Daisy's Secret (6 page)

Miss Pratt was opening the front door with a large key she’d taken from the pocket of her tweed suit but paused to consider the child, as if her words had indicated some sort of criticism. ‘No, we are nowhere near the sea, and have no sands for you to play on.’

Trish looked crestfallen. ‘Me mam said we’d be able to buy a bucket ‘n’ spade.’

‘My family has lived here for centuries and never felt deprived by the lack of a beach.’

Daisy swiftly intervened. ‘Oh, she wasn’t complaining. They’re just a bit stunned by their good fortune, that’s all. We all are. We - we’re not used to anything so - so grand.’

Miss Pratt let out a bark that might have been laughter and marched off down a central lobby. ‘Grand? Stuff and nonsense. This house isn’t in the least bit grand. Needs a few repairs here and there but nothing I can’t fix, given time. It’s a big, draughty barn of a place, and I can only hope that you won’t be bothered by damp, nor the odd ghost or boggart. Part of its country character, don’t you know? You’ll just have to cope. I’ve no patience with fusspots.’

‘Oh, we’ll be fine,’ Daisy assured her. ‘Don’t worry about us.’ Living with damp she fully understood. There’d been plenty of that in the tenements of Salford, and however much in need of repair this place might be, it certainly couldn’t be in as bad a state as the two miserable rooms she and her parents had occupied in Marigold court off Liverpool Street.

‘What’s a boggart?’ Megan tentatively enquired, still hesitating to cross the threshold, Trish still clinging on tight to the belt of her sister’s mackintosh.

Miss Pratt marched smartly back to the door and with an impatient flap of her hand, urged both children to hurry up since she didn’t have all day. ‘It’s a naughty imp or elf that is always up to mischief. I hope you two aren’t going to be naughty?’

The pair gazed up at the old woman from beneath the rim of their large berets, eyes wide with fear and, wordlessly, shook their heads.

Again Daisy rushed to intervene, gathering them in her arms and drawing them along the lobby. ’They’re very good children, really.’

The woman looked doubtful and began to mutter to herself as she cast a critical eye over them. ‘Glad to hear it. Still, brainwave of yours to come along. Know nothing about bairns. Never married, d’you see? More into dogs myself. Had to make the offer though to take a couple of vacees. Got to do my bit, no choice really. They’d have billeted some on me whether I liked it or not.‘

Is that what they were? Vacees! Like some sort of disease to be foisted upon people? This wasn’t at all how she’d imagined it would be, Daisy thought. Oh dear. How complicated life was. And how would she ever find Aunt Florrie now?’

The room allocated to them was next to the kitchen, which itself was a surprisingly dark, cold room with tiny windows set high in thick stone walls and a huge pine table taking up much of the available space. When Miss Pratt had flung open the door, Daisy had tried not to show her surprise. It smelled strongly of dogs, though there wasn’t one in sight. A cat rubbed itself against her legs, either by way of greeting or hopeful of some dinner. Along one wall was stacked a pile of wooden boxes in which were a variety of plant pots, string netting, bamboo canes, old pairs of boots and other gardening items. It seemed odd to store such things in a bedroom and Daisy guessed that that was its real purpose - for storing
things
, not children. There were no curtains at the narrow windows, no rug on the stone floor, simply a tatty piece of straw matting. There were only two beds in the room, for which Miss Pratt did not apologise, merely commented that she’d prepared for two vacees, not three.
 

‘Oh, we can manage, thank you.’ Daisy had expected to be taken upstairs where there must surely be half a dozen bedrooms, though perhaps this was how the old lady lived, all on one floor, even in a big house like this. Miss Pratt’s next words explained everything.

‘It’s not much but I dare say it’s better than you’re used to, so you won’t notice. Can’t have you sleeping in my best beds, dear, though I accept it’s not your fault if these children are verminous and semi-literate. So would anyone be, coming from the slums.’

The remark brought a flush of annoyance to Daisy’s cheeks, and for some reason she recalled her mother’s frequent remark, “we might be poor but we have our standards.” But she cast her eyes down, willing herself not to reveal these thoughts. The old lady was opening up her home to complete strangers, after all.

‘There aren’t really any ghosts are there?’ Megan timorously enquired, a slight frown puckering her brow. The two children were hovering at the kitchen door, unwilling to venture any further in, remove their coats and berets, or even set down a single bag until these concerns had been dealt with. Trish’s mouth had taken on the shape of an upside down U as if she might burst into tears at any minute.

Allowing no time for Miss Pratt to open these flood gates with horrific tales of headless horsemen or clanking chains, which would surely give the children nightmares, Daisy barged in with, ‘Course there aren’t. You’ll be nice as ninepence here, won’t they, Miss, once they’ve settled in?’

‘I’ve certainly come to no harm living in this house, child. No harm at all. And if you hear any odd noises in the night, pay no attention.’

Megan said, ‘What sort of noises?’ Trish gave a little whimper, but this was apparently as much sympathy as they were going to get.
 

Daisy had half expected some dragon of a housekeeper to emerge, such as those who occupied the pages of the penny novelettes she devoured from Boot’s Library. Or Gladys, the woman who ‘did’, if she hadn’t already gone to her sister’s house in Edinburgh. No such person appeared and Daisy’s longing for a mug of hot, sweet tea was becoming overwhelming. She ached to put up her feet and rest, feeling bone weary after the sleepless night and the long walk from the station. She could feel a sticky residue of blood between her legs and thought even more longingly of a hot bath and clean underwear. Not that she dare mention any of this, of course, but at least they’d arrived at last and soon these needs and longings would be attended to.

Trish gave her sleeve a little tug, pulling Daisy down to her level so she could issue a fearful whisper in her ear. ‘You won’t ever leave us on us own here, Daisy, will you?’

Daisy squeezed her hand, as much to reassure herself as the child, and exchanged a cheery smile with Megan. Both little girls looked nervous but at least they were moving about more freely now, as if they couldn’t quite make up their minds whether to be excited by this unexpected turn of events, or turn tail and run home to their mam. Deep inside, Daisy felt much the same way.

That first day was a nightmare. They stowed their personal belongings in a wooden trunk with a heavy lid that stood between the two beds. It was not ideal since it smelled of mildew, but there was nowhere else.

‘What now?’ Megan asked in fearful tones, voicing all their thoughts.

‘Oh, I’m sure Miss Pratt has done her best to make us comfortable, and we must be grateful and make the best of it. She just didn’t expect quite so many of us.’ Daisy brightly remarked, wishing she felt as confident as she sounded.

There came a chorus of excited barking from the back garden and all three clambered up to peep out of the window to see what was going on. They couldn’t, unfortunately, see anything beyond a tangle of weeds and shrubs but they could hear Miss Pratt’s strident voice clearly enough. She was talking to the dogs, calling them to her and then after a few minutes all went quiet.

‘She’s happen giving them some dinner,’ Megan whispered.

‘Can I have mine now?’ Trish piped up. ‘I’m hungry.’

Moments later they heard the old woman pass by the kitchen door, muttering to herself as she strode back along the lobby, followed by the slam of the front door.

‘P’raps she’s gone shopping.’

As they sat huddled together for warmth on one of the beds, waiting for her to return with food for their dinner, it slowly began to dawn upon Daisy as the minutes and then an hour, and then two hours ticked by, that she might not return at all, or if she had, she’d entered through a different door and they hadn’t heard her come in. Either way, she seemed to have forgotten all about them.

‘Come on,’ Daisy said at last, her voice sounding strained and over-bright as she rallied the drooping children. ‘She’s made me responsible for you both, so that’s what I’ll be. Responsible!’ Surely, she thought, with a quaking sensation in the pit of her stomach, she hasn’t taken me at my word and left me to cope with these children on my own? ‘Let’s raid the kitchen cupboards and see what we can find.’

They could find disappointingly little. A large bag of flour, one of oatmeal and a smaller one of salt. Further explorations revealed a larder with slate shelves upon which Daisy located a tray of eggs and boxes of potatoes, onions, leeks and other vegetables. ‘Oh, look at these. Treasure indeed!’

She quickly set about gathering the ingredients for an omelette, but was then confronted by the next challenge. How to cook it. Faced with a stove that might well have been put in at the same time the house was built in 1644, judging by its rusty appearance, it proved, as Daisy suspected it would, depressingly difficult to light. By the time they’d finally got it going, driven more by their intense hunger rather than any notion of the correct procedure, not only had the morning passed by but much of the afternoon as well. By which time Megan was almost in tears, Trish was curled up on a piece of sacking with her thumb in her mouth and Daisy could easily have eaten the eggs raw.

At last, however, grit and determination paid off and some small measure of heat began to filter through. Daisy found a frying pan, a knob of beef dripping and soon an appetising aroma of frying onions was filling the kitchen, making young mouth’s water and eyes shine with anticipation. Then she beat up six eggs in a jug and tipped those over the onions into the hot fat, smiling in delight as the mixture bubbled and frothed.
 

They all felt much better after the meal, washed down by a large mug of tea each. There was even a little bit of milk left over for the cat. But then came the realisation that the autumn day was drawing to a close and dusk was falling with no offer, thus far, of the much longed for hot baths.

In the circumstances, this was unfortunate in the extreme. It had soon dawned upon Daisy that although she herself came from one of the worst parts of Salford, her mother’s puritan strictness had ensured stringent cleanliness, even if she rarely bestowed upon her daughter the smallest scrap of love.
 

Young Trish and Megan, though more blessed in that department, assured of their own mother’s love and concern for them, could not, by anyone’s estimation, be considered clean. Each child bore the telltale, sweet-sour smell of stale urine and, once the berets were finally removed, hair crawling with head lice was all too plainly revealed. They were, as Miss Pratt had rightly predicted, verminous. There were also ominous looking scabs and cracked skin between their fingers which looked in dire need of attention.

Using some of the warm water from the kettle she’d boiled, Daisy washed the children’s hands and faces, using the large bar of carbolic soap she found in the pantry. The necessary attention to their hair would have to wait till tomorrow, she decided, as they were far too tired tonight. Besides, something stronger than carbolic would be required to solve that particular problem. Daisy made a mental note to find Miss Pratt first thing in the morning and ask if she would get them something from the chemist, or perhaps from the dispersal officer.

That would also provide a good opportunity to mention one or two other matters which were troubling her. There were only a few eggs left in the tray, and the Bovril jar was empty so there was nothing for supper. If she was to be responsible for these children, Daisy needed to know who would do the shopping. Daisy was outraged at being so ignored.
 

There should have been postcards for the children to write and send home to their mother, to let her know where they were. And apart from the very essential matters of food and general care and cleanliness, there was also the question of school for the two girls, and work for herself.

She tucked them up together in one of the beds and sang them a lullaby, and it came to Daisy in that moment that she should have been singing to her own child this night. Tears sprang to her eyes as she wondered in whose arms her little son was cuddled at this precise moment. The image brought a stab of pain to her heart and she struggled to block it out. Dwelling on her loss wouldn’t help one bit. She’d been assured that he was safe and well, that he’d been found a good home with parents who would love him as their own. In the circumstances, it was the best she could hope for.

When tired eyelids began to droop, Daisy crept from the room, poured fresh warm water into the bowl and began to wash herself. The soap and water felt good against her skin. After that, she scrubbed the children’s knickers as best she could, and left her own blood-stained underwear to soak in salt water as her mother had taught her, before crawling into the other bed. Just before she slipped into a deep sleep, she told herself that at least they were safe from Mr Hitler’s bombs, and there was surely nothing wrong with their billet that couldn’t be put right in the morning.

Chapter Four

Lunch with her father was every bit as disastrous as Laura had expected. As they sipped rather thin tomato soup he castigated her over her obstinacy in staying on at the farm after the funeral, instead of going home to her husband. Presumably like the good little wife she was supposed to be. During the fish course he reminded her how her own amateur efforts at cooking couldn’t be compared with this sort of professional cuisine. And finally, when the cheese was served, her father didn’t eat dessert and made the assumption that his daughter wouldn’t require one either, he warned her of the perils of defying her husband’s wishes to sell.