‘I know. It’s all so horrible. And have you heard about that awful poisoned gas the Germans have started using? It’s unimaginable. I keep thinking what it were like—’
‘Then don’t. And no doubt we’ll invent something equally horrible.’
Grace blinked at the cynicism in his voice. She could see the muscles of his lean jaw working furiously as he stared out across the water.
‘You’m thinking of Martin, aren’t you? Going out there afore too long?’ And then she ventured, ‘Does it upset you, not being able to go and fight yourself?’
A short silence passed before she heard Larry release a torn sigh. ‘I don’t know really. I hate the Germans for what they’ve done, and I know there’s no choice but to fight back. But war is … so wrong. Such an appalling waste of life. I’m glad for moral reasons that I can’t actually be part of it. But, yes, if it weren’t for this bloody leg, I’d have been one of the first to volunteer.’
He flashed Grace a look of remorse, but didn’t apologize for his language. There was no need. They were so close, they both understood the world was different from how it had been a year before. Grace squeezed his hand, and he glanced wryly at her with his brown eyes. ‘Come on. I should be getting the tackers home for their tea. You three!’ she called over the parapet. ‘Out of the water and let your feet dry off.’
Ten minutes later, they were slowly climbing the steep hill up from the river. The lane was shady, bordered by high banks on either side that at this time of year were at their most beautiful, bedecked with bourgeoning red and white campion while the occasional clump of bluebells still nodded their gracious heads. If only … But then Grace’s mood changed completely as she noticed a lone figure coming towards them, impeccably dressed, as always, in a fine outfit to match the season. It was lucky that hemlines no longer quite swept the ground, but Grace’s nose wrinkled scornfully at the fashionable boots with their small heels that had evidently collected mud from the road.
‘Afternoon, Aggie,’ Grace greeted her stiffly. ‘Does your father know you’re out on your own?’
‘He’s gone to a Methodist conference. Besides, no harm’ll come to me just walking down to the bridge and back,’ Aggie told her, lifting her head snootily. ‘And I’m safer on my own than in the company of some people I could mention. I’d prefer to be with a real man. Oh, I wonder where that came from?’
She halted in front of Larry and looked in mock surprise at a white feather that suddenly floated down and landed at Larry’s feet. Grace stared at her in disbelief. Good God, how cruel could Aggie be? And if she had her sights set on Martin, she was going the wrong way about it, seeing as the two brothers were so close. Black anger flared in Grace’s breast in a storm of rage.
‘How dare you!’ she fumed. ‘It isn’t Larry’s fault he can’t enlist. He’s working like a slave in the yard to keep up with demand to help keep the country fed. Just as important as going to fight. And I don’t see you doing much to help the war!’
‘Huh!’ Aggie sneered back. ‘There’s other ways than putting on trousers and pretending you can do the same work as a man, you know. I’ve knitted dozens of socks for the troops, doing my patriotic duty without losing my dignity.’
‘Socks!’ Grace scorned. ‘Faith here is knitting socks at school and she’s but six years old.’
‘Come on, Grace.’ Larry’s voice was utterly calm as his fingers closed on her elbow. ‘Leave it. She’s not worth getting yourself in a lather over.’
‘No, I won’t leave it!’ Grace shook herself free. ‘How can you stand back and let her insult you like that? She—’
‘Because I pity her.’
‘Pity her?’ Grace was almost as outraged at Larry as she was at Aggie.
‘Shush. Yes. Look at her.’ Larry bounced his head towards where Aggie was strutting triumphantly down the lane. ‘Can you imagine having a father like hers? It must affect you. It’s no wonder she has no friends. And as for Martin, well, I can tell you he doesn’t really see anything in her.’ He bent to pick up the feather and then hopped down the hill after the retreating figure. ‘Miss Agatha!’ he called deferentially.
‘Yes, Larry?’
The girl turned, a smirk on her face at his respectful tone. And then Larry suddenly produced the feather which he had kept hidden behind his back.
‘I think you forgot something,’ he said with the most charming smile.
Grace watched the satisfaction slide from Aggie’s face which proceeded to turn scarlet from the neck upwards. It was so comical that Grace burst out laughing, joined at once by George who, at a wise eleven years old, understood perfectly. Their merriment was so raucous that Aggie stomped off down the hill, and even Larry couldn’t help breaking into a grin.
‘Oh, Larry, that were priceless!’ Grace crowed.
‘Well, there’s usually some way to get back at people like that. And if anyone wants to jeer at me, then let them. I’ve had so much of it all my life that it really doesn’t bother me any more.’
Grace’s laughter was spent now as they turned back up the hill. Larry was always so clever at managing people, wasn’t he? She wished she could think of what to say in such situations as he did. Poor Larry. It wasn’t fair that such a good person should have been cursed with that wretched infirmity. But … perhaps it wasn’t such a curse. It would keep him safely out of the war, even if he had to endure the ignorant jibing of the likes of Agatha Nonnacott. And, as they traipsed back to the village, Grace fell silently pensive.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘NAN, LET ME take that!’
Grace sprang forward to relieve Nan Sampson of her heavy shopping basket as the young mother struggled across the road. Little Sally was walking independently, but Nan was carrying Billy who at thirteen months was a solid and heavy-looking child.
‘Thanks, Gracie.’ Nan’s haggard face drooped with relief. ‘Would you mind bringing it inside?’
‘Course not. I were just on my way to work at the yard, but a minute or two won’t make any difference.’
‘Yes, I sees.’ Nan nodded her head towards Grace’s legs. ‘Don’t it feel queer like, wearing men’s clothes? John’d never let me.’
Grace grinned as she followed Nan inside the cottage. ‘I felt a bit self-conscious at first, but trousers are far more practical and, well, quite liberating,’ she declared, remembering the word from an article about the Suffragettes she had read what seemed a lifetime ago now. ‘You can move about much easier in them. Women are wearing them in the munitions factories, so I thought why shouldn’t I? Only when I’m working at the yard, mind.’
Grace didn’t add that the sheer horror on John’s face the first day she had worn them had almost made her choke as she stifled a roar of laughter. It was a pity, though, that she couldn’t really relate the funny moment to Nan. Poor thing looked as if she could do with cheering up.
‘Well, you looks master grand in them, being so tall and slim.’ Nan set Billy on his feet and he toddled across the flagstone floor only to wobble and sit down on his bottom. ‘I’d look like a lump o’ lard in them, especially with another one on the way.’
Grace’s jaw dropped as she noticed Nan’s thickening waistline for the first time. ‘What, another one? So soon? Oh, Nan!’
‘As John says, I must be made for having babbies. I doesn’t mind at all, but I does get so tired sometimes. This place were a mess while I were going through the sickness, but I’s over that now and I’s gradually licking everything back into shape.’
‘Yes, but …’ Grace bit her lip. Should she dare…? But she hated to see Nan so worn out. It was too late this time, but perhaps in the future? ‘You do know there are things called condoms the man can wear when … you know….’ She felt herself colour as the words slipped out of her mouth as if on their own, as if someone else was speaking. After all, she had no experience herself whatsoever of such matters.
To her surprise, Nan nodded in a down-to-earth way. ‘Yes, I did mention it. But John
said it were interfering with God’s will.’
‘God’s will? Since when were John religious? He never goes to chapel. No, you really ought to persuade him, Nan.’
Nan sucked in her cheeks thoughtfully. ‘Maybe I’ll try working on him while this one’s growing.’ She patted her stomach with an affectionate smile. ‘But he’s a good man, my John. Provides well for us, he does. Works hard, and don’t spend his wages on drink like some do, as I’ve heard tell. I’s not pretty like you. So when John asked me, I weren’t going to give up the chance. And him being older and settled like, with a cottage all to himself. Gave me …’ Nan frowned, searching for the right word. ‘A safe future I reckons you’d say.’
A safe future? Grace wanted to scoff. With a man who would corner another young woman in a stable? But had John really only meant to frighten her, even though he had gone quite far with it? Grace shuddered at the memory of his hand on her flesh. But did he lust after other women when he had his meek and trusting wife at home? Grace had to admit that she doubted it. The village was so close-knit that it would surely be noticed. But whatever the case, she mustn’t let on to Nan what had happened, and so she forced onto her face what she hoped appeared as a genuine smile.
‘You’m very lucky,’ she heard herself say. ‘But think about what we’ve just been talking about. Only probably best not to mention it were me you were discussing it with. Anyway.’ She turned swiftly to the door, feeling heat prickling around her neck at the thought of what John might do if he knew she had been ‘interfering’ again. ‘I must get to work afore they start wondering where I’ve got to.’
‘Thanks for your help, Grace,’ Nan called at her back.
Grace felt uneasy all morning, first attending to the paperwork in the office and then in the workshop. John was in and out, bringing in some heavy timber, and Grace felt his eyes were on her even if they weren’t. She couldn’t wait to get away, and decided to call in to see her mother at dinner time.
‘Aw, it’s you, my flower!’ Temperance beamed as Grace opened the door. The children were squeezed around the table having a meagre meal, little Maggie, of course, and George and Faith home from school for dinner.
Grace immediately felt a quiet contentment soothe her troubled soul. ‘You look happy, Mummy,’ she greeted her mother with a questioning smile.
‘Had a letter from Stephen this morning, us has,’ Temperance answered brightly, withdrawing an envelope from her apron pocket. ‘Mortal clever, he be.’
‘Oh, that’s grand!’ Grace cried back, for indeed it was a huge relief to have good news about her brother. She perched on the end of the bench and for a few minutes was immersed in Stephen’s untidy scrawl. He had been back in Barrackpore since March, she already knew, of course. The monsoon season had begun soon afterwards with unbelievably draining heat and humidity. But as Stephen was writing, the battery was on one of its short, recuperative visits up in the hills of Darjeeling where it was cooler and more comfortable. The area was beautiful, he wrote. He could not describe how lovely it was, but he was in fine fettle and the best of health.
Grace sniffed, somewhat disappointed that Stephen hadn’t made more of an effort to tell them about the far-away land. But he was well and in good heart, and had not mentioned anything about fighting of any sort, and that was the most important thing. Grace was overcome with relief. News had been filtering through of bloody battles in a place called Gallipoli and the Dardenelles where thousands of Australian and New Zealand troops had joined forces with the British against the Turkish Army, and of course, desperate fighting was continuing along the Western Front. At least Stephen wasn’t involved in anything like that. Not yet, anyway.
‘Sounds in good spirits.’ For the second time that day, Grace arranged her face into a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Perhaps he’ll have seen enough of the world by the time the war’s over.’
‘Well, so long as he keeps himself safe,’ Temperance nodded, although Grace knew she was being brave about it. ‘I’d far sooner he’d have stayed here, but there us is. Now, will you have summat to eat, Gracie?’
‘No, thanks. Mrs Snell let me make some sandwiches. They wanted me to stay on at the yard another couple of hours this afternoon. But I’d love a cup of tea.’
‘She’m good to you is Mrs Snell.’
‘All part of helping with the war, she says. When it’s over, it’ll all go back to normal.’
‘And that day can’t come quick enough for me. Your brother gallivanting to some heathen country and you, a maid, making wheels. Whatever next?’
Grace lifted her eyes ruefully over the rim of the cup as she sipped at the tea her mother had handed her. She loved working at the wheelwrights’ even more than at the farm, although she would have preferred it if John Sampson wasn’t there, too. Like everyone, Grace prayed the war would end as soon as possible, but her heart flickered at the thought of how her life would change once the conflict was over and something tightened inside her chest like a clenched fist, for she had the unnerving feeling that the war and her part in it had a long way to go yet.
‘Martin!’
Grace couldn’t believe her eyes when a few weeks later she arrived at the workshop and there appeared to be an extra member of staff. It might be the beginning of July, but rain had fallen steadily all night and still had not let up. Grace had hurried along the lane from the farm, navigating gigantic puddles and huddling beneath her umbrella. But closing it down distracted her from looking directly at the stranger – who turned out not to be a stranger at all!
Grace’s heart lifted with joy, and she cast herself headlong into Martin’s arms. ‘Oh, it’s proper grand to see you!’ she exclaimed as he hugged her tightly. ‘When did you get back?’
‘Hadn’t you heard? We all got back last night – Reg, Bob’s son and the rest of us.’ Martin held her at arms’ length, his eyes bright with teasing. ‘If I’d known I’d get such a warm welcome from my pretty maid, I’d have come up to the farm directly.’
‘Oh, you!’ Grace grinned back, and heard a chorus of amused chuckles behind her.
There was one muttering voice, though, that spoilt the moment. ‘Anyone’d think you was family, taking liberties like that.’
Irritation rasped in Grace’s throat and she was about to reply with a sharp riposte, when Larry said mildly, ‘She’s as good as family is our Gracie. But we’ve work to get on with, Second Lieutenant Vencombe, so you can make yourself useful while you’re here and talk as you work.’
Grace’s momentary frustration at Larry’s answer when she would have gloried in rebuffing John herself was soon lost as Martin tutted in an exaggerated manner and rolled his eyes. ‘Slave driver! Hasn’t changed any, has he? Does he boss you around like that, Grace?’
‘Hmm,’ Grace considered with a frown. ‘Sometimes, but not always.’ She gave a light giggle and tossed her head. ‘But he’ll be chasing me if I don’t get into the office. I’ll be out in the workshop later, mind.’
‘Yes, I’ve heard what you’ve been up to since I’ve been away. And I must say how fetching you look in trousers.’
Grace snorted wryly to hide her embarrassment. Martin had always enjoyed a little flirtation, she knew only too well, but she had never been on the receiving end of his complimentary remarks. It was so good to have him back to liven the place up, and she danced over to the office past a smiling Geoffrey Vencombe who was delighted to have his younger son home again.
‘Will Mrs Snell give you some time off, do you think, so the three of us can walk up onto the moor?’ Martin asked.
‘I’m certain she will,’ Grace replied, opening the office door. ‘She’m such a good sort and I’ll work twice as hard for her to make up for it.’
‘Just like old times, isn’t it?’ Grace breathed in blissful contentment.
‘What, having a picnic in the rain?’
‘You old kill-joy, brother!’ Martin laughed as they sought shelter in the lee of some rocks up on the open moor.
‘It’s only drizzle, and this is Dartmoor if I remember rightly. I do hope it clears, though, before I go back. I’d like to see the moor in sunshine one last time.’
His boisterous tone tapered off in a wistful trail as he unwrapped some sandwiches from their greaseproof paper, and Grace’s buoyant mood slipped away.
‘How much leave have you got?’ she asked. With Stephen thousands of miles away, the importance of Martin’s presence was somehow intensified. It was as if they were venerating his absence and the lifetime of friendship the four of them had enjoyed together.
‘Six days. And then the battalion’s off to France. At long last. Can’t wait to put some of this training into practice.’
‘Aren’t you,’ Grace faltered, ‘a bit scared?’
Martin shrugged. ‘I wouldn’t be human if I said no. But I’m looking forward to seeing a foreign country. Wish I’d gone with Stephen, mind. India must be so much more exotic.’
‘Hot and sticky and alive with mosquitoes according to his letters,’ Grace assured him. ‘But parts are really beautiful, and he says the young women are stunning. The rich ones dress in brightly coloured clothes called saris, and they’re often embroidered with gold thread.’
‘I bet most of them are peasants dressed in rags, poor sods.’
‘I expect you’re right, Larry. But it’s made me determined to visit India myself once the war’s over.’
‘I don’t see that happening any time soon, the rate things are going.’
‘No, probably not,’ Martin admitted dejectedly. ‘If the Americans were to join in, it might hasten matters. I’d have thought the sinking of the Lusitania would have persuaded them, but it hasn’t.’
‘Not yet, maybe, but it’ll all go into the melting pot, I’m sure. But I reckon we should eat our sandwiches before they’re completely soggy from the rain.’
And then Grace was jolted from listening to the brothers’ conversation when Martin muttered under his breath, ‘Soggy sandwiches will be the least of our worries once we’re over in France.’
Wheels of Grace Page 8