by Diane Allen
‘What would you have me do? Say, “No, Father. We don’t want you”? How ungrateful would that have sounded, after he’d just said that Crummock would be ours, after his day had passed?’ said Danny. ‘Will you stop your moaning; he’ll be no bother, and in fact he will be a blessing. He’ll be able to give me advice whenever I want it, and you know how much Ben and Rosie love him. I wish he was as fit as he used to be, because I could really have done with his help this morning, looking at this lot to clip and place our mark on.’
‘Well, I’m glad for you, but to me he’s just another mouth to feed. I’ve enough on lately, and it’ll mean I’ll have to get him a room ready.’ Harriet could nearly cry; she’d had enough. Four weeks of sickly children, and the death of Charlotte, had made her spirits low. It was as if nothing was going right, and looking around the yard at more than a hundred and fifty sheep, and all the neighbours who had come to help in the yearly event of clipping, was just about the last straw. She appreciated that everyone was here to help, but they would all want to be fed, and she would be expected to wrap the woollen fleeces up into a ball, ready for the wool merchant from Long Preston to collect later in the year. All of this, with Ben missing, Georgina bawling and Rosie unable to wait a minute longer for her grandfather to arrive, just made Harriet feel like breaking down.
‘Get Rosie to make my father’s bed up and tidy his room – she’s old enough. Ben will turn up when he’s hungry; he will be down at the wash-dubs with his mates. It’s a good day for having a dip in that pool down there.’ Danny looked up at the blue skies and regretted straight away that he’d said Ben might have gone swimming. Harriet would imagine all sorts of calamities.
‘A dip in the wash-dubs – he’ll be to bury! He’s only just got over the measles.’ Harriet stood on the steps that led down into the yard and rubbed her face with her hands. She just didn’t know where to start.
‘Come on, old lass, this isn’t like you. You usually take everything in your stride. My father will be no problem and, if he is, we can always send him back to Isabelle to look after, although he is my responsibility really.’ Danny put his arm around Harriet and felt her sobbing. He kissed her gently on the neck as she trembled.
‘I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not feeling myself at the moment. The children have been a worry, and although I know we owe everything to your father, I don’t know if it will work with him living here. Anyway,’ Harriet pushed him back, ‘take your hands off me. We’ll have none of this, Danny Atkinson – you are showing me up. Look at Henry from Sowermire wondering what’s up; you’d swear he’d never seen a husband give his wife a hug before.’ Harriet pushed him away and wiped back the tear that had trickled down her cheek.
‘He probably hasn’t, and he definitely won’t have hugged his wife for a while. I doubt his arms would reach around her, she’s such a size.’ Danny tried to brighten Harriet’s mood.
‘Shush – he’ll hear you. Patsy might be big, but she’s a good woman; she’ll feed you well, when you go there clipping. Which is more than can be said of me, if I don’t stir my shanks and get that rhubarb pie in the oven and find a cheese from out of the pantry.’ She lifted up her skirts and made for the kitchen doorway. But Danny’s shout stopped her in her tracks.
‘You’ve one less worry – here comes our Ben with my father. They are just coming round the end of the wood.’ Danny leaned against the garden wall and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his cap, as his father opened the farmyard gate with Ben by his side. ‘Where do you think you’ve been trailing? Did you not think to tell your mother where you were off to?’ he asked Ben, who was busy chatting to his grandfather.
‘I found him on the green lane going over to Wharfe; he was only making his way to play with the Knowles lad. It’s a good day for trailing and adventures, isn’t it, Ben?’ Archie rubbed his small grandson’s head of curly brown hair, before whispering that he had to say sorry to his mother for upsetting her.
‘Sorry, Mother. I just hadn’t seen John for so long, and I didn’t think you’d miss me.’ Ben bowed his head, knowing he was in a spot of bother as Harriet pulled him into the house by his shoulder.
‘Let him stop out with us, lass, we’ll keep an eye on him. He can help pick up the loose bits of wool and put them in a sack; it’ll keep him out of mischief.’ Archie looked at his son, wondering if he had done right.
‘Leave her, Father, she’ll give Ben a chastising and then he’ll be out with us. It’ll be like water off a duck’s back at the moment, for he tends to do his own thing and have a mind of his own, does our Ben,’ sighed Danny.
‘Aye, I had one of them, and look what he grew into! A bloody big stubborn bugger, who still tends to do just what he wants.’ Archie laughed and patted his son on the shoulders. ‘Right, let’s get these sheep clipped.’ He reached into the bag on his back and pulled out a shining pair of sharp steel sheep-shears. ‘The sooner we get started, the sooner we get done. Is that not right, lads?’ he shouted to the four neighbouring farmers, who were already handling sheep, turning each animal onto its buttocks and then holding the struggling sheep fast between their legs. The sharp shears started cutting the fleece away from the sheep’s stomach, and then up around the back and next to the head, carefully keeping the fleece whole and not nicking the sheep. Once bare of their fleece, the sheep were then marked with a red waterproof mixture, with the letter A, to denote that the sheep belonged to the Atkinsons, before they were let back out of the farmyard to the holding pasture where their spring-born bleating lambs were waiting. The marking would help if a sheep got lost on the open fell and would reveal who its owner was.
‘You needn’t think you are clipping, Father. Not on those doddery knees. First sheep that struggled, you’d be knocked over.’ Danny looked at his father, whose disappointed face said it all. ‘Why don’t you roll the fleeces up? Harriet was going to help, but she’s got enough on, with the baby still under the weather.’
‘But it’ll be the first time I’ve missed clipping my sheep for the last fifty years. I can do the odd old one.’
Archie looked at the yard full of grey-faced Rough Fells and Swaledales, all breathing hard and bleating in the warm summer’s sun. The flies they were attracting buzzed around them, and as Archie watched them he realized his son was speaking the truth and he would have to face up to the fact that he’d be more bother than he was worth.
‘I suppose you are right. It’s a bloody sad day when your father is doing a woman’s job. But I don’t want to be a burden to anyone.’ Archie pushed his way through the flock of sheep and made for the first shearer with a fleece ready for wrapping. He shook out the lanolin-filled fleece, folding all the odd pieces of it into the middle, and just leaving the tail-end to be used for tying the fleece up. He rolled the fleece tight like a rolled-up blanket and then pulled the tail-end tightly around the fleece. Then he tucked it into itself, before throwing the fleece into the huge hessian sack that the wool merchant had left to be filled on the back of the cart in the corner of the farmyard. He then quickly moved on to the next.
Danny watched his father. He was an awkward old devil. Why didn’t he just take it easy and sit and watch them all? Clipping was a young man’s job, and he wished Archie had stopped down at Windfell, just for today. He picked up his shears and joined the group of men; as his father had said, the sooner they all started the better. It was going to be a long day.
Archie leaned back and stretched. He ached from bending down and rolling fleeces. He sat back on the edge of the garden steps and watched those who, to him, looked like young men, as Harriet poured a drink of tea into enamel mugs and made sure each man was amply fed with warm bacon and hard fried-egg sandwiches, followed by rhubarb pie and cream. She was a good woman really; the death of her two children had made her hard, though, and had spoilt her onetime gentle ways. He had always thought she was right for Danny, a good farmer’s wife as well as being a good mother, despite what Harriet thought of herself. It was a
pity they weren’t getting on so well at present. No doubt he hadn’t helped by wanting to move in; and telling Danny that he had a son at Ragged Hall would only have made him think about what he might have had. Perhaps he shouldn’t have said anything.
‘Thanks, Harriet, that looks grand. You make a good pie, just like my mother did, and that’s a true compliment.’ Archie smiled up at her as she stood beside him with the enamel jug of tea, after pouring him a cup.
‘Thank you, Father, and thank you for rolling the fleeces for me. It’s been a good help.’ Harriet pulled her skirts around her and sat next to her father-in-law. She did love him, she just hadn’t wanted him to live with them. Things were fraught enough, without another body to look after.
‘Our Danny thinks I’m not fit for clipping, so it’s the least I can do. It seems he’s right anyway, because I feel knackered. I’m not as fit as I used to be, and these lads clip fast. A lot faster than I ever did.’ Archie put his head back after a long sip of his tea and looked into the vivid cloud-free blue sky, watching the swallows and swifts as they screeched above his head.
‘It’ll come to us all, so don’t worry. Rosie and I have made your room up. You are welcome to join us any time now. Danny and the children can’t wait for you to arrive.’ Harriet looked at Archie and saw how tired and aged he seemed since the death of Charlotte.
‘I’ll try not to be any bother, lass. I’ll keep out of your way and will help when I can. I know I’m just another responsibility, but I’ll take young Ben fishing and sing to Georgina when she’s twisty. Not that it will stop her gurning,’ laughed Archie.
‘You’ll not be any bother, Father. Now go and have a lie-down, I’ll finish rolling the fleeces. Georgina is asleep, Rosie is baking a cake and, as you can see, Ben is helping his father mark the sheep.’ Harriet put her arm round Archie. He looked shattered, and her heart softened to the old man.
Together, they looked across at Danny and Ben and smiled.
‘Look at Ben: the next owner of Crummock, lass. He’s a right farmer.’ Archie smiled before standing straight. The truth was that the day was telling on him. ‘I might just go and have forty winks. Am I in the end bedroom?’ He looked up at the long, ancient farmhouse and yawned.
‘Aye, I thought you’d be quietest there.’ Harriet watched as her father-in-law stiffly climbed the few steps into the garden and walked up the path. He was old and in need of care; no wonder he wanted to come home to Crummock. She’d have to learn to bite her tongue. She owed a lot to Archie Atkinson, and the least he could expect was a bit of comfort in his dotage. He never took sides and had always been kind to her, she should remember that.
Archie lay on his bed and looked up at the cracked whitewashed ceiling of his new bedroom. It was a step down from the beautifully plastered ceilings of Windfell Manor and their ornate cornicing. He listened to the men in the yard talking and laughing to one another, and smelt the fruitcake that Rosie was baking in the fireside oven of the kitchen. This was what he had missed – the simple things in life – not having to announce to the world his intentions for the day, what he wished to eat and where to eat it. He closed his eyes; life had gone full circle and he was back in the world that he’d been born into, albeit without his Lottie. But she would always be waiting for him in his dreams and thoughts.
6
Isabelle stood back and looked around the drawing room of Ingfield House, watching the parlour maid as she scurried around with the dust covers that were being thrown over the furniture they were going to leave in their abandoned home.
‘That’s right – I’m taking that vase. Be careful, I don’t want it breaking,’ shouted Isabelle at the hauliers who were moving the possessions that were to join her in the family’s new life at Windfell Manor.
‘Do we really need to take all these belongings to Windfell? Where are you going to place them? Windfell is full to the rafters already.’ James sat down in one of the covered chairs and watched as his wife gave orders to the scurrying young men. They dared not answer back to his domineering wife.
‘Really, James, we need to make our mark on Windfell – make it ours. My mother and Archie have always kept the house smart, but some of their furniture and decor are a bit dated. I aim to stamp my own mark on Windfell and make it our home. I’m so glad that we don’t have to sell Ingfield. I hope that one day the house, and most of the contents, will make a good wedding present for our Jane, if and when she is to wed.’ Isabelle glanced at her husband as she stood and looked around at the emptying room.
‘Jane to wed – I hope not! Or at least not for a few years yet, she’s only seventeen and it would be a brave man that tackles her. Do you know I caught her reading one of the ridiculous pamphlets those visiting suffragettes to Skipton were handing out the other day? She’s definitely got a mind of her own.’ James sighed as he watched his wife remonstrating about how her belongings should be handled, instead of listening to him. ‘She even had the cheek the other day to quote their saying, “Deeds, not Words”, to me when I said I had not spoken to your father about offering help when he moved out.’
‘Perhaps she had a point, my dear. After all, all you have done is sit there and moan, and we are trying to get us moved into Windfell before the evening,’ Isabelle said curtly. Her thoughts were both on the move and on where she should really be: making her mark as the new owner of Atkinson’s. And she hadn’t time for her husband’s relaxed ways; he might just as well have gone to Skipton and supported Jane, by coping with some of the backlog of orders that had occurred because of her mother’s passing.
‘I object to you saying that. I did help Archie with his belongings this morning – not that he took a lot with him. He seems to have turned his back on his old life, now that your mother has gone. I only hope he and Harriet see eye-to-eye, as we both know Archie does things his own way and doesn’t think of the consequences.’ James rose from his seat and looked out of the window of Ingfield’s drawing room onto the busy street in Settle. ‘I’m going to miss seeing the people going past our window. At Windfell, all I’ll be able to do is see that row of beech trees and listen to the gossip of the staff.’
‘Well, there will be enough of that, especially at the moment. I don’t think I’ll be very popular with Jethro and Mazy, as I’ve told them Ethan’s services will be no longer needed. There’s just no need for two in the stables, especially now that Archie is going to live at Crummock.’ Isabelle joined her husband at the window and looked out onto the bustling street, full of people going about their business.
‘You didn’t tell me! Do you not think that decision was a bit hard, after he saved our Luke’s life? ‘James was shocked.
‘I didn’t tell you because I knew how you’d react. I know he saved Luke, but I’ve seen the way he looks at Jane; and he’s always creeping about the place, poaching the odd fish and catching the occasional rabbit. Believe me, I’m not often wrong: if he stays at Windfell, Ethan will bring trouble. He doesn’t seem to know his place in society – unlike his parents.’ Isabelle straightened a cover and turned her back on her husband. She knew her decision would not be popular with him, and she had already felt the coolness of Mazy’s reaction to it.
‘Have you made any other decisions behind my back?’ James waited.
‘No, not yet, although we are going to have two lady’s maids at Windfell, and I think I might have to let Lily go. After all, she’s not getting any younger, and my Dorothy looks after my needs so well.’
‘But Lily was your mother’s favourite!’ James looked horrified.
‘Exactly – my mother’s favourite – and, as such, she always had my mother’s ear. She never treats me as the grown woman I am, and never will.’ Isabelle remembered the time when Lily had told tales on her and her former lover, John Sidgwick, something for which she had never forgiven her. ‘Everyone else can stay. I don’t want to be seen as uncaring.’ She had known how James would react and had been hesitant to reveal her thoughts.
‘I kn
ow that you must be prudent, but Lily was dear to your mother’s heart. And you have to deal with Mazy and Jethro every day. I don’t think you will be helping your reputation. As the doctor told you, your mother’s shoes are hard to fill.’ James watched as his wife struggled to realize that she would not be liked for her actions.
‘Perhaps if I find Lily somewhere to live, it might look like I do care. It was a trick my mother used to employ, whenever she felt her staff had to leave. Although all the Lock Cottages are occupied, I could perhaps speak to my godfather and see if he has any cottages empty. The ones on Jubilee Terrace at Langcliffe would be ideal. I’m sure he will be able to help. As for Ethan, I’m afraid I stand by my decision.’ Isabelle walked over to the doorway and watched as the carriers closed the tailgate of their cart after they finished loading the Fox possessions. ‘Can you lock the doors and make sure all is secure?’ She turned and looked at her scowling husband.
‘Why, where are you going?’ James walked over to her side.
‘I’m going to Grisedale’s on Victoria Street. I’d like a new bedroom suite for Jane’s bedroom, and I saw just what I wanted in their window.’ Isabelle tidied her plaited hair and placed her elaborately decorated hat on her head, glancing in the hallway mirror as she picked up her parasol from the umbrella stand.
‘But, Isabelle, there are four perfectly good bedroom suites upstairs that you could take to Windfell, not to mention the ones already there.’ James shook his head.
‘She needs a new one, something modern that reflects the age we live in. A new broom sweeps clean, James – you should know that.’
He watched as his wife walked down the path of Ingfield House. He knew Isabelle would have whatever she wanted, despite what he had to say about it. He respected her for being a strong woman, but sometimes she was so stubborn. Stubborn to the point of stupidity, especially when she would not back down after realizing her mistakes. He sighed and gazed around Ingfield House, before closing the heavy oak door and locking it securely behind him.