‘Oh, a sort of fort, do you mean?’ Robin asked eagerly.
‘Exactly that.’ Aaron warmed to his theme now that he sensed a willing listener. ‘When I was a lad we used to play there, climbing on ’walls and pretending we were sodgers on ’lookout for enemy ships coming up ’river.’
Sodgers, Robin thought. I must remember that. ‘I’d like to do that,’ he said. ‘Maybe in the spring when it’s a bit warmer.’
So he intends to stay, Aaron thought. He’s not considering leaving us.
‘So who built it?’ Robin asked as they walked up the track towards the fort.
‘Ah, well. Who built it, girls?’
‘King Henry!’ Louisa said promptly, as if she’d been waiting for the question. ‘We learned about it in school. He thought there was going to be a war with … erm, France or Spain I think, and he was building forts all around ’coast.’
‘That’s it! He did, and he built a battery here for twelve cannons to warn off any of his enemies and let the town of Hull know of ’danger.’
‘So Paull was really important?’ Robin asked.
‘Oh, aye, it was, and over a lot of years ’battery was rebuilt so it’s still standing today.’
The weather was worsening; sleet was beginning to fall, sharp as needles on their faces. The girls were starting to shiver and Rosie to cry and Aaron decided to cut their journey short.
‘I’ll bring you another day, Robin,’ he told him, ‘and give you a proper look round, but right now we’d better mek tracks for home. Come on, Rosie, I’ll give you a piggy-back.’ He bent low and Robin helped her on to his back. ‘Come on then, all hold hands, two-be-two, and off we trot.’
Robin smiled and pensively wished that Aaron was his grandfather, and wondered if he had ever had one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Delia had thoroughly enjoyed Christmas at the Maritime, yet apart from when she was immersed in the music she was constantly aware of a deep loneliness within her. Her precious son was with another family and she wondered if he was missing her as much as she was missing him.
After Boxing Day luncheon she asked Jenny if she thought he would have been all right and not unhappy. Jenny assured her that he would have been.
‘It seems to me,’ she said, ‘that Robin is a very sensible boy, and although yes of course he’ll miss you – he’s bound to when he’s had your constant company for all of his young life – he’s also level-headed and I think he’ll see the advantages of being with a family. I know children, even though I haven’t any of my own. It will be good for him, Delia,’ she was quick to point out when she saw Delia’s expression of pain. ‘I know it was an impetuous decision on your part to leave him in the first place, but it’s worked out to the advantage of both of you.’
‘But it was wrong of me to land him in your parents’ laps without even thinking about it. It’s true, it was impulsive. When I saw him sitting with the little girls and chatting as if he’d known them all his life, I knew just what he was missing and I couldn’t give it to him.’ She restrained a sob.
‘And my mother loves him already,’ Jenny said gently, ‘and if I know my father at all, then he will too.’
At Boxing Day luncheon she had sung unaccompanied, as Giles had taken his leave after supper on Christmas Day to attend, he said, to other matters. At supper there were fewer guests, mainly local; others with a longer distance to travel had already left.
Jenny and her friends drifted off the following morning and Delia packed up her theatre gowns, carefully folding them so that they wouldn’t crease. She had buttoned up her boots, put on her hat and tied a warm cloak over her woollen dress when a chambermaid knocked on her door.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, ma’am; Mr Giles Dawson is downstairs enquiring if you were still here and I said I’d check.’
Delia thanked her. ‘Would you tell him I’ll be down in five minutes, and would you ask a porter if he would bring my luggage down, please?’
‘Oh, I can do that, ma’am,’ the girl offered. ‘I’m used to carrying things.’ She picked up Delia’s already fastened valise. ‘Not heavy at all,’ she said.
When Delia arrived downstairs, Giles was sitting comfortably in an armchair drinking coffee and reading a copy of the Illustrated London News. He rose when he saw her.
‘Good morning, Delia,’ he said. They had agreed over Christmas that they could stop being quite so formal and use their first names.
‘So how was your Boxing Day?’ Delia asked. ‘Did Mrs Benson feed you leftovers?’
‘She did, as a matter of fact. There were just two other guests, and for supper we had chicken broth followed by chicken and sausagemeat rissoles. And then, as she had joined us at the table, she brought out a bottle of port which we had with a very ripe Stilton and Christmas cake. I went up to my room to get a bottle of whisky, one of the other men had been given a box of chocolates and cigars, and we had quite a merry time over a game of crib.’
Is he making it up? she wondered. Or perhaps he’s used to that kind of festivity during the Christmas holiday. She thought of the many times when all the other theatre folk had gone home or to stay with friends and she and her son had made the best of whichever lodging house would take them in over Christmas. She had felt sorry for the older people who had shared their lodgings and eaten the same meagre Christmas dinner, and often wondered if the same fate awaited her.
‘Would you like to take a walk?’ he asked. ‘Or do you consider it too cold?’
‘I would like to walk,’ she said. ‘I
