Deep Waters

by Ann Cliff

  Jim didn’t seem to notice Rachel’s blush, or Ruth’s quiet smile. ‘My ma asked me to say we’re killing pig tomorrow; if you’d like some black pudding you could come and help.’ The two families usually helped each other at such times and shared the meat.

  Rachel looked at her mother, knowing that the pheasant shoot was going to cause extra work.

  ‘I’ll be working things out with Cook tomorrow, and Janet can clean the big dining room. You go to help Jim, love,’ Ruth said.

  ‘Well, Jim, if Mother can spare me I’ll be glad to come. You know I’m the best sausage maker in the dale!’ That at least was a suitable skill for Rachel Garnett.

  ‘You’re right good at it, lass,’ Jim said lightly. ‘That’s why I’m courting you, isn’t it?’

  Was that a good reason to marry a girl – because she was a good sausage maker?

  It wasn’t very romantic – and neither was an invitation to a pig killing. It would have been good to be invited to a day out at Pateley Show, but Jim hadn’t mentioned it. Afterwards, Rachel had found out that Jim had gone to the show with neighbours. Is this how Cinderella might have felt?

  The farm men took a cartload of big logs to the house that week. ‘These pheasant shoots make a sight of work,’ one of them said to Kit.

  ‘Aye, we’ll just have to go a bit faster, then,’ Kit replied in the time-honoured way of foremen, and they both laughed. ‘We’re all in it together and we want the Hall to look good to the visitors. First time for years that we’ve had a shoot, so we mustn’t grumble.’

  On the morning of the shoot, Janet the housemaid lit a huge fire in the old dining room, to make it ready for the luncheon. For some of the Guns this was the highlight of the day, good food and drink and the talk at the table. It was sometimes an important forum for local politics. It was a long time since there had been such a gathering at Firby Hall, which made it that much more interesting.

  Kit assembled his group of beaters and told them where to stand and what to do when they were given a signal; most of them had done it before. Some of the lads wore light-coloured clothing, not wanting to risk being peppered with shotgun pellets.

  ‘One shoot I was on, the gaffer gave us white jackets,’ Kit was told by an older man who had come to Firby from another dale.

  ‘You’ll just have to trust the men with the guns,’ he was told. ‘It’s not a big shoot, we should be safe enough and the guests all have years of experience.’

  The Major was out early. ‘My son is coming with us,’ he said rather grimly. ‘But he’s still in bed.’

  Kit got the feeling that the son and heir was in the Major’s black books. He hoped that this would lead to some discipline; surely his parents must know by now that Guy was causing too much trouble.

  The visitors did not bring grooms, but drove themselves. Donald Metcalfe met them, parked the traps in a row and stabled the horses. Some of them had brought gun dogs of various breeds.

  Judge Walton had brought his wife, who came to watch the shoot and visit her cousin Agnes. Mr Sutton rolled up in a stylish gig driven by his daughter, who looked as though she would like to race the vehicle. Mr Sutton was obviously very proud of his valuable Labrador retriever; it sat just behind him, quietly waiting for orders and ignoring the other dogs, as it was supposed to do. Kit hoped that Guy wouldn’t manage to shoot it.

  In fact, Guy was the chief danger to the success of the shoot and Kit intended to keep as close an eye on him as he could. The youth was careless with a gun and what was worse, callous. He had never asked how the collie Ben was recovering, or apologized for shooting him. Never before had Kit had to deal with a problem like this. It seemed to have no solution.

  The men stood about in the drive for a while, discussing the merits of their guns and admiring the dogs. Serving coffee in the entrance hall to the ladies, Rachel was noticed by Miss Sutton.

  ‘I promised to bring my father here, to remind him of the importance of your historic house,’ she said to Lady Agnes. ‘And I would like this young woman to show him round if possible, after the shoot. She explains the history very well.’

  Rachel smiled dutifully. ‘Thank you, Miss Sutton.’ Would there be a chance to speak to him about the reservoir – and would he take any notice if she did?

  ‘Well, Susan, if you can persuade him that the reservoir should not be built here, that will be a good thing,’ Lady Sybil boomed.

  As Rachel collected the cups, she heard Mrs Walton tell her cousin Agnes that she had been working hard to convince Rupert to fight against the dam project. She said quietly, ‘He was impressed by the articles in the Herald. He’ll be talking about it to Charles today.’

  Rachel nearly dropped her tray as her heart gave a leap. Mr Finlay had been right when he talked about the power of the press. Would people believe her stories though, if they knew who had written them? ‘Our Correspondent’ sounded like an important person – a man, of course. The editor had known what he was doing.

  Then Mrs Walton added, ‘But Rupert knows a lot of legal men, of course, and he says that no one can save Firby from the water.’ Rachel’s heart took a downward dive.

  The shooting party moved off, Guy catching up at the last minute.

  ‘Be careful with the gun, Mr Guy,’ Kit told him sternly and the young heir scowled.

  Kit followed the group, watching out for trouble. He wasn’t expected to shadow his employer as some keepers did; the Major liked to load the gun for himself. Major Potts was a good shot and had won shooting competitions in his youth.

  A few pheasants flew over, flushed out by the beaters walking in a line; the guns popped and the dogs retrieved. By lunch time, Kit was beginning to relax. He knew that the luncheon would last for about two hours in all, since it was a social occasion. Then he planned to take the group to the other side of the estate, where the birds hadn’t yet been disturbed.

  The old dining hall looked inviting, transformed by the huge log fire. The silver cutlery, cleaned by Rachel, sparkled on the polished oak refectory table. For hundreds of years this room had seen feasting, as well as meetings and probably one or two conspiracies.

  Kit took the gentlemen Guns in to luncheon and then went to sit in the back room with the beaters. ‘So far, so good,’ he said to Rachel.

  At one end of the long table, Judge Rupert sat deep in conversation with Major Potts and Granville Sutton, the three men of influence together. Guy Potts sat with them, his face black with temper. As the roast was eaten, one or two of the other men glanced at them from time to time. Eventually Mr Murray, a local solicitor leaned over the table with a smile. ‘Are you gentlemen going to save our valley, or not? That’s what we’d all like to know!’

  A young farmer laughed at this. ‘Murray will be looking for a fee, if you’re going to fight the dam,’ he warned. ‘It could be a long battle, too. That venison was very good, Major!’

  Rachel was carrying plates out to the kitchen and dared not wait for the reply; when she came back to the dining room with dessert, others were giving their opinion on the project. But it seemed that Mr Sutton was not now in favour of a second village meeting about the reservoir.

  ‘Waste of time, now, the way things are,’ he said. That was not encouraging … did he mean they had all given up?

  Rachel was proud of her mother’s housekeeping that day and even Her Ladyship was satisfied. Everything went well, the guests enjoyed their meal and the cook was commended by all the guests.

  After the meal was over and the guests had moved outside again, Kit realized that Guy had been drinking. It was usual to offer the guests wine with the meal, but keen sportsmen usually drank little, for fear of spoiling their aim. There had been several partly empty decanters of wine on the table and he must have finished them off.

  The shooting party drove their vehicles to the other side of the estate, where Daniel Wood was waiting to take charge of the horses, ‘delighted to be doing summat,’ as he put it. He would probably be given tips by the Guns. Kit
drove the Major, Guy and a couple of beaters. It was hard to ignore Guy’s suppressed fury; what had annoyed him? His scowl had deepened and he was fidgety.

  Keeping close to Guy and the Major, Kit watched as the event unfolded. Guy was flushed and unsteady when he got down from the vehicle, probably not safe with a gun, but the Major ignored him. The young man hung back a little, muttering to himself as the party moved off and Kit decided to walk beside him.

  ‘Miserable old codger … the old man won’t help me. And you’re as bad. You know Garnett, when I inherit, the first thing I’ll do is turn you off, along with your miserable family! Then I’ll sell the place and live in London.’ He glanced at Kit, daring him to retaliate, trying to force a quarrel.

  You didn’t argue with the Family. Kit said reasonably, ‘We’ll all be gone long before you inherit, Mr Guy. The reservoir will cover this land.’

  Guy spluttered and said thickly, ‘No it won’t! My father and the other two old geezers, Walton and Sutton, they’ve all got together and they’re going to work with my uncle Peregrine, Lord Danby as well … they’re going to tell Leeds Corporation to go to hell. They have it all worked out, to keep their mi-miserable acres …’

  ‘Well, that’s good news!’ Kit said, and meant it. ‘Nobody wants a reservoir here, Mr Guy.’

  ‘It’s terrible, he’s got to sell! I need the money now,’ Guy stuttered. They stood behind a group of men who had come to a halt.

  The beaters advanced. Several pheasants flew overhead and Guy threw up his gun to his shoulder, but instead of aiming for a bird, he brought the barrel lower. With a frenzied look on his face he was aiming straight at the Major, who had his head turned away.

  As Guy fired, Kit deflected the gun downwards with his stick and the pellets went harmlessly into the ground. Weak with relief he said to the youth, ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing? You could have killed him!’ The other men were watching where the birds fell and sending their dogs in.

  His face twisted with fury, Guy turned the gun on Kit. The trigger clicked.

  ‘Only one barrel, son,’ Kit said as calmly as he could and speaking quietly, so as not to draw attention to the incident. The fact that he’d given Guy a single-barrelled gun had probably saved his life.

  Kit took a deep breath and went up to Guy. ‘Now give that gun to me, you’re not fit to carry it.’ He realized his hands were shaking. ‘You nearly shot your father and you tried to kill me. You’re too drunk to know what you’re doing.’ The man was mad, a potential killer. But had he known what he was doing … and fired in cold blood?

  Guy swore, but he saw another man watching so he handed over the gun. Kit put it in the Firby Hall trap and the youth lurched off, disappearing into the wood.

  ‘Well done, Garnett,’ a voice said beside him. Granville Sutton had seen the whole thing; the others had been a little ahead, looking skyward at the birds. ‘Do you think it was intentional?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘Can’t wait for his inheritance?’ The pink face looked anxious. ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes!’

  ‘I hope not, Mr Sutton. It doesn’t bear thinking of.’

  ‘He’s the worse for drink, of course. A bad business … I suppose I should have a word with the Major.’ Mr Sutton stroked his beard. ‘You certainly acted quickly, he owes his life to you.’

  Miss Sutton had spent the afternoon with the Guns and walked the fields in her stout boots, but she was still keen to show her father the old house before they went home. Rachel took a candlestick with her, explaining that she didn’t want to be caught in the dark.

  ‘Is there a ghost?’ Susan asked. ‘I would love to see one! Now, Father, you must agree that this house is unique. There are very few Elizabethan manor houses in our part of the world. What a pity it would be, if it were to be lost!’

  Rachel led them up the wide staircase into the Long Gallery and as she expected, Mr Sutton was impressed. ‘I haven’t been here since I was a boy, although I’ve visited the Potts in their wing of the house, the last time they were at home,’ he told Rachel. ‘I’d forgotten all about it until Susan said she’d been here.’ He walked forward to inspect the fireplace and Rachel looked at his daughter.

  ‘You may remember the last time I was here,’ Miss Sutton said quietly. ‘The gentleman who visited that day has since been to the Chase, to get my father’s opinion about the reservoir project. He’s the editor of the Herald, as you may have found out by now.’ She smiled. ‘He got on well with my father and he’s coming to dinner with us next week.’

  ‘Yes, miss, he gave me his name after you had gone.’ Rachel wondered whether this was the start of a romance.

  Mr Sutton wanted to know the history of the house, but Rachel cut it short; dusk was falling and the long room was already full of shadows.

  ‘Now, Papa, do you agree that you should work with the Major and Judge Rupert to fight against the reservoir? It’s not just the old house and all the history, although that is irreplaceable. It’s the effect on a whole village and the good valley land that will be lost. Some of our best land will be under the water. We can’t let that happen!’

  Rachel sighed with relief; his daughter was doing what she had steeled herself to do. Mr Sutton looked down at the women from his great height.

  ‘What do you know?’ he said suddenly to Rachel. ‘The young engineer is living here at the farm, I hear. He has probably told you how the scheme is going.’

  ‘Yes, sir, he has,’ Rachel said. She took a deep breath. ‘Mr Beckwith believes that if you, the Major and Sir Rupert will all agree to use your influence, it’s possible the dam could be built higher on the moor, rather than on good agricultural land.’ She paused, but he was smiling at her. ‘I do so hope you will agree.’

  In the following silence, Rachel thought she heard quiet footsteps on the stairs; the ghost of Firby Hall might be on their side. The room seemed a little colder.

  ‘You can tell your father that we do agree, as of today, although Judge Rupert believes it’s a lost cause.’ Sutton turned to go down the stairs, but then looked back at Rachel.

  ‘Garnett is a very competent and reliable man. He averted a tragedy this afternoon. He deserves to know that there is a slight chance of saving the valley.’

  ‘No doubt it will take time, Papa?’ his daughter asked, probably wondering what tragedy had been averted.

  ‘It will, but I for one am prepared to spend time. It’s not just the land, is it, Miss Garnett? It’s the people, the village, their whole way of life. Finlay made me see the truth of it.’

  Miss Sutton smiled as they left. ‘Thank you, Miss Garnett. You are a very capable housekeeper.’

  When the Garnetts gathered for supper in the farmhouse kitchen, there was plenty to report. The shoot had been successful; there would be some pheasants for the butcher in Masham. A brace had been reserved for the Major and Lady Agnes, but Ruth knew she would need to hang them in the pantry for at least a week before they were mature enough for the Major’s taste.

  Kit had decided to say as little as possible about Guy’s behaviour, apart from warning his family to keep well clear of him. But Rachel reported what Mr Sutton had said and asked, ‘What was the tragedy you averted, Father? It sounds very dramatic.’

  ‘Did you notice Guy drinking at lunch time?’ Kit asked.

  Rachel nodded. ‘He drank what was left of the wine after the guests had gone outside again. I wished I’d taken it away before he got his hands on it. I couldn’t stop him, of course.’

  ‘He should never have been allowed back on the shoot. The idiot nearly shot the Major,’ Kit said briefly. ‘Sutton saw what happened and said he would speak to his father.’

  ‘He was in a terrible temper, all through the lunch.’ Rachel looked at Kit. ‘He was listening to his father, Judge Walton and Mr Sutton … I wondered at the time what they said to upset him, but it must have been about the reservoir. Mr Sutton told me to let you know, they all agreed to fight the reservoir project.’

 
Kit said happily. ‘The Major as well … he’s changed his mind. But Guy is desperate for him to sell. That’s all he can think of.’ His smile faded. ‘I have never before met a human being with no conscience, no thought for others.’

  Rachel agreed. ‘I believe that Guy is insane.’

  TEN

  Jim Angram liked chopping down trees. He enjoyed the hard physical work of sawing and the sharp smell of newly-cut wood. There was a hint of danger in tackling objects so much bigger than yourself and a sense of satisfaction in cutting them down. Normally he worked with his father, a cautious man, but Jim was sure he could manage quite well, going on past experience. Kit would be necessary only because the big saw needed two men.

  He collected Kit Garnett on the following Saturday morning, his trap full of saws and axes, ropes and log splitters. Rachel waved to Jim from the wash house, not realizing that this day would change the course of their lives. Ben the collie was on guard as usual, sitting outside the door.

  This was a new beginning, the first day of Rachel’s new cheese-making project, to produce the hard cheese Lady Agnes was so keen to get her teeth into. Now that the fear of flooding had receded a little, the lady was bent upon increasing the farm produce, for sale as well as for home consumption. If possible, she wanted Christmas cheese to sell in Masham in December, which was not very far away.

  To make cheese you had to keep the milk warm, impossible in the cold dairy at this time of the year. The dairy was designed to keep milk and butter cool. Rachel had set up her utensils in the wash house, choosing Saturday because the laundry was finished for the week. A bright fire was burning, over which she was heating the pan of milk.

  Ruth Garnett had said she would look in at the cheese later, but she encouraged Rachel to work by herself. ‘You won’t always have me at your elbow, better get used to thinking for yourself,’ she said.

  It was pleasant work at this time of the year and Rachel sang as she worked, an old folk song she had learned at school. It was true that she needed to think independently. The Herald editor had shown her that she could do it; it was too easy to work with her parents and let them make the decisions. Farmers’ daughters usually did this, until they married and their husbands took over the responsibility. Jim would naturally tell her what to do, once they were married. She sighed. Did he always know best?