Mrs Goodwin couldn't show any more disdain for me if she tried.

The moment the paperwork had been signed and the exchange completed, she stalked out of the room without so much as a second glance at me. Instead, I followed Mr Goodwin out of the hall and through a maze of dirt tracks and fields until we reached a small farmhouse. The brick of the house was crumbling, ivy twisted its way up the outside of the brick and even poked itself through the walls, pushing bricks out of place. What few windows were visible were covered in dirt and the entire house appeared to be falling down.

Inside wasn't much better. The paint and wallpaper had started to peel off and a layer of dust coated almost every surface in the house. With the dirty windows, light couldn't penetrate and the entire house had this gloomy feel to it. Everything looked like it needed a good scrub with a brush and a bucket of water and I knew that if Mum were there, she would have done it at lightning speed. Mum hated any sort of dirt and dust.

Throughout my entire first night, Mrs Goodwin refused to even look at me and almost slammed my plate of food down in front of me. If she kept it up, I'd be leaving before she even had the opportunity to find someone else to help with the farm chores. I didn't want to be there just as much as she didn't want me there but she could hardly blame me for being the last one left in the village hall by the time the two of them arrived. With any luck, I would only have to put up with them for a week.

Mr Goodwin showed me to my room. It was a small, box room with a sloped ceiling, a bed, a small nightstand with light and a lone chest of drawers against one wall. Like all the other rooms, the window was coated in a layer of dirt and the wood of the frame had become warped so the window didn't even open.

"It's not much, but we're working on it," Mr Goodwin said, standing in the doorway. I placed my suitcase on the bed. "This farm was my father's, it fell apart with him I suppose."

"I have a bed, what more could a person need?" I shrugged.

"A good way of looking at everything." He smiled. "Don't worry about Barb, she wanted a strapping young lad to help us out, but you look strong enough to me. She'll come around."

"Maybe."

"I'll leave you to it. You can put your things away in the drawers. Breakfast is around seven and if you're up for it, you can join me right afterwards for some work on the upper pen."

"Thank you."

Mr Goodwin nodded and silently dipped out of the room, closing the door and plunging me into darkness. I sighed and sat down on the edge of my bed, looking out into the darkness and drumming my fingers lightly on the top of my suitcase. He seemed nice, nicer than his wife at any rate, but I couldn't help but wonder if he was only being nice to try and counteract his wife. Still, I had finally eaten something and had a warm bed for the night so I could hardly complain - although I wanted to.

I switched the bedside light on, the bulb flickering several times before becoming stable and filling the small room in a yellow-ish glow. The light didn't make the room look any better, but I tried to ignore it and unlatched my suitcase, rooting around it for my nightdress. Despite the chest of drawers, I had no intention of unpacking since I knew we would be back on the train by the time the week was out. I could pull what I needed from it and be ready to go by the time we were allowed to.

Through the door, I could hear the soft hum of conversation from downstairs with the occasional rise and fall in tone from Mrs Goodwin. Whenever she seemed to raise her voice, it quickly dropped down again, as though she was being told to stay quiet. I pulled on my nightdress, moved my suitcase so it was on top of the chest of drawers before crawling between the blankets. I was asleep before my head even hit the pillow.

That night, my sleep was restless. Every slight sound caught my attention and I didn't like the sensation of being in a new bed, with new people in a completely different part of the country. Everything felt wrong and out of place. I woke up before any light could break through the dirt-covered window but there was still noise coming from below. I kicked the blanket off my legs and swung them over the side of the bed.

My feet touched the bare, cold wood and I almost recoiled back onto the bed. I crossed to my suitcase and pulled out the only pair of brown slacks Mum had bought for me at Dad's insistence. They seemed better for the country than a skirt or dress. With it, I wore a yellow blouse and ran a brush through my hair which stopped just shy of my chin so I wouldn't be able to do anything else with it. After slipping into my boots and lacing them up, I crept out of the room and down the stairs.

"Good morning, Sybil. You're up early," Mr Goodwin said when he spotted me standing awkwardly at the bottom of the staircase. "We didn't expect to see you for another hour at least."

"I couldn't sleep," I said.

"Not to worry, that's bound to happen with you being in a strange environment. Why don't you come out with me for the first lot of chores, get yourself orientated a little more."

"I'd rather have the help with breakfast," Mrs Goodwin said. I didn't even know she was there.

"She can help tomorrow morning. I think getting her orientated around the farm would be better this morning, to stop her getting lost."

Mrs Goodwin sighed. "Fine. Make sure you're back in time with those eggs."

Mr Goodwin placed a grey flat cap on his head and gestured for me to follow him. Across the room, I could feel his wife watching me when I crossed the small living room and walked through the door behind him. Outside, there was a soft breeze and the sun had already started to raise the temperature by several degrees. The farm itself looked just as broken and torn up as the house with things strewn about the ground and with most of the grass having disappeared in favour of mud.

I followed Mr Goodwin down a stone path and threw a wooden gate that led to another path that had sunk in the mud. In the distance, I could hear the occasional cry of a chicken or cow. The smell of manure carried on the breeze, but after spending my entire life in London with the smell of the Thames, I had grown used to unpleasant smells. Not even the smell of manure could be worse than that of the Thames, even in the summer.

We walked down the path until we came to a large wooden structure that sounded like it was clucking. Around the side, I could see the wire mesh that allowed the chickens more movement and access to light.

"This is where we keep our chickens. Barb likes fresh eggs in the morning so we need to collect them. You can use that small basket there," Mr Goodwin said, pointing to a wicker basket beside the coop.

"Me?"

"You'll be fine, the chickens will just ignore you."

"I just walk in and pick up the eggs?"

"You've got it. Just remember to close the door so they don't escape."

I tentatively walked over to the side of the coop and grabbed the basket, slipping it onto my arm so I wouldn't lose it. The clucking sounds got louder as I crept towards the wooden door, undoing the bolt and opening the door. Before any of the chickens could make a break for it, I closed the door behind me, plunging the entire coop into darkness except for small slithers of light that broke through the gaps in the wood.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light, exposing the small wooden pallets covered in straw and wood shavings for the chickens to sleep on. They clucked at my feet and I shuffled forward towards the nests, hoping to find the eggs before the chickens attacked me. We didn't have chickens in London. I was used to cats and dogs running around, not chickens pecking at my feet and making strange noises.

The chickens weren't all that bothered by me as I crept forward towards one of the empty nests and reached a shaky hand in. I felt around the straw until my fingers wrapped around the egg, I lifted it out of the nest and dropped it into the basket before moving onto the next nest. Some of the eggs had chickens still sitting on them but a gentle nudge with the back of my hand moved it out the way.

By the time I had gathered all the eggs I could find, whatever fear I may have had of the chickens had abated. They had left me alone and with all the eggs, I was more than ready to get out of the coup and into the open air. I could tolerate the chickens, but I didn't think we'd be friends. With the eggs gathered, I tip-toed past the chickens on the floor and slipped out of the gate. After securing the bolt, I took a breath and leant against the side of the coop.

"Well done, you passed the chicken test," Mr Goodwin said.

"The chicken test?"

"Chickens are very good judges of character. You came out unscathed. Sounds like a success to me."

"I can't tell if you're lying or not, but I'll take it."

Mr Goodwin laughed. "Why don't you take those eggs up to Barb so she can get breakfast started? I need to check on the cows. You can find your way back to the house?"

"Just follow the path."

"Exactly."

Mr Goodwin smiled at me, pulled his cap down a little lower, and set off further down the track in the direction of a larger shed. I made sure none of the eggs were broken before following the stone path back up the hill and through the gate. The farm seemed to go on forever and I didn't like my chances of being able to find my way around without getting lost at least once. Or twice. I hoped Mr Goodwin would draw me a map.

I followed the path up to the house, watching the mud so I didn't traipse half the field into the house with me. Mrs Goodwin already disliked me, the last thing I wanted to do was make her hate me even more because I dragged mud through her house. I paused outside the house to wipe the bottom of my shoes on a stone to try and get rid of the mud before pushing open the front door and entering the small living room.

From the kitchen, I could hear the hiss of a frying pan and Mrs Goodwin's heels slapping against the tile floor. I made my way around the worn-out furniture and stood in the doorway to the kitchen without saying a thing. Mrs Goodwin had her back to me but after a few seconds of me standing there, she turned to look at me.

"Well? Hand the eggs over. I want them cooked by the time Johnathan returns from checking the cows," Mrs Goodwin said. She held her hand out for the basket.

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked, handing over the basket.

"Wash your hands. You've been rooting around in the chicken coop and I won't have filthy hands at my table. The sinks there." She pointed to a small sink in front of a window.

"Yes, Mrs Goodwin."

I crossed to the small sink and took up a thin, worn down bar of soap that had been left beside it. Mrs Goodwin watched me out the corner of her eye, making sure I washed my hands properly. No doubt she had heard the rumours that city children were unclean and never washed, or if they did, not properly. Mum had always been very particular about cleanliness so I had learnt the art of keeping clean and washing my hands to her standard, Mrs Goodwin would be no challenge.

Mrs Goodwin didn't give me any instructions beyond washing my hands so I just stood awkwardly beside the sink as she prepared the breakfast without even looking at me. If I had to stay any longer than a week, I knew there would be all-out war in the very small kitchen. The both of us were probably hoping the same thing and that the end of the week couldn't come soon enough.

Not long after I had washed my hands, Mr Goodwin returned. He removed his cap and hung it up by the door, walking past me and also washing his hands in the sink. He nudged his head towards a little round table with several small chairs around it and walked over to it. I followed and sunk down into one of the chairs. Mrs Goodwin joined us not long after, placing a plate containing a boiled egg and some toast in front of each of us.

"I thought I might tackle the upper pen today," Mr Goodwin said, slicing the top of his egg off.

"On your own?"

"No, I thought Sybil would like to accompany me. She did well with the chickens and we can't delay the repairs much longer. With winter coming, we have a lot of work that needs doing and that means all hands on deck."

"I still don't think it's a good idea. She might be dressed for work, but she's hardly up for the job of luging planks of wood around."

"What do you think, Sybil?" Mr Goodwin looked at me. "Up for helping me rebuild a fence?"

"Yes, sir. It sounds like fun."

Mrs Goodwin tutted. "Fun. See? We need someone who will take this seriously!"

"And I'm sure she will. Regardless, the work needs to be done and I think Sybil will do an excellent job."

Mr Goodwin smiled and winked at me. At least I had one person on my side.

~~~

A/N - We are back! It's Chapter Five! I finished Chapter Twelve today so we're pretty far ahead xD

Questions! What do you think of the Goodwin's? Do you feel for Sybil or do you think Mrs Goodwin has a right to act the way she does?

Let me know!

First Published - April 13th, 2021