by Ann Cliff
One evening Robin and Emma went out to make some tea, and Simon was left with Sally. The young man sighed and stretched. ‘How I wish I were healthy like the rest of you! I feel so tired all the time.’
‘But perhaps you’ll improve with country air.’ Sally took her usual optimistic view.
‘I feel I am improving a little with your company, Sally. You’re such a happy person, with no cares! Nothing ever seems to worry you!’
Simon gazed at her and Sally wondered if he had drunk rather too much sherry before dinner. The doctor had prescribed a little sherry and Simon was very careful to follow medical advice. It was embarrassing to be gazed at and Sally jumped up. ‘Early to bed for you, Mr Drury! Nurse’s orders!’ And she went into the kitchen. At least, she thought as she carried the tea tray in, my ‘cares’ are well hidden. Nobody in her world knew about Marcus; although Emma and George had seen him on the evening when he’d taken her home, they didn’t know he was other than a kind stranger.
One day Sally took Simon with her in the trap for a short trip to some of the lower villages, delivering eggs to the shops. He seemed to enjoy the change of scene, well wrapped up against the cold. They both admired the patterns of bare twigs against the winter sky and the long, slanting shadows of a winter afternoon. ‘I would like to sketch the old church,’ he said as they passed the Kirkby church with its Norman door. ‘One day, when the weather is warmer!’ Simon was a pleasant companion and most appreciative of the countryside that Sally loved.
‘Have you lived here all your life?’ he asked, as they turned for home.
‘Masons have farmed Badger’s Gill for a very long time. How many generations are there in two centuries?’ Sally laughed as she urged Jed to go a little faster. ‘Yes, it’s my home and I can’t imagine living anywhere else. But….’ Better not tell him about her problems with the tenancy.
Simon looked at her with a smile. ‘You must feel very secure, living and working on your family’s farm. Women are beginning to take part in more professions these days, and why not? You’ll be a pioneer, a modern woman farmer!’
Honesty compelled Sally then to tell the truth. ‘But it’s not my farm, unfortunately. I’m a tenant because the farm had to be sold.’
The young man looked at her keenly. ‘And so I suppose you’ll be planning to buy it back again as soon as you can.’
This lad seemed to have an interest in business. What a pity he couldn’t work with his father in the woollen mill. ‘As soon as I can. Now Simon, you can see Ripon Cathedral from here, if you look carefully!’ Sally had never intended to discuss her business affairs with paying guests. But just as in the case of Emma, the guest had gradually turned into a human being with a personality that could not be ignored. Perhaps Emma was right and Simon should have been left to languish as a figurehead: Mr Drury, in the dining-room, The Paying Guest, neatly compartmentalized. But it was too late now; he had become part of the family.
‘Thank you, Sally, I so enjoyed the ride and your company.’ Simon stood aside to let Sally go into the house first. ‘Please may I be invited again?’
That was the trouble. Once you allowed the professional relationship to turn into something else there was no going back. Sally liked Simon, but she was slightly uncomfortable at times. He seemed to take rather too close an interest in her. But then he asked questions of everyone and listened carefully to the answers. He was in a new environment, contrasting completely with his industrial home and he was trying to understand it. I must be imagining things, Sally told herself. I’d better make some butter and get down to Ripon for a change of scene.
There was less milk in winter since the cows tended to calve in spring, but Sally was sometimes able to make enough butter to make the trip to market worthwhile. She decided to take Emma with her on these winter trips. It was part of her secret plan to help the poor lass to mix in company again.
It was a fortunate coincidence that Mr Marcus Radford had urgent business in Ripon nearly every Thursday that winter. He wondered himself sometimes how it was managed but there he was, striding through the market every week and scanning the crowds for any sign of copper-coloured hair. And he was rewarded on those occasions when the butter had to be sold.
Sally found that she was more cheerful as the winter went on. The whole world was brighter, because she sometimes saw Marcus and she knew that he was making an effort to see her.
‘Your butter sells faster than any!’ Emma remarked brightly one cold day. And it was true; the old customers had come back and Sally’s butter was appreciated by the Ripon housewives for tasting as it should and lasting a long time. A quick sale meant that the girls had just a little time to spare to look round the town, before they plodded back to Thorpe and the evening chores. And when Marcus joined them he was very happy to show Emma the historical side of the little city, with its ancient cathedral.
‘It’s important to see you,’ he said quietly to Sally, one day when Emma went on ahead. In spite of the feud, the attraction was still there and they both felt it. Sally agreed. She thought about Marcus more often than she should perhaps, but time with him was precious, even time in public and walking in the town.
‘Let’s go down Kirkgate, Emma would like that!’ Sally said one day. They only had a short time; they had to get Jed and the trap back to Thorpe before dark. So they strode out briskly, talking as they went, admiring the ancient buildings.
Afterwards Sally would think of those times in Ripon as the happiest of the winter, as she and Marcus talked easily about history and gardens, and anything that came into their heads. Because Emma was there it was not possible to discuss the problems of the Radford-Mason quarrel, or even their own feelings. But this liberated them, Sally thought. They came to appreciate each other on an everyday level and put the future to the back of their minds.
‘I sometimes think,’ said Sally dreamily, as they walked back to the trap in the fading light, ‘that living in the present is best!’
And Marcus, smiling at her, agreed. ‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else.’
And then Sally said for Emma’s benefit, ‘Those folks who lived in the little medieval town must have had a hard time, I always think.’
‘But they didn’t know anything else.’ Emma was practical, as always. ‘So they probably didn’t find it was hard.’
Thick snow fell in February and Thorpe was cut off for a while from the outside world. Trips to Ripon stopped; even the carrier stayed at home. The snow muffled the usual village sounds, wrapping the cottages in silence, even muting the Sunday church bell.
There was always plenty of food in the larders to last through the winter and the villagers were used to being self-sufficient. But normal work was impossible, so the young lads turned to digging tracks along the street, down to the pond. Thorpe pond was frozen hard and it was time for skating.
‘Can you skate, Emma?’ Sally asked her helper. ‘We’ve an old pair of my skates that might fit you.’
Emma said she’d never tried and looked rather doubtful.
Most of the village went to the pond that night. The blacksmith gave candles which were arranged round the pond in jars, giving a pretty effect. Young people skated, laughed and teased each other while the older folks looked on. Someone played a mouth organ and Martha cooked hot chestnuts over a fire. It was a sort of impromptu village festival, all the better because Thorpe was isolated by the snowdrifts. Only Thorpe people were there and that was a good thing, Sally told Emma. ‘Kirkby hasn’t got a pond and Kirkby folk would be here for the skating if they could, getting in the way!’
Being cut off was a sort of relief for Sally. She knew that there was no hope of seeing Marcus until the roads were clear; she could settle down and stop being restless. There was still no word about the tenancy but with her usual optimism, she decided that no news was good news.
‘You can watch from the window, it’s too cold outside. It’s quite a pretty scene!’ Sally told Simon, as she made up the fire in his room before
she went down herself to skate on the pond.
‘You look charming tonight, Sally. How I love the colour of your hair!’ Simon was gazing at her again, speaking softly in his educated voice with only a hint of the West Riding accent that was so different from the Thorpe dialect.
‘Goodness me, you artists do make personal comments! Have you plenty to read?’ Sally asked him in a matter-of-fact way, blushing slightly. ‘We’ll be back in time for supper.’
Sally and Emma made their way over the green and Robin spotted them from the far side of the pond. ‘Come on, Sal, we always skate together!’ Robin grabbed her and off they went, holding hands as they circled the ice, going faster and faster as they gained momentum. They were laughing, Sally was breathless and just for a minute or two she felt happy, caught up in the moment.
Emma watched from the bank but was afraid to go on the ice. ‘Next time I’ll try it,’ she promised.
Robin and Sally glided towards her and one on each side supported Emma on to the ice. ‘Come on Emma, trust us!’ Sally wanted the girl to enjoy skating as much as she did. She managed a few yards with their support, but then Emma fell down and Robin picked her up and took her to the bank. ‘That’s enough, you’ll be bruised, poor lass. I’ll take you home.’
‘No, please go round again with Sally. You skate so well together! I’ll have a chestnut with Martha.’ Emma went off and Robin took Sally’s arm again. This time the pair went over to where there were fewer skaters and tried some more complicated figures on the ice.
‘We’re pretty good, considering we’ve had no practice since last winter!’ Robin said as he caught Sally round the waist and took off again, looping and swerving, dodging in and out of the beginners.
‘You’re showing off!’ laughed Sally.
All too soon, it was time to take off their skates. Laughing and talking they crossed the green to Badger’s Gill. Emma put the kettle on the range for supper and Robin sliced a big teacake his mother had made. Sally ran lightly upstairs to see what Simon would like to eat and knocked on his door. There was no reply.
‘Simon!’ Sally called. Perhaps he was asleep? But the room was silent. Heart thumping, Sally walked into the room. Simon was slumped in the chair by the open window, cold and unconscious. His lips were blue. Terrified, Sally flew downstairs to tell the others, and they raced upstairs with her.
‘I’ll go for the doctor!’ Robin’s reaction was immediate. ‘Cover him with a blanket, he feels cold.’
It was a long wait until the doctor arrived. Sally sat in a chair beside Simon, watching his shallow breathing and wondering if there was anything else she could do for him. After about half an hour Emma brought Sally a cup of tea and as she drank it, she saw a movement of Simon’s head. Gradually he opened his eyes and looked at her. ‘That was a bad one.’
He must have had attacks like this before, Sally thought. Perhaps we shouldn’t leave him alone for too long. She felt guilty now, for having fun on the ice. ‘Oh Simon, I wish I could help you! What caused this, do you think?’
‘You don’t really want to know.’ The grey eyes closed again. ‘Do you?’
‘Yes, I do. So we know how we can look after you better.’ Sally turned towards him.
Simon sighed, reached out and took her hand. ‘You caused it. Skating with Robin down there, happy, carefree … and me up here peering out at you like an old man.’ He shook his head. ‘I was jealous, Sally, and got upset, and I’m not allowed to get upset.’
‘Poor lad!’ Sally’s eyes filled with tears of sympathy.
‘I might as well tell you what the problem is. I’m head over heels in love with you, Sally, my dearest. So now you know.’ Simon lay back, exhausted.
The door opened suddenly and the doctor bustled in. Sally was thankful for the diversion and went downstairs, her thoughts whirling. Was Simon really in love with her or was it just a case of his condition? This complicated the situation considerably. She didn’t want to lose a valuable paying guest who was also a pleasant enough companion. But Simon might not wish to stay.
‘Sally, we might not be able to keep him if he’s really ill.’ Emma was evidently worried about the threat to their livelihood as well as being concerned for Simon.
What if he were really in love with her? If she rejected him it might make his health worse. But in all honesty, Sally couldn’t pretend to a love that she didn’t feel. She knew now just how love felt, knew that this gentle regard she had for Simon was nowhere near the real thing.
The doctor came down and was given water to wash his hands. He looked grave. ‘Absolute rest for a week in bed I’m afraid,’ he pronounced. He was a locum, deputizing for their usual Dr Bishop. ‘I have given him a dose of opium to make him sleep – he seems agitated. And now,’ he lowered his voice and drew Sally aside, ‘I have advised the young man to make a will, I said I would ask you to make the necessary arrangements. He may live for another fifty years of course. But I have my doubts.’
TWELVE
‘Well, if it isn’t young Mr Radford! Come your ways in, sir! What will you have to drink?’ Sol Bartram’s fat face creased into a smile as he waddled forward eagerly.
Marcus Radford had meant to go back to Thorpe before now, but work and the snow had prevented the journey. Thorpe had been on his mind for weeks … and now it was nearly spring. Stooping to go through the inn door, he took off his gloves and went to the fire. He’d better have lunch before doing business.
‘I’m here instead of my father. He has a few concerns about the Thorpe farms and wants to know your views. It will soon be Lady Day.’ He glanced out of the window at the cold March sunshine. ‘But he can’t spare the time to come over here himself.’ This was more or less true; Marcus had offered to go to Thorpe on behalf of Oliver the last time they had met. To his surprise his father had been pleased to let Marcus visit that part of their estates. He’d refused in fact to go to Badger’s Gill to see for himself the state of the farm.
‘I really don’t want to meet the woman!’ Oliver had seemed quite agitated. ‘And as I said before, I would rather you kept away from Masons too. But I’ll leave it to your judgement as to what to do about the tenancy. I probably shouldn’t, but you’re old enough now to take some of the responsibility. You know my views.’
Marcus was actually wondering what the old boy’s thinking was. Did he secretly want Sally to stay on the farm, or did he want her to leave? It was odd that he’d left the decision to Marcus.
Sitting in the bar with a mug of the Crown’s home brewed beer, Marcus reflected that Sol Bartram was not the man he would have chosen as their agent in Thorpe if he’d had the responsibility years ago, when Sol had wormed his way into the job. In the weeks since he had rescued Sally from the snowdrift on the moor, Marcus had thought carefully about the situation. It was, he told himself, weak of him to give up too easily. His memories of the girl had a sort of radiance and they all increased his admiration for her approach to life, reinforced by the meetings in Ripon. Sally hadn’t complained after the accident, where other women would have had hysterics. She’d been bruised and trapped for some time, but she made light of her injuries. She worked hard, she sold butter to make the farm pay and the customers loved her. The young lady was obviously running the farm very well and Marcus had told his father so. The brief twilight tour of the farmyard had been enough for his experienced eye to see that Sally and her ‘staff’ knew what they were doing.
And then their kiss in the stable had told him that she responded to his warmth until she remembered that he was a Radford. It always came back, in the end, to the problem of the feud. Marcus sighed and attacked his pork pie. Could that problem ever be solved?
Sol came back to clear his plate away and Marcus asked him to sit down. ‘How are things in this part of the world?’ He started with an open question to see what would come up.
The agent lit his pipe, sending clouds of acrid smoke to the stained ceiling. ‘Well, Mr Marcus, the Camp Hill tenant’s a good lad. Seems t
o be framing well. But he wants to see you, needs a shed repaired. And old Brownlee over at Biggin, he’s talking about retiring.’
Marcus leaned back on the settle and waited.
‘But I have to say that Badger’s Gill’s run down. Getting worse every day. A young lass can’t run a farm of course, we all know that. I told yer father, she’ll have to go.’
‘What’s wrong at Badger’s Gill?’ Marcus was non-committal.
‘Why, everything! Sheep’s out in village, walls down, weeds everywhere. Cattle starving, so she’ll surely not manage to pay rent. It’s a bad job.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Best thing for her and you is to clear her out.’
Marcus looked at the fire, thinking. Should he call Sol a liar or go along with the fiction? Sally’s cattle were sleek and well-fed. He looked up and saw the man was watching him closely. ‘Who’ve you told about this?’
Sol laughed. ‘It’s common knowledge, round here!’
‘I see.’ Marcus looked hard at the agent. ‘And what do you suggest we do with the farm if the tenant leaves next month?’
A crafty expression crossed Sol’s face. ‘I can take it off your hands if you like, to oblige. Save you looking for somebody else. With my experience place’ll soon improve. I could buy stock off her, save her the trouble of a farm sale. Won’t be worth much I can tell you.’
‘Thank you, Sol.’ Marcus looked at the man with distaste. His motive was obvious; he’d thought that Sally would be easy to push over and that his argument about women farmers would clinch the matter. But Marcus didn’t intend to make an enemy of the man. Not yet. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘That we’d better leave Badger’s Gill as it is for the time being. My father can come over and inspect.’ He saw Sol wince at this. ‘We will give the tenant another year to see how she goes.’
‘You’ll rue the day, mark my words!’ Sol was openly disappointed. ‘But it’s up to you, boss. Thought you’d be glad to see the back of Masons!’