by Ann Cliff
Alice had heard about Nathan’s accident, much to his surprise. ‘Can’t keep anything quiet round here,’ he told her.
‘Well, and I’m surprised too. I never thought you would fall off a horse, Nathan. I came to see if there’s anything you need, but Rachel here’s evidently doing a good job.’ Alice Bolton stood by his chair. ‘Can you sleep at night? That’s the main problem with cracked ribs.’
‘Ruth’s given me a tea with willow bark in it, very bitter. But it does help me to sleep.’ He turned to Rachel. ‘Mrs Bolton was a nurse, and a good one, before she married a farmer and went to live up dale.’
‘Willow bark’s the thing,’ the nurse agreed. ‘Apart from that, all you need is time and plenty of sympathy, of course. Men always need sympathy.’
They had a cup of tea and a piece of Yule bread.
‘Now there’s a thing,’ Alice said. ‘Herald’s got a Yule bread recipe this week, but it has more spice in it than ever I use. I fear it would be too strong.’
‘This is the same recipe,’ Rachel told her. ‘Do you like it?’ She passed over the plate.
‘It’s grand,’ the older woman said, taking another slice. ‘I suppose you followed the recipe from the paper. I thought it would be too spicy, but it’s not.’
Rachel smiled and said nothing, but Nathan gave her away. ‘Did you notice who wrote that recipe for Yule bread, Alice?’ He handed the paper over to her.
‘Well, I never thought to look – “by Rachel Garnett”, that’s you! Writing for the paper! You’ll be famous, lass,’ Alice beamed.
‘I just hope I don’t ruffle too many feathers,’ Rachel admitted. ‘People can be very attached to their own recipes. If people don’t look to see who writes them, it will be just as well. I won’t get the blame.’
‘That’s as may be, but it doesn’t hurt to try something different. Are you going to write a different recipe every week? My, I’ll be watching that page every week, after this! Rachel Garnett, on the Women’s page!’ Alice’s eyes twinkled in her brown face. ‘Don’t you worry about a bit of criticism, Rachel. If we worried too much about what other folks think, nowt would get done.’
About the reservoir little was said; Rachel got the feeling that everyone was tired of the subject. Sometimes it seemed that they would save Firby but at others, it looked like a lost cause. It seemed best to keep busy, which was not difficult, and wait for events to unfold.
‘Keep him warm, lass,’ Alice said as she climbed back into the vehicle. ‘You’re doing a grand job, he’ll miss you when you go home.’ She took the reins and the pony moved off with a shake of the mane, pleased to be moving again.
The house was fairly warm but the fire had burned low, so Rachel went into the woodshed with a basket for logs. It was nearly full of neatly stacked dry wood.
As she made up the fire again, Rachel remarked on the wood. ‘You must have chopped all that wood before the accident, and a good thing, too! That’s one job I can’t manage, I’m afraid.’
Nathan smiled. ‘That was young Roger,’ he said. ‘Weeks ago he came here and spent most of Sunday chopping wood, he could see it was a help at this time of the year, with short days and cold nights. He’s a grand lad. He said it was good for him, the exercise.’
Rachel busied herself with sweeping the hearth. Since she’d been at Grandfather’s, she had tried very hard not to think of Roger. This was an example of the sort of man he was; how many lads would spend their one day off chopping wood? She missed him more than she had imagined possible. Perhaps the pain would subside, once he had left for good. It was almost a physical pain, knowing that he would soon be gone.
It was while they were eating supper that night that Rachel said, ‘I remember sitting at this table when I was very small, with you and Grandmother… .’
Memories were coming back to her; it was a long time since she had stayed at Grandfather’s farm. She was always too busy at the Hall.
Nathan looked across at her. ‘Can you remember a little lad sitting here too, a lad with bright red hair? You couldn’t say his name, so you called him—’
‘Wodge! I remember Wodge, he made me a skipping rope!’ Rachel was amazed that it had taken her so long to remember Wodge. She had loved him, but then he didn’t come to the farm any more. ‘That … was my version of Roger, I suppose?’
‘It was, lass. He was taken to York when his mother moved there, so we lost touch with him.’ Nathan told her what he knew of Roger’s life; he had known his parents well.
‘I wonder where that skipping rope is now,’ Rachel said.
SIXTEEN
Roger was in Leeds when the blow fell. Grey, grimy Leeds, where the wealth of the nation was being produced – how could he escape from living in the city? He was working on the calculations for the Woodley Crags dam site, hoping that he could convince the managers to leave Firby alone.
Bromley strode into his office and stood with folded arms, glaring at him. ‘I’ve just found out what you’re doing, Mr Foster told me. You’re wasting your time. What’s more, you’re wasting the Corporation’s time.’
Roger stood up and looked out of the window at the drab city streets.
‘I hope not,’ he said quietly. ‘Most people agree that a reservoir at Firby has too many disadvantages. The more I look at Woodley, the more I can see it’s the best site.’
‘You’re stupid! Use your brain, man!’
Roger knew that there was no point in arguing. Bromley had the last word.
‘Your problem is, you’ve become too friendly with the locals, Beckwith. That’s always a mistake. In future, remember to keep your distance and remember who pays your wages. I’m afraid I shall have to take you off this job.’
‘No …’ Even if it went to Firby, Roger still had a job to do.
Bromley smiled; he was enjoying himself. ‘Getting too emotional about a shabby old house – a waste of time. Nobody will really care if Firby Hall is knocked down, especially the heir. He wants to knock it down himself!’
It was hard to know what to say. ‘You’ve been talking to Mr Guy Potts, I gather.’
‘There’s a man with no false sentiment,’ Bromley sneered. ‘He came to Leeds, he wants to push the project as hard as he can.’
‘So what next?’ Roger looked down at his work. The Woodley project was coming along well and he was proud of it. ‘Would you like to see the Woodley figures?’
‘Who authorized you to work on this? Just because you talked to the Chief, it didn’t mean that I agreed to it. No, I don’t want to see the work you’ve done on Woodley. I am opposed to it.’ Bromley pushed his flushed face close to Roger.
‘Mr Foster suggested some preliminary work, which is what I’m doing,’ Roger explained, taking a step backwards. The Chief Engineer was much more open-minded than Walter Bromley. ‘I was hoping to show it to you very soon, so you can have all the facts. I’ve written a report.’ He had been working hard on a rational, scientific approach, with a list of the benefits of the new site to Leeds Corporation.
‘Well, you can forget about it. You are to go and investigate a bridge over the Aire that’s about to fall into the river. We’ve closed the bridge, you will work out what needs to be done and estimate the cost of repairs. Start tomorrow.’ Bromley’s thin lips shut like a trap.
‘But … I’ve left equipment at Firby, and a horse… .’ This was terrible, he couldn’t just walk away from Firby.
‘And you’ve probably fallen in love with one of the village maidens, I know your type.’ Bromley walked to the door. ‘Oh, very well, go and claim your possessions. You won’t be going back, I shall put another man on the job once the project has been approved.’
‘Thank you, Mr Bromley.’
At least he could go back and explain to the Garnetts what had happened and pay what he owed. The horse Charlie would have to be sold; he had no room for a horse in Leeds. On the other hand, how long would he be stuck there, before he could get out into the countryside again? Perhaps
he could ask the Garnetts to stable the horse for a few weeks, until he found out where the next big job would be.
Even if Bromley was not taking him off the Firby project, Roger knew that nothing could happen there until official approval had been given.
‘And be ready to work on the bridge next week,’ Bromley added. ‘The citizens are restive, they have a long detour now that the bridge is closed. We need to be seen to be doing something.’
Roger looked at his boss. ‘Then maybe you should go down there, to show them that a senior manager is working on the problem.’
Bromley smirked; reference to his position always pleased him. ‘Perhaps I will.’
Roger caught the Harrogate train the next day, after a few hours in the office. On the journey through the Pennines, he thought about Firby and the blow that was to come. It was hard to believe that he had ridden into Firby with a light-hearted laugh some months ago, planning to flood their valley. He hadn’t considered the human cost.
As so often these days, Roger thought about Rachel and how wonderful it would be to spend the rest of his life with that bright, honest, beautiful girl. But he’d given his word to Jim that he wouldn’t suggest anything of the sort.
Should he have told Jim that it was every man for himself? But although Rachel was far from being ‘just a farm girl’, she was a country lass, through and through. It was one of the things he loved about her. She would hate Leeds; he could not take her away into the city, it would be too selfish.
There were few jobs in country areas for a civil engineer. He was attracted to the idea of farming and had read about the new scientific methods of livestock breeding. The obstacle there was his lack of capital to buy and stock a farm. Even if he were lucky enough to find one to rent, he wouldn’t be able to afford to run it. Landowners would look for a tenant with experience as well as capital; it would be impossible to get a start.
Sometimes recently, Roger had thought that Rachel felt the same way about him, but it was probably just her friendly nature. She was pleasant to everybody, valued everybody. It would be better to keep to his word; after this visit, that would be easier. He wouldn’t be living at the Garnetts again.
His train arrived in Masham in the afternoon. Roger eventually found a ride up to Firby with the carrier and walked up the village with a heavy heart. Rooks were cawing their way homeward and Pearson’s cows plodded along their home pasture in single file, on their way to milking.
Mr Jackson was seeing the last students off the premises as Roger walked by, so he was the first person to be told the news from Leeds. The city seemed to be infinitely far away as Roger explained that the balance had shifted and that he would not be sent to Firby again. It was a relief to talk to someone who understood how he was feeling.
‘My boss thinks I’m biased,’ he told Jackson. ‘He won’t look at my report about Woodley Crags. He told me that Guy Potts has been to Leeds, to talk to the managers. Things have changed a great deal since the Major died.’
Jackson agreed. ‘We probably didn’t appreciate the Major enough. If he’d been with us a little longer, I think he would have been a good influence in the area.’
Roger lingered at the school, talking to Jackson about whether anything could still be done.
‘I really don’t know whether Mr Sutton and Judge Walton will be able to do anything now,’ Jackson said and sighed. ‘But I’d better go to see them, since you can’t do it.’
Roger gave him a summary of the report on Woodley Crags. ‘To my mind, the best way to argue the case is to stress the advantages to Leeds of the Woodley site. They are only interested in their own advantage – their own rate payers.’
He knocked at the Garnetts’ door just as night fell on the short December day. Ruth answered his knock and her face lit up in a heart-warming smile.
‘Roger, it is so good to see you! Come in. We were wondering when you would be back again.’
The evening chores were done and it was time for supper. The Garnetts made room for him at the table, gave him a plate of soup and made him feel welcome, just as they always did. This time, though, it could be the last.
Roger tried to hide his disappointment as he looked round the kitchen; Rachel was not there.
‘Nathan had an accident, Rachel’s up there helping him,’ Ruth explained.
‘That’s bad news …’ They told him the details.
It was hard to have to tell them that due to the actions of Guy Potts, aided by Bromley, it was likely that their valley was doomed.
‘After all we’ve been through … I thought we had won.’ Kit was dismayed. ‘But at least we’ll have you here, Roger, when the project starts. It needs to be somebody who knows how people feel.’
‘Well,’ Roger began, ‘that has changed, too. Mr Bromley will send another man here when the time comes. He … he told me to stay in Leeds.’
‘What about your work at Woodley Crags?’ Kit wanted to know. ‘Surely they can see that it would be the better site, once they see your calculations?’
‘He wouldn’t look at the figures, Mr Garnett. So … I have to start work in Leeds on Monday. I should probably sell Charlie.’
There was a shocked silence round the table as the news sank in.
‘Well,’ Ruth Garnett said as she got up to clear the plates, ‘we won’t give you up, Roger. Please come here for Christmas – unless you have other plans?’
‘Thank you,’ Roger said, feeling their sympathy. The news was bad for them, but they were thinking of him. His sister was to spend Christmas in the south with her husband’s family. ‘I haven’t any plans.’ He had no plans for the rest of his life, come to that.
‘If you’d like to leave the horse here for a while, that may be best,’ Kit suggested. ‘I can use him occasionally, keep him active. If you really can’t manage to come back here, we can sell him for you. But you never know, the tide may turn!’
They began to make plans for Christmas, only a week away. A few days’ leave could be added to the holiday, Roger thought. Kit said that if Roger could be there on Christmas Eve, he could help with getting in the logs and decorating the house with holly and ivy.
‘And then we’ll go carol singing in the village,’ Ruth told him. ‘Can you sing, Roger?’
‘I used to sing in the school choir, when I went to school in York,’ Roger admitted. ‘That’s a long time ago!’
The next morning, before setting off to go back to Leeds, Roger saddled up Charlie.
‘I’d better go to see Mr Brown, tell him the bad news myself,’ he said at breakfast.
‘Aye, he likes visitors, he can’t get about much,’ Kit said. ‘Rachel will be pleased to hear you’ll be with us for Christmas, remember to tell her.’
She was crossing the farmyard with a basket of eggs when Roger arrived at Nathan’s farm, in a blue dress with her dark hair blowing in the wind. He knew he would never forget the sight of her that day; she put down the basket and crossed quickly to where his horse stood. He swung from the saddle and she ran into his arms.
‘Rachel!’ His face was buried in her hair and he caught the scent of rosemary. There were tears on Rachel’s face as she looked up at him.
‘I’m sorry, Roger. I forgot myself… .’
He kissed the tears away and tasted the salt, then Roger kissed her on the lips, a long, satisfying kiss, a mutual kiss.
Roger felt delirious. ‘Too late, lass, you’ve given yourself away! I’ve missed you so much, then last night you weren’t at home … I love you, Rachel.’ He hadn’t meant this to happen, but he couldn’t help himself. For a magical moment they held each other close.
Rachel stood back and looked at him. She was serious, sad as she said, ‘But there’s no future for us, Roger. No hope.’
She must mean that she was going to marry Jim. That, and the fact that he had no real prospects… .
‘Rachel …’ Roger said, happiness draining away. ‘I wish I could argue with you, but it wouldn’t be fair.’
Nathan Brown looked a little thinner and older, but his grey eyes were still alight with a kindly welcome as Roger walked in. ‘It’s good to see you, lad, you’ve been missed.’
What could a country lass offer a clever man like Roger? Rachel sobbed as she put Charlie into the stable and slid off the saddle. He knew it himself, he wouldn’t argue. He said he loved her, but did he really know her?
From her own point of view there were more problems. He had his profession to think of, he had to earn a living, but it was something she couldn’t help him with. Rachel knew that there was a great gulf between the city and the country. She didn’t want to live in a city, patronized by city folk – they often thought that those living in the country were simple. Roger would tire of his simple country lass in time; she would have to remember that and be strong.
Roger’s horse nuzzled her shoulder and she gave him a carrot. Charlie made her feel calmer; she patted him gratefully. The company of animals had always been important to her. At Grandfather’s there were plenty of animals, but she missed her dog Ben’s easy company. She was a farm girl.
It was time to go in. Drying her eyes and smoothing her hair, Rachel went into the kitchen and found the two men at the table, deep in talk. Roger was sketching a plan on a scrap of paper. They both turned to her and Nathan said, his face serious, ‘You won’t have heard Roger’s news, lass. The city bosses are going to build the dam at Firby, after all.’
Roger looked up without his usual smile, but he too seemed to have recovered his calm manner. ‘Unless we can twist a few arms, that is. Mr Jackson has promised to try.’ He sighed. ‘How many times has the site shifted up onto the moors and back again, in our minds at least? You’ve met my manager, Mr Bromley. He’s always been very much in favour of the Firby site.’
‘People are tired of it all by now, they just want to know one way or the other,’ Rachel said bitterly. ‘When the Major died, I really thought this might happen. Guy Potts is out to upset as many people as he can. He told my father he’s going to sell the estate and he wants Leeds to build the dam here.’