Dark Harvest (6 page)

‘I didn’t like to dampen her enthusiasm by pointing it out.’

‘And she’s too old to take them into the town markets and shops. She needs a pair of young legs to run them into Tunbridge Wells. We could contact the National Poultry Organisation.’

‘You know she doesn’t hold with organisations.’ Their eyes met.

‘Fred!’ they exclaimed in unison.

How different this Easter was to last year. Caroline loved Easter, particularly Easter morning. It had always been a Rectory tradition that the Hunneys would come to lunch. All five of
them. Last year, however, the Swinford-Brownes had cast their blight on the table and the Hunneys had been absent. This year Reggie would still be absent; could she bear to see the others without him? Sir John might or might not be there depending on his work at the War Office which, now the spring offensive had taken place, was heavy.

Although the newspapers had been told, and had duly reported, that Neuve Chapelle had been a success, when the casualty lists began slowly to appear, the extent of the carnage revealed itself. Thousand upon thousand of men lost. Men like Anthony Wilding, Robert’s Wimbledon hero. Men like Johnnie Hay, the midwife’s son, with freckled face and bright red cheeks, who should be whistling in the general stores, not lying dead in France. Nor had the offensive been the success claimed. A breakthrough sweep on to Lille had been the objective, not flattening one small village, however gallant the efforts had been in taking it.

There had been an outcry against the misinformation given to the newspapers by the Government. Surely from now on the truth would be told? Reggie could so nearly have been on the appalling Roll of Honour of fallen officers, but she had received a letter ten days ago assuring her all was well. The 2nd Sussex had been in close reserve but had not taken part. But when would the next offensive be, for he would surely be involved in that? She made an effort to concentrate on Easter.

Isabel would be at luncheon, no Robert though. No Felicia. Only Lady Hunney, Daniel and Eleanor and, thankfully,
not
the Swinford-Brownes. Even Mrs Dibble’s lamb followed by her primrose pie could not have compensated for that. Thinking of Mrs Dibble reminded her of last night. She had been in the kitchen when Eleanor arrived at the door, still in her working boots which she carefully removed before entering. This had revealed to Mrs Dibble the horror of trousers underneath Eleanor’s long overall.

‘And who do you think you are, Miss Eleanor?’ she had asked. ‘The Empress of China?’

Eleanor laughed. ‘Just being practical, Mrs Dibble.’ They had always got on well. As a child Eleanor had frequently taken refuge in the Rectory kitchen and would beg to be allowed to help, to stir, to do anything. At home this was strictly forbidden.

‘’Tis a man’s job being a vet.’

‘But there are not enough men left to do them all, Mrs Dibble. Besides, I’m good at it.’

Caroline had rescued her friend and borne her off to her bedroom. ‘How are you getting on?’

Eleanor made a face. ‘Slowly. I’m trained to give first aid to people, not animals, but I’m learning. Martin’s a good teacher. I delivered a breech birth calf the other day.’

‘Well done!’ Caroline detected a slight flush on Eleanor’s cheeks when she spoke of Martin Cuss, the vet. Caroline had always thought of him as rather awkward and uninspiring.

‘How’s your mother adapting to your being a vet?’

‘Adapt? The Forth Bridge bends more easily. She ignores it. Short of asking me to leave home, there’s nothing else she can do.’

‘You can always come here.’

‘Thank you. I would, but there’s Daniel, you see. Mother would drive him mad if I left. No, she doesn’t refer to what I do and nor do I. The arrangement works very well.’

‘Perhaps it will work like that for me.’

‘I doubt it.’ Eleanor was frank. ‘She still seems adamant that you’ll ruin Reggie’s life.’

‘I may ruin her
plans
for Reggie’s life, yes.’ She felt hurt.

‘I suspect that’s what she senses.’

‘What could I do to improve matters?’ Caroline forced a laugh. ‘Short of typing for the concert committee.’

‘Be very careful with your farm labour scheme.’

‘Why?’ Caroline was indignant.

‘She says it’s unsuitable.’

‘Has she written to Reggie with her views?’

‘Only very generally, I think. She may be biding her time.’

Caroline shrugged, though she did not feel at all nonchalant. ‘I can’t do my work with one eye on what your mother thinks. I shall just have to risk it. You’ve got away with it, after all.’

‘That may make her all the more determined you won’t.’

Late in April, as she strolled home from
Lovel’s Mill with the extra bread Mrs Dibble wanted, Caroline was surprised to be overtaken by Phoebe vigorously pedalling past on the Withyham road towards the Rectory.

‘Hey,’ she called after her, ‘where have you been?’

She was surprised when Phoebe, having dismounted, flushed bright red.

‘Work.’

‘Mrs Chappell was doing the teas at the station today. I saw her.’

‘I—’

‘Come to think of it, Mrs Chappell is doing the teas a lot nowadays. What’s happening?’

Phoebe remained mutinously silent as she wheeled the bicycle towards the stables where they kept their collection of ramshackle machines. Caroline pursued her.

‘You’ve given up the station teas, haven’t you? So where have you been?’ She was alarmed, thinking of the mischief Phoebe was all too likely to get into.

‘You’ll tell Father and Mother. I don’t want them to know yet.’

‘It depends.’

‘I won’t tell you unless you promise not to say anything for a few weeks. I’m on probation, so if there’s going to be a row, I don’t want to find it’s unnecessary.’

‘Probation? What do you mean?’

‘To see if I’m suitable.’

‘For
what?
And I promise.’

‘I’ve taken a job at Crowborough Warren.’

‘That’s a long way to cycle.’ Then she
suddenly realised and was aghast. ‘The Warren. But that’s where the—’

‘Yes, I knew you’d be jumpy about it. It’s the Army camp. The new YMCA recreation hut just opened by Princess Victoria. They needed staff so I applied.’

Phoebe let loose amongst thousands of soldiers? It was unthinkable!

‘It’s fun. I like it. It’s only serving tea in the refreshment rooms, but I get paid fifteen shillings a week. And there’s something happening all the time, not just when trains come in.’

Was it fun? Phoebe wondered even as she was saying it. It had been terrifying at first. The recreation hut was packed with khaki-clad soldiers milling about, shouting and joking about the Brides in the Bath murder trial which had preoccupied the newspapers, giving her nightmares. And swearing too—at least she supposed that was what it was; she didn’t know most of the words. Perhaps she should have let Caroline think it was an officers’ recreation hut. ‘Remember you promised you wouldn’t tell.’

‘I wish I hadn’t,’ Caroline said grimly. ‘I’m going with you tomorrow to see—’

‘No, you’re not! You do your work, I’ll do mine. I’ll be eighteen in a few weeks—I told them I was already. I’m grown up.’

Caroline looked at her. In years, in appearance and figure, yes, but Phoebe was still a child in so many ways. But she supposed she was right; she was nearly grown up. ‘I’ll give you two weeks,’ she agreed with reluctance.

‘I’m told you’ve added your name to this Government register for women who want war work, Caroline. We won’t be lucky enough to keep you here long then.’ William Swinford-Browne laughed heartily. ‘Just like girls today, isn’t it, Mrs Lilley? Start something, change your mind and leave it all to Mother.’

The beef tasted like ashes in her mouth. She should have known she couldn’t escape for long the dreaded luncheon. Although her parents disliked William Swinford-Browne, relations had to be maintained, however formally, because of Isabel. Easter Sunday, even with Lady Hunney present and Reggie absent, had been an enjoyable occasion, but now they were reaping the whirlwind a month later. What a wonderful way to welcome May. Especially as, at Isabel’s pleading, her fellow committee member Maud Hunney was once again present.

Caroline was about to reply when her mother intervened. ‘I was intending to sign it myself, Mr Swinford-Browne but, alas, I’m over their age limit now.’

‘But I can give you plenty of work for the war effort,’ said Edith, astonished. There were, she informed them, her Belgian Relief Committee in which Mrs Lilley appeared to have lost interest, the Troops’ Entertainment Committee, the sewing and knitting circle for Comforts for our Gallant Soldiers. ‘Despite
all
I am doing, I still feel it my duty to take on more.’ She lowered her voice. ‘The latest emergency, you know.’ News of the appalling use of gas by
the Germans in their attack at Ypres was just coming through.

‘How worthy a cause,’ Elizabeth replied. ‘But I agree with Caroline that we have to give priority to our poorer parishioners. In order for them to
give
to such worthy causes as yours, Edith, they must
receive.
In the form of shillings and crowns.’

‘Oh, quite,’ Edith agreed.

‘I would have thought the village was as adequately provided for in that respect as it has ever been.’ Lady Hunney adopted a tone of sweet reproach. ‘I do feel that at such a time we should remain at the posts we were born to as a matter of duty, not give way to our individual desires. Any farm bailiff could easily undertake this agricultural scheme of yours, Caroline, without troubling your mother. Indeed, I would suggest our bailiff Patterson might be suitable.’

Oh, clever. Caroline chewed her way furiously through her mouthful of beef before replying. Help came from an unlikely quarter.

‘I can offer women more than having to scratch around in the muck and dirt,’ announced William Swinford-Browne.

‘In the hopgardens?’ Isabel asked.

‘The land’s finished. It’s shells this country needs.’

What was coming, wondered Caroline.

‘The brewery’s a white elephant now the King’s signed the pledge for the whole Palace,’ he went on, ‘and meddlesome local councils are cutting drinking hours. Lloyd George is right
though. It’s munitions the country needs, and if he thinks drink is doing more harm to the war effort than German submarines, then that’s that. I’d sell the brewery if I could, but no one would buy it now. I’m gutting and expanding it and converting to munitions. There’ll be work enough there for your girls.’ The brewery was on the outskirts of East Grinstead, and several of his present workers travelled there daily from Ashden.

‘What sort of munitions?’ Laurence enquired.

‘Shells. There’s only the Woolwich Arsenal producing them now, and we need more. Many more. I’ve heard whispers.’ He tapped the side of his nose with a podgy forefinger, as if to convey that he walked in high places. ‘That’s why we’re not winning this war. No shells, no ammunition. Strikes, drink—whatever the reasons, there’s a shortage. Girls can fill shells as well as men, and more cheaply.’

‘But that’s dangerous work, William.’ Edith sounded a little shocked.

William glared at his wife. ‘You women say you’re equal to men; that’s what those suffragettes like your sister believe, Rector.’ He could not even mention Aunt Tilly by name, Caroline realised with amusement. How he loathed her!

‘And as for the hop farm, I’ll give it a year and if it doesn’t improve I’ll grub the lot up and plough it for wheat.’

Caroline felt tears stinging her eyes as the whole family fell silent. She wanted to shout, ‘But Ashden has
always
had its hopgardens.’
Now she knew why Swinford-Browne had let her have such an easy passage when she called to see him. He did not care. But it was another ominous sign that the war could be nowhere near its end, if there were whispers in Whitehall of a need to build dark satanic factories in Sussex’s green and pleasant land.

She noticed George gazing speculatively at Swinford-Browne and knew just what was in his mind. A cartoon. Swinford-Browne in a beer jug? His Majesty looking forlornly at a brandy and soda?

‘My bit for the war effort, eh, Edith?’ Swinford-Browne chortled benevolently.

‘Yes, indeed, Mr Swinford-Browne,’ Elizabeth agreed. ‘You and your wife are an example to us all. Now, I wonder, Edith’ (although she would never accord her husband his Christian name she felt some sympathy for his wife) ‘as you are so willing to do extra work, there is one task for which I know your kind heart has fitted you.’

‘And what is that, Elizabeth?’ Edith beamed.

‘So many women have answered our call that we need others to look after their babies while they are working on the land.’

Oh, well done, Mother. Caroline had to struggle not to laugh at the look of horror on Edith’s face.

Agnes kept her head high amidst all the curious looks. She knew what they were thinking. What was the Rector’s former parlourmaid doing waiting her turn for Rector’s Hour? The next thing would be whether they dared
ask her about the Norvilles. Or maybe they were thinking about how the baby was due and she and Jamie had only been wed since Christmas? Well, let them.

The Rector did not show the surprise he felt when he saw her sitting there. He called her in to his study.

‘What is it, Agnes?’ Then, when she did not speak, ‘Are the Miss Norvilles upsetting you?’

‘No, sir. I’ll stay there with the baby and have it there too. It’s the Thorns.’

‘What have they done?’

‘They keep telling me I should go there and now the baby’s late and I
don
’t
want to go,’ she managed to gasp. There, it was out.

‘Then don’t go. I’m sure Jamie will understand.’

‘But he’s not here, and there’s been a message sent up with Mary that Len and Mr Thorn are coming to collect me tomorrow and this time won’t take no for an answer. Being Jamie’s father, Mr Thorn says he has a right.’

The Rector was puzzled. ‘It would be more comfortable for you at Mrs Thorn’s. I’m sure she’ll treat you kindly.’

‘But I won’t get away again.’ Didn’t anybody understand. ‘They’ll want me to work there.’