Belle was fast asleep on the floor, wearing only her chemise, her hair tousled and one slender arm tucked around her head. The blonde girl on the makeshift bed was equally peaceful. She was wearing an old cotton nightdress trimmed with lace which Mog had made for Belle. Her colour looked good, not too pale, nor flushed and feverish.
Relief flooded through Mog. There was no blood, mess or anything to suggest anything out of the ordinary had taken place in the room. She could see a covered bucket outside in the yard, and guessed that any evidence was in there.
Despite her relief that all was well, there was something about the blonde girl which made her look through the door again, and to her shock she recognized her as the daughter of Mrs Forbes-Alton. Until just a few days ago all she knew of this woman was gossip: that she was bombastic and liked to keep a finger in every pie in the village. Mog had finally met her at a meeting which had been called to start a knitting group to make useful items for soldiers at the front. Mrs Forbes-Alton had been there with her two daughters, and Mog remembered them clearly because they looked so uncomfortable when their mother began to sound off as if she was running the entire show.
Mrs Fitzpatrick, the wife of a famous concert pianist who had blue blood running through her veins, had made a tentative suggestion that maybe Mrs Jenkins, who ran the village haberdasher’s, could advise women what to knit and give instruction to novices as she was something of an expert.
Mrs Jenkins agreed she’d be happy to do that, and would offer a discount on any knitting wool purchased from her.
‘Oh no,’ Mrs Forbes-Alton had boomed out in her plummy voice. ‘We can’t have anyone profiting from our venture. We should buy the wool wholesale.’
Mog had seethed along with a great many other women because Mrs Jenkins had lost her husband in the war in South Africa, and just a few weeks earlier had seen both her two sons enlist. She was big-hearted, generously knitting clothes for every new baby born in the village, and had helped countless young women make their wedding dresses. Everyone knew she would be struggling to make ends meet now her sons had gone to war. But as one woman pointed out, she’d probably knit more items than anyone else in the village.
That afternoon at the meeting, both the Forbes-Alton girls had been impeccably dressed and looked the very picture of shy docility. That made it even harder for Mog to imagine that the older and plainer one had been having a secret love affair.
After the meeting feelings were running very high about Mrs Forbes-Alton and it was said that this was how she always behaved, belittling the efforts of anyone else, but doing very little herself. They said she was boastful and mean-spirited and treated her servants appallingly. So it was somewhat ironic that Belle had rescued Miranda, and saved that ogre of a woman some richly deserved shame and humiliation.
Now Mog knew what Miranda’s mother was like, she felt even more sympathetic towards the daughter. She’d probably been brought up by servants, with little interest and affection from her mother. It was no wonder she fell into the arms of the first man who said he loved her. But she’d paid a very high price for a little fleeting happiness.
Hopefully she would recover physically in a few days with rest and good hygiene, but Mog knew that the mental scar of losing a baby, whether by accident or intent, was something that took a great deal longer to heal.
Belle stirred and opened her eyes as the back door creaked. She saw Mog and smiled, putting one finger over her lips and nodding towards Miranda, then got up and came out into the yard.
She closed the door behind her and taking Mog’s arm, led her over to a couple of wooden boxes where they sat down in the sunshine. ‘She’s going to be all right, I think,’ Belle said in a low voice. ‘She was very brave, didn’t scream or
Relief flooded through Mog. There was no blood, mess or anything to suggest anything out of the ordinary had taken place in the room. She could see a covered bucket outside in the yard, and guessed that any evidence was in there.
Despite her relief that all was well, there was something about the blonde girl which made her look through the door again, and to her shock she recognized her as the daughter of Mrs Forbes-Alton. Until just a few days ago all she knew of this woman was gossip: that she was bombastic and liked to keep a finger in every pie in the village. Mog had finally met her at a meeting which had been called to start a knitting group to make useful items for soldiers at the front. Mrs Forbes-Alton had been there with her two daughters, and Mog remembered them clearly because they looked so uncomfortable when their mother began to sound off as if she was running the entire show.
Mrs Fitzpatrick, the wife of a famous concert pianist who had blue blood running through her veins, had made a tentative suggestion that maybe Mrs Jenkins, who ran the village haberdasher’s, could advise women what to knit and give instruction to novices as she was something of an expert.
Mrs Jenkins agreed she’d be happy to do that, and would offer a discount on any knitting wool purchased from her.
‘Oh no,’ Mrs Forbes-Alton had boomed out in her plummy voice. ‘We can’t have anyone profiting from our venture. We should buy the wool wholesale.’
Mog had seethed along with a great many other women because Mrs Jenkins had lost her husband in the war in South Africa, and just a few weeks earlier had seen both her two sons enlist. She was big-hearted, generously knitting clothes for every new baby born in the village, and had helped countless young women make their wedding dresses. Everyone knew she would be struggling to make ends meet now her sons had gone to war. But as one woman pointed out, she’d probably knit more items than anyone else in the village.
That afternoon at the meeting, both the Forbes-Alton girls had been impeccably dressed and looked the very picture of shy docility. That made it even harder for Mog to imagine that the older and plainer one had been having a secret love affair.
After the meeting feelings were running very high about Mrs Forbes-Alton and it was said that this was how she always behaved, belittling the efforts of anyone else, but doing very little herself. They said she was boastful and mean-spirited and treated her servants appallingly. So it was somewhat ironic that Belle had rescued Miranda, and saved that ogre of a woman some richly deserved shame and humiliation.
Now Mog knew what Miranda’s mother was like, she felt even more sympathetic towards the daughter. She’d probably been brought up by servants, with little interest and affection from her mother. It was no wonder she fell into the arms of the first man who said he loved her. But she’d paid a very high price for a little fleeting happiness.
Hopefully she would recover physically in a few days with rest and good hygiene, but Mog knew that the mental scar of losing a baby, whether by accident or intent, was something that took a great deal longer to heal.
Belle stirred and opened her eyes as the back door creaked. She saw Mog and smiled, putting one finger over her lips and nodding towards Miranda, then got up and came out into the yard.
She closed the door behind her and taking Mog’s arm, led her over to a couple of wooden boxes where they sat down in the sunshine. ‘She’s going to be all right, I think,’ Belle said in a low voice. ‘She was very brave, didn’t scream or
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