***chapter 47***

***A Friend in Need***

Matthew tried to rise but terror had rooted him to the spot.

After that his memory became a blur. Much later, he learnt that two passers-by had run in to help when they heard screaming, through the front door that had been thrown wide open to air the house and bring in the glorious sunshine of the beautiful summer's day. Except it was no longer beautiful. In the short space of time that Carmel Doyle had opened downstairs doors and windows, cleaned the cooker top and boiled a kettle, her husband had suffered a fatal heart attack.

They were never the same afterwards, neither Matt nor his mother.

Mrs Doyle went to church every day to pray for her husband's soul and, in the absence of a babysitter, took her small son with her. And Matt, being brought up in the Catholic faith, guilt-tripped himself. Why hadn't he heard anything? Had his Dad called out and Matthew been too busy listening to the aeroplane? Why had he been more interested in toys than his Dad? He prayed and prayed to God that he wouldn't go to the Flames of Hell for letting his father die. And Carmel, seeing the little boy with his eyes tight shut, praying in silent earnest, genuinely thought he was going to enter the priesthood, as she'd always dreamed he would.

Being just a child and, like all children seeking approval from grown-ups, Matt was keen to impress his mother, and over the years everybody, including himself, assumed it was his vocation. Studying religion, altar boy, helping out at the church or with the Christian charities, he never had time for anything else.

By the time he was fifteen however the youngster had had enough of missing out on normal teenage pursuits, hated religion with a vengeance and rebelled. Getting drunk on two bottles of communion wine with Shirley Hines and sharing a snack of communion wafers for elevenses with two of his classmates was just the start. Asked, to his secret delight, to leave his "prestigious" (according to Father Thomas) role of altar boy, Matt determined to make up for lost time. But always being having to be "good" had left its mark. Suddenly freed from its restraints, he was too wild for his peers, who found his behaviour at first amusing and then immature, and soon he became involved with different friends, petty crime and a seeming course to self-destruction. The invitation, via Lydia and Jack, to meet with Lord and Lady Maddocks had been a bolt from the blue and, recognising their names from the newspapers as high-ranking politicians, he'd gone along for no other reason than he was bored and wanted to stir things up. Except things hadn't gone according to plan. Fortunately. Now he had a job, a new start, and being older and wiser, away from his old life, realised that Mam hadn't really meant any harm, but her mind had been unhinged by the death of her husband. Lady Maddocks' snobbery aside, he enjoyed working at Saxe Coburg Mansion. The wages were good, Mam was proud of him for all the right reasons and, like everyone, he was extremely fond of the funny little kid with the toffee-nosed accent.

As did all the House staff, Matt thought of Dora as one of their own and not one of the gentry. But with Matt there was something more. Being the youngest by several years of all the employees, and closest in age to Dora, he'd begun to regard her as a kid sister.

He brushed away his tears, angry and impatient with himself. Okay, it upset him to remember Dad's death, but it was ten years ago. It would be a thousand times worse for Dora right now. She'd looked on that old bloke as a Granddad and her emotions would still be raw. At least she would have her parents to help her through and…Matt frowned.

He wasn't entirely sure Lord and Lady Maddocks would be as sympathetic as they ought. They weren't exactly cruel to their daughter but they weren't exactly a doting mother and father either. The Maddocks never made any secret of the fact that they didn't like children. There were even rumours that back when they'd lived some place called Follyfoot Farm a stern official notice had hung on the gates warning "Strictly No Children Allowed" and servants would be fired immediately if they brought offspring on the premises. It was true no children ever came to play with Dora at Saxe Coburg. Not that she knew any. Being schooled at home by tutors, her only friends were the House staff.

And the horses Jimmy had taken her to see.

Dora's face lit up whenever she talked of horses and the two wooden horses that always stood in her bedroom window obviously meant a great deal to her. Once Matt had seen her with her nose pressed to the glass, a wistful look on her face as she gazed somewhere in the distance. It cut him to the quick, reminding him of his own lonely childhood, and he'd waved. She'd picked up both wooden horses to wave back in delight. He had the feeling she would have taken them everywhere with her if only she could, but he could also picture Prudence's snooty expression at the very idea. It was a shame her parents refused to let her take riding lessons like she dreamed of. Maybe though he could get something horsey to cheer her up. A poster of a horse or a horse jigsaw or a pencil case with a horse pattern or something, he'd browse round the shops next time he was in town. Deep in thought, the child in him fascinated by his footprints magically forming as his boots scrunched in the pristine white snow, the teenager was suddenly jolted out of his reverie. Was it his imagination or out of the corner of his eye had he just glimpsed, through the swirling white mist and winter-ravaged trees, a small being moving slowly along the snow-buried driveway?

Baffled and curious (and not a little alarmed; a man had just died therefore ghosts were still a distinct possibility) he changed his route, quickening his pace as fast as the snow would allow. At last he made out the strange creature to be a tangle-haired waif in a most peculiar state of dress. This appeared to consist of jeans, several cashmere jumpers, one or two, perhaps even three (for the child looked suspiciously padded) of which were worn normally, and another wrapped around her waist; a thick cardigan, worn on her head like a hat, its long sleeves knotted under her chin; a giant pair of mittens (or quite possibly two pairs of thick socks) on each hand and several pairs of socks worn over her shoes.

Dora, for Dora indeed it was, was making her way with great determination (and, alas, being so small and being so weighed down by sweaters, great difficulty too) towards the old cottage. On she marched like a tiny soldier, raising her knees almost to her chin, arms outstretched to keep her balance, trudging through the snow as though she led an invisible army into battle...

XXXXX

The snow was receding now, becoming no more than soft, feathery flakes falling over the world in a gentle hush. Jack had still not returned and Wilson, the stand-in chauffeur, was holding an umbrella over Lord and Lady Maddocks, who were about to climb into their Rolls. They must have espied Dora at the same time as Matthew did, for their heads jerked suddenly upwards. And something in their manner, some sixth sense, warned the boy to step quickly behind the little wall that surrounded the old Victorian flower garden to hide from view.

He wasn't close enough to listen to their conversation, but he could actually "hear" every word. Some good had come of all the years of "training" to be a priest. In his early teens, he had spent some time being out and about with Father Thomas when he worked with disabled students. In particular, deaf students. Not only did Matt know sign language, but he was also extremely proficient at lip reading…

xxxxx

"Prudence, look!" Lady Maddocks hissed urgently in his wife's ear.

She turned to see whatever he wished to draw to her attention. And, seeing what Arthur saw, she shuddered.

"Oh, good Lord! Whatever IS wrong with our child?"

But Arthur could only shake his head sadly in answer. They had long suspected that their young daughter suffered from some unnamed mental malady (although they were reluctant to have doctors assess her psychological state for fear of the embarrassment it might cause) and now Dora confirmed it. It just couldn't be normal to be born into luxury and wealth and yet behave like a common pauper.

Wilson looked equally startled. As well he might. The small girl cut a forlorn figure, frozen and shivering, hair tangled and matted, sock-covered feet filthy and soaking wet, the drenched sleeves of a cardigan draped over her head dripping off snow as they worked themselves undone.

"I…I n-need to see J-J-Jimmy," she announced through chattering teeth

"For goodness sake, Dora! We hadn't had time to tell you yet. Jimmy has passed away." Prudence delivered the statement matter-of-factly, unaware of how heartless it was. "We are both very distressed by his death and could do without your adding to it by attempting to catch pneumonia."

"Get into the car at once, you silly little girl!" Arthur chided. "Wilson, fetch her a blanket and ensure the heating is as high as it can be. Dora, what on earth were you thinking? This is not a time for playing games. A great friend of ours has just died and we have extremely important matters to attend to."

Dora's lower lip trembled and large tears splashed down her cheeks, but her parents barely noticed. Heart scalded, Matt watched, tempted to run out of his hiding place and yell angrily at them to put their arms around their little daughter, but all too aware it might only make things worse. And he thought he could surely be no colder than he already was on such a bitter, bitter day in a winter they claimed was the coldest for over two hundred years.

But what Prudence said next chilled him to the bone.

"Boarding school, Arthur," she mouthed to her husband over her daughter's head. "It's the only solution…"