Deep Waters

by Ann Cliff

  ‘You didn’t tell me!’ Guy swung round to face him. ‘How can you look forward to being ordered about in the army? I wouldn’t do it, although Pa wants me to.’

  ‘I don’t tell you anything when you’re in such a bad temper. Is that gun loaded? Don’t point it at me. I know enough about guns to be very careful with them.’

  ‘Spoken like a good army officer! You’ll go far, Dawson,’ Guy scoffed.

  They climbed over a stile and went diagonally across a slope to the edge of a small wood, where Guy stopped. ‘Just make a note of where we are, Freddy. I could easily get lost in this damned place, especially if the fog rolls in.’ He put his foot in a rabbit hole and swore.

  ‘At least we know there’s a rabbit here,’ Freddy said, grinning.

  They walked at the edge of the wood, Freddy keeping well behind Guy. Nothing stirred. The light was poor, but when at last he saw a movement between the trees, Guy fired. There was a yelp and then silence.

  ‘That wasn’t a rabbit!’ Freddy started towards the sound.

  ‘Leave it alone, probably only a wild cat. We’ll try a bit further on.’ Guy reloaded and strode off, but Freddy walked towards where he thought the sound had come from.

  A collie dog lay at the foot of a tree, whimpering. Freddy knelt down and patted the soft head. ‘What’s wrong, old boy?’ Then he saw the problem; the dog’s left front leg was wounded and bleeding.

  ‘Guy! Come here! You’ve shot a dog!’ Freddy shouted, but Guy ignored him. The animal was not a heavy type of sheepdog, but it might be rather too big for one person to carry. ‘Guy! We’ve got to get this dog back to the farm!’

  ‘Probably only a stray. Shall I shoot it?’ Guy offered when at last he came back.

  Freddy lost his temper. ‘You will not, you rat! This dog belongs to the Garnetts, I’ve seen it in the farmyard. We must get it home.’

  ‘Everything here belongs to the Potts,’ Guy said coldly. ‘So it’s my dog and I will do as I please. I’m the sole heir, remember.’

  ‘Go to hell, Guy, I’m taking him home.’ Freddy’s anger gave him strength and he scooped up the dog in his arms and set off back to the farm. Guy picked up Freddy’s gun and walked off, cursing.

  Kit had been hovering not far from the boys, which was why Ben the sheepdog was in the wood. He saw what had happened and together, he and Freddy carried the dog into a stable and laid him on the straw.

  ‘I blame myself, I should never have given you guns,’ Kit said grimly. ‘It’s broken … I think we can save the leg, but we must stop the bleeding … where’s Ruth? We need some of her salve.’

  Freddy was almost crying as he patted the dog and Ben licked his hand. ‘Are you able to set his leg?’ he asked.

  ‘I hope so, lad. I did have a calf once with a broken leg and we managed to save it. Go and fetch my wife, will you?’

  Freddy stayed with the dog as Ruth gently cleaned the leg and Kit made a splint from a piece of wood.

  ‘I’ll get the farrier to look at him tomorrow,’ Kit said. He looked into the darkening farmyard when the job was done. ‘I suppose Guy’s gone home? I should like to see the guns safely back.’

  ‘I’ll go and find out,’ Freddy offered. ‘Hell, Mr Garnett, he could have shot you! What an idiot!’

  Rachel was milking the cows; when she saw Ben she could hardly hold back tears.

  ‘Never let Guy have a gun again!’ she said fiercely to Kit. ‘He will kill somebody one day. And he won’t care.’

  ‘Unfortunately, I can’t tell Guy what to do,’ Kit reminded her.

  Freddy found the Hall in darkness and neither Guy nor the guns were there. As he crossed the yard to the stable again, Roger Beckwith rode in.

  ‘It’s very foggy now,’ he said, blowing on his hands to warm them as he went into the stable. ‘Goodness, what’s happened to old Ben here?’

  ‘Shot by the young master,’ said Kit briefly.

  ‘Who is now missing,’ Freddy added as he came into the lamplight. ‘He’s not at home, Mr Garnett. Maybe he stayed out to get some rabbits as dusk came on. He said it would be easy to get lost …’

  ‘We’d better look for him. Will you come, Mr Dawson?’

  ‘Of course, and it’s Freddy. He went off along the edge of the wood. Have you a lantern I might borrow?’

  ‘I’ll come too,’ Roger offered. He put his horse into its box and rubbed it down quickly.

  Rachel came in from the dairy and went straight over to Ben again. She said nothing, but knelt down and patted him.

  ‘We’d better find him before the Major comes home,’ Kit told them, but Ruth said there was no hurry because the Potts were out to dinner and would be coming home late.

  ‘I don’t envy Donald, driving them home through this fog,’ she added.

  Rachel gave the dog a drink of water and went into the house to prepare the supper. Poor Ben would be out of action for a while. It was good of Roger to offer to help with the search for that idiot Guy, who obviously couldn’t even find his way around the home farm. Roger was proving to be much more sympathetic than she’d supposed. Or was he just trying to soften them up, so he could feel less guilty?

  When the fire was blown into life and the pan of vegetables on the hob, Rachel turned to the Herald which lay unopened on the table. There on the letters page was her own letter, published just as she’d sent it in, at the top of the page. Underneath it was a note saying: See also the editorial on page 2.

  In his own column, the editor made it clear that he had visited Firby and found it hard to believe that such a pleasant village could be lost, taken by the water. He said that he hoped the community would get together to fight the Leeds Corporation and any other body that wanted to destroy their homes. He touched on the fact that the valley land was far more productive than the moorland above; good land would be lost to food production, in a part of Yorkshire with a great deal of poor land.

  The editor even mentioned the three estates affected: Major Potts’s Firby Hall, Willow Grange owned by Judge Rupert Walton and Granville Sutton’s Cranby Chase. Perhaps, he suggested, these owners might take the lead in an effort to reverse the decision.

  It was good to know that her letter had stirred things up, but Rachel was afraid of being discovered as ‘Concerned’. She had scribbled a signature on the letter and hoped that this Mr Finlay couldn’t read it

  That night, nobody else had time to read the Herald. At about eight, Kit and Roger came in wearily, having failed to find the missing heir.

  ‘Serves him right if he stays out all night,’ muttered Roger. They brought Freddy with them and Ruth offered him supper, which brought a grin to his pale face.

  ‘Yes, please, Mrs Garnett.’

  Ruth went across to the Hall to make up the fires for the Potts’ return, but Guy was not there. She left a lamp in a window, in case it would help him to find his way home. The Major and Lady Agnes would probably not look for Guy that night, assuming that he was in bed.

  Freddy looked across the table at Kit as he finished his meal. ‘There’s one place he might be, Mr Garnett. He could have gone to the Fox and Hounds – that would be like him. He goes there when his folks are not watching.’

  Kit groaned. ‘I’ve had enough for one day, lad. But I am worried about those guns.’

  Eventually it was decided that Roger and Freddy would walk down to the inn, which was not far away, and bring Guy home with the firearms. Freddy was right. Guy was there, leaning over the bar to stare at the barmaid’s bosom. The company at the inn, especially the barmaid, was relieved to see Guy hauled off home by two sober young men.

  ‘Take him away, we’ve had enough of him,’ they groaned, and not in jest.

  ‘And the guns?’ Freddy asked him grittily. ‘We are responsible for those guns.’

  ‘How should I know? Wasn’t going to drag them up here, was I? Go and find them yourself, if you’re so worried. I left them leaning against a tree. Can’t be sure where.’

  The next mor
ning, PC Bradley came into the farmyard as Kit was going in for breakfast.

  ‘I heard a report that young Mr Potts sold two guns in the pub last night, for cash … lad might be in the right, but I thought you should know, Kit.’ He paused. ‘I don’t like to bother the Major.’

  Later in the day, Kit went into the village and soon found out from the landlord of the Fox and Hounds that the guns had been sold to two Dale brothers, sensible lads. He called at their farm and retrieved the guns, apologizing for the deception.

  ‘They were not his to sell,’ he explained.

  ‘What about our money?’ he was asked.

  ‘Potts has denied selling them, so it may take me a while to get it back for you. I’ll do my best,’ Kit told them.

  ‘By, I wouldn’t fancy your job,’ one of the men said quietly. ‘Major would be bad enough, but that young Guy seems to cause nothing but trouble.’

  Kit rarely talked about his employers, but he had had enough. ‘Just before he sold the guns, he shot one of my dogs.’ Seeing their shocked expressions he added, ‘He’ll recover, but it will take time – his leg’s broken. And he’s our best sheepdog.’

  Rachel was clearing the breakfast dishes as Roger came downstairs in his riding clothes.

  ‘I have to go back to Leeds in a few days, to draw up plans,’ he said, without his usual smile.

  This was the day that she’d looked forward to at first, so why did her heart sink a little?

  ‘Will you … be coming back?’ Rachel poured hot water into the sink.

  Then Roger did smile. ‘I was going to ask your mother whether I can leave my things here, in my trunk. I will need to come back, there’s much to see to … where to put up huts for the workmen, how to get the raw materials to the site, that sort of thing.’ He paused. ‘I’ve so enjoyed staying here, Rachel, and getting to know you all.’

  ‘We have got used to your company, even though you’re the enemy,’ Rachel told him. ‘What will you do with your horse?’

  ‘Mr Brown has offered to look after Charlie, while I’m away.’ He looked down at Rachel. ‘I’m afraid the idea of going back to Leeds is not appealing.’

  Rachel looked up into the clear blue eyes. ‘Perhaps you’d be happier working in the country? You don’t seem like a city lad to me.’

  ‘I’m a Pateley lad, remember? But jobs for engineers are city-based. Maybe one day, I’ll give it up and become a gamekeeper.’

  ‘If you do that you’ll be even more unpopular than you are now,’ Rachel told him kindly, and watched him wince. ‘Gamekeepers are like policemen. They can’t afford to have friends.’

  SIX

  ‘Have you seen the Herald?’ Kit asked at breakfast the following day. ‘Folks at Ripon have noticed we’re in trouble up here.’ Rachel felt herself blushing and hoped that it wouldn’t be noticed.

  Ruth opened the newspaper and read the letter under bold headlines. ‘I wonder who wrote this? Mr Jackson, maybe.’ She looked up at a knock on the door and Nathan Brown came in, damp from the drizzling rain. ‘Good day, Father, what brings you here this early?’

  ‘You’ve seen the paper … I’ve been talking to John Jackson up at the school.’ Nathan accepted a cup of tea from Rachel. ‘Thanks, lass. It’s a bad time of year in one way, shorter days – but we think we should call a meeting. Get everybody together, to see what can be done.’

  Kit took another slice of toast and buttered it thickly. ‘Do you think the people that really matter are going to come to a village meeting? If Judge Rupert, the Major and Mr Sutton all used their weight, we might have a chance. If they all opposed the scheme, then Leeds could have to look somewhere else. But for the rest of us to mutter and grumble to each other – what good will that be?’

  Nathan smiled serenely, as usual. ‘That letter to the paper, and what the editor says, has got everybody talking. The worst thing we can do is to keep quiet.’ He looked round. ‘It’s a pity young Beckwith isn’t here. He’s working for Leeds, of course. Firby is the nearest and the easiest site for them, but they’re not counting the cost to the folks who live here.’

  Ruth sighed. ‘I think Roger sees now how it is for us and if he can do anything to help us, he will. But he’s young, and his boss Mr Bromley doesn’t care at all how many people lose their homes and their work.’

  ‘Well, John Jackson’s calling a meeting for next Thursday night. He’s putting notices all over the village and sending one to the Herald.’ Nathan finished his tea and stood up. ‘He wants to provide tea and scones on the night, so maybe you could help with that? Rachel’s scones are the best in the parish. Now, can I have a look at that dog, Kit? It was a bad job, that shooting. Young fella should be horsewhipped.’

  ‘Ben’s much better, Grandfather,’ Rachel assured him. Kit finished his toast and the men went out to the stables.

  As soon as the dishes were washed, Rachel slipped upstairs. She made the beds quickly and then sat down to plan another letter to the Herald, to emphasize the need for as many people as possible to come to the meeting. Her first letter had started something that was already gaining momentum. Perhaps she could just touch on the subject of power… .

  The leaders in our little community must have the power to persuade … if they all agree that the reservoir should be built elsewhere.

  She wrote out the letter in a fair hand, signed it ‘Concerned’, scribbled R. Garnett at the bottom and put it in an envelope, ready for posting.

  ‘There’s a visitor to show round this afternoon, a Miss Sutton,’ Ruth said as they ate the midday meal. ‘The Major and Her Ladyship have gone out for the day and she said we might show the visitor round.’ Ruth smiled. ‘The more visitors we get, the happier Lady Agnes will be. But I’ll have to hide the money box, I think Guy has had his fingers in it.’

  ‘Rachel can show her round, I won’t need her until milking time.’ Kit looked at his daughter.

  ‘You’ll need a clean apron, lass, and brush your hair,’ her mother said.

  The owners of the Herald newspaper were quite impressed with their new editor; he had found a fine new subject of controversy and circulation would no doubt increase. Alex himself decided that another visit to Firby was called for and this time, he would have a look at the doomed Elizabethan manor. Demolition of an old house, of centuries of history, was a scandal in the making. It would be good to find out who the letter writer might be; the second letter from ‘Concerned’ was as good as the first. It would be even better to get an interview with the owner of the house, Major Potts. He must be one of the landowners who could influence the decision.

  The distant sound of gunfire startled Alex as he rode out of Masham on his way to Firby, but he remembered that these moors were famous for grouse and no doubt there was a shoot in progress.

  ‘Keep your head down, girl,’ he said to Mary the mare, the same quiet horse he’d hired on the last visit. One day he would buy himself a horse, but then he would need a stable.

  A watery sun broke through the clouds as Alex rode through the village to find Firby Hall. A little apart from the village, it stood not far from the road. Alex reined in and sat on his horse, looking at the mullion windows with their leaded panes, the long chimneys and the beautiful proportions of the building. The roof tiles were covered in moss and the house sat in the landscape naturally, surrounded by a small formal garden. From what he had seen, there were very few such houses in this area; it was a rare jewel on the edge of the moors.

  He could see that a more recent wing had been added and that it had a separate entrance and stables. This must be where the Potts lived, but it was unobtrusive and was not obvious from the road.

  A horse and trap was being tied up at the gate by a young woman, dressed for the country in stout boots.

  ‘Are you visiting the Hall? You should tie your horse over there,’ she instructed in a clear, upper class voice. ‘My mare may bite, you see.’

  Alex meekly did as he was told.

  In a few minutes the Ha
ll door opened.

  ‘Good afternoon, I’m Rachel Garnett and I will take you on a tour of the house.’ She wore a black dress and a white apron like a housekeeper, but Alex thought she looked rather young. ‘You must be Miss Sutton? Lady Agnes told us to expect you.’ She turned to Alex. ‘You wish to join us, sir?’

  ‘Thank you,’ Alex murmured. ‘I’m passing through Firby and hoped to be able to visit the house.’ He would not give his name yet.

  Rachel asked how much time they had.

  ‘I have an hour only,’ Miss Sutton announced. ‘I am expected on the moor, to pick up the Guns at two o’clock. One of the keepers is ill.’ It rather looked as though Miss Sutton belonged to the landowner’s family, the Suttons of Cranby Chase. ‘I’ve never seen the inside of the old part of house and soon, it may be too late.’ She had dimples when she smiled and seemed less fearsome. ‘We are all in two minds about this reservoir business, but it seems wicked to destroy such a beautiful building.’

  As she conducted the visitors through the old house, Rachel was wondering whether she should mention ‘this reservoir business’ to Miss Susan Sutton, the daughter of the man with influence. It was a pity that the other visitor had turned up.

  Both visitors asked so many questions that progress was slow; they were obviously impressed with the history of Firby Hall. They peered into the priest hole and into a cellar that looked like a dungeon, as well as lingering in the main bedrooms with their heavy oak furniture. The man seemed to be very well informed about the history of the area and he made Miss Sutton laugh once or twice.

  They were in the Long Gallery when Miss Sutton announced that she must leave. The man lingered, looking at the portraits while the two women walked down the wide staircase to the front door. Now was her chance, Rachel decided, and turned to face the visitor.

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Sutton, for speaking to you. But do you not think that this is the wrong place for a reservoir? There are several valleys higher on the moors, places where nobody lives … if all the people with influence were to use it, Firby might escape.’ She looked eagerly into the pretty face, hoping for a reaction.