by Annie Groves
‘I beg your pardon?’ Darnley swiftly got up from the chair, his expression outraged. ‘I said—’
‘I ’eard what you said … What I want to know is, what ’as it got ta do with you? You can’t come ’ere and start throwing your weight about.’
‘Oh, yes, I can, Mr Darnley,’ Agnes said with a satisfied nod of her head, ‘and I’ve got the papers to prove it. Now, tell me, who is in charge around here?’
‘That would be me, miss.’ A dark-haired man came into the room wearing the farmer’s garb of corduroy trousers, shirt, jacket and muffler, and addressed Darnley directly. ‘I’ll deal with this now.’
For a moment, Agnes didn’t say a word, surmising that this was Darnley’s younger son. He looked fit and active, very much like the one who met her at the gate yesterday, although he didn’t seem as abrupt as the one on crutches. A sudden thought struck Agnes: the surly one would be unfit for military service and so would old Darnley, who, in Agnes’s estimation, was well into his seventies, so that left this man.
‘My name is Jake … Jake Darnley, and I have been running this farm since Mr Weybridge died … He had no other relatives, you see.’
Agnes nodded but said nothing. She didn’t recall seeing Jake Darnley the last time she was here, so he may have been away fighting then.
‘You will find everything you need in the drawer of his bureau over there. All the records have been kept up to date.’ His tone was guarded as he looked towards the older man, Agnes noticed, and this alone told her that he thought she was ‘official’.
Agnes could see that he was nervous but trying not to show it.
‘How long have you been running the farm for Mr Weybridge?’ She watched him carefully and saw the colour rise to his throat.
‘Oh, I’ve looked after it for years. Mr Weybridge couldn’t do without me.’
Agnes knew he was lying. She did not recall her father mentioning anything about Jake Darnley; she remembered her father telling her that old man Darnley ran the farm for him … So, to her way of thinking, that could only mean this Jake was a conscientious objector, or he was ducking out of military service. In which case, he was in for a shock.
‘Well, I’m afraid that is no longer the case, Mr Darnley, because, you see, I own this place now.’ Agnes’s words had the desired effect. Old Darnley turned before reaching the door, his face wreathed in disbelief.
‘Mr Weybridge didn’t have no successors – he didn’t have no offspring neither,’ he said darkly.
Agnes gave a slow smile but the look in her eyes held no mirth.
‘I can assure you he did, Mr Darnley, and that person is me.’ She took a deep breath, only just holding her nerve. ‘Now, if you would be so kind, I would be grateful if you would gather the staff, including the Italian labourer and the land girls, and ask them if they would all come in here in half an hour.’ Agnes could not ignore the suspicious hostility of old Darnley’s slow, unwavering glare, but she glared right back. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy: she would be seen as an upstart who knew nothing.
‘Would you like to see the proof, gentlemen?’ The last word was said in a tone no different from the rest; she had not come here to make enemies, and she knew she would need all the help she could get. However, she had every intention of claiming her rightful place on this farm and not spending another night in a freezing barn, as she had done last night.
‘There ain’t no proof,’ said old Darnley belligerently. ‘Mr Weybridge were a widower, his wife died before I came ’ere an’ there weren’t no missus ’ere after that.’
‘He was a very unlucky man in the marriage department, I’ll grant you,’ Agnes said drily. Her days of being meek little Agnes were over. Today, she was queen of all she surveyed and it gave her a feeling that was so powerful, she felt able to tell them the truth now.
‘My father had a child with his second wife – my mother,’ Agnes said slowly, in case they didn’t get it the first time, ‘who, unfortunately died in childbirth … Mr Weybridge was unable, or unwilling, to bring me up, and I was sent away.’
‘I don’t believe you! You’re lying,’ Jake Darnley burst out, and Agnes could see the naked panic in his eyes. ‘I run this farm now – tell her, Da! You said I could stay here an’ look after the farm!’ Suddenly, he didn’t look quite as commanding as he had done moments earlier. It seemed to her that his authoritative air must have been well practised for officialdom, because now he didn’t seem sure of anything.
‘Quiet, boy! Hold your tongue!’ Old Darnley glowered at his son and a light went on in Agnes’s head. Boy? Looking closely at him, she could see he was a big, strong lad … and he was a lad. At first sight he would be mistaken for an able-bodied man, but on closer scrutiny …
‘How old are you, Jake?’
‘Never you mind ’ow old ’e is. We’re not ’ere to talk about ’im.’
Agnes concluded now that it was old Darnley who was the brains behind the outfit here. One son coming home injured from the war was bad enough, she thought; he wouldn’t want to send another one to the same fate. And as farmhands were not exempt from military service – only the farmers themselves were excused – they must have squared it between them to make Jake the farm boss, even if it was only for official purposes.
Taking her birth certificate and the deeds to the farm from her handbag, she held them out towards old Darnley, who snatched them from her now and, squinting his eyes to get a better look in the November gloom, he read the authorised documents that proved who she was.
‘Well, I can’t see as ’ow we can argue with these,’ old Darnley said reluctantly, handing the papers back.
Agnes sighed with relief, although she knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. When she had finished putting the papers in her bag she noticed a palpable silence hung around the room like a wet blanket and she realised she no longer cared what they would make of her coming here and giving orders. This was her home. This was her new beginning.
‘It don’t mean to say I ’ave ter be ’appy about it, though,’ Darnley said over his shoulder as he shuffled out of the room.
FIFTEEN
Sally had taken little Alice to nursery before going shopping, and Barney had left for school half an hour ago, giving Olive some rare time to spend on herself. Sitting on the stool at her dressing table, she removed the pins from her hair. Then, starting at the nape of her neck, she began to comb the tight coils into cascading curls about her shoulders and felt a thrill of delight at the lustrous shine the wonderful shampoo had given her hair. She wished she could wear it like this all the time, but she knew that wasn’t practical for her hectic routine. And the style would certainly give Nancy something to crow about if she went out looking like this.
Inhaling the heady floral fragrance as her dark curls fell about her face, Olive thought the style reminded her of the film star Rita Hayworth. She laughed out loud: her imagination was doing a wonderful job of deception because she looked nothing like Rita Hayworth, but the effect of the flowing curls was very feminine. Securing the sides with pins to keep the hair away from her face, Olive created a higher volume at the front by pulling the pins forward to form a slight bouffant and, pursing her lips, she indulged in rare display of vanity. Then, with a sigh, she took out the pins. What looked good on an actress at the pictures was not right for serving tea to bombed-out victims, as part of London’s WVS. So, taking the long tube of dark fabric that she had stuffed with some off-cuts of material, Olive was just about to roll her shoulder-length hair around the ‘stuffed sausage’, to form an elegant but practical chignon around her head, when there was a knock at the front door. Putting down the comb on the dresser, she quickly went to answer the door.
‘Are you talking to yourself, Sergeant?’ Nancy Black asked as she passed Archie like a woman who should have been somewhere else five minutes ago.
‘I’ve got something on my mind,’ Archie, standing on Olive’s step, gave a wry smile, knowing his comment would be an itch
that Nancy could not scratch.
‘Anything I can do to help?’ Nancy called in an unusually helpful tone, slowing her pace. However, Archie knew the last person he would discuss his private life with was Nancy Black.
‘Oh, it’s nothing for you to worry about, Nancy. Good day to you.’ Archie nodded, wondering now how long it would be before Nancy was knocking on Olive’s door to enquire if she knew anything that might be ‘bothering’ the local bobby.
However he tried to word it, Archie knew that he had to apologise to Olive. And no matter how cautious or gentle his explanation, he was going to come out of this looking like a right twerp – and so he should! He had never felt as foolish in all his life as he had when Agnes told him about the origins of the pendant. He had been so quick to judge. How could he have been so stupid? He wouldn’t be surprised if Olive never spoke to him ever again.
No matter how tactful his justification to Olive, it would still sound like an accusation of deliberately handling stolen goods. And there lay his dilemma. He tried to ignore it, and in doing so he had avoided facing Olive. The threat to their friendship had been huge. He would have to approach the subject with her sometime – and the worry had almost torn him apart.
Last night he’d agonised, he’d walked the floor, and he could not sleep for thinking about Olive and the wrong that he had done her. He hadn’t even given her the chance to give her part of the story and absolve herself. He needed to see her now and confess his suspicions. He needed to tell her how sorry he was and how much he really loved her … Archie had stopped pacing. There! He had finally admitted it to himself.
He loved Olive with every beat of his heart. He knew it now and, if he was honest, he had known it all along. From the very moment he had set eyes on her all those years ago, he had a regard for her that had unsettled him at times. It wasn’t right to feel that way when you had a wife and a young son to care for. He had spent so many years trying to ignore his feelings that he was afraid to admit them – even to himself – until now.
It had taken a charity shop pendant and six weeks of lost friendship; fleeting ‘hellos’ and stilted, albeit polite, conversation, but only in the presence of others, to make him realise that his life was worthless without Olive in it.
He missed their comfortable conversations at the table when she was getting breakfast ready, and even her gentle rebuke when he tried to give her a hand. He missed her no-nonsense but heartfelt advice, and above all he missed that sparkle in her eyes when she voiced her hopes and dreams of the future, which he had always felt a part of – until Tilly’s birthday.
Archie hadn’t slept a wink last night as his mind turned the problem over and over. But no matter how much he tossed and turned and troubled, he could not find the answer. And, as he knocked on Olive’s front door now, he still couldn’t find it.
Sighing, Olive suspected her caller would be Nancy, trying to wangle an egg for her husband’s breakfast when he got in from his night shift and, seeing as she was in such a good mood, she would give Nancy the other spare egg, knowing she didn’t have the heart to eat it after wasting one last night.
‘Can I come in, Olive?’
‘Oh, hello, Archie,’ Olive said. Her hand flew to her cascading curls and, self-consciously, she tried to smooth them down, wishing she had pinned her hair up immediately. She was surprised to see Archie standing on the step, not only because he usually came around the back way and, after a little knock he would let himself in, but because he hadn’t called in such a long time.
He looked and sounding very sombre indeed, she noticed, and hoped he hadn’t come on official business to give her some bad news. Her thoughts immediately went to Tilly. Stepping back, she allowed Archie to enter the hallway.
‘Is there something wrong, Archie?’ Olive asked, feeling a shiver of apprehension. ‘Is it bad news?’ Maybe he was ill? Olive felt her heart thud against her ribcage. It would be awful if there was anything wrong with Archie after all he had been through. She followed as he led the way into the front room, which had not been used this morning.
‘It’s freezing in here, shall we go into the kitchen?’ Olive asked. ‘The oven has been on and …’ She paused and could see by his grim expression that it didn’t matter if it was hot or cold, and she could feel her mouth dry. She feared Archie had something very grave to tell her and even though the atmosphere between them was strained – and had been since Tilly’s twenty-first birthday – if she wasn’t mistaken, Olive didn’t think she was going to like what she was about to hear.
At first, she had put their rift down to the pressure of work on both sides, and as the air raids had increased slightly of late she knew it couldn’t be easy for Archie to find time to sit and relax, having spent alternating night going between his police duties and fire-watching.
‘No, this won’t take long, Olive.’ Archie’s usually handsome face was ashen now. ‘I’ll say what I’ve come to say and then I’ll leave you in peace to think about the wrong I have done you.’
Olive’s brows furrowed and she looked at Archie; really looked at him. He looked as if he was wiped out and she felt guilty for asking him to take Agnes to the farm, although he had volunteered, saying he had to deliver files to a place not far from the farm. He worked so hard.
She worried he might be overdoing the duties he had to perform daily and then realised that many women weren’t as lucky as she was and hadn’t seen their men for years. Their men. Olive felt the heat creep to her cheeks at such an audacious thought and brought her thoughts back to a more grounded level. Archie wasn’t a shirker, she knew, he was a man of honour and integrity. He was an upstanding member of the community, who—
‘Olive, I have done you the most terrible injustice,’ Archie said, staring out of the window, his back to her now, ‘and I want to put it right.’ He didn’t turn around as he continued, ‘I made a mistake – but that is no excuse, I know.’ Now he did turn towards her and he said quietly, ‘I should have come to you directly and talked about it instead of letting it fester and come between us.’ He was examining the palm of his hand now, as if expecting to find something extraordinary. ‘I tried to push the suspicion to the back of my mind – but it wouldn’t go away … it was totally out of character, for you and for me.’
Olive could feel the tension building in the room and if she had a knife to hand she was sure she could have cut the atmosphere with it. She and Archie had never said a wrong word to each other – ever! They hadn’t even disagreed. And even though they hadn’t spoken much for the last weeks she knew that if she was ever in trouble or needed help he would be the first person to come to her aid. Wouldn’t he?
‘I don’t know what you mean, Archie.’ She took a step towards him but he put up his hand to stop her, and she felt a freezing shiver run down her spine. ‘Archie, has something happened?’
‘Sit down, Olive, there is something I have to say to you and I would prefer it if you were sitting down.’ That way, if she wanted to throw something at him, he would have time to get to the door! But this was no matter for frivolity, he thought solemnly.
Slowly, Olive sat on the sofa, not taking her eyes from Archie, who was now leaning on the mantelpiece and staring into the empty, cheerless fireplace.
‘If you don’t tell me soon I will burst with curiosity.’ Olive made an attempt at humour to dissipate the dense atmosphere. She couldn’t bear it for much longer. Why didn’t he just say what he had to say and get it over with? If she had done something wrong, she wanted to know about it now!
‘If you thought someone you regarded as your best friend had done something behind your back,’ Archie said, remembering he had made enquiries about Olive to see where she originally came from, then discovered she had been orphaned at sixteen, married at eighteen and widowed before she was twenty-one, ‘in their own best interests, of course, to help them …’ He stopped for a moment, to gather his thoughts, and then he went on, ‘What if the thing they did was something you never thought the
y were capable of … What would you do?’
‘I would be so upset, Archie.’ She realised he must have heard about her meeting a man in a hotel last year. Maybe she should explain that she was doing it for Tilly. But even to her own ears it would sound wrong. Meeting a rich man in a hotel. Having afternoon drinks – not that she had drank anything alcoholic but she could see how it would be misconstrued – Archie wouldn’t be happy about her deception, no matter what the reason … especially about the reason!
Even Sally, who had respected Olive’s wishes and kept silent, thought she had made a big mistake and had treated her daughter like a child, when Tilly was clearly a grown woman quite able to make her own decisions without the interference of her mother and the father of her former sweetheart! She understood Archie’s annoyance completely; he always did take Tilly’s side, although not usually against her own meddlesome mother. ‘I would try to understand their reason for doing such a thing, though, Archie. Nobody does something out of character without a really good reason.’ And her good reason was that she didn’t want her daughter hurt, or widowed at an early age like she was.
‘Of course you would understand, Olive.’ Archie’s eyes widened as he looked at her. ‘You would understand because that is the type of woman you are – you give people the benefit of the doubt, you don’t judge, you hold your own council until you have all the facts! You are the most understanding woman I have ever met.’
‘I don’t know about that, Archie.’ Olive felt like a fraud now. He believed she was above any wrongdoing. ‘I was just trying to do the right thing, Archie,’ Olive tried to explain, but it seemed he hadn’t understood a word.
‘I know, Olive, you always do the right thing. You are the most honest person I know!’
‘I’m not a saint, Archie—’ but Olive’s words of protest were cut short when he shocked her to the core by sitting down beside her, taking her in his arms and holding her close.
