It was as if a cloud had crossed the sun. The delight and happiness faded from Alena’s face. ‘What will happen to us, if war does come? Will we still be able to stay here, and work in the forest?’
Rob pulled her close, rubbing his chin against her hair which smelled of sunshine and green grass and the first heady hint of smoke. ‘You heard what Isaac said. They’ll need charcoal for the manufacture of gas masks, tent pegs for the soldiers, ship’s fenders, all manner of things. With hard work, and a bit of luck, perhaps we can do our bit here.’ And, filled with hope and belief in their own future, their lips came together instinctively and they kissed. But as passion ignited, Rob broke laughingly away from her.
‘Not till we have our first load of charcoal. I have to concentrate, and whenever I lie with you, I forget even what day it is.’
‘Good.’ And she made him kiss her again till he was pleading for mercy and she could feel the strong beat of his heart against her breast.
‘Did you let Mickey Roscoe kiss you like this?’
For a moment she was startled, and then unable to resist teasing him for this show of jealousy, pretended to consider. ‘Umm, I might have. I can’t quite remember.’
He looked stunned then, picking her up, he swung her round till she squealed for mercy. ‘You minx! If you had, you wouldn’t even need to think about it. You never did, did you? Admit it.’
‘Of course he kissed me. Often.’ And when Rob threatened to drop her in the beck, she screamed, ‘But never like you do. Never, I swear. I put up with his kisses, wet and weak things compared to yours. Utterly dreadful.’ She shuddered to prove her sincerity.
‘I’ll show you what a kiss should be like.’
‘The burn,’ she reminded him. He instantly tipped her on to the grass where she rolled about in gales of laughter.
Utterly dreadful! Wet and weak! So that’s what she’d thought of him? Mickey had watched Isaac stroll away, walking with quiet assurance between the lusty growth of young alder, ash and birch as dusk fell. Then he’d turned his attention back to the lovers in time to hear this damning indictment of his prowess. He wanted to leap out of the thicket and knock her to the ground for daring to insult him in such a way. But he managed not to.
They were kissing again, and despite himself he watched, feeling his own hot need curdle somewhere deep in his belly.
She didn’t mean it, of course. How could she tell Robert Hollinthwaite the truth? That really they had been entirely happy and compatible. He could still win her back, and knew exactly how to go about it. But he must choose his moment with care. For a while he continued to watch them, saw their happy frolics, witnessed the joy that they found in each other, for all he told himself that Rob was not the man to bring her lasting happiness. When he could bear it no more, Mickey turned on his heel and moved away through the trees, not quite so silently as Isaac, but much fleeter of foot.
He went straight to Ellersgarth Hall and knocked on the door. James Hollinthwaite himself opened it, and almost instantly closed it again when he saw who it was. Mickey wedged his foot in the gap just in time.
‘A moment, Mr Hollinthwaite. You allus said, if I’d aught to report...’
Ensconced at the kitchen table - Hollinthwaite’s hospitality didn’t run to permitting the likes of Mickey Roscoe into his best parlour - a mug of beer in his hand, Mickey took his time. Between sips of the beer, he mentioned how the campaign was running out of steam now that Sandra Myers had left it in his hands.
‘It’s up to me now, d’you see? Nobody else is willing to cut their own throats by risking unemployment, as she was. Me neither.’ James’s interest sharpened, but he made no comment.
Then little by little Mickey described the scene he had witnessed in the glade. He gave the exact location, relating the young lovers’ plans, almost word for word. ‘They’re very determined. And they have friends. If you want to stop them, you’ll have to call your son to heel.’
James, standing frozen throughout the tale, said nothing. Mickey took a good long pull on his beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood up, ready to depart, measuring the moment for his final and most important piece of advice. At the door he paused, ran one hand over his sleek crop of hair, and half glanced back over his shoulder at Hollinthwaite. ‘You’ll be starting your felling soon, I shouldn’t wonder. Have you planned where you’ll start?’
Close by the mill, then I can easily stack the wood is it comes down.’
Good thinking. Only...’ Mickey paused a moment, making sure he had James’s full attention. ‘There was a certain ancient oak those two were particularly fond of, somewhere in Low Birk Coppice, I believe. I doubt they’d want that to be felled. Upset them proper, don’t you reckon?’ And the two men exchanged a long silent glance.
But for all his seeming complicity with Hollinthwaite, Mickey next went to warn his fellow workers of the felling that was about to take place. He set himself as firmly on their side as he had on James’s, rekindling their anger against Hollinthwaite, setting up shifts to keep a watch on the woodland, instructing them to arm themselves with a good solid branch, warning there’d be trouble for sure once the men arrived with their felling axes. With luck, when the two parties came together, there’d be a riot.
And he meant Rob Hollinthwaite to be in the middle of it.
For the next two days Rob and Alena nursed the burn. As it shifted and sank, they rearranged the remaining stack, added more wet turfs to prevent any hint of flame, blocked each new hole with a spadeful of soil. They constantly moved the hurdles they’d made to screen the stack from the prevailing winds. Night and day they worked, and in the quiet spells they whittled tent pegs, made besoms, or simply lay on their backs and gazed at the stars. Here the Great Bear, there Cassiopeia, and wasn’t that Venus, so strong and bright?
They saw the setting sun gild the tree-tops, the purple shadows of evening turn into soft black night; watched a family of badgers set out on their night patrol, and the first shafts of morning light lance through the high branches, picking out patches of emerald moss and bronze bracken. Everything seemed new and magical, as if they were discovering the world for the first time. Only once did Alena glance covertly into the thicket behind them, as she heard the snap of a twig.
‘Those young bucks are on the prowl again.’ she laughed.
‘I don’t blame them,’ Rob agreed.
Because heat rises, a stack burns from the top, the wood baking slowly like a cake in an oven. They tried to keep well clear of the smoke that was pungent and no doubt filled with chemicals, but it wasn’t always possible, and then they’d cough and choke and their eyes would smart and run with tears. But it didn’t matter. Their love of the forest, and each other, saw them through. They laughed and joked, teased and kissed as they went about their work, and if at times they felt pangs of hunger, neither of them complained.
‘Now you must “say” it with water.’ Isaac had checked the rim of the stack to see if the burn had reached the bottom, studied the colour of the smoke, the grey-brown now turned to a translucent blue, and declared it ready. ‘I’ve arranged for Sam to call and collect your load in a day or two, after he’s picked up mine. He delivers the charcoal to Backbarrow and will pay you when he picks up your next lot. Less his own fee, of course.’
Using a special rake for the purpose, Rob removed a small section of the top and poured water down, damping the whole area from the barrel set near the stack. Alena helped by refilling it with buckets from the beck. Judging how much water to put in was a worry. Too much and the charcoal would be dull and brittle, without a good ring to it. Too little and it would turn into ash. Twelve hours later, when the coals were quite cold, they finally removed the turfs and began to pick out sticks of charcoal.
‘We’ve done it!’
‘They’re perfect. Most of them anyway.’ Critically Rob examined them, noting the good ones, the failures, and the fine pieces that could be split further to bring a higher price from artists
. He was well pleased with their first effort, but celebrations had to wait until all the bags were filled, ready for the carter. Only when this was done, did they stand and regard each other.
‘You’re filthy.’
‘So are you. Black from head to foot. True colliers.’
There was only one solution. It was too far to the tarn, the beck not deep enough; besides, the cold water would barely touch this amount of soot. They boiled water on the fire and filled the barrel Isaac had lent them to stand close to the stack. Taking it in turns, they sat in the hot tub and soaped each other down, washing hair, face, neck and ears, as well as blackened arms and legs. It was a riotous, noisy ritual, much punctuated with squeals and giggles, tickles and splashing; there was a good deal of running about and chasing, bare feet slipping on the wet grass. Then back in the tub to get warm.
‘We need a bigger bath,’ Rob complained, after trying and failing to climb in with her.
‘Do you remember that swim, all those years ago at the tarn?’
‘How could I forget? That was the night I fell in love with you, you minx.’
Alena gasped. ‘You never said.’
Just as well, considering what happened after that. Mind you. I think we’re even wetter tonight.’
It took several kettles full of steaming water before they were both clean and dry. Then they tidied away the make-shift bath, checked the sacks of charcoal one last time, and finally went into the hut and pulled the sacking closed.
They were paid a good price for their charcoal and, inspired by their success, Alena and Rob soon developed a routine. They worked hard, loved well, and were happy and content.
The coming of autumn had brought woodcock and grouse, pheasant and rabbit. Sometimes they would hear the lion-like roar of a red deer in pursuit of his lady love. The hedgerows were full of fruit and berries, the days clear and bright, filled with sunshine and the sweet scents and rich colours found nowhere as beautifully orchestrated as in the English Lake Country. And overhead, nomadic flocks of grey geese on their flight from the Solway to the milder marshes of Morecambe Bay made them pause and wonder at the wisdom of Nature.
One evening as they ate their supper by the fire, Rob told her that before they started the next burn, he must leave her for a little while. ‘No more than a day or two. Three at most.’
‘Why?’ The prospect of being alone again filled her with disquiet. She never thought about the strange rustlings, or the sensation of eyes watching her from the forest, when she was with Rob. Nor had she mentioned these fancies to him, not wanting it to sound as if she were complaining. But now she did think of them, and felt a shiver up her spine.
Rob was saying, ‘We need markets for our products. We’ve a good stock pile of pegs, besoms and hurdles. Now we must find a buyer.’
‘Can’t we ask Isaac, or Sam the carter?’
‘They’ve suggested one or two possibilities for me to try, certainly, but I need to go and get the orders, Alena. I can’t expect them to develop my business for me. It’s important I get out and see people myself. And there’s a meeting in Ulverston I should attend, concerning ship’s fenders. I need to find out exactly what sizes they want, how many the government will buy off me.’
Alena saw his point and began to make suggestions. ‘You could try some ironmongers while you’re there. See if they would be interested in taking our hurdles or clothes props, or if there’s anything else needed. And we could perhaps sell alder for clog soles to the shoe-maker.’
Rob nodded. ‘Then there’ll be the bark for tanning next summer. I need to find out about all these things. After that I must hurry back, because before winter comes we need to build a shelter under which we can work. There’s so much to do.’
‘Then I shall come with you and help.’ She was getting up, tidying away the supper things as if she meant to go that very moment. Rob put a gentle hand on her arm. ‘No, Alena. It’s difficult enough without our own transport, and we must rely on Sam for the moment. I can go much quicker alone. I’ll be back before you miss me, I promise.’
And since there was sense in his argument, she reluctantly had to accept it.
‘Go and visit Lizzie.’
She shook her head. ‘She’s coming to see me tomorrow.’
‘Then go home with her. Have a break for a day or two.’
Alena laughed. ‘You mean, sleep in a proper bed for once?’
‘And enjoy a proper bath. Why not?’
It seemed so much more preferable to staying alone in the forest, that she agreed. When Lizzie came the next afternoon, she found, to her delight, her daughter with a bag packed ready to come home on a visit.
At first it felt good to be back in Ma’s kitchen with its familiar smells of Lancashire hot pot and ginger cake, and Lizzie enjoyed spoiling her daughter, if only for a day or two. They talked endlessly, not least about Harry and Sandra, now married and settling to life in a new country. They drank gallons of tea, and even had a noisy family gathering with Jim and his family there, Kit - very much a dyed-in-the-wool bachelor now - and Dolly and Tom, proudly showing off their beautiful new baby daughter.
‘Doesn’t she have Tom’s eyes?’
‘And Dolly’s cheeky grin.’ It was good to see them all so content. But by the third morning of her short holiday, Alena was feeling almost claustrophobic. Missing the openness of the forest and the sweetness of their glade, she began to pack her bag.
Lizzie knew better than to try and delay her, seeing she was itching to be back with Rob again. Alena had scarcely talked of anything else since she arrived. At the door Lizzie enveloped her daughter in one warm hug. ‘You’ll come again if it gets a bit too cold?’
‘I will, Ma. But don’t worry. We’re very cosy in our hut, and we’re building up a good business. We’ll do all right.’
‘The end cottage is empty, the one old Edith had. She’s passed on, you know.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Edith was a good friend to me.’
‘She’d be right glad for you to take it on. You could get your old job back at the bobbin mill and Rob could still work in the forest, only nearer home.’
‘I don’t want my old job back. We like it in the forest.’
‘But you can’t carry on living in that once the bairn is born. Babies need special care. And I’d help you look after it.’
Alena gasped. ‘How did you ... ?’
Lizzie beamed with delight. ‘I’m your mother. Besides, I’ve a bit of experience in that department myself. I doubt anybody would say a word about your coming back to the village. Not even Mickey. All water under the bridge now, eh? He never mentions you. And it would mean we could be neighbours.’
Alena gripped her mother’s hand as, for a moment, she was sorely tempted. ‘I can’t make such a decision on my own, Ma. We’ll need to talk about it.’
‘You don’t mind my speaking up?’
‘Of course I don’t. I miss you too. Don’t worry, we’ll sort something out.’ Her mother having put her finger on Alena’s greatest concern, they parted on a somewhat subdued note. Jim ran her back as far as the clearing and she walked the rest of the way, almost running and jumping over fallen branches, in her eagerness to be back. She’d stayed with her mother longer than she’d meant to but hoped that Rob would be back by now, wondering where she was.
The glade was empty. The pitstead looked stark and cold with no burn in progress. The hut felt damp and smelt of mildew. A lump came to her throat, and in that moment Alena felt so lonely and painfully vulnerable that the thought of a cottage in Birkwith Row had never seemed more appealing.
Then she remembered the pat of butter, knuckle of ham, fresh bread and slab of fruit cake that Lizzie had packed. What was she worrying about? Rob hadn’t given her a definite time for his return. He could walk into the glade at any moment. It certainly wouldn’t do for him to find the place in a mess, and no supper to eat.
Singing loudly to combat the soft shush of the tree tops, she had
the fire going in no time and the kettle singing. Outside, night was drawing in and she decided that he wasn’t coming tonight, so she sat on the bed to eat a crusty ham sandwich, a slice of the fruit cake, and drink a mug of scalding tea. Then, tired from the excitement of her short holiday, Alena fell instantly asleep.
When she woke next morning she found a hedgehog had eaten most of Lizzie’s butter, a badger had apparently walked off with the bread, and the ham had been knocked to the floor where it was all covered in dust. She’d forgotten to store everything away in their special tins before she fell asleep. It was then that she burst into tears, and found she had to run outside where she was promptly sick over a patch of nettles. Of course it was only the baby, making its presence felt, but somehow, without Rob, living in the forest was no fun at all.
It was as she was washing her face in the refreshing cold waters of the beck, that she heard the crack of a twig and a footfall behind her.
`Rob! She whirled around, eager to run into his arms. But it wasn’t Rob who stood behind her. It was Mickey.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Aren’t you going to offer me a cup of coffee?’
Alena was staring at him as if he were a ghost, unable to believe her eyes. ‘I’ve only got tea.’
‘That would go down a treat.’ He grinned at her, at least she thought he grinned, remembering how his mouth curled naturally upward at the corners.
Mickey Roscoe was the last person she had expected, or wanted, to see here in their forest home. Alena felt so flustered she could hear her own heartbeat as she went to put the kettle on. What could he want? Why had he come? Her feelings towards him had changed completely since his outburst in Lizzie’s kitchen and his refusal to let her go. His feelings for her were certainly bordering on the obsessional. It stemmed no doubt from his longing for the stability his unsettled life had failed to provide. Alena had clearly been an essential part of his dream, as if he could possess her as James Hollinthwaite had once possessed Olivia.
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