Across the Sands of Time (10 page)

‘Yes, and thank you.'

Mae couldn't keep the smile from her face. She rang off and hurried to tell Chas the glad tidings.

 

‘Whoa, pony. Steady. Now walk on.'

The young filly tossed her head skittishly and Thea tightened her grip on the lead-rope. It was early yet, a hazy Sunday morning towards the end of November, mist wreathing up over the mudflats, the roads and lanes reasonably quiet. At least, that was what Thea had hoped when she had opted to do some road-work with her latest show prospect. So far, that was the third vehicle to have gone past and she hadn't yet reached the main highway.

The showing season was long over and the ponies, looking rotund and snug in their thick growth of winter coat, had been turned away until early spring. A spacious wooden shed in the corner of the grazing gave shelter against the worst of the weather.

Generally, however, the hardiness of their native breeding prevailed. Only extremes of weather sent her small herd seeking refuge, and even then Thea would find them standing in the lea of the building rather than inside it, their noses against the outside wall, tails tucked in against the offending elements.

The approach of yet another driver brought a wary flick of the ears from the pony.

‘Steady, Merry. Walk on,' Thea commanded.

Up behind them came a car but this one slowed down sensibly and crawled past. Thea recognised Dominic's vehicle. Driving on a short distance, the vet pulled in and stopped….

‘Thea, hello there,' Dominic called, jumping down. ‘You're out early.'

‘I could say the same for you. Or is it more a case of working late?'

‘You've said it!' Dominic quirked his lips ruefully. ‘A misplaced calf-bed. The vet on duty was already out on a call so I did the honours. Why do they always manage it in the middle of the night?'

‘You tell me,' Thea countered with a laugh.

Dominic ran an experienced eye over the pretty grey pony.

‘Nice filly. How old is she?'

‘Just coming up to twelve months. She's a handful. I need to get her going on the long reins but it's difficult on your own.' She coloured. ‘Well, Geoff or my brother could sometimes be persuaded to help at this stage.'

‘Strong arm stuff, is it?'

She nodded.

‘It's amazing how wilful they can be. If Merry decided to take off I doubt if I could hold her.'

‘Want a hand now? Give me half an hour to get cleaned up and I'll be right back.'

‘Are you sure? You must be exhausted.…'

‘Oh, I'll be glad of the fresh air. I know how tricky these youngsters can be. A pony back home once took off with me across the peat bogs. Halfway to Galway we were before I could stop him!'

‘Go on!' Thea giggled. ‘You're making it up.'

‘Now would I do that?' His blue eyes twinkled. ‘Half an hour, then? She can graze the verge for now. Don't go away. I'll be right back.'

Throwing her a wink, he returned to his car and drove off. Thea, feeling suddenly less anxious, allowed the filly enough rope to crop the roadside grass and turned her thoughts to the Harbour House.

‘Why not consider renting it out?' her father had suggested only last night. ‘It would bring in a good income.'

‘I know. It's the thought of someone else enjoying the fruits of my hard work that stops me. Silly, really.'

‘I'd take it back off your hands myself, but I'm afraid funds won't stretch to it right now.' Chas sighed.

‘I know, Dad. I wouldn't dream of putting you to the expense. I've considered living there myself. Well, it would give Mum my bedroom. It's nice and big. She could take in students. Or do B&B like the Demseys at Ridgeway.'

‘I reckon your mother's got enough spare bedrooms if she wants to do that,' Chas replied. ‘Anyhow, she's got enough on her hands as it is. Think about renting, though. Let me know what you decide.'

‘OK, Dad.' On impulse Thea had given her father a hug. The year that had begun with such promise hadn't turned out well for her parents. Thea was saddened to have added to their burden. Sorry, too, over the sadness at Roseacre. Her first instinct had been to go and see Geoff and Helen.

But then she had second thoughts. They'd only have been embarrassed, and Helen was such a stickler for correct form. In the end she had penned a warm little missive of condolence and left it at that. What Bryony had been doing there she had no idea.

Thea sighed, giving the pony a little more rope to reach a particularly lush clump of wayside grass.

Dominic's return put paid to more musing. Spruce in clean cords, Aran jumper and padded jacket, his dark hair slicked back wetly from the shower, he looked wide awake and ready for work.

‘No Trina?' Thea enquired.

‘Trina's had a romp round the garden and is now sleeping off her breakfast. Let's concentrate on one thing at a time.' He took the pony's lead-rope off her. ‘Right then, we'll do the lanes and come back along The Parade. That should get the tickle out her feet. Come on, Merry, me girl! Walk on!'

The morning was almost over by the time they returned, Thea feeling much more relaxed, to Woodhey, where the Sunday roast sizzled mouth-wateringly in the oven.

‘Stop and have some lunch,' Chas said to Dominic. ‘It'd be nice to have company. I could show you that winter wheat crop you were interested in.'

‘Yes, do stay,' Mae agreed.

Dominic accepted the invitation readily.

‘My car's down the lane. I should fetch it. And there's the dog.'

‘What if I pick up your car and fetch Trina?' Thea offered. ‘That'll leave you free to walk the fields with Dad.'

After the long trek on top of the broken night, it was probably the last thing Dominic wanted and Thea hid a smile.

‘Good idea,' he said manfully. ‘While you're there you might as well pick up those house deeds you were interested in.

Thea's face lit up.

‘You've got them? Great!'

‘The solicitor sent me the whole batch. Apparently all land records are now going on electronic files, so there won't be cause to keep those old documents any longer.'

‘So what happens to them?' Mae asked.

‘I expect they'll be destroyed.' Dominic shrugged. ‘My solicitor said I could keep mine. It's tough on future history fans. No more boxes of old papers to rummage through!'

He handed Thea his car keys.

‘Large padded envelope on the kitchen table. You can't miss it. Watch Trina doesn't have a go at you!'

‘That'll be the day!' Thea said with a smile.

She left her mother making coffee for them all and went back into the sharp wintry air. The sun had come out and her spirits, already lifted, rose still higher. Sprinting down the lane, long plait thumping on her shoulders, she came to where Dominic had left his pick-up and drove on towards Parkgate, enjoying the handle of the bigger vehicle after her own small car.

She was given a rapturous welcome by Trina. Fussing her, Thea picked up the bundle of papers, pausing. Lunch would be an hour yet. Where better to read about the house but there, in the very place where Jessica Platt had been born and raised?

Sitting down at the table, the setter at her side, Thea took the papers out of the envelope and found the one she wanted. The central heating was on, humming away soothingly, the house warm and quiet. After the exercise in the bracing outdoors, the contrast was pleasingly soporific.

Thea allowed her gaze to roam round the room. It would be very different now from when Jessica knew it. She looked up at the marks of the crafter's awl on the twisted old ceiling beams, wondering if Jessica had once done the same, yawning.…

 

Jessica opened the letter the post boy had just delivered, spreading it out on the small mahogany writing desk in front of her.

Jessica sat back in her chair, musing. Her niece painted a commendably vivid picture of her new lifestyle. She hoped the older son of the house was not giving trouble. Remembering Polly's attitude to George Rawlinson, she smiled. Dear George.

It had not taken him long to recover from his disappointment, she was gratified to note. Her eyes again sought the name of the younger man in question.

Jessica rang the small silver bell at her elbow to summon the maid. She came at once, apron strings fluttering, frilled cap askew.

‘Yes, ma'am?'

‘Ah, Agnes. Your cap, girl. How many times do I have to tell you? Agnes, do you happen to know a young person by the name of Royle? I believe he comes from Hoylake.'

‘Would that be John Royle, ma'am?' The maid's perky young face broke into dimples. ‘Yes, I do. Everyone knows John. His father heads the fisher-fleet and John has his own boat.

‘'Tis said, though,' Agnes went on confidingly, ‘as John wants better things in life. He's what some would call a scholarly lad. I've heard he's looking for premises to start up his own school.'

‘Really? How very ambitious of him!'

‘Yes, ma'am. 'Twas believed he was very smitten with Polly from the tavern. Went there looking for her, he did. But Polly had gone. It must have been to do with that business of Innkeeper Dakin wanting Polly to wed—'

‘Yes yes!' Jessica brushed all this aside. ‘Where would I find this John Royle?'

‘Young John, d'you mean, ma'am? Only his sire goes by the same name.'

‘Yes, of course. Does he trade here in Parkgate?'

‘Yes'm. John supplies the Harbour House and comes round the houses every Thursday. The fish you eat comes from him. Well, it's always fresh.'

‘I see. Thank you, Agnes. Oh, one more thing. I'm thinking of giving a dinner party. Just a small gathering to brighten up the winter. Let us say … six in all.'

‘Yes, ma'am.'

‘I can name the guest list for you. Mr George Rawlinson—'

‘That'll mean fillet steak on the menu, ma'am. Loves his fillet steak done in red wine, does Mr Rawlinson.'

‘So I've observed. Pray do not interrupt, Agnes. As I was saying. Mr George Rawlinson. Now, who else? The rector and his daughter, Susanna. Oh, and we'd best include the rector's sister, Miss Charlotte Marsdon. I know she's with them on a housekeeping
basis but she is family when all's said and done. It would help if she were less shrewish, but we shall cope.'

‘And let us have my nephew from the Harbour House.'

‘Master Edward, ma'am?'

‘Yes, of course Master Edward. Whom did you think I meant? My nephew is turning out a very personable young man. He tells me he has leanings towards becoming a solicitor. Such a dry occupation for one so full of fun, though I daresay it takes all sorts. Anyway, Edward will bring a touch of life to the company.'

‘Yes'm.' Agnes bobbed a curtsey. ‘Will that be all, ma'am?'

‘I think so. Oh, and Agnes' – Jessica proffered as the agitated maid was about to vanish from the room – ‘next time young Royle is due with a delivery, you might let me know.'

‘I will, ma'am,' Agnes said.

That afternoon, Jessica donned her cape and bonnet with the intention of visiting her sister. She was picking her way delicately over the straw on the tavern yard, avoiding the passengers who had just disembarked from the Chester Flyer, one of the new fast stage coaches, when she was halted by a voice speaking her name.

Jessica turned and found herself face to face with the rather odd character known as the village wise woman, Meg Shone. She had clearly been gathering seaweed for her potions, as her basket was full to the brim. She came closer.

‘Glad to have come across you, mistress,' she said in her flat, low tones. ‘'Tis about young Polly. I'd be grateful if you'd pass on a message.'

‘Oh? And what makes you think I'm in a position to do that?' Jessica queried.

The woman gave a rusty cackle.

‘You don't have to pretend with me, mistress! Nobody has any secrets from Meg Shone.' Her black eyes glinted. ‘A grand girl, is Polly. That girl saved my life. Near drowned. I did! Tell her Meg Shone never forgets a favour.'

‘Very well. I shan't forget.'

‘Oh, I knows that. Meg Shone knows who she can trust and who
she cannot. I'll bid you good-day, mistress. May you get all you desire.'

Bestowing a gap-toothed smile, the woman hurried on her way. Jessica carried on thoughtfully into the tavern. Loud snores directed her to the tap-room, where her brother-in-law was sprawled in a drunken stupor, his head cradled in his arms, an empty flagon on the table beside him. Halting, Jessica delivered him a sharp prod with her parasol.