The Carpenter's Children (31 page)

Tears filled Tom Munday’s eyes as he read on.

‘And now he has gone, leaving me with the two dear children and my faithful Sally. The headmaster has told me that we can stay in the house until September, when a new occupant will arrive. I won’t have a pension because I’m not considered a war widow, but dear Mark left me all his army pay, and his parents have sent me money which they say was due to me. But what will happen now, Dad? We can hardly land ourselves upon you or at the Storeys’
cottage; I pray that a home, however humble, can be found for the three of us and Sally in the next three months.’

Of course I’ll send her money, thought Tom, and of course she’ll have to come here, it’s her home. Rob will have to move out, and Grace will have to face living under the same roof as her child. Oh, God, we shall
have
to cope, and help my poor Isabel all we can.

Once the school summer holidays began, Devora Pascoe begged her parents to let her visit her Aunt and Uncle Schelling at Everham, because Ernest was living with them. Her mother asked fifteen-year-old Greta, who had just left school, to accompany her sister on the train down from Waterloo to stay for a week. The two girls set out excitedly, feeling very grown-up at travelling alone, and their Aunt Ruth was there to meet them at Everham station, smiling as Greta described the very different life they lived in London, and Devora was full of questions about Ernest.

When he heard of their coming visit, Ernest felt uncertain of the way he should behave to Devora, now that she was no longer a child, but at thirteen
not yet grown up. Would she expect him to kiss her, or just shake hands? What would they talk about, if anything?

All his questions were answered in the moment that she ran towards him with outstretched arms. She so resembled her lost brother that Ernest’s breath left him, and he could not speak, but held her in his arms; they stood together, their hearts overflowing, bound by their mutual love for Aaron.

‘She is only a child as yet, Abel,’ said Ruth Schelling, correctly reading her husband’s thoughts. ‘When she’s older, she’ll realise that he is much older than herself, and not of her religion.’

‘That didn’t make any difference to him and Aaron,’ her husband answered, ‘and neither did it stop Rachael from marrying a Methodist minister. Give them another four or five years to see how they feel about each other.’

‘The Lord only knows where we shall all be by then,’ she said with a shrug.

‘Dear, dear Ernest!’ whispered Devora in his ear, kissing his cheek. ‘It’s like having our brother with us again.’

Ernest still could not trust himself to speak, but kept her encircled in his arms as he would have held her brother. He knew that if he could ever love a woman, it would be this one, Aaron’s sister Devora, when she had grown to maturity.

Life went on at Hassett Manor, and Cedric’s determination to farm the estate began to show rewards. He was up early each morning, and worked with a couple of farm labourers and a stockman, all three of whom had served in the war. He grew tanned under the summer sun, and easier in his mind as the terrible memories of the war years receded in the peace of the countryside. He bought himself a car, one of the latest Ford models so popular in the United States, and found it relatively easy to drive after manoeuvring a tank. His mother kept herself busy as usual with church activities and visiting the sick and bereaved in the parish of St Peter’s.

‘Poor Tom Munday, there’s always something new to worry him,’ she sighed on returning from church one Sunday. ‘No sooner does Ernest come home than off he goes to live with that Jewish family at Everham where he works – and
now
what do you think, Tom’s elder daughter has lost her husband with the ’flu, leaving her with two small children to bring up. I suppose they’ll come to Tom for the time being, and their new apprentice will have to move out.’

Cedric looked up quickly. ‘Do you mean Isabel Munday, the girl who married a vicar and went to live in an East London parish?’

‘Yes, poor girl. She hasn’t had an easy time. Tom told me some time ago that her husband had lost his faith, so couldn’t continue as a vicar. He was
teaching at some boys’ school in Surrey when he caught the ’flu and died within two days. She’s got a boy and a girl, both very young, poor little dears. You can imagine how Tom feels for his daughter, she was always a sweet, sensible girl. And they’ll have no home, because the house went with Mr Storey’s position as a master. Why, Cedric, why are you staring? Did you know her husband?’

‘No, Mother,’ said Cedric slowly, ‘but we all know Isabel Munday. And we must help her and the children, of course we must. What about Hassett Lodge? Couldn’t we get it refurbished and redecorated, and let them go there until they find somewhere permanent?’

Tom Munday was surprised to see Lady Neville standing on the doorstep that same Sunday afternoon, having spoken to her earlier after church. He pulled back the door for her to enter, and showed her into the parlour.

‘I’ll come straight to the point, Munday. You were telling me about your daughter Mrs Storey and her situation following her husband’s death.’

‘Er…yes, your ladyship,’ said Tom awkwardly, wondering what was coming.

‘It has occurred to me that I can offer her some practical help. The Hassett lodge has been empty since Sir Arnold’s last bailiff left, and it shouldn’t take long to have it made comfortable. It’s not large, but
perfectly adequate for one woman and her children. What do you think, Munday?’

‘Why, I just don’t know w-what to say,’ stammered Tom, but his amazed delight showed in his eyes. ‘I never expected you to…oh, that’s wonderful news, your ladyship, and I-I’ll write to Isabel today. It’ll save her no end o’ worry. But Lady Neville, why should you—?’

‘Good, that’s settled, then. I’m only too glad to be of help,’ she said. ‘Mrs Storey has always been a good, sensible girl, and this is something I can do for her.’

Tom could hardly take in this turn in his daughter’s fortunes, and he also thought of Grace who would not now have to face the prospect of living under the same roof as her child, and having to control her maternal longing. And he spared a thought for Rob Nuttall, who would not have to leave 47 Pretoria Road and his growing friendship with Grace.

‘I…I’ll always be grateful, Lady Neville, for the interest you’ve taken in my family,’ he said with real emotion.

‘Don’t mention it, Munday,’ she said briskly. ‘I should have thought about the lodge as soon as you told me this morning. I’d like to write to Mrs Storey, if you’ll let me have her address.’ Olivia Neville smiled a little guiltily, aware that the offer of the lodge had not been her own idea.

By the time Isabel Storey received the two letters, one from her father and one from Lady Neville, she already knew what they contained. Soon after five o’clock on that Sunday evening, she opened the door to Cedric Neville who handed her a bouquet of red and white roses, some of them still in bud.

‘Mr Neville!’

‘Good afternoon, Mrs Storey, I’m here to offer my sincere condolences on your loss. May I come in for a word with you?’

‘Of course, yes, please come in,’ she said, rather flustered, and showed him into the living room. Sally Tanner in the kitchen heard the arrival of a visitor, and put the kettle on. Cedric came face to face with two little children who looked up with interest at this tall man who was giving a bunch of flowers to their mummy.

‘Please take a seat, Mr Neville. This is my son, Paul, who’s two years old, and this is little Becky, just eighteen months. We adopted her. Say good afternoon to Mr Neville, Paul.’

‘Good af’noon, mister,’ said Paul, glancing up at his mother for her approval, and she patted him on the head.

‘They’re lovely children, Mrs Storey,’ said Cedric Neville, smiling at their solemn little faces. ‘This is very different from our last meeting at Bethnal Green.’

‘Oh, yes, what a shock you gave me, standing
there in your uniform, and I thought you’d come to tell me that Mark was…and now, of course, it’s too true.’

‘I’m so very sorry, Mrs Storey, and that brings me to the reason for my visit. When my mother and I heard the news from your father, we immediately thought of the Hassett lodge, and wondered if you and the children could make use of it as a home until your circumstances are easier – that is to say, of course, that you could remain there as long as you care to, reasonably near to your father.’

He heard her quick in-drawing of breath, and continued, ‘Would it solve a problem for the time being? Oh, Mrs Storey, please don’t distress yourself.’

For Isabel had covered her face with her hands. He waited for a moment and gently asked, ‘Will this be acceptable to you, Mrs Storey?’

At that moment Sally entered with a tray of tea, and set it down on a low table. Isabel looked up, and caught Sally’s silent question,
Shall I stay
?

‘Thank you, Sally. If you’d just take the children and give them their tea, I’d be most grateful.’ Sally nodded and discreetly retired with Paul and Becky. Isabel began to pour out two cups of tea with trembling hands.

‘Merely to say
thank you
to your mother must sound very inadequate, Mr Neville,’ she said. ‘I simply can’t believe it, that she should make such an
offer. It’s an answer to a prayer I would never have dreamt of.’

‘I’ll pass on your answer to my mother, Mrs Storey, and I know she’ll be very happy to have two such delightful children in the lodge. She’ll be making excuses to call on you every day!’

There was a short silence, and then Isabel asked rather shyly, ‘Mr Neville, there is one request I’d like to make, if I may.’

‘Certainly, Mrs Storey, ask me anything you like.’

‘You’ve just seen Mrs Tanner, the very good friend I’ve brought with me from Bethnal Green.’

‘Yes, I remember her from when I saw you there – a very capable woman.’

‘I wonder if your mother would allow me to bring her to… to Hassett Lodge with me. You see, she’s—’

‘Say no more, Mrs Storey, she would be more than welcome.’

‘Thank you for that, too. Lady Neville has always taken a kind interest in my family, and this is the kindest offer of all. Please thank her so very much. And I must ask you to offer her my belated condolences on the death of her daughter, your sister Miss Letitia.’

‘And I must offer mine on the death of your mother, Mrs Storey. It’s been a time of many upheavals and bereavements, but now that horrible war is over
at last, we can start looking forward again.’

She smiled, and a few more pleasantries were exchanged before he rose to his feet and said he had better be going. She saw him to the door, and watched as he got into the smart black Ford; he waved to her as he started up the engine.

‘Goodbye, Mr Neville,’ she called, waving back at him.

‘Au revoir, Mrs Storey!’

When she returned to the living room, Sally was clearing away the tea tray.

‘I ’eard that bit about me comin’ to this lodgin’ ’ouse, Mrs Isabel. It was good o’ yer to ask, and good o’ him to say yes.’

‘I couldn’t manage without you, Sally,’ replied Isabel simply, and added, ‘His mother has always been good to our family. She actually lent her carriage for me to ride to church with my father on my wedding day.’

‘She sounds a great comfort to yer, Mrs Isabel,’ replied Sally, adding silently to herself, ‘Sounds more’n just a good turn to a war widder an’ ’er kids. Reckon that feller’s got plans of ’is own, or my name ain’t Sally Tanner.’

And out of delicacy to poor Mrs Isabel, she kept these thoughts to herself.

Tom Munday sat on his usual bench in the Tradesmen’s Arms with Eddie Cooper, reviewing their family fortunes since the end of the war.

‘My three have all suffered as a result of it, but they’ve all come through,’ said Tom. ‘In fact it’s made them stronger, and they’re now in a fair way to making good lives for themselves. Violet would’ve been proud o’ them!’

Eddie smiled, for he too had seen his only daughter married to a kind husband who loved her and looked upon her baby daughter as his own. ‘Sidney’ll get his reward soon, ’cause my Mary’s expectin’ again in October,’ he said. ‘Your Isabel’s got two, hasn’t she?’

‘Yes, little Paul and Becky. I see them nearly every day now they’re at Hassett Lodge.’

‘Shame about her husband dyin’ off suddenly like that, after comin’ through the war,’ said Eddie, echoing the thoughts of many in North Camp. ‘What d’yer reckon she’ll do now?’

‘Well, Lady Neville says they can have the lodge to live in until…until circumstances change,’ said Tom cautiously. ‘It gives her a bit o’ breathing space.’

‘They say young Cedric’s become quite the gentleman farmer since he came back. Not my
business, Tom, but d’yer think ’e’s got ’is eye on your…er…?’

‘Mustn’t say anything, Eddie, seein’ as poor Mark Storey’s hardly been gone three months. And he wasn’t the man he’d been before he went to the front, in fact my Isabel’s had a hard time of it, though she’s never complained. Keep it to yourself, Eddie, we don’t want to start the gossips off yet.’

‘’Course I will, mum’s the word,’ said Eddie, concealing his amusement, for gossip was already rife in North Camp. ‘And what about that new apprentice o’ yours, the one you’ve taken in? Comin’ along all right, is he?’

‘Yeah, he’s a good lad,’ said Tom, ‘doing well for a boy brought up in the Union.’ He drank the last of his bitter, and set down the glass.

‘Better be going,’ he said. ‘Got a job over at the Methodist church at South Camp tomorrow, and young Rob can come along and try a bit o’ woodcarving. So long, Eddie. Hope it all goes well with your Mary.’

Walking home in the mild air of a late summer evening, Tom pondered on his three children. It looked as if life would turn out well for them, as it had for him and Violet. He thought back to his first meeting with her at Hassett Manor, he an apprentice carpenter and she a dark-eyed,
rosy-cheeked
housemaid.

‘We didn’t make a bad job o’ bringing them up, Violet, my love,’ he whispered to the red sky above Hassett Manor. ‘Hah! We little knew then that our first daughter was goin’ to be the lady o’ that house. We’ve come full circle!’