Deep Waters

by Ann Cliff

The talk turned to the oat crop and the chance of rain, Roger asking several questions about the farm. Of course, he tried to be pleasant, he was bound to – somebody was paying him to sell the idea of losing your home to a dam. He should have realized that he didn’t need to waste his charm on the Garnetts.

  Rachel found herself scowling as he talked easily to her parents. They discussed his newly acquired horse, Charlie, and what was the available feed for him. Roger had waited to ask, before giving the horse hay. She had to admit that the lad’s manners were excellent, but he must know that the Garnetts themselves had no land. They were dependent on the Major for their living and their future was in his hands.

  When Roger went out to see to his horse after the meal, Rachel turned to her mother. ‘How long do we have to put up with him and feed his stupid horse?’ She started to clear the dishes from the table.

  Ruth Garnett said soothingly, ‘He’s a very pleasant young man, Rachel. It’s no hardship and remember, he’s a paying guest. The money will be useful, we need some new curtains…’ She stopped suddenly. ‘Once we find out where we’ll live, of course.’

  ‘New curtains would be a waste if this house is to be under the waves, Mother,’ Rachel said bitterly as she poured hot water for washing up.

  When Roger came back, she hoped he would go to his room, but Kit invited him to sit by the fire.

  ‘Now, lad, I expect you’ve had enough of reservoirs for the day,’ he said kindly. ‘But could you just tell us how things are looking? We’ve heard a lot of different stories over the past few years. Will our valley get flooded, or not? Might they go somewhere else? We don’t blame you, of course, but it would help us to know the situation.’

  Roger looked into the fire for a moment before he answered. ‘I’m only a junior engineer, Mr Garnett. I’m not sure what will happen. It might depend on what the big landowners want to do, as I said to you, Rachel,’ he said, looking over and including her in the conversation. ‘If … if Major Potts, Judge Walton and maybe the owner of Cranby Park all get together to oppose it, they might be heard.’ He chuckled. ‘I think you saw the Major’s first reaction, he threw me out! But sometimes, when people look at the money side, they change their minds. And this is an excellent site.’

  ‘I suppose you are here to make sure they give up their land,’ Rachel said crossly. ‘That must be what they pay you to do.’

  ‘I’m here to get the full picture and as you may imagine, I feel for the smaller landowners,’ Roger said quietly. ‘The senior engineer is a city man, very experienced in engineering, but Walter Bromley doesn’t know much about farming and country communities. But he will take notice of powerful men, he knows they can arrange for a bill to be rejected in Parliament. He’s been in Wharfedale recently, he comes here tomorrow. And … I might as well admit it, I am hoping he’s found another suitable valley, nearer to Leeds and Bradford, but I doubt it. ’

  Kit nodded, then changed the subject. ‘We have several books here you might like to read, borrow any that you fancy. We tend to read in the dark evenings.’

  The next morning, Ruth returned from her housekeeping duties looking sombre. She came into the dairy where Rachel was turning the wooden churn to make butter.

  ‘When you’ve done there, lass, you’d better get over to the Hall. Mr Guy has come home from his tour of Europe and they want his room making ready. Your father and I are going to Masham market, I hope we’ll sell some butter … how much is there for sale?’ Lady Agnes was certainly pushing her staff to make money for the farm.

  Another unwelcome guest. With a sinking heart, Rachel looked at her mother. ‘When will he be here?’ She knew better than to say anything about Guy. They both knew that he’d been a spoiled child who pulled the wings off butterflies; Rachel had done her best to avoid him when she was a child.

  ‘He’s here already.’ Ruth smiled grimly. ‘I did suggest that perhaps we could hire another indoor servant, with three in the Family and any of Guy’s friends who may come to stay, but Her Ladyship put her foot down. No more staff, the wages are too expensive already. Even though we’ve more cows to milk when the Potts are here.’

  Kit and Ruth set off in the trap for Masham with a big basket of butter and Rachel was left to finish the chores. As she was crossing the yard, she ran into Roger Beckwith, who was just riding out for the day after a good breakfast.

  ‘I believe you said that a tour of the Hall could be arranged? My colleague Mr Bromley would like to see the place, could you ask if it will be possible this afternoon?’

  ‘My mother’s not here …’ Rachel began, but then realized that she sounded childish. She stood up very straight. ‘We will ask Lady Agnes and let you know tonight, but I doubt whether it will be possible.’ She turned and left him.

  Rachel hadn’t expected to see Her Ladyship and thought of waiting until her mother came home, but the lady was floating down the stairs as the maid went up with her arms full of sheets and pillow cases. She stood aside, hoping to be ignored but Lady Agnes stopped and peered at her.

  ‘I hope you have cleaned Mr Guy’s room properly?’ she said crossly. ‘He is most particular.’

  ‘Yes, m’lady. Er … may I ask you something?’ Good idea to ask when she was in a bad mood. ‘Two gentlemen would like to tour the historic part of the house, but I said that it was usually closed to the public when the Family is in residence.’

  Her Ladyship looked interested. ‘As it happens, I was going to talk to your mother about this. We should be charging a fee for visitors and encourage them to come to view the house. You can show them the rooms we don’t use. I will arrange for ropes to head them away from our rooms.’

  ‘So – you want me to show them round, m’lady?’ Rachel’s voice was flat.

  The woman looked at her keenly. ‘I suppose you know something of the history? You’ve taken people round before? Then do so, and ask your father to suggest a suitable fee. The house must pay its way.’ She paused for a moment. ‘You need not inform me of when the visits are to occur, but you must keep a strict record of all monies taken.’

  Rachel sighed and went on up the stairs. She had shown visitors the Elizabethan part of the Hall for years, sticking to a route that kept them away from the Family’s rooms. But the two men from Leeds were different. How could they pretend to be interested in something they were about to destroy?

  At the top of the wide staircase, Rachel met her next problem. A heavy youth stood there, looking out of the windows into the park. He was pale, with regular features marred by a sulky, sneering expression. Turning suddenly, he grabbed her round the waist and she dropped the sheets. ‘Did I startle you? That’s a pity, you might have wet your knickers.’

  Rachel tried to twist out of his grasp. ‘Leave me alone!’

  Guy sniggered. ‘Ah, it’s young Garnett! My, how you’ve grown! I can have some fun with you!’

  FOUR

  Afterwards, Rachel couldn’t remember how she had found the courage to stand up to Guy Potts. She couldn’t run away every time she met him, so something had to be done and she was the only person who could do it. She glared into the sneering face.

  ‘Mr Guy, please leave me alone, or I will report you to your mother.’ He laughed and moved nearer, and to emphasize the point, she stamped heavily on his foot. Guy howled and hopped about, swearing.

  ‘What’s the matter with you? Country girls are supposed to enjoy a bit of fun … especially the pretty ones. I can get you sent off, you know … if you don’t co-operate.’

  Rachel moved quickly out of his way, wondering why he was so uncouth. Guy was coming towards her again and Rachel tripped him so that he fell heavily.

  Major Potts had heard the commotion and came storming out of the library in his usual temper. ‘What the hell is going on here? There’s no peace in this house. Garnett, keep away from my son or I will have you dismissed. Guy, come with me. You are not to fraternize with the maids.’

  The youth scowled and followed the Major into the
library, banging the door after them. Rachel scuttled along the corridor, threw the sheets into a cupboard and left the house as fast as she could. Her mother would have to make up the bed. She was very willing to leave the young master severely alone. The encounter had been a shock, but Rachel smiled as she remembered the thud with which he had hit the floor.

  ‘Perhaps he won’t stay long, it’s too quiet for him here,’ her mother said when she heard about the problem.

  The next day, Roger came into the farmyard with a man who rode badly and was obviously not enjoying the experience.

  ‘This is my colleague, Mr Bromley,’ he announced. Rachel opened the stable door and the men led the horses in. ‘May we visit the house? Did you get permission? Can we go now?’ His cheerful face looked even happier beside that of the older man, who was solemn.

  Mr Bromley’s pale city face turned towards Rachel for scrutiny. ‘Hmm. I had expected to be shown the house by someone who is knowledgeable concerning the history of the area, rather than by a maid. Some historic mansions have trained guides.’

  Roger hid a smile. ‘Miss Garnett is the Assistant Housekeeper and knows the history of this house very well, Mr Bromley,’ he said gravely.

  ‘I will find out whether the Housekeeper is available,’ the maid said frostily and in her best English. But Ruth Garnett was making jam and she only laughed. ‘You know quite as much as I do, lass, and you’ve done the tour plenty of times. Don’t forget to take their money before you go round the house, give them a ticket to make it look official – and don’t put the money in your apron pocket! There’s a box in the hall, Lady Agnes is keen to see it in use.’

  ‘This way, please,’ Rachel said crisply to the waiting men, leading the way to the massive front door of the old part of the Hall. She decided not to apologize for the lack of a proper guide. ‘You will understand that the Family is in residence, in their part of the house. We will visit the Elizabethan rooms only.’ She took them straight to the cash box. ‘This is where tickets are issued.’ The visitors looked surprised, but paid up, although Bromley wondered aloud whether he would get value for money. Roger just laughed and winked at Rachel.

  As Roger and Bromley gazed about them, Rachel stood in silence for a moment. The stone-flagged floor was worn by centuries of feet; the large stone fireplace had four arches. Larger than human scale, it was an impressive sight, built to impress by the original Tudor landowner.

  ‘This was the main dining hall,’ she told them and Roger admired the long oak table, flanked by benches and set with old pewter plates and dishes. ‘The Family used to entertain the Guns for lunch here during pheasant shoots,’ she added. Paying visitors were entitled to know as much as she knew and Bromley was after value for money. She would see that he got it, even to the point of boredom. ‘Please feel free to ask questions if you wish.’

  Once she got over Bromley’s pale disapproval, Rachel took the men confidently through the early history of the site, which had belonged to one of the great abbeys until the dissolution of the monasteries. ‘In the sixteenth century during the reign of Henry VIII, as you will know,’ she added. ‘At that time it came into the hands of a Yorkshire Member of Parliament. He built the Hall from about 1547 and his family lived in it for 200 years.’

  ‘No, neither Major Potts nor Lady Agnes is descended from the original owners. The Major’s grandfather bought the estate about seventy years ago,’ Rachel explained. ‘The present Family spend much of their time in India.’

  As they went through the house, Roger remarked on the beautiful proportions of the rooms. ‘I love this place,’ he said. ‘Look at the mullioned windows and the lead in the panes!’

  Bromley was less enthusiastic. ‘Knock it down and you could build two houses with all this stone, a hall and a good farmhouse. You could re-use the panelling … the rooms are too high, hard to keep warm. It could be scaled down.’ Rachel shuddered and Roger grinned at her.

  They went up the stairs and paced the Long Gallery, where they spent some time looking at the portraits. There was Sir John, the MP and his wife, and his descendants down the centuries. Roger stopped in front of an eighteenth century portrait. ‘That man … he looks so much like Nathan Brown, don’t you think, Rachel?’

  Rachel looked up at the painting with affection; they had often said that he looked like Grandfather. ‘I believe that the Browns were descended from the builder of the Hall. They have held their own farm for many generations,’ she said primly.

  Roger told Bromley, ‘Miss Garnett is Nathan Brown’s granddaughter. Can you see the likeness to this bonny young woman on the wall?’ He walked across to a painting of a dark-haired Victorian miss in a dress of white lace.

  Bromley looked up at the portrait, then down his nose at Rachel. ‘It would be an illegitimate branch, I suppose. These things are common on country estates. Maids get themselves into trouble.’

  Ignoring him, Rachel continued the tour. ‘There is a tradition at Firby Hall of a ghost, a man with a long cloak …’ she told them as they passed through a gloomy passage. Bromley looked behind him nervously into the shadows. ‘His footsteps are sometimes heard on the stairs.’

  ‘You should charge extra for the ghost,’ Roger suggested.

  In the library, they admired rows of ancient, leather-bound books, secure behind locked cabinet doors. ‘I’m not allowed to open the doors to show you the books,’ she said. ‘Some of them date from the sixteenth century, so they’re rather fragile.’ One or two were manuscripts from even earlier.

  ‘Couldn’t you just open one door, to let us see them properly?’ Bromley looked interested for the first time.

  Rachel knew the keys to the book cases were kept in the desk drawer, because she had to dust the volumes from time to time. Historians with a special interest in old books were sometimes allowed to handle them, but not engineers from the City of Leeds. ‘Sorry, Mr Bromley, it’s not allowed.’

  ‘They’ll be worth a pretty penny,’ he remarked, with his nose up against the glass. ‘They won’t go down with the ship. A lot of value in those old books.’

  There was a movement at the far side of the room. Guy Potts jumped up from where he had been sitting in the window recess and glared at Bromley. ‘How much are they worth?’

  ‘I couldn’t say, you’d have to get them valued,’ Bromley told him. Guy left the room, muttering about peasants invading his house. Rachel decided that she would tell the Potts in future when tourists were expected, in the hope that Guy would not be disturbed.

  Continuing the tour, they passed through vast bedrooms with heavy four-poster beds and tapestries on the walls. They looked into the attics, where there were servants’ rooms and a nursery, long disused. It was true that the house was cold and parts of it were dark, but the sense of history here was strong. The rooms occupied by the Major and his wife were more comfortable additions, built on early in the nineteenth century.

  Eventually, Rachel turned to the visitors and said what was on her mind. ‘Please tell me – do you think that the reservoir will be built? You spoke of knocking the Hall down....’

  Bromley said firmly, ‘I’m sure of it. And a good thing, too. This place is obsolete, a big gloomy place with rooms that nobody lives in. Waste of money to keep it going.’ He laughed. ‘They should sell up, especially those musty old books, they alone’ll be worth a fortune. My father’s a bookseller, so I know.’

  Nothing more was said and the visitors soon went back to the stables to collect their horses. Rachel was left with a cold shadow on her heart, the feeling that the life she knew was about to come to an end.

  A few weeks went by and Roger continued his work in the area. There seemed to be no sign of the boarder departing. On the evenings when Jim called to see Rachel, Roger chatted to him easily.

  One night as he was leaving, Rachel went with Jim to the stable for his horse and he gave her a kiss. ‘Don’t get too friendly with yon engineer,’ he warned her. ‘You’re my girl!’

  ‘Don�
�t be silly, Jim, he’s the enemy.’ Rachel glared at him. ‘He’s going to take our homes and our jobs, we can never forget that.’

  One day in October, the Major called in his farm manager for a conference and when he came back, Kit was grim.

  ‘Make a cup of tea, lass,’ he said to Rachel and the Garnetts sat at the kitchen table to hear the worst.

  Kit spoke very quietly. ‘They’ve agreed to sell the estate, they need the money. The Major knows we can’t make much more money from the farm, however much he rages. Farming’s in a sort of depression, has been for years. He’d rather not sell of course, so …’ Kit didn’t finish, but they knew what he meant. So obviously, he would be even more bad-tempered, if that were possible.

  ‘But – what about the others? Nobody wants to leave Firby, or lose their land.’ Rachel thought about Roger’s remark that if the estate owners got together, they might be able to stop the project.

  ‘Some of the smaller landholders have agreed, after the price went up a bit. So,’ and he sighed heavily, ‘this is the end of Firby Hall. We’ll have to find another place.’

  Ruth Garnett was pale. ‘How much land will the farm lose? They might still need a manager for what’s left.’

  ‘There will only be the moor, sheep run, and then above that, peat bogs and the heather. Maybe they’ll have to farm grouse!’ He was trying to lighten the mood, but nobody laughed.

  ‘There’ll be work for a shepherd maybe, but not enough for a manager and family.’ Kit sighed. ‘Some of the estate farms will survive, but anybody can collect farm rents and listen to the tenants’ complaints.’ For years, Kit had been in effect the estate manager, but the Potts thought of him as a farm foreman and paid him accordingly.

  ‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ Ruth said slowly, ‘if the Potts sold the rest as well and left the district. They have a house in London.’

  ‘They spend so little time here that they wouldn’t miss the place … not like we will. If we’re really living in Doomed Valley, maybe we should think of leaving now.’ Rachel looked at her father. ‘Shall we look at the Herald ‘Wanted’ page, to see whether anyone needs an experienced farm manager?’