Through Glass Eyes

by Margaret Muir

‘I’ll go fetch Alice. She'll know what to do.’

  Grace nodded. What would happen now? Her father couldn’t stay in the farmhouse alone, at least, not while he was sick. She could never sleep in the cottage for fear he might have another fall. There was only one solution – she would have to stay with him.

  When more than an hour had elapsed since James had left, Grace started to worry. She was afraid he might have met with an accident; worried that the truck might have gone off the road again, or got bogged in a ditch. She’d wanted to go out searching for him but dare not leave her father. She didn’t know that Alice wasn’t home and James had gone to the village looking for the doctor, that he had waited in the surgery for almost an hour but the doctor didn’t return from his calls.

  But by the time James got back, John Fothergill was beginning to feel better. Grace had removed his wet clothes and managed to get some warmth back into his cold body. While he remained still, the farmer had little pain, but with the slightest attempt to move, the pain was excruciating.

  Grace was worried about him, but she was worried about James too. He looked exhausted. He was trying to do everything and it just wasn’t possible. If he didn’t slow down soon he would make himself sick.

  With Mr Fothergill confined to bed, James and Grace slept at the farmhouse for the following week. There was little the doctor could do for him save recommending bed rest and prescribing something to ease the pain in his hip. The farmer didn’t argue as it was impossible for him to move.

  As Grace’s pregnancy advanced, James could read the strain in her face. He knew her energies were being stretched to the limit. One afternoon he found her crying over a sheet she had torn in the mangle.

  ‘Leave it, love. It doesn’t matter,’ he begged.

  ‘It does matter!’ she sobbed. ‘I shouldn’t have let it get stuck.’

  He knew she was not coping. They were all under strain.

  James didn’t want to drive Alice to Ilkley. He wanted to stay at home with Grace and catch up on a few jobs around the cottage. He knew once they got to Ilkley, Alice would be obliged to stop and talk with Pansy and Miss Pugh, which meant they probably wouldn’t get back until late in the afternoon.

  But he had promised Alice he would take her to collect Rachel and he couldn’t let them down. At least it wouldn’t happen again. This time Alice was collecting Rachel and bringing her home to stay permanently.

  ‘Why don’t you come with us?’ James asked Grace ‘There’s plenty of room in the car. The ride’ll do you good.’

  ‘I can’t leave Dad,’ Grace said.

  Despite not wanting to leave either his wife or the farm, James enjoyed the half-hour drive. He’d had little opportunity for such luxuries recently.

  With the car roof folded back, the wind was exhilarating. Alice, her head wrapped in a silk head-scarf, seemed more relaxed than she had been for a long time. She was looking forward to having Rachel share the cottage with her.

  Speeding past open fields and clusters of houses in the villages, James asked Alice about her new job in Horsforth and how she was enjoying being back at the cottage. She asked him about Mr Fothergill, the farm, Grace, and when the next baby was due.

  With the conversation drifting to more trivial matters, James relaxed. Sitting beside Alice reminded him of the times they had spent riding when they were young. Those had been good times, happy times without any stress. He had almost forgotten the fun they had had in each other’s company and how much she had meant to him. He looked across at Alice, her eyes watering in the wind, her hair steaming from beneath the scarf. How attractive she was. Mature. Intelligent. Well dressed. The tweed suit she was wearing was well tailored. The silk stockings, smooth and shiny. Her shoes, the latest fashion. Was this really the waif he had found huddled in the heather beside the upturned wagon? How much they had both changed.

  It was an emotional parting for Pansy and her granddaughter. Pansy had treated Rachel as if she was her own daughter and Rachel regarded her as her mother. Now the little girl was moving back to live with her real mother, Alice – a woman she knew little about. Back to Horsforth and Honeysuckle Cottages – a place she was not familiar with.

  The goodbyes were protracted.

  Old Miss Pugh was in surprisingly good spirits and appeared to be in full control of her senses. ‘You mustn’t worry about Pansy,’ Miss Pugh said to Alice. ‘I’ll look after her.’ Her tone was confident and convincing. The spinster was certain it was Pansy, rather than herself, who was in need of care. ‘We manage well together, don’t we dear?’

  Pansy smiled. ‘Of course we do, Aunty.’

  The old woman drew Alice aside and whispered in her ear: ‘Don’t you worry about her, my dear. She’ll be all right. She’ll have this place when I’m dead and gone.’

  Alice thanked Miss Pugh politely and told her that she and Rachel would be visiting every week.

  ‘But it’s such a long way to come,’ Pansy argued.

  ‘While the weather’s fine and the trains are running, we’ll come. You know I love to get out on the moors or walk along the river. I’ve spent too many years cooped up indoors. Besides, I know Rachel will want to see you.’

  Rachel cried, when she hugged her grandmother.

  ‘I will see you next week,’ Pansy said. ‘The time will fly.’

  Rachel had only one small suitcase and a paper carrier bag with a few books and toys which James placed carefully on the front seat. As he drove back to Horsforth, Alice and Rachel talked quietly. James couldn’t hear what they were saying and didn’t try to join in the conversation.

  The following week, Alice and Rachel didn’t go to Ilkley as planned, instead, on the Saturday, Pansy came to visit them in Horsforth.

  Alice had arranged a party for Rachel. It wasn’t her birthday, but as she had never given her daughter a party before, coming home seemed like a good enough reason to celebrate.

  Prompted by the party and the fact Mr Fothergill could no longer manage on his own after the fall, Grace decided he should move into the cottage with them. James collected a single bed from the farm and assembled it in the front room of the cottage. During the day the farmer sat in Edward’s leather armchair, resting his legs on a stool.

  At first Mr Fothergill wasn’t sure about living away from the farm. He had grown up in the rambling old house which his grandfather had built and this was the first time he had been away. But he knew his incapacity was causing problems and hated being a burden.

  ‘If I was a cow you would shoot me,’ he said to James one day. ‘Damn nuisance. Rheumatics that’s all it is.’

  But he never joked to Alice about his leg. ‘I wish sometimes the doctor would take it off. I’d manage better without it.’

  It was a fun party. Alice made paper hats and toffee apples. They played charades and James amazed them with card tricks he had learned in the army. Later in the afternoon they trooped into Lucy’s cottage for a sing-song. If some of the keys were out of tune, no one cared. It was a long time since Alice had played.

  When Mr Fothergill started to doze, Grace decided it was time to leave and took him home. Only moments after tucking him up in his bed, he was snoring loudly and quite oblivious to the sound of voices raised around the piano next door.

  Glancing from the window, Grace noticed something unusual about the Tourer parked on the lane where James had left it. The roof was still down, but the bonnet was up and the engine was being cranked over. Why had James left the party? she wondered, and where was he going with the car? Perhaps he was planning to take the children for a ride. Or did he have things to do at the farm? It was strange he hadn’t said anything before she left.

  As she watched, the man leaning down beside the radiator grille stood up. Despite the goggles covering half of his face, Grace knew instantly it wasn’t James.

  Running out the door, as quickly as she could, she shouted, ‘Hey! You! What do you think you’re doing?’

  The man leaned down and turned the crank-han
dle again. This time the engine fired and, after quickly closing the bonnet, he jumped into the driver’s seat.

  Grace reached the lane just as the Tourer started to roll. Jumping on the running board, she grabbed hold of the passenger door. ‘Get out! This isn’t your car!’ she screamed.

  The driver accelerated.

  ‘Stop thief!’ she yelled

  But the man had no intention of stopping and the car was gathering speed.

  Even above the sound of the piano, James heard Grace’s screams but, by the time he reached the lane, the car was halfway down the hill. He started running but the Tourer was going faster. Twenty miles an hour – twenty-five miles an hour – too fast to take the bend!

  The brakes were of little use on the loose gravel and when the driver jammed his foot on them, the narrow tyres skidded towards the verge. When the car hit the soft edge, the chassis bounced and Grace was tossed onto the wet grass which sloped steeply away from the road. Landing on her back she slid to the bottom of the slope like a sledge down a hill of fresh snow.

  James watched helplessly. When the car reached the corner, it spun in a complete circle, ran on two wheels, then tottered slowly onto its side before coming to a halt. Though the engine spluttered and died, the front wheel continued spinning in the air, while steam and boiling water spouted from the radiator.

  A man was lying on the road at the far side of the car, blood smeared across his face. But James didn’t care about him. It was Grace he was worried about. She was lying at the bottom of the slope. Sliding down the grass to her, he lifted her hand. She didn’t move.

  ‘Grace!’ he cried.

  Chapter 27

  The Strid

  Grace groaned as she lifted her head. ‘I’ve been kicked by a cow before today, but it never felt quite like this!’

  James kneeled down and helped her sit up. ‘Promise me you won’t ever do anything like that again. You could have been killed!’

  ‘Are you all right, Grace?’ said Alice, sliding down beside the pair.

  James jumped up. ‘Stay with her! I want to find the bastard who did this!’

  Scrambling back up the hill was not as easy as getting down and although James dug his fingers into the soil, his feet would not grip on the wet slope. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he resorted to the longer route round the bottom of the hill. It brought him out further down the lane. Heading back to his car, up the rise, he wondered what damage had been done. At least the windscreen was still intact and the headlights were in one piece. He was certain the running board would be twisted, because the Tourer was resting on it.

  Walking around to the far side of the vehicle, he expected to find the thief lying on the gravel, but he had disappeared. The only trace of the offender was a few spots of blood.

  James was angry. He didn’t care about the man’s injuries, but he did want to see him punished for what he had done to Grace.

  ‘Coward!’ he yelled, scanning the bushes. ‘You’ll get what’s coming to you, one of these days!’

  James led the constable upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door.

  Having complained of feeling unwell after the accident, Grace was in bed. Alice had insisted she rest, having grave fears she might lose the baby which was due in a few months’ time.

  Grace fastened her bed jacket. ‘Come in!’

  ‘Can you describe this man?’ the policeman said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Grace said. ‘I couldn’t see his face. His cap was pulled low on his forehead and he was wearing a pair of goggles. All I remember was a drooping moustache, brown and straggly, and the look in his eyes as the car speeded up.’ A shudder ran through her. ‘I think he was laughing.’

  James looked at the constable, but refrained from speaking.

  The policeman closed his notebook. ‘Thank you, Mrs Oldfield. If you think of anything else, please let me know.’

  ‘I will.’

  Collecting his bike from the front fence, the officer wheeled it out to the lane. ‘You said you thought the man was injured.’

  ‘There was blood on his face but he took off that quickly, I don’t think there was much else wrong with him.’

  ‘I hope it’s not that fellow, Wilkinson or Crowther, or whatever he now calls himself. I was hoping we’d seen the last of him.’

  ‘Do you think it could be the same man who robbed us?’ James asked.

  ‘I’m damned sure it is,’ the constable replied, as he wheeled his bike to the lane. ‘Shame the magistrate had to dismiss the case through lack of evidence. This fellow is cunning. Like a fox, he is. Goes to ground for a while, then when he feels safe, up he pops again. But it’s the first time I’ve heard of him trying to pinch a car.’

  ‘Have you had any other reports in the area?’

  ‘Not here. But I heard of a case last week in Otley. A poor woman who lived on her own was robbed and beaten up. Left her in such a state she could hardly talk. All she could tell the local Bobbies was that the man had a moustache. Hardly enough to go on! But I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same fellow.’ He looked James in the eye and spoke quietly. ‘That young wife of yours is lucky to be alive. I suggest you keep a good watch around the place.’

  Tapping his helmet firmly on his head, the policeman swung his leg over the bike’s saddle. ‘I’d give my right arm to get my hands on that man! Deserves to be put away for life in my book.’

  ‘We’ll watch out,’ James said. ‘Thanks.’

  Though Lucy and Cyril’s arrival was expected, the car’s engine had hummed so quietly up the hill no one heard it coming. The vehicle was brand new and expensive, the latest model from the Armstrong Siddeley factory. Even in the greyness of the day, the chrome work gleamed.

  ‘They’re here,’ Grace called excitedly, when she saw them through the window.

  James was first outside to hug his mother and shake hands with her new husband.

  ‘It’s so good to be home again,’ Lucy said.

  How well she looked, James thought. And happy too.

  ‘Nothing has changed,’ she said, standing at the gate and running her eyes over the three adjoining cottages.

  But in James’s mind, a lot had changed in the two years since his mother had left to settle Edwards’s affairs in India. He and Grace had married. Andrew had been born and another baby was due at Christmas. Mr Fothergill now lived with them permanently, as he could only manage to walk a few yards, and only with reluctance allowed himself to be pushed around in the bath chair which James had bought for him. Alice had returned to Honeysuckle Cottages and was settled into her new part-time job at the nursing home. And Rachel was living there too, although neither he nor Grace saw much of her. When Alice was working, Rachel was minded by a lady in the village, and every Saturday the pair travelled to Ilkley to spend the day with Pansy and Miss Pugh. James had seen little of Pansy recently, because her aunt’s mental state had deteriorated considerably and she didn’t like to leave the old lady alone for very long.

  As they chatted around the fire, Grace served tea and Lucy asked about the farm.

  ‘Things are improving,’ James said, glancing at his wife. ‘We went through a bad spell for a while, didn’t we?’

  Grace nodded as Andrew crawled onto her lap, his eyelids drooping.

  ‘We’ve got a labourer and a lad working for us now,’ James said. ‘Local men. Both good workers. It makes such a difference. Money’s a bit tight at times, but we manage.’

  ‘When the baby’s born I’ll be able to do more,’ Grace added. ‘I hate being useless.’

  John Fothergill shuffled in his chair but said nothing.

  ‘Well I must say you look happy, James. Married life must suit you.’

  ‘And you look happy too, Mum.’ James turned to Cyril. ‘You must be good for her!’

  They all responded to Cyril’s broad smile. ‘Good for each other,’ he said, winking.

  While James and Cyril talked about the farm, Mr Fothergill was content to sit and list
en. James was filled with enthusiasm. He was eager to show his mother the changes he had made to the dairy, and the modern milking equipment they had had installed. He wanted to take Cyril out to the far meadow to show him the red Angus bull they had bought to cover the black heifers. ‘No trouble with the Angus breed with the calving,’ he said. And he wanted to show them both over the parcel of land he had just managed to lease to run the small beef herd on.

  ‘We’ll have a bumper season next year,’ James said.

  John Fothergill leaned forward in his chair towards Lucy. ‘He’s got his head screwed on right, that lad of yours. Done far more than I ever did with the place. I could never see further than the end of my nose, but young James here, well, there’s no stopping him.’

  ‘Only problem is finance,’ said James seriously. ‘Can’t do anything without capital. That’s something I want to talk to you about, Mum, but it can wait until later.’ He paused. ‘Now tell us about your travels and about yourself, Cyril. My mother has been keeping us in the dark. I want to hear about this man who swept her off her feet.’

  ‘Me!’ he said. ‘Don’t blame me. If anyone was doing the sweeping, it was this mother of yours.’

  Lucy smacked his hand playfully. ‘You wait till I get you next door!’

  He laughed. ‘See what I mean!’

  The evening sky was changing colour. Across the meadow the hilltops glowed in the dying rays of the sun.

  ‘I want to sell the cottage,’ James announced to his mother. ‘Grace and I have been talking about it for some time. It would be more sensible for us to live at the farm rather than walking there every day. Besides, Grace misses her big kitchen, and there will be plenty of room for Andrew and for the new baby when it arrives. Apart from that, John will be happy to be back in his own place.’

  Lucy thought for a moment before answering. ‘But you could lease your cottage and get a decent rent for it.’

  ‘We considered that idea, but right now it’s capital we need. If we sell, we can put the money back into the farm. It’ll pay big dividends in the long run.’