A Woman of Substance (41 page)

In no time at all she felt more cheerful. She looked down at Edwin resting peacefully at her feet. Poor Edwin. She had been mean to him and unfair, when he was always so nice to her. She tapped him lightly on the shoulder, almost playfully.

Edwin opened his eyes and glanced up, not without apprehension, uncertain of her mood. To his delight Emma was smiling at him, that lovely and most radiant smile, and her emerald eyes danced with the brightest of lights.

‘I feel like it’s teatime. Are yer hungry, Edwin?’

‘I’m absolutely famished!’ He was overjoyed to see her good humour fully restored. He jumped up and strode over to his
jacket. He pulled out his small gold pocket watch. ‘Why, Emma, it’s already four-thirty. I’ll unpack the picnic basket at once.’

Emma began to laugh, shaking her head. Edwin stared at her nonplussed. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘I wish yer could see yerself, Edwin Fairley. Yer looks like a chimney sweep. Yer face is all mucky, and yer hands, and just look at mine.’ She held up her hands, palms outward, to show him. He joined in her laughter.

‘I’ll race yer ter the beck down yonder,’ she cried. She leapt up and flew down the adjacent hillside. Edwin raced after her. He caught up with her and snatched at her belt. She laughed and struggled, but he held on to the belt tightly. tripped and fell, and rolled down over the moorland, still laughing with hilarity. They landed at the edge of the beck, and Emma would have fallen in if Edwin had not held her tightly in his arms.

‘Now look what yer’ve gone and done, Edwin Fairley,’ Emma remonstrated with mock annoyance through her laughter. ‘Yer’ve got me frock all wet in the beck.’

Edwin released his grip on her and sat up, impatiently pushing the lock of hair away from his forehead. ‘I am sorry, Emma. But it’s only the hem. It will dry quickly in the sun.’

‘Aye, I hopes it will.’

‘You mean, “yes, I hope it will”, Emma,’ Edwin corrected her.

She threw him a knowing look and said in a mimicking tone, ‘Yes, Edwin, you are quite right. I was not speaking properly.’ She pronounced the words very carefully and her voice, always sweet and melodious, was now so cultivated he gaped.

Emma poked him in the ribs. ‘I can speak like you if I want to,’ she said, and then confided, ‘I used to listen to your aunt. She has a lovely voice.’

‘So do you, Emma, when you pronounce your words correctly and don’t lapse into the Yorkshire dialect.’ He smiled at her fondly. ‘I hope you don’t mind when I point out mistakes in your speech. But you did ask me to do that.’

‘Yes, I did. And I am grateful.’ She smiled to herself.
She knew she had surprised him and this tickled her tremendously. She leaned over and washed the dirt off her hands in the beck, then cupped them and splashed water on to her face.

Edwin took out his handkerchief and gave it to her with a boyishly gallant gesture. ‘Dry yourself on this.’

When Emma had finished her toilet, Edwin also washed himself, and then they sat at the edge of the beck that tumbled down over the rocky hillside, talking happily, enjoying being together as they always did. Edwin chattered enthusiastically about going to Cambridge to study for the bar, and explained in great detail what a barrister actually was. In turn, Emma spoke proudly of Winston and how handsome he had looked in his uniform, when he had come home on leave from the Royal Navy.

‘He’s been back ter Fairley twice now,’ Emma said, ‘and me dad’s much better. More settled about Winston being away—’ She sat up abruptly and looked at the sky. ‘That’s funny, I just felt a splash of rain.’

Edwin lifted his head. ‘But the sky’s blue and there are only a few grey clouds.’

‘We’d best get the picnic basket and hurry back ter the Hall,’ Emma announced quickly.

‘Oh, don’t be silly. It’s only a summer shower. It will pass in a few minutes.’

But as he spoke the pale sun was doused by bloated clouds moving up over the rim of the moors with gathering speed. There was a loud blast of thunder. It appeared to crack the sky wide open, releasing searing blades of brilliant white lightning and then an eerie greyness that flooded out swiftly, staining the sky as effectively as black dye colours cloth, and obliterating the light.

‘Come on!’ Edwin cried. He pulled Emma up to her feet and with urgency. ‘The weather is so unpredictable on these wretched moors. You never know when a storm will blow up.’

Together they scrambled up the hill. The rain came down in lashing torrents. It was heavy driving rain that fell like a relentless waterfall. By the time they reached Ramsden Crags almost all of the light had vanished and the only illumination came from the staccato flashes of lightning charging the
sky with electricity, and the thunder boomed, echoing and reverberating against the towering structure of Ramsden Crags. Edwin and Emma were drenched to the skin, their clothes, faces, and hair streaming with water.

Edwin grabbed the sack and his wet jacket and tossed them over to Emma. ‘Take these,’ he shouted, and pushed her towards the opening of the cave.

‘Don’t yer think we should make a dash in for the Hall?’ she protested.

‘We’ll never make it, Emma. We’re in for a real thunderstorm. Look at the sky. It’s as black as night. Don’t argue! Into the cave, my girl. We’ll be safe there, and dry.’

Although Emma was decidedly disinclined to return to the cave, she had to admit that Edwin’s suggestion was sound. They had no alternative, really. The moors could be extremely dangerous in this kind of stormy weather. She clutched the sack and his jacket to her, and, with her lips grimly tightening, she crawled into the aperture. Edwin followed, pushing the picnic basket in front of him.

Once they were inside the cave, Emma stood at the entrance, trying to get her bearings. Edwin pulled out his handkerchief, wiped his hands, and gave it to Emma. Then he immediately took charge, and with such a burst of energy and efficiency Emma was momentarily startled. He lit the candles on the ledge at the entrance and opened the picnic basket.

‘Here’s the Sunday
Gazette
,’ he called. ‘I brought it to read, in case you were late. Good thing, too. Make some paper spills with it.’ He dropped it at her feet, and went on, ‘I saw a pile of logs and twigs over by the sacks earlier. They were perfectly dry. We’ll soon have a fire going.’ He picked up a candle, took Emma by the hand, and led her to a far corner.

‘We’ll make the fire about here,’ Edwin said, scuffing the earth with the toe of his boot. ‘It’s about the best spot, since it gets the cross-ventilation from the tunnel to the outside and that one back there.’ He gestured to another aperture Emma had not noticed before.

‘Where does that go, Edwin?’

‘I’m not really sure. It was too small for me to crawl into when I investigated earlier. But there are currents of air
coming in from the moors. Now, come on, Emma. Let’s hurry. Then we can sit on the sacks and attempt to dry ourselves. I’m freezing, and I’m sure you are.’

‘Yes, I am.’

It did not take them long to get the fire started. The paper and the twigs caught hold at once, and when they were burning Edwin placed a couple of small logs on top of them. He began to busy himself with the empty sacks. There were about a dozen of them and these he arranged on the floor, rolling others into bolster-like shapes which he propped against the wall. ‘It will be quite comfortable, Emma,’ he said, turning and smiling at her reassuringly.

Emma was standing by the fire, shivering and shaking with cold. Her face still glistened with water and her wet hair streamed down her back. She was trying to wring out her dress, which was thoroughly soaked.

Edwin hurried to the fire, shivering himself. He began to cough. Emma looked across the flames at him and frowned. ‘Oh, Edwin, I hopes yer don’t catch another cold, just when yer better.’

‘So do I,’ he gasped, coughing behind his hand. After a moment the rasping subsided, and he said, ‘I think you had better take off your dress, Emma. We can then spread it out to dry.’

She stared at him askance. ‘Take me frock off!’ she echoed disbelievingly. ‘Oh, Edwin, I couldn’t do that.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous. You’re wearing petticoats and—and—
things
underneath, are you not?’

‘Yes,’ she muttered between her teeth, which were now chattering.

‘So, please do as I say,’ he insisted in a brisk tone. ‘I am going to take my shirt off. It’s absolutely sopping, and if we sit around in our wet clothes we will
both
catch pneumonia.’

‘I suppose yer right,’ she replied grudgingly. Emma turned her back to him and began to unbutton her dress, feeling shy and awkward.

‘Give me the dress,’ Edwin ordered in the same firm voice, after she had stepped out of it. She handed it to him behind her back, without looking around. It was then that she decided
she was being silly. After all, she was wearing a petticoat and a camisole top which completely covered her body, except for her arms.

She peeped over her shoulder and then slowly wheeled. Edwin was hanging her frock on a ledge, next to his shirt and undervest, anchoring them down with some small stones he had obviously found on the floor of the cave. Adopting a nonchalant air, Emma returned to the fire. She warmed her hands and face in front of the flames, and then tried to dry her long hair, squeezing the rain out of it and rubbing it between her hands. Edwin, who seemed quite oblivious to her state of partial undress, and also unperturbed, picked up the picnic basket and carried it over to the sacks. He knelt down and lifted out the stone jug of elderberry wine, and unpacked all of the food, which Cook had carefully wrapped in serviettes. Suddenly he let out a long low whistle of surprise.

Emma glanced at him. ‘What is it?’

‘Good old Mrs Turner,’ he exclaimed with a wide grin as he continued to rummage about in the bottom of the basket. ‘By Jove, she thinks of everything. She not only put in a serviette and tablecloth for my picnic, but a carriage blanket as well. What luck. The blanket, at least, will help to keep us warm.’ He looked up, showing them to her triumphantly, and then his face fell. Water was dripping from her petticoat, making a puddle under her feet. ‘Good Lord, Emma. You’re really quite thoroughly soaked and still shivering. Don’t you feel warmer?’

‘A bit. But me legs are cold from me petticoat. It’s as wet as me dress was.’ She stepped nearer to the fire. Her boots squelched. She began to wring out the hem of the petticoat, striving to control her shivering.

Edwin stood up and looked down at his trousers, frowning. ‘I am afraid my trousers are in the same condition.’ He grimaced and joined her at the fire and they hovered together in front of the flames, hoping to dry their clothes. But this was to no avail, since the fire was really quite meagre and was therefore throwing off insufficient heat, and the atmosphere in the immense cavern was cold.

‘This is futile!’ Edwin declared after a short while. His legs
were turning into blocks of ice and the coldness was now beginning to permeate his whole system. He began to cough, almost convulsively.

Emma looked at him with alarm, thinking how prone he was to taking chills. ‘Are yer all right?’

‘I’m freezing. I hope I don’t come down with bronchitis again.’ He shivered. ‘It’s these wet clothes.’ He hesitated. ‘I’m afraid there’s only one thing to do, Emma. I think I must take off my trousers, and you must take off your petticoat and—’

‘Take off all our clothes!’ she gasped, shrinking back against the wall of the cave, a look of horror on her face. ‘Edwin! We can’t! It wouldn’t be proper like,’ she finished, and with fierceness.

A faint half smile glanced across his lips. He shrugged. ‘Well, you may do as you wish, Miss Harte. But I have decided to undress, and hang my trousers and underclothes on the ledge to dry out. I am not going to catch my death because of any false modesty on my part.’

Emma positively glared at him. ‘I thinks that would be very rude of yer, Edwin,’ she said tartly. ‘By gum, I do. It wouldn’t be—be—gentlemanly.’

Chagrin crossed his face. ‘Emma, I don’t mean to offend you.’ He thought hard, wondering what to do, fully understanding her feelings. His eye caught the tartan carriage rug and a solution instantly occurred to him. ‘I have an idea. I shall wrap the carriage blanket around myself—like a kilt. It will cover me completely,’ he reassured her. ‘But I do think I must remove these wet things. We could be in here for hours.’

Emma bit her lip. What he said was sensible, but it did not diminish her embarrassment at the thought of him undressing in front of her. On the other hand, she did not want to be responsible for him getting sick. It also struck her that she herself did not necessarily have to take her clothes off. She could still try to dry herself in front of the fire. After a moment, she said slowly, ‘Well, afore yer do take yer trousers off, crawl back ter the opening and see what the weather’s like,’ she insisted, and sharply. ‘Maybe the storm’s passed over and we can leave.’

‘That is a possibility,’ Edwin agreed, and hurried off to follow her instructions. Arriving at the end of the tunnel, Edwin was utterly dismayed when he poked his head out through the aperture. The rain was still falling in a deluge. A gale had blown up and was acting as a powerful lash against the rain. This was being driven in sheets on to the Crags. Bolts of lightning ripped through the blackened sky and thunder rolled down the hilly slopes like unceasing cannon fire. They were undoubtedly in for a long siege. He pulled his head back in quickly. It was then Edwin realized, and to his fury, that to return along the tunnel he would have to either crawl outside and re-enter, or shuffle backwards. He decided the former was the most feasible way and he edged himself out of the opening. He turned quickly on his knees and pushed back through the aperture, but not without getting drenched. When he finally crawled back into the cave he was shaking with cold and dripping rain.

Emma looked at him aghast. ‘Now why did yer go outside?’ she demanded. ‘That was a daft thing ter do!’

He sighed, and explained. He picked up the serviette and dried his face and hair. Then he took the blanket and strode to the far side of the cave. He turned. ‘My apologies, Emma. But now my trousers are wetter than ever. I have no alternative but to take them off now.’