All the dear faces (49 page)

“
This has nothing to do with our marriage, Esmé . . ."

“
It has if you are to . . . to flaunt yourself with . . .
”

His roar could be heard in the kitchens and the servants froze in terror. The little skivvy who was carrying a stack of pans she had just scoured, squeaked and dropped them with a deafening clatter and the butler Esmé Macauley had employed a year ago tut-tutted angrily.

“
That is enough, Esmé. I will not be told how to conduct my life. Not by you, nor anyone. You are my wife and will remain so for as long as I live, but what I do outside this house is my own concern. You have my name and my protection. No one will ever harm you or insult you, in my presence or out of it." He twisted the massive gold and onyx ring he wore on the little finger of his left hand, then turned and walked toward the window, putting as much distance as he could between himself and his pretty young wife in case his snarling anger should become unleashed. He took another cigar from the gold case in his pocket, then returned to the fire to light it, inhaling
deeply before he leaned down towards her. She shrank away
.

His lips hardly moved as he spoke and his eyes were . slivers of blue ice between his thickly lashed lids. He was in command of himself now after that curious defencelessness.

“
But you will obey me, my girl, and you will do it with that certain style you have which marks you for a lady. You will do as you have done for the past eighteen months. What you have done well. You will look after my house and my guests. Nothing will change. I will not change it. I will go to church with you. I will be here at our table and in your bed since I want a child. I don't know why we have not had one for you must admit I do my best to oblige. I am well aware that you find the . . . procedure distasteful and when you conceive I shall bother you no longer.
”

Her face became crimson at his coarse reference to what went on in their bed, then it drained away to leave her white and trembling, for she was afraid of this violence in her husband, wondering frantically on the emotion which had caused it.

“
There is nothing more to say. Whatever you may hear about . . . the child you are to disregard it. Contrary to popular belief she is not mine and I will not have her discussed, or her mother in my house. Is that clear? Very well, put on your hat and we will go to church."

“
Yes, Reed," she said, and went to fetch her bonnet
.

Chapter
27

They did not see Cat from the beginning of January when the snow began until the end of February when it thawed. They saw no one, spending the winter months cut off from the rest of the world by the deep snow. She and Natty had, at the first onset of the bad weather, brought down the flock to the intakes so that if it became necessary they could be hand fed with the hay cut from the meadow grass in the summer. The cow, christened 'Clover' by Cat was housed in the cow shed, cared for by Natty in the nature of feeding, watering, mucking out and bedding. Phoebe milked her daily, and she was justifiably proud of her dairy work. The actual dairy was intensely cold, set on the north-facing wall of the farmhouse as it was, even at the height of the summer. There was a boiler, a stone floor with a slight slope for drainage, and the walls were lined with a great many stone shelves. It was all spotlessly clean, the pails and crocks scoured meticulously for it would not do to find one of Clover's hairs in the butter or for the cheese to become too soft. There were no second chances in a dairy.

“
That butter's a long time comin'" " was a timeless lament from Phoebe, just as though she was heartily sick of the task and for two pins would give it all up, but Annie knew she relished it, tickled to death with the produce of her own labour. The upright butter churn in which a long 'plunger' was 'dashed' up and down was in use twice a week. There was a box churn which was for when only a small quantity of butter was to be made, and when the churned butter was ready Phoebe 'worked' it with her own cold, bare hands to remove the excess buttermilk. She had cream setting dishes made of the wood from the sycamore
tree, a butter board, a hand-carved butter stamp, a butter barrel, again made of sycamore which did not taint the flavour of the milk, and in which the butter was stored. She heated her cheese-making milk in a copper cheese kettle before adding the rennet and after the numerous and complex processes through which it went, the cheese was put in the 'press' where it would remain for weeks or sometimes months before it was ripe for eating. Phoebe chafed at the bad weather which kept them from the market place in Keswick. The eggs which were not eaten by herself, Natty and Annie were pickled in vinegar and pepper. The butter and cheese was wrapped in a constantly changed wet cloth kept in hay and ice, brought from wherever it formed, and stored in the barn to keep it fresh. On the first day they were able to get to the market place, drawing the produce on the sledge, Phoebe was overwhelmed by the profit that was made. "Sixpence three farthings for each pound of cheese an' all from nowt really," she said, discounting her hard labour and refusing absolutely to accept the few pence Annie would have given her to spend.

“
Nay, lass, buy summat for't bairn. 'Appen she'll be 'ome at weekend," and she was, receiving a rapturous welcome from everyone, even Natty who poked a finger in her cheek and told her she looked 'right sprightly'
.

During the winter months Annie worked on her diary, not as one might suppose a record of her social activities but of her farm, and the past three years she had spent on it. Begun at Charlie's suggestion, week by week she had put down each meticulous detail of every moment of her busy day, from early sowing and planting, weeding, hoeing, feeding the land to the day it was all harvested, stored, threshed, milled and the land ploughed ready for the cycle to begin again. Each animal she possessed, marked with her own mark, was recorded and its progress noted, ewes, lambs, hoggs, gimmers, twinters and the wethers, the castrated males she was fattening for sale. When she had bought them, and from whom, and the quality and price she got for her fleeces. All the hundredsof details of which her farming year was made up. Her tiny profits after she had deducted what she was forced to buy in the way of provisions, those they could not themselves grow or produce
.

She and Natty spent hard days, sometimes until dark, prodding long sticks into snow drifts the height of the stone walls they faced, their dogs helping them, looking for the 'daft buggers', as Natty called them, sheep which continued to wander off up on to high ground. They were all found, with the sharp nose of Natty's dog who was more experienced than
Blackie
and Bonnie, digging furiously until the wanderer was released from a snowy grave
.

As they worked they could see far below, the stone of the farmhouse standing grey against the surrounding whiteness. A wisp of smoke curled from the chimney and inside Annie knew Phoebe would have a hot and nourishing meal waiting for them, 'neaps and tatties' or 'crowdy'. It was still on this day but the skies were heavy with fresh snow waiting to fling itself down on those who were careless in their regard for the weather signs. They had fed the ewes with their daily ration of a pound of hay, those that had been `tupped' in November and were already heavy with their lambs
.

Natty worked alone when he repaired the gaps in the drystone walls on her 'inlands'. It was a never-ending task. Deep snow drifts piled against the walls and alternating frost and thaw inevitably caused gaps. The gap must be pulled right down to the base and rebuilt. The job, long and exhausting, could only be done when spare time was available. Natty tidied the barn and the cow shed and spread the fields, when the snow allowed it, with manure. To earn a bob or two and at the right time of the year, it was his custom to help the keeper of a local landowner's estate by acting as a 'beater' during the grouse-shooting season, and, for a lark, and to see if she could do it without being spotted, Annie joined him. She was inevitably noticed since she was by now a familiar figure in her threadbare jacket and breeches, her gaiters and wooden-soled clogs. She wore her heavy woollen jerkin beneath
the jacket and a long muffler wound about her neck. Her soft felt hat, the brim turned down, was pulled well over her forehead but when the keeper, a man called Abel Greenwood bade her a dour "Morning, lass", she was quite astonished, not that she should have been recognised but that she should have been spoken to. More amazing still was the nod Jackie Ingham, a neighbouring cottager, aimed in her direction and the gruff "tekk the drag, lass" from another, Willy North. As she said later to an equally astonished Phoebe, you could have knocked her down with a feather. "Are they beginning to accept me, Phoebe, at last?" she asked.

“
'Appen the men, chuck, but it'll tekk time wit wimmin.
”

Sometimes Annie felt that Phoebe was the older of the two of them. She was cheerful again now, her old self after the beating from the 'stranger' but she had an old head on young shoulders, careful and prudent without Annie's inclination towards humour. She took her position as 'housekeeper' very seriously. She was neat and exacting, brusque with Natty if he should bring muck in on to her clean kitchen floor. Big-hearted and generous, she was nevertheless always conscious of the precarious state of their world and was never careless or carefree in the way she approached each day
.

At the end of March, a Friday, the burning of the heather began. There was a light wind blowing, the heather was tinder-dry, the air crisp and clean and below where Annie and Natty stood they could see more than one dale spread out before them. The heather was to be burned in strips so that the sheep and grouse who were to benefit from it could pass easily through it, seeking out the various stages of regrowth which were the reason for burning it. The breeze must be at a man's back. A handful of bracken was set alight, transferred to the dry heather and from there carried along the desired line
.

Phoebe was 'pegging out' a line of snow-white, billowing undergarments, those which her lambkin had worn and brought home from school. Though the day was nearly over there was a good 'drying wind' and an hour or twowould see this little lot ready for ironing. The child had begged to go up and find her mother, wanting her to see her painting but Phoebe had said no, wait in the yard, she'd not be long and here, eat this oatcake she'd made while she waited. Her satchel was still on the step and guarding it were Blackie and Bonnie for they were not allowed on the fell when the burning was in process. Natty's dog, in canine years as old as her master, had found a sliver of sun in which she dozed but suddenly, though nothing untoward had happened, at least that Phoebe had noticed, all three sprang to their feet, their hackles rising and to her horror, Blackie and Bonnie lifted their heads and howled
.

Dear sweet Lord! The clothes peg she held in her mouth fell to the ground and instinctively she looked around for the child.

“
Cat, where is't tha', come to Phoebe, lambkin," for whatever it was that had set the dogs to making such a din it must surely be frightful, and might it not be threatening the child?

“
Cat . . . where is't tha', Cat?" she quavered but she was not there and Blackie and Bonnie were acting in the strangest way, crouched and quivering, their tails between their legs, their ears flat on their heads as they both stared up towards the line of fire on the fell.

“
Tha' should've asked Jackie Ingham and Willy North to give us a hand, lass," Natty said as he struck the tinder.

“
We can manage, Natty. I'll beat at this flank and you keep to the other. It's not a long line and we can easily hold it in check between us. I can't afford any more wages, you know that. Not after paying you," for she had kept her promise, giving him the full labourer's wage of £8 a half year plus his food and room over the loft
.

The burning went well. The flames advanced in a long, sizzling, crackling, smoking line, leaving behind a charred dark blue mass of pungent-smelling ash. The lusty growth in front of the line of fire contrasted sharply with the charred remains it left at the back, where next year the
new green shoots would show. The rotational burning of the heather was to help both sheep and grouse but it must be done before the bird nesting season began. If the spring was wet, chances to burn were few and Annie pressed ahead, allowing the line to get longer and longer, the distance between herself and Natty growing until there was a great swathe of fire in the middle which was unsupervised
.

Neither of them, frantically beating to control their end of the line of leaping flames saw the small figure of Cat Abbott, nor heard her excited child's voice as she called to her mother, for the noise the flames made was loud and angry. She ran towards them up the slope, the breeze blowing into her laughing face, exactly in the centre of the line of fire which was galloping in her direction, greedily devouring everything in its dry path. She wore her hoddengrey dress and jacket, the outfit already becoming too short for her. In her hand she carried a sheet of paper, upon which was a painting of
Blackie
, Bonnie and Dandy and which she had finished during the past week. She had a talent for it, Miss Mossop had told Annie in one of her polite reports and she hoped Mrs Abbott would not mind if it was encouraged
.