The Buffer Girls (13 page)

‘And you did. But you didn’t look after each other very well, did you?’

‘Well, we liked slopes that were steeper than the ones we dared to take you two on.’

‘And once you nearly ended up in the icy river because you couldn’t stop at the bottom of a steep hill.’

‘Fancy you remembering that.’

‘I remember everything,’ she said simply. Trip
put his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him.

‘How I wish we were back there again,’ he said softly.

‘So do I. Oh, so do I.’

Amy stood by the window of their small front room. The room was small because the rest of the house frontage was taken up with the blacksmith’s shop, it’s huge door
open every day on to the street so that passers-by could see the glowing forge and hear the rhythmic clanging of Bob Clark’s hammer. She gazed unseeingly at the dull October day. Josh and his
family had been gone
over a month. Bob watched his daughter, his heart aching at the look of misery etched into her pretty, gentle face. He glanced down and noticed that the mound of her pregnancy
was just beginning to show. He sighed inwardly. Soon, poor Amy would have to face the whispers in the village when her condition could no longer be hidden. No doubt too, the wagging tongues would
blame him, saying that
he hadn’t been a good father to let his daughter get into trouble.

But they’d both trusted Josh and were sadly disappointed in him.

‘He’s not coming back, is he, Dad?’ Amy said softly, without turning round.

Bob hesitated for a moment, but they’d always been truthful with one another. His voice breaking a little, he said, ‘No, love, I don’t think he is. He hasn’t even written
again
after that one letter, has he?’

Amy shook her head, not trusting herself to speak now. Bob crossed the room and put his arm around her shoulders as she leaned against him. ‘Oh Dad,’ she whispered, tears welling in
her eyes. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Bob squeezed her. ‘Don’t worry, love.’ His voice was strong and determined. ‘We’ll get through this, I promise. And if that young scallywag ever shows
his face
around here again, I’ll—’

‘No, Dad, please don’t. Please don’t say anything against Josh. I – I don’t blame him. It’s his mother. I know it is.’

‘Aye, well, maybe you’re right at that.’

They stood together in silence watching Mr Osborne from the corner shop opposite take in all the boxes of fruit, vegetables and greenery that stood outside all day if the weather was fine.
Only
yesterday he had bemoaned Josh’s departure to Amy. ‘I’m having to tell folks I can’t get candles for ’em this year, Amy lass. I’ve haven’t found another
supplier yet. Eeh, I do wish young Josh hadn’t left.’ Amy had smiled weakly and thought, So do I, but she’d said nothing.

It was growing dusk and Mr Osborne would soon be closing up his shop.

‘After all,’ Amy went on now, ‘Josh
doesn’t even know, does he? About – about the baby, I mean.’

‘Not unless you’ve written and told him, lass.’

She shook her head firmly. ‘I haven’t and I’m not going to either. I don’t want him marrying me because he feels he
has
to. I did reply to his letter and
I’ve written a couple of times since –’ it was more than just a couple, Bob knew – ‘but when he didn’t reply and I – I knew
for sure that I was in the
family way, I stopped.’

‘I have to say I’d’ve thought better of him. I thought he’d at least have written to you again, even if he can’t afford to travel home.’

Amy said nothing, but she couldn’t help silently agreeing with her father.

Bob put his arm around his daughter’s shoulders. ‘I think it’s time to face the music, love. Let’s go and see your Aunty
Grace together, shall we?’

‘Oh Dad, I can’t. I can’t face the disapproval in her face, even if she doesn’t say anything.’

He hugged her to him. ‘It’s got to be done sometime – and sooner rather than later, because you’ll not be able to hide it for much longer. Come on, let’s go now
– this minute. Strike while the iron’s hot.’ It was one of Bob’s favourite sayings and no doubt it had
something to do with his life’s work as a blacksmith.

‘All right,’ Amy agreed at last in a small voice. ‘I’ll get my cloak.’

The copious winter cloak hid her pregnancy well but the baby wasn’t due until March or April, Amy reckoned, and by the spring, there would be no hiding her condition.

Grace Partridge had been her mother’s friend from their school days. They had been bridesmaids
at each other’s wedding and their husbands had become friends too. Dan Partridge worked
on the land and, like Bob Clark, had not been conscripted for the war. When Bob’s wife Sarah had died at Amy’s birth, it had been Grace who had stepped in and taken over the care of the
young baby, whilst Bob toiled long hours in the smithy, not only to provide for his daughter, but also to work out his
grief. He had never remarried – had never wanted to – and Amy had
been everything to him. Now, as they walked the few paces along the road to the cottage where Grace lived, his emotions were very mixed. The villagers would view Amy’s condition as a shameful
sin, but Bob was relying on Grace’s love for the girl and her generous and understanding nature. She was a strong-minded woman who belonged
to the Ashford branch of the Female Friendly
Society, which had been founded in the late eighteenth century. Members contributed money regularly to help their fellow villagers, who needed support either because of illness or bereavement.
Constance Trippet was its leading member.

‘She’s a nice woman, that Mrs Trippet,’ Grace would tell anyone who would listen. ‘You wouldn’t think it, not
married to that stuck-up husband of hers, but when you
get to know her, she’s a real lady, though down to earth as well, if you know what I mean.’

The women of the village did know what Grace meant for they all liked Constance Trippet. And if the rest of the villagers took their lead from Grace over Amy as they had in taking the trouble to
get to know Constance Trippet, then the girl had
nothing to fear.

‘Now, love,’ Bob said as they neared Grace’s door, ‘do you want to tell her or shall I?’

‘I’ll tell her, Dad, but I want you with me.’

He squeezed her hand and then knocked on the door. Grace opened it only a moment later, but it was time enough for Amy’s legs to feel as if they had turned to jelly.

‘Bob – Amy – what a lovely surprise! Come in, come in, do.’ She
beamed a welcome but then, as she saw the look on both their faces, her smile faltered and she glanced
anxiously from one to the other. ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’

‘Not exactly, Grace, love, but we need to talk to you. In private, like.’

‘Well, Dan’s still at work, so there’s just us. Come in and I’ll make some tea.’

‘It’s not a secret from Dan,’ Bob said, as they followed
her through to the kitchen. He sighed as he sat down. ‘And it won’t be much of a one for long,
anyway.’

He reached across the table and took hold of Amy’s hand. ‘You tell her, love.’

‘Just wait a minute whilst I mash the tea and then you can tell me what’s worrying you, love, because I can see for myself that there’s something.’

Grace was rotund, with a round, cheerful face that
was usually pink from cooking, or washing or ironing, for she loved nothing better than to be busy. Although she and Dan had never had any
children, Grace was nevertheless a motherly type and looked upon Amy as the daughter she had never had. Since Amy had grown up, Grace had occupied her spare time with helping out the villagers
whenever and wherever support was needed. She had become friendly
with Constance Trippet and was never afraid to call on her for assistance.

‘Now, my dear, what is it? You know you can tell your Aunty Grace anything.’

‘I . . .’ Amy began and then faltered. Bob gripped her hand tighter and then said, ‘She’s pregnant, Grace.’

Grace blinked and stared at the girl, but it was the look of concern on the older woman’s face that brought tears to Amy’s eyes.
She wasn’t shocked or disgusted, only
dreadfully anxious. Perhaps her censure might have been easier for Amy to bear.

‘Oh my little love, come here.’ Grace stood up and opened her arms wide. With a little sob, Amy rose too and laid her head against the woman’s ample bosom and wept, whilst
Grace patted her back comfortingly. ‘There, there, it’ll be all right. Your dad and me – and your
Uncle Dan – will look after you.’

When Grace had found a clean white handkerchief for Amy and they’d both sat down again, she said practically, ‘Now, then, I don’t doubt that the baby’s young Josh
Ryan’s. So, what’s he going to do about it?’ Her voice was firm and both Amy and her father had no doubt that if Josh had still been around he might well have received a clip
around the ear from
Grace Partridge.

‘He doesn’t know,’ Bob said quietly.

‘Doesn’t know! Then he ought to be told and pretty quick.’

But Amy was shaking her head firmly. ‘Please, Aunty Grace. I don’t want him to know – not unless he comes back to see me and then he will find out. But, you see, I don’t
want him to feel obliged to marry me. And besides, his mother—’

‘Oh, don’t talk to me about Martha
Ryan. Her and me have never got on. Too high an opinion of herself, has that one.’

‘. . . will never agree to it anyway. And he’s under age. He can’t get married without her consent.’

For a moment, Grace stared at her and then, on a heavy sigh, said, ‘Ah, I see.’

‘Before he went away, he asked me to marry him next spring, but his mother put a stop to it, saying she wouldn’t give her
consent and then – and then – she took him
away.’

‘But he’s writing to you, isn’t he?’

Amy bit her lip and shook her head sorrowfully. ‘He wrote once, just after they left, but since then there’s been nothing. Not a word.’

‘I blame that mother of his,’ Grace said tartly. ‘Have you heard from Emily?’

Again, Amy shook her head.

‘Well, that does surprise me. I’d have thought
better of both of them.’ After a moment’s thoughtful pause, she patted Amy’s hand. ‘But don’t you worry,
love, we’ll look after you and I’ll mind that the tongues don’t wag. You leave the folks in this village to me.’

‘But you do promise me you won’t tell Josh or any of his family, don’t you? Or anyone else who might tell them. If he does come back, I want to be sure that it’s because
he wants to and – and not because he’s heard I’m expecting his baby. Please, Aunty Grace.’

The woman sighed and, with obvious reluctance, gave her promise. She and Bob exchanged a glance. It had been in both their minds to write to the Ryans, but since Amy was so adamant, there was
nothing more they could do.

‘I’m going back to Ashford on Sunday to see Amy,’ Josh announced as he sat down at the tea table. ‘I haven’t heard from her, even though
I’ve written several times since we got here. And no, it won’t cost me anything. I’ll get a lift most of the way and walk the rest if I have to.’

‘Huh! I don’t know why you want to waste your time on her,’ Martha said tightly, ladling out
thick vegetable soup into four bowls. Vegetables sold late on a Saturday night were
cheap yet nourishing, though Emily noticed that Josh had pieces of meat floating in his bowl. ‘If she hasn’t written to you at all, then she can’t be that bothered. I expect
she’s already got her sights set on another village lad.’

‘Amy wouldn’t do that,’ Josh said quietly. ‘We’re promised to each other.’

Martha’s head shot up as Emily picked up one of the bowls and a spoon and moved across to sit on a low stool in front of Walter, but she was still listening to the argument between mother
and son.

‘I’ve told you before, Josh; that was a foolish thing to do. You’re far too young to be getting yourself tied to anyone,
especially
Amy Clark.’

Josh glared at his mother. ‘What do you mean?
I thought you liked Amy.’

Martha shrugged. ‘She’s all right as far as village lasses go, but you can do a lot better for yourself.’ She regarded her son thoughtfully. ‘You’re too soft, Josh.
You’ve no drive, no ambition. You need a wife who will push you just like I’m having to do at the moment. But what will happen when I’m no longer around?’

‘I don’t want
pushing
. All I wanted – still
want, if it comes to it – is to run the chandler’s business and live in Ashford.’ And marry Amy, he
thought, but he didn’t say the words aloud. Instead, he added, ‘And I don’t care what you say, I’m going to see Amy at the weekend.’

‘So, you’ll deliberately disobey me, will you?’

For once Josh returned Martha’s gaze steadily. ‘Yes, I will.’

Both Josh and Emily finished work at lunchtime
on Saturdays and as they walked home together, Josh said, ‘Where’s Lizzie?’

Emily grinned. ‘In a huff, I reckon.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I told her you were going to Ashford tomorrow to see Amy.’

Josh grimaced. ‘You shouldn’t have done that, Em. We need her and her mother’s help.’

‘Don’t you worry about Lizzie,’ Emily said. ‘I’ll handle her. You just go and see Amy tomorrow.’

‘Emily! Josh! You’ll have to help me.’ Dressed in her long, flannelette nightdress, Martha was shouting from the small landing below.

Emily shot out of bed and pulled a shawl around her shoulders. She bumped into Josh as he came around the curtain from his side of the room.

‘What is it? What’s the matter? Is it Dad?’ He was still half asleep, his hair tousled.

‘I don’t know.’ Emily
hurried down the steps to see her mother standing in the doorway of their bedroom, supporting herself against the door jamb, clutching her stomach and
bending almost double. ‘I’ve got the most dreadful stomach pains and I’ve been violently sick in the chamber pot.’ She retched again as if to give credence to her words.

Emily put her arm around her mother and led her back into the bedroom
Martha shared with her husband. Ever since Walter’s return from the war, they had slept in single beds, though still
side by side in the same room. Walter had pulled himself up in the bed, looking towards his wife with wide, frightened eyes. They had no coal to light a fire in the bedroom and his whole body was
shaking with fear and the cold of the winter’s early morning. There were thousands
of victims still suffering like Walter – the things they’d seen and experienced were beyond
human understanding.