Bess began to tremble. What was she thinking, walking across the Common on her own? Anything could have happened. Could still happen. She crouched down at the side of the steps leading up to the bandstand and made herself as small as she could.
‘Hello there. Are you all right?’
Bess lifted her head, surprised to see a young woman, perhaps a little younger than herself, in trousers and a Fair Isle jumper standing next to her. ‘I am now,’ she said. ‘It sounds silly, but I panicked when I realised I was alone on the Common and it was getting dark ….’
‘Well, you’re not alone anymore,’ the young woman said, offering Bess her hand. ‘And soon we’ll have light.’
‘What do you mean, light?’
‘Look over there,’ she said, pointing to a small crowd of people walking towards them carrying lighted candles. ‘We’re protesting against the war. Come and join us.’
A musician took a saxophone from its case and after a verse of “The Last Time I Saw Paris” he played Jack Hylton’s theme song, “Why Did She Fall for the Leader of The Band.” In no time, everyone was singing and dancing to “The Lambeth Walk” and “Roll Out The Barrel”.
Bess stood in the shadow of the bandstand for a while before joining the girl in the Fair Isle jumper and her friends. The girl gave Bess a lighted candle and moved to make room on the grass next to her. Nodding her thanks, Bess sat down and joined in with the singing.
As evening turned into night the mood became more serious, and songs like “Harbour Lights” and “I’ll Be Seeing You” replaced “Champagne Charlie” and “You’re Driving Me Crazy.” The last song was “There’ll Always be an England.”
The girl in the Fair Isle jumper stood up when the saxophonist finished playing. ‘It’s time to go,’ she said, as her friends began to drift off. ‘Before the authorities hear about our little picnic and nick us. ’
‘It was nice meeting you,’ Bess said.
‘Likewise. Will you be okay getting home?’ the girl asked, ‘only I could walk with you some of the way. Until you’re off the Common, at least.’
‘Thank you, but I’ll be fine. There are lots of people going my way.’
‘Bye then,’ the girl said. ‘Take care, won’t you?’
Bess nodded, and the girl ran off and caught up with her friends.
Walking home, Bess was overwhelmed by a feeling of camaraderie. She decided that not only was she strong enough to cope with what had happened to her the night before in the alley, she was strong enough to deal with anything life threw at her.
The staff meeting took place during the morning break, when Bess was on playground duty, so she only caught the tail end of what the Headmaster was saying. ‘…the pupils of Christchurch Secondary School will be among the first in South London to be evacuated. At the end of this month the school will close and the children will be taken by train to Dorset, where they will stay for the duration of the war. The schools in the West Country will need extra teaching staff, so I shall be asking for volunteers at the end of this week. Thank you!’
Several members of staff wanted to know what would happen to them if they didn’t want to go to the country. Others protested that they should have been consulted first.
‘I am sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but the decision is out of my hands,’ the Headmaster said, before turning and leaving the room.
Bess didn’t want to lose her job, but she wasn’t keen on moving to the West Country either. On the other hand, a different environment might be a good thing. But did she really want to be that far away from her family and Foxden?
It seemed everyone was on the move. Tom had joined the Army. He was stationed in Kent while James, her mother said in a recent letter, was training to be a bomber pilot at Bitteswell Aerodrome, near Foxden. She was worried for Tom - and tried not to think about James.
*
There was a knock on the door. ‘Damn,’ Bess mumbled. She was rinsing her hair. Her eyes were shut, so she didn’t get shampoo in them.
‘Just a minute!’ she called. Until ten minutes ago she’d looked decent. Now she was dressed in old slacks and a shirt. She felt around for a towel, found it and dabbed her eyes. Able to see again, she wrapped the towel round her head like a turban, left the bathroom and made her way along the passage. As she reached the door there was a second knock.
‘Hang on a second.’ She turned off the hall light and pulled back the blackout curtain. She didn’t open the door to anyone unless she knew them, not even in daylight. Peering through the small window she saw her late visitor was wearing an RAF cap. She waited until he lifted his head. When he did, she recognised him straight away. ‘James!’ she gasped, opening the door. ‘Whatever are you doing here?’
‘Hello, Bess. May I come in?’
‘Yes, of course,’ she said, moving out of the way so James could enter.
Leading the way to the small sitting room, Bess thought her heart would explode with excitement.
‘Sorry to call so late. I telephoned the school but there was no reply.’
‘No, there wouldn’t have been, the school’s closed. The children have been evacuated to Dorset. Would you like some tea?’ she asked, taking James’s coat and cap and at the same time trying to balance the towel on her head.
‘Yes, thank you. It’s quite a journey from Foxden.’
She left James warming his hands by the fire while she went to the kitchen and made a pot of tea. She took a deep breath to steady her nerves. ‘I haven’t much in the way of food, but I could scramble a couple of eggs if you’re hungry,’ she said on her return.
‘No thank you, tea will be fine. I’m meeting some of my old colleagues later. There’s a restaurant a couple of doors down from my old chambers and one of the chaps has reserved a table.’
Bess looked away, embarrassed by the memory of the night she followed James and the girl from his chambers to that restaurant. She put the tray of cups and saucers, plates, and a slab of Madeira cake on the writing table in front of the bay window and wondered if the girl was “one of the chaps.”
‘I’d rather you dried your hair, I don’t want to be responsible for you catching your death from pneumonia.’
Grateful for the suggestion, Bess withdrew to the bathroom where she replaced the damp shirt she’d been wearing with a jumper. She usually dried her hair by hanging her head upside down in front of the fire, but as James was sitting next to it she couldn’t do that tonight so she brushed it back and tied a ribbon round it in a loose version of a pony-tail. It was supposed to keep her curls away from her face, but her hair was still wet and the ribbon slipped off. Tying it again, this time tighter, the knot held and she returned to the living room.
Aware that James was watching her, Bess crossed the room to the table beneath the window. As she poured the tea her hair once again escaped its restraints, tumbling onto her shoulders in loose curls.
James leapt from his seat. ‘The skinny kid sister of my old friend Tom has certainly grown up,’ he said, picking up the ribbon and handing it to her with a smile.
‘Thank you,’ she said, her heart throbbing. Blushing, she put the ribbon into the pocket of her skirt. ‘Sugar?’
‘No, thank you, I’m sweet enough.’ Then, laughing, he said, ‘Sorry, that was terrible, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. And it’s been said before.’
‘More than a few times.’
Laughing, Bess poured milk into both cups of tea and handed one to James.
‘Thank you,’ he said, still smiling.
Sitting down opposite him, Bess took a sip of her tea. Damn, it was hot. She put the cup down heavily and it clinked loudly in the saucer. ‘How are things at Foxden?’ she asked. Her cheeks flamed again.
‘That’s why I’m here,’ he said. ‘The grooms, most of the stable lads and farm labourers have joined up. Some are waiting for their papers; some have already left.’
‘If the stable lads have gone, who’s looking after the horses?’
> ‘They’ve gone too, I’m afraid, except for the carthorses and mother’s pit ponies.’ James put down his tea. ‘There’s no easy way of telling you, Bess, but Father had to sell them. Sultan wasn’t sold, he belongs to me; he was a gift from the Hadleighs.’
Damn the Hadleighs. Bess didn’t care about the Hadleighs. ‘What about Sable? Did he sell Sable?’
‘No, the old girl was reprieved at the eleventh hour, because your father said if Sable was still there, you might consider coming back.’
‘Come back? To Foxden?’ A few months ago she’d have given anything to hear James ask her to come back to Foxden. She had wanted to be close to him for as long as she could remember – and to work with him on his beloved estate…
‘Life at Foxden will have to change,’ he continued. ‘We’ve had orders from the Ministry of Agriculture to turn the estate into arable land.’
‘When?’
‘Immediately! The directive said we need to have the land cultivated and be producing root crops by the spring and cereals by the summer. It sounds impossible, I know, but they’re sending us half a dozen fully trained women from the agricultural centre in Nottinghamshire. The thing is, because Father spends most of his time at the MOD here in London, and I’m at Bitteswell Aerodrome, we were hoping you’d come back and organise things. It’s asking a lot of you, Bess. There’s a huge amount of work involved, but your father agrees that you’re the best person for the job.’
‘It’s a lot to take in,’ Bess said, trying to absorb what James had told her and understand what would be required of her in terms of work and commitment if she were to return to Foxden. She needed time to think, to come to terms with the fact that her teaching career would be over for the duration of the war if she accepted James’s offer, as well as be sure in her mind that she had the knowledge to succeed if she took on the job. She also needed to be sure that she had the willpower to cope with seeing James regularly.
‘… I’ll leave you to think it over, Bess. Thanks for the tea.’
Bess wondered why he hadn’t mentioned Annabel. He could easily have mentioned the engagement when he said Sultan was a gift from her parents. Bess momentarily pondered if James was waiting for her to congratulate him. If so, he’d be waiting a long time. James headed for the door.
‘I’ll see you out,’ she said, following him.
‘I hope you’ll come back to Foxden, Bess,’ he said, putting on his Air Force overcoat. ‘It would be a real challenge. An adventure.’
Bess switched off the hall light as James opened the door. She watched him walk down the wrought-iron staircase. At his car he opened the door and jumped in. ‘Oh, Bess?’ he called from behind the steering wheel. ‘Dorset or Foxden? I know which I’d choose.’ Smiling, he wound up the window of his small sports car and a second later he was gone.
*
Mrs McAllister opened the door before she had time to knock. ‘Hello dear, what a wonderful surprise,’ she said loudly, putting her forefinger to her lips when Bess opened her mouth to greet her. ‘Don’t let Molly know I asked you to come,’ she mouthed.
Nodding that she understood, Bess stepped into the hall. ‘Hello, Mrs McAllister.’
‘Take your coat off and go through,’ Mrs McAllister said, dragging Bess’s coat from her back. ‘Look who’s here, Molly!’ she called, following Bess to her private sitting room, but not entering. ‘You go in to Molly and sit down now, and I’ll make a nice pot of tea,’ she said, and disappeared into the kitchen.
Bess entered the room to find Molly gazing out of the window into the back garden. ‘Hello, Molly. How are you?’ she asked.
Molly turned and blinked back tears. ‘I’m all right. I’ve got a bit of a cold, that’s all,’ she sniffed.
‘I bet Mrs Mac’s spoiling you. You were always her favourite,’ Bess teased.
‘She’s been ever so kind, Bess. She’s been like a mother to me these last few weeks. I wish my real mum was here,’ she cried.
Bess sat down next to her young friend and put her arms around her. Molly wept like a child. When there were no tears left, she took a shuddering breath and went limp. She was exhausted.
As if on cue, Mrs Mac brought in the tea. ‘I’m ready for a cuppa. Aren’t you, girls?’ she said, pouring the tea and heaping two teaspoonfuls of sugar in Molly’s cup, but none in her own. ‘A nice cup of tea will do you the world of good,’ she said, handing Molly the cup, which she accepted gratefully. ‘And I’ve made these especially. They were Bess’s favourites, if I remember right,’ she said, putting a plate of six sponge fancies on the side table next to Molly.
Bess smiled to herself. The cakes were Molly’s favourites. Mrs Mac would have known that.
During tea the three women chatted light-heartedly. Mrs McAllister voiced her disapproval of tinned food and rationing. Molly complained that there were no pretty clothes in the shops. And Bess broke the news that she was going back to Foxden to oversee a team of land girls and turn the Estate into arable land.
Mrs McAllister was full of reservations about Bess giving up teaching after all her hard work at college. However, when she explained the importance of the work, Mrs McAllister conceded that if women had to do that sort of work, which she was not at all sure was necessary; the country was the place to do it.
When Mrs McAllister left the room to refresh the teapot, Molly smiled. ‘Dear Mrs Mac, she’s a love, isn’t she?’
It was the first time Bess had seen Molly smile since she had arrived, but it didn’t last. Within a few seconds Molly had reverted to being a frightened child, and was staring into space.
‘What’s the matter, Moll?’ she asked. ‘Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes it helps.’
Molly nodded. She took a breath, but before she could formulate the words, she burst into tears. ‘Oh Bess, what am I to do?’
‘If you tell me what’s upsetting you, Molly, I might be able to help.’
‘I can’t tell you. You’ll think I’m a bad girl. You’ll be ashamed of me. You’ll think I’m wicked and common and….’ Molly began sobbing again. She rocked backwards and forwards, banging her head on the back of the settee.
‘Molly, stop!’ Bess said sharply. ‘Stop it! You’ll hurt yourself.’
Molly stopped instantly. She looked at Bess, her eyes wild and sparkling. ‘I don’t care if I hurt myself!’ she screamed. ‘It’s no more than I deserve!’
‘What do you mean, sweetheart? What on earth is the matter?’
Molly looked at Bess for some time before she said, ‘I’m expecting, Bess. I’m going to have a baby.’
Bess had always looked on Molly as a child. Now the child was going to have a child. ‘I didn’t know you had a boyfriend. Is he going to stand by you?’
‘He doesn’t know. It was the night before he left to join his regiment. I didn’t want to, Bess, but he said I was his girl and he loved me. He said it would be all right. But it’s not all right! I’m so frightened.’ Molly burst into tears again.
‘Have you told your uncle? Will he help?’
‘He said he was ashamed of me. That I was a trollop. He said he doesn’t want anything more to do with me. Oh, Bess, what am I going to do?’
Bess was desperate to help her young friend. She understood a little of what Molly was going through. It was only luck that she wasn’t pregnant. She shuddered at the thought. ‘Come with me to Foxden. You can say your husband’s away in the Army, which is true in a way. Well? What do you think?’
‘I don’t want to be a burden.’
‘You won’t be a burden, far from it. I need all the help I can get. Besides, moving to the country and working with lots of other young women will be fun. And once you’re there you’ll have plenty of time to work out what you’re going to do when the baby’s born.’
‘There won’t be any need for Molly to go to the country, Bess. She’ll be quite all right with me and Miss Armstrong,’ Mrs McAllister said, standing in the doorway with a freshly brewed pot of tea in he
r hand.
Molly looked at Mrs McAllister, her eyes wide and questioning. ‘You and Miss Armstrong knew I was …?’
‘No dear, we didn’t know. But we wondered.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Molly cried.
‘We were waiting for you to tell us,’ Mrs McAllister said, taking a handkerchief from her pocket and gently wiping the tears from Molly’s eyes.
‘Thank you,’ Molly whispered. Turning to Bess she said, ‘Thank you, Bess, but I’d like to stay here with Mrs McAllister. If you don’t mind?’
‘Of course I don’t mind, Molly. As long as it’s what you want.’
‘It is,’ Molly said. ‘This is my home.’
The last hour of her visit was as heartening as the first had been worrying. As she reached the end of the avenue Bess turned and waved a final goodbye. Mrs McAllister had a protective arm round Molly, who appeared at last to be dry-eyed. Saddened to be leaving her friends, Bess consoled herself with the thought of seeing them again when Molly’s baby was born.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘Mavis Holloway? Polly Jennings? Laura Salisbury? Iris Taylor?’
Mr Porter called out each name as if he was conducting a military roll call. Each young woman, recently arrived at Lowarth station from Nottingham, took a step forward and answered, ‘Here.’ When it was Sylvia Muir’s turn she stood to attention, saluted and replied with military clarity, ‘Here, Sir!’
‘We were expecting seven young ladies. Has anyone seen a Miss Katherine Woodcock or a Miss Myfanwy Jones?’ Mr Porter shouted above the chatter of the five women who stood before him.
Kitty Woodcock, in a skintight red pencil skirt, red high heels and matching lipstick, accompanied by Fanny Jones in a contrasting grey coat and flat brown brogues, materialised from the ladies’ toilet.
Foxden Acres (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 1) Page 13