Carefully she maneuvered around the cart to the kitchen door. She could hear the clatter of pans and the rush of water. Wedging the boxes between the door and her stomach, she knocked.
A moment later, the door swung open, revealing a woman in an apron with her chestnut hair caught up in a snood. The woman squinted at her and then looked down at the boxes. “No Mr. Penworthy today?”
“No, he couldn’t get away,” she said.
The woman stepped aside. “You’d better come in, then.”
“Where would you like the boxes?” Beth asked.
The woman nodded to the big worktable in the middle of the room. “Right there’s fine. I’ve just put on the kettle. Can you stay a minute?”
Beth hesitated but nodded.
“Good, I’ll fix you a cup of tea.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” she said quickly.
“I’ll need to go through the delivery and give you a list for next week. You might as well have your tea while I do it. They’ll be leaves from this morning used again, but at least it’s hot.” The woman began pulling down stoneware mugs. “What’s your name?”
“Beth Pedley,” she said.
“I’m Stella Adderton. How are you liking being a land girl?” Miss Adderton called over her shoulder.
“Oh, I like it very much.”
“The work isn’t too hard, then?” Miss Adderton asked.
“It’s not too bad when you get used to it, but there’s a lot to learn,” she said, rubbing at a chapped spot on her hands absentmindedly.
Miss Adderton placed a mug in front of her. “I don’t suppose you enjoy dried milk, do you? No, of course not. Who does?”
She watched Miss Adderton reach into a delivery box and rummage around before pulling out the bottle. “Ah, here we are.”
“We sent milk?” Milk was meant to be rationed.
“Mr. Penworthy has been supplying Highbury House for so long he never asks Mrs. Symonds to pay for real milk. I don’t think it violates the rationing rules because it’s a gift well before the milk would ever see the market.” Miss Adderton paused. “I haven’t shocked you, have I?”
Beth laughed. “No. It seems to me there are far worse ways that people cheat rations.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Miss Adderton, dropping a tiny dollop of milk into each of their mugs. “What’s your name again?”
“Beth Pedley.”
Miss Adderton passed her a mug. “I like you, Miss Pedley.”
That simple statement tore at Beth, and she stared down at the mug clutched between her hands, afraid that if she looked at Miss Adderton, she would start to cry. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone her age had been this easy with her.
“Please call me Beth,” she managed after a moment.
“And you’ll call me Stella,” said Miss Adderton with a nod. “It’s much better than being ‘Cook.’？”
“I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look far too young to be a cook,” Beth ventured.
Stella sighed and began unpacking grit-covered leeks from one of the wooden crates. “I grew up in Highbury and was the most senior kitchen maid before the war started. One by one, all of the other girls left to join up. I went, too. I wanted to be a WAAF because I think flying around the world would be grand.”
“What happened?” Beth asked.
“I was deemed medically not fit for service—asthma, just like Master Robin—so that dream died.” Stella offered her a half smile. “Anyway, it all worked out because now my nephew, Bobby, is staying with me.”
“Do you like working at Highbury House?” Beth asked.
“I like the money from my wages. I like that I can have a dash of milk from time to time that others might not have. And on Wednesdays and Saturdays, I put on a uniform and work for the Civil Defense unit and feel as though I’ve done something in this war. But no, I don’t think I like working at Highbury House at all.”
“Why don’t you leave?” asked Beth.
Stella smiled. “One day I will.”
“It sounds as though you have a plan.”
“I take correspondence courses. I can do shorthand and take dictation. I’m working on typing now, but I don’t have a typewriter, so I have to use a chart and pretend.”
“Will you go to London?” Beth asked.
“To start,” said Stella. “Then wherever I can go. I collect postcards and photographs of all of the places I want to go someday.”