Someone Special (41 page)

‘Will they ration dog-biscuits?’ Elizabeth said as they reached the long black saloon car parked at the end of the street. ‘I wouldn’t like to think of our dogs going short … well, we wouldn’t let them, would we, Peggy? They might have some of our rations, and welcome.’

‘They won’t do that,’ the small Princess said protestingly. They reached the car and Margaret Rose opened the front passenger door to speak to the chauffeur. ‘Hello, Angus, weren’t we a long time? But we’ve got the last of our Christmas presents. And tonight when Mummy rings up, she’ll tell us where we are to spend Christmas! They might come to Balmoral, but I’d much, much rather we went to them, wouldn’t you, Lilibet?’

‘Just so long as we’re all together,’ her sister said wistfully.

The phone, ringing at the appointed hour, had no chance to get going. Elizabeth darted across the hall and took the call, with Margaret Rose at her side, face bright with anticipation. And her hopes were not disappointed. The children rushed back to their nursery to report to Peggy that their parents’ minds were made up; everyone would spend Christmas at Sandringham.

‘With presents, and all the people we love, and our dogs and ponies,’ Elizabeth said, throwing herself into the armchair to the right of the nursery fire. ‘We’ll act a play for them, we’ll go to church, we’ll ride every day unless there’s a hard frost of course … oh, Margaret Rose, it will be so nice to see Mama and Papa again! And I wouldn’t be surprised if Philip comes – if he’s home by then, of course.’

‘Ooh, I would like Philip to come very much; and Grandmother,’ Margaret Rose reminded her. ‘And the dear dogs!’

It was a wickedly cold winter. The fair, in winter quarters once more, was licking its wounds. Quite a number of the younger men had joined up, though the ban on all entertainments, which a panic-stricken government had enforced the previous September, had been lifted at Christmas. But there were enormous problems: movement orders, fuel rationing, the blackout had all meant travelling fairs could not hope to compete with more static entertainment, such as picture theatres.

‘Look, Hester, I’m not asking you to marry me. Not again, I know it ain’t possible. Nell told me your old man’s not dead, you just ran off … I’m not goin’ to ask you why because I trust you, but I can’t bear the thought of you livin’ in that tent again. Move in wi’ me, at least until you’ve something else in view!’

Hester and Ugly Jack were sitting on the bottom step of his galloper, which had been set up for the King’s Lynn Valentine fair on the Tuesday market place. Tom was talking about moving from Lynn next winter, finding somewhere for the trailers nearer a big city, Norwich for instance, but nothing definite had been done so Lynn would, as always, have the first fair of the season.

‘It’s good of you, Jack, but what’ll people say?’ Hester asked. Cissie Barnweather and the regular soldier she had met at the Coronation had married at last and she and her trailer had moved to a permanent site down in Dorset, near her Sidney’s parents’ home. Hester patted Jack’s enormous hand, then took it between her own and looked into his face, seeing his eyes anxious, his mouth gentle. ‘Besides, one of these days you’ll want to marry and it wouldn’t do for folk to say you were fickle.’

‘I don’t give a toss what people say and there’s only
one gal I’ll ever want to marry,’ Jack said flatly. ‘But marryin’ in’t that important, not to me. It’s bein’ together. Knowin’ you’re safe, you and Nell. They won’t have me in the forces because of my knee, but that do mean I can keep the fair running, keep the family together. It mean you won’t be let down by me goin’ off, Hes.’

‘Suppose I were to fall in love with someone else?’ Hester suggested after a pause. ‘I don’t think I will, but you never know.’

‘Up to you. Leave, stay … but just move in until you find something better,’ Jack urged. ‘You’ve had two nights in the tent – in’t that enough to remind you it’s tough goin’, especially for the kid?’

Hester sighed. It was true, she and Nell had been miserably cold in the tent despite the little oil-heater which had burned all night. And she suspected that Phillips had been cold too, though his hay-filled box was swathed in blankets and pulled closer to the oil-stove than seemed really safe. She was worried that if he began to feel chilly he might hibernate too deeply, so that he would not want to do the show for the Valentine fair, but even that would be nothing to the disaster if he froze to death. Over the years – and it was years, she realised, astonished at how the time had passed – she had grown very fond of Phillips and wished him nothing but good. He was no longer just her livelihood, he was a fairly intelligent and interesting pet, almost a personality. No, she must not risk Phillips.

‘But what about Phillips? Can he come too?’

Jack nodded, and there was something about the way he looked at her which told Hester that Jack would have agreed to a nest of vipers sharing the trailer, provided she shared it too.

‘And you won’t … I mean Nell and I will share a bed, like we did with Cissie? You won’t feel I’m cheating on you? Letting you down? If I just share the trailer as a friend, I mean.’

‘I swear it,’ Jack said solemnly. Then he got to his feet and pulled her to hers. ‘C’mon, let’s get your gear over.’

‘And Phillips,’ Hester said anxiously, following him as he headed for the tent, discreetly parked against the hedge but with a frosting of snow on it already.

‘And the snake,’ Jack said jubilantly. ‘Let ’em all come, so long as you and the kid’s in the warm.’

‘I’ll cook for you,’ Hester persisted, diving into the tent and coming out backwards, her arms laden. ‘I’d cook whatever you fancy, so long as I’ve got the ingredients, that is. Rationing isn’t going to make cooking easier.’

‘That’s a rare old promise, but tonight I’m gettin’ us fish an’ chips, seeing as how the van’s coming round,’ Jack said, taking the tent down with incredible speed and neatness. He folded the filthy, stiffened canvas and trimmed the oil-stove, then picked Phillips’s box up with ease, though he gave it a slightly anxious look when it hissed and rustled. ‘Where d’you want the snake?’

‘Somewhere warm,’ Hester said. She staggered up the steps to Jack’s trailer, then dumped their bedding in a heap on the floor and turned to go back for the rest. ‘He’s going to be a precious commodity in wartime, is old Phillips. No chance of replacing him if something awful happened.’

‘No I can’t see the government agreeing to send a troop carrier off to Africa to fetch Phillips number two,’ Jack agreed, chuckling. ‘So we’ll keep him warm. Tell you what, I’ll set up your stuff for tomorrow and the oil-stove can burn in there all night. Warm the atmosphere.’

‘Good idea,’ Hester said thankfully, dumping the two large suitcases which contained all the Makerfields’ clothing beside the small room with the two bunks in it which Jack had said she and Nell might use. ‘I’d like to say he needn’t work until spring, but it can’t be done. We need the dosh.’

Jack laughed and looked around. The trailer was
empty save for themselves and though the door was still wide open, no one stirred outside in the grey afternoon. He turned to Hester. ‘We’ll make a real showman of you yet! Oh Hes, I’ll do my best to see you’re happy.’

Hester saw it coming and braced herself, but she did not attempt to push Jack away. Gently, his arms enfolded her. Gently, his mouth came down on hers. Gently, as they kissed, he swayed her from side to side, surrounding her, or so it seemed, with his love and care.

When he broke the embrace he was flushed, his eyes shining like stars. ‘Sorry, that weren’t part of the bargain, eh? But you know how I feel, Hester … all I want is to see you right, all I want is that you’ll let me look after you.’

‘You’re a good man, the best I’ve known,’ Hester murmured. She told herself she hadn’t enjoyed the embrace and knew she lied. ‘We’ll rub along very well, dear Jack!’

‘The children won’t leave without me, I won’t leave without the King, and the King will never leave.’

The Queen had said it and Peggy had applauded it, along with Miss Huntley and Mrs Day, because they had no desire to see the Princesses facing the dangers of an Atlantic crossing, neither did they want such a fate themselves.

On the other hand, Peggy thought now, watching her charges as they built a fire in the orchard, there were dangers other than bombs. That young Charlie was joking around with Elizabeth as if she was just an ordinary fourteen-year-old, with no notion that she might one day be Queen of England. The King and Queen, bless them, would probably applaud the fact that the evacuees who had been quartered on almost everyone living on the Windsor estate never dreamed of treating the Princesses with unusual respect. They behaved as though Elizabeth and Margaret were just two
more children, coaxed them into their games, argued with them, occasionally pushed or shoved, frequently contradicted, and left them their share, if not more, of any dirty work going.

Like now; someone should have been helping Margaret Rose, who was only ten, after all, to build the wigwam of sticks which Lilibet brought her, but, apart from Charlie, who hung around offering at frequent intervals to ‘do the bit wiv the matches’, the other children had rushed off to help bring out the picnic tea. Peggy had been told by Miss Huntley to stay out of sight and just keep an eye on her charges, but on no account to interfere, so she didn’t step forward with an offer of help as she longed to do. Margaret Rose continued doggedly to pile up the sticks and soon Elizabeth came over, gave an exasperated sigh, and rearranged the wigwam, telling her sister in her bell-like voice that she really should remember to leave enough room at the base for the air to be sucked through once the fire caught.

‘Leave it, Lilibet!’ the younger girl commanded crossly. She seized the twigs Elizabeth had rearranged and put them back in their original positions. ‘Just leave it alone, Bossy!’

‘You do as you’re told, Margaret Rose, you’re only little, someone’s got to tell you how to do things and since I’m the oldest …’

‘You ain’t, Lil, I am,’ Charlie interrupted. ‘My burfday’s in March an’ yours ain’t till April, so I can give you a flippin’ month.’

Elizabeth gave him one of her famous looks. It would have crushed some, but not Charlie. ‘Don’t glare, gel,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Let the kid alone, why don’t you?’

Peggy waited for either an outburst of temper – Elizabeth could really shout when she was angry – or a chilly set-down. Neither happened.

‘But Charlie, the fire won’t catch,’ she said plaintively.
‘It’s no use letting her do it wrong, is it? She’s got to be taught.’

‘But not by you,’ Margaret Rose growled, standing foursquare in front of her wigwam and wagging a finger at her sister. ‘Don’t you dare interfere, Lilibet, or I’ll
lambast
you!’

‘Just let me … ouch, you little cat!’

The royal teeth of Margaret had sunk into the royal arm of Elizabeth, and now the royal hand of Elizabeth was slapping at the royal legs of Margaret. Peggy’s lips twitched, but she sat quiet in the long grass under the old Blenheim orange tree, determined to stick to her brief.

‘Stop it, you beast. You said I was little, you shouldn’t slap little girls … get
off
, Charlie, or I’ll bite you as well, I’ll bite you to the
bone
!’

The well-meaning Charlie, trying to get between the sisters, was slapped by one and bitten by the other, but he had not, Peggy saw, spent most of his life in the East End without learning a thing or two. He grabbed Margaret Rose and spun her round, then gave her a push, at the same time putting out a foot. Margaret crashed to the grass where she lay still for a moment, no doubt winded. Then she rolled over and grinned at Charlie, who now had both Elizabeth’s wrists trapped in one grimy paw.

‘No use to wriggle, Liz, I’m stronger than you,’ he said breathlessly, because Elizabeth, scorning to struggle, had landed him a forceful kick on the ankle. ‘You’d better kiss and make up, the pair of you, else there’ll be a grown-up along.’

‘Well, I am sorry,’ Margaret Rose said, getting to her feet, her dress grass-marked, her hair a positive bird’s nest. ‘Can I get on with my fire now, without anyone showing me anything?’

‘Yes, you can,’ Charlie said grandly. ‘Me an’ Liz won’t take a bit of notice; in fact, we’re goin’ in to ‘elp get the picnic, ain’t we, Liz?’

Elizabeth rubbed her wrists thoughtfully, then smiled at him. ‘Yes, all right. Have you got the matches, Margaret?’

Margaret’s eyes and mouth rounded; she had never been allowed to handle matches before, Peggy knew. But then she gave the delightful, three-cornered smile which meant extreme joy and nodded vigorously, a hand delving into the pocket of her pink gingham dress.

‘Yes, here they are! Can I try to light it right away?’

‘Of course,’ Charlie said grandly. ‘See you later, kid! Come on, Liz.’

They turned to leave the orchard and Margaret, tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth, knelt reverently before the twigs, the box of matches like a votive offering in one hand.

Peggy watched the two children making for the gate which led out of the orchard and into the formal gardens. She saw that, though stringy, Charlie was several inches taller than Elizabeth, and she noticed, for the first time, that the elder Princess was beginning to get a figure, her waist was formed, you could see the woman’s shape beginning to emerge from the child’s straight, strong little body.

She was still watching when Elizabeth turned to Charlie and said something which made him stop, laugh, and put both hands on her shoulders. She turned towards him, looking up, laughing back … and he kissed her.

It was a quick, light movement, but there could be no doubt in Peggy’s mind that that young scallywag had kissed the heir to the throne of England, then chucked her under the chin, taken her hand, and wandered out of the orchard and across the formal gardens towards the castle.

The cheek of it! The astonishing sauce of the young devil! I’ll have him banned, I’ll see him sent back to London tomorrow, invasion or no invasion, Peggy told herself, a flush of annoyance making her feel as if the temperature had soared into the hundreds. Good lord,
if she let him remain here at Windsor, heaven knew what liberties he might take next!