Sally Wentworth - Garden of Thorns

by Sally Wentworth

  They worked until it was almost too dark to see and were well satisfied when they stood back, tired and aching, and saw the amount of ground they'd cleared.

  'That should be plenty for a kitchen garden,' Penny said. 'We'll leave it for a couple of days to harden off and then we can break it down and transplant all the things we want to keep.'

  They ate another makeshift meal and then Kirsty left Penny working on the range while she dragged her tired limbs up the road again to the telephone box and put a call through to Simon.

  'Hallo, darling, how are things going?'

  'Not too well’ I'm afraid.' Briefly she told him what had happened, but left out the row with the Squire. Somehow she couldn't bring herself to talk about it, her anger was still close to the surface and made her clench her teeth, whenever she thought about him. 'Did you fix up for the electricians to come down?' she asked.

  'Yes, they'll come on Friday evening and stay until they finish. They reckon it should only take a couple of days. And they'll bring everything they need with them.'

  'Will you be able to come down yourself?' Kirsty paused. 'I—I'd be awfully glad if you could.'

  She could almost see the expression on his face as he said understandingly, 'Need a shoulder to cry on?'

  'Something like that, she answered quietly, her eyes tight shut, her hands gripping the receiver as if 'it would bring him nearer to her, his strength and cheerfulness. Even just the sound of his voice was comforting. ’I’ll try, Kirsty, believe me I'll try. But I'm down as stand-by surgeon in Casualty and it will mean getting someone to exchange with me.'

  They talked on until Kirsty ran out of .change and then she plodded wearily back to the cottage. But she didn't go in at once, instead leaning against the back wall and taking in the scents and sounds of the night. The smell of newly-dug earth came strongly to her nostrils and with it a strange feeling of satisfaction and achievement. Perhaps some primitive instinct in her needed the basic toil of tilling the earth. In her apartment she had always had plants and flowers all the year around. She grinned wryly to herself; perhaps she would turn out to be as keen a gardener as Penny. And Penny had certainly been happy today; it was one of the few times in the last month or so that Kirsty hadn't caught her gazing miserably into space, her face pinched and unhappy.

  The gaunt, leafless branches of the trees cut the sky into a jigsaw pattern as the crescent moon came out from behind a cloud and illuminated the garden. There was still a great deal to be done, but at least they had made a start. Her eyes naturally moved over the garden, and through the gap in the hedge she could just make out some pinpoints of light in the distance. Not the farm, because she couldn't see that from here, so it must be Notley Manor. She wondered what the Squire was doing now. Probably working out his next move in his battle to get rid of them, she wouldn't be surprised. Uneasily she wondered what it would be, but then shrugged the thought .off. Sufficient unto the day. It was no use worrying, only time would tell her the bad news. She just prayed that they would have a breathing space in which to concentrate on getting the garden dug and to settle into the cottage better before she had to face him again.

  But there was to be no respite. On Friday morning, just as they'd finished breakfast, an official-looking letter arrived and when Kirsty opened it she found it was from the local council. It was in very legalised language, quoting various Acts and local bylaws, but in simple terms boiled down to the fact that the council had been informed that their hedges were considerably overgrown and presented" a menace to passers-by, and if they didn't cut them back within fourteen days of receipt of the letter, the council would have the work done themselves and send her the bill.

  'Fourteen days!' Kirsty stared at it aghast. 'But there are yards and yards of hedges. And we need all our time this month to get the seeds in.' Slowly she lowered the letter, her mouth twisted with bitter cynicism. 'Gyles Grantham certainly didn't waste any time, did he? I bet he's the chairman of the council, or something. I'm sure they wouldn't have pushed this on to us within a week of our moving in, otherwise.'

  'Well, we don't have time to worry about it now,' Penny pointed out practically. 'We've got the local chimney-sweep coming this morning and then we have to move the rest of the plants we want to keep and get the house ready for when the electricians come tonight. Okay, so the hedges have got to be cut back. We would have had to do in anyway, this letter just means that they'll get done sooner, that's all.'

  That weekend and the following week were hectic. Both of them worked every minute of the day, falling into bed to sleep like logs and waking with their backs and muscles stiff and cramped and having to force themselves, groaning, to get up and start work again. But by the end of that time they had cleared and rotovated all down one side and along the back of the garden and had planted it with seeds and young plants which they had obtained from ah established herb farm fifty miles away, taking an afternoon off to go and collect them. The beds for the various herbs had been laid out and neatly labelled. They had started off with a basic seven: sage, marjoram, fennel, basil, thyme, mint and rosemary, but intended to add lots more in April and May.

  'We really ought to have camomile paths,’ Penny remarked.' All the Elizabethan herb gardens did.'

  'But you have to cut that back all the time,' Kirsty objected. 'We need something more labour-saving.'

  Penny thought for a moment and then turned excitedly. 'I know! How about the bricks taken from the inglenook? They would make wonderful paths if they were laid in patterns.'

  'That's a great idea. I've been wondering what on earth we were going to do with those.'

  Not only the garden but the cottage was also much improved. The electricians had done their work well and they now had hot water for baths instead of taking stand-up washes in water heated on the primus and carried up from the kitchen. Penny had finished the range arid it now stood, repainted shiny black and with its brasswork gleaming, and although they could now plug in the electric cooker, they found it more economical to use the range, which they fed with logs of wood from the dead apple trees they had cut down. Simon hadn't been able to get down the previous weekend but was definitely coming this one and ,had promised to help them make a start on the hedges which they hadn't yet had time to touch. With three of them the job shouldn't take more than a couple of days, Kirsty estimated, and for the first time she began to allow herself to feel optimistic about the future. It seemed that, given a reasonable amount of luck, they were going to succeed with Briar Cottage, despite Gyles Grantham.

  But that night, for the first time since they had moved in, it rained. Not just light rain, but a heavy downpour. Kirsty woke in the early hours to hear it driving against the window-panes and pulled her duvet closer around her, snuggling into its soft warmth, thinking that a shower of rain was just what they needed to make the seeds grow. Towards seven, however, she was woken by Penny calling her name. 'Kirsty, my bed is soaking wet. Ugh, it's gone right through to my pyjamas!'

  And when Kirsty looked she saw that water was dripping through the ceiling in several places and running down one corner of the wall.

  'Oh, no! Quickly they dressed and put buckets and bowls out to catch the drips, but when Kirsty went into the bathroom and the other bedroom she found that they were just as bad. 'The thatch must leak like a sieve,' she groaned. 'Heaven knows how much it will cost to have it repaired. It might even need rethatching.'

  They wrung the wet duvet out as best they could in the bath; Penny was a heavy sleeper and must have been lying under the thing for hours before she woke up for it to have got as wet as that. They hung it over two chairs in front of an electric fire in the kitchen to dry out, but when they went to turn on the fire nothing happened and they found that all the electricity had fused.

  'Oh, great! That's all we need,' Penny said dispiritedly, her teeth chattering with cold.

  'Perhaps it's just as well,' Kirsty told her. 'Look there's water coming through the light fitting on the ceiling. We might
have got a shock or been electrocuted if we'd turned it on. Never mind, thanks to you we have the range. I'll get it going and make you a hot drink. You'll soon be warm.'

  But when she went to get some logs from the neat pile they'd made by the kitchen door, she found that they were all soaking wet and refused to burn.

  'Perhaps if I poured some paraffin on them,' Kirsty said doubtfully.

  She got the can of fuel and tentatively poured some into the stove. They waited, but the logs still only smouldered weakly and threw up smoke, so she poured some more on, being more liberal this time. Nothing -happened and she was beginning to wonder if there was any flame left to ignite the paraffin, when there 'was a sudden whooshing explosion and a circle of Barnes shot high out of the top of the range. At the tame time the door at the front flew open and showered them with grime and smoke. Kirsty screamed and jumped backwards, knocking into Penny so that they both ended up on the floor, clutching each other in fright.

  'The lid!' Penny shrieked. 'Put the lid on!'

  Gingerly Kirsty crept forward and picked up the poker, reaching up to try and close the range. After two attempts she managed it and then stood up, shaking. The smell of the paraffin was everywhere and she saw that the can had fallen over and the liquid was glob-globbing out over the floor, and she must have crawled through it because it was all over her too. Slowly she looked round the room, filthy with smoke - and soot, water dripping from the ceiling. Penny'& duvet was grimed and a corner of it was resting in the evil-smelling pool of paraffin. They were cold, wet, and filthy dirty with no way to dean themselves up or get dry.

  She sank into a chair. 'My God, it can't get worse than this!'

  But even as she spoke they heard a peremptory knocking at the front door.

  'Perhaps it's Simon, got here early! Penny said hopefully.

  Her untidy hair, soot-blackened face and dirty clothes forgotten, Kirsty rushed to the front door, her eyes alight with hope and anticipation. Simon would help them, would know what to do. But when she opened the door the look on her face changed completely. It wasn't Simon but Gyles Grantham who stood on the doorstep. His cold eyes swept over her, taking in every detail of her appearance, and he distinctly recoiled as the smell hit him. Oh Lord, now he really will think I'm an unwashed hippy, Kirsty thought despairingly. 'Miss Naylor?'

  'Yes. What do you want?' she answered belligerently.

  'I believe you received a letter from the parish council?'

  'Well, you should know, you probably dictated it yourself,' she retorted.

  His eyebrows rose. 'What gives you that idea?'

  'You are on the council, aren't you? Probably the chairman, I shouldn't wonder.'

  As a matter of fact, I am. But it was the unanimous vote of the council members that you be warned about your hedges."

  Kirsty looked at him in unconcealed disgust, in no mood to mince words. 'What a pompous hypocrite you are! It's perfectly obvious that it was done at your instigation. Only a man like you would stoop low enough to use your official position to pursue a personal vendetta."

  She had the satisfaction of seeing him look rather discomfited for a second, but then his jaw hardened as he said, 'I came to find out whether you and your friends have any intention of carrying out the council's order, because if not I shall instruct the workmen to come and make a start.'

  Kirsty glared at him. 'Aren't you rather jumping the gun? We were given fourteen days to do the job and we still have a week left. Sorry to disappoint you, Mr Grantham, but the hedges will all be cut by the end of next week,' she informed him sarcastically. 'You can try all you want to obstruct us, but we're already well ahead with our plans! she added defiantly.

  Raising his eyebrows, the Squire looked pointedly round at the untouched front garden. 'I see no sign of it! he said, his mouth twisted in a cynical curl.

  'That's because we get our priorities right! Kirsty retorted, angered by his tone and eager to put him down. 'A good half of the land at the back of the house has already been dug and planted. Oh, yes, it's quite true, she added when she saw the look of disbelief in his eyes. 'There are other places where rotovators can be hired, you know. So you see, it doesn't matter how much you try to stop us, because we'll always find a way round it. The sooner you realise that and leave us alone to.

  But he interrupted her angrily, his voice scathing, 'And the sooner you realise that you're not wanted in Notley and dear out, the better for you. It's no use trying to fight me because,

  'Fight! You don't fight! Kirsty rejoined contemptuously, 'you just play dirty, underhand tricks. Now, get off my land before I have you arrested for trespassing.'

  His face hardened. 'I'm beginning to get tired of the way you try to threaten me. You and your hippy friends might have formed some sort of idyllic picture about turning this place into a Garden of Eden, but I know’ your sort. In another month or so the novelty will have worn off and you'll be having wild parties with crowds of youngsters bedding down here and roaming around the countryside, stealing and picking fights with the local lads. Not to mention seducing the girls and getting them into trouble.'

  At that a surge of red-hot anger swept through Kirsty's veins and she didn't care how she insulted him. Jeeringly she said, 'Oh, I see, that's what you're really worried about, is it? That they might cut you out so that you don't have a chance to seduce the girls yourself? You're living in the wrong century, Mr Grantham you should have been born when the feudal lords ruled England. I bet you'd have really enjoyed putting down the peasants and chopping off the heads of anyone who thwarted you, not to mention having the right to go to bed with the women on their wedding night. Droit du seigneur, isn't that what they call it?'

  'Why, you little—' He reached out suddenly and caught her wrist, pulling her towards him. His face was menacing as he said, I'm beginning to wish I had a few rights where you're concerned. I know why you've been made their spokeswoman, but every time you open your mouth you make it’ worse for yourself. If you think I'm going to let you.’ He broke of suddenly and paused before' saying in a completely different tone, 'What is that smell?'

  Kirsty glared at him and pulled her wrist free. 'It's Chanel No. 5, I bathe in it every day!’

  He stared down at her for a long moment, his dark eyes locked with hers as she gazed back at him defiantly. He seemed about to speak, but then changed his mind and turned to stride" abruptly away.

  Kirsty watched him go, baffled by his sudden departture, and it wasn't until Simon came through the gateway that she realised he had arrived. With a cry of pleasure she ran towards him. 'Oh, Simon, am I glad to see you!’

  'Mm, likewise.' He kissed her warmly, oblivious to the smell. 'Who was that I saw leaving?'

  Screwing tip her nose, Kirsty replied, "The Lord of the Manor himself. But never mind him. This morning has been just terrible, a whole series of disasters,

  but you'd better come in and see for yourself.'

  His arrival seemed to give, them renewed energy and somehow things didn't seem as bad as they had before. They bought lengths of plastic sheeting from the town and Kirsty helped Simon to fasten it to the roof beams under the thatch as a temporary measure to keep the rain out until they could afford to have the roof repaired, and by phoning up one of the hospital electricians they found out how to get the electricity working again. Penny cleaned up the kitchen as best she could and by the time she had finished there was only the smell of the wretched paraffin in the air to give any indication of the former mess.

  It took ages to fix the plastic sheeting, especially over the gabled- dormer windows, and they didn't finish until late on Sunday evening, so Simon decided to stay on that night as he wasn't on duty again Until Monday evening. When they'd finished he suggested they walk over to the pub for a drink, but Penny complained of a headache and decided to go straight to bed. Slowly Kirsty and Simon walked along, hand in hand; the rain clouds had disappeared with the storm and the night was sharp and bright, the stars scattered across the sky like d
iamonds on black velvet. There was a wooden seat on the green set under a cherry tree, its tight buds giving the promise of bursting pink blossom. Simon led her to it and pulled her down beside him, putting his arm round her and kissing her lingeringly. A car came swiftly along- the road, its powerful headlights illuminating them before Kirsty had a chance to pull free. She supposed it was inevitable that it should be a Range-Rover.

  'Oh, no!' she groaned. 'That was the Squire's car. Now he'll think for sure that I'm a corrupting influence on the village.'

  Why should he think that?'

  Briefly Kirsty explained and Simon frowned.

  'He had no right to say that to you, of course, but maybe he's right in one way. Perhaps you ought to leave here.'

  'Simon I' Kirsty stared at him in consternation. ''Not you too?'

  He picked up her hand and toyed idly with her fingers. 'When you first told me about your idea for a herb farm I agreed that it would probably be the best thing for Penny.' He gave a shrug of resignation. 'Let's face it, I didn't have any right not to agree; Fin in no financial position to even look after you, let alone Penny as well, and I won't be until I pass my exams and get a decent position.’

  He paused and Kirsty found herself holding his hand tightly—it was the nearest he had ever come to saying that he wanted to marry her.

  Looking up, he went on earnestly, 'But I thought you would look for a place nearer London, somewhere that was already established and had decent living accommodation. To put it bluntly, Kirsty, I think you've taken on more than you can handle. Paying over the odds for the cottage and not haying enough capital left to run it, is only asking for failure. You two girls just aren't strong enough to cope on your own, and quite honestly I don't feel like spending every free weekend I have in coming all the way down here and working for you, not to mention the effect that rough work could have on my hands. Okay, I know I wear gloves,' he said quickly as Kirsty went to interrupt, 'but my hands are my living, my whole failure career, Kirsty, and I'm not going to take the risk of injuring them to try to prop up that house and