Larkrigg Fell (39 page)

‘Are you objecting?’

A soft chuckle. ‘Not in the least. I thought for a minute I was about to be evicted from my own home.’ She laughed with him, a softly loving sound, deep in her throat.

‘Have you forgiven me?’ They both knew that she meant more than the evacuation of his room.

‘Let’s say I can live with it.’

The relief she’d felt was enormous, thankful that she’d made the decision, glad they could be friends again, and lovers at last. Some people, even those supposedly in love, were not always so fortunate.

This morning, he’d surprised her by waking her early and taking her again, with an increasing passion that had been a revelation. Oh, yes. Life at Cathra Crag was going to be altogether different this winter.

Now Beth walked by the tarn, sorry to see it empty but happy that Pegleg and his new mate had obviously found a happy home some place. The swan had found contentment and so had she, once she’d learned to use her own wiles. She laughed, the sound echoing through the silken mist that skimmed the water, hazing it from soft cream to dove grey.

Still, calm, as only a day in autumn could be, as finally her heart was.

Her entire outlook had changed. Optimism fizzed in her blood as she drew the tang of clear mountain air into her lungs, savouring the taste of it on her tongue, the bite of it against her cheeks. Why did she feel so different? Could one night’s love-making have such an effect upon her?

Sighing with happiness Beth descended the steep track, slipping on the wet rough stones.

She couldn’t resist making a detour close by Larkrigg, though she chose not to go up the drive. The house would be locked and she no longer had a key. The mighty boulders that littered the fell looked like miniature castles of rock, standing proud, encircled by a moat of heather. She smoothed her hands over the Gemini Stones, laying her cheek against the cold granite and again recalled the legend which had proved to be so true.

Where was Sarah? she worried. Was she married now? Were they both well? There had been no more than a handful of postcards since that cataclysmic announcement last spring. Bright pictures showing the usual tourist spots that hastily sketched their journey through Europe. They apparently stopped wherever took their fancy, for a few weeks or months, then moved on again. Beth supposed they must find work of some sort on these occasions.

The most recent card, some months ago, had announced their arrival in Florence, saying they were staying with Pietro’s family. Beth assumed the wedding had gone off as planned, but they made no mention of when, or if, they would visit Lakeland. An endless honeymoon apparently. Trust Sarah. Not that she particularly wanted to see her just yet. She preferred them to stay away, for the moment at least.

One day her sister would come, of course, bringing Pietro with her as her husband. Beth wondered how she would feel about seeing Sarah married to the man she had once loved and wanted for herself. But then she too was married now, in truth as well as name, so what did it signify? Whatever memories still lingered must be resolutely set aside.

Ellen was busy with a new patient, a young peregrine falcon, eyes bright and alert, breast gleaming white in the low afternoon sun, holding remarkably still while Ellen examined it, seeming to sense she was doing her best to help.

‘Mobbed out of the sky by a couple of ravens,’ she explained, ‘then got itself caught up in barbed wire. Lethal stuff, I hate it.’ She returned her attention to the bird, spreading out each wing in turn. ‘Not too much damage. A scratch or two, a few lost feathers but he could have lost a limb or worse. Have him flying free in no time. Soon as he’s over the shock and got his flight feathers ready and able again.’

Beth struggled to take an interest but for once she was itching to complete her errand and rush back home. ‘I’ve brought you some ginger snaps,’ she said, handing over a tin of homemade biscuits.

‘Bless you, child, how you spoil me.’ Ellen grinned. ‘You know all my little weaknesses.’ And then her gaze sharpened. ‘You’re looking mighty pleased with yourself today. Feeling well, are you? You’re not...?’

Beth’s cheeks pinked. ‘No. Why does everyone jump to that conclusion whenever I’m in a good mood?’

Ellen curbed a smile, saying nothing.

‘I can’t stop long,’ Beth bubbled on. ‘I have to get back and start on supper.’

‘You’ve time for a cup of tea?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘Not been round so much lately. Fed up with me, are you?’ Ellen brewed the tea and they tested one of the biscuits each, declaring them to be a good vintage.

Beth was not insulted by Ellen’s bluntness, knowing it was only her way. ‘Don’t be silly. I’ve been busy, that’s all.’ She told her about the moccasins.

Ellen took it all in, nodding with interest and putting in encouraging questions and comments. ‘Sound’s good. Life seems to agree with you at the moment.’

‘Yes,’ Beth said, dropping her eyelashes and shyly smiling. ‘You know I always enjoy my visits, and I’ll come as often as I can, but I’ll be busy these next few weeks too. And Andrew says we may go away for a few days in October.’ Her cheeks flushed to a deeper pink while Ellen struggled to hold back her wicked sense of humour, brown eyes wide and teasing as she innocently asked, ‘Not another honeymoon?’

‘Of course not. The autumn tup sales at Kirkby Stephen. Andrew goes every backend to sell his spare young rams and buy in new blood. He says I can go with him this time, for a bit of a break. Billy and Seth will look after the farm. We’ll only be gone three or four days.’

The girl was as excited as a kitten, Ellen thought for a while. ‘Good as a holiday, the annual tup sales,’ she said, very seriously.

‘It’ll be grand to get away for a bit, on our own,’ Beth agreed, then laughed. ‘Though I expect he’ll put me a very poor second to the sheep.’

‘Only right and proper,’ Ellen gravely agreed. ‘So long as he has your permission to do so, as any good farmer’s wife will tell you,’ and they both burst out laughing. Then the old woman’s face took on a more serious expression.

‘Are you up to some less comfortable news?’ The brown eyes were filled with compassion and Beth’s heart missed a beat. What now? She really didn’t want any more bad news, not now things were improving between herself and Andrew at last.

‘Not more trouble with vandals? Or another snake?’

‘No, I’m afraid this concerns you. And Larkrigg.’

Just as Beth had feared. ‘Larkrigg?’ She could hear the tremor in her own voice.

‘I’ve heard a rumour that it’s been sold, buyer unknown.’

Beth flinched, unwilling to take it in. She’d been trying to prepare herself for this news for months. Now that it had come, she realised she wasn’t prepared at all.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Afraid so.’

‘Oh, Ellen.’

‘I’m sorry, lass.’

‘What am I to do?’

‘There’s naught you can do. What am I to do, more like? Apparently, when the current tenant goes next quarter day, no other will be allowed in. Word is that the owner is to take up residence himself. I’m more than curious to meet him, only he’s given me notice an’ all.’ She sniffed her disdain but behind the bluff and bluster, Beth could detect her dismay. The old woman had lived in Rowan cottage for as long as anyone could remember.

‘Oh, Ellen, I’m so sorry.’

‘Aye,’ she said. ‘So am I.’

‘I wish we had a spare bedroom. Perhaps another of the cottages on Quarry Row will come vacant.’

‘Fat chance. And where would I put my zoo? No, there’s no help for it,’ Ellen said, determinedly brisk. ‘I’ll pack me bags, take up my birds and beasts, and become a gypsy.’ She laughed, although there was little humour in the sound.

‘And there’s me thinking only of myself. How very selfish of me.’

Ellen’s face softened. ‘Don’t you worry about me, I’ll find some place to lay my head. Anyroad, you’ve never been selfish in your entire life. Wouldn’t know how. But seeing someone else living in your old house is bound to hurt.’

Beth stared bleakly at her friend. ‘I can’t bear to think of it.’

‘Then don’t. Let the house go. Look to the future. You’ve got Andrew and Cathra Crag. And the tup sales to look forward to. Go and enjoy yourself. Live a bit. You can always pretend it’s a second honeymoon, can’t you?’

Chapter Twenty-Two

They stayed in a small, but comfortable hotel on Kirkby Stephen’s main street so that when Andrew was busy at the sales, Beth could wander about the shops and market, or take long walks out into the countryside. The weather was not kind to them, being rather damp and squally. Typical ‘Tup Sale Weather’ the farmers called it. But to the new lovers, the bad weather meant they were confined even more to their room each evening, which was no hardship at all. This was indeed the honeymoon they’d never had.

Andrew seemed different somehow, away from the farm and dressed in his best suit, shirt and tie. Not to mention new smart shoes instead of those dreadful clogs. His hair seemed fairer, his eyes a deeper grey and a smile never far away. He was a fine man now, broader in the chest, not so young and awkward looking as he had once been, caring and attentive, and good fun to be with. It came to Beth with a jolt that she was happy. She’d hardly worried over Larkrigg at all.

And she hadn’t thought of Pietro for weeks.

The only difficulty came in having to be up bright and early each morning when they’d much rather linger in bed. But the sheep had to be penned by seven, ready for judging to commence by seven-thirty, though the sales themselves did not start until two hours after that. The small town seemed to be bursting with people the moment they stepped outside their hotel. Farmers in strong tweed jackets, flat caps and deerstalkers, carved stick in hand, their faces inscrutable, weather beaten and lined, until they met up with an old friend when smiles would banish creases, hands would be clasped and they’d settle down for a bit of crack over a pint of beer, mug of tea, or leaning over the rail of a holding pen.

Beth was entranced by the whole business, eager to watch how things were done and be a part of Andrew’s life. The air seemed filled with noise, the sing-song voices of the auctioneers, an ever-changing rota throughout the long days of selling, the deep throated complaints of rams, young and old, almost two thousand of them over the whole period, the clash of horns when they disagreed with their fellow pen-mates and the buzz of excitement and wonder as prices were reached, lost or excelled.

Andrew explained how he hoped for a prize for his own pair of Swaledale tups. Bashful and Dopey, he called them, though they were anything but, being fine handsome creatures whose worth would be proved once the snows had receded from the fell tops and their progeny proved.

‘A good result in the show ring affects the price we’ll get. We need the money, Beth. Things are tight.’

‘I know,’ she agreed, and was as anxious as him as they waited for the judge’s verdict. She kept her eyes fastened on their black faces with their white noses and fierce, arrogant expressions. Then a red rosette was placed on one, a blue on the other and she saw Andrew almost burst with pride. A good result, followed later by an excellent price at the sale.
 

No one was anxious to leave on the last day, many farmers lingering till quite late over the last few sales. Beth and Andrew too were reluctant to break the spell and return to the reality of life on the farm. ‘Some won’t see another living soul for weeks,’ Andrew explained.

‘I suppose not.’

‘That’s how it was with me once. Though I suppose I was lucky having Dad and Grandad, I’d much rather have a wife.’ And he grinned at her, pulling her close in his arms, bringing a pretty flush to her cheeks.

‘You’ll be too tired when we get home tonight,’ she chided, accurately reading the challenge in his eyes as they danced over her face in that merry way she so liked.

‘We’ll see.’

But he wasn’t tired. Not at all.

The following year proved to be the best ever. Beth loved it at Cathra Crag and found a contentment with Andrew she would never have dreamed possible. Nine months following the Kirkby Stephen holiday, she gave birth to a son, William, which brought Andrew much teasing from the neighbouring farmers, since he’d proved his own worth as well as his two tups.

She’d transformed their home, making it cosy and welcoming with no further protests from Billy, who was so delighted with his new grandson he would have given Beth anything she asked for.

Seth’s fears were soothed and a generator installed. At Christmas, Andrew gave Beth a washing machine, all tied up with blue ribbon. Later, as family’s fortunes slowly improved, they even bought a television set which Seth pretended he never watched, yet somehow knew every character in Coronation Street.

The old man rarely left the fireside now. His eyesight was poor and Beth insisted that Billy cut the sticks for him.

‘You’d cut your own hand off one day,’ she warned him.

Seth was permitted to work in the woodshed for short periods when the weather was warm, and he could go for walks, but not too far. He would often give Beth his truculent stare, yet gracefully give in.