Читать книгу A Scent of Lavender - Elizabeth Elgin - Страница 7

‘There you are, then!’ Martha Hugwitty met Ness outside Ladybower. ‘Another swelterer it’s going to be.’

‘You could be right. Is Goff coming today?’ They fell into slow step.

‘There already. Said last night he was going to give a hand opening up ten-acre field. Crafty old devil. Knows he’ll get a breakfast out of Kate if he does! They’ve got home-cured bacon and eggs aplenty at Glebe Farm. And how are you this morning, eh?’

‘Fine. Slept like a log. Must be the country air.’

No use telling Martha she had awakened in the night to hear Lorna weeping and lain awake worrying about her, wondering if she should offer comfort; deciding against it.

Was it the phone call that hadn’t come or was it that the Germans were so much nearer now? Was Lorna miserable because she was missing William or was it because she knew her husband would win and the land girl be sent packing? Would Lorna give in in the end?

‘You’re lucky. Woke me up at four this morning, those bombers coming back. Hope they’re all safe, for all that. Don’t tell me you slept through it!’

‘Afraid so.’ She had. After lying awake for a long time, she must have dropped off just before. ‘Tell me about that wood, Martha. Any truth in it – the nun, I mean?’

‘Oh, it’s true about Ursula; no doubt about it. But what I s’pose you mean is have I seen her ghost?’

‘So there is one. She does walk?’

‘Yes. But very rarely. Lived here all my life you might say, so I know what’s what around this village. Mind, I keep my mouth shut. The less you say, the more you hear. And I can tell you there’ve been women come to my house who have seen her. Admitted it.’

‘No men?’

‘We-e-ll, men might have seen her, but men don’t avail themselves of my services, Ness lass. And I mean services of the occult. I read palms, as Lorna will have told you, and I do the tarot cards, though not often. Too much death and destruction in the cards. I do psychometry, too.’

‘That’s a big word, Martha!’

‘Aye. I’m not as green as I’m cabbage looking, Ness Nightingale. I know a lot of big words, and that particular one means I can pick up messages from things. Now, if you had a young man and you was worried about him, you could give me something he’d handled and I could tell.’

‘Tell things about him, you mean?’

‘Indeed! Just by holding it in my hands. Or putting it to my forehead where the inner eye is.’

‘Well!’ Psychometry was a new one! ‘But did the ladies who came to consult you tell you about Ursula?’

‘One or two did, over the years. Probably why they came in the first place. Seeing the nun must be a bit of a shock – well, to the uninitiated, that is. But Ursula don’t appear willy-nilly. Only to certain folk. Sometimes it’s years and no one sees her and things die down and she’s all but forgotten. Then she’s back again.’

‘In the wood?’

‘Always the wood where Dickon waited. Never seen her myself, but then I wouldn’t.’

‘Why wouldn’t you, Martha – with your gifts, I mean?’

“’Cause the nun only appears to lovers. True lovers. If they are despairing, like she was, she comes to comfort them – to let them know it’ll be all right. Leastways, that’s the conclusion I’ve come to over the years.’

‘And you’ve never been in love, Martha?’

‘No. Never felt the need for it. Have you – been in love, I mean?’

‘Well I – I …’ Such directness caught Ness unprepared. ‘N-no. I haven’t. Not truly in love.’ And may her tongue drop out for the lie!

‘Then let’s hope one day you will be. Truly in love, I mean, then you just might meet Ursula.’

‘I might at that.’

Ness was glad they had come to the farm and all talk of ghosts and nuns and lovers – and lovers denied! – had to end. She would never, ever, offer her hand to Martha Hugwitty, because those black eyes could see into your soul. And as for her inner eye – well heaven only knew what that could see.

‘Morning!’ she called to Kate, standing on the doorstep. ‘Another lovely day!’

It had been a lovely day, Ness thought as she walked back to Ladybower. Hot and very hard work, but for a few hours the world and the war had been shut out. Not a single bomber had flown overhead, even. She wondered if there had been a letter for Lorna and what was in it. No land girls! Positively no land girls. She really, really hoped not.

‘Hi there!’ She passed a newspaper-wrapped parcel to Lorna. ‘One rabbit, skinned!’

‘Great! I’ll roast it for tomorrow’s supper. There’s loads of parsley and thyme in the garden. But how did it go at Glebe?’

‘They finished the ten-acre field, then everybody mucked in to give the first turn to the field that was cut yesterday. I wasn’t very good at it,’ she laughed, ‘but Mr Wintersgill said I’d be tossing hay like a good ’un by the time it’s dry. Given good weather, about ten days, he said. Any news?’

‘From William? Yes. He hasn’t changed his mind about you, even though he didn’t mention you until the last line. I’m sure you will have found another billet for the land girl before I come home on leave. Ask Nance to help you. That’s the only mention you got, Ness. And as for Nance Ellery helping me find you somewhere to go, it was she who suggested you come here in the first place! I mean, what’s it got to do with Nance? If I wanted rid of you, I could see to it myself. I’m not as stupid as William thinks! But I’ve made up my mind, there’s no question of you going. Like I said, this is my house.’

‘Now see here, Lorna, there’s goin’ to be trouble for you if I stay. I don’t want to be the cause of friction between man and wife.’

‘You won’t be. I’ve been thinking about it ever since the letter came, and I’ve got it fixed. I went to see Flora Petch.’

‘The nurse at Larkspur Cottage?’

‘That’s her. Mind, I had to be careful – couldn’t say William was being stupid about you being here. I – I’m afraid I had to tell her that although I loved having you here, I wondered if you could stay at her place when William comes home. She thought I wanted him and me to be alone, so I let her.’

‘And?’ Ness took in a deep breath.

‘And she said fine by her. Any time at all. I said I’d give her your rations and pay her the billeting allowance for the week and she said she’d look forward to having you. So you see, you’re doubly wanted.’

‘And you’re sure …?’

‘Ness Nightingale! If you ask me if I’m sure once more I’ll thump you! I’ve got it all straight in my mind now. William needn’t have joined up just yet. His age group shouldn’t have to register for months, and even then it’s anybody’s guess when he’d have actually been sent for. He could still be here, but he joined the Territorials even before the war started and risked early call-up so he could get the regiment he wanted. He chose to go, Ness, and I choose to have you here. William can’t have it all his own way. There’s a war on and, before very much longer, civilians are going to have to be a part of it!’

‘A ladies’ branch of the LDV?’ Ness grinned.

‘No. But people like me without encumbrances will have to knuckle down to war work and neither William nor Nance Ellery will be able to do anything about it! So get yourself into something cooler. You’ve got twenty minutes. It’s Woolton pie tonight!’

Woolton pie, Ness thought as she stripped and made for the bathroom, was what was known as a desperate dish, because you were desperately short of rations; of fat to make pastry for a crust and of good red meat to put underneath it. Woolton pie consisted entirely of mixed vegetables, moistened with yesterday’s leftover gravy, and atop it a crust made of unrationed suet, courtesy of your kindly butcher!

But tomorrow they would feast on roast rabbit, courtesy of Glebe Farm, delicately stuffed with thyme and parsley from Ladybower’s garden. Mind, Ness wasn’t altogether sure it was right to kill such nice little creatures, but having been assured they were no better than vermin, caused a lot of damage on the home front, and that they were much in demand as off-the-ration meat, she allowed her scruples to fly out of the wide-open window.

‘I was talking to Martha today,’ Ness said as they sat companionably in the garden after supper. ‘Seeing the wood made me think of it.’

‘Talking about the nun? Ursula’s got you intrigued.’

‘Martha said she knew women who had seen her.’

‘I’ll grant you that, Ness. There has always been nun talk. It comes and goes, but I’ve never seen Ursula.’

‘Neither has Martha, but she said she didn’t expect to, bein’ as how Ursula only appears to lovers.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard that, too. I’ve also heard that very few see her – or will admit to it.’

‘Why? Did she frighten them or sumthin’, because she was so ugly?’

‘No, that’s just it, you see. Those who saw her – who allegedly saw her – weren’t a bit afraid, until they realized they’d just walked past a ghost. They must have felt a bit queer when the penny dropped, but by then she had gone – just vanished. But the most amazing thing – if it’s true, of course – is that she walks past them looking like a real flesh and blood person.’

‘A person in nun’s habit?’

‘I would presume so. And it’s said they can hear her footsteps on the path as if she’s – well, real …’

‘But ghosts don’t – shouldn’t – have footsteps, surely?’

‘I’d have thought that myself, Ness. But Ursula Ainsty walks like a real person, it’s said, and since you seem so taken up with our ghost, you might as well have the lot! People who are supposed to have seen her say she is absolutely beautiful. It’s another reason why they don’t realize it’s Ursula because people assume she was deformed. But it’s just talk. So many different versions that I don’t believe any of them.’

‘Beautiful?’ Ness whispered, turning to gaze at the wood behind them as if she were waiting for the sound of footsteps.

‘Well, if you believe in heaven, which I do, you’ll accept that all ills are banished, and Ursula would be whole and complete – no harelip or anything …’

‘Well, I’m not so sure about heaven,’ Ness hesitated. ‘Think I’d rather believe in the power of love. Dickon loved her, didn’t he? Perhaps his love was good – decent. That would be enough for me, if I were in Ursula’s shoes.’

‘Loving and being loved makes all things right? It’s a theory. But I can say, hand on heart, that all I know of the nun is folklore. I haven’t seen her, nor have I met anyone who is prepared to say they have. I’m sorry, but until she crosses my path then I’m a disbeliever.’

‘But tell me,’ Ness urged, ‘those women who told Martha they’d seen her – were they women in love?’

‘That I don’t know. Seems they must have been, but you wouldn’t get their names out of Martha for love nor money. Said people would lose faith in her and her powers if she blabbed all over the village.’

‘So any of them could have been married, even?’

‘They could have, I suppose. Mind, I don’t think any of the women in question came from the village – or so Martha said. Perhaps they lived in Meltonby.’

‘Ar. Martha admitted to me that she reads palms, though she doesn’t like doin’ the cards. Martha’s got the gift, you know. You were right about her being a medium, even though she doesn’t hold seances. Maybe it’s her aura that Ursula uses when she wants to do a spot of haunting – zooms in on Martha’s vibrations.’

‘If what my grandpa told me is true, then Ursula was doing her spot of haunting long before Martha Hugwitty came to the village. So don’t get too carried away, Ness. Ghosts are fun. You’ve got to treat them as fun. Part of the local folklore.’

‘Ar. Like you say – fun. Till you see one, that is!’

‘When I’ve seen Ursula you’ll be the first one to know, I promise you,’ Lorna smiled complacently. ‘And what are you looking at me like that for – like I’ve got a smut on my nose. Have I?’

‘As a matter of fact, I was looking at your hair.’

‘A mess, I know. I just washed it this afternoon. Hurts like mad to get the brush through it.’

‘I know. I’ve dealt with more frizzy heads of curls than you’ve had hot dinners, girl. I’m a hairdresser – or was.’

‘It follows. Your own hair is so beautiful that it doesn’t surprise me. I should have realized.’

‘Hmm. Your hair is a lovely colour; ash blonde it would be if you was gettin’ it out of a bottle. Women would kill for natural curls like yours, Lorna. But you’ve got too much hair if you don’t mind me saying so – professional opinion, like. It needs shaping and thinning. If ever you want it seeing to, just let me know.’

‘Well, I do find it a nuisance. And I agree my hair must look like a bush on top of my head. But William doesn’t ever want me to cut it. He likes it long.’

‘And you like it long, too?’

‘No. I’d like it shorter, but William –’

‘Must be obeyed. Even though you have to drag a wire brush through it and do it no end of harm, William knows best, does he? Anyway, whose hair is it?’

‘You’re right, Ness!’ And because William had been dogmatic and dictatorial and had no right to tell her whom she should and should not have in her house, she walked into the hall and gazed into the mirror. Then she turned and smiling said,

‘OK, Ness. Let’s give it a go! Thin it out a bit.’

‘You’re sure? Mind, I know what it’ll look like when I’ve finished, but once it’s off there’ll be nothing you can do about it, till it grows again.’

‘I’m sure. And you must let me pay you.’

‘I don’t want paying. All I want is to get some order into that mass of frizz and for you to throw that dratted brush away – OK?’

‘OK! Shall we get on with it, then?’ Why was her heart thudding so?

‘If you’re absolutely sure, I’ll nip upstairs for my scissors and get a towel from the bathroom.’

She would enjoy doing Lorna’s hair because for one thing it looked quite ridiculous on one so young, and for another, because she was indirectly, she supposed, taking a swipe at William who didn’t like land girls!

‘Tell me how long it takes to be a hairdresser?’ Lorna wasn’t really interested, but Ness was trying to part her hair and pin it into sections, which hurt, and talking about anything at all took her mind off the sharp, tugging pains.

‘Am I hurting you?’

‘A little, but it’s all right …’

‘Well never mind, queen, when I’ve sorted this lot you’ll be able to comb it with your fingers, I guarantee it. You’ll wash it and leave it to dry naturally, then you’ll run your fingers through it and flick the curls whichever way you want. You’ll like it – honest. It took me a long time gettin’ to be a good hairdresser, because I am good. I was the best cutter in the salon and I had an improver working under me, and two apprentices to teach.’

‘What’s an improver?’

‘It’s when you’ve done two years; when you’ve been lackey and shampoo girl and sweeper-upper of hair. God! Those first few months, I hated hair! And for the first two years an apprentice doesn’t get a penny piece in wages – not where I worked, they didn’t. Had to rely on tips from ladies you’d shampooed. And I used to cut kids’ hair at home in Ruth Street. Charged sixpence for it. Big money, sixpence was, to an apprentice!’

‘But how did you manage for two years without pay?’ Lorna heard the first crisp snip and closed her eyes again.

‘I managed because Auntie Agnes paid my tram fares into work for two years. She paid my premium, an’ all. To get into a good salon there had to be a hefty fifty quid, up front. But Dale’s was the best in town and I’ve got to admit that the tips there were good – thank God!’

‘Called after your Auntie Agnes, weren’t you?’ Another snip, and a shower of fine hair falling to the floor. ‘Fond of her?’

‘Oh, ar. I was her favourite. She never had kids of her own, so I was the lucky one. She paid my premium without so much as a quibble and I said she would never want for a free hairdo, once I’d learned enough. Oh, it was lovely when I got to be an improver. I could have my own regular customers, then, though I had to do my own shampooing. Fifteen shillings a week I got. Plus tips. I felt real rich and Auntie Agnes and Mam and Nan got theirs done free. I even cut me Da’s hair. I liked cuttin’. Still do.’

‘I can see you do.’ Lorna gazed, fascinated, at the growing pile of fair hair. ‘Will you be long?’

‘Just thinin’ it first, then I’ll shape it; take each strand and cut it between my fingers so it lays just right. A Maria cut, it’ll be.’

‘I – I see.’ Lorna had never heard of a Maria cut. ‘And it’ll look all right? You’re sure?’

‘When I’ve finished with you, Modom, your hair’ll look so good you’ll wish you’d had a Maria years ago. Now shurrup, will you? You’re distractin’ me. Just trust me, eh?’

Famous last words. Lorna closed her eyes and counted the snips.

‘There now! All done! Took me longer than I thought,’ Ness beamed, half an hour later. ‘But you can’t hurry good cuttin’. Now, you washed it this afternoon, you said, so I’ll just rinse it through and show you how to dry it. Hair’s got to be treated gentle, not tugged and pulled and dried in front of a hot fire! Now, pop over to the sink and I’ll get a jug of rainwater from the tub. And keep your hands off it!’

But too late came the warning. To a cry of,

‘You – you’ve scalped me!’ Lorna gazed at the pile of hair on the kitchen floor.

‘Ar. Enough there to stuff a cushion,’ Ness grinned. ‘I’ll just take the chill off this water then I’ll give you a rinse. And I haven’t scalped you. All I’ve done is cut your hair to a length of three inches all over your head, and when it’s dry it’ll fall into soft little curls – fronds, like. You’ll like it, honest. Now lean over the sink, and you’re not to look at it till it’s dry.’

‘I won’t.’ She wouldn’t! She had no wish to see herself all bare and shorn. And as for stuffing a cushion – more to the point was what would William say!

Not long after, when Ness had rinsed and patted and dabbed, then gently massaged Lorna’s scalp with her fingertips, she said,

‘There! You can have a look. And if I say so myself it’s –’

‘Ness! Oh, I don’t believe it! It’s marvellous! And so soft, too.’

‘Well, then – from now on there’ll be no more tearing at it. Just wash it in rainwater two or three times a week, then leave it to dry on its own. You ladies with naturally curly hair don’t know how lucky you are. It takes years off you!’

‘I know. I look like a little girl!’

‘But you like it?’

‘Like it? I love it!’ Lorna sighed. She did. After all the worrying, she really did!

‘Then tomorrow night I’ll have to go at your eyebrows. They’re a lovely shape, but they’re like your hair was. Too much of a good thing. They need tidying up underneath and they shouldn’t meet at the top of your nose, either.’

‘Ness – how come you know so much about things?’

‘Because there was a cosmetic department in our salon and the lady in charge taught me a lot. Mind, I did her hair for her for nothing – on the quiet, like. Anyway, a word to the wise, Lorna. She told me that the traveller she orders Dale’s beauty products from said there was going to be a shortage of cosmetics before so very much longer. “A quiet word in your ear,” he said to her. “You’ll not be able to get cosmetics for love nor money before long.” So me and her stocked up. I reckon you should go round the shops in York as soon as you can. Keep it under your hat, mind. Get yourself some mascara and –’

‘But I don’t use mascara!’

‘From now on you do – with eyelashes that fair. Get some grey mascara. Black is too stark for your colouring. And you’ll need a rose-tinted lipstick and a pot of cold cream and a tin of Nivea. And whilst you’re at it, get a box of face powder, too. Rose Rachel shade. Why don’t you take a trip into town to celebrate your new hair? I’m tellin’ you, queen, there’s going to be a shortage on the cosmetics front. And get yourself some eyebrow tweezers, an’ all.’

‘Whatever is William going to say when he sees me – plucked eyebrows, too.’ Lorna took a long look at her hair, flicking curls onto her face, her forehead, loving the freedom of it, and the softness.

‘If he’s got any sense at all he’ll say “Wow!” and let go a wolf whistle.’ Yet for all that, Ness knew he wouldn’t, especially when he discovered the land girl had had a hand in it! She and William were on a collision course, even before they had met! ‘So what say we have a cup of tea to celebrate?’

‘Tea? There’s sherry in the sideboard. Let’s drink to my escape from the frizzies with a real drink!’

‘Well! Aren’t you going to say something, Nance?’ They had cycled the length of Priory Lane and waited at the roadside for a break in the traffic. ‘You’ve been giving me looks ever since we left Ainsty!’

‘Sorry. Thought it rude to pass comment.’

‘So you think I’ve gone too far?’ The haircut no one could quarrel with, Lorna thought apprehensively, but maybe plucked eyebrows and lipstick – even in so delicate a shade as English Rose – was a bit much.

‘Too far? It was a bit of a shock at first – you looked so much younger. But since you ask, Lorna, I do like it – the hair, I mean, though I never thought to see you wearing lipstick. You never have before. Whatever made you do it?’

‘It was my idea entirely,’ she hedged, determined to keep Ness out of it. ‘I decided long hair isn’t on in wartime; for women who work in factories it can be downright dangerous. That’s why they’ve got to wear snoods. And short hair is more hygienic. They say you can get nits on trains these days. And women in the Armed Forces aren’t allowed to wear their hair long, either, so what’s so special about me?’ she finished breathlessly, making a dash for the other side of the road. ‘And why not lipstick?’

‘Well, it’s all right, I suppose, for special occasions.’ Nance remounted her cycle. ‘But as regards your hair, you aren’t going to join the Armed Forces are you, nor work in a factory? William would never allow you to.’

‘If the government said I had to, he couldn’t do a lot about it.’ Lorna stared stubbornly ahead. ‘Things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. Who’s to say a married woman won’t be asked to work for the war effort – ordered to work?’

‘Because married women don’t work!’

‘They didn’t, but there’s a war on now. And there might be an invasion! What would women do then? Just let it happen? Well, I wouldn’t, Nance. I’d fight at the barricades to stop them getting Ainsty!’

‘Wouldn’t we all? But Hitler won’t be interested in Nun Ainsty. He’d have to find it first! And if his lot came – what would there be for them here? A few houses, a pub, a farm and an empty manor house. The aerodromes, maybe. Probably he’d drop parachutists on the aerodromes around – Gilbert said so, only yesterday. By the way, how are you and the land girl getting on?’

‘Oh – Ness!’ Lorna was glad the invasion and her new hairdo were not to be discussed further. ‘She’s a dear. Makes me laugh and she loves it at Ainsty.’

‘I thought you’d get on well. Better than being forced to take evacuees, and company for you in these uncertain times. William should be grateful to me. And had you thought that once our Local Defence Volunteers get themselves organized, they’ll have to be prepared to turn out at any hour of the day or night if there’s an emergency. You’ll be lucky. You’ll have company, but I shall be alone, Lorna, if Gilbert gets the call!’

‘Y-yes, you will. But you’ll manage, I’m sure you will. You’re a very capable person,’ Lorna soothed. One concentrated glare from Nance Ellery could stop a paratrooper at ten paces!

‘I must agree with you there. Between you and me, I’ve always had to be the capable one. Gilbert doesn’t know how lucky he is!’

They had arrived at Meltonby church hall for the monthly meeting of the Women’s Institute and a talk entitled Making Your Rations Go Further – And Then Some! by a lady sponsored by the Ministry of Food, and Lorna was saved a reply. At least, she thought as they pushed their cycles out of sight behind the outside lavatories, it would seem that Nance would be on her side if ever it came to a showdown with William about her haircut and the wearing of lipstick. All things considered, it might not be a bad thing to have a capable lady on your side.

She wondered, all at once apprehensive, if William would ring tonight, because if he did, Ness would be obliged to answer and it wouldn’t help matters at all, especially since William had made no further mention of the land girl, and his last letter had been quite affectionate.

She sent her thoughts winging. Don’t ring tonight – please …?

‘Had a good time?’ Ness smiled a welcome.

‘Interesting. Got some food leaflets. Learned how to make a shelter cake and before you ask, if the alert sounded and you had to go to the shelter, you could leave it simmering merrily away on the stove.’

‘And if there’s anything left of your ’ouse when the all clear goes and you creep out of the shelter,’ Ness grinned, ‘then you’ll have a cake in the pan.’

‘After you’ve let it cool – otherwise it seemed to me you might as well eat pudding. But I think there’ll be a few shelter cakes made before this war is over. Anyway, what did I miss on the nine o’clock news?’

‘You want the good bits first? Well, the RAF boys are stepping up night bombing on Germany and President Roosevelt has laid down five freedoms.’

‘Oh, yes? Freedom from bombing, killing and rationing? Very original!’

‘Not exactly. Think I can remember what the man on the news said. It was freedom of information and religion and freedom from want and fear and persecution.’

‘So what’s new? Don’t we all want things like that? What else was there?’

‘Seems the Luftwaffe bombed Welsh ports last night; didn’t say where, but I reckon it was Cardiff and Swansea. All to do with softening us up, if you ask me, because our convoys in the Channel were attacked, an’ all.’

‘Any more bad news?’

‘Yes. There’s to be no August bank holiday this year.’

‘But there’s always been a bank holiday Monday! They can’t do that!’

‘Well, they have. Cancelled. And before you blow your top, you’d better sit down, ’cause tea is going to be rationed. As from tomorrow.’

‘Tea? But they’ve already rationed butter and sugar and bacon and meat!’

‘So now it’s two ounces of tea each person each week.’

‘Four miserable ounces between you and me, Ness? Well, all I can say is that it’s a good job I have two packets in the store cupboard! I mean – rationing tea.’

Tea was the universal comforter, the bringer-together in afternoons of neighbours and friends. Tea was so – well – British!

‘I can only tell you what was said on the news. It’ll be in the papers in the morning, if you don’t believe me.’

‘Oh, I believe you, Ness, and rot his socks the Clever Dick who thought of it! Tell you what – shall we have one last cup of unrationed tea? I’ll make it in the silver teapot and we’ll use the best cups and saucers.’

‘Might as well, queen. Go out with dignity. And it’s a good job me Auntie Agnes passed on last year, ’cause drinkin’ tea was like a religion to her, God rest her. Rationing tea would have been unthinkable to her.’ Go out with dignity all right, Ness pondered. She’d never had tea from a silver pot.

‘Put the kettle on there’s a dear, and Ness – did anyone phone whilst I was at the WI?’

‘No one. Was you expecting one from William?’

‘I’m always expecting one from him. What I didn’t want was for him to ring and you to answer it.’

‘Well, he didn’t ring so you’re off the hook. You’re still jumpy, aren’t you, about me bein’ here?’

‘No. You’re staying. But I am jumpy about William, and it isn’t just you. He hasn’t seen my hair yet!’

‘He’ll like it. I said so, didn’t I?’

‘You did. And Nance Ellery likes it, too. She didn’t ask me where I’d had it done, thank heaven, so she doesn’t know it was you.’

‘But why shouldn’t she know I cut it?’

‘We-e-ll, if William should happen not to like it, then –’

‘Oh, I see. It’ll be one thing less to lay at the land girl’s door, eh? Well, if he makes a fuss, tell him you don’t much care for his moustache, but you haven’t told him to shave it off! And you don’t like it, do you?’

‘If I’m honest, no. It makes him look older and it’s scratchy.’

‘When he kisses you?’

‘Yes.’ Her cheeks reddened. ‘But let’s get this tea made. Let’s forget the awful news and go into the garden. It isn’t blackout time just yet. Let’s listen to the blackbird and pretend there isn’t a war on – just for a little while.’

She was getting good at turning hay, Ness thought. There was a way of holding the long, two-pronged fork so the weight on the end of it was manageable. The only trouble was that her right hand had blisters on it and Kate had been obliged to give her an old leather glove to protect it.

‘Your hands will toughen up. When those blisters are gone, Ness, I’ll give you some methylated spirits to rub on your palms. Meths will fettle it.’

‘Hey! Ness Nightingale!’ Rowley was calling from the fieldgate. ‘Didn’t you say there was someone in the manor this morning?’

‘I heard voices when I came to work. Didn’t bother to find out who it was. Could have been a couple of tramps, sleeping in one of the outbuildings.’ Fork in hand, she crossed to where he stood. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Over there.’ He pointed in the direction of the back entrance to the manor. ‘Two army trucks, and soldiers. What the hell are they up to?’

‘Search me, Rowley. Why don’t you ask them?’

‘I intend to! Glebe Farm rents the manor fields!’

Red-faced, he strode towards the trucks. Curious, Ness followed.

‘A moment, please!’ Rowley vaulted the gate that divided manor yard from field. ‘Can you tell me what you are doing?’

It was almost a command, Ness thought.

‘I can.’ A soldier in officer’s uniform turned slowly, his eyes raking Rowley from head to toe. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’

‘Well – why you’re here, for one thing. This is private property!’

‘You own the manor?’

‘No. My father owns Glebe Farm and we rent the manor land.’ His face grew redder.

‘Then our interest is only in the house, not the land.’ The officer turned away, speaking to a sergeant. ‘Having any trouble with the keys?’

‘No, sir. Got in without any bother.’

‘Then let’s see what’s what. Where’s the MO?’

‘Inside, sir.’

‘Right, then.’ He turned to Rowley. ‘Good day to you,’ he said firmly, dismissively.

‘Well! What do you make of that, Ness Nightingale? Arrogant sod! Who does he think he is?’

‘Who? From where I was standin’, I’m almost sure he’s a major. And he did say he was only interested in the manor. Don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.’

‘But we have! We can do without a load of swaddies next door, making their noise, lifting everything that isn’t nailed down. The manor’s been empty for years. They’re going to get a shock when they take a look inside!’

‘Well, it’s nuthin’ to do with me. I’m away back to the field, though I think you’d better tell your father what’s happened.’

The Army, Ness frowned, resuming her rhythmic forking, lifting, turning, interested in the empty manor house. So what might they want it for? What did anybody want with a tucked-away, empty-for-years old house? Rowley had demanded to know, but all he had learned was to be curtly told they had no interest in the fields around. It had upset the young farmer, Ness grinned. Rowley Wintersgill wasn’t used to being spoken to like that.

But soldiers in Nun Ainsty! What would Lorna make of it, or Mrs Ellery? Come to think of it, how would the village take to a turmoil in their midst, because with soldiers usually came drill sergeants and trucks and lorries and noise. Guns, too!

Oh, my word! She could hardly wait for five o’clock to come.

‘Soldiers!’ Lorna gasped. ‘Oh, my goodness!’

‘That’s exactly what Mrs Wintersgill said. “Oh, my goodness. What on earth is going on?” But Rowley was told they weren’t interested in the fields. Very curt, that major. Mind, Rowley jumped in with both feet. Silly of him. It’s better to ask than demand when you’re dealing with the Army.’

‘That young man can be very arrogant. Thinks he’s God’s gift to the opposite sex. Has he – er – ever tried anything on with you, Ness?’

‘Lordy, no! Mind, I haven’t been sending any signals. He isn’t my type. Don’t worry. I’d soon slap him down if he came-it with me. But why do you suppose the Army is interested in the manor?’

‘Why shouldn’t they be? Probably want it for a billet. After all, they’ve got to find somewhere to put all the soldiers who came back after Dunkirk. How many were at the manor?’

‘There was the one Rowley spoke to, with rank up, plus a sergeant and an ATS girl, sitting in the biggest car. She didn’t get out. Suppose she was the major’s driver. And there was another. I didn’t see him. The MO, they called him.’

‘Medical Officer. Maybe he was giving the place the once-over – hygiene, sort of. It must be filthy inside, after all that time empty. Maybe he was checking the water supply and the sanitation. It’s going to be interesting – seeing if they’ll come, that is. The government can take any house it wants, empty or not. They gave quite a few farmers their marching orders, then pulled down the farmhouses when they wanted to build the aerodromes. A shocking waste of good agricultural land, William said at the time. And talking about my husband – there was a letter this morning. He’s fed up. He says it looks like the Army doesn’t know what to do with him, once they’ve got him. Says he seems to spend his time doing useless things, or trying to look busy. He hates wasting time. Time is money, he always said. Well, he would I suppose, being an accountant.’

‘And no mention of me?’ Ness ventured.

‘No. I think he assumes that once having told me he didn’t want you in the house, I would ask you to go. Once, I might have done; my own fault, I suppose. Grandpa spoiled me, then William took over. They both used to think for me, tell me what to do, and I let them. After all, Grandpa only wanted what was best for me; tried to make it up to me because – well, because of what happened to my mother.’

‘Your mother died? Your grandparents brought you up? Where was your father, then? Why didn’t he – ’

‘My father. Never knew him …’ Her voice trailed away and Ness knew that already too much had been said – or had slipped out.

‘If you’d rather not talk about it – I mean – losing your mother must be pretty awful. I’d go berserk if anything happened to Mam.’

‘Yes, but you’ve had your mother for twenty-five years. I can’t even remember mine. She died before I was three. I came here to Ladybower, to my grandparents. Grandma died when I was seven. I only vaguely remember her. Of course, Grandpa spoiled me and fussed over me. I was all he had left.’

‘And your father?’

‘He wasn’t around. He’d taken off, I believe, as soon as my mother’s morning sickness started. A pity. She loved him very much, even up until the day she took – she committed –’ She stopped, eyes downcast.

‘Your mother took her own life?’ Ness whispered.

‘An overdose of aspirin, washed down with gin.’

‘Oh, lovey, I’m so sorry. How did we get onto the subject?’ Ness whispered.

‘My fault. And I’d be glad if you didn’t mention it again. I shouldn’t have told you. So long ago – water under the bridge.’

‘I wouldn’t blab, Lorna. You know I wouldn’t.’

‘Doesn’t matter, really, if you do. Nance Ellery knows and they know at Glebe Farm, too. A nine-days’ wonder in the village, though I think it hastened my grandmother’s death. A long time ago, for all that.’

‘Yer right, queen. Now you’ve got William to look after you and you’ve got this lovely house. There’s a lot of people far worse off!’

‘I know. And I should be grateful, but sometimes I’m not. I’ve done as I was told all my life, you see. I obeyed Grandpa, then I married William and now I obey him. So it was quite something, me insisting that you stay here.’

‘Now, what say I give you a hand with the dishes?’ Best change the subject, talk about other things. Lorna was getting pink-cheeked. ‘Sorry I can’t wash up – my blisters – but I’ll dry and put away. Then can we sit in the garden?’

‘Fine by me. I’ve cleaned the house and written to William – nothing better to do. You like the garden, don’t you, Ness?’

‘Oh, yes. Better than a back yard, if you see what I mean? And make the most of it, eh? You might not have it for much longer – not if you listen to what the government is saying.’

‘About growing food, you mean? About flowerbeds and it being wrong, all of a sudden, to have a lawn? Produce food, must I?’

‘I don’t see why not. Or you could keep hens. Mrs Wintersgill has her hens in arks.’

‘Yes. In the little field, behind the cow shed.’ Triangular contraptions like a bar of Toblerone in wood and wire netting. ‘But you aren’t suggesting we have hens on the lawn? And where would I get a hen ark, anyway? I don’t think they’re available to people like me, now that timber is in such short supply.’

‘But wouldn’t you like your own hens, Lorna? The man from the egg packers told Mrs Wintersgill that eggs will be the next thing to be rationed. Be nice to have our own – real fresh. But I suppose William wouldn’t like hens on his lawn …’ She said it sneakily, tongue in cheek.

‘William? It’s my lawn as well, Ness, if push comes to shove. I don’t have to ask my husband if I can keep poultry. Come to think of it, I’d get a few hens if it were at all possible.’

‘But there aren’t any arks nor hen huts nor hen runs any more – well, only for farmers …’

‘Exactly. Now I’ve been very good all day – only made one tiny pot of tea, so I think we can spare a spoonful for a cuppa. Have it in the garden, shall we?’

‘OK. You take the cushions out and the little table; I’ll make the tea,’ Ness smiled.

And she continued to smile as she set a tea tray and put the smallest teapot to warm, because having hens would be a lot better than digging up the lawn to grow vegetables. Ness liked hens; loved to see the way they scratched, feathery bottoms wobbling from side to side, and she liked it when they laid an egg and cackled like mad afterwards; knew too that in summer a hen would lay at least four eggs a week, fresh and brown, for breakfast. And, would you believe, it just happened that behind the hay barn at Glebe Farm, she had seen two arks in need of repair and obviously unwanted by the farmer. Been shoved there, she shouldn’t wonder, to be chopped up for firewood. Surely Mr Tuthey at the Saddlery could make something of them? A splice of wood here, a few nails there – and the netting wire repaired? Six hens they would be able to keep on scraps and gleanings from the field. Eggs aplenty in the laying season. Ness Nightingale was a quick learner, knew about the laying season and how to feed and water hens, and in the morning she would ask Kate Wintersgill about those thrown-away arks, and could she and Lorna have them, please?

‘Won’t be a minute,’ she called, so concerned with Ladybower’s hens that the matter of Lorna’s early life, about her poor mother and a father who had left her, slipped into the depths of her mind.

But for all that, thoughts of Lorna’s childhood came easily to her that night in bed. The soldiers at the manor, hens and hen arks, were not of such importance when you thought about a small child with both parents gone. Sad, really, even if Lorna had had a good grandfather to bring her up and leave her all his money and possessions. Was nowhere near as good as having a Mam and a Da and a Nan. And Auntie Agnes – until recently, that was. She, Ness, had been lucky in her rearing, lucky all her life, really – until Patrick, that was. Patrick, ever ready to take over her thoughts even now, if she would allow it.

She closed her eyes and hugged herself tightly. She had loved him so very much. He had filled her heart, her life, and then one day it had all ended.

She opened her eyes wide then blinked them against tears that threatened. She wouldn’t cry! She had wept a lifetime of tears for him, then taken a long look at her life and how best it was to be lived without him. It was why she had joined the Land Army. A new life, a new start far from Ruth Street and memories of a heartache she had thought she was learning to accept.

‘Oh, damn, damn, damn!’ She threw off the bedclothes and pulled back the curtains, pushing the window wider so she could lean over the sill and look out into the near-darkness and the garden below, smell dew-soaked grass and roses and honeysuckle and newly-flowering lavender. And she gazed over to the wood, a darker mass that merged into the sky, where perhaps there was a nun who appeared to star-crossed lovers.

Are you there, you who know about lost love? If I walk in Dickon’s Wood will you come to me to let me know you understand?

‘Idiot!’

She crept back into bed, leaving the curtains open so the square of window took in the night glow from a darkness that in high summer was never quite complete; from a sky that outlined tree tops and rose bushes and the wooden bench where, only a few hours ago, she and Lorna had sat. And talked, would you believe, about hens!

She burrowed into the pillows, pulling the blanket over her head, trying to shut out what was gone for all time and think instead of the manor, and hens on the back lawn, and Mam and Da and Nan, so far away in Ruth Street, Liverpool 4. And about the invasion, and if it would come. And if she had one iota of sense left in her head, to count her blessings like any other reasonable woman would do, and get on with the rest of her life!