‘It doesn’t matter. I can ring the bell should I need anything. You go out and enjoy yourself.’
Was there a note of envy, Emma wondered, of resentment? But it wasn’t to indulge any casual whim for diversion that she had planned to go riding today. She had suddenly felt unbearably stifled indoors, and craved the tonic effect of the pure sweet air of the moorland heights.
Before changing into her riding habit, Emma thought it wise to go first to the stables to check whether Seth had time to accompany her; for Joseph, she knew, was still laid low with sciatica and had gone to stay with his sister, whose husband was Bythorpe’s blacksmith. Crossing the cobbled yard, she heard a low mutter of voices, and wondered what Ursly was doing here. The old woman and Seth were standing close together in Kirstie’s stall, examining the mare. They both turned quickly at Emma’s approach and in Seth’s eyes was a look of dismay and guilt; though, as always, she could read nothing from Ursly’s veiled expression.
‘What’s going on here?’
‘Nowt, Miss Emma,’ mumbled Seth awkwardly. ‘Leastways, ’tis all reet now. Took real bad, was Kirstie, but Gran’mer soon got her mended again.’
‘Aye,’ Ursly agreed, nodding her shawled head. ‘There’s nowt to fret thyseln about.’
‘But what’s been the matter with her? Why wasn’t I told? And why wasn’t the veterinarian called in?’ Emma went anxiously to the sorrel mare who nuzzled her hand affectionately, apparently in fine fettle.
‘I dursn’t call in Mr Sager, miss. ‘Twould all have been found out, see.’
‘You’d better explain yourself, Seth. What would have been found out?’
‘About Oakroyd House, miss. When I rode over last week they’d been trimming t’yew hedge, ’twere all overgrown afore Mr Sutcliffe moved in, see. And near where I tethered Kirstie there were a pile o’ yew clippings.’
‘Oh no! How could you, Seth? You must have known how dangerous yew can be to a horse.’
‘The lad were in a rush, like,’ Ursly explained, ‘what wi’ him having to do it all hisself, wi’ Joseph takken to his bed. He never noticed t’yew clippings till he were coming away, and he couldn’ see no sign that the mare had nibbled at ‘em, so he thought ’twould be all reet. But it weren’t. So he come and fetched me.’
‘But Seth, you had no right to take such a risk,’ Emma protested angrily. ‘Kirstie might have been seriously ill, she might even have died! And you concealed her condition just because you didn’t want your carelessness to be discovered. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.’
She saw the blood rush to the boy’s face, darkening his already swarthy skin. The old woman jerked her head defiantly and glared at Emma.
‘The lad’s done nowt to be shamed of! Mayhap tha’s the one to be shamed, Miss Emma, making use o’ young Seth to carry thy secret letters to yon fellow. He’s not let on about it to another soul but me, and you can rely on’t he won’t tell no one, neither. A good lad, is Seth, so don’t tha go blaming him when by rights tha ought to be blaming thyseln.’
Feeling deeply contrite, Emma stammered, ‘I’m sorry, I – I wasn’t thinking. Please forgive me, Seth, and you too Ursly. Believe me, I’m truly grateful to you both.’ She hesitated. ‘Kirstie is quite well again now?’
‘Aye, she’s reet as noonday,’ Seth assured her. ‘But ’twere a near thing for a bit.’
‘Never!’ Ursly scoffed. ‘Not once tha come for me, lad. Lucky thing tha didn’ call in that there horse doctor. Like as not he’d have let t’mare die of the convulsions.’
Emma sighed. ‘Thank heaven that everything’s turned out all right in the end. What was it you gave Kirstie to make her well again, Ursly?’
‘Aye, there’s them as ’ud like to know my secrets, wouldn’ they, them as think a man wi’ book learning is better’n an old woman like me.’
Seth said proudly, ‘She knew what needed to be done, did Gran’mer. T’first night she stayed right through to morning, till Kirstie stopped the trembles. And been here a couple o’ times since then, she has.’
Emma felt more ashamed than ever. To think that while she was comfortably asleep in her warm bed, this old woman whose heart was none too sound had spent a whole night tending a sick mare here in the stable. If only there was some way in which she could show her appreciation, thought Emma, but she knew that any offer of payment would offend Ursly so she merely reiterated her sincere thanks. Then on an impulse, she added, ‘While you’re here, would you like to come in and see Cathy for a few minutes? And after that I’ll drive you home in the trap.’
‘I’ll come and see Miss Cathy reet gladly! But there’s no call for t’trap. I’ve got two good feet, haven’t I?’
‘But you must let me take you home, I insist! Will you have the trap ready for us please, Seth?’
Emma knew there was little risk in taking Ursly indoors, as Chloe would still be resting in her room. But as they crossed the hall to the staircase, Hoad emerged from the dining room and frowned blackly. His resentment of Ursly harked back to the days of her special relationship with Aunt Henrietta.
Cathy was still seated by the window, a book in her lap – the inevitable Wuthering Heights. She gave no sign of surprise at Ursly’s presence, and there was a withdrawn look in her eyes that caused Emma a stab of disquiet. But when Cathy spoke, she appeared rational enough.
‘It’s good to see you, Ursly dear. Why have you come?’
‘Seth needed me, lovey, to tend one of t’horses like.’
‘He needs me too, doesn’t he, Ursly? Seth and I belong to each other.’
‘Aye, that he does, my little pet. Where would Seth be wi’out his Cathy? And tha, wi’out him?’
‘He will hold me in his arms before I die, and speak of our love for one another. Promise me that he will, Ursly!’
‘Aye, my lass ... aye, my little pet, to be sure he will. All the things tha wants will come true, never fear.’
It was what the gypsy at the fair had said, and Emma felt vexed. Ursly should know better than to pander to her cousin’s sick fancies. But she was bound to admit that the immediate effect was beneficial. Cathy seemed strangely at peace, as if a burdensome weight had been lifted from her mind. All the same ...
‘I think perhaps you had better go now, Ursly,’ she murmured, ‘Cathy is very tired.’
‘Aye, an’ so she is!’ The old woman, so short she scarcely needed to stoop, leaned across and kissed Cathy’s cheek. Placing her palm against the girl’s brow she began a gentle stroking motion. ‘There, my little bairn, my little lovey, go tha to sleep. There, there, close thy eyes and let sleep come to thee.’
Cathy’s eyelids slowly drooped and in moments she was breathing deeply, evidently in restful slumber. Emma beckoned to Ursly and they tiptoed out. From her own room she collected a cloak and bonnet, and they were halfway down the stairs when the front door burst open and Uncle Randolph strode into the hall. He was hatless and irate.
‘Emma! What is that woman doing in my house?’
A distortion of the truth sprang easily to Emma’s lips. ‘She is here at my invitation, uncle. Kirstie was a trifle poorly, and Ursly kindly agreed to look at her.’
‘I’ll have none of that old witch’s magic-mongering here. What the devil do you think the veterinarian is for?’ He swung his rage upon Ursly. ‘Be off with you, you old hag, and don’t come round here again – unless you want to be thrown out of the home I provide for you.’
In face of Randolph Hardaker’s wrath anyone else would have trembled, even Emma herself. But Ursly remained un-cowed. Tossing back her head she retorted, ‘Aye, and much good ‘twould do thee, even if tha durst!’
‘Out!’ he shouted. ‘Out this minute, and don’t let me see your face again.’
The old woman came slowly down the remaining stairs and went right up to him; a midget beside him, hardly more than half his height. Yet she dared to raise her fist.
‘Tha’ll repent this, Mister Randolph Hardaker! On my oath, tha’ll come
to rue this day!’
Emma ran down and caught her arm. ‘Please Ursly, don’t. It will only make things worse. Please come with me.’
Ursly nodded slowly and allowed herself to be led away. Randolph had apparently not noticed that Emma was dressed to go out, and as the two of them reached the front door his voice thundered, ‘Where the deuce d’you think you’re going, my girl? I want a word with you!’
‘I’m taking Ursly home,’ Emma replied, attempting to match the old woman’s fearlessness. I’m driving her home in the trap.’
‘You’re doing no such thing. Let her walk!’
‘No, it’s too far. She came on my account, and it’s the least I can do to take her back.’ Seeing his face darken, the brows drawn together, she added defiantly, ‘How did you know Ursly was here, anyway? Did Hoad go running to the mill telling tales?’
Emma was afraid she had gone too far. Then to her astonished relief Randolph turned on his heel abruptly and disappeared into his study, slamming the door behind him. Beside her, Ursly gave a low-pitched chuckle.
‘Tha’s properly got t’measure of him, dearie, eh? I’ve heard tell afore that Miss Emma is the only one in t’family that can stand up to him, and now I’ve seen proof on’t.’
But if she appeared calm to Ursly, inside Emma was shaking all over.
‘I’m most dreadfully sorry, Ursly,’ she said. ‘I can’t understand why Uncle Randolph should have spoken to you so harshly. You weren’t doing any harm.’
‘Don’t tha fret, lass, ’twill soon blow over. I’ve never been afeard of Mr Randolph Hardaker, and he knows it.’
In the stable yard Seth had the trap ready and waiting, and the two women clambered up. When they reached the end of the laurel-edged drive, Emma turned right, away from the village, taking the road that wound gently upwards to the head of the valley. It was a long way round to Ursly’s cottage, but she was afraid the trap wouldn’t manage the straight old pack-horse track that led steeply on to the moor.
It was a warm afternoon and the sun shone down on a tranquil scene, glinting on the polished steel ribbons of the railway line and shimmering on the waters of the river as the road climbed through a grove of ash and sycamore, their branches casting dappled patterns of shadow. But Emma was in no mood to enjoy the beauty that surrounded her.
‘I am afraid it was a mistake, Ursly, asking you to come into the house,’ she said bleakly. ‘Even seeing Cathy didn’t work out very well. Poor girl, these days her head is full of strange fancies.’
‘Aye, the little lass is happy.’
Emma glanced at her sideways. ‘How can you say she’s happy, when she is mortally ill?’
There was a moment’s hesitation, ‘Be thou happy, Miss Emma?’
‘What’s that got to do with it?’
Ursly, her feet not reaching the floor boards of the trap, was braced in the buttoned leather seat against the jolts from the potholed road. Though incapable of seeing much, her nearsighted eyes darted quick glances from side to side.
‘Happen them is best happy who don’t go fretting over what can’t be changed, but just make t’best they can o’ things.’
‘You mean it’s kinder to let Cathy lose herself in the world of her imagination?’ Emma sighed. ‘I suppose you’re right. All these things she dreams about, they’re out of a book, you know. It’s become the real world to her.’
‘What’s thy real world, dearie?’
‘It – it’s obvious! Here – my family. Looking after Cathy—’
Ursly made no comment, merely hunching deeper into the seat. For some reason Emma felt foolish, as though she had given a stupidly evasive answer to a deeply penetrating question.
Presently they came to a point where the road was hardly more than a ledge cut into the steepening slope of the valley’s side. Rounding a sharp bend, Emma was confronted by a curious two-wheeled cart pulled so carelessly to one side that its rear end jutted out and caused an obstruction. The driver, a dirty unkempt man in a ragged smock and gaiters, lay back full stretch in the bracken, smoking a short clay pipe. He grinned oafishly, revealing a flash of white teeth, as he watched her efforts to get by.
‘This is a stupid place to stop,’ Emma called severely. ‘A few yards further on there’s much more room.’
‘Happen I likes it here,’ he shouted back. ‘Dost think tha owns t’whole blessed road?’
When they were safely past, Emma set the horse to a trot again. But Ursly twisted in the seat and was peering round. ‘Who were that?’ she asked.
‘Oh, a travelling pedlar, I should think. I’ve never seen him before.’
‘What do’ee look like?’
Emma shrugged. ‘Hard to say, behind that mass of black hair and beard.’
‘Johnny Gone-tomorrow!’ breathed Ursly. ‘I’d a’known that voice anywheres. What’s he come back to these parts for?’
‘You sound a bit bothered about it.’
‘For why should I be moithered?’ It was the sort of sidestepping reply typical of Ursly, but somehow Emma suspected she was on the defensive.
‘How did you come to know him?’
‘Never tha mind, dearie! But tha can take it from me he’s up to no good, that one! Always the same, were Johnny Gone-tomorrow. I reckon ’twere the best day’s work he ever did, clearing out.’
‘Tell me about him,’ said Emma, curious.
‘Twere all a long time ago, best forgot.’
‘But you’ve not forgotten.’
‘No, nor never will!’
Ursly lapsed into a surly silence and refused to answer any more questions. Emma wondered why the old woman seemed more disturbed about the pedlar than she’d been by the angry exchange with Uncle Randolph. An old feud, she supposed; probably the man had cheated Ursly of something, long ago.
Driving on, Emma dismissed the incident, having much besides to occupy her thoughts. But she was reminded of it on her way home an hour later when she came within sight of the bend in the road. Not far from the spot where she had seen Johnny Gone-tomorrow, she glimpsed the tail of his curious, tent-like cart, half concealed in a clump of rowans. She fixed her eyes on the road and set the horse to a brisk trot, hoping to avoid another encounter with the wild-looking pedlar, especially now she was alone. Safely past the bend, she relaxed with relief. But a moment later she spotted him lower down in the valley, standing under an old elm tree in one of the river meadows, deep in conversation with another man. Even at this distance the smocked figure with the shaggy growth of black hair was unmistakable, and with a sense of shock Emma recognised his companion. What was Matthew doing talking to the disreputable itinerant pedlar? Arguing, it seemed, from their gesticulating hands. Emma had an intuitive feeling that the meeting was furtive, that both men were anxious not to be seen together.
She drove on, deeply thoughtful, her glance straying back from time to time to watch the two men down by the river.
They remained there, still talking, still arguing, until finally they were lost to her sight.
The next morning the Brackle Valley buzzed with the news that a ragged pedlar, unnamed, had been found battered to death on the road leading up to the moor.
Chapter Twelve
It was the gardener who brought the news to Bracklegarth Hall. It had run quickly through the village, and Tom Brigg learned it walking up from his dwelling in Providence Row. He came importantly to the back door and was rewarded with a mug of tea and a hot bacon buttie while the Hoads extracted the grisly details. Nelly and the kitchen maid, Ada, listened in horrified fascination in the background.
Hoad passed on the information to Chloe, who brought it to the breakfast table. Randolph said he had heard it already at the mill, and they talked it over between them.
Emma listened in shocked silence, her heart clenched with fear. It seemed that a shepherd had stumbled over the body of the pedlar in the dark of early morning, the head smashed to a bloody pulp. Nearby he had found a tethered horse and a ramshackle two-wheeled ca
rt. The evening before, apparently, the pedlar had patronised the alehouse down by Hebble End. Heartily and noisily drunk, he had boasted merrily and inarticulately of his own cleverness. The mystery of his death seemed half solved; the murderer must have been a fellow vagrant who lay in wait on the moor and attacked him during a jealous quarrel; another of the disreputable army that roamed the byways of England, begging, pilfering, threatening and stealing.
‘It’s an abomination!’ Chloe declared. ‘Almost on our very doorstep. Such people shouldn’t be allowed to wander the country free. If it were up to me, they’d be locked away where they couldn’t terrify decent people.’
‘Happen it would suit us,’ her brother agreed ironically, ‘but there’s a lot of them, Chloe, gypsies, mouchers, diddiki and the like. They’re not all of them rogues.’
He glanced at Emma. The girl was very quiet this morning, and looked pale and concerned. Still brooding over that Ursly business of yesterday, no doubt. He had almost forgotten it himself, but he’d best put things right with her. He didn’t like being at loggerheads with Emma.
‘Now then, lass, don’t bear a grudge,’ he said coaxingly. ‘We both of us spoke our minds plain, and I’ll not take back a single word. But now let’s forget it, eh? Just keep away from that old witch, it’s all I ask.’
‘I can’t imagine what you were thinking of, Emma,’ added Chloe. ‘You had no right to bring that woman into the house, knowing your uncle’s opinion of her. I don’t wonder he was angry about it.’
Randolph cursed under his breath. He might have known his sister wouldn’t lose the chance to poke in her long interfering nose.
‘That’s enough of that, Chloe,’ he commanded. But it was too late, for without answering Emma had risen to her feet and was already leaving the room. ‘Now come back and eat your breakfast, lass. There’ll be nowt more said.’
For all the notice Emma took of him, he might not have spoken. She went out and shut the door behind her.
Upstairs in her room she stood at the window, staring out with unseeing eyes. She was in the grip of such terror as she had never known before. Last night, out there in the darkness, a man had been viciously struck down, bludgeoned to death. And only hours earlier she had seen Matthew with him, talking and arguing vehemently. Matthew Sutcliffe, who years ago was convicted of a similar bestial crime against her father. If anyone else had seen them together as she had done, the conclusion would be inevitable. Matthew would be arrested and charged with murder, condemned in people’s minds before he was ever brought to trial. But she herself would not tell. She couldn’t! At least she would first hear Matthew’s own account of what she had witnessed. But how was she to do so when she was virtually forbidden to communicate with him? Suddenly Emma knew she was going to disobey her aunt. She would send a message to Matthew, by Seth, asking him to meet her. It was easy to make the decision, less easy to compose the words. She was lost in thought for some time before finally sitting down at the little rosewood writing table that had been her mother’s, and penning the note.
The Other Cathy Page 13