All the dear faces (66 page)

“
Listen to what?
”

She shook her head for really all she had to tell him, everything she had to tell him would hurt him beyond endurance, so what was she to say? Only the truth, surely.

“
Charlie ... "

“
Annie, I don't think I can bear to hear this, really I can't."

“
Charlie, you must know ... "

“
Must I? must I?"

“
Yes," and she could see him freeze, become suspended in the ice of his pain, his vitality an inanimate thing as he did his best to find mercy. He was fighting to remain calm,
to keep a hold on hope, but his eyes told her he knew she was going to leave him. The raw pain in them burned her but she could not look away. She had kept this man here, perhaps against his will, giving him reason to believe that one day, when she was mended from all the many hurts she had sustained in her passage through life, she would turn to him in love. She had smiled on him, leaned on him, laughed and cried with him, relied on his strength, taken his strength, all the while hiding from him the honest truth which was that she could never love, or give herself to any man but Reed Macauley. He had believed the promise she had, perhaps unintentionally, held out to him, and had remained. He had tried to go away once, but her need had brought him back and she had used him as a crutch to get her through. Would he ever forgive her? Could she ever forgive herself ?

“
Charlie . . . I am so sorry. This is my fault. You made no secret of how you felt about me and I have not been honest . . ."

“
Christ . . . don't . . . don't tell me . . ."

“
I must . . ."

“
No . . ."

“
I'm not . . ."

“
Don't say it, please, my darling. Don't say you're not the right woman for me, when what you mean is that I am not the right man for you. I have been mistaken in believing that you . . . that one day you would . . . forget him, but it seems . . . well, I had best pack my . . ." His voice petered away and he turned from her, stumbling on awkward legs towards the farmhouse, blinded it seemed, and her heart broke for him but she knew she must not go after him. Not now. Not this time. He must be allowed to make his own decision without the truth of her need of him to cloud his brain. She did need him. She could not imagine life without Charlie in it, as she could not imagine her life without Phoebe in it. They were her two true friends, both of whom she loved and for whom she would give her life. She wanted him to stay but she also wanted him to be happy and he could not do both. He was a decentman who deserved a decent life. A wife, children, a home, the satisfaction of a day's work well done and perhaps she could give him the latter if he would accept it
.

But not now. Not at this moment when there was nothing but hatred and despair in his heart. He might, as she stood here, held fast by her sorrow for him, be stuffing his few possessions into his bag, taking his leave of a bewildered Phoebe, striding off down the track to Keswick. She might lose him for ever if he went, but she must leave him alone, for now
.

He was not in the farmhouse, nor anywhere in the vicinity of it when she finally went down there. His things were still in his room. The books he had read to them years ago, those which Cat had loved so much, his woollen jerkin, his scarf and worn overcoat were all where he had left them.

“
Tha'd best give Mr Lucas a shout, Annie," Phoebe advised. "His supper's on t' table, tell him, an' I've baked 'im an apple pie. I've saved 'im a drop of cream an' all. Got over two gallons of milk today from Clover, I did, which is right good, or so Maggie told me when she came by with young Jonty. He's a fine lad, that un. Six months old he be an' already tryin' to pull 'isself up. Crawl, he's like a little monkey an' into everything. I 'ad to put all me things away . . ."

“
I am to buy Upfell, Phoebe.
”

The words cut off Phoebe's pleasant ramblings on the happenings of her contented day just as though someone had clamped a gag in her mouth. Her hands which had been busy with pans and ladling spoons, with the proper arrangement of knife and fork and plate, became still. She turned slowly her plain country face, rosy now with good health, as astonished as if Annie had said she had purchased a tiara of diamonds.

“
What?"

“
I am to buy Upfell Farm and almost everything in it, and on it. The farmhouse and what furniture Sally didn't want. The gimmers, wethers, ewes, the cows and a couple of pigs Sally couldn't take with her to Binsey. All
the dairy utensils. What was stored in the cow barn. Wood and hay coops, the cart, horse, coppice land .. . everything. It will cost me two hundred guineas . . ."

“
Two hundred . . . !" Phoebe's mouth fell open and the spoon she held dropped from her hand to the floor. Dandy drifted over to it, her sinuous body gracefully twining about Phoebe's skirts before she began to lap delicately at the cream which had splashed on to Phoebe's immaculate flagstones.

“
Wheer d'yer get the money? Not the bank, nor that lawyer from Lancaster. Tha' told me that." Phoebe's words were flat and suspicious, disapproving, for hadn't she known for weeks now what Annie Abbott got up to almost every day on the fell and where else would she get the money but from the man whom she met up there?

“
I haven't got it from anywhere yet. I have some put by and I shall use that as a down payment and pay the rest whenever I can. With interest, of course," she added hastily as though she knew full well what Phoebe was thinking and was determined to let her know this was a bona fide business transaction.

“
I see, an' would I be wrong in thinkin' tha' intends borrowin' from him up at Long Beck?"

“
No, you wouldn't be wrong, Phoebe. In fact I am to buy the farm from him up at Long Beck. It was Reed who got it from the . . ."

“
Tha' knows tha'll be in his debt don't tha'? An' that he's not a man who'll be shy of collectin' it."

“
What is that supposed to mean?"

“
If tha' falls behind he'll mek tha' pay in other ways, lass.
”

At once Annie's face became brightly flushed and she felt a great need to avoid Phoebe's steady, penetrating eyes as the images of herself and Reed as they had been this very afternoon and on the many afternoons of the past four weeks, flooded her mind.

“
An' what about Mr Lucas?" Phoebe went on, knowing exactly why Annie's face had flooded with colour. "He's notgoin' to like it, you borrowin' money from Mr Macauley. It wouldn't surprise me if he refused ter work for thi'. It'd be like workin' for him, that's 'ow Mr Lucas'd see it."

“
Nonsense!" Annie tossed her head in an effort to appear offended, and then suddenly letting out her breath in a resigned sigh, she moved away to gaze out of the window and down the slope to the lake below.

“
What's the use, Phoebe? I cannot hide the truth from you. I have just . . . spoken to Charlie. Not about Upfell but about me . . . and Reed Macauley."

“
Oh, aye, an' what's there to tell?"

“
Well . . ." Somehow it was very difficult to say the words. To say to Phoebe, "I'm taking up residence at Long Beck and I shall be running both farms from there. I shall be putting in men, here and at Upfell to farm, and herd my sheep. You, of course, will come with me to Long Beck since you are my friend. You will have a comfortable life as my companion. A decent wage, pretty clothes and . . . and . . .
”

Her mind tried to form a picture of Phoebe at Long Beck, sitting perhaps in a cosy chair in a cosy room, sewing, reading, or in the garden which she herself knew as a child as being extremely grand. She would ride in a carriage beside herself when they went to Keswick on business, naturally, and then . . .
?

She just could not imagine it. It just would not happen in her mind's eye and she sighed deeply for she knew it would not happen at all. Phoebe could not be made to fit into that pretty picture Annie tried to imagine her in. This was Phoebe, hardworking, cheerful, content to bake and darn, to scrub and scour and polish, to milk her cow and churn her butter and do all the practical, everyday jobs she had performed all her life. She would be uncomfortable in silk, in a carriage, in a formal garden, and the idea of Phoebe sitting down to read a book when there were so many more interesting things to do in the kitchen, was ludicrous
.

Phoebe, if she agreed to come, and there was no guarantee that she would, could only be miserable in such a
setting. But how could she leave her? her anguished mind begged to know. She had lost Cat, she had lost Natty, and there was every probability she would lose Charlie . . . if what she hoped for came to nothing. So could she bear to lose Phoebe as well? And if Phoebe stayed here, how was she to fit in with the man – who would probably have a wife – who would come to run Browhead?

“
What is it Annie?"

“
Charlie . . ."

“
Aye, what about him?"

“
Reed Macauley and I are . . .
”

Phoebe shook her head testily, her patience with the vague ramblings of the woman who was usually sharp and decisive, coming to an end. Something was up, something pretty drastic if Annie's behaviour was anything to go by and the sooner it was said and done with, the better. It involved him up at Long Beck, that was very evident, for when had he not been involved with every drama which had been played out at Browhead ever since Phoebe had come to live here?

“
Ah know tha's bin seein' him, Annie, so that's no surprise. Nay, lass, tha' face gives thi' away, an' if I knew, so did Mr Lucas . . ."

“
Yes . . ."

“
Yes, what does that mean?"

“
He knew. He saw me coming down . . . just now and . . . I had to admit it . . ."

“
Wheer is he?" Phoebe pushed Annie aside brusquely, peering down the field for a sight of Charlie. Royal cropped the grass contentedly on its far side, deep in the shadows cast by the tree and at the gate which led into the field, the three dogs, eyes glistening, tongues quivering, sprawled panting in the shade of the wall. It was all so normal, so as it should be, as it HAD been for the past weeks of the heatwave. Phoebe felt her heart quieten for a moment, but as though her instinct, that sixth sense which recognises danger when there is none to be seen, could sense it, little ripples of fear ran through her body.

“
Wheer is he, Annie?"

“
I don't know, Phoebe. He ran off down the track towards .. ."

“
Wheer, for God's sake?"

“
I don't know . .

“
Tha' don't know after all that man's done for thi' . . ."

“
Do you think I don't know that, but I couldn't lie to him, Phoebe. I love Reed Macauley. I had to tell him the truth . . ."

“
And what else?"

“
What d'you mean?"

“
There's summat in tha' face that ses there's more. That tha's plannin' summat an' if I can see it, so would Mr Lucas. What is it, Annie, tell me?
”

She couldn't. She couldn't tell Phoebe and she couldn't do it. She wanted Reed but she was afraid of him. Afraid of what a life with him at Long Beck would do to her. Was she capable of being the woman he wanted her to be? Did she want to be the woman he wanted her to be? If she sacrificed her independence would she, little by little, be completely possessed by Reed for he believed, quite sincerely, that the only right way was Reed Macauley's way. He would own her. She would be his completely and, though she longed for it joyfully, longed to spend each night moaning and sighing in his bed, was she able to submerge herself totally to HIS will, or was it all a dream? Had she been dreaming, living in a dream world where she and Reed would be together, sharing their lives, existing side by side in a house where his wife should be? Probably sleeping in a bed he had shared with her, giving orders to his wife's servants, taking his wife's life, the one Reed had promised to give her when he married her, and was it in Annie's power to do it? She loved him and she would always continue to give everything of herself she could offer. Gladly, rapturously, but NOT THERE, not at Long Beck, not in another woman's place. Not in his wife's place. She did not know how he would take it. Perhaps her dream would be stamped on and destroyed, for they were all in his hands. The farm at Upfell, not yet legally hers. Her plans for her basket industry which included
Charlie, if he would let her . . . Dear God in Heaven .. . so much . . . and all depending on Reed Macauley ..
.

Suddenly her mind cleared and her heart became steadied. No, it didn't all depend on Reed Macauley. Upfell farm did and her intention to form a business, a swill basket industry on a scale not known before in the district, but not everything. Not everything. She still had Browhead
.