by McNeir, Leo
“They wouldn’t all automatically be on the same side just because they lived in the same village,” said Marnie.
“Not at all,” said Ralph. “The book doesn’t go into detail about this village, but it mentions the conflict between the puritans, who went to chapel, and the churchgoers. They rarely fought each other, but there were always accusations about people spying on troop movements, or sheltering messengers, hiding priests. It must have bred suspicion and distrust.”
“Horrible to live like that,” said Anne. “You’d never know what would happen next. I’d hate it.”
“Well, if you want to know more about those times, I can lend you the book. Or you may prefer not to think about it, of course.”
“We can educate ourselves when we rest our weary bones at the end of the day,” said Marnie and passed Ralph the last croissant. “What are your plans for today?”
“Is the offer of the generator still open?”
“Certainly.”
“Then I’ll set off for the marina and be back in a few days. If you need it, you can ring me on the mobile and I’ll bring it back by taxi.”
After breakfast they installed the generator on Thyrsis and Marnie showed Ralph how to use it. Within half an hour he set off. Marnie stood for a few moments beside the canal as the sound of the diesel faded and peace returned. Through the spinney it was almost impossible to see the buildings of Glebe Farm at this time of year with the trees in full leaf. Marnie loved the place despite the local squabbles. What did it matter if the people did not like changes? No-one could be harmed by moving some old pews and she did not believe that hatred and evil could hang in the air all these centuries.
Yet there was something about the church that niggled at the back of her mind. Yesterday she had come close to identifying what it was, but it had eluded her like a half-remembered song and she had decided not to pursue it in case it worried Anne. Marnie set off to join her in the office barn, putting out of her mind all thoughts of St John’s church and its square, stone tower.
“Marnie, I’m happy to sort out the office and I’ll get it all running the way you want it, but could I ask you something?”
“You want to be more involved on design matters.”
“Just so I learn about that side of the work, too.”
“Sure. Let me get this scheme worked out and then we can go through it together. That way, you’ll see how I do it and talking it over with you will help clarify my thinking.” Anne’s face lit up. “But,” Marnie continued, “We aren’t going to work the whole day. If it stays fine like this, I think we should have a trip on Sally Ann this afternoon. Agreed?”
“Great!”
They made good progress. From time to time, Anne glanced over at Marnie and watched her sketching, noting, selecting materials and colours from her collection of samples and catalogues. Anne longed to work like that, totally absorbed. It seemed a marvellous way of life, and she felt lucky to be there, lucky to have met Marnie by the merest of chances that day last summer. At ten-thirty they began going through the scheme while Anne took notes. She could hardly believe it when Marnie looked at her watch.
“Twelve-fifteen. Not bad. I think that should do it for today. How about you?”
“Twelve-fifteen? Oh blow! I forgot to make coffee again. I meant to show you what I’ve done on the computer. I ought to show you how it all works when you’ve got time.”
“Perhaps we can do that tomorrow. Oh sorry, I was forgetting. Tomorrow’s Sunday. Perhaps you’d like me to take you home for the day?” Anne looked surprised. “You do remember home, don’t you? The place where you live? Your family. Remember them?”
“Yes, of course, but we’ve only just arrived. I thought we had a lot to do. We were going to work this weekend, weren’t we?” Just then the conversation was interrupted by the arrival, bounding across the yard, of two black Labradors, who sniffed their way to the entrance and stood in the open doorway, panting and wagging their tails. Marnie stood up and walked over to them, while they barked on the threshold as if an invisible barrier was holding them back. She squatted down and stroked their heads.
“I’m sorry if they’re being a nuisance.” Frank Day appeared, walking hurriedly. “I was going to skirt round the farm now that you’re here, but Bruno shot off along the familiar route and Cassius followed him.”
“That’s all right.” Marnie stood up and shook hands. “In fact, I was going to phone you. I need to get some of my things from the store.”
“No problem. If you’d like to give me a list I can sort them out. Anything large?”
“I need the spare bed, a low table, a lamp, bedding, a few rugs. I’d better come over and choose.”
“You’ve completed the rebuilding works already?” he said with a smile.
“Partly. Anne is going to have her own room, so we need to furnish it.” Marnie half turned her head into the office and Anne waved from her desk.
“And how do you propose fetching the things over?” said Frank. Marnie hesitated, trying to remember where she had put the roof rack.
“Can it wait till tomorrow? If so, I can collect what you want in our van.”
“Tomorrow’s Sunday,” said Marnie.
“That’s okay. I often have to deal with business matters over the weekend. And we’re practically neighbours. It’s really no trouble.” Marnie thanked him and offered coffee, but he declined. The dogs sprawled out in the sun while Frank admired the office, impressed with their fast work.
“Do you think you’re going to like living here? Not too sleepy for you after the bright lights of London?”
“It’s certainly not dull. In fact in many ways it’s rather interesting, so many strange things in the air.”
“What do you mean?” There was a slight edge to his voice. Sensing that she might be trespassing into yet another village conflict, Marnie continued in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Oh, nothing much. I was just thinking of the first time we came here and asked an old man for directions into the village. He spoke about Cromwell as if he’d been around in living memory.”
“There are quite a few stories of the Civil War time in these parts. My wife and I were once out walking in the Chase. It’s an old hunting forest not far from Northampton. It came on to rain and we were miles from anywhere, so we took shelter under the eaves of a cottage, thinking it was deserted. To our surprise the door opened and we were invited in. An old couple lived there, a retired gamekeeper and his wife. They explained they were about to leave, couldn’t bear to live there any longer.”
“Obviously not noisy neighbours,” said Marnie.
“They’d become increasingly depressed by things they saw and heard, by what they called ‘the visitor’.” Marnie shivered and felt her cheeks tingle. She was especially concerned about Anne, with her vivid imagination and wished somehow the conversation could stop. It did. Frank turned without warning to the dogs. “Come on,” he said and looked back at Marnie. “I mustn’t keep you with my boring old stories. If you want to ring the office and give them your list, I’ll bring the things over tomorrow. Bye now!” And he was gone, the three of them disappearing as quickly as they had come.
“That was rather sudden,” said Marnie, quite bewildered.
“Perhaps he remembered something he had to do,” said Anne, joining her in the doorway. Marnie shook her head.
“Nowt so queer as folk,” she said. “It’s strange round here.”
“It’s lovely,” said Anne, turning her face to the sun and closing her eyes. Marnie went back into the office to clear her desk and Anne called out, her eyes still closed. “Marnie, what do you fancy for lunch?”
“How about some home-cured bacon to go with those eggs?” Anne shrieked and almost jumped into the air at the sound of a man’s voice close beside her. She gasped and found herself confronted by George Stubbs. He was dressed in tweed jacket and flannels despite the warmth of the day and in his hand held a packet wrapped in white paper. “Oh de
ar, did I make you jump, young lady? I am sorry.” He looked unrepentant. Anne felt foolish.
“Mr Stubbs,” she said. “I nearly passed out! I didn’t see you coming.”
“You did have your eyes closed, my dear.” His way of scoring points and patronising her at the same time was becoming irritating. She smiled wearily and was relieved when Marnie joined her.
“Hallo, Mr Stubbs. Are you terrorising my colleague?”
“Peace offering,” he said, holding out the packet.
“I didn’t think hostilities had broken out,” she said.
“Indeed not. It’s really a house warming present.”
“That’s very nice of you.” She sniffed the packet. An unmistakable aroma. “Your own home-cured bacon? I’m sure it will be wonderful. You’re very kind.”
He beamed. “Not at all.” He was looking at her with obvious pleasure and Marnie smiled back unperturbed. Anne watched how Marnie handled him, keeping a balance between friendliness and formality.
“We were going to have a drink before lunch. Would you like to join us?”
Mr Stubbs looked at his watch. “I am on my way to a meeting,” he began. “But I would very much like to accept, for the pleasure of being in your company a little longer.” Anne tried not to wince or throw up. There were times when the adult world was quite a strain. She offered to tidy the office, lock up and follow them over to Sally Ann. By the time she reached the boat, Mr Stubbs was unfolding the table, with three chairs already set out on the deck. Glancing up at Anne he gave her a brief smile and called down into the cabin.
“Our young lady has arrived!” It was only her friendship for Marnie that made Anne resist the temptation to put her foot on his rump and push him over the side. Marnie handed him a tray of glasses and small dishes of olives, cheese straws and cashews. They sat out in the dappled sunshine under the trees in the warm air and sipped their drinks.
“This is most civilised. Ladies, your very good health and every happiness in Knightly St John.” They raised their glasses and wished him good health. “This is a first class gin and tonic. I’m sure you do everything to this high standard, Marnie.”
“It’s not a rehearsal,” she said simply. The reply caught Mr Stubbs unawares and he had to think about it.
“No, it’s the real thing,” he said. “But not like that drink in the adverts on television, eh?” Anne laughed at the spectacle of the older man trying to be trendy and he was clearly delighted at what he took to be her enjoyment of his joke. “So what are your plans for Glebe Farm, Marnie, if you don’t think I’m prying, of course?”
“I’m going to try to make it habitable, so that I can live here and work here.”
“It’s a big place for one person, or even two,” he said with a conspiratorial wink at Anne.
“I’ll have to take it step by step. These are early days. The main thing is to enjoy being here and just get on with living.”
“Very wise. Quite right. It is a lovely spot. I used to play here as a child, you know.”
“You lived at Glebe Farm? I thought it belonged to the Fletchers for generations.”
“That’s correct. Old Albert Fletcher and I are second cousins. The Stubbs and Fletcher families have farmed and worked in this area since time began.” He laughed.
“You must regard me as an interloper.”
“Not at all. There’s a limit to how many houses a family needs. It’s the land that counts. Despite what you may hear, we don’t think all change is a bad thing. It’s just a matter of respecting what ought to be preserved. New blood can be good for a place. I’m sure you’ve got your own plans.” He took a mouthful of the gin and tonic and Anne tried not to think about blood.
“So you remember Glebe Farm in its heyday, Mr Stubbs,” said Marnie.
“George, please. Oh yes. In fact, I used to help load and unload boats at Glebe Farm on this very spot, when I was a boy. I often used to have a ride on the working boats and then walk back with my brother. Now that’s going back a few years, I can tell you. More than I care to remember. The village was prettier then, quieter. Hardly any cars, but lots of horses.” He shook his head and Anne wondered what she would remember when she was old. He must be getting on for about sixty, she thought, and could not begin to imagine so many years ahead. “Streuth!” he added. “I’m starting to sound like an old man. I’m supposed to be in my prime.”
Marnie refrained from comment. “Was there much commercial traffic on the canal in those days?”
“Boats were going by the whole time, some still using horses. What do you think about that? Most were diesels, though. It was in the war and I’ll tell you another thing; there were a few boats crewed by women, helping the war effort. It’s no surprise to me to find ladies running canal boats. I’m all for it. Why not?”
“Did they ever come to the farm?”
“Not to my knowledge. I think they mainly carried heavy loads like coal and steel. Jolly hard work and it could be dangerous, too. Do you know what they called them?” He paused for effect.
“Idle women,” said Anne. Mr Stubbs stared at her. “Marnie met one last year,” she added.
“Idle women. That’s right. But I was forgetting. I’m in the presence of two boaters. Of course you’d know about them.”
“Do you know why they were called that, Mr Stubbs?”
“No, Anne, I don’t think I do. I thought perhaps because they were from what we used to call ‘good families’. They certainly spoke well but they weren’t idle, I can tell you.”
“It was from the badges they wore. They had the letters ‘IW’ on them. Inland Waterways.”
“All these years and I never knew that!” He finished the gin and tonic and looked at his watch. “Time to love you and leave you, I’m afraid.” He rose and Anne wondered if he was going to kiss Marnie’s hand. To her disappointment, he merely shook hands with both of them and stepped carefully onto the shore.
When he had gone, Anne cleared the table while Marnie organised lunch.
“You certainly have an admirer there, Marnie.”
“You think so?”
“Don’t you?”
“I would say Mr Stubbs thinks he almost got what he wanted, but not quite.”
“I’m not sure I follow,” said Anne.
“It’s a long way to come to bring half a pound of bacon,” said Marnie. “What would you like for lunch?”
*
The shiny Range Rover was pulling into the drive of Rooks Farm at the same time as Marnie was cracking four free range eggs into a mixing bowl. George Stubbs went straight to the back door and knocked twice. Almost at once he was let in, making complimentary noises about the smell of baking as he passed through the kitchen to join Albert Fletcher in the living room.
“Well, George, how’s it going? Did you get your petition?”
“No. Not yet. I didn’t want to hold things up. I think we should keep that in reserve, wait and see what comes from the Bishop. That could be the next step, if we need to press our case.”
“You posted your letter?”
“This morning,” said George. “I decided to sleep on it. I read it again after breakfast and sent it off.”
“I slept on it, too, and I think you’re right. We’ll wait for the Bishop. But if he doesn’t do anything, I’m going to take action myself. I’m not just going to stand by and let people come into the village and trample on the rest of us.”
“Let’s see what the letter produces. The Bishop can’t ignore us.” The old man made no reply. “I must say, Albert, not all newcomers bring problems. I’ve just been down to Glebe Farm to see your Mrs Walker. No Mr Walker around, just the girl who works for her.”
“I never had dealings with a husband. Probably divorced, I expect. Still, I must say, she was very straight to deal with. A good head for business.”
“A fine head, I would say. Very attractive young woman. She’s already got the office set up as if she’d been there for ages. They’ve made a
good job of it, too. Very smart.”
“I wonder what she’s going to do with the place,” the old farmer muttered.
“Well, I can’t see someone with her style turning it into a caravan site or a holiday camp.”
“Did you think she might?” said Albert.
“I suppose you’re going to tell me you had restrictive covenants put in the contract to prevent her from doing that.”
“No way I could. There was a farm, cottages and a boatyard. Residential with light industrial or commercial use. Anyway, I wanted to sell it and people’ve got a right to make use of their own property. She’ll do no harm, that one. She’s all right. Unless she’s bitten off more than she can chew.”
“If she has, she’ll not be the first one round here to do that,” said George.
“We’ll see what the Bishop says. And he’d better not take his time. I’m giving him one week.”
*
In the middle of the afternoon clouds began to appear, huge billowing white cumulus, drifting across the sky in flocks. A light breeze sprang up, barely enough to ripple the surface of the canal. For some time they saw no other boats and, apart from the occasional angler, no-one at all. Anne volunteered to operate the locks while Marnie steered and Dolly curled up on the hatch.
Waiting for the first lock to fill, Anne lay on the balance beam, a huge tree-trunk cut square and painted black with a white band at the end. She lay flat on her back, her ears filled with the sound of the water roaring into the lock, watching the clouds through eyes half-closed. She could almost imagine herself drifting along with them. Gradually she was aware only of the sound of her own breathing, until a loud clatter made her jump. The windlass had slipped from her hand onto the paving. She sat up with a start.
“I think it’s full now,” Marnie called to her. Anne bent down to retrieve the windlass. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, I’m fine. I nearly dozed off, I think.”
“But you’re feeling okay?”
“Oh yes. Wonderful. Everything is wonderful, Marnie. It couldn’t be better. Everything is perfect.” As Anne pushed open the gate, Marnie laughed and pulled Sally Ann into forward gear, pressing the accelerator to set her on her way.