by Lesley Eames
‘I know!’ Giles Benedict rolled his eyes comically.
It wasn’t long before Lizzie had to leave as she was teaching the following morning and squeezing a concert into the afternoon. Once again, Harry insisted on driving her.
‘Happy?’ he asked, after they’d waved goodbye to his parents and driven through the gateposts onto the road.
‘Very.’
‘So am I.’
He looked deeply satisfied, and Lizzie was glad.
But she was thoughtful on the journey home. For all that she thought superstition was nonsense, she couldn’t quite dismiss the feeling that she shouldn’t jinx the future by announcing to the world what she expected it to hold. She decided to tell only Margaret, Polly and Cordelia about her engagement.
She told her godmother the news first. Margaret went quiet for a moment but when she spoke her voice was deep with emotion and sincerity. ‘Congratulations, Lizzie. You deserve to be happy.’
Happier than Margaret had been? Lizzie still hadn’t written to Mr Grafton, unable to decide if she’d be doing the right thing or not. Every now and then she’d take out pen and paper to write to him, but each time she returned it to the drawer with a sigh. Maybe one day…
Lizzie was worried that the engagement might remind Polly all too painfully of being rejected by Davie, but she should have known better. Polly’s soft heart was as generous as ever. ‘Don’t look so fearful, Lizzie,’ she said. ‘I don’t begrudge you your happiness. Far from it. No one deserves happiness more than you.’
Cordelia was equally sincere. ‘I haven’t met your soldier, Lizzie, but I like the sound of him. I’m flattered to be taken into your confidence and you can rely on my discretion. I quite understand that you don’t want to tempt fate by making too much of an uncertain future.’
Clearly, Lizzie wasn’t the only one to feel superstition hovering.
She thought about writing to Matt about her engagement but decided to tell him when she saw him next, which would surely be soon.
Between her teaching and the concert Lizzie hadn’t time to see Harry the next day but, thanks to Margaret covering some lessons and rearranging others, she managed to spend the whole of the following day with him. In the evening she invited Margaret and Polly to share a celebratory dinner with them in the rarely used dining room.
‘Let’s open a bottle of my sherry so we can toast your happiness,’ Margaret said, but Harry spared them the ordeal by bringing champagne.
‘He’s lovely,’ Polly whispered. ‘Handsome too!’
The last day of Harry’s leave was spent quietly with another walk, this time in Regent’s Park. When it began to rain, they sheltered under a tree. ‘It looks like the rain’s settling in,’ Harry said, after a while. ‘Shall we make a dash for the street and find somewhere to have lunch? We may get a little wet but it beats starving ourselves into skeletons here.’
He was grinning, his dark eyes bright, and Lizzie felt tenderness wash over her along with grief because Harry was so alive yet would be returning to the front within hours. ‘Lunch it is!’
She set off running. Harry caught her up, took hold of her hand and together they ran to a tea shop.
She cried after they parted, but, as ever, she could only get on with life as best she could. She had teaching and concerts to keep her busy. Friends too. And hopefully it wouldn’t be long before Matt was home.
News of Matt came soon. But it wasn’t the news Lizzie wanted.
31
Lizzie’s head reeled in dismay when she read Edith’s letter. Words leapt out at her. Injured, hospital, wounds…
Fighting down panic, she read the letter again. Matt was in hospital. His wounds were healing… That was good, wasn’t it? But what was the nature of his injuries?
Broken ribs and tissue damage, she read. Bad enough, but at least he was whole. Or so Lizzie assumed. Edith promised to let her know as soon as she had more information.
Another letter arrived two days later. Edith had spoken to the hospital matron and heard that Matt was doing well.
A week passed then Matt was moved to a convalescent home and Lizzie was excited to receive a letter from Matt himself. He assured her that he was fine, but then he wasn’t the man to make a fuss. A further fortnight passed and Edith had somehow arranged for Matt to finish his convalescence at home. Joe was fetching him by taxi and train.
Matt wrote again to tell Lizzie that he’d arrived at the farm and was enjoying being with the family. He wondered if Lizzie might visit for a few days?
Lizzie was thrilled to accept the invitation and a week later took the train to Stafford. You’ll be met, Matt’s latest letter had said, but it hadn’t specified by whom.
Walking out of the station, Lizzie had no trouble recognising Joe Warren as he stood waiting beside a horse and cart. ‘You’ve grown,’ she told him. He was almost as tall as Matt, though he still had the irrepressible grin he’d had as a boy.
‘So have you,’ he said.
‘Yes, I’m quite the young lady these days,’ Lizzie teased.
‘Too fine for us country folk?’
‘I may be young but I don’t think I’ll ever be fine.’
He smiled back at her, took her bag and hauled it onto the cart. ‘Need a hand getting up?’
‘I’ll manage.’
She climbed up easily while Joe walked around to the driver’s side and sprang up with athletic ease. ‘This is Hector, isn’t it?’ She gestured towards the horse.
‘Yes, he’s old but at least we still have him. A lot of horses have been requisitioned for hauling artillery and supplies.’
‘I’m glad Hector’s safe at home.’ Lizzie paused then asked, ‘How’s Matt? Is he really going to recover fully?’ She was desperate to see for herself that he was healing well.
‘So the doctors say. Matt’s certainly not the man to malinger.’
‘No.’ Lizzie smiled. ‘I can’t imagine Matt malingering.’
Joe was easy to talk to, happy to chat about the farm he loved as the cart rumbled along the roads. ‘Did you ever get a tractor?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Not yet. Tractors are expensive. Hopefully one day…’
Looking around as they moved into the countryside, Lizzie saw little to stir her memory, but she’d been ill when Matt had first taken her to the farm, and sick with worry when they’d set off for London a few days later.
The countryside here was pretty, lush fields being bordered by hedgerows among which campion, knapweed and rosebay willow herb flowered.
Lizzie sat up straighter when she saw a white-painted wooden signpost bearing the words Sorrel’s Lee 3 miles on one of its arms. This was the farm’s nearest village. Soon she saw the roof of the farmhouse in the distance. How idyllic it looked, though Lizzie knew that the farm involved a great deal of hard work.
Joe turned the cart down a lane and, after another few minutes, steered them between gateposts into the yard. One of those gateposts bore the name Sorrel’s Patch. What a pity Lizzie had missed it all those years ago. Still, she was here now.
A small boy stood looking out for them. He waved to Joe then ran off towards the kitchen door shouting, ‘They’re here!’
Edith came out carrying her little daughter as Joe brought the cart to halt. She was followed by Mikey and Molly, easy to recognise despite the fact that time had given them height and taken the babyishness from their features. Lizzie jumped down and found herself wrapped in Edith’s free arm while the others crowded round.
What a lovely family the Warrens were.
Edith made rapid introductions. ‘Mikey, Molly, Thomas, Rose… Come inside. I expect you’re in dire need of a cup of tea. Matt’s keen to see you too.’
‘How is he?’ Lizzie searched Edith’s face for the truth.
‘We were desperately worried when we heard he’d been hurt, but he really is doing well. Come and see for yourself.’
Matt was propped in an armchair by the kitchen fire. ‘You’ll excuse me if I don�
��t get up?’ he joked.
The familiar smile curved his mouth but the lines around his eyes were deeper and he’d lost weight again. Lizzie felt the prickle of tears and an urge to throw herself against his chest and howl. How emotional she was these days! Wanting neither to hurt him nor look ridiculous, she bent to kiss his cheek instead. ‘I’m so glad you’re on the mend.’
‘A farmer’s constitution comes in handy.’
He held her in his gaze for a moment. ‘You’re a sight for sore eyes, Lizzie,’ he added then. ‘A picture of health.’
‘She’s pretty,’ Molly said, and Lizzie was glad to be able to swallow down the excess emotion and laugh.
‘It’s true,’ Molly insisted.
‘Then let me return the compliment. You’re pretty too.’
Molly was a willowy girl with soft honey-coloured hair and gentle green eyes. She blushed endearingly at the praise.
Edith passed her daughter to Matt. ‘Will you hold Rose while I make tea? Lizzie, I know you said you’d pack a lunch to eat on the train but you must have room for cake.’
‘Cake would be welcome, but only a small piece.’ She didn’t want to rob this growing family of their food.
‘We’re all having cake,’ Edith’s son, Thomas, said. ‘It smells gorgeous but we weren’t allowed to eat it until you came. We’ve been waiting for hours!’
Edith scolded him for bad manners but Lizzie only laughed again. ‘It’s lucky the train was on time, otherwise you might have starved.’
‘I might,’ he agreed sombrely, though he was clearly far from starving.
‘Tell me how old you and your sister are,’ Lizzie invited.
Thomas was five. ‘Rose is just a baby but my dad is a hundred.’
Molly rolled her eyes. ‘Fibber.’
‘Tea’s ready,’ Edith announced.
‘You’re allowed to sit with Uncle Matt,’ Thomas told Lizzie. Clearly it was a treat not to sit at the table.
‘I’m honoured.’
She sat in the armchair opposite Matt’s and Edith brought them tea and cherry cake, doubtless made with cherries from the orchard.
The kitchen door opened and two men came in – Joe, and a fair-haired, gentle-looking man who had to be Edith’s husband, an impression he confirmed by walking up to her, kissing her and smiling at her with deep affection. What a happy marriage this was.
Peter was shy, Lizzie realised, but he asked kindly about her journey and said, ‘Good, good,’ when she told him it had been uneventful.
The children made up for his quietness by chattering about the farm, its animals, their favourite things and Lizzie’s luck in riding on a train, an adventure none of the younger children had experienced yet.
Contentment radiated from Edith and Peter. Life on the farm was exactly what they wanted. Joe too had the satisfied air of someone who was following the perfect path for him. Even Molly spoke of the chickens and cows with such enthusiasm that she appeared destined to live the rest of her life on one farm or another.
Mikey had always been different. All of the Warrens enjoyed reading, but Mikey was the one with the taste for indoor study. ‘Do you miss the pottery?’ Lizzie asked.
‘Sometimes, but I’m glad to be home and we’ve plenty of books here now.’
Matt looked proud of all his brothers and sisters, and Lizzie was struck again by how much he’d sacrificed to keep them safe and happy.
‘Enough,’ Edith finally announced. ‘I’m going to give Lizzie a break from all this noise by taking her up to her room.’
There were cries of disappointment.
‘We’ll talk again soon,’ Lizzie promised.
‘You’re sleeping in my room,’ Molly said. ‘I’m sleeping in the boys’ room with Thomas.’
‘Oh?’ Lizzie assumed Edith and Peter must have Matt’s old room so where did that leave Joe, Mikey and Matt himself?
‘Joe and Mikey are sleeping in the barn!’ Thomas cried. ‘I wish I was allowed to sleep in the barn.’
‘When you’re older,’ Edith told him.
‘I’m not allowed to sleep in the barn either,’ Matt said, green eyes glinting humour. ‘I’m sleeping next to the piano.’
‘I’ve inconvenienced you all,’ Lizzie said guiltily.
‘Not at all,’ Matt insisted. ‘We want you here. And I was already sleeping next to the piano so I don’t have to manage the stairs.’
Joe had picked up Lizzie’s bag but she took it from him. ‘I’ve kept you from your work long enough.’
She was touched to see that flowers from the garden had been placed in her room. The purple Michaelmas daisies added to the impression of freshness and cleanliness. ‘I’m afraid the children aren’t going to leave you alone if they can help it,’ Edith said. ‘Do feel free to tell them to quieten down or go away.’
‘They’re lovely.’
‘But noisy too.’ Edith opened the top drawer of the old chest of drawers. ‘I’ve emptied out this drawer for your things.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Come down when you’re ready, but don’t feel you have to rush.’ Edith headed for the door.
Lizzie unpacked her bag, leaving out the gifts she’d brought – sweets, crayons and drawing paper for the children, two bottles of wine for the grown-ups and a set of lace-edged handkerchiefs for Edith. Lizzie doubted Edith had the time or the money to buy pretty things for herself.
Opening the window, Lizzie leant out to take in the view of gently rolling farmland, grasses and crops in myriad shades of green with animals grazing contentedly in the pastures. How soothing it was here, hard work notwithstanding.
She didn’t linger long, though. This time with the Warrens was too precious to be idled away.
The children’s eyes widened when they saw Lizzie enter carrying gifts. ‘Barley sugars,’ she told them, putting the sweets on the table. They’d been hard to find, given the sugar shortages, but the children’s excitement made the search feel worthwhile. ‘Crayons and paper too.’
‘Thank you, thank you!’ Thomas cried.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Molly said, rubbing his hair.
She took the wine to Matt and the handkerchiefs to Edith.
‘How pretty!’ Edith cried. ‘I’ll save these for best.’
‘You’re very generous, Lizzie,’ Matt said, approvingly.
‘May we have the sweets now?’ Thomas asked.
‘After your dinner,’ Peter told them.
Edith made one of her fragrant stews for their meal, the mutton and vegetables cooked to perfection and the flavours brought out with fresh herbs. There was rhubarb pie and custard for dessert.
At Matt’s suggestion Peter opened the bottles of wine so the meal had a festive air. Everyone was interested in the Penrose Players and Singers, with questions being thrown at Lizzie thick and fast.
‘Do you ever get scared?’
‘Or forget the words?’
‘Or sing the wrong notes?’
Lizzie answered all of the questions then said, ‘I was nervous at first but it’s heartening to see how much the men enjoy our concerts.’
‘What you’re doing is wonderful,’ Matt said.
Lizzie thought about how much he must be suffering, being separated from the home and family he loved. From his piano too. ‘You must miss being without music’.
‘I’m not without it all of the time. In rest periods we can sometimes go into nearby towns and villages. There are cafés – estaminets, they call them – and I’ve been allowed to play the piano in a few of them.’
‘I’m glad.’
Lizzie became aware of whispering among the children.
‘Do you know a song called “Those Golden Fields”?’ Molly finally asked.
‘Actually, yes. I heard it being played in a music shop and liked it. A patient at one of our concerts requested it too, so I’ll be buying the sheet music soon. Why? Is it one of your favourites?’
‘Yes!’ Molly cried, and there were smiles all round.
‘It’s Uncle Matt’s song,’ Thomas said.
Lizzie turned to Matt in wonder. ‘You’ve had a song published?’
‘Mmm, I taught myself to read music so I could record the notes on paper.’
‘We’re so proud of him,’ Edith said.
‘Of course you are!’ Lizzie said. ‘It’s an incredible achievement.’
Molly went into the parlour and returned with the sheet music. The cover showed rolling fields with a copse of dusky trees in the background and a hedgerow with flowers, birds and butterflies in the foreground. Doubtless the song had been inspired by living here at the farm.
‘I hope you’ll play it for me,’ Lizzie told Matt. ‘If you’re well enough?’
‘He’s well enough,’ Molly said. ‘He’s played it for us lots of times. He said we shouldn’t show off to you about his song but I don’t see what’s wrong with showing off when you’ve done something so utterly fantastic. I’d show off if I’d written a song.’
Everyone laughed.
‘I’d love to hear Matt’s song but let me help to clear up after this delicious meal first,’ Lizzie said.
Edith wouldn’t hear of Lizzie helping after her long journey. Instead, the Warrens leapt into action with well-practised precision, everyone except little Rose contributing something, whether it was carrying plates to the sink, sweeping the floor or wiping the table.
‘Shall we?’ Matt asked Lizzie, with a gesture towards the parlour.
They both got up – Matt stiffly – and walked into the other room. It had been turned into a bedroom for Matt but the piano stood in the same place as before. Placing their wine glasses on small mats on the piano top, they sat side by side on the stool. ‘This is like old times,’ Matt said, smiling.
He raised the piano lid and played a few notes with fluid ease. ‘Just warming up,’ he said.
The other Warrens filed in and gathered round. ‘All right,’ Matt said then, and he began to play, singing the lyrics in the low-pitched crooning voice she remembered so well. ‘Golden in the sunshine and graceful in the breeze…’
It was the sort of voice that was neither perfect nor professional. It even had a catch in it here and there. But it was an intimate, hypnotic voice that drew the listener in.