Читать книгу A Scent of Lavender - Elizabeth Elgin - Страница 5

1940

The month of June, and the world so impossibly beautiful that it hurt. Her world, that was; the little part of it that made her ache inside just to think she might lose it, now that losing Ladybower could happen. And losing Nun Ainsty, too, and everything that was dear and precious and familiar and safe.

Lorna flung her hat on the sofa then angrily tossed her prim white gloves to join it. Angrily, because she wasn’t getting her priorities right; because today her husband had gone to war and William going away into danger was surely more important than being invaded, even though invasion was a real possibility. Soon, some said. The tides were right. Stood to reason, didn’t it, that nothing would stop Hitler now.

‘What a time to be leaving you. God knows when I’ll get leave, the way things are.’ They had stood on the platform, waiting for doors to be slammed shut the length of the train, when couples would snatch one last kiss, whisper one last goodbye. ‘You’ll be all right, Lorna?’

‘Yes. You’re not to worry about me.’

Dammit, she wasn’t the only woman to see her husband go to war. Other wives managed, and so would she!

‘At least you’ll be all right for money – won’t go hungry waiting for the Army allowance to come through. You’re sure you can manage the bills?’

‘Yes, dear.’ William was talking pounds, shillings and pence again. ‘I do know how to write a cheque.’ She smiled to soften the rebuke.

‘And if you need help, there’s Gilbert and Nance, don’t forget. You’ve only got to ask, Nance said.’

‘Yes.’ Ask? Nance Ellery would be there in her WVS uniform, asked or not; self-appointed chatelaine of the village. And since the village had no resident vicar, Nance Ellery had taken to running the church, too, with a zeal fit to frighten St Philippa off her plinth. ‘You mustn’t worry about me, William. Take care of yourself. I’ll be fine.’ She wasn’t as helpless as he thought; she really wasn’t. All she wanted was the chance to prove it. ‘And I think it’s time …’ Doors were banging at the far end of the train.

‘Yes. Best be getting aboard.’ He reached for her, holding her close, patting her back, kissing her. ‘And I don’t want to be waved off. Too upsetting for you. Just give me a brave smile. No tears, eh?’

So they kissed once more and she waited until he was settled in the window seat of the first-class compartment, then held up a hand, wiggling her fingers in a gesture of goodbye. Then smiling tremulously she walked off, head high; was still smiling as she handed in her platform ticket.

And she would manage, she thought fiercely as she drove home. Grandpa had indulged her, then William had taken over. She had been a cosseted, obedient granddaughter and now, in the second year of her marriage was a cosseted, obedient wife. Nothing had changed. Not even her name. She walked down the aisle Lorna Hatherwood and had walked up it still Lorna Hatherwood. But when you marry a distant cousin, there’s a fair chance that you both share the same great-great-grandparents. And their name.

She drew in her breath then let it out slowly in an effort to sort out her muddled thoughts, find a reason for her dry-eyed lack of concern. And she should be concerned. Her husband had gone to war; she should be distressed and dismayed, and she was not, because William would be all right. William was always all right; he spent a great deal of time arranging his life so that absolutely nothing could or would dare to go wrong, even to joining the Army Reserve in 1938, when it was peace for our time, and Hitler had no more territorial demands in Europe. It was as if William knew a war would come and had set about arranging things to his best advantage.

He was an accountant, he had stressed, and it was a waste of a good brain to wait until war happened and he was forced to volunteer. And he was right, she supposed, because her husband would have made a poor job of being a foot soldier; would not have liked it one bit. So even before war was declared, William was a second lieutenant in the Royal Army Pay Corps of the Territorial Army, all set to become a barracks stanchion and to survive the fighting – if war happened, that was – whilst those less astute would stand a fair chance of being sent into danger. Or worse. And she did not blame him for doing such a thing, Lorna thought as she stuck out an arm and turned sharp right into the lane that led to Nun Ainsty. In his own mind he was doing his bit for King and Country, available for call-up long before his age group which, at thirty-two, probably wouldn’t have happened for many months. The fact that he had manoeuvred himself into a relatively safe job in the Pay Corps was up to him and his conscience, Lorna shrugged. As long as he was wearing a uniform she supposed it was all right. As always, William had got what he wanted and she would not weep for her loneliness. She would manage, she had vowed at the station, and discover for the first time in her twenty-three years what it was like to live her life without a man to protect her and smooth her way. Grandpa had gone to heaven and William had gone, nine months after war broke out, to the Pay Corps Somewhere in Wiltshire and from this minute on, Lorna Hatherwood had no one to look after her and no one to please but herself!

She fished in her pocket for her car keys and threw them to join the hat and gloves on the sofa, then gazed at the framed photograph of her husband in his uniform.

‘I’m not really as flippant as I’m trying to make out, William. I will miss you and I will worry about you even though you’ll be quite safe in Wiltshire for a time,’ she whispered. ‘But I need to find out what being my own woman is like, and not having to do what is expected of me, dear. I really do.’

Come to think of it, though, he didn’t have a lot of say in the matter. William was a long way away, and all alone. But then, if you thought about it, so was she.

She looked at the clock. Too early for lunch and anyway, she wasn’t hungry. Maybe a tin of soup, later on, and a chunk of bread. Right now, though, she was restless; she needed to come to terms with things, like William being a soldier for the duration and she being alone, rattling around in Ladybower like a pea in a tin can. Now, she must work out a timetable, eat three times a day as she had promised she would. Pity she couldn’t join something. She had thought, fleetingly, of asking Nance Ellery if the Women’s Voluntary Service needed anyone, but the thought of being bossed about by Nance put her off the idea. She would, of course, have to care for the garden now; seriously care for it and grow more vegetables as the government constantly reminded everyone. Digging for Victory, they called it.

‘So, Lorna – and this is the first and last time you’ll talk to yourself! – you’ll get smartly upstairs,’ she whispered to the frizzy-haired woman in the mirror, ‘change into something cooler, then go for a long walk and sort yourself out!’

And oh my word, she thought as she took the stairs two at a time, wasn’t life going to be one big barrel of laughs? She was tetchy already and William only three hours gone.

She made a moue of her mouth. She always screwed up her lips when in danger of tears, and tears would not do! There was a war on, the Germans were little more than twenty miles away across the Channel and hundreds and hundreds of our soldiers had died, not a month ago, on the beaches at Dunkirk.

So behave yourself, woman! Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Straighten your shoulders and get on with it like half the women in the country are having to do!

She took off her costume and best blouse, peeled off her stockings, slithered a flowered cotton frock over her head, then pushed her bare feet into scuffed brown sandals, tying back the thick mass of hair that William said she must never cut short. It wasn’t very ladylike, she supposed, to go out stockingless and gloveless but wasn’t she, from this day on, pleasing no one but herself?

Defiantly, she made for the front door.

The village of Nun Ainsty lay at the end of a long straight lane, the only way into it and out of it. At the top of the lane and across the busy main road was Meltonby, which had a general store and a school which Ainsty children – had there been any – would have attended. Meltonby also had a post office with a bus stop outside it and a regular bus service to York.

Lorna stopped at the lane end. Its real name was Priory Lane, but to Ainsty folk it was ‘the lane’, which they walked up to the main road or walked down to the scatter of houses that was Nun Ainsty. Not big enough to be called a village. A hamlet, really, a backwater, and she loved it.

She paused, watching the busy road, then looked down at her shoes as a truck of soldiers whistled at her as they sped past. She felt her cheeks redden. Men still dismayed her – apart from Grandpa God-rest-him, and William. Those two she felt at ease with but strange men, or men en masse like the whistling soldiers, she found difficult to cope with. All to do with her sheltered life, she supposed; because Ladybower and Ainsty had been the centre of her life ever since she could remember. She recalled when William, a tall, almost grown-up young man, had patted her head and given her a chocolate bar. She had blushed furiously and run into the garden. She would have choked on that chocolate had she known that little more than ten years on she would marry him.

But William had gone to war and she was trying to clear her head, get things in order in her mind. She turned her back on the main road and started off towards the village, face to the sun, and when she reached the pillar box, she would know she had walked a mile exactly. Thereafter, still trying to clear her head, she would walk around the Green, passing each house, maybe even stopping to tell anyone who might ask that yes, thank you, William had got away on time this morning and she was waiting to hear he was safely there, and what his new address was. She reached the pillar box and was about to turn left to walk the Green clockwise, when an unmistakable voice called,

‘Lorna, my dear! A minute!’

‘Nance. Hullo. What can I do for you?’ Nance Ellery always wanted something doing and Lorna had grown used to asking what it was.

‘A word. A word to the wise, you might say. I’m going to Meltonby.’ She nodded to the parcel in the basket of her cycle. ‘Half an hour, say …?’

‘Fine. Anything of importance, or just a chat?’

‘Tell you later.’ She never wasted time or words. ‘William got away all right, did he?’ she called over her shoulder as she pedalled off.

A word to the wise? Lorna frowned. A word of warning was it to be to a young wife newly deserted, about the dangers of being alone and fair game for serving men away from their wives and missing the comforts of home. And bed.

She turned right at the pillar box instead and walked the few yards to her home, because Nance Ellery was going to have her say and fill her head with doubts and innuendoes so that clearing it would be well nigh impossible.

She decided against soup for lunch and ate a chunk of bread instead. Then she took a hairbrush from the dresser drawer and pulled it through her thick, corkscrew curls, wincing as she did it, wishing her fair, frizzy hair was straight and sleek and black.

She glanced up to see Mrs Ellery leaning her cycle against the gate. She had been to the post office and back, and found time to change into her WVS uniform all in the space of half an hour. And because she was wearing her plum and green, Lorna knew that the word to the wise must also have a ring of officialdom about it because anything to do with the war or the church, anything remotely authoritative, warranted the wearing of the uniform.

‘My dear.’ Nance was a big woman and puffed a little, on occasions. ‘Can we sit down? The garden, maybe? We won’t be overheard?’

‘The garden it is. And there’ll be no one listening.’ The garden of Ladybower House was overlooked by Dickon’s Wood, and completely shut off. ‘But whatever is the matter? It seems urgent.’

‘It is, in a way. The thing is, Lorna, how many bedrooms have you got?’

‘Five. You know we have.’

‘Yes! But how many available? You’ve cleared the attics, haven’t you?’

‘Of course. As soon as the government said we had to.’ And the directive had made sense, Lorna supposed. Any room built into the roof space of any house was to be emptied immediately, because of the risk of fire bombs. Nasty things, fire bombs. They pierced roofs then burned fiercely and it wouldn’t have been a lot of use having to clear a way through years of clutter to get to the thing and put it out with sand. ‘We threw a lot of rubbish away, but what was left is stowed away in the small bedroom.’

‘Which virtually means you have two bedrooms only?’

‘I suppose so, but why do you ask?’ Nance was putting words into her mouth; that she had only one spare bedroom. ‘I mean, are you billeting again? Are you looking for places for evacuees?’ Lorna felt uneasy.

‘Not at the moment, though the way things are with the war, I soon will be, nothing is more certain!’

When war broke out, children had been evacuated from towns which would almost certainly be bombed. A straggle of children had walked around Nun Ainsty, labels on coats, possessions in brown paper bags. It had been Nance Ellery’s job to help the Billeting Officer find homes for them, Lorna recalled. She and William had been landed with four, and William had hated it. William and Lorna had no children of their own, nor were any planned in the near future, and William took exception to other people’s being thrust upon his peace and privacy. That they had quickly returned to Leeds and Manchester had been a relief, and her otherwise patriotic husband said he would set the dogs on the next Billeting Officer who showed her face at Ladybower’s door – if they’d had dogs, that was!

‘So it’s children again?’ Lorna was clearly worried.

‘Not just yet, and if you’re clever you can fill that spare room with an adult who’ll be no trouble, and company for you now that William’s away. A female, of course.’

‘W-what kind of a female?’

‘A female for Glebe Farm. A land girl.’

‘A woman at Glebe Farm?’ Kate Wintersgill wouldn’t take kindly to that! ‘Are you sure they need a land girl? Can’t Bob and Rowley manage?’

‘Seems not. They want more help. And it would be better for the woman to live elsewhere, and Kate knows it. Well you would, I mean, with a son with only one thing on his mind, if what I hear is to be believed!’

‘His mind? Rowley? What on his mind?’

‘You know full well what I mean! Young Rowley isn’t to be trusted when it comes to women. There’s no way I could stand by and see one exposed to him! And his mother knows it!’

‘But a land girl would be working there during the day, Nance …’

‘Then let’s hope she carries a pitch fork around with her, that’s all I can say. Anyway, Kate has agreed to a female worker, but not to sleep in. I’m asking you to take her, Lorna. Can you do it? It’s either her, or yelling kids.’

‘We-e-ll – I’m not sure. If William were here, you see …’

‘If William were here he’d say yes, you know he would. And there’ll be a billeting allowance of fourteen shillings a week and she’ll bring her own rations with her from the hostel.’

‘Hostel? The one at Meltonby? Then why can’t she stay there, like all the other land girls round these parts?’

‘Because the hostel is full to bursting. Now, are you going to take her or not? And before you answer, remember that this is a tiny place at the end of a lane, and if Hitler did decide to invade, he’ll probably never even find it! But there’s a real war going on at the top of that lane, and it’s fast catching up with us!’

‘I know it is, Nance. William went to join it, this morning.’

‘Sorry, my dear. You’ll be feeling cut up. Shouldn’t have sprung this on you so soon after, but it’s got to be today.’

‘Why has it?’

‘Because I’ve got to find her a billet and I thought about you – so will you take her?’

‘But when will she be coming? The bed isn’t made up. And will she keep decent hours – not come in late, or be noisy?’

And take over the bathroom and want to have her boyfriends in? Or would she be common, or swear? Taking another woman into your house, Lorna frowned, wasn’t something to be decided in half an hour!

‘She can make up her own bed, and I’m sure she’ll respect your home. If I were you, m’dear, I’d lay down house rules the minute she arrives. That way, you’ll both know where you stand.’

‘Arrives? You’ve decided then, Nance? Do I have a choice?’

‘Entirely up to you, but she’ll be the lesser of two evils. The way things are going with the war, the air raids are going to start, mark my words, then they’ll be closing city schools and evacuating the children again. And you know William doesn’t like other people’s children.’

‘William isn’t here to object!’

‘No. But if he knew …’

‘I know! He’d tell me to take the woman in.’

‘That’s settled, then! Mind if I use your phone – tell the warden at the hostel that Miss Nightingale can come?’

‘Be my guest. You know where it is.’

She knew when she was beaten, and even as she heard Nance Ellery ask for the Meltonby number, Lorna found herself wondering if her new lodger’s name would be Florence. Just to think of it made her want to giggle hysterically.

The land girl was not in the least bit Florence Nightingal-ish. She was, in spite of the pale blue shirt and overalls she wore, strikingly beautiful.

‘Is this Ladybower House, and are you Mrs Hathaway?’

‘Hatherwood.’ Lorna held out a hand. ‘And your name isn’t Florence – is it?’

‘Nah! Though a lot of people call me Flo! Actually, me Nan wanted me to be called Ariadne. “They’ll never shorten that to Flo,” she said. But me Mam hit the roof and said I’d have trouble for the rest of me life with a name like Ariadne and said it was to be Agnes, after me auntie. So if you don’t mind it’s either Ness or Flo.’

‘Will Ness do?’ Lorna smiled.

‘Smashin’. Now, mind if I leave these cases? There’s a couple more I’ll have to go back for. You’d be surprised how much kit they give you.’

‘It’s a long way. Surely you didn’t walk?’

‘Nah! They gave me a bike. It’s at your front gate. Won’t be long.’

‘I’ll be making tea at three-thirty, Ness. That should give you enough time, there and back.’

Ness Nightingale. Lorna stood at the gate and watched her go. Hair black as the night, eyes dark and mischievous, and the loveliest smile you ever did see. Maybe it would turn out all right. Maybe she and Miss Nightingale – Ness – would be able to get along fine, given time of course, and a bit of give and take. After all, there was a war on and, if Nance Ellery was to be believed, it wouldn’t be long before everyone, civilians included, would know about it. Granted, Nun Ainsty was a tucked-away little place, but the war was only at the top of the lane, the whistling soldiers were proof of it! So best she count her blessings, take in the land girl, dig like mad in the garden for Victory and write every day to William, Somewhere in Wiltshire. That, and keeping cheerful as the government wanted everyone to do in times such as these, would be sufficient to be going on with.

‘Right, then! Airing cupboard!’

There was the spare room bed to be made up and towels put out, and the wardrobe and drawers checked for dust and clean lining paper laid in them. She would do all she could to make her lodger comfortable, even though she wasn’t at all sure she wanted another woman in her house so soon after William had gone.

But she couldn’t be sure of anything just now. Strange, that only this morning William had sat at the kitchen table, eating his breakfast in the most normal way, yet now they were miles apart, and she had a lodger.

‘Oh, damn Hitler and damn the war!’

Lorna heaved the mattress over, letting it fall with a thud and a bounce, feeling better for doing something physical. Then she gave all her attention to Ness Nightingale and her black, shining hair and thought how very unfair life could be at times.

‘Would you like to see the village?’ Lorna asked when supper had been eaten. ‘I could show you who lives where. It won’t take long, and it’s such a lovely night and – and …’

And she felt so restless, truth known, and almost certainly the cause of it was the woman who had taken over her spare room, eaten supper in her kitchen and was now saying that yes of course she would like to see the village and would it be all right for them to walk as far as Glebe Farm – just so she would know how long it would take her to get there in the morning?

‘I’m to start at seven. Better not be late on my first day, had I?’

‘You won’t be late, Miss Nightingale. It’s only a cock’s stride away. I’ll show you. Leave the dishes. I’ll do them later.’

‘We’ll do them later. And could you call me Ness? Miss Nightingale’s a bit formal, innit? You do want me here? It wasn’t my fault the hostel was full.’

‘Miss – Ness – I do want you here. It’s just that this morning I had a husband at home, and tonight I’ve got a land girl, and it’ll take me a little time to get things sorted in my head. And I think you had better call me Lorna – if it’s all right with you?’ she whispered uneasily.

‘Mm. Better’n Mrs Hatherwood – especially as you’re younger than me.’

‘Am I?’ Lorna was unused to such directness. ‘I – I’m twenty-three.’

‘I’m twenty-five – just. And I promise to try not to be too much of a nuisance. And you mightn’t have to put up with me for too long. I’m sure they’ll take me into the hostel as soon as there’s a place.’

‘Would you prefer that – being with a crowd of girls?’

‘Nah. Being here’s going to be better than that old hostel. Me bedroom’s lovely and it’s smashin’ being able to look out and see nothin’ but trees.’

‘That’s Dickon’s Wood.’

‘Oh, ar. And who’s Dickon when he’s at home?’

‘Tell you later. This village has quite a history, you know.’

‘An’ it’s got a funny name, an’ all – funny-peculiar, I mean.’

‘Nun Ainsty? We mostly call it Ainsty. But I’ll tell you how it got its name as we do our tour of inspection. It won’t take long, that’s for sure. There are only ten houses – eleven if you count the manor. But the manor’s been empty for years and years. So, if you’re ready …?’

They walked around the village, past Dickon’s Wood and the White Hart public house and the Saddlery. And Throstle Cottage.

‘Throstle?’ Ness wrinkled her nose.

‘It’s the old name for a song thrush. There are a lot of them in the wood. They’ll probably wake you early with their singing.’

‘Don’t think I’ve ever seen a thrush – not even in the park. Sparrows, mostly, and pigeons down at the Pierhead.’

‘Pierhead? I thought you were from Liverpool.’

‘S’right. Good old Liverpewl. I love it to bits, but I couldn’t wait to get out of the dump. There’s a big munitions factory being built outside Liverpewl and people reckon there’ll be work for thousands, when it’s done. But I decided on the Land Army. Always wondered what life was like in the country.’

‘And you’ll soon know. You’ll be living in the country for the duration.’

‘I know. Scares me a bit. I didn’t know there was so much space, so much sky, till I seen this place. Sky everywhere, isn’t there?’

‘Everywhere, as you say. But often there are bombers in it – ours, of course. There are quite a few bomber stations around here. Sometimes the planes fly very low, but you’ll get used to it. But over there – look! You can see Glebe Farm, with the ruins behind it.’

‘Ruins of what? Cromwell at it around here, was he?’

‘Actually it was Henry the Eighth who was responsible for the priory. Fell out with the Pope, and turned against the Church; said it was getting too rich and above itself. It was he who turned the nuns out of the priory, sent his hangers-on to take off the roof. Then they looted everything of value and left the place to decay. Pity, really, because it was run by a nursing order. They took in lepers. It was the only building here, apart from the chapel and the three almshouses. It had to be well away from habitation.’

‘Lepers? Aren’t they the poor sods who had to ring a bell and shout “Unclean” so people would know to get out of their way?’

‘The same. They made their way to the priory to die, I suppose. If you look beyond the ruins to your right, you can see the back of the manor.’

‘Pity,’ Ness sighed, ‘about the ruins and the manor all empty. And a pity about them poor lepers, an’ all.’

‘Suppose it is. See the little church over there?’ Lorna pointed to the small, stone chapel, surrounded by green grass. It had no stained glass windows, no belltower. ‘St Philippa’s. Only tiny. The nuns built it as a chapel for the lepers to pray in. Henry’s wreckers left it alone, thank goodness. The lepers were buried around it when they died. And people who died of the plague or cholera were brought here for burial from other parts, too, because it was so out of the way. No gravestones for them, but at least they’ll never be disturbed. Did you know, Ness, that even now, no one is keen to disturb a cholera grave? They say it lives on, in the soil, though I very much doubt it.’

‘There was a cholera epidemic in Liverpool about a hundred years ago. I think a lot of the dead were thrown into an old wooden ship, then it was towed down the Mersey and out to sea, and blown up. Reckon them poor people would’ve rather been here.’

‘Well, if you’re interested, we have a service at St Philippa’s every other week.’

‘And you aren’t worried about catching anything?’ Ness frowned.

‘Not at all. It’s a dear little chapel. Are you C of E?’

‘Me Mam is. I’m nuthin’, though I suppose if I had to stand up and be counted, I’m Church of England. In Liverpewl we’re called Protties – well, that’s what the Cathlicks call us. A lot of them around Liverpewl. Came over from Ireland, because of the famine. Suppose it’s what makes Liverpewl what it is – the people, I mean. I’ll miss the people, but it’ll be smashing, bein’ in the country, hearing birds singing.’

‘It’ll make a change. Walk past quickly! There’s Nance Ellery in her garden and I don’t want to see her, if you don’t mind. She’s all right, but she likes to boss people around so don’t say you haven’t been warned. Beech Tree House, her place is called, because of the three beeches in front of it.’ Lorna slowed her step once more. ‘And next to Beech Tree is Larkspur Cottage, where the district nurse lives. Then right at the end, near the lane, are the almshouses – they survived the wreckers and vandals too. Pillar box to your right, and that’s about it. You’ve toured Nun Ainsty, Ness, in fifteen minutes flat, walking slowly!’

‘And it’s beautiful. All trees and flowers and – and –’

‘Sky?’ Lorna grinned.

‘Yes, and birds. But you never told me about Dickon – him the wood was called after.’

‘We-e-ll, Dickon was an ostler. Looked after Sir Francis Ainsty’s horses in York. Sir Francis had a daughter Ursula, who became a nun.’

‘At the priory here?’

‘Yes, though reluctantly. Ursula, an only child and heiress, couldn’t get a husband. She was considered ugly, you see. And since no man wanted an unmarried daughter on his hands in those days, Francis Ainsty sent Ursula to the nuns, paid them a good sum of money to take her, and made his nephew his heir.’

‘The miserable old devil! Surely Ursula wasn’t that ugly? I mean, wouldn’t her father’s money have made her just a little bit attractive?’

‘Seems not. Anyway, legend has it that no one offered for her, so her fate was sealed, as they say.’

‘Was she a hunchback, or somethin’?’

‘No. Far worse than that in the eyes of the people of Tudor England. Ursula had a harelip and a cleft palate too, I think, because she was supposed not to be able to speak properly.’

‘But things like that don’t matter these days. There’s an operation for it, isn’t there?’

‘Yes. As you say, it can be fixed nowadays. But four hundred years ago, people were very superstitious, and anyone born with a harelip was avoided like the plague, because they thought that if a hare ran across the path of a pregnant woman, it caused her baby to have a hare’s lip. Witchcraft.’

‘What a load of old rubbish!’

‘Ah, but was it, Ness? In those days, people believed in witches and a hare – a black cat, too – were thought to be familiars of a witch.’

‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’

‘A familiar was another form a witch could take when she was up to no good, so a pregnant woman, startled by a hare, paid the price for it.’

‘Or her poor little baby did! But what about Dickon?’

‘Dickon was ordered by Sir Francis to deliver Ursula to the convent, the two of them riding horses. Ursula wept all the way there and Dickon was so upset that he proposed to her – or so the story goes.’

‘But she wouldn’t have him, him bein’ a peasant, sort of, and her bein’ high born?’

‘Wrong! Ursula accepted. Dickon had always been fond of his master’s daughter and protective towards her and couldn’t bear to see her locked away. And he wasn’t marrying her for her money because she’d been disinherited. You’ve got to admire Dickon.’ Lorna pushed open the back garden gate. ‘I feel like a cup of tea. Will you put the kettle on, Ness, and I’ll see if there’s been a call for me.’

‘From your husband? Lucky you’ve got a phone in the house.’ Few people had their own telephone. There had not been one in Ness’s Liverpool home. Very middle class, telephones were. She set the kettle to boil and had laid a tray by the time Lorna returned.

‘No joy. Mrs Benson from the telephone exchange at Meltonby said she hadn’t had any trunk calls from down south all day. Says her switchboard has gone over all peculiar since Dunkirk. Anyway, I wasn’t really expecting a call. More chance of a letter tomorrow, or the next day.’

‘Sorry, Lorna. Must be rotten when your feller goes off to the Army.’

‘Rotten. But I haven’t really taken it in. It feels like I’m in a daze, kind of. I – I haven’t cried, Ness. Not one tear.’

‘No, but you will when it hits you, queen. But if you don’t feel like tellin’ me about Dickon and Ursula, it’s all right.’

‘Oh, but I do. Having someone to talk to helps a lot, believe me. Where were we?’

‘We’d got to the bit where Dickon asked Ursula to marry him, even though she didn’t have a penny to her name.’

‘And Ursula accepted him, but I suppose they couldn’t just gallop off into oblivion. After all, Sir Francis would expect his servant back in York – plus two horses – so they decided Ursula should wait until the next saint’s day to run away. Sir Francis always gave his servants time off to go to church on saints’ days, so that was when it would be. Dickon would come and wait for Ursula who would slip away when no one was looking.’

‘And he’d wait for her in the wood – bet I’m right!’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t as easy as they’d hoped. Three saints’ days came and went, but getting out of the priory wasn’t as easy as Ursula had expected. In the end, she became desperate and tried to climb out of the window of her cell. But she fell and hurt herself badly. It didn’t stop her, though, from dragging herself to the wood. She died in Dickon’s arms.’

‘Gawd. And what did Dickon do then?’

‘No one seems to know. He just faded out of the picture, so to speak.’

‘So why is it called Dickon’s Wood?’

‘We-e-ll – and I tell you this tongue in cheek, Ness – Ursula is supposed to haunt the wood, waiting for Dickon to come for her!’

‘Ooooh! You haven’t seen her?’

‘To be honest, no one has seen her.’

‘But there must be some truth in it, or why did they call this village Nun Ainsty after her? Like keeping her name alive, innit?’

‘I rather think the people who came here all those years ago kept her name alive to make sure not too many more joined them. It wasn’t long after Ursula died that the nuns were turned out of the priory, and once the king had taken all he wanted, a blind eye was turned to the looting that went on. With the roof gone, the building started to decay. All that was any use was a pile of stones and quite a lot of land.’

‘And the people who came here weren’t afraid of germs an’ things the lepers had left behind?’

‘Seems not. Would you be, when there was priory land for the grabbing and stone to build your house with? Of course, the building material soon ran out. The manor took the lion’s share, and then Glebe Farm was built. Very soon, all that was left was what you see now – archways and columns and some of the cloisters.’

‘But weren’t people worried, pulling down a holy place? Didn’t they fear punishment from God?’

‘Why should they? Henry had made himself head of the English church. If the king could help himself, then surely so could anyone else.’

‘You reckon?’ Ness was clearly impressed. ‘You live nearest to the wood. Can you say, hand on heart, that the nun has never been seen there?’

‘You mean the nun’s ghost? Well all I can say, hand on heart, is that if she has I haven’t heard about it. Mind, Grandpa told me people said they’d seen her ages ago, on the odd occasion, though maybe they’d had a drop too much at the White Hart. But I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over Dickon and Ursula, if I were you.’

‘But haven’t you thought,’ Ness was reluctant to let the matter drop, ‘that every house in this village is built with stone from the priory, so who’s to say that every house isn’t haunted by Ursula? Or Dickon?’

‘Because they aren’t. It’s all a lot of nonsense. I’m sorry I told you now. You aren’t going to keep on and on about it, Ness?’

‘N-no. But I’ve got to admit I’d like to know more about those two, ‘cause there’s no smoke without fire, don’t they say? And had you thought, maybe it’s only certain people the nun appears to. I mean, I don’t suppose everybody can see ghosts.’

‘No one in this village can, that’s for sure. Anyhow, I think I’ll go and settle down. I want to write to William so there’ll be a letter ready to post as soon as I have an address.’

‘And I still have unpacking to do,’ said Ness reluctantly. ‘By the way, thanks for takin’ me in. This is a lovely house and I don’t mind it bein’ so near to Dickon’s Wood.’

She said it teasingly and with a smile, so that Lorna smiled back, silently vowing to say not one more word on the subject; wishing she had left Ursula Ainsty where she rightly belonged. Very firmly in the past!

Ness closed her eyes and breathed deeply on air so clean and fresh you wouldn’t believe it. Around her, all was green. Every front garden was flower-filled and roses climbed the creamy stones of age-old houses. This was an unbelievable place; so tucked away – smug, almost, in its seclusion at the end of a lane. People back home would be amazed to see so much space belonging to so few people. But one thing was certain. It wouldn’t take long to get to know the entire village. She had already passed the almshouses and Larkspur Cottage where the nurse lived and now, to her left, was Beech Tree House where someone called Nance lived; someone, Ness suspected, who could be a bit of a martinet, given half a chance.

She stood a while outside the tiny chapel, wondering about the sleeping dead around it and how the lepers had fared when there were no nuns to care for them. Probably they were doing a bit of haunting, an’ all, ringing their pathetic bells still.

Then she stopped her dawdling and daydreaming. There was a war on and Agnes Nightingale from Liverpool was about to become a part of it, a land girl for the duration of hostilities. At seven on the dot she was supposed to join her war, and it was almost that now.

She began to run, turning the corner to see the farmhouse ahead of her, and to her right the stark ruins, already throwing long, strange shadows in the early morning sun. A dog barked and she hoped it was friendly.

‘Hey! You!’

‘You talkin’ to me?’ she demanded of the young man who was closing a field gate behind him. ‘Me name’s Miss Nightingale!’

‘And mine’s Rowland Wintersgill and you’re late. Milking’s over. Still, suppose you can muck out. Better go to the cow shed – make yourself known to my father.’

‘Yes sir! And can you tell me, if you don’t mind, if there are any more at home like you, ’cause if there are I’m not stopping!’

Head high, she followed his pointing finger, then carefully crossed the yard, avoiding pats of dung.

The cow shed smelled warmly of cows and milk. She supposed she would get used to it. And sweeping it.

‘Hullo, there. Our land girl, is it?’ A man, leaning on a brush, smiled and held out a hand. ‘I’m Bob Wintersgill. I’ll take you to meet Kate. Have you had breakfast, by the way?’

‘I – well, yes. Before I came.’ A piece of bread and a smear of jam because she had been unwilling to eat Lorna’s rations.

‘Well, we usually eat after we’ve got the cows milked. You’ll be welcome to a bite.’

‘Sure you can spare it – rationing, I mean …?’

‘I think it’ll run to a bacon sandwich and a mug of tea. Farmers don’t do too badly for food.’

‘Then I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea – if you’re brewin’.’ She returned the smile. ‘And to meet the lady of the house. I’m sorry I was late. Seven o’clock I was told to be here.’

‘That’ll be fine, till you get used to things, and oh – a rule of the house! You wash your hands after you’ve been in the cow shed. In the pump trough. Towel on the door; soap beside the pump. Very particular, Kate is.’

She would like Farmer Wintersgill, Ness thought as she lathered and rinsed; hoped she would like his wife, too. Yet she knew without a second thought that she would never like their son. And that was a pity, really, because she was going to have to work with him for years and years, maybe. For the duration of hostilities, she supposed. And how long that duration was going to last was anybody’s guess. Especially since Dunkirk, and the mess we were in now!

‘I’m sorry,’ Ness said when she had eaten a bacon sandwich and swallowed a mug of strong, sweet tea, ‘if I’m not goin’ to be very good at farming at first. Being in the country is new to me and I know I’ve got a lot to learn and that I’ll make mistakes. But I hope you’ll be patient with me.’

‘And the answer to that, lass, is that the woman who never made mistakes never did any work! You’ll learn, and I hope you’ll come to like it here,’ Kate Wintersgill said softly. ‘And don’t you take any nonsense from that son of mine. Just give back as good as you get! Now, want some toast? Another cup?’

‘Ooh, no thanks. That butty was lovely.’

‘Ah. Home-cured bacon, you see. Anyway, Rowley’s working in the top field, so can you help my man with the mucking out? It’s a messy job, but it’s got to be done. Have you got gum boots with you? If not, there’s plenty in the outhouse by the back door. There’ll be a pair to fit you. Off you go then, lass!’

Ness sighed. She had laid out her working clothes so carefully last night: dungarees and a pale blue shirt over a chair to avoid creasing, yet now here she was, folding her trouser-legs around her calves, shoving her feet into gum boots a size too small. And what she would look like when she had helped clean the cow shed was best not thought about. Thank heaven soap wasn’t rationed and that there was a wash house at the hostel if ever she needed it! She wondered, as she began to sweep, what the girls in the salon would say if they could see her now. Trying not to breathe too deeply, she shut Liverpool and everything connected with it from her mind.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ said her new employer, who cheerfully hosed water up walls and splashed it over the concrete floor.

‘Ar.’ She forced a smile then thought about the bacon sandwich and wanted to be sick. ‘Reckon I will, at that!’

Lorna received William’s first letter, which was very short.

Arrived safely, three hours late. This far, Army life doesn’t appear too bad. This brief note is to send you my address.

I miss you. Take care of yourself.

Lorna smiled tremulously, then taking the already-written letter, she added a postscript.

Thanks for yours. I miss you, too. Take care and write again as soon as you can.

Then she sealed the envelope and made for the pillar box. There was only one collection in Ainsty; at noon, when the red GPO van delivered parcels and envelopes too bulky for the postman, then emptied the pillar box outside the front gate of Ladybower House.

Soon her letter would be on its way to William, and she wondered why she had not mentioned that hardly had he been gone when Nance Ellery arrived with a land girl. But she knew she had not mentioned Ness because having got rid of troublesome evacuees, William would not be at all pleased to be told that his home had once again been invaded. And without his permission, too!

‘Hullo! Are you Mrs Hatherwood – does Agnes Nightingale live here?’

A young woman dressed in a short cotton frock stood at the gate. ‘I’m the warden of the hostel at Meltonby. I’ve brought you Agnes’s rations and a week’s billeting allowance. Think it’s best we do it on a weekly basis – not knowing how long she’ll be with you, I mean …’

‘Just as you wish. Ness – er – Agnes seems no trouble at all. Got herself up and off to work this morning without awakening me. I felt quite guilty.’

‘Then don’t, Mrs Hatherwood. You aren’t expected to wait on her, you know. And I’ll give her a bed at the hostel just as soon as I can.’

‘B-but I thought she was with me permanently.’ Hadn’t Nance said it would be either the land girl or children?

‘Only if you want her to be. I must say we’re full at the hostel, though, and it would help if she could stay permanently with you. Be nearer her work, too.’

‘Well – I’ve got a spare room and I don’t think Agnes will be any trouble.’ Not as much trouble as children. ‘Shall we give it a try for a month? See how things go?’

‘Very well. Next week I’ll leave you a ration card for four weeks when I bring the billeting allowance.’ She smiled, holding out her hand. ‘And thanks a lot.’

Lorna thought afterwards that she would have to tell William about Ness and that she had practically offered to have her in the spare room on a permanent basis. And then she reminded herself there was a war on and no one, not even William, had the right to expect that an Englishman’s home was his castle, because it wasn’t; not any longer. And she liked Ness. She was cheerful and appreciative and would be company for her, especially through a long, dark winter. Did she really have a choice when the war was going so badly for us, with Hitler’s armies waiting to invade. And France and Belgium and Holland and Norway and Denmark occupied. And as if we weren’t deep enough in trouble, Italy ganging up with Hitler and declaring war on Britain in the biggest back-stab since the Battle of Bosworth!

So she would tell William about Ness; she would have to. But she would not apologize for taking her in. Being stuck at the end of a lane in the back of beyond would not guarantee Ainsty’s safety if Hitler chose to invade or sent his bombers to fly over it!

‘Sorry, William.’ She picked up his photograph. ‘I love you dearly and I wish you hadn’t gone to war, but even in Nun Ainsty things must change.’

Every village, town and city was at war and it was up to her to make the best of it, like every other woman. And she would try, she really would, to take care of Ladybower so that when it was all over and William came safely home, they could carry on as before – have the child she wanted so much.

Gently she replaced the photograph then stood to gaze out of the window at a garden glorious with June flowers. The grass so green, the roses so thick and scented, and behind it Dickon’s Wood to shade it in summer and shelter it in winter from the cold north-easterly winds.

Dear Ladybower, in which she had grown up. She loved it passionately and could find it within her to hate anyone who would take it from her or bomb it or set it ablaze in the name of war. So she would care for it and fight to keep it until the war was over. And Ness, who had left her home to do her bit for the war effort, would be made welcome at Ladybower for as long as it took, and tonight, when she wrote again to her husband, she would tell him all about her and how lucky they were to have her and remind him, ever so gently, how much better Ness would be than the evacuees he’d been glad to see the back of.

But then, William had never really liked children – not other people’s. She hoped he would like his own – when they had them, that was. When the war was over. In a million years …

And she wasn’t weeping! She damn well wasn’t!