Книга - A Scent of Lavender

A Scent of Lavender
Elizabeth Elgin


A captivating tale of forbidden passion and wartime friendship from the bestselling author of THE WILLOW POOL and ONE SUMMER AT DEER’S LEAP.It's 1940 and the threat of invasion hangs over Britain. But in the isolated hamlet of Nun Ainsty it is the arrival of the Army that turns things turned upside down – especially for two young women.Lorna Hatherwood, married to a man ten years older, lives a quiet life. Then she volunteers to read to blind soldiers at the nearby Manor and everything changes – because of a handsome medical officer named Ewan MacMillan. But their relationship could spell disaster…Then there is Ness Nightingale. A Land Girl billeted with Lorna, Ness is trying to forget a disastrous love affair. But when she meets Mick Hardie, a conscientious objector, she has to remind herself that she has vowed never to trust a man again …









ELIZABETH ELGIN

A Scent of Lavender










Dedication (#ulink_653b4230-7478-53f4-9eff-db2d0a8b351a)


For my mother

Katie Wardley

and for

my first great-grandchild

Katie Hall




Contents


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About the Author (#u284a9e8e-bf07-5da0-bb53-22c059d2ad59)

Also by the Author (#u6540c452-0a88-50d9-876e-21e3692cf043)

Copyright (#ue5ec51be-ed48-51a0-abcc-c8093e6c5411)

About the Publisher (#u9213d6cb-0658-5874-9dcd-befb52ca500e)




ONE (#ulink_ba19e2a2-c1f5-51e2-98bd-287b00abbc66)

Backs to the Wall (#ulink_ba19e2a2-c1f5-51e2-98bd-287b00abbc66)


1940

The month of June, and the world so impossibly beautiful that it hurt. Her world, that was; the little part of it that made her ache inside just to think she might lose it, now that losing Ladybower could happen. And losing Nun Ainsty, too, and everything that was dear and precious and familiar and safe.

Lorna flung her hat on the sofa then angrily tossed her prim white gloves to join it. Angrily, because she wasn’t getting her priorities right; because today her husband had gone to war and William going away into danger was surely more important than being invaded, even though invasion was a real possibility. Soon, some said. The tides were right. Stood to reason, didn’t it, that nothing would stop Hitler now.

‘What a time to be leaving you. God knows when I’ll get leave, the way things are.’ They had stood on the platform, waiting for doors to be slammed shut the length of the train, when couples would snatch one last kiss, whisper one last goodbye. ‘You’ll be all right, Lorna?’

‘Yes. You’re not to worry about me.’

Dammit, she wasn’t the only woman to see her husband go to war. Other wives managed, and so would she!

‘At least you’ll be all right for money – won’t go hungry waiting for the Army allowance to come through. You’re sure you can manage the bills?’

‘Yes, dear.’ William was talking pounds, shillings and pence again. ‘I do know how to write a cheque.’ She smiled to soften the rebuke.

‘And if you need help, there’s Gilbert and Nance, don’t forget. You’ve only got to ask, Nance said.’

‘Yes.’ Ask? Nance Ellery would be there in her WVS uniform, asked or not; self-appointed chatelaine of the village. And since the village had no resident vicar, Nance Ellery had taken to running the church, too, with a zeal fit to frighten St Philippa off her plinth. ‘You mustn’t worry about me, William. Take care of yourself. I’ll be fine.’ She wasn’t as helpless as he thought; she really wasn’t. All she wanted was the chance to prove it. ‘And I think it’s time …’ Doors were banging at the far end of the train.

‘Yes. Best be getting aboard.’ He reached for her, holding her close, patting her back, kissing her. ‘And I don’t want to be waved off. Too upsetting for you. Just give me a brave smile. No tears, eh?’

So they kissed once more and she waited until he was settled in the window seat of the first-class compartment, then held up a hand, wiggling her fingers in a gesture of goodbye. Then smiling tremulously she walked off, head high; was still smiling as she handed in her platform ticket.

And she would manage, she thought fiercely as she drove home. Grandpa had indulged her, then William had taken over. She had been a cosseted, obedient granddaughter and now, in the second year of her marriage was a cosseted, obedient wife. Nothing had changed. Not even her name. She walked down the aisle Lorna Hatherwood and had walked up it still Lorna Hatherwood. But when you marry a distant cousin, there’s a fair chance that you both share the same great-great-grandparents. And their name.

She drew in her breath then let it out slowly in an effort to sort out her muddled thoughts, find a reason for her dry-eyed lack of concern. And she should be concerned. Her husband had gone to war; she should be distressed and dismayed, and she was not, because William would be all right. William was always all right; he spent a great deal of time arranging his life so that absolutely nothing could or would dare to go wrong, even to joining the Army Reserve in 1938, when it was peace for our time, and Hitler had no more territorial demands in Europe. It was as if William knew a war would come and had set about arranging things to his best advantage.

He was an accountant, he had stressed, and it was a waste of a good brain to wait until war happened and he was forced to volunteer. And he was right, she supposed, because her husband would have made a poor job of being a foot soldier; would not have liked it one bit. So even before war was declared, William was a second lieutenant in the Royal Army Pay Corps of the Territorial Army, all set to become a barracks stanchion and to survive the fighting – if war happened, that was – whilst those less astute would stand a fair chance of being sent into danger. Or worse. And she did not blame him for doing such a thing, Lorna thought as she stuck out an arm and turned sharp right into the lane that led to Nun Ainsty. In his own mind he was doing his bit for King and Country, available for call-up long before his age group which, at thirty-two, probably wouldn’t have happened for many months. The fact that he had manoeuvred himself into a relatively safe job in the Pay Corps was up to him and his conscience, Lorna shrugged. As long as he was wearing a uniform she supposed it was all right. As always, William had got what he wanted and she would not weep for her loneliness. She would manage, she had vowed at the station, and discover for the first time in her twenty-three years what it was like to live her life without a man to protect her and smooth her way. Grandpa had gone to heaven and William had gone, nine months after war broke out, to the Pay Corps Somewhere in Wiltshire and from this minute on, Lorna Hatherwood had no one to look after her and no one to please but herself!

She fished in her pocket for her car keys and threw them to join the hat and gloves on the sofa, then gazed at the framed photograph of her husband in his uniform.

‘I’m not really as flippant as I’m trying to make out, William. I will miss you and I will worry about you even though you’ll be quite safe in Wiltshire for a time,’ she whispered. ‘But I need to find out what being my own woman is like, and not having to do what is expected of me, dear. I really do.’

Come to think of it, though, he didn’t have a lot of say in the matter. William was a long way away, and all alone. But then, if you thought about it, so was she.

She looked at the clock. Too early for lunch and anyway, she wasn’t hungry. Maybe a tin of soup, later on, and a chunk of bread. Right now, though, she was restless; she needed to come to terms with things, like William being a soldier for the duration and she being alone, rattling around in Ladybower like a pea in a tin can. Now, she must work out a timetable, eat three times a day as she had promised she would. Pity she couldn’t join something. She had thought, fleetingly, of asking Nance Ellery if the Women’s Voluntary Service needed anyone, but the thought of being bossed about by Nance put her off the idea. She would, of course, have to care for the garden now; seriously care for it and grow more vegetables as the government constantly reminded everyone. Digging for Victory, they called it.

‘So, Lorna – and this is the first and last time you’ll talk to yourself! – you’ll get smartly upstairs,’ she whispered to the frizzy-haired woman in the mirror, ‘change into something cooler, then go for a long walk and sort yourself out!’

And oh my word, she thought as she took the stairs two at a time, wasn’t life going to be one big barrel of laughs? She was tetchy already and William only three hours gone.

She made a moue of her mouth. She always screwed up her lips when in danger of tears, and tears would not do! There was a war on, the Germans were little more than twenty miles away across the Channel and hundreds and hundreds of our soldiers had died, not a month ago, on the beaches at Dunkirk.

So behave yourself, woman! Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Straighten your shoulders and get on with it like half the women in the country are having to do!

She took off her costume and best blouse, peeled off her stockings, slithered a flowered cotton frock over her head, then pushed her bare feet into scuffed brown sandals, tying back the thick mass of hair that William said she must never cut short. It wasn’t very ladylike, she supposed, to go out stockingless and gloveless but wasn’t she, from this day on, pleasing no one but herself?

Defiantly, she made for the front door.



The village of Nun Ainsty lay at the end of a long straight lane, the only way into it and out of it. At the top of the lane and across the busy main road was Meltonby, which had a general store and a school which Ainsty children – had there been any – would have attended. Meltonby also had a post office with a bus stop outside it and a regular bus service to York.

Lorna stopped at the lane end. Its real name was Priory Lane, but to Ainsty folk it was ‘the lane’, which they walked up to the main road or walked down to the scatter of houses that was Nun Ainsty. Not big enough to be called a village. A hamlet, really, a backwater, and she loved it.

She paused, watching the busy road, then looked down at her shoes as a truck of soldiers whistled at her as they sped past. She felt her cheeks redden. Men still dismayed her – apart from Grandpa God-rest-him, and William. Those two she felt at ease with but strange men, or men en masse like the whistling soldiers, she found difficult to cope with. All to do with her sheltered life, she supposed; because Ladybower and Ainsty had been the centre of her life ever since she could remember. She recalled when William, a tall, almost grown-up young man, had patted her head and given her a chocolate bar. She had blushed furiously and run into the garden. She would have choked on that chocolate had she known that little more than ten years on she would marry him.

But William had gone to war and she was trying to clear her head, get things in order in her mind. She turned her back on the main road and started off towards the village, face to the sun, and when she reached the pillar box, she would know she had walked a mile exactly. Thereafter, still trying to clear her head, she would walk around the Green, passing each house, maybe even stopping to tell anyone who might ask that yes, thank you, William had got away on time this morning and she was waiting to hear he was safely there, and what his new address was. She reached the pillar box and was about to turn left to walk the Green clockwise, when an unmistakable voice called,

‘Lorna, my dear! A minute!’

‘Nance. Hullo. What can I do for you?’ Nance Ellery always wanted something doing and Lorna had grown used to asking what it was.

‘A word. A word to the wise, you might say. I’m going to Meltonby.’ She nodded to the parcel in the basket of her cycle. ‘Half an hour, say …?’

‘Fine. Anything of importance, or just a chat?’

‘Tell you later.’ She never wasted time or words. ‘William got away all right, did he?’ she called over her shoulder as she pedalled off.

A word to the wise? Lorna frowned. A word of warning was it to be to a young wife newly deserted, about the dangers of being alone and fair game for serving men away from their wives and missing the comforts of home. And bed.

She turned right at the pillar box instead and walked the few yards to her home, because Nance Ellery was going to have her say and fill her head with doubts and innuendoes so that clearing it would be well nigh impossible.

She decided against soup for lunch and ate a chunk of bread instead. Then she took a hairbrush from the dresser drawer and pulled it through her thick, corkscrew curls, wincing as she did it, wishing her fair, frizzy hair was straight and sleek and black.

She glanced up to see Mrs Ellery leaning her cycle against the gate. She had been to the post office and back, and found time to change into her WVS uniform all in the space of half an hour. And because she was wearing her plum and green, Lorna knew that the word to the wise must also have a ring of officialdom about it because anything to do with the war or the church, anything remotely authoritative, warranted the wearing of the uniform.

‘My dear.’ Nance was a big woman and puffed a little, on occasions. ‘Can we sit down? The garden, maybe? We won’t be overheard?’

‘The garden it is. And there’ll be no one listening.’ The garden of Ladybower House was overlooked by Dickon’s Wood, and completely shut off. ‘But whatever is the matter? It seems urgent.’

‘It is, in a way. The thing is, Lorna, how many bedrooms have you got?’

‘Five. You know we have.’

‘Yes! But how many available? You’ve cleared the attics, haven’t you?’

‘Of course. As soon as the government said we had to.’ And the directive had made sense, Lorna supposed. Any room built into the roof space of any house was to be emptied immediately, because of the risk of fire bombs. Nasty things, fire bombs. They pierced roofs then burned fiercely and it wouldn’t have been a lot of use having to clear a way through years of clutter to get to the thing and put it out with sand. ‘We threw a lot of rubbish away, but what was left is stowed away in the small bedroom.’

‘Which virtually means you have two bedrooms only?’

‘I suppose so, but why do you ask?’ Nance was putting words into her mouth; that she had only one spare bedroom. ‘I mean, are you billeting again? Are you looking for places for evacuees?’ Lorna felt uneasy.

‘Not at the moment, though the way things are with the war, I soon will be, nothing is more certain!’

When war broke out, children had been evacuated from towns which would almost certainly be bombed. A straggle of children had walked around Nun Ainsty, labels on coats, possessions in brown paper bags. It had been Nance Ellery’s job to help the Billeting Officer find homes for them, Lorna recalled. She and William had been landed with four, and William had hated it. William and Lorna had no children of their own, nor were any planned in the near future, and William took exception to other people’s being thrust upon his peace and privacy. That they had quickly returned to Leeds and Manchester had been a relief, and her otherwise patriotic husband said he would set the dogs on the next Billeting Officer who showed her face at Ladybower’s door – if they’d had dogs, that was!

‘So it’s children again?’ Lorna was clearly worried.

‘Not just yet, and if you’re clever you can fill that spare room with an adult who’ll be no trouble, and company for you now that William’s away. A female, of course.’

‘W-what kind of a female?’

‘A female for Glebe Farm. A land girl.’

‘A woman at Glebe Farm?’ Kate Wintersgill wouldn’t take kindly to that! ‘Are you sure they need a land girl? Can’t Bob and Rowley manage?’

‘Seems not. They want more help. And it would be better for the woman to live elsewhere, and Kate knows it. Well you would, I mean, with a son with only one thing on his mind, if what I hear is to be believed!’

‘His mind? Rowley? What on his mind?’

‘You know full well what I mean! Young Rowley isn’t to be trusted when it comes to women. There’s no way I could stand by and see one exposed to him! And his mother knows it!’

‘But a land girl would be working there during the day, Nance …’

‘Then let’s hope she carries a pitch fork around with her, that’s all I can say. Anyway, Kate has agreed to a female worker, but not to sleep in. I’m asking you to take her, Lorna. Can you do it? It’s either her, or yelling kids.’

‘We-e-ll – I’m not sure. If William were here, you see …’

‘If William were here he’d say yes, you know he would. And there’ll be a billeting allowance of fourteen shillings a week and she’ll bring her own rations with her from the hostel.’

‘Hostel? The one at Meltonby? Then why can’t she stay there, like all the other land girls round these parts?’

‘Because the hostel is full to bursting. Now, are you going to take her or not? And before you answer, remember that this is a tiny place at the end of a lane, and if Hitler did decide to invade, he’ll probably never even find it! But there’s a real war going on at the top of that lane, and it’s fast catching up with us!’

‘I know it is, Nance. William went to join it, this morning.’

‘Sorry, my dear. You’ll be feeling cut up. Shouldn’t have sprung this on you so soon after, but it’s got to be today.’

‘Why has it?’

‘Because I’ve got to find her a billet and I thought about you – so will you take her?’

‘But when will she be coming? The bed isn’t made up. And will she keep decent hours – not come in late, or be noisy?’

And take over the bathroom and want to have her boyfriends in? Or would she be common, or swear? Taking another woman into your house, Lorna frowned, wasn’t something to be decided in half an hour!

‘She can make up her own bed, and I’m sure she’ll respect your home. If I were you, m’dear, I’d lay down house rules the minute she arrives. That way, you’ll both know where you stand.’

‘Arrives? You’ve decided then, Nance? Do I have a choice?’

‘Entirely up to you, but she’ll be the lesser of two evils. The way things are going with the war, the air raids are going to start, mark my words, then they’ll be closing city schools and evacuating the children again. And you know William doesn’t like other people’s children.’

‘William isn’t here to object!’

‘No. But if he knew …’

‘I know! He’d tell me to take the woman in.’

‘That’s settled, then! Mind if I use your phone – tell the warden at the hostel that Miss Nightingale can come?’

‘Be my guest. You know where it is.’

She knew when she was beaten, and even as she heard Nance Ellery ask for the Meltonby number, Lorna found herself wondering if her new lodger’s name would be Florence. Just to think of it made her want to giggle hysterically.



The land girl was not in the least bit Florence Nightingal-ish. She was, in spite of the pale blue shirt and overalls she wore, strikingly beautiful.

‘Is this Ladybower House, and are you Mrs Hathaway?’

‘Hatherwood.’ Lorna held out a hand. ‘And your name isn’t Florence – is it?’

‘Nah! Though a lot of people call me Flo! Actually, me Nan wanted me to be called Ariadne. “They’ll never shorten that to Flo,” she said. But me Mam hit the roof and said I’d have trouble for the rest of me life with a name like Ariadne and said it was to be Agnes, after me auntie. So if you don’t mind it’s either Ness or Flo.’

‘Will Ness do?’ Lorna smiled.

‘Smashin’. Now, mind if I leave these cases? There’s a couple more I’ll have to go back for. You’d be surprised how much kit they give you.’

‘It’s a long way. Surely you didn’t walk?’

‘Nah! They gave me a bike. It’s at your front gate. Won’t be long.’

‘I’ll be making tea at three-thirty, Ness. That should give you enough time, there and back.’

Ness Nightingale. Lorna stood at the gate and watched her go. Hair black as the night, eyes dark and mischievous, and the loveliest smile you ever did see. Maybe it would turn out all right. Maybe she and Miss Nightingale – Ness – would be able to get along fine, given time of course, and a bit of give and take. After all, there was a war on and, if Nance Ellery was to be believed, it wouldn’t be long before everyone, civilians included, would know about it. Granted, Nun Ainsty was a tucked-away little place, but the war was only at the top of the lane, the whistling soldiers were proof of it! So best she count her blessings, take in the land girl, dig like mad in the garden for Victory and write every day to William, Somewhere in Wiltshire. That, and keeping cheerful as the government wanted everyone to do in times such as these, would be sufficient to be going on with.

‘Right, then! Airing cupboard!’

There was the spare room bed to be made up and towels put out, and the wardrobe and drawers checked for dust and clean lining paper laid in them. She would do all she could to make her lodger comfortable, even though she wasn’t at all sure she wanted another woman in her house so soon after William had gone.

But she couldn’t be sure of anything just now. Strange, that only this morning William had sat at the kitchen table, eating his breakfast in the most normal way, yet now they were miles apart, and she had a lodger.

‘Oh, damn Hitler and damn the war!’

Lorna heaved the mattress over, letting it fall with a thud and a bounce, feeling better for doing something physical. Then she gave all her attention to Ness Nightingale and her black, shining hair and thought how very unfair life could be at times.



‘Would you like to see the village?’ Lorna asked when supper had been eaten. ‘I could show you who lives where. It won’t take long, and it’s such a lovely night and – and …’

And she felt so restless, truth known, and almost certainly the cause of it was the woman who had taken over her spare room, eaten supper in her kitchen and was now saying that yes of course she would like to see the village and would it be all right for them to walk as far as Glebe Farm – just so she would know how long it would take her to get there in the morning?

‘I’m to start at seven. Better not be late on my first day, had I?’

‘You won’t be late, Miss Nightingale. It’s only a cock’s stride away. I’ll show you. Leave the dishes. I’ll do them later.’

‘We’ll do them later. And could you call me Ness? Miss Nightingale’s a bit formal, innit? You do want me here? It wasn’t my fault the hostel was full.’

‘Miss – Ness – I do want you here. It’s just that this morning I had a husband at home, and tonight I’ve got a land girl, and it’ll take me a little time to get things sorted in my head. And I think you had better call me Lorna – if it’s all right with you?’ she whispered uneasily.

‘Mm. Better’n Mrs Hatherwood – especially as you’re younger than me.’

‘Am I?’ Lorna was unused to such directness. ‘I – I’m twenty-three.’

‘I’m twenty-five – just. And I promise to try not to be too much of a nuisance. And you mightn’t have to put up with me for too long. I’m sure they’ll take me into the hostel as soon as there’s a place.’

‘Would you prefer that – being with a crowd of girls?’

‘Nah. Being here’s going to be better than that old hostel. Me bedroom’s lovely and it’s smashin’ being able to look out and see nothin’ but trees.’

‘That’s Dickon’s Wood.’

‘Oh, ar. And who’s Dickon when he’s at home?’

‘Tell you later. This village has quite a history, you know.’

‘An’ it’s got a funny name, an’ all – funny-peculiar, I mean.’

‘Nun Ainsty? We mostly call it Ainsty. But I’ll tell you how it got its name as we do our tour of inspection. It won’t take long, that’s for sure. There are only ten houses – eleven if you count the manor. But the manor’s been empty for years and years. So, if you’re ready …?’



They walked around the village, past Dickon’s Wood and the White Hart public house and the Saddlery. And Throstle Cottage.

‘Throstle?’ Ness wrinkled her nose.

‘It’s the old name for a song thrush. There are a lot of them in the wood. They’ll probably wake you early with their singing.’

‘Don’t think I’ve ever seen a thrush – not even in the park. Sparrows, mostly, and pigeons down at the Pierhead.’

‘Pierhead? I thought you were from Liverpool.’

‘S’right. Good old Liverpewl. I love it to bits, but I couldn’t wait to get out of the dump. There’s a big munitions factory being built outside Liverpewl and people reckon there’ll be work for thousands, when it’s done. But I decided on the Land Army. Always wondered what life was like in the country.’

‘And you’ll soon know. You’ll be living in the country for the duration.’

‘I know. Scares me a bit. I didn’t know there was so much space, so much sky, till I seen this place. Sky everywhere, isn’t there?’

‘Everywhere, as you say. But often there are bombers in it – ours, of course. There are quite a few bomber stations around here. Sometimes the planes fly very low, but you’ll get used to it. But over there – look! You can see Glebe Farm, with the ruins behind it.’

‘Ruins of what? Cromwell at it around here, was he?’

‘Actually it was Henry the Eighth who was responsible for the priory. Fell out with the Pope, and turned against the Church; said it was getting too rich and above itself. It was he who turned the nuns out of the priory, sent his hangers-on to take off the roof. Then they looted everything of value and left the place to decay. Pity, really, because it was run by a nursing order. They took in lepers. It was the only building here, apart from the chapel and the three almshouses. It had to be well away from habitation.’

‘Lepers? Aren’t they the poor sods who had to ring a bell and shout “Unclean” so people would know to get out of their way?’

‘The same. They made their way to the priory to die, I suppose. If you look beyond the ruins to your right, you can see the back of the manor.’

‘Pity,’ Ness sighed, ‘about the ruins and the manor all empty. And a pity about them poor lepers, an’ all.’

‘Suppose it is. See the little church over there?’ Lorna pointed to the small, stone chapel, surrounded by green grass. It had no stained glass windows, no belltower. ‘St Philippa’s. Only tiny. The nuns built it as a chapel for the lepers to pray in. Henry’s wreckers left it alone, thank goodness. The lepers were buried around it when they died. And people who died of the plague or cholera were brought here for burial from other parts, too, because it was so out of the way. No gravestones for them, but at least they’ll never be disturbed. Did you know, Ness, that even now, no one is keen to disturb a cholera grave? They say it lives on, in the soil, though I very much doubt it.’

‘There was a cholera epidemic in Liverpool about a hundred years ago. I think a lot of the dead were thrown into an old wooden ship, then it was towed down the Mersey and out to sea, and blown up. Reckon them poor people would’ve rather been here.’

‘Well, if you’re interested, we have a service at St Philippa’s every other week.’

‘And you aren’t worried about catching anything?’ Ness frowned.

‘Not at all. It’s a dear little chapel. Are you C of E?’

‘Me Mam is. I’m nuthin’, though I suppose if I had to stand up and be counted, I’m Church of England. In Liverpewl we’re called Protties – well, that’s what the Cathlicks call us. A lot of them around Liverpewl. Came over from Ireland, because of the famine. Suppose it’s what makes Liverpewl what it is – the people, I mean. I’ll miss the people, but it’ll be smashing, bein’ in the country, hearing birds singing.’

‘It’ll make a change. Walk past quickly! There’s Nance Ellery in her garden and I don’t want to see her, if you don’t mind. She’s all right, but she likes to boss people around so don’t say you haven’t been warned. Beech Tree House, her place is called, because of the three beeches in front of it.’ Lorna slowed her step once more. ‘And next to Beech Tree is Larkspur Cottage, where the district nurse lives. Then right at the end, near the lane, are the almshouses – they survived the wreckers and vandals too. Pillar box to your right, and that’s about it. You’ve toured Nun Ainsty, Ness, in fifteen minutes flat, walking slowly!’

‘And it’s beautiful. All trees and flowers and – and –’

‘Sky?’ Lorna grinned.

‘Yes, and birds. But you never told me about Dickon – him the wood was called after.’

‘We-e-ll, Dickon was an ostler. Looked after Sir Francis Ainsty’s horses in York. Sir Francis had a daughter Ursula, who became a nun.’

‘At the priory here?’

‘Yes, though reluctantly. Ursula, an only child and heiress, couldn’t get a husband. She was considered ugly, you see. And since no man wanted an unmarried daughter on his hands in those days, Francis Ainsty sent Ursula to the nuns, paid them a good sum of money to take her, and made his nephew his heir.’

‘The miserable old devil! Surely Ursula wasn’t that ugly? I mean, wouldn’t her father’s money have made her just a little bit attractive?’

‘Seems not. Anyway, legend has it that no one offered for her, so her fate was sealed, as they say.’

‘Was she a hunchback, or somethin’?’

‘No. Far worse than that in the eyes of the people of Tudor England. Ursula had a harelip and a cleft palate too, I think, because she was supposed not to be able to speak properly.’

‘But things like that don’t matter these days. There’s an operation for it, isn’t there?’

‘Yes. As you say, it can be fixed nowadays. But four hundred years ago, people were very superstitious, and anyone born with a harelip was avoided like the plague, because they thought that if a hare ran across the path of a pregnant woman, it caused her baby to have a hare’s lip. Witchcraft.’

‘What a load of old rubbish!’

‘Ah, but was it, Ness? In those days, people believed in witches and a hare – a black cat, too – were thought to be familiars of a witch.’

‘Sorry, you’ve lost me.’

‘A familiar was another form a witch could take when she was up to no good, so a pregnant woman, startled by a hare, paid the price for it.’

‘Or her poor little baby did! But what about Dickon?’

‘Dickon was ordered by Sir Francis to deliver Ursula to the convent, the two of them riding horses. Ursula wept all the way there and Dickon was so upset that he proposed to her – or so the story goes.’

‘But she wouldn’t have him, him bein’ a peasant, sort of, and her bein’ high born?’

‘Wrong! Ursula accepted. Dickon had always been fond of his master’s daughter and protective towards her and couldn’t bear to see her locked away. And he wasn’t marrying her for her money because she’d been disinherited. You’ve got to admire Dickon.’ Lorna pushed open the back garden gate. ‘I feel like a cup of tea. Will you put the kettle on, Ness, and I’ll see if there’s been a call for me.’

‘From your husband? Lucky you’ve got a phone in the house.’ Few people had their own telephone. There had not been one in Ness’s Liverpool home. Very middle class, telephones were. She set the kettle to boil and had laid a tray by the time Lorna returned.

‘No joy. Mrs Benson from the telephone exchange at Meltonby said she hadn’t had any trunk calls from down south all day. Says her switchboard has gone over all peculiar since Dunkirk. Anyway, I wasn’t really expecting a call. More chance of a letter tomorrow, or the next day.’

‘Sorry, Lorna. Must be rotten when your feller goes off to the Army.’

‘Rotten. But I haven’t really taken it in. It feels like I’m in a daze, kind of. I – I haven’t cried, Ness. Not one tear.’

‘No, but you will when it hits you, queen. But if you don’t feel like tellin’ me about Dickon and Ursula, it’s all right.’

‘Oh, but I do. Having someone to talk to helps a lot, believe me. Where were we?’

‘We’d got to the bit where Dickon asked Ursula to marry him, even though she didn’t have a penny to her name.’

‘And Ursula accepted him, but I suppose they couldn’t just gallop off into oblivion. After all, Sir Francis would expect his servant back in York – plus two horses – so they decided Ursula should wait until the next saint’s day to run away. Sir Francis always gave his servants time off to go to church on saints’ days, so that was when it would be. Dickon would come and wait for Ursula who would slip away when no one was looking.’

‘And he’d wait for her in the wood – bet I’m right!’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t as easy as they’d hoped. Three saints’ days came and went, but getting out of the priory wasn’t as easy as Ursula had expected. In the end, she became desperate and tried to climb out of the window of her cell. But she fell and hurt herself badly. It didn’t stop her, though, from dragging herself to the wood. She died in Dickon’s arms.’

‘Gawd. And what did Dickon do then?’

‘No one seems to know. He just faded out of the picture, so to speak.’

‘So why is it called Dickon’s Wood?’

‘We-e-ll – and I tell you this tongue in cheek, Ness – Ursula is supposed to haunt the wood, waiting for Dickon to come for her!’

‘Ooooh! You haven’t seen her?’

‘To be honest, no one has seen her.’

‘But there must be some truth in it, or why did they call this village Nun Ainsty after her? Like keeping her name alive, innit?’

‘I rather think the people who came here all those years ago kept her name alive to make sure not too many more joined them. It wasn’t long after Ursula died that the nuns were turned out of the priory, and once the king had taken all he wanted, a blind eye was turned to the looting that went on. With the roof gone, the building started to decay. All that was any use was a pile of stones and quite a lot of land.’

‘And the people who came here weren’t afraid of germs an’ things the lepers had left behind?’

‘Seems not. Would you be, when there was priory land for the grabbing and stone to build your house with? Of course, the building material soon ran out. The manor took the lion’s share, and then Glebe Farm was built. Very soon, all that was left was what you see now – archways and columns and some of the cloisters.’

‘But weren’t people worried, pulling down a holy place? Didn’t they fear punishment from God?’

‘Why should they? Henry had made himself head of the English church. If the king could help himself, then surely so could anyone else.’

‘You reckon?’ Ness was clearly impressed. ‘You live nearest to the wood. Can you say, hand on heart, that the nun has never been seen there?’

‘You mean the nun’s ghost? Well all I can say, hand on heart, is that if she has I haven’t heard about it. Mind, Grandpa told me people said they’d seen her ages ago, on the odd occasion, though maybe they’d had a drop too much at the White Hart. But I wouldn’t lose too much sleep over Dickon and Ursula, if I were you.’

‘But haven’t you thought,’ Ness was reluctant to let the matter drop, ‘that every house in this village is built with stone from the priory, so who’s to say that every house isn’t haunted by Ursula? Or Dickon?’

‘Because they aren’t. It’s all a lot of nonsense. I’m sorry I told you now. You aren’t going to keep on and on about it, Ness?’

‘N-no. But I’ve got to admit I’d like to know more about those two, ‘cause there’s no smoke without fire, don’t they say? And had you thought, maybe it’s only certain people the nun appears to. I mean, I don’t suppose everybody can see ghosts.’

‘No one in this village can, that’s for sure. Anyhow, I think I’ll go and settle down. I want to write to William so there’ll be a letter ready to post as soon as I have an address.’

‘And I still have unpacking to do,’ said Ness reluctantly. ‘By the way, thanks for takin’ me in. This is a lovely house and I don’t mind it bein’ so near to Dickon’s Wood.’

She said it teasingly and with a smile, so that Lorna smiled back, silently vowing to say not one more word on the subject; wishing she had left Ursula Ainsty where she rightly belonged. Very firmly in the past!



Ness closed her eyes and breathed deeply on air so clean and fresh you wouldn’t believe it. Around her, all was green. Every front garden was flower-filled and roses climbed the creamy stones of age-old houses. This was an unbelievable place; so tucked away – smug, almost, in its seclusion at the end of a lane. People back home would be amazed to see so much space belonging to so few people. But one thing was certain. It wouldn’t take long to get to know the entire village. She had already passed the almshouses and Larkspur Cottage where the nurse lived and now, to her left, was Beech Tree House where someone called Nance lived; someone, Ness suspected, who could be a bit of a martinet, given half a chance.

She stood a while outside the tiny chapel, wondering about the sleeping dead around it and how the lepers had fared when there were no nuns to care for them. Probably they were doing a bit of haunting, an’ all, ringing their pathetic bells still.

Then she stopped her dawdling and daydreaming. There was a war on and Agnes Nightingale from Liverpool was about to become a part of it, a land girl for the duration of hostilities. At seven on the dot she was supposed to join her war, and it was almost that now.

She began to run, turning the corner to see the farmhouse ahead of her, and to her right the stark ruins, already throwing long, strange shadows in the early morning sun. A dog barked and she hoped it was friendly.

‘Hey! You!’

‘You talkin’ to me?’ she demanded of the young man who was closing a field gate behind him. ‘Me name’s Miss Nightingale!’

‘And mine’s Rowland Wintersgill and you’re late. Milking’s over. Still, suppose you can muck out. Better go to the cow shed – make yourself known to my father.’

‘Yes sir! And can you tell me, if you don’t mind, if there are any more at home like you, ’cause if there are I’m not stopping!’

Head high, she followed his pointing finger, then carefully crossed the yard, avoiding pats of dung.

The cow shed smelled warmly of cows and milk. She supposed she would get used to it. And sweeping it.

‘Hullo, there. Our land girl, is it?’ A man, leaning on a brush, smiled and held out a hand. ‘I’m Bob Wintersgill. I’ll take you to meet Kate. Have you had breakfast, by the way?’

‘I – well, yes. Before I came.’ A piece of bread and a smear of jam because she had been unwilling to eat Lorna’s rations.

‘Well, we usually eat after we’ve got the cows milked. You’ll be welcome to a bite.’

‘Sure you can spare it – rationing, I mean …?’

‘I think it’ll run to a bacon sandwich and a mug of tea. Farmers don’t do too badly for food.’

‘Then I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea – if you’re brewin’.’ She returned the smile. ‘And to meet the lady of the house. I’m sorry I was late. Seven o’clock I was told to be here.’

‘That’ll be fine, till you get used to things, and oh – a rule of the house! You wash your hands after you’ve been in the cow shed. In the pump trough. Towel on the door; soap beside the pump. Very particular, Kate is.’

She would like Farmer Wintersgill, Ness thought as she lathered and rinsed; hoped she would like his wife, too. Yet she knew without a second thought that she would never like their son. And that was a pity, really, because she was going to have to work with him for years and years, maybe. For the duration of hostilities, she supposed. And how long that duration was going to last was anybody’s guess. Especially since Dunkirk, and the mess we were in now!

‘I’m sorry,’ Ness said when she had eaten a bacon sandwich and swallowed a mug of strong, sweet tea, ‘if I’m not goin’ to be very good at farming at first. Being in the country is new to me and I know I’ve got a lot to learn and that I’ll make mistakes. But I hope you’ll be patient with me.’

‘And the answer to that, lass, is that the woman who never made mistakes never did any work! You’ll learn, and I hope you’ll come to like it here,’ Kate Wintersgill said softly. ‘And don’t you take any nonsense from that son of mine. Just give back as good as you get! Now, want some toast? Another cup?’

‘Ooh, no thanks. That butty was lovely.’

‘Ah. Home-cured bacon, you see. Anyway, Rowley’s working in the top field, so can you help my man with the mucking out? It’s a messy job, but it’s got to be done. Have you got gum boots with you? If not, there’s plenty in the outhouse by the back door. There’ll be a pair to fit you. Off you go then, lass!’

Ness sighed. She had laid out her working clothes so carefully last night: dungarees and a pale blue shirt over a chair to avoid creasing, yet now here she was, folding her trouser-legs around her calves, shoving her feet into gum boots a size too small. And what she would look like when she had helped clean the cow shed was best not thought about. Thank heaven soap wasn’t rationed and that there was a wash house at the hostel if ever she needed it! She wondered, as she began to sweep, what the girls in the salon would say if they could see her now. Trying not to breathe too deeply, she shut Liverpool and everything connected with it from her mind.

‘You’ll get used to it,’ said her new employer, who cheerfully hosed water up walls and splashed it over the concrete floor.

‘Ar.’ She forced a smile then thought about the bacon sandwich and wanted to be sick. ‘Reckon I will, at that!’



Lorna received William’s first letter, which was very short.



Arrived safely, three hours late. This far, Army life doesn’t appear too bad. This brief note is to send you my address.

I miss you. Take care of yourself.

Lorna smiled tremulously, then taking the already-written letter, she added a postscript.

Thanks for yours. I miss you, too. Take care and write again as soon as you can.

Then she sealed the envelope and made for the pillar box. There was only one collection in Ainsty; at noon, when the red GPO van delivered parcels and envelopes too bulky for the postman, then emptied the pillar box outside the front gate of Ladybower House.

Soon her letter would be on its way to William, and she wondered why she had not mentioned that hardly had he been gone when Nance Ellery arrived with a land girl. But she knew she had not mentioned Ness because having got rid of troublesome evacuees, William would not be at all pleased to be told that his home had once again been invaded. And without his permission, too!

‘Hullo! Are you Mrs Hatherwood – does Agnes Nightingale live here?’

A young woman dressed in a short cotton frock stood at the gate. ‘I’m the warden of the hostel at Meltonby. I’ve brought you Agnes’s rations and a week’s billeting allowance. Think it’s best we do it on a weekly basis – not knowing how long she’ll be with you, I mean …’

‘Just as you wish. Ness – er – Agnes seems no trouble at all. Got herself up and off to work this morning without awakening me. I felt quite guilty.’

‘Then don’t, Mrs Hatherwood. You aren’t expected to wait on her, you know. And I’ll give her a bed at the hostel just as soon as I can.’

‘B-but I thought she was with me permanently.’ Hadn’t Nance said it would be either the land girl or children?

‘Only if you want her to be. I must say we’re full at the hostel, though, and it would help if she could stay permanently with you. Be nearer her work, too.’

‘Well – I’ve got a spare room and I don’t think Agnes will be any trouble.’ Not as much trouble as children. ‘Shall we give it a try for a month? See how things go?’

‘Very well. Next week I’ll leave you a ration card for four weeks when I bring the billeting allowance.’ She smiled, holding out her hand. ‘And thanks a lot.’

Lorna thought afterwards that she would have to tell William about Ness and that she had practically offered to have her in the spare room on a permanent basis. And then she reminded herself there was a war on and no one, not even William, had the right to expect that an Englishman’s home was his castle, because it wasn’t; not any longer. And she liked Ness. She was cheerful and appreciative and would be company for her, especially through a long, dark winter. Did she really have a choice when the war was going so badly for us, with Hitler’s armies waiting to invade. And France and Belgium and Holland and Norway and Denmark occupied. And as if we weren’t deep enough in trouble, Italy ganging up with Hitler and declaring war on Britain in the biggest back-stab since the Battle of Bosworth!

So she would tell William about Ness; she would have to. But she would not apologize for taking her in. Being stuck at the end of a lane in the back of beyond would not guarantee Ainsty’s safety if Hitler chose to invade or sent his bombers to fly over it!

‘Sorry, William.’ She picked up his photograph. ‘I love you dearly and I wish you hadn’t gone to war, but even in Nun Ainsty things must change.’

Every village, town and city was at war and it was up to her to make the best of it, like every other woman. And she would try, she really would, to take care of Ladybower so that when it was all over and William came safely home, they could carry on as before – have the child she wanted so much.

Gently she replaced the photograph then stood to gaze out of the window at a garden glorious with June flowers. The grass so green, the roses so thick and scented, and behind it Dickon’s Wood to shade it in summer and shelter it in winter from the cold north-easterly winds.

Dear Ladybower, in which she had grown up. She loved it passionately and could find it within her to hate anyone who would take it from her or bomb it or set it ablaze in the name of war. So she would care for it and fight to keep it until the war was over. And Ness, who had left her home to do her bit for the war effort, would be made welcome at Ladybower for as long as it took, and tonight, when she wrote again to her husband, she would tell him all about her and how lucky they were to have her and remind him, ever so gently, how much better Ness would be than the evacuees he’d been glad to see the back of.

But then, William had never really liked children – not other people’s. She hoped he would like his own – when they had them, that was. When the war was over. In a million years …

And she wasn’t weeping! She damn well wasn’t!




TWO (#ulink_055763a3-7578-5fa9-9613-7ceab08295f7)


‘’S only me!’ Ness kicked off her shoes at the back door, then sniffed appreciatively. ‘Sumthin’ smells good!’

‘Stew. The warden brought your rations today. Gave me a piece of shin beef; enough for both of us for two days. Vegetables nearly done. Do you want to change?’

‘Not ’alf. Can’t you smell me?’ Ness couldn’t get the cow shed stink out of her nostrils. ‘Bet everybody in the village got a whiff of me on the way home.’

‘You aren’t too bad – honest. Probably your shoes. How was it today?’

‘Tell you when I’ve got out of these overalls. And I’ve got messages to give to Goff and Martha at the almshouses, but it’ll wait till after supper. Won’t be long!’

And she was gone, taking the stairs two at a time before Lorna could tell her what she had read in the morning paper; something so frightening that it had to be shared.

‘Look – before we eat,’ she whispered when Ness appeared wearing a cotton frock and smelling of Vinolia soap. ‘This morning – in the paper – I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind all day.’

‘Don’t tell me Hitler’s askin’ for an armistice!’

‘Nothing as wonderful as that! Listen – I’ll read it. It must have come from the government; the papers wouldn’t have dared print it if not. It’s headed, WHAT DO I DO and it goes on to say, “If I hear news that Germans are trying to land, or have landed? I remember that this is the moment to act like a soldier”,’ she said chokily. ‘“I do not get panicky. I stay put. I say to myself; Our soldiers will deal with them. I do not say I must get out of here.”’ She lowered the paper, sucking in her breath. ‘Anyway, Ness, I wouldn’t even think of getting out of Ainsty. It’s as safe as anywhere – well, isn’t it?’

‘Reckon this place would take a bit of finding, queen. But is that it?’

‘No. There’s more. It says I must remember that fighting men must have clear roads. I do not go onto the road on a bicycle, in a car or on foot. Whether I am at home or at work, I just stay put. And it ends with, “Cut This Out and Keep It”.’ She gazed into Ness’s eyes, begging comfort. ‘It’s more serious than I thought. And look at this cartoon!’ She laid the newspaper on the table, pointing to it with a forefinger stiff with fear. ‘Look at him! It makes you want to weep, doesn’t it?’

The cartoon showed a steel-helmeted British soldier, feet apart, rifle in his right hand, left arm extended in defiance at planes flying overhead. And he was saying, ‘Very well! Alone!’

‘Ar, hey. You’re right, Lorna. We’re up the creek and no messin’. Suppose we’ve been trying to kid ourselves everything would be all right, but maybe it isn’t goin’ to be.’

‘Maybe. Ness – when your warden came this morning, she seemed to think that you being at Ladybower was only temporary, but I told her I’d like you and me to give it a try – a month, say – and she said it was OK by her. I hadn’t read the paper when I asked if you could be here permanently, but now I really, really want you to stay. I’m not very brave, you see, and if there were the two of us it might not seem so bad.’

‘Ar. That’s nice you wanting me an’ of course I’d like to stay. But hadn’t you thought, queen, it’s likely to be on the south coast – If it happens. It’s them poor beggars who’ll cop it before you an’ me will.’

‘William is in the south,’ Lorna said dully.

‘Ar, but he’s with soldiers and they’ll have rifles and hand grenades and machine guns.’

‘In the Pay Corps?’ She ran her tongue round dry lips. ‘Mind, William learned to shoot when he was in the Territorials.’

‘And he’ll be all right, same as you and me will! As for this country being alone, well, I suppose we are. But Hitler’s got to cross the channel, hasn’t he? And what’s it called, eh? The English Channel! And we got most of our soldiers back from France, don’t forget, and we’ve got a Navy, an’ all! You aren’t goin’ to tell me our Navy’s goin’ to let them Jairmans set foot on English soil without a fight, now, are you?’

‘But Ness, there’s something else. Flora Petch – y’know, the district nurse from Larkspur Cottage. Well, she told me she saw men taking down the signpost at the top of the lane; taking the arms down, that was. They told her it was so German parachutists wouldn’t know where they had landed if there were no names on signposts. And the men said that railways were doing the same. No more names on stations. Nobody’ll know where they are any more!’

‘So what? Neither will them parachutists, if they come! Ooh, I hate that Hitler, but let’s not let him spoil our supper, eh? It’s just what he wants, innit; us running round like headless chickens, so you and me won’t oblige, eh? We’ll eat our supper and then we’ll worry about being invaded.’

‘And you’ll stay, Ness? You don’t mind that I asked the warden if it could be on a permanent basis?’

“Course I don’t. And we aren’t entirely on our own, y’know. I heard it on the wireless at Glebe Farm that the first convoy of Australian and New Zealand soldiers has arrived to help us out. So bully for them, eh, and good on them coming, just when we need them.’

‘You’re right. I’d say it was pretty bloody marvellous them coming all that way to fight for a country they none of them ever thought to see. And the word invasion is banned for the rest of the day! Right?’

But for all her sudden defiance, Lorna was afraid and wished desperately that William could be with her. William would have known what to do if parachutists dropped in one of the fields around. But William was a long way away, Somewhere in Wiltshire, so there was nothing for it but to get on with it as best she could; as best she and Ness could, that was. And oh, thank the dear heaven for the land girl from Liverpool!



Ness made for the almshouses to her left, across the Green. Three of them, built more than four hundred years ago for the nuns at the priory and not considered important enough to be destroyed by Tudor vandals. Goff Leaman lived in one of them and Martha Hugwitty in another. Of the occupant of the middle one, Ness knew little, save that he was sometimes there and sometimes he wasn’t.

‘Mr Leaman?’ she asked of the man who stood in the tiny front garden who had already stuck his spade into the ground at her approach, and now regarded her with unashamed curiosity.

‘That’s me. You’ll be the land girl from Glebe?’

‘Mm. I’ve got a message from Mr Wintersgill. He said could you get your body and your shotgun up to the farm tomorrow early. Says he’s got cartridges. You’re going to be shooting rabbits, aren’t you?’

‘That’s the general idea. And before you start worrying about them fluffy little bunnies, let me tell you they’re a dratted nuisance and do a lot of damage. Vermin, that’s what. They make a grand stew, for all that. Starting the haymaking, are they?’

‘That’s right. I did hear Rowley say he’d be up good and early to open up the field, whatever that means.’

‘It means, lass, that he’ll cut a road round the field so the machinery can get in. Do it by hand, with a scythe, and by the time it’s finished, the rest of the field will have the night dew off it and be dry enough for the mower. And you’d better call me Goff. Everyone else does. Short for Godfrey.’

‘And I’m Ness,’ she smiled. ‘Short for Agnes. See you tomorrow, then.’

‘You’ll not be in the hayfield? Not a place for amateurs, tha’ knows.’

‘No. I’ll be helping in the farmhouse. There’ll be the cooking to do for family and helpers, so I think I’ll be more use in the kitchen – till I’ve learned a bit more about things. I’ll probably feed the hens, an’ all, and collect the eggs and wipe them,’ she said knowledgeably, having this afternoon been initiated into the poultry side of the business. She had enjoyed that part of it much more than the cow shed bit. ‘Ah, well. See you.’

Goff Leaman watched her go. A bonny lass with a right grand smile and friendly with it, an’ all. A town lass, without a doubt, but willing to learn it seemed. Should do all right in Ainsty, if she could stand the quiet of the country.

He squinted up into the sky as a bomber flew over, far too low, in his opinion, for safety. Off bombing tonight, he supposed.

He shrugged, picking up his spade, grateful that having done his bit in the trenches in the Great War, he was a mite too old for this one!



‘Miss Hugwitty?’ Ness smiled down at the small, elderly woman. ‘I’m the new girl from Glebe Farm and Mrs Wintersgill wants to know if you could help in the kitchen, them bein’ busy with the hay. Starting tomorrow.’

‘Come in, lass. Was wondering when I’d be hearing. Always help Kate at busy times. They’re late with hay this year. Usually they like to start about Barnaby.’

‘Er –?’

‘Barnaby time. St Barnabas’ Day – eleventh of June. Mind, we had two weeks of wet weather, recent, so it’ll have put things back a bit. Sit you down.’ She nodded towards the wooden rocker beside the fireplace. ‘And what do they call you, then?’

‘Agnes Nightingale, though people call me Ness. And I’m twenty-five and from Liverpool, and I’m not courting.’

Best tell her, sooner than later. Beady-eyed people like Martha Hugwitty always found out in the end.

‘Ah. Well, you’re a bonny lass, so you soon will be. Courting, I mean. There’s not much to choose from in the village with Tuthey’s twins away in the Navy – apart from young Rowley at the farm. But there’s a few young men across the top road at Meltonby. And York is full of RAF lads; aerodromes all around these parts. You’ll not go short of a dancing partner if you’re not already spoken for, that is.’

‘Like I just said, I’m not going steady and I’m not looking, either. See you tomorrow, then?’

Ness got to her feet. Time she was going. Martha Hugwitty had been told all that was good for her to know about Glebe Farm’s land girl. ‘And nice meetin’ you.’

Martha closed the door, nodding with satisfaction. Interesting, the lass was. Very pretty and twenty-five and not courting. Peculiar, to say the least. Young man been killed, perhaps? Agnes Nightingale, whose eyes held secrets to be probed by someone like herself, possessed of the gift. Likely the lass would have an interesting palm as well, could she but get a look at it. She shrugged, turning on the wireless for the evening news.

The pips that signalled nine o’clock pinged out. The land girl could wait. Until tomorrow.



‘There you are!’ Ness found Lorna in the garden, pulling weeds. ‘Messages delivered.’

‘Good. The two of them always help out at the farm. Both glad of the money, I think. But that’s enough for one night. I’ll come inside now, and wash my hands.’

‘That Martha is a bit of a busybody.’ Ness followed Lorna into the house. ‘Got real beady eyes, like little gimlets.’

‘She’s all right, once you get to know her. But don’t let her tell your fortune.’

‘Bit of a fraud, is she?’

‘Far from it! A lot of the things she’s told people have come true – those who’ll admit having been to her, that is. And you are right about her eyes, Ness. They do look into your soul, kind of. It wouldn’t surprise me if she were a medium, on the quiet. Oh, drat! That’s the phone! Answer it, will you, whilst I dry my hands.’

‘Meltonby 223.’ Ness spoke slowly and carefully into the receiver.

‘Hullo! Lorna?’

‘Sorry, no. I’m Ness. Lorna’s here now. I think it’s your William,’ she mouthed, closing the door behind her. And just what the girl needed; cheer her up with a bit of good news and reassurance. But the news it would seem had not been good, and reassurance thin on the ground, judging from the downcast mouth and tear-bright eyes.

‘Lorna, girl, what is it? Not bad news?’

‘No. As a matter of fact there wasn’t a lot of news, good or bad. William spent the entire three minutes telling me off.’

‘Why? What have you done to upset him?’

‘I didn’t tell him about you. He got a shock, he said, when a strange voice answered. I should have told him in my letter and to cut a long story short, he says I mustn’t have you here.’

‘Well, it’s his house, innit? Suppose you’d better tell them at the hostel.’ A pity, Ness brooded. She was really getting to like it at Ladybower. ‘I’ll go as soon as there’s a bed for me. And sorry if I got you into trouble – me answering the phone, I mean.’

‘No, Ness! It wasn’t your fault, and I don’t want you to go! I don’t care what William says. The evacuees we had to take put him off, you see. He said good riddance to them when they left. But he shouldn’t object to a grown-up who’s hardly ever in the house.’

‘Poor love. He gave you a bad time because of me, when all you wanted to hear was that he was missing you and that he loves you,’ Ness soothed.

‘Afraid so. Do you know, if anything awful happened to me, he’d have it on his conscience that the last words he said to me were, “See Nance Ellery in the morning and tell her to find somewhere else for the woman to stay. Is that clear?” Then the pips went. He must have known we’d only get three minutes on a long-distance call, and he wasted them.’ She blinked hard against tears.

‘Never mind, queen. Dry your eyes. I’ll make you a cuppa, eh? Don’t bother ringing the hostel tonight. Tomorrow will do.’

‘No it won’t, because I don’t want you to leave and what’s more, I’ll have who I like in this house. It isn’t William’s, it’s mine!’ Chin high, she dabbed her eyes. ‘Grandpa left it to me. It’s my name on the deeds, not William’s! And I’m sorry, Ness. He isn’t usually so rude.’

‘Ar well, maybe he’s fed up with the war and invasion talk just like the rest of us. Maybe he’s worried about you, here on your own.’

‘But I’m not on my own. You are here with me and he should be glad! And I would like a cup of tea, please, and I’ll bet you anything you like that William will phone again before so very much longer, to say he’s sorry.’

William had not phoned back. Ness frowned as she stood at the open window, watching shifting shapes in the twilight-dim garden, taking deep breaths of cool evening air. But to give him the benefit of the doubt, calls from south to north weren’t all that easy to come by. Sometimes you booked your call then hung around for hours, waiting. Sometimes the call didn’t come at all. Because of the war, and the armed forces being given priority over civilians when it came to using trunk lines. And perhaps, she thought, in further mitigation, William was really cheesed off now, him being so awful to Lorna for three minutes when he could have been telling her he loved her.

Yet nothing changed the fact that as long as Lorna’s husband wanted neither evacuees nor land girls at Ladybower House, there wasn’t a lot Ness Nightingale could do about it – even though Lorna said she must stay.

Sighing she pulled down the blackout blind, drew the rose chintz curtains over its ugliness, then got into bed. Arms behind head she gazed into the darkness. She didn’t usually take sides, but tonight her sympathies were with Lorna. How could William wait ages and ages for a trunk call, then waste it giving Lorna down-the-banks and only because she had taken in a land girl.

William’s silver-framed photograph came to mind. He wasn’t, she was forced to admit, much to write home about. Oh, he looked well in his uniform, but she had noticed an arrogance about his mouth, a down-tilting of the corners of his lips. Mind, perhaps that was the way he wanted to look, all stern and soldierly, but that moustache didn’t suit him, made him look years older than surely he was. And there had been something about his eyes, too. She frowned, trying to find a word for them. Bulbous, that was it! You noticed them almost as soon as you noticed the walrus moustache.

She had thought, on first seeing the photograph, that he hadn’t a lot going for him as far as looks were concerned, but that maybe he had a kind heart to make up for it, and a protective nature – and was good at lovemaking. Not that she would so much as dream of asking Lorna about her private life, but of one thing she was certain. If tonight’s phone call was anything to go by, William had a peevish side to his nature, and what had possessed Lorna to marry him only Lorna knew, because it was obvious she wasn’t without means. She owned Ladybower House, which must be worth a pretty penny. Five bedrooms and two lavvies, would you believe, and no end of a big garden. And she wouldn’t be surprised if Lorna’s grandad hadn’t left her a few pounds besides!

I mean, she reasoned silently into the darkness, Lorna is quite pretty. Lorna could be better than pretty if she did something about that ridiculous mop of frizz she called hair. Pale blonde it was, and naturally curly, but there was much too much of it. You noticed the mass of hair before you noticed the girl and how blue her eyes were and how beautiful the bones of her face were. Ness’s cutting fingers ached to get at that hair, sort it out, shape it properly so it laid soft and close to her head. Lorna’s hair needed a short style; one she could comb with her fingers; a style she could wash in rainwater from the tub at the back door – a beauty treatment in itself – and leave to dry naturally without any rubbing or towelling or even, heaven forbid, drying it in front of the fire.

And after she had tamed that tangled mass, Ness thought gleefully, something ought to be done about those eyebrows. There was a beautiful arch to them, but did Lorna have to let them meet at the top of her nose? A little tidying here and there, and they would be a perfect foil for those deep blue eyes. But William, Lorna had said, liked his wife’s hair long, and if Lorna was content to drag a wire brush through it and bring tears to her eyes in the process, then it was nothing to do with Ness Nightingale.

‘Night night,’ she sighed, snuggling into the blankets, wondering if Lorna was asleep, knowing she was not. Worrying, like as not, about that husband of hers, arrogant sod that he was! ‘Sleep tight, queen …’



Lorna was not asleep. She was, as was to be expected, wide awake and thinking things out. But she was not worrying because as far as she was concerned, there was nothing to worry about. She had taken a land girl into her home, which was the patriotic thing to do, and William had flown off the handle, would you believe; William, who was usually so unflappable and understanding and kind, just as Grandpa had been. One of the good things about her husband had been his similarity to her lovely Grandpa, who had been father, mother and best friend to her for as long as she could remember. But tonight William had been very annoyed. For the first time in their married life he had shouted at her as if she were a stupid recruit with two left feet and he a drill-sergeant, bawling at the top of his voice at an imbecile.

William had bawled as if he were giving orders, and it wasn’t a bit like the William who usually smoothed her path and sheltered her – metaphorically, that was – so that even the wind should not blow on her, and made her smile if anything dismayed or upset her. So there must be an excuse for such strange behaviour. He was lonely and missing his wife and home and the ordered familiarity of his profession. And it couldn’t be easy, going from civilian life to the hurly-burly of the Army; taking orders, too, instead of giving them. Because William was only a lieutenant; an officer, certainly, but a junior one, who would be expected to salute his superiors and call them Sir! Poor William.

Her pillows had become quite hot – from her indignation, no doubt – so she plumped and turned them then walked to the window, carefully drawing the curtains, pulling aside the blackout. Then she pushed the window wide and leaned on her elbows, gazing down into the garden, making out the denser dark of the trees that circled it and the rounded shapes that were banks of rose bushes.

In June, total darkness was a long time coming; the extra hour of daylight took care of that. At this time of the year, you could walk round Ainsty at almost eleven at night and not bump into anything or miss your footing on an unseen kerb edge.

Now, the garden below her took on a mysterious, half-hidden quality and the wood behind – Dickon’s Wood – became strange and enchanted and ripe for haunting because surely on nights such as this, on breathless, half-asleep nights, did Ursula come to meet the man who loved her and waited for her. Surely, if the nun’s ghost did exist, it would walk tonight. But ghosts glided. Ghosts wraithed and drifted then disappeared into nothing. Ghosts didn’t walk like real people – did they?

‘Goodnight Ursula and Dickon,’ she smiled, covering the window again, turning on the light at her bedside. ‘And goodnight William, my dear. Take care of yourself. I know you didn’t mean to be angry on the phone. Don’t worry. Everything will turn out right …’

Of course it would! Ness was staying, and that was the end of it!



Ness closed the gate gently and without sound. She had risen extra early then hurried into the morning, eager to be at Glebe Farm for the first day of haymaking. She sniffed in air still moist with early dew, wanted to hug herself with joy at the beauty of this tiny place, so hidden away from the war. All around, birds sang; everywhere was greenness and flowers and a sky brightening to summer blue as the sun rose to light it.

‘Hey! Wait on, lass!’ Ness turned to see Martha Hugwitty bearing down on her, and smiled a welcome.

‘Morning, Miss Hugwitty. Isn’t this goin’ to be a lovely day?’

‘No, it isn’t. It’ll be hot and dusty and hard work. And me name’s Martha.’

‘Hot and dusty in the field, you mean?’

‘Oh my word, yes. They’ll be stripped down to bare chests in no time at all. Can’t make hay in the cool and wet, see. Got to be dry and sunny. I’m glad you’re here, Ness. You can take water to the field for the workers – save my old legs. What made you want to leave Liverpool, then?’ The question was direct and unexpected.

‘We-e-ll – why not? Always fancied living in the country,’ Ness hedged. ‘People say that women will be called up like the men before so very much longer, so I thought if I volunteered I could go where I wanted.’

‘And what are you running away from, lass?’

‘Me? Runnin’? Nuthin’!’ Her indignation was showing; protesting too much she reminded herself, regaining her composure. ‘Why do you think I’m running away? Robbed a bank, have I?’

‘Now did I say that? Did I? All I meant was that a young and bonny lass like you shouldn’t want to bury herself in a place like this. Isn’t natural. There’s no picture palaces here, nor dance halls. Wasn’t suggesting nothing criminal.’

‘Well that’s all right then, isn’t it? I just fancied a change and like I said, women are goin’ to get called up before so very much longer, I’d bet on it!’

‘Never! Women aren’t built for fighting wars! A woman’s place is at home, cooking and having children. Men can’t have children so they do the fighting.’

‘So what were those women doin’ that travelled to York on the train with me, then? In the Air Force, they were, and in uniform. And there are women in the Army and the Navy. There’s a lot of Wrens in Liverpewl, it bein’ a port. Seen them with my own eyes.’

‘Happen so.’ It was all Martha could think of to say. The land girl was telling nothing – not this morning, at least. But she would find out sooner rather than later why a good-looking young woman like Ness seemed intent on burying herself in the country. A man behind it, was there, or maybe she really had robbed a bank? ‘Mornin’, Kate lass,’ she called to the farmer’s wife who stood at the back gate. ‘Nice day for it!’

Nice day! Ness was to ponder. Run off her feet, more like. Hosing the cow shed had been the start of it with no one to help her since Rowley was away early to the hayfield and Farmer Wintersgill getting a bite of breakfast before he joined his son, scythe in hand. And there had been the hens to feed and water, the eggs to collect and wipe and arrange in trays ready for the egg packers who collected twice a week on Mondays and Thursdays. And how many times had she trudged to the field with jugs, water slopping over her shoes. Gallons, the haymakers had downed. Martha had been right! Cutting hay was a hot and dusty job, although it wasn’t so much dust as pollen from the long stems of grass, Mrs Wintersgill had explained.

At noon, the workers had taken their places at a long trestle table, set up in the shade of the stackyard, first having cooled heads and bodies at the pump trough in the yard. Rabbit pies, Kate had made, with stewed apples and custard to follow.

‘Hungry?’ she asked when the men had returned to the field and the table taken down and chairs stacked. ‘I put aside enough for you and me and Martha – it’s in the oven, on plates. Reckon we should take the weight off our feet for half an hour, eh? Think we’ve earned it!’

They sat companionably in the stone-flagged kitchen, doors and windows wide open to the day outside, and never had a meal been so well-deserved, Ness thought, nor tasted so good.

‘I was telling Ness that she’s going to find it boring in the country.’ Martha renewed her probing across the kitchen table. ‘Wondered what a town girl like herself sees in a place like Nun Ainsty.’ The beady eyes sparked a challenge.

‘Maybe it’s because I like living in haunted places,’ Ness avoided the question with a grin. ‘And this village is haunted, isn’t it, Mrs Wintersgill?’

‘Now who told you that? Goodness gracious, there’s no such things as ghosts. Lorna been pulling your leg, has she?’

‘No. She told me about the nun who came to the priory, though – the one whose father didn’t want her and sent her to help nurse the sick. Hundreds of years ago, I mean. I’d asked Lorna how the wood at the back of Ladybower got its name and the story just came out.’

‘So you believe in ghosts?’ Martha’s dark eyes prompted.

‘I believe some people think they can see them, but I’m not one of them. I feel sorry for Ursula, though. Must have been awful for her. Nice to think that Dickon cared for her – well, if legend is to be believed.’

‘It is!’

‘Load of old nonsense!’

Martha and Kate replied at one and the same time and they all laughed and the subject of the ghostly nun was dropped by mutual consent. It had served, though, to prevent her answering Martha’s questions. There had been a reason for leaving Liverpool and her Mam and Da and the good job she’d had. But that was nobody’s business but her own, and Martha could probe all she liked; it would get her nowhere. What had happened was in the past and to Ness Nightingale’s way of thinking, there wasn’t a better place than Nun Ainsty to make a fresh start. And to forget what had been.

‘Now what do you want me to do, Mrs Wintersgill?’ She rose reluctantly to her feet.

‘Well, you can call me Kate for a start, like everyone else round this village does. Me and Martha will see to the washing up; I don’t suppose you could get the washing in from the line before it gets too dry to iron?’

‘I could,’ Ness smiled. She liked the drying green from which she could look over towards the hills to her left, mistily grey in a haze of heat. The tops, people called them. And to her right was the back of the manor, where she would try to count all the chimney pots; and could see the stables that were now Jacob Tuthey’s joiner’s shop; and see, too, the many windows, uncleaned for years, and so she felt sad about the neglect of a once-fine house.

She kicked off her shoes, stuffed her socks in the pockets of her overalls, then walked deliciously barefoot to the long line of washing, curling her toes in the cool of the grass. Overhead, a black-bellied plane droned, flying low. A lot of them had taken off last night. Going bombing, Lorna said, from nearby Dishforth and Linton-on-Ouse. Whitley bombers, all of them, which Ness would come to recognize in time. Plane spotting was getting as popular as train spotting.

Not interested, Ness decided, as the plane dropped out of sight. Of much more importance was a letter from Mam, who should have got her new address by now, sent on a postcard bought in Meltonby post office; a view in colour of Nun Ainsty though only Ladybower’s chimneypots had been visible on it. Ness had scribbled her address and Will write soon on the back of it, and tonight, tired or not, she would let her mother know she was all right, that she had landed on her feet in a smashing billet – she would not mention William – and that she had spent her day haymaking.

Squinting into the sun, she took down sheets and pillowslips, towels and working shirts, folding them carefully into the wicker clothes basket. Then reluctantly she pulled on shoes and socks. Tomorrow, she must remember to bring spare socks with her; socks dry and sweet-smelling. Tomorrow, they would mow the second field, Kate had said, after which there would be days of turning the cut grass until it dried out and became winter fodder for milk cows that would spend the cold months in the shelter of the stockyard. And be fed and watered twice a day, and the stockyard cleaned, too.

In summer, Kate said, it was a joy to work a farm; in winter it was dreary, with mud up to the ankles and everything you touched cold and wet. Dark mornings, too, and night coming before five o’clock. Farming, Ness had quickly grasped, had its ups and downs and today was an up day, so she would enjoy it, even though her feet throbbed painfully and her arms ached. Tomorrow she would have to learn to turn hay which would make her arms ache still more – until she got the hang of it. And meantime, she would think of the evening cool at Ladybower and a bath and the cotton dress and sandals she’d had the foresight to bring with her. Tonight, maybe sitting on the bench in the garden, she and Lorna would chat, all the time listening through the open door for the ringing of the phone. Because surely William would phone tonight, to say he was sorry and of course the land girl must stay and that he missed Lorna something awful. And that a letter full of I-love-yous was on its way to her.

Ness dumped the clothes basket on the kitchen table, offering to do the ironing, but Martha said she would see to it, though maybe Ness would take a couple of jugs to the workers, if she would be so kind?

And maybe, Ness thought as she made her way to the hayfield with jugs of ice-cold water from the pump, ironing was too warm an occupation on days such as this; days when the sun beat down from a clear summer sky; days when you could forget that places like Liverpool existed. Almost forget, that was …



Two letters had been delivered to Ladybower House; one for Lorna and the other, propped up on the kitchen mantelpiece, for Ness – the one she had been expecting from her mother.

‘So did William mention me?’ Ness hesitated. ‘Did he –’

‘Not a word. But today’s letter would have been written before he phoned. And he’s sure to book a call tonight. It’ll be all right, Ness. I want you to stay.’

‘Ar, but does your husband?’

‘We’ll worry about William when I’ve had his next letter – or another phone call. Now, tell me about the haymaking. How’s it going?’

‘Like the clappers. Rowley was going to work as long as it was light, he said, so he could get the big field cut. Then tomorrow they’ll start on the ten-acre field. And I forgot. There’ll be a rabbit for me tomorrow. Goff shot ten in the big field; half for him, half for the farm. I said I couldn’t skin a rabbit, so Martha said she would do it for me. Said she’d ask Goff for a nice young one, then you could roast it.’ Ness wrinkled her nose. She had heard of rabbit stew but never roast rabbit. ‘Can you roast them, Lorna?’

‘Yes, indeed. Fill the ribcage with thyme and parsley stuffing, then roast them gently on the middle shelf of the oven. Carefully carved, rabbit has a texture like chicken. William says half the chicken you get in restaurants is rabbit.’

‘Fancy that, now.’ Oh dear, they were back to William again. ‘You got any news, Lorna?’

‘Yes, I have. Heard it on the one o’clock bulletin, then had it again from Nance. There’s going to be recruiting for a Home Army. They’re going to call it the Local Defence Volunteers and Mr Churchill wants one in every town and village. Made up of civilians, it’ll be, and they’ll be trained to shoot and put up tank traps and generally make things awkward for the Germans – if they come. Seems there’s no end of things they can do to help out. I think it must be very serious if they’re asking older men to fight. Every man who is able-bodied is expected to join.’

‘And what about women? Can we join, an’ all?’

‘Afraid not. Nance says her husband is going to organize the Nun Ainsty men, and they’ll team up with the men from Meltonby and do their parades together. Gilbert Ellery will be taking his orders from Nance, I shouldn’t wonder. Bet she was real put out it was a men-only affair. But things must be serious, Ness, if the older men have to fight. I mean, Goff was in the last war. He’s done his bit for King and Country.’

‘What about the farm? Does farming exempt Bob and Rowley Wintersgill from joining?’

‘Seems not. All able-bodied men, it said on the news.’

‘Then I suppose me Da’ll have to join. Mam won’t like that. The letter was from Mam. I’ll write to her, tonight. Have I time for a wash before supper?’

‘You have. And when we’ve eaten we’ll sit in the garden and leave the back door open so we can hear the phone. Away with you!’

Lorna sighed deeply. The news about the LDV had troubled her, but Ness didn’t seem one bit bothered when told about it. Overreacting, she had been; looking for things to worry about when all she needed to hear was that William was sorry for the things he had said on the phone and of course it was all right for Ness to be at Ladybower. That they could be invaded at any time would seem less frightening then. And anyway, she argued sternly, surely Hitler’s soldiers, if they came, wouldn’t be making a beeline for Ainsty; wouldn’t be hell bent on destroying the village stone by stone, then pillaging and raping as the Vikings had done around these parts a thousand years ago? She was not their priority target! She was one of many women who had to get on with things as best she could, invasion or not, because her man had gone to war. What was so special about Lorna Hatherwood, then?

She prodded a knife into the potatoes. Two more minutes, then they’d be done and the cabbage, too, to eke out what was left of yesterday’s stew, more gravy than meat. A rabbit would be very handy. Two more days’ supper taken care of. She wished she could go to York, hunt around, find a fish queue. Fish wasn’t rationed; only the petrol to take her to the faraway shops where there was more chance of finding unrationed food. There was the bus, of course, but buses nowadays seemed to arrive and depart at their own times. It was awkward, she sighed, living in so out-of-the-way a place. And then she thought of the invasion – if it happened – and thought that living in Nun Ainsty far outweighed a piece of off-the-ration fish.

‘On the table in two minutes!’ she called from the bottom of the stairs, then smiled because tonight William would be lucky and be able to phone her, she knew it. Only for three minutes, mind, but you could say a lot of I-love-yous in three minutes. ‘Shift yourself or it’ll go cold!’



Sitting in the garden, her bare feet on the cool grass, was a sheer delight. The sun was in the west now, and would soon begin its setting, dropping lower in the sky, glowing golden-red. On the twilight air came the scent of roses and honeysuckle, and on the highest oak in Dickon’s Wood a blackbird sang sweetly into the stillness.

Ness closed her eyes, hugging herself tightly as if to hold to her this moment of complete peace. Peace? But for how much longer? Was this suddenly-precious country to be occupied by jackbooted soldiers? It couldn’t happen to this tiny island that once ruled half the world? Nun Ainsty couldn’t be taken, nor her lovely brash Liverpool? Imagine German soldiers billeted here in the manor house, because they would take it, soon as look at it if the fancy took them!

She stirred, wanting to know why all at once she was feeling like this. Had it been today in the so-English hayfield that the love of this island had taken her or had she, when she boarded the train at Lime Street station, uniform in two suitcases, decided that this cockeyed little country was worth fighting for and being a land girl was the best way she knew to do it?

No, she told a red rose silently, the day she boarded the York train she had felt only relief to be getting away to a fresh start, and sadness, of course, to be leaving Mam and the terraced house she had grown up in. And pain. A tearing pain that jabbed deeper if she let herself think of what she had lost and could never find again.

She shook her thoughts into focus and began to read through the letter she was writing.

Dear Mam and Da and Nan,

You’ll know by now where I am, but it is ten times better than the picture on the postcard. You can’t see my billet on it but it’s a lovely house, with big windows and a beautiful garden with a wood all around it. The lady I live with is called Lorna. Her husband is in the Army, and I think she is pleased to have a bit of company.

Best not go into detail about William’s outburst nor the phone call Lorna was waiting for that would put it right, she hoped.

I work at Glebe Farm for Mr Wintersgill. His wife, Kate, is lovely and they have a son Rowland, but I don’t see a lot of him.

Best not say over much about young Rowley. A bit sly, Ness thought, and cocky with it. Fancied himself no end.

Today we were haymaking and I was glad I was not in the field with them, but I was on the go all the time, trying to be useful. There’s a lot to learn about being in the Land Army, but I don’t regret joining so you are not to worry about me. I’m fine, and I’ll be given leave, just as if I’d joined the Armed Forces, and be given a rail ticket, too, so you’ll be seeing me before long. And Liverpool is easy to get to from York.

A bomber flew over, and another. Best not mention the aerodromes all around Nun Ainsty. Careless talk, that, and you never knew who just might get hold of her letter. There were spies all over the place it said in the newspaper. Ordinary people you’d never suspect.

‘Looks as if the lads are flying tonight.’ Lorna looked up from her magazine. ‘Wonder where they’re off to.’

‘Dunno.’ Ness hoped they would drop one slap bang in the middle of Berlin, but the bombing of open cities was not allowed, it seemed. Very gentlemanly this war was at times. ‘Think William will manage to get through?’

‘Yes, fingers crossed. But if he doesn’t, there’ll be a letter in the morning and everything will be OK. He’ll ring, though …’ Of course he would. Shouting at her wasn’t a bit like him and he’d be only too eager to put things right between them. ‘Writing home, are you, or to your boyfriend?’

‘I told you, didn’t I, that I haven’t got a boyfriend. Told Martha Hugwitty, an’ all, and that I wasn’t lookin’ either!’

‘Then you told the right person! Martha will make it her business to let Nun Ainsty know that the land girl at Glebe isn’t courting. And she’ll read your palm, if you let her, and find a nice young man for you in it! By the way, what do you think of Rowley Wintersgill?’

‘Not a lot. Why?’

‘He’s got a reputation around these parts for being a bit of a lady’s man.’

‘That a warning, Lorna?’

‘We-e-ll, not exactly. Been a bit spoiled, being an only child. Thinks the world’s his oyster.’

‘You mean I’m not to encourage him?’

‘Something like that,’ Lorna said uneasily, though glad, for all that, that she’d put out a warning.

‘Well, don’t worry. I can look after meself, queen.’

‘Good. And I’m disturbing you?’

‘No. This letter is just a quickie to let Mam know I’m all right and liking it here.’

‘Good – that you like it, I mean. I want you to stay here, Ness.’

‘But will I be allowed to?’ There was still tonight’s phone call or tomorrow’s letter, either of which could land her in the hostel.

‘I said I wanted you to, didn’t I?’

She said it, Ness thought, with a surprising firmness – for Lorna, that was. Maybe there was more to her than wide blue eyes and a gentle nature.

‘Then I want to, an’ all.’

The phone rang, and Lorna ran to answer it. Ness turned back to the letter she was writing.

Sorry this isn’t much of a letter but I’m tired and plan an early night. Will write a longer letter tomorrow. Just to let you know I’m fine and I don’t regret leaving Liverpool. It was for the best, Mam. You’re not to worry …

All done now. Carefully Ness addressed the envelope to 3, Ruth Street, Liverpool 4, Lancashire. Tomorrow, or the next day, she would write again. Tomorrow, or the next day, she would know how long she would be staying at Ladybower House, because determined though Lorna was, Ness wouldn’t take bets on her getting her own way. The cut of William’s jib told her that.

‘Oh, damn!’ Lorna said, back from her phone call. ‘It was Nance Ellery, would you believe. I was so sure it would be my trunk call. And Ness – guess what? The Germans have invaded the Channel Islands. It was on the nine o’clock news and we missed it, sitting out here as if it didn’t matter!’

‘Just like that? Was there any fighting?’ Ness whispered.

‘Doesn’t seem so. It was a peaceful takeover, by all accounts. Nance said it looks as if we’re going to need the Local Defence Volunteers now. Oh, she upsets me sometimes. Always the first with bad news! She seems to attract it!’

‘Well, we’d have heard it for ourselves, queen, sooner or later. Had you thought them islands are a part of us, sort of. British, and not all that far away, either. I’ll bet Churchill’s goin’ to have sumthin’ to say about it! He vowed Jairmans would never set foot on British soil, but they have!’

‘Technically they have, I suppose. Perhaps that’s why William hasn’t phoned.’

‘Ar, I wouldn’t worry, Lorna. He’s a long way from there, though it might have affected the telephone lines with calls buzzing all over the place once the high-ups heard about the Channel Islands. I wouldn’t worry too much, girl. It’s getting a bit chilly. Let’s you and me wait inside, eh? If your feller can’t manage to get through, there’s sure to be a letter in the morning.’

‘You’re right. It’s nearly ten. I’ll go round the house and see to the blackouts; you be a dear and make us some cocoa.’ Cocoa thankfully wasn’t rationed.

So they left the enchantment of the garden to the blackbird, a tiny creature that didn’t know there was a war on. Lucky little bird, Ness thought.





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