Gracie's Sin (9 page)

So saying she turned tail and ran, Gracie at her heel, chuckling softly, though what she could find so amusing about all of this, Lou failed to imagine. Even her own rather droll sense of humour had quite deserted her. She felt chilled to the bone with the creepiness of the place. Nothing would persuade her ever to go near it again. Rose would have to come to them. They scampered back through the kitchen, the pantries and larders, and out into the courtyard where Lou let out a great sigh of relief.

‘By heck, that were a rum do. What do you reckon made that noise?’

Gracie said nothing, merely gazed at her friend out of wide, suspiciously bright eyes.

They left the bicycle propped up in the laundry with a note attached to the handlebars, inviting Rose to come over any evening for a gossip. Then they set off back to camp, Gracie still struggling to stifle her giggles. It was only when Lou finally lost patience and insisted that she explain what was so damned funny, did Gracie admit that it had been she who’d tickled Lou’s neck, with the fringe of her scarf. ‘I was the ghost.’

Lou let out a great roar, Gracie squealed in pretended alarm and the pair were racing back up the long drive, their fright and nervousness forgotten and only the fun remaining.

Had they looked back at the house, they might have seen the pale outline of a heart-shaped face in one of the hooded windows, watching them go.

Part of their responsibility was to ensure that the quality of the wood they cut was of the very best. To hammer this home, a day or two later they were woken an hour earlier than usual, loaded up onto the lorries and taken to visit a mine. The Supervisor was in charge as usual, though Matron came along too.

‘Just to keep you gels in order,’ she bluntly informed them as she climbed up front beside the driver in her long brown coat and hat; a remark greeted with subdued groans all round.

The mine was many miles from camp and, as they climbed down from the lorries, Gracie noticed that Matron had remained in the cab. She went over and tapped on the window, thinking perhaps the old dear had nodded off and hadn’t realised they’d arrived.

‘We’re here.’

The window was wound down and Matron’s fierce face pushed through the gap. ‘Then jump to it, Freeman. You don’t need me to hold your hand.’

‘Aren’t you coming down with us?’ Gracie politely enquired.

‘Of course she is,’ came the Super’s voice from behind. ‘Aren’t you Elsie? Nothing you’d like better than an underground tour, as we all would. Anything you girls do, we can do.’

But as the Super marched off, calling to the other girls to get in line and be sharp about it, Gracie looked back at Matron, now forever Elsie in her mind, and was quick enough to see the colour drain from her face.

‘Don’t you fancy it?’ she asked, quite kindly. ‘Some people have a dread of confined spaces. Claustrophobia. Is that a problem you suffer from, Matron?’

The woman looked as if she would dearly love to deny it. Her face was contorted into tight folds, the mouth pursed into a sunray of wrinkles. She made what looked like an attempt to get out of the truck but then seemed to lose control of her muscles, as if she were paralysed and simply couldn’t bring herself to climb down. She began to shake. There was no doubt now in Gracie’s mind. She had indeed found Matron’s Achilles heel. The poor woman was terrified of going down that mine.

‘Stay there. I’ll tell Super you’re not feeling well, shall I?’ Gracie suddenly realised that this was perfectly true. ‘Actually you don’t look too good. I think you should get out of the truck. Here, let me help you.’

Gracie led her into the mine office and found her a cup of tea which Elsie accepted with gratitude but poor Gracie was now on pins to get back to the others before the Super missed her. ‘I’d best go.’

‘It was my son,’ Matron gasped.

‘What?’

‘My eldest, Donald. He was sent down a mine though he wasn’t a miner. He wanted to be a soldier but they sent him to dig coal instead. One of Bevin’s boys. There was a fall and... trapped ...’

Gracie listened, horrified, then put her arms about the huge woman, now a quivering wreck and held her while tears rolled down the fat cheeks. ‘You don’t have to say another word. I understand.’

After a moment she pulled out a hanky, struggling for control, her eyes seemed suddenly bleak and empty, and her voice seemed to come from a long way away. ‘And my other son, David, was killed at Dunkirk.’

‘Oh God, no!’ Gracie was struck dumb. It sounded as if this poor woman had lost her entire family. She didn’t dare ask if there was anyone left. No wonder she was always in a foul mood with a bitter twist to her mouth. To say she was sorry would sound trite and inadequate, even so Gracie said it, for want of anything else. ‘Can I do anything more for you?’

One plump hand patted the back of her hair, checking it was tidy. ‘No. I shall be all right in a minute. Thank you for the tea. I appreciate it. Now you’d best go, Freeman, or you’ll be in trouble.'

‘You’ll be OK?’

‘I’ll be fine. Pay no heed to me.’ Gracie could almost see the drawbridge coming up again, the armour which she’d erected around herself to discourage pity, or worse
self
-pity. ‘I’d be obliged if you’d forget everything I’ve just told you. Make no mention of it.’

Gracie squeezed the woman’s plump hand and hurried away.

First they were shown the stack of pitprops at the surface. Many had already been peeled of their bark but some hadn’t and the girls were all given a lesson in how to do this task which helped the seasoning process. Each prop was placed on two trestles and using a sharp knife and firm downward sweeps, the skin of the props was sliced away.

‘As is the skin from my knuckles,’ yelped Gracie, but her skill improved with practise. It also taught them why it was important for them to remove all the small branches and arms, not only for the safety of the miners, but for the poor soul who had to do this job all day.

After that they were given helmets, so heavy Gracie could barely keep her head upright, and promised a ride in a cage that went deep into the ground.

‘Hell’s teeth, I’m not sure I fancy that,’ Lou whispered. ‘Why do we need to go?’

‘Because,’ said the Super, right in her ear, ‘you’re the ones cutting the poles which will hold the roof up for the miners. If you’ve been down a mine yourselves, you’ll know how it feels and make sure that you cut strong ones.’

The point was certainly driven home as they were led through the shafts and galleries where the men worked, and the purpose of various pieces of machinery carefully demonstrated. There was electric light for part of the way but they were then shown shorter, narrower passages where the miners were expected to work in difficult and cramped conditions, where they were often dependent upon the lamps affixed to their helmets. The atmosphere grew hot and airless, though the ventilation fans were working normally. It was explained to them about the pumps, and how these were constantly at work, preventing the mine from flooding.

Today, being a Sunday, the miners were not working and the silence was profound, broken only by the constant dripping of water and strange creaking that echoed in the empty vastness. Their guide carried a candle and a canary in a cage, both of which he used to test the quality of the air at the head of each shaft. When they reached the coal face, he showed them the pitprops, some of them cracked and bent.

‘Don’t worry, girls. These aren’t any of yours. They’ve been here a long time,’ their guide reassured them. Even so, they felt guilty, as if they were responsible for sending inferior wood.

He offered them all a turn with a pickaxe to cut some coal, which they all tried with great trepidation. On the way back in the lorry, Lou said that the next time they were felling softwoods for pitprops, she’d make doubly sure that they chose good strong poles with no sign of weakness in any of them.

Gracie agreed. She’d felt quite certain that the great mass of earth above her head had been about to collapse on top of her and press her into the blackness. But despite these fears, she’d gained a great deal from the trip. More than she felt comfortable with.

Gordon was waiting for them when they arrived back at camp. He lifted Lou bodily from the back of the lorry and carried her off to great whoops of delight from the other girls.

‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,’ chorused Tess and Jeannie together.

‘To the woods!’ yelled Enid.

‘I think not.’ The voice of Matron boomed out and poor Gordon very nearly dropped his beloved in the mud as he instantly responded with a smart salute.

‘Have you permission to be on this site, sailor?’

‘No sir... er ma’am.
I mean, I’ve got a late pass. Just for tonight.’

‘This is a work area. And women only.’ Matron hoisted her ample bosom onto her folded arms and glared at him.

‘Yeah, I can see that.’ His eyes roved over the beaming faces surrounding him, all filled with curiosity and avid interest at this gorgeous hunk of male they’d discovered in their midst. Lou decided it was time to pitch in with her four pennyworth. The sooner she got her lovely Gordon away from their adoring gaze, the better.

‘What he means is he understands all of that but just popped in to let me know he was here, that he’d be available later.’

‘Ooh,’ cried a voice from the crowd. ‘Is he taking bookings?’

Fresh gales of laughter from the audience and a few more ribald remarks. ‘No, no, I mean that he’s managed to wangle a spot of leave. We’ll surely be allowed some free time this evening, won’t we, Matron? I can go out with him, can’t I? If there’s another lecture could I miss it for once? We’re only recently wed, d’you see, and we’re so
very
much in love.’ She put such pleading, such feeling, into her voice, it would have moved a heart of stone. Matron didn’t flinch.

‘Your personal affairs are hardly my concern, Mason. I’m afraid you don’t go anywhere without my permission.’

She made to walk away but Lou took a step towards her in her desperation, for all she itched to run away with Gordon that very minute. It was exciting and brave of him to walk right into the camp like this, bold as brass, but she did wish he’d given notice he was coming. She’d have been more prepared, maybe begged some time off. ‘Aw go on Matron. Be a sport. He
is
me husband after all. Can’t I go with him to the flicks or something? Who knows when I might see him again, and there is a war on.’ A hard lump of emotion filled her throat and Lou swallowed, aware suddenly that this was true. Her plan to be near Gordon could all come to nothing the moment he got his sailing orders.

‘I want you off government property now, sailor. And the rest of you girls, about your business. Supper is in half an hour.’ Unmoved by Lou’s pleas, the woman flounced away, the long green overall beneath the heavy brown coat almost skimming the sea of mud.

Lou was utterly devastated, the disappointment in her so keen that she felt sick. Tears were pricking the backs of her eyes, and she didn’t dare glance at poor Gordon’s crestfallen face or she might start blubbing in earnest. There was a sympathetic groan of disappointment from the onlookers but it was Gracie who hurried after Matron and caught up with her. Some sort of exchange took place between them; too far away and much too quietly spoken for Lou to hear what was said, but, after a moment, the woman suddenly swung about and glared back at Lou.

‘You’d still need to be in by nine-thirty.’

‘
Nine-thirty
, but...’

‘That would be fine,’ Gracie hastily intervened. ‘You understand that too, Gordon, don’t you?’

‘Sure thing,’ he agreed, cap in hand and face alight with eagerness. ‘Not a second later sir... Ma’am.’

‘If you can’t even work out what sex
I
am, what hope for your poor wife. Nine-thirty. On the dot. I shall be standing at the door to check. One minute late and you’re on report, Mason.’

Lou didn’t linger to find out what stratagem Gracie had employed to persuade the old dragon, though it had certainly worked. She was in far too much of a hurry to go before the permission was withdrawn. Within ten minutes, Lou had changed into her glad rags, as she called them, and was sashaying out of camp, her arm tucked into Gordon’s, a chorus of whistles and envious glances following them every step of the way.

They didn’t go far, certainly not to the flicks. For one thing, Lou hadn’t been in the area long enough to have the first idea where to find a picture house, or even how to catch a bus or train to one. For another, all they really needed was each other; to kiss and cuddle, to explore their newly discovered feelings. All of which could as easily be resolved in a corner of some field, beneath a tree, or by wandering arm in arm along the quiet Cornish lanes.

Meandering through a patch of woodland on the outskirts of the estate, they spotted a tiny summerhouse. It had a curly roof, rather in the style of a pagoda and there were strange paintings of figures and animals on the walls. Although it was dusty and neglected, it possessed four solid walls and a door, thus providing that vital element of privacy. Amazingly, it even had a fireplace.

In no time at all Gordon had got a small fire going and they were stretched out before its bright warmth on a heap of dusty sacking, remaking their marriage vows. He was a generous and exciting lover and, Lou knew, in those precious moments of intimacy, that whatever the future held for them, she would never regret marrying him. Never. Just the caress of his fingers on her bare skin set her alight.