous when Jean received letters from Algy, who was an excellent correspondent, and as he often flew as Guy’s navigator there was usually something in the contents that was of particular interest to Poppy. Jean only read out the bits that were not too personal. It was obvious when she came to the more romantic passages as her cheeks would redden and she turned the page saying, ‘Censored. And that bit too – censored. Sorry, girls.’

At least Poppy knew that Guy was alive and well. She convinced herself that she could not expect him to write to her, and it might look strange if she wrote to him. One day, hopefully quite soon, he would come home unscathed. He would take up his position as head of the household and Mrs Carroll would be reinstated in her rightful position in Squire’s Knapp. Rupert would either return to his parents in London or be packed off to boarding school. The sad truth was that she herself would no longer be needed. She would be free to do whatever took her fancy, but she knew that she would never be entirely free from Squire’s Knapp and Guy Carroll. Her heart would always be here and, like the glass pendant that hung round her neck, it had been given to the one she loved most in the whole world.

She had passed her seventeenth birthday in April
and
it was now early autumn, but her feelings were not like the seasons; they did not change and she knew that if she lived to be a hundred she would always love Guy. She wondered if her mother had felt like that about Harry and if, in fact, the high-ranking officer she had met briefly was that same man. Brigadier Beecham had not made a return visit to Squire’s Knapp and perhaps he never would. Even if he were to discover that he had a daughter, would he want to know her? It was a question that she feared might never be answered. She did her best to get on with the day to day routine of simply keeping things going.

Autumn mists had followed long days of double summertime. The harvest, such as it was with half the fields taken over by the army, was gathered in and Poppy was just about to set off to help Edie in the milking parlour when she saw the telegram boy cycling into the drive. She froze. They weren’t nicknamed angels of death for nothing. He stopped at the gate, putting one foot on the ground to balance himself.

‘Who are you looking for?’ Her voice sounded strange even to her own ears.

He studied the envelope. ‘Mrs M Carroll.’

Moving like an automaton, Poppy held out her hand. ‘I’ll take it to her.’

He frowned. ‘I’m supposed to give it to her in person.’

‘She’s an invalid. Give it to me and I’ll make sure
she
gets it.’ Without giving him the chance to argue, Poppy snatched it from his hand. Turning her back on the startled boy she ripped the envelope and extracted the telegram. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Guy’s name in print and the dreaded words danced before her eyes –
missing in action, presumed killed
. She read it again and again as if hoping she could change its meaning by sheer willpower.

‘Bad news, is it? I’m sorry, miss.’

She nodded wordlessly.

‘No reply then, miss?’

She shook her head. Her mind seemed to have detached itself from her body. There must be some mistake. If anything had happened to Guy she would have known instinctively. She realised that the boy was watching her anxiously. She was quite calm; ice cold in fact and completely numb. ‘No reply, thank you.’ She walked slowly back towards the house and went inside with the telegram clutched in her hand. ‘Mrs Carroll, I need you to be very brave.’

The days that followed were like a waking nightmare to Poppy, but somehow she managed to function. Marina had taken the news with typical stoicism and without any outward display of grief for her son. Poppy broke the news to Rupert as gently as she could but he did not seem able to grasp the fact that death was final. He seemed to think that Guy was
simply
somewhere else and might turn up at any moment. Poppy found this oddly comforting and she was happier in Rupert’s company than with anybody else. Jean was sympathetic, but try as she might she could not quite hide the fact that she was overjoyed that Algy had not been the navigator on that particular mission as a bout of influenza had laid him low and he had been unfit for duty. Deep down Poppy refused to believe that Guy was dead, and she prayed for a miracle.

Gradually and almost imperceptibly, the landscape changed from the rich colours of autumn to the monochrome of frosty winter days and freezing nights, but it was warm and cosy in the lodge. Mrs Toon said it was the first time she had not suffered from chilblains caused by the bitter chill rising from the flagstone floors in the kitchen at the main house. Maybe the army would pay compensation to the family for requisitioning their home and a decent central heating system could be installed. Poppy listened without comment. She could not think that far ahead. Her world had been turned upside down and inside out by that fateful telegram.

Christmas was of necessity a low key event. Pamela telephoned to say that Hector was unable to leave London as there was something massive and totally hush-hush being planned, although of course she could not say any more. Poppy could not imagine Pamela spending Christmas in the cottage with its one tiny bathroom and outside lavatory. She
suspected
that this might have had something to do with the fact that she was not coming down to see her son, but Rupert did not seem to mind. He had made friends with some of the soldiers camped in the grounds, and when he was not with them he spent his time in the stables with the horses. Poppy took him out riding as often as the weather permitted. When she was exercising Goliath it brought Guy close to her. He had loved that horse and had not been afraid to demonstrate his affection for the animal, whereas with people he was often reserved and appeared to be distant.

In February, Jean was a winter bride. Algy had two days’ leave and the wedding took place in the village church. Poppy had been thrilled for Jean but she had dreaded the moment when she must face Guy’s old friend. She had been afraid that she might resent him for simply having survived, but the moment she saw Algy on the eve of his wedding, Poppy knew that she had worried about nothing. His friendly smile and his warm embrace banished any lingering resentment she might have felt. ‘You loved him too, Poppy,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I know that, and I know he loved you.’

She sniffed and reached for her hanky. ‘You’re just saying that.’

Algy took her by the shoulders. ‘No. I wouldn’t make up such a thing. He told me how he felt just before the last op. It was almost as if he knew that his time was up.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry, I
don’t
mean to make things worse, but we never kept anything from each other. It wouldn’t have worked with my sister, and she realised that in the end, which is why she broke off their engagement. I don’t think he saw it coming until it was too late, but he certainly adored you, Poppy.’

‘He didn’t tell me. Not in so many words, anyway.’

‘He wouldn’t. He thought you were too young for him, but I told him time would sort that out, and that you’d always worshipped the ground he walked on. That wasn’t wrong, was it?’

Poppy gulped and swallowed hard. ‘N-no, but how did you know that?’

Algy grinned, touching her cheek with the tips of his fingers. ‘Jean told me, and I may not be brightest chap when it comes to matters of the heart but I’d seen the way you were with him.’

‘Was it so obvious?’

‘Only to those who love you.’ He kissed her on the forehead. ‘Chin up. He’d want you to be happy, always remember that.’

The wedding was a quiet affair in the village church. Algy’s Aunt Jane had declined her invitation using the excuse of poor health, but she had paid for the wedding breakfast in the village pub, which pleased Jean immensely, as she said the last thing she wanted was to cause a rift in Algy’s family. Mrs Toon had made the cake, but even with their combined sugar
rations
they did not have enough points for icing sugar, and the cake sat beneath a cardboard cover, painted white, with a slightly battered sugar paste bride and groom that one of Mrs Toon’s cronies in the village had unearthed from their store cupboard and loaned for the occasion.

After the final toasts were drunk the bride and groom said goodbye to their guests as they prepared to leave for Weymouth in Atkins’ pony and trap. Algy had booked the honeymoon suite in a hotel on the seafront.

‘We’ll have a lovely view of the beach through barbed wire and scaffolding,’ Jean said, smiling.

Edie nudged her in the ribs. ‘You won’t spend much time looking out of the window, ducks.’

Mavis frowned, jerking her head in Poppy’s direction. ‘Don’t be crude, Edie.’

‘The kid is almost eighteen. She’s a grown-up now, Mavis.’ Edie linked her arm through Poppy’s. ‘Come on, girls. Let’s wave the bride and groom off and then I’m going to get Howard drunk and perhaps he’ll propose.’

‘Lester already has,’ Mavis murmured, blushing. ‘I’m going to be a GI bride.’

‘No. Are you really?’ Poppy gave her a hug. ‘How lovely. Will you go and live in America?’

Mavis chuckled. ‘His family own a hardware store in Texas. I can’t wait to meet them. I’ll be Mrs Lester Grover. Isn’t it exciting?’

‘Yeah,’ Edie said, angling her head. ‘All those nuts
and
bolts and oil cans. You’ll be like Dorothy in
The Wizard of Oz
.’