The Angel and the Sword

by Sally Wragg

  Basking in the warmth of the light reflected from the church’s great west window, Ursula Hamilton, née Compton, knelt to settle sweet williams on her grandfather’s grave. Ned Compton had loved sweet williams. She liked to think of his old bones at rest here in the churchyard, companion to Loxley’s other favoured servants who’d finally thrown off the shackles of life. If Ned was here now, he’d tell her to pull herself together, Ursula mused, fretfully.

  ‘I wish you were here, Grandpa,’ she murmured, rocking back on her heels and thinking of the dear old man whose passing had left such a void in her life.

  The morning was rushing on. Regretfully she stood up, dusting down her knees and reclaiming her shopping, at her feet, not having to think far why she’d so impulsively slipped into the churchyard. She often did when she’d anything of importance to tell him. And now there was nothing for it but that she must tell the living too. Starting not where she ought, with her husband Freddie, who she somehow couldn’t yet face, but with her mother, an interview bad enough as it was. . . .

  ‘Are you alright, our Ursula?’ Mary Compton asked, knowing as soon as Ursula walked through the door, looking as if she’d the cares of the world on her slim shoulders, that something was up.

  ‘Why shouldn’t I be alright?’ Ursula retorted flatly, only deepening her mother’s concern. Wearily, she dropped her bag to the floor before sinking thankfully into one of the chairs at the table where her mother stood, making the pastry for a pie.

  ‘Your dad’s out. . . .’

  ‘I saw him talking to one of the helpers in Freddie’s field, on the way up here,’ Ursula agreed but so listlessly, Mary knew wherever her thoughts were, they certainly weren’t with Tom, her father nor with anyone belonging to the camping trip from the boys’ home who’d rented one of the Hamiltons’ fields for the week.

  ‘I’ll make tea,’ she said, wiping flour from her hands and crossing the kitchen to lift the kettle.

  Seeing her disinclined to talk, whilst she made the tea, Mary kept up a ceaseless chatter, full of all the things she’d been wanting to tell her but hadn’t, as yet, had chance. She’d seen so little of her daughter of late, unsurprisingly, given this time of year and the fact all the farms roundabout, Freddie’s included, were busy with hay-making. Her thoughts emerged randomly. The honey harvest from the bees in the back garden, so satisfyingly good, Hettie Loxley back from school and causing trouble already from what she’d heard, the village cricket match and fancy them asking Tom to open the batting at his age and when he had a bad knee to boot. . . .

  ‘Ursula, have you heard a word I’ve said?’ she demanded, finished at last.

  ‘I’ve been to the doctor’s,’ Ursula answered quietly and so shockingly unexpectedly, Mary knew she wasn’t about to hear the news she and Tom had been so longing to hear. She sank back into her chair, her face instantly fretted and worried.

  ‘You’re not ill, our Ursula? Please tell me you’re not ill!’ she demanded urgently.

  Aware there was no easy way to say this, Ursula did her best to compose herself. ‘I’m afraid I’ve had some bad news, Mother. News that I don’t quite know how to tell you . . . but . . . oh dear . . . I can’t have children!’ she blurted out, her own pain in giving air to such a horrible truth completely overriding her mother’s gasp of dismay.

  Typically, Mary’s first thoughts were for Ursula.

  ‘Oh my darling. . . . I am sorry! But . . . but you mustn’t fret. It’s really not the end of the world.’

  ‘Just feels like it?’ Ursula answered drily, wishing desperately that ever since she and Freddie had wed, she hadn’t so desperately pinned her hopes on their having children, a force of nature she’d always taken for granted. Freddie she knew had always longed for children. ‘It’s my fault,’ she added bitterly, wanting there to be no illusions and wondering if she should have made this clear from the start. It was all her fault, nothing to do with Freddie and for the moment she wasn’t sure if this made things better or worse.

  ‘It’s no one’s fault. These things happen,’ Mary hastened to assure her, trying to soften the blow.

  ‘You think I don’t know it?’ her daughter demanded scathingly, too late biting her lip. Dimly she was aware, and ashamed of herself for it, that she was lashing out and at her mother, of all people, who only ever wanted the best for her. But she needed to rail at someone and who better than her mother? Freddie would be upset enough as it was. Thoughts she’d yet to tell Freddie only deepened her gloom.

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time doctors have got things wrong, our Ursula,’ Mary pointed out.

  ‘I’ve been for the tests and had the results. There’s no mistake,’ she murmured, miserably. There was no point leaving any false hope. Sorrowfully, she remembered the kindly doctor who’d patted her shoulder in a fatherly manner, telling her meanwhile there was more to life than having children and she wasn’t to treat it like a calamity. Ursula shook her head. If only he’d had the slightest idea how much she longed to hold a baby in her arms, the likeness of Freddie who she loved more than life itself.

  Mary, meanwhile, farmer’s daughter and pragmatist, upset as she was by the news, was already coming to terms with it. ‘What’s Freddie had to say?’ she asked, going straight to the heart of the matter.

  Ursula took a gulp of tea with a hand that wasn’t quite steady.

  ‘Freddie doesn’t know. I haven’t told him yet,’ she said.

  Her mother was scandalized. ‘Darling, I really think you ought!’

  ‘You think I don’t know?’ Ursula’s voice was shaking, the despair she’d hugged so helplessly to herself finally bubbling over, almost overwhelming her. ‘He wants children more than anything, Mother! How can I tell him? He only got through the war thinking of the family he’d have when he got home. And now I’ve failed him even in this!’

  Mary came round the table and hugged her, not letting go until she saw she had her feelings back under control. ‘You’ll get through this,’ she said firmly, willing her to believe it.

  Ursula shook her head. Her mother hardly knew the half of it, yet.

  Katherine Loxley sat stiffly upright in a hard-backed chair, directly across from the little man with the unassuming face and yet surprisingly sharp, intelligent eyes, owner of a set of shabby rooms over the haberdasheries in Derby’s Sadler Gate. A man discreet enough to hide his surprise at the intended sale of the bracelet she’d just taken from her bag and handed across the desk.

  ‘It’s a fine piece, Your Grace,’ he murmured quietly, relinquishing the magnifying glass through which he’d been perusing it and going on to name a sum happily surprising to her. Trust George, her late lamented husband, old rogue that he’d been! But she’d always known he would never have given her anything of inferior quality. George had always wanted the best, especially when it had come to his marriage. She’d been a good wife to him and if he, at times, had behaved badly towards her, she’d loved him all the same.

  ‘You’re a good man, Gideon,’ she answered, reaching across to shake his hand and seal the bargain. Selling the bracelet left her curiously unaffected, she realized as, transaction complete, she slipped back down the narrow staircase, re-emerging into the bright sunshine full of the promise of a long and lazy summer to come. The morning was rushing on and yet, the finance for Hettie’s proposed venture happily secured, still Katherine lingered, musing over her reflection in the shop window and remembering the evening many years since when George had given her the bracelet, peace offering for all that business over the girl he’d got into trouble and the baby laid at their door. Blood money, she grimaced – no wonder she’d been glad to see the back of it. It was release to think some good should finally come of such wrong. Mollified by the thought, she walked on, quickly regaining the cathedral, by which the Daimler was parked. Seeing her, Alf Walker hurried to open the door.

  ‘There you are, ma’am. . . .’

  ‘Home,’ she ordered, before thankfully sliding onto the back sea
t and, as the familiar countryside flashed smoothly by, giving her thoughts once more to Hettie’s trip to Europe and how she was best able to bring it about. Hettie was so stubborn, her mind so unfortunately set on a boy who if likeable, to put it bluntly, simply wouldn’t do. A boy who happened to be her driver’s grandson, she realized, with a start, frowning at the back of his head and the neatly cropped grey hair showing under his driver’s cap. She leaned forwards, tapping sharply on the glass partition with the handle of her walking stick. ‘You must be pleased to see Lizzie so settled, Alf,’ she began pleasantly as his head craned round towards her.

  ‘I am that, ma’am,’ he agreed, sounding surprised.

  ‘And young Bill provided with a father?’

  Eyes firmly fixed on the road now, his head nodded rapidly. ‘Aye. He’s a bright lad, Your Grace. His mother wants him to go to college.’ The old war veteran sighed, a note of frustration entering his voice of which Katherine was instantly and hearteningly aware.

  ‘But that’s good, Alf, surely?’ she probed.

  ‘Hah! Stupid young fool won’t go. . . . Says he’s more important things on his mind!’ he retorted, for a moment forgetting to whom he addressed himself. Suddenly he did remember and his neck flushed a dull shade of red. Aware of it, Katherine leaned back, shocked into doing what she hadn’t done for many a long while which was to consider the situation from another’s point of view.

  ‘You mean Hettie’s on his mind?’ she asked quietly.

  Alf Walker was obviously mortified. ‘I didn’t mean ’owt by it, Your Grace,’ he blustered.

  ‘Quiet, man,’ she said, not unkindly, her mind working overtime and wondering how best to turn the information to all their advantages. ‘Would you like me to talk to him?’ she asked abruptly.

  Alf glanced quickly over his shoulder. ‘But we couldn’t possibly trouble you, Your Grace!’

  Couldn’t they indeed? His employer smiled. ‘Consider it done,’ she said.

  Back at Loxley and deciding there was no time like the present, first calling to the two dogs, a black and a golden Labrador, lounging in the sunshine pooling through her sitting room window, she returned quickly outside, heading in determined fashion back towards the village and Sam Tennant’s garage where once again she discovered luck was on her side. It gave her heart, should she have required it, assuring her her actions were right. The young lad in question was seeing off a customer, standing back as the motor drove away and wiping his hands on a cloth as Katherine appeared on his horizon. He frowned in obvious surprise.

  ‘Um . . . can I help you, Your Grace?’

  ‘Bill, isn’t it?’ Katherine smiled, seeing at once what Hettie saw in him. A fresh-faced young boy with an air of honesty about him but one, as she’d thought, totally lacking in the social graces. Thoughts of her precious Hettie making any such disastrous attachment drove her on. ‘Could you spare me a moment, Bill? I promise I won’t keep you long.’ Without waiting for answer, she called to the dogs, presently receiving a gratifying fuss from any number of children playing in the garden next door, and began to walk back the way she’d come. Clearly perplexed as to her business, Bill hurried after her.

  Katherine’s sideways glance slid over him. There was no way other than to come right out with it. ‘You and Hettie seem very close,’ she said.

  ‘She’s a grand girl, Your Grace,’ he answered, far too vehemently for Katherine’s liking.

  They were at the top of the road leading out from the village.

  ‘She most certainly is,’ she agreed, treating him to the kind of look which had made many a lesser man quail. This young man, however, was made of stronger stuff and stood his ground admirably. ‘She also happens to be the Duchess of Loxley,’ Katherine persisted, despite it, a glint of steel springing into her eyes. ‘Free as she might appear now, with regards to her future, well. . . . Clearly her future is already marked. As yours is too, I believe? Your grandfather was only telling me this morning, college has been mentioned?’

  The young man frowned. ‘It has but. . . .’

  ‘I can’t believe you wouldn’t want to go. You must want to make the best of yourself?’ Katherine’s voice drove on remorselessly; carrying all before it, even Bill. ‘Just as it’s important that Hettie be allowed to spread her wings and travel Europe as we’d planned. Of course, on her return, we’ll need to find her a suitable husband.’ She paused, sweeping her hand towards Loxley, shimmering and twinkling before them in the warmth of the midday sun. ‘Someone of . . . equivalent social standing, shall we say?’ Did he understand her? She saw by his quick frown that he did and unexpectedly she discovered she felt sorry for him. Her voice softened and if only she could have softened the import of her words. ‘You have to let her go, Bill. Before you hurt her irreparably,’ she said softly.

  ‘But I love her!’ he burst out heatedly.

  ‘You only think you do,’ she answered sharply. ‘You’ll move on, find someone else.’

  ‘I won’t! I’ll never love anyone else!’

  The vehemence of his reply took her aback but Katherine wasn’t about to put up with such defiance from anyone, least of all this young pup. And yet still, oddly, she found herself wishing there was some way these two young people could be together. She shook her head, as if to clear it from such a preposterous notion. Her darling girl was heir to Loxley and this young man must be made to understand it. ‘You have to be strong . . . for the both of you,’ she urged, her hand brushing his arm gently, before calling to the dogs and walking briskly away.

  Bill stood, staring balefully after her, a great well of protest rising up inside him. He couldn’t give Hettie up and how the blazes could anyone expect him to? He loved her; he’d always loved her, a situation unspoken between them though she knew it as perfectly well as he. They were meant for each other. Surely life couldn’t be so cruel. . . .

  Dressed in riding habit, Hettie was returning from the stables where she’d taken upon herself the task, whenever she was home, of exercising her father’s hunter, Tallow. The euphoria of leaving school had already and annoyingly vanished. Two whole days had passed since she’d last spent meaningful time with Bill, time in which despite all her best efforts, he’d proved frustratingly evasive, unbelievably pleading he’d altogether too much on at the garage to spare any time to see her; worse, capping it all this afternoon by bolting into his house as she’d ridden by when she knew he must have seen her. She was beginning to think she’d upset him. How crazy to have imagined, now school was over, they’d have spent every spare moment they could together.

  Walking through the great hall, she made straight for the sitting room where Soames was dispensing afternoon tea to her grandmother. ‘Mother not here?’ she asked, throwing herself disconsolately down into an armchair.

  ‘She’s gone into the village.’ Katherine passed her a cup of tea, failing to add it was to see Dizzy Pettigrew to test the waters with regard to the proposed trip to Europe. There was no point causing further upset when, going by the look on Hettie’s face, there was trouble enough. ‘No need to ask if you’ve had a good day,’ she added drily, taking her own tea and going to stand with her back to the empty fireplace to drink it.

  Soames departed. Hettie drank her tea moodily. It wasn’t just Bill. She was only too aware it had all gone suspiciously quiet about the Europe trip, leading her to believe things were happening she wasn’t, as yet, a party to. Her grandmother didn’t usually give in so easily. ‘I’m not going on that trip,’ she said defiantly, raising the matter herself.

  Katherine drank her tea calmly. ‘Aren’t you, dear?’

  ‘I mean it!’

  ‘Child, you’re seventeen,’ the old woman scoffed gently, still yet something inside warming at such an uncommon show of spirit. The chit was a Loxley after all and Katherine wouldn’t have it any other way. ‘We’ll see,’ was all she said. She finished her tea, regarding her granddaughter’s glowering countenance with affection which, in anyone else, might have been
described as doting. ‘Is there anything else troubling you?’ she enquired innocently.

  Hettie’s slim shoulders lifted. ‘It’s Bill if you must know, Grandmamma. He’s avoiding me and I’ve no idea why.’

  ‘Oh I see,’ said Katherine, who had every idea and perversely, was very sorry for it. She was getting soft in her old age! ‘But he must be busy, darling,’ she encouraged. ‘I was talking to Alf Walker, his grandfather, only the other morning. He told me his family want him to go to college.’

  ‘Hah!’ Hettie exploded.

  ‘But important at his age, don’t you agree?’ Katherine persisted, for her, surprisingly gently. Really, she considered, the child was being ridiculously obtuse. ‘My dear girl, you’re both so young. I know right now Bill seems the most important person in the world to you. . . .’

  Hettie’s features sprang to vivid and over-emotional life. ‘Oh but Grandmamma, we really like each other! I mean being with each other so much, I’ve even wondered – oh, if it might not be something more!’ It had gone deeper than she’d hoped. Katherine shook her head sadly. ‘Believe me, darling, you’ll grow out of it. You mustn’t set such store by your feelings!’

  ‘We’re old enough to make up our own minds,’ Hettie retorted, suddenly aware, dearly as she loved her grandmother, that as far as Bill was concerned, she was talking to the enemy. Opposition was coming from all quarters, she and Bill frowned upon as if they had no right to be together and it simply wasn’t fair! Worried she’d said too much already and worse, to her grandmother who was in any case only intent on packing her off to Europe, she sprang up and, first throwing the old woman a look full of reproach, departed the room, going quickly upstairs to change before heading outside.

  ‘Whatever’s got into you, Bill? That’s the monkey wrench, not the spanner!’ Sam Tennant poked his head out from under the bonnet of the motor occupying space in his garage, his quick frown sitting uneasily on his lean, good-natured face. The years had been good to Sam Tennant, the happiness of his marriage and his family life, and the thriving little garage business he’d built up during the intervening years, doing much to help wash away so many of the bad memories left over from the war. Bill retrieved the spanner from the workbench, passing it into his stepfather’s good hand. Seeing the young lad’s crestfallen demeanour, Sam’s expression softened. ‘Are you still fretting over college?’ he asked.