by Ann Cliff
‘To develop our farms, with your help. I’ve always hoped for a wife who would take an interest in the farms – I want to try some of the new ideas, and improved breeds.’ Marcus laughed. ‘But only with you, Sally. That’s what happiness means to me … you, and eventually, our children.’ He paused. ‘I would like to continue to work with my father, but only if he accepts our marriage. If not … I’ll take my share of the estate, and leave him to the rest.’
They were speaking very quietly, but they’d been heard. There was a stealthy movement round them and a soft bleat or two. Sally looked round and realized that the Motley Flock had surrounded the log they were sitting on. Mary and Lavinia jostled themselves between herself and Marcus, gently but persistently. Marcus and Sally sat among the sheep, laughing quietly, but almost hysterically.
‘These sheep are determined to come between us! I remember very well the day we met on Camp Hill and you tried to disown them!’ Marcus could hardly speak for laughing.
‘But if they hadn’t strayed, we would never have met!’ Embarrassing though they were, Sally was grateful to the Flock.
Suddenly, Marcus grabbed Sally’s arm. ‘What’s that noise?’
There was a strange shuffling, grunting noise, a dragging noise at the end of the gill…. ‘I think it’s the badgers,’ she whispered back. ‘But they sound different tonight.’
Marcus and Sally went forward in the shadows, and there in a patch of moonlight, they saw a strange sight. A human figure was shuffling along, dragging a large sack across the turf. It was heading for the gate into the green lane, which now stood open. A good job the sheep haven’t seen it, Sally thought with part of her mind. From the heaving sack came a grunting and savage snarling that sounded like badgers at their rough games. It could only be—’ Somebody’s stealing the badgers!’ Sally yelled and the figure turned, then started to run.
Marcus sprinted ahead and grabbed the man round the knees, bringing him down. Getting one arm free, the man raised a cudgel. Sally caught up with them, twisted his arm and brought the weapon down hard on the man’s own head. ‘What have I done?’ Sally was appalled, as the figure slumped forward. But then she saw who it was. Sol Bartram, her true enemy. The man who had set Oliver Radford against her. And now, in yet another act of treachery, he was trying to steal the badgers of Badger’s Gill. She’d hit Sol! Sally almost felt like hitting him again.
Marcus wouldn’t let Sally touch the sack. ‘I’ll cut a hole in it,’ he said, drawing a knife from his pocket. Stand back, they’re bound to be angry.’ Two half grown badgers stumbled out of the sack and scuttled away into the darkness as fast as they could.
Sol Bartram began to groan, and Marcus looked down at him with contempt. ‘Taking badgers for baiting! I didn’t think anyone in Thorpe would stoop so low. But you’ve been trying to undermine Miss Mason for years! I know what you’ve been up to, Sol Bartram. I shall tell PC Brown all about you. And you’re fired. You will never work for my family again!’
‘Masons is rubbish! You should’ve let me have this farm. You Radfords don’t know what’s good for you! After all my years of slaving away for you lot and you treat me like this. I shan’t forget, see if I do!’ Rubbing his head, Sol slunk away.
‘Well done, Sally, my love. That stick would have knocked me out, if he’d had his way.’
Sally stood still, with the stick in her hand. A worrying thought had come to her. ‘Marcus, I – enjoyed hitting him. That’s wicked! But he’s been the chief cause of trouble, between Radfords and me … I suppose I’ll feel sorry for him, now.’
They walked slowly up to the house, and as Marcus looked down at her, Sally wondered what he really thought about her wilder tendencies.
‘You can be a bit fizzy, I’ve noticed. But you’re not wicked, Bo-Peep. I think you are the most wonderful girl in the world!’
TWENTY
Sally watched, holding her breath as the judge walked round the line of cattle drawn up for inspection. Primrose, proudly led by Joe in his best suit, was somewhere in the middle. She’s not the biggest cow there … but I think she’s the best! Sally just hoped that the judge agreed with her. In the end, wasn’t it a matter of personal opinion?
The excitement of competition and the rivalry with the Scotts had kept Sally going all week. Badger’s Gill had bustled with preparations; Jed and the trap had to be cleaned and polished and Emma needed to finish new dresses for herself and Sally. And most important of all, Primrose had to be in peak condition.
‘I’ll give her a drop of linseed oil,’ Joe suggested in the middle of the week. ‘Put a shine on her coat.’ Primrose’s tail and top line were trimmed, her hooves were polished and her coat was brushed every day. Sally rather wondered what she thought of it all, but the cow seemed to enjoy the attention. And now, on a fine and sunny Saturday in September, here they were!
The judge beckoned to Joe, and he walked slowly forward. Two other cows were also moved and there was a new line of three. Primrose was in the running for a place! This class was for the best milking cow and the winner would go forward to the championship. Best In Show.
‘Well done Sally, you’ve been placed!’ Uncle Samuel stood beside her, beaming. He sniffed the air. ‘I love the smell of a show … crushed grass, cows and horses … oh, my goodness girl, your cow has won!’
The judge waved Joe and Primrose to stand in front of the rest and a red rosette was pinned to her halter. First prize! Sally could hardly contain her joy. Looking round the showground the girl drew a deep breath, trying to compose herself. The world was full of bright colours; flags fluttered in the sun, the women’s dresses and hats were still in their summer brightness, although it was autumn now, a perfect autumn day.
A tall figure materialized at her other side. ‘Congratulations, Miss Mason!’ said Marcus formally and then he turned to Uncle Samuel. Sally hastily introduced them, hoping that Aunt Bertha wouldn’t appear from the produce tent.
Sally had written to her uncle to tell him about the new evidence, soon after she heard the story from Marcus. As a Mason he had the right to know; and she wanted Uncle Samuel on her side. Aunt Bertha had gone into hysterics when she heard that Sally knew Marcus Radford and had firmly refused to believe any good of the family.
The two men shook hands and the Reverend Samuel Mason said graciously, ‘I am very pleased to meet you, Mr Radford. Sally has told me that our families’ quarrel was the result of a misunderstanding.’
Other people came to congratulate the winner then and Sally went forward to speak to Joe. ‘It’s all your doing, Joe! You take the credit!’
Joe smiled, the rare High Side smile of pure joy. ‘Nay, miss, the breeding was there! You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s lug!’ He lowered his voice. ‘We’ll have a go at championship, but Best in Show is open to all comers. And Scotts have a good bull, won his class, we might have a job to beat him!’ Sally hadn’t really thought about beating her friends the Scotts, although Robin had teased her about the competition.
Joe and Primrose went off to the cattle lines to rest before their next appearance. Primrose walked proudly, as though she knew she had the red rosette. And because she was from Badger’s Gill, Primrose was afraid of nothing and took the crowded showground in her stride.
Emma had been with the Scotts, but now she came back to Sally, her face shining with happiness. ‘I’ve just been to the produce tent – your aunt is there, Sally, but she didn’t remember me. My butter got second prize, I’m so pleased!’ And she darted off again.
Sone after she saw Emma, Robin came over to Sally, laughing. ‘We’re in competition, Sal, by the look of it. I told you so! Our bull against your cow! Can you stand the excitement?’
‘Oh Robin, I don’t care who wins. This is just such a happy day!’ Marcus was there, still talking earnestly to Uncle Samuel. All was right with the world. Sally couldn’t remember a happier day since she was a little girl.
Robin moved closer. ‘I can tell you something to make yo
u even happier, Sal. I’ve come to an agreement with Mum and Dad … a sort of trade-off.’ He looked round at the crowd. ‘Where’s Emma? She should be here when I tell you this.’
‘Gone back to gloat over her butter, I believe.’
‘Well, I’ll tell you quickly. I’ve agreed to give up the idea of Australia. Too far for Ma, you see. I’d never be home again, she says.’
‘I am not surprised. But what’s the bargain?’
‘As soon as Emma turns eighteen we’re going to get married and take over one of the farms. That will give her a year to get used to the idea. Sal, we’ll be so happy!’
‘I know you will. I am so pleased, Robin. Can’t tell you my news just now, but soon, I will.’ And Sally refused to say any more.
‘It’s that Radford chap, isn’t it?’ Robin’s eyes were thoughtful as he looked at Marcus, who was just out of earshot.
Sally turned bright red.
‘I just hope he looks after you. He’ll have me to deal with, if he doesn’t!’
He sounds just like a brother, Sally thought happily. She went towards the produce tent to see Emma’s wonderful butter, but on the way, Marcus stopped her.
‘Are you allowed to speak to me today?’ Sally regretted the grim High Side comment as soon as it was made. ‘Sorry, Marcus. It’s not your fault!’
Marcus sighed, but Sally noticed that he looked full of suppressed excitement.
‘I have just asked your uncle formally to approve of our marriage, Sally.’ He spoke very quietly, with his back to the crowd. ‘And he said that he will be very pleased to marry us, with the agreement of the vicar at Thorpe of course.’
So Uncle Samuel had agreed to put the past behind them. Dear Uncle Samuel, who had always been loyal to her. ‘But – what about your family, Marcus?’ Sally looked round the crowd. There were bound to be other Radfords about.
‘Yes. My family is a problem, but we’ll work on it. They will just have to get used to the idea.’ Marcus looked very much like his father as he spoke. ‘I’m not sure where to start, but with you on my side, I’ll win in the end!’
In the produce tent many ladies were admiring the winning entries of classes for butter, cheese, jams and pickles and deep yellow sponge cakes. Badger’s Gill had won second prize for both butter and cheese, Sally noticed with pleasure. She’d been too busy watching Primrose to see what happened when the cheese was judged. The fierce rivalry between Kirkby and Thorpe was nowhere fiercer than in the produce tent and Sally was pleased that she’d earned a few points for Thorpe, the smaller, poorer village higher up the hill.
Aunt Bertha was sitting on a chair at the side of the tent, fanning herself. ‘There you are, my dear child! Why do you spend so much time out there with the men? A proper lady’s place is here!’
‘We’ve just won a prize with a cow, Aunt,’ Sally said quietly.
Aunt Bertha would never understand what it meant to Badger’s Gill that Primrose had won. That all the years of careful selection, all the preparation, had paid off.
‘But you can leave that to the workers! It seems so vulgar to walk among cattle and have your dress smelling of the farmyard! So unladylike, my dear!’ She lowered her voice and leaned towards Sally. ‘Who made your dress? It is really rather too – modern, for my taste. Should you not be wearing black?’
Sally looked down at her pretty green dress, with the ruched bodice and fitted waist. Emma was a very good dressmaker and the dress made Sally look a little more rounded, without taking away from her slimness.
‘You must give me the name of your dressmaker, Sally. I would like to guide her as to what would be suitable for you to wear. And with your unfortunate hair colour, black is really your only option, I feel.’
‘Thank you, Aunt Bertha.’ Sally escaped as soon as she could, leaving the stuffy tent with relief. Aunt Bertha had lost the battle for Sally’s soul and was clutching at straws. Wait until she heard about the marriage! She hoped that Uncle Samuel would break it gently to his wife. But of course the Radford money and estates might eventually bring her round; Aunt Bertha had a healthy respect for money and possessions. Strange, thought Sally, I’d never thought of Marcus and money. Marcus himself, rich or poor, is my man. Goodness! I’ll have to get used to that.
The band was playing and Sally wandered round the showground enjoying the festival atmosphere. It would soon be time for the final judging of the champion of the show. Sally went with Robin and Emma to the refreshment tent, where they drank home-made lemonade, ate scones and laid modest bets with each other on which animal would win. Marcus had disappeared, presumably on Radford business and Sally decided it was probably a good thing. In Ripon they had been hardly noticed. But at the Kirkby show, where everybody knew everybody else, a Radford could hardly be seen with a Mason without causing a stir. Eventually, as Marcus said, they’d all have to get used to it. But perhaps not yet.
‘There’s a big heifer from Dallagill, was in another class to ours,’ Joe whispered to Sally, as he gave Primrose a last brush. ‘That there might beat all us Thorpe folks.’
The championship took an agonizing length of time. Sally was at the ringside with Robin and Emma, as all the animals were slowly paraded round the ring. The crowd watched critically; most of them knew their cattle and they all loved competition. After what seemed to Sally like hours, the judge – a different one this time – drew out the Scott’s bull. A pause. Then he beckoned forward the big heifer, which stumbled slightly, tripping over her feet as she went forward. There was another pause. And then, slowly, the judge walked around Primrose once again. The little animal seemed to pose for the judge, one forefoot in front of the other, head up, standing quite still. The way an animal stood could make quite a difference, Sally realized; the big heifer was graceless, compared to Primrose. The judge beckoned Joe forward. Primrose was in the final!
Afterwards, Sally couldn’t quite remember the sequence of events. Primrose, after further agony of waiting, was the winner. The Supreme Champion of the Kirkby Agricultural Show. ‘Hurrah!’ The cheers went up from all the young lads of Thorpe, pleased to see their village on top. Emma, Robin and Sally hugged each other and Sally had tears in her eyes. ‘If only Father were here!’
But soon, Robin reminded Sally that she would have to go up, be presented and make a speech. She would receive the cup, up on that platform, from the show president. In a few minutes’ time! ‘But I’ve never made a speech in my life!’ Sally wailed, appalled. This was one contingency for which she was not prepared.
‘Just look modest, if you can. I don’t suppose you’re feeling modest, Sal, but it’s expected! You needn’t say much, just thank you and all that. Blush prettily, you’re good at that! The crowd will love it – much more interesting than a win by a noble lord, or a big estate.’
Robin was teasing her, but Sally was truly alarmed. She went behind a tent and tried to brush out her tangled curls and smooth her dress. Out of sight of the crowd, she was alone for a moment and took a deep breath. What Sally saw next took her mind off the ordeal to come. Looking over to where the horses were tethered under some trees, Sally automatically looked along the line for Jed, just to check that he was not too restless. It was a long time for a horse to wait. And she saw a figure creeping along, dodging from trap to trap, with something in its hand – a knife? Straining her eyes, Sally saw that it was Sol Bartram. When he reached Jed, Sol stopped and Sally saw the knife slash upwards as the man cut the tethering rope. Jed threw up his head and the knife flashed again. The horse had obviously been slashed; he reared and kicked and galloped off in the direction of the ring.
Seconds after the horse was released, another figure came out of the crowd with amazing speed, grabbed the halter rope and hung on grimly. It was Marcus, being dragged over the ground, but slowly winning. Before the horse reached the people, a farm boy had jumped to the rescue and between them, Marcus and the boy managed to halt the terrified animal. A few yards more, and Jed would have galloped into a group of childre
n.
Sally ran down to the horse but PC Brown, puffing, was there before her. ‘Saw the whole thing,’ he said solemnly. ‘Charges will be laid. And will you be a witness, sir? Are you all right, sir?’
Marcus was bleeding from grazes and holding his shoulder. But when he saw Sally’s anxious face, he smiled. ‘It’s nothing, just a scratch or two. He was bent on real mischief, this time! That horse could have killed someone!’
Spitting and swearing, Sol was led away. Sally wondered why, if PC Brown had been watching, the crime couldn’t have been prevented. And it now seemed that Marcus had been tailing Sol for some time. ‘He came out of the beer tent half an hour ago, after an argument with someone and I thought he looked like trouble. It’s my job in any case, to keep an eye on trouble makers … I’m on the show committee, we try to keep the peace.’ Marcus wiped his face with a handkerchief. He looked rather the worse for wear, with green stains on his tweed jacket.
‘Why pick on poor Jed?’ Sally’s eyes were blazing. She rummaged in the trap and found some salve, which she spread very carefully on the horse’s wound. Then she looked round to see Marcus laughing.
‘I could do with some of that salve, lass, when you’ve finished with the horse! You’re a real farmer, that’s quite clear!’
Sally was mortified. ‘Oh, Marcus, I’m so sorry! I should have attended to you first!’ She put the herbal ointment on his bleeding hands, which had rope burns. ‘Comfrey, it heals very quickly,’ she assured him.
Marcus pulled his jacket on and looked over to the show ring. ‘It’s time for the presentation, Sally. You’d better hurry!’
There was no time now for composing dignified speeches. This was it. Stepping up to the platform, Sally saw the sea of faces and her heart nearly stood still.
‘They’ve called your name! Go up there!’ A steward called her urgently and Sally went up the steps and advanced timidly to meet the show president. She looked up and found herself staring into the implacable face of Oliver Radford. The enemy! She’d had no idea that he was the president of this show. Why hadn’t someone told her?
