4th March 1931

Six years earlier

"Siegfried Farnon? What kind of name's that then?"

Siegfried paused as he was about to open his bag and glanced over his shoulder to where the farmer addressing him was leaning back against the field gate, eying him with nothing short of suspicion. "It's my name, I can assure you."

"Sounds…odd."

"Odd?"

"Aye…odd."

"Well…" he wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so chose to focus on examining the hindquarters of the horse in front of him instead. "No more odd than your own name, surely?"

"Thomas Bailey is a good old English name. I'm not so sure about Siegfried Farnon. John Grant. Now there was a good name. He'll be a hard act to follow around here, you mark my words."

"No doubt," Siegfried replied as good naturedly at he could. He had been in Darrowby almost three months and the name of his deceased predecessor was often upon the lips of the famers he met in the day to day routine of his role as country vet. By all accounts, Grant had been some sort of latter-day saint, ministering to the flocks and herds of the good countryside folk right up until the night before he had sadly died of pneumonia. When he had arrived in the village, the new owner of the local veterinary practice, it had seemed as though the whole place had been in mourning. Thankfully, Audrey Hall, Grant's housekeeper, had been keen to remain in position and he had gladly welcomed her knowledge and understanding as he found his feet.

"What's up with 'er then?" Tom's voice broke back into his thoughts and he gently stroked the horse's back.

"It's sweet itch. I can give you something for it that should hopefully clear it right up. But I'd best have a look at the others whilst I'm here, make sure none of them have it too. It can be very irritating to the poor beasts, but it's not serious."

"Hmmm…" Tom pushed himself away from the fence. "There's the ones in 'ere then there's four more in the field down there," he pointed down the hill. "When you're done, come t'kitchen and our Lily'll make you a brew."

"Well that's very kind, thank you," Siegfried replied, but the other man had already gone, loping across the yard towards the sheds without so much as a backwards glance. "Very kind indeed." He examined the remaining horses in the paddock, then followed where Tom had pointed and made his way down a track to a field on the side of the hill where the remaining horses were waiting. A check of them all revealed that another two also had the condition and, as he turned to make his way back up towards the farmhouse, he paused to take in the view before him.

Windy Hill Farm was fairly aptly named. Sat atop a hill looking down the valley towards the village, he could certainly imagine the ferocity of a winter wind in the exposed fields. Thankfully, it was fairly calm for early March a light, yet insistent, breeze rustling the grass.

"Beautiful," he murmured to himself. "Quite beautiful."

As he traversed the track back up to the yard, he couldn't help but hope that Tom wouldn't be within the kitchen. The scrutiny was almost too much to bear sometimes and Bailey had struck him as the sort of man unwilling to let a matter alone without rigorous interrogation. He found himself speculating as to what Lily, his wife, would be like. Would she be equally as domineering and opinionated, or would she be the epitome of a woman married to, what he could only surmise was, an often difficult man, quiet and subservient?

As he approached the door, he could hear the sound of a female voice, melodic and tuneful, singing a song he didn't recognise and yet which sounded nothing short of wonderful to his ears. He crossed the threshold slightly and peered inside, catching sight of a small, auburn-haired figure over by the sink. Oblivious to his presence, she sang on about the rosebushes and the thorns and suchlike and he found himself quite captivated, until she suddenly turned quickly to face him and let out a sharp scream.

"I'm sorry!" he exclaimed immediately. "I didn't…I mean I…"

"Oh!" she put one hand to her chest. "You did make me jump!"

"My apologies. Mr Bailey said…"

"Of course! You must be Mr Farnon. I'm Lily Bailey. Come in, come in," she waved him into the kitchen and over to the table. "Sit down. I've just made a pot of tea and there's some scones just coming out the oven. Can I tempt you to one with some jam?"

"Oh, well…" he hesitated, caught slightly between the propriety of it and the delicious smell of home baking. "I suppose it would be a shame to have your hard work go to waste."

"Oh, trust me, nothing goes to waste round 'ere," she smiled brightly at him and then turned back to the oven, bending to pull out a wire tray and place it on the top. "I was wondering when we'd finally get to make your acquaintance."

She was younger than he had anticipated. He would have put Tom Bailey in his early sixties and yet his wife seemed no more than twenty-five, thirty, if he was being less than generous and strikingly pretty. Evelyn had been pretty too...so very pretty...he pulled himself back into the present moment. "You were?"

"Oh, yes, talk of the village you are. Taking over from the saintly Mr Grant," she came around to the opposite side of the table and lifted the teapot. "You'd think 'e were the second coming of Christ the way some folk talk about 'im. Not sure I'd like to be in your shoes."

"No…" he mused, "sometimes I'm not entirely sure I like it either. Thank you," he said as she filled a cup for him and then turned back to the oven. Glancing out of the window, he couldn't help but once again admire the views down the rolling hills. "You do live in a very charming spot. Have you and Mr Bailey been here long?"

"I've been 'ere all my life. I were born in the room at the top of the stairs."

"I see…so this is your family farm then, not Mr Bailey's?" Lily placed a plate of scones down on the table in front of him and frowned. "That is to say…I mean, you married him, and he took over the farm here?"

"Married 'im…?" she looked at him agog for a few moments and then burst out laughing. "Oh, Good Lord, you 'ad me going there for a minute. Married 'im! Tom Bailey's not me 'husband, Mr Farnon, 'e's me father!"

"Oh…" he felt suddenly stupid at his error and could feel a blush creeping over his cheeks. "My apologies, I just assumed…well…" he took a long drink of tea to distract himself but couldn't help glancing up at the amusement on her face. "My mistake."

"I don't know whether to be flattered or offended," she said good naturedly, sitting down opposite him and pouring herself a cup. "But don't worry, I won't tell 'im if you won't."

"Oh no, please don't," he replied hurriedly. "Given how difficult it's proving to fill Mr Grant's shoes, the last thing I want to do is upset potential customers by suggesting…well…"

"Dad said it were a problem with the 'orses that brought you out."

"Yes," he said, lifting one of the scones. "A small outbreak of sweet itch."

"Sounds painful."

"It can be." Breaking one open, he spread it with some jam and then bit into it. "This is delicious."

"Oh, thank you," she said, pinking slightly. "Baking is one thing I like to think I'm good at. Is there much you can do to treat sweet itch?"

"Yes, I can leave your father some ointment to apply and he'll have to make sure that the infected areas are well covered to stop further infection, but it's certainly not life-threatening in any way."

"That's good. 'e's crazy about those 'orses. Treats them better than any other animal 'ere, not that 'e don't treat them all well, that is. But 'e's definitely got a soft spot for the 'orses."

"Do you help him much?" he asked conversationally.

"Oh…no," she looked away. "I'm very much 'indoors.' Woman's place is in the 'ome and all that…"

Siegfried opened his mouth to say more, but a shadow fell across the table and, looking up, he saw Tom framed in the doorway. "Ah, Mr Bailey."

"Our Lily's seen you right then," Tom remarked, knocking his boots against the side of the door and then coming over to the table. "Makes the best scones in Darrowby she does."

"Yes, I was complimenting her on how delicious they were," Siegfried replied, momentarily distracted as Lily rose from the table and lifted another cup from the side. He watched as she returned, poured tea into it for her father and then passed it to him before breaking into a scone, spreading it with jam and sliding it over to him.

"Mr Farnon says some of the 'orses have got sweet itch," she said, sitting back down again.

"Nowt for you to be concerning yourself with," Tom replied, stuffing half the scone into his mouth.

"No, I know but…"

"You got many calls to pay today, Mr Farnon?" Tom asked, ignoring his daughter's previous remark.

"Oh, well, yes," Siegfried replied, reaching into his bag. "I've certainly inherited a busy practice. I can leave you this ointment to apply to the infected areas of the horses' hindquarters and I would recommend putting rugs on them, to keep the flies away."

"I will do, thank you." There was a slightly awkward pause. "Well, I wouldn't like to keep you from your other calls."

"Ah…no, no indeed…" Siegfried got to his feet. "It…uh, was very nice meeting you Miss Bailey. Thank you very much for your hospitality. Mr Bailey."

"Nice to meet you too, Mr Farnon," Lily replied, rising along with him. "No doubt we'll be seeing you again."

"No doubt," he nodded. "Good day."

XXXX

"So, 'ow was your day?" Mrs Hall asked, sliding a plate of mince and potatoes in front of him later that evening.

"Oh, busy, very busy," Siegfried replied as she sat down opposite him. "But I suppose that can only be a good thing, especially as it allows me to get to know the locals a bit better."

"'ow did you get on up at the Bailey farm?"

"Well, Tom Bailey seems like a decent enough man, if a little demanding. A few of his horses have sweet itch so I'll need to pop back up there in a few days' time to make sure it hasn't spread any further."

"Did you meet 'is daughter?"

"Lily?" he looked up and met her gaze. "Yes, she was very pleasant. Baked a very nice scone, I must say. Almost as good as yours, Mrs Hall."

She smiled indulgently at him. "I 'aven't seen Lily for quite a while now. She used to come to our ladies' group once a month, but all of a sudden, she just stopped attending. Nobody knows why. 'ow did she seem to you?"

"As I said, very pleasant."

"It's a bit of a sad story really," she sighed, pushing her potatoes around her plate.

"What is?"

"Well, Tom's wife died, oh must be fifteen years ago now. Lily were only about thirteen at the time. She were an only child. Her mother, Rose, would have been almost forty by the time she 'ad Lily and the birth weren't easy for 'er. Tom wanted a son, I suppose most men do, but Rose was told she shouldn't 'ave any more. I don't think Tom ever got over not 'aving a boy of his own. You'd think 'e'd overcompensate, make her work hard, but 'e never lets Lily near any farm work, not that she wouldn't be capable of it."

Siegfried thought back to what Lily had said about a woman's place being in the home. "She…uh…she's never married herself then?"

Mrs Hall shook her head. "No, and I've never so much 'eard of 'er 'aving a lad. It's a shame. She's a lovely looking girl too."

"Yes," he mused to himself. "Yes, she is."

"There's a letter for you that looks like it's from your brother," she changed the subject. "I left it on the side for you."

"Oh, thank you," he said, his mind straying to Tristan, still ensconced in boarding school and hating every minute of it. "No doubt he'll be keen to visit over the holidays."

"Well that would be nice," Mrs Hall brightened. "I'm looking forward to meeting 'im."

"Hmm…" Siegfried replied dubiously. "Let's revisit this once you have met him."

XXXX

It was late by the time Lily had finished her chores in the kitchen. She had cleaned away the debris from supper, swept and mopped the floor, wiped the table, made preparations for the following day's meals and could barely keep her eyes open. In the sitting room, she could hear the sound of the wireless and smell the smoke from her father's pipe and though nothing would have give her greater pleasure than to retire to her bedroom and be alone with her own thoughts, she knew that he welcomed her company of an evening, so she wandered through to where he was sitting, head back, listening to the strains of music.

"Can I get you anything else?" she asked.

His eyes opened and he met her gaze. "Get us a drink, there's a good lass."

Turning, she made her way over to the cupboard where he kept his whisky, lifted out the bottle and took a glass from the side. Pouring in a generous measure, she turned back and handed it to him. "I think I'll turn in then."

"Sit down."

"I'm very tired, Dad and…"

"Sit down!" She moved over to the couch and did as he asked, keen that he keep his temper at bay. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the only sound coming from the wireless, the music floating around the room. His expression took on a faraway look. "Your mother loved listening to this kind of thing."

Lily nodded but didn't trust herself to speak.

"You're a good lass, Lily. I don't know where I'd be without you."

"I know," she said, as he closed his eyes again, feeling the crushing weight of expectation in her chest. "I know."