The sleeves hung down over her hands but it sat firmly on her shoulders and made her feel very grand and brave indeed. She knew how Blaize Chardenel must have felt when he put it on.
Wearing it she climbed the rickety ladder to the upper floor. Her bed was still there, the straw mattress in its striped cover split and spilling out from the depredations of generations of mice. There was a basket chair in the corner of the room and a wool rug, unfurling now, in the middle of the floor. She looked around and was in the act of climbing back down when she heard a noise in the open doorway.
A tall man was standing there, his lean figure only a black silhouette against the brilliant whiteness of the snow. He stood perfectly still and watched her as she climbed slowly down.
Then she heard the anger in his voice as he asked, ‘What do you think you’re doing here? This is private property. What right have you got to go opening those boxes?’
She was flustered by his anger. ‘I’ve bought Charterhall, the big house down there,’ she told him.
There was scorn in his voice. ‘I know where Charterhall is. So you’re Lady Lewis. Buying a big house doesn’t give you the right to go poking around other people’s property. We heard some lady from the south had bought Charterhall. It’s been empty for a while and we wondered who’d get it. But, like I said, that doesn’t give you the right to go snooping round here. This cottage isn’t yours. It’s on the borders of your estate, your ladyship, but it’s privately owned.’
His sarcasm and arrogant manner angered her and she snapped back, ‘How do you know that I don’t own it?’
As he stepped into the cottage, she could see that he limped badly. His left leg was hurting him. He sounded short. ‘Because I know who does, that’s why.’
‘And who’s that?’
‘It’s not really your business but it’s a girl called Lark Kennedy. This was her grandmother’s cottage and my family are looking after it till she comes back from London.’
She stepped nearer to him and looked at his face. The skin was brown and weatherbeaten and the eyes a clear, golden colour like syrup. His hair was reddish brown and though it was closely cropped, it showed signs of wanting to stick out like a bush.
‘Are you a Hepburn?’ she asked.
‘Yes, how do you know?’
‘Which one are you?’ It had to be Sim, she prayed.
‘My name is Simeon Hepburn and I farm the land next to Charterhall. I’m your neighbour, Lady Lewis.’ He pronounced her name in an exaggerated, sarcastic way.
She rushed towards him. ‘Oh Sim, don’t you know me! Look at me. Have I changed all that much?’
He was startled and stared at her incredulously. Before him stood a slim, tall woman in a dark coat and skirt with Aylie’s Hussar’s jacket slung over her shoulders. Her hair was fair and – heavens, yes, she looked like old Aylie Kennedy!
‘You’re not Lark?’ He obviously could not believe it.
‘Yes, of course I am. I’m Lark Kennedy. The Lady Lewis bit always makes me feel awkward. I’m not used to it. I saw Charterhall estate advertised for sale in the newspaper and my lawyer bought it for me… I had to buy it back for all those Cannons who lived there and loved the place so much but never owned it. I bought it for the abbey really but I’ll probably live in the house – at least for a while.’
Sim was obviously dumbstruck with surprise. ‘But I can’t believe it. No one said anything about it being you who’d bought the place. I can’t believe it. I thought you’d still be a young girl…’
‘And I thought you’d be a leggy lad. Our memories play us false, don’t they? A lot has happened since we last met, Sim.’
He sat down on the window ledge and said, ‘Yes, that’s true. Let me look at you, Lark. Now I see it’s you after all. But round here they’re saying that Lady Lewis was a famous music-hall star who married some young chap for his money, is that true?’
She nodded. ‘Well, part of it’s true. I was on the stage but I didn’t marry Harry for his money. I didn’t even know he had any. I was Lark Chardelle. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?’
He grinned. ‘I’ve heard of you all right, but I never knew you were our little Lark. Though the first name should have given me a clue, shouldn’t it?’
She gestured towards the leg that obviously hurt him so much. ‘Were you wounded?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, at Gallipoli. But I reckon I’m lucky. At least I’m alive.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘What about your brother?’
‘He’s dead, so’s my nephew, his only son. But Kirsty’s all right and mother’s still alive.’
‘Have you any family?’ she asked. It was an important question to her and her heart leapt when Sim shook his head.
‘I’m not married. I was too busy working before the war and fighting has kept me occupied for the past four years.’
Suddenly she felt young and joyous again, younger and happier than she’d been for years. She’d found Sim again and this time she was going to keep him. Walking towards him, she held out her hand. ‘Come on, Sim, walk back to Charterhall House with me. I want you to meet my friend Sadie. She’s a real Londoner and all this open space and wild countryside terrifies her. She won’t come out. I want you to let her see that there are some nice normal people around.’
He laughed at that and her happiness transferred itself to him as arm in arm they left Aylie’s cottage. In the little garden they paused and stared around them just as Aylie used to do. The sky was a brilliant egg-shell blue and the surrounding circle of hills, all covered in white, looked as if they had been iced by a giant confectioner. The branches of the trees in the lane were heavy with frozen snow and they stretched overhead like a network of lace.
Lark took a deep breath and let the ice cold air fill her lungs.
‘It’s so beautiful. It’s as beautiful as I remembered. No wonder none of my family ever wanted to leave here. Oh Sim, I’m so happy to be back.’
He looked at her and laugh lines crinkled up the sides of his eyes as he said, ‘You look rather strange in that jacket. But don’t take it off, it suits you. I’m glad you’re back, Lark. I’ve got a feeling that you’re going to stay.’
First published in Great Britain in 1988 by Century Hutchinson Ltd
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU
United Kingdom
Copyright © Elisabeth McNeill, 1988
The moral right of Elisabeth McNeill to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788636339
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Lark Returning Page 37
