Saddle the Wind

by Jess Foley

Jacko’s lack of appetite, however, was not her only concern; she had other things on her mind – one of which was the problem of where she was going to sleep come Saturday night. Her searches revealed no shortage of rooms available in the area, but it was finding a house where she was also allowed to take the dog that proved the difficulty. She knew very well that she only had to go to Hallowford House and there would be a welcome for her, but she could not bring herself to do so. She must, she felt, strive to keep her independence; she had taken so much from John Savill in the past; she could not go seeking his charity now at the first crisis.

  Eventually, after searching around and making inquiries, she at last, late in the afternoon, located a house on the edge of Ashton Wick where there was a room for rent and where she could take Jacko with her. It was a small cottage, humbly furnished, but the middle-aged owner, a widow, a Mrs Grimshaw, had a kind heart, and a soft spot where animals were concerned.

  ‘He can sleep in the shed,’ Mrs Grimshaw said. She studied the dog as he stood at Blanche’s side, tethered by the lead. ‘He’ll be all right there, will he?’

  Blanche nodded. She was sure he would, she said. Then, looking down at the animal she added, ‘He won’t eat.’

  At the suggestion of Mrs Grimshaw, who was obviously concerned, the dog ended up sleeping in Blanche’s room. Not that Jacko seemed to care one way or the other where he was. He showed no interest whatever in his surroundings or in what was happening to him. He was perfectly obedient, as always, but all his accustomed eagerness and energy had gone. And although he drank the water that Blanche set before him he continued to refuse whatever food she offered. As the days passed she watched him wasting away, his strength and energy fading before her eyes. It was as if with Ernest’s departure, so had gone all the animal’s will to live.

  Crouching before him as he lay on the floor beneath the window, Blanche tried to tempt him with some scraps of lean meat that Mrs Grimshaw had brought for him. The dog took no notice. With tears in her eyes, Blanche pleaded with him. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Jacko, do eat – please. I can’t bear it. If you don’t eat you’ll die.’ But still he lay there, only moving to make occasional trips into the garden, and Blanche watched his energy draining away, and the fear grew within her that he would soon be dead.

  But then at last, after several days had passed and she had given up all hope that he would eat, she watched one afternoon as he sniffed at the food she placed before him, and then, to her joy, as he took some in his mouth and ate.

  With tears of happiness and relief swimming in her eyes, she watched as he finished the meat. She knew now that he would be all right.

  Blanche and Jacko remained as lodgers in Mrs Grimshaw’s little house until June. And then it was that John Savill discovered something of Blanche’s circumstances and at once went to see her. After learning of Ernest’s departure he set out to persuade her to return with him to Hallowford House.

  She eventually agreed – and not a little gratefully – though making it clear that the dog must go with her, and that she also wished to continue with her teaching of the Andrews children at Ashton Wick. Of course Savill agreed at once – though where the dog was concerned he thought what a sorry-looking thing it was – a lack-lustre, docile creature, lacking in any degree of spirit. Blanche, however, he quickly found, was fiercely protective of it and determined that it should have the best possible care.

  On an afternoon in July John Savill and his brother Harold sat in the library of Hallowford House as Blanche entered the hall. Hearing her footsteps John Savill called out to her.

  ‘Is that you, Blanche?’

  A moment later Blanche, carrying her light coat, appeared in the open doorway. She had just returned from Ashton Wick. Smilingly she greeted the two men where they sat on either side of Savill’s desk.

  ‘How was your day today?’ Savill asked, and Blanche replied to the effect that it had been much as other days. After a pause she asked whether there had been any post for her. Savill replied that there had not. She thanked him, and left them, and Harold remained turned in his chair to watch her trim, retreating figure as she crossed the hall and started up the stairs. When she had gone from sight Savill crossed to the door and closed it. As he turned he said with a shake of his head,

  ‘Her brother – Ernest. She’s heard nothing from him since he left.’

  ‘That was in the spring, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, back in April.’

  ‘And there’s been no word from him?’

  ‘Nothing. Blanche believes he went up to Leeds or Bradford – but there’s no way of knowing. Naturally she’s worried by his silence.’

  Savill moved back across the room and stood at the window and looked out onto the lawn. Behind him Harold said:

  ‘What’s going to become of her?’

  At the words Savill turned to his brother. ‘I don’t know. I wish I knew.’ He paused. ‘What I’d like is for her to meet some young man and make a good match. She’ll make somebody a fine wife.’

  Harold nodded. ‘And she’s attractive enough.’

  Savill turned to him. ‘Attractive enough? Harold, she’s a beautiful young woman – or haven’t you noticed?’

  Harold smiled. ‘Yes, of course.’

  Savill sighed. ‘Perhaps I’m hoping for too much too soon for her. After all, she’s only nineteen. There’s time for her to meet someone. I suppose that with Marianne settled I want the same for Blanche too.’

  Harold said, frowning slightly: ‘Are you sure that Blanche expects you to be concerned for her in this way?’

  ‘Whether she expects it or not,’ Savill said a little sharply, ‘I am concerned. How can I not be? She’s been a part of our lives here for many years. We love her and I have a responsibility towards her – whether or not she wants it. Which is why I’m going in to Trowbridge to see Baron this afternoon.’ He shook his head. ‘I should have done it years ago, made legal provision for Blanche, but I always put it off. No more, though. All that business with her going off to live in that little cottage really brought it home to me. I’ve got to make sure that she’s provided for. Marianne’s all right now. Her worries should be over. But Blanche’s situation is very different.’

  Harold nodded then said, ‘It won’t be long before Marianne and Gentry are here, will it?’

  Savill smiled. ‘Not long.’

  ‘And then, next month, the wedding.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And then what? Marianne will return to Sicily to live, I suppose?’

  ‘Of course. That’s where Gentry’s home is – where his future work will be.’

  ‘How does Marianne feel about that?’

  ‘Happy enough, I believe. But there, she’s very much in love. I don’t think it would matter much where she went as long as she was with Gentry.’ He sat down at his desk. ‘Gentry, though, she writes, is talking about going off to fight in South Africa – which of course makes her very unhappy. Still, we seem to be having better fortune out there of late, so perhaps the war will soon be over and he’ll no longer feel obliged to join in.’

  In the kitchen Blanche saw to the feeding of Jacko, after which she took him outside. Leaving the house behind her she walked out onto the road for a little way and then left it to walk on the heath. Walking slowly along one of the narrow, bracken-fringed pathways that bisected the heath, she watched as the dog moved back and forth, sniffing here and there, ambling back to her to check on her continuing presence, and then trotting off again – though never going very far away. Observing him, she thought again of Ernest’s departure. Every day she expected to hear from Ernest, wherever he was. There would be a letter telling her how well he was faring, and then he would be sending for her to join him. And when that happened she and Jacko would go to him, and together they could make a new start. So far, though, there had been nothing, no word at all. She was certain, however, that she would hear in time.

  In the meantime she could only wait. And the days were passi
ng. It was mid-July now; in a few days the two Andrews children would be leaving to spend a summer vacation at the seashore. Blanche then would be left to her own devices. Later, Marianne would be returning – with Gentry – to be married. After which Gentry would take her back to Sicily.

  Blanche thought back to the time when she and Gentry had met on the bridle path near Colford, and with the thought she saw him in her mind again, so clearly. It was not new to her, the memory; it would come to her unbidden, often when she lay wakeful in her bed. And at those times she would think again of how they had lain together in the primrose-dotted grass; for brief, tantalizing moments she would be able to feel again the sensation of his body on hers, his closeness; know again the scent of him, the sweet taste of his open mouth on her own. When the memories dissolved they would leave in their wake a sweet, lingering ache. She would be glad, she said to herself, when Marianne and Gentry were married and were settled in Sicily. Until then, anticipating Gentry’s arrival in Hallowford, she found herself increasingly disturbed by the thought of him.

  Taking a circular route by means of the network of narrow paths, her steps took her towards the road once more. As she emerged from the wildness of the heath and turned in the direction of Hallowford House she saw a pony and trap coming towards her, with Harold Savill at the reins. As the trap drew near he pulled on the reins and the horse and vehicle came to a halt.

  ‘Hello, Blanche.’ He smiled at her and nodded towards the dog that came to her side. ‘Taking your friend for a walk, I see.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Observing the man, Blanche unconsciously reflected that he was very unlike his older brother. Like John Savill he had always appeared a cheerful and good-natured man, but whereas John Savill’s handsome features had aged with a fineness over the years, Harold’s face had grown coarse, his complexion florid. Now his appearance was in keeping with his liking for brandy which she had noticed on various seasonal occasions.

  Now Harold said:

  ‘John was telling me that you’ve heard nothing from your brother, Blanche.’

  ‘No, I’m afraid not.’

  ‘Well,’ he shrugged, ‘it takes time to get settled sometimes. And I’m sure he’s not finding everything easy.’

  ‘I don’t suppose he is.’

  ‘You’ll hear in time, anyway.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Would you really like to go to Bradford to join him?’ he said. ‘Work with him?’

  She gave a little shrug. ‘I’ve got to do something, Mr Savill.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but … Those mills, those factories in Bradford and such places – by what I’ve heard they don’t offer an easy life.’

  ‘I don’t expect an easy life.’

  ‘I mean there is a great deal of misery there. You’re bound to get it where so many of the poorer people go flocking. They’re not all going to make their fortunes.’ He studied her, frowning slightly. ‘Wouldn’t you be better off staying here, Blanche?’

  ‘In Hallowford?’

  ‘It’s not perfect, but you know what they say about the devil you know …’

  She didn’t answer. He added:

  ‘And your roots are here.’

  ‘No.’ She said the word quickly, and he looked at her in surprise.

  ‘No? You seem very positive about that.’

  She gave a sigh, shrugged. ‘I don’t think anyone could understand, but …’

  ‘I might,’ he said.

  ‘– When I’m here in Hallowford I don’t know where I belong,’ she said. ‘And where are those roots you speak of? I think I’d have to go away from here before I could think of putting down roots. I need to find a place of my own, somewhere that belongs to me.’

  He nodded. ‘You’ll find what you’re looking for one day, Blanche.’

  Leaning down from his seat, he reached out and gently pressed her hand. Then, straightening again, he clicked his tongue, flapped the reins, and the pony started forward.

  Blanche turned and watched as the trap moved away along the road, then set off back towards Hallowford House, the dog at her heels.

  On reaching the yard of the house she found John Savill saddling one of the cobs in readiness to ride into Trowbridge. James, the groom, he said, was ill in bed with the ‘flu and it was easier to take one of the cobs than to prepare one of the carriages. He was going to see his solicitor, he said. He wouldn’t be long.

  When he had climbed into the saddle Blanche walked beside him as he rode the cob across the yard, and opened the gate to let him out into the lane. She watched then until he had ridden out of sight.

  At seven o’clock Mrs Callow came to Blanche asking what should be done about dinner as Mr Savill had not returned. They would wait, Blanche said; he would be back soon. She was concerned, however; he had said he would not be long, and it was unlike him to stay out longer than he had planned.

  At seven forty-five Blanche told Mrs Callow again to delay dinner and went downstairs and across the yard to the lodge where James lived with his wife and small daughter. James’s wife, Annie, who worked as one of the maids at the house, told her that James was in bed. ‘Shall I get him up, Miss?’ Annie asked, to which Blanche replied no, leave him where he was.

  Out in the yard again she debated for some moments on what to do, then hurrying to the stables she saddled up the other cob and led it out of the stable. After mounting she rode the pony out of the yard and set off down the road, after some distance turning left onto a bridle path that led towards Trowbridge.

  After travelling on the path for a mile or so she looked across the adjoining fields and, feeling her heart lurch, suddenly caught sight of the cob that John Savill had ridden. It stood alone in the middle of a field, quietly cropping the grass. Turning the head of her own mount she set off, riding beside the hedgerow until she reached the solitary pony. Dismounting, she tethered her own pony and then walked steadily towards the other, speaking calmly to him as she moved. He was unperturbed by her approach, and she was able to take his bridle and lead him back to the edge of the pasture. ‘Well,’ she murmured as she tethered him to a tree beside the other cob, ‘I’ve found you, but where is Uncle John?’

  With the aid of a nearby tree-stump she managed to mount her cob again and leaving the other tied to the tree she set off across the field, all the while casting her eyes about for any sign of John Savill.

  It took her over an hour of searching, moving about the adjoining fields surrounding the spot where she had found the cob, but at last she was rewarded. At last, in the late, fading evening light, she came upon him, lying beside a low hedge.

  ‘Uncle John!’

  Quickly she dismounted and hurried to his side. His eyes were open and he was looking at her. He gave her a faint smile and murmured her name. Her heart thudding, she bent over him. He lay with his left leg bent beneath him. ‘The cob took off with me, and threw me,’ he breathed, his breath catching, and Blanche said quickly, ‘Don’t talk. Don’t try to talk.’

  She could see at once from the distorted position of his leg that it must be broken.

  ‘Uncle John,’ she said, ‘I must go and fetch help. I’ll have to leave you here for a while.’

  ‘Help me first,’ he breathed, grimacing with pain. ‘My leg. Help me to straighten my leg.’

  Gritting her teeth, she bent and, while he cried out in pain, she pulled the broken leg into something like the right position. The contour of the leg through his trousers was alarming, though, and lifting the blood-stained trouser-leg she could see the bone protruding through the flesh.

  Taking his cravat, she tied it around his leg, above the wound, and with the use of a small, sturdy twig taken from the hedgerow, tightened it, secured it there. It would slow or stop the bleeding for now. She pressed his hand, straightened.

  ‘I’m going to fetch help, Uncle John. I’ll be as fast as I can.’

  He nodded, grimacing as another stab of pain shot through his injured leg. Blanche remained gazing down at hi
m for a moment longer, then turned and hurried away. Minutes later she was riding as fast as she dared back towards Hallowford House.

  James, roused from his bed, fetched help from a gardener who lived close by and together they took a cart and brought John Savill back to the house where he was carried upstairs and put to bed. Dr Kelsey was sent for, but he was away, and an ageing doctor, Soames, from Ashton Wick was sent for in his stead. Later, after the bone had been set and Savill had been left in some degree of comfort, the doctor spoke to Blanche in the hall.

  The break had not been a clean one, he said, and the setting of it had proved no easy matter. He hoped, however, there would be no complications. He left saying that he would return the next day, and that in the meantime the patient should be kept quiet and warm.

  When the doctor had gone from the house Blanche knocked softly on Savill’s door and entered. Moving to the bed she stood gazing at him. As she did so his eyes opened and he looked up at her and smiled.

  ‘I thought you might be sleeping,’ she said softly.

  ‘No, not yet.’ He smiled. ‘Has the doctor gone?’

  ‘Yes, a minute ago.’

  In the silence that followed Blanche found herself astonished at how old Savill looked. She had not been aware of it till this moment. Now, though, he looked more than his seventy years – suddenly he was a very old man lying back on the pillows.

  ‘I came to see if you wanted anything,’ she said.

  ‘No. No, thank you, my dear.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I’ll wish you goodnight, then.’

  ‘Goodnight, Blanche.’

  ‘Ring if you want anything.’

  ‘I will.’

  She leaned down, kissed his cheek. ‘Goodnight, Uncle John.’

  The doctor called again the following day. In the meantime Harold Savill had been informed and had come to the house. He was there again, having driven over from Trowbridge, when Dr Soames called once more three days later. This time neither the doctor nor John Savill seemed as happy with the progress of the injured leg.

  After spending some time examining the patient, Dr Soames went to the library where Harold Savill waited.