Whisper on the Wind (35 page)

‘
Legal advice
, Mrs Murgatroyd. It stopped her in her tracks. Said I’d had no call to go to those lengths, but I said my concern for Arnie had forced me to do it.’

Polly accepted a second cup of tea, still shaking from her encounter with the lady from Hull; still flushed and triumphant, not a little disbelieving in victory.

‘Yes?’ Mrs Murgatroyd offered the sugar bowl. ‘What happened then?’

‘You might well ask.’ Polly stirred her tea slowly, savouring the moment. ‘I’d got her with her back to the wall by that time, and she knew it.’

‘“Then what’ll I
do
?” she wailed. “Try to see it my way, Miss Appleby? All right – so maybe I do have gentlemen friends?”

‘“And do very nicely out of it,” says I, “if I’m any judge,” and she says to me, cheeky as you like, that it was better than working in a factory and could I blame her for doing what she was good at?

‘“Kelly,” she said, “may God rot him,” she said, had left her as soon as the morning sickness started. What else was she to do, with the Workhouse no more ’n a step away?’

‘The Workhouse …’ Mrs Murgatroyd breathed.

‘Have to give it up, she said, and go on war work if I wouldn’t let her have Arnie back. So I asked her why bother? She was doing very nicely, and since I wanted Arnie more than she ever did, why not carry on with what she was doing? Why not tell them at the Labour Exchange when she went to register that she had a young boy? No need to tell them where he was.

‘Did she suppose, I asked her, that a man from the Government was going to come knocking on her door to check up if the lad was there? Far too busy, I said, with a war on. Got better things to do, I told her.

‘“But supposing – just
supposing
they did,” she says to me, and I told her to tell them – hand on heart – that her boy just happened to be at his Aunty Poll’s on a few days’ holiday. But they’ll never check up on her, Mrs Murgatroyd. Nor on me.’

‘Very unlikely.’

‘Exactly. And that was where the blackmail came in – or is it called extortion? Anyway, I told her that since she was doing so nicely I wouldn’t say no to a bit of something occasionally towards Arnie’s keep and so’s I could save some for the Grammar School uniform he’s going to need, and she was only too ready to promise it. It’s the last we’ve seen of her, I’m sure of it, but whether she’ll send any money remains to be seen.’

‘She’ll send it.’ Mrs Murgatroyd permitted herself a small, self-satisfied smile. ‘Legal jargon can be very intimidating to the likes of Arnie’s mother. She’ll send it, though I’d like to have thought it would be of her own free will.’ Blackmail
or
extortion – either word made the wife of a legal gentleman extremely uneasy.

‘Well, only time will tell.’ Polly lifted her hands to her throbbing cheeks. ‘I’m keeping the lad and that’s all that matters. And if I don’t get myself back he’ll be wondering what’s become of me.’

‘All right, is he?’ Mrs Murgatroyd handed over six shirts and Polly placed them in her basket.

‘Safe as houses.’ She nodded. ‘Best be off, though, and collect him. See you Wednesday, then.’

‘Wednesday. All being well. And thank you, Miss Appleby.’

‘Nay. Thank
you.
’ And thanks to Mr Murgatroyd, too, for his masterly piece of legal advice – that the lady in question should be acquainted with the fact that it was an offence in law to permit a child to live in a house of prostitution. My word, who’d have thought of that one? But it only went to show that legal advice was a wonderful thing to have. That, and a measure of bluff and cunning.

At the top of Beck Lane Polly paused, then walking quietly to the oak tree she looked up into the branches and called, ‘It’s all right, Arnie. You can come down now.’

There was a movement above her, a rustling of leaves, then a small red face looked down.

‘Has Mam gone?’

‘She’s gone. More ’n an hour ago. Been to Mrs Murgatroyd’s for the shirts. You hungry then, lad?’

‘Is she coming again to take me back?’

‘Take you back? Oh my word, no. Your Mam’s far too busy on war work.’

‘But you said you thought she wanted to take me back to –’

‘Then I was wrong, for once.’ Polly was becoming impatient. ‘Reckon you’re stuck with your Aunty Poll for the duration, so best get used to the idea. Now are you coming down
this minute
, or do you want a slap on your backside?’

‘What’s for dinner?’ With the agility of a small, cheeky monkey Arnie dropped to the ground at her feet. ‘I’m starving.’ Then, slipping his hand in hers he looked up enquiringly. ‘Aunty Poll – how did you know about my tree?’

‘Ah, now. If I told you that you’d know as much as I do, wouldn’t you? Now for goodness’ sake let’s be having you home, lad.
Home
, I said …’

‘Grace! I’m back!’ Kath closed the door quietly, gazing around the kitchen, anxious that nothing at Home Farm should have changed.

And nothing had. The mugs still stood atop the mantelshelf, the soup pan still swung from the hook above the fire and the smell, the warm, Home-Farm smell of baking bread told her she was truly back; that she was home again.

‘Kath, lass. We didn’t expect you in till Monday.’ She turned, sighing softly. ‘I’m right glad to see you, though, for all that.’

‘Grace?’ At once Kath was at her side, forehead creased with concern, for the eyes that met hers brimmed with tears beneath eyelids red from weeping. ‘What is it? Tell me?’

‘It’s this war; this
awful
war.’ The voice choked to a near-whisper. ‘A body can only take so much …’

‘I know, love. I know. Here –’ Kath offered her handkerchief.

‘Sorry. So sorry …’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘But hearing about it this morning and me with my son at home … Such a terrible shock. Poor Peggy – but you’ll not know Peg Bailey?’

‘Holly Tree cottage? Next to the pub?’ Kath knew every house in Alderby, now.

‘That’s them. The telegram came last night. Killed on active service, it said. On a gun-site down south and her only a bit of a lass; Jonty’s age to the very day. And her mam and dad, Kath? What’ll they do? How are they going to bear it, will you tell me? Alderby’s only a little place, yet the war’s taken two of our lads already. Now it’s taken Peg. It isn’t right. It
isn’t …
’

‘Don’t, Grace. Don’t get upset. It’s the war and there’s nothing any of us can do about it except try to be kind to her parents.’

‘I know, but I watched Peg grow up, you see. Right from her being born. She was special. Such a day, that was. The district nurse said she’d never forget it. Me and Peggy’s mother both in labour and the poor nurse backward and forward between Holly Tree and Home Farm all day. Said she was lucky if she had two bairns in a year in Alderby and wasn’t there two, now, deciding to be born on the same day!’

‘So tell me – which of you made it first?’

‘I did, and Peggy born about two hours after. And her and Jonty christened on the same Sunday, both confirmed the same Easter. Engaged to a Helpsley lad, Peg was. Had the wedding arranged for his next leave, but he was killed at Dunkirk. So she made no more to-do; volunteered like a good ’un for the army; said she’d be a soldier, in his place. Stationed near Dover. Hell-fire corner they called it with all the bombing and shelling they got. And now she’s dead and how I’ll ever look her poor mother in the face again, I don’t know.’

‘Ssssh, now. Try not to take it so badly, Grace. It was nothing you did that killed her …’

‘But don’t you see, Kath, I
do
feel badly. Wouldn’t you, with most of the young ones gone to the war and my own son still at home? I don’t want him to go, mind. He’s all we’ve got. But you’d feel it, when a slip of a girl who was like his twin gets taken …’

‘I know. I do understand. But there’s no blame attached to Jonty. People like us don’t make the rules. We just do as we’re told and hope for the best. C’mon, now? Dry your eyes and give your face a good splash with cold water. I’ll stay with you till you’re feeling better – unless Mat needs me, that is.’

‘No. Like I said we hadn’t thought to expect you back today. They’re all of them working over on Ridings’ land, thinning out the sugar-beet. And here’s me with my face a mess from weeping and the new ration books to be collected from Helpsley today.’

‘Then I’ll get them for you. Won’t take me long on the bike.’

‘Would you, Kath? Wouldn’t want to bump into anyone I knew looking like this.’ She let go a long, shuddering sigh. ‘Don’t usually give way, but when I heard about Peg this morning, it seemed there was no end to the madness.

‘You know where to go, Kath? There’ll be people from the Ministry of Food at the parish hall, it said in the papers, giving out the books. Don’t want to miss them or it’ll be an afternoon wasted going to York to get them there. Be glad you didn’t marry a farmer, lass. There’s never enough hours in the day, if you do.’

She smiled a sad, small smile then walked wearily to the sink, filling her cupped hands with water, splashing her face.

Kath stood beside her, towel in hand, waiting, not knowing what to do or say. But it was like that, now. So much grief and words the only comfort. And being there, listening, and taking someone’s hand in your own.

‘And lass,’ Grace whispered from the deeps of the towel, ‘I shouldn’t have gone on so about it to you; not when your man’s fighting in North Africa. You’ve got worries of your own and I’m sorry.’

‘You didn’t upset me. Barney’s all right.’ Or was, last time she’d heard. There hadn’t been a letter at Peacock Hey when she got back, though she hadn’t really expected one, because up until two days ago she knew that Aunt Min hadn’t had one, either. But Barney was all right, she was sure of it. Probably away on another long convoy – whatever a long convoy was – and looking forward to a pint of beer at the end of it. ‘Barney’s just fine,’ she smiled.

Of course he was. Barney was a survivor. There’d be a letter on Monday or the next day; maybe even a kind and caring letter like the ones he used to write.

‘I’ll be off now for the books.’ Tenderly she cupped the tear-stained face in her hands. ‘Don’t cry any more, Grace. Please don’t cry.’

Kath saw Jonty as he climbed the orchard fence and she stopped to wave, waiting until he was in earshot.

‘I’m going to Helpsley – anything you want?’

‘No, Kath, thanks. And it’s good to see you back. Mum missed having you around. Is she all right, by the way? I’m going for the drinkings, but really it’s to see how she is. She’s been upset all morning. Did she tell you about it?’

Kath nodded, propped her cycle against the hedge then leaned on the gate, chin on hand.

‘Poor Peggy. I never met her, yet it hurts. It’s frightening, too.’

And hard to accept that any young life should be ended on a day such as this; on a day bright with sunlight, alive with cuckoo-calls, sweet with the scent of elder blossom.

‘Frightening? It – it’s
obscene.
A girl, born on the same day as I was, killed because she wore a uniform, and I’m here, Kath, safe. I’m a civvy. I stay at home and let women fight my war. Christ! It’s degrading.’

‘Your war is here, Jonty. This farm and Ridings is where you can do most good; you’ve just got to accept it.’

‘Then I can’t.’ He slammed a fist on the gate-top. ‘Don’t you think I’m sick of the innuendoes and the sly digs? I get it all the time and from women it’s even worse. They don’t wrap it up when their sons are away fighting. Right now, Kath, farmers aren’t popular. Living off the fat of the land, we’re supposed to be; sitting on our behinds, counting all the subsidies the government pay us for getting out of military service. Soldiers are paid about two bob a day for getting shot at, yet we’re being paid good money for leaning on gates, according to some, and chewing grass!’

‘Like we’re doing now?’ Kath reached for a blade of grass, offering it obligingly, waiting, head tilted for his smile. ‘There now – didn’t crack your face, did it? And, Jonty, you’re very nice when you smile.’

‘You’re not listening to a word I’m saying.’

‘I am. Truly I am …’ And I’m looking at you, thinking how different you and Paul are; Paul who is tall and fair, perfect as a young god; you whose shoulders are broad, whose hands are big and safe, whose hair is thick and in need of cutting. Both of you love Roz, yet she’s Paul’s, his completely. ‘I think I know how you feel.’

‘Do you, Kath? Then you’ll know that this morning I felt like going to York, walking into the first recruiting office I came to and joining up.’

‘Then more fool you, Jonty Ramsden! How much good would it have done once they’d found you were reserved? And anyway, men who wear glasses are no use for aircrew and that’s what you want to be, isn’t it? You want Roz to worry herself sick about you every time you take off with a bomb load, is that it? Because that’s what she’s doing now. Well, thank heaven they don’t take short-sighted pilots!’

‘Hey! That hurt, Kath!’

‘Sorry. It wasn’t meant to and I’d no right to say it. But you’re a farmer, and farming is important. You do as many Home Guard parades as the farm’ll let you; you work all the hours God sends – isn’t that enough?’

‘I’m a civilian; a
bloody
civvy, I think the term is. If some people had their way I’d go round like a leper, ringing my bell, shouting “Unclean! Unclean!”’