‘Cows wait for no man.’ Mrs Love had come in. ‘You hear Jack’s going along this morning, Grace? Her ladyship will pick him up and let’s hope he’s got that trench dug or there’ll be flood water all over the side lawn.’
Jack gulped his tea and set his cup down. ‘Thank you,’ he said to Mrs Love, although he had both made the tea and poured it. ‘Later,’ was directed at Grace as he left.
‘My Tom wants to learn to drive.’
‘I’m sure he will.’
‘But that coward got all the chances, didn’t he?’
Grace really did not want to become involved. Besides, what did she know about either conscientious objectors or Jack Williams, who had a sister and whose father taught English? ‘I really don’t think conscientious objectors are cowards, Mrs Love.’
‘Then why isn’t he in the Forces like my Tom?’
So they were discussing Jack Williams and not conscientious objectors. ‘They don’t believe in killing people.’
‘Neither does my Tom,’ said Mrs Love, ‘except Germans, of course. He wants to kill lots of them.’
Grace felt very, very cold. She put down her cup. ‘Golly,’ she said, as if she had just realised the time. ‘I’m due in the milking parlour. Sorry, Mrs Love; I have to dash.’
She was glad to be out in the lovely cool spring air and ran all the way to the milking parlour, dashing through the door just after Walter Green.
‘Dammit, woman, don’t scare my milkers.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Scrub your hands and then the udders.’
Grace hurried to obey. Carbolic soap again. When the war was over, she would never use anything but the finest, perfumed soap. Lady Alice had not arrived and, after she had milked three cows, Grace began to worry that she might have to milk the entire herd – I’ll never get the milk delivered if I’m on my own –
‘We’ll take them down to the buttercup meadow and then we can have breakfast.’
A meadow full of buttercups sounded lovely and Grace looked forward to seeing it as she walked along with Walter, helping him guide the lumbering cows.
They reached a vast field, where several enormous trees grew. A thick hedge on which there were already signs of blossom divided the buttercup meadow from its neighbour but, to Grace’s disappointment, there was not a spot of golden buttercup anywhere.
‘You don’t know much about the country, girl,’ said Walter, after he had explained the life cycle of several wild flowers. ‘This time next year, you’ll be amazed by what you know.’
‘I hope so,’ said Grace, and they walked up to the house to join the others in the kitchen.
With the exception of Esau, everyone was present. But no, on looking round, Grace saw that Jack was missing, too. She wondered where he was and found herself hoping that he would get some breakfast, but then she reminded herself that whether or not Jack Williams had breakfast was none of her business.
She sat down between Walter and Harry. Mrs Love carried over a large iron pot that she put on a heavy brass trivet. She lifted off the lid to reveal thick, creamy porridge. It was so hot that little bubbles kept popping up on the surface.
‘Porridge with cream this morning. That’ll set you all up till dinnertime.’
Grace stirred the pot of porridge, watching until tiny bubbles broke the surface. She could hear Megan moving about upstairs.
‘Come on, come on,’ she badgered the contents of the pot, for a hot steaming bowl of porridge must be on the table when Megan came down for breakfast.
The teapot? Had she poured boiling water in to warm it? The generous spoonful of fragrant tea leaves was ready beside the teapot. Megan liked a good strong cup of tea and never seemed to run short. To give her credit, her older sister was perfectly happy for Grace to enjoy the tea, too.
Not for the first time, Grace wondered why her sister had given her a home in the first place.
‘You all right, Grace? You’ve gone all funny.’ Mrs Love was standing with a deep white bowl of porridge in her hand, waiting for Grace, who seemed to be in a daze of some kind, to take it. ‘Didn’t I tell you yesterday …’
Mrs Love did not finish whatever it was she was about to say because Jack had arrived and, seeing the commotion, had gone to Grace’s side and was holding her wrist in his slim brown fingers while he looked at his watch.
At his touch, Grace started up, saw Jack holding her hand, and blushed furiously. She tried to pull her hand away but he tightened his grip so that she winced.
‘I’m taking your pulse, Grace; you’re fine. Probably, she just needs to eat, Mrs Love.’
Without another word, he moved away to sit beside Harry. Mrs Love continued to serve porridge. ‘She went all funny,’ she said, angrily, as she practically slammed a bowl down in front of Jack.
‘I’ll be with her on the milk run this morning and I’ll keep an eye on her. Nothing to worry about.’
Grace felt like bursting into tears. She had no idea what had happened, just that she had remembered something that had already swum away from her; something about porridge – but what? She felt stupid and was so embarrassed to find the others looking at her with concern. They quickly turned back to their breakfast bowls, when she looked at them and, for a time, there was no sound but the clinking of spoons and the pouring of tea.
Grace was first to finish.
‘You should tell her ladyship you’ve had a turn,’ said Mrs Love. ‘If she’s got him with her –’ she jerked her head in Jack’s direction – ‘she might get by without you this morning.’
Grace tried to smile. ‘It’s nothing, really, Mrs Love. I’m so sorry to have been a nuisance.’
She picked up Lady Alice’s coat and walked off towards the milking parlour.
Jack caught up with her before she had gone less than halfway. ‘Feeling better?’
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Good. Lady Alice terrifies me.’
Grace stopped in mid-stride. ‘Why? She’s working as hard as we are and she loaned me this coat.’
‘Perhaps that’s why I’m petrified. She’s destroying all my preconceived ideas.’
They walked on and, just before they reached the milk lorry, Grace laughed. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Nice laugh,’ said Jack, and Grace felt herself blushing again, but this time, in the nicest possible way.
‘You drive, Jack, and I’ll give directions. ’Fraid that means you’ll have to squeeze in behind, Grace.’
Grace, who had feared being stuck in the lorry with the heavy milk churns, was quite happy to squeeze into the back of the cab. Nothing could fall on her in this tight space.
Her worry that Jack would say something about her behaviour at the table was unfounded. On the way to the village Lady Alice told them that the next day they would also be expected to collect the milk money.
‘It’s quite simple: four pence halfpenny per pint multiplied by number, and two pence farthing the