by Lesley Eames
Mikey and Molly pouted but didn’t argue, and Lizzie was struck again by the love and respect that existed in this small farmhouse. It gave her a warm feeling all over.
Edith laid the table for the morning’s breakfast while Joe polished shoes and Matt went out for a final circuit of the farm. They were all early to bed and Lizzie was glad, because tiredness was overwhelming her.
Molly was asleep when Lizzie and Edith entered the girls’ bedroom. It felt strange to share a room but Molly’s snuffles were comforting and it was good to have Edith close by. Not that Lizzie had long to reflect on this stage in her fortunes, as exhaustion soon swept her into sleep.
6
Lizzie was the last to wake in the morning but was determined that none of the Warrens should have to take time out of their busy lives to wait on her like a princess. Alone in the room, she noticed that her bag had been placed on the chair with her clothes – now laundered – folded neatly on top.
Hot water, soap and a towel had been left out for her, so Lizzie washed and dressed. She paused for a moment to look out of the window, seeing that the bedroom overlooked the front of the farmhouse with a lane beyond the pretty garden and gently-rolling fields stretching into the distance. Idyllic.
Downstairs, Edith was cooking breakfast. Only Matt was absent. Doubtless he’d been hard at work for hours. The other Warrens all smiled and Edith invited Lizzie to sit. ‘You’ve more colour in your cheeks today, but you needn’t have come down. I was planning to bring you a tray.’
‘I’m well enough to help out now.’
Edith looked sceptical. ‘We’ll see about that.’
Joe went to the kitchen door to call Matt in. He arrived a moment later, washing at the sink then sitting at the table. There were scrambled eggs and bacon but once again Lizzie took only modest portions.
It was Saturday so there was no school for Molly and Mikey but all of the Warrens still helped out, whether sweeping floors, collecting eggs, feeding livestock or ploughing a field. Edith planned on baking.
‘I’ve never baked before, but I’ll gladly help,’ Lizzie offered.
‘You still need to rest.’
‘Edith’s right,’ Matt agreed. ‘If you push yourself too quickly, you’ll be ill again. Rest this morning and I’ll take you for a look around the farm this afternoon.’
It would give her the chance to talk about money and what needed to happen next. No one seemed to think that Lizzie should leave today and for that she was grateful. Much as she disliked being a burden, she was by no means fully recovered.
In fact she dozed off in one of the armchairs by the fire as she stroked Sally the tortoiseshell cat and watched Edith go about her business, waking only when the others came in for lunch. They brought wafts of coldness with them but the kitchen soon warmed up again, the air fragrant with Edith’s bread, pastry and cake.
Edith made tea then cut slices of still-warm bread, spreading them with butter. ‘This is the nicest bread I’ve ever tasted,’ Lizzie said.
There was soup too – very tasty – followed by stewed pears and custard.
‘Are you ready for a tour of the farm?’ Matt asked, after they’d eaten.
‘I am,’ Lizzie said, though the thought of talking about her situation made her nervous.
Running away had been the only option in Lizzie’s eyes, but Matt might feel differently. He valued his own family highly and perhaps that would blind him to the fact that her family was different, her father being cold while Miss Monk was cruel.
Lizzie put on her coat and scarf – sponged clean by Edith – then followed Matt outside. The kitchen door opened onto a yard and Lizzie was pleasantly surprised to see that, not only was it clean despite the muds of winter, it was also made charming by tubs of greenery. Edith’s work, Lizzie guessed, imagining that the tubs would be filled with flowers in spring and summer.
‘This place is small as farms go,’ Matt told her, ‘but we consider ourselves lucky to own it. We’re not yet lucky enough to afford a tractor or other modern equipment, but we manage with a lot of hard work.’
There was a barn across the yard with what looked to be stables and outhouses to Lizzie’s left. To her right was a chicken coop. Matt led her in that direction and she saw that the hens were allowed to wander at will during the daytime. One of them stared at her before continuing its stilt-legged walk to who-knew-where. Behind the chicken coop the land opened into an orchard that Lizzie guessed must front onto the lane she’d seen from her window.
‘We grow apples, pears, cherries and plums,’ Matt told her. ‘We sell some and keep the rest. Edith is amazing at storing, bottling and jam making.’
Next to the orchard and behind the barn were two large growing beds. ‘This is where we grow delicate foods like lettuces and raspberries,’ Matt said. ‘Also beans and peas.’
Canes were already in place for the climbing plants to use.
‘These are the main fields.’ Matt’s arm swept round to take in the rest of the land. ‘We grow oats, barley and wheat, but we don’t have the acreage for a lot of them so we concentrate on root vegetables like potatoes, carrots and turnips.’
Joe and Mikey were mending a distant fence. ‘We do as much maintenance in winter as possible,’ Matt explained. ‘We’re still growing winter crops but even so there isn’t quite as much work as in the rest of the year, so we have to make the most of our time.’
‘It all looks very tidy,’ Lizzie observed.
‘We do our best.’
They walked along the back of the barn and Lizzie saw that, behind the stables and outbuildings she’d seen from the yard, there were two paddocks. One was occupied by a strong-looking horse and a small pony that she guessed was the children’s pet. ‘Hector and Prince,’ Matt told her.
The other held the cows. ‘Mabel and Matilda.’
It was cold and Lizzie could see that Matt was keeping a careful eye on her. He took her back to the yard and into the barn where he made two seats from bales of hay. ‘Warm enough?’
Lizzie nodded, but nerves were tight inside her. ‘I have money to pay you back for the doctor,’ she began.
‘We’ll see.’
Clearly, Matt wasn’t prepared to agree to anything until he’d heard more about the circumstances that had led her into Amos Bradley’s clutches.
‘My name isn’t Jane, as you’ve already guessed. It’s Lizzie M—’ A thought struck her and she changed direction. ‘Lizzie Kellaway,’ she said. ‘My father’s name is Maudsley, but I don’t want to bear his name anymore. I want to bear my mother’s maiden name.’
‘I’m sure you have your reasons.’
Lizzie told him everything that had happened.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, watching as she sat breathless and upset from the telling.
But would he help her?
‘This Miss Penrose,’ he said. ‘Your mother lost touch with her years ago?’
‘Just after I was christened.’
‘You’re not sure you have her current address, and you’ve no idea if she’ll welcome you?’
Lizzie winced. He made her idea of throwing herself on her godmother’s mercy sound ludicrous, and he was probably right. Even so… ‘She’s my only chance of escape,’ Lizzie pleaded.
‘What if you can’t find her? Or she refuses to help?’
Lizzie had no answer.
‘I can’t let you go to London on that basis,’ Matt said firmly.
‘But—’
‘Alone, I mean. I’m coming with you.’
‘What about the farm and your family?’
‘They’ll manage without me for one day.’
There was the train fare to think about too, though. ‘I only have fourteen shillings and a few coppers. I have to pay the doctor’s fee out of it so—’
‘We have money put by for emergencies,’ Matt said. ‘I think this qualifies as one.’
‘You can’t spend your family’s money on me!’
‘Either I take y
ou to London or I return you to your father and that awful woman he plans to marry.’
Lizzie was silenced. ‘Perhaps my godmother will repay the expenses,’ she suggested then.
‘Let’s wait and see. When would you like to set off? Certainly not before you’re well again. You won’t make a good impression if you arrive weak and emotional. Would Friday suit?’
Every day that passed gave her father another chance to reach Miss Penrose first, but what Matt said made sense. Lizzie needed to be strong in order to make her plea for help as persuasive as possible. ‘Friday will be perfect, as long as I’m not in the way here?’
‘We’re glad to have you.’
Lizzie could only hope that was true. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You’re all so kind.’ And it was such a relief to know that Matt would accompany her to London.
Despite her uncertain future, Lizzie enjoyed the days that followed. Recovering quickly, she was able to help a little, learning to collect warm eggs, wash laundry, feed the animals and especially, to cook.
Bread, pies, cakes and stews… Edith showed Lizzie how to make all of them, and took her into the front garden to see the herbs she used to add flavour to her stews and roasts. It was a pretty garden, though the only flowers in bloom at this time of year were snowdrops and primroses. ‘It’s full of colour in the summer,’ Edith told her.
‘Full of bees too?’ Lizzie guessed, pointing to a sign that peeped out from between the lavender bushes near the front door. It was a wooden sign with Bee Corner carved into it. A lovely name for a farm.
‘The bees and butterflies love this garden.’
Lizzie liked all of the Warrens. Admired them too. They pulled together as a family, but each of them valued the personalities and talents of the others – Edith’s cooking, Matt’s music, Joe’s farming skills and Mikey’s love of books. They were all proud of how well Mikey was doing at school and keen for him to stay on until he reached fourteen, though Edith, Matt and Joe had worked since the age of twelve. It was too soon to know where Molly’s talents lay, but she was loved by all of them.
Two particular times of day became Lizzie’s favourites. The first was her daily walk with Matt. Lizzie had always admired nature but Matt taught her to see beauty in everything – the patterns of frost on windows, the delicate veins of leaves left skeletal by winter, a kestrel hovering above fields…
Sometimes he probed her with questions. At other times he teased her. Often he was content to let quietness settle between them. A comfortable quietness.
Lizzie knew what it was to be loved. Mama had adored her and Polly loved her too. But Lizzie had never met anyone who made her feel quite so safe and quite as understood as Matt. Was this what it was like to have a brother who cared for you despite your flaws? Who’d always look out for you? Lucky, lucky Warrens! Matt’s kindness warmed her inside even when her body shivered from the January chill.
Her second favourite time was evening when they gathered around the piano to play and sing. Lizzie played sometimes but mostly Matt did, never ceasing to amaze her with his natural feel for the music.
In turn, he encouraged her to sing. ‘You have the perfect voice for my ballads,’ he told her.
Probably, he was just being kind, but the praise gladdened her anyway.
‘Are you happy to be a farmer?’ Lizzie asked him on one of their walks. ‘It’s just that you obviously love music.’
‘Farming puts food on the table for all the family.’
He was sacrificing his dreams for the sake of his brothers and sisters. Doing it uncomplainingly, too. Matt’s selflessness made Lizzie question her own behaviour in seeking to impose herself on her godmother – a virtual stranger – but the thought of returning to Witherton filled her with dread.
‘What do you know about your godmother?’ he asked one day.
‘She didn’t like my father.’
‘So far, she sounds like a sensible woman,’ Matt said, smiling. ‘What else?’
Lizzie fetched her mother’s diaries, explained how Mama’s shyness had made her nervous of going to a boarding school in London at the age of sixteen, then read out loud from some of the entries.
‘There are twenty girls in the Academy and I share a bedroom with three others. A girl called Margaret Penrose is our bedroom monitor. She’s an upright, efficient and rather brusque sort of person, and I’m a little in awe of her. That’s the first mention of my godmother.’
‘Go on.’
Lizzie found the next mention. ‘I’m still a little afraid of Margaret but I think it’s only her efficient manner that makes her intimidating.’
‘Encouraging,’ Matt said.
Lizzie turned the page and read more. ‘Margaret invited me to learn a duet with her this evening. It was such an honour as she’s so proficient on the piano. My playing was nowhere near as good as hers but she told me I’d done well and I couldn’t stop smiling. Most of the other entries are about the music they played together. My godmother took a lot of trouble with my mother and cared enough about her to travel to Witherton for my christening.’
‘So she’s crusty on the outside but soft on the inside, like one of Edith’s loaves,’ Matt suggested.
Lizzie could only hope so, but much might have changed over the last thirteen years.
It gave Lizzie pain to part from the Warrens when Friday came. Hugging Edith, Joe and the children, she was touched by how generously they hugged her back and told her they’d miss her. ‘You must come and stay again,’ Edith said. ‘We can meet you off the train.’
The others nodded enthusiastically.
‘I’d love to come back and the sooner the better,’ Lizzie said. ‘In the meantime, I’ll write to let you know how I’m getting on.’
She patted the pocket of her dress. It was here that she’d tucked the envelope Matt had given her with the address of the farm inside. Lizzie hoped to be able to send money for the doctor’s fee and Matt’s train fare, as well as a report on her progress.
Joe drove them to the station in the cart. It was a long journey of an hour or so but Matt kept her entertained with funny stories, probably because he knew she was feeling sick with nerves over what might await her in London, particularly if her father had reached Miss Penrose before her.
Matt refused to let her pay when he bought their train tickets though she hated draining the family of money they needed for tools or seeds or boots. Settling on the train, they ate some of the hard-boiled eggs, pork pie, apples and cake Edith had packed for them, though Lizzie made sure she left plenty for Matt’s journey home.
He kept her entertained again as the train chugged southwards but eventually said, ‘This is it, I think. The outskirts of London.’
7
Lizzie had expected the capital city to be bigger and busier than Witherton, but she was still taken aback by just how bustling a place it was. The station was loud with shouts, whistles and hisses of steam. Outside, the street was packed with vehicles of every description – omnibuses, vans, carts, motor cars and bicycles – while people rushed here, there and everywhere.
‘Rather different from home,’ Matt commented, but he didn’t look intimidated.
Calmly, he enquired of a newspaper seller about the best way to get to Highbury where Margaret Penrose lived – or had lived, all those years ago. Then he guided Lizzie onto an omnibus. She would have liked to climb the spiral staircase to the top deck but it had begun to rain so they sat inside with Lizzie peering out of the window in the hope of seeing some of London’s landmarks. Buckingham Palace, Hyde Park, the Houses of Parliament, St Paul’s cathedral…
Unfortunately, their route took in none of them, but she’d have plenty of time to get to see London properly, if she settled here. If. Lizzie’s stomach cramped with tension.
To take her mind off it, she looked out at the advertisements on billboards and on the sides of buses. Anderson’s Waterproofs, Fry’s Cocoa, Borwick’s Baking Powder, Paton’s Knitting Wool, Rexine Leather Cloths
, Poulton & Noel’s Potted Meats, Valet Auto-strop Safety Razors…
In time they left the bus to walk the rest of the way. Nothing could distract Lizzie from her anxiety now they were so close to their destination. She touched a hand to her middle, wondering if she might disgrace herself by being sick.
‘Take courage,’ Matt said, but at that moment a passing van drove into a large puddle and threw up a tidal wave of water that drenched them both from head to toe.
They stared at each other in shock, then Matt laughed. ‘That was unlucky, but it means you’re due some good luck now.’
Lizzie wished she could believe that luck took turns like that. It dismayed her to know she was going to arrive at her godmother’s house looking like a sodden urchin from the slums.
Matt finally paused outside a narrow, terraced house that was four storeys high and made from red bricks that appeared to be crumbling with age. An iron gate led into a tiny front garden with two stone steps at the end rising to a green-painted front door. Panels of stained glass were set into its upper half. In between them were a brass door knocker and numbers announcing that this was indeed 11 Marchmont Row.
Matt used the knocker to rap loudly on the door then turned to Lizzie. ‘Do you want me to do the talking or would you prefer to plead your own case?’
‘I think I should plead my case,’ Lizzie said, though her heart beat rat-a-tat-tat as she looked through the glass panels and saw someone approaching.
The door was opened by a woman who was tall and thin like the house, but much more severe. She had greying hair swept back off her face and pinned to her head with no apparent thought for softening the effect of a hawk-like nose, downturned mouth and sharp grey eyes. Her blouse and cardigan were no-nonsense grey. So was the skirt that reached to the floor.
If this was Miss Penrose, she was only a year or two older than Mama, so had to be less than forty, but she looked much older. And distinctly unwelcoming. ‘Yes?’ she demanded.
