Authors: Margaret Dickinson
‘Where do you work, Steven?’ Frank asked. ‘With your father?’
‘No. Me elder brother’s going to take on the smith.’
Frank smiled. ‘Another Smith as our smith, then?’
It had always been a village joke that the blacksmith should be called Smith. Steven smiled. ‘That’s right, but there isn’t enough business now for more than me Dad and our
Ron. So I got mesen a stall on the market.’
‘I thought you’d got a posh job in an office?’ Maddie said.
Steven pulled a face. ‘I had. But I left. I couldn’t stand being cooped up inside all day and shuffling bits of paper about. It didn’t seem like real work to me.’
‘What do you sell?’ Maddie asked.
‘Anything and everything that’ll make me a bob or two.’
Maddie laughed. ‘Bunches of tulips for Christmas?’ It was the thing that was uppermost in her mind at the moment. The work in the greenhouses was progressing well and they were
promised a bumper crop. She had already brought in the first trays to be ready in time for Christmas. But Maddie’s worry was selling them at the right time and at a good price.
Last year Michael had dealt with all that and she wished now that she had learnt more about how he had made his contacts in the first place. They still had the ones he had found, but now, with
their increased production, she needed more outlets.
‘You’re on,’ Steven was saying. ‘But I shan’t be able to take all those two greenhouses will produce. But I presume you’ve got other outlets.’
‘Just a couple, but we need more now.’
‘Oh well, then, I’ll see what I can find out for you.’
Later, washing up together in the kitchen, Maddie said, ‘Well, Jen, did you ask him?’
‘Ask who, what?’
‘Did you ask Steven if he knew any more village gossip that might help us find out who we are?’
‘Oh that. Oh yes, but he doesn’t know anything about us.’
‘What about Mrs Grange?’
Jenny frowned. ‘Yes, I asked her, but do you know, it was most odd. She clammed up when I started asking her. Reckoned she knew nothing about any babies being left outside the
Home.’
‘But you didn’t believe her?’
Jen shook her head. ‘Knowing the village grapevine like I do now, no, I don’t.’
‘And you couldn’t get her to tell you anything?’
‘Not a word.’
There was silence, before Maddie said, ‘So, we’re no nearer finding out who we are, are we?’
‘We could ask Mrs Potter.’
‘I wouldn’t ask her if she was the last person on this earth to ask,’ Maddie said vehemently.
To this, Jenny made no answer.
Steven was as good as his word and by the time the blooms were ready, there were more buyers from London clamouring for their flowers than they could supply.
‘I know we can’t get rid of the little barn because we need that for storage and parking the truck under cover, but you know we could knock the hen-house down and put another
greenhouse there for next year,’ Nick suggested. ‘We’ve only got a dozen hens or so now for eggs for ourselves and they could easily live in a much smaller shed. What do you say,
Maddie?’
‘I’ll talk to Frank.’
Nick looked mutinous. ‘Why do you always have to ask him? You know he’s so soft with you that he’ll go along with anything you say. Besides, I don’t think he’s very
well. He’s slowed up a lot lately. Haven’t you noticed?’
To her dismay, Maddie realized that she had not. She had been so wrapped up in the care of her child and the work with the tulips. But now she thought about it, since autumn had turned into
winter, he had spent more and more time huddled near the range in the living room.
Now, she would certainly talk to him.
Later that night in the darkness of their bedroom as they lay together, the child asleep in his cot at the end of their bed, Maddie put her hand out and touched Frank’s
shoulder.
‘Mm?’ He stirred at once. ‘What is it, love? What’s the matter?’
‘I’m sorry. Were you asleep?’
‘Not really.’
‘Frank, are you feeling quite well? You’ve been looking a bit tired lately.’
‘I’m fine, Maddie. I do get a bit of an ache still in my foot, but I don’t say anything about it. I don’t want to upset Nick. It was an accident.’
‘But are you sure the work’s not too much for you? We have been dreadfully busy.’
He turned towards her and she moved into his embrace. He kissed her gently. ‘My darling girl, I’m touched that you should be so thoughtful. But I’m fine, honestly, although . .
.’
‘Yes,’ Maddie prompted.
‘Well, I must admit I’ve been feeling a bit under the weather. I’ve been having a bit of stomach trouble lately.’ He chuckled, ‘But I daren’t say anything in
case Harriet thinks I’m blaming her cooking.’
‘Then you must go to the doctor. It can’t be anything you’ve eaten, because Harriet is a good cook. I will say that for her.’
Softly, close to her ear, he said, ‘Even though you can’t find it in your heart to say anything else good about her?’
‘It’s hard to.’
She felt his breath sigh against her face. ‘Oh Maddie, if only you knew. She deserves your pity more than your censure. She’s had a very difficult and unhappy life. I wish I could
tell you all about it, but it’s not my secret and years ago, when she first came here, I promised her faithfully I would never tell another living soul. I can’t break that promise,
Maddie, not even to you.’
‘I know, I know,’ she said gently. ‘Don’t worry about it. Go to sleep, but in the morning, you, Frank Brackenbury, are going to the doctor.’
‘If I’m not better after Christmas, I’ll see the doctor then. But I can’t let him tell me I’ve to stop work all together. Not just now, can
I?’
‘If you think that is what he would say, Frank, then you certainly ought to see him.’ Maddie smiled, trying to make light of it, but the anxiety never left her eyes. ‘If you
don’t go, I’ll call him here.’
Frank smiled. ‘Aye, I know you would. But I promise you I’ll go if I feel worse, all right?’
‘We-ell,’ she said slowly, watching his face, trying to decide just how much he was holding back from her. ‘Just so long as you promise that you’ll go after Christmas if
you still don’t feel really well by then.’
‘All right,’ he agreed and they left it at that.
In December they were all busy in the glasshouses and, to Maddie’s relief, Frank did seem much better. He did not put in as many hours’ work as she and Nick, but
they could not have managed without his help.
‘Have you spoken to Frank about another greenhouse?’
‘Not yet, but I will after Christmas. Can you fetch another tray in, Nick? I’ll clear this corner out . . .’
‘See, we are getting short of space. We could do with another one,’ he said, as he went out of the door, closing it carefully behind him.
I know, I know we could, Maddie answered him silently in her head. But where is the money to come from?
They were doing well, there was no doubt about that, but most of their bulb stock went back into the ground the following year and cut flowers alone would not support them.
Frank saw to all the financial side but, now and then, he did discuss it with her.
‘We must start to pay Sir Peter rent again from January, you know,’ he had told her only the week before. ‘We’ve had our one year’s grace.’
As she swept the corner clear of scattered earth, the figures ran through her mind. Then suddenly, she was motionless, staring down at the concrete floor. There, in the far corner, she saw the
imprint of their hands – hers and Michael’s – joined together for ever and surrounding them, his drawing of a tulip. She squatted down and, trembling a little, she laid her hand
over Michael’s imprint. His hand had touched this spot. She closed her eyes and felt the tears well behind her eyelids and sting her throat.
Then, with a swift, angry movement, she stood up and brushed the earth into the corner, covering the cruel reminder. How happy they had been that night. How . . .
I won’t think about it, she told herself firmly. I won’t even remember it’s there.
But for the rest of the day the image of the two hands, their fingers entwined, was in her mind and disturbed her sleep that night.
On Boxing Day, Jenny came to visit, this year bringing Steven with her. She had delivered her presents to Few Farm on Christmas Eve, but Steven brought the biggest box of
chocolates for the whole family that Maddie had ever seen.
‘Come in, come in,’ Maddie said as she opened the door, trying to smile. At once Jenny said, ‘What is it? There’s something wrong. I can see it in your face.’
Maddie gave a quick, rueful smile. ‘Can’t hide anything from you, Jenny Wren, can I?’
‘No,’ the girl said solemnly. ‘But then we’re sisters, aren’t we?’
‘Are you?’ This was the first time Steven had heard them say it and now he glanced from one to the other. ‘You are a bit alike, but I didn’t know you really were . .
.’
‘We’re not,’ Maddie said at once. ‘At least we don’t know what we are, because we don’t know anything about our backgrounds, do we?’
As Steven opened his mouth, Jenny forestalled him. ‘Never mind about that now. Tell me what’s wrong, Maddie. Is it Adam?’
‘No, no,’ Maddie said swiftly. ‘It’s Frank. He was very sick in the middle of the night. He says he must have overeaten and drunk too much.’ She made a helpless
gesture with her hand. ‘And, yes, we did overdo it a bit yesterday. Mrs Trowbridge put on such a marvellous Christmas dinner it was hard to resist, but . . .’
‘But,’ Jenny took the words from her, ‘you think it’s more than that?’
‘He’s not been really fit for a few weeks, although he had seemed a little better just before Christmas.’
‘It could be a stomach ulcer, you know,’ Steven volunteered. ‘My dad’s got one and every so often he’s as sick as a dog and then, when it settles down, he’s
all right for a bit. You should get him to see Dr Hanson, Maddie.’
‘Oh, I will now, don’t you worry. First thing tomorrow morning, he’s down to that surgery. But come on in. He’s downstairs, even though he’s still feeling a bit
fragile and he won’t stop apologizing to us all.’
‘Are you sure you want us to stay?’ Jenny asked worriedly.
‘Of course. He’d only be upset to think he’d spoilt the day.’
Jenny beamed. ‘Right then. Now where’s my little man? Where’s Adam?’
‘He can’t find anything wrong,’ Frank said on his return from the surgery the following morning. He sat down in the chair by the fire, exhausted even by the
short trip to the village.
‘I thought as much,’ Harriet said. ‘I suppose you . . .’ she jabbed a finger towards Maddie, ‘are trying to make out I’m poisoning him with my
cooking.’
Maddie gasped. ‘The thought never entered my head, Mrs Trowbridge. You’re a wonderful cook.’
The woman glanced at Maddie but the words had been said so genuinely that even she could not doubt Maddie’s sincerity. Not this time.
‘You’ve been working too hard, Mr Frank,’ Nick said, smiling down at the man and putting his hand on his shoulder. ‘Now, don’t you worry about a thing. Me and
Maddie can cope with the work for the next few weeks. You just rest and get yourself better.’
Frank smiled and patted Nick’s hand. ‘You’re a good lad, Nick. I don’t know what we’d do without you both.’ His glance took in the housekeeper, too, but then
his worried eyes came back to Nick. ‘Are you sure you can manage the battery house? You must be very careful in there, you know.’
‘I’ll be careful,’ he promised and Maddie marvelled yet again at Nick’s confidence, which seemed to be growing daily. She went to the cradle placed by the window and
picked up the child. She planted a swift kiss on his round cheek and then carried him to Frank. ‘So the only thing you’ve got to do for a while is play with your . . .’ she
hesitated fractionally before adding, ‘little boy.’ She didn’t want to say ‘grandson’ and she could never bring herself to call him Frank’s son.
‘Oh well, I can do that all right,’ Frank said, smiling happily as he took the child onto his knee.
Adam, now almost five months old, gurgled up at the man Maddie knew he must be brought up to believe was his father.
Frank’s condition worsened. Within two weeks he was too weak to get out of his bed. His skin looked yellow and was cold and clammy to Maddie’s touch.
‘I feel so weak and dizzy,’ Frank moaned. ‘I’ve never felt like this before in the whole of my life.’
Between them they nursed him and Maddie was grateful for Nick being there. He sat up with Frank through the night sometimes whilst Maddie moved back into the tiny bedroom she had once occupied,
taking the cumbersome wooden cot with her, squeezing it in to stand between the narrow bed and the wall.
‘You need your rest,’ Nick told her. ‘You’ve the baby to think of. I can snatch a couple of hours in the day if I need it. You can’t.’
He carried tray after tray up the stairs with anything that his mother could think of to tempt Frank’s appetite. But Harriet was distraught. ‘I don’t know what to do.
Everything I give him seems to make him sick. Nicholas, has he eaten that soup you took up?’
‘Yes, Mam, most of it. But I had to spoonfeed him. He hadn’t the strength to sit up and take it himself.’
For the first time ever, Maddie felt sorry for Harriet. The woman was beside herself with anxiety and it showed not only in the way she fretted about Frank, but also her manner towards Maddie
had, for the moment, changed dramatically.
‘Maddie, send for the doctor. Please. He ought to take him to the hospital.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Mam,’ Nick said before Maddie could even reply. ‘How can they look after him any better than us?’
‘I think your mother’s right. He needs medical and nursing care that we can’t give him.’ She turned to Harriet. ‘I’ll go to the village and ask the doctor to
call as soon as he can.’
‘Let me go,’ Nick said at once. ‘You’ve the child to care for.’
‘No. I’ll go, Nick. I can take Adam in his pram.’
‘But I can be quicker on my bike.’
Quietly, Maddie said, ‘No, Nick. I’m going myself.’
‘Don’t you trust me?’ he blurted out, his face turning red.