The Beekeeper's War, page 22
‘Buddy!’ the man bellowed. ‘Get down, now!’
Emma saw a large bouncy dog that looked like a cross between a Labrador and something else.
The man tapped his thigh and the dog loped over to him. ‘Are you hurt?’ he asked, hurrying over to her.
Emma raised her hand. ‘I’m fine,’ she insisted, not sure that she was, and rubbed her sore knee. She got to her feet.
The man stared at her. At least she presumed he was staring at her. It was a little difficult to see though the beekeeper’s hat with the black mesh obscuring his face.
‘Did you want something?’ He didn’t seem all that friendly all of a sudden, which was odd, seeing as it was his dog that had pushed her over. Maybe he was simply surprised to see a stranger in the garden.
‘Um, I was wondering if you could help me.’
‘Should you be in here?’
‘Yes.’ She realised that entering the walled garden hadn’t been the clever idea she had imagined it to be.
‘Really?’
She wasn’t sure what business it was of his but, wanting his help locating the folly, decided to appeal to his friendlier side. If indeed he possessed one.
She smiled. ‘I’m Emma,’ she said.
The man dropped the smoking canister and instead of bending to pick it up just kept staring at her. What on earth was wrong with him, she wondered, starting to feel a little uncomfortable.
‘I’m a guest at the manor.’ When he didn’t reply, she thought she should repeat what she had just said. ‘I said, my name—’
‘I heard you,’ he said, his voice a little softer.
She heard the catch in his voice and wondered if maybe his wife’s name had been Emma. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘You didn’t. It’s a beautiful name.’
Twenty-Six
Jack
June 1940
That dimple was so like Pru’s. Jack stared at the girl, her fair hair the same colour as his, nothing like Pru’s raven locks. So this was Pru’s daughter. His daughter. He knew it beyond question. How he had longed for this day, dreamt about it, yet never imagined it might actually happen. He knew he should move, pick up the canister, at least try to act as if he hadn’t been hit by a bolt of emotional lightning.
He should act like he didn’t know who she was. He peered at her, trying to guess whether she had come to look for him. Would Pru have told her about him after her vow to keep his identity a secret? The memory of what Pru had needed to do to save her reputation still stung. Did she even know he was still alive? He hadn’t dared try to contact her, though so many times he had almost given in and written to her. Monty had been right that she deserved to be left to live the life she had chosen.
He bent to pick up the canister.
‘I’m sorry if I gave you a shock,’ she said, her voice gentle though a little higher pitched than he recalled Pru’s being. ‘I hadn’t meant to.’
‘Were you looking for me?’ Had someone told her of his existence? Would she be disappointed to discover he was her biological father?
‘You?’
He realised she was shocked by his question. So she wasn’t looking for him then, he thought, disappointed. ‘Is there something I can do for you or are you just wanting to look around the garden?’
She leaned to look past him and he saw that she had noticed the beehives. ‘Is that where the delicious honey comes from that Aunty Jean brings to Jersey for Mum and me each visit?’
He couldn’t speak for a moment. They had eaten his honey. Enjoyed it. Jack couldn’t recall the last time he had felt so happy. Felt anything much at all. ‘It will be.’
‘We always look forward to it every time she comes to the island.’
‘You do?’ He thought back to the first time he had asked Jean to take a jar with her to Jersey. She had been shocked, but they had agreed that she would simply let Pru and Emma believe the honey was from the estate gardens, and hide the fact that it was Jack’s way of giving them something he valued. It was a joy to hear his own child telling him how she had looked forward to and enjoyed his gift, even if she was oblivious to the love behind the simple jar of honey. Jack almost had to pinch himself to reassure himself that this was actually happening and not one of his fantasies.
‘Love it. It’s the one thing we both look forward to.’
‘It is?’ He noticed she was holding a small posy of wildflowers like the ones he had given Pru on the day he had proposed to her.
She nodded. ‘Very much so.’
‘Lady Ashbury is your aunt then?’ He knew he was probing to find out more about Pru but couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t as if he was telling the girl who he was, so what was the harm?
‘Yes. She’s my mum’s oldest friend, as well as her sister-in-law. Isn’t that lovely?’ Emma said. ‘They both worked here during the Great War.’
He reached down and stroked the dog’s head. ‘Are your parents staying at the manor with you then?’
The smile left her pretty face then and he wished he’d had the sense not to have asked her.
‘No.’
Something was very wrong. ‘Nothing’s happened, has it?’ The words were out of his mouth before he had time to think. He could see by her expression that he had shocked her and wished he hadn’t been so stupid.
‘It depends on what you mean,’ she said. ‘My father died recently.’
‘I’m sorry, losing a parent is hard to deal with.’
She nodded slowly. ‘Thank you, it is.’ She looked around the garden silently for a few seconds. ‘I wish Mum had agreed to come here with me. I know she would love it here. Especially this garden. She loves her garden.’ She pointed to the hives. ‘And I’m sure she’d enjoy seeing where the honey comes from.’ She looked straight at him and for a moment he felt like she could see through the mesh and had spotted his tear-filled eyes. ‘You wouldn’t mind showing her the bees, would you?’
He had to swallow to be able to speak but, unable to find the words, nodded instead.
‘That’s kind of you, thank you.’
Recalling reading that the British government had demilitarised Jersey, Jack suddenly felt concern for Pru. ‘Isn’t your mother worried about remaining in Jersey with the threat of the Nazis moving ever closer to the islands?’
Emma looked as if she was becoming upset and he felt mean having asked such a cruel question. ‘I tried to persuade her to come with me, but she insisted she was needed at home to run our family guesthouse. But I think it’s more to do with her still grieving for Dad.’
Then Pru had loved him, he mused, glad for her that her marriage appeared to have been a happy one but stung to think that she had loved another man deeply.
‘Although now the Germans seem to be getting very close to the islands, I can’t see how anyone will want to go there for a holiday, can you?’
‘What? Um, no. No, I can’t.’
She shrugged. ‘Enough about me and my troubles,’ she said, seemingly trying to appear cheerful. ‘Mum did promise that if it got too dangerous there she would come here to stay. I’ll just have to hope she keeps to her word.’ She pointed to the canister in his hand. ‘What are you burning in there? It’s such a gentle smell.’
‘Hay and thyme,’ he said absentmindedly as he tried to push away a thought that was nagging at him.
‘Why are you trying to smoke them out?’ she asked, evidently hoping to engage him in further conversation.
‘To calm them.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Emma said suddenly. ‘I can see you’d rather be working.’
‘No, it’s fine,’ he said, hating to think he had given her the impression that he wanted her to go.
‘You wanted to know what I was doing here.’ She looked about her as if to check they were still alone. ‘I was told to stay away from the folly but I’m a little lost and not really sure where it is. I saw you and thought you might tell me so that I can avoid it. Would you mind?’
So they hadn’t told her anything, Jack thought. He wasn’t surprised. Knowing Jean, she would quite rightly want to check with Pru first before telling Emma their secret.
‘Not at all.’ He explained about the copse of trees to the right of the garden. ‘It’s beyond there. If you keep to this side of the copse you should be fine.’
‘Thank you,’ she said, giving him the sweetest smile, which reminded him so much of Pru it took his breath away. ‘I’ll leave you in peace with your bees, but I’d love to come back to the garden again if you wouldn’t mind me doing so?’
‘I’d like that very much,’ he said honestly.
Jack watched the girl leave, unable to unscramble his thoughts. She was taller and fairer than Pru and didn’t look much like her at all, apart from when she smiled, showcasing that dimple of hers that was so reminiscent of her mother
The girl clearly thought him a little odd and he couldn’t blame her for that. He hadn’t been very gracious but, he mused, the shock of seeing a stranger in what he had come to think of as his own private space had taken him aback. He was glad he had been wearing his hat so she couldn’t see his face. His scars were no longer the livid red they had once been but they still stretched in a patchwork across his cheek.
He recalled the way Emma said her name and thought how much his mother would have loved to know one of her sons had a grandchild named after her. It still pained him to think that she had died not knowing he had survived the Great War. How she must have suffered to lose his brother as well just before her death.
He shook his head. England was his home now and had been ever since he had returned after settling his mother and brother’s affairs in New York following the end of the war. There had been no one in his homeland to live there for. He thought back to Monty’s insistence that he must stay with them at Ashbury Manor, when he had returned crushed and broken, having lost those closest to him in such quick succession. It had taken him years to learn to live without anyone in his life, but he hadn’t wanted another woman after Pru, and moving into the folly – after Monty had allowed him to pay for a bathroom and small kitchenette to be installed – had been an ideal solution. Now he had met Emma. What a charming, sweet girl.
Pru was still in Jersey. He wished desperately that this wasn’t the case, though not entirely because he wanted her for himself. He read Monty’s day-old papers and had been unsure that the prime minister was right to hope that if the people of the islands were left without weapons to defend themselves they might be left alone by the enemy. They were in a precarious position now and Jack couldn’t extinguish his fear that by making that choice the British government had left the islanders to the mercy of the German army. He hoped he was wrong.
To discover his beloved Pru was now a widow and alone on an island only – what was it? Fifteen miles off the coast of France? Something like that? He remembered her saying how she could see the French beach clearly from her bedroom window. That was far too close for his liking, especially now the Nazis were pretty much on Jersey’s doorstep.
He tried to calm his rising panic. How could he stay here wandering around his walled garden, calmly taking care of his bees and keeping himself to himself, while Pru’s life was possibly in danger?
Jack’s thoughts began to race. Was there a way he could help Pru? Would she even accept his help after all that he’d put her through? Buddy nuzzled Jack’s leg and he reached down and stroked him. Pru might have refused Emma’s request to come to the manor by saying she had to look after the guesthouse, but he sensed there was more to Pru’s reasoning than that. Was it because she didn’t want to be reminded of what they had shared together here? Could it be that? Jack wondered.
Now Peter had passed on, it was time to let her know that he had survived and find out whether she still loved him or not. Because Jack knew that the most important thing he needed to focus on right now was rescuing Pru from whatever she might soon be facing, for their daughter’s sake.
Twenty-Seven
Emma
June 1940
As she neared the house Emma heard the sound of tyres on gravel. Someone was driving pretty quickly up the driveway and she quickened her pace, wondering if it was her aunt and uncle arriving home earlier than expected.
It wasn’t.
‘Well, hello there, little cousin.’ An extraordinarily handsome RAF pilot waved to her as he jumped out of the driver’s seat of a green sports car. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked, a wide grin on his face as he marched purposefully in her direction. ‘Don’t you recognise me?’
‘Not immediately, no,’ she said, her mood dropping when she realised it was her horrible cousin Samuel. ‘You’ve changed rather a lot.’
‘You haven’t.’ He laughed, taking her in his arms and swinging her around in a circle.
‘Put me down.’ He might look much better than he had as a child, but he was still noisy and a little over-enthusiastic for her liking.
‘Sorry. Ma’s always telling me off for being too exuberant. Shall we go and see if Cook has any treats for us?’
Did he still think he was twelve, she mused, unimpressed. How was she going to put up with him for the next few days? She reminded herself that this was his home, not hers, and she needed to be polite however much he irritated her.
‘Fine.’ She nodded. ‘Don’t forget your bag,’ she said, noticing one on his passenger seat.
‘I was going to leave that until later, but you’re probably right.’ He leaned into the car and picked it up, slinging it on to his shoulder as if it weighed nothing more than a bag of carrots, despite it bulging at the sides. ‘Come along then, cous.’ He laughed to himself.
‘Something amusing you?’
‘Only that you seem pretty unimpressed to see me.’ He pulled a face at her. ‘And I was so looking forward to meeting up with you again.’
‘To torment me, no doubt.’
He roared with laughter. ‘I’m not the same kid you remember. I’ve changed a lot since then, I hope you’ll find, and I intend making sure that by the time I leave you and I will be the best of friends.’
She didn’t hold up much hope for his chances. ‘There’s really no need.’
He laughed again.
‘What’s so funny now?’ she asked as they reached the front door and Stephens, who she presumed had been waiting for them, opened it.
‘Good afternoon, Captain Ashbury.’
‘Stephens, good to see you.’ He patted the footman on the shoulder. ‘Still haven’t escaped my father’s clutches, I see.’
Emma was horrified by Sam’s comment, but Stephens seemed amused by it.
‘Not yet, but soon, hopefully.’
She accompanied her cousin through the house, surprised when he didn’t go to the living room but pushed open the baize door separating the family from the staff and waved for her to follow.
‘Should we be going this way?’ she asked, almost having to run to keep up with him.
‘I thought you might want to choose a small vase for those,’ he said, indicating the posy she had forgotten she was carrying.
‘Really?’
He stopped walking and gave her a wink. ‘And to say hello to Cook. She’d never forgive me if I didn’t go to see her as soon as I arrived.’
Emma wasn’t sure if he was deluded or if the cook did expect to see him in her kitchen.
They entered the large, busy room with pans bubbling away on the huge range. Sam stopped, hands on hips, waiting, Emma presumed, for someone to notice his arrival.
A scullery maid hurried into the room from a smaller back room and gasped. ‘Master Samuel!’
Cook turned, the scowl on her face immediately vanishing when she saw that Sam was indeed standing waiting for her. ‘Master Samuel. You are here. Well, well, well,’ she said, beaming at him and waving the poor maid away. ‘It does my soul good to see you back here again.’
‘Thank you, Mrs B,’ he said. ‘It’s wonderful to be here again. I’ve been missing your delicious food and longing to come back and eat properly.’
Clearly delighted by his compliment, the cook tilted her head to one side. ‘You’ll be wanting some of my strawberry tarts, no doubt?’
‘You know me only too well,’ he said, grinning. ‘I was telling my cousin here how heavenly they are and she’s desperate to try one. If you have enough,’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘If not, I’ll have to eat alone.’
He winked at Emma to show he was teasing.
Emma shook her head, trying to look unimpressed but unable to help smiling. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all. The servants clearly adored him.
‘How was your day?’ Uncle Monty asked Emma, joining them after having disappeared into his study for half an hour. Emma loved the pretty drawing room and felt sleepy and content after enjoying a delicious supper of chicken pie accompanied by tasty vegetables from the kitchen garden.
‘I had a lovely walk,’ Emma told them. ‘I went through the woods. Your grounds are so open and pretty.’
‘And you didn’t go near the folly?’ Jean asked.
‘No. Not at all,’ Emma said. ‘I did get a little lost, but I saw one of your gardeners and asked him where the folly was so that I could avoid it.’
‘Which one?’ Sam asked.
‘Sorry?’ Were there more follies that she didn’t know about?
‘Which gardener? Did you catch his name?’
‘No. Does it matter?’ Before he could answer, she added, ‘I’m afraid I can’t describe him either because he was wearing a beekeeper’s outfit.’
‘Beekeeper?’ Sam grinned. ‘That’ll be Jack. He’s not really a gardener.’
‘Sam, that’s enough,’ Jean snapped. ‘He does look after the walled garden.’ She smiled at Emma. ‘I’m glad he was helpful.’ She looked at Monty. ‘What?’
