‘Don’t look at the mirror, don’t look at the mirror,’ Jess chanted as she began to pick a route through the crates and boxes.
As she reached the Dormer, she tried to concentrate on looking directly ahead, but a slight movement broke her will and she flicked her head to the left. To her astonishment, a few of the broken strands of cobweb had begun to float about, although there wasn’t as much as an eddy of air current in the attic.
Jess stopped dead, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She tried to concentrate on the block feet of the mirror and tried to force herself to keep walking towards the safety of the stairway, but a movement behind the matted, spidery silk grabbed her attention. She willed herself to turn away, to ignore the faint, swaying figures that were becoming more distinct by the second. The ghostly shapes were, at first, facing each other, a hand on the waist, the other around the partners back. As the shapes became clearer, Jess could make out two young females, their white, dresses floating around their calves as they danced. One of the girls was fair, the other had chestnut curls falling around her shoulders. As Jess caught her breath, the faces turned towards her.
‘Nana,’ Jess gasped. ‘Is it really you… and… is that Amy? Oh, Nana, I wouldn’t have been so afraid if I’d known you were up here waiting.’
As she took a step towards the mirror the vision began to fade, and she found herself looking at her own, murky reflection.
‘No! Please don’t go. Not yet.’
Jess took a step back, her mouth dropped open as the vision returned, then the dancing figures parted and the darker of the women turned to face her, full on. Her eyes were soft, her smile sad, then she mouthed something. Jess pricked up her ears but the only sound to be heard was that of her own, stifled breath. Narrowing her eyes, she concentrated on Alice’s mouth to see if she could make out what she was saying. She appeared to be repeating the same word, over and over again. Then, suddenly, Jess heard her beloved Nana’s voice in her head. Not the age-cracked voice she had grown accustomed to over the last few years, but the light, almost melodic voice of Alice’s youth.
‘Beware,’ it said. ‘Beware.’
The mirror suddenly cleared, leaving only her own hazy reflection standing in front of the Dormer.
‘I’ll be careful. Goodbye, Nana,’ Jess whispered, then turning to her right, she walked briskly out of the room.
Chapter 33
Back in the kitchen, Jess placed her armful of notebooks on the table, then put the kettle on and made coffee. As she sipped it, she opened the leather-bound photo album and slowly worked her way through the pages.
The first few pictures were of Alice’s mum and dad standing in front of the farmhouse and in the back yard near the pig pens. Above each photograph was a short description and a date. Alice herself appeared after the fifth page, at first as a baby, then a toddler. After that were a few school aged pictures, with one showing Alice and her best friend Amy, holding hands to the backdrop of the town’s annual fair. There was also a photo of Alice and Amy in the Old Bull, looking slightly the worse for wear, standing in a group with two, tall, dark-haired men who had their arms draped around the girl’s shoulders. At the top off the page was the tagline: The Long Arm of the Law. Bodkin and Ferris. Movie Night. Jan 1939. Interest piqued; Jess jotted down a quick note. Check out the policemen in the photograph.
Towards the back of the album were some grainy black and white photos of Alice with Martha and Marjorie. Right at the back, tucked into the cover, were half a dozen loose pictures of the farm workers and their families. The final two were of Alice and her Gangster Lawyer, Godfrey, standing arm in arm next to the very Alvis that Jess herself had been riding in only a few days before.
Smiling, Jess closed the album and ran her hand over the soft, leather cover.
‘Lovely memories, Nana,’ she said to herself.
Jess made a sandwich and poured a glass of milk, then opened her notebook and wrote 1940 on a clean page. Picking up the memoir from the top of the pile, she took a sip of milk, opened the jotter and began to read.
April 1940
There are no entries for January and February in this volume, mainly because there wasn’t much to relate. The freezing cold weather that arrived during late December continued over the next eight weeks with very few days getting above freezing. It was recorded as being the coldest winter for 45 years.
Very little work was done on the farm. The lads turned up every morning, but after milking and feeding, they were generally sent home to sit by their coal fires for the rest of the day.
Rationing of basic foodstuffs had been introduced in January and it was a major shock to the majority of the population. We had it easier, living on a farm, and although, feeling guilty we cut back ourselves, we didn’t have the same privations as the rest of the public as we produced milk and made our own cheese and butter. Despite offers from many quarters, we steadfastly refused to sell to the newly created black market, and let the government agencies have the bulk of our produce.
By mid-March the worst of it was over but the land was so wet we couldn’t do a lot in the fields. The previous autumn, the government had decreed that farmers should plough up the pastures that were normally left fallow, but as the land had been frozen for all those weeks, we hadn’t had a chance to do it.
In the second week of April, we led Bessie, our aging shire horse, out of her paddock, harnessed her up and began to plough one of the three fields that had been left to nature.
Bessie loved being out in the fields and she was spoiled rotten by the lads. Before the rationing came in, they would feed her sugar lumps, but now that sugar was in short supply, they fed her apples, and mint humbugs, ignoring my half-hearted warnings that she would get fat or her teeth would fall out.
We had discussed retiring her during the winter, but because we could only dream of buying a tractor and because trained shire horses were now priced at a premium, we decided that she was fit enough for at least one more year of farm work, though we would keep a sharp eye on her for any sign of weakness. Bessie had her own paddock and a double-stalled, stable. Through the summer months she would be brought out to help clear fallen trees and drag the sawn up trunks into the hedge bottoms to block up any gaps that would allow our sheep to get out onto the lane.
Bessie also made appearances at the country show held in our town every summer and had been the proud winner of a dozen rosettes over the years. The local kids always made a fuss over her whether at the show or whether walking with me or one of the lads around the country lanes during the warm summer evenings.
I had often wondered if she ever felt lonely, but Barney, who knew horses as well as anyone, said she was happy enough. During the summer of 1939 we put a young mare in with her while its owner went into hospital for a minor operation, but we had to separate them after a few hours because Bessie wouldn’t stop biting her.
Barney suggested we try again with an unwanted foal, or invest in another shire horse when she finally retired.
‘She might get bored when she’s stuck in the paddock, week in, week out. We should have a chat about it in the autumn, Missis.’
As it turned out, she got company much sooner than that.
The next morning, Tinker Toby arrived at the farm with his donkey drawn cart. Toby was famous in the area. He was in his seventies, with a mass of unkempt, white hair sticking out at all angles from beneath his large-brimmed, floppy, felt hat. He lived in a ramshackle hut at the junction of Main Street and the Gillingham Road where he sorted and sold the piles of scrap metal, rags and other items the residents of the town couldn’t find a use for. The place had been condemned twice and had been earmarked for demolition for over ten years, but when the contractors turned up to begin work, they found a crowd of angry locals waiting for them. A hasty meeting was arranged between the protesters and the council and it was agreed that the demolition work would be postponed until either Toby, or his residence, keeled over.
I was
alerted to Toby’s arrival by the sound of a braying donkey. Smiling to myself, I grabbed a couple of apples and a large carrot and made my way through the five barred gate and up the side of the house to the lane.
Toby was holding the reins of a young, tan coloured, donkey that was harnessed to his cart. The docile animal swished its tail and looked towards me as I approached.
‘Toby! Where’s the old girl? I’m sure I heard her.’
‘She’s at the back, Missis,’ he said. ‘She’s too old to pull the cart nowadays, but she makes such a racket if I leave her behind that the neighbours complain.’
‘Who is this then?’ I patted the young donkey and scratched between its ears.
‘That’s Tan,’ Toby replied. ‘I’ve had her a few months now.’
I held out one of the apples, Tan took it from my hand, and as he crunched on it, I walked to the back of the fully loaded cart to find an old, grey donkey trying desperately to look around the side of the wagon.
I threw my arms around the donkey’s neck and she rubbed her head against mine.
‘Hello, my lovely,’ I said. The animal was older than me and I had known it all my life. Toby had been a regular visitor to the farm over the years and he would always stay for a natter with my parents while Amy and I petted the beast. He had never given the animal its own, unique, name, he just called it Donkey.
Toby suddenly appeared at the other side of the cart.
‘I’ve got a big problem, Missis,’ he said.
I continued to fuss Donkey as she tried to fish the apple out of my pocket. I laughed, pulled it out and fed it to her.
‘Anything I can help with?’ I replied.
‘I’ve been told to get rid of Donkey,’ he said sadly. His face crumpled. ‘She’s too noisy. People complain about her all the time now. A man from the council came around last week and gave me ten days to take her to the knackers yard or they’d send out a vet to put her down.’ He patted Donkey and ran his hand through her matted mane. ‘That means a bullet. It’s no way for a hard-working animal to die.’
I was outraged.
‘What the… who is this councillor? I’ll have a strong word with him.’
‘There’s nothing to be done, Missis.’ Toby produced a screwed-up sheet of paper from his pocket that detailed Donkey’s death sentence.
As if she’d just read the paper herself, Donkey threw back her head and brayed.
I stroked her ears to comfort her. ‘Don’t worry, lovely, it’s not going to happen.’
‘I was hoping you’d take her on,’ said Toby. ‘You live at the back of beyond, no one is going to complain about her out here, are they?’
‘It’s a farm, Toby, it’s noisy from dawn ‘til dusk. We have cockerels, cows, sheep and pigs, the noise can be deafening sometimes.’
‘So, you’ll take her? It would be a big weight off my mind, Missis.’
‘Of course I’ll take her. I’m not sure how she’ll get on with our Bessie, but there are two stalls in the stable. We can partition the paddock if we have to. She’ll have a happy retirement here.’
Toby wiped his grateful tears from his eyes and scratched Donkey’s head. ‘I’ve had her for twenty-eight years. She was younger than Tan when I first got her. She was with a travelling circus and I caught her owner whipping her because she wouldn’t pull the wagon. She was a stubborn thing, even then. She brayed and brayed and flatly refused to even try to move it so much as an inch. The thing was so big and heavy it needed two full grown horses to pull it any distance. The man threatened to get his gun and put a bullet in her head, so I offered him five shillings for her and we’ve been together ever since.’ He looked lovingly at the animal, then went on. ‘Five bob was a lot of money just before the First World War and I hardly ate for the next two weeks, but I never regretted taking her.’
I nodded sympathetically. I had heard the story many times.
Toby untied the tether from the back of the cart and with tears streaming down his face, handed it to me.
‘You can come to see her any time you feel like it, Toby, you know that. Bring Tan with you too.’
‘They don’t really get on, Missis. That’s one of the problems.’
I led Donkey to the side of the road and Toby turned his cart around. Holding Tan by the harness, he waved to us.
‘Goodbye, old girl, I’ll come and see you soon,’ he promised.
Donkey pulled her head back and brayed as the old man disappeared from view.
I thought she might play up as I pulled on the tether rope to lead her away, but after one lingering look back towards the lane, she allowed me to lead her down the side of the house and into the yard.
Barney, my foreman had been working in the cowshed. He came out as I was closing the gate.
‘What’s this? More livestock?’ He ruffled Donkey’s mane.
‘It’s us or the knacker’s yard, Barney,’ I replied. ‘There was never a choice, really.’
‘We were only just speaking about getting Bessie a bit of company.’
I nodded. ‘I do hope they get on.’
Barney walked with me as I led Donkey to the fence of the paddock. ‘We can easily partition a bit off for her,’ he said. ‘I’ll do it myself; George can take over in the dairy.’
Bessie was chewing grass in the far corner of the paddock, so I tied Donkey to a fence pole and lifted the lasso rope that held the gate shut.
‘We’ll have to give her a name, we can’t just call her, Donkey,’ I said, pushing it open.
Donkey, spotting Bessie ambling towards us, began an ear-splitting volley of brays. I let go of the gate and put my hands over my ears.
‘Good God, no wonder her neighbours were complaining.’
Bessie plodded up and hung her head over the fence. The two animals sniffed at each other, then rubbed their heads gently together. Donkey stopped braying immediately.
‘I think we’ll skip the partition,’ I said. ‘Though it might be best to keep them in separate stalls for tonight at least.’
I led Donkey into the paddock and removed her tether. Bessie tossed her head and began to walk back the way she had come. Donkey trotted after her until she caught up, then they walked side by side, towards Bessie’s favourite part of the pasture.
‘Maybe the mare we brought in for her was too young,’ Barney said scratching his head. ‘These two old gals will have a lot more in common.’
At nine o’clock that night, I was sitting in the kitchen reading to Stephen and Harriet from The House at Pooh Corner, when we heard Donkey braying nonstop for over ten minutes. Thinking she might have picked up a fox’s scent, or was unable to settle into her new surroundings, I lit an oil lantern, grabbed my wellies, pulled my overcoat over my calf length nightie, rushed out of the back door and scurried down to the paddock with the children in hot pursuit.
I pushed open the gate, and with the lantern held in front of me, I hurried across to the stables.
Donkey redoubled her efforts as I opened the stable door and stepped inside. Holding up the lantern I took in the scene. Donkey was standing with her head over the stall gate while Bessie, usually so docile, lifted her head to join in with a series of neighs.
I got the message at once and opened Donkey’s stall. She stopped the racket immediately and waited patiently while I opened the gate to Bessie’s stall and moved aside so that she could enter. Donkey walked slowly up to our big old shire and once again, the pair rubbed heads. Bessie’s stall was huge and there was plenty enough room for the two of them, even if they were sleeping lying down, so I pulled the stall door shut and wished them both a good night.
Out in the paddock, I ushered the giggling children towards the gate. The night was clear and a frost was beginning to form on the tips of the grass stalks. I pulled my collar up and shivered. It wasn’t the sort of weather to be wearing a nightie outdoors, thick coat or not.
‘We should give donkey a new name,’ Harriet said. ‘Donkey just doesn’t seem right.’
‘What do you suggest?’ I asked, as I pulled the five barred gate shut and tied it off.
‘We should call her Bray,’ said Stephen. ‘It’s all she ever does.’
And so, it was decided. Donkey now had a proper name. On the way back to the house, I resolved to get her a leather harness, with her new name burned into it. Bessie had one, so it was only right that Bray should have one too.
Bray settled in well, and was rarely ever seen more than a couple of metres away from our big shire.
On Wednesday, the following week, Barney announced that the ground had dried out enough for us to plough up the bottom field. Being on a natural slope, all of our fallow fields drained well and that morning, he had walked the two remaining unploughed fields carrying a sharpened pole that he poked into the ground here and there to test how dry the top layer of soil was.
He harnessed Bessie and led her to the first pasture, which was in clear view of the paddock. Bray stood forlornly, her head hanging over the perimeter fence. Spotting Bessie in the neighbouring field waiting to have the plough attached, she lifted her head and roared her displeasure.
Barney tapped Bessie on the flank and took hold of her harness to begin the ploughing process. Bessie, usually so compliant, stood her ground and refused to move. Barney tried again, coaxing her with soothing words. Eventually he resorted to bribery and fed her one of the mint humbugs he kept in his pocket. Bessie happily ate it, but refused to budge. Meanwhile, our new lodger’s plaintive calls, echoed around the farm.
After ten minutes of the standoff, Barney gave in and marched back up to the paddock. As he pulled the gate open, he was forced to leap aside as Bray hurtled past him, galloped across the open ground, burst through a small gap in the hedge and trotted up to Bessie’s side. Barney hurried after her, worried that he might soon be involved in a game of chase around the farm. He needn’t have worried.
As he walked into the field, Bessie, without waiting for a command, began to pull the plough. Bray, taking a cue from her big, lumbering partner, began to trot alongside. Barney hurried around Bessie’s back and took hold of the harness on the left side of her head.
The Legacy: Trouble Comes Disguised As Family (Unspoken Book 2) Page 21
