Sons and Daughters (12 page)

The boys ran to where the mower was cutting the grass on the far side of the field, drawn by two of the farm’s shires. A little later the boys returned and now, Charlotte noticed, they were skirting carefully round the uncut grass. The workers had all been at Buckthorn Farm for several days and today, by mid afternoon, they were almost finished here. Charlotte stood up and eased her aching back. She glanced across the flat fields and smiled with satisfaction at the long rows of cut grass. Then, suddenly, she felt a little hand creep into hers.

‘Are you tired, Miss Charlotte?’ Georgie asked.

‘A little. We all work very hard at this time of the year. And soon it will be the corn harvest. That’s an even busier time.’

The boy’s face fell.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘I – I just wondered if we could go to the beach. You – you did promise to take me.’

Charlotte’s smile broadened. ‘So I did. Then we’ll go.’

‘Now?’

‘Yes, now. But first, we must ask Eddie to take a message to your father that—’

‘Papa’s over there. We can ask him.’ And before she could say another word, he was capering across the field towards his father, but still, she noticed with a smile, avoiding the grass that was yet to be cut. Georgie was hopping up and down excitedly in front of Miles as Charlotte walked towards them.

‘Please may I go, Papa? Miss Charlotte will bring me home before bedtime.’

Miles looked up. ‘I’m sure Miss Charlotte’s tired. Another day perhaps . . .’

‘I don’t mind. Any excuse to go to the shore.’

‘Then of course he may go with you.’ He paused and she felt his brown gaze upon her. ‘Would you mind if I came too?’

‘Of course not. And if we can find a sack, we can collect samphire.’

‘Samphire? What’s that?’

Charlotte laughed. ‘Poor man’s asparagus. It grows on the saltmarsh, even where the tide covers it. You should try it.’

Miles laughed. ‘I doubt Mrs Beddows would know how to cook it. You do cook it, I take it?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll get Mary to send you the recipe.’

Moments later, when they’d collected a sack, the three walked along the lane towards the sea.

‘Oh look, Papa. The sea!’ The boy stood on top of the bank, his eyes wide in wonder as he took in the vast expanse of marshland, mudflats, sand and the North Sea beyond.

‘Now,’ Charlotte said, bending down, ‘you must never come here on your own, Georgie. The tides can be very treacherous. It’s coming in now and you see how the water is swirling round and forming creeks—’

‘What’s a creek?’

Charlotte pointed. ‘There, that water that looks like a pond just now, but watch, you see the strip of marshland beyond it – between it and the sea?’

‘Yes.’

‘Now see how the water starts to cover the land?’

They watched for several minutes until the piece of marsh disappeared beneath the encroaching waves and the creek became one with the sea.

‘I think I understand what you mean, Miss Charlotte,’ Miles said. ‘You see, Georgie, if you’d been standing on that bit of marsh and the sea had come swirling in around you, perhaps by the time you’d realized you were getting cut off, the water in the creek would have been too deep for you to get across. Do you understand?’

The boy nodded solemnly.

‘I’ve always been told that if you walk that way,’ Charlotte gestured to the left, ‘towards the north, you can beat the water coming in from the right, but it’d be safer not to risk it. I never go beyond the creeks when the tide’s coming in. Now, will you remember what I’ve said, Georgie?’

‘Do Tommy and the others know?’

‘All the children living here are told as soon as they’re old enough to understand. And another thing – ’ she turned and pointed inland – ‘you see that windmill over there? That’s Webster’s Mill. You can see it from the marsh, but as soon as it disappears from view we mark our path across the mudflats with thakking pegs, so that when the tide starts to come in you can see your way back. We won’t need to do that today, but you will remember what I’ve said, won’t you? And you must be wary of sea frets, too. A sea mist. They roll in very quickly sometimes.’

‘I’ll tell Ben – and Phil,’ Georgie promised solemnly.

‘What on earth is a thakking peg?’ Miles asked, amused.

‘It’s something that thatchers use to hold the thatch in place whilst they’re working.’

‘Ah.’ Miles chuckled. ‘Maybe one day I’ll learn all these Lincolnshire words.’

‘Now can we collect samphire?’ Georgie demanded.

For the next hour or so, until the sun began to sink behind the sandbank, streaking the sky with red and gold and the tide crept nearer, the three of them picked the fleshy-leafed plant to carry back to the farm. As they left, they paused at the top of the bank to look back across the marsh, listening to the soft sound of the sea.

‘In a month or so,’ Charlotte told Georgie, ‘the marsh will be covered with lilac sea lavender, and later yellow and mauve sea asters. There are all sort of plants that grow on the marsh. It’s really very pretty. I’ll bring you again. We’ll look for crabs or just watch the birds feeding on the mudflats when the tide’s out. That’s if – ’ she paused and glanced at Miles – ‘your father doesn’t mind.’

‘Any time, Miss Charlotte.’ She heard his low chuckle. ‘Just so long as I can come too.’

‘We wondered where you were, Miss Charlotte,’ Mary greeted them at the back door. ‘Good evening, sir – Master Georgie. Would you care for something to drink before you go home? A nice glass of my elderflower wine, perhaps? And lemonade for Master Georgie?’

‘That’d be very nice,’ Miles said, stepping over the threshold.

‘Mrs Morgan,’ Georgie piped up, ‘we’ve collected some samphire. Will you cook it for us?’

‘I will indeed, Master Georgie. I’ll show you what to do and then you can tell Mrs Beddows. It’s very easy, but she might not have heard of it, not being from these parts. First you wash it well, then boil or steam it for about ten minutes. Serve it with a knob of butter and season it with black pepper and vinegar. Now, Master Georgie, can you remember that?’

Solemnly, Georgie nodded whilst Miles looked on with an amused smile.

‘It goes nicely with fish or meat,’ Mary went on. ‘And you can pickle it, too, so you’ve got supplies through the winter.’

It was a very tired, but happy little boy who travelled home in the pony and trap driven by Edward, tightly clutching the tureen of samphire Mary had shown him how to cook.

August arrived and, with it, Georgie’s excitement reached fever pitch at the anticipated trip to the horse fair.

It was arranged that Mr Thornton, his two younger sons, Joe and Charlotte should all travel to Horncastle in Mr Thornton’s motor car.

‘Would you like to go on the Sunday?’ Charlotte asked Miles. ‘A lot of the dealers and their horses start arriving immediately after Bank Holiday Monday. There’ll have been some buying and selling even in that first week, but the following Sunday is what they call show day and the fair starts in earnest on Monday, the ninth. The boys would love it.’

‘You’ve been before?’ There was a surprised note in his tone.

‘Joe’s father, Harry Warren, used to take me. I was only ten the first time I went.’ She bit her lip, resisting the urge to confide in him that trips to the horse fair had been the only outings she’d ever known, except for the occasional visit to the optician in Lincoln. For some reason, her father had never stopped her going to the annual fair. No doubt it had been because it all added to her farming knowledge.

So the trip was arranged for the second Sunday in August, with another visit to buy two horses the next day.

‘A lot more arrive then and the best ’osses are snapped up quickly,’ Joe explained, winking at Georgie. ‘So we need to go again.’

He was rewarded by a beaming smile from the excited little boy.

‘I hope you don’t mind squashing in the back seat with the two boys, Miss Charlotte.’ Miles Thornton smiled as he held open the car door for her.

‘Of course not.’ She’d been looking forward to this day ever since it had been suggested and her heart lifted even further when she saw that Philip was not joining the outing. There was only one thing that might prove difficult. She was worried that Georgie – and possibly Ben too – would stay with her and she wouldn’t have the chance to look over the horses and indicate her choices to Joe. But, unwittingly, Miles came to her rescue. ‘If you need to go off on personal matters, Miss Charlotte, just say so. We don’t want to spoil your plans.’

But then Charlotte thought that having the two boys alongside her might be a good idea. Perhaps she could glean which animals took Ben’s eye, since one of them was to be for him. She would have plenty of time that evening to talk to Joe before their buying trip the next day. She’d already primed Joe that he should ask Miles how much he wanted to pay. As they travelled, she heard snatches of the conversation from the front seats and knew they were discussing the details.

‘I thought it’d be an auction,’ she heard Miles say. ‘But Miss Charlotte mentioned “dealing”. What actually happens?’

‘The fair’s not so big now as it used to be. Years ago, the town was packed, but it’s still a good place to buy a horse; that’s if you watch out for the scams.’

‘Scams?’

‘Oh aye, not all dealers are honest, Mr Thornton, but don’t you worry, we can usually spot ’em. When me dad first brought me here,’ Joe went on, ‘there used to be a couple of fellers held auctions in the yard of the Reindeer and used the paddock to put their ’osses through their paces. We allus went to them. Honest as the day is long, they were. They’re not there now, more’s the pity, ’cos I’m talking twenty years or more ago. Still, we’ll have a good look around for you.’

Charlotte caught her breath, wanting to say, ‘Don’t say “we”, Joe.’

Innocently, Georgie came to her rescue by interrupting. ‘Ben doesn’t mind what colour ’oss he has. But he doesn’t want a big one like Midnight, do you, Ben?’

Charlotte felt the urge to giggle at Georgie copying Joe’s Lincolnshire dialect, but Ben, seeming not to notice, shuddered and shook his head. ‘No – nor one so wild.’ He glanced sideways at Charlotte. ‘Where’s Midnight now, Miss Charlotte?’

‘Still in our stables at Buckthorn Farm. He’s being schooled,’ she added. It was the truth, but not the whole truth. The horse had indeed been broken in – and was making good progress – by Charlotte herself with old Matty’s help. But again, this was one of the secrets of Buckthorn Farm. In the summer evenings, when all but perhaps Joe had left work, Charlotte worked with the horse.

Sunday was, as Charlotte had said, show day. Stalls had been set up in the inn yards in readiness for the days ahead and dealers were already showing off their horses, running them up and down the street or on the nearest piece of grass, hoping to secure early interest in their animals.

‘Oh look – do look!’ Georgie exclaimed as Miles parked the car and they all scrambled out. ‘I’ve never seen so many horses. How are you ever going to choose one, Ben? You’ll have to come with us, Miss Charlotte, and help us.’

Charlotte and Joe exchanged a swift glance. It couldn’t have worked out better. She held out her hand to him. ‘Come, let’s see if we can find a horse Ben might like.’

They wandered through the Bull Ring, where the main concentration of business would be, but the dealing spilled over into the surrounding streets and inn yards. There were more public houses than normal for the size of the town, but these stabled the horses and provided accommodation, food and drink for the dealers and buyers. August was a busy month and usually a profitable one for the town even though, as Joe had said, the heyday of the fair had been years earlier. But there was still much business to be done and many of the local residents relied on the fair. Even the surrounding farms grew oats especially to provide feed for the horses at this time of the year.

They all enjoyed the day; even Ben forgot to be a sedate twelve-year-old and ran around excitedly with Georgie.

‘Mind where you’re stepping,’ Joe warned them both. ‘I dun’t reckon your Pa’d like ’oss muck in his car.’

‘Have you seen anything you like?’ Charlotte asked Ben. ‘Because if you have, Joe could have a word with the owner.’

‘He likes them all!’ Georgie piped up before his brother could answer. They laughed and Miles said, ‘I don’t think I could afford to buy
all
of them, Georgie.’

‘Couldn’t you, Papa?’ the young boy asked innocently. Then, suddenly, his attention was caught by the sound of music. ‘What’s that?’

‘That’ll be the Methodists,’ Joe said. ‘They hold an open-air service in the Bull Ring after the normal evening service. They have speakers and singers and—’

Georgie caught hold of Charlotte’s hand and began to drag her along the street towards the sound. ‘Let’s go and listen.’

Laughingly, they all followed his lead.

Charlotte couldn’t remember such a perfect day and it was almost dark by the time Miles left them at the gateway to Buckthorn Farm, promising, ‘We’ll be here bright and early in the morning.’ He nodded to the back seat, where Georgie had been asleep against Charlotte’s shoulder. ‘If we can get Georgie to wake up, that is.’