Peace Comes to Honeyfield Read online

  She dropped the stone and helped him up.

  He tried to joke about it. Sometimes it was joke or weep. ‘Fine rescuer I am, eh? I can hardly walk, let alone fight.’

  ‘You still tried and you distracted him. I’m grateful for that. I think you made the difference just by being here.’

  He caught sight of the other woman, who was weeping and trying to hold her torn clothes around her upper body. ‘I think your friend is more in need of help than me.’

  ‘She’s not my friend. I don’t know who she is. When I saw her being attacked, I went to help. I thought the man would go away if I ran towards them screaming, but he didn’t.’ She shuddered. ‘He laughed as he grabbed me and said he’d have us both. And he was so strong I couldn’t get free. I’d better go and see to her. Don’t go away.’

  As if he could! His leg and ribs were throbbing and he felt sick with the jabbing pain. He prayed that brute hadn’t made his leg worse. He’d had more than enough of doctors and hospitals.

  She went back to the other woman, pulled off her own coat and wrapped it round her, then picked up her fallen hat and crammed it on her head anyhow. It was crooked and the hair was still loose about her shoulders.

  She guided the weeping stranger back to where Patrick was standing and gave her a little shake. ‘Now, calm down. You’re all right now. We’ll look after you.’

  It sounded a bit harsh, but if she hadn’t spoken sharply, the other woman might have had full-blown hysterics.

  ‘I’m Georgie Cotterell.’ She looked at him, waiting.

  ‘Patrick Farrell.’

  They both turned to the other woman, who was still mopping her eyes.

  ‘Rosie Baggett.’ She looked down at herself and began sobbing again.

  ‘You’re all right now! Do try to stop crying or everyone will stare at us.’

  ‘But he’s torn my clothes. They’ll go mad at me for that when I get back. I come out without permission, too. I’ll lose my place for sure.’

  ‘You’re a maid?’

  ‘No, miss. I’m a machinist in a workshop.’

  He couldn’t help smiling. She’d addressed Georgie as ‘miss’ automatically, clearly recognising the voice of authority. He’d lost the habit of kowtowing to anyone. When you fought alongside a man, you didn’t care whether he had been a gentleman or a coal heaver in civilian life; you only cared whether he’d hold fast. What had mattered most of all out there had been helping one another stay alive.

  Patrick hadn’t even wanted to kill the enemy, just to stop them killing him. He reckoned they were probably conscripts, like him, and wishing themselves out of the carnage.

  ‘Where were you going when you came to help us, Mr Farrell?’ Georgie asked, keeping an eye on the other woman and patting her back gently a couple of times.

  ‘Nowhere in particular. They turn us out of the hostel during the day if it’s fine. I wanted to join in the celebrations, like everyone else. Only I walked a bit too far.’ He grimaced and rubbed his leg. It wasn’t throbbing as badly now but it still hurt, dammit.

  ‘You’re recovering from a wound?’

  ‘Yes. It got me out of the Army as well as bringing me back to England. I’ve three more weeks in the hostel, then I have to find a job and somewhere else to live.’

  ‘What did you do in the Army?’

  ‘Transport. Mechanic and driver, whichever was needed. Acting sergeant at the end.’

  She smiled, such a lovely smile, it made something in him jerk to attention, something that had been quiescent for a good while. A woman like her was way beyond his reach but he could admire her, couldn’t he?

  ‘I’ve been driving too, Mr Farrell, taking wounded men here, there and everywhere in London for the past eighteen months.’

  ‘Wounded officers, no doubt?’ No one like her had ever driven him around, that was sure. He’d been crammed into ambulances or into the backs of lorries most of the time.

  ‘Yes. Not other ranks, unfortunately, though they deserved it just as much. Look, we can’t stay here. My home is just along the street. If we go there, we can all have a cup of tea. I’ll find you something to wear, Rosie, and you can rest that leg, Mr Farrell.’

  He hesitated. ‘Won’t your parents object?’

  ‘No. There’s just my father and he works for the government. He’s at the bureau even today, though he did leave a little later than usual.’ For the first time she wondered why. He was usually so punctual, leaving the house at eight o’clock sharp, much earlier than most people in his position. But she’d heard him using the telephone and talking to Mathers in that quiet voice he used when he didn’t want to be overheard.

  ‘Must be an important job.’

  ‘I suppose it is. He never talks about his work, even to me, but it’s behind-the-scenes war work.’

  ‘Well, good luck to him. It takes all sorts to win a war. If we hadn’t had backup and supplies, we’d have got nowhere.’

  Georgie looked at Mr Farrell, really looked this time. He was gaunt and strained, like many of those who’d been in the thick of the fighting and come home injured. But he’d probably be quite good-looking if he were fit and put on a bit of weight. He was tall, with brownish hair of an indeterminate shade that was neither brown nor auburn – rather a nice colour. His eyes were brown, too, and he had a firm, well-shaped nose. He didn’t have an educated accent but he wasn’t at all servile towards her and she liked that.

  It didn’t seem right that on a day like this someone who’d been wounded for his country should just be turned out on the streets, so she added, ‘We’ll have something to eat while we’re at it.’

  ‘Thank you, miss. That’s very kind,’ Rosie looked down at herself. ‘This blouse will be good only for the ragbag now, that’s for sure.’

  Everyone started cheering just then and Georgie glanced at her fob watch. ‘Eleven o’clock. The war is officially over.’

  A man passing by gave her a quick twirl round, cheered and walked on. He had such a happy smile she didn’t feel at all threatened by him.

  Two women – one young, one old – stopped to kiss Mr Farrell’s cheek and the older one glanced at his badge and added a thank you for serving his country. Lots of people were embracing one another, strangers or not. That felt odd, but nice.

  Georgie didn’t know what made her do it, but Mr Farrell looked so haunted that she gave him a hug and kissed his cheek in her turn.

  He stared down at her with a slow smile. ‘Thank you.’ Then he returned her kiss.

  He wasn’t aiming for her lips but she moved her head and his mouth lay on hers for just a few seconds. She felt hot with embarrassment that he might think she’d done that on purpose.

  He pulled back and sucked in a quick breath. ‘Sorry. I meant that for your cheek.’ He turned and gave Rosie a gentle hug. ‘Peace at last, eh?’

  She nodded and blew her nose.

  Georgie wanted to touch her lips because his had been so warm that she still seemed to feel them on hers. How strange! When her former fiancé, now dead thank goodness, had kissed her, she’d hated it. She would never have got engaged to him if her father’s wife hadn’t nagged her so unremittingly that it had seemed as if anything would be better than continuing to live with her.

  ‘I don’t need to trouble you and your family. I can manage to get back to the hostel,’ Mr Farrell said.

  ‘The streets are so crowded, you won’t find it easy to get anywhere at the moment, and I can see that your leg is still hurting. Much better for us all to go back to my house until things calm down. You must be getting hungry and I know I am.’

  He gave a slight shrug, accepting the truth of what she said. ‘That’s very generous of you, Miss Cotterell. I’d be grateful for a bite, I must say.’

  Their eyes met and his were serious, thoughtful, as if he was trying to understand her and her motives. Then he glanced at her lips and gave her another of those faint, apologetic smiles.

  She wasn’t sure she understood why s
he was doing this, only that she wanted to help him. Him and all like him who’d put their lives on the line to defend their country, she added hastily in her mind.

  Chapter Two

  When he left his house, Gerald Cotterell got into the front of the car next to the chauffeur from the bureau. ‘Everything all right, Saunders?’

  ‘I’m not sure, sir.’

  ‘Better stop and tell me about it.’

  The car slowed down and turned into a quiet side street where there were no revellers and few windows overlooking the street.

  ‘I was told to leave you at the side door to the bureau today, sir. Is that right?’

  ‘Oh? I don’t usually go in that way.’

  ‘I know, sir.’

  ‘No other instructions?’

  ‘Not to me. But I lingered a little and heard the major make a phone call. He was very guarded, didn’t name any names, but it sounded as if some sort of ambush was being arranged.’

  ‘Butterly was arranging that?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Quite surprised me, too. He only usually deals with paperwork. But he was very fidgety all the time you were out yesterday.’

  ‘And there aren’t many people around at the bureau today,’ Gerald said thoughtfully.

  There was a long silence, then Gerald opened the car door. ‘I’ve not stayed alive by taking chances. Tell them you dropped me near the park and I gave you no explanation.’

  ‘You’ll be on your own then, sir. Wouldn’t you be safer going home?’

  ‘Not this time. I think being among strangers and celebrating the Armistice may be safer today.’ He straightened up and closed the car door, raising one hand and walking off briskly, turning into a narrow ginnel between the backs of houses partway along.

  The chauffeur sat for a moment, surprised, then set off again. He’d seen some strange things at the bureau, but this was one of the most puzzling.

  It took them a few minutes to make their way slowly through the jubilant people to the other end of the street. Georgie kept an eye on Rosie, who might have stopped weeping now but who was shivering from time to time and looking behind her, as if afraid of being attacked again.

  She watched Mr Farrell, too. His injured leg was obviously hurting badly but he said nothing, only gritted his teeth and put one foot in front of the other.

  When she tried to open the front door, she was surprised to find it locked, so rang the doorbell.

  Mathers came to open it. ‘I’m sorry if I locked you out, miss. I thought you were resting in your room.’

  ‘I went outside to share in the celebrations, just in our own street, of course.’

  He turned his head, looking down his nose at her companions, so she explained quickly what had happened. But he still didn’t step aside.

  ‘You’ll need to move to let me bring my friends in.’ Mathers could be overprotective of her, encouraged in that by her father, no doubt. He stepped back, thank goodness! She wouldn’t have known what to do if he hadn’t.

  She led the way into the hall and after hesitating, he closed the front door and locked it again, moving quickly to bar the group’s way once more.

  ‘I’ll take your, um, visitors down to the basement and find them something to eat in the kitchen, shall I, miss?’

  ‘No, thank you, Mathers. I’d rather you brought some food up to the morning room so that the three of us can eat together. Something simple will do. Sandwiches and cake, perhaps?’

  She didn’t hesitate to offer hospitality because her father seemed to have fewer difficulties in obtaining food for his household than most other families. There were a lot of complaints about the wartime shortages reported in the newspapers. Presumably he got this preferential treatment because of his job and because he sometimes entertained visitors in his study late at night. He had told her to leave these people to him as they were there on bureau business.

  As Mathers was still hesitating, she said firmly, ‘Mr Farrell put himself in some danger to come to the rescue of Rosie and me, and he’s hurt his injured leg as a consequence. Shall we say food in half an hour?’

  For a moment she thought Mathers was going to refuse, then he nodded.

  ‘Will you show Mr Farrell into the morning room to wait for me, please, Mathers?’ she said crisply. ‘I’ll take Rosie upstairs and find her something to wear. The scoundrel who attacked her tried to rip her clothes off.’

  Mathers flushed. ‘Oh. I’ll, um, send Nora to help you.’

  ‘No need. I know we’re still short-staffed and Nora will have enough to do getting our food ready. I know my way around my own bedroom. I won’t be long, Mr Farrell. Don’t go away.’

  He looked at her and winked, clearly understanding the message that he was to put up with no nonsense from Mathers.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Cotterell. I’m much obliged. It’ll be good to rest this leg before I start back.’

  Patrick looked round the house appreciatively as he was shown into a room at the back, which contained a table and six chairs near the window, with two easy chairs near the fire. It was, he guessed, a small room to people like these, but it was bigger than the whole of the ground floor had been in his mam’s house.

  And there was a fire lit here even though no one was using the room at the moment. Miss Cotterell’s father definitely wasn’t short of money. He limped across and held his hands out to the flames, appreciating the warmth.

  Mathers stayed where he was, studying Patrick’s silver pin.

  ‘Served in France, did you, Mr Farrell?’

  ‘Yes. I copped one at Amiens. It’s taking my leg a while to get better.’

  ‘What rank were you?’

  ‘Acting sergeant.’

  The older man nodded and seemed to thaw a little. ‘I’ll fetch you a cup of tea while you’re waiting for Miss Cotterell, if you like.’

  ‘I can wait till the food’s served. I don’t want to trouble you.’

  ‘No trouble. Nora and I had just brewed ourselves a pot when the doorbell rang.’

  He was back within a couple of minutes, by which time Patrick had been unable to resist giving the fire a bit of a poke then sitting in the armchair set temptingly near it.

  When Mathers put the cup of tea down on a small table near the armchair, Patrick said, ‘Thanks. Much appreciated.’

  The older man nodded and vanished again, coming back a few minutes later with a tray of cutlery, small plates and teacups, which he set out on the table.

  That amused Patrick, though he hoped he’d hidden it. Doing the meal in style, were they? Was this to overawe him or to show up his table manners? It’d overawe that poor young lass, he was sure. What was she called? Rosie. She was rather scraggy, with a look some people had if they’d never eaten well.

  ‘I brought you another cup of tea, Mr Farrell. These cups don’t hold much for a thirsty man.’ Mathers deposited it nearby and took the empty cup away as he left.

  That surprised Patrick.

  He was finishing this second cup – and damned good tea it was, too – when the women came back to join him, with Rosie looking neat and tidy again.

  ‘Oh, good!’ Miss Cotterell said. ‘Mathers brought you something to drink.’

  He couldn’t keep the mockery from his voice. ‘I think I passed some sort of test by having been wounded in the service of my country. This is my second cup.’

  She caught the humour at once and gave him a quick grin. ‘Very big honour from Mathers. But we all respect what our fighting men have done for us.’

  Rosie had said nothing and was still standing by the table. Miss Cotterell turned to her. ‘Do come and sit down near the fire.’

  ‘I’d be better in the kitchen like Mr Mathers said, miss, really I would.’

  ‘I prefer you to stay here, if you don’t mind.’

  Rosie plonked herself down bolt upright on the edge of one of the chairs from the table, leaving the armchairs for the other two.

  Patrick turned his head as a maid brought in a tray of sa
ndwiches and little cakes. She looked at Miss Cotterell disapprovingly.

  ‘We can manage now, thank you, Nora. I know how busy you are since Jane left. Did you get a chance to go out and see the celebrations?’

  ‘I didn’t want to, miss. I don’t need that sort of thing to remember my William.’ She turned and spoke directly to Patrick, indicating the food. ‘I’m sorry we can’t do better for you than this.’

  The poor woman looked as if she’d been doing a lot of crying, he thought. ‘This will be fine. Did you lose someone close to you in the war?’

  ‘Yes. My fiancé.’

  ‘I’m sorry for that. I lost a lot of good friends.’

  Miss Cotterell looked a bit surprised at this frank exchange and when the maid had left, she said, ‘I think you’ve passed some sort of test with Nora as well as with Mathers, Mr Farrell. She doesn’t usually talk about her fiancé.’

  ‘I think it’s this thing.’ He touched the silver badge. ‘It comes in useful, can build a bridge between strangers.’

  ‘You earned it, I’m sure. Now, do come and sit at the table.’

  He waited till she and Rosie had sat down then did so himself and took a sandwich from the big plate she was offering. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was and when she put another sandwich on his plate without asking whether he wanted it, he nodded his thanks.

  Even Rosie forgot to be overawed and tucked into the food.

  It surprised him that their hostess didn’t nibble her sandwiches in a ladylike manner but took proper bites. Strange group they were, he thought, as he accepted a third sandwich. Nice of her – Georgie – to bring them here and feed them, though.

  Strange, too, that he couldn’t think of her as Miss Cotterell, but kept using her first name in his mind. It suited her. A tomboy’s name. Her hair had been pinned neatly back again while she was finding a blouse for Rosie, but tendrils were escaping already. He’d love to tug out the hairpins and let it tumble over her shoulders once more.