Excitement sparkled through her as she hauled herself up while Mr. Penworthy moved over for her. She nearly slipped because of the mud on her boots, but made it onto the wide bench seat.
“Right,” she said, putting her hands on the steering wheel.
“What have you driven before?” he asked.
“Not a thing,” she said with a grin.
He let out a breath. “What do they teach you city folk?”
She laughed in surprise. “Dorking isn’t exactly a city.”
“Even worse, lass,” he said.
“Well, I’m learning now.”
He grunted, then launched into the basics. Ignition, clutch, gas, break, gear shift. He patiently explained how to press down the clutch, shift gears, and get the behemoth machine moving. He made her recite it again and again until the sequence rolled off her tongue smoothly.
“All right,” he said, sitting back. “Give it a go.”
Beth sucked in a breath, aware Mr. Penworthy was gripping the edge of his seat. She pressed the clutch firmly to the floor, turned the ignition, put the tractor into gear, and slowly let her foot off the clutch. It gave a great rumbling roar. She jumped back, lifting her foot. The beast of a machine shuddered violently and went quiet.
“Well, you’ve stalled it.”
She looked over at the serious, resigned expression on Mr. Penworthy’s face and all at once began to laugh. She laughed and laughed, holding on to her sides. She could hear the farmer’s low, dry chuckle that sounded as though he was blowing dust off his humor.
“What’s this? Farmer Penworthy laughing along with a land girl? I never thought I’d see the day,” a man called out.
Beth’s head snapped up to see a large man swathed in the greatcoat of an army officer standing on the edge of the field.
“Captain Hastings,” bellowed Mr. Penworthy. “Stay there.” He nodded to Beth. “Down you go.”
She scrambled down the side, landing on two solid feet in the soft earth and manure. The officer watched them as they trekked to the side of the field. It wasn’t until she was half a dozen yards away that she realized why the man seemed so broad. He had only one arm pulled through a sleeve. The other was anchored to his neck by a sling, his coat hanging over it.
“You have company,” the man said to Mr. Penworthy as they stopped in front of him.
“Miss Pedley, this is Captain Hastings,” said Mr. Penworthy.
“Graeme Hastings, of the Second Battalion, Royal Scots Fusiliers. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Pedley,” said Captain Hastings.
“And yours, sir,” she said.
“You must be new?” said Captain Hastings.
“Yes, I arrived yesterday. Mr. Penworthy was just teaching me to drive the tractor.”
“And?” Captain Hastings asked.
“I stalled it on the first go,” she admitted.
He laughed. “We all do. Don’t believe anyone who says otherwise. You’ll get it.”
“Aye, I think she will,” said Mr. Penworthy.
A glow spread through her chest at the praise. She could—would—do this.
“May I ask what happened to your arm?” Beth said.
“Oh, this?” he asked, glancing at the bandage as though seeing it for the first time. “Walked into a German bullet. Quite clumsy of me, really.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I take it the doctors set you straight about doing it again?”
Captain Hastings barked a laugh. “Yes, the nurses scolded me until Tuesday and back. Can’t say I’ll be seeking out a repeat experience. It’s rather shattered my shoulder.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said, sobering.
“Oh, we’ll have none of that. It earned me a very nice convalescence, and the good company of my friend Mr. Penworthy.”
“Captain Hastings has an interest in farming,” said Mr. Penworthy.
“Is that so?” Beth asked.
“Actually I don’t know a thing about it, but I like walking in the fields. There’s nothing like being cooped up inside to make you feel like an invalid, and the doctors seem to approve of the exercise so long as I’m careful.” Captain Hastings turned to Mr. Penworthy. “Will Miss Pedley be taking on your deliveries to the big house?”
Beth looked at the farmer, whose lips twitched again. “Might be” was all he said.
“Which big house?” she asked.
“Highbury House. It’s been requisitioned as a convalescent hospital. They specialize in bones, which is how I ended up there. Now”—Captain Hastings tipped his peaked cap—“I must be going. The sheep are rather put out when I don’t do my rounds in a timely fashion. Farmer Penworthy. Miss Pedley.”
He rambled off as though he didn’t have a care in the world, bandaged arm or no.
“He seems like a nice enough man,” she said.
“Captain Hastings is better than most. I’ll say nothing against the men at Highbury House. They’ve all done their bit for Britain. Still, some of them can be…”
“Louts?” she offered helpfully.
He snorted. “Louts will do very well, Miss Pedley.”
“I will consider myself warned,” she said.
Mr. Penworthy smiled again. Aunt Mildred wasn’t a cruel woman, but she wasn’t a warm one, either. Beth had had a roof over her head and meals on the table, but little else. No kindness, no approval, no love. Colin had been her one lifeline for so long, and now he was at war. Beth could have sat in the glow of the farmer’s smile for hours.
“Back to the tractor, then,” said Mr. Penworthy. “You’ll try again until you get it right.”
And back to the tractor Beth went, but not without casting one last look at the disappearing figure of Captain Graeme Hastings.
• VENETIA •
MONDAY, 18 FEBRUARY 1907
Highbury House
Raw
Papa used to tell me that the harsher the day of planting, the more vigorous the bloom. If today’s weather is any indication, the garden at Highbury House will be healthy indeed.
I arrived at the house yesterday and have already settled myself into the old gardener’s cottage at the southern edge of the property. Mrs. Melcourt offered to give me one of the guest bedrooms in the eastern wing. However, upon learning that the gardener Mr. Hillock lives above the village shop his wife runs, I insisted on the cottage.
I said that I needed to keep a close eye on the many plants I would propagate from cuttings and seeds here at Highbury. In truth, I’m used to my freedom. I live with Adam, but he leaves me be when I am working.
This morning, my first day of real work at Highbury House, I bundled up against the weather and ventured out. On my last visit two weeks before, I’d left Mr. Hillock instructions to clear the grounds where the garden rooms will stand. Mr. Hillock’s men have also cut into the lawn to create the borders, and cartloads of earth have been delivered to improve the soil.
Mr. Hillock met me at the gated entrance to the tea garden. We were discussing the lime trees that would be delivered later that week when I heard a hallo from the veranda. I looked up from under the brim of my wide gardening hat and saw Mr. Goddard wave before he came loping down the steps.