by Tania Crosse
‘What about electrical appliances? Isn’t there a growing market for that sort of thing?’
Wig met his wife’s steady gaze with a fond smile. ‘You know, my dear, you and I think too much alike. The trouble is, even so, we need to think carefully about it. Domestic or industrial? The complete item, or just parts to supply to others? What new suppliers might we need ourselves? And I’m a mechanical engineer. If we went down that route, I’d need to take on more electrical engineers. Maybe find designers. So none of it’s as easy as you might think. And whatever we decide, it’d mean investing in new machinery, even if we make some of it ourselves. All that would be costly, and inevitably I’ll have to lay a lot of people off, whatever happens.’
‘But they’ll get unemployment benefit, won’t they? And there’s your own benevolent fund,’ Clarrie reminded him proudly, since she was indeed very proud of her husband’s philanthropic principles.
But Wig gave a wry snort. ‘The dole? Good Lord, you have to be almost destitute before they’ll give you that. The Means Test men make you sell almost every stick of furniture, every surplus plate, even your grandmother’s photograph, before they’ll grant you a penny. They’d have the shirt off your back if they could. And if you are lucky enough to get it, it’s a pittance. And it only lasts for six months.’
‘By which time, you’ll be able to take them on again,’ Clarrie said with conviction. ‘And I know you’ll help them from the fund as well.’
Wig lifted a rueful eyebrow. ‘That can only go so far. You know I’m forever putting my hand in my own pocket to keep it going. I’ll be asking for a sub from my dear brother before too long,’ he concluded ironically.
‘Who’d have thought Perry would ever have become such a famous artist?’ Clarrie observed with a fond chuckle. ‘Going down to Cornwall worked in the end, didn’t it? Making the connections. Otherwise his talent might’ve gone undiscovered forever.’
‘I have to say I’m rather proud of my little brother these days,’ Wig admitted. ‘I always thought he was wasting his time, but it all paid off in the end, and he’s making a good living doing something he loves. And he doesn’t have to work every hour God sends. Unlike me. I’m afraid I’m going to have to spend a lot of time in the study over the weekend.’
‘Never mind,’ Clarrie sighed. ‘It’s enough for me to know you’re near.’
Wig smiled down at her as she settled her head on his shoulder. Enough for me to know you’re near. They both knew the words meant so much more. They only had each other. And Nana May, of course. All those years of dashed hopes had taken their toll, and now nature was taking its course and it was probably too late. They rarely spoke of it nowadays. There was no point. But, just occasionally, like now, they both knew what the other was thinking. The aching sadness that would never go away.
At the reminder of their lost little girl, Clarissa turned her head to gaze sightlessly out of the car window. With her emotions in such a tangle, the wayside verge whipped past her vision in a blur, the tall grass a green fog streaked with streams of vivid colour as late summer wild flowers flashed past the window. Clarrie’s mind was so wrapped in her own tortured thoughts that it was some minutes before her brain began to focus once more on her surroundings and she became aware that they were travelling along the lane at a far greater speed than she felt was safe.
‘Don’t you think he’s driving too fast?’ she questioned her husband as her stomach flipped over in alarm. ‘I’m sure David wouldn’t have driven at this speed.’
Wig blinked as if his mind, too, had been elsewhere. ‘Ah, our dear Mr Howard, we do miss you,’ he concurred, and then his greying eyebrows frowned as he raised his voice to the chauffeur. ‘Slow down, Green, will you.’
‘Yes, you’re going much too—’ Clarrie gasped as they flew round a sharp bend.
‘Look out!’ Wig’s voice suddenly bellowed in her ear, and Clarrie’s heart froze with terror as she stared out through the windscreen.
It all happened so quickly. As they powered out of the bend, the brilliant sunlight dazzling on the wet road ahead was blinding, and suddenly, out of the spangling glare, loomed a huge shadow right in front of them. Eyes wide with horror, Clarrie realised it was a slow-moving farm wagon travelling in the same direction, and she knew instantly that there was no way the car could stop in time. Fear suddenly pounding in her skull, she put out her hands to brace herself on the back of the seat in front as the driver yanked on the steering wheel. The car swerved violently, narrowly missing the back of the cart. Clarrie heard the ominous screech of brakes and, out of the corner of her eye, saw the carthorse try to rear up between the shafts of the wagon, eyes rolling wildly, as the car skidded past onto the opposite side of the road, slewed sideways and finally came to a halt in the hedge.
Silence. Stunned shock as the passengers waited for their senses to return. Clarrie found she had slid onto her knees, hands still gripping the seat in front. But as the grey veil lifted, reality inched back into her brain.
‘Are you all right?’ Beside her, Wig’s voice sparked with anxiety, and his arms around her were helping her back into the seat.
‘I… think so,’ she barely whispered back, carefully testing each limb.
‘You blithering idiot!’ Wig roared at the chauffeur. ‘Thank God there was nothing coming the other way! You might have killed us all, and them!’
Clarrie closed her eyes, disconnected, trembling, strangely calm, yet her pulse was racing. Black stars closing in on her inner vision. She blinked her eyes wide, checking in an instant of panic that she could still see. She glanced out of the window, relieved yet ready to explode with fear. And then she saw the wagon.
‘Oh, my God,’ she croaked on a horrified intake of breath.
*
Meg had been half asleep, rocked in contentment. She was squeezed between her parents on the seat of the wagon, leaning her head against her father’s shoulder as they ambled along. There was no need for any conversation; the countryside spoke for them, each sound so familiar, reaching deep into their inner beings. Meg couldn’t have been happier. Her father had made an allusion to her future, hadn’t he, imagining her one day wed to a farmer – since who else could any of them envisage her marrying? But she wasn’t quite sixteen – her birthday was in a few weeks’ time – and thoughts of love and marriage were merely distant fantasies. For now, she could only dream of her present idyllic life stretching out for eternity. She had her parents, the farm she loved, and her young dog, Mercury, lying now in the back of the wagon with his nose on his paws but with one ear cocked. Meg sighed blissfully; what else could she possibly ever desire?
A distant humming like the drone of a bumble bee quavered through the still afternoon. Meg twitched her nose, ready to doze back into her half-sleep. But then her forehead rucked into a frown. That was no insect. It was growing louder, coming nearer with alarming speed. It must be a motorcar. She could hear the roar of the engine now, and glanced sharply over her shoulder, drawn by the direction it was coming from. Felt her father tense as he, too, turned around. Sensed his fear, her own heart suddenly gripped with panic. It must be coming way too fast. Heard her mother’s gasp as she saw it, too, a gleaming black devil flashing out from the bend behind them.
Time fractured. The vehicle wasn’t going to stop in time, was it? Meg watched in horror, saw it all in slow motion. Heard the deafening squeal of brakes, watched the glinting metal fiend skate within inches of the back corner of the wagon, smelt the burning rubber as the tyres skidded on the tarmac. And, through the wall of terror, another sound, the frantic neighing of a petrified horse, their horse, their beloved Duchess, frightened out of her wits. Her great shoulders lifted up between the shafts, and then with a mighty explosion of her massive strength, the great carthorse plunged forwards erratically and out of control. Beside her, Meg heard her father’s cry of ‘Whoa!’ as he pulled back hard on the long reins. But Duchess was spooked out of her mind and they were all thrown backwards as the w
agon shot forward. Grabbing hold of whatever they could, Esther’s scream.
Duchess veered to the left, and the wheels on that side of the cart careered down into the wide ditch. The wagon gave a violent judder, lurched, and then tipped almost on its side, its right-side wheels turning slowly in the air.
It was over in an instant. So swiftly that there was no time for Meg to experience any fear. She knew she was flying through the air, but curiously she didn’t feel afraid. She merely wondered how long she would feel weightless like this, free as a bird, and how she would come to roost. It could have been seconds or hours before her body juddered and she knew she was no longer in flight. No pain, no feeling almost. Another bump as something landed across her. And then nothing. Utter still. Utter quiet.
The world came back to claim her. Stealthily. Creeping. Sound began to hum in her head. The unearthly cry of a petrified animal, the guttural choking of a human being stifling its agony. Fire began to burn into Meg’s shoulder.
Her eyelids were heavy, weighted with shock. But she had to know, forced them open, peering through slits. She was pinned down by something flowery. Her senses gathered themselves together. Recognised the familiar material of her mother’s blouse. Their legs were tangled together. Mummy? The word was in her head, her lips speechless. No response. Her eyes flew wide open in panic. Her mother must be all right. Must be. Had to be! The back of Esther’s head, the auburn hair curled in the perm she was so proud of, lay on a large stone. Something bright and red was oozing over the jagged surface.
Terror speared into Meg’s heart. Wild, without thought, she scrambled out from beneath her mother, pulse pounding with dread. Clawed her way over Esther’s motionless legs. Unconscious, sleeping, that was all.
Suddenly Meg turned to stone. Everything dropped away. The shaking started then, just a tiny flicker deep within that flared and exploded in a burst of flame.
Her mother was staring at her, eyes wide open, unseeing, empty.
Oh, dear God.
And where... where was her dad? He’d know what to do. Would make everything all right. But where was he? ‘Dad? Dad!’ she yelled.
But there was no answer. She had to find him, and slithered, whimpering, gulping down her horror, across the wet grass, muscles locked, unable to stand. And then she saw him.
Her father’s face was contorted in pain as he lay half out of the ditch. He lost control for just a moment, cried out, gritted his teeth on his torment. Meg took in his legs, crushed beneath the front wheel of the cart. Oh. She felt nothing, for several seconds her soul too deadened to think, to react.
‘Meggy!’ her father grated, tilting his head as he caught sight of her. ‘Thank God you’re all right. Your mother?’
Fear gleamed in his eyes, making something snap awake in Meg’s brain. She couldn’t tell him.
‘She’s just bumped her head. She’ll be all right.’
The lie had come so easily. Why was that? She who had never told a lie in her entire young life.
‘Thank God.’ His sigh of relief was like a knife in Meg’s side. ‘Get Duchess out.’
Meg nodded and dragged herself away. She didn’t want to leave her father, yet she knew she couldn’t help him on her own. Duchess’s maddened frenzy as she tried to free herself was rocking the cart, increasing Thomas’s agony, but how Meg was to extricate the animal from between the shafts, she had no idea. The poor creature had been pulled half on her side, hooves scrabbling wildly on the side of the ditch as she tried to gain a foothold, powerful neck arching vainly as the harness held her fast.
Meg slid forward on her hands and knees to try and unhook the chains that attached the left shaft to the harnessing. But Duchess was struggling so frantically, her squeals and snorts ripping at Meg’s heart, that Meg risked having her own trembling hands crushed. But she wouldn’t give up, tears running unheeded down her cheeks as she tried again and again.
Through the blinding mist of horror, Meg was suddenly aware of a figure passing behind her and going towards her father. A man, quite tall and distinguished, in his fifties she’d have guessed, wearing a suit with a gold watch chain draped across his waistcoat. Meg inwardly scoffed. What good did the stupid man think he could do dressed up like that? He’d just get in the way. And if he were the maniac driver who’d… who’d killed her mother, she… she…
But he was down on the ground next to her father, apparently oblivious of spoiling his fancy clothes. His lips were pressed forward as he patted her father’s shoulder, but Meg sensed that his shrewd eyes were assessing the situation. An instant later, she was aware of him by her side, putting a hand on her arm.
‘No, don’t do that,’ he said firmly. ‘I’ve got a better idea.’
‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ Meg hissed back, keeping her voice low so that her father wouldn’t hear. ‘You’ve killed my mum—’
‘What?’ The man’s eyes opened wide. And then he stuttered, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure,’ Meg snapped. ‘We’re farmers. I know what dead looks like. But I’ve told my dad she’s going to be all right.’
The stranger nodded sharply, falling in at once. ‘Well, we need to get him out before the cart tips further. Can you take the horse’s head?’
‘Of course I can,’ she retorted, springing to her feet.
‘Green!’ she heard the man call, waving to a much younger fellow also dressed in a smart suit who was wavering by the vehicle that was still half in the hedge. ‘Back the car up over here at right angles to the cart and get the tow rope out. See if you’re capable of doing that, you blackguard. And, Clarrie,’ he instructed the older woman Meg now saw hurrying towards them. ‘Go round the bend and flag down any motorists. We don’t want any further accidents.’
At the front of the cart, Meg had reached up to Duchess’s wildly flailing head, but it was the stranger who managed to catch hold of the reins, grasping them tightly behind the giant mare’s chin. Though Meg seethed with resentment, something told her he knew what he was doing and that she should trust him in this at least. And in some peculiar way, it was a relief to be told what to do.
She took the reins from him, and watched as he hurried off to direct the operation, and then she turned her attention back to the poor horse, crooning deep in her throat as she tried to calm the animal. The terrified creature was beside herself and, experienced though she was, Meg’s efforts were in vain. All Meg wanted was to sink on her knees and sob, to close her eyes and open them again to find this was all just a nightmare. But it wasn’t. It was real. Her mother was gone, and her father badly injured. But she had to keep trying to soothe Duchess as best she could. Mercury, too, knew that something was wrong. He must have jumped clear of the cart, landing safely as dogs do, but now he was pacing frenziedly back and forth along the verge. Meg called to him and gave the command to lie down and stay. She thanked God she’d trained him well as he at once obeyed, though he held his head alert and erect.
Meg turned her attention back to Duchess, her eyes pricking with tears of desperation and pain as her sore shoulder was being all but wrenched from its socket by the big mare’s straining head. But it was probably only minutes before the fellow came back to her. ‘We’re going to try to right the cart,’ he told her, eyes boring into hers as if pouring his own calm efficiency into her. ‘I’ll pull your father clear, but the moment you see all four wheels back on the ground, try and get the horse to go forward.’
Meg nodded, swallowing hard. ‘Don’t let Dad see Mummy,’ she squealed in a whisper. ‘He mustn’t know. Not yet.’
‘Of course. I must warn you, it’ll really hurt when he’s moved, but we’ve got to get him out.’
He was gone, and Meg glimpsed him getting down on his hands and knees behind her father. Above Duchess’s savage neighing, she caught the man’s imperious shout, and then she heard the revving of an engine. Slowly, the wagon started to tip back, and Meg clung to Duchess’s reins for dear life. With a creaking of wood, gravity
took hold, and the wagon crashed back onto all four wheels. Duchess found her feet again. Meg had no need to lead her forward as her bunched haunches released like a coiled spring. But the horse couldn’t go far since the tow rope connecting the side of the cart to the motorcar was pulled taut, and powerful though she was, Duchess didn’t have sufficient strength to drag both vehicles. The wagon, however, was now well clear of the ditch. As Meg stroked Duchess’s jangling head and spoke softly to her, the big chestnut began to calm down and was soon standing still, though the occasional twitch still shivered through her withers.
Meg closed her eyes. If only that were it. If only it was all over. But it wasn’t. A maelstrom of horror swirled about her, crushing her in its evil tentacles. What was to happen now? She must be strong, hold on for her father’s sake.
She sensed movement in front of her and instinctively opened her eyes again. The man was unhooking the chains that attached the shafts to Duchess’s collar, girth and breeching. Something in the depths of her mind was mildly surprised that the fellow seemed to have some knowledge of horses, but at that point she was numbed to rational thought. It must have shown, though, on her face, since as he led Duchess out from between the shafts, he said simply, ‘I rode a lot in my youth. In the London parks.’ He glanced around then, as if looking for something, and called to the other man climbing out of the driver’s seat of the car. ‘Green, come and hold the horse. And don’t you damn well let go of it! I’ll be dealing with you later!’
Meg’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits as the younger man approached, realising that he was the one who’d been driving. But just then the man, who was obviously his employer, beckoned her to go with him back to her father. Meg followed, her legs buckling as she fell on her knees in the long, wet grass. Her dad’s legs were a mangled mess, and she took his hand. He squeezed it so tightly she stifled a wince and had to blink back the tears that pooled in her eyes.
‘It’s all right, Daddy,’ she gulped. ‘I’m here.’