if she considered that a daft question. ‘And you’d better drink your tea and go. I’ve got the ironing to do and a pie to make.’
Thomas drank his tea. He felt Rosie was telling the truth, at least as far as not knowing where Heather had gone. He decided he would ask questions elsewhere, sleep on the problem and decide what to do about it in the morning.
‘Did Heather ever tell you about me?’ he asked her as he got up to leave.
Rosie nodded. She was shifting from one foot to the other impatiently, but the look she gave him was curiously gentle.
‘She said you were clever and that you looked after her when she was little.’
Thomas sighed. ‘One more question before I go. Did you like Heather?’
He didn’t really know why he asked this, yet it seemed all-important to him.
To his surprise and consternation Rosie’s eyes welled with tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly, afraid he may have asked one question too many. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’
‘I don’t mind telling you,’ she replied in a small, shaky voice. ‘I loved her and I had all the best times I remember with her.’
A lump came up in Thomas’s throat and he reached out and squeezed the girl’s small hand. Whatever had happened here, if the child had loved Heather, it was almost certain Heather had loved her back. That made him and Rosie allies, and as such he knew he would have to honour his promise that he would keep their meeting secret.
But it made Heather’s disappearance all the more odd. He wasn’t going to leave Somerset until he knew more.
At eight that evening, Rosie sat by her bedroom window and allowed herself to think about Heather for the first time in months.
It was still very warm, the pink sky promising another hot day again tomorrow. She never tired of the view of the moors from her window; she saw it as her extended garden. A heron was standing as still as a statue on the edge of the ditch just beyond the orchard, and a few moments ago she had glimpsed a flash of turquoise which she knew was a kingfisher. Later as dusk fell, an owl would come to perch on the washing-line post as usual, waiting for his supper when mice came out to nibble at the chicken feed.
Living here on the Levels had taught her how precarious the balance of nature was, and how dependent every single living thing was on the chain of life. If the men didn’t clear the rhynes and ditches of weeds, the fields became flooded in the winter, drowning the livestock, destroying crops of vegetables and the fruit trees. She supposed that was why so many of the people here were tough and brutish like her father and brothers. They had to be, to survive.
She thought that Thomas Farley must be equally tough and single-minded to have survived that prison camp. She’d read about them and she knew how many men had died in them. Such a strong-willed man wouldn’t go back to London until he had discovered every last thing about his sister’s time here. That made Rosie feel very uneasy. There was an awful lot she hadn’t told him, and maybe she should have curbed her nosy streak for once and stayed hidden.
Yet deep down she wasn’t sorry she’d spoken to him, not even if it stirred up some trouble. Heather had told her so many stories about her brother, so it was lovely to discover he hadn’t died in the war. Maybe if Thomas could find Heather he’d also help her to take Alan away from here. That would be so good for Alan, and it might also mean Rosie could get a proper job.
Miss Tillingham, her teacher, had been very disappointed when Cole made her leave school as soon as she was fifteen. She said it was a wicked waste of a fine brain for her to stay at home just to be a housekeeper for her father and brothers. But even Miss Tillingham wasn’t brave enough to express her views directly to Cole Parker. Everyone knew he considered it unnecessary for girls to have anything more than a rudimentary education.
But Rosie
Thomas drank his tea. He felt Rosie was telling the truth, at least as far as not knowing where Heather had gone. He decided he would ask questions elsewhere, sleep on the problem and decide what to do about it in the morning.
‘Did Heather ever tell you about me?’ he asked her as he got up to leave.
Rosie nodded. She was shifting from one foot to the other impatiently, but the look she gave him was curiously gentle.
‘She said you were clever and that you looked after her when she was little.’
Thomas sighed. ‘One more question before I go. Did you like Heather?’
He didn’t really know why he asked this, yet it seemed all-important to him.
To his surprise and consternation Rosie’s eyes welled with tears.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said quickly, afraid he may have asked one question too many. ‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.’
‘I don’t mind telling you,’ she replied in a small, shaky voice. ‘I loved her and I had all the best times I remember with her.’
A lump came up in Thomas’s throat and he reached out and squeezed the girl’s small hand. Whatever had happened here, if the child had loved Heather, it was almost certain Heather had loved her back. That made him and Rosie allies, and as such he knew he would have to honour his promise that he would keep their meeting secret.
But it made Heather’s disappearance all the more odd. He wasn’t going to leave Somerset until he knew more.
At eight that evening, Rosie sat by her bedroom window and allowed herself to think about Heather for the first time in months.
It was still very warm, the pink sky promising another hot day again tomorrow. She never tired of the view of the moors from her window; she saw it as her extended garden. A heron was standing as still as a statue on the edge of the ditch just beyond the orchard, and a few moments ago she had glimpsed a flash of turquoise which she knew was a kingfisher. Later as dusk fell, an owl would come to perch on the washing-line post as usual, waiting for his supper when mice came out to nibble at the chicken feed.
Living here on the Levels had taught her how precarious the balance of nature was, and how dependent every single living thing was on the chain of life. If the men didn’t clear the rhynes and ditches of weeds, the fields became flooded in the winter, drowning the livestock, destroying crops of vegetables and the fruit trees. She supposed that was why so many of the people here were tough and brutish like her father and brothers. They had to be, to survive.
She thought that Thomas Farley must be equally tough and single-minded to have survived that prison camp. She’d read about them and she knew how many men had died in them. Such a strong-willed man wouldn’t go back to London until he had discovered every last thing about his sister’s time here. That made Rosie feel very uneasy. There was an awful lot she hadn’t told him, and maybe she should have curbed her nosy streak for once and stayed hidden.
Yet deep down she wasn’t sorry she’d spoken to him, not even if it stirred up some trouble. Heather had told her so many stories about her brother, so it was lovely to discover he hadn’t died in the war. Maybe if Thomas could find Heather he’d also help her to take Alan away from here. That would be so good for Alan, and it might also mean Rosie could get a proper job.
Miss Tillingham, her teacher, had been very disappointed when Cole made her leave school as soon as she was fifteen. She said it was a wicked waste of a fine brain for her to stay at home just to be a housekeeper for her father and brothers. But even Miss Tillingham wasn’t brave enough to express her views directly to Cole Parker. Everyone knew he considered it unnecessary for girls to have anything more than a rudimentary education.
But Rosie
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