‘Well, it’s not quite my usual size. I’m more used to tractors and such.’
Kate’s sewing machine was carried down the narrow stairs and set carefully on the living-room table. The three of them stood looking at it and Ella felt a lump in her throat. The machine had been such an important part of Kate’s life – of their lives in Lincoln – that it was almost as if her mother were there in the room. Now, mirroring her grandmother’s action of a few moments ago with her own old machine, Ella reached out and ran her hand over the polished curve of the wooden lid.
Tears blinded her and rather than let them see her cry, Ella turned and ran from the room and the house. She heard her grandmother speak her name but Jonathan said, ‘Let her go, love, she needs to be on her own . . .’ and then she was out of earshot.
In the darkness of the barn she hugged the little kitten to her, her tears wetting its silky fur. Waiting until she heard her grandparents come out of the house and go towards the cowshed for evening milking, Ella slipped back into the house and up the stairs to her bedroom, the kitten hidden beneath her cardigan.
With Tibby snuggled under the bedclothes beside her, that night was the first since her mother’s death that Ella did not sob herself to sleep.
Twelve
Early the following morning, before it was properly light, Ella awoke to hear the sound of raised voices in the front garden just below her window.
‘And who gave you leave to push ya way through me hedge at this time of the morning, Aggie Souter?’
‘It’s that girl of yourn. Ya daughter’s bastard ya’ve teken in. She’s hit our Jimmy and made ’is mouth bleed. All swollen up, it is, this morning. She needs a good hiding, Esther Hilton.’
‘Me name’s Esther Godfrey and has been for a long time, Aggie Souter, and I’ll thank you to remember it.’
‘Aye, an’ I could tell ’em a thing about you, an’ all, Esther Hilton,’ the woman persisted. ‘Couldn’t I just! Ya no better than ya should be. Why, I remember—’
‘Pot calling kettle black, is it, Aggie? If it’s the past ya want to rake up then I’ll start an’ all. Only five months from your wedding day to the day young Jimmy was born, wasn’t it?’
‘Ya’ve a wicked tongue on you, Esther Hilton, an’ no mistake. Seems the young ’un teks after you, an’ all, from what our Jimmy ses. Telled ’im to shut ’is gob else she’d shut it for ’im. Very ladylike, I must say.’
Ella pressed her face closer to the window. Hilton? Why did the woman keep calling her grandmother Esther Hilton? That was Ella’s own name, hers and her mother’s and, presumably, her father’s, but it wasn’t her grandmother’s. So why . . .?
Mrs Souter was going now, back the way she had come through the hole in the hedge and across the fields to the west, yet the two women were still shouting after each other.
‘. . . little bugger wants a good hiding . . .’
‘. . . you mind your business, an’ I’ll mind mine . . .’
As the sound of voices died away, Ella strained her ears to listen for her grandmother coming back into the house, for the door to bang and her footsteps mount the stairs . . . She dressed hurriedly in her school clothes and tiptoed downstairs. There was no one in the house and when she opened the back door it was to hear the angry clattering of pails and churns from the cowshed.
Ella tore back upstairs, fished the kitten out from the bottom of the bed and put him outside the back door. His fur fluffy from sleep, Tibby eyed her indignantly and tried to slip back into the house.
‘No, no, you’ll have to stay outside. You’ll get me into more bother and it sounds as if I’m going to be in enough already this morning.’
‘You’ve had that cat in your bed, Ella Hilton. When I changed the sheets I found cat hairs all over them, so don’t try to deny it.’
Ella faced her grandmother and nodded. There was no use denying it; besides, to do so would not even cross her mind. She was often disobedient and wilful, but she was never untruthful. Faced with one of her sins being found out, Ella would face up openly, admit it and take her punishment. She was surprised, however, that this was the only wrong-doing with which she was being accused. So far nothing had been said about Jimmy Souter and it had been two days since the boy’s mother had stormed into Brumbys’ Farm.
‘He – he keeps me company, Gran.’
‘A cat’s place is in the barn, not in your bed.’
‘Aw, Esther, don’t be too hard on the child.’ Jonathan, from the chair by the range, lowered his paper. ‘The little kitten’s doing no harm.’
‘Tain’t healthy,’ Esther retorted. ‘Besides, Ella disobeyed me deliberately.’
Ella could see her grandfather struggling to make his expression disapproving. ‘Well, now, Ella, you shouldn’t have done that. You must always do what your grannie tells you.’
‘Yes, Grandpa,’ she said meekly, but her eyes were full of mischief as she met his gaze.
‘Off to bed with you now,’ her grandmother said. ‘And no more sneaking that cat upstairs.’
As she bade them goodnight in turn, and left the kitchen, Ella lingered in the living room through which she had to pass to reach the stairs, to listen.
‘You’re too hard on the child, Esther love.’
‘She’s got to be made to behave herself. She’s a wilful little tyke. Not a bit like her mam . . .’ For a moment, Esther’s voice was low and full of sadness as she recalled fond memories. ‘Kate was always biddable, but this one . . .!’ There followed a click of exasperation and a sigh.
‘I wonder, then,’ Jonathan said pointedly, ‘who she takes after.’
She heard her grandmother give a snort of laughter. ‘You rogue!’ she heard Esther say affectionately and then she added, ‘Aye, you’re right though. Aggie Souter said as much, an’ all. And I have to admit, I can see a lot of mesen in the little lass.’
‘Then you should be able to understand her, Esther, especially as she, too, has been left without parents,’ he said gently.
At that moment, Ella heard one of them make a movement towards the door into the room where she was standing eavesdropping and the girl scuttled across the room into the hall and up the stairs.
Alone in her bedroom, Ella sat up in the bed, hugging her knees and staring into the darkness, thinking about her grandmother. She was a funny woman, the girl thought. One minute she was in a temper, her green eyes flashing, her voice harsh, the next she was laughing and teasing, but mainly, the girl acknowledged, the latter mood was with Jonathan or Rob; never with her. And why was she taking on so about the kitten and yet had said not a word about her thumping Jimmy Souter?
Ella sighed, trying to understand her grandmother and to sort out her own feelings about the woman. She had vowed to dislike her – no, stronger than that, to hate her! But with each passing day, she found it more difficult and often found herself wishing that she could be on the receiving end of one of Esther’s magnificent smiles, when her whole face lit up and her eyes twinkled with merriment and love. Oh, how Ella wished her grandmother would smile at her like that.
She buried herself beneath the covers and, missing the warmth of Tibby’s furry little body, fell asleep scheming as to how she might get the kitten back into her room without her grandmother finding out.
The day the head teacher called Ella out of class, the girl’s heart thumped: she must be in trouble. Maybe Jimmy Souter had told the teacher about her hitting him.
‘Now, dear,’ the headmistress began as she opened the door of her office and ushered the girl in. Ella stepped into the room dominated by a huge desk standing in the centre on a square of carpet. Along the walls were bookshelves, a long table and a green metal filing cabinet. The headmistress drew Ella towards the table where there was a pile of toys and books. ‘These have been sent by kind people all over the country to the schools in this area for children who were in the floods.’ Her voice, which Ella knew could be sharply authoritative, was now softly sympathetic. ‘In this school, t
here are only a few pupils whose homes were affected, so your teacher and I thought you should have first choice.’ Gently, she urged Ella forward. ‘Have a look, dear, and if there’s anything you’d like . . .’
Ella’s gaze wandered over the items; dolls and teddy bears, books and jigsaw puzzles, a puppet, toy cars and boats . . . And then she saw it: a board and a small wooden box. She reached out with fingers that trembled suddenly.
‘What is it, dear?’
‘We . . .’ Her voice shook, ‘Grandpa and me – we were playing draughts when – when the sea came. The board – it was on the floor and – and the water spoilt it.’
The headmistress pulled out the folded board and opened it up. The black and yellow squares danced before Ella’s eyes as she relived the moment again just before the sea had come gushing into their home.
‘Do you want it, dear?’ the woman was asking and Ella, unable to speak, nodded.
She carried it carefully all the way home, and no one, not even Jimmy Souter, asked where she had got it. Maybe, Ella thought shrewdly, the other children had been told while I was out of the classroom. She could imagine her class teacher saying, ‘Now, Ella Hilton has gone to choose a toy sent for the flood victims. As you all know, Ella’s mother was drowned in the flood . . .’ And now no one would dare to question her.
‘Look, Grandpa, look what they gave me at school.’
She laid the box and the board on the kitchen table and opened it up. ‘I was allowed to choose a toy, Grandpa, and I picked this because you lost yours.’
Her grandparents exchanged a look and her grandpa laid his hand on her curls. ‘Now, wasn’t that kind of people to send things.’
Esther murmured, ‘They say all sorts of things have been sent to folks further up the coast who’ve lost everything. Food, clothes, toys – even furniture.’
Jonathan’s deep voice said, ‘There are some good people in the world trying to do what they can to help out in a tragedy.’
The symbol of a stranger’s kindness lay on the table, a thoughtful gesture to ease the pain of the child’s loss.
But nothing and no one could bring back her beloved mother.
Thirteen
‘Kill a pig? Why? We’ve only got one now . . .’ Ella’s eyes widened in horror, a suspicion growing suddenly. ‘You don’t mean – oh, you can’t mean – Lady?’
‘We have to eat, Missy,’ Esther said with exasperation.
‘But you can’t, I mean, not Lady. You saved her – took her into the house. You can’t mean it!’
Since giving over her bedroom to Lady at the time of the flood, Ella had become quite fond of the huge bristly pink sow and she could not understand how her grandmother could treat an animal with such concern one moment and be planning to kill it the next. Why, Ella had seen her tickling the sow behind her ears and scratching her back, the animal snuffling pleasurably.
‘How can you—?’
‘Don’t be so silly,’ Esther cut in impatiently. ‘That’s what farming’s all about.’
‘Come with me, Ella.’ Her grandpa took hold of her hand and was leading her towards the line of buildings to one side of the farmyard.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To see Lady.’
‘No!’ she said vehemently, but he held her hand firmly, though gently, not allowing her to pull free.
‘I want to talk to you.’
‘Well, I don’t want to listen. I won’t listen.’
‘Now, now, that’s not like my little girl.’
Ella pouted but said no more.
They came to the sty and Ella, standing on tiptoe, could just see into the dim interior. Jonathan leant his arms on the half-open door. ‘Now then, old girl,’ he said softly to the sow, who came waddling to the door, snuffling and grunting, and stood looking up at them with bright, beady eyes.
‘It’s time you understood farming ways, Ella. I know you’ve been brought up in a town . . .’ As Ella opened her mouth to protest, her grandpa raised his hand to silence her. ‘It’s not your fault. I’m not criticizing you. After all, I was born and brought up in Lincoln too.’
She looked up at him. ‘Were you? I didn’t know.’
He nodded. ‘I worked in an engineering works building traction engines. Farming’s been your grannie’s whole life, and mine, since I married her. But it took me a long time to learn country ways. We care for our livestock. We’d never willingly cause them suffering, but they’re raised for a purpose. To provide food for us and for others. We grow crops, we keep cattle for milk or for their meat and we raise pigs either to sell on or to kill for ourselves.’
Ella could not prevent her lower lip from trembling, ‘But, Grandpa – Lady!’
‘I know, and don’t think we don’t care. We both do. She’s a lovely old sow and we’ve had her a long time. She’s given us lots of fine, healthy young piglets, over the years, but she’s past her best for breeding now, so . . .’ Jonathan sighed. ‘I’m sorry, love. But you’re old enough now to start to understand. The flood’s hit us hard. The land that was under water, the authorities have advised us not to touch it for at least a year else they say we’re in danger of ruining it for ten years or maybe even longer. So, all that land has just got to be left doing nothing until the salt’s gone. The trees in the orchard, we’ll lose most of them, I reckon, when the salt gets down to the deep roots and you know we lost the other two pigs we had?’
Ella nodded. They had been found floating in the sty, too small to keep their heads above the water like Lady.
‘Well, two of the cows have got mastitis, that’s a disease of the udders, through standing in that perishing water. And the other four, well, their milk yield’s dropped.’
Ella stared at her grandfather, struggling with an inner conflict. He was treating her like a grown-up, trying patiently to explain the situation to her. The girl grappled with her tender instincts, trying to force her reasoning – her grandfather’s sound reasoning – to triumph.
The following morning at breakfast, Esther said, ‘We really must get this pig killed and put away, Jonathan. There’s not many months left with an R in.’
Ella swallowed the sick, nervous feeling rising in her throat and tried to stop the spoonful of porridge, suspended in mid-air, trembling. She stared from one to the other, puzzlement on her face. A small smile was twitching at the corner of her grandpa’s mouth.
‘And dun’t you laugh at me.’ Esther was wagging her forefinger at him, but there was a twinkle in her green eyes. ‘We should have got it done afore Christmas, but – well – we didn’t, what with me dad and then . . .’ The sparkle was gone as she remembered. Esther cleared her throat and added firmly, ‘Well, we didn’t and that’s that.’ She turned and bustled into the pantry to fetch more fresh milk. Ella leaned forward and whispered, ‘Grandpa, what’s she mean about an R in the month?’
Jonathan glanced at the pantry door and leaned towards her, his voice scarcely above a whisper. ‘It’s an old superstition that if you kill a pig in a month when there’s no R in the spelling, the meat won’t keep.’
‘And doesn’t it?’ she asked reasonably.
‘Oho, I wouldn’t dare risk it to find out, love.’ He was still chuckling as he levered himself up and moved towards the door from the kitchen into the scullery. Reaching up to the peg behind the door he pulled on his scarf and cap. Then he winked at Ella. ‘But seeing as how we’re into March already, we’d better get a move on.’ He raised his voice and called to Esther, ‘I’ll go and ask Danny if he can come and help us, shall I?’
Esther appeared in the pantry doorway, carrying a large jug of milk. ‘Please. He’s the best man I know hereabouts for the killing. Quick and clean . . .’ Her gaze came to rest upon Ella and she added, quietly, ‘We try to be as humane as we can. I would never let any animal suffer unnecessarily, if I could help it.’
The girl returned her grandmother’s steady gaze and knew she was speaking the truth. Although she sighed inwardly, slowly the
girl nodded, accepting the inevitable. She nodded and mumbled, ‘Grandpa explained it all to me.’
Esther’s eyes widened and her gaze went from one to the other. ‘Oh.’
Jonathan smiled and nodded. ‘We went to have a look at Lady and had a little chat, didn’t we, love?’
Ella nodded.
‘And do you understand now?’
The girl gave the question serious, almost adult, consideration. ‘I understand why, Gran, but I still don’t like it.’
Her grandmother nodded. ‘Well, that’s a fair and sensible answer. Don’t run away with the idea I enjoy it, ’cos I don’t, but, well, it’s the way it has to be.’ More briskly she added, ‘And I’ll be needing your help, Missy,’ Esther said, placing the jug on the table and sitting down to her own breakfast.
Ella’s eyes widened and her grandmother laughed. ‘Oh, it’s all right, you needn’t watch the killing if you’re squeamish.’
Needled, the girl stuck out her chin and said defiantly, ‘I’m not. I’ll be there.’ As she dropped her glance to her bowl and resumed her meal, Ella was conscious of her grandmother’s amused smile.
I’ll show her, the girl thought.
But Lady’s squealing almost broke Ella’s resolve and it was only the thought of how foolish she would look in front of them all, her grandparents, Uncle Danny and Rob too, if she turned and ran away. So she stood, holding her breath, as Danny went into the sty. Through the open door she saw him stand behind the sow and place a rope in its mouth, twitching it up tightly round the pig’s nose. Then he drove the animal out of the sty and towards a hook in the wall near the wash-house. Looping the end of the rope round the hook, he pulled it tight. It was then that Lady let out such a high-pitched squeal that Ella jumped and bit her lip to stop herself crying out too. Her grandmother, standing just behind her, rested her hands on the girl’s shoulders.
The Fleethaven Trilogy Page 91
