Always In My Heart Read online

  One lunchtime Brenda served plum pudding, which she’d thought of as a treat. Melissa took one mouthful, then slammed down her spoon and complained it did not have enough sweetness to it.

  ‘We’re still short of sugar, but there’s a little here if you’d like more,’ Brenda politely pointed out, handing her the sugar bowl.

  ‘No thank you, it tastes dreadful. And I asked for more wine,’ she snapped.

  ‘That’s Carter’s job, not this young lady’s,’ Hugh tactfully reminded her, and as the butler scuttled over to fill her glass, he took a mouthful of the pudding. ‘Actually, it tastes delicious.’

  ‘Let me try it,’ Gregory said. ‘Hmm, not bad at all.’

  ‘I like it too,’ young Ross said, savouring a spoonful of the spicy fruit-and-suet pastry.

  ‘Nonsense, this girl is a rubbish cook. She should be sacked for serving such dreadful food.’

  Snatching his dish up, Melissa tossed it back on to the tray, together with her own and her husband’s. ‘Take it away, girl, we don’t want it.’

  ‘I do,’ Ross said, and began to cry.

  ‘Stop that noise at once, you naughty boy.’

  Opening his mouth wide, he wailed all the louder. ‘I want my pudding,’ he cried. Melissa smacked him across the back of his head, whereupon he yelled all the louder.

  ‘I say, that’s a bit harsh,’ Hugh protested.

  ‘Nonsense! Papa would have done the same, had he been here.’

  ‘I very much doubt it. Our father never beat us. Smacking a child is not a good idea.’

  Gregory snorted his disapproval. ‘We all know Sir Randolph was a bossy brute of a man, as are you.’

  ‘I believe the same could be said about you too,’ Hugh stoutly responded. ‘I think the girls would like to try it too, wouldn’t you?’ he asked. But glancing warily at their mother, they chose not to answer.

  ‘It’s none of your damn business how my wife deals with her children, let alone what she allows them to eat. Although, I will admit, this chit of a girl is not too bad a cook, and has other interesting qualities too,’ Gregory said with a chuckle as his eyes fixed upon her breasts.

  Feeling shocked and embarrassed, Brenda beat a hasty retreat, tray in hand.

  ‘I want it! I want it! I want it!’ the little boy yelled.

  She paused at the door to watch in horror as, leaping to her feet, Melissa grabbed his arm to drag him off his chair and march the screaming child out into the hall to thrust him over to Nanny Holborn, who was hovering close by. ‘Put this child to bed at once. I will not tolerate tantrums, particularly one caused by this scraggy mess of a girl.’

  What a mad woman she was, Brenda thought.

  Later that afternoon, having been confined to his bed for well over an hour as if he were a naughty puppy, young Ross suddenly appeared by her side when Brenda was weeding in the garden.

  Shuffling his feet, he gave her a sideways glance. ‘I’m hungry.’

  Brenda smiled. ‘Oh dear, that won’t do.’ She glanced around, to check they weren’t being watched. ‘Where’s Nanny?’

  ‘Taking her afternoon nap. Is there some of that pudding left?’

  ‘And where is Mama?’

  ‘Gone out shopping. Again! Can I have some? I won’t tell,’ he said, giving her a cheeky little grin.

  Moments later he was sitting at the kitchen table shovelling down a dishful of plum pudding as he happily chatted with Brenda and Mrs Harding. Then he rolled about on the rug stroking and playing with Kit.

  ‘What a grand little lad he is,’ the housekeeper said.

  Hearing Nanny Holborn calling for him, he gave them a cheery wave and scampered away giggling, obviously having enjoyed his treat.

  ‘He is indeed,’ Brenda said, a certain sadness in her tone. ‘But his mother bullies him for no good reason.’

  Mrs Harding heaved a sigh. ‘That’s how Miss Melissa is, an attitude inherited from her father.’

  *

  Brenda worked hard in the kitchen alongside Mrs Harding throughout Christmas, everything she did seeming to indicate that she really was a servant and not related to this family at all. How furious Jack would be, were he still here. But Brenda knew that the only way to deal with this problem was to accept that she was indeed inferior to that grand lady, Melissa.

  Having taken her demanding sister-in-law her nightly drink of hot chocolate, Brenda was heading for the stairs along the landing, eager to go to her own bed, when the bedroom door opened yet again. Turning with a sigh, expecting to be faced with yet another complaint, she instead found herself confronted by Melissa’s husband.

  Gregory Fenton, dressed in a dashing tartan dressing gown, was quite tall with beady dark eyes cloaked beneath heavy eyelids. His nostrils flared and he wore a lopsided smile as he approached. Coming to stand before her, his eyes roved over her from top to toe.

  ‘Sorry about that business earlier. Such is my wife. Don’t let it bother you. Melissa has told me how you spread your favours wide throughout the war. Looking at you, I can fully understand why. You’re an attractive little wench and most well endowed. I fancy a taste myself.’ And gripping her chin with one hand while the other squeezed her buttocks, his mouth closed over hers, thrusting his tongue inside.

  Shock reverberated through Brenda, and the memory of the night when she’d been raped at Besançon flashed into her head. Never again would she allow such a thing to happen to her. The fear she instantly experienced was quickly replaced by cold fury and, lifting up her knee, she punched him in his private parts. Letting out a yelp, he leapt away, crouched low in agony. Brenda flew quickly down the stairs. No devil would ever win her again.

  Back in her room she began to shake and quiver, then fell into bed sobbing her heart out. Would nothing ever go right for her? Why did these devils pursue her? She wasn’t a bit of rubbish for any man to play with. How she longed for someone to truly love her as Jack had done. And loving him in return, their intimacy had been such a joy. In future she’d need to keep well out of this monster’s way, which she most carefully did over the days following.

  As New Year dawned it was with great relief she learned that Gregory Fenton, together with his wife and children, was returning to London. Before she left Melissa did, of course, attempt to dismiss her. She looked quite shocked when Brenda simply laughed out loud.

  ‘How can you sack me when I’m not actually employed by you or Hugh? I just offered to help Mrs Harding and stand in for Prue for a while, until I find myself a job. I’m a volunteer and don’t even receive any wages.’

  After a moment of stunned silence Melissa’s lips curled with derision. ‘So you’ll be leaving soon?’

  ‘I will.’

  ‘Thank goodness for that. I was born into the kind of family that endears itself to society. You were born in the gutter, which is where you should stay. Make sure you are not still here when I return at Easter.’

  How thankful Brenda was to see Melissa leave, and in particular her sly-faced brute of a husband. But with the house now empty of laughing children, Prue still away and still no sign of her son, she felt lonelier than ever.

  Twenty

  The land was thick with rowan, holly and bilberries, not a sound to be heard save for the whisper of willow skimming the water of the river. As Brenda sat on the bank staring at the wind-blown ripples, a kingfisher flew into the air. Like an arrow of blue light it dived into the water in search of a fish. Seconds later, having failed to find its lunch it flapped its wings in a frenzy and returned to perch upon another branch, again patiently waiting. Fortunately, Kit the collie wasn’t in the least interested in birds, and paid no attention.

  Giving him a soft pat as he lay beside her, Brenda gave the kingfisher a little smile of sympathy. ‘Poor you. I know the feeling of failure well. I seem doomed to have everything go wrong for me too.’

  She’d heard nothing from the family solicitor for some weeks and Brenda found herself struggling to raise the courage to complain, in v
iew of the stern instructions not to call unless invited. She despised herself for such cowardice. Hadn’t she dealt with far more difficult people than this solicitor and his secretary? Surely she deserved to be kept informed of the enquiries they were making, as well as any responses they were receiving? Brenda felt almost as if they were ignoring her. Why was that?

  ‘Will I ever find darling Tommy, or has something dreadful happened to him?’ Kit wagged his tail, as if assuring her that she would find him one day. ‘You’re quite right, I fully intend to battle on.’

  Spring was approaching and she’d endured a long and difficult winter worrying over what she should do with her life. Fortunately, bossy Melissa and her dreadful husband had not returned since Christmas. Brenda had decided to spend Easter with her friend Cathie in Manchester, aware that she needed to steer well clear of them both. Leaving this house altogether might be sensible. There was really no necessity for her to remain. Was she staying on just because of her memories of Jack, or for some other reason?

  Hearing the crunch of stones underfoot, she was startled to see Hugh strolling along the path towards her. She’d seen little of him since Christmas and felt her determination tighten. If he too was seeking favours then he’d find himself kicked into the river. She cringed at the thought, then laughed as Kit bounced up to excitedly welcome their visitor.

  ‘I thought I heard someone talking, but you’re all alone,’ he said, giving the dog’s ear a little rub.

  Seeing him standing before her, his fair hair blowing in the cool breeze and an unexpected smile on his face, Brenda found herself responding with a grin. ‘I was talking to the kingfisher. We’ve had quite a chat.’

  Hugh gave a little chuckle. ‘I’ll admit there aren’t many people to talk with around here. I’m off for my daily walk. Would you care to join me? It would have been Jack’s birthday next week and he’s very much on my mind.’

  Giving a sad little nod, she stepped up beside him. The anguish of yet another birthday to deal with. ‘My pleasure.’

  Sunlight and shadow ribbed the path as they followed it through bracken with moss underfoot. It then swooped upwards over the hill, Kit rummaging around, sniffing for rabbits as he always did, although failing to find any. Brenda carefully stepped over a tree root covered in green lichen. On the tenth of March 1946 Jack would have been twenty-eight. They’d enjoyed celebrating birthdays together, but now she could hardly bear to think of it. And come November, their lost son would turn six.

  ‘When we were boys Mama used to take us to the circus to celebrate a birthday, although Jack never liked to see lions shut up in cages, or elephants ordered to perform, so that eventually stopped,’ Hugh told her with a laugh.

  ‘He was very picky about freedom, and loved the outdoors,’ Brenda agreed. ‘As do I.’

  ‘You two had much in common. Is that why he married you?’

  These words so surprised her that Brenda tripped over a tree root, and would have gone flying had he not caught her. Meeting his gaze as he held her in his arms, she felt almost mesmerised by the sparkle in his soft grey eyes. Her cheeks flushed pink at the feel of his hands upon her waist, a sense of awareness seeming to flare through her at his touch. But he did seem much more relaxed today, not at all the bad-tempered man she’d become accustomed to. Nor was he touching any part of her that he shouldn’t, as that Gregory fellow seemed to think he had the right to do. Did this comment mean that he now believed her? His next words quickly flattened that hope.

  ‘Assuming we eventually find the necessary evidence to prove what you tell me is correct,’ he blithely remarked.

  Frustration flared within her. What a confusing man he was, one minute all pleasant and friendly, the next back to his old sceptical self. Dusting herself off, she stepped back. ‘Let’s not go into that right now. Sorry I tripped, I was thinking of Jack and not concentrating. And yes, I’m pretty picky about freedom too, having been incarcerated for almost two years.’

  ‘That must have been dreadful.’ His expression became more serious and thoughtful, as if he was assessing and appraising her.

  ‘It’s not something I care to remember or speak of.’

  ‘I can understand that.’

  ‘Were you ever to remember some member of your family who might know Adèle and where she lives, do please let me know.’

  ‘Sorry, she’s from a part of Mama’s young life we know little about.’

  So returning to Trowbridge Hall had been a complete waste of time. They walked in silence for some time, the dog trotting along beside them, and on reaching the top of the hill gazed out across at Dovestone Reservoir on Saddleworth Moor, the village of Greenfield tucked to the west below it. Brenda found the view so beautiful it struck to the heart of her. How could she ever bear to leave this place?

  ‘I feel I should apologise for my sister’s arrogant attitude towards you,’ he said, breaking into her thoughts. ‘You worked hard for us over Christmas, which I do appreciate, and no matter what she says, you are an excellent cook.’

  ‘Jack thought so too. He particularly adored my custard tarts, as did Camille,’ she stoutly responded.

  He grinned. ‘I can well believe it. I’m afraid Melissa is too full of herself, a bit of a narcissist with a preoccupation for power and prestige. But she has a very demanding husband. Gregory is a bureaucrat at the Foreign Office. He’s very controlling, which makes Melissa take out her resentment upon other people.’

  Brenda felt the urge to comment that this seemed to be a trait in Hugh too. But biting her tongue, decided it was wiser to remain silent. Nor did she wish to mention what that fellow had attempted to do to her.

  ‘You once expressed an interest in visiting the factory. I wondered if you’d still like to do that.’

  She looked up at him in surprise. ‘Oh, yes, I’d love to do that.’

  ‘Good, we could go tomorrow if you like?’

  Surprised and flattered by this change of attitude towards her, she gave a little nod. ‘Thank you, that would be most interesting.’

  *

  The factory seemed to be packed out with machinery and workers, the air filled with the sweet smell of biscuits. There were long conveyer belts carrying hundreds of biscuits, with women in overalls seated on either side picking and packing them.

  ‘So women do work here,’ she said with a wry smile.

  ‘They don’t have any say in the running of the business,’ Hugh casually responded.

  ‘Tut, tut! As if you would allow such an outrageous thing. Do you enjoy working here?’ Brenda asked one of the ladies. But glancing anxiously up at a rather solid-looking lady hovering close by, she said not a word.

  Hugh, staring at Brenda through narrowed eyes, seemed to be struggling to find a suitable response. ‘This is Edith. She has worked here for years and trains the new girls, which she does very well.’

  Brenda shook the forewoman’s hand. ‘Do they need any special qualifications?’

  ‘None at all, only the ability to work hard.’

  ‘Right, I might come looking for a job then,’ Brenda said with a grin.

  Hugh instantly stepped forward to lead her away, almost as if he feared Edith might offer her one there and then. They passed through various rooms dealing with the different ingredients needed for biscuit making, including the making of chocolate, cream, coconut and custard. Finally he took her into the bake-house.

  ‘This is where the hardest work is done. You have to be careful when you pick up the trays as they are piping hot so you could easily burn yourself.’

  The dangers were fairly obvious as Brenda took in the sight of several huge ovens churning out heat and smoke. Two men appeared to be in charge, and several women were carefully stacking trays of biscuits into racks. Others were busily rolling out dough, adding chocolate or raisins, then cutting them up.

  ‘Do you enjoy the work?’ she asked, trying again with one of the younger girls.

  ‘I do, miss,’ she said with a nod, although the
expression on her face told quite a different story.

  ‘You don’t find it boring?’

  ‘`Course not. We do sweat a lot in here though, and need to drink a lot of water, whenever we get the chance.’

  ‘I’m sure you do. But it all looks very efficient,’ Brenda said. Then turning to Hugh asked, ‘Do you make crackers and water biscuits too?’

  ‘Of course, and cheese biscuits, wafers, garibaldi, oat, ginger. Every variety you can think of.’

  ‘And cakes?’

  He shook his head. ‘We’d probably need another kitchen in order to do that.’

  ‘These shortbread biscuits look absolutely delicious. Am I allowed to taste one?’

  ‘You can choose a packet on your way out,’ he said, at last looking relaxed enough to offer her a small gift, as well as a small smile to go with it. ‘But not one of these, as they’re still warm.’

  Giving a little chuckle, she picked one up. ‘I don’t mind that. Ooh, they’re very tasty,’ she said with relish. ‘It’s so sad that the business has suffered from the war. I have an idea I’m hoping might appeal to you, as I’d love to help.’

  Hugh’s eyes widened. ‘What makes you think I need your help? You seem to be assuming there are problems I cannot personally resolve, which is most definitely not the case.’

  ‘I feel I’ve nothing to lose by talking to you and everything to gain. Whether or not you’re prepared to admit it, I’m fully aware that the factory’s profits are going downhill fast.’

  Hugh grabbed her by the elbow and marched her into his office, slamming shut the door. His face was flushed crimson as he turned to her, a white line of anger curled around his lips. Yet strangely, Brenda felt a sudden urge to kiss his tight mouth, as if needing to revisit the feelings she’d experienced yesterday when his attitude towards her had been much more appealing. Or else she simply felt the need to curb his temper.