For the first time in her life, Grace was discovering what it was to be allowed to be a child. No one grumbled at her if she scuffed her shoes or got grass stains on her dress, and no one told her to mind her manners or speak only when spoken to.
One evening, Aunt Gertie said, ‘I reckon I’m going to sort out some old clothes for you to wear while you’re here. That father of yours would have a fit if he could see the state of you.’ She stared at the hem of Grace’s skirt, which was wet from paddling in the sea and covered in sand. Her hair resembled a bird’s nest from the many brambles that had snagged it as she and Myfanwy raced through the woods, and her skin, red and angry for the first few days of the holiday, was now almost as brown as Myfanwy’s, on top of which, freckles had exploded across her nose and golden highlights had appeared in her flame-red hair.
‘Sorry, Aunt Gertie,’ Grace murmured. She was feeling comfortably sleepy following a delicious fish meal and a day spent racing about with Myfanwy. She and Myfanwy were already inseparable and Grace loved every single minute they spent together.
Her aunt laughed. ‘You don’t have to say sorry to me, pet. As far as I’m concerned, they should have sent you with more suitable clothing, not all these fancy London togs! But then, what do I know about children never having ever had any of my own? Your mother will tell you that I was always considered to be the black sheep of the family. I never did bow down to convention and fashion; give me comfort any day.’ She paused for a moment, before adding, ‘Oh, and you might be happy to hear that Cerys has asked her daughter if Myfanwy can stay here for the rest of your holiday,’ Aunt Gertie informed her.
‘Oh, I do hope she’s allowed to,’ Grace said excitedly. ‘She’s going to take me to see the convent on the top of the cliffs tomorrow.’
Gertie raised her eyebrow. She had noticed Grace reading her Bible, and praying on a few occasions, which might explain her fascination with the convent. Then again, Madeline had always been very religious, and her brother had been a vicar, so she shouldn’t be that surprised. Since the untimely death of her beloved husband, she herself no longer practised any religion. After all, if there was a God, how could He have allowed such a terrible thing to happen? Even so, she had no objection to those who believed.
Grace looked at her aunt, who was cleaning her gun by the empty fireplace, and was suddenly overwhelmed with love for her; she might be a little eccentric, but beneath her cool veneer, there beat a heart of gold. Unable to stop herself, she got up, threw her arms around her aunt’s neck and kissed her soundly on the cheek.
‘You’re so kind,’ she told her sincerely. ‘If it weren’t for missing Mother I’d be happy to stay here with you for always.’
‘And what about missing your father?’
Grace flushed and lowered her eyes. ‘Well … I suppose him too …’ But somehow her words didn’t ring true.
Long after Grace had gone to bed, Gertie sat staring into space, remembering the time Grace’s grandfather had passed away, leaving Madeline penniless. He had always been a generous soul, bless him. But his generosity had almost certainly been his daughter’s downfall, and then Jacob Kettle. Gertie scowled. She had never approved of him. For a start, as she had tried to point out to Madeline, he was far too old. And, after making a few discreet enquiries, she’d discovered that his reputation left a lot to be desired as well and he had made many enemies. But, unfortunately, being young and naive, Madeline’s head had been turned by the attentions of an older man and nothing Gertie had said had discouraged her from marrying him.
Gertie shook her head and wondered how Madeline felt about him now. She had been shocked to see her niece the last time she had visited her, for she was merely a shadow of her old self. But then at least one good thing had come from the marriage, Grace. She smiled as she listened to the child humming merrily as she got ready for bed upstairs. She was such a good little soul. Too good, Gertie thought. At Grace’s age, she herself had had a rebellious streak but Grace was so polite and well mannered that Gertie feared she hadn’t been allowed to do the things that children should do. Still, she thought, as a smile split her face, at least she’s coming out of her shell now, thanks to Myfanwy. I shall have to have Grace here more often, if that father of hers will allow it. Then she set about finding a more suitable outfit for the child to wear the next day.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Wait for me,’ Grace panted as she laboured up the steep hillside behind Myfanwy. She was clad in one of her aunt’s old shirts, with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and an old pair of trousers that were at least four sizes too big – her aunt had crudely chopped some length from the legs, and they were tied round her waist with a piece of string. To say they were inelegant would have been putting it mildly but Grace had to admit they didn’t hamper her running about and climbing nearly so much as her full skirts had. Even so she was lagging far behind Myfanwy who was as sure-footed as a mountain goat. Her feet were bare but she didn’t seem to notice the stones and twigs she raced across and as far as Grace could see she hadn’t even broken into a sweat. She moved as swiftly as she could trying to keep Myfanwy in sight and at last her friend paused and leaned with her back against the trunk of a tree to wait for her.
‘You townies are so unfit,’ Myfanwy teased as Grace eventually drew abreast.
Grace glared at her as she struggled to get her breath back. ‘Am not,’ she said petulantly when she was able to. ‘It’s just that I’m not used to climbing.’
Myfanwy giggled. ‘Well, we’re almost at the top now, look.’ Myfanwy nodded ahead to where Grace could see a gap in the trees. ‘Once we’re out of the woods we’ll be on the outskirts of the convent.’
The girls moved on more slowly and soon emerged into brilliant sunshine. Just as Myfanwy had said, the convent was sprawled before them and Grace stared at it admiringly. It was a huge place with tall, arched stone windows, which sparkled in the sunshine. From within she could faintly hear the sounds of singing.
‘It’s probably the nuns at their morning service in the chapel,’ Myfanwy said.
Grace paused to admire the view. It was another lovely sunny day and far out at sea she could see the fishing boats bobbing on the waves. The sea looked as if it had been sprinkled with diamond dust and the water was violet blue.
‘It’s so beautiful here,’ she breathed. ‘I shall miss all this when I go home.’ Had it not been for the fact that she was missing her mother she knew that she wouldn’t have wanted to return home at all, especially now she had met Myfanwy.
‘Oh, it’s far too soon to be thinking about that just yet.’ Myfanwy pulled some leaves and twigs from her hair. ‘We’ve got over three weeks of your holiday left yet and I’ve still got so many places I want to show you, though why you wanted to come here, I don’t understand.’
‘Are you not particularly religious then?’
Myfanwy shrugged. ‘I go to chapel from time to time with my mam an’ dad when they make me but with Dad being away at sea so much it’s not very often.’
‘I go to church whenever I can,’ Grace informed her new friend proudly. ‘And I’d go even more often if I was able to. There’s something about the inside of the church that I love, especially a Catholic church. It’s always so peaceful in there and I feel so close to God.’
Myfanwy raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment as they began to skirt the gardens surrounding the convent. Most of it had been left to grow wild and flowers grew here and there amongst the tufts of lush green grass. Then, as they moved on, they saw some women, most of them very young, clad in white habits, tending a very well-maintained vegetable garden.
‘They’re the postilan … postu …’
‘Postulants,’ Grace corrected her. ‘They’re sort of trainee nuns who haven’t taken their final vows yet.’
‘Huh! Don’t I already know that?’ Myfanwy said scathingly. ‘One of our neighbour’s daughters, Angharad, joined the order just last year. We rarely see her now. But how do you know
about them?’
‘A girl I know at school is a Catholic,’ Grace informed her. ‘And on odd occasions I’ve visited her church with her. Most times I go to church with my mother, when she’s well enough that is, and when she isn’t we read the stories in the Bible together. But isn’t Angharad allowed to come home and see her family and friends then?’
‘Oh yes, occasionally.’ Myfanwy suddenly pointed. ‘There she is over there, look. I wonder if she’ll spot us.’
Grace followed Myfanwy’s pointing finger to a serene-looking young woman who was hoeing between a row of radishes. The girl was tall and slim and the fringe beneath her bandeau, which held her white veil in place, was white blonde.
‘She had a sweetheart before she decided that this was her calling,’ Myfanwy whispered. ‘And when she told him that she was going to join the convent he was heartbroken and left the village.’
‘She’s very pretty and her hair is such a lovely colour.’
Myfanwy nodded. ‘Yes, it is, although when she is ready to take her final vows it will all be hacked off and she’ll go into a black habit.’
This didn’t seem to faze Grace at all but she had no chance to comment because just then the girl looked up and gave a friendly wave before starting towards them.
‘Is she allowed to talk to you?’ Grace asked. ‘I thought nuns lived by a vow of silence.’
‘Only once they’ve taken their final vows and even then, it’s only at certain times of the day.’
‘Myfanwy, how lovely to see you. And who is this then? I don’t think we’ve met.’ Angharad was standing in front of them and close up she was even prettier than Grace had thought.
‘This is Grace, she’s staying with Gertie Adams in Beehive Cottage. Gertie is her aunt.’
Grace was quite in awe of the girl and gave her a shy smile.
‘It’s so nice to meet you, Grace. Will we be seeing you at any of our Sunday services?’
‘I-I hope so …’ Grace stuttered. ‘But I would have to come alone. I don’t think Aunt Gertie is much for that sort of thing.’
Angharad laughed. ‘The chapel is open to the villagers at ten o’clock every Sunday morning. Do come if you can.’ She glanced over her shoulder then and said reluctantly, ‘Well, I really should get back to work now but it’s been lovely meeting you, Grace. Goodbye for now, both.’
As she turned, the breeze caught her white habit and veil and Grace sighed. She looked like an angel and Grace envied her. ‘How wonderful it must be to devote your whole life to God,’ she muttered.
Myfanwy looked horrified at the very thought. ‘Hmm, I tell you now it wouldn’t do for me.’ She sniffed. ‘All those rules and regulations they have to live by! And me mam said that they actually marry Christ.’
Grace had a dreamy look in her eye but then Myfanwy took to her heels, eager to show her a cormorant’s nest with babies in that she’d found on the cliff face a little past the convent, and Grace had no choice but to race after her.
‘Right, now lie down flat on your belly and wriggle right to the edge of the cliff and then you can peep over,’ Myfanwy ordered bossily when they had gone some way further on.
Grace eyed the cliff edge apprehensively. It looked an awful long way down to the waves that were crashing on the rocks far below, but even so she didn’t want to appear to be a coward, so she gingerly did as she was told. And then as her eyes lit on the nest with the tiny chicks tweeting away inside it, her face broke into a wide smile.
‘Their mother must be out looking for food for them,’ Myfanwy whispered and sure enough, seconds later a large cormorant with a large worm in its beak flew towards the nest and started to circle in the air, eyeing the intruders suspiciously.
‘We’d best go,’ Myfanwy hissed, wriggling away from the edge of the cliff. ‘We don’t want her to abandon her babies.’
Grace followed her and soon they were flying along hand in hand as the sun shone down on them.
They arrived back at Beehive Cottage by mid-afternoon. Grace was starving and more than a little tired, although Myfanwy still seemed to be bursting with energy.
‘Hmm, and what time do you call this?’ Mrs Llewelyn stood with her hands on her hips trying to look cross but there was a twinkle in her eye. ‘Your dinner was ready hours ago! It’s a good job I kept it warm for you, isn’t it, now?’
Grace hung her head while Myfanwy grinned. She knew her grandmother would forgive her almost anything.
‘Sorry, we lost track of time,’ Myfanwy told her as Grace hurried away to wash her hands. Cerys Llewelyn smiled indulgently.
‘I really don’t know where that granddaughter of mine gets all her energy,’ Mrs Llewelyn said minutes later as she placed a plateful of steak-and-kidney pie in front of Grace. Myfanwy had been sent off, muttering beneath her breath, to wash her hands.
Grace smiled and began to tell her what they’d been up to that morning and the woman laughed. ‘Well one thing’s for sure, cariad. You won’t get bored for the rest of your holiday with our Myfanwy to keep you company. She could talk the hind legs off a donkey, so she could.’
Grace nodded before asking tentatively, ‘The postulant we saw working in the gardens up at the convent said that I would be welcome to go to the service in their chapel on Sunday morning. Do you think my aunt will allow me to go?’
Mrs Llewelyn laughed. ‘I can’t see why not, just so long as you don’t expect her or Myfanwy to go with you.’
Smiling with satisfaction, Grace tucked into her meal. Staying here was just getting better and better!
That night there were a lot of giggles as Grace and Myfanwy slept top to toe in Grace’s single bed. Aunt Gertie had said that Myfanwy was welcome to sleep in the other spare room but both girls were adamant they wanted to stay together.
‘What do you want to do when you grow up? Grace asked.
Myfanwy laughed. ‘I hadn’t really thought about it but I dare say I’ll marry a fisherman. Most girls from around here do. Either that or I’ll go to London and go on the stage! We had some actors here once who did a play in the village hall. What about you?’
‘Hmm, I think I’d quite like to be a Sunday school teacher, or something like that,’ Grace mused as she thought of Mrs Lockett.
‘Just hark at the pair of them,’ Aunt Gertie said as their laughter floated down the stairs. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised if they keep us awake all night!’
‘I don’t think there’ll be much chance of that happening.’ Cerys looked up from the sock she was darning, yet another unladylike item of clothing belonging to Gertie. ‘They’ve been on the go non-stop all day. They’ll go out like a light in a minute, you just mark my words!’
Sure enough, minutes later there was a sudden hush and when Aunt Gertie peeped into Grace’s room sometime later both girls were sleeping like tops. She smiled as she gently closed the door. It was nice to have children about the house. Many years ago when she had been first married she and her husband had dreamed of having many children. With a rueful little sigh, she moved on to her room with the oil lamp balanced carefully in her hand. Electric had not yet arrived at Beehive Cottage but then Gertie was happy with things as they were. As far as she was concerned, she had all she needed and she didn’t care if things stayed the same for ever.
The next two weeks passed in a blur for Grace. She and Myfanwy roamed the hills collecting wild flowers that they presented to Aunt Gertie at the end of each day and which were promptly transferred into jam jars that adorned the kitchen window sill. They sploshed in the silver streams that gurgled down the hillsides, visited the tiny harbour to watch the fishing boats and told each other all their hopes and dreams. One day, Myfanwy took Grace to meet her parents in Pwllheli. They lived in a tiny cottage close to the harbour and Grace was enchanted with it.
‘It’s like something out of a fairy-story book,’ she whispered as Myfanwy’s mother sat them at the table and served them with glasses of frothy milk and fresh-baked griddle scones. She looked just l
ike a younger version of Mrs Llewelyn. Myfanwy’s brother, Dylan, a lanky, skinny lad with a mop of coal-black hair and blue eyes exactly the colour of Myfanwy’s, was sitting on the outside step repairing a fishing net and he gave Grace a friendly wink as she entered the cottage.
‘Dylan wants to go to sea with me dad when he’s a little older,’ Myfanwy confided and Grace nodded. There were herbs and wild flowers strung from the rafters and the tiny leaded windows gleamed in the sunshine. Outside, the garden was full of little piles of shells that Myfanwy had collected over the years, and fishing nets and lobster pots; Grace couldn’t help but think how different their lives were.
Each Sunday, Grace attended the service in the convent’s chapel and they were the highlight of her holiday. She loved to watch the nuns gliding across the floor in their long black habits and the postulants in their white ones, looking so innocent and pure. And the singing … Oh, the singing! Each Sunday Grace sang her little heart out as a sense of peace stole over her. The chapel was quite breathtaking with stained-glass windows that reflected the sun’s rays and Grace couldn’t remember a time when she had enjoyed herself more and wished that it might never end.
Then one afternoon, towards the end of the third week, they arrived back at Beehive Cottage late one afternoon, tired but happy, to see a horse and trap standing outside the door of the cottage.
‘I wonder who that could be?’ Myfanwy raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t reckon your aunt usually has many visitors.’
Grace playfully poked her in the ribs. ‘There’s only way to find out. Come on – I’ll race you.’
Giggling, they set off at a run side by side and seconds later they exploded into the kitchen.
When Grace saw the stiff-backed figure sitting at the kitchen table, the smile instantly slid from her face and she skidded to a halt.
‘Hello, Father,’ she muttered.
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