Lily's Journey

by Tania Crosse

  Father? Huh! Sidney. But none of that mattered now. Sidney had never frightened me, but just now, I was staring up at this tall, broad-shouldered young man absolutely petrified. His face didn’t look quite as gaunt as it had when I had noticed him a few weeks previously, and his shorn hair had grown a little, but he was still painfully thin, so I wondered optimistically if he wasn’t as strong as he looked.

  ‘Well, that’s not much help, is it? Bloody stupid to come right out here all alone.’

  His scornful, abrasive attitude drove away my fear and an acid disdain took its place. ‘You have!’ I snapped back.

  He glared down at me, his wide mouth in a hard line. ‘But I’m not a girl, and I know this part of the moor like the back of my hand. And I’m wearing proper walking boots, which if you had any sense, you’d be wearing, too. You should at least keep to the proper tracks if you’re going to wear those things.’

  Indignation rumbled deep inside me. My stout lace-ups had served me well enough up until now. I was about to tell him so when he dropped down on his haunches and, without a by-your-leave, pushed up my trouser-leg and turned the top of my sock down as far as it would go over my shoe. His long fingers closed around my ankle and he frowned as his hand moved firmly over my skin. I scowled back, but as he was looking down, concentrating on my foot, I couldn’t help noticing the incredibly long, dark lashes fanning out from his eyelids.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was broken,’ he pronounced at length.

  ‘How can you tell?’ I quizzed him warily.

  He flashed a look of contempt at me. ‘Let’s just say I’ve had some experience. What you need is to get some ice on it. Where have you come from?’

  ‘Princetown,’ I told him apprehensively.

  He shrugged his eyebrows. ‘At least that’s nearer than Tavvy. But my house is nearer than that. Come back with me and I’ll drive you back to Princetown. Here. I’ll help you up.’

  He grasped my hand with one of his and placed the other underneath my upper arm. To my surprise, he didn’t yank me upwards but supported me firmly as I levered myself into a standing position. I mumbled my thanks and the hint of a smile flitted over my face. He didn’t return it, his expression set and those striking eyes looking at me darkly.

  ‘Right. Try walking on it,’ he ordered.

  I did. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to be able to walk away from this curt devil, but I winced aloud and found myself grasping at him for support. As I glanced at him, there was no sympathy sketched on his features. If anything, his scowl deepened.

  ‘This is going to be fun,’ he grunted sardonically.

  He put his arm across my back, his hand gripping about my waist. With the greatest reluctance, I laced my own arm around him so that our two flanks were pressed close together. His body was warm and I could feel the hardness of his muscles through his thin shirt. He was bony with not an ounce of flesh, and I wondered vaguely if he’d been ill. Not that I really cared. I might have done if he’d been more amenable.

  ‘Come on, then,’ he grumbled. And then jerking his head over his shoulder at the dead sheep, he murmured, ‘I’ll see to that later.’

  His strong jaw was clenched as I hobbled slowly forward, half hopping and clinging to him tightly. ‘Was it…was it some sort of sacrifice?’ I dared to ask. Despite my abhorrence, I was inquisitive, and it was something to fill the awkward silence. I wished I hadn’t bothered.

  ‘Of course,’ he barked back. ‘What else do you think it was?’

  My self-control was fraying and it was all I could do to stop myself telling him not to be so surly. But he had rescued me, and without him, I’d have been up the creek without a paddle, so to speak, so I decided to bite my tongue.

  ‘I didn’t think that sort of thing still went on,’ I said instead, thinking of Gloria’s strange words on the day I had met her.

  ‘It doesn’t. At least, to my knowledge, it hasn’t for donkey’s years. I mean, there are still people playing around. Harmless enough. But sacrifices, well, I thought they’d died out centuries ago. But who knows? It’s supposed to be some sort of fertility rite, or so I believe. And you use dried blood as a garden fertiliser, so it makes sense.’

  ‘Oh, well, yes, I suppose so,’ I mumbled, not quite sure what he was intimating. But I needed all my wits to limp forward over the uneven terrain – and to check where he was taking me! But he seemed to be leading me in the direction of the main track across the southern moor, which was something. It was late in the season but there could well be holidaymakers walking there and I would feel safer.

  We carried on in silence. Progress was frustratingly slow, and I could hardly put my foot to the ground, my other leg aching as it took the strain.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I need to stop,’ I announced after a while.

  He glared down at me, his lips pursed. ‘Look, we’re never going to get anywhere at this rate. It’ll be easier if I give you a piggyback. Come on. Climb aboard.’

  He squatted down in front of me and my heart bucked in my chest. This was even more intimate, but what choice did I have? He sidestepped, slightly unbalanced, as he straightened up with my weight on his back, linking his arms through my knees, and I clasped my arms around his neck, trying not to strangle him.

  He walked steadily. I could feel the strength of him beneath me, the steel in his arms. So that if he tried anything funny, God knew it would have been impossible to fight back. But though his muscles were like iron, his stamina didn’t match. A damp patch soon appeared on the back of his shirt and he was breathing hard. Several times he had to stop to rest. He stared ahead as he sat on the grass, as if his own thoughts were far away. I didn’t interrupt them. I had enough of my own.

  We crossed over the track when we came to it and continued on to the tarmac road that ran from Princetown out to the old mine at Whiteworks and the notorious Foxtor Mire. I had walked out that way before, passing the few isolated buildings that made up Peat Cott clustered in a depression to the eastern side of the road. Further along, I had seen an old high wall, unusual for the area being built of brick rather than stone, but I hadn’t really taken much notice. Rusted wrought-iron gates, once elegant, were wedged open into a weed-encroached gravel drive, and looked as if they hadn’t been moved for decades. Not much was visible from the gates because the drive curved sharply, but from what I could see of the garden, it was overgrown and neglected. A row of dense pine trees, their lower branches dark and intertwining, obliterated the view up the driveway to whatever edifice might be lurking around the corner, and the whole place was grimly forbidding. My heart sank when my taciturn saviour turned in at the gates and came to a halt.

  ‘You’ll have to hop or whatever from here,’ he said gruffly as he lowered me back onto my feet. ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t carry you another step.’

  There was a catch in his voice and he shook his head as if ashamed. But although I didn’t relish his company, I was grateful for what he had done for me.

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ I told him. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done without you. Thank you so much.’

  ‘Let’s get you to the front door. Wait there and I’ll let you in. Save you walking round to the back. I never use the front, so I haven’t got the key with me.’

  I nodded, holding onto his arm as we crunched up the gravel. My ankle was feeling a touch easier, but there was no way I could walk on it properly. I stopped in amazement, snatching in my breath, when the house came into view. It was huge and imposing, built in a grand style from dressed stone with a pillared portico over the entrance. I waited while the young man disappeared round the back, and my gaze wandered over the peeling paint on the large casement windows. The place had clearly seen better days.

  I heard movement on the inside of the massive double front door, and one side creaked open. The fellow was waiting for me to hop inside and my heart thudded against my ribs. I was in this isolated, apparently empty, house with this tall, strong stranger a
nd no one on earth had a clue where I was.

  ‘Come into the kitchen and we’ll put some ice on your ankle.’

  He held out his hand, his face still stern, and I took it cautiously. We crossed a light, spacious hallway with a beautiful, curved staircase sweeping to the upper floor and a galleried landing. Lovely old wooden doors led to several different rooms and I glanced into a fine dining room with a long, highly polished Regency table. The house echoed eerily with the spirits of the past, I fancied, and I felt happier when I was led into the cosy atmosphere of the kitchen, even though it was a large, cool room with a quarry-tiled floor and white-tiled walls. The biggest range I had ever seen took up the entire end wall, evidence that this household must once have employed servants. Now it seemed to have but one occupant who abandoned me by the enormous old table in the centre of the room and went to open a tall refrigerator next to a double butler sink with long wooden draining-boards. If I hadn’t been so acutely aware of my own vulnerable situation, I would have been intrigued.

  I was made to sit down with my bare foot propped up on another kitchen chair while the owner of the house folded a towel around a mound of ice-cubes and packed it around my ankle. At least, I assumed he was the owner, although he seemed somewhat young to possess such a home. I judged him to be in his mid-twenties, although premature lines radiated from the outer corners of his eyes as if he had been squinting into the sun too much. But then he was deeply tanned even if it had faded slightly from when I had first seen him at the carnival, so he must have been staying in warmer climes of late. A man of mystery.

  He disappeared into the hall, allowing the door to close behind him. He must have made a phone call as I could hear him talking, quietly at first and then raising his voice in agitation. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but his face was like thunder when he strode back into the kitchen.

  ‘Nothing they can do, apparently, the police,’ he sighed in exasperation, and then flung himself down into one of the other chairs, long legs stretched out before him. ‘Oh, I suppose they’re right. They can’t be everywhere all the time. And it’s the first report they’ve had of anything like this. And the last, I hope. I’ll go out there tomorrow and check the earmarkings. I should be able to work out who the farmer is. Whoever it is won’t be too pleased, I’m sure.’ He ran his hand hard over his mouth and leapt to his feet. ‘I’ll make us a cup of tea, Carrot Top, and then I’ll run you back to Princetown.’

  If I was beginning to feel less anxious, my hackles bristled at the derogatory term which he used so casually, as if I should accept it quite without question. I sucked in my cheeks, my eyes hardening, as I fought to control my temper. I wanted to give him the length of my tongue, but on reflection, I was in no position to do so. Instead, I tersely refused his offer of a drink and asked to be taken home at once.

  ‘OK,’ he shrugged. ‘I’ll strap your ankle for you first, though. Must be some bandages upstairs somewhere.’

  I was left alone again as I heard him take the stairs two at a time. He hadn’t given me a chance to protest and I couldn’t wait to get away from him, but I sensed he was genuine enough. It was just that his manner was so abrupt, and after my almighty row with Sidney and the stunning revelation, well, it was the last thing I needed. And I could never forgive anyone for calling me carrot top or copper knob or any other jibe at my hair.

  He was back in minutes, kneeling at my feet without a word. I must say he made an expert job and my ankle felt much better for the support. I thanked him politely but he merely grunted in response.

  I tottered on his arm back out through the hallway and was left to wait on the drive while he went back into the house. It was an attractive building, I reflected as I stood there alone, and I reckoned the inside had been beautiful once. It was in a sad state of repair now, though, and I really thought the chap should get off his backside and do something about it.

  The vehicle that trundled out from somewhere behind the house was a battered old Army jeep, splattered in mud, canvas roof in place, but with the sides rolled up. It was like something out of a war film set in the desert. I guessed they must have been sold off in their thousands for next to nothing after the war. He drew the jeep up beside me, but didn’t get out to help me in. The image of the young gentleman driving the gleaming car in Tavistock flashed across my brain. Now he would have helped me, I was certain! As it happened, since there was no door, I was able to slide in without too much difficulty and we sat in tense silence while we bumped along the road and back into Princetown. It was draughty and uncomfortable, and as far as I was concerned, we couldn’t arrive quickly enough.

  ‘Where do you live, then, or are you on holiday?’ came the blunt demand.

  ‘I live here,’ I answered just as testily. ‘Drop me in the centre and I can manage from there.’

  I somehow didn’t want him to see where I lived, and I think he realised. He brought the jeep to a stop but kept the engine running, as if he couldn’t wait for me to get out.

  ‘As you wish. And remember, Carrots, next time you venture out on the moor, wear some decent footwear.’

  I slid out of the seat, barely containing my resentment, and hopped round on the pavement. ‘Don’t you dare call me that!’ I called, wishing there was a door for me to slam.

  I saw him blink at me in surprise and then, as he put the vehicle into gear, his eyes lit up roguishly and he laughed before turning his head away to concentrate on the road. A surge of anger darkened my spirit and I clenched my jaw in annoyance. He was mocking me, taking the mickey, and there was nothing more humiliating. I watched, fuming, as he turned the jeep around and drove off without a glance in my direction. I felt like running after him, dragging him out and punching him on the nose.

  Although my ankle was throbbing, the whole incident had put me just in the right mood to confront Sidney!

  Chapter Eight

  ‘You’re still here, then.’

  It was a statement, ground from between clenched teeth, and not a rhetorical question. Sidney was glowering at me, his face stiff and accusing, but I wasn’t going to cow down before him. I’d had the remainder of the afternoon to calm down, nursing my ankle with cold compresses made from wringing my flannel in water since we had no fridge with readymade ice. I’d had time to reflect on my loss of identity, and had emerged on the other side of an empty void ready to defend myself. And remembering Gloria’s words that I could be stronger than Sidney, I was determined to reason with him rather than be forced to do battle.

  ‘Unfortunately I don’t have much choice,’ I answered steadily. ‘I went for a walk and sprained my ankle quite badly. But even if I hadn’t, I’d still be here. I’ve at last got some stability back in my life, and I’m not going to give it up so easily.’

  Sidney had been staring at me, opening and shutting his mouth several times like a goldfish, but I wasn’t going to let him interrupt. It seemed now, though, that I had taken the wind out of his sails and he appeared lost for words.

  ‘I don’t see why I should be made to suffer for something my mother did,’ I went on in a pleading tone now that I appeared to have won the first hurdle. And then I added more softly, ‘You are sure I’m not yours?’

  I arched my eyebrows sympathetically and waited. He met my steady gaze.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he grated with a bitter shake of his head. And for a few seconds, he looked as lost as I had felt earlier.

  ‘Well, I’m sorry for that,’ I said gently, and was surprised by the genuine compassion that tugged at my heart. ‘I can understand that I must be a constant reminder. But can’t you see that you shouldn’t blame me for the past? Whatever my mother did wasn’t my fault. Can’t you just look upon me as some sort of lodger? I’m actually quite a nice person if you’d give me a chance to show it.’ And here I smiled in what I hoped was a winning manner. ‘I know I’m not really a churchgoer and I do like to enjoy myself, but I have good morals, just the same. So,’ I said expectantly, seeing the effect my reasoning had
produced on his expression, ‘can’t we start again? Be friends? Please?’

  I felt I had said enough and gazed at him, my heart thrumming with anticipation, as he considered my words. I prayed I wouldn’t have to argue my case further. It had hit me like a thunderbolt that I would be devastated if I was forced to leave my Dartmoor home and all my new friends. Strangely enough, that included Sidney. I had grown used to his gruff ways, and I still lived in hope of persuading him to reveal more of my unknown past – now more than ever.

  I waited, hardly daring to breathe.

  ‘Does this mean I’ve got to cook the dinner, then?’ his response came at last.

  Something inside me heaved with relief, and for some reason I couldn’t quite fathom, I wanted to cry. I suppose the tensions of the day – my earlier row with Sidney and the shocking revelation, my throbbing ankle and the sullen individual who had rescued me – had broken over a crest and were now draining out of me. A reaction to it all now the crisis was over.

  ‘Oh, no,’ I assured him, swallowing the sudden ache in my throat. ‘I managed to make toad-in-the-hole. It’s already in the oven. And I’ve chopped up some cabbage to go with it.’

  ‘That’s all right then. But I’ll do the washing-up afterwards. Have I got time to do some digging in the garden?’

  ‘About half an hour.’ And then, feeling encouraged, I ventured, ‘The soil’s much better here, isn’t it?’

  He paused as he made for the back door, cocking an eyebrow. ‘Yes, it is, as it happens,’ he conceded.

  And I found myself smiling as I heard him go out.

  I dreamt about my saviour that night. He was a dark, oppressive hulk bearing down on me, his face distorted and his mouth laughing cruelly. I tried to run from him, but my ankle was burning in pain and I was fettered by my own leaden legs. He twisted his head to glare at me with a malevolent sneer, and as his black cloak swished open, I saw him withdraw a bloodied dagger from a white, woolly sheep.