Larkrigg Fell

by Freda Lightfoot

  Ellen turned away, ostensibly to mend a hole in the compound fence with a bit of bailing twine from her pocket, half watching Beth at the same time. ‘He’s a good lad. I’d not see him badly done to. His future isn’t too certain.’

  Beth was surprised. ‘Isn’t it? I thought his father owned Cathra Crag.’ She cut off the twine with a knife where Ellen indicated.

  ‘Nay, old Seth owns it, and the silly old fool is as stubborn as a mule. Terrified of doing aught new, he is. And Billy, Andrew’s father, don’t like change of any sort. Proper pair they are. Andrew has his hands full, I can tell you.’ She turned laughing eyes to Beth. ‘The poor lad is itching to modernise.’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll manage it, if he’s as sound and reliable as you say.’

  The brown eyes sharpened momentarily. Was the girl making fun? But Beth maintained her expression of bland innocence and Ellen relaxed again. ‘Aye, course he will. All he needs is a good wife to help him along the road.’

  So that’s what this was all about. ‘I’m sure he’ll find one. Lovely steady chap like him. Now I must be off. See you soon.’ Match-maker Ellen was running on the wrong track so far as she was concerned, Beth thought, chuckling to herself as she climbed back up the fell, the happy sounds of the birds and squirrels still whistling and chattering in her ears. It was perfectly plain, even to her, that Tessa was the one Andrew had his eye on. Why else would he keep popping in whenever she was around?

  ‘Let’s hope Tessa feels the same way. She deserves a bit of good luck.’

  Beth was delighted to find that Pietro talked with her much more freely these days. He seemed to have got over his bout of diffidence and was always ready to offer his help with whatever she was doing. Not that he was particularly practical. He would start a job eagerly enough, whether it be cleaning out the hen hut, or painting the living room walls. But if she didn’t keep a close watch on him, she would return to find he was making patterns with the paint instead of applying it smoothly, or sitting sketching the hens instead of feeding or cleaning them.

  ‘What a dreamer you are.’

  ‘I am the artist. My thoughts are bigger than these simple tasks.’

  ‘Yes, but we have to eat. And we must be clean and tidy.’

  ‘Why? We can live without plaster and paint on the walls, buy food at the supermarket. We must lift our mind to greater things. I wish to be the great artist like the ones in the museums and galleries of my home town of Florence. It is a proud and noble thing to be.’

  ‘I agree, but we’d run out of money eventually, wouldn’t we? And the whole point is to be as self-sufficient as possible.’

  He would look at her with his melting blue-eyed gaze, making her insides churn. ‘Ah, do not scold me, little one. I am the silly boy, yes? You are so wise. What is it you wish for me to do?’

  Then he would reach over and place a soft kiss on her lips or stroke her wayward hair from her cheeks with such a tender touch that Beth would shiver with longing. Once he pulled out the slide and tossed it away in the long grass.

  She gave a little gasp. ‘Why did you do that?’

  ‘Because the hair is too beautiful to confine. Discipline is bad for you. Let your hair be free. Let yourself be free.’

  ‘Oh, Pietro. If only I could. Sarah always does exactly as she pleases but I have this need, this compulsion almost, to do always what is right.’

  ‘You are the good girl, and she the bad?’

  Beth giggled. ‘No, nothing so simple as that. I’m screwed up, that’s all. But I promise, I don’t mind your not working. Do your sketch, I’ll finish this job.’ She couldn’t help being soft with him, for all he was every bit as lazy as Sarah. How could she when he was so entirely charming and beautiful?

  And she was falling so helplessly in love with him.

  Later that autumn he went home to Italy on a visit to see his family and replenish his funds. He was most careful with money, she knew that, and contributed his share to the general housekeeping fund. She watched him go with an ache of longing in her heart, wondering about his family, this Jack who Meg had no wish to talk about. What were they like? Did they miss Pietro when he was here in England?

  The long days while he was away would be an agony. What if he didn’t ever come back? What if he had a girl back in Italy? One he’d never told her about. A wife even. Beth paled at the thought. No, he would have told her. And he would be back soon, wouldn’t he? Otherwise how could she bear to live without him?

  Beth busied herself more than ever. Every day she spent hours on the endless chores around the house, visiting Ellen and the badger, now recovering well, working till she was exhausted and could drop into bed and sleep without the torment of longing.

  And as she worked, Beth found herself becoming more and more a part of the landscape. She knew the dip of every hill, could name every pale and distant peak, the fold of every mountain. Kentmere Pike, III Bell, High Street as far as Scafell and Great Gable. And to the east the softer line of the Pennines and the Howgills. She loved them all. Loved this vista which never seemed quite the same two days together. Even the sky seemed to produce a magical new colour of pink, topaz, turquoise or blue, each and every day.

  She loved the soft rain on her face, the drifts of mist that veiled the hills, the wind that tore up the valley and shook every chimney and door, reminding her of the power of nature.

  She was a country person at last, living her rural dream. And each day her resolve to stay grew ever deeper. When the house was finished she would fight Sarah tooth and nail to stop her selling it. It must never happen.

  It was Ellen who sold her the goat. ‘She’s a good clean animal. A good mother. She’ll serve you well. You’ll have to watch her, of course,’ she told Beth in her usual brisk manner. ‘She’s young still, with a mind of her own. As all goats have.’ She proceeded to give a lengthy list of instructions.

  ‘I’ll take good care of her.’

  Beth took it home without mentioning it to anyone, except Tess of course. The goat rode in the yellow mini beside a delighted James who kept tickling it under its chin. But after the goat threatened to eat the little boy’s jumper right off his back, Tessa had to stop the car so Beth could squash herself between them and try to keep the animal’s mouth shut, which proved far from easy.

  It took some time to extricate the animal from the small car, particularly as they were both doubled up with laughter.

  Sarah was standing in the drive staring at them, appalled. ‘Are you quite mad?’

  ‘I thought it might help to keep the grass down,’ Beth said, her voice unusually defiant.

  But the goat, named Lucy, proved willing to eat anything but grass, which largely she scorned. Young trees she enjoyed enormously, and the leeks which Beth had so painstakingly planted. Several items from the washing line mysteriously disappeared and Jonty lost a dozen nails he’d been about to hammer into the fence.

  Learning to milk her was another trauma. The goat would eye Beth with suspicion, stamp her foot and move away at precisely the wrong moment. Even when Beth managed to keep her standing still, milk squirted anywhere but in the bucket.

  Not that there was much milk since they couldn’t afford to feed her on the high concentrates necessary. And she absolutely refused to stay in the little shelter which Beth and Tessa painstakingly built to keep the rain off and save her from chills. They seemed to spend much of their time chasing the obstinate Lucy over hill and dale.

  ‘Poor Beth,’ Jonty said, surprisingly sympathetic.

  ‘She’ll settle. Give her time,’ was Beth’s response to every complaint.

  ‘Don’t put me on the goat rota,’ Sarah warned. Advice which Beth took very seriously.

  Then there were the ducks and geese. These she bought from a local farmer, clipped their wings in the required manner, and settled them in a nettle patch by a small pond.

  ‘They’ll keep off intruders. Geese are good for that.’

  ‘We never have any intruders.
We’d see them coming a mile off if we did,’ Sarah protested, rather sharply in Beth’s opinion.

  ‘Leave the girl alone,’ Jonty protested. ‘Let her keep a goat if she wants one,’ and for once Beth warmed to him.

  She fed the birds on corn and barley and after a while they started to lay eggs, the ducks every day, the geese once in a while. Some of the geese proved good mothers, the ducks less so, and Beth set the spare eggs beneath broody hens.

  ‘When they hatch, we can sell the young birds on and make money,’ she explained, relieved to find they had a use after all.

  ‘As well as fattening some for the Christmas table,’ Jonty agreed. ‘Good thinking, Beth. You’re coming on. Not such a silly goose after all,’ and she forgave him the awful joke since he’d taken her side for once.

  When Pietro returned, tanned and refreshed from his holiday, looking more gorgeous than ever in Beth’s eyes, he wasn’t too keen on the goat either but reluctantly agreed to carry the bucket for her when she went to feed and milk Lucy.

  ‘How were your family? Tell me about them,’ she asked, breathless with excitement at seeing him again and wanting to keep him to herself for a while.

  He perched on a nearby stone to watch her, seemingly in a contented mood. ‘Ah, my family, I must admit they care very little for me. I am, what you say, the cuckoo in the nest. They think I am not very bright.’ He tapped his head with one finger making her laugh.

  ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘It is true. I am not good at making the money as they are. My parents they divorce and Momma marry again. My stepfather, he never forgive me for not making much money like him. He has the good restaurant and little hotel, a pensione in Florence, near the Pitti Palace. He make much money, and my half brothers, they too have businesses. I keep changing the jobs which he not like. He say I no good. My mother was pleased to see me but she not miss me while I am in England, I think.’

  She stared at him, round eyed. Hadn’t she guessed there was deep sorrow in him?

  ‘Oh, but that is so sad. What about your own father?’

  ‘He say since I chose to go with my mother, he doesn’t wish to know me as his son any more.’

  ‘But that is dreadful.’

  He gave a philosophical shrug. ‘Even here I am resented.’

  Beth gasped. ‘Resented? Why on earth do you say that?’

  ‘Because you all think that I come to steal the Broombank from your grandmother. You do not trust my love for the Lakeland hills. Is that not so?’

  ‘No, of course it is not so.’ The urge to put her arms about him and nurse this raw vulnerability was almost unbearable.

  ‘Your friend, Andrew, he think so.’

  ‘Andrew is not my friend,’ she stoutly and recklessly declared, then bit her lip, feeling guilty at denying him. ‘Well, not as you are my friend.’

  He smiled at her then, and her heart lit with the radiance of it. ‘Oh, Pietro we love having you here. We all l-love you.’ She stumbled over the word, cheeks flushing hotly, wondering if he guessed her real feelings for him. Then he laughed, and kissing the tip of his finger placed it on her tip-tilted nose as he had done once before.

  He clearly found it difficult to disguise his disgust as Beth started to wash the goat’s teats. He started to pace about, half watching her, kicking at stones and bits of turf while Beth worried over how he felt about her, and how she should explain to everyone that if the supply of milk was to continue they would need another goat. A billy.

  ‘Don’t let your stepfather bother you. There are more important things in life besides making money,’ she soothed, dragging her attention back to his family.

  ‘Of course there are. Who cares about an old man.’ He brightened. ‘Let me draw you. With your hands busy with the goat and your cheeks all pink, you look delectable.’

  The colour on her cheeks deepened as she ineffectually protested. ‘Oh, I’m far too plain to be an artist’s model. Sarah would make a lovely one, don’t you think?’ She longed for him to deny it, to say that really she had a quiet, pastoral beauty far greater than her more flamboyant sister.

  But he kept his eyes on the small pad of paper he had pulled from his pocket and gave a disarming shrug. ‘One does not draw only what is superficially beautiful. I see into your soul.’ When he smiled at her, a brilliant, beautiful smile she thought her heart would stop. Even so, disappointment was tight in her throat and his words did little for her fragile ego.

  But what else could she hope for? That he would see what wasn’t there? She was indeed plain and dull, a milkmaid, as Sarah would no doubt say. A grubby one too after a day’s work. And he was a true artist, sensitive and kind, trying to make her feel better.

  Beth sat as obediently still as she could, holding on desperately to the fidgety goat, longing to be able to flirt or pout or flash her eyes, as Sarah did. She wished she dare dress in bright colours that didn’t quite match and still look stunning. She ached to be able to behave recklessly for once, and have Pietro fall at her feet with passion in his eyes.

  ‘There, it is done.’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  She forgot for a moment that she held a bucket between her knees and a goat at her fingertips as he leaned closer. For one heart-stopping moment she thought he might kiss her properly at last, but he half turned away to lift up his sketch pad and show her the picture, as if the thought of kisses had never entered his head.

  ‘It is perhaps not my best work but shows how you have the beautiful soul, I think.’

  ‘Oh, what a wonderful thing to say.’

  Her hands flew to her face and thinking she’d been released, Lucy darted forward, put her foot in the bucket, knocked it over and sent milk streaming all over Beth’s feet then stomped away, bored by the whole process.

  ‘Oh no! Sarah will kill me.’ They both ran after the goat, laughing, and Pietro eventually managed to catch Lucy before she escaped too far. But the rare moment of intimacy had been lost, which, Beth thought, was a great pity.

  If Pietro showed disappointingly few signs of returning her love, Beth nonetheless grew more content with each passing day. Her skin glowed, her hair grew long and she enjoyed the sweep of it upon her shoulders, the burnished chestnut blazing to an autumn fire whenever the sun shone upon it. Some of her youthful plumpness was smoothing out to a new slender strength as she worked on the land, honing her muscles with regular exercise day after day. Working at Larkrigg was proving both healthy and immensely satisfying.

  Her life felt rich and fulfilled, needing only for Pietro to notice these changes in her to make her happiness complete. Beth lived for that day. But there was no hurry, she told herself. And he did seem to quite like spending time with her. Almost as important, she was learning about the countryside.

  She loved to watch out for redstarts and wheatears, nesting in niches of dry-stone walls. Sometimes she would see a sprightly merlin cruise by on a passing wind-stream, and there were the yellowhammers, tits and wagtails busy with their own affairs. Her favourite was the mistlethrush which Ellen called a throstle.

  She could see her dream beginning to take shape before her eyes. Rural life, a smallholding, Larkrigg Hall coming to life with warmth and comfort.

  Had it not been for Tessa, Beth might have worked till she dropped and not even noticed. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, Tess was beside her offering help and support, lending her not inconsiderable muscle.

  Then one morning the goat ate Sarah’s favourite cashmere sweater and her fate was sealed. Lucy had to go. Beth returned her to Ellen who looked startled for a moment, and then burst out laughing.

  ‘I warned you. Goats have a way with them. A mind of their own. Never mind. Come and look at old Brock.’

  The badger was curled up in a homemade sett, fast asleep with another badger.

  ‘He’s got a mate.’ Ellen grinned. ‘A new friend, you might say. I’m letting them both go off together tonight, back where they came from. They’re good chums n
ow and I reckon they’ll do all right.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad.’

  ‘You were right. He did have stamina. Happen you have too, being the quiet sort, and that’s why you recognised it in him.’

  ‘Me? Lord, no. I’m a hard worker, that’s all. More a beaver than a badger.’ Beth laughed, relaxed and happy as she always was when visiting Ellen.

  ‘There’s some as say that a bit of hard work never hurt anyone. But don’t overdo it, lass. Let others do their whack too. And don’t put yourself down so much.’

  Overhead they heard the cack-cack of wild geese and both women looked up through the oakwoods, watching the vee formation swoop across the open sky. ‘The year’s drawing on. Can’t you feel the pulse slowing? There they go, heading south on heaven’s motorway.’

  That night Beth helped Ellen set the two badgers free, quite close to their home sett. Nothing gave her greater satisfaction than to see them disappear safely together into the earth. The badgers at least were safe in their own home, and content.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning at breakfast, invigorated by the successful return of the badgers and deeply missing the goat, Beth stuck valiantly to her dream and tried to persuade everyone to let her buy a cow.

  ‘Cow’s milk tastes better,’ she explained. ‘A cow will eat grass, doesn’t run off at every opportunity and we can make our own butter and cheese.’

  No one seemed at all convinced.

  ‘A cow is central to self-sufficiency,’ she persisted, chin high.

  But everyone sat around the huge scrubbed table and stared at her, as if she’d suggested buying a camel.

  ‘Someone would still have to milk the damned thing every night and morning. Which wouldn’t be me,’ Sarah protested.

  ‘No one would ask you to.’

  ‘I don’t mind helping,’ Tessa said.

  She was rewarded with a fierce, violet-eyed glare from Sarah. ‘I don’t suppose you would mind getting free milk for the baby. And this is between me and my sister, right?’