by Pamela Bell
Rose sighed. ‘I’ll take them to the nurses, shall I? They never get any treats.’ she said, which wasn’t what Levi wanted at all. He didn’t want faceless nurses at the hospital to have a treat. He wanted Rose to look at him properly and smile with gratitude. One of these days he was going to earn enough to buy her some jewellery. A necklace, perhaps, or a ring.
‘If you want,’ he said, sulkily rubbing at the ache in his leg.
Rose was digging into the bag she carried. ‘I’ve got three letters for Mick here,’ she said. ‘Have you got any from him?’
‘A couple,’ he admitted grudgingly.
‘Could I give you these then?’ She handed him her letters. ‘I must go.’
His face fell. ‘Already? But I’ve only just got here!’
‘I promised to read another chapter of Jane Eyre to Stanley Owen. He doesn’t know the story at all,’ she said as if it was surprising.
Levi didn’t know the story either, but she wasn’t reading to him.
‘And I’d like to spend some time with Wilfred Brown, too,’ Rose said. Her face was sad. ‘He is so badly injured, poor boy, that I don’t think he can live long. Yesterday I just sat and held his hand. It is terrible to think that there is nothing else I can do for him.’
‘I’m sure it helps, Rose,’ he said. ‘It would help me if you held my hand.’ Too late he saw that his attempt at joviality had missed the mark again.
Rose’s expression changed and she gave him a cool smile that effectively set him at a distance. ‘I really do need to go, Levi. Could I have Mick’s letters?’
Levi pretended to pat his jacket. ‘Now where did I put them?’ he said, trying to lighten the atmosphere with a joke as Mick would have done, but Rose was unamused.
‘Please, Levi,’ she said tight-lipped.
Burningly conscious of having got it wrong again, Levi dug in his pocket. Mick always sealed his letters to Rose in a separate envelope and included it in the package he sent to Levi at the smithy, scrawling her name on the front of the envelope so that Levi had no excuse to open it. Levi got a scribbled note with Mick’s news too, but it was a poor thing compared to the letters he had to hand over to Rose.
‘Here,’ he said, pulling them from his pocket and handing them to Rose.
‘Thank you.’ She turned the envelopes over. ‘You said there were two letters.’
‘There were.’
‘There’s only one here.’ She showed him.
Levi frowned and felt around in his pockets for real. ‘There was another one …’ Rose looked so downcast that he cursed himself for disappointing her. ‘There were definitely two letters. I must have dropped it in the smithy. I’ll find it and get it to you as soon as possible.’
‘I hope nobody else finds it first,’ she said, biting her lip. She looked down at the envelope with Rose written on it in Mick’s untidy handwriting and grimaced. ‘If Papa hears of a letter with my name on it floating around the village, he’ll be so angry!’
‘I’ll find it,’ he promised.
Rose sighed and looked up as the mist thickened to a drizzle. ‘I really must go, Levi,’ she said. ‘Let me know if you find the missing letter.’
Levi scowled as he watched her leave. After everything he did for Rose, she could never wait to get away! She only cared about Mick, only wanted to talk about Mick. Mick, Mick, Mick: Levi was sick of hearing how much she loved his brother. He had hoped that once Mick was in France she would learn to like him for himself. Look at how well he treated her! He was always giving her presents and looking out for her. Rose barely had to step outside the vicarage and he was there to escort her and protect her, but did she appreciate it? No!
Hunching his shoulders against the chill, Levi scuffed his feet in the grass and sifted through her letters, all to Mick, of course. His brother had always been one for the ladies, but Levi hadn’t expected Mick’s interest in Rose to last this long. It was usually a case of out of sight, out of mind with Mick. The trouble was that Rose never gave him a chance to forget her: she was always writing him letters.
But what if those letters started going astray? The idea dropped into Levi’s mind and lodged there. Mick would start to lose interest, his letters would get less frequent and then tail off altogether. Rose would be upset at first, but then surely she would turn to him, Levi reasoned. He would need to be careful, though. If the letters stopped too suddenly, they would both suspect something and besides, if Rose decided there was no point in writing to Mick, Levi would have no excuse to meet her so often.
But one or two letters could go missing. These things happened in wartime, didn’t they?
On an impulse, Levi ripped open one of the letters. My own dear darling Corporal Dingle, Rose had begun and his face twisted as he read how much she missed Mick, how much she thought of him, how much she loved him. She had finished: Your ever-loving Miss Haywood.
Levi didn’t understand why they addressed each other so formally but there was no mistaking the ‘dear darling’ and the ‘ever-loving’.
With an exclamation of frustration, he tore the letter into little pieces and dropped them into the beck. It was starting to grow dark, but he stood there as the fog closed in and watched the swirling brown water carry Rose’s letter away.
‘Miss Haywood, yoo-hoo!’
Rose waited reluctantly as Ava Bainbridge dodged between a cartload of straw and a gaggle of geese that Janet Airey’s youngest was driving down to the beck.
‘What can I do for you, Mrs Bainbridge?’
‘It’s what I can do for you, Miss Haywood.’ Ava drew a letter from her basket and Rose sucked in a breath as she recognised Mick’s writing. ‘I think this might be for you.’
‘Where did you find it?’ she demanded without thinking.
‘In the street. Someone must have dropped it. Betty Porter found it and I said I’d pass it on. It is for you, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, it is. Thank you.’ Rose reached for the envelope but Ava smiled archly and held it teasingly out of reach.
‘Have I stumbled on a little romance?’
‘No, it’s from my brother,’ Rose lied without thinking.
‘Really? Why wouldn’t your brother write to you at the vicarage?’
Rose hated the way she blushed when she was caught out in a lie. Her face always gave her away.
‘It doesn’t look like very educated writing either,’ Ava went on. ‘I’m sure your brother writes better than this.’
Why hadn’t she said she didn’t know who the letter was from? Rose cursed herself. ‘Very well,’ she said through her teeth. ‘It’s not from my brother. It’s a private letter and I’d be obliged if you would let me have it.’
Rose’s attempt to sound quelling didn’t seem to have much effect on Ava. ‘Well now,’ she said, ‘I’m very fond of the vicar, as you know. I don’t like to think of aiding and abetting you in something your dear papa wouldn’t approve of. I think it’s probably my duty to bring this letter to his attention.’
‘Please don’t!’ Rose said involuntarily. ‘I mean, it’s really nothing, but I don’t want my father upset or worried.’ She forced a smile. She wouldn’t put it past Ava Bainbridge to have steamed open the envelope and if Papa saw how Mick was writing to her … it didn’t bear thinking about! ‘I would be so grateful if you would just keep this to yourself, Mrs Bainbridge.’
‘Well, I don’t know …’
‘How can I persuade you?’
‘Oh, it’s not a matter of persuasion, but I have often wondered what it would be like to take tea at the vicarage.’
Rose blinked. She had expected Ava to ask for money, not tea! ‘You want to come to tea?’ she asked to check that she hadn’t misunderstood.
‘I think I’m good enough to be invited to tea, don’t you?’
‘Oh, of course,’ said Rose hastily, while wondering what on earth her mother would say. But how could she refuse? ‘I’ll speak to my mother and perhaps we can arrange a visit soon.’
/> ‘That would be very nice, Miss Haywood. I’ll bring the letter with me when I come, shall I?’
‘I’ll look forward to it,’ said Rose with an insincere smile.
She marched straight to the smithy, hardly caring who saw her. This was all Levi’s fault. He hurried her round to the paddock at the back where they could talk undisturbed.
‘What is it, Rose?’
‘That letter from Mick that you lost,’ she said, clenching and unclenching her hands.
‘I couldn’t find it anywhere—’ he began but she interrupted him.
‘I know you couldn’t, because that cat Ava Bainbridge has it!’
‘What?’
‘And I’m sure she’s read it! I could tell by the way she was looking at me. All sweet smiles but underneath she was rubbing her hands!’ Rose was practically in tears. She paced around the paddock, careless of the long grass soaking the hem of her skirt, and told Levi what Ava had said.
‘She’s a horrible woman! She doesn’t want money, she just wants to know that she can make me do whatever she wants. First it’ll be tea, and then she’ll want to come to dinner, or … or I don’t know what, but it’ll be something. I’ll never be rid of her!’
‘She’s a bitch all right, that woman,’ said Levi. ‘She was the one who gave me the white feather and made sure no one in the village would talk to me. But what can she do?’
‘All she has to do is show that letter to Papa and he’ll find a way to separate me from Mick, I know he will.’ Rose’s voice trembled on the edge of hysteria. ‘You don’t know what my father’s like, Levi. I love him dearly, and I know he loves me, but he’s so set in his views. He would never accept my friendship with Mick, let alone anything more, I know he wouldn’t. And I’m only eighteen. It’ll be years before I can make my own decisions. It’s been hard enough getting him to accept that I go to the hospital. Imagine what he’d say if I wanted to marry an Irishman who wasn’t even an officer!’
‘You’re going to marry Mick?’ Levi looked stunned and Rose covered her face.
‘I don’t know. We haven’t talked about it. I didn’t even know how much I loved him until he left,’ she said, lowering her hands. ‘All I know is that I couldn’t bear not to have Mick in my life.’
‘Then I’ll just have to get the letter back from her,’ said Levi.
‘How will you do that?’ she asked doubtfully as he puffed out his chest.
‘Just leave that to me, Rose,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure that cow Ava Bainbridge never bothers you again.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was nearly three months before Maggie had a reply to her letter from Joe in Egypt. He was delighted, it seemed, at the idea of a son, and said that he would ask for leave as soon as possible after the baby was born. But what had she been thinking to employ a conchie? She was to send him away immediately or Joe would want to know why as soon as he came home.
Grim-faced, Maggie tore up the letter. If Joe wanted his child to have a farm to inherit, he would have to let her make the decisions and there was no way they would survive at the moment without Hugo.
‘Bad news?’ asked Hugo, seeing her rip the letter into little pieces. He had spent the morning dipping sheep and his shirt was still damp.
‘No,’ said Maggie. ‘Nothing that matters.’
She set the stew on the table with a dish of potatoes and turnips. Hugo would need something hot after a morning outside in a raw wind.
Her attitude to Hugo was still guarded. It was hard to get over what she couldn’t see as anything but cowardice in his refusal to fight, but she had to admit that he was a good worker. He didn’t have Frank’s instinctive way with the animals, but nor did she have to explain anything more than once. If Hugo didn’t know how to do something, he would work it out. He pestered her with questions, though: why did oats have to be turned a certain way? When had she planted them? Had she ever grown wheat or barley? How many fields were given over to hay? Would she leave the sheep up on the moor all winter or bring them indoors? How long would the cows give milk before they had to have a calf?
‘Ask Elijah,’ Maggie said, exasperated, in the end. ‘I don’t know.’
She might not like Hugo’s refusal to join up like other men, but she knew that she would not have been able to manage without him. He had taken over all the heavy work, although Maggie still liked to check on her flock. In spite of her increasing bulk, she insisted on walking up to the moor with Fly every day.
Hugo had guessed about her pregnancy early on. ‘Sit down,’ he had said after dinner one day when Maggie made to push back her chair. ‘You need to rest.’
‘I haven’t time to rest,’ she said.
‘You must. It won’t do the baby any good if you wear yourself out.’
Maggie had started to rise but at that she dropped back into her chair. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s something about the way you stand,’ said Hugo, briskly gathering up dishes. ‘I noticed it today. My wife used to stand exactly the same way when she was expecting our child.’
Maggie was taken aback. ‘I didn’t realise you were married.’
‘She died two years ago.’
‘And the baby?’
‘He died too. His name was Joshua.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Maggie awkwardly.
‘So am I.’
She wanted to ask what had happened to his wife and son, but Hugo said nothing more. He checked there was enough water in the kettle and put it on the range to boil. Maggie watched in astonishment. ‘Don’t tell me you’re going to wash up too!’
‘It’s not hard,’ he pointed out.
‘No, but …’
Never once had Joe offered to so much as carry his plate over to the sink. George and Frank had followed his lead and accepted without question that the women would put the food on the table and take it away. In fact, Maggie couldn’t remember her father or brother ever clearing away either, or even registering that it was a job that needed to be done.
Hugo seemed amused by her astonishment. ‘Anne was a passionate suffragette,’ he explained. ‘She believed true equality meant men doing women’s jobs just as much as women being able to do men’s.’
Maggie thought about that for a long time afterwards. Hugo was unlike any man she had ever met before. He looked so ordinary but he seemed to accept the most extraordinary ideas as natural. She wanted to think of him as weak and cowardly, a man who refused to fight and who took on women’s work because his wife said so, but there was a solidity and a steadiness and yes, a strength to him that she found reassuring in spite of herself.
She was determined to keep him at a distance all the same.
To her relief, he made no attempt to convince her of his objections to fighting, and if he wondered why her husband had left her alone when he had no need to, Hugo said nothing. He was an intelligent and thoughtful man who liked to read in the evenings. As the weather grew colder, Maggie suggested that he might like to sit by the fire with a book while she sewed. She wasn’t being friendly, she justified the invitation to herself. She just didn’t want him reading by candlelight in the stable. The fire risk was too great.
So Hugo had been there when the baby moved for the first time. Maggie was letting out her trousers one night when the strangest and most miraculous of feelings made her suck in her breath and put a hand instinctively on her belly.
Hugo must have seen the look of wonder in her face. ‘The baby?’
‘Yes,’ she said with a shaky laugh. ‘Yes, it moved.’
He smiled. ‘It is a pity your husband isn’t here to share the moment with you. I remember when …’ He stopped, and a look of such intense sadness swept his face that Maggie knew he must be thinking of his dead wife and child.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It must bring back sad memories for you.’ She paused. She had made a point of not asking him personal questions, but why not admit that she was curious?
‘How did she die?’
She thought at first that Hugo wasn’t going to answer. ‘There was a fire,’ he said at last. ‘Anne and Joshua were alone in the house. I don’t know how it started – a candle perhaps? They came to get me at the school but I was too late.’ He fell silent, staring down at the book in his hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Maggie again. ‘What a tragedy.’
Hugo nodded heavily.
‘Is that why you wanted to leave York?’
‘One of the reasons, yes.’ Hugo leant forward onto his knees, the book still clasped loosely in his hands, and gazed into the fire. ‘I missed her,’ he said in a low voice. ‘Anne was so … I don’t have the words to describe her,’ he said with a sigh. ‘She was everywhere in York, and I missed her with every breath. I thought perhaps if I was somewhere else it would help.’ He glanced up at Maggie and mustered a smile. ‘Your husband is away at war. You must miss him too.’
Maggie concentrated on rethreading her needle. ‘I know what it is like to miss someone, yes,’ she said. She lifted her eyes to look directly at Hugo. ‘But it’s not my husband.’
With Hugo taking on the burden of work, Maggie had more time to spend in the dairy again, and she built up a good stock of butter and cheese. ‘It’s market day tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I’ll take in some of the cheeses to sell. I’ve got some shopping to do anyway. We need flour and treacle – oh, and more matches – and I’ll see if I can find some different vegetables. I’m sick of turnips.’
Hugo fretted that the cheeses would be too heavy for her to carry but Maggie told him not to fuss. ‘I’ll take trap. You get on with harvesting those potatoes.’
Blossom’s hooves rang out on the cobbles as Maggie led her out to the gate early the next morning, but when she went to untie the complicated twist of twine that had held the gate upright for as long as she’d been at Emmerdale Farm, she stilled in amazement. The twine had gone and in its place was a proper loop thrown over the post. All she had to do was lift it and she could push the gate open. The broken wooden spar had been fixed and the hinges secured firmly.
