Elm Tree Road (15 page)

And indeed her good Samaritan did get them into Alderley Edge just as the first drops started to fall. ‘You could ask for a room at the hotel,’ she said as she stopped to let Nell out. ‘Hope you enjoy your walking holiday.’

‘I’m sure I shall. Thank you so much for giving me a lift.’

‘My pleasure. Us modern women must help one other, don’t you think?’

Modern women? Was she one of those? Nell wondered. She smiled. Perhaps she was now.

The hotel looked expensive, but the rain was getting heavy, so she hurried across to the shelter of its entrance. Still she hesitated. She didn’t want to be extravagant with her money, just couldn’t, and anyway, the couple who passed her and went inside looked so well off, she felt out of place, especially in her hiking gear.

Taking out her umbrella, she set off walking along the street. When she found a greengrocer’s, she bought two apples and asked the motherly woman there about finding lodgings for a night, or perhaps two if the rain continued.

Once again, she was scrutinised, but today she’d put on
her wedding ring, hoping it would help convince people that she was respectable.

‘On your own, love?’

‘Yes. I’m a widow. I’m taking a walking holiday.’

Another searching look, then, ‘The lady at the bookshop lets out a room sometimes. Mrs Brinkley. She’s a widow too. You could go and ask her. She’s very sharp-spoken, but that’s just her way. She’s got a good heart.’

‘I’ll do that. Thank you.’

It wasn’t just a bookshop. Crammed into its tiny interior were notepaper, pens, pencils, envelopes, blotting paper, simple account books and many more items for writing.

Mrs Brinkley was indeed blunt, questioning Nell at length before she agreed to let her have the attic bedroom for a night or two, and to provide breakfast and evening meals.

‘Nothing fancy, though.’

Nell was delighted to find that the room looked out over the street and spent a few minutes watching people scurry past. This place was much more her style than a fancy hotel.

Later that day she bought three picture postcards from her hostess and wrote to her sister and friends. The evening meal was plain but adequate and once again she slept well.

The following morning, in between showers, Nell went to find a postbox. It felt like a burden off her shoulders to have sent the postcards. Her friends and sister would know she was all right and she’d remain free to do what she wanted because she couldn’t give them an address to write back to.

When she got back, she found the redoubtable Mrs Brinkley in tears, clutching a crumpled telegram. ‘What’s wrong? Can I help?’

‘I got this a few minutes ago. My older brother’s ill, not expected to recover. I have to go to him. Only he lives in Stockport and I’ve no one to mind the shop. I don’t want to upset my customers by closing. You have to provide a service or they go elsewhere.’

The doorbell tinkled and a lady came in. ‘Just looking at the books, Mrs B,’ she called to the owner.

Nell lowered her voice. ‘Shall I make you a cup of tea? And I can keep an eye on the shop while you decide what to do. I’m sure your customer won’t mind if I serve her.’

‘Mrs Rawson likes to find her own books, doesn’t like to chat. Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘I’m happy to help.’

Quarter of an hour later, Mrs Brinkley came back into the shop just as Nell was wrapping a book for an elderly gentleman, folding the brown paper carefully round it and tying the string into knots that gave it a little loop for carrying. She put the money in the till and turned to her hostess.

‘Your lady bought a book as well. I didn’t call you, because you’ve pencilled in the prices. Was that all right?’

‘Yes, and thank you. I needed time to think. Look, I wonder …’ She stared at Nell, took a deep breath and said, ‘You have an honest face.’

‘Um … thank you.’ She looked at Mrs Brinkley in puzzlement.

‘Are you in a hurry to leave Alderley Edge?’

 ‘No. I’m not in a hurry to go anywhere.’ She suddenly guessed what was coming.

‘Then would you look after my shop for me for a day or two? We have a lot of wealthy folk in the town since they built the villas, and some of them come in every week to buy a book. They might take umbrage if the shop was shut. Some people complain about the incomers, but they’ve been a godsend to me. I’ll pay you a wage and you can have the room free – though you’ll have to look after yourself.’

Two hours later, after giving Nell some hasty lessons on shopkeeping and introducing her to a neighbouring shopkeeper who would come in each evening to cash up, Mrs Brinkley left for the railway station.

It was strange being on her own in the shop, but Nell had no time to worry because there was a steady trail of customers, not only for the books, but for the writing equipment. Each one had to find out what had happened to Mrs Brinkley, so the day passed in a flash.

She hadn’t realised she might be able to find work on her travels. Or that she’d enjoy it so much.

When the postcard arrived, Joanna pounced on it with a cry of triumph. ‘She hasn’t forgotten us.’

Flora came to look at the card. ‘She sounds to be … I don’t know … healing. Don’t you think?’

‘Yes. I’m so glad she got away before that dreadful man turned up. If he’d smash our greenhouse for no reason, who knows what he was intending to do to her. The only problem is, we can’t warn her to watch out for him.’

‘She’ll settle somewhere, then we can tell her. I wish the police had caught him.’

‘They can’t even be sure it was him. No one saw him do it.’

‘Who else could it be? I’m quite sure it was him.’

Mrs Brinkley sent a letter to the neighbouring shopkeeper two days later to say her brother had passed away and to ask how things were going. He came in to share the news with Nell and ask if she could continue looking after the shop.

‘I’d be happy to do that. I’m finding it very interesting.’

He nodded approval. ‘And I’m hearing that you have a nice manner with customers and are very helpful.’

She beamed at him, delighted by this praise.

When Mrs Brinkley came back three days later, she was so pleased with how Nell had managed that she invited her to stay on for two more days. ‘You can’t miss seeing the Edge. It’s beautiful. My Dan and I used to go up there when we were courting.’

So since the weather had turned sunny again, Nell spent a magical day wandering through the woods, stopping every now and then to enjoy a particularly fine vista over the plain below, which was patterned with farms and chequered fields stretching into a misty heat haze in the distance. She’d heard the legends, but there was no sign of the White Wizard today, only dappled sunlight … and peace.

It was a full week after her arrival that she left, and she took with her a letter from Mrs Brinkley saying how helpful and hard-working she’d been.

‘You might want to work here and there, since you’re determined to tramp all over the place. It won’t hurt to
have testimonials, and if they want, people can write to me to check up on you. I don’t mind. You were a godsend to me.’

Nell surprised herself by giving Mrs Brinkley a sudden hug. ‘Thank you. You’ve helped me more than you know by trusting me.’

‘Get along with you. I can’t be doing with all this fuss.’

But she was smiling – and so was Nell as she went on her way.

Feeling much more confident, Nell travelled on. A leisurely week’s walking brought her to Sandbach, a pretty little town with more of the attractive black and white houses scattered here and there. She stood at one end of High Street and decided to stay a night or two in more luxury. Somehow she had to do her washing and she desperately wanted a proper bath. She’d grown to love them at Joanna’s house.

The small commercial hotel she found down a side street provided her with a comfortable room and a proper bathroom at the end of the corridor – baths sixpence extra. She washed her underclothes while she was bathing and got the use of the mangle from the owner, plus the loan of a clothes horse to dry them on in her room. It only just fitted in, but she didn’t mind.

All the staff were polite and helpful, but clearly didn’t care who she was or why she was hiking, as long as she paid for the room and behaved herself. She liked the sense of privacy that gave her.

At six o’clock, an excellent three-course meal was served. All the other diners were men. After a polite nod, they carefully avoided her eyes. She’d met quite a few commercial travellers on her travels, chatting to them inside shops or while waiting for the local carrier or omnibus to take her on a mile or two.

These men spent much of their working lives on the move, going from one small shop to the next to take orders. She didn’t think she’d like that. Once she’d finished her travels, once she felt
right
again, she wanted to settle down and make a home for herself, however humble. And where else would she do that but Wiltshire, which increasingly seemed to beckon to her?

But she wasn’t ready to catch a train and go there yet, because it would also mean going into Swindon and asking Cliff’s parents if they’d heard from Mattie. It would take all her courage to do that. She was terrified of running into Frank, but if she went during working hours, surely she’d be able to avoid him.

And what if she bumped into her father? If Bart found out about her money, he’d never leave her alone till he got hold of it. Money had been his god for as long as she could remember, the thing he loved most in the world. That and beer. His daughters were only useful to look after him. He’d never really cared about them. It had been her half-sister Mattie who loved them when their mother died, Mattie to whom she and Renie turned when they were in trouble, Mattie who must be somewhere near Swindon, surely?

After she’d eaten, Nell retired to her room to finish the book Flora had bought her. She’d post it off to the Garretts
the next day, to keep safely for when she was settled again.

The following morning, it being a Thursday, there was a market in Sandbach, so she lingered to wander round the stalls. She found one selling second-hand books, among other oddments, and picked up a much-worn copy of
Ziska
. She remembered Mrs Brinkley at the bookshop turning up her nose at Marie Corelli’s books, saying that writer was only fit for giddy housemaids and wrote rather naughty stories. When pressed, she’d lowered her voice and said the author talked about feelings which were best kept in the bedroom between husband and wife.

Nell couldn’t resist opening the book to see how it started, to see if it seemed at all naughty.

Dark against the sky towered the Great Pyramid, and over its apex hung the moon.

The image that conjured up was so vivid and so far away from her own troubles that she continued to read the first page, then bought the book. She liked the thought of being transported to ancient Egypt, even if she didn’t believe a story like that could ever happen in real life.

‘They always sell quickly, Corellis do,’ the stallkeeper told her as he gave her the change. ‘I read in the paper once that she sells more books than Conan Doyle, Kipling and H.G. Wells put together. Imagine that. She must be rich, lucky thing.’

Nell chatted for a while, then asked directions. But as she was about to set off on her travels, she thought she saw Frank at the other side of the market. For a moment she froze. It couldn’t be!

The seconds seemed to tick past very slowly as she watched the man chatting to someone.

‘You all right, missus?’ the stallkeeper asked.

‘What? Oh, yes. Just thought I saw someone I knew.’

She moved on a few paces, still watching the man, her heart pounding. Then he turned round and she sagged against a wall in relief. It wasn’t Frank. It was just a big man who looked a bit like him. She must stop being so stupid. Frank Greenhill would soon forget about her. She’d not be going back to Swindon for weeks. And when she did, she’d take care to stay out of his way.

She followed a narrow road which she’d been told would take her southwards, her mood lightening as she left the busy market behind. She was hardened now to tramping all day, loved the countryside and looked forward every day to new sights and experiences.

It wasn’t wrong to feel better, was it? Life had to go on.

It was a good thing the weather stayed fine, because two nights later she arrived at a tiny hamlet where, to her dismay, no one took in guests. ‘How far is it to the next village?’

‘Four miles.’

‘Oh dear, and is there no carrier or motor bus?’

‘Not in these parts, nor we don’t want them smelly things coming here, neither. You can’t beat a horse, I say. You know where you are with a horse.’

‘Do you have a loaf left? And some cheese?’

She set off again, cutting the end off the loaf with the one knife she carried, because she was too hungry to wait. She munched it as she walked, together with a piece broken off the white, crumbly local cheese, because she wanted to find somewhere to sleep before dusk.

Suddenly she cried out in shock as she felt her foot
turn on a stone and couldn’t stop herself falling. Pain shot through her ankle and she lay on the ground for a minute or two, waiting for it to subside. When she tried to move her foot, she yelped as pain jabbed up her lower leg. There was no one to help her and her right ankle was swelling fast. What was she going to do? She couldn’t lie here in the road all night.

She tried getting to her knees, but banged the ankle again and moaned.

‘Ought to put it in some cold water,’ a voice said behind her. ‘Gran made me dangle my foot in a stream when I hurt it.’

She jerked in shock and twisted round to see a plump dark-haired lad standing looking down at her. He made no attempt to help her get up.

‘Could you help me stand up, please?’

He edged backwards. ‘Mustn’t touch people.’

‘Well, could you go and find someone else to help me?’

He considered this, frowning.

She looked at him in puzzlement. What sort of person didn’t immediately go to the help of someone who’d had an accident?

‘I’ll go and ask Gran,’ he said, and before she could say anything, he shambled off along the lane in the direction she’d been heading.

She could only pray that he’d tell someone and they’d come to help. She thought it was only a sprain, but it was badly swollen and looked bruised. With some difficulty she managed to crawl to the grass verge, but the pain of moving knocked her sick.

The boy had been right about one thing: the foot ought
to be immersed in cold water. She told herself she could do nothing but wait – and hope. It’d probably take a while for him to get to the next village. Surely he would fetch help, though?

To her surprise, however, she heard voices only a few minutes later and saw a group of four, two men, an older woman and the same lad, come striding along the lane towards her. From the looks of them, she suspected they were Gypsies. She’d never had anything to do with Gypsies but people didn’t speak well of them. Would they help her? Would she be safe with them?

The woman was older and the others held back as she approached Nell. She knelt down and stared at her, such a piercing gaze that Nell felt as if her very soul was under scrutiny.

‘I’m Vancy Rose, but most folk call me Gran.’ She checked the ankle with fingers that were very gentle, then turned to the young man standing next to her, a big fellow with dark unruly hair. ‘We can’t leave her lying here. You and Saul better carry her back. She’s only a little ’un.’ With that she turned and strode away along the lane.

Nell stared up at the young man who’d been told to carry her.

He smiled. ‘Don’t look so frightened. We’re not going to hurt you. I’m Lije, this is Saul and the boy’s Rory. We’d better get that knapsack off you. Saul, you carry her things and I’ll carry her.’ As he was speaking he began to slip the knapsack straps off Nell’s shoulders. As he handed it over, he said firmly, ‘And no touching anything in it.’

Saul pulled a face at him, picking the knapsack up as
if it weighed nothing and slinging it carelessly over one shoulder.

The youth hopped from one foot to the other. ‘I found her, didn’t I, Lije? I found her.’ Then he saw the bread and cheese she’d dropped and snatched it up off the road, cramming it in his mouth, heedless of the fact that it was covered in grit.

‘Sorry about that,’ Lije said. ‘The poor lad is always hungry. But I don’t suppose you’d have eaten it after it fell in the dirt.’

‘No. He’s welcome to it.’ She’d realised by now that the youth was slow-witted, poor fellow.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Nell Greenhill.’

He looked down at her left hand. ‘Where’s your husband?’

‘Dead.’

‘Don’t you have friends or family to stay with? Even
our
women don’t usually go travelling round the countryside on their own.’

He swung her up in his arms and she forgot to answer, because that made her feel helpless yet protected, which was such a relief, though it took her breath away to be so close to his big warm body. Cliff had been thin and wiry, not much taller than her, but Lije was even taller than her father, and he was muscular and tanned from an outdoor life. But he wasn’t like Bart Fuller. Lije had a cheerful friendly face, and she didn’t feel at all afraid of him.

‘Take a fall, did you?’ he asked as he began walking.

‘Yes. My own fault. I wasn’t watching where I was putting my feet. Are you taking me to the next village?’

‘No. To our camp. It’s much closer.’

She wasn’t sure she liked the thought of that.

As if he’d read her mind, he said quietly, ‘No need to be afraid, Mrs Greenhill. We’ve never murdered anyone yet. Gran’ll look after you. She’s a great one for waifs and strays, Gran is. She says if you’re kind to others, the world’ll be kind to you.’

‘It’s a nice thought.’

‘But you don’t believe it?’

‘No.’

Another of those assessing looks. ‘I think the world’s been unkind to you.’

She couldn’t bear to talk of that, so shook her head slightly and looked away. To her relief, he respected her silence.

It only took them a few minutes to walk down the lane and turn off it onto a narrow track. The other man hadn’t said a word the whole time. He moved forward to open a gate to the left and checked that the lad shut it carefully after them.

‘We camp here every year at this time,’ Lije said. ‘The farmer doesn’t mind as long as we don’t steal anything or make a mess. And we don’t. We always give him a couple of our baskets in thanks. And pegs. People always want pegs.’

‘Sick of the sight of the damn things, I am,’ Saul muttered.

‘Language! We have a lady here,’ scolded Lije.

Saul shrugged and moved slightly ahead.

They turned into a field and there in the corner were several Gypsy caravans, colourful ones which looked
well cared for, plus a couple of small carts. The vans were gathered in a sociable way round a central fire, with the horses standing together nearby, as if they too enjoyed company.

As Lije walked across to the most brightly painted van, Gran came to the door and called, ‘Take her to the stream first. She needs to soak that foot. Give it a few minutes, then bring her back to me and I’ll bandage it.’

He changed direction, walking past the caravans, ignoring the people who stared and the children who whispered to one another. There was a stream at the lower end of the small field and he set her down gently on one bank. ‘Better get your stockings off, unless you want to soak them too.’

She blushed, wondering if she could manage to do that without showing her upper legs. With some difficulty she managed to get her suspenders undone and started to push the stockings down, but it hurt too much to finish the job and she couldn’t help whimpering in pain.

Lije bent down to lift her feet gently in turn and pull off the black woollen stockings. He chuckled. ‘No need to blush. I’ve seen women’s legs before more than a few times.’

He was surprisingly gentle as he helped her place her right foot in the chilly water flowing past, then the left one. ‘There. That’ll help.’

He went to sit on a nearby tree stump and wait. He didn’t try to make conversation, so she didn’t either. Then she realised something.

‘My knapsack!’

‘Saul will leave it with Gran and it’ll be safe there. She’ll
look through it at what you’ve got, but she won’t steal anything. She might offer to buy something, though. They don’t like us going into shops, you see. Don’t trust us.’

‘It’s mostly got dirty clothes in it.’

‘You’re blushing again. I never saw such a lass for blushing. My sisters get their clothes dirty too. Do you think I’m too blind to see their underwear hanging out to dry? Don’t you think they see my drawers whenever they wash ’em?’

‘You’re very blunt-spoken.’

He shrugged. ‘I say as I see. And you’re very closed to the world.’ He laid one of his huge tanned hands on hers. ‘It’s a beautiful world mostly, you know, even if bad things happen. Listen to those birds getting ready to sleep. And look at the patterns in the water, or the way the setting sun’s colouring the sky. I don’t know how folk can bear to shut themselves away from it all.’

She followed his pointing finger from a row of birds in a tree, to the water, which was starting to reflect the
red-gold
of the sky, and then she looked up to the sky itself. ‘It is beautiful.’

‘And that beauty’s free for all who bother to stop and look at it.’ He closed his hand over hers and gave it a quick squeeze. ‘It’ll come better, lass. Whatever it was that hurt you, it’ll come better.’