The Fleethaven Trilogy (50 page)
‘Later.’ He stilled her questions with his lips and she clung to him, knowing he would never leave her again.
They drew apart for a moment, their eyes shining with joyful devilment. They both spoke at once. ‘The hollow!’
Hand in hand, they were running, across the lane, over the dunes and across the marsh to their special place . . .
Much later they came back to the farm and were standing in the middle of the yard, their arms around each other, when they heard the wheels of the cart returning from the Point. Perched beside Will sat Kate.
‘Mam, Walter’s grandads gone home now . . .’ Kate began, as the cart drew to a halt in the yard. Then she stopped, her eyes widening, at the sight of the stranger standing there with his arm about her mother’s waist.
Will climbed down from his seat and held up his arms to Kate. The child allowed herself to be lifted down, but all the time her gaze was on the tall stranger.
‘Will Benson,’ Esther began with mock severity, though she could not hide the happiness from showing on her face. ‘You have some explaining to do!’
Will was grinning happily as he set Kate down on the ground. She made no attempt to leave him and go to Esther, but stood close to Will, leaning against him and slipping her hand into his. But all the time her eyes were intent upon Jonathan.
‘Do you remember,’ Will was saying, his expression more sober now, ‘the day I came all excited with some news to tell ya, and then I found you’d brought Matthew home?’
Esther nodded. ‘Yes, I remember,’ she said quietly. ‘When you saw Matthew, you said your news was another tuppence on me eggs.’
‘That weren’t true, lass.’
‘No, I knew it wasn’t.’
‘You did?’
‘But you wouldn’t tell me. You – you got almost angry when I tried to press you.’
Will shook his head at the memory. ‘I didn’t dare to tell you – not after I’d seen Matthew.’
There was sadness in Will’s eyes now and a look too that begged for her understanding and her forgiveness.
Jonathan took up the story. ‘When I got back from France, I went to see Will. I knew he’d know how things were with you. He said he’d come and break the news that I was alive and – coming back to you.’
‘Oh, Jonathan,’ she breathed.
‘Then,’ Jonathan added gently, ‘he came back and told me that you’d found your husband in France. Of course, I couldn’t – wouldn’t – come then. But I’ve kept in touch with Will ever since.’
It didn’t surprise her that this man of principle, who despite all her desperate pleading had put duty and honour before everything else, had kept away when he’d heard Matthew had returned.
‘I couldn’t tell you, lass. You do understand?’ Will was saying, anxiety in his tone.
Her voice broke as she reached out and patted Wills arm, ‘Of course I understand.’
‘I brought Jonathan as far as Lynthorpe this morning . . .’
‘We didn’t think it right that I should arrive at the wedding. After all it was their day, and besides, I wasn’t really sure what my welcome from the folk at the Point would be!’ Jonathan added with a rueful smile.
‘But everything’s going to be all right.’ Will grinned broadly. ‘I had a chat with Ma Harris at the wedding. Asked her if she thought enough time had gone by since – well – you know . . .’ He broke off, cleared his throat, and continued. ‘She was that pleased, said you’d earned a bit of happiness and that I’d better get off and fetch the young man as quick as I could.’
‘Oh, so that was what all the whispering was about?’ Esther smiled.
Esther became aware that all the time they had been talking, Kate had been standing quietly, holding Will’s hand and still staring solemnly up at Jonathan.
Jonathan’s blue eyes twinkled down at her. ‘And just who is this very grown-up young lady?’
Suddenly, Kate beamed.
‘Kate, I don’t suppose you’ll remember Mr Godfrey. You were only little when he was here before . . .’ Esther said.
‘Yes, I do,’ Kate said promptly. ‘You made me a fishing net, didn’t you?’
The three grown-ups gaped at her.
‘Fancy you remembering that, Katie,’ Esther said.
The girl wrinkled her smooth forehead and added, with candid honesty, ‘It’s all I do remember.’
They all laughed.
Kate was still eyeing Jonathan, her head on one side as if surveying him. ‘I dun’t suppose you’re me grandad, are ya? You’re not old enough.’
Jonathan looked startled and glanced towards Esther for explanation.
Esther laughed. ‘No, lovey, he’s not yar grandad.’
The child looked disappointed. ‘I did so like Walter’s grandad. Mam . . .?’
Esther held her breath, knowing what was coming next.
‘Have I got a grandad?’
Kate’s clear gaze was directed at Esther, who, for once, did not know how to answer her daughter.
It was Will who answered the child, saying in a strong vibrant voice, ‘Yes, Katie, you have. I’m your grandad.’
Kate gave a little squeal of delight and threw her chubby arms around him. ‘Are you really? I
am
glad!’
Above the child’s head, Will’s eyes met Esther’s. ‘Yes,’ he said at long last, speaking more to Esther than to Kate. ‘I’m your mother’s father.’
Tears filled Esther’s eyes and ran unashamedly down her cheeks but she was smiling as she reached out and clasped Will’s hand. ‘Oh, Dad, oh, me Dad . . .’ was all she could say.
A happiness such as she had never before known flooded through her.
Now, at last, she had everything she had ever wanted.
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.’
‘Brumbys’ Farm’ has been modelled on Lincolnshire County Council’s Church Farm Museum, Skegness, and the locale of ‘Fleethaven Point’ now forms part of the Gibraltar Point National Nature Reserve, managed by the Lincolnshire Trust for Nature Conservation. My sincere thanks to Ruth Walker, Museum Assistant at Church Farm, for her interest and help in providing background information, and also to Carl Hawke, the Gibraltar Point Warden.
I acknowledge use of material regarding the First World War taken from the
Skegness Herald
dated Friday, August 7th, 1914, printed and published by the Proprietor Jas Morrill, MJI, at the Herald Press, 19 Lumley Road, Skegness; and also general information from later editions of the newspaper, then printed and published by C. H. Major & Co Ltd.
My very special thanks to my family and friends for their interest and encouragement, particularly those who helped me so much by reading the novel in the early stages – my sister and her husband, Robena and Fred Hill; Pauline Griggs; Linda and Terry Allaway; and my daughter, Zoë, who helped with the final draft.
M.D.
Skegness, 1994
Sow the Seed
PAN BOOKS
LINCOLNSHIRE, 1926
‘I
F I say ya’ll go away to boarding school, Missy, then go ya will.’ Esther Godfrey wagged her finger in her daughter’s face. ‘And I’ll have none of ya chelp neither! Not from a thirteen-year-old, I won’t.’
Kate faced her mother, her insides churning. ‘I’ll be fourteen soon. I can leave school then. You know I can. Please, Mam . . .?’ Her boldness was fading now, almost before it had begun. She could hardly believe that she had actually dared to argue with her mother. No one, but no one, defied Esther Godfrey when she stood like she was standing now; feet set apart, hands on hips and green eyes flashing fire.
They were so alike; long, rich auburn hair, the mother with hers piled high on her head, the curls held in place by combs with only escaping tendrils to soften the firm jawline; the girl with hers flying wild and free, her mouth clenched mutinously.
Esther Godfrey was a striking-looking woman, beautiful some might have said, with a smooth forehead and a well-shaped mouth. She had still retained her slim figure despite the recent birth of a child, though her breasts were rounded with the ripeness of a nursing mother’s.
Hers was an expressive face; her smile could brighten the day like the sun appearing out of the clouds, but her anger was every bit as threatening as the gales that raged across the marshes from the sea.
And at this moment her face was like a menacing thunder-cloud.
In the wicker cradle in one corner of the kitchen, the baby began to whimper.
‘Now see what ya’ve done – woken her up after I’ve spent the last hour settling her.’
Kate flung out her hand towards the cradle, with a last spark of defiance. ‘It’s ’cos of her you want to send me away, in’t it? You don’t love me any more – not since you got Lilian!’
As she saw the colour drain from her mother’s face and watched her reach out to grasp the corner of the kitchen table to steady herself, Kate felt a stab of guilt. Strong though Esther was, she had given birth only three weeks ago.
‘Oh, Kate . . .’ The anger, too, was gone. Now there was reproach in Esther’s tone. ‘That’s not true . . .’