The Victory Garden(46)

“Ah well, she would, wouldn’t she,” Nell Lacey agreed. “She’d want to be with her own kind.”

“She must miss her menfolk,” the young wife said. “I miss my Johnny something terrible.”

“She only has herself to blame, don’t she?” Nell Lacey said angrily. “They sent that poor boy to his death.”

“The grandson, you mean?” the same young woman asked.

“That’s right. Master Justin. As sweet and kind a boy as you’d ever meet. And when he told his father he didn’t believe in the war and he wasn’t going to fight, well, nobody listened to him. His father was furious, and his grandmother said she was disappointed in him, and between them they made sure he was called up and his request to be a conscientious objector was turned down. Off to the front he went, and that was the last anyone heard of him. Blown to pieces by a grenade, that’s what they reckon.”

“And the old lady’s son is gone, too,” someone else commented. “Although he was a different kettle of fish. Hoity-toity like the old lady. Always was a priggish little boy, right from the start. Sent off to some posh boarding school, and when he was home, he wouldn’t play with us because we were beneath him, right, Peggy?”

The blacksmith’s wife nodded. “Died just the same, didn’t he? Buried with full military honours, so they say. But that doesn’t bring him back, does it? And now the old lady rattles around that big place and has nobody.”

They sat in silence as the sun dipped behind the horizon and a cold wind sprang up.

After a couple of weeks, they had made good progress on the grounds. The lawns around the house had been mown, the front beds cleared of weeds. Some of the larger rhododendron bushes had been cut back. One day, they came in for their midday meal to find a pony and trap outside with a man standing beside it.

“I’ve been sent to find you young ladies by that Miss Foster-Something,” he said. “You’re wanted back with the other land girls right away.”

“Oh.” Emily felt a rush of alarm. Were they about to be disbanded, sent home? In which case, where should she go? Where could she go? “We’d better go and tell Lady Charlton that we are leaving,” she said.

“You go. You’re teacher’s pet,” Alice said. “I might nip down to Nell at the pub when we collect our belongings.”

Emily went in by the servants’ entrance as usual, and didn’t like to pass through the swing door unannounced. “Would you go and find Lady Charlton, please, Mrs Trelawney?” she said. “I have to speak to her.”

“What’s this about?” the housekeeper asked sharply.

“We’ve been summoned back. We’re leaving.”

“Oh.” The woman couldn’t control the smirk that crossed her face. “She will be sad. I’ll tell her.”

“I’d rather tell her myself, if you don’t mind.”

“She’s in the library, I believe. You know where that is, don’t you? She took you there once.” There was clear dislike in her voice. She’s jealous, Emily thought. She’s jealous because Lady Charlton has enjoyed talking to me.

“Thank you,” she said. “And thank you for your delicious meals.” Then she pushed open the door and made her way down the main hallway. Another door was open, and she saw that the room was shrouded in dust sheets. The hallway could do with a good sweeping, too, she noticed. There were cobwebs around the light fixtures. She knocked before entering the library. Lady Charlton was standing, lost in thought, staring down at one of the display tables. She looked up in surprise when she saw Emily.

“These are things that my husband brought back from India,” she said. “Such fine workmanship, and do you know that gold and silver objects are weighed and sold by the amount of precious metal there, not by the fine craftsmanship. Isn’t that strange?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Lady Charlton,” Emily said. “But we have to leave. We are being called back to join the other WLA members.”

“Oh dear.” Lady Charlton looked annoyed. “I have been enjoying our little chats.”

“Me, too,” Emily said. “You have so many fascinating stories.”

“They say the war will be ending soon,” Lady Charlton said. “And you will marry and go out to Australia.”

“Yes, I hope so, very soon,” Emily said.

“Will you write to me?” the old woman asked. “I never reached Australia. I’d like to read a first-hand account of your impressions.”

“Yes, I’d be happy to.”

“And your account of the voyage out. We made that voyage, my husband and I, as far as Singapore once. I found it most interesting—apart from the part when I was seasick in the Bay of Biscay.” She smiled.

“I had better go,” Emily said. “The trap is waiting for us.” She held out her hand. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Not much hospitality, I’m afraid. I now regret putting you up in a labourer’s cottage. I thought you’d all be farm girls, you see. I had no idea—”

“No, it was fine, honestly,” Emily interrupted. “I actually came to enjoy it. It’s been neglected for a long time, I can see that, but I imagine it could once have been quite cosy.”