Luckpenny Land

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘There, you see!’ Connie stood up and slapped her hands down upon the table. The sound was so loud that Meg actually jumped. ‘She has planned this from the start. Who knows what she persuaded my father to do, wheedling her way into his good graces, moving in to make herself at home by his fireside.’

  Hot-cheeked, Meg faced her adversary with some spirit. ‘He was ill. He needed looking after. Who else was there?’

  The implication that Connie had neglected her duties to her own father stung, and she reacted badly. ‘We’re living in the twentieth century. You could have picked up a telephone, I suppose, and let me know how my father was.’

  Subdued by this justifiable criticism, though it would have necessitated a walk of several miles to the Co-op where a phone was located, and knowing she’d been too busy looking for the lost Effie at the time to think of it, Meg mumbled an apology. ‘It all happened so quickly. I ran to fetch the doctor to him, then thought he was on the mend. How was I to know that he ... that he...’

  Mr Capstick cut in quickly, seeing the welling of tears in her grey eyes, and anxious to keep trouble to a minimum. He attempted to dampen the heat of the atmosphere with a smile.

  ‘Ladies, ladies, there is little point in going over old ground. I am sure Miss Turner did as she thought best in what must have been very difficult circumstances. For whatever reason, Mr Lawson felt he could not go on. Painful as it is, we must accept that fact and as his trustee it is my duty to see that his wishes are carried out to the letter.’

  Silence fell, embarrassed and strained. Connie resumed her seat on persuasion, but with reluctance.

  Meg, trying to come to grips with all the implications, was the first to break the silence. ‘May I please ask a question?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘This option to purchase within five years. Does that mean that I can stay here in the meantime?’

  ‘But of course.’ Mr Capstick picked up the document again. ‘I’m sorry, perhaps I haven’t made it properly clear. Until the five years expire, or until you find the purchase price earlier than that date, you are permitted to lease the farm from the trustees. Mr Lawson has stated in his will that the rent must be two hundred pounds a year, payable on the usual quarter days. Your first payment, since this is October, will be on Christmas Day, which is the first quarter day following the date of his death.’ He smiled at Meg. ‘Do you think you can manage that?’

  The rent was reasonable, no one could deny it, less than the going rate. But a quarter of two hundred - fifty pounds - in how long? Less than three months. Not a chance. ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding briskly. ‘I can manage that.’

  ‘He asked me to give you this.’

  ‘What is it?’

  The solicitor held out a coin. ‘He said that you would understand.’

  Meg took the coin and cradled it in her palm. ‘It’s a Luckpenny.’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘He told me about the old Norse custom many times. It’s to transfer one person’s good will to another, and with it friendship. Always give something back, Lanky said.’ She felt her heart swell with love and pride that he should have so much faith in her that he would leave her his beloved farm.

  ‘Oh, I’ll take good care of it, I will, I will,’ she said.

  ‘Good. Then everything is quite clear? You do understand the full responsibility facing you?’

  Oh, yes, she understood perfectly. Taking in Jack’s stunned expression and Connie’s furious gaze, Meg understood that she had gained her longheld desire for a farm of her own, but very likely at the cost of something far more precious: Jack’s trust.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done it. You didn’t ought to have laid a finger on her.’

  Sally Ann spoke the words quietly as she walked with Joe and Dan back down the lane towards Ashlea.

  ‘The little brat is bone idle. And wick with fleas.’

  ‘No, she wasn’t. We cleaned her up. Anyway, that was hardly her fault, was it?’

  ‘Then I don’t know whose fault it was.’

  ‘Joe.’ Sally Ann laid a hand upon his arm. ‘You do realise that Meg will never forgive you for hurting Effie in that way? You’ll be lucky if your daughter ever speaks to you again.’

  ‘She just has. I told her she could come home but all she cares about is Lanky’s Shorthorns.’

  ‘And all you seem to care about is getting your hands on Broombank land. Why? What does it matter?’

  ‘Happen I think there should be only one head to a family, and that’s me. Besides which, our Dan reckons he’s underpaid.’

  Dan took interest at this point. ‘Does that mean I’m to get a rise?’

  ‘Oh, shut your face, you daft ha’porth.’

  Sally Ann hooked a hand into Joe’s arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. ‘All you have to do is say you got a bit carried away and you’re sorry for hurting the child.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry.’

  ‘You want me to apologise?’

  Sally Ann turned to her husband who was doing his best not to become involved. ‘Tell him, Dan. He only has you and me now, with Charlie gone off to war. He shouldn’t alienate his only daughter.’

  ‘Charlie shouldn’t have gone. He knows Dad didn’t want him to.’

  ‘Aye, that’s right. What good did fighting a war ever do, that’s what I say.’

  Sally Ann swallowed her vexation. ‘I despair of you both, I do really. I know you care about Meg really, deep down. Why in heaven’s name won’t you ever show it?’ And because Joe had not shrugged off the closeness of her arm and she sensed an uncertainty in him, well disguised by bravado, she dared to voice her concern a touch more precisely. ‘Well, I’ll tell you this, Joe Turner. You’ll not touch a child of mine in that manner, when it comes. Not while there’s breath in my body.’

  Keen dark eyes turned upon her. ‘Are you saying it’s likely there’ll be a child?’

  ‘I might be.’

  A moment’s considering pause. ‘Aye, well, thee will have a son. That’s different.’

  Meg could not deny that the news excited her. She nurtured the thrill of this news in her heart and couldn’t wait for the time when Connie and her long-faced husband had departed and she could plead her case with Jack, persuade him to start planning properly.

  But Mr and Mrs Bradshaw were relishing their little holiday, at someone else’s expense, and in no hurry to depart. The family passed a difficult weekend together, Connie taking every opportunity to make snide remarks, openly scathing that Meg could ever hope to find fifty pounds for the first payment at Christmas.

  ‘So that will put paid to your fanciful notions.’ There was grim satisfaction in the tone and Peter nodded in agreement, as he usually did.

  Meg was hard pressed at times to bite her tongue but compelled herself to manage it, for Jack’s sake. She was too busy in any case for argument, since the days were filled with putting on kettles for the endless washing up following the gargantuan meals she was expected to produce.

  ‘My father always kept a good table,’ Connie had a fondness for remarking, though where she imagined the food was coming from she never seemed to wonder and certainly never enquired. Nor did Meg enlighten her. If it ever got back to Joe that he was temporarily supporting two households, Judgement Day would surely dawn early for them all.

  The atmosphere was so chilled at times with Connie either finding fault with Meg or at loggerheads with her brother that Meg felt dizzy with the worry of it.

  If only she could speak with Jack alone, and see that he was happy for her. It affected them both, didn’t it? The war wouldn’t last for ever. But all she could do was keep in the background as much as possible, even banishing little Effie to bed unreasonably early to avoid any danger of confrontation. And there was not a moment for Jack and Meg to have to themselves.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Monday morning at Broombank came in dank and cold. A mist clung to the upper reaches of Dundale Knott like wisps of hair round an old ma
n’s bald head. The mood in the farmhouse was equally grim. Though Connie and her husband were finally leaving, Jack too had announced he must be on his way and Meg volunteered to walk with him as far as the road, grabbing the first few precious moments for them to be together since the reading of the will.

  ‘You don’t believe I engineered all of this, do you?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know what to think. One minute we’re going to get married and start a new life together somewhere yet to be decided, the next you’re setting yourself up as a farmer.’

  He turned his face to hers and for a moment Meg looked into the eyes of a stranger. A cold shiver stroked the length of her spine but she shook it away, dismissing it as fancy. He was jealous, that was all, because there’d been nothing for his father to leave to him. She slipped her hand into his. It felt large and warm and strong, and she certainly had no intention of spoiling these last moments together in disagreement.

  ‘Don’t be cross, Jack. You know I always wanted to stay here. You like it too, deep down, or you would if you’d only give it a chance. You’re just depressed, feeling left out of things because of the war. But can you blame Lanky for dealing with it in this way? You never said you wanted Broombank.’

  ‘It doesn’t greatly matter what I want at the moment, does it?’ Jack said. ‘There’s talk of us going abroad soon.’

  Meg stopped dead. ‘Oh, Jack, why didn’t you tell me? All this talk about me and Lanky and Broombank, and all the time you’re going overseas, into the fighting. Oh, dear God.’

  ‘Don’t start. I’ll be all right.’

  Meg moved into his arms and Jack felt the warm pressure of her breasts against his chest. He slid his hands down over her small rump and pressed her closer. Drat Connie being there, they might have spent a much more pleasant night without his sister around with one ear cocked. He nuzzled into Meg’s neck, relishing the sweet scent of her. He’d forgotten how tantalisingly feminine she was, not at all like the rough types who frequented the bars around the Pool at Liverpool.

  ‘I’ll get some leave before I go. Embarkation leave they call it. We can have a good time together then, eh?’

  He moved his mouth to hers and teased open her lips, feeling her sigh against him. He didn’t let the kiss go on too long though because he had a bus to catch.

  Meg’s eyes were shining up at him. ‘Oh, that would be lovely. I wish we could get married before you go, but it wouldn’t be proper, would it? So soon after the funeral.’

  Panic came into his eyes but Meg was pressing her head against his chest so didn’t notice. ‘I don’t know when we’re going yet. It could be months. But anyway...’

  ‘No, don’t.’ She pressed her fingertips to his lips when he might have said more. ‘I understand you’re going into danger. I know... that the worst might happen.’ There was a catch in her throat. ‘But I want to think that we at least had something, some time together, as man and wife. If they don’t send you abroad for a few months, we could get married, couldn’t we? Then we’d have known some happiness...’ She stopped and swallowed carefully. ‘I love you so much, Jack.’

  He kissed her again and found himself sharing her rising excitement. It might not be such a bad idea. It might give him some hope for the future, to be married. Lots of his mates were doing it. Rushing in and marrying the first good-looking girl who crossed their path. Seemed to be all the rage. Meg would never let him have her again otherwise. He’d given up all hope, knowing that her Methodist upbringing and fear of her father were too strong in her. Sometimes he wondered what it was about her that made him want her so badly when there were any number of girls only too glad to have him.

  ‘Let’s think about it for a bit,’ he said. ‘You still wear my ring?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Meg held it out so they could both admire the sparkle. ‘I wear it all the time.’

  ‘Well, see that you do. Some of the lads have been let down by their girls back home already, playing about the minute they’d gone.’

  Meg looked shocked. ‘Oh, but that’s dreadful. To cheat on somebody when they’ve gone off to fight a war. I would never do that to you, Jack.’

  He hugged her close, enjoying the feel of her small body against his. ‘See that you don’t, or I’ll make you sorry.’ He bent his head and kissed her lips, nipping them with his teeth so that fire shot through to her belly, shaming her.

  She pulled away a little, feeling flustered. ‘Have you heard from Kath?’ She linked her arm safely in his as they sauntered on.

  ‘Not for ages.’ Then as an afterthought, ‘Well, I did get a postcard from Southport.’

  ‘Southport?’

  ‘Staying with an aunt, she said.’

  ‘I do wish she’d write to me. What have I done? Why doesn’t she write? Or do you think she sent me a postcard too and Father threw it away?’

  ‘I wouldn’t put it past him. Mean beggar.’

  Meg considered. ‘Southport isn’t far from Liverpool, is it? I don’t suppose you could call and see her? Find out what’s wrong. Perhaps she’s not well or something.’ Meg held her breath as she waited for his reply. She missed Kath.

  ‘What time do I get for going visiting?’

  Meg sighed. ‘I suppose not. Was there an address on this postcard?’

  Jack shook his head. He didn’t tell her what the message said, that Kath had asked him to call and see her. Made him feel a bit jumpy, though he couldn’t rightly say why it should.

  He pulled Meg into his arms. ‘Stop worrying over Kath Ellis. She’s probably married someone rich by now and forgotten all about us. Come here, let me show you what’s really on my mind.’

  Squealing with delight she let him chase her for a full hundred yards before she allowed him to catch her again. His kisses and his demanding hands upon her body more than quenched her worries over her old friend. How silly she was. Jack was right. Kath always came up smiling.

  ‘Maybe I do like the idea of your waiting here for me, making a home. Maybe one day starting a family.

  Meg gasped. ‘Oh, Jack. Really?’

  The thought of going overseas thrilled and scared the hell out of him all at the same time. It might help to know Meg was here, a loving home to come back to. Who would buy the farm anyway, with a war on? It rankled a bit that his father had overlooked him in this way, yet it didn’t surprise him.

  But they didn’t have to keep it for ever. Five years was a long time. The war would be over long before then and there was no possibility of Meg’s finding the purchase price in any case. She’d be lucky to manage to pay the rent. After the war they could sell it at a good profit, give Connie her share and put all this nonsense of farming out of Meg’s head. It would only take a baby or two to do the trick, and everything would be fine and dandy then. For now, he’d leave things just as they were.

  It did not occur to him to ask if Meg was all right for money or if she needed anything. And Meg, being Meg, did not mention her need. He gave her one last lingering kiss.

  ‘We’ll give it twelve months, as we should in the circumstances, then see what we can do, eh?’

  ‘Oh, Jack.’ Meg squealed with delight and flung her arms about his neck while he spun her around, startling a flock of hedge sparrows into chaotic flight.

  Meg was as near happy as she had been in a long while, not unaware that she had Lanky as much as Jack to thank for it. ‘I’ll make you proud of me, you’ll see,’ she said into the darkness that night as she snuggled down in bed, dazzled by her good fortune and terrified by it all at the same time.

  She had no illusions about the amount of work involved but that didn’t worry her. Meg had every faith that she could make a success of Broombank and restore it to its former glory. She certainly meant to try if only because it was something she could do on her own, to help Jack while he was away fighting. It would be her contribution to the war effort.

  She tucked the Luckpenny beneath her pillow and with a smile still upon her soft lips, fell quickly asleep.r />
  But there was little time for dreaming now. Dawn found her out in the farmyard, paper in hand, making an inventory. If she was to make a success of this business she must first work out its assets. What exactly did she own? She knew the acreage but had no idea how many sheep there were. Though she saw, with sinking heart, Joe had kept his threat and taken the two remaining cows.

  She studied the barns. Only one was sound, the hay barn filled with this year’s harvest, so she ignored that and examined the others. They were in a worse state of repair than she had feared. Some of them were cluttered with old rusting hand tools. She would need to check every item for its likely usefulness, clean every fork, rake, pail and sickle. Mend what was broken, if she could. Fix the holes in the barn roofs, rebuild the miles of dry-stone walls that lined the land, count every bale of hay, and most important of all, check the well-being of every sheep.

  She must talk to Effie. For a city child with a fear of animals this was hardly the best place to be. Life was going to be hard, no doubt about that. Effie had to be told what was involved and be allowed to make up her own mind about staying.

  It was a subject Meg intended to raise over breakfast but the reality of their situation was brought sharply home to her before she got the chance.

  ‘This is the last of the oats,’ Effie announced. ‘You’d best get some more.’

  The last of the oats. Get more? How? She swallowed a sudden fear that constricted her throat, dipped her head so that Effie could not see the dawning horror in her face. ‘Right,’ she murmured, remembering her vow never to let the child go hungry again. But she had underestimated Effie.

  ‘Mind you, there’s plenty of cabbages round the back,’ she said, pouring out a mug of black tea and passing it directly to Meg. ‘The milk was sour.’