The Victory Garden(40)

“Is he still alive?” Emily asked cautiously.

A spasm of pain crossed her face. “Still alive, all right,” she replied, “but only just. He’s lost one leg and his lungs are destroyed, and he’s still in some hospital near London. I don’t know if he’ll ever come home, to be frank with you. I try to get up to London to visit him when I can, but it’s not easy. I can’t leave the pub, can I? It’s not making much money these days, but it’s the only income I’ve got.” While she talked, she pulled two half-pints of cider and then measured out a gin and lime. “But then, I’m one of the lucky ones, so they tell me. Mrs Soper up at the forge and Mrs Upton at the shop, they’ve both lost their menfolk. The Reverend Bingley’s son was taken. And Mary Brierly’s son, which was a hard blow, her being a widow.” She pushed the drinks towards them. “There you go, my dears. Get those inside you and you’ll feel a lot better.”

They carried their drinks to the nearest table and sat down. The landlady came to join them, a glass of beer in her own hand. “It’s not often I get someone to talk to these days. Those two over there ain’t got two civil words between them. And the rest of the women—well, we’re raised not to go near the demon drink, aren’t we? Most of them are scared to be seen in a public house. Or too overworked to have the time, or the money. More’s the pity. I’m losing money hand over fist, and I’m fair worn out, too.” She paused and took a generous swig of her beer. “And this used to be such a lively place before the war. My husband used to say, ‘We’ve got a little gold mine here, Nell.’ Lots of day-trippers and ramblers in the summer, and all the farmhands from hereabouts. Now I wonder if things will ever get back to normal.” She seemed to realize she had been talking too much and held out her hand. “I’m Mrs Lacey, by the way. Nell Lacey.”

“Alice Adams.” Alice held out her own hand. “And these two are Emily Bryce and Daisy Watkins.”

“You’re not from these parts then,” Mrs Lacey said, picking up on Alice’s cockney accent.

“Me? No, I’m from London.”

“My word. That’s a powerful long way from home. How do you like it here?”

“I like it just fine, apart from that cottage we’ve landed in.”

“Cottage? Where did they put you then?”

“The witch’s place, that’s the one,” called Simpson from the far table.

“She never put them in there! What was she thinking?” Mrs Lacey looked alarmed.

“The witch’s place?” Emily asked. “Is that what it’s called?”

Mrs Lacey looked uncomfortable. “Don’t pay no heed to him. It’s been empty for a long while, that cottage, on account of no one wants to live in it. Some say there’s a curse on it, but I don’t believe that for a minute. It used to be where they housed the schoolmistress before they built the new school about twenty years ago and Mr Patterson came to be schoolmaster.”

“Only women have lived in that cottage, and they all come to a bad end,” the other old man said, looking up from his pipe. He seemed to relish spreading that information.

“They have not all come to a bad end, Mr Soper. Don’t go putting ideas like that into these ladies’ heads.”

“What about that Goodstone person? She died, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but that was TB. Anyone can catch TB, can’t they? Nothing to do with the cottage.”

“And don’t forget about the witch,” he added, waving his pipe at them.

“Well, I grant you that,” Mrs Lacey said. She turned back to Emily. “One of them was hanged as a witch long ago.”

“Well, that’s cheerful, I must say,” Alice said.

“Oh, you’ll be just fine,” Mrs Lacey said, attempting a big smile. “You’re only here for a few days, aren’t you?”

“How long does it take for the curse to kick in then?” Alice asked.

Mrs Lacey threw back her head and laughed. “You’re a rum one, aren’t you? That’s what we need around here—someone to cheer us up.”

Darkness had fallen by the time the three of them walked back to the cottage. There was no moon, and the cold light of the stars did little more than hint at the dark shapes of buildings and trees. A wind had sprung up, a cold one sweeping down from the heights of the moor. Branches creaked and danced above them.

“I hope we can find our way back to the cottage,” Daisy said. “It’s terrible dark, isn’t it? Listen to that wind.”

“We’ll find our way all right, don’t you worry,” Alice said. “But we’re a daft lot, aren’t we? We should have left the box of matches where we could find it. Now we’ll have to scrabble around in the dark before we can get a lamp lit.”

“Are there any matches?” Emily asked.

“I can’t say I remember seeing any,” Alice said. “Oh well, it looks like we’ll be feeling our way in the dark then.”

“I’ll ask for some matches and some candles in the morning,” Emily said. “There’s no light at all up in my bedroom, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it up and down the stairs.”

“Use the jerry, love. Ain’t there one under your bed?”