Larkrigg Fell

by Freda Lightfoot

  Perhaps it was not too late.

  He sought any opportunity to be alone with her, to coax her to forgive him. And to his great delight she seemed confused and bewitched by his attentions, though he sensed a struggle with her conscience in every delightful tremor of her body.

  Even when Sarah was around he took calculated risks. At weekends when they were all home, he’d freely offer to help Beth with the chores, seeking any opportunity to be alone with her.

  He would put his arms about her, kiss her neck when she was washing up or cooking their evening meal. Capturing her in the wood shed and slipping his fingers inside her blouse to seek the bud of her breasts and excite her even more. Or hide behind the hen hut to leap out and gather her in his arms when she emerged from feeding and watering the birds.

  To Beth it was a blissful, torturous nightmare. Pietro insisted he still loved her, that he’d been a blind fool. So contrite and humble was he, and she so entirely besotted by the wonder of this astonishing declaration, that how could she not believe his every word?

  It was shocking, wonderful, irresistible and quite impossible. Beth lay sleepless through the achingly long hours of darkness, wondering how to find the strength to resist him. Yet how she would ever face her sister again if she did not?

  She woke in some confusion. It was still dark but something had disturbed her. Was it a tree branch against her window? All her senses came alert and Beth became aware of Pietro standing by her bed. A moment later he was kneeling beside her, gently stroking her hair.

  ‘Did I wake you?’

  ‘It’s all right.’

  ‘You look like a child tucked up in bed.’

  She gazed at him, a stream of light from the open door highlighting the sculptured lines of his high cheekbones. Her eyes begged him to go away, for if he stayed she could not resist him. ‘I’m not a child, Pietro, and you shouldn’t be here, in my room.’

  He kissed her cheek, and the corners of her mouth, softly and seductively. and then her neck. His voice was blurred and sleepy, his breath smelling strongly of wine. ‘Do not scold me, little one. I am a mere male and you know that I love you. How can I lie in my cold room alone when my body tells me you are so close. I miss you. I need you. Let me stay. Let us make love together.’

  His movements were swift and fluid as he unbuttoned her nightgown with urgent fingers, covering her in soft kisses all the while. Excitement rose hot and fierce in her breast and Beth wanted him to go on kissing her, wanted him so badly her body ached for his touch. His tongue pushed between her teeth, rasping against hers. Then he pulled her down beneath him in the bed, pushing her into the soft pillows with his own weight as he drew her thighs apart.

  ‘I want you for my wife, Beth. I have always wanted you. I mean to have you.’

  She felt suddenly light-headed and terribly happy, and she moaned his name, delirious with need. But she knew it was wrong.

  ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Don’t do this to me.’

  Not that she wanted him to listen to her protests. She would die if he stopped now. All thought of Sarah was gone from her mind.

  His mouth was somewhere about her breast, caressing and kissing her as he removed his own clothing. She could hardly bear to wait another second, but he seemed to feel it necessary to go on talking, persuading, soothing her, saying something about the three of them.

  ‘You have been to see the doctor, sì? Taken the necessary precautions this time?’

  ‘Yes, but this isn’t right… Sarah…’

  Beth was pushing him from her, tears rolling down her cheeks. But it was too late. The fullness of him was inside of her, thrusting and pulsing, his body grinding against hers and everything vanished from her mind in a torrent of shameful sensation.

  It was all over surprisingly quickly, a matter of seconds it seemed before he reached a shuddering climax and shouted something out loud in Italian. She had never meant this to happen. But it had, and she ached with guilt and humiliation. There’d been little pleasure in it, so hurried and furtive had it been. She should never have allowed him into her bed. She daren’t even imagine how Sarah would react if she ever discovered what had taken place.

  However Sarah might betray others was considered permissible. For it to happen to her was not even to be contemplated. Beth groaned in agony. Her sister might speak of being a free spirit, of Pietro loving them both, but in reality she would tear Beth limb from limb, pluck out her eyes and feed her to the birds if the truth came out.

  And it would be no more than she deserved.

  Yet however exasperating and selfish Sarah was, she was still her twin and Beth knew she should not have hurt her in such a deeply intimate way. It was a terrible betrayal for which she should be punished. It must never be allowed to happen again.

  ‘Go,’ she told him. Go now.’

  ‘What you say?’

  ‘I said go. Get out!’

  Her voice had risen dangerously close to a scream, and, at last, recognising that she was serious, he flung himself off her. Then he gathered up his clothes and swearing comprehensively and unintelligibly in fluent Italian, strode from the room.

  Beth collapsed in a storm of tears.

  ‘May I come and live with you?’ Beth gazed with pleading eyes at Ellen as she helped her feed the squirrels. Spring was always her busy time with a new crop of fledgling orphans to take care of. The older woman didn’t answer immediately, didn’t even glance at her.

  ‘I could help with the animals and I’d pay for my keep.’

  ‘I raised these two nippers myself, started with warm milk and sugared water, now they’re on full squirrel diet of peanuts and all the acorns I can root out for them. Their mother died as a result of acting as decoy to save them from a dog. Lost her life in saving theirs.’

  ‘How dreadful.’

  ‘It’s what mothers do.’

  ‘I suppose so. Sisters are rather different.’

  Ellen chuckled. ‘I reckon they are. Not getting on any better then?’

  ‘Not much.’

  Then after another long pause. ‘There’s a small bed in the spare room. You’re welcome to that but it has no bedding.’

  ‘I could bring some sheets and blankets from Larkrigg. And I’ll pull my weight around the place. I won’t be a nuisance.’ Relief, and a valiant attempt to be cheerful about an impossible situation.

  Ellen sniffed. ‘You’d better not be. I’ve enough lame ducks about the place already.’

  That afternoon Beth swept out the one other bedroom in Rowan cottage, made up the old iron bedstead with clean sheets and prepared to face Sarah.

  In the event it proved remarkably simple. Over a carefully cooked chicken dinner, Beth explained her decision to leave.

  ‘It’s only for a little while. Ellen hasn’t been too well lately,’ she lied, crossing her fingers beneath the table. ‘And she has a new influx of patients. Only yesterday she took in two squirrels, a stoat and a clutch of baby wagtails.’ Mustn’t overdo it, Beth warned herself. ‘I’ll stay with her till she feels more herself.’

  Sarah thought her mad of course, and said as much, but put it down to Beth’s foolish obsession with animals. ‘How am I supposed to manage here? I can’t look after this place on my own. It’s your pet project, remember.’

  Beth promised faithfully that she would continue to do her bit with the smallholding at Larkrigg. Pietro sat scowling, but making no comment.

  The next day she moved in to Rowan cottage and felt a huge sense of relief. Here she would be free from temptation, free from the nightly horror of hearing Sarah’s throaty laughter mingling with Pietro’s deeply caressing and much loved voice.

  And free from the daily temptation of falling into his arms.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hard work was Beth’s refuge, for there were still those oh-so-painful moments when she couldn’t rid her mind of the picture of the two of them together: her sister and the man she loved. But when work failed her, she was glad to escape t
o the hills, alone or with Andrew, anywhere to avoid the torment of her own thoughts or the sight of the two lovers.

  They were sitting on a tree stump at the edge of the wood eating sandwiches, having spent the morning walking the fells to check on the sheep and this season’s crop of lambs, now fat and harassing the life out of their mothers. From deep in the dale came the whirr of machinery on the sultry air as the harvesting had begun at Broombank, but up here all was peace and quiet, except for the drone of bees in the sweet scented heather.

  He was good company, never seemed to mind her tagging along, almost welcomed it. Since the day he’d found her in the snow their friendship had grown steadily, though he had never again repeated his offer of marriage for which she was most grateful. She was sure he’d only asked her out of pity, because they were both hurting at the time. And it wouldn’t have worked. Beth couldn’t imagine any sort of romance between them.

  But he was still obsessed with Pietro. ‘Even when she steals your fella you do nothing. I am right, aren’t I? She did take Pietro because you wanted him?’

  ‘Because she needed a man.’

  ‘And what Sarah wants, Sarah gets, eh?’

  ‘I had my chance. I asked him to wait and he couldn’t, not then. He thought I didn’t truly care for him.’ If there hadn’t been the accident, if I hadn’t made him wait, we’d be married by now, she thought.

  ‘So how come you still moon over him? Have you no pride?’

  Beth flinched at the harsh words. Why was he being so disagreeable? ‘I don’t moon over him.’ Oh, but she did, couldn’t seem to help herself. Why couldn’t Andrew understand how she felt? Wasn’t he still agonising over the loss of Tessa?

  Andrew was a good man but not for a moment could she consider telling him the whole truth about her relationship with Pietro. What would he say if he knew that he still stole kisses from her whenever they were alone? If she admitted that she’d allowed him in to her bed and let him make love to her? Beth knew in her heart that he would disapprove, and her own shame would never allow her to mention it, a part of her afraid of losing his respect.

  ‘It won’t last.’ The words had popped out before she had time to stop herself.

  Andrew glared at her. ‘What won’t last?’

  She flushed deep pink. ‘This affair between Sarah and Pietro.’

  A long tense silence grew between them. ‘You imagine he’ll come back to you, is that it?’

  Beth bravely met his accusing gaze with a steady one of her own. ‘I know that he will. Sarah grows bored with everything in the end. She always has. And Pietro still likes me. He’s said so.’ She didn’t say love, afraid he’d mock her even more.

  He gave something very like a growl deep in his throat. ‘You’re obsessed with him. You both are.’

  Beth bridled. ‘Absolutely not. Anyway, even if it were true, is that such a crime?’ She bit down hard on her sandwich, not tasting it.

  Andrew Barton was a quiet man, kept his own council in a way she found hard to deal with at times but he’d come to be an important part of Beth’s life. There’d been moments during these last months when she’d wished they could love each other, instead of other people. Life would be so much less complicated for them both. But you couldn’t plan the way you felt about a person.

  Pietro made her feel good. With him all her shyness evaporated, life was happy and exciting, almost with an edge of danger which was thrilling. He kept insisting it would be perfectly fine for them to be lovers too because twins always share things.

  So far, she had managed to resist these persuasions.

  She just had to be patient. Until Sarah let him go.

  Pietro was in Brockbarrow Wood. He lay beneath a low canopy of hazel, well hidden from sight. From here he could see right across the dale: Broombank nestling in the cleft of the hill, Meg moving about in the farm yard, calling to Tam to come inside. He felt a burning resentment for their obvious contentment, envied them their comfortable life. Why should they have so much and he so little? That could have been him down there. That should be his house. Instead of which he’d been forced to suffer his stepfather’s scathing remarks, constantly telling him how useless he was.

  He was not useless, he was deprived. He had been deprived long ago of his true heritage, to live here, in these beautiful green mountains and learn the land of his forefathers. Family is all important as every Italian knows. His grandfather had lost out because of this ambitious, avaricious woman.

  He heard Meg laugh at something Tam said, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Then the Irishman put his arms about her and kissed her cheek as if she were a girl still.

  This woman was happily married yet his mother had known nothing but trouble. How could she, such a beautiful lady, have been expected to be content with life as a simple baker’s wife, struggling to find every penny? She was a woman of great pride. His father had failed her, as his father, Jack, had in turn failed them all. No wonder she had left him for another, richer man, which had ruined all their lives. The moment she left them, his father had become a broken man, the family in ruins.

  The source of these great troubles lay here, at Broombank. In their past.

  His mother would have been happy here, with much money and family about her. With space and beauty and good air to breathe, instead of the poverty in their poor village, the small overcrowded house and long hours of grinding hard work. No wonder she left with the first man who offered her freedom and a comfortable life.

  And so he must take his revenge. For the sake of his father who had lost everything. For the sake of his mother who had been forced by deprivation to take the course that she had. For the sake of himself. And at the same time, Pietro would enjoy proving to his stepfather that he too could be a man of action, and perhaps substance, one day.

  ‘What d’you think you’re doing?’

  He started at the stern voice behind him, rolled over to look up into Ellen’s curious, brown-eyed stare.

  ‘Looking for deer,’ he said, grabbing the first idea which came to mind.

  Ellen frowned her disbelief. She’d watched this young man often while she went quietly about her business in the woods. Not that he’d ever noticed her, but there was something about his behaviour that didn’t ring true. She could always smell suspicious behaviour in an animal, and a man wasn’t much different.

  ‘You don’t get many deer so near to habitation at this time of year. You’ve no glasses? You won’t see much without a good pair of binoculars. They like to keep their distance.’

  She sank to her knees beside him in the long grass and gazed out across the fell tops, eyes studying the skyline, combing the craggy outcrops, the sheep cropped turf. ‘Where is he then? Stag is it, or a hind with a young un?’

  ‘He’s gone.’ Pietro got quickly to his feet. ‘And I must go too.’

  ‘He must’ve gone quickly.’ Something caught Ellen’s eye. Meg and Tam moving about some distance below in Broombank yard, their voices carrying with easy clarity on the soft breeze. She watched them for a moment then her eyes slid back to Pietro and as their gazes locked an understanding dawned. ‘You get a good view of Broombank too from here.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, holding her gaze.

  ‘And you watch.’

  ‘Is it the crime that I watch the twins’ family at work?’

  Ellen got stiffly to her feet and brushed her hands on the seat of her trousers. ‘Depends why you’re doing it. And what you were thinking as you watched.’

  ‘I think nothing. What should I think?’

  Still Ellen held fast to his gaze, studying him with the same keen observation with which she studied her wild creatures. ‘Good folk, the O’Cleary’s. Friends of mine.’

  ‘Mine too.’ He half turned away, dropping his gaze, avoiding the shrewd gaze that seemed to peer right into his soul. ‘I must go. I have the work to do. I should not even be here.’

  ‘No, you shouldn’t.’

  And with a brisk nod he h
urried off in the direction of Larkrigg. But Ellen was thoughtful. He’d not liked her curiosity. It had caused him great discomfort. Were she a more fanciful woman, she’d imagine his expression in the second before he’d broken that telling gaze, to be one of enmity.

  When Beth reached Ellen’s cottage after her walk, Ellen asked if she had seen Pietro.

  ‘No, should I have done?’

  She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I wondered.’

  Beth shook her head. ‘He’s working at the petrol station today, won’t be back until late.’

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘I saw Andrew.’

  Keen brown eyes pierced her. ‘How was he?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘You two speaking again, are you?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t we be?’ Beth grinned. ‘Andrew and I are good friends, but don’t start your match-making. We’re not a couple of your strays. We’ll organise our own lives, thanks very much.’

  ‘Aye, and a right mess you’ll make of it.’ Ellen turned away, briskly changing the subject. ‘Are you free to help an old woman?’

  Beth glanced teasingly about her. ‘I don’t see any around.’

  ‘Flatterer.’ Ellen laughingly handed her a bag of scraps. ‘Injured swan, settled on the tarn. He won’t stop long, probably lost his mate but he needs a bit of feeding up to help him mend. Take care now, he’s not a pet. They can go for you can swans.’

  Beth took the bag and went happily off to the tarn, the old goose with half a beak, dubbed Georgie Girl, waddled along beside her and she stopped, confused. ‘Oh dear, I’m not sure if you're allowed to come.'

  Ellen cackled with laughter. ‘It's all right. She enjoys a swim and she'll come back when she wants to.’

  Scarcely a ripple marred the glasslike surface of the tam, save for the swan who swam serenely across to Beth the moment he spotted his dinner. Georgie Girl made a dash for the water, keeping her distance from the tarn’s new occupant and began to flap about and bathe the dust from her wings. Laughing, Beth kept one eye on her as she fed the injured swan, now padding about on the shore, opening his big black beak in greedy anticipation.