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Chapter Text

                Elsie Harbottle had always worn a mask of sorts. One had to if one were the slightest bit different in this weary world. That was one of the reasons she felt so at home in the “Farnon menagerie,” as she described it to her sister, Doris. The bookkeeper meant that as a heartfelt compliment.

                All she had wanted was something to occupy her time that would allow her to use her brain and organisational skills without taking on a lot of responsibility, and she had pitched up in a good place. Skeldale House had proved to be a home away from home  of sorts. Apparently it had served as a refuge from the storm for many, including the senior veterinarian’s younger brother she’d heard so much talk about and, she gathered, the Lady of the House herself, Mrs Hall, the housekeeper cum Queen-Empress of the place, the Brynhld to Mr Farnon’s Siegfried; however, she hoped the only pyre the pair landed on was a bed where they could stoke the flames of their white-hot passion before quenching them in the soothing balm of sweet release. They were obviously very much in love. Mrs Pumphrey seemed to be aware of the couple's affection for one another and Diana Brompton was nobody's fool. She had a little crush on divorcee Diana, so witty and worldly wise.  

                Elsie also liked Audrey very much. They were two of a kind in many important ways. Pity Mrs Hall only had eyes for Mr Farnon. Thank God Mr Farnon kept his eyes and his hands to himself where Elsie was concerned. The last thing she needed was her employer going all weak in the knees when she was trying to initiate him into the mysteries of bookkeeping. His methods – shoe boxes and a pint pot on the dining room mantel – were certainly unorthodox to say the least. Still, given his temperament, it made sense. The only thing orthodox about Elsie was her work ethic and her love of numbers. Of course, numbers weren’t really ‘orthodox’ were they? Explain the concept of “0” to a layman. And ‘Just what is this Pi nonsense in aid of?’ her father had once asked her on one of her rare visits home whilst she was at university. She sighed. Next to a really good looking, sweet woman, Elsie loved numbers and bringing order out of chaos best of all. For all they were often at loggerheads, the bookkeeper was inclined to like her employer.

                Of all the people she liked, esteemed, or loved, her elder sister Doris was in a category of her own. Dor, whom she adored and desperately admired, was five years older than Elsie and had always accepted her for just who and what she was. She was the only one in their family who had. They were the odd women out. That’s why they’d left home at 16 and 18 respectively, Dor to work and Elsie to attend university on a scholarship. Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford had become her refuge then, the first place she’d ever felt she’d fit in, belonged, even, a true haven. Sometimes she wondered if she ought to have become a lady academic. But a regrettable affair with a don had rather soured her on Oxford and academia in general. Well, never mind. She had built a wonderful career for herself, finishing as the Executive Secretary to the President of a manufacturing company in Manchester. She had practically run the business and they had carried on a lavender engagement for a number of years. Sadly, Cedric had given in and married a lovely young woman, the daughter of a baronet, who could advance him socially. No doubt they were both thoroughly miserable by now. Elsie couldn’t help feeling dreadfully sorry for the girl. Ought she to have told her? By the time she’d found out about the engagement, it had already been announced in the papers. That’s the reason she’d gone as soon as she had, although she and Doris had always had an early retirement scheme in place. Cedric had been most generous, whether as a means of buying her continued silence or out of genuine affection and gratitude for everything she’d done for him professionally as well as personally she wasn’t quite sure. She hadn’t asked him because she'd suspected she wouldn’t like the answer, which was an answer in itself.

                Doris had also done very well for herself, so they were well set up financially to retire to the Dales, Doris’s lifelong dream. It had also been Doris’s dream to retire young enough to enjoy herself. Well, bless her, she’d worked all her life, first labouring as a second mother to her bevy of younger siblings whilst trying to concentrate on her studies, and then climbing the ladder at Lewis’s. She loved puttering round the garden and painting, badly to be sure, even she admitted that, but what did it matter? Elsie had been so focused on the end goal that she hadn’t thought too much about what she herself would be doing with all that free time on her hands. She was only mildly interested in gardening, couldn’t imagine joining the amateur painters’ brigade, and the domestic arts held little interest, although she sewed well enough, was a capable house cleaner, a not bad clear-starcher, and a good baker. Doris was a wonderful homemaker. Their lovely cottage was always spotless and she put three excellent meals on the table every day despite the strictures of rationing. Elsie was more than willing to take her turn in the kitchen, but Doris liked her food just so. So Elsie did the washing up after dinner and at weekends. Doris had never felt the least desire to marry, though she’d had three steady ‘gentlemen friends’ over the years. But she hadn’t wanted to be saddled with a man permanently nor to be a mother. Well, who could blame her, having lived under Father’s thumb and helping to bring up a family by the time she’d left home in her mid-teens. In any case, bored out of her mind at home, when Elsie had seen Mr Farnon’s advertisement for a bookkeeper, she’d jumped at the chance.

                Mr Herriot – James – was brooding about something to do with an animal belonging to that young ruffian, Wesley Binks. At the age of 12, the boy was already well on his way to becoming a petty criminal or worse and no doubt Borstal bound, but he missed her and Dor with his pranks and dirty tricks. He wasn’t to know that they had a modicum of sympathy for him, very well aware that for all there were some people born wrong ‘uns, most children weren’t intrinsically bad. His home was a dreadful place. The townspeople did what they could for him and his grandmother. Fortunately, she and Doris had that look about them that they might just be capable of cursing him with the pox or something equally nasty, so he left them alone.

                Despite being a Scot brooding didn’t come naturally to James. That was Mr Farnon’s department, a benign Heathcliff in a three piece suit, but when young James had a worry, he could agonise over it with the best of them. He was a very nice young man and a dedicated, able vet. His wife, Helen, Miss Harbottle completely understood and approved. That young woman was devoted to her family farm, a full partner and hard worker by all accounts. From the banter round the table at Skeldale House, her cookery skills were less developed than Elsie’s own. Like Mrs Hall, she was a beautiful creature, with beguiling dimples and a magnificent arse. Wouldn’t you know, Elsie chuckled to herself. She’d landed in a heaven/hell on earth with two gorgeous women who were just her type, but sadly, she wasn’t theirs. Oh well. She could enjoy looking at them and delighting in their amusing company.

                When Mr Farnon had hired her, Mrs Hall already knew and liked Doris from their mutual involvement in the WI. That had recommended Elsie to her. The women were doing a lot of good for the war effort. Like Audrey Hall, Elsie and Doris had both served in the First World War, the sisters as VADs. She had been in France, Dor in Salonika and then Corfu. That had made a favourable impression on Mr Farnon. Even if it hadn’t come up that he’d been in the AVC, she might have guessed that he’d served in some capacity and that it had been wicked hard on him. There was a look the survivors of ‘bad wars’ had, the ones who’d made it home and gone on to live productive, mostly happy lives. It lurked in the backs of their eyes and surfaced in odd sorts of ways. For Dor it was her single-minded dedication to living a ‘normal’ middle-class life. Elsie simply refused to dwell on her nursing experiences. She was very good at just getting on with things was Elsie. She had done her bit to the best of her abilities and that was that. Life went on, end of story.

               She gathered that her boss had never been a man known for his patience for most of his fellow men, but she wondered if the war hadn’t made him even more irascible and unwilling to suffer fools gladly. He unreservedly loved the animals, though, especially horses and seemed to be a brilliant veterinary surgeon. From all the pictures of his late wife about the house, he’d loved her with all his heart and soul, too. If he could land her, Mrs Hall would be a very fortunate woman indeed. But then again, so would he be lucky in love. Of course, in a way, the housekeeper had the best of both worlds didn’t she: a wonderfully happy marriage and complete freedom. Why unsettle the balance of power, heavily weighted in her favour at present, by dropping a piece of paper giving a man ‘ownership’ of her into the equation? Why settle for pin money when one could earn a nice salary for doing the same work? When Mr Farnon got on her nerves, she could retreat to the privacy of her own bedroom and shut him out. Not so with a husband.

               Still, she couldn’t help wondering what the two of them got up to in the wee hours. She knew that Mrs Hall often waited up for the practice’s senior partner, even going so far as to reposition her cherished St Nick on a higher shelf until he was safely home again, a sweet superstition. But no, she was seeing that tiresome man with the moustache, Harold or Carol or something like that. Mrs Hall might not be the stickler for the proprieties that Elsie suspected she was, but she would definitely not be the sort to step out on her dreary ‘gentleman friend’. Although, wasn’t there a Mr Hall? That was a bit confusing. If so, he must be a rotter or the lovely Aud wouldn’t be working as a live-in cook-housekeeper. So perhaps the upright church going Mrs H was a little more open minded – dare she say outré? – after all.  One could hope.

                Elsie also wondered sometimes how her life might have turned out if she and Amabel could have made a go of things. Amabel had felt so much shame about who she was, about her love for Elsie. After the War, Ammie had cut Elsie out of her life and married a banker. God, she hated this world sometimes. Hated the small mindedness and cruelty of most of its people. At least, most of the people she'd met in her almost fifty years. But never mind. She was as happy as she could be, and fortunate, too, to have enough money to live graciously, the love and loyalty of her sister and companion, and now the friendship of the Skeldale House residents. It was enough.

Chapter Text

               The Binks lad had begun taking on odd jobs round the market town, anything he could pick up, really. Nothing was beneath him for the sake of that animal. Miss Harbottle didn’t put much stock in  miraculous conversions, but she did believe in the power of love. Silly, that. At least, that’s what Doris was all the time telling her. Just that morning her sister had teased her about being a ‘hopeless romantic’. She supposed she was. Deep in her soul she believed that one day her Miss Right would turn up. So she fought the vision clouding scourge of cynicism.

               The rapscallion had even managed to work up the nerve to knock on their door, but Doris wouldn’t have him round the place and had sent him packing.  Nobody’s fool, yet a tender woman, Mrs Hall had hired him to help with the spring window washing. To Elsie’s surprise, he’d proved a hard worker. But then again, he’d never lacked energy and ability. It was motivation to seek opportunities for honest employment that had been lacking, and his little dog had provided that.

               The work completed and the windows glistening, Mrs Hall counted out his pay and even gave the boy an extra shilling – what extravagance – for a job well done. He thanked her in that odd, gruff voice of his and tugged at the visor of his raggedy flat cap, a hand me down from a long gone elder brother. The child had been given better by a soft hearted matron of the town, but he preferred his old cap.

               As the boy ran out the back door, the bell peeled at the front door.

               Miss Harbottle quickly finished her cup of coffee. “I’ll get it, Mrs Hall,” she said. “I have to get back to work, anyway.”

               “Thank you, Miss 'arbottle, that’s kind of ye,” the housekeeper dimpled. “Seems like I’m run off my feet this mornin’, but I enjoyed takin’ a little coffee break with ye.”

               “Me too,” Elsie smiled.

               The bookkeeper hurried along the passage, absently patting her immaculately coifed hair just before she opened the front door.

               “Oh, hello. I haven’t seen you round here before,” said a red headed vision in green.

               “I’m Miss Harbottle – Elsie Harbottle – the practice bookkeeper.” She was so glad she’d worn her deep plum suit that day with a view to afternoon tea at the Parish Hall with the WI. Mr Farnon didn’t mind if she left out a bit early occasionally so long as she had everything well in hand, and Elsie was nothing if not organised. “Please come in Miss –”

               “Oh, how lovely,” the red headed beauty replied, greeny-grey eyes sparkling, as she stepped into the entry hall.  She was as tall as Elsie, both of them wearing heels. Elsie tried not to make more of her words than a courteous acknowledgement of her place in the scheme of things. “I’m Miss Davies. Gwen Davies, the RSPCA representative.”

               “Oh, yes. Mr Herriot is expecting you. I know he’s most eager for you to see the animal that was discovered in that noisome shed. He and Mr Farnon took custody of the poor beast after the constable alerted them to its plight and Mr Herriot’s out back with it now. I’ll show you the way.”  Elsie closed her mouth abruptly, aware that she was rambling. She could hardly breathe and her skin was tingling all over.

               “Thank you, Miss Harbottle, but if I’m honest I’ve been here before. Perhaps you’d grace me with your bonny company in more pleasant surroundings? Mr Herriot mentioned the possibility of my staying for lunch. I’d intended putting him off, despite the exemplary Mrs Hall’s excellent cookery skills, but if you’re going to be sat round the groaning board, I might just reconsider.”

               “I’ll be there, yes. We all sit down to the midday meal together. It’s an hospitable house,” she added, heart in her throat. These younger women weren’t half bold. Elsie didn’t know if they were wise, but it saved time, letting you know where you were straight away. She was grateful for the more utilitarian bra she'd chosen that day and her jacket which hid her erect nipples.

               “Good. I’ll look forward to it,” Miss Davies told her, giving her a slow wink, very aware of her charms and their effect on the bookkeeper.

               At lunch Miss Harbottle, who had contrived to sit beside Miss Davies – or was it the other way round? – learnt that Miss Davies had approved the young vet’s plan to allow the animal she'd come to inspect, an Irish setter, to be given over to an old lady of the town who had recently lost her own beloved pet to old age. She gathered that the RSPCA representative had been hesitant at first, thinking the dog had suffered enough and would be better off put down; but when she’d met the sweet natured beast and then the determined self-styled animal doctor Mrs Donovan she had agreed with James that the creature, who had lived in a dark, ramshackle shed for almost the entire first year of it’s life barely fed and never exercised by its owner, hardly able to take care of himself much less an animal, would be in good hands.

              “We’ll give him a chance, Mr Herriot. I shall pop round in two weeks’ time to see how they’re getting on,” she said, glancing at Miss Harbottle.

              After lunch, Miss Davies asked Miss Harbottle if she’d be so good as to walk her to her car.

              “I wonder if you’d be interested in joining me for tea at the Honey Blossom tomorrow afternoon, Miss Harbottle? Say 5 o’clock? I wasn't meant to be in Darrowby, but I've a call to make in Brawton, so I could easily swing over this way. Two weeks suddenly seems an eternity.”

              “That would be wonderful,” Elsie replied with alacrity. “And please, call me Elsie.”

              “Elsie.” She caressed the name as well as Miss Harbottle's hand, clasped in her own. “And I’m Gwen. Gwenhwyfar, for my sins,” she savoured that last word, touching the tip of her tongue to her full upper lip for an electrifying instant.

              For the rest of that day and the next, Elsie felt as though her entire body were on fire, the blood coursing hotly through her veins. Waking or sleeping, that handsome, bold featured face and the red hair, caught up in a snood under Gwen’s hat, floated before her mind’s eye. She imagined undressing the RSPCA rep slowly and then tugging off the snood and setting the mass of glorious hair free to swirl about her broad, fair shoulders before lifting a lock and pressing her lips to that long slender neck down to the hollow of her throat and along a collar bone as she began to explore more of that magnificent terrain, every hill and valley. She tried not to think too much about that at work, but she spent a sleepless, damp night betwixt them letting her imagination run free and moaning 'Gwenhwyfar' into her pillow. Fortunately, Doris’s bedroom was on the ground floor as the people who’d owned the house before them had had an old mother who couldn’t be doing with the stairs.

              The next day proved a momentous one in good ways and very bad. As expected, Mr Herriot and Mr Farnon between them, with some input from Carmody that had actually seemed to help for a time, were unable to save Wesley Binks’ dog. The boy went tearing out of the surgery with the animal wrapped in an old baby sized blanket. Mr Herriot had offered to bury the animal in the countryside in a special spot he knew, but the youth had furiously cursed him for killing his pet and said he’d ‘do the job proper’ himself.

             Lunch was quite subdued. They all felt badly about it, even Carmody, whose skill with people was almost nonexistent. The vets knew it had been a hopeless case from the start and that they’d done their best, but still. After the meal, Mr Farnon went upstairs to his room before the afternoon surgery and Mr Herriot with Carmody in tow left for the Dalby farm.   

             A great bellow sounded from the first floor and Mr Farnon appeared on the landing yelling his head off for Mrs Hall, just coming along the passage with a loaded tray of dirty dishes.

             “Whatever it is, Mr Farnon, it can’t be that bad can it?” the housekeeper said, pitching her normally calm and reasoned voice to an even more soothing tone.

             “That bad? That bad!” he remonstrated with her, in an instant gaining the ground floor to stand in front of her like the elf king in a play.  “You tell me how bloody bad it is! That damned thieving boy has stolen my gold cufflinks and Evelyn’s necklace!” He choked up on the last two words, which made him even angrier.

             “Oh, Mr Farnon, are you sure? I mean –”  It was true that the vet did misplace things, but perhaps this wasn’t the time to remind him of it, he was in such a fury. The housekeeper didn't often put a foot wrong, but she'd badly miscalculated her employer's mood this time.

             “Am I sure? Sure? Whilst It’s true I wore the cufflinks recently, I am not in the habit of donning my late wife’s diamond pendant necklace and parading about the house in it. That boy has helped himself to the best things in the place, and the dearest. Anything else I might have overlooked. Anything else! I told you it was a mistake hiring that ne’er do well to help with the window washing. I bloody well told you, but no, in this you would circumvent me, render me impotent in my own home under my own bloody roof. Who rules here, Mrs Hall? Who – ”  Suddenly he broke off.

             Miss Harbottle had remained rooted to the ground, hurting for Mrs Hall yet unable to flee. Suddenly she swooped in and took the tray from her. The housekeeper didn’t resist. Elsie had seen what Mr Farnon must have, causing him to cut the tirade short. Mrs Hall had gone white as a sheet and was trembling.

             “I’m sorry, Mr Farnon. I’m so sorry. I never thought – you can take it out of me wages." The tears were flowing freely down her smooth cheeks by now. "I know that won’t make up for the loss, but – I’m so sorry.”  Breaking into sobs, the distraught woman fled towards the kitchen.

             “Mrs Hall – Audrey – wait,” the vet cried. “Please wait. I’m sorry,” he said, hurrying after her, close to tears himself. He stopped outside the dispensary and stood helplessly, hands to his sides. Elsie had never seen him so still. Normally the air fairly cracked round him.   

             When the bookkeeper reached her employer, he tried to relieve her of the tray. “You get on with your rightful work, Miss Harbottle. I’ll just carry this to the kitchen and try to set things right with Mrs Hall.”

             “Mr Farnon, I make a point of staying out of my employers’ personal lives, but in this instance I think it would be best if you take a moment to gather yourself before opening the surgery and let me carry the tray into the kitchen and talk to Mrs Hall. Later when you’ve both had the opportunity to calm down you can discuss what happened over a quiet cup of tea, which I suggest you take in the garden, just the two of you.”

             “Perhaps you’re right. I’ll just –” He made to move, but couldn’t quite manage it.

             “Go on, then. It’ll be all right,” she tried to reassure him.

             “It will not, Miss Harbottle. I’ve blotted my copy book for good and all this time. But thank you for trying to comfort me. I know you'll be good to Audrey. Mrs Hall.”  He disappeared into a consulting room then, shoulders set in a dejected stoop uncharacteristic of him.

             In the kitchen Miss Harbottle put down the tray and then followed the sound of heartbroken weeping into the pantry. She surprised herself and Mrs Hall, too, she could tell, by slipping her arms round the woman in a sisterly hug.

             “He’s very sorry. He wanted to come and tell you himself, and do this, too, probably, if he could have worked up the nerve, but I advised him to let emotions cool, as it were.”

             “He were right, you know. I insisted on letting Wesley work here over Mr Farnon’s objections. I thought I knew better. I’d never ‘eard of the lad stealin’, nothin' that made any never mind, an apple from the grocer's an that, but I ought t’ ‘ave guessed it weren’t beyond ‘is scope. I ought t’ ‘ave known even the best boy might be tempted t’ pilfer such expensive things.” 

             Miss Harbottle knew nothing of Edward Hall’s theft of Mr Grenville’s silver and that he had been put in Borstal for it before becoming the valiant sailor of whom his mother was so proud, but she understood that Mrs Hall wasn’t just talking about Wesley Binks.

             “Just what was that all about? The necklace I understand belonged to his late wife. Evelyn, was she? What of the cufflinks? Also sentimental keepsakes, I take it.”

             “She gave them to ‘im. Evelyn. I never met ‘er of course, although I sometimes feel like we’re best friends, livin’ in this ‘ouse. I feel ‘er near, 'er presence. You’ll think me dotty,” she said, rallying.

             Elsie let her go with a pat to the shoulder. “No, I don’t think that a’tall. It’s a lovely house, this. I can understand what you mean. I’d probably have fallen in love with her.”  Too late Miss Harbottle realised what she had said. That was the trouble with emotional outbursts and confidences, they affected everyone, even the comforters. “That is – I only meant. . . .”

             Audrey’s eyes widened. Something had been niggling at her since lunch time yesterday. Something about the sudden friendship that had sprung up between Miss Harbottle and Miss Davies. She saw it now for what it was: attraction. For her part, as the housekeeper's realisation dawned, Elsie waited for the inevitable cold rejection, perhaps even denunciation. 

             “It’s all right,” she told the bookkeeper solemnly instead. “I were in the Wrens.”  Miss Harbottle’s horrified expression cleared and she began to laugh. So did Audrey.

             “I’ll trust your discretion, Mrs Hall.”

             “That’s kind of ye t’ say 'aving only just witnessed the results of my poor judgement. But you can rely on me, Miss Harbottle.”  Mrs Hall chuckled. "When ye first came 'ere, I thought you 'ad taken t' job because of Mr Farnon. I thought you might've set yer cap for 'im." 

             It was Elsie's turn to chuckle. "If I fancied men a'tall, he'd certainly be top of my list," she said merrily. "More fool me." The women smiled warmly at one another. 

             “May I be Elsie to you, Mrs Hall?” the bookkeeper asked. Elsie didn’t have many real friends in Darrowby. Apart from her sister, she’d never had very many close women friends in her life. Too busy working and getting ahead.

             “I’d like that. And you must call me Audrey. Aud,” her new friend insisted.

             “Thank you, Audrey. It’s Elsa, really, my name, but only my father ever called me it. And my poor dear sister is ‘Ortrud’. Doris is her middle name, given her by our sensible mum,” Elsie confessed. “That’s my second deep, dark secret,” she said dryly.

             “And no prizes for guessing why,” Audrey said with a merry grin. “So your dad was another Wagner lover? ‘Ave you told Siegfried?”  The name trembled on Aud’s lips.

             “I have not. Perhaps I shall someday. . . he loves you, Aud, and he’s sorry. That’s partly why he’s so upset about the necklace and cufflinks. He’s desperately holding on to the love he had because he thinks his new love doesn’t feel the same way towards him. Every time Mr Hammond turns up, he dies a little inside.”

             “Oh, no, I’m sure you’re wrong, Elsie. Proper Mr Farnon in love with the 'ousekeeper? It’d never ‘appen. And 'e's always polite t' Gerald.” Mr Farnon didn't bother wasting the niceties on people he disliked.

             “And yet it has. I’d wager I’m not the only one who’s seen it. Well, never mind. Feeling steadier on your pins? Your colour’s much improved.”

             “I am, thank you, Elsie. But whether or no, it’s time I tackled the washing up.”

             “Yes, I’d better get on, too. I’m nipping out a bit early this afternoon. I have a date with a ginger at the tea shop.”

             “Don’t tell me. Miss Davies?”

             “Were we that obvious?”

             “Not so much as most people would notice. I’ve only just put two an' two together because of what you said. Be careful, Elsie,” Audrey warned her new friend, touching her hand.

             “Always, Aud. Always,” Elsie assured her.

             Always.

Chapter Text

               Miss Harbottle arrived at the tea room right on the dot of 5 o’clock. Miss Davies walked in the door behind her and to Elsie’s surprise, stooped and kissed her cheek. But of course, women could exchange such intimacies in public without raising eyebrows.

               When they had been seated at a table overlooking the market square, Gwen briefly touched Elsie’s hand. “I’ve been longing to see you,” she said, her voice warm and low.

               “Me, too,” Elsie replied. “The afternoon crept by.”

               “I’m desperate to get you alone,” Gwen told her.

               “Oh.” Elsie’s breath caught in her throat. It was all she could do not to squirm in her chair to still the ache between her thighs.  She kept her knees firmly together.

               The waitress approached and Miss Davies ordered tea and cakes for two.

               “Is that all right?” she inquired of Miss Harbottle. “It seems a celebration this.”

               “Yes, please,” Elsie approved.  “Such a treat.”

               When they had been served, Miss Davies poured out. Then she picked up a petit four, not as heavily decorated as it would have been a few months ago but still lovely, and took a bite.

               “Oh, Elsie, you must try this,” she said, feeding Miss Harbottle. “Isn’t it devine?” Miss Harbottle agreed that it was indeed and licked a bit of icing off the corner of her mouth. Gwen leant across the small table and lowered her voice. “I’d like to eat it off you.” Miss Harbottle glanced nervously round the tea room, but the few other women there were engrossed in their own conversations.

               “Gwen, you’re so unafraid. Like – like a Valkyrie, riding into battle,” she gushed, then blushed at her boldness if not hyperbole.

               “I prefer The Mórrigan. But I like a woman with epic poetry in her soul.”

               “Wasn’t she cruel, though?”  Elsie tamped down a qualm before it could surface. 

               “Not a’tall. Or rather, isn’t life cruel sometimes? Isn’t death part of the life cycle? No, she—or they, for she’s another Three In One deity—actually helps the Tuatha de Danann to win many of their battles. I know she’s helped me often enough. Yesterday, for instance.”

               Then she tossed Elsie a wicked smile and a wink so that she thought she must have been joking, carrying on with the fantasy that Elsie had woven in referring to Die Walkure. The rest of the conversation was suitably pedestrian for the establishment and other clientele. When they had finished, Gwen insisted on paying the bill.

               Out on the pavement, she took Elsie’s hand. “If I could get free tomorrow morning, would you like to go for a little drive in the countryside? I really can’t bear to wait another two weeks to see you. I have a luncheon date in the area, but I don’t have to turn up before half twelve. I could pick you up round about nine? I know a lovely little spot where we could be quite alone for a bit and continue our tantalising conversation.”

               “Or you could come to my house. My sister and I live together, but she wouldn’t mind. She understands.”

               “Oooh. I don’t know, Elsie. She sounds lovely, but wouldn’t it be much nicer to get away on our own, just the two of us? I know I’d feel much more comfortable. What do you say?”

               “All right. Yes, thank you,” Elsie gave in. Anything to see this glorious creature again soon, to be alone with her, hold her hand, perhaps steal a kiss or two.

               She gave the RSPSCA representative directions to her house and they parted with a clasp of hands and another kiss on the cheek. Elsie was floating on a cloud, but she had to come down to earth momentarily to run an errand. It might come to naught, but at the moment she was feeling invincible.  

               Just before tea time when Siegfried had intended making things right with Mrs Hall, James called him to help with a difficult calving requiring ropes. The old semi-retired farmer was too frail to be of much assistance – he’d turned the day to day running of the thriving place over to his brawny son several years earlier, but that fine fellow had taken his hard working wife over to Huddersfield for a rare day out. James was on his own because he had disgustedly sent a muck covered Carmody home in the back of Alderson’s farm truck after he’d fallen on his face during their call there to look at a sick sheep. It wasn’t the student’s first mishap of the day, and he was looking and smelling quite foul. James couldn’t wait to see the back of the fellow.

               “I wouldn’t do this for a million quid if you weren’t family, lad,” his father-in-law had growled, eliciting a chuckle from Helen. Alderson had an errand in town and she had already opted to go along with him rather than waiting for her husband to get through his list and pick her up.   

               “Don’t let Carmody come back with you, Siegfried, I’m begging you. I’m fed up to the back teeth with that one today.”

               “Oh, I don’t know as he’s so bad,” the senior partner replied, but he was feeling too sore still to get on James’s wick.

               As a matter of fact, he was feeling so rotten that he charged the newly washed, scented and changed Carmody with telling Mrs Hall where he was going and slipped out the front door and walked round the house to the back where the Rover and Tristan’s old car were parked. The latter hadn’t been driven for a few days. He tossed his bag and other equipment into the boot and got in. The thing started with a wheeze, but once underway, it chugged along nicely. At least the brakes worked consistently, unlike the Vauxhall’s. He had very nearly hit a sheep the other day.

               By the time the partners arrived home, there was only just time to sit down to an early, very subdued dinner before Mrs Hall departed for choir practice. Since so many of the men had been called up, women had been allowed to join the ranks of the previously all male church choir, filling out the diminished group of older men and boys. Helen was preoccupied and James more interested in the meal on his plate than anything else, but even they felt that something momentous must have transpired between Siegfried and Mrs Hall in their absence. They supposed all would be revealed in due time and let it go. Carmody, enjoying the sound of his own voice, made up for any conversational lags, but even he hushed and concentrated on the food when the revered Siegfried cut him an aggravated look.  

              Afterwards, Siegfried followed Mrs Hall out of the kitchen without a word to James and Helen, doing the washing up, or Carmody, sitting idly by pontificating.

              “Mrs Hall,” the senior partner called softly after her, catching her up at the bottom of the stairs. “Might I have a word, please?”

              “I’m very nearly late,” she made excuse. “We do need t’ talk, Mr Farnon, and we will when I get back, I promise. Just let me say how terribly sor –”

              “No, no I won’t let you say it,” he stopped her, bringing his fingers to rest gently against her lips before hastily removing them. Mrs. Hall's blue eyes widened. “You’ve done nothing of which to be sorry. It is never wrong to show compassion to others, especially a deprived child. And that’s what Wesley is, I see that now. I’d allowed myself to lose sight of the lad’s humanity, but you never could. And whilst I’d relish your company later, little as it is deserved, I can’t let you go without telling you how angry  I am with myself for losing my temper and shouting at you earlier today. You didn’t deserve that, Audrey. I’m heartily ashamed and sorry, my dear . . . friend.” 

              “Mr Farnon. Siegfried. I – it weren’t – I just felt so badly for ‘avin’ let you down. About Evelyn’s lovely necklace and the cufflinks she gave ye goin’ missin’. Bein’ stolen, more like. No matter what ye say, it were my fault a little – a lot – for not listenin’ t’ you. I ‘ope the police can recover ‘em for you. You ‘ad every right t’ be angry.”

              “I didn’t ring them. The police. They’re only things, Aud—Mrs Hall,” he set himself back to a more formal footing.  “I wish the young scoundrel well of them. Foolish really, to hang on to such fripperies when people are desperate for the necessities of life.”

              “Oh, Siegfried,” she whispered, caressing his cheek. “You are a good man.”

              He covered her hand with his own and this time he didn't pull back. “Not a bit of it.  I won’t hear such slander uttered under this roof,” he rejoined with a wobbly grin. “Well,” he said, “I’d best let you get on. Can’t have Mr Jameson on my wick for detaining you,” he said of the choir master.

              “Thank you, Mr Farnon,” she told him, hurrying upstairs.  “You get our game set up and we’ll play a round or two when I get home.”  Audrey felt giddy with relief and just that bit unsettled from her employer's touch, but she hadn't time to think about that now.  

              When James and Helen passed Siegfried’s office, they were surprised to find the door closed. In the sitting room, they saw that the doors between that room and the dining room had been closed, too, and the drapery between the dining room and Siegfried’s office had been drawn, blocking him from view.  In spite of the precautions, they could still hear the gramophone playing.

              “Reckon what that is? Do you recognise it?” James asked Helen.

              “Wagner,” pronounced Carmody, coming into the room. The couple had hoped that he had gone out for the evening. “Tristan und Isolde, Liebesnacht, Act II. Love duet,” he added smugly.

              “I thought Siegfried hated Wagner, on account of his dad playin’ it all the bloomin’ day long,” Helen remarked.

              “Does he? I suppose I’ve never thought that much about it. I’m not much of an opera buff myself,” James admitted.

              “No, nor I. I mean, I don’t mind it. It’s just that I’ve never ‘eard ‘im play anything like it before.”

              “I for one find it transporting!” Carmody declared. “Let’s throw open these doors so we can all enjoy it.”

              “No!” both James and Helen almost shouted.

              James reached his side and placed a staying hand on the student’s shoulder before Carmody could carry through his suggestion.

              “When Siegfried’s closed himself off and is keeping himself to himself listening to a bit of music, that’s a sure sign that he wants to be left alone. Only an outright fool would disturb him.”

              James and Helen cleared off to the pub before Siegfried had even got warmed up on Carmody. Sooner than they had expected, the young man turned up at the Drovers.

              “I did warn you,” James said, standing the student a pint.

Chapter Text

               As Elsie approached the council house where the Binks lived, Wesley was just coming outside.

               “Hello there,” she greeted him pleasantly enough. 

               “What d’ye want?” the boy shot back belligerently.

               “Just a word and then I’ll be on my way. Where I’ll be off to is entirely up to you, of course.”

               “Yeah. Where could an awd bitch like ye ‘ave t’ go?”

               “To the police, for one, which is all that concerns you. The last I knew, Mr Farnon was in two minds about reporting some stolen jewellery to them. On account of his regard for Mrs Hall, I think. He doesn’t want to cause her any more grief than your perfidy already has. D’you know what that word means, Wesley, ‘perfidy’? Deceitfulness, untrustworthiness. You deceived Mrs Hall about your true motives in working at Skeldale House. She trusted you and you proved untrustworthy. She’s very hurt. Not angry. Not with you. Hurt.”

               “What does that ‘ave t’do with me?” the ruffian snarled.

               “Leave it, Wesley. You and I both know you helped yourself to a diamond pendant necklace and a pair of gold cufflinks from Mr Farnon’s bedroom. I doubt you’ve tried to fence them yet. You’ll leave that to your far more experienced father when he turns up. In the meantime, expecting a visit from a constable, you’ve got the goods well hidden. What’ll it cost me to get them back? And you’d best be sensible and name a reasonable price, because I will go to the police, Wesley Binks, despite my own fondness for my friend Mrs Hall. Neither she nor Mr Farnon deserved your betrayal.”

               “Who are they t’ me?”

               “Two people who tried to help you. Mr Herriot, too. He did everything he could for Duke, you have to know that. What you may not realise is that they were well aware that it was a hopeless case from the beginning, yet they still did everything they could for him.”

               “So what? What ‘ave the likes of them ever done for me and mine? I paid ‘em didn’t I?”

               “They only accepted your money for his treatment to spare your pride. And it wasn’t even half what it actually cost them. I don’t doubt others have let you down, Wesley. But many have tried to help you and your grandmother, including the vets and Mrs Hall. Speaking of your grandmother, how would she feel if she knew what you’d done? Shall I step inside and ask her?”

               Wesley blocked the door, looking very like an angry bull calf.

               “You stay away from ‘er, witch. Ye’ve got the evil eye, you ‘ave.”

               “Yes indeed, Wesley. You’d be wise to remember that. You’re lucky I’m offering to redeem your ill got treasure rather than putting a curse on you and taking it.”

               For a moment a dark shadow seemed to pass over the urchin’s face.

               “Fifty quid,” he said decisively.

               “Ten and that’s my final offer. And more than you deserve when I could easily summon a policeman and save myself the dosh.” She reckoned rightly that it was more money than he’d ever seen much less possessed in his life and might be enough to tempt him. “Face it, you don’t dare approach a pawn broker, who’d rightly suspect they’re stolen goods and turn you in. Who knows when your dad will come round again, and even when he does, do you really think he’ll share the proceeds with you? You’ll be lucky to get a shilling out of it. Of course, you could try doing business with one of his unsavoury mates yourself, but you’d be way out of your league. He’d probably cheat you, too, and you’d never get free of him if he thought you were a skilled little thief. You're not though, are you? Skilled, I mean.” She saw the wheels turning in his eyes.

               “Awright. Ten pound. Stay here.”

               The boy disappeared into the house. After about ten minutes, Elsie had begun to think that he had scarpered when the front door opened. The jewellery had been very well hidden indeed.

               “Money first,” he said.

               Elsie had a ten pound note folded inside her glove. She drew it out and showed it to him, holding it higher than he could reach without leaping upwards and spoiling his dignity.

               “Let me see the jewellery first and then hand it over. Then I’ll pay up. Otherwise, no deal and I shall walk straight to the constabulary.”

               Grudgingly the boy showed her the goods in the small tin, then held it out to her. She took it, at the same time passing him the note.

               “’Appy?” he sneered.

               “Very. And remember, I’ll be watching you Wesley. My sister and I will be watching.” 

               He walked back inside and slammed the door.

               Elsie went straight back to Skeldale. Nobody seemed to be about. As she left the kitchen, Carmody came in from the garden.

               “Hello there. Is Mrs Hall about?” she asked.

               “She went out somewhere with Mrs Brompton and left me to get my own tea. Helen could have helped a fellow out, but she went upstairs.”  Good on her Miss Harbottle thought to herself. No doubt Helen would be enjoying a quiet brew on her own in the bedsitter.  

               “Well you can put the kettle on and cut a slice of bread and butter it for yourself, can’t you? Even Mr Farnon is up to that. Come with me,” unsympathetic Esie ordered, turning on her heel and heading back into the kitchen.

               Miss Harbottle sat at Mrs Hall’s desk. She thought that in the circumstances she might be forgiven for helping herself to paper and pen. She very nearly filled the sheet of stationery in her bold scrawl before folding and tucking it into an envelope. Then she got to her feet and removed the box from her handbag, giving both letter and jewellery into Carmody’s charge.

               “I’m afraid I can’t stay, I’m already dreadfully late. It’s imperative that you give this note and the box to Mrs Hall as soon as she returns home. Do you understand Mr Carmody?”

               “Of course I do. Of course. You can depend on me Miss Harbottle,” the young man assured the intimidating bookkeeper.

               “Hum,” she mused, viewing the Londoner as if he were a suspicious specimen under a microscope. “Very well. I shall leave the matter in your – capable – hands. Oh, and tell Mrs Hall she can ring me if she has any questions.”

               “Yes, indeed, Miss Harbottle. Leave it to me.”

              As she reached the pavement, Miss Harbottle hesitated. Perhaps she should disturb Helen or wait for Mrs Hall’s return. Surely the housekeeper wouldn’t be away very long what with dinner to prepare and all. Still, Doris would be waiting for her and she had some things to do and wanted to spend a bit of time choosing her outfit for the next day. It would be all right. Carmody was a bit of an ass, but he wasn’t completely useless.

Chapter Text

               Miss Harbottle introduced Miss Davies to Doris. The Harbottles knew each other so well, she could tell that her sister had reservations about the RSPCA officer. She tried not to let it bother her as she got into Miss Davies' personal motor, a stylish green 1938 Alvis 12/70.  Elsie was impressed. 

               They drove outside Darrowby to the Hulton Estate. Elsie was surprised when Gwen drove through the stone and iron gates bearing the family’s coat of arms.

               “Do you have some business here first?” she asked.

               “No. Lord Hulton allows me the freedom of the grounds,” Gwen answered, leaving the drive and taking a right turning. They drove about a quarter of a mile and Gwen pulled off the road. “We have to walk from here,” she explained.

               They removed a blanket and a basket containing a thermos of tea, biscuits and fruit from the boot. Gwen led the way along a narrow track.

               “All right?” she called back over her shoulder.

               “Oh yes. Where are we going, Gwen?”

               “You’ll see,” the redhead smiled coyly.

               Elsie did indeed see very shortly. The women came out into verdant parkland. In the near distance sat a folly in the form of a Greek temple.

               “Oh my,” Elsie breathed. “How lovely.”

               “I thought it would capture your fancy. We’ll be quite quiet and private here.”

               On either side of the porch were closed doors. Gwen went to the one on the left. It opened onto a comfortable, posh English drawing room. The antique carpet on the oak floor could have graced a room in the grand Jacobean country house—castle actually—itself. Elsie had never been inside, but she could imagine its riches. The elegant furniture in the folly was a mixture of antiques from various periods. The place was spotless and there were fresh flowers in the porcelain vases. Gwen lit a fire in the Adam fireplace, completely at home. Then she spread the blanket down in front of it and beckoned Elsie over. Gwen slipped an arm round her companion's shoulders and began kissing her. Elsie reached up and loosened Gwen’s thick hair. It came tumbling down, feeling like silk in her hands. Gwen caressed Elsie’s breast through the bodice of her frock and moved to deftly undoing the buttons.    

                “Are you sure it’s all right? No one will come upon us? The folly is obviously used and looked after by the servants.”

                “Quite all right. Lord Hulton spends most of his time in London.” The Honourable Hugh Hulton was in the RAF. Elsie had met his fiancée, Margot Sebright Saunders.  “Only Alistair ever comes here now, and he’s meant to be out with Major Sebright Saunders this morning.”

                “You’re a friend of the family, then?”

                “Rather. I met Alistair in York several years ago and we became fast friends. We’ve grown closer of late as so many of his school and university chums have joined up and left him behind. He has a bit of a limp and one of his arms is weaker than the other from a hunting accident when he was eighteen. Tried to take a notorious hedge and fell off his horse. That’s why he’s not in the RAF like Hugh or the Guards as their father was and so many of his chums are. He pretends he’s not bothered, but I know it galls sometimes. But enough about him. I’m much more interested in you.”

                Things were moving much more quickly than Elsie had expected, but she couldn’t say that Gwen’s attentions were unwelcome. It had been a long time since she’d made love and never so early in a relationship nor in such romantic surroundings. Still, in her experience, most women weren’t as open about their desire for other women nor as forward in pursuing a woman they wanted as Gwen was. Elsie certainly had never been so assiduously courted so quickly upon meeting someone, not even after Radcliffe Hall’s controversial The Well of Loneliness had opened the public’s eyes to the reality of women who preferred the company of their own sex. If anything, that had made Elsie feel rather more exposed, and not in a good way. Perhaps York was more on a par with London when it came to clubs where Daughters of Sappho could gather to socialise in spite of being the home of the Minster and the seat of the Archbishop. Manchester certainly hadn’t been a mecca for homosexuals of either sex.

                As their physical encounter grew more intense, Elsie found the front of her dress open. Gwen helped her to remove her arms from the sleeves and slipped a hand under the strap of her petticoat slip, baring her shoulder and pressing her lips to the soft skin. The top of the slip fell amongst the fabric round her waist. Elsie lay on her back and Gwen unfastened her new front closure brassiere, bought to go with a strapless evening gown. Elsie had chosen it because it was the prettiest one she owned. She helped Gwen out of her jumper, amazed to discover that she was wearing a simple silk camisole and nothing else underneath. The RSPCA rep peeled it over her head and lifted her skirt before working Elsie’s petticoat and skirt up over her hips, with her would be lover's assistance.  

               “You’re so beautiful, my sweet friend,” she said huskily, her lips playing over Elsie’s skin. “I turned up trumps at Skeldale House. Mesdames Hall and Herriot are always worth looking at, but I’m a woman who wants to do more than look,” she chuckled.

               “You’re a wonder, Gwen. You’ve dragged me into the 20^th century, into the light,” Elsie sighed.

               “You deserve to live in the light, Elsie, my dear.”

               Gwen stroked and kissed Elsie’s breasts, teasing her nipples with the tip of her tongue. Elsie returned the homage, all shyness gone. She helped Gwen lower her pants and eased Gwen’s French knickers down over her fine buttocks. With a sigh, she began to follow the younger woman’s lead, moving her hips in rhythm with the red headed temptress, the long pre-Raphaelite locks moving with her and tickling Elsie’s breasts. Gwen picked up the pace, reaching the summit and groaning with pleasure before Elsie had quite got there. Just on the verge, she heard footsteps outside the door and the handle rattled.  

               “Gwen! Hey Gwennie, you in there!” a refined male voice called out.

               “Go ‘way Allie, you monster,” Gwen rejoined, but she was laughing.

               “I’ll wait for you at the car, old thing, shall I?”

               Gwen didn’t respond, but Elsie heard his footsteps receding, presumably to do as he’d said.

               “Sorry,” Gwen apologised, rising gracefully to her feet and pulling up her knickers. She smoothed her skirt and then scooped up her camisole and jumper and put them back on.  

               Elsie sat up slowly, crushed. She felt beyond disappointed and not a little foolish. Surely Gwen hadn’t meant for that to happen? The young woman seemed unbothered as she twisted and pinned up her hair. Automatically Elsie picked up a few stray pins and handed them to her. “Ta,” Gwen said. Miss Harbottle fastened her bra and slid her petticoat slip up followed by the bodice of her dress. When she had finished buttoning up, watched by Gwen, the latter gave her a hand up. Her pants had worked their way down round one ankle. She stepped into the other leg and slid them up where they belonged, straightened her skirts and patted her hair. Mustering her dignity, she walked over to the table where she had discarded her hat and gathered her coat and handbag from the sofa. 

               “Ready?” Gwen asked brightly, apparently oblivious to Elsie's discomfiture. She picked up the basket with the tea they hadn’t got to enjoy, amongst other things.

               “I’d really rather not meet him if you don’t mind. Mr Hulton,” she told Gwen stiffly.

               “Oh, Allie’s all right. Truly. You've more in common with him than you realise.” When Elsie didn’t say anything to that, she continued. “I’ll just walk on, shall I, and tell him to take himself back to the house. Then I’ll drive you home. Yes?”

               “Yes, please.”

               Elsie trailed behind Gwen and by the time she reached the Alvis, she saw Alistair Hulton’s insouciant departing back. She thought she heard him humming a merry little tune.

               They said little on the drive back to Elsie’s. To her surprise, Gwen got out and walked her to the front door where she took Elsie's hands.

               “I’m sorry for the balls up. Please say you’ll give me another chance? I’d love to see you again, make it up to you. Please?” she coaxed.

               Elsie smiled in spite of herself. “All right. Yes please. But you come here next time,” she insisted. “For dinner, yes?”

               “Alright. That sounds grand, thanks. Sorry I have to dash. Allie's waiting lunch for me.”

               She stooped and kissed Elsie on the cheek, ran down the front garden walk and through the gate, jumped in her car and was gone.

               In the house, Elsie couldn’t settle. She was glad Doris had gone out. She didn’t really know what to think about her encounter with Miss Davies much less describe it. Even though she’d made a tentative second date with the RSPCA officer, now that she was alone she couldn’t pretend that what had happened between them and then Hulton’s interrupting them so cavalierly and Gwen laughing about it and all hadn’t deeply upset her. She didn’t like the idea of him being privy to her amours. She felt exposed. It worried her. 

               Elsie slipped into her coat and gloves and headed out for a walk. As she neared the fields not far from Skeldale House where its residents often walked the dogs, she saw Audrey in the distance. She felt better just looking at that good woman romping with Dash and Jess. She headed towards them. Audrey spotted her and waved and began walking in her direction.

               “Elsie, I’m so happy to see you. How did your tea date go with Miss Davies?” she asked, genuinely interested.

               “It was wonderful; however, the one this morning was something of a disaster,” she heard herself blurting out. “She drove us to the Hulton estate where we were meant to have tea in a lovely folly. But then the younger Mr Hulton –”

               “Say no more. E’s an ill-bred lout is that one. From a few things ‘elen’s said, Hugh despairs of him. Fortunately we don’t see him round ‘ere very often. I’m sorry ‘e bothered you, Elsie. Try not to pay him any mind.”

               “Apparently he and Gwen are great friends. They both live in York. That’s where they met.”

               “Well, ‘appen she doesn’t know ‘is reputation. ‘E can be quite charmin’ when the mood takes ‘im.”    

               “So I gathered. I’ve agreed to see her again, so . . . well, let’s not speak of it anymore. Has harmony been restored at Skeldale? Mr Farnon must be over the moon at the return of his keepsakes.”

               “Well, I don't know where ye got that idea. They're still missin', but peace and ‘armony ‘ave indeed been restored. I tried t’ apologise properly to Mr Farnon and ‘e wouldn’t ear of it. ‘E apologised to me and said it didn’t matter about the necklace and cufflinks. ‘E’s decided not to turn Wesley over t’ the police. What’ll become of the lad in the future I don’t know, but we gave ‘im a chance. When I got ‘ome from choir practice, ‘e ‘ad our game set up in the dinin’ room and we ‘ad a lovely evenin’. ‘E never said a word more about it, but I know it ‘urts ‘im.”

               “But surely – Audrey, hasn’t Carmody given you my letter and the box with the jewellery, then? I dropped it by yesterday afternoon whilst you were out with Mrs Brompton. Oh, Aud. I’m so sorry I couldn’t wait. He assured me –”

               “Elsie, what are you sayin’? Oh, that boy! Dash, Jess, come!” she called to the capering animals. They obeyed the beloved voice immediately. “Do ye ‘ave time to come ‘ome with me now?”

               “Oh, yes. I’d like to give Carmody a piece of my mind!” the bookkeeper admitted. “He’s in cloud-cukoo-land half the time that one. I don't know how Mr Farnon will be able to manage with just him when dear James is called up.”

               When the women reached the house, they found Carmody in the dispensary staring moonily at the shelves.

               “Richard Carmody, did you or did you not assure me that you would give my note and the box I delivered here yesterday afternoon to Mrs Hall as soon as she arrived home?”

               “Did I? I mean, I did. Yes indeed. Must have slipped my mind. It’s in the sitting room, on the mantel. Or is it in the dining room on the mantel? That’s it. Behind the pint pot, I think. Er no, it’s the sitting room. On the table, beside the great bear. Sorry.”

               Whilst Miss Harbottle continued giving the student a telling off, Audrey hurried towards the sitting room. As she passed Siegfried’s office, he glanced up from the pile of paperwork he was meant to be tackling. His eyes followed her into the sitting room. He got up and took himself after her.

               “What’s this?” he wanted to know, seeing her smiling face streaked with tears. She put down the note she had been reading and came and stood in front of him.  

               “Oh, Siegfried,” she whispered, handing him the box she was holding.

               “Ah,” he uttered upon opening it. This time it was Mrs Hall who caressed his cheek, wiping away an errant tear with a gentle thumb.  

               Miss Harbottle arrived in the sitting room in time to see the pair slipping their arms round each other in a long hug. You couldn't have got the piece of paper she'd written her note on between them. She backed silently out of the room and took herself home. The last she’d seen of Carmody, he had been escaping to one of the outbuildings to see to things there and lick his wounds, so she felt sure that the couple would have at least a few minutes to themselves.

               That night when Doris suggested they go down the pub after dinner, Elsie readily agreed. She was too restless for knitting or reading in front of the fire at home. At the Drovers, they joined the Skeldale residents and Diana Brompton. Mr Farnon and Audrey excused themselves and took Elsie aside, thanking her profusely for returning the jewellery. She hadn't mentioned that she'd bought the items back from Wesley, but they were no fools.

                "Let me make it up to you, Miss Harbottle," Siegfried insisted, reaching for his wallet. 

                "Not a'tall, Mr Farnon. It was nothing, a pittance. Buy my sister and me a couple of glasses of the 'good stuff' and that will suffice," she told him, her voice taking on a teasing tone. 

                "You shall indeed have your fill of the 'good stuff'," the vet promised her.   

                As they rejoined the others, Alistair Hulton and Gwen Davies walked into the pub, attracting the lion's share of attention as extraordinarily good looking, confident people were wont to do. 

                "Maggie, my pretty, the drinks are on me! Everyone, congratulate me. The breathtaking, amazing Miss Gwen Davies and I are engaged to be married!" He held up the hand of his fiancee with glee, showing off the huge diamond ring sparkling on her finger.     

                The place erupted with congratulations. Doris and Audrey fixed an ashen Elsie with looks of concern. The younger MIss Harbottle felt the room shifting. Mrs Brompton, standing next to her, took her by the elbow. Elsie just managed to stay on her feet. She fixed her lips in the semblance of a smile. 

                “Margot was worried it would come to this. She thinks Allie's a wastrel. Which 'e is. But she doesn't much like Miss Davies, either. She seems a perfectly nice woman t' me. Perhaps it's a case of guilt by association. That ring belonged to 'is dear old granny. She doted on 'im,” Helen put in tersely. "Margot must be fit t' be tied." 

                “Well, I’m going to order a very large whisky and possibly two. Alistair broke a very old and priceless vase at a party at my house once and he’s yet to make it right. Not even a proper apology. He just giggled maniacally, the arse. Hugh offered me one of theirs in its place, but as I told him, it wasn’t his fault and Hugo would go spare. Not at Alistair, but at his firstborn and heir. Thank God Hugh takes after their late mother, may God rest her soul. Come along, Miss Harbottle. Let’s grab that table in the corner and drink ourselves silly in honour of the happy couple.”

                Elsie cast a reassuring nod towards her sister and Audrey and allowed Mrs Brompton to lead her over to said table. She sat down with an unladylike plop. The socialite sat down opposite her and briefly squeezed the bookkeeper’s hand lying on the tabletop. As Maggie passed, she ordered their whiskies.  

                “Now tell all. I’m safe as houses. You’d be amazed at the secrets that have been entrusted to me, but that would be telling.”        

Chapter Text

               Elsie began to tremble. Hot tears splashed down her cheeks. She was very glad that her back was mostly to the room. To Gwen and her odious fiancé.

               “Steady on,” Diana urged, reaching for her hand again.   

               Audrey appeared at the table. “May I join you?”

               Seeing Elsie’s distress, she sat down swiftly and drew her chair close, as though imparting a titbit of gossip. Maggie turned up with the whisky. She served the two women, her practiced eye quickly assessing the state of things, and then positioned herself between Mrs Brompton and Miss Harbottle with her hand on the bookkeeper’s shoulder and leant down, as though sharing in the women’s conversation.

               “Mrs Hall, get a sip of that down her,” she directed, rising and shifting to hide Elsie from view as Aud lifted the glass to her friend’s lips. The barmaid and Diana carried on a conversation about the former’s husband, Arthur.

               The whisky warmed Elsie. She managed to get herself under control and took the glass from Audrey, tossing back the rest of the drink.

               “Four more please, Maggie, including one for yourself, and then come and join us,” Diana said.

               “Thanks,” Maggie said.

               When she arrived back at the table she set down the tray of drinks and then sat herself down in the empty chair opposite Elsie.

               “Which one of ‘em is it? ‘Im or ‘er?” she asked shrewdly. Elsie flushed. The reaction was unmistakable even in the candlelit pub. “’Er, then. That one’s a right piece of work.”

               “’Ey, Maggie!” called out one of the regulars.

               “No rest for the weary,” Audrey commiserated with her.

               “You’ve got that right,” Maggie concurred with a grin, downing her whisky. “Chin up,” she admonished Elsie. “From what I know, you’re worth ten o’ Gwennie.”

               “Thanks.”  Elsie gave a wan smile and a nod and Maggie went about her business.

               “Mrs Hall!” James cried from the other side of the room. “Come quick and tell Siegfried he’s in the wrong!”

               “I’d better go or they’ll all come troopin’ over ‘ere. I’ll check on ye later, love,” she told Elsie.

               When Audrey was out of earshot, Diana spoke.

               “Will they or won’t they? I think they will eventually, especially now she’s free of her husband and Gerald has hopped it to Hull more than a little crestfallen. I’m convinced he only took the bank manager’s position there because he thought it would spur Audrey into saying ‘I do’ and going along with him.”

               “I wasn’t sure if they were still seeing each other and I didn’t like to ask.”

               “Perhaps they think they are. They write, of course. I suppose he’ll try to see her when he can break away from Hull to visit his sister and her family, but he’ll tire of being kept at arm's length or she’ll give him the push eventually. I’d be very surprised if she were to visit him there. Once Siegfried works up the nerve to tell her he’s in love with her, or she opens her eyes and realises it for herself, that’ll be that for poor Gerald. Seeing them together tonight, it wouldn’t surprise me to learn that it had already happened.”

               “I’ve told her he’s in love with her, and I know she feels the same way towards him. I did catch them out in a close embrace earlier today, so I am rather hopeful that they’ve resolved things between them even if they choose to keep it private for a bit.”

               “Well good on you. And good on them. That’s brilliant news,” Diana responded warmly.

               “You don’t mind a’tall?” Elsie gave vent to her curiosity.

               “Not even a little bit. Truly. Siegfried’s marvellous, but we’re better as friends. And anyway, when I realised how very much in love with Audrey he was, I had to set him free. I didn’t want him to be in love with me and I certainly didn't want to marry him, but I didn’t want him loving another woman whilst making love to me, if you know what I mean.”

               “I think I do. Yes.”  Elsie took a thoughtful sip of her drink.

               Doris approached the table.  “Join us, Dor,” Elsie said.

               “No thanks, Else. It’s time I went I think, but I can tell you’re enjoying yourself. Shall I get a lift with someone? There are several leaving out now.”

Maggie turned up with two more glasses of whisky.

               “Compliments of Mr Farnon,” she said, smiling.  

               The two women raised their glasses to the vet, Elsie turning slightly in her chair, arm poised across the back of it. Siegfried toasted them back. The vet stood close beside the woman he loved. Audrey’s hand rested on his shoulder as she spoke animatedly to James, Helen and Richard Alderson.  

                “Here, help me drink this, Dor, and then I’ll go with you,” Elsie told her sister.

                “That’s okay, I’ve had my limit, also courtesy of Mr Farnon. If I didn't know better I'd say he was trying to get me drunk,” she joked. 

                “I don't know, Doris. You are his type," her WI chum teased. Doris laughed. "I’ll bring her home if you like, my dear,” Diana offered readily.  “It’d be no trouble.”  

                “What d’you say, sis?” Doris asked Elsie. Her sister nodded. “That’s very kind of you, Diana,” the elder Miss Harbottle said. She stooped and kissed Elsie’s cheek, uttering low in her sister’s ear, “We’ll talk it all out over a farmer’s breakfast in the morning. In the meantime, be careful you,” before wishing them both ‘goodnight’.

                Gwen’s throaty laughter rose up out of a nearby crowd.

                “I knew a girl a bit like that at school,” Diana observed. “Clementine she was. Clemmie. For about two months in sixth form she’d slip into my room at night and we’d practice what we’d do with our future husbands. We took it turn about being the man. It was all rather tame, of course, but quite enjoyable in its way. My honeymoon was a rude awakening, I can tell you.”  Diana’s huge laugh rang out, attracting admiring glances from all over the pub. “It was years later before I realised what it was all about.”

                “She – she,” Elsie hesitated to say the word that came to mind. “She forced you? Used you?”

                “Oh, no, my dear Miss Harbottle. I had a huge schoolgirl crush on her. I was a willing participant, I assure you. As I recall I was the one who suggested the ‘wedding trip with new husband’ scenario. Completely ignorant about what was really happening, as she may very well have been, too, for the most part. But she did have a roving eye did our Clemmie. I’ve often wondered what might happen if we should turn up at the same shooting weekend someday. But she lives in Canada now with her second husband, so that’s unlikely.”

                “What would you do, d’you reckon?” Elsie wanted to know.

                “I’d visit her bedroom in the middle of the night and seduce her, as one does at country house weekends. Why not? Finish what we started.” Diana chuckled. “Oh, now there’s another one I wouldn’t mind having,” she added, nodding towards Richard Alderson and Helen Herriot involved in an intent conversation in another corner. “The father. I’m not an adulteress, and especially not with pregnant women,” she said with a wicked grin. Richard beckoned Jenny over, drinking lemonade and talking to Edith Rudd. “I must say, they’re looking very serious, aren’t they?”

                Elsie knew what that was about and was glad Richard had apparently taken his son-in-law’s advice to speak to his daughters about his reticence to let Helen do certain jobs on the farm. Mr Alderson had come into the kitchen with Helen when he’d dropped her home. James had got there shortly before them, but after greeting her husband brusquely, Helen had gone straight upstairs in an apparent huff. None of them had noticed the pantry door standing ajar and realised that the bookkeeper was inside. She'd been fetching her small personal tin of tea she kept there now that there was talk of the beverage being rationed in the summer. She was welcome to help herself to the household’s tea and biscuits, but Elsie didn’t like to take advantage of their generosity. Before she could make herself known, she’d heard Mr Alderson’s voice.

                “It’s me she’s angry with, lad, not you. Thinks I’m treatin’ her as though she’s gormless now she’s expectin’ because I won’t let ‘er muck out and take on other tough jobs and I make sure she eats a proper lunch and takes ‘er tea breaks and then puts ‘er feet up and all afterwards. What’s wrong with that, any road? It’s my grandchild she’s carryin’.”

                “Helen’s a hard worker, you know that better than I do. And the farm’s hers, too, Richard. Maybe let her have her head a bit. She knows her own body and what it’s capable of  better than we do.”

                “You don’t know what you’re sayin’, James. Remember what I told ye when that cow tested positive for TB? About ‘ow ‘ard it were during the First World War? ‘Ow worried I were about ‘ow I were goin’ t’ feed ‘elen? ‘Ow worried Joan and I both were. Well, sometimes when I’d come in for lunch, Joan’d tell me she’d eaten when she ‘ad’t t’ make sure that ‘elen and I both ‘ad enough t’ keep goin’. And she worked far too ‘ard what with decent ‘elp bein’ nearly impossible t’ come by, so we could ‘old on t’ Heston Grange. Lord ‘ulton isn't like Hugh. Thank God the old devil startin' leavin' things t' Hugh and went abroad as soon as Hugh come of age. Takes after ‘is mother does Hugh. She were a tender woman. Any road, unbeknownst t’ me, and maybe even to ‘erself at first, Joan were pregnant. She lost the baby, and I nearly lost ‘em both, she were that sick. She nearly bled t’ death before the doctor could get there. That’s why there’s so many years between ‘elen and Jenny. I couldn’t take the chance o’ losin’ my Joan, James. And then I did – we did – anyway. I can’t lose my daughter, lad, and I won’t let you lose your wife and child if I can ‘elp it.”      

                “I'm sorry, Richard. I'm glad you told me. Now tell Helen, her and Jenny. They’ll understand and you can work it out.”

                “I fear he’d be one who’d insist on doing the right thing and marrying me,” Diana continued. “I’m not cut out to be a farmer’s wife,” she added with a mischievous grin.

                “What? Oh,” Elsie said. Before she could stop it, she was overtaken by a yawn. She quickly covered her mouth with her hand.  

                “You’re tired. Or am I’m boring you?”

                “Never that. But I am a bit tired and full of whisky. There’s no knowing what I might do. Fall asleep in my chair or make a pass at you. The day I’ve had, it’s anyone’s guess.”

                “I should hope it’d be the latter. If not tonight, some other time? Oh, don’t turn round, but Miss Davies is looking this way. Time we went, I think.”

                “Yes please,” Elsie agreed, rising. She took a deep breath and gathered herself before making a move. She wasn’t used to drinking so much. And what had Diana meant by what she’d said?

                They took their time leaving, mingling a bit. Elsie even found herself chatting to a group that included Miss Davies and her fiancé. Already her excitement over Diana’s intriguing proposition, if that was indeed  what it was, eclipsed whatever feelings the redheaded tease had stirred in her. Had it only been two days ago that she’d met the RSPCA representative and placed such false hopes of happiness with the younger woman on those broad shoulders? Suddenly she held no more attraction to Elsie than – than a man. She smiled secretly to herself, which she could tell puzzled and confused Miss Davies.  

                Diana appeared at her elbow. “Ready, Miss Harbottle?”

                “Yes, please, Mrs Brompton. Goodnight all,” she said breezily, the belle of the ball, her exhaustion suddenly forgotten.

                “I meant what I said in there,” Diana told her after they had collected the car and settled themselves inside. Parked in a dark side street, the windows of the surrounding houses also dark, she leant towards Elsie and kissed her cheek.

                Elsie turned her face towards Diana and they kissed full on the mouth. Diana’s tongue slipped between Elsie’s lips, seeking her own. She was a very accomplished kisser. Had Clementine or Siegfried taught her that? For from the few things his ex-wife had said about  him, it had surely not been Mr Brompton.  

                The kiss went on for a long time, their arms round each other. Elsie allowed Diana to fondle one of her breasts through her blouse.

                “What are you playing at, Diana? I can’t get my heart broken for me twice in two days’ time. I’m not sure I’d survive a second disappointment so close on the heels of the first,” she told the unexpected temptress bluntly.

                “I can’t promise you that ours will be a love that lasts forever, but I’ll never deliberately hurt you, Elsie. Even if turns out to be nothing more than a bit of fun with a curious middle aged woman wistful for a youthful dalliance, would that be so bad? It’s rather a point of honour with me to remain friends with my former lovers. And their lovers,” she added, alluding to Siegfried and Audrey. “Siegfried and I had a good run. No reason why you and I shouldn’t too.”

                “Why not?” Elsie acquiesced. “I am interested to see your Le Verrier,” she referenced the sculpture Diana had told her about on another occasion.

                As they drove the short distance out of the market town to Roselea House, the Jacobean manor that had been part of Diana’s dowry when she’d married her erstwhile husband, she reached over and took Elsie’s hand. 

                “Nervous?” she asked.

                “I should be asking you that,” Elsie laughed. “But I have a feeling that not much overwhelms you, Mrs Brompton.”

                “No, not much. I’m rather more excited than nervous right now. Alright, a little nervous, if I’m honest. But in a good way. I’ve told you about my one fumbling experience making love with a woman, well, a girl, if making love you could call it,” Diana said. “What about you, Elsie? Apart from Die Walküre, apparently.”

                “In the end, that didn’t amount to much more than a bit of school girl fumbling about. As a matter of fact, I have a strong feeling that it was less satisfying than what you and Clemmie got up to and a good deal meaner spirited. But yes, apart from her, I’ve been in love with three women. The first was Amabel, a fellow nurse in France. I thought we’d live happily ever after, or hoped so, in any case. But Ammie couldn’t stick it. She’s married and has grown children now. We haven’t kept in touch, but old friends mention her in their letters from time to time. She did send her regards once a few years ago through one of them but I didn’t bother acknowledging them when I replied to our mutual friend. You'll think that mean of me, perhaps. Then there were Bertha and Mary. Ironically, later on they ended up meeting and setting up house together. Bertha was too close on the heels of my break up with Ammie, a stopgap, I suppose, and she felt it. Mary. . . Ah, Mary,” Elsie sighed. “She was petite and lively, with a voluptuous figure and a roguish eye, like you.” Diana chortled with pleasure at the comparison.  “She wanted us to live together full time and I wouldn’t. I suppose I was too invested in the future that Doris and I had mapped out together. I don’t exactly regret it, but I do get lonely sometimes. Doris wouldn’t even have minded very much. But I couldn’t do it.”

                “Nothing wrong with knowing what you want,” Diana said. “And I don't think you mean about your Amabel. There are circumstances that render continued friendship impossible. Even though I don't know the whole story, I saw what Alistair's little announcement did to you. Even I shouldn't be able to carry on a  friendship with Miss Davies if she had broken my trust. Here we are.”  She turned into a long drive, passing through ornate gates and driving on through a gatehouse. Rather than driving round the back to the coach house turned garage, she pulled her Daimler to a stop in front of the house.  “Welcome to Chez Moi. I expect it’ll be requisitioned before very much longer, which is just as well. With most of the male servants off to war and the girls finding gainful employment elsewhere and leaving service, it’s the devil to keep up. I’ll never part with it, though, if I can help it. Papá hated Freddie, so he made quite sure he couldn’t get his hands on it should anything happen. As it did. Wise Papá.”   

                In the elegant stair hall, they were greeted by a very dignified, very proper English butler.

                “Good evening, Mrs Brompton. I hope you had a good evening,” he said.  

                “A very good evening, Caswell, thank you. Elsie, this is Caswell. Caswell, Miss Harbottle. I brought her home with me rather than dropping her off at hers lest she woke her older sister. The blue room’s made up, isn’t it?”

                “It is indeed, Madam. May I get you anything before you go up?”

                “Elsie?” Diana inquired. Elsie shook her head. “No thank you, Caswell. You run along to bed now. And I think we’ll enjoy a lie-in in the morning. Breakfast round about 10 suit you, Elsie?”

                “Oh, yes please. Lovely.”

                “Very good, Madam. I will let Mrs White know. Goodnight, Mrs Brompton. Miss Harbottle.”

                “Goodnight, Caswell. Sweet dreams.”

                “And you,” he rejoined, a hint of amusement behind his dulcet tones.  

                "There's everything you'll need in the ensuite bath, even a spare dressing gown," Diana explained to Elsie, leading the way across the stair hall. As they climbed upwards, the butler made his soft footed way downstairs to his suite of rooms where his wife, the housekeeper, was already in bed.

                On the first landing, Diana stopped and kissed Elsie on the mouth. She was a very good kisser indeed.

                “There,” she said somewhat breathlessly. “That’s broken the ice properly, hasn’t it?”

                It had indeed. Elsie pushed her hostess gently against the wall and began kissing her hungrily, her hands cupping Diana’s full breasts. She shifted to unbuttoning her blouse, revealing a silk and lace slip over a bra very like the one she herself was wearing. She worked the blouse and slip strap down, baring a soft shoulder along which she trailed kisses whilst she he unfastened the bra’s modern front closure. As it came away, she took the silky, full lobes in her hands, massaging the nipples with her thumbs and then lowering her head to stimulate the hard buds with mouth and tongue.

                “Oh,” Diana gasped, her hands gripping Elsie’s bum.  “Oh, Elsie. That feels amazing.”

                Truth be told, Diana talked a good act, but she’d never been unfaithful to her faithless husband.  Siegfried had been the only man besides Freddie she’d ever gone to bed with, her first lover. Second if one counted Clemmie. She was beginning to think that Clemmie needn’t count, because they’d never got up to anything like this. The dapper vet had been a marvellous lover, top drawer, and up 'til then, the best she’d ever had. She’d missed him desperately at first; or rather, she’d missed him in her bed with his talented hands and lovely stiff member, but she’d been ruthless towards herself in getting over him. She hadn’t expected to meet anyone suitable tonight. Probably most would say that she hadn’t, but as Elsie worked her skirt up towards her hips and her knickers down and pushed her long fingers between suspender belt and pants caught by her garters and began to stroke the sensitive area between her thighs as she caressed her nipples with her tongue, Diana knew they were wrong.

                “That’s it you little cat,” Elsie breathed in her ear as Diana’s hips began to move with her. “You like that, don’t you?”

                They made it to Diana’s lovely blue silk and satin bedroom at last and spent a lively few hours. In the sunny breakfast room where they helped themselves to scrambled egg and other lovely things the next morning they both ate ravenously. At the meal’s end, Diana drove Elsie home.

                 “I’ve had a lovely time with you Diana, but I can’t see you like that again. Can’t be with you. I hope we can remain friends.”

                 “Yes, somehow I expected you’d say that. It was rather intense between us, wasn’t it? I don’t regret it. But I understand why you wouldn’t want to risk it all going pear shaped. That’s exactly why I broke things off with Siegfried. In the end his friendship mattered more to me than his skills as a lover.”

                 “Only, I know I’d end up falling in love with you,” Elsie hurried to explain.

                 “Well, I’m flattered. And believe me, if I wanted to be in a long term relationship with anyone, this morning I can very well imagine wanting it to be you. That’s a compliment, even if it doesn’t sound like one, by the way.”

                 “I know,” Elsie acknowledged.

                 They were laughing as she got out of the car and made her way up the front garden walk and in through the door of her lovely haven of a home.

                 “Well?” Doris queried. 

                 “How about a brew and I’ll tell all. Well, perhaps not ‘all’,” she amended with a wink.