Friendship's Bond (9 page)

It had been as if she was caught in a great tide of people carrying her along, carrying her with them aboard ship; only then had she realised she still held the arm of a complete stranger, a young boy who had gasped in disbelief as he saw his companion shot dead.

Disbelief they had both shared!

Somehow she had found a corner with space enough for herself and the boy to sit, then as her nerves quieted enough for her to think with reasonable clarity she had decided to request she be shown her cabin.

‘
Niet
. . .
niet
.’

This was the response to her every question; people pushed her away, their own troubles obviously enough to deal with. At last she had found a man in uniform, the gold braid of what could signify a senior officer adorning a heavy jacket.

He had shaken his head at her question.

‘
Niet
.’ It had come with a flourish of the hand together with a rapid spate of words which though unintelligible to her were clearly emphasising his denial.

‘
But I have reserved a cabin!?
’

Desperation had her flourish her ticket but it had simply resulted in yet another curt ‘no’.

The boy had explained. He had followed her and now interpreted what had been said.

She had no cabin.

In darkness which had fallen rapidly as a lowered curtain she had stared at the lad, seeming to hear from a thousand miles away his quiet, ‘
You have no reservation. This ship does not sail to England, this is the ferry going to Finland.
’

The panic, the dash for the entry to the docks: in the madness of it she had been carried not in the direction of the ocean seaport but in that of the local ferry.

The boy’s words had stunned her. How did she find her way home from there, a country she had never set foot in? How long had she stood on the deck, the splash of waves against the hull of the ship not registering, her only feeling that of numbness until . . .

The remembered shock made her tighten her fingers about the spoon.

. . . until returning to the corner where she had sat! Cloud over the pale moon had added to the darkness so at first she had not noticed, then as a filter of moonbeams cast pallid light she had seen her suitcase lying open, its contents gone. She had dropped to her knees, her distracted mind asking only one thing. Where was the photograph of her mother? Alec had found it, handing it to her with quiet sympathy.

Ann stirred the contents of the pan but saw only pictures of the past.

She had been clutching at the photograph, her head bent low over it, so she had paid no attention to the boy until a startled cry made her glance up then slowly, disbelievingly, rise to her feet. With one arm across the boy’s throat and the other encircling his body a man dragged him to stand against the ship’s rail.

Who had that man been, what was it he had demanded she give, and who was the one who had shot him then tipped the body overboard?

‘I reckon that porridge be cooked, or be it you intends ’avin’ the bottom outta that pot?’

Leah’s return to the living room whisked her back to the present. Ann fetched bowls from the dresser but even as she spooned porridge into them the questions she had asked herself remained just below the surface.

‘
All o’ that be behind you, the pair o’ you be safe in England.
’

In England, yes.

But safe . . . why could she not believe that?

Dreams, especially the unwanted sort, left a troubled mind in their wake.

After she returned to the dairy Leah pondered the look she had glimpsed on the face of the girl cooking porridge.

Last night had not been the first time Ann had cried out in her sleep. It wasn’t to be questioned that the shock of being robbed of that which you held dear sent its terrors to haunt you nights; hadn’t she suffered the same on being robbed first of her sons then of a cherished daughter?

Sleepless nights were nothing new to Leah Marshall and though the cause of them might differ the fear was the same. She had seen the shadow of it on Ann Spencer’s face, the mark left from robbery, from finding herself practically penniless in a land she knew little of and whose language she could not speak; that ordeal would scare any woman.

But time and the balm of God’s mercy reduced if not the hurt then at least the fear it brought with it, so why did the shadow never quite leave that girl’s eyes? Why did it cast a deeper shade across her face when she thought herself alone? She had told of one reason; but what other nightmare haunted Ann Spencer?

Chapter 8

First she removed the small piece of dried salted calf stomach from water it had soaked in overnight, then Leah poured the resulting liquid into milk Edward Langley had delivered fresh from Hill Rise Farm, adding it to the yield from her own small herd. He had not been his usual cheerful self this visit, in fact he had not been anything like the Edward she was used to; the hug had been there and so had the smile, but neither held their customary warmth.

While she stirred the contents of the stone vat with a wooden paddle Leah considered the whys and wherefores underlying such a change in behaviour.

Had it been Ann Spencer’s conduct of the evening before? She laid aside the paddle in order to reach for a stone jar glancing as she did so to where Ann was removing butter from the cool cupboard and setting the portions carefully into shallow trays lined with muslin. It was obvious Edward Langley was taken with the girl and she in her turn had shown no dislike of his company. Until last evening!

After adding a helping of salt from the jar to the creamy milk Leah stirred again, her thoughts circling like the eddies produced by the paddle.

The girl had refused the offer of help in the scullery, a swift shake of the head her only reply when Edward said he would wash out the churns in which he had delivered the evening’s milking; as before she had uttered no word of thanks when he had said he would carry the metal churns to the scullery.

It took time to scour so many landles and pans, the sieves and pails needed at every stage of butter- and cheese-making, but the girl had taken more than was necessary, so much so Leah herself had bundled her from the scullery with an irate, ‘Be you a wantin’ Edward Langley a thinkin’ we be wi’out manners!’

Leah glanced again at the slender figure now carrying the last tray of butter from the cold store.

Ann Spencer had blushed at the reprimand, had apologised to Edward for her curtness, but the atmosphere had been less than easy.

The wench had seemed far away . . .

Leah turned her attention to milk which the evening before had seen the addition of water treated with calf’s stomach skin, using both hands to break the resulting solid mass of curd into small chunks, but her thoughts remained with the events of the previous evening.

Her features had been pale and drawn, her eyes worried. Edward Langley too had caught that look.

Of course Alec not being home by his usual time would account for some stress; Ann was fond of the lad and it was natural she fret when he was extra late, but that should have ended completely when Edward Langley had brought him to the house not five minutes after saying his goodnight.

Even as she had thanked Edward for walking the lad to the house after finding him the worry had by no means left the girl’s eyes.

Placing the broken curds in muslin Leah tied the corners of the cloth together.

There was something biting at Ann Spencer, something more than a lad coming late home.

Could the reason for the wench being so drawn into herself be one and the same as that which had seen herself go looking for Thomas Thorpe? Had the wench heard the tittle-tattle Leah Marshall had overheard while in the market place?

‘
. . . why other would a foreigner be ’ere?
’

‘
But he be naught but a lad.
’

‘
A lad ar!
’

Jinny Jinks’ sharp note of reproof had caught Leah’s attention.

‘
But one as don’t be blind nor deaf neither, nor be ’e puddle in the ’ ead.
’

‘
That be as you says Jinny, but in all charity I can’t say I sees the lad’s bein’ ’ ere for the purpose it be put to.
’

‘
Charity!
’ Jinny had snorted again. ‘
What good be that to the men bein’ killed in this war? Men and lads we knows and them we don’t; what we needs to look at be the ’ arm we be a doin’ by the harbourin’ of a foreigner.
’

Lottie Hopcroft had frowned and shaken her head at that.

‘
It be all well an’ good what you be sayin’ but Ezekial reckons—
’

‘
Ezekial Turley be a man who’s seen more ’n most in this town but he ain’t seen everythin’ and he ain’t been every place!
’

Jinny’s sharp retort cut Lottie’s protest.

‘
So common sense has it Ezekial Turley don’t ’ave the knowin’ of everythin’: though I believe what he said as to that there Kaiser Bill bein’ a sly ’un, that there be naught he wouldn’t try to see Germany a winnin’ of the war . . . and to my mind that includes the sendin’ of a young lad for to spy.
’

‘
But the wench who be along of ’im I hears her grandmother lived along of Darlaston.
’

‘
So what difference do that mek?
’

Lottie’s reply was hesitant.

‘
Well . . . stands to reason, the grandmother be English so the wench’ll be an’ all, an’ wouldn’t no English go ’elpin’ of no Germans.
’

‘
Stands to reason do it!
’

Jinny Jinks had snapped like a terrier.

‘
Then so do this stand to reason: a wench who be turned out of a house on account of ’er bein’ no better than ’er should be wouldn’t be shy of tekin’ money along of ’elpin’ a spy!
’

‘
Eeh Jinny, you ’eard what Mr Thorpe said, her give up tenancy of Chapel House to go look for work cos none were to be got along of Wednesbury.
’

‘
Oh ar we all ’eard Mr Thorpe but then we all knows his ’eart be too soft for ’im to go tellin’ of the true reason . . . and another thing, if’n that wench needed to leave in search o’ work why be her still ’ere livin’ along of Leah Marshall?
’

‘
Be no business o’ your’n why her be livin’ at Leah Marshall’s place.
’

As the women burned to face the sharp admonition, their cheeks had flushed pink.

‘
We . . . we was just a sayin’ . . .
’

‘
I ’eard what you was just a sayin’ Jinny Jinks. Now you ’ear what I be a sayin’: should it be you goes spreadin’ any more of your muck then it’ll be Leah Marshall will be a fillin’ of your mouth with the same, ’ceptin’ her won’t be a usin’ of words when good honest cow dung can serve the same purpose!
’

She had walked away leaving both women open-mouthed.

‘
. . . we all knows his ’eart . . .
’

She smiled a grim smile. Thorpe! It could only be his hand at the back of all this, that congregation knew only what he chose to tell them. She had determined to find out if she would be told the same, but a visit to his home and then the chapel had failed to locate him.

A soft exclamation recalled her to the present. Leah looked to where Ann was staring down at a pat of butter on the ground, her hands pressed to her mouth.

Leaving the board to lie where she had placed it she moved to the girl’s side saying briskly, ‘Don’t give no mind to that, won’t go wastin’, old Betsy likes a dab o’ butter.’

She scooped up the soft mound and dropped it into a bucket of whey drained from an earlier pressing of curd and put aside for feeding to the pig housed in a sty set alongside the privy at the furthest end of the yard.

‘I thinks we could both be doin’ wi’ a cup o’ tea.’

After she had cleaned her fingers on a scrap of cheesecloth Leah touched Ann’s arm. ‘Go you put the kettle to the pot while I teks old Betsy her treat.’

The wench had gone on the round as usual but her smile had made no appearance.

When she returned to the dairy Leah placed a series of weights on top of the wooden board covering the muslin-wrapped curds then, leaving them to drain, turned her attention to milk left overnight in a shallow stone vat to settle. She scooped the cream from its surface to transfer it to a wooden barrel-shaped churn banded about with brass and attached to a trestle. A few drops from a bottle of carrot water added a richer colour to the resulting butter. She locked the lid of the churn before turning the handle to rotate it, all the while her mind dwelling on Ann.

Leah watched the steadily rocking churn without seeing it. That it was a different matter to the one spoke of – a murder in that Russian square – left it plain to see there were fears other than that plaguing Ann Spencer, for her were sensible enough to know them happenings were in the past, and naught of them could follow her here to Wednesbury.