a bit of mud on the floor and a scratch or two on the dining table, then it’s a small price to pay.’ Her voice dropped and she lifted the corner of her apron to her eye. ‘And if you can’t think of any other good reason, then do it for Master Georgie. Just think of him flying up there over the Channel in his plane.’
Solemnly and somewhat abashed, Wilkins murmured, ‘You’re right, Mrs Beddows. And thank you. Now,’ he went on briskly, squaring his shoulders, ‘Mr Thornton wants some of your home-made lemonade for everyone at half-time.’
Mrs Beddows beamed.
For the first few weeks of the war – indeed for the first few months – nothing much seemed to be happening. Several evacuees went home. Parents, missing their children and heartened by the lack of the expected bombing, sent for them. The numbers at the temporary school dwindled and now there were only nine children coming each day to the manor. Once more, Mr Tomkins rode up the drive on his bicycle.
‘The head says they could manage at the school now, if you’d prefer it.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Miles said shortly. ‘Jenny is settling nicely now. We’re not getting so many tantrums and she smiles now more than she frowns.’
‘She looks a different child, Mr Thornton. You’ve done wonders. You and Mrs Thornton. When I think about the short time she was with us – when the Miss Listers sent her back—’ He shuddered. ‘My poor Mabel didn’t know how to handle her either.’
Miles said nothing, but he was thinking plenty. How could people be so hard-hearted? Could they really not see beyond the outward dirty appearance to the small, frightened little girl who obviously didn’t have much of a home life to start with? Obviously not, he thought grimly. But he smiled at Mr Tomkins.
‘Well, she’s much better now and I don’t want anything to disrupt that.’
‘You do realize that if her mother sends for her to go back home,’ Mr Tomkins explained carefully, ‘we’ll have no choice but to—’
‘We’ll worry about that when it happens. In the meantime, I want the children to carry on having their lessons here. I’ll even pay their teacher out of my own pocket, if it means—’
‘Oh, that won’t be necessary, I can assure you. The head would actually be very grateful if the arrangement could continue, but she felt it only fair to let you know that—’
‘Quite,’ Miles said tersely. ‘But please tell her we enjoy having them here. Besides, we’ve got Christmas coming up and the children are getting excited about everything we’ve got planned for the end of term.’
Mr Tomkins was still shaking his head in disbelief as he mounted his bicycle once more and rode off to impart the good news to the headmistress. He’d never met anyone quite like Miles Thornton.
When yet another child announced excitedly that she was going home, Miles began to fear that Jenny’s mother, too, would send for her, but the days went by and no word came. And strangely, Jenny never asked about when she might go back to London. Her only question – much to the amusement of Miles and Charlotte – was, ‘When’s Georgie coming home again?’
Fourteen
‘Sir – Madam – might I have a word?’
Mrs Beddows knocked on the door of the morning room just after lunch one rainy November day. The children were having their afternoon lessons and Miles was watching for a break in the weather so that he could take them into the garden for a game of football that would leave them pink-cheeked and breathless as soon as lessons ended for the day.
‘Of course, Mrs Beddows,’ he said, moving away from the window. ‘Come in. Do sit down.’
‘It’ll not take long, Mr Thornton.’ Her glance shifted towards Charlotte. ‘It’s really madam I ought to be asking, I suppose.’ Charlotte retrieved her knitting from beneath a cushion where she’d hidden it quickly when the knock had sounded on the door.
‘I’m knitting dolls’ clothes for Jenny’s
Solemnly and somewhat abashed, Wilkins murmured, ‘You’re right, Mrs Beddows. And thank you. Now,’ he went on briskly, squaring his shoulders, ‘Mr Thornton wants some of your home-made lemonade for everyone at half-time.’
Mrs Beddows beamed.
For the first few weeks of the war – indeed for the first few months – nothing much seemed to be happening. Several evacuees went home. Parents, missing their children and heartened by the lack of the expected bombing, sent for them. The numbers at the temporary school dwindled and now there were only nine children coming each day to the manor. Once more, Mr Tomkins rode up the drive on his bicycle.
‘The head says they could manage at the school now, if you’d prefer it.’
‘I wouldn’t,’ Miles said shortly. ‘Jenny is settling nicely now. We’re not getting so many tantrums and she smiles now more than she frowns.’
‘She looks a different child, Mr Thornton. You’ve done wonders. You and Mrs Thornton. When I think about the short time she was with us – when the Miss Listers sent her back—’ He shuddered. ‘My poor Mabel didn’t know how to handle her either.’
Miles said nothing, but he was thinking plenty. How could people be so hard-hearted? Could they really not see beyond the outward dirty appearance to the small, frightened little girl who obviously didn’t have much of a home life to start with? Obviously not, he thought grimly. But he smiled at Mr Tomkins.
‘Well, she’s much better now and I don’t want anything to disrupt that.’
‘You do realize that if her mother sends for her to go back home,’ Mr Tomkins explained carefully, ‘we’ll have no choice but to—’
‘We’ll worry about that when it happens. In the meantime, I want the children to carry on having their lessons here. I’ll even pay their teacher out of my own pocket, if it means—’
‘Oh, that won’t be necessary, I can assure you. The head would actually be very grateful if the arrangement could continue, but she felt it only fair to let you know that—’
‘Quite,’ Miles said tersely. ‘But please tell her we enjoy having them here. Besides, we’ve got Christmas coming up and the children are getting excited about everything we’ve got planned for the end of term.’
Mr Tomkins was still shaking his head in disbelief as he mounted his bicycle once more and rode off to impart the good news to the headmistress. He’d never met anyone quite like Miles Thornton.
When yet another child announced excitedly that she was going home, Miles began to fear that Jenny’s mother, too, would send for her, but the days went by and no word came. And strangely, Jenny never asked about when she might go back to London. Her only question – much to the amusement of Miles and Charlotte – was, ‘When’s Georgie coming home again?’
Fourteen
‘Sir – Madam – might I have a word?’
Mrs Beddows knocked on the door of the morning room just after lunch one rainy November day. The children were having their afternoon lessons and Miles was watching for a break in the weather so that he could take them into the garden for a game of football that would leave them pink-cheeked and breathless as soon as lessons ended for the day.
‘Of course, Mrs Beddows,’ he said, moving away from the window. ‘Come in. Do sit down.’
‘It’ll not take long, Mr Thornton.’ Her glance shifted towards Charlotte. ‘It’s really madam I ought to be asking, I suppose.’ Charlotte retrieved her knitting from beneath a cushion where she’d hidden it quickly when the knock had sounded on the door.
‘I’m knitting dolls’ clothes for Jenny’s
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