‘It appears that your mother er . . . well, the doctor I have just spoken to informed me that last night she tried to rescue a child from a house that had been bombed.’ The older woman’s face betrayed her disapproval. ‘And it seems that she didn’t even know the family. A wall collapsed on top of her. The child lived, but your mother is dead.’
Briony sat down heavily on the nearest chair as the floor raced up to meet her but she managed to hold herself together as the woman went on, ‘I have told the doctor that your uncle will go and transport the body back here so that she can be buried in the family plot. I feel it is what your grandfather would have wished.’
Briony didn’t really take in what she was saying. All she could think of was the fact that she and the children had no one now. Or at least no one who cared about them. Her lovely mum was dead! She didn’t cry. The pain she was feeling went beyond tears.
‘Girl – pull yourself together! Did you hear what I just said? It’s time to fetch Alfred from school.’
Even in her shocked state, Briony noticed that her grandmother didn’t mention Mabel. It was as if the child didn’t exist. But she did, very much so, to Briony and she knew that she must keep going for the children’s sake at least. She forced herself to rise from the table and staggered towards her coat. She felt as if she was in a strange sort of bubble, and Marion Frasier’s words seemed to be coming from a long way away. Outside, Briony found herself shrouded by a thick freezing fog, but again she didn’t even feel the cold as she walked on. She knew the route to the school like the back of her hand by now, which was just as well as her legs automatically took her in the right direction. At the school gates some of the mothers looked at her curiously, but Briony stood apart from them. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk today. And then Alfie and Mabel appeared as if by magic, tugging at her hands and smiling up at her. She hadn’t even heard the school bell ring and she led them away without a word.
‘Is sommat up, Briony?’ Alfie asked. His big sister didn’t seem to be herself at all.
She stopped abruptly and then bending to his level, she licked her dry lips before saying, ‘I’m afraid there is, Alfie. You see . . . our mum has died. She tried to rescue a little girl from a house that had been bombed so she was very, very brave and we must be proud of her.’
Mabel said nothing but looked on in silence as Alfie stared at her in disbelief. ‘But – but she can’t ’ave! Our dad ’as died too, so who will look after us now?’ And then as his lip trembled he began to wail, ‘I want me mum!’
His words seemed to release Briony from the strange place of limbo she had been locked in, and now she started crying too and they clung together, united in their grief.
‘You’ll be fine,’ she told him. ‘You’ve still got me and I’ll always look out for you.’
‘B-but I want me mum!’
‘I know you do, sweetheart,’ she soothed as she held his shaking little body against her. ‘I want her too, but we still have each other. And we’ll have Sarah back one day as well, when she gets better.’
It was only then that she became aware that she was kneeling in icy cold mud, and when she stood up she saw that she was plastered from the knee down in it. Not that it mattered. Nothing seemed to matter at the moment after the latest horrendous news they had received.
The only sound to be heard for the rest of the journey was the squawking of the gulls overhead and their sobs, but at last they reached the sanctuary of the house and entered the warmth of the kitchen.
Mrs Dower was there waiting for them. She already knew what had happened, after being summoned by Mrs Frasier, and as she opened her arms Briony went into them, laid her head on the kindly woman’s shoulder, and wept.
For the next few days Briony rarely ventured from her room, much to her grandmother’s disgust, but Mrs Dower insisted that she be left to grieve. She took on all the household tasks and Howel accompanied the children to school and back without a word of complaint.
All too soon the day of the funeral dawned. Lois was buried in the grave next to her father’s. The days leading up to the funeral passed in a blur of pain and disbelief, but now at last Lois was at rest – and Briony prayed that she might find some peace and be reunited with their father. She had died heroically, and the girl was proud of her.
Her grandmother had allowed her to go and see her mother for one last time in the Chapel of Rest, and as Briony had stared down at her serene face, she had seen again a glimpse of the mother she remembered from happier times. Lois looked as if she were merely asleep and so beautiful that it broke her daughter’s heart afresh. And yet deep down she knew that her mother could never have survived for long without her beloved husband James. He had been her soulmate, her reason for living.
After the mourners had left the house, following refreshments laid on by Mrs Dower, Briony was ordered into the sitting room where she found her grandmother waiting for her.
‘I thought it was time I told you what I have decided about your futures,’ the woman told her primly. ‘You must be wondering what is going to happen to you all.’ She still had on the ridiculous black feathered hat that she had worn for the service, and Briony thought it looked like a big fat spider perched on her head.
‘I have decided that you will remain here,’ the woman went on. ‘It is very difficult to get reliable help in the house so you will continue with your chores. Alfred will be going away to a good boarding school once the war has ended, but he will be known as Alfred Frasier. Valentine is such a ridiculous name! And Sarah . . . well, we shall have to wait and see what she can do. I have received a medical report on her.’ The envelope had been addressed to Briony, but Marion had found it on the doormat and taken it away. ‘It seems that she is making good progress although one of her legs is badly affected. I’ve no doubt she will be a cripple and forced to wear callipers, but we will have to cross that bridge when we come to it. I dare say there will be some way that she can make herself useful when she comes back. Isn’t that right, dear?’ She looked across to the place where her late husband’s wheelchair used to stand and Briony realised with a little shock that she was talking to him.
Turning her attention back to Briony, she then went on, ‘I have spoken to that . . .
that coarse woman
who was your neighbour in Nuneaton.’ Briony knew that she was referring to Mrs Brindley, who had travelled down with Ruth to attend the funeral. They had now gone back to the farm for an hour or two with Mrs Dower, who had kindly offered to put them up for the night, but they had promised to come back later. It was something to look forward to at least and Briony was also hugely relieved to hear that Sarah was making progress. That knowledge was like a tiny ray of light in an inky darkness – something she could cling on to in the gloomy days ahead.
‘The house will have to go, of course. There is no point in paying rent on a place that you may never go back to. So I have instructed the Brindley woman to sell anything that can be sold and forward the profits to me. It will go some way towards your keep.’
Briony nodded dully. She just didn’t have the strength to argue right now. She doubted that she would have wanted to go back there anyway. The house would be too full of memories and a constant reminder of what they had lost.
‘So, unless there is anything you wish to ask me, you may go about your duties now.’
Briony turned and left without a word. Back in the kitchen she sat at the table staring at the piles of dirty crockery that seemed to be stacked on every surface. There was so much of it, and even more still to be carried through from the dining room. She put the big kettle on to boil for the washing-up, then forced herself to go and clear the dining-room table. As she passed the sitting room, she distinctly heard her grandmother chatting away again. It couldn’t be to Sebastian; he had left for London shortly after the funeral and she hadn’t heard anyone knock at the door. And then it hit her – her grandmother was talking to William again. It felt as if the whole world was topsy-turvy.
After attending to the jobs waiting to be done back at the farm, Mrs Dower arrived back at the house with the children, Mrs Brindley and Ruth all in tow.
The older women looked at the mountain of dishes and at Briony sitting at the table as still as a statue and instantly took control.
‘Right then, Martha,’ Mrs Dower said, rolling up her sleeves. She and Mrs Brindley were getting on like a house on fire. ‘You take the little ’uns up to the bathroom and get them ready for bed, and I’ll set about the washing-up shall I? And perhaps you could put the kettle on, Ruth. I’ve no doubt Briony would like a drink. I know I certainly would.’
Briony stirred from her lethargy to say ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Dower. I meant to start on the washing-up, but I just sat here thinking.’
‘Ah well, there’s no shame in that,’ the woman told her kindly. ‘It hasn’t been the easiest of days for you. Between us, we’ll soon have this place back to rights in no time.’
‘Mrs Dower,’ Briony said hesitantly, wondering if she should mention it, ‘I heard Grandmother speaking to Grandfather earlier on as if he was still in the room with her.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard her doing it too,’ she confided. Tapping her head, she lowered her voice. ‘I reckon she’s gone a bit doolally! She’s been going that way for a while, but I think losing the master has tipped her over the edge. Lord knows where it’s all going to end.’
Briony dragged herself to her feet and picked up a tea-towel to help with the drying-up. The way she saw it, things couldn’t possibly get any worse.
‘Oh Ruth, I wish you didn’t have to go back so soon,’ Briony told her friend as she clung to her on the station platform the next morning. They had sat up until late the evening before chatting until Howel had walked Ruth back to Kynance Farm to join Mrs Brindley.
‘I wish I didn’t have to as well,’ Ruth answered. ‘But I promise I’ll come again as soon as I can.’ They had had a hellish journey due to German bombing raids on many railway stations and tracks. She kissed her friend soundly and stood aside.
It was Mrs Brindley’s turn then and she hugged Briony to her and stroked her silky black hair with tears in her eyes. ‘Take care o’ yerself, luvvie,’ she said in a choked voice. ‘An’ don’t get worryin’ about anythin’ back ’ome. I’ll see to everythin’.’ Drawing Briony slightly away from the others, she muttered, ‘An’ I’ll see as anythin’ of any sentimental value is stored in my back bedroom fer you an’ all till yer get the chance to come an’ collect it. Yer know – photos and suchlike. As fer the rest . . . well, I’ve always prided meself on bein’ as ’onest as the day is long, but I’ll tell yer now: once I’ve sold all the stuff I can, I’ll be sendin’ ’alf o’ the money to you fer things you an’ the kids might need. Annik’s said I can address it to her, as I don’t trust that Mrs Frasier not to open your post. It strikes me that oity-toity gran’ma o’ yours don’t need it. It ain’t ’ers by rights anyway. Anythin’ as I can’t sell I’ll give away to the second-’and shop. Will that be all right, luvvie?’
‘Of course,’ Briony told her. ‘But please take anything you’d like first, Mrs Brindley. Like the dresser, for instance. I know you always admired it and I’m sure Mum would have wanted you to have it.’
Too choked to speak, Mrs Brindley nodded but then the train was drawing into the station and once it had stopped, Howel began to lift their bags into the corridor. He put his arm about Briony’s waist as Ruth and Mrs Brindley climbed aboard, and once they were gone he led Briony back outside to the waiting trap. This mode of transport had tickled Mrs Brindley pink – but then it was much more common here to see people driving about in them than it was back at home.
As old Meg clip-clopped across the cobbles, Howel glanced at Briony from the corner of his eye. It had started to drizzle and her hair was flat to her head. Her nose was red with the cold too and yet she somehow still managed to look beautiful. Being a Saturday, they had left Talwyn in charge of the children, but now Briony was keen to get back to them. Suddenly she didn’t want to let them out of her sight. They were all she had left now, and she didn’t think she would be able to stand any more losses. She was clutching the letter that Mrs Brindley had brought for her. It was from the mother of the little girl Lois had saved, expressing her sincere thanks for what Lois had done for them, and Briony would treasure it for always. Because of her mother’s bravery there was a little girl back in Nuneaton alive and well who would otherwise have died on that fateful night. Howel knew how proud Briony was of her mother’s heroic act, and rightly so, the way he saw it. Even so, he knew that she was still struggling to come to terms with the loss of both her parents, but then that was only to be expected. Time was a great healer and in the meantime he was infinitely patient with her.
Thankfully all was well when they arrived back, but Howel insisted on staying on for a while.
‘There’s lots of jobs need doing over here, and now seems as good a time as any to tackle them,’ he said cheerfully, and Briony felt glad of his presence. For some reason she always felt safe when he was about.
Late on Sunday evening, Sebastian arrived back at The Heights with three of his friends. They had all obviously been drinking and made so much noise that Briony was afraid they would wake Mabel and Alfie. She had been sitting quietly brooding in the kitchen, contemplating what the future might hold for her, when suddenly all hell broke loose.
‘Ah, here’s my little niece,’ Sebastian sneered as Briony appeared in the hallway to see what all the noise was.
One of his friends, a lanky chap with buck teeth and bulgy eyes, looked her up and down appreciatively as he ran his wet tongue across his thick lips.
‘I say, Seb old man,’ he said in a very la-di-dah voice. ‘Where
have
you been hiding this little treasure away?’
Briony squirmed with embarrassment, but before she could say anything Sebastian ordered, ‘Get down to the cellar, girl, and fetch up a few bottles of the old man’s best whisky. The chaps and I are going to have a few games of cards.’