‘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