Catherine of Deepdale

by Millie Vigor

  ‘I saw Marie Lumsden on the boat,’ she said. ‘She was with a man.’

  ‘But not Neil,’ said Rose.

  ‘That’s right. They looked awful close.’

  ‘Not for me to say, but Neil Lumsden deserves better.’

  ‘I thought she was supposed to suffer with her health.’

  ‘It’s a convenience, I think,’ said Rose. ‘I don’t want to offend you, but she’s English and she’s one that doesn’t fit in, if you know what I mean. I think she’d like to go back south, but I don’t think Neil wants to. Still, that’s his problem. Now, when are you and Norrie going to get wed?”

  ‘Soon, but I haven’t told Jannie yet so don’t say a word.’ Catherine looked at the watch on her wrist. ‘Is that the time? I’d better get going.’ She picked up her bags.

  ‘I’m going too,’ said Rose.

  As she pedalled home Catherine thought about her wedding. It would be quiet, no white dress, no bridesmaids and, with her family so far away, few guests. Jannie and Daa would have to be told before the banns were read. She thought again about Norrie’s escapade in Lerwick. She had been afraid the police would come again. But nothing had happened and life had gone on as before. She had always known that Norrie drank, as Kay did and as did she on occasion, even though Shetland was dry and alcohol hard to get. Kay had bought whisky for her, but where Kay got it she didn’t know and had never asked. She smiled, as she always did, when she saw the sign at the top of the hill. She stopped at Mina’s house, looked in, and was pleased to see that Robbie was a little better.

  ‘I’ll leave him with you till I get my jobs done,’ she said.

  Despite the refreshment she’d had in the café she wanted a cup of tea before she did anything else. Always on the side of the stove, the kettle soon boiled. She made tea and buttered a slice of fruit bread; it would keep her going until she could cook a proper meal. Refreshed, she changed into her working clothes and put on her outdoor coat, a wonderful garment full of pockets in which were lengths of string, a torch, a pocket knife and other bits and bobs.

  She would move Noble first. As she went round the house she called, ‘Ked, ked, ked,’ to let him know she was coming. When she turned the corner and looked for him her heart stood still. He wasn’t there. Had someone stolen him? His tether was lying on the ground. It was broken. She had known it was frayed and that she should have done something about it. But he couldn’t be far away; perhaps he was in the outhouse where she had put him when the weather was so bad. She went to look, but he wasn’t there. With pounding heart she ran and hammered on Mina’s door, opened it and burst in.

  ‘Have you seen Noble?’ she cried. ‘He’s broken his tether and I can’t find him.’ Both the aunts shook their heads; they had been busy and hadn’t looked out. At Jannie’s house, where usually she would have knocked and waited, she opened the door and went in. ‘Oh, Jannie, there you are,’ she cried.

  ‘What’s the matter wi’ you?’ said Jannie.

  ‘I can’t find Noble. His tether’s broken. Have you seen him?’

  ‘Ay, I did,’ said Jannie, ‘a while ago. He was headin’ for the hill.’

  Already moving towards the door Catherine said, ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Maybe an hour.’

  ‘An hour! Oh God, he could travel a long way in an hour. I shall have to go and find him.’ Catherine pulled her hat down over her ears and set off at a run. ‘Don’t go up the hill, it’s going to snow,’ shouted Jannie. Standing by her door she shouted again. ‘He’ll come to no harm. Leave him be … come back.’

  But Catherine was already too far away to hear.

  At first she climbed quickly, but realizing that she probably had a long way to go she slowed down. When she reached the moor she stopped and turning slowly round looked to see if he was there. There was no sign of him; he must have gone higher up. Turning to face the hill she shielded her eyes and scanned the hillside. Were those sheep that she could see, or just some white quartz rocks? It was hard to tell, for it was a dull day and outlines tended to blur in the distance.

  Keeping to the sheep trails she went on to begin the ascent of Stoney Hill. The gradient was steep and soon she was breathing hard. Was she going the right way? Daa had told her to study the way of the wind if she was looking for sheep and she would find them on the lee side. Looking ahead she saw an ominous dark cloud piling up behind the hill. And it was freezing. Her hands were cold even though she wore gloves; she stuffed them up the sleeves of her coat.

  She saw him then and called his name. He turned to look at her. A grin of happiness spread across her face, and giving a sigh of relief she climbed again. She had found him. ‘Bad boy, bad boy,’ she scolded as she drew near. He didn’t move. Neither did he come towards her or go away. When she reached him she saw why. The toggle on the part of the tether still attached to him had got caught and stuck in the fissure between two boulders. She remembered the first time she tethered him; protesting at being tied he pulled the rope from her hand and when he ran the toggle had jumped in the air with each bump in the ground. So that was it. It was a good thing the hill had captured him or she might not have found him and he could have died.

  As she pulled the toggle out of its prison the first flakes of snow began to fall. She looked up and saw that the sky had grown dark and daylight was fading. What time was it? She felt for the watch on her wrist. It wasn’t there – she’d taken it off while she washed her hands when she got home. No point looking for a watch: it would be dark soon, never mind the snow. She had to hurry.

  But she couldn’t hurry. Loose stones underfoot had her slipping and sliding, and visions of falling and perhaps breaking a leg or spraining an ankle made her move cautiously. Don’t go up the hill on your own. How many times had that been said to her?

  Snow fell gently, big flakes innocent and beautiful floated out of the sky to drift down and settle. Innocent but ominous, relentlessly they grew in number, faster they fell and faster and, like a placid man driven to anger, the mood changed. Beauty turned ugly and gentle became fierce as a blizzard overtook Catherine and her animal. Wind gusted to punch her in the back and to send snow whirling about her head, the beautiful flakes became hard and icy. They stung her face. Everything became wrapped in a blanket of white and her sense of direction deserted her; she could not see and only knew that she had to go down the hill -but which way? Frightened, dragging Noble behind her, she sobbed as she struggled on. It’s only a storm, she told herself, it’ll soon be over and I’ll be able to see. But would she? Wouldn’t night have fallen? Wouldn’t it be dark? The gravity of her situation was something she dared not think about.

  Don’t go up the hill on your own.

  Once again those words came back to haunt her. In front of her was the moor with its bogs and underground streams and there was no light to show her the safe places to walk. Why hadn’t she listened?

  What she could see of the ground beneath her feet was as white as the air around her; it was slippery and she’d got the wrong shoes on. She hadn’t changed into her boots, hadn’t intended to go mountaineering. As she slipped and slid, her muscles tensed in anticipation of a fall. She held tight to Noble’s tether; now that she had found him she wasn’t going to let him go. And then it happened.

  One foot shot out from under her and then the other. Arms flailing, she tried desperately to regain her balance. Like those of a newborn lamb her legs wouldn’t support her and she was falling, sliding, rolling down the hill. She held fast to her anchor: the ram and his tether and, trying to save herself, she grabbed for anything that would be a handhold: a rock, a tuft of heather. But she was out of the stony area of the hill, on the bare turf lower down … sliding on a steep slope.

  There was nothing she could do to stop her headlong flight, faster and faster she went and then she was in midair … flying. It was a feeling that was quickly shattered when she came to earth with a crash.

  And all went dark.

  THIRTY SEVEN
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br />   ‘NO, NO, YOU know I don’t like those wet kisses.’ Catherine put up her hand to push Norrie’s face away. But it couldn’t be Norrie, for whoever was blowing in her face had bad breath, and he didn’t. She opened her eyes. From out of the gloom a long white face peered at her. An indistinct white mass loomed behind it and it was coming closer. She pressed herself hard against whatever it was she was lying on and opened her mouth to scream. Then she heard that familiar throaty rumble and knew that the apparition was none other than Noble. But she was lying down looking up into his face, which was odd. Then she remembered slithering down the hill, being flung headlong into the air, then crashing down.

  Feeling around her she discovered that she was lying under a bank. It was a scrape made by sheep, eroded by cloven hoofs, a shelter against the scouring winds. Leaving the snow-covered ground and landing here had been what had given her the sensation of flying. She must have hit her head, which had knocked her out, and she wondered how long she had lain there. She was cold and wet.

  Still clutched tightly in her hand was the end of Noble’s tether. ‘I’m not going to let you go again,’ she said. ‘You’ve got to stay with me.’ She sat up; it was time to move. Praying that she hadn’t broken any bones or sprained anything she gingerly stretched her legs and rotated her ankles. She did the same with her arms, then felt her ribs; good; all was in working order, no damage done. She struggled to her feet. There was still a long way to go.

  Then the snow came again. White and blinding it scrambled her senses, stealing any idea she had of direction. And with the snow came utter darkness. She had to go down the hill. It didn’t really matter in which direction. At the bottom there would be houses and anyone would take her in. But below her the moor lay in wait. She needed light. There should be a torch in her pocket. There was, and hoping there was still life in the battery she switched it on. She uttered a prayer of thanks when it worked.

  With Noble plodding behind her she moved on; treading carefully, she walked in the pool of light thrown by the torch. They must be thinking of her at home now and wondering where she was; but no, only Jannie knew where she had gone. Would she tell Norrie? Would he come to look for her? He would, wouldn’t he? She stood still to listen, eager to catch the sound of a voice calling her. The gusting wind buffeted her, screamed and howled around her. Then, in a lull, there it was. Not the wind, but a cry. Was someone calling her?

  ‘Norrie, Norrie,’ she shouted. ‘I’m over here.’

  She cupped an ear with a hand, held her breath to listen for a reply.

  It came again, a thin bleating cry. It was not Norrie, just some silly old sheep. Keyed up with expectation Catherine screamed, ‘NOOOOO.’

  She had to go on, and now that the sheep trails had been covered in snow and obliterated she trod carefully. On she went until the torchlight showed her an area of short-cropped grass that the wind had swept clean of snow. It was a patch where the soil was better and the grass sweeter, which the sheep favoured and ate clean. She swung the torch around, and in front of her she saw a wall: broken down, but a wall. It was not one of the stone built shelters that had been put up as protection for sheep in bad weather; it looked like the wall round a croft yard. And if it was that meant she was close to habitation. She panned the torch round again and there, not a long way off, loomed the outline of a house.

  ‘We’ve made it, boy,’ she cried. Dragging Noble she started to run.

  There was no light in the windows. Had the occupants gone to bed? Surely it was not that late. Keeping close to the walls Catherine walked round the house till she came to the door. One look at it and her heart sank to her boots. It was broken; the half that was left hung on rusty hinges. She didn’t need to open it; there was enough room for her to go through. This must be the deserted house she had once wanted to explore. Balling her hands into fists she hammered on the rotten wood in anger and frustration. From inside came a scrabbling noise, a sound of movement. It could only be sheep. She folded an arm against the wall and leaning on it gave way and cried, sobbed until the futile tears gave way to the necessity of doing something, anything, to survive. She lifted her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. ‘You always wanted to look inside,’ she said. ‘Well, now’s your chance.’

  It had been snowing steadily since she had found Noble, sometimes soft and gentle, sometimes driven by the wind to pile up in drifts. Now it was falling relentlessly, covering everything and growing deeper minute by minute.

  She had two choices now. She could go on down the hill or spend the night in the house. If she went on she risked the batteries in her torch giving out or she might drop and lose it. If either happened she could have an accident and freeze to death. Spending the night in the house was worth looking into.

  She squeezed through the gap beside the door and pointed the torch round the room. The glowing eyes of several sheep blinked at her before, surprised and frightened, they scattered away through a doorway into the other end of the house. Hopefully the roof was sound; if she stayed she would at least be dry. She pondered a moment but knew in her heart there was only one choice to make. It was too dark now; no one would be able to find her if they did come to look and it was better for them to worry about her for one night than to grieve for the rest of their lives. That was, provided she made it through the night.

  Having made her decision she kicked aside the rubble on the floor and went to the corner of the room next to the hearth. The floor there, thick with dry dung, confirmed her belief that the roof was watertight. It was evident that the hill sheep used the shelter constantly. She sat down and pulled Noble close to her. Her shoes and the bottoms of her trousers were wet and her feet were cold. Although she was under cover and away from the snow hypothermia was her biggest danger; somehow she had to keep herself warm. Noble had lain down beside her. She took off her shoes, pushed her feet into his thick coat and revelled in his warmth.

  But there was a long night ahead. Perhaps she could make a fire, there ought to be some dry wood somewhere? To start a fire she needed matches and paper. She searched her pockets. Matches she found, but nothing more in the way of paper than a couple of bills for sheep feed. Would they be enough?

  She put her wet shoes and socks on again and shuddered as warm flesh came into contact with cold wet wool. While there was still life in the batteries she shone the torch on the disintegrating remains of a box-bed that divided the ‘but and ben’ ends of the house. With great delight she began to tear some wood off it. She crumpled the pieces of paper into a ball, put it on the hearth and stacked splinters of wood round it, then she added bigger pieces till they formed a pyramid. Praying that the wood would catch fire, she struck a match.

  The paper burst instantly into flame, reached up to lick and scorch the wood, flared up, then died leaving a small heap of red ash. ‘Oh please burn,’ cried Catherine and threw herself down to lie on the floor. She placed tiny slivers of wood on the ash and began to blow gently until a little yellow flame rose up to lick the wood. She went on blowing softly till the flame grew and crept up to set the wood burning. As she put more small pieces of wood, carefully chosen, against the pyramid, she willed the fire to grow in strength. Gradually she added more until her fire crackled and burned and sent out heat. Sitting back on her heels she spread her hands out in front of it and gloried in the warmth.

  The light from the fire illuminated the room, so she was able to turn off the torch. She sat for a while watching the leaping flames, but before they died she got up, stripped as much wood as she could from the old bed and piled it up in front of the fire. She would need a lot of wood to see her through the night, especially in the ‘graveyard shift’: the early hours when life hangs on a thread and the body is at its lowest ebb, suspended between hope and despair.

  Noble had settled himself down by the wall. She kept the end of the tether which was still attached to him close to her so she could grab it in case he should decide to wander off. There was no noise from the animals that had rushed a
way and Catherine didn’t know whether they were still in the house or had escaped through a broken window. Whatever they had done she had no plans to find out.

  There was nothing else to do now but wait out the night. Sitting on the pile of boards she had gathered together she once again took off her socks and shoes. Her socks she slipped on to the end of a piece of wood and held them as close as she dared to the fire. She had turned her shoes on their sides and set them too as near as possible to the heat. She stretched out her legs to warm her feet.

  As she gazed into the flames she thought of Jannie and Daa. They would probably be having supper, a big bowl of broth. What wouldn’t she give for a steaming bowl of broth right now? It was such a long time ago since she had eaten that piece of bread, and her stomach was empty.

  They would be missing her now. Jannie would have told Daa and Norrie. Robbie would not miss her; he was with the aunts and wouldn’t know she was not at home. She knew they would look after him but hoped Mina would not dose him with any of her old-fashioned remedies. Would Jannie be worried? Perhaps, but if she wasn’t Daa would be. She had grown very fond of Daa; he had taken her under his wing, believed in her and though he hadn’t said so, she knew he did not approve of Jannie’s attitude towards her.

  And Norrie? Yes; Norrie would be worried, dear, kind, clown of a man that he was. She could imagine him pacing up and down and taking one too many drams as he fretted for her, staying out of his bed and looking out to see if she was coming. He would know that it was useless to look for her in the dark, know he would be putting his own life in danger if he did. He would be waiting for first light of day, the chance to move and come and search for her.