Grace heard the farm before she saw it. The squawk of the hens mingled with the sound of the dog barking and the low moo of the cows in the byre. Then there were the shrieks of her younger brothers and sisters, and the clatter of metal on cobbles as they chased a hoop around the yard, and the sound of a baby crying.
And rising above it all was the high-pitched sound of her sisters-in-law arguing.
Grace smiled to herself. Anyone who thought the country was a peaceful place had never been to Ezekiel Duffield’s farm. But how she had missed it!
Grace’s father was proud that his family had lived and worked on the same land for more than two hundred years. But with Grace’s brothers away at war, and only her father and younger brothers to take care of the place, the old farm was starting to show its age. The muddy farmyard was edged by an untidy collection of ramshackle barns and outbuildings no one had ever quite got around to fixing. The yard was littered with rusty old bits of farm machinery.
Overlooking the yard was the old farmhouse where Grace had grown up. The whitewashed walls had faded to grey with age, and the thatched roof hung low over the small mullioned windows, thick and untidy.
Grace went to climb down from the cart but Noah was there before her, putting out a callused hand to help her.
The door to the cow barn flew open and her father appeared, tall and burly with a shock of grey hair and beard that seemed to encircle his whole face so only a stubby nose and a pair of bright hazel eyes peeped out.
He gave Grace a curt nod, then said to Noah, ‘You’ve found her, then?’
‘We met on the lane.’
The next moment the two dogs ran out to greet her, Patch bounding ahead, followed more sedately by his arthritic mother Jory. Then Grace’s brothers and sisters came running around the corner, clamouring to know what was in her bags.
‘Have you brought presents? Are they for us?’
‘Give your sister room to breathe, for pity’s sake!’ Ezekiel Duffield swiped left and right with his arm, scattering them. ‘Go and see your mother,’ he said to Grace. ‘I daresay she’ll have work for you to do.’
Then he and Noah went off together, shambling past the cow barn towards the fields beyond.
Inside the farmhouse it was bedlam, as usual, with pans bubbling on the stove, clothes horses draped with washing steaming gently in front of the fire, and several small children waddling around. There seemed to be several more than the last time Grace had visited, but she wasn’t surprised. If her mother wasn’t pregnant, then one or other of her sisters-in-law usually was.
Her mother swept a crawling baby off the stone-flagged floor and dumped him in Grace’s arms.
‘Here, make yourself useful and change him,’ she said. ‘He stinks to high heaven.’
Grace looked at her two sisters-in-law, Jessie and Beth. For the moment they seemed to be at peace, standing beside each other, peeling and chopping vegetables. They gave her a sly look over their shoulders, then Jessie whispered something to Beth and they both laughed.
As her mother handed the baby over, Grace noticed the tell-tale bulge under her loose dress.
‘You’re expecting again?’ she said. ‘You didn’t tell me.’
Her mother shrugged. ‘It hardly seemed worth mentioning after so many.’
Grace settled down to change the baby’s nappy beside the fire. It had barely been ten minutes since she had arrived, and she had fitted so seamlessly back into the chaos of Duffield family life, she felt as if she had never been away.
Or so she thought.
‘You talk funny now, Grace,’ Jessie threw over her shoulder accusingly. ‘Don’t you reckon, Beth? She sounds like a Londoner now.’
‘I don’t!’
‘I don’t!’ Jessie mimicked.
Grace glared at her. Growing up with nothing but older brothers, there was a time when she had longed for them to marry so she would have a friend. But Jessie and Beth were like a pair of angry cats.
‘What’s happened while I’ve been away?’ she asked her mother, ignoring Jessie as she mimicked the words to Beth.
‘Now, let’s see … Your father’s sold some of the cows at market. Got a good price for them, too. Ned Wibberley – you know, the one up at Tuppers Farm? He bought them.’
‘What about Matthew, and Mark and Luke? Any news of them?’
Her mother shook her head. ‘We get letters, but they don’t say much, really.’
‘John’s going to join up after Christmas,’ Beth said.
‘But he’s only sixteen!’
Beth shrugged. ‘He’ll lie about his age like the rest of ’em, I s’pose.’
Grace turned to her mother. ‘You can’t let him, Mother. He’s too young.’
‘He’ll do what he pleases, I daresay. Just like his brothers.’
Grace thought of John, out playing in the yard with his younger brothers and sisters. He was just a kid. She couldn’t bear the thought of him going off to fight, maybe ending up like the men she looked after at the Nightingale, hollow-eyed shadows, incapable of laughter.
‘You’ve pinned that nappy too tight.’ Jessie’s critical voice dragged her out of her reverie.
‘Sorry.’ Grace unfastened the pin and redid it.
‘Now it’s too loose.’ Jessie tutted. ‘Here, let me do it.’ She came over and nudged Grace out of the way. ‘I would have thought you’d know all about this sort of thing, being a nurse.’
‘Yes, but she’s not a mother, is she?’ Beth said smugly.
‘Enough of that, you two. I reckon Gracie’s changed more nappies than you two put together, what with all my lot. Take no notice of them,’ her mother said to Grace, ‘they might seem thick as thieves but the only time they’re not bickering is when they’ve got you to pick on.’
Grace went over to the window, cleared a patch in the grimy glass and peered out. Her father and Noah were trudging back down from the top field.
‘What business has Mr Wells got with Father?’ she asked.
‘Well might you ask!’ Beth muttered, and she and Jessie both laughed.
‘Noah’s buying some of our land,’ her mother explained.
Grace looked at her in surprise. ‘Father always said he’d never sell an acre of Duffield land!’
‘Times are hard,’ Beth said. Then she turned to Jessie. ‘The way things are going, there won’t be anything left of the farm for your Matthew to inherit.’
‘At least he’ll get something,’ Jessie shot back. ‘Your Mark will be a farmhand for the rest of his life, working other people’s land.’
‘Unless Matthew doesn’t come home from the war?’
Jessie turned on her, knife in her hand. ‘Beth Duffield! You take that back this minute, you witch!’
The next minute they were at each other, slapping and tugging handfuls of hair. Grace’s mother ignored them.
‘Your father has also invited Noah to stay for Christmas dinner,’ she said to Grace. ‘It seems the Christian thing to do, since he’ll be on his own otherwise.’
‘For now,’ Beth said. Jessie immediately stopped fighting her and the pair of them collapsed in a fit of giggles.
Grace stared at them. Sometimes it was as if Jessie and Beth had a secret code that only they understood.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It felt awkward, having a stranger at the Christmas dinner table. But at least Noah Wells helped to fill one of the empty spaces left by Grace’s three brothers.
All the same, she wished her mother hadn’t insisted on placing her next to him. For once, she was glad of her younger brothers and sisters making their usual din, as it saved her from having to make conversation.
His presence made her nervous, and several times she had managed to slip with the spoon and tip vegetables over the tablecloth. Once, when she was passing him the gravy boat, she had managed to tip its contents into his lap, much to Jessie and Beth’s amusement.
She could feel them now, watching her closely from across the table.
>
‘Thank you for inviting me to share your feast, Sarah.’ Noah’s voice was deep and gruff. He was a lay preacher at the Methodist chapel, and Grace could imagine his voice booming out from the pulpit on Sunday morning. He must strike fear into all the sinners, she thought. ‘It’s most charitable of you.’
‘It’s the least we can do, Noah, after your tragic loss.’ Grace’s mother said demurely. ‘She was a good woman, your Matilda.’
‘Indeed,’ Noah said gravely. ‘She is with God now.’ He raised his eyes to the ceiling. ‘But I must say, the farmhouse is very lonely without her.’
Beth gave a muffled snort, which sounded like a cough. Only Grace, looking across the table, could see she was laughing.
‘Farming is a lonely life, to be sure, unless you have a companion,’ her father agreed.
‘There’s no chance of being lonely in this house!’ Grace laughed. ‘Not with all these children.’
‘Alas, Miss Grace, Matilda and I would have loved children, but we were not blessed.’ Noah turned to her, his gaze solemn under his bushy brows. His eyes seemed to be as coal black as his hair. It was difficult to see where his pupils ended and his irises began.
‘There is still time, Noah, I’m sure.’
A long silence followed her words, and once again Grace felt as if all eyes were turned to her. She was so confused she dropped her fork with a clatter on the stone-flagged floor.
‘How are you enjoying your nursing in London, Miss Grace?’ Noah asked when she had retrieved it.
‘Very much, thank you, Mr Wells. I’m working on the ward with shell shock patients, which is very interesting and rewarding—’
‘But it’s only something to do until she gets married,’ her father put in.
Grace stared at her father, seated at the head of the table. She wondered why he would ever say such a thing, since it was widely acknowledged that she was the awkward spinster of the family. One of the reasons she had been sent off to London to train as a nurse was because he had been certain no one would ever want to marry her.
‘You won’t inherit the farm and I can’t afford to pay someone to take you, so you might as well learn how to earn your own living and make yourself useful,’ were his exact words.
‘I’m sure you’ll make someone a wonderful wife one day, Miss Grace,’ Noah said. His eyes met hers as he wiped his mouth with his napkin.
‘I doubt it, Mr Wells,’ Grace hooted with laughter.
‘You’re too modest,’ her mother said. ‘You have a lot to offer. Your cooking, for instance. She’s a wonder in the kitchen,’ she said to Noah.
‘Am I?’ Grace looked at her blankly. This was the first she’d heard of it. Her mother was forever scolding her for burning things.
Sarah Duffield stood up to clear the plates, then winced and put her hand to the small of her back.
‘Are you all right, Mother?’ Grace asked.
‘Stop fussing,’ her father dismissed. ‘It’s not as if she hasn’t had a baby before, is it?’
‘Eleven children,’ Sarah Duffield smiled. ‘It’s like shelling peas.’
‘It’s what women were made for,’ Grace’s father said, kicking out at Patch, who was scrounging under the table for the gravy Grace had spilled.
‘I think they were made for more than that, Father,’ Grace murmured, staring down at her plate.
‘Hark at her!’ Jessie mocked. ‘Did you hear that, Pa? Our Gracie has turned into a suffragette!’
‘Nonsense, Gracie is a good girl. She doesn’t hold with all that nonsense.’
‘Actually, we have a woman doctor at the hospital now,’ Grace started to say, but her mother drowned her out by clattering the plates as she collected them up.
Grace stood to help her, but her father said, ‘No, let Beth and Jessie help. You stay here, Gracie.’
She stared helplessly after her mother and sisters-in-law, wishing she could join them. But as it was, she had to sit and listen to Noah and her father discussing stock prices and the various yields of arable acres. Then, much to her horror, her father told her to fetch the tobacco and light Noah’s pipe for him, and her hands shook so much she nearly set fire to his shirt front. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind.
It wasn’t until Noah Wells had finally gone and her father had disappeared off to do the milking that Grace found out what was going on.
‘How do you like Noah Wells?’ her mother asked, as she washed up at the big stone sink.
‘He’s all right.’ Grace shrugged, reaching for a plate to dry.
‘Do you like him enough to marry him?’ Beth asked slyly.
Grace frowned at her. ‘What?’
Jessie sighed. ‘That’s what all this is about, you goose. Why else do you think Pa invited Noah Wells for Christmas dinner?’
Grace swung round to face her mother. But Sarah Duffield’s face was implacable as she rinsed off another plate and set it on the draining board.
‘Mother, is this true?’
‘Noah is keen, and your father thinks it would be a good idea,’ she said, her eyes fixed on the greasy water. ‘Noah’s a good man, and he needs a wife.’
‘And he owns a lot of land,’ Beth put in. ‘If you married him, one day your children might own the whole valley.’
‘Not the whole valley,’ Jessie muttered.
‘More than your Matthew will,’ Beth replied, pulling a face.
Grace could hardly take it in. ‘You want me to marry Mr Wells? But he’s as old as Father!’
‘He’s very rich,’ Beth said.
‘Even if he does put boot black on his hair,’ Jessie added.
‘Imagine trying to scrub that off the pillows!’ Beth said, and they both fell about laughing.
‘Shut up, you two!’ Sarah Duffield snapped. The other two fell into sulky silence.
She turned to Grace. ‘How old are you now? Twenty-five? I had six children by the time I was your age. You’re not getting any younger, Grace. You need to start thinking about your future.’
‘But I thought my future was to be nursing?’
Her mother sighed. ‘Surely you don’t want to empty bedpans for the rest of your life? Not when you could have a husband and a home of your own. And what about when you’re too old for nursing? What will you do then?’
‘I – I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.’
‘Well, you should. If you’re sensible, you’ll marry Noah and be well set up for the rest of your life.’
Grace’s fear must have shown on her face because her mother’s voice softened. ‘Look, he’s a good man, a kind man. He’d treat you well. Believe me, there are worse men you could marry.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and rested them on Grace’s shoulders. ‘It would be a weight off my mind, and your father’s. To tell you the truth, he’s been struggling to make ends meet with the boys gone. That’s why he’s had to sell off some of the herd, and that field to Noah. But if you married into the Wells family … well, think of it as a way to repay your father after everything he’s done for you, putting a roof over your head all these years.’
She sent Grace a considering look. ‘Promise me you’ll think about it, at least?’
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Dulcie never minded working on Christmas Day. The ward was always a very festive place, with a huge, glittering tree beside Sister’s desk, and paper chains festooned from the light fittings. Sister was usually in a better mood, too, buoyed up on a tot of medicinal brandy. If she was in a really good mood, the nurses would be offered a nip too, or at least some morning coffee. If they were really lucky, Sister would buy them a box of chocolates to share between them.
After breakfast, the chaplain would come to lead prayers, followed by a choir of nurses singing Christmas carols. Then the men’s families would arrive for a visit, which was always a very happy time. Later there would be a roast goose served at the long ward table, the bird carved by one of the surgeons while the men jeered and joked grimly about his skills
.
And then it would be time for the Christmas show. Any patient who was fit enough would be moved down to the staff dining room, where the nurses and doctors would entertain them with songs and skits and monologues.
This was the part of the day Dulcie was most excited about. Because there she would be able to see Dr Logan again.
Since he had moved full-time to Wilson, Dulcie had only had the briefest of tantalising glimpses of him, not nearly enough for her to work her magic. She had had to rely on Grace Duffield for all the news, and she was utterly hopeless.
‘I’m truly sorry, Moore, but I don’t know anything,’ she had said last time Dulcie pestered her for information. ‘Can’t you ask someone else? Finnegan or Saunders? I’m sure they’re friendlier with him than I am.’
The idea of asking Sylvia Saunders for help made Dulcie shudder.
‘But you work with Dr Logan every day. Surely you must speak to him?’ she had insisted.
‘Not if I can help it,’ Grace replied firmly.
Dulcie couldn’t understand it. If she was working alongside Dr Logan, they would be practically engaged by now. It had all made her even more determined to get herself moved to Wilson ward.
In the meantime, she was pinning all her hopes on the Christmas show. Dr Logan was bound to be there and Dulcie had made sure she was looking her best. She was going to be singing “The Boy I Love Is Up in the Gallery”, dressed as Marie Lloyd, complete with an extravagant feathered hat and a parasol.
And she was going to make sure Robert Logan knew she was singing it to him.
Dulcie could hardly wait. But before then, she had to put up with Sylvia Saunders trilling on about the duet she was planning to perform with Roger.
‘I’m so nervous about it,’ she had confessed with a fluttery little laugh at breakfast that morning. ‘I’ve never performed in public before.’
Then, as all the other nurses fussed around her, reassuring her that her voice was angelic and she would do very well, Dulcie couldn’t resist putting in, ‘Oh, if you’re half as good as Roger and I were last year, you’ll be fine. I seem to remember we brought the house down with our duet last Christmas. Not that anyone will be comparing, I’m sure,’ she had added with an arch look.
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