by Ann Cliff
‘You have Susan to thank for your horse, you know,’ the older man said as he turned to go. ‘She told me that the Yorkshire Post were after you, so we decided to give you Ripley … to make you more comfortable here. But you wouldn’t want to work for the Post, you know. Ripon is much more pleasant than Leeds.’
Alex suppressed a grin. ‘I agree, sir. Did Miss Sutton find Ripley for you?’
‘Of course she did, Susan knows horses. Happy Christmas, my boy.’
Susan Sutton was obviously a girl who used guile to get her own way. Alex wondered whether the idea was to make it possible for him to visit her more often; it was an exciting thought.
He wasn’t aware of ever having had a job offer from the Yorkshire Post … but then, Susan knew a lot of people, as her uncle had said. She had told people lately about the increase in circulation of the Herald, since Alex took over as editor.
He thought it was possible that Susan would attend the carol service in St Wilfrid’s ancient cathedral, but Alex was disappointed. On the morning of Christmas Eve, snow began to fall, delicate flakes fluttering from a leaden sky. People from the nearby villages prudently stayed at home, so the congregation was reduced to Ripon’s citizens. Even so, the nave was at least half-full; the Methodists forgot their differences and the atheists joined good-naturedly with the Church of England stalwarts for the carol service.
The choir was a good one and the music soared as only cathedral music can, up into the shadows of the roof. Candlelight flickered warmly across the famous fifteenth-century carvings of the choir stalls, lighting the choristers’ earnest faces. The scarlet berries of holly shone in the light. Ripon was a little city with a small cathedral, but with centuries of history.
Alex exchanged greetings with several citizens he knew. If Susan were there, the evening would be perfect. He wondered how many days would pass before he saw her again. The snow was beautiful, but it would keep them apart.
Christmas dinner with the Denham household was a traditional affair of roast goose and plum pudding. Alex took with him a bottle of port and some chocolates. The day passed pleasantly, with food, drink, jokes and music provided by the young ladies, who sang and played the piano.
‘Watch out tomorrow morning for the Sword Dance,’ one of the girls told him – he always forgot which was Isabel and which was Marjorie. They were very much alike.
‘It’s Mr Finlay’s first Christmas in Ripon,’ their mother said. ‘He won’t know what you mean.’
‘Well,’ began Isabel – or was it Marjorie? Alex felt guilty for not learning their names. ‘You will have heard of the medieval mummers’ plays, Mr Finlay? The Ripon version is the Sword Dance. Local lads dress up in strange costumes and act out a play, with a dragon and …’
‘They have wooden swords.’ The other sister took up the story. ‘They have music, a fiddle and pipes and they dance round until the swords are all locked together in a pattern …’
‘Very interesting,’ said Alex politely.
‘If you’re on the square about ten in the morning, you’ll see them,’ they told him.
Their father agreed. ‘They go round the town to various locations, including some of the public houses. It’s best to see them perform at ten, before they start the rounds.’ Mr Denham grinned. ‘They must be incoherent by the end of the day.’
EIGHTEEN
Snow was falling as Roger’s train reached Masham on the morning of Christmas Eve, but he was in luck. Kit’s trap was lined up outside the station and the tall man was waiting on the platform to greet him.
‘Real Christmas weather,’ said Kit cheerfully, ‘and there’s more snow to come. It does make farm work harder, but it’s seasonal. It snowed a couple of days ago, up here.’
As they jogged up the hills to Firby, Kit explained that Lady Agnes had decided to stay at Firby after all because of the weather, so he’d had to make a trip to Masham for extra supplies and had timed it to fit in with Roger’s train.
‘She’s invited the Waltons to the Hall, she wanted a ham and a big Wensleydale cheese … oh, a lot of other things. We can now go home. She sent me because Donald the coachman’s got the influenza.’
Roger, his collar turned up against the snow, looked over at Kit beside him, an independent man and a clever one. Years of working as the Firby Hall manager had conditioned him into being a servant. Perhaps that would happen to him, if he became a gamekeeper.
‘Where is Guy at the moment?’
‘He was going to London … but he’s afraid of the snow,’ Kit said grimly. ‘I don’t think his friends will miss him. But he won’t be much trouble for a few days. The Dale brothers gave him a hiding he won’t forget. It was well overdue.’ Kit handed over a rug. ‘Wrap this round you, lad.’
‘It certainly was about time someone taught him a lesson … but won’t they suffer for it?’ Roger took the rug gratefully; it was soft and carried the scent of lavender. The air was bitterly cold, much colder than Leeds.
‘They know they’ve nothing to lose, everyone knows that now. Guy is going to sell us all up no matter what, he’s boasting about it. So now,’ Kit said with satisfaction, ‘he’s got nothing to protect him. He must realize that by now.’
Roger helped Kit to deliver the supplies to the Hall kitchen, where Cook was frantically trying to make Christmas fare at the last minute.
‘I thought they was off to London,’ she said crossly to Roger. ‘And now, all of a sudden we’re entertaining, guests invited for dinner. Some folks have no consideration. Mr Guy’s in bed, so we have to carry meals up … a lot more work, o’ course.’
‘Mr Guy has the influenza, has he?’ Roger said innocently. ‘There’s a lot of influenza in Leeds.’
‘Nay, that’s what Her Ladyship says, but he’s black and blue after a beating,’ Cook said happily. ‘He won’t be let out till the bruises have faded.’
‘The carol singers might come here,’ Kit reminded her as they left.
‘Aye, I’ve made four dozen mince pies and we have some ginger wine. We’re ready for ’em.’
Rachel was in the dairy and greeted him shyly as Roger crossed the yard. He too felt the constraint; they had lost the easy friendship of the past few months. Jim’s girl, and don’t you forget it. He couldn’t help feeling a leap of happiness at the sight of her.
‘It’s good to be here,’ he said and Rachel nodded with an answering smile.
‘I was afraid the trains would stop running and you’d be staying in Leeds.’
The snow continued to fall, piling up in corners and covering the yard with a blanket of dazzling white.
‘The snow is beautiful here,’ Roger said. ‘In Leeds, it’s dirty slush.’
Before they went into the farmhouse kitchen, Kit looked at the sky. ‘There’s more to come. I doubt we’ll have to make it a short trip round the village with our Christmas carols this year.’
Roger and Rachel decorated the rooms with holly and ivy, dark evergreens with the fresh smell of winter woods about them. The day went quickly with preparations for Christmas; Kit went out in the trap again and brought Nathan back with him, to spend the night with them.
‘I love singing carols in the village, but it’s ower cold for me this year,’ he told Roger. ‘I’ll stay here with Ben and stoke the fire up.’ Nathan had aged since his accident, but he seemed to be improving slowly and he never complained.
Roger realized that they were all concerned about the animals. If the snow was too deep, sheep could die in the drifts. Most of the cattle were housed in sheds at this time of year and fed on hay, but they had to be able to feed and water them. Nathan said his sheep were on a lower pasture where they could get shelter under bushes, but he daren’t leave his farm for very long. A young neighbour had been helping him.
As soon as darkness fell and the farm chores were done, the carol singing party met at the school. Mr Jackson was to play the accordion, to try to keep the singers in tune.
‘We did have one practice, but it wa
sn’t enough,’ he told Roger. ‘I’m glad you’re here, we need more baritones.’
‘I haven’t sung for years except in the bath, but I’ll do my best.’
What the two dozen singers lacked in training, they made up for with enthusiasm.
‘Methodists always like a good sing, and we’ve got a few here tonight,’ Ruth whispered.
Roger stood with the Garnetts in the circle of light from Kit’s lantern, as the snow fell lightly on them. There was no wind and no moon, only the invisible snow clouds above them.
Moving up the village, the choir stood in a semi-circle outside various houses. Some of the villagers gave a donation for the church, others handed round food and drink. When they got to the Hall, a fire was burning and lamps were lit in the old dining room, where a subdued Lady Agnes greeted them with warm ginger wine.
‘The old customs must be observed,’ she said, but sadly.
It was a subdued group that gathered round the fire, thinking of the Major, whom few people had known. The poor man had only been home for a few months when he died…
For the first time, Roger was able to look round and see who the singers were. Most of them he had met earlier in the year, when he visited the village to talk about the dam project. He saw Jim Angram – why was he not with Rachel? Jim was standing next to a pretty girl.
After a few minutes, he remembered that she was Mr Jackson’s assistant schoolteacher.
As he drank the ginger wine, Roger watched Jim. He was talking earnestly to the girl and then he put an arm round her waist. She looked up at him with an adoring expression … something was happening between these two.
A movement at his side made him turn and here was Rachel, also looking at Jim. The lad blushed and the couple moved to the other side of the fire, away from Rachel. Roger looked at her, eyebrows raised.
‘Yes, that’s Jim’s new love,’ she whispered.
Roger felt a weight roll away from him, he felt light and young. ‘Really? And do you mind?’ Rachel was not Jim’s girl after all… .
‘I don’t mind… . Now we have to sing another carol.’
Rachel’s smile told him that she was quite happy about Jim, her heart was not broken. Roger Beckwith had a chance, after all. But why, then, was she still keeping him at arm’s length?
Roger and Rachel stood side by side, singing: ‘Rejoice! Rejoice!’
This was the last call and the singers dispersed.
‘I’m going to give a carrot to Charlie,’ Roger said. ‘A stable’s a good place to be on Christmas Eve.’
He took Rachel by the hand and she went in with him. She lit a lamp and Charlie’s head appeared over the half door of his box, his coat shining in the lamplight. He crunched the carrot loudly and then looked for more; they both laughed.
Roger leaned on the door. ‘So … Jim is not your, er, suitor anymore? That is a big obstacle removed.’ Charlie stuck his head between them. ‘You’re not going to be an obstacle, Charlie! I’ve been reminding myself about Jim, ever since he warned me off. He told me you were his girl and I promised not to stand in his way. But apparently things have changed.’
‘Did you? Well, this has happened since then. I saw them together … so I told him, let him off. That made him feel better. His only problem is his mother, she wants a good sausage-maker in the family! We were friends, but …’ Rachel hesitated. ‘It was more of a convenient arrangement than real love. We were at school together. He will need a wife who can help him with farm work and I expected that I would marry a famer. When he met Violet, he must have realized what was missing.’
Roger felt the weight of problems descending again and he sighed, stroking Charlie’s soft nose.
‘What you and I have is far from a convenient arrangement, but it’s a bit more exciting! I want to spend the rest of my life with you, lass. I want to marry you, but I don’t see how. You would hate Leeds, as I do, but at least I have work there. I’m trying to be practical …’ He moved round Charlie, took Rachel in his arms and kissed her.
After a while, she moved away. ‘I am practical too, Roger. A farm girl would not make the right wife for an engineer. I’ve thought about it, believe me. You’ll be leaving us after this and we won’t meet again. I’ll … have lovely memories of the last few months.’ Her voice shook a little. ‘This has been an episode in our lives, Roger. It’s over. We live in different worlds.’
‘That sounds as though you’ve given up.’
Sighing, Rachel faced him. ‘You’re making it hard for me, but I believe I’m right. Wherever we are, you will still be an engineer and I’ll be a farm girl. Better to suffer now and get over it in time, than to regret it for the rest of our lives.’
‘Your folks will be wondering where we are … I’ll talk to you tomorrow, lass.’ She looked so lovely in the lamplight that Roger smiled at her.
‘That looks more like the Roger I used to know!’ Rachel said. ‘When you first came here you were always laughing, but now … so serious!’
That night, Roger kept turning over alternatives in his mind.
It was clear that farming families were closer than others… . Could he find a job with a private company somewhere more rural? But rural areas were in depression and there were few new projects on the books. He’d been told how lucky he was to have a job with Leeds Corporation.
Roger made up his mind. He would try his very best to find some solution and eventually, he would marry Rachel. This was the most important thing in their lives, their chance of happiness. Once that was decided, he fell into a deep sleep.
Snow fell all night, but by Christmas morning the sky was clear. In pale sunshine, Roger helped to dig pathways across the yard so that they could get to the cowshed, dairy and other buildings. Rachel milked the cows and fed the calves. Ruth fed the poultry and collected the eggs, while in the kitchen Nathan prepared breakfast.
‘I make good porridge,’ he told Roger.
They all met for breakfast and Roger gave small presents he had brought from Leeds: a book each for Rachel and Kit, and fine woollen scarves for Ruth and Nathan.
‘I will always remember your kindness to me,’ he said. He’d meant to make a speech, but suddenly his eyes misted over and he couldn’t trust his voice.
‘Well, lad, you’re part of our family now, you know,’ Kit told him.
There was laughter and friendship round the table that morning; Roger fervently hoped that it was not his last visit. The family gave him a diary and a necktie especially chosen by Kit.
The next job was to check the sheep. Armed with shovels Kit, Roger and John the gardener went to look for the ewes and found several that had to be dug out of the snow.
By the time they and the cattle were fed and the cowshed cleaned, it was time for Christmas dinner. They assembled in the sitting room round an enormous fire and drank a glass of sherry. Ruth was spared the task of working at the Hall; Cook said she could manage, as the expected visitors had stayed at home.
The previous week, Kit had shot a deer, one of a few that wandered the estate. He had dressed the meat with care and they sat down to a feast of roast venison, with braised red cabbage, roast potatoes and all the trimmings.
Roger produced a bottle of red wine and they toasted each other, bright faces round the table.
‘And here’s to a happy year ahead,’ Kit said bravely, looking at the firelight through his wineglass. ‘Though we don’t know what the year may bring.’
‘How you enjoy a meal when you’ve worked hard to earn it!’ Roger exclaimed, and the others laughed. They always worked hard before a meal.
Kit went down to the village after dinner to visit an old couple who had once worked at the Hall, taking with him some Christmas cheer. He came back tired with the effort of wading through snow.
‘Nothing’s come through from Masham all day,’ he reported. ‘Trains will have stopped running, sure enough. But by the time Roger has to leave, roads should be clear.’
Nathan was unruffled wh
en he realized he could not go home. ‘Jacob next door promised to keep an eye on the place for me, the dogs are with him and he’ll feed the stock. I’ve paid the lad to work for me, last few days.’
The cowshed was the warmest place, when Rachel was tucked in beside a large, placid cow. Normally Kit milked some of the herd, but the snow made the work of the farm much harder, so Rachel took over. She was sitting beside Bessie, singing quietly to encourage her to let down the milk, when the big horns slowly moved round and Bessie stared at the door. Roger came in with a milking stool and pail and wearing an old cap.
‘Your father sent me to help you,’ he said happily. ‘It’s a very long time since I milked a cow, but Mr Brown taught me when I was a little lad.’ Rachel took him to the quietest cow of all, the serene Honey, who was next to Bessie. They sat on their stools side by side, so she could keep an eye on his progress.
To her surprise, Roger made a good job of milking. He soon got into the rhythm and Honey, after inspecting him carefully, decided that he was acceptable and turned back to munching her hay.
They talked about the work of the farm as they milked.
‘In my job, if the weather is really bad we just stop work. Teachers and lawyers can keep going, as long as they can travel to work. But if you farm livestock, you have to face the weather every day. City folk don’t appreciate that.’
‘So you wouldn’t like to be a farmer, Roger?’ Rachel was being mischievous; she knew he would.
As the milk spurted into the pails, Roger explained that civil engineering had attracted him in the first place because it was mainly outdoor work. He loved the changing seasons and the phases of the moon. He knew the names of stars, but in Leeds the moon and stars were hidden by smoke and city lights.
They moved to another two cows and Rachel had a question for him.
‘Why did you stop coming to Grandfather’s farm, lad?’ If he had kept up his visits, they would have grown up together. ‘He loved having you there, he says so.’ Rachel stole a glance at him and saw a look of sadness pass over his face.
‘My father died and my mother took me to live in York. I went to school there. It was just too far to be able to visit Firby. When I came here with the reservoir project, it was the first chance I’d had.’