Luckpenny Land

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Now fancy that.’ As he’d said earlier, you never knew when a piece of information would come in handy.

  Chapter Six

  When Sally Ann called one day that autumn there was no sign of the scared, uncertain girl who had come begging for help months earlier. Meg was glad of the visit from a friend since she had seen little of Kath since the day they’d had words over Jack. It was silly really, but Meg had walked away from her friend, refusing to listen to any more, and Kath had stood and shouted after her, calling her a fool.

  She poured out a cup of tea for Sal and herself, ready to enjoy a bit of a gossip as usual, then Sally Ann surprised her by wanting to talk about Dan.

  ‘Has he always been this way, a bit touchy like?’

  ‘Touchy, our Dan? Testy more like. Not even his own mother could manage him, bless her heart. Said he was the most stubborn of her brood.’

  ‘He seems to blame you for that.’

  Meg frowned. ‘It’s true he’s always been jealous of me. I don’t know why but there it is. Even when we were small he was constantly pushing me out of the way, grabbing my things, doing his utmost to stop me having or doing anything. He got so destructive he made it impossible for anyone to love him. Wild, he was.’

  ‘Mebbe that’s just what he needs.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Loving.’

  ‘You’re not volunteering for the job, are you?’

  ‘I might.’

  Sal flushed scarlet. ‘Well, what would be so terrible about that? It’s all right for you, Meg Turner, food in your belly every day, wood for your fire, all your menfolk in work. My dad’s been given the push again for not being fit enough to work hard and we’re all living on the parish now.’

  Meg was shocked by this news. Being hungry was far more dreadful than being dissatisfied with boring kitchen work. Meg noticed then that her old friend did not look half so plump as she once had. Her carrot hair was clean enough but the pale, freckled skin seemed somehow tired and grey. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise things had got even worse.’

  ‘He’s thick, your Dan, I know that. He’s rough and lazy and quick to anger. And he has an inferiority complex on his shoulders as big as the boulders in that quarry. It’s because you’re always so good at everything you do, and Charlie being so clever with his fingers, well, it makes Dan feel the odd one out. A proper fool.’

  Meg was gazing open-mouthed, surprised by this unexpected view of her lout of a brother. ‘Are we talking about the same man?’

  ‘Aye, we are. I’ve known him nearly as long as you, don’t forget. And he’s been a proper gent these last months over our bit of trouble. I don’t know how we’d have managed without him.’ The cheeks grew pink and she smiled shyly. ‘Well, almost proper.’

  ‘Sal Gilpin, I do believe...’

  Sally Ann got up and went to stand at the window which overlooked the farmyard. ‘Look at him, great soft lump, feeding those hounds of his. They eat better than we do.’

  ‘I shouldn’t wonder at it,’ Meg agreed, unable to resist a smile, astonished to hear her hard-bitten brother described as soft. Perhaps she should try to see him in a better light.

  Sally Ann turned quickly to Meg, eyes suddenly merry and alight with laughter. ‘Don’t be surprised if you find yourself with a new sister one of these days. Would you mind?’

  Meg stared at her for a moment, then opened her arms and wrapped them around the girl’s shoulders. ‘Oh, I should welcome it. Sometimes I’m bored witless out here on me own. Another woman around would be marvellous. You do realise how isolated it is, don’t you? Farm life is hard and not all that comfortable. And Dan isn’t the most talkative person in the world.’

  Sally Ann smiled, a lovely open smile that plumped out her cheeks. ‘It’d be grand. We’ll find some way to fill the lonely nights.’ And the two girls burst into a fit of giggles.

  Dan came in at that moment and Meg turned away, not wishing to watch as the two of them went straight into the parlour without a word. If she hadn’t been so full of her own delight these last months, she might have noticed what was going on before her eyes.

  But how would all of this affect her?

  The thought kept popping into Meg’s mind all the next afternoon as she put Rust through his paces. She would enjoy having Sally Ann at Ashlea. Besides Sal’s friendship, she’d have more help with the chores which would be bound to result in more free time. It was a good feeling. She’d be able to see more of Jack, and go more often up to Broombank.

  But then she became absorbed, as always, with the dog and forgot about everything else, even Jack, as she worked.

  She was having great difficulty in making him stay. Getting Rust to lie down when she was by him was one thing; at a distance quite another. But it was essential in a good sheep dog out on the hills.

  ‘Take him up to the threshing loft,’ Lanky had suggested, and gave her a few tips. So here she was, with Rust on the upper hay floor that came halfway across the open building and she on the cobbled floor below, urging him to lie down.

  Rust, not understanding at all what was required of him, stood and gazed down at her with as close to a puzzled expression on his face as a dog could get. Every now and then he would bark at her, half in annoyance, half to remind her to come back and fetch him.

  Meg climbed up the wooden ladder to reassure him. ‘Lie down, boy. Lie down.’

  Rust obeyed instantly, panting up at her, and remained still. She knew if she said ‘good boy’ now, he would bounce up and lick her to death, so she held a hand out flat telling him firmly to stay as she backed carefully down the ladder. By the time she was down again he was up on his feet, worried that he had lost sight of her.

  ‘Lie down, boy,’ she told him. ‘Lie down.’

  Up on the threshing floor of the barn he couldn’t creep round her legs and roll over as he so loved to do. But he wasn’t getting the message. It was all in the inflection of the voice with dogs, so the fault could be hers. Meg tried again.

  She was still struggling when Jack called. She went to him at once and put her arms about his neck, lifting her face for a kiss.

  He did not immediately oblige. ‘Are you coming? I thought we were to go up Dundale Knott this afternoon.’

  ‘Oh, goodness, I forgot,’ she admitted.

  ‘You’d forget anything once you start playing with that dog.’

  ‘I’m not playing. Rust is working, learning his trade.’

  ‘And when will you have chance to put him through his paces?’

  ‘Jack, you’re starting to sound like Father. Stop it. I’ve already tried him out if you want to know. And he’s good.’

  Jack glanced up at the dog, now lying obediently on the threshing floor, nose just over the edge, so he could have a better view of what was going on below. ‘Looks dangerous to me. What if he were to fall off ?’

  Meg cuddled up against him and tweaked his nose. ‘So you do care, you great bully. Of course he won’t jump off. I’ve told him to stay. Besides, he’s too intelligent.’

  Jack ran his hands over her slender figure, warmly dressed in plain skirt and jumper. ‘Why don’t you put something pretty on for a change, and we’ll go to the pictures? Then you could put me through my paces.’ He kissed her then, making her head spin.

  ‘Oh, I’d love to, Jack. Only I’m not sure Father would let me.’

  He made an impatient sound in his throat. ‘For goodness’ sake. You’re twenty years old. When will you stand up to him?’

  ‘I do stand up to him,’ Meg protested, feeling this to be unfair. ‘It never seems to make any difference, that’s all.’

  ‘I’ll ask Kath then and make you jealous. At least she doesn’t spend all her time with dogs and sheep.’

  Meg giggled. ‘Stop teasing, Jack, and kiss me again. I like it. I’ll be half an hour and then I could meet you by the gate, bottom of Coppergill Pass. How would that be?’ And she kissed him, marvelling at the smoothness of his skin.

 
But she and Rust were having such a good time, it was more than an hour later when she reached the appointed spot. There was no sign of Jack, and the afternoon was fading to the dark of evening.

  The mellow days of autumn were already drawing to a close and soon the bite of winter would be upon them. Out in the fields could be heard the crash of horns as tups battled for the right to mate. A strange way of courting but the necessary prelude to a good lambing season. She and Jack were always sparring. Perhaps that too was a necessary part of loving.

  Mists lay thick on the valley floors and the bracken had long since turned brown and started to wither and die. It was a time of year that Meg loved. She hadn’t seen Jack for a week since that day in the barn but meant to call today and put matters right between them. They would go for a walk and lie in the tickly bracken, kissing wantonly.

  ‘Thee’s got time to sit about, I see,’ said Joe, coming in on a blast of cold air that sent a fall of soot all over the pegged rug.

  ‘Didn’t Dan sweep the chimney this year? Lazy item,’ Meg groaned, reaching for a brush.

  ‘You could have done it theeself. It’ll happen do you good to have another woman in the house. Sharpen your ideas up a bit, stop your complaining.’

  Meg sighed. She wasn’t in the mood for a battle with her father today. ‘You make out as if I complain all the time. That can’t be true. I want a life of my own, is that too much to ask? A bit of independence.’ Flinging open the warming oven door she pulled out a dish of stew, rich with mutton, potatoes, onions and gravy, and set it on the table.

  ‘I want you to go up and see Lanky Lawson. He’s still not well, or so I understand.’

  Meg frowned. Unusual as it was for her father to show compassion, he was a man of the chapel and Lanky an old friend. ‘I see him two or three times a week,’ she said, trying to remember how he’d looked the last time she’d been up to Broombank but was ashamed to realise she’d been so taken up with Jack she hadn’t paid much attention. ‘I’ll go up tomorrow, take him a hot pot.’

  ‘Aye, do that. He’ll be grateful I shouldn’t wonder. He gets no interest taken in him by that family of his.’

  Now was her opportunity. She’d never get a better. ‘Jack’s still there. He works hard on that farm.’ She was trembling slightly as she doled out a portion of stew on to a hot plate. What exactly could she say? How to describe their relationship? She wished she could confront her father with a definite proposal from Jack. That would show him. That would be her escape, her revenge for his continued contempt of her. But it was too soon. Jack did love her, she was sure of it. He was only waiting until they had some money saved and she was twenty-one before he declared himself.

  Less than a year but it seemed light years away to Meg. She was still trying to find the right words when Joe started speaking again. ‘Has that lad of yours not popped the question yet? You’ll be left an old maid if you don’t watch out.’ The look upon his grizzled face was triumphant. It said, quite clearly, I know it all.

  Meg almost dropped the plate she was handing him, very nearly tipping it down his waistcoat.

  As he chewed happily on his mutton stew, she put the question that burned in her brain. ‘How did you know?’ She asked it quietly but he only shrugged his shoulders and carried on eating. Meg turned away, not wanting to watch.

  They’d been so careful. All those clandestine meetings, the careful planning, Kath coming along to give an excuse for Meg to be out of the house. And it had all been for nothing. Now, Meg guessed, he would take pleasure in putting a stop to the burgeoning relationship by making life as difficult for her as he possibly could. She felt sick at the thought. But she wouldn’t let him win, she wouldn’t.

  At last he spoke again, his mouth full of hot potato. ‘There’s not much I don’t know. You have to get up early to put one past me.’

  ‘I wasn’t trying to put one past you. We just wanted a bit of privacy, that’s all.’ The thought that her father might have been following them, even spying on them, made Meg feel quite suddenly ill. Her head spun giddily at the thought of Joe silently viewing those sweet, intensely intimate moments in their life together.

  ‘Did someone tell you?’ Surely not Kath, or Charlie? Dan perhaps? The prospect of her brother lurking behind trees and watching them made her feel even worse.

  ‘I’m not daft. I can work things out for myself. He’s not a bad lad. A bit of a rogue in his time, but he’ll quieten. It wouldn’t be so bad a match, I reckon. Like him, do you?’

  Meg stared at her father, hope rising swiftly in her breast, blotting out the doubts in her anxiety to find what she sought in his expression. Could he really mean it? Perhaps he wouldn’t disapprove at all, perhaps he really did care for her and want her to be happy. ‘Oh, Pa,’ she said, on a rush of affection. ‘I do, I do. I like him very much.’

  She wanted to run to him, to put her head upon his lap and have him stroke her hair and tell her that she was his own dear daughter and that anything she wanted she could have. She had seen Mr Ellis do that with Kath, but her own father had never shown affection, not when she was small, not ever. But that didn’t stop her hoping for it. She held her place upon the chair and waited, her breath in check in her throat.

  Joe spooned the last of the stew into his mouth, masticating noisily. ‘Aye, well, it wouldn’t be a bad match, as I see it. The Lawson land has its faults, parts of the valley bottom being a bit damp like, but it runs to a fair size and right alongside our own.’

  It was as if he had hit her. It wasn’t her feelings he cared about at all, nor Jack’s. Meg managed, after a long moment, to get shakily to her feet and for the first time in her life did nothing to hide the contempt in her tone. ‘You don’t give a toss about me, do you? You don’t care whether I love Jack or not, or whether he loves me. All you care about is the land, the damn land.’

  ‘I thought you loved the land too? Thee has said so oft enough.’

  ‘I do. I love the land, the farm, and the animals with a passion you will never understand. But never, as long as I live will I put them before those I love, or my own flesh and blood.’

  ‘That’s what you say now,’ said Joe, chortling merrily as if she had made some joke. ‘Things might change.’

  There must be something wrong with me, Kath thought. She was sitting touching up the flawless beauty of her face in preparation for dinner, taking infinite care with the line of scarlet lipstick on her wide mouth. The dull November mists had turned to rain which battered against the window pane. Downstairs, in her view, was an equally dull crowd of people. Life, Kath decided, was boring and most confusing.

  She stood up and swirled the skirts of her scarlet silk dress. They swished seductively against her bare legs. Delighted with the effect, she reached for her stockings and sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on, letting her thoughts turn back to her problem.

  There was Sally Ann, a year younger than herself, and plump and homely to boot, walking out with stolid Dan. And Meg, whom she’d thought was on her side in seeking independence, eagerly hoping for wedded bliss with Jack on Broombank Farm. Though whether he was quite so eager for a starring part in this production was another matter. Kath had tried not to see Jack recently, in deference to her friend, but it was not easy. The prospect of enjoying the devilish rogue while she could was too tempting. There was a war coming. Everyone said so. Then they might all be dead.

  In any case, nothing had been settled between him and Meg. It might fizzle out. But that wouldn’t solve her own puzzle, would it? It was not simply a question of whether she wanted Jack Lawson, but whether she wanted any man, as a permanent fixture, that is. Why didn’t she want the same sort of life that other girls craved? Marriage. Children. All of that stuff.

  There had been several offers. From ‘darling Richard’ of course. He would repeat it tonight and Mummy would send silent messages across the room urging her to accept.

  Richard was eligible. His father was in local politics, had acres of land and w
as considered comfortably well off. But Kath wasn’t interested in land or politics though money held a certain fascination. It was a commodity she had never been short of and she could hardly envisage life without it. But marriage was a high price to pay.

  Sex was much more fun than suburban fidelity, a crusty-faced nanny and endless coffee mornings with flat-chested, bored housewives.

  The dinner gong sounded and Kath sighed. She really would have to make up her mind soon on what she meant to do with her life, she supposed. She fastened her last suspender and swished the skirt again, smiling at her image in the mirror. ‘Far too good not to share,’ she told the reflection.

  Later in the evening when it was carefully contrived for the young couple to be alone together, Kath had to admit that she was no nearer a decision.

  They sat on the sofa in the drawing room in the prescribed manner and Kath allowed Richard to kiss her. His kisses were polite, guarded even, as if he were afraid of startling her. They bore scant resemblance to the impatient demands of Jack’s thrusting tongue. But she could never marry Jack. He had no money, and no prospects of getting any. He hated farming and had nothing else lined up. But he was delicious fun. His sunburned skin all smooth and rimed with sweat ...

  ‘Do you think you can have good sex and a good marriage all in one neat package?’ she asked Richard, quite out of the blue. He looked startled.

  ‘Is that important?’

  Kath pouted. ‘Surely you’re not going to pretend that sex is only for men? Oh God, how old-fashioned.’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I think you come out with these things just to shock me.’

  ‘Perhaps I do.’

  ‘Have you thought about what I asked you the other day?’ Richard had placed one hand tentatively over the curve of her breast. Kath let it lie there.

  ‘Of course I have, darling.’ She wondered if he would jump a mile if she placed a hand upon him.

  ‘And do you have an answer?’