‘I’m sorry, Emma. I really didn’t do that on purpose. Truly. Come back here. You’ll soon be shivering over there,’ he warned, irritated with himself and his carelessness, and also worried about her.
‘I’m all right here. Thank yer,’ she said coolly, leaning back and adopting a dignified posture that repudiated him.
‘Please yourself,’ Edwin muttered in dismay, drawing his legs up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his knees.
A long silence developed between them. Emma gazed into the fire, striving to control her shaking limbs, hoping he would not notice how cold she was growing. Edwin rested his head on his knees and stole a surreptitious look at her. At this precise moment the log blazed into sudden flames and his eyes started open in surprise. In the brighter firelight her figure was extraordinarily revealed to him. He had not realized before how flimsy the cotton table cloth was, since she had hitherto hugged it so tightly to her. He could now clearly see her firm and voluptuous breasts pressing tautly against the fabric, the outline of her thighs, the long column of her legs, and that triangular smudge, faintly dark, just above them. He could not tear his eyes away from her. As he gazed at her with yearning, he felt a thrill rushing through him.
This was not the first time Edwin had been excited. Like most youths of his age, he had been sexually stimulated before, in the usual boyish ways. But he had never actually been aroused by a girl in such a potent manner, for he had never seen one in dishabille and been in such close proximity to one so scantily dressed. Consequently, he was shaken by the intensity of his emotions. He was breathless, almost panting, and his throat felt tight. After a few seconds he managed to drag his spellbound eyes away from her tantalizing figure, staring at the wall in front of him. Flickering shadows floated about there in the soft firelight, creating amorphous little shapes, resembling animals and trees. There’s a rabbit and that’s a great old oak, he told himself, inventing living forms for those dancing images. He concentrated hard on that wall pushing his desire down, turning his mind away from Emma, striving to ignore his throbbing excitement.
It was Emma who broke the silence. Eventually she said in a small voice, ‘Edwin, I’m ever so cold.’ Immediately he swung his head to look at her. She was curled up, shuddering uncontrollably and her teeth were beginning to chatter.
‘Shall I come over there and help to keep you warm, Emma? he asked diffidently, almost afraid of suggesting this for fear of her anger or her rejection.
To his surprise she whispered, ‘Yes, please.’ She looked at him shyly through her thick lashes and added, ‘I’m sorry I got cross with yer, Edwin.’
Without answering he scrambled over to her. He wrapped his arms around her and, with one hand, pushed down her knees. Very gently he eased her on to the sacks until they were both supine and reclining on them full length. He partially covered her shivering slender body with his own broader one.
‘This is the only way we’ll keep warm,’ he said. She edged closer to him, drawing comfort from him, cradled like a small child in his arms. ‘Yes, I knows,’ she murmured softly.
‘Look at the dancing shadows,’ he pointed out, ‘and all the strange shapes they make. Animals and trees and mountains.’
Emma smiled, following his gaze. Miraculously, the cave had been transformed before her eyes. She was no longer intimidated by it and she no longer associated it with her mother and Adam Fairley. It had become a magical and wondrous place. Their very special enchanted, secret place. Hers and Edwin’s.
Edwin began to rub her arm and shoulders, which were icy. Soon the goose pimples began to disappear and it seemed to him that her skin now felt like the smoothest of satins. It was not long before the caressing started afresh, for Edwin could not resist the feel of her. Emma looked up at him, her large eyes spilling green fire, her pink lips slightly parted so that he could see her small white teeth. He moved his hand up and brushed the russet-brown hair away from her face, running his fingers lightly over her rounded cheeks and down her throat so whitely vulnerable in the candles’ glow.
‘You are so beautiful, Emma,’ he said in a low hoarse voice echoing with awe. ‘Please let me kiss you. Just once. Please,’ he begged.
She did not reply, but continued to gaze up at him. And there was so much trust and innocence and undisguised love in that pure face he was excessively moved. He bent towards her. He thought he would drown in the shimmering greenness of her eyes. His lips touched hers lightly. Her mouth was moist and sweet and so inviting one kiss did not suffice for Edwin Fairley. He kissed Emma again and again and again, with mounting intensity, allowing her no opportunity to protest.
When Edwin finally raised his head and looked down at her he saw that her eyes were closed. He stroked her face and her shoulders and his hand travelled down lingeringly until it was covering her breast. Only then did her eyes fly open wildly. ‘Oh, Edwin, no! You mustn’t!’
‘Please, Emma. I won’t do anything wrong. Just let me hold you for a moment,’ he implored.
She hesitated, and he pressed his mouth to hers before she could refuse him, and he continued to fondle and stroke her. Almost without his conscious knowledge and quite unable to control himself, Edwin slipped his hand under the tablecloth which was draping her. He ran his fingers over her satin-smooth skin, his touch delicate but lightly quivering in his spiralling excitement. Emma pulled away from him with a small cry, a blush rising on her face, but he took hold of her and lovingly enfolded her in his arms, kissing her forehead.
‘I love you, Emma,’ he whispered, his face close to hers.
‘But it’s not right, ter be together like this,’ she whispered back, trembling and afraid, her mind awash with dire thoughts of wickedness and temptations of the flesh that sent you to hell.
‘Hush, my sweet Emma,’ Edwin said consolingly, his voice reassuring. ‘I am not going to do anything improper. I only want to feel you close to me. I won’t harm you in any way. One never harms the person one loves the most in the whole world.’
His words filled her with sudden joy and she drew closer to him, searching his face hovering above hers, that sensitive face she knew so well. It appeared to shine with radiance in the candlelight. His eyes were widely open and full of adoration.
‘Do yer really luv me, Edwin?’ she asked in the softest of voices.
‘I do, Emma. Oh, how I love you! Don’t you love me?’
‘Yes, Edwin. Oh, yes!’
Emma sighed, aware of his hands fluttering over her again, smoothing and patting and feeling every part of her, but so soothingly she began to relax, enjoying his warm and affectionate caresses. Suddenly his finger touched that most forbidden place of all, insistent but as light as a feather. She was hardly conscious of what he was doing at first. And she could no longer protest or stop him, for she was overwhelmed by unexpected and strange but delicious sensations that sent small tremors through her, and made her heart pound. His mouth, his hands, his body, all enveloped her and he drew her closer and closer until she felt as if she was melting into Edwin. A lassitude settled over her as he continued to fondle her, arousing her to the pitch he himself was aroused to.
Edwin paused and looked at Emma. Her eyes were closed and he saw that she trembled slightly. He slipped out of the carriage blanket and, with the lightest of movements, he parted the tablecloth that still half covered her. She did not stir, although her eyelids fluttered and her eyes opened, became wider, as she stared at him kneeling over her. Edwin Fairley’s not a boy, he’s a man, she thought, with a flash of amazement, and a trickle of fear, for that masculinity was now fully revealed. Edwin sucked in his breath, gazing at her wonderingly, filled with a yearning desire to possess her completely. And he marvelled at her loveliness. Her skin had a floral pallor to it, but it was dappled golden, here and there, from the candlelight and the fire’s rosy glow. She resembled a perfectly sculptured marble statue.
Slowly and with great tenderness and delicacy Edwin helped Emma to overcome her terror, her reticence,
and her inherent shyness. In spite of their mutual virginity, Edwin began to make love to Emma, and eventually she to him, under his softly whispered guidance. His desire flared into a passion he could no longer check, and it was this passion that imbued in him a finesse that was unconscious yet remarkable in its expertise. Only once did she stiffen, and he heard a small cry strangled in her throat as she bit it back. But he was so exquisitely gentle with her and adoring, this moment instantly passed, and soon he was carrying her along with him on a mounting wave of ecstasy. They were clinging together,moving now in perfect unison, engulfed by the sweet warmness of their fresh young bodies. Emma thought she was slowly dissolving under Edwin, becoming part of him. Becoming him. They were one person now. She was Edwin. She moaned and moved her hands down to the small of his back which vibrated under her touch. It was then that Edwin experienced such a sensation of joy he thought he would scream out loud. As he rushed headlong into the very core of her he did not know that he shouted her name and begged her never to leave him.
TWENTY-FOUR
Some hours later the thunderstorm died as instantly as it had erupted into life, the torrential rain easing into a light drizzle that finally ceased with an eerie abruptness. The gusting high-powered gale that had ventilated those quiet hills had dropped away and an awesome stillness suffused the air.
The remote and cloudless sky was a darkling bitter green, almost black in its depth of colour, yet glassy and clear and filled with a curious luminosity, as if lit from within. A full moon was out, hard in its metallic whiteness, a perfect orb pitched in the cold wide sky, illuminating the moors and the fellsides with the clarity and brilliance of a noonday sun. Its sharp radiance fell upon the terrible devastation, bringing it into stark focus. The fulminating storm had ravaged the landscape.
The immense fells, poised in precarious leaning angles above the moorland, were towering precipitous cliffs and from them the unceasing torrents of rain had rushed down in streaming cataracts, inflating the natural waterfalls so that they had become liquid avalanches, bloating the becks and streams until they were swollen and spilling over their banks, which were already bursting under the pressure. The cloudburst had swept over the moors like a gigantic tidal wave, its force and speed uprooting trees and shrubs and heath, dislodging rocks and boulders, hurling all before it on its relentless downward journey. The small glens and hollows between the hills that punctuated sections of the moorland were completely flooded. Animal life not swift enough to escape had been trapped in the onslaught. Stray sheep had been drowned in the flood, their stiffened bodies floating grotesquely in the murky waters of these newly made but unnatural ponds. Battered birds littered the ground, mangled bits of broken bones and bloodied feathers, their trilling songs stilled for ever.
And lightning had left its stamp everywhere. It had struck trees, slicing them apart sharply and cleanly, and charring their scant foliage to blackened ashes. A horse tethered in the long meadow near Top Fold had been knocked down by a bolt, dying instantaneously before its owner could reach it, mane singed, grey coat dappled red and black. Not even the village was unscarred. Slates had been ripped off roofs, windows broken, plaster torn from interior walls, flaking off like minute sprinkles of snow, and one cottage was almost completely wrecked. A stained-glass window in Fairley Church had been shattered into hundreds of rainbow-tinted slivers. It was the memorial window recently endowed by Adam Fairley in commemoration of Adele Fairley’s death.
Up at Ramsden Crags, water sluiced over the great elevation of rocks and the ground was so muddy it was like running oil, a veritable bog, mucid and slippery. The two lone trees that had stood there for years, solitary sentinels to the left of the Crags, had toppled over in toy-soldier fashion, also demolished by the incessant flashes of violent lightning. Edwin crept out of the cave first and gave his hand to Emma, who was closely following him. They ducked away from the water that tumbled unchecked from the Crags relatively close to the aperture, their feet sinking ankle deep into the mire that oozed under them. Edwin placed the picnic basket on a boulder and helped Emma up on to the drier rocks, swiftly climbing after her. They gasped, almost in unison, and exchanged alarmed glances, dismay washing over their faces as they viewed the destruction so appalling to behold.
‘We were lucky to find the cave when we did,’ said Edwin to the gaping Emma by his side. He looked about him, shaken by the riven and shattered landscape. ‘Do you realize we could have been killed out here! Either by lightning or by drowning in the flood!’ Emma nodded and shuddered at their narrow escape, not speaking.
‘Look at the waterfall up on Dimerton Fell,’ Edwin then exclaimed. ‘I’ve never seen it so full or raging before. It’s incredible.’
Emma followed the direction his finger pointed, and caught her breath. The usually gentle waterfall, clearly visible in the moonlight and icily shimmering, had been transformed into a phenomenal spumescent cascade that was magnificent yet uncanny in its magnitude. Emma had to admit it was beautiful and said so, but her worry about returning to Fairley Hall was increasing by the minute. ‘Edwin, don’t yer think we should try and make it back ter the Hall. Cook’s going ter play pop with yer, and me as well.’
‘Yes, I do believe we should make tracks immediately,’ Edwin agreed. ‘Thank goodness the moon is so bright. At least we can see where we’re walking. Shall we go?’
He made to leave and Emma tugged at his arm. ‘But what about the opening ter the cave?’ She inclined her head towards the aperture. ‘The rock that covered it up before looks ter me as if it’s sunk right inter the mud.’
‘You’re right, it has.’ Edwin swung around, his eyes searching. He spotted the ruptured trees. ‘I’ll use some of those branches to cover the hole, and come back another day to put the rock in place.’ He left the rocks, plodding through the slime doggedly, and dragged one of the trees over to the cavern’s entrance. He stuck it deeply and securely into the muddy earth. The gnarled branches camouflaged the opening effectively.
Uncertain of what other disasters awaited them, they nonetheless set off bravely, their feet sinking into the glutinous mud, boots squelching, as they hurried away from the Top of the World, heading directly for Ramsden Ghyll. Emma slipped once as they scrambled over a ridge, slithering on the sodden ground. Edwin caught her immediately, and put his arm around her protectively, helping her to maintain her balance until they reached the narrow track. They had to manoeuvre their way with deliberation, stepping over disrupted rocks and splintered branches that had been flung haphazardly on to the path during one of the landslides. Upon reaching the Ghyll they stood hovering at the edge, staring in stupefaction. The bright moonlight illuminated part of the deep gully, enough for them to see that it was brimming with bubbling water seemingly about to seep over the top at any moment. Dead birds, rabbits, and a sheep wobbled misshapenly among the debris on its ghastly black surface, gruesome reminders of the fury so recently unleashed. Emma shuddered and pressed her face against Edwin’s broad shoulder.
Edwin, holding her comfortingly, turned away. ‘I should have realized the Ghyll would fill up. We’ll have to turn back and go down over the ridge to the beck, cross it, and make for the lower road to the Hall.’
‘But won’t the beck be flooded as well?’ Emma suggested, biting her lip.
‘Most probably. But at least it’s a bit narrower and not a ravine like the Ghyll. It shouldn’t be too deep. We can swim across.’
‘I can’t swim,’ Emma wailed.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after you, Emma. I told you before, you will always be safe with me. I’ll never let any harm come to you. Ever.’ He hugged her to him affectionately, hoping to allay her nervousness, took her by the hand, led her back along the track and down an incline, reassuring her gently all the way. Unfortunately, Emma’s prediction was correct. The little beck, where they had washed earlier that afternoon, had become a fully fledged and gushing stream, water spewing over the rocky hillside with remarkable swiftness, an eddying whi
rlpool foaming whitely against the banks. Edwin threw the picnic basket on the ground, gritted his teeth, and lowered himself cautiously down the bank and into the swirling depths. The water rose up to his chest. ‘Leave the sack, Emma,’ he shouted, ‘and get on to my back. Put your arms around my neck, and hang on for dear life. I’ll swim us both across.’
Emma hesitated. This girl, who was not, in reality, afraid of anything, had a strange and incomprehensible fear of water. Even as a small child, when her mother had washed her hair, she had always screamed, ‘Don’t get the water on me face, Mam,’ the panic rising in her inexplicably.
‘Emma, come along!’ Edwin called. ‘This water’s freezing.’
Quelling her apprehension, Emma followed his instructions and tremblingly climbed on to his back. Edwin struck out across the beck, but he had misjudged the force of the water and several times he thought they would be dragged downstream, as if there were a rapid current sucking at his legs like a vortex. Yet he knew this could not be so. They went under once, but he valiantly struggled to the surface, spluttering, and pushed forward, swimming with all of his strength. It was an exhausting battle for Edwin, and a terrorizing experience for Emma, who clung to him tenaciously. Finally they reached the opposite bank. Edwin panted and gasped and spat out water, catching hold of a small shrub miraculously intact on the side of the bank. He paused to regain his breath, grasping the roots of the shrub, and then he hauled them both up out of the swirling beck, stumbling and sliding in the process. They fell on to the ground and lay there for several minutes, chests heaving, coughing and rasping and wiping the water from their faces.
At last Emma said, ‘Thank yer, Edwin. I thought we’d drown once. I did, really. But yer a good swimmer.’
A Woman of Substance Page 40
