‘Fellas get some queer ideas sometimes, love,’ said Betty. ‘All these years I’ve been a midwife, and I’m still surprised why anyone wouldn’t just be glad to have a healthy child, regardless of whether it’s a girl or a boy.’
‘And bringing Tom into it,’ said Dora, determined to make sure Betty knew the truth. ‘He’s always been envious of Tom. For goodness’ sake, Tom’s my brother-in-law, but I can’t exchange a few pleasant words with him without Phil flying into a jealous sulk.’
‘Aye, Tom Arnold’s got a lot going for him and, with him being the elder, and so agreeable, like, I can see that Philip might reckon he was playing catch-up when they were boys,’ Betty chatted on. ‘But they’re both grown up now, and Philip is the father of two beautiful children, whereas poor Tom has never married, nor found anyone else, so far as I know, after that girl from Great Grindle he was engaged to was killed – what was her name?’
‘Sarah … Sarah Swaine.’ Of course Dora knew the woman’s name. They’d have been related by now, had she not died.
‘Aye, I reckon you’re right. Sarah Swaine; looked like an angel, God bless her. It’s a shame, but there we are. Life doesn’t always deal us the best cards … although there’s some have a good hand and don’t even know it. It’s time your Phil grew out of feeling inferior to Tom, bucked up and thanked the Good Lord that he has a beautiful wife and two lovely daughters.’
Philip came up the stairs with two cups of tea on a tray.
‘Oh, you’ve managed that,’ said Betty without sarcasm. ‘Well done, lad. Now I’m off when I’ve had this cuppa, but I was just saying, you’ve much to be thankful for with a good woman like Dora and now two lovely babes. Think on it and don’t be starting no more of your nonsense …’
Philip, cowed by the efficiency of the forthright midwife, with her plain speaking and her knowledge of the mysteries of women’s matters – and, it was said, other mysteries – retreated downstairs once more. When Betty had gone, he went to view his new daughter again, but though he tried to see a resemblance between himself and the baby, whom Dora suggested they call Georgina, he could not warm to her. The crescent-shaped birthmark looked prominent on the baby’s soft skin, mocking him, identical to the one he’d seen all his life on his brother’s arm.
‘Georgina it is, if that’s what you want,’ he shrugged. ‘The girl’s name’s nowt to do with me. I’ll be off up to the farm first thing to collect my little Nellie and bring her home. For all she’s taken to young Edward Beveridge, she’ll be glad to be home with her dad.’
‘And her mum, and her new baby sister,’ said Dora, but Philip had turned away and didn’t answer her.
Dora rubbed her eyes and sighed. Oh, Tom … It was her joy to see him on the days she was working at the Hall, and also her torment. She wanted to pretend they were just in-laws and old friends who had known each other for years, yet in all honesty he meant so much more than that. She wanted to be a loyal wife to Philip, yet how could a loyal wife be in love with her husband’s brother?
If only it had been different. If only … No, don’t even think of it! She was married to Phil and that was that. They had two lovely daughters and at least one was a credit to them.
That got her thinking about Gina. If Gina could just manage to behave herself … Such a worry, that girl. Sacked from the shop and now sacked from the farm, though Nancy and Albert Beveridge had kind hearts and almost limitless patience! Dora decided it must be the miserable weather this morning that was causing her to dredge up all these gloomy thoughts.
Still feeling low, she took her floral-print crossover pinny from its hook, tied it on and went to fetch her dusters from the cleaning cupboard. With a deliberate effort she put her worries out of her mind, assumed the smiling face of Mrs Arnold, the competent domestic, wished Mrs Bassett a cheery good morning as she passed the kitchen and ascended the stairs to begin work.
This morning it was the turn of the rooms on the west-facing corridor to get a clean. She enjoyed her work, for all it was physically hard and menial. She was proud of keeping the Hall looking good, proud that the Stellions relied on her and appreciated her efforts. She had no education to speak of, so domestic work suited her just fine, and she couldn’t envisage life outside Little Grindle. She had everything she wanted. Well, almost.
Dora finished cleaning the little library, leaving it smelling of lavender polish. She was taking the vacuum cleaner down the corridor to Mr Stellion’s study when she thought she heard the sound of running water. That must be the rain falling. It had continued unusually heavily this morning. She thought Tom would have found Nell something to do under cover, and Gina was quite capable of disobeying any instructions to go out if it didn’t suit her.
Now she could hear quite a loud splashing sound. It would be irresponsible not to make sure everything was all right. She left the vacuum cleaner outside the study door and continued down the corridor in the direction of the watery noise, which by now she could tell was coming from the conservatory. She opened the door and …
‘Oh, good heavens!’ she exclaimed.
Water was pouring through the roof! A huge puddle had formed on the floor and was flowing – actually flowing – towards the door, threatening to flood into the corridor.
Dora shut the door and ran as fast as she could to find Mrs Thwaite.
Gina was playing with Coco in the dry of one of the outbuildings, encouraging him to jump over a little hurdle she’d made of a broom handle between bricks, when Ellen arrived at the door, rain running off her mac and sou’wester.
‘Gina, you’re to take Coco inside now and come and help us. Mrs Stellion says so. The conservatory’s flooding and we’re all needed to help clear up before the water gets in the house.’
‘What? A real live flood?’ This was exciting news in so many ways.
‘I said so, didn’t I? Don’t stand there looking pleased about it, you daft bat. Take the dog inside and come now!’ Ellen ran off, leaving Gina to do as she was told. Normally Gina would have taken her time to follow any instructions Ellen gave her, but she was eager to see the flood and hurried Coco in through the door to the downstairs corridor, quickly towelling him dry and wiping his feet.
‘Come on, Coco,’ she said, running up the stairs to the main hall. ‘This is something I can’t wait to see.’
She ran along to the conservatory where her mother, Ellen and Uncle Tom, all wearing wellingtons and macs, were sweeping what looked like gallons of water out through the French doors into the garden, while, almost as quickly, rain poured in through the roof to replenish the flood.
‘Heck …’ said Gina, admiring the chaos.
‘Gina, take the dog away, and go and put on your mac and wellies,’ said Tom calmly. ‘Then come back as quickly as you can and you can help Nell to move these chairs and the pots out of the way.’
‘Yes, Uncle Tom.’
She turned to go and almost bumped into Mrs Thwaite.
‘Out of my way and do as you’re told, girl,’ snapped the housekeeper, which made Gina decide not to hurry. ‘I’ve telephoned the handyman in Great Grindle,’ she said to Tom. ‘He should be here soon to assess the job of making the roof watertight again.’
‘Good. We’ll get rid of as much water as we can and clear a space for him to work in,’ Tom replied. ‘No, Mrs Thwaite, don’t you come in here, in those shoes …’
But Mrs Thwaite had foolishly tiptoed into the conservatory in her leather-soled shoes, intent on taking some chair cushions to safety, and at once her feet slipped from under her.
‘Aah!’ She went down hard on the floor, a gigantic splash of rainwater making a mini tidal wave around Tom, Dora and Ellen’s boots. ‘Oh, my arm! My arm!’ she screamed, rolling onto her back in agony in the floodwaters.
Tom, Dora and Ellen left their brooms and buckets and rushed over to help the wailing woman, trying to get her to sit up.
‘I’ll get Mrs Stellion,’ said Gina, and ran off to the morning room, Coco, on his lead, racing beside her, barking excitedly.
Oh, but this was amazing! Gina wished she had a moment to think it all through, but she needed to act quickly and do as she was told, while events were playing entirely into her hands.
Edith Stellion was in the morning room as usual, keeping out of the way of the flood.
‘Ah, Gina, there you are. Bad news, I’m afraid. Rain is coming in through the conservatory roof. I’ve just telephoned my husband to tell him and he’s coming home straight away.’
‘Yes, Mrs Stellion. Ellen told me to bring Coco back and to go and help. But there’s worse news. Mrs Thwaite has slipped on the wet floor and I think she may have broken her arm.’
Mrs Stellion stood up, putting a cooling hand to her forehead in her accustomed manner. ‘Oh, but this is terrible. I must go to her.’
‘Uncle Tom, Mum and Nell are there seeing to her,’ said Gina, settling Coco in his basket.
‘If her arm is broken she will need to go to hospital at once,’ said Mrs Stellion. ‘I must find out.’ She made for the door.
Gina thought quickly. ‘Don’t go and slip on the floor too,’ she said. ‘Let the others bring Mrs Thwaite safely out into the dry and then you’ll be able to see how bad she is. I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt too.’
‘Dear child …’ Mrs Stellion touched her hand to Gina’s cheek in a motherly way. ‘Get your waterproofs and wellies on, Gina, and then at least you’ll be quite safe. I’ll go and see what I can do and I promise not to get my feet wet.’
They left the room together, shutting Coco in, and then parted ways in the hall, Gina to fetch her coat and boots and Mrs Stellion to tend to her ailing housekeeper.
She found Mrs Thwaite lying wetly on the corridor carpet, holding her arm and moaning in pain.
‘Do you think you could stand, Mrs Thwaite?’ she asked. ‘Come and lie down on the sofa in my husband’s study.’ She moved the vacuum cleaner out of the way and opened the door. Then Tom and Dora helped the housekeeper to her feet, careful to avoid touching her arm, and manoeuvred her into the room.
‘Such a stupid thing to do,’ wept Mrs Thwaite, her bedraggled hair dripping down her soaking back and the hem of her skirt clinging and heavy with rainwater. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Stellion. I was only trying to help.’
‘Sit down and let’s look at that arm,’ Mrs Stellion said.
‘No, don’t touch it!’ screeched the housekeeper.
‘I think it must be broken and you must go to hospital,’ said Mrs Stellion. ‘I shall go and telephone for an ambulance.’
‘No need,’ said a voice from the corridor. George Stellion appeared, still wearing his motoring gloves. ‘I shall drive Mrs Thwaite to the hospital myself. It will be quicker.’
‘Oh, George, thank goodness you’ve come.’
‘I can see what’s happened, Edith. Come along, Mrs Thwaite, let me help you to the car,’ he said. He assisted the groaning woman through the house and out of the front door. His enormous shiny car was parked at the foot of the steps.
‘Lean on me, Mrs Thwaite,’ he offered, holding an umbrella over her.
Everyone crowded round the front door to watch. Gina, in her mac and sou’wester, ran out and took the umbrella, while Mr Stellion opened the door and very carefully helped his housekeeper into the front passenger seat. Then, while he went round to get in the car on his side, Gina folded the umbrella and stood it in the footwell where it dripped on Mrs Thwaite’s feet, then closed the car door firmly.
As the car pulled away, Gina gave Mrs Thwaite a big smile and waved her off.
The clean-up took a while but eventually a row of galvanised buckets was placed under the leaking seam in the glass roof, the water was swept outside and the handyman from Great Grindle arrived and assessed the repair needed.
‘Good work, girls,’ Tom said to Dora and his nieces. ‘We’ll need to keep emptying these buckets, but I think the rain is easing off now. I’m right proud of you all.’
‘Aye, it takes an Arnold to resolve a crisis,’ said Gina cheekily.
Or to make one! She was by now desperate to have some time alone to think through what had happened. The spell she’d cast the previous day had read confusingly in the old book, and she wasn’t sure she’d understood what she had to do, or if the elements she’d gathered to cast it were even the right ones, but she had known what she wanted to achieve. The book of spells had instructed Gina to write down on a small piece of paper what she wished for and she’d written down that she wanted Mrs Thwaite taught a lesson for her rudeness. Now it seemed her powers had not failed her. And how! A deluge, no less, had dealt the necessary blow to the interfering housekeeper. Mrs Thwaite would not be troubling Gina for a while if her arm really was broken. It was a lot to take in. Could she really have conjured up this vast amount of rain – with all its consequences – just from the spell she’d cast in her bedroom?
Tom and Ellen left through the conservatory when the drama was over, and Dora and Gina came back along the corridor.
‘Well, that’s put me behind,’ said Dora. ‘Let’s just see if Mrs Bassett can find us a sandwich while we dry off. It’s hardly worth you going home in this rain, just to come back in an hour or so to walk Coco.’
They met Mrs Stellion in the hall, keen to thank them. ‘And yes, I’ve asked Mrs Bassett to prepare you lunch. Such a long morning for you both. Thank you for staying on to help, Gina. You really are such a sensible girl. Coco will need a good walk this afternoon at the usual time – if the rain isn’t too heavy – but come and find me a few minutes early. I’ve been thinking, and I may have some news for you.’
‘Yes, Mrs Stellion,’ grinned Gina.
The implication was that this was news to Gina’s advantage. She just hoped it meant she need never go anywhere near Fellside Farm and its potato fields.
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