by Rosie Clarke
‘Is that why Gretchen rang the house the other day?’
Sebastian’s brows rose. ‘She rang you?’
‘She wanted to talk to you urgently – I imagine it was her, but she wouldn’t tell me why she wanted you…’
‘I’m sorry she did that,’ Sebastian frowned. ‘Marianne would never have permitted it had she known, but Gretchen… well, she’s been through a lot…’
‘Yes. I’m sure she has, poor girl. I understand better now that you’ve talked to me – and of course you must honour your promise,’ Lizzie said, reaching out for his hand, ‘and bring them both here. I’d like to get to know them and I might know some people in the trade who can help them get started. Perhaps it needn’t cost quite so much if we use our influence with people we know…’
‘You don’t mind if I give them what they need from the sale of the factory?’ Sebastian asked and took her hand, holding it tightly. ‘I’ve got a customer and he’s promised to keep the business going, but he will only pay for the stock and the machinery, which amounts to just under three thousand and I have some debts to pay…’
‘You’re sure we can’t turn it around if we try?’
‘Unfortunately, yes. I’ve tried everything I know – my customer is going to introduce much cheaper lines, though he says he will still produce a few dozen pairs of the handmade shoes for as long as he can sell them…’
‘It’s a pity, but I know how difficult it is to contend with cheap imports these days,’ Lizzie agreed. ‘We’ll manage, Sebastian. I have my share of Lizzie Larch and you have the shop. We’re comfortable and we have so much more… our daughters, friends, and now we have another little one to think of…’ She placed her hands on her bump lovingly. ‘It’s all I need, Sebastian…all I want is for us all to be together…’
*
Francie knew as soon as she entered the house that something had happened. Her mother was singing as she prepared their evening meal and her father was just coming in from the garden, his boots muddy and he looked happy as he bent to unlace them.
‘Should you be doing that, Dad?’ she asked and knelt to help him off with the boots. ‘I thought the doctor told you to rest?’
‘Gardening relaxes me,’ her father said. ‘A spot of physical work never hurt anyone – but I didn’t do anything too strenuous.’
‘Good…’ She looked at her mother. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Betty is safe.’ Her mother smiled at her. ‘We don’t know where she is but she’s with a friend…’
‘So she just ran off again?’
‘No, it wasn’t quite like that,’ her father said. ‘Betty was in trouble, Francie, but she was lucky. Frank Hadley saw what happened and went after her. He managed to get her away from the man that abducted her – and he’s taken her somewhere safe…’
Francie sat down, feeling as if the air had been punched out of her. She’d been thinking it might be a good time to tell her parents that she wanted to put her art on hold and take up what looked as if it might be a wonderful career for her, but she couldn’t upset them now.
‘Betty is all right?’ she croaked, her throat tight with emotion. ‘He didn’t hurt her – this man?’
‘Not that we’ve been told – but your mother and I have been thinking about you, Francie. It isn’t likely, but there is a faint possibility that these people might try to take you in retaliation…’
‘No, why should they?’ Francie stared in disbelief. ‘How can they even know I exist?’
‘Perhaps they don’t, but we think you’d be safer back at college,’ her mother said and smiled at her. ‘Your father has… friends and they are trying to sort this mess out, but until then…’
Francie swallowed hard. She’d been trying to screw up her courage to tell them about the offer from the magazine but now she realised she might not have to. She could return to college, taking the work she’d done with her – and enter it for her exams. After that there would be a few lectures and then the girls were supposed to work on their own projects…no one would wonder where she was if she said she was going away to paint some views by herself, because most of the students did it in the last weeks of term. It wasn’t long to the Christmas break and she’d be able to do the shoot Styled wanted.
It was wrong to deceive her parents, especially after everything Betty had put them through. She wanted to tell them the news she thought so exciting, but they would get upset and they were still worried about Betty – and her too, it seemed.
‘All right, if it’s what you both want,’ she said but turned away to take some juice from the fridge because she couldn’t look into her mother’s trusting eyes. ‘If you’re both well and don’t need me…’
*
Francie had packed all her artwork when her mother came up to her bedroom. Clothes for college were easy and she just threw a few pairs of jeans and some tops into the trunk on top of her work. The two portraits were too large to pack but they would be crated and sent with the trunk in the guard’s van of the train.
‘Almost done, darling?’ her mother said and brought a pile of clean undies and a clean skirt to place in the trunk. ‘Have you got toiletries, soap, toothbrush and shoes…?’
Francie laughed at her mother’s priorities. ‘I’ve got everything,’ Francie said as she placed a smart pair of slacks on top with her best jumper. She’d want something smart for travelling in when she went on the photo shoot for Styled, which had been arranged during the her visit to their offices in London. They were going to use the same photographer.
Her mother sat on the edge of the bed, looking at her oddly. ‘Francie, did you and Betty see your father leaving a dress shop with a young woman?’
Francie gasped. ‘How did you know – did Betty tell you? We agreed not to…’
‘I thought you must have,’ Mum said and smiled. ‘I can’t give you details, but your father helped a young woman named Gretchen, and she is the daughter of an old friend of his. It was her you saw leaving that shop with him. She’d been… living abroad in dreadful circumstances. Your father rescued her and brought her to London to live with her mother. Because she had nothing, he bought her some new clothes – and she was very grateful and kissed him.’
‘He touched her face. We thought…’ Francie’s cheeks burned. ‘I feel awful, Mum, but we both thought he was having an affair with her – it’s part of the reason Betty was so angry with him. We hated it that he could do that to you…’
‘I understand, darling, and I thank both of you for caring about my feelings, but your father and I have had a long talk. I too had wondered if there was someone else in his life but it was only the work he’s been doing… rather important and dangerous work, which he assures me is finished now…’
‘Is it something to do with what he did in the war?’ Francie asked, remembering that she’d heard her parents speak of long separations when her father was working for the War Office.
‘Yes, in a way,’ Mum said and looked sad. ‘I’m proud of him, Francie – and you and Betty should be too. We don’t need all the details. Your father is a brave, honest man and he loves us. Never forget that, darling…’
‘No, I won’t,’ Francie promised and hugged her. ‘I love him, Mum. I was angry with him when I thought he’d hurt you – but I didn’t stop loving him.’
‘I wish Betty understood…’
‘She will when you explain. Betty loves both of you but she’s never been sure that Dad loves her, because he wasn’t her blood father – but I’ve told her he loves her. I sometimes think he loves her most but I’m not jealous… I love her too. She’s my beautiful big sister and I miss her when she’s not around …’
‘Perhaps she will telephone you at college. She has agreed to ring us when she can. I’ll tell her where you are and she might be able to telephone…’
‘Miss Honiton doesn’t like that, because the girls have to use the telephone in the staff room. Tell her to give me her number in a letter and I’ll ring h
er.’
‘If I can I’ll get it for you and send it on,’ Mum promised. ‘Have you finished your packing now, darling? Only, I thought we might all go for a walk to the pub together. We can have a drink and enjoy a little celebration meal now that Betty is safe. Our family is reunited even if Betty can’t be with us tonight – and perhaps we shall all be together again at Christmas…’
Chapter 25
Betty looked at the ancient farmhouse set in the lea of towering hills, at the head of a long valley where it was possible to see for miles, the view of rolling fields dotted with sheep and a few cows. Here on the borders between England and Wales it was wild and bleak, making her imagine what it must have been like in the old days when there were constant raids from each side. A lonely tree braved the winds that could be fierce in winter and had survived the deep snows that often fell in January and February. At the moment wintry sunlight dappled on the white walls of the house and played over the garden where a few roses still straggled and hung on in a sheltered spot, and as Betty got out of the car, it warmed her face, as if to welcome her. She stretched, feeling glad to be out of the car after their long drive. She’d slept some of the way and Frank had stopped several times to take a break and buy them food and hot drinks, but she knew it must have been tiring for him, even though he’d slept in the car during one of their breaks.
‘It’s magnificent,’ she breathed, looking out across the valley. ‘I can only see one house and that’s all the way over there…’ She pointed to a house in the distance.
‘That belongs to the Andersons. Their son has the only other house in the valley and you can’t see it from here. We don’t have many neighbours. The village is just round the bend, so we’re not completely out of touch with civilisation, except when it snows for weeks on end. They’ve got a phone at the Post Office and they took my message to Gran when I rang, because she hasn’t got a connection where she is on the hills…’
‘Did you live here as a child?’
‘We came for long holidays in the summer and sometimes at Christmas. One Christmas it snowed so hard that we couldn’t get through for nearly a month. I missed school and my father almost lost his job over it… so we mostly came in the spring and summer, but I came more often after my father died.’
Betty turned as the door of the farmhouse opened and an elderly woman stood there looking at them. ‘Will your grandmother wonder why I’m here?’
‘I asked Mrs Jones at the Post office to tell her I was bringing a friend who needed somewhere to stay for a while. She knows you need help, Betty, but not why – and she’s perfectly happy for you to stay here…’
Betty nodded, lifting her head as she went forward to meet the old lady. The first thing she noticed was how upright and bright-eyed she looked, those almost bird-like eyes studying Betty intently as Frank introduced them.
‘This is my special friend, Betty, Gran,’ he said and then moved forward to kiss his grandmother’s cheek. ‘I’m not sure how long she will need to stay here, but I’ll be here for a few days… if that’s all right?’
‘I’d say if it wasn’t,’ she said briskly. ‘Come away in the pair of you – that sunshine is misleading. You’ll catch your deaths, and especially miss in her thin frock…’
‘I want to thank you, Mrs Renshaw… it’s so good of you to have me at short notice…’ Betty drew a sharp breath as she entered the large room which opened straight off the front door. It had beamed ceilings, but high enough for Frank to stand upright, white-washed walls that looked as if they’d been rough plastered and a huge open fireplace where a log fire blazed. The floor was tiled with bright red and very shiny slabs of some kind of stone, and a large woven rug covered part of the floor where an old-fashioned sofa occupied one wall. There was a large oak desk against another wall with a similar oak-framed elbow chair, a long table under the window on which stood a brass can filled with branches and a few dried flowers, and very little else.
‘We only use this room for gatherings,’ Frank explained as his grandmother led them through to an inner room which was much larger, perhaps two smaller ones knocked together at some time. At one end was all the paraphernalia of a kitchen, with a black range, a scrubbed pine table, assorted chairs, none of them matching, and a huge oak dresser set with blue and white china and many bits and pieces that all seemed at home on its deep shelves. At the other end were grouped a comfortable sofa and three armchairs, and a large table with dropped ends stood against the wall. The heart of the home, it was warm and welcoming and smelled deliciously of baking and herbs strung from the ceiling.
‘Sit yourself down, girl,’ Mrs Renshaw said to Betty. ‘Are you hungry? I’ve been baking all afternoon so there will be tea and scones with jam and our own cream – but dinner will be an hour or so yet.’
‘Thank you, the scones sound delicious,’ Betty said and went to sit in the rocking chair by the fire but a look from Frank stopped her.
‘That’s my grandfather’s chair. No one sits there since he died…’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ Betty said and held her hands to the fire. The other end of the room did not look quite as inviting on a cold day when she was wearing only a thin dress, so she chose one of the chairs at the table, smiling at the odd assortment of wheel-back chairs.
‘My grandfather used to buy chairs from the markets,’ Frank explained. ‘When he and Gran first came here he didn’t have much money so they furnished it the best they could over the years – the modern chairs at the other end were bought by my uncle Tom when he came to live here with his wife Mary and took over the farm…’
Betty nodded, taking in the situation. ‘Where is your Aunt Mary?’
‘Unfortunately, she was a townie and she couldn’t stand the life,’ Frank said in low tones. ‘Mary became ill after giving birth to a stillborn child. Unfortunately, she never got over it and died soon after. Uncle Tom never married again. Gran held him together through the worst of it and she helped with the sheep, as well as doing housework and cooking – though recently one of our neighbour’s girls comes to give her a hand with the heavy work in the house – and we hire extra men when my uncle needs them…’
‘You said “we” – do you lend a hand?’
‘Sometimes,’ Frank said. ‘This has always been a second home to me… hasn’t it, Gran?’
‘You come and go as suits you,’ she acceded. ‘Stop withering the girl’s ear and let her rest. She looks as if she could do with feeding up… too thin by half…’
‘My mum always says the same thing.’ Betty smiled.
‘Sensible woman,’ Gran grunted. ‘You’ll call me gran, same as everyone does, girl, and you’ll eat what we eat or go hungry while you’re here. I haven’t time to fuss with picky feeders…’
Her words were harsh and yet somehow not offensive. Frank looked at her and Betty could hardly keep her mirth inside, but she reached for his hand and held it tightly.
The smell coming from Gran’s scones was unbelievable. Betty’s mother was a good cook, but as she took one of the scones and cut into it, her mouth began to water, and as she spread jam and then the thick buttery cream, she realised she was starving. The first bite was heaven, because she’d never tasted food this good – or perhaps it was the country air. Betty wasn’t sure, but the first scone seemed to melt in her mouth and before she knew it she was asking if she could have another.
‘Help yourself, girl,’ Gran said but her eyes gleamed with satisfaction. ‘We’ve plenty to go round – there’s one thing we don’t lack here and that’s good food. We’ve none of your fancy goods, televisions and all that rubbish – but there’s a wireless that works when it thinks it will and a gramophone my son bought, and you can play that as long as the generator is working – but you’ll not be bored if you’ve no aversion to work. Our guests usually help out in the house or with the sheep…’
‘Oh…’ Betty was surprised but pleased, because she’d hoped to be of use. ‘I’d love to help you – perhaps you c
an teach me to cook the way you do…’
‘Well, as long as you don’t get in my way…’ Gran turned away with a little grunt of satisfaction. ‘I dare say you’d only be a hindrance in the fields – but if you’re of a mind to help I can find you something to keep you busy…’
‘Good,’ Betty said. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t have any clothes with me…’
‘Aye, Frank told me,’ Gran said and her knowing eyes assessed her. ‘Well, there’s a few bits in the trunks in the attics. They’ll be a bit out of fashion, but I dare say you won’t mind that?’
‘Not at all…’ Betty spied a sewing machine in the corner. It was an old-fashioned treadle machine, but still looked usable. ‘I can use your machine to alter them to fit me – if we have any cotton…?’
‘Aye, you’ll find plenty in my workbox,’ Gran said, ‘and if you’re good at sewing there’s plenty of mending around… it’s not my favourite task…’
Betty smiled and looked up as the door opened and a man of about fifty entered the room. He’d taken his boots off and his outer coat, but he was wearing old cord trousers and a thick sweater with a rolled neck. His hair was black and he was remarkably good-looking. His dark eyes went to Betty and immediately sparked with interest.
‘And who have we here then?’ he asked.
Frank introduced them, ‘Betty, this is my uncle. Tom…this is my friend Betty…’
‘You’ll be the lass our Frank was after then,’ Tom said. ‘All of last summer he was mooning about and we could hardly get a sensible word out of him…’
Betty offered her hand but was instead drawn into a bear-like hug. In size he matched Frank, perhaps even an inch or so taller but of similar stature. Since Gran and Uncle Tom had accepted her, she felt warmed and happy, perhaps happier than she had for a long time.. Her parents would be worried, but there was a phone box in the village, and Frank would take her to buy some things she needed and telephone her parents. She had no money with her, because her bag had been lost when she was grabbed, but she would repay him when she could.