Of Love and Slaughter

by Angela Huth

  ‘Is she better?’ asked George. He bent down and ran a hand over the mare’s near fetlock.

  ‘Much better, but I’ll not trot for a day or two.’ Nell looked over the rising land behind the farm buildings. ‘It’s nice up there. Sun.’

  ‘She’s the best you’ve ever had, isn’t she?’ George gave the mare a final pat.

  ‘She is. Worth all that saving for.’ She swung her eyes to the yard gate. Lily was striding towards them. ‘Who’s this?’ she asked.

  Lily was beside George by now, scatty hair blowing about cheeks almost as highly coloured as Nell’s. George introduced them with a slight, formal smile. He explained, first, his lifelong friendship with Nell – loyalty made him emphasise this. Then, smiling up at her, he explained that Lily was someone he had met at Oxford. Nell smiled back, friendly. Lily’s look went from one to the other of them.

  ‘Where’ve you been?’ George asked her. He would have given anything for this meeting not to have happened.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Walking. Up there.’ She nodded towards the land where Nell had been riding. Then she looked at Nell. ‘I saw someone on a horse. Must have been you.’ She moved a step nearer to George so that her arm brushed his.

  Nell reissued her same polite smile.

  ‘Are you staying?’ she asked.

  ‘Am I staying?’ Lily directed her enquiry, with mock seriousness, to George. ‘I hope I am for a few days, if George will have me. I was just passing by, fancied a few days of country air.’

  Nell’s eyes narrowed so slightly that no one but a friend who was used to her wide-eyed look would have noticed.

  ‘Do you ride?’ she asked.

  ‘I used to,’ said Lily. ‘I’m a bit out of practice, but I love it.’

  ‘It’s just that I’ve another horse that needs exercising. We could go out together one afternoon, if you like. They’ve both been lame so it would be pretty slow and quiet, but it’s a good way to see the place.’

  George sensed the doubt in Lily’s moment of hesitation, but quickly she made up her mind. She thanked Nell for the suggestion, and said she would wait to hear when Nell would like to go. Then she swung away towards the house, walking fast, mud-splattered skirt lashing round her boots.

  George’s hand returned to the mare’s rein. He walked beside horse and rider through the yard gate, on his way to the milking parlour. They kept their silence till Nell had to turn off to return home. Then he looked up at her.

  ‘She wasn’t invited,’ he said. ‘When I got back last night I found her sitting in the kitchen.’

  ‘Cheeky bitch.’ Nell’s next smile conveyed no false bravery. George was relieved to see she couldn’t care less that some girl from his past had turned up. Nell must have judged very quickly that Lily was not the sort of character to settle in a rough farmhouse, far from what she would call civilisation. She waved her whip and went on her way. A few yards from him she began to sing: she often sang out riding. Sometimes, on a still day, George could hear her pretty voice from a long way off.

  Prodge reckoned he had half an hour to spare until Nell returned from her ride, when they would put the ewes in the new shed. He took his chance to look over hedges in the two high fields behind the farmhouse, check what needed doing. This was the time of year that hedges and fences had to be made secure, ready to turn out the ewes after lambing. No matter how much they were renovated one year, they were always in need of further repair the next. Prodge sighed. Hedging and fencing were not his favourite jobs.

  He strode up the hill feeling a sharpness in the air that often succeeded a morning of winter sun. At the top he turned and looked down on the land he had known since he was a child, cared for since his parents’ departure, but did not own. One day, he had always sworn to himself, he would. To date his ambition was still a long way off, but hope never left him: in these days of good subsidies, he and Nell were managing to save. In the next few years, he reckoned, he would be able to go to his landlord with a decent offer.

  This overriding desire to acquire the land that he loved was what drove him tirelessly to work twelve hours a day – at times much longer – with no holidays, scarcely a day off. It was what produced constant adrenalin that pumped through his body, so that he could heave pitchforks of sodden bedding as if they were weightless, or carry a dead sheep over his shoulder, unbowed, to bury it. Prodge knew his ambition would mean many more years of the relentless work he had grown used to over the last ten years, but that did not daunt him. He was a patient man, single-minded, determined. One day this will all be yours, John Prodger, he said to himself, as he often did, at the top of the hill.

  Today, for some reason he did not try to understand, he was aware of a sense of unease as he stood looking over the valley. From here he could not see the cows, but the sheep looked fine. The job of putting the ewes into the new shed was one he was looking forward to, so what was it that caused a speck of anxiety on the horizon? Prodge was damned if he could put a name to it.

  Looking down he saw the distant figure of Nell on her grey mare walking towards the farm. That was it: Nell. That young woman he’d caught sight of at George’s place this morning – he couldn’t imagine Nell being very pleased about that. Exactly what his sister’s feelings were for George he could not be sure. She had always acted like a wise protector, advising him against this girl and that who came down in his Oxford days. He couldn’t recall Nell being strictly in favour of any of them – they were a pretty daffy lot, far as Prodge could remember – but Nell never seemed worried because it was quite clear that George had never felt anything serious, to date, about any woman in his life. He once said he was prepared to wait a very long time before settling down, and Nell and Prodge believed him.

  Prodge hurried back down the hill cursing himself for the idle thoughts which had kept him from doing his round of the hedges. He did not want to keep Nell waiting. She had said she would be back at three, and she was. Always punctual, Nell. One of the many things he admired in her: always did what she said. He wondered if she had ridden over to George, caught a glimpse of this Lily woman.

  His anxiety was soon abandoned. Nell merrily recounted her meeting with Lily – ‘not the usual sort of thing you see in a farmyard round here.’ She told him of her riding invitation to George’s visitor. Prodge laughed. They’d make a rum pair, he said. But Nell’s evident lack of worry about Lily was a relief: she was plainly fine – must even have taken to the girl if she offered her a ride. Thank the Lord for that.

  Prodge helped Nell unsaddle the mare and turn her out into the paddock. Then they called the dogs and made their way towards the ewes that were to be herded into the new shed. Light-heartedness rose within him. The wind tugged at the bare trees. It was a good afternoon.

  When George and Saul had finished their discussion about the extension to the old shed where the cows were wintered, they brought in the herd of Friesians for the afternoon milk. George had never felt the same fondness for cows as he did for sheep, but knew that a larger herd would be good business. He looked forward to the couple of dozen – or even more – new animals that he would acquire once the extension was complete. Development, expansion, production … those were all ideas that excited him. British farmers were some of the best in the world, and he was determined to be among them.

  George found himself slow and clumsy at milking: he had much to learn. And Saul, less skilled than his son Ben, whose day off it was, was gruff in his commands. The process took more time than it should have done, after which they had to hurry over to the shed for the sheep’s evening feed.

  ‘Reckon Ben’ll be down the pub straight after he’s back from college,’ grumbled Saul as he thrust pellets into troughs. Not a man to comment when he was at work – he believed that to concentrate on one thing at a time was the art of life – this sudden outburst caused George to realise that the taciturn Saul was concerned about his son. ‘Reckon he’s got his eye on some fancy girl, saw her there last night just as they were
closing. Didn’t like to ask what time he got back.’

  ‘But he did the cows.’

  ‘Oh, he took care of the milking. There’d’ve been trouble if he hadn’t, wouldn’t there? He’s always up in the morning, I’ll grant him that.’

  ‘He’s a good boy,’ said George. ‘Hard to deny him a bit of fun. There’s not much in the way of excitement round here for a lad of his age. Must be difficult at times.’

  ‘I had no fun his age, believe me,’ said Saul. Apparently put out by his own unusual confession, he stomped off without saying goodnight.

  George himself was curiously reluctant to return to the farmhouse. He stayed a while in the shed, eyes running over the sheep. Hunger sated, most of them were lying down, jaws moving slowly, only the odd bleat cracking the quietness. George could not envisage the evening. How would it be, with the uninvited Lily? Would there have to be a formal discussion concerning the length of her stay? Would he have to give up an evening by the fire with the paper to keep making polite conversation? Would he learn anything of what was going on in her mind?

  The kitchen was empty when George got back. Two places were laid at the table. He wondered if this had been Dusty’s doing. Then he saw there was a small jug of primroses between them, and knew at once that it had not. Also, the fire had been lighted, and from upstairs came the faint sound of a Schubert quartet on the radio. A now familiar combination of annoyance, surprise and curiosity filled George’s being. He poured himself a large whisky and soda and waited to see what would happen.

  It was easier than he had supposed. Perhaps Lily had sensed that her presence was not altogether welcome. Perhaps equally she sensed that her natural exuberance, her irrepressible desire to urge George to look at everything, should be modified. She was not able totally to suppress her enthusiasm – about her long walks, the moor, the farm, the house – but she edited her keen responses to all these to no more than a few admiring adjectives. With some amusement George observed that she was reining herself in. Perhaps, after his cool response to her gusts of overblown delight the other night, it had occurred to her how dementing she could be.

  In fact George did most of the talking. Surprised to find that Lily seemed interested in his plans to buy a new tractor and increase his herd of Friesians, he went on to explain that his ultimate ambition was to devise a strategy that might be of help to both farmers and the environment. What this was, exactly, he could not say, as it was not yet formed in his mind. ‘I’m waiting for inspiration,’ he said. ‘I may have to wait a very long time. But all of us who care about the corrosion of rural life have got to keep thinking, or future generations will never know the meaning of real country life.’ In the meantime, he added, having inherited his father’s passion for hedges, he did his best to maintain those on his land, and to keep his copses in good order. ‘I don’t ever want to be accused of robbing wildlife of its natural habitat,’ he said. Lily was a good listener.

  ‘It’s odd to think of you alone in such a big house,’ she said, soon after they had eaten and George was giving signs of retiring to bed. ‘It could easily be divided into two. You could have an entire family living at one end and not notice them.’

  George nodded. Her observation, it seemed to him, sounded innocent, and yet he could not help wondering if she harboured some devious scheme. Women were always wanting to change houses.

  ‘So I could,’ he said, without interest, ‘but I don’t think there’s any necessity for that.’ He remembered to ask if she was comfortable in her room. She declared everything was perfect, the bed the most comfortable she had slept in for ages.

  ‘And I won’t get in your way tomorrow. I’ll take the car to Dulverton, look around there, walk.’

  George hesitated. The things that had previously annoyed him about her were beginning to ebb. He felt a sense of guilt.

  ‘You’re a very good guest,’ he said. Lily laughed long enough to show her appreciation of his compliment, but not so long as to convey a sense of achievement. She said she would like to sit by the fire a while longer, and would put out the lights when she came up to bed. George left her. Not quite knowing what final gesture to make, he blew a kiss from the door: she did not appear to notice. Entangled in some reverie, her eyes were on the flames.

  Lily stayed on quietly for ten days, her programme for the day always the same: off after breakfast, sometimes walking, sometimes driving. On her return she would go to her room, or the kitchen, with a book and her radio. She never went into the study, knowing it was George’s place of work. Once, the day after the delivery of six new Friesians, George saw her standing at the field gate looking them over with what could have been judged as an expert eye. George, in conversation with Saul, beckoned to her. He wanted to point out why these particular cows had been chosen, and ask her opinion of his choice. But Lily waved, smiled, and wandered away. On another occasion he saw her riding across one of the high fields with Nell. Lily was on the grey mare, Nell on the friskier bay gelding. They must have made their own arrangements: neither had mentioned their plan to him. George smiled at the sight of them, relieved: it meant that Nell had taken to Lily, was convinced of the truth of the situation – that Lily was no more than an old, not very close friend who had asked herself to stay. What he refrained from adding was that by now he considered her a tactful, self-sufficient and in some respects delightful guest.

  ‘Saw you and Nell riding,’ said George that evening.

  ‘Did you? We were out for two hours. I loved it. We’re going again tomorrow. I like Nell,’ she added. ‘She’s the sort of woman I’d like to be, grounded in her life, happy with it, not yearning for some unknown alternative. Not always having to curb an itinerant spirit, like me. God knows if I’ll ever be able to settle down.’

  George nodded.

  ‘I must say, I can’t imagine you permanently anchored anywhere,’ he said. ‘Least of all in some remote place far from friends, fun, intellectual stimulus.’

  ‘Probably not. Although I can’t imagine living in a city, ever. I’m rarely in my flat, it makes me restless. I need to be near earth, the sky. I’ve a friend in London whose windows only look on to the backs of other people’s houses. I couldn’t bear that.’ She paused. ‘I have to confess I’ve consulted a few local estate agents. It occurred to me that a minuscule cottage down here somewhere might be the answer.’

  George frowned. ‘Found anything?’

  ‘No. And of course you don’t approve of those townspeople who buy rural cottages as playthings, hardly ever visiting them but able to pay prices for them that the locals can’t begin to afford—’

  ‘I don’t, no.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry. Apart from anything else, I don’t suppose you’d want me as a neighbour. In the district, even.’

  ‘Why d’you say that?’ George smiled, but she was not to be humoured. ‘I wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘It’s all a silly dream,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’ve got to work out which of my freelance jobs to keep on, which to give up, and settle down to hard work. At the moment I’m just shifting on various tides. Not very satisfactory’

  The evening of Lily’s second ride with Nell she made a chocolate mousse for supper – not something in Dusty’s repertoire – and called it ‘a small contribution’. When George complimented her and ate three helpings, she blushed and swung her head, making a thousand lights in her shiny hair. George’s pleasure evidently charged her with courage. She asked about Nell.

  Theirs was a friendship that had lasted since they had been young children, George explained, although he knew Lily was already aware of this. It had survived his absences at school and university, his travels abroad and his working in London for three years, he went on. It had survived his previously very different life.

  ‘Whenever I came back, there they were, Nell and Prodge, just the same, working hard, not wanting any other life. They took on the farm at a very young age, and have made a remarkable go of it. Prodge’s judgement is respected fo
r miles around, and everyone loves Nell. She’s a magnificent horsewoman – if she wasn’t so busy farming, she once told me, she would like to have bred horses. You should see her out hunting. Jumps everything. Absolutely fearless.’ He paused. ‘And then she’s the kindest soul in the world. She’ll make time for everyone, drive twenty miles to spend an hour with a lonely widow. When my mother first died she was round here all the time, just a child, then, but instinctively coming up with things to deflect Dad and me from our gloom. Of course, she’s a stubborn old thing. She’s no time for social niceties, and lots of people think her eccentric, quaint: her dyeing and spinning and so on … her hatred of television, which Prodge insists on, her dislike of many changes in the modern world. She’s bound to standards that she believes in, doesn’t care a damn what people think of her.’ He dragged his hand through his hair, aware that he had been running on too long. But Lily’s eyes were still enquiring. ‘She’s probably the woman I love most in the world,’ he added, ‘but she doesn’t know that.’

  Lily’s reply was a silent nod of the head. Then she came over to George, eyes a touch wistful – though he might have been imagining it, for in candlelight melancholy is easy to see – and kissed him on the forehead. Surprised, his actions were slowed. Before he had time to react she had darted away and out of the room.

  When George came into the house later than usual the following evening, he found a note on the kitchen table.