Beneath a Frosty Moon

by Rita Bradshaw

  He walked across the stone-slabbed floor into the tack room, only to come to a sudden halt. His eyes narrowing, he said, ‘What’re you doin’ in here?’

  Cora faced him without flinching although inside everything in her shrank away from the man she considered monstrous and repellent. Since Enid’s situation had come to light there was barely an hour in the day when she didn’t think of her and what she must have gone through, berating herself that she hadn’t forced Enid to tell her the truth or cornered Maud and questioned her or . . . oh, a hundred scenarios.

  Her back straight and her head high, she said coolly, ‘I wanted to talk to you.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ The bullet eyes narrowed still more, becoming black slits. ‘And what could you have to say that’s worth listening to?’

  Bernard Burns had never had any real feeling of love for anyone. The nearest he came to genuine emotion was the firm attachment and regard he felt for his horses. His father had been of the same ilk, and Bernard knew that his father had treated his mother badly but he didn’t think any the less of the man who’d sired him because of this. His mother had been a weak character in his view, easily cowed and given to tears, and she had irritated him at best. He couldn’t remember how old he’d been, no more than five or six because he hadn’t been long started school, when his father brought his mistress and her three brats to live on the farm in one of the farm workers’ cottages.

  The youngest of Vera’s girls had been a babe in arms and the eldest three, and over the next decade until his father died of a heart attack whilst forking farmyard manure out of the dung cart into furrows before sowing the new crop, Bernard had watched him take all three of them at one time or another in the hay barn whilst he’d hidden in the loft. Even before his father was buried, his mother had turned Vera and the girls out of their cottage, but she hadn’t lived long to glory in her victory. Within six months the fever had taken her and he had inherited everything. Become master of his own small empire.

  And it was as the master of all he surveyed that he now looked at the slender young girl in front of him, the girl who’d been a thorn in his flesh since the day she had come to the farm. She was beautiful with her mass of red hair and great eyes but it wasn’t her beauty or unconscious grace that made him want her; it was the itch of longing to tame her that kept him awake some nights. In the child brothel he’d frequented before Enid had arrived, and then with Enid herself, he’d let his depravity have free rein, subjecting the children to any and every perversion he could think up, and now as he looked at Cora he was imagining her beneath him, screaming and squirming and helpless. He had never had anyone defy him as this girl had; even Rachel, when she’d still appeared young enough to excite him, had submitted to his more unnatural demands with nothing more than pleas and tears.

  He watched her as she drew in breath and then his eyes widened when she said, ‘We, my sisters and Maud and I, want you to know that if you ever try to lay a finger on any of us we’ll make sure everyone knows what kind of man you are, and even your so-called friends in high places won’t be able to save you. We’ll make sure of that.’

  Cora looked at him as his head moved forward and his shoulders rose. His whole attitude spoke of incredulity. For a moment he stared at her in amazement and then his face became convulsed and he took a step towards her, rage causing him to spit as he cried, ‘You dare to threaten me? Me?’ He swore viciously. ‘I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, m’girl.’

  It wasn’t Maria and Maud coming out of one of the stalls where they had been crouching down out of sight and standing either side of Cora that halted him so much as the knife she brought out of her pocket. Her eyes as fiery as her hair, she said with soft intent, ‘I’ll use this, I mean it. You touch me or any of us and I’ll use this on you and so will they. You might think you’ve got away with what you did to Enid, but no more. We won’t be handled, any of us.’

  Bernard looked at the bit of a girl as he had termed her in his mind before this day. His mouth opened and shut but without any sound coming from it; he couldn’t believe his ears. That she meant every word he was in no doubt. All his life, like his father before him, he had used his standing as a well-to-do farmer as a springboard for getting what he wanted. He had cultivated colleagues of influence in the community and in the police, always making sure they were well looked after even before the war had begun and rationing had reared its head. Early on his father had told him that everyone had their price and he’d found this to be true and made good use of it. Bribery, if sugar-coated as gifts of friendship, was a powerful tool.

  Still speaking softly, Cora said, ‘I’ve got Maud to write down every single thing that Enid told her about you and put it in a sealed envelope and given it to someone for safe keeping. Should anything happen in the future to any of us, we’ll make sure the police have it. Not the inspector and sergeant who came to the farm but proper policemen.’

  He wanted nothing more than to wring her neck, to watch the life seep out of her. Swallowing hard, he said, ‘And you think anyone would believe it? You think anyone in their right mind would believe you over me?’

  ‘Aye, I do. There’s already talk about you –’ this was a lie but spoken with such conviction he didn’t doubt it – ‘and folk always think there’s no smoke without fire.’

  His voice was a growl as he said, ‘Get out of my stables, the lot of you.’

  ‘We’re going.’

  Cora was looking at him as though he was something putrid, and again the desire to wipe the expression off her face was so strong he could taste it, but not so strong that he dared act on it because he believed she would do what she’d threatened. He could hardly take it in and it was sticking in his craw but she had the upper hand, her, a bit of nowt from the streets of Sunderland.

  The three girls walked past him and out of the stables but he didn’t move for a full minute. Behind his still facade his mind was racing, rage and humiliation uppermost. He uttered a deep, thick, unintelligible sound as he glanced around the tack room where he prided himself on keeping everything in immaculate order, almost stumbling across to a leather-topped stool where he sat down heavily.

  It wasn’t to be borne. Talking to him as though he was the scum of the earth, it wasn’t to be borne. He drew in a snarling breath. But this wasn’t the end of it, not for that little madam. There were more ways to kill a cat than drowning it and he wouldn’t rest till she was crawling at his feet begging for mercy.

  His fingers gripped his knees, the heavy cloth of his trousers bunching, and he squeezed and squeezed as though it was Cora’s neck he was wringing.

  He sat for some minutes more, and by the time he stood up his mind was clearer. He’d let the dust settle for a while, allow this talk about him that she’d mentioned to die down. This with Enid had been unfortunate but with the girl out of the way, people would find something else to gossip about eventually. It was an inconvenience, and for the present he’d have to go further afield to have his needs taken care of, but that couldn’t be helped.

  He flexed his shoulders, glancing across the room to where Cora had stood a short while ago. His chance would come. He nodded to himself. And when it did he would take great pleasure in breaking her spirit along with her body. With her out of the way – he didn’t qualify what he meant by ‘out of the way’ at this juncture – the others wouldn’t stand up to him, he had the measure of them. Maud could retrieve this damn letter and he’d stand over her while he forced her to eat it, every damn word, and he hoped she choked on it.

  One of the plough horses snorted, drawing him out of the tack room and over to their stalls. He spent some minutes stroking Seth’s great head that had lowered at his approach, the huge horse nuzzling at him as he caressed the velvety nose. After giving Seth and Polly a carrot each, he left the stables, walking out into the balmy September evening and sniffing the smells of the farm as though they were the finest perfume.

  ‘Why did you tell him I’d written eve
rything down?’ Maud’s voice was shaking as the three of them walked away from the stables towards the hen house where they were to join Anna and Susan.

  ‘I don’t know, it suddenly came to me, but perhaps you should, Maud.’ Cora turned to face Enid’s sister.

  ‘I couldn’t, Enid wouldn’t like it, and besides, who could we give it to?’

  ‘We’ll think of someone.’

  ‘No, I mean it, I won’t do that.’

  It was said with such finality that Cora accepted defeat. ‘All right, but it’s important that Farmer Burns believes that you’ve done so. You do see that? If he thinks that there is something written down it’s a sort of protection for you and the rest of us too.’

  ‘I agree.’ Maria added her two penn’orth.

  ‘And you mustn’t let him see that you’re so scared of him, Maud.’ Maud had been trembling from head to foot in the stables. Cora’s voice was gentle but firm. ‘We’ve got to be a united front, like in the war.’

  ‘But I am scared.’

  ‘I know. We all are. But he mustn’t see it.’

  Maud nodded doubtfully.

  Cora sighed, aware that she wasn’t making any headway with Enid’s sister. As the field where the hens were came into sight, she said, ‘Look, try and imagine that Farmer Burns is Percy, the rooster. Percy throws his weight about and hollers and turns nasty, doesn’t he, but when he’s shut up in his box he quietens down because he knows he can’t do anything. That’s what we’ve done today in standing together against Farmer Burns, Maud. And saying about you writing everything down is part of that, part of shutting Farmer Burns in his box.’

  Maud stared at her and then, as Percy caught sight of them and did one of his little war dances, prancing about and squawking, she began to giggle. Maria joined her, and as Maud gasped, ‘Farmer Burns, Percy’s Farmer Burns,’ they both went into a paroxysm of helpless laughter as they held on to each other, their mirth an outlet for their previous terror.

  Cora grinned. It was the first time she had seen Maud smile since Enid’s abrupt departure, but in truth she couldn’t enter fully into the moment. Nor could she laugh at Farmer Burns. Every day and night that they stayed at Stone Farm they were in danger, that was the truth of it, but she had done all she could for the present. She couldn’t do anything for Enid now, it was too late, but she would look after Maud the best she was able. Enid had endured what she’d endured to keep Farmer Burns from molesting her sister and she wouldn’t let her sacrifice be in vain. Not while she had breath in her body.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Oh, those poor lads. Those poor, poor lads. To be attacked like that with no warning. They must have thought hell had opened up and dragged them in.’ Nancy stared at Ken as they sat at the kitchen table listening to the wireless. The day before, three hundred and sixty Japanese warplanes had made a massive surprise attack on the US Pacific Fleet in its home base at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii. At the same time Japanese planes had also attacked American bases in the Philippines and on the Guam and Wake islands in the middle of the Pacific. In two hours the Japanese had sunk or seriously damaged five battleships, fourteen smaller ships and two hundred aircraft, killing over two and a half thousand people.

  ‘Imperial headquarters in Tokyo have announced that Japan is at war with the United States of America and Britain,’ the newsreader intoned, ‘and this comes after assurances less than two weeks ago from Premier Hideki Tojo that there was nothing to fear from Japan. In a further escalation of hostilities, Britain has today declared war on Finland, Romania and Hungary after the failure of the three Axis satellites to respond to ultimata demanding they stop military operations in support of the German armies. It would indeed seem that now every nation in the world needs to decide where their loyalties lie and whose side they are on in this war that Adolf Hitler has forced upon us.’

  Nancy had her hand at her throat, plucking at the skin there as she said, ‘The world’s gone mad, Ken. Who would have thought even a few years ago we’d be in this mess? It’s wicked, the murder and mayhem. What’s going to be left at the end of it?’

  Ken shook his head in silent commiseration but continued eating the pot pie that Nancy had dished up before the news had begun. The pie was stuffed full of the steak and kidney he had acquired from a contact the day before in exchange for other black-market commodities. In truth, and he wouldn’t have voiced this to Nancy because he was fully aware of how she would have responded, he was making a packet due to the war. Certain imports were like gold dust and British produce was becoming scarcer by the day. It could be a bit of a juggling act at times at the docks, keeping the bosses in the criminal underworld happy whilst raking off a nice profit for himself on the side, but he managed all right. He swallowed a big chunk of meat and belched appreciatively. Aye, he was no one’s fool.

  ‘I’ve had a letter.’

  He looked at Nancy; her voice had been flat suddenly. ‘Oh, aye? Gonna tell me who from?’ He wasn’t in the mood to play games. It had been the first of December eight days ago and right on cue the weather had changed and turned foul. Freezing cold, with winds that cut to the bone, had been followed by what every dock worker dreaded – thick snow. It made every day doubly long or it felt like it. Grindingly hard work and wet clothes that were often frozen to his skin wasn’t his idea of the good life but he’d get there, he was determined on that. The plans he had for the future and the money he salted away were worth the risks that he took. War or no war, he was going to come out on top.

  Nancy had barely touched the food on her plate. Quietly, she said, ‘It’s from Gregory. He’s been injured and they’re shipping him home once he’s fit enough in a little while.’

  ‘Oh, aye?’ Ken raised his eyebrows. She didn’t seem too pleased about it but then she wouldn’t, would she. It hadn’t been a marriage made in heaven, not on her side. ‘How bad is he?’

  ‘I don’t know, he didn’t go into details. He – he wouldn’t want to worry me. It was just a line or two, nothing more.’

  Ken nodded. He knew Gregory was no letter writer. In the last eighteen months or so since he’d got together with Nancy he’d formed a pretty good picture of the man he was making a cuckold of.

  ‘He – he’s had a raw deal from me, hasn’t he.’

  Ken shrugged. ‘What he doesn’t know doesn’t hurt him.’

  ‘But he will. Know, I mean. When he comes home.’

  Ken’s eyes narrowed. ‘Only if you tell him and why would you want to do that?’

  Because I love you. Because I want us to stay together. Because you’re the most important thing in the world to me. Nancy swallowed hard. ‘It’s not as simple as that. The neighbours aren’t daft, Ken. They’ve seen you coming and going and will have put two and two together. There’s more than one of them who’d take great delight in informing Gregory about us, believe me.’

  She was spoiling his dinner. ‘So you just deny it and keep denying it,’ he said coolly. ‘No big deal.’

  It wasn’t the answer she wanted.

  She stared at him with wounded eyes and he found it difficult to stop his irritation from showing. He didn’t need this on top of everything else. He was having a bit of trouble with one of the blokes he dealt with – a gangster, he supposed Dan Vickers was, and a nasty blighter – who he suspected had cottoned on to the fact that he’d short-changed him once or twice. It’d got to the point where the last few days he’d been looking over his shoulder and feeling uneasy. Of course he could be wrong – it might just be his guilty conscience that was making him imagine things – but Vickers hadn’t been himself the last time he’d spoken to him and he’d been on edge ever since.

  ‘Eat your dinner,’ he said shortly. ‘We’ll discuss it later.’

  She could see she’d annoyed him. Nancy’s stomach was turning over. She’d been hoping that when she told him about Gregory he’d declare his love for her – not the way he did in the throes of passion but in the cold light of day – and say that she must le
ave her husband for him. That he’d move out of his lodgings and see about getting a house for them, somewhere where the bairns could live too once the war was over.

  And if he said he didn’t want her bairns living with them? Yes, she’d asked herself that too because deep down she knew he wasn’t a family man. And she’d come back with thinking that the bairns would be all right with Gregory. He was a good da, he’d look after them and Cora was already of an age where she could keep house if need be. Things would rub along just fine without her.

  She couldn’t lose Ken. She felt sick at the thought. Whatever happened, whatever she had to do, she couldn’t lose him. She hadn’t told him she’d had Gregory’s letter for a week or two and had been plucking up the courage to mention it, fearing he might react exactly as he had. He had never talked about the future in all the time they’d been together, and when she had tried to bring up the subject he’d always deflected the issue.

  She forced down a mouthful of food, feeling as though it would choke her. What was she going to do? What could she do? One thing was for sure, she couldn’t go back to being a dutiful wife to Gregory. She wouldn’t. Things had changed since the war had begun; the stigma of divorce was lifting. The Abdication crisis had nudged public opinion about such things closer to leniency, and now the winds of war had further blown away the idea that a divorce meant guilt and disgrace. She knew at least two or three other women in her position who had started off by not meaning any harm, just desiring a little change from the monotony of their lives while their husband was away fighting. True, such conduct was still disapproved of by many, but self-righteous condemnation seemed unnecessarily cruel in a world of bombs and shortages.