by Jenny Holmes
‘To help with refreshments?’ Geoff thought for a while then had a brainwave. ‘I’ve got it. Why not get in touch with the girls from Burnside to see what they can bring?’
‘Of course; the Land Army! Why didn’t I think of that?’ Dorothy felt that her refreshment problems were solved in one fell swoop. ‘I can ask Brenda to contact the warden at the hostel. She’ll be able to bake the scones. She might even have some spare butter and jam that she can send.’
‘Or ask Joyce. She’s more reliable.’
‘But Brenda lives with us. It’ll be easier to ask her.’ For the first time Dorothy noticed that Geoff was wearing his coat. ‘Oh dear, am I stopping you from going out?’
‘Yes, I was hoping to get into town to listen to a lecture.’ A glance at his watch told him that he might still make it. ‘I’ve arranged to meet a friend afterwards.’
‘Oh, and who’s the lucky lady, may I ask?’
Geoff gave a low laugh. Dorothy was nothing if not predictable. ‘Someone I met through veterinary college. No one you know.’
‘A mystery,’ she murmured, her imagination running on along a well-worn track. She pictured a studious girl with glasses, wearing a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, a pleated skirt and flat shoes; the type who ignored fashion and whose head was stuck in books containing diagrams of cows’ insides. ‘Well, if that’s the case, I’d better be off.’
He watched her fold the list and put it in her bag. ‘I’m glad I could help,’ he told her as he led her to the door.
‘Oh yes!’ she enthused. Truth to tell, the décor at New Hall was a bit old fashioned; it could do with new wallpaper and a lick of paint. But a man living alone didn’t notice these things. ‘You’ve been a big help, Geoff. I can’t thank you enough.’
Cliff had moved his car for Brownlee then stood next to Evelyn to watch him pull out of the yard.
‘That’s torn it,’ he’d said viciously.
He’d locked up the house, taken his gun from his cottage and disappeared into the woods without another word. Evelyn had gone back to chopping logs, though she was convinced that it was now a waste of time, given that the old man might never return and the fires in the big house would never again glow with warm life. The sound of her axe falling seemed to signal an end to her present situation and sent her mind splintering off in different directions. Would the house be shut up and left to crumble? Would the estate with its acres of badly managed forest be sold off? What if the Timber Corps sent her to work miles from here? And what of Cliff? He would lose his cottage along with his job.
Eventually she put down her axe and fetched Captain’s saddle and bridle from the tack room. Cliff had been gone for three hours; she felt she should ride out and find him. They needed to talk and work everything out. If the worst were to happen and Samuel Weatherall stayed in hospital until he died, she and Cliff would have to rethink their plans.
She led the horse out of his stable and hoisted the saddle on to his broad back, buckled the girth tightly around his belly then took the bridle and slid the bit into his mouth. Using the stone mounting block to step into the saddle, she noticed details about the house that usually passed her by: signs of neglect such as a broken upstairs window and a fallen chimney pot lying shattered on the stone flags, the moss and weeds that had taken over what had once been a flower garden. Why hadn’t the family stepped in before now? she wondered. Gillian Vernon had seemed a decent, practical type and a nurse to boot. She must have known what a bad state of health her uncle was in.
‘It’s beyond me,’ she said out loud as she rode Captain out of the yard into the wood.
They followed the track leading to the nearest clearing. Evelyn ducked under low branches and glanced up towards a clear sky, trying not to dwell on the uncertainties of her life. Look on the bright side. Change is in the air and it could be a good thing if it gives me and Cliff a fresh start. Captain’s feet fell softly on the snow-covered ground and his tail swished against the undergrowth. The rhythm of his walk and the slow sway of his body from side to side calmed her and allowed shafts of bright hope to enter her mind.
Why must everything depend on Cliff? she thought as Captain walked quietly on. Why not step in and tell him what you want to happen? If I’m sent to work in a different part of Yorkshire or even further afield than that, what’s to stop us from both going to the same place and starting a new life together? The only tie he has here is to Dorothy and his dad but the truth is that Bernard is still fit enough to run Garthside without Cliff’s help. This truly could be the time for us to start afresh.
On she rode, trying to plan ahead, unaware that dusk was falling.
Shock had hit Cliff like a sledgehammer when he saw the old man being carried out of the house. No, this is not meant to happen. There must be medicine that Brownlee can give Weatherall to bring his temperature down, pills to calm him and clear up the cough.
But then he’d spotted the woman in nurse’s uniform helping Evelyn to put the patient into the doctor’s car. How had she got here and why had Brownlee jumped the gun? It didn’t add up.
Then he’d placed the nurse-niece as the mousy girl who’d called on the old man one Sunday in the spring, driving up in the same model of Morris as the one he owned, only newer and smarter. He’d watched from his cottage as she’d knocked on the door and got no answer. After five minutes she’d given up and gone away, then he’d slipped across with a key and picked up a note she’d put through the letter box: ‘Dear Uncle Samuel, I’m sorry I missed you, blah-blah.’ Signed ‘Gillian’, followed by two kisses. Without any qualms he’d torn up the note then burnt it. There was a precarious apple cart that mustn’t be upset and he, Cliff, would do everything he could to make sure that it wasn’t.
But now the return of the niece and them carting the old man off to hospital had ruined everything. Cliff had been forced to stand by in silent fury. Evelyn had watched on tenterhooks as the car drove away.
‘That’s really torn it,’ he’d said before storming off. He needed a few hours to himself, time to think.
So he walked the boundaries of the estate, checking stretches of weakened or broken wall and the winter holding pens for the pheasants, catching long-distance views of the castle through the trees, striding on again to walk off his frustration before he returned.
Evelyn’s ride through Acklam wood had done the trick. Though she’d seen no sign of Cliff, she returned to the castle with a strong hope that they could work their way through the present uncertainties. She’d groomed Captain with brush and curry comb and was giving him a bucket of feed when she looked out into the yard and spotted Cliff smoking a cigarette at the door of his cottage. He was leaning against the doorpost, one ankle crossed over the other, blowing a plume of blue smoke high in the air.
He came over to greet her with a peck on the cheek. ‘Hello, Evie, have you had a nice ride?’ he asked.
‘I went out looking for you.’
‘Did you? Sorry if I put you out.’ With an arm around her waist he walked her into the cottage. ‘It was a shock to see them cart the old man away. I needed to clear my head.’
Evelyn accepted the explanation. ‘The niece was nicer than I expected. She’ll see that he’s properly looked after.’
‘That’s not the point, though.’ Cliff stubbed out his cigarette in the grate then flicked it into the fire. ‘I mean, is it?’
‘No,’ she admitted with a sigh. ‘This leaves us well and truly in the lurch, but I couldn’t have stopped them taking him away even if I’d wanted to.’
‘Did you try?’ He picked at a shred of tobacco left on the tip of his tongue. ‘Did you explain that we were willing to carry on looking after him? No, don’t answer that. I already know you didn’t.’
‘It wouldn’t have made a scrap of difference.’
‘It might of.’
‘Might have!’ she snapped back meanly. ‘Look, Cliff, calling Dr Brownlee was your idea in the first place. I don’t see why you’re trying
to blame me.’
‘Because you don’t seem to grasp what this means.’ He turned his back to kick off his boots then he took off his jacket and threw it on to the table, knocking a packet of cigarettes to the floor.
Evelyn still stood close to the door. She lifted the latch to leave but he rushed across and stopped her by taking hold of her arm.
‘I’m sorry, all right? It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anybody’s.’
‘Let go of me,’ she warned.
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ He backed off with his hands raised in surrender.
‘I’m sorry too.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But you’re wrong, Cliff; I do understand what it means. Colonel Weatherall is gone, probably for good. The house is shut up. We have no idea what the relatives will decide.’
Cliff rubbed his temples wearily as he stepped back towards the fire. ‘So what do we do now?’
‘We wait,’ she answered. ‘I carry on with my forestry work and you look after the pheasants until we hear any different. It’s Christmas in just over a week. I don’t suppose they’ll make any decisions before then.’
‘You’re right,’ he conceded.
‘So that gives us a bit of time. I won’t get in touch with the Timber Corps rep until we find out for certain whether or not the old man is coming back.’
‘What about my wages?’ Cliff’s mind began to clear. ‘Who’s going to pay me?’
‘Good point.’ Evelyn paced around the table. ‘Have you got any money put by that you can live off until that gets sorted out?’
‘No, but I suppose I could ask Dad to tide me over.’
‘In the meantime, what’s to stop you from looking for a new job – a better one than this? Or would it make more sense to wait until I learn what they intend to do with me? Then we can make sure we don’t end up working at opposite ends of the country.’
He stopped to pick up the cigarettes then took one from the pack. ‘There’s something you haven’t taken into account,’ he began hesitantly as he struck a match and lit up. ‘Something that makes a big difference.’
‘What is it?’ She braced herself by resting both hands on the back of the nearest chair.
Breathing smoke deep into his lungs, he tilted his head back and looked at her through hooded eyes. ‘Do I have to remind you why I’m not out there in Egypt or Burma, doing my bit for King and country?’
‘No, of course not. I’ve known all along that it was because they wouldn’t pass you as fit to fight.’ She remembered word for word what he’d said soon after they’d got together: ‘According to the Army doctor, my ticker isn’t quite right. Don’t worry, it’s nothing serious.’
It had taken her aback but he’d played it down and she’d taken him at his word. They’d even joked about it because he said it kept him off the front line and in the Home Guard instead. ‘There’s sod all for Dad’s Army to do around here,’ he’d said with a wink. ‘How many bombs do you see dropping on Acklam Castle? One look from Jerry and he knows it’ll fall down without any help from him.’
Now, though, she was forced to reconsider. ‘Are you saying the heart problem is worse than you let on?’
‘Yes, in a nutshell. The quack did say not to worry; I wasn’t likely to kick the bucket before I reached thirty, but that it was no-go on the conscription front and it would be on my record for all to see – ventricular cardio … something or other.’
Evelyn felt a band of pressure around her chest that made it hard to take a deep breath. ‘Ventricular …?’
‘Cardiomyopathy. They recommended a job that wasn’t too strenuous; clerking or working in a shop. I didn’t fancy either of those. That’s why I came back to Shawcross. Dad helped me get the job of gamekeeper for Weatherall. The old man wasn’t the type to check my medical record, was he? But you see why finding another job won’t be plain sailing. Most bosses ask questions about a bloke of my age who hasn’t been called up.’
‘And you didn’t think to explain it to me properly before now?’ She felt the world shift under her feet; Cliff, who looked the picture of health, with his lithe limbs and broad shoulders, his smooth olive skin, bright hazel eyes and unlined brow, was in real danger, like his sister, of dying of a heart attack as their mother had before them.
‘What for? You’d only have worried about me.’ The second cigarette stub landed in the fire. ‘I don’t want your pity, Evie.’
‘But I love you, in sickness and in health. That’s what we’ll promise if and when we get that far, and that’s how I feel.’ The world tilted and pushed her into a frank declaration. ‘I want to be your wife, Cliff – more than anything in this world.’
He leaned against her and let her encircle him with her strong arms. ‘I know you do.’
His arms were around her waist. He gave her the smouldering Valentino look that she could never resist.
‘And we’ll tell everyone we’re engaged,’ she declared as their lips came together and she closed her eyes. ‘There’s nothing to stop us now.’
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
After milking duties, Joyce’s task for Friday morning was ditch digging in the low lambing field. Given the choice, she preferred mending walls because the job required a certain amount of skill and there was more satisfaction at the end of it. Still, she was content enough, cutting back brambles and bracken before digging through a crust of frozen snow into a deep layer of oozing mud, heaving it to waist height then dumping it on the banks to either side.
Every now and then she would rest on her spade to gather her breath and look up to see rooks and pigeons fly overhead. The black rooks soared highest against grey banks of clouds. Then they would dip and wheel on air currents that carried them towards the farmhouse where they landed on chimney pots and calmly surveyed their domain: the dark, furrowed clods of sloping fields below acres of brown heather patched with white snowdrifts and limestone outcrops stretching as far as the eye could see.
Joyce was contemplating the jagged outline of Black Crag when Laurence appeared in the lane connecting Mary’s Fall to the farmhouse. His two clever dogs needed few commands as they worked a dozen sheep towards the field where she worked and, observing where they were headed, she climbed out of the ditch and ran to open the gate before blocking the lane so that they were forced to turn sharply into the field, jostling and shoving as Patch and Flint snapped at their heels.
Laurence closed the gate behind his ewes; a job well done. ‘Time for a tea break,’ he decided.
So she walked with him and the dogs, discussing the weather – no snow was forecast for today but possibly tomorrow – and the latest war news – the Americans were still bombarding mainland Italy, and the British navy fought to keep open supply routes into the Med.
‘What about you?’ he asked her as they crossed the farmyard. ‘Am I right in supposing you have someone out there, doing his bit?’
It was the first time he’d shown an interest in Joyce’s personal life. ‘I do,’ she replied briefly. ‘His name is Edgar Kershaw. We’re engaged.’
Laurence entered the porch. ‘He’s a Navy man?’
‘No; RAF.’
‘Good chap.’ He directed a quick, questioning glance at her. ‘Come on in,’ he told her. ‘We’ll ask Alma to make us a nice, strong cup of tea.’
A smell of baking filled the kitchen. Rows of scones were set to cool on a wire rack and a dirty bowl, jug and spoons sat on the draining board by the sink.
‘The tap needs a new washer,’ Alma told Laurence matter-of-factly. Hearing him and Joyce talking in the porch as they took off their boots, she had already put the kettle on to boil and set out cups and saucers in her methodical, neat way.
‘I’ll see to it later.’ He pulled out a chair for Joyce to sit down.
‘And one of the stair rods has worked loose. I noticed it when I came down first thing this morning.’
Laurence promised to add the job to his list.
Alma filled the teapot and brought it to the table. ‘Oh, and
don’t be surprised if Aunty Muriel decides to pay us another visit.’
This went down less well. Laurence rocked back in his chair and shook his head vigorously. ‘Not if I have any say in the matter! I don’t want that woman anywhere near this house.’
Alma brought a small jug of milk to the table. ‘I didn’t say she would definitely come again, but I have a feeling she might.’
‘What makes you say that?’ His expression was sulky as he took his first sip of tea.
‘I think she wants to make amends. That’s not such a bad thing, is it?’ Alma looked to Joyce for support.
‘I really couldn’t say.’ Joyce sat determinedly on the fence.
‘Well, I can’t stomach her.’ Gulping down the rest of his tea, Laurence made it clear that he wouldn’t discuss the matter further. He was up on his feet and heading for the door when he seemed to have second thoughts. ‘I don’t want Muriel Woodthorpe here at Black Crag,’ he insisted. ‘But there’s nothing to stop you from visiting her on Kitchener Street if you want.’
Alma’s face didn’t show any reaction as she picked up his used cup and saucer. ‘And how am I to get there, pray?’
‘On the bus.’
‘It only comes twice a week.’ The peevish excuse only drew attention to Alma’s real reason for wanting to avoid public transport. People would stare. They might not comment out loud but she would recognize that covert look of surprise followed by inevitable distaste. She would know exactly what they were thinking. So she pursed her lips and turned her back on Joyce and Laurence. If this was his last word on the matter, then so be it.
But he came up with another suggestion. ‘Or you could learn to drive,’ he said from the porch as he slid his feet into his boots.
Alma let out a gasp of astonishment. ‘How?’
‘I could teach you,’ he replied.
‘When?’
‘We could start on Sunday in the Land-Rover. Learning to use the clutch is the tricky part, but you’ll soon get the hang of it.’