‘You’re right. I’d say it was pretty bloody marvellous them coming all that way to fight for a country they none of them ever thought to see. And the word invasion is banned for the rest of the day! Right?’
But for all her sudden defiance, Lorna was afraid and wished desperately that William could be with her. William would have known what to do if parachutists dropped in one of the fields around. But William was a long way away, Somewhere in Wiltshire, so there was nothing for it but to get on with it as best she could; as best she and Ness could, that was. And oh, thank the dear heaven for the land girl from Liverpool!
Ness made for the almshouses to her left, across the Green. Three of them, built more than four hundred years ago for the nuns at the priory and not considered important enough to be destroyed by Tudor vandals. Goff Leaman lived in one of them and Martha Hugwitty in another. Of the occupant of the middle one, Ness knew little, save that he was sometimes there and sometimes he wasn’t.
‘Mr Leaman?’ she asked of the man who stood in the tiny front garden who had already stuck his spade into the ground at her approach, and now regarded her with unashamed curiosity.
‘That’s me. You’ll be the land girl from Glebe?’
‘Mm. I’ve got a message from Mr Wintersgill. He said could you get your body and your shotgun up to the farm tomorrow early. Says he’s got cartridges. You’re going to be shooting rabbits, aren’t you?’
‘That’s the general idea. And before you start worrying about them fluffy little bunnies, let me tell you they’re a dratted nuisance and do a lot of damage. Vermin, that’s what. They make a grand stew, for all that. Starting the haymaking, are they?’
‘That’s right. I did hear Rowley say he’d be up good and early to open up the field, whatever that means.’
‘It means, lass, that he’ll cut a road round the field so the machinery can get in. Do it by hand, with a scythe, and by the time it’s finished, the rest of the field will have the night dew off it and be dry enough for the mower. And you’d better call me Goff. Everyone else does. Short for Godfrey.’
‘And I’m Ness,’ she smiled. ‘Short for Agnes. See you tomorrow, then.’
‘You’ll not be in the hayfield? Not a place for amateurs, tha’ knows.’
‘No. I’ll be helping in the farmhouse. There’ll be the cooking to do for family and helpers, so I think I’ll be more use in the kitchen – till I’ve learned a bit more about things. I’ll probably feed the hens, an’ all, and collect the eggs and wipe them,’ she said knowledgeably, having this afternoon been initiated into the poultry side of the business. She had enjoyed that part of it much more than the cow shed bit. ‘Ah, well. See you.’
Goff Leaman watched her go. A bonny lass with a right grand smile and friendly with it, an’ all. A town lass, without a doubt, but willing to learn it seemed. Should do all right in Ainsty, if she could stand the quiet of the country.
He squinted up into the sky as a bomber flew over, far too low, in his opinion, for safety. Off bombing tonight, he supposed.
He shrugged, picking up his spade, grateful that having done his bit in the trenches in the Great War, he was a mite too old for this one!
‘Miss Hugwitty?’ Ness smiled down at the small, elderly woman. ‘I’m the new girl from Glebe Farm and Mrs Wintersgill wants to know if you could help in the kitchen, them bein’ busy with the hay. Starting tomorrow.’
‘Come in, lass. Was wondering when I’d be hearing. Always help Kate at busy times. They’re late with hay this year. Usually they like to start about Barnaby.’
‘Er –?’
‘Barnaby time. St Barnabas’ Day – eleventh of June. Mind, we had two weeks of wet weather, recent, so it’ll have put things back a bit. Sit you down.’ She nodded towards the wooden rocker beside the fireplace. ‘And what do they call you, then?’
‘Agnes Nightingale, though people call me Ness. And I’m twenty-five and from Liverpool, and I’m not courting.’
Best tell her, sooner than later. Beady-eyed people like Martha Hugwitty always found out in the end.
‘Ah. Well, you’re a bonny lass, so you soon will be. Courting, I mean. There’s not much to choose from in the village with Tuthey’s twins away in the Navy – apart from young Rowley at the farm. But there’s a few young men across the top road at Meltonby. And York is full of RAF lads; aerodromes all around these parts. You’ll not go short of a dancing partner if you’re not already spoken for, that is.’
‘Like I just said, I’m not going steady and I’m not looking, either. See you tomorrow, then?’
Ness got to her feet. Time she was going. Martha Hugwitty had been told all that was good for her to know about Glebe Farm’s land girl. ‘And nice meetin’ you.’
Martha closed the door, nodding with satisfaction. Interesting, the lass was. Very pretty and twenty-five and not courting. Peculiar, to say the least. Young man been killed, perhaps? Agnes Nightingale, whose eyes held secrets to be probed by someone like herself, possessed of the gift. Likely the lass would have an interesting palm as well, could she but get a look at it. She shrugged, turning on the wireless for the evening news.
The pips that signalled nine o’clock pinged out. The land girl could wait. Until tomorrow.
‘There you are!’ Ness found Lorna in the garden, pulling weeds. ‘Messages delivered.’
‘Good. The two of them always help out at the farm. Both glad of the money, I think. But that’s enough for one night. I’ll come inside now, and wash my hands.’
‘That Martha is a bit of a busybody.’ Ness followed Lorna into the house. ‘Got real beady eyes, like little gimlets.’
‘She’s all right, once you get to know her. But don’t let her tell your fortune.’
‘Bit of a fraud, is she?’
‘Far from it! A lot of the things she’s told people have come true – those who’ll admit having been to her, that is. And you are right about her eyes, Ness. They do look into your soul, kind of. It wouldn’t surprise me if she were a medium, on the quiet. Oh, drat! That’s the phone! Answer it, will you, whilst I dry my hands.’
‘Meltonby 223.’ Ness spoke slowly and carefully into the receiver.
‘Hullo! Lorna?’
‘Sorry, no. I’m Ness. Lorna’s here now. I think it’s your William,’ she mouthed, closing the door behind her. And just what the girl needed; cheer her up with a bit of good news and reassurance. But the news it would seem had not been good, and reassurance thin on the ground, judging from the downcast mouth and tear-bright eyes.
‘Lorna, girl, what is it? Not bad news?’
‘No. As a matter of fact there wasn’t a lot of news, good or bad. William spent the entire three minutes telling me off.’
‘Why? What have you done to upset him?’
‘I didn’t tell him about you. He got a shock, he said, when a strange voice answered. I should have told him in my letter and to cut a long story short, he says I mustn’t have you here.’
‘Well, it’s his house, innit? Suppose you’d better tell them at the hostel.’ A pity, Ness brooded. She was really getting to like it at Ladybower. ‘I’ll go as soon as there’s a bed for me. And sorry if I got you into trouble – me answering the phone, I mean.’
‘No, Ness! It wasn’t your fault, and I don’t want you to go! I don’t care what William says. The evacuees we had to take put him off, you see.