by Gloria Cook
The old man didn’t seem to hear. Sidney waited for him to finish filling his pail halfway and to lift it down off the crook of the pump, and then he repeated his greeting. The old man, in mismatched clothes that had been new two or three decades ago, including a long grey coat, unnecessary wear in the warmth, adjusted his bent posture, but he was unable to stand fully straight. Seeing someone there he pushed back his frayed cloth cap, revealing scratchy white hair and a thread-veined, furrowed, sallow complexion. ‘Who are you?’ He put his hand up to his ear to better hear the reply.
‘Can I carry that home for you, sir?’ Sidney thought this a good ruse.
‘You saying I’m not up t’seeing t’it meself?’ the old man growled.
Sidney sighed. Cantankerous old sod. He spoke loudly, widely mouthing the words. ‘Did you see the girl who stayed a while ago with Mrs Moses? I’m a relative. I’m trying to track her down. Have you any idea where she went after Mrs Moses died?’
‘I don’t make it none of my business to learn ’bout what others do.’ The old man made a steamy noise. ‘Humph! Too many folk stick their noses in where it edn’t wanted. Not me. I keep meself to meself, always have ’n’ always will. Don’t know nobody ’n’ no more do I intend to! Ask in the shop. ’Tes what anyone with an haporth of sense would’ve done.’ Expelling another indignant ‘humph’, he picked up his battered pail and shuffled away.
‘Miserable old bastard,’ Sidney muttered after him.
He lit up a smoke, strode back across the road and got on his bicycle, which he’d leaned against the gate at the side of the shop. There was no point in asking anyone else here for information about Kate. They’d only send him away with what his mother called a flea in his ear. His grandmother had been right, Hennaford was a place full of small-minded hypocrites. No doubt the old man gossiped his head off to the villagers. The shopkeeper seemed to have liked Kate. That wasn’t surprising. She had never been any trouble – if she had tried to be, their mother would have beaten it out of her. Sidney missed having her at his beck and call and he missed her cooking. His mother made bread like rubber and her pasties were like sawdust inside a crimped case of clay. Now he was the one getting the full force of her furious reproaches and he’d had more than one hard slap across the face for making one stupid mistake. ‘Why did you give your sister that shoe box? You should haven’t given her nothing except the two pounds to pay for bus fare and lodging until she’d fixed herself up. Your gran ferreted away money for years, I’m positive of it. There was nothing in the old tins and things I took out of the house, and Father and I have taken everything of hers abroad, including the furniture and mattresses, and we haven’t found a single penny. So if there was anything it would have been in that shoe box, with certificates and family photos and your grandad’s Army medals. If that bleddy maid’s got her hands on what’s rightfully mine she’ll spend the lot and it’ll be all your fault!’
Sidney didn’t admit he’d kept the two pounds to buy tobacco. He had to hand over most of his wages and there was never enough to see to his needs. He doubted if Kate would spend much of the money, if there were any. She was careful and sensible. She’d keep the bulk of it for a rainy day. If he could get his hands on the money he’d keep most of it so he could afford to rent a place for him and his new wife.
He would ride on to Perranporth. The bus route took in other villages and hamlets on the way but Kate’s best chance to have found a job was where there were hotels and guesthouses. Kate would be easily recognized by the description of her hair and limp. He was determined to take the shoe box off her today. After the trouble she was causing him, she had better watch out.
* * *
Getting gingerly out of the car to avoid the soreness where her stitches had been, Jill felt a rush of emotion at arriving home. Tom guided her gently into their kitchen in the original part of the farmhouse, which dated back to the mid-eighteenth century. He knew Jill would relax more in here than in their sitting room.
His mother and Tilda were there, and there was the wonderful smell of freshly baked bread. As was thought necessary for a convalescent even in fine weather, the fire was burning away in the range to provide cosy warmth. Kate was there too, lingering in the background.
‘Here we are, darling,’ Tom crooned tenderly, dropping the small suitcase of her night wear and toiletries. ‘Come and sit down. There’s a stool all ready for your feet. We’re going to spoil you.’
‘Hello everyone,’ Jill said, having to clear her throat, gazing to all four corners of the square room to find comfort in the familiarity of her home. The table covered with leaf-patterned oilcloth. The colourful mugs hanging from hooks under the wall cupboards. The ornaments of hens and comic pigs – wedding presents – up on the mantelshelf with a silver-framed photograph of her and Tom’s wedding. Freshly picked daffodils and primroses in various pots were dotted round the room.
Emilia stooped to hug and kiss her. ‘Welcome home, my love. I’ll make the tea.’ There was nothing like this magic elixir to fortify and to settle a person in. Ford Farm was never hard pressed to fill its teacups. From time to time in the pub, Tom met up with someone who sold stuff on the black market.
Tilda, who had shooed out the cats and Jack Russells, some of the many animals kept at the farm, to ensure the ‘dear maid isn’t bothered by them’, sniffed into her hanky. She hadn’t meant to cry and was horrified that she was unable to remain dry-eyed. ‘Oh, Miss Jill. I’m so sorry… forgive me.’
‘It’s all right, Tilda.’ Jill gazed down at her body where her baby had briefly been. ‘It wasn’t meant to be. Hopefully…’ She couldn’t go on. Tom was beside her and reached to squeeze her hand. ‘Hello Kate, dear. How are you? Tom and Mrs Em have told me you’ve been a wonderful help to everyone. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.’ Kate seemed set to stay on the periphery and she beckoned to her. Jill had only seen her for a few minutes but Kate’s anguish at that time was imprinted on her mind. She wanted a good look at her, hoping the pain and hopelessness had loosened its tormenting grip.
Kate came forward as if stepping out of the shadows. ‘Me too, Jill. I’m very well, thanks. Everyone’s been very good to me.’
The new lightness in Kate, the clear pink and marble of her complexion, took a little off the edge of Jill’s sorrow. ‘My goodness, you look nice, lovely in fact.’ With delight she watched Kate swing the skirt of her new dress, a soft blue and white two-tone affair, with a fuller skirt to reflect the fashionable New Look. Her hair had been waved and shone healthily in its auburn tints, and was set back off her sweet oval face. There was a perfect symmetry to her modest features and her kitten-eyes were a stunning almond shape. She appeared like some innocent creature from a fairy tale. How could anyone be cruel to her? Jill had lost her precious baby but her need to protect and nurture someone young and vulnerable was transferred to Kate. She would make sure Kate was well cared for from now on and given the opportunity to do well in life. She didn’t want to see as much as a frown on her and would protect her at all costs.
Jill held out a hand in case Kate became worried about what she was to say next. ‘Have you been told of the new arrangement, Kate?’
‘No,’ Kate replied uncertainly. Had a position been found for her? If so, it was bound to be a good one organized by these charitable people, but she didn’t want to leave here.
‘Tom and I would like you to move in here with us. He’ll be able to get on better with his work knowing I’ve got someone handy by, and I’d be glad of your company and to have someone run errands until I’m completely better.’
‘Oh, I’d love to!’ Kate’s relief was mixed with the greatest excitement of her life. ‘Thanks very much, Jill. I promise I won’t let you down. I’ll cook for you, if you like. I’m a good cook.’
Jill could see the energy pulsing through her. She was like a child eager for new experiences. Having been kept practically a prisoner, she had a lot to learn. Jill would shield her from the pitfalls. Hav
ing her here would help soothe her own desolation.
Emilia had poured the tea. ‘Take a seat everyone. After this, Kate, I’ll help you move your things across to your new room. And, my love, how would you like to learn to be a dairymaid? It would give me more time to be with Paul.’
Kate had to put her cup down, for her hands were shaking at the implication. ‘Does that mean I can stay here for good?’
‘Of course,’ Tom said, tweaking her hair in a brotherly fashion. ‘You’re part of the furniture now.’
‘Oh…’ It was all Kate could articulate, her beaming smile said the rest.
‘Is Abbie Rothwell about somewhere?’ Jill asked. She was taking it for granted that Perry was staying away with Paul so she wouldn’t be upset at seeing the youngster.
‘She’s gone to sketch at Portscatho with Jonny. Those two are joined at the hip,’ Emilia answered.
‘Well, I suppose that’s not surprising. Jonny’s never without female company.’
‘He’s taken to Abbie in a way I’ve never seen in him before. He’s devoted to her.’
‘Yes,’ Tom contributed. ‘Seems to be more than the usual thing going on with him.’
‘It’s time Mr Jonny settled down,’ Tilda said, starry-eyed.
‘Don’t get carried away,’ Emilia laughed. ‘Jonny says he’ll never marry and I don’t believe he ever will.’
In the evening Jonny arrived with Abbie, and after he’d looked in on Jill, he met up with Tom in the yard after the milking. Arms leaning on the gate of the cattle yard, they relaxed with a cigarette. ‘Jill’s looking better than I thought I’d find her,’ Jonny said.
‘Having Kate here is distracting her. I’m so bloody thankful the Moses woman broke her wrist and Kate came here to care for her.’
‘It’s just as hard for you too,’ Jonny stated. A chap in his squadron had gone through the same thing and had mentioned that no one stopped to consider what the father was going through.
‘Yes. But it’s Jill I’m worried about. How is she going to handle it if time goes by and there doesn’t seem the likelihood of another baby? She so wants to be a mother.’
‘Jill will be terribly sad but I’m sure she’ll take it in her stride. She’s not the sort to wallow in self-pity.’
‘No. She’s too wonderful for that.’ Tom tossed his cigarette down. ‘Damn it, Jonny! She didn’t deserve this. It’s not bloody fair.’
Jonny pressed a hand on his shoulder. ‘I know.’
They both stayed silent for a minute in honour of the lost baby, then strolled about the farmstead, hands in their pockets. Tom said, ‘Tilda’s expecting an announcement concerning you and Abbie.’
‘There’s no chance of that,’ Jonny grinned. ‘We’re compatible in every way, but Abbie no more wants a second marriage than I want one at all. We’ll be going our separate ways soon. We’ll keep in touch. I’ll make my way up to see Archie and Honor some day.’ He travelled back thirty years, he a nervous boy after his mother had run off with her lover, finding security only with his Uncle Alec. He ran his eyes over the barn, duck pond, stable block, animal and storage houses, picturing himself as a small boy, helping his uncle build ricks and driving back from the market with him on the old trap. He’d made a friend of Archie Rothwell after his mysterious arrival, living as a tramp and looking for work. A very tall figure in a greatcoat and billycock hat, his fair hair and beard long like a wizard’s, walking on war-crippled feet with the aid of a tall stick. Psychological damage had caused him to disappear from an officers’ nursing home without contacting his family in Lincolnshire. Honor Burrows, insightful and tender, from a genteel family down on its luck, had nursed an ailing Archie back to health. After a tangle of relationships had been resolved, one could say, ‘and the rest is history’. Jonny felt like that small boy now, but he didn’t have Uncle Alec or Archie to advise him.
‘Mum reckons you’re restless. Uncle Tris has said as much to her too. Is everything all right?’
‘Oh, I don’t know, Tom. I don’t know what I want any more. It’s as simple and as awful as that.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Except for a child, Tom had everything he’d ever want. His father had chosen to leave the farm to his mother, but one day it would be his, back under the Harvey name again, sadly perhaps for the last time. ‘Do you feel the need to look for a new direction?’
‘I don’t even know that.’ The admission heaped misery on Jonny’s bones. Jill had a distraction in the Viant girl – he’d noticed she was turning into a pretty little thing – and he had a distraction in Abbie, but what after he got back to Biggin Hill? He pushed the thought aside, determined to make the most of his last few days of leave. ‘I’ve been taking snaps of Abbie, and scenery for her to take back to Lincolnshire. I thought I’d develop them in Uncle Alec’s darkroom, if Aunt Em wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course Mum won’t mind. I’ll go in to Jill now. I hope the snaps come out to your satisfaction.’
Although no one but Jonny used the darkroom it was a source of sadness and pride to the family. Alec Harvey had been a passionate photographer and so had Tom’s older brother Will, an aerial reconnaissance officer in the RAF, killed when his plane had been blown up. Jonny had enjoyed the peace and glories of nature while taking photographs when out with Abbie. Good studies would be useful if she needed to make any finishing touches to her illustrations when she got back. He’d taken on the challenge with the same concentration and enthusiasm for perfection required when piloting a plane. He was eager to get into his uncle’s domain. He always felt a sense that Uncle Alec was there. Hopefully, he’d receive a sign or something to point the way out of his confusion.
* * *
Kate lay in her new bed. The room didn’t have the Victorian grandness of the old one, it was half the size, but she was deliriously happy in it. The single window was small but the view down over the back meadow and woods was just as pleasing. The ceiling sloped, giving old-fashioned character, and the walls were papered in a simple floral design. Paintings of a buttercup meadow, the local church, and a picture of pressed wild flowers hung from the picture rail. Miss Rothwell had kindly given her a sketch done on Perranporth beach, of little children making a sandcastle near the seashore. Mrs Em had found a frame for it. Kate had hung it up with pride.
She stretched out her arms and legs, luxuriating in the sensations of sweet-smelling fresh linen. Her mattress at home had only had the rough scraps of her parents’ old double sheets. Her mother would begrudge her these wonderful things, and the fact that she had a permanent home with good-hearted people. Biddy Viant had done her the best of favours by ordering Sidney not to bring her back. This was her own little place. She had everything she wanted – she was going to be paid two pounds, fifteen shillings a week, a princely sum, with all found – so she would be able to fund all her personal needs and start a savings book at the post office.
She had put her clothes and belongings away but had forgotten the shoe box. It was scruffy and made the room untidy and she didn’t want to look at it because it was associated with bad memories, yet she couldn’t bring herself to throw it away, at least for a time, it was her only link to her past. In a way it was an inheritance from her grandmother, and she deserved something no matter how valueless the contents proved to be. One day she might be able to find the inner strength to take the lid off and see what was inside. It was quite heavy. Just a lot of old odds and ends, she supposed. She climbed on the small armchair and pushed the box to the back of the shelf at the top of the wardrobe. There, out of sight and out of mind. Leaping back into bed she settled down for a good night’s sleep.
Chapter Five
Friends and family stayed away from the farm for a few days to allow Jill time to settle in at home, then it seemed they all came at once, for a little while. Bringing flowers, and any little luxury procured despite the rationing, each saying what they thought was best to cheer and encourage her, and being introduced to Kate if they had not already met her. Th
en they gathered with Emilia and Perry in their sitting room. Abbie, who was currently sketching and painting about the farm, was taking time off as the day was overcast. Jonny was there too.
‘Jill’s putting on a brave face but you can see how devastated she is, the poor love,’ Jonny’s father Tristan said grimly, fingering the ends of his neat moustache. He was cramped up in an armchair, having the Harvey trait of being far taller than average height, but unlike Jonny and Tom, he was thin and rangy. His black hair was sprinkled with silver, making him appear scholarly, and because he was astute and kind, people tended to seek his advice. Jonny wondered why he hadn’t spoken to his father about his restlessness and the vague feeling of bleakness he couldn’t shake off. Goodness knows, his father had prompted him often enough to.
‘The girl with her seems a nice little thing,’ Susan Harvey remarked. As she always did she glanced at her husband for his opinion. Tristan nodded and smiled at his wife, nearly thirty years his junior.
Their mutual adoration and passion was plain. Somehow this annoyed Jonny. When she’d become his father’s housekeeper Susan had been a struggling war widow, expecting little of life, with an eight-year-old daughter; his father had been comfortably easing into middle age. Then they’d fallen in love. They had fought against the differences in their age and background and had allowed themselves a new beginning. While he, himself, was… what? ‘A miserable coward clinging to your first intentions,’ a little voice of his own whispered inside his head. But what else was he to do? What could he do? What did he want to do? If only he knew. Perhaps if he stopped the feverish whirl of thought after thought the answer would be right in front of him.