Twisted Strands (9 page)

‘I suppose, put simply, if there’s trouble in Europe we’ll be involved, firstly in trying to keep the peace, but if that fails . . .’

‘Oh, Richard, no,’ Eveleen’s eyes were wide with fear and she covered her mouth with trembling fingers.

At that moment they heard Bridie’s footsteps outside the door.

‘Don’t say anything in front of Bridie. We don’t want to spoil her first visit to us,’ Richard said hurriedly.

With a supreme effort, they both turned to greet the girl with wide smiles.

‘You’ve spoilt everything.’ Bridie, in floods of tears, stamped her foot.

‘Don’t you take that tone with me, my girl, or I won’t let you go again,’ Mary snapped. ‘Anyone would think you’re not pleased to be home.’

‘I’m not.’ The rash words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. Horrorstruck, she stared at her grandmother.

‘Well!’ For a moment even Mary was lost for words.

‘Gran, I didn’t mean it.’ Bridie rushed to her, trying to put her arms about the older woman’s waist, but Mary pushed her away. ‘I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I
didn’t mean it. It’s just that I’ve had such a lovely time and – now you’re finding fault with the clothes Aunt Eveleen’s bought me and – and everything
we’ve done.’ She hung her head and muttered, ‘And it just spoils it all.’

‘You’re the only thing that’s been spoilt, my girl. Well, whether you like it or not, you are back home and here you’re going to stay. Now, if you want to show me
you’re really sorry, you’d better get some work done.’

Gone in an instant were all the cosseting, the being waited on by Emily, having her bed made, her clothes laid out and her bath made ready. No more luxuriating in scented water and lying between
fresh smelling sheets.

Bridie was home and back to reality with a bump.

The troubles in Europe dominated the conversation over the next few weeks.

‘It’s all a lot of nonsense,’ Mary declared emphatically. ‘Why do we have to get involved in trouble that’s happened thousands of miles away?’

Josh, with a greater understanding of political matters, sighed. ‘Well, as I see it – of course, I might be wrong—’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’re not,’ Mary patted his shoulder as she passed by his chair. ‘You men are so clever over such matters, but I still don’t see why Britain
has to become involved.’

She sat down at the table and leant her chin on her hand, smiling at him coyly, ‘Explain it to me.’

Watching, Bridie smothered her amusement. Her gran was openly flirting with Josh, playing up to his vanity.

‘We’ll get involved because if we don’t and a full-scale war breaks out, we could soon be next in line. We’ll try to keep the peace.’

Mary smiled and said smoothly, ‘I see.’

Josh eyed her over the top of his newspaper. ‘Mary Carpenter,’ he said, feigning severity, ‘I do believe you’re teasing me.’

She laughed, stood up and planted a kiss on the bald patch on the top of his head. ‘Of course, I’m teasing you, Josh. What do any of us poor mortals know about politics and foreign
parts? Why, I’ve never been further than a day trip to the seaside and I don’t intend to either.’

‘To the seaside? You’ve been to the seaside, Gran?’ Bridie’s face brightened. ‘How did you get there?’

‘On the train from Grantham.’

Bridie clapped her hands. ‘On a train! I’ve never been on a train. Oh, can we go? I’ve never seen the sea. Can we?’

‘We could go on August bank holiday Monday,’ Josh said. ‘There’ll be day trips on, I dare say.’

‘Oh no.’ Mary put up her hands. ‘This child’s done enough gallivanting for the time being. High time she settled down now.’

‘But we could all go. The three of us,’ Bridie said eagerly and even Josh looked at Mary hopefully.

‘Oh aye,’ her grandmother rounded on the girl. ‘And who would do the milking and feed the livestock, might I ask?’

Bridie’s face fell. Even though she had no personal experience, she realized that a day trip would take just that, the full day from early morning to late evening and the animals needed
looking after during that time.

Crestfallen, she sighed. ‘Yes, Gran,’ she said, feigning meekness. She rose from the breakfast table and began to clear away the dirty dishes into the scullery, biting her lip to
stop the tears of disappointment. She was not even heartened by Josh’s helpless shrug, as if he too would have enjoyed a day at the sea.

As she went about her daily chores with an outward show of obedience, Bridie’s heart hardened and her resolve to escape this life of drudgery grew stronger.

‘You there, Bridie?’ It was Micky’s voice in the yard.

‘In here,’ she called from the dairy. She stopped churning as he appeared in the doorway. Wiping her sweating forehead, she went towards him. ‘Isn’t it hot? Too hot for
the butter to come. It’s taking me hours.’

‘Here, I’ll give it a go for you.’ Micky grinned, showing white, even teeth against his tanned skin. His fair, straight hair flopped across his forehead and his blue eyes
sparkled with merriment.

Out of breath from her labours, Bridie leant against the doorframe. ‘I won’t say no, ’cos I’m out on me feet.’

Micky took the handle and turned it steadily, whilst Bridie mopped her face, the back of her neck and her hands with a piece of old towelling. Above the rattling of the churn, Micky shouted,
‘There’s a day trip from the village to the seaside on Monday. You know, the bank holiday?’

Bridie nodded without looking at him. Instead she concentrated on carefully wiping each finger.

‘Me mam and dad and us kids are going on it. Even me grandma’s coming. Grandad’s staying to feed the livestock, but we’re all off. Why don’t you come with us?
We’re going on the train from Grantham.’

‘Gran won’t let me.’

Micky stopped churning briefly. ‘What?’

‘I said, Gran won’t let me.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because I’ve asked her. She’s says I’ve had enough holidays at me auntie Evie’s.’

‘Oh.’ Micky’s disappointment was obvious. ‘That’s a pity. I reckon we could’ve had a good time at the seaside. You an’ me.’

‘Yes,’ Bridie said, her tone flat. ‘We could.’ She sighed and moved towards him. ‘I’d better get on with this.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Micky said, and began to turn the handle again, muttering, ‘What an owd beezum your gran can be at times.’

Bridie managed a thin smile, but the misery in her heart deepened.

She tried once again at breakfast time the next morning, relating to Josh and her grandmother what Micky had told her.

‘Why not let the lass go with the Mortons, Mary love?’ Even Josh was pleading her case now. ‘They’ll look after her.’

‘Huh! You think so? You don’t know what Ted was like as a youngster. His son’ll be just the same. After anything in skirts.’

‘Mary, they’re twelve years old, not seventeen. What on earth do you think they’re going to get up to on a day trip to the sea with half the village with them?’

‘She’s not going and that’s final,’ Mary said firmly and added as a wily excuse, ‘besides, Andrew’s coming. You won’t want to miss seeing Andrew, will
you?’

On the Monday morning of the bank holiday, Bridie was up before dawn. As the rising sun cast its first fingers of light across the misty landscape and the sky to the east was
streaked with pink and a glorious apricot colour, Bridie climbed the five-barred gate at the end of the yard and sat on top of it. Straight down the rough cart track and then the lane beyond was
Furze Farm, where Bill and Dorothy Morton, Micky’s grandparents, lived. Beyond that, about half a mile further down the lane, was the cottage where Micky lived.

There were sounds reaching her ears now, through the silence of the early morning; voices raised in excited anticipation of the day ahead. She saw the shadowy figures of Micky and his family
walking up the lane towards Furze Farm, where they disappeared into the yard. A few moments later she heard the rattling of cartwheels and saw the farm cart come out of the gate and turn into the
lane, coming towards her. When it reached the place where the cart track to her own home came straight ahead and the lane turned to their right on its way towards Bernby village and then on to
Grantham, Bridie saw Ted pull the cart to a halt. He raised his hand and waved. ‘You coming with us, love?’

‘No, Mr Morton,’ she shouted, her voice echoing eerily in the still morning. ‘Have a good time, all of you.’

The two younger children were already squabbling in the back of the cart, with their mother trying vainly to calm their excitement. Bridie forced herself to smile and to wave. ‘Bring me
back a shell from the beach,’ she called as Ted slapped the reins and the cart set off once more.

She watched them until they turned another corner and were out of sight. Straining her ears she could still just hear their voices as the cart went up the hill past Fairfield House and on to
Bernby.

Bridie sat there staring into the distance as the sun rose behind her, feeling as if everyone had deserted her.

Andrew arrived mid-morning and Bridie went to meet him, but this time she did not run towards him, flinging herself at him so that he lifted her up and swung her round.

He put his arm round her shoulders and kissed her cheek, then stood back from her a little and looked down at her. ‘What have I done?’

She could see the concern in his face, his eyes anxious. Suddenly she felt guilty. He knew nothing of what her grandmother had said. He had not changed. All right, his love for her wasn’t
what she had thought it to be – hoped it to be. But, if she was fair, that was hardly his fault. She decided to tell the truth, but not the whole truth.

She smiled at him. ‘Gran says I’m too big now to be lifted up like a little girl. I should start acting more like a young lady. She’s going to let me put my hair up when
I’m thirteen in September.’ She demonstrated, picking up her long, thick black plait and winding it in a circle around her crown.

All at once there was a haunted look in Andrew’s hazel eyes and when he spoke, his voice was cracked with emotion. He reached out and touched her cheek tenderly. ‘Oh, Bridie. That
was how your mam used to wear her hair sometimes. You look so like her.’

He couldn’t possibly know how his words hurt her.

‘Oh no!’

On the Tuesday morning Richard was standing in the hallway, the morning paper open in his hands, as Eveleen came down the stairs.

‘What is it?’

Slowly he raised his eyes and his voice was hoarse as he said, ‘We’ve declared war on Germany.’

‘Germany? Why Germany?’ Eveleen asked.

‘Mm?’ Richard was only half listening, his concentration once more on the newspaper.

‘I said, why Germany? I thought all the trouble started in Sarajevo when the Archduke was assassinated at the end of June.’

‘It did,’ Richard said grimly, turning a page of the newspaper. ‘But it reads here as if that was just the spark that ignited a conflagration that was waiting to happen.
Austria was bound to retaliate and they declared war on Serbia last week.’ He sighed. ‘The delicate balance of power that existed between all the nations trying to keep the peace has
just gone horribly wrong.’

‘But what’s that got to do with Germany and us?’

‘Germany’s allied itself with Austria.’

‘But – but our royal family’s related to the Kaiser.’

Richard sighed. ‘So’s the Tsar. He’s his cousin, but it hasn’t stopped the Kaiser declaring war on Russia. Family ties don’t seem to matter when it comes to
political issues. And now it seems as if the Kaiser has taken offence at Britain’s attempts to mediate. Germany declared war on France a couple of days ago and now, because they’ve
marched into Belgium, we’ve declared war on Germany.’

Eveleen’s eyes widened in alarm as the dreadful truth began to sink in. ‘All those countries involved already?’

Richard nodded.

‘So what will it mean for us?’ She put her hand on his sleeve. ‘You won’t have to go, will you?’

Richard’s tone was sober as he said carefully, ‘I won’t be
made
to go, not at first, no. Lord Kitchener has been appointed Secretary for War and he’s calling for
volunteers.’

Eveleen gasped and her hand fluttered to cover her mouth. She knew him so well, knew what his words meant. ‘You mean – you mean you
want
to go? You want to
volunteer?’

His dark eyes regarded her soberly. Quietly he said, ‘I shall think about it very seriously, my love. But I promise I won’t do anything without talking it over with you
first.’

She put her arms around him and laid her cheek against his chest and heard the steady beat of his heart. ‘I won’t let you go,’ she murmured. ‘I swear I won’t let
you go.’

Richard stroked her hair, but he made no answer.

‘Well, thank the good Lord you’re too old to go.’ Mary slammed a tureen down on the table. ‘What on earth is our government thinking of? Getting us
involved in a stupid war that’s none of our making.’

Josh was sitting by the range, devouring the newspaper.

‘Oh, put that paper down, Josh, and come and get your dinner.’

Bridie was moving silently between the scullery and the kitchen table. She was anxious. She had listened to all the talk of war and she was suddenly very afraid. Micky had come to the farm that
morning full, not of the trip to the seaside and bearing her a gift – he’d even forgotten to bring her a shell – but of the impending war.

‘By heck!’ Micky had said, thumping his fist against the palm of his other hand. ‘I wish I was a bit older. I’d be off.’ His eyes were shining. ‘Me
dad’s talking about going. Lots of the young fellers from round here are going already. They’re off to Grantham or Nottingham today to volunteer.’

‘What do you want to go and get yourself killed for?’ Bridie had asked him bluntly.

‘Killed?’ he scoffed. ‘Who said anything about getting killed? I’d just like to go and fight for me country.’

‘And isn’t that what happens in a war?’ Bridie asked quietly. ‘Don’t people kill each other?’

‘Well, I suppose a few get killed,’ the young boy admitted, but then he added proudly, ‘but mostly you get mentioned in dispatches and the King pins a medal on your chest.
Besides,’ he added saucily, ‘if I get wounded, you could be a nurse and look after me.’ His grin widened. ‘I’d like that.’