The Victory Garden(82)
“God bless you, my dear,” Mrs Soper said. “I’ve been to the doctors, and they just give me something that knocks me out, but then I’m all groggy the next morning, and you have to have your wits about you when operating a forge, as young Maud here has just found out, eh, Maud?”
Maud grinned sheepishly. “I won’t make that same mistake again, Mrs Soper,” she said.
That evening, Emily studied the old texts. In Tabitha Ann Wise’s book, she had written down a remedy that seemed useful.
For anxiety and the uncalm spirit, for a peaceful sleepe without evil dreames.
Make an infusion of hoppes, skullcap, vervain, valerian, wild lettuce and passion flower. To these can be added lavender, lemon balm and chamomile to sweeten the potion and to infuse the air with calming sweetness.
Emily was pretty sure there were no hops growing in the garden, and she had no idea what a passion flower looked like, nor wild lettuce. But she thought she had identified the others, with the exception of skullcap, which sounded rather alarming. She decided to omit that one for now. Further study revealed that the valerian should be a maceration of the chopped root, which was lucky, as the plant itself was almost dead due to the coming winter. She chopped the various ingredients, adding fresh lavender and lemon balm for their scent, and she tried the infusion herself before going to bed. It was a little too bitter, so she decided to add some honey next time. However, she did fall asleep quickly, and she awoke without troubling dreams. Success!
Emily took round a packet of the mixed herbs in the morning and suggested adding honey. Not only was Mrs Soper delighted, but apparently she had told everyone else in the village, so Emily had more requests for her magic brew. Except, that was, from Mrs Bingley. She accosted Emily as she returned from the forge.
“I hear you are brewing up concoctions for people in this village.” She gave Emily a cold stare. Emily said nothing. “You do realize that this is tantamount to practising medicine without a licence—a criminal offence.”
“I hardly think a few sprigs of lavender and other herbs constitutes practising medicine. These are old folk remedies.”
“The people in these parts are still very naive and easily influenced,” Mrs Bingley said. “I wouldn’t want to see them taken advantage of.”
Emily fought to keep calm. “You don’t think I am charging them for these, do you? Look, Mrs Bingley, I was doing a favour for a woman who hasn’t been able to sleep since her husband died. If a few herbs can help her to feel drowsy, then I’m sure there is nobody in the world who could object, except you.” Emboldened now, she went on, “I get the feeling that you are jealous because my friends and I have settled in so well here. Maybe if you were a little more pleasant, you might get along better with your neighbours.”
Emily gave a curt nod and left the woman standing there. She felt rather pleased with herself as she went up to the big house. On the way, she paused to examine the seedlings. The net had held in place, but some of the tender plants had been flattened in the last rain. As she bent to straighten them, she experienced a strange sensation that caused her to stand up again. Her hand went to her stomach. It was more than a twinge—it was a sharp jolt. Her brain went to appendicitis, but then it came again, right under her hand, and she realized with astonishment what it was. The baby was kicking her. She stood still for some time, her hand covering the side of her stomach, waiting to feel it again. Since the sickness had subsided, she had almost forgotten about the baby. Now here was proof that it was alive and growing inside her. She felt scared, but a little excited, too.
As she went on up to the house, she decided she would write to Clarissa and accept her kind offer. It would be good to be with a friend, especially a friend with medical knowledge. She was happy here, but it was rather remote. So that night she wrote a letter, telling Clarissa how grateful she was and how she looked forward to their being together again. She felt a pang of regret that she’d be letting down Alice, Daisy and Lady Charlton, but this had only been a temporary solution, after all. However, she decided to say nothing to Lady Charlton—not until the time came for her to make her move.
The next day, they were together in the library going through a shelf of travel books. The cataloguing was taking longer than it should have because they were studying the pictures together, and Lady Charlton was reminiscing about her adventures at the Pyramids and with the Bedouins in Morocco. Suddenly, a sound floated to them on the breeze. They both stopped and looked up.
“What’s that?” Lady Charlton asked.
“It’s church bells,” Emily replied. “Church bells are ringing.”
And, to their astonishment, the bells of Bucksley Church joined them. They went outside. It was a misty November day, and the air resonated with the sound of bells.
Daisy appeared at the door. “Is it an invasion, do you think?” she asked nervously.
Simpson came running up the drive as fast as his old legs could carry him. “It’s all over!” he shouted. “The war is over. They just signed the armistice. Eleven o’clock this morning, on the eleventh day of the eleventh month.”
“Thank God,” Lady Charlton said.
There was great excitement in the village. A party was planned in the church hall for the next Sunday. The schoolchildren were put to making decorations and planning a concert. Ration restrictions were being eased, and it was agreed that there would be a pig roast. Even Mrs Trelawney was in high spirits, making pork pies and agreeing to use the last of her pickled cabbage. The village hall was festooned with paper chains. Nell and Alice had supplied beer from the pub, and Mr Patterson had donated six bottles of his home-made wine. There was lemonade for the children.