Angel's Secret Read online

  Taking her cup to the sink, Angel glanced out of the window. Somehow, she had not imagined there would be much land surrounding The Angel. She was wrong, for a meadow rolled out beyond the vegetable patch, there was a pond with dipping, leafy willow trees, a coop of scratching red-brown hens, a placid white goat, with two young kids close to her flanks, cropping the long grass – was that hump an icehouse? she wondered. At the far end of the field she saw an ancient barn, which appeared to be in disuse.

  Aunt Hetty, observing her interest, came alongside. ‘There is not the necessity for storing so much hay, now that patrons come by bicycle, Angel, by motorcycle or even the motorcar.’

  There had been a barn, near the field hospital, adjacent to the abandoned farmhouse which had been requisitioned for the nursing staff. Angel and Harry met there, sinking down on the rotting hay. Once a barn owl had risen from the rafters, startling them, flying straight through the gaping hole in the roof. They heard the indignant flapping of its strong wings before it circled the barn, then flew away. There was a lull in the gunfire, but the acrid, scorching smell was never dispelled. Then Harry gently loosened her hair, buried his face in its dark mass; they were both weary beyond words. War seemed never ending, but at that moment, they were at least together – their loving eased the dreadful pain of it all.

  Angel turned away abruptly from the view from the window, looking instead round the square room: at the solid, dark dresser with its Royal Doulton dishes and baskets of fruit and vegetables. Onions dangled from a twisted string and shedding skin, canvas aprons hung from a nail on the back door. The big table had been scrubbed and bleached with the coarse grain – six hard-seated chairs grouped tidily round it. The red coals behind the bars of the stove kept the kettle on top sighing and wheezing. From the side oven wafted a truly delicious aroma of tender meat and pastry. The sink, she saw, the usual deep stone sort, had buckets of water beneath, at the ready.

  ‘I must soon pare the vegetables and set on the hot-me-pot,’ Aunt Hetty observed. ‘But I’ll just steam a bundle of the asparagus first, Alice might just fancy that, drenched in butter, eh? We’ll go upstairs then so you can meet her, you’ll want to unpack before your own supper I expect. Your room, Angel, is next door to hers.’

  Angel smiled back at nice Aunt Hetty. She appeared so small and slight, with her sleeves rolled up to reveal skinny arms with knotted veins, but she must be strong, Angel mused, to have coped here on her own with the children for several years. She really liked Aunt Hetty’s weathered face, criss-crossed by constant laughing surely, with eyes almost as bright as they must have been when she was Alice’s age. Hetty’s hair was fine, fuzzy and white as the ruff round the neck of the plump goose which hung by its feet from the stout hook on the back of the scullery door, jostling for space with oilskins and a heavy plaid scarf.

  ‘Sunday dinner that goose – in your honour, my dear!’ Aunt Hetty beamed. ‘There’s a copper in the scullery, and another sink, that’s where we do our washing each Monday morn, rain or shine – oh, and a nice hip bath that Rob bought for his wife, when you fancy an all-over soak. When things get better, when custom picks up, Rob’s promised us an indoor bathroom and WC, till then, I’m afraid, it’s the chamber pot in the washstand cupboard for the dark hours and trips outside to the old privy in the light. We’ve got our own, apart from the pub’s – just outside – see?’

  ‘I see . . . ’ Angel watched dreamily, for already the pace of life seemed to be slowing, as Aunt Hetty trimmed the asparagus and deftly tied a bundle with cotton. She placed the stalks upright in a pan of salted, boiling water, then shifted it to the simmering plate and covered carefully with the lid.

  ‘Edith speaks very highly of you, Angel.’ Aunt Hetty began laying up a tray for the sick child. ‘See, the larder: would you care to help? Could you cut the crusts from the bread? The poor child hardly eats a morsel . . . You and Edith, nurses together, I hear, in France during the war?’

  In her last letter, urging Angel to come: ‘It seems so long since we met . . . I promise I will never mention the sad events of that last time . . . ’ Edith had concluded: ‘I always believed in you, regarding the first, and as for the second terrible thing, no-one ever knew, except for me. You will find this a healing place, Angel. Well, I have certainly found contentment here, especially since I retired to the pink house . . . ’

  Angel replied now: ‘That’s right. Is this the butter to use, Aunt Hetty?’

  Aunt Hetty, nodded, pouring cold milk into an almost translucent green glass. ‘Nice glasses, bone china – help to tempt the appetite, when you’re sick, I find.’

  Angel removed the rose, on a sudden impulse, from her hatband. ‘May I have a small container? Too pretty to let this wilt, isn’t it? Just right for an invalid tray.’ The pink egg cup was perfect. The rose would soon perk up.

  As they went upstairs to Alice’s room, Aunt Hetty remarked: ‘There’s so much more sky here, y’know, in our part of the world, watch out for the sunsets – they’re so beautiful. Lalla, Rob’s wife, used to sit by the landing window, come summer evenings, painting the sky. This here is my room, and this little room, squeezed in between, is young Tony’s – he needs his old Auntie near at nights, for he has a small problem, you’ll understand . . . Linen cupboard – spare room, we put up guests, from time to time. Now, this is Alice’s bedroom, the next door is yours, you go in, freshen up, whilst I take in her tray. When you’re set, well, just you come through the inner door, eh?’

  ‘Thank you, I will.’ Angel turned the brass knob. As Aunt Hetty juggled the tray in opening Alice’s door, Angel glimpsed a bed by the window, a table drawn up beside it, and the back view of young Tony bending over a puzzle, or perhaps a game.

  Angel grimaced at the bear rug, for it felt wrong to her to tread on the pelt of a creature which had been sacrificed to provide an ornamental covering for the varnished floorboards.

  It was a long room, with a window under the eaves that looked out onto a different view, over the front and the yard, to the pink house opposite.

  The walls were freshly whitewashed, the curtains faded by strong sunlight, but newly pressed. The bed was brass railed, plumped up with a feather mattress – Angel fingered the sheets, starched white linen, with eyelet embroidery on the turnback, matching the frill round the pillowcases. There was a single wardrobe, a simple dressing table with swing mirror, a small chest of drawers and a rather fine washstand, marble-topped, with a bowl and basin set patterned with blue cornflowers. No doubt, she smiled to herself, the receptacle, when revealed, would match. There was a new cake of Pears transparent soap, her favourite, which she lifted to smell, a soft blue flannel, and companion hand towel hanging neatly from the rail.

  She poured cool, soft water into the basin and thankfully rinsed her face and hands. She thought ruefully that she was not very suitably dressed for country life: the women she had seen outside the shop like Aunt Hetty still wore long skirts, with long hair severely dressed.

  She looked at her face in the mirror. She was still unused to the short bob but, in a way, she supposed it had been a symbolic cutting, for Harry had loved her tumbling tresses. She combed her tousled fringe. No papier poudre, no lip rouge today, for, ‘I’m no bright young thing!’ she told her reflection.

  Her basket case was set on the cane-bottomed bedroom chair. She slipped out of the tussore costume, hunted in the case for the loose-waisted blue dress she had thought suitable for her nursing duties. Then she went through the connecting door.

  The pale girl, propped up by pillows, regarded her gravely. Immediately, Angel could tell just how ill Alice had been.

  Alice was all eyes, darkly shadowed, her hair shaved and strained away from the dressing over her left ear, pulled back from her high forehead into an unbecoming plait. Aunt Hetty perched on the side of the bed, supporting the tray on her niece’s lap, obviously trying to coax the girl to eat. Tony turned, his expression wary, fingering the chess pieces which had been in play, when Alice’s supper arrived.

  ‘Hello, I’m Alice, and I didn’t really want a nurse, only Dad insisted – but Aunt Hetty says you’re really very nice, so I suppose we’ll get on, so long as you don’t treat me like a baby,’ Alice said candidly. She began to nibble reluctantly at the asparagus.

  ‘Fetch Angel a chair, Tony,’ Aunt Hetty requested. ‘I won’t apologise for Alice, Angel, because her mother brought her up to speak her mind, and that’s not something as can be cured . . . Thank you, Tony – here will do. Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll carry on with the cooking. Tony – will you bring down the tray later, eh?’

  When Aunt Hetty had gone, Alice said firmly, ‘Tony’s more in need of a nursemaid than I am.’

  ‘I’m not!’ Tony was indignant, but he looked more uncertain than hostile.

  ‘That’s good,’ Angel said equably, ‘because I’m not a nurse-maid – I’m a qualified nurse – it’s my job to ensure that you recover as quickly as possible, even if it does mean I’ll be looking for another job sooner, rather than later.’ She’d got the measure of Alice, being instantly reminded of herself at that age, rebelling against Lou’s strictures.

  Alice was frankly surprised. ‘You’re not going to insist that I stay in bed for weeks and weeks, then? I was six weeks in the fever hospital first, but I was too ill to care. Then, when I’d only been home a week, they had to rush me back to Lowestoft for the operation. That meant another month of horrible bedpans and blanket baths, and nurses saying, ‘Lie still, Alice! Don’t you dare move your head!’ and tucking me in so tightly I couldn’t move if I’d wanted to.’

  ‘Well, I shall want to get you downstairs, as soon as your legs are less wobbly, to let you soak up the sun, while the weather’s so good, out in the garden. And, I do hope you and Tony will teach me to play chess, for I’ve always wanted to learn – I do know all sorts of Patience, with cards from my early nursing days, which I could show you in return –’

  ‘I don’t want any more.’ Alice pushed the tray away.

  ‘You mustn’t hurt Aunt Hetty’s feelings, when she went to so much trouble, come on, Alice, try just a little more, please . . . ’ Angel moved the tray back. To her surprise, Alice picked up the bread and butter strips and began to eat, albeit slowly.

  ‘Are you good at art?’ she asked between nibbles.

  ‘I used to enjoy painting lessons when I was young, but I’ve not done anything since,’ Angel admitted. ‘Your mother was an artist, I gather?’ she added casually.

  ‘Is an artist.’ The correction was swift. ‘I’m not very good, myself, but Tony takes after Lalla, our mother – when he gets to know you better, maybe he’ll show you some of his pictures – mostly of animals, aren’t they, Tony? He did a lovely one of the yellow dog from the schoolhouse, the other day –’

  ‘I can speak for myself!’ Tony butted in. ‘I’m nearly ten, remember!’

  ‘And I’m already twelve, two years older than you, and always will be. You’ll never catch me up!’ Alice retorted. However, she grinned at her brother and Angel thought that her tone was not malicious, more that of a bossy, older sister, a state with which Angel was very familiar.

  ‘My sister Lou is eight years older than me. My father, who was from Italy, if you’re wondering about my funny name, came to England in the eighties. He was an Army doctor and was killed in the Boer War when I was a child. My mother eventually married again, and went to live abroad, so I went to live with my sister and her husband. They treated me like their own child, having no family then, which was frustrating for me at times. So you see, I know what it is to have a big sister in charge, Tony! But, you know, when you are both adult, the age difference doesn’t really matter anymore, in a strange way, you do seem to catch up . . . ’ The children absorbed this, with interest.

  An amused voice from the doorway caused them all to look in that direction. ‘Time to catch up with supper, now, Miss Rosselli – Aunt Hetty sent me to fetch you and Tony.’

  ‘Take the tray!’ Alice ordered Tony. ‘Say, it was delicious and thank you very much. Will you come back and keep me company, Angel, after you’ve eaten?’

  ‘Now, Alice,’ her father said mildly, standing aside to let his son by with the tray. ‘Miss Rosselli must be tired after her journey, and that long walk from the crossroads –’

  ‘Of course, I’ll see you after supper.’ Angel was glad she had obviously met with Alice’s approval.

  She and Rob MacDonald went downstairs together. He paused by the door marked PRIVATE. ‘I shall join you in a moment. Miss Rosselli –’

  ‘Yes?’

  What he said next was entirely unexpected. ‘Miss Rosselli, I would ask you not to bring up the subject of the children’s mother, unless Alice, or Tony, should do so themselves. My wife is best forgotten. This family is happier, more stable without her. You understand, I trust.’ His gaze was intense, unnerving even. The disarming smile was not in evidence.

  ‘Naturally,’ she found her voice. ‘I shall do as you wish, Mr MacDonald. That is what you are paying me for, after all.’

  ‘Good.’ He closed his door.

  From the landing window, Angel saw a small cloud drifting lazily towards the late afternoon sun. Aunt Hetty was right, she thought, shaking off sudden unease, following her employer’s blunt statement, here, there really was so much more sky.

  THREE

  In the pink house opposite The Angel, Edith Fenner bided her time, absently drumming her fingers on the kitchen table. Really, she fumed, that wretched woman in The Cotts was infuriating. Edith wished to keep her hand in even though she had left the hospital – considering her advice was free to all she deemed deserving – why did the villagers continue to turn to one they called ‘the wise woman’, a self-styled nurse with no regard for hygiene?

  Edith had hurried to attend a difficult confinement, having heard from her brother, the schoolmaster, that the young mother was in trouble, only to be turned away from the door with the words: ‘I’m the only nurse wanted here . . . ’

  Back at the schoolhouse, her brother had remonstrated mildly with her, saying that he always found the folk of Uffasham very friendly. Of course, because of his position, he was afforded a certain deference, which, being a modest man, he was not too sure he deserved.

  ‘Rubbish!’ Edith flared. ‘You do more, far more, than is necessary to educate their children – it’s fortunate you are not a married man, no wife would tolerate the hours you spend in that school. I find it hurtful, Edmund, that they will not accept my help . . . Thank goodness for my neighbours at The Angel. They were grateful enough for my care of Alice.’

  ‘That reminds me, Edith. The dog was barking at a passer-by, earlier – by the time I came out, the young lady was walking towards Mrs Newsome’s shop. The news soon came to me via the village grapevine: your friend is already at The Angel. I thought you said she would be travelling here tomorrow?’

  Edith was piqued, she had planned to ask Rob MacDonald casually if she might accompany him in the trap to meet Angel Rosselli. She had wished to be in charge of the introductions to the family, to tactfully hint that she was always available if Angel needed her professional expertise. In fact, she had been loth to relinquish her responsibility for Alice’s nursing care – but events over the past year had disturbed her – she needed to see Angel again, but how could she persuade her to come, when in the past, Angel had turned down her invitations to visit? Alice’s continued need of nursing had proved a godsend . . . She wondered wryly if Angel would have kept up their link if she had not persisted with her friendly letters. She must not suspect Edith’s real feelings!

  The drumming ceased. Edith rose. Now was the time to find out if old wounds had healed. She smiled. The fly had landed on the spider’s web.

  *

  There was an unexpected guest for supper, already ensconced at the table.

  ‘Edith!’ Angel exclaimed, surprised.

  ‘I just called in to see what time you were expected tomorrow and Aunt Hetty said: ‘My dear, she’s here!’ So I craftily wheedled an invitation to join you for your meal. You’re soon to discover that Aunt Hetty is a wonderful cook! Welcome to Uffasham, Angel.’

  Angel and Edith did not embrace, for Angel knew of old, that Edith shied away from intimate contact, which was not to say that she did not betray her affection for her closest friends, despite her rather hearty manner. She was not a very feminine person, unlike Angel.

  ‘It’s good to see you again.’ Angel sat opposite Edith, while Tony dodged between them laying the cutlery, and Aunt Hetty brought forth a glistening brown pie from the oven below the hot-me-pot where the vegetables still steamed gently.

  ‘You look well, Angel.’ Edith looked her over approvingly. ‘Different, modern, I suppose, well, you were never a fuddy-duddy like me, were you? Tell me, what d’you make of our – sorry! – your patient?’

  ‘She’s impatient to be well – which is a good sign, isn’t it?’

  Edith looked very little older than the last time they had been together, Angel thought – though Edith had never looked less than middle-aged, with her homely features, sturdy figure and fine, sandy hair still wound into that uncompromising bun. Solid, dependable, dear Edith. What would she have done without her support seven years ago? She wasn’t sure why she had delayed their reunion for so long. She had let Edith down badly, that was still a matter for regret. Lou, however, who only knew half of what had happened, had advised her to cool their friendship somewhat. ‘That woman is too possessive, Angel,’ she said. Wasn’t that true of Lou, too? But in a different way . . .

  Edith said now, ‘I’ve been holding the fort with Aunt Hetty, of course. At one time, we feared we might lose Alice. All right, Tony, don’t look so alarmed, your sister is set to recover, I’m positive of that – and don’t you pass on what’s said around this table, either! I’ve been here daily, Angel, as I said in my letters, to change the dressings – but I’m quite sure young Alice will appreciate your youthfulness, and your lighter touch,’ she added, a trifle ruefully. ‘For didn’t the patients in France always ask for Nurse Rosselli to re-bandage their wounds when the doctor had been on his rounds?’