Larkrigg Fell

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘Probably a goner but I’ll take it to old Ellen. If she can’t save it, no one can.’

  Beth didn’t ask who old Ellen was, but was intrigued and concerned, feeling somehow responsible. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘Lot of fuss about nothing,’ Jonty grumbled. ‘Why do you, a farmer, try to protect the bloody thing? Badgers are thieves and they infect cattle with TB.’

  ‘It hasn’t been properly proved. It’s still only a theory.’ Andrew was hunkering down beside the hole, reaching for the badger, easing it out. ‘Even if these gentlemen of the woods need to be culled, it should be done humanely. Not torn apart by a bloody dog, or a madman.’ He cradled the animal in his arms, then as he rose, slid the barrel of the gun beneath the jut of Jonty’s chin. ‘Which is more than can be said for men like you. Now go on home, peaceable like, or I might forget my manners and treat you the same way.’

  Jonty tensed but the gun pressed tight against his throat, and though his eyes blazed hatred, he deemed it wise to stay silent. ‘If I ever catch you or that dog of yours harming an animal again, you know what to expect, right?’

  Andrew led Beth unerringly through the darkness to a part of Brockbarrow Wood she had not so far discovered. He swung along at such a pace she almost had to run to keep up with him, her feet slipping and sliding on the damp earth, tripping over stones. Then suddenly he stopped.

  ‘We’re here. Go quiet. We don’t want to upset the residents.’

  ‘Residents?’

  Down in a small hollow, with the sound of water from the force ringing in their ears, was the dark huddle of a cottage. All about it was a clutter of small compounds wired off into sections, from which came a cacophony of unidentifiable barks, squeaks, whistles and grunts. ‘Ellen lives here, with her animals.’

  They slid and stumbled down a slippery path and came at last to the front door. Andrew tapped softly on it. ‘It’s me, Ellen. I’ve a patient for you.’

  A light came on, a door opened and a woman stood on the doorstep, looking down upon them, a storm lantern held in her hand. She glanced at the bundle in his arms and with a jerk of her head, ushered them inside.

  The smell which hit them as they stepped into the cottage almost knocked Beth out. Of badger and bird and dog. Several dogs, in fact.

  Two spaniels and a collie jumped down from a narrow bed and came over to investigate, tails waving like flags, drooling to be patted. Beth obliged. A tawny owl sat on a perch, one wing strapped down with what appeared to be a pad of foam rubber, and in a basket by a glowing fire sat a grey goose, apparently completely healthy and content, save for the fact that it possessed only half a beak.

  The hurricane lamp in the woman’s hand revealed the kind of stark tidiness which seemed to indicate she had little regard for material possessions and no interest at all in comfort.

  As she bent to her patient, Beth studied her. A tall, rangy woman in her late sixties, her features could only be described as embattled, with the deepest brown eyes Beth had ever seen, with squint lines at each comer. She wore her grey hair in a plait around her broad head which gave her a rather medieval look, a sort of otherworldliness. Several layers of woollens covered a check shirt and green corduroy trousers, signifying that, late as it was, she had not yet gone to bed. Around her neck was tied a dirty blue scarf but her hands, Beth noticed, as they set the animal on a small table, were surprisingly clean if brown and weathered and criss-crossed with scars.

  ‘Badger-baiting, eh?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘Thought I could smell its fear.’ The hands were sure and firm as she silently and methodically examined the injured animal which seemed none too happy with her probings yet miraculously permitted them, as if it guessed this was for its own good. ‘I reckon he’s had it.’ The prognosis was issued with complete lack of sentiment in a sharp, no-nonsense voice that cut Beth to the heart.

  ‘You can’t mean to let him die?’ The words burst from her before she’d had time to think and keen eyes turned consideringly upon her for the first time. The question, when it came, was addressed to Andrew.

  ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Beth Brandon, from Larkrigg.’

  The eyes widened perceptibly. ‘Not Rosemary Ellis’s granddaughter? No, great granddaughter you’d be, eh? Well, well.’

  ‘Never mind about me. What about the badger?’ Beth was incensed suddenly. ‘Can you do nothing at all for him?’

  ‘Feeling guilty, eh? Your friend’s dog was it, who tore him apart? Thought you’d have a bit of fun, did you? Well, I can’t cure them all after you’ve had your laugh, much as I’d like to. They have feelings, badgers do, same as you and me, and they get depressed and give up when they’re in pain.’

  ‘But you mustn’t let it.’

  ‘Beth,’ Andrew touched her arm. ‘Don’t get upset. He’d probably die of blood poisoning no matter what Ellen did.’

  ‘I only save what can be set free,’ she said, gazing again upon the inert badger. ‘If it can’t live a normal, useful life, better it be dead. It’d only mourn for its own kind if I shut it in a cage. Social animals, badgers are. They like to be together.’

  But Beth wasn’t for giving up. She was the one fighting now, for the badger’s life. ‘You’ve kept that goose, yet how can it feed itself without a proper beak? And what’s the matter with the owl? Broken wing? Why don’t you shoot it?’

  ‘It might get better.’

  ‘Or be killed by a larger bird when you let it go?’

  ‘Aye, that could happen too.’ After a long moment, Ellen spoke again. ‘You weren’t in on it then, this game?’ The eyes were so deeply hidden beneath the thatch of eyebrows that Beth couldn’t read their expression. But she recognised something of the wild creature in Ellen too. Reserved, a bit prickly, not trusting people easily. Probably been given no reason to. Trust had to be earned. And man probably destroyed her work every day.

  ‘No, I was not,’ she firmly responded. ‘I tried to stop them as a matter of fact, but they took no notice.’ She reached for a sack lying near. ‘If you won’t help him, then I’ll take him home with me. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.’

  Another small silence, broken at last by a cackle of laughter. It erupted onto her face like sunlight on a dry-stone wall, smoothing out the folds and cracks to a craggy radiance. ‘She’s got spirit, this one, eh?’ And as she met Beth’s furious gaze, there was merriment now twinkling in her own. ‘I’ll fetch my herb chest and we’ll see what we can do. But I make no promises.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll live?’

  Dawn was breaking, pink and clear in the eastern sky and the three of them were sitting with huge mugs of tea, relaxing at last.

  ‘Fate and good medicine will decree that.’ Ellen sipped noisily at her tea.

  ‘I think you’re wonderful. You must be very gifted,’ Beth said, remembering the way the woman had mixed herbs and dealt with the badger with a deft skill born of years of experience.

  But the effect of this simple statement was alarming. ‘Utter poppycock,’ Ellen exploded. ‘I do what I can and it’s pitifully small at times. I’m not the hand of God, nor Mother Nature.’

  Beth looked startled by the outburst. ‘I never meant to imply you were.’

  ‘Do a bit of good every day, that’s my motto. There’s plenty doing the opposite.’

  ‘You’re right there,’ Andrew put in.

  ‘Never failed in that philosophy, ever since the outbreak of World War Two. Kept busy with the VAD while my Hugh was incarcerated in that damn concentration camp. Then when he came home and he wasn’t too good, we started a smallholding which grew into taking in lodgers of the animal variety. Never made much money but it added a bit to his pension. Then he went and died.’ She made it sound as if he’d done it on purpose, to spite her.

  ‘How sad,’ Beth murmured.

  ‘All those years in the damned service. Missed being killed by the skin of his teeth more times than he cared to count, then he gets taken by
a double dose of pneumonia and malaria. Never left him, that malaria.’ She tossed a dead mouse to the owl on the perch behind her, who took it greedily. Beth averted her eyes. ‘Lovely man he was, but weak you understand. I always did all the hard work. But he never got over whatever it was they did to him. After he died, I gave up the lease on the smallholding and came here. That was more than twenty years ago and I’ve never regretted it.’

  Andrew grinned engagingly at her. ‘How would the wild creatures on these fells have managed without you? Come on, admit it. You’re more than a mite flattered by Beth’s faith in your skill.’

  ‘If folk didn’t interfere with them I wouldn’t have half so much work to do,’ she barked. ‘Damned tourists pick youngsters up: owls, kestrels, lambs even, thinking they’ve been deserted by their parents which usually they haven’t, without the faintest idea how to feed or care for them and they end up fetching them to me, sick or dying.

  ‘It can take months to get a young animal healthy and properly rehabilitated to go back into the wild. Took me two years once with a young peregrine falcon that had been imprinted with the smell of humans. What’s the point of all that effort of making it well again, if it can’t enjoy life? So I have to make choices. Survival of the fittest. Besides which, I’m not made of money.’

  ‘Yes,’ Beth said, fascinated by the fierce passion of the woman, and full of admiration. ‘I do realise that. I’m sorry if I was a bit sharp with you last night.’

  Ellen rubbed at her red eyes with a finger and thumb. ‘Aye well, it was late. We were all tired. Think no more of it. I’m off to feed that lot outside then get me head down for a few hours’ shut-eye.’

  ‘Can I see what you have here?’

  ‘Another time, Beth,’ Andrew said, getting up. ‘I have some animals of my own to tend and Ellen is all in.’

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry. Thanks for saving the badger.’

  ‘I haven’t saved him. Not yet.’ A sharp reminder, bluntly given.

  Beth swallowed and asked, very tentatively, ‘May I call and see how’s he’s getting on?’

  Brown eyes regarded her quizzically for a moment. ‘So long as you’re prepared to be disappointed. I can’t do with a fuss, waterworks and all that, if nature decrees otherwise. This brock will either have the stamina to survive or it won’t.’

  ‘I do understand. I promise to be sensible.’

  Seemingly satisfied, Ellen agreed she could call any time. And as she walked away up the path with Andrew, the stentorian voice called after them, ‘Don’t fetch them friends of yours. They’ve done enough.’

  Beth made no reply. She knew exactly what Ellen meant.

  Chapter Eight

  The commune, in Sarah’s opinion, proved to be a great success. At least in the beginning. Life at Larkrigg Hall was fun and she came very quickly to the conclusion that this was the only way to live. It was amazing how life had changed since discovering their delectable squatters.

  Meg objected of course, which wasn’t surprising.

  ‘It’s all quite innocent good fun,’ Sarah explained. ‘Separate quarters and all that.’

  ‘Pietro Lawson amongst them?’

  Beth lifted her chin, mirroring Meg’s own stubbornness. ‘Yes, Pietro included.’

  ‘We’re big girls now,’ Sarah said.

  ‘Even so, I’m not sure that’s a good idea.’

  Tam sent Meg a warning glance and went over to kiss both his granddaughters. ‘Don’t we trust the pair of them?’ Against which Meg could find no argument and the subject was dropped.

  Beth naturally drew up yards of charts to show who was responsible for which chore on any given day, but Sarah found it easy enough to avoid most of these by a little diligent absenteeism. And those she did do, she made sure didn’t tax her too greatly. Particularly since she insisted on being partnered by Jonty. They would hide away in the woods or even the woodshed, since private corners were everywhere, without feeling the least speck of guilt. If the two of them took twice as long as everyone else to wash up or chop logs, what did it matter so long as the task was done?

  The advantages of commune life were legion. As well as finding easy opportunities to sneak away during the day, there was the ready access to the lovely beds every night. No more creeping across the fells in the dark. Instead, Jonty would pad along the landing and slide between the sheets in the great bed, desperately trying to stop up their giggles as they thought of the others in their chaste beds.

  Sarah was always ready for him, an aching moistness between her legs, a pain in her belly, feverish with impatience for him to come to her. If he was late she would punish him by making him wait for her surrender.

  She would straddle him and stroke the hardness of his stomach, tease the velvety skin till he had an erection then laughingly hold him away as he groaned in agony, begging for release. She would rub the hard peaks of her breasts against his chest and into his mouth, then draw enticingly away. Only when she chose did she let him pierce her right to the centre of her own yearning. Then she would ride him and bite him, the passion in her rising to a furious anger, driving him to satisfy a craving which could not be sated.

  ‘Let Tessa help with the heavy work,’ Sarah told Beth when, much to her annoyance, she’d been caught lying in bed one fine afternoon, ostensibly taking a nap and Beth accused her of not pulling her weight. ‘It’s a good way for her to pay for her keep.’

  ‘We none of us properly do that.’

  Anyone else would have thought to look beneath the bed, and discovered a half naked Jonty. Beth, being Beth, simply tightened her lips, fidgeted with that dratted hair slide and told Sarah she wasn’t being quite fair.

  ‘Fair? What are you talking about? I do my whack like everyone else. I can surely take some free time off.’ Sarah jumped off the bed and started pulling on jeans.

  ‘But there isn’t any free time. Not yet. We have to aim to be self-sufficient. You could at least dig the garden or tie up the raspberries if you have a spare moment.’

  ‘What do I know about raspberries?’

  ‘I mean you shouldn’t simply follow the rota and nothing else.’

  ‘You want me actually to look for work?’ Sarah tried to hide her astonishment.

  ‘Yes, I do. This commune was Jonty’s idea, remember, not mine.’ Beth plumped herself down on the bed, making the springs squeak and sag so much Sarah almost burst out laughing as she thought of poor Jonty in imminent danger of being decapitated beneath. ‘You don’t think that dreadful prophecy is coming true, do you?’ Beth continued. ‘We seem to do nothing but quarrel these days and really it should be all for one and everything, shouldn’t it, as Jonty suggested.’

  Sarah hooded her eyes and meekly agreed. ‘Yes, Beth. Of course, Beth,’ which was always the quickest way to be rid of her when she had her organising hat on.

  ‘So you will help a bit more?’

  ‘Of course, sweetie. When have I ever let you down?’

  The moment the bedroom door clicked shut behind her, Jonty crawled from beneath the four poster, beside her in a second, stifling his laughter as he pushed Sarah back on to the bed.

  ‘Your sister is becoming a real drag,’ he said, tugging at the zip on her jeans. ‘Someone should loosen her up. Drat it, I can’t get these damned things off. Why do women wear so many clothes?’

  ‘Perhaps we should join a naturist commune? That would really save a lot of time.’ And they both dissolved into peals of laughter and thrusting, sweating sex, which was much more fun than digging gardens, or weeding the raspberry patch.

  Beth took to visiting Ellen’s cottage on a fairly regular basis, drinking in every scrap of information from her new friend that might help with her own smallholding. Every visit seemed to lead to a fresh discovery. For all Rowan cottage looked as if a puff of wind might blow it down at any minute it had a cultivated garden, filled in every corner with fruit or vegetables. The ubiquitous raspberries of course, rhubarb, gooseberries, black and redcurrants. The
n there was mint, sage, rosemary and other herbs which Beth didn’t recognise. Leeks, cabbages, potatoes and onions by the score.

  ‘Can’t grow carrots, more’s the pity,’ Ellen mourned. ‘Don’t grow well in this stony soil.’

  The birds could feast as much as they liked on whatever Ellen didn’t eat. No nets in her garden. ‘Share and share alike,’ she said. ‘They were here first.’

  There was a bee hive in one corner, its occupants humming busily. ‘What a fuss when they swarm,’ she told her young visitor. ‘Chase them half across the fells sometimes, I do. But beautiful honey. Feed on heather, d’you see?’

  ‘How wonderful.’

  ‘Know how to take honey from a hive, do you?’ And when Beth shook her head, she laughed. ‘Don’t look so feared. I’ll show you one day.’

  Best of all, Beth enjoyed watching the animals.

  The badger made steady progress and Ellen began to drop her reserve little by little, as she took note of Beth’s genuine interest in her simple country pursuits.

  ‘I build boxes for some of the owls which I release. They have a hard time of it with all the barns that are being turned into holiday accommodation. The red squirrels come and pinch bits of coconut I leave out for them. I like to watch them play, proper little acrobats they are. Have you known Andrew long?’

  The abrupt change in conversation caught Beth off guard. ‘Tess introduced us, at the Jubilee Sports Day. We watched him wrestle.’

  Ellen nodded. ‘He likes his wrestling, does Andrew.’ She glanced sideways at Beth, trying to appear not to pry as she plucked a thorn from the heel of one thumb. ‘He’s a quiet lad but strong, and with a heart as big as a mountain.’

  Beth felt rather amused by these compliments. Perhaps Ellen saw him as a surrogate son. They certainly seemed old buddies. ‘Yes,’ she said kindly. ‘I can see that he is. Very steady.’

  ‘Reliable.’

  ‘Absolutely.’ And no doubt utterly boring with it, she thought. Poor boy, the description was almost as damning as the ‘Beth is such a nice girl’ which the old ladies of Boston used to say about her.