Читать книгу Kitty’s War - Terri Nixon - Страница 15

Chapter Seven

Belinda and I ran, crouched low and laughing, across the field that lay alongside the yard of the sawmill, and, hugging the hedgerow, we followed it to the wall at the top. Belinda went up first, finding handholds easily in the stones, and dropping down the other side. My head was still buzzing a little, but rather than hindering me, it seemed to take away my hesitation and tension, and before I realised it I was thudding to the ground beside her.

The stallion raised his head and sniffed the air, but did not appear likely to bolt. I took a moment to appreciate the splendour of him; his chestnut coat gave off waves of light that changed from minute to minute, flashes of deep red against the brown, and I imagined how it would feel to be up there on his back, feeling him respond to my movements…

‘Watch the house,’ Belinda whispered.

My blood thrumming, I glanced behind us but there was no movement from the yard of the timber mill. When I looked back Belinda was carefully walking towards the horse, letting him see her but keeping the halter down at her side; she was clearly an expert, and I relaxed as she ran a practised hand down the stallion’s long nose, then stepped up to stand alongside him, patting his neck. He stamped and snorted, and I turned to check the yard again, but no-one came out of any of the large sheds to investigate. Somewhere in my clouded thoughts I wondered what the time was, and how long we had been here, but I was distracted by the little thrill of shared triumph as Belinda slipped the halter beneath the stallion’s head, and, in one quick movement, drew it over his nose and cheek.

To our surprise, he stood stock-still as soon as he felt the touch of the rope, and Belinda turned to me with a grin of delight and gestured me over. ‘Slow,’ she cautioned, but she hadn’t needed to warn me. I was used to far more skittish horses. Standing this close to the thoroughbred made me realise just how huge he really was; straddling his back seemed an impossibility, and I didn’t know how Belinda would manage, but when I glanced to the side I saw her stooping to make a stirrup with her hands.

‘Me? I’m not going first!’

‘Yes, you are, come on.’

I didn’t give myself time to think. I just slipped my foot into her linked hands, and she boosted me up until I was able to throw my right leg over the stallion’s back. He shifted again, and his head dropped, but he didn’t sidestep, or make a sound, and the memories came sweeping back as I picked up the makeshift rein, feeling my fingers move to let the rough rope slide into place.

Belinda’s face, turned up to me, was shining. She looked like a child at that moment, and her excitement found its echo in me… I was nineteen, not ninety; I’d missed out on so much fun, and the war showed no signs of ending; this might be my last chance for a long time. Maybe ever.

Belinda must have seen something of this in my face, because she nodded and stepped back. ‘I’ll keep watch. Go on; just don’t let him jump the gate into the road.’

‘We have to name him,’ I said, ‘just for today.’

She thought for a moment, then glanced at the timber yard and smiled. ‘Woody?’

‘Perfect!’ I sat up straight, missing the solid feel of a stirrup beneath my feet, and gently pressed with my knees. Nothing happened. I pressed harder, still nothing, then I brought my heels in, and Woody took off.

The field flew by beneath us, and before I had time to realise what had happened, we had reached the top corner, and I could feel Woody’s strides shortening, and the muscles beneath my legs bunching. At least it wasn’t the gate at the bottom of the field, but this wall was no small thing either and, panicked, I gripped tighter with my knees, wondering why on earth I’d thought I could do this without a saddle. My fingers let go of the rope and instead twisted into Woody’s mane, and I fought the urge to lie down over his neck and wrap my arms around him, and then we were up, and over. As we landed I felt my grip slipping, and my breath stopped until I settled into the rhythm again. I slowly sat up straight and let go of Woody’s mane, relaxing and letting myself once more enjoy the sensation of grace and power afforded me by this unexpected and thrilling experience.

This field currently housed a few sheep, who raised their heads and stared at us thundering towards them, before slowly bunching together and shuffling off out of the way. I laughed aloud at their casual, almost resigned acceptance of the intrusion, and I liked the way that laughter sounded, combined with the thudding of hooves on summer-thick grass. I couldn’t pretend I had any real control over Woody’s flight, but I could tell both of us were enjoying it. I’d once been carried off by a frightened pony, and that sensation had been completely different; the pony had faltered and jerked, its head was down, and I’d had the feeling that at any moment it might have stopped dead, sending me sailing over its head. Woody, however, was stretching his long legs out, and his canter was smooth and easy, loping over the grass, rounding the field at the top and following the wall along to the far corner.

The last remnants of a strong wine drunk too quickly had faded as soon as we’d begun moving, and everything was pushed to the back of my mind: worry about being seen, worry that we’d be late picking up the new girl, even the ache of missing Archie—such a constant companion now, that I barely noticed it—all fled beneath the appreciation of sharing this all-too-brief moment of utter freedom with this glorious, highly trained animal.

The merest touch with my left hand brought him around to face back down the field, and this time, when he took the wall, I was ready and leaned into his neck as he gathered himself and sailed over. Landing in his own field, with Belinda standing such a short distance away, it felt as if playtime was over. We had only been a few minutes, and I felt a shaft of resentment at having to stop so soon—what could she do if we just went around again, after all? I could pretend he’d just taken off. She’d never know…

But with great reluctance I eased Woody’s canter gently back into a trot. We stopped in exactly the same place we’d started, and I made myself slide down, resenting the feel of solid ground under my boots again. Belinda was gazing at me with a deep admiration that only made it worse; I wanted to keep that look fixed on me, but it would soon fade now I was just Kitty again—frightened of everything, unable to face going back to Flanders, and not even particularly good at farmwork.

For now though, she was smiling. ‘My turn. Boost me up—hurry, before someone comes!’

I tried to curb the lance of jealousy as I saw her settle into place on Woody’s back, and gave him a last pat before I stood back. My heart was still pounding with exhilaration, but now it was mixed with trepidation as I heard a door slam in the distance. A moment later, an outraged yell cut across the still air, and Belinda and I both jerked in shock; she must have pulled back on the rope halter, and Woody’s head came back, colliding with hers as she leaned forward to grip his mane just as I had done. She screamed in pain, and as I reached out to grasp the halter, Woody’s hoof scraped down my shin and my shout startled him further. He backed up, unseating Belinda, who toppled off to land on the ground on his other side.

It all happened within seconds, and both the fear of discovery, and the burning pain in my shin, faded into unimportance as Woody trotted away, allowing me to see Belinda properly. Her face was covered with blood, and the tiny bits of skin that showed through the grisly mask were absolutely white. A glance at her foot showed why; it was still turned awkwardly beneath her where she’d landed, and from its position it must surely be broken.

‘Bel,’ I breathed in horror. ‘Don’t move!’

‘Not likely,’ she said through gritted teeth. I limped over to her, relieved to note that Woody was now pulling up grass once more, as if nothing had happened. Only the halter he wore gave away our activity, and I wondered if I could get to it and take it off before the sawmill owner reached us.

Belinda guessed what I was thinking. ‘Leave it,’ she mumbled. ‘They know anyway.’

‘We need to get help for you,’ I said. ‘Does your face hurt?’

‘Not much. It’s numb.’ She looked up at me and, to my astonishment, actually smiled. With the blood in her teeth it was a gruesome sight, but the smile was genuine. ‘Just my luck, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘A nice-looking bloke comes to stay, and here’s me with a flattened nose.’

‘And probably a broken ankle,’ I pointed out, and she swallowed, the smile fading. She looked as if she might be sick.

‘I don’t want to move,’ she said. ‘Never again. Can I just stay here? Will you bring me food?’

I gave a little laugh. ‘Maybe this man will have some sympathy when he sees you,’ I said, gesturing at the figure, who had now come through the gate and was marching towards us. But it was a short-lived hope.

‘You bloody little idiots!’ he threw at us, as he walked straight past and went to Woody. ‘You could have crippled him!’

‘What about Be…my friend?’ I retorted.

‘You needn’t be shy about saying her name,’ the man fumed. ‘I know you’re from Dark River Farm. It’s written down the side of your bloody trap!’

‘Well what about her? Aren’t you going to help her?’

‘Not yet,’ he grunted. ‘Not ’til I’ve checked you ’aven’t done any damage to this ’orse.’

I watched, with grudging admiration, as he thoroughly checked each of Woody’s legs, running his hands down each one, and all the while talking in a quiet, soothing murmur. Then he took hold of the home-made halter and led Woody up and down for a few minutes, his eyes missing nothing as he watched the placement of each hoof. Finally he slipped off the halter and came back to stand in front of us.

‘Which one of you made this?’

I remembered Belinda’s idea that I should take the blame for any trouble, since I was a favourite of Frances. ‘It was me,’ I said. ‘It was all my idea, I’m sorry. You can’t blame Bel.’

The man turned pale blue eyes on me, and, now the immediate worry of injury to the loaned stallion was ruled out, he seemed to relax, if only a little. He wasn’t much older than us, which surprised me. We weren’t used to seeing men of fighting age around any more—at least, no-one who wasn’t dressed in hospital blues. This man was probably between twenty-five and thirty, blunt-featured, with the ruddy complexion of an outdoorsman, and a rather scruffy head of sandy-coloured hair. I guessed his occupation must have exempted him from call-up, because he certainly looked healthy enough.

‘This is a good little ’alter,’ he said. I shot a glance at Belinda, but she didn’t seem to care that I was taking the credit for her handiwork. Her head was down, her hair loosened from its pins and hanging in a pale curtain over her eyes, and she barely seemed aware there was anyone else here.

‘Look, my friend is hurt,’ I said. ‘Please, can you help me get her back to the trap, and I’ll take her home.’

The man shook his head, and now he looked annoyed again. ‘Bring ’er into the ’ouse, and we’ll see what’s what.’

‘I can’t carry her, and she can’t walk!’

He sighed, handed me the halter, then stooped to lift Belinda. She gave a little yelp as her foot left the ground and swung free for a moment, before he settled her more comfortably and set off back towards the mill. I followed, my mind frantically searching for a reasonable explanation as to why we had seen fit to risk Woody’s health, but of course there wasn’t one. Frances would be furious with me when she found out, despite what Belinda seemed to think.

In the house, the man set Belinda down on the couch, and I was finally able to gather my scattered thoughts and set to work. I checked her ankle first, and after a few minutes’ careful examination, I sat back on my heels. ‘I don’t think it is broken, after all.’

Belinda let her breath out in a shaky sigh of relief. ‘What about my nose?’

‘Hard to say. I’ll clean it up in a moment, but first of all we need to stabilise your foot.’

‘You a nurse?’ the man said.

‘No. But I’m Red Cross trained.’ I thought, for a moment, that my efficiency had impressed him enough to have cooled his anger, but it hadn’t. He merely handed me the things I asked for, without comment, and when I’d fixed a makeshift splint onto Belinda’s ankle, and wiped her face clean of blood, he began his tirade all over again.

‘You could’ve killed that ’orse! Do you have any idea how much he’s worth? What the army would’ve said? Not to mention ’aving to go through the bloody process of a loan all over again, to get Lady in foal!’ He continued in this vein for quite some time, before I glanced at the clock, and groaned, abandoning any notion of tending to my own scraped shin.

‘The train’ll have been and gone by now. Jessie will be waiting.’

‘Did you hear a word of what I just said?’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry. But we’re supposed to be picking someone up from the station. We have to go. Bel, can you walk if you lean on me?’

‘I think so.’ She looked at the mill owner, her eyes worried above her puffed and swollen nose. ‘Will you be telling Mrs Adams?’

‘I expect so,’ he said. ‘You ’ave to understand how dangerous it was, what you did.’

‘We do!’ I begged. ‘Please, we don’t have any horses at Dark River any more—just Pippin.’

‘That don’t make you special,’ he said, his brows lowered. ‘They took ours too, all except them that was needed. We ’ad some beauties, but the army’ve got ’em now, or they’re more likely dead. Don’t mean you can go around stealing rides when the fancy takes you.’

‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘We understand that. It was just a silly idea and we’ve learned our lesson.’

But he was in full flow now. ‘I mean, how would it look if I came over your place, and took your best cow just ’cos we ain’t got any milk?’

I was beginning to lose my patience now. ‘Look, Mr…?’

‘Pearce.’

‘Mr Pearce, we’re sorry. We really are. If you do tell Mrs Adams, be sure and tell her it was my fault. But we have to go now! That poor girl we’re collecting will think she’s been forgotten’

‘And you are?’

‘Kitty Maitland.’

‘Kitty’s fault. Right you are.’

I looked at him for a moment, unsure if he was teasing, but his face was grim. Well, nothing to be done now; I’d tried my best. ‘Bel, come on.’

Belinda stood up, leaning on me, and took the halter from Mr Pearce. He followed us out to the trap, and I helped Belinda to climb onto the seat, where she loosened the knots in the halter with a few quick movements, and threw the rope back into the trap. I saw Mr Pearce’s watching, one eyebrow arched slightly, but before he could say anything I picked up the reins and wheeled the cart around to drive back towards the station.

The platform was empty, as was the turntable; the train had long since begun its return journey, and the passengers dispersed.

‘Well where on earth is she?’ Belinda said. Her voice was starting to sound very nasal, and when I looked at her I saw her nose was even more swollen now. I winced, but didn’t mention it; it would only upset her more.

‘She knows the farm. Do you think she might have begun to walk?’

‘She must have.’ Belinda sighed. ‘This is all we need. She’s bound to be really cross, and blab to Mrs Adams.’

‘She might not. She might be very sweet,’ I said, turning Pippin around once more. I hoped I was right; we were in enough trouble as it was. ‘Mr Pearce knows full well it was you who made the halter,’ I added idly, as we set off back to the farm. ‘I saw him looking at you dismantling it.’

‘I didn’t really mean for you to take the blame anyway,’ Belinda said. ‘I only said that when I thought nothing could possibly go wrong.’

‘Whereas actually, nothing has gone right,’ I pointed out, and we continued in gloomy silence until, up ahead, we spotted a dark-clad figure with two cases, one particularly heavy-looking. ‘There!’

We rattled up alongside the girl, who looked up at us, then at the name on the side of the cart. A smile broke across a pleasant, heart-shaped face. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased to see you. I thought no-one had remembered I was coming!’

Belinda and I slumped in relief, and the girl passed up the lightest of her cases, before taking my proffered hand and climbing up to sit in the back, dragging the heavy one up behind her.

‘I’m Kitty Maitland,’ I said, ‘and this is Belinda Frier.’

‘So nice to meet you, I’m Jessie Goulding. What on earth’s happened to your nose?’

Belinda and I looked at one another and I pulled a face; we hadn’t even considered what we’d say when the inevitable questions started. If we told the truth we’d get into awful trouble for sure, but that might be unnecessary trouble, and avoided by a little white lie. Without knowing whether Mr Pearce was going to tell Frances what we’d done, could we risk having that misdemeanour to add to our list if the truth did come out?

Jessie smiled. ‘Were you doing something you shouldn’t have been?’ Again, we looked at each other and said nothing. ‘It’s all right,’ Jessie said. ‘I won’t tell. I promise. Frances can be a bit strict, can’t she?’

I felt a surprising jolt of jealousy at the casual way this girl spoke about Frances, and wondered how close they really were. ‘Thank you,’ I said, shooting a pointed look at Bel, who tried to smile, but her poor face really did look swollen now and she couldn’t be blamed for the grimace that had to suffice.

As we drew nearer the farm I glanced into the back of the trap, and noticed Jessie sitting more upright. Her face had lit up, and she looked lively and interesting as she twisted and turned her head as if trying to take in all the familiar things at once. She caught me looking, and smiled again, and I smiled back; perhaps we’d become friends. We seemed to be of an age after all. A best friend could be closer than a sister, I’d heard, but having had neither I could only wonder. Evie, while I loved and admired her, was a crucial few years older and married, and in any case she had Lizzy—our brief closeness in Flanders was from another time, another world.

As for Belinda, I had fun with her, and had even opened up a little when I’d been drunk, but we were chums, not close friends. I liked her enormously, but didn’t wholly trust her to be the kind of person I could rely on. Perhaps then, Jessie Goulding and I were destined to find that kind of unbreakable friendship… I settled against the hard seat back, hoping that would be the case, and making up my mind to do all I could to bring it about.

I pulled Pippin to a stop in the yard, and caught sight of two figures walking up through the field towards the wood. One taller, but walking stiffly and a little hunched, the shorter one very straight-backed, and gesturing with his hands, clearly agitated in his speech. Curiosity burned as I remembered that strange, emotional exchange last night; what on earth had Nathan done to Will all those years ago?

‘It looks exactly the same as I remember it,’ Jessie said, with quiet satisfaction.

I turned back to see her climbing down from the trap. ‘When were you here last?’

‘I suppose I must have been around ten or eleven. Frances usually visits us instead, but I do remember coming here when my mother wasn’t well.’

‘And how old are you now?’

‘I’m twenty-one.’

‘Can you two stop chattering,’ Belinda said through gritted teeth, ‘and bloody well help me down off this seat? My ankle has seized up.’

We took Bel’s hands, helping her to slide off the seat and land more lightly than she would have been able to otherwise. Then she put an arm around my shoulder, and I shot Jessie an apologetic look as I left her to carry both her own bags again, and helped Bel into the kitchen. Jessie didn’t complain, simply picked up her belongings and followed us indoors where Lizzy and Sally were preparing lunch.

‘Gracious!’ Lizzy put down her vegetable knife in alarm, and came over to help Bel into a seat. ‘What have you been doing? Are you all right?’

‘Quite all right, thank you,’ Bel mumbled, sounding more nasal than ever.

‘It’s my fault,’ Jessie put in quickly, and smiled and held out her hand. ‘You must be Lizzy. Frances has told me so much about you. I’m Jessie Goulding.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid Belinda slipped and fell from the trap while she was helping me to load my bags. I feel awful about the whole thing.’

Belinda’s mouth dropped open, but she nodded quickly. ‘Don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault at all. I was in too much of a rush to get home.’

‘You’re always in too much of a rush about everything,’ Lizzy scolded gently, and tilted Belinda’s face up to catch the light from the window. ‘You’ve managed to give yourself quite a wallop there. Kitty, could you fetch a wet cloth? Bel’s nose is bleeding a bit.’

‘It’s better than it was,’ I said, dampening a cloth at the sink. ‘We cleaned it up, but I expect the jolting of the trap started it off again.’

‘How about that foot?’ Lizzy wanted to know, frowning at the splint I’d put on. ‘Is it broken? We’ll have to get Dr Nichols over.’

‘It’s not broken,’ I said, and passed the cloth to her. ‘I thought it was but I had a good look at it, and I’m sure it’s just sprained.’

‘Well you’d know,’ Lizzy said, smiling at me with a warmth that made me feel clever again, for a minute. She could always do that. ‘Well done, Kitty.’

I blushed, and glanced at Jessie, who was eyeing me with a new speculation in her expression. Perhaps Lizzy’s words had given her a good impression of me; I hoped so. I tried to send her a look of gratitude for her quick thinking, but I don’t know if she read it correctly, and we were both soon distracted by Belinda’s little whimpers as Lizzy gently wiped the fresh blood from her face.

‘I’ll show you to your room,’ I said to Jessie, and picked up one of her cases. It turned out to be the heavy one and I grunted with surprise. She picked up the other, and followed me upstairs to the room we knew as the dorm. Jane had left her part of the three-bed room as neat as Bel’s was scruffy. The bed was stripped down, and the cupboard by its side was polished, the little jug and bowl set just so in the centre of the linen square, the drawers freshly lined with paper ready for Jessie’s possessions. Reflecting that Jane was, indeed, the best person to be taking care of hers and Bel’s mother, I put Jessie’s case on the bed and bent to unbuckle the straps.

‘There, I’ll just leave you to—’

‘This isn’t my room.’

I blinked. ‘Um, well, this is where Jane slept, and since you’re replacing Jane I thought—’

‘Whenever I come to stay I sleep in the room next door. The yellow room.’

‘Oh, but that’s…’ It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her it was my room, but she did have a prior claim after all. And it might be quite fun to share with Sally and Bel. ‘I’ll move my things in here then,’ I said instead.

‘Thanks lots,’ Jessie said, and smiled again. ‘It’s only what I’m used to, d’you see?’

‘Of course.’ I buckled up the case again and slid it off the bed. How on earth had she managed to carry the blessed things so far before we caught up with her? This one felt as if it were filled with rocks.

‘I’ll help you change the bedding after lunch,’ I offered, and she nodded her thanks. ‘What’s in this case?’ I asked, before realising how that sounded. ‘I’m sorry. That was quite rude of me.’

‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘I should have carried that one. It’s far heavier than this. It’s got my books in it.’

‘You like to read? I do, too.’ I was itching to see what books she had, hopeful of the kind of conversations I’d often had with Lizzy’s younger sister, Emily, but she had turned away, so I just took some clothes from the drawer and carried them next door to the dorm.

On my way past the yellow room again I poked my head around the door. ‘I’ll see you downstairs. I’m going to help with lunch.’