Kitty Neale - Lost Angel

‘Miss Forbes … Miss Forbes.’

Gertie turned to see Martha Pringle hurrying towards her, a basket clutched in her hands. ‘I’m so glad I caught you,’ the woman said. ‘I know it takes such a long time getting to Crewkerne and back, so I made you this.’

Gertie took the proffered basket, seeing an earthenware dish in the bottom.

‘It’s a chicken casserole,’ Martha Pringle said, ‘something for the two of you to have for your dinner.’

‘Goodness, how kind,’ Gertie said, amazed that these women she had snubbed were still rallying round to help. Yesterday Mrs Levison had given her a lovely rabbit pie, and now this.

‘How’s Mrs Stone?’

Once again Gertie passed on the news, but, anxious about the animals now, she again thanked Martha Pringle before setting off.

‘Give her my kindest regards,’ the woman called and once again Gertie was humbled. She’d been a snob, stuck up, afraid that if the villagers found out about her, they’d make her life a misery. She’d lived like a recluse until Hilda arrived, but, unlike her, Hilda had always been friendly to these women when she saw them in the village, taking an interest in their lives. Gertie sighed. The barriers she had put up had been breached now, and though grateful for all their help, Gertie wasn’t sure that she wanted any more intrusions into her life.

Hilda slowly recovered, but it took a long time. She was left debilitated, but at last allowed home, only to have Gertie fussing over her. At bedtimes, Gertie had wanted to help her undress, but, no matter how weak she felt, Hilda wouldn’t stand for that.

So much time had passed since her illness and it was now early June, the weather lovely as, earlier than usual, Hilda climbed out of bed. Gertie was still treating her like an invalid, the physical contact getting worse, the touching, the stroking, and it was turning Hilda’s stomach. Not only that, Gertie was even more reluctant to go to the village now, and they had only been once since Hilda had left hospital. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner, though at least that one occasion had given her the chance to post two letters.

Socks made an unusual appearance, jumping up on the bed. ‘Leave her alone,’ Hilda said as the cat lay on Ellen’s chest, his front paws paddling her as he purred loudly. ‘I’ll feed you today.’

As if he understood her words, the cat jumped down again to follow Hilda. She fed him, then lit the range, hoping that Gertie would take them to the village once again. It didn’t help that she was so busy and behind with the planting. Ellen did her best, but no matter how many times Hilda said she felt strong enough, Gertie wouldn’t let her help.

Socks licked his paws, and then went out through the cat flap, but only moments later Wilfred pushed through, his round, green eyes looking up at her in appeal.

‘All right, I know you want feeding too.’

‘You’re up early,’ came Gertie’s voice from behind her.

‘So are you.’

‘I’ve got a lot to do.’ Laying an arm around Hilda’s shoulder, she asked solicitously, ‘How are you feeling today?’

‘Gertie, how many times have I got to tell you? I’m fine. In fact, if you’ll run me to the village after breakfast, I’ll make it up to you by giving you a hand with the planting when we get back.’

‘I can’t spare the time.’

‘Gertie, we’re low on food and need to stock up.’

‘Can’t you just knock up some vegetable soup again?’

‘I’m sick of the sight of it,’ Hilda said, then trying another tactic, ‘If you won’t take me, fine, I’ll walk.’

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘I’m not being silly. Ellen needs more than soup for nourishment, and I can’t even make any bread. We’ve run out of flour, and yeast, let alone not having a scrap of meat.’

‘All right, we’ll go to the village, but we can’t stay long.’

Hilda busied herself with feeding Wilfred. Yes, she had talked Gertie into going, but her feelings of isolation, of being trapped here, were growing ever stronger. Please, please, let there be a reply to her letters, because if she didn’t escape soon, Hilda feared she’d go out of her mind.

Ellen was happy as they rode to the village, the sunshine warm on her back, but wished she could say the same about her mum. She was well again now, but so quiet and moody. Gertie was always giving her mum hugs in an attempt to cheer her up, but if anything that just seemed to make it worse.

‘Now remember, we can’t stay long,’ Gertie warned as Ned trotted along. ‘I’m not only planting, I’m weaning the piglets.’

‘All right, there’s no need to nag. I just want some shopping, a newspaper, and to see if there’s any mail.’

Ellen wished Gertie hadn’t mentioned the pigs. Like last year, and the year before, she knew there’d been a large litter. All but one would be sold again, a part of living on the smallholding Ellen still didn’t like.

Gertie took one hand from the reins, leaning across Ellen to lay it on her mum’s leg. ‘Cheer up, Hilda.’

‘I’m fine,’ she snapped, impatiently pushing her hand away.

Gertie then patted Ellen’s leg, too. ‘Your mum might be a bit short-tempered, but it’s nice to see her looking so well now.’

Ellen glanced at her mother, but she was staring straight ahead, her lips tight; sensing her mood, Ellen remained quiet for the rest of the journey.

When they arrived at the general store, Gertie made no attempt to climb down, only saying, ‘Don’t be long, Hilda.’

‘I’ll be as long as it takes,’ she retorted angrily.

Ellen clambered down and inside the shop, Mrs Brandon returned their greetings. ‘Hello, and it’s nice to see you both. There are two letters for you, Mrs Stone.’

Ellen saw her mum’s face light up as she took them. ‘This one’s from my husband, but as I only wrote to him ten days ago, they must have crossed in the post.’

‘What else can I get you?’ Mrs Brandon asked. Hilda passed her a list, chatting to Mrs Brandon as she gathered the goods together, while Ellen ogled the few sweets on offer, thrilled when her mum said they had enough coupons to buy some. The sherbet lemons looked sticky and clung to the jar as they were shaken onto the scales, but Ellen’s mouth watered with anticipation.

‘There you are, Ellen,’ said Mrs Brandon as she passed her the paper bag.

‘I’m sorry I can’t stay longer to chat,’ her mum said, ‘but Gertie is anxious to get back to the smallholding.’

‘Yes, it’s a busy time of year.’

Calling goodbye, they left the shop.

‘It’s about time,’ said Gertie as they returned to the cart.

‘I’m going to the butcher’s, so you’ll just have to wait.’

Ellen didn’t like his shop. Sometimes he had whole dead rabbits hanging from hooks and the sight sickened her. ‘I’ll wait here,’ she called as her mum hurried off, and then, climbing up beside Gertie, held out the bag of sherbet lemons. ‘Do you want one?’

‘No, you eat them. I haven’t got a sweet tooth.’

Ellen pried one sticky sweet from another and popped it into her mouth as her eyes roamed the small village. To her it was beautiful, the thatched cottages, the stone walls behind which lay pretty gardens. She loved it here, the countryside, and living on the smallholding. She sighed with happiness, hoping they’d never leave.

When Hilda returned again to the cart, Gertie asked, ‘Did you get everything we need?’

‘Yes,’ Hilda said shortly, and as the horse ambled along she pulled out Doug’s letter, anxious to read it. She smiled at first, loving his cheeky innuendoes, but when she got to the second page her expression changed. Doug must be out of his tiny mind, writing about how much he’d enjoyed working on the smallholding and going on to suggest that after the war they move out of London. No way, Hilda thought as she stuffed the letter back into the envelope. She’d had enough of living in the back of beyond with hardly any amenities other than a few village shops. In London you could jump on a bus, a train, or the tube and go anywhere without a problem. Here there wasn’t any transport and all they had to rely on was a flaming, cantankerous horse.