Angel on my Shoulder Read online

  As we lay together after one particularly energetic session She laughs and states. “Adam when you leave here you will be an extremely proficient lover. I hope your little French girl appreciates the effort I have put in to training you for married life.” A quick feeling of guilt passes over me when she mentions Denise.

  But I am ashamed to say it evaporates just as quickly when we come together for yet another encounter.

  During the days or as we refer to them the rest period laughingly Peggy and I visit all kinds of places of interest. I take Peggy to the grand shops on Grange road and let her pick a complete new outfit paid for from the contents of the magic music box. She looks a picture and I feel so proud of Peggy done up in her finery as we stroll linking arms around Hamilton Square. Although the weather is still cold she insists on going there to show off her new clothes. Many the envious stares I receive from unattached males as they parade about spotting for talent. Peggy is without a doubt a fine looking woman. We even get to visit the Lyric a local picture house for a matinee performance one afternoon while Auntie sleeps. The evening before I am due to leave Peggy informs me she has arranged a surprise. Her friend from next door agreed to sit with her Aunt until we return. We set off about half past six, despite my pleas Peggy won’t divulge where we are going. At the bottom of Grange road she leads me into a pub where I have a couple of pints of beer and Peggy has port and lemons. I am expecting something to happen although I’m not quite sure what exactly. After the second round of drinks I enquire. “Is this it Peggy? Is this the big surprise you have arranged, a night in a boozer?” She smiles looks at the clock for the umpteenth time then stands up and leads me out. We finally arrive at our destination the Argyle Theatre to see Vesta Tilley and an all star cast performing. What a great treat I give her a huge hug and kiss for arranging such a wonderful surprise. Brilliant! Vesta Tilley is one of my favourite music hall stars it seems Peggy remembered this fact. We have an excellent evening with more drinks in the interlude a steak supper and a few more drinks on the way home where we arrive at about 1130.

  This is my last night of wild passion with Peggy and morning comes all too soon, Peggy lies in bed in the morning watching me transferring my belongings from my army pack to the portmanteau. “What’s that Adam?” she asks as I lift the music box out of my back pack.

  I sit on the bed and explain where it came from, when I open the box Peggy is delighted with the tune it plays, she takes it from me and opens and shuts it a couple of times to repeat the tune. She admires the rings and brooch, as she removes them the lining comes adrift at one end exposing a sheet of paper.

  I am still packing my clothes when she draws my attention. “Look Adam there is something here under the lining.” I extract a sheet of paper and identify it as a birth certificate.” Bloody Hell Peg look at this, Oops I’m sorry I swore.” She laughs. “Silly Boy what’s on it then?” I slump down onto the bed. “Peg I believe this could be my birth certificate. The birth date is about right and look at the names and addresses?”

  REGISTERED IN THE TOWN OF BIRKENHEAD.

  Name and place of birth. St Catherine’s

  22 December 1900.

  Name if any.

  Adam Mathew.

  Name and surname and dwelling place of Father.

  Adam Mathew Carstairs. Kent

  Mothers name,

  Angelique Yvette Carstairs. Formerly Chirac

  Rank and profession of Father.

  Adam Mathew Carstairs. Soldier.

  Signature qualification and residence of informant.

  Angelique Yvette Carstairs. Mother. St Catherine’s.

  When registered.

  26 December 1900.

  Signature of registrar..

  Unintelligible.

  “This is very confusing Peg. My Mother has the same surname as my Father that surely means they are married. Yet I have Millie’s Married name Bailey nee Thompson?

  She replies excitedly. “That’s right I remember. Adam you were adopted when you were about eight by Millie when she married Harry. This is really amazing, what is the address of your parents again Kent wasn’t it? That’s right down south I believe. Eh Adam! Do you realise your Mum and Dad could still be living there.” I’m totally confused and don’t answer her instead I sit pondering. “But why was I put in an orphanage with those miserable Nuns if they are still alive. Surely only orphans were put in those miserable dumps. I hated that place?

  Why would a Mother do that to her baby? Peggy I have this it belonged to a lady with the name of Angelique. It has to be the same woman and that looks like she is my Mother. Another strange thing is I think she is French.” I hand her the diary. She opens it and remarks. “What lovely handwriting, yes indeed it is the diary of somebody with the name of Angelique.

  Although there is no surname, what is that address on the birth certificate?” “St Catharine’s, that’s no help. It is a hospital, and a workhouse.” I add glumly. Peggy turns a page over scans it then quickly turns over a few more. “Well Adam unless you can read a foreign language I think this lot is in French, you won’t understand a word except the first page.” When I examine the diary page by page she is indeed correct I recognise some French words. I remember the hand bag and retrieve it from the bottom of the portmanteaux.

  Peggy whistles with admiration when she examines it.”

  “This is a nice bag Adam I bet it cost a few pounds?” She undoes the jewelled clasp opens the bag and takes out a bundle of letters tied with ribbon she hands them to me. “Eh! Look Adam, see the label inside. This bag was made in Paris?” Peggy continues taking the other contents out of the bag and laying them on the bed while I examine the letters.

  They are from a Major A M. Carstairs.

  Duke of Cornwall’s Light Infantry.

  C/O. British Army. Communications.

  Cape Town. South Africa

  Date range from 1900 to 1902.

  The messages are very faded written on tiny sheets of very thin note paper.

  Basically the letters plead for forgiveness for something he had done to Angelique prior to him leaving with his regiment for South Africa.

  Letter after letter are of the same vein, but each one is becoming noticeably more desperate. By the tone I am able to detect in his letters Angelique evidently had not replied to any of his correspondence

  One of the letters urges her to contact his Sister Emily at his parent’s house.

  The Elms.

  St Margaret’s Bay.

  Kent.

  England.

  In another letter he refers to two rings he has sent to her pledging his undying love with a promise of marriage to make everything right when he returns home after his tour of duty. So they weren’t married, but how do they have the same surname name?

  They can’t be relatives or he couldn’t offer marriage. This mystery gets deeper and deeper and beyond me. The final letter is not from the Major but a close comrade regretfully informing Angelique of the suicide of Major Carstairs.

  If he is my Father then what had he done so terrible that my Mother refused to have any contact with him?

  Why hadn’t they been married before he left? But what troubled me the most is the very fact that they hadn’t married made me a bastard with no right to his name. Why did she place me in an orphanage and how did Millie her ex maid finish up adopting me?” All these questions plague my mind. “What is the matter Adam you look upset my love? Is there anything I can do?” Peggy looked up from fiddling with the articles found in the hand bag she sees my troubled face. I explain the contents of the letters and we discuss the implications. As always Peggy is the practical one. “Why worry it won’t affect your life.” She comments.

  “You are no different a person now than you were before you read the letters. That is except you now think you know, or you are guessing you know who your parents are? I suggest you forget all about what you have learned and get on with your life as you planned. Mind you if it meant you stayed a
round here instead of going back to France I would welcome it.” She smiles reaches over and squeezes my hand. “Can’t do Peg, although these past few days with you have been wonderful I do have obligations. I’ve already told you that, what else was in the bag?” “Oh, just a few woman’s things excepting this,” she hands me a tiny two barrelled Derringer pistol. “I don’t know if it is real but it sure is a strange thing for a lady to carry in her handbag don’t you think?” I examine it and declare. “It’s real alright and what’s more it’s loaded.” I recall seeing one demonstrated at a cowboy show I attended when I was about fourteen, her possession of the gun intrigues me. “Why would a woman carry such a deadly weapon?” I don’t tell Peggy but I have definitely made up mind to visit the house in Kent before I return to France. Maybe there I can unravel some of the mystery regarding my birth, adoption and most important as far as I’m concerned my real parents. That is supposing the address of the Sister he refers to is still the valid family address. It is a tearful parting. Peggy insists on accompanying me to Hamilton Square Station where I catch the underground to Lime Street main line station. At the book stall I obtain a railway guide and a map book covering the British Isles. What a nightmare journey it is especially crossing London from Euston to Victoria. Peggy has thankfully made me enough sandwiches and packed enough pies to sustain a regiment. It is going dark when I reach the station at Martin Mill the nearest one to St Margaret’s –at-Cliffe. Up the road a fair way at the village West Cliffe the lights of a pub welcome me. After a meal and a couple of pints I book a bed for the night. I enjoy a comfortable sleep and an excellent breakfast after which I ask the landlord if he minds if I leave my bag while I go for a walk. He readily agrees as it is the off season he informs me the bed is available tonight at a cheap rate if I choose to stay again. I find the Elms after a short walk from the pub. At least I locate the closed gates to the property. A long drive leads through a tree lined avenue to a house barely visible in the distance through the foliage. A flint stone clad lodge house guards the gates set in carefully manicured gardens. I hang around for a while but feel very self conscious so I walk further until I reach the sea after descending a steep path. I can see now why the place is so called. I sit on a landed boat for a while tossing stones into the surf a myriad of thoughts crowding my mind. As I look across the channel I am able to make out the hazy coast line of France. I wonder what it would be like to try and swim back to France and Denise. If only I was Captain Webb the first man to swim across that treacherous stretch of water.

  I might have a chance.

  After a while with my silly thoughts the cold drives me back up the cliff. It is about noon when I make my way back to the pub in the nearby village

  I am at the empty bar ordering a beer and a ploughmans lunch when a hefty red faced man in his late fifties appears at the door and hails the landlord. “Put us a pint up will you Bill? I’ll just settle these bloody horses down and I’ll be back in.” The landlord gives a smile. “That’s Tom.” He informs me as he draws a tankard of beer and sets it on the bar. “Poor Bugger hates them horses since one gave him a good kicking.” I take my order to a corner seat and begin tucking in when Tom the horse hater enters and heads for the bar. “Bit slack today Bill where is every one?” He glances around the empty pub as he sups his beer. “The lads are putting up a new barn over at the Hawkins place, they should be in tonight. Look Tom I have to go down the cellar, keep an eye on things will you. Tell you what give me a bang on the floor if anyone comes in?” Tom agrees and the landlord disappears through a hatch in the floor. “Stranger around here then are you mate?” He addresses me. “Yes just passing through, nice part of the country this eh?” He nods. “Never lived anywhere else and wouldn’t if I had the chance. Done your bit then did you?”

  I presume he is enquiring if I had served in the war and reply. “I got out about a week ago.” “Which mob were you with then?” He enquires as he carries his tankard over and sits at a table near me. “I drove ambulances most of the time.” “Good lads them, got me out of the shit literally when I got hit. I was in the cavalry myself until I got invalided out in 1916.” He leans forward and enquires earnestly. “So you were an ambulance driver eh? I reckon’s you can drive about anything with an engine in? You aren’t looking for a job are you?” The thought hadn’t crossed my mind.

  “No. Not really, as a matter of fact I’m off back to France after I’ve had a look around.” “Are you mad? Didn’t you have enough of that bloody place in the war? The buggers eat snails and frogs anyway I wouldn’t go back for a big clock. It’s a pity that you’re not staying around lad. There is a nice little job for a chauffeur just up the lane if you fancy it. I’m sure they would take you on.” “Where’s that then?” I ask casually. An idea comes to me. “It’s not that big house with the iron gates is it?” He confirms this and enthusiastically describes the conditions that apply for staff there. “Yes that’s the one they are lovely people and have a great cook.” He pats his large stomach and chuckles “The thing is they want to go modern, they bought one of those fancy motor cars a while back. Trouble is I can’t drive so it just sits there.” My mind, races. I don’t have to be back for another month. What a great chance to see what and who is behind those gates. The landlord reappears.

  “All right Tom?” He enquires. Tom nods and informs him.

  “No one’s been in.” “Hey Tom mind if I call you Tom? I introduce myself. My name is Adam by the way, do want another pint?” “That would be very welcome my boy.” He shakes my hand. I order the pints of ale. The landlord offers to bring them over. I ask Tom a question. “Been working for them long?” He replies proudly. “I have been here since I was born, except for my time in the army. I live on the estate as my Father and Granddad did before me. Got no kids myself, never been married you see? I reckon I will be the last of the line unless some fair maiden turns up and captures my heart.” The landlord laughs as he delivers the pints. “If she does Tom ask her has she got a Sister for me I can’t manage since my Jean passed on.” “Passed on with that agriculture rep you mean you daft bugger.” The landlord pulls a face. “And good riddance to her, he might have been an expert on threshing machines, but he knows nowt about women. The daft bugger is welcome to her. Wait until she starts nagging him and he hears her snoring.” They both laugh. “Hey Tom, do you really want to learn to drive?” I ask. “Yes I sure do,” he replies, “anything to help me get rid of these bloody horses.” I laugh and make him an offer. “I’ll tell you what Tom? I have about a month to spare before I have to go back. I don’t want a permanent job, but I’m willing to spend some time teaching you to drive. As long as I have a place to sleep and some decent food I’ll teach you for nowt.” His face lights up “Look here Adam when we finish this here ale you come along with me. I’ll see Mr Humphries he’s the head of the house. I’m sure it will be alright, it’ll be just a formality really you can kip at my place over the coach house. All the staff eats in the kitchen. Mrs Humphrey is the cook she dishes up lovely grub my boy, better than what you have had in the last few years I bet?” I settle up with the landlord collect my bag and leave with Tom. He has been to the smithy with two horses and leads then back to the large house. A bent old woman opens the gates in response to our summons on a large highly polished brass bell. She doesn’t speak or acknowledge Tom’s greeting, he explains as we pass through the gates. “That’s Old Ma Goodie. She’s been here a thousand years, deaf as a bloody post she is. I don’t know how she hears the bell but she never misses, the Ladies think the world of her.” The Ladies he mentions, I wonder who he is referring to, is one of them the Angelique I am seeking? He stables the horses then leads me through the back door into the kitchen area. In a side room packed with silverware crockery and china he introduces me to very smart portly gentleman Mr Humphreys the head of the household. Odd title I have never heard that before, he invites me to take a seat while Tom explains why he has brought me here. Mr Humphreys listens intently then begins to q
uestion me. “First of all I should point out it is our usual policy to employ relatives of existing staff. Failing that we like to hire locals, we know their history you see?

  Now Tom says you don’t want permanent employment? That is not our policy either but under the circumstances as there have been no other applicants for the post of chauffeur I believe it will be acceptable depending on your references. Have you got them with you by the way?” I inform him. “I have nothing like that, the only thing I do have is my army pay book containing a reference from one of my commanding officers.” That will do my boy let’s see it.” He ruffles through the book reads the reference and nods approvingly. “Adam Mathew Bailey.” He reads my name out slowly. “There’s a coincidence Tom, the Masters name was Adam Mathew.” I decide this is not the time to divulge my reason to visit this house. I try not to show an interest and slip my pay book back into my pocket. “Right Adam that seems alright.” Mr Humphreys says. “Tom will show you the automobile. Tom will also explain your duties and the do’s and don’ts of how you will conduct yourself while you are here. Do you understand there will be no payment; you will work for food and board. Do you agree to these terms?” “I do.” I reply. “Then Tom will also show you where you may sleep during your time with us. I shall inform the Mistresses of your appointment.”