A Summer Promise (33 page)

Slowly Tom relaxed once more, and suddenly he knew that he was not stuck in a chimney, though he still had no idea where he was. Oddly enough, it no longer seemed to matter. Help was at hand. Presently, he slept.

Maddy and Gran returned from their visit to the town in very different frames of mind. Gran chatted about the purchases she had made, the light lunch she had enjoyed, the tea and toasted crumpets at the smartest café in Ripon, and the plans she was making to persuade Mr Gray to pick her up next week and take her on another shopping spree. ‘I need a light little jacket now that spring’s arrived. I’ve got my clothing coupons and enough money to get something pretty. So you can wheel me into the village and Mr Gray can take us to town. Ripon market’s bigger than the village one, so I’m sure I’ll find something there.’ She sighed happily. ‘I fancy a nice soft pink; the colour they used to call “Baby’s Blush”. Older people should always wear pastel shades, don’t you agree?’

‘If you like,’ Maddy snapped. Gran might have had a lovely day, but having failed to so much as see the Deed of Gift which dispossessed her, Maddy had felt distinctly peevish. However, as the day had worn on, she had begun to realise how it must have irked Gran to be confined to Larkspur for so long, and she decided she was being downright mean to spoil Gran’s day out by quibbles. So, after their lunch at the Court House Café, she had thrown herself into Gran’s plans with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, and by the time five o’clock came they were once more on the best of terms. ‘Only you mustn’t try to stop me examining the Deed of Gift to see if there’s any way out,’ Maddy had told her aged relative. ‘Any day now Mr Churchill is going to declare Victory in Europe Day and when that happens the boys will all be coming home – and the girls too, of course – although no one will be able to leave the army until they get demobbed. But that’s a matter of weeks now rather than months.’

At this point the taxi had drawn up alongside them, so Maddy was able to ignore Gran’s grumbles whilst she helped Mr Gray to heave the bath chair into the boot and secure it with straps. Only when they were once more heading for Larkspur did the topic of the war come up again. ‘Hast thou heard the news, ladies?’ Mr Gray said, as they left the town behind them. ‘Likely your leave will be extended, petal, to take in this VE Day what Mr Churchill’s talking about. Fellers is having bets on it in the Black Bull, but I reckon tha’s as good as out of uniform already.’

Before Maddy could answer Gran put her oar in. ‘Don’t you go encouraging young Maddy here to say she’ll be out of the army as soon as all that,’ Gran said warningly. ‘It’s all very well for her to talk big about this here passionate leave, but I’ve yet to see a sign of it. Why, if Mr Churchill himself popped into Larkspur and said my granddaughter would be moving back to the farm in two or three weeks, I’d need his written promise before I would believe him. When they started towing the Mulberry harbours across the Channel to invade Normandy they said the war would be over in no time, yet here we are, nearly a year later, and still there’s only
talk
of peace. No, I want facts, not fairy stories!’

Mr Gray, who knew when he had met his match, slowed down behind a huge army lorry. ‘At any rate, it’ll be gradely when all these troop movements are over,’ he said pacifically. ‘But has thou visited Windhover Hall since it became a hospital? The fellers there are rare bad cases; made me sick to my stomach to see ’em, poor devils.’

‘What made you go to Windhover Hall?’ Maddy broke in quickly. She felt she had ‘supped full with horrors’ and did not particularly want to hear any more, but she thought that Mr Gray’s observations would be easier to bear than further grumbles from Gran.

‘Me and the missus belong to a choir what goes round hospitals and convalescent homes and the like,’ he explained. ‘We entertain the patients, as they say, and there’s nowt that cheers ’em up like a nice sing-song. We give ’em all the old favourites – “Greensleeves”, “Danny Boy”, “The Skye Boat Song” – and it helps ’em to show emotion and say it were caused by the music.’ He turned in his seat to look again at Maddy. ‘There were a feller in, when we last visited, what you might know. Remember the chauffeur’s son from the Hall? Browning was the name. Seems he drove over a landmine . . . but there, I dare say you already knew, seeing as how you was friendly with Miss Alice . . .’

Maddy was literally struck dumb. She could only gaze at Mr Gray whilst she went cold with shock and horror. For a moment speech was beyond her, but fortunately Gran chipped in. ‘Well, fancy that! I remember young Tom coming to Larkspur at the beginning of the war to tell Maddy that he had barkation leave, but she wasn’t here, so she missed him. Not that it mattered,’ she added, with unconscious cruelty. ‘He wasn’t one of her boyfriends, or anything like that, just a pal, you know. I believe he was sweet on young Alice, or that blonde gal with bright blue eyes. Well, whichever it was, it wasn’t on Maddy. She was still practically a schoolgirl, weren’t you, dear?’

Maddy forced herself to give a weak smile, and then she caught Gran’s eye and felt a rush of affection. Gran understood! It wasn’t in her nature to show it, but the very speed with which she had picked up on Maddy’s shock proved to her granddaughter, for the first time, that there was more between them than mild family feeling.

But Gran had asked a question and it was her duty to answer it, however feebly. ‘That’s right,’ she managed. Mr Gray had turned back and was grumbling about the army lorry, which was not giving him a chance to overtake. In a fever of impatience, Maddy waited until he had squeezed past and then broke into urgent speech. ‘Mr Gray, was Tom – was he very badly wounded? I didn’t even know he was in England! But as Gran said, we were good pals. Would I be allowed to visit him, do you think?’

At this point they reached the gate and Mr Gray got out of the car, opened the boot and began to unstrap the bath chair. ‘You’d have to ask Matron, but I don’t see why not,’ he said. He looked at her curiously. ‘I’m sorry to give you bad news, Miss Hebditch, and I can’t tell you much; we’ve not been to Windhover for a while. But I’m sure a visit from you would cheer him up.’ He stood the bath chair down and went to help Gran out of the car. Maddy had paid him in advance, but when he would have climbed into the driving seat again, she caught his arm.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling, ‘but I think you said something about a mine . . .’

‘That’s what I heard,’ Mr Gray said uneasily. ‘But you go ahead and visit; likely I’ve got it all wrong. As I said, we’ve not been to the Hall for a while. He may have been discharged to a convalescent home by now.’

‘Yes, I’m sure that’s possible,’ Maddy said through dry lips. She did not mention the grim spectre which Mr Gray’s news had raised in her mind: that Tom might have died of his wounds. Instead, she scolded herself for unnecessary worries; if Tom had died she would have surely known! So she waved goodbye to Mr Gray and then returned the bath chair to its place in the stables. Only when it was safely stowed did she turn towards the back door.

WHEN THEY ENTERED
the kitchen they found Mrs O’Halloran putting potatoes into a large black pan on the stove. She bustled over to them, proffering cups of tea and reminding them that supper would be served in half an hour. ‘Good,’ Gran said succinctly. ‘But my granddaughter may be a little late. She’s off to visit an old friend.’

Mrs O’Halloran had been beaming, obviously very pleased with herself for some reason, but at these words an angry flush stained her cheeks. ‘Did that there lawyer show you the Deed?’ she demanded. ‘If so, he had no right. We was told no one could see it without us being there.’ She glared at Maddy. ‘I knew you was trouble the moment I set eyes on you,’ she said spitefully. ‘You’d like to do us out of what’s ours by right, but you can’t. We’ve been good to your gran; we’ve worked like slaves and brung our relatives to work as well. Not a word of complaint have we heard from your gran, or anyone else for that matter, until you turned up. Did you honestly think we’d do all that for nothin’?’ She laughed. ‘You must have thought we were fools,’ she added harshly.

But Maddy was already letting herself out of the house. ‘It doesn’t matter. Don’t wait supper for me, I may be some time,’ she said. ‘You all right, Gran?’

Gran was tired and began to say so, but the slam of the door cut across her grumbles. Indeed, Maddy was running even as her feet touched the farmyard cobbles, so that she was entering the big tiled hallway at Windhover Hall scarcely twenty minutes after arriving back from Ripon. It was strange to find herself in once familiar surroundings that had changed completely. The rooms had been given names and numbers, and all the rugs and pictures had gone.

An elderly woman in a white overall was sitting behind a reception desk, and when Maddy entered she looked up and smiled. ‘Good evening! You’re a little early for visiting, but since I can see you are a member of the forces I expect we can stretch the rules,’ she said. ‘Who have you come to see?’

‘Lieutenant Browning – Tom Browning,’ Maddy said breathlessly. ‘Is he – is he still here?’

The woman got to her feet. ‘I’ll take you to Matron. Yes, he’s still here,’ she said, crossing the floor and beckoning to Maddy to follow her. ‘I understand he’s a local lad; are you a relative?’

Maddy was tempted to reply that she was indeed, but her treacherous tongue refused to lie, even in a good cause. ‘No, but I’m an old friend; I’ve known him for years,’ she explained. ‘I believe his father is abroad, and so far as I know Tom – Lieutenant Browning, I mean – has no other relatives.’

They had reached a door bearing a plaque announcing that this was Matron’s office, and Maddy’s companion knocked and entered, Maddy following close on her heels. The room had once been the breakfast parlour, but now the walls were shelved and the shelving was full of box files, and behind a large desk sat an enormous woman whose navy dress and white apron would have told Maddy that this was the matron even had she not worn a badge proclaiming the fact. She had been writing on a large sheet of paper when the pair had entered the office, but now she laid her pen down on a pad of pink blotting paper and said, ‘Yes?’

The receptionist cleared her throat and began to speak, but Maddy broke in before she’d uttered more than a few words. ‘I’ve come to visit Lieutenant Tom Browning; I’m an old friend,’ she said briefly. ‘I’m only here for the duration of my leave and it’s essential that I see him before I go back.’

The big woman bent down and extracted a slim file from a desk drawer. She perused it for a moment in silence and then spoke. ‘You’re an old friend, you say – not a relative?’

‘No. What happened to Tom? I heard from someone in the village that he drove over a landmine, but perhaps you can tell me a little more.’

Matron indicated that Maddy should sit down in the chair opposite her. ‘Lieutenant Browning received various injuries, some of which were severe,’ she said. ‘His left leg and arm were extensively damaged.’ She looked very hard at Maddy. ‘However, his wounds are healing nicely. What worries us is that he was concussed, and though he’s been with us for several weeks he has still not gained consciousness. In fact, Miss er . . .’

‘Corporal Madeleine Hebditch,’ Maddy said quickly. ‘Is it normal for someone to remain unconscious for so long?’

‘No,’ Matron said frankly. ‘And that is why I think you may be able to help us, Miss Hebditch. Usually a parent or a sibling would be asked to come in and talk to Lieutenant Browning, but it seems he’s not a local boy by birth and has only lived in the area for a few years.’ She looked doubtfully at Maddy. ‘Do you think there is a chance that you might be able to get through to him? It may take some while, however, and if you’re only here for the duration of your leave . . .’

‘I’ve got ten days,’ Maddy said, completely forgetting that she’d already used up three of them. ‘But I’m sure there are other people who could help as well, people who knew Tom and would be glad to come in and talk to him. One of his old girlfriends, for instance.’

Matron brightened. ‘An old girlfriend! That would be ideal. But can you contact them?’

‘Yes!’ Maddy said excitedly, then drooped a little. ‘Oh, but I was forgetting; one of them is a nurse with the Queen Alexandra’s RANC and she’s abroad at present, and although I know that his other friend, Marigold Stein, would come like a shot if she knew Tom needed her, she’s miles away too, in Scotland . . .’ She saw the expression on Matron’s face, and for the first time since she had heard of Tom’s injuries she gave a little smile. ‘Don’t look like that, Matron – he wasn’t a sailor with a girl in every port. It’s just that the four of us, Tom, Alice, Marigold and me, were close friends before the war, and we’ve kept in touch with each other.’

Matron smiled. ‘And very nice too – it’s good to hear that there are some things the war hasn’t torn apart. Now, come with me, and I’ll take you to him. Don’t be alarmed by the way he looks – I’m sure your visit will do him good, even if you don’t see any change.’

As they arrived on Tom’s ward and stopped by Tom’s bed, Matron put out an enormous hand and shook Maddy’s heartily. ‘Sit on the stool by his bed and speak softly to him,’ she advised. ‘Don’t go on for too long, though, because we mustn’t tire him, but try to think of nice things which happened to him before the war. We find concussed patients respond best when listening to talk about their childhood, and no doubt you will remember good times when you and he were just best pals. Come to my office before you go home and I’ll give you a pass so that you can visit him whenever you’re able to do so.’

Standing by the bedside, Maddy looked around, seeking for something – a photograph, a card, a letter – which would link the man in the bed with the Tom she knew. But the room was completely anonymous, and indeed the waxy face on the pillow might have belonged to almost anyone, for all that was Tom, she thought, was waiting, scarcely alive, for something to happen. It occurred to her then that this was like the story of Sleeping Beauty, except that the prince, who should have woken the princess with a kiss, was waiting for his princess to kiss
him
awake. But which princess? He had been in love with Marigold, but he intended to marry Alice, and she herself . . .