20. THE PRODIGAL RETURNS

In which someone returns to hopefully face the music

Jane Smith was blooming. At least, that’s what Ursula thought as the young woman parked her pram outside the shop and opened its door.

“So you didn’t see the Entwhistle woman after all?” she asked as she ran to the door, curious to see what the pram contained.

“I did,” admitted Jane nervously.

“And it didn’t work? She couldn’t help?”

Jane shook her head. “She told me not to be so daft,” she said, smiling, “she said a life is too precious to throw away needlessly, especially when there’s a war on and men are being slaughtered by the thousand. And she said nobody can tell who the baby might turn out to be. It might grow up to be a Churchill...”

“It’s a thought,” agreed Ursula, “if he’s a boy.”

“But he’s a she,” smiled Jane, “and she’s gorgeous! Nothing like her father, nothing at all!”

“And your mum came round to the idea of being a granny out of wedlock?” asked Ursula. “I thought you were afraid of being locked away and forgotten!”

“I got her all wrong. I think she was secretly pleased, and since my dad was in her bad books over something I’m not supposed to know anything about, concerning one of the Taylor sisters, he’s kept his nose out of it...”

“You mean he’s been unfaithful? How frightening!””

“I don’t think actually unfaithful in the full-on sense, but he was caught kissing her on the mouth, and I think he was, you know, touching her where he shouldn’t... So not unfaithful as such, not in a going-to-bed sort of way, but it looked as if mum might give him the heave-ho for a time, and he’s keeping quiet and his mouth shut while things settle down. He’s scared of mum!”

“I should imagine she could be bold,” laughed Ursula.

“He will be if he ever claps his eyes on Charles Snootnose,” Jane told her, her tone quite serious.

“Have you heard from him?” asked Ursula who was beginning to feel that some local news was passing her by. The shop had been a hotbed of gossip and news before the war, but the atmosphere had become more thoughtful as if everyone was aware how tenuous life might become. And in addition there were shortages of quite a few things, and dealing with ration books and coupons had added to the workload for the small shop-keeper.

“No, and I don’t want to,” said Jane, “though I wouldn’t turn it down if he offered to buy a dozen nappies or a few vests!”

“He ought to,” Ursula told her. “Where is he? He can’t still be in Yorkshire, can he?”

“I’ve no idea where he is, just that he’s decided to avoid the call up. And that, Ursula, is because he’s a coward. And I heard that even his father’s disowned him.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Old Squire Snootnose likes two things: to be respected, or at least get the idea that he might be respected by us peasants, and to have enough women around him to keep his mind off other things.”

“Like that chauffeur of his? It made me smile when I heard that she’s put Charles to shame by joining the land army and showing cowardly men like him what the word duty means.”

“So I heard.” Ursula frowned, then shook her head and looked back into the pram with a thoughtful grin. “What have you called her?” she asked.

“This is Susan. Susan Smith,” smiled Jane. “I don’t want her to ever have to suffer a name like Snootnose! Now tell me, have you any news? You know what I mean...”

“Am I in the family way myself, you mean? Well, Greendale’s been here twice since that first time and on both occasions we spent an important hour together, and I think, I’m beginning to wonder, I might be a few days late...”

“Oh, that’s so exciting!” laughed Jane, “I do hope everything goes all right for you. Look, I’m crossing my fingers...”

“I’m trying not to be too hopeful, just in case, but when I told my mum, after she got over the shock of having an unmarried mother for a daughter she started making plans for a wedding...”

“Are you two going to get married? It seems you’ve known each other for ages, but...”

“... but we haven’t met more than a handful of times? I know. It’s weird, but I know in my heart that he’s the one for me.”

“He’s a looker!”

“Anyway, we can’t spend our lives gossiping. Was there anything you wanted? From the shop, I mean? The twins will be back from school soon.”

“Not really. I just wanted to see you and let you know what went on and that the Entwhistle woman was really helpful, not with what she did but what she said.”

She turned the pram round and started pushing it back the way she’d come. “I’ll see you, Ursula,” she said, “and we’ll have to keep in touch because you know...”

“It’s disgusting,” grunted a new voice from behind Ursula. She knew it straight away: it was the Squire with his oily rolling vowels and snarling consonants. Since the outbreak of war and the sudden disappearance of his chauffeur he’d taken to using the village store rather than lower himself and use public transport to take him to Brumpton, and it was with Ursula’s shop that his coupons were registered.

“What is?” asked Ursula, knowing what he meant and not believing the cheek of it.

“A young woman like that! Unmarried, and with a child! And there’s a war on!” he complained.

“The baby’s got a father,” said Ursula.

“Then where is he? Nowhere that I can see. The girl’s obviously a tart! The sort to open her legs for a penny if asked! Ought to be locked away for the duration, and flogged!”

“Even when the father’s a Snootnose?” asked Ursula, with an edge to her voice.

“He never is!” The Squire was used to making statements that were irrefutable merely because of the tone of his voice.

“Look, Squire, I’m in no mood to quarrel with anyone, but I know for a fact that Charles Snootnose is the father of Jane’s daughter, and when she told me I already knew because he’d told me first. Yes, your oh-so innocent son! At least, he’d intimated that they’d had relations...”

“Intimated isn’t saying!” snapped the Squire, “and I say he never did it! I say he never would! He’s a gentleman from a family of great standing in the county! Our heritage goes back to the Normans!”

“And mine goes back to the Romans, but how does that matter now?” asked Ursula, inventing a heritage she knew nothing about, but safe in the knowledge that there was a small percentage chance that she was right. She’d studied enough history when she’d been at school to know that the Romans in Britain predated the Normans by the best part of a millennium and so Roman heritage must be longer.

“Well, no son of mine has ever lowered himself and gone with a skivvy like that Smith hussy!” growled the Squire, “I want that understood, and anyone who says different will end up before the beak in court, for defamation of character among other things!”

“Then I say it,” said a voice from round the corner. It was the voice of an exhausted man, weakened by hunger and many long miles of almost crawling along, hiding behind hedges and in ditches and becoming desperately miserable.

“I’m the father of that child, and I’m bloody proud of it,” said Charles Snootnose, dressed and looking like a tramp, and he fell slowly to the ground outside the little village store while his pompous father stared at him, goggle-eyed and disbelieving and totally let down.

© Peter Rogerson 29.07.18