by Tania Crosse
*
Nathaniel tried to shrug the policeman’s hand from his shoulder as he was led out to the waiting Black Maria. They’d handcuffed him, so he wasn’t going anywhere, was he? Well, apart from prison! He couldn’t bleeding believe it! That judge must be a maniac. Why had he believed everyone else and not him? Must’ve been that damned girl’s pretty face that had swayed him, and those big, tearful eyes! Dear God, he’d have liked to throttle her! Six months locked up like a common criminal when all he’d done was swerve to avoid that stupid cart that shouldn’t have been there in the first place. It was that flaming horse that had killed the farmer and his wife, not him!
He was sure the Stratfield-Whytes had exercised some influence. He’d love to take revenge on them, too, but that could be more difficult. They obviously had money and power on their side. Strangely enough, they seemed to have taken to the girl, the conniving bitch. Ruined his life, she had! He’d find it hard to find another job after six months in clink. Even harder without a driving licence. And all because of her.
Well, he’d bloody well find a way to get even with her as soon as he was released. It might take him a while to find her, but she couldn’t live that far away. He’d just have to visit all the farms in the area until he tracked her down. Wouldn’t be easy without a car, but he’d damned well make sure he discovered her whereabouts.
Oh, but what if she moved away, went to live with an aunt or something? Although surely if such a person existed, they’d have been in court with her today instead of the Stratfield-Whytes? So perhaps she wouldn’t be going far, after all.
A vicious sneer twisted Nathaniel’s mouth as he was pushed inside the back of the prison van. Whatever happened, he’d find her one day. And by God, he swore he’d make her pay for what she’d done if it was the last thing he ever did!
Fourteen
‘I’m so glad you came, dearie.’
Meg was sitting at the kitchen table next to her old school friend, Mandy, whose homely mother was vigorously sawing generous slices of bread from a homemade loaf. The aroma was tantalising, and Meg realised that she felt hungry for the first time since the accident.
‘It was kind of you to ask me, Mrs Bannertree.’
‘Well, it was the least we could do. Now just help yourself to ham and pickles, and those scones will be ready in a jiffy. Call the little ones in from the garden, will you, Mandy?’
Mandy was at once at the back door, yelling for her younger siblings to come inside. It was Saturday afternoon and they were letting off steam in the overgrown patch of vegetation at the back of the cottage. Within seconds, three pairs of muddy wellington boots were discarded in a heap next to the worn doormat, and coats were slung on already laden pegs on the wall. A fight broke out at the sink as the children vied to wash their hands, before scrambling onto a bench at the other side of the table and diving in to help themselves from the limited selection of food their mother had prepared.
‘So, how are you managing, dearie?’ Mrs Bannertree asked, plonking a freshly made pot of tea on the table so hard that a dribble of hot liquid slopped out of the spout. ‘Must be hard work for you, looking after that there farm all on your own.’
Meg looked up from buttering a doorstep of bread. ‘It is. But I’ve worked hard on the farm all my life. And I’ve a young lad helping me. He’s up there now. Andy Fairweather. Wants to work on a farm when he leaves school. You might know him.’
‘I certainly do,’ Mrs Bannertree beamed. ‘Doreen Fairweather’s boy. Nice lad.’
‘Yes. And a good worker. I’d have willingly taken him on full-time, too. Only…’ Meg hesitated, bitterness stinging in her mouth again and her appetite suddenly shrinking. She clamped her lips together as she gathered up her courage. ‘Only I’ve been given notice to quit.’
‘What?’ Both Mandy and her mother sounded horrified.
Meg sighed resignedly. ‘I’m too young to hold a tenancy, apparently. You have to be twenty-one. I’ve been taking care of the farm while the landlord finds a new tenant, and it appears that now he has.’
‘Oh, Lordy Love!’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry, Meggy. What are you going to do?’
Mandy’s eyes had opened wide and Mrs Bannertree had stopped with her chipped mug halfway to her mouth. Meg’s lips bunched wryly.
‘I’m not sure yet, to be honest,’ she told them. ‘I was hoping the new tenant might’ve wanted to employ me. I felt so angry when Mr Briggs brought him and his wife round to see the farm. But they’re both very pleasant and I’d have liked to work for them. But they don’t need anyone else. They have a son of their own to help. So now I’m not sure what I’m going to do. I’ve asked around all the local farms, but none of them are looking for any labourers. And I don’t suppose being a girl helps either.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Mandy mumbled through a mouthful of food, the shock of Meg’s revelation instantly subsiding. ‘You’ve managed the farm on your own perfectly well all these weeks.’
‘I know. But I have to admit, it’s been jolly hard work. I do feel exhausted, so perhaps it’s just as well.’ Meg’s voice trailed off wistfully as she considered her own words. It wasn’t what she felt in her heart, but it had been a struggle, trying to face her grief as well as working all hours God sent. She really needed a rest, but if she had been able to take over the tenancy, she’d never have got one. So perhaps it was a blessing in disguise.
‘You haven’t got any relatives you could go and live with, have you? I remember you saying so at the funeral. Well, you can always come and stay with us till you get yourself sorted,’ Mrs Bannertree stated emphatically. ‘We can always squeeze in another one. Billy, don’t lick your knife,’ she chastised her younger son. ‘It’s bad manners in front of our guest.’
‘Susan licked her knife,’ little Billy pouted, ‘and then she put it back in the jam pot. I didn’t do that.’
‘You watch it, or I’ll cuff you round the ear hole!’ Mrs Bannertree threatened.
Meg drew in her breath and gave a wan smile as Mandy’s mother threw her an embarrassed glance. Oh, dear. She couldn’t imagine one night, let alone a few weeks, under this chaotic roof, however kind her hosts might be. Hosts? It seemed a ludicrously posh term for this family of two parents and four offspring squashed into a humble – and not too clean – two-up, two-down cottage. However did they all manage on bath night? She was used to dragging the tin bath in front of the kitchen range and pouring into it hot water from the range boiler and pans warmed on the hob. It hadn’t been an easy task to accumulate four inches in the bottom, just enough for herself, her mother and finally her father to bathe in. Surely all of the Bannertree family couldn’t use the same water? It would be like filthy scum by the end, and yet she couldn’t imagine Mrs Bannertree bothering to heat up a second tub-load of water.
‘That’s terribly kind of you,’ she faltered, hoping the flush she could feel in her cheeks didn’t show. ‘But I’m hoping to find something. I’ve got a week or two yet. I’m going into town on Monday to start asking around. Maybe someone’ll take me on as an apprentice or something. I’m quite handy with a needle. Or shopwork of some sort.’
‘I could ask Mrs Grayson,’ Mandy offered. ‘You know, the milliner I work for. She’s ever so nice, too. Unless you ruin a hat, of course. Gave me this afternoon off so we could have this tea together.’
‘Would you?’ Meg asked, trying to sound enthusiastic. They weren’t that close as friends, and she wasn’t sure she’d want to work with Mandy all the time.
‘Won’t hurt to ask.’
‘Well, thank you. And thank you also for the tea. I’m sorry, but I must be going now. I’d like to be home before it’s totally dark, and the cows’ll need milking. That’s one thing Andy can’t do yet.’
Both Mandy and her mother appeared somewhat taken aback at her sudden retreat, but it was true that she still had many tasks on the farm to complete before she could get off to bed. But the real reason was that she suddenly fel
t stifled, as if she’d faint if she stayed in the crowded little kitchen a moment longer. Although the rooms in the farmhouse weren’t spacious, they were calm and uncluttered. Always had been. Peaceful, even if nowadays the silence echoed in Meg’s ears. Yes, she enjoyed company, but she needed a certain amount of order to appreciate it. And she wasn’t going to find that with the Bannertree family!
She hurried away from the row of cottages, her heart almost exploding. She couldn’t live like that. And neither could she spend her days plying a needle or whatever in the dingy backroom of some dull establishment, and her nights in some lonely, damp bedsit in the middle of a town. She was used to fresh air, open spaces, free to breathe in nature’s glory. She needed to smell the earth, feel the hairy coat of a live animal beneath her touch, hear the cheeky twittering of a sparrow or the eerie hoot of a barn owl in the middle of the night. No. She belonged in the country. Her soul would surely shrivel to nothing if she moved to a town. And what would happen to Mercury? Would she be able to take him with her? She doubted it. And then she truly would have nothing left in the world.
As she reached the open countryside and began to breathe again, it was almost as if the liquid gold of the setting sun was beaming a ray of light into the darkness of her heart. She did have something. She was negotiating with the new tenant over a price for the livestock and other items on the farm. She would be reimbursed the relevant amount of rent her father had paid in advance. And even more significantly, Mr Chillcott’s predictions over the likely amount she would receive as compensation on the insurance claim had proved correct.
A thousand thoughts tumbled in Meg’s brain. Yes, Mr Stratfield-Whyte had been right after all when he’d said that she’d realise in time how important financial matters would be. She was sixteen now. Still very young. But she had patience. And strength. And determination.
Her jaw lifted stubbornly, her eyes narrowed. Oh, yes. She knew now what she was going to do. For now she had a plan, a reason for being.
*
‘Robin Hill House. May Whitehead speaking. How may I help you?’
Meg heard the efficient but not unkindly voice at the other end of the telephone line and pressed button A. She waited for all the clicks to finish before she spoke in an equally cool, calm manner, even though she’d only used a public telephone box a few times in her entire life.
‘It’s Meg Chandler here,’ she spoke clearly. ‘Is it possible to speak to Mrs Stratfield-Whyte, please?’
‘Just one moment, please. I’ll see if she’s at home.’
At home? Meg almost scoffed. Was that a way of saying the woman would see if Mrs Stratfield-Whyte wanted to speak to her?
‘I think she’ll be at home to me. Just tell her it’s Meg Chandler, and I wish to speak to her urgently.’
‘Meg Chandler?’ the lady repeated thoughtfully. ‘Oh, yes. Of course. I’m sorry, the penny didn’t drop straight away. I’ll see if I can find her. Will you hold the line?’
‘Yes, but please don’t be long. I haven’t much change.’
‘Of course. I’ll be as quick as I can, but I’m not quick on my feet these days.’
Meg heard the clatter at the other end as the receiver was laid down, followed by the tap of footsteps disappearing into the distance. She smiled grimly to herself. This was the first step, for better or for worse. Only time would tell if she’d made the right decision.
Fifteen
‘Meg, my dear, I’m delighted you came.’
As she’d bidden farewell to the farm earlier that morning, Meg had felt that apart from the tearing grief she still felt over her parents’ deaths, leaving her lifelong home was the most appalling thing she’d ever had to face. She’d fed all the animals as usual and milked the cows, saying goodbye to each and every one of them, especially her favourite, Mallow. Returning to the farmhouse, she’d kicked off her rubber boots and put them in a string bag lined with newspaper to contain the mud, and then placed her old duffel coat on top. After all, Mrs Stratfield-Whyte had told her there were forty acres at Robin Hill House and that they kept a certain amount of livestock, and Meg was determined they were going to form part of her life there.
She had placed the bag by the back door next to the one old suitcase she’d unexpectedly discovered in the loft. For what need had she or her parents ever had of such a thing until now? It was just big enough to take her clothes. Another bag contained her other footwear, and in a couple of large boxes she had stowed household linen, her mother’s best tea service, other kitchenware, books, the one photograph she had of her parents, all the drawings and paintings she wanted to keep, and a few other precious items previously belonging to her parents. Some objects were of sentimental value, others had a practical use and she’d need them again one day. It was all in her plan.
She put on her strong, lace-up shoes that she’d polished until they gleamed, and then climbed the stairs for one final glance around the bedrooms. Her own little haven, and the room nextdoor where her parents had slept, making her feel safe and protected. Dragging herself downstairs again, she had gone into the parlour, empty now of the handsome dresser that Mr Briggs had always admired and for which he had made her a decent offer. All else was stripped out. Bare. Soulless. And yet echoing with her parents’ voices; distant, fading laughter.
Mercury trotted around her feet, gazing up at her dolefully. He whined, seemed to know that something was going on. The house had felt different, and the dog could sense Meg’s sadness. She glanced down at him, and his tail wagged cautiously. It wasn’t fair on him. So she smiled, ruffled his furry coat, and with a resigned sigh, returned to the kitchen.
She’d left it as clean as a new pin. Spotless. Just as her mum would’ve wanted her to. She could see Esther’s ghost sitting at the table, smiling up as Thomas walked past her.
Meg’s eyes had swivelled at the sound of a heavy, motorised vehicle rumbling in through the gate she’d left open. The removal van, bringing the new tenants’ furniture and belongings. The cutting of the engine. So this was it.
Tears misted her vision, a lump constricting her throat. So many memories. Her entire life. Over. Goodbye, Mum. Goodbye, Dad. The old kitchen. Her heart tore.
A sharp knock on the door.
Meg sniffed. Swallowed. Turned. She mustn’t keep them waiting.
‘Morning, miss,’ the removal man had greeted her cheerfully. ‘Oh, these your things?’ he asked, noticing the bags and boxes by his feet. ‘Can I move them for you?’
‘Could you take them round to the front of the house, please? I’m being picked up.’
‘For a pretty little thing like you, anything, miss. Hey, Fred, bring those boxes for the little lady, would you?’
A second man doffed his cap and then did as he was told. Reprieve. Alone again for a few more moments. A few more seconds to say goodbye—
‘Right, miss. We need to start unloading.’
She nodded, too choked to speak. She slipped into her mum’s best coat, picked up her handbag and Mercury’s lead. Scraped up her courage and strode out of the door, forcing herself not to look back. A new day, a new life.
One last thing. She had stepped across the yard to Duchess’s stable. The docile animal’s huge head appeared over the open top half of the door. Her soft lips drew in the carrot Meg offered her and she munched contentedly.
‘Be good, old girl. Your new owners seem nice enough.’
Meg had patted the mare’s hairy neck, gave her nose a final kiss, and then turned away. A new life awaited her. For a while, at least.
‘Thank you for sending Mr Hillier to pick me up,’ she said now as Mrs C came towards her.
Seeing Ralph Hillier arrive at the farm, driving an old van, had taken her aback. But she could hardly have expected to be collected in the Daimler, as she now knew the gleaming motorcar to be called, could she, especially with a dog in tow? But she would have rather it’d been someone other than Ralph, after the sharp words they’d exchanged on previous occasions.
‘Somewhat, yes,’ Meg confirmed, indicating the pile Ralph was stacking next to her.
She paused, aware of her heart suddenly thudding against her ribs. Mrs C hadn’t realised, of course, but she had paved the way for the proposal Meg was about to put to her. Meg’s future depended on the answer the good lady would give – she was convinced now that Mrs C was a good lady – and she mentally crossed her fingers. It wasn’t that she particularly wanted to stay at Robin Hill House, but it suited her plan.
She had to admit, mind, that as the van had turned in at the open gates to the estate, curiosity had overtaken the simmering resentment she still couldn’t quite put out of her mind. Ralph had been pleasant and polite during the journey, explaining that the vehicle was the one he and his father had use of for their work. Meg was grateful that Ralph made no allusion to her brusque statement on the day of the funeral, that once all was settled, she wanted nothing more to do with the Stratfield-Whytes – and yet here she was coming to stay with them! But apart from the odd exchange of words, they travelled in silence, and Meg was relieved when Ralph slowed down to turn into a long driveway with fields either side, separated from the roadway by metal railings. She noted three cows, beautiful, docile Jerseys by the look of them, and two calves on one side, and a small flock of sheep on the other.
At the far end of the drive, was Robin Hill House itself. Unlike the old black and white farmhouse that had been Meg’s lifelong home, this house was built of typical local red brick. The central, smaller section appeared much older than the symmetrical wings on either side, with a wooden frame of crooked beams in between which the bricks had been laid in herring-bone pattern. Whereas the extensions were of three storeys, the original central part of the building was of only two, and it boasted lovely, twisted brick chimneys. The whole effect was charming, both impressive and yet at the same time homely. To her surprise, what delighted Meg most was the general feeling that this was a proper English country estate. No matter what else, she was going to enjoy living here for that reason alone! And as Ralph had brought the van to a halt by the heavy, studded wooden front door in the middle of the old part of the property, a shiver of excitement ran through her.
