Together for Christmas (23 page)

‘Did the nuns?’ Lillian asked curiously.

Flora was taken aback. She had never been asked that question before. ‘I was never told anything.’ She hesitated. ‘But after I left the orphanage I was given a shawl that
Mother Superior said I was wrapped in when they found me.’ Flora smiled. ‘Someone had embroidered “W” and “S” in one corner.’

‘Could this be a clue to your mother?’ Michael asked, and his eyebrows rose. ‘Are you sure the nuns didn’t know more?’

‘Mother Superior said that my teacher, Sister Patricia, might. But she’s in France.’

‘Oh, dear, that’s very sad. But don’t give up hope, Flora.’

Flora felt close to tears. How kind this lady was.

‘Now, please let us all enjoy Jenny’s tea.’ Lillian unfolded her napkin.

Flora began to eat, but she wasn’t really hungry and was glad when the meal was over.

‘Shall we walk in the woods, Flora?’ Lillian stood up. ‘I am sure Michael has plenty to do in the workshop.’

Michael grinned. He knew he had been dismissed.

‘What a pretty brooch you’re wearing,’ Lillian said with a teasing grin as they strolled arm in arm together through the trees, the dogs at their side.

Flora blushed. ‘It’s a gift from Michael.’

‘He thinks a great deal of you, Flora. I hope that he has made it plain to you that he must go back to war if he recovers.’

‘Oh, yes. From the very first moment we met, I knew that.’

Lillian patted her arm gently. ‘He told me that you were asking after Fritz. And how upset you both were at the unforgiveable treatment meted out to him. He was such a pleasant old man and
treated everyone with respect. I knew him for years and enjoyed buying my small pieces from him and discussing the ways of the world. It’s very sad that the war has brought us all to this
kind of reprehensible behaviour. Friends are very few and far between these days. But then of course, you understand that well.’

Flora nodded. ‘I miss Hilda a great deal as we grew up together and always saw each other on our days off.’

‘I do hope you will find her . . . settled,’ Lillian said. ‘Good friends in life are, without doubt, very rare. After our financial ruin, many of those I looked on as friends
simply faded away.’

‘That must have been very hard for you.’

‘Yes, I discovered they were only fair-weather acquaintances. And I should never have known that, had not the worst happened.’

Flora wondered if Lady Bertha Forsythe was one of those so-called friends.

As they walked on, Lillian asked more about her work. Flora spoke of people like Stephen Pollard and Mr Riggs and poor little Polly and of the war veterans like Eric Soames and Sidney Cowper.
Lillian listened very attentively, at last heaving a deep sigh.

‘How fortunate it is that the world has people like Dr Tapper to look after it,’ Lillian said as she came to a stop by the stream. She looked into Flora’s eyes. ‘And how
very insignificant our daily woes are in the light of all this.’

‘I often think the same when I read Will’s letters.’

‘Ah, yes, your dear friend Will. Has he no other relatives?’

Flora shook her head. ‘Like me, he doesn’t know who his parents are. Unlike Hilda, whose mother worked in the convent laundry. When Hilda was eight Rose Jones died and the nuns took
Hilda in.’

‘What marvellous work these nuns do.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Flora at once. ‘We could have been sent to the workhouse.’

‘A terrifying thought!’

Flora smiled. She knew that this kind lady didn’t look down on her.

‘It’s wonderful to know that all three of you remain close.’

They stopped as the dogs ran barking and chasing into the trees. ‘I wish Hilda was still safely in service with Lady Hailing,’ Flora admitted.

‘Lady Hailing – a wonderful woman and great philanthropist!’ Lillian exclaimed. ‘One cannot speak too highly of the family.’ There was a long pause. ‘Would
you say Hilda is right for her new position with the Calveys?’

Flora hesitated as she thought about this. ‘Mrs Bell, Lady Hailing’s cook, has her doubts.’

‘Does she indeed?’ Lillian said as they turned towards home. ‘And why is that, do you suppose?’

‘Mrs Bell has always worked for Lady Hailing. She thinks Hilda would have fared better where she was. But that could be because Mrs Bell looks on Hilda as a daughter and worries about her
dreadfully.’

Lillian looked thoughtful. ‘You keep up a correspondence with Hilda, of course?’

Flora nodded. ‘But she’s a very poor hand with the pen. So I’m hoping to visit her next month.’

‘Ah!’ Lillian exclaimed as they came in sight of the house. ‘And then you’ll be able to see first-hand how things really are.’

Flora thought how very much she liked Lillian Appleby. There was nothing that Flora felt she couldn’t discuss with her. However, she had reminded Flora that Michael would have to return to
war if he recovered. It was the shadow lurking in both their minds.

Flora thought about the moment on the veranda when she and Michael had stood very close. She had felt a moment of great intimacy and all she had wanted was for Michael to kiss her. It was a very
new feeling and had taken her by surprise. Could she be falling in love? If she was, her heart, as Mrs Bell would say, was ruling her head.

Hilda crouched low behind the prickly spring gorse, her heart thumping. She listened for the sounds of the pounding hooves and snorting of the horse as it charged after her.
The cold March night was for the moment silent. This time, she had reached the trees to the south of the barn. She had never run this far before.

Perhaps Guy would find her in the forest. She hated the dark, eerie layers of branches, the carpet of noisy leaves and bracken that told of her every move. No, she wouldn’t go in there.
The open land was at least lit by the moonlight.

Hilda closed her eyes in distress. Would he ride up soon? The first time this had happened, she had been at her lowest ebb. Dizzy with the wine he made her drink and every bone in her body
aching from the run. She had made her way across the dark field, towards the trees. Very soon he’d ridden after her, catching her easily on the big brown stallion. Its great sweating body had
trembled as it reared up. Bursts of grey-white air streamed from its frothing nostrils. Guy had dismounted, laughing.

It was then she had first been frightened. Their game had lost its appeal. Guy appeared the same, with his beautiful face and body, but his eyes had glittered menacingly. She had tried to
scramble away, but he’d caught her hair and dragged her to a wooded thicket. She had felt like some wounded creature, as the thorns had torn into her skin and red welts appeared over her arms
and legs. Her beautiful dresses, the ones that Lady Hailing had given her, had been reduced to rags. To think of all she had done for him. The money she had borrowed from Mrs Bell to buy frivolous
trinkets and perfumes to make herself more beautiful in his eyes. The lies she had told Gracie about where she had been at night. And eventually, the scorn in Gracie’s eyes when the truth had
finally come out.

Hilda listened . . .

All she could hear was the breath of a trapped animal. They were her own short, terrified gasps. She understood how a fox must feel at the point of capture. Or a deer, staring into the gaze of
the hunter.

Hilda started in fright. The noise was familiar; a horse was thundering towards her. She fell backwards, the terror within her mounting. With her back to the rough bark of a tree she waited.
Sweat poured from her, soaked her damp, torn dress, spread over her loose, full breasts and down her spine.

Suddenly, a shadow appeared. Clods of earth, leaves and bits of bracken fell into her hair. Long legs thrashed by her head, hooves flew past her cheeks. Hilda cowered, trying to protect her
face.

‘Come, come, Hilda, this is no time to pause,’ called Guy from above her. ‘Get on with you, girl, run faster. Our game must be made more exciting.’

She dared to glance up. Between the strands of his wet black hair, his eyes seemed to glow. ‘I . . . I can’t run no more, my lord,’ she begged. ‘Have pity.’

He stared at her, breathless and panting, his shirt open, exposing the black whorls of hair on his chest. The hair that Hilda had once run her fingers through in ecstasy. ‘Run! This is
your last chance!’ he yelled at her.

Hilda dragged herself up. She knew that if she didn’t obey him, his mood would worsen. At least if she ran until he brought her down, he would perhaps decide to end the chase.

Hilda began to run. Her scratched and bleeding bare feet were no match for the coarse forest floor. But still she tried. Through the pain she ran, her lungs almost bursting. The burs and twigs
that caught in her hair fell across her face. Sharp, twisted branches slapped against her arms and legs. In the dawn light, Hilda saw only the dripping trees, their tiny buds yet to unfurl. The
mist enfolded her as if taking her down to hell. Hilda listened to her own sobs of defeat. Her choked, cowardly gulps of fear.

At last she fell, headlong, sprawling and rolling down an incline. Over and over until she reached the narrow valley. Her head struck something hard, a stone perhaps. When she looked up, dazed
and terrified, there was silence. A warm trickle ran down her cheek. She lifted her fingers to touch the blood. A strange greyness came into her vision. She lifted her head, trying to adjust her
eyes to the light.

The tall, sweat-soaked figure of her master loomed over her. Hilda gave out a pathetic moan, pleading for mercy. Her master kneeled beside her, touching her face tenderly, drawing aside her
tangled hair.

‘Your blood, Hilda – first blood.’ He ran his thumb over the wound. ‘You wanted to play, little kitten, you said you would do anything for me.’ His eyes glittered.
His mouth worked as the wet, shiny saliva formed over his lips. His hair, like hers, was limp and matted and clung to his face and neck. ‘Do you still want to please me?’

‘Y . . . yes, my lord,’ she stammered.

He smiled, showing his white teeth, which reminded Hilda of the fox corpses she had seen, strung up by their legs, their mouths open. He took hold of the flimsy remains of her dress and tore it
roughly from her. Hilda shuddered and trembled. He touched her naked breasts, looking at her with lust.

As he took her, Hilda told herself that she still loved him. She could forgive these silly games, because after the chase, he would make love to her. Even if he hurt her, she believed it was her
fault; that she was not pleasing him as he wanted to be pleased.

If only she could convince him she loved him.

But then Hilda felt the brute force of his harsh demands. She allowed herself to be degraded. And as much as she pleaded with him, he seemed not to care and became this other person she
didn’t know.

It was almost Easter and Flora was happy to see the doctor looking better after spending the week with his sister. He had said very little about Wilfred’s memorial
service, but Flora knew that he had done all he could to say a last farewell to his son.

‘I have told all the patients we’ve seen today that the surgery will be closed for Easter,’ he said as they ended surgery on Thursday evening. ‘I have an old friend
coming to stay with me. We shall spend some time together in the city.’ He smiled. ‘We were young doctors together and we met up again in Bath. And I’m sure you, Flora, have
plenty to keep you busy.’

Flora saw his eyes twinkle. She knew he approved of her friendship with Michael, and that he too had grown very fond of him and enjoyed their long discussions.

When Flora was at home that evening, she thought about Michael’s offer to drive her to Surrey on Easter Monday. Perhaps she should accept. She was suddenly excited. She and Hilda had so
much to discuss.

But when a letter came from Hilda on Saturday, Flora gave a low moan. ‘I have been off-colour,’ Hilda wrote. ‘The reason being, we have lost more men to the services and I am
wrung out with exhaustion. It wouldn’t be any use you coming. When I am more myself, I will let you know. With affection, Hilda.’

When a knock came on the airey door, Flora was surprised to see Mrs Bell. ‘Happy Easter, Flora. I’ve baked some Easter buns for you.’ She took a brown paper bag from her
basket. ‘Thought you and the doctor might like them for Sunday.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You look a bit down, love.’

‘I am. I was hoping to go and see Hilda on Monday. But she wrote she’s not well enough to meet me.’

‘What’s wrong with her?’

‘She says she’s had a lot of work to do as more of the men have left.’

Mrs Bell rolled her eyes. ‘Listen, Reg Miles, the costermonger who delivers to the house, is waiting. He’s giving me a ride to the market. Would you like to come too? An afternoon at
the market might cheer you up a bit.’

Flora smiled. ‘I’d like that.’

‘Go and put the buns away safely. I’ll ask Reg to wait while you get ready. Better bring a coat in case it rains. And Hilda’s letter. We can read it over a cup of
Rosie.’

It took Flora only a few minutes to store the buns, after which she grabbed her coat and pushed Hilda’s letter in her pocket.

Reg was waiting outside and helped Flora up beside Mrs Bell. ‘Nice day for a bit of shopping,’ he said from under his peaked cap. Flora had seen him at the market before; he was a
tall, portly man with a florid complexion, who, even though he was not in his prime, worked very hard at his greengrocery business.

‘Yes, even nicer, Reg, now you’re taking us to the market.’ Mrs Bell folded her arms over her plump chest, resting her basket on her stomach. She pushed her hair up under her
small brown felt hat. ‘Couldn’t walk that far now. Not with me legs.’

Reg winked as he glanced at the cook sitting on the wooden seat.

Flora thought that Reg the costermonger seemed very friendly. She had never seen Mrs Bell like this before, with a blush on her cheeks that wasn’t caused by her cooking.

‘I did warn Hilda,’ Mrs Bell said unsympathetically, as they sat together on the bench at the coffee stall, waiting for Reg who was delivering to his customers. As
Mrs Bell hadn’t brought her reading glasses, Flora had read Hilda’s letter aloud. ‘Cut-backs are common now. Lady Hailing has had to give up her chauffeur. All the big houses must
comply; it’s government regulations.’