Chapter Twenty-Two
‘Finally!’ Selina threw aside her lap blanket and rushed into the hall at the sight of the postie doggedly battling the sludge of thawing snow to reach the steps of Thornton Hall.
Only the day before, the groundsman and his boy Walter had finally been able to dig out a path for vehicles to reach the hall from the main road, which had apparently been gritted by the local council, though snow still lay in thick drifts on the verges.
Looking half-frozen, the postie thrust a bunch of envelopes into her hand, touched his cap with a muttered word of greeting, and turned back to his van.
‘Can I offer you a hot drink before you go, John?’ she called after him.
‘Very kind, Miss, but no thank you. I’ve a dozen properties yet to reach before dark.’ He grinned. ‘Thaw’s setting in though, thank goodness.’
‘Yes, a blessing.’
She watched until he’d successfully turned his van in the wet snow, then hurried inside to pull off her wellies again, her gloved hands already numb with cold.
She imagined that Mrs Hawley, who had not been able to reach the hall since early in the new year, when snow had begun to fall in earnest, would soon be back at work.
Since the first week of the year, Bodmin Moor had been blanketed in white – a beautiful sight but chilling too.
Thankfully, the housekeeper had struggled to the telephone at the village stores and called to apologise, and also to direct Selina towards stores of food in their various pantries and larder, to keep them going through the cold snap.
‘Don’t worry, Aunt Selly … I can always take Father’s hunting gun out and shoot some rabbits for the pot,’ Peter had told her on hearing they would need to be frugal with their meals. ‘And Jemima can skin them, if I show her how.’
‘I’ll do no such thing,’ his sister had exclaimed with a shudder, while little Faith copied her, both girls pulling disgusted faces.
Selina had chuckled. ‘Thank you, Peter, and I’ll bear that in mind,’ she’d told the boy fondly. She knew he was trying his best to be the man of the house.
The groundsman and his son lived in a cottage on the estate, of course, and had soon made themselves useful, dragging a cart of logs and kindling up to the great house to keep the range lit and at least one downstairs fire burning all day, earning them Selina’s heartfelt gratitude and a hot mince pie apiece.
She thought their own stores must be quite low, although she had seen young Walter heading out with a dog and rifle before, and rather suspected the boy to be a dab hand at rabbiting himself.
Most of the post bundle turned out to be Christmas cards, held back due to the snow and only now being delivered. But among these she found a letter from Caroline, and retreated to her cosy fireside seat, blanket over her knees, to catch up on gossip from the farm.
Having spent several winters working as a Land Girl at Postbridge Farm, Selina knew how grim it could get at this time of year …
Pitch-black mornings, water frozen solid in the animal troughs, the windows and attic skylights frosted over.
But there would also be beautiful, ice-frilled cobwebs on gates and fences, dazzling white fields begging for someone to sink their boots deep into them, and a chance to slip and slide over frozen puddles on the lane down to the village.
Caroline’s letter made her sit up though, concerned.
Among her anecdotes about Tilly finding a rat frozen to a drainpipe, and Joe losing his pipe when it fell into a snow drift, was news that dear old Barney, the farm’s loveable shire horse, had died, and Caro was having ‘a wretched time of it’.
It also seemed that Caro and Grace had been forced to spend Christmas in Penzance, and from the letter’s despondent tone she guessed something had happened there to cause an upset between the two young women.
She only wished she could be on hand to give her friend comfort.
The final paragraph made her smile, at least. There’d been a food drop to the snowbound village, apparently coordinated by Violet Postbridge’s mum, Mrs Newton.
It all sounded rather dramatic and she was sorry to have missed it.
But Caroline’s description of the eccentric old shopkeeper stomping about in wellies, organising a human chain and the distribution of food parcels, left her chuckling.
One of the other envelopes was more official-looking. Tearing it open, Selina discovered that her driving test had been cancelled and would need to be rearranged for spring.
‘Good news,’ she muttered. She’d been worried about the prospect of her test, having had little opportunity so far to drive on a regular basis.
There was a knock at the door, and Peter stuck his head around. ‘Aunt Selly, may I help Mr Underhill and his son dig out the coal bunker? We gave up at the last attempt. But now the snow’s thawing, Walter says we should easily reach it this time.’
‘Of course, but stay warm. The last thing we need is for you to catch pneumonia.’
Already winding a thick brown scarf about his neck, her nephew nodded, unsmiling, and took himself off to help the groundsman and his boy.
Selina sat listening to his footsteps dwindle, and wished she knew how to get the boy out of his doldrums. Like Caroline, her nephew was struggling with this wintry weather, but also some deeper issue …
Could Helen Bourne be right when she’d said his misery was down to this having been his first Christmas without his mother?
In which case, perhaps it was simply a matter of waiting.
This thaw and the brighter weather might give Peter a fresh zest for life, better suited to a boy his age than constant low spirits.
On impulse, Selina drew out a sheet of writing paper, and found pen and ink.
Sitting at the desk, still wrapped in a blanket, she penned a reply to Caroline’s letter, commiserating over the horse’s death, laughing at Tilly and Joe, but also touching tentatively on her own problems over Christmas.
She couldn’t help Caroline get through this bad patch, being miles away on Bodmin Moor, but she could perhaps reassure her friend that she wasn’t alone in having a complicated life …
‘Aunt Selly, Aunt Selly …’ Faith came dashing into the room just as she finished writing her letter. The little girl’s face was pink with excitement. ‘Can we go outside too? Pwease say yes.’
Jemima had followed her, her look one of entreaty. ‘I’ve learned all my French and Faith has finished tracing her alphabet. Please may we put on our coats and watch Peter dig out the coal bunker?’
Selina smiled indulgently at the two girls. ‘All right,’ she agreed, ‘but only if you wrap up in coats and scarves. Understand?’
The two girls dashed away, giggling and hugging each other. Putting away her letter, Selina went after them. Somebody would need to supervise their outdoor activities, and that somebody could hardly be Nancy, who was looking wan and weary these days, her pregnancy now quite advanced.
She found the girls by the back door, pulling on their coats and boots. Nancy was there too, helping Faith with her woollen mittens.
‘I’ll walk with them, Nancy,’ Selina assured her with a smile. ‘You shouldn’t be going outside in this cold weather. Not in your condition.’
Adjusting her woolly hat, Jemima looked round at them curiously. ‘What condition?’
Selina bit her lip, throwing a look of chagrin at Nancy, who blenched.
‘I haven’t been well lately, that’s all your aunt means,’ Nancy explained, reaching for a scarf. She gave Selina a smile. ‘We won’t stay outside too long.’
As quickly as she could, Selina dragged on her own coat and boots, making sure to grab gloves on her way out too. ‘Would you like to make a snowman?’ she asked Faith, tucking the little girl’s hand into hers.
Faith nodded enthusiastically. ‘Yes, please!’
But they’d barely crossed the lawn when a snowball struck Jemima in the chest. She glared at her brother, who was leaning on his spade beside the coal bunker.
‘You meanie!’ Bending to the thawing snow, she seized great fistfuls of slush and patted them into a large wet snowball, which she threw at her brother.
Luckily for Peter, her aim was not particularly accurate. It missed him by several feet. But she was already bending to make another snowball as he stood laughing …
Nancy grinned, a pink tinge to her cheeks. ‘Time for a snowball battle?’ she asked Selina shyly.
Selina chuckled. ‘Why not? At the rate the weather’s warming up, I doubt there’ll be much snow left soon.’
Despite her growing tummy, Nancy stooped for a handful of slushy snow too.
Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Nancy was still very young.
Only a few years ago, she would have been a schoolgirl.
Perhaps it was simply boredom and a lack of friends her own age that was making the young woman so miserable, rather than fear for the future.
As for Peter … Well, a snowball fight might be just the thing to cheer him up. At least for today.
A snowball thudded into the side of her head, cold and icy, and she shrieked.
‘Sorry, Aunt Selly … I was aiming for Jemima.’ Peter grinned, his look mischievous.
‘Now, why don’t I believe you?’ Selina demanded, breathless and laughing as she scraped wet snow off the side of her face. ‘Wretched boy … But you’ll soon be sorry.’ And she too bent to make a snowball.