The Girl from the Tanner's Yard

by Diane Allen

  Lucy watched him as he walked up through his yard. She knew he was worried about the Baxter family; they were a bad lot, everyone knew it. But with Robert Baxter having a family of five sons and a foul temper, nobody dared challenge the family, for fear of reprisals. However, Lucy had a feeling that if they were to do anything against Adam, he would not turn a blind eye. And perhaps the Baxters had met their match in the quiet man.

  Adam stood on the fresh green moorland and looked at his new flock. ‘My father would have been proud, if these had been his. You have a good eye for a well-bred sheep. I bet it hurt, having to part with them.’ He looked at the lad leaning on the wall, watching his years of work wandering to the corners of their new home, and felt for his loss.

  ‘As long as they’ve got a good home and I can keep the roof over our heads for another year at least, it’ll be worth it,’ Reggie said with sadness.

  ‘It shouldn’t be like that, though. The Baxters might have the right to put up your rent, but not to that extent. Just because they want you off the farm, for their son’s use.’ Adam kicked a tuft of moorland grass.

  ‘Aye, well, they couldn’t find fault with the upkeep of the farm, so they had to get me some other way. It is how that family work – underhand and careful never actually to be caught doing their dirty business.’ Reggie looked around him. ‘You’ll have to keep your eye on my lasses, as the Baxters will soon realize whose sheep they were, and that you’ve helped me out by buying them. They’ll not like that. At least if they do make off with some of them, you’ll soon recognize them, as they are the only Rough Fell breed to be found for a good few miles around. I was also thinking about what to do if any of the Baxters fancied stealing them, so I’ve marked each ewe with a spot of red paint on its horn, just behind its ear, so that you know it’s one of yours, if you come across it somewhere it shouldn’t be.’

  ‘That was good thinking on your part. They’ll be fools if they do tempt fate and rustle any of them. I was a peeler in my younger years and still have contacts, but they won’t know that. Perhaps it was fate that I’ve become their neighbour.’ Adam laughed. ‘Stop worrying. Now come and have something to eat and drink, and then I’ll take you and your dog home. Lucy will have the kettle boiling and waiting for us, I’m sure. She bought some coffee when she was at Keighley and tried it for the first time yesterday. You should have seen her face when she sipped it – she did not like the taste one bit, so we are back to tea today, thank heavens.’

  Reggie grinned and thought about Adam’s maid, who had taken his eye on the quiet. ‘She seems a good lass.’

  ‘Aye, she’s Bill Bancroft’s daughter – Lucy from the flay-pits. I’d be lost without her. She’s got the old farm looking exactly how it used to, and she’s a really good hand around the yard. As well as keeping me fed.’ Adam looked at the young lad and noted his interest.

  ‘Is she wed? She’s a bonny lass, I couldn’t help but notice.’ Reggie put his head down and then turned and smiled at Adam.

  ‘No, she’s not wed, nor does she have a beau. She’s too feisty for a lot of people, I’d say. She knows her own mind, does Lucy.’ Adam grinned, but at the same time felt a pang of what he knew to be jealousy, that Lucy had taken Reggie’s eye.

  ‘Then I’ll join you for that drink and a bite to eat, and perhaps you could introduce us?’ Reggie suggested. ‘My mother keeps telling me to find myself a woman, and Lucy’s rather taken my fancy.’

  ‘She’s a flirt, I’ll warn you, and she says what she thinks.’ Adam tried to dissuade Reggie, suddenly realizing that his maid was beginning to mean a lot more to him than he had recognized.

  ‘I like a challenge, and she’s about my age. Now these sheep seem to have settled, so my job is done here.’ Reggie stood for a second and looked around him, before stepping out down the fresh-smelling moorland, with Adam not far behind him, pondering whether Lucy would be interested in Reggie’s advances.

  ‘So, Mr Brooksbank tells me that your father owns the flay-pits.’ Reggie sat in a chair at the kitchen table and looked at Lucy, eyeing her up and down as she cleared it of the dirty plates from which they had just eaten their dinner.

  ‘Yes, more’s the pity. It’s a smelly, dirty place, and I don’t aim to spend much more of my life living there, if I can help it. Although I’ll always be there for my mother and sister and brothers. Even Mam hopes that we can some day move from Providence Row and the smell of the pits.’ Lucy stood for a second and looked at the sandy-haired lad of about her age, who seemed to want to engage her in conversation, since Adam had gone out to harness the horse and cart in order to take Reggie home.

  ‘Aye, I don’t think I’d want to live there, either. Wasn’t there a to-do over the fella that worked there, the other week? Somebody told me he’d died when drinking at The Fleece and arguing over some lass?’ Reggie looked wistful and tried to remember the fella’s name.

  ‘Yes, he was called Thomas Farrington – the strangest man that you are ever likely to meet. I hated him. Trouble is, the lass he was arguing over was me. He’d got it in his head to marry me, which I knew nowt about, until he’d shouted his intentions to everyone in The Fleece.’ Lucy decided to lie to Reggie; she didn’t know him, and she wasn’t about to open her heart to somebody she didn’t know.

  ‘Aye, well, I can see how he took a fancy to you. You’re not a bad-looking lass, and you are free of a man, so Mr Brooksbank says. Would you like to walk out with me on Sunday afternoon? We could go and listen to the brass band at Ponden and perhaps have a picnic, if the weather is fine?’ Reggie decided to chance his luck and not wait a second longer, now that they were both alone.

  Lucy glanced at the good-looking lad in front of her. He was handsome; not that well dressed, in his corduroy trousers and checked shirt and waistcoat, but she could tell he took care of his appearance. As for money, she knew he wasn’t wealthy, but that didn’t enter into her decision as Adam stepped back into the kitchen. ‘I thank you for asking, but I’ve already got a commitment for this Sunday.’ She quickly turned her back on Reggie and went into the scullery.

  ‘Perhaps another time then?’ Reggie shouted, but got no reply.

  ‘Are you ready for off? Rosa’s waiting, and I could do with getting back before dark.’ Adam looked at the crestfallen lad as he entered the doorway, overhearing the conversation. ‘Never mind – I told you she’d a mind of her own.’ He slapped Reggie on the back, guessing what the conversation between the two had been about, and felt slightly glad that Lucy had rejected him. ‘You can come and see both of us any time you want, and try your luck again!’

  ‘Nay, I’ve never any luck when it comes to lasses. I’ve nowt to offer, when it comes to brass, and that’s what they are all after, when it comes down to it. Brass and stability, and I’ve neither.’ Reggie pushed his chair back across the kitchen floor and made for the doorway, not even saying goodbye to Lucy, who had made herself scarce.

  ‘Well, I have a bit of both, but no woman, so we make a good pair. But at least we have our health and nobody tells us what to do, so let’s think ourselves lucky.’ Adam laughed as Reggie hung his head and walked over to the donkey-cart, with Rosa standing patiently in harness. ‘You are young yet, and the right lass will turn up when you least expect her to. Besides, let Lucy mull over your offer. You never know: if you visit her on another day, she might say yes.’

  ‘No, she’s not interested. I think she must already have a fella, even if you say she doesn’t. A lass like that doesn’t stay single for long.’ Reggie looked back towards the farmhouse as he climbed in the back of the donkey-cart, noticing Lucy standing at the bedroom window, watching as Adam flicked the reins over the horse’s back. ‘But maybe, like you say, I’ll try my luck again another day. She’s watching us go, so perhaps she’s just shy.’

  Adam said nothing to Reggie, but he knew Lucy as anything but shy. If she had fancied him, Reggie would already have known it and he’d be the one who was being pursued.

  17


  Even though it was nearly the end of May, the mist hung down around Black Moss. It was a fine drizzly mist, the kind that soaked you to the skin, even though you could hardly tell it was raining. The kind of rain that was not suitable for newly born lambs, which were being exposed to it on top of the moorland.

  ‘I’m going to saddle up Rosa and ride up the moor and have a look at my flock. Although there’s only one or two left to lamb, I’d better ensure that the weaker lambs are not taking any hurt in this miserable weather. Although their coats are fairly waterproof, this is the sort of weather that soon makes them shiver and go cold.’ Adam looked at Lucy, who was busy darning his socks next to the fire as she moaned about the weather outside.

  ‘Make sure you don’t get too wet. It’s a devil of a day, and the sheep and their lambs will have the sense to take cover under the walls.’ She looked up at Adam, whose company she had enjoyed as she mended and darned his clothes. ‘I’ll stoke the fire, in case you bring one back to the warmth of the kitchen, and we can soon warm its belly with a bottle of cow’s milk.’ Lucy put her darning down on the table and added a log to the fire. She was used to the routine, as both of them had done just that on the few occasions when a sickly lamb had been born, and so far their tactics had paid off, with no fatalities to the small flock.

  ‘I’ll not be long – it will soon be dusk. It’s best that I check them now and then. If any of them are struggling, they’ll have the warmth of the kitchen overnight. You can get yourself home, if you wish. I’m sure your mother will be glad to see you, and I can get my own supper.’ Adam pulled on his coat and put on his cap, then watched as Lucy sat back down in her chair and returned to her darning.

  ‘No, sir, I’ll wait until you return. I’m in no rush for home. Everybody will be crammed into the house on an evening like this, and I enjoy the peace of this kitchen and don’t mind waiting to serve you supper.’ Lucy looked up at him; she was content at Black Moss’s fireside, looking across at the man that she had feelings for.

  ‘Very well, I shouldn’t be more than an hour. I just want to check all is well. I won’t be long.’

  Adam strode out of the kitchen and went round the back of the farmhouse to the stables. There he saddled up Rosa and led her to the mounting block, then rode her up the moorside, with his collar turned up to keep the rain from trickling down his neck. The moor was clouded in mist, and his sheep were hardly visible until he was nearly on top of them. Lucy was right; most of the sensible mothers were sheltering behind the drystone walls, protecting their offspring by sitting close to them and the wall. But some more foolhardy ones were still grazing on the wild moorland grasses, and their lambs looked a little dejected, although all of them seemed to be bearing up to the weather conditions.

  Adam eased himself out of the saddle and walked across to where a set of twin lambs were curled up close together in the rushes for warmth, with their mother grazing a few yards away from them. The sheep bleated a warning to her offspring and, although cold and damp, they rose onto their legs and ran to their mother as Adam approached.

  ‘So there’s nothing wrong with you two then,’ he whispered, as they both butted their mother for milk and she defiantly stamped her foot at the sight of Adam. He smiled and made his way back to his horse, but stopped quickly as, through the swirling mist and rain, he momentarily glanced the shape of a man. ‘Hey, you! Stop right there. Do you know you are trespassing?’

  The figure stopped for a brief second, and it was then that Adam noticed he had a lamb hanging down from one of his hands. It was Jacob Baxter. Adam recognized him despite the poor visibility, as he was the only red-haired man for miles around.

  ‘Stop right there and put that lamb down, you bastard.’ Adam ran quickly in the direction of the man, but his injured leg impeded him, as the figure disappeared once more into the mist. But Adam was not going to give up that easily. He knew the man had to climb over the wall somewhere along the border where both lands met. He ran blindly along the tufted heath of the moorland, guided slightly by the bleating sound of the distressed lamb being carried by Jacob Baxter, and not taking any notice of the moorland beneath his feet until it was too late. He’d forgotten to take care when approaching the wall and the boggy mire that he had talked about making safe, but had never got round to; and now he was regretting that, as his feet squelched in the peaty mire and he was being sucked down too quickly to escape the bog under his own steam. Before he knew it, the bog had sucked him down to above his knees and, try as he might, Adam could not pull his legs out of it, sinking deeper with every move made.

  ‘Help – for God’s sake, help me!’ Adam shouted into the grey mist, hoping that Jacob Baxter would show sympathy with his situation and would help him out of the mire. But instead he heard the rumble of top-stones being dislodged from the dividing wall, as the thief made his way back onto his own land, leaving Adam sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, stinking bog. ‘Help, Help!’ Adam shouted, as his body became crushed by the clinging peat. He tried to pull on the moorland grasses and drag himself out, but with every move, he went further down into the bog. He was wet, cold and alone, and fighting for his life as he tried, again and again, to hoist himself out of the peaty grave. To make things worse, night was beginning to fall. His only hope was that Lucy would still be at his home and would perhaps realize that something was wrong.

  As the darkness fell around him, and his senses started to become unclear, Adam prayed to hear Lucy’s voice. He had no intention of ending his days crushed in a bog with his life only half-lived, but at the moment that looked likely to happen, as hypothermia started to affect him.

  Lucy lit the oil lamps, placing one in the window and looking out into the gathering darkness. Adam should have been back by now, unless there was a sheep lambing and it had held him up, as he didn’t like leaving them on their own, in case they had problems. She was going to be home late, and her mother would be worrying about where she had got to, she thought, as she pulled the boiling kettle and the pan of stew to one side of the fire to keep warm. She’d give Adam another half-hour and then, if he hadn’t returned, she would have to leave the house unlocked and bank the fire up, and leave him to feed himself, as he had previously suggested.

  She sat down at the table and looked around her. The house was warm and welcoming now and she enjoyed her time there, but she’d never stopped this late. She looked at the grandfather clock, which ticked steadily and made her aware of every minute that was passing. Nine-thirty – she couldn’t wait any longer, but must make her way home and hope that Adam would understand. With the fire made safe and the kettle and stew to one side, she reached for her shawl from behind the kitchen door and stepped out into the farmyard. A full moon was starting to rise, shining briefly from behind the rain clouds, and it threw eerie shadows around the yard, as Lucy pulled the door behind her and made across the yard to the path down to the valley bottom. She drew her shawl around her and looked quickly about her, hoping to spot Adam coming out of the stable or perhaps from the pig hull, which now housed a recently bought piglet. But there was no sight of him. She was about to make her way home when she heard the sound of horses’ hooves coming down the hard, stony path from the moor. She stopped and turned.

  ‘I’m just about to go home, sir. Your supper is waiting for you, and I’ll see you in the morning.’ She looked up at the small horse as it came into the light of the yard, and found that she was talking to a riderless pony. There was no sight of Adam, but Rosa was still saddled and bridled and had made her way home without her master. ‘What are you doing without your rider? Where’s Adam?’ She grabbed the horse’s reins and patted its neck. ‘Has he fallen or is he hurt? Oh Lord, what am I to do? You’d never have come back on your own if something wasn’t wrong.’ She stood for a second, wondering what to do. There was no option but to light a storm lamp and go and look for her master. Something was wrong, and she could not leave without knowing that Adam was safe and in his home.

  W
ith her head down against the rain, and with Rosa by her side, Lucy walked up the moorside, the lamp lighting her way. Every so often she stopped and yelled out Adam’s name, but it fell on deaf ears, with nobody replying – just the soft winds of the moor and the hoot of an owl, watching and waiting for its prey of moorland mice and voles. The light picked up the eyes of the sheep as they crouched behind the walls, and the illumination of the houses down in the valley, making Lucy realize how remote the moor was of a night. She didn’t like the feeling of being alone and vulnerable on the wild moor, as she yelled out Adam’s name again. Rosa paced patiently beside her and snorted, as Lucy stood in desperation and looked up at the stars that were starting to break through in the heavens above, as the clouds and rain began to clear above her, and the moon and stars won the battle for the night skies.

  ‘Adam,’ Lucy yelled out in desperation. ‘Adam!’ She turned as, faintly from a few yards away, she heard a feeble reply.

  ‘Here – I’m here.’

  She rushed to where she had heard the voice coming from, and by the light of her lamp and the moon she made out the form of Adam, buried up to his chest in the peaty bog, unable to move.

  ‘Don’t come any nearer – we don’t want both of us buried in here,’ Adam gasped, his voice already weak and exhausted. ‘Go and get help. I only hope you’ll not be too late.’

  Lucy stared at Adam in disbelief and worry. ‘I can’t leave you. If you died, I’d never forgive myself,’ she cried.