Page 1 of B is for Beast of Dean

Alice

The train's whistle pierced the morning air as we approached the small station at Lydney. I smoothed my traveling skirt, peering through the rain-streaked window at the platform beyond. A lone figure waited beneath a black umbrella, hunched against the downpour.

"Nasty welcome for a young lady," said the elderly gentleman across from me, shaking his head sympathetically.

"I'm told it rains frequently in these parts," I replied.

"Aye, the Forest of Dean has a way of collecting clouds." He studied me with curious eyes. "Visiting family, are you?"

"No, sir. I'm to be a land girl at Blackwood Farm."

His bushy eyebrows rose sharply. "A land girl? In these parts?" He leaned forward, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. "Be careful around that forest, miss. Strange things happen there. Things that aren't quite natural, if you take my meaning."

Before I could ask what he meant, the train shuddered to a halt with a sharp hiss of brakes and steam. The conductor's voice echoed through the carriage: "Lydney!”

I stood carefully, gathering my valise and checking that my hat was secure. The elderly gentleman tipped his cap to me as I moved toward the door.

"Remember what I said, miss," he called after me. "That forest's no place for a young woman alone."

I forced a smile and stepped down onto the rain-slicked platform, immediately buffeted by wind and driving rain. The station was little more than a wooden platform with a small shelter, and I hurried toward it. The man with the umbrella approached, his boots splashing through puddles.

"Miss Alice Harwick?" he called over the storm.

"Yes," I confirmed, struggling to keep my hat from flying away in the wind.

"Thomas Fletcher. Farm manager at Blackwood." His tone was brusque, businesslike. "Come on then, let's get you to the wagon before we both drown."

I followed him to a covered cart waiting outside the station, climbing aboard as gracefully as I could manage while my skirt whipped around my legs. Fletcher settled onto the driver's bench and snapped the reins, sending us lurching forward into the grey morning.

"You worked a farm before?" he shouted over the rain drumming on the wagon's canvas top.

"No, sir. But I'm a quick study."

He grunted. "We'll see about that. Farm work isn't like those fancy courses they give you London girls." He glanced back at me, his eyes hard. "You'll be working the far pasture tomorrow. Stone clearing, mostly. Hard work, but it needs doing."

I nodded, though unease prickled at his tone. "I understand."

"The farm sits right at the edge of the Forest of Dean," Fletcher continued, turning back to watch the muddy road. "Oldest forest in England, they say."

"It sounds lovely."

Fletcher barked a harsh laugh. "Lovely isn't the word I'd use, miss." He twisted on the bench to look at me directly. "That forest is pure evil."

A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the rain. "Surely you don't mean—"

"I mean exactly what I said." His voice was flat, final. "Stay out of those woods, Miss Harwick. For your own sake."

The wagon fell silent except for the steady drum of rain and the splash of wheels through mud. To our right, I could see farmland stretching into the grey distance. Neat fields and stone walls that spoke of civilization. But to our left loomed a wall of ancient trees, dark and impenetrable through the curtain of rain.

We arrived at Blackwood Farm as the afternoon was fading into early dusk. Fletcher directed me to a small outbuilding where warm yellow light glowed in the windows.

"Work begins at 5:30," he instructed curtly. “Don't be late."

I watched him walk away before I opened the door. Inside, the building was cramped but clean, housing three other land girls who looked up from their card game as I entered. The eldest, a dark-hairedwoman with laugh lines around her eyes, rose to greet me.

"You must be Alice. I'm Margaret, and this is Bess and Jane."

The other two nodded but remained seated, studying me with frank curiosity.