by Rhys Bowen
“You’re not from these parts then,” Mrs Lacey said, picking up on Alice’s cockney accent.
“Me? No, I’m from London.”
“My word. That’s a powerful long way from home. How do you like it here?”
“I like it just fine, apart from that cottage we’ve landed in.”
“Cottage? Where did they put you then?”
“The witch’s place, that’s the one,” called Simpson from the far table.
“She never put them in there! What was she thinking?” Mrs Lacey looked alarmed.
“The witch’s place?” Emily asked. “Is that what it’s called?”
Mrs Lacey looked uncomfortable. “Don’t pay no heed to him. It’s been empty for a long while, that cottage, on account of no one wants to live in it. Some say there’s a curse on it, but I don’t believe that for a minute. It used to be where they housed the schoolmistress before they built the new school about twenty years ago and Mr Patterson came to be schoolmaster.”
“Only women have lived in that cottage, and they all come to a bad end,” the other old man said, looking up from his pipe. He seemed to relish spreading that information.
“They have not all come to a bad end, Mr Soper. Don’t go putting ideas like that into these ladies’ heads.”
“What about that Goodstone person? She died, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but that was TB. Anyone can catch TB, can’t they? Nothing to do with the cottage.”
“And don’t forget about the witch,” he added, waving his pipe at them.
“Well, I grant you that,” Mrs Lacey said. She turned back to Emily. “One of them was hanged as a witch long ago.”
“Well, that’s cheerful, I must say,” Alice said.
“Oh, you’ll be just fine,” Mrs Lacey said, attempting a big smile. “You’re only here for a few days, aren’t you?”
“How long does it take for the curse to kick in then?” Alice asked.
Mrs Lacey threw back her head and laughed. “You’re a rum one, aren’t you? That’s what we need around here—someone to cheer us up.”
Darkness had fallen by the time the three of them walked back to the cottage. There was no moon, and the cold light of the stars did little more than hint at the dark shapes of buildings and trees. A wind had sprung up, a cold one sweeping down from the heights of the moor. Branches creaked and danced above them.
“I hope we can find our way back to the cottage,” Daisy said. “It’s terrible dark, isn’t it? Listen to that wind.”
“We’ll find our way all right, don’t you worry,” Alice said. “But we’re a daft lot, aren’t we? We should have left the box of matches where we could find it. Now we’ll have to scrabble around in the dark before we can get a lamp lit.”
“Are there any matches?” Emily asked.
“I can’t say I remember seeing any,” Alice said. “Oh well, it looks like we’ll be feeling our way in the dark then.”
“I’ll ask for some matches and some candles in the morning,” Emily said. “There’s no light at all up in my bedroom, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it up and down the stairs.”
“Use the jerry, love. Ain’t there one under your bed?”
Emily hadn’t looked. “Maybe.”
“You don’t want to try tackling them stairs at night. You’ll break your ruddy neck,” Alice said.
They reached the cottage door. Its opening creak now sounded unnaturally loud and ominous. They closed it with some difficulty, pushing against the wind.
“You won’t get much reading in tonight,” Alice tried to joke. “Take them stairs carefully, won’t you?”
Emily felt her way across the hall and up the stairs, reluctant to leave the others so far away. She heard them talking and giggling as they got ready for bed, banging her head more than once on the ceiling. Then she undressed and climbed in between her own icy sheets. The wind rattled at her window and moaned down the chimney. Witch’s cottage. Only women have lived here, and every one of them came to a bad end. The words echoed around inside her head.
“This too shall pass,” she said. “It’s only for a week or so, and then Robbie will be coming home and I’ll be with him in sunny Australia.” And she pictured herself lying in bed beside him, the sweetness of his kisses, the way he had made her feel when they had made love.
In the morning, she would write to him and tell him about the cursed cottage and the visit to the pub, and he would laugh when he read it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The wind had not died down by morning. It blustered, hitting them full in the face as they made their way up the path to the big house. Mrs Trelawney let them in, saying, “Come in quickly, and close the door, or my bread won’t rise properly.”
She didn’t bother to greet them, and Emily got the feeling she resented the extra work. She ladled out three bowls of porridge, which seemed to have become the standard breakfast fare everywhere they went, but there was also a jug of cream to go with it, and sprinkled with brown sugar, it was quite palatable. Then there was toast and marmalade and plenty of tea, so they felt ready for the day when they went to work.
“I don’t think we want to try and push the lawnmower around in this wind,” Emily said. “Maybe we should start on the flower beds beside the drive.” They brought out hoes and forks and started digging up weeds. They had been allowed to grow unchecked, and it was hard to sort out the flowers that struggled to grow between them. Rose bushes had sent out long suckers that now tangled with bindweed. Emily muttered as thorns dug into her hand. She picked up a pair of shears and cut back the rose. Then she decided that the only thing to do was to prune it right back and let it start over. She had just snipped off a stem when she heard a voice behind her.
“You, girl! What are you doing?” Lady Charlton was standing there, today wearing a woollen shawl over her black dress. She peered through a lorgnette at the rose bush. “You are ruining my roses.”
“I’m sorry,” Emily said, “but the roses are so tangled with the weeds that this seemed the only way to tackle things.”
“That’s no way to prune, young woman.”
“We’re doing our best,” Emily retorted. “None of us is a trained gardener. Before this, we’ve only been digging up potatoes and cutting hay. If someone can show us, we’ll be happy to learn how to prune properly.”
Lady Charlton blinked with surprise then frowned as she was aware of Emily’s upper-class accent. “And who are you, exactly?” she asked, peering at Emily through the lorgnette. “Not a land girl, surely.”
“Yes, I am,” Emily said. “My name is Emily Bryce.”
“Good gracious,” Lady Charlton said. “I thought the land girls would be all farmworkers’ daughters.”
“Not in the least,” Emily said. “One of us is from London, Daisy is a servant from a stately home and I myself am the daughter of a judge. And amongst our squad there is a dancer from a show on the pier, a well-spoken middle-aged widow and only two girls who were in any way connected with agriculture before.”
“I stand corrected,” Lady Charlton said. She raised the lorgnette she wore around her neck and studied Emily. “Emily Bryce, you say?”
“Yes, my lady,” Emily replied.
“From these parts? I don’t recall running into a Bryce.”
“My family lives near Torquay,” Emily said.
“You say your father is a judge?” The old lady continued to study her. “What does he think of his daughter becoming a land girl?”
“Not very much.” Emily grinned. “But I’ve actually been quite enjoying it.”
Lady Charlton nodded, as if she approved. “Then I appreciate your coming to help with my poor garden. As you can see, it is in desperate need. You’ve settled in all right, have you? Is the cottage comfortable?”
“I wouldn’t call it comfortable, I’m afraid,” Emily said.
“What did you expect, the Ritz?” The haughty tone returned.
“No, Lady Charlto
n, but it would be nice to have some furniture that doesn’t break when we sit on it. There are only two old chairs, and one of them collapsed. Apart from that, there is almost no furniture at all.”
“I see,” Lady Charlton said. “I have to confess I haven’t visited the place in many years, but I always seemed to remember it was furnished. Come to think of it, I don’t think anyone has lived in it for quite a while. Tell Simpson what you need, and he can round up things that are not in use here.”
“Thank you, that’s kind of you,” Emily said. “And some candles, please. It was quite alarming having to go to sleep in utter darkness.”
“I assumed Mrs Trelawney would have taken care of such things. I did let her know you were coming. Tell her what you want.”
Emily didn’t like to say that getting anything out of Mrs Trelawney would be like wringing blood from a stone. Instead, she murmured, “Thank you,” and went back to work.
When Lady Charlton had gone, the other two came up to Emily. “Well done,” Alice said. “I heard you telling her a thing or two.”
“Simpson is going to find us more furniture,” Emily said, “and Mrs Trelawney will give us candles.”
“Not without a fight, I expect,” Alice said.
By the end of the day, the front beds were cleared and the rose bushes pruned back. As they stood to eye their accomplishments, Emily glanced up at the house. Lady Charlton was standing in the window and nodded her approval.
Later on, they had just finished a bowl of mutton stew with dumplings when Lady Charlton appeared at the kitchen door. They all rose to their feet.
“Continue with your dinner, please,” Lady Charlton said. She looked at Emily. “I was wondering if this young woman would care to take a glass of sherry with me when she has finished her meal.”
“It’s very kind of you, my lady,” Emily said, feeling horribly awkward because the others had not been asked.
Alice, as usual, sensed this. “Don’t you worry about us, love. We’ll see you back at the cottage later.”
Feeling the others’ eyes upon her, Emily followed Lady Charlton through to the main part of the house, along a draughty hallway and into a large drawing room. A sofa and several Queen Anne chairs were arranged around an enormous granite fireplace in which a fire was burning, even though it was still summertime. A tray with a sherry decanter and two glasses had been put on a low table in front of the fire.
“I know it’s an extravagance to keep a fire burning in summer,” Lady Charlton said, “but the rooms are so vast in this place, and I feel the cold at my age. Do sit down.”
“Thank you.” Emily perched at the edge of one of the chairs.
Lady Charlton handed her a glass. “I’m intrigued. What made you decide to become a land girl?”
“I felt I should do what I can to help the war effort,” Emily said.
“Hardly a normal occupation for one of your class.”
“I wanted to volunteer as a nurse, but they didn’t need any more volunteers. They did need land girls.”
“What did you parents think of this? They surely can’t have approved?”
“They did not.” Emily had to smile. “Quite the opposite. They did everything they could to bring me home again.”
“But you dug in your heels and stood up to them. Well done. One should make one’s own decisions in life.”
“I agree, but my parents do not,” Emily said. “I’m afraid a great rift has come between us.”
“I’m sure they’ll relent when this nonsense is all over and you can return home.”
“I don’t think they will.” Emily pressed her lips together, trying not to show emotion. “They do not approve of the man I’m going to marry.”
“A rascal, is he? Or not of our class?”
“Not at all. He’s a good man. Kind, funny. And his family is quite wealthy. But he’s Australian. He doesn’t believe in the whole class distinction thing. He doesn’t play by our rules. He thinks they are silly.”
“And your parents disagree?”
“Oh yes.” Emily had to smile now. “It’s a pity, but I’m going to marry him, whatever they say.”
“You’ve turned twenty-one?”
“Earlier this summer.” How long ago it seems, she thought. Another lifetime.
“Then I suppose your life is in your own hands, and you are free to succeed or fail on your own terms.”
“I wouldn’t call marrying Flight Lieutenant Kerr failing,” Emily said. “Surely marrying the man one loves is the highest achievement in life?”
“Not all would agree with that. It doesn’t always bring happiness to move too far from where we are planted.”
“So you would not have left your home for a man you loved?”
“I didn’t say that,” Lady Charlton replied. “I am merely spouting conventional wisdom. Not everyone has to live by convention, like your Flight Lieutenant Kerr.”
A log settled on the fire, sending up sparks.
“You live all alone here, my lady?” Emily asked, changing the subject away from her.
“I do.” Lady Charlton sighed. “My husband died ten years ago. He was a good man. A fine man. He threw himself into every activity with enthusiasm. He travelled the world. He was a great collector. And when we inherited this house, he took an active role in the running of the home farm—improving breeding stock, lambing, you name it, and he wanted to be part of it. Well, he was present at a lambing one dreadful spring night. He came home soaked to the skin, caught pneumonia and died. Such a waste.”
“I’m so sorry,” Emily felt obliged to say. “And you had no children?”
“One son. James. He was a career military man. Officer in the Grenadier Guards. And he had one son as well. My grandson, Justin. He wanted the boy to enlist at the beginning of the war when he turned eighteen, but the boy refused. He said he thought wars were wrong and solved nothing. His father was furious with him. There was a terrible shouting match and the boy walked out. We haven’t heard a thing from him since. But we were told that he did do his duty when he was called up, and was sent off to France. However, we have no idea what happened to him. His body could not be found after a particularly fierce offensive, so either he was blown to pieces or he chose that moment to desert. We can only pray it was the former.”
“You’d rather your grandson was blown to pieces than escaped?”
“If it meant dishonour, yes. If he deserted and is recaptured, it would mean the firing squad. So yes, I pray he was killed doing his duty.”
“And your son?” Emily asked.
Lady Charlton stared into the fire. “My son died in the first year on the Somme, leading a charge over the top. He was buried with full military honours.”
She continued to stare into the fire, her face like stone, but her back straight and proud. Then she looked across to Emily. “You must come and take sherry with me every evening you are here. I will welcome the company. Mrs Trelawney has no conversation except for complaints. If I hear about her rheumatics one more time, I feel I shall scream.”
Emily laughed. “I would be delighted to take sherry with you, but I feel a little awkward about it, since my companions are not invited. I wouldn’t like them to think that I am getting special treatment.”
“Do you not believe they would feel ill at ease in a room like this, speaking with someone like me?” Lady Charlton asked. There was a glint of humour in her eyes.
“I suspect you are right, Lady Charlton,” Emily agreed.
“Then put it to them that they are welcome to join you if they’d like to. I will wager they will refuse.”
The old lady proved to be right.
“Not me, thanks,” Alice said, shaking her head violently when Emily extended the offer. “You wouldn’t catch me sitting with that old tartar.”
“Nor me,” Daisy added. “I’d be terrified I’d spill something or say the wrong thing.”
“Don’t worry about us, ducks,” Alice went on, seeing Emily’s emb
arrassment. “Daisy and me will take ourselves off to the pub and have a nice chat with that Mrs Lacey. You’re welcome to your sherry with the grand lady in the grand room and having to be so frightfully posh.” She put on a fake aristocratic accent.
And so Emily sat with Lady Charlton after their supper the next evening. She learned that Lady Charlton had travelled with her husband for the first twenty years of their marriage, living in Switzerland and as far away as Egypt, India and Mesopotamia, until he inherited the title and house from a distant cousin and had come to be lord of the manor here.
“Sometimes I have cursed that cousin for dying,” she confessed. “Until then, we had an exciting life. We thought we couldn’t have children, but then James was born to us quite late in life. My husband sent him to boarding school in England at a very young age, insisting it was the right thing to do for boys of our class, but I was really sad that he never saw his parents. So in a way I was glad when we were compelled to come home.”
“I long to travel,” Emily said. “I am so excited about the journey out to Australia.”
“I never had a chance to visit Australia,” Lady Charlton said. “I should like to have done so. Now I only visit places when I read.” She looked up suddenly. “Do you enjoy books?”
“I do, very much,” Emily said.
“Then let me show you our library.” Lady Charlton got to her feet. “Come with me.”
She led Emily along the long hallway through a door at the far end. Emily gasped. The walls were lined with leather-bound volumes. Dust motes danced in the slanting rays of the setting sun. Around the floor were display tables.
“My husband was a great collector,” Lady Charlton said. “He collected everything from Egyptian artefacts to butterflies.” She walked over to one of the tables and ran her hand lovingly over the glass.
“If you would like something to read while you are in residence here, feel free to borrow a book from my library.”
“Oh no, I don’t think I would want to take one of these beautiful books down to the cottage,” Emily said, embarrassed at the thought of coming into this lovely room in her muddy uniform. “And I’ve discovered some books for me to read.”
