by Val Wood
They waited over half an hour in the cold and draughty room, which had a low coal fire burning in the grate, but they were grateful for the facilities: a privy and a tap where they could wash their sooty hands.
Polly groaned as she huddled over the fire. ‘I’m so hungry!’ She had packed bread and cheese and an apple each, but those had been eaten before they had reached Filey. ‘Shall I try to find a baker or a pie shop?’
‘Oh, what a good idea,’ Rosalie said, and fished about in her purse for money. ‘We don’t know how long it will take to get to my uncle’s house. We could be hours.’
Polly dashed off and Rosalie once more was thankful that she had asked Polly to travel with her. She was so eager, so willing to please, whilst I, Rosalie thought, wouldn’t have dared move from here in case I missed Uncle Luke’s driver. And I would have hated travelling alone.
Ten minutes passed and Rosalie grew anxious, wondering where Polly had got to. Then a porter and a tall man with a thick beard and a shock of grey hair, wearing a grey wool cape-coat and a large-brimmed hat, came down the platform towards the waiting room.
‘Here we are, miss,’ the porter said. ‘I think this is who you’re waiting for.’
Rosalie rose unsteadily to her feet. She felt very shaky, from either lack of food or the effect of the train travel. ‘Who are you?’ she asked the man, who took off his hat.
‘Amos. I’ve come from Mr Kingston,’ he said gruffly. ‘Are you Miss Kingston? We need to be off. Weather’s bad up yonder. Madness to travel if you ask me.’
‘We must wait a few moments for my companion,’ Rosalie said. ‘She’s gone to find refreshments for us. We’ve been travelling since this morning.’
‘Well, as long as her baint too long. Weather’s bad up there,’ he repeated. ‘Don’t want to get stuck in a snowdrift.’
‘I hear you,’ Rosalie said pertly. ‘I’m sure she will be as swift as possible.’
Another ten minutes passed. The men took the trunks outside to the carriage and then Amos came back and paced up and down the platform, before Polly appeared clutching two paper bags. She was out of breath. ‘All ’bakers are closing early,’ she puffed. ‘But I managed to find a grocer still open. I got two pork pies and an apple pie. Is that our carriage outside?’
‘I expect so,’ Rosalie said. ‘And that wild man striding about is Amos, our driver.’ She pursed her lips. ‘I can’t think it will be a comfortable ride.’
Polly was thrilled to be riding in a carriage but Rosalie looked at it in dismay. It was an ancient brougham which had seen better days. The upholstery was torn and dusty and there was no lantern inside. The two greys pulling it stamped and snorted impatiently.
‘Your uncle must be rich,’ Polly said as they stepped in. ‘To own a carriage like this!’
‘More likely he can’t afford another one,’ Rosalie muttered. ‘But yes, he must have been rich enough to own a carriage and pair at one time. People in towns rarely own their own carriage and generally hire one, but I suppose he needs one if the farm is isolated.’ She heaved a sigh and wondered if she had made the right choice. Perhaps she should have joined her father after all.
Polly leaned out of the window to speak to Amos before he climbed on to his seat. ‘Will we be able to see Scarborough castle?’
He stared at her. ‘No. We don’t go on that road. Besides, it’s only a ruin.’ Then he appeared to relent. ‘Mebbe in summer Maister’ll let me bring you, but there’s nowt there for young ladies. Now for young lads it’s a different matter. I spent many a happy hour climbing up the cliffs to get to it when I was a nipper.’
‘Goodness,’ Rosalie murmured as Polly closed the window. ‘A speech! You must have charmed him, Polly.’
The carriage moved off, swiftly turning its back on the town; snow was falling fast, not yet covering the ground but turning into wet slush. There were few people about and shopkeepers were putting up shutters outside their premises and closing the doors.
‘I wish I’d asked Amos how long it will take to get there,’ Rosalie said. ‘Perhaps he’ll stop en route to allow us to eat and rest.’
Polly was doubtful. Amos seemed anxious to get home as soon as possible. But they had only been travelling ten minutes or so when the carriage slowed at the top of a rise and Amos appeared and opened their door.
‘Don’t tek long now,’ he said. ‘But if you look back towards town you can just see the castle.’ He pointed back the way they had travelled.
They both stepped down and looked in the direction he indicated. ‘Oh, yes!’ Polly exclaimed as behind the curtain of snow she saw the turreted outline faintly etched against the brooding skyline, its open windows like unseeing eyes. ‘Oh, we must come and see it again in daylight, Rosalie. It’s so romantic!’
Amos humphed at her comment and muttered that they’d have to be off, because the light was almost gone and they had a long journey ahead of them.
‘How long?’ Rosalie asked.
‘As long as it teks.’ His reply was surly and he held the door for them to board again.
‘What a miserable fellow he is,’ Rosalie said. ‘Does he never smile?’
‘We’ll see if we can make him,’ Polly grinned, and then the carriage jerked as the horses pulled away and she was almost thrown to the floor.
They took the Scalby road, and although it was getting very dark Polly peered eagerly out of the window to catch a glimpse of the receding town.
‘It’s ever so hilly,’ she commented. ‘Not like Hull at all. You’d be all right walking down to town but you’d need a deal o’ breath for ’pull back up.’
They drove along the road for about two miles before turning off on to a narrower one. The snow was coming down faster now, and as they travelled further away from the sea it began to settle, covering the rough road with a soft white carpet. The air was sharp and both girls drew their blankets closer round them.
‘I’m worried,’ Rosalie said, a few miles further on. ‘I wish I knew how far we were going.’
‘It wouldn’t make any difference,’ Polly said wisely. ‘It’ll tek ’same length of time whether we know or not.’
Rosalie giggled in spite of her anxiety. ‘You are so funny, Polly,’ she said. ‘But I wish we could stop somewhere and finish the journey in the morning.’
‘So do I,’ Polly said, ‘but I don’t think old Amos would hear of it. It’ll tek as long as it teks,’ she mimicked in a gruff voice, making Rosalie laugh again.
‘Let’s try to guess what your uncle will be like,’ she suggested. ‘And the boys. It might help to pass ’time.’
‘Well,’ Rosalie said. ‘I think he’ll be an absent-minded country gentleman. Fairly tall like my father, but heavier built because of living in the country, and not as upright as a military man like my father.’
‘And the boys? Are they young, do you think? Or your age?’
‘I’m not sure.’ Rosalie pondered. ‘I don’t know if Uncle Luke is younger or older than my father, but I’m going to guess that they will be about – erm, twelve or thirteen. Oh, but then why are they not away at school? So, don’t know! Give in.’
The carriage slowed and rocked, throwing the girls about. Polly rose unsteadily to her feet and clung to the window frame to look out.
‘It’s thick snow and I can’t see any houses or shops! Nothing!’ she exclaimed. Never had she been anywhere where there was space which hadn’t been filled by buildings.
‘There must be some.’ Rosalie joined her and peered out. ‘We can’t have left civilization behind yet, surely?’
The carriage rocked again and they fell back into their seats; the horses appeared to be going at walking pace, as if they were picking their way. Then Polly saw a yellow light, and then another. ‘We’ve passed two cottages. Oh,’ she breathed. ‘This is so exciting!’
The carriage drew to a halt and they waited expectantly. Amos opened the door. His coat, hat and beard were covered in snow. ‘We’ll have to stop,’ he said. �
�One of the hosses has gone lame. There’s a tavern up yonder that I’ll tek you to and you can stop there till I get back. You’ll have to walk; I can’t get the carriage up the hill. Snow’s too thick.’
‘But where will you go?’ Rosalie said.
‘Back to the Hackness road. There’s an inn and a blacksmith there, but up yonder’s not much more than an alehouse. It’s respectable,’ he added. ‘You’ll be quite safe.’
They both stepped down into deep snow. ‘My boots!’ Polly wailed. She was very proud of her new boots. She’d never had such a pair and now they would be ruined.
Rosalie lifted the hem of her coat. She was relieved to be stopping. At least they would be able to have a hot drink and rest for a while. ‘Come on, Polly.’ She put out her hand. ‘They’ll clean up, don’t worry.’
Polly snorted. She had cleaned and polished Cook’s and Martha’s and Miss Rosalie’s shoes and boots whilst working as a scullery maid. Rosalie didn’t know, of course. Probably never gave a thought as to who did jobs like that. She sighed. Well, some things don’t change. I expect I’ll have to do them again. She reached for Rosalie’s hand and took a long stride and fell headlong into a snow-filled ditch.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Rosalie screeched ‘Get her out! Get her out!’ as Polly disappeared into the ditch. Amos hauled her out and Polly spluttered and then roared with laughter. Her eyes, mouth and hair were full of snow and she shook herself and looked up at Amos, who was having difficulty keeping a straight face. His shoulders were shaking.
As she brushed herself down Polly said gleefully, ‘I haven’t done that since I was a bairn and some lads held me down in a snowdrift.’ She sniffed. ‘Oh, come on Amos. Lead on. I’m wet through.’
‘You’ll catch a chill,’ Rosalie fussed. ‘I do hope there’s a good fire at the hostelry.’
‘There will be, miss.’ Amos reverted to his glum self but his mouth twitched as he glanced at Polly. ‘They’ll put on supper as well, shouldn’t wonder.’
They tramped up the hill, lifting their feet high and keeping to the middle path so there was no more fear of falling into a ditch. It was a long way up and the girls panted with the exertion. At the top of the hill was a terrace of four cottages, one of them being the alehouse. Amos pushed open the door and the smell of beer, tobacco and a smoky fire gushed out. Three elderly men sat at a table with a jug of ale in front of them; the landlord leaned with his elbows on the small counter.
‘How do, Amos.’ He straightened up. ‘What brings you up here this time o’ night?’
‘On an errand for Maister,’ Amos grunted. ‘But I’ve got a lame hoss who’ll never mek it home. Can you look after these young ladies till I get back from the blacksmith? They’ll want a hot drink and a warm by yon fire.’
‘And a little supper, if you please,’ Rosalie said. ‘We’ve been travelling all day.’
‘You’ve got a bit wet, miss,’ the landlord said to Polly, who was shivering in her wet clothes. ‘What happened? Amos make you walk?’
Polly sneezed and shook her head. ‘I fell in a ditch,’ she snuffled. ‘Should’ve watched where I was going.’
‘You going to Nab Farm?’ he asked, raising a hand to Amos as he went out of the door. ‘That’s a fair way to go at this time o’ night, specially in this weather. Move over, lads,’ he called to the men at the table near the fire. ‘Let the fox see the rabbit.’
Polly and Rosalie looked at each other and then thanked the old men, who got up and shuffled the table and chairs to make room for them.
The landlord called for his wife, who took one look at Rosalie and Polly and went immediately to fetch blankets and towels. She helped them off with their coats and suggested they take off their boots and dry their feet by the fire.
‘I’ll get chilblains,’ Polly said. ‘I allus do if I put my feet by ’fire.’
‘Rub them briskly with the towel,’ Rosalie suggested. ‘It’ll get the blood moving.’
The landlady took away their wet coats and a few minutes later came in with a bowl of lukewarm water. ‘Here, miss. Dip your feet in here; you’ll soon get the feeling back.’
Polly did as she was bid and within a second felt her toes tingling as if pierced with red hot needles. ‘Ow, ow!’ she complained, looking so pathetic with the blanket draped over her shoulders and a towel over her wet hair that Rosalie put her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.
‘I’m sorry,’ she chortled. ‘But you always make me laugh, Polly.’
‘I’m so glad, Miss Rosalie,’ Polly mumbled. ‘So pleased to be of service.’ Then she grinned. ‘What a lark, eh? And this is onny ’start.’
They were brought hot soup and bread, which warmed them up, and then prepared for a long wait for Amos to return. The landlord had told them that it might be an hour or more before he came back.
‘That’s if he doesn’t finish up in a ditch,’ he added lugubriously.
They both dozed by the fire, warm now with the blankets round them. Polly opened her eyes to see the old men preparing to go home, wrapping mufflers round their necks and pulling up their coat collars.
‘G’night,’ the landlord called after them. ‘Mind how you go now. See you tomorrow, all being well.’
‘I hope they’ll be all right,’ Polly murmured. ‘Do they have far to travel?’
The landlord rubbed his chin. ‘Just next door,’ he said. ‘Oxtoby brothers in the first cottage, Jack in the next. Reckon they’ll mek it home if they watch where they put their feet.’
It was close on two hours before the door blew open to admit a flurry of snow and cold air and Amos, once more covered in snow and looking, Polly thought, like a giant snowman.
‘By, what a night,’ he panted. ‘Give us a hot toddy, Bill and charge it up to Maister.’ He glanced towards the fire and nodded to the two young women. ‘I took both hosses out of the traces, rode the good ’un and led the lame,’ he told Bill. ‘I’d have been out there yet if I’d tried to tek ’carriage. As it is, I don’t know how we’ll get home.’
‘Can’t we stay until the morning?’ A dull headache made Rosalie unwilling to move from the fireside, and she was about to say more when the door crashed open again and a young man almost fell inside.
Amos turned. ‘Mr Howard, sir! What ’you doing out tonight?’
The stranger took off his hat and dashed the snow off it. He was tall and lean with thick fair hair and an inch-long scar across his left cheek.
‘You might well ask, Amos. That tom-fool of a cousin of mine sent me on a wild goose chase. Pour me a glass of your ale, landlord, and put a hot poker in it, if you please, and then I’ll get off home.’
He caught sight of Rosalie and Polly and gave a slight bow. ‘Beg your pardon, ladies. Good evening.’
‘Are you on foot, sir, or horseback?’ Amos asked him.
‘Why, on horseback, of course. What fool would be walking on such a night? You could die of exposure out there if you fell into a ditch.’
He quaffed his ale and rubbed his gloved hands together and then glanced over towards the fire again. ‘I trust you are staying the night, ladies, and not venturing further?’
Amos interjected before Rosalie could speak. ‘The young ladies are on their way to Nab Farm, sir,’ he said. ‘We were in the carriage, but one of hosses went lame.’
Mr Howard gave Amos a questioning glance. ‘There’s no one at home,’ he said. ‘Were you expected?’ His question was addressed to Rosalie and Polly. Rosalie looked dismayed.
‘They are expected, sir,’ Amos interrupted again. ‘I set off this morning on Maister’s instructions to collect ’em from Scarborough railway station. Mrs Moody knows.’
‘Really? She didn’t tell me.’ The young man shrugged. ‘But nothing new there! Does Edwin know?’
‘That I don’t know, sir,’ Amos said grimly.
Mr Howard came towards the fire. ‘Please excuse me,’ he said to them. ‘We live in rather a disorganized household where the right hand
rarely knows what the left hand is doing. My name is Howard Carleton.’
Not Uncle Luke’s son, then, Rosalie thought. Is he one of ‘the boys’?
‘I’m Rosalie Kingston,’ she said. ‘And this is Miss Parker. We have travelled from Hull and are coming to stay with my uncle Luke Kingston. At his invitation,’ she added.
He seemed astonished. ‘I didn’t know Uncle Luke had any nieces. You’re not sisters, then? You’re very alike.’
Rosalie gave a slight frown. ‘We are not sisters,’ she said. ‘We are companions. So Luke is your uncle too?’
‘Mm.’ He nodded. ‘His wife and my father were sister and brother. He and Aunt Jane brought me up when my parents died.’
‘I see,’ Rosalie murmured and sat back in the chair. Luke Kingston must be a remarkable kind of man to take in his relatives’ children. Perhaps that is why Papa asked if he would look after me. He must have known that he had already taken someone else’s child into his protection. ‘And who is Edwin?’ she asked.
‘Luke’s son. My cousin ... and seemingly yours. Then there’s Clementina, Edwin’s sister. She’s away at present.’ He gazed quizzically from one to the other. ‘I hope you know how to entertain yourselves,’ he said. ‘There’s absolutely nothing to do; not for ladies. That’s why Clemmie goes away in the winter.’
‘And what do you do, Mr Carleton?’ Rosalie asked. ‘Do you have an occupation or are you a gentleman who doesn’t need to work?’
Polly looked astonished at Rosalie’s question. Not work? Surely all men had to work? How did they keep body and soul together otherwise? She gazed expectantly at Howard Carleton, waiting for his answer. He seemed amused, she thought.
‘I work on the farm,’ he said. ‘I’m a farmer, a shepherd.’ There was a glimmer of a smile. He cast a glance at Amos who was fidgeting, wanting to be on his way. ‘It’s some small repayment for Luke’s care of me during my childhood.’
‘Excuse me, Mr Howard,’ Amos said. ‘But I want to get these young ladies home. Can you assist me?’