Daughter of the Dales

by Diane Allen

  ‘I thank you, Miss Atkinson. That would take a few miles off my journey, so I am most willing to accept you and your maid’s suggestion.’ Daniel smiled at both of the women, who were staring at him in a most bemusing way. ‘Who do I give the invite to?’ He looked at both and waited for an answer.

  ‘I’ll take it, Mr Bland. My son will take it back to Crummock with him this evening – he works for Mr Atkinson.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Daniel gave the invitation to Mazy and turned to go.

  ‘Mr Bland, would you like to join me in a drink of coffee? I must confess, I was about to put pen to paper, but cannot be bothered with writing this morning. My parents are at church and I could do with some company. I’m sure some warm refreshment would be just the thing for you.’ Jane looked at Daniel and then at Mazy, noticing that she too couldn’t keep her eyes off the visitor.

  ‘I would not say no to that. Especially as I can see that you have a grand roaring fire.’ Daniel smiled at his host and walked past Mazy, who stared at him as he made his way into the morning room.

  ‘Coffee for two, please, Mazy, and perhaps some of Cook’s rock-cakes?’ Jane quickly dismissed the gawping housekeeper and joined her visitor in a chair next to the fire. She looked him up and down, noting how tall he was, at least six foot; and although he was dressed like any other local farmer, in a shirt and waistcoat with corduroy breeches and jacket, he carried them with a swagger. His high cheekbones and blue eyes, framed by his blond hair, made him a most handsome man – and one that Jane found quite fascinating.

  ‘I feel I’d better introduce myself, Mr Bland. I’m not, as you called me, Miss Atkinson, but Jane Fox. Mr Archie Atkinson, your late grandfather’s friend, is my mother’s stepfather and she took the Atkinson name when her own father died, until she married my father, James Fox. So we are in no way related, although my grandfather – as we have always called him – is loved by me and my brother and is just as good as a true grandfather, of that I’m sure.’

  ‘Families can be a terrible mix-up. I know that myself, but I’ll not bore you with mine just now. It is far too complicated.’ Daniel looked across at Jane and thought how good-looking she was, with her long auburn hair; it was nearly how he remembered his mother, Amy, when she was young – before years of living with his so-called father and four brothers had taken their toll on her. She too had been beautiful, until all life’s dreams had been beaten and wrung out of her by her husband and his family. He’d hated leaving her over at Slaidburn so he could look after his grandfather, but knew he could not stand living at home another minute. He knew that his mother was better off without him there, as a reminder of her free-living past. It was a thorn in the side of her husband, who frequently reminded both Daniel and Amy of the differences between Daniel and his other sons. He was different; he was not his father’s child and all the world knew it, it was that obvious.

  ‘It is as you say. I doubt anything would shock me, when it comes to families, but we have said enough about our family, I’m sure.’ Jane smiled. ‘When is your grandfather’s funeral, and will you be leaving us and going back to Slaidburn when he has been buried?’

  ‘It is on Friday, at Rathmell, at two p.m. And no, I won’t be going back to Slaidburn. My grandfather left his farm, Ragged Hall, to me, so I aim to stay there, build the farm into what it used to be before my grandfather took ill.’ Daniel looked into the fire as Mazy entered with a tray laden with coffee and rock-cakes. She bobbed a curtsy as she left the young couple helping themselves.

  ‘Mazy’s son will deliver your card – you’ve no need to worry on that score. I’m sure my grandfather will attend, and also his son, who shares your Christian name, although we call him “Uncle Danny”. We never use his “Sunday name” of Daniel, as he calls it.’ Jane smiled at her guest as she poured him his coffee and passed him a rock-cake. ‘He has the same-coloured hair as you, too – strange, that!’ Jane paused and then bit into her rock-cake and watched Daniel’s every move, as she realized that it was her Uncle Danny that her guest reminded her of.

  ‘Aye, well, we are all Dales folk around here. All interrelated, one way or another, and folk often look alike.’ Daniel bit into his bun and looked at his hostess. ‘Were you not in the printer’s when I ordered the cards? You were looking at some fancy designs.’

  ‘Yes, I was. That’s how I recognized you, when Mazy introduced you. My mother had asked me to go to Lambert’s to get some Christmas Ball invitations printed. I was looking at what I thought she would like printed on them, while you were placing your order.’ Jane breathed in, wondering if she dared say the next line. ‘You must come as my guest. I know it will be a little soon after the death of your grandfather, but I’m sure he would approve. And I know Grandfather Archie would like to see you there. It’s on Christmas Eve, at eight p.m. I’ll send you an invitation, to remind you.’ She blushed. She had never been that forward before, but Daniel Bland was so good-looking and he was about to get his own farm, so her parents could not complain.

  ‘Aye, I might just do that. My grandfather would want me to. His dying words to me were to get on with life, after his day, and not mope about. You remind me, with an invitation, and I’ll be here.’ Daniel smiled across at the young woman who had made him welcome; he’d like to see a bit more of her, now that he knew who she was.

  ‘It’s a deal then.’ Jane laughed.

  ‘That it is, but now I’d better be on my way. Thank you for the drink and the warm-up. I’ll get on with the business of handing out my cards and telling everyone my bad news. It’s going to be a long day, if everyone I meet invites me in for a drink and to get warm. My grandfather must have been well liked.’

  Daniel rose from his chair and looked at the young woman in front of him and at the house she lived in. It was a million miles from the hovel he’d been brought up in, and yet he had been told by his mother that this house was where his true father had lived nearly all his life. His true father, whom he had yet to meet.

  25

  ‘Well, that’s another bugger gone. There’s hardly anybody left that I played and grew up with.’ Archie looked at the funeral card that Ethan had just handed him.

  ‘The devil looks after his own. You’ll be with us for a good time yet.’ Danny patted his father on his back as he stared at the notice of Bill Brown’s demise.

  ‘I suppose I will have to show my face at his funeral. Now, are you going to come along with me? It could be awkward for you. You’ll get to see the lad, though.’ Archie looked at his son and knew this was the moment that perhaps Danny had been waiting for: a glimpse of his former lover and their son, both of whom, he knew, must have been playing on his mind.

  ‘Well, you can’t go without me really. I’ll come, but I’ll keep a low profile and sit at the back of the church, away from the family.’ Danny glanced quickly at his father. The old bugger knew him too well; he knew exactly what he was thinking.

  ‘I wonder what’s to become of Ragged Hall. Will Bill have left it to his lass, or perhaps her lad will have been given it? He’s the one that deserves it – he was there when he was needed.’ Archie leaned upon the kitchen table and looked out of the window, deep in thought. ‘Ragged Hall’s always been in the Brown family. Bill will not have wanted it to go to any of that lot over in Slaidburn. I bet your lad’s got it.’

  ‘Father, he may not be my lad. Just because he’s blond, it means nowt,’ Danny snapped.

  ‘Tha’ll see for yourself. He’s yours alright, and he’s back where he belongs. A cuckoo never falls far from its nest. He’ll be back at Ragged Hall, I’ll bet you my last penny.’ Archie grinned.

  ‘Now, we can’t have you looking like that. Here, let me straighten your tie. And keep your trilby on if you can, at the graveside, as your hair needs cutting.’ Harriet fussed over Danny, making sure he looked respectable for the funeral that both he and his father were attending. She turned to Archie and straightened the white handkerchief in his pocket. ‘Now, don’t worry if you are la
te back for milking. Rosie and Ethan have it in hand. We all know how these funerals drag on, especially with you farmers. You’ll be discussing the price of sheep and what the weather is doing, while poor old Bill’s grave is filled in and he’s already forgotten about.’

  ‘Nay, lass, we will try and be back in good time. Now Bill’s gone, his family doesn’t have anything in common with us.’ Archie smiled at Harriet and then glanced quickly at Danny. ‘Right, lad, let’s be away. It’s only a little chapel at Rathmell and I need a seat, as my old legs won’t be able to hold me up through the full service.’

  ‘Bye, Harriet. We should be back before milking, so don’t worry. As you say, the time we get back will depend on this old gasbag and who he gets talking to.’ Danny leaned forward and kissed Harriet on the cheek. He rarely did this and Harriet knew exactly why he had done it today, as she watched father and son leave the warmth of her kitchen.

  She sat down and glanced out of the kitchen window, looking out over the Dales and watching Danny and Archie going down the road from Crummock on their way to Bill Brown’s funeral. She breathed in deeply, trying to control her thoughts as she watched the horse and buggy carrying father and son disappear over the hill on their way down into Austwick, and then on to the sleepy hamlet of Rathmell. Today Danny would see her rival, for the first time in nearly twenty-five years. Yet she could not suppress the jealousy and hatred she felt for the woman who had nearly stolen her man from her, albeit briefly, all those years ago. She held back the tears that were threatening to fall and looked out to the fells in the distance. ‘God help you, Amy Brown, if you look at my man the way I know you did all those years ago. He’s mine now. We have a family and a home, and I would fight you with every breath of my body this time, if you tempt my man again,’ she whispered to herself. Then she let her tears fall, as she remembered the hurt she had once felt – a hurt that had nearly destroyed them.

  ‘I knew there’d be a lot of people here. Bill was highly thought of.’ Archie sat next to Danny in the pew that was one back from the last row, in the small chapel in the centre of Rathmell. ‘He was well respected, had damn good sheep in his day,’ whispered Archie, as they stood when the vicar could be heard entering the chapel, followed by the coffin and the mourners.

  ‘I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes . . .’ The vicar walked slowly in front of the grieving family and stood before the coffin, which the pall-bearers rested next to the altar in the small chapel.

  Danny caught his breath and looked at the grey-haired, weeping woman who stood behind it. That couldn’t be Amy – not his Amy. Then four dark-haired men joined her in the front pew, after following the path of the coffin. Danny looked at the onetime love of his life and couldn’t believe his eyes. Where was Amy’s thick auburn hair and the spring in her step, and the smile he had loved so much? He knew it was her father’s funeral, but he’d expected Amy to look just as beautiful as he’d remembered her to be. Instead, she was an old woman. Her once-vibrant hair had turned grey and was pinned up in a bun under her black mourning hat, and her face was tanned and covered with lines, showing the hard life she had endured since her marriage.

  Amy’s sons and husband sat next to her, like black crows, hanging on every word the vicar spoke and guarding her from prying eyes. Their dark hair was slicked back, covering the white collars of their shirts and blending with the blackness of their suits, making the pew look like one of death and grieving. Seated on his own on the other side of the chapel was a lone figure, quite the opposite of those in the adjacent pew. There sat a man with blond hair, his black suit showing it off as if a halo shone around his head, as he listened intently to the vicar reading the life story of Bill Brown.

  ‘Let us rise to sing psalm number twenty-three, “The Lord is my shepherd”,’ the vicar called out and the congregation all stood.

  ‘I told you – he’s your lad alright. Just look at him,’ whispered Archie to Danny. ‘He’s not one of them, anyway.’ He nodded in the direction of the pew containing Amy and the rest of her family.

  ‘Quiet, Father, folk will hear you.’ Danny looked ahead of him and sang. He looked at the lad who was singing all alone. His father was right: there was no doubting the fact that he was a cuckoo in the nest and that he had come home, whether Danny himself liked it or not. It was obvious to one and all who his father was.

  ‘You are home soon, did you not go to the funeral tea?’ Harriet stood back and looked at both of her men as they came back into the kitchen.

  ‘No, we didn’t even go to the graveside. My father was struggling with walking and it looked like rain, so we just did the service.’ Danny threw his trilby on the table and pulled the black tie from around his neck, placing it on the back of the kitchen chair. ‘Come here, you bundle of rubbish.’ He reached down for baby Georgina and held her on his knee, as Harriet placed the kettle on the hob.

  ‘We didn’t want to impose on the family. And besides, I don’t ken the lad that Bill’s daughter married, but he looks a moody bugger. Plus she’s changed out of all recognition, and she didn’t bother looking to the side we were on. So we didn’t stop.’ Archie pulled up the other chair next to his son and smiled at his youngest grandchild as she played with the teaspoons on the table.

  ‘Oh, so there was no gossip or anything? That’s not like you two.’ Harriet poured out two cups of tea and took Georgina onto her lap, to hold her tightly next to her.

  ‘No. I don’t suppose we’ll have much to do with Ragged Hall again, now Bill’s gone.’ Archie sipped deeply from his cup and sat back in his chair. ‘It will no doubt be put up for sale, unless one of his grandchildren farms it.’

  ‘Well, perhaps that would be for the best. Their home will be Slaidburn, after all.’ Harriet smiled and sat back, content with the news she had been given. There was no need to worry about Amy Brown; obviously time had favoured herself, for keeping her looks, otherwise Danny would not have returned so quickly. He was still hers, and always would be.

  26

  ‘Close your eyes. No peeking.’ Ethan held Rosie’s hand and guided her across the back green to the garden of her Great-aunt Lucy’s cottage. ‘You are cheating – keep your eyes closed. Here, stop there and I’ll tie my neckerchief around you and then I know you can’t see.’ Ethan stopped Rosie in her tracks and undid the red-and-white spotted neckerchief from around his neck. He tied it securely round her eyes, making sure she couldn’t squint through it. ‘There, that’s better. Now I know you definitely can’t see.’

  ‘But why do I have to close my eyes? What is there so special to see?’ Rosie held out her hands, grasping Ethan’s as he guided her over the green and through the garden gate of the small, dilapidated cottage. She held tightly on to Ethan as he guided her up the path to the back door and then turned her round, before untying her blindfold.

  ‘There, what do you think? I’ve cleared all the brambles and dug the flowerbeds ready for spring, and I’ve taken the ivy off the walls of the cottage. At least you can see into the rooms more easily now.’ Ethan stood back and watched Rosie’s face light up.

  ‘Oh, Ethan, you’ve even made a birdtable?’ She rushed over to where a birdtable stood in the middle of the paved garden area, and looked at the workmanship that had gone into it and how tidy the garden looked. ‘It looks lovely, Ethan.’

  ‘Snowdrops are already beginning to show. I told them to keep their heads down for a while longer yet, as we are only just into December. And there’s a Christmas rose over here by the back door – it will flower shortly. Your Great-aunt Lucy must have known her plants.’ Ethan grinned. ‘It’s a grand garden and there’s enough room for a veg plot round the side, so we’d never go hungry.’

  ‘Now we’ve just got to convince everybody that we are serious; that it’s not just “puppy love”, as my mother keeps calling it.’ Rosie walked over to the cleared windows and peered in. ‘I could see us two living here. It would be ideal, and we’d be away from my family and yours, in our own li
ttle home. Although you’d still have to work for my father or find something else.’

  Rosie turned and looked at the lad who had stolen her heart. She was going to have to speak to her grandfather. He understood her and had always stood by her, no matter what her parents had said.

  ‘I’ll ask my grandfather for the key, just to have a look around at the moment. And then I’ll ask if he’d give his blessing for this to be our first home, if we are still together in the spring. Which, of course, we will be. I know he wouldn’t approve of us going behind his back.’ She smiled and held Ethan close to her as he kissed her and ran his fingers through her long hair.

  ‘I love you, Rosie Atkinson. I always will. Spring is only like a day away to me. This cottage will be ours – I’ll wish it so. Just like I wished for you.’ Ethan held her tightly and kissed her passionately as they stood outside the back door of the old cottage, hoping their dreams would come true and that one day they’d wed and live there.

  ‘I wish that too, Ethan. I don’t want anyone else, just you.’ Rosie held him tightly. She knew that if her parents had their way, they would prefer anyone other than Ethan, for he just wasn’t good enough for her in their eyes. But they didn’t know him like she did.

  ‘I don’t know, Rosie, your father won’t be that suited.’ Archie looked with concern at his granddaughter. ‘I know the cottage is empty and could do with a bit of attention, but I don’t think your father would be happy if I was encouraging your affections for Ethan.’

  ‘But, Grandfather, we only want to have a look around. We wouldn’t get up to anything while we were there. Please . . .’ Rosie at her grandfather looked like an appealing puppy as she tried to get her own way.