‘Aunt Selly, Aunt Selly …’ Faith came dashing into the room just as she finished writing her letter. The little girl’s face was pink with excitement. ‘Can we go outside too? Pwease say yes.’
Jemima had followed her, her look one of entreaty. ‘I’ve learned all my French and Faith has finished tracing her alphabet. Please may we put on our coats and watch Peter dig out the coal bunker?’
Selina smiled indulgently at the two girls. ‘All right,’ she agreed, ‘but only if you wrap up in coats and scarves. Understand?’
The two girls dashed away, giggling and hugging each other. Putting away her letter, Selina went after them. Somebody would need to supervise their outdoor activities, and that somebody could hardly be Nancy, who was looking wan and weary these days, her pregnancy now quite advanced.
She found the girls by the back door, pulling on their coats and boots. Nancy was there too, helping Faith with her woollen mittens.
‘I’ll walk with them, Nancy,’ Selina assured her with a smile. ‘You shouldn’t be going outside in this cold weather. Not in your condition.’
Adjusting her woolly hat, Jemima looked round at them curiously. ‘What condition?’
Selina bit her lip, throwing a look of chagrin at Nancy, who blenched.
‘I haven’t been well lately, that’s all your aunt means,’ Nancy explained, reaching for a scarf. She gave Selina a smile. ‘We won’t stay outside too long.’
As quickly as she could, Selina dragged on her own coatand boots, making sure to grab gloves on her way out too. ‘Would you like to make a snowman?’ she asked Faith, tucking the little girl’s hand into hers.
Faith nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, please!’
But they’d barely crossed the lawn when a snowball struck Jemima in the chest. She glared at her brother, who was leaning on his spade beside the coal bunker. ‘You meanie!’ Bending to the thawing snow, she seized great fistfuls of slush and patted them into a large wet snowball, which she threw at her brother.
Luckily for Peter, her aim was not particularly accurate. It missed him by several feet. But she was already bending to make another snowball as he stood laughing …
Nancy grinned, a pink tinge to her cheeks. ‘Time for a snowball battle?’ she asked Selina shyly.
Selina chuckled. ‘Why not? At the rate the weather’s warming up, I doubt there’ll be much snow left soon.’
Despite her growing tummy, Nancy stooped for a handful of slushy snow too. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Nancy was still very young. Only a few years ago, she would have been a schoolgirl. Perhaps it was simply boredom and a lack of friends her own age that was making the young woman so miserable, rather than fear for the future. As for Peter … Well, a snowball fight might be just the thing to cheer him up. At least for today.
A snowball thudded into the side of her head, cold and icy, and she shrieked.
‘Sorry, Aunt Selly … I was aiming for Jemima.’ Peter grinned, his look mischievous.
‘Now, why don’t I believe you?’ Selina demanded, breathless and laughing as she scraped wet snow off theside of her face. ‘Wretched boy … But you’ll soon be sorry.’ And she too bent to make a snowball.
As Selina had predicted, the snow continued to melt as the days slid into February, but slowly on the high moors. She and Nancy sat glued to the wireless as though it were still wartime, listening for the latest bulletins. Food supplies had become critical. The usual winter vegetables had rotted in the soil and later plantings were still not ready for harvest. Mr Underhill lopped down the occasional tree and chopped it up for firewood in the absence of coal. But the winter wonderland was gradually receding, and the postie soon came up the drive again with another clutch of letters, including a swift reply from Caroline to her own letter.
Things at Postbridge Farm had become desperate during the worst of the January snows, Caroline wrote. Joe had lost over two-thirds of the flock and all but one of his three dairy cows. They’d even taken to keeping the chickens in the kitchen porch overnight to avoid any more birds freezing to their perches in the coop. Meanwhile, the soil had been too cold and wet for tilling and sowing until early February, when the Land Girls had been forced to do almost an entire month’s work in a single week to get the spring crops into the ground.
‘Poor things,’ Selina muttered, showing the letter to Nancy. ‘I wish I could be there to lend a hand … Though, to be honest, I’m glad I’m not a Land Girl anymore. It sounds awful.’
William MacGregor telephoned at regular intervals to check on her and the children, and to make sure they had everything they needed. Once or twice, he even managed toreach the house by car, bringing much-needed provisions, though she always begged him not to make the attempt again whenever he left.
Twice during February she sent a note and some food over to Helen Bourne with the groundsman, to ask if she needed help or would like to stay at Thornton Hall with them, acutely aware of her neighbour’s remote location.
The first time, she received a polite note from Helen in return, rejecting both the food and the offer of company as unnecessary, but thanking her for the kind thought. The second time, Mr Underhill returned to say the house was in darkness and nobody had answered the door. No doubt Helen had gone to stay with friends, Selina thought, which seemed eminently sensible, given the tough conditions out there on the moor.
One morning in early March, the day dawned with a cold, bright sunshine that heralded spring, and indeed she’d seen snowdrops peeking out of the icy ground outside her window for several days now, a sure sign that the world would soon emerge from its long, hard winter. Sitting with the children after breakfast, she heard a car engine chugging up the high-sided, narrow track, and hurried outside in her coat to see who it was.
Her heart leapt when she recognised William’s black Wolseley, and she bit her lip, surprised by her own elation.
‘Hullo, how are you?’ William asked, coming up the steps. He stripped off his driving gloves before shaking her hand. ‘This sunshine is very welcome, isn’t it? I’m sorry I haven’t telephoned for a while. It’s been a hellish week.’
She assured him that it didn’t matter and that she wasvery well, but noticed how he avoided her gaze as he shrugged out of his coat too.
‘How are the girls?’ he asked, peering down the hall. ‘And young Peter?’
