by Ann Cliff
Nathan Brown looked round the room. ‘Mr Sutton, what are your views? You stand to lose a considerable amount of land, if the scheme is approved.’
Rachel peered over her shoulder. Mr Granville Sutton, now rising to his feet, was a large man with a short white beard. Unlike most people in the room, he looked quite cheerful. ‘To tell the truth, I’m undecided, that’s why I didn’t get into the argument. Of course, my residence is out of the danger zone, but as you say I will lose hundreds of acres of good land.’ He smiled. ‘If my home were to be flooded I would certainly fight against it, so in all fairness, I do sympathize with the people of Firby.’ His pink face did look quite sympathetic.
A small farmer who was known to be in debt spoke next, saying that there was a lot to be said for selling the land. ‘There’s no brass in farming for us small men, that’s a fact,’ he said. ‘Plenty of muck, but no brass.’ Two others agreed with him.
Mr Jackson suggested that it was time to consider what could or should be done, after which they could all enjoy a cup of tea. Several women went into the kitchen to put out the cups and saucers.
Opinions on what should be done were divided. Petitions to the Lord Mayor of Leeds were voted down, but there was a general feeling that action was needed. ‘Otherwise, we will feel we should have done more, when the water’s lapping at our doors,’ someone said.
Kit Garnett put up his hand to speak for the first time that evening. ‘From what I have been able to find out, it is possible that another site could be used. But we are not going to be heard, are we? We are too small. We need the men of influence to talk on our behalf, to Members of Parliament and the leaders of Leeds Corporation. If the three major landowners were to oppose this scheme, we might have a chance to save Firby.’ He paused and the only sound was the clink of cups and saucers at the back of the room. ‘Two of those men of influence are here tonight.’
Mr Jackson put it to the vote, and a large majority of those present voted to ask the landowners to do as Kit suggested. Mr Brown and Mr Jackson were nominated to talk to the landowners, on behalf of the rest and to ask them to take action immediately.
Judge Rupert looked sourly round the room, but his wife smiled as though she relished a fight. She had raised her hand to vote for Kit’s suggestion.
‘Just before you close the meeting,’ Mr Sutton said, heaving himself to his feet, ‘I suggest that you arrange a second meeting, in two weeks’ time. If by that time nothing can be done, well, that’s an end to it. We will presume that the vicar is right and we deserve a reservoir.’
To many people, he was signing the death warrant for Firby, judging by the mutter that ran round the room.
‘That’s clever,’ Kit muttered. ‘Not much can be done in two weeks. He must be all for the dam.’
It was a subdued group that queued at the tea urn and bit into the scones and cake. The atmosphere, Rachel noted with her pencil, was not very hopeful. One landowner was for reservoirs and progress, one was undecided and the third, Major Potts, had not bothered to attend the meeting. Was there any chance at all that the villagers would or could persuade the men of influence?
Violet, the new assistant teacher, was handing round a plate of scones and attracting attention from the young farmers.
‘That young teacher won’t last very long,’ Ruth commented to Rachel. ‘She’s too pretty to stay single!’
Grandfather Nathan came over to Rachel. ‘I saw you were writing things down, lass. You’ll be sending a report to the Herald, no doubt,’ he joked.
Rachel decided she might as well admit it. ‘As a matter of fact, I am… . I met the editor the other day and he asked me to send him information.’
Nathan’s smile widened. ‘Well done, young Rachel. As I remember, you were good at writing when you were here at school. If there’s anything you missed, I might be able to help.’
‘Thank you, Grandfather. You’ve never told me I couldn’t do something because I’m a girl! But don’t tell anybody – Mother and Father know, but nobody else.’
Rachel was chatting to her grandfather when she saw Violet go up to Jim Angram with her plate. It was a moment missed by everybody else, but afterwards she remembered it. Jim refused the food, but he looked down at her intently, gazing into those large blue eyes. They talked for a while, then Violet gently detached herself and went back to the kitchen. Jim watched her all the way.
Kit and Ruth signalled to Rachel that it was time to go home and she joined them at the door, where Richard Sayer, the landlord of the Fox and Hounds, was waiting for a word with Kit.
‘But not about the reservoir … I’m fair worn out with worry,’ he told Kit. ‘It’s that lad of Potts, he’s a right handful. Bad behaviour whenever he comes in, drinks too much and borrows money. He’ll get us a bad name, the lads won’t put up with him much longer, and then they’ll get the blame. Gentry never do.’
‘What usually happens when a lad behaves badly?” Kit asked gently. Rachel wondered whether he had been threatening Richard’s daughter, who worked with him. Guy Potts was dangerous.
‘This is an orderly village and I run a quiet pub. If any of the farm boys step out of line, the rest of them put him in his place.’ The landlord grinned. ‘Cold water soon sobers ’em up. But none of us dare touch Guy Potts. For one thing, his pa owns some of the farms and one or two houses in the village that go with the Firby Hall estate. Guy’s been hinting that if he says the word, the Major will throw us off. I suppose you know that he owns the Fox and Hounds as well.’ He paused. ‘And, I hate to say it, but the young lad’s the heir and will own the whole estate one day. It wouldn’t do to cross him. He makes that point himself.’
So practically everyone had their hands tied. ‘I’ll think about it,’ Kit told him. ‘It’s not easy telling the Major anything, between you and me.’
The room was nearly empty, but two younger men hung back and now they joined Sayer. ‘If you’re talking about Potts, what about our money? We bought a gun apiece from him, he said they were his to sell. And then Mr Garnett here took ’em back, but we haven’t seen our money yet.’
‘Nor likely to,’ said the other man gloomily. ‘I’d love to throw him in the pond, but I daren’t.’
The Dale brothers, Tom and Alfred, were a few years older than Rachel.
Kit nodded to them. ‘I felt bad about it, but I had to put them back, or we’d all have been in trouble, lads. He’d say they’d been stolen and that would mean jail for the pair of you. I’ll try to get your money for you.’
‘I blame his bringing up,’ Sayer said as he turned to go. ‘Sent to boarding school, his folks always abroad, no home life. No wonder he’s not human.’
‘Plenty of bairns with army parents are the same, but most of them turn out well,’ Ruth said quietly.
It was difficult to get out of that room. Mr Jackson stood at the door, thanking people for coming to the meeting. To Kit he said, ‘There’s a dead tree at the back of the school, it looks dangerous. Can you tell me who could cut it down? I would be thankful to see it gone, cut up into firewood one Saturday when the children are not at school.’
Kit thought for a moment. ‘Jesse Angram would be capable, he’s felled a lot of trees and young Jim could help him. I think he’d do it if you gave him some of the wood.’
In a subdued frame of mind, the Garnetts walked home in silence. Stars twinkled in one of the first frosts of the season. High and remote, a half-moon hung in the sky and far over the shadowy fields, Rachel heard a fox bark. The farm could be gone within a few years; here where they walked would be deep, cold water under the moon.
To Rachel’s surprise, the lamp was lit in the kitchen when they got home and a bright fire was burning. Roger Beckwith was back, sitting by the fire with the collie Ben by his side. Ben’s head lay across Roger’s feet. It was a homely scene and once more Rachel realized what they would lose when the waters came.
Roger stood up politely as they came in, the lamplight shining on his hair.
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‘I came back unexpectedly, sorry I couldn’t let you know.’ The young engineer seemed to have lost his city pallor and his face had a healthy, open air look. He was much more one of them than at first. He smiled at Rachel and suddenly, she felt weak. She sat down quickly, but the overwhelming giddiness persisted.
Kit and Ruth went off to put away their coats. Roger looked steadily at Rachel, still with that smile and she gazed back at him.
‘Rachel, you look beautiful tonight,’ he said softly. ‘It’s so good to be back in Firby.’
‘Roger …’ She stopped and could say no more. What was happening? For weeks Roger had been staying at the farm. She remembered that when he arrived she’d hated him, but now she was used to his presence. Why was it suddenly affecting her so much?
Kit came back into the kitchen, rubbing his hands. ‘You’ll need an extra blanket tonight, lad,’ he said to Roger.
The dog went over to Kit and held up his bandaged leg, making them all laugh. Things in the kitchen seemed normal, but for Rachel, everything had changed. Roger had looked at her with love.
‘I kept the fire going for you, since it’s such a cold night,’ Roger said apologetically. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’
Of course they didn’t mind; Kit told him he was like one of the family. Often, when they were all at home and had a visitor, Roger went quietly off to read in bed. He never seemed to be in the way and they enjoyed his company.
‘You’re the best boarder we’ve ever had,’ Kit told him.
Somehow, Rachel got to her feet and made them all a cup of tea. ‘Tired, love?’ her mother asked. ‘It’s been a long day.’
By tomorrow, she would feel normal again. This feeling was just tiredness after all, due to the concentration needed to take notes at the meeting. Roger wanted to know what had happened at the meeting and Kit told him. He offered to talk to Nathan and Mr Jackson again, and to try to get Mr Bromley to consider the other site.
Rachel went to bed in a strange frame of mind. When she looked in the dressing table mirror, the face that looked back was pale and strained, but the eyes were bright. Roger was back; it was surprising how happy that made her.
Roger sometimes went to Pateley on Sundays, to see old friends. One was Mrs Watson, a widow who had been a friend of his mother. ‘You’re a grand lad,’ she often told him, after he had chopped firewood for her and done other little jobs in the house and garden. ‘You deserve a good wife.’
‘I can only hope, Mrs Watson,’ he said. What could he offer a young woman? He had no farm and no property … he was well-educated and had a good job, but that might not be enough for a country girl.
On the Saturday after his return, he found that his horse was slightly lame. Kit examined the leg and hoof and thought that with rest, it should recover. That meant no Sunday ride to Pateley. Roger went for a brisk walk in the morning and sat down to write letters in the early afternoon.
On Sunday afternoon, the Garnett family went to visit Nathan Brown for a cup of tea. As always, they had to be home for the evening milking and feeding routine, but it was a fine day and Ruth said a ride out in the trap would do her good. Rachel went with them.
‘Jim may come over for tea, but we’ll be home by then,’ she said.
Roger had nearly finished his letters when he had a visitor. A knock at the door was followed by the entry of Jim Angram, washed and changed for Sunday afternoon.
‘Where’s Rachel? Gone to see Grandpa, has she?’ Jim was not put out, but sat at the table as usual. ‘They’ll be home for milking, that’s for sure.’
Jim entertained Roger with stories of clever sheepdogs they had owned. Then he said, ‘Do you mind talking about the dam? I’d like to know that our farm won’t be flooded, whatever happens,’ he said.
‘We can look at the plans,’ Roger offered. ‘It’s not the end of the story, of course, but if Firby is to be the site, the lines have been drawn.’ He unrolled a big map of the area. ‘Now, where exactly is your farm?’
They bent over the map and followed the contours of the scheme, as planned by Bromley and Roger for Leeds Corporation. The Angrams’ farm was just above the line; they would only lose a few acres.
‘That’s good, I was hoping it would be there for me to take over when Pa retires.’
‘That won’t be for some years?’ Roger asked.
‘Nay, I’m in no hurry,’ Jim grinned. ‘I like things the way they are.’
Roger hesitated, then looked across at the lad. ‘And – you’re going to marry Rachel, I gather?’
‘Of course I am,’ said Jim carelessly. ‘She’s a right good worker, the lass is.’
So however casual he was, Jim claimed ownership of Rachel. Roger’s heart sank; there was no chance for him. Over the past few weeks he had fallen in love with somebody else’s girl.
Jim was looking at him carefully. ‘I’ve an idea that you might fancy Rachel,’ he said slowly. ‘Well, I’m warning you off, Roger Beckwith. She’s my lass and I want you to remember that. Can’t be helped, you spend time with her when you’re boarding here. But don’t you go putting ideas in her head. She’s only a woman, after all and women’s heads can be … turned, by a nice-looking young man.’
‘Jim, I give you my word that I will not turn Rachel’s head.’ They shook hands.
EIGHT
The October sun shone through the window and the warm smell of baking bread filled the kitchen. Rachel put more wood on the fire to keep the oven temperature constant and then tried to concentrate on making a batch of scones, but Roger’s presence was distracting. She knew that he would soon be gone from their lives, back to his work in the city. Why should this make her feel desolate?
Rolling out the scone mixture, Rachel worked automatically. Her future was with Jim Angram; the farm he would eventually own was just above the valley and the doom of flood water. She was lucky to have such a safe future planned for her. It was wicked to wish otherwise, to feel the attraction of another man.
‘Have you seen the Fewston reservoir, over near Otley? That was filled about fifteen years ago, water for Leeds.’ Roger sat at the kitchen table with a sheaf of drawings. ‘Before that, they built Swinsty.’ He paused. ‘If you’ve seen them, you’ll know what a big job this is. Bromley and I have drawn up plans for Firby, while I was in Leeds. I thought you might like to see them. This is only a first stage, of course.’
So it would go ahead – this was the beginning of the end. Rachel didn’t want to look at the map.
‘You’re too young to remember,’ Kit told him. ‘Two good watermills were demolished when Fewston was built – and they used the stone to build a wall round the dam.’
Rachel tried to imagine Firby’s little valley with all the stone houses in ruins, men carting away the stone … it was like a nightmare. Alex Finlay was expecting another report soon for the Herald. ‘Our correspondent’ should perhaps describe how the lovely old buildings of Firby village would be knocked down and the stones, carefully dressed by stone masons long gone, would be used to build the embankment that would halt the flow of the river and cause the water to rise. Herald readers needed to be confronted – especially the men of influence. Rachel knew that the Major read the Herald … but it was probably too late.
Her father echoed Rachel’s thoughts. ‘I suppose we have to face it, lad. Everything is going to change – we’ll have to find somewhere to live, as well as work to do.’
‘You might get a job as supervisor, they will need skilled men as well as labourers,’ Roger said. He seemed more subdued than usual. ‘They will need new roads above the water line and a little railway to cart stone from the quarry. The embankment will be built right across the width of the valley, to dam the river flow and hold in the water. It’s a huge job, will take years. They will build huts for the workers up here, and workshops.’ He indicated a spot on the map.
Kit bent over the table, interested in the practical details, but Rachel had heard enough for her next report. Putting the
scones in the oven, she went across the yard to the dairy. At this time of year there was less milk to be handled, but Kit had bought three newly calved cows so that there would be enough milk, cream and butter for the whole household.
Skimming cream from the top of the large, shallow setting pans took concentration and Rachel tried to shut out thoughts of the future from her mind. A large shadow fell across the doorway and she looked up to see Lady Agnes bearing down on her with purpose. Her Ladyship never did anything by halves.
‘Garnett, or Rachel, I suppose I must call you,’ she boomed. ‘It’s too confusing to have three servants with the same name. Now, girl, the Major and I would like some cheese. I have asked for cheese before, but to no avail. I suppose you can make cheese?’
‘Er … not very well, m’lady. I’ve not had much experience, we have mostly made butter to sell.’ Rachel stood dutifully beside the cream pans.
‘Why not cheese to sell? It keeps longer than butter, I think. Surely it’s not too difficult to make cheese.’ Lady Agnes looked round the dairy critically. ‘And you have plenty of room here.’
Rachel stood up straight. ‘Lady Agnes, cheese-making takes a lot of time. I can make cream cheese of course, but for hard cheese you need a cheese press and other things. It takes all day to make and months for hard cheese to ripen.’ She remembered Grandmother Brown’s delicious Wensleydale cheese. If only she were still alive and could help now!
‘Well, get Garnett to make a cheese press!’ the woman said impatiently.
It was hard to find the courage to speak to Lady Agnes. ‘It’s nearly winter, m’lady, and cheese are usually made in spring and summer. For several reasons—’
Rachel broke off as she saw two young men ride into the yard. They both dismounted, strode over to the dairy and looked inside. Rachel knew them, they were neighbours, the brothers Tom and Alfred Dale.