The Buttercup Fields

by Elizabeth Jeffrey

Genres: General Fiction; Sagas

Synopsis

Since they were pupils in the village school, it had been obvious that Becca the ploughman's daughter and George the blacksmith's son would one day marry. But Becca's scheming younger sister, Ellen, upsets their plans with a shocking announcement: she is pregnant with George's child. Shock and disillusionment sour Becca's good nature, but it is partly restored when Jethro, newly returned to the district, begins to pay her attention and eventually proposes marriage. He has inherited a nearby cottage from his aunt, and has plans to build a business specialising in furniture. While Becca and Jethro run their thriving business, Ellen and George have too many children and not enough money. The needy Ellen is forced to accept the charity that Becca offers, but it seems the two sisters will not be true friends again. Especially as George remains convinced he married the wrong sister . . .

Release date: August 7, 2014

Publisher: Piatkus

Print pages: 385

Sample

Becca took one last look at the little thatched cottage before she picked up her faded gingham skirts and ran down the lane, her thick, dark hair tumbling from its pins where George had tangled his fingers in it as he gave her a last kiss before going back to work. She gave a little skip of delight because soon she and George would be married. The date was set for the fourth of October in the year 1890, in six weeks’ time, and after that the two of them would be living in the little cottage at the end of Tenpenny Lane they had just visited. She was so happy and full of love for George that she felt her heart would burst.

She slowed to a walk and began to make plans. There were a few sticks of furniture in the cottage – enough to start with – and she could soon brighten up the place with a rub of beeswax and a patchwork cushion or two. She might even manage to find some oddments of material and make curtains, she was good with her needle. And she’d already collected up one or two bits of china … She broke into a run again.

She reached home, another farm labourer’s cottage but in better condition than the one she had just left, and ran down the path and into the brick-floored kitchen, nearly falling over her own feet in her excitement. ‘Mr Warner has jest said George and me can have Owd Racky Harris the cowman’s cottage, now that Racky’s dead and his wife has gone to live with her son,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Thass not a bad little place, neither. Me and George have jest been to look at it. That want a bit done to the thatch, but George reckon he can do that afore we’re wed without a lot of trouble …’

Daisy Stansgate, busy at the fire, turned with the kettle in her hand and looked at her twenty-year-old daughter. Becca stood in the doorway, radiant with happiness, her cheeks rosy and her breast heaving from her run down the lane. Daisy’s heart flooded with compassion.

‘I’m afraid there’ll be no harvest wedding for you, Becca, my girl, so you can put that idea right outa your head.’ She pursed her lips and banged the kettle down on the hob, emotion making her voice sharper than she had intended.

Becca’s jaw dropped as she stared from her mother to her younger sister, who was huddled on the settle in the corner, and back at her mother again. ‘What do you mean, won’t be no wedding? You know right well George and me’s promised.’

‘Didn’t you hear me, mawther? I said there won’t be no wedding between you and George Askew,’ Daisy repeated, her tone still sharp. She nodded briefly towards her younger daughter. ‘Ellen’s put the kibosh on that, good and proper.’

‘Ellen? What’s Ellen got to do with me and George getting wed?’

‘She’s in the fam’ly way.’

Ellen, sitting next to the kitchen range even though it was a hot, late-August day, broke into noisy tears. Daisy turned to her impatiently. ‘And you can shut that row, my girl. You’ve made your bed and now you’ll have to lie on it.’

‘In the fam’ly way!’ Becca looked at her sister, wide-eyed with a mixture of horror and disbelief. ‘Oh, Ellen. You can’t be! Are you certain sure?’

‘Oh, yes, there ain’t no doubt,’ Daisy said, her voice weary with worry. ‘That wasn’t green apples been upsetting her stummick, like we thought.’ She brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. ‘Goodness only knows what her father’ll have to say when he find out.’

Becca sat down at the scrubbed deal table, her senses reeling at the shocking news. Ellen in the family way, and her only eighteen! What would become of her? The shame of it all – and her not even courting yet! She glanced across at Ellen, snivelling in the corner. She could never be called pretty, with her nondescript fairish hair and pale eyelashes, and skin that freckled and burned at the first hint of sun, but she could look quite pleasant when she didn’t wear such a disagreeable expression. In fact, she could look quite attractive when she chose. And she liked the boys, there was no denying that. Unlike her sister she could be quite a little flirt. Becca frowned, the silly little bitch had obviously flirted once too often and it had got out of hand. Now she’d have to get married in a hurry.

That meant she and George would have to wait. All their plans would have to be put on one side because of Ellen. Becca’s expression hardened and she shot her sister a look of pure venom. Why was it that whenever anything exciting happened to her, Ellen always had to go and spoil things? The only time she, Becca, had ever had a brand new dress had been one Christmas and Ellen had somehow managed to be sick all over it. And the nearly new boots that had come from the Manor that fitted Becca like a pair of gloves had had to go to Ellen because she’d kicked up such a fuss. It was always the same. Somehow or other Ellen always contrived to get her own way or else to ruin other people’s enjoyment. Even when their brother Tommy was born, when Ellen was only three, she’d gone off and got herself lost in Tulley’s Woods and everybody had been too worried about her to celebrate the birth of Daisy and Joe’s first – and last, as it happened – son. Well, Ellen wasn’t going to ruin this, Becca decided. She was going to marry George on the fourth of October even if it meant a double wedding. But she would have to tread carefully.

She began to trace the grain of the table top with her finger. ‘I know thass a dreadful thing, if Ellen’s in the family way and her not married,’ she said slowly, ‘but I can’t see why that should stop George and me getting wed. Thass all arranged. We’ve set the date and the banns’ll be called for the first time on Sunday.’

‘That they never will. They’ll have to be stopped,’ Daisy said firmly. The kettle boiled and she turned her back to spoon tea into the teapot warming on the hearth and then poured the water on to it. ‘You’d better tell her, you little slut,’ she said over her shoulder to Ellen. ‘Tell her who you’ve bin larking around with. Tell her who the father is.’

Ellen sniffed and wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron. ‘Thass George,’ she whispered.

Becca looked blank. ‘George who?’

‘Your George.’

‘My George? George Askew?’ Becca’s voice rose almost to a scream. She went over and shook her sister until her head rolled back and forth on her shoulders. ‘How dare you tell such lies! You’re jealous, thass what you are. You’ve always been jealous of me and you’ve always had a fancy for George, so you’ve cooked up this cock and bull story so you can come between us. You little hussy! You little bitch! Thass lies! All lies! You’re a wicked, wicked, girl to play such tricks.’ Becca’s hands dropped and she turned away. ‘I don’t believe you’re in the family way at all. I believe you’ve made it all up jest so you can get your own way.’

‘Oh, yes, she is,’ Daisy sighed. ‘She’s missed twice and she’s got all the signs. There ain’t no doubt she’s in pod.’

‘Well, thass nothing to do with George, I know right well. He wouldn’t do a thing like that …’ Her voice trailed off. There was no denying George’s hot blood. It was not his fault he hadn’t been up under her own skirts before now; her insistence that they wait till they were married was a constant irritation to him. ‘Anyway,’ she finished lamely, ‘when have you ever had the chance?’

Ellen lifted her head. ‘That was when we were coming home from the fair after you and George had had a row. Don’t you remember? You stormed off and went home with Maudie Edwards and Biddy Grimes. I thought you’d broke up for good so when George asked for a kiss …’

‘Pity that didn’t stop at a kiss,’ Daisy said with a scathing glance in Ellen’s direction.

Becca sat down again, put her elbows on the table and clasped her hands round the back of her neck. She felt sick. ‘You’re nothing more’n a little slut! And you only eighteen. You oughta be horsewhipped.’ She barely lifted her head to say the words. She was silent for a long time. Ellen’s jealousy had never worried her before. With an inherent wisdom far beyond her years she had understood that it was Ellen’s defence against growing up in the shadow of an elder sister who had learned to read and write more easily and had grasped the rudiments of arithmetic more quickly, and a younger brother who was made much of simply because he was a boy. Becca knew how Ellen hated having her elder sister continually held up as an example of what she ought to achieve at school. At the same time, Becca couldn’t help it if her brain was quicker. She had enjoyed learning and had hated being kept away from school to help on the farm, as all the children often were during their school days, whilst for Ellen and Tommy the reverse was true.

After a while Becca lifted her head. ‘So what’s going to happen?’ she said.

‘There’s only one thing for it.’ Daisy poured cups of tea for them all and pushed Becca’s across the table to her. ‘She’ll have to marry George.’

‘No!’ Becca’s head shot up. ‘George and me’s spoke for each other. She can’t have him. He’s mine. Anyway, what would folks say if I let my young sister pinch my intended?’

‘No worse than they’d say if you got wed and six months later she had your husband’s bastard,’ Daisy said brutally. She sat down opposite Becca. ‘You wouldn’t like to see us all turned out of house and home, now, would you, my girl?’ she said more gently. ‘Because thass what’ll happen if Ellen don’t wed the father of her child. You know how strict Mr Green is over that kinda thing.’

‘I can’t see what thass got to do with Mr Green,’ Becca said stubbornly. ‘Tenpenny Farm belongs to Mr Warner. He’s dad’s master.’

‘Don’t be so pig-headed. You know very well Mr Warner’s only the tenant farmer. Mr Green owns this farm and half a dozen others into the bargain. Thass not Mr Warner as’ll turn us out, that’ll be Mr Green,’ Daisy took a sip of her tea. ‘An he will, too, make no mistake. I remember what happened when Jabez Goodchild’s girl got herself in pod by one of the boys from the fair one autumn. As soon as Mr Green got to hear about it the whole family was turned outa their cottage – I can still see their few sticks of furniture piled up in the road, that was a pouring wet day, too, as I recall. They hadn’t got nowhere to go so they ended up in the Spike. Mind you, I don’t think they were there for long, Jabez managed to get a place on a farm in Suffolk where they weren’t known, but that was a bad business.’ She shook her head and gave a great sigh. ‘I dessay we shall all come to the work’us in the end, but I’d hoped to keep out of it for a few more years.’ She turned away and surreptitiously wiped her eyes on the corner of her apron.

Becca was silent, digesting her mother’s words. She knew Daisy hadn’t exaggerated in what she had said. Mr Green at the Manor was a just, God-fearing man but he would brook no scandal among his workers. ‘Let her find somebody else to marry. She can’t have George. Thass me he wants, not her,’ she said at last, with a scathing look in Ellen’s direction.

Ellen looked up for the first time. ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ she said with something of a sneer. ‘George told me he liked me because I was cuddlesome.’

‘A sight too cuddlesome, if you ask me,’ Daisy snapped.

Becca’s eyes narrowed. ‘Jest a minute … Was that the only time you and George …? After the fair, I mean?’ she asked Ellen.

Ellen shrugged. ‘Might have been. Might not.’

Becca got up so sharply that the chair she had been sitting on fell over. She went over to Ellen and began to shake her again. ‘Don’t you come them tricks with me, mawther. Tell me the truth. How many times?’

‘I don’t remember.’ Ellen began to cry again. ‘Five or six. I don’t remember.’

‘You’ll remember time I’ve finished with you!’ Becca pulled her to her feet.

‘Oh, leave her be, Becca,’ Daisy said. ‘If you wanta take it out on anybody I should think George is the one to see. He’s as much to blame as she is.’

Becca let Ellen go so suddenly that she fell back on to the settle. ‘I will. I’ll go and see him right now. He’s gone to fetch the cows back for milking. I’ll catch him in the pasture if I’m quick. I’ll soon find out if you’re telling a pack of lies, Ellen Stansgate.’

She ran out of the door and across the lane to the pasture beyond, glad to get out of the house, glad of something to do to release the pent up fury inside her. She shaded her eyes against the brightness of the huge, cloudless East Anglian sky. She could seen the cows making their slow progress across the gentle slope of the meadow, their gait made awkward by the heavy bags of milk they needed to let down. Behind them walked George, whistling happily. She waited by the gate, watching the gentle way he coaxed the cows forward, calling each one by name – Phoebe, Buttercup, Mirabelle, Blossom. George was a good cowman. He was a handsome man, too. Tall, with broad shoulders and well-muscled limbs; his black hair curled thickly over his brow and his eyes were a bright, piercing blue in a face tanned by the sun and the wind to a ruddy bronze.

Ever since they were both at school George had been popular. All the girls had fancied him for his strength and good looks and the boys had been anxious to keep on the right side of him because his father was the blacksmith and could sometimes be persuaded to make iron hoops for them to bowl or runners for the wooden sledges they knocked up in snowy weather. As children, when there was no school and they weren’t needed stone-picking or rook-scaring on the fields, the village children would congregate by the pond, between the church and the village pub, known as The Whalebone, the girls on one side with their peg dolls, wooden hoops or skipping ropes, the boys on the other with their spinning tops, marbles or the bows and arrows they made from hazel wands or willow saplings. The smaller children concentrated on their games and were oblivious to the group opposite, but the older ones were covertly aware of every move on the other side of the pond. Gradually, over the years, the older members of the two groups began to converge, at first simply by hurling good-natured insults at each other across the water, then, as the boys began to show off in ever-increasing feats of daring – things like tree-climbing, swinging on a long rope over the water, or walking on stilts – the girls would each choose a champion to cheer, and afterwards, if they were lucky, would be nonchalantly walked home by their favourite. George, being the handsomest and most athletic, could usually take his pick from the girls who had championed him but more and more he had chosen Becca. Becca, proud to know that she was the envy of all the girls had, unlike her flirtatious sister, hardly spared a glance for any of the other village lads but had remained faithful to George. For the past two years it had been accepted that they were ‘going steady’.

George gave the last, straggling cow a pat on the rump with his switch as he came through the gate. ‘Why, Becca, what’s brought you out here? That ain’t above half an hour since we parted. Still, thass nice to see you.’ He gave her a wide, unsuspecting smile.

There was no answering smile from Becca. She came straight to the point. ‘I’ve come to ask you a question, George,’ she said, her voice flat. ‘Have you bin tumbling my sister Ellen in the hedge?’ She lifted her head and looked him straight in the eye.

He stopped in his tracks, letting the cows amble on to find their own way back to the farmyard a few hundred yards away. ‘Becca!’ What a thing to ask!’ he said reproachfully. ‘Whatever made you think I’d do a thing like that?’

‘Don’t play games with me, George Askew,’ she cut in. ‘Ellen’s already told me what’s bin happening.’

A variety of expressions flitted across the young cowman’s face before he settled for a look of hurt dignity. He opened his mouth to deny the accusation, then seeing the look on Becca’s face he changed his mind, lifted the cap perched on the back of his head and scratched his curls. ‘Yes, well, Becca, you know how it is with a chap,’ he said with a shrug. ‘There’s you, always so prissy with your “Wait till we’re married, George”, after leading a fella on. And then along comes Ellen all eager and willing.’

He tried to put his arm round her but she shrugged him off. He looked at her, waiting for her to say something and when she remained silent he stumbled on, ‘But that didn’t mean nothing, dear. What happened with Ellen was only a bit of fun. Thass all. That was jest …’ He shrugged and spread his hands in a dismissive gesture. ‘And that won’t never happen again, I promise you that. I shan’t never look at another woman once we’re married, Becca. But like I said, that was mostly your fault for leading me on. You’re a proper …’ he searched for an expression that could be used outside the tap room of the Whalebone and settled for ‘well, you’re a past master at leading a chap on and then leaving him high and dry, so you can’t wonder that when Ellen come along … She’s a proper little hot-arse, your sister. You wanta watch her, she’ll land herself in trouble.’

‘She already has,’ Becca said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean Ellen’s in the family way, George,’ Becca said, slowly and deliberately, her eyes on his face. ‘She’s having your baby.’

He gaped at her for a full minute as her words sank into his brain. Then he turned away and closed the gate to the pasture carefully and leaned on it. ‘Christ,’ he said, wiping his forehead on his sleeve, ‘thass a facer and no mistake.’ A suspicious look came over his face. ‘Are you sure thass mine?’

Becca sighed. ‘Thass not for me to be sure about anything in this mess, George Askew. Seems thass nothing to do with me. But are you sure thass not yours?’

He hung his head and kicked a loose clod of earth with his boot.

‘No, I thought not.’ She turned away in disgust. ‘Well, then, you’ll have to do right by her, George.’

‘What do you mean?’

She turned back, her voice rising almost to the point of hysteria as she said, ‘You’ll have to marry her, of course.’

He spread his hands in bewilderment. ‘But what about us, Becca? The banns is all ready to be called for us.’

‘Thank God they ain’t been called yet. We can stop them.’

‘But I don’t wanta marry Ellen. Thass you I wanta marry, Becca.’

‘Then you shoulda thought twice before you started lifting Ellen’s skirts.’ Tears were running down Becca’s face. ‘You ain’t got no choice, George. If you don’t do right by Ellen, Dad’ll lose his job and the cottage that goes with it.’ She shook her head. ‘We shall be turned out of house and home because Mr Green won’t allow bastards in his farmworkers’ cottages.’ She dashed a hand across her eyes. ‘I couldn’t have that on my conscience, George. I couldn’t have my family end up in the workhouse. Not even for you. No, I can’t see no other way but that you’ll have to marry Ellen and make an honest woman of her.’

‘But I want you, Becca. I love you.’

She turned her head away and spoke in a dead voice. ‘Ain’t no good you talking like that. Thass too late. You shoulda remembered that was me you loved before you interfered with my sister.’

‘Seems like you don’t want me. Seems like you wanta be rid of me.’ He moved to take her in his arms.

She took a step back, her face white with fury. ‘How can you say sech a thing, George Askew! Anyone’d think it was my doing that you’ve got Ellen into trouble. But thass not me thass bin spreading me favours around, thass you! And how do you think I feel about it all? The whole village knows we’ve bin walking out together. How do you think I’m going to feel when you marry my sister? How do you think I’m going to hold my head up in the village? Have you thought about that?

‘I’m sorry, Becca.’

‘Soft words butter no parsnips. So you damn’ well oughta be sorry. But what’s done’s done and can’t be undone. You’ll have to marry Ellen and make an honest woman of her, so you’ll have me for a sister-in-law instead of a wife.’ Her tears began to flow again. ‘And it’ll be you and Ellen that’ll have Racky Harris’s cottage, ’stead of you and me. And much joy may it bring you both.’

‘But what about you, Becca? What will you do?’ Genuine concern creased his forehead.

‘Thass a bit late to start worrying about me,’ she said bitterly. ‘But if thass any consolation to you, I can tell you now that I shall never marry.’

She opened the gate and ran across the pasture to the stile that separated the meadow from the cornfield beyond. Ever since she was a child this stile had been her place of refuge and now she climbed up and sat there, sobbing until she felt drained and empty with all feeling dead and her heart like a lump of lead in her breast. The corn in the field beyond gleamed golden in the late afternoon sun and the poppies spattered through the corn were like brilliant spots of red light. Overhead a skylark sang, hovering high in the air above its nest in the meadow. All this Becca absorbed without noticing. It was as much a part of her life as day following night. The only thing that hammered through her mind was that she and George were to have been married as soon as the harvest was all gathered in but now he was going to marry Ellen and there would be no wedding for her. Not this harvest. Not any harvest. Wearily, she got down from the stile and made her way home, her heart full of misery and despair. She was finished with men, she wanted nothing more to do with them. Anyway, who would want her after this?

The wedding day drew nearer. But now it was Ellen who smugly stitched patchwork cushions and swept and cleaned the cottage that was to have been Becca’s home, and Ellen who stood happily for hours while Daisy made over an old dress of Mrs Green’s from the Manor for her wedding whilst Becca quietly nursed her broken heart.

Nevertheless, she gritted her teeth and did her share with all the other women to help getting the harvest in. The corn was golden ripe and higher than a man’s head, and the men cut skilfully with their great scythes, rhythmically swinging them so that the corn fell evenly in one direction and could be gathered in great armfuls by the women following behind and tied with the traditional binder’s knot. Behind them came the younger women and girls, to stook the bound sheaves into traves that had to be spaced evenly down the field and with enough room between each row for the teams of wagons to load and cart them away. There was a cheerful, bantering atmosphere as everyone worked and Becca tried to be cheerful, too, to ignore the pitying glances and the remarks that were occasionally spiteful, but more often well-meant.

‘I shouldn’t fret, dearie, there’s as good a fish in the sea as ever came out of it.’ Old Mrs Tadwick spoke from experience, having buried four husbands.

‘I should count meself lucky, if I was you,’ another remarked.

‘At least you found out afore you was wed.’

‘Shame it was your sister though. You’d have thought the randy young tup mighta looked a bit further afield.’

‘P’raps he didn’t hev to look. P’raps he on’y took what was offered.’

A young, pregnant woman straightened up and rubbed her back. ‘You wouldn’t want him now, though, would you, Becca? Not after what he’s done to you?’

Becca lifted her chin. ‘No. If my sister Ellen dropped dead this minute and he was the last man left on earth, I wouldn’t marry him.’ She spoke in a loud, clear voice, certain that George, driving past in the tumbril heard every word. But it wasn’t true, and in her heart she knew it.

At last the final sheaf was thrown up on to the cart and a great shout went up from the weary workers to think that the hard work was finished. Becca, taking advantage of the jollity as George and Ellen, as Lord and Lady of the Harvest, were hoisted up on to the top of the last load, slipped through the hedge and made her way over the marshes to the river. She had managed to hold her head high and put on a brave front for a whole week but now she was weary, weary to the bone. The tide was full, the water making comforting noises as it lapped the edge of the saltings, and she imagined what it must be like to walk into the cool water and let it close over her head. That way she wouldn’t have to keep up appearances, wouldn’t have to pretend she didn’t care any more. But she turned away, knowing that it was a mortal sin to take your own life.

Slowly, she began to retrace her steps. At the top of the rise the cart was disappearing through the gate amid much shouting and singing. George, she could see, had all too quickly become resigned to his fate and had his arm proprietorially round Ellen, her head resting on his shoulder. As he was so soon to be married he had been chosen by the men as Lord of the Harvest, with Ellen as his Lady. It has been his task to direct the harvest, to tell the men when to work and when to rest, to collect the penny fines exacted for swearing and other small transgressions. Fortunately, the harvest customs had been set since time immemorial and so even though he had never been Lord before George had little trouble in keeping order. And anyway there was always someone on hand to prompt him if he forgot.

The rest of the workers followed the wagon on foot, most of them similarly paired off, ready for the drinking and dancing and general merry-making that would take place in the big barn now that the harvest was safely gathered in. Even young Tommy, who was barely fifteen, had his arm proudly round Tansy Porter, although, equally proudly, over his other shoulder he carried a stick on which hung the six rabbits he had knocked on the head and killed as they raced out of the corn to escape the reapers’ scythes.

Becca made her way back up the field, reduced now to stubble, not even noticing that the sharp stalks of the cut corn were scratching her legs till they bled. There was no hurry. There was nobody left to partner her. Not that she wanted anybody. Not now.

Her mother was waiting for her by the ‘policeman’, the single corn stook left standing in the field to warn the gleaners off. ‘Are you going to the barn, mawther?’ she asked.

Becca shook her head briefly.

‘Thass not the end of the world, my girl,’ Daisy said, turning to walk back with Becca. ‘That might seem like it now, but in a few years’ time, when you’ve got a husband and family of your own …’

‘I shan’t never marry, Mum,’ Becca interrupted. ‘Not after this.’ She spread her hands. ‘Who’d want me?’ Her mouth twisted bitterly. ‘Who could I trust?’

Daisy stopped and turned to look at her oldest child. ‘No, thass a sure thing you won’t find a husband, not if you go round all bitter and twisted for the rest of your life. But if you put a brave face on it all folks’ll respect you the more.’ She laid her hand on her daughter’s arm. ‘I know you’ve bin hurt bad, Becca dear, and I ain’t tryin’ to make light of it, but let me tell you this. That’ll either make you into a hard, bitter woman, or that’ll soften you and make you understand other people’s hurts better. And on’y you can make up your mind which way you’ll let it take you.’ She put her head on one side. ‘Now, don’t you think it’s time you spoke a civil word to Ellen? She’s suffering, too, you know, for what she’s done to you.’

Becca made a sound that was half a laugh and half a snort. ‘Don’t you believe it! Ellen’s not suffering. She doesn’t care about me. She’s always wanted everything I had, she’s always wanted George. Well, now she’s got him, the sneaky little bitch! And much good may it do her.’ She dashed the tears from her eyes. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever forgive her for what she’s done to me.’

Daisy glanced at her anxiously. ‘Oh, Becky, remember what I’ve jest said,’ she said sadly. ‘Remember, too, time is a great healer. And you never know, it could be all for the best. We none of us know what lies ahead.’

‘I do. I know I shan’t never marry and have a place of me own. Not after this.’

‘You’re only twenty, my girl. There’s plenty of time.’

Becca’s only answer to that was another snort of bitterness.

‘Now come on, back to the barn with the rest of the folk,’ Daisy slipped her hand through Becca’s arm.

She shook it off. ‘No. I don’t feel much like jollificating. I’ve pretended that I don’t care . . .