“Mary’s mother must have dropped it when she fell over earlier. I would gladly deliver the handbag.” Ben recalled the young woman and those pretty lavender-blue eyes. It would be good to see her again, he thought. “Only I don’t know where they live.”
“Couldn’t be easier. They live at Knudsden House—you must know the place,” the Reverend Gray prompted. “I recall admiring it when I came into the village for the first time. It’s that big Edwardian house, with the large, beautifully kept gardens. You can’t miss it.”
Ben had seen the place. An architect by training, he took a keen interest in the buildings around him. “Of course!” he cried. “It’s the one set back from the lane, behind tall iron gates.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I would never have guessed they live there.” Somehow, despite the elegant walking stick, and the chauffeur-driven car, he had pictured the women living in a large rambling cottage, with thatched roof and roses growing at the door. The vicar remarked thoughtfully, “According to my housekeeper, Knudsden House used to belong to the village squire; he passed on some thirty years ago, and the house was put up for sale.”
Taking a moment to recall his housekeeper’s exact words, he went on, “It was then bought by Mr. Davidson and his wife. Their daughter Mary was just an infant at the time. They were a family who preferred to keep themselves very much to themselves.”
There was a silence as Ben digested all of this information.
The vicar added thoughtfully, “The mother and daughter preferred to keep themselves to themselves; for a long time they rarely ventured out. In recent years though, they were concerned themselves more with the community, and have given generously to any good cause; the daughter with her time and labor, and the mother with cash donations.”
“Hmh! For someone who knows very little about the family, you seem to have gathered a fair amount of information.”
“So I have.” The vicar had surprised himself. “Don’t forget, I have my spies,” he said wryly. “My housekeeper comes from a long line of gossips who’ve lived in this village since time began, so it goes without saying that what she doesn’t know isn’t worth knowing. Mind, the dead are good at keeping secrets—and even she doesn’t know the answer to the mystery of that inscription.”
When the Labrador bounded up, Ben grabbed his lead and wound it around his wrist. He shivered. The temperature had dropped, almost while they were talking.
“And what about the daughter?” Ben asked. “Did she attend the village school?”
“No. Mary was educated at home. A tutor arrived each morning and departed every afternoon.” The vicar’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It must have been a very lonely life for a little girl.”
Ben was thinking the very same, and his heart went out to her. “So, as far as you know, she never made friends?”
“From what I’m given to understand, the daughter has no close friends, but she does get on very well with the two women who help them out. Elsie Langton does a bit of housekeeping. Her married daughter Rona works in the flower-shop. Mary is closer to Rona, which is understandable when they’re at the shop together most days.”
Ben had heard the name. “Is that the same Langton who keeps the smithy on the farm adjoining mine?”
“That’s the father. He doesn’t own the farm, I know that much, but he makes a reasonable living, what with his smithy and the market-gardening. The Langton family are closer to the Davidsons than anyone else in the village.”
“What about the man who drives for them?”
Again, the vicar was able to satisfy his curiosity. “Arthur Chives is an old friend of Mrs. Davidson’s who comes from Liverpool. He’s a quiet, well-liked man who lives in the cottage next to the big house.” He passed the handbag to Ben. “I really must stop chatting and be on my way. I’ll leave this with you, shall I?”
“I won’t be able to return it straight away.” Ben took the handbag from him. “I’ve got hungry animals to be fed.”
“Of course. I understand.” Having worked all his adult life in rural parishes, the vicar was familiar with the way of things. “The animals don’t know or care what day it is, they still need tending.” He gave a knowing nod. “Much like my own flock, eh?”
Ben examined the handbag; it was an expensive-looking leather one. “I wonder we didn’t notice this on the ground before,” he remarked. “I mean, you could hardly miss it, could you?”
The vicar agreed, but just then he spotted a small, round person calling his attention from the lane. “That’s Betty … my housekeeper,” he groaned. “No doubt she’s landed herself in another crisis. Last week she broke the new vacuum cleaner; the week before that she let the bathroom sink overflow and nearly flooded the Vicarage.”
He rolled his eyes heavenward. “The Lord only knows what kind of chaos she’s been up to now!”
He waved a hand to let her know he was on his way. “I’d best go,” he grumbled, “before the house comes tumbling down round our ears!” His good-natured laugh told Ben he would probably forgive the housekeeper her latest mishap.
“What about the handbag?” Ben called after Mike Gray. “What if it doesn’t belong to them?”
“Then it will belong to someone else, I suppose,” the man turned and answered. “But we won’t know until you ask, will we? Just take the handbag with you. You can return it to Knudsden House, after you’ve seen to your animals.”
His wink was meaningful. “Besides, I saw you and young Mary chatting, and if you don’t mind me saying, I thought you made a right handsome pair. I’m sure she would be very pleased if you turned up on her front doorstep.”
Then he was away, rushing down the lane with a sense of urgency, following the small round person tripping on in front, shouting over her shoulder and seeming frantic about something or another.
Smiling to himself, Ben went on his way. A vicar’s life wasn’t as dull as he’d imagined. Then he thought about Mary, and his mood softened. The vicar was right: he and the girl had got on very well, though whether she really would be pleased to see him turn up on her doorstep was another matter altogether.
Away from the church-grounds and into open countryside, he set the dog loose. “And don’t go splashing through the brook!” he called after the big animal. “I haven’t got time to give you a bath today.” He had more important things to do. Uppermost in his mind was the proposed visit to Knudsden House.
Striding across the field, he kept a wary eye on the dog; when the Labrador took off after a rabbit, he called him back. “Here, Chuck! Good boy.”
On his master’s call, Chuck came bounding back, but was soon off again at the sight of another dog being set loose across the field. Seeing the reason for his pet’s excitement, Ben let him have his head, smiling at the sight of Chuck canoodling with the smaller, prettier animal. “Casanova! Chase anything in a skirt, so you would,” he said aloud.
Covering the ground at a fast pace, he drew his coat tighter about him; the wind was getting up, the skies were darkening and the smell of storm was strong in the air. He called the dog to heel, but by now he was nowhere in sight. “Chuck! Here, boy!” He scoured the landscape, and called again, but the dog was gone.
Ben was nearly home now. Quickening his steps, he made for the top of the rise. From there he had the world at his feet, and the dog in his sights. “C’mon, fella!” But Chuck was too engrossed in dancing after his fancy piece. With a sterner voice Ben caught his attention. “Here, boy!” he bellowed.
With ears pricked and head bent to the wind, the dog raced up the hill and was soon close to heel. A few minutes later the two of them were hurrying down the path to the farmhouse.
“I’m off now, Mr. Morgan.” The old man came through the field gate and clicked it shut. “I shan’t be sorry to get home,” he told Ben. “It’s turned real chilly all of a sudden.” Taking off his flat cap, he scratched his head and looked up to the skies. “I reckon it’s blowing up a real nasty storm.”
Ben agreed. �
�You’re right,” he observed. “Mind how you go and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
When Ben bought the farm, old Les had been part and parcel of the place. Ben had never regretted agreeing to keep him on because he was hardworking and reliable, a real treasure; besides which he had a cheery wife to keep, and a lazy good-for-nothing grandson, who showed up from time to time looking for a handout, and though he was more trouble than he was worth, poor old Les never turned him away.
“I’ve stripped the tree-branches and brought them down,” Les informed him now. “You’ll find them all stood up at the back of the barn, ready for chopping. By the time you’ve finished, there’ll be enough to keep the whole of Salford in firewood. Oh, and I’ve levelled that back field just as you asked—though you’ll need a new axle for the tractor. If you ask me it won’t last above another month at best.”
Quick to agree, Ben put a proposition to the old fella. “I think it’s time we had a new tractor altogether. What would you say to that, eh?”
The old man’s face lit up. “I’d say that were a blooming good idea!”
“Right then. We’ll make arrangements to go and look at a few. Now get off home, Les, and take a well-earned rest.”
“I could stay and help you with the animals if you like?” From the moment he had shaken Ben’s hand, Les had recognized the good in him. His first impressions had proved right, for Ben was fair-minded, caring and generous, and though he had never worked on the land before he bought Far Crest Farm, he had taken to it like a duck to water.
“The missus won’t mind,” Les persisted. “Just say the word and I’ll be right behind you. We’ll have that lot fed in no time at all.”
Ben shook his head. “Thanks all the same, but I can manage well enough on my own.”
“I’m not past it yet, I’ll have you know,” the old man argued. “And it weren’t my fault that the boar took against me.”
“I know you’re not past it. And I also know it wasn’t your fault that the boar took against you. But he did, and you were almost killed, and I’m not prepared to take that chance again.”
Ben didn’t want to hurt the old man’s feelings, but if he hadn’t managed to distract the boar that day, Les would have been killed for sure. As it was, he suffered a broken leg and had been left with a slight limp. Ben still felt guilty. “Look, we’ve gone over all this time and again, and I won’t change my mind,” he said gently, then: “Besides, don’t you think you do enough round here already?”
“I could do more, if only you’d let me.”
“There’s no need, Les. The arrangement we have works very well. We do the plowing and sowing between us. I keep the hedges down, you bring in the old branches, and I chop them up. With the help of casual work when the harvest is got in, this little farm runs like clockwork, so let’s not spoil a good thing, eh?”
The old man shrugged. “If you say so, Mr. Morgan.”
“I do, but don’t think I’m not grateful for the offer. I’ll let you into a secret, shall I? I enjoy feeding the animals.” He grinned. “They’ve begun to think I’m their mummy.”
The old man laughed. “You certainly have a way with ’em, I’ll say that for yer.” He pulled the neb of his cap down over his forehead. “If yer sure then, I’d best make tracks. I expect the missus will have the tea on the table and the kettle already singing away.”
Before they parted, Ben assured him quietly, “Les—you do know I could never manage this place without you?”
That brought a smile to the old farmhand’s face, for he was well aware of how Ben Morgan had bypassed younger, stronger men in order to keep him in work. “You’re a good man, Mr. Morgan, God bless you.” With that he was quickly gone, away down the path, off to the village, and home to his darling woman.
For the next couple of hours, Ben was kept busy. He had a tried and tested feeding routine; despite this, it was not only a dirty job but a time-consuming one, too. There were two hundred chickens in the hen-house; twenty fat porkers in the small barn; the same number of milking cows in the long-shed, and a small flock of thirty sheep in the big barn.
Feeding them all took between two and three hours in the morning and the same at night, and when they were let loose in the fields, all the barns and sheds had to be mucked out, ready for when the weather turned and the animals were brought back in again.
As he went inside the farmhouse, Ben gave a sigh of relief. He had fallen in love with the place the moment he set foot through the door. It was like a calm after the storm, a haven where he could lick his wounds and grow strong again.
The year leading up to the move had been the worst of his life. After leaving the RAF, in which he had served for three years after his training, he had gone back to his career as an architect. When the company went bust through financial mismanagement and shortages of some basic materials, he took out a loan to start up his own business. Sadly, it never really took off. He sold the premises at a loss, and found work with the local council, but hated every minute of it. His wife grew distant because there were no longer the funds to maintain the kind of life she wanted. Then his lively, darling daughter Abbie, by then aged eighteen, moved out of the family home and he had missed her terribly.
He hoped he and his wife Pauline would grow closer, and he believed this was happening—until he caught her in bed with his best friend, Peter. There had been a long and unpleasant period when he didn’t know which way to turn. His daughter had been his salvation, but she had already forged a life of her own; she shared a flat with two other girls and had a good job, working for a tea-importer in London. Thankfully, the break-up of her parents’ marriage had not seemed to interfere too much with all that.
The divorce had been a messy business, and the only ones to come out of it winning were the lawyers. Still, Ben was determined not to slide into bitterness, because what was done was done, and there was no turning back for either of them.
When it was over, he and his wife were left with enough from the sale of their family home to start again. She had gone to live abroad with her new husband, while Ben chose a completely different way of life. He was happy enough now. Perhaps happier, in a strange way, than he had ever been.
Taking a deep invigorating sigh, he looked around the farmhouse. There was a warm feel of history in this delightful little place. He could not deny it had its disadvantages, though they were small compared to the joy he had found here. The whisper of a smile crossed his features as he recalled the number of times he’d banged his head on the low cross-beams, and the wood-burning stoves caused more dust and dirt than he could ever have envisaged. The small windows were drafty, and when the wind drove the rain, it came right through the framework to soak the walls. The flagstone floors were sunk and broken in places and even in the height of summer there was a dampness in the air that got right into the bones. This was his first winter in the cottage, and once the better weather arrived, he knew he would have to put in many a long hour working on the house in between his other responsibilities.
Yet in spite of all that, he would not have changed one single thing.
As always, he went straight to the kitchen, where he turned on the gas stove, filled the kettle and set it for boiling. “Now then, Chuck.” Going to the pantry, he took out a lamb chop and dropped it into the dog’s bowl. “You chew on that while I see who’s been writing to me.”
Returning to the dresser, he picked up the mail which had lain there since yesterday. There was a bill for animal feed, a card reminding him to return an overdue book to the local library, and a white envelope with a tupenny stamp and a small pink flower drawn in the corner.
“We know who this is from, don’t we, eh?” He cocked an eye at the dog, who was far too busy enjoying his treat to worry about what the postman had brought.
Ben took out the letter and unfolded it, his eyes scanning the words and his heart warming as he read them aloud:
Dear Dad,
I’ve managed to get time off at last, so
if it’s OK with you, I plan to visit for a few days. It’s been too long since we had a real heart-to-heart, don’t you think? I’m not sure which day I’ll turn up, but it’ll either be next Sunday or Monday. If that doesn’t fit in with your plans, you’ll have to let me know a suitable date. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume it’s all right to arrive sometime on one of those days. I’m really looking forward to seeing you, Meanwhile, take care of yourself,
Your loving daughter,
Abbiexxx
Folding the letter, he slipped it back into the envelope before dropping it onto the dresser.
“You’ll need to look to your laurels,” he told the dog with a wag of his finger. “Abbie’s coming to stay, and when she’s about, no one gets any peace!” His daughter was noisy, untidy and could be the most irritating creature in the world. More than a week of her company and he would likely be pulling his hair out. But oh, how he was looking forward to seeing her.
He was so excited that he cut his finger when making himself a cheese sandwich, and then found he could only nibble at it, though he swigged down three cups of tea and ravished the jam-tart made especially for him by Les’s wife. In fact, she’d made him a whole bagful only the day before yesterday, and this was the last one. “Sorry, matey,” he told the dog who had demolished his chop and was begging for a crumb. “You’ve had your tea. This is mine, and besides, there isn’t enough here to share.” Nevertheless, he was still shamed into throwing him a bite.
With the jam-tart all gone and the teapot emptied, Ben put on his work-clothes and with the dog at his heels, made his way to the yard where he unlocked the feed room. Here he laid out three large galvanized buckets; one for the chickens; one for the sheep and another for the pigs. That done, he lifted the lids from three of the drums and scooping out several sizeable helpings of food from each of them in turn, he filled the buckets to brimming.
Taking up the buckets, two in one hand and one in the other, he made his way over to the big barn. Knowing exactly when feed-time was, the sheep were already crowded round the food troughs. On sight of him, they began pushing and shoving their way forward. “Get back! BACK, I SAY!”
The Journey Page 2