The outline of a Lewis gun tilting skywards made him feel he should know something about it. Billy Rowse! Billy could be anywhere by now but he had to check. Every moment as he squirmed over the mud was a nerve-jarring event. Sharp objects ripped into him, further tattering his uniform, halting him until the tears of pain and frustration and dreadful isolation subsided. He had to keep moving and he dare not fall on his face – if he passed out he’d inhale the filth and die. He yelled out as he nearly careered over the edge of something. It was the shell crater and it was filling up with a deadly porridge-thick brew of mud. A body was head downwards in it. A wounded soldier who had crawled into it to wait for help only to drown? Or was it Billy? He felt about for the machine gun, touched something anomalous and recoiled. Hair, that’s what it was, and underneath it was a cold rigid head with a gaping hole from front to back. He pushed the body over and stared into the face, waiting for the next flash of war so he could see if he knew who it belonged to.
Next moment he saw that the stiff open eyelids and astonished expression belonged to Billy Rowse. ‘Oh, God, oh, God.’ Searching inside Billy’s shirt, he ripped off his identity disk. Winding the evidence of just one more insignificant death in High Command’s grand scheme round his wrist, he crawled away through the carnival of fantastically monstrous sights and sounds.
He heard something. Lower, indistinguishable noises. Was that a voice? ‘Don’t shoot, don’t shoot.’ His own voice sounded small and pathetic, like Jonathan’s after a bad dream.
His shoulders were grabbed and he was being hauled along at what seemed breakneck speed. He was falling, falling. He couldn’t bear the spinning sensation, the stabbings and piercings and bumpings of pain. The greyness was coming back and was mercifully overtaken by the darkness.
Chapter Seven
Alec thought he was imagining things. He was up on a ladder, finishing off the thatching of a fern rick, which would be used for animal bedding, and he had a good view over most of his property. Wayside Cot was empty but he was sure he had seen smoke coming out of its chimney. The last tenant, a hostile old man with dirty habits, had died of liver disease during the summer, and Alec hadn’t found the time to renovate the two up, two down building to rent it out again. He hammered in the last ‘broach’ – a stick of stout blackthorn – into one head of the rick, to hold the reeds of wheat straw in place. When he looked up again, smoke was definitely coming out of Wayside Cot’s chimney.
‘Blasted tramps!’ He jumped to the ground, and after fetching a shotgun, called one of the Jack Russells to him. An excellent guard dog, Pip was smaller than the others Alec had bred – he was an intimidating white, black and tan, rough-coated creature inclined to baring his teeth, and so cantankerous at times he was not allowed in the house.
Emilia had come outside with Jonathan after coaxing him to join her in helping Alec with the last job to secure the rick, to join the broaches together with noir ropes. With Alec and herself up on ladders, the boy was to go back and forth between them with the long ropes attached to a tall bamboo, and thus the bedding would be threaded down and kept dry all winter. She eyed the shotgun and her employer’s no-nonsense demeanour. ‘What’s up, Alec? Where are you going?’
‘I’ve a little matter to attend to, Emilia. You and Jonny can play at something until I get back, shan’t be long.’
Jonathan shot after him. ‘Uncle Alec, come back!’
Alec lowered himself down, cradled the boy on his knee and stemmed his anxious tears. ‘There’s nothing for you to worry about, Jonny, I promise you.’
‘But you’re going off to war! I don’t want anyone else to leave. Mummy’s gone, and my daddy might not come back. Lots of people have gone away and they’re never coming back. They’re dead, like Auntie Lucy.’
While Emilia watched in fascination at his tenderness, Alec kissed Jonathan and pulled his little tweed cap firmly down to his pert ears. ‘I know there’s been some terrible sadness, Jonny, and we can’t pretend not to be worried about your daddy, but I promise you that I’m never ever going to leave here. Nor is Emilia.’ He glanced up at her. ‘Are you?’
‘I’ve got no plans to go away, Jonny,’ she reassured the boy. The shadow of war lay over her future with Ben, so there was no point in mentioning she was to become a soldier’s wife.
After promising Jonathan he’d teach him how to play chess, Alec was on his way. He let Pip run on ahead down the lane and bound into the tiny wreck of Wayside Cot’s front garden. Pip was sniffing and growling round at the back when Alec caught up with him. Ordering Pip back, pushing the door open on its creaking hinges, Alec cocked the shotgun, which he had not loaded, and strode inside. He kept a grip on the two cartridges, just in case.
His former tenant had used all the inside doors for firewood and he could see straight through the small mistreated kitchen into the living room, and slumped beside the hearth, his back against the wall, was a man in dark clothing. The tramp who had turned up at the farm a few days ago, from Emilia’s description. He was trembling, probably an alcoholic gone too long without a drink.
‘You’re trespassing. Out!’
Pip shot up beside Alec and snarled, showing all of his sharp teeth.
The tramp brought his head up as if it was an effort to move. He was damp with sweat and had a high colour. ‘M—my apologies, sir. I presume you are Mr Harvey, the owner of Ford Farm. I’m Archie Rothwell—’
‘I don’t want none of your fancy talk. I just want you off my property.’
Archie Rothwell’s hand shook as he reached for his bedroll and stick. His breathing was harsh and gurgling. ‘If you’d… just allow… a minute.’
Alec moved back to give him room. The blaze he had built from a mess of sticks was almost out. Why had the man, who no doubt had been banking on remaining undiscovered, not gathered enough wood to last him the night ahead? Alec looked down at his crippled feet. They were clad in quality leather, worn down at odd angles by his disability. ‘Do you need a hand?’
Archie Rothwell nodded.
Alec ‘broke’ the shotgun, then crooking an arm under the other man’s armpit yanked him upwards. Archie Rothwell used the dust-laden wooden shelf over the fireplace to keep his balance, and although not quite straight, he towered over Alec. Alec passed him the stick. There was no smell of drink on him. As Emilia had remarked, he was clean and tidy. Given his obvious fall from a higher living, the long hair and beard suggested he was hiding from something, most likely his true identity. Alec considered reporting him to the constable, but if he was, as Emilia had wondered, down on his luck after military service, that seemed a bit harsh. Pip was getting impatient and darted off outside to sniff about. He sensed no danger from the stranger and that would do for Alec, for now.
‘Sometimes I feel so cold, you see,’ Archie Rothwell said.
‘Why do you feel so cold?’
‘My ship was sunk, a destroyer, at Jutland. Nearly all hands lost. I was in the water a long, long time. I’m sorry I troubled you, I’ll be on my way again.’
‘You’re obviously well bred, I take it you had a high rank. How come you to this sort of life?’
‘By choice, Mr Harvey. I am all alone in the world. I can prove who I am. You may look at the documents and photographs I have on my person, and in light of your interest in me, if you were to give me some work, and I am looking for regular work through the winter, you’d be in my everlasting gratitude.’ Archie Rothwell offered Alec the leather wallet with gilt edgings that he took out of his inside breast pocket. ‘You’ll find references in there too from various employers over the last year.’
Alec drew the contents out of the wallet. He glanced at a small photograph of Archie Rothwell in officer’s uniform but did not unfold the papers. Alec felt himself blushing. ‘Tell me what these say?’
Before answering, Archie Rothwell found it necessary to clear his throat, which brought on a fresh outbreak of sweating and shivering. ‘I was the commander of my ship. Afterwards, I was med
ically discharged.’
‘Have you no home at all?’
‘There was nowhere for me to go after I was discharged from the nursing home. I did not want to live on charity. I prefer my own company and as a sailor I’m not used to staying in one place.’
‘Where did you start out?’
‘From Lincolnshire, Mr Harvey.’
‘You have travelled a long way.’
Archie Rothwell eased his balance and winced. ‘I’ve got an infection in my foot. If I could just be allowed to stay a little longer to rest it…’
Alec had the welfare of three women, his younger brother and nephew to measure, but he considered the request. There were tragic reports of men coming home from battle to find they no longer had a home, perhaps abandoned by a wife like Ursula, their money spent. Rejection, desertion, injury and shock could make even the most level-headed of high-ranking officers turn away from normal life. ‘Where were you today before you found your way in here?’
‘Washing dishes in a hotel in Truro. I found it too noisy, too intrusive. I liked the quietness of this area when I passed through this way a few days ago and decided to return. I was actually making my way to Ford Farm when the pain and the shivers got too much.’
‘I’ve heard enough. I’m prepared to take you to the farm and see about doing something for your foot. You obviously have a cold too. You can bed down for the night in the hay house, but I’ll be ordering my dog to keep an eye on you. You’re welcome to a hot meal, but as for work and shelter, I’ll have to think about it. Is this agreeable to you?’
Archie Rothwell leaned back against the wall and expelled a long breath. ‘God bless you, sir.’
Ben and Alec were in the den. While Alec trod the polished planks, making all the necessary business decisions and adding up figures swiftly in his head, Ben was sitting behind the desk compiling or adding to lists, making out receipts for goods or stock to be sold and filling out government forms. Alec was able to sign cheques and this he did. They finished quickly, for they were efficient at this hated part of farm life; then they relaxed as they usually did, with a glass of whisky.
‘So, have you decided what to do about this Rothwell character?’ Ben rubbed at his tense brow, careful to avoid the tender area of his left eye. The papers you asked me to read seemed all in order.’
Alec lit his third cigarette in fifteen minutes. The frustration of not being able to attend to his own business always made him edgy. ‘Well, I can hardly turn him out, he hasn’t even got one good foot to walk on. I had to practically carry him here. Tilda took him some hot salted water and bandages but he insisted on seeing to his feet himself. She’s made him onion soup for his chest. She was nervous of him at first then seemed quite taken with him, you know how women can get silly about down-on-their-luck sorts. Emilia was pleased to see him again. Jonny stared at him as children do. Rothwell seemed unhappy about that, but no one likes being stared at. I suppose he could be useful in the garden, peeling vegetables, doing light jobs about the yard. On his request, we’ll keep his naval service between us on the farm. He says people ask such morbid questions. What do you think about it?’
‘I think we should definitely give him a go. Hate to think people would shun me if I went a bit dippy because of my service.’
‘You think he’s got mental problems?’
‘Well, no, but battle fatigue, yes. I spoke to him briefly when I collected his plate and mug – seems a reasonable fellow, a bit eccentric, I suppose. He was well wrapped up on the bales, with plenty of pillows, and a flask of hot cocoa standing by, thanks to Tilda and Em. The cats like him, Snowy was curled up on his legs. Had his boots off, they stank to high heaven from the infection. Perhaps we could find something else for him, or Honor from her Red Cross collections.’
‘Seems the fellow’s already settled here in our minds. I believe he’s genuine, he’s made a great sacrifice and we can’t allow him to go on sinking down.’
Ben poured himself another drink and topped up Alec’s glass. ‘You didn’t pay a visit to your usual rendezvous on Saturday night.’
At last Alec allowed himself to recline in front of the fireplace. The room took on a different ambience for him now. It was a man’s room, half-panelled in rich dark oak, sparingly furnished with well-used leather. It was his retreat, only spoiled for him when he became aware of the shelves lined with his father’s books, or when there was business to get through. ‘I shall call on Eugenie again soon, but only to tell her our association has to end. Now I’ve taken on the responsibility of Jonny, he’ll come first.’
‘Won’t you miss Mrs Bawden’s services?’
‘If you must put it that way, yes. I shall miss her company and friendship even more.’
‘You were going to marry her once, before Lucy dazzled you. Now Eugenie Bawden’s a widow, why not consider her again? It would solve a lot of problems.’
‘I didn’t love Eugenie before and I don’t love her now. She’s content to live on her husband’s bequest, and she certainly wouldn’t care for life as a farmer’s wife with the way things are.’
Ben was thoughtful. ‘Are you saying you’d only consider marrying again if you were to fall in love? I know you didn’t love Lucy. What man could?’
‘I would certainly have to trust and respect a woman before I go down that road again.’ Alec stubbed out his cigarette and tossed it into the log basket with more effort than was required. ‘Ben, could you not talk about Lucy in that way.’
Ben viewed his brother with wryness. Lucy had treated everyone either with disinterest or contempt. She and Alec had quarrelled often, she had struck him frequently, but he wouldn’t allow a word against her. Strange loyalties, he kept. Their bedroom life had been good, apparently. When he had realized the significance of the noises coming from the now empty master bedroom, he had been amazed at the regularity of their intimacy. After Lucy’s death, Alec had swung from despair to anger, to bitterness to disregard. This was the first time he had mentioned her to him in ages.
‘I thought I’d slip away with Emilia for an hour tomorrow afternoon,’ Ben said, as if issuing a challenge. ‘She didn’t get away at all yesterday. It was Sunday and she should have had her half day off. She is entitled to it.’
‘Of course she is. It’s fine by me,’ Alec replied, gazing at Ben’s troubled eye. ‘Edwin might not agree.’
‘He won’t know what Emilia’s doing unless someone tells him. Anyway, he shouldn’t be so damned small-minded! I’m not playing with Emilia’s affections. We should be able to have more time to ourselves. We rarely get the chance for even a quiet word. If she hasn’t got Jonny clinging to her, then Grandma needs her attention or she’s working like a skivvy.’
‘I said, it was fine by me, Ben. I understand.’ Alec got up and peeped out between the curtains. ‘We’re in for a few more wet and windy days. I don’t know where you could go in weather like this.’
‘I’ve got plans.’
‘Which I don’t want to hear about.’ Alec went to the door. ‘I’m going up to see if Jonny’s settled down. He’s getting a little used to being here, I think. Tilda said he ate all his meals today. He enjoyed setting up the chess set with me and learning the moves, he’s a bright child. Your eye, Ben. You don’t complain about it, but it obviously isn’t healing. I’ve been to see Dr Holloway. He’s arranged an emergency appointment for you, the day after tomorrow, with a Mr Preston at his clinic, at the infirmary.’
‘There’s no need. It will right itself in time.’
‘Ben, you can’t see out of it properly. You’re walking into things. Both I and Emilia have noticed it.’
‘I can see perfectly well! I’m being clumsy because there’s too much to do and not enough people to do it, and I object to you talking to Emilia about me in secret. I’ll see this bloke, then I’ll stay on in Truro and call in at the shops for the things I’ll need to take with me to the military college. I know when I’ve gone it will mean even more extra work for you and
Edwin, but you’re going to have to get used to it. Archie Rothwell’s limited services may be of help. You could take on some prisoners of war or approach the Land Army. Lucy’s not here to object to other women about the place any more.’
‘I’m considering several options. Ben, why are you being aggressive towards me? We’ve always got along fine until recently. Are you nervous about leaving home? Worried about the training? Afraid of the fighting? Or is there something else?’
Ben looked away. He had no right to be offhand with Alec, who, since their parents’ deaths, had filled that terrible void, mainly with patience and paternal concern. ‘There’s nothing. Life’s hardly wonderful, is it?’
* * *
Emilia listened outside Jonathan’s bedroom, which was between hers and Lottie’s, for sounds of him being awake and fretting for his mother. After Emilia had read him a story and he had said his prayers, he had insisted she close the door when she left. Emilia had smiled to herself: Alec would be pleased his confidence was growing. He was marvellous with Jonathan. The boy was beginning to lose his understandable shyness and suspicion following the abrupt wrench of his mother’s desertion. He had responded to Alec’s interest and affection with a chuckle while they had finished the rick. Alec would have made a good father. It seemed sadder, the sudden loss of his baby while Lucy had been shopping at Truro. Emilia grinned at thoughts of Ben’s clumsy attempts to impress Jonathan. He was a serious child, with no interest in games that involved a grown-up pretending he was a puppy, or a big bad wolf or an aeroplane. Jonathan had stunned everyone by telling them how an aeroplane could actually fly.
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