Free The Reluctant Time Traveller by Janis Mackay Page B

day”. I remembered the woman with the white flower and the green skirt. Her hair had been all tumbling down; these women all wore their hair tucked up in buns or hidden under scarves. My great-great-great-great aunt Jean – if it
was
her – wasn’t here.
    The women were practically shouting at each other to beheard across the green. “It’ll no come to that,” one woman called out, pegging up a flapping white sheet. “If it does, our boys will sort them out, no question about it.”
    “Aye, ‘Rule Britannia’ maybe, but if I don’t get this washing pegged up soon, I’ll be late making his dinner and you ken whit he’s like if his dinner’s no on the table at noon.
Then
there’ll be a war!”
    “Because he wouldna lift a hand tae mak it himself now, would he?”
    A few of the women chuckled at that. I was hovering nearby, looking interested in daisies and picking a few. “Instead of making daisy chains, lassie,” someone shouted, “you could be passing up these wooden pegs to me.”
    I swung round, realising she was talking to me. Another woman lowered her basket and studied me. “You should by rights be in the school.”
    “Oh, rights, is it?” another one said. “And where was rights when I was scullery maid at the age of twelve, eh?”
    Another woman hooted with laughter. “That was a long while, back Jessie Linton, when boys went up chimneys. You’re no spring chicken and, let me remind you, times have changed.”
    “They’re going to change even more,” I blurted out, then smacked my hand over my mouth. Silly me. But I wanted to let them know. I wanted them to know they would lose sons and husbands and grandsons in the muddy trenches.
    But they just laughed. “Over here wee missy and huld this peg basket. Make yourself useful.”
    I slipped the daisy chain round my neck then went over and held the peg bag. It was easy to chat to these women and soon I was asking them about the big house up the lane and beyond the field. “The one with the huge iron gates and the big wall all round it,” I said, handing up giant wooden pegs. “Whatever happened tothe old man who used to own it?”
    “Ah now, him?” The women shook their heads. “Poor old John Hogg? I thought everybody hereabout kent the story of poor old John Hogg…”
    My heart missed a beat actually hearing the name of John Hogg. So Gran was right! But I just kept passing the pegs. “Aye, lassie,” said another woman, “and who are you anyway, that you don’t know?”
    “And who’s your mother, eh?” They were closing in on me, with their scarves round their heads and their big bright faces. One of them had brown teeth.
    A tear rolled down my face and I stared down at my bare feet on the grass. “She’s dead.”
    One woman put a strong arm around my shoulder. “Don’t cry pet. She’ll be in a better place and Lord knows we’ll all follow her there soon enough.” Then with a damp hankie she wiped my face. “They don’t tell you much up in that poor house, do they? Stop the tears, lassie, and I’ll tell you about poor John Hogg.”

 
    16
    “Wake up, Blackie.”
    “Mum,” I said, mumbling, “I don’t want to eat frog’s legs. Tell them I don’t want any.”
    “Get up, quick. He’s here. I can hear him. Shift!”
    “Where’s Mum? What?” I blinked, and blinked again. I felt this huge disappointment crash inside me. I thought this was a bad dream. It wasn’t. Noble was shaking me. He looked seriously worried. I felt so tired, but he was grabbing me and hoisting me up to my feet.
    “Let’s flee tae the coal shed,” he said. “Pretend we’ve been there all this time. Me showing you the ropes.” He flung open the back door, ran outside then beckoned wildly for me to follow.
    I could hear Gaunt shouting at the other end of the house, calling for someone to take his horse and swearing about his servants and how lazy they were.
    “Quick!” Noble hissed. He was already pelting across the backyard.
    I ran,