Daughter of Dark River Farm

by Terri Nixon

  ‘If you go now, you’ll be home by teatime,’ she said. Jessie nodded and stood up, both hands on the box. She looked expectantly at Belinda, then back at Lizzy, who nodded. ‘And you, Bel. You know Frances doesn’t like to send you girls out alone, not since your accident.’

  She turned back to pick up something else, and Bel shot me a look and mouthed, ‘You promised!’

  I groaned; the last thing I wanted was to spend the next hour in the company of Jessie Goulding. Bel’s look turned pleading, and I sighed. ‘I’ll go instead of Bel,’ I said. ‘I think Amy would enjoy the ride in the trap.’

  Lizzy put two large brown eggs in the box, and tucked the spare bit of lining cloth around them. Her lips twitched in a little smile as she flicked a glance at Belinda. ‘Why do you sound as if you’re reading that from a piece of paper, Kitty? Go on, then, I don’t mind who goes.’

  Amy sat between us on the seat, and Jessie took the reins while I slipped an arm around the little girl. ‘Animals,’ I said, pointing to the little trap pony. I wondered if she’d remember.

  ‘Mulls,’ she repeated. ‘Seep.’

  ‘Pony,’ I said.

  She looked back at Pippin. ‘Pony?’

  ‘Good girl.’ I hugged her again, then we moved off, and I felt her tense and grab at the seat. Again I was reminded that she hadn’t had the encouragement and the example most other four year-olds had been blessed with. Gradually, as she became used to the rocking sensation, her grip eased, and by the time we were on the main road to Princetown, her little hands were linked in her lap. She looked up at me proudly, and I smiled and hugged her again; not even Jessie’s silence could darken this moment for me.

  ‘Why is Nathan still here?’ I asked, when that silence had, after all, become embarrassing.

  ‘Why shouldn’t he be? He works hard enough now.’

  ‘Well, shouldn’t he have gone back by now? You know, to the war? He said he was on leave.’

  She gave me a shrewd look. ‘He also said he found us by chance,’ she reminded me. ‘Neglected to mention that chance involved finding our address from Will’s friend, and making his way here deliberately.’

  ‘Do you think he went absent without leave?’ I thought about Oli, and went cold.

  ‘No, I don’t think he’s run away. He takes the trap out quite a lot, drumming up portrait-painting business, and he’d be worried about being seen I would think.’

  We were nearing what had once been Dartmoor Prison, and I looked at the men in the grounds and remembered the younger McKrevie girl. ‘Do you think he might be a conchie?’

  Jessie leaned over the side of the trap, and spat neatly on the ground. I was shocked. ‘Jessie!’

  ‘What? Ladies don’t spit, I suppose.’

  ‘Well, no.’

  ‘And men don’t shirk.’ She pointed to the figures in the distance. ‘Except they do.’

  ‘Have you ever given anyone a white feather?’ I asked, uncomfortable to see such an extreme version of my own sentiments. Spitting in the street!

  ‘A few,’ she said. ‘Back in Gloucester.’

  ‘And how did you know they weren’t Blighty cases, or just home on leave?’

  ‘I think one of them was, actually. He threw the feather back at me.’

  ‘Handing out judgement along with white feathers,’ I repeated softly, and gave Jessie a look I hoped conveyed how I felt. ‘You can’t tell, you know,’ I said. ‘I’ve sent men home who didn’t look as if they had a scratch on them. Particularly when they had their clothes on. I mean, look at Will.’ I turned back to face the road, and said again, ‘You can’t tell.’

  ‘That’s why I stopped doing it,’ she admitted. ‘When that man threw the feather back he had such a look of contempt on his face, I could almost see him thinking, What do you know?’ She flicked the reins, urging Pippin to go faster. ‘I realised I didn’t. I couldn’t. So I stopped handing out feathers.’ Her gaze lingered on the stone walls of the Work Centre as we passed. ‘But those, they’re not Blighty cases, are they? They’re not home on leave. They’re shirkers.’

  ‘And if they have genuine reason to object?’

  Jessie turned back to me. ‘You, of all people, shouldn’t accept that. Not after what you’ve seen.’

  ‘Maybe what I’ve seen qualifies me better than you,’ I said, not realising I was thinking it until the words fell out. Her words had echoed Lawrence’s, questioning my belief that he would be safe, and the loss snatched at my breath again. He’d known, somehow… This time, he’d known. And I’d given him some nonsense about turning Oaklands into a convalescent home. I looked down at Amy’s white-blonde hair, streaming out from under her hat in the evening breeze, and I thought about her father, his arm gone from the elbow down, his livelihood ruined. I thought of Will, his courage and his pain…and of Evie’s selfless, terrifying dash across no man’s land, believing him to be dead yet unable to leave him alone out there.

  And then I thought of Archie. Where he might be now, what he might be doing, whether he was even still alive. None of us had chosen the war, but we were in it, and everyone was part of it. We didn’t choose the weather, but when it was stormy we helped those caught in the worst of it. We didn’t choose sickness, but we sacrificed what we had to help those who suffered. I looked again at the diminishing figures of men swinging picks at rocks, and wondered what possible purpose was served by punishing those men who took the absolutist stance. What good was it doing, to deprive their families of an income? To make pariahs and outcasts of those families, and to cause those men to sicken and, even die?

  I didn’t voice these thoughts. It wasn’t something I wanted Amy listening to. If the war continued she would be able to form her own opinions, but for now we had the peaceful evening, and the gentle sound of Pippin’s hooves and the rolling wheels beneath us, and that was what I wanted her to remember tonight, when she lay her head down to sleep in her new home.

  Seth Pearce was talking to his two remaining workers, and washing his hands at the outside tap, when we rolled into the yard. He looked up, and for a moment his face was lit and seemed almost handsome, but then he saw it was only us, and he turned back to finish, taking his time and twisting the tap with unnecessary force. Disappointment manifested itself in many ways.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ I called out, deliberately cheerfully. ‘We’ve brought you some things from the farm.’

  ‘Right you are,’ he said, rubbing his hands on his mucky trousers to dry. I wondered why he’d bothered washing them.

  ‘Wait here, sweetheart,’ I said to Amy, and climbed into the back to hand the box down to Seth. ‘I never got the chance to say thank you, Mr Pearce.’

  His smile returned, but it was a mere trace of amusement, not the hopeful light of before. ‘For what?’ he said, ‘the arrangement with Pirate, or for not telling the truth about what happened?’

  I shot a glance at Jessie, who didn’t look back. I didn’t know if she’d heard. ‘For your kindness to Belinda,’ I said carefully, watching his face soften slightly. ‘She much recovered now, thank you.’

  He nodded. ‘Right you are,’ he said again. He looked into the box and his smile widened. ‘This looks ’andsome. Wait there while I empty your bottle and rinse it out, then you can take it back with you.’

  He went into the house that stood alongside the sawmill, the box I had struggled with sitting easily on his shoulder, and I looked around, wondering if, by any miracle, Woody was still here. The field was empty, but the stable door was half open, and a large, strong-looking horse stood with his head poking inquisitively out at the strangers to his yard. His long face was white, but a black splotch over his left eye told me who he was. I hopped down off the back of the cart and went to him.

  ‘Nice to meet you, Pirate,’ I said quietly, stroking his nose. He whickered and nudged my hand, but I had nothing to give him. ‘How’s things then, eh, old boy?’ I ran a hand down as much of his neck as I could reach through the door, and he stood steady, hi
s breath blowing my hair where it had escaped my hat.

  ‘Mulls?’ Amy called, and I turned with a smile.

  ‘Big pony,’ I said. ‘Horse.’

  ‘Pony.’

  ‘All right.’ No need to confuse things now. ‘He’s called Pirate,’ I said. ‘Do you like him?’ She shrugged and went back to playing with her spoon. I turned back to Pirate. ‘I’ll come and fetch you soon. We can work together. How’d you like that?’

  ‘Whenever you like,’ Seth said, appearing with Frances’s now-washed dewar bottle, ‘Exercise’ll be good for him, but take it easy with him if you can; things will get busy here soon, ready for the winter. I need him fit and healthy.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I won’t work him too hard. We’ll be starting to get the hay in, in a day or two. He’ll be perfect for that. It’ll mean we can use the big cart and get it done in half the time.’

  ‘Right you are.’ He handed me the bottle, and I gave Pirate a last pat.

  ‘Thank you. I’ll call for him in a few days, if that’s all right?’

  ‘Will you, uh…’ he looked past me at Jessie, sitting with Pippin’s reins ready to flick him into motion ‘…will you be bringing the other miss? I’d like to see how she’s faring, you know.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said truthfully, and made up my mind to get Belinda here no matter what, even if it was just to put Mr Pearce straight about her intentions. Or lack of them. ‘It depends who’s free at the time.’

  He nodded, then abruptly changed the subject. ‘Are you ladies keeping your barns locked?’

  ‘I…I don’t know,’ I said, and turned to Jessie. ‘Are we?’

  ‘Not that I know of,’ she said, equally puzzled. ‘Why?’

  ‘Oh, best lock ’em. Tell Mrs Adams to get a good sturdy padlock. I’ll fix it for her if she can’t find anyone to ’elp.’

  ‘Mrs Adams is quite capable of doing that herself,’ Jessie replied, somewhat sharply.

  ‘Why is it necessary?’ I asked, embarrassed; Mr Pearce had only been offering help, after all.

  ‘Some folks round ’ere have found tools gone missing. Fetch a good price they do, on the markets up Exeter way, where no-one recognises them.’

  ‘I’ll tell her,’ I promised, and climbed back onto the front seat next to Amy.

  ‘How do you know?’ Jessie asked, before we pulled away.

  ‘Beg pardon, miss?’

  ‘How do you know they fetch a good price in Exeter?’

  He fixed her with a steady look, and his helpful manner slipped away. ‘Because I bloody well searched everywhere until I found them, that’s how.’

  We were almost back at Dark River before Jessie spoke. ‘You know why Belinda’s not interested in Mr Pearce, of course.’

  I didn’t like her knowing tone, and my own voice was more than a little frosty. ‘No, how could I? How could you know?’

  ‘It’s because of Nathan.’

  ‘Bel’s not interested in Nathan.’

  ‘She told you that, I take it.’

  ‘She did. And I believe her.’

  Jessie chuckled. It was a surprisingly, and annoyingly, pleasant sound. ‘That must have been before you went away, then.’

  ‘It was.’ I had a nasty feeling, and a glance at Jessie confirmed it.

  She turned to me with a little quirk to her mouth. ‘They’re spending an awful lot of time together, for someone who’s not interested.’

  We were coming up on the entrance to the long track that led to Dark River now, and she slowed Pippin’s trot, ready for the turn. One of her hands came out and steadied Amy on the seat, and I wanted to shove it away. I was supposed to be the one who protected the child. Then I felt a lurch of shame; was I really just as suspicious and jealous as she was?

  ‘Belinda’s flighty,’ I said, putting my own hand on Amy’s back. ‘She’s just looking for fun, that’s all. And he’s a charmer.’

  ‘If you say so. But I’d say she was more interested in him than vice versa. Hold tight, lovey,’ she said to Amy, and the cart wobbled onto the rough track, giving me that warm sense of homecoming again and pushing thoughts of Belinda and Nathan to the back of my mind.

  It was three days later that Jessie’s words came back to me. I chose a time when she was unavoidably busy with Frances, and asked Belinda to come with me to pick up Pirate. ‘You can ride him back, if you like,’ I offered. ‘I’ll bring the cart.’

  Amy looked up from her scribbling paper, and I saw it was covered only with thick black lines. ‘I comin’ too?’

  ‘Of course,’ I said, and held out my hand. ‘Come with me. We’ll tell Miss Lizzy where we’re going.’ She put down her pencil and checked her spoon still hung on the ribbon Frances had fastened to her pinafore. I couldn’t believe the solution had been so simple—no more screams. As long as she had it, she was happy, and could use two hands. She slid down from her chair and ran ahead of me to the stairs.

  Belinda had stopped, with one arm in her jacket sleeve. ‘I don’t want to go out there; you know that.’

  ‘Don’t be soft,’ I said briskly. ‘All you have to do is make it quite clear you have no feelings for Mr Pearce, then we can all stop treading on eggshells around him, and you won’t have to keep finding excuses to disappear whenever there’s an errand to be run.’

  ‘You bring Pirate back then,’ she said. ‘I’ll take you to the yard, but that’s all.’

  ‘You are making a mountain out of a molehill,’ I grumbled, and went upstairs to tell Lizzy we were going out.

  As good as her word, Belinda stopped at the gate of the sawmill, and barely waited until I had climbed down before urging Pippin to turn around. ‘Hop in the back, love,’ she said to Amy, and Amy obediently scrambled into the back to sit on the pile of blankets and sacks we used to cover whatever we were carrying in wet weather. I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of disappointment when she didn’t look back at me as they moved off.

  Mr Pearce had heard us arrive, and came out of the house with a look of hopeful expectation. I felt awful. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said quickly, ‘Bel wanted to stop and chat, but Amy’s fussing.’ A less fussy child I’d never known, but he wasn’t to know that.

  ‘Right you are,’ he said. He gestured to the stable. ‘I’ve saddled him up already. Saddle soap and whatnot’s in this bag, and if your friend had waited a moment I’d have put some oats in the back of your cart. I’ll bring them over later, instead.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said, unable to hide a little smile when I thought about telling Bel she hadn’t avoided him after all. ‘That’s really kind.’

  ‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘The butter and milk’s fresh as you like, and tasty. And the honey’s ’andsome too. I’ll, uh, I’ll fetch the biscuit tin over to you later, when I bring the oats.’

  Riding down the grass verge, with the comfort of a saddle beneath me and proper tack, I let my mind drift back over everything that had happened lately. Testing the memory of Lieutenant Colonel Drewe, and of Oli, and of the loss of my child, I realised there was still pain there but it was fading. Oliver would write soon, and then I would be able to write back; Drewe was dead… Only the loss of the baby still tore a little more deeply, and Amy was going some way towards easing that. Part of me knew that was foolish but for now it was something I could hold on to, and I would worry about losing her too, if and when it happened.

  Then there was Archie. The familiar ache tugged at the pit of my stomach, and I wondered what he was doing right now. It hurt to think of him so far away, but it hurt worse to remember his kiss, and my swift end to his hopes that had come so soon afterwards. And why? Why had I done it? What had Lawrence said? His words, and his voice, seemed to speak directly into my heart: you must seize every speck of joy that drifts your way… But he had been unable to seize his own, after all. His sadness at the hopeless love he held for Will had dogged his last days, and he’d never had the opportunity to find something to chase that sorrow away; death had stolen that chance. I’d promised
Will I’d write to Archie, and only hesitated when I’d learned the truth about Jack Carlisle, but what if I did discover Archie was a spy too? What difference would it make? I sat up straight and urged Pirate into a canter, the wind in my face whipping away the short laugh that escaped into the air, and filling me with energy and excitement. On the heels of Lawrence’s sad proclamation, I heard Nathan’s words.

  Never is a long, long way away, and life is short. Remember that.

  I took Pirate the long way around, through the woods, and across the field. Coming back down to the yard I saw the cart, with Pippin still standing patiently in the traces, and no sign of Belinda. I jumped down off Pirate, hooking his reins over the fence post; Belinda would catch it for sure if Frances was around, and I sighed with exasperation as I began to unhook the cart myself. I eased Pippin forward, and was about to lead him to the water trough, when I heard a tinkling sound from the back of the cart.

  I patted Pippin, confident that he would stand steady while I investigated, and went around to the back end of the cart and lowered the flap. To my horror I saw Amy, surrounded by grubby tools, and worse, broken glass. She grinned when she saw me, and lifted the tool she’d used to smash the glass with. I climbed up quickly, my eyes flashing over her for signs of red where there shouldn’t be any, but, miraculously, she hadn’t cut herself. It must have been just one blow, and what was glass doing in the back of the cart anyway?

  I looked closer and groaned; the wine bottle we’d so cheerfully emptied before our little misadventure with Woody. Bel had tossed it back here, and it had rolled under the seat to be forgotten. Until now.

  I held my hand out to Amy, hoping she hadn’t formed an attachment to the tool she’d found, as she had with the silver spoon Lizzy had given her. She hadn’t, and handed me the dibble. Small, but sturdy enough to break through the stoniest earth to make holes for seeds and bulbs, it had made short work of the wine bottle, and the spade-like handle had helped Amy grip it with both hands. A fraction off-centre and it would have slid off the glass and into her leg. A chill swept over me when I thought what might have happened, and I thought I might actually be sick. Where in blazes was Belinda?