The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  They could not bear to let him go – not just yet – and so had prevailed upon his good nature to stay a while in their midst.

  Carefully – though her heart was beating in a most peculiar manner – Esther said, ‘That’s nice. Where – where are you from?’

  ‘Lincoln. You know it?’

  Esther shook her head.

  He was smiling at her again. ‘Well, I’ve never been to Lynthorpe before, and to be honest–’ the laughter lines around his eyes crinkled – ‘I’d never even heard of Fleethaven Point until I met Ernie.’ His voice dropped a little as he added, ‘He made it sound like the most wonderful place on earth.’

  ‘It is!’ Esther replied without thinking.

  The stranger, who was by the minute becoming less of a stranger, threw back his head and laughed. ‘Now I know who you are. You’re the missus from Brumbys’ Farm, aren’t you?’

  Esther felt the colour rising in her neck and flooding up her cheeks. ‘Is that what Ernie called me – the missus from Brumbys’ Farm?’

  ‘He talked a lot about you.’ The blue eyes were teasing her gently and yet she knew by his tone that Ernie’s tales of her had been flattering. Very softly, he added, ‘I had to come and see – ’ he paused as if deliberately – ‘for myself.’ Louder he added, ‘Everything – the sea, the marshes, the farms . . .’

  ‘We’ll show ya, mester, we’ll show ya.’ The two boys were either side of him, both talking at once. ‘We’ll tek ya crabbin’ and shrimpin’ . . .’

  ‘That would be nice,’ he answered the boys, placing an arm across each of their shoulders, but his gaze never left Esther’s face. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing the sea.’

  Esther liked the way the newcomer spoke, his voice was deep yet gentle and to her his words seemed well pronounced.

  ‘Esther had never seen the sea before she came to live here,’ Ma was telling him, ‘had you, lass? Now ya can’t keep her away from it. Always up at the Point she is, staring out across the water.’

  Esther coloured with embarrassment and could think of nothing to say. She pushed back her chair with a scrape on the stone floor. ‘I’d best be goin’. It’s way past Kate’s bedtime.’

  As she rose, the soldier got up too.

  ‘Goodbye, Mr Godfrey,’ she said, a little breathlessly, wanting to add ‘I hope we meet again’ but not daring to in front of the Harris family. Then the thought struck her – Esther Hilton not daring to do something because of what someone else might think? It was unheard of. What had come over her?

  But the stranger had no such inhibitions. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he held her hand in his and said, ‘I hope I see you again whilst I’m here, Mrs Hilton.’

  As she walked home, Kate skipping along at her side and hanging on to her hand, Esther could not stop the tiny thrill of pleasure from flooding through her at the thought that Jonathan Godfrey would be staying for a few days at least.

  She would see him again.

  Esther thought about him several times during the following morning.

  About mid afternoon she saw his tall figure coming along the lane, the two youngest Harris children hopping alongside him. They were carrying home-made shrimping nets. The soldier was bending his head slightly to one side to listen to their chatter whilst a small smile played on his mouth. Watching them, Esther moved towards the gate. He looked up and saw her and raised his hand in greeting. His smile broadened, crinkling the laughter lines around his eyes. It was impossible not to return his smile.

  ‘Georgie and Alice are taking me shrimping.’ His blue eyes danced with merriment. ‘We wondered if your little girl – Kate, isn’t it? – would like to come along.’

  ‘I’m sure she would. Please come in a moment.’ She opened the farm gate and they followed her into the farmhouse. ‘Would you like a drink of milk, Georgie – Alice?’

  ‘Yes please, missus,’ they chorused.

  Esther turned to Jonathan Godfrey. ‘Please – sit down. Can I offer you anything – a glass of home-made wine perhaps?’

  ‘Thank you – as long as I’m still sober enough to wield a shrimping net!’

  The children giggled and the sound of their laughter brought Kate downstairs from her room.

  ‘You comin’ shrimpin’ with me an’ our Alice an’ Mr Godfrey?’ Georgie asked her, a rim of milk on his upper lip.

  There was pleasure on Kate’s face, but then it faded. ‘I – I ain’t got a shrimpin’ net.’

  The Harris children exchanged glances. ‘Ya can borrow ours,’ Georgie offered generously. ‘We can take it in turns.’

  Kate brightened again and as Jonathan stood up, she slipped her hand trustingly into his. ‘Can Danny come too?’ her piping voice asked and she smiled winningly at the tall man, her red curls dancing.

  Jonathan glanced at Esther. ‘Danny? Who is Danny?’

  Before Esther could answer, Kate spoke for herself. ‘He’s my friend. He lives at the Point – in the big boat.’

  ‘You know, mester. He was playing cricket with us this morning.’

  Above the children’s heads, Jonathan exchanged a glance of wry amusement with Esther. Laughing, she said, ‘It sounds as if you’re in great demand.’

  ‘He’s bin teaching me an’ Danny to bowl overarm, ain’t ya, mester?’ Georgie turned back to Esther, awed admiration in his tone. ‘He’s played cricket afore the war with a proper team in Lincoln.’

  ‘Fancy!’ said Esther, dutifully echoing the young boy’s respect.

  Kate was tugging at his hand. ‘Well – can Danny come too?’

  ‘Of course he can.’ Jonathan looked again at Esther. ‘I’ll take good care of them,’ he promised her.

  As she watched them go, Esther felt disappointed that she had not been asked to join them. Just for once, she thought forlornly, she would have liked to have left her work and responsibilities for an hour or so and joined in the childish games on the seashore.

  Suddenly, she felt very much older than her twenty-two years.

  He brought Kate back to Brumbys’ Farm at tea time, carrying her in his arms, her head lolling sleepily against his shoulder. Esther met them half-way across the yard and as she took the child from him, she saw him wince.

  ‘You shouldn’t have carried her. She could have walked.’

  He smiled wryly. ‘Poor little mite’s tired out.’ He drew the back of his hand across his eyes and yawned. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, but that sea air’s strong.’

  ‘They’ve worn you out, that’s what it is,’ she teased him, and was surprised at how easy it was to talk naturally to him, as if she’d known him weeks or months instead of just two days.

  ‘You could be right there,’ he smiled ruefully. ‘Perhaps I’m not as fit yet as I thought I was.’

  ‘What – happened? I mean – where were you hurt?’

  ‘My shoulder.’ He gestured to his left one. ‘A piece of shrapnel was lodged in it. I was shipped back to this country to have it removed. They think they’ve got it all out, but the wound seems to be taking a long while to heal properly.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  His smile broadened as he said candidly, ‘I’m not. It gives me an excuse to stay here a little longer.’

  Esther was surprised to feel a strange excitement just below her ribs.

  ‘Well – I suppose I’d better let you put the little one to bed.’ There was no mistaking the reluctance in his voice. ‘Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?’

  Esther nodded.

  It was as she emerged from one of the pig sties early the following morning that she caught sight of him passing the farm gate, walking towards the town. Involuntarily, she made a move towards him, to shout after him, but she checked herself. Jonathan Godfrey was leaving and he had not even bothered to call to say goodbye. As one of the growing pigs from a recent litter pushed past her legs and scampered about the yard, grunting and snuffling in its excitement at being free, Esther gave a click of annoyance. Seizing a broom, she chased the pig back into
its sty.

  Fool! she chastised herself, getting dreamy about a handsome face and smiling eyes.

  ‘I’m off to play with Danny, Mam,’ Kate came skipping across the yard, her pinafore on inside out.

  ‘Oh no you’re not,’ Esther began and then seeing the child’s disappointment, she forced a smile. She picked her up and swung her round and round till Kate giggled. Then setting her down on the yard again, Esther added, ‘At least, not until you’ve collected the eggs for me. You’re getting a big girl now, Katie, you’ll soon be four and I need you to help with little jobs you can do.’

  ‘Then can I go and play with Danny?’

  Exasperated, Esther sighed, but relented. ‘Yes, then you can go.’ As the little girl skipped away to fetch a basket, Esther shouted after her, ‘And don’t break any, Katie.’

  ‘No, Mam, I won’t.’

  But when Katie had left the farm, running on her sturdy little legs towards the Point, Esther’s thoughts turned once again to Jonathan Godfrey. Her irritation stayed with her all day. She was angry with herself for having read more into his glances, his smiles, his words. How could he just go off like that, without a word? He was just another flirt – like Matthew, she told herself crossly.

  Then she sighed. Only the stranger had been so very good-looking and so kind. How many other men she knew would have spent the whole afternoon shrimping with four small children? Certainly not Matthew! He had hardly ever taken any notice of his own daughter, let alone anyone else’s.

  Despite her vexation, she still found herself glancing up the lane, half-hoping she would see Jonathan Godfrey walking along it, back towards the Point.

  But the lane was deserted – not even Will was due for a visit today.

  When Kate returned at dinner-time, Esther questioned her eagerly. ‘Has Mr Godfrey gone?’

  The child wrinkled her smooth brow. ‘Dunno. Nobody said.’

  ‘But – he’s not there now?’ Esther persisted.

  Kate shook her curls. ‘He was nice, wasn’t he, Mam?’

  ‘Yes, Kate,’ Esther murmured, more to herself than in answer to the child. ‘He was nice.’

  Twenty-four

  AS Esther spooned stewed apple into a bowl and placed it before Kate, there came a knock at the back door.

  Mother and child exchanged a glance.

  ‘Mebbe it’s Danny.’ Kate picked up her spoon and as Esther moved to answer the door, the child added, ‘Tell him I’ll come when I’ve had me dinner.’

  But it was not Danny.

  Esther found herself gazing into a pair of blue eyes, the laughter lines crinkling around them. Then her glance went to something he was holding out to her.

  ‘I made this for Kate. Is she here?’

  Esther nodded. ‘I – thought . . .’ she began, then, gathering her reeling senses, pulled the door wider open to invite him in.

  Esther saw her daughter’s eyes light up and she gave a little squeal of delight. ‘A shrimpin’ net! Is it for me?’

  Jonathan nodded. Kate jumped down from her place at the table and took the net from him. ‘Ooh, it’s lovely. I must show Danny—’

  She was gone, rushing out of the back door, her feet flying across the yard.

  ‘Kate! Kate, what do you say to Mr Godfrey?’

  But Jonathan only laughed. ‘Let her go. Her delight is thanks enough.’

  ‘Mebbe so – ’ Esther pursed her lips – ‘but she shouldn’t forget her manners.’

  His smile disarmed her chagrin at her impulsive daughter, and in an instant dispelled the feeling of disappointment that had lingered all the morning.

  He had not gone away. He had not left without so much as a goodbye, as she had believed. They were standing in the kitchen, just looking at each other.

  Esther was searching for something to say but could think of nothing. She smoothed the palms of her hands, suddenly moist, down her white apron.

  ‘Well, I’d better be off,’ he said. ‘Robert Eland is taking me out in his boat, fishing.’ But still he made no move to go.

  There was silence between them as they stared at each other.

  ‘Well, er . . .’ he said at last. ‘Maybe I’ll see you later?’

  Esther nodded. ‘Don’t fall in the sea,’ she teased him.

  Esther went about her work during the afternoon in a daze. Ever before her mind’s eye was a smiling face with brilliant blue eyes. By dusk, when Kate was in bed and Esther began the evening milking, she had given up hope of seeing him again that day.

  ‘Hello,’ came the soft, bass voice, and Esther looked around Clover’s rump to see a dark shadow framed in the early evening sunlight leaning over the half-door. She felt a sudden flutter beneath her ribs, and her fingers stopped their gentle pulling on the cow’s teats and involuntarily she tightened her hold.

  Clover, unused to such ungentle treatment particularly from Esther, lashed her tail and kicked out sideways with her hind leg. The cow’s hoof struck Esther’s knee and the swishing tail cuffed her cheek. Surprised, she toppled backwards on to the cobbles of the cowshed.

  In an instant he was bending over her, dropping to one knee in the slurry, his blue eyes clouded with anxiety.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ He put his arm under her shoulders and bent as if to put the other under her knees to pick her up, but, more startled than hurt, Esther struggled to rise.

  ‘No – no, really. I’m fine.’ She gave a nervous laugh as she gained her feet, disturbingly aware that he was still supporting her, standing very close and holding her arm.

  Clover had turned her head and was looking at Esther with soulful eyes. Esther reached out and patted the cow’s back. ‘It’s all right, old girl, it was my fault,’ she crooned gently. Embarrassed, she looked up into Jonathan Godfrey’s face and explained, ‘She – she’s temperamental and needs a lot of coaxing . . .’ Feeling an unaccustomed foolishness, she let her voice trail away.

  Gently, he said, ‘It was my fault entirely, I startled you – and her.’ Tentatively, he put out his hand and stroked Clover’s hide. The cow moved under his touch, but it was a movement of pleasure rather than of restless irritation.

  Esther laughed in surprise. ‘She likes you. You must have a special touch.’ Immediately the words were spoken, she flushed with embarrassment, and more so when she realized he had still not let go of her arm.

  She pulled away and bent to pick up from underneath the cow the pail of milk, which, miraculously, was still upright.

  ‘Here, let me,’ he offered and without giving her chance to refuse, gently but firmly, he took the pail from her hands. ‘Where do you want it?’

  ‘In the house, please,’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘In the pantry.’

  ‘Right you are, Ma’am,’ he teased, then added more seriously as he noticed her limping slightly as she left the cowshed, ‘Did she hurt you?’

  ‘Not much – but she caught me right on my knee.’

  He pulled a face as if he shared her pain. ‘Ouch!’ he murmured with feeling.

  Esther laughed wryly. ‘Too true! But it’ll soon go. It’s not the first kick I’ve had by a long way, an’ I don’t expect it’ll be the last, either.’

  Whilst he set the milk carefully in the pantry, she lifted the kettle from the hob and mashed a pot of tea.

  He came back and stood before the range, spreading out his hands towards the warmth of the fire, for the early spring evening had grown chill. He gazed into the flames and there was a far-away look in his eyes.

  Esther came to stand beside him, holding a cup of tea. She looked up at him, watching his profile in the flickering light, the straight nose and smooth, firm chin, the well-shaped mouth that smiled so readily. But now there was no smile upon his lips. Whatever his thoughts were, they were grave. Slowly he turned to look at her and for what seemed an age they just stood there looking deep into each other’s eyes.

  At last Esther stammered, ‘Er – would you like a cup of tea?’

  He started visibly as if
she had woken him from a daydream. Perhaps she had, but in the next instant he was taking the cup from her and as their fingers touched, she felt a tingle run through her.

  Alarmed that the touch of a stranger could arouse such a feeling in her, Esther stepped backwards and put the distance of the hearth rug between them. As if realizing what her action meant, there was a fleeting look of disappointment upon his face that this time she did not imagine. He smiled sadly and, taking a mouthful of tea, looked around him. His eyes rested upon the silver-framed photograph and the several postcards stacked behind it.

  He nodded towards it. ‘Your husband?’

  ‘Yes – yes. That’s Matthew. He’s – he’s a soldier, like you. I think he’s somewhere in France. He sends me a postcard every six weeks or so, just to let me know – he’s – he’s all right. He doesn’t write much.’

  ‘We’re not allowed to say much at all,’ Jonathan Godfrey defended Matthew. ‘You’re lucky to hear anything, believe me.’

  ‘What’s it like out there?’ Immediately she had spoken the words aloud she wished them unsaid, for the haunted look of anguish that came into his eyes filled her with guilt.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said at once. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. You want to try to forget for a time, while you’re home.’

  He shook his head sorrowfully. ‘There’s no way of forgetting. Not ever.’ His voice was a hoarse whisper and once again he just stood gazing down into the fire.

  He was not seeing the fire in the range in Esther’s kitchen. He was seeing flashes of gunfire and mangled flesh, hearing the thud, thud, thud of the guns and the screams of his comrades.

  ‘Oh, you try to push it out of your thoughts,’ he said slowly, ‘but then it all comes flooding back when you least expect it – or want it. At night, just when you’re falling asleep. Or in quiet moments like this. Moments that should be peaceful and – ’ he raised his head and looked directly into her eyes – ‘savoured.’ There was a long pause then he added, flatly, ‘But back it all comes to torment you.’