The Lost And Found Girl (6 page)

He gave her an approving smile. ‘You’re a natural. I’d expect an indoor maid to run a mile from this.’

Now was the time to tell him. She had taken off her gloves to clean and held up her left hand to show him her wedding band. ‘I’m not a maid. I am Mrs Edgar Collins.’

He looked astounded. ‘You? You can’t be!’

‘Why not?’

‘He – he – Roberts said Edgar was marrying for money. You – you –’ His voice trailed away.

She blushed. She was not the well-born lady they had expected. She did not look like one and would not pass for one. He scrambled to his feet, looking shocked. ‘Madam, why did you not say?’

‘You did not give me an opportunity until now.’

‘But what is Master Edgar thinking of by allowing you out on the fell alone?’

‘He’s gone to Leeds for new clothes and then to a shooting party in the South Riding.’

‘He has left without you?’

She was silent for a moment. Edgar didn’t want her. Even though she did not like him, his behaviour hurt her deeply. His mother made things worse by belittling her at every opportunity. But Beth was Edgar’s wife and that was that.
High Fell Farm might well be a pleasant place to live when mother and son were away. She said, ‘I am learning how to run Edgar’s household. I have not managed a home as large as his farmhouse before.’

‘You’re not one of his South Riding cousins then?’

She shook her head. She wondered how much she could trust him. It seemed disloyal to question Abel about her husband, but how else was she to find out? She asked, ‘What do you know about Edgar’s well-connected relations, Abel?’

‘I don’t think it’s my place to say.’

‘Please. No one else will,’ she replied.

‘I only know what the drovers tell me. Some take sheep down to the South Riding towns.’

‘Is it true that Edgar’s grandmother was gentry?’

‘Daughter of a lord, they say, and sister of the present incumbent. He’s a younger son, I believe. Edgar’s grandmother was much older than he was. She ran away with a horse trader who used to roam the Ridings so she was disowned by her family.’

‘Edgar’s grandmother really did marry a travelling man?’ This echoed what Mr Roberts had told her.

‘Aye, and he promised his daughter to Jacob Collins in exchange for a piece of land to use for his wagon and horses over the winter.’

Beth gave an astonished laugh. ‘Are you saying that Mrs Collins with all her airs and graces is truly the daughter of a gypsy?’

‘That’s right. Soon after the mistress was wed to Jacob her mother got a fever and stayed over winter with them in the farmhouse. The gypsy said he couldn’t live in a house and slept in his wagon in the field. But one night in early spring he upped and left with his horses and they never saw him
again. They say that Jacob was the only one who was happy with the arrangement. He’d got his land back, two women to keep house for him and, later on, there was Edgar to work the farm for him.’

The lamb’s eager suckling slowed and Beth laid the tiny creature by the stove. ‘Will this little one have a foster mother?’

‘Doubtful. I don’t want to find any more slipping their lambs this early.’ Abel finished trimming the wick of an oil lamp. He strapped a cartridge belt around his waist and picked up a shotgun from the corner of the hut. ‘I’m off to deal with his mother before a fox gets her. Then I’ll make a start on clearing the track.’

‘But it’s already getting dark!’

‘I’ll take a storm lantern. I have to get you back to the farm as soon as possible.’ He stared at her for a moment and added, ‘Please accept my apologies for any offence I caused earlier.’ He bowed his head formally and left.

Beth was disappointed. She had enjoyed caring for the lamb and would have liked their conversation to continue. She saw a notebook on the only table in the hut and opened it idly. It was a record of his livestock: numbers of rams and breeding ewes, lambs produced and fattened stock sold. He even noted weather conditions and she wondered what he would write about the land tremor and rock fall.

It reinforced her opinion that Abel was no illiterate peasant. She felt more cheerful about her future life at this isolated farm if there was someone intelligent to converse with and wondered how often he came down from the fell. The hut seemed empty without him. He had finished the broth while she nursed the lamb and there was little to do except make porridge for the morning. She looked forward to taking it out to him.

The small bed was clean and she stretched out on it fully clothed, covered herself with a blanket and went to sleep. But she awoke with a start. The bed was shaking and Abel was tugging at her arm.

‘You must get out of here.’

‘What the—’ She clutched at the blanket. Something crashed to the ground raising dust.

‘Hurry! It’s an after tremor,’ he urged. ‘Come on.’ He put one arm around her shoulder and shoved the other under the blanket and under her knees then dragged her from her bed and carried her into the night.

‘Where’s the lamb!’ she cried.

‘Under the table.’

A slate slithered down the roof slope and broke in two as it hit an exposed rock. Sally was cowering by the gate as Abel whisked her through and away from the hut walls. Terrified, Beth clutched at his neck and buried her head in his chest. He set her down on some cold, damp and scratchy pasture.

‘I think it best if you stay out here for the rest of the night.’

‘But I’ll freeze to death!’

He pulled the blanket around her. ‘I’ll fetch my oiled cape for a ground sheet.’

She grasped his hand. ‘No, don’t go back in there. It’s dangerous.’

He remained quite still for a minute. Her eyes became used to the moonlight. He was looking down at her whitened knuckle as her fingers clung to his. She bit her lip. She did not want anything to happen to him and her grip tightened. ‘Don’t,’ she repeated.

‘Let me go, Mrs Collins,’ he said. But he did not pull his
hand away. He waited until she realised he meant it and she had released her hold.

He returned with his cloak and more blankets and she cocooned herself in her makeshift bed in the open air. Abel wasn’t far away and his presence dominated her restless sleep. He was so different from Edgar, so very, very different.

She had to clean the hut again before warming up the porridge, which they both ate hungrily. More rocks and loose shale had blocked the track. She would be foolish to try to climb over the rubble and Abel reckoned he had several days’ labouring to clear it. She took a piece of salt pork and a sack of vegetables from his supplies and put them to boil over the fire.

Abel kept himself away from her and very busy during daylight hours which he spent repairing his hut and clearing a way through the rock fall as well as tending his ewes. Beth tended to the lamb and was acutely disappointed when another ewe gave birth and became his foster mother. She cleaned up the hut again, kept the fire and cooked. But when they ate and talked together in the evenings it was difficult for Beth not to be aware of Abel as a man rather than one of her husband’s farmworkers.

For his part, he maintained a physical distance between them always, even apologising if he accidently brushed by her. During the night he disappeared to sleep she knew not where. But she was at ease in his company. He did not threaten her in any way and she respected him for that. He addressed her as ‘Mrs Collins’ or ‘madam’ and only once did their conversation approach the personal. He was tired and cold and had taken a tot of brandy in his tea. She had talked at length of her former school friends and favourite teachers.

‘You have been an education for me, Mrs Collins,’ he said. ‘You have reminded me what I am working towards.’

‘And what is that, sir?’

‘I wish for my own home in which to raise my own family.’

‘You must seek a wife then,’ Beth smiled.

‘Indeed I must,’ he mused. ‘I shall search for one like you. Edgar is a lucky man.’

Beth was flattered and she blushed in the lamplight. But Abel apologised for his comment immediately and picked up his bedroll. She wanted to protest that he had not embarrassed her unduly and he need not leave, but he bid her goodnight and went out into the night. She was aware of his reasons. He was a bachelor and she was a married woman. He took the lantern with him leaving her the candles, but she felt as though the light had gone out of the evening. If only, she reflected, her husband was a man like Abel.

Early next morning he clambered through the remaining rocks on the track and walked round the scar to where there was a view down to the farm. When he came back his face was grim. ‘There is no smoke from the farmhouse chimney.’

‘But Mr Roberts ought to be back from Settle by now.’

‘I fear not.’

‘Then I must make haste to return.’

‘I’ll try to clear the path before noon.’

He seemed anxious for her to leave as soon as possible and she guessed that she should. A familiarity was developing between them and it would not do.

‘Thank you, sir,’ she replied formally and prepared for her journey.

‘It’s a chill, Mrs Roberts. I’ll mix you a remedy.’

Beth was concerned about the older woman’s fever. She had found the farmyard in a chaotic state. The hens were out and a barn wall had collapsed on top of the trap. But the sturdy stone buildings were standing. She had tethered the donkey and hurried past the swinging door of the stable holding her hand over her nose to avoid the putrid smell. There were no horses left on the farm and the goats were running free so she guessed it must be the cow.

Mrs Roberts had fallen, banged her head on the kitchen floor and lain there until she came round. Beth made her comfortable on a couch that she dragged in from the dining hall and lit the fire. Where was Mr Roberts with the supplies? She hoped nothing had happened to him but guessed that others would have suffered in the tremors. The older woman’s condition worsened. Beth did all she could, making her mixtures from recipes she had used at Blackstone. After five
days the fever had not broken and there was still no sign of Mr Roberts. Beth decided to go to Settle and fetch a medical man for Mrs Roberts.

She followed the track until it came to the stream. She heard the rushing water long before she could see it. Surely it had not been so wide and turbulent on her journey up the fell. As she neared the narrow bridge she realised that only half of it was standing. One of the stone supporting arches had gone.

The area, she knew, was riddled with potholes, underground caves and streams. The earth tremor must have widened a crack in the crag and sent water and boulders gushing downstream, taking the bridge with it. There was no way across until the water subsided. She stared at the bleak expanse of fell on the other side hoping to catch sight of a walker or rider. But it was futile. Every able-bodied man would be dealing with his own disaster from the tremor. Even when the water subsided, there would be no way a trap could cross the river until a new bridge had been built. Nonetheless, Beth waited for sight of someone, anyone, who could relay a message to the doctor. As she did, her anxiety increased. Any one of the party that had left High Fell Farm might also be injured.

She searched the bank for a crossing point but the current was too strong and she gazed up at the high fell wondering just how much water it held in its catacombs. Reluctantly, when the light faded, she re-traced her steps back to the farm and prayed that Mrs Roberts’s fever had broken. I shall have to ask Abel for help, she thought. The notion had crossed her mind several times and she had dismissed it, uneasy with her feelings for him. But this was an emergency and she needed him. It could be weeks before Mr Roberts, or indeed
anyone, would get through. A frisson of apprehension made her shiver as she realised she had no other choice.

There was a lamp glowing through the kitchen window and a dog barked as she approached the back door. Within seconds it was open. ‘Who’s there?’

‘Mrs Collins. Is that you, Abel?’ She felt faint with relief to hear his voice. ‘I was coming to get you in the morning. The bridge has been swept away and we are cut off.’

‘Dear Lord, no. It will take weeks to repair. Could we get the donkey across?’

‘Not until the water goes down.’ Beth stepped inside. The fire was going well and a kettle was bubbling on the plate. ‘How is Mrs Roberts?’

‘She will live. Her fever is bad but she isn’t delirious. She told me you had left her to die.’

‘I went for a doctor.’

‘You are safer in here. This is a fortress of a farmhouse.’

‘The farmyard has not fared so well.’

‘So I see. I’ll stay and get it cleaned up.’

‘What about your sheep?’

‘I’ve moved them down the fell to this side of the rock fall.’

‘Heavens! Don’t bring them any closer. There’s a putrid cow in the stable.’

‘I know. I’ll deal with her tomorrow.’

‘Thank you.’ Beth was exhausted. ‘Have you somewhere to sleep?’

‘I shall be comfortable outside.’

She wondered where. The upstairs of the stable, over a rotting corpse, was not habitable. She wanted to invite him indoors, yet dared not for fear of her reputation. He must be aware of that. She looked at his face, directly into those
intense blue eyes, and thought, I believe he knows how I feel and he understands. She said, ‘Thank you, Abel.’

He nodded briefly. ‘I shall have no reason to come into the farmhouse at all.’

How could she feel relieved by this and irritated at the same time? He picked up his lantern and said goodnight, leaving her alone to ponder on her disappointment. He was an honourable man, perhaps a little too proud, she thought, but considerate and hardworking. As the days turned into weeks Beth often found herself staring at him through the farmhouse windows. He noticed. He stopped whatever he was doing and gazed back until she lowered her eyes and moved away.

Mrs Roberts recovered and returned to her former self, blaming Beth for her prolonged fever and calling her a witch. Abel created order out of chaos in the farmyard and returned to tend his lambing ewes leaving Beth with two milking nannies and the hens. Only Mrs Roberts complained about eating oatcakes instead of bread. February turned to March and still no one had attempted to contact them.