The home now had ten residents, all of whom were making good progress under Daisy and Georgina’s care. There had only been one failure, although Peter assured them it wasn’t. Rawlins had been unable to adjust to the home’s routine, with its emphasis on normal activities. He continued to become distressed at the slightest sound and, after another painful incident, it was agreed that he should return to the hospital.
They had now settled into a domestic routine and Daisy was pleased when Mick Collins and Joe Bolton approached her one day asking if they could work in the garden. It had long been her dream to become as self-sufficient as possible. The charitable trust which Henry and his friends had set up almost paid its way, with contributions from the families of those who could afford it, but Daisy hoped to grow their own food and produce eggs, butter, and milk to cut down on their running expenses.
So far, the difficulty of obtaining outside help had meant postponing the fulfilment of her dream. There was only one gardener, an elderly uncle of Mrs Harris, who came whenever his rheumatism allowed and kept things tidy. And, although Peter had agreed that physical activity could be good therapy for the men, Daisy and Georgina worried that it might be too much for them.
Mick and Joe were keen, however, and immediately began clearing the old walled vegetable garden. Within the crumbling flint and brick walls a riot of weeds covered the rotting frames of the greenhouses. Broken pots and seed trays were scattered among shards of algae-stained glass. It was a daunting task, but whenever the weather allowed, Mick and Joe worked at clearing the debris. They wanted to be ready for next spring’s planting and Daisy looked forward to their first crop of fruit and vegetables.
Watching them hard at work, she felt a glow of satisfaction. The men were hardly recognizable from the gaunt shadows that had arrived here such a short time ago. Although there were still days when one or the other of them stayed in his room enduring an attack of the shakes, as the months passed these occasions were becoming fewer.
Effie’s increasing involvement in her son’s care meant that she had less time to spend with Jack, especially as she still insisted on doing her share in the laundry. Daisy was concerned that she was becoming worn out with all the rushing about. ‘If only she’d give up the cottage and move in,’ she said to Georgina, it seemed for the hundredth time. ‘But she won’t take any notice of me.’
‘Perhaps Peter could have a word,’ Georgina suggested.
‘She wouldn’t take any notice of him either. She thinks she knows best.’
But Daisy determined to have one more try and she went upstairs where Effie was standing beside Dick’s chair at the window. It was a bright sunny day, with a wind off the sea chasing the clouds along the top of the Downs.
‘It’s nearly spring,’ Dick said, turning round and smiling. ‘Look, the rooks are building their nests. And the daffodils will be out soon.’
Daisy, pleased that he seemed to be taking an interest in the outside world, put her hand on his shoulder, looking out at the familiar scene. For a moment she watched Mick and Joe working industriously in the kitchen garden.
‘You ought to get out in the fresh air too, Dick,’ she said. ‘It’s not good to be cooped up in this room all the time.’
An apprehensive frown crossed his face. ‘Do I have to?’ he asked in the childish voice that Daisy had come to dread. She looked at her mother, who was in Dick’s room.
‘Daisy’s right, love. It’s a lovely day. Why don’t you just step outside for a bit?’
‘I’m not up to digging though,’ he said, indicating the two men below.
‘You won’t have to,’ said Daisy smiling.
‘I’d like to when I get a bit stronger. I’d like some chickens too.’
Daisy and her mother exchanged a puzzled glance. ‘I never realized you liked chickens, Dick,’ Effie said.
‘Well, you can’t keep chickens in a fisherman’s cottage, can you? And being away at sea all the time …’ His voice trailed away and he plucked at his trousers. It was the first time he’d referred to his life before the war and Daisy looked on it as a positive move forward.
Encouragingly she said, ‘We could get a few hens. The eggs will be useful. Would you like that, Dick?’
He smiled eagerly. ‘Would I? I’ve always wanted to grow my own vegetables and keep hens. A smallholding, like.’ For the first time, he sounded really animated.
Effie looked a little put out. ‘Why did you never say anything before about this hankering for the country life?’ she asked.
‘Well, what was the point? It was always assumed I’d join Dad at the fishing. Then he had the accident and I couldn’t say anything then. How could I with him the way he was?’ The light in his eyes died and he resumed picking at his clothes.
Daisy looked at her mother in dismay. Why had they never realized how he felt? There was a lightening of the heart – surely now her mother would see that it was pointless keeping on the cottage. Dick would never go back to the old life. But here he could have the sort of life he’d always wanted.
She smiled and said, ‘You’ll have your chickens, Dick. But first you must get well. Chickens need looking after and you’d be responsible for them.’
‘I’m feeling better already,’ he replied as she and Effie left the room.
‘Now, Mum, you really must see that moving in with us is for the best – there’s plenty of room,’ she said, as soon as the door closed. ‘I know you want Dick at home, but it’ll be ages before he’s well enough. And you heard him. He doesn’t want to go back to the fishing anyway.’
‘I’m not giving up the cottage,’ Effie said, once she’d finally agreed that Daisy was right. ‘I’ll come and stay here for the time being but that house is Billy’s home too.’
‘But he could stay here when he’s home,’ Daisy said.
‘Suppose he decides to get married – he’ll need a house then.’
‘You’re right, Mum. I hadn’t thought of that.’ They could sort out the details later, she thought, pleased that she had finally persuaded her mother to stay at the Hall. It would be so much less tiring for her.
After speaking to her brother, Daisy wondered where they could build a henhouse and run. Apart from the walled garden which was now flourishing under Joe and Mick’s hard work, the rest of the grounds were still badly neglected. She went outside and through a gate into what had once been an orchard. The trees were in need of pruning and the grass below was a tangle of weeds. She could picture the hens running around, pecking at the ground.
She hurried indoors to speak to Georgina about it. Her friend liked the idea but she said, doubtfully, ‘You can’t expect Dick to do it all – he hasn’t been outside the house since he arrived.’
‘But he’s thinking about it. I want to have everything in place so that when he feels ready, he can make a start.’
‘Perhaps we could take on an odd-job man,’ Georgina suggested.
‘A good idea – maybe someone to live in. There’s such a lot of outside work, not just the chicken run. There’s the maintenance on the electric generator and I’d like to get some of those outbuildings repaired. It could work out cheaper than paying someone from the village every time we need something done.’
‘But where would he stay? Have we got room?’
Daisy laughed. ‘Anyone would think you’d forgotten you were brought up here. Your family employed three times as many staff as we do, and they all lived in. Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.’
She’d noticed the cloud that passed over her friend’s face at the reminder of her earlier life and was sorry she’d spoken so thoughtlessly. It had been insensitive of her, but she couldn’t forget she’d once shared not only a room but a bed with another maid, cuddling up together for warmth, while icy draughts swirled round the unheated attics.
It hadn’t been Georgina’s fault, of course. That was the way things were then. But with the end of the Great War, many of the old conventions were being swept away. It might not happen overnight, but Daisy was determined that here their employees would be treated with dignity and respect.
She’d achieved it too – Millie and Ruby had a bed-sitting room each and shared a bathroom with constant hot water. They would never have to break the ice on their water jugs before being able to wash. Of course, this meant that with ten residents as well as herself, her mother and Georgina, there was less room for live-in staff. Mrs Harris had her own little annexe of bedroom, sitting room and bathroom, transformed from the original housekeeper’s room and butler’s pantry. The other staff lived locally and didn’t need accommodation. Georgina was right though. If they employed a man, he’d need accommodation, but the former estate cottages had been sold off as the Davenports’ fortunes declined. All that remained was the dilapidated dairy and the stable block.
She thought for a moment, then stood up. ‘I’ve just had an idea,’ she said. ‘Come outside with me.’
They hurried across the yard to the stable block, shivering in the chill April wind.
At one end a section had been partitioned off and now housed the electric generator. But the rest of the building was in a terrible state.
She linked arms with Georgina. ‘What do you think?’ she asked, indicating the gaping windows, the doors hanging off their hinges, the smothering ivy. ‘Could it be restored?’ She pulled away a swathe of ivy and prodded the brickwork. To her untrained eye, it didn’t look too bad.
‘It would need a lot of work,’ she replied cautiously. ‘More than a handyman could cope with, I think.’
‘Let’s have a look inside.’
Georgina peered through a window. ‘I’m not sure it’s safe.’
In the old days, the head groom, stable boys and gardeners had all slept in rooms above the stable block – Ernest Jenkins too, Daisy remembered with a shiver. She pushed aside the unpleasant memory.
As she stepped inside, a cloud of dust rose and set her coughing but, after it had settled, she beckoned to Georgina, who followed hesitantly, wrinkling her nose at the dusty smell.
A shaft of sunlight streamed through the doorway and they saw that the stairs were still intact. The low brick walls dividing the stalls remained but the fittings had long gone, even the hay racks which had once been bolted to the walls. Daisy was relieved to note that it didn’t smell damp. And it was just a building, after all. There was no Ernest now, to creep up behind and whisper his insinuations in her unwilling ear.
She put her foot on the stairs, testing it carefully before putting her weight on it. Georgina waited at the bottom until she indicated that it was safe to come up.
‘The floor seems all right,’ she said, bouncing up and down a little to test it.
‘Don’t!’ Georgina gasped. ‘You’ll fall.’
Daisy laughed. ‘No, it’s all right, really. I’m surprised. I thought it would be much worse.’
Up here it was lighter, the sun filtering through the ivy-covered windows and settling in patches across the open space. As before, all the fittings had been removed, even the wooden partitions dividing the area into cubicles for the stable boys. But it was dry and seemed weatherproof.
‘What do you think, Georgie? Can it be done? A little flat for someone to live in?’ she asked.
‘We’d have to get a proper builder to do the structural work, but perhaps the men could help with decorating and fittings.’
‘But do you agree we get it done up and then take on a man?’
‘I agree – but what about the trustees?’
‘Will there be enough money, do you think?’ Daisy’s face fell. She’d been so enthusiastic about the plan but she hadn’t really thought about the cost.
Georgina gave a wicked little smile. ‘Don’t worry – I’ll talk to Henry,’ she said, running lightly down the stairs.
They passed the old dairy and she realized it was in a worse state than the stables. An elder tree had seeded itself in the guttering, weeds sprouted from cracks in the walls and the roof was almost covered in ivy. ‘If we can’t get that repaired, we ought to have it pulled down,’ she said. ‘It’s probably dangerous.’
They went back indoors and Georgina said that she’d telephone Henry straight away. Daisy smiled. Georgie could twist him round her finger and he had a lot of influence with the trustees. It wouldn’t be long before the work was done and a new man was installed. Dick would have his hens.