by Gloria Cook
‘I’ll look forward to doing so when we get the opportunity.’ It would be good to relive old memories of when Uncle Alec was alive. ‘The Moses place is just here.’ A few steps back along the way he had come and he was pointing to a narrow weedy path through a break in the high privet hedge. ‘I’m glad not to be facing the old woman. Her tongue was like a poisoned dart.’
‘I took little notice of her granddaughter,’ Tom said, after coughing in a bid to clear the husky emotion from his throat. ‘But she seemed the opposite to Mrs Moses. A little mouse, in fact.’
‘She’s very young,’ Abbie said, as they trooped up the path. ‘She might be nervous to see all of us at once. She’s a little used to me. I think I should go first.’
‘Good idea.’ Tom stepped back.
Jonny glanced through a window. There were no curtains up at the sparkling clean glass. ‘Good Lord. There’s not a stick of furniture in there. It seems she’s packed up and gone.’
‘Her family must have been here,’ Tom frowned. ‘But if the key had been handed in Mum would have said so. Abbie, try the door.’
Abbie lifted the latch. ‘It’s not locked. I’ll knock and call to her.’ She opened the door a crack and tapped on it twice. ‘Hello! Kate? It’s Abbie Rothwell. Can I come in?’
Through the gap in the door she detected sounds like a little scampering creature. Then there were light irregular steps. ‘She’s coming,’ Abbie whispered.
It had startled Kate to receive a visitor. She recognized Miss Rothwell’s firm bright tones – she might have come with news of Jill Harvey – but she went warily to the door. She gazed at the older woman through the newly forming twilight, then retreated from the doorstep at spying the two men. ‘I’m sorry. My brother Sidney said the rent was paid up for a few more days so I thought it would be all right to stay here.’
‘It’s all right, Miss Viant,’ Tom said. ‘We haven’t come to take issue with you about anything. My wife was concerned about you and I promised her before I came away from the infirmary that I’d see if all were well with you. The other chap here is my cousin. Do you think we could come in, please?’
Kate was relieved at his friendly manner but wouldn’t dream of disobeying someone older, let alone one of her betters. ‘Of course.’ The door opened straight into the living room and she limped into its middle. It was bleak and cheerless – as it had been before it was stripped of its furnishings. Beside the empty hearth was the kindling chopping block, which she had carried in from the back garden to use as a seat. Kate had been huddled down on it trying not to cry over her fate, or what the kind Jill Harvey’s might be, while trying to form a plan about how she might get work and a more permanent roof over her head.
Abbie went inside and approached Kate, all smiles. Tom followed but kept back a little. Jonny stepped over the threshold but stayed thoughtfully near the door. The place was uninviting and smelled of stale liniment. The linoleum, so well trodden its geometrical pattern was blotted out in most places, had been brushed clean of the last speck of dust. Kate had been an excellent housekeeper for her grandmother.
Abbie thought she should reassure Kate again. ‘Mr Harvey has only come to thank you for helping Mrs Harvey this morning.’
‘Yes, absolutely,’ Tom said. ‘We’ll both always be grateful to you, Kate.’
‘How is she? Will she be back home soon?’ Kate was praying it would be so, hoping she might get the chance to open up her troubles to Jill, who might be able to point her to a job.
‘Not soon, I’m afraid,’ Tom said. He explained why, watching the girl’s eyes, which were so like a kitten’s, stretch wide in horror and become wet with tears.
Kate looked down at the floor, too inexperienced in life to know what to say except, ‘I’m sorry.’
The simplest statement, yet the sincerity in it was profound. Tom understood why she had brought out the protective side in Jill and it stirred him in the same way. It was evident Kate had known a lot of misery and had been put upon, probably all her life. ‘Thank you. Would you like to tell me why you’ve been left here all alone? Is someone coming to fetch you?’
Kate shook her head, her wretchedness almost palpable. ‘No. They don’t want me no more. My parents or my brothers. They said I’ve got to fend for myself from now on.’
Abbie’s jaw fell open in outrage on Kate’s behalf. Jonny, glancing between the little mouse of a girl and the older woman, saw that Abbie could be something of a lioness. He liked that strength in a woman.
Tom gasped. ‘Well, we can’t have that,’ he said firmly.
It was not lost on anyone how Kate responded to the edge of authority in his tone. Some of the misery cleared from her drawn features and she adjusted her stance, as if coming to attention. She was reaching out in hope. She was like a sad, neglected child. It was easy to want to gather her in close and swear to look after her for the rest of her life. She said nothing, waiting in that pitiful hope that things might be about to change for the better.
Tom glanced at the forlorn cloth bag and the tatty shoe box. ‘I see you’ve got your things together. Good. How would you like to come with us, Kate? To Ford Farm? Miss Rothwell has just come to stay but there’s plenty of room. My mother, Mrs Bosweld, will be glad to welcome you, and my wife will be pleased to know you haven’t been left to remain all alone.’
‘You mean it?’ A glow filtered into Kate’s pallid complexion and chased away the shadows, but the lightness eased off quickly. She was too used to having any kind of hope snatched away. Was Tom Harvey, the heir to Ford Farm, as genuinely kind as his wife? Was it possible for so many good pepple to live in one place and to be gathered here in one small room? Miss Rothwell had rushed to her aid in the lane with concern and had given orders without snapping. The RAF officer, whose amazing good looks she found a little daunting, was aiming the most pleasant of smiles at her.
‘Absolutely,’ Tom replied. He had the urge to ruffle her auburn hair. He wouldn’t dream of actually touching her but she shouldn’t be treated like a child anyway. She deserved respect and needed careful interaction or she’d retreat into herself. He picked up the bag and the shoe box. ‘Shall we go?’
‘Yes. Thank you,’ Kate said. She had proper shelter for the night, perhaps for a day or two, perhaps even until Jill got out of hospital. It was enough for now.
Chapter Three
Jill stared up at the ceiling high above her head. One more day and she could leave behind this immaculately tucked-in bed, the clinical smells, the hushed bustling efficiency of the infirmary staff, and the rigid routine. She was counting off the minutes until she was back at home and surrounded by her own things, in a more restful atmosphere, in the security of being with Tom. To see for herself how Kate was. But it also meant leaving her baby behind, the scrap of humanity that had barely formed and had died inside her, too soon to tell if it was a boy or a girl. Not enough of anything to be given a funeral. To face the numbing fact that her hopes of becoming a mother were slimmer now a vital part of her body had been cut out.
The beginning of the regimented visiting time was rung in. The double doors down the end of the surgical ward were opened and people filed in, doused in church quietness, assuming encouraging smiles, bearing the usual sort of gifts for the neat rows of the sick and the recovering. Jill’s fellow patients were envious of the number of visitors and well wishers she received. Every evening Tom came alone. Usually, it was someone from the family in the afternoon. Yesterday, it was Jonny, not knowing what to say, bluffing his way through, talking about nothing in particular. She’d got the feeling he had something on his mind. Jill’s ready ear and non-judgemental nature meant she often found herself a confidante, but Jonny had not shared his deepest thoughts with her. She was glad of that. She had her own miseries and she was concerned about Tom, he was being brave and positive for her sake but losing the baby was just as heartbreaking for him. Focusing a little on Kate for a moment or two helped her cope with her aching loss. Today, it was Jonn
y’s half-sister – a long-time family friend before the secret of her true identity had been revealed to her and Jonny – who had come to see her.
‘Hello Jill. You look a little brighter today.’ In her unpretentious manner, Louisa Carlyon kissed Jill’s cheek and patted her hand to convey she knew she must still be feeling devastated, despite looking better. Slender and fair, invariably gentle, in a neat utility suit, small felt hat and white cotton gloves – her clothes were always easy on the eye – she rarely failed to uplift the recipient of her care. She had a ragged birthmark, the size of a half-crown, on her right cheek, but it did not spoil her attractiveness. While smilingly glancing at Jill, she added the daffodils she had brought from her garden to one of the overflowing vases of flowers on the bedside cabinet. ‘Is Tom bringing in your things tonight?’
‘Clothes to go home in tomorrow, you mean? Yes. He’ll get Mrs Em to pack them. He’s so afraid he’ll bring the wrong things. I wish I could have been there for him all this time. He’s got that little boy lost look, you know, that he gets when he’s terribly upset. At least he’s got young Kate Viant to take his mind off things.’
A wealthy war widow, fully occupied with charity work here at the grey-stoned infirmary and elsewhere, Louisa was curious to meet Kate Viant. She pulled up a chair. ‘Jonny’s filled me in on what he knows about her. What a dreadful affair, but the Lord works in mysterious ways. If you hadn’t been taking her home you would have collapsed in the field and, well, the end result doesn’t bear thinking about. And if not for your kindness, no one would have known about her problem and something bad might have happened to her.’
‘She wrote me a letter of thanks.’ This brought a hint of a smile and an inkling of colour to Jill’s blanched cheeks. ‘It’s written well so she’s obviously a bright girl. It’s in the drawer. Read it, if you like.’
Louisa read aloud the words in careful big lettering on the Harveys’ headed stationery. ‘“Dear Mrs Harvey.”’
‘I told her to call me Jill, but I suppose she thought she should keep to formality in the letter,’ Jill interrupted. ‘Tom says she seems happy and relieved to be at the farm but is very unsure of everything. That’s understandable after what she’s been through, the rotten life she must have had. I’m eager to find out if anything really dreadful happened to her. I’ll never forget how upset she was that day.’
‘It will be good for you to have something to think about, but don’t take on too much and risk your recovery, Jill.’ Louisa went on with the letter. ‘“I hope you are getting well. I would visit you, but Mr Tom said it’s family only. I like being here at the farm. Everyone has been very kind to me. I like playing with Mrs Em’s little boy, Paul. I take him for walks. Miss Rothwell is a very nice lady. I am looking forward to seeing you again. Yours sincerely, Kate Viant.” It’s a very sweet letter, Jill. She comes across as rather childlike.’
‘I’d like to make sure she gets a better chance in life. I owe her that. I’ve got Abbie Rothwell to thank as well. I didn’t even get a glance of her. Have you met her?’
‘No. I haven’t been to the farm for a while. Jonny seems to like her. He’s not chasing after her in the usual way. Actually, I’m worried about him. He’s told me he’s feeling restless and he seems really down. Oh well, there’s always something, but I expect he’ll sort himself out soon.’ Louisa put the letter away in the drawer then lifted out a new ‘get well’ card. ‘From Mark and Jana. Who are they?’
‘Mark Fuller. The chap who moved to Hennaford two years ago, the one who’s gone into partnership with the builder, Jim Killigrew, just down from the farm. Jana is his little girl.’ Jill felt a stab of heartache and jealousy as she thought about the seventeen-month-old child, who, having been abandoned by her mother, was being successfully brought up by her doting father. With a sense of despair she knew how anguished she would be when next faced with a child. She wanted her baby. She wanted time to wind back and for her baby to have been safely conceived inside her womb. The baby she would never see, would know nothing about. She couldn’t even picture it. Part of her felt she had let her baby down. She didn’t want to answer any more questions about the Fullers. She wanted to be alone and hide away. But she couldn’t do that for ever. Panic rose up in her.
‘Oh, of course. He survived as a Japanese POW. Then his wife did the dirty on him. I’ve not met him yet either. Well, I really ought to go. I don’t want to tire you.’ Louisa had sensed Jill becoming distant but her curved eyebrows shot up at seeing Jill turning red. ‘Jill, are you all right? Shall I fetch a nurse?’
‘No.’ Jill took a deep calming breath. ‘I keep getting moments where reality hits home, that’s all.’
Louisa reached for her hand. ‘Dear Jill. I won’t say the usual things, I’m sure you’ll not want to hear them. I’m always available if you need me.’
‘I know. Thanks, Louisa. Life goes on, they say, but not for my baby. Its life was no more than a whisper.’
* * *
Kate was cleaning the room she was staying in. She wouldn’t allow herself to think of it as ‘her room’, as people usually did when temporarily resident somewhere. That would make the wrench harder when she had to leave. It was marvellous to sleep on a gleaming brass bedstead with a sprung mattress, with plump pillows, fine linen and a soft wool blanket, all covered with a coral-pink watered silk bedspread. At home she’d had a narrow musty mattress on the floor of a bleak cupboard-sized room, where her family had barged in invading her privacy. Now she had a double bed all to herself, in a house which altogether seemed the size of a manor. One of the main sources of awe to her was having the use of a proper bathroom. No need for a chamber pot pushed under the bed here, no trips necessary down an ash path to the bottom of the garden to a tiny, draughty, spider-infested, stinking privy. There was actually hot water on tap, unimaginable luxury. The household never had to fetch water from the well. The dreaded job of trudging journey after journey to fetch heavy buckets of water from the well at home had used up a big chunk of each day, leading her ungrateful mother to snap down her ears, ‘Get a move on, damn it, bleddy girl!’
Another wonderful thing here was the lack of unpleasant smells. The odour of farmyard manure filtered inside when the windows were open but it was an unavoidable smell and one the nose quickly got used to. At home her mother and the men had been careless of hygiene and their offensive body odours had permeated every dark and dingy corner. Her father and Sidney had never washed the coal dust off themselves thoroughly and it had been impossible to launder their blackened shirts, the towels and sheets back to whiteness.
She was in the corner of the Boswelds’ wing, with its refined Victorian facings. The front window of her room looked over the lane and she could see ploughed and planted fields, and fields of cattle and sheep, and neighbouring farms and the church tower in the distance. The view at the side window fell away into a meadow and the woods. Ford House, once Harvey property, now owned by the local builder, could be glimpsed, and further up the hill was a new house, built on traditional country lines and belonging to Jim Killigrew’s partner. The man who lived there, Mark Fuller, had a beautiful infant daughter, who he’d brought over to play with three-year-old Paul Bosweld.
People were always dropping in at the farm. Kate tended to keep her distance from them. The visitors were curious about her and often kind, but she didn’t want to make any friends. She didn’t want to get to like it here too much. At some point she would have to leave. Most of all, she mustn’t get to rely on anyone. Dreams and hopes were all too easily crashed. Although she didn’t believe the people here would simply turn her out, she couldn’t risk one day soon pining for Ford Farm and the security she now enjoyed. The emptiness might be unbearable.
She dusted and polished the walnut furniture and used the carpet sweeper in here every day. There was no need, the room sparkled like diamonds, but she was used to being busy and she wanted to show the family her gratitude. It was lost on her, despite their constant reminders, t
hat they owed more to her than they’d ever be able to repay. Putting the cleaning things back in their wooden box, she opened the wardrobe and looked into the full-length mirror on the door. She smiled a wide smile. It was what she did every time she saw herself in the glass. Each time she could hardly believe it was herself. She was wearing a blouse with a pretty scalloped edge and a pair of trousers. Mrs Bosweld, known by all as Mrs Em, had gone into town and bought them for her. It was wonderful to have trousers to take the emphasis off her disability and cover her ugly shoes. She had a new dress too. She had tried it on in stunned excitement. Mrs Em, who was tall and beautiful like a statue, with volumes of shiny reddish-brown hair, had offered to fasten the buttons at the back of the neck, but had sensed Kate’s embarrassment and kindly waited outside the door. Kate was shy about her softly moulded figure and ashamed of her underwear, made from any old scraps of cotton. Jill, who although taller than Kate was roughly the same size, had asked Mrs Em to take some items from her own wardrobe, and now Kate had proper underwear, another dress, two skirts, and two cardigans which were not knitted from unpicked garments. Tilda, the housekeeper, who fussed over her like a broody hen, had showed her how to use the sewing machine to take up the hems. It never occurred to her to consider if she looked attractive in her gifts. Having something fine and pretty on her spare frame was a joy and her only concern.
‘Kate! Are you up there?’ came a shout from below. It was Mr Bosweld, at the foot of the stairs.
‘Yes! Coming right away!’ She snatched up the cleaning things and hurried out to the long landing. She felt an empathy with Perry Bosweld. He too was crippled; he walked with a limp, aided by a prosthetic, having lost a leg in the Great War. He was cheery and good-hearted, and wore clothes more colourful and stylish than other men. Miss Rothwell termed his dark looks as classically handsome, and said he was ‘one of those men who gets better with age’. And she wanted to paint him. He was just the sort of man Kate would like as her father. He gave her twinkly-eyed grins and his posh voice had soft tones. Apart from Jill, he was the one person she wasn’t at all shy of.
