The Hills and the Valley

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• Janet Tanner
  
• Dedication
  
• Chapter One
  
• Chapter Two
  
• Chapter Three
  
• Chapter Four
  
• Chapter Five
  
• Chapter Six
  
• Chapter Seven
  
• Chapter Eight
  
• Chapter Nine
  
• Chapter Ten
  
• Chapter Eleven
  
• Chapter Twelve
  
• Chapter Thirteen
  
• Chapter Fourteen
  
• Chapter Fifteen
  
• Chapter Sixteen
  
• Chapter Seventeen
  
• Chapter Eighteen
  
• Chapter Nineteen
  
• Chapter Twenty
  
• Chapter Twenty-one
  
• Chapter Twenty-two
  
• Chapter Twenty-three
  
• Chapter Twenty-four
  
• Chapter Twenty-five
  
• Chapter Twenty-six
  
• Chapter Twenty-seven
  
• Chapter Twenty-eight
  
• Chapter Twenty-nine
  
• Chapter Thirty
  

Janet Tanner is a prolific and well-loved author and has twice been shortlisted for RNA awards. Many of her novels are multi-generational sagas, and some – in particular the Hillsbridge Quartet – are based on her own working class background in a Somerset mining community. More recently, she has been writing historical and well-received Gothic novels for Severn House – a reviewer for
Booklist
, a trade publication in the United States, calls her “a master of the Gothic genre”.

Besides publication in the UK and US, Janet's books have also been translated into dozens of languages and published all over the world. Before turning to novels she was a prolific writer of short stories and serials, with hundreds of stories appearing in various magazines and publications worldwide.

Janet Tanner lives in Radstock, Somerset.

To my daughters Terri and Suzanne with my love

As the train slowed to a grinding halt the girl in the crisp checked cotton dress swung open the carriage door and climbed down onto the platform. Passengers disembarking behind her jostled past and she stood hesitantly, clutching at, the brim of her straw boater which she held in front of her like a breastplate. Her face was flushed from a mixture of excitement and nervousness – a pretty face, round and even-featured and surrounded by a mass of honey coloured curls which had bounced into their usual irrepressible halo the moment her hat had been removed.

She should not be here, of course, at Bristol Temple Meads railway station at twenty minutes past eleven on a Thursday morning. She should be at her desk in the big sunny room at her Convent School in Bath with the rest of her classmates in the Lower VI, listening to Sister Bridget droning Ovid – or perhaps Virgil. But Barbara Roberts had never been unduly influenced by what she should be doing. If there was something she wanted badly enough she usually managed to find a way of getting it. And she had wanted to come here this morning more than she had wanted anything for a very long time.

A small smile lifted the corners of her mouth as she remembered how innocent she had managed to appear when she had gone to Sister Claude, her headmistress, after Prayers this morning and pleaded an appointment with the dentist.

‘I'm very sorry, Sister. Mum did write a note for me but I must have left it behind. It's such a rush at our house in the mornings …'

Behind her thick spectacles Sister Claude's pale eyes had been shrewd and Barbara's heart had lurched uncomfortably. But somehow she had maintained what Ralph Porter, her stepfather, always referred to as her butter-wouldn't-melt-in-the-mouth expression.

‘You can ring Mum if you like,' she said boldly. ‘You can reach her at her office number. But the trouble is she will be very busy.'

The hint had gone home. Sister Claude knew very well that Amy Porter, Barbara's mother, was indeed likely to be very busy. She headed not one but two businesses, Roberts Haulage and Roberts Transport, family concerns which had been started in the'twenties by Barbara's father, Llew. After his death she had built them up almost from nothing until now they operated all over the country and incorporated a coal haulage business and a fleet of charabancs into the bargain. Sister Claude had never been certain how she regarded a woman in business, particularly if she happened also to be a wife and mother. But that did not alter facts. Amy Porter had chosen to send both Barbara and her younger sister Maureen to the Convent School and the not inconsiderable bills were paid each term without delay, something which could not be said for all the pupils. With costs mounting and daily talk of an approaching war threatening to throw everything into even greater uncertainty she could not afford to upset any one of her ‘parents'.

‘Where is your dentist, Barbara?' she had enquired, folding her finger tips together in the way that the girls said jokingly made her look as if she were at prayer.

‘Mr Wenham Browne in the Circus, Sister.' It was the truth. Only – please don't let her ring
him
to check that I have an appointment today, Barbara prayed silently.

‘Hmm. And what about your sister? Don't you usually have your dental appointments together?'

‘Yes. But not this time. This is special. I have to have my crown checked.' Barbara's fingers were tightly crossed in the pocket of her blazer. Let Sister ask Maureen if she wanted to. Maureen was briefed – the girls had worked it out together on their way to school – and though Maureen, serious to the point of being a ‘goody-goody' in Barbara's opinion, had not approved, Barbara knew she would not give her away. Let Sister ask Maureen – but not Mum or Mr Wenham Browne's receptionist …

Her prayer was answered.

‘Very well, Barbara. You may tell Sister Bridget you have my permission to be absent for an hour. But straight there and straight back, if you please. No detours round the shops. And conduct yourself as a young lady should. I know you do not always find that easy, but we have a reputation to maintain. Whilst you are in uniform you are an ambassador of the school. Kindly remember that.'

‘Yes, Sister. Thank you, Sister.'

She had almost run out of the office and down the stairs between the heavily wood panelled walls. She had done it! It had been easy! Now all that remained was for her to get to the railway station without being seen and onto a train for Bristol.

And she had managed it. There had been a nasty moment when she had thought there might not be a train, but it had arrived and now she was here in Bristol. All that remained was to discover which platform Huw's train would be arriving at in ten minutes' time and she would have achieved what she had set out to do – what she had been determined to do since Huw's letter had arrived yesterday with the morning mail.

‘Huw is coming to Bristol tomorrow,' Amy had said, reading the letter as she spread marmalade on her toast. ‘He has to pick up a plane and fly it back to his base.'

‘Pick up a plane! What a funny thing to do!' Maureen had said, checking books into her satchel, but Barbara had almost dropped her coffee cup in excitement.

‘Does that mean he'll be coming home?'

‘I shouldn't think so. I imagine he will have to go straight to the airfield,' Amy replied, propping up the sheets of blue paper covered with Huw's unmistakably untidy hand behind the milk jug. ‘I'm sure the RAF don't allow their pilots to wander around as the whim takes them.'

‘But we haven't seen him for ages. His last leave was months ago,' Barbara protested.

‘Has anybody seen my dictionary?' Maureen enquired.

Barbara ignored her.

‘Well, if he can't come home to see us, why can't we go to Bristol to see him?' she demanded.

‘Don't be silly, Barbara.' Amy popped the last piece of toast into her mouth and stood up, fixing the circle of checked gingham over the top of the marmalade jar with an elastic band. ‘How can we do that?'

‘If we went to the station we'd be sure to see him.'

‘Maybe, but we can't, can we? I shall be at work and you and Maureen will be at school.'

‘We could miss school just this once,' Barbara pleaded. ‘I've only got Maths and Latin and …'

‘Certainly not. I pay good money for you to learn Maths and Latin.' Amy checked her watch. ‘Come on, the pair of you. If we waste any more time I shall be late at the office and you will miss your bus.'

‘Babs, have you had my dictionary?' Maureen persisted, and the usual morning rush to get out had taken over once more.

But Barbara's mouth had set in a stubborn line. Let the others be off-handed about it if they liked. Let them do what they liked. If Huw was going to be in Bristol then somehow she was going to make sure she was in Bristol too. If she could only see him for five minutes it would be worth it!

All day, whilst she was supposed to be concentrating on her lessons, she had thought about it and at last she had come up with her plan. Now she stood triumphantly on the crowded platform and knew that this far, at least, it had worked.

‘Mind your backs please!' A porter was walking the length of the train slamming doors again in readiness for departure and Barbara touched his sleeve.

‘Which platform does the Maidstone train come in at?' Her voice was almost lost in the roar as the engine let off steam.

‘What's that?' He barely paused in what he was doing and she had to run a few steps after him to repeat her question.

‘The train from Maidstone.'

He shook his head impatiently. ‘There's no train here from Maidstone.'

‘But …' Barbara was horrified. ‘I have to meet someone coming from Maidstone.'

The porter was still walking, talking over his shoulder as he went. ‘You want the Paddington train. Platform Two. T'other side of the line.'

‘How do I get there?'

‘Down them steps, along, and up t'other side.'

‘Thanks.'

In her eagerness she almost started to run, then remembered Sister Claude's admonition and slowed to a walk. Maybe she was in Bristol when she should be in Bath but whilst she was wearing her convent dress she had better try to behave like a young lady.