‘Remember, remember, the fifth of November,’ Caroline chanted as they trudged up the steep hill, ‘gunpowder, treason and plot.’ As she repeated the well-known rhyme, Grace joined in, and then so did Joe, their voices ringing out across the frosty fields. ‘I know no reason … why gunpowder treason … should ever be forgot!’
At the farm, they found Violet spooning hot soup into mugs for them. ‘You must be freezing, going out on a night like this,’ she grumbled. ‘Mum went up to bed early, so I fed the chickens and shut them in the coop for the night, and checked the pigs were secure. Did you find those nasty boys, Joe?’ She handed him a mug of soup, which he sniffed appreciatively.
‘I did, but they scarpered before I could have a word. However, I’ve an idea who the ringleader is. And I’ll be having a word with his parents.’
Grace was looking uncomfortable. ‘It’s very kind of you, but I do wish you wouldn’t, Mr Postbridge. I know you mean well, but I’d rather drop it.’
Joe eyed her, frowning. ‘Are you worried they might do something worse next time?’
Grace shrugged and blew on her hot soup, uncharacteristically silent.
‘Come along with me,’ Joe told Grace, then nodded at Caroline. ‘You too.’ They trooped into the snug after him, his two dogs following eagerly too, having been kept lockedup all evening on account of the fireworks. He settled into his armchair next to the fire and nodded to Caroline. ‘Fetch me that box on the table, would you?’
Given the wooden box, he riffled through the papers inside until he produced what looked like a letter.
‘Sit down, and I’ll tell you a story. This letter arrived a few years back from the mother of a friend of mine.’ He unfolded it with infinite care, like something precious. ‘My friend’s name was Benjamin Hollis. His father had been Cornish but his mother was Jamaican, so Benji had dark skin – not much different from yours, Grace.’ He fingered a small photograph that had been enclosed with the letter. ‘This is him. A likely lad, eh?’ He held it up, and Caroline saw a cheery young man in a naval uniform, probably in his mid-twenties. ‘Benji loved playing tricks on us all, smiling and joking. But he was a kindly lad too. Whenever I was homesick, or scared on account of them German U-boats that were always looking to sink us, Benjamin would soon set me laughing again. He was a good man, and a good sailor too.’ His voice cracked with emotion, and he withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket to blow his nose. ‘When our ship was hit, I lost my leg, as you see. But Benjamin … He was one of them poor souls that was never found.’ He sighed, studying the photograph. ‘Lost at sea.’
Grace was sitting very still, head down, hands clasped in her lap. But she was listening. Caroline saw a tear tremble on her friend’s long eyelashes, and felt herself gulp too, a thick salty knot in her throat.
‘I wrote to Benji’s mother after I was shipped home to Cornwall, to say how sorry I was for her loss and to tell her a little bit about her son in his last days. What he’d been upto that week, what I remembered him saying, and so on. It was the least I could do. She was a widow, see, and he’d been her only child. She sent me this nice letter in return, and a photograph for me to keep. Sometimes I take it out and look at it, and think about Benjamin Hollis. You have to keep their memory alive, the ones you’ve lost.’
He leant forward, holding out the photograph, and Grace took it with trembling fingers. She studied it for a long time, and then passed it to Caroline. ‘He was a handsome young man,’ she said in a stilted voice. ‘I’m sorry he died. But I’m glad you were such good friends with him.’
Joe nodded, watching her. ‘Them lads taunting you … That reminded me of some of our fellow shipmates. Because Benjamin had dark skin, he was often teased for it. Some men did it as a joke. But others didn’t. Once or twice, I saw him with bruises on his face and asked how he got them. And he would never say. Just laugh it off. But it made me furious. He was a man like any other, and them wicked, good-for-nothing …’ He choked on his words, catching Violet’s eye, who was knitting by the fire, and stopped to clear his throat. ‘I won’t use bad language in front of you ladies. But Benji was worth ten of them, and that’s God’s honest truth.’ His gaze shifted to Grace. ‘Just as you’re worth twenty of them stupid boys in the village. And don’t you forget it, Miss Morgan.’
Caroline handed him back the photograph, and Joe wrapped it up painstakingly in the letter before replacing both in his box of papers.
‘If any boy cheeks you again,’ he went on, ‘or dares lay a finger on you … You’re to come straight to me, and I’ll sort it out. Because it ain’t right.’
Grace said nothing, perhaps because she was crying softly. Caroline, very daringly, took her hand and gently squeezed it.
‘Please don’t cry, Grace,’ she whispered, her heart aching. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong, remember?’
But Grace pulled her hand away, rising abruptly to leave the room without another word, and Caroline stared after her in fear and confusion. Cold inside, she could barely meet Joe and Violet’s eyes as she stumbled to her feet too.
‘I’m sorry … She’s upset. I’d better go after her. Unless you need a hand washing out the soup mugs, Mrs Postbridge?’
‘No, love, you go up to bed,’ Violet told her kindly, but her smile seemed troubled.
Pausing on the stairs, Caroline stopped with a shudder and closed her eyes, trying to arrange her scattered thoughts.
Violet’s smile had worried her. Her own fault, of course. She shouldn’t have touched Grace’s hand in that intimate way. It had been the wrong thing to do. But the truth was, she liked Grace rather too much and had acted on impulse. Now it was possible that Violet might have spotted her partiality and was busily drawing her own conclusions. She would need to be more careful, she told herself, especially after what had happened with Selina.
She recalled that awful last day at the farm with Selina, when Caroline, no longer able to bear the pain of her dearest friend’s impending departure, had blurted out that she was in love with her.
Thankfully, her dangerous confession had gone no further. Friends with Selina for years, she’d known her to be trustworthy, despite her other faults, so the real danger was only ever to her heart. Yet much as she admired Grace, she’dbarely known the girl five minutes. It would be the height of madness to let a newcomer see her true feelings.
Feelings which young women like her were supposed to reserve for men … Not other women.
CHAPTER NINE
‘Your new car is simply marvellous, Aunt Selly,’ Jemima gushed, tucking her hand into Selina’s. They were standing on the steps of Thornton Hall, watching with fascination as the head groundsman, Mr Underhill, took a bucket of soapy water and a cloth to Selina’s car, a recent acquisition that William MacGregor had helped her make.
‘Thank you,’ Selina told her niece proudly. ‘I’m glad you approve.’
The car was second-hand, purchased out of her own savings. It had a few minor bumps and scrapes to the paintwork, having been in an accident. However, William had assured her it was a ‘good runner’. It was a Hillman Minx, and she’d fallen in love with it as soon as the car salesman in Bodmin had shown it to her.
Owning her own car gave her a sense of independence. She was no longer reliant on other people driving her about and, thanks to William’s regular driving lessons, now felt confident enough to venture forth alone. She didn’t yet have a full licence, but due to wartime changes, her provisionallicence would allow her to drive on her own, so long as she took her test within a year.
