‘And he owns a lot of land,’ Beth put in. ‘If you married him, one day your children might own the whole valley.’

‘Not the whole valley,’ Jessie muttered.

‘More than your Matthew will,’ Beth replied, pulling a face.

Grace could hardly take it in. ‘You want me to marry Mr Wells? But he’s as old as Father!’

‘He’s very rich,’ Beth said.

‘Even if he does put boot black on his hair,’ Jessie added.

‘Imagine trying to scrub that off the pillows!’ Beth said, and they both fell about laughing.

‘Shut up, you two!’ Sarah Duffield snapped. The other two fell into sulky silence.

She turned to Grace. ‘How old are you now? Twenty-five? I had six children by the time I was your age. You’re not getting any younger, Grace. You need to start thinking about your future.’

‘But I thought my future was to be nursing?’

Her mother sighed. ‘Surely you don’t want to empty bedpans for the rest of your life? Not when you could have a husband and a home of your own. And what about when you’re too old for nursing? What will you do then?’

‘I – I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it.’

‘Well, you should. If you’re sensible, you’ll marry Noah and be well set up for the rest of your life.’

Grace’s fear must have shown on her face because her mother’s voice softened. ‘Look, he’s a good man, a kind man. He’d treat you well. Believe me, there are worse men you could marry.’ She wiped her hands on her apron and rested them on Grace’s shoulders. ‘It would be a weight off my mind, and your father’s. To tell you the truth, he’s been struggling to make ends meet with the boys gone. That’s why he’s had to sell off some of the herd, and that field to Noah. But if you married into the Wells family … well, think of it as a way to repay your father after everything he’s done for you, putting a roof over your head all these years.’

She sent Grace a considering look. ‘Promise me you’ll think about it, at least?’

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Dulcie never minded working on Christmas Day. The ward was always a very festive place, with a huge, glittering tree beside Sister’s desk, and paper chains festooned from the light fittings. Sister was usually in a better mood, too, buoyed up on a tot of medicinal brandy. If she was in a really good mood, the nurses would be offered a nip too, or at least some morning coffee. If they were really lucky, Sister would buy them a box of chocolates to share between them.

After breakfast, the chaplain would come to lead prayers, followed by a choir of nurses singing Christmas carols. Then the men’s families would arrive for a visit, which was always a very happy time. Later there would be a roast goose served at the long ward table, the bird carved by one of the surgeons while the men jeered and joked grimly about his skills.