Книга - Kitty’s War

Kitty’s War
Terri Nixon


1917. Kitty Maitland has found a safe and welcoming home at Dark River Farm, Devon, and is finally beginning on a path to recovery after her terrible ordeal in Flanders … until the arrival of two very different visitors threatens to rip her new little family apart.One, a charming rogue, proves both a temptation and a mystery – Kitty is still trying to push her hopeless love for Scottish army captain Archie Buchanan out of her mind, and this stranger might be just what she needs. But she soon discovers he’s not a stranger to everyone.The other newcomer, a young woman with a past linked to the farm, sows seeds of discontent and mistrust. Between the two of them, and the choices Kitty herself has to make, Dark River becomes a place of fear, suspicion and danger. Can it ever return to the haven it once was?Don't miss this sequel to Evie’s ChoicePerfect for fans of Nadine Dorries, Dilly Court and Annie Murray.Previously published as Daughter of Dark River Farm.










1917. Kitty Maitland has found a safe and welcoming home at Dark River Farm, Devon, and is finally beginning on a path to recovery after her terrible ordeal in Flanders ... until the arrival of two very different visitors threatens to rip her new little family apart.

One, a charming rogue, proves both a temptation and a mystery – Kitty is still trying to push her hopeless love for Scottish army captain Archie Buchanan out of her mind, and this stranger might be just what she needs. But she soon discovers he’s not a stranger to everyone.

The other newcomer, a young woman with a past linked to the farm, sows seeds of discontent and mistrust. Between the two of them, and the choices Kitty herself has to make, Dark River becomes a place of fear, suspicion and danger. Can it ever return to the haven it once was?


Also by Terri Nixon (#ulink_35360e88-d8d8-512e-afe1-6044bb797d8e)

Evie’s Choice


Kitty’s War

Terri Nixon







CARINA™

ISBN 9781474029322

Kitty's War

Copyright © 2015 Terri Nixon

Published in Great Britain (2015)

Previously published as Daughter of Dark River Farm

by Carina, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited, Eton House, 18–24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2018-06-12


TERRI NIXON was born in Plymouth, England, in 1965. At the age of 9 she moved with her family to Cornwall, to a small village on the edge of Bodmin Moor, where she discovered a love of writing that has stayed with her ever since. She also discovered apple-scrumping, and how to jump out of a hayloft without breaking any bones, but no-one’s ever offered to pay her for doing those.

Since her first short stories appeared in small-press paperback in 2002, Terri has appeared in both print and online fiction collections, and is proud to have contributed to the Shirley Jackson award-nominated hardback collection: Bound for Evil, by Dead Letter Press. Her first novel was Maid of Oaklands Manor, published by Piatkus Entice, and shortlisted in the ‘Best Historical Read’ category at the Festival of Romance 2013.

Terri now lives in Plymouth with her youngest son, and works in the Faculty of Arts and Humanities at Plymouth University, where she is constantly baffled by the number of students who don’t possess pens.


This book is dedicated to my family with love, and in deep gratitude for your support as always.


Contents

Cover (#u153863f5-4edb-5742-bff3-aaba5536ac1e)

Blurb (#u297d56d0-e77d-5def-9b2e-cb926c19b1b9)

Booklist (#uccadfd79-d1d7-5a9e-9848-a7d50cead3bc)

Title Page (#u69faa60d-67aa-572c-bda2-1e2d97f62978)

Copyright (#u85006014-952b-58d5-ad80-8053ab16d68c)

Author Bio (#u9f850d3c-4217-5909-88d7-f4e181e0ff8f)

Dedication (#u8977f77b-34a3-5f24-acf6-e1516ac355af)

Chapter One (#ud6e8c35e-e77e-53ca-8f9f-bb0ceeb6582b)

Chapter Two (#uc89a2cf2-9aad-5699-9cd6-8c6796083350)

Chapter Three (#u9b026b3a-9214-5dc5-bd50-9d67adc260d9)

Chapter Four (#ua41bf24d-9339-55e0-8357-9530c54f601c)

Chapter Five (#uc1b12d96-8cf4-5035-aaa4-9b0418922b48)

Chapter Six (#u80c7b47b-4d1a-52cd-b855-922d81e5cabb)

Chapter Seven (#ufdbd9768-9ea4-5bf3-80ab-e47b6d6439f5)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgments (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publishers (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#ulink_895e817d-b052-5ec8-b856-573c8b168a2d)

When the stranger came to Dark River Farm he was empty-handed, yet he brought with him something different for each of us. For me it was a chance to rediscover my lost childhood, the days when all had seemed possible and I had not yet felt the savage bite of pain and loss. For those I loved, perhaps his gifts were darker… Only time would tell.



Dark River Farm, Dartmoor, June 1917

‘Go on, Kitty, it won’t kill you.’

I squinted through the gathering dark at the glowing orange tip of the cigarette. The barn door was open and I looked nervously out at the encroaching night, and then at the door to the farmhouse across the yard. It remained closed, and I didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved. Belinda drew my attention back by tapping the ash from the end of the cigarette with one grubby fingernail, and her eyebrows went up in mute encouragement. She held the cigarette closer, and I reached out and took it, and raised it to my lips.

Bel nodded. ‘That’s the way. Nice big pull, and hold it in. Try not to cough.’

Of course, as soon as she said that I felt the tickle in my chest, even before I’d properly breathed in, but I concentrated on mimicking Belinda’s effortlessly elegant method. How I wasn’t instantly sick, I shall never know. It tasted terrible, and I felt smoke curling in the back of my mouth, back up into my nose, and burning everything in its path. I opened my mouth in dismay, and the cough that erupted from my throat hurt enough to bring stinging tears to my eyes.

‘Don’t drop it!’ Belinda lunged forward to pluck the dangling cigarette out of my numbed fingers, while I coughed a bit more and blinked away the tears. I tried to speak, to tell her it was absolutely the most awful thing and I didn’t know how or why she did it, but could make no real sound beyond a hoarse whistling.

‘Here, have a drink,’ Belinda said, not without sympathy, and handed me the bottle.

I greedily sucked down a big mouthful of wine, and waited until I could trust myself to speak without rasping too much before I said, ‘Belinda Frier, you must have a throat made of stone.’

She chuckled, and drew on her cigarette again. ‘It’s just practice. You can try again in a minute.’

‘No fear.’

She shrugged. ‘Well, all the more for me then.’ She looked around the barn, blowing smoke rings and watching with lazy amusement as they vanished into the gloom. I contented myself with swilling wine around my mouth, and welcomed the gradual fading of that awful, dry, burnt taste. Before I’d gone to Belgium I’d seldom had wine. Mother thought I was too young, and Father only drank brandy, and although there had usually been wine in the cupboard at Number Twelve, our little ambulance post near Dixmude, it was very diluted to make it last. But I’d begun to enjoy it; it helped me sleep when all else had failed. I could taste the difference between this and the thin, watery wine I was used to though, and my head had already started to hum quite pleasantly.

‘Where did you get this?’

‘It was a present,’ Belinda said, and winked. I found myself smiling, although I wasn’t really sure why, except I liked spending time with her; she made things seem like fun, and it was about time I had some of that again. I began to hum a little tune: Billy Murray’s popular song from last year, ‘Pretty Baby’, and Bel picked up on it and joined in. Ordinarily I didn’t like the song, although it was constantly in my head, but Bel kept getting the words wrong which made me laugh, and then she started to change them deliberately, just to make me laugh again. Soon we were singing quite loudly: she pausing to inhale more of that revolting smoke, me to swallow more of the delicious wine, and then she stubbed out the last of her gasper on the bottom of her shoe, and stood up.

‘Let’s dance!’

So, as the sun faded, and while we were supposed to be clearing the barn of last year’s damp grain sacks, Bel and I held hands and danced; the wine was fizzing in my blood now, and I kept stumbling over my own feet, making Bel laugh harder.

‘You’d better sit down, Skittles,’ she said. The nickname cut through the pleasant haze, and I stopped dancing.

‘Why did you call me that?’

‘It’s what Evie and the others call you, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise it was reserved for your war chums,’ Bel said, a little tightly, and I felt silly for my reaction; it had been in another life that I had found that name, and that life was gone now.

‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘You can call me that too.’ As long as you don’t call me Kittlington…

The thought came out of nowhere, and was accompanied by a real pang. I heard the name spoken in Archie Buchanan’s soft, Scots-accented voice, and although I’d known that voice since I’d been a child, it had, for at least three years now, had the power to reach into my heart and warm me right through.

‘Come on,’ Bel said, her good humour returning as swiftly as ever. ‘I thought we were dancing!’

I hadn’t planned on opening up, to her of all people, but she saw my face, and led me back to the boxes where we’d been sitting before. The wood felt cold now, through the threadbare corduroy of my trousers, but it didn’t matter. I picked up the wine again and took a long gulp. Bel still held my other hand, and she gave it a squeeze.

‘I understand,’ she said. ‘Your handsome captain has gone.’

‘He’s not mine,’ I said, removing my hand from hers and wiping my mouth on my sleeve. This time last year I had prayed for Archie to see me as a woman, as if I could throw a switch in his head that would make him blink, look at me properly, and realise I was more than his friend’s little sister. That stupid Billy Murray song had mocked me at every turn. I spoke the words again now, with a bitter tinge to my voice:

‘You’re just a baby to me.

Your cunning little dimples and your baby stare,

Your baby talk and baby walk and curly hair—’

‘Well you do have curly hair,’ Bel pointed out. ‘Although you don’t really talk like a baby, and…anyway, babies can’t walk, can they?’

I raised the bottle in acknowledgement of her logic. ‘It’s no longer the issue in any case,’ I said, and took another drink. I would give anything now just to be ‘Oli’s little sister’. ‘It’s more than that now; you know that.’ My voice sounded as if it came from a long way away. Another time, even.

Bel nodded, her face solemn. ‘I know, darling, but—’

‘And I can’t change what happened, so what’s the use?’ I didn’t want to talk about Archie any more; it hurt too much. ‘Anyway, he’s gone.’

‘Back to the war, the big hero,’ Bel said, and lit another cigarette. We sat quietly for a little while, I don’t know what Belinda was thinking about, but my mind was, as usual, on Archie and his marriage proposal.

Archie had, on the last day of his last, too-short leave, taken me to one side and said what I had desperately longed, for three years, to hear him say. Feeling his big, warm hands grasp mine as his feelings tumbled into the empty air between us, I realised I had no idea how I was going to respond, and when I at last opened my mouth, it was with utter dismay that I heard my own words and knew them to be the truth.

‘I’m sorry, but no.’


Chapter Two (#ulink_039242c2-2d1d-525b-a26a-ecc80bb70fff)

West Derby, Merseyside, September 1914

Oliver was at the window again, impatience leaking from every pore. He was beginning to tug at my nerves and, older brother or not, I was just about to tell him to sit down, when he gave a pleased exclamation and left the room. I peered out of the window but our overnight guest had already mounted the steps, and all I could see was a dark-clad shoulder as he waited by the front door, and a suitcase sitting on the step just behind.

Not having seen Archie Buchanan for nearly four years, I tried to remember what he looked like but could only come up with ‘tall’. I had a clear memory of a Scottish accent though, warm and friendly, and that memory was attached to the vague outline of someone who had already reached adulthood and left me behind. I remembered he’d been very gentle, easy to talk to, and had always included me in conversations and day trips when he could, even though Oli had tried to persuade him I was too little to bother with. I’d crossly reminded Oli one day, that he himself was only two years older than me, and a good six years younger than Archie.

‘Ah, but when two chaps are on the rugger field together, they depend on each other. There’s a tight bond.’ He demonstrated by linking his two hands together. ‘Unbreakable.’

I’d rolled my eyes, as all good little sisters do, but enjoyed the fact of their unlikely friendship, as Archie began to spend more and more of his school holidays with us. We’d borrow ponies from friends of my father’s, but although Oli could ride, he had little interest and it would often end up as just Archie and me. He seemed to spend most of his home life outdoors, and it had been easy to see that was where he was most comfortable. We’d both missed him when he left school and returned to Scotland, but his image had faded quickly and all I could recall now was the enjoyment I’d found in his company.

I smoothed down my new dress and stepped back from the window, steeling myself to play the perfect hostess, and relieved my lessons were being put to the test before an old friend, who would be too preoccupied catching up with Oli to notice my shortcomings as a well-bred young lady. Knowing Archie, if he did notice them he would only wink and make some joke to put me at my ease.

As I was forcing my unwilling body into a posture of elegant welcome—Shoulders back, Katherine, chin up. Up!—Oli marched back in, beaming. Behind him came Archie Buchanan, and the ready, familiar smile I’d prepared suddenly felt as if it sat on someone else’s face. My expression must have looked frozen, but in truth I had no more control over it than I had over my suddenly hammering pulse. Had I forgotten, or was it just that I’d never noticed, the beauty of those bold, strong features? The eyes of multi-toned greys that swirled and shifted with the late afternoon light from the window? The breadth of shoulder that gave his considerable height the perfect balance?

I had been twelve, I reminded myself. A child. But I wasn’t twelve any longer, and the emerging woman in me felt a new, tingling sensation low in my stomach as Archie smiled at me and, ignoring my politely outstretched hand, took me into a hug instead. His suit was speckled with light drops of rain and I felt the little cold spots on my cheek, but more immediate was the press of his hands on my back, and the low murmur as he greeted me with the familiar words, ‘Well, well, if it isn’t young Kittlington.’

He drew back and held me at arm’s length, and studied me carefully. I tried not to gaze into those extraordinary eyes as I waited for him to smile appreciatively at the way I’d grown, to apologise for his forwardness in pulling me into such a brotherly hug, and to kiss my hand instead.

He smiled, at least. ‘You’ll be a lovely young lady one day, darling.’

One day? I was already sixteen! Archie squeezed my upper arms and patted them, then let me go and turned to Oli, thankfully not noticing the way I slumped as he broke contact.

‘Hard to believe I’m off out there tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I can’t wait to get stuck in.’

And then he and Oli were off, talking about the war, and what it meant for Europe, and whether or not Oli would follow him into active service. It was as if I didn’t exist. I retreated to the big chair by the window, finding my gaze drawn back time and time again to this confident, imposing-looking young man I’d known all these years and never really seen until now. He was quicker to laughter than I remembered. I think Oli brought that out in him, and I liked it; he had a low, rich laugh, showing white teeth that had a single crooked one at the side, and crinkling his eyes at the corners.

He looked uncomfortable in his suit though, being used to less restrictive clothes for his outdoor work on the grouse estate at home, but the jacket fit well across his shoulders, and his legs looked longer than ever in neatly pressed trousers. When he and Oli took the chairs opposite my position on the settee I found myself pulling in my stomach, and angling my legs where they crossed, so my ankles looked slimmer; I’d been eating far too well and not at all wisely lately. I made up my mind to eat only vegetables from now until he returned, but even as the thought crossed my mind I knew the resolution would last only until dinner. I was no gannet, but I did enjoy plenty of butter on my bread.

Archie was talking now, about where he was going. It all sounded so exciting, even Oli was beginning to wonder if he’d made the right choice. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to follow Father into the firm,’ he admitted, ‘but I’d much rather be off fighting for king and country.’

‘Then join up,’ Archie said. ‘Your studies will still be there when you get back.’

‘Father won’t hear of it. Sickening really.’

‘I assume his partner’s son is working at the company?’

‘Alistair, yes.’ Oliver glanced at me, not bothering to hide a little smirk, and I pulled a face.

Archie noticed, and grinned. ‘Ah, I’d forgotten. Julian Corwood still insisting you marry the wee oik, is he?’

‘Not if I have anything to say about it.’

‘It’s the only way to keep the business in both families,’ Oliver said mildly. ‘Even you can see the sense in it, surely?’

I stood up, all thoughts of vegetables and pudgy ankles vanishing. ‘Oh? And if Mr Corwood had a daughter he wanted married off instead, would you have seen the sense in it then?’

‘But he hasn’t,’ Oliver pointed out. ‘He only has Alistair, and once you two are married and present Father and Julian with a couple of grandsons to steer through law school, I’ll be off the hook and can do what I please.’

‘I’m not a brood mare!’

This argument was not new to either of us, and was clearly amusing Archie who relented, seeing my mutinous expression.

‘They can’t force you. Anyway, that’s a long way off.’

‘I’m sixteen,’ I told him, with some heat. ‘How far off do you suppose it is, actually?’

Archie looked at me, and I once more became aware of my short, rounded stature. I coloured and drew myself a little taller, but his smile had gentled and I realised it made no difference; I was still a child to him.

‘Don’t fret, young Kittlington. This isn’t the old days; no-one can make you marry against your will.’

‘I’ll run away,’ I said, before realising that these words only reinforced the immaturity I was trying so hard to deny. ‘I mean,’ I went on, ‘I’ll get a job somewhere else, away from Ecclesley. Maybe I’ll even join the Red Cross.’

Oli laughed. ‘Can you imagine what Mother and Father will say to that?’

‘I don’t care.’ I glared at him. ‘Anyway, it’s not as if the business needs a marriage to bind it. Father says it’s doing terribly well.’

‘And so it is, but only because the two families work so well together. Do you see now?’

‘Stop talking to me as if I were a child!’ I said it to Oli, but threw a glance at Archie, still hoping to see realisation cross his face, and some indication that our friendship had formed a solid basis for something deeper. There was nothing, just that infuriatingly gentle smile, and his low, soothing voice that just stopped short of patronising.

‘Don’t get yourself all het up, sweetheart. It’s not worth it and I’m going to be leaving tomorrow so let’s not spoil things.’ He rose and straightened his jacket. ‘I’m going to wash and change, if that’s all right, Oli?’

‘Of course, old chap. Dinner’s at eight.’

Archie nodded to him, smiled at me, and left the room. His stride was long and easy, and so familiar, yet elicited different feelings now—watching him turn out of sight into the hallway left me oddly empty-feeling, and it wasn’t simply because his dismissive, parting words had stung.

I dressed for dinner with more care than usual, choosing a dress that draped rather than clung, and smoothing my gloves neatly over my arms, glad to have at least lost the dimples in my elbows and to have gained a more shapely outline. Archie wasn’t what I’d heard described as a ‘man of the world’, but I had no doubt that, at twenty-four, and as handsome as I now realised he was, he would have been on the receiving end of a good deal of female attention.

I turned away and slipped into my shoes, wishing I were one of those people who could wear a kitten heel without feeling ridiculously overdressed, and went to the door. As I turned to pull it closed behind me I took another look around, suddenly hating all the frills and flounces I’d loved so much before. This was a child’s room. Tomorrow I would speak to Mother about getting new bed coverings, and a real dressing table. It was time to grow up.



As a family, we were decently off and locally respected, but, much to my father’s endless regret, not aristocracy, and our Ecclesley house, although large and well appointed, was not simply somewhere we stayed when we were in town, it was our home. We retained only a modest staff too, but they were always delighted when we welcomed guests, so even Archie, who they’d known from boyhood, was shown to the table as if he were visiting royalty.

‘Ah, Buchanan,’ Father said with approval. ‘Good to see you again, lad.’

‘And you, sir.’

‘Or should I call you Captain Buchanan?’

Archie smiled. ‘I’d like that very much; however, I’m commissioned only as a second lieutenant.’

‘Only a matter of time, old chum,’ Oli said, grinning. I couldn’t help agreeing with him, but kept silent and enjoyed the faintly embarrassed look on Archie’s face; it made him look a lot younger again.

‘And how’s your mother?’ my own mother wanted to know. ‘It must be terribly difficult all alone up there in the middle of nowhere.’

‘She’s well, thank you,’ Archie said. ‘She asks after your family all the time.’

I let the banalities wash over me as I ate. How’s this person, and that person? Are you busy at work? Who’ll be drafted in as beaters now most of the young estate workers had signed up? And: of course young Oliver is too keen on law and the family business to consider going off to war. That last one caused Archie and I to stop chewing, and to look from Father to Oli and back again.

Oli shrugged. ‘Well, I’d be happy to go over to help out if they needed me.’

Father waved his hand. ‘Storm in a teacup—be over before we know it. Not like Africa at all.’ He pointed his knife at Archie. ‘Now that was a campaign and a half. Your uncle could tell you all about that, young man.’

I saw a glint in Archie’s eyes, and realised he was hiding a flash of anger at the easy dismissal of the very real danger into which he was going, although his voice did not betray it. ‘Aye, so I understand. Uncle Jack doesn’t talk about it much though. He was at Rooiwal near the end. Was that anywhere near you?’

Father coloured, but to do him credit, he didn’t attempt to lie. ‘Well, of course I’d have liked to have joined the party,’ he said, ‘but the business was just taking off. Couldn’t go off and leave it. Too many people depending on it for a living. Do have some more wine, lad.’

Archie’s mouth twitched as he held out his glass, and I was relieved to see his anger disappear in a barely suppressed grin at Father’s discomfiture. ‘Thank you, sir.’

Conversation moved on, and since no-one was the slightest bit interested in anything I might have to say, I used the time to study Archie more closely, to examine the response to him that had taken me so completely by surprise. The familiarity was still there. It wasn’t as if he was someone else, but that I was, and along with our easy friendship I recognised the need to experience the warmth of a closer contact… Talking to him wasn’t enough any more. I wanted to know how he felt about everything, and I wanted him to care how I felt too. I realised I had stopped eating now and was staring at him, and I looked quickly at Mother, but she was busy admonishing Oli for drinking his wine too quickly. If he had this effect on my appetite I needn’t worry about fat ankles for much longer, anyway.

After dinner I sat with the others while they talked of times past and times to come, and looking at Oli’s eager expression I knew he’d meant it when he’d told Archie he’d have preferred to sign up than go to law school. Archie loosened his tie as they all began to relax, and settled back into his chair with a glass of Father’s best brandy, while I pretended to read but found my attention wandering from the page constantly, whether he was speaking or not.

He was starting to look tired; the journey from Scotland had been a long one, and he had to be up early to get the train from Liverpool to London. Yet despite his slightly edgy weariness, he had a compelling magnetism to him that drew my eyes again and again. The strong, clean features and ready smile were only part of it; his voice wrapped me in its soft-spoken tones. His hands, holding the brandy glass up to the light to peer through the amber depths, were steady and graceful, and I closed my eyes as I remembered the warmth of them pressing me to him in that brotherly hug.

Abruptly I tore my gaze away, and set my book aside. ‘I’m going out for a walk.’

‘But it’s dark,’ Mother protested.

‘There are lights, and I need some fresh air.’

‘You can’t go out alone!’

‘I’ll only be a few minutes. No need to disturb anyone to come with me.’

Without waiting for a reply, I went out into the hall and plucked my coat from the hook, and once outside I half expected to hear the light raindrops sizzle as they landed on my face. I was more tangled, in thought and emotion, than I’d ever been before, and the culprit was sitting back there in our drawing room. Not a thought cast my way, not a care in his head except what he was going into tomorrow. And who could blame him for that?

I closed my eyes again and pictured those beautiful, strong hands holding, not a brandy glass, but a gun. Then I pictured his face, contorted in fear, pain, or both, and the abrupt reality of where he was going squeezed my heart until I thought it would collapse. France, or Belgium, or farther afield; wherever he ended up might not be so far in miles, but it was another world, and it might be a world from which he never returned.

I took a few steps down the deserted street, and realised I didn’t have the strength to walk after all. Instead I found a bench and sat down, not caring about the puddles of rainwater that seeped through my coat and dress, and tried to give myself a good talking-to. It was silly to feel such panic and sorrow; Archie was volunteering for this and was proud to be doing so; he had made his own choice. But I desperately wished he would change his mind.

I remembered how my friends and I had gathered to watch some of the local lads as they marched off, and we’d cheered and thrown flowers, and thought how happy they all looked, how determined to get over there and sort things out where the governments had failed. We’d kissed as many boys as we could, telling them all how splendid they were, and waved them out of sight with a feeling of deep patriotism and satisfaction that all was happening just as it should.

But Archie… He might be well over six feet tall, he might be square of shoulder and strong in limb, but he was the calmest, most gentle man I’d ever known—the least likely to be goaded into real anger, the quickest to forgive. He shouldn’t be going out there, no matter how proud it made him. I compared him to Alistair Corwood and almost laughed aloud, but it was no laughing matter.

It occurred to me that I was missing the last hour or so I would spend in his company, and, surprised at how much that thought hurt, I stood up to go back inside, and stopped; the silhouette coming towards me, with the easy, graceful walk I still recognised after four years, moved into a pool of light and my heart tripped over itself.

‘Kitty!’ He raised a hand and came closer, his smile lit by the overhead light and shining straight at me.

I smiled back. ‘What are you doing out here? I thought you were talking to Oli and Father.’

‘I needed to get away. The two of them have managed to get into a discussion about work. Deadly boring. Shall we walk?’

‘That would be…nice.’ I was having trouble forming my words, and when Archie offered me his arm I took it, hoping he couldn’t feel the wild trembling of my hand in the crook of his elbow. He was treating me like an adult at last, and I tried to behave like one, asking polite questions he had already answered during dinner, and keeping my pace slow and measured instead of running up and down the road, yelling with delight.

‘Well, I’ve got an early start,’ he said at last, and turned homewards once more. ‘And you shouldn’t be out here alone with a man, even if it’s only me.’

Only him? But I wasn’t ready to go back.

‘Tell me a bit more about your uncle,’ I said quickly. ‘Jack, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, Jack Carlisle. Well, he’s my mother’s younger brother. We’ve not seen him in a good while but he writes now and again. He’s a diplomat now, attached to the army and still holds the rank of major, but he’s not on active service any more.’

‘Sounds exciting.’ It sounded nothing of the sort, but I just wanted him to keep talking.

‘Really?’ Archie looked at me, a smile tugging at his lips.

‘Does he live in Scotland too?’

‘No, he’s based in London and Liverpool mostly. And he spends most of his free time at the Creswells’ place in Cheshire.’

‘Are they rich?’

‘They are. He was apparently very close to Lord Creswell. Henry. They fought together in Africa.’

‘Unlike Father,’ I dropped in, and Archie laughed.

‘I’m not going to comment on that again. Anyway, Uncle Jack promised he’d take care of the family if Henry died in the war, which, sadly, he did. So Jack’s sort of a father figure to Henry’s two children now, and rumour has it he and Lily Creswell are a bit of an item.’

‘A happy ending,’ I said. ‘Good!’ Without thinking, I hugged his arm, then immediately let go in case he thought I’d meant anything by it. He gave me a faintly puzzled look, then accepted my withdrawal and put his hands in his pockets. We had arrived back at the house, and I had never been so displeased to see warm, welcoming lights at a window.

‘I should get to bed,’ he said. ‘I really need to be up at first light.’

Sending my body into complete turmoil, he put his hands gently on my shoulders, and dropped a kiss onto my forehead. With his jaw just inches away, it was as much as I could do not to turn my head to kiss him back, but I led the way indoors and said goodnight, making a meal of removing my coat, so he wouldn’t see how my hands still shook. I watched him from the hallway as he went in to say goodnight to my family, and then went to my own room, trying to untangle my insides and take a single deep and calming breath. I couldn’t do it. And then, as I lay there in the darkness, remembering the firmness of his lips on my skin, I decided I didn’t want to. The ache was too sweet, too new and too full of possibility to push away.

The following morning I breakfasted early, and Archie had yet to make an appearance by the time I’d finished. The meal was still sitting like a lump in my stomach and I felt as if I hadn’t chewed a single bite as I waited in the hall, pretending to be straightening my ever-annoying curls in the mirror, but every sense straining in anticipation.

At last I heard his footfall on the stairs, and my eyes went to the bag by the door before I looked up to see him for what might be the last time. He was pulling on his cap as he came round the bend in the stairs, and his uniform looked like part of him already, as though he’d been born to wear it. For a moment I had trouble recognising the Archie I’d known in this grown man, but then, as he always had as a boy, he took the last few stairs in a quick little run and was my old familiar friend again.

Watching him straighten his belt and reach for his coat, I saw the quick, assured movements of a man completely at ease, and felt some of the terror fall away; no-one who looked as comfortable and ready to go to war could possibly come to any harm. Second Lieutenant Archie Buchanan would come home safely in a month or two, having made his family, and me, the proudest we could be, and Europe would be safe thanks to him and those like him.

And then, perhaps, there would be time for us.


Chapter Three (#ulink_3eeba09d-af3c-5a4e-8ef2-78d0398a0ad3)

11 November 1916

My nineteenth birthday. A chilly, grey day that nevertheless started out with a vague hope of celebration, then fell flat after breakfast, when I realised I’d be spending it completely alone, but by teatime had flung me headlong into a life I could never have imagined for myself.

Oliver had finally joined the army late last year, to our parents’ aggravation, but just before the compulsory call-up, so at least they could tell people he’d volunteered. He was stationed at Nieuport, on the Belgian coast, and had kept this rare home visit as a birthday surprise—an even more joyful one when I saw he had brought Archie with him. He stood behind Oliver, smiling at me over the top of Oli’s red curls, his own hat removed and tucked beneath his arm. When Oli had released me from an unexpected, but not unwelcome brotherly embrace, Archie took my hand.

‘Happy birthday, darling.’ He bent and kissed my cheek, and I felt my skin glow where his lips had touched, firm and warm.

‘You’ve been promoted,’ I said, accepting a hug but trying not to linger too long in his arms. ‘Congratulations, Captain Buchanan.’

‘Aye, your father’s an uncanny knack of predicting the future.’

‘Except when it comes to this little two-year “storm in a teacup”,’ I pointed out, and he grinned.

‘And how fare you, young Kittlington?’

I pulled a face. ‘Bored, I’m ashamed to say. Can we go riding while you’re here?’

‘I’d have loved to but I can only stay tonight. I’m getting the early train up to Edinburgh, and then to Fort William. Mother’s been waiting a while and she’s not inclined to wait much longer—she keeps threatening to turn up at HQ just to make sure I’m cleaning m’teeth every night!’

I laughed, and hoped he couldn’t see my ridiculous, crushing disappointment. Still, it wasn’t to be helped; family came first. Which reminded me: ‘Oliver, your timing is impeccable—did you somehow know Mother and Father would be out?’

‘They’ve left you alone on your birthday?’ Archie frowned, and I felt a rush of gratitude for his understanding. I’d spent the morning telling myself not to be silly, but it hurt anyway.

‘Really? There’s a bit of luck,’ Oli said, and clapped Archie on the back. ‘Come on, Arch, we’ve got time for some billiards before Father comes in and starts banging on.’

I followed them into the billiard room. Mother wasn’t here to admonish me, and besides Oli hadn’t been home for ages, and Archie was my friend. Why shouldn’t I talk to them?

To my pleased surprise, not even Oli gave me his patented ‘you should be off sewing things’ look, and tolerated my presence. To begin with I just listened to them talking, of things I’d never understand in a million years, I was sure. Trenches I’d heard of, of course, and seen them on the newsreels, filled with cheerfully waving boys, but I’d had no idea there was so much mud and you certainly couldn’t see it in those pictures. To hear Oli and Archie talk you’d think men lived in puddles for days at a time and never had the chance to change their socks. Archie talked of ‘near misses’ that made my fingers curl into the material of my dress, and Oli told him how a tunnel had been spotted by the enemy. Someone hadn’t stopped digging when he ought, and the Germans had heard and blown it up. The explosion, he said, rattled the windows of the nearby town, and… He caught sight of my face and stopped. I think he’d been about to say something about the men who’d been down that tunnel, but thought better of it.

‘Anyway,’ he finished, ‘that was the end of that. The sappers had to start again two days later and thirty yards farther up the line.’ He spoke as if that had been the worst of it, but I could tell by the way his and Archie’s expressions were matched in solemnity that this was far from the truth.

Archie sought to lighten the tone. ‘So, what have you been up to, Kitty? Met a nice lad yet?’

I didn’t want him to see how much that stung, so I just gave him a slightly withering look. ‘How about you—the nurses falling at your feet, I suppose?’

He chuckled. ‘Not that I’ve noticed. And thankfully I don’t come into much contact with them. You’ve never wanted to go into that profession then?’

‘I’ve done some training, but I don’t really have the temperament for putting up with the dreadful snobbery of some of those nurses. Actually I’ve noticed that myself and one or two others tend to be kept away from the patients.’

He had bent over to take his shot, and stopped, looking at me over his cue, an amused smile playing about his lips. ‘You remind me quite strongly of someone I’ve recently met,’ he said. ‘She’s an independent out there. Ambulance driver. They’re always looking for people like you.’

‘Like me?’ I found myself interested, despite the creeping horror their earlier descriptions had elicited. ‘How do you mean?’ Part of me admitted I just wanted to hear him say complimentary things, but another, bigger part, really did yearn to do some good.

‘Level-headed, healthy, sensible.’ He didn’t notice my frustration, and it took all the self-control I had not to break his billiard cue over his stupid head. Was that all he could find to say about me? ‘And,’ he went on, lining up his shot again, ‘preferably already a dab hand with the internal combustion engine, so they wouldn’t have to waste time teaching.’

‘How did you know I’d been learning that?’ I asked, slightly appeased. I was glad I hadn’t told him myself, so it couldn’t be interpreted as boastful.

‘Your brother here’s dead proud of you,’ Archie said, by way of explanation, and Oliver snorted, but then looked at me and shrugged.

‘Well, you’re quite the little mechanic, Kitty. There’s no denying it.’

There was a solid clack as the cue ball hit its target, and Archie straightened, satisfied. ‘So, what about it? Would you like to learn more and maybe think about it?’

‘Yes!’

Oliver was looking at me as if I’d just told him I planned to emigrate to Australia. ‘But you told the parents you were going to stay in England. That’s the only reason they let you train!’

‘Don’t you think it sounds perfect though?’ I pleaded, desperate to claim him to my side; Mother and Father would find much less to argue about if I had his support. ‘All that training with the Red Cross, and all I’m doing with it is cleaning floors and knitting socks!’

‘Quite right too. You’re doing valuable work right here in England. Why on earth would you want to go over to that hellhole?’

‘At least it’s nearer to you, Oli. They’re sure to take that into account.’ I turned to Archie. ‘Who would I be working with?’ It didn’t matter; I already knew I would agree to anything he suggested. If he thought I could do it, then I could. I felt a complicated thrill of fear and excitement as he explained about the ambulance base, run, until recently, by Evie, one of the Cheshire Creswells he’d mentioned before.

‘She’s not there just at the minute,’ he said. ‘She’s away home caring for her husband, who’s lost his memory. I don’t know when she’ll be back, but there are others who’d look after you ’til then. You’d be working independently, but under the guidance of the Red Cross, and attached to my own regiment, which is stationed close by. Evie’s partner, Barbara, is leaving to marry.’

I looked over at Oli, who was chalking his cue and concentrating so I couldn’t tell what he thought. ‘Oli? What do you think? I’d love to really have the chance to do something good.’

He eyed me then, and his face softened into a reluctant smile. ‘You’ll be wonderful out there, I’m sure of it. Just promise me you’ll be careful, and do as you’re told.’

I could have hugged him, but he was across the room and leaning down to take his shot. Archie had moved out of Oli’s way and was standing very close to me; it felt as if another inch would allow me to feel the warmth radiating from him and from there it would be a short step to putting my arms around him instead, and frightening him senseless. I backed away a couple of paces, just in case.

He whistled in reluctant appreciation as Oliver’s shot took him into the lead. ‘Bloody good shot, Mr Maitland, sir.’ Then he turned to me again, much to my gratification. ‘What about your parents?’

‘They’ll try and stop me, I’m sure, but I’m nineteen. There’s nothing they can do.’ Even the sixteen-year-old I’d thought so worldly seemed a child now. I had no illusions about the work I’d be doing, especially after listening to them talking earlier, but I pushed away a niggle of uncertainty; there was a duty to be done, and what could possibly happen if we were under the Red Cross?

‘You can go out and see how you get on,’ Archie was saying now. ‘Any help, even for a short while, will be invaluable out there. No-one will think badly of you if you don’t stay.’

‘Oh, I’d stay.’ Determination often got the better of good sense with me, but I had the feeling this time my confidence was well founded.

Archie’s smile of approval convinced me further. ‘When can you come?’

‘When can I start?’

He laughed. ‘It’ll take a month or so, but as soon as I get back I’ll talk to Lieutenant Colonel Drewe about arranging your documents.’

And, just like that, everything changed.



Flanders, Belgium, December 1916

The lorry was empty but for myself, and my rather forlorn-looking suitcase, by the time we reached the little cottage known only as Number Twelve. The girls I’d travelled with from England had all disembarked at the hospital in Furnes, where they were greeted by a harried-looking sister and whisked away to change even before the driver had restarted the lorry.

I was not treated to even that dubious pleasure; the cottage stood apparently derelict, and as the driver lifted my bag down I wondered if we’d come to the right place. Suddenly sure we had not, I turned to say as much, but he had already climbed back behind the steering wheel, and before I could summon the words: ‘wait a moment!’ he was driving away, over the pitted and uneven road, back towards Furnes.

If the cottage seemed deserted, that road was not. Ambulances creaked and roared, coughing their way towards the large clearing station up the road, and the empty ones rattled past them towards Pervyse, where the driver had told me heavy fighting was taking place. That was where the Baroness de T'Serclaes and young Mairi Chisholm were, and I couldn’t help feeling a little excited despite the gnawing fear. I wondered if we would see them, or even be called upon to help them—their work was famous at home, and their bravery the stuff of legend. Everyone I knew still called them Mrs Knocker and Miss Chisholm, but the newspapers called them The Madonnas of Pervyse—I could hardly believe they were so close by.

During the long drive from the ferry, even when we’d drawn closer to the fighting, I’d heard cracks and distant booms that didn’t sound as if they could be signalling any real danger to me personally, but as I turned back now to the ancient-looking cottage, in the hopes of seeing some sign of life, a tremendous roar seemed to suck the breath out of me, and I dropped to my knees and tucked my head down.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ a voice said. It sounded faintly amused, but friendly enough, and I lifted my head to see a slender, attractive girl with very blonde hair cut raggedly short. She held out her hand, both to pull me to my feet, and by way of introduction.

‘I’m Evie Davies,’ she said. ‘I only got back myself two days ago. You must be Katherine Maitland.’

‘Kitty,’ I said, and shook her proffered hand. She wasn’t at all what I expected; something had put a picture in my mind of a tall, capable-looking woman with a loud voice and a no-nonsense attitude. This girl looked hardly older than myself, and had smiling blue eyes and a clear voice. Well spoken, but with none of the ‘frightfully Home Counties’ accent I disliked so much, and which Mother seemed determined to adopt over our own north-western tones.

‘I thought you’d be here a week or so ago,’ she said, ‘but I’m glad to be able to welcome you myself. I’ve only been back a day. Anne and Elise have gone back to their usual billet.’

‘There was a hold-up with my parents,’ I explained. ‘They’re not overly keen on me being here, I’m afraid.’

‘We’ll take good care of you. They needn’t worry.’ She saw me looking at her hair, and ran her hand through it, heedless of the grease and oil on her fingers. ‘Dreadful, isn’t it? I dare say I look an absolute fright.’

I wanted to say it actually suited her face rather well, but she pressed on. ‘Lice are a terrible problem. I hope you’ll be spared the need to do this, but be prepared for it. I’ll check you every day, if you like.’

The notion of someone checking me for lice gave me a further jolt, but I tried not to look horrified. ‘Thank you.’ I combed my fingers through my own red curls and hoped for the best, but if I had to cut them off I would, without hesitation. I wouldn’t look anywhere near as boyishly pretty as Evie, but who was there to care here? The driver had told me Archie’s headquarters were just a few miles to the east of Number Twelve, but he might as well be in France for all the chance I had of seeing him. Oli had applied to be transferred to Dixmude as well, and would soon learn if the request had been approved, but even so I’d rarely see him either. I was here to do a job, not to be coddled, and I pulled myself straight and fixed my mind on here and now, pushing daydreams to the back of my mind.

Evie sloshed her way through the icy mud to the ambulance, and I followed. ‘We’ve only got the one bus at the moment,’ she said, opening up the flap at the back. ‘Boxy and I saved up and brought her over, but we’re hoping for another one soon—we’ve raised some donations, and the Red Cross back home are awfully keen to help where they can. Meet Gertie.’

‘Gertie?’

‘Haven’t you seen that postcard? The one with the pig?’ I shook my head. ‘Well anyway, Boxy said the ambulance snorted like a pig, and we should paint her pink.’

‘She sounds fun,’ I ventured.

‘Oh, she is. We got on terribly well right from the off. As shall we, I’m sure,’ she assured me, giving my already frozen hand a squeeze. ‘Now, let’s get you settled in, and I can tell you a little bit about what we do.’ She gave me an encouraging smile, but her eyes seemed distant, as if her thoughts were anywhere but here. I remembered what I’d been told about her husband, and wondered if he was back with his unit, or if he’d even regained his memory…but she would surely not be here if he hadn’t. I couldn’t imagine how she felt, knowing he was back in the lines. Archie spent a lot of time in the field with his men, but it was so much easier to think of him sitting at HQ with the other officers, discussing tactics, than out there facing the kind of explosions that had just driven me to my knees.

I followed Evie into the cottage, a tiny two-roomed affair. ‘We’ll share the bedroom,’ she said. ‘There are two beds, but luckily they’re very narrow so there’s room to get between them to dress. You’ll sleep in your clothes most nights anyway, especially during winter. Have you got a flea bag?’

‘A…a what?’

‘For sleeping in.’

‘Oh, no, I haven’t.’

‘We’ll see what we can find for you,’ she said. ‘It’ll probably leave a lot to be desired in the hygiene department, but extra layers are not to be sneezed at.’ She grinned, looking like a grubby child for a moment. ‘And speaking of sneezing, you’ll be doing plenty of that, too.’

It seemed as if having me to show around, to explain things to and put at my ease, was helping her too. She made us both a very welcome cup of cocoa, and as she talked about the work, and what we were and were not permitted to do, she gradually lost the slightly dazed and distant look and I began to see the real Evie beneath—resilient, determined and with a sense of adventure that could barely be suppressed, even here. Even as she spoke, the guns were continuing their raucous shout, and I flinched more than once, but she didn’t seem to notice them.

‘Don’t they ever stop?’ I asked, wondering how on earth we were supposed to sleep.

‘Occasionally.’ She sobered a little then. ‘It’s not always a good thing when they do though; it means the bombardment’s stopped and our boys are ready to go out and try to regain some ground.’

‘And do they?’

‘The Front has barely moved in two and a half years. A few miles, that’s all.’

I considered that for a moment, and looked around me, trying to imagine having lived here all that time. How much longer could it go on?

But I was starting to learn already, that Evie would not be solemn or reflective for long. ‘Come on then,’ she said briskly, standing up. She put her mug by the tiny sink. ‘I’ll show you the cellar.’

I jumped up too, eager to show my enthusiasm, but as I reached out to pick up my own half-finished cocoa I knocked the cup over, and sent brown muck spreading across the table.

‘Oh! I’m so sorry,’ I said, looking around for a cloth. She tossed me the greasy rag from her belt and I mopped up the drink, blushing furiously at my clumsiness. She didn’t even blink as I tried again, and this time knocked the rolling cup to the floor. Luckily it was tin, and bounced instead of breaking.

Within a day I had earned the nickname that would stay with me for as long as Evie and I knew each other. We’d had word that a convoy was expected at the station and I was to stay behind and ready the cellar, while Evie took Gertie and fetched out those men whose wounds might be treated easily here instead of weighing down the clearing stations and hospitals. We’d just had a hastily thrown-together shepherd’s pie for dinner and I was clearing the plates, my heart thundering with renewed fear at the loudness of the guns now night had fallen. I turned from the table towards the sink, and, failing to notice Evie standing behind me buttoning her greatcoat, I cannoned into her. She staggered sideways, barely keeping her feet, and the plates crashed to the floor. They were the last of the crockery that had been left in the cottage before it had been evacuated, and Evie looked at the sharp-edged and useless pieces with a little sigh of disappointment.

Then she looked back at me, and to my enormous relief her mouth stretched into a grin. ‘Everything’s going down like ninepins since you’ve arrived. Going to have to start calling you Skittles.’

I closed my mouth, which had been hanging open in a kind of wordless and disbelieving dismay, and Evie kicked the pieces of china out of sight under the table and wiped the gravy off her coat with her sleeve. She flashed me a bright smile, jerked her head towards the cellar, and went out into the night alone. I knew then that, no matter how awful the job I’d be doing, Evie Davies was exactly the kind of person I’d want to be doing it with.



In February the Clearing Station just up the road from our ambulance base was badly hit by shellfire. Even after everything I’d seen and been horrified by in the past two months, that had a profound effect on me, that somewhere so clearly marked with the red cross of a recognised medical facility might be deliberately targeted; was there a line that must not be crossed? And if so, where was it?

In the meantime Oliver had still been trying to arrange his transfer to Dixmude, and it was only this that had persuaded our furious Father to abandon his intention of travelling out here to pull me back to Blighty by my hair. He’d managed it just a couple of days ago, and on the day after the Clearing Station was hit, he arrived in a general staff car with a friendly lieutenant colonel named Drewe, and, to my breathless delight, Archie.

We chatted for a while, although my nerves had resurfaced at the sight of a ‘brass hat’ in our little cottage, but Archie and Evie seemed to notice this and, between them, put me at my ease again. I watched Archie across the table as he chatted, and noticed new lines on his face I hadn’t seen before, but he looked completely at ease here, and I gathered he’d been a regular visitor in the past—I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, and saw his eyes linger on Evie a little more than I liked.

But she was deeply in love with her husband; I knew that. They talked about him today, and I was able to piece together what I hadn’t felt able to ask Evie since I’d arrived: Private Will Davies had become detached from his battalion last summer, during the battle of High Wood, and reported missing, and Archie had been the one to bring him home. Evidently he’d been risking his life to do so, and although the pride I took in his courage felt wrong, I enjoyed it anyway.

Sadly Will’s return to physical health was apparently not reflected in his emotional healing, and I gathered he and Evie were struggling. Oli, the great clot, ventured to say he was glad to hear that Will was back in active service, but Evie’s uncharacteristically cool reply ended that conversation, and we sat in uncomfortable silence for a minute before I turned the subject around to why Evie did not wear a wedding ring. It seemed important to remind myself that she was married, and, although I disliked myself for thinking it, to remind Archie of that, too. Conversation moved on to my driving, and I felt bad for those unformed but suspicious thoughts, as Evie praised me with real warmth.

‘You’re more than ready to make the night run yourself now, Kitty.’

Gratified that Archie was there to hear her praise, I smiled, not knowing quite what to say.

Colonel Drewe patted my hand. ‘Excellent! I’m sure you’ll do a splendid job.’

‘Thank you,’ I said shyly. ‘I’ll be awfully pleased to be of some real help at last.’

‘Watch out for shell holes,’ Oliver put in. ‘Those roads are abysmal.’

Soon after, Archie declared it time to leave, and Oli gave me a hug. For the first time, I felt he really cared for me as his sister and not some annoying little oik that kept hanging around, so I hugged him back, and I think we both felt a little bit tearful at that moment. I know I did.

‘Look after yourself,’ Archie said, and squeezed Evie’s hand.

‘And my sister,’ Oli said to her. ‘I’m relying on you.’

I tried to dismiss the pang of jealousy at the closeness that clearly existed between Evie and Archie; the time they had known each other had been short, but strange and emotional, and it was bound to have had an effect on them. This obsession was dangerous; I had to put him out of my mind and concentrate on learning the job, so I could do the night runs alone as soon as we received our new ambulance. There was no room for distraction or mistakes.

But as Archie snugged his hat down over his dark hair, and gave me one of his warm smiles, I felt my stomach turn over with longing, and knew that if I slept tonight it would be filled with dreams that would leave me feeling empty and hopeless in the morning.

It would only be a week before my dreams would become so intense, so terrifying and so filled with horror, that empty and hopeless would have been almost like a breath of joy.


Chapter Four (#ulink_de90d6a7-3593-5f72-a239-a26949fd26a2)

Dover, Kent, April 1917

Passengers were starting to board. Frances Adams and I stood on the dock looking up at the huge ferry, at the faces turned back towards loved ones for a last glimpse, and at the hands raised in tearful goodbye…and I was suddenly unsure how to make my own farewell. Ever since I’d come back to Dark River Farm Mrs Adams had tried to be a mother to me, and it had touched me deeply every time I saw it, but I’d never been able to show my feelings towards her in the way others seemed to find so natural. If I suddenly tried to hug her it would feel awkward for us both.

‘Well, maid,’ she said, turning me to face her. ‘It’s time. Are you sure you’re going to be all right?’

‘Quite sure,’ I said, trying to stop my voice from shaking, because how could I be? I was not only going back into the very heart of the war, but also facing the destruction of my future, the disgrace of my family, and worst of all, the likely death of my brother. But the pretence went on, and we both knew it for what it was. The loneliness that washed over me as I contemplated this journey made me feel hollow and cold. Mrs Adams saw it, and pulled me into a rough hug, ending my dilemma with one quick, welcome movement. Although spare-framed, her height was comforting, and the kiss she pressed to my temple even more so.

‘You don’t have to do this,’ she reminded me.

‘I do. Oli’s life might depend on it.’

She held me tighter. ‘Oh, love, I do hope you can make the difference.’

‘Thank you for coming this far with me,’ I mumbled into her shoulder.

‘I wish I could come all the way,’ she said, and I knew she meant it. ‘If I wasn’t needed back at Dark River, I’d be—’

‘I know.’ I drew back. ‘You’ve been unbelievably kind to me.’

‘Well—’ she cleared her throat ‘—I seen something in you, young Kitty. You’re a kind, decent girl, and you’ve had a terrible time. I know you’ve shown everyone you’re a tough little thing, but you deserve someone to lean on. We can’t always be tough, can we?’ Her eyes shone for a moment, then she blinked and sniffed. She put one roughened hand either side of my face, and studied me carefully as if she was worried it might be the last time she saw me—I fought down a swell of fear at the thought. My mother had never looked at me with this intensity, not even when I’d left for Belgium last Christmas, and when Mrs Adams’s long, tired face broke into a gentle smile I felt a twist of unexpectedly strong emotion in my churning stomach. I smiled back, and she blinked again. This time the tears would not so easily be banished, and while our smiles felt less forced now, both were accompanied by snatched, hiccupping breaths.

A honking sound made us both jump, and I reluctantly let go of her and bent to pick up my case. ‘I’ll write, as soon as I have any news.’

‘See that you do.’ Mrs Adams touched my cheek again, and there was a look of real sorrow in her eyes now. ‘I’ll be thinking of you, maid. We all will. Take care, and don’t do nothin’ dangerous.’

‘I won’t be going back to the ambulance station,’ I assured her. ‘Evie says I’ll be billeted in one of the hotels near HQ. Jack Carlisle will meet me off the ferry and take me there.’

Her words were jerky and unsteady as we were both bumped by the fresh surge of people moving towards the ferry to board. ‘Just see you come back safe.’

‘I will. I promise.’

Walking away and leaving her standing there, it was almost as if I were the older woman, and she the one who was little more than a child. Somehow that helped, and I lifted my free hand to wave, and even blew her a kiss. She nodded, and then she was gone from view, only the top of her hat visible; if she’d been of average height I would not even have been able to see that, and I kept glancing back for that small comfort as the waves of soldiers and nurses lifted me closer to the ferry, and to the horrors I would have given anything to be able to forget.



The water churned, choppy and grey beneath us, as we made our laborious, zigzagging way across the channel. Even knowing Jack waited for me at the other end, I felt that chilly loneliness again, and wished I could simply stay on the ferry for ever.

A couple of VADs tried to engage me in conversation, but they were fresh from training, and excited to be going overseas to help our boys. I knew if I began talking I would dampen their chatter, and turn them into what I myself had become. It wouldn’t be fair. So, ignoring the look that passed between them, ‘Well, we tried,’ I went to the front of the boat instead, and stared out at the nothingness ahead.

I had been just like them. Most of us had, and even once reality set in, and that happy anticipation had been crushed from us, we found strength in the minute-by-minute dealings with people whose lives depended on the pressing of a wound, the spotting of an incipient heart failure, the speed of transport to hospital. I hoped those two girls would find the same, but, for me, all Belgium held now was the shocking, painful memory of one brutal night.

Lieutenant Colonel Drewe, the friendliest, cheeriest of men—grandfatherly, kind, patient. A veteran of the Africa campaign, and a man known for his bravery. How could someone like that…

I turned away from the rail, my chest tight, and a phantom pain at the juncture of my thighs, as if the bruises he had given me were still there, his Webley revolver still rammed into my side. The decrepit ambulance parked haphazardly at the side of the road had been just one of any number of broken-down and abandoned vehicles. Evie said later that he’d known I would have sole charge of Gertie that night, and I shivered at the cold knowledge that I’d been exactly where he’d wanted me to be when I’d seen him stumbling up the centre of the road; if someone else had stopped, and had not been alone, it would have been nothing to him to wave them on and claim to be perfectly well.

But of course it was me who’d stopped. And I was alone, and he’d looked at me with those strangely skittering eyes and accepted my help to climb into the back. I’d spoken gently to him, settled him onto the stretcher and turned to pick up the first-aid box, before asking him where he was hurt. When I’d turned back to him the gun had been out of its leather holster. My breath stopped, and my numbed fingers fell open, and the box crashed to the floor. The only words he’d spoken had been a warning that Oliver would be the one to suffer if I spoke of this night, and then he had stood up, seized my arm with his free hand, and pushed me onto the stretcher-bed in his place.

The time that followed alternately flew by in seconds, and stretched into interminable hours; my horrified mind could still not place which. He had left me shaking, but not crying, too stunned and sick-feeling for tears, with my trousers wrapped around one ankle and trailing across the filthy floor. Fresh blood smeared the stretcher, mixing with the half-dried blood of the countless wounded Tommies I’d transported that night.

Archie found out what had happened, of course. Evie had promised not to tell him, and then told him anyway. I’d been beyond fury, screaming at her, and knowing I was wrong to do it. But I couldn’t help it. The anger I couldn’t hurl at Colonel Drewe was eating me alive, and I had to free it or go mad. Poor Evie bore the brunt of it, and she bore it with patience and with grief, but her sorrow, and her guilt at letting me go out on the road alone, only inflamed my anger—it was the most vicious of circles.

I hadn’t seen Archie since he and Evie had driven away from Dark River Farm together, leaving me in the care of Frances, Lizzy and the others. His face, as he’d turned his attention to the long track up to the main road, was the last glimpse I’d had of him, and I treasured it even through the anger and betrayal I’d felt towards Evie. I’d lain in bed, once the pregnancy was made real, hating myself, and hating the baby. I never hated Evie, but my anger towards her didn’t fade until Lizzy had lost her temper and pointed out a few home truths: I had wanted to drive alone; it was all I’d ever begged for; Evie had been doing it from the start; she had cared for me and taught me everything I needed to know; I had given her my blessing to go and talk to Will… It had taken that tiny, fierce girl, with her dark curly hair sticking up in all directions, her hands on her hips and her eyes flashing blue fire, to break the awful cycle of self-recrimination and despair. It wasn’t hard to see why Jack Carlisle’s heart had been captured by her, despite the rumours about Evie’s mother. She had made me realise those truths, but by then Oliver had deserted, and faced death if he was found, and death if he was not, and it was all my fault. Now, when I raged, I raged against my own cowardice, my own weakness, and only in the privacy of my little room at Dark River Farm. I wept, and cursed the hand fate had dealt me. And I cursed the child I carried. The next night Colonel Drewe’s unwanted yet innocent gift died in a wash of pain and blood, in the back of another ambulance.

What remained of my youth died with it.

Archie might have left, but the image of his calm grey eyes had stayed with me, behind the closed lids of my own, during that terrible time. The memories of our younger, carefree days had been more immediate to me than the shock of what had happened, his image more real than the rasp of the sheets against my skin and the cool water I drank to assuage a raging thirst. There was also a bitter irony in knowing it was helping our sheep deliver themselves of their young, that had killed my own. I knew it, yet the guilt lay heavy in my heart for those dark and desperate prayers that the child had never existed.

Frances had told me afterwards that I’d called out for Archie more than once, in my more feverish moments, but all I could remember was being certain it was now that was the dream—a bleak and terrifying nightmare—and that reality still encompassed those sweet, uncomplicated days when we would go out riding, and he would tell me all about Scotland. My overwrought mind became my dearest friend, giving me vivid and detailed remembrances I hadn’t known I possessed until now; I could smell the horses’ sweat; hear the thump of hooves on short, scrubby grass; feel sleek, powerful muscles beneath me; and I recalled, with a new and perfect clarity, the sound of Archie’s voice as he described Fort Augustus and the Great Glen in which he lived.

Waking to find the fever once and for all broken I had wept again, but now it was for the loss of that escape route into the past. For no longer being completely absorbed in the simple joy of Archie’s company, still believing it to be the innocent love of a child for a brother. It was knowing I had lost him for ever.



As we neared France the sky was changing colour from pale blue to an overcast grey. Evening was creeping inexorably closer, and my insides twisted tighter and tighter as I accepted that there was no going back now; if we were lucky my testimony might possibly save Oliver’s life, but the truth would come leaking out, like a rancid green sludge, to poison my own.

People around me were gathering up their belongings, calling to new friends to say a new set of goodbyes, and collecting together in groups in readiness for disembarking. Some, the quieter ones, would be returning to what they knew all too well already, others embarking on a new life for which no amount of warnings and descriptions could prepare them.

I craned my neck for sight of Jack Carlisle, but not knowing if he would be in uniform or not it was hard to pick him out of the crowd waiting on the dock. Then, as the crowd thinned, I saw him, with his back to me. For a second my heart was jolted into a helplessly excited rhythm; his hatless head was turned away and he looked, from this side view, so much like his nephew; they shared a height and broadness of shoulder, both had very dark hair, and both held themselves with the same alert readiness, as if they might be called into action at any second. From this distance, and to my untrained eye, the uniform might have been that of any officer, as likely a captain as Jack’s own rank of major. I lost sight of him as I started forward, pushing through the crowd until I came up to stand behind him, and raised my voice to be heard over the hubbub of conversation, and of vehicles rumbling to life.

‘Major Carlisle?’

Then he turned, and my knees faltered.

‘Young Kittlington.’

‘Archie!’ That thundering in my chest again, my fingers losing their grip on the handle of my suitcase, dropping it to the ground at my feet, the treacherous way my arms rose, without my bidding, to encircle his waist…the feel of his own arms wrapped about my shoulders. Buttons, hard beneath my cheek, the crowd disappearing from around us, melting away to leave us alone in a suddenly peaceful world. There was nothing else. There simply was nothing else.

Long after my heartbeat had returned to normal, and my short breaths had deepened once again, he released me. I stood back and looked up at him, his familiar face tired, but still so strong, so beautiful. I reached up to touch his jaw with trembling fingers, and only just stopped myself from tracing his lower lip with my thumb. I ached for him to lower that mouth to mine, and to put all my doubts to flight, but his expression was one of concern, nothing more.

‘Sweetheart, how are you feeling? Is the fever gone? We must get you a hot drink.’

He stepped back, leaving me swaying slightly with the loss of his touch, and bent to pick up my bag. He held out his free hand to me but I shook my head; to hold his hand as he wished, as a child, would be worse than not touching him at all, and my heart cracked a little. After all I’d been through, I was still Oli’s little sister.

I followed him to the car. ‘Why are you here, instead of Jack?’ I wanted him to say it was his idea, that he’d asked to come particularly, but deep down I knew he hadn’t.

‘He thought it’d be easier for you, at least when you arrived,’ Archie said. ‘Someone you know a little better, after…’ he cleared his throat ‘…well…he thought maybe since—’

‘He thought I’d be scared to be alone with him?’ I couldn’t keep the incredulousness out of my voice, and Archie smiled. It lifted my spirits to see it, despite everything.

‘Aye, well the same thing occurred to Lizzy when you went missing. People care for you, Kitty,’ he added softly. We’d reached the car, and his face turned solemn. ‘We understand what this is going to do to you. To…your reputation. How people will see you. And how it’s going to bring back an awful thing you’d want to forget if you could. It’s an amazing thing you’re doing, and we’ll do everything we can to—’

‘Thank you,’ I said, my tone inadvertently short. He was only trying to say the right thing, but the thought of whoever ‘we’ might be, sitting around discussing what a brave little soul I was for speaking out against Colonel Drewe, made me shrivel inside with mortification. I saw the miserable realisation on his face, and touched his arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m just tired. I am grateful though. And it’s so lovely to see you, Arch.’

‘And you,’ he said, relaxing a little, and opened the car door for me. ‘Hold on tight, the roads haven’t improved since you were here last.’

He was right; I remembered feeling queasy on my way to the ferry, and that had been worsened by the way the car had constantly swerved to avoid the bigger shell holes, but in the past month the roads must have taken quite a pounding, and the going was jolting and slow. We arrived in full dark, and I was taken to a small hotel just up the road from where Oli was being held.

‘Can I see him?’ I asked, when Archie pointed out the building, a large, dark blob against the night.

‘Not tonight, darling.’ The casual word, one he had used ever since I’d known him, now had the power to slice through me. But even if he’d meant it in the way I longed for, his earlier reminder that my reputation was about to be ruined told me once and for all that it was too late now. When he left me to return to HQ I accepted the light, brotherly kiss on my cheek, and told myself it was just as well he still thought of me as a child after all. I eventually fell asleep to the hollow boom of distant guns, and only realised when I was awoken by a lull, that I hadn’t even noticed them.



The following morning Jack greeted me in the lobby. He rose from his seat, and automatically started to pull his uniform jacket straight, then his dark blue eyes met mine and he stopped fussing, came over and, without a moment’s hesitation, put his arms around me. I almost sagged in relief, but held myself firm, accepting his comfort, and then smiled up at him.

‘Evie’s right about you,’ I said, and he looked both pleased and slightly embarrassed.

‘In that case I hope she’s said something flattering.’ Then his own smile faded, and his expression held echoes of Archie’s solemn look from the night before. ‘Kitty, I want to sit down and talk to you for a while, somewhere private. Would that be all right?’

‘Of course. Where should we go?’

‘There’s an office at HQ we can use. It’s just a few minutes away.’ He glanced down at my footwear, as if he half expected me to be wearing kitten heels and stockings. But although I’d wanted to look smart, Frances and Lizzy had both said variations of the same thing: you were working when it happened, and you weren’t dressed to catch a man’s eye then. Best not look like some flighty girl now, when it matters most.

I tightened the belt on my coat, and knocked the flat heel of my boot on the floor. ‘I can walk for miles,’ I assured him, and his smile returned.

‘Well then, shall we?’ He held out his arm, and I took it, and together we walked out into the rubble-strewn street.



HQ was, in fact, another hotel, but much larger. However, the room Jack showed me into had clearly been a smallish storeroom of some kind in its past existence, and a tiny desk was pushed into the corner, with a typewriter parked precariously on the edge and a single upturned chair taking up the remaining room on it.

I looked at it doubtfully, but as I turned back to Jack, mouth open to ask where I should sit, I saw the reason for the squashed up arrangement of furniture: someone had jammed two tattered armchairs into the space behind the door. They sat arm-to-arm, but even that cramped space looked comfortable and, most important of all, friendly.

I felt a little tearful as I realised this had been Jack’s doing, I could tell from his anxious expression, and from his relief when I nodded. He looked so much like Archie that I had to swallow a new lump in my throat as I sat down.

‘If you’d rather not speak to me, you only have to say,’ he said quietly. ‘And if you feel like crying, don’t hold back on my account. I can stay, or go, as you like.’

His voice was low, like Archie’s, but his accent was firmly north-western. No hint of Scotland anywhere in it. It was close to my own accent, in fact, and that familiarity helped as he started to talk, to explain all he knew of Oliver’s circumstances, and, finally, gently, to coax out of me the story of what had happened on the road that freezing February night.

It was hard at first. Every word felt like a tug on an un-anaesthetised tooth, but as I talked they began to come more easily. I told him how I’d been so excited about driving alone for the first time, how Evie had patiently gone over and over everything I would need to know… I felt the constant ache of guilt over the fury I had unleashed on her blameless head, and tried to say as much to Jack, but he shook his head.

‘She understood. But don’t give her a thought just now. I want you to get the worst part of the story out of your head and into mine, here, where it doesn’t matter. Once you’ve spoken it out loud it’ll be easier next time.’

So I told him the rest, and when I explained how Drewe had pinned me to the filthy, blood-soaked bed in the back of the ambulance, his face took on a strange expression. Lizzy had told me he’d known Drewe many years before, had fought with him in Africa, and had respected the man he’d been. Now I could see dismay and regret at the man Drewe had become, and I wouldn’t be the one to sit in judgement while he mourned the fall of a great man, but for me there was only anger.

‘They must see Oli was provoked,’ I said when I’d finished. ‘He shouldn’t have hit the colonel, but Evie said Drewe struck him first.’

‘There’s no proof of that,’ Jack said. ‘We must stick to the fact of provocation, and not muddy the waters with a self-defence plea.’

‘Do you think it will work?’ I asked, my voice coming out small and scared-sounding.

Jack reached out and took my hand. ‘I’m going to do everything I can to see it does,’ he said. ‘Now, would you like me to take you to see your brother?’



Oliver was barely recognisable as the confident, cheerful boy I’d so often wanted to push into the river. He’d been allowed to shave, and his uniform was neat enough as he readied himself for this new trial, but his eyes had lost their light, and his face, always thin, now looked skeletal. I couldn’t begin to imagine how it felt to have come so close to death, and then to have been reprieved, only to face the horror of it possibly happening again.

‘Kitty!’ He rose from his bunk and embraced me, and, with Jack standing quietly in the back of the tiny room, we sat down to talk. Evie had only been able to give me the bare bones of the story; immediately after she’d heard it herself she’d gone to France to find Will. She had wired again, as soon as the news came through that Drewe had not died as a result of being struck by Oli, and from that moment on my brother’s life had rested in my hands.

‘Is Archie going to be there?’ Oliver directed this question at Jack, who glanced at me before answering.

‘No, his unit’s rotated forward; he’s needed in the line.’

I felt cold all over, and Oli squeezed my hand. ‘He’ll be right as rain, Kitty; don’t worry.’

‘And so will you be,’ I ventured, not knowing any such thing, but wanting it so strongly it felt like the truth.

He grinned, and seemed his old self again, in that moment. ‘I should bloody hope so, after you traipsing all this way,’ he said. ‘And just imagine how cross the parents would be if I got shot tomorrow, on their wedding anniversary. It would really put a wrinkle in the celebrations.’

‘Can’t have that,’ I agreed, trying not to flinch at the word shot, and feeling a faint pang at the thought of life continuing its familiar path in the house where I’d grown up. ‘Although, when the story comes out about the…the pregnancy…’ I stumbled over the word ‘…I have a feeling that will more than wrinkle things. Don’t you?’

There was nothing he could say to that, and he simply squeezed my hand again. After a moment’s silence, Jack motioned to the door. ‘It’s time we were off, Kitty.’

I turned to Oli and put my arms around him. He felt small, suddenly, even to me. ‘It will all be all right,’ I whispered. ‘Please don’t worry. I love you.’

‘I love you too,’ he whispered back, and I was sure if he’d spoken the words any louder they would have cracked.



Jack was right; telling him my story first, in the quiet little office where only he could hear me, made it easier to speak out at the court martial. I could see people studying me intently—my dress, my shoes, my manner—and was grateful for the advice given by Lizzy and Frances. I was not slim and pretty, like Evie, my hair was a tangled mess of red curls despite my attempts to tame it, and my figure, although I’d lost weight since I’d joined up, was still more on the rounded side—I was clearly not a temptress, and therefore my words seemed to carry more weight. That shouldn’t have been the case, and it angered me that it was, but it was a relief nevertheless. I kept looking around for Archie, hoping Jack’s explanation that there was a push on had merely been preparing Oli for potential disappointment, but I didn’t see him anywhere. His presence as I gave my evidence would have given me extra strength, but perhaps my timidity also worked in my favour.

Jack’s own evidence as to Drewe’s character was honest and raw; he told of his deep respect, and of the sadness as he’d watched Drewe slide into morphine dependency. To hear then, that that dependency had sunk deeper than any of them had realised, had shaken Jack, but the medical evidence was inarguable, and the post-mortem report bore out Evie’s suspicions; Lieutenant Colonel Drewe had been on the verge of that heart attack for a long time, and it might have happened at any moment. The verdict was delivered quickly: not guilty of murder, but guilty of manslaughter. The circumstances would now be taken into account, and we sat in frozen silence while we waited for the sentence to be pronounced.

It did not take long. Oliver would be stripped of his commission and given a dishonourable discharge from the army, to serve a ten-year sentence in a civilian prison. Cashiered. Not shot. My heart hammered almost painfully as I felt all the strength drain out of me, and I slumped in my seat. The release of tension was making me shake, and all I could do was fix my eyes on the back of the seat in front, and listen to the chant echoing loudly in my head. Thank God, thank God, thank God…

I felt the gentle pressure of Jack’s hand on my arm. ‘Sit up straight, love, and give him a smile to see him back to Blighty.’

Somehow I did so, and realised Oli’s attention had been fixed on me anxiously. He nodded as our eyes met, his face pale, but he returned my smile. ‘Come and see me,’ he mouthed, as he was led away.

Jack stood, and drew me to my feet. ‘Come on, I can think of one or two people who’ll want to hear this news.’

‘Are we going to see Archie?’ I heard my voice thicken as I spoke his name, and my pulse picked up in sudden hope, but he shook his head.

‘He really is rotated forward,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t just saying that for your brother’s benefit. We’ll wire him the verdict. What I am going to do now though, is take you back to France.’

‘To the ferry? Already?’ Disappointment broke over me, but Jack smiled.

‘To Arras.’



The hospital at Arras, where Will was awaiting his own Blighty ticket, was an astonishing affair. Underground passages, wards and operating rooms, smartly turned out nurses and orderlies creating calm from chaos…and although the smells and sounds brought back everything I thought I’d never experience again, with them came, not revulsion, as I’d expected, or even dark memories of trembling exhaustion, but a strange and aching sweep of nostalgia. For the first time I understood what Evie had meant, when she tried to explain how it had felt to be at her glorious Breckenhall home and wanting, more than anything, to be back here.

Tiredness was creeping over me now, and I was feeling a little light-headed and hot, but the thought of seeing Evie again, and meeting Will at last, kept me looking around with increasing interest.

‘Uncle Jack!’ The familiar, clear voice cut through the noise, and I turned to see Evie coming down the corridor towards us. She saw me at the same time, and gave a little cry and drew me into her embrace. ‘Skittles! How are you, sweetheart?’ Then she drew back, her breath catching as she belatedly realised why we were there. ‘What happened? Is the trial over?’

‘Yes, love,’ Jack said. He caught my eye and suddenly, in the midst of this madness, the relief set in properly; the smiles on our faces filtered through Evie’s tiredness, and she gave a shaky laugh.

‘He’s been acquitted?’

‘No, not quite. But he’s not going to face the guns.’ Jack gave her a brief account of what had happened, and although her face shadowed at the news he would spend ten years in prison, she understood as well as we did how close he had come to losing his life.

‘And what of young William?’ Jack wanted to know. ‘How’s he doing?’

‘He’s bright enough. Cheerful as ever. Infection was a worry for a while but it won’t be too long before he’s fit to travel. Come in and see him.’ She led the way to a crowded ward at the far end of the hospital, and we followed her to the bed halfway down one side, where a couple of nurses were standing at the foot, entranced by what they were watching.

‘He’s making things again,’ Evie said, her smile lighting the room. ‘People give him all the spare paper they can find.’

The two nurses caught sight of the sister approaching from the other end of the ward and scuttled away quickly, leaving a clear view of Will, his fingers twisting with dexterous concentration and unaware his audience had changed. Then he looked up and saw Evie, and my heart clenched at the look on his face. I’d seen a battered photograph Evie carried with her, and the man who sat propped against these pillows might have been someone else—that man’s father perhaps. This man was older, thinner-faced, with deeper cut lines around his mouth and eyes—but the smile that curved his mouth stripped away those extra years, and his hand dropped the paper boat he’d been crafting and reached out to his wife.

She sat down on the bed and her free hand slipped around to cradle the back of his head, and as she kissed him, I could almost feel the touch of phantom lips on my own and it took no guesswork to understand whose they were. That, at least, answered a question that had hovered darkly in the back of my mind since the attack; would I ever be able to bear the intimate touch of a man on my skin? The answer was evidently yes, provided that man was Archie Buchanan.

I looked away, and saw Jack was doing the same as Evie and Will finished greeting one another, then Evie spoke, and the conversation went naturally to Oli and the verdict. Will did not know my brother, but he seemed genuinely delighted, and his smile was warm when he turned it on me.

‘I’m glad,’ he said, in his husky, slightly broken voice. ‘It’s not often justice gets done, but thanks to you, it has this time.’

‘Thanks to Evie,’ I pointed out, and Will looked back at her, and seemed to have trouble speaking again. Instead he just nodded, and swallowed hard. He shifted on his bed, and hissed a sharp breath, one hand pressed to his middle.

‘Keep still,’ Evie said in worried tones, but he found another smile.

‘I’m fine. I just forget sometimes.’

‘Well I’m going to keep reminding you,’ she said crossly, and I exchanged another look with Will, who sighed.

‘Was she like this with you?’

‘Worse,’ I told him, and Evie rolled her eyes, but her smile returned.

Will’s other hand was still wrapped around hers, and he squeezed it. ‘She couldn’t even let me die in peace,’ he said, and his tone was amused, but his eyes on Evie’s were soft with awe. ‘She followed me out into no man’s land just so she could keep nagging me.’

‘She what?’ Jack’s voice cut like a whip through the room, and several faces turned to us in astonishment and interest.

‘Will!’ Evie groaned. ‘You weren’t supposed to say anything about that.’

‘Oh, hell.’ He looked at Jack and then, apologetically, back at Evie. ‘You didn’t tell me it was a secret.’

‘Secret be damned!’ Jack growled at Evie. ‘I knew there was something up, when you could hardly stand up the other day, getting out of the car.’ His hands clenched at his sides, then abruptly relaxed, and he shook his head and gave her a wry smile. ‘Evangeline Davies, you are going to be the death of me.’ He dragged a chair over and gestured to me to sit down, then leaned against the wall at the head of Will’s bed, and folded his arms.

Evie sensed the worry behind the exasperation. ‘I’m sorry, Uncle Jack. I hate keeping secrets from you, but that was…well, quite a big one. Please don’t tell Lizzy.’

‘Don’t be silly; of course I’m going to tell her! But I won’t tell your mother.’ He ran his hands through his hair and sighed, dropping his voice considerably. ‘In all seriousness, love, don’t let anyone else find out or Archie’ll cop it.’

‘He had no idea,’ Evie protested, her own voice little more than a harsh whisper. ‘I didn’t even know I was going to do it, so it wouldn’t be fair to blame him.’

He looked at her steadily. ‘We’ve just seen how close things can come to “not fair”,’ he reminded her. ‘The point is you were in his care.’

‘He helped me bring Will back,’ Evie said. She turned to her husband again, who was clearly deeply regretting having spoken up. ‘If it weren’t for him Will would have died out there.’

‘You’re as bad as each other.’ Jack shook his head again. ‘Archie’s a good lad, Evie. I’d hate to see him get into trouble over this.’

‘He won’t,’ she assured him. ‘We’ll keep it to ourselves now.’

I couldn’t imagine what had been going through Evie’s mind to go out into no man’s land, not after what we’d both seen. The thought of her and Archie out there in the dark, just a few feet away from the German lines, gave me chills, but I wanted to know everything. ‘Will you tell me about it though, Evie?’

‘Of course.’ She glanced around us at the crowded ward. ‘When we’re back at Dark River. Speaking of which—’ she brightened ‘—how’s Lizzy?’

We chatted for a while longer, then I noticed Will was starting to sweat slightly, and his breathing was shorter. Evie noticed at the same time, and turned to look for a nurse. ‘It must be time for your next injection,’ she muttered. ‘I’ll go and find someone.’

‘It’s another hour yet.’ He caught at her hand before she could rise. ‘It’s all right; they’re very good. I’m never left waiting past my time.’ He managed a brief smile. ‘Don’t want to get addicted to the stuff, do I?’

His words ricocheted around us, and Evie’s face paled. ‘Don’t say that,’ she said, her voice low and worried. ‘You won’t get addicted.’

It was only then he realised what he’d said. ‘Of course I won’t! Evie, please…don’t worry.’

‘But look at you!’ She was close to tears. ‘You can barely breathe, you need something.’

‘I’ve got something,’ he said gently, and lifted their still-linked hands. ‘Just sit with me? Don’t mind if I drift a bit. Just…sit with me.’ He let out a slow, difficult breath and his eyes closed. I saw his jaw tighten against a small sound of pain, and Evie raised his hand to her lips and kept it there.

Jack and I murmured our goodbyes and started to drift away, but Evie caught up with us before we reached the door. ‘He’s sleeping already,’ she said. ‘He’s so tired. Hopefully he’ll sleep until it’s time for his next injection.’

Jack put an arm around her. ‘I was never certain I’d say this, but I think he’s worthy of you, Evie.’

‘I love him so much,’ she said, choking on the words as she looked back to where Will slept. The lump of bandage beneath his pyjamas stretched right across his waist, and around his left side, and I guessed the surgery had been intensive, and more dangerous than Evie had wanted to say.

‘He’s going to need a lot of help to stay off morphine once he’s out,’ Jack said, and while I knew it had to be discussed, I thought he might have delayed a bit. But Evie was made of sterner stuff than me, and she nodded.

‘But it’s a good sign he didn’t let me call the nurse over, isn’t it?’

‘It is. I think he knows how scared you are though, and if you’re not careful he could go the other way.’

She gave him a horrified look. ‘You think he’d actually deny himself pain relief?’

‘He loves you, sweetheart,’ Jack reminded her, and kissed her forehead. ‘He’ll do anything.’

‘Are you all right, Skittles?’ Evie asked me, and put a hand on my arm. I nodded, but I was starting to feel distanced again, as if I were watching from the other end of the tunnel.

‘I’m just tired,’ I told her, and smiled. ‘A good sleep and I’ll be right as a trivet.’

Five minutes later the three of us were outside, listening to the crump of guns and the shouts of men and a newly arrived convoy. Now the worry over Oli was eased, all I could think about was Archie. I could see Jack’s mind had turned inward, and wondered if he too was thinking about his nephew.

‘I’m going back to Belgium tonight,’ he said to Evie, confirming it. ‘I want to be there when the lad gets back.’

‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Give him a hug from me, won’t you?’ She glanced at me as soon as the words were out of her mouth, but I smiled and gave a tiny shake of my head. If I’d had any remaining doubts about her love for Will, they’d have been dispelled as soon as I’d seen the couple together.

‘Will you take me straight to the ferry, or am I coming back with you?’ I asked Jack.

‘I’m sure you’d like to see Oliver once more before he’s shipped back, wouldn’t you? I can take you to the hotel again if you like, and you can see him in the morning. I’m not sure you’re up to a channel crossing by the looks of you anyway.’

‘I’d feel better for sleeping in a bed,’ I admitted, and Evie gave me a hug.

‘You take care, sweetheart. You’re still not back to your old self.’

We said our goodbyes, and while I sank with relief into Jack’s passenger seat, Evie went, with equal relief, back down to spend another long night at Will’s bedside.



We arrived back in Belgium in the early hours, and I fell into bed with deep gratitude. The travelling, the cold and the tension had all gradually chipped away at me, and I still felt a low ache in my belly but I couldn’t tell if it was a physical pain or the emptiness of losing the baby. Frances had been appalled at the way I’d embraced the blame, and she denied any possibility that I deserved it, but I felt the truth wrap itself around my heart and it was a hard truth to forget.

Late in the morning I managed to spend ten minutes with Oliver before he was marched out, dressed in civilian clothes and looking so very young it made me want to run after him and hold him while we both cried. But I remembered Jack’s words, and instead gave him the strongest smile I could muster, then returned to my hotel and collapsed into bed once more. I remained there all day, drifting in and out of a fitful sleep filled with fever-dreams, and during my lucid, waking moments, I told myself over and over again that Will was alive, that Oli was safe, and that Archie would be too. What more could any of us hope for?

In the early evening I rose, much recovered, to have a shallow, lukewarm bath, and to find something for dinner. The big guns were quiet tonight, and it wasn’t until I went outside after my meal that I heard the light cracking of rifles. I tried to shut them out, to reduce them to the same background noise as they had been before, but the image of Will in that hospital bed wouldn’t leave me. It seemed madness, after all the pain and injury I’d seen, that any one person could bring the horror home to me so completely, but he had. And now all I could think about was Archie out there in no man’s land. What if that rifle shot had been the very one that signalled the end of his life? Or that one? A life was being taken for almost every single one. Why not his?

My hands trembled as I drew on my gloves against the evening chill, and I was concentrating on smoothing them over my fingers, so it wasn’t until he spoke my name that I saw him. He was covered in mud, his hat shoved under his arm, and there was a smudge of blood across his forehead, but he was smiling, and he was whole.

‘Been playing in the dirt again?’ I asked, trying to hide the surge of joy that cramped my insides.

‘Aye. Lost our football and we had to go over and ask Jerry could we please have it back.’

I lost the battle, and laughed out loud, hearing my voice shaking in the evening air. ‘I take it you’ve seen Jack?’

‘I have. He told me about Oliver,’ Archie said, and took a step towards me. He was looking at me oddly, and I couldn’t work out what he was thinking. Then he reached out and gently lifted my hat off my head and dropped it to the ground, along with his own. Seizing my face in his two hands, he looked at me with a fierce, intense expression and then, finally, our lips touched, igniting a flare that shot through me from crown to toe. I heard my own gasp, and then his groan, and the touch grew firmer, his lips parting, and his tongue flickering along my teeth.

For what seemed like hours we remained locked together, my heart thundering, my hands finding their way into the thick hair at the back of his head and curling into the warmth there, and it took a while for me to realise I was pressing against him with my whole body. My gloved fingers caressed the back of his neck, and I could feel his thumbs brushing first my cheeks, and then my temples, before the kiss broke and he drew my head against his chest, holding me there as if there was a chance I might try to draw away.

‘Oh, bloody hell, Kitty,’ he murmured. ‘What have I done?’

‘You’ve come back safe,’ I tried to say, but the tears were choking the words off in my throat, because the kiss had awakened everything I had been trying so hard to suppress. And it was too late.

I did draw back then, and wiped my eyes with my still-wrinkled gloves, belatedly feeling my face flame at the way I’d behaved. ‘I’m glad you’ve come back,’ I stammered. ‘But I’m sorry for…’ I waved a vague hand, unable to find the words to excuse my overeager response. My family would be mortified.

He straightened away from me. ‘I’m sorry too,’ he said. ‘Strange, how we react to danger. I’ve been over, and made it back before, but this time it felt…I don’t know, like I had more to lose.’

I wanted to ask what, but no matter what he answered it would be wrong; to hear what I’d hoped to hear would hurt more than anything else.

‘Well,’ I said instead, ‘it’s understandable that we should have felt…’ Again I couldn’t find the words, but I went on. ‘I mean, it’s been a terrifying time. For all of us.’

‘Aye.’ His voice lost that confused, longing tone, and became brisk. ‘Uncle Jack has asked me if I’d bring you back to England. But I can’t get away.’

‘No, of course.’ I cleared my throat. ‘That’s… I wouldn’t expect it.’

‘I didn’t want you to think we’re abandoning you.’

‘Don’t worry. Really.’

‘I’ll arrange for a driver to take you to the ferry. I’ll try and get some leave once Will’s able to return.’

‘That’ll be nice.’

‘Aye.’

‘So, then,’ I said, at the same time as he said, ‘Right.’ We looked at each other and smiled, a little hesitantly, but the smiles were real.

‘I’ll write,’ he said, holding out his hand, then bent to pick up my hat and handed it to me. ‘Sorry about this.’

I pushed away the thundering memory of how it had felt when he’d taken it off me, and took it, then looked back down at the ground, where his own cap still lay. ‘Don’t you want that?’

He picked it up, and gave it a pointless dusting-off, smearing the mud across the flat crown. He shrugged and grinned. ‘Ah well, could be worse.’

‘Archie?’ He raised an eyebrow, and my voice was soft. ‘Come back safe next time, too.’

‘Nae bother,’ he said, exaggerating his own accent, and this time the kiss was as chaste and brotherly as they had been all my life. ‘Don’t work too hard; you’re not up to it yet.’

And he turned away, leaving me standing in the street with the memory of our first and last kiss tingling on my lips.


Chapter Five (#ulink_d2dcf555-b703-5ed0-aa5a-2efe0aec75ec)

Dark River Farm, May 1917

He did manage four days’ leave, when Will came home, two of which were spent at the farm, and they had been two days filled with relief and happiness, and the warmth of our old friendship. But there was something new between us now as well, something beautiful and helpless, and doomed. Tomorrow morning would see him leaving again for Belgium and his other life, and while the largest part of me battled with the terror of it, and the longing for him to stay, some smaller, hidden part accepted the relief of knowing his attention was no longer on me. On what I could not give him.

Evie, Will and Lizzy were in the kitchen on this last evening, and I knew they’d start talking about us as soon as one of them glanced out of the window and saw Archie had come into the yard to find me. As always, I watched his approach with the same mixture of longing and apprehension, fixing a smile on my face and hoping I’d find the strength, once again, to resist touching him.

‘Young Kittlington,’ he said, and his voice was almost enough to break down that resistance; he sounded tired, exhausted even, and I knew this short leave had not provided the rest he needed. He’d spent most of his time helping Mrs Adams do various jobs, and the rest in talking to me—I was much the harder work of the two; I knew that. I also knew I was the reason he’d come here at all, instead of going home to Scotland.

‘Captain Buchanan,’ I returned, leaning slightly away to discourage contact, but broadening my smile to compensate. ‘Are you all set?’

‘Aye. Not much to pack,’ he pointed out, and turned to lean on the fence. He seemed absorbed by the high-stepping chickens as they pecked at the food I’d just thrown them, and didn’t speak for a moment, so I joined him at the fence; it was easier to stand beside him and not have to look at his face.

After a while he cleared his throat. ‘Look, Kitty, I know you understand how my feelings for you have changed, grown into something else.’

‘Archie—’

‘No, wait. Please. All these years you’ve been Oli’s sister. Sweet, but just a child. Even when Evie told me what had happened to you, who we thought did it, and I wanted to rip Drewe’s driver limb from limb, I was feeling it as the shock of someone hurting my family. The anger blinded me to everything else. At first.’

‘And what of your devotion to Evie?’ I couldn’t help saying. ‘Did she feel like family too?’

A flush touched his neck. ‘I thought I loved her. Perhaps I did, and perhaps I still do, but not in that way.’ His voice dropped, became urgent. ‘Kitty, that time I came to find you at the hotel, and I saw you concentrating so hard on your gloves, you looked so intense, but so sad. It hit me harder than I’ve ever thought possible, but I couldn’t accept it. It felt wrong, and I thought I’d frighten you if I told you how I felt—I know you’ve always looked on me as a brother. I’d have hated more than anything to lose your trust.’ He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, pressing his fingers to his closed eyes. ‘That’s why I lied, and arranged for someone else to bring you back when Uncle Jack asked me. It’s why I let you come back alone, when all I wanted to do was take hold of you and never let you out of my sight again.’ He dropped his hands away from his face and fixed his eyes on mine again. ‘I have never felt so…fiercely, about anyone, the way I feel about you. Now I’ve accepted it, and let it in, it actually hurts.’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ I whispered, without meaning to. I couldn’t look away, but my eyes burned.

Archie searched my face, and finally asked, in almost a whisper, ‘Do you think you could ever feel the same way about me?’

I couldn’t speak. Didn’t he realise? Didn’t it blaze from my eyes, the way I felt it in every part of me? He caught my hands in his, and I was too startled to pull away.

‘Will you wait for me, when all this is over?’ He let out a ragged breath. ‘Kitty Maitland, will you marry me?’

I could have wept for all the years I’d longed to hear him say it, and more than anything I wanted selfishly to entrust myself to those familiar arms which, I knew without a doubt now, would keep me safe for ever. But I never could, and I couldn’t even tell him why; he would only persuade me I was wrong, and that would ruin him because I would believe him. His trembling uncertainty of my love for him formed the words I heard falling into the tense silence.

‘I’m sorry, but no.’

The pain on his face was echoed in my heart, and I hated myself for putting it there. Almost more, I hated the fact that it was not a surprised pain; his face just paled, and his eyes closed briefly, and the resigned look that drew his brows together told of someone hearing what they’d already braced themselves to hear.

‘I understand,’ he said in a low voice, but he didn’t let go of my hands. I wanted to tell him he didn’t understand, not at all, not if he believed it was because my feelings were not every bit as fierce, and every bit as hopeless.

‘We’ll still be friends though, aye?’ he said, and his mouth flickered into a smile, although his eyes remained shadowed.

‘I hope so,’ I said in a small voice. He touched my cheek, and while I fought every instinct I possessed not to lean into his hand, I told myself this was the right thing to do. He deserved someone unspoilt and respectable, someone he could be proud of, someone bright and lively who could make him laugh… God knows he needed that, after all he’d seen. Yes, I was doing the right thing.

I wondered when I’d start to believe it.



Dark River Farm, June 1917

‘What’s that?’ Belinda stubbed out her freshly lit cigarette on the floor of the barn, and I turned to the door, my mind racing; if Mrs Adams caught us drinking and smoking we’d be given vile jobs to do tomorrow, but even worse, for me at least, would be her disapproval.

‘Is someone out there?’ I hissed.

A light cough confirmed it, and Bel went to the open door and peered across the yard towards the house. ‘No-one’s come out,’ she called back in a low voice, while I patted around for the cork to stop up the wine bottle again. My fuzzy-headedness had faded quickly with the sudden shock of possible discovery, and I stood and picked up the long-handled broom with which I’d been beating rats out of the pile of sacks. Although who would believe we’d been working, when we could barely see to—

‘Oh!’ Bel turned, and in the near-complete darkness I saw the gleam of her teeth as she grinned. ‘It’s him!’

‘Who?’

‘The chap who gave me the wine! He’s coming over. Quick, light the lamp.’

I stared, unable to move. A man was coming to the barn? And she knew him? ‘Who is he?’

‘I met him earlier today in town. We talked a bit but I didn’t think he’d—’

‘Well well,’ a pleasant voice said, ‘it’s the beautiful blonde Belinda. Hello again. I was about to knock at the house when I heard voices out here.’ The man who appeared in the doorway was little more than a silhouette, but I saw him lean to look around Belinda and straight at me. ‘Good evening, and what’s your name?’

‘The lamp!’ Bel urged, and drew the stranger into the barn. ‘Mr Beresford, this is Kitty Maitland. She’s sort of Land Army too.’

‘Nice to meet you, Miss Maitland. Sort of Land Army?’

Belinda had given up waiting for me to light the paraffin lamp, and bent to do it herself. ‘She’s more like the family really.’ She straightened and turned to me. ‘I met Mr Beresford in town today, and in exchange for some advice on where to stay, he gave me that wine you’re enjoying so much.’

‘Ah, glad it’s being put to good use anyway,’ Mr Beresford said, and in the newly flickering light I noticed he was quite short, but exceptionally good-looking. He held out his hand to me, and, without thinking, I put mine in it ready to shake. But he lifted it to his lips instead.

‘I’m actually rather glad I was unable to find room at the hotel you told me about, or I should never have come here and met two such stunning girls.’

I didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter; Bel was happy to chatter for both of us. She quickly ascertained that Mr Beresford was hoping to find accommodation under the roof of Mrs Adams, of whom he had heard such warm things. ‘I’m more than happy to pay my way,’ he said earnestly. ‘It’d just be for a night or two, then I go back to France.’

‘Wonderful!’ Bel clapped her hands together. ‘There’s a spare room at the back of the house; it’s where Mr Adams used to keep all his wet-weather clothing. It has a bed too. Only a camp bed, but—’

‘That sounds perfect,’ Mr Beresford said. ‘I’m arranging for funds to be sent through to the bank, and I expect Mrs Adams would be glad of some extra money in a couple of days when it comes through. Besides, I don’t eat much.’ He patted his flat stomach and grinned. ‘Have to stay fighting fit, after all.’

‘Are you home on leave?’ I asked, looking for his bags.

‘Yes. I’m afraid I met with some regrettable thuggery on my journey though, and practically all my belongings were stolen.’

‘Oh!’ Belinda’s face fell. ‘That’s terrible.’

‘All they left me with was that bottle of wine I’d just bought, and what I carried in my pockets. I hope you understand now why I paid for your advice in wine rather than money?’

‘Of course, why didn’t you say so before?’

He shrugged, and smiled quite charmingly. ‘Embarrassed, I suppose. A pretty girl smiles, all dressed for work and clearly as capable as they come, and it’s hard to admit one has been overcome and unable to defend one’s own property.’

‘I’m sure Mrs Adams will be glad to put you up for a night or two,’ I ventured, ‘given your sad circumstances.’

‘Best if you ask her, Kitty,’ Bel said. ‘She has such a soft spot for you. You can tell her he’s perfectly all right, and she’ll trust your judgement.’

I looked at Mr Beresford again, hoping I could trust hers. ‘I don’t know…’

She put her head on one side, a sign I recognised, and one that made me grimace. ‘Come on,’ she urged, ‘you know how she’s changed since you came to live here. She used to be so strict.’

‘She still is!’ But I surrendered, as we’d both known I would. ‘Oh, all right. I’ll go in and talk to her.’

Reluctantly I stepped out into the dark, but halfway across the yard I hesitated and almost turned back, my stomach suddenly churning as I realised I’d left her alone in there with a strange man…but Belinda was a grown woman, and a supremely confident one. I sighed. I had to stop trying to wrap the rest of the world in my own fears.

I found Mrs Adams in the creamery, a low light in the corner glowing while she shaped and patted butter into blocks.

‘All done?’ She looked beyond me. ‘Where’s Belinda?’

‘We’ve almost finished, Mrs Adams,’ I lied, hoping she wouldn’t come out to the barn to check. I explained briefly about Mr Beresford’s bad fortune, and his request for paid accommodation until it was time for him to return to his unit.

Mrs Adams pursed her lips. ‘He’s a friend of Belinda’s, you say?’

‘It seems so.’ There didn’t seem any point mentioning that Bel had only met him once; he was friendly, he’d be here two nights at the most, and then he’d move on. ‘Maybe he can help out with one or two things around the place,’ I added.

‘Well, it’ll mean Will can stop looking around as if he feels he should be doing them,’ Mrs Adams said grimly. ‘Poor boy’d do himself a mischief if we took our eye off him for five minutes.’

‘So shall I bring Mr Beresford in to meet you? Then you can make up your own mind.’

‘Yes, all right,’ she said. ‘Show him into the sitting room. I’ll be out in a few minutes. Oh, before you go back?’

‘Yes?’

‘When are you going to start calling me Frances? Evie and Will do.’

‘They’re guests,’ I said. ‘I work here.’

Mrs Adams looked sad rather than exasperated. ‘You live here, my girl. You’re my daughter now, to all intents and purposes.’

‘I do have a mother,’ I reminded her, as gently as the words allowed. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She didn’t have to.

About two weeks after I’d returned from giving evidence at Oliver’s trial a letter had arrived, routed through Elise at Number Twenty-Two, the ambulance station to which Evie had moved after our own little cottage had been shelled. I’d opened it with trembling fingers, recognising the handwriting immediately, but any hope that my ordeal had touched my mother’s heart was dashed as soon as I began to read.



Katherine,

News has now reached us of the events surrounding your brother’s arrest and court martial. I wish that word had come from your hand, but of course we had to hear it by way of gossip and newspapers. To learn that you are responsible for Oliver’s downfall does not lessen our shame in his actions, it merely serves to throw some understanding upon it.

Likewise I can understand how a girl like you would be flattered by the attentions of an officer, but even if you did not make it clear to him that you had come to your senses, you are, after all, a sturdy girl and cannot have been so incapacitated that you could not protect yourself. I’m sure if you think back you will realise the truth of this. Such a man would never force himself upon a wholly unwilling partner.

Word of your ruin is already spreading among those upon whom we depend for the continuation of the family’s successful business, and those whose good opinion we value. I can only hope you are able to redeem yourself in their eyes, in the course of your chosen war duties—Oliver has no further opportunity to cover himself in glory, but you, at least, have the chance to expunge the shame you and your brother have brought on your family.

I’d lowered the letter, my face burning, my heart smashing against my ribs and making me feel hot and dizzy. Her words were stark enough, but the meaning I read behind them stole my breath; did she hope for me to be wounded in action? Perhaps I was imagining it. Surely I was? I lifted the letter and continued reading, and the words blurred in front of my eyes.

Your father and I both feel that any leave you take for the foreseeable future would be better spent away from Ecclesley, perhaps with the families of your new set of friends. This would give us the chance to ease your path back into society after the war, if you have not already muddied it too thoroughly. (Should this be the case I am certain you will see the wisdom of making a new life, better suited to your rather rebellious nature, and of finding a husband to whom purity and good name are secondary considerations.)

I felt sick now, remembering that letter and how devastated I had been to read it. Mrs Adams knew of it, but not what it said. I’d showed it to no-one; the shame had burned too brightly. For days I had wrestled with the guilt of lying, of letting them believe I was still in Belgium. I had taken up a pen countless times between then and now, poised to write the letter that would tell them the truth and cut my last hopeful tie with them, but as long as I returned home a plucky war heroine, with any luck even wounded in the service of others, my future as an Ecclesley Maitland would be assured. When I eventually wrote back, sending the letter to Elise so she could post it again from Dixmude, I found my pen had written words I couldn’t bear to hear in my own head: that I understood, and hoped that one day Mother and Father would learn to forgive me. By then I’d known there was nothing to forgive. Those who truly loved me had helped me believe that, but I felt that as long as I begged, pleaded and generally sounded like the old Kitty, Mother and Father might remember their little girl, and realise how dreadful their pronouncement had been.

Standing in the creamery at Dark River Farm I thought of my parents in their large, comfortable house in Ecclesley, and I felt an odd lightening sensation, an almost dizzying change of view. From nothing more than habit, and a fear of change, I’d been longing for a forgiveness that would never come, hoping, with a child’s yearning heart, for acceptance. It dawned on me now that I’d found that acceptance, just not in the arms of the parents who had raised me. I was wanted here, as soiled and broken as I was. I looked around, taking in the familiar warmth, the sweet smells, and the overall sense of peace that pervaded every corner of this draughty old farmhouse, and then I looked at Mrs Adams.

‘I’ll show him into in the sitting room. Frances.’

She nodded, and turned wordlessly back to her work, but her smile stayed with me all the way across the yard.



‘You won’t have cause to regret it, Mrs Adams,’ Mr Beresford said, his own smile wide with relief and gratitude. Now I could see him properly I couldn’t help being taken by the warmth of his hazel eyes, and the way he looked so earnestly at whoever he was talking to, whether it was the pretty and vivacious Belinda, the stern, inquisitive Frances, or even me.

‘I’m sure I won’t,’ Frances said. ‘Now, I’m told you don’t have anything to unpack, but maybe we can find something for you to change into amongst my Harry’s old things. He was a lot taller than you, but we have scissors, and Sally’s a decent enough hand with a needle.’

‘You’re too kind,’ Mr Beresford said, and as Frances took him off upstairs to search for something that might fit well enough, he glanced back and winked. Not at Belinda, at me. I pretended not to notice, and Bel didn’t say anything, but I thought I saw her eyes narrow anyway, and tried to think of a way to revive the companionship of our dance in the barn. But before I could, the sitting room door opened and Evie came in.

Driving the city’s ambulances between docks and hospital had given her some purpose, but it was not the same as it had been in Belgium, and I could still see the yearning in her eyes every time someone mentioned life at the Front. She would go back as soon as Will was recovered, I was sure of it. As would he. For now though, while he fought to regain his strength, and Frances kept her beady eye on him all the while, Evie worked hard doing the thing she was best at: driving.

Evie looked around her now, as she came in, her blonde hair grown back to its pre-war curls, her face tired but smiling. ‘Good evening, girls. Where is he, then?’

‘Upstairs with Mrs Adams,’ Bel said.

Evie blinked. ‘What’s he doing up there?’

‘She means Will, you idiot,’ I said to Bel. ‘He’s finishing some odd jobs in the bathroom, Evie. He won’t be long.’

‘I wish he wouldn’t try to do so much,’ Evie said, trying to sound merely exasperated, but I could hear the worry in her voice. She sat down in the chair by the window. ‘Who did you think I was talking about?’ she asked Belinda.

‘We have a house guest, just for one or two nights. A rather dashing young man called Mr Beresford.’

Evie grinned. ‘Typical. I expect you managed to charm him into thinking he needed a room.’

Bel, who worshipped both Evie and Lizzy, looked pleased but adopted a tone of indignation. ‘I did not! He was the one who smiled first, when I was in the bank. The poor man had just had his belongings stolen. Can you imagine? Anyway, we got talking, but I didn’t know about the robbery until just now. He was embarrassed to admit it to me, and just said he was looking for a place to stay.’

‘And you batted those long eyelashes at him, and offered him a room for the night?’

‘Certainly not!’ Bel said, still wearing a look of reproach. ‘I told him of a hotel in town. As it turned out he was unable to get funds right away so he couldn’t go there, but he remembered the name of the farm, and came here instead.’

‘Well, it’ll be good for Frances to have someone to help her out,’ Evie said, and smothered a yawn. ‘It’s a little bit late for an early night, but I shan’t be up long so I hope Will comes down soon, or I’ll be off to bed without seeing him at all today.’

The two of them chatted for a while, and I wanted to join in but I was starting to feel the effects of the wine again. Out in the barn it had given me a little burst of energy and amusement, but in this warm, cosily lit sitting room, with full dark fallen outside, it made me feel oddly distanced from everything. Evie and Bel’s quiet talk washed over me, and I thought fuzzily ahead to tomorrow, and the jobs I needed to do. I should really get up and go to bed, but I was too comfortable, and it was nice listening to my friends’ voices and occasional laughter.

I dozed a little in the chair, but jerked awake again as Frances and Mr Beresford came in. He smiled around at everyone, but as his eyes lit on Evie his expression changed, and the smile, when it reappeared, became faintly mocking. ‘Well. How very nice to see you again, My Lady.’


Chapter Six (#ulink_efbd6c47-22b5-55ce-bb66-70bf300e2877)

Evie stared at him, her face blank with astonishment. Finally she found her voice, and it was low and hard. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Do you know this gentlemen then?’ Frances looked from one to the other. ‘Evie? Are you all right? Should I ask him to leave?’

‘She’ll be fine, Mrs Adams,’ Mr Beresford said smoothly. He cleared his throat and frowned, tapping lightly at his chest. ‘It’s just been a while since we saw each other—’15, I believe. We didn’t part on the best of terms, I’m sorry to say. Not for want of trying, I might add, though, was it?’ He said this last to Evie, whose hands were clenched tight on her knees.

‘Why are you here?’ she repeated.

‘I was lucky enough this time to bump into this lovely young lady.’ He gestured at Belinda, who was looking as if she wanted the chair in which she sat to swallow her up. ‘She has far better manners than you. She mentioned the name of the farm, and here I am.’

‘Coincidence, I suppose?’

‘I know it’s not flattering to accept, but I have not spent the past two years yearning after your rather sour-faced company.’

‘No,’ she said, letting out a breath. ‘Of course not.’ She looked at Frances. ‘Forgive me, this is your home. I had no right to demand an explanation.’ She struggled to adopt a more friendly tone. ‘I met Mr…Beresford, was it? in Breckenhall when I was on leave at one time, and I’m afraid I was rather dismissive and rude.’

‘That’s not like you,’ Frances said.

Evie gave her a grateful smile and turned back to the visitor. ‘Mr Beresford, you must understand you were asking an awful lot of questions about my husband’s location, and there’s a war on.’

‘Ah. I see. You thought I might be a spy?’

Her lips tightened at his amused smile. ‘It’s a possibility; you must admit.’

‘Of course,’ he said smoothly. ‘However, I can assure you it’s not the case. Your apology is accepted.’ I could see Evie open her mouth to point out that it was Frances she had apologised to, not him, but she closed it again with an effort, and instead inclined her head graciously.

The atmosphere in the room relaxed a little, and Mr Beresford sat in the empty chair opposite me while Frances went out to the kitchen to make some Bovril. He turned once again to Evie.

‘So, these two lovely girls are working hard for this new Land Army thing. What’s your contribution to the war effort?’ She narrowed her eyes, but his smile was pleasant and interested, and she evidently decided she’d imagined the slightly antagonistic tone of the question.

‘I do a bit of driving. For the hospitals.’

Belinda piped up at once. ‘Oh, come off it! Evie’s an absolute heroine,’ she said to Mr Beresford. ‘Been driving ambulances all over the Front, dodging bullets and shells and all sorts.’

‘Jolly brave,’ he murmured. ‘And why are you here now?’

‘My husband is convalescing,’ she said. ‘Frances offered to let us stay here in the country, until Will’s recovered enough to rejoin his unit, but that won’t be for some time yet.’

Mr Beresford frowned, and his faintly patronising manner altered to one of genuine concern. ‘I’m sorry. Was he badly wounded?’

‘Badly enough.’

‘What happened?’

But Evie clearly didn’t seem to want to say any more, so I stepped in with some questions about Mr Beresford’s own wartime background. He told us he held the rank of lieutenant, and was stationed near Amiens, but all the time he spoke he kept shooting glances at Evie. She avoided eye contact, and I could see she was listening out for Will’s step on the stairs. When it came I saw her relax, and a smile painted the edges of her lips. The door opened and Mr Beresford jumped to his feet, cutting me off mid-question, and he looked tense, suddenly, and a little uncertain as he faced the doorway.

Will saw him, and the warm greeting he’d had ready for us died. Pale, he stared at the visitor as if he thought he might be dreaming. His lips parted but no words came out, and Belinda and I exchanged a glance and waited with breathless astonishment.

Mr Beresford spoke softly, and there was no mocking in his tone this time. ‘Good to see you again, Will.’

‘Dear God…Nathan?’

‘That same bad penny,’ Mr Beresford said, and to my astonishment I saw he had tears in his eyes.

Evie was on her feet now, too, and had moved to Will’s side. She slipped her hand through his arm, and turned to face Mr Beresford, plainly furious. ‘Why didn’t you tell me who you were?’

‘I didn’t know what he’d told you about me,’ he said, and his voice shook. All his previous confidence, and slightly sardonic coolness, had vanished. ‘I thought you might send me away, and I couldn’t blame you if you did. But…Will, I had to see you.’

Will gently extricated himself from Evie’s grasp, and squeezed her hand before crossing to stand before Mr Beresford. His voice was quiet, but tight-sounding, as if it was an effort for him to say anything at all. ‘You ruined me.’

‘I know.’ Mr Beresford lowered his gaze, unable to look up into Will’s face. ‘I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do… I had to leave.’

‘No letters?’ Will’s voice hardened now, and I saw a flicker of relief on Evie’s face that he wasn’t just going to brush whatever this man had done aside and welcome him back into his life.

‘I wrote, Will! That’s the truth. You must have already moved on.’

‘I had no choice, thanks to you!’

‘I know, and I’m sorry,’ Mr Beresford said again. ‘I hadn’t planned to stay away so long, but by the time I realised I couldn’t come back it was too late.’

Frances chose that moment to bring in a tray of warm drinks, and looked from Evie, to Will and Mr Beresford, and back again. ‘Not again! What’s happening tonight? Will, are you all right, lad?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Thank you, Frances, I’m fine.’ But he didn’t sound it.

Mr Beresford ignored everyone else and gripped Will’s arm. ‘I wrote to you, I swear. And to your family. They must have ignored my letters, or not been able to find you to pass them on. Look, let’s talk, just you and me. Like we used to. What do you say?’

Will studied him for a moment, then nodded. ‘Tomorrow.’ He was standing awkwardly, slightly hunched, and I guessed he’d been overdoing things again.

Evie noticed it too, and laid a gentle hand on his back. ‘Now Nathan’s here, he can do some of those jobs you keep pretending you’re not doing,’ she said, trying to make him smile.

Will didn’t take his eyes off Mr Beresford. ‘Oh, I think he owes me at least that much,’ he said softly. ‘Tomorrow,’ he repeated, and Mr Beresford nodded.

‘I’ll explain everything.’

‘Yes.’ Then, to everyone’s surprise, not least of all Mr Beresford’s, Will pulled the man into a rough hug. Slowly, Mr Beresford’s arms came up to return it, taking great care not to grasp Will too tightly.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he said again, and he sounded as if he were fighting tears. I glanced at Evie, who was observing her husband with a mixture of exasperation and deep, almost painful affection, and she gave me a watery smile and shrugged. When Will and Mr Beresford broke apart, I looked again at the visitor’s face. Nothing about his sudden emotional response seemed forced. His eyes were reddened, but they followed Will and Evie as they left the room, and his breath was shaky as he raised a hand to bid them goodnight. He coughed again, and I wondered how long he had been on the road to have caught a chill like that in the summer.

‘How do you know Will, Mr Beresford?’ I asked, to break the silence that followed their departure.

‘We’re old friends,’ he said, still looking at the closed door. Then he turned away and looked at both of us in turn. ‘I should think you ought to call me Nathan now, don’t you?’ He bestowed his warm smile on Belinda, who straightened in her seat, and his voice returned to its previous lightness, his manner once more the charming, well-bred young man—it was as if someone somewhere had thrown a switch. ‘Such extraordinary luck to have bumped into you. You must allow me to buy you something pretty when I get my money.’

‘Oh, there’s no need,’ she said, although her smile made it clear a gift would not be rebuffed. ‘How long is it since you’ve seen Will?’

But Nathan shook his head. ‘I want to talk to him first; it’s not fair that I should discuss it with anyone else until I have.’

‘You really didn’t know he was here?’ I asked.

Nathan looked at me shrewdly, his lips pursed. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, echoing Will. And he would say no more on the subject.



The following morning, neither Belinda nor I wanted to leave the house; we were both desperate to hear the story behind this stranger and his connection with our Will. It was clearly a complicated friendship they shared, but one deep enough to allow the unlikely gesture of a warm embrace and tears, amidst the shock and suspicion of their reacquaintance. Especially in a room full of women. But Frances quickly tired of us finding excuses to remain in the kitchen and, knowing full well the reason behind it, gave us a job to do safely away from the farmhouse.

‘Jane’s replacement arrives today, and will need collecting from the station.’

Belinda saw a chance to stall further. ‘What’s she called? And is she nice?’

‘She’s called Jessie. Well, Frances Jessica, but she likes to be known by Jessie. And yes, of course she’s nice. She’s the daughter of an old friend of mine.’

‘Another Frances? Where’s she coming from?’

‘Stop chattering! I know you’re only trying to fill time. Anyway, Jessie’s finished her training, and arrives in Princetown on the mid-morning train. You’re to take the trap and fetch her.’

‘Which one of us?’ I asked, hoping it would be Belinda. She was hoping it would be me.

‘Both of you,’ Frances said firmly. ‘I want young Will and his friend to have time to talk things over, without the likes of you silly girls poking your noses in. I’m sure Evie will tell you all she feels you need to know, later on.’

‘But we don’t both need to go!’ Belinda protested, and Frances shrugged.

‘All right then. Kitty can take the trap, and you can finish out in the barn since I notice you’ve still got two corners to clear.’

I saw Bel weighing up the options of a ride out to Princetown, fresh air, and a first glimpse at the new girl, against the gloom of an old barn, spiders, and the smell of damp hessian and droppings.

‘Perhaps her bags will be heavy,’ I said helpfully. ‘I’m not sure I could manage alone.’

‘Oh all right,’ Belinda agreed. ‘I’ll come and help.’

Frances gave one of her rare chuckles. ‘Speaking of bags, don’t forget to take something to tie them down with. You don’t want them flying off in the road. If you get the trap ready now you’ll be in plenty of time to meet the train.’

Belinda and I escaped with sighs of relief, and later, as we drove up to Princetown, I speculated on the new arrival. ‘She’s had some training then. Did you have any?’

‘I did, yes, but it’s only four weeks in any case,’ Belinda pointed out. ‘You can’t learn a lot in that time, and you don’t really know what you’re doing until you’ve seen a full year on a farm. Then again, if she already knows Mrs Adams she won’t have to worry about getting into bother over mistakes.’

Her slightly gloomy tone told me she was thinking of her own numerous instances of bother, and I smiled in sympathy and changed the subject. ‘Was Jane sad to leave?’

She nodded. ‘She did like it here, but one of us had to take care of Mother, and Jane’s got far more about her than I have. More patience too. I wonder if this new girl really wanted to do this, or if she’d rather have been off nursing or something.’

‘Like you would?’

Belinda had made it quite obvious she’d have loved to have taken my place in Flanders when Evie had gone back there earlier in the year, despite her general squeamishness. ‘Do you think you’d have made a good nurse?’

‘Probably not,’ she said. ‘But I’m sure I’d have made a rattling good ambulance driver.’

I looked at her, guiding the pony with a practised, elegant hand, and wondered what she believed it was like out there. Did she think we sat quietly behind the wheel while we were loaded up, then drove up the road and waited again, chatting with orderlies and doctors while they lifted out the quiet, smilingly grateful soldiers? I shook my head, and she saw me from the corner of her eye.

‘You may think I’m a bit silly,’ she said, a little tightly, ‘but I can drive, at least.’

‘There’s more to ambulance driving than driving ambulances,’ I said. ‘It’s truly awful out there, Bel. You should think yourself lucky to be here.’ I waved to encompass the hedges, the fields and the uneven, but relatively smooth road.

‘Evie doesn’t feel a bit lucky,’ Belinda said. ‘She hates it here; she can’t wait to get back.’

‘It’s different for her,’ I said quietly. For a moment we drove on in silence, then Belinda cleared her throat.

‘Look, it’s a lovely day. We’ve practically been banned from the house… Why don’t we have some fun while we’re out? We’ve ages before the train.’

I perked up. ‘What kind of fun?’

‘While you were harnessing Pippin I went into the barn, to get some rope for Jessie’s bags.’ She glanced over her shoulder into the trap. ‘Found something else as well.’ I followed her gaze and saw a bag, wedged upright in the corner, and the clear outline of a bottle inside it. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘There’s plenty left.’

‘Frances will be furious!’ I breathed in dark delight.

‘Not with you,’ Belinda said wryly. ‘You can’t do anything wrong for her. She won’t find out anyway.’

‘What if she does?’ Frances had a way of just knowing things. It was uncanny.

‘She won’t! All right, if she does, we’ll have to say it was your idea, then neither of us will take a strafing.’

I remembered feeling woozy and uncomfortable last night, but as I started to say so, a breeze lifted my hair, and almost took my hat off, and I also remembered I’d only felt horrible once I’d gone indoors. A moment later I scrambled into the back and seized the bottle.

‘Salut,’ I said, and pulled the cork out with my teeth. I climbed back onto the front seat, and took a drink before passing the bottle over.

‘Cheers,’ Belinda said, and did likewise. ‘Almost there, better drink up before someone sees us.’

After a minute she took the bottle off me, and peered into it with an expression of disappointment. ‘You drank more last night than I thought,’ she complained. ‘Either that, or you’ve drunk a lot more now.’ She threw the bottle back over her shoulder, where it landed on the floor of the trap and rolled under the seat. ‘There. Out of sight, out of mind. We must be sure to tell Nathan it went down well.’

‘What do you think of him?’ I asked, curious. ‘I mean, I know he’s good-looking, but Evie obviously doesn’t rate him, and she’s met him before.’

‘I tend to trust a man who’s not afraid to cry in front of strangers. And besides, Evie didn’t know who he was. It’s Will he’s hurt, and if Will forgives him, who are we to judge?’

‘You’re right.’ The pleasant part of the wine-hum was back now, and I squinted through the midday sunshine at the grey little village. ‘It’s lovely here.’

She gave me an amused look. ‘Drunk a lot more now,’ she decided, and I aimed a light blow at her arm.

‘All right, it’s not pretty, but it’s very dramatic. Especially compared to Ecclesley.’

‘Will you ever go back there, d’you think?’

I shrugged. The wine had loosened my tongue or I would never have said, ‘Perhaps. I miss my family, even though they don’t miss me.’ Then I cleared my throat, hurrying on before she could press me any further. ‘Slow down—station ahead on the left.’

‘I know. I was born here!’ But instead of turning in, she urged Pippin on with a flick of the reins. ‘I want to show you something first.’

As we passed out of the village my gaze was drawn down to our right, where the fields fell away to meet the stone wall that housed the massive and notorious Dartmoor Prison. Although since the prisoners had all been freed for service, they called it the Princetown Work Centre. Small figures still worked in the fields just outside the wall—a party of conscientious objectors. I thought, with a twist of sorrow, about Oliver in his London prison, with none of this stark but beautiful landscape to take some of the grim loneliness away from his days.

But Bel wasn’t interested in the prison. She drew to a stop, instead, just beyond the sawmill on the outskirts of the village. ‘Look, what do you see there?’ She pointed into the field that lay immediately behind the smaller one by the road, and I squinted.

‘A horse.’

‘Not just a horse! Look again.’

I did so, and realised I was looking at something altogether more special than a lumber-lugging workhorse. The animal grazed, calmly unaware of his audience, and the smooth, clean legs shifted slightly in the grass as he moved to a fresh clump. It was hard to look away again.

‘I come here all the time to look at the horses,’ Belinda said, and her voice had dropped. ‘But now most of them have been called up there’re usually just workhorses left. I saw this one when I dropped Jane back home last week.’

‘Where did he come from then?’ I realised my voice had taken on the same hushed tones, as if we stood right next to the animal and didn’t want to startle him.

‘According to Jane it’s on loan from the ARS.’

‘The what?’

‘The Army Remount Service. It’s a stud.’ She paused, and her expression altered subtly, but tellingly. ‘I used to ride Mrs Adams’s horses, you know, before they were called up. I miss it.’

I looked at her with dawning suspicion. ‘You’re not suggesting you try and ride that thoroughbred. Are you completely mad?’

In answer, Belinda threw Pippin’s reins to me, and climbed into the trap to start rummaging under the seat. She pulled out the rope we’d brought with us to tie down Jessie’s bags, around twenty feet of it, and shoved a few sacks out of the way to make a space on the floor of the trap. She looked at it for a moment, considering, and swiftly tied two simple knots around a foot apart along its length; I could feel my eyes narrow, recognising the technique but hoping I was wrong. Then she knelt down, and, with her tongue firmly locked between her teeth, she laid the rope out, and began tying a series of further, more intricate knots.

I resigned myself to the fact that I’d been right, and sighed. ‘You’re making a halter.’

Belinda looked up briefly, and grinned. ‘Come on, Kitty! I said we should have some fun!’

‘But that horse is huge!’ I looked over at the field again and tried to guess just how huge. ‘Probably at least seventeen hands.’

‘Ah, you know about horses.’

‘I used to ride. I didn’t have my own horse, like Evie did, but some friends of my parents used to let Oli and me ride theirs.’ I couldn’t bring myself to mention that Archie had been my more frequent companion, and that he was the most natural horseman I had ever seen—it had been a joy, even before I’d acknowledged my more mature feelings for him, to watch him on horseback. ‘I’ve never ridden anything bigger than fifteen hands though,’ I said, ‘and never bareback.’

‘Then it’s high time you did.’ Belinda looked critically at the mess of rope in front of her, then she picked up an end, threaded it over and under one of the bigger knots in the middle, and the tangled rope seemed to melt into the right shape. ‘There!’ She took Pippin’s reins out of my hands and hooked them securely over the fence post. Her voice turned wistful. ‘Embrace life, Kitty. Find the fun where you can. God knows it’s grim enough the rest of the time.’

She was right. I looked from her to the field, and felt the wine doing its dangerous work again. Suddenly I didn’t care. ‘Come on then!’


Chapter Seven (#ulink_62b16f32-7a22-59f1-af1b-31b34f46b79e)

Belinda and I ran, crouched low and laughing, across the field that lay alongside the yard of the sawmill, and, hugging the hedgerow, we followed it to the wall at the top. Belinda went up first, finding handholds easily in the stones, and dropping down the other side. My head was still buzzing a little, but rather than hindering me, it seemed to take away my hesitation and tension, and before I realised it I was thudding to the ground beside her.

The stallion raised his head and sniffed the air, but did not appear likely to bolt. I took a moment to appreciate the splendour of him; his chestnut coat gave off waves of light that changed from minute to minute, flashes of deep red against the brown, and I imagined how it would feel to be up there on his back, feeling him respond to my movements…

‘Watch the house,’ Belinda whispered.

My blood thrumming, I glanced behind us but there was no movement from the yard of the timber mill. When I looked back Belinda was carefully walking towards the horse, letting him see her but keeping the halter down at her side; she was clearly an expert, and I relaxed as she ran a practised hand down the stallion’s long nose, then stepped up to stand alongside him, patting his neck. He stamped and snorted, and I turned to check the yard again, but no-one came out of any of the large sheds to investigate. Somewhere in my clouded thoughts I wondered what the time was, and how long we had been here, but I was distracted by the little thrill of shared triumph as Belinda slipped the halter beneath the stallion’s head, and, in one quick movement, drew it over his nose and cheek.

To our surprise, he stood stock-still as soon as he felt the touch of the rope, and Belinda turned to me with a grin of delight and gestured me over. ‘Slow,’ she cautioned, but she hadn’t needed to warn me. I was used to far more skittish horses. Standing this close to the thoroughbred made me realise just how huge he really was; straddling his back seemed an impossibility, and I didn’t know how Belinda would manage, but when I glanced to the side I saw her stooping to make a stirrup with her hands.

‘Me? I’m not going first!’

‘Yes, you are, come on.’

I didn’t give myself time to think. I just slipped my foot into her linked hands, and she boosted me up until I was able to throw my right leg over the stallion’s back. He shifted again, and his head dropped, but he didn’t sidestep, or make a sound, and the memories came sweeping back as I picked up the makeshift rein, feeling my fingers move to let the rough rope slide into place.

Belinda’s face, turned up to me, was shining. She looked like a child at that moment, and her excitement found its echo in me… I was nineteen, not ninety; I’d missed out on so much fun, and the war showed no signs of ending; this might be my last chance for a long time. Maybe ever.

Belinda must have seen something of this in my face, because she nodded and stepped back. ‘I’ll keep watch. Go on; just don’t let him jump the gate into the road.’

‘We have to name him,’ I said, ‘just for today.’

She thought for a moment, then glanced at the timber yard and smiled. ‘Woody?’

‘Perfect!’ I sat up straight, missing the solid feel of a stirrup beneath my feet, and gently pressed with my knees. Nothing happened. I pressed harder, still nothing, then I brought my heels in, and Woody took off.

The field flew by beneath us, and before I had time to realise what had happened, we had reached the top corner, and I could feel Woody’s strides shortening, and the muscles beneath my legs bunching. At least it wasn’t the gate at the bottom of the field, but this wall was no small thing either and, panicked, I gripped tighter with my knees, wondering why on earth I’d thought I could do this without a saddle. My fingers let go of the rope and instead twisted into Woody’s mane, and I fought the urge to lie down over his neck and wrap my arms around him, and then we were up, and over. As we landed I felt my grip slipping, and my breath stopped until I settled into the rhythm again. I slowly sat up straight and let go of Woody’s mane, relaxing and letting myself once more enjoy the sensation of grace and power afforded me by this unexpected and thrilling experience.

This field currently housed a few sheep, who raised their heads and stared at us thundering towards them, before slowly bunching together and shuffling off out of the way. I laughed aloud at their casual, almost resigned acceptance of the intrusion, and I liked the way that laughter sounded, combined with the thudding of hooves on summer-thick grass. I couldn’t pretend I had any real control over Woody’s flight, but I could tell both of us were enjoying it. I’d once been carried off by a frightened pony, and that sensation had been completely different; the pony had faltered and jerked, its head was down, and I’d had the feeling that at any moment it might have stopped dead, sending me sailing over its head. Woody, however, was stretching his long legs out, and his canter was smooth and easy, loping over the grass, rounding the field at the top and following the wall along to the far corner.

The last remnants of a strong wine drunk too quickly had faded as soon as we’d begun moving, and everything was pushed to the back of my mind: worry about being seen, worry that we’d be late picking up the new girl, even the ache of missing Archie—such a constant companion now, that I barely noticed it—all fled beneath the appreciation of sharing this all-too-brief moment of utter freedom with this glorious, highly trained animal.

The merest touch with my left hand brought him around to face back down the field, and this time, when he took the wall, I was ready and leaned into his neck as he gathered himself and sailed over. Landing in his own field, with Belinda standing such a short distance away, it felt as if playtime was over. We had only been a few minutes, and I felt a shaft of resentment at having to stop so soon—what could she do if we just went around again, after all? I could pretend he’d just taken off. She’d never know…

But with great reluctance I eased Woody’s canter gently back into a trot. We stopped in exactly the same place we’d started, and I made myself slide down, resenting the feel of solid ground under my boots again. Belinda was gazing at me with a deep admiration that only made it worse; I wanted to keep that look fixed on me, but it would soon fade now I was just Kitty again—frightened of everything, unable to face going back to Flanders, and not even particularly good at farmwork.

For now though, she was smiling. ‘My turn. Boost me up—hurry, before someone comes!’

I tried to curb the lance of jealousy as I saw her settle into place on Woody’s back, and gave him a last pat before I stood back. My heart was still pounding with exhilaration, but now it was mixed with trepidation as I heard a door slam in the distance. A moment later, an outraged yell cut across the still air, and Belinda and I both jerked in shock; she must have pulled back on the rope halter, and Woody’s head came back, colliding with hers as she leaned forward to grip his mane just as I had done. She screamed in pain, and as I reached out to grasp the halter, Woody’s hoof scraped down my shin and my shout startled him further. He backed up, unseating Belinda, who toppled off to land on the ground on his other side.

It all happened within seconds, and both the fear of discovery, and the burning pain in my shin, faded into unimportance as Woody trotted away, allowing me to see Belinda properly. Her face was covered with blood, and the tiny bits of skin that showed through the grisly mask were absolutely white. A glance at her foot showed why; it was still turned awkwardly beneath her where she’d landed, and from its position it must surely be broken.

‘Bel,’ I breathed in horror. ‘Don’t move!’

‘Not likely,’ she said through gritted teeth. I limped over to her, relieved to note that Woody was now pulling up grass once more, as if nothing had happened. Only the halter he wore gave away our activity, and I wondered if I could get to it and take it off before the sawmill owner reached us.

Belinda guessed what I was thinking. ‘Leave it,’ she mumbled. ‘They know anyway.’

‘We need to get help for you,’ I said. ‘Does your face hurt?’

‘Not much. It’s numb.’ She looked up at me and, to my astonishment, actually smiled. With the blood in her teeth it was a gruesome sight, but the smile was genuine. ‘Just my luck, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘A nice-looking bloke comes to stay, and here’s me with a flattened nose.’

‘And probably a broken ankle,’ I pointed out, and she swallowed, the smile fading. She looked as if she might be sick.

‘I don’t want to move,’ she said. ‘Never again. Can I just stay here? Will you bring me food?’

I gave a little laugh. ‘Maybe this man will have some sympathy when he sees you,’ I said, gesturing at the figure, who had now come through the gate and was marching towards us. But it was a short-lived hope.

‘You bloody little idiots!’ he threw at us, as he walked straight past and went to Woody. ‘You could have crippled him!’

‘What about Be…my friend?’ I retorted.

‘You needn’t be shy about saying her name,’ the man fumed. ‘I know you’re from Dark River Farm. It’s written down the side of your bloody trap!’

‘Well what about her? Aren’t you going to help her?’

‘Not yet,’ he grunted. ‘Not ’til I’ve checked you ’aven’t done any damage to this ’orse.’

I watched, with grudging admiration, as he thoroughly checked each of Woody’s legs, running his hands down each one, and all the while talking in a quiet, soothing murmur. Then he took hold of the home-made halter and led Woody up and down for a few minutes, his eyes missing nothing as he watched the placement of each hoof. Finally he slipped off the halter and came back to stand in front of us.

‘Which one of you made this?’

I remembered Belinda’s idea that I should take the blame for any trouble, since I was a favourite of Frances. ‘It was me,’ I said. ‘It was all my idea, I’m sorry. You can’t blame Bel.’

The man turned pale blue eyes on me, and, now the immediate worry of injury to the loaned stallion was ruled out, he seemed to relax, if only a little. He wasn’t much older than us, which surprised me. We weren’t used to seeing men of fighting age around any more—at least, no-one who wasn’t dressed in hospital blues. This man was probably between twenty-five and thirty, blunt-featured, with the ruddy complexion of an outdoorsman, and a rather scruffy head of sandy-coloured hair. I guessed his occupation must have exempted him from call-up, because he certainly looked healthy enough.

‘This is a good little ’alter,’ he said. I shot a glance at Belinda, but she didn’t seem to care that I was taking the credit for her handiwork. Her head was down, her hair loosened from its pins and hanging in a pale curtain over her eyes, and she barely seemed aware there was anyone else here.

‘Look, my friend is hurt,’ I said. ‘Please, can you help me get her back to the trap, and I’ll take her home.’

The man shook his head, and now he looked annoyed again. ‘Bring ’er into the ’ouse, and we’ll see what’s what.’

‘I can’t carry her, and she can’t walk!’

He sighed, handed me the halter, then stooped to lift Belinda. She gave a little yelp as her foot left the ground and swung free for a moment, before he settled her more comfortably and set off back towards the mill. I followed, my mind frantically searching for a reasonable explanation as to why we had seen fit to risk Woody’s health, but of course there wasn’t one. Frances would be furious with me when she found out, despite what Belinda seemed to think.

In the house, the man set Belinda down on the couch, and I was finally able to gather my scattered thoughts and set to work. I checked her ankle first, and after a few minutes’ careful examination, I sat back on my heels. ‘I don’t think it is broken, after all.’

Belinda let her breath out in a shaky sigh of relief. ‘What about my nose?’

‘Hard to say. I’ll clean it up in a moment, but first of all we need to stabilise your foot.’

‘You a nurse?’ the man said.

‘No. But I’m Red Cross trained.’ I thought, for a moment, that my efficiency had impressed him enough to have cooled his anger, but it hadn’t. He merely handed me the things I asked for, without comment, and when I’d fixed a makeshift splint onto Belinda’s ankle, and wiped her face clean of blood, he began his tirade all over again.

‘You could’ve killed that ’orse! Do you have any idea how much he’s worth? What the army would’ve said? Not to mention ’aving to go through the bloody process of a loan all over again, to get Lady in foal!’ He continued in this vein for quite some time, before I glanced at the clock, and groaned, abandoning any notion of tending to my own scraped shin.

‘The train’ll have been and gone by now. Jessie will be waiting.’

‘Did you hear a word of what I just said?’

‘Yes, and I’m sorry. But we’re supposed to be picking someone up from the station. We have to go. Bel, can you walk if you lean on me?’

‘I think so.’ She looked at the mill owner, her eyes worried above her puffed and swollen nose. ‘Will you be telling Mrs Adams?’

‘I expect so,’ he said. ‘You ’ave to understand how dangerous it was, what you did.’

‘We do!’ I begged. ‘Please, we don’t have any horses at Dark River any more—just Pippin.’

‘That don’t make you special,’ he said, his brows lowered. ‘They took ours too, all except them that was needed. We ’ad some beauties, but the army’ve got ’em now, or they’re more likely dead. Don’t mean you can go around stealing rides when the fancy takes you.’

‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘We understand that. It was just a silly idea and we’ve learned our lesson.’

But he was in full flow now. ‘I mean, how would it look if I came over your place, and took your best cow just ’cos we ain’t got any milk?’

I was beginning to lose my patience now. ‘Look, Mr…?’

‘Pearce.’

‘Mr Pearce, we’re sorry. We really are. If you do tell Mrs Adams, be sure and tell her it was my fault. But we have to go now! That poor girl we’re collecting will think she’s been forgotten’

‘And you are?’

‘Kitty Maitland.’

‘Kitty’s fault. Right you are.’

I looked at him for a moment, unsure if he was teasing, but his face was grim. Well, nothing to be done now; I’d tried my best. ‘Bel, come on.’

Belinda stood up, leaning on me, and took the halter from Mr Pearce. He followed us out to the trap, and I helped Belinda to climb onto the seat, where she loosened the knots in the halter with a few quick movements, and threw the rope back into the trap. I saw Mr Pearce’s watching, one eyebrow arched slightly, but before he could say anything I picked up the reins and wheeled the cart around to drive back towards the station.



The platform was empty, as was the turntable; the train had long since begun its return journey, and the passengers dispersed.

‘Well where on earth is she?’ Belinda said. Her voice was starting to sound very nasal, and when I looked at her I saw her nose was even more swollen now. I winced, but didn’t mention it; it would only upset her more.

‘She knows the farm. Do you think she might have begun to walk?’

‘She must have.’ Belinda sighed. ‘This is all we need. She’s bound to be really cross, and blab to Mrs Adams.’

‘She might not. She might be very sweet,’ I said, turning Pippin around once more. I hoped I was right; we were in enough trouble as it was. ‘Mr Pearce knows full well it was you who made the halter,’ I added idly, as we set off back to the farm. ‘I saw him looking at you dismantling it.’

‘I didn’t really mean for you to take the blame anyway,’ Belinda said. ‘I only said that when I thought nothing could possibly go wrong.’

‘Whereas actually, nothing has gone right,’ I pointed out, and we continued in gloomy silence until, up ahead, we spotted a dark-clad figure with two cases, one particularly heavy-looking. ‘There!’

We rattled up alongside the girl, who looked up at us, then at the name on the side of the cart. A smile broke across a pleasant, heart-shaped face. ‘Oh, I’m so pleased to see you. I thought no-one had remembered I was coming!’

Belinda and I slumped in relief, and the girl passed up the lightest of her cases, before taking my proffered hand and climbing up to sit in the back, dragging the heavy one up behind her.

‘I’m Kitty Maitland,’ I said, ‘and this is Belinda Frier.’

‘So nice to meet you, I’m Jessie Goulding. What on earth’s happened to your nose?’

Belinda and I looked at one another and I pulled a face; we hadn’t even considered what we’d say when the inevitable questions started. If we told the truth we’d get into awful trouble for sure, but that might be unnecessary trouble, and avoided by a little white lie. Without knowing whether Mr Pearce was going to tell Frances what we’d done, could we risk having that misdemeanour to add to our list if the truth did come out?

Jessie smiled. ‘Were you doing something you shouldn’t have been?’ Again, we looked at each other and said nothing. ‘It’s all right,’ Jessie said. ‘I won’t tell. I promise. Frances can be a bit strict, can’t she?’

I felt a surprising jolt of jealousy at the casual way this girl spoke about Frances, and wondered how close they really were. ‘Thank you,’ I said, shooting a pointed look at Bel, who tried to smile, but her poor face really did look swollen now and she couldn’t be blamed for the grimace that had to suffice.

As we drew nearer the farm I glanced into the back of the trap, and noticed Jessie sitting more upright. Her face had lit up, and she looked lively and interesting as she twisted and turned her head as if trying to take in all the familiar things at once. She caught me looking, and smiled again, and I smiled back; perhaps we’d become friends. We seemed to be of an age after all. A best friend could be closer than a sister, I’d heard, but having had neither I could only wonder. Evie, while I loved and admired her, was a crucial few years older and married, and in any case she had Lizzy—our brief closeness in Flanders was from another time, another world.

As for Belinda, I had fun with her, and had even opened up a little when I’d been drunk, but we were chums, not close friends. I liked her enormously, but didn’t wholly trust her to be the kind of person I could rely on. Perhaps then, Jessie Goulding and I were destined to find that kind of unbreakable friendship… I settled against the hard seat back, hoping that would be the case, and making up my mind to do all I could to bring it about.

I pulled Pippin to a stop in the yard, and caught sight of two figures walking up through the field towards the wood. One taller, but walking stiffly and a little hunched, the shorter one very straight-backed, and gesturing with his hands, clearly agitated in his speech. Curiosity burned as I remembered that strange, emotional exchange last night; what on earth had Nathan done to Will all those years ago?

‘It looks exactly the same as I remember it,’ Jessie said, with quiet satisfaction.

I turned back to see her climbing down from the trap. ‘When were you here last?’

‘I suppose I must have been around ten or eleven. Frances usually visits us instead, but I do remember coming here when my mother wasn’t well.’

‘And how old are you now?’

‘I’m twenty-one.’

‘Can you two stop chattering,’ Belinda said through gritted teeth, ‘and bloody well help me down off this seat? My ankle has seized up.’

We took Bel’s hands, helping her to slide off the seat and land more lightly than she would have been able to otherwise. Then she put an arm around my shoulder, and I shot Jessie an apologetic look as I left her to carry both her own bags again, and helped Bel into the kitchen. Jessie didn’t complain, simply picked up her belongings and followed us indoors where Lizzy and Sally were preparing lunch.

‘Gracious!’ Lizzy put down her vegetable knife in alarm, and came over to help Bel into a seat. ‘What have you been doing? Are you all right?’

‘Quite all right, thank you,’ Bel mumbled, sounding more nasal than ever.

‘It’s my fault,’ Jessie put in quickly, and smiled and held out her hand. ‘You must be Lizzy. Frances has told me so much about you. I’m Jessie Goulding.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid Belinda slipped and fell from the trap while she was helping me to load my bags. I feel awful about the whole thing.’

Belinda’s mouth dropped open, but she nodded quickly. ‘Don’t worry. It wasn’t your fault at all. I was in too much of a rush to get home.’

‘You’re always in too much of a rush about everything,’ Lizzy scolded gently, and tilted Belinda’s face up to catch the light from the window. ‘You’ve managed to give yourself quite a wallop there. Kitty, could you fetch a wet cloth? Bel’s nose is bleeding a bit.’

‘It’s better than it was,’ I said, dampening a cloth at the sink. ‘We cleaned it up, but I expect the jolting of the trap started it off again.’

‘How about that foot?’ Lizzy wanted to know, frowning at the splint I’d put on. ‘Is it broken? We’ll have to get Dr Nichols over.’

‘It’s not broken,’ I said, and passed the cloth to her. ‘I thought it was but I had a good look at it, and I’m sure it’s just sprained.’

‘Well you’d know,’ Lizzy said, smiling at me with a warmth that made me feel clever again, for a minute. She could always do that. ‘Well done, Kitty.’

I blushed, and glanced at Jessie, who was eyeing me with a new speculation in her expression. Perhaps Lizzy’s words had given her a good impression of me; I hoped so. I tried to send her a look of gratitude for her quick thinking, but I don’t know if she read it correctly, and we were both soon distracted by Belinda’s little whimpers as Lizzy gently wiped the fresh blood from her face.

‘I’ll show you to your room,’ I said to Jessie, and picked up one of her cases. It turned out to be the heavy one and I grunted with surprise. She picked up the other, and followed me upstairs to the room we knew as the dorm. Jane had left her part of the three-bed room as neat as Bel’s was scruffy. The bed was stripped down, and the cupboard by its side was polished, the little jug and bowl set just so in the centre of the linen square, the drawers freshly lined with paper ready for Jessie’s possessions. Reflecting that Jane was, indeed, the best person to be taking care of hers and Bel’s mother, I put Jessie’s case on the bed and bent to unbuckle the straps.

‘There, I’ll just leave you to—’

‘This isn’t my room.’

I blinked. ‘Um, well, this is where Jane slept, and since you’re replacing Jane I thought—’

‘Whenever I come to stay I sleep in the room next door. The yellow room.’

‘Oh, but that’s…’ It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her it was my room, but she did have a prior claim after all. And it might be quite fun to share with Sally and Bel. ‘I’ll move my things in here then,’ I said instead.

‘Thanks lots,’ Jessie said, and smiled again. ‘It’s only what I’m used to, d’you see?’

‘Of course.’ I buckled up the case again and slid it off the bed. How on earth had she managed to carry the blessed things so far before we caught up with her? This one felt as if it were filled with rocks.

‘I’ll help you change the bedding after lunch,’ I offered, and she nodded her thanks. ‘What’s in this case?’ I asked, before realising how that sounded. ‘I’m sorry. That was quite rude of me.’

‘That’s all right,’ she said. ‘I should have carried that one. It’s far heavier than this. It’s got my books in it.’

‘You like to read? I do, too.’ I was itching to see what books she had, hopeful of the kind of conversations I’d often had with Lizzy’s younger sister, Emily, but she had turned away, so I just took some clothes from the drawer and carried them next door to the dorm.

On my way past the yellow room again I poked my head around the door. ‘I’ll see you downstairs. I’m going to help with lunch.’





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