Daughter of Dark River Farm (8 page)

‘Captain Buchanan,’ I returned, leaning slightly away to discourage contact, but broadening my smile to compensate. ‘Are you all set?’

‘Aye. Not much to pack,’ he pointed out, and turned to lean on the fence. He seemed absorbed by the high-stepping chickens as they pecked at the food I’d just thrown them, and didn’t speak for a moment, so I joined him at the fence; it was easier to stand beside him and not have to look at his face.

After a while he cleared his throat. ‘Look, Kitty, I know you understand how my feelings for you have changed, grown into something else.’

‘Archie—’

‘No, wait. Please. All these years you’ve been Oli’s sister. Sweet, but just a child. Even when Evie told me what had happened to you, who we thought did it, and I wanted to rip Drewe’s driver limb from limb, I was feeling it as the shock of someone hurting my family. The anger blinded me to everything else. At first.’

‘And what of your devotion to Evie?’ I couldn’t help saying. ‘Did she feel like family too?’

A flush touched his neck. ‘I thought I loved her. Perhaps I did, and perhaps I still do, but not in that way.’ His voice dropped, became urgent. ‘Kitty, that time I came to find you at the hotel, and I saw you concentrating so hard on your gloves, you looked so intense, but so sad. It hit me harder than I’ve ever thought possible, but I couldn’t accept it. It felt wrong, and I thought I’d frighten you if I told you how I felt—I know you’ve always looked on me as a brother. I’d have hated more than anything to lose your trust.’ He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, pressing his fingers to his closed eyes. ‘That’s why I lied, and arranged for someone else to bring you back when Uncle Jack asked me. It’s why I let you come back alone, when all I wanted to do was take hold of you and never let you out of my sight again.’ He dropped his hands away from his face and fixed his eyes on mine again. ‘I have never felt so…
fiercely
, about anyone, the way I feel about you. Now I’ve accepted it, and let it in, it actually hurts.’

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ I whispered, without meaning to. I couldn’t look away, but my eyes burned.

Archie searched my face, and finally asked, in almost a whisper, ‘Do you think you could ever feel the same way about me?’

I couldn’t speak. Didn’t he realise? Didn’t it blaze from my eyes, the way I felt it in every part of me? He caught my hands in his, and I was too startled to pull away.

‘Will you wait for me, when all this is over?’ He let out a ragged breath. ‘Kitty Maitland, will you marry me?’

I could have wept for all the years I’d longed to hear him say it, and more than anything I wanted selfishly to entrust myself to those familiar arms which, I knew without a doubt now, would keep me safe for ever. But I never could, and I couldn’t even tell him why; he would only persuade me I was wrong, and that would ruin him because I would believe him. His trembling uncertainty of my love for him formed the words I heard falling into the tense silence.

‘I’m sorry, but no.’

The pain on his face was echoed in my heart, and I hated myself for putting it there. Almost more, I hated the fact that it was not a surprised pain; his face just paled, and his eyes closed briefly, and the resigned look that drew his brows together told of someone hearing what they’d already braced themselves to hear.

‘I understand,’ he said in a low voice, but he didn’t let go of my hands. I wanted to tell him he didn’t understand, not at all, not if he believed it was because my feelings were not every bit as fierce, and every bit as hopeless.

‘We’ll still be friends though, aye?’ he said, and his mouth flickered into a smile, although his eyes remained shadowed.

‘I hope so,’ I said in a small voice. He touched my cheek, and while I fought every instinct I possessed not to lean into his hand, I told myself this was the right thing to do. He deserved someone unspoilt and respectable, someone he could be proud of, someone bright and lively who could make him laugh… God knows he needed that, after all he’d seen. Yes, I was doing the right thing.

I wondered when I’d start to believe it.

Dark River Farm, June 1917

‘What’s that?’ Belinda stubbed out her freshly lit cigarette on the floor of the barn, and I turned to the door, my mind racing; if Mrs Adams caught us drinking and smoking we’d be given vile jobs to do tomorrow, but even worse, for me at least, would be her disapproval.

‘Is someone out there?’ I hissed.

A light cough confirmed it, and Bel went to the open door and peered across the yard towards the house. ‘No-one’s come out,’ she called back in a low voice, while I patted around for the cork to stop up the wine bottle again. My fuzzy-headedness had faded quickly with the sudden shock of possible discovery, and I stood and picked up the long-handled broom with which I’d been beating rats out of the pile of sacks. Although who would believe we’d been working, when we could barely see to—

‘Oh!’ Bel turned, and in the near-complete darkness I saw the gleam of her teeth as she grinned. ‘It’s him!’

‘Who?’

‘The chap who gave me the wine! He’s coming over. Quick, light the lamp.’

I stared, unable to move. A man was coming to the barn? And she knew him? ‘Who is he?’

‘I met him earlier today in town. We talked a bit but I didn’t think he’d—’

‘Well well,’ a pleasant voice said, ‘it’s the beautiful blonde Belinda. Hello again. I was about to knock at the house when I heard voices out here.’ The man who appeared in the doorway was little more than a silhouette, but I saw him lean to look around Belinda and straight at me. ‘Good evening, and what’s your name?’

‘The lamp!’ Bel urged, and drew the stranger into the barn. ‘Mr Beresford, this is Kitty Maitland. She’s sort of Land Army too.’

‘Nice to meet you, Miss Maitland.
Sort of
Land Army?’

Belinda had given up waiting for me to light the paraffin lamp, and bent to do it herself. ‘She’s more like the family really.’ She straightened and turned to me. ‘I met Mr Beresford in town today, and in exchange for some advice on where to stay, he gave me that wine you’re enjoying so much.’

‘Ah, glad it’s being put to good use anyway,’ Mr Beresford said, and in the newly flickering light I noticed he was quite short, but exceptionally good-looking. He held out his hand to me, and, without thinking, I put mine in it ready to shake. But he lifted it to his lips instead.

‘I’m actually rather glad I was unable to find room at the hotel you told me about, or I should never have come here and met two such stunning girls.’

I didn’t know what to say, but it didn’t matter; Bel was happy to chatter for both of us. She quickly ascertained that Mr Beresford was hoping to find accommodation under the roof of Mrs Adams, of whom he had heard such warm things. ‘I’m more than happy to pay my way,’ he said earnestly. ‘It’d just be for a night or two, then I go back to France.’

‘Wonderful!’ Bel clapped her hands together. ‘There’s a spare room at the back of the house; it’s where Mr Adams used to keep all his wet-weather clothing. It has a bed too. Only a camp bed, but—’

‘That sounds perfect,’ Mr Beresford said. ‘I’m arranging for funds to be sent through to the bank, and I expect Mrs Adams would be glad of some extra money in a couple of days when it comes through. Besides, I don’t eat much.’ He patted his flat stomach and grinned. ‘Have to stay fighting fit, after all.’

‘Are you home on leave?’ I asked, looking for his bags.

‘Yes. I’m afraid I met with some regrettable thuggery on my journey though, and practically all my belongings were stolen.’

‘Oh!’ Belinda’s face fell. ‘That’s terrible.’

‘All they left me with was that bottle of wine I’d just bought, and what I carried in my pockets. I hope you understand now why I paid for your advice in wine rather than money?’

‘Of course, why didn’t you say so before?’

He shrugged, and smiled quite charmingly. ‘Embarrassed, I suppose. A pretty girl smiles, all dressed for work and clearly as capable as they come, and it’s hard to admit one has been overcome and unable to defend one’s own property.’

‘I’m sure Mrs Adams will be glad to put you up for a night or two,’ I ventured, ‘given your sad circumstances.’

‘Best if you ask her, Kitty,’ Bel said. ‘She has such a soft spot for you. You can tell her he’s perfectly all right, and she’ll trust your judgement.’

I looked at Mr Beresford again, hoping I could trust hers. ‘I don’t know…’

She put her head on one side, a sign I recognised, and one that made me grimace. ‘Come on,’ she urged, ‘you know how she’s changed since you came to live here. She used to be so strict.’

‘She still is!’ But I surrendered, as we’d both known I would. ‘Oh, all right. I’ll go in and talk to her.’

Reluctantly I stepped out into the dark, but halfway across the yard I hesitated and almost turned back, my stomach suddenly churning as I realised I’d left her alone in there with a strange man…but Belinda was a grown woman, and a supremely confident one. I sighed. I had to stop trying to wrap the rest of the world in my own fears.

I found Mrs Adams in the creamery, a low light in the corner glowing while she shaped and patted butter into blocks.

‘All done?’ She looked beyond me. ‘Where’s Belinda?’

‘We’ve almost finished, Mrs Adams,’ I lied, hoping she wouldn’t come out to the barn to check. I explained briefly about Mr Beresford’s bad fortune, and his request for paid accommodation until it was time for him to return to his unit.

Mrs Adams pursed her lips. ‘He’s a friend of Belinda’s, you say?’

‘It seems so.’ There didn’t seem any point mentioning that Bel had only met him once; he was friendly, he’d be here two nights at the most, and then he’d move on. ‘Maybe he can help out with one or two things around the place,’ I added.

‘Well, it’ll mean Will can stop looking around as if he feels he should be doing them,’ Mrs Adams said grimly. ‘Poor boy’d do himself a mischief if we took our eye off him for five minutes.’

‘So shall I bring Mr Beresford in to meet you? Then you can make up your own mind.’

‘Yes, all right,’ she said. ‘Show him into the sitting room. I’ll be out in a few minutes. Oh, before you go back?’

‘Yes?’

‘When are you going to start calling me Frances? Evie and Will do.’

‘They’re guests,’ I said. ‘I work here.’

Mrs Adams looked sad rather than exasperated. ‘You
live
here, my girl. You’re my daughter now, to all intents and purposes.’

‘I do have a mother,’ I reminded her, as gently as the words allowed. She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. She didn’t have to.

About two weeks after I’d returned from giving evidence at Oliver’s trial a letter had arrived, routed through Elise at Number Twenty-Two, the ambulance station to which Evie had moved after our own little cottage had been shelled. I’d opened it with trembling fingers, recognising the handwriting immediately, but any hope that my ordeal had touched my mother’s heart was dashed as soon as I began to read.

Katherine,

News has now reached us of the events surrounding your brother’s arrest and court martial. I wish that word had come from your hand, but of course we had to hear it by way of gossip and newspapers. To learn that you are responsible for Oliver’s downfall does not lessen our shame in his actions, it merely serves to throw some understanding upon it.

Likewise I can understand how a girl like you would be flattered by the attentions of an officer, but even if you did not make it clear to him that you had come to your senses, you are, after all, a sturdy girl and cannot have been so incapacitated that you could not protect yourself. I’m sure if you think back you will realise the truth of this. Such a man would never force himself upon a wholly unwilling partner.

Word of your ruin is already spreading among those upon whom we depend for the continuation of the family’s successful business, and those whose good opinion we value. I can only hope you are able to redeem yourself in their eyes, in the course of your chosen war duties—Oliver has no further opportunity to cover himself in glory, but you, at least, have the chance to expunge the shame you and your brother have brought on your family.

I’d lowered the letter, my face burning, my heart smashing against my ribs and making me feel hot and dizzy. Her words were stark enough, but the meaning I read behind them stole my breath; did she hope for me to be wounded in action? Perhaps I was imagining it. Surely I was? I lifted the letter and continued reading, and the words blurred in front of my eyes.

Your father and I both feel that any leave you take for the foreseeable future would be better spent away from Ecclesley, perhaps with the families of your new set of friends. This would give us the chance to ease your path back into society after the war, if you have not already muddied it too thoroughly. (Should this be the case I am certain you will see the wisdom of making a new life, better suited to your rather rebellious nature, and of finding a husband to whom purity and good name are secondary considerations.)

I felt sick now, remembering that letter and how devastated I had been to read it. Mrs Adams knew of it, but not what it said. I’d showed it to no-one; the shame had burned too brightly. For days I had wrestled with the guilt of lying, of letting them believe I was still in Belgium. I had taken up a pen countless times between then and now, poised to write the letter that would tell them the truth and cut my last hopeful tie with them, but as long as I returned home a plucky war heroine, with any luck even wounded in the service of others, my future as an Ecclesley Maitland would be assured. When I eventually wrote back, sending the letter to Elise so she could post it again from Dixmude, I found my pen had written words I couldn’t bear to hear in my own head: that I understood, and hoped that one day Mother and Father would learn to forgive me. By then I’d known there was nothing to forgive. Those who truly loved me had helped me believe that, but I felt that as long as I begged, pleaded and generally sounded like the old Kitty, Mother and Father might remember their little girl, and realise how dreadful their pronouncement had been.