‘So Ellen was pushed into it then?’ Daisy said bluntly.
Dr Fordham sighed. ‘Yes, she was rather. Not by me of course, I was merely a mediator, and in those days we all really believed we were doing both the mother and child a favour. But I’m older and wiser now, and with hindsight I would have given Ellen more time, and counselling too.’
‘Do you think she might have kept me then?’
Dr Fordham looked at her sharply.
‘Who can say, dear? Things were very different then, so very difficult for a single mother. She wanted the best for her baby, and John and Lorna were the perfect couple. I never had the slightest qualms about them, I was delighted I could help to make their dream come true. But looking back, from this more enlightened era, I’m not so sure that we were fair to Ellen.’
‘Do you know where she is now?’ Daisy asked.
The old lady shook her head. ‘The last contact I had with her was when I sent her on the letter and photograph from your mother, about six years after the adoption. I didn’t send the original letter of course, but copied it, omitting the address. At that time she was still working at the handicapped children’s school in South Bristol where she’d been since leaving the family she worked for. After I got your letter I contacted the Education Department, and asked if she was still there, or working at any other school in the county, but it seems she left their employ in 1978. She was still single then.’
Daisy did a quick mental reckoning and found Ellen would have been thirty-one at that time.
‘Maybe she left to get married?’ she said, feeling a bit disappointed as this would complicate tracking Ellen down.
The doctor nodded. ‘Well, I’d always assumed she’d married years before and that was why she suddenly stopped sending me a card. But I suppose once she had that letter from your mother she felt more at peace, and didn’t feel the need to keep in touch with me any more. She was very involved with the children she worked with too, I daresay that helped her.’
‘What about the family she worked for when she was expecting me, might she have kept in touch with them?’ Daisy asked.
‘I doubt that very much, my dear.’ Dr Fordham made a sort of flurry with her hands. ‘You see, they were angry when she wanted to leave them. She was the perfect nanny for their children, a real-life Mary Poppins. They couldn’t understand why she wanted to go and work with handicapped children when she could be looking after their two dear little boys. I believe the woman was quite unpleasant to her about it.’
‘So how long was she with them then?’ Daisy asked.
‘I can’t remember exactly, but for at least a year after you were born, she adored the little boys. But she was right to move on. She had a fine brain and she was worth a great deal more than just being a mother’s help. She came to me for a reference for the school in South Bristol, and I applauded what she intended to do.’
Daisy noticed then that the doctor had a slightly distant expression. ‘Do you think now that was wrong for her too?’ she asked.
‘Oh no, it was very laudable. But it was at that time that I began to regret my part in hurrying along the adoption. I could see she hadn’t got over it. I had a feeling she never would.’
Daisy felt her eyes prickle with unexpected tears, and all at once she knew she wasn’t going to be satisfied with just the information Dr Fordham had to give her. ‘Have you got any idea where I could go from here?’ she asked.
The doctor thought for a little while. ‘It might turn out to be a dead end, but Ellen was very close to a lady called Mrs Peters. She was the wife of a school teacher and lived in the same Cornish village Ellen came from. It was through her that Ellen came to Bristol to have you, and I remember her telling me at the time she took the position at the school here that she still visited Mrs Peters regularly when she went home to Cornwall. The village has a funny name, Mister Smith or something.’
‘Mawnan Smith,’ Daisy smiled. ‘I was intending to go on down to Cornwall so I’ll try and find her there,’ she said. ‘If you think of anything else, will you contact me?’
‘You are very like Ellen,’ the old lady said suddenly, her eyes looked suspiciously damp. ‘Your hair is just like hers. Not just the colour and the curls, but the way the light from the window catches it. It takes me right back to sitting here talking with her.’
She paused for a moment, looking at Daisy reflectively. ‘You have a much bolder attitude than her, she tended to hang her head and rarely asked questions, but you are lovely, just as she was. Of course I’ll let you know if I think of anything more.’
Daisy felt that was the end of the interview and got up, holding out her hand. ‘Thank you so much for your help,’ she said. ‘But I ought to go as I’ve left my dog in the car.’
Dr Fordham got up too, and shook Daisy’s hand firmly. ‘It was a pleasure to meet you,’ she said, smiling with her eyes. ‘Do let me know if you find her, won’t you?’
All at once, for no particular reason, Daisy had a déjà vu feeling. ‘Was I handed over to Mum in this room?’ she asked.
The old lady half smiled. ‘Indeed you were, dear. This was still my sitting-room then, the surgery was in the basement. The foster-mother who took care of you for the first six weeks brought you here at midday to meet your parents. They were so happy and excited. But that’s adoption for you, one woman’s joy comes from another woman’s anguish.’
As Daisy left the house the doctor’s last words rang in her ears. Until now, somehow it hadn’t quite clicked in her mind how terrible it must be for a mother to give up her baby.
That night Daisy sat up in her bed in the guest-house with Fred close beside her and thought about everything Dr Fordham had said.
She had walked miles with Fred after leaving the old lady, right over the Downs, all the way to Clifton village. She’d seen the Suspension Bridge and Avon Gorge, explored all the little shops in the village and felt she was falling in love with Bristol. Although she had always thought of herself as a Londoner, in fact she was born in Bristol, so maybe that was why it enchanted her. She felt at home here, in touch with something she couldn’t quite explain.
Later, after checking into the guest-house, she’d gone out again, found a pub that didn’t mind dogs, and bought fish and chips to eat on the way back. Yet now, in bed, she felt suddenly saddened as she thought over all that Dr Fordham had told her. Reading between the lines, Ellen was probably just an innocent little country girl, no match for the predatory woman she worked for who wanted the baby whisked away so that her life wouldn’t be disturbed. If she had really cared for Ellen wouldn’t she have let her keep her baby and her job?
‘But people aren’t like that, are they, Fred?’ she said stroking him. ‘Shall we stay another night here and go exploring again, or move on to Devon?’
He half closed his eyes, as if saying he didn’t care what happened tomorrow, all he wanted was a sleep now.
Daisy stayed another night in Bristol, spending the second day exploring the city further. Then early on Wednesday morning she set off for Cornwall, planning to go straight to Mawnan Smith and find somewhere to stay for the night before going on to the cottage at St Mawes on Thursday.
It began raining as she got to Bodmin, but even the grey sky couldn’t detract from the rugged beauty of the Cornish landscape. As she got closer to Truro, Daisy began to feel excited at the prospect of seeing all those places immortalized by Daphne du Maurier. She had read most of her books as a young teenager and felt she knew Cornwall from them, never realizing at the time she was reading Frenchman’s Creek and loving it that her real mother had lived nearby.
It was a little after two when she finally drove into the village of Mawnan Smith. She stopped her car by a small row of shops in the centre of the village and sat there looking at them for a few minutes. They must have been built since her birth, for despite being constructed mainly of Cornish stone, they had a distinctly late Sixties and Seventies style. Where was her grandfather’s farm? W
ould Mrs Peters still be living here?
The post office seemed to be the best place to inquire. That at least looked as if it had been there for a good fifty years.
‘Mrs Peters?’ The dumpy middle-aged woman in a floral-print overall beamed at Daisy. ‘Oh yes, she’s still here, though her husband passed away a few years since. You’ll find her cottage just up the road, past the pub, it’s called “Swallow’s”.’
Fred was desperate to get out of the car, so Daisy put him on the lead and walked him up the road towards the cottage. It had stopped raining about half an hour earlier and the sun had come out again. She thought she’d just make a reconnoitre, then take him for a short walk before returning him to the car.
She sensed which cottage was ‘Swallow’s’ even before she got close enough to see the plaque on the gate. It was the kind of place Londoners dream of, painted white, with small lattice windows, roses growing round the door and as ancient garden wall smothered with purple aubrietia. A young man was working in the garden.
As she got right up to the cottage she hesitated for a moment, not knowing whether to walk on past or speak. But the man took matters into his own hands – he stood up, grinned at her and said hello.
Daisy grinned back. He was nice-looking, probably in his early thirties, with floppy fair hair and bright blue eyes.
‘Nice dog,’ he said, leaning over the wall to take a better look at Fred. ‘I like West Highland terriers, they are a big dog in a small suit, aren’t they?’
Fred put his paws up on the wall and woofed a greeting.
‘I think he liked that description,’ Daisy said with a smile.
‘You here on holiday?’ he asked, looking very interested. ‘Only I haven’t seen you before.’
‘Well, actually I’m here on a mission,’ she said. ‘I was looking for Mrs Peters. They told me in the post office she lived here.’
He nodded. ‘She’s my grandmother. Come on in, she’s always glad of visitors.’
‘I can’t bring Fred in,’ Daisy said, a little alarmed that now she had no chance to compose herself. ‘I was just taking him for a walk before putting him back in my car.’
‘Oh, don’t do that.’ The young man came along to the gate and opened it for her. ‘We’re both dog lovers. Fred doesn’t want to be stuck in a car.’
‘Well, if you’re sure,’ she said. ‘I’m Daisy Buchan.’
‘I’m Tim Peters,’ he said, and shook her hand. ‘Why do you want to see Gran?’
Daisy liked this friendly, rather inquisitive man. ‘That’s a tough one to answer easily. I believe your grandmother knew my mother.’
He raised his fair eyebrows and his eyes twinkled. ‘Well, this is a first. Mostly when anyone wants to talk to Gran about village history, they are about a hundred and ten. Gran!’ he yelled as he led Daisy into the cottage. ‘Someone to see you!’
As he was kicking off his shoes in the tiny hallway, Daisy stood in the doorway of the sitting-room. Like the outside of the cottage it was very pretty, with a low-beamed ceiling, a stone fireplace and cottage furniture. Through the French windows at the far end of the room she saw an old lady holding a bunch of flowers in her hand.
‘A visitor, Tim?’ Mrs Peters called out, then stopped short as she saw Daisy. ‘Oh, my goodness,’ she gasped. ‘I thought for a moment it was Ellen.’
A thrill ran through Daisy. Countless times she had heard people remark on Lucy and Tom’s similarity to their mother, and it had often hurt that she was excluded. It felt good to have someone recognize a family likeness, even if she knew very little about that family.
Daisy took a few tentative steps towards the woman. ‘I’m her daughter, Daisy,’ she said.
Mrs Peters’ eyes widened with shock. ‘My dear! How absolutely wonderful,’ she gasped incredulously. ‘Oh, I’ll have to sit down, you’ve knocked me for six. Tim, don’t stand there with your mouth hanging open, make us all some tea.’
Ellen wondered how old Mrs Peters was. She had to be at least eighty, perhaps even older, yet she didn’t look frail, her skin was lovely and she looked well.
‘Am I allowed to know who Ellen is?’ Tim asked, going over to his grandmother and taking the bunch of flowers she’d picked from her hands. ‘You know me, Gran, nosy to the last!’
‘Ellen Pengelly,’ she replied. ‘Beacon Farm.’
Daisy saw a look of shock and bewilderment on Tim’s face, and the sharp look the old woman gave him as if warning him to say nothing more. Afraid that she might really be an unwelcome visitor, however tactful Mrs Peters was being, she hastily apologized for coming in unexpectedly with Fred, and asked if it would be better if she called at another time.
‘Of course not, dear,’ Mrs Peters said. ‘I’m delighted you called, just a little taken aback, that’s all. I like dogs, I’ve kept them all my life, and do call me Mavis. Sit down and tell me how you came to find me.’
Daisy explained about her mother’s death, and the trip to Bristol to see Dr Fordham. ‘Well,’ she finished up; ‘the doctor hadn’t any idea of what had become of Ellen, but she knew about you, and said she thought you might be able to tell me more about her.’
‘I can tell you quite a lot about the past,’ she said. ‘But I haven’t heard from her since…’ She faltered. ‘Well, since the fire.’
‘Fire?’ Daisy asked. ‘What fire?’
Mavis looked at her grandson as if for support.
Tim came right over to Daisy, leaning towards her. ‘I’m sorry, Daisy. This isn’t going to be the best introduction to your family history. You see, the fire at the farm wiped them all out.’
Chapter Seventeen
Daisy looked from Tim to Mavis in horror. ‘No!’ she gasped.
‘Not Ellen,’ Mavis said quickly, giving her grandson another sharp look. ‘But your grandfather, step-grandmother and your Aunt Josie. Ellen was in Bristol when it happened.’
‘But how? When?’ Daisy stammered out.
‘It was at night, in October of ‘78,’ Tim said. ‘No one really knows for certain how it started. I was staying here with Gran at the time, just about to go up to Newcastle to university. Nobody knew about it until the next morning, and by then the farmhouse was just a smouldering pile of stones. You see, it was on a very quiet road, the one up from Maenporth beach, I expect you came that way today. Beacon Farm was in a dip, hidden from the road by woods.’
‘How terrible,’ Daisy gasped. ‘How come they all died in it though? Couldn’t they escape?’ She might not have known her relatives but it was awful to think of anyone burning to death.
Tim shrugged. ‘They could very well have been overcome by the fumes from foam filling in a couch. It was a windy night too, so that would have made the blaze even fiercer. By the time the fire brigade got out there, there wasn’t much left to pick through.’
‘We’d better have that tea now, Tim,’ Mavis said sternly. She looked back at Daisy. ‘I’m so very sorry, dear. We shouldn’t have launched into something so ghastly the minute you got here.’
After Tim had brought in the tea tray and poured them all a cup, Daisy asked about Ellen.
‘This must have been terrible for her.’
‘Yes, it was. It changed her,’ Mavis said, and her voice quavered a little. ‘We had kept in touch ever since she left the village, she wrote or phoned at least once a month, always came round when she was visiting her parents. But she was so distraught when the police called on her in Bristol to tell her the news that she couldn’t even come down for the funeral.’
‘Good God,’ Daisy exclaimed.
Tim leaned forward in his chair. ‘Would you like to see where the farm was?’ he asked. ‘I don’t want to drag you away from Gran, but it will be getting dark soon, and you ought to see it. We could walk across the fields to it with Fred.’
Mavis looked at him gratefully. ‘That’s a very good idea, Tim,’ she said. ‘But make sure you bring Daisy back for tea with us. By that time I’ll have gathered my thoughts about all t
he things I really must tell her about Ellen and her family.’
Daisy realized then that Mavis was very shaken, and clearly Tim wanted to give her time to compose herself again. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see where the farm was, but under the circumstances she thought it best to go with him.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said. ‘I must find somewhere to stay for tonight too. Do you know of any guesthouses near here that won’t mind Fred?’
‘You can stay with us,’ Mavis said immediately. ‘Now, don’t argue,’ she said as she saw Daisy’s mouth open to protest. ‘I have a spare bedroom and we’d love to have you, wouldn’t we, Tim?’
‘Of course, Daisy,’ he said with a smile. ‘Besides, you two have got a lot of catching up to do.’
‘Your grandmother is a lovely lady,’ Daisy said as she and Tim started off on a footpath that skirted round the back of the village.
‘Yes, she is, and very sentimental,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if you didn’t really want to go to the farm right now, but I could see Gran was getting a bit wobbly. That’s mainly the shock of you turning up, but also because of Ellen. I realized I needed to warn you about certain things which might upset her further, out of her hearing.’
Daisy looked up at him in puzzlement.
‘You see, Gran adored Ellen,’ he went on. ‘As a kid I had no idea what the connection was between them, I suppose I thought she was a relation. But for some time after the fire Gran was in a very low state and my grandfather explained she was grieving over Ellen and he told me how close they had been. I was a bit mystified about the word “grieving” – after all Ellen didn’t die in the fire – but grandfather said it was because Ellen had dropped her, and she couldn’t understand why.’
‘Dropped her? She didn’t write or visit ever again?’ Daisy asked.