by Mary Nichols
‘Good luck to you, then. Want a tankard of ale afore you go?’
‘I’ll get it,’ he said quickly and then to Molly, ‘What are you drinkin’ Mrs Parsons?’
‘I’ll have a gin and orange, Frank. And you can call me Molly.’
As she was no older than he was, married and widowed all in one year, he could see no reason why he should not, though Bert looked none too pleased. ‘Right you are, Molly, a gin it shall be. And another beer for you, Bert?’
‘So, if there’s nothing wrong, what can I do for you Frank?’ Bert asked, when the drinks had been fetched and Frank had seated himself opposite them.
‘I’ve been thinkin’ it’s time I took a wife.’
Bert chuckled. ‘So wha’s put that notion into yar head?’
‘Me ma. She says it’s about time I took the plunge. She i’n’t gettin’ any younger and so I thought …’ He paused and grinned. ‘I was thinkin’ of your Lucy.’
‘My Lucy! Well, I’m blessed. What does she say about it?’
‘I hen’t asked her yet.’
‘What are yer waiting for?’
‘I wanted to ask you if you’d put the word in. I’ve a good job and when Ma don’t need me no more, I can move on, make me way, find an assistant stationmaster’s job …’
‘You don’t have to tell me that, bor, tell Lucy.’ Bert slapped the younger man on the shoulder. ‘But do you think you can handle her? She’s not exactly biddable. And she do have some fancy ways her mother taught her.’
Frank didn’t say the fancy ways were a large part of Lucy’s attractions. For a man with ambition, they would be an asset. ‘Oh, I don’t give no mind to that,’ he said. ‘It mek her different from all the others.’
‘Then you’d best put yar toe in the water and see how warm ’tis, don’t you think?’
‘Right you are.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll call when I come back from me fishin’. You’ll be home by then.’
‘What’s the matter with you, bor? You don’ need me. Strike while the iron’s hot. Go now and tell her not to expect me home for dinner. You can have my share with her.’
Frank grinned. ‘Ta. I’ll tek me rods home ag’in and tell Ma, then I’ll go right over there.’
‘She won’t have him,’ Molly said as Frank disappeared. ‘I reckon she’ll be lookin’ higher than a signalman.’
‘And where would she find such a one in a place like Nayton?’ he asked. ‘She don’t know anyone else.’ He grinned and put his arm about her shoulders, pulling her to him so that he could give her a smacking kiss on the cheek. ‘Besides, once she’s out of the house, you can move in.’
‘Not without we go to the parson first, Bert Storey. I ha’ got my reputation to think of.’ A statement which made him roar with laughter. ‘I mean it.’
‘Hev you forget I’ve got a wife?’
‘Do you know where she is?’
‘No, haven’t heard hide nor hair on her since she left. Might be dead for all I know.’
‘She’s bin gone more’n seven year, you can have her declared dead, then you’d be free.’
‘Tha’s a thought.’
‘Why’d she leave in the first place?’
‘I threw her out. She’d been out with someone else – couldn’t hev that, could I?’
‘That’s grounds for divorce.’
‘Maybe but that costs money.’
‘Then let’s assume she’s dead. She i’n’t a-goin’ to come back and contradict you, is she?’
He laughed again. ‘No. So, it’s the parson as soon as Lucy’s matched.’
‘I still say she’ll kick against it.’
‘She can kick all she likes, I can kick harder.’ He stood up and pulled her to her feet. ‘And seeings I’m not expected back for me dinner, we’ve the whole day to ourselves, so come on, let’s be off enjoying ourselves.’
Lucy was stirring the stew when she heard footsteps approaching the door. Thinking it was her father, she stuck a fork in the potatoes to see if they were cooked and turned towards the table to check that everything was ready. He hated to be kept waiting, even a minute, and had been known to tip a saucepan full of hot food all over her, if he was drunk, which he was more often than not on a Sunday.
She was taken by surprise when, instead of the door being flung open, someone rapped on it. Wiping her hands on her pinafore, she went to open it. ‘Frank, what are you doing here?’
‘I’ve a message from yer pa. He said not to expect him home for his dinner.’
‘Thank you for telling me. Did he say why?’
‘No. But he did say I was to stay and partake with you.’
This was so out of character that she simply stared at him. It wasn’t that Pa was not coming home for his dinner, but that he was giving it away. It would have been more like him to send a message that she was to keep it hot, as had happened on more than one occasion before.
‘Well, aren’t you going to ask me in?’ he demanded, removing his cap. ‘I can’t verra well eat it on the step, can I?’
She stood aside to admit him. He was newly shaved, she noticed, and had slicked his hair back with oil. ‘Why did he say that? What happened? Where is he?’
He grinned and stepped inside. ‘Oh, he’s got other fish to fry, m’dear, so he give me permission to call on you …’
‘What do you mean?’ She indicated a chair at the table, but made no move to dish up the food.
‘Why, to come courtin’.’ He was grinning more than ever now.
‘Me?’ She laughed. ‘You must have misunderstood. He’d never say that.’
‘Why not? I’n’t I good enough for you?’
‘No, that wasn’t what I meant,’ she said hastily. ‘He would never let me go. He needs me.’
‘Not anymore he don’t. He’s got pretty widow Parsons in his arms this verra minute an’ she’s expectin’ to move in here right soon.’
She could hardly credit what he was saying. Pa with another woman? ‘I don’t believe that – he’d have said.’
‘I don’t like being called a liar, Lucy Storey.’
‘I wasn’t calling you a liar, Frank, I just thought you must be mistaken, that’s all.’
‘There’s no mistake, everyone in the village knows about it – bin goin’ on for years, it hev.’
‘Years?’ she queried.
‘A man needs his comforts.’ He looked sideways at her, knowing he had shocked her into silence. ‘Hen’t I just come from takin’ a drink with them in the Nayton Arms. Gave us his blessing, your Pa did, told me to come right away and sample your cooking.’
‘Then you better had,’ she snapped, her mind in a whirl. She wasn’t sure which was worse, the revelation about Pa and Mrs Parsons or the thought of marrying Frank Lambert. Pa couldn’t force her, but he could make her life a misery if she refused. Oh, how she longed to run to Jack, but she knew she could not do that. She dished up two plates of food and slapped them down on the table, before sitting down opposite him. He began to wolf his down, but she had no appetite and sat looking at the food growing cold on her plate and said nothing, waiting for him to finish.
‘My, that was good,’ he said, sitting back and smiling at her. ‘A good cook as well as a beauty, I’m a lucky man.’
‘You take too much for granted, Frank Lambert. Pa giving you permission to eat his dinner don’t mean I’m yours for the asking.’
‘No, s’pose not,’ he admitted. ‘You want me to court you proper. Well, I can do that. Get those dishes washed and we’ll go for a walk.’
‘I don’t want to go for a walk. I’m tired.’
‘Not too tired to skulk in the woods with that bastard, Jack de Lacey, are you? I’m as good as he is, any day of the week.’
‘You’re …’ She had been going to say ‘not fit to lick his boots’ but realised that would be foolish. Instead she added, ‘… mistaken.’
‘I saw you, with my own eyes, dressed fit to kill. How long afore he had that off you, eh? How long
afore you were lying on yer back lookin’ up at the trees.’ He had been tormenting himself with visions of her naked, squirming under the fellow from the big house, and far from putting him off it had excited him to such a pitch he could hardly contain himself. She became aware of it and was suddenly afraid.
‘You’re disgusting!’ she said, rattling the crockery as she gathered it together to wash up. ‘And you know it isn’t true. I would never do such a thing.’ He had spoilt what had been a simple, innocent pleasure, made it dirty and shameful, and she would not forgive him for it.
‘And right glad I am to hear it, but it’s got to stop, you must see that. Mister High and Mighty de Lacey i’n’t interested in the likes of you, bar the enjoyment he’d get from couplin’ with you, that is. He’ll never wed you, if that’s what you’ve got in mind. You should stick to your own. I’ve got a lot to offer: a cottage what’ll be mine one day, a good job and a chance to better m’self. We’d do right fine together. It’d be better’n sharin’ this kitchen with another woman.’
‘You’d rather have me sharing one with your mother,’ she snapped. ‘What’s the difference?’ His revelation about her father was making her feel very insecure and ill-used, as if everyone was plotting to destroy her happiness. Two hours before she had been almost content; two hours before, no doubt about her future had entered her head. She was nearly nineteen, enjoying her burgeoning womanhood in the company of someone who made her feel special, who called her beautiful. And now, here she was being importuned by this awkward, rough man who had no more idea of how to treat a woman than fly. And apparently with the full connivance of her father.
‘Ma’s gettin’ on, you wouldn’t have to share it long. On the other hand, Molly Parsons i’n’t much older than you.’
‘I’ll believe it when Pa tells me so himself. Now, please leave. I have work to do.’ She spoke firmly, but it crossed her mind that he might not go, that he might force himself on her. He was standing halfway between the table and the door, looking at her with his head on one side as if considering it. She prepared herself to fight him off. If she made enough noise, the relief stationmaster would come rushing to see what the rumpus was about and he must know that.
‘Verra well,’ he said slowly. ‘You ask him and when I come callin’ ag’in, I’m hopin’ you’ll have given the matter of walkin’ out with me proper consideration. It were offered in good faith.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she said, more to get rid of him than because she meant it.
He picked up his cap and turned to go. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
That was inevitable, she knew, they both worked at the station and there was no avoiding each other. ‘It’s a big step to take,’ she said. ‘So don’t expect me to make up my mind in a hurry.’
‘Oh, I’m in no hurry, but I reckon your pa is.’ And with that he ducked his head below the lintel and strode off down the platform, nodding a cheerful good afternoon to the relief stationmaster as he passed him.
Lucy sat down at the cluttered table and put her head in her hands. Her whole day had been spoilt. Was her father really thinking of bringing another woman into their home, a home where every stick of furniture, every ornament, every rag rug must remind him of the wife he had lost? Did that count for nothing? Lucy had meticulously taken care of her mother’s things, kept the house spotless, just as she had liked it, not only because it comforted her to do it, but because she believed that was what her father wanted.
Oh, how she wished she could go back to Jack. It wasn’t his money or position which attracted her, at least not altogether; it was his gentleness, his consideration, his engaging smile. He was clean and smelt fresh and when he touched her, ever so briefly, she felt the warmth coursing through her. He made her feel important to him; he didn’t need her for a skivvy, he had servants for that. Until a week ago, her dreams had been just dreams, but since he had taken her into the woods and showed her that ruined cottage, her dreams had taken on a different quality. They were becoming almost real. How could she even think of Frank Lambert, after that?
Slowly she stood up, finished the washing up and put the flat iron on the stove to heat ready to press her father’s uniform. She would give him no cause for complaint, no reason to hasten a decision to marry her off.
Chapter Four
Before the war was a month old, Poland had succumbed and Germany and Russia carved the country up between them which meant Hitler could turn his attention elsewhere and everyone was wondering how soon it would be before the French army and the British Expeditionary Force would be in action. But nothing happened; at least, it wasn’t happening on land. At sea it was a different matter. The first casualties of the war had occurred with the sinking of the passenger liner, SS Athenia, in the North Atlantic only hours after war was declared. She was hit by a torpedo and over a hundred people died. A fortnight later, the aircraft carrier Courageous was sunk with the loss of over five hundred of her crew, and U-boats even penetrated Scapa Flow where most of the British fleet was based and sank the Royal Oak with over eight hundred men losing their lives. Besides the U-boats there was the menace of surface vessels preying on naval and merchant ships bringing much needed supplies. If anything could persuade Annelise against going to France, that was it.
It didn’t stop her worrying about Elizabeth and her parents. Elizabeth was being foolish, but she was very proud of her and perhaps she was right and she was just as safe in Dransville as she would be in England. All this bother about blackout curtains and gas masks and ration books and listening for air-raid sirens made it sound as if everyone in Britain was going to be in the front line. A quiet Alpine village might be more peaceful, which was the argument she used to console herself.
Charles, too old for active service, had volunteered for work at the War Office but they hadn’t yet found anything for him to do. Amy had got her wish and was in Norwich, training to be a nurse. Only Jack seemed unconcerned but Jack, being Jack, was deeper and more thoughtful than he seemed on the surface and she did not doubt he would become as unsettled as everyone else and volunteer for something. Thank goodness Edmund was too young for anything like that, although they had a cadet force at Gresham’s which he had joined and said was great fun.
To stop herself from brooding over Elizabeth and to feel she was doing something to help the war effort, Annelise had joined the Women’s Voluntary Service, so here she was in a dark-green uniform and an unbecoming hat, trying to organise donated clothes for the benefit of the evacuees, many of whom were poorly clad. Seeing what Bernard and his siblings had in their cardboard cases had dismayed her and she had immediately searched through Jack’s and Edmund’s cast-off clothes to pass down to them. And she had set to work on some outgrown dresses of Amy’s and made new ones for Cicely. Mrs Hodgkins had come once to see the children but she found the train fare a bit of a problem. Annelise had not offered her money, knowing the woman would view it as an insult. But she didn’t object to the clothes when Annelise explained they had been outgrown and she would have given them away anyway.
When the expected bombing raids on London had not materialised, many of the evacuees had gone home, but Mrs Hodgkins was pregnant again and the pregnancy was not going well, so she had decided to leave the children at Nayton. ‘They’ve settled in so well,’ she had told Annelise. ‘And the country air is good for them. It would be a pity to uproot them again. We’ll wait until after the baby is born, if that’s all right with you.’
Annelise had assured her that she was glad to have them and they weren’t any trouble at all. This was an exaggeration because Bernard was constantly in trouble for one thing and another. As so many evacuees had gone home, those that remained had been integrated with the village children and he didn’t seem able to get on with them.
‘Your Bernard’s been fighting again,’ Mrs Hutchins told her as they worked in the clothes store at the village hall. ‘He gave Tom Byers a black eye yesterday and Mrs Byers is complaining bitterly.’
‘Thank you. We’ve all got to learn to get along with each other now, old and young, whatever our background.’
‘Quite.’ Annelise was unsure if that was a veiled reference to her own lowly background or not; it was funny how stick-in-the-mud some people still were over rank.
Bernard was unrepentant when she tackled him at teatime. The children had been practising putting their gas masks on in class and sitting in them for several minutes. The older boys had taken this as a signal to play up and torment the younger ones and Tom Byers was one of the worst. ‘He frightened Cissie,’ he told her. ‘Puttin’ his face right up close to hers, wavin’ ’is arms about and makin’ ’orrible noises. I couldn’t let ’im get away with that, now could I?’
‘It’s bad enough the country is at war without you fighting the village children,’ she said, trying to sound stern. ‘Try and settle your differences peaceably.’
‘I ain’t havin’ Cissie frightened, not nohow,’ he insisted. ‘Anyway I already got the cane for it.’
She let him go.
He wandered off alone, smarting under a sense of injustice. Most of his London pals had gone home again but Ma had explained why they had to stay, which he didn’t think was fair. He’d have made his own way back, if it hadn’t been for Cissie. He couldn’t take her and he couldn’t leave her behind, so he had to make the best of it. He wouldn’t have minded if he’d had Edmund to mess about with but Edmund was too grand for the village school and had gone back to Gresham’s. Bernard missed him; he was good fun and he knew all sorts of interesting places in the woods, places to have hideouts and make dens or climb trees; places where they could get through the fence onto the railway line and put ha’pennies on the line for the trains to run over and then they came off bigger than pennies.
