In Love and War by Lily Baxter

newspapers discarded by Mr Winter, but she had had to wait until no one was looking before she had taken the relevant page and slipped it into her apron pocket. If it became common knowledge that she was seeking employment elsewhere she might lose the job she had, and that would be a disaster. It was difficult to save enough to pay the rent on Tan Cottage as it was, let alone find money for necessities. It was late September and there was a hint of autumn in the air. The leaves on the trees were heavy with dust and beginning to turn subtle shades of russet and gold. Skeins of wild geese flew overhead morning and evening, honking and calling to each other as they headed for the fields where they would feed on the ears of corn left after the crop had been harvested, building themselves up to face the winter. The cold weather was coming and there would be the additional expense of paying for coal and candles or lamp oil. Mrs Tranter had offered Elsie a bed in the attic rooms with the junior kitchen maids, Emily and Jane, but if she accepted a live-in position she feared she might condemn herself to a life in service. She had glimpsed another way of life and been treated as an equal by Marianne and Henri, and nothing would be the same again. Cook and Mrs Tranter had tried to warn her against becoming too friendly with her employers, and Elsie was beginning to realise that they were right.
    Marianne had been in London for almost a month and no one knew when she might return. It was obvious to Elsie that both Marianne and Henri had moved on within their own circle and that she had been forgotten. For all she knew Henri might have returned to France and might even have been one of the casualties of the battle of Le Cateau that had claimed so many lives. She had applied for several positions locally without success. A cordite factory had been set up at Holton Heath, but it would cost her more to travel there each day than she could earn, and although she did apply she received a negative response by return of post.
    On her day off she caught a bus to the nearest town and made enquiries at the railway station to see if they needed porters or someone to work in the tearoom, again without success. She tried the bus depot but they needed drivers and she had to admit that she had never been behind the wheel. She went into shops and offered her services but the shopkeepers seemed to favour young boys or older men, and she was turned away. She spent a few pennies on a cup of tea and a sticky bun, and caught the bus back to Sutton Darcy feeling frustrated and angry. She boiled an egg and buttered a slice of bread, and was just about to sit down to eat her frugal meal when someone rapped on the front door. She went to open it and to her surprise it was the rent collector. He doffed his cap. ‘Good evening, Miss Mead.’
    â€˜You’re a day early, Mr Thompson.’ She reached into her pocket and took out her purse.
    â€˜Only a day, Miss Mead. Is it a problem?’
    She counted out the coins. ‘No. I made sure I have enough.’
    He took the money and dropped it into a leather pouch. He hesitated, eyeing her warily.
    â€˜Was there something else, Mr Thompson?’
    â€˜I’m afraid so, Miss Mead. I have to give you a week’s notice to quit Tan Cottage.’ He took an envelope from his breast pocket and pressed it into her hand. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s the landlord’s orders.’
    â€˜I have to leave my home? Why?’
    â€˜I’m sorry, Miss Mead. The landlord is terminating the agreement, which was with Mrs Monique Mead. It’s only just come to his attention that the lady is deceased.’
    â€˜But you can’t turn me out. I’ve been paying the rent regular as clockwork.’
    â€˜I know, but it’s not my decision. The owner has another tenant in mind who can afford to pay almost double the amount your mother was paying.’
    â€˜You can’t do this to