by Jenny Holmes
The atmosphere was quiet and relaxed, the work almost finished when Joyce broached the topic that had been on her mind. ‘How do you think Mr Bradley would feel if I said I’d like to move on?’
‘From Black Crag?’ Alma used her broom to swoosh water towards the shallow channel running down the centre of the shed. Her hair fell across her face so she paused to pin it behind her ear.
‘Yes. I wouldn’t leave until after we’ve finished lambing; maybe in March or April. And don’t get me wrong; it’s not because I’m unhappy here – quite the opposite. But I enjoy the work I’ve started with Evelyn; it would be a fresh challenge for me.’
Alma sighed and leaned on her broom. ‘Where would you move to?’
‘To Rixley to begin with, to train in forestry methods. I’d have to put in an application first.’
‘Laurence wouldn’t stand in your way,’ Alma decided on his behalf. ‘We’d both miss you, though.’
‘It won’t be for a while,’ Joyce said again. ‘And you never know, the Timber Corps might turn me down.’
‘They won’t.’
‘They might!’
‘No; they’ll take one look at you and they’ll snap your hand off.’
Joyce smiled. ‘So what do you think – will you and Mr Bradley manage?’
Nothing had been said but Alma was certain that Joyce had picked up on the recent big changes at the farm. She’d seen with her own eyes the thaw that had set in between husband and wife soon after Muriel’s unwanted visits: the soft, exchanged glances, an occasional touch. She might even have guessed that Alma had moved her things into Laurence’s room.
‘Yes, if you promise to teach me everything you know about sheep farming before you go,’ she replied.
Joyce raised her eyebrows then smiled again. ‘I’ll do my best.’
‘Good. Then leave it with me. I’ll mention your idea to Laurence as soon as I get the chance.’ Alma picked up the hose and directed more water across the concrete floor.
Joyce took up the broom and swept. The sun had risen. She saw slashes of light fall across the yard, cutting through the dark, cold shadows. I’ll miss this place, she thought. But by spring I’ll be ready to move on.
Working all day alone in the wood, Evelyn was cocooned in silence. She was removed from the world, spinning out her thoughts from branch to branch, trying to weave a clear future for herself, not resting until dusk when she gathered her tools and walked slowly back to the castle, still lost in thought, still undecided.
The crumbling ruins stood as they always had; a reminder of past battles. The Weatheralls’ locked house would soon be lost to dust and decay.
I won’t stay, she said to herself with sudden certainty as she entered the yard. I’ll move away from this place as soon as I can.
First she must put things in order. Tomorrow she would telephone Dr Brownlee and ask for Gillian Vernon’s number. She would discuss with the family what they wanted to do about Captain and suggest that she, Evelyn, should find him a good home on a neighbouring farm. She would tell Gillian that she would stay on until the New Year at the latest.
‘Do you hear that?’ she said to the old horse as he poked his head over his stable door. ‘We’re moving on, you and I.’
He whinnied softly and nudged her shoulder, his breath warm on her cheek. When she turned away, she came face to face with Cliff.
‘Hello, Evie.’ He spoke as if it was natural for him to be there, pretending not to notice that she had almost jumped out of her skin. ‘It’s getting dark. What kept you?’
She made an effort to steady herself and act normally. ‘Nothing kept me. I’ve been working. And now, if you don’t mind, I have to feed Captain.’
He stepped aside without being asked. ‘I dropped by for my dirty washing.’
Evelyn made no comment as she went next door for hay. A sixth sense told her not to challenge Cliff, to let him collect his laundry and be on his way. Still, she felt her hands tremble as she filled Captain’s net.
‘Here, let me.’ Watching every movement, Cliff moved in to hold the net while she stuffed it with hay.
The hairs on her neck prickled. She told herself not to speak or to look at him. Before the net was full, she tugged it free then carried it into the stable.
Cliff followed. He swung the bottom section of the door closed, trapping her inside, then leaned in. ‘So what are your thoughts, Evie?’
‘That I’m ready for a change.’ Hold steady, don’t meet his eye. Avoid that fatal contact. Her feet rustled through the straw bed as she picked up Captain’s water bucket. ‘I’m going to ask the Timber Corps to move me on as soon as possible.’
His set expression gave nothing away. ‘And what about us?’
We – us! Still singing the old tune. But Evelyn knew she must hide her feelings, not show how angry she felt. ‘Let’s wait and see, shall we?’
‘Till when?’ Half-opening the door to let her out with the empty bucket, he made it impossible for her to pass without brushing against him.
A shiver ran through her. ‘Until I’m settled in a new billet and you’ve heard from the colonel’s relatives. Who knows; they might want you to stay on and manage the estate until everything’s decided. That could take a while.’
‘That doesn’t answer my question.’ He wrested the bucket from her and set it down. ‘I mean: what about you and me? Is there any hope?’
‘I told you: I need time.’
‘Time for what?’
His questions pinned her down. Without looking at him she felt his gaze cut into her. ‘Time to think, Cliff. I haven’t got over the shock of Saturday. I have no idea how I’ll feel when I do.’
‘So you’re leaving me up in the air?’ He lowered his voice to a murmur, folding his arms across his chest and staring at the ground.
Darkness thickened around them. Night-time sounds of the forest reached them – an owl hooted, branches sighed and creaked.
‘How many times do I have to say it, Evie? I love you from the bottom of my heart.’
She drew a sharp breath then looked at him at last. His face was in shadow but she could make out his eyes. She spoke falteringly. ‘Do you? Oh, Cliff – I did so want to believe you.’
‘It’s true. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
‘Perhaps,’ she whispered.
Slowly he reached out and stroked his thumb against her cheek. ‘You see. That’s all that matters – not the rubbish about Gladys. I love you, Evelyn Newbold, and no one else.’
She felt him move in. His arm was around her waist, the other hand cradled the back of her head. His features blurred as his lips touched hers.
‘No!’ Evelyn pulled away. She twisted out of his grasp and walked quickly across the yard. ‘This isn’t right, Cliff. I can’t breathe – it’s not right.’
He ran after her and caught up with her outside the door to his cottage. Seizing her by the shoulders, he pushed her off balance then thrust her inside. She staggered sideways against the table, knocking over a paraffin lamp and sending it crashing to the floor. The glass cover smashed and the light went out, leaving a sharp smell that caught in the back of Evelyn’s throat.
‘I’m sorry!’ He picked up the remains of the lamp then made as if to help her. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t want you to walk away; I wanted to carry on talking, that’s all.’
‘Stay away from me!’ Broken glass crunched under her feet as she backed towards the fireplace. Her heels came into contact with the iron fender.
‘Evie, calm down.’ He stayed by the table to give her time to catch her breath. ‘I’m sorry – all right?’
The smell of leaking paraffin made her stomach churn. Behind her a fire burned low in the grate. Cliff had been here a long time; this was no spur-of-the-moment thing. ‘You said you’d just called by to collect your clothes.’
‘True,’ he said cautiously.
‘So why light a fire?’
‘Why not?’ He circled the table with his hands
in his pockets then pushed at the fender with his toecap. There was a scrape of metal against stone. ‘I’m allowed to keep warm, aren’t I?’
Her anger flared into the open. ‘You had no intention of going away again. You were sure that you’d talk me round then stay the night and take me to bed. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘So what’s wrong with that?’ He’d said that he loved her – why wouldn’t she listen? ‘This is daft. You’re being daft.’
Without warning he darted forward and backed her against the wall, using his weight to trap her in a corner, pressing his body against her and trying to kiss her. She fought back, attempting to kick him and bring her hands up against his chest to push him off. But he was stronger. He jammed her against the wall then took hold of her shirt collar, tugged it then tore the shirt open to the waist. She struggled, pummelling him with her fists, hair falling across her face, the flesh of her shoulder and breast exposed.
It had all gone wrong, fallen apart in a moment, and they were fighting instead of kissing – Cliff had no idea why. He would pin her down and let her struggle until she ran out of energy then he would talk sense into her.
Evelyn made out his face in the firelight: his mouth set hard, his eyes cruel as he put a hand across her mouth to stop her yelling out. She bit his finger. He swore then slid the hand over her chin, down her soft neck and on to her breast.
If that’s the way she wants it … He pressed against her with his whole body. He was much too strong. But she could cry out and keep on kicking. She dislodged the shotgun that he kept propped by the side of the fireplace and heard it fall on to the flags.
Her skin was pale and warm. ‘Hush!’ He slammed her against the wall again.
She would not give in. He grasped her shirt and attempted to tear it from her, lifting her off her feet and swinging her round towards the table. He threw her down on her back. She gasped and tried to push him off.
‘What’s wrong with you? Why are you being like this?’
As he climbed on top of her, she drew her knees up then kicked his chest with such force that he let out a gasp and fell backwards. As he bent forward to drag air into his lungs, she rolled off the side of the table then ran for the door.
‘Come back, damn you!’
His rough voice followed her into the darkness as she fled.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Brenda borrowed Donald’s car to drive to Rixley railway station. Les had missed his connection in Carlisle and had telephoned to say that he would need to be picked up at half past six – a full four hours later than expected.
‘I’ll go,’ she’d offered as soon as Arnold had put down the phone. ‘Please!’ she’d added.
There’d been no argument; Donald had handed over the keys to his Rover and she’d set off from Dale End, through Attercliffe then on to the main road connecting the village with the smart spa town that lay twenty miles away at the edge of the Dales. It was already dark and she drove with regulation dimmed headlights and without the help of signposts that had all been removed as a wartime measure so as not to aid foreign spies. Sometimes she had to stop at junctions and guess the way, losing valuable minutes when she took what turned out to be an obvious wrong turning and had to ask at a farmhouse for directions. She made up for it once she was back on the right road, putting her foot down and building up to a speed of forty miles per hour along the final stretch.
It was almost half past when she reached Rixley and drove along empty streets between shuttered shops, past elaborate churches, rows of terraced houses, a school, a large library then a cinema until she reached the Town Hall overlooking a central square with a statue of Queen Victoria, orb of state in hand, surveying her empire. The grandiose council building was flanked on one side by an art gallery and on the other by the train station.
Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the handbrake before leaping out of the car and running under the wide, arched entrance into the wrought-iron and glass cathedral.
A train pulled away from its platform in a cloud of steam. Passengers muffled in overcoats and scarves hurried towards her and pushed through the squeaking turnstile as she leaned over the barrier, looking for Les. The minute hand of the giant clock jerked forward. Where was he? Had she missed him? The platform emptied, the steam cleared.
‘Here I am,’ he said. He stepped out from under the clock, the collar of his coat turned up.
For a few seconds Brenda didn’t move. She wanted to drink in every detail: the white shirt and dark tie; the double-breasted, belted overcoat; the white Royal Navy cap set forward at an angle; but most of all his dear face with eyes that were somewhere between grey and blue – grey in this light – his fair colouring, the faint beginnings of frown lines between his eyebrows.
Les saw her start then hold her breath as she turned towards him. He’d never be able to tell her how much he’d missed her, how she filled his every waking moment. She inhabited all of his dreams; small, dark and quick, her brown eyes alight with love. Better to hold her tight rather than to try to speak. He reached out and drew her to him.
Brenda sank into the oasis of his embrace.
Evelyn fled from Cliff’s cottage towards the wood. Her only thought was to get away, to hide in the darkness and pray for him to give up and go away.
But he didn’t; she heard footsteps behind her, trampling the undergrowth and snapping twigs, the sound of him swearing and breathing hard, calling out for her to stop.
These were her trees, this was her territory. She was swift footed and sure. He was clumsy. He tripped over roots, crashed down to the ground, picked himself up and followed. He won’t catch me! she promised herself as she ducked under branches and wove between the trunks of tall birches and elms without making a sound. She reached a clearing then paused to listen.
Cliff would not admit defeat. Evelyn might know these woods better than him but she couldn’t make herself disappear – she must be hiding in here somewhere. ‘Evie!’ he yelled. Damn her. Damn all women. Darkness and silence. Damn her!
As she listened, the sound of her own breathing roared in her ears. Her throat was dry and she had to drag air into her lungs – in then out, in again with a loud rasping sound. There was no cover in the clearing – he would be able to track her down and attack again. This time she might not have the strength to fight him off.
‘Evie!’
His voice was louder, nearer. She had to run again, this time from the clearing into a section of the wood that hadn’t been coppiced. The way ahead was thick with saplings, brambles and ferns. Fallen trees blocked her way.
He followed the sounds of her stumbling through undergrowth. She would have to slow down and eventually she would come to a dead end: up against an impassable boulder or trees growing too densely for her to push her way through. All he had to do was bide his time. ‘I’m sorry,’ he called after her. ‘Do you hear me, Evie? I overstepped the mark. I won’t do it again. I’m sorry!’
Brenda and Les drove through the quiet night under a clear sky. The moon cast a silvery light over hills and streams.
‘How’s Dad?’ he asked as they approached Dale End; house and barns nestled against the steep, shadowed fell side, close to a stream that wound across the flat valley bottom.
‘He’s holding up.’ She braked to turn into the drive. ‘He doesn’t say much but you can see in his face what he’s going through.’
‘Typical Dad.’ Upright, stern, often impatient. ‘He never tells you what he’s thinking.’
‘He’s taken in Judith’s brother – you remember, I wrote to you about the little boy, Alan?’
The news surprised Les. It seemed out of character, but then again perhaps it was his father’s attempt to bring more life into the house – to fill a gap that couldn’t be filled. He looked ahead at the dark house, listening to the sound of tyres rolling over gravel, dreading tomorrow.
‘Come on.’ Brenda got out first and opened Les’s door. She held out her hand.
It was prim, eager-to-please Judith who opened the door at the sound of their car. Alan hung back at the bottom of the stairs, not daring to let his sister out of his sight.
‘Where’s Mr White?’ Brenda asked her.
‘In the sitting room.’ Judith took their coats then stepped to one side.
Seeming not to notice the children, Les walked ahead as Brenda hung back.
‘Thanks, Judith.’ She wanted to say a few more words of encouragement but now Les hesitated uncertainly at the sitting-room door.
Donald came down the stairs and the brothers shook hands. ‘Is my car still in one piece?’ he asked Brenda with a touch of his usual flippancy. ‘It’d better be – I just had the front wing fixed after a run-in with a sheep.’
‘Ouch!’ She said she was sure that the sheep had come off worst.
Donald turned back to Les. ‘How was the journey?’
‘Not too bad until we were nearly at Carlisle, then we had a spot of bother with the engine. That’s what held us up.’
Death had transformed everything at Dale End yet no one mentioned it. Was this how everyone got through such times? Steeling herself to take a lead from them, Brenda followed Les and Donald into the room where Arnold waited.
‘My boy,’ he said simply, his voice choked with emotion when he saw Les in his uniform.
‘Dad.’
Arnold had fought in the First War; he’d known mud and blood, gas and the deadly rattle of machine-gun fire. But this was the hardest battle of all. ‘It’s good to see you, son.’
Les shook hands with his father.
Late that night, when Les came to Brenda’s room, he lay with her and wept.
The memory of Cliff’s cruel face as he’d pushed her down on to the table drove Evelyn on. Hearing him say sorry a thousand times wouldn’t erase the fear and disgust she’d felt. Still he pursued her, calling her name, gaining on her again.
She ran clear of the wood and now Cliff had her in his sights – she was running like a rabbit, blind with panic. But there was no rabbit hole for Evie to vanish down and the moon shone brightly so that her outline was easy to make out against the rocky hillside. He paused for a moment to observe the dark silhouette of Black Crag on the horizon. Beneath it there was a glimmer of yellow light.