Читать книгу A Scent of Lavender - Elizabeth Elgin - Страница 6

‘’S only me!’ Ness kicked off her shoes at the back door, then sniffed appreciatively. ‘Sumthin’ smells good!’

‘Stew. The warden brought your rations today. Gave me a piece of shin beef; enough for both of us for two days. Vegetables nearly done. Do you want to change?’

‘Not ’alf. Can’t you smell me?’ Ness couldn’t get the cow shed stink out of her nostrils. ‘Bet everybody in the village got a whiff of me on the way home.’

‘You aren’t too bad – honest. Probably your shoes. How was it today?’

‘Tell you when I’ve got out of these overalls. And I’ve got messages to give to Goff and Martha at the almshouses, but it’ll wait till after supper. Won’t be long!’

And she was gone, taking the stairs two at a time before Lorna could tell her what she had read in the morning paper; something so frightening that it had to be shared.

‘Look – before we eat,’ she whispered when Ness appeared wearing a cotton frock and smelling of Vinolia soap. ‘This morning – in the paper – I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind all day.’

‘Don’t tell me Hitler’s askin’ for an armistice!’

‘Nothing as wonderful as that! Listen – I’ll read it. It must have come from the government; the papers wouldn’t have dared print it if not. It’s headed, WHAT DO I DO and it goes on to say, “If I hear news that Germans are trying to land, or have landed? I remember that this is the moment to act like a soldier”,’ she said chokily. ‘“I do not get panicky. I stay put. I say to myself; Our soldiers will deal with them. I do not say I must get out of here.”’ She lowered the paper, sucking in her breath. ‘Anyway, Ness, I wouldn’t even think of getting out of Ainsty. It’s as safe as anywhere – well, isn’t it?’

‘Reckon this place would take a bit of finding, queen. But is that it?’

‘No. There’s more. It says I must remember that fighting men must have clear roads. I do not go onto the road on a bicycle, in a car or on foot. Whether I am at home or at work, I just stay put. And it ends with, “Cut This Out and Keep It”.’ She gazed into Ness’s eyes, begging comfort. ‘It’s more serious than I thought. And look at this cartoon!’ She laid the newspaper on the table, pointing to it with a forefinger stiff with fear. ‘Look at him! It makes you want to weep, doesn’t it?’

The cartoon showed a steel-helmeted British soldier, feet apart, rifle in his right hand, left arm extended in defiance at planes flying overhead. And he was saying, ‘Very well! Alone!’

‘Ar, hey. You’re right, Lorna. We’re up the creek and no messin’. Suppose we’ve been trying to kid ourselves everything would be all right, but maybe it isn’t goin’ to be.’

‘Maybe. Ness – when your warden came this morning, she seemed to think that you being at Ladybower was only temporary, but I told her I’d like you and me to give it a try – a month, say – and she said it was OK by her. I hadn’t read the paper when I asked if you could be here permanently, but now I really, really want you to stay. I’m not very brave, you see, and if there were the two of us it might not seem so bad.’

‘Ar. That’s nice you wanting me an’ of course I’d like to stay. But hadn’t you thought, queen, it’s likely to be on the south coast – If it happens. It’s them poor beggars who’ll cop it before you an’ me will.’

‘William is in the south,’ Lorna said dully.

‘Ar, but he’s with soldiers and they’ll have rifles and hand grenades and machine guns.’

‘In the Pay Corps?’ She ran her tongue round dry lips. ‘Mind, William learned to shoot when he was in the Territorials.’

‘And he’ll be all right, same as you and me will! As for this country being alone, well, I suppose we are. But Hitler’s got to cross the channel, hasn’t he? And what’s it called, eh? The English Channel! And we got most of our soldiers back from France, don’t forget, and we’ve got a Navy, an’ all! You aren’t goin’ to tell me our Navy’s goin’ to let them Jairmans set foot on English soil without a fight, now, are you?’

‘But Ness, there’s something else. Flora Petch – y’know, the district nurse from Larkspur Cottage. Well, she told me she saw men taking down the signpost at the top of the lane; taking the arms down, that was. They told her it was so German parachutists wouldn’t know where they had landed if there were no names on signposts. And the men said that railways were doing the same. No more names on stations. Nobody’ll know where they are any more!’

‘So what? Neither will them parachutists, if they come! Ooh, I hate that Hitler, but let’s not let him spoil our supper, eh? It’s just what he wants, innit; us running round like headless chickens, so you and me won’t oblige, eh? We’ll eat our supper and then we’ll worry about being invaded.’

‘And you’ll stay, Ness? You don’t mind that I asked the warden if it could be on a permanent basis?’

“Course I don’t. And we aren’t entirely on our own, y’know. I heard it on the wireless at Glebe Farm that the first convoy of Australian and New Zealand soldiers has arrived to help us out. So bully for them, eh, and good on them coming, just when we need them.’

‘You’re right. I’d say it was pretty bloody marvellous them coming all that way to fight for a country they none of them ever thought to see. And the word invasion is banned for the rest of the day! Right?’

But for all her sudden defiance, Lorna was afraid and wished desperately that William could be with her. William would have known what to do if parachutists dropped in one of the fields around. But William was a long way away, Somewhere in Wiltshire, so there was nothing for it but to get on with it as best she could; as best she and Ness could, that was. And oh, thank the dear heaven for the land girl from Liverpool!

Ness made for the almshouses to her left, across the Green. Three of them, built more than four hundred years ago for the nuns at the priory and not considered important enough to be destroyed by Tudor vandals. Goff Leaman lived in one of them and Martha Hugwitty in another. Of the occupant of the middle one, Ness knew little, save that he was sometimes there and sometimes he wasn’t.

‘Mr Leaman?’ she asked of the man who stood in the tiny front garden who had already stuck his spade into the ground at her approach, and now regarded her with unashamed curiosity.

‘That’s me. You’ll be the land girl from Glebe?’

‘Mm. I’ve got a message from Mr Wintersgill. He said could you get your body and your shotgun up to the farm tomorrow early. Says he’s got cartridges. You’re going to be shooting rabbits, aren’t you?’

‘That’s the general idea. And before you start worrying about them fluffy little bunnies, let me tell you they’re a dratted nuisance and do a lot of damage. Vermin, that’s what. They make a grand stew, for all that. Starting the haymaking, are they?’

‘That’s right. I did hear Rowley say he’d be up good and early to open up the field, whatever that means.’

‘It means, lass, that he’ll cut a road round the field so the machinery can get in. Do it by hand, with a scythe, and by the time it’s finished, the rest of the field will have the night dew off it and be dry enough for the mower. And you’d better call me Goff. Everyone else does. Short for Godfrey.’

‘And I’m Ness,’ she smiled. ‘Short for Agnes. See you tomorrow, then.’

‘You’ll not be in the hayfield? Not a place for amateurs, tha’ knows.’

‘No. I’ll be helping in the farmhouse. There’ll be the cooking to do for family and helpers, so I think I’ll be more use in the kitchen – till I’ve learned a bit more about things. I’ll probably feed the hens, an’ all, and collect the eggs and wipe them,’ she said knowledgeably, having this afternoon been initiated into the poultry side of the business. She had enjoyed that part of it much more than the cow shed bit. ‘Ah, well. See you.’

Goff Leaman watched her go. A bonny lass with a right grand smile and friendly with it, an’ all. A town lass, without a doubt, but willing to learn it seemed. Should do all right in Ainsty, if she could stand the quiet of the country.

He squinted up into the sky as a bomber flew over, far too low, in his opinion, for safety. Off bombing tonight, he supposed.

He shrugged, picking up his spade, grateful that having done his bit in the trenches in the Great War, he was a mite too old for this one!

‘Miss Hugwitty?’ Ness smiled down at the small, elderly woman. ‘I’m the new girl from Glebe Farm and Mrs Wintersgill wants to know if you could help in the kitchen, them bein’ busy with the hay. Starting tomorrow.’

‘Come in, lass. Was wondering when I’d be hearing. Always help Kate at busy times. They’re late with hay this year. Usually they like to start about Barnaby.’

‘Er –?’

‘Barnaby time. St Barnabas’ Day – eleventh of June. Mind, we had two weeks of wet weather, recent, so it’ll have put things back a bit. Sit you down.’ She nodded towards the wooden rocker beside the fireplace. ‘And what do they call you, then?’

‘Agnes Nightingale, though people call me Ness. And I’m twenty-five and from Liverpool, and I’m not courting.’

Best tell her, sooner than later. Beady-eyed people like Martha Hugwitty always found out in the end.

‘Ah. Well, you’re a bonny lass, so you soon will be. Courting, I mean. There’s not much to choose from in the village with Tuthey’s twins away in the Navy – apart from young Rowley at the farm. But there’s a few young men across the top road at Meltonby. And York is full of RAF lads; aerodromes all around these parts. You’ll not go short of a dancing partner if you’re not already spoken for, that is.’

‘Like I just said, I’m not going steady and I’m not looking, either. See you tomorrow, then?’

Ness got to her feet. Time she was going. Martha Hugwitty had been told all that was good for her to know about Glebe Farm’s land girl. ‘And nice meetin’ you.’

Martha closed the door, nodding with satisfaction. Interesting, the lass was. Very pretty and twenty-five and not courting. Peculiar, to say the least. Young man been killed, perhaps? Agnes Nightingale, whose eyes held secrets to be probed by someone like herself, possessed of the gift. Likely the lass would have an interesting palm as well, could she but get a look at it. She shrugged, turning on the wireless for the evening news.

The pips that signalled nine o’clock pinged out. The land girl could wait. Until tomorrow.

‘There you are!’ Ness found Lorna in the garden, pulling weeds. ‘Messages delivered.’

‘Good. The two of them always help out at the farm. Both glad of the money, I think. But that’s enough for one night. I’ll come inside now, and wash my hands.’

‘That Martha is a bit of a busybody.’ Ness followed Lorna into the house. ‘Got real beady eyes, like little gimlets.’

‘She’s all right, once you get to know her. But don’t let her tell your fortune.’

‘Bit of a fraud, is she?’

‘Far from it! A lot of the things she’s told people have come true – those who’ll admit having been to her, that is. And you are right about her eyes, Ness. They do look into your soul, kind of. It wouldn’t surprise me if she were a medium, on the quiet. Oh, drat! That’s the phone! Answer it, will you, whilst I dry my hands.’

‘Meltonby 223.’ Ness spoke slowly and carefully into the receiver.

‘Hullo! Lorna?’

‘Sorry, no. I’m Ness. Lorna’s here now. I think it’s your William,’ she mouthed, closing the door behind her. And just what the girl needed; cheer her up with a bit of good news and reassurance. But the news it would seem had not been good, and reassurance thin on the ground, judging from the downcast mouth and tear-bright eyes.

‘Lorna, girl, what is it? Not bad news?’

‘No. As a matter of fact there wasn’t a lot of news, good or bad. William spent the entire three minutes telling me off.’

‘Why? What have you done to upset him?’

‘I didn’t tell him about you. He got a shock, he said, when a strange voice answered. I should have told him in my letter and to cut a long story short, he says I mustn’t have you here.’

‘Well, it’s his house, innit? Suppose you’d better tell them at the hostel.’ A pity, Ness brooded. She was really getting to like it at Ladybower. ‘I’ll go as soon as there’s a bed for me. And sorry if I got you into trouble – me answering the phone, I mean.’

‘No, Ness! It wasn’t your fault, and I don’t want you to go! I don’t care what William says. The evacuees we had to take put him off, you see. He said good riddance to them when they left. But he shouldn’t object to a grown-up who’s hardly ever in the house.’

‘Poor love. He gave you a bad time because of me, when all you wanted to hear was that he was missing you and that he loves you,’ Ness soothed.

‘Afraid so. Do you know, if anything awful happened to me, he’d have it on his conscience that the last words he said to me were, “See Nance Ellery in the morning and tell her to find somewhere else for the woman to stay. Is that clear?” Then the pips went. He must have known we’d only get three minutes on a long-distance call, and he wasted them.’ She blinked hard against tears.

‘Never mind, queen. Dry your eyes. I’ll make you a cuppa, eh? Don’t bother ringing the hostel tonight. Tomorrow will do.’

‘No it won’t, because I don’t want you to leave and what’s more, I’ll have who I like in this house. It isn’t William’s, it’s mine!’ Chin high, she dabbed her eyes. ‘Grandpa left it to me. It’s my name on the deeds, not William’s! And I’m sorry, Ness. He isn’t usually so rude.’

‘Ar well, maybe he’s fed up with the war and invasion talk just like the rest of us. Maybe he’s worried about you, here on your own.’

‘But I’m not on my own. You are here with me and he should be glad! And I would like a cup of tea, please, and I’ll bet you anything you like that William will phone again before so very much longer, to say he’s sorry.’

William had not phoned back. Ness frowned as she stood at the open window, watching shifting shapes in the twilight-dim garden, taking deep breaths of cool evening air. But to give him the benefit of the doubt, calls from south to north weren’t all that easy to come by. Sometimes you booked your call then hung around for hours, waiting. Sometimes the call didn’t come at all. Because of the war, and the armed forces being given priority over civilians when it came to using trunk lines. And perhaps, she thought, in further mitigation, William was really cheesed off now, him being so awful to Lorna for three minutes when he could have been telling her he loved her.

Yet nothing changed the fact that as long as Lorna’s husband wanted neither evacuees nor land girls at Ladybower House, there wasn’t a lot Ness Nightingale could do about it – even though Lorna said she must stay.

Sighing she pulled down the blackout blind, drew the rose chintz curtains over its ugliness, then got into bed. Arms behind head she gazed into the darkness. She didn’t usually take sides, but tonight her sympathies were with Lorna. How could William wait ages and ages for a trunk call, then waste it giving Lorna down-the-banks and only because she had taken in a land girl.

William’s silver-framed photograph came to mind. He wasn’t, she was forced to admit, much to write home about. Oh, he looked well in his uniform, but she had noticed an arrogance about his mouth, a down-tilting of the corners of his lips. Mind, perhaps that was the way he wanted to look, all stern and soldierly, but that moustache didn’t suit him, made him look years older than surely he was. And there had been something about his eyes, too. She frowned, trying to find a word for them. Bulbous, that was it! You noticed them almost as soon as you noticed the walrus moustache.

She had thought, on first seeing the photograph, that he hadn’t a lot going for him as far as looks were concerned, but that maybe he had a kind heart to make up for it, and a protective nature – and was good at lovemaking. Not that she would so much as dream of asking Lorna about her private life, but of one thing she was certain. If tonight’s phone call was anything to go by, William had a peevish side to his nature, and what had possessed Lorna to marry him only Lorna knew, because it was obvious she wasn’t without means. She owned Ladybower House, which must be worth a pretty penny. Five bedrooms and two lavvies, would you believe, and no end of a big garden. And she wouldn’t be surprised if Lorna’s grandad hadn’t left her a few pounds besides!

I mean, she reasoned silently into the darkness, Lorna is quite pretty. Lorna could be better than pretty if she did something about that ridiculous mop of frizz she called hair. Pale blonde it was, and naturally curly, but there was much too much of it. You noticed the mass of hair before you noticed the girl and how blue her eyes were and how beautiful the bones of her face were. Ness’s cutting fingers ached to get at that hair, sort it out, shape it properly so it laid soft and close to her head. Lorna’s hair needed a short style; one she could comb with her fingers; a style she could wash in rainwater from the tub at the back door – a beauty treatment in itself – and leave to dry naturally without any rubbing or towelling or even, heaven forbid, drying it in front of the fire.

And after she had tamed that tangled mass, Ness thought gleefully, something ought to be done about those eyebrows. There was a beautiful arch to them, but did Lorna have to let them meet at the top of her nose? A little tidying here and there, and they would be a perfect foil for those deep blue eyes. But William, Lorna had said, liked his wife’s hair long, and if Lorna was content to drag a wire brush through it and bring tears to her eyes in the process, then it was nothing to do with Ness Nightingale.

‘Night night,’ she sighed, snuggling into the blankets, wondering if Lorna was asleep, knowing she was not. Worrying, like as not, about that husband of hers, arrogant sod that he was! ‘Sleep tight, queen …’

Lorna was not asleep. She was, as was to be expected, wide awake and thinking things out. But she was not worrying because as far as she was concerned, there was nothing to worry about. She had taken a land girl into her home, which was the patriotic thing to do, and William had flown off the handle, would you believe; William, who was usually so unflappable and understanding and kind, just as Grandpa had been. One of the good things about her husband had been his similarity to her lovely Grandpa, who had been father, mother and best friend to her for as long as she could remember. But tonight William had been very annoyed. For the first time in their married life he had shouted at her as if she were a stupid recruit with two left feet and he a drill-sergeant, bawling at the top of his voice at an imbecile.

William had bawled as if he were giving orders, and it wasn’t a bit like the William who usually smoothed her path and sheltered her – metaphorically, that was – so that even the wind should not blow on her, and made her smile if anything dismayed or upset her. So there must be an excuse for such strange behaviour. He was lonely and missing his wife and home and the ordered familiarity of his profession. And it couldn’t be easy, going from civilian life to the hurly-burly of the Army; taking orders, too, instead of giving them. Because William was only a lieutenant; an officer, certainly, but a junior one, who would be expected to salute his superiors and call them Sir! Poor William.

Her pillows had become quite hot – from her indignation, no doubt – so she plumped and turned them then walked to the window, carefully drawing the curtains, pulling aside the blackout. Then she pushed the window wide and leaned on her elbows, gazing down into the garden, making out the denser dark of the trees that circled it and the rounded shapes that were banks of rose bushes.

In June, total darkness was a long time coming; the extra hour of daylight took care of that. At this time of the year, you could walk round Ainsty at almost eleven at night and not bump into anything or miss your footing on an unseen kerb edge.

Now, the garden below her took on a mysterious, half-hidden quality and the wood behind – Dickon’s Wood – became strange and enchanted and ripe for haunting because surely on nights such as this, on breathless, half-asleep nights, did Ursula come to meet the man who loved her and waited for her. Surely, if the nun’s ghost did exist, it would walk tonight. But ghosts glided. Ghosts wraithed and drifted then disappeared into nothing. Ghosts didn’t walk like real people – did they?

‘Goodnight Ursula and Dickon,’ she smiled, covering the window again, turning on the light at her bedside. ‘And goodnight William, my dear. Take care of yourself. I know you didn’t mean to be angry on the phone. Don’t worry. Everything will turn out right …’

Of course it would! Ness was staying, and that was the end of it!

Ness closed the gate gently and without sound. She had risen extra early then hurried into the morning, eager to be at Glebe Farm for the first day of haymaking. She sniffed in air still moist with early dew, wanted to hug herself with joy at the beauty of this tiny place, so hidden away from the war. All around, birds sang; everywhere was greenness and flowers and a sky brightening to summer blue as the sun rose to light it.

‘Hey! Wait on, lass!’ Ness turned to see Martha Hugwitty bearing down on her, and smiled a welcome.

‘Morning, Miss Hugwitty. Isn’t this goin’ to be a lovely day?’

‘No, it isn’t. It’ll be hot and dusty and hard work. And me name’s Martha.’

‘Hot and dusty in the field, you mean?’

‘Oh my word, yes. They’ll be stripped down to bare chests in no time at all. Can’t make hay in the cool and wet, see. Got to be dry and sunny. I’m glad you’re here, Ness. You can take water to the field for the workers – save my old legs. What made you want to leave Liverpool, then?’ The question was direct and unexpected.

‘We-e-ll – why not? Always fancied living in the country,’ Ness hedged. ‘People say that women will be called up like the men before so very much longer, so I thought if I volunteered I could go where I wanted.’

‘And what are you running away from, lass?’

‘Me? Runnin’? Nuthin’!’ Her indignation was showing; protesting too much she reminded herself, regaining her composure. ‘Why do you think I’m running away? Robbed a bank, have I?’

‘Now did I say that? Did I? All I meant was that a young and bonny lass like you shouldn’t want to bury herself in a place like this. Isn’t natural. There’s no picture palaces here, nor dance halls. Wasn’t suggesting nothing criminal.’

‘Well that’s all right then, isn’t it? I just fancied a change and like I said, women are goin’ to get called up before so very much longer, I’d bet on it!’

‘Never! Women aren’t built for fighting wars! A woman’s place is at home, cooking and having children. Men can’t have children so they do the fighting.’

‘So what were those women doin’ that travelled to York on the train with me, then? In the Air Force, they were, and in uniform. And there are women in the Army and the Navy. There’s a lot of Wrens in Liverpewl, it bein’ a port. Seen them with my own eyes.’

‘Happen so.’ It was all Martha could think of to say. The land girl was telling nothing – not this morning, at least. But she would find out sooner rather than later why a good-looking young woman like Ness seemed intent on burying herself in the country. A man behind it, was there, or maybe she really had robbed a bank? ‘Mornin’, Kate lass,’ she called to the farmer’s wife who stood at the back gate. ‘Nice day for it!’

Nice day! Ness was to ponder. Run off her feet, more like. Hosing the cow shed had been the start of it with no one to help her since Rowley was away early to the hayfield and Farmer Wintersgill getting a bite of breakfast before he joined his son, scythe in hand. And there had been the hens to feed and water, the eggs to collect and wipe and arrange in trays ready for the egg packers who collected twice a week on Mondays and Thursdays. And how many times had she trudged to the field with jugs, water slopping over her shoes. Gallons, the haymakers had downed. Martha had been right! Cutting hay was a hot and dusty job, although it wasn’t so much dust as pollen from the long stems of grass, Mrs Wintersgill had explained.

At noon, the workers had taken their places at a long trestle table, set up in the shade of the stackyard, first having cooled heads and bodies at the pump trough in the yard. Rabbit pies, Kate had made, with stewed apples and custard to follow.

‘Hungry?’ she asked when the men had returned to the field and the table taken down and chairs stacked. ‘I put aside enough for you and me and Martha – it’s in the oven, on plates. Reckon we should take the weight off our feet for half an hour, eh? Think we’ve earned it!’

They sat companionably in the stone-flagged kitchen, doors and windows wide open to the day outside, and never had a meal been so well-deserved, Ness thought, nor tasted so good.

‘I was telling Ness that she’s going to find it boring in the country.’ Martha renewed her probing across the kitchen table. ‘Wondered what a town girl like herself sees in a place like Nun Ainsty.’ The beady eyes sparked a challenge.

‘Maybe it’s because I like living in haunted places,’ Ness avoided the question with a grin. ‘And this village is haunted, isn’t it, Mrs Wintersgill?’

‘Now who told you that? Goodness gracious, there’s no such things as ghosts. Lorna been pulling your leg, has she?’

‘No. She told me about the nun who came to the priory, though – the one whose father didn’t want her and sent her to help nurse the sick. Hundreds of years ago, I mean. I’d asked Lorna how the wood at the back of Ladybower got its name and the story just came out.’

‘So you believe in ghosts?’ Martha’s dark eyes prompted.

‘I believe some people think they can see them, but I’m not one of them. I feel sorry for Ursula, though. Must have been awful for her. Nice to think that Dickon cared for her – well, if legend is to be believed.’

‘It is!’

‘Load of old nonsense!’

Martha and Kate replied at one and the same time and they all laughed and the subject of the ghostly nun was dropped by mutual consent. It had served, though, to prevent her answering Martha’s questions. There had been a reason for leaving Liverpool and her Mam and Da and the good job she’d had. But that was nobody’s business but her own, and Martha could probe all she liked; it would get her nowhere. What had happened was in the past and to Ness Nightingale’s way of thinking, there wasn’t a better place than Nun Ainsty to make a fresh start. And to forget what had been.

‘Now what do you want me to do, Mrs Wintersgill?’ She rose reluctantly to her feet.

‘Well, you can call me Kate for a start, like everyone else round this village does. Me and Martha will see to the washing up; I don’t suppose you could get the washing in from the line before it gets too dry to iron?’

‘I could,’ Ness smiled. She liked the drying green from which she could look over towards the hills to her left, mistily grey in a haze of heat. The tops, people called them. And to her right was the back of the manor, where she would try to count all the chimney pots; and could see the stables that were now Jacob Tuthey’s joiner’s shop; and see, too, the many windows, uncleaned for years, and so she felt sad about the neglect of a once-fine house.

She kicked off her shoes, stuffed her socks in the pockets of her overalls, then walked deliciously barefoot to the long line of washing, curling her toes in the cool of the grass. Overhead, a black-bellied plane droned, flying low. A lot of them had taken off last night. Going bombing, Lorna said, from nearby Dishforth and Linton-on-Ouse. Whitley bombers, all of them, which Ness would come to recognize in time. Plane spotting was getting as popular as train spotting.

Not interested, Ness decided, as the plane dropped out of sight. Of much more importance was a letter from Mam, who should have got her new address by now, sent on a postcard bought in Meltonby post office; a view in colour of Nun Ainsty though only Ladybower’s chimneypots had been visible on it. Ness had scribbled her address and Will write soon on the back of it, and tonight, tired or not, she would let her mother know she was all right, that she had landed on her feet in a smashing billet – she would not mention William – and that she had spent her day haymaking.

Squinting into the sun, she took down sheets and pillowslips, towels and working shirts, folding them carefully into the wicker clothes basket. Then reluctantly she pulled on shoes and socks. Tomorrow, she must remember to bring spare socks with her; socks dry and sweet-smelling. Tomorrow, they would mow the second field, Kate had said, after which there would be days of turning the cut grass until it dried out and became winter fodder for milk cows that would spend the cold months in the shelter of the stockyard. And be fed and watered twice a day, and the stockyard cleaned, too.

In summer, Kate said, it was a joy to work a farm; in winter it was dreary, with mud up to the ankles and everything you touched cold and wet. Dark mornings, too, and night coming before five o’clock. Farming, Ness had quickly grasped, had its ups and downs and today was an up day, so she would enjoy it, even though her feet throbbed painfully and her arms ached. Tomorrow she would have to learn to turn hay which would make her arms ache still more – until she got the hang of it. And meantime, she would think of the evening cool at Ladybower and a bath and the cotton dress and sandals she’d had the foresight to bring with her. Tonight, maybe sitting on the bench in the garden, she and Lorna would chat, all the time listening through the open door for the ringing of the phone. Because surely William would phone tonight, to say he was sorry and of course the land girl must stay and that he missed Lorna something awful. And that a letter full of I-love-yous was on its way to her.

Ness dumped the clothes basket on the kitchen table, offering to do the ironing, but Martha said she would see to it, though maybe Ness would take a couple of jugs to the workers, if she would be so kind?

And maybe, Ness thought as she made her way to the hayfield with jugs of ice-cold water from the pump, ironing was too warm an occupation on days such as this; days when the sun beat down from a clear summer sky; days when you could forget that places like Liverpool existed. Almost forget, that was …

Two letters had been delivered to Ladybower House; one for Lorna and the other, propped up on the kitchen mantelpiece, for Ness – the one she had been expecting from her mother.

‘So did William mention me?’ Ness hesitated. ‘Did he –’

‘Not a word. But today’s letter would have been written before he phoned. And he’s sure to book a call tonight. It’ll be all right, Ness. I want you to stay.’

‘Ar, but does your husband?’

‘We’ll worry about William when I’ve had his next letter – or another phone call. Now, tell me about the haymaking. How’s it going?’

‘Like the clappers. Rowley was going to work as long as it was light, he said, so he could get the big field cut. Then tomorrow they’ll start on the ten-acre field. And I forgot. There’ll be a rabbit for me tomorrow. Goff shot ten in the big field; half for him, half for the farm. I said I couldn’t skin a rabbit, so Martha said she would do it for me. Said she’d ask Goff for a nice young one, then you could roast it.’ Ness wrinkled her nose. She had heard of rabbit stew but never roast rabbit. ‘Can you roast them, Lorna?’

‘Yes, indeed. Fill the ribcage with thyme and parsley stuffing, then roast them gently on the middle shelf of the oven. Carefully carved, rabbit has a texture like chicken. William says half the chicken you get in restaurants is rabbit.’

‘Fancy that, now.’ Oh dear, they were back to William again. ‘You got any news, Lorna?’

‘Yes, I have. Heard it on the one o’clock bulletin, then had it again from Nance. There’s going to be recruiting for a Home Army. They’re going to call it the Local Defence Volunteers and Mr Churchill wants one in every town and village. Made up of civilians, it’ll be, and they’ll be trained to shoot and put up tank traps and generally make things awkward for the Germans – if they come. Seems there’s no end of things they can do to help out. I think it must be very serious if they’re asking older men to fight. Every man who is able-bodied is expected to join.’

‘And what about women? Can we join, an’ all?’

‘Afraid not. Nance says her husband is going to organize the Nun Ainsty men, and they’ll team up with the men from Meltonby and do their parades together. Gilbert Ellery will be taking his orders from Nance, I shouldn’t wonder. Bet she was real put out it was a men-only affair. But things must be serious, Ness, if the older men have to fight. I mean, Goff was in the last war. He’s done his bit for King and Country.’

‘What about the farm? Does farming exempt Bob and Rowley Wintersgill from joining?’

‘Seems not. All able-bodied men, it said on the news.’

‘Then I suppose me Da’ll have to join. Mam won’t like that. The letter was from Mam. I’ll write to her, tonight. Have I time for a wash before supper?’

‘You have. And when we’ve eaten we’ll sit in the garden and leave the back door open so we can hear the phone. Away with you!’

Lorna sighed deeply. The news about the LDV had troubled her, but Ness didn’t seem one bit bothered when told about it. Overreacting, she had been; looking for things to worry about when all she needed to hear was that William was sorry for the things he had said on the phone and of course it was all right for Ness to be at Ladybower. That they could be invaded at any time would seem less frightening then. And anyway, she argued sternly, surely Hitler’s soldiers, if they came, wouldn’t be making a beeline for Ainsty; wouldn’t be hell bent on destroying the village stone by stone, then pillaging and raping as the Vikings had done around these parts a thousand years ago? She was not their priority target! She was one of many women who had to get on with things as best she could, invasion or not, because her man had gone to war. What was so special about Lorna Hatherwood, then?

She prodded a knife into the potatoes. Two more minutes, then they’d be done and the cabbage, too, to eke out what was left of yesterday’s stew, more gravy than meat. A rabbit would be very handy. Two more days’ supper taken care of. She wished she could go to York, hunt around, find a fish queue. Fish wasn’t rationed; only the petrol to take her to the faraway shops where there was more chance of finding unrationed food. There was the bus, of course, but buses nowadays seemed to arrive and depart at their own times. It was awkward, she sighed, living in so out-of-the-way a place. And then she thought of the invasion – if it happened – and thought that living in Nun Ainsty far outweighed a piece of off-the-ration fish.

‘On the table in two minutes!’ she called from the bottom of the stairs, then smiled because tonight William would be lucky and be able to phone her, she knew it. Only for three minutes, mind, but you could say a lot of I-love-yous in three minutes. ‘Shift yourself or it’ll go cold!’

Sitting in the garden, her bare feet on the cool grass, was a sheer delight. The sun was in the west now, and would soon begin its setting, dropping lower in the sky, glowing golden-red. On the twilight air came the scent of roses and honeysuckle, and on the highest oak in Dickon’s Wood a blackbird sang sweetly into the stillness.

Ness closed her eyes, hugging herself tightly as if to hold to her this moment of complete peace. Peace? But for how much longer? Was this suddenly-precious country to be occupied by jackbooted soldiers? It couldn’t happen to this tiny island that once ruled half the world? Nun Ainsty couldn’t be taken, nor her lovely brash Liverpool? Imagine German soldiers billeted here in the manor house, because they would take it, soon as look at it if the fancy took them!

She stirred, wanting to know why all at once she was feeling like this. Had it been today in the so-English hayfield that the love of this island had taken her or had she, when she boarded the train at Lime Street station, uniform in two suitcases, decided that this cockeyed little country was worth fighting for and being a land girl was the best way she knew to do it?

No, she told a red rose silently, the day she boarded the York train she had felt only relief to be getting away to a fresh start, and sadness, of course, to be leaving Mam and the terraced house she had grown up in. And pain. A tearing pain that jabbed deeper if she let herself think of what she had lost and could never find again.

She shook her thoughts into focus and began to read through the letter she was writing.

Dear Mam and Da and Nan,

You’ll know by now where I am, but it is ten times better than the picture on the postcard. You can’t see my billet on it but it’s a lovely house, with big windows and a beautiful garden with a wood all around it. The lady I live with is called Lorna. Her husband is in the Army, and I think she is pleased to have a bit of company.

Best not go into detail about William’s outburst nor the phone call Lorna was waiting for that would put it right, she hoped.

I work at Glebe Farm for Mr Wintersgill. His wife, Kate, is lovely and they have a son Rowland, but I don’t see a lot of him.

Best not say over much about young Rowley. A bit sly, Ness thought, and cocky with it. Fancied himself no end.

Today we were haymaking and I was glad I was not in the field with them, but I was on the go all the time, trying to be useful. There’s a lot to learn about being in the Land Army, but I don’t regret joining so you are not to worry about me. I’m fine, and I’ll be given leave, just as if I’d joined the Armed Forces, and be given a rail ticket, too, so you’ll be seeing me before long. And Liverpool is easy to get to from York.

A bomber flew over, and another. Best not mention the aerodromes all around Nun Ainsty. Careless talk, that, and you never knew who just might get hold of her letter. There were spies all over the place it said in the newspaper. Ordinary people you’d never suspect.

‘Looks as if the lads are flying tonight.’ Lorna looked up from her magazine. ‘Wonder where they’re off to.’

‘Dunno.’ Ness hoped they would drop one slap bang in the middle of Berlin, but the bombing of open cities was not allowed, it seemed. Very gentlemanly this war was at times. ‘Think William will manage to get through?’

‘Yes, fingers crossed. But if he doesn’t, there’ll be a letter in the morning and everything will be OK. He’ll ring, though …’ Of course he would. Shouting at her wasn’t a bit like him and he’d be only too eager to put things right between them. ‘Writing home, are you, or to your boyfriend?’

‘I told you, didn’t I, that I haven’t got a boyfriend. Told Martha Hugwitty, an’ all, and that I wasn’t lookin’ either!’

‘Then you told the right person! Martha will make it her business to let Nun Ainsty know that the land girl at Glebe isn’t courting. And she’ll read your palm, if you let her, and find a nice young man for you in it! By the way, what do you think of Rowley Wintersgill?’

‘Not a lot. Why?’

‘He’s got a reputation around these parts for being a bit of a lady’s man.’

‘That a warning, Lorna?’

‘We-e-ll, not exactly. Been a bit spoiled, being an only child. Thinks the world’s his oyster.’

‘You mean I’m not to encourage him?’

‘Something like that,’ Lorna said uneasily, though glad, for all that, that she’d put out a warning.

‘Well, don’t worry. I can look after meself, queen.’

‘Good. And I’m disturbing you?’

‘No. This letter is just a quickie to let Mam know I’m all right and liking it here.’

‘Good – that you like it, I mean. I want you to stay here, Ness.’

‘But will I be allowed to?’ There was still tonight’s phone call or tomorrow’s letter, either of which could land her in the hostel.

‘I said I wanted you to, didn’t I?’

She said it, Ness thought, with a surprising firmness – for Lorna, that was. Maybe there was more to her than wide blue eyes and a gentle nature.

‘Then I want to, an’ all.’

The phone rang, and Lorna ran to answer it. Ness turned back to the letter she was writing.

Sorry this isn’t much of a letter but I’m tired and plan an early night. Will write a longer letter tomorrow. Just to let you know I’m fine and I don’t regret leaving Liverpool. It was for the best, Mam. You’re not to worry …

All done now. Carefully Ness addressed the envelope to 3, Ruth Street, Liverpool 4, Lancashire. Tomorrow, or the next day, she would write again. Tomorrow, or the next day, she would know how long she would be staying at Ladybower House, because determined though Lorna was, Ness wouldn’t take bets on her getting her own way. The cut of William’s jib told her that.

‘Oh, damn!’ Lorna said, back from her phone call. ‘It was Nance Ellery, would you believe. I was so sure it would be my trunk call. And Ness – guess what? The Germans have invaded the Channel Islands. It was on the nine o’clock news and we missed it, sitting out here as if it didn’t matter!’

‘Just like that? Was there any fighting?’ Ness whispered.

‘Doesn’t seem so. It was a peaceful takeover, by all accounts. Nance said it looks as if we’re going to need the Local Defence Volunteers now. Oh, she upsets me sometimes. Always the first with bad news! She seems to attract it!’

‘Well, we’d have heard it for ourselves, queen, sooner or later. Had you thought them islands are a part of us, sort of. British, and not all that far away, either. I’ll bet Churchill’s goin’ to have sumthin’ to say about it! He vowed Jairmans would never set foot on British soil, but they have!’

‘Technically they have, I suppose. Perhaps that’s why William hasn’t phoned.’

‘Ar, I wouldn’t worry, Lorna. He’s a long way from there, though it might have affected the telephone lines with calls buzzing all over the place once the high-ups heard about the Channel Islands. I wouldn’t worry too much, girl. It’s getting a bit chilly. Let’s you and me wait inside, eh? If your feller can’t manage to get through, there’s sure to be a letter in the morning.’

‘You’re right. It’s nearly ten. I’ll go round the house and see to the blackouts; you be a dear and make us some cocoa.’ Cocoa thankfully wasn’t rationed.

So they left the enchantment of the garden to the blackbird, a tiny creature that didn’t know there was a war on. Lucky little bird, Ness thought.