Poppy's War Page 4

  ‘Thank you, Poppy. It is rather a special occasion tonight.’

  ‘What’s the special occasion?’ Poppy asked when Nancy returned almost half an hour later. ‘What’s going on downstairs?’

  ‘None of your business, Popeye,’ Nancy snapped, seeming to regret her previous attempt at conversation. ‘Come on, Rupe old man, let’s get you bathed and put to bed and then I can get off home.’

  ‘But what’s going on that’s special? Mrs Pallister was done up like a film star. She’s ever so pretty.’

  Nancy paused in the doorway of the night nursery with Rupert, red-faced and protesting loudly, tucked under her arm. ‘Well it’s not to celebrate you coming to pester us, Popeye. But if you must know, it’s Mr Guy’s young lady, Amy Fenton-Jones. She’s been in Switzerland for her health for over a year, and now she’s come home all fit and well. It’s all right for some, that’s what I say.’

  Poppy said nothing as she registered with a shock that her idol was stepping out with a young lady, just like Joe, who had been courting Mabel for nearly six months. Nancy barged through the night nursery and banged the bathroom door behind her. Poppy could hear Rupert’s protests and loud splashing noises together with a stream of bad words coming from Nancy’s lips, which made her long to go into the bathroom and rescue him. Thankfully it was over in a few minutes and Rupert was dumped in his cot and left to sob. Nancy picked up her cardigan and headed for the door. ‘I’m off then. Best of luck with his nibs. They say downstairs that he’s a terrible sleeper. I bet she didn’t tell you that.’

  She was gone, leaving Poppy alone with nothing but the sound of Rupert’s occasional muffled sob for company. She peeped round the door, but he was lying on his back and sucking his thumb, and his eyelids were heavy. She waited until he was asleep before closing the door. A long and lonely evening stretched ahead of her and she turned her attention to a more thorough exploration of the day nursery. She walked slowly around the room, opening drawers and lifting up the lid of the wooden desk that stood beneath the window. Amongst the jumble of rubber bands, bits of used sealing wax, coloured pencils and crayons, she found an exercise book and a pencil with a broken lead. After a further search she discovered a pencil sharpener and she sat down at the table to write a letter home.

  An hour later she had laboriously filled two sides of the lined paper and had nowhere near finished telling the family about her first long day in exile, but her head had begun to ache and the shadows in the room were growing deeper. She crept into the night nursery, took off her sandals and undressed. She found her nightie under the pillow where she had left it that morning and slipped it over her head. Without bothering to wash or clean her teeth, she slid into bed. She fell asleep almost immediately, but was awakened by the sound of sobbing. She sat up only half awake and realised that it was Rupert, standing at the end of his cot, wailing dismally. She scrambled out of bed and picked him up in her arms, rocking him and crooning until he stopped crying. ‘You’d best come in with me, little ’un,’ she whispered, climbing back beneath the covers with him snuggled up against her. She rested her cheek on his tousled curls, inhaling the fragrant scent of Johnson’s baby powder, and, lulled by his rhythmic breathing, she drifted off to sleep.

  ‘Poppy, Poppy!’

  She opened her eyes as the small voice penetrated her dreams and then something heavy landed on her stomach. Rupert was bouncing up and down chuckling and gurgling and calling her name. ‘Come, Poppy.’

  She pretended to be asleep, but Rupert was not so easily fooled and he tugged her hair.

  ‘You little monster,’ she said, sitting up and giving him a cuddle. ‘Oh, Rupert, you’ve got a wet bum. I mean bottom.’ She set him down on the floor, and climbing out of bed she went in search of clean clothes and nappies. She took him into the nursery bathroom and managed with a bit of a tussle to wash his hands and face. Master Rupert did not appear to appreciate the advantages of cleanliness, she discovered, but eventually she succeeded in getting him dressed, although he obviously felt the same about having his hair brushed as he did about being washed.

  ‘You’re a right ’un, Rupert,’ Poppy said with a satisfied smile as she surveyed her handiwork. ‘You’ll be a real heartbreaker one of these days, my lad.’

  ‘Hungry, Poppy.’

  She glanced at the wall clock. ‘It’s long past your breakfast time, and mine too. I think they’ve forgotten all about us stuck up here.’

  She dressed herself and was brushing her hair when Rupert began to whimper. She picked him up and gave him a hug. ‘Don’t cry, love. We’ll go down to the kitchen and I’ll make them give you some breakfast. I ain’t afraid of Mrs Toon. Well, not much anyway.’

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Mrs Toon was not pleased. ‘Violet,’ she bellowed. ‘Come here, girl.’

  Violet skittered into the room looking apprehensive. ‘Yes, Mrs Toon?’

  ‘Where’s that good-for-nothing cousin of yours?’

  ‘Nancy’s poorly, Mrs Toon. She was sick all night.’

  ‘And for the Lord’s sake why didn’t you tell me that first thing, stupid girl?’ Mrs Toon cast her eyes up to heaven and sighed. ‘Do something useful and make up a tray for the nursery. You, Poppy! You take Master Rupert back upstairs and Violet will bring your breakfast when it’s ready.’

  Violet grunted and glared at Poppy as if it were all her fault. She mumbled something under her breath, but luckily for her Mrs Toon’s attention had been diverted by Olive who staggered down the stairs with a tray heaped high with dirty crockery.

  ‘Take that to the scullery and then you’d best tell Miss Pamela that Nancy’s gone sick. And what are you hanging around for, Poppy? I told you to take Master Rupert up to the nursery. Get going, girl, or you’ll feel the weight of my hand round your ear.’

  Galvanised into action, Poppy took Rupert up to the nursery and attempted to keep him occupied by getting out the box of bricks. They had just completed building a rather rickety house when she heard heavy footsteps on the stairs. Violet kicked the door open, scowling as she dumped the tray on the table.

  ‘You’re more trouble than you’re worth, Popeye. You probably gave Nancy the runs and sickness. I expect you brought your dirty germs down from London with you.’

  Poppy leapt to her feet. ‘That’s a wicked thing to say. We’re not dirty where I come from and I didn’t make Nancy sick.’

  ‘Hoity toity. I’m really scared!’ Violet struck a mocking pose which she dropped just as quickly when Pamela walked into the room.

  ‘Get back to work, Violet. Your family has caused me enough inconvenience already.’

  ‘Yes, Miss Pamela. Sorry, I’m sure.’ Violet backed out onto the landing, giving Poppy a murderous look as she went.

  ‘And close the door behind you. I don’t want Master Rupert catching his death of cold.’ Pamela fixed Violet with a stern look as she waited for her instructions to be followed. ‘And don’t slam it, or you’ll be looking for another job.’

  The door closed with just a whisper as wood met wood. ‘Wretched girl,’ Pamela said, crossly. Her expression lightened as she watched Poppy scoop Rupert off the floor and settle him in his high chair. ‘He seems to like you, Poppy. Have you brothers and sisters at home in London?’

  ‘No, Mrs Pallister. Well, only Joe but he’s nineteen. Although Mum says he’s more trouble than a six-year-old.’ Poppy turned her attention to Rupert, who was clamouring for his food and she fed him a spoonful of scrambled egg. ‘You’re a little love, ain’t you, Rupert?’

  ‘And did you dress him this morning?’ Pamela asked casually. ‘I suppose you must have done if Nancy failed to turn up.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘You seem to be good with children, but you’re little more than a child yourself.’

  ‘I’m thirteen, miss. I mean, Mrs Pallister. I’ll be fourteen in April. Anyway, I’ve looked after lots of nippers. I help Mrs Blackwell next door sometimes with her little ’uns. She has one a year regular a
s clockwork and my dad says that Mr Blackwell should tie a knot in it.’

  ‘Yes, thank you. I don’t need to know that.’ Pamela twisted her pearl necklace thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if I can trust you to look after Rupert all day today, Poppy? I’ve really got an awful lot to do, but it’s a big responsibility for a girl of your age.’

  ‘I can do it, miss.’

  ‘Ma’am or Mrs Pallister, Poppy. I thought we’d got over that. I really must speak to my mother about sending you to school. However, you may look after Rupert this morning, and if I find I can depend on you then I may allow you to take care of him until Nancy returns, or until we go back to London. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Good. Well, we shall see. Bring him to the conservatory after he’s had his breakfast and I’ll give you your instructions then.’

  Poppy became hopelessly lost during her attempt to find the conservatory. The house seemed as big and grand as a palace, and there were no clues to tell her which door led where. ‘They should give you a blooming map,’ she said, addressing the remark to Rupert as he trotted along at her side. His little fingers tightened around her thumb and he seemed to sense her agitation as his bottom lip started to tremble. She gave him an encouraging smile. ‘Don’t worry, kid. We’ll pretend we’re explorers looking for the source of the Nile. I learned about that chap Dr Livingstone in school. Let’s see what we can find in here.’ She opened a door but it was just a linen cupboard, and she closed it again. ‘Come on, Master Pallister,’ she said cheerfully. ‘We ain’t done for yet.’

  She tried to make a game out of it by opening doors, peeping in and pretending there was something exciting on the other side, but after what seemed like hours she was beginning to feel quite desperate. She could imagine being lost forever in this maze of passages, some of which ended with a huge cupboard or another large room filled with heavy furniture. One of them was lined with bookshelves crowded with leather-bound tomes of every shape and size.

  ‘Looks like they robbed the local library, Rupert,’ Poppy said, closing the door hastily. By this time she realised that they were hopelessly lost. She was beginning to panic when she spotted a door at the far end of the long corridor. ‘Come on, Rupie. This must be it. Home at last.’ She flung it open, coming face to face with a man holding a shotgun. She screamed in terror. ‘Oh my Gawd. It’s the Germans come to get us. Run, Rupert!’

  Chapter Three

  THE CONSERVATORY WAS filled with potted palms and exotic plants the like of which Poppy had never seen, but this was not a nature lesson; it was an interrogation by a stern-faced Marina Carroll. Poppy stood in the middle of the black and white marble tiled floor with her fingers knotted together behind her back. Mrs Carroll was sitting in an ornate rattan chair and she was glaring at her as if she had just committed a capital offence. Any moment now Poppy was convinced that Mrs Carroll was going to point at her and shout ‘Off with her head’ just like the Queen in Alice in Wonderland. She glanced anxiously at Pamela in the hope of finding an ally, but she had Rupert on her knee and was half-heartedly trying to keep him amused by feeding him lumps of sugar from a silver bowl on the coffee tray. Guy was standing by the open French windows and was staring outside as if he wished he were anywhere but here. Poppy stared down at her feet listening in silence while the fair-haired young man who had brandished the gun in her face gave his account of what had occurred.

  ‘And the best part of it was,’ he said, chuckling, ‘the poor little moppet thought I was a German.’

  Guy turned away from the view with an amused smile. ‘Well you are a bit of a Hun, Algy. Frightening little girls! What next?’

  ‘At least I didn’t run her down on horseback,’ Algy said cheerfully. ‘I’m not certain I want my little sister marrying a brute like you.’

  ‘Then I’m glad that Amy doesn’t share your poor opinion of me, old boy.’

  ‘Come here, Poppy,’ Marina said, beckoning to Poppy. ‘You were supposed to be looking after Master Rupert. That wasn’t a very good start, was it?’

  Poppy stared at Mrs Carroll’s slender finger with its talon-like nail varnished in blood red. The image it conjured up in Poppy’s mind was that of the wicked queen in Walt Disney’s Snow White. She felt a shiver run down her spine. ‘I was lost, ma’am. You need a bloody map to find your way around this place.’

  Marina’s pencilled eyebrows rose in twin arcs of disapproval but Guy and Algy laughed out loud.

  ‘Don’t encourage her.’ Marina quelled them with a single look before turning her steely gaze on Poppy. ‘That’s quite enough of that kind of language. You’re not living in the slums now.’

  ‘She’s probably in shock, Mrs Carroll,’ Algy said hastily. ‘The poor little scrap got one hell of a fright when she blundered into the gunroom and saw me with the twelve-bore. I don’t suppose they do much game shooting in the East End. No wonder she thought I was the enemy.’

  ‘They’ll be here soon enough if we don’t do something about it, in spite of what Chamberlain tells us.’

  ‘And we’ll be ready for them,’ Algy said eagerly. ‘You’ll wish you’d had a bit of practice with the shotgun then, Guy old thing.’

  ‘I’ll do what I have to, but in the meantime I don’t see why all of you have to take it out on the innocent pheasant population.’

  ‘There’s no need to be so patronising, Guy,’ Marina said sharply. ‘We all know what you think about hunting and shooting and frankly I’d prefer not to hear it all again.’

  ‘Yes, Guy. Do shut up. Just because you don’t enjoy field sports doesn’t mean that everyone else has to follow suit.’ Pamela abandoned her attempts to entertain Rupert, who was patently bored with sitting on her lap and struggling to get onto the floor. She allowed him to slide off her lap and he ran straight to Poppy. Pamela brushed the creases from her skirt. ‘The question is, Mummy, whether Poppy is responsible enough to look after Rupert while Nancy is sick. I’m not sure she can be trusted.’

  Marina leaned forward, fixing Poppy with a stern gaze. ‘What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?’

  ‘I’ll do me best, ma’am.’

  ‘Then we’ll give you another chance to do better. You may look after him for the rest of the day, but if anything should happen to him you’ll be in very great trouble. Do you understand?’

  Poppy nodded her head. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘And on Monday we’ll see about enrolling you in the village school. If you’re a good girl and behave properly, I’m sure we’ll get along splendidly. But if you are a bad girl and misbehave, I want you to know that I can be very severe indeed.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Mother,’ Guy said angrily. ‘This is a thirteen-year-old child you’re talking to, not one of your stable lads.’

  ‘The principle’s the same, Guy.’

  He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Have it your way, Mother. Anyway, I promised to pick Amy up at the station, so I’d better be off. I won’t be in for lunch. See you later, Algy.’ He strolled into the garden.

  Poppy watched him go with a panicky feeling in the pit of her stomach. It felt as though her one ally in the house were deserting her. She waited nervously, wondering if she was free to leave or if she should wait until she was dismissed. It was just like being back in school, she thought, eyeing Mrs Carroll warily, but she need not have worried, as Algy had obviously become bored with domestic trivialities. He cleared his throat, turning to Marina with a beguiling smile. ‘We’re wasting time, Mrs Carroll. What say we leave the scrap to look after young Rupert and get going right away, or we’ll miss the best of the day’s shoot.’

  Marina rose to her feet. You’re right, Algy. Pamela, tell the girl what to do. We’ll wait for you in the car.’

  Poppy spent the rest of the day keeping Rupert amused. She fastened him into his leather leading reins and took him for a walk in the grounds, taking care not to let him go too near the lake when they fed stale bread to the ducks. She managed to finish her lett
er to her mother while he took his afternoon nap, and she tucked it carefully into an envelope she had found in the desk. It had a bit of scribble on the back, but she did not think that their postman, Ted Johnson, would mind. He had been doing their round for as long as she could remember, riding his red bicycle no matter what the weather, and he lived next door. He kept pigeons in his back yard and she knew that Grandad shared his passion, although he pretended that the birds were a bit of a nuisance when they ate his pea crop. Gran said they were nasty feathered things and spread disease, and so Grandad had to make do with second-hand pigeon fancying. Poppy wondered if she ought to write a note to Mr Johnson on the back of the envelope, but then she decided that he might think it a bit cheeky and the men in the sorting office would think he had a girlfriend in the country. Mrs Johnson would not be amused. She was a force to be reckoned with, so Mum said. Poppy licked the sticky bit on the flap and pressed it down with her fist. She wondered if she dared ask Mrs Pallister for a postage stamp, and then she decided that Guy would be a safer bet.

  She settled down to read a copy of Treasure Island that she had found in a cupboard. She had read it before but she loved the tale of the high seas and adventure and she was just getting into the story when Rupert woke up. She put the book aside and went into the night nursery to lift him from his cot. She gave him a cuddle and took him into the bathroom to change his nappy. After that there was nothing to do other than to wait for Violet to bring them their tea, which she delivered with a few personal and rather spiteful remarks. She stomped off when Poppy refused to retaliate and they were left alone until Pamela came to the nursery to kiss her son goodnight.

  ‘He seems well enough,’ she said, patting Rupert’s head as if her were a puppy rather than a twenty-month-old toddler. ‘Did he eat his meals, Poppy?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Did you bath him properly and wash behind his ears?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Good. If Nancy is still unwell, you may look after Master Rupert tomorrow, which of course is Sunday. We all attend church in the morning, except Rupert, who is too young, and so you will have to keep him amused until midday. You must bring him down to the dining room in time for luncheon, and I want you to make certain that he’s wearing his best clothes, as his father should have arrived from London by then.’