Chapter Twelve #2
‘I’m only glad we brought the lambs and their mothers down to the little pasture here, and the pregnant ewes with them, when the snows started.
Otherwise, we might have lost half the lambs to the sea,’ Joe pointed out tersely.
‘The young ’uns don’t have the good sense yet to steer clear of the cliffs. ’
Peter started to stammer an apology, but Joe slammed his stick down on the kitchen floor so hard, it cracked the slate.
‘I don’t want your apologies, boy,’ he thundered.
‘I won’t have you wandering this farm unaccompanied, do you hear me?
You’ll think me a tyrant, I daresay. But I can’t afford to lose a single lamb, not the way things are going.
From now on, you’ll stay in your room or with your aunt, or you’ll both go home. ’
Selina was shocked. She had never seen the ordinarily easy-going farmer lose his temper like this before.
Caroline came in that moment, clearly taken aback at the raised voices. ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ she stammered, ‘I … I came for the pigswill bucket.’
Violet pointed silently at the metal pail, which stood in the corner, ready for food scraps to be scraped into it.
Caroline grabbed it up, and then glanced round at Peter. ‘Would you like to help feed the pigs, Peter?’ she asked tentatively, her gaze meeting Selina’s. ‘You could tag along too, Selina. You haven’t seen much of the new litter of piglets yet, have you?’
‘Sounds jolly,’ Selina agreed, jumping at the chance to extricate her nephew from this awkward situation.
She understood why the Postbridges were angry.
Endangering livestock was the most serious transgression possible.
But surely they could see that the boy hadn’t done it deliberately?
‘Come along, Peter. I’m sure we can all sit down later, when things are less heated, and lay down some ground rules about proper behaviour on a farm.
’ And she steered Peter out of the kitchen.
Out in the chilly, sunlit yard, Caroline threw her a sympathetic look. ‘Mr Postbridge was furious about those sheep getting loose … I suppose it was Peter who left the gate open. Is that what he was shouting about?’
Briefly, Selina explained what had happened. ‘But Peter’s very sorry about it, aren’t you?’ She put a comforting arm about his shoulders.
To her surprise, Peter shrugged off her arm.
‘I thought I’d closed it,’ he muttered. ‘But I’ve never shut a farm gate on my own before.
I wish someone had showed me how before I made such a mess of it.
’ His voice was sulky, his face turned away.
‘And I wish you’d let me stay and make a proper apology to the farmer, before dragging me away like that.
’ He stuck out his chin. ‘I’m not a child, Aunt Selly.
I made a stupid mistake, and I’m not afraid to admit it. ’
Selina studied him cautiously. ‘I didn’t mean to drag you away. You looked upset, that was all. Would you like to go back and apologise on your own, and then join us in feeding the pigs?’
Peter gave a rough nod and strode back to the farmhouse.
‘Oh dear.’ Selina fell into step beside Caroline, tilting her face to the wintry sunshine and wishing it was enough to warm her.
‘I’m not doing a terribly good job of mothering my nephew, am I?
The thing is, Peter thinks he’s all grown up.
The head of the family.’ She smiled sadly.
‘But he’s still a boy at heart. And some days—’
But she was interrupted by Peter stamping back towards them, scowling and with a flush in his thin cheeks.
‘Oh no …’ Selina groaned. ‘What’s the matter now?’
They’d reached the pigsty, and the sturdy pigs had come over to the gate, grunting and snuffling, eager for slop. Caroline put down the bucket, consternation in her face. ‘What’s happened, Peter? You can tell us.’
His hands were bunched into fists, a martial light in his eyes.
‘I was just going into the kitchen, to tell them how sorry I am, when I heard Mrs Postbridge say it was only what could be expected from a boy like me, given that I’ve been thrown out of school for bad behaviour.
She said I’m obviously a … a thug and a troublemaker, and I shouldn’t have been brought here in the first place.
’ He stopped, breathless. ‘It won’t matter what I say now, will it?
I could apologise a thousand times, they’ll still think I’m rotten through and through.
No matter that I made a mistake. They’ve already made their stupid minds up.
’ And he lashed out with his foot and sent the bucket of slop flying across the cobbles.
‘For goodness’ sake!’ Caroline cried, jumping back to avoid being splashed by the smelly mess.
Selina was horrified. ‘Peter, what on earth do you think you’re doing?’ She tried to grab him by the arm, but he dashed away, running full pelt for the track that led up to the top field and the cliffs. ‘Come back this instant,’ she shouted after him, but it was useless.
‘Gosh, what a mess.’ Caroline righted the bucket, tutting. She set her fists on her hips, looking down, disgruntled, at the slop on the cobbles. ‘I’ll have to get the shovel and clear this up.’
‘I’m so sorry.’ Selina bit her lip. ‘I don’t know what’s got into the boy. That damn school, I expect … I’ll have to go after him. I can’t let him wander the cliffs in that mood.’ She gave her friend an apologetic look. ‘If you can wait ten minutes, I’ll bring him down to clean it up for you.’
‘No, don’t bother. It needs to be done now.’ Caroline gave her a weary smile. ‘I don’t envy you, looking after Bella’s kids. You must need the patience of a saint.’
‘Yes, the one thing I don’t possess!’ Selina agreed with a broken laugh, and then hurried after her nephew before he could do himself a mischief in that dangerous mood.
She found Peter standing on the gate he’d failed to secure before, staring mournfully at the grazing sheep, who would soon need to be moved to a lower pasture, given the increasingly cold weather.
He turned his head as she approached, and she realised he’d been crying. ‘I’m sorry about the slop bucket, Aunt Selly. I don’t know what came over me.’ His voice was bitter. ‘Though maybe Mrs Postbridge was right. Maybe I am a born troublemaker.’
She perched on the gate beside him, her gaze on his averted profile.
‘She only said that because she doesn’t know you.
You’re a good boy, Peter. But something awful happened to you this year.
You lost your mother.’ Feeling tears prick at her eyes, she took a deep breath.
‘Of course you’re unhappy and confused. And instead of keeping you home until you felt more able to take on the world, I sent you off to that horrid boarding school.
It’s no wonder you’re at sixes and sevens.
’ She sighed, looking across the frost-whitened field, and remembering happier days spent up there as a Land Girl, before Johnny had broken off their engagement, before her sister had died.
‘We can stay up here awhile, if you like. But you do need to go back and apologise to Caroline, and then to the Postbridges again.’ She came to a decision.
‘And then you and I should take a drive out in the car.’
He looked at her, surprised. ‘Where are we going?’
‘You may have heard us mention Joan, who used to be a Land Girl here. She married a young man called Arthur Green, I think it must have been around September. I’d like to pay them a visit.
It’s a bit of a hike out of the village, though.
Perhaps it’s extravagant, given fuel rationing, but we can take the car to save our legs,’ she added, grinning.
‘I’d like that, thank you.’ Peter swallowed. ‘And thank you for not flying off the handle at me. I’ve behaved like an idiot, and probably deserve far worse than having my head bitten off by the farmer. But I’m going to be more careful from now on, I swear it.’
She laughed at his earnest expression, relieved that he seemed to be returning to his usual, more reasonable self. ‘That’s the ticket.’
After helping Caroline wash down the cobbles with a pail of hot soapy water, and then apologising profusely to the Postbridges, Peter jumped into the car with her, looking relieved to be escaping the farm.
‘What are the names of your friends again?’ he asked, winding down his window, the cold air blowing his hair about.
‘Mr and Mrs Green,’ Selina told him, driving carefully along the narrow, icy lanes.
‘Joan was a friend of mine, a fellow Land Girl. She married Arthur, and they live in a ramshackle old cottage in his parents’ grounds.
When I last saw her, Joan was planning to redecorate the place and spruce up the garden.
I can’t wait to see how she’s getting along with the project. ’
Selina had some vague idea that Arthur Green, who’d come home from war in a terrible state, and had taken a long time to settle back into ordinary life again, might be able to advise her on how best to deal with Peter’s mood swings.
Not that Peter had been to war, of course, or seen dreadful things as poor Arthur must have done.
But he seemed to have gone through a traumatic ordeal at that school.
But when she drove out to the little cottage, she found only Joan, homely as ever, clad in bulky overalls, a paintbrush in hand.
‘Selina,’ she cried. ‘How marvellous to see you. I never seem to get any visitors out here. And I’m sorry, but Arthur’s not here today.
He and his parents have gone to an auction, hoping to pick up cheap furniture for the cottage.
I spoke to Mrs Newton the other week, and she said you might be visiting while she was away in Penzance. But who’s this?’
‘This is my nephew, Peter,’ Selina said proudly, and the two shook hands. ‘I’m still hoping you and Arthur will come to visit us at Bodmin. Then you can meet his sisters too.’ She eyed Joan’s paintbrush thoughtfully. ‘I take it you’ve been painting?’
‘Just giving the hallway a lick of fresh paint. Do come in. I’ll make tea, shall I? Oh, watch out for wet paint!’
As they chatted amiably in the kitchen, Peter spotted a small dog in the back garden and ran out to play with it.
‘Joan,’ Selina said quickly, ‘do you think your husband might be able to speak to Peter before we go home?’ She explained the situation, and Joan listened in concern, but then sadly shook her head.
‘I don’t think Arthur will have time. Not on this visit.
He’s taking a portfolio of sketches and paintings down to a gallery in Truro tomorrow and will be gone several days.
You remember he’s an artist? People have started taking an interest in his work, and there’s a chance he may be invited to exhibit in the spring. ’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m ever so sorry.’
‘Perhaps if you were to come and visit us at Bodmin, then?’ Selina asked, determined to find a solution.
‘Well, erm …’ Joan blushed. ‘Thank you for the invitation, but the doctor thinks I shouldn’t travel any long distances for a while. Not until a certain happy event has occurred.’
Selina gasped. ‘You mean … You’re expecting?’
‘I know, it’s not obvious yet.’ Joan nodded, laughing at her shocked expression.
‘My brother Graham joked at the time that Arthur and I would need to get married quickly, and he wasn’t far wrong.
’ Her blush deepened. ‘Though my mother-in-law insists we should call it a “honeymoon baby” and hope nobody works out the dates.’
‘You dark horse!’ Selina hugged her, adding her heartfelt congratulations. ‘Goodness, everyone’s falling pregnant at the moment. Violet thinks it’s because of the war, and she’s probably right. It’s a shame, though, about Arthur not being here. Maybe he could speak to Peter another time?’
‘I’ll tell him about it, never fear.’ Joan turned to make the tea, a healthy glow in her face. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your nephew’s troubles … But he’s young, and I’m sure he’ll bounce back in time.’
‘Yes, I expect so.’ Not wanting to admit how worried she was, Selina could only smile, hoping that Joan was right.