As her laughter joined his, he thought, she’s like a breath of fresh air. It’s to be hoped she’ll remain so, at least for a while.
Two
John was to look back on the garden-cum-birthday party as the beginning of his new life. His medical training seemed to be far away in the past. Two years spent walking the wards were as if they had never been. His mother was the only thing that remained prominent in that past. This reminded him that he should have gone to see her today. But a visit would mean a rush there and back and today was his day off and he felt he wanted it to himself: to get away from the town and people, to walk in wide open spaces, to climb hills, if not mountains. He just wanted to get away. Yes, just get away. Which is what he did, with a knapsack on his back and freshly baked buns and sandwiches from the bakers’ and two bottles of ale.
It was the middle of July. The sky was high, and there was a slight breeze blowing that tempered the heat. The ground was hard beneath his feet and, having taken off his cap, the wind blew coolly through his hair.
Avoiding hamlets, he made for the hills. He knew this route: it led slowly upwards towards a near vertical outcrop which brought him to a small plateau from where, in the far distance, could be seen Durham Cathedral rising from its perch on the bank of the river Wear. To the left was Gateshead, and beyond it, across the Tyne, was Newcastle.
He had only recently got to know the North country. His mother was a Sussex woman and his father half-French. But his mother’s sister Ada lived in Middlesbrough which is where his mother was staying at the present time, and not liking the situation at all. And as her rheumatism was worsening with the years he felt, if not through love, which he had for her, then duty bound, he had to bring her nearer to him.
But today he wouldn’t think about it, today he was free: there were no bowel troubles to see to, no biles, warts, sore feet, headaches, all of which were on the lighter side. The incurables were another matter.
He now stretched himself out on the hard turf, his hands behind his head, his cap shading his eyes, and it was no surprise to him that his mind immediately touched on Pine Hurst. He was again at the garden party and he could see himself almost frolicking with that young sprite, Rosie. Then came the picture of the sister Helen, the one who was shortly to be married. And he wondered, yet again, why her face should have made such an impression on him. Yes, she was indeed beautiful, but he had seen beautiful girls before, beautiful women of all ages. Yes, of all ages, because every age had its beauty. But hers was of a different kind. And then there was Marion. Marion puzzled him. She, too, he had learned, was going to be married. His thoughts, of a sudden, jumped to the father. He was glad he wasn’t on his list; he couldn’t stand his type: bumptious, arrogant. If anyone played the Lord of the Manor, he did. And yet, he understood, the man’s father had been just the opposite. He recalled Rosie’s description of her grandfather which fitted in with what he had heard from Cornwallis. As Rosie had put it, he must have been a lovely old man. Lovely seemed to be a special word she used in describing those she liked. But where did the girl Beatrice come in this family? She was running it now. In a way he felt sorry for her. He didn’t know why, but he did. She wasn’t like any of the others. Although she was quite pretty, she had no particular attraction.
Ah well, he sighed, they were all down there in the valley and he was up here, at peace with the elements and God. Yet was he? Why did he keep thinking, in the back of his mind, that he had arrived too late? Too late for what?
. . . Was that a rabbit scurrying across the sward? Would one have scaled this tor? Why not? Necessity, through time and circumstance, made life.
When a dream voice said, ‘I’m sorry,’ he answered it in return, saying, ‘You couldn’t help it. You weren’t to know. I came a year too late. I’m sorry, too. These things happen out of the blue.’ Then a warm, soft, comforting blankness came over him and he let himself sink into it.
How long he had slept he did not know. But he knew that his face was hot. His cap must have slipped off it, and the sun was very bright in his eyes. He’d be red tomorrow; his skin burnt easily. But then it didn’t turn a nice tan, but a rough brown. His mother used to say it was attractive. That reminded him, he must see about his mother. He must ask for a few days off.
When he opened his eyes slowly and blinked into the sunlight he saw a face, and it was smiling at him. So he closed his eyes tight again.
‘You’ve had a nice sleep.’
He sat up so quickly that his back went into a cramp, and he grimaced as he stared to the side and saw Helen Steel sitting there.
When he went to get to his feet she put her hand out and said on a laugh, ‘Don’t jump up! Doctors say it’s bad for the heart. You could give yourself a turn.’ She was nodding at him.
He covered his face for a moment, then muttered, ‘I’m sorry. How long have you been up here?’
‘Oh, let me see.’ She put up a hand to cover her eyes, and, her head back, she said, ‘Since time and circumstance made life, and you were sorry for something.’
‘How long ago was that?’
She turned her fob watch around and after a moment said, ‘Forty-two minutes, to be exact.’
‘And you’ve been sitting there all that time?’
‘Well, like you, I needed a rest after that stiff climb. But I judged that you needed it more than I, you having been up half the night.’
His eyes widened and he ran his hand through his hair, endeavouring to flatten it, before he asked her, ‘How do you know I’ve been up half the night?’
‘Needler told me.’
‘Needler?’
‘Yes; he was taking Pansy to be shod and you were returning the horse you had borrowed from Ben Atkinson, the blacksmith, because Isaac Green’s place is a good four miles out and it was three in the morning and Nancy was having a very bad time.’
‘I think both Needler and Ben Atkinson should start up a newspaper business.’
She laughed now as she said, ‘Was it a boy or a girl?’ And when he answered, ‘Both,’ her mouth widened and she said, ‘Not twins!’ And he nodded at her, saying, ‘Yes, twins. That makes eleven.’
‘Good gracious! And she’s also lost four.’
His eyes widened still further. ‘How do you know she’s lost four?’ And then, both their heads bobbing, together they said, ‘Needler.’
She was laughing out loud now as she went on, ‘Needler said that Isaac took Nancy for a rabbit and they both ate the grass together. He also said that Isaac read the Bible every day and stuck to it to the letter.’
His body was bent forward now and they were again laughing together; then, turning his head to the side as he rubbed the water from each eye, he said, ‘I think Needler forgets he’s talking to a young lady.’
‘Are you shocked?’
‘Shocked? Me! No. But it’s a surprise to find young ladies so well informed on certain matters.’
‘Oh, we’re all well informed. Grandpapa saw to that, and good for Grandpapa. He used to take us next door, you know, when the pigs were being born, and he and Mr Jamie used to talk about things. And then there was Robbie. Rosie’s trailed Robbie since she could walk, or crawl under the fence, or paddle round the wall. And like us all, her education was extended through a couple of cows, the five goats, and the pony which gave birth to a beautiful foal, but which died the same day; and on that day I can tell you there was a lot of wailing in our house that even Father couldn’t stop. Of course, you will know by now about the war between Father and the MacIntoshes, having talked with Rosie.’
He nodded at her, saying, ‘Well, I did learn quite a bit, yes. He seems to be a very enterprising young man, that Robbie MacIntosh: it’s a miniature farm he has behind the wall.’
‘Yes.’ Her face lost its smile now as she said, ‘And it still remains a bone of contention.
Anyway, here we are.’ She leaned back on her hands and stared up into the sky, saying, ‘Isn’t this the most wonderful spot?’
‘Yes. Yes, it is.’
‘How did you come across it?’
‘Oh, well, I’m a bit of a climber.’
‘Really? You climb mountains?’
‘If I can find one handy, yes. But that last sixty feet almost vertical up to here keeps me in very good practice. How on earth did you make it?’
‘I, sir, like climbing, too. I’ve come up here for . . . oh, years and years. Even in the winter. It’s an amazing sight from here in the winter: everything stands out unblurred.’
He now watched her pass her tongue over her lips, which caused him to ask, ‘Are you thirsty?’
‘Yes. Yes, I am. I generally bring something with me but I didn’t today; I came out in rather a hurry.’ Her face lost its laughter again. And now he said, ‘Well, I can quench your thirst, but will you be able to drink it? it’s beer.’
When she said, ‘Old or mild?’ he let out a hoot of a laugh, reached back, gripped his knapsack and, feeling for a bottle, he said, ‘Oh, it’ll be mild, I think. And it’ll be warm; I should have put it in the shade.’
‘Well, that would be difficult to find up here.’
‘I could have hung it down the rock if I’d had any sense; there’s a stump of a tree over there,’ he nodded. Then he poured out a cupful of the beer and handed it to her.
When she emptied it on the second go, then handed him back the mug, he had to quell the sudden urge to grip her hand and pull her to his side.
He remained quiet as he poured out a drink for himself; then, taking the cardboard box from the middle of the knapsack, he said, ‘Nothing in here comes from Mrs Pearson’s.’
‘Is she as bad as all that, her cooking?’
‘Worse. And the trouble is, if you’re polite and say you like something, you get it five days in the week.’
‘Oh, Cook’s like that, too. I once said I loved her plum duff and she’s made me special ones since. The others can be having trifle, or apple dumplings, or anything, but I have plum duff.’ She now imitated Cook’s voice in saying, ‘’Cos Miss Helen’s partial to packin’.’ She shook her head here and added, ‘I’ve never been partial to packing. But I’ve got a good ally in Janie.’ She nodded as she explained: ‘Janie Bluett, the parlourmaid, you know. And Flossie and Biddy, the dogs, always know when it’s packing day for they bark their thanks when they see me.’
He kept his eyes on her as he said, ‘Cheese, tomato or . . . their best ham.’
‘I’ll take their best ham, sir, thank you.’
He handed her the box and joined in her mood as he said, ‘At your service, madam. They’re on the right, that will be your left.’ Again they were laughing.
He finished one bottle of beer and opened the second. And as she took the mug from him, she held it to her lips and laughingly said, ‘Wouldn’t it cause a sensation if I went rolling in the front door and Father demanded, “Where have you been, girl?” and I replied with a wide grin, “Out with the doctor. Sitting on the top of Craig’s Tor.” . . . Oh my!’
She drank the beer; then as she handed him the mug she said, ‘I’m going to lose my ladylike manners again and say I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this afternoon. I can’t tell you when I’ve had such fun.’
He stared into her eyes; they seemed to be waiting for his gaze. He asked quietly now, ‘When are you going to be married?’
Her voice was as low as his, as she said, ‘Next Easter.’
‘Where are you going to live?’
‘In Hampshire at first. We’ve rented a little house there.’
‘Oh!’ Their gaze never wavered as he went on, ‘I hope you’ll be very happy.’
‘I’m sure I shall. Yes; yes,’ her nodding was emphatic, ‘I’m sure I shall.’
Suddenly he sat back and pulled out his watch and exclaimed in a loud voice, ‘Good heavens! Do you know the time? Half-past four and I’ve got a surgery at five. I’ll have to get down there quicker than I got up.’ . . . Why had he said this? He had no surgery today.
After pushing the box and empty bottles into his knapsack, he rose hastily to his feet and, looking down at her where she remained sitting, her hands around her knees, he said, ‘You won’t be coming down yet,’ not as a question but in the form of a statement, and she said very quietly, ‘No; if you don’t mind. Anyway I’m not going back home, I’m going over there.’ She pointed. ‘Can you see the top of that house down in the valley?’
‘Yes. Yes, I can just see it.’
‘I have a friend lives there. That’s really where I was making for when I was tempted up here.’
‘It looks a long way off.’
‘Not as the crow flies. Three miles from here, perhaps, about five or so from the town.’
Pushing out the palm of his hand towards her, he said, ‘Don’t get up. Just sit there like that.’ And she stared up at him, her face unsmiling, then said quietly, ‘Thank you for a lovely afternoon. I’ll always remember it.’
‘So shall I, always,’ he said and turning quickly, he let himself over the edge of the plateau.
After his head disappeared she stared towards the house in the far valley. Then she brought up her knees again, put her hands around them, and laid her head on them. And so she sat; and she said to herself, Time and circumstance make life.
Three
‘Is Wallace’s farm a big one, Robbie?’ asked Rosie.
‘Well, it’s all a matter of what you call big. No, I wouldn’t say it was big, anything but. Yet it isn’t just a smallholding like this. He keeps half a dozen cows on it and a few sheep. And he also goes droving at times. That used to be his permanent job, a drover. Why do you ask?’
‘Oh, no reason.’
‘You never ask questions without a reason. Now, why d’you ask?’
‘Well, I saw the son, Jackie . . . isn’t he called Jackie? And he was in our pine wood the other day.’
Robbie stopped what he was doing and turned to her and said, ‘In your pine wood? What was he doing there? He’d better look out for your father, hadn’t he? Especially if he’s got his gun with him.’ He smiled.
‘Well, that’s what I thought.’
‘Was he picking up wood?’
‘No; he was just walking, and he jumped the railing and went into the field . . . Is Mrs Wallace a nice woman, Robbie?’
‘Huh! Well—’ he gave a bit of a laugh as he said, ‘it all depends on what you mean by nice. To be nice looking, nice character . . . kindly?’
‘Well, just nice.’
‘Well, she’s pretty, and lively in a sort of way. But what’s put her into your mind?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Nothing?’ His eyes narrowed as he looked at her. He knew his Rosie: if she asked a question it was after some thought. She was fast growing up; she wasn’t so much of a tomboy now. In fact, that phase seemed to have lessened during these last few months. He resisted putting his arm around her shoulder and saying, ‘Come on, spill it. You know me, I’ll get it out of you.’ That was a tactic he had used when she was running wild; but now she was turning into a young lady. The youngest of the Steel bunch, the last of them. What was he going to do about it? What could he do about it? He knew what would happen, he’d get a bullet in the back some dark night. He always told himself he wasn’t afraid of anybody on God’s earth, that he was like his father, but that was when you were facing an enemy, one you knew, to a certain degree, what he was about. But you never knew what Simon Steel was about; he worked in the dark. Aye, and in more ways than one. It wouldn’t be that she had got wind of . . . ?’ He swung round and looked at her; but he couldn’t see her face, for she was bending over the calf and saying, ‘As it’s a bull, you won’t have to shoot i
t, will you?’
‘Shoot it?’ His voice was loud. ‘Good gracious, no! Fatten him up and let him out for breeding, more likely.’
‘I’m glad of that; I can’t bear the thought of it going to market.’
‘Mine never go to market.’
‘The hens and ducks do.’
‘Oh, well’ – he wagged his head – ‘only when they’re very old.’
‘I don’t know how you can kill a chicken, or a duck, or a goose, when you love animals so.’
‘Oh, Rosie! I’m not feeling inclined to give you a lecture on life and the sustaining of it. But what I do want to know is why are you glum these days? Anything wrong over the wall?’
‘No; only that Helen will soon be gone and then Marion will follow, and I’ll be left.’
‘With only me?’
She turned now and laughed at him and at the face he was pulling, and she said, ‘Yes; and isn’t that prospect awful? Only you!’ Then she thrust her hand out towards him as if pushing him away, saying, ‘Oh, you’ll always be there, or here.’
It was a moment before he answered her, when he said, ‘Yes, Rosie, I’ll always be there, or here . . . Where you off to now?’
‘I’m going home; it will soon be teatime. But I’m not going by the front road or the river track, I’m going to cross the fields and up the pine walk. Be seeing you.’
He didn’t answer but stood watching her walk to the far end of the grounds, climb the fence, then cross the field. And he remained so until she had disappeared from his view.
The Obsession Page 3
