The Penny Bangle (5 page)

When he glanced up, she smiled at him in gratitude.

He didn’t return her smile.

Somehow, with a lot of help and encouragement from Stephen, even though she got shouted at and bossed around by Robert, and Frances criticised her all the time, Cassie got through the day.

Looking at the twins in daylight, she observed that Robert was bigger, broader and no doubt much stronger than his brother, and that his sullen features were more regularly handsome. Too handsome, she decided ruefully. They were a distraction. They invited her to look at him, even when she didn’t want to look. He should have a warning notice tattooed on his forehead, saying idiot women keep away.

Robert was the leader. Stephen looked to Robert for approval, but Robert didn’t care what anybody thought of him.

‘Frances lives at home,’ Stephen explained, as they watched her cycle off into the frosty gloaming later on that afternoon. ‘Poor Fran, her parents are quite elderly, and she’s an only child, so she gets somewhat smothered. When her call-up papers came, Sir Stuart and Lady Ashford more or less insisted she should stay in Dorset. But I don’t think she wants to be a land girl.’

‘What would she like to do, then?’ Cassie asked.

‘She says she’d like to join the ATS. But Lady Ashford thinks the ATS is common, and Fran would meet all sorts of awful people, and so she’s put her foot down.’

‘Lady Ashford,’ murmured Cassie, thinking blimey, was I supposed to curtsey? ‘Do they live in that castle I passed on my way here?’

‘Castle?’ repeated Stephen, frowning.

‘Yes, that big, square place with all those towers and lots of little windows. It’s built of yellow stone.’

‘Oh, you mean Charton Minster.’ Stephen laughed. ‘No, that’s a boarding school for wayward boys. But, funnily enough, our mother lived there once, because her family owned it.’

‘Did they?’ Cassie looked at Stephen and it was her turn to frown. ‘So why do you all live in this – um – ’

‘Hovel?’ Stephen shook his head and sighed. ‘As I believe I told you, once we lived in Melbury House. But after it burned down we had to move into the cottage. We hope to get the house rebuilt one day. But farmers didn’t make much money in the 1930s. We didn’t have the cash.’

‘You must be doing better these days, though?’

‘Yes, the war has made things easier, even though it’s hard to get the labour. The country’s growing most of its own food, and the government pays the farmers well. But in the 1930s, this country was importing almost everything we ate, and British farmers were going out of business every day. Dad was almost bankrupt by 1939. I honestly don’t know how he held on.’

‘But he managed it.’

‘Yes, but he owes money to the banks. Mum is getting old before her time, and Dad’s not well at all.’ Stephen shrugged. ‘That’s enough family history, Cass. Let’s go and have some supper.’

After he had thought about it for a little while, and realised it would be very difficult to get another land girl at short notice, Robert decided to give Cassie Taylor a chance to prove herself. After all, he thought, if I get rid of Cassie, they might send us someone even worse.

But, after she had given a couple of cows mastitis by tugging at their udders, he finally made his mind up. He ignored the little voice which told him he found her quite attractive, that if she wasn’t here at Melbury, he’d miss her, wouldn’t he?

Cassie had to go.

‘I’ve written to the Ministry,’ he said, as he and Stephen walked across the cobbled yard, a few days later that same week.

‘I tore your letter up.’ Stephen glanced at Robert, whose mouth had fallen open in surprise – for no one was allowed to cross Rob Denham, least of all his twin. ‘You left the letter on the kitchen table, assuming Mum would post it when she went into the village. So I opened it, and then made an executive decision. Cassie’s trying hard to be a land girl, and I think she ought to stay.’

‘So Fran was right,’ growled Robert.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You’ve fallen for a skinny little slum kid with a cheeky smile and pretty face. It doesn’t matter that she’s useless, worse than useless, and – ’

‘Now you’re being stupid.’ Stephen scowled at Robert, who glowered back at him. ‘Yes, she’s very attractive, but I haven’t fallen for her, as you choose to put it. She’s probably got a boyfriend, anyway. He’ll be on a convoy, or in North Africa.’

‘Or selling stolen goods on the black market, or in some prison cell, or – ’

‘Listen, Rob,’ said Stephen patiently. ‘It’s damned near impossible to get a useful land girl. Mum’s had half a dozen, and none of them have been a patch on Frances. Cassie’s very skinny, I agree, but Mum is doing her best to feed her up. I think we ought to keep her on.’

‘It’s like I said, you’ve fallen for her, haven’t you?’

‘No, but someone needs to be on Cassie’s side,’ said Stephen, who was getting angry now. ‘You scowl and glare and shout at the poor girl. She takes it on the chin and does her best. She’s trying hard to learn. She doesn’t shirk, she doesn’t whine, she doesn’t grumble, even when she’s half dead from exhaustion. Once she’s found her feet, she’s going to be an asset here. You know it.’

‘I suppose she’s willing,’ conceded Robert. ‘Yes, she tries – I’ll give her that.’

‘As we’re agreed, she’s quite attractive, too.’

‘If you say so.’ Robert shrugged. ‘If you like anaemic-looking, scrawny little blondes, which I can’t say I do.’

‘So let’s give her another week, at least?’

‘All right,’ said Robert. ‘But if she doesn’t learn to milk a cow and do it properly by Wednesday week, she’s on the next train home.’

Cassie was determined to show everyone in Melbury that she was every bit as good as Frances.

But Frances was a well-fed country girl, not an undernourished urchin from a city slum. Cassie was short, Frances was tall, Cassie was skinny, Frances was athletic. Frances worked quickly and methodically, and Cassie had to scramble to keep up.

At the end of every working day, Cassie had to force herself to have a proper wash, get tidied up a bit, to dab a little powder on her nose, then go down to the pub. There, she often fell asleep, either against a high-backed wooden settle, or lolling with her head on Stephen’s shoulder.

She had to admit she wasn’t anything like as capable as big, strong, strapping Frances, whose dark good looks attracted everyone’s attention whenever they went into the village, or took the wicker panniers of eggs to Charton station in the pony trap.

As they drove home again to Melbury, they had to climb a couple of steep hills, and it was from the tops of these that Cassie got her first few glimpses of the English Channel – a thick blue line that curled around a headland, then merged into the sky.

She had never seen the sea before. She thought that when she had her next day off, she would go and take a closer look. She’d ask Stephen if he’d come along, to show her the way across the fields and down the winding lanes.

‘You lived here all your life?’ she asked, as Frances drove the pony trap to Melbury from Charton, one February morning.

‘Most of it,’ said Frances, as she shook the reins to make the pony pick his feet up. ‘I’m not a country bumpkin, though,’ she added, somewhat sharply. ‘I was born in London, and when Mummy and Daddy married, they were very rich. They had a lovely house in Surrey, and they had a place in Berkeley Square. But in the 1920s, Daddy made some terrible investments, and after I was five or six they moved house rather often, to a smaller and smaller place each time. Nowadays, we live in a small cottage north of Charton, on a pittance.’

‘Oh,’ said Cassie, thinking that for someone living on a pittance, Frances had some really lovely clothes. Cashmere jumpers, velvet jackets, soft felt hats and elegant tweed skirts, all in the classic styles they sold in shops like Rackham’s, shops where Cassie couldn’t have afforded to buy the cheapest thimble, never mind a skirt or two.

Every night she wore a different outfit to the pub, and she had at least two strings of pearls, gold earrings, and several pretty brooches which were studded with glittering marcasite.

But Frances must have read her mind. ‘We’re the family paupers,’ she continued. ‘We exist on handouts from my father’s brother, who’s in manufacturing. My clothes come from my cousins, and that’s why they’re so old-fashioned.’

‘It must have been quite awkward for you, always changing schools, and having to make new friends?’ said Cassie, trying hard to find a neutral subject.

‘I’ve never been to school.’ Frances was staring straight ahead, her eyes fixed on the road. ‘Mummy didn’t think it was important for a girl to go to school. She didn’t like me knowing other children. She thought they’d give me whooping cough or measles, and I’d die. She taught me French, and how to read, of course. But I’m very ignorant and stupid, as the twins will tell you. I’m no good at sums. I don’t know much history or geography at all.’

‘I only know a bit myself,’ said Cassie ruefully. ‘I can recite the names of all the kings and queens of England, and their dates. But much good that’ll do me. It won’t impress the cows. As for geography – I know the names of all the continents, and where the pink bits are all round the globe. But I don’t – ’

‘Daddy says there won’t be many pink bits left after the war is over,’ interrupted Frances. ‘He says there won’t be any at all if Hitler has his way.’ Then she glanced at Cassie. ‘You’re getting fatter, midget, and you don’t look half so pasty these days. You’ve got a bit of colour in your cheeks. Mrs Denham’s stews and pies are doing you some good, and you’re not picking at them now. You’re shovelling them down.’

‘I get so hungry I could eat this pony, with mangel-wurzels on the side,’ said Cassie. ‘But I dream of fish and chips.’

‘Talking about ponies, that reminds me,’ went on Frances. ‘Robert said I had to get you tacking this one up. Then, from tomorrow, you must take the reins, so you can take the eggs in by yourself.

‘You mustn’t worry, midget,’ she said, reasonably kindly, as Cassie’s jaw dropped open. She was still scared of horses, even small ones, and she knew Frances knew it. ‘You won’t risk getting lost. The pony knows the way to Charton. So don’t go running off with him to Smethwick.’

‘I can’t, because Mrs Denham’s got my ration book,’ said Cassie, and she laughed. ‘I don’t know where she’s hidden it, but I dare say she’s stuffed it down her drawers.’

Frances chuckled, too.

She’s not so bad, thought Cassie. ‘Frances,’ she continued, ‘when I have my next day off, I want to go and find the sea. Do you think Stephen would come with me to show me the way?’

‘My goodness, how should I know?’ Frances had sounded pleasant, even friendly, when she’d talked about the pony. But now her tone was frosty, and her mouth was set in a hard line.

Moody bitch, thought Cassie. Miserable snob, she thinks she’s far too good for me.

But, in spite of bloody Frances, and in spite of bloody Robert Denham, Cassie was determined to stick it out in Dorset, and to make it as a land girl.

The great shire horses that did most of the heavy work on all the local farms were still alarming, but as time went on she grew to love the docile little pony which was kept to pull the egg cart, and she’d almost stopped being scared of cows.

In fact, she really liked the Jerseys now.

Or most of them, at any rate.

There were some skittery, frisky ones who’d kick out without warning, but she was on to them. She grew to enjoy the early morning milking, sitting in the warm, cow-scented shed, listening to the streams of milk ping into metal buckets, and feeling the brown cow that she was milking grunt and sigh contentedly.

‘You can go and feed the bull,’ said Frances briskly, as she and Cassie came out of the cowshed one sharp morning. It had all gone very well today. Cassie had worked almost as fast as Frances, Stephen had told them jokes and made them laugh, and Robert had managed a half-smile or two.

They’d cleaned out all the stalls, they’d filled the mangers, so now they were ready for some breakfast of their own. ‘I know you’ve never done it,’ went on Frances, ‘but I reckon it’s your turn. The feed’s kept in those bins,’ she added, pointing to the store. ‘There’ll be a bucket somewhere, and the scoop is on the shelf.’

Stephen had gone back inside already. Cassie could see his boots lying in the porch. Robert was nowhere to be seen, and Frances now walked off towards the cottage, from which a smell of frying bacon wafted, scenting the cold air.

Cassie sighed, but did as she was told. She went to fetch the feed. Then she made her way across the yard to the converted stable where they kept the bull.