Secrets Of The Silver Box
By Jane Corry
It was so cold here! And so lonely without her mother. Did she really have to live here now? And where was Aunt Edith anyway?
Doreen stared up at the rambling old rectory where the cart driver had dropped her off.
“Go round the back, lass,” he’d said, after setting down her suitcase in the mud. “Reckon the missus will be in the garden. That’s where she normally is.”
In weather like this? Mother had always said that May was a beautiful time of the year in England. But her bones were frozen to the core! Everything smelled so different, too.
For a minute, Doreen closed her eyes and imagined she was back home with her ayah in Borneo. Mother would be dressing for dinner and if she was good (which she always was!) Doreen would be allowed to fasten a ribbon in her hair. Then Father would come in, looking very handsome. They’d both kiss her goodnight and off they would go. “The golden couple.” That’s what she’d heard people at the club call them.
But now all that was over. The cholera had taken Mother away just as war had broken out. Father had to “do his duty” for the old country. And now she, Doreen, had to live with Mother’s only sister in a place called Devon.
“She’ll meet you at the station,” her father had said after hugging her goodbye in London that morning. But instead, there had been a rough-sounding man with a horse and cart who had instructions to take her to High Gables; the place where Mother and her sister had grown up all those years ago.
Picking up her case – so heavy! – Doreen crunched her way over the gravel drive and through a little side gate which was covered with pink flowers. Mmm! They smelled wonderful. Were they the roses which Mother had talked about with such longing in her eyes? Ouch! The stem was prickly. “Don’t touch those or you’ll knock the blossom off!”
Doreen jumped. At first she couldn’t see who was speaking. Then she spotted a brown-faced woman in a headscarf bending over the earth, next to a gnarled tree with green balls on it. It looked just like a picture in a book which Mother used to read to her.
“Apples”, Mother had called them. “Utterly delicious and crispy!”
But right now, it was the woman’s voice which was crisp.
“I’m sorry,” stammered Doreen. “I am looking for my aunt Edith.” “Well, you’ve found her, haven’t you?” Could this really be the pretty young woman in the photograph which Mother had kept on her dressing table?
“She’s much younger than me,” Mother had said. “And she can be quite sharp. But her bark is worse than her bite.”
“Very nice to meet you,” Doreen said, holding out her hand. Aunt Edith ignored it as she rose to her feet.
“You’re the spitting image of your mother at the same age,” she murmured. Then she shook herself. “Sorry I couldn’t be there at the station to meet you myself but I’ve got work to do. There’s a war on.”
“I know, yes,” said Doreen eagerly. “Father told me all about it.”
“Hearing about it is one thing.” That sharp voice was back. “Being in the midst is another. I expect it was all parties and fun in Borneo.”
“Yes.” Doreen nodded excitedly. For a minute, she forgot Mother was dead. She was back in the days – not long ago –
when Doreen would be allowed to mix with the guests before bedtime. Then she remembered. “But not after Mother died.”
Something flickered across Aunt Edith’s face. “Life changes. If you want to survive in this world, you have to remember that. Now, talking about surviving, don’t think you’re entirely safe here. We had a bomb that came down only last month in the next village. Killed three people, it did – including a child.”
Doreen shivered. Her aunt’s eyes softened. Then that hard gaze returned.
“Just thought I ought to warn you in case you’re like your mother in temperament as well as looks.” “What do you mean?” “Florrie always let her feelings overtake her. That’s why she –” “I don’t understand.” Aunt Edith bent down to pick up her spade she’d been using. “It doesn’t matter. Enough said.” Then she threw it over her back. Goodness, she must be strong! “The important thing to remember is that England is very different from the privileged life you’ve been leading. If you hear a siren – a loud screaming sound – you have to head straight for the shelter at the bottom of the vegetable garden. See? Down there.”
Doreen looked through the neat lines of plants – how green! – to what looked like some iron sheets on the ground.
“It’s big enough to take the staff – not that there’s many left now – and some of
“You’re the SPITTING IMAGE of your MOTHER at the same age”
the villagers. At night, it’s essential that you close the blackout curtains so no one can see the light outside.” “Why?” Aunt Edith frowned. “Didn’t your father tell you? Because then the Jerries might see us and bomb the whole village.” “Who are the Jerries?” There was an exasperated sigh. “The Germans. I can see I’ve got a lot of work to do with you – as if I didn’t have enough. Now come on. Let’s get you inside and into some proper clothes. That flimsy dress is more suitable for a party.” “It’s all I’ve got.” Aunt Edith rolled her eyes. “What was your father thinking of?” A big lump rose in Doreen’s throat. “He hasn’t been managing very well since Mother died.”
NeitherhaveI, she wanted to add.
Her aunt looked sympathetic for a second. “I’ll see what I can find. Tall for fourteen, aren’t you?”
Was she? There hadn’t been many other children in Borneo. Most had been away at school in England, but Mother hadn’t wanted that. She would miss her too much, she always said, so she’d taught her reading and writing herself.
“You’ll be going to the village school on Monday,” said her aunt as if reading her mind. “Meanwhile, we’ve got the weekend to get you sorted.”
She began to march ahead, her spade still slung over her shoulder. Doreen struggled, trying to carry the heavy case. “What have you got in there, child?” “Books.” “Books?” Her aunt knelt down in front of what looked like a stove in the kitchen.
“That’s all very well during peacetime. But we’ve got real work to do. Now pass me that log, can you? Then we’ll go upstairs and see what we can find.”
The stairs were massive! There was a thick, wooden handlebar with carved lions on the panels. Just like the ones in Mother’s stories of her childhood. It made Doreen a little more comfortable to recognise the faces she’d often described.
Her aunt had gone into a room at the top and was opening up a big chest.
“These might fit you,” she said with an odd sound in her voice.
Doreen held up the trousers. They were red with a check pattern.
“They used to be mine,” said her aunt. “Before that, they were your mother’s.” She sniffed. “The youngest always gets the hand-me-downs.”
Whatwerethose? she wanted to ask. But something made Doreen hold her tongue. Her aunt stood up.
“I’ll leave you to try them on – and the other things, in the chest. This will be your room. It was your mother’s and mine. Now, what on earth are we going to do with you until school starts?”
“I could read my books,” ventured Doreen, gazing longingly at her case.
“I’ve told you, the war means we’ve all got work to do. You might be tall but you’re skinny which is a shame. Gardening is a tough job. But if I’ve got another mouth to feed, I’ll need another pair of hands. Jim will be grateful, I suppose.” Edith was already walking away. “Come down for luncheon as soon as you’ve changed. It’s nettle soup. Then we’ll get you working on the runner beans.”
Nettle soup? Runner beans? What were they? And who was Jim?
Doreen was soon to find out the answer to all three. Nettle soup was truly disgusting! She had to force herself to swallow every mouthful. As for runner beans, they were strange, green vegetables which you had to pick very carefully so as not to disturb the new beans which were coming through.
However it was Jim who turned out to be the real surprise.
“Ah, there you are,” exclaimed her aunt when they had nearly gathered enough beans for dinner. “This is Doreen, my niece. You’re going to be in the same class at school.”
Doreen sneaked a look. He was a little shorter than her and had a smiley face, lots of freckles and a flat cap. Something about his smile made her feel far more comfortable than she felt with her aunt.
“I’ll show you the ropes,” he said.
“Ropes? What do we do with those?” she asked, bewildered.
“It’s just an expression, Doreen. It means Jim will introduce you to the other children in the class. But right now, he’s going to help you dig up cabbages. Let’s get moving, shall we?”
It was much more fun than she’d thought. They worked right through the weekend, side by side. Jim told her all about the school and on Monday, when he walked her there, she didn’t feel as nervous as she’d thought. Everyone was very friendly and she couldn’t help thinking this was because Jim had told them all to be nice to her.
“Can’t be easy living in the big house,” he commented. “Your aunt keeps herself to herself, doesn’t she? Odd that she’s never married, don’t you reckon?”
Doreen didn’t feel qualified to answer so she remained silent.
“How was your first day?” asked her aunt when Jim had walked her home.
“I really enjoyed it!” Doreen could feel her face glowing after the fresh air. Her aunt’s lips tightened. “Just remember that Jim is the gardener’s boy. It doesn’t do to get too friendly with the servants. Ah, there you are, Eliza. I trust you had a good weekend off. This is my niece, Doreen.”
A small girl with a narrow mouth stared up at her. The look in her eyes was distinctly unfriendly. “Eliza is Jim’s cousin, and my maid.” “Do you go to school too?” asked Doreen politely. Eliza’s eyes grew even cooler. “It’s not for the likes of us,” she answered. “Jim will be leaving this summer – just like I had to at his age.”
The next day, when her aunt was out in the garden, Doreen took a peek into her aunt’s room. Eliza had just finished polishing it and there was a lovely smell which tickled her nostrils.
On the dressing table, was a picture of her mother. Doreen picked it up and held it to her cheek. Only then did she notice the photograph behind.
It was her father! Much younger, but it was definitely him. Yet the woman standing next to him wasn’t Mother. It was a younger version of Aunt Edith. 2017
Caroline took off her painter’s overall and stood back to admire her handiwork. Not bad! George had always insisted on doing the DIY himself; it had been a family joke that he was a bit of a control freak. But it was only when she’d picked up his mobile by mistake that she’d realised he was also doing the DIY for someone else, too.
In fact, right now, her ex-husband was probably snuggling up to the sofa with the new (much younger) woman in his life. Such a cliché! But so horribly true.
Don’tthinkofthatnow, she told herself. Think of the positives, like the sitting room wall she’d just painted after all the other rooms in the house. Dusky rose had been exactly the right colour. George had always been a beige man.
“Luncheon is NETTLE SOUP. Then we’ll get you WORKING in the garden”
Blast. There she went again. Would she ever get him out of her head?
“Keep busy.” That’s what close friends had told her. How she missed them! But there was no way she could afford to stay in her old neighbourhood. Besides, after the upheaval, she felt like a completely new start.
“Devon?” her grown-up daughter Mandy had gasped. “Why do you want to go so far away?”
“You’ll be able to come and visit for lovely holidays by the sea,” Caroline had replied, not wanting to point out that it was actually her only child, Mandy, who lived a long way off in Scotland. Thank goodness she was settled with her own husband who seemed a steady, kind man.
Even so, the divorce had hit them hard too. There was a never a good time for children – no matter how old they were.
Only now, having made the move, did Caroline wonder if she’d done the right thing…
Stopdoubtingyourself. That was a phrase from one of the many self-help handbooks she’d bought herself.
Determined to be more positive, Caroline took herself over to the window – making sure she didn’t touch the damp paint – and gazed out over the bay with the red cliffs in the distance. The view was one of the reasons she’d bought the bungalow, even though there wasn’t much of a garden.
Still, if there had been, it would have been out of her budget. Maybe she’d take a trip to the nearby nursery after lunch. Mandy had sweetly sent her a voucher – perhaps she could buy a small rose to celebrate her moving in!
It was, Caroline decided when she got there, the right thing to do. There was something really comforting about nurseries – especially this one. It had a little coffee shop at the side and some beautiful plants and furniture.
For a moment, she caught herself thinking of the spacious suburban garden she’d left behind – the only area in which George allowed her free rein. He could barely tell a weed from a plant! And as Caroline had plenty of time on her hands (George wasn’t keen on her working), she’d grown most of their vegetables.
There certainly wasn’t room for those now, although that little rose shrub over there would fit nicely by the bird bath.
It was then that Caroline heard the voice with its Devonshire brrr on the other side of the roses.
“Excuse me, young man. But I’d like to put up a notice on that board of yours. I’m looking for help with my allotment.”
Something made her move a bit closer so she could see the speaker. She seemed much older than her sprightly voice had suggested. Her face was wrinkled; her eyes squinted; her back was stooped and she was wearing a cherry-red anorak which appeared to have seen better days.
“Can’t put nothing up till next month,” said the boy.
The old lady tapped her stick impatiently. “But I can’t manage any more with this back of mine.” Caroline heard her voice coming out. “I might be interested.” “You?” A pair of bird-like eyes stared at her. “How old are you?”
How rude!
“Old enough to know the difference between an annual and a perennial but young enough to do some hard digging.”
The eyes glittered in amusement. Then they took in Caroline’s well-cut jacket and tailored trousers.
“Why do you want to help? I don’t like charity, you know.”
“Nor do I.” Caroline tried to sound braver than she felt. “I miss my old garden and I wouldn’t mind earning a bit of extra money.” “Well – in that case, follow me.” “Right now?” “No time like the present. The name’s Betty, by the way.”
Wondering what she’d let herself in for, Caroline followed the old woman over the road and down a lane near her new home. Suddenly, a big allotment patch opened out in front of them.
“Used to be part of the garden at the old house, it did,” muttered her companion. “My part is here.”
She could certainly see why Betty needed help. Brambles were everywhere! Leeks were trying to poke their way through weeds and it looked as though there was some purple sprouting broccoli there but the leaves had been nibbled.
“I’ll give you a trial run tomorrow morning. Ten am sharp. Eight pounds an hour. Ten hours a week.”
Caroline nodded. Maybe this was exactly the challenge she needed to take her mind off George…
By the following week, Caroline had learned that Betty wasn’t as rude as she sounded. She just said it as it was!
Although she said she was going to help, in reality it was easier if Caroline dug while the rather frail 90-year-old sat at the side on an upturned crate. She was, it turned out, a natural story-teller.
“Still can’t believe they pulled the old house down,” she told Caroline. “Put up those bungalows instead, they did.”
Caroline decided not to say that one of them was hers! “Who lived in the old house?” she asked. “The last owner was a stuck-up woman with her niece. Poor kid. Her aunt had no idea how to bring up children. It was the war then, of course, so everyone in the town helped each other out but…”
She stopped as Caroline’s spade hit something metallic. What was that?
Bending down, Caroline picked up a small oval object.
“It looks like a little silver box,” she exclaimed, wiping the mud off.
“Let me see.” A small hand snatched it out of hers. Goodness! There was real fear on Betty’s face. Then without so much as a goodbye, the old lady turned her back and hobbled off back down the lane, leaving Caroline to wonder what exactly was going on.