House of Angels

by Freda Lightfoot

  Was he punishing her for mentioning Danny Gilpin? He seemed convinced of her guilt despite her protestations of innocence. Tension mounted in her as she waited.

  One morning, Ella was brought roughly awake by a hand shaking her. Dawn was breaking, casting an eerie light through the thin bedroom curtains. What was he doing in her room? She sat up in panic. Had he at last come to claim his conjugal rights? But then she noted the grimness of his face. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘Get up, it’s snowing.’

  ‘Snowing? In May?’

  ‘It’s not unheard of in these parts and a late snow can do untold damage to the lambing. We have to get out on them fells and check on the flock.’

  ‘We?’

  A man of few words, he didn’t trouble to reply, and paying no heed to the shock in her voice he simply ordered her to put on her warmest clothes and look sharp about it. Trained to obedience by her father, Ella did as she was told and what seemed only moments later she was trekking up the fell behind him, clad in boots and waterproofs, in freezing temperatures with snow falling all around. Beside him were his trio of working dogs, old Beth having been shut up in the house, much against her wishes.

  ‘We’re going up by the Tongue,’ he called to her, which meant not a thing to Ella. Her lips felt stiff with cold, and despite the woollen hat and gloves he’d insisted she wore, her cheeks and nose were absolutely frozen. What on earth were they doing walking out in snow at this hour of the morning? Was he mad?

  They’d crossed the river at a shallow, narrow point and now they skirted what looked like a huge cliff rising out of the snowy ground. From here they began to climb, fording a tiny beck and continuing up a slippery slope pitted with rocks and boulders. Ella was gasping for breath before they’d been walking for ten minutes, thought she might very well expire, and Amos’s boots were little more than a blur in a whiteout of snow ahead. Trying to keep those sturdy feet in view and watch where she put her own seemed well nigh impossible. Amos had given her a stick to help her, but it was long and clumsy, and she couldn’t seem to handle it right. She stepped on an icy stone and her feet went from under, sending her crashing to her knees in the ice and snow.

  She called to him. ‘Amos, wait for me. Wait! I need to rest.’

  He paused for no more than a moment, just long enough for her to scramble to her feet and reach him, panting for breath and with a stitch in her side. ‘You must keep up, Ella.’ Then he was off again, striding up the mountainside as if it were no more than a Sunday afternoon stroll. Ella was very nearly in tears. She was not only exhausted but her wet skirt was flapping against her legs, soaking her to the skin. And only a short time ago she’d been warm and asleep in her bed.

  By the time they reached the top of the Tongue, Ella was weeping, wishing she’d never come to this godforsaken place, never married this dreadful man. What was he thinking of to bring her up this mountain pass in this awful weather? Did he want to get her killed?

  As they reached the summit, climbing the last few feet in a series of zigzags, she realised to her relief that the snow had stopped falling and, as if by way of reward, the sun peeped out from behind a fat grey cloud, illuminating the scene. Ella gasped in astonishment. A panoply of mountains stretched out before her, their tops crested in a cloak of snow and ice, seeming to ripple into infinity. The beauty of the scene filled her with awe.

  Amos took her arm and led her to a rough shelter of stones and at last allowed her to catch her breath and rest. If she looked back she could see the Kentmere valley, and to the north yet another dale, even more remote than their own. Amos told her this was Mardale, and the small lake she could see was Haweswater. Despite herself, Ella was entranced. She could see a wooded hillock, a cluster of farms and cottages that looked very like dolls’ houses from this distance; a church and inn, and what must be a school. A whole village cast down in the middle of nowhere. She could see tiny people going about their business.

  Did they ache to live in the town, as she did, or were they content with their lives? Did their fathers bully them and organise them without even a by-your-leave, or did they get to choose whether they stayed or left the dale? Her thoughts were interrupted as Amos was again on his feet.

  ‘If you’ve got your breath back now, we need to press on. We must check every ewe, make sure no lamb is lost in the snow.’

  ‘But what can I do?’

  ‘You can help. Sheep tend to shelter beside dry stone walls, so take your stick and gently probe wherever the snow lies thick. If you find a sheep or lamb under there, give me a shout. Come on, there’s a deal of ground to cover.’ Then he was striding away from her, the dogs fanning out at his command, and it suddenly occurred to Ella that she was on her own. She’d been given a task to do and she must do it, however unjust and unfair it might seem. What did she know about sheep? Nothing! He had absolutely no right to bring her up onto the wild mountaintops and leave her to hunt for possible dead or injured sheep. What was the man thinking of?

  It was the longest morning of Ella’s life. She was miserable with cold and fatigue, and it seemed to go on interminably. She plodded back and forth over the huge expanse of fell, searching, prodding and poking, once startling both sheep and herself as a ewe she thought must surely be a goner suddenly reared up and skittered away with a lamb at its feet. She called him when she found a ewe with twin lambs huddled in a snowdrift and Amos helped her to scrape the snow from her body and urge her back to life, and soon the lambs were suckling again and all was well. Seeing they were safe, they both returned to the search.

  Her whole body ached, her fingers and toes no longer had any feeling left in them and her nose felt red raw with the cold. Just when she thought she could take no more, Amos appeared at her side, his arms full of lambs.

  ‘This one’s an orphan,’ he said, pushing the frail creature into her arms. ‘And these two have just been born and need attention. We’ll take them home with us. The mother will follow and we’ll put them in the barn overnight.’

  Ella stood mesmerised, instinctively cuddling the lamb in her arms, gazing into its doe-like eyes.

  ‘Well, are you coming?’ He was already heading off down the track, back the way they had come, then he turned and suddenly grinned at her. ‘Tha’s done a good job today, lass. Now let’s go home and have some of Mrs Rackett’s hot soup.’

  Ella found herself grinning back and, giving the bleating lamb a reassuring hug, she set off in his wake.

  Chapter Ten

  Livia’s meeting with Henry Hodson did not begin well. He’d obviously come dressed for the occasion, being formally attired in frock coat and top hat. Livia had so effectively banished the coming interview from her mind that she was on her knees pulling weeds beneath the lilac tree in the back garden, wearing her ordinary gardening frock and green apron when he arrived.

  While Kitty took his hat and gloves and showed him into the drawing room, she quickly washed her hands in the cloakroom, but decided against changing her gown. It was far too late to worry about that now. She simply took off her apron, tucked a few stray curls into place, and swept into the drawing room with a smiling apology for her appearance.

  ‘Henry, how lovely to see you,’ as if she hadn’t been warned of his visit, or its purpose.

  He was standing by the fireplace, hands behind his back with a proprietorial air about him. Livia waved a hand at one of the over-stuffed armchairs and suggested he make himself comfortable. The sooner they got this interview over with, the better. She talked of the weather – unseasonably wet for August – and repeated her father’s concerns about trade being slack; mentioned a new line of gabardine motoring rugs lined with a camel fleece that completely enveloped a lady’s skirts which the store now had in stock, and were really quite the rage. But the conversation was more stilted than normal, just as if they were strangers instead of friends of long standing.

  Kitty brought in the tea and Livia set about serving it with a delicate slice of lemon and
a warm buttered scone, which Mrs Snape, the cook, had made especially. She thought he might never stop eating. He consumed two scones and several cups of tea, gulping them down and spitting crumbs as he talked about the new yacht he’d acquired on Lake Windermere.

  ‘You must come over and see it for yourself, Lavinia. We’ll take it out for a sail round Belle Isle and back.’

  ‘Indeed.’ My word, ‘Lavinia’ indeed! He was being formal.

  Mentioning the yacht perhaps reminded Henry of his real purpose for coming to see her this morning, and all of a sudden he set aside the china teacup to take up a stance on the hearthrug, very straight and correct. Hands clasped behind his back, he rose up on his toes as his voice filled with self-importance. His gaze was fixed somewhere just above Livia’s head as he began to outline his assets rather like a shopping list: his new motor car – a Panhard no less – membership of the golf club, plus various properties he owned both in Kendal and the Central Lakes. He described in painstaking detail the improvements he’d made to the family home on Lake Windermere, as if this would win her over instantly and clinch the deal. Then he proceeded to emphasise his standing in the community before outlining several projects that were, in his own words, ‘simmering in the pot and coming nicely to the boil’. Livia was clearly expected to be impressed that these would add to his already considerable fortune.

  Unfortunately for Henry, Livia was not even remotely tempted by any of these benefits. She felt desperately sorry for the man, wishing he would shut up; wanting only to let him down lightly without causing offence.

  Twice she attempted to interrupt but he overrode her hesitant words, too busy explaining how many servants he kept, and that her domestic duties would not be onerous. ‘I still live with my mother, a widow, as you know, but as she keeps largely to her own rooms she’s really no trouble at all. So long as her meals are provided on time and she’s perambulated around the gardens once a day, she is quite content.’

  It sounded very much like caring for a pet dog.

  ‘You must be fully aware, Lavinia, that I’ve always had a soft spot for you, and I flatter myself that you’re also rather fond of me.’

  Livia gulped, recalling all the dreadful practical jokes she and Ella used to play on Henry when they were children growing up together. He was probably five or six years older than herself, and had always seemed to be a plump, clumsy boy with sandy hair, freckles, and very few friends. Maybe that was why he was forever hanging around the Angel sisters, perhaps feeling more comfortable with girls rather than the big boys who could be somewhat rough.

  They had definitely taken advantage of his dog-like devotion, bossing him about shamelessly, making Henry carry their bags or swimming things if they were going on a picnic, or run for the ball when they were playing tennis. At times they must have made the poor boy’s life a complete misery. They’d slip frogspawn down his neck, pinch his sweets when he wasn’t looking, and once got him very drunk by lacing his ginger beer with Father’s whisky.

  ‘Yes, of course I’m fond of you, Henry, but…’

  ‘I know what you’re going to say, that you aren’t in love with me, but I’m sure that will come in time. We’ve always been such jolly good pals, eh? I realise that you’re an independent young woman with a mind of your own, Lavinia, and that’s fine by me, so long as you don’t get involved with all of this suffrage nonsense. Think I’d draw the line at that, don’t you know. And I would point out that most gels these days are engaged before they reach twenty, so you’ll very soon be on the shelf.’

  ‘How kind of you to remind me of the passing years, Henry,’ Livia remarked dryly.

  ‘You once promised that you would marry me, once we were grown-up, if you remember.’

  ‘I was a child, Henry, how could I appreciate what I was promising?’

  ‘I believe most women would consider me a good catch,’ Henry replied sulkily, then twirled his moustache and gave a wicked little wink, as if hinting that he had a whole gaggle of them just waiting for the opportunity, did she but know it.

  Livia dropped her head to hide a flicker of a smile, and recalled she had always disliked that moustache, being very red and bushy. She also noticed that his comfortable lifestyle seemed to have added considerable pounds to what had always been a somewhat chubby frame. Not that Henry noticed her amusement, for he was still talking.

  Livia tolerated his lecture, this essay in self-congratulation, for several more long minutes and then her patience finally snapped. She got abruptly to her feet, keen to end the interview as quickly as possible. ‘I do not doubt your sincerity, Henry. May I at least have some time to consider?’

  He looked momentarily stunned that she should dare to interrupt his flow. ‘I haven’t finished speaking yet, or properly done the deed, gone down on one knee and all that stuff.’

  ‘But you were going to, weren’t you, Henry?’

  ‘Yes, I was actually, old thing, once I’d—’

  ‘—worked yourself up to it, I know. Well, I’d far rather you didn’t. I’d really prefer to leave things as they are between us, for the present, if you don’t mind. Although naturally I will give your undoubtedly flattering offer all due consideration.’

  It was a lie. She’d dismiss it from her mind the moment he walked out the door, and she could see from the startled expression in his pale blue eyes that he knew it too. Nevertheless Livia held firm, certain she’d made her feelings on the subject perfectly plain. Only a stubborn fool would fail to recognise that she was tactfully refusing him. But then Henry had ever been stubborn, though not necessarily a fool, or the good-natured idiot he liked to make himself out to be.

  Henry Hodson was an astute businessman, no doubt about that, every bit as ruthless as her own father in some respects, certainly when it came to getting something he wanted. Perhaps because he was an only child she knew him also to be spoilt and totally self-centred, and that he possessed something of a peevish streak. He wasn’t above pulling a few sneaky tricks himself, such as the time he’d ‘accidentally’ stood on her train and ripped her dance frock when she’d refused to allow him a third dance at the Mayor’s ball the other year.

  Now he was frowning, scowling at her quite crossly in fact, looking very much like he’d used to when Ella had finished off all the ice cream without allowing him a single lick. ‘Your papa seems to think it’s long past time you and I named the day. He will not be pleased if you put me off yet again.’

  Livia arched her brows in a show of mild surprise. ‘Have I put you off before, Henry? I don’t recall you ever actually getting round to popping the question. Not that you have today, even now.’

  A scarlet flush started somewhere around his stiffly starched collar and began to rise slowly up his chubby jowls. Seeing his embarrassment, Livia regretted her uncharacteristically caustic remark. He was surely a victim of their father’s ambitious manipulations every bit as much as his own daughters were. She heard Henry’s helplessness in his whining tone.

  ‘It has been implied, don’t you think? Rather taken for granted for years, or so I always thought, that you and I would get together one day, Livvy.’

  What had happened to the more formal Lavinia, or the customary Livia? He only ever used her pet name when he wanted something.

  ‘Ah, yes, that may well be the case so far as Father is concerned. But I’m a big girl now and am surely allowed some say in the matter. Where is the passion, Henry?’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Passion! It is generally needed in a marriage, don’t you think?’

  He looked seriously discomfited, as if she’d used a rude word that should never be spoken in polite company. ‘Oh, I say! I’m sure we could summon up a bit of that, when called for.’

  Livia experienced a sudden desire to collapse into fits of giggles, but managed to stifle the urge as it would be too cruel. She dearly longed for passion in her life. She wanted to fall in love, and to be loved passionately in return. And however much Henry might sulk and fa
ll into tantrums, she had no intention of being rushed into a marriage which she did not heartily embrace. She meant to wait until she found the right man. And then a small voice at the back of her head said that perhaps she’d found him already.

  But she supposed this was about as romantic as one could expect from Henry and she smiled, feeling a great urge to pat him, as if he were a slobbering Labrador in need of careful petting.

  ‘I must ask, Henry, concerning this alleged proposal I assume you are making for my hand, are you really in love with me?’

  He grinned at her then, far more at ease with this question. ‘Yes, of course I am. I adore you, always have. Couldn’t imagine having anyone else for a wife. You’re the one for me, old thing.’

  Because you’ve always taken me for granted, and nobody else would have you, Livia thought with sad resignation, although she managed not to say as much out loud. She sighed. If Henry Hodson were the last man on God’s green earth, nothing would persuade her to marry him, no matter what reprisals Father might devise to inflict punishment upon her.

  Adoring and devoted though he may be, in his way, Livia had never found Henry entirely dependable. Like his father before him, who had built up the family wool business and property empire, Henry always had an eye to the main chance. He paid his outworkers – the knitters and weavers he supplied with yarn – the very minimum in wages for their work. Livia knew that for a fact, had remonstrated with him on the subject many times. And his tantrums as a child had been stupendous and great fun, but would be far less edifying in a grown man.

  Livia moved towards the door, making it clear that the visit must draw to a close. She could see he was not pleased by her apparent dismissal, either of his presence or his proposal. He attempted to kiss her cheek but she neatly avoided him and offered him her hand instead.