He had rung ahead to book a bed in the low-key club he had joined, full of ideas above his station, when he’d first become a services medic. It would suffice to sleep in, which was all he intended to do there. He filled up at the petrol station on the edge of the village, giving evasive answers to Bert, the old boy, one of his patients who worked the petrol pumps. One of his many low-paid efforts to eke out a living.
“And your sister, Doctor? She hasn’t been too well, I hear? Is she on the mend? The wife and meself was sorry to hear about her troubles.” His forehead creased in genuine concern rather than prurience.
“She’s on the mend, Bert, and thanks for asking. As a matter of fact, she’s gone to stay with our auntie this weekend. Company for her, as it were.”
Oh, damn and blast and bloody hell. He had completely forgotten this weekend pass business, and he’d also forgotten he was supposed to be joining them for dinner tonight. He hesitated and wiped the windscreen to buy a few more minutes thinking time. But, he knew what he would do He continued on his journey south. He would ring from London and make his excuses.
Chapter 8
Cathy’s working day dragged like never before. Miss Prudence, in a navy-blue cardigan over a beige blouse, never moved from her perch behind the post office counter. Normally, she did leave Cathy in charge, having trained her to deal with the huge variety of forms and queries needed even in a small place like this.
“Do you like your job, I mean really, really like it?” her friend, Elsie asked her when they had still been good friends, before she’d drifted away into life in the servants’ hall.
She considered her answer now as she made work for herself, dusting shelves that held the flour and baking ingredients, putting everything back neatly. “I like it well enough, I suppose. I like the feeling of earning my own bit of money and it’s quite lively in the shop. Interesting, you know, all the people coming in. You get to know who’s always cheerful, who’s always moaning and the Misses Sowerby are kind to me. Give me cake, praise me when I get things right. But, still…”
She’d hesitated, not exactly sure what she meant, and even more uncertain about how to put it. “I suppose I want to see more of life.”
Ooh,” said Elsie, with a touch of sarcasm. “Listen to Miss High and Mighty. So, what do ye mean exactly, Cath? Go abroad or something, or down to London?”
Cathy hesitated again. It had been a bad idea to start this conversation with Elsie, who obviously didn’t have a clue what she meant. “I don’t know. I don’t want my life to be like me mam’s I suppose. You know, marry some lad from the village, have kids, work hard, and never see a bit of life.”
“You don’t want to get married, have children?”
“Well, I’m not saying never, but not until I’ve seen a bit of the world outside the dales.”
“I see plenty of life in the big house. Ladies, lords …all sorts up for the races, stopping off on their way to Scotland for the shooting. See all sorts I do…some of it would probably shock you.”
Cathy hadn’t been sure whether that bit was true, or whether Elsie was trying to keep her end up. But, the conversation had left her even more unsettled.
“The shelves will do for now, dear. Why not get home early and surprise your mother. It’s her afternoon off, isn’t it?”
This brought Cathy out of her reverie, but it startled her too. Not in all the time she’d worked in the shop, had such a thing been known. Her heart lurched. They weren’t sacking her were they? That would be terrible. What would her father say? “I haven’t done anything wrong, Miss Prudence?”
Prudence smiled; the first smile Cathy had had out of her for days. “No, not at all, child. I need to have a quiet word with my sister, that’s all. And you have done a grand job tidying and dusting. We’ll see you at eight, as usual in the morning. Look on it as a bonus, and be off before I change my mind.”
But, she was smiling. However, after Cathy collected her coat and bag from the back and headed off down the small lane leading to the road home, she heard raised voices.
The feeling of unease persisted, distracting her from her usual daydreams and observations of the countryside. She and John had walked to school, in the summer, through the fields. It wasn’t until she was a lot older Cathy began to realise how much about the natural world they had absorbed along the way.
They saw the snowdrops being replaced by crocuses, which reminded her of some of the sweets she now doled out of glass jars in the shop. Then would come the daffodils and celandines, then bluebells and the lush grass verges and ripening berries. This had been in happier days, the time when her father had been down south doing his mysterious job.
But her unease wasn’t just about her father. It wasn’t as cosy and nice as it had been at home, but she was almost used to his moods and sarcasm and the way he talked to her mother as though she was stupid. It was probably the way he was with John that hurt the most, always ridiculing and mocking him. But, there was something else going on in this village. Something new.
She had heard a whisper about anonymous letters. It had shocked Cathy and given her a cold feeling in her stomach. She had too much imagination, true but the thought there was somebody like that in the village, someone disturbed, gave her the creeps. In fact, this person, this woman…It would be a woman, who probably came in the shop. Cathy had found herself wondering sometimes…could it be her…I wonder if it’s her?
But the three safest women in her world were behaving oddly. At the shop, something had changed in the atmosphere. She’d felt it this morning, when she’d let herself in. In fact, she’d felt it each morning for several weeks now. It was as if she was breaking into a private conversation. It was hard to remember what it had been like before, so much had this sour air infected the shop.
She’d tried telling her mam about it. “There’s something not right, mam. I think there’s a bad atmosphere between Miss Marjorie and Miss Prudence. I don’t think they are properly even speaking to each other.”
“Oh, Cathy, two maiden ladies, sisters living together, there’s bound to be the odd fall out. The best thing you can do is to keep your head down and busy yourself with your work. See no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.”
“You don’t understand Mam. It’s not a bit like them. They always get on so well. I feel a bit of a piggy in the middle. They even talk through me.”
Her mother sighed. “Cathy, believe me, you haven’t got a lot to complain about. I have a nice job now, but when I was your age, I was on my knees scrubbing and lighting fires from six o’clock in the morning. Mind your good job and whatever you do, don’t repeat any of this to anyone else.”
“Oh, mam, what do you think? Of course I am not going to say anything.” She’d been a bit hurt that her mother had dismissed her worries and thought she needed to tell her to keep her mouth shut about what went on in the shop. Why were people always assuming that she didn’t know when to keep her mouth shut? There were plenty of things she saw and heard that she kept to herself.
* * *
The tension mounted as seven thirty and then seven forty-five came and went. The Esther woman was hovering, making it obvious, at least to Edith’s mind that they were holding her up. Mind you, goodness knows from what.
The tension was broken by the telephone’s ringing. Thank God, he’s been called out on an emergency and he is not going to be able to make it. Up until that moment, she’d not realised how tense she was and how much she was actually dreading meeting her brother after their scene at St. Bride’s.
Aunt Alicia’s expression was troubled when she came back into the sitting room. “Oh, Edith, I’m sorry my dear, but I’m afraid Archie has got to let us down. He’s had to go down to London, of all things. He didn’t say why, but he was very sorry—a previous engagement that had completely escaped his mind.
“Not to worry,” said Edith, lightly. She was still relieved, but annoyed too. Forgot—how likely was that? Another one of his trips down to Lond
on, then. These were a regular occurrence. Every couple of months or so, he headed off. He’d said something about meeting up with some of the men from his former regiment and some of the medical staff. Edith had taken care to ask no questions. She was aware their living arrangements would only work if each had some privacy.
Still, dinner would be more relaxed with just herself and Aunt Alicia. With another of her lightening changes of mood, she felt suddenly cheerful—maybe the weekend would go well, after all.
* * *
Archie Horton felt the familiar excitement as he entered the large entrance hall of Almacks. Everything was familiar, the feel of the place, the air of expectancy, the whiff of expensive tobacco, and the quiet-footed porters.
The receptionist gave him a discreet smile of recognition, a smile he could choose to respond to or ignore. He smiled back.
For the next couple of hours he got his injection of excitement—the excitement he’d once experienced in the field hospital waiting for the next lot of wounded men. Sick with apprehension, the surge of adrenaline focusing his brain to that state of single—minded concentration that drove everything else from his mind. His beloved wife, his own safety, and the futility and obscenity of war, all could be forgotten while he concentrated on the job in hand. It left him lightheaded from exhaustion, but curiously at peace. Nothing in peacetime, certainly nothing in Yorkshire had ever been able to match that feeling.
But then one of his meetings with his old comrades had for some reason, ended up here. He could remember feeling exasperation. Couldn’t they have found somewhere better, more entertaining, less futile than a gambling club?
He felt nothing; he had neither the time nor the money for this sort of place. But, out of boredom, he had joined in and found once again the intense concentration, the forgetting of his troubles, the satiation, and the exhaustion. He’d had beginner’s luck, more than counter-balanced on his later visits. He reasoned he wasn’t a gambling addict. He didn’t take stupid risks. He certainly didn’t do any of this on his own doorstep. But he recognised that when life became difficult, this was the place that drew him.
* * *
Cathy’s mother had looked almost put out to see her. Her face was flushed as she came downstairs.
“You’re home early, lass. Are you poorly?”
”No, Miss Prudence said I was to go early. She and her sister needed to have a talk, or something.”
She almost added that she had heard raised voices, but held her tongue. She didn’t want to be accused of gossiping.
“Well, put the kettle on. I’m doing a bit of tidying upstairs. John’ll be back from school, shortly. And your father home from work. I need to get started on the taters.”
All was back to normal, it seemed. Her mother was her bustling self again. But, she had not imagined her secretive, agitated mood when she’d come back from work early. She went to put the kettle on, and while her mam was upstairs, she went to the outhouse for a pan of potatoes. There was a pile of old sacks in the corner, old hessian sacks that had stored the chicken corn and been saved. Say what you like about her father, and Cathy reckoned you could say a lot, he was a tidy man.
“Army training,” he’s say full of self-importance if anyone commented that he was “well-trained,” by which they meant, unusually neat in his ways, for a man.
The Hessian sacks were neatly folded in the corner. One was out of place, in the middle. That’s how neat this place is. One sack a bit out of place and you notice.
Maybe being surrounded by such tidiness was what made her well organised in the shop. Then she noticed something else, just over the jutting out sack. It was the same colour but somehow different—an envelope. Without thinking further, she went across to the stack and pulled out the envelope. It was packed, thick.
Cathy’s heart beat nineteen to the dozen. She checked to see if it was sealed. Yes, but there was a corner that wasn’t fast down. Maybe, she could peel it away without tearing the flap. She began gently easing the corner away.
“What the hell, do you think you are doing?” Her father’s voice was harsh and his shadow menacingly dark in the doorway of the outhouse. He was in his working clothes, a flat cap at an angle on his thick, curly hair.”
* * *
After a dinner of lamb cutlets, followed by a blackberry and apple pie, Edith was sleepy, but not the unaccountable tiredness that usually hit her these days. This was a more relaxed feeling. She relished the feeling of being at home, or at least in a proper home, away from the sounds and smells of the hospital. But, she longed for bed and didn’t know quite what to say to her auntie. It was barely nine o’ clock, but her eyes were closing.
“You’re tired, my dear. I think the best plan might be to have an early night and then tomorrow, lunch out and a drive. I mean into the countryside, out into Wensleydale.”
Edith smiled. It sounded great, normal, pleasant. This was the first thing she had looked forward to for ages.
“All right, auntie. She hesitated. “Auntie Alicia, I can’t thank you enough for everything.” Her voice was a bit tremulous and she took a deep breath.
Her aunt held her hand up to stay her. “Edith, it’s the best tonic ever for me having you to stay. You’re the one doing me the favour.”
Aunt Alicia had shown Edith to her room as soon as she’d come to the house and given her the chance to unpack her small bag. She’d looked around the room and smiled. There was a patchwork quilt on the bed and a vase of very late sweet peas on the dressing table.
Vita Sackville-West’s, The Edwardians was on the bedside table on top of a small stack of magazines. A jug of water was covered by a small circle of muslin weighed down by coloured beads. Now, she undressed and got into bed, finding a hot-water bottle comfortingly tucked into the bottom. She considered the book and then settled for one of the magazines. She turned to the story, which she was sure would be a bit of romantic escapism, when a light tap on the door startled her. “Come in,” She felt at a disadvantage, being in bed. But, as she was sure it would be Aunt Alicia, didn’t feel it mattered too much.
However, there was another pause. Then the door opened softly. That woman stood there, Esther. Edith’s mouth was dry and the hammering of her heart seemed to start at the base of her throat. “What is it, what do you want?” she said, knowing that she probably sounded abrupt. She cleared her throat and sat up straight. It was ridiculous to feel at such a disadvantage.
“Oh. Miss Horton, I was just checking that you’re all right, that you have everything you need. I know Miss Horton, Miss Alicia Horton, I mean worries. I don’t like to see her worried. I see that as my main role here, to keep her from worrying.
“Well, I’m perfectly all right, thank you. Hoping to go to sleep, now.” She didn’t try to keep the coolness out of her voice. Whether it was the woman’s proprietorial attitude to Aunt Alicia, or whether it was her general air of creeping about the place, wasn’t clear She just knew Esther Kirk made her feel uneasy.
She wouldn’t sleep. She started fretting over Archie as soon as she turned the light out. Where was he really and what were these trips to London all about? She turned the pillow over so the cool side was against her cheek. As she was drifting into a doze, her body relaxing, Matthew came into her mind. She turned on the bedside light and picked up the heavy book.
Chapter 9
“I said what do you think you are doing?”
Cathy was frightened. Her father had never been like this before—moody, difficult and mocking, but never quietly furious like this. Also, it was always either her mother or John at the other end of his anger, not her.
“Nothing, I was fetching in some potatoes, for mam. I saw something.” She pointed at the envelope. “There, look, an envelope. I haven’t even opened it yet…I wondered what was in it, that’s all…”
“Well, don’t wonder. That envelope or what’s in it has nothing to do with you, do you understand, our Cath?”
His anger had subsided a bit, thank
God. Cathy had read the phrase “weak with relief.” Now she felt it. She hadn’t realised how absolutely terrified she had been. It was stupid. What did she think he was going to do to her? Hit her? Kill her? She was being stupid.
“I didn’t actually do anything wrong, dad…” The realisation of how irrational her terror was had lent her a bit of courage. And, no one ever stood up to him. Her mother opted for a quiet life and John was too cowed. Dimly, Cathy realised that may be at least part of the problem.
He ignored this. “Get the potatoes and go back into the house. Say nothing about any envelopes, or about this conversation.”
His words didn’t hold a threat, just the certainty she would do as he said. “All right, dad.”
“Dad’s on his way in,” she said to her mother.
“Oh dear, he’s early, and I’m all behind with things. Give us a hand, Cathy, and start scrubbing them taters.”
But her father did not make any comments about having to wait for his dinner or say much else. He was unusually quiet and preoccupied.
“I’m going down the Dalesman for a pint,” he said about nine o’ clock.
Her mother nodded and actually asked him if he was all right for money. There was nothing unusual about him taking some of her mother’s earnings to pour down his throat if he was short, but she didn’t usually offer.
Cathy went up to bed with her library book, leaving John still bent over his homework, the lamplight making the shadows on his face even more noticeable. I don’t understand them…my mam, my father, the Misses Sowerby. Life had been a lot more peaceful all those years when her dad had been down south doing whatever it was he reckoned to be doing. It had been mam, John, her and their few animals—simple and safe.
* * *
Archie called on Sunday morning. He’d timed it for when Aunt Alicia had returned from Ellbeck and church.
He crossed the hall and gave Edith a swift kiss on the cheek, went into the sitting room, where Aunt Alicia was warming her hands at the fire and kissed her too. Unusually demonstrative. Smacks of a guilty conscience. He was charm itself, too, a side of himself he kept in cold storage most of the time.
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