Peace Comes to Honeyfield

by Anna Jacobs

  ‘Yes. His name’s Wallace Grant, only everyone calls him Wally. He’s not in the Army because he works on the railways and is needed there.’

  ‘Thank you for your help.’ Georgie held out her hand but the woman didn’t shake it.

  ‘That man wrote to tell the family when Mary Jane died – the man who ruined her wrote, I mean – but he can’t have said anything about twins or even Ma would have told us. Wally’s dad remembers his wife burning your father’s letter. He said he’d never seen her so angry.’

  She took a step backwards. ‘I shouldn’t even be talking to you without my husband knowing. I’ll tell Wally about you tonight and if he wants to get in touch, we know how.’

  As Georgie opened her mouth to ask if she could just have a look at a photo of her mother, another child cried out from inside the house. The woman said, ‘Sorry!’ and closed the door in their faces.

  ‘At least she didn’t slam the door,’ Georgie said as they walked back to the car. She stood next to it as if she didn’t know what to do.

  In the end, Patrick opened the passenger door and said gently, ‘Get in, lass. We can’t stay here.’

  She did that like someone sleepwalking.

  He drove away, not trying to speak because she was weeping, tears running down her cheeks, tears she made no attempt to wipe away.

  It hurt him not to be able to comfort her, so he took the first turn that seemed to lead out of town and once they were past the houses, he stopped the car in a gateway by the side of a narrow road. There were no habitations in sight and they were next to a bare ploughed field, so they were as private as they were likely to be today.

  Only after he’d checked their surroundings did he switch off the engine, take her in his arms and let her sob against him. Her father was wrong not to have told her anything about her mother. Very wrong.

  Chapter Ten

  When Georgie had stopped crying and calmed down, Patrick said quietly, ‘We’d better set off again. It’ll be dark soon and I think we should go straight to Honeyfield. If the sky would only clear, I could guarantee to point us in roughly the right direction by the stars.’

  ‘You don’t think we should go back to Westcott, then?’

  ‘No. Apart from you wanting to meet them, I thought you might be able to take refuge with your mother’s family if anything went wrong, because I doubt whoever’s trying to get to you will know about them. Only, since that’s not possible, I’m taking you to the safest place we can think of because your safety is my first consideration.’

  She shook her head as if bewildered.

  ‘You’re certain this Bella will help you?’ he asked.

  ‘Absolutely certain. But what about the others? They’ll be waiting for us at Westcott.’

  ‘I’ve already told Dennis to join us in Honeyfield if we don’t return tonight, remember, and that they’re to set off first thing in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll never forgive myself if they get hurt because of me.’

  ‘We’ve tried to plan for all eventualities, Georgie. No one can know exactly what’s going to happen.’

  ‘You’re a clever man.’

  ‘Tell me I’m clever after we’ve arrived safely at your friend’s.’ He got out of the car and tried to crank up the engine, but all it did was cough a couple of times, then fall silent.

  His second attempt didn’t even make the motor cough.

  ‘Oh hell, that’s all we need. The carburettor’s probably blocked.’

  ‘Can you fix it? I’m afraid I know very little about repairing car engines. We volunteer drivers were told to send for help if our vehicle broke down. You could do that in London, but there isn’t even a house in sight here.’

  ‘I’ll be able to sort the carburettor out if it’s something straightforward. Let’s see what they’ve got in the tool kit to help me take it to pieces.’ He went round to the rear of the car and found only strapping where the tool kit had been attached, with two frayed pieces of woven canvas strap still attached to the metal grille.

  He thumped one fist against the other. ‘How did I miss seeing that the straps were worn? Those bumpy roads must have jerked the box around and given the straps the final death blow. I checked that there was a tool kit, but I didn’t think to inspect the straps that attached it to the luggage grille. Georgie, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault.’

  ‘Of course it isn’t. It’s simply bad luck. Could have happened to anyone. I daresay we can find someone to help.’

  ‘I’ll go and look for—no, I’m not leaving you on your own. Are your shoes all right to walk along rough country lanes?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She held out one neatly shod foot and there was enough daylight left for him to see what she was getting at.

  ‘Those look to be good, solid shoes.’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone, but they’re men’s Oxfords. They’re made of strong leather and far more comfortable to walk in than ladies’ lace-up shoes, which usually have narrow heels.’

  ‘I’ve never understood why women want to balance on those spindly little heels.’

  ‘I don’t do it very well, I must admit, and women’s shoes aren’t as good to wear when you’re working. I always wore these when I was driving people around London and I had to help some of the men into and out of buildings, especially when there were steps. I thought these shoes would be better for our journey.’

  ‘Good girl. Very sensible.’

  She flushed slightly as she added, ‘I’ve got rather large feet for a woman, anyway, I’m afraid.’

  ‘All the better to walk on.’

  ‘My father’s wife always mocked me whenever I needed new shoes.’

  ‘Even when you were a child?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Then she’s a cruel woman. You’re tall, so you’d look silly balancing on small feet. Why do women worry about such things, anyway? Men don’t stare at women’s feet, believe me.’

  She smiled. ‘I’m well aware of what they mainly stare at, thank you very much. Anyway, you can be sure I won’t slow us down and these shoes will keep the mud out better than most.’

  ‘Thank heavens for a sensible woman! I think we’d better take our bags with us so that we don’t leave a trace of who we are in the car. You never know who’ll happen by and poke around in it.’

  ‘We’ll need the bags, anyway, if we have to spend the night somewhere.’

  He didn’t stop walking but fell silent for a few moments, then said, ‘Georgie, it’ll look bad us turning up together at this hour, not married and so far from home. People won’t treat you with respect, and if they think the worst, they may even refuse to take us in.’

  After a few more yards, he put out one hand to stop her walking. ‘Look, if we have to seek shelter for the night, how about we pretend we’re married?’

  ‘They’d soon realise we’re not.’ She held out her left hand and waggled her fingers at him. ‘I haven’t got a wedding ring, or even a mark where one might have been.’

  ‘Actually, I have one.’ He fumbled at his neck and produced a cord with his ID tags on it, a hexagonal tag on the main cord, and a smaller red one attached to that cord by another shorter loop. ‘I suppose I should stop wearing these tags now, but they’ve been through a lot with me. And besides, I keep this gold ring on the cord as well. It was my grandmother’s wedding ring and my mother insisted it would be lucky for me to have it with me.’

  ‘She must have worried about you.’

  ‘Yes. I think it comforted her that I had the ring and it felt good to hold it in my hand sometimes. Comforting, part of home, you know?’

  ‘Yes. I can understand that. And I’d be honoured to wear your grandmother’s ring.’

  ‘Who’d have thought it would actually come in useful? Still, we’ll only do this if you truly believe it’s a good idea.’

  She didn’t hesitate. ‘I’ve just had a short, sharp lesson in what happens to young women who don’t obey society’s rules: their families ca
st them off like the Baxters did my real mother. Here, I’d better put the ring on now in case we meet someone.’ She held out her left hand.

  It took him a minute or two to get the ring off the cord, then he slid it on her finger and they both stayed close together looking down at it.

  ‘How lucky. It fits perfectly.’

  ‘So it does.’ She waved that hand about, but the ring stayed snugly in place.

  He was having trouble fastening the cord round his neck again, so she took the ends from him. ‘Let me do that.’

  He smiled at her as she finished knotting it. ‘Don’t forget to introduce yourself as Mrs Farrell. And, um, in case you’re worrying, I promise I won’t – well, try to take advantage of you.’

  ‘I’ve already told you that I trust you absolutely, Patrick. That hasn’t changed.’

  He stared at her, so touched by this he couldn’t think what to say.

  ‘And if I do forget to use my new name, I’ll look shy and confess that we’re newly-weds.’

  He took her left hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. ‘I’d be very proud to call you my wife. Any man would. I wish …’

  He didn’t finish what he’d been going to say. Things were happening too quickly between them. Until he met her, he hadn’t believed it was possible to feel that way about someone at first sight. ‘Here, give me your bag, Georgie.’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s not heavy. You carry yours and I’ll carry mine. We don’t want you stumbling under the extra weight.’

  That broke his bubble of happiness. ‘Damned leg!’ he muttered, feeling ashamed.

  As they walked along, she said suddenly, ‘Do you mind me asking: is your limp permanent?’

  ‘I don’t mind you asking anything. I think I’ll always have a limp, but one doctor said I might be able to walk more normally if I got a special shoe made for that foot. Only there was so much red tape to be got through for them to provide one, I couldn’t even get it started before they turfed me out of the hospital. There hasn’t been time to sort it out since. As I could manage to get around without help, I was sent into the hostel and given a month there to find a job and get on with my life. But there aren’t many jobs for men who can’t walk properly.’

  ‘Will it cost much for such a shoe?’

  ‘More than I want to spend at the moment, even if I can find a cobbler who knows what he’s doing. I daren’t spend my discharge money and savings on paying for a special shoe until I’ve got a job, you see.’

  ‘Your limp might give us away now if anyone asks after us. People remember details like that.’

  ‘Well, I don’t have any choice about whether I limp or not.’

  ‘A good cobbler might be able to make a temporary insole to help till you can get a special shoe made. That wouldn’t cost as much. I could lend you the money.’

  ‘No need for that.’ He realised his voice had been rather sharp. ‘I’m sorry to snap your head off. I’m still not used to it, you see, not really – limping, I mean. Sometimes I set off walking without thinking and nearly fall over when that leg doesn’t do as I expect.’

  ‘That’s all right. It’ll sound as if we really are married if we quarrel.’

  That surprised him and he couldn’t resist asking, ‘Is that what you think marriage is about, quarrelling?’

  ‘It’s what I saw in my father’s case. On the rare occasions they were together, he and his wife argued all the time, with her shouting like a fishwife and him turning icy cold and walking out of the room. She doted on our elder brother, but she hated me and Philip. We could never understand why. Luckily she mostly left us alone, so it wasn’t too bad. We always had each other, you see, and a very loving nanny.’

  ‘Well, just to set the record straight, Georgie, quarrelling isn’t the main thing I’ve experienced with the married people I’ve known. Our nearest neighbours were fond of one another, though they might have an occasional shout, and my mother and stepfather didn’t quarrel at all. He might not have been much good as a provider but he was a kind chap, and always treated her with respect, and me like his real son. I was truly sorry when he died.’

  ‘You were lucky, then.’

  Patrick fell silent and when Georgie looked at him, wondering why he wasn’t speaking, he put one finger to his lips to tell her to keep quiet. She looked round and saw they were approaching a junction where the lane met a slighter wider road. He always seemed to be more alert to their surroundings than she was.

  She was spending too much time watching him, not what was going on around them.

  They both looked up and down the road, which was clearly not a main one, because it was far too narrow. A signpost on the opposite side pointed to two places in opposite directions, each of them apparently two miles away.

  Patrick squinted across at it in the rapidly failing light. ‘I don’t recognise the place names. Do you?’

  Georgie shook her head. ‘No. They must be small villages, given how narrow this road is.’

  ‘Are you all right to continue walking for another couple of miles?’

  She was, but she was worried about him because his limp seemed to have got worse. But they didn’t have much choice. ‘Yes, of course. Which way do you think we should go?’

  ‘Who knows? Country roads can twist and turn as if people have all day to go somewhere, so it’s anyone’s guess which direction will get us to a village more quickly. Let’s turn left.’

  ‘Fine by me.’

  By the time they’d walked a couple of hundred yards, she could see he was in considerable pain, so put one hand on his arm to stop him. ‘Your leg’s hurting badly now, isn’t it, Patrick? Let’s have a rest.’

  ‘Just for a minute or two. It’s a while since I’ve walked so far, especially on rough roads, but we’ve no choice.’

  Suddenly they heard voices and footsteps coming towards them. ‘Be ready to run,’ he whispered. ‘Don’t wait for me.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you.’

  Before he could say anything else, the owners of the voices came into view, two women warmly wrapped against the cold evening and with arms linked. They stopped at the sight of Patrick and Georgie, looking at them suspiciously.

  Georgie took the initiative and moved forward. ‘Hello. Our car’s broken down along the lane back there.’ She pointed. ‘We’re trying to find help. My husband’s leg was injured in France and it’s not fully better, so he’s not able to walk far. Is there anyone who could help us find a mechanic? Perhaps drive us to see one? We’d pay them for their trouble.’

  The older woman answered in a soft voice burred with the local accent. ‘There ent no mechanics round here, dearie, and it’s going to rain soon, if my rheumatics are anything to go by. But your husband do look to be in pain, poor soul. I noticed when we first saw you how badly he was limping.’

  Patrick scowled so fiercely that Georgie dug her elbow in his side, before answering. ‘Oh, dear. Then perhaps there’s somewhere like a pub where we could stay for the night and look for help in the morning?’

  The older one said, ‘There ent anywhere near here as does rooms, but if you don’t mind sleepin’ on our hay bales, we could put you up for the night in our barn. There’s going to be a hard frost, but it’s snug and weatherproof, and I’ve got some old blankets I could spread over the hay. They’re clean enough. And my husband can go and fetch your car straight away, so that it’s safe and out of the weather too. Expensive things, cars. You don’t want someone to run off with it.’

  ‘Thank you. But how will he get the car there? The engine won’t start.’

  ‘We’ll get our horse to pull it. She’s a Shire and very strong, and she won’t break down on you. Good old worker, she is, long as you feed her reg’lar.’ She laughed heartily at her own humour.

  Georgie forced a smile. ‘That’s very kind of you. I’m Georgie Farrell and this is my husband, Patrick.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, ladies,’ he said. ‘May we know your names?’

  �
��I’m Mrs Needham and so is she.’ More laughter. ‘I’m her daughter-in-law. Our turn-off is just past the signpost, but we’ll have to walk a few hundred yards. Will you be all right to do that, Mr Farrell, and shall I take that bag for you?’

  Patrick stiffened visibly. ‘I can manage, thank you.’

  They walked back along the road together, their breath clouding the air and the first stars twinkling in the sky.

  ‘This way now.’ The women turned left onto a muddy farm track.

  There was nothing Georgie could do to get Patrick to accept anyone’s help, so she concentrated on avoiding muddy patches. She was relieved when they saw a cottage, which had been hidden from the road behind some trees. There were no lights showing there.

  ‘That’s my house,’ said the younger woman. ‘It belongs to our family farm, like we all do. I’ll come with you to find Pa and then he can take you to fetch the car, Mr Farrell, while I set things up for you and your wife to sleep in the barn. My Jim’s out visiting his cousin and he never comes home till late once the two of them get talking.’

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea and find you something to eat once we’ve sorted out your beds and got the car,’ the older Mrs Needham said. ‘There ent no one goes hungry under my roof.’

  Georgie didn’t dare offer to go with Mr Needham for the car, because it would have upset Patrick still further not to be considered capable. She watched him go across to the barn to help Mr Needham with the horse. His limp was definitely worse. When she turned round, the older woman was looking at her sympathetically.

  ‘Men don’t like to be helped, even when they’re not well, do they?’

  ‘No.’ She found herself confiding, ‘Patrick needs a special shoe on that foot to even up his walking, but he hasn’t had time to get that sorted out, because he’s only just been demobbed. He hasn’t even been able to get a temporary piece put into the shoe yet. They don’t waste time when they decide to dismiss you from the Army.’