‘Annie . . .’ The shaking of her body became uncontrollable so that Annie stood up, alarmed, reaching out to the woman who surely was breaking apart. She pulled her fiercely into her arms, awkward and clumsy for Tessa was six inches taller than herself, but she held her firmly, murmuring words which said nothing, stroking the smooth and glossy hair which, as Tessa wept, began to fall about her neck and shoulders.
‘Annie . . . I . . . cannot . . . bear . . . it. I . . . just . . . cannot . . . bear . . . it . . . without . . . him . . .’
‘I know, love, I know.’
‘What . . . am . . . I . . . to . . . do?’
‘Sit thi down, lass.’
‘Annie . . .’
‘Come on, love, sit down an’ I’ll give thi summat ter mekk yer feel better.’
‘Annie, Annie . . .’
She was quiet at last, the empty glass which had contained one of Annie’s ‘potions’ still clasped limply beween her flaccid fingers. She stared dazedly into the heart of the glowing fire, her colour returned though her hair still fell in shining swathes about her haunted face. Annie watched her, knowing that the valerian which she had put in the elderberry wine would make her sleep soon. But when she woke? What then? Would she want to know, demand to know what Will Broadbent was doing, where he was, and who, if there was someone, had taken her place in his life? Would she be bent on torturing herself as Annie believed women were in circumstances such as this? Well, she would cross that bridge when she came to it for there was no use in looking for aggravation when it damn soon found you on its own. In the meanwhile she would send a message to Thomas at the Dog and Gun where he waited with the carriage for his mistress, to go home. Tessa could sleep here tonight and in the morning . . . well, that was tomorrow.
‘Tell me about that little lad, Tessa,’ she said softly at last.
‘Who?’
‘That there Joel tha’s so fond of.’
‘Annie . . .’
‘Nay, not if tha don’t want to but I ’eard as ’ow. ’e was as able as thissen on that pony of ’is. Ginny Briggs was tellin’ me only t’other day she’d seen the pair of thi racin’ up ter’t top o’ Dog Hill an’ thi was ’avin’ a job ter keep up wi’ ’im. What will ’e be now . . . seven . . . eight?’
‘He’s almost eight.’
‘An’ a likely lookin’ lad. Reminds me a lot o’ Charlie Greenwood.’
‘Yes.’ Tessa’s lips lifted in a tiny smile and her unfocused eyes became soft.
Annie relaxed and let her breath ease thankfully from her lungs.
36
‘Where shall it be today, darling? You know we won’t be able to ride out for much longer, don’t you, at least not far from the estate so we must make the best of these last few days. The snows will be here soon, Percy says, and that will be the end of our riding until they melt. Of course, we could go walking . . .’
‘Even in the snow, Aunt Tess?’
‘Well, it would be difficult but it is possible.’
‘How?’
The boy looked up into Tessa Greenwood’s face and his hand which was held in hers, shook it excitedly. He danced along beside her as they went towards the stables, wide-eyed and as unsteady as a colt, small for his age, not like the tall Greenwoods a bit, but endearingly full of charm. He was the only one of Charlie’s children to have captured her heart, try as she might to feel other than pity and a deep sense of responsibility for the rest. They had been too old, she had decided, too far down the path on which Laurel’s upbringing had set them, knowing exactly what they wanted from life and expecting to get it, as their mother had done. Only this one was Charlie’s true child, just like him as a boy, though Tessa of course was not aware of it. Sweet-tempered, generous, affectionate, he yet had a strong core of resolution in him which would not allow the others in the schoolroom to take advantage of his size and youth. There were five years dividing himself and Henry, two dead children between them, but it did not deter him despite his smallness from raising his fists in his own defence against his brothers.
He loved it when she called him ‘darling’ and he loved her. She didn’t call his brothers and sisters ‘darling’. She belonged exclusively to him now, he knew that with the selfishness of a child and he basked in her love and approval. He could scarcely remember his father but Aunt Tess kept him alive with tales of her own childhood, her two cousins, and Charlie, who was his father, of course. He loved Charlie because she did and his small world was secure and steady in her loving grasp.
Tessa smiled but on her face was that look of strange sadness Joel had seen now and again though he couldn’t for the life of him imagine why she was sad. Of course, he knew she worried about the American Civil War and the shortage of cotton which affected workers in the family mill, but this look had nothing to do with them.
‘I can remember,’ she began and his delight knew no bounds for she had such lovely ‘rememberings’, ‘one year when it snowed for days. There were drifts twenty feet deep in places right up to the top of the stable door and Walter and Percy had to clear a path across the yard to get to the horses. It was Christmas . . .’ She sighed and he tugged on her hand to remind her he was here for sometimes she was inclined to allow her thoughts to wander.
‘Oh, yes,’ she went on, ‘. . . Christmas, and I wanted to take a present to someone . . .’
‘What was it, Aunt Tess?’
‘What, darling?’ She was forgetting that as a small boy he wanted to know everything down to the smallest detail.
‘The present?’
‘It was a bright red knitted scarf.’
That seemed pretty unexciting to him but he wanted to know how to walk on top of the twenty-foot drifts of snow which she described. He had seen it in previous winters lying over the parkland which surrounded his home, so deep Nanny would not allow them out in it saying they would be ‘swallowed up’. He waited patiently.
‘How . . . splendid.’ His voice was polite.
‘Yes, well . . . I wanted to get to . . . Chapmanstown and the snow was so deep, too deep to walk on, so I searched in the cupboard – you know, the one where we keep all the cricket bats and things . . .’
‘Yes, yes . . .’
‘. . . and I found two tennis bats. I had seen pictures in a book, you see, of a man who lived in Canada and walked on top of the snow and the things he had on his feet and . . .’
‘Yes, what happened, Aunt Tess?’
‘I walked to Chapmanstown.’ Her voice had become clipped now and her eyes had gone quite funny. He didn’t like it. For one awful moment he didn’t like it, then she suddenly put her arm about his shoulders and pulled him to her, hugging him, and he knew it was all right again.
He sighed happily but pulled away as they turned into the stable yard. He was nearly eight now and it would not do to let the men there see him holding his aunt’s hand.
‘Have you decided yet?’ she called out to him as they cantered up the back slope behind the house. ‘Where shall it be? Friar’s Mere, Dog Hill or . . .’
‘Badger’s Edge,’ he shouted joyfully into the teeth of the biting wind, for was not that his most favourite place of all? It was where they had gone on their first ride together and though he was only a boy he sensed that it was the place she liked the best. They had sat together through the seasons with their backs to that certain rock since that day when she had first taken him out on his fat pony.
They had watched a skylark soar almost out of sight, a quivering dot in the dazzling summer sky, not lingering at the top of its flight but descending again, dropping and pausing as though it were on an invisible thread. The bird ate the tender stalks of sprouting corn and the farmers hated it, Aunt Tess told him, but it was grand to lie in the sweet-smelling grass up on Badger’s Edge and watch it dive from the sky.
They had seen the wheatear, its white patch looking like a dancing snowflake as it spun above their heads into the languid blue of the sky. There had been hedges where wild roses and honeys
uckle grew as he and Aunt Tess moved up in the direction of the tops, and in autumn the sharp scent of heather and gorse and peat, the season of mists, of blackberries still warm from summer and swifts flying over his head to warmer parts than the bleak winter moorland which was to come.
But in the depths of that winter, when the moors were cruel and the weather as fickle as a woman’s heart, or so Walter had told him though he was not certain of his meaning, they must stay away from Badger’s Edge for if the snow should catch them up there they might not be found for days.
It was achingly cold and Aunt Tess had made him put on an extra jumper beneath his warm woollen cape. He had a scarf about his neck and wore gloves knitted by Nanny and when they reached the top they sat shoulder to shoulder for half an hour, the dogs about them, close and warm, gazing out over the steep clough and down to the glint of water which could be seen amongst the leafless trees at the bottom.
‘Will we walk on the snow when it comes, Aunt Tess?’ he asked presently, his gloved hand smoothing the head of the dog which rested on his knee.
‘I dare say,’ she replied but her eyes were far away on something he could not see and he moved impatiently. The dog stood up and wandered to the edge of the rocky cliff and Joel watched as the others rose, following with the curiosity of all animals, to investigate what the first had discovered.
‘But will we have enough bats?’
‘We can look if you like,’ she answered vaguely.
‘Perhaps Walter could make us some. If you showed him the picture of the man in Canada. He makes all kinds of things with wood and I bet if we were to ask him he could make us some, don’t you? We could walk wherever we wanted to then,’ he finished, the prospect of a winter shut in with his brothers and sister not a pleasing one.
‘Shall we ask him then?’ he said after a moment or two.
‘What, darling?’
He stood up suddenly, his face reproachful. She wasn’t listening to him. She’d gone off to that strange place as she did now and again and he might as well do something interesting as sit here and try to get her to talk. He loved her, really he did, but sometimes she was very irritating, especially when they were having such a good talk about those fascinating ‘snow-bats’ she had mentioned.
He sighed dramatically, just to let her know he was not at all pleased, then wandered across the stiff, springy turf to see what the dogs were quarrelling over. They were all milling around just as they did when they came across a rabbit hole from which the scent of the animal, safe deep in the earth, titillated their keen noses.
‘What is it, Bart?’ he asked, leaning into the middle of them, pushing aside two large heads to peer in the manner of small boys at anything which might interest their inquisitive minds. The dogs, big and heavy, were not disposed to be moved from the frozen carcase of the small animal – he was never to know what it was – which some large bird must have dropped and they nudged him, each one’s weight four times that of his own.
His thin scream as he lost his balance brought Tessa from the sad reverie into which the talk of Christmas and snow had plunged her and as she leaped to her feet, turning her head sharply she was just in time to see him fall backwards over Badger’s Edge.
‘Mistress not back yet, Walter?’ Percy asked, poking his head round the stable door. Walter was brushing the floor vigorously, his strong shoulders pumping as he propelled the stiff bristles beneath the line of horses’ heads which hung over each stall. There were a dozen of them all told, inluding two pairs of matched grey carriage horses. When he stopped, turning to Percy, his late master’s bay nibbled his shoulder but he pushed the handsome head to one side, leaning on the brush.
‘Nay, what the bloody ’ell’s the time? I’d not noticed.’
‘Tis gone four an’ comin’ on dark.’
‘She’ll be in afore long, Perce. She’d tekk no chances now.’ Percy was well aware that Walter meant now she had young Joel to fill the dreadful gap Mr Drew’s death had left. A year ago they would have worried for she’d been wild and daft in her grief, but he’d steadied her a treat, Mr Charlie’s young ’un.
‘Aye, ’appen yer right but she’d best mekk it quick ’cos if it don’t snow soon my name’s not Percy Barlow.’
‘D’yer reckon?’
‘Aye, Them clouds’ve bin bankin’ up along’t tops fer’t last ’our. You mark my words, it’ll be comin’ down by full dark.’
They worked side by side, settling the animals for the night with soothing murmurs and heavy, affectionate slaps on their rumps. Thomas came in and looked about him, then moved to the carriage horses which were his responsibility, whistling through his teeth as he performed small, unnecessary jobs about the place, secretly as worried as they were, going to the door every few minutes to stare up at the rapidly darkening sky. The lamps were lit and all was cosy in the warm, horse-smelling stable. The men’s work was finished for the day. All they had to do was see to Miss Tessa’s mare and the lad’s pony and as soon as that was done they would go to the warm comfort of the kitchen where there would be steaming mugs of Cook’s strong, sweet tea, hot soup to keep them going until their supper, the comfortable laughter of their ‘family’, for most of the Greenwood servants had been employed at Greenacres for many years. Some, like Dorcas, had even served old Mrs Greenwood and Mrs Harrison, Miss Tessa’s mother, who were both now living in me sunshine of Italy with old Mr Joss Greenwood.
There was the pitter-patter of light boots on the cobbles in the yard and holding an old shawl about her head and shoulders, Miss Tessa’s maid Emma ran into the stable, her eyes searching anxiously into every corner.
‘Miss Tessa’s not here then?’ she asked, although it was obvious her mistress was not present. Her glance fell on the empty stall which was waiting for Miss Tessa’s mare and the next one to it which was also unoccupied and her eyes widened in alarm.
‘Don’t tell me she’s not back, Perce?’ She put her hand to her mouth. ‘Dear Lord, she should be back by now. It’s almost full dark and I felt snow on me face as I crossed the yard.’
Percy looked about him in triumph for had he not forecast this very thing? Then he remembered the seriousness of Miss Tessa’s failure to return and he scowled to hide his own misgiving. There was nothing wrong, of course, for Miss Tessa knew them moors like the back of her hand and was not one to take lightly the hostile and furious changeability of the wilderness which lay about her home. She had been riding out there since she was ten years old and Percy was sure that if she had the slightest doubt that snow might be on the way she’d be headed home in an instant.
Then where the bloody hell was she?
‘Where did she say she were off to, Walter?’ he asked, attempting to be casual for Emma’s benefit since they wanted no hysterical women on their hands at a time like this.
‘Nay, don’t ask me. She were askin’ t’lad, seein’ as ’ow it were their last ride afore . . . afore the snows. Where did ’e want ter go, she said, but I didn’t ’ear ’is answer.’
‘Oh, my God . . . oh, my God.’ Emma began to moan and flap her hands and the men looked at one another over her bobbing cap. ‘She’s lost, Miss Tessa’s lost and that little lad with her. Poor lass . . . oh, my poor lass, whatever next? When’s it going to end, Percy? It’s one thing after another and, really, why one family should have so much heaped on them’s beyond me.’
‘Give over, Emma,’ Percy said roughly, his own dreadful fear only just hidden. ‘You’ll ’ave her dead an’ buried next an’ ’er not gone fer more than . . .’
‘When . . . when did she go?’ Emma shrieked.
‘Well, when did she go, Walter?’
Walter shook his head fearfully for Miss Tessa and Master Joel had been up on them moors for over three hours. It was dark now and when the four of them looked out on to the stable yard the lovely dancing snowflakes which were caught in the lamplight were thick and heavy.
He had landed on a small, grass-covered ledge, no more than eighteen i
nches wide and as far as she could judge about thirty feet down. She was never to know how it had broken his fall and in that first moment she did not even stop to wonder. He lay on his back, one of his arms hidden beneath him, the other hanging dangerously over the edge. His cape had flown out as he fell, spreading behind him, and his face was pale and unmoving against the dark cloth.
She began to scream his name and all around her small birds and animals, disturbed by the dreadful noise, became still, their hearts pounding in terror, and both horses flung up their heads, snorting, Joel’s pony pawed the ground, then rolling his terrified eyes, reared up and, trailing his reins, galloped off into the gathering dusk. Her own mare, steadier than a young pony, stood for a moment but as her mistress’s screams intensified, tearing the air in terror, she took fright and followed the pony along the track which led to her stable and safety.
‘Oh, God . . . Joel, darling, can you hear me? Oh, please, Joel, answer me . . . Joel, can you hear me, darling? Joel . . .’ For thirty seconds Tessa Greenwood lost control and was no more than the hysterical, panic-stricken, useless female she herself had always despised. The dogs wheeled about her, confused and afraid but not leaving her, waiting for her command as they had been trained to do, but in those first moments she was out of reach to them, unable to command herself, let alone them.
Still he did not move and she took a deep breath, fighting her need to scream again, to shout for someone to come to help her, to calm her terror, to tell her what to do, to reassure her that there was no need to panic . . . anything . . . someone . . .
But there was no one there, only Tessa Greenwood who must climb down to Joel and carry him up to safety. He was hurt, even from here she could see he was hurt . . . not badly, God, please not badly . . . and she must get down to him, now, now . . . She had no rope, and if he should awake and move . . . no, he was not dead . . . he was not dead . . . she would not let him be dead . . . he could fall further, go over the ledge and down into . . . down . . . No! No! . . . she would not let him . . .
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