‘The war?’
Not the war. Me. I killed him.
Edie turned her face away while she blinked back a tear. ‘No, tuberculosis. When I was six.’ She forced a smile and turned back. ‘I’m sorry, but would you mind awfully showing me to my room now? I’ve had a very long journey.’
Chapter 3
Edie was woken by the welcome smell of frying bacon, and a numbness in her bare toes where they’d slipped from under the covers. She turned on the bedside lamp, looked at the alarm clock and groaned.
Nearly 5.30 a.m., which meant the alarm would start ringing at any moment. And on the days she was working at Larkstone Farm, she’d need to get up even earlier. Edie knew the working day began at cock-crow out in the countryside, but it was still a shock to the system. She reached for the clock and turned off the alarm before the deafening ringing pierced the air.
Still, the early start was worth it if that was the price of spending the night in an actual bed, in an actual room, rather than shivering in the damp of the Anderson shelter dug into a pit in Aunt Caroline’s back garden. A hot water bottle and an eiderdown quilt too! Unimaginable luxury. The hot water bottle had long since grown cold, but the eiderdown was wonderful to wake up to. Edie pulled it over her face and rubbed her cheeks into it, savouring the downy softness.
The bedroom she’d been shown to by Mrs Hewitt the evening before was spartan apart from the indulgence of her fluffy eiderdown, containing little more than an iron bedstead, dressing table, wardrobe and chair. Edie’s uniform – the green woollen pullover and corduroy breeches of the Women’s Land Army – were laid out over the chair ready for her first day of work.
Edie poked a toe out from under the bedclothes again to test the air. It was cold: so, so cold compared to the crammed city full of warm human bodies. Edie twitched aside one corner of the heavy blackout curtain and noticed that ice crystals had tessellated prettily inside the thick panes of the mullioned windows. She drew her toe back under the quilt, trying to muster the will to get out of bed before Mrs Hewitt came to make sure she was awake.
Prudence Hewitt: now there was an odd one. Edie couldn’t decide how she felt about her new landlady. She seemed so closed off, so inexpressive. During the whole of their conversation the previous evening, Mrs Hewitt’s features had scarcely flickered – except perhaps when she’d talked of her husband and son.
To Edie’s romantic imagination, Prudence Hewitt seemed almost a Miss Havisham figure, alone in this huge house with only a couple of servants for company. Yet she didn’t seem lonely – if anything, Edie sensed Prudence was irritated by the intrusion of an outsider into her solitude, although she herself had been the one to request assistance from the Land Army.
Unpatriotic, Aunt Caroline would have called it. From Wolf Cubs to white-haired matriarchs, everyone was doing their bit for the war effort in one way or another, and yet here was this snooty widow acting as though the conflict currently threatening their freedom was everyone’s problem but hers.
It made Edie angry. Edie, who had been so desperate to serve that she’d happily have risked her fragile health to do so; and she was far from the only one willing to make that sacrifice. Whereas Mrs Hewitt had rooms and land at her disposal that she’d rather see decay than used to help win this thing.
Other houses the size of Applefield Manor had been turned into hospitals and convalescent homes, or given over to the army as billets for soldiers doing basic training. Every country dweller with a spare room had an evacuee or two staying with them. During her tour of the house last night, Edie had counted at least six empty bedrooms – did Mrs Hewitt really care so little about the plight of her fellow man that she couldn’t turn a few of them over to those who needed them? There were sick and injured in need of beds, children desperate to escape the bombs …
And yet … Edie inhaled the freshly laundered scent of her eiderdown. There were few touches of luxury at crumbling, austere Applefield Manor. The fact Mrs Hewitt had shown enough concern for Edie’s comfort to procure this for her was an act of unwarranted kindness that indicated she couldn’t be devoid of softer emotions.
Then there was her accent, the one she took so much trouble to try to hide – hardly the crystal tones of landed gentry. Exactly what was Prudence’s story? Yes, the lady of the manor was an enigma all right.
With an effort, Edie eased herself into a sitting position and peeped through the blackout curtains to get a better look at her new home. But it was still dark, and she could only make out the same shadows as when she’d arrived the evening before.
There was a knock at the door. Edie let the curtain drop.
‘Yes?’ she called.
‘You’d best show a leg,’ a gruff male voice with a strong Cumberland accent said. ‘Work to be done.’
‘Yes, I’m coming. Thank you.’
The voice hadn’t felt it necessary to introduce itself, but Edie guessed it must belong to the gardener, Jack. She got up, dressed carefully in her uniform and went downstairs to the kitchen.
Prue watched from the shadows as the girl descended, looking rather childlike in the too-large breeches and jersey of her Land Girl uniform. Such a little thing …
Her smallness triggered a protective feeling in Prue. Cursing herself for her weakness, she banished it to the depths.
It did no good to get close. The girl was a tool, nothing more.
Prue didn’t much care for this, lurking in doorways as if she were a stranger in her own home. Still, she was a necessary evil, this Land Girl; Prue was aware of that. Jack was fifty years old – he couldn’t manage the gardens all alone, and this nasty business in foreign parts had taken most of the able-bodied lads from the village. Not to mention that Jack was … well, there was the other issue to consider. He was a good man – an old friend – and after a lifetime of service, she owed it to him to ensure he didn’t struggle.
The girl – Edith, wasn’t that her name? – had been something of a disappointment. Pale, little, and far too delicate for hard work; not at all what Prue had asked for. The bony thing looked as though she’d never seen a good meal. Prue had decided to give the child a fortnight, then if Edith wasn’t up to the work she’d see if she couldn’t trade her in for a more suitable replacement. Prue needed someone who could ease the burden Jack was currently shouldering alone, not add to it. If the girl had come to her with the sort of weak, sickly disposition that would require constant care … well, this wasn’t a hospital.
Rather sure of herself for such a tiny thing, Prue thought as she watched Edith march into the kitchen. Polite enough, perhaps, but over-confident; not afraid to speak her mind. It wouldn’t have done in Prue’s day, certainly it wouldn’t – she could just picture the back of her mother’s hand heading her way if Mam had caught her only daughter swaggering about, taking her betters to task.
But Prue had been raised in the days when the old queen was still alive, and children seen but not heard – and ideally not seen an awful lot either. These young bits now just didn’t seem to care what people thought of them, Prue reflected with a touch of reluctant admiration. That was the way of things, she supposed. People changed, the world changed, and the human race was lucky if it could survive from one generation to the next.
Well, the world could do as it wished, but this was Prue’s home – her world – and war or no war, at Applefield Manor she made the rules.
She turned when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder.
‘You eaten, Cheggy?’
‘Jack.’ Her face lit with a smile. ‘No, I’m going to wait until the girl’s finished. I don’t like to go in while she’s there.’
‘You’ll eat now,’ he said firmly. ‘If you don’t, you won’t. I know you.’
‘You mollycoddle like a mother hen, Jack Graham. I’m a grown woman, you know. An old woman.’
He smiled. ‘To me you’ll always be that same little thing with her skirts full of horse chestnuts and her face full of brazen cheek.’ He pinched on
e of her cheeks, as if to make his point. ‘Come on. I’m going to see you served myself. You’re getting scrawny as a plucked pigeon, lass.’
‘Jack, I don’t like this,’ she muttered, her gaze turning in the direction of the kitchen. ‘This … this damned invasion.’
‘You asked for her, Cheg.’
‘I asked for her through necessity. That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.’
‘I told you, there’s no necessity for owt. I can manage well enough. This business’ll be over by the autumn, trust me, and the boys will be home.’
‘That’s what they said the last time,’ Prue muttered. ‘It’ll all be over by Christmas – do you remember? Four years later, millions slaughtered …’
‘That was different.’
‘Was it? There are still boys out there fighting. Losing their lives, or worse, their wits –’
Jack flinched heavily, and Prue cursed herself.
‘Oh, Jack, I’m sorry,’ she said gently. ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’
He was silent for a moment, staring down at the carpet.
‘This is different,’ he repeated when he finally looked up. ‘The Kaiser was a clever customer. This Hitler’s a madman. He’ll never hold out another year – less if we can get the Yanks to come in with us. You didn’t ought to have stuck your oar in, Cheg. I’m just fine on my own.’
Prue looked up into his face, brown as a nut from outdoor work, somewhat lined now around the eyes and mouth, and rough with a grizzled half-beard. Heavy purple bags nestled under his eyes, and there was a greyish tinge to the deep tan.
‘“Just fine” my Aunt Fanny, old man.’ She softened her voice. ‘The dreams have been bothering you again. Haven’t they?’
‘Nay, not lately. Not so much.’ He turned away. ‘Bad night’s sleep, that’s all. Birthing yow on one of the farms bleating her lungs out half the night.’
‘Jack, come on.’ She tapped his arm. ‘You can’t kid me, I’ve known you too long.’
‘Well, it don’t matter. Let’s eat, shall we? I want to get the measure of this new girl of ours.’
Chapter 4
‘Good morning,’ Tilly said when Edie had followed her nose – and her grumbling stomach – into the kitchen. It felt like a long time since the hunk of bread and cheese she’d had for supper the night before. Edie had never been a big eater, but the country air had obviously stimulated her appetite.
Edie had met Tilly the previous evening, and been struck by how little the woman resembled her idea of a cook in a country house. For a start, she didn’t look much older than Edie herself – she surely couldn’t be more than twenty-three. Secondly, she was tall and willowy – or at least, she would have been willowy some months previously – with vibrant copper hair Edie felt sure had come out of a bottle, and arms and legs as thin as twigs.
Once when she was small, Edie had overheard her Aunt Caroline tell a friend that you should never trust either a skinny cook or a fat footman. She hadn’t understood what that meant at the time, but the meaning had dawned on her once she was grown up. A fat footman is likely to have his fingers in the butter, and it must follow that a skinny cook is a rather poor one.
Nevertheless, Edie trusted Matilda Liddell the instant Mrs Hewitt had introduced them; she couldn’t help it. Tilly might not have the chubby limbs and mop of white curls that cooks always had in picture books, but the blooming cheeks and wide smile certainly fitted. And any doubt the cook might not be doing her job properly was instantly assuaged by the scent now emanating from the cooker.
‘Morning.’ Edie inhaled deeply as she took a seat at the kitchen table. ‘Golly, that smells good. You certainly eat well here, don’t you? You’d hardly know there was a war on at all.’
‘Perk of country living, love. There’s always a bit of extra fat to skim off the land,’ Tilly said as she piled a plate high with bacon, toast and mushrooms.
Edie eyed the plate warily. ‘Not the black market?’
‘Oh no, nothing underhand. But there’s plenty of game about, and a little extra from the farms when all’s divvied up … you know, enough to keep us off the tripe.’ She gave Edie’s cheek a sisterly pinch as she placed her breakfast in front of her, and Edie noticed an unusual ring she was wearing: thick silver, crudely wrought. ‘Anyway, it looks like we need to fatten you up.’
‘I’m not going to try to talk you out of it,’ Edie said with a smile.
‘If you give me your book, I’ll pick up your rations with the rest of the household’s.’ Tilly cast her eyes over Edie’s uniform. ‘Now that brings back memories. You’ll never see it that clean again, I promise you.’
Edie blinked. ‘You were a Land Girl?’
‘Before I invalided myself out,’ Tilly said, placing one hand on her swollen belly. ‘I was your predecessor up at Larkstone, with a couple of girls from the WLA hostel in Kirkton.’
‘How did you like it?’
‘Hard work, but I adored every second. Mind you, I’m born and bred in Applefield. Farming’s in our blood.’ She took in Edie’s skinny frame. ‘I hope you won’t find it too much.’
For goodness’ sake, not this again …
‘I’m stronger than I look,’ Edie muttered while she dug into her food.
‘Oh, please don’t be offended,’ Tilly said, resting a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’d hate for you to push yourself too hard, that’s all. Just promise me you won’t let Sam bully you.’
Edie frowned. ‘The farmer? Why, is he likely to try?’
‘He’s not a cruel man, but he can be a hard one to read – and to like, until you understand him. Not a great talker, and exacting with his workers.’ Tilly turned down the heat on the gas cooker. ‘Sam tends to forget that not everyone is used to twelve-hour days chasing errant sheep over the fells. But he’ll play fair with you, and if you stand up to him once, you’ll have his respect forever.’
‘Right.’ Edie was starting to build a picture of this gruff old farmer: grizzled, set in his ways, suspicious of outsiders. But as nervous as she was, she was determined to hold her own when the time came to meet him. ‘Well, thanks for the advice.’
‘My pleasure.’ Tilly arched her back, one hand on her stomach. ‘Oof,’ she said, wincing. ‘It gets more difficult every day, this lark.’
‘How many months left?’
‘Three or four, I think. I’m not sure of the exact date, to be honest.’
‘Which service is your husband in?’
‘None of them. I haven’t got one.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. You’re a widow?’
‘No. Not a widow.’
‘Oh. Oh!’ Edie said as the penny dropped. ‘So he left you. You poor thing, what rotten luck.’
‘Nothing so romantic, I’m afraid.’ Tilly turned back to the cooker. ‘No, the father was one of the Brylcreem boys from the airbase. Charlie. There was a dance and … well, you know how these flyers are. Talking girls out of their knickers must be part of RAF basic training. One minute he’s waltzing you over the floor, all handsome in his uniform, whispering in husky tones that Veronica Lake isn’t a patch on you and asking if you’ve ever thought of going into films.’ She sighed. ‘The next thing you know, you’ve missed a monthly, he’s hopped it to goodness knows where and you’re seriously up the creek. You know?’
Edie knew. All her friends knew to be on their guard against those men: the ones who pressed the idea that it was a girl’s patriotic duty to give them ‘something to remember her by’ before they shipped out – with the unlucky girls finding themselves left with something to remember him by too.
‘Does he know about the baby?’ she asked.
Tilly nodded.
‘And he won’t do the decent thing?’
‘That’s the problem, he already did. I found out after I was expecting that he already had a wife down in Somerset. Serves me right, I suppose.’ She glanced up from the cooker when Edie remained silent. ‘Sorry, I didn’t shock you, did I?’
‘No,’ Edie said quickly. ‘No, of course you didn’t. Why should I be shocked?’
She laughed. ‘Sweetheart, your eyes are as round as plates. And I mean the big ones we use for company.’
‘I’m sorry. I mean, I know how it all works and everything, but I’ve never met anyone before who …’ Edie broke off. ‘Perhaps I have led rather a sheltered life. I was raised by a maiden aunt and she was excessively stuffy about those sorts of things. But I don’t … think anything about it, honestly. I try never to judge anyone. Why should I? I’ve got no right to.’
‘Well, I wish I could say the same about the old guard down in the village,’ Tilly said with a wry half-smile. ‘I suspect they’d get on rather well with your aunty. Things err on the traditional side here.’
‘Are your parents in Applefield?’
‘Not any more. Couldn’t stand the looks in church of a Sunday. I’ve got an aunt who won’t speak to me and that’s it.’
‘So you’ve got no one to help you?’
‘I wouldn’t quite say that.’ Tilly turned to face her. ‘How did you find Prue? Did you like her?’
‘Not exactly. And not exactly not. She seems … odd.’ Edie mopped up her bacon fat with a chunk of Tilly’s home-baked bread, so much lighter than the tough wedges of National Loaf she’d been surviving on back in London. ‘Sort of cold.’
‘I know what you mean.’ Tilly took the empty plate and put it in the sink. ‘I’ve known her all my life. Me and my cousins used to dare each other to steal fruit from her greenhouses, and get a clip round the ear for our trouble if she caught us. She was always … formidable, shall we say. But when it felt like everyone in the village had turned their back on me, Prue was the one who offered me a home and situation.’ Tilly eased herself into a seat across the table. ‘I owe her a lot.’
Edie pondered this, tracing shapes on the old oak table.
‘Why do you think she keeps the house empty like this?’ she said. ‘It seems a shame it’s not being used to help the war effort.’
‘She doesn’t care much for outsiders. It’s my opinion she closed herself off after her husband Albert died in ’32. Then when Bertie joined up, she withdrew even further. I believe they were the only people she ever really loved in her life, Albert and Bertie – and perhaps one other.’
Edie's Home for Orphans Page 3