A Summer Promise (29 page)

Next day, as soon as drill was over, Maddy made for the orderly’s office, having asked for an interview as soon as she got up. She took the letter with her, determined to stress Gran’s age and numerous disabilities, but no explanations were necessary. The officer had looked up Maddy’s service history, discovered that she had had no leave for two years, and granted her absence for ten days without a blink. ‘Because of troop movements travel by rail is pretty complicated,’ she said. ‘That’s why I would advise you to go as soon as your leave starts, which is officially at midnight tonight, though you’ll not be needed after six o’clock.’ She stood up and held out a hand. ‘Good luck, Corporal. I hope you will find the situation at home less worrying than you fear. Your grandmother has survived so far, and we all know the end of the war is approaching.’ She smiled very kindly into Maddy’s anxious face. ‘Off with you now, and I’ll see you in ten days’ time; get a rail pass from the front office.’

Gran woke when the sun found its way through a crack in the curtains, though that was not what had woken her; it was worry which had done that. When Herbert had told her frankly that he thought she ought to get in touch with Maddy, she had been absolutely furious and had shouted at him so loudly that Eileen O’Halloran had come in from the dairy to ask what was the matter. Herbert had turned and given Mrs O’Halloran a long, cold look. ‘All sorts of things is the matter,’ he had said brusquely, when the woman had repeated her question. ‘I’m tellin’ Mrs Hebditch here as how she ought to gerrin touch with Maddy. But she’s that obstinate . . .’

Mrs O’Halloran had given Herbert a look laden with spite. ‘There’s no need for Mrs Hebditch to do anything of the sort,’ she had said, bristling. ‘Now as we’ve got our relatives to help, we can manage very nicely without no interference from anyone. And I might tell you, Master Nosy, that if anyone’s needed here, it ain’t yerself. You’re here on what they call “sufferance”, and me and Dec could send you back to London tomorrer. I’d do it too, rockets or no rockets, only I dare say we’re stuck wi’ you until the war ends official like.’ She had turned to go back to the dairy and Gran had seen Herbert stick his tongue out and waggle his ears in a very rude way, but she had said nothing.

Had Herbert been right? But he was only an evacuee, little more than a child. When the time was ripe she would get in touch with Maddy, but the time was not yet anywhere near ripe.

Gran lay for a while watching the strengthening sunshine as it poured through the crack in the curtains, and wondering when she should get up. Eileen always helped her to dress now, but today Gran had decided to be independent. After all, if Herbert had been right . . . but it was pointless thinking like that. Maddy hadn’t bothered to come back to Larkspur for two years, and though Gran hadn’t said so in any of her letters she thought her granddaughter had chosen not to return.

Could have come if she’d really wanted to, Gran told herself now. And when she does come, if she dares to try and tell me off, say I shouldn’t have done what I did, then I’ll tell her to keep her breath to cool her porridge. It’s none of her business anyway. What does she expect to happen if she walks out on me, leaves me to the mercy of the O’Hallorans? What did she expect, eh?

Gran sniffed and began to tug her long winceyette nightdress over her head. She looked at the basin and ewer and decided, in a spirit of defiance, not to wash today. Then she began to struggle into her clothing. It was quite a struggle, too, and when at last she was fully dressed she had to wipe away tears, telling herself she was shedding them because she was getting slow and old and didn’t like it. But she knew in her heart that the tears had come because she was thinking guiltily that maybe Herbert was right. Maybe she should have told Maddy – not asked her permission, but told her – that things had to change, and if Maddy had reproached her, so what? My shoulders are broad, Gran told herself. I can take any amount of criticism because I know I’ve done right. And then she had to sit down on her bedside chair and mop her eyes again, because Gran didn’t intend that anyone, anyone at all, should see her crying.

Maddy turned into the familiar lane and felt a clutch of pleasure at the well-remembered and much-loved views of their own particular dale. Almost immediately, she felt a stab of pain because this country was where she had been happiest and, because of her best friends’ projected marriage, could be happiest no longer. She had not bothered to pack very much, guessing that she would be expected to do her share of any work which Gran and Mrs O’Halloran deemed necessary, but even so her kitbag was heavy. After a quarter of a mile or so she swapped the weight from one shoulder to the other and told herself brusquely to concentrate on what she meant to say to Gran.

Herb’s letter, though it had had the desired effect of bringing her back to Larkspur, had given her little clue as to what, if anything, had gone wrong. Who were the strangers at Larkspur? Maddy scowled as she tried to guess what had caused the boy to write to her, for it was obvious from his letter that writing did not come easily to him. Then she smiled to herself; Miss Evans was clearly no Miss Parrott – Mrs Grice – for she had been a stickler for spelling and punctuation, neither of which appeared to have troubled Herbert unduly when he wrote.

Presently Maddy came to the five-bar gate through which Mr Sutherland’s sheepdog herded his charges when they were changing pastures. Maddy stopped and leaned on the top bar; she was realising more than ever before how she loved this place and realised too, in virtually the same thought, that she was longing to come back here so she could put right all the things which had led Gran to rent out Larkspur land.

But you couldn’t blame Gran, because she was an old woman, and knew very little about farming. When her husband had been alive, Gran had had the full responsibility of the house. She had cooked and cleaned and made do and mended, and though her grandfather had been dead for many years when Maddy had first come to Larkspur, there had been signs that the farm had once been well run and extremely productive. Alas, the war had not helped; the O’Hallorans had done their best but they had been forced to concentrate most of their efforts on the vegetable garden and the pigs and poultry. Ploughing, reaping, sowing and even haymaking had been beyond them. Mr Sutherland had been glad to take on the rest of the Larkspur land in addition to the few acres he had rented nearest his own farm, for once the war had started the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries dictated who should grow what and where. Fields which had lain untended for many years became productive under the stern eye of the Min of Ag, as it was known, and Maddy had accepted that this should be so. Once the war had got into its stride Britain could not rely on foreign imports but must feed itself, and indeed had done so very successfully.

But very soon things will return to normal, Maddy told herself, and that meant she and Gran would have to talk over how they would tackle Larkspur. She imagined that Mr Sutherland might want to buy the land he now rented and found, to her own surprise, that she did not want this to happen. Once, she would have taken it for granted that she would marry someone who wanted to farm; now she was not so sure. She knew Tom and his father had once owned land and had intended to do so again, but obviously Tom’s marrying rich Alice changed everything. She and Gran could of course get themselves a bailiff and work with him on the reclaiming of the Hebditches’ acres, but that was for the future, and Maddy realised she was still reluctant to look into a future which did not contain Tom.

At this point in her musings she reached the gate which led into the Larkspur yard. She swung it wide, passed through it and latched it behind her, noticing that it had still not been mended, despite her repeated requests.

She was beginning to cross the farmyard when she realised something was different and hesitated, trying to think what it was. The geese! She stared about her, astonished. She and Gran had always kept geese, partly for their eggs and also, it must be confessed, because they were such good watchdogs. Snoops might stay in his kennel – though he was not in it now – but the geese would attack anyone, friend or foe. Maddy still had marks on the backs of her shins where she had not been quite quick enough to keep the gaggle at bay. She whistled and stamped loudly on the cobbles, hoping that either the dog or the geese would appear, but when she remained the only occupant of the farmyard she shrugged and headed for the back door. She would start by demanding to be told what had happened to their fine flock of waterfowl.

She pushed open the back door and poked her head round it. ‘Coo-ee!’ she called. ‘Anyone at home?’ The words died on her lips and she stood there for a moment, shocked to see a total stranger standing at the sink. It was a girl of about Maddy’s own age, or perhaps a little younger. Her dark hair was tied back from her face with a bright head-square, and she seemed to be cleaning vegetables.

She swung round when she heard Maddy’s voice and spoke reprovingly. ‘Why didn’t you knock? It’s not manners, ye know, to walk into someone’s house wit’out bein’ invited.’

Maddy was so astonished that for a moment she was quite literally speechless, and in that moment the girl had crossed the kitchen and shouted up the stairs: ‘Auntie, will you come? There’s some young gal here . . . oh, I’d best go up. She’s probably dressin’ the old ’un and can’t hear me.’ She turned to wag an admonitory finger at Maddy. ‘Don’t you go touchin’ nothin’; just stay where you are. Auntie will be down in a minute.’

Once more Maddy’s mouth opened and closed but no sound came out. What
was
going on? As the girl thundered upstairs she looked around the kitchen, dismayed. She and Gran – and Mrs O’Halloran for that matter – might not have been perfect housewives but they had always kept the kitchen sparkling clean. Now it was grimy, the wooden furniture in desperate need of polishing, the vegetable racks overflowing and an indefinable smell emanating from the deep stone sink and the wooden draining board. Maddy went over to the sink at which the young girl had been working. It was full of potatoes and it occurred to Maddy that there were a great many more than seemed necessary for Gran’s small household.

Before she could investigate further, heavy footsteps descended the stairs and Mrs O’Halloran appeared. ‘What do you want? You come in here, throwin’ your weight about— Oh, it’s you! Well, your gran will be surprised, since she were sayin’ only yesterday that you scarce ever wrote to her no more.’ The woman glanced quickly round the kitchen, then back to Maddy, a gleam of spite in her eyes. ‘Has your gran been tellin’ tales? I know there’s some as feels it their duty to noise our doin’s abroad . . .’

Maddy stared at her. ‘Where’s my grandmother?’ she asked brusquely. ‘It’s almost eleven o’clock; is she ill? Kept to her bed?’ She paused as the young girl came down the stairs and headed for the back door. ‘Hang on a minute,’ Maddy called. ‘Come back here! I want to know just what you were doing . . .’

But the door, shutting with a bang, closed behind the girl whilst Maddy was still speaking. She turned back to Mrs O’Halloran, who said quickly, ‘So you’ve decided to come back, have you, and no doubt you expect to take your place amongst us. Well, you can forget that. You’re neither wanted nor needed, but I dare say it would be best if I let your gran tell you so herself.’ She sat down in the creaking old basket chair and stared defiantly up at Maddy.

Once again, Maddy was left speechless. But first things first, she told herself. Without waiting for an invitation, which she was very sure would never be given, she crossed the kitchen and pulled out one of the ladder-backed chairs, seating herself firmly upon it. ‘Why is my grandmother still in her room, Mrs O’Halloran? Is she ill? If so I shall go up to her immediately.’

These words acted upon the Irish woman as though she had sat on a thistle. She leapt up from the basket chair, crossed the room in a few strides and stood protectively on the bottom stair, a hand on each of the banister rails, thus making it impossible for Maddy to get past. ‘There’s nowt wrong wi’ Mrs Hebditch; she’s just been havin’ a lie-in. She’ll be down in a minute,’ she said aggressively. ‘She’s a lot slower now than she was in your time, but my sister went up there half an hour ago to give her a hand, so she won’t be long now. Mind you, she may not want to see you . . .’

This was too much. ‘Just who do you think you are, Mrs O’Halloran?’ Maddy said stiffly. ‘You have no right to stop me going upstairs in my own home.’

Before Mrs O’Halloran could reply both women heard shambling footsteps crossing the upper hall and beginning to descend the stairs. Gran came down slowly, and with all the care that was necessary on the rather narrow flight. When she saw Maddy her expression changed from its initial welcoming smile to a look which Maddy found difficult to read. Was it embarrassment? Anger? Possibly a touch of fear? But Gran isn’t afraid of anyone, as she’s very fond of asserting, Maddy told herself.

In view of Mrs O’Halloran’s strange attitude, Maddy began to say she would like to speak to her grandmother alone, but she was only halfway through the sentence when she saw another woman descending the stairs, a woman whose striking likeness to Mrs O’Halloran proclaimed her to be that lady’s sister. She had greying black hair, thick bushy eyebrows and a determined chin, but she helped Gran solicitously down the last two stairs and guided her to what had always been her seat. Only then did she glance towards her sister. At a jerk of Mrs O’Halloran’s head, she let herself out of the back door, closing it quite softly behind her. There was a moment’s silence before Mrs O’Halloran pointed an accusing finger at Maddy.

‘Ho, so you think you can just walk back in here and take over, do you? Well, you’ve done little enough for your grandmother these past two or three years – longer, likely – so me man and meself decided to tek a hand. We’ve worked like slaves, doin’ all that was necessary, but we warned Mrs Hebditch that we couldn’t go on. Why should we work from dawn to dusk, in someone else’s gaff, and take home a pittance? So we looked into alternatives. Dec’s always been a sociable sort of feller and he got pally with this ’ere chap what said if Gran could no longer work the land, which it’s obvious she can’t, then she might will it to us, or hand it over as a Deed of Gift.’ She grinned suddenly; a triumphant grin. ‘So we decided it ’ud best be a belt and braces affair. Your gran’s signed a Deed of Gift, which will cover us taking over here, and she’s also made up a will in our favour.’ She chuckled. ‘Belt and braces, see?’