'Why?'

'Because he'll think I'm mad, and they lock you up, in these terrible places. Asylums, they call them. I'm not going to one of those, ever. I'd rather be dead,' she said fiercely, wagging her finger at Freddie. 'And don't you let them take me.'

''Course I won't. I'll take care of you,' said Freddie, now feeling the weight of the shadow that hung over his shoulders, darker and denser as he thought about what was to come. A shadow over his dreams. Instead of making aeroplanes he was expected to be a baker and he couldn't bear the thought of standing there making bread, shut away from the world. Instead of marrying a brave bright girl, like the girl on the horse, he'd have to be his mother's guardian. For how long?

People kept telling him the war had been fought, and all those soldiers had given their lives, so that he, Frederick Barcussy, could be free. But he wasn't free. He wondered if G.o.d had got it wrong.

He undid his school satchel and took out a piece of paper which he unrolled and showed to his mother.

'We had to copy this poem,' he said. 'It's a long poem but we've got to learn this verse of it by heart and say it to Mr Price. Shall I read it to you?'

'Yes please. You know I like poetry.'

Annie sat back to listen. She loved to hear Freddie read.

'This is another William,' he said. 'William Wordsworth.'

'Oh Daffodils?'

'No. This is different. Listen.'

Freddie spread the paper out and began to read, the words falling like the apple blossom petals into Annie's troubled mind. But as he read on, he got tense and emotional, hardly able to read at all.

'Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star Hath had elsewhere its setting And cometh from afar; Not in entire forge fulness And not in utter nakedness But trailing clouds of glory do we come From G.o.d, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy!

Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing boy . . .'

Freddie stopped, unable to continue.

'That's it then. Isn't it? Shades of the prison-house that's my life and yours.'

Chapter Seven.

THE GOLDEN BIRD.

The young girl with the red ribbon in her hair carried the billycan of fresh milk out through the gates where the two stone lions watched her pa.s.s below in the September sunlight. She crossed the road and walked up the village street until she came to another stone gateway, two pillars with a coat of arms carved on each and painted in blue, black and gold. Inside the gates a magnificent avenue of copper beeches led to Hilbegut Court, residence of the Squire of Hilbegut.

Built from Bath stone, with turrets and minarets between the tall golden chimneys, it was an ornate and imposing place. Although fully occupied by the Squire and his servants, it still seemed to belong to the hordes of jackdaws who nested in the complex chimneys and cubbyholes of the roof. At dusk, the blue-eyed birds performed a spectacular ritual of formation flying, swooping to roost and covering the entire roof with their fluttering black bodies. Today they knew, by the arrival of the girl with the billycan, that it was nine o'clock in the morning, and just before the clock tower reverberated with its nine chimes, they flew down and strutted around the lawns.

The young girl bustled up the steps to the oak door which stood in its own archway of golden stone. She pulled the white porcelain k.n.o.b of the doorbell and waited, listening to the bell jangling deep inside the house, and the tap-tap of footsteps. A fl.u.s.tered-looking maid opened the door.

'h.e.l.lo, Miss Kate. The Squire's waiting for you.'

'h.e.l.lo, Millie.'

With her back very straight and her long hair swinging, Kate stepped through the porch and into the great hall of Hilbegut Court. At the far end the Squire of Hilbegut sat at his breakfast table, his legs in brown riding boots stretched wide, his pipe in his hand. His expression was gloomy, but when he saw Kate his eyes lit up and he gave his moustache a tweak. Captivated by her radiance and her confidence, he watched her coming down the hall towards him. She was only a child from the farm, the daughter of his tenant, bringing his milk, but she walked like a princess and smiled like a nurse. He could have had the milk delivered straight to the kitchen, but he wanted to see the child. Sometimes her mother came, or her sister, and then he was disappointed. It was Kate he wanted to see. He loved the way she tried so hard to behave but her eyes had a wicked, expectant sparkle.

'I've brought your milk, Sir.'

'Is it fresh?' he asked, not because he wanted to know, but because he wanted her to talk to him. She always had some bright tale to tell him.

'Oh yes, Sir,' said Kate. 'It's Jenny Lu's milk. She's a Jersey cow, and I milked her myself. Ethie helped me. We sat one each side on two three-legged stools and we got the giggles.'

'The giggles?' The Squire raised his ginger eyebrows, pretending he didn't know what the giggles were, just to engage Kate in more conversation.

He was rewarded with the radiant smile which brought such warmth and cheeriness into his neglected heart. The child trusted him like no one else did.

'The giggles,' she announced, putting the billycan on the table, 'is when you can't stop laughing.'

Since he rarely laughed, that sounded like a song from a party to which he hadn't been invited. Taking the lid off the billycan he poured the fresh milk into a waiting tumbler, and took a long drink.

'Beautiful,' he said. 'More of that tomorrow, please.'

Kate's eyes had turned solemn.

'Well this is the last time I can come,' she said. 'Tomorrow my mum will bring it for you.'

'And why is that?'

'I'm going away. To boarding school with Ethie. I'm eleven now,' said Kate, and for the first time the Squire thought he saw a cloud pa.s.s through her sunny eyes.

'Ah,' he said, hiding his disappointment. 'So you're growing up now, are you? And how do you feel about boarding school? Won't you miss your mum?'

The cloud rushed through her eyes again, but Kate seemed to have an internal light switch. She lifted her chin and gave him a smile that made him feel the whole world was all right, G.o.d was in his heaven and all would be well.

'I'm going to enjoy every minute of it. Especially ' Kate leaned forward and whispered dramatically, 'the midnight feasts.'

The Squire put his hand into the pocket of his clean tweed jacket, and fumbled with the coins in there. He took out a silver half-crown and pressed it into Kate's small hand.

'Thank you,' she gasped. 'That's very kind of you.'

'You get some chocolate. For your midnight feasts. And I want to hear all about it when you come home.' He managed a smile, or what he hoped was a smile. 'Goodbye now.'

Kate knew she was supposed to walk out of Hilbegut Court in a lady-like manner, but the half-crown was so exciting that she tucked it in her pinafore pocket, lifted the skirt of her red dress and skipped away down the hall, turning once to wave at the sad old Squire who was staring after her. She would have liked to tickle him under his arm and round his ribs and make him laugh out loud like she did with her father, but she knew her mother wouldn't approve.

She danced all the way home, in and out of the copper beeches, the leaves crackling like cornflakes under her laced boots. Scooping armfuls of leaves from the hollows around the tree roots, she flung them into the air, whirling and laughing as they fluttered down into her hair. At the end of the avenue she paused and took a last look at the turrets and chimneys of Hilbegut Court, and the jackdaws flew up, chack-chacking as if saying goodbye.

It was to be a day of last looks for Kate, and her older sister Ethie, but Ethie was used to it. Ethie was thirteen and bored with it all, and she spent a lot of energy trying to be responsible. This morning she'd said scathingly, 'You don't have to say goodbye to each individual chicken, Kate.'

But Kate loved every animal on the farm, even the ma.s.sive Hereford bull steaming and stamping in his well-barricaded corner of the barn. She wanted to touch the bristly backs of the pigs and watch their ears twitch as she told them her news; she wanted to look into the velvety faces of the sheep, and smooth the coat of every cow. And Daisy, the Shire horse, she'd already said goodbye to about six times, her arms wrapped around the horse's kindly face.

Kate didn't want to grow up. She didn't want to get cross and busty like Ethie. She wanted to stay eleven for the rest of her life.

As she skipped through the gate between the stone lions, it began to rain in a silver downpour. Kate ran for the swing which was set in the barn door on two scratchy ropes. She loved to swing backwards into the high dusty interior and sail out into the glistening rain, and sing: 'Out in the rain and in again, out in the rain and in again.' The squeak of the ropes, the rush of air on her face, the extravagant rhythm, created a time to sort out her thoughts, chuck out the bad ones and keep the good.

Tomorrow morning the half past ten train would carry her away, like a log on a swollen river. Her father would turn the pony and cart round and drive home at a brisk trot, without her.

But it didn't work out quite as expected.

Kate got down from the swing and ran into the kitchen where her mother was making b.u.t.ter at the kitchen table. Her cheeks were tense and pale, and instead of greeting her daughter in her usual peaceful way, she said, 'We'll have to change our plans for tomorrow morning, Kate. Your father's not well, and I'm afraid he's too poorly to drive to the station. I'll have to do it, or Ethie will.'

'What's wrong with Daddy?' asked Kate, watching her mother's eyes.

'We don't know,' said her mother shortly.

Kate sat down at the oak table and rested her chin on her two hands, studying her mother's face. Sally Loxley was giving nothing away. She went on beating and beating the milk in a round white basin; she wouldn't stop until it turned to b.u.t.ter and then she would separate the whey, and work the b.u.t.ter between two wooden b.u.t.ter pats, over and over, working the beads of moisture out of it. She'd won prizes for her b.u.t.ter-and cheese-making and the certificates were displayed inside a gla.s.s cabinet, along with several silver cups. The largest of these was inscribed with 'Best all round Farm', awarded to her husband Gilbert Loxley, Bertie.

Sally was a st.u.r.dy woman, energetic and calm. She'd raised four children, two boys who had both married and emigrated to Canada, then after a ten-year gap, Ethie had come along, and finally Kate. The two girls had grown up at Hilbegut Farm among the cider orchards and peat-cutting areas of the Somerset Levels. Bertie ran his own tenant farm as well as overseeing the farms and cottages owned by the Squire. The good wages and abundant crops had continued even through the war, and now the family had sufficient wealth to send Ethie and Kate to boarding school on the Dorset coast.

It was rare for Sally to look worried, but she did now, and it alarmed Kate. Something bad had happened, on this last day before she went away to school. She never remembered her father being ill. He was up at first light, organised and hard-working, but always made time to talk to his children. Kate adored him. He'd played games with her, read her stories, and showed her how to love and care for animals, trusted her to fetch the gentle Shire horse on her own, let her care for orphan lambs and piglets. He often said, 'Our Kate she could run the farm on her own.'

'Where is Daddy?' she asked now.

'In bed.'

'In bed! So what is it, Mummy? The 'flu?'

'No. We don't know, dear, 'til the doctor comes. But he looks bad.'

'I don't want to go to boarding school when Daddy is ill,' said Kate. 'I've made up my mind. I'm going to stay and look after him.'

'No, dear. No, you've got to go. You can't miss the first day, it's so important.'

'But Daddy is important, to me.'

'I can look after him.'

'No you can't, Mummy. And you can't run the farm on your own. Who's going to milk the cows?'

'Don't tell me what I can't do, Kate. You go up and see your father, see what he wants you to do.' Sally looked wearily at her daughter's a.s.sertive expression. She didn't need a battle with her now. 'And don't twist your father round your little finger madam,' she added, in a good-humoured way.

Kate flounced up the stairs, her cheeks hot with determination. She pushed open the varnished wood door to her parents' bedroom and swanned up to the bed.

'Daddy?'

What she saw extinguished her enthusiasm like a candle-flame being snuffed out. The man looking at her from the bed was a pale ghost of the father she knew. The sparkle had gone from his eyes, they looked like two bubbles surrounded by shadows, and his skin was a sickly yellow. Even the whites of his eyes were yellow. He tried to smile, but it didn't convince Kate. Obviously her father was seriously ill.

Shocked, she sat down in the green Lloyd Loom chair beside the bed, and reached for his hand, which lay limply on the satiny brown eiderdown. Her hand looked pink against his yellow skin.

'What is it, Daddy?'

'I don't know,' he whispered. 'Not 'til the doctor's been.'

'I'm going to stay home and look after you. And I'll milk the cows,' said Kate firmly.

Her father put his arm round her as she sat on the bed, and his fingers twiddled the ends of her hair.

'My Kate,' he said. 'You're a good girl.'

'I'll do anything you want, Daddy, to help you get better.'

'Now you listen to me,' said Bertie, and his eyes shone out of his sickly face. 'What I want, Kate, is for you to go to school. You put that smart uniform on in the morning, and you go, without any fuss, and get a good education. That's what I want.'

'But Daddy-'

'No buts. And no argument, please. Ethie is going to stay, 'til I'm better. She's older and stronger than you, Kate.'

Tears of frustration ran down Kate's face.

'It's not fair, Daddy. I'm a much better nurse than Ethie. I'll cheer you up. Ethie is so cross and grumpy.'

'I know, but Ethie will do her best, Kate. Come on, you do your best for me, go to school and that will make me happy.'

Exhausted, Bertie sank back against the stack of lavender-scented pillows Sally had arranged for him. Kate gazed at him, her lips twitching with the conflicting feelings in her mind. She held her father's hand tightly while he dozed, and she could feel the love and the ebbing strength he was sending her through those work-worn fingers. She felt as if she was part of him. She was the bright love and encouragement he'd given her all her life. She was the beaming smile that lived inside Bertie's soul, a smile more powerful than the sun.

Kate had come upstairs determined to refuse to go to school. She felt old enough and well capable of nursing her father, giving him back some of that love, making him smile. She would put a rose on his breakfast tray on the snowy white cloth. She'd cover his boiled egg with a cheerful red and green cosy she'd knitted. She'd write jokes on a square of paper, fold it into sixteen triangles, and hide it in his napkin for him to find. Then she'd sit on his bed and chatter. Kate knew what her father needed, better than Ethie did. It wasn't fair. Or was it?

Ethie had almost finished her education, begrudgingly, now she only wanted to leave school and work at home. She was perfectly capable of running the farm, making b.u.t.ter and cheese, making clothes on the treadle sewing machine. But she worked mechanically and joylessly, only laughing when Kate was with her.

It didn't take Kate long to change her mind.

'All right, Daddy. If that's what you want,' she said, 'I'll go to school. I was looking forward to it.'

Bertie opened his eyes and saw her smile.

'That's my girl,' he said huskily. 'My golden bird.'

Kate's face lit up.

'Tell me again, Daddy about the golden bird,' she begged. 'Please, Daddy.'

'Come here then.'

Kate snuggled onto the bed, curling her legs up, her head resting on Bertie's shoulder. She could hear his heart going faster as he started to talk, his breath rattling a little. His voice grew stronger as he told their favourite story, his hands twined in his daughter's wavy hair, enjoying the bright energy of her presence.

'When you were born,' he began, 'here in this room, 'twas a scorcher, one of the hottest days in the summer. The cows were in the shade under the elm trees swishing their tails, and the horses were standing in the river up to their bellies. I was downstairs making cheese in the kitchen, and listening to the midwife walking about upstairs, I could hear the ceiling creaking and squeaking. It was scary, for me down there, listening. When Ethie was born, she didn't come easy and there was a lot of noise, but when you were born your mother never made a sound. It was a surprise. I heard one scream, at three o'clock, and it wasn't a scream of pain, it was a scream of joy.' Bertie stopped for breath and Kate glanced up at the yellow skin of his face, thinking that already a hint of pink was returning to his cheeks.