TWO SISTERS
Josephine Cox

with GILLY MIDDLETON

Copyright

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2020

Copyright © Josephine Cox 2020

Josephine Cox asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

Gilly Middleton is acknowledged as the co-author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008128593

Ebook Edition © 2020 ISBN: 9780008128432

Version: 2020-10-08

Dedication

For my Ken, as always.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

The Letter from Jo

Part One: Gina May 1956–August 1956

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Part Two: Ellen March 1957–November 1957

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Praise

Josephine Cox effect

Memorial page

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Josephine Cox

About the Publisher

PART ONE

Gina May 1956–August 1956

CHAPTER ONE

ELLEN ARNOLD LAY back on the grass, one arm shielding her eyes from the intense brightness of the spring sky. She heard the calling of ewes to their lambs in the next field and then eventually the rustle of her sister’s skirt as Georgina sat down beside her.

‘You were a while closing that gate,’ Ellen said, not looking round. There was a long pause. ‘Gina?’

‘I got the rope all twisted …’

They were silent and still for a few minutes.

‘It’s lovely here … so peaceful,’ murmured Ellen.

‘If you like peaceful. Sometimes I reckon the countryside can be a bit quiet.’

‘I don’t mind quiet. It doesn’t have to be … I don’t know … small. Mr Beveridge can have quiet whenever he wants to as it’s his farm. Mr Stellion, at the Hall, goes all over the place on business but he’s always got that lovely garden to return to.’

‘Mm …’ Gina thought of Grindle Hall, the biggest house she’d ever seen. But it was still in the village of Little Grindle, still stuck out here on the Lancashire fells, where nothing ever happened.

‘Good of Mr Beveridge to give me the afternoon off,’ Ellen said.

‘Yes, wasn’t it?’ said Gina heavily. ‘Pity he was too mean to give me a little holiday as well.’

‘But you took it anyway.’ Ellen smiled. Her sister had the cheek of the devil sometimes.

‘’Course I did. I had summat I wanted to see to earlier. What’s he going to do about it, anyway?’

‘Well, he might give you the sack.’

Gina considered this. ‘He might but I bet he won’t. If Mr and Mrs B were going to sack me, they’d have done so long since.’

‘Probably. Still, such a lovely afternoon. I wish every day could be like today is right now,’ Ellen said. ‘No hens to see to …’

‘No water troughs to unblock …’

‘No smelly straw to clear out …’

‘No sheep to check on …’

‘Oh, I like the sheep,’ Ellen smiled, then laughed as a loud baa sounded from over the dry-stone wall. ‘The lambs are so bonny when they’re tiny.’

‘You’re daft, Nell – daft as they are,’ Gina said mildly, turning her face to follow an oddly shaped passing cloud. It looked … like a dancing figure with long, spiky limbs, strangely menacing in such a gloriously blue sky. Where had it sprung from? The sky had been cloudless when they’d reached the field gate. ‘I’ll ask you whether you like the sheep next winter when the snow’s coming in and Dad wants you to help get them down from the fell.’

‘Mebbe. Might not be helping on the farm then.’ Now was the time to tell Gina her news. If it all worked out, Gina would have to know anyway, and Ellen didn’t want to look as if she’d kept it from her sister. She’d put off telling her long enough. ‘Uncle Tom wants a new assistant – Young Lionel’s left to work somewhere the other side of Whalley with Old Lionel – and Uncle Tom’s asking Mr Stellion today if I could try out for it; see if it suits me.’

‘You lucky beggar! I think Uncle Tom could have mentioned it to me! That’s not fair. I could work at Grindle Hall. Why didn’t he ask me?’

‘Mebbe because I’m older,’ Ellen said diplomatically. She’d guessed this might be Gina’s reaction.

‘And I’d rather work with Uncle Tom than Dad any day.’

‘Aye, Uncle Tom’s very agreeable, and I reckon I might prefer a garden to the farm. It’d be nice to grow flowers and learn how to cut bushes into those fancy shapes that they have at the Hall.’

The sisters were silent for long minutes, Ellen thinking about the garden at Grindle Hall, Gina sulking and brooding on this missed opportunity. A bee droned in the clover flowers dotting the grass around them. Ellen had her eyes closed still; Gina watched as the cloud-figure grew grotesque features before its head detached from its crooked body and formed into … a round and benign baby cloud.

‘Oh, but it’d be grand never to have to work again at all,’ Gina said after a while. ‘That’s what I’d really like: to have owt I wanted and never have to graft for it.’

Ellen turned to her sister to see if she were serious. ‘Now who’s daft? How can you have owt without working for it?’

‘Stellion has.’

‘It’s Mr Stellion to you, Gina, and his family worked for years to build up the brewery business. He didn’t just come by Grindle Hall and the lovely garden and his car and all, you know. He still runs the brewery, though I do reckon he just turns up and tells other folk what to do these days.’

‘Exactly. I could tell folk what to do. What kind of a job is “telling other folk what to do” anyway, compared to real work, like being a farm hand?’

‘Dad’s the farm hand; we’re the farm hand’s farm hands,’ Ellen pointed out.

They both laughed.

‘But seriously,’ Ellen went on, ‘the brewery is Mr Stellion’s family business and his work is taking responsibility. There’s many a man – and some women, too – relying on his decisions for their livelihood.’

‘Like Mrs Stellion, you mean?’

‘Ah, poor lady. Mum was saying as how she was in bed again last week. It’s a shame to live in such a grand house, warm all winter and full of nice things, time to do whatever you want, but to feel too poorly to enjoy it.’

‘True.’ Gina rolled onto her front and looked Ellen in the face. ‘But it’s all rather wasted on her, isn’t it?’ she said seriously. ‘I reckon if I lived at Grindle Hall I’d be driving that big shiny car myself, or having parties in those enormous rooms, with dancing and a record player, and … I don’t know … banquets, with port to drink instead of Stellion’s beer.’

‘Port? What do you know about port, or even Stellion’s beer, for that matter, Georgina Arnold?’ scoffed Ellen.

‘Well, I wouldn’t mind giving it a try. Mum says Mrs Stellion eats only tasteless wet stuff when she’s feeling poorly – an “invalid’s diet”, she calls it.’ Gina sounded contemptuous. ‘If I were as rich as the Stellions, I’d have roast beef every single day, and Mum’s roast potatoes.’

‘Mebbe Mrs Stellion would like roast beef but she doesn’t feel well enough to stomach it,’ Ellen suggested. ‘It’s not right to be coveting other folk’s things, thinking you’re more deserving of them, just ’cos you’re in better health.’

‘I was only thinking about it, Nell, that’s all. Just daydreaming. No need to get all preachy.’

‘Everyone can dream – and it’s good to have summat to lift the spirits and even to aim for, if you work hard and are lucky with your chances in life – but there’s no sense in you dreaming of big houses and cars and … banquets, ’cos those dreams are never going to come true for folk like us.’

‘Folk like you, you mean?’ snapped Gina, suddenly angry at having the cold water of reality poured over her precious daydreams. ‘Stupid little people that can see no further than a life of drudgery on some pathetic farm in the back of beyond.’

Ellen sighed. ‘No, Gina, I mean ordinary people who have to work hard for their living and mebbe don’t have many advantages, that’s all.’

‘But, Nell, you have to dream big dreams if you want to get on in life. You have to think differently, think new things are possible. You may work as hard as you can, for as long as you can, but in the end you’ll earn nowt but more work to do, if that’s all you can see ahead.’

‘No—’

‘Yes! You have to dream bigger than this life, or this life is all you’ll ever know. Little Grindle is all you’ll ever know. D’you think Little Grindle is all there is … really?’

‘Gina, I don’t—’

‘Look at Mum, going off to Grindle Hall of a morning to clean up after the Stellions. She must see all those beautiful things in that house – see how rich folk live – and what does she do but come home, all worn out, to our cottage – which we live in only because it comes with Dad’s job on the farm – and she doesn’t even mind. How can she not mind? It’s like she’s given up.’

‘Gina, that’s enough. Mebbe I am a “stupid little person” in your eyes – and thank you very much but I don’t want your opinion – but I hate to hear you criticising Mum. Don’t you think she’s got a lot on her plate, with Dad the way he is, without you getting all envious and covetous and discontented, too? In fact, I think you’re beginning to sound a bit like Dad.’

‘No I’m not,’ Gina snapped, eyes wide with shock.

‘Yes,’ Ellen insisted. ‘You were ranting, Gina,’ she added more gently. ‘Come on now … We were having such a lovely afternoon. Let’s not spoil it with arguing.’

Gina stuck out her lower lip and looked away.

‘Come on, love,’ Ellen said again after a few moments’ pause to allow Gina to calm herself. ‘Let’s go back now. Mebbe Mum will be home and have some good news for me about the job at the Hall.’

Gina sighed dramatically and rose to her feet. ‘If that’s what you want …’ she murmured.

In silence they walked towards the field gate, brushing grass off their skirts.

As Gina lifted the loop that secured the five-bar gate to the post, Ellen suddenly exclaimed, ‘Oh, what’s this? There’s summat stuffed into the gap between the stones. Looks like a little bottle with … mebbe some kind of thread tied around the neck.’

She reached towards the dry-stone wall but, just as she had almost grasped the find, Gina hit her hand away with a loud slap.

‘Ow, that hurt. What did you do that for?’

‘Don’t touch it, Nell.’

‘What do you mean? I was only going to look, not drink it or anything.’ Ellen made to take it again.

Gina grabbed her sister’s wrist and held it away from the dark-coloured phial, the stopper of which was bound with a few strands of brown hair.

‘It’s not safe. I mean it, Nell. It’s … it looks like it’s … mebbe part of a spell,’ Gina said quietly. ‘You mustn’t pick it up or the spell could get to work on you … I’ve heard of such things.’

‘A spell? What, like a witch’s?’ Ellen tried to keep her voice light and shrug off her sister’s grasp, but Gina held on to her so tightly that Ellen realised she really meant what she said. In an instant the atmosphere became strange and foreboding.

‘Exactly. Just leave it right where it is. Forget you even saw it. It’s nowt to do with you.’

‘Gina, you’re scaring me. And what’s it got to do with you? How do you know all this?’

Gina said nothing but let go of Ellen’s arm. She knew it was safe to do so now.

‘Tell me!’

‘Because I put it there,’ Gina said defiantly.

Ellen opened her mouth to reply but found herself speechless. She looked into her sister’s violet eyes, so like her own, except now the expression in them was as hard as flint. She wanted to tell Gina to stop being silly, that this kind of trick wasn’t funny and she was spoiling their afternoon, but even as she thought this, a cloud passed before the sun, the bright May day grew instantly chilly and she shivered to see the change in Gina’s face as a shadow passed over it, her prettiness transformed. She looked dangerous. Worse, she looked unhinged.

Without another word, both girls passed through the gate and Gina placed the loop back over the post to secure it. Ellen avoided even a glance at the cleft in the wall. Gina strode determinedly off down the track towards the henhouses, scattering hens as she approached, while Ellen followed slowly, fearful of what she had seen and heard. It was like a bad daydream that had tainted the day.

When she reached the back door of Highview Cottage, Gina was already in the garden watering the herb bed from a heavy metal can, pointedly ignoring her, and Ellen lifted the latch and went inside alone, her mind buzzing with questions she knew better than to ask just yet.

Dora Arnold opened the back door to her home to be greeted with the smell of baking bread.

‘Hello, Mum. All right? I thought I’d get a loaf on as Mr Beveridge gave Gina and me the afternoon off,’ said Ellen, deliberately not quite telling the entire truth about the half-day holiday. She knew her mother worried that Gina would never come to any good with her poor attitude to work, and she didn’t want to stir up trouble now, with Dora looking so tired.

‘You’re a good lass, Nellie. And is that a fresh pot of tea under the cosy? Better and better …’

Dora pulled off her outdoor shoes and put on the sandals she wore around the house, sighing and groaning as she eased her tired feet and then her weary back.

‘Here, Mum.’ Ellen handed her mother a mug of copper-coloured tea with plenty of sugar in it. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense. Did Uncle Tom tell Mr Stellion I wanted to try out as his assistant in the garden?’

‘He asked Mr Stellion if he’d agree to give you a chance, yes. And he said … he would!’

‘Ooh, I’m that glad. Thank you, Mum. And thank Uncle Tom, too, won’t you?’

‘You can thank him yourself when you start tomorrow morning. As the job helping your dad is little more than a casual thing, I reckon you needn’t give formal notice to Albert Beveridge – they’ll still have Gina helping out and it won’t do her any harm to work a bit harder – but you might just want to go up to the house and mention it. It’d be only polite, like.’

‘I will. And I’m to start tomorrow! We can walk to Grindle Hall together of a morning. It’ll be fun.’

Dora smiled. ‘I don’t know about fun, lass. The gardening will be hard work, and Uncle Tom will expect you to make the same effort as if you weren’t his niece, but I’ll be glad of your company on the walk.’ She took a sip of her tea. ‘Where’s Gina?’

‘She was watering the garden earlier.’

‘I didn’t see her. Mebbe she’s gone off somewhere. She’ll be back at teatime, no doubt.’

‘I’ll just nip up to see Mr Beveridge now, Mum.’

As Ellen turned into the lane to go to the farmhouse, she looked for Gina over the hedge but there was no one in the garden. She remembered the frightening moment by the gate and that ugly, mad look on Gina’s face. All that talk about witches and spells had been horrible, but now the sun was shining again and, with the good news of her job raising her spirits, the unpleasantness of the incident was receding. Already it seemed like an absurd imagined moment, almost as if it was something she’d read about in a library book.

Ellen thought about her difficult younger sister. Gina could be so wilful and immature. They were very close in age, with Ellen only fifteen months the elder, and they were very alike in appearance, both with long dark brown hair and unusual violet-blue eyes. They were also identical in height and figure, being tall and strong looking, so that they were sometimes mistaken for each other around the village. However, one subtle difference was that Gina had an odd little birthmark behind her ear, hidden under her hair. It looked like a tiny crescent moon. Ellen had long thought it must be a family thing, because Uncle Tom had exactly the same birthmark on the inside of his forearm …

Yes, it was very odd about that mysterious little bottle in the wall by the gate. But Gina was given to saying fanciful things and getting worked up over nothing. Ellen had once heard their mother describe Gina as ‘highly strung’. She was certainly quick to anger and prone to moods. Very like their father, really … which was odd, as Gina and their dad were rarely at peace with each other. Mind, Philip wasn’t really at peace with anyone, though Gina bore the brunt of his ill temper.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, Philip Arnold came in sight as Ellen walked the turn in the lane and passed the sign that said ‘Highview Farm’. Jute, Mr Beveridge’s sheepdog, wandered over to greet her, circled round behind her as she approached as if gently rounding her up, then went back to sit in the shade.

‘Dad, hello.’

Philip was sweeping the path into the farmyard but stopped and rested on his broom. ‘What’s the news? Tom taking you on, is he?’

‘I’m to start tomorrow.’

‘Oh, aye? So I’m to lose my help to your Uncle Tom, am I?’

‘You could congratulate me, Dad. It’s a proper job with prospects. You’ll still have Gina, and the arrangement here was only helping out anyway.’

‘Ha, Gina’s taken up with whatever nonsense is in her head half the time. She doesn’t put in half the effort you do, and well you know it.’

‘Mebbe she will now, Dad.’

‘Hmm.’

Well, what did I expect? Dad’s never been an optimist, Ellen thought. Or generous.

‘And it’ll be better when I have a proper wage. You know Gina and me only earn a little bit here,’ she said, determined to jolly him along, hoping for the slightest evidence of his pleasure in her new opportunity. ‘You won’t miss me really, Dad. There’s Edward and Mr Beveridge, and he always brings in casuals for the shearing and that. And Mrs Beveridge likes to be in charge of the hens, with Gina to help, so you never have to see to them.’

‘Hens … bloomin’ useless birds: daft. They’re like sheep that way, but with wings.’

‘And eggs,’ laughed Ellen.

‘But just as keen to be dying of one thing or another.’ Philip didn’t smile.

‘Not your problem. I’m just going in to tell Mr and Mrs B about my job.’

‘Aye. It’s just her who’s in.’

Ellen went round the back of the farmhouse, knocked on the open door and stepped inside. Mrs Beveridge was standing at the kitchen table, wiping eggs with a damp cloth and placing them in a cardboard tray. Ellen told her about the gardening job at Grindle Hall.

‘Well, we’ll miss you, Ellen, no doubt about that, but our loss is Mr Stellion’s gain. And your Uncle Tom’s. You’re a good worker and deserve a more formal job, like, after all this time, mebbe with a bit of training.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Beveridge.’

‘And our Edward’ll be sorry not to see you about the place, too, though you’ll always be at the end of the lane.’

Ellen smiled. ‘Of course. We’re all pleased to see Ed whenever he wants to drop by.’

‘Here, take this for your pay, and there’s a bit extra as thanks for your efforts. And I’ve a few cracked eggs here I won’t be able to sell, so you can have those for your mum, if she’d like them.’

‘She would, I’m sure. Thank you, Mrs Beveridge. And thanks for the pay. My regards and thanks to Mr Beveridge … and to Ed, too.’

‘I’ll tell them you said so, love.’

As Ellen walked out across the yard, carefully carrying the tray of eggs, she saw her father glance her way then disappear behind the hay barn. He was avoiding her, seemingly resentful of her new job – or maybe of her working with Uncle Tom. She sighed: nothing to do with her. Dad and Uncle Tom had never got on well. Mum was on good terms with her brother-in-law, though, and of course they saw a lot of each other, both working up at the Hall.

When she’d finished watering the herbs, Gina went back to the field where she and Ellen had lain in the sun earlier. At the gate she stopped to take the little phial from the recess, thinking she couldn’t risk her sister coming back to investigate it. She held it tightly in her clenched fist and wished with all her heart that the spell she had conjured was real and would work. She hoped to feel something happening, experience a sign that powerful forces were at work – she was sure she’d felt the presence of some kind of power when she’d cast the spell in the bedroom she shared with Ellen earlier that afternoon – but the phial just looked like an ordinary tiny glass medicine bottle in which she’d placed a drop of blood from a pricked finger, the stopper bound round with a few strands of hair she’d combed out of her hairbrush. The exact incantation she’d recited – what a word that was: in-can-ta-tion; she said it aloud, liking the sound – was forgotten now, and the shabby little volume she’d filched from a second-hand bookstall and in which she’d discovered the so-called spell was hidden in her clothes drawer and not to hand. She’d moved the phial now, so she was certain the spell had lost its power.

She sat down and leaned against the irregular and uncomfortable wall to brood, still clutching the bottle.

Where was her life going? When would she ever leave this dreary little place high on the Lancashire fells? How would she get away? If only she had some idea of how her life would unfold, and some hope of when anything – anything at all – would happen to improve it. She could bear it if only she knew the end was in sight. Sometimes, on a shopping trip to Clitheroe or even very occasionally to Blackburn or Preston, she saw newspapers and a glimpse of a whole world of events that no one in Little Grindle even knew about – or worse, even cared about. It felt as if time had stopped decades ago in the village; it was certainly no place for a young woman of seventeen with her sights set on a new and entirely different sort of life.

‘Come on now, think!’ she chivvied herself aloud.

Gina hadn’t hung around for her mother’s return to learn the news about the gardening job at the Hall; she knew Ellen would be offered it. And Gina herself would be stuck with her father at the farm!

Miserable old sod. It’s a wonder Mum puts up with him. I wouldn’t. Nell’s always been his favourite and now I’ll be left to deal with him and his anger all day. As if I don’t already have to endure the worst of his shouting and snarling, and his lashing out.

She rubbed the top of her arm where there was a greenish bruise, then looked at the phial in the palm of her hand. That would have dealt with him if he’d found it and opened it … if the spell were real. Which, a part of her admitted, it probably wasn’t. They’d all be better off without him, and his misery and bad temper rising up like a storm cloud on a May day. Dora could marry Tom – they were well suited and obviously fond of each other – and then they’d all go to live at Tom’s cottage at the gate of Grindle Hall, and who knew what opportunities would come Gina’s way when she practically lived at the Hall? The Stellions sometimes had guests to stay: people who came from all over the north, maybe even from Manchester. Once there had been talk of some visitors from London!

Well, the stupid spell – and all the fantasies she’d dreamed up around it – didn’t look like it would get her to the Hall. She’d just have to think of something else. One thing was for certain: she was not going to stay in this little backwater for ever, working until she dropped, while her dreams of something better faded until they were all but forgotten. As she herself would be eventually if she stayed in the village. There had to be a way forward.

She sat thinking and dreaming, clutching the tiny bottle in her hands. Eventually … of course! She’d already thought of the first move, it was just the way of bringing it about that was wrong. With a shrug of contempt for her own silliness, she tossed the phial over the wall into the adjoining field. She was done with stupid spells! She needn’t even have bothered to pinch that grubby old book.

Nell was going to work at the Hall, even if it was only in the garden. Mum already worked there and, though she went only to clean and help out, the Stellions knew who she was and noticed her efforts. Uncle Tom had long worked there as the gardener, of course. So Gina was already well placed to bag the next job that came up. Secure a position at Grindle Hall and the rest would surely follow.

Oh, but how long would it be before a vacancy arose? Life was passing her by, and she couldn’t wait even a day longer than she had to. And what if there was a job, but someone else was recommended to Mr Stellion? The other people working there must have family who would be interested, and possibly favoured over herself.

Nell had been chosen ahead of her this time, after all. No one had even mentioned the gardening job to her! She felt another surge of anger about that, but her rising temper muddied her thinking and she closed her eyes and breathed deeply until she was calm again.

Eventually she rose stiffly to her feet, rubbing her spine where the uneven stones of the wall had pressed in. She pulled back her shoulders and lifted her head. Her mind was made up, her plan was beginning to form, and she knew exactly what her first move was to be.

CHAPTER TWO

‘MUM SAID I’D probably find you here. Thank you for recommending me for this job, Uncle Tom.’ Ellen hovered in the doorway of the ornate greenhouse.

The garden at Grindle Hall was huge – or at least it seemed so to Ellen, when compared to the neat little plot behind Highview Cottage. Grindle Hall’s garden was divided up by hedges and walls with doors or gates in them, and each part was dedicated to growing different plants or seemed to have a different purpose. Ellen had arrived in good time to have a sneaky look round before anyone but her uncle was likely to be found outside.

Those sections nearest the front and back of the house were the grandest, with lawns and long flower borders. To one side was an area with about twenty of the elaborately fashioned bushes that Ellen was keen to learn to cut. At the side nearer the kitchen were vegetable beds, cold frames, and this huge greenhouse with a white-painted iron frame and complicated-looking hinges and cogs with winding handles to open various windows. Then there were potting sheds and storage sheds. It was like a tiny village of garden buildings but peopled only by Uncle Tom and Ellen herself, so far as she could see. Suddenly she felt nervous. Was this job as Uncle Tom’s assistant going to be too much for her? She knew next to nothing and there was such a lot of garden!

How pleased she was to see the familiar tall, broad figure of her uncle in his corduroy breeches, tweed waistcoat and checked flat cap. Tom Arnold looked up from his wheelbarrow of compost and smiled, creasing up the laughter lines round his blue eyes.

‘Nell, good to see you, lass, and so prompt, too. I’m right glad to have you come to work for me. Your mum says you’re a reliable lass when it comes to responsibility, and I know you’re a cheerful and honest one, of course. Plus, I gather from Mr Beveridge, who I see down at the Lamb and Flag, that you’re a hard worker. I didn’t tell him I was looking to poach you from him, though.’ He winked at her. ‘I reckon you’ll do just fine. Mr Stellion likes to get to know his workers and you’re to go up to the house at eleven o’clock. Oh, don’t look so worried. I’ll go with you,’ Tom reassured her. ‘In the meantime, you can get stuck in. Best to learn on the job than try to remember a lot of stuff all at once. We’ve these tomato plants to pot on. I’ll show you how, and then you can do the rest.’

‘Yes, Uncle Tom.’

‘Here, I got you these. I didn’t think you’d have brought any, and you’ll need them.’ He handed her a paper bag.

Ellen took it and pulled out a pair of leather gardening gloves. ‘My, but they’re good ’uns. Thank you, Uncle Tom,’ she beamed, putting on the gloves and holding up her hands to admire the fit. ‘Just right.’

‘And I think you should call me “Mr Arnold” while we’re working side by side. It’s more professional, like. Don’t want the others to think I’m favouring you.’

‘Others? Oh, I thought it was just us in the garden.’

‘It is, Nell, and we’ve our work cut out to keep it looking good. I meant those employed here at the Hall, though Mr and Mrs Stellion have hardly any staff in the house now either. They tend to live a quiet kind of life these days. It’s livelier when their son and daughter are home. We need to keep up the old standards, though.’

‘Yes … Mr Arnold,’ Nell replied. ‘Now, what do you want me to do with these tomato plants …?’

Gina always found it easy to get out of her work on the farm, mainly by just not turning up to do it. The job was only vaguely defined and casual, the pay low, and she had long ago decided she would only work when it suited her. She’d watched Dora and Ellen set off up the lane to Grindle Hall in the early morning sunshine.

‘I’ll tidy up the kitchen, mebbe take the carpet sweeper through the sitting room,’ she’d said to Dora as her mother and sister left. ‘I’ll go along then.’ She did not specify where she’d be going along to.

‘You do that, love, but don’t keep Nancy Beveridge waiting. I know she likes those eggs collected early. Your dad’s been gone up there a while.’

Gina waved Dora and Ellen off, and promptly went to put another slice of bread to toast, thinking over her plan as she waited for the bread to brown. She spread it thinly with butter – Highview was not a dairy farm, so butter had to be bought from the village shop, and even with Gina, old habits of wartime rationing died hard – but then heaped the toast with Dora’s homemade raspberry jam. The supply of this delicious jam was running low now, and Philip had decreed it was to be eked out as a Sunday-only treat, but Gina didn’t care to be denied, especially by her father. There was no one here to see her; she would enjoy it while she could.

When she’d eaten this second breakfast, she rinsed the evidence of the jam off the plate, set it on the draining rack, then tied her hair back with a cotton scarf of the identical blue to the one Nell was wearing this morning, and which was actually another of Nell’s scarves made from the same fabric in her favourite colour. Nell was adept at cutting up old shirts and turning the fabric into pretty little things she could wear or use, and which Gina felt free to borrow without permission. Then Gina locked the cottage door, put the key behind the boot scraper, and set off up the lane just as Dora and Ellen had done half an hour earlier.

Grindle Hall lay to one side of the village of Little Grindle. The big house was a huge part of the village and of village life, and yet apart from it and, in both senses, above it. The lane climbed uphill, and soon Gina came to the imposing central gates of elaborately curled metal between tall stone pillars topped with perching eagles. She let herself in the little gate to the side and walked past the Lodge, which was where her uncle, Tom Arnold, lived.

From nothing more than nosiness she peered through his sitting-room window. There was his armchair, with the cushion Dora had made him as a Christmas present showing the indentation of his back, and a low table beside it on which was a small pile of books. Tom was like Nell – a real bookworm. Although he lived alone, Tom’s sitting room looked cosy, neat and cheerful, like Tom himself.

Lucky Nell, going to work with him. Still, there were other ways of getting on, and Nell would probably want to stay here gardening for the rest of her life. Gina, still cross at not even being offered the chance of the job, took a few deep breaths and deliberately replaced her feeling of discontent with pity: poor Nell, this would probably be as far as she ever got in life.

Keeping a lookout for her relatives, Gina made for the side of the house where the kitchen was. She’d been to Grindle Hall on several occasions before – Mr Stellion used to host the big annual village events – and she had taken care to do a little private exploration to see what was where. You never knew when such knowledge would come in useful.

There was a chip basket of spinach on the ground beside the back door. Her confidence bolstered by this piece of luck, Gina picked it up and, without even hesitating, knocked and entered the kitchen.

The cook turned and saw the young woman dressed in breeches, a sleeveless pullover over a striped shirt and her hair tied back with a blue scarf.

‘Good morning, Ellen Arnold,’ she said. ‘I heard you were starting work in the garden today.’

Better and better, Gina thought. She hadn’t even had to explain herself to the cook, whose name she knew to be Mrs Bassett.

‘Good morning, Mrs Bassett,’ Gina replied. ‘I’ve brought you this spinach.’

‘Thank you. Just take it through to the scullery, there’s a good lass.’ Mrs Bassett indicated the inner door, which led to a corridor. ‘Next down on the left.’

‘Yes, Mrs Bassett,’ said Gina, hardly able to believe her luck. She found the right place immediately and left the basket of spinach on the draining board. Then she crept back to the kitchen, looked around to make sure there was no one else in sight, and watched through the gap between the doorjamb and the partially open door until she saw the cook go into what might be a pantry.

Immediately, Gina rushed across to the back door, opened it, called out, ‘Bye, Mrs Bassett,’ as if she were leaving, then closed it noisily and ran as quietly as she could across to the inner door once more and into the corridor. At the far end she’d already noticed a steep uncarpeted staircase, and she took the stairs two at a time.

At the top of the stairs there was a door covered in green fabric with fancy brass-headed nails holding it in place. Gina inched the door open and peeped through the gap: no one in sight. She swallowed nervously. It had been easy to get this far, and luck had been on her side, but the next bit was going to be altogether riskier. She had only a vague plan to seek out Mr or Mrs Stellion – she didn’t really mind which one she encountered, but there was no point dealing with lesser folk, and she certainly wanted to avoid seeing Mrs Thwaite, the housekeeper – and then just ask for a job. She’d already decided she’d do anything – well, almost – and there must be plenty of work in a house this size.

She recognised the gloomy entrance hall with its dark wood panelling and dreary portraits. She could hear voices coming from upstairs and then the sound of a vacuum cleaner. It must be Mum, another person Gina didn’t want to encounter: there would be no pulling the wool over her eyes.

What to do? Think, Gina!

Where would the Stellions be at this hour of the morning? Probably in the morning room. And where would the morning room be but on the east side where it would catch the early sun. Gina looked at the doors off the hall and also saw corridors leading to right and left. She chose the left, which she decided was east, and went silently down it on the soft, dark carpet. She could see there were four doors, one of which, further down, was open, but all was totally silent.

Suddenly a high-pitched and loud barking erupted, and Gina literally leaped in shock, her heart pounding. A little brown dog, no more than a puppy, raced to greet her, its spaniel ears flying and its short stumpy tail wagging madly. Gina let out a long breath of relief. Oh, thank goodness, this was no fierce guard dog, but rather a very soft dog indeed.

‘Hello, you funny little fella,’ Gina whispered, bending down and patting the silky head. A revised plan was already forming in her mind.

‘Coco,’ trilled a woman’s voice faintly from the open room further down. ‘Coco, come to Mummy.’

Gina saw she was standing outside a closed door. She opened it, glanced in the thankfully empty room, silently shooed the puppy in with the aid of her foot and crept in after it, closing the door behind her.

‘Right, Coco, you and me are going to wait here a couple of minutes and then we’ll go and find Mrs Stellion,’ Gina said. ‘All you have to do is be quiet.’

Coco gave a little yelp of agreement and circled Gina’s feet a few times, the tail still wagging.

‘Shush, you daft creature.’ Gina looked around. The room was a little sitting room with deep sofas and heavy curtains at the long window.

Gina picked up the puppy and he snuggled under her chin, settling in her arms quite happily. She went to stand behind the curtains in case someone should enter the room without warning. It would be enough of a hiding place if they did no more than glance about.

Gina could hear the woman calling the dog and evidently Coco knew his name as he was listening, then gave a little bark. The voice became louder as the woman approached up the corridor … then faded and finally ceased. Gina held her breath, her stomach churning. It would be difficult to concoct any believable story to explain why she was hiding in this room holding the missing puppy, although Mrs Stellion would be unlikely to believe he’d managed to secrete himself behind a closed door. If only he would be quiet for a few minutes …

On a side table next to one of the sofas was a tray with a biscuit barrel on it. Gina, still holding the puppy, went across, grabbed it and retreated behind the curtain again, placing the tin on the window ledge and removing the lid with one hand.

‘Rich tea … well, I reckon at least they won’t do you any harm,’ she whispered, giving one to the dog.

Coco had eaten three rich tea biscuits by the time Gina decided she was ready to return the lost puppy to its owner.

‘Come on, let’s wipe those crumbs off your whiskers. Our secret, eh?’ she murmured, carefully removing all evidence of their presence in the room. She liked to think that covering her tracks was a lesson she’d learned long ago.

She opened the door, looked up and down the corridor, then set off towards where she’d first heard the voice, holding the squirming puppy tightly. The door to this room was still open and Mrs Stellion, a wispy-looking woman with fair greying hair, was sitting back in an armchair with her eyes closed. Gina knocked and Mrs Stellion opened her eyes and straightened up. She didn’t look at all put out to see a stranger in her house and evidently jumped to all the conclusions Gina hoped she would.

‘Hello,’ she smiled. ‘I see you’ve brought Coco back to me.’

‘Good morning, ma’am,’ said Gina. ‘I saw the little fella taking himself off for a walk. I reckoned he shouldn’t be out on his own.’

Edith Stellion held out her arms and Gina lowered the dog into them.

‘Oh, thank you. Quite right. But outside, you say? How on earth can he have got outside, I wonder.’

As well you might. Gina didn’t volunteer an answer.

‘Naughty boy, wandering off like that.’ The puppy was wagging his tail again and licking his mistress’s face. She, in turn, was kissing his little head so that the puppy probably thought he was anything but naughty. ‘Well, never mind, he’s back now. Thank you, my dear. I take it you’re the new girl working for Tom Arnold.’

‘No, Mrs Stellion, ma’am, that’s my sister. I’d just come over to give her a message from our dad and then I saw the puppy.’ As a look of puzzlement passed over the lady’s face Gina decided to move the conversation on. ‘Right sweet little fella. I love dogs.’ She adopted a sad expression. ‘We had one ourselves until recently, but he died and I don’t half miss him.’

‘Oh, I am sorry. I can imagine that you would.’

So can I. There was not a word of truth in this story, but it had captured Mrs Stellion’s imagination and sympathy.

‘It’s good of you to bring Coco safely back to me. I can see you’ve got a way with dogs, young lady, and he’s taken a liking to you.’

Gina beamed. ‘Oh, he’s lovely, ma’am. If I had another dog I’d want one just like him. Spaniels are so … intelligent.’

‘I agree.’ Mrs Stellion turned to the puppy. ‘Who’s the cleverest boy, then? Who’s Mummy’s little darling?’ Clearly she doted on the puppy; she was probably a bit bored and lonely in this big house, Gina thought.

‘My dear, what is your name?’

‘Georgina Arnold. I’m called Gina.’

‘Then I shall call you Gina, too. And what do you do, Gina, when you’re not being a messenger for your father and rescuing lost puppies? Do you have to rush away to your place of work now?’

‘Ah, no, that’s the thing, ma’am,’ said Gina, looking regretful. ‘I really wanted to work here in the garden with my uncle Tom Arnold but my sister, Ellen, was given the job just because she’s the oldest. Now I’m at a bit of a loose end, running messages and occasionally helping out at Highview Farm if they’re really busy, which they’re not just now.’

‘Well, we can’t have a clever girl like you wasting away without a suitable opportunity,’ said Mrs Stellion. She indicated the armchair next to her. ‘Do sit down and let’s think what we can do for you.’

‘Thank you, ma’am.’

Mrs Stellion gently patted her forehead, as if it hurt her to think too deeply. ‘How would you like to come here and take Coco for his walk? I’m not much of a walker and he’s a lively boy who’d benefit from running off some excess energy. I’d want you to clean him up afterwards, of course, make my lovely boy all pretty and respectable,’ she said, cuddling the dog until he struggled, escaped from her knee and came to sniff around Gina’s well-worn lace-up shoes.

Gina didn’t think that sounded like much of a job, but it had all the advantages she’d come here looking for. She would have a foot in the door at the Hall, and a job that was a lot easier than cleaning out those smelly old hens at Highview Farm, and all the other horrible jobs she did for the Beveridges. Who knew where this chance would lead? But one thing was for certain: it would lead somewhere. She was quite decided on that.

‘I would pay you for your time, of course,’ Mrs Stellion said, obviously thinking Gina was silent because she was wondering if she were to be paid and was too shy to ask. She went on to name a sum slightly greater than Gina was earning at the farm. That settled it: no need to go back there. ‘And maybe, if that works out, there could be other little jobs for you to do for me.’

‘That sounds grand, thank you, Mrs Stellion. When would you like me to start?’

‘Well, why not now? It’s a lovely day for a walk and Coco is getting a little fidgety. His lead is hanging in the boot room next to the hall. Let me show you …’

They reached the hall, Mrs Stellion moving slowly, the dog running ahead of them and then back again, just as the door at the rear – through which Gina had entered uninvited less than an hour earlier – opened, and Tom and Ellen appeared.

‘Good heavens,’ said Tom, seeing Gina looking even more like Ellen than usual today. ‘That is … good morning, Mrs Stellion.’ Even as he spoke, his questioning eyes were on Gina.

Ellen was looking puzzled and mouthing, What are you doing here? but Gina avoided noticing.

‘Good morning, Mr Arnold. And Miss Ellen Arnold, I take it?’ Mrs Stellion offered Ellen a rather weak handshake. ‘I gather you’re something of a gardening expert and we’re fortunate to have you assisting your uncle.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Stellion. I’m no expert, though it’s kind of you to say. But I’ll do my best.’

‘Then we’re doubly blessed this morning,’ enthused Mrs Stellion, ‘because Gina is also starting work here. I know she’s going to be a great help to me with Coco.’

Gina smiled broadly at Ellen and Tom, who looked at each other, utterly nonplussed.

‘Er, that’s nice,’ said Tom eventually. ‘Well, we’d best be getting along to Mr Stellion, who’s expecting us. Good day to you, Mrs Stellion.’

‘Good day, Mr Arnold … Ellen.’

Tom and Ellen made for the corridor on the right and Gina followed Mrs Stellion towards the boot room. Ellen turned back as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes, as Gina knew she would, and Gina gave her a huge grin and winked.

At noon, Mrs Bassett provided sandwiches for Tom, and now for Ellen too, and on such a fine day they ate them and drank their tea sitting outside in the sun. They’d already discussed the surprise of seeing Gina earlier, and were equally at a loss to know what could have happened.

‘I’m just worried that she’s up to no good,’ confided Ellen. ‘I don’t want to be mean, but she’s never done owt much at the farm if she could avoid it. In fact she’s always got an excuse to avoid it. Now, on the day I start work here, she turns up indoors and chatting to Mrs Stellion like they’re best friends.’

‘Well, Mrs Stellion is a good-hearted woman, Nell, not one to be standoffish, but she’s also someone who knows what she wants. If she’s hired Gina to help with her dog, then she’ll expect her to make a thorough job of it. It won’t do to be skiving off. And Mr Stellion was just as welcoming to you as Missis was to Gina.’

‘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.

‘Morning, Dora … Nell.’

‘Morning, Tom.’

‘Morning, Mr Arnold.’ Ellen beamed at remembering to be formal, even though all those present were family. She was learning already that appearances were important at the Hall.

‘You ready to get started, Nell? You could take over here, clearing up these dropped blooms and generally tidying the drive while I go and see to the lawn mower. Be sure to get up all these brown flower heads, pull out any weeds from the gravel and then just rake it over lightly.’

‘Of course, Mr Arnold,’ Ellen smiled willingly. She took off her old Fair Isle cardigan and hung it over the handles of the wheelbarrow. Her gardening gloves were in her bag – her school satchel, which was proving useful years after she’d left school – because she’d proudly taken them home to show her parents. In the end, only Dora had admired them.

‘Thank you, Nell. I’ll come and see how you’re getting on in a bit.’

He and Dora moved on towards the house.

‘You all right, love?’ asked Tom when they were out of Ellen’s hearing. ‘Only you’re looking a bit tired, like.’

‘Aye, I am a bit weary,’ said Dora. ‘I’ll be all right once I get polishing.’

Tom smiled. ‘Have you time to tell me about it while I see to the lawn mower?’

‘Five minutes then, but we’ll stay outside. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea: you and me in the shed together.’

Tom threw back his head and laughed. ‘Aye, lass, that would never do.’

They walked round to what Ellen had thought yesterday looked like a little village of garden outbuildings and Tom opened the big shed and wheeled out the lawn mower. Then he and Dora sat down behind it on a couple of large upturned plant pots, where they could see anyone approaching.

‘What’s the matter? Is it that brother of mine?’

‘Well, I can hardly blame him for worrying,’ said Dora, loyally. She told Tom the sorry tale of the dead sheep and lambs.

‘So he was fretting and worriting all night? I can imagine. Not a thought that you might need a good night’s sleep before another day’s work. Selfish bugger. Typical: if he’s got summat on his mind he makes sure everyone else shares the worry.’

This seemed to Dora a fair summary of Philip’s attitude throughout their marriage, and he was getting worse as he grew older. She was too tired to find any loyal words to contradict Tom. Suddenly tears sprang to her eyes and she brushed them away hastily before he saw and misunderstood.

‘Hey, chin up, lass,’ he said. ‘I’d be willing to bet there’s no more dead sheep today and the whole business will remain a mystery until everyone forgets about it.’

‘Aye, I’m hoping so.’

‘And Phil’ll go on about it for a few days, just to eke out the bad news, like, and then even he will have to shut up.’

Dora gave a watery smile. This also was a pretty accurate account of the pattern of Phil’s gloomy moods.

‘You never know, he might even remember he has two beautiful daughters – in addition to his remarkably fine wife – and be glad for them about their new jobs. It’ll do him no harm to think of summat beyond himself.’

‘You’re right, of course, Tom, though I know there is cause to be anxious about the sheep, with everyone fearing foot and mouth these days. Phil takes his work at the farm very seriously – of course he does – but if it wasn’t the flock it’d be summat else causing him fretting or fury, and often it’s a trifling matter. It’s hard work bearing the weight of all his pessimism, and the girls shouldn’t have their home life cast under a black cloud and be tiptoeing round their father’s ill temper all the time. I worry they’ll be off at the first opportunity – and I could hardly blame them – and then it’ll just be me trying to cope with Phil alone. I don’t know if I’d be able to manage. Sometimes it’s like he’s sucking all the joy out of my life.’

Tom reached out and took Dora’s hand where it rested in her lap, and she didn’t resist when he raised it to his lips and gently kissed the back of it.

‘Oh, Dora,’ he murmured, ‘if only—’

‘—it had been different,’ she finished. ‘But it is what it is, lad, and I’d best get on and tackle that sitting room before Mr and Mrs S want to be in there.’ Reluctantly she pulled her hand away, stood up, brushed off the seat of her thin coat and straightened her shoulders. She never allowed herself more than a minute or two alone with Tom, yet she relished that brief time as a thirsty insect might devour tiny drops of water on a petal. She must never look for more than that, she knew; she could not trust herself.

‘And I’d best oil this beast and make the first cut of the season,’ said Tom, also getting to his feet but not taking his eyes off Dora.

‘How did Nell do yesterday?’ she asked, stepping away and adopting the tone of Mrs Arnold, the Hall’s reliable domestic. ‘She seemed to think it went all right.’

‘It’s early days but I think she’ll be grand,’ said Tom Arnold, the gardener. ‘Oh, but, lass, we need to be extra careful with both the girls here,’ he added quietly.

‘Huh, Gina! I don’t know what she’s playing at, but I’ve had a word about the kind of behaviour I expect – or rather, don’t expect. I don’t want her giving the Arnolds a bad name. We have our reputations to think of,’ said Dora pointedly, then smiled and turned for the house.

‘As if I’m not thinking of your reputation every day,’ Tom murmured, watching her go. ‘Why else would I be feeling this way about you and doing nowt about it?’

Gina pedalled down the drive of Grindle Hall. Ahead she could see her sister bending over a pile of dead flower heads she had raked together.

‘Morning again, Nell,’ Gina called as she passed, and managed, with a well-timed kick, to tip the wheelbarrow onto its side, spilling the soggy brown debris of spent flowers onto Nell and the gravel, and casting her cardigan and satchel onto the ground. ‘Whoops, sorry!’ Gina called as she rode on, not looking back.

She continued round behind the kitchen and left the bicycle in one of the outbuildings. Then she went into the house via the kitchen door. Even Gina knew it wasn’t her place to use the front door when she arrived, though already she dreamed of a time when it would be. As she’d said to Ellen, you have to dream big dreams if you want to get on in life. And now she had this strange, new and rather frightening power that she didn’t yet understand. It couldn’t just be a coincidence that the sheep had died, could it? Gina questioned herself once again and came to the same disturbing conclusion: she had killed the sheep by mistake. No one need ever suspect, so her secret was safe. She had already resolved to be more careful in future.

Mrs Bassett was at the kitchen table, rolling out pastry.

‘Good morning, Mrs Bassett,’ said Gina.

The cook looked up. ‘Good morning, Ellen Arnold. Would you get me some taters, please, and I think there’s a bit of salad ready under those cloches. Mr Arnold will show you.’

‘Oh, I’m not Ellen,’ said Gina, laughing, but politely. ‘I’m Georgina.’

Mrs Bassett looked puzzled. ‘But I thought your name was Ellen. Aren’t you working in the garden with Tom Arnold?’

‘Oh, no. The garden’s nowt to do with me, Mrs Bassett. I’m working for Mrs Stellion,’ said Gina, and went through the door into the corridor, then up the stairs to the green door and on into the hall, amused at leaving the poor woman plainly confused.

She quickly collected Coco’s lead from the boot room and then went to find Mrs Stellion and her puppy in the morning room, where she’d met the lady the previous day.

See, only one day in, and already you’re going about your business in the house quite happily.

When she thought of the previous day and how Nell and Uncle Tom had come bowing and scraping up the back stairs, she almost laughed aloud.

She knocked on the closed door, heard the call to enter, and in an instant the little dog was yapping and panting around her feet. He was a bonny young fella and it would be easy to become fond of him, she decided, and if she meant to make herself indispensable, Coco could be a real asset. She bent to greet him with almost equal enthusiasm.

‘Gina, good morning,’ said Mrs Stellion. ‘How prompt you are for Coco’s walk. I do like people who are reliable. You’ve even got his lead handy. Now, if you walk him around the garden for twenty minutes, clean his feet, then back up here for biscuits, that will be fine.’

‘Yes, Mrs Stellion,’ said Gina, hoping there would indeed be biscuits, though she suspected Mrs Stellion meant for the dog.

She fastened the lead on the puppy’s collar and walked him down to the hall, then slipped out through the front door and down the steps to the gravel. This was, after all, Coco’s home, even if it wasn’t hers.

She led him round the house to the back, meandering in and out of the different parts of the garden, opening doors and gates to see what was what, memorising which areas were most suitable for the dog and which were of more interest to herself. When they got to the back they played a while on the grass with a stick Gina had found.

Soon Tom appeared wheeling a gigantic green lawn mower.

‘Hello, Uncle Tom,’ Gina called.

‘All right, lass? Looks like that dog needs a ball to play with.’

‘You’re right. I don’t know if he’s got one. I’ll have to ask Mrs Stellion.’ She laughed at the idea of Mrs Stellion running about on the grass throwing a ball for the energetic puppy. Of course, that was the very reason she was here.

Tom bent to fondle the puppy’s ears and he barked delightedly, loving the attention. ‘Nice little dog,’ Tom said. ‘I may know where there’s summat he can play with. Come and find me later.’

‘Thank you, Uncle Tom,’ said Gina, and scampered after Coco, who was now heading for the flowerbed. ‘Coco, come here, you little beggar …’

Tom watched her go. In some ways she resembled the carefree and undisciplined puppy, he thought. Gina was all right, but not steady like Nell. He had to admire the way she’d got herself this dog-walking job, though. However she’d managed it, it had been fast work. He made a mental note not to underestimate his niece Gina.

Edith Stellion looked out of the morning-room window at Coco playing with the stick the Arnold girl had found for him. Her husband, George, came to stand beside her and they watched together in silence. George glanced at his wife and saw that she was smiling at the antics of her little dog running around with the new girl – what was her name? Not Ellen … Gina? – but at the same time there was sadness in her eyes. He knew what she was thinking.

‘She’d have been about that age now, wouldn’t she?’ he said. ‘Clarissa.’

Edith nodded. ‘Seventeen next week.’

‘Of course.’

They stood quietly watching for a few more minutes.

‘Looks like Coco is going to be a handful, Edith,’ said George. ‘Are you sure such a lively puppy was a good idea?’

‘No,’ laughed Edith, throwing off her sadness at the thought of their little daughter who had died long ago, ‘but he’s very sweet-natured and amusing, and if Gina Arnold is taking him out most days, then I think he’ll not be too boisterous for me.’

‘Hmm …’

‘She can help me with his obedience training. And it’s nice to have a young face about the place, don’t you think?’

‘I agree. I know it’s a bit quiet for you when I’m out on business, and with Diana and James away now most of the time, though I admit to being confused which of the Arnold girls is which. Suddenly there’s two of them here, and at first glance they do look surprisingly alike.’

‘They do indeed, though I think we’ll all soon learn. Mrs Thwaite says Mrs Bassett was all at sea about them earlier.’ They exchanged amused glances.

‘Mrs Bassett is a dear, and a wonderful cook,’ said George, then lowered his voice, ‘but not especially clever in other regards.’

Edith was thinking. ‘George, I know it’s early days, but if Gina Arnold works out well with Coco, you wouldn’t mind if I gave her a few other little tasks to do for me, would you?’

‘No, darling, if you think she’s the right person. What have you in mind?’

‘Oh, just keeping me company, really. It’s a big effort to go out if I’ve got one of my headaches or I’m in a sad mood.’ She sighed. ‘I can hardly ask Mrs Thwaite, can I?’

‘Of course not.’ George thought of the elderly and humourless housekeeper. She had been at the Hall for several years and, really, with Diana and James in London much of the time, there was little for her to do most weeks. She was only kept on out of kindness because she was a widow, but Edith had never been especially fond of the prickly woman. ‘But Gina Arnold – I’m assuming she’s a village girl through and through, if she’s anything like her sister. Though of course their mother is Dora, and she has her own dignity, for all she’s had very few advantages, nor, I imagine, lived anywhere but Little Grindle. But do you really think Gina Arnold would be the kind of young woman to amuse you when you’re feeling low?’

‘Ah,’ said Edith. ‘There you have me. But I think I might find out as time goes on. I suspect that a lively, reliable and good-natured girl about the place will probably do me no end of good.’

Ellen had had a trying day. After Gina had knocked over the barrow, she’d had to shovel up all the dead flowers and the weeds again, and then there’d been a sudden shower of rain while she was tying up some roses and she’d got uncomfortably wet. Now, this afternoon, Gina was queening about on the lawn, playing with the puppy while she, Ellen, was standing on a plank in the damp herbaceous border next to it, weeding with a long hoe.

Coco came snuffling round to see what she was doing and, instead of calling him away, Gina encouraged him to make a nuisance of himself.

‘Can’t you just go away while I’m working here?’ Ellen said eventually.

‘Are you talking to me or the dog?’ Gina asked innocently.

‘Well, the blessed dog, obviously,’ Ellen snapped. ‘I wouldn’t expect an intelligent reply from you.’

‘No need to adopt a tone,’ said Gina. ‘I’m just doing my job, same as you.’

‘Job! What kind of a job is it, for goodness’ sake, gallivanting around with a puppy?’

‘Same as yours. You answer to Uncle Tom and I answer to Mrs Stellion, so I reckon that makes it a proper job, Nell, so you can get down off your high horse.’

Ellen bit back her retort and took a deep breath. Surely Gina and the dog wouldn’t be out here for long. She’d just ignore them. But it proved hard to ignore a mischievous and playful puppy when he started chewing the gloves Ellen had taken off and left on the newly cut grass because her hands were hot. Gina just stood watching and giggling.

‘Just go, can’t you, Gina? Why do you have to play here?’

‘All right, we’re going. No need to get all worked up. We’ve enough of that at home with Dad,’ she said. ‘Come on, Coco …’ She fastened his lead back on his collar. ‘We’ve got the rest of the garden to play in, haven’t we, boy? Let’s go and see how those strawberries are getting on.’

‘Don’t you dare let Coco go among those strawberry plants,’ said Ellen. ‘He’ll only wee on them and ruin them.’

‘I was only joking, Nell. You should see your face, though,’ said Gina, and, laughing loudly, led the puppy away.

‘How did you get on?’ asked Tom when Ellen had finished a good area of the border and come back to the sheds for a cup of tea.

‘All right, I suppose. I’ve done about a third, but I could have managed better without Gina and that dog messing about round me.’ Ellen wasn’t a habitual taleteller but she didn’t want to have to put up with Gina and Coco every morning and afternoon. Gina had a cruel streak and knew instinctively how to wind people up.

‘I’ll have a word,’ said Tom.

Ellen hoped that would be the end of the matter. Both girls liked and respected Uncle Tom, and even Gina would do as he asked. But Ellen felt uneasy about having Gina around at the Hall, as if Gina had somehow pushed into her life, which was unfair when she considered that both had started working there on the same day. Maybe it was the suddenness of Gina coming here that was unsettling. Ellen had to admit that she hadn’t felt quite at ease since Gina had slapped her hand away from that little bottle hidden in the wall and then started talking some rubbish about witches’ spells. It was hard to forget about that and the mad look she’d seen on Gina’s face. Despite what Gina had said the previous night, she couldn’t really believe she’d heard the last of it.

CHAPTER FOUR

‘NELL, YOU’VE GOT a visitor,’ Tom announced.

Ellen looked up from pricking out seedlings on the greenhouse bench. It was hot behind the glass in late May; she had her sleeves rolled up and was feeling rather clammy.

‘Ed! What a nice surprise.’ She brushed a strand of hair away from her flushed face with her forearm. ‘We haven’t seen you at the cottage for a week or two. Is everything all right?’ She put down her dibber and wiped the soil off her hands on an old towel.

‘I won’t keep you long, Nell; just wanted to say hello as I was here anyway.’ Edward Beveridge turned to Tom. ‘If that’s all right …?’

Edward felt slightly overheated himself. For one silly moment he didn’t know whether to remove his cap on entering the greenhouse. He’d thought to look Ellen out when he came up to the Hall to deliver some meat that Mrs Thwaite had ordered. Now, seeing Ellen working in this imposing place, setting what looked like hundreds of tiny plants, he realised he knew nothing of her life since she’d left the farm nearly two weeks ago and he felt overawed. With her eager face and untidy hair, she looked very young and very pretty, an attractive combination with the confidence and self-possession she was displaying in her new work.

‘Nell knows what she has to get done,’ said Tom, smiling.

‘Thank you, Mr Arnold.’

Tom went off to tend the vegetable plot and Ed turned to answer Ellen. ‘Aye, thank you, we’re all fine. Mum says you’re to drop in any time.’

‘I’ll do that. It’d be lovely to see her. I was right glad to hear no more of the sheep died. It must have been a terrible worry for you.’

‘It was, but that’s behind us now.’

They stood awkwardly for a moment, Ellen keen to get on but not wanting to seem rude to her friend, Edward reading that thought in her face and beginning to wish he’d gone straight home. He must think of something to say, and quickly.

‘Would you like—’

‘Well, I really must—’

They both spoke at once.

‘Please, you first,’ said Ellen.

‘I’m just wondering if you’d like to come for a walk up the field this evening – after you’ve finished work, of course. Mum could pack up a tea for us.’

‘Thank you, I’d love to,’ said Ellen. ‘It’d be nice to catch up on everyone’s news. I’ve been so busy since I started here.’

Edward took the hint. ‘Come over whenever you’re ready, then.’

‘I’ll look forward to it.’ Smiling, Ellen picked up her dibber to resume her task while Edward turned to leave, grinning.

At midday Tom reappeared and told Ellen it was time to stop working.

‘Oh, the time just flies by when I’m busy,’ she said. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late.’

‘Well, it’s library day,’ Tom reminded her, ‘so we’d best get a move on if we don’t want to be fined next time for late returns.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten,’ said Ellen, and went to the shed to collect the books she’d brought with her.

Tom and Ellen walked down the drive to the main gate together, meeting Mrs Thwaite coming the other way carrying a small pile of books, and found the van parked neatly up against Tom’s cottage. Tom nipped inside to fetch his books while Ellen mounted the steps and presented hers, opening them at the pages with the date stamps and the little cardboard pockets.

The usual librarian, Mr Shepherd, wasn’t there today. Instead there was a younger man with round wire-rimmed glasses and a severe haircut, which could not disguise that he was very good-looking.

‘Mr Shepherd not well?’ asked Ellen. She’d grown fond of the kindly librarian with his gentle manner and knowledgeable reading recommendations, even about light fiction.

‘Mr Shepherd’s been assigned to the archives,’ said the new man.

‘Oh …’ Ellen was worried. Was that a discreet way of saying he’d been forced into retirement? He was getting on in years but he hadn’t said anything about retiring when he last came by. ‘And does he … is he quite happy about that?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ said the man abruptly. ‘Why do you ask?’

Goodness, what a rude man! ‘Well, it’s only … well, Mr Shepherd’s been the librarian for a long time and … folk are fond of him.’

‘Aye, in Little Grindle we care about folk,’ said Tom, coming in with his books. ‘We’re like that round here.’ He gave the new man a stern look but it didn’t soften his manner.

‘Indeed?’ he said dismissively. Then barked at Ellen: ‘Name?’

He took the tickets under her name from his card index box, placed them in the books and then closed the volumes to put on the ‘Returned’ shelf, glancing at the titles.

‘Romances down at the end,’ he said with a slight sneer, pointing.

Ellen shuffled away, feeling as if her taste were being judged and found wanting.

As she was returning with her chosen books, she noticed there was a shelf of practical kinds of books: handicrafts, woodworking and gardening. She hadn’t thought to look there before, never venturing beyond light romances, which she and Dora both read in the fortnight they were lent out. There was a picture book of beautiful gardens and she wondered if it was worth a look, if only to compare the photographs – which were, disappointingly, mainly in black and white – with Grindle Hall, so she took that to the librarian’s little desk too.

‘The rule is you’re allowed only three volumes,’ said the new librarian.

Ellen knew this and felt foolish for forgetting to put one of the novels back when she’d found the gardens book. She was starting to apologise when Tom interrupted, approaching with a couple of hefty novels from the classics section.

‘I’ll put one of yours on my ticket,’ he said.

‘No borrowing is allowed on another reader’s ticket,’ said the librarian, not looking up from his card index.

‘I’m not borrowing on Miss Arnold’s ticket,’ said Tom mildly. ‘I’m borrowing on my own ticket.’

‘It’s all right, Uncle Tom, I’ve decided not to have this book after all,’ said Ellen, and put one of the novels to one side. ‘I’ll take the gardens book instead.’

‘It would be helpful if you didn’t take books from the shelves that you don’t wish to borrow,’ said the librarian, snatching up the novel and putting it on the ‘Returned’ shelf.

‘But I want to borrow it,’ said Tom, taking it carefully off the shelf and adding it to his pile of books.

The librarian stared at Tom for a long time with raised eyebrows. Tom returned the look and the librarian blinked first.

‘See you next time,’ Tom said in a friendly tone as he and Ellen descended the steps, clutching their stamped books.

Ellen couldn’t help bursting out laughing, although she suspected the librarian could hear her.

‘Oh, Uncle Tom, you are brilliant,’ she giggled. ‘Thomas Hardy, Charles Dickens and The Fickle Heart of Lady Blanche.’

‘I shall enjoy that one no end,’ said Tom, deadpan, handing it over to Ellen. ‘Whoever Lady Blanche is. Make sure you bring it back next time, love. I don’t want my wrists slapped by that jumped-up little stand-in for our Mr Shepherd.’

‘I wonder what’s happened to Mr Shepherd. He’d surely have told us if he was expecting not to be round in the van any more. That rude man said he’d been “assigned to the archives”, but I don’t really know what that means.’

‘Oh dear, I wonder if that’s a euphemism for being pensioned off. I’ll make some enquiries …’

Gina enjoyed going up to the Hall twice a day. She didn’t mind exercising Mrs Stellion’s puppy, but being at the Hall was, to her, the whole point of her employment. She always eked out the tasks of cleaning Coco’s paws and tidying away his lead and the old tennis ball Tom had found for him so that she could spend as long as possible around the house.

This morning Mrs Stellion was in good spirits and was sitting writing letters with a fountain pen, quickly covering thick sheets of paper from her desk stand in neat writing, so that when Gina returned the happy dog to his owner, Mrs Stellion was too occupied to chat for long. Nor was there tea and biscuits laid out on a tray for Gina and her employer, as there sometimes was.

‘Oh, thank you, Gina,’ said Mrs Stellion, looking up and smiling at the dog. ‘Good boy, Coco. Sit!’

Coco obediently sat down beside his mistress’s chair at her leather-topped desk, a vase of fragrant early roses on it.

Gina felt proud of her pupil. ‘He’s coming on well, isn’t he, ma’am?’ she said, looking for praise.

‘Indeed. He’s a clever young fellow. Coco and I will see you this afternoon, then, thank you, Gina.’

‘Yes, Mrs Stellion. Goodbye for now.’ Gina knew she was being dismissed.

It was a beautiful morning and she didn’t fancy cycling home to do household chores until it was time to return here. Maybe she could just stay if she didn’t get in anyone’s way.

She went back to the gloomy entrance hall but, instead of leaving through the green door at the back, she decided to do a little exploration. Gina had seen Mr Stellion driving away in the big car earlier, so she knew only the morning room was occupied. She also knew that Dora was cleaning upstairs today and Mrs Thwaite was doing something in the kitchen. It was a good time to have a little look around.

Gina took the other corridor from the hall. There were four doors off it, mirroring the arrangement of rooms at the far side, and she opened the first slowly and peered in. It was filled with bookcases and the window blind was pulled down to keep the light low. She moved on.

She saw light was pouring in at the far end. The door on that side must be glass. Of course … it was a conservatory; she’d seen it from the outside. She approached, glanced quickly behind her to see that the coast was clear, then crept in and closed the door quietly.

It was quite a big room, with a high glass roof and stone floor, which was damp in places, as if the many plants in pots had recently been watered. It was very warm and the air smelled green and lush. Gina sat down in one of the basket-like chairs set between the pot plants, arranged the cushions and closed her eyes …

‘And what do you think you’re doing, young woman?’ asked a severe voice.

Gina opened her eyes and saw Mrs Thwaite standing in front of her.

‘Oh, Mrs Thwaite, I’m afraid I got lost and then it’s so warm in here that I—’

‘Lost? Really? You didn’t look like you were making much of an effort to find your way out,’ said Mrs Thwaite.

‘No. As I said—’

‘I heard enough of what you said, Gina Arnold. You may have business here playing with Mrs Stellion’s puppy, but let me remind you, that is all the business you have here.’

‘I was only—’

‘I can see exactly what you “were only” doing. I hope I don’t need to remind you that you are not a resident of this house. Your job – if “job” it can be called – is to entertain the dog, make sure he’s clean enough to be inside on the furniture and then to leave.’

Gina felt herself turning pink with fury. Entertain the dog! That made her sound as if she were the dog’s servant. Mrs Thwaite had clearly plucked up the courage to take some pathetic revenge for what Gina had said to her on that first morning. Most days they managed to avoid each other – and certainly that suited Gina, who would rather the episode about the missing money at the village shop were well and truly forgotten – but Gina knew she had overstepped the mark by being here today. Simmering with anger though she was, she bit back the insult she was about to fling at Mrs Thwaite and decided to retreat with what dignity she could.

‘Yes, Mrs Thwaite,’ she said quietly. ‘It’s all right, I’m leaving now.’ She went to the door, but the housekeeper was there before her and opened it, so that Gina knew she was literally being shown out, as if she wasn’t to be trusted. She walked back up the corridor and Mrs Thwaite followed behind her like a gaoler escorting a prisoner. In the hall, Gina forgot herself for a moment and stepped towards the front door, as she did when she walked Coco.

‘Back stairs,’ barked Mrs Thwaite, pointing the way. Then, as Gina passed in front of her to reach the green door, she hissed, ‘And don’t you ever forget your place in future, Gina Arnold.’

Gina didn’t answer or look back, but went through the door, glad of the cooler air on the staircase against her burning face. She went down the corridor, past the kitchen and to the door at the end, which opened into the courtyard where the outbuildings were. She wheeled out the bicycle and pedalled away, not looking round, knowing she’d been well and truly bested by the housekeeper this time.

Mrs Stellion was usually very friendly – less so today because she was busy – but now Gina felt as if she’d had a wake-up call. She had thought she had a way into the lives of those at the Hall, only to have it brought home to her that she was merely the girl who walked the dog – the dog’s servant, as Mrs Thwaite had implied. Dora had the run of the house and was trusted, after many years of service, and Ellen was learning a proper trade and, from what Gina had seen of her in the garden, was going about it in a very competent manner. But she … oh, it was too bad: sacked by Mrs Beveridge and now practically thrown out of the Hall by the housekeeper. For a moment she wondered if she would bother going back this afternoon, but it was Mrs Stellion she answered to, and it was possible that the lady neither knew nor cared that her dog walker had sat down in her conservatory. Gina decided it would be worth returning to see how the land lay.

In the meantime she had a few hours alone at the cottage until it was time for Coco’s afternoon walk. She had avoided taking the little book of spells out from its hiding place since the incident with the sheep. Events had run away with her then, and she had felt unsettled by the suspicion that the power she could muster was not entirely under her control. Now, though, passing time had blunted her fear, and she decided she needed a little help if she were to teach Mrs Thwaite the lesson she deserved. She arrived at the cottage, unlocked the door and rushed upstairs to consult her book.

‘Good grief, Gina. What on earth is that awful smell?’ asked Ellen. ‘It’s like a singed perm, but it doesn’t look as if you’ve burned your hair,’ she said, staring at Gina’s long brown curls, which looked just the same as usual.

‘It must be bleach,’ said Gina, thinking fast. ‘I got a mark on my shirt and I’ve been trying to get it off.’

‘Mm …’ Ellen opened the window of their room to let in some fresh air. ‘I’m off out with Ed in a minute, when I’ve got changed. We’re just going for a walk and a packed tea. Do you want to come?’

‘No fear,’ said Gina. ‘I’m not playing gooseberry to you two.’

‘Don’t be daft.’ Ellen changed out of her shirt and breeches and put on a cotton frock, first time on this year. It looked shorter and was definitely tighter than it had been on its last outing, and somehow the fabric had faded on top of the skirt gathers since she’d put it away in September. Strange how clothes changed when you didn’t wear them for a while. Sometimes they came out looking better; mostly they were worse.

‘What do you think of this? Does it look too tight?’

‘A bit,’ said Gina.

‘Ah, well, it’ll have to do. I’ve nowt else and I only wanted summat cool to wear. It’s been hot today, potting up seedlings. How did you get on “popping over to the Hall to exercise Coco”?’

Gina rolled her eyes; the joke had lost its sting with frequent repetition. Instead of answering she asked, ‘What do you think about Mrs Thwaite?’

‘I don’t have owt to do with her really. She’s all right whenever I do see her, though. Why?’

‘Nowt … Just wondered.’

‘I know she takes her books to the mobile library, same as me and Uncle Tom. We met her on her way back. Mr Shepherd – you know, the old librarian who’s always so friendly – he wasn’t there. He’s always been there before now. Funny that Mrs Thwaite didn’t mention it when we met her.’

‘Mebbe she doesn’t get on with Mr Shepherd.’

‘No, Mr Shepherd gets on with everyone. Uncle Tom’s going to try to find out what’s happened. What if he’s ill? Folk in Little Grindle would want to do what they could for him.’

‘Nell, I’ve really no idea,’ said Gina.

Ellen took her brush through her hair and tied it back with her home-made blue scarf knotted in a bow above her ear. ‘Right, I’m off to the farm. See you later.’

Gina listened to her sister’s feet descending the stairs, then Ellen was saying something Gina couldn’t hear to Dora, and then there was the sound of the back door closing.

She pulled the shabby little volume of spells out from under her bed, with a candle, a box of matches and a saucer, a bottle of vinegar, various bits of plants she hoped she’d identified correctly, and some scraps of paper on which she’d written various wishes for the intervention of whatever power she’d hoped to conjure up before she’d gone to walk Coco that afternoon. Whether it had worked or not, she didn’t know. Mrs Stellion hadn’t mentioned the conservatory and Gina had seen nothing of Mrs Thwaite. So far as Gina was concerned, that was a good result to be going on with. Time would reveal whether the short-tempered housekeeper had met her match.

Ellen and Ed took the well-worn path past the hen houses, up through the gate into the field where the girls had lazed on their afternoon off, and on up higher. Ellen remembered about the silly business with the little bottle, but whatever Gina had been up to, nothing had come of it and Ellen’s fear of that mad moment had faded until it was almost forgotten.

‘Such a lovely hot day,’ she said. ‘Like midsummer. The air’s a bit fresher up here, though.’

‘Aye, it is, but look over there.’ Edward pointed to the west. ‘Those clouds mean rain, though I think we’ll be all right for this evening.’

‘Shall we stop here for our tea?’ asked Ellen after a few more minutes. ‘The view’s amazing this high up.’

Edward laughed. ‘Yes, a rare sight to be able to see so far. Look, there’s the Hall over there, and the village street stretching away. Half the year the clouds are down to the ground and all you can see up here through the fog is tragic-looking sheep clinging onto the fell.’

‘Don’t I know it! I was helping with them until a few weeks ago, don’t forget.’

‘It feels as if you’ve been gone for ages,’ said Edward, sitting on the dry cropped grass.

‘Yes, funny, that. I feel the same,’ smiled Ellen.

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Oh, no, not at all. It was nice working with you and your parents, but I think I like gardening better than farm work,’ said Ellen. ‘And I’m learning all kinds of new things. You can understand why I’m keen on that, can’t you, Ed?’ She was anxious not to offend by mistake.

‘Of course.’

‘I want to learn all about gardening, get to know everything Uncle Tom knows – and he knows so much I think it will take me years to catch up – so that one day mebbe I can be in charge of a garden. I’d like to learn to cut those bushes into shapes like chessmen, though I’d settle for trimming a box hedge straight for now,’ she laughed. ‘You don’t think it’s daft, do you, that I should want to learn and mebbe even be a head gardener somewhere?’

‘’Course not. Why would it be daft?’

‘Well, I’m just Ellen Arnold, who lives in a tied cottage in Little Grindle and hasn’t much of an education. It’s not like I live in a place where there’s lots of different things happening and opportunities to do them.’

‘You never know, you might still get to do all sorts,’ said Edward. ‘If you work hard enough, I reckon you can do whatever you want. It’s not about where you come from, is it, Nell? It’s about where you’re going: all the things you’re going to do in your life. When I saw you this morning you looked as if you knew exactly what you were doing with all those little plants. That’s a start, isn’t it?’

‘Thank you, Ed. There’s so much to learn that I sometimes feel as if I’ll never get anywhere with it. I am trying hard, though.’

‘I know you are. And think how much you’ve done in the time you’ve been at the Hall. I reckon Mr Arnold wouldn’t be putting up with anyone who was a hindrance and not a help. He wants the best for the Hall garden, and he won’t waste time with you if you’re no good to him, even if you are his niece.’

‘True,’ Ellen conceded. ‘He’s kind, but I know he’d say if I were hopeless. And you’re kind, too, pulling up my spirits like that.’

‘Aye, well, just don’t be setting off down the road to success and forgetting who your friends are, will you?’ Edward said. ‘And I’d really miss you if you went away to be head gardener at some other big house. We all would – Mum and Dad as well as me,’ he added, shy about his feelings and safely diluting them by bringing his parents into it. ‘I’m a farmer’s only son so I shan’t be going anywhere. My future was mapped out at birth.’

‘Well, I’m here for now, and for at least the next ten years if I’m to learn everything about gardening from Uncle Tom,’ smiled Ellen. ‘Now, I’m starving and I expect you are, too. What’s your mum packed in that picnic basket? It’s heavy enough for a feast.’

‘I reckon she’s feeding us up,’ said Edward, pleased Ellen had no real plans to leave Little Grindle. He admired and understood her ambition, but he certainly didn’t want her to go away. He had, at the back of his mind, plans for his own life that might well include Nell Arnold.

CHAPTER FIVE

‘WE’RE ALL SET for summer, I see,’ said Philip, casting a disgruntled look through the kitchen window at the rain teeming down. ‘It’ll be like this for weeks now, you mark my words.’

‘You don’t know that, Dad,’ Ellen said. ‘It was that hot yesterday it felt like midsummer. Could be as quick to change again.’

‘I doubt it,’ said Gina, recklessly imitating her father’s voice and pulling a long face. ‘Cheer up, Dad, we might all be dead by July.’

‘Gina, shut up.’

‘Gina—’

‘You’re not too old to feel the back of my hand,’ threatened Philip as Ellen and Dora tried to shush her. They all knew that, Gina most of all. He took a step towards her with his arm raised and she stepped quickly out of reach, the smile gone from her face immediately.

‘Sorry, Dad,’ she muttered, then quickly said, ‘I think I’ll take Coco for a run around the outbuildings; save us both getting wet.’ She watched ribbons of rain cascading down the windows.

‘You’d better ask Mrs Stellion,’ Dora suggested to her. ‘She might want her dog to have a proper walk, rain or no rain.’

‘He won’t shrink in the wet, Gina,’ said Ellen.

‘No, but I might. Perhaps we’ll even play inside and not go out at all,’ Gina mused.

‘Well, I think it’s time you got yourself a proper job, like our Nell, and stopped “playing” with puppies,’ said Philip. ‘Just ’cos you got the sack from the farm doesn’t mean you can’t make a fresh start. After all, you got the sack from the shop but it didn’t stop you working again. You need to make the effort, Gina, if you even know what that means. Playing with puppies’ll get you nowhere in life.’

Like you’ve got somewhere, you mean? Gina intended to go an awful lot further in her life than the farm at the end of the lane. Her job at the village shop had been a short-lived disaster. Gina still maintained publicly that it wasn’t her fault the money in the till didn’t match the receipts.

‘You got the sack from the farm?’ asked Dora. ‘You never said.’ She, too, recalled the unpleasantness at the village shop. For a while she’d been reluctant to go there, which had been awkward, though the Fowlers were good people and hadn’t blamed her for the incident at all.

‘I hear they need someone for general labour at Fellside, that farm on the way to Great Grindle,’ Philip went on. ‘They grow vegetables and have a little dairy herd. Even you can muck out cows and pick taters, Gina. They needn’t know you were sacked if you don’t tell them – I know you’re good at keeping secrets; you have a good teacher – and you could work full time and earn your keep for once in your life. It’s time you started paying your way, and playing with puppies won’t be doing that.’

Ellen frowned, wondering what exactly he was referring to about secrets, but she knew better than to say anything, so instead she went to look out her wellingtons from under the stairs, keen not to get drawn into this kind of low-level argument that seemed to run perpetually between her father and sister, and which would occasionally erupt into physical violence.

‘General labour! Muck out cows and pick taters!’ Gina was horrified. She thought of Mrs Stellion’s pretty morning room and how she had the run of almost the entire garden to play with the dog. No way was she going back to filthy farm work! She had hardly begun to get her plans under way yet, but she meant to forget she’d ever seen a farm, never mind worked on one.

‘Why don’t you just get off to work,’ said Dora to her husband, keen to damp down the full-scale argument brewing between him and Gina, ‘before you get the sack, too?’

‘Aye, I’m going, woman,’ he said, and left, grumbling to himself as he buttoned up his coat.

‘What was he on about?’ Gina asked.

‘About you getting a proper job instead of “popping over to the Hall to exercise Coco”, as you know very well,’ said Ellen. ‘Still, at least you seem to be doing that all right. Just keep that dog out of the vegetables, though, and anywhere I’m working.’

‘What, outside? On a day like this? And I meant what did he mean about me being good at keeping secrets?’

‘I’ve really no idea,’ said Dora dismissively. ‘Now, Gina, tidy the kitchen before you leave for the Hall, please, and if you see Ellen working you’re not to disturb her.’

Dora and Ellen gathered their mackintoshes, hats, umbrellas and wellingtons, and went out, exclaiming at the fierceness of the downpour.

For a moment Gina stood staring out at the driving rain. It was tempting not to leave the cottage at all, but what Philip had said about going to work at Fellside Farm had unnerved her. She needed to make sure of her role at the Hall and there was no time to lose.

Dora shook out her wet coat and hung it on a hook in the downstairs corridor, then pulled off her wellingtons and put on the shoes she kept at the Hall. Not a good start to the day: rain running down the back of her neck, despite her rain hat and umbrella and, even more annoying, Phil in another of his black moods, and making snide remarks about her.

She would never forget his jealousy and suspicions about her so-called secret on the night Gina was born. She’d put up with it for years, although he’d never referred to it before in front of the girls. Dora hoped this was not the start of a season of blacker moods and worse temper in her difficult husband. Was that when their marriage started to go wrong, or had it been failing even before then? It was hard to remember a time when they were happy, before this darkness descended on Philip …

Dora held her newborn baby in her arms. She was a beauty, with fine dark hair and the softest skin on her perfect little body.

‘A lovely girl,’ said Betty Travers, the midwife. ‘All the right limbs in all the right places and a good weight, too. A wonderful start to the New Year: a baby born just on the stroke of midnight.’ She opened the bedroom window just a crack so that Dora could hear the church bells in Little Grindle ringing in 1939, then quickly closed it again. Betty didn’t believe in fresh air for her new mothers and babies, especially in January.

Dora smiled tiredly. It was wonderful to have a second daughter, a sister for Nellie to play with. Nell was little more than a baby herself, a clever little thing, walking and trying to speak, though she wouldn’t be two until the autumn. Dora had hoped for a daughter but kept this to herself because Philip had said he wanted a son. Well, he had a second lovely little girl and she just had to hope he’d come round to the news when he saw her.

Dora smoothed the baby’s damp hair. Oh!

‘Betty, she’s got a little mark just here … look. Is summat wrong? It won’t get bigger, will it? She won’t be scarred?’

Betty took the baby in her arms and looked closely. ‘Oh, bless you, Dora, it’s just a tiny birthmark. It might even fade as she gets older, but it certainly won’t get bigger. And she’s lucky it’s behind her ear: by the time this dark hair has grown it’ll be completely hidden. Don’t you fret, love, there’s nowt to be worriting over.’

Philip thought very differently, though, when he came in to see his new child.

‘What’s this, then?’ he asked, seeing the tiny birthmark straight away. ‘It looks like a little crescent moon, same as the one our Tom has on his arm.’

‘So it does,’ said Dora, feigning surprise. Of course, she had already thought this. ‘Mebbe it’s just summat that runs in families, like,’ she said, then realised this was leading her husband to entirely the wrong conclusions.

‘Well, I’ve got no birthmarks and I’m the child’s father,’ he growled. He looked pointedly at Dora. ‘Aren’t I?’

Dora caught Betty’s eye with a desperately tired look.

‘And Baby has your dark hair,’ the midwife joined in. ‘There’s a strong resemblance between your beautiful new daughter and yourself, I’d say, Philip.’ Betty and Dora had been good friends for years, but even Dora thought Betty was laying it on a bit thick with that.

‘But what about this mark?’ Philip persisted. ‘I’ve not got one, but Tom has.’

‘It really is of no account, Philip,’ Betty said. ‘Some babies have birthmarks and most don’t, and that’s all there is to it. Now, why don’t you go and make Dora a cup of tea? I’d say she was ready for one and I think I could manage one, too. We’ve been hard at work up here.’

‘Aye, I heard the fuss,’ Philip grumbled.

‘Well, you can be thankful you were out of it then,’ Betty replied shortly.

When Philip had retreated to the kitchen, Dora sighed deeply.

‘She’s a bonny little thing but my Phil does get some daft ideas,’ she muttered. Tears were now springing to her weary eyes. ‘After all that birthing, you’d think he’d be pleased to have his child delivered safe and sound. I wanted another little girl, though I didn’t say owt and I didn’t really mind. Little Nellie’s been such a good baby that I feel I know how to cope with girls. But as Phil wanted a boy, I reckon he’s disappointed.’

‘Fellas get some queer ideas sometimes, love,’ said Betty. ‘All these years I’ve been a midwife, and I’m still surprised why anyone wouldn’t just be glad to have a healthy child, regardless of whether it’s a girl or a boy.’

‘And bringing Tom into it,’ said Dora, determined to make sure Betty knew the truth. ‘He’s always been envious of Tom. For goodness’ sake, Tom’s my brother-in-law, but I can’t exchange a few pleasant words with him without Phil flying into a jealous sulk.’

‘Aye, Tom Arnold’s got a lot going for him and, with him being the elder, and so agreeable, like, I can see that Philip might reckon he was playing catch-up when they were boys,’ Betty chatted on. ‘But they’re both grown up now, and Philip is the father of two beautiful children, whereas poor Tom has never married, nor found anyone else, so far as I know, after that girl from Great Grindle he was engaged to was killed – what was her name?’

‘Sarah … Sarah Swaine.’ Of course Dora knew the woman’s name. They’d have been related by now, had she not died.

‘Aye, I reckon you’re right. Sarah Swaine; looked like an angel, God bless her. It’s a shame, but there we are. Life doesn’t always deal us the best cards … although there’s some have a good hand and don’t even know it. It’s time your Phil grew out of feeling inferior to Tom, bucked up and thanked the Good Lord that he has a beautiful wife and two lovely daughters.’

Philip came up the stairs with two cups of tea on a tray.

‘Oh, you’ve managed that,’ said Betty without sarcasm. ‘Well done, lad. Now I’m off when I’ve had this cuppa, but I was just saying, you’ve much to be thankful for with a good woman like Dora and now two lovely babes. Think on it and don’t be starting no more of your nonsense …’

Philip, cowed by the efficiency of the forthright midwife, with her plain speaking and her knowledge of the mysteries of women’s matters – and, it was said, other mysteries – retreated downstairs once more. When Betty had gone, he went to view his new daughter again, but though he tried to see a resemblance between himself and the baby, whom Dora suggested they call Georgina, he could not warm to her. The crescent-shaped birthmark looked prominent on the baby’s soft skin, mocking him, identical to the one he’d seen all his life on his brother’s arm.

‘Georgina it is, if that’s what you want,’ he shrugged. ‘The girl’s name’s nowt to do with me. I’ll be off up to the farm first thing to collect my little Nellie and bring her home. For all she’s taken to young Edward Beveridge, she’ll be glad to be home with her dad.’

‘And her mum, and her new baby sister,’ said Dora, but Philip had turned away and didn’t answer her.

Dora rubbed her eyes and sighed. Oh, Tom … It was her joy to see him on the days she was working at the Hall, and also her torment. She wanted to pretend they were just in-laws and old friends who had known each other for years, yet in all honesty he meant so much more than that. She wanted to be a loyal wife to Philip, yet how could a loyal wife be in love with her husband’s brother?

If only it had been different. If only … No, don’t even think of it! She was married to Phil and that was that. They had two lovely daughters and at least one was a credit to them.

That got her thinking about Gina. If Gina could just manage to behave herself … Such a worry, that girl. Sacked from the shop and now sacked from the farm, though Nancy and Albert Beveridge had kind hearts and almost limitless patience! Dora decided it must be the miserable weather this morning that was causing her to dredge up all these gloomy thoughts.

Still feeling low, she took her floral-print crossover pinny from its hook, tied it on and went to fetch her dusters from the cleaning cupboard. With a deliberate effort she put her worries out of her mind, assumed the smiling face of Mrs Arnold, the competent domestic, wished Mrs Bassett a cheery good morning as she passed the kitchen and ascended the stairs to begin work.

This morning it was the turn of the rooms on the west-facing corridor to get a clean. She enjoyed her work, for all it was physically hard and menial. She was proud of keeping the Hall looking good, proud that the Stellions relied on her and appreciated her efforts. She had no education to speak of, so domestic work suited her just fine, and she couldn’t envisage life outside Little Grindle. She had everything she wanted. Well, almost.

Dora finished cleaning the little library, leaving it smelling of lavender polish. She was taking the vacuum cleaner down the corridor to Mr Stellion’s study when she thought she heard the sound of running water. That must be the rain falling. It had continued unusually heavily this morning. She thought Tom would have found Nell something to do under cover, and Gina was quite capable of disobeying any instructions to go out if it didn’t suit her.

Now she could hear quite a loud splashing sound. It would be irresponsible not to make sure everything was all right. She left the vacuum cleaner outside the study door and continued down the corridor in the direction of the watery noise, which by now she could tell was coming from the conservatory. She opened the door and …

‘Oh, good heavens!’ she exclaimed.

Water was pouring through the roof! A huge puddle had formed on the floor and was flowing – actually flowing – towards the door, threatening to flood into the corridor.

Dora shut the door and ran as fast as she could to find Mrs Thwaite.

Gina was playing with Coco in the dry of one of the outbuildings, encouraging him to jump over a little hurdle she’d made of a broom handle between bricks, when Ellen arrived at the door, rain running off her mac and sou’wester.

‘Gina, you’re to take Coco inside now and come and help us. Mrs Stellion says so. The conservatory’s flooding and we’re all needed to help clear up before the water gets in the house.’

‘What? A real live flood?’ This was exciting news in so many ways.

‘I said so, didn’t I? Don’t stand there looking pleased about it, you daft bat. Take the dog inside and come now!’ Ellen ran off, leaving Gina to do as she was told. Normally Gina would have taken her time to follow any instructions Ellen gave her, but she was eager to see the flood and hurried Coco in through the door to the downstairs corridor, quickly towelling him dry and wiping his feet.

‘Come on, Coco,’ she said, running up the stairs to the main hall. ‘This is something I can’t wait to see.’

She ran along to the conservatory where her mother, Ellen and Uncle Tom, all wearing wellingtons and macs, were sweeping what looked like gallons of water out through the French doors into the garden, while, almost as quickly, rain poured in through the roof to replenish the flood.

‘Heck …’ said Gina, admiring the chaos.

‘Gina, take the dog away, and go and put on your mac and wellies,’ said Tom calmly. ‘Then come back as quickly as you can and you can help Nell to move these chairs and the pots out of the way.’

‘Yes, Uncle Tom.’

She turned to go and almost bumped into Mrs Thwaite.

‘Out of my way and do as you’re told, girl,’ snapped the housekeeper, which made Gina decide not to hurry. ‘I’ve telephoned the handyman in Great Grindle,’ she said to Tom. ‘He should be here soon to assess the job of making the roof watertight again.’

‘Good. We’ll get rid of as much water as we can and clear a space for him to work in,’ Tom replied. ‘No, Mrs Thwaite, don’t you come in here, in those shoes …’

But Mrs Thwaite had foolishly tiptoed into the conservatory in her leather-soled shoes, intent on taking some chair cushions to safety, and at once her feet slipped from under her.

‘Aah!’ She went down hard on the floor, a gigantic splash of rainwater making a mini tidal wave around Tom, Dora and Ellen’s boots. ‘Oh, my arm! My arm!’ she screamed, rolling onto her back in agony in the floodwaters.

Tom, Dora and Ellen left their brooms and buckets and rushed over to help the wailing woman, trying to get her to sit up.

‘I’ll get Mrs Stellion,’ said Gina, and ran off to the morning room, Coco, on his lead, racing beside her, barking excitedly.

Oh, but this was amazing! Gina wished she had a moment to think it all through, but she needed to act quickly and do as she was told, while events were playing entirely into her hands.

Edith Stellion was in the morning room as usual, keeping out of the way of the flood.

‘Ah, Gina, there you are. Bad news, I’m afraid. Rain is coming in through the conservatory roof. I’ve just telephoned my husband to tell him and he’s coming home straight away.’

‘Yes, Mrs Stellion. Ellen told me to bring Coco back and to go and help. But there’s worse news. Mrs Thwaite has slipped on the wet floor and I think she may have broken her arm.’

Mrs Stellion stood up, putting a cooling hand to her forehead in her accustomed manner. ‘Oh, but this is terrible. I must go to her.’

‘Uncle Tom, Mum and Nell are there seeing to her,’ said Gina, settling Coco in his basket.

‘If her arm is broken she will need to go to hospital at once,’ said Mrs Stellion. ‘I must find out.’ She made for the door.

Gina thought quickly. ‘Don’t go and slip on the floor too,’ she said. ‘Let the others bring Mrs Thwaite safely out into the dry and then you’ll be able to see how bad she is. I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt too.’

‘Dear child …’ Mrs Stellion touched her hand to Gina’s cheek in a motherly way. ‘Get your waterproofs and wellies on, Gina, and then at least you’ll be quite safe. I’ll go and see what I can do and I promise not to get my feet wet.’

They left the room together, shutting Coco in, and then parted ways in the hall, Gina to fetch her coat and boots and Mrs Stellion to tend to her ailing housekeeper.

She found Mrs Thwaite lying wetly on the corridor carpet, holding her arm and moaning in pain.

‘Do you think you could stand, Mrs Thwaite?’ she asked. ‘Come and lie down on the sofa in my husband’s study.’ She moved the vacuum cleaner out of the way and opened the door. Then Tom and Dora helped the housekeeper to her feet, careful to avoid touching her arm, and manoeuvred her into the room.

‘Such a stupid thing to do,’ wept Mrs Thwaite, her bedraggled hair dripping down her soaking back and the hem of her skirt clinging and heavy with rainwater. ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Stellion. I was only trying to help.’

‘Sit down and let’s look at that arm,’ Mrs Stellion said.

‘No, don’t touch it!’ screeched the housekeeper.

‘I think it must be broken and you must go to hospital,’ said Mrs Stellion. ‘I shall go and telephone for an ambulance.’

‘No need,’ said a voice from the corridor. George Stellion appeared, still wearing his motoring gloves. ‘I shall drive Mrs Thwaite to the hospital myself. It will be quicker.’

‘Oh, George, thank goodness you’ve come.’

‘I can see what’s happened, Edith. Come along, Mrs Thwaite, let me help you to the car,’ he said. He assisted the groaning woman through the house and out of the front door. His enormous shiny car was parked at the foot of the steps.

‘Lean on me, Mrs Thwaite,’ he offered, holding an umbrella over her.

Everyone crowded round the front door to watch. Gina, in her mac and sou’wester, ran out and took the umbrella, while Mr Stellion opened the door and very carefully helped his housekeeper into the front passenger seat. Then, while he went round to get in the car on his side, Gina folded the umbrella and stood it in the footwell where it dripped on Mrs Thwaite’s feet, then closed the car door firmly.

As the car pulled away, Gina gave Mrs Thwaite a big smile and waved her off.

The clean-up took a while but eventually a row of galvanised buckets was placed under the leaking seam in the glass roof, the water was swept outside and the handyman from Great Grindle arrived and assessed the repair needed.

‘Good work, girls,’ Tom said to Dora and his nieces. ‘We’ll need to keep emptying these buckets, but I think the rain is easing off now. I’m right proud of you all.’

‘Aye, it takes an Arnold to resolve a crisis,’ said Gina cheekily.

Or to make one! She was by now desperate to have some time alone to think through what had happened. The spell she’d cast the previous day had read confusingly in the old book, and she wasn’t sure she’d understood what she had to do, or if the elements she’d gathered to cast it were even the right ones, but she had known what she wanted to achieve. The book of spells had instructed Gina to write down on a small piece of paper what she wished for and she’d written down that she wanted Mrs Thwaite taught a lesson for her rudeness. Now it seemed her powers had not failed her. And how! A deluge, no less, had dealt the necessary blow to the interfering housekeeper. Mrs Thwaite would not be troubling Gina for a while if her arm really was broken. It was a lot to take in. Could she really have conjured up this vast amount of rain – with all its consequences – just from the spell she’d cast in her bedroom?

Tom and Ellen left through the conservatory when the drama was over, and Dora and Gina came back along the corridor.

‘Well, that’s put me behind,’ said Dora. ‘Let’s just see if Mrs Bassett can find us a sandwich while we dry off. It’s hardly worth you going home in this rain, just to come back in an hour or so to walk Coco.’

They met Mrs Stellion in the hall, keen to thank them. ‘And yes, I’ve asked Mrs Bassett to prepare you lunch. Such a long morning for you both. Thank you for staying on to help, Gina. You really are such a sensible girl. Coco will need a good walk this afternoon at the usual time – if the rain isn’t too heavy – but come and find me a few minutes early. I’ve been thinking, and I may have some news for you.’

‘Yes, Mrs Stellion,’ grinned Gina.

The implication was that this was news to Gina’s advantage. She just hoped it meant she need never go anywhere near Fellside Farm and its potato fields.

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