High Garth

by Mira Stables

  The days of waiting passed slowly and Barbara did not again revert to the subject. Once or twice she ventured to draw her sister’s attention to situations that she thought desirable. Ann read the advertisements with polite interest and went on sewing caps. As a further gesture of defiance she also went out and bought herself a copy of Dr. Kitchiner’s ‘Cook’s Oracle’, which invaluable work she diligently perused when sewing palled.

  Miss Vestey was in the habit of looking through the post bag herself to ensure that none of her charges received anything of a clandestine or forbidden nature, a duty which she performed punctually at six o’clock each evening. The knowledge that her eagerly awaited letter might be lying unnoticed on Miss Vestey’s table was tantalizing beyond endurance. It drove Ann out to take long walks, despite the inclement weather. Spring was a tardy arrival this year. She wondered if snow was still lying on the Yorkshire fells.

  She spent an afternoon of pouring rain in the library, where she studied Jeffery’s Yorkshire Atlas and Colonel Paterson’s Road Book, trying to establish the exact position of High Garth. It was hopeless. Mr. Delvercourt had spoken of isolation, of a sad lack of arable land and of being a long way from the nearest church. But there were a great many places that fulfilled all these conditions. Her studies did, however, convince her that, in going to High Garth, she would be venturing into a country far wilder, far more desolate than she had realized. She found the prospect exhilarating.

  By the time that she had spent a week under Miss Vestey’s roof, courtesy on both sides was growing distinctly threadbare. It was questionable which lady was the more thankful when Miss Vestey was at last able to inform her erstwhile pupil that there were two letters for her. She sincerely wished the girl well, but she found her energy exhausting. Surely one of the letters would bring the offer of a suitable post? Both were written on good quality paper, and superscribed in educated, if vastly differing hands. Privately she entertained the hope that Ann would open them in her presence and let fall some hint of their contents, but here she was disappointed. Ann simply accepted them, thanked her politely, and retreated to the privacy of Barbara’s room.

  Two letters; one addressed in a fine Italian hand, precise and elegant; the other in bold black characters so forceful and impatient that in places the quill had dug into the paper. Which to open first? Childishly she shut her eyes tight and shuffled them about in her hands, put one down on the table and opened her eyes to discover that she had selected the Italian hand. She opened it carefully with Barbara’s paper knife, which was just as well, because the first thing that fell out was a bank note for ten pounds. She stared at it as though it might bite, then put it carefully aside and unfolded the letter.

  The Reverend Hugh Linthwaite begged to assure Miss Beverley that she need have no hesitation in accepting employment in the household of Mr. Patrick Delvercourt. The gentleman had been known to him for many years. He came of a much respected family and his moral integrity was of a high order. Since he understood that the difficulties of the situation had already been explained to her, he had taken the liberty of making the necessary arrangements for her journey.

  These he proceeded to outline in careful detail. She was to travel by Mail, changing at Leeds to the Royal Union which would take her as far as Settle. She was to spend the night of 31 March at the Golden Lion in that town, where accommodation had been reserved for her, and arrangements would be made for her to be conveyed to High Garth on the following day. Funds to cover the expenses of travel were enclosed.

  For just one moment Ann felt as Sinbad must have done when he tied himself to the leg of the Great Roc. It seemed that she was now pledged irrevocably to this adventure. The money lying on the table was the sign of it.

  She drew a deep breath and broke the seal of the second letter. This was brief. The writer expressed the hope that by the time that she received it she would already have heard from the Reverend Linthwaite and would be willing to accept the arrangements made for her. The final stage of the journey, he warned, would be tedious. It could be considerably shortened if she was willing to ride the last five miles, carrying only such necessities as would go in a saddle bag, since the road was unsuitable for wheeled vehicles at this time of year, being little more than a bridle track. Her other baggage must go round by road and might be delayed for a day or two. Unless the weather turned awkward, in which case it might be a week or more. The choice was hers—save that it depended largely on the weather. But, he added, on a caustic note already familiar, she might as well accustom herself to that factor at the outset. If she stayed long enough at High Garth she would soon learn that the weather ruled everything. Meanwhile she was urgently needed. If, after this period for reflection, she could bring herself to face the rigours of which she had been warned, he would look forward to an early meeting. In which sincere hope he was hers, etc., Patrick Delvercourt.

  Chapter Three

  Travelling, even in the superior comfort of the Mail, gave one too much time for reflection, decided Ann. At first it had been restful, after all the fuss and bustle of departure, to sit back quietly in the knowledge that the die was cast. There had been much last minute shopping to be done—until Barbara enquired tartly if she thought she was bound for Robinson Crusoe’s island, such a stock of small necessities as she was purchasing. There had been a final appeal—unsupported by Miss Vestey—to abandon the whole enterprise, return the money and say that she had found other employment. She had stood firm, despite one or two secret qualms. The cost of the journey dismayed her. She could not, in common honesty, allow her employer to invest so large a sum to no purpose. Even if she found conditions at High Garth really intolerable, she would have to endure somehow until her conscience allowed that he had value for his money. She would almost have preferred to travel by stage. The financial burden would have been less frightening. But it was kind in him to have taken thought for her comfort, and it had done something to reassure Barbara.

  Patrick. The name suited him, she thought. For all his shabbiness and his poverty he had the bearing of a patrician and the instincts of one. The well-to-do Anstruthers had thought it quite sufficient to buy her a ticket for the stage. Not Mr. Delvercourt. People of a carping disposition might say that he was anxious to secure her services while the Anstruthers were only anxious to be rid of her, but she knew very well that this was not the reason. He was of the breed that would always ensure a woman’s comfort and safety to the best of his ability, even at the cost of personal sacrifice. Why! Ten pounds was almost six months salary!

  Salary. That was another uncomfortable thought, one that had never troubled her before. She had a living to earn, and so that she did her conscientious best the thought of taking payment for her services had never oppressed her. This time it did. And not because she guessed that her new employer could ill afford it. Always, before, she had worked for strangers. Oh—there had usually been a formal interview at the register office, but to all intents and purposes, strangers. And she could not feel that Mr. Delvercourt was a stranger. For one short evening they had been, if not friends, at least fellow travellers and equals. Now he would be her master. He would be kind and considerate she felt sure, even if he had the hasty temper she had mentioned to Barbara, but she must do his bidding submissively and without argument and then, each quarter, accept payment at his hands. Why should the prospect be distasteful? From what he had told her she was likely to work hard enough for her money!

  What of her rash promise to see Barbara married? That, too, would depend upon Mr. Delvercourt’s good will. Was September a busy season on a Yorkshire farm? Barbara having no mother to arrange matters, the marriage was to take place at Mickleford Hall, and that was only in Lancashire. Not so very far away, she thought hopefully. And surely by September she would have proved her worth—or been dismissed. If she gave satisfaction a brief holiday might be permitted her when she explained the circumstances. If she didn’t—

  Two days of almost continuous travel left her daze
d with weariness. At Leeds she had an hour to wait for the coach that would carry her northwards. There was time not only to order refreshments but actually to consume them, and two large cups of coffee and a slice of gingerbread did much to revive her drooping spirits. By the time that she had washed her hands and face and tidied her hair she felt almost herself again and able to take some interest in the passing scene. She had travelled this same road before on her journey south but had been able to see very little, not having been fortunate enough to secure a corner seat and the window, in addition, being largely obscured by mud and sleet. Today, with pale spring sunlight illumining the bare fields, one could see for miles. They changed horses in Skipton, for the last time so far as she was concerned, and pulled briskly up the High Street, catching a glimpse of the lovely old church with the Clifford castle standing sentinel beside it. This was a sound team. They went at their work with good heart, and just as well that they were fine strengthy beasts, thought Ann, for now the character of the countryside was changing. Before Skipton it had been open hill country. Now it was growing wilder, almost mountainous. And there were faintly outlined shapes to the north and west that promised even greater magnificence. She stared about her eagerly. They had passed through one or two villages, quiet places with little sign of life, drawn in upon themselves.

  “All gone to Settle for t’market,” volunteered a sturdy yeoman who had boarded the coach in Skipton. “It’s been the horse fair. I’d ha’ been there miself if I’d not had word to go to Kendal on a matter o’ business. Stopping off i’ Settle is ta? Ye’ll find t’place fair throng wi’ folk.”

  In fact they soon began to meet small knots of people coming away from the market. A rider on a stolid brown gelding was the first to pass them, a led filly, presumably a new purchase, following, half reluctant, half skittish. There was a gig piled high with bundles and one or two groups of humbler folk trudging on foot, one man pushing a barrow laden with sacks of meal, another trying to control the strayings of half a dozen geese. Ann wondered if the folk at High Garth patronized the Settle market and if she would find herself faced with such problems as these. When she had so confidently boasted of her domestic capabilities she had forgotten that her marketing had been learned in London. The possibility of having to drive one’s dinner home before preparing it had not occurred to her!

  This must be Settle itself, for there was that ‘monstrous limestone rock called Castleberg, which threatens destruction to the town at its foot’. Her library browsings had prepared her for it, but was certainly an impressive sight. She caught glimpses of one or two substantial houses. Then the horses were checking, swinging right-handed into a narrow arched entrance. She had arrived.

  The landlady greeted her politely but with a certain reserve. Young ladies travelling alone were so rare as to be slightly suspect, and in the rush of business consequent upon the horse fair Mrs. Hartley had momentarily forgotten Miss Beverley’s impending arrival. When Ann rather shyly gave her name and said that she understood that a room had been reserved for her, the landlady hastened to make amends, explaining frankly how she had come to forget and herself escorting the guest to a comfortably furnished bedchamber. It was not very big and it overlooked the stables at the back of the inn, “But it’ll be much quieter than the rooms at the front,” she was told. “Fair night’s a bit noisy, and a good long sleep in a warm bed is what you’ll be wanting most after all that jolting about in the coach. I’ll have one of the lasses bring you some hot water and light a fire. Evenings are keen still. And if I was you, miss, I’d have your dinner comfortably up here. I’ll see you get a good one, for I daresay you’ve not had a proper dinner since you left home.”

  Ann accepted the suggestion gratefully. She would have liked to see something of the town, but it was already dusk. There might be an opportunity for sightseeing in the morning.

  By the time that she had exchanged her soiled and crumpled travelling dress for a warm wrapper she had begun to realize the full extent of her own weariness. The fire was blazing up cheerfully, its warmth and its little dancing flames exercising a narcotic effect. When Mrs. Hartley came bustling in with the dinner tray her guest was already half asleep.

  The landlady had no notion of letting her good cooking be wasted. She put down the tray with a thump calculated to wake the sleeper and then proceeded to make up the fire, talking briskly the while until she saw the girl started on her meal. The succulence of a portion of duckling, roasted to perfection, the piping hot vegetables and her own cunningly seasoned gravy could be trusted to do the rest.

  “And Mr. Delvercourt said to offer you a glass of wine, miss, though if you’d rather have tea or coffee, it’s no trouble,” she said presently. “Oh yes! And to say that he’d come for you about ten o’clock in the morning and not to forget to put on your riding dress if it’s a fine day. Which it will be, by the looks o’ yon sky,” she concluded sagely.

  Ann put down her fork. “Is Mr. Delvercourt in Settle, then?” she asked, surprised.

  “Well, in Giggleswick, miss, which is much the same thing, seeing there’s naught but the river between them. Lying at the Black Horse tonight.” In deference to his notions of propriety, she shrewdly guessed, but lest the guest might consider his choice to be a reflection on the Golden Lion’s hospitality she explained, “He wanted the mare shod and he always takes her to Thomas Coar on Bel Hill, so I suppose he thought it’d be handier. He’d have been here earlier but for that. Still, you’ll not be sorry for the chance of a good long lie.”

  “How far is it to High Garth?” asked Ann.

  “All of fifteen miles—maybe more—and no kind of a road after you turn off the pike. It’s wild country up there. Pretty enough in the summer time, but there’s weeks and weeks in the winter when no one can get in or out. Snow comes early and lies late in those parts.”

  Fortunately, before she could paint any more gloomy pictures of life at High Garth, she was summoned away to deal with some crisis in the kitchen. She returned to bring a dish of curd cakes—a Yorkshire speciality—and the coffee that Ann had preferred, but stayed only long enough to commend the bed—“all good clean feathers from my own geese”, to venture a mild pleasantry about there being nothing like the Croft Closes geese, whether for eating or sleeping, and to bid her guest goodnight.

  Perhaps there really was some special quality about those goose feathers; perhaps it was just the restorative virtue of a good meal and twelve hours unbroken sleep. But Ann woke in tearing spirits and ravenously hungry, much to Mrs. Hartley’s satisfaction. Over breakfast she was assured that it would be perfectly proper for her to stroll out into the sunshine and see something of the town. She found it a quaint, attractive little place, somehow rather French in appearance with its sunny, market square and picturesque houses. It was beautifully situated, close-cupped by green hills, the great rock of Castleberg dominating all. The Tolbooth was disappointing, little better than a ruin. Mrs. Hartley had told her that plans were afoot to pull it down and build a fine new Town Hall. The curious building that occupied the eastern side of the square must be the Shambles. Mrs. Hartley had shown her a sketch of it, drawn by an artistic lady visitor. She studied it with interest. A row of small shops had been built over basement workshops, and on top of these again were tiny houses. You could look down into the area well and watch the craftsmen at work, or you could climb over it by curious little stepped bridges to reach the shops. She bought some bulls eyes for Philip, chiefly for the pleasure of shopping in so novel a fashion.

  A small boy followed her up the steps, and as she stood tucking the package into her reticule made some request to the shopkeeper in an accent so broad that she could not understand it. Then, as the man turned to take a jar from the shelf the boy called out, “Apri’ Fool,” and took to his heels, hooting with laughter as he leapt the last three steps to the street. The shopman shook a threatening fist but grinned companionably at Ann.

  “Lads! Ee well—Ah weren’t same way mysen at his age!
”

  She had forgotten the date. All Fools’ Day. And living up to its name. For this was a day stolen from summer, warm enough to fool one into believing that winter had fled, with no hint of the bitter winds, the driving snow blizzards that might yet sweep these smiling uplands. And it would not do to be lingering here at the risk of keeping her new employer waiting.

  She went back to the inn and changed into riding dress, then finished her packing, setting aside her night gear and a severely plain gown of grey alpaca. It would help her support the character of sober, responsible housekeeper and it would not crease too badly from being packed in a saddle bag. She added two of her new caps to the pile, rolled it up neatly in a shawl and went downstairs to pay her reckoning.

  Chapter Four

  Mr. Delvercourt had arrived. She could hear his deep tones and Mrs. Hartley’s responsive chuckle as she went sedately down the stairs, her long skirt gathered in one hand. Excitement was quickening her pulses but she managed her greeting composedly enough and gave satisfactory answers to his polite enquiries about her journey. He was carrying two leather satchels, one of which he held out to her, asking if it would be sufficient to hold her gear. Mrs. Hartley summoned an abigail to run up to Miss’s room and see. The girl presently returning with the bag neatly strapped up Mrs. Hartley took the second one from Mr. Delvercourt and made to go kitchenwards. To Ann’s murmured enquiry about her reckoning she said that the gentleman had already settled it, and bustled away.