The Lost And Found Girl (5 page)

‘Where is Mrs Roberts?’ she asked.

He jerked his head. ‘She’s in the pantry, seeing what else we need from Settle.’

‘Mr Collins seems to leave all the farm tasks to you,’ she commented.

‘Well, ’tis not his, is it? ’Tis his ma’s.’

‘Mrs Collins owns the farm?’

‘Oh aye. Old Jacob had got nobody else to leave it to, see.’

‘Is she a good farmer?’

He made a noise in his throat. ‘She’s run it into the ground and if it weren’t for having such a hard-working shepherd as Abel, the bank would have foreclosed on her years ago.’

The mention of a bank and foreclosure rang alarm bells for Beth. Wouldn’t her dowry have been better spent in paying off the mortgage?

Mr Roberts continued. ‘All she borrowed went for master Edgar’s schooling so he could lord it with the sons of gentry that he met there. I tell you—’

‘You shut your mouth, Mr Roberts. You’ve said too much,’ Mrs Roberts called from the pantry.

‘Well, the girl ought to know what she’s come to. Nowt here ’as ever been good enough for her precious son. Her mother was well-born you see, but she was cut off without a penny when she ran off with a travelling man.’

Beth absorbed this without changing her expression and Mr Roberts continued, ‘It i’n’t no secret. Just before the old lady passed on she made the mistake of telling her daughter the titled family she came from and the mistress hasn’t been the same since.’

Beth looked over her shoulder at Mrs Roberts. ‘Who was Mrs Collins’s mother, then?’ she asked.

‘That’s enough, Mr Roberts,’ his wife snapped.

‘Aye maybe. That’s what comes of having no one to talk to except Mrs Roberts, week in week out.’ He got to his feet awkwardly and began coughing. ‘Come on, girl,’ he wheezed, ‘I’ll show you the milking, then it’ll be your job from this afternoon. We only have one milker and she’s drying, but she’ll make a racket if you don’t see to her.’

‘What about Abel’s provisions?’ Mrs Roberts demanded.

‘The girl’ll have to take ’em while I’m down in Settle. She’ll be there and back in a day.’

‘Yes, I’ll do that,’ Beth volunteered eagerly, grasping the chance of seeing less of Mrs Roberts and more of the farm. ‘Do I use the trap?’

‘Dear Lord, no, lass. The track’s too rocky, even for a pony. We have a donkey for that. I’ll load ’er fer you before I leave and you can set off after breakfast tomorrow.’

‘Where do I go?’

‘There’s only one track up the fell. It goes round by yon scar then drops into a dip where it’s sheltered from the
northerlies. You’ll see Abel’s hut, you can’t miss it. There’s nowt else up there.’

The light was better as Beth crossed the untidy farmyard. As well as barns, a substantial stone outbuilding with an outside flight of steps stood at the other side. The animals were housed on the ground floor and she followed Mr Roberts inside.

The cow was restless and Beth was nervous of being kicked. But Mr Roberts held her head and spoke soothingly to her as Beth developed the gentle squeeze and stroke necessary to produce a small jet of milk. It was hardly worth the time for the amount of milk she produced for it wasn’t nearly enough to make cheese, let alone skim for butter. She was just getting into the rhythm when the cow began to low fretfully.

‘Don’t understand her,’ Mr Roberts frowned. ‘She’s as docile as they come as a rule.’

‘Perhaps she doesn’t like strangers,’ Beth suggested.

‘Maybe.’

The donkey in the next stall suddenly let out a lengthy bray, spooking them all.

‘What’s that?’
Alarmed, Beth leapt to her feet knocking over the milking stool and only just retrieved the pail of milk from the cow’s shifting hooves. There was a low distant rumbling and Beth distinctly felt the stall wall trembling as she held onto it.

‘The roof’s coming in!’ she squealed.

‘Steady now,’ Mr Roberts soothed as he held tight on the cow’s halter. ‘Don’t jump about like that, girl, you’ll frighten the beasts.’

It was over so quickly that Beth wondered if she had imagined it. ‘Did you hear that thunder?’

‘No need to worry, lass. It’s a long way away.’

‘But you felt the barn shake, didn’t you?’

‘Well, there’s no wonder. You’ve got the horses going now,’ Mr Roberts complained as they whinnied and shied in their stalls.

‘It was more than that, I’m sure,’ she demanded.

‘Nay, lass. They’re not used to you, that’s all.’

Beth didn’t agree. ‘There must be a storm brewing. The cow was restless. Surely that’s a sign?’

‘She’s settled now. Don’t you fret yoursenn. It’s over.’

‘I – I don’t want to set off up the fell if there’s a storm brewing.’

‘You’ll have to get used to it up here. Besides, it’ll have blown over by tomorrow, I expect.’

Beth accepted this and took the milk pail indoors to scald it over the fire. She heard the carriage leave as she scrubbed the pail and pan in the scullery. She dashed out with reddened wet hands to watch it receding down the fell. Edgar had not been to find her to say goodbye, which gave her a clear indication of how unimportant she was to him. She went back to her washing up. It was no different here from being pushed around by Mr and Mrs Barden and their daughters at Blackstone.

Mrs Roberts continued to be offhand and rude. Beth guessed she didn’t know how else to behave, having learned her ways from Mrs Collins. But she acknowledged Beth’s need for suitable clothing for farm life and found her patterns and fabrics for sewing.

‘You’ll be needing these an’ all, for leading the donkey,’ Mrs Roberts announced, handing her a pair of riding gloves.

They were close fitting and made from soft kid, clearly too small for Mrs Collins, and Beth was grateful for the
protection they would give her. She set off for her day out with the loaded beast, well wrapped against the weather and inhaling the fresh Dales air. A bitter wind whipped around her ears and clouds raced across the sky giving infrequent glimpses of weak sunshine. But they were not storm clouds and she climbed the track with confidence.

A few sheep stopped their grazing to watch her progress but she did not see a living soul or habitable dwelling on her journey. The track was rocky and difficult to negotiate in parts but she pressed on, glad of her thick woollen shawl knotted firmly under her cloak.

When she found the stone and slate dwelling it was deserted. She unloaded some of the donkey’s burden, tethered it in the lee of the wind and sat in the sun with her back against the wall to wait for the shepherd. Her eyelids drooped and she let them close. She had milked a cow, fed some hens and a herded a noisy flock of geese away from the stable before breakfast this morning and felt tired.

The next thing she was aware of was the donkey braying and she opened her eyes quickly. He was tugging at the halter in some kind of panic and – and – the wall behind her was moving! She heard distant thunder but the sky was as bright as ever. It was the ground, the ground was shaking, stones rattled down the sloping fell; a slate slid off the roof above her and landed, edge on in the grass, missing her by inches.

The hut was falling down! Disoriented she scrambled to her feet, untied the donkey, holding on to its halter as best she could, and dragged the screeching recalcitrant animal away from the hut. Then suddenly it was over. Everything stopped and the fell was quiet again, until a different kind of rumbling alerted her attention. She watched with alarm
as a section of the crag above the hut a few hundred yards distant broke away, crumbling and tumbling down the slope and across the track winding down to the farm.

Dear Lord preserve her! Was the devil himself escaping from Hades before her eyes? The donkey bucked and heaved and eventually broke loose from her grip to follow the sheep scattering in all directions across the fell. Shaking with fright, she dropped to her knees, pulled her hood over her face and huddled in a heap on the ground until the rumbling slowed and finally stopped. Everything stayed silent for a long time before she peeped out. The rocks were still. There was a gap in the rocky outcrop that had not been there before and a heap of boulders trailing down to the track and across it to the lower slope beyond. She noticed more broken slates on the grass and the door to the hut was swinging open. Cautiously she got up and looked inside.

It was small and sparsely furnished with a fireplace, bed, table and chair. A few cooking utensils were scattered in the hearth in front of the fire. A tin bowl and jug had fallen from the table. She picked up the scattered pots that had not broken and pushed the shattered shards of others together with her boots. If she had been wearing an old gown and an apron she would have cleaned up with a broom. But she supposed she ought to behave more like Edgar’s wife than his housemaid to his farm workers.

She was, she recognised, very nervous of this alien fell and hoped the shepherd would return soon. Daylight shone though the roof where the slates had been and one of the stone walls showed a jagged crack in the lime wash. The relentless wind whistled in through cracks in the window panes. Then her alert ears became aware of another sound: sharper, more penetrating and intermittent.

She went outside as the occasional piercing whistle grew closer and saw the flock of sheep first, pushing and shoving through a gap in a long stone wall. A black-and-white dog scurried close to the ground then dropped on its belly as the shepherd followed his flock and lifted a wooden hurdle across the gap. He waved when he saw her and headed towards the hut followed by his dog.

‘Are you Abel?’ she called as he approached.

‘I am, madam. You must be from the farmhouse,’ he replied.

‘Yes. I’ve brought your supplies.’

‘You came back with Master Edgar’s party?’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘You came back with Master Edgar. He has got himself wed at last.’ The shepherd seemed to find it amusing. His black straggly beard hid most of his face and his hair was wild. He wore a grubby thick calico smock over his clothes. She felt uncomfortable with his disrespectful attitude towards her husband and didn’t answer.

‘I should return to the farm straight away,’ she said. ‘Have you seen my donkey? He ran off.’

‘He’ll be back. There’s no need to look so frightened.’

‘I – I haven’t seen a landslide before.’

‘We’ve had tremors before on the fell. But nothing like this in a long time, I can tell you.’ He bent down to inspect his supplies and winced.

‘Are you hurt, sir?’

‘I caught a falling rock on my shoulder. What about you?’

‘I was frightened, that’s all.’

‘So were my sheep. I hope I haven’t lost any. Sally will find them for me, though, dead or alive.’

His dog pricked up her ears at the sound of her name.

Beth scanned the track that had disappeared beneath a
pile of boulder and rock. ‘Is there another way back to the farm?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ll see what I can do about clearing a track through for you as soon as I’ve found all my ewes. They’re in lamb, you see.’

‘Will it take you long?’

‘I’ll be a day or so if I’m lucky.’

‘But I have to get back before nightfall.’

‘You won’t be going before tomorrow; maybe the day after. The mistress will have to manage without you.’

Beth hesitated, picking up a definitely ironic quality in his last remark. He didn’t know that Mrs Collins wouldn’t miss her at all as she had taken herself off to Settle in her borrowed carriage. Nonetheless, Beth did not wish to stay out here longer than necessary. Nor was she easy in the company of this shepherd. ‘Can I help you search?’ she asked.

‘It’s too dangerous. The fell is full of potholes and underground streams that escape through cracks in the rock. Stay here in the hut.’

‘Oh. It’s a bit of a mess in there.’

He raised his eyebrows and she noticed he had blue eyes like hers. ‘You’ve nothing else to do,’ he commented. ‘There’s peat for the fire and water in the butt.’

She frowned. She didn’t think he ought to speak to his employer’s wife like that. And then it dawned on her. He didn’t realise who she really was. He thought she was a maid that Edgar’s new wife had brought with her. She had better
avoid further embarrassment and explain. ‘Ah,’ she began, ‘I think you’ve made a—’

In the distance his dog began to yap insistently. ‘Sorry, lass. Sally has found something,’ he interrupted and sprinted off in the direction of his barking dog.

I’ll put him straight when he returns, she thought with a shrug. She unbuttoned her cuffs and rolled up her sleeves.

He was away for several hours. Once she had got over making her only good gown, the one that had been her wedding gown, as dusty and grubby as his shepherd’s smock, she enjoyed putting the hut to rights. It was work she was used to. She was confident as a housekeeper, but realised with misgiving that Mrs Collins didn’t even think she was fit for that role at High Fell. Her donkey came back looking for water and food and Beth attended to him then left him to roam. Peat smoke puffed out of the stove and stung her eyes but she had water heating and a pot of broth simmering when Abel returned. The front of his smock was turned up enclosing something in his arms.

‘Make space by the stove and bring a blanket from the bed,’ he demanded.

She stared as he unrolled the blood- and slime-smeared calico to reveal a newborn lamb.

‘Make haste, lass. I think I can save him.’

She jumped up and prepared a cocoon of warmth for the small creature.

‘His mother was injured and slipped her lamb,’ he explained. ‘But this little fellow is a fighter. Did you bring cow’s milk in the supplies?’

‘Yes.’

‘Heat some on the stove.’

When it was warmed he poured it into a stone bottle
and then stretched an India rubber teat over the neck. He knelt by the stove, supported the lamb’s head and offered the milk. The tiny lamb began to suckle, weakly at first and then more vigorously. Beth watched, fascinated that a large strong man had such a gentle way with him. Eventually she asked, ‘May I?’

‘Do you want to?’

She nodded, knelt beside him in front of the stove and took the soggy smelly animal in her arms as she would an infant.