Saddle the Wind (40 page)

Our host, my friend Edward Harrow, urges me to invite you to come and stay here for a while. And of course it goes without saying that it would please Marianne enormously, and me, too, but more importantly than that, I think it might give you a much-needed respite from your recent responsibilities, and help to ease the sadness you must be feeling. Marianne is also writing to you, but she still urges me to press you to come here where, she says, she will make you enjoy yourself, and where, she is sure, you will be able to relax.

Please let us know at once whether you can come, and if so we will make the necessary arrangements for your journey. If we move quickly you might even be here in time for the New Year celebrations.

The letter ended with John Savill suggesting that when he and Marianne returned to England perhaps Blanche would like to return to live at Hallowford House
once more. Enclosed with the letter was one from Marianne who voiced her own hopes that Blanche would travel to Sicily to stay with them.

Blanche had found the letters waiting for her on her return from Ashton Wick, and Ernest saw the envelope on the dresser when he came in later and sat down to eat. Blanche handed him the letters and he read them as he ate. Afterwards, pushing the letters across the table towards her, he said, ‘Well? Will you go?’

‘To Sicily? No, of course not.’

‘Why not?’

‘I have a job to do here. Or had you forgotten?’

‘You’re a daily governess. D’you think that’s going to make you your fortune?’

‘Is that what I’m after? My fortune?’

‘Mam was a daily governess when she was young. And where did it get her? And I’m sure she had no lack of hopes and dreams.’

‘No.’ Blanche shook her head. ‘I can’t leave here, Ernie.’

‘It might mean another start for you. And if you go back to Hallowford House too …’

‘To what purpose?’

He shrugged. ‘Mr Savill must have something in mind, otherwise he wouldn’t ask.’ He gazed at her. ‘Give it some thought, Blanche.’

‘I’ve given it some thought. Besides …’

‘– Besides what?’

She smiled. ‘I’m getting used to you, Ernie …’

‘Oh, yeh?’ He grinned at her. ‘Well, likewise. But what does that mean?’

‘Who would look after you, Ernie? Who would cook your meals, wash your clothes?’

‘Who? Why, I’d do it meself, wouldn’t I?’

‘When? You spend so many hours at the farm. I’ve seen how you get home in the evenings – exhausted and worn out. Besides, you never learned to cook worth a fig.’

‘Oh, I’d manage, you’d see.’

‘Yes, after a fashion.’

‘True,’ he said, ‘but that’s life, isn’t it? That’s how we do most things.’ He paused, the food before him momentarily forgotten. ‘But you’ve got to leave sometime, Blanche. Or d’you see us growin’ old together, eh? One of those eccentric pairs of brother and sister, getting more cranky and bent as the years go by.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t see you in that role, Blanche. Nor me for that matter.’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, I don’t know as I want you around me all the time. I mean – a chap likes a bit of privacy.’

Blanche laughed and playfully raised a hand as if she would box his ears. He laughed with her. ‘Eat your dinner,’ she said. ‘I’ll go make some tea.’

The next day she replied to the letters from Marianne and John Savill. She thanked them, but said that she could not, regretfully, think of travelling to join them. She had taken a position as governess, she said, besides which, she did not wish to leave her brother just yet. However, she finished, she looked forward to seeing them on their return to England.

A few days later Ernest asked her if she had responded to the letters. She told him she had, and that she had declined the invitation. ‘I think you’re makin’ a mistake,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘But if you can’t see it, there’s nothing to be done.’

Christmas arrived bringing news of further humiliating British defeats in the Transvaal, but the great British
soldiers, Frederick Roberts and his Chief of Staff, Lord Kitchener, were on their way out there. They, said the optimists, would soon put the whole matter in order. In the meantime, at the cottage in Colford the time for Blanche and Ernest passed quietly. On Christmas morning they went to church, after which, with Jacko accompanying them, they walked across the fields to Hallowford, there going to the little churchyard of St Peter’s where they stood together beside the graves of their parents and siblings. Afterwards they walked slowly home together to the cottage where they shared the work of preparing Christmas dinner.

And the days and the weeks passed, and the war continued, and in England the snows came and went, and spring came again to the West Country.

One March day Ernest came home from the farm with the surprising news that Palmer was selling up; growing old and with no sons of his own, he planned to retire. Ernest looked grave as he sat at his dinner that evening.

‘Who are the new owners to be?’ Blanche asked him.

‘That’s the trouble,’ he answered. ‘He’s selling to Hanworth on the next farm.’

‘Where will that leave you?’ Blanche asked. ‘Surely Hanworth will want you to stay on, won’t he?’

‘He might. Who can say? He’s already got men of his own, and I hear talk as he intends to get rid of the sheep and cattle and turn all of Palmer’s land over to grain crops.’

‘Will that be so bad, Ernie?’

‘I’m a stockman, Blanche. I know about livestock. I don’t know about the raising of crops.’ He forced a smile. ‘Anyway, we’ll see what happens …’

Some days later John Savill returned to Hallowford.

He wasted no time in coming to see Blanche at the
cottage. It was late afternoon, and he found her in the garden, working on the little vegetable plot. She brushed the soil from her hands and came to him, and he bent, put his arms around her and kissed her on the cheek.

‘Hello, Blanche, my dear.’

‘Hello, Uncle John.’ She studied him. ‘Your holiday’s done you good. You look very well.’

‘So do you.’

He declined her offer of tea, and they remained standing on the garden path. He had left Marianne in Sicily, he said, at which Blanche said: ‘She must be having a good time there.’

Savill nodded. ‘I think so.’ He gave a satisfied smile. ‘She and Gentry are to be married in the summer.’

Involuntarily Blanche caught her breath. Marianne and Gentry – to be married. She had expected it for so long; known for so long that it was inevitable, but nevertheless it still came as a shock.

‘I’m sure you must be very happy, Uncle John,’ she said.

‘Oh, indeed.’ He paused. ‘There’s one other thing that would give me happiness …’

‘What’s that?’

‘Have you given any further thought to my proposal? That you come back to stay at Hallowford House?’

Blanche was silent for a few moments then said that she had thought the matter over, but that she could not do so.

‘But why?’ he said. ‘I don’t understand. You’ve got nothing to stop you now.’

‘I’m still doing my teaching,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘So? What is the problem there? If you’re set on continuing with it you could as easily do it from Hallowford.’

‘Ashton Wick is a good bit further away, Uncle John.’

‘Then you could ride one of the cobs – or James could drive you in the phaeton in the mornings, and bring you back later.’

As she was about to reply Savill raised his hand. ‘Don’t answer me now,’ he said. ‘Give it some thought. I’ll ask you again in a few days.’

‘There’s something
I
don’t understand,’ Blanche said after a moment.

‘What’s that?’

‘Why are you asking me back? I don’t understand. Marianne will marry soon and go to live somewhere else with – her husband. Why are you inviting me to live at Hallowford House again?’

‘Well – you belong there, Blanche. You belong there as much – if not more – than you do here. And another thing – I feel I owe you a better kind of life than you have at present.’ He looked around him, gave a little shake of his head. ‘You’ve no idea how it grieves me to see you here.’

‘Working? I’m not ashamed of it.’

‘No, of course you’re not. And there’s no reason you should be. There’s every reason for pride in honest work well done. But it’s – it’s seeing you in these – reduced circumstances. For such they are, Blanche. It grieves me to see you like it.’

‘How would you see me?’

‘Oh …’ He gave a little shrug, a little smile. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Meeting some young man who, if not wealthy, is at least comfortably off – someone who could provide you with the kind of life you’ve been used to – with what you deserve. And if I could I’d like to do my best to see that it happens.’

He stepped towards her, bent, embraced and kissed her. ‘Anyway, I’ll come and see you again in a few days.
Think about it in the meantime. Give me your answer then.’

When John Savill had gone Blanche went into the cottage. She was in the kitchen washing her hands when Ernest came in. ‘I saw Mr Savill’s phaeton just leaving the lane,’ he said. ‘When did he get back?’

‘A day or two ago. Marianne’s still there – in Sicily. He just called to see how I was.’

‘I see. And does that mean that you’ll be leaving here? Going back to Hallowford?’

She looked at him sharply. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Ah.’ He nodded, a faint smile on his lips. ‘I got close to the mark, did I?’

She didn’t speak for a moment, then she said: ‘Why should you think we spoke of such a thing?’

He shrugged. ‘It’s not hard to imagine. He asked you to go back when Mam was alive, so now – and knowing how close you are to him …’ He was looking at her intently. ‘Are you going, Blanche? There’s nothing to stop you now.’

She didn’t answer. He said: ‘What did you tell him?’

‘I didn’t tell him anything. He’s going to come back for my answer.’

‘What do you
want
to do?’

‘Well, I don’t want to be dependent on anyone, that’s for certain. This way I’m not. I know that my work at Highfield isn’t about to make my fortune, but at least I’ve made a start at living my own life.’

‘But couldn’t you still do that from Hallowford House? You could live in comfort at the same time.’

‘That’s what
he
said.’

‘Well, it’s the truth.’ Ernest cast a hand around him. ‘You can hardly say that we’re living in the lap of luxury here.’

‘I know that, but … Anyway …’ she turned from him, began to busy herself at the stove, ‘I don’t have to make any decision yet. Let’s see how things go on.’

At Hallowford House John Savill told his brother Harold of his talk with Blanche.

‘And what did she say to your proposal?’ Harold asked.

‘I told her I’d ask for her answer a little later.’

Harold nodded. ‘You can’t bear it, can you? Marianne staying in Sicily, soon to be married and out of your sight for good, and Blanche also living away.’

‘Is that how it seems to you?’

‘Is it that you just can’t bear to have them both gone at the same time?’

Savill sat in silence for a moment or two, then he nodded. ‘Perhaps it is that – partly. That and a little guilt.’

‘Guilt? What do you feel guilty for?’

‘To see Blanche having had everything throughout her life, and now, suddenly, having to see her with nothing.’ He frowned, gazing ahead of him, as if unseeing. ‘I want to make it up to her,’ he said. ‘I wanted to adopt her when she was a child – but I had to give up that idea. Now, though …’

‘You still think you want to adopt her?’

Savill smiled. ‘Perhaps it’s a little late for that. But at least I can make sure that she’s provided for.’

‘Ernest – is there anything wrong?’

It was a Thursday, two weeks after John Savill’s visit. At the cottage Blanche watched her brother as he readied himself to leave for the farm. The Hanworths were his employers now, though how he was getting on with them he had not volunteered. Blanche had the feeling, however, that all was not well. Ernest was not the most
talkative person first thing in the mornings but over the past few days he had gone off to work with hardly a word. In addition, on returning home in the evenings he had appeared subdued and uncommunicative.

Now at her words he shook his head, a trifle impatiently. ‘No – no, of course not. Why should there be?’

‘I thought
you
might be able to tell me that.’ She paused. ‘Is it something I’ve done?’

He halted momentarily in the act of shrugging on his coat. ‘No, Blanche, don’t think that.’ He gazed at her for a moment, then, smiling, he added: ‘It’s nothing.’

A few moments later, standing at the door and watching his tall figure move along the lane, Jacko trotting along at his side, Blanche knew that he was lying. Something was wrong. Ernest was such a private person, though; he always had been. Whatever it was that was troubling him he would not tell her until he was ready.

Following his departure Blanche washed the dishes and then set about tidying the kitchen. And it did not take her long to discover that Ernest had gone off without taking his midday dinner. There it was on the kitchen table where he had forgotten it, a tin containing bread, cheese, cold meat, and a wedge of cold apple pie. After weighing the situation for a few moments she decided to take it to him at the farm. She had time enough. Her services were not required that day at Highfield; she had not taught there for almost a week now, the two Andrews children having gone to spend the Easter period with relatives in Oxford.

Just after eleven o’clock she set off from the cottage. Soon after noon she was back again, still carrying Ernest’s dinner tin, its contents still intact.

When he returned that evening and washed and changed, she set his evening meal before him as usual as he sat at the kitchen table.

‘Is there anything you want to tell me, Ernie?’ she said as she sat in the chair facing him across the table.

He looked at her. ‘– No. Why should there be?’

‘There’s obviously something on your mind. For one thing you forgot your dinner tin when you went off this morning.’

‘Oh – yes,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I managed all right.’ He paused. ‘I got something at the farm.’

Silence. Blanche watched him as he gave his attention to the food on the plate before him. He ate as if he had not eaten all day – which, she thought, was probably the case. When he had finished eating and she had made the tea she said suddenly, unable to keep it back any longer: