Chapter Three #3
After she’d finished reading the letter for the second time, Selina got up and walked to the window.
She stared out across the autumnal grounds, lost in thought.
It seemed to have been a busy and momentous week at the farm.
A third Land Girl had come to live with the Postbridges, and it sounded as though Caroline had made herself a new best friend …
Her name is Miss Grace Morgan, and she’s from Liverpool, though her mother is Trinidadian. She’s wonderfully striking, and she’s quite a chatterbox, more talkative even than old Mrs Newton.
I know you wrote in your last letter that it was unlikely you could visit us again for a long while, fuel rationing being what it is.
But I hope you will reconsider so you can meet Grace.
She’s already made such an impact at the farm.
She’s experienced as a Land Girl and knows a few tricks of the trade that even Tilly and I had never thought of.
Oh, and she can sing too. At dinner on her first night, Mrs Newton mentioned the vicar’s wife was looking for volunteers to help with the meal and entertainment at the Harvest Supper, and Grace told us she can sing and would gladly stand up and entertain everyone with a song. She really is the most smashing girl.
Taken aback by her friend’s bubbling enthusiasm for this newcomer, Selina was tempted to make a visit to Porthcurno one of her top priorities once she had learned to drive a car.
But then she recalled her responsibilities here, which made it unlikely she would be able to visit the farm until next year at least. Bad enough she had already gone back once for her fellow Land Girl Joan’s wedding to Arthur Green.
She couldn’t ask poor Mrs Hawley to look after the two girls again, along with her other duties, while she went on another visit to Porthcurno …
Nonetheless, she could at least write back to her friend and let her know everything that had been going on at Thornton Hall.
She didn’t write as often as Caroline, but her letters tended to be longer.
There was always so much to say about the girls and Peter.
And now she would be able to share the news that she was finally learning to drive.
Though she didn’t own a car yet, an additional problem she would have to rectify once she had her licence.
How she would afford it, she had no idea.
But one step at a time, as William MacGregor would say.
Selina sat down at the elegant writing desk, drew out paper and pen, and began to compose a reply to Caroline’s letter.
Grace sounds amazing, she wrote carefully. I can’t wait to meet her. But you’re right, it may be hard for me to get away until after Christmas.
Do you remember Mr MacGregor, the solicitor? He called once while you were visiting in the summer. He’s been very kindly teaching me to drive.
She was just hesitating over those lines when Peter peered around the door. ‘Aunt Selly?’
Quickly, she laid aside her pen, turning with a smile. ‘Yes, Peter, dear?’
‘Mr MacGregor says he’ll be driving me to boarding school.’ He looked oddly sullen, no sign now of the impish smile with which he’d greeted her outside. ‘I don’t understand. I thought, since I’d been ill, that I wouldn’t be starting school until next term now.’
‘But you’ve been feeling much better, haven’t you?’ Selina got up and checked his forehead, which was cool. He certainly didn’t seem unwell. Frowning, she studied her nephew’s averted face. ‘What’s this about, Peter? You know I can’t let you miss any more school days without good reason.’
‘But Mr Harrington—’
‘Mr Harrington is an excellent home tutor for Jemima,’ she pointed out, ‘but you’re fourteen and you need proper tuition at a good public school if you’re to achieve top grades in your examinations.
Your mother wanted you to have the best possible chance of a university place, and it would be wrong of me not to heed her wishes. ’
‘Yes, I see that.’ He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets, his chin jutting. ‘Only I d-don’t want to go to school,’ he stammered, ‘or to university, if it comes to that. I want to stay here with you and Jemima and Faith forever.’
‘Oh, Peter, you know that’s not possible.’
Selina put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, meaning to be reassuring, but he ducked away with an angry scowl, and ran from the room, shouting, ‘Don’t touch me!’
She started after him in dismay, but then stopped herself, deciding to let it go for now.
Her nephew was clearly not ready to face the world again yet.
And she could hardly blame him after the horrors he’d endured that summer.
Losing his mother had hit him hard, as it had hit all of them.
But Peter was a boy, and boys were often expected to grit their teeth and show no emotion, which was impossible, not to mention unfair.
She would have to take this slowly. And perhaps ask William for advice. She didn’t know much about dealing with boys his age, and the friendly solicitor might know better than her how to encourage Peter back to school without upsetting the poor child further.