A plan

He knew the plan had almost everything wrong with it. If she had suggested it in a letter, he would have refused to have anything to do with the idea. If she had been seated demurely next to him, he would have done the same. He liked to think that, even with her head on his shoulder and her soft, dark brown hair somehow (again) tangled in the buttons of his uniform, he would have gently pointed out the impossibility of her wild scheme. But she tilted her head to look up at him, her eyes alight and dancing with mischief, so he heard himself agreeing.

"But we have to get all the details right." he added.

She nodded. "We only get one chance at this. Of course, the fact that she is convinced that I'm slipping out to see you helps, but it may mean that she stops me getting away again. Every summer she kept setting traps for me because she was so convinced we were seeing each other."

"We were." He pointed out.

"Aunt Maria didn't know that." she said. "And Father really wouldn't have minded. He would have liked you." she added, fiercely.

"So what exactly do we tell her?"

"We tell her that we've been seeing each other since you came back to the Lake and that we've been-" she broke off short, wishing she didn't blush quite so easily.

"Yes." he said, hastily, "I'm afraid it makes me out to be a complete cad, taking advantage of you like that. It doesn't do much for your reputation either, but we can put most of the blame on me."

"Well, only Aunt Maria needs to know. That's the whole point. She'll do anything for respectability."

"So I tell her the only honourable thing, in view of my disgraceful behaviour, is to marry you."

"As soon as possible." said Molly firmly. "We need to say as soon as possible. Otherwise, she might say no and just to keep quiet about it. Or she might say yes, but not right away, and then go on and on and on about it once you've gone."

Bob smoothed the tangled hair and kissed her gently on the tip of her nose. It was a particularly nice nose. More importantly, doing this always made Molly giggle. For most of Molly Turner's 25 years, her aunt had been "going on" at her. Bob's own parents had expected highly of him, but he had always known that they loved him. Nothing ever seemed to please Miss Turner. Somehow this cold, disapproving, hypochondriac of a woman (She was far too concerned with being lady-like for Bob to call her a lady.) had managed to bring up a girl as forgiving and cheerful and affectionate as Molly. It seemed some kind of miracle, and Bob never failed to give thanks for it.

"If she doesn't agree at once, I'll tell her I think there's going to be a baby." said Molly. She blushed again. "When I went to see the Swainsons last week, I had a very instructive little talk with Mary-Ann while little Mary was helping old Mrs Swainson to feed the chickens."

"You didn't tell her about this, did you?" asked Bob, alarmed. Mary-Ann Swainson was a kind woman, but she talked nearly as much as her parents-in-law.

"No, I just asked her a few questions about how one would know that a baby was on the way." said Molly. She had asked a few other things as well, since Aunt Maria would not (could not?) tell her what she wanted to know. She wasn't going to mention that to Bob.

"Even if that gets back to your aunt, it would only help with the plan." Bob said. "Are you sure this new doctor said it was safe for her to have bad news or get upset?"

Molly nodded vehemently. "He said there never was anything wrong with her heart and probably never has been. He said he only wished all his patients had hearts as strong as hers."

"It must have been difficult for her to admit she was wrong to you." said Bob. Now, finally, it seemed as though he would be able to marry Molly. He could find a little bit (and only a little bit) of sympathy for her aunt.

"Oh, she didn't." said Molly, cheerfully with Bob's arm around her as they picked their way slowly through the dripping wet November vegetation of the Beckfoot coppice. It had only stopped raining an hour ago. "I was on the upstairs landing when they were standing in the hall."

"Molly!"

"That's another of those things that aren't quite the right thing isn't it?" she asked, rather subdued.

"Listening at doors certainly isn't straight." Bob agreed. "Happening to hear from the landing isn't so bad. Staying and listening deliberately is."

"Well, I did go back into my room. But I'm fairly sure Aunt Maria listens at doors." she warned him.

"Well, if we're going to do it, the sooner the better really. Losing a couple of fingers is nothing to what some fellows go through. They'll have me back at the Front as soon as they can, I think."

"Definitely. And me having had my twenty-fifth birthday last month is weighing heavily on her mind. People are beginning to say that she won't let me marry, you see. And mines fail and there is less money."

"I thought it was just me she objected to?"

Molly laughed. "It was. I received and turned down three very suitable proposals in my first couple of London seasons. I hope Aunt Maria doesn't know about any of them. I don't think she can have done, or there would have been a terrible row."

"Who were they?"

"Considering I said no, it wouldn't be decent to tell you."

"Why did you say no, if they were so suitable?"

"They weren't you." Molly replied simply. She stopped and looked up at him, waiting to be kissed. "That's all that matters."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked, a little while later.

"Yes, of course." She looked puzzled (and adorable).

"I don't mean this." He kissed her again. "I mean using this way to force your aunt's hand and make her consent to our marriage."

"Yes. The only thing I'll miss is the Lake and the hills and Beckfoot itself. I'd rather have you than any of them."

"Regarding Beckfoot, I think I have a plan. I don't want to say anything yet, in case it doesn't work out as I hope. With luck, we'll only have to mislead her, and not tell an outright lie." Bob said

"Well if you think it would be better, we could make sure it isn't a lie." She had said it in such a matter-of-fact voice that he exclaimed "Molly!" before he saw that her eyes were laughing at him.

"You have no idea how tempting that is." He told her.

"Time to face the music?" she suggested.

"The sooner the better." He agreed and they descended the rest of the path hand in hand, despite its narrowness.

December 1916

Maria Turner was a woman who prided herself of knowing her duty. She had acted promptly when Molly had confessed her disgraceful behaviour. Anyone might have thought Molly would have been suitably penitent. Instead, Maria Turner had never seen her niece so happy. She had hoped that the baby would be called Maria. It seemed only reasonable. Molly's decision to call the baby Ruth after Robert's late mother had felt like a slap in the face. The ingratitude of it rankled with Maria. Still, she knew her duty.

"I'll call you Ruth, however I feel about it." She told the child. It occurred to Maria that this was the first time she had been alone with the baby. She was glad that Mary and James had been well past the baby stage when her late brother had finally listened to reason and admitted that his children needed a lady's influence and that, since the loss of his wife, Maria would be best suited to supply that need.

Despite all Molly's protestations, Maria could not with good conscience agree that the baby was beautiful. It wasn't until now, nearly three months later with the baby dressed in her christening gown, that Maria could say that she didn't look too bad. The white frills definitely helped. However, the baby still made her feel uncomfortable. She was wriggly, determined, and had a mind of her own, waving an arm or kicking a leg whenever you least expected it. Molly laughed when she did this. Maria felt it did not do to encourage the child in such wilful ways. Ruth might well turn out a less than lady-like, without a great deal of care. If she had managed to stop Molly playing with that Blackett boy when they were children, things might have been very different.

Well, Maria knew her duty.

"There will be no rushing about the lake or climbing mountains with a boy for you, Ruth Blackett." she said sternly. "I know now where that leads."

Ruth eyed her great-aunt thoughtfully before adopting that look of red-faced concentration which suggested another smelly chore for nurse or Molly. Maria Turner beat a hasty retreat.