Well, I did not need them. I did not need anyone. I had my wits, my home, my beasts, and I would soon have my child – only four months to go now. My first and last Christmas alone. Soon I would have everything I needed, and the whole village could go to Hell for all I cared.
*
The wasaillers walked up the lane. I watched their candle flames grow larger as they reached the Gate Inn. They were there a while, no doubt enjoying mince pies and spiced ale. Then the smithy. They did not spend so long there, despite the warmth of the forge. Closer now. I cursed my heart as it leaped in hope of them continuing straight up the hill to my own door, but no. They turned off, to East Gate House, home of Richard and Elizabeth Ramsgill.
Well bugger the lot of them! I did not need any of them, least of all Richard Bloody Ramsgill. I would soon have everyone I needed, once my babby were born. I already had everything I needed – the moors always provided for one such as me, and the beasts had proved to be good at looking after themselves. I had meat, crops and the knowledge of a cunning woman.
They still came to me – oh aye they did. Not by day any more, no, but at night the villagers would creep up the hill, avoiding notice, coming for my cures, my restoratives and my preventatives. And they paid, by God they paid. They did not have money, nobody had actual coin to spare, except the bloody Ramsgills, but they gave me what I asked or left empty handed no matter how they pleaded. Grain, hay, meat, cheese, even whiskybae. Only what I needed. Only what I wanted. The same women who called me whore, harlot, slut when my back were turned. But I knew, oh aye, I knew. So when they came to me, they paid dearly.
I even had Hannah Ramsgill up here, can thee imagine? She did not go home with the remedy to cure Thomas’ inattention, oh no! She got something else entirely. But she cannot tell anyone! Not without admitting she cannot attract her husband any more – and she only thirty two! She runs away from me now if she sees me in the village. Hah! A Ramsgill running from me in shame – that were more like it! I laughed out loud at the memory.
*
The wasaillers emerged back on to the lane. They marched straight past my house. Not a single one even paused. I watched them reach Mary Farmer’s house further up the hill and gather around her door. The sound of their singing and cheers drifted down to me, and I grabbed Pa’s old sheepskin coat and walked away into the blessed silence of the moor.
*
It were not proper silent of course, but I could enjoy the whistling of the wind and the mournful cries of owl and curlew. This were where I belonged, on the moor with bird and rodent, not with the rats of that village. Here the air were pure, there were no whispers of scorn or delight in another’s fall; no sneering laughter or vicious insult. Here, everything were as it should be. Heather, bracken, sheep, grouse, and of course the ever-present owl. Sometimes audible by its hoot, often surprising as it glided past on silent wings; then a thump and squeal of its prey and it were gone. Aye, I could learn a lot from the owls.
I headed south towards the fairy spring near the rocking stone. The wind were getting up and I were frozen, but did not care. I thought I would be cold for the rest of my life. I pulled the coat tighter around myself, bent my head to the wind and trudged on. At least I could not hear the wasaillers any longer.
I reached the spring and knelt. Mam had died not far from here, and I felt close to her now. I did not like going to the graveyard any more – the village were too close. Anyroad, her spirit were out here on the moors, and this spring were where I felt close to her. She used to come here regularly, dragging me along with her, even as a toddler. She would sit for hours with me on her knee, telling me stories of the fairy folk, the giants, all the beings who were here long before us and who we ignored at our peril. I used to love the sunlight dancing in the little splashes of water as it fell a few inches off a stone and she told me those glints of light were the fairies. That if I ever needed help or a friend I should come here and make my wishes known. They would always help me, no matter what. I hoped she were right.
*
I shivered again as the December wind cut through my thick woollens. I looked up in alarm at a familiar but dreaded sound. The rocking stone were moving. The grinding resonated in my heart and suddenly I could not bear to be out here any longer. I turned for home and ran as best I could through the heather.
Chapter 21 - Emma
4th September 2012
‘Emma!’
I woke with a start, not sure where I was, then registered that Dave was bending over me with a mug of coffee. I’d fallen asleep on the sofa. I sat up with a groan and paper and pen slid to the floor.
‘How are you feeling?’ Dave sat down and passed me the mug.
‘What time is it?’ I groaned.
‘Ten o’clock.’
‘What?’ I looked out of the window and realised he was right.
‘Where are the dogs?’ I couldn’t believe they’d not woken me, they must be desperate for a walk.
‘They’re downstairs. I let them out earlier to do their business, but I thought you should sleep. Any more dreams?’
I shook my head. I’d take the beasts out later. I could do with a long walk myself to try and clear my head and make sense of the last few days, well, nights.
I bent down to pick up my notebook and flicked through it. ‘I must have been writing for hours,’ I said.
‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Not really. I was in a bit of a daze to tell you the truth. I must have still been half asleep.’
‘Well you were writing through the early hours.’ Dave tried to reassure me.
‘I suppose so.’ I put the notebook on the table. ‘I’ll read it through later. It’s probably crap.’
Dave laughed. ‘That’s what I like to hear – optimism. You never know, it could be your next bestseller.’
I pulled a face at him. ‘What time do you have to leave?’ Dave had yet another business trip to Edinburgh. I knew it was important, but still, I did miss him when he was away, despite my assurances that I was fine.
‘This afternoon,’ he replied. ‘My first meeting is over dinner. If I leave at two, I should get there with an hour to spare. Time to settle in the hotel and have a shower.’ He stopped and regarded me thoughtfully. ‘I could cancel if you want me to stay with you.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ I laughed. ‘It’s only a few bad dreams, I don’t need a nursemaid, I’m not ill. I’ll be fine.’
‘I know, but ... we’re so isolated here, you’re on your own when I go away, I worry about you.’
‘I like being alone sometimes, you know that, and I love the peace and quiet here, you know that too.’
‘Those dreams are far from peaceful.’
‘It’s just my writer’s imagination,’ I said. Part of me wanted to ask him to stay and I realised I felt vulnerable since the nightmares had started. I got a mental grip of myself. I was a grown woman, and had moved here out of choice. Dave’s trips to Scotland were important, I could not ask him to stay because of a few dreams, nor would I give him cause to worry. ‘If I do have a problem, Mark and Kathy are up the lane. What could you do if you were here, anyway? You can’t control my dreams.’
He nodded. ‘Fair enough, but if you do get another one and want to hear a friendly voice, ring me – it doesn’t matter what time.’
‘Of course I’ll ring you – you know I don’t mind waking you up!’ We laughed.
‘All right then, I’ll go and pack. Do you want to go out for lunch?’
‘Oh, that’s a nice idea, let’s go for chips and peas!’
*
I waved Dave off, then pulled my scarf tighter round my neck and whistled to the dogs. They came running, and I made a fuss of all three of them. Especially Cassie.
‘How do!’
I glanced up at the shout and returned Mark’s greeting, then made a fuss of his border collie, who had cannoned into the mêlée at my feet.
‘Delly, no!’ I shouted as he went for Shep.
‘Setting off,’ I replied, wincing at the snapping dogs, but none of them seemed to be bleeding. ‘Are you sure they’re ok?’
‘Aye, they’ll be right in a bit, can you cope with some company?’
I watched the dogs dubiously.
‘They’ll settle when we’re off Delly’s territory. Shep! Come!’
The collie ran to Mark, tongue lolling and chased by Delly; Rodney following behind.
‘Delly, no!’ I shouted, but he ignored me again.
Mark laughed. ‘Come on, let’s walk.’
I nodded and followed. All four dogs raced off down the lane towards the reservoir, Delly still snarling, but they seemed more playful now.
‘I don’t understand it,’ I said, embarrassed at Delly’s bad behaviour. ‘He’s the softest of dogs normally.’
‘He’s top dog,’ Mark said. ‘Mine came on to his territory, he showed him who were boss. He were protecting his pack, including you.’
‘Really?’ I said, pleased.
‘It’s what they do. See, Shep’s got the message. See him licking Delly’s snout? And now look, Shep’s rolled on to his back, he’s submitting. They’ll be right enough.’
We walked down the hill after them, and they did seem best of friends now. Although Shep was a little overfriendly towards Cassie, but she was more than capable of sending him packing, especially when Delly added his own encouragement. Then Roddy spotted a rabbit and all four of them were off. I laughed, relieved, and we followed much more slowly along the shore.
‘There are some good walks around here,’ Mark said.
‘Yes, I took them up on to the moorland the other day. They were absolutely shattered running through the heather.’
Mark laughed. ‘Yes they would be! Have you walked below the dam yet? It’s beautiful.’
‘No!’
Mark seemed taken aback at the force of my denial.
‘Sorry. Another dream,’ I explained.
‘Sounds like a bad one.’
‘Yes.’ I shivered. ‘I was walking down there in a thunderstorm, and the dam burst. Cassie was swept away, a car drove off the edge, and I woke up crying at all the people who must have been killed downstream.’
‘Nasty,’ Mark said.
‘Yes. But the most profound part was watching the village resurface.’
‘Hang on, I thought you were below the dam?’
‘I climbed up the side of the valley.’
‘Dreams.’ Mark nodded. ‘Anything’s possible.’
‘Anyway.’ I was annoyed. I had climbed up the hill; it hadn’t been the dream allowing the impossible. ‘As the village reappeared, I kept thinking about that witch you and Kathy talked about.’
‘Jennet.’
‘Yes, and how her bones are still there, somewhere in all that mud.’
‘It’s unlikely she were buried in the village, Emma. She’ll be under the moors somewhere, probably at some sort of crossroads to try to keep her spirit contained or confused or something.’
‘No, she’s closer than you think,’ I said, suddenly sure of myself. ‘I’ve started writing her story,’ I explained, feeling shy. I was extremely self-conscious at the start of any writing project and could hardly believe I’d told this relative stranger what I was writing about when I’d only started last night. But then I realised why. ‘Maybe you could tell me more about the legends?’
‘I’d love to,’ Mark said. ‘What have you got so far?’
I frowned. ‘I’m not sure really, I haven’t read it through yet.’
‘Don’t you know?’ Mark asked, incredulous.
I shrugged. ‘I started in the early hours after my dream. I must still have been half asleep. I’ll read it through when I get back.’
‘Maybe that inkpot you found were hers, and she’s writing the story through you. Oh God, listen to me, I sound like Kathy!’ He stooped suddenly, picked up a large feather and presented it to me. ‘Here, a goose wing feather to go with the inkpot – it’s what Jennet would have used.’
‘Would she have been able to write?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Aye, more than likely. She were a cunning woman, her mam would have taught her to write enchantments and recipes and the like.’
I pursed my lips and raised my eyebrows as I nodded, then took the feather and laughed. ‘I know I’m old-fashioned using ink and paper, but I’m not quite that old-fashioned!’
‘Research,’ Mark said, laughing with me. ‘Use it to get into your character’s skin. Isn’t that what you writers do?’
I shuddered, remembering my nightmare. It felt like Jennet was getting into my skin rather than the other way round, but I held on to the feather nonetheless. It was from one of the Canada Geese who visited the reservoir every year. I doubted they came in Jennet’s time, although they would have kept geese. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to have a play with the quill, and I suddenly quite fancied putting my old inkpot to its proper use again after all this time.
‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘perhaps I will.’ Our fingers touched and I glanced up at him, then took the feather and looked away, aware that my cheeks had flushed. What was that all about? Have we just had a moment? I don’t even find him attractive!
I called to the dogs and threw a stick towards the water. They piled into the shallows – as far as my stick had made it – and sent water splashing everywhere. The moment, whatever it had been, was broken.
‘So, has Dave gone anywhere nice?’ Mark asked, breaking the awkward silence. I glanced up at him in question. ‘I spotted the suit carrier as he drove past,’ Mark continued.
‘Edinburgh on business,’ I said, not sure I wanted Mark to know I was home alone. ‘He’ll be back in a couple of days.’
‘He’s brave, leaving a woman like you on your own. Sorry, I don’t know why I said that,’ he added, colouring. ‘I guess I’m a bit star-struck having a famous author on my doorstep.’
‘You flatter me,’ I said, uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. I looked at him sideways. He wasn’t bad-looking, really, although he walked with a bit of a stoop, but still, I loved my husband. I didn’t understand why there was this atmosphere between us. I walked down to the water’s edge and searched for a flat stone to skim.
‘So how long has your family lived round here?’ I asked Mark after he’d skimmed a stone of his own.
‘Seven! Beat that!’ he said. I sighed. Save me from competitive men.
‘Six, ha!’ he exclaimed.
I tried again, irritated. ‘There, eight, your turn,’ I said, the awkwardness gone now. He laughed and threw again, poorly this time.
‘I’ve no idea how long the Ramsgills have been here – forever, as far as I know. Long before Jennet’s time, anyway.’
‘So your ancestors knew her?’
‘Knew her? They probably hanged her!’
‘Hanged her?’
‘I don’t know, it’s all legend. Who knows what’s true? Who knows if Jennet were real at all?’
‘Oh she was real all right, I have no doubt about that!’
‘Why not? How the hell do you know?’
I glanced up in surprise at the intensity of his words and shrugged, not wanting to tell him how deeply I felt a connection with her after my dream. ‘Women’s intuition?’
I cried out as Roddy barged past me into the water after the stones and nearly knocked me flying.
Mark laughed, his bad humour forgotten. ‘No, seriously, the Ramsgills were prominent sheep farmers and wool merchants. They brought a lot of work and money to the area, they owned a great deal of land and one of them were even Forest Constable, so they had plenty of power. They still had to answer to the Duchy of Lancaster though, as did the rest of those who lived within the Forest of Knaresborough.’
‘Forest of Knaresborough? We’re a long way f
rom Knaresborough here.’
‘Only about twenty miles as the crow flies, we’re right on the edge of what were the Forest. It’s funny isn’t it; thinking most of these fields were once woodland, full of deer and wolves and all sorts of other wildlife.’
‘Wolves? Really? Are you sure about that?’ I didn’t think wolves were native to Yorkshire.
‘So the tales go. Our house is called Wolf Farm, although that might be something to do with Jennet and barguests again.’
‘It must have been pretty isolated,’ I said, getting back to reality.
‘Very. They’ll have had a long trek to any markets, so the village were forced to be more or less self-sufficient. My ancestors were probably the only wool merchants for miles around; all the farmers, spinners and weavers would have had to stay on the right side of them.’
I looked around. I could see for miles, but only a couple of old stone properties were visible. ‘I can’t imagine living up here without a car,’ I said. ‘I like solitude, need it even, to write. But I like to be able to leave and find other people when I want to.’
‘I know what you mean. But two hundred year ago, most of the villagers would never have left the moors. Only the few more successful farmers would have made the trek to the sheep fairs – probably the Ramsgills or their men – it would have taken days.’ He paused and stared at me. ‘You know, I have a couple of books on the history here at home, do you want to borrow them?’
‘I’d love to, yes please.’ We called to the dogs and started walking back up the hill.
‘I’ll bring them down with me tomorrow – same time?’
‘Yes.’ Then a thought struck me. ‘Aren’t you working?’
‘Term starts next week.’
‘Of course.’
‘Happen you’ll know what you’ve written so far by then.’
‘I’m intrigued myself.’ I laughed.
*
I was glad to get home again and relieved to get away from Mark, although I had agreed to meet him the following day. I towelled the dogs off and fed them, then headed upstairs to my office and settled on the sofa with the dogs flat out at my feet to read last night’s folios.
Ghosts of Yorkshire Page 9
