‘Aye, he was nice. Takes an interest in the garden, too.’
‘He does that. You’ll see him about the place a lot, but don’t speak more than a quiet “Good day, sir” unless you’re spoken to.’
‘Of course not, Mr Arnold. It’s not me that pushes myself forward,’ she couldn’t help adding.
At the end of the afternoon she met up with her mother and they walked home together while Ellen told Dora about her first day and also about finding Gina at the Hall. Gina was nowhere to be seen and they decided she must have gone home long since.
‘Well, I hope she’s been up to the farm to tell Nancy she’s not going to be there any more,’ said Dora when she’d heard Ellen’s whole story. ‘Not that there’s much difference between her going and not, the amount of work I reckon she did.’
‘What do you think she’s up to, Mum?’ Ellen asked. ‘She didn’t turn up today because she wanted to take Mrs Stellion’s puppy for walks, that’s for certain. I don’t reckon she even knew the lady had a puppy.’
‘No … but mebbe she was a bit envious of your new job – you know what Gina can be like – and wanted to get herself a job here at the Hall too.’
Ellen remembered what Gina had said the previous day and thought her ambition lay far beyond working at the Hall, but she didn’t want their mother to worry about what might turn out to be something and nothing, so she kept quiet.
When they arrived home and went round to the back door, they found a bicycle propped up against the wall. It was black and shiny, and had a very smart little basket on the front. It was, in short, a proper lady’s bicycle.
They looked at each other. Then: ‘Gina,’ they said in unison.
‘Now what, I wonder,’ added Dora.
‘Borrowed it from the Hall, didn’t I?’ said Gina, sitting at the kitchen table with her feet up on a chair.
She’d made herself a pot of tea, but it was tepid and stewed by now. Dora didn’t waste her breath asking whether her daughter had swept the sitting-room carpet, as she’d said she would.
‘Borrowed? You mean you took it?’ asked Ellen. This wouldn’t be the first time Gina had taken something without asking. She was still wearing her hair tied back with her sister’s scarf.
‘I did not! I asked Mrs Stellion and she said I could borrow it. It belongs to her daughter but she’s not often at home, so Mrs S said it would be all right. It means I can pop over to the Hall to exercise Coco twice a day without having to walk there and back in between.’
‘“Pop over to the Hall to exercise Coco” indeed,’ said Ellen. ‘What exactly is your game, Gina?’
‘I don’t know what you’re on about,’ Gina replied primly, then gave her sister a huge and very annoying grin.
‘Yes you do.’
‘Just ’cos you—’
‘Girls, you can both be quiet now,’ said Dora. ‘It’s what it is. The pair of you have got work at the Hall, and that’s fine by me. But I’m warning you, Gina, I don’t want any trouble. You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, Mum.’ Gina looked sulky.
‘The Stellions have both been very good to me – and to Uncle Tom – and we want that to continue. In fact, it is vital to our livelihood. If you took that bike, Gina, you can take it back tomorrow and I never want to see it again, all right?’
‘It was lent, honestly, Mum.’
‘Well, then, you can start on those taters and, Nell, you go and get washed and changed out of those mucky clothes and then we’ll get the tea on. And, Gina, if you’re back before us in future you can make a fresh brew for when we get home. You know what time that is.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Yes, Mum. Honestly, Mum,’ sneered Ellen quietly, still angry that Gina had stolen her thunder. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word.’
‘Shut up.’ Gina aimed a kick at the back of Ellen’s legs as she passed.
‘And have you been up to the farm to tell the Beveridges that you won’t be there?’ asked Dora.
‘No, Mum, not yet.’
‘Well, I suggest you get yourself up there sharpish, lass. It’s a shame you’re both leaving them so close together but it can’t be helped. They need to know, though.’
‘I will go.’
‘No time like the present. Nell will help me with the tea.’
Gina heaved herself reluctantly to her feet. She was just wondering whether to take the bicycle up to the farm when Philip burst in.
Dora’s smile of greeting slipped when she saw her husband’s anxious face. ‘Phil, what on earth’s happened?’
‘Bloomin’ sheep, of course. That’s what!’ He pushed the door shut roughly and padded over in his stocking feet. ‘Found three dead ewes and their lambs in the lower field just by the wall this morning. Been dealing with nowt but them and the whole sorry business all day.’
‘Oh, Phil, I’m sorry. It’s not foot and mouth, is it? Please say it’s not. Were they looking sickly before?’
‘No, it’s not that plague, though that’s the only good thing. And of course they didn’t look like they were ailing before,’ he snapped, ‘or I’d’ve moved them into the barn away from the others, wouldn’t I? Are you saying this is my fault? ’Cos I know damn well it isn’t.’
‘No, of course not. Sit down, Phil. Let me get you a cup of tea. Sounds bad.’
He sank onto a kitchen chair, looking tired and belligerent.
‘It is bad. Three ewes and their lambs! Albert, Ed and me have been looking all round but we haven’t a clue what’s caused it. It’s not foot and mouth but we’re worried it’s summat we haven’t heard of and that the entire flock will be dead by morning.’ He stood up, unable to settle, and walked about, wringing his hands.
‘Do the others look ill?’
‘No. Not yet, anyhow. Who knows what’ll happen? I’ve come to expect the worst with sheep. We’ve fenced off that corner of the field where the dead ones were and moved the rest higher up.’
‘So you think it was mebbe summat they ate, like some poisonous weed?’
‘Aye, I reckon so. We didn’t find owt but mebbe they ate all that there was.’
‘I’ll … I’ll just go and speak to Mrs B,’ said Gina quietly, sidling towards the back door. There was nothing she wanted to say to her father about the dead sheep, and she badly needed to go somewhere quiet to think. A very strange idea was nagging at her head.
‘Yes, just go,’ said Dora dismissively. ‘Say we’re all sorry to hear about the sheep.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
Gina went, putting her shoes on outside and deciding she’d rather have the space the walk afforded her to think than take the bike. She wandered up the lane a little but stopped before she came within sight of the farm. There was hawthorn in bloom in the hedge, but the pungent sweet-sour scent of the May blossom repelled her today, and she found a grassy place away from it. She sat down by the hedge, resting her chin on her knees.
Philip had said the dead sheep were in the lower field, and near the wall. That was the field next to where she and Ellen had been lazing about the previous afternoon. Gina recalled hearing the ewes calling as she’d watched those strangely formed clouds. She thought about how she had made the excuse of fastening the gate as a chance to hide the little bottle she’d used for the magic spell in the gap between two stones, a place both noticeable but also reasonably discreet. Then, after Nell had seen the bottle, she’d thrown it away, thinking it was a waste of time … or perhaps that it wouldn’t work once she’d taken it out from its hiding place … She wasn’t quite sure what exactly she had thought. She didn’t really believe in it, yet she had believed completely when she’d cast the spell earlier that afternoon. She felt confused now, and worried. She’d definitely thrown the tiny bottle over the wall without a thought, though.
But what if the spell was like a weapon – which she’d intended to use against her father – and then she’d thought she’d made it safe by moving it, but she hadn’t? Perhaps it was like a gun that she hadn’t successfully unloaded, or like a bomb. Yes, supposing it was like a time bomb, resting in its hiding place until its victim withdrew it and set it ticking? But then she had taken it from the gap in the wall and she – the one who had cast the spell – had ‘set it ticking’ and the poor sheep and their lambs had been the victims!
Could this possibly be what had happened? It seemed such a strange idea on this beautiful sunny evening, thin white clouds high above, all the usual innocent sounds of the fields around her.
But she had cast the spell, she had believed it was for real then, and the intent to cause harm had been in her mind.
She closed her eyes and curled up so that her forehead rested on her knees, trying to think through what she had done. All she knew was that she hadn’t wanted to kill the sheep and their lambs – if, indeed, she had.
And if she had killed them …?
That meant the spell was real, that the book of spells she’d stolen was real. It meant that she had cast a spell. She had that power! What yesterday had seemed at first real and desperate, then silly and even a bit mad, now assumed a certainty. It had gone wrong this time because she’d been careless and not realised what she was doing. Nor had she understood the power she had conjured up. She vowed not to make that mistake again. She didn’t want to hurt any more animals.
When she cast the next spell, she’d be sure to be very, very careful. Because she knew there would be a ‘next time’.
With this strange new power that she didn’t really understand, and a job at the Hall in the personal employ of Mrs Stellion herself, how quickly her life had changed, and for the better, in just a day. It was a shame about the sheep but it couldn’t be helped. Who knew what tomorrow would bring? Gina could hardly wait to find out.
CHAPTER THREE
ELLEN WAS TIRED after her first day at her new job. Her father had cast a pall over the remainder of the day, lamenting over the mysterious deaths of the sheep while the family had their tea and washed up, so she was glad to use the excuse of her weariness to go up to bed early and read one of her library books in peace. She had hoped he might ask about her first day working in the Hall gardens, but he was too focused on his own problems to show any interest in her news, so – though she felt rather hurt – she kept quiet.
Gina, who’d had a peculiar look on her face all evening, soon followed her sister upstairs and got into the twin bed on the other side of the room they shared. She too had been unable to bear the atmosphere, with the misery her father was spreading, and no one had mentioned her new job either. That was definitely a subject that could wait.
‘Damn! I forgot,’ Gina cursed mildly, the thought of her work at the Hall reminding her. ‘I meant to tell Mrs B I won’t be going to the farm any more.’ The words were out before she could think better of them.
‘I don’t suppose she’ll miss you, Gina,’ said Ellen, putting her book aside and preparing to go to sleep.
‘Well, no. Farm work didn’t really suit me, I reckon.’
‘So, what did you do?’
‘What do you mean?’ Gina asked sharply.
Ellen frowned. ‘When you went out before tea, of course. You were supposed to be going to see Mrs Beveridge and you were gone long enough. So where were you if you forgot? Wasn’t that the whole point of going out?’
‘Oh, I just went for a walk up the lane a bit; got some fresh air.’
‘Won’t you get enough fresh air “popping over to the Hall to exercise Coco”?’
‘Give over, Nell. Can’t you be pleased about my new job?’
‘I could if you were more pleased about mine. You only went up to the Hall because you were envious I was starting work with Uncle Tom.’
‘So? What’s it to you if I just happened to meet Mrs Stellion and she just happened to need someone to walk her dog?’
Happened to meet? Happened how? Ellen thought there was no limit to Gina’s nerve but she felt too tired to argue now.
‘Oh, you’re right,’ she conceded. ‘’Course I’m pleased for you. If you want to work at the Hall and you’ve got a job walking the dog, who am I to complain?’
She managed to sound generous but also slightly superior, though Gina didn’t rise to it.
‘One thing, though …’ Ellen continued.
‘Mm?’
‘Yesterday. That odd business with the tiny bottle …’
Why is Nell mentioning that now? Has she made some connection between that and the dead sheep Dad was on about all evening? Surely not!
‘What about it? It was nowt.’
‘But what did you mean about a spell, Gina?’
‘I’ve just said, it was nowt.’
‘You didn’t look like it was nowt at the time. You looked … I don’t know … like I’ve never seen you before. It was strange and a bit scary.’
‘Nell, it was just summat silly, a game. I wanted to see if I could frighten you without doing owt.’
‘Frighten me? Why?’
‘Just to see if you’d be scared. I made a bet with myself. It was just a bit of nonsense. I don’t know why I did it. But it’s all right, there was nothing to be scared about. It was a daft game, that’s all.’
‘You can be very unkind, Gina. Can you at least try to be nice now you’ve got the job at the Hall? New start and all?’
‘Yes, all right. New start, new me,’ Gina said, hoping to end the conversation by turning off the overhead light on her side of the room with the switch on the flex beside her bed. Thank goodness Ellen hadn’t voiced a connection between the little bottle and the death of the sheep. Of course, Gina would have dismissed any such idea, but she still didn’t want anyone even thinking along those lines.
Her thoughts turned to Mrs Thwaite, the housekeeper, and their encounter that day. Gina had brought Coco from his first walk back in through the door to the downstairs corridor and there was Mrs Thwaite with a face that would sour milk.
‘You’d better not have that puppy walking dirt all over the house, girl,’ she said.
‘Good morning to you, too,’ said Gina. ‘Mrs S says you’ll show me where to clean his feet.’
‘She did, did she? And it’s Mrs Stellion to you, young madam.’
Gina didn’t reply, just stood and waited while Coco sat leaning against her leg. Eventually she spoke again: ‘Mrs Thwaite, are you going to show me, or shall I go and find a bathroom upstairs?’ She made to move off and Mrs Thwaite stepped in front of her, thinking she really meant it.
‘No! I forbid you to do that!’ She held up a hand as if to prevent Gina’s progress.
‘You forbid me, do you? Well, Mrs Thwaite, Mrs Stellion has asked me to bath the dog and she said you’d show me where. If you can’t do as you’re told, then I’ll sort myself out.’
‘Can’t do as I’m told?’ The woman looked ready to explode with indignation.
‘That’s right. You’ve got it,’ said Gina, smirking.
Mrs Thwaite turned puce and led the way silently to the scullery where Gina had left the basket of spinach earlier.
‘Thank you, Mrs Thwaite,’ said Gina pleasantly. ‘That will be all,’ she couldn’t help dismissing the housekeeper, unwisely as it happened.
Mrs Thwaite turned even redder, if that were possible, and came to stand up close to Gina, raising her chin so that she was looking her straight in the eye.
‘I don’t know how you’ve got the nerve to turn up here,’ she hissed, ‘after what happened in the village shop. Some folk round here know all about you and the missing money, and those that don’t – well, we might think it our duty to warn them about the kind of girl you are, Georgina Arnold. If it wasn’t for your mother, who we all respect, I’d make sure everyone in Little Grindle and everyone in this house knew as well.’
Gina turned white. Would that wretched business with the till money at the Fowlers’ shop always come back to haunt her? She hadn’t even taken very much …
Attack was the best form of defence with someone as pathetic as Mrs Thwaite, she decided. It was no use trying to bring her round; she wouldn’t understand, and besides, Gina was too furious to attempt anything but a threat.
She leaned in to the housekeeper, who was slightly shorter than she was, and said slowly, in a low voice, ‘Mrs Thwaite, if you so much as mention owt about me to anyone, you can be sure I will make your life a misery.’ She neither moved nor shifted her angry gaze, and the housekeeper shrank away, visibly shaken.
Even Coco was frightened by the tension in the room and began to whine.
Gina took several deep breaths until her fury had passed. Then she turned to the cowering puppy and, with a not quite steady hand, patted his head.
‘There, there, Coco. Nowt to be scared of – not for you, anyway. But Eliza Thwaite had better beware, or I might be trying out an incantation on her. What do you say, boy? Shall I give it a try? Nowt for me to lose; everything for her …’
The next morning Philip was up as soon as it was light. Dora got up then, too. There was no point in staying in bed – nor had there been much point in actually going to bed as Philip had been sighing and fidgeting all night, throwing the blankets off and then pulling them roughly over his head, turning over and over on the sagging mattress, cursing and muttering.
‘Shush now, love. It wasn’t your fault,’ Dora had whispered at about one o’clock, reaching out to calm him, but she might as well have saved her breath.
‘I wish I’d never started working with sheep,’ he muttered. ‘’Course it’s not my fault, but sheep have a death wish like no other creature and they bring nowt but misery. I don’t doubt I’ll find the rest have followed the first to their Maker by morning …’
There would be no bringing him round that night, so Dora left him to stew in his own pessimism and tried to find a comfortable spot on her side of the bed where she couldn’t hear him fretting quite so loudly.
When she woke in the morning, her husband was nowhere to be seen.
‘I’ll cook you some of these eggs,’ she said, when she came down to find Philip was pacing the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil. She was bone tired and her back ached, but she was determined to show a brave face. He looked wrecked and was making the most of it.
‘No, I’d best get up there and learn the worst,’ he said pitifully.
‘I don’t expect it’ll be the worst, Phil, but even if it is it can wait while you come,’ she replied stoutly, and started breaking some of the eggs Mrs Beveridge had given her into a bowl.
In the end, Philip saw sense and stayed to eat his breakfast.
When the girls appeared, damping down their excitement at their new jobs in the face of their father’s black mood, they found their parents sitting silent and weary over cups of strong tea.
‘Give us a fill-up, there’s a good lass,’ said Dora, and Gina obeyed while Ellen cut bread to toast and scrambled the eggs.
‘Not for me,’ said Philip. ‘I’m away to the farm to see what disaster has struck this morning.’
His wife and daughters exchanged glances.
‘Might be all right, Dad,’ Ellen ventured.
‘Aye, but I have my doubts, the way my luck’s playing these days.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ muttered Dora, glad to see the back of him. ‘Off you go, Phil, and then you’ll know how it is and you can stop imagining the worst.’
Philip put on his cap and jacket and left without saying goodbye, shutting the door noisily behind him.
‘Good grief,’ Gina muttered.
‘He didn’t even ask how I got on yesterday,’ said Ellen.
‘No, love, but he will when he comes round,’ Dora assured her. ‘There’s no reason to think all the sheep will be dead, but you know what your dad’s like.’
‘Aye, we all do,’ said Gina heavily. ‘It was nice to get away before tea yesterday. I wish I’d stopped out longer.’
‘Was Nancy Beveridge all right about you not working there any more?’
‘Fine …’
Ellen gave Gina a hard stare but she just shrugged and concentrated on eating her breakfast.
‘What time are you due up at the Hall?’ Dora asked her.
‘Said I’d be there about nine o’clock.’
‘Perhaps you really could sweep the sitting-room carpet before you go, then.’
‘Yes, Mum,’ Gina answered, thinking she’d really better go to the farm to tell Mrs Beveridge she wouldn’t be back. She also wanted to find out if any more sheep had been found dead. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if they had, but at least if the news was good she wouldn’t have to think about the stupid sheep again.
After she’d waved her mother and sister off, she rode the bicycle up to Highview Farm. Edward Beveridge was just coming out of the back door as Gina propped the bike against the farmhouse wall. He was a good-hearted, tall, big-boned young man with a ruddy complexion, the apple of his parents’ eyes. He was particularly friendly with Ellen, and Gina thought, first, that he was a bit in love with her, and second, that he was a bit stupid.
‘Gina …’ he greeted her brusquely, but the smart bicycle caught his attention and made him pause.
‘Ed, hello.’ She couldn’t help herself: ‘What do you think of the new bike?’
‘It’s right smart. Pinched it, did you?’
‘No I did not! Mrs Stellion lent it to me. It belongs to her daughter.’
‘Does she know?’
‘Who, Diana Stellion? I doubt it. She’s not there.’
‘No, I meant Mrs S. Does she know she’s lent it to you?’
Gina gave Ed a long look. ‘It’s nowt to do with you anyway,’ she muttered.
‘If you’ve come to work you’re wasting your time. Mum says she can’t rely on you and she’d rather not be wondering whether you’re going to bother to turn up of a morning.’
‘Oh, but I came to tell her I won’t be here no more.’
‘I’ve already told you that, Gina, didn’t you hear me? She’s giving you the sack.’
‘What …?’
‘You might want to collect your pay for the few hours you’ve worked this week before you disappear, though.’
‘I might. Or I might not bother,’ said Gina, furious, ‘seeing as I’ve a new job up at the Hall. Mrs B can’t sack me if I’ve already left.’
‘True,’ said Ed slowly, as if considering the point. ‘But I reckon it’s good riddance whichever way she looks at it.’ He walked away, saying over his shoulder, ‘I’ll see you about, no doubt, Gina.’
‘Not if I see you first,’ Gina flung at him.
This was not going to plan. Gina had wanted to arrive on the shiny bike, show off about her new job, working personally for Mrs Stellion, and collect her pay. It hadn’t occurred to her that the farmers would be only too pleased to see the back of her. She didn’t fancy starting the day with a difficult encounter with Mrs Beveridge, but neither did she want to forgo her pay, even though it would be no more than a few shillings.
She thought it over and pride won out over pay. Good riddance, indeed! She grabbed the bicycle and rode out of the farmyard and away down the lane.
She hadn’t gone far, though, before she straightened her back and raised her head high. Good riddance worked both ways! Soon she was pretending this was her own bike as she pedalled round the ruts and the patches of grass growing down the centre.
What do I care about Nancy Beveridge and her smelly old hens? Or those sheep? Onward and upward.
She rode on with renewed high spirits towards the Hall … towards a whole world of new opportunities.
Tom Arnold was in the drive tidying up the camellias when Dora and Ellen arrived for work. He looked up when he heard their footsteps on the gravel. Dora looked pale and tired. It must be hard work for one woman to keep the Hall spick and span. The Stellions’ housekeeper, Mrs Thwaite, brought in extra help for the annual spring cleaning, or if there was a ‘do’ to prepare for, but the general appearance of a clean and tidy house was Dora’s work. She took a pride in it and had done it for several years, but maybe it was getting too much for her. Or maybe there was another reason she looked all in. Probably something to do with his miserable brother, Tom thought.
