The Land Girls at Christmas

by Jenny Holmes

  Joyce wasn’t convinced. ‘That still doesn’t make it all right for him to pester Una. The police don’t think so either.’

  ‘I know. I agree. I just don’t think we need to worry that he’ll harm her unless he’s cornered – the way he was that time in the kitchen.’

  ‘Can I say something?’ Una had listened to them talking about the problem of Frank as if she weren’t there. ‘It’s crossed my mind before now that he’s not as dangerous or as frightening as people might think. It’s just that he can’t get anyone to understand how he’s feeling or what he wants to say. It’s been happening to him all his life – wanting to explain something but not being able to.’

  ‘Yes, and he’s had Joe treating him worse than one of his dogs.’ Grace saw Una’s point. ‘Of course, Frank has to learn that he can’t break into places and steal things, but who besides Emily would take the time and trouble to teach him?’

  ‘And she can’t – not while he’s wandering about on the moors.’ Joyce slowly began to see that the real reason to track Frank down might be to offer him some help rather than to punish him. ‘That’s if you’re right, Brenda.’

  They set off again, threading their way between tree trunks and hoping to avoid the wet snow that slid from the branches and landed on the ground with a soft thud. Joyce and Grace led the way while Una stayed behind with Brenda. Before long they came to the edge of the wood and stared up at the fell where the German plane had come to grief. There was a covering of fast-moving cloud on the highest ridge, blowing from west to east.

  Una turned to Brenda and was shocked to see that her cheeks were suddenly wet with tears. She said nothing but stayed with her when Joyce and Grace set off again.

  ‘Don’t mind me,’ Brenda sniffed.

  Una linked arms with her. The other two were a little way ahead, discussing where Frank might hide on a day like today – not too cold, with hardly anyone around and most of the farms and their surrounding buildings quiet in the run-up to Christmas. ‘Who told you that Frank wasn’t the father?’ she asked.

  Brenda pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. ‘Kathleen. Last night. She realized she’d been in the wrong to accuse Frank and explained to me who the real culprit was.’

  ‘Who?’ Una had been so wrapped up in thinking about Angelo that she’d pretended to be asleep when Brenda and Kathleen had finally come upstairs to bed. This morning she’d been up before them and hadn’t had a chance to talk to Brenda until now.

  Brenda made a choking sound, a monosyllable that began as a laugh but ended as a sob. ‘Mac.’

  Una stood stock still, looking up through the branches at black rooks riding the wind currents. ‘I see. But there’s more to it than that?’

  Brenda’s tear-streaked face held no expression. She spoke in a monotone. ‘Yes. Last night at the Institute – I wasn’t dressed. He attacked me. If Kathleen hadn’t come in when she did, I wouldn’t have been able to stop him.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  None of Brenda’s reasons for keeping quiet about the attack held sway with Una, Joyce and Grace. In the cold woods at the back of the hostel they gathered around her like soldiers in battle protecting their fallen comrade.

  ‘Mac will deny it,’ she sobbed as they cleared snow from a rocky ledge then sat her down. ‘He’ll say I’ve made it all up.’

  ‘But you have Kathleen as a witness,’ Grace pointed out. She crouched beside Brenda and held her hand.

  ‘He’ll say we’re ganging up on him. They’ll take his word against ours.’

  ‘“They” – who’s “they”?’ Joyce felt ready to argue against anyone who labelled Brenda a liar.

  ‘Squadron Leader Aldridge, for a start.’ Brenda took a deep breath and swallowed back her tears. ‘And if I went to the police, it’d be the same. There’d be a bobby behind a desk writing things down. I’d have to tell him I was only in my underwear. He’d make another note and underline it. He wouldn’t have to say anything but he’d look at me and I’d know just what was going through his mind.’

  Una was the most adamant of the three that Brenda should report her attacker. ‘Never mind that. We’ll back you up. In fact, I’ll come over to Penny Lane with you – right now, this minute. Whatever you do, you mustn’t let Mac get away with this.’

  Brenda let their defiant words trickle into her consciousness. They began to dissolve the hard block of shame that had formed inside her overnight.

  ‘Do that,’ Grace advised. ‘Go with Una to the base. Ask to see the squadron leader.’

  ‘Yes – stand your ground. Don’t let them turn you away.’ Joyce helped Brenda to her feet then squeezed her hands. ‘Explain what happened – when, where, and so on. Don’t leave anything out.’

  Grace watched Brenda wipe away her tears and set her shoulders back. ‘Will you try?’

  Brenda pressed her lips together and looked from one to the other as if drawing strength from them. ‘I will,’ she agreed.

  Brenda rode away from Fieldhead with Una riding pillion, leaving Joyce and Grace to begin the search for Frank.

  ‘It’s worth checking the outhouses first.’ Joyce had decided on their course of action. ‘If we don’t see any sign of him there, we’ll make our way into Burnside and carry on looking.’

  Una and Brenda had promised to join them as soon as they got back from Penny Lane.

  ‘Only if Brenda feels up to it,’ Joyce had cautioned as they’d set off along the lane.

  Now, with a cold wind on her face, but protected by hat, scarf and gauntlets, Brenda steeled herself to find Jim Aldridge and state her case against Mac. She sped along the familiar route, handling her motor bike with ease, listening to the reliable roar of the engine as she opened the throttle and it sailed up the steepest of hills. She was aware of Una behind her, leaning into the bends with her, shifting her weight, hanging on for dear life as Brenda turned sharp right onto the long straight Roman road. She slowed down for the last stretch, trying to compose herself as they approached the entrance to the Canadian base.

  Una felt the engine ease. The blurred verges became clear – dark rushes and clumps of flattened grass poked through melting snow. The dark walls lining their route were topped by slabs of flat stone placed on their sides to form a jagged outline. She saw a glimpse of Beckwith Camp in the distance – rows of Nissen huts backed by tall pine trees – and felt a jolt of sadness. Angelo was there for the present, but tomorrow he would be gone.

  Brenda turned off the lane and rode up to the sentry box. It was manned by an unfamiliar airman, who leaned out to speak to her.

  ‘Hey,’ he said, smiling suddenly as she took off her hat and stuffed it inside her jacket. ‘You’re the girl in the yellow dress. You sang the “Rainbow” song.’

  Still sitting astride the bike and letting the engine idle, Brenda cleared her throat. ‘Yes – that was me.’

  The thickset man came out of his box. ‘It’s my wife’s favourite. She’s seen that movie three times.’ He turned his attention to Una, sitting quietly behind. ‘Now let me see – don’t tell me. Aren’t you the song and dance gal, one half of a duo?’

  As she stepped off the bike to let Brenda push it to one side and park it, Una nodded and kept him chatting. ‘How did you enjoy the show?’

  ‘I liked it a lot,’ the sentry said. He was around thirty, with short dark hair, brown eyes partly concealed by puffy eyelids and a wide face. ‘All the guys agreed it was a terrific night.’

  ‘Good, because we all had kittens beforehand.’

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘We were really nervous. It wasn’t easy to learn all those steps and words in a couple of weeks.’ Brenda seemed to be taking a long time so Una glanced in her direction to see her hanging back and looking as though she was about to change her mind. So Una forged ahead. ‘We’ve come to see Squadron Leader Aldridge. Could you make a telephone call to tell him we’re here?’

  ‘Sure,’ the sentry said, returning swiftly to his box. ‘Give
me your names.’

  While he made the call, Una went to fetch Brenda. ‘You’ll be all right,’ she assured her. ‘Once you’ve got this off your chest, you’ll feel a lot better.’

  Approaching the barrier and looking up at the tall house, they heard the sentry’s voice saying their names – ‘Una Sharpe and Brenda Appleby … to see the squadron leader … OK, I’ll tell them.’

  He came out of the box with a shrug and a shake of his head. ‘Sorry, you’re out of luck. Squadron Leader Aldridge is off base.’

  ‘So who’s in charge while he’s away?’ Una asked, holding tight to Brenda’s sleeve in case she bolted.

  ‘That’d be Flight Lieutenant Mackenzie. He’s the one I just called. I did my best for you, girls – I asked if you could come in and wait, but no luck, I’m afraid.’

  At the mention of Mac’s name, Brenda felt her nerve fail. ‘Come on – let’s go,’ she muttered under her breath.

  ‘If it’s urgent, you could come back in an hour.’ After his talk with his senior officer, the sentry gradually dropped his casual air and he studied them more circumspectly. ‘The flight lieutenant gave an order not to let you hang around at the gate.’

  They had no choice, but as Brenda wheeled her bike back onto the lane, a dark-grey Land Rover approached. It slowed down and the driver gave a hand signal showing that he wanted to turn into the base. Brenda wheeled her bike out of his way.

  As the sentry raised the barrier and the Land Rover eased past, Una recognized the uniformed driver. She ran after the car and tapped on the windscreen. Jim Aldridge opened his door and stepped out.

  Joyce and Grace made a thorough search of the outhouses in the hostel yard. They concentrated on the one where Joyce had discovered Una’s belongings, lifting the easels and stacking them outside to give themselves room to move the desks and chairs. The only signs of recent occupation were a pile of rat droppings in the darkest corner and cobwebs hanging down from the ceiling.

  ‘I’ll tell Mrs C we’ve got too many rats for Tibbs to deal with,’ practically minded Joyce decided as she emerged into the fresh air.

  Grace was next door in the outhouse where they’d stored the Christmas tree. ‘There’s nothing in here,’ she reported.

  They went along the row and found no evidence that the fugitive had been back then, for good measure, they searched the vegetable plot for footprints and other signs of disturbance. Nothing again.

  Stiff from bending and lifting, Joyce put her hands on her hips and eased her back. ‘If I put myself in Frank’s shoes, this is one of the places I’d keep on coming back to.’

  ‘Regardless of his interest in Una, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. Think about it.’ Joyce gestured towards the rows of leeks, cabbages and Brussels sprouts. ‘A starving man would eat raw cabbages. Frank’s been here often enough to know that he could keep himself going on those vegetables.’

  ‘But there are no footprints or gaps in the rows to show that he’s dug anything up.’ Grace agreed that they should move on from Fieldhead to other likely places. ‘Let’s head for the village and ask Bob Baxendale if he’s seen anyone lurking round the back of the Institute. And if Edgar’s at home, we can talk to him. He seems to have a knack of running into Frank when he’s out on one of his long walks.’

  It was approaching midday when they were ready to set off, leaving word with Kathleen not to expect them back before nightfall.

  ‘Everyone’s deserting the sinking ship,’ she complained as she watched them wheel their bikes around the side of the building. ‘I spotted Brenda sailing off with Una earlier. Pity me – at this rate, there’ll only be me, Ivy, Dorothy and Jean here for dinner.’

  ‘Brenda’s gone to Penny Lane.’ Joyce thought it only right to bring Kathleen up to date.

  ‘You managed to persuade her to speak to Aldridge?’ Her smile showed that she was surprised but pleased.

  ‘Yes – it was Una mainly. Keep your fingers crossed for her.’

  ‘I will.’ Kathleen duly crossed them. ‘And let’s hope he gives her a good hearing.’

  ‘He’ll have to.’ Grace believed that truth always floated to the surface and that justice would prevail. ‘What Mac did was against the law.’

  ‘So stand by to act as a witness,’ Joyce added as they finally mounted their bikes and cycled away.

  They didn’t talk much on the way – only stopping off at Peggy’s to ask her to keep a lookout for Frank.

  ‘What then?’ their elderly neighbour asked, while her dog lay in his kennel, quiet for once. ‘They say Joe’s washed his hands of him. Even if I spot Frank and manage to talk sense into him, where’s he going to go if his own father won’t have him back?’

  ‘Emily might bring Joe round – you never know.’ Grace’s heart was heavy as she and Joyce set off again. It was true – there was only more heartache for Frank in the foreseeable future.

  They cycled on in silence until they came to the junction where they met Maurice driving his van, with Bob in the passenger seat. Joyce flagged them down.

  ‘Hello, girls.’ Bob was the one who wound down his window. ‘That was a good show you gave us last night. It put us all in the right frame of mind for turkey and Christmas pud.’

  ‘If you can get hold of a turkey in this day and age.’ Maurice leaned across his brother. ‘We’ll be lucky to get a scrawny pot boiler off Horace this year.’

  Joyce seized the opportunity to spread their search. ‘Is that where you’re going now? If it is, can you be sure to tell Horace we’re on the lookout for Frank? And, Bob, can you keep your eyes peeled too, please? The Institute seems to be one of Frank’s favourite haunts.’

  ‘Right you are,’ they chorused. The Baxendales’ promise was made without conviction and they went on their way.

  ‘Next stop – my house.’ Grace was in a hurry to find Edgar, while Joyce followed more slowly.

  True, she’d had a conversation with Edgar during last night’s interval and he’d seemed to be on the mend, but he still wasn’t strong or completely at ease with himself and she wasn’t sure that asking him to join the search for Frank was wise. So she stopped in the pub yard while Grace went inside.

  ‘Edgar?’ Grace looked in the kitchen then upstairs. She came down again and noticed that his coat was gone from the hook.

  She heard her father’s chesty cough then saw him through the window, coming out of the forge to talk to Joyce. She ran outside to join them.

  ‘Edgar went off on one of his walks,’ Cliff reported. ‘Don’t ask me where.’

  ‘It’s up to you and me, then,’ Joyce told Grace with fresh determination.

  They said goodbye to Cliff then rode two abreast to the far end of the village, where Bill stood at his gate with Edith, warmly dressed in a neat black hat and a mauve coat with a fox-fur collar. Their two cars were parked in the drive beside the house.

  Grace’s heart felt squeezed at the sight of him. She was all for saying a quick hello then cycling on, but Joyce braked and came to a halt.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Mostyn. How’s Mr Mostyn?’

  Edith concentrated on putting on her gloves and gave her stock response. ‘He’s as well as can be expected, thank you.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. Hello, Bill. You haven’t seen Edgar, by any chance?’

  Bill saw Grace out of the corner of his eye. It wounded him that she kept her distance and let Joyce do the talking. ‘Not lately. Why?’

  ‘We were planning to ask him to swell the ranks of our search party. Grace and I are out and about looking for Frank.’

  ‘Frank Kellett?’ With a last tug at her glove, Edith switched her attention to Joyce. ‘Is that poor man still missing?’

  ‘I’m afraid so. He’s been getting himself into trouble at Fieldhead again. Mrs Craven’s had to call the police twice now.’ From Edith’s agitated reaction, Joyce wished she’d given less away. ‘Don’t worry – if the bobbies don’t find him, Grace and I will.’

  ‘Dear me, missing all t
his time?’ Edith looked to Bill in alarm. ‘Emily must be at her wits’ end. And Frank can have no idea of the trouble he’ll find himself in with the police.’

  Bill touched her elbow. ‘Mum, it’s time to go if we want to make the most of visiting time.’

  ‘No, Bill – you stay here to help Joyce and Grace.’ Edith raised a hand to wave away any argument. She looked directly at Grace as she made her decision. ‘I’ll drive myself to the hospital.’

  He hesitated. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely certain. It will be much better for three people to search for Frank in your car rather than two girls on bicycles.’

  The simple observation carried a many-layered significance that everyone picked up but each saw differently. To Joyce it meant that Edith Mostyn’s brittle shell hid a deeply ingrained sense of duty to her community and a heart warmer than it seemed. She cared enough about Frank to put him above her own concerns. To Bill it signalled a sudden but unmistakable release from a dutiful past and present. A future where he could be his own man at last hove into view. He would no longer be torn. All in those few short, simple words.

  ‘Grace agrees with me, don’t you?’ Edith said.

  Grace saw that she was accepted at last. The irony brought a bleak smile to her lips. Now that the die had been well and truly cast, Edith had finally undergone a change of heart. She’d let go of her aspiration to climb the social ladder to the level of the Fosters of Hawkshead Manor and riding out with the hounds. In that moment of inviting Grace in, she gave up hopes of displaying copies of The Lady on her low coffee table and buying couturier costumes from the best dressmaker in town. Grace’s eyelids flickered shut then she opened her eyes and settled her gaze on Bill. ‘Yes, I do,’ she murmured.

  Bill drove Grace and Joyce out as far as Kelsey Crag. The light was already starting to fade when they knocked on Henry Rowson’s door and asked him the question that they’d been asking all afternoon. ‘Have you seen Frank Kellett in this last couple of days?’