The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  They were only children, Esther told herself fiercely, and yet in that look there was something she had feared to see. There was a closeness between them that had grown innocently, unaware as they were of their blood relationship.

  It was a closeness that put dread into Esther’s heart.

  The house was strangely quiet without Matthew, and Kate was doleful and lethargic. Esther too felt listless and tired. All the spirit and energy that was her nature had been drained out of her. The hard work and the worry she had known since she had brought Matthew home were now reaping their own toll upon her vitality and strength of will. To say nothing of the sadness locked within her own heart. There was no doubt that she had drawn on her reserves of strength this last year – and long before that too, if she were honest.

  She walked along the shore deep in thought. Part of her longed to go to the place she had loved. The end of the Spit. But she could not yet face the spot where they had found Matthew’s body. She feared her special place despoiled by the tragedy in a way that it had not been by her own traumatic experience there. That, she could rise above, but with this last disaster she was not so sure – not yet.

  She had not seen her husband’s body in death – the men had told her she should not. In her imagination she had visualized it bloated and battered, and shuddered at the thought. To think that he had survived the horrors of the trenches only to die in the place that was his home.

  Matthew had died trying, so he had thought, to save the woman he loved and his own son. But in that last split second, he had seen Beth on the bank and had known she and Danny were safe. Esther believed that was all he had wanted. He could have saved himself then, he could have jumped towards the willing arms stretched out to help him. Instead he had just stood there, gazing down at Beth. He had indeed gone back to her just as Beth had always predicted. At the moment when death was inevitable – and he must have known that it was – hers was the last face Matthew saw.

  Esther sank down on to the sand and gazed out across the calm water. How deceptively tranquil and innocent the sea looked now, as if it could never been the foaming fury that had taken Matthew.

  She stayed there a long time, until the winter afternoon grew cold and dusk came creeping across the water. Then forcing her cramped legs stand, she turned her back on the sea and lifting her head she turned homeward – back to Kate and the farm.

  Always, there was Brumbys’ Farm.

  Forty-two

  THREE weeks after the funeral when the demands of the farm had forced Esther to return to her routine, she steeled herself to open the big doors of the barn that housed the contraption, as she still called it, which Matthew had bought in his moment of madness.

  She stood, hands on hips, looking at the motor car, her mouth pursed with indecision. A shadow fell across the doorway and she looked up to see the squire standing there. It was the first time she had seen him since the day of Matthew s funeral.

  He cleared his throat – nervously, it seemed to her. ‘Good morning, my dear. I – er – I’ve been meaning to come and see you, but well, I thought it only respectful to leave – ahem – matters of business, for a little while after . . .’

  His voice trailed away. Esther stared at him. At his words, cold fingers of apprehension touched her and her heart began to beat a little faster.

  Matters of business! That could mean only one thing. The farm! Now that her husband was dead – and known to be dead – was he going to force her to leave the farm, just because she was a woman?

  Where could she go? What could she do? What about Kate . . .?

  The squire was speaking again. ‘I realize I was partly to blame for Matthew squandering your hard-earned money on – ’ he gestured towards the motor car – ‘this. I wondered – if it is of no use to you – if you’d like me to try and sell it for you, my dear? I know someone who deals in motor cars and I’m sure I could get a good price for it. If not quite all your money back, I could certainly recoup most of it.’

  Esther felt herself smiling as relief flooded through her. Was this the ‘business’ he had meant? He had not come to throw her out of Brumbys’ Farm after all, but to put right a folly in which he had played no little part.

  She felt sorry for the squire in that moment. He looked so anxious, so genuinely concerned. All he had tried to do all along was appease his own conscience and loss by taking Matthew out with him. Yet his kindly actions had backfired when Matthew had become obsessed by the motor car.

  ‘I’d be very grateful, Squire, for anything you could do. This – thing – is no use to me. I couldn’t drive it, and even if I could, well, it’s not quite what people of my class ride about in, is it now?’

  The squire had the grace to smile. ‘I tell you what,’ he said, as an idea came to him. ‘What you could well do with is a smart little pony and trap. You could drive that, Esther. You could drive into the market, and take your little girl to school. What about it? Will you let me sell your car and sort out a nice little pony and trap? Needn’t cost very much,’ he added hastily, as her face showed doubt.

  She smiled again. ‘Very well, Squire, and thank you.’

  ‘My pleasure, my dear, my pleasure.’ He bowed a little towards her, put on his hat and marched away across the yard, more purpose in his step than she had seen for some time.

  Esther stood in the doorway of the barn, her hand on the rough wood of the jamb, and watched him go.

  He had said nothing about the tenancy of Brumbys’ Farm. The way he had talked – about her driving to market and taking Kate to school – it sounded as if he took it for granted she would be going on living here at the Point.

  But would she be the legal tenant of the farm?

  Now that the thought was in her mind, it would not let her rest and so it was that, three days later, she put on her best black costume and walked up the lane towards the Grange.

  When she was shown into his study, the squire rose from a deep leather armchair by the long window overlooking the lawns and held out his hand to greet her. ‘My dear, come and sit down. I haven’t forgotten about the car, but I have not yet had the opportunity to strike a deal . . .’

  Esther shook her head and remained standing in the centre of the room. ‘It isn’t about that, Squire.’

  ‘Then what is it, my dear? There’s nothing wrong, I hope? Please, do come and sit down here.’ He indicated a similar chair to his own set on the opposite side of the window.

  Esther hesitated and then did as he bade.

  How very different was her reception now, she was thinking as she settled herself in the chair, to the first time she had come into this room with wild, flying hair and muddy boots. She smiled inwardly at the memory, remembering her belligerence, her youthful indignation. Now she was older, and more than a little wiser, yet the sense of injustice was as strong as ever.

  ‘Squire.’ she began, picking her words carefully, surprising even herself at her deliberate tactfulness. ‘Like you I thought a lapse of time was appropriate, but I’m sure you will understand that I must know what my position is now.’

  ‘Your position, my dear? I don’t quite understand.’ He seemed genuinely puzzled.

  She leant forward a little, towards him. ‘As regards the tenancy of Brumbys’ Farm, Squire. The agreement was in Matthew’s name.’

  The squire’s expression cleared. ‘Oh, that. Oh yes – well – of course. Yes, I see what you mean. I really hadn’t given it a thought. In fact, I’d forgotten all about it. You see,’ he sighed heavily, ‘with Matthew going to the war, and you carrying on so admirably on your own, I accepted the fact that you were running the farm.’

  He lifted his shoulders in an apologetic shrug. ‘With Matthew being posted missing, then coming home and yet not being well enough to run things, well, I’d completely forgotten we hadn’t legalized things from your point of view.’

  Esther bit her lip, stopping the words from bursting out. But what’s going to happen? she wanted to cry. What’s to hap
pen now I’m really alone?

  At his next words, all her questions were answered and all her fears allayed.

  ‘The war changed a lot of things for us all, Esther my dear. The biggest change it has brought about has been for women. They’ve proved they can do men’s work when the men are no longer there. And you, more than most, have proved you can run that farm, single-handed if need be.’ His keen, knowing eyes met hers and then he glanced away and cleared his throat.

  So, Esther thought, the squire had known all along how her neighbours had ostracized her over her affair with Jonathan. He had known how she had struggled to cope alone. Yet he had never censured her, never used his power to oust her as he could well have done.

  Now the jovial man in front of her was slapping his knees and beaming at her. ‘Well, my dear, I intend to put all this right. You shall have the tenancy of Brumbys’ Farm in your own name. Just as you wanted it all that time ago.’

  Esther smiled at him in return and expressed her gratitude. She could not let him know that if only he had agreed to this almost ten years earlier, a great deal of unhappiness might have been prevented.

  There was a cruel irony in the fact that after all this time she had what she had then wanted most in life. Now, it was not what she wanted the most. Not now, not since she had known real love.

  She sighed softly to herself. Once the squire’s change of heart would have filled her with ecstasy. Although she did still feel a deep satisfaction at the knowledge that her future, and that of her daughter, was secure, the thrill, the pinnacle of all her dreams as she had once supposed securing the tenancy of Brumbys’ Farm would be, was no more.

  She was standing shaking the squire’s hand and he was saying, ‘I’ll not forget the business of the motor car, my dear. Just give me a few days . . .’

  True to his word, the following week the squire fetched the motor car.

  Esther dusted her hands together. ‘I’m glad to see the back of that.’ she muttered, as the vehicle, coughing and spluttering, disappeared up the lane. But in her own mind she was doubtful she would see her money back.

  Esther was wrong.

  Two days later a smart pony and trap driven by a beaming Squire Marshall turned in at the gate of Brumbys’ Farm. Esther, rolling pastry at her kitchen table, dusted the flour from her hands with her apron and went out to meet him. She walked around the trap and patted the sprightly pony on its neck.

  The squire climbed down and stood beside the trap, confident of her approval.

  Esther looked up at him. ‘Oh, Squire, ‘tis lovely, but I don’t know whether I really ought to spend the sort of money this must have cost.’

  ‘Now, now, my dear, before you decide . . .’ As he spoke he was reaching into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulling out what seemed to Esther to be a sheaf of papers. Holding them out, he added, still smiling broadly, ‘Just count that first, and if you’re still not happy then I’ll take this back and recoup all the money for you.’

  Esther held the thin, white pieces of paper in her fingers. Puzzled she glanced up at the Squire. ‘Is – is this money?’

  ‘Oh I’m sorry, my dear. Of course, I hadn’t realized. Yes, each of those white pieces of paper is worth five pounds.’

  ‘Five pounds!’ Esther exclaimed. ‘Each?’

  The squire nodded. ‘Yes, my dear.’

  Swiftly Esther counted them, and then looked up once more. ‘There’s more money here than ever Matthew took from my box, Squire.’

  The older man shrugged and avoided meeting her direct, questioning gaze. ‘Ah well, I don’t know about that, my dear. All I know is, I managed to get a good price for the motor and that is what is left.’

  ‘Is the pony and trap paid for?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Yes, yes . . .’ He fished in another pocket. ‘Here’s the bill of sale. Now, Mrs Hilton, are you happy – or not?’

  ‘Well . . .’ Esther frowned over the money and the receipt she held in her hand. She could not be anything but happy, although she had a shrewd suspicion that the squire was not being entirely truthful with her. Had he really got such a good price for the motor car, so much that he had paid for this magnificent pony and trap and still left her with more than Matthew had taken in the first place? Or had he put in some money of his own? There was no way she could know without risking offending him. For once, if her suspicions were founded, she would have to swallow her prickly pride and accept the squire’s good intentions with equally good grace.

  She looked up again at him, a smile spreading across her face. ‘I’m overwhelmed, Squire. Really. I don’t know how you’ve managed it – ’ there was a veiled hint in her tone that perhaps she guessed what he might have done – ‘but I’m truly grateful. Thank you.’

  Relief spread across Mr Marshall’s face and he patted her shoulder benevolently. ‘Don’t mention it, my dear, don’t mention it. About that other little matter – if you care to come up to the Grange tomorrow afternoon. Mr Thompson will bring all the papers to be signed.’

  ‘That other little matter’, he called it. If only he knew what havoc that ‘little matter’ had caused in her life.

  Forty-three

  ESTHER Hilton was mistress of Brumbys’ Farm – the legal tenant in her own right.

  She had the land she loved, she had a healthy, growing daughter and a smart new pony and trap to take Kate to school and herself to the market and to church.

  She had good friends; Will still came twice a week, and treated her and Kate as if they belonged to him even if the words of acknowledgement were not forthcoming. She had the Harris family; wonderful, motherly, laughing Ma Harris in whose eyes Esther had exonerated herself for her past indiscretions by her tender care of Matthew, and Mr Harris, quieter than his voluble wife, but always there to lend a hand when needed. And the Harris children – what would she do without Enid and the younger boys helping on her farm whenever they knew she needed extra hands, without her ever having to ask?

  And then there was Danny Eland.

  Oh, Danny, Esther would say countless times to herself watching him about the farm with Kate, or doing little jobs for her, you’re the growing image of Matthew. What am I to do about you?

  Despite all this if there was still an aching loneliness in her heart, a secret sadness which she could share with no one, then she would tell herself sternly that she had much to be grateful for and that she couldn’t expect to have everything she wanted in life.

  Nevertheless, there was a restlessness about her, a longing that even the work-filled days and exhausted nights could not subdue.

  ‘Our Enid’s getting wed, Esther,’ Ma greeted Esther one morning.

  ‘Oh, Ma, how wonderful. I didn’t even know she was courting. Who is it?’

  Ma’s round cheeks wobbled with pleasure. ‘It’s a young feller who’s come back from the war – Walter Maine. Lost a leg, he has. He’s got a wooden one but you should see him get about, Esther. I couldn’t believe it. Before I met him,’ Ma clasped her hands in front of her ample bosom, ‘I have to admit I was a bit doubtful. I thought he’d be a cripple, like. Not a bit of it! One crutch he uses but can he move!’ Her laughter cackled so loudly that the hens, pecking in a leisurely way in the yard, squawked in alarm and scuttled for cover. ‘He’s not idle either.’ There was pride already in her tone for her future son-in-law. ‘Learning to be a blacksmith, he is, so’s he’ll have a trade.’ Her tone dropped. ‘You know our smithy’s lad never came back from the war . . .?’

  Esther nodded and Ma went on, ‘So I reckon he’s glad to have a young ‘un to take on.’

  So many lives altered by the war, Esther thought, but aloud she asked, ‘When’s the big day?’

  Ma shrugged and stretched her mouth into the familiar toothless grin. ‘We thought Midsummer Day – they’ve no reason to wait any longer. There’s attic rooms above the smithy they can have and the smith’s wife says she’ll be glad to have Enid’s help, and,’ Ma added, our Enid’ll even help out in t
he smithy itself if need be. She ain’t afraid of work.’

  Esther smiled. ‘No, I can vouch for that.’

  Ma’s round face took on a dreamy expression. ‘Eh, but what wouldn’t Ah give to see me girl in a fine white dress on her wedding day?’ She sighed and then added in a more matter-of-fact manner, ‘Ah, well, there it is – frippery’s not for the likes of us. She’ll have to have a new costume that’ll serve her after her wedding day.’

  As Ma waddled away down the lane towards the Point, Esther watched her go, a plan forming in her mind.

  The sewing machine she had brought back from her Aunt Hannah’s was now in constant use. She made smocks and dresses for Kate and simple skirts and blouses for herself. Could she, Esther asked herself, make a wedding gown for Enid?

  It would be the most complicated thing she had ever tackled, but she could afford to buy a length of material out of the extra money the squire had got for the car – or that he said he had got.

  Esther smiled. The squire had been good to her, so why should she not pass on a little of that kindness to someone else? She owed the Harris family so much. First young Ernie, and now Enid and the younger boys. And Ma herself. Even though there had been a time of estrangement between them over Jonathan, now it was as if their differences had never happened.

  The very next day found Esther bowling along the lane towards the town in her smart pony and trap. It gave her a sudden thrill to be driving her own trap, to be dressed in a smart costume – even though it was the one she had bought for her aunt’s funeral and therefore black. But she was still in mourning for her husband and only the ruffle of her white blouse showed at her throat in the open neck of the close-fitting jacket.