‘When we were children my sisters and I spent our summer holidays in these fields. And in the autumn we’d pick wild mushrooms for breakfast.
‘And in the winter?’ Annabel asked.
‘Skating on the lake. When it was frozen, of course.’ Bess paused. ‘Foxden is where I learned to ride.’ With James, she wanted to say, but thought better of it. ‘I pestered my father to teach me to ride until eventually he asked Lord Foxden and Mr Porter if he could walk me around on one of Lady Foxden’s retired pit ponies. I soon grew out of the pony. When I was eleven, and went up to the grammar school, dad thought I was old enough to ride a timid mare named Crystal. By the time I was twelve I was confident enough to ride any of the horses in Foxden’s stables.’ Bess laughed. ‘I used to get up while it was still dark, run up to the stables, and ride out with the lads before going to school.’
‘I’ve always loved riding too. I used to exercise my horse along the beach,’ Annabel said. ‘When I was a girl I had a chestnut mare called Biscuit. She loved to gallop along the wet sand when the tide was out. She would get so excited as we neared the sea. She’d lift her hoofs in anticipation and when I least expected, she’d make a bolt for it and splash about in the shallow waves.’ Annabel looked suddenly sad. ‘You can’t do that now. The coastline is covered in landmines.’
‘Are the landmines visible? Do people know where they are?’ Bess asked.
‘Oh yes, but it doesn’t matter because the entire coastline is fenced off. There’s no access from the land. The beaches are covered in miles of barbed wire. You can only get to them from the sea,’ Annabel said. ‘Not that anyone would want to.’
Bess was surprised how easy Annabel was to talk to. Annabel told her about the work she did for the Red Cross and the hospital in Ashford where she was a volunteer nursing assistant, and Bess told Annabel about her short career in teaching. She also told her what a wonderful horseman her father was and how her brother Tom, who Annabel had met at the beginning of 1939, bought and sold horses for Lord Foxden in Suffolk. Bess hadn’t heard from Tom for several months and confided in Annabel that she was worried for his safety.
Because James was on duty over the New Year Annabel was at a loose end and asked Bess if she could help her on the Acres. Bess could hardly say no, so they exercised the horses together, fed them, groomed them and cleaned the tack room – and often before breakfast. Annabel was not like any Lady that Bess had ever met – and she’d met several. If she saw a water trough that was frozen, or a fence that needed mending, Annabel would dismount and attend to it straight away. If the job couldn’t be done without tools she’d go back later in the day with a pickaxe, a hammer and nails, or whatever it was she needed to do the job.
Annabel had been born into a wealthy society family, and she’d had a privileged upbringing, but she wasn’t afraid of hard work or getting her hands dirty – not as a volunteer in the local hospital where she lived in Kent or on the land at Foxden. Bess thought, after spending time with her, that they had a lot in common. They both had strong views on women’s role in society and neither was afraid to share them, or voice their opinion. Bess had to be more careful than Annabel - she could hardly argue women’s rights or equality with Lord Foxden - but she’d had several lengthy debates with her father.
Bess admired the achievements of the women’s suffrage movement and was in awe of Annabel when she learned that her godmother was a suffragette and had encouraged her from an early age to speak up for what she believed. Annabel was a mixture of traditional and modern values. She didn’t look down her nose or patronise Bess. Perhaps she had done, a little, when they first met, when she found James talking to Bess during the previous New Year’s Eve party, but not since. Nor did she look down on the land girls, Mr Porter or Mrs Hartley. She didn’t suffer fools, she had once told Bess, and expected people to treat her as she treated them.
Annabel called on Bess one Sunday afternoon while Bess was visiting her mother and father. Bess was embarrassed, because there were clothes airing on the clothes-horse at the side of the fire and the living room could have done with a dust, but Annabel didn’t seem to notice, or if she did, she didn’t care. Bess’s father was used to being around the upper classes - he had spent half his life riding with the gentry, accompanied Lord Foxden when he played polo and rode at Lady Foxden’s side as second horseman - but Bess’s mother had a tendency to fuss in the company of people like Annabel.
Annabel’s visit to the cottage lasted several hours. She was fascinated by the stories Bess’s father told her about the horses of the Royal Engineers in the First World War, and how he and the men of his regiment built bridges on horseback. Annabel was not only impressed by her father’s knowledge of horses, she seemed to genuinely like him. And he liked her, Bess could tell.
The more time Bess spent with Annabel the more she liked her and the more she liked her, the guiltier she felt about loving James. She decided not to think about it.
*
As the telegram boy pushed his bicycle towards Bess she felt her body stiffen. The boy’s boots pounded the cobbles but she couldn’t hear them above the pounding of her heart. She put out her hand to take the small buff envelope and began to tremble. Was this the telegram that would break her mother’s heart, break her heart? Who was the subject of the news? Was it Tom? Or Claire? What if it was Margaret, or Bill? Or – God forbid – James? Bess stared at the envelope.
‘It’s good news,’ the telegram boy said, grinning.
‘Good news,’ a small voice in Bess’s head repeated.
‘Yes, miss. The Miss Parkers at Lowarth post office said as I wasn’t to spoil the surprise by telling you your friend in London has had a baby, but I was to say, “It’s good news” when I gave you the telegram – put your mind at ease, like.’
‘Thank you,’ Bess said, her voice still hardly audible as she ran her finger along the top of the envelope.
The telegram boy jumped on his bicycle and pedalled off across the cobbles. ‘Enjoy your surprise,’ he shouted.
A GIRL = BOTH FINE = COME SOON = LOVE ALL AT 79. Dated Friday 10th May 1940. Bess laughed with relief. It certainly was good news.
With the telegram still in her hand, Bess ran to the barn where Laura and Mr Porter were sharpening a scythe. She told them that her friend in London had had her baby and asked if they could manage without her for a few days at the end of the month. Laura thought it was time she had a break anyway and Mr Porter agreed, assuring her that he and Laura would take care of things until she returned. She then ran to the kitchen and told Mrs Hartley before cycling to the post office in Woodcote to telephone Mrs McAllister.
Mrs Mac, near to tears with emotion, didn’t spare Bess a single detail of Molly’s lengthy labour and the baby’s birth. And when Bess told her that she was coming to London to see Molly and the baby, and asked if she could stay at number seventy-nine for a few days at the beginning of June, her old landlady was overjoyed.
‘I’ll let you know the date as soon as I know it,’ Bess said. ‘Give Molly and the baby my love and give my regards to Miss Armstrong.’ As she was saying goodbye to Mrs McAllister, she heard three sharp pips and the call ended.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Bess had been saving clothes coupons for months and at last had enough to buy something new to wear in London. The weekend before she was due to go down, she took the train from Lowarth to Leicester and bought a navy blue two-piece and a pair of court shoes for herself, and a pretty pink dress with a matching bonnet for Molly’s baby.
Bess was looking forward to seeing her friends. She was also looking forward to not getting up before dawn, not working for ten hours every day, and not looking like a scarecrow. For two whole weeks she intended to look and feel like a woman.
On the morning she was due to leave Bess packed her suitcase, put on the clothes she was travelling in, and went down to breakfast. To her surprise, Lady Foxden was sitting in Mrs Hartley’s kitchen when she arrived.
‘Bess,
dear,’ Lady Foxden said, in the tone she used when she wanted Bess to do something. ‘I know how much you have been looking forward to seeing your friends in London, but I’m afraid we can’t spare you.’
Bess opened her mouth to protest, but Lady Foxden continued before she had a chance to speak.
‘Some of the grooms and lads who were evacuated from Dunkirk will be coming to stay for a week or two. They don’t have families, you see, and consider Foxden their home. We’d like to put the ground floor of the west wing, the library and the gardens at their disposal while they convalesce. And…’ Lady Foxden inserted a dramatic pause before playing her ace card. ‘His Lordship asked if you would personally take charge of the arrangements. The local boys from Woodcote and Lowarth are on their way home too, and they will be more than welcome to spend their days here. I don’t think any of them need medical attention. It’s more rest and quiet. Well, dear? Of course, if it’s too much to ask...’
What Bess would give to know that Tom was safe and on his way home. She replied without a second thought. ‘Of course, Lady Foxden. If I can use your telephone I’ll ring my friends.’
Mrs McAllister understood completely. ‘Don’t worry, Bess, we know how important your work is. Come down later in the year. We’ll still be here. We’re not going anywhere. And you never know, by then this wretched war might be over,’ she said, before handing the telephone to Molly.
‘Mrs McAllister said we should get Elizabeth christened, so if we wait until you come down, would you be her godmother, Bess?’
‘I’d love to, Molly. Thank you for asking me.’
‘We all miss you, Bess. And Elizabeth can’t wait to meet you.’
‘I miss you too, Moll. See you at the christening. Give Elizabeth a hug from me.’
Miss Armstrong came on the line. ‘Hello, Bess. I’m sorry we won’t be seeing you today.’
‘Thank you, Miss Armstrong, I’m sorry too. How are you?’ Bess asked.
‘I’m quite well. We all are. Molly is a devoted mother and is busy planning the christening. I’m making Elizabeth’s christening gown and Mrs McAllister is saving food coupons for the christening tea. It will be wonderful, all of us together again.’
‘Yes, it’ll be like old times,’ Bess said. ‘I’ll write when I have time.’
‘And I’ll write to you with the news from number seventy-nine. Take care, Bess. Try not to work too hard. Goodbye.’
Bess said goodbye and replaced the receiver on its cradle. Seconds later the telephone rang. She looked along the corridor expecting Mr Porter to come marching along cursing new-fangled inventions, or Annie Timpson, Lady Foxden’s elderly maid, who had been brought out of retirement when the servants were called up, but there was no one in sight.
The harsh ring resonated along the corridor. Bess knew it could be heard as far away as Lord Foxden’s study. But still no one came. She wondered whether she should answer it. It could be an important call for his Lordship, or James. So, after clearing her throat, she picked up the receiver. ‘Lowarth 154.’
‘Hello, Bess Learned to drive a car yet?’
‘Tom! Where are you?’ Bess cried. ‘How are you? Why haven’t you been in touch?’
‘If you let me get a word in edgeways, I’ll tell you.’
‘Sorry. It’s just that we’ve been so worried.’
‘I’m fine, really. It was murder getting out of Dunkirk, but I was one of the lucky ones and got out in one piece. I tried to send a telegram.’
‘I got it, but all it said was, ‘Tell Mam I’m alive.’ We’ve heard nothing since.’
‘Well I’ll be damned. And she didn’t take the two shillings.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘I gave a girl the two shillings that you sent me at Christmas and asked her to send a telegram to you, so you could tell Mam I was OK. I didn’t send it directly to Mam because I knew getting a telegram would upset her. Anyway, when I woke up in hospital I still had the two shillings, so I thought the girl hadn’t bothered. She must have put them into my pocket when I collapsed.’
‘Hospital? Collapsed?’
‘It was nothing. I’ll tell you when I get home.’
‘When will that be?’
‘I don’t know for sure, but soon. I caught a bit of a cold, so they’re keeping an eye on me down here in Ashford hospital.’
‘Poor you,’ Bess said.
‘Oh, it’s not so bad. The nurses are pretty and there’s the odd familiar face.’
‘Familiar face?’
‘I should be home in a couple of weeks, sooner if I can hitch a lift.’
‘Look, Tom, we’re turning the west wing into rooms where the lads and grooms who have returned from Dunkirk can stay while they convalesce. If you can persuade the hospital to let you leave we can look after you up here.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. Must go, there’s a queue of blokes waiting to ring their wives and sweethearts, lucky saps. Give my love to Mam and Dad.’
The line went dead.
‘Tom’s safe, Mrs Hartley,’ Bess said, running into the kitchen. ‘Tom’s safe,’ she said again, dancing round her old friend and nearly knocking her off her feet. ‘Mr Porter,’ she called as the old man came into the kitchen from the scullery, ‘Tom’s safe. He’s back from Dunkirk.’
As she left the kitchen she saw Laura and Polly. ‘Tom’s back from Dunkirk. I’m going down to tell Mam and Dad, shan’t be long,’ she shouted, running down the drive as fast as her legs would carry her.
Bess’s mother, who had been emotional since the evacuation of Dunkirk, burst into tears at the news.
Still crying, not with sadness now but with joy, Lily Dudley busied herself by fetching in the washing, laying a winceyette sheet on the kitchen table, and putting the iron on the stove to get hot. Bess’s mother’s way of celebrating the good news was to do the ironing. Bess left her to it and went back to the Hall.
*
Bess renovated the ground floor of the west wing with the help of Ena and her friends from the munitions factory. They came after work in the evenings and at the weekends. They refurbished the dining room, adding more tables and chairs, and turned the ballroom into a hospital ward, scrubbing and disinfecting every inch of it. The servicemen would be vulnerable. Bess didn’t want them picking up infections while they were at Foxden. They left the library in the main, taking several dozen of the most popular books down to the sitting room and putting them on shelves that had, until then, housed a collection of fine china figurines, which Bess had previously packed and stored in one of the spare bedrooms in her Ladyship’s private quarters.
Halfway through the refurbishment Lady Foxden came to see her in the west wing. ‘I have a message from James,’ she said.
Bess’s heart almost leapt from her chest. James hadn’t been to Foxden for weeks. She was desperate for news of him.
‘He has arranged for a dozen single beds to be delivered. They have a surplus at Bitteswell, so they are lending them to us.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Bess said. ‘Did he mention bedding?’
‘No. And I didn’t think to ask him.’
‘It isn’t important until the beds are here, but when you speak to him next will you tell him we’ll need at least two sets of bedding for each bed.’
‘Will do! Oh, and he asked which day you’d like the beds delivered.’
‘Saturday would be best. I’ll have half a dozen extra pairs of hands here then.’
‘I’ll telephone him straight away,’ she said.
Bess wanted desperately to know when James was next coming to Foxden. She couldn’t ask her Ladyship outright so she said, casually, ‘Will James be overseeing the delivery of the beds?’
‘No, dear. They’re preparing for a big push over Germany. He’s on standby. He has to be ready to fly at a minute’s notice. That’s why he’s living on the aerodrome. I’ll ring him straight away,’ she said as she left.
The delivery of twelve single beds didn�
��t seem so wonderful to Bess now she knew James was about to see action. The Lowarth Advertiser printed the names of local service men and women who were missing or killed in action – and the list grew longer every day. Bess had stopped reading the newspaper and rarely listened to the news on the wireless. It was too upsetting, too worrying.
She was worried, too, about who was going to look after the servicemen. The land girls were too busy. There was no staff left at the Hall, except Mr Porter and Mrs Hartley, who both worked twelve hours a day, and Annie Timpson, who clung to her Ladyship like a limpet and was too frail anyway.
While Bess added the final touches – soft furnishing, rugs and cushions that she had commandeered from the guest rooms in the main house – Laura supervised the cutting of cabbages, swedes and carrots, and Mr Porter oversaw the planting of next season’s potatoes, as well as looking after the horses and keeping in touch with the Estate farms. It was a busy time.
*
‘Tom, you’re here!’ Bess threw her arms round her brother’s neck. ‘You’re here,’ she said again, and burst into tears.
Her handsome brother’s face was ashen. His uniform hung off him and his eyes were dull with dark circles under them. ‘Hey, come on, Sis. Don’t cry. Look who I found in Ashford Hospital.’
‘Annabel? What are you doing here?’ Bess said, trying to hide the disappointment in her voice with surprise.
‘Chauffeuring this chap,’ she said with a wry smile. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him skiving in my local hospital. And when he told me he was discharging himself and coming up here to help you with the new wing, I thought I’d better bring him, make sure he got here in one piece. I was coming up for the summer anyway, so I just brought my visit forward. And I’ve had a fair amount of experience looking after servicemen and women with war injuries in Ashford so if there is anything I can do to help, let me know.’
Bess didn’t want Annabel around, but she needed her. ‘A couple of days ago I was out of my mind with worry, because I didn’t know where I was going to find someone with nursing experience, and now you turn up.’
Foxden Acres (The Dudley Sisters Quartet Book 1) Page 17