‘They won’t let me out yet,’ Ellen told her from her hospital bed. ‘I feel like I’m in prison here.’
‘No complaints. You’re my piece of good news,’ Beth said, relieved to find her friend so perky. ‘At least you’re on the mend.’
Ellen pulled a wry face. ‘They’ve decided to give me a good going over while I’m here. Talking about a bit of angina. They want to make sure that the shock hasn’t affected the old ticker. Lot of daft fuss.’
‘No, it isn’t. Get a good rest. See, I’ve brought you some grapes.’ And they both laughed.
‘What will you do if you lose the house?’ Ellen asked in her usual blunt manner, which for once quite took Beth’s breath away. It took some minutes before she could reply.
‘I haven’t given up hope yet.’
A small silence. ‘You can stay on with me as long as you like.’
‘I know, but you need to rest first.’
‘Aye, I might have to take up my sister’s offer of a bed for a while. Not that it’s any sinecure living out on the fells in an unheated cottage. Think what would have happened if that dratted bank chap hadn’t arrived when he did.’
They both thought about that for a minute and fell silent. Beth wanted to say how the young man had partly been responsible for the accident, but knew that would have been unfair. He’d done his best in difficult circumstances, as had she. And Ellen’s point was valid. Life in such circumstances out on the fells was difficult and lonely. In the few months Beth had spent at the tiny cottage, she’d already learned about the hardships of country life in cold reality. Ellen was an individual, an eccentric, content to shut herself away with her animals with little if any contact with modem living. But she was getting older, how much longer could she continue to do that?
So what was the answer? What did the future hold for her now?
Chapter Eighteen
The short, sharp days of winter were growing longer. May was upon them and the breeze almost mild. The panoply of mountains stood tranquil, pale and snow-capped in the distance. Striding Edge, Bowfell, Crinkle Crags and Harter Fell, while all around the cottage, spears of green daffodils were bursting into golden bloom. Deep in Brockbarrow Wood a cuckoo called, expressing content with its lot, as Beth could not.
She’d taken her time this morning, walking round by Whinstone Force to sit for a while and watch the plunging waters fall into the ghyll below, enjoying the ice cold spray on her face. She cupped her hand, scooping and drinking from the crystal cold water. It tasted wonderfully fresh and tingling. She paused to speak to Pegleg, still in lone residence at the tarn, then crossed the open fell to Larkrigg. She intended to collect her personal belongings, a task she’d postponed long enough.
She walked up the long drive by the Gemini Stones and thought again how true the legend had proved to be, then smothered the thought in the more practical one of how they never had got around to pruning these old trees. Though she’d planted a few new ones.
The air had grown cooler as she climbed, whipping colour in to her pale cheeks, tossing her hair about and Beth recalled how she’d always used to wear it clipped back with an unbecoming slide. A feature that only Andrew had liked. Dear Andrew, she really must go and see him soon. She’d avoided him because she hated to talk about her troubles with anyone.
She trailed a hand on a lichen covered stone wall, the feel of it rough against the soft palms of her hands. Beth couldn’t bear even to look at the house as she struggled to blink the tears from her eyes. How far away that day seemed, the day they had first come to Larkrigg and she had persuaded Sarah to make it their home. As she let herself in the back door, her shoes echoing eerily on the tiled floor, she smiled at the now gleaming old range as if meeting an old friend. She rubbed a hand over the scrubbed pine table, the pristine paintwork, the polished copper piping, and remembered how it had been when they’d first seen the house, so neglected and dirty, unloved and uncared for.
Someone else would now work in her kitchen, sit in the small sitting room, and sleep in her bed. Someone else would achieve her rural dream.
Beth smiled to remember how they had first set eyes on Jonty and Pietro lying naked in a shaft of sun light. The picnics, the swimming in the tarn, the fun and laughter. What a chain of events had unfolded since that day. And what had their youthful exuberance brought them? Precious little happiness. All those hopes, dreams and promise gone to waste.
Jonty was largely confined to a wheelchair, though valiantly struggling with rigorous physiotherapy in the hope he might walk again. Tessa helping him, no doubt tolerating his increasing ill temper. Oh, how she would welcome Tessa’s lively company right now.
And poor Andrew more alone than ever.
For herself, a triangle of love that could never hope to work out to anyone’s satisfaction. Succeeding only in betraying her own sister. Sarah had run mad with money and hidden the consequences of her folly from everyone, as she always did. What a coil of misery.
Beth packed as quickly as she could, desperate to spare herself any more agony. She took only her most precious items, and absolute essentials. Even so there was more than she realised.
She loaded an old wheelbarrow and trundled the boxes down to Ellen’s cottage. It took several trips, and since there was little space in the tiny bedroom she stacked them up without unpacking. She’d just have to dip in for whatever she needed. The rest were to be collected by Tam in the Land Rover and stowed away in the great loft at Broombank, where they would probably remain, forgotten and neglected.
She filled Ellen’s larder with the countless jars of preserves and pickles, and the residue of her store of vegetables. They could live on jam, bread and chutney if nothing else, Beth thought, with a wry touch of humour.
The worst moment was parting with the animals. Ellen couldn’t afford to take them on. The Herdwicks would be returned to Andrew but Meg took most of the hens and ducks. Jan took the geese. The rest had to be sold. It was like parting with old friends, symbolising the end of her dream. There would be no smallholding now, no Jersey cow, no clotted cream.
And deep inside she felt a rare and burning anger against Sarah. She’d behaved with complete selfishness, been recklessly careless without a thought for the effect upon others of her spendthrift ways. Yet even as Beth quietly seethed, guilt also played a part. If she hadn’t been so taken up with her own feelings for Pietro, she might have paid more attention to what was going on. If only they hadn’t been at such cross-purposes the whole time, with the kind of tension that prevented any sort of worthwhile communication.
And what was she supposed to do with her life now that everything worthwhile had vanished from it? How was she expected to pick up the pieces without Pietro or even Sarah beside her? Where could she live? How could she earn a living? So many decisions still to be made.
Then she locked the great front door for the last time and walked away from Larkrigg without a backward glance.
As the days and weeks passed she came no nearer to finding a solution. Much as Beth might pretend to fight it, she nursed the memory of Pietro like a wound. His face haunted her dreams and the scent and feel of him was like a physical presence beside her throughout each long day and night.
She asked all the local farmers if they needed help, a housekeeper or dairymaid perhaps, but those days were long gone. Most had a wife to care for them and those who didn’t, couldn’t afford the luxury of paying for their house to be swept.
They were all of them concerned and tried to help, asking what she knew about milking, or lambing or bringing on a good calf. She was forced to admit that she knew very little. All her confidence had gone and Beth felt sure she’d be useless on a farm. She hadn’t even managed to look after one goat. She would have to look further afield, in Kendal or Windermere, if she meant to stay.
As she struggled to make up her mind, money became a problem and she hated to be beholden to Ellen for anything. She worked as hard as she could in the garden and with the animals
, desperate at least to pay for her keep that way. But she couldn’t go on like this. Beth knew that if she didn’t find any work here in Lakeland, then there was only one solution. She would have to accept defeat and go home, to Boston.
She woke one sunny morning to the glorious sound of the dawn chorus and decided, on impulse, that today she would talk to Andrew. She felt a great need for the comfort of his friendship. If he had no advice to offer, then she could at least say her goodbyes before she left for America. He deserved that much, at least.
She made an effort with her appearance for once, putting on a flowered skirt and pretty blue blouse that brought out the colour in her eyes, and set off to walk over the fell to Cathra Crag, enjoying the briskness of the breeze in her face.
It would be good to see old Seth again. She’d neglected him during her troubles.
Oh, but she would miss all of this, back in Boston. The way cloud shadows chased each other across the backs of green mountains. Those mornings when spiky black trees emerged ethereally through the white veil of a ground mist, the soaring song of the skylark and the damp, dewy smell of fresh new grass.
Through a blur of tears she gazed out across Larkrigg Fell and down into Broomdale, her eyes following the ribbons of dry-stone walls that laced the country together, hedges full of May blossom like a rim of frothy lace edging the green skirts of the fell. Above her was the aching emptiness of the sky, lighting the distant peaks which always seemed tantalisingly closer than they actually were.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, rapidly cooling in the wind. Until this moment there’d been no time for tears. Or she’d been quite beyond them.
In one day she had lost her sister, the man she loved, and now her home. She had no money, no skills or training, no way of earning a living. And no one at all to love her.
Not that self-pity would do any good, Beth told herself sternly. Nor would resentment, guilt or anger. Whatever Sarah was doing right now, she was looking after number one, herself. She must learn to do the same and acquire a little selfishness too.
Beth mentally counted her blessings. She had her health, her youth, and at least the sacrifice of Larkrigg had cleared the debts. She was free to pick herself up and start over. Turn the page of life and go on, no matter what the cost.
Seth was not in the chimney corner where he usually was, or apparently on one of his endless walks. The partly carved deer’s head that was the crook handle he’d clearly been working on, stood abandoned on the mantelshelf. Seth himself lay fast asleep in the high Victorian bed where he’d very likely been born and where he may now be about to die, if his stentorian breathing was anything to go by. The sound of it sent shudders down her spine. He seemed too ill to even notice her presence but Beth sat with him for a while, holding his wrinkled hand.
Later, in the kitchen, she asked Andrew how ill he really was. He was surprisingly brusque.
‘He’s had flu’ and he’s very old. Happen he’ll recover, happen he won’t.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Why should it trouble you?’
‘I like Seth. He’s my friend.’
‘Then you should have come to see him sooner. He’s been ill for a while.’ Andrew placed a mug of strong tea in front of her and Beth hesitantly began to tell him of all that had happened to her in these last weeks, why she hadn’t been round to see him. ‘I’ve had a terrible time.’
He cut her short. ‘Don’t tell me your problems, Beth, I’ve enough of me own.’
‘But I always come to you.’
‘Well happen I can’t help any more.’
‘Ellen has been ill. She was bitten by an adder.’
‘I heard. I’m sorry about that.’
‘Sarah has gone, and so has Pietro, and I’ve lost the house.’ She caught at a sob in her throat. ‘Can’t you see how that has been devastating for me?’
Andrew drained the boiling water from a pan of potatoes, tossing the lid away with a clatter as he started to mash them with a fork. ‘Good riddance to him.’
‘What?’
‘I said good riddance.’
‘I heard what you said and it was unkind.’
‘Happen. At Cathra Crag we face the threat of bankruptcy every week. Join the club.’
She was appalled by his heartlessness. They seemed to be right back where they’d started, doing nothing but quarrel. Irritated by his lack of understanding she reached for the pan and fork.
‘You’re making a rotten job of that, let me do it.’
Andrew obstinately held fast to the handle, trying to wrench it from her grasp but she clung on and a sort of undignified tussle took place between them, ending with a loss of a good third of the pan’s contents on to the floor. ‘Now look what you’ve done, you daft woman. I can manage on me own, thanks very much.’
She scowled at him, heart thumping with concern. ‘You don’t seem to be managing very well at all. I’d like to help. Why won’t you let me? What have I done to annoy you?’
‘Done?’ He gave a short, bitter laugh. He’d heard all her news on the local telegraph, otherwise known as gossip, and the thought of her pining for Pietro Lawson was more than he could stomach. ‘You’ve done nowt. That’s your trouble. You live in a dream world. You swan through life without a moment’s concern. One minute mooning over Jonty Reynolds, the next over a man who, besides being completely unworthy of you, belongs to your sister.’ He waved the fork in her face. ‘But do you let that bother you? Do you hell. You ignore everyone’s advice, spend all your money and then whinge when there’s none left.’ The fork flew through the air and landed by some miracle, in the sink.
Beth had gone white to the lips. ‘That’s totally unfair. It wasn’t like that at all.’
‘Oh, wasn’t it?’
‘I loved Pietro - do love him.’
‘Aye, so you keep telling me.’
‘I couldn’t help the way I felt - feel.’
‘Spare me the hearts and flowers.’ His lip curled with contempt as he started to ladle out spoonfuls of mash and mince on to a plate.
Beth could feel her cheeks start to burn with embarrassment and distress. ‘I didn’t know you felt this way, Andrew. So angry and bitter.’
He flung the pan away from him in a gesture of frustration then turned to face her, eyes blazing. ‘How do you expect me to feel? Of course I’m bloody angry. Do you think I’m not human or something? Do you think I haven’t seen you kissing and canoodling and doing God knows what out on them fells? You think I don’t care? That my feelings don’t count because I’m the local yokel, the ignorant peasant. Damn you, Beth, I do have a bloody heart. I’ve loved you since the first moment I clapped eyes on you and you treat me like dirt.’
Then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. The kiss was brutal, and shocking. He smelled of mashed potato and the soap he’d used when he’d ducked his head under the cold tap before making supper. His arms were strong, his body hard and powerful, and a tumult of confused emotions rocketed through her. But before she’d had the chance to analyse them properly, he’d thrust her away.
‘You thought I asked you to marry me out of pity. Well, you couldn’t be more wrong.’ Then flinging Seth’s dinner plate on to a tray he strode out of the room and clomped furiously up the stairs.
Beth remained exactly where she was, frozen to the spot. Then she let herself quietly out of the back door and ran back over the fell, sobbing as if her heart would break.
The next day a letter came from Sarah, full of apologies about leaving Beth ‘in the soup’ as she called it. How she was sure Beth would ‘sorted it all out in her practical way’. She and Pietro were apparently travelling through Europe, taking their time, en route for Italy to meet his family.
‘We’ll be back before you know it,’ her letter chattered on. ‘When we’ve had a lovely rest. And what do you think? It’ll be as Mr and Mrs Pietro Lawson. We’ve decided to get married in Florence. You won’t mind not being a bridesmaid or anything, will you? It�
��s such a lovely opportunity to enjoy a wonderful honeymoon before we return. Isn’t it exciting?’
Two days after that, Beth met Andrew by the tarn and told him she would marry him.
There was an election that May and Mrs Thatcher came to power. It seemed to indicate a new era, one in which women could be as powerful as they wished to be.
Beth settled for much less, a marriage without love, on her part at least, though with the very best of intentions, and a certain amount of confused emotions. She was certainly fond of Andrew, even if it wasn’t exactly a passionate love match made in heaven. Everyone told her what a good man he was, and she would smile and say he was her very best friend. She believed they could make a good life together.
She was just twenty years old and already prepared to make compromises in her life.
Beth knew she would never forget the look of brilliant hope on his face when she’d told him. She’d been entirely honest and admitted that she didn’t love him quite as she should.
‘You’ll come to love me, in time. I know you will,’ he’d assured her, which she didn’t believe for one moment but knew that she could never love anyone now, so what did it matter?
She’d let him kiss her again, and it hadn’t been at all unpleasant. Not like Pietro’s kisses of course, and she’d smiled and drawn away. ‘Will it be soon?’
‘Why not? Sooner the better.’
And the sooner I can get over my broken heart, she hoped.
The wedding took place on the last day of June. Meg put on a splendid reception at Broombank and all the neighbours came, including old Seth who was now much recovered, though still suffering from a troublesome cough. Ellen was there too, looking unnaturally smart in a costume she had probably owned since the Coronation. Jan and Nick were there, smiling and wishing Beth well, and the neighbouring farmer’s wives clucked and chirruped with pleasure. They always enjoyed a wedding.
Larkrigg Fell Page 24