Every Mother's Son (15 page)

Harriet had tried her best not to mention all the things he should avoid, but she couldn’t help but tell him to take care not to lose his belongings, not to get into any trouble with roughnecks, and always to stick close to Charles. And then she had handed him some postcards so that he could write as soon as they’d landed in France.

He’d hugged her and promised to do all of those things and repeated that she shouldn’t worry about him. Fletcher was driving him to the manor to collect Charles before taking them both to Brough railway station, but on the way there they were calling on Rosie.

From Dover to Le Havre was their final chosen route, and then they were going by train to Paris. Rosie eagerly asked when he thought they’d get to the Mediterranean.

‘Not for a while, Gran. We’ll be staying in Paris first and then going on to Switzerland to see Charles’s sister. We want to see ’Swiss Alps and maybe climb ’Jungfrau … well, not to ’top, of course, it’s too high for us, but we’d like to go up part of the way.’

‘Ooh, what’s that, then?’ Rosie asked. ‘Is it a mountain? You’ll need a deal of breath, won’t you?’

He laughed and said that they would, and then gave her a hug and promised he would find out as much as he could about Marco.

‘Just one thing, Daniel,’ she murmured. ‘He’s most likely a married man, if he’s still in the land of ’living, which I hope he is, and I wouldn’t want you to cause any trouble with his family.’ She gazed at him anxiously. ‘Assess ’situation, won’t you? Mebbe you could say that you know somebody who knew him when he was a lad, summat like that – you’ll know what to say, won’t you?’

He kissed her cheek. How gentle she was, not wanting to upset anyone, unlike Granny Tuke who didn’t care about anyone else’s feelings. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I’ll be tactful.’

He waved goodbye, a sudden thought possessing him. He hoped she would still be here on his return. ‘How old is Granny Rosie, Da?’

Fletcher glanced at him quickly. As a child Daniel had always called him Da, but in recent years he had taken to calling him Fletcher. Fletcher hadn’t minded, had understood that for Daniel it was part of growing up, but the fact that his stepson had reverted to the childhood designation today of all days touched him deeply, and he cleared his throat. ‘Not sure. Not all that old – sixtyish maybe. She’s very spry, anyway.’ He glanced again at Daniel as they trotted along. ‘Hale and hearty, so if you’re worrying about her you know we’ll look after her, don’t you?’

Daniel nodded and murmured, ‘Yeh. I’m just thinking that everything will be going on as usual while I’m away, but I won’t know about it and nobody will know where I am to tell me.’

‘True,’ Fletcher agreed. He paused. ‘But, you know, you’ll think of us even when you’re having adventures and seeing new sights, so don’t forget to write things down to tell us about when you come home again.’

‘Did you do that, Da, when you went to America?’ There it was again. Fletcher swallowed, and knew how much he would miss him.

‘Some,’ he said. ‘But my reasons for going away were different from yours.’ His voice dropped. ‘I went away because I loved your mother and she was married to your father; I thought of her every day and wanted a reason to return home, so I didn’t enjoy the experience as much as I should have done. Your father’s death brought me back again.’

Daniel remained silent until they reached the manor gates and then said in a great rush, as if it were important to speak before they reached the house, ‘You know, don’t you, Da, that I allus think of you as my father? And that—’ his voice cracked, and he lowered his head, ‘that I’ve never ever wished that anybody else was? I’m sorry that Noah died and that we never knew each other, but he could never have been a better father than you’ve been.’

Fletcher put his hand on Daniel’s arm. He couldn’t speak for a moment, and then he said, ‘When I came home from America and saw your mother with you in her arms, it was ’loveliest sight I’d ever seen and I knew then that even though Noah had sired you, I wanted you in my life as much as I wanted your mother. I loved you as my own, and even with other bairns that remains true to this day.’ Tears ran down his cheeks. ‘You’ve been ’best son any man could wish for.’

Daniel sniffed and put his hand in his pocket for a handkerchief. ‘Thanks, Da.’ He risked a glance at his stepfather. ‘I know I’ve been calling you Fletcher for a while, but I think if you don’t mind I’ll go back to calling you Da.’

Fletcher laughed and brushed his hand across his nose. ‘We’d better perk up or ’Hart family’ll think us a couple of old women.’

Charles’s departure from home was not as traumatic as Daniel’s had been, for his parents were used to their sons and Beatrice leaving for school, but Charles’s mother took a deep breath before giving him a gentle kiss on his cheek and then doing the same to Daniel.

‘Take care of each other, won’t you,’ she said huskily, ‘and have a wonderful time.’

Charles kissed the top of her head and murmured, ‘Don’t worry about me, Mama. Daniel will look after me!’

Daniel raised a wry eyebrow. ‘I’ll mek sure he doesn’t get into hot water, Mrs Hart.’

Melissa gave a wide smile and gestured to her husband, who seemed rather bemused, but came and shook hands with both boys, and patted Charles affectionately on his shoulder. ‘Send a telegram or a letter if there are any difficulties,’ he said. ‘And you know arrangements have been made with the Swiss bank if you should need money.’

‘Yes, thank you, Father, but I’m sure we’ll manage.’ Charles glanced at Daniel. He hadn’t told him that his father had arranged this backup and hadn’t intended telling him, knowing that Daniel had wanted them to be financially equal. But Daniel’s expression didn’t change as he buttoned up his coat.

‘Goodbye, Da.’ Daniel put his arms out to hug Fletcher. ‘I promise I’ll write.’

‘Goodbye, sir.’ Charles proffered his hand but Fletcher gave him a hug too. ‘Thank you for bringing us, and I promise I’ll keep Daniel out of mischief.’

Fletcher watched the train steam away and two hands waving until out of sight. Then he turned to climb back into the trap. How lucky they both were, he thought. Not only to be able to go off on such a journey, but to have such a special friendship in spite of their social divide.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Daniel staggered down the gangplank at Le Havre, muttering and groaning.

‘What are you saying?’ Charles asked cheerfully from behind him. ‘Can’t hear a word. What a glorious morning. Smell that French air!’

Daniel dropped his rucksack on a nearby bench and sat down. ‘Dry land! Thank heaven.’ His face was grey. ‘I know now that I definitely haven’t got ’sea in my blood. That voyage was much worse than any I’ve made on ’Humber.’

‘Not rough in the slightest,’ Charles said. ‘And it’s not that far. Look.’ He put his hand to his forehead in an exaggerated manner and gazed into the far distance across the sea. ‘You can still see England.’

Daniel groaned again, uttering, ‘And to think we’ve to do that crossing again when we go home.’

‘Don’t talk of home already,’ Charles complained. ‘We’ve only just got here. Come on.’ He hauled Daniel to his feet. ‘Beatrice said there’s a café along here where we can get hot coffee and fresh bread. We’ve time before we catch the train.’

The café was a mere wooden hut but in it was a stove with a fire burning beneath it and, sitting on top, a metal jug filled with fragrant-smelling coffee; on a wooden table were several
batons
of fresh bread and a dish of butter. The proprietor swilled out two cups in a bucket of dubious murky water and poured thick black coffee into them. He pointed to the bread with one hand and held out the other for payment. ‘
Avez-vous faim?
’

‘
Oui!
’ Charles patted his stomach in confirmation, and then fumbled in his pocket book for coins and handed them into the man’s grubby hand. ‘
Merci
.’

‘What did he say?’ Daniel blew on the piping hot coffee. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any milk?’

Charles turned to the man again. ‘Erm,
du lait, s’il vous plaît
.’

‘
Non!
’ The Frenchman turned his gaze on Daniel and handed him a bowl of sugar cubes.

Daniel put several lumps into his coffee and nodded his thanks. ‘
Merci
,’ he mumbled. ‘Thanks very much.’

The sweetened coffee revived Daniel, restoring him to something like normal. They took a
baton
of bread to share and sat on a bench outside the hut to eat and drink, and then to their surprise the café owner came out and brought them some change from their money. He touched his forehead and murmured, ‘Good day.
Bonjour, messieurs!
’

Charles heaved a sigh. ‘Well, that’s a good start to the day.’

‘Yes,’ Daniel agreed. ‘It is. I must admit that when I got off ’ship I was wishing I hadn’t come, but I feel fine now.’

They finished the coffee and Daniel stood up. ‘I’ll take ’cups back. I’m going to practise my French.’

He handed the cups back after first throwing the dregs into a flower tub. ‘
Merci, monsieur
,’ he said haltingly.

The Frenchman took them from him and asked, ‘
Parla Italiano?
’

Daniel frowned, then said, ‘
Non.
English.’

He was nonplussed by the garrulous Gallic response, none of which he understood except to gather that he looked like an Italian. He shrugged and raised his eyebrows, grinning as he did so, and the Frenchman patted his shoulder and said something else equally incomprehensible.

‘I’ve had a great conversation,’ he told Charles when he returned and shouldered his rucksack on to his back. ‘Who needs a foreign language?’

They had a one-mile walk into Le Havre for the train to Rouen, where they would change for the Paris train. They were able to find seats together, and as the train rumbled, rattled and whistled through the green and undulating countryside, suggestive of the Wolds above his home village, Daniel relaxed, listening to the hum of voices around him. Not being able to understand any of it, he closed his eyes momentarily and drifted off to sleep, waking only when Charles shook his shoulder to say they had arrived.

They had an hour to wait for the Paris train so Charles suggested they take a walk into Rouen. ‘I believe there’s a fine cathedral here.’

Charles had done his research into what there was to see and Daniel thought the Rouen cathedral was the most beautiful building he had ever seen. ‘Not that I’ve seen many,’ he admitted. ‘Only ’local church and once Holy Trinity and St Mary’s in Hull. Ma took me when I was little and they seemed huge, but nothing compared with this.’

‘It makes me wish that I could paint,’ Charles said as he too gazed up at the soaring towers.

‘Can we buy postcards of it, do you think?’ Daniel said. ‘Ma gave me postcards to send home when we arrived in Paris, but if I could send one of this cathedral she’d be flabbergasted.’

They went inside to look round and found a stall where picture postcards of the cathedral were displayed next to a box for payment. Daniel dropped in a coin of roughly the equivalent of twopence, and Charles followed his example.

‘They’ll stop worrying now,’ Daniel said as they sat in a pew and wrote to their parents.
Dear All
, he wrote.
We are sitting in R
– ‘How do you spell Rouen?’ –
ouen Cathedral as we wait for our train to Paris. Your loving son and brother, Daniel.

‘My parents won’t be worrying,’ Charles said as they came out into bright sunshine. ‘They’re used to me being away.’

‘They must miss you, though,’ Daniel said. ‘We need to find a post office.’

A passer-by directed them to a place where they could buy stamps and post the cards. Then they made their way back to the railway station to wait for the train.

‘Don’t you think your mother misses you?’ Daniel asked, reverting to their earlier conversation. ‘And Beatrice?’

‘Not Bea,’ Charles said. ‘She’s too busy to think about it, although she used to when we were young.’ He laughed self-consciously. ‘We only ever liked to be together. I suppose twins have a special relationship, and when I first went away to school we both cried for the other. She needn’t have gone back after Christmas; I don’t know why she did. It seemed as if, as soon as she heard
we
were coming abroad, she wanted to stay on for another couple of terms.’

‘Why’s it called a finishing school?’

‘Young ladies are taught how to behave in elite social circles where they’ll be invited to attend parties and will then meet suitable contenders for their hand in marriage,’ Charles said derisively.

Daniel remained silent for a moment, and then said, ‘Like your friend Hanson?’

‘Oh, no!’ Charles exclaimed. ‘Certainly not him. He’s rich, but not a candidate. He’s rather a boor, in fact, and Beatrice wouldn’t consider someone like him.’ He pursed his mouth. ‘She’ll decide for herself in the marriage stakes, will Bea. We both will.’ He jumped up from the bench where they were sitting. ‘Come on! Here’s the Paris train!’

Gare St Lazare was a railway station unlike any other they had seen. A classical façade fronted platforms covered by a huge glass canopy that allowed the sunshine to light up the whole station. The interior was full of steam and smoke and noise, of engines shunting and people shouting and carriage doors banging, making the atmosphere impressively potent, yet mysterious and ethereal.

‘It’s nothing like Paragon Station in Hull,’ Daniel said in astonishment. ‘And I can’t compare it with anything else, except King’s Cross.’

‘Which doesn’t compare at all,’ Charles agreed, gazing up in rapture at the iron and glass structure. ‘I feel – I feel so excited!’ His voice was eager. ‘Monet completed several paintings of it only recently,’ he said. ‘Or so my tutor told me; I haven’t seen them, of course.’

‘What? Someone painted a railway station, as a picture?’ Daniel said.

‘Artists will paint anything that appeals to them,’ Charles explained. ‘They aim to show the true beauty of an object or a landscape by giving an impression of how they see it: in light reflected by water, for instance, or even filtered through smoke and steam as we’re seeing now.’