by Pamela Bell
She hadn’t told her parents about Mick. She knew they would be horrified. Her father especially seemed determined to keep her away from what he called ‘undesirable elements’ from the camp roaming the village. Rose had no doubt that he would think Mick undesirable. He would not admire Mick’s resourcefulness or his lovely lilting voice. He would be unamused by the humour glinting in the navy-blue eyes, unimpressed by Mick’s frankness in describing himself as ‘fresh from the bog’.
Rose herself was clear-eyed about him. Mick was no knight on a white charger, no Ralph, and she had been careful to keep their friendship light. She could hardly imagine anyone her parents would consider less suitable as a friend for her. She guessed stealing apples was the least of Mick’s dubious activities, but he made her laugh and he made her feel alive. When she was with him, her senses sharpened, and the most familiar of sensations felt new and fresh: the smell of woodsmoke on the air, the rush and bubble of the beck, the swing of her skirts as she walked.
Mick gave her a glimpse into the world beyond the vicarage, a new and exciting world of music halls and moving pictures and motor cars. Rose liked the way he told stories against himself. She liked the reckless glint in his eyes, the way he seemed to live every day as if it might be his last.
As it soon might be. Tomorrow his company would be on parade in Beckindale. He would be marching off to war, to France, where he would fight and where he might die as Ralph had died.
She wasn’t in love with him, Rose insisted to herself. She was too sensible for that. When Mick flirted with her, she always fixed him with a stern eye.
‘Are you trying to make me fall in love with you by any chance, Corporal Dingle?’
And Mick would always grin. ‘Is it working, Miss Haywood?’ he would reply hopefully.
‘Certainly not,’ Rose always said.
But she would miss him.
Now she buttoned up her coat and fastened the belt. ‘I will be perfectly safe, Papa.’
‘Let me go with you—’
‘No,’ she interrupted him. ‘I … I need to be on my own.’
Rose felt guilty when his face changed. She knew that he thought that she was still mourning Ralph, and she did miss him – oh, she did – but she had to say goodbye to Mick and there was no way her father would let her go if he knew who she was meeting.
The rain drummed on her umbrella as she walked briskly down to the bridge and across to slip into the grounds of Miffield Hall. She and Mick had fallen into the way of meeting in the woods at an old summer house built by Ralph’s grandfather, but long abandoned and now forgotten. A few mildewed wicker chairs rotted slowly in the summer house but there was a wooden bench under the windows where she and Mick could shelter from the weather if necessary while they talked.
In spite of Mick’s flirtation, talking was all they had ever done. Lately, though, Rose had found herself looking at Mick’s mouth sometimes and feeling an unsettling warmth uncoil in the pit of her stomach as she wondered what doing more than talking would feel like.
Mick was waiting for her, tossing his cap restlessly in the air. He threw it aside as Rose hurried up the steps. ‘Good afternoon to you, acushla.’
‘Acushla? That’s a new one.’ Rose shook the rain from her umbrella and propped it by the door. Mick was always teasing her with Irish endearments. He called her his treasure, his heart, his sweetheart, although Rose had no way of knowing whether he was translating accurately for her or not. She didn’t take them seriously, anyway.
‘Ah, acushla is special. It’s a word we use for the one who makes our heart beat faster,’ Mick told her. ‘My darling, you might say.’
‘I wouldn’t say anything of the kind,’ said Rose primly.
‘Not even now that we’re saying goodbye?’
Her face changed. ‘I hate this war,’ she said as she sat on the wooden bench. Mick had tried to sit on one of the wicker chairs once and it had promptly collapsed. ‘I can’t believe that tomorrow you will be going off to fight. There are so many terrible things happening, not just at the front, but here too. I have to lie to my parents. You had to shoot your brother.’
Mick sat down next to her and stretched out long legs in front of him. ‘How’s Levi doing?’
‘I feel sorry for him.’ Mick had told her what he and his brother had done and had asked her to look out for Levi. ‘He’s lonely,’ she said, thinking of the time she had gone to see Levi at the smithy. ‘No one will believe that he didn’t shoot himself deliberately so he’s having a hard time.’
‘Not as hard a time as he would have at the front,’ said Mick. ‘He’s a dreamer, is Levi, but he’s a good boy at heart. He’s not for forgiving us yet, but he didn’t snitch on Nat, and I’m proud of him for that.’
‘I’ll do my best to be a friend to him while you’re away,’ she promised.
‘Thank you, Rose,’ he said seriously, and to lighten the atmosphere, she corrected him as she had done the first time they met. It had become a private joke.
‘Miss Haywood, please,’ she said crisply and was glad to see Mick grin.
‘I’m going to miss you, acushla.’
‘I’ll miss you, too,’ Rose admitted. She tipped her head back against the window. ‘It’s strange. I do hate the war, but part of me is glad about it too. I would never have met you otherwise.’
‘And that would have been a tragedy.’ Mick reached out and took her hand. ‘The war’s mixed everyone up. Everything we took for granted before, now we’re not so sure about. That’s not a bad thing.’
Rose looked down at their entwined fingers, and the feel of her palm pressed against his set her heart slamming against her ribs. ‘Are you frightened, Mick?’
‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘I will be when we get to the front, I’m sure of that, but I’m not going to think about that yet. I’m going to think about how nice it is to sit here with you, to hold your hand, and to enjoy the fact that it’s stopped raining.’
‘I am,’ Rose confessed abruptly. ‘I’m frightened, not just for you and John and everyone else who’s fighting. I’m frightened that I’ll never go anywhere, do anything. I’ll just stay in Beckindale and life will pass me by while my father stops me doing anything he thinks is unsuitable.’
‘You’ve been meeting me,’ Mick pointed out. ‘I’m sure he’d think that was unsuitable, wouldn’t he?’
‘Oh, yes,’ she said on a half laugh.
‘Well then, I don’t think you need to worry,’ he told her. ‘I think you’re more of a rebel than you think you are.’
Rose liked that idea.
‘Are you rebel enough to write to me?’ Mick asked. ‘I wasn’t going to ask,’ he said when she looked at him in surprise, and his fingers tightened around hers. ‘I know your family would never approve of me, acushla. I know we don’t have a future together. I told myself this would be goodbye for ever, but now that you’re here, I don’t want to do that. I’m not much for writing, I have to admit, Rose. I don’t have much schooling, but it would mean a lot to get a letter from you every now and then.’
‘Of course I’ll write,’ she said.
Mick brightened. ‘How will we manage it? I won’t be able to write to you at the vicarage.’
‘No, Papa would have a fit!’ Rose thought about the way she had forwarded letters for Ralph and Maggie. ‘Do you think Levi would help us? If I go to the post office to send a letter to you, the whole of Beckindale will know I’m writing to you. Hannah Rigg is nearly as bad a busybody as Ava Bainbridge. She knows everybody’s business, and word would get back to my father straight away.’
Rose couldn’t bear the thought of her father finding out. He would be bitterly disappointed in her and worse, he would be angry. He was an indulgent father, and she loved him dearly, but he wouldn’t rest until he had put a stop to her relationship with Mick, of that she was sure.
Mick was pleased with the idea. ‘I’ll ask Levi. He’ll do it for me,’ he said confidently.
Disentangling her
hand from his, Rose got up. ‘If I write to you, would you do something for me in return?’ she said nervously.
‘Anything,’ said Mick without hesitation.
‘Would you kiss me?’ she heard herself say. Unable to look at him, her eyes skittered around the summer house but she could feel his astonished shock. ‘I know it’s very forward of me,’ she hurried on before she could change her mind, ‘but I’ve never been kissed, and the way the war is going, I never will be. I’d just like to know what it feels like.’
‘That doesn’t seem to be asking too much,’ said Mick slowly.
She turned to face him. ‘So will you?’
‘It would be my pleasure, Miss Haywood.’ Smiling, Mick got to his feet and Rose suddenly felt foolish.
‘I don’t know what to do.’
‘Well, first we’ll take off your hat,’ said Mick, expertly removing the pins and laying the hat on the bench. ‘That’s better.’
Rose was having trouble with her breathing. ‘Now what, Corporal Dingle?’
‘Why don’t you put your arms around me, Miss Haywood?’
Hesitantly, she slid her arms around his waist, thrilling at the hard, solid feel of his body. ‘Like this?’
‘Exactly like that.’ There was a hoarse edge to Mick’s voice as he took her face between his hands and gently traced his thumb over the curve of her mouth.
‘And now?’ she whispered, tangled up in longing and a deep thrum of anticipation.
‘Now we wonder just how good this is going to feel,’ he said, his voice reverberating through her hands. ‘Now we admit to ourselves that have we’ve wanted to do this for months, since the day we met in that orchard. Now, I kiss you.’
With dreamlike slowness, he lowered his head, angling it to touch his mouth to hers, gently at first but then more insistently, his lips warm and persuasive. The floor of the summerhouse seemed to drop away beneath Rose’s feet and she clung to him with a hum of pleasure, her bones melting in a giddy rush of delight. She hadn’t dreamt it would feel like this, that it would make her blood surge with hunger, that it would feel so right.
Mick’s lips trailed from her mouth to her ear. ‘I think you’re getting the idea, Miss Haywood,’ he murmured and Rose laughed shakily.
‘I don’t know about that, Corporal Dingle,’ she said. ‘I might need to try again, just to make sure I’ve got the hang of it.’
Mick smiled and dropped his hands from her face to pull her closer. ‘I’d be happy to oblige, Miss Haywood,’ he said.
Chapter Twenty
Sick with shock, Levi stared at the summerhouse. He had followed Rose on an impulse, after seeing her walking so purposefully away from the village. He’d been curious about where she was going, especially when she turned off the lane and into a little used path through the grounds of Miffield Hall.
The thought that she was on her way to meet a man had wormed its way into his head and wouldn’t be shaken. Levi was used to thinking of Rose as perfect, shining out of reach of mere mortals. The idea that she would stoop to secret meetings was unsettling. He nearly turned back but forced himself to limp on and see for himself.
He had watched her go into the summerhouse. He’d seen her shake out her umbrella and say something to someone inside. She was definitely meeting someone there, he thought, disappointed in her. Someone not welcome at the vicarage.
From his position half hidden in the bushes, Levi couldn’t see clearly through the mildewed windows. It wasn’t until Rose moved before the open door that he could see her clearly and for a nasty moment he was afraid that she was looking straight at him, but the next moment she had turned and a man stepped into view beside her.
Mick.
Mick.
Churning with bitterness and envy, Levi watched as Rose put arms around his brother, watched as Mick bent his head to kiss her before turning to slam his hand into a tree in disgust.
Rose … and Mick!
It wasn’t fair! Levi’s eyes filled with tears. Mick, Mick, Mick!
Mick had ruined his life, he realised, always interfering, always treating Levi like a child, always one step ahead so that it was impossible for Levi ever to catch up. Mick was older, Mick was braver, Mick was funnier, Mick was more charming. Always more, more, more than Levi.
And now, when he had finally fallen in love, Mick had the woman he adored too.
Levi’s palm stung where he had hit the tree. Resting his forehead against the rough bark, he made himself take deep breaths. It wasn’t Rose’s fault. Anyone could see that she was sweet and pure. Mick had taken advantage of her innocence, just as he had always taken advantage of Levi’s youth and inexperience to force Levi to do whatever Mick thought best.
Well, that was going to change, Levi vowed. He had been drifting and dreaming for too long. From now on he would be selfish and tough like Mick. He would make his own way and damn the consequences.
As for Rose, she might have toppled from the pedestal on which he had placed her, but that was a good thing, wasn’t it? It meant he could try his damnedest to win her from Mick.
For the first time, Levi was glad that his brothers had disabled him. Perhaps he was a cripple, but at least he wouldn’t be at the front. Anything might happen to Mick there, while Levi would be safely in Beckindale with Rose. He would make himself indispensable to her, Levi decided. It was Levi she would turn to when she was worried or sad, Levi who would comfort and console her, who would win her round with his undemanding friendship.
Resolved, he straightened from the tree. All was not lost. He cast one last look over his shoulder at Mick and Rose, still entwined in the summerhouse, and turned away with a bitter smile. He would leave them for now, but his time would come.
Feeling conspicuous in his civilian clothes, Levi skirted the crowd lining the main street for the parade to bid farewell to the troops from the training camp. He had considered staying at the smithy, but Will Hutton had told him that he should go. ‘Your brothers are going to war,’ he’d said brusquely. ‘Go and say goodbye in case you never see them again. You don’t want them busybodies saying you’re not as patriotic as you should be, neither,’ he’d added.
So Levi had come. He could manage without his crutch now which made it easier to make his way through the press of soldiers and villagers. He found Nat and Mick, and Nat’s eyes had filled with tears when he saw Levi. ‘Forgive me, Levi?’ he’d said, clasping him in his arms.
Levi thought of all the times his eldest brother had looked out for him and he closed his eyes and hugged Nat back. ‘Of course I do. You be safe now, Nat. Molly will be wanting you home unharmed.’
When it was Mick’s turn to say goodbye, he gave Levi a brotherly buffet on the shoulder. ‘You make us proud now, Levi.’
Strange how you could love someone and hate them at same time, Levi mused. All he had ever wanted was to be like Mick, but since seeing him with Rose, everything had twisted up inside him. At one level he knew that Mick had no idea of how he felt about Rose and that he hadn’t taken her from Levi deliberately, but that wasn’t how it felt. Loving Rose was the only thing Levi had ever had for himself, and now Mick had spoilt that too.
And then Mick had the nerve to ask Levi to act as a go-between. He was to post on Rose’s letters to Mick, and pass Mick’s to her, as if all he was good for was a postman. It was on the tip of Levi’s tongue to refuse before he remembered that it would be the perfect excuse to see Rose regularly. It wasn’t as if Mick could write properly anyway. Rose would soon get tired of his illiterate scrawls and he, Levi, would be here to take Mick’s place.
‘Sure,’ he had said. ‘I’ll do that for you, Mick.’
Now the troops were starting to line up outside the Woolpack. Mick was clearly not the only soldier who had found a sweetheart in Beckindale during training. There were some tearful farewells taking place, not without some disapproving looks. Levi overheard a cluster of villagers discussing the news that someone called Doreen Bates had got herself into trouble and
there hadn’t been time to arrange a wedding. A dour-looking Yorkshireman was prowling among the troops with a ferocious scowl, clearly looking for someone. Mr Bates? Levi could see one of the Bradford men who had been in the same hut as the Dingle brothers skulking behind his fellows and wondered if he was avoiding Doreen’s enraged father.
In spite of the tensions that had existed, Beckindale had turned out in force to show its support. Bunting fluttered in the stiff breeze and a brass band was playing.
Not everyone was impressed. ‘I won’t be sorry to see the back of them,’ grunted a youngish man in farmer’s cap. Levi had seen him at the smithy. His name was Robert Warcup and he managed the home farm at Miffield Hall. Farming was a reserved occupation so Robert hadn’t enlisted. Did Ava Bainbridge hand him white feathers, Levi wondered.
‘I dunno why we have to come and wave them off. Them lads have been nowt but trouble,’ Robert was grumbling.
‘Oh, Robert, they’re going to fight the Germans,’ his pretty wife said. ‘We have to support them. When I heard what the Germans did to those poor babies in Belgium …’ Her voice broke and Robert put his arm round her shoulders.
‘Now, Polly, don’t take on so,’ he said uncomfortably. ‘Remember what the doctor said? There’s no reason we shouldn’t try again for a baby.’
Levi moved on when he spotted Rose standing with the vicar and his wife further down the street. He made his way as close as he dared without the vicar seeing him. Rose was looking pretty in a dusty pink dress and a becoming hat. She kept standing on tiptoe to scan the crowd. Looking for Mick, Levi was bitterly sure.
Mrs Haywood moved away from her husband to talk to a striking young woman standing next to Levi.
‘Have you had anything from Joe?’ Rose’s mother asked.
‘Not recently.’ The younger woman sounded reserved. She carried herself very erect and Levi thought she looked very proud in spite of her dowdy hat and the coat worn thin in patches.
