Luckpenny Land

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘This isn’t a cruise you’re going on,’ she said, her voice breaking.

  ‘I know that. We start our training in Liverpool, first thing in the morning.’ There was an excitement about him, an intensity of expectation, and Meg fell silent as a sudden awkwardness hung between them. ‘I’ll be home again before you’ve even missed me,’ he consoled her.

  ‘Yes, of course you will.’ They both knew this might not be true.

  There was so much she wanted to say to him but no words would come. They seemed insignificant in comparison with what they now faced. But there was one thing she must ask.

  ‘What about the wedding? Can’t we marry before you go?’

  Jack shook his head, very purposeful and decisive all of a sudden. ‘No time. Have to wait till I get leave.’ He thrust his hands in his pockets and walked to the window, looking out over the fells. ‘Anyway, this is no time to think of marriage, with the war and everything.’

  ‘I hear lots of people are rushing to get married before it’s…’ she stopped and hastily readjusted her words as she realised what she’d been about to say. ‘Before their fiancé leaves.’

  He turned to look at her, his eyes dark and unreadable, gone from her to some other place. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you? Being rushed. Let’s leave it, for the moment, till we see how things settle down.’

  Meg lowered her head, blinked hard and managed to give a little nod. She thought her heart was breaking. ‘You’ll write?’

  He came to her then, took her in his arms and held her close, his chin against her hair, drinking in the sweet fragrance of her. And for the first time in his life Jack Lawson wondered if perhaps he did love this sweet girl more than he realised. At least, as much as he was capable of loving anybody. ‘Of course I’ll write. I shall expect loads of letters from you too, every week at least, and a photo to make the other chaps jealous.’

  She laughed, a small hiccuping sound, but dared say nothing, not just then. The pain in her breast was too much to bear.

  ‘You’ll look after yourself. Don’t work too hard,’ he teased. Then lifting her hands kissed each fingertip gently, sensually, with the warmth of his lips. ‘Keep yourself pretty for me. No calluses on these lovely hands, eh?’

  ‘You sound like Father. Women will have to work too, you know, if the men are all called up. I’ll have to do my bit, Jack.’

  ‘We’re not going to quarrel, are we? Not when I’m leaving.’

  She laid her head on his shoulder. He was so strong, so handsome, so brave. She felt ashamed of her outburst, wishing she could take back the words, spoken too fiercely because of her distress. ‘No, course not.’

  ‘There’ll be plenty of time, when it’s all over, for marriage and all that. Don’t offer to come to the station with me. No goodbyes, eh? Just promise me one thing.’

  ‘Anything.’ Meg was proud and astonished how normal her voice sounded.

  ‘Take care of Lanky for me. He’s a funny old soul but he is my dad.’

  ‘As if you need to ask.’

  There was nothing left to say. His kiss was deep and long and broke her heart, then he was gone and she was alone looking out on to a beautiful sunny September day and wondering how it was the larks could still be singing.

  Meg had never felt so alone in her life before. Charlie gone, and Jack, even Kath absent, gone off on holiday. What a time to choose. Perhaps she’d come back now that war had been declared. Oh, she did hope so.

  More than anything, she needed a friend right now.

  Ruby Nelson’s boarding house took pride of place on the corner of a row of tall Victorian villas. The wide, tree-lined avenue, its pavements broad enough for the crinolines of a more genteel age, had one end open to the sea, a determined walk away. The wind funnelled up its length and swirled through the rarely open front door of number six, to rustle the newspapers piled tidily upon the hall table for guests to share.

  Kath gazed up at the house with sinking heart. This was not at all the escape she had once planned or dreamed of. Why hadn’t she gone to London? It wasn’t as if she was afraid of being bombed.

  It all came down to money. For the first time in her life Katherine Ellis was short of funds. She had her allowance of course, but had never troubled about sticking to it so was not good at budgeting. Daddy was always ready to stump up more whenever she needed it. Or had been, until recently. Lately he’d been complaining that his investments wouldn’t last for ever and his pension wasn’t going near as far as he’d hoped. He’d even cautioned her to acquire the art of thrift, which was perfectly ridiculous.

  ‘We’re surely not on Queer Street?’ she had protested.

  ‘No more are we on Easy Street,’ he’d told her kindly, but with unusual firmness. ‘This house costs a small fortune to maintain, not to mention Bonnie, whom you rarely ride nowadays anyway. All I’m asking for is a little more restraint. Times are hard.’

  So the idea of her father financing a small flat in London, as she had hoped, was out of the question.

  Kath had stormed and sulked, refused to speak to him for a whole five days while she sat in her room and picked at the food brought to her on trays by a devoted maid, wondering where she could turn for help.

  Rosemary had been the one to come up with the compromise of Aunt Ruby. Bitter at Richard’s defection, she fondly hoped a spell in Southport would put her rebellious daughter into the company of more prepossessing company than the farming folk she spent far too much time with.

  ‘Spend a few weeks by the sea,’ she had suggested. ‘You’re looking decidedly peaky. And I’m sure Ruby will be glad of your company. You won’t be troubled by her guests. She keeps a strictly genteel establishment.’

  So Kath had abandoned her hopes for the moment of a more exciting getaway and here she was, learning to make the best of things for the first time in her life.

  She walked up the path and lifted the polished brass knocker. It sounded loud echoing along an empty passage beyond. She wondered if her mother had written. Not for a moment did she consider that Aunt Ruby might refuse to take her in, or have no vacancies. She was family. That surely counted for something.

  The door was opened by the skinniest, shortest maid Kath had ever set eyes on. She wore a sacking apron that reached from a pert chin right down to her polished black boots. Her small face was almost obscured by a white hat pulled down low over her forehead. Not a trace of hair showed.

  Kath adjusted her face into a pleasant smile and indicated the crocodile bags which the taxi driver had deposited upon the path. ‘Would you have those brought inside and tell my aunt that Katherine, her niece, has arrived.’

  ‘Miss?’ The little maid looked terrified. ‘Are you expected?’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll receive me.’ And with grand assurance, Kath stepped over the shining clean doorstep and strolled elegantly into the house, drawing off her kid gloves and looking about her with practised ease.

  ‘You’d best wait in the parlour,’ the maid said, looking flustered. ‘Madam doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s taking her afternoon nap. I’ll fetch you a cup of tea directly.’

  ‘Thank you. Lemon, no sugar.’

  ‘Very good, miss.’ The maid bobbed a curtsey and closed the door softly behind her.

  Kath walked over to the most comfortable chair and disported herself upon it. ‘Well,’ she said, addressing a tall aspidistra plant that guarded the front bay window, ‘perhaps things won’t be so bad here after all.’

  Thank goodness for Sally Ann. Left alone with her father and Dan, Meg might well have gone mad. The thought of the days, weeks, months stretching ahead without Jack or Charlie made her feel ill.

  The hens’ complaining racket told her she had woken late. It was a wonder Joe hadn’t come to drag her from her bed, as he had done so often in the past. Pulling on her skirt and jumper she ran to let them out, then quickly milked Betsy and Daisy. She fed the calves with skimmed milk and linseed and went into breakfast ju
st as if life were normal, though with less than her usual appetite.

  But this was war and nothing would ever be normal again. ‘It’s as if they’ve disappeared off the face of the earth.’

  ‘I know. All we can do is wait, the thing women are supposed to be good at.’

  Sally Ann was hurting too as three of her brothers had been called up.

  ‘I’m not good at waiting. I prefer action.’ Depression swamped Meg as she viewed the emptiness of life ahead.

  ‘How will Lanky manage?’ Sally Ann asked as they took their morning cup of coffee together.

  Meg shook her head, fighting back tears. ‘I shall go and see him this afternoon, try to help him work something out. He’ll need extra labour now that Jack’s gone.’

  ‘Perhaps he’ll decide to sell.’

  ‘You think my father will start on him again?’

  The two exchanged a long glance. ‘Dan says he’s set his heart on having that place. Says we need the extra land so’s he can make more money now we’re wed. But I thought there was free grazing land in plenty on the high fells.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s poor. Broombank owns good intake land as well as woods and water. And has easier access to the fells than Ashlea. It’s a neglected farm but with good potential.’

  ‘Well, I don’t understand all the ins and outs of it, but I wouldn’t put anything past your father, war or no war.’

  ‘Perhaps Lanky will sell. Right now I don’t even care, Sal. I feel as if someone has gone over me with a steamroller. How can I live without Jack?’ Tears flooded the grey eyes despite her best efforts and Meg shook her head, angry with herself. ‘If I don’t pull meself together, I’ll blubber right into me coffee cup.’

  ‘Blubber away. I’ll join you.’

  The sound of a car drawing up in the yard surprised them both. Meg’s first thought was that one of the men had returned and she flew eagerly to the door. Could Jack have changed his mind and decided to register for farmwork after all? She flung it excitedly open. A tall, thin man stood upon the step. He wore a grey overcoat and a trilby hat which he lifted politely at sight of Meg. In his hand he carried a sheaf of papers and a pencil. He looked disturbingly official. ‘Mrs Turner?’

  ‘Miss.’ Meg half turned to reveal her sister-in-law, her heart in her mouth. Surely not bad news already? ‘This is Mrs Turner.’

  The man gave a tired smile. He had been working flat out driving about the countryside for so many long days he was growing short on politeness. Nevertheless he drew in a deep breath and prepared for the worst. ‘I’m from the evacuation board. I have an evacuee for you.’

  For a short, stunned moment, Meg didn’t understand. She put a hand to her head, trying to think. Of course. She remembered hearing it on the wireless. They were moving children out of the urban and inner city areas into the country for safety. Everyone was expected to find space for them. ‘You mean from the city?’

  The man licked his pencil and ticked something on his board. ‘Manchester actually. Would you mind signing here, please?’ Meg looked all around him. ‘Where? Who is this evacuee?’

  ‘She’s in the car.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Sally Ann. ‘Joe won’t want a girl.’

  ‘You have no choice what you get. If you’d been at Oxenholme Station when they arrived you might have been able to choose. It’s too late now.’ He didn’t go on to explain that this child had been rejected by everyone who had visited the station. It wasn’t his place to say, nor theirs to complain. This was war after all.

  ‘That’s all right,’ put in Meg, anxious not to seem unwelcoming. ‘It’ll be nice to have some female company. It’s only that my father thinks men are more useful on farms.’

  But the man wasn’t interested in the Turner family’s problems. ‘If you’d just sign here, I’ll fetch her. It explains your rights and everything.’ Meg did so, thinking that perhaps a young child would help to fill the lonely days ahead. She felt ridiculously buoyed up by the prospect.

  ‘Can we see her now? How old is she?’

  The man looked dubious. ‘I couldn’t say. But I should warn you that she’s not too keen.’

  Meg felt a rush of compassion. ‘She must be missing her mother. How dreadful to be swept away from home to live with perfect strangers. Poor child.’ She put a hand upon the man’s arm. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of her.’

  Edward Lipstock looked up into clear grey eyes and fell instantly in love. He wished, with all the fervour of his forty-two years, that he could change places with the waif in his car and live day by day with this entrancing girl. ‘I shall have to call from time to time,’ he said, heart lifting a fraction at the thought.

  ‘Of course you will. Sal, get Mr... I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?’

  Mr Lipstock told her, the smile warming as Meg shook his hand. ‘Make Mr Lipstock a cup of tea. You don’t know how you’ve cheered me today. I just needed to think of someone beside myself.’ Then she was off across the yard before he could warn her, wishing now that he’d done so right at the start.

  The child sat on the back seat, hunched up like some wizened little gnome. It was difficult in this position to guess her age and when Meg opened the car door she reeled back as if she expected to be attacked.

  ‘It’s all right. You can get out. We won’t hurt you.’

  She was filthy. The stench of urine and stale dirt almost choked Meg as she leaned into the car but she gave no sign of it. It wasn’t the girl’s fault if no one had taught her how to wash. The only clean part of her face were the whites of her eyes. A dewdrop hung from each nostril and she was dressed in an odd assortment of indescribable clothing with a large luggage label pinned to her flat chest, rather like a discarded parcel. Someone had obviously tried to clean up the skinny legs, as two white circles of flesh showed upon the bony knees. Clearly the effort had been too overwhelming for the rest of the legs were ingrained with a lifetime’s dirt. The child did not move.

  ‘I bet you’re hungry.’

  Dark brown eyes stared silently up at Meg. Beside her on the seat was a square box, obviously a gas mask, and a small brown paper carrier bag which the child clutched tightly to her side. Meg tried again.

  ‘Mr Lipstock says you come from Manchester. I’ve never been to Manchester. Why don’t you come inside and tell us all about it? We’re having dinner in a minute. Beef stew and dumplings. Perhaps you’d like some?’

  She was getting no response. If it were possible, the silence appeared to compound itself with increasing resolution the more persuasive she tried to be. Meg decided to try a different tack.

  Turning away from the car, she carelessly shrugged her shoulders and started to walk away.

  ‘All right, it’s up to you. We’ll see you later, after we’ve eaten.’

  ‘I’m not bloody well stoppin’ here!’

  Meg stopped dead. She saw the shocked expression on Sal’s face but her own, she felt, was very near to laughter. Without turning round, she said, ‘Why not?’

  ‘Them.’

  Meg had to turn now to see what it was the child referred to. As she saw the direction of her terrified gaze she very nearly laughed out loud but managed to stop herself just in time. ‘You mean the cows? Oh, you don’t have to worry about Daisy and Betsy. They’re soft as butter.’ She chuckled at her own joke. ‘Well, they would be, wouldn’t they? Since they make it so well.’

  But still the child did not move and Meg felt a twinge of disappointment. A few steps behind her she could hear Mr Lipstock whispering something to Sally Ann, saying how difficult the child had been. No doubt that was why he had brought her to this remote farmstead. None of the good ladies who had taken the trouble to visit the station to offer their clean homes to a poor evacuee would have been interested in this one.

  Meg felt a cold nose touch her leg and instinctively put down her hand to fondle Rust’s ears. Rust. Of course. Well, it was worth a try. ‘I don’t suppose you like dogs any better?’ she said
, with studied carelessness. ‘This is Rust. He gets a bit bored up here on his own with no one to play with. I’m often too busy, you see. I don’t suppose you’d consider...’ Meg sighed and half turned away. ‘No, as you said, you don’t intend staying. I quite understand. Come on, Rust, let’s go.’

  ‘Aye, I do.’

  Meg’s heart leaped. ‘Do what?’

  The child was standing beside her now, having slipped silently from the car. Still clutching the brown paper bag and with her gas mask hanging on a string over a coat that very nearly reached her ankles now that she was standing, her scrawny figure looked an even more pathetic sight.

  ‘Like dogs.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I used to ’ave a dog once. Of me own.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘It got died.’

  ‘Ah, that’s sad.’

  ‘Me mam said it was rat poison what did it.’

  Meg nodded wisely. ‘You do have to be very careful with rat poison. We have to use it here sometimes, on the farm. Would Rust do instead, do you think? Just while you are here. I’m sure this silly war won’t last long. You’ll be back home again by Christmas, I shouldn’t wonder.’

  Dark eyes regarded Meg with uncanny intelligence and she tried again to guess the child’s age. Nine? Ten? Yet the eyes looked older. ‘I’ll stop an’ have dinner with yer. Then I’ll see.’

  ‘It’s a deal.’ Meg started to walk towards the kitchen door, Rust at her heel as usual. The child followed them right into the house. Mr Lipstock bade them goodbye and made a hasty departure, while the going was good.

  ‘Would you like to wash your hands before you eat?’

  ‘No.’

  Meg decided this was not the moment to advocate the virtues of hygiene. Nor did she make any comment as the child squatted on her haunches beside Rust and start to stroke the dog’s back with meticulous thoroughness. He lolled his tongue and turned gently patient eyes upon his new admirer. He was never one to object to attention and this was the first time he could remember ever being allowed inside this kitchen with all its good smells.