Deep Waters

by Ann Cliff

  Kit raised his eyes to his daughter’s face. ‘At first the Major would have none of it, you heard him shouting at Beckwith. But then he had second thoughts. The money, you see. He’d be paid for the land and if the Hall’s flooded, he’ll get a new house. I must say I’m fair bowled over by this. I thought the Major would fight to keep the Hall, but it seems he needs the money – he almost said as much. And even if he doesn’t agree, in some cases they can still take the land.’

  Ruth Garnett looked pale. ‘And we, we’ll get – nothing. It all belongs to the Major, but if there’s no land, there will be no work for us.’

  ‘That Beckwith man must be heartless! He was so cheerful.’ Rachel blinked tears from her eyes. ‘Why must they wreck our lives for nothing? Surely there is plenty of water in other places in the West Riding.’

  Her father sighed. ‘Leeds and Bradford are huge, dirty industrial towns, love. They’ve grown very fast and they’re short of water for people to drink, and then they need pure water for the woollen mills. They say there’s outbreaks of typhoid fever there, because the water is so bad.’

  ‘But we’re so far away!’

  They had all seen debates about water in the newspapers. Bradford had a few small reservoirs already in the West Riding.

  ‘Bradford wanted to come up here, but Leeds beat them to it,’ Kit told them. ‘Roger works for Leeds Corporation, he can tell you all about how they dam up a valley and let the river fill it … they need a place where the bottom can be sealed to stop it leaking and they’ll build a great big embankment.’

  They tried to eat the evening meal, but none of them had any appetite. Rachel jumped up to collect the supper plates and she answered a knock at the door, expecting to see Jim. But a tall straight figure loomed in the evening light. Ben the sheepdog was watching him carefully.

  Rachel left him at the door.

  ‘It’s Mr Beckwith,’ she said between clenched teeth. ‘The man we don’t want to see.’

  Her father went out to talk to the visitor.

  ‘What about the village?’ Ruth wanted to know. ‘Is the whole of Firby village to be lost? Oh, Rachel, I don’t know where we’d go if we were turned out. Life would never be the same again.’

  Rachel had thought of another problem. ‘All the crops are grown in the valleys, that’s the best land and it’s sheltered. If the valleys are flooded we’ll only have the moors. Folks could only run a few sheep, there’d be nobody left. I wonder whether the Leeds folk have thought of what misery they will cause.’ She glared at the door, on the other side of which Kit was talking to the enemy. ‘Does that Beckwith man have any idea?’

  Kit came in again and spoke to his wife. ‘Roger says he has to spend some time here, he’s making a survey – wants to board with us. He says Leeds will pay good expenses. What do you say, lass?’

  ‘No!’ Rachel burst out, but her father quelled her with a look.

  ‘The money would be right handy, we’ll have to start to look for another place, if it happens,’ Ruth said slowly. ‘What kind of a lad is he? He won’t be too rough, if he’s an engineer, I suppose.’

  ‘A decent enough lad, if he wasn’t bringing bad news,’ Kit admitted. ‘I told him the other day that we sometimes take in guests, walkers and such. Most of the farms do the same, so if you don’t want him he’ll look elsewhere. He says he’d understand.’

  ‘It’s dark now, he won’t want to go looking for a bed at this time of night. Tell him to come in,’ Rachel’s mother said heavily. ‘We’ll take him for a day or two and see how we get on and whether he wants to stay. We might not be good enough, we’re only farming folk.’

  ‘Helping the enemy!’ Rachel muttered when her father had gone out again to stable the man’s horse. ‘Why did he leave it so late to go looking for lodgings? It’s very careless to turn up here at dead of night and expect us to take pity on him. I hate him! He’s going to ruin our lives.’

  A subdued Roger Beckwith came into the kitchen and was given a plate of stew, which he received gratefully. ‘Thank you, Mrs Garnett. I’m sorry to come here at such short notice and so late in the day. I was held up by an accident on the road, a trap overturned and I had to stop and help the driver.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mr Beckwith, there’s plenty of stew left. We didn’t feel hungry, after the news we just heard. You! You are going to take away our living and drown the village in a reservoir. We’re in a doomed valley.’ Rachel could not hide her bitterness.

  The engineer had the grace to look guilty. ‘I am sorry, Miss Garnett, I sympathize with how you feel. It’s the sad part of my job, seeing people affected by the decisions of landowners. But I suppose it’s inevitable, a part of progress.’

  ‘It shouldn’t be inevitable, not here. We’re in a lovely valley, with good land, there are hundreds of people living and working round Firby. All of us will be thrown out, just to please Leeds Corporation. Why can’t you take your engineering up to the moors – where it would only frighten a few sheep?’ Rachel looked at her father, but he only shook his head.

  ‘Rachel, will you put sheets on the spare room bed for our guest?’ Ruth Garnett spoke more sharply than usual. Her daughter had broken the rules. The Garnetts never quarrelled and they were never rude to guests; this man had already disrupted their lives.

  Running upstairs, Rachel found clean sheets in the linen cupboard. She was tempted to look for lumpy objects to put under the mattress to keep the man awake, but thought better of it. She dusted the dressing table and checked the wardrobe, then put out a bowl and jug on the wash stand.

  Going downstairs with a frown still on her face, Rachel encountered Roger Beckwith’s wry grin. ‘Did you put a hedgehog in my bed? I wouldn’t blame you if you did.’

  Rachel laughed and the atmosphere lightened a little. ‘I did think of it, but it wouldn’t be fair to the hedgehog. I’ll leave a jug of hot water at your door in the morning.’

  THREE

  It was time to harvest the oats. Golden September days with a hint of mist in the mornings were welcome, after the heat of summer. As soon as the weather cleared, Kit greased the binder, yoked up the horses and went off to cut the crop himself. Two labourers followed, picking up the sheaves and leaning them together in groups of six so that the breeze could flow through them. Soon the field was covered in stooks of golden grain and Rachel was surprised how many there were. ‘It’s a heavy crop this year,’ she told her mother.

  Ruth Garnett smiled wryly. ‘As long as the weather holds,’ she said.

  The oats had to stand drying in the field, traditionally until they had heard the church bells three times – three Sundays. Three continuous weeks of fine weather in September was a rare event in Nidderdale.

  It was Rachel’s job to take the mid-morning ‘drinkings’ to the workers, who were always ready for a break. Rachel’s Fat Rascals were rich scones, dripping with butter and full of currants.

  ‘I reckon you make best butter in dale, lass,’ said Bert. He was an older man who worked his own holding and came to the Hall farm in busy times.

  Rachel smiled, proud of her butter. ‘Tell that to Lady Agnes!’

  A light breeze gently lifted the ears of corn. Rachel shaded her eyes against the sun and looked down the long sloping field to the little wood at the far side. It was a beautiful place, soil cultivated for hundreds of years. The farms here had good land on the lower slopes, rising to moorland above the valley of the river Nidd and its tributaries.

  It was tragic to Rachel that all this could be lost, drowned under a dam, so that only the poorer soils of the moorland would be above the water. Surely something could be done, someone with power could intervene?

  Back at the farmhouse, Ruth Garnett wrapped up more scones in a cloth and put them in the basket with a jar of blackberry jam. ‘Ask your grandfather if he’d like to eat his Sunday dinner with us,’ she reminded Rachel. ‘It’s a grand day for a walk, I’d love to come myself but there’s washing to do.’ They had to take advantage o
f fine days.

  Nathan Brown was mending a fence when Rachel arrived at his farm. He downed tools and came to meet her, taking the basket from her.

  ‘Two miles with this heavy basket! You do well, lass. I’m right pleased to see you.’

  His grey eyes twinkled in his leathery face. Her mother’s dad was not a typical grandfather; he didn’t lean on a stick but stood straight and tall, carrying his years lightly. He bent down easily to pat the collie Ben, who always shadowed Rachel wherever she went unless he was working with sheep.

  They walked up the farm track to the house together and Rachel admired Nathan’s herd of Beef Shorthorn cows, grazing the sweet upland turf. They talked about the cows and their success at local shows, most recently at Pateley Show, the last of the season.

  ‘My old Agatha beat ’em all, Rachel!’ he told her proudly. ‘Best in Show, against all the other breeds. You can’t beat a Shorthorn.’ After all his forty years of showing, Nathan Brown still got a thrill out of the competition.

  As soon as she could, Rachel brought up the subject that was on her mind. ‘Have you heard that the folks from Leeds are here again, Grandfather? Looking for land to take for a reservoir. Father’s worried.’

  She put the scones on the kitchen table and looked round. As usual, the place was clean and tidy.

  Nathan turned to face her. ‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ he said deliberately. ‘Bradford and Leeds, they’ve both been talking about it since I was a lad. Of course, they need water. Leeds is a mucky hole and Bradford’s not much better, and they need to wash the wool. But mark my words, lass, in the end they’ll go down dale. We’re too far away, to my mind. It would cost too much to send water from here to there. In ’68, that’s a while ago now, they carried on about it and then built a dam near Huddersfield, thank goodness.’

  They walked outside and stood on the farm track. ‘I can’t stay, Grandfather, we’re busy … well … I hope you’re right about the dam. Anyway, Mother says will you come for dinner on Sunday? You can talk about it then …’ Rachel stopped, looking over the ridge of moor behind the house where a horseman was making his way down the slope. ‘You’ve got another visitor, I see.’

  The man rode up to them and dismounted, a wide smile on his face. Rachel retreated; she had seen that smile before.

  ‘Mr Brown?’ He held out his hand. ‘Roger Beckwith, I would like to talk to you if I may.’ He nodded pleasantly to Rachel. ‘Good day, Miss Garnett.’

  ‘Don’t talk to him!’ Rachel was aware that she sounded shrill and lowered her voice with an effort. ‘He’s from Leeds!’ Ben looked alarmed, but didn’t bark.

  ‘Well, you can’t help bad luck,’ Nathan said calmly. He looked keenly at the young man. ‘I know you, lad, you’re Doc Beckwith’s son.’

  They shook hands and Beckwith looked pleased to be remembered. ‘Best days of my school holidays, coming up here, Mr Brown. I didn’t think you’d remember.’

  ‘I don’t forget a face,’ said Nathan complacently. ‘I remember you with red hair as a lad, brighter red than it is now. We used to catch minnows in the beck yonder, before you went down in the world and went to Leeds. What brings you this way, Roger?’ He looked enquiringly at Rachel, as though he thought she was the attraction.

  Roger’s horse nuzzled him affectionately; it obviously had no idea how bad he was.

  ‘This man is working for the people in Leeds who want to take our land. They want to flood the valley and we’ve got to stop them!’ Rachel glared at the man, but her grandfather only smiled. ‘And he even seems to think it’s a good idea!’

  ‘I’ve seen it all before and it came to nowt,’ he told the young man patiently. ‘They come up here and survey land and take rock samples and measure rainfall, but they can’t move Nidderdale any nearer to Leeds.’

  ‘They have plans for viaducts and tunnels, Mr Brown,’ Roger said mildly. He seemed in no hurry to convert Nathan Brown. ‘I’m with Leeds Corporation, here to carry out a survey. A tunnel might be part of the plan, to get the pipeline down to Leeds.’

  ‘Tunnel through Pennines? That would cost a pretty penny.’ Nathan took out his pipe and lit it. ‘You should know, you’re the engineer.’

  Rachel took a deep breath and walked away, looking over the sunlit moors with their moving cloud shadows. A couple of grouse flew up from the heather beside her feet. If only Grandfather were right. He was so secure in his own world, playing the organ at church on Sundays and thinking well of all men. But Grandfather’s world would be torn apart, if Roger and his masters got their way.

  ‘Goodbye, Grandfather,’ she said as she turned abruptly for home. ‘We’ve a lot to do today. See you on Sunday.’

  ‘Don’t you worry, lass,’ Nathan said with his usual gentleness. ‘It will all be the same in a hundred years … now lad, what is it you want to tell me?’

  Whatever Roger said to Nathan, it didn’t take long. Rachel was only halfway home with her empty basket when he overtook her and dismounted to walk beside her. Head up, Rachel tried to ignore him as she swung along, wishing he would go away.

  ‘Good job I’m a country boy, a city lad wouldn’t keep up with you… . Your grandfather’s a fine old gentleman, isn’t he?’ Roger had fallen into step beside her, with the horse following on behind. ‘Not many men are still farming at his age, and he’s making a good job of it too. The farm is very neat.’ Ben sniffed at Roger and was rewarded with a pat.

  ‘Why can’t you leave us in peace? Grandfather will probably die if you take his neat little farm away, our valley will be gone and our lives with it. If you’re a country boy, you should understand. Where is your conscience, Roger?’

  Scowling, Rachel tried to breathe more slowly. Nathan Brown had survived droughts, floods and the death of his wife, had seen stock and wool prices rise and fall. He was tough, but in the end he would be very vulnerable when it came to the land. ‘He’s too old to take another farm and start again.’

  Roger said gently, ‘Do you think I like this job? I was sent here to talk to the local folks because I used to know them, my father was the Pateley doctor. But I feel for you all, I understand that losing land is never easy.’

  ‘Why did you agree to it?’ Rachel was furious. How could he keep smiling? ‘Why don’t you report back to say the place is unsuitable for a reservoir? How can you let us all down, just for money?’ She quickened her pace.

  ‘It’s progress, Rachel. Progress has a price. We’re changing, society is changing and manufacturing is now almost more important than farming, although you may find this hard to believe. In some places, farming is in recession. People are leaving the land and the towns are getting bigger.’

  ‘Well, we don’t want to leave the land!’ Rachel flashed.

  ‘And remember, there will be compensation for lost land. It could be the right time for Mr Brown to retire, to live in comfort, with something to pass on to his grandchildren.’ Roger was looking solemn for a change.

  That was the last straw. ‘If you think I’m waiting to inherit from Grandfather, you are … despicable! Go away, I don’t want to talk to you.’ Rachel suddenly remembered that this man was going to be their house guest, but it was too late now to be polite.

  ‘Of course I didn’t mean to imply that you’re waiting for an inheritance! I’m sorry you’re so … hostile, lass. Your dog seems to like me.’ Roger grinned.

  ‘It just shows what poor taste he has,’ Rachel snapped, but then she smiled at the ridiculous conversation. Ben wagged his tail and looked from one to the other.

  ‘I do understand your concern,’ Roger said slowly, but he stuck to his place at her side. ‘One of the reasons I accepted the job was to try to ensure a fair deal for the small farmers up here. The estate owners have influence as a rule, they can have more of their own way and negotiate their own terms.’ He paused. ‘I’m hoping that the larger landowners will negotiate a good deal for everyone in the dale.’

  ‘Can they avoid losing land to a reservoir?�
� Rachel asked eagerly. Maybe the Major could save them… . ‘If they all agree to fight it?’

  ‘I must admit they can, sometimes. Big projects like this require an Act of Parliament and some men can … influence the vote.’ He looked at Rachel carefully. ‘But an intelligent girl like you will understand that there’s no holding back progress. We have to accept it, make the best of it and move on, wherever our lives take us.’

  They went into the farmyard; Roger said he had more calls to make and went off again. With a very bad grace, Rachel went into the house to prepare supper for the enemy. Should she put a handful of salt in his soup? That would be a waste of good food … she wanted to make him suffer. He was far too happy for a man bringing bad news.

  The family were gathered at the supper table when Roger came downstairs, his freshly brushed chestnut hair gleaming in the lamplight. He looked round with a smile at the glowing fire and the food on the table.

  ‘How pleasant this is! It’s a cold evening out there. I do appreciate your kindness in allowing me to stay here,’ he said quietly. ‘This house is so homely, it’s a great change for me.’

  ‘Do you have a family of your own?’ Ruth asked him. ‘Please sit here… . You must often be away from home.’

  The lad sat at the table and Rachel noticed he had changed his clothes. ‘Only a sister in York, that’s all that’s left of my family. In Leeds, I board with a policeman’s widow and she looks after me very well, but I do travel a great deal.’

  Rachel silently passed round plates of soup, unadulterated by her bad impulses. Why did he have to come and spoil their lives? How long would he stay? They couldn’t even talk freely with a boarder in the house.

  ‘I remember your dad,’ Kit said reflectively. ‘A very good doctor, he was. Reach to and help yourself to bread, lad. You’re welcome here, even though you may be bringing bad news.’