The Fleethaven Trilogy (147 page)

The words were muffled against her hair, but she heard
them. ‘Oh, Ella, I do love you. Really, I do. I always have.’

Much later when her grannie had gone up to bed and Ella
had washed every plate and cup and saucer that Esther
seemed to possess, she went outside to shut the hens up for
the night, calling softly to her cat. ‘Tibby? Come on.
They’ve all gone now.’ But there was no sign of him. She
smiled to herself. I expect he’s mousing in the field, she
thought.

It was a beautiful night, crisp and clear, the moon and
stars bathing the countryside in their silvery glow. She
stood and breathed in the air, listened to the distant sound
of the sea, so much clearer in the darkness. She strolled
amongst the trees in the orchard and then pushed her way
through the hole in the hedge.

‘Tibby? Where are you?’ she called again. Even in the
moonlight she could see the flattened wheat and sighed.
She really would have to tackle this field soon, but she
wasn’t quite sure what to do and she didn’t want to worry
her grandparents. Maybe she would walk over to Rookery
Farm tomorrow and ask Uncle Danny for his advice.

She heard Rob’s whistling through the darkness long
before she heard the rustle of his footsteps through the
corn coming towards the hole in the hedge.

‘And what brings you out so late, Bumpkin?’ she called.

‘By heck. Ya made me jump.’ He laughed and, as he
came closer, said, ‘I might ask the same of you, Townie.’

‘I’m looking for that stupid cat of mine. I reckon he
took fright at all the visitors.’

‘Oh, he’ll come back when he’s good and ready.’

They stood together listening to the sounds of the night.
The soft hoot of an owl and a rustling in the hedgerows as
the night creatures came awake.

‘The old ’uns all right?’ he enquired.

In the darkness, she smiled. ‘Fine. Tired, but I think
they’ve enjoyed it.’

Again there was a long silence and she heard him
shuffling his boot on the ground.

Then through the darkness came the same words her
grandmother had asked, ‘When are you going, then?’

‘I’m not.’

‘Ya mean – ya don’t mean – ya staying?’

‘Yes. You won’t get rid of me so easy again.’

‘I’m glad,’ he said simply. ‘They need you. We . . .’ his
voice dropped so low she almost missed the words, ‘. . . we
all do.’

She felt his arm come round her shoulder and she let it
lie there. It felt warm; it felt right. But there was one
question she had to ask; something she had to know.

Softly, she said, ‘Rob?’

‘Mmm?’

‘What about Janice?’

‘Janice?’ She felt his head turn towards her and,
although in the shadows she could not read his expression,
she could hear the surprise in his voice. ‘What about
Janice? Didn’t you know? She’s gone to live in Leicester.
Followed some lads back there in the summer.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Rob.’

‘Sorry? Why are you sorry?’

‘Well, aren’t you . . .? I mean, weren’t you and her
going out together?’

There was a moment’s silence, then he threw back his
head and let out a guffaw of laughter into the still night
air. ‘Me and Janice? You’ve gotta be joking.’

‘But – but you used to take her out on your bike . . .’

His arm round her shoulders tightened and his voice
was husky as, close against her ear, he said, ‘Only ’cos I
couldn’t take you, Ella Hilton. Didn’t you know that?’

‘No – no, I didn’t.’ Inside her chest her heart felt as if it
were turning somersaults.

Rob cleared his throat and somehow his voice didn’t
sound quite steady now as he asked, ‘Could you use a little
help with the ploughing tomorrow, then?’

‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I’d like that very much.’

‘Right, I’ll be here first thing,’ he said, but he made no
move to let her go.

Tomorrow, she thought as she slipped her arm around
his waist and rested her head against his shoulder, together,
they would plough the first furrow of the rest of their lives.

On 19 September, 1964, the marriage between Robert
Eland and Danielle Hilton took place in the local church,
the bride walking proudly down the aisle on the arm of her
father. As the bridal party came out of the church into the
blustery sunlight, the two grandmothers, Esther and Beth,
walked side by side, their arms linked, beaming proudly.
The bride paused as she walked down the path and, lifting
her long white gown, she moved amongst the gravestones
to lay her bouquet on the grave of her mother, Kate. Then
she stooped and from the bouquet she plucked a single red
rose and laid it on the grave of Matthew Hilton, the grandfather
both she and her new husband shared.

Mr Arthur Marshall, still the owner of the Grange and
all the surrounding farmland, save that belonging to Esther
Godfrey and Brumbys’ Farm, was delighted to sell the
crumbling, derelict house that had once been his family’s
home to the young Mr and Mrs Eland, and though he still
retained the ownership of the land surrounding it, he
granted them the tenancy to farm the land too.

So Rob and Ella painted and decorated and rebuilt their
new home and moved into the Grange where Rob had
always vowed he would one day live.

Two years later, Ella was able to say, ‘And now we’re a
family,’ as she laid Rob’s son in his arms, the two old
ladies hovering impatiently in the background for a sight
of their first great-grandchild.

Two more boys were born to Ella and Rob and then a
little girl with bright red curls and a smile like the sun
appearing after storm clouds; a little girl they named Esther
Elizabeth.

Peggy retired from her job in Lincoln and came to live
in her own rooms in the Grange, becoming self-appointed
nanny to Ella’s growing family, and Philip Trent was a
regular and frequent visitor, bringing his mother, too,
whenever her failing health permitted.

In the winter of 1975, Jonathan Godfrey died peacefully
in his sleep and four weeks later, losing the will to live
without him, Esther faded, withered and died. At her
bedside, Beth Eland sat holding her hand until the end.

They’re all buried in the small churchyard now: Esther
and Jonathan, alongside their beloved Kate; Beth beside
her husband, Robert Eland; and only a few feet away from
them all, lies Matthew Hilton.

Danny and Rosie still live at Rookery Farm, although
now, Danny’s working day is more in the capacity of
foreman.

And Brumbys’ Farm? Of course, it now belongs to Ella
and forms part of the land which Rob and she farm
together. But the house lies empty, waiting to love and be
loved once more.

Though it is not entirely forgotten, for on summer days
Ella will walk down the lane, over the stile and across the
fields to squeeze through the hole in the hedge. She
wanders through the empty rooms, pauses in a shaft of
dusty sunlight, and hearing ghostly voices from the past,
whispers in reply, ‘I’m here, Grannie, I’m still here.’

My special thanks to Ruth Walker, Museum Assistant at
Lincolnshire County Council’s Church Farm Museum,
Skegness, on which ‘Brumbys’ Farm’ is modelled, for all
her interest and help in my research.

I am also deeply grateful to those who so generously
gave me their time and expertise and also shared their
memories with me; Caroline and Gwyn Morris; Renée
Bradford; Linda and Terry Allaway; Pauline Griggs; my
sister and her husband, Robena and Fred Hill, and all the
staff at Skegness Library for their ever cheerful and friendly
responses to all my ‘difficult questions’.

To all of you, my love, my gratitude and my thanks.
Your kind interest is a constant source of inspiration.

M.D.
Skegness, 1996

Born in Gainsborough, Lincolnshire, Margaret Dickinson moved to the coast at the age of seven and so began her love for the sea and the Lincolnshire landscape.

Her ambition to be a writer began early and she had her first novel published at the age of twenty-five. This was followed by twenty-four further titles including
Plough the Furrow
,
Sow the Seed
and
Reap the Harvest
, which make up her Lincolnshire Fleethaven trilogy. Many of her novels are set in the heart of her home county but in
Tangled Threads
and
Twisted Strands
, the stories included not only Lincolnshire but also the framework knitting and lace industries of Nottingham. The Workhouse Museum at Southwell in Nottinghamshire inspired
Without Sin
and the magnificent countryside of Derbyshire and the fascinating town of Macclesfield in Cheshire formed the backdrop for the story of
Paupers Gold
.
Wish Me Luck
returned to Lincolnshire once more and the county was also the setting for
Sing As We Go
. Part of the story in
Suffragette Girl
took place in Davos, Switzerland, but
Sons and Daughters
was set solely in the flat marshlands near the East Coast.
Forgive and Forget
centres on the rich history of the beautiful city of Lincoln, while
Jennys War
is divided between Margaret Dickinsons beloved Lincolnshire, wartime London and the rolling hills and dales of Derbyshire.

Sow the Seed

Reap the Harvest

The Miller’s Daughter

Chaff upon the Wind

The Fisher Lass

The Tulip Girl

The River Folk

Tangled Threads

Twisted Strands

Red Sky in the Morning

Without Sin

Without Sin

Pauper’s Gold

Wish Me Luck

Sing as We Go

Suffragette Girl

Sons and Daughters

The books in this trilogy are works of fiction and are entirely a product of the author’s imagination. Although specific settings have been used in the interests of authenticity for a regional saga, and duly acknowledged, all the characters are entirely fictitious and any similarity to real persons is purely coincidental.

For Dennis, Mandy and Zoë

Plough the Furrow
first published 1994 by Pan Books

Sow the Seed
first published 1995 by Pan Books

Reap the Harvest
first published 1996 by Pan Books

This electronic omnibus edition published 2012 by Pan Books
an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited
Pan Macmillan, 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR
Basingstoke and Oxford
Associated companies throughout the world
www.panmacmillan.com

ISBN 978-1-4472-3542-2 EPUB

Copyright © Margaret Dickinson 1994, 1995, 1996

The right of Margaret Dickinson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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