9781804993729 by Smakprov Media AB

WEDDING BELLS AT THE WARTIME BOOKSHOP

Lesley Eames

TRANSWORLD PUBLISHERS

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First published in Great Britain in 2025 by Penguin Books an imprint of Transworld Publishers 001

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ISBN: 9781804993729

To my four precious angels – my beloved daughters, Olivia and Isobel, and my utterly adorable granddaughters, Charlotte and Anastasia.

Thank you so much for all the love and laughter.

Prologue

June 1942

The room is quiet except for the purposeful slice of scissors as they cut through newspaper. It’s evening and the curtains are fully closed, not only because blackout rules insist that no light should escape but also to stop prying eyes from seeing what’s afoot inside the room.

A table stands near the window, and on it small piles are arranged like anthills, each pile comprising individual letters cut from the newspaper. A pile for the letter A, a pile for the letter B . . . Not all letters have piles, though. X is unlikely to be needed and neither is Q. Probably some other letters won’t be needed either – not tonight – but it doesn’t hurt to put them by for future use. After all, this is the start of a campaign. All being well. Whether it works remains to be seen but, based on information received, there’s hope. Definitely hope.

Enough cutting? For the moment. The newspaper is folded back up and the scissors set aside. Paper is fetched for the next stage in the process, together with a pot of glue and a pair of tweezers, but first a short break to put the kettle on and make tea. The tea is brewed and poured, the cup and saucer being carried back to the table so the next task can begin. A letter W is selected with the tweezers, dipped in glue and placed on the paper. A letter E follows, then an L and then another L. In less than ten minutes the

task is finished. A moment is taken to study the result and this leads to a satisfied smile because it’s perfect.

The paper needs to be left for a while so the glue can dry. It’ll lose some of its impact if any of the letters are dislodged or smudged, and the intention is for the impact to be . . . powerful.

Meanwhile, there’s an envelope to prepare. Glued-on letters can’t be used because the envelope needs to pass through the postal system without raising eyebrows or suspicions. A typewriter would be helpful – nicely anonymous – but no typewriter is available, so the envelope will have to be written by hand – with the writing disguised.

A few trial runs are made by copying the shapes of letters in the newspaper on to a scrap of paper. Then it’s time to write on the envelope. Slowly, carefully, the letters are added and a study of the finished result leads to another satisfied smile. There’s an awkwardness to the envelope’s appearance because the flow of regular handwriting is absent. But it should get the job done well enough, the name and address being crystal clear:

Mrs Naomi Harrington

Foxfield

Churchwood

Hertfordshire

chapter one

Churchwood, Hertfordshire, England

Naomi had no reason to suspect that the day was going to take a turn for the worse when she woke with the sun blazing in the sky and a happy mood glowing in her heart. She’d been floating on a cloud of relief ever since her divorce had come through the previous week. Not that she believed divorce should be celebrated, exactly. After all, it meant the failure of a marriage and Naomi took that seriously. But she’d married an arrogant man who’d treated her with coldness for more than a quarter of a century and betrayed her in the worst way possible, so who wouldn’t be glad to be free of him at last, especially since happiness beckoned with a much nicer man?

There were other things to appreciate, too. The divorce meant that Foxfield, her home for most of her adult life, was hers now. It was the largest and loveliest house in Churchwood, set on the outskirts of the village in beautiful gardens. Built in early Victorian times with later additions, it was a rambling property with gables here and there and a pretty wooden porch embracing the front door.

Some of the money her former husband had fleeced from the inheritance she’d received from her father had also been returned. This had relieved her of her financial

Naomi

anxieties and meant she was now buying another property – a house she’d been renting as a temporary home for the bookshop she helped to organize. Established only two years ago in the Sunday School Hall, the Churchwood bookshop had soon become the hub of village life, offering a wide range of activities and social gatherings as well as books, not only to village residents but also to the patients and staff of Stratton House, a nearby military hospital. Keeping up the morale of injured servicemen and the people who looked after them was important.

Unfortunately, the Hall had been destroyed when an enemy aircraft had accidentally crashed into it. Naomi’s purchase of the house meant the bookshop’s temporary home could become permanent. She also had plans to replace the furniture and other equipment that had been lost in the crash, but that would take time. Until then, they were getting by with a mismatched collection of donated items and gradually replacing the books. Naomi’s most recent purchases included two Agatha Christie mysteries, which were always popular.

Books were being donated by other people, too. On Saturday she’d been delighted to receive a package of books from a former hospital patient.

Dear Mrs Harrington,

I hope this letter finds you well. I also hope you’ll be pleased to accept the enclosed books as a token of gratitude for all that the bookshop did for me during my time at Stratton House. The books I was able to borrow helped me through many a dark hour. I enjoyed the visits of bookshop volunteers, too, particularly Alice Irvine and Adam Potts. As for the concert the bookshop organized, it was a real boost to my spirits.

With every good wish,

Eric Morton, Sergeant.

PS. I’m recovering well from my wounds now I’m convalescing. It’ll be back to the war for me soon, but I’ll take many happy memories of the bookshop with me.

How gratifying it was to receive letters like this. Sergeant Morton’s books included Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe and John Buchan’s The Thirty-Nine Steps and both were very welcome.

Naomi intended to take all the new books to the bookshop when she set out for it shortly. Just now, with breakfast over, she was taking advantage of a few minutes of quiet – rare in a house filled with the waifs and strays of wartime – to retreat to her sitting room to make a note of the new books in the bookshop register.

This sitting room was her favourite place in the house. It wasn’t as grand as the larger drawing room, the mahoganyfurnished dining room or even the study. But it was warm and welcoming with a thickly piled blue carpet underfoot, heavy brocade curtains the colour of old gold at the windows and matching sofas and armchairs.

Job done, she studied the rota of people who’d volunteered to help Jane Hunt, a local resident who’d been laid low with a foot infection. Rotas like this had become bookshop business too and, once again, it was gratifying to see so many names listed and to know that Jane was going to be well looked after.

Community was always important but never more so than in wartime, when the challenges were numerous –absent loved ones, danger, rationing and food shortages . . . But the bookshop seemed to be rising to the challenges very well indeed.

Life seemed to be treating Naomi’s fellow organizers

well, too. Alice Irvine, the original brains behind the bookshop, still had the worry of a husband serving overseas in the British army, but she was looking radiant in her second pregnancy – the first having ended tragically in miscarriage. Janet Collins and May Janicki also had family members in the army – Janet a son and May a husband – but, like Alice’s Daniel, both men were uninjured and apparently coping well. Kate Fletcher had become Kate Kinsella and was blissfully happy in her marriage to RAF flight lieutenant Leo, who was currently training new pilots after being shot down and sustaining wounds from which he was recovering well. Adam Potts, the new young vicar, was proving a wonderful support to the bookshop and the village in general. Finally, there was Bert Makepiece, a down to earth and rather scruffy market gardener, who, amazingly, had turned out to be the love of Naomi’s life.

Even Naomi’s household seemed to be thriving. She’d taken in several families of evacuees from the East End of London not so long ago and, after some teething problems, the children had settled well. So had the women, who’d found work in aircraft construction in nearby Hatfield, with the exception of Ivy, a grandmother who kept an eye on the smaller children instead.

Naomi was particularly pleased for her housekeeper, Victoria, a pretty girl of only twenty-two who’d taken on two of the evacuee children who’d been orphaned. Victoria was in the early stages of a romance with an American sergeant, Paul Scarletti, of whom Naomi very much approved. Then there was Suki, Naomi’s little maid, who had a birthday today. Suki’s pleasure in birthdays made them enjoyable for everyone. Naomi always put on a birthday tea for her.

After a lot of ups and downs, Naomi was pleased with life.

She glanced at the clock. It was almost time to set out. She began packing a bag with the books, rota and the notepad she always carried with her so she could jot down things she needed to remember.

A knock sounded on the sitting-room door and Victoria entered, looking lovely with her honey-coloured hair and kind green eyes. Naomi had insisted on first-name terms almost from the moment the girl had arrived six months earlier.

‘The post is here,’ Victoria said, presenting three envelopes on a silver tray.

Naomi took them with a smile, noticing that Victoria was blushing and swiftly diagnosing the reason. ‘You’ve heard from Paul?’

Victoria’s blush deepened endearingly. ‘He’s written to say he might be able to come to tea quite soon. Not next week but perhaps the week after.’

Paul Scarletti was based a few miles away. It was often difficult for him to get away but he always seemed keen to do his best. ‘He’ll be most welcome,’ Naomi said. Entertaining was challenging given the wartime shortages but they’d manage to feed him somehow. With goodwill on all sides, they always did.

‘Thank you,’ Victoria said, and Naomi smiled as the admirable young woman withdrew.

Alone again, she looked at her letters. There was a bill, a list of new books from a bookstore in St Albans and – what was this? A personal letter, judging from the handwriting on the front. It was unfamiliar and rather odd handwriting, but Naomi imagined it concerned the bookshop in some way. Tearing the envelope open, she drew out a

single sheet of notepaper – and gasped, recoiling in dismay at the words that spat contemptuously up at her.

WELL, AREN’T YOU A BOSSY WOMAN? IT’S TIME YOU STOPPED ORDERING PEOPLE ABOUT AND LET THEM GET ON WITH THEIR OWN LIVES. THEY’LL BE A LOT HAPPIER WITHOUT YOUR INTERFERENCE.

chapter two

Suki

Suki washed up the breakfast dishes in the Foxfield kitchen with her usual efficiency but her mind was elsewhere – on the fact that today was her birthday. She’d always loved birthdays – other people’s as well as her own – since they were cheerful occasions and it was wonderful to see the pleasure on people’s faces when they received cards and gifts, however small. This birthday wasn’t an ordinary one, though, and Suki’s feelings about it were mixed.

It troubled her that turning eighteen would take her a step closer to being caught by the law that had been introduced last year making unmarried women and childless widows liable to be called up for war work. At present it only applied to women of twenty or above so Suki would still have two years before it affected her. But no one seemed to be predicting that peace would come soon – not even now the Americans were involved – and she was worried that the age limit might gradually be reduced to include women of nineteen or even eighteen. That would give her no time at all before the law required her to serve king and country.

Suki couldn’t say that she loved her king, exactly. She was willing to allow that he might be a very nice man and a very good king, but he was a remote sort of figure who lived

in a palace she’d never even seen, surrounded by jewels and red-coated guards. She did love her country, but more than her country in general, she loved this little pocket of it. Churchwood, and her life here. Suki couldn’t imagine ever leaving it.

In any case, she believed she already was doing war work of a sort. She might be a housemaid but in working for Mrs Harrington – a job she’d held ever since leaving school at fourteen – she was looking after a woman who did so much to keep the village going through difficult times. After all, life on the home front wasn’t easy, what with the rationing and the shortages and even more with the worry about those of its menfolk who were serving in the forces, not to mention the ever-present fear of an enemy invasion.

Mrs Harrington kept up village morale in so many ways. As well as being generally kind and generous, she was one of the chief organizers of the Churchwood bookshop. She’d also opened her home to evacuees from London –six women and ten children, including Victoria, the new housekeeper, and Arthur and Jenny, the two orphans Victoria had taken on. One of those women, Ivy, a grandmother who suffered from badly bowed legs caused by rickets, and her little granddaughter, Flower, slept in the village now, but they still came to Foxfield every day so Ivy could help with the younger children while their mothers were at work.

Officers in the army were allowed servants. Batmen, they were called, for some reason Suki didn’t understand. Why shouldn’t Mrs Harrington be allowed a servant, too, when the services of that servant left her free to do so much good? Suki feared the War Office wouldn’t see it that way, though.

But the possibility of being required to undertake official war work in the not-so-distant future was only one aspect

of this birthday. There was a second aspect that was much more exciting. Suki wouldn’t officially be grown up until she reached twenty-one, but eighteen still felt like a turning point because surely it would mean that he’d stop seeing her as little more than a child – Suki was small and knew she looked young for her age – and realize she was now a woman instead. A woman he could come to love the way she loved him, which was—

She startled, blushing, as someone tapped on the kitchen window. It was Beth Ellis, a nurse at Stratton House Hospital. Suki had got to know her when Mrs Harrington and Victoria had taken in a foundling baby girl who had been left in the Foxfield porch. The baby had been happily reunited with her parents since then but, in helping to care for her for a while, Beth had become Suki’s friend –much to Suki’s surprise and delight. After all, Beth was several years older and a highly trained professional nurse. Suki had, in fact, felt rather awed by Beth when they’d first met, partly because of their different circumstances and partly because Beth’s manner had seemed a little stiff. Distant, even. But she’d soon shown a warmer side of her personality and Suki believed her new friend couldn’t be kinder.

She opened the door to her with a smile. ‘Beth, it’s lovely to see you.’

‘I can’t stay, but I wanted to wish you a happy birthday and give you these.’ Beth handed over a card and a gift. ‘They’re nothing special since I haven’t managed to get to the shops with the hospital being so short-staffed at the moment, but I hope you’ll like them.’

Suki opened the envelope and found a pretty card inside. Then she opened the gift and saw a necklace of blue beads that she’d admired around Beth’s neck one day. ‘You can’t

give me this,’ Suki cried, struck by the sacrifice. ‘It suits you so well.’

‘It’ll suit you, too, and I want you to have it. In fact, I insist. But duty calls now, I’m afraid.’

‘Have you come all this way just for me?’ Suki asked. The walk to and from the hospital was long and Beth had obviously been rushing. Her pretty cheeks were pink, her brown curls a little dishevelled and her blue eyes sparkled from the exercise.

‘I didn’t want to miss wishing you a happy birthday,’ Beth explained. ‘It isn’t as though I can come to your tea party this afternoon.’

How nice she was.

‘Must dash now.’ Beth stepped forward to kiss Suki’s cheek and headed for the door. After a quick wave she was gone.

Suki placed the card and gift on the kitchen dresser and took up a tea cloth to dry the china she’d washed. She was lucky to have friends like Beth Ellis, though it was a pity Beth couldn’t come to the party. On that thought, Suki’s mind returned to him. Would he manage to come along? Oh, Suki hoped so!

chapter three

Beth

Beth broke into a light run as she hastened along Brimbles Lane towards the hospital. It wasn’t just because Matron was a stickler for punctuality, nor even because Beth took a pride in her work and always aimed to present herself for duty early. She had another reason for her eagerness today. She was glad she’d made the effort to see Suki on her birthday, though. Mrs Harrington’s maid was known in the village as ‘sweet little Suki’ and Beth was fond of her in the way of the younger sister she’d never had, Beth being an only child. But she also suspected that there was more to her friend than general niceness – a sharper brain and more spirit than met the eye. They were qualities Beth possessed, too. She’d needed them in order to become a nurse.

Beth’s parents – good people – had always lived modest, everyday kind of lives, never moving from the neighbourhood in which they’d been brought up. They’d expected their only child to follow in their footsteps by marrying a local boy and living around the corner in a cosy little house which would be convenient for them getting together almost daily. Beth’s ambition and achievements had baffled them – probably disappointed them a little, too, since they had taken her away from home – but they’d supported her despite their puzzlement and she loved them dearly for it.

Beth enjoyed her nursing work. Naturally, it took an emotional toll on her when patients suffered, but it rewarded her immensely to know she was using her skills to help them. It remained to be seen what Suki made of herself, going forward. But watching her promised to be interesting.

Reaching the hospital – a beautiful stone mansion house that had been a private home years ago – Beth headed straight up to her little bedroom under the eaves. Some nurses had to share rooms but this one was too small for a second bed so she had it to herself.

Grabbing her washbag, she moved down the corridor to a bathroom where she washed quickly, and then returned to her room to change into her uniform, brushing her hair and pinning it back, then securing her cap on top. A glance at her watch showed she had a moment to spare and she used it to study her reflection in her mirror. She looked clean and neat, which should satisfy Matron. But what else did her reflection show her?

Beth knew there was nothing striking about her appearance. Like Suki, she was brown-haired and blue-eyed. Unlike dainty Suki, she was of average height and average build. No one would call Beth a beauty, but they often called her pretty and that was surely good enough.

She’d had her fill of men with dazzling good looks not so long ago when she’d lost her head over a handsome doctor. In hindsight it felt like an episode of temporary madness, but she was well and truly over it now and valued a man’s true worth over and above his ranking as a fairytale character.

There was one man in particular whose worth she’d come to value most of all and the thought that she might see him in the hospital today sent a shiver of excitement over her.

She hastened downstairs and checked in with Matron before continuing on to Ward One. Smiles greeted her as she pushed through the door and one smile warmed her more than any other. The man who’d given it was too far away to exchange words but he waved and Beth waved back, anticipating speaking to him later with pleasure.

The man was Adam Potts, Churchwood’s vicar, who visited the patients regularly. As well as bringing them books from the bookshop, he’d sit and listen to them, read to them, write letters for them, share jokes with them and, if they wanted, pray for them, too. He was also the man she was coming to love. At first glance he was hardly a romantic hero. He wasn’t especially tall. He wasn’t especially strong. And he certainly wasn’t especially dapper when it came to clothes. He was often untidy, in fact, his thick shock of overlong brown hair being particularly untamed. As for transport, there was no sports car for Adam. He rode to and from the hospital, but instead of a fiery black stallion he had an ancient bicycle that often left him dripping wet from rain and tugging bicycle clips from his sodden, drooping trouser legs.

But he had the sweetest smile and the softest, kindest brown eyes Beth had ever seen. Adam took patients’ troubles seriously and always had comforting words to say. But he also had a good sense of the ridiculous and wasn’t above laughing at himself.

She heard him laughing now at something Private Jenks had said. ‘William Jenks, you must be a menace to your mother’s peace of mind,’ Adam commented.

‘Always was, always will be. Losing a foot isn’t going to stop that.’

‘She has my sympathy, but I expect she’ll be pleased to know you’re still the mischievous son she brought up.’

‘That she will,’ Private Jenks confirmed.

A doctor entered to make his rounds. ‘Time for me to slip out,’ Adam told the soldier and, getting up, he returned his chair to the stack of other visitor chairs at the far end of the ward.

He caught Beth’s eye as he passed her on his way to the door. ‘See you later,’ he whispered, and he sent her a wink that warmed her through and through.

Beth was kept busy during his absence. As well as the doctor’s rounds there were medications to supervise, patients to be got ready for theatre or surgery and a myriad other tasks that made up the day to be tackled from distributing cups of tea to changing the bedding of a patient who’d been sick. ‘Sorry, Nurse,’ Corporal Peterson said. ‘I aimed for the bowl but somehow I missed.’

‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ Beth assured him, always keen for patients to keep their dignity when they were at their most vulnerable.

She was carrying the soiled bedding to the laundry basket when Adam appeared in the corridor. His smile made her heart give a little fillip. ‘How are you, Beth?’ he asked. ‘Overworked, I imagine.’

‘We’re still short-staffed,’ Beth confirmed. One nurse had broken a leg falling off a bicycle. Another had developed glandular fever. And a third – poor Lucy Gibbs – had been granted compassionate leave because her fiancé had just lost his life after his ship was torpedoed in the Atlantic.

‘Has anyone heard from Lucy recently?’ Adam said.

‘I had a short note thanking me for a card I sent,’ Beth said. ‘She’s pretty cut up so I’m not sure when she’ll return. Matron won’t want to risk Lucy’s grief upsetting the patients.’

‘That’s understandable.’

Matron emerged from her office and raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m distracting Nurse Ellis,’ Adam admitted, not hesitating to take the blame on himself. ‘But I’ll be on my way so I’ll save you the need to give me a ticking off.’

He was joking, of course. He gave Beth another warming wink and then continued towards the ward.

‘Sorry, Matron,’ Beth said. ‘I’ll get rid of this bedding and return to work.’

‘I’d never accuse you of slacking, Nurse Ellis,’ Matron said. ‘I want a word with you anyway.’

‘Oh?’

‘Take the bedding to the laundry basket and then come into my office.’

Beth hastened to do so.

‘You’ll be pleased to hear we’ve a new pair of hands coming to help,’ Matron said.

‘That is good news.’

‘Nurse Whittaker is arriving today on a permanent posting. As someone who joined us only a couple of months ago, I’m sure your memory of the things it might be useful for a newcomer to know is fresher than that of our more established nurses, so I’d like you to give her a tour of the hospital.’

‘I’ll be glad to help,’ Beth confirmed.

‘Thank you.’

Beth left before Matron – never one for idle chit-chat –could chivvy her on her way.

Back in the ward, she noticed Private Hendricks trying to attract her attention and went to his bedside to ask how she might help.

‘It’s my leg, Nurse. It won’t stop itching.’

‘That often happens when a wound is healing,’ Beth

explained, but she took a look anyway. There was no sign of infection and Private Hendricks’s forehead was cool to the touch. ‘Do you have anything to take your mind off the itching? A book, perhaps?’

‘I’ve finished the one Alice brought from the bookshop but I can’t change it because I don’t think she’s here.’

‘I believe she may be in later.’

Adam glided up beside her. ‘Did I hear you say you needed a book?’ he asked the private.

‘To take my mind off my itching,’ the private explained.

‘Itching, eh?’ Adam was all sympathy. ‘It can drive a man to distraction. Some of the other chaps might return books to me as I make my way around the wards and I’ll be glad to save one for you. Meanwhile . . . how about I read a story out loud?’

‘Suits me,’ Private Hendricks said.

‘Me too,’ said Private Rugg, who occupied the next bed, and a few more nearby heads nodded.

‘Don’t forget us!’ someone shouted from further down the ward.

‘I’ll be along to you lot shortly,’ Adam called back.

‘And I’ll be sure to include you in the tea round,’ Beth told him.

His grateful smile made her feel as though her veins were fizzing. He liked her as a person and he admired her as a nurse. Beth was sure about that. But how did he feel about her as a woman? Beth didn’t yet know since he was friendly to everyone. But she hoped for a sign from him soon.

She walked away to continue with her other duties, thinking about Adam and also about the new nurse who was coming to Stratton House. Another friend in the making? Having been a little different from other girls at school, Beth hadn’t formed the knack of making friends, but that

was changing now she was in Churchwood. The village seemed to draw people into its warmth and Beth was rapidly shedding her reserve and opening up to friendships. The person she was most open to was Adam, of course, but she was sure she could make room for a new nurse to become a friend as well. Life was good!

chapter four

Ruby

Up in her bedroom at Brimbles Farm, Ruby Turner placed two shillings into a tin that had once held toffees. This was the fund she was saving for her wedding but it was woefully small.

As a land girl she was paid thirty-two shillings a week – a rise of four shillings from when she’d started – but twentyone shillings were kept back for board and lodging for herself and Timmy. The remaining eleven shillings didn’t go far. Not for two people, and especially not when one of them was a fast-growing boy of eight.

Her fiancé, Kenny, was also putting money into the tin but he, too, had little to spare. He might be the eldest son of the man who owned the farm where Ruby worked, but skinflint Ernie – called by his first name by all of his five children, perhaps because he was so lacking in parental affection – preferred to plough the money the farm made straight back into it. Not that he invested any of the money in the farmhouse where they all lived. It was a ramshackle old place, patched up here and there on the outside while on the inside there were bare floorboards, drab walls, an ancient stove from yesteryear and scuffed, mismatched furniture. Kenny didn’t mind going without much cash to call his own, since he’d share in the inheritance of the farm

when his father passed on, but it would be nice if he had a few more shillings to put into the tin.

The idea of asking mean old Ernie to contribute to the wedding costs was laughable and it wasn’t as though Ruby’s parents would help, either. She didn’t expect it because, with her father working on the docks back in London and her mother keeping house, Ruby knew they hadn’t much money to spare. But it was a pity they couldn’t make up for it with enthusiasm and joy.

Ruby was their only child but had always been a disappointment to them. They’d criticized her love of pretty things for being vain and flighty and predicted that nothing good would come of it – a prediction they’d considered entirely justified when she’d fallen pregnant at just sixteen after a married man who’d employed her as a trainee hairdresser had taken advantage of her.

The pregnancy had shocked Ruby, too. Terrified her, in fact. But she’d loved Timmy on sight and wouldn’t be without him now. Unfortunately, her parents had made no secret of their disgust for both their daughter and their grandson, and only to save face with the neighbours had they passed Timmy off as their own child.

That masquerade had at least spared Timmy from the cruelty that Ruby had seen inflicted on children born out of wedlock despite the fact that those children had had no say in the circumstances of their births. Vicious namecalling, snide looks . . .

Protecting Timmy had been the reason she’d volunteered as a land girl. At the outbreak of war Timmy had been evacuated to a farm in Bedfordshire, but he’d been miserable there. Desperate to help him, Ruby had hit upon the idea of becoming a land girl on a different farm in the hope that, in time, she’d be allowed to have the boy she

called her little brother come to live with her. As plans went, it had been far-fetched and unlikely but, thanks to the kindness of Kate and Ruby’s developing relationship with Kenny, it had succeeded.

Kate and Alice had soon guessed the truth about Ruby’s relationship with Timmy, and Ruby had confessed it to a few carefully selected others – Kenny included – since they were kind and trustworthy. But to the rest of the world the masquerade had continued.

Change had come in the shape of a young girl who lived just outside Churchwood. Hannah Powell had also fallen pregnant at sixteen and even abandoned her daughter at Foxfield temporarily while hoping that Mattie, the man she loved, would return home from the war to marry her and put things right. Unfortunately, Hannah’s secret had been exposed before that could happen, opening her up to the fury of her father and the disgust of much of the village. Standing by and hiding behind her own secret while poor, defenceless Hannah was covered in disgrace had troubled Ruby’s conscience. Besides, she’d come to realize that it was a strain for Timmy, too. It had made him careful when he should have been carefree, and she feared that it might make him feel he had something to be ashamed of when he was entirely innocent of any wrongdoing.

And so, with Timmy’s blessing, she’d stood up in front of almost the entire village last month and announced that he was her son. She’d been touched by the love and understanding that many people – most people, in fact –had shown to her and also to Hannah. Happily, Hannah’s Mattie had returned home on leave from the war and married her, and it was public knowledge that Ruby, too, was engaged to be married. But a few people still turned their noses up at them.

It seemed that those people included Ruby’s own parents, judging from the letter her mother had sent in reply to the news of her engagement.

Dear Ruby,

Thank you for your letter. It’s a pity you didn’t marry eight years ago when you were cavorting with the father of the boy instead of bringing us so much shame, but we’re relieved to hear that you’re going to be marrying now, even if it’s to a different man. Better late than never, as the saying goes. It’ll be good for the boy to have a man to influence him, always assuming that the man you’re marrying is respectable. We expect you’ll want to keep the wedding quiet, given your unfortunate history, but we wish you well.

From your mother.

Ruby had read the letter several times since receiving it and had reached a number of conclusions:

1 She was still unforgiven for falling pregnant out of wedlock.

2 They were still calling darling Timmy ‘the boy’, as though he were a stranger’s child instead of their grandson.

3 They thought a man in his life would be a good influence because they considered Ruby to be a bad influence.

4 The wedding might be a relief to them but they had little interest in it.

After all these years Ruby knew better than to be hurt by them, yet hurt she was. But she was used to making the best of bad situations. She’d needed a strong backbone to

weather the storms life had blown her way and that backbone would hold her in good stead again.

Even so, she couldn’t help a pang of regret passing through her. As a young girl she’d daydreamed about the sort of wedding she might have one day. She’d imagined a white dress for herself, pink dresses for her bridesmaids, masses of flowers and a three-tiered confection of a cake . . . Ah, well.

Closing the toffee tin and returning it to a drawer, she caught sight of movement out in the farmyard. Looking through the window, she saw Mr Baldry, the postman, approaching. Running downstairs, she opened the kitchen door to him and greeted him with a smile.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said. ‘I got a puncture on the way.’ He nodded down at his bicycle’s front tyre.

‘Not the first puncture you’ve had on Brimbles Lane,’ Ruby suggested.

‘Not the first. Unlikely to be the last,’ he agreed.

From protruding rocks to potholes, there were numerous hazards along the lane that ran between Brimbles Farm and Churchwood. They made cycling to and from the village a painful affair of jolts, jars and rattling teeth. To Ruby, anyway. Kenny’s sister, Kate, and Ruby’s fellow land girl, Pearl, found it much easier, perhaps because they were both long-legged and athletic while Ruby was short and curvy. ‘Do you need help mending the tyre?’ she asked.

‘Thanks, but I’ve patched it well enough for now.’ He dug in his bag. ‘Three letters for you lot today.’

He handed them over, declined a cup of tea on the grounds that he was already running late and went on his way.

Ruby looked down at the envelopes. None of them were addressed to her. The topmost one looked like a bill and

was addressed to Mr E. Fletcher, Esquire. Ernie might be the owner of Brimbles Farm, but an esquire? The word implied respectability and even gallantry, neither of which described the sour-faced skinflint who employed Ruby.

The second letter was addressed to Kenny and was probably a catalogue of farming supplies. Kenny was second in command to Ernie when it came to farm matters but far better looking than his father. Tall, with a thick thatch of auburn hair and a muscled physique, he was a handsome man, though it had taken effort on Ruby’s part to rouse him out of his customary moroseness. He had his gloomy moments still, but they were being increasingly outpaced by cheerfulness. His poor social skills were also improving, though he’d never be a charmer with words. Still, Ruby loved him and was grateful to him, too. Not every man would have taken her on given her history as an unmarried mother.

The third letter was addressed to Miss G. Grimes. In other words, to Ruby’s fellow land girl, Pearl. The G stood for Gertrude but Pearl hated that name. ‘Gertrude, Gertie, Gert . . . It’s a horrible name however you say it,’ Pearl had complained, when they’d met during their six weeks of training to become land girls. Days later, she’d been struck by an idea. ‘I know!’ she’d declared. ‘We can be Ruby and Pearl!’

At almost six feet tall with a wiry build and hands and feet like enormous, clumsy shovels, there was little that was jewel-like about Pearl but she was a wonderful land girl, being strong and tireless. It was more than could be said of Ruby. She hated dirt and inclement weather.

Luckily, Kate, the only female member of the Fletcher family, had agreed that, despite land girls being employed to work only on farming, Ruby could swap some of her outdoor work for cooking, cleaning and the like. Domestic

work suited Ruby much better and Kate insisted that she didn’t mind spending more of her own time outdoors since she’d been working in the fields all her life.

Pearl’s letter was from her mother, judging from the handwriting on the envelope. Pearl exchanged letters with her parents as infrequently as possible, always complaining that they didn’t understand her and preferred her sister – a dainty, feminine girl, apparently, who loved smart clothes, cocktail parties and beauty parlours.

‘I feel like a rhinoceros in their house and I get on their nerves terribly when I drop things or forget I’m wearing dirty shoes and tread mud into the carpet,’ Pearl had said. ‘They hate me wearing trousers, too. They think they’re unladylike. They even sigh when I laugh because they say I sound like a braying donkey.’

But Pearl had never disgraced her family the way Ruby had disgraced hers and, while Pearl’s parents clearly found her exasperating, there was no reason to think they didn’t love her and wouldn’t be delighted by the recent change in her circumstances, for Pearl, too, had become engaged. ‘Surely they’ll be pleased to hear that you’re getting married,’ Ruby had suggested, after weeks had passed and Pearl hadn’t told her parents about it.

‘You never know with my family,’ Pearl had said gloomily. Had she been thinking her fiancé wouldn’t pass muster?

Fred was one of the twins who were the youngest of the Fletcher boys after first-born Kenny and second-in-line Vinnie. As farmers, all four brothers were exempt from military service since the country needed them to produce food, especially with imported food becoming scarcer due to the enemy sending so many merchant ships to the bottom of the ocean. But after an evening spent drinking heavily at the Wheatsheaf pub, Fred and his twin, Frank,

had enlisted anyway, anticipating larks and adventure. Frank was still serving but Fred had returned home minus his legs and in a deep depression.

Pearl was no gentle ministering angel. She criticized Fred and bickered with him constantly, and he criticized and bickered right back. But somehow Pearl had managed to lift him out of his darkness, and in their own unconventional way they’d fallen in love.

Fred wasn’t what many people would regard as a catch. Kenny was the best of the Fletcher boys, of course, being handsome, strong, hard-working and, in his own rough and ready way, loving, too. Poor Vinnie was the least handsome and the most gormless. Not as hard-working as Kenny, either, though he could work well enough when forced. The twins had been somewhere between the two older brothers – good-looking and strong if too inclined to lark about, but Fred’s injuries and the pain that came with them had diminished him in size and looks and limited his capacity for work. He’d never had charm and now he had little chance of earning much money either. Would Pearl’s parents judge him for that? Certainly, Mr and Mrs Grimes had done nothing to boost Pearl’s confidence, but were they really as awful as she made out?

‘At least getting married means you won’t have to go back home to live when the war ends,’ Ruby had finally said, and with that she’d struck a chord with Pearl at last.

‘That’s true. My parents must be dreading the thought of it.’

Relieved that one aspect of her marriage would please them even if she remained pessimistic about their response to everything else, Pearl had written to tell her parents about her engagement that same evening.

‘Anything for me?’

Ruby looked up as Kenny entered the kitchen. He wrapped an arm around her and kissed her. Both kiss and hug felt wonderful. ‘A bill for Ernie, a catalogue for you and a letter for Pearl from her mother. Probably about her engagement. Let’s hope they approve.’

‘Doesn’t matter whether they approve or not. It’s Pearl who’s marrying Fred. Not them.’

Life could be simple to Kenny. He’d lost his mother when his sister, Kate, was small and had been brought up –or rather dragged up – by Ernie. Since Ernie approved of nothing except work, Kenny was used to his disapproval and couldn’t have cared less about it. He didn’t see why other people should care about parental disapproval either.

‘I suspect it’ll matter to Pearl,’ Ruby said.

‘Talking of weddings, I’m glad your parents won’t interfere in ours,’ Kenny said.

Ruby felt that pang again. No white dress. No bridesmaids. No flowers to speak of. No three-tiered confection of a cake . . . ‘I still want our wedding to be nice, even if it has to be modest,’ she told him.

‘The less fuss, the better, as far as I’m concerned,’ Kenny said. ‘Walk down the aisle with lots of eyes on me? I’d rather we just turned up at one of those register offices and got the job done there. No fuss. Not much expense. And quick.’ He kissed her again. ‘Can’t we set a date soon?’

‘I’d like a few more shillings in the toffee tin first,’ Ruby said. ‘And I’d like the dust to settle a little more, too.’

In other words, she wanted the gossip about her being an unmarried mother to die down or at least lose some of its spice.

Kenny cared as little for public opinion as for parental disapproval. Feeling him slump beside her, she encouraged

his spirits upwards again by saying, ‘I put two shillings in the tin today. That’s good, isn’t it?’

He nodded, though it was clear that a simple trip to the register office would still have suited him better. ‘I need to go to Pearson’s,’ he told her. Pearson’s supplied the farm with much of its seed, fertilizer and tools.

Not long ago he’d have gone out with his hands filthy from the farm. Ruby was house-training him now, though, so he headed for the sink to wash his hands and dunk his head under the tap. Kissing her again in passing, he went out to the ancient truck and Ruby stood at the window, watching him start the engine by turning the crank handle with the fluid ease of a man to whom physical work came naturally. He climbed nimbly into the truck and waved. Ruby waved back and then moved away to place the envelopes on the kitchen table. One for Ernie, which he’d doubtless greet with a snarl; one for Kenny, which he’d open when he found time; and one for Pearl.

Ruby had never met Pearl’s parents. No one at Brimbles Farm had met them yet. But Pearl had given the impression that they were more than comfortable financially. The thought made Ruby wonder what sort of wedding Pearl was likely to have.

chapter five

Naomi

The clock on Naomi’s mantelpiece let out a sudden chime and roused her from the shock she’d been feeling ever since she’d opened that awful letter. For a while she’d been too distressed to do more than pace the room, returning to the letter again and again as she tried to make sense of it. But time was surging forward as time always does, even when a person would prefer it to tick by slowly. Naomi was due to open the bookshop.

On that thought, she felt another pang of dismay. Would the writer of the letter be there? Watching her? Judging her? Naomi’s confidence shrivelled. She was a bookshop organizer. She had to give instructions sometimes, though she tried hard to frame them as requests. ‘Janet, would you mind setting the books out?’ she’d ask, or, ‘Edna, if you wouldn’t mind moving seats . . .’

Had Naomi perhaps overstepped the mark on occasion? She was out of time for pondering the issue. If Naomi didn’t leave soon, people would be waiting outside the bookshop, wondering what had happened to make her late.

Naomi recoiled from the idea of mentioning the letter to anyone. It had upset her and made her feel ashamed of being the target of so much malice. And the last thing

she wanted was for anyone else to be upset on her behalf.

No, Naomi needed to think about the letter and gain some sort of perspective on it first. She finished packing her bag and went into the hall for her coat. Victoria looked out through the kitchen door, doubtless on her way to remind Naomi that she needed to set off.

‘I forgot the time!’ Naomi said, adding a small laugh which she hoped would come across as mild mockery of her foolishness.

She was relieved when Victoria nodded sympathetically, saying, ‘Time runs away from us all sometimes.’

‘Doesn’t it just?’

Smiling, Naomi left the house, but as she made her way down the gravel drive towards the gateposts the smile fell from her lips and her thoughts returned to the letter. Could it have been meant as a prank, perhaps? An ill-judged joke or dare?

No. Naomi couldn’t give much credence to that theory. The letter was just too spiteful. Too mean.

A moment of bad temper, then? Of hurt pride or wounded feelings? Sometimes the need to hit out could rise in a burst of frustration, and once it had exploded it would recede again. Perhaps even be regretted.

Again, Naomi found herself struggling to believe it. Producing the letter had been an elaborate, time-consuming business.

Was there a clue in the postmark? The letter had been posted in London but it didn’t follow that the writer lived there or had even visited. They could simply have sent the letter to an acquaintance who could have posted it back to Churchwood to muddy the waters of suspicion.

But why choose Naomi as a target? Naomi wasn’t aware of having said or done anything to offend anyone

but perhaps she’d done so inadvertently. She might have failed to listen to the letter writer with proper attention or forgotten something important. Or she might have let her own words slip out thoughtlessly. If that were the case, Naomi would be only too pleased to apologize.

On the other hand, she might have been chosen as the target simply because she happened to be one of the village’s more prominent residents. The thought of considering herself prominent made Naomi wince. It felt arrogant – full of self-importance – but there was no denying that she was known to everyone and heavily involved in the bookshop and most other community activities.

But perhaps she wasn’t the only target. For all Naomi knew, her letter might be one of several that had been sent to residents of the village. Much as it pained her to think of anyone else receiving the jolt of a nasty letter, it would relieve her mind to know that she hadn’t been singled out for malice.

She passed through the gateposts on to Churchwood Way, the main thoroughfare into the village. Walking past pretty houses and cottages, she realized she was cowering inside herself, wondering if the letter writer might be watching her from behind a curtain and perhaps even enjoying her discomfort. Revelling in it, in fact.

But enough of that. Until Naomi knew more about the letter – who’d sent it and why – she needed to keep her mind open and her emotions in check. She straightened her spine and walked on.

A tall, drooping figure appeared in the distance. It belonged to Marjorie Plym, who always roused mixed feelings in Naomi these days. Churchwood’s worst gossip, Marjorie was more than a little silly and often tiresome, but she’d been a loyal friend to Naomi for many years.

She was moving at speed, cantering towards Naomi and looking agitated. Did that mean she’d received a nasty letter, too, and wished to talk about it?

‘I’m glad I caught you,’ Marjorie said breathlessly as she drew level. ‘I need a word about something.’

So Marjorie had received a letter, too. Naomi was torn between sympathy for her old friend and relief that she herself wasn’t the only target of the poison pen writer. ‘I’m sorry you’ve—’

‘Idiot!’

Startled, Naomi looked up to see old Jonah Kerrigan waving his walking stick at a motorcyclist who was racing through the village at a much faster speed than was safe. The rider was an American soldier, probably from the same base where Victoria’s Paul Scarletti was stationed, though clearly not a sensible man like Paul since this wasn’t the first time Naomi had seen him tearing along Churchwood Way.

‘ Menace! ’ Jonah added, though the motorcyclist was probably out of earshot now.

Concerned for the elderly man, Naomi moved towards him and Marjorie trailed after her, clearly impatient to talk about her own business.

‘Did you see that?’ Jonah demanded. ‘The fool nearly ran me over. What’s the world coming to when a man can’t cross the road in his own village without being almost mown down by someone who should know better?’

‘You’re unhurt, though?’ Naomi asked.

‘No thanks to that clown. Those Americans should have stayed at home if they’re going to behave like that.’

‘The Americans are here to help win the war and not all of them are irresponsible,’ Naomi pointed out gently. ‘Some are extremely polite and considerate.’ She had Paul Scarletti in mind.