After the sickness was over, she sank down on the chair again, her hand on her belly, and forced herself to bend over and pick up the letter. She read it through twice and with each word the conviction that this sheet of paper carried more than mere words grew. This letter held the power to infect her lass’s mind. It was a disease, a canker, and as she swayed back and forth on the chair any remaining sympathy for the boy she had always called ‘poor Wilfred’ evaporated. This was sick, evil, and if Cora read this it would seed itself like a growth inside her and send out tentacles that would choke everything that was good and clean and wholesome in the future, everything that she and her Jed might share. That bit about looking out of her babies’ eyes, that wasn’t normal. None of it was normal. In death, even more than in life, Wilfred was seeking to control and manipulate every facet of Cora’s life, and to say he would be waiting for her . . .
Nancy shivered, drawing her coat more closely round her, but the chill was from within. After some minutes she stood up. Some of the other neighbours would be calling round soon with their offerings for the funeral; she didn’t have long for what she knew she had to do but she was feeling bad. The pains in her stomach that had begun when she had first seen the white figure in the armchair were gathering pace and she knew what they meant. The baby was coming.
She walked back into the front room after putting the letter and the envelope into her coat pocket, and picked up the empty pill bottle from the coffee table, slipping that into her pocket too. It took all her willpower to touch the body, but when she lifted Wilfred’s arm rigor mortis had not yet set in. She knew from laying out her own mother that this normally occurred some four to six hours after death, so he must have died after five o’clock, perhaps as dawn broke? No doubt he had waited for some time after Cora had left him the night before, hoping she would return, before then making his plans. She imagined him sitting quietly drinking the hours away before he finished it by swallowing the pills. She shivered again. This was worse, much worse than some spontaneous thing. But the fact that he’d left it so late suited what she had in mind.
Knowing she had to be stronger in mind and body than she had ever been before, Nancy steeled herself and bent to put her arms round Wilfred’s waist. As she did so, for a split second she thought she saw a flicker in the wide staring eyes, something dark and malevolent, and so real was it that she stumbled backwards, nearly falling. She straightened, her heart pounding, and when she looked again there was nothing. She had imagined it, she told herself faintly, and was it any wonder after reading that letter?
Again she bent, lifting the body and ignoring the pain ripping through her belly as she sent Wilfred thudding against the coffee table to lie in a crumpled heap at the side of it. His head had made hard contact with the wood but she didn’t pause to inspect any damage. Once more forcing herself, she picked up the glass and wrapped one of his hands round it, turning the whisky bottle on its side so that the last drops dribbled out on the wood. Standing back, she surveyed her handiwork.
She saw a young lad who, on the night before his mam’s funeral and having only lost his da some weeks before, had drunk himself silly and on trying to get up, no doubt to go to bed, had fallen and cracked his head on the coffee table. An accident. Tragic, terrible, but an accident.
Nancy was breathing hard, the pains in her belly fierce.
That’s what she saw, she told herself as she stumbled out of the room and into the kitchen, but would it be what others, the doctor for one, saw? But she couldn’t worry about that now. She had done all she could.
Somehow she made it back to her own kitchen and took off her coat and boots. It had begun snowing again, big fat flakes tumbling out of a laden sky, and she sighed in relief. The snow would fast cover her footsteps just in case anyone noticed them in Wilfred’s back yard. Within a short while you wouldn’t know anyone had called there this morning.
Reaching in her coat pocket she took out Wilfred’s letter and without hesitating threw it into the fire. It flared briefly and then was gone. Next she prised off the label on the pill bottle and disposed of that in the same way before opening the medical box she kept in the kitchen cupboard which held bandages and bits and pieces. She stuffed the bottle at the bottom of it. An empty bottle, innocent and innocuous.
The pains were coming thick and fast now but she pulled on her slippers and put the kettle on the hob before going into the yard and shouting over the garden wall to her neighbour on the other side from the Huttons. She and Flora went back a long way and Flora had had ten bairns; she’d know what to do now because as sure as eggs were eggs this baby was coming within the next hour or so.
Flora poked her head out of the window and when Nancy explained what was happening and that she was alone in the house, gasping between pains, she heard Flora shouting instructions for her Tom to fetch the midwife before she tore out of her house and into Nancy’s back yard, just as Nancy’s waters broke in a biblical flood.
With Flora’s help she got back into the kitchen but both women knew she would never make it upstairs. This baby was going to be born on the clippy mat in front of the range and unless the midwife had wings on her heels, Flora was going to be the one to deliver it.
The pain she remembered from old had her in its grip and it had taken control like an express train, but as the urge to push became unstoppable Nancy was conscious of a feeling of deep peace over and above the agony. Cora would never read that letter that had carried within it seeds of something terrible. Whether she herself lived or died now, what she had done this morning was between her and her Maker. No one else, not even Greg, would know about it. She had made some unforgivable mistakes in her life but this was not one of them and God knew that. And then she gave herself over fully to the process of bringing new life into the world.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was getting dark when Cora trudged up the lane that led to Stone Farm later that afternoon. There had been a number of delays on the journey due to the adverse weather conditions, and a couple of times she had doubted the last train would get through when eight-foot drifts of snow either side of the track proved a problem, but eventually she climbed down from the train at the small station in the little market town she had first arrived at years before with her siblings in tow.
Only one other person left the train with her, a tall, rather distinguished gentleman with snow-white hair and an expensive-looking leather overnight bag, and Cora stood on the platform looking about her for the stationmaster on disembarking. It had stopped snowing just after midday, but the snow was deep and she doubted any taxis would be out on such a night. Quite how she was going to get to Rachel’s she didn’t know. If the worst came to the worst she supposed she would have to walk but it was miles, and the half-an-hour or so journey by horse and cart through little hamlets and farming country would take much longer by Shanks’s pony. Still, if she had to so be it and she had dressed with the weather in mind that morning in her stout if somewhat ugly boots and with several layers beneath her winter coat.
She saw the stationmaster come out of his cottage and exchange a few words with the white-haired gentleman, and as soon as they’d finished she hurried over. He stared at her in surprise. ‘I didn’t know there was anyone else on the train besides Major Maitcham,’ he said before she could speak. ‘Where are you bound for, miss, on a night like this?’
She had made up her mind she was going to see Rachel before she went to see Jed, and now she said, ‘Stone Farm. Do you know it?’
The stationmaster prided himself on knowing every hamlet and farm within a fifty-mile radius of his station, and now he nodded. ‘The Burns place, aye, but even if I call you a taxi there’ll not be one willing to take off on them country roads in this snow. Treacherous it is in places. Here, come with me, miss, I’ve an idea,’ and before she could object he had taken her arm and was hurrying her out of the station premises and into the lane beyond. There, just beginning to trundle off in the winter twilight, was a car
t pulled by two big powerful horses, with a driver and the white-haired gentleman sitting side by side, deep in conversation.
‘Major Maitcham?’ As the stationmaster called out the cart stopped and when Cora and her good Samaritan came alongside, the stationmaster said, ‘Major, this young lady needs a knight in shining armour and I thought you might fit the bill. She wants to get to Stone Farm which I believe is on the way to the estate, sir? I wondered if you’d be so kind as to drop her off as you pass?’
‘Delighted, delighted.’ With an agility that belied his years, the major jumped down from the cart and assisted Cora up onto the long plank seat, introducing the other man as his estate manager. Tucking a thick rug round her legs, he said cheerfully, ‘Filthy night, isn’t it, m’dear, but you can trust old Ned and Zak to get us home safely, isn’t that right, McHaffie?’
‘None better, sir. None better.’
‘That’s right, that’s right.’ The major beamed at Cora and nodded to the stationmaster. ‘We’ll be on our way then before the next lot comes down. Pity about the snow, m’dear. You’d be riding in more comfort if McHaffie had met me with the car but with the roads as they are it wouldn’t cut the mustard. Four wheels are very nice and quite addictive, I might add, but in weather like this nothing beats the horses. Get you from one end of the country to the other, Ned and Zak, and no need to worry about petrol rationing either, what!’
Cora smiled as she thanked the major. She had heard of him from her time in Northumberland and knew he owned a large estate to the west of Stone Farm. She had always imagined the gentry to be somewhat standoffish but the major was lovely. Relaxing a little now she knew she was in safe hands, she waved goodbye to the stationmaster as McHaffie clicked his tongue at the horses and they began to plod off.
It was a pleasant enough journey. The major was clearly delighted to have a captive audience and he regaled her with story after story of his time in the army. All Cora had to do was to ooh and aah a little at the appropriate pauses which was just as well, because in truth her mind was on Jed and their forthcoming meeting. She had planned to refresh herself at Rachel’s and have something to eat before going along to see Jed. It would be more sensible to wait until the following day but she didn’t want to be sensible. If she had to battle her way through a bit of snow so what? she told herself stoutly, as her heart continued to race and jump like a mad thing the way it had done ever since she had read Rachel’s letter and found out he was alive.
It was dark when they reached the two big wooden gates that were always open and which led to the farm along a winding track. She insisted to the major that she could walk perfectly well from this point, thanked him once more for his kindness and jumped down from the cart without waiting for him to assist her. She stood and watched until the cart disappeared from view and then picked up her bag and walked through the gates. It felt like coming home.
Due to the blanket of snow coating the countryside and a full moon sailing in the sky she could see her way as clearly as if it was daytime. The fields either side of the track were devoid of cattle; all the cows would be housed inside the barns now, and the smooth expanse of unbroken snow glittered in the deep frost that was falling. It was bitterly cold but Cora didn’t feel it, not even when the snow came over her boots in parts of the track and began to melt and squelch as she walked.
By the time she reached the farmyard and entered its courtyard she was breathing hard, but she sped across this and through the archway leading to the path to the farmhouse. There she stopped for a moment, a huge lump in her throat. She was so glad to be back, even if it was only for a day or two.
Pulling herself together, she walked up to the front door. It was the first time she had used the big brass knocker; when she had been living at the farm they had all used the kitchen entrance without exception, but somehow that seemed as though she would be taking liberties, having been away so long. There was a light shining behind the closed curtains of the parlour window so she hoped Rachel would hear her. After Farmer Burns had died and she and the others had moved into the bedrooms of the main house, they had often transferred to the parlour once they’d finished their evening meal to read or play games or just sit and talk in front of the roaring fire.
She knocked twice, and when the door opened and she saw Rachel standing there she tried to speak but the lump in her throat choked her.
Rachel’s eyes opened wide and then her face split into a Cheshire cat grin as she said, ‘Cora, lass, I can’t believe it. Come in, come in. You’re a sight for sore eyes. Is this about Jed and the letter I sent? I thought you might write but I never expected this. I was so worried I might have put my foot in it about Wilfred.’
Cora was in the hall now with Rachel hugging her, and the older woman still continued to speak as she led Cora into the parlour where the heat from the blazing fire in the grate enveloped her frozen limbs. It was only as Cora shivered convulsively that Rachel stopped her gabbling, pushing Cora down into an armchair as she said, ‘You’re freezing and no wonder. Here, take them boots off.’ She knelt down in front of Cora, removing first one sodden boot and then the other, whereupon she began chaffing her feet still in her wet stockings. ‘You take them off while I go and get you a bite to eat, and then we’ll talk proper.’ Rachel stood up, but again she hugged Cora, saying, ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you, lass. I can’t tell you how often I think of you in a day. Now get warm, get warm,’ and so saying she darted out of the room.
Cora sat staring after her friend and she had to smile. She hadn’t been able to get a word in edgeways. Rachel was so different now from the dour, waspish creature of yesteryear. She even looked different today. Cora was sure Rachel had put on some weight and it suited her, as did her new hairdo. Gone was the severe bun and instead soft curls framed her thin face, giving it the appearance of being plumper.
By the time Rachel had returned carrying a tray with a big bowl of steaming vegetable soup and several slices of crusty home-made bread on it, Cora had divested herself of her stockings and coat and was toasting her feet on the fender. Rachel beamed at her. ‘Get this down you, lass. It’ll warm you up from the inside. And while you do I’ll fill you in on all the news hereabouts although I daresay there’s only one thing you’re interested in, eh, lass?’
‘Two things.’ Cora smiled. ‘Your wedding is one of them. I’m so pleased for you both and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Jack’s a very lucky man and you can tell him that from me.’
‘I’m the lucky one, Cora.’ Rachel was suddenly sober-faced. ‘He knows all about Bernard and what he was, and about poor Enid too. I told him that poor lass would be alive now if I’d done something, and I should have. I should have. Enid’ll haunt me to my dying day, I know that. But he doesn’t condemn me like so many would. He said I’m a victim too, that anyone who came into contact with Bernard was intimidated by him. Apparently there was talk about him for years in the village, about what he got up to when he went further afield. I never knew that, but people aren’t daft, are they, lass?’
Cora wasn’t sure about that. Looking back, she could see she’d been daft, or perhaps too trusting would describe it better, where Wilfred was concerned. Now she said, ‘There’s something I need to tell you. It all came to light when you wrote me that letter . . .’
Rachel listened without interrupting and when Cora finished speaking they remained quiet for some moments. Then Rachel nodded. ‘I had guessed that Jed killed Bernard, of course, at least we thought it was Jed, didn’t we, but anyway, I knew he’d got his just desserts at long last. I can’t blame Wilfred for doing him in, in fact I think he deserves a medal for that particular act, Cora, but what followed . . .’ Rachel shook her head. ‘I always knew that what Wilfred felt for you wasn’t normal. It’s one thing to care about someone, and from what you told me about his mam and da I’m not saying he didn’t have it hard as a bairn, but then so do thousands of others and they don’t obsess about a lass to the point of madness. If you had agreed
to stay in these parts he’d have stepped into Jed’s shoes at the Crofts’ farm without a second thought.’
‘I know that.’
They stared at each other for a moment more and then Rachel said softly, ‘Eat your soup, lass. Now I presume, you being you, you’re not about to wait until tomorrow before you go and see Jed?’
Cora grinned her answer.
‘I thought as much. Well, I’ll sort you out a pair of dry boots. I’ve still got the ones you wore when you were here and your overalls and socks. I’ll bring them through to you in a minute, and when you get back I’ll have aired your bed and lit a fire in your room. Once you’re ready I’ll walk part of the way with you – now don’t shake your head like that, I’m going to – and no doubt Jed’ll see you back here safe and sound. The drifts are deep in places but as long as you keep to the lane you’ll be all right and the farm tracks are mostly clear. I shan’t turn in till you get back, just so I know you’re all right.’
Cora looked at the woman who had become a dear friend and again it struck her how different Rachel was from the person who had driven them to this farm over five years ago. Softly, she said, ‘Thank you, for writing I mean. What shall I do if he doesn’t want me, Rachel?’
Rachel looked into the beautiful face and her voice was just as soft as she murmured, ‘He’ll want you, lass, never you fear. And I think Wilfred only told you half the story. I don’t know what he said to Jed to make him leave without saying goodbye, but I would stake my life on the fact that Jed went for your sake and not to save his own skin. That’s not the Jed I know. But there, no doubt you’ll get to the bottom of everything when you talk to him.’
Talk to him. She was going to talk to Jed; he wasn’t dead after all. Suddenly the wonder of it swept over Cora anew and she found she couldn’t wait another minute to go and see him. ‘Rachel, I’m sorry but I don’t think I can eat anything right now.’
Beneath a Frosty Moon Page 34
