Bitter Inheritance

by Ann Cliff

  Walking stiffly after her long cold drive, Sally crossed over to the manager’s office and the young groom announced, ‘Young lady to see you, sir.’

  The manager looked up from accounts, obviously surprised. ‘Good day, miss.’

  Sally went up to the desk and took a deep breath. This man might be able to help. He would know the best way to impress Oliver Radford. ‘Mr Hill? I’m Sally Mason and we farm Badger’s Gill at Thorpe. I wrote to Mr Radford about three weeks ago, asking to keep the tenancy. But today I came to ask him myself. To explain that I and my staff’ – she’d thought of that one, driving over the moor – ‘are quite capable of running the farm properly.’

  The manager stroked his beard. ‘Badger’s Gill? You’ll be Robert’s daughter, then. I knew your father when we were young. He was a good man, Robert, very conscientious. Come to the fire, you must be cold.’

  A good start; he’s known Father. Sally moved nearer, grateful for the warmth of the fire. ‘Then you’ll know the story. I’ve been asked to leave, about a month after Father died. I believe I saw you at his funeral?’

  The man nodded. ‘Big turnout, wasn’t it? Robert was well-liked and he died before his time.’

  ‘I wonder whether you can help me? Can you persuade Mr Radford to let me keep the farm?’ He might do that, for Robert’s sake. ‘We never made a great deal of money, but we treated the land well, and the stock too. We farmed well, rather than trying to make a quick profit.’ The manager was listening attentively, which was encouraging. Sally decided to press on. ‘Mr Hill, I am farming well. We always took a pride in Badger’s Gill. But I have a feeling that Mr Radford believes otherwise. The agent, Mr Bartram, is always finding fault with me. I gather that he has told Mr Radford that I’m not capable of farming. But it’s not true!’

  Looking rather regretful, the manager shook his head. ‘Miss Mason, you’d be better off marrying a young man with a farm of his own and forgetting about independence.’ He smiled in a fatherly way.

  Sally’s hope evaporated, as she realized that this was another man who thought that a woman’s place was in the home, not managing a farm.

  Mr Hill seemed to feel sorry for her. ‘A bonny lass like you should have the pick of all the young farmers on the High Side! And then you’d have the benefit of a man to look after you, and farm men to do the heavy work.’

  Sally smiled dutifully, but stuck to the point. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know many young farmers. But you will remember that Badger’s Gill was ours, once. I’d like to keep it.’ And buy it back for my children, if I ever have any, she added to herself. If ever I make enough money, or find out where Father kept his. ‘So – what chance do you think I have?’

  Mr Hill turned in his seat, rather uneasily. ‘Sit down, Miss Mason. I shouldn’t keep you standing.’ He fiddled with the papers on his desk. Sally waited. ‘It’s hard to know what to say to you, my dear. I am afraid there’s not much chance of changing Mr Radford’s mind. There’s the old quarrel, for one thing – Radfords and Masons don’t agree. But you’ll know about that.’

  Sally shook her head. ‘I realize that this is a problem, but Father never told me any details about it.’ The hot fire was making her cheeks burn. ‘I know there was a quarrel, but no more.’ She knew that Father had resented the way in which the Radfords bought the farm. Mother had never once mentioned the Radfords, a silence that was ominous in itself.

  ‘Oh, dear … well, there’s a matter of a death between them.’ The manager avoided her eyes.

  ‘You mean a murder?’ Sally looked at him, wanting to know the truth. ‘Please tell me. I’m a Mason, I think I’ve a right to know.’

  ‘Nobody knows for sure. It concerned your grandfather; he’s been dead for about ten years, hasn’t he? Radfords and Masons were friendly – the two boys, Billy and Samuel, grew up together. Billy was Oliver’s father, of course.’

  There was a pause. So, thought Sally, she’d known that they were friendly, once.

  ‘And then one day when they were in their thirties, with wives and families, they both went off into Foxholes Wood. I think they were taking a short cut to Dallagill, to buy sheep.’

  ‘So what happened?’ A murder in the family would take a lot of getting used to. Sally was almost afraid to hear what came next.

  ‘And only one came back. Samuel Mason came back. Billy Radford was never seen again.’

  Sally said slowly, ‘And Radfords blamed Samuel Mason? What exactly happened, do you think?’

  The manager stood up, as if to end the interview. ‘Yes, Radfords were very bitter, still are. Your grandfather, Samuel Mason, he swore he hadn’t done it. Nothing was ever proved, either way. Samuel was a decent man, as far as I ever knew. I remember him as Robert’s father of course, a very reserved man. As he might be, after all the fuss.’

  Grandfather had been quiet, Sally remembered. He didn’t take part in the community’s activities. But he went to church, and helped the vicar in little ways.

  ‘But that might be why, when he got the chance, Oliver bought Mason’s farm. I’m not sure why he bought it, unless he wanted revenge. So it looks as though he’ll not be likely to leave you there.’ His tone was final.

  Mr Hill opened the door. ‘I’m sorry, Miss Mason. None of it’s your fault. Your father should’ve told you years ago. But just to give you an idea of how things are now, I didn’t tell Mr Radford that I was going to your father’s funeral. He wouldn’t have liked that. And I think it best not to tell him that you’ve visited today.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Hill,’ Sally whispered, and crept back to the trap utterly crushed. She’d had no idea of how bad things were between the two families. What might have happened if Oliver Radford had been at home? Just as well that he wasn’t. Sally felt shocked once again. Robin had shocked her earlier, but that didn’t seem to matter now. Even so, two shocks in one day were quite enough. Sally wanted to get back home back to her familiar routine as quickly as possible.

  The sky had a heavy look, promising snow. The huge buildings and impressive house looked unfriendly. Radford possessions, the enemy stronghold. And now she knew how unfriendly they might be. Sally patted Jed, a symbol of home. Jed was bored and wanted to be off, so he wheeled smartly and trotted off as soon as she untied the reins and climbed on board. Pity there was no one in the yard to see them go.

  Clopping down the track to the Pateley road, Sally thought about her father. He’d tried to shield her from this ugly story, she realized. He’d thought that it was all forgotten and his father had surely never spoken of it. And now it had risen up to haunt her. Poor Father! How it must have irked him, to pay rent to Radfords.

  ‘Come on, Jed, we’ll soon be home!’ she urged, and the horse responded. They reached the main road as the first flakes of snow began to fall. Her nervous excitement, all her hope, had vanished and Sally felt very tired indeed. But she urged on the horse, trying to cover the ground quickly as the snow whirled round them, narrowing their world down to a few yards of moorland. Sally was not afraid of missing the road. She knew that it would take a great deal of snow to cover the track and there were various landmarks like the Drovers’ Inn, which would be coming up soon on the left. Once past there, she knew the way quite well in all weathers. She and Jed were cold and wet and both of them wanted to get home.

  Tired as she was, Sally’s mind was whirring, trying to find a solution to the Radford problem. What if she saw Oliver Radford and made him believe that the old quarrel was nothing to do with the present? She was jerked back to the immediate present with a jolt. A black grouse rose suddenly from the side of the road and rushed across in front of them under the horse’s feet. Young Jed reared and Sally, unable to control him, saw his front hooves coming up above his head.

  ‘Whoa, boy! Steady, now!’ She stood up and pulled frantically on the reins. The terrified horse then jumped away from the bird into the ditch. The shafts twisted and the trap slowly turned over on its side. In a moment Sally was in the snow, her face
in the bank at the far side of the ditch. She hit her head on a stone and passed out.

  When Sally came back to consciousness she could hear the horse neighing loudly, obviously frightened, but dimly, from far away. She concentrated with some difficulty. With a splintering sound, Jed kicked and pulled until he was free from the shafts. He cantered down the road a little way and then pulled up, and it sounded as though he started to nibble at the short moorland grass that poked through the snow.

  Sally was glad the horse didn’t seem to be too badly injured, or so frightened that he would gallop for miles and get lost. A more experienced horse might have shied, but probably would not have reacted by bolting into the ditch. Jed had seen a lot of ground birds, pheasants and partridges, in the lanes near Thorpe; he should have known better!

  Confused and with an aching head, Sally tried to struggle free but the trap surrounded her and was too heavy to move. It blocked her from getting away from the bank. She’d been lucky that it didn’t fall on top of her … it was hard to think. Sally drifted off again and when she resurfaced the snow seemed to have stopped. She could hear Jed munching grass not far off. At least if anyone came by they would see the horse. But how many folks were likely to travel on this road on a snowy winter afternoon? Not many. It was very cold and she’d forgotten to put on the driving cape. Sally fumbled around until she found it and managed to drag some of it across her. Martha’s words came back to her then, with force. ‘And they don’t find you until spring.’ She tried again to get free, without success.

  An hour later Sally was ready to give up. The cold had numbed her until she didn’t care any more; all her problems had floated away. Dimly she heard Jed give a whinny, and sounds of another horse approaching. Would it be friend or foe? Sally had heard tales of travellers in trouble being assaulted and robbed on the moor. Some of the more isolated moorlanders were very wild folk, especially at this side of the divide, they always said in Thorpe. Even the carriers who crossed the moors with goods were suspected of evil deeds. She should have let Joe come with her. At that moment Sally was willing to admit that there were times when a man could come in useful. Robbers would hardly attack a man like Joe.

  A deep voice said, ‘Hello, there’s been an accident. Anyone in there?’

  ‘Yes!’ Sally’s voice was a squeak. Friend or foe, she needed help to survive.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ The voice was concerned and sounded familiar.

  ‘Not much, but I can’t get out – the trap’s too heavy!’

  There was a small gap at one side and a face appeared. ‘Oh, what a mess!’

  ‘Marcus!’ Sally was flooded with relief. To her shame, she started to cry. Marcus had appeared, for the third time in her life. It seemed symbolic to her, light-headed as she was, that of all the people in the world, the Roman soldier had come to find her. Everything was going to be fine.

  ‘Well, it’s Bo-Peep! You poor lass! I’ll go down to the Drovers’ for help. Won’t be long, we’ll have you out in no time.’ Hoofbeats thudded down the road, muffled by the snow. Marcus was going for help. Sally couldn’t think of a better rescuer.

  It took a couple of gamekeepers and the landlord of the inn, as well as Marcus, to get Sally out and the trap back on the road. A keeper caught the rather subdued Jed and ran his hand down the horse’s legs. ‘Not much, just a deep scratch or two. No bones broken. We’ll put him in the Drovers’ stables for now.’

  Looking at the damage to the vehicle, Marcus shook his head. ‘Not good, but it’s mendable. Let’s look after you first, young lady. Do you come this way often, all alone in bad weather?’ He looked down at her, his deep brown eyes anxious. Sally stumbled and he put an arm round her. ‘Now, I know we haven’t been formally introduced, and one should never pick up a lady without an introduction. But I also remember very well that we’ve met! You’re the little china shepherdess and I’m a Roman soldier. I’m going to carry you to the inn.’ He spoke lightly, perhaps to lessen the shock.

  Sally arrived at the Drovers’, wet and bedraggled, carried easily by Marcus and weeping weak tears of relief. The Drovers’ Inn was used to catering for weary travellers. It was an ancient building with a low, beamed ceiling and stone floors. There was a roaring wood fire in the bar, and a big settle in an ingle nook with warm rag rugs at their feet.

  Marcus gently took the driving cape from Sally and put it by the fire to dry. He looked down at her with such concern that she blushed and turned away. The intrepid adventurer was in pain, with an aching head. Her feet and hands ached so badly as the circulation came back that she pleaded to sit away from the fire for a while. They sat at one of the tables and Marcus made Sally drink a small glass of whisky. She began to feel more normal after a while and tried to thank him, but he waved it aside.

  ‘Just rest, Bo-Peep, and get warm. I am so thankful I was here at the right time. I don’t use this road more than once a month.’

  The landlord produced bowls of thick pea soup and hunks of crusty bread and Sally found she was hungry. Then he left them alone. Marcus ate with her and talked quietly about all manner of subjects; anything except horses and spills. Sally felt that he was doing his best to get her over the shock of the accident, understanding how she felt. She felt herself being ever more drawn to this man, and not just because he’d rescued her.

  Marcus had read books that Sally knew and was interested in local history, archaeology and natural science. She realized that she’d missed this kind of conversation since her father died. Their talk was wide ranging, but it never touched on personal matters.

  When the grandfather clock struck the hour they both looked up in amazement. ‘I suppose you’re on business, and I’m holding you up. I’m very sorry,’ Sally said.

  ‘My errand was not urgent. I can go there tomorrow instead,’ Marcus said easily. ‘The keepers are trying to mend the trap and I’m hoping you’ll be home before dark. But I’m not sure you should drive. I think I should drive you home to make sure that you have no more adventures.’

  It sounded sensible, but it wouldn’t be fair. ‘I live at Thorpe, it’s a long way for you to drive on a winter day. I’m Sally Mason from Badger’s Gill.’ Sally pushed back her hair, which had dried and was curling round her face in its usual wayward fashion.

  Marcus looked down at her, his face sad. With a rush of feeling, Sally felt like reaching out to comfort him. A moment before he’d been talking wittily, but now he had a haunted look. ‘I know who you are, Sally.’ He took her hand and his voice was low, and full of emotion. ‘I have often thought about you since the day we met. But I wish you were not Miss Mason from Badger’s Gill.’

  Sally stared at him. ‘Why is that?’

  ‘Because my name is Marcus Radford.’ The enemy! Marcus was … another shock, on a day of shocks.

  The enemy leaned forward and kissed her cheek. ‘It seems that we can never be friends, Miss Mason. You won’t want to know me now! I can’t tell you how much I regret it.’ He stood up. ‘My father, Oliver, has suggested that I shouldn’t see you again.’ The strong voice deepened a little. Marcus went out and Sally could hear him asking the men whether the trap was fit to drive.

  Sally waited a long time until her heart stopped thumping. When Marcus came back she said, ‘As a conversation stopper, that’s the best I’ve heard.’

  Marcus laughed then and the tension eased. ‘Thank you, Bo-Peep! That’s the sort of reaction I’d expect from you. I’m sorry if I sounded melodramatic but the fact is, both our families are very bitter and set against each other. And it matters, in farming families and in communities like ours.’

  Sally breathed deeply. ‘Marcus, I understand some of the story. Today Mr Hill told me that there was a death, possibly a murder involved. I’m afraid I’d never heard about it before.’

  ‘You met Hill? You’ve been to Nidd Grange?’ Oliver’s son was startled.

  ‘To ask for the tenancy.’ Sally was too weary to go into details. ‘If you spoke to your father about me you’ll k
now that he’s told me to leave.’

  Marcus shook his head sadly and changed the subject. ‘Well, your horse and trap are ready to go, ma’am.’ Sally put on her driving cape, which had dried by the fire. As he held open the door for her Marcus said quietly, ‘I’ve paid the bill. It’s a gentleman’s privilege, you know.’

  Sally fired up immediately, fiercely independent. ‘I can’t let you do that!’

  ‘Imagine that we have been dining in a fashionable restaurant. A lady would never offer to pay the bill in such a place – so why here?’ He was laughing at her. ‘The lads wouldn’t take any pay for the repairs, so I left the price of a drink at the bar for them.’

  ‘I will go to thank them,’ said Sally firmly, but she wobbled a little as she walked out.

  There was no question of Sally driving home alone across the moor. Marcus simply tied his horse to the back of the trap, handed Sally up and then jumped up and took the reins.

  Sally would never forget that drive with Marcus. Sitting close together, but looking at the road ahead they talked easily. And Marcus seemed to want to clear the air and talk about the families and their old quarrel. This time they were on a personal level without any barriers, as they watched the snow clouds piling up in the distance. They were taking their time. Jed’s knees were sore and Marcus did not hurry him.

  ‘I’m sorry you had to hear about the old story, Sally. But you’ll understand, you’re from a family of farmers yourself. It’s a blessing and also a curse, but we are closer as families than people who live in towns. Closer to our parents and grandparents, because we work with them and we are their hope for the future. And this means that when they have very strong feelings about anything, we try to please them.’ He smiled. ‘Or we’ve been brought up to think as they do.’

  Sally agreed. ‘I know a few farmers’ sons and daughters who stay at home on the farm just to please the old folks! Yes, I worked with my father and mother quite happily. But some of the girls I knew at school couldn’t wait to leave home and didn’t see much of their parents at all.’