A Loving Family by Dilly Court Page A

beginning to open. She walked on until she came to a stile, and climbing onto it she could see Robert leading the sturdy shire horse as it pulled the harrow over the newly sown soil. She called out and waved to attract his attention. He had seen her and she perched on the stile, waiting until he was able to join her. The damp earth had a rich smell resembling the Christmas puddings that Cook used to make at Portgone Place, and the warm breeze fanned her hot cheeks.
    â€˜I’ve brought your lunch,’ she said as Robert came striding towards her. ‘I knew you wouldn’t stop until you’d completed your task, but you must eat.’
    He sat on the fence beside her. ‘I don’t know how we managed without you, Stella.’
    â€˜That’s just it, Bob. I wanted you to be the first to know that I’ve decided to move on.’
    â€˜Not so soon?’
    â€˜I’ve stayed much longer than I intended.’
    â€˜Aren’t you happy here with us?’ He laid his hand on hers as it rested on the stile. ‘I thought you liked me, Stella.’
    â€˜Of course I do.’ She avoided meeting his gaze. ‘But your father only took me in out of the kindness of his heart.’
    â€˜I don’t agree. You came at a time when we were desperate men. You’ve done a wonderful job, and more than that. You’re part of the family now.’
    â€˜No, Bob. It’s kind of you to say so, but that isn’t true. Even if it were I have to do what I set out to do in the first place. I can’t rest until I find Ma and the nippers and the longer I stay here the harder it will be for me to leave.’
    He was silent for a moment and then he sighed. ‘I suppose it was always going to be this way.’
    â€˜I told you so from the beginning.’
    â€˜When are you planning to leave?’
    â€˜As soon as you’ve found someone to take my place.’
    â€˜No one can replace you, Stella.’
    â€˜Of course they can.’ She curled her fingers around his hand.
    â€˜I mean it, Stella. I’m not going to let you go off on your own to face the dangers of the city streets. What sort of chap would I be if I did that?’
    â€˜It’s not your problem, Bob.’
    â€˜I’m making it my business to look after you. Pa would say the same.’
    She looked into his eyes and realised that he was in earnest, but she shook her head. ‘Your place is here and this is something I have to do on my own.’
    â€˜But . . .’
    â€˜No buts,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ll keep in touch, Bob.’
    â€˜Let me at least drive you to the station.’
    She smiled. ‘That would be very kind.’
    â€˜And you will come back again, won’t you?’
    â€˜Of course I will.’ It was a promise that she might be unable to keep, but she could not bear to dash his hopes. Mr Hendy had managed to procure an old copy of the Post Office London
Directory of Trades and Professions
from a friend who worked in the City. She had thumbed through it and found the address of her grandfather, Saul Wilton, a rag and bone man, dwelling in Bethnal Green. She had a vague memory of meeting an Aunt Maud, whose late husband had been an undertaker, and Clifford’s Funeral Parlour was situated in Artillery Street, which might also be a starting point.
    Two weeks later she was saying goodbye to Bob on Romford station. The engine belched smoke and let off steam with a resounding snort as the guard blew his whistle and waved a green flag. She climbed into the compartment and Bob slammed the door. She let the window down and leaned out. ‘Wish me luck.’
    â€˜I do. Let me know how things are going,’ he shouted as the train lurched forward.
    â€˜I will.’ She closed the window and sat down in the corner seat, trying hard not to cry. It had not been easy to leave the Hendys, who had taken her in and treated her more like a member of the