the last-minute details. ‘In two hours folk will start arriving and there’s still balloons to be blown up, straw bales to be laid out for the seating, and where’s the banners? We always have banners!’
Summoning three of the stable lads, she set them to work. ‘I’ve things to be doing myself,’ she said. ‘There’s all the food to be seen to yet. And think on,’ she warned. ‘I’ll be back in an hour, by which time I expect it all to be done and ready.’ With that she marched off, chuckling to herself as she recalled how the three of them had been hiding in the stables. ‘Lazy little hounds,’ she told herself. ‘Did they really think I didn’t know where to look for them?’
Her kitchen at The Willows was a hive of industry; there was Lucy shifting the freshly baked bread rolls onto a cooling tray; little Peggy Henderson from the village flitting in and out of the larder like a headless chicken, and the cat waiting at the door for any stray titbits.
As always, Peggy was fussing, talking to herself in frantic clucks as she darted to and fro. ‘Where’s the ham shank? It was here just now when I got out the cream jug … Oh dearie me, dearie me!’
‘Stop panicking!’ Maggie came in the door and straight off she saw how little Peggy had already put one ham shank on the butcher’s block ready for slicing. ‘Look behind you, hinny,’ she urged. ‘In a minute, it will bite you on the backside!’
Peggy began giggling uncontrollably. ‘Silly me,’ she chirped. ‘I must have taken it out earlier. There’s so much to do … you can’t think, can you?’
Maggie had an idea. ‘We’ve all been working our fingers to the bone, and we’re tired. I say we should stop for a few minutes and have one o’ my delicious scones, with a cup of tea – then we’ll get on with the sandwiches. What d’you say, eh?’
The girls were all for it. Lucy put the kettle on, while Maggie and Peggy got out the scones and cream, with a dish of straw berry jam made last summer.
No sooner was the table set for three, than the kettle was whistling and the tea was made, and they all sat down with a sigh of relief.
‘What’s tickling you, young lady?’ Maggie had already noticed how Lucy kept smiling to herself, and when she wasn’t smiling she was singing, and when she wasn’t singing, she was looking out the window. ‘As I recall, there’s only one thing that makes a young woman as happy as you seem to be, and that’s a young man.’ And the only young man she could match with Lucy, was Dave.
Lucy’s face grew pink. ‘I’m saying nothing,’ she remarked coyly. ‘You’ll know soon enough.’ And beyond that she would not be drawn.
By 7 p.m. lanterns and fairy-lights had been switched on to light the way to the barn. There was plenty of space in an adjoining field for cars. About seventy people were expected, and the trestle tables, covered in white sheets, were groaning under the weight of party food for the evening’s festivities, alongside barrels of beer, and cider, bottles of wine and pop for the teetotallers. To eat, there were platters of sliced boiled ham or roast ham shanks and fat beef sandwiches and pork pies enough to feed an army, plump chicken breasts and grilled sausages, and bowl after bowl of boiled potatoes, sprinkled with mint and herbs. One table alone held all the sweet things – trifles and tarts, and cakes to suit all tastes: chocolate, and fruit, and ginger, and plates of fancies.
‘Good God above, Maggie!’ Frank had come to inspect the barn. ‘There’s enough grub here to feed the whole of Bedfordshire.’
‘Nobody ever goes hungry at my parties, that’s for sure,’ she announced proudly.
By the time people started arriving, the balloons were up, the banners were hung, and the trio of musicians – violin, squeezebox and flute, played the partygoers in.
Lucy was kept busy meeting and greeting, helping people with their coats and settling them in, while Dave remained by the door, watching out for one particular partygoer, and hoping against hope that he would turn up.
By nine-thirty the party was well underway, with the guests redfaced and merry, performing the old traditional country dances while the caller, a local farmer named Ned Kirby, nagged, cajoled and teased them through the steps.
Amid the gales of laughter, Dave went up to Lucy and said, ‘There’s still no sign of him. I don’t suppose he got my letter. Or if he did, maybe he wasn’t able to come all this way.’
Lucy was trying to console him, when suddenly Dave caught sight of a familiar figure coming through the crowds. ‘Eli!’ Small and wick, with a smile on his wrinkled old face, the old man had not changed.
Dave ran to meet him. ‘Oh, Eli, it’s so good to see you! I really thought you weren’t able to make it.’
Eli gave him a big hug. ‘Then you don’t know me as well as you think ye do,’ he said, his face wreathed in a delighted grin. ‘It would have taken wild horses to keep me away. Mind, me car wasn’t too keen on the journey from Blackpool, but it’s having a good long rest in yon field.’
Lucy came up beside them. ‘So, this is your friend?’ If it hadn’t been for the old fella, Lucy knew that Dave would never have found his way here, to her, and the good life he now enjoyed.
Eli looked at her with wide eyes. ‘By, but she’s pretty! This must be the young woman you told me about in your letter … Lucy, isn’t it?’
He held out his hand in greeting, but Lucy threw her arms round his neck, thanking him for the help he had given to Dave. ‘If it wasn’t for you, we might never have met,’ she said thankfully. Dave had told her all about his life on the run, and she knew that Eli had been a major force for good, helping to bring that way of life to an end.
Eli nodded. ‘Brian Moult got what he deserved,’ he told Dave, accepting a glass of beer and a plate of food from a stable girl acting as a waitress for the evening. Lucy left the men and went to help her.
‘Not long after you took off, the truth got out about his wrongdoings. He was put away for some years – him and the other fella, and good shuts to the pair of ’em, is what I say!’
Dave was relieved, but curious. ‘How did they get caught out?’
Eli winked knowingly. ‘I expect somebody snitched on ’em, eh?’ He chuckled wickedly. ‘I mean, they must have made a lot of enemies, wouldn’t ye say?’
Dave understood. ‘You’re an old rascal, but you’re worth your weight in gold.’ He would never forget what Eli had done for him.
Drawing closer to the lad, Eli had some more news for him. ‘There’s something you need to know,’ he said. ‘This is going to blow your socks off. By, you’ll really be celebrating when you get a load of this.’ He took a long swallow of his beer while Dave waited patiently.
‘Your Mr Babraham …’ he said unexpectedly, and when Dave went white, he leaned forward and grasped his arm. ‘He didn’t die,’ Eli said in his ear. ‘He lived – and was able to identify his attackers. It was in the local paper last week. The police had been looking for them ever since he recovered from the incident. They found them when they committed a big burglary in Sheffield, and connected them with that other job. You’re in the clear, lad. The police aren’t looking for anyone else. I reckon he told them how you helped him, eh? Come on, now.’ He looked kindly at the stricken young man. ‘You need a drink. You can fill my glass up an’ all while you’re at it. There’s a fair bit o’ dust in me throat from the journey, so it’s medicinal, mind.’
The old and young man went over to replenish their glasses, and then Dave, feeling light-headed with this wonderful piece of news, led Eli over to where Frank was chatting to Maggie. He introduced Eli as ‘the man who saved my hide, more than once’.
‘Well, Eli my man,’ Frank shook him by the hand, ‘you did us all a favour, and any time you’re passing through these parts, you’ll