Together for Christmas (37 page)

‘You know the answer to that, Flora. He is to marry Lady Gabriella and there can be no scandal.’

Flora bit down on her lip in an effort not to weep. It was so unfair. One law for the rich and another for the poor.

‘Come along, Flora,’ the doctor said quietly as he got up from his desk. ‘You aren’t responsible for Hilda now. Nor can you do any more for Will. Your two friends chose
their paths in life and will have to act accordingly.’

This did not make Flora feel any better as she said goodbye to Lillian and left for the airey that night. She sat quietly with her treasures: her precious shawl and Michael’s letter, the
butterfly brooch and her engagement ring. She thought of Michael and prayed for his safety.

Dr Tapper had given Flora the day off. It was August the 1st and Flora’s eighteenth birthday. She had put on Hilda’s blue suit and was going to Mass. She would ask
the priest for prayers to be said for her friends. It was all she could do to help them.

When a tap came at the door, she was surprised to find a young boy there. He was dressed shabbily in a well-worn shirt and short trousers, but he had a clean face.

‘Are yer Flora Shine?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sister Superior sent me. You got to come now.’

Flora frowned. ‘To the orphanage?’

‘Yer.’

‘Do you know why?’

‘No, but do I get a sixpence for running the message?’

Flora nodded and went back inside. When she came out, he grabbed the money and ran up the steps.

‘Wait for me, I’ll come with you,’ shouted Flora, but all she saw was the back of his grubby boots.

As it was Wednesday, she caught the bus. Flora wondered what Sister Superior could want. Perhaps it was something to do with her birthday. Was there something else Sister Superior wanted to give
her now she had reached eighteen?

Victoria Park was bathed in sunlight. It was a very hot day. She walked past the rows of identical houses and saw the convent’s tall bell tower. As usual, her heart beat faster at the
sight of the place she had known as her only home. She walked briskly towards the red-brick building with its stained-glass windows.

The heavy iron gate creaked as she opened it. At the big double doors with the shining crucifix, she took a breath. As she stood waiting, she wondered if now was the time to ask Sister Superior
about Hilda’s baby. After all, Hilda had grown up here. St Boniface’s was far better than the workhouse or an institution. Perhaps the nuns could even find work for Hilda, just as they
had for Hilda’s mother. It would be history repeating itself, but at least Hilda wouldn’t be forced into something dreadful. Like a life on the streets.

Flora’s mouth dropped open as she sat in the convent visitors’ room. She couldn’t believe the sight before her eyes. Was it a holy apparition? Had Our Lady
come down to answer her prayers?

‘God’s blessing on you, Flora.’ Sister Patricia, reed-thin and slightly stooped, stood in front of her. Her hands were clasped around her rosary as she made the sign of the
cross. Sliding the rosary under the folds of her habit, she stepped forward.

Flora stood up. She wanted to run forward and embrace her old teacher. But she knew that nuns didn’t invite familiarity. Instead, Flora’s eyes filled with bright, happy tears.

‘What a beautiful young woman you have become.’

‘I didn’t think I would ever see you again,’ Flora mumbled, as she cleared her throat.

‘Nor I, you.’ Sister Patricia’s slender face and high cheekbones under the paper-thin skin made her look almost angelic. Her bright blue eyes were as radiant as ever. The white
wimple followed the lines of her fragile bone structure and the black habit covered her entire body down to the floor. Flora thought how timeless she looked.

They sat down on the wooden chairs at the polished table. Flora had expected to see Sister Superior. And now, she was gazing into the face of the person who had taught her all she knew and
encouraged her to help in the convent’s infirmary. Also, the one person who could tell her about her past.

‘Are you happy, Flora?’ the nun asked quietly, sitting upright, her hands folded in her lap.

‘Yes, sister. Very.’

‘Mother Superior has told me that Dr Tapper is very pleased with you. And I’m glad to hear that you settled into life at his surgery. During the four years I have spent at the
Motherhouse in France, I’ve prayed for you.’

Flora felt honoured. Sister Patricia had always taken an interest in her and now Flora knew this interest had continued after she’d left the orphanage. ‘Thank you, sister. And
I’ve prayed for you too.’

A soft smile touched the nun’s lips. ‘Then your prayers helped to bring me safely back to England with the help of our French brothers.’ She hesitated, lowering her eyes.
‘Many of my dear sisters were not so fortunate when the Motherhouse was . . . taken.’ She gave a soft breath, then added calmly, ‘Mother Superior tells me that Will Boniface is
fighting at the Front and Hilda Jones is in service to the Talbott Estate.’

Flora nodded eagerly. She wanted to ask about the shawl, but knew there would be a right time. ‘Yes, but Will was wounded and brought back to Bristol Infirmary. He lost an arm in the
fighting.’

‘I am very sorry to hear that.’

‘But now he is at Adelphi Hall,’ Flora rushed on, ‘where Hilda can visit him every day.’

‘Adelphi!’ Sister Patricia exclaimed. ‘He is at
Adelphi Hall
?’

‘Yes, sister. You see, part of the house is used as a hospital for the war-wounded and—’

‘My child,’ Sister Patricia interrupted sharply. ‘This is not good news.’

‘But Sister Patricia—’

Once again, the nun interrupted her. ‘Before you say anything more, I have something important to tell you.’ She took a quick breath and looked steadily into Flora’s eyes.

‘Is it about my mother?’

‘I opened the convent door to your mother. She stood there, as you did today, a child in her arms. She was desperate and terrified. After she told me her story, I took the infant, wrapped
in the shawl. I gave her my promise that I would do all in my power to see that the child was kept safe.’

Flora felt as though the years were falling away. As though, finally, she was coming to know who she really was. ‘B . . . but why . . .? Why was I not safe?’

Sister Patricia answered softly. ‘That child was not you, Flora. It was Will, your half-brother. The year was December 1897. His father was the fourth Earl of Calvey. And his mother, a
nurse to the young Lord Guy Calvey, was your mother.’

Flora stared into the nun’s blue eyes. ‘Will –
our
Will – is the son of the old earl? Is my half-brother?’ she said incredulously.

Sister Patricia nodded. ‘Your mother, Constance, and the earl fell in love. But this love between a nurse and her high-born employer could never be. So the earl took your mother to safety,
to a trusted farmer and his wife. There she gave birth to her first child, William. But the earl, a distinguished soldier, had to return to his regiment. While he was away, Lady Bertha Forsythe
took steps to dispose of your mother and the baby. Fortunately, Constance escaped before the deed could be done. She fled to London and arrived here, at the orphanage.’

Flora shook her head in bewilderment. Could this be true? Was this incredible story her story too? ‘But, if Will was that child,’ she asked, ‘who am I?’

The nun replied slowly. ‘Your mother was in terror of her son being found by Lady Bertha. And so I took the boy in and arranged with the priest to find shelter for Constance. Over the next
year and a half, I heard no more. But then on August the 1st 1899, a man arrived, with you in his arms, the child of his marriage to Constance Shine.’

Flora’s mind was whirling. ‘Who was he?’

‘Your father, a tavern keeper, protected your mother. He told me they were very happy for the short time they were together. They had been blessed with you, a daughter, but Constance was
suffering from consumption. Your father had contracted the disease from her and the poor man himself was sick, close to death. Unable to safeguard your future, he brought you here to be reunited
with your half-brother.’

‘What was my father’s name?’

‘He was John Devonish, a good Catholic, and a kind and gentle man. I cannot say if your mother loved him as much as he loved her. But he told me they both loved and treasured
you.’

Flora closed her eyes and opened them. Was Sister Patricia about to disappear like a vision? Could all this be true? Her father was a tavern keeper called John Devonish and will was her
half-brother. He had taken her to the orphanage for safety.

Then, as what she had been told fell into place, Flora gave a soft gasp. ‘But Will! Will is at Adelphi!’

‘And the very last place he should be,’ agreed the nun.

‘It was me who wanted him there.’ Flora felt sick. ‘What am I to do?’

Sister Patricia opened her thin, pale hands. ‘Should the family discover his true identity, his life may be in danger.’

Flora’s mind went to Constance and the terror she must have felt as she fled Adelphi Hall. ‘If the earl really loved my mother, he would have married her.’

‘Perhaps he was going to. Who is to know what really happened between them? But you must warn Will, at the very least, Flora. He must leave Adelphi.’

Flora sat silently. Thoughts were tumbling around in her mind. How could she help Will?

Hilda was deeply distressed. She had been feeling very sick. She knew the baby was making her feel ill.

‘What’s up?’ Gracie asked as she walked into the greenhouse.

‘Nothing.’

‘Mrs ’Arris wants more spuds.’

‘I dug up two full baskets this morning.’

‘Well, it wasn’t enough.’

Hilda’s back ached from the digging and her hands were rough from the long hours of hard toil in the gardens. Peter never seemed to be around to help her and the two young boys were now in
the fields bringing in the crops. Hilda hated country life. She hated the fresh air that burned her lungs on cold mornings and the heat that made her shirt rough and wet with perspiration. She
wanted to return to the house where she belonged.

‘Come on, I’ll ’elp you.’ Gracie grabbed a basket from the work bench. ‘Mrs ’Arris is chasing her tail. We’ll get it in the neck if she don’t get
what she wants.’

They walked together from the greenhouse to the vegetable plots. The green leaves of the rhubarb, carrots and potatoes were like an emerald sea. The smell of the herbs melted into the evening
air and caused Hilda’s stomach to heave.

‘I’ve got to go to the house, to see my friend, Will,’ Hilda said as she dug the fork into the soft soil and pulled up the vegetables. ‘He’s lost an arm at the
Front.’

‘And ’e’s ’ere at Adelphi?’ Gracie asked in surprise as she shook off the clumps of soil.

‘Flora wrote to say he had arrived from Bristol.’ Hilda wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her dirty hand. ‘At least I’ll see inside Adelphi
again.’

Gracie dropped the potatoes into the basket. ‘It’s not the same place no more.’

‘No, but it won’t always be a hospital.’

‘Who knows what’ll ’appen when Lady Gabriella moves in.’

‘What?’ Hilda put down the fork.

‘Well, it’ll all change after they’re married. We’ll ’ave to get ready for her family and friends staying. And Mrs Burns is preparing the nursery again.’
Gracie brushed the dirt from her apron and looked at Hilda who was staring at her with startled brown eyes. ‘I mean, there’ll be babies on the way. That’s what this marriage is
all about. Making sure there’s more heirs.’

‘But he’s already got—’ Hilda stopped on the point of revealing her secret.

‘What?’ Gracie narrowed her eyes. ‘Are you ill again?’

Hilda felt dizzy as well as sick. Lord Guy and Lady Gabriella. It just couldn’t be. Her hand went to her stomach, to the flat surface under her trousers that would soon be rounded with her
lover’s baby.

‘Listen, if I were you, I’d sit down. You don’t look too good to me.’ Gracie lifted the bags full of potatoes. ‘Feels like a ton weight, these do. But never you
mind ’elping me. You look as though you’ll blow over in a puff of wind.’ She went to walk away, then stopped. ‘’Ilda, are you sure you’re all right?’

Hilda was very far from all right. If only she could tell her master about the child they had conceived. He needn’t marry anyone but her. Oh, where was he? She had waited for him, in the
garden, at the stables and in the fields. But he never rode out to find her.

After Gracie had gone, she made her way to the greenhouse. Here she stood under the sweltering panes of dirty glass. She longed to look beautiful once again. Hilda hurried to the pump outside.
She swept off her cap and splashed cold water over her face. There was no soap for her hands but she scrubbed them as best as she could. When she was done, she went to one of the small sheds that
Peter kept for his tools. On a lower shelf, she had hidden her uniform and a clean white apron. If ever Lord Guy had come to the gardens, she had planned to change quickly. Even her
housemaid’s uniform was better than these filthy trousers and shirt.

In a few minutes, Hilda was dressed. She brushed her hair until all the tangles were gone and gazed into the broken oblong of glass that she used as a mirror.

Hilda smiled. She was pleased with what she saw. Her complexion was healthy. Her cheeks were rosy. Her brown eyes sparkled.

She was born to be a lady. And vowed never to wear those trousers again!

From a safe distance behind a curtained screen, Lady Bertha Forsythe watched the new patient and his visitor. She recognized the girl, Hilda Jones, at once. The maid who had
caught Guy’s attention, which had led to such inconvenient disruption below stairs. Fortunately, Mrs Burns had resolved the problem. Nevertheless, Bertha felt that the servant, who apparently
knew the injured man, could not be trusted. She was pretty in a common way and far too forward for Bertha’s liking. Easy prey for Guy. And now that her nephew was betrothed to Gabriella, an
incident of that sort must not happen again.