The Blacksmith's Girl

by Rosemary Aitken

  ‘Oh, I’m some sorry, madam. You must be Mrs Dawes! I didn’t realize. I thought you were the housekeeper, at first. But of course you are in mourning – that’s why you’re in black. My sympathy, of course.’ She’d embarrassed herself, clearly, and she hurried on: ‘No, I don’t believe you know me, but you’ve met my sister Vee.’

  Vee? It took Effie a moment to work out who she meant. And then she remembered. ‘The Tregorran girl?’ There was a faint resemblance, when you came to look – though this girl was a waxwork ghost compared to Verity. ‘Of course! You’ve come about those boxes? Sergeant Jeffries told me you might come – though I wasn’t expecting horses!’

  A faint smile lit the bloodless lips. ‘I’m not rightly a Tregorran – not any more at least. I’m Patience Tull these days and that’s my husband Ephraim on the cart. He had it harnessed up to take some produce to the town, and thought while we were passing with an empty cart …’

  Effie said, ‘Of course. Now, shall I show you where they are? Or would you like to come inside? A cup of tea, perhaps?’ The woman looked as if a rest would do her good.

  But Patience Tull was shaking her head emphatically. ‘Oh, no thank you, Mrs Dawes, that wouldn’t do at all. Ephraim wouldn’t like it, he doesn’t care for company – not without they’re Strict Adherents like himself … or like ourselves, I suppose that I should say.’

  Effie nodded. ‘I recall your sister saying you were members of the sect. How is she? I haven’t seen her for a little while.’ She began to lead the way towards the pigsty shed.

  Mrs Tull came trailing after her. ‘I wanted for her to be the one to ask you for the crates, being as she knew you – but she wouldn’t come. Said she called to see you once when you were down Rosvene, but you’d just lost your husband and she got sent away. After that she didn’t like to bother you again. Anyhow, she couldn’t have carried many crates – better for me and Ephraim to do it with the cart.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Effie, and led the way into the shed. ‘There they are – you can see the empty ones. Help yourself to as many as you like.’

  The woman looked hunted. ‘How much would they be?’

  ‘I don’t want money. They are no use to me. I was planning to put them on the fire.’

  Verity’s sister shook her head again. ‘Ephraim wouldn’t like if we didn’t pay. “I will surely buy it from you for a price”, the Bible says.’

  ‘And “God loveth a cheerful giver”, it says that as well.’ The devil might quote scripture for his purposes, but so did Uncle Joe, and Effie had heard him say this many times – usually when he wanted something! ‘Your husband would not deny me that blessing, would he now? Anyway, I owe your family something as an apology. I did invite your sister to come and talk to me – but she chose a dreadful moment, and I must have seemed unkind. Please tell her to come and visit me again.’

  ‘I’ll be sure and do that,’ Mrs Tull replied.

  She had assembled up four crates into a pile and would have bent to lift them if Effie had not said, ‘Surely, your husband …?’ She had suddenly realized that the woman was with child. ‘You’ll do yourself a mischief, lifting things like that!’

  The visitor flashed her a bleak smile. ‘Oh, Ephraim offered, but I said I’d fetch the crates myself. Tisn’t fitty a strange man should call on you – a widow on your own. It’s not as if there’s any weight in them.’ She seized up the pile of crates, refusing Effie’s help. ‘In any case,’ she added, over her shoulder as she went back down the path, ‘I’d sooner Ephraim stayed there with the horse. I’d have had to hold it otherwise – and it’s a wilful thing.’

  It looked about as wilful as a hedgehog, Effie thought, as she accompanied her visitor out to the road again. A sour-faced man was sitting on the cart, holding the reins and scowling, but he tipped his hat to her. ‘Marning, missus. Very good of you. Hope she paid you decent – I gave her money to.’

  ‘You’re doing me a favour by taking them away,’ Effie told him, and then wished she’d held her tongue. A look of such anguish crossed the woman’s face, that Effie realized she’d been hoping to keep those few pence for herself. Very likely her husband kept her short.

  But there was no time for regret. The woman had hoisted the crates onto the cart and clambered up beside her husband on the seat in front. He tipped his hat again, then flicked the reins, urging the ‘wilful’ horse to a reluctant walk and the cart went lurching down the road and out of sight.

  Effie went back to the shed and shut the door. Funny thing, she hadn’t been in here before today but she could see what Amy meant about it being clean and swept. It was completely empty, other than her crates – but something else had clearly been stored here recently: there were fresh marks in the dust where something had been dragged across the floor. Clearly not the crates – there was an indentation where the weight had been – and it was an entirely different size and shape. Maybe the previous tenant had used it after all.

  She shrugged and went back to Pride and Prejudice. Those letters would have to wait until another day.

  When Peter woke up he was lying on a bed, with a splitting headache and a sensation of swelling and stiffness in his face. Something seemed to have happened to his eyes – he could hardly open them – and when he did so, everything looked blurred. He did make out a figure – some sort of medical orderly – who was bending over him.

  ‘All right, sapper? Back with us, I see? You were knocked unconscious by the blast. Broken nose and a couple of lovely shiners, but otherwise unharmed. Might spoil your beauty, and you mustn’t exert yourself or blow your nose for a little while – so you’ll be excused duties for a day or two, at least – but after that you should be right as rain.’

  Peter blinked at him. ‘What blast? Where am I?’ But even as he asked, strange confused impressions began to come to him – being in a tunnel, people rushing past, being pushed into the daylight. ‘What’s happened to Tremean? He saved my life, I think.’

  The fellow picked up a water bottle from the cabinet and poured some into a sort of drinking cup. ‘Less fortunate than you. Hit a rock and broke an arm and shoulder in the fall. You’re in the first-aid bay – still with the company, while we have room for you. They’ve sent him off to a Base Hospital to patch him up again. Though you two were lucky. Several men were killed. Now, have a drink of this. Now you’re conscious, we’ll get you on your feet. The Major wants to see you, when you’re fit enough.’

  Peter tried to raise his head and take a sip, but he seemed to have a thousand hammers where his brain should be. He sank back on the pillow and waved the cup away. But the orderly persisted. ‘You’ve been out cold for hours. You have to make the effort.’ So at last he did.

  And that was the pattern of the next few days – being required to do things through a mental fog and a splintering headache, though that was very slowly wearing off and the bruising round his eyes was no longer quite so black. The doctors had diagnosed ‘commotion of the brain’, and treated him quite kindly – though they were less impressed with one poor fellow from the infantry who’d come in a quaking wreck, following a spell of being caught in no-man’s-land. (He hadn’t been unconscious, though, at any stage, and that made it ‘shell shock’ which it seemed was different.)

  No-man’s-land. That struck a chord somehow. Of course, that’s where the tunnel was, when he had heard that noise.

  At the recollection he felt his spine go cold and he shivered, physically shivered, at the very thought – a fact that was noted by the orderly, who was assisting him to take a few steps of exercise outside. ‘Feeling feverish, sapper?’

  Peter shook his head. ‘It’s just that the memories are starting to return and I realize that I’d never been so frightened in my life. But I suppose that it is progress. And I noticed this morning that my sense of taste and smell are coming back.’

  ‘Are they now?’ the fellow said, and rushed off to report.

  After that, things moved with a surprising speed. The doct
or came to see him and pronounced him largely cured (though he couldn’t blow his nose for weeks without his right eye swelling up, and it never returned to its proper shape again). ‘You can return to quarters, with immediate effect – though come back to see us if you suffer dizzy spells. Two days light duties only while you recuperate – I’ll give you a chitty to that effect, of course – then you should be fit for proper service, with no permanent effects. You can tell the Major so when you report to him – he wants to see you anyway, as I believe you know.’

  Peter had forgotten – those early hours now all seemed like a dream – but the summons troubled him. Did the Major blame him for the panic underground – could it really be less than a week ago? He took a deep breath. There was one way to find out. Next day reported to the company ‘office’ – actually a disused storeroom at the factory.

  The Major – who was ‘acting officer in charge’, though Peter had scarcely seen him since the introductory day – was sitting at a table, signing things. He looked up at Peter and acknowledged his salute.

  ‘Ah, Kellow. Pleased to see you fit and well again.’

  He seemed to want an answer so Peter murmured, ‘Sir!’ – though, under the cool scrutiny, he was painfully aware that the skin around his eyes was still greenish-purple with the fading bruise, and his nose was swollen and a peculiar shape.

  ‘I expect you guess why I have sent for you.’

  Peter had not the least idea, and said as much.

  The Major leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers in a pyramid. ‘Judd spoke most highly of you. You were aware of that?’

  Peter mumbled that – with due respect to Judd – ‘That might be just because he knew my brother, sir. We’re fellow Cornishmen and went to the same school.’

  ‘You think it might be simply favouritism, eh?’ The Major riffled papers. ‘Says here you “showed unusual intelligence and initiative. Quick grasp of theory and outstanding listening skills. Invented a system of communicating silently, to minimize the danger of alerting the enemy to where mining operations were taking place.” Does that sound like you? Or was it your brother?’ He gave Peter a wry look.

  Peter felt the flush rise to his cheeks, and feared for a moment that his nose was going to bleed. ‘Yes, sir. That is – it was my system, sir – though it was Lieutenant Judd who altered it and made it work. Though it didn’t really, did it? When there was danger people simply dropped the ropes and ran – I nearly fell over a trailing end myself.’

  ‘And why were they running? Ah yes, I recall. Somebody employed the system, I believe, and signalled “danger” to the miners at the face. In fact, my enquiries suggest that it was you.’

  Peter was not used to this kind of mocking praise, and did not quite know how to answer. He said, simply, ‘I heard the Germans tapping, making a hole to set their charge, I suppose. They must have heard us working – and arranged a counterblast. Well, I have to hand it to their engineers. Destroyed our whole tunnel, most effectively – and killed several people, so I’m told.’ He stopped. The Major had stopped looking quizzical and was staring in surprise.

  ‘I don’t know who told you that! It was nothing of the kind. Our offensive was a great success. It was the German tunnel which was utterly destroyed. Judd received your message, recognized the threat and set our charge off at once. Sent his team to safety and lit the fuse himself, I understand, though he must have known what that would mean for him.’

  It was Peter’s turn to stare in disbelief. ‘Lieutenant Judd is dead?’ It seemed impossible to comprehend.

  The officer said, quite soberly, ‘Blown to kingdom come and Lance Corporal Smith as well. He defied the order, so the men declare, refused to abandon Judd and stayed there to assist – but they took a lot of Germans with them when they went, and probably saved the lives of many of our men. I’ve recommended both of them for bravery awards.’ He folded his slim arms across his chest. ‘But you see what that means for this company, of course.’

  ‘You’ve lost a pair of first-class men?’ Peter ventured.

  The Major gave a snort. ‘More to the point, I’ve lost a lieutenant and an NCO. We’re not a big unit, but we’re already under strength. They’ve been promising a replacement for the RSM for weeks – and then I lost Samson and now it’s Judd and Smith. So I’m looking to make a temporary appointment in the field.’ His face had taken on that mocking look again. ‘Someone with a grasp of theory, proven mining skills and expertise with things like geophones, who might help to train up the replacement tunnellers. Can you think of any likely candidate?’

  Peter racked his addled brain. ‘I don’t know many people well, so I can’t really help you,’ he replied, rather astonished to be confided in like this. ‘Tremean is a good fellow – respected by the men – but I understand that he’s in hospital.’

  The Major leaned back in his chair to fold his arms again. ‘Kellow, you are supposed to be intelligent! It’s you, I mean, of course. Only acting, till the rank is ratified, but it does mean extra pay and a privilege or two. I’m sure that will be welcome. Do you have a girl at home?’

  He felt himself go scarlet, and feared for his nose again. ‘No, sir,’ he mumbled. ‘That is, not exactly.’

  ‘What is “not exactly”?’ The officer leaned forward and gave him a searching look. ‘Not one of that sort, are you? Might have to think again.’

  This time, Peter understood at once. ‘No, sir, nothing of the kind. Did have a girl, once, but she married someone else.’

  ‘Ah!’ There was a long pause and then the Major said, ‘So I may take it that you would accept? Promotion to Lance Corporal with immediate effect – assuming that the medicos are right, of course, and you are none the worse for your little episode. Have to stand you down at once, if there is any doubt.’

  And Peter said, ‘Yes, sir,’ and the thing was sealed. A few days later he had a chevron on his sleeve. Something to write home about, at least – Mother would be thrilled. He only wished that Effie could have known.

  Verity’s Friday could hardly have been worse. It had started very early, with a thumping on the door even before the household was astir. Vee had thrown a cloak around herself and tiptoed down the stairs, just in time to see Pa – still in his flannel nightshirt – fling open the door, while Ma half-hid behind him to see who might be there.

  ‘Why Brother Ephraim!’ Pa said, and put the poker down. ‘To what do we owe the …’ He stood aside to let the caller in.

  But Ephraim, who seemed to be in nightclothes underneath his coat, shook his head and didn’t move. ‘It’s Mrs Tull!’ he muttered. He was pale and looked distraught, not a bit his usual self. ‘She’s bleeding heavily. I think she may have started – or she’s losing it. I tried to pray with her, but she’s shouting for her mother and I think you’d better come.’

  ‘I’ll come straight over. You get back to her!’ Ma was already halfway up the stairs, but as she pushed past Verity she said, ‘You go get Prudence and tell her to go down, wake up Sergeant Jeffries and ask to use his phone – call the midwife over to St Just and tell her where to come.’ She paused for a moment at her bedroom door. ‘And when you’ve done that, you run down yourself and fetch your Auntie Dorcas over to the farm. Factory will have to do without you for an hour.’

  Vee hesitated, waiting for Ephraim to object – he was worse than Grandfather for not wanting Dorcas round – but Tull was already rushing down the path and it was left to Pa to shut the door and mutter gloomily, ‘I don’t know why your mother wants that backslider sister of hers over there! T’isn’t even as if she has got children of her own.’ But his face had gone as white as chalk and there was not much venom left in the remark.

  Ma had done miracles in throwing on her clothes – the ones that showed, in any case – and, already on her way downstairs again, she must have overheard. ‘Because she’ll be a bit of help to me, that’s why.’ She hurried to the door and flung her cloak around her shoulders, as she spoke. ‘She’s assisted at
half-a-dozen births round here, as well you know – including Sam Chegwidden – so at least she’s got some notion what to do. More than anyone could say for Ephraim Tull, it seems – for all his sheep and cows!’ She wriggled her bare feet into her boots and turned to Verity. ‘Now are you going to stay there gawping on the stair all day, or are you going to get help for your sister when you’re asked?’

  Vee hurried off without another word. There was no need to waken Prudence, she was already wideawake – as Vee knew, since she had been promoted to Pattie’s empty bed and now shared the room with Pru.

  ‘Hear that?’ she demanded, as she went in there now. ‘You’re to go and wake the Sergeant—’

  ‘Yes, I know, I was listening on the landing!’ Pru exclaimed. She was sitting on the bed, dressed in her petticoats, rolling on her knitted socks and putting garters round. ‘How do you think I’d be half-dressed otherwise?’ Her voice was shaking and she was obviously upset. ‘You realize, do you, what this has to mean? If Pattie’s really bleeding she could die of this.’ She stood up and pulled her skirt and blouse on as she spoke

  Vee had known that it was something serious – that was obvious from how the adults had behaved – but the idea of Pattie dying had not occurred to her. ‘No!’

  ‘Wouldn’t be paying for the midwife otherwise.’ Pru was already rushing from the room and clattering like seven demons down the stairs. Vee had a hundred questions but there was nobody to ask. There was nothing for it but to quickly dress herself, and she had almost finished when Constance tapped the door.

  ‘What is it, Vee, whatever’s happening? Where’s everybody off to, at this time of day.’