Grace and Martha weren’t the only females to go through to the back. Anyone over fourteen, as the law allowed, of whatever sex was welcome to partake of Mr Vencombe’s generosity. A trestle table had been set up on the flagstone floor, groaning under the plates of pasties and sandwiches piled onto it. While Mr Brown pulled pints from the massive barrels for his eager customers, chalking them up on a board for Mr Vencombe’s tab, people helped themselves to food. Within minutes, the room was vibrating with lively voices vying to make themselves heard.
‘Crazy if you asks me, they Suffragette women,’ John Sampson commented to his neighbour as he chomped voraciously on his pasty. ‘What does women know of voting? Woman’s place be in the home. And what does you think about that lunatic throwing herself under the king’s horse last year? Completely daft.’
Grace caught their conversation as she sipped her ginger beer, and felt the hairs bristle on the back of her neck. After talking to Nan just now, she was just in the mood to confront the poor girl’s husband. Before she could control her tongue, the words blurted out of her mouth, ‘If you’m referring to Emily Wilding Davidson, then you’m wrong. She were very brave to do that for summat she believed in so passionately. And she weren’t trying to kill herself. She were just trying to throw a banner over the horse.’
John snorted so violently that he spluttered into his beer. ‘Well even if that were so, she must’ve realized it were mortal dangerous to run out in front of a field of galloping horses!’
‘Exactly! That were the whole point, to show that—’
‘Personally I believe we’ll soon have more than votes for women to worry about,’ Larry put in from behind her. For a moment, Grace filled up with resentment at his interruption of the heated argument, for the Suffragette Movement was very close to her heart. But when Larry concluded with the comment, ‘Important issue though that is,’ she felt her annoyance drop away. Proper clever was Larry, and Grace respected him for it. Serious of character he might be, but she had always enjoyed his conversation since she was a child. That, and Martin’s constant joking was what had made her from a very early age want to join in the threesome of the two Vencombe brothers and her own brother. They had accepted her into the fold, taking care of her like a little sister, and she had joined in their escapades ever since.
‘Doesn’t really think there’ll be a war, does you, lad?’ another voice chimed in.
‘Unfortunately, yes, I do. This thing’s been brewing for years. Decades even. Some say part of the problem dates back as far as the Franco-Prussian War, and I’m inclined to agree. What do you think, Dad?’
Grace turned as Geoffrey Vencombe shouldered his way through the crowded room. ‘I’m certain it has something to do with it, yes. But basically it all boils down to the fight between imperialism and nationalism.’
Grace noted the bafflement on John Sampson’s face, and arranged her own features into an expression of intelligent interest. But she said nothing, not wanting to admit to anyone that she didn’t really understand Mr Vencombe’s words either! She had loved school, priding herself on being a most diligent pupil, and had been devastated when she had reached her twelfth birthday and had to leave at the end of term. But she did read the newspapers, trying to keep up with all that was happening in the world, even though she didn’t always understand everything she read.
‘In my opinion, we’ll be at war before the year’s out,’ Mr Vencombe continued, ‘and Heaven knows what’ll happen to us all, then.’
‘It’ll be unprecedented, that’s for sure,’ Larry agreed, swilling the beer in his tankard before taking a deep draught.
‘It’s being so cheerful that keeps you going, brother!’
Martin clapped his elder brother so rumbustiously on the shoulder that Larry momentarily lost his balance and spilled some of the bitter liquid down his shirt. Grace’s heart lurched. Martin’s boisterous show of sibling affection was all very well, but he should have thought about Larry’s affliction first.
‘Well, if it happens,’ Martin went on with one eyebrow raised sceptically, ‘it’ll be over in a few months, mark my words. We’ll give the Germans a bloody nose in no time. Could be a chance for anyone who goes to fight to see a bit of the world, mind, while it lasts. Now who’s for another pint?’
Grace stood back pensively, sinking beneath the waves of raucous chatter, munching jaws and the occasional satisfied belch. While she chewed on a tasty pasty, nodding at Martha’s jolly laughter, her mind shifted back to Mr Vencombe’s words. War before the year was out? It seemed inconceivable on such a perfect day.
‘I’d better be going,’ she told Martha. ‘I promised to be back by two o’clock and I want to call in to see Mummy and the tackers on the way.’
‘All right, my lovely,’ Martha answered through a mouth full of food. ‘See you soon. I’s just going to have another pasty. Mighty tasty, they be.’
Grace nodded, nailing a smile on her face. Her enjoyment of bonding day had dissipated into thin air. The atmosphere in the room was suddenly oppressive and she felt she must escape. She slid outside unnoticed, and gulped at the fresh country air, leaning back against the wall of the inn as she did so. Only part of Walkhampton fronted what was, for want of a better word, the main road through the village. Other buildings were tucked away in alleyways and lanes behind the inn or in the odd area where the grocers-cum-Post Office stood at a strange angle to its neighbours. Grace sometimes imagined that a wilful giant had rolled some dice there and turned them into houses wherever they came to rest. All so familiar to her, so peaceful and reassuring.
So why was talk of war on everyone’s lips?
She sighed deeply and glanced towards the little bridge over the brook. On the far side of the village square, just where the road towards Woodman’s Corner began its long ascent, was Vencombe’s timber yard. Next to it tottered the tumbledown row of higgledy-piggledy stone cottages where Grace’s family squeezed together in one downstairs room and the bedroom above. The ceilings were so low that Grace could easily touch them if she stretched upwards. But it was home. And although she sometimes found the chaos within exasperating, she loved it. And perhaps a cup of tea and a quick chat with her mother would allow her to cast all thoughts of war aside.
For now, at least.
CHAPTER TWO
‘GRACE.’
Before she brought herself to move, however, Larry appeared beside her as if out of nowhere. His voice portrayed only the faintest surprise. He hadn’t noticed her leave the taproom and so hadn’t expected to find her outside leaning back against the front wall of the inn.
‘You left early,’ he commented.
‘So did you.’
‘Yes, I suppose I did. I felt … I don’t know …’
‘Stifled?’ she finished for him.
He looked at her askew and a wry smile tugged at his mouth. ‘I was going to say unnerved, but stifled is just as good a word.’ He took a lop-sided step to join her in leaning against the pub wall. For several moments, they remained in an easy silence, Grace returning to her contemplation of the peaceful village. Just up the road, afternoon school had begun and through an open window, they could just hear the chanting of times tables above the muffled babble from the taproom at the rear of the inn.
Larry heard Grace sigh, drawing him from his own reverie. ‘It’s all this talk of war, isn’t it?’ he murmured.
It was a few seconds before she replied, watching her toe as she ground it into the hard-baked earth. ‘Yes, I reckon so. Life is so … so perfect here, I just can’t imagine … I thought Mr Asquith were trying to sort things out.’
‘He is. But it seems to me that all this prevarication is simply allowing more time for all sides to build up their armaments. And in the meantime, the balance of power in Europe is becoming increasingly unstable as well.’
‘That’s what everyone keeps saying, but I don’t understand it all. Not properly, like. And I want to. Can you explain it to me, in simple terms? You know
I’m not that clever. I don’t mind admitting it to you.’
Larry tipped his head sideways. ‘That’s not true at all. You shouldn’t have had to leave school at twelve. You should have had the chance to go on …’ He broke off, his voice sounding strange, and Grace’s eyebrows met in a frown. But the moment was forgotten as Larry went on in a more matter-of-fact tone, ‘Well, can you imagine a map of Europe from when you were at school?’
‘Yes. At least, I think so. I remember France and Spain because they’m easy, and the boot of Italy and then Greece next to it. But there are so many countries in the middle, it’s all mixed up in my mind.’
‘And that’s precisely one of the reasons it’s all so complicated. You have Austria-Hungary on one side vying against the Serbs on the other. A lot of it’s historical, of course. And then Germany will always support Austria-Hungary, and the Russians support Serbia. Then there’s the French who I’m sure would welcome any opportunity to win back the territories they lost in the Franco-Prussian War in the 1870s—’
‘And now we’m allied to France and Russia.’
‘Exactly. So you see, you do understand. As much as the majority of people do, anyway. Things are spiralling out of control and if you ask me, it will only require a spark for the whole tinderbox to explode.’
Larry pushed himself forward from the wall, and Grace fell into step beside him. They ambled along the road back towards the Vencombes’ substantial residence that stood in front of the yard, making the peaceful harmony of the morning’s work rush back into Grace’s thoughts.
‘Why can’t people just be friends and get on with their lives like we do in the village?’
‘But you were arguing with John just now about the Suffragettes.’
Grace had to bite her lip. It wasn’t just about the Suffragettes, was it? But for Nan’s sake, she would keep their conversation a secret. So she replied simply, ‘But I was hardly going to have a fight with him over it.’
‘Well that’s because –’
‘Because I’m a girl?’ she rounded on him.
‘I was going to say because you’ve got more sense than that.’
‘Oh.’ Grace twisted her lips. No, Larry wasn’t like that, and she felt a trifle embarrassed. ‘I’d better go,’ she said quickly to cover up her feelings. ‘I’m calling in to see Mummy afore I go back to work.’
‘Give her my best wishes, then,’ Larry nodded at her with a smile.
‘I will.’ Grace paused a second before she turned away. He looked nice, did Larry, when that rare smile lit his face. But as she had said to Martha, the Vencombe lads were more like brothers to her, and it was no more than a fleeting thought as she skipped over the little bridge.
Larry watched her go, and then limped towards his own home.
Grace hurried across the square and past Vencombes’ timber yard on the left. Immediately after it was the row of humble cottages that was home, cobbled together with random extensions here and there that appeared to prop each other up in defiance of gravity. But it was thought that the major part of the building dated back three hundred years, and so it would doubtless still be standing in another three centuries.
Grace’s family occupied the cottage tacked on at the lower end. It seemed that it had originally been a small stable or cowshed as the timber lintels of a blocked up hayloft door were still visible high up on the gable wall. The chimney stack inside was built of brick rather than stone, indicating that it had been added later. No one in the village seemed to know when it had become living accommodation, but with a proper little range and flagstone floor, it was mortal cosy even in winter. After all, the stone walls were nearly two foot thick and kept out the wind and rain. Certainly upstairs where they all slept in one crowded room, Grace had rarely felt cold. At the farmhouse, she had her own room which was sheer luxury in the summer, but it had no fireplace so that in winter it could be freezing. Mrs Snell insisted she took a stone hot-water bottle to bed, but it wasn’t the same. Even after five years, Grace still sometimes missed cuddling down in the big warm bed with her younger brother and sisters.
Her heart lifted as she pushed open the front door. ‘Hello!’ she called, proudly using the new word with which Martin had told her people answered that newfangled machine, the telephone. At least, the word had been invented over twenty years previously when the contraption had been in its experimental stages. Her family were never likely to own one, of course. Such wonders would be far beyond their financial reach. But Grace felt very pleased with herself that she knew the word was beginning to spread as an every day greeting, too.
Her mother was busy at the range, stirring what smelt like mince and onions in a giant saucepan. ‘I were hoping you might call in, cheel, it being bonding day,’ she smiled over her shoulder. ‘Is it all over now?’
‘Yes, it is, so you can let the tackers outside now.’
‘Oh, good. Go along now then, you two,’ Temperance Dannings ordered her younger daughters who were playing with their rag dolls on the rug. ‘Outside with you. I want to talk to your sister.’
‘Where was George today?’ Grace asked as her mother shooed the little girls outside. ‘He didn’t come out of school at dinner time, at least I didn’t see him.’
‘Got a bit of a cold, so he’m upstairs in bed.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Grace inwardly groaned. Swinging the lead, more like. Unlike herself, George hated school, but at ten years old, he was savvy enough to know that at the slightest sign of illness, his mother would keep him home. Temperance was far too protective of her children although Grace understood why. There had been two other children between her and George, both lost to pneumonia that had developed from coughs and colds. Temperance was determined to preserve the rest of the family, even if it meant mollycoddling them to the extreme.
‘You don’t have to keep Faith and Maggie indoors on bonding day, you know,’ Grace suggested gently.
‘And have them wander down to the village and get theirselves burnt with everyone dashing about?’
‘But Faith is very sensible. She’ll be starting school herself in the autumn. And Maggie never lets go of her hand. And if they did end up at the wheelwrights’, I’d take care of them.’
‘I’s sure you would, cheel. But what if you wasn’t there? Pass me they carrots, would you? And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Are you certain Mrs Snell don’t mind you having time off for bonding day? Wouldn’t want you to lose your job.’
‘No, Mummy, you don’t need to worry,’ Grace answered as she tipped the bowl of chopped carrots into the saucepan. ‘I work really hard so Mrs Snell’s happy to give me time off occasionally. You know, you really shouldn’t worry about things so much.’ She wrapped her arms about her mother, hugging her so that they all but waltzed about the room.
‘Aw, you’m a good girl, Gracie,’ Temperance told her fondly. ‘And I swears you get taller each time I sees you. Tall as a bean pole, you’ll be soon.’
Grace tossed a laugh into the air. ‘I hope not. Now let’s put the kettle on and I’ll go up and have a word with young scallywag while it’s boiling.’
The rickety stairs protested even under her light weight as she scampered up to the room above. It gave George just enough warning so that when she pushed open the door, she caught him scooting back into bed and pretending to cough as he pulled the worn blankets up to his chin. The sun was just coming round to the front of the cottage and was streaming through the low window, showing the particles of dust dancing in the air. Grace shook her head as she approached the bed, her face stern and menacing.
‘Busy gazing out the window, weren’t you? Well, you don’t look very sick to me.’
‘Oh, I am, Gracie,’ he tried to croak, but she knew him of old.
‘You don’t fool me. If I catch you doing this once more, I’ll tell Constable Rodgers.’
George’s face dropped. ‘You wouldn’t,’ he whispered in horror.
‘I would. So no more play-acting. It’s not f
air to worry Mummy like this.’
‘All right. But you won’t say ort about today?’
‘Not if you promise on your heart not to do it again.’
‘Yes, I promises,’ George gulped, his eyes wide with fear.
Grace turned away, trying to keep the smile from her face. He was a good boy, was George. He just hated school. He would rather be out in the fields with their father, or up on the wild moorland, his heart flying free. Grace knew how he felt. She would love to spend her own life up on the moor, to be swept up in that sense of immensity and timelessness that filled every fibre of her being whenever she could escape for a few hours. But there were more important things in life that must come first. Work, for instance. And family.
Twenty minutes later, after a quick mug of weak tea with her mother, Grace was hurrying along the lane towards Horrabridge. The farm stood but a few hundred yards away, so that you could see it from the bedroom window of the Dannings’s cottage. On the bank of the ancient hedgerow, bluebells were beginning to unfurl, proud and erect among the delicate stems of red and white campion that were coming into bud, while here and there, primroses nestled daintily in the protection of their taller brethren.
This was Grace’s favourite time of year, all was so fresh and young and with the promise of the long summer days ahead. Her heart swelled with gladness and anticipation. Oh, all these people who believed that war was approaching, they couldn’t possibly be right when the world was bursting into life. And even if they were, it would all be far away and nothing to do with the peace and harmony that reigned in Walkhampton and similar villages all over the country. And nobody from here was in the army. The men mainly laboured on the land. Two or three villagers worked on the railway that snaked its hazardous way up over the moor to Princetown, passing not far from Walkhampton itself, while others, of course, were employed at Vencombe’s Yard. No. Life here was safe and secure.
Wheels of Grace Page 2