Angels at War by Freda Lightfoot

pay the going rate for farm labour, plus your keep on top. You’ve no room to complain, but I certainly have. You can stop making sheep’s eyes at Amos for a start,’ Ella warned, wagging a finger in the other girl’s face. ‘He’s mine, so lay off.’
    Mercy gave a cocky little laugh, loving the fact that she’d managed to inflict some hurt byher efforts. ‘If you can’t keep your own husband happy, that’s your problem, not mine. All I did was smile at him.’
    ‘Well, make sure you don’t do any more than that.’
    ‘Or what?’
    ‘Or you’ll find yourself out of work and on your way back to Kendal, half-sister or no.’
    ‘Maybe Amos wouldn’t let me go. He does at least seem to appreciate having me around, which is more than can be said for you.’
    ‘That’s because you never do a hand’s turn. This burning resentment you seem to feel against me, this peevish determination to make my life a complete misery, is testing my patience to the limits. I know you’ve had problems, Mercy, but you aren’t the only one.’
    ‘Ooer, don’t try playing the sympathy card with me, it won’t wash. Anyroad, mebbe I’m tired of doing other folk’s bidding.’
    ‘Oh, grow up! It’s time you stopped moaning and started doing something useful with your life, instead of feeling sorry for yourself all the time. You have a good job and a lovely husband, so keep your greedy little mitts off mine.’
    Mercy was incensed by this attack, even if there was some truth in it. Ella was supposed to be quiet and uncomplaining, not stand up for herself like some fishwife. ‘Isn’t this a case of thepot calling the kettle black? I’ve seen you sucking up to my George, flirting with him and fluttering your eyelashes whenever he starts flattering you or performing his silly tricks. Well, don’t think he fancies you, ’cos it’s all a farce just to butter you up.’
    Ella could feel herself going scarlet with embarrassment. It was true there had been a time when she’d been flattered by George’s attention, but not now, not since she fell in love with her own husband. But her sense of guilt perhaps caused her to react somewhat recklessly, fired by her anger. ‘I’m not interested in your George. The man is a nut case. He’s as stupid and out of control as you. I wouldn’t have him if you paid me. You’re welcome to him.’
    ‘You lying tart!’ Mercy suddenly launched herself at Ella, taking her completely by surprise, and, grabbing fistfuls of her hair, started shaking her as a terrier might a rat. ‘What gives you the right to criticise my George?’
    The force of the attack knocked Ella to the ground, and soon the two girls were screaming and shrieking as they rolled over and over in the mud. Legs and arms were flailing, fingers clawing at each other.
    ‘Don’t treat me like a bleeding fool, ’cos I’m not,’ Mercy yelled. ‘You keep yer flamin’ hands off him, right?’
    She was utterly demented, almost with a blood lust upon her. Clumps of Ella’s hair were coming out in her hands, her nails digging in to Ella’s scalp as she did her utmost to beat her brains to a pulp on the hard ground.
    ‘This is just a taste of what’s coming to you if you step on my toes. Leave my George alone or you’ll regret it,’ and grabbing hold of Ella’s hand, she bit it – hard – making the other girl scream out in agony.
    George must have heard the rumpus for he came running out of the barn and managed to drag Mercy off, although not without some difficulty.
    ‘What the bleeding ’ell do you think you’re doing?’ he shouted at her.
    ‘Ask her. She knows,’ Mercy shouted, kicking out at Ella and fighting off George all at the same time. Then she put her chin in the air and marched off. She struck such a comic figure in her skimpy, mud-splattered frock that Ella might have laughed out loud, had it not all been so terribly tragic.

Chapter Seven
    Losing her temper had done no good at all. Livia knew she