Larkrigg Fell (34 page)

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I’ve put them on to boil.’

‘You’ve what?’

‘For me crook handles, see?’ He showed her a large pan in which two pieces of ram’s horn reposed in bubbling splendour. ‘This softens them up a bit like, then I can press them into the right shape. After that it’s all in the skill of me knife.’

Beth stared at the old man, pinching her nose with finger and thumb against the stink. No wonder there was always an odd smell about the place. What had she let herself in for? Three men, three different generations, all no doubt set in their ways. ‘I hope this doesn’t happen often.’

‘Oh, no. It takes ages to carve a crook handle. I’ll do one for thee, shall I?’

A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. ‘What would I want with a crook?’

He grinned mischievously. ‘To dole in that gormless husband of yours?’

Seeing the wicked twinkle in the old man’s eyes she burst out laughing. ‘Things are going to change round here,’ she warned, wagging a finger at him.

‘Aye, lass. I reckon you’ll have your hands full right enough with us lot.’

The very first thing she did was to throw away the stained tablecloth and scrub the big kitchen table. With quantities of bleach and hot water it came up gleaming, almost as good as Meg’s. She wouldn’t let herself even think of her lovely kitchen at Larkrigg. That belonged in the past. This was her home now and if it was not what she’d been used to, then it was up to her to make it better. If Ellen could make a good life for herself in that tiny cottage, then she must do as much here.

Beth was determined to make a good impression. She may have a lot to learn about her role as a farmer’s wife, but she could bring some warmth and comfort into these men’s lives. She shooed Seth off to the woodshed to press his precious pieces of horn and opened all the doors and windows to get rid of the smell. Then she cleaned the kitchen from top to bottom, scrubbing the sink, walls and window sill, scouring out every cupboard, rubbing up the old paintwork till, if it didn’t exactly shine, she knew it to be clean.

After a restoring cup of tea, she set to baking a mutton and potato pie in the old solid fuel range, and on the stroke of twelve-thirty she heard the clatter of clogs coming along the back passage. Billy and Andrew back from the fells, Seth joining them from his shed.

They all hung their caps on the door peg, washed their hands at the stone sink in the back scullery, and came to their places at the table as they always did. Their noses were twitching at the delicious aroma that rose with the steam from the pie. A feast of a meal awaited them. Andrew had done them right proud in his choice of bride, their satisfied stance said. With a scrape of chair on slate floor and an eager clatter of feet the three men sat down and raised expectant eyes to Beth’s.

‘I think you’ve forgotten something,’ she said, a gentle smile of reproof on her face.

They glanced uncertainly at each other. ‘What’s up?’ Billy politely asked.
 

‘Your clogs. They’re full of mud and muck from the fields.’

‘Nay, it’s a farm, lass. Hadn’t thee noticed?’ Seth chuckled.

A small silence, in which Beth continued to gaze at their three shining faces through the steam of the pie, but she made no move to cut it. The smell of whatever was on their clogs was making her gag. Swallowing hard, and trying to ignore the ferocity of her husband’s frown, she held to her resolve with a smile.
 

‘The farm is outside. In here is my kitchen, which, if you notice, I’ve just cleaned. If you wouldn’t mind leaving your clogs or boots in the back scullery and change into indoor shoes, I’d be most grateful.’

For a moment she thought Andrew might explode. His face went beetroot red and he shot up from the table. ‘If we’re not good enough for…’ he began but it was Billy who put out a hand to stop him.

‘Na then. The lass is right. We’ve lived so long on us own, we three chaps, that we’ve forgotten our manners. I seem to recall your mother saying much the same thing, once upon a time.’

This, apparently, settled the matter and the three men trooped out of the kitchen, returning after a moment in stocking feet, some of them sporting holes through which big toes peeped.

‘We’ll get some slippers,’ Billy promised.

Beth hid a smile, dished out a huge chunk of pie for each of them by way of reward. Not a word was spoken as they demolished it, and the rice pudding which followed. Eating appeared to be a serious business, yet within half an hour they had washed it all down with a huge mug of tea each and were replacing the clogs and going about their work.

‘Tea at five,’ Andrew told her, smiling and nodding before going on his way. He’d forgiven her about the clogs because the pie had been so good and she’d looked so pretty serving it.

When they’d all gone Beth sank back in her chair with a sigh, surveying the wreck on the kitchen table. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. She wondered whether the rest would be so easy, and somehow rather doubted it.

Tea at five? What would they expect? She’d have to bake scones or gingerbread. Jam and bread perhaps? Or some sort of meat and salad? When everything was cleared away she began to investigate her stores more thoroughly. There was plenty of flour, potatoes and vegetables, cold bacon in the larder but no eggs. She’d have to get her hens back from Meg. Neither was there any bread in the bin, and few tins in the cupboard. She thought of all the preserves she had left at Ellen’s and wondered if she dare find the courage to beg a jar or two. She’d have to do some shopping, for there seemed little food in the place. Had she time to nip down to Mrs Wilson’s little shop?

She surveyed the back scullery with greater attention. There was a round bin which contained some sort of foodstuff, for the calves perhaps? Would it be her job to feed them? Apparently so. She’d better get instructions from Andrew. There was also an old mangle that doubled as a laundry table and what she now realised was an old fashioned dolly tub and posser. Fancy these old things being left here. They should be in Kendal museum.

It was then with dawning dismay that she looked more closely about the kitchen. There was no washing machine or spin dryer, no vacuum cleaner or electric iron. No toaster, grill, radio or TV. No modern contrivances of any kind.

She opened the door and ran across the yard. Andrew was in the barn, sweeping out the loft, making it ready for the coming season’s hay.

‘Where are all the electrical appliances?’ she asked. The awful silence and the slackening of his mouth into a shocked oval, told its own tale.

‘You do have electricity, don’t you?’

He gazed above her head, as if seeking inspiration, or wishing the almighty would whisk him away so he didn’t have to answer this question. ‘They laid the mains on right to the head of the dale here, but Seth refused to let us be connected. He doesn’t trust it.’

‘You’ve got your own generator then?’

‘Well...’

She gazed at him, stunned. ‘No electricity at all?’

‘No.’

‘Then what happens in the evening? Do you sit in the dark?’ Beth couldn’t believe that she’d never noticed this before, but always when she’d called it had been daylight, and if sometimes it’d seemed a bit gloomy, she’d put that down to old Seth’s fancy not to waste money on electricity unnecessarily. Many old people were like that. It had never occurred to her that there was none.

Andrew was looking almost angry now, as if it were her fault in some way. ‘We use the oil lamps, OK? I’d like electricity connected as much as you would. I bought an old generator once, for the clipping, but he wouldn’t let me use that either, so I never really got it working.’

‘Well, get it working now.’

‘I don’t know if I can. Or if Seth would agree.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’

‘I know, Beth, I know. I’ll speak to him, I really will.’

‘Speak to your father, I’ll talk to Seth myself,’ Beth said and swinging about, went off in search of the wood shed, where she enjoyed a long and fruitless discussion with the bombastic old man.

‘We’ve no money for devil’s tricks,’ he told her, barely raising his head from the length of ash he was shaving to a wonderful smoothness.

‘But it would make life so much easier for us all. You could have an electric blanket to warm your bed.’

She might as well have offered him a flight to the moon so scathing was his expression, and received nothing more than a lecture on good health for her troubles.

Two days later she told Andrew that whether Seth liked it not, she’d written to the electricity board to see how much it would cost to put them on the mains.

Andrew looked stunned. ‘You’d no right to do such a thing. We probably wouldn’t be able to afford it, whatever it costs.’

‘How do we know unless we ask?’

‘Don’t tell my Dad what you’ve done. He doesn’t like interference.’

Beth merely wrinkled her nose at him and grinned. ‘Oh, don’t be such an old fuddy-duddy. You’ve said yourself this farm should modernise. Have you tackled that old generator yet.’

‘It’s all rusted up.’

‘Then clean it. And see about wiring up this house to it. Right?’

He gazed at her, feeling a nudge of admiration, for all he was nervous of his family’s reaction to her revolutionary talk. And in other places an ache of a different sort. How long could he go on like this? He loved the way she tossed back her thick hair, so silky and glossy he wanted to stroke it, stroke her, feel the smoothness of her skin next to his. He closed his eyes for a moment and swallowed, disciplining himself not to look at her again while agreeing to do what he could with the old generator. ‘I doubt it’ll be big enough to do all the work you require, of it. I’ll happen look for another.’

But he never got the chance to give it a try. In no time at all Seth discovered what he was about and put a stop to it.

‘I’m not having no ‘lectic wiring in my house. Burn the place down it will. And there’s no fire brigade for ten miles or more.’

Which put an end to the subject of electricity.

The lack of electricity, however, proved to be only one of Beth’s problems that summer.

She felt as if she had stepped back in time. The best she could do was to scour the place clean from top to bottom, ruthlessly throwing away dozens of old newspapers, tin cans, rotting shoes, and a jumble of assorted rubbish she couldn’t even put a name to.

‘Ere, that might come in handy,’ Seth would protest, every time she tossed some item into the big plastic bags she was using.

‘For what? Screwing a hole in your head?’ She stared at the broken screwdriver. ‘Good idea, might let in a breath of fresh air.’

‘Saucy madam,’ Seth would say, then laugh his toothless laugh, and help her with the next cupboard until he became absorbed in some treasure he hadn’t set eyes on for fifty years and carried it off to his shed, like a prize.

But whenever she suggested the smallest alteration, even a coat of paint, there was always absolute and obdurate refusal.

Andrew didn’t have the time, Seth complained it was a waste of good money, and Billy wouldn’t have anything altered from the way things had been when his dear wife had been alive.

If Beth was ever in any doubt about this, it was confirmed when she broached the subject of the front parlour, forever cold despite the heat of summer outside.

She could detect the small changes Andrew’s mother must have made all those years before. Brocade curtains at the window, long since faded to an indeterminate shade of brown. The fifties-style crocheted antimacassars on the two fireside chairs, and a small green tiled fireplace. But the round table was covered with a Victorian chenille velvet cloth in dull red. The ancient harmonium was cluttered with photographs of ladies in long skirts and men holding hay forks. The room smelled musty and unused, the window caked with dust.

Beth felt she must make every effort to create a good life here at Cathra Crag, for herself and Andrew. She owed him that much, at least. And if she didn’t keep busy, her mind kept returning to the haunting image of Pietro, intruding on her need to find peace.

Bringing the little parlour in to the present day would be her salvation.

‘Can I modernise it a little?’ she begged Andrew, afraid to attempt any more changes without permission.

A flicker of anxiety clouded his face. ‘Why? What’s wrong with it as it is?’

She searched her mind for the right words. ‘It’s not mine.’

‘It’s not mine, either. But Dad likes it this way.’

‘Surely I can be permitted to make some small changes? They wouldn’t begrudge me that, would they?’

‘You mean you’re regretting taking on two old men, my family.’

Beth bridled. ‘No, I didn’t mean that at all. I’m very fond of Seth, and Billy.’

‘The front parlour is saved for special occasions.’

‘It was, in the past. Things are different now. We’re married, and we’ve nowhere to call our own. Somewhere for just the two of us.’

He gazed at her bright face entranced, enchanted suddenly by the prospect of sitting in this room of an evening alone with her. Andrew gazed into Beth’s pleading blue eyes and wanted, desperately, to give her anything she asked for. He wanted to take her to his bed, this very minute. So badly, he thought he might disgrace himself right here in front of her. Then he remembered his honeymoon and the fact that she had openly admitted, right from the start that she didn’t quite love him as she should, and he felt himself go limp with despair.