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‘And do you think they will, Julia? Honestly?’
‘Every night I pray they won’t but truly, Mother, where else is Hitler to go now? America is too far away; Russia is an unknown quantity and anyway, even Hitler wouldn’t be fool enough to take on such a big country. They’ve already taken the Channel Islands – it’s likely we’ll be next. Yet Nathan says he feels that we won’t be invaded. Apart from his faith in God, he says he just knows inside him we’ll be all right. So let’s not worry too much, uh? Every day is a bonus, so chin up, dearest. We’ll manage.’
‘Well, Nathan did tell me that according to the so-called experts, Hitler will hold back until some time about mid-September. Conditions would be better then, and the tides just right.’
‘Well, there you are! We’ll be good and ready for him come September. Let’s not think about it any more for a while.’
She looked up as the door opened and a smiling Mary brought in the morning post.
‘The Reverend is back from early church, Miss Julia, and there’s a letter from Sir Andrew.’
Eagerly Helen reached for it, tearing it open. It occupied just half a sheet and was soon read.
She passed it to her daughter then smiling happily she said, ‘He’s just confirming what he told us on the phone, Mary. Drew’s leave is definitely on. He says his divvy has okayed his application. What is a divvy, Julia?’
‘His divisional officer, I think, but who cares as long as he’s coming!’
Drew home! Her son – Alice’s son – coming on leave. So go to hell, Hitler! We don’t want your peace, at any price!
5 (#ulink_7cf6b633-ca15-5e9a-bad6-79ac8e8f1801)
Gracie gazed around her, cheese sandwich poised. Only her second day at Rowangarth, yet it seemed as though she had always worked here; as if that other life of streets and mill hooters and wage packets had never been – except for Mam and Dad, that was, and Grandad.
The air seemed to shimmer golden, dancing with butterflies. She had never before seen so many; not all at one time. To her right, rooks cawed and flapped over the distant trees. Busy getting their second broods out of the nest, Mr Catchpole told her; told her, too, how special that rookery was to Lady Sutton and how, if ever those big, black birds left to nest in some other place, sorrow and tragedy would come to the Garth Suttons, or so legend had it.
‘Who are the Garth Suttons?’ Idly, she flicked breadcrumbs from her overalls.
‘Why, you’m working for them. There’s two Sutton families hereabouts, see. Those as lives here at Rowangarth – them’s the Garth Suttons – and there’s the Suttons at Pendenys Place as folks call the Place Suttons. And there’s Mrs Anna Sutton of Denniston House. Her’s a widow and an offshoot of the Place Suttons. Now, the Garth Suttons have the breeding and the title; the Place Suttons,’ he added, right eyebrow raised, ‘have the brass. Mr Nathan, as is married to Miss Julia, was a Place Sutton but he’s a decent gentleman, like his father …’
Gracie nodded, anxious not to interrupt, because people who lived in big houses – though she had come into contact with very few – intrigued her. Sometimes, on a day trip on the chara, she had passed such houses, all dignified and aloof, and wondered who lived in them and how many servants they had or if they ate off gold plates. And then her Lancashire practicality had taken over and she had tried to work out why they needed so many rooms and whoever found time to clean all the windows.
‘Tell me some more, Mr Catchpole …’
‘Not a lot to tell. I served out my apprenticeship at Pendenys. Wouldn’t have done for me to do it here, not with my dad being head gardener. But I was glad to finish my time and to come to Rowangarth as under-gardener. A right martinet that Mrs Clementina Sutton at Pendenys Place was. Had her servants bobbing and curtsying all the time. Not like our Lady Helen, who don’t hold with it.
‘Mrs Clementina’s father was a self-made millionaire and her his only child, so she copped for the lot.’ His eyes took on a remembering look. ‘By heck, lass, there’s things I could tell you about that one. Married Mr Edward Sutton, who was born here at Rowangarth. A case of brass marrying breeding, but it didn’t ever make a lady of her. An ironmaster’s daughter, that’s what, and she never changed. Silk purses from sows’ ears, tha knows …’
He bit savagely into a sandwich. At midday, Jack Catchpole was in the habit of eating a good, sustaining meal with his feet under his kitchen table, but today he had been fobbed off with sandwiches, and all on account of those Spitfires. Derisively he investigated the contents of the sandwich.
‘A man’s expected to dig for victory on fish paste?’ he snorted.
‘Mrs Catchpole not very well, then?’
‘Nay. Nowt like that. She’s busy collecting aluminium; her and Alice Dwerryhouse and Miss Julia got it all organized.’
‘The Government, you mean – wanting people’s pans to melt down for planes?’
‘That’s it. Got a right pile already in one of the stables at Rowangarth. Folks is chucking out pans like there’s no tomorrow. But I suppose we need fighters. Us lost a lot at Dunkirk, tha knows.’
Gracie knew. She had wept with pride when the soldiers were snatched off the beaches. It had been around that time, in a heady haze of patriotism, she had joined the Land Army.
‘Any road,’ Catchpole was eager to return to the ins and outs of the Suttons, ‘young Sir Andrew comes on leave soon, we hope, from the Navy. He’ll be down here for sure, having a look at the gardens. He’s real fond of the orchid house – but I’ll tell you later about her ladyship’s special orchids, the white ones. Very sentimental about the white ones, she is.’
‘So when he comes here, what do I call him?’ Gracie had never met a gentleman of title before.
‘Why, you gives him his rank as is due to him. “Good morning, Sir Andrew,” you’ll say, then like as not he’ll ask you to call him Drew as folk who’ve known him since he was a babbie alus do. Mind, when he came of age, some started to call him Sir Andrew – but more as a politeness. The lad hasn’t changed, though. He’s a credit to her as had him, and her as reared him. But we haven’t all day to sit here nattering.’ He threw the remainder of his sandwiches to hopefully waiting sparrows. ‘There’s a war on and we’ve got to get them potatoes and marrows ready for when the market man calls – and a score cabbages he wants, an’ all.’
‘But you’ll tell me some more, tomorrow – about the Suttons?’ Gracie begged. ‘About the one who had him and the one who brought him up, I mean.’ That small snippet had intrigued her. ‘Did Sir Andrew have a nanny?’
‘No, he didn’t. But that’s another story. For tomorrow,’ Catchpole chuckled. He could get to like this lass. Happen, if he and Lily had had bairns of their own, one of them might have been like young Gracie. ‘So on your feet, lass. Let’s get digging up them potatoes – for victory!’
Though when that victory would come, he thought mournfully, only the good Lord knew – and He wasn’t telling!
The first sight of Rowangarth had always been special to Drew Sutton. To walk the long slow curve of a drive lined with beeches and oaks and all at once to come upon the old house always aroused an ache of tenderness in him. But this afternoon it was particularly special and achy because he hadn’t seen it for six months and only now he realized how much he had missed it.
Mullioned windows still shone a welcome; the roof still sagged and the rose-red bricks were still smothered in blowsy Bourbon roses and clematis.
God – don’t let me die and lose it. The heart-thumping ache turned to panic inside him. Let me live through this war.
‘Stupid clot!’ he hissed. It wasn’t down to God. It was like the old Chiefie in signal school said: you just had to accept that there was a time to be born and a time to die. And you died when – if – your number came up. So best not worry overmuch about it, Chiefie said comfortably, because worrying only wasted the time you had left.
Good old Chiefie. He’d teach them the morse code if it was the last bloody thing he did, he said at the start of their training. And taught them he had, Drew grinned. DWRX805 Telegraphist Sutton A. he was now, and seven shillings a week extra at pay parade because of it.
He pulled back his shoulders and set off at a quick pace. They always said that the longest part of any journey was the last mile home and now there was only a hundred yards to go. A hundred strides, and he was there!
He should have known someone would be waiting and watching because all at once the doors were thrown open and his mother was calling, waving, running to meet him. And Grandmother standing at the top of the steps with Nathan and Tilda and Mary.
‘Drew!’ Mother and son held each other tightly.
‘Hullo, dearest …’ It was all he could say because all at once there was nothing to say – nothing that mattered.
He gathered his grandmother gently in his arms, kissing her softly, whispering, ‘Missed you, Gran.’ And the words were hard to say so he clasped Nathan’s hand tightly then kissed Mary and Tilda. And Mary blushed hotly and Tilda closed her eyes and smiled broadly. Then it all came right and all at once everything was happiness and homecoming.
‘Hecky!’ Tilda shrieked, and rushed off in a tizzy.
‘She’s got cherry scones in the oven,’ Mary supplied, which made everyone laugh because special days at Rowangarth had always been cherry-scone days ever since anyone could remember.
‘It’s good to be home,’ Drew laughed because suddenly it seemed as if he had never been away.
‘I’ve just noticed,’ Julia frowned. ‘Where is your hat?’
‘Cap, Mother.’
‘Well, where is it – and your kit?’
‘I left everything at the lodge.’ Hammock, kitbag, respirator, greatcoat. In his eagerness to see Rowangarth he could carry them no further. ‘I hitched a lift from Holdenby station. There was a tractor passing with a trailer behind it. People always give lifts to uniforms. He dropped me off right at the gate lodge. I’ll borrow a wheelbarrow from Catchpole later, and collect my stuff.’
‘But you should have phoned from York. I’d have picked you up.’
‘There was a queue for the phone boxes and you know how long it takes to get through these days. Anyway, what about your petrol coupons?’
‘Blow the petrol!’ Drew was home. Nothing else mattered.
‘Shall we all have tea?’ Helen smiled. ‘And will someone tell me – where did Cook find glacé cherries for the scones?’
Such things – dried fruit for cakes, too – had disappeared completely since war came, she had thought. People were even hoarding the last of their prunes now, to chop finely into pieces and hope they would pass for currants.
‘I think, Mother, she has some squirrelled away in a screw-top jar – for special occasions.’
‘Good old Tilda,’ Drew laughed.
A cherry-scone tea in the conservatory. All at once, his war was a million miles away.
Later, when Drew had collected his kit and returned the wheelbarrow to its proper place, Julia took her son’s cap and regarded it, eyebrows raised.
‘HMS, Drew? HMS what?’
‘Barracks is known as HMS Drake, Mother, but we can’t use a ship’s name now. It would tell the enemy which warships are in port, for one thing.’
‘So you’ll only ever have HMS on your cap?’ Julia felt mildly cheated.
‘Afraid so – for the duration. That’s why all the signposts have been removed. We don’t want to let paratroopers know exactly where they have dropped, now do we?’ He was careful to make light of it, to smile as he said it, because most people thought that the invasion, if it came, would be airborne – after a softening-up of bombing, that was. ‘But don’t worry. The south coast, if you could see it, is thick with ack-ack guns and barrage balloons, and there are a lot of fighter stations all along the coast and around London. You’d be surprised the way we’ve got ourselves organized so quickly after Dunkirk,’ he supplied with the authority of one who had seen almost six months’ service in the armed forces.
‘So do you think there’ll be an invasion, Drew?’ Julia was eager for any small word of comfort.
‘Not until I’ve had my leave,’ he grinned. ‘I specially stipulated not until Drew Sutton had had his ten days …’
‘They say it won’t be yet. More like September-ish, when the tides are right,’ Julia pressed, refusing to make light of it.
‘I heard that, too. The old hands in barracks seem to think so. And by then we’ll be ready for them. They’ve got to cross the Channel, remember.’
‘They could fly men across it, Drew.’
‘They could, but only in isolated pockets. They’d soon be mopped up.’
‘By the Home Guard!’ Julia’s apprehension returned. ‘But the Holdenby lot haven’t been given rifles yet!’
‘Mother! We’ve got an army, too. We got the best part of it out of France, don’t forget.’ It came as a shock to him to realize how worried the civilian population had become. ‘Now tell me – where is that nurse who went to France? The Germans didn’t frighten you and Lady then!’
‘Alice and I didn’t go to France to fight. We went to nurse the wounded. And you’ll have to pop over to Keeper’s – let her know you’ve arrived. Daisy won’t be home from work yet, but Alice will be expecting you.’ Julia reached up to place his cap jauntily on the back of his head. ‘There, now you look very smart. Dinner’s at seven, so don’t be too long.’
Drew shifted his cap to the more orthodox position, low on his forehead, then saluted his mother smartly. Determinedly, Julia pushed her fears from her thoughts. She would not spoil her son’s leave by worrying about what Hitler would do next. She had longed to see Drew since the day he’d left home, and the invasion could wait – until September!
Drew stood at the gate of Keeper’s Cottage, gave a low, slow whistle then called, ‘Hullo, there! The fleet’s in!’
Alice dropped the log basket she was carrying across the yard, spinning round in amazement.
‘Drew! It is you!’ In no time she was in his arms, tears brimming. Then she pushed him away from her, dabbing her eyes with the corner of her pinafore, reaching up to cup his face in gentle hands. ‘You’ve grown, I swear it – and you’re thinner,’ she accused.
‘Tilda will soon feed me up,’ he laughed, kissing her fondly. ‘And don’t cry – please don’t cry.’
‘I’m not crying,’ she sniffed, shaping her lips into a smile, ‘but it seems no time at all since you were a little thing, gazing up at me, saying, “Hullo, lady …”’
‘And I’ve called you Lady ever since, haven’t I?’
‘That you have, love, and you’ve grown up into a – a man to be proud of.’
She never called him son. From the day he’d been born, almost, he had been Julia’s; had belonged to Rowangarth, his inheritance.
‘And you, Lady, are very special to me. You’ll keep sending letters, you and Daisy? They’re very important to sailors.’
‘We’ll keep them coming,’ she smiled, in charge of her emotions again. ‘Daisy won’t be in for an hour yet, and Tom’s out setting up snares. Catches as many rabbits as he can. They’re like gold dust now. Everybody’s after them – rabbits not being on the ration. Are you coming in?’
‘Later. I’ve got to do the rounds first. Orders from Mother. But I’ll call later on, when Daisy is home.’
‘Tomorrow’s her half-day off. You’ll have a lot to talk about, the pair of you. The silly young madam’s gone and – but she’ll tell you herself.’ She reached on tiptoe to kiss him again. ‘You’re so like Giles, you know. You get more like him every day.’
She lifted her hand, a blessing almost, as he turned at the gate to smile a goodbye.
So very like Giles Sutton, her first husband, that it made her believe there really was a God in heaven. There had to be, or Drew would have looked like the man who fathered him – and that would have been nothing short of a tragedy.
She lifted her eyes to the late-afternoon sky. ‘Thanks, at least, for that …’ she whispered.
‘No more uniform, no more war, for nine days.’ Drew pulled a stem of grass, then nibbled on the soft white end. ‘Duty done, Daiz. Mother insisted I visit Reuben, Mrs Shaw and Jinny Dobb – by which time the entire village would have seen me in my uniform. I think she’s rather proud of me, but it’s good to get into civvie clothes again.’
He gazed lazily into the dapple of leaves and sunlight above him. Hands behind her head, Daisy lay beside him in the wild garden.
‘Remember, Drew, when we were kids? We used to lie here, all six of us, in the long grass, just talking – sometimes not even talking.’ Just glad to be together, she supposed.
‘The Clan. And now there’s only you and me.’
‘And Tatty, don’t forget. She’ll be along later. She’s gone to Creesby to get her hair trimmed. She’ll come, though, now she knows you’re home.’
‘The whole Riding knows I’m home,’ Drew sighed contentedly. ‘It’s as if I’ve never been away – well, it seems like it, lying here. Wish Keth and Kitty and Bas could suddenly appear – oh, Daiz! I’m sorry!’
‘Don’t be. And you don’t wish it half as much as I do. But I’m feeling good today. Four letters came this morning – two of them from Washington. Keth’s got a job there, but not one word about what he’s doing. I miss him, Drew. Half of me wants him home; the other half wants him to stay safe in America so they can’t call him up. And that’s an awful thing to say, isn’t it, when you’ve been called up for six months, almost?’
‘Do you think he’ll manage to get back home? It’s a pretty dicey crossing from America these days, and difficult for civilians to get a permit to sail, I believe. Between you and me, Daiz, we’re losing more shipping in the Atlantic than the Government tells us about. And there’s no chance at all of him flying over.’
‘I know. There’s nothing I can do about it, I suppose. If he manages to get back – well fine. If he doesn’t, at least I won’t have to go through what Mam and Aunt Julia went through in their war – and, oh! I shouldn’t have said that, either – not when you’re already fighting, Drew. I’m sorry.’
‘’S all right, Daiz. And I’m not fighting – not just yet. When my leave is over, though, I think I’ll get a ship pretty quickly.’ He closed his eyes, breathing slowly, deeply; smiling contentment. ‘But right now, I’m enjoying being here and I’m not going to think of going back till next Saturday.’
‘Next Saturday is Mary’s wedding. You’ll miss it. She’ll be ever so disappointed.’
‘Yes, she said so. But we’d better not talk about weddings, had we?’
‘Best not. And next year, when I’m twenty-one, don’t even think of mentioning weddings. That’s when we’d have been getting married. Expect I’ll weep all day. On the other hand, though, I might not.’ She sat up, arms clasped round her knees, then turning to face him she whispered, ‘I might not be here, you see. I volunteered, three weeks ago, for the Wrens.’
