by Allie Burns
There’s so much to plan and do, and think about. Mother thinks it’s a risk, but it’s what I know and love and if Eleanor can put in her money to advance our cause then I think I owe it to her to do the very best for the colony and the other land girls.
There’s a plot of land with your name on it, Emily, literally a little board on which I’ve painted ‘Property of Emily. Keep out.’ It’s next to mine. Won’t you come and see it, bring the baby? I’d like to meet him. Come, you’ll never look back.
Best wishes
Martha
The next day she tried to fix the old Fordson, get it going again and sold off before Wilfred took control over everything. The American tractors were fetching as much as two hundred pounds now. She snapped a bolt and couldn’t say how she’d done it, or what she was even doing loosening the thing in the first place. She couldn’t remember any of Otto’s German names for the engine parts. It was such a long time ago.
She’d been right: word of Wilfred’s plans had spread quickly. Percy had returned from market and when Alfred had told him about her work with the cows he had apparently said he might have misjudged her, and she might be all right after all. But that was all undone now. This morning both Percy and Rover had snarled at her. Joe had thrown a stone in her direction. She’d been working alone all day, with only Sally for company.
Mrs Tipton emerged from the farmhouse with a steaming cup of tea. Good old Mrs Tipton, she could always rely on her. The chickens crowded at her feet. She kicked them away. Her entire energy drained away as Mrs Tipton came closer and Emily registered the frown.
‘You don’t have to say it.’ She spoke before Mrs Tipton had the chance. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not your fault – it was bound to happen.’
‘I’m sorry, my love,’ she said. ‘Percy’s the worst. He’s refusing to work at all while you’re still here. He’s riled the others up and they’re talking as if it’s all your fault now. No matter what I say. And after market day he admitted you were a good worker, and had all the others agreeing. Rotten timing.’
She held up her palm and left the tea in Mrs Tipton’s clasp. She’d feel the same way. ‘I’m sorry,’ Emily said. Wilfred had said he wouldn’t pay her if Emily had to be replaced.
‘Think about your other options,’ Mrs Tipton called after her. ‘Don’t give up.’
Could she really move to the idyllic Lingfield colony when the steam engines would be thudding in and flattening their village?
The farmyard came to a standstill, as Wilfred’s car created a cloud of smoke, followed by another car that sent the chickens scurrying for the cart shed. Two men in suits climbed out. They all shook hands, admired the old Fordson and headed off towards the old paper mill.
Chapter Thirty-Four
October 1919
Out on the church path, John’s wailing hammered at her head. A red cheek, agitated by a new tooth, contrasted against his pure white christening gown.
Reverend Winters waited for them at the entrance, his wife notably absent from his side. At least with no one accepting their invitation to the christening there would be no awkward silences or platitudes of sadness about the poor boy’s father.
She wrenched her mouth out of its grimace and into a smile. She hadn’t wanted to go ahead with this. It was unfair on John that so few from the community would come to see him blessed by God, all because of the mistakes made by the adults around him. What an example they all were to him.
A hat travelled along the hedgerow on the path the other side of the church. Martha.
‘Snap,’ she said, lifting her hat and pointing to her own dark, bobbed hair.
She flung her arms around her friend and squeezed her tight.
‘Thank you for having me as John’s godmother.’
As they passed under the church’s wooden arch, Emily peered back towards the gate, but still no Mrs Tipton. What would Fate make of it if John’s other godmother wasn’t there to bless him? Perhaps they shouldn’t go ahead.
‘Come on, dear.’ Mother quashed her hesitation.
At least Wilfred had left them in peace to pack up, while he got back to his blueprints, and concrete, but without him there the village’s anger had been channelled at them. Even the war memorial was under debate – the proposed site was on an access road to the mill. Little wonder that Mother had been excluded from the committee meetings.
Emily had tried to persuade Mother to reconsider selling to Wilfred. ‘Call off the sale. I’ll find us another buyer for the estate myself. I’ll do everything.’
They had a duty to the village; they simply couldn’t let this happen.
But mother was resolute. ‘The decision is made. You wanted me to take responsibility, and so don’t complain now I am.’
She had wanted that, but she didn’t want this. Why would Mother let Wilfred do this to their village when she had the power to stop him?
The church was empty. Just the family and Martha. Emily lifted John out of the Empire, his left cheek blotchy and red. His furious cries filled the church, right the way up to the wooden rafters. Mrs Tipton would suggest gripe water and a drop of whisky, if she’d come.
The Reverend emptied handfuls of water onto John’s forehead. The baby kicked back, his legs cycling the air. Poor thing.
‘There, there,’ Emily hushed. ‘Nearly done.’
Had Mabel told Theo about John in the end? Perhaps he knew he had another son and yet he still hadn’t come to see him. The embers of hope that John should have a father he knew were reduced to a trail of smoke now. The orange glow had died; the coals were black and grey and crumbling with barely any heat to hold a hand over.
She’d tried to imagine taking her revenge on Theo. At times she bubbled inside to think how easy it was for him to hide away safe with his wife and family while she had to battle on alone. But no matter how many mistakes he’d made, and how much he’d humiliated her, he had given her the most precious gift of all.
‘Will you bring my new godson to visit me in Lingfield?’ Martha said after they’d walked her back to the station. As the supervisor she couldn’t be gone all day, and had to get back. ‘It’s just one change at the village of Gatwick, easy as pie,’ Martha said. ‘You’ll love it there, Emily. It’s paradise.’
‘I’ll come and visit,’ she said. It was the most she could agree to, though she risked falling in love with the place and wanting it even more.
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Martha said as she kissed John on the forehead.
*
A week later, after a morning of packing she’d taken John out for some fresh air. She could walk all day long with John in the Empire; it made him so happy.
As she rounded the corner to reach the wooden arched gate that led to the churchyard she came across Olive Hughes and Mrs Tipton with Sally. They were re-fastening the gate on their way out and they must have spotted one another at the same time because the two women stopped talking. Mrs Tipton gawked at her feet. Olive kept her head high, her chin jutting out, and her nose set in a sneer.
‘Afternoon!’ Emily chirped, gripping the pram’s handle. Sally crossed the path to her, tail wagging, and lifted her head for a pat. Mrs Tipton whistled her back. Sally cowed back with her ears flat, fading into her owner’s skirts.
‘That lot’re still here then,’ Olive said, timing her comment to the exact moment that Emily walked by.
‘Now, now,’ hushed Mrs Tipton. ‘She’s going to visit her father’s grave.’
Emily unclipped the gate and opened it wide. The pram was a squeeze. She tried to push it through but it wouldn’t go. She’d always left him outside on the path before, but today she’d wanted him to come too. The Empire was stuck. Whichever way she pushed or pulled at it, she would scrape its elephant-grey side, or risk twisting the hood’s metal jaws.
‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Tipton but Olive held her back from crossing the path to help.
‘You just think of all that cultivated land that your ole man worked for many
a year. The toil killed him, so her lot could pave over it.’
Emily gave the carriage a heaving shove right through the gate. The posy she’d picked for her father’s grave scattered on to the higgledy brick path. The post scraped against the Empire’s sides. She couldn’t look.
‘Let me help you, dear.’ Mrs Tipton came rushing forward towards the scattered stems, but Olive caught her arm.
‘Ivy Tipton, you’ll offer no help to a family that’s left you short of money when you’ve been widowed and won’t rest until they’ve spoiled our village. Let her pick up her own mess.’
‘It’s all right,’ Emily said. ‘But thank you anyway.’
She gathered in the posy and still down on her haunches she forced her eyes upwards, and faced up to the damage the post had done to the pram.
*
Cecil was hunched over the library desk, making notes. Books splayed opened, bending their spines. Flat moons of candlelight spilled onto the desk. A musky, musty aroma flooded out into the hallway.
The baby was of more use to them than Cecil. But none of this was his fault. He was the youngest and they’d wanted him to be the eldest, the head of the household, and he didn’t have it in him.
He’d tried to organise a protest with the villagers, but they’d sent him away, told him they wouldn’t be told what to do by a shirker. Wilfred’s money gave him a voice and power, and it made people listen to him. Deeds counted for something when you had cash in the bank. They had none. No one in the village could match Wilfred’s clout – even Lady Radford was on the way out. All they could do was wait for the sale to go through, and once they had some capital again, start over, somewhere new.
Cecil crumpled a sheet into a paper snowball and dropped it with the others onto the library floor. They had brought Uncle Wilfred and his plans for redevelopment to the village, and they would have to accept their blame for that.
‘Are you going to tell me what you’re doing?’ she asked.
*
London was the last place she wanted to be when she only had two more weeks at HopBine, but she needed to see Grandmother.
‘I need you to tell me why Wilfred has such a hold over Mother.’
She came right out with it. ‘He gets his own way,’ Grandmother said. ‘You’ve seen what he’s like.’
‘But it makes no sense now. Mother had begun to find her independence back in Kent. She’d lengthened the apron strings and even conceded to my being right on several things. She has the pension, and with her proceeds from her half of the estate she’ll be financially independent. But now she’s letting him ride roughshod over the village, when we could just sell to someone else.’
Grandmother shifted out of her seat and walked over to the window. ‘It’s family business,’ she said.
What was that supposed to mean? She was family, so why didn’t she know what was going on? But Grandmother didn’t have the time. She was hosting a charity meeting. Emily was ushered out onto the street.
Instead of going back to the train station, she called by Hyde Park. Her eyes searched the benches for a man in a trench coat with the collar flipped up, but there were only nannies and children, and couples out for a stroll. If Ellery sat by her side on her bench by the water, she could tell him everything, and he’d listen and he’d gently offer her some advice, or steer her towards her own answers. It was a good thing for him that he was no longer there but off living his life with the girl he loved.
As the afternoon light began to fade she straightened up and returned to Grandmother. Doors had been closed in her face before, but not any more; too much was at stake.
‘I need to know,’ Emily said. ‘I’m not a child. I’m a mother now, and I need to know why Wilfred is choking my family, and our village, to death.’ Emily took a long slow blink, drumming her fingers against the polished wood of the table. Grandmother was amused. ‘You have a responsibility here. Wilfred is your son,’ she pressed on.
‘Oh, you Cothams are such a stubborn lot.’ Grandmother tossed her lace handkerchief onto the side table. ‘Very well. Though knowledge won’t change anything like action will. Wilfred likes to have his own way and on one occasion he didn’t and he’s never really recovered from it.’
‘Mother?’ Emily asked.
‘Quite. Louisa broke his heart when he was young, and he’s never loved anyone again.’
Emily frowned. ‘But what about Father?’
‘Your mother courted your uncle first and he was really ever so in love, the happiest I’ve known him. Then Wilfred brought her home to meet the family, and that transpired to be quite catastrophic. Once she met your father, Baden, she found she loved him more, despite herself. It was all very ugly. She was torn out of loyalty to Wilfred, and a deep yearning to be with your father.’
Emily couldn’t imagine how Mother could ever have loved Wilfred. He was as unlovable as Percy Greenacre.
‘The whole business changed him quite terribly, and money became the only thing that didn’t let him down.’
It made sense that Wilfred would bear a grudge. To be rejected would of course change him, and he would be angry with his brother, but why was he still trying to control Mother now?
‘Is there more?’
Grandmother closed her eyes, her mouth shrivelling as if the words in her mouth were as sharp as lemons.
‘Your mother was never certain which brother was John’s father, and Baden loved your mother so much that he was prepared to play the cuckold …’
‘But Wilfred was denied the chance of being a father to his son.’
‘Quite.’
That explained the clandestine visits to London, the attention Wilfred lavished on John, and why he had appeared to grieve for John at the funeral. John had known, that day Wilfred had come. That was why he’d allowed him control of the estate. He was trying to compensate for those lost years by taking Wilfred into his confidence.
‘And then you encouraged your Mother to leave him, and he was rejected for a second time, and now he is going to hurt her the only way he can, and she probably thinks she deserves it.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
October 1919
‘You can’t let Wilfred win.’
Mr Hughes had collected her from the station and now Emily marched straight into the sitting room where Mother was attending to her embroidery. ‘You might have hurt him in the past, but that doesn’t mean he can bully and control you.’
Mother sighed, and set down the embroidery, a hand to her head. ‘Please don’t barge in here and talk to me of things that don’t concern you.’
Emily came to a standstill, shrinking into her shoes at Mother’s tone.
‘It is beyond your understanding.’
Emily moved forwards again, growing taller, until she loomed over Mother. ‘But that’s just it, Mother. I do understand, perfectly. I have made my own mistakes too, but I won’t punish myself, or be held to ransom by my past.’
She took a seat on the sofa beside Mother, perching on the edge, her knees towards her.
‘But I deserve it.’ Mother put her head in her hands. ‘I told him I loved him, and then I married his brother. And then when I couldn’t cope with life, I let him take care of me, only to reject him again. Little wonder he hates me so much.’
‘But, Mother …’ She took Mother’s hand in hers. ‘It isn’t hatred he holds for you, it’s love, a terribly twisted-up and mangled love.’
Mother’s eyes lifted from her lap, and she stared at Emily now as if seeing her for the very first time.
‘And what’s more,’ Emily continued, ‘you made a mistake for which you must apologise and then call a stop to this.’
She called Cecil from the library. His dark hair was all ruffled and on end. He blinked in the face of the daylight.
‘Mother, there’s something you should know. Alice has heard some rumours about Wilfred, and I’ve conducted some research into his activities during the war.’
‘Activities?’ Moth
er said. ‘He ran his businesses during the war.’
‘He did that all right. Wilfred invested in munitions and clothing factories that made uniforms. He owns farms in the West Country and they formed a cartel to fix prices during the war. He has the audacity to challenge me over my matters of conscience whilst profiting from the war.’
‘I had no idea …’ Mother said. She cast her eyes about the room, before her gaze settled upon Emily. ‘Very well. I will apologise and then stand up to him. It’s the decent thing to do.’
*
Mother steered Wilfred into the library and shut the door. Sometime later she emerged alone, and nodded to them – it was done. She wouldn’t sign over the rest of the estate to him. It would go on the open market. Emily would arrange for an agent to come the next day.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t quite over. Uncle Wilfred had travelled to them by train and a rail strike had been called. The whole country’s network had ground to a halt. Emily wanted to call his driver to collect him, but they agreed he was an unexploded shell in their midst; they must handle him carefully.
‘Did you make it clear that he has no hold over you any longer? That we could make his war effort public knowledge?’
‘Yes. Yes. He understood that all right. He never likes anything that’s bad for business. We must leave the past behind us. Those were his exact words.’ Mother shuffled upstairs and locked her bedroom door behind her.
Perhaps it hadn’t sunk in yet. It would be different when he had finally left them. For now, the weight still depressed Emily’s shoulders.
*
Wilfred stayed well away from them all the following day. He slept late, dressed in the same ridiculous country garb, and then after making some more calls, he went out for a long ramble by himself.
The three of them took an early evening supper, jumping at every bang in case it was him returning.
‘And what are you going to do now?’ Mother set down her soup spoon and glared at Cecil. ‘You’ve said you can’t go back to university. And you dislike living in the countryside.’
