The Sorrowing Wind (The Apple Tree Saga Book 3) Read online

  The Sorrowing Wind

  The Apple Tree Saga Book 3

  Mary E. Pearce

  Copyright © 2018 The Estate of Mary E. Pearce

  This edition first published 2018 by Wyndham Books

  (Wyndham Media Ltd)

  27, Old Gloucester Street, London WC1N 3AX

  First published 1975

  www.wyndhambooks.com/mary-e-pearce

  The author has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  With the exception of where actual historical events and people are described, this book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, organisations and events are a product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organisations and events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Cover artwork images: © Period Images / Veronika (Shutterstock)

  Cover design: © Wyndham Media Ltd

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  The Apple Tree Saga

  from Wyndham Books

  Apple Tree Lean Down

  Jack Mercybright

  The Sorrowing Wind

  The Land Endures

  Seedtime and Harvest

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Preview: The Land Endures by Mary E. Pearce

  Preview: Wyndham Books

  Within the woodlands, flow’ry gladed,

  By the oak tree’s mossy root,

  The sheenen grass-blades, timber-shaded,

  Now do quiver underfoot;

  An’ birds do whissle auver head,

  An’ water’s bubblen in its bed,

  An’ there for me the apple tree

  Do lean down low in Linden Lea.

  William Barnes

  Chapter One

  Betony and the young Army officer, Michael Andrews, had sat opposite each other all the way from Paddington, but they might never have struck up a friendship had it not been for the scene that occurred between two other people in the compartment: a stout district nurse and a young man who looked like a clerk.

  At Paddington the train had been crowded. After Oxford it ran half empty. The nurse got in at Long Stone, the clerk at Milston, and right from the first she fixed him with a stare calculated to discomfit him.

  ‘I wonder you aren’t ashamed!’ she said, when he was foolish enough to meet her gaze. ‘A sturdy young man in the prime of life, fighting-fit and full of beans, yet still wearing civvies! I’d be ashamed. I would, honest!’

  ‘It so happens I suffer with asthma,’ the young man said, red with embarrassment, and hid himself behind his paper.

  ‘That’s what they all say nowadays, but you look healthy enough to me, young fellow, and if you were a proper man you’d be up and doing like the captain there, and all our other gallant soldiers.’

  The woman glanced across at Michael. Plainly she expected his approval. Then she leant towards the clerk and rattled the newspaper in his hands.

  ‘It’s funny what a lot of asthma there is about lately, not to mention gastric troubles and the odd cases of housemaid’s knee, but I could give it another name if anyone was to ask me!’

  Michael, in his corner, could bear no more.

  ‘Madam, be quiet!’ he said sharply. ‘Leave the man alone and hold your tongue!’

  The woman was shocked. Her mouth fell open a little way, showing teeth stained mauve with the sweets she was eating.

  ‘You’ve got no right to speak to me like that! If my husband was with me you wouldn’t dare!’

  ‘If your husband was with you I hope he’d keep you in better order.’

  ‘Well, really!’ she exclaimed. ‘Well, really! I’d never have believed it!’

  But she leant back again in her seat and remained silent for the rest of her journey, glaring at the newspaper shielding the clerk. Michael turned again to the window, and Betony looked at him with new interest. Straight sandy hair, rather untidy; beaky face and brown skin; tired grey eyes and tired mouth with lines at the corners: the sort of face, young yet old, which she had grown accustomed to seeing in the fourteen months since the start of the war.

  The train was now stopping at every station. When the clerk and the nurse got out at Salton, Michael turned to Betony.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he said, ‘but the damned woman got my goat.’

  ‘It’s the new blood sport, baiting civilians,’ Betony said.

  ‘If she only knew what it’s like over there ‒ if she could see for just five minutes ‒ it would soon wipe the smile from her smug pink face.’

  ‘But somebody has to go and fight.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ he said, with some impatience. ‘But everyone here is so complacent! So glib and self-righteous and so damnably bloodthirsty!’

  ‘How would you like us to be?’ Betony asked, and he gave her a smile.

  ‘Quiet … comfortable … calm …’ he said, ‘talking of cricket and fishing and the crops, and whether the hens are laying at the moment …’

  Betony nodded. Looking at him, she could feel his tiredness. Her own flesh ached, as his must ache.

  ‘You’ve been wounded, haven’t you?’ She could see how stiffly he held his shoulder.

  ‘I’ve been wounded three times yet up I pop again good as new. A charmed life, apparently. I was gassed, too, on this last tour. That’s why my voice is rough at the edges. Not badly, of course, or I shouldn’t be here to tell the tale.’

  ‘How long is your leave?’

  ‘Until I’m fit. A month, perhaps.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘Back again to face the music.’

  ‘How can you do it?’ Betony asked, marvelling.

  ‘No choice,’ he said, and turned the talk towards her instead. ‘Do you travel a lot?’ He glanced at her briefcase on the rack above.

  ‘Quite a lot, yes, though not usually as far as London. I’ve been to a sort of conference there. But mostly I travel around the Midlands, seeing to the welfare of women workers in munitions factories.’

  ‘Do you enjoy it?’

  ‘Yes. In a way. At least it’s something that needs doing. But I’m always glad to leave the towns and get home to Cobbs where it’s quiet and peaceful.’

  ‘Cobbs? Where’s that?’

  ‘In a village called Huntlip, near Chepsworth.’

  ‘I live in Chepsworth, myself,’ he said. ‘It’s a nice walk from there out to Huntlip. Can I come and see you sometimes?’

  ‘Yes, come and meet my family,’ she said. ‘I c
an’t guarantee they’ll talk about cricket, but someone is sure to mention hens.’

  ‘There’s one good thing about the war. We can take short cuts in making friends, even with members of the opposite sex.’

  But he felt she would not have rebuffed him, anyway, war or no war. She was at ease with him; sure of herself; quiet and calm and straightforward. She was also very pleasant to look at: he liked her bright fairness and the clarity of her blue eyes. She had the serenity he longed for.

  ‘Tell me about your family,’ he said.

  At Chepsworth station, Jesse Izzard was waiting for his daughter, eager to take her bag and brief-case, carrying them for her with a sense of importance. His fair face shone, as it always did when he welcomed her home, and his pride increased when she introduced Michael Andrews.

  ‘Captain Andrews will be coming out to visit us, Dad. He wants to see the carpenter’s shop.’

  ‘Why, yes,’ Jesse said, as he shook Michael’s hand. ‘Very welcome, I’m sure. Are you Captain Andrews of King’s Hill House?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Michael said. ‘Just up there, behind the station.’

  ‘I put a new fence round your paddock once. Years ago, now, when your father was alive.’

  ‘You’ll be glad to know it’s still standing.’

  ‘Ah, well, it would be,’ Jesse said. ‘It was good oak fencing.’

  His sense of importance knew no bounds. He walked with a very slight swagger. The Andrewses were well-known people. They had lived in Chepsworth umpteen years. But there was a blot on Jesse’s day, for, outside the station, instead of the smart little pony and trap, stood the old workshop waggon with sacks of sawdust and shavings aboard and the scruffy horse, Collier, between the shafts.

  ‘It’s your great-grumpa’s fault,’ he said, muttering to Betony. ‘He took the trap to go to Upham.’ And, clearing his throat, he said to Michael: ‘Can we give you a lift, captain?’

  ‘No, thanks,’ Michael said. ‘I shall enjoy the walk up the hill.’

  He stood on the pavement and waved them off. Jesse saluted, rather stiffly.

  ‘D’you think he refused on account of the waggon?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Betony said. ‘He’s not such a snob as you are, Dad.’

  And, sitting beside him, she squeezed his arm to reassure him. He did not always know when he was being teased.

  The old house at Cobbs was quiet under its oaks and elms. There was no noise from the carpenter’s shop, for work stopped at twelve on a Saturday now. Only Great-grumpa Tewke found things to do.

  ‘You’ve had the sign painted,’ Betony said. They were passing the gate of the workshop yard, and the two names, Tewke and Izzard, stood out black and shiny on the white ground. ‘The things that happen when I turn my back for a few days!’

  ‘Young Tom done that. He’s good with a paint-brush. He gets it from his poor dead father.’

  In the big kitchen, as Betony entered, her mother was laying the table for supper. She paused, looking up with a welcoming smile, and her flickering glance delivered a warning ‒ that somebody lurked behind the door. Betony pushed it open wide and squeezed her youngest brother, Dicky, who emerged crestfallen, holding his nose.

  ‘Aw, they told you!’ he said, disgusted. ‘And I was going to make you jump!’

  ‘You’re too fond of making folk jump,’ Jesse said. ‘Here, take this bag up to your sister’s room.’

  ‘No, don’t take it up,’ Betony said. ‘I’ve got things to show you when everyone’s in.’

  ‘She’s brought us presents,’ Dicky said.

  He was young enough, at fifteen, to have waited indoors for his sister’s return, but William and Roger, with manly interests to pursue, sauntered in casually a little later.

  ‘Had a good journey?’ William asked.

  ‘A slow one, I bet,’ Roger said, ‘stopping at every wayside halt.’

  ‘What happened in London, when you saw them high-ups?’

  ‘Your sister’s been put in charge,’ Jesse said. ‘She’s to superintend the whole region.’

  ‘That’ll suit our Betony,’ Dicky said, ‘telling folk what to do.’

  By supper-time, Granna Tewke had come out of the parlour, spectacles pushed up high on her forehead, and Great-grumpa Tewke had returned from Upham, having looked at a stand of timber there and rejected it because of the price.

  ‘Taking advantage!’ he said, swearing. ‘They’re taking advantage everywhere you go nowadays but nobody’s going to profiteer me!’

  ‘Where’s Tom?’ Betony asked.

  ‘Late as usual. We’ll start without him.’

  ‘I reckon he’s courting,’ Dicky said.

  ‘More likely drinking in The Rose and Crown.’

  ‘He’ll go to the bad, like his father, that boy,’ said Granna Tewke, looking everywhere for her glasses. ‘Ferrets indeed! What’s a decent boy want with ferrets?’

  ‘Our Betony’s made a new friend,’ Jesse said. ‘Captain Andrews of King’s Hill House. They was talking together on the train and he’s likely coming out here on a visit.’

  ‘What, one of that lot with all the money?’

  ‘All made out of mustard,’ said Great-grumpa, ‘and now they live like landed gentry.’

  ‘The captain’s all right,’ Jesse said. ‘A nice young gentleman, straight off.’

  ‘He’ll think hisself somebody,’ William said, his mouth already full of food, ‘being in uniform and all.’

  ‘And isn’t he somebody?’ Betony asked.

  ‘No more’n the rest of us,’ William said.

  ‘Oh, no, of course not!’ Betony exclaimed. ‘You risk your life every day in the workshop, whenever you take up a hammer and chisel!’

  ‘So that’s it?’ said William. ‘Now we’re hearing a few home truths!’ His clear-skinned face became crimson, and his blue eyes glittered. ‘You want me in uniform, out at the Front, living in trenches like a rat!’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ Betony said. ‘I just don’t like to hear you sneering at those who are.’

  ‘No more don’t I,’ Dicky said. ‘I’d go tomorrow if only they’d have me.’

  ‘Me, too,’ Roger said. ‘I’m as big as many chaps of eighteen.’

  ‘Go and good luck to you!’ William said. ‘You’re both too wet behind the ears to know any better!’

  He sprang from his chair and would have hurried from the room, but that his mother spoke out sharply.

  ‘Sit down, William, and stop jogging the tea on the table. We’ll have no arguments on this subject, nor on no others for the time being. Roger, cut your father a slice of bread.’

  William sat down, though still in a temper, and the others talked to cover his silence. Often a word was enough from their mother. She had Great-grumpa’s forcefulness, coupled with a coolness of her own. It was she who ruled within the household, just as Great-grumpa ruled in the workshop.

  At King’s Hill House, Michael had soaked for an hour in the bath, and now, in his bedroom, dressed in grey flannels and a white shirt, he was combing his hair in front of the mirror. Behind him, on the floor, his uniform lay in a crumpled heap, where he had stepped out of it, trampling it underfoot in the process.

  His mother knocked and came in. She watched him putting on a tweed jacket.

  ‘Oh, dear! They don’t fit you, do they, your old clothes? You’ve grown so much thinner.’ She turned to the crumpled heap on the floor and picked up his tunic. ‘Really, Michael, that’s surely no way to treat the King’s uniform!’

  ‘The King is welcome to it,’ he said, ‘and its livestock, if any.’

  ‘Livestock?’ she said, and dropped the tunic with a shudder. ‘You’re surely not serious? I don’t believe it!’

  ‘Perfectly serious, mother,’ he said. ‘Now perhaps you understand why a man likes to get into ordinary clothes.’

  ‘Doesn’t your servant look after you properly?’

  ‘It’s not his fault. It can’t be helped. We’re all the sa
me over there ‒ lousy as hedgehogs.’

  ‘But you’ve been in hospital. Surely ‒’

  ‘Oh, I’ve been deloused, certainly, but the eggs survive the fumigator and live to hatch another day.’

  ‘Good heavens!’ she said. ‘I couldn’t bear it if it started here.’

  ‘Neither could I. It’s bad enough over there.’

  ‘My poor boy! How thoughtless of me. What must I do with all your things?’

  ‘Leave it to me. I’ll take them down to Cook and get her to bake ’em in one of the old wall ovens. A few days of that should do the trick.’

  Returning a little while later to the bedroom, he found her at work with a spray of disinfectant. She stopped spraying and looked him over.

  ‘Are you going out, dear? You won’t forget dinner’s at seven?’

  ‘I won’t forget. I’m only going down to the town for a drink.’

  ‘At a public house?’ she said, astonished. ‘But there are plenty of drinks in the sitting-room.’

  ‘I feel like a long cool draught of beer.’

  ‘I’m worried about you, going out dressed like that. People are often unkind to civilians, you know.’

  ‘I know about that. I witnessed a sample on the train today.’ And, having related the incident, he went on to talk about Betony.

  ‘She travels round the Midlands, arranging facilities for women working in the factories. It’s amazing what girls are doing now. They’re really breaking out and showing their mettle.’

  ‘A carpenter’s daughter, did you say? How extraordinary!’

  ‘She didn’t have tin-tacks between her lips, Mother, or a pencil stuck behind her ear.’

  ‘No need to be so touchy, dear. I didn’t think she sounded like your sort of girl, that’s all, but if I’m mistaken, perhaps you’d like to invite her to tea?’

  ‘Now you’re going a bit too fast.’

  ‘Yes, well, perhaps it’s not such a good idea. Food is so scarce here now, you know, that meals are becoming quite a problem.’

  Michael smiled, having seen the dinner Cook was preparing in the kitchen. His mother, interpreting the smile correctly, gently reproved him.

  ‘Today is rather a special occasion. We don’t always eat so well.’