Larkrigg Fell

by Freda Lightfoot

  And night after night she could hear them making love. She buried her head beneath her pillows but still she could hear them, if only in her imagination. Her ears strained to catch every gasp, every cry of release, every creak of the old bed springs. Her eyes grew hollow and dark ringed through lack of sleep. Often she would pace the floor of her bedroom for hours until she was too exhausted to stand up and would then fall into bed and sink into oblivion. Blissful relief.

  How could she bear to go on living in this way? And what would she do when the thaw did eventually come? If she left, she would lose everything. She had already lost Pietro. Was she prepared to give up her sister too, who was still dear to her? And Larkrigg Hall - her inheritance?

  Beth couldn’t bear to leave and she couldn’t bear to stay.

  It was a bleak and lonely time. One night she thought she heard tapping at her door and very nearly went to answer it. But then realised it must only be the constant drone of the wind and snuggled down again beneath the warm sheets, forcing herself to relax and sleep.

  During the day it was almost worse.

  The snow lay in great drifts, banking up against dry-stone walls, glittering with frost on their outer surface but deadly soft beneath. Where the wind had scoured the grass of thick snow, her feet made prints in the crisp hoar frost, disturbing the tiny icicles which feathered every blade of grass. The world looked so pure and white and beautiful while she felt dark and muddied and ugly.

  Every morning Pietro and Sarah would go off to play in the snow like children. Beth could hear their squeals and shouts of laughter as they sledged and threw snowballs and stuffed the icy snow down each other’s necks.

  ‘Come with us,’ they urged. ‘We’ve made skis with bits of wood. We’re going to try cross-country skiing. Come on, Beth. Don’t be such an old misery-boots.’ But as politely as she could, she always declined.

  In Larkrigg Hall itself the cold bit deep with iron jaws. The water, which came from a private spring nearby, froze in the ground. And snow continued to fall from time to time through the hole in the spare bedroom ceiling. Life was impossible, yet what could she do?

  Larkrigg belonged as much to her as it did to Sarah. More in a way, for Sarah would not have stayed on had she not been persuaded into it. So how could Beth risk abandoning it, even if she’d been able to get away? All she could do was grit her teeth and carry on.

  She dressed in layer upon layer of her warmest clothing, and as far as possible confined herself to working in the kitchen where the restored range now gave off a radiant heat.

  One morning she was digging out the hen arks from beneath feet of snow, stacking broken spars of wood, inspecting damage, thankful that at least the poultry remained safe and well. Pietro came to stand beside her, saying nothing. She ignored him, as she had done for over a week now. At last he spoke.

  ‘It was no good for us, was it?’

  ‘You clearly thought so.’

  ‘You didn’t love me enough.’

  Beth felt the curl of restoring anger deep inside and welcomed it as the land would welcome the sun. ‘You think not?’

  ‘You were infatuated with me, and I with you. But it could not have lasted. We are too different.’

  ‘And you discovered this fascinating fact in Sarah’s arms, did you?’

  ‘You are angry with me. I deserve your anger. But Sarah, she needs me.’

  Beth gazed at him, stunned. ‘And I don’t?’

  He held out his hands, palm up in a helpless gesture. ‘You are sensible and strong. You will survive.’

  How could he say such a thing? How could he ever imagine that she, Beth Brandon, the shy, awkward twin could ever be the strong one? Wasn’t it enough to be jilted once, very nearly at the altar, let alone twice? Why did it always have to be she who was the loser?

  ‘See how you build this place with your own hands. You have the dream and you go for it. I admire that in a woman.’

  ‘Yet there must be something wrong with me. I do the work while Sarah has the fun. Is that how it goes? And somehow Sarah always seems to get everything she wants.’ Beth was proud of the way she was holding on to her dignity with not a threat of a tear. Her calmness was really quite astonishing, as if a mist had gone and she could see everything quite clearly at last.

  ‘Sarah is the weak and feminine one. She cannot manage alone but needs someone to take care of her.’

  Beth’s jaw had dropped open. ‘You think Sarah is weak and feminine?’

  ‘But of course. She love me very much. As I love you. In different way. You understand?’

  The idea was so preposterous and he looked suddenly so boyish, and pathetic and sorry for himself that a spurt of rebellious laughter bubbled up in her throat. ‘As a matter of fact, Pietro, I think I do understand. More than you realise.’

  He looked pleased. ‘Good, now we can still be friends.’

  ‘Not quite as we once were.’

  ‘Why not? You are the sweet, forgiving one. Did I not always say so? When you feel better, we can all be the best friends and love each other, sì?’ Then he brushed a kiss upon her brow and smilingly walked away, as if he’d made everything right between them. Beth let him go without protest, too angry to cry.

  The trees of Brockbarrow Wood were like black sticks in the snow, back lit by the brilliant glare of a low winter sun. A thaw had at last set in and Beth’s wellington boots sloshed through puddles and lumps of melting ice as she made her way down the hill. Her spirits were lifting at the thought of calling upon Ellen. It felt good to be at last out of the house and this morning, with the sheep trods at least passable and running with water, was the first opportunity she’d had.

  She carried piping hot soup in her basket which Beth meant to offer tactfully as a lunch for them both. She guessed it might prove to be the most substantial meal Ellen would have tasted for some time, since most of her money went on her animals and birds.

  When she reached the clearing, she was relieved to see everything as normal. The cottage seemed to have stood up to the weather well. Ellen was moving about in the garden, attending to her chores as usual. Two of the dogs and the old grey goose trailed behind her, while a kestrel perched lop-sidedly upon her shoulder. Dressed in wellington boots, a thick knitted hat and a man’s raincoat with a padded waistcoat over the top, she looked like a cross between a latter-day pirate and a tramp.

  ‘Hi, everything okay?’ Beth called, setting the basket down on the doorstep. Ellen half glanced at it then turned quickly away as the aroma of the hot soup filtered through. So, she hadn’t eaten too well recently. As suspected.

  ‘Fine. Why shouldn’t I be?’ she barked. ‘Bit o’ snow don’t bother me.’

  Beth was used to her prickly manner and didn’t remark upon it. ‘We aren’t.’ Should she tell her the whole truth, ask if she could move in? ‘A whole chunk of our roof is sitting on the spare room bed. It had to happen one day. I would’ve had it fixed before now if I had the money. Never mind. We’ll find it somehow, I dare say.’

  ‘How?’

  Beth shrugged. ‘You tell me.’ She went over to the compound, seeking sight of a young barn owl she knew to be in there. Ellen came to join her.

  ‘Looking for Barney? He’s inside. Not too keen on this bright sunlight.’

  ‘Will you be letting him go soon?’

  ‘When spring comes and I can arrange a new home for him. His last barn is now four holiday bedsits.’

  ‘Ah!’ Beth looked sad. ‘Evicted, eh? Poor old Barney.’

  ‘That’s why he was brought to me. His parents apparently panicked when their home was ripped apart and they deserted him. I’ve had to be his foster mum. Why some folk are so insensitive to breeding times I cannot think. Amateurs. This one won’t be again. I gave him a piece of my mind.’

  Beth chuckled. Ellen always managed to help put things in perspective. ‘I’ll bet you did. Everyone is entitled to a home, even a barn owl.’ She watched with interest as Ellen tended a roe deer that had
injured its foot, and laughed as a group of red squirrels squabbled over a bowl of peanuts. ‘You’re always so busy, and happy,’ she added wistfully.

  The old woman cast Beth a keen glance. ‘Don’t be fooled by appearances. I have my worries too. This isn’t paradise. I too could be evicted, just like young Barney here!’

  ‘Who would do such a thing?’

  ‘It’s your land, you tell me.’

  Beth beamed. ‘In that case, there’s no problem. Look, I don’t know about you but I’m starving.’

  ‘I can afford to feed meself, thanks very much.’

  Beth stifled a sigh. ‘I didn’t say you couldn’t. Nettle soup and chickweed salad. Well, I’ve leek and potato soup, wholemeal rolls and cheese in the basket. You couldn’t force yourself to share it with me, I don’t suppose?’

  Ellen’s craggy face broke into a rare grin. ‘I might be persuaded.’

  As she turned to enter the cottage, she stopped suddenly and glared at Beth. ‘You look a bit washed out. Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine,’ Beth lied, and then mimicking Ellen’s earlier sharpness, ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

  A thoughtful pause then, ‘Aye, well, that’s all right then.’ But as Ellen collected dishes and spoons, she didn’t feel too convinced. There was summat wrong with the little lass, and she’d find out what it was or her name wasn’t Ellen Martin.

  As January passed and winter wore on, spring seemed further away than ever. Beth escaped often to Ellen’s compound. Sometimes she would help with the wild creatures, at other times the two of them would sit and chat or simply watch the animals at their antics. Even watching a tit struggle for a taste of the fat from Ellen’s hanging bird pudding that she made for them was never less than entertaining. It was peaceful in the woods, and it soothed Beth’s troubled spirit.

  But she didn’t forget old Seth. The old man looked forward to her regular visits, even if the hens weren’t laying much and she had few eggs for him.

  He loved to talk about the way life had used to be in the dale. ‘Never fought in either war but I’ve had me hard times all the same,’ he told her. ‘I’ve known poverty and hunger, and still brought up a clutch of childer, scattered half over Westmorland and Cumberland.’

  ‘It’s called Cumbria now, Seth, since government re-organisation,’ Beth reminded him but he fixed her with a fierce glare.

  ‘It’s Westmorland to me and allus will be. Government can say aught they want but they can’t tell me what to do, any more’n me own bairns has that right. Though they’d no doubt like to. Allus shoving bits o’ paper under me nose to sign. Pester me to death they do.’

  ‘I’m sure they only mean to help.’

  The old man snorted. ‘Naught they’d like better than to knock me off me perch. But I’m going nowhere. Not yet, I’m not. I’ll not sign their dratted papers. You can be sure o’ that. I’ll do as I please.’

  ‘Right,’ Beth gravely agreed.

  He folded his lips as if having won a great battle and Beth was unsure quite what she had said to upset him. It seemed to put him in a bad mood for the rest of the afternoon and she vowed to take more care in future.

  On occasions Andrew would be at Cathra Crag when she called. At other times not. She never objected when he wanted to walk her home across the fell now. She owed him her life, so how could she refuse?

  Once or twice he had happened to call upon Ellen while Beth was there and the three of them would enjoy a merry hour, working on Ellen’s chores, playing with the dogs or teaching Beth all about the wild life in the area.

  Beth’s favourite place was by the tarn, listening to the ice crack and creak as ridged waves frozen in motion by the fierce winds finally split and heaved apart. The sun sparkled upon the resulting shards, glinting to pink and palest turquoise and ice blue. She had no memory of a time when she and Sarah had gone skating on it, and almost fallen through the ice. Or of her natural father, Lissa’s first husband before she married Derry. But then Beth was learning that the past was best left buried.

  ‘See,’ Andrew pointed out the footprints of a passing fox, visible on the shore. ‘As the weather worsened he’d have to walk further to find food. Mebbe resort to eating frozen grass.’

  ‘Poor thing.’ There was always something to watch, something to talk about in this ever-changing landscape. ‘I love a clear, crisp day like this. It’s so calming.’

  ‘Winter is what I’d miss most if I couldn’t live in this dale,’ Andrew told her.

  Beth understood perfectly. ‘You wouldn’t ever leave though, would you?’

  He shook his head vehemently but his eyes were troubled. ‘Not if I can help it. But who knows what’s in store for us, eh? Farming is a tough life. Mebbe it’ll give up on me before I’m ready to give up on it.’

  ‘I hope it doesn’t.’

  He looked down at her and for a moment neither spoke, then he turned up her coat collar, holding it close against her chin as he smiled at her. ‘Come on, before you freeze like the tarn. Let’s beg some of Ellen’s terrible coffee.’

  These were the best times. The relief of a few hours away from Pietro and Sarah, of not seeing them in each other’s arms. How much longer she could bear things to go on as they were Beth had no idea, but gave no indication of her troubles to her friends.

  Sometimes she wondered if Ellen and Andrew watched her. They would exchange glances, transmit silent messages to each other and she would tense, ready to rebuff any probing. But they would turn away and say nothing.

  Only once when Andrew was crossing the fell with her, a playful breeze at their backs scudding them along, did he comment upon the situation at Larkrigg. ‘I hope you’re not being too soft with that sister of yours.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘You look tired, as if you’ve been working too hard.’ He put out a hand and catching her arm brought her to a halt, his grey eyes keen and shrewd. ‘Don’t let her, Beth. There’s no reason why she should leave all the work to you.’

  ‘She isn’t. She doesn’t.’ Feeling faintly flustered by the intensity of his gaze Beth tried to break free of his hold, but found she couldn’t. ‘I’m fine. Really.’

  ‘Is it Pietro then? You’d tell me if he was being a nuisance, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Tell you?’ She stared at him, astounded. ‘Why should I tell you? Not that he is a nuisance of course. But if he was, why should I come running to you?’

  ‘Because I’m your friend. I know we’ve had our differences and I probably spoke out of turn that time, but I reckoned we’d put it behind us. I’m trying not to interfere in your life. But that doesn’t mean I don’t still care about you.’

  She saw the wounded expression in his eyes and felt a burst of shame. There she went again, pushing him away, inflicting her hurt upon him when really he meant only to be friendly. ‘I’m sorry, Andrew. I didn’t think. It’s only that I shy away from ... I like to look after myself.’

  ‘There’s no shame in needing a bit of help now and again. From a friend.’

  She slanted her gaze up at him, not quite sure how to respond. His face held a calm strength, and she envied that in him. The only times she ever felt calm these days was when she was with Andrew. Yet he could still be touchy at times, which made her prefer to avoid all conversation connected with Tessa or Pietro, or even Sarah. It made their meetings difficult, sometimes awkward at times, since these people were so much a part of her life.

  But she hated to see anyone hurting. She knew about hurt. And Andrew must have suffered deeply when Tessa went off with Jonty. He needed time to get over losing her, as she must get used to the idea of being without Pietro. It seemed an almost impossible task.

  ‘You’ll be leaving soon, I expect,’ he said.

  ‘Leaving?’

  ‘Back to America. You and Sarah, and your boyfriend. I was wrong about Jonty, wasn’t I? It was the Italian you fancied all along, wasn’t it? I realise that now. Bit dim in these matters, I am. It was Tessa who was hot for Jonty
Reynolds, eh?’

  ‘Oh, Andrew.’ Filled with pity, she didn’t know what else to say.

  ‘Well, now you’ve got him, so that’s all right.’

  Beth had to summon every ounce of courage she possessed to keep a smile in place, though she dipped her head, allowing a swathe of silky fine hair to fall forward and hide its falseness. ‘Whatever makes you think the beautiful Pietro would even glance in my direction, when there’s Sarah around?’

  Deep furrows of doubt clove the thick brow as he frowned down at her. Then lifted and cleared on a sudden burst of incredible joy which entirely transformed him. He put out a tentative hand to lay it gently on her arm. ‘Are you saying that there’s nowt between you two?’

  She wanted to turn and run from him as fast as she could. ‘I’m saying that for a man who claims he has spadefuls of common sense, you jump to hasty conclusions.’

  Andrew considered her face for a long moment, the way she flicked at her hair with fidgety fingers, pretending to laugh and studiously ignoring his gaze. His voice, when he spoke, was soft and gentle. ‘So that’s the way the land lies. I’m sorry. I should’ve realised.’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean?’ A brittle spurt of laughter threatened to erupt into tears.

  ‘Happen.’ He saw it all now. Loved and lost, wasn’t that how they described it? A surge of hot anger soared through his veins. If he ever got his hands on that Pietro Lawson, he’d make him sorry he’d ever set foot in this dale. ‘You’ve had problems then? With your sister and that chap?’ His voice was quiet, soothing, and she responded with a weak smile.

  ‘You could say so, yes. But then so have you.’ Determined not to wallow in her own self pity. ‘Let’s not talk about it.’

  ‘No, we’ll leave it at that, shall we?’

  ‘It would be for the best,’ she agreed.

  ‘Right.’

  They stood and stared at each other, the wind lifting her hair and whipping it across her flushed cheeks. With one finger he pushed it back and hooked it behind her ear. ‘You never wear that nice little slide any more.’