The war is getting worse. The Germans have been killing the Jews and for no apparent reason other than their race. It seems so unfair and Father says that all the available men will soon have been called up to go to war.
What if Eddie has to go? I don’t know how I would cope without him, he’s so young and naive and from what I hear, he’d be fighting against grown men; Germans who’d be trying their best to kill him.
Even though he never says it, I know that he fears this too. Every day I see the frown lines on his face grow deeper and I’ve tried asking Father about ways of keeping men away from the war. He was very vague, but explained that only certain careers or medical conditions could really save them.
I watched Eddie working. He digs the ground much faster these days and seems to be in a hurry to get everything done, just in case he gets the letter and doesn’t have time to complete his work. He’s begun to build a glasshouse. Only the frame at the moment as glass is difficult to come by. He says that the glasshouse is perfectly positioned to grow grapes in the summer and has even installed piping that goes under the ground and is attached to an old railway engine that Father acquired from his job. This will be lit and stoked to create the warmth needed to keep the grapes warm at night. He’s housed it in a brick room to keep the weather away and he even made the bricks himself by squeezing clay into a wooden mould and baking them one by one in the old back-to-back oven that still remains in the cellar.
Mary has stopped watching Benjamin. She saw him walking out with a girl from the village and as far as I’m aware, they haven’t spoken since. Mary now expects me to spend more time with her and the time I manage to escape and be with Eddie is now very limited because I’m afraid that Mary will be jealous and if that happens, she could tell Father what I’ve been doing. So now, I normally wait for her to be asleep and then Eddie and I meet on the back staircase, but most days it’s only for a few moments at a time.
* * *
Madeleine put the diary down and allowed her mind to think back over the day before. She’d been ice skating, she’d danced with her father to the music, remembered how he’d taught her as a child and had imagined how it would – and should – have been like to have a father and daughter dance with him on her wedding day.
Poppy just loved her grandad so much. He’d been amazing with both her and Jess. He’d not only opened his house, but also his arms, giving Jess the biggest hug, when she’d arrived at the hall. They’d become immediate friends and they’d all had such a lovely day, first the ice skating and a boat ride on the sea and then into the warmth where they’d all eaten fish and chips, followed by the promised ice cream at Poppy’s insistence. Madeleine grinned and remembered how sick she’d felt from over eating, but how happy that they’d all been together, enjoying their day and today, today had been a much quieter day, a day of walking, reading and remembering all the times that she had spent with her father, rather than concentrating on the times they’d lost.
But now, it was night. Poppy was fast asleep in her own bed and Madeleine picked up the glass of wine she’d taken up with her, took a sip and then relaxed against the pillows. Her eyes had grown heavy and she allowed herself to surrender to sleep and for just a moment she felt totally relaxed.
‘Mrs Frost, quickly Mrs Frost!’ The sound of Hannah’s voice screamed out on the landing.
There was a sudden thumping and banging on Madeleine’s door. Madeleine had heard her shouts long before she’d been close enough to bang on the door and had already jumped from her bed, knowing that for Hannah to leave reception and shout like that must mean that something was terribly wrong and Madeleine felt an immediate sense of dread take over her body.
She fumbled with the door. ‘Shhh, you’re going to wake Poppy. What on earth’s the matter?’
Hannah stood before her obviously out of breath, with the colour fast dissipating from her cheeks as she spoke. ‘Miss, there are two policemen. They’re downstairs, saying awful things. You need to come down.’
‘Stay with Poppy,’ Madeleine instructed as she grabbed at her tracksuit bottoms and jumper that she’d taken off earlier. Dressing as fast as she could, she ran into the bathroom, quickly checked her appearance and then headed for the staircase. She took two steps at a time and ran straight into the hallway where the two uniformed men stood.
‘Mrs Frost?’ one of the policemen questioned as she approached.
‘Yes, I’m Madeleine Frost. What’s happened?’
‘It’s your father, miss. I’m very sorry. I’m afraid there’s been an accident.’
Madeleine gasped for air as she struggled to breathe. The room began to spin as though it rotated around her and the floor suddenly took on a soft and doughy texture beneath her feet.
‘Please God, no.’ Her words were barely a whisper as she held onto the staircase for support as she fought back the memory of Michael’s death, the two policemen who’d stood before her back then and the dread of what they’d said next. She’d heard it before, the exact words, yet nothing could have prepared her to hear them again. The policeman indicated for her to sit, but her legs were rigid and refused to move. She stepped forward and gripped the back of a settee in the hope that it would hold her weight. Her knees threatened to give way and her breathing became laboured and shallow. A strangled scream left her throat, the room once again began to spin and her body began shaking with a persistence that took over and wouldn’t stop.
‘What… what happened? Where is he?’ she managed to say.
‘He fell, miss, from the cliff in Whitby. We’re not sure what happened at this stage, Mrs Frost, but I’m sorry to inform you that it may have been suicide. He’s been taken to the mortuary. There will have to be a post mortem; it will take place in the morning.’ The words sank in slowly as Madeleine noticed his bottom lip begin to quiver. Her heart immediately went out to him and for no reason she began to wonder how many times he’d had to deliver this same speech before. The only thing more difficult than having to give bad news is to hear it and to know that life from that point forward would never be the same.
‘His personal effects, miss,’ the policeman said as he held out a brown paper bag.
Madeleine stared at the bag and began to open it but the room was suddenly full, there were people all around. Staff members began to congregate, a few guests came out of the bar; all stood in earshot, all were inquisitive, questioning and concerned.
Madeleine tried to think what to do. What would her father do? She knew that he’d always relied upon his team. ‘Bernie, please phone Jack, Nomsa and Bandit. Ask them to come.’ Her thoughts were immediately of the guests and she placed the bag down on the table as she ushered the policemen out of sight and into the library. The guests needed to be settled, tea would need to be made.
They shouldn’t see this. No, they couldn’t see this. What’s more, she had to ensure that they didn’t. This was their time, their holiday and their memories. Father would have been mortified if he’d thought anyone’s stay had been ruined by his untimely death. She felt a sob come from somewhere deep within her. How could this happen? They’d had such a lovely few days, they’d danced on the ice and he’d stood before her and promised that they had plenty of time, that he wouldn’t ever leave her again. Why would he say all of that if he was going to do this? She just couldn’t believe that he might have been contemplating suicide.
She needed to think. She needed to be strong. She needed Jess to come back to the hall. Her eyes squeezed tight; her father had invited Jess to stay here. Madeleine thought it ironic that just the day after he’d put the past where it had belonged had been the day that he died.
‘Please, everyone, please, go back to what you were doing. Everything’s fine.’ Her voice seemed to come through a mist that surrounded her. But nothing was fine and her voice felt like a delusional hallucination that reverberated around the room. To her, it didn’t even sound like her voice. ‘I’ll ask Nomsa to make some tea, please, there’s nothing to see here.’ The words automatically fell from her mouth.
Jack appeared from nowhere and Bernie quickly told him the news. He went pale, clutched for a chair and slumped down. His head immediately dropped into his hands. He struggled to compose himself and stared at the floor before searching the room and then finally he slowly stood up, took in a deep breath, and then walked over to where Madeleine stood holding onto the library door.
‘Sorry, Mrs Frost,’ she heard Jack say. ‘Forgive me, I’m so sorry for your loss.’
Madeleine shook her head. ‘I’m sorry for your loss too, Jack. I know that you and my father were close.’
Her heart went out to him. Morris Pocklington may have been her father, but Jack had surely known him better than she had. They’d worked together, relied on each other and worked side by side for years. Her father had spoken highly of him, and no one could have ever doubted Jack’s loyalty.
‘Jack, when Nomsa arrives, could you ask her to make some tea for the guests?’ She paused. ‘Yes, I think we should make tea, isn’t that what we should do?’
‘Yes, Mrs Frost. Leave it with me,’ he said.
Turning away, Madeleine went to walk back into the library where the two policemen still waited.
* * *
Bandit ran towards the hall, past the horses, the sheep and the pigs. He breathed naturally, running had always been a big part of his life and although the lane was long, he sprinted up it without thought. He could see the police cars at the front of the house and immediately headed to the back.
He’d heard the news, knew what had happened and knew that the night would be long, full of tears, memories and devastation. He had no idea what he would do once he got into the house. No idea what his job would be, except that he knew he had to be there, be part of the team, do what was needed and help with whatever he was told.
He burst through the door, just moments after Nomsa, who immediately collapsed into his arms.
‘It’s okay. It’ll be okay, we all have each other.’ He held her as tightly as he could. Her sobs racked through her entire body and she fell to her knees. He’d never seen her so distraught, even when Josie died, she’d refused to cry, refused to fall apart.
‘Poor Mr Pocklington, he was still so young, so young,’ she wailed, ‘and what about those girls, poor Madeleine and that poor child, Poppy. They have only just found him. Oh, Bandit, it’s so unfair, so very wrong and they’re saying he did this himself. He couldn’t have done, could he? That wasn’t his way.’
Both Jack and Bernie joined in the hug and for a moment all four of them stood together in the middle of the kitchen, conjoined.
‘Hey there, come on,’ Bandit said eventually, trying to ease the tension. ‘We have to be strong. It’s what Mr Pocklington would have wanted.’ He pulled away and one by one he looked them all squarely in the face. ‘Madeleine and the guests, they all need us right now. It’s our turn to step up and help them, just like they’ve always helped us.’
Pulling a huge white handkerchief from her apron, Nomsa blew her nose loudly and then wiped her eyes before returning the handkerchief to her pocket. She then turned towards the kettle, pulled a selection of teapots down from the shelf, along with assorted china teacups, and laid them out on a mixture of trays. All were presented just as they should be with small milk jugs and bowls containing lumps of both brown and white sugar.
Bandit watched with admiration. It was the one thing that made him love this house so much. Even at a time of distress, the staff of Wrea Head Hall always did things properly.
Bernie helped by filling one teapot after the other. Each tray was perfectly presented and he nodded at both Jack and Bandit who dutifully picked up the trays and carried them through the hall.
Bandit felt that even the air had a different texture as he carefully knocked on the library door and walked in.
Madeleine wiped her eyes and looked up just as he entered.
‘Madeleine, gentlemen, Nomsa has sent tea for you,’ he said as he placed the tray on the coffee table that stood between the two settees.
‘Thank you,’ she managed to say as she looked directly into his glistening, volcanic eyes. They held hers for a moment too long; he didn’t have to say the words to her. She knew how sorry he felt, just by the look in his eyes.