The Fleethaven Trilogy

by Margaret Dickinson

  Peggy looked at the label and nodded approval. ‘It’s a very good make too.’

  ‘I know.’ Ella looked embarrassed again. ‘You should have seen some of the prices . . .’

  ‘Now, now, there you go again . . .’ Peggy admonished her, but she was laughing, sharing in the young girl’s delight.

  Ella gathered up all her new clothes and took them upstairs to put away.

  ‘I can see we shall have to invest in a larger wardrobe soon,’ Peggy teased, when she came back downstairs and they sat down to eat.

  Ella glanced at the mantelpiece where Peggy always put any letters that arrived for her whilst she was away in York.

  The space behind the clock was empty.

  ‘Isn’t there a letter from Grandpa?’ she asked, and noticed a slight frown on Peggy’s forehead.

  ‘No. I can’t understand it,’ Peggy said and there was no hiding the anxiety in her voice. ‘He’s always written to me once a month, ever since he married your gran. Never missed, not even all through the war. This is the first time his letter’s been late.’

  ‘I’ll write after tea and tell him all about my weekend and about all the things they’ve bought me. Perhaps he’s too busy with haymaking to write this week.’ Already it was June and Ella could picture the scenes at home. The reaper criss-crossing the field whilst Esther raked and spread the grass, looking up every so often to smile that wonderful smile of hers at her beloved Jonathan. Maybe Rob was there at weekends, helping too, stripped to the waist, standing on top of the haystack, his lithe body glistening in the sunshine. She could picture them laughing together, her grandmother ruffling his black curling hair.

  She shook herself, burying the memories. She was back in Lincoln where she had always wanted to be. She’d found a father – and a grandmother – who loved her. She was being spoilt rotten with gifts lavished upon her, and whenever she visited York the ever-attentive Martin Hughes took her out to dinner, to the theatre . . .

  Oh, she’d never had it so good, she told herself firmly.

  ‘Grandpa will write soon, Aunty Peg. They’re just busy, that’s all. You’ll see.’

  ‘There you are, you see.’ A few days later Ella waved a letter from her grandpa under Peggy’s nose. ‘They’ve been busy with the haymaking, just like I said.’

  Peggy took the proffered letter from Ella’s hand and scanned the pages, a worried frown still creasing her forehead. The letter, full of loving messages, was the same as always and yet, as Ella watched her aunt, she saw that the frown only deepened.

  ‘Well, he sounds all right, I’ll grant you, but . . .’ Peggy bit her lip.

  ‘But what, Aunty Peg?’ Ella prompted.

  ‘Oh, nothing. I suppose I’m being silly, but his writing looks, well, not as neat as usual, sort of – shaky.’

  Ella looked again at the page. Her grandfather’s handwriting was usually a beautiful copperplate, but she had to agree that the breaks between the letters and the occasional untidy slope of the writing was not quite to Jonathan’s normal standard. ‘I expect he wrote it when he was tired. But if you’re really worried, I’ll ring Uncle Danny. He’ll know if anything’s wrong.’

  ‘Wouldn’t Danny ring you?’

  Ella wrinkled her brow. ‘Can’t remember if I’ve ever given him Rita’s phone number,’ she admitted. Peggy had never had a telephone installed, but relied on being able to use her neighbour’s in an emergency.

  ‘I’ll nip up to the box on the corner and give them a quick ring, just to put your mind at rest,’ Ella said and privately added, And mine. I couldn’t bear it if Grandpa was ill and not telling us, she thought.

  ‘Ella?’

  Her heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t expected Rob to be at home.

  ‘I’ve just come home for a few days after finishing exams to help Dad with the haymaking,’ he explained when she asked why he was at home.

  ‘How were your exams?’

  ‘Not bad, but I’ll be pleased to be home for good. Only another couple of weeks.’

  Suddenly an overwhelming longing to be with him, walking along the beach or standing at the end of the Spit or even just harvesting with him, swept through her.

  ‘El? You still there?

  Pips sounded in her ear and she scrabbled to insert more money into the slot. ‘Yes – yes, I’m here.’

  ‘How’s things with you, then?’ Was he really interested, or merely being polite, she wondered. With the miles between them and across a crackly telephone wire she couldn’t tell.

  ‘Fine. I’ve a couple more exams then I’ve finished too. I’ve an interview for a job soon.’

  There was silence at the other end.

  ‘Rob . . .?’

  She thought she heard him sigh as he said, ‘You’re staying there, then? In the city?’

  ‘Well, yes . . .’

  The pips sounded again and she pushed in her last coin. ‘Rob, listen. The reason I’ve rung. Is everything all right at home? I mean, at Brumbys’ Farm?’

  ‘I think so. Why?’

  Now she had to put Peggy’s fears into words, it sounded foolish. ‘I just wanted to be sure they’re all right. Can you take down Rita’s phone number and ask your dad to ring me if ever – if ever they need me?’

  ‘Of course.’ Suddenly, there was warmth in his voice. ‘Wait a minute . . . Right, fire away.’

  She told him the number and he repeated it back to make sure he’d got it down correctly. ‘Don’t forget, Rob. Ask your dad to let me know.’

  ‘You can count on it – and El, when can I . . .’

  But the pips sounded once more and the line went dead.

  ‘Oh, damn and blast!’ she muttered and slammed the receiver down, then allowed herself a wry grin as she thought of what Gran would say if she could hear her using such language.

  Thirty

  The year’s secretarial course was almost finished and all that remained was for Ella to await the results of the examinations in shorthand, typing and elementary bookkeeping, and find employment.

  ‘You know, I really thought you’d be moving to York once your course had finished,’ Peggy said, and then added swiftly, ‘Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to go.’

  Ella smiled. ‘Thanks.’ Then she sighed and a small frown furrowed her smooth forehead. ‘They have been trying to persuade me to go and live with them in York, but well . . .’

  ‘Well, what?’ Peggy prompted.

  Ella wriggled her shoulders. ‘I don’t know. It – it just seems so far away, you know.’

  Peggy put her head on one side and regarded the girl thoughtfully. ‘No, to be honest, I don’t know. York’s not so very different from Lincoln, is it?’

  Ella shook her head. ‘It’s not that . . .’

  Peggy looked at her keenly. ‘You mean, it’s a long way from Fleethaven Point, don’t you?’

  Ella gasped and her eyes widened. ‘No! You know I don’t care if I never see that place again.’

  Peggy laughed and turned away, murmuring something that sounded like, ‘“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”’

  *

  ‘Aunty Peg, Aunty Peg. I’ve got a job!’

  ‘Oh, Ella, well done. What is it?’

  ‘You remember that interview I had a couple of weeks back?’

  ‘At that firm of solicitors?’

  Ella, her eyes shining, nodded. ‘Well, they’ve offered me a three months’ trial from July to the end of September and then, if my exam results are reasonable and I’ve proved myself, they’ll make it permanent.’

  ‘How wonderful.’ Peggy clapped her hands. ‘I’m so pleased. So you’ve definitely decided not to go to live in York?’

  Ella shook her head. ‘Well, not yet anyway. Maybe one day. It – it depends . . . You don’t mind me staying here?’

  Peggy hugged her. ‘You know I love having you here, silly.’

  Ella put her arms about the older woman and for a moment leant her head against her shoulder.

>   Peggy Godfrey did not press the matter any further, but shrewdly she guessed that somewhere in the picture now was a young man; but exactly which young man she could not be sure.

  ‘Jonathan’s letter’s late again,’ Peggy said worriedly towards the beginning of September. ‘You haven’t had word from anyone else at Fleethaven, have you, Ella?’

  Ella shook her head. ‘No, but Uncle Danny will write or phone if there’s something wrong. You know he will.’

  Peggy picked up her fork but only toyed with the food on her plate.

  Ella leant across the table and touched her hand. ‘You’re still not convinced though, are you, Aunty Peg?’

  ‘I suppose I’m being silly but . . .’ she sighed, hesitating.

  ‘Tell me,’ Ella prompted gently.

  The words came in a rush then. ‘I don’t like to say anything against your grannie, you know I don’t, but . . .’ She stopped as suddenly as she had begun.

  Ella finished the sentence for her. ‘You mean, you don’t think she would let you know if he were ill?’

  Miserably, Peggy nodded. ‘I know they’ll have been busy with the main harvest now, but it’s never stopped him writing regularly before.’

  Ella thought and then said, ‘I could ring Uncle Danny tonight, just to put your mind at rest.’

  Peggy’s worried brow cleared. ‘Oh, thank you, Ella.’

  ‘Ella, love. How lovely to hear you.’ Danny’s voice came clearly down the wire, so familiar, so warm, that Ella felt the tears spring to her eyes. They had every right, she thought suddenly, to be resentful of the way she had just walked away from them all, and yet there had never been one word of reproach.

  Except, of course, that her gran’s continued silence was a constant rebuke.

  ‘Uncle Danny, are they all right?’

  ‘Ya gran and grandpa?’

  ‘Yes.’

  There was a slight pause and Ella held her breath, her heart thumping suddenly.

  ‘Well, I think so. I saw ya gran yesterday, though I haven’t seen ya grandpa for a while.’ Again he paused.

  ‘Did she say he was all right?’

  ‘Oh yes, I always ask after him, Ella.’ There was another pause and then his words came haltingly, as if he didn’t want to make it sound like an accusation. ‘Of course, the work’s a bit heavy for them now. The farm’s not quite as well looked after as it used to be. We try to help out when we can, me an’ Rob, but she’s a stubborn old goat. Too proud to accept a bit of help, that’s her trouble.’ He laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Ella love. I’ll keep an eye on them . . .’

  At the end of September, when the three months’ temporary trial period in the solicitors’ office was nearly up, the senior partner called Ella into his office one morning and told her that they would extend her employment for a further three months but only on a temporary basis.

  ‘I don’t feel able to make your position permanent yet, Miss Hilton. Although the quality of your work is excellent and you work hard . . .’ He paused and steepled his bony fingers together, rocking backwards in his swivel chair. ‘I am a little concerned about your, well, your manner towards our clients. You seem a little abrupt at times. You should try to cultivate a more deferential manner towards them. Now, I suggest you take next week off to think things over. If you are prepared to try a little harder, then start back with us, let me see . . . yes, on Monday, the tenth of October.’

  Ella stared at the man in front of her and sighed inwardly. She bit back the retort that sprang to her lips. She’d stick it another month, she told herself, but, although she didn’t say so, she found the work boring, the staff dull and far too staid and as for the clients, well! She could imagine her gran’s comments about some of the complaints and problems that came through the office door.

  ‘A hard day’s work’d sort most of ’em out,’ she could imagine being Esther’s appraisal. ‘Pity they ain’t got something better to think about!’

  Standing before the joyless face of her employer, Ella had difficulty in keeping the smile from her mouth.

  ‘The old buzzard’s given me the week off to “think things over”,’ she told Peggy, her tone heavy with sarcasm. ‘I think I’ll go to York on Wednesday until Sunday. Will you be all right?’ she added, watching Peggy huddle closer to the fire and pull a shawl around her shoulders.

  Peggy sneezed, dabbed at her already bright nose and said, ‘Yes, of course I’ll be all right. It’s only a cold.’

  ‘I know,’ Ella said, ‘but it is a stinker.’

  Peggy smiled weakly. ‘That’s why I thought I’d better stay off work. Customers get very upset if you breathe germs all over them.’

  ‘I can imagine!’

  By the Wednesday, Peggy’s cold was no better and she had decided to take the rest of the week off work. ‘I’ve only had about three weeks’ illness in all the years I’ve been there, but I still feel guilty staying away.’

  ‘You’ve got a nasty cough,’ Ella said putting her suitcase down for a moment while she gave Peggy a swift hug. ‘You’d be much better keeping warm for another day or two.’

  Peggy sniffed miserably. She was hardly ever ill and did not make a good patient.

  Ella bit her lip. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right. Perhaps I’d better not go . . .’

  Peggy flapped her hands at Ella and said again, ‘It’s only a cold. I’ll be fine. You’d better go. You’ll miss your train and your father will be meeting you . . .’

  ‘All right, then,’ Ella agreed.

  Peggy forced a smile and added, ‘Have a good time.’

  Over dinner that evening she told her father and grandmother about her job in the solicitors’ office. ‘It’s so solemn all the time. I think I’m going to start looking for something else when I get back.’

  ‘Your father will find you a job here in York, won’t you, Philip?’ her grandmother said across the table, waving her hand as if the fact were already accomplished. ‘I’m sure you’re owed a few favours. All these committees you’re asked to serve on.’

  Smiling, he said, ‘If it’s what Ella would like.’

  ‘Of course it’s what she’d like.’

  ‘Now, Mother,’ he said gently and winked at Ella, ‘no trying to organize the girl’s life.’

  ‘As if I would!’ she said indignantly, and then turned to Ella. ‘Now tomorrow morning we’re going shopping. We’ll have lunch in town because I’ve booked you in at the hairdresser’s tomorrow afternoon at two. Martin is calling for you at seven and taking you out to dinner. Won’t that be nice?’

  Ella dared not glance at her father for fear she would laugh aloud. Instead, she said dutifully, ‘Yes, Grandmother.’

  At seven thirty, Ella found herself being ushered into a smart restaurant by Martin Hughes. She gazed around in amazement at the thick, wall-to-wall carpet, the tables set with pink cloths, a small vase of fresh flowers in the centre of each one. Sparkling crystal chandeliers hung from the ornate ceiling and fancy scalloped drapes covered the windows. A black-suited waiter with a crisp white shirt and black bow tie bowed deferentially and showed them to a secluded corner table for two.

  ‘I thought we’d be more private here,’ Martin said. ‘There’s something I want to ask you.’

  ‘Oh. Really? What?’

  Martin was smiling, his eyes large behind the thick lenses of his spectacles. When he looked at her, with her new hair-style and pretty clothes, not to mention the use of make-up to hide the birthmark, Ella could see the admiration in his eyes.

  ‘Not so fast,’ he said. ‘We’ll eat first. Besides, I’ve got to pluck up courage.’

  Ella’s eyes widened and she felt a strange fluttering in her stomach. When Martin asked, ‘Shall I order for us both?’ all she could do was nod.

  As they pushed away their empty dessert plates, the hovering wine-waiter filled their glasses.

  ‘Coffee, sir?’

  ‘Yes, please. And two brandies.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’ He gave
a little bow and returned in a moment bearing two fat glasses with a measure of amber liquid in each.

  Martin picked up his glass and raised it towards Ella. ‘To us,’ he said.

  ‘Us?’

  He nodded and smiled. ‘Your grandmother tells me you’re coming to live in York. I – er – hope we can see a lot more of each other.’

  Ella gaped at him for a moment and then dropped her glance from his earnest gaze. She twirled the brandy glass on the table between fingers that threatened to tremble slightly. She knew he liked her, enjoyed her company, but now he was hinting that he wanted more. She was too honest to let him think she would ever be his girlfriend. He was nice, she liked him, but not in that way; never, ever, could she love Martin. Not while she was still in love with Rob Eland.

  She said carefully, ‘I am thinking about taking a job here, yes, because I’m not too happy in the one I’ve got at the moment, but nothing’s settled yet . . .’

  Martin laughed. ‘Oh, I think you can count on it being a fait accompli, if your grandmother has anything to do with it.’

  Ella felt her jaw tightening, feeling as if her life were being organized for her. She had run away from Fleethaven Point from one autocratic grandmother and now she seemed to have found another.

  ‘Martin, I . . .’ she began, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of the waiter hurrying from table to table, bending to ask a question of each of the diners. Answered by a shake of heads, he moved swiftly to the next table and the next. Now he was approaching their table. ‘Excuse me, sir . . .’ his glance went from Martin to Ella, ‘is your name Miss Hilton?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Ah, we’ve received a telephone call from your father. He asked if you could go home at once.’

  Ella was already on her feet and pushing back her chair as the waiter grasped it to pull it back for her. Martin, rising more slowly, asked, ‘Did he say why?’