The Gated Road

by Jean S. MacLeod

  “And this time it’s on Adam’s land—somewhere near High Tor?” she guessed.

  “How the devil do you know all this?” he demanded, getting into the car. And then, suspiciously: “Have you told Adam? Have you gone blabbing to him?”

  “No,” Jane said.

  “Then keep your mouth shut!” He sat staring at the wheel for a moment before he apologized. “Sorry,” he said, “but I’d never live it down if the others thought I’d talked, even to you.” He glanced at his watch. “Come with me,” he suggested, “and I’ll convince you it isn’t all that bad!”

  “I’d like it better,” Jane said, “if you’d take me to Carlisle for the afternoon.”

  He hesitated, and then his face seemed to lighten with an odd sort of relief.

  “All right,” tie agreed. “Get your coat, and you could even leave a note for Adam to tell him where we’ve gone!”

  “I’ll tell Doris.”

  Jane was elated. She did not stop to change, catching up her coat on the way through the hall to deliver her message to Doris.

  “We’ll probably stay in Carlisle for tea,” she said, “so don’t prepare anything for us.”

  “I’m glad that’s where you’re going, miss,” Doris said thankfully.

  Driving away along the gated road, Jane felt an exhilaration she had not known for a very long time. The fact that she had managed to do this for Adam sent a little warm thrill into her heart, and not even the sight of Marion galloping off on Thunderer in the opposite direction could depress her.

  It was a lovely bright spring day, with sound travelling a long way across the hills, and she listened to the bleating of the lambs as she got out to open the gates. In some ways they were her lambs, too. She had played a small part at their birth, and she felt a deep, warm satisfaction.

  When the last gate had been closed behind them she settled down in the car beside Nigel, fully prepared to enjoy the run. It was an unexpected treat, and Nigel seemed glad that she had suggested it.

  “I’ll take you through to the Lake District one day if you want to pick up the rest of your belongings,” he offered. “There’s a good hotel on Ullswater where we could have lunch and we could come back by Keswick.”

  “I’d love it,” she told him. “I really ought to vacate the cottage before Easter. Sara rents it in the spring and summer months to make extra money.”

  Nigel had been driving at a considerable pace, but suddenly he brought the car up on the brow of a hill. Jane’s heart missed a beat. Was he going to turn back? Had the whole thing been nothing more than a ruse to make sure that she didn’t tell Adam about the cock-fight?

  But he was laughing when she looked round at him with a hint of accusation in her eyes.

  “Don’t worry, Jane,” he said as he applied his brakes. “I’m not going back on my promise. I’m only going to kiss you.”

  “No,” she protested. “Please, Nigel!”

  “Don’t be silly! Why not a nice, friendly kiss?”

  “Because it wouldn’t mean a thing.”

  “So—it wouldn’t then!” He pulled her to him, bending her head back to press his lips against her reluctant mouth. “You’re fussy, Jane,” he said, “But don’t be!”

  She tried to thrust him away, alarmed by the passion with which his lips had met hers.

  “I thought we were going to Carlisle,” she suggested, not quite steadily.

  “So we were!” he laughed, reaching for the brake lever, but before he had released it she saw him stiffen and sit very still, his eyes fastened intently on a speeding object in the valley far below them. “My God!” he said between his teeth. “The police!”

  Jane had already made out the patrol cars on the main road. They were travelling swiftly, as if they had some definite object in view, and they were going in the direction of High Tor.

  Nigel let in his clutch and turned the car.

  “Keep out of it, Nigel!” she begged. “It looks as if the police know.”

  “I can’t!” he said fiercely. “I’ve got to go back. Surely you see that? I’ve got to warn them. I’ll put you off at Kirkleyhead and you can wait for me there. This is the quicker road. The patrol has to get up out of the dale.”

  He put her down, as he had promised, at Kirkleyhead, and she spent an uneasy half-hour shopping for the few things she had meant to buy in Carlisle. Her eyes went constantly to the dale road, but there was no sign of Nigel’s return or, for that matter, of the searching patrol cars.

  When, at last, the red sports car flashed into view she watched its progress with her heart thumping madly against her ribs.

  He pulled up abreast of her.

  “Get in,” he ordered unceremoniously. “Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, Jane.”

  She saw how upset he was. His face was pale and she thought that he looked sickened and distressed.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked.

  “I got there,” he said breathlessly. “I was in time to warn them. The arena was cleaned up just before the patrol arrived.” He sat for several minutes staring straight ahead. “It’s a filthy sport,” he said. “And this was a pretty big scare.”

  Jane did not answer and he swung the car up on to the moor and out along the gated road. Jane was thinking about Adam, wondering if the police were already at High Tor. They might so easily go there, even if it were only to make a routine check-up, but all the gates were closed and the distant farm buildings looked remote and secure as they approached.

  Adam came from the direction of the stables as the car slowed up on the cobbles of the yard. His face looked taut and grim as Jane got out and walked round the bonnet.

  “A word with you Nigel,” he said. “I’ve had Chris Musgrove here this afternoon.”

  Christopher Musgrove was the affable village constable who came often enough to High Tor, but something in Adam’s tone suggested that this had been other than a friendly visit ending in a pint of ale or a homely cup of tea in the farmhouse kitchen.

  Nigel edged himself from behind the steering wheel. He still looked tensed and white, and already he was half resenting Adam’s attitude.

  “So what?” he asked belligerently. “Does he want to arrest me?”

  Adam walked over to the car and Jane saw him run his hand over the bright paintwork of the boot. It came away red. It looked as if there was blood on his fingers.

  “You didn’t go to Carlisle.” His jaw tightened as he made a supreme effort to keep his temper.

  “No.” There had been a split second’s hesitation before Nigel answered. “The police know, I suppose.”

  Adam’s lips curled.

  “You’re quite safe,” he said. “I passed on Jane’s alibi.”

  All the color fled out of Jane’s face. Of course she had left word that they were going to Carlisle and they had set out to go, but now Adam was accusing her of dishonesty, of deliberately plotting with Nigel to run contrary to his wishes—of deceiving him as she had helped to deceive his mother!

  Angry humiliation flooded over her, sending the high color of indignation back into her cheeks, but before she had time to defend herself, to tell Adam how wrong he was, Nigel said:

  “Nothing desperate has happened. The patrols were out, but they found nothing.”

  “Thanks to your ‘friend’ who flung the dead bird into the back of your car!” Adam took a step toward his brother as if he had half a mind to catch Nigel by the shoulders and shake him like the irresponsible child he was. “You fool!” he said tensely. “Can’t you see what these people are? They’d let you in for anything so long as they saved their own worthless skins! They’re carrying on with these fights out of a sense of bravado and because they’re the kind who will always run contrary to law and order, but they wouldn’t stick by you in an emergency. Take my word for that,” he added dryly.

  Nigel appeared to be shaken. He had lifted the door of the boot and looked inside, letting it fall back again with a little sick shudder.


  “You realize, of course, what would have happened if there had been a search?” Adam went on, his jaw tightening. “All the evidence was there, in the back of your car. The wretched bird had still got the spurs on its legs. There would have been no question about your guilt.”

  “There were dozens of people there.”

  “I’m not concerned about who was there and who wasn’t,” Adam told him angrily. “What I know is that it happened on my land and you sanctioned it, apparently. How and why doesn’t interest me. You were obviously in at the kill, and that’s what I mean to stop. I also want to know where you got the money.”

  Nigel bit his lip. It was evident that he had not quite expected the question.

  “You have no credit at the bank,” Adam reminded him. “Thanks to your previous efforts in this direction.”

  “You saw to that!” Nigel growled. “But I have other means of getting money when I want it.”

  Adam came a step nearer, but he still kept a firm hold on his temper.

  “I’d like to know what these means are,” he said. “If they are dishonest—”

  “You never did credit me with much honesty, did you?” Nigel accused. “But this time you’re wrong. I borrowed the money.”

  “You borrowed it?”

  “Yes. From Marion.”

  Jane heard no more. Neither Adam nor Nigel was aware of her departure as she turned toward the house. Adam distrusted her and Nigel had forgotten her in the heat of the quarrel with his brother. It was not the moment, Jane decided, to try to tell Adam the truth.

  Unhappily she made her way to Helen Drummond’s room, where Adam’s mother was dozing over her tea tray.

  The blue eyes opened as she went in.

  “You’re back early.” There was a small, tentative note in Helen’s voice. “Has something happened?”

  Jane shook her head.

  “Nothing,” she said decisively. “We didn’t go as far as Carlisle, after all. Nigel found that he had something else to do and I shopped in the village.” She put the parcel of wool she had bought down on the bed. “That was the palest shade of blue I could get,” she attempted to say normally. “It’s quite nice, really, and we could mix it with white for your bed-jacket.”

  Helen’s far-seeing eyes were disconcerting.

  “Jane,” she asked, “why don’t you tell me the truth? Adam came in here half an hour ago, and he was angry. There’s not much I don’t see, you know, lying here. It was Nigel who provoked him, I dare say.” She sighed. “I wish they could come to terms. I wish Nigel would settle down.”

  “He will,” Jane said, because it was no use denying Adam’s anger. “He’s sure to. Perhaps Adam is too impatient.”

  “It’s because of me.” Helen’s smile was tender. “He’s a good son, is Adam. Nigel, too,” she added wistfully. “It’s just that he’s young and full of life and Adam doesn’t understand because he’s always had to work hard. He never had the privileges that Nigel has. He shouldered a man’s burden as soon as he was able—for my sake and for High Tor.”

  “Yes,” Jane said gently, “I know. Adam’s all right.”

  Her voice died in her throat and Helen turned her head on the pillow to look at her more closely.

  “I wish it had been Adam and you, Jane,” she said. “Is there really no hope of that?”

  “No,” Jane whispered. “None.”

  “A pity,” Helen murmured, her eyes closing. “I would like to see Adam happy.”

  Jane stood beside the bed till she was asleep, then, very quietly, she lifted the tray and went from the room.

  Adam and you! Adam and you! The words rang in her ears with a pitiful insistency, but after today how could there be any hope of Adam’s ever trusting her again?

  She left the tray in the kitchen and went slowly up to her own room.

  “There’s a letter for you, miss,” Doris said, meeting her on the upstairs landing. “It came by the afternoon post. I put it on your table in your room.”

  It could, Jane supposed, be a letter from Penny, from New York. She had sent a forwarding address to the village post office at Thorpe Newell, and she was not surprised when she saw her twin’s familiar handwriting on the envelope and the New Jersey postmark.

  Penny had written at length. The tour had been a huge success, but they had not gone on to Broadway, as they had confidently expected. There had been no definite contract, and, without a wealthy backer, New York was impossible. They were hoping for a sponsor for a television show, but that, also, was rather in the air at the moment of writing, Penny explained.

  In fact, Jane thought anxiously, they hadn’t been quite the success they had expected to be.

  It was then that she noticed that there had been no mention of Stephen in her sister’s letter. She herself had not even thought about him, she realized, and Penny had avoided writing about him.

  What had gone wrong? Had Penny and Stephen quarrelled? Had their love not proved the deep and lasting thing Penny had considered it little more than a month ago?

  For a long time she sat on the edge of the bed thinking about her twin, and then she drew paper and pen toward her and wrote Penny a hurried little note explaining that she was still at High Tor but would return to London if Penny really needed her. Mrs. Drummond, she added, was almost well now and the doctor would allow her out of bed at the end of the present week.

  Instinctively, almost, she addressed the letter to the poste restante they used in London, although Penny had scribbled a New York address at the top of her letter.

  With the future more or less committed, she changed out of her tweeds into a warm dress and went slowly along the corridor to the head of the stairs.

  “I’m offering you the Priory!”

  Adam’s voice floated up to her from the hall below and her fingers tightened their grip on the banister rail.

  “That would be no good to a spinster, Adam,” Marion protested. “And I couldn’t go there on your charity. I rather thought you bought it with the idea you might take a wife there one day.”

  There was a silence in which Marion seemed to wait for Adam’s answer. The issue they faced was something which might have been on Adam’s mind for sometime.

  “I have no intention of marrying,” he said at last.

  “You’ll change your mind,” Marion predicted with a small, vicious laugh. “Once you get Jane Thornton out of your system!”

  Jane drew back into the shadows. You can’t say that, Marion, she thought bleakly. I’m nothing to Adam.

  “You’re mad, Marion!” Adam’s voice sounded as if it had come from some vast pit far beneath her. “You’re madder than I thought.”

  “Love is mad!” Marion had thrown all pretence and all discretion to the four winds. “Can you tell me you’ve never been in love since Angela died?” she challenged.

  Adam did not speak.

  “Don’t tell me for my sisterly comfort,” Marion’s high-pitched voice went on, “for I hated her. I hated her because I loved you, Adam! You’ve known that for a long time, haven’t you? You’ve known what we could make of High Tor and the Priory together. You need me, whatever you think to the contrary. We were both born and bred here in the dale. We both know what these hills demand. How could any milk-and-water little miss from a city know? The land has to be in your blood!”

  Jane made a movement down the staircase, impelled by an impulse which she could not understand, but Adam had turned on his heel and left Marion by the time she had reached the half landing.

  The light fell on her skirt and Marion turned and saw her. Her face was ravaged, but she fumbled automatically for a cigarette.

  “Come down!” she said. “Come down, Jane. Were you eavesdropping? If so, you’ll realize that Adam belongs to me!”

  Jane held her breath. There had been so much venom behind the words that they were like a physical blow.

  “You’re upset, Marion,” she suggested.

  “Upset!” Marion echoed derisi
vely. “Not in the slightest! I know what I’m talking about, you see. Adam made a mistake when he got himself engaged to your sister. It was the sort of reaction one might have expected. He worshipped Angela and your twin must have been the same type—physically. It’s amazing how a man sticks to one type, as a matter of fact. But he’s not likely to make the same mistake again. You haven’t a chance with Adam, and if that was your idea in staying here you’d be well advised to go.”

  “You’ve advised that before,” Jane found herself saying, “but I don’t think you have really any authority in the matter, Marion. Adam will settle his own affairs.”

  Marion drew rapidly at her cigarette. She had an ungovernable temper which she only just managed to keep in check.

  “We shall see,” she said. “We shall see!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  For the next few days Jane had the feeling of living on top of a volcano. The atmosphere at High Tor seemed fired and ready to explode at any moment. Adam worked as hard as ever and Nigel did what he was told with all the old resentment smouldering at the back of his blue eyes.

  There was such a scattering of lambs now that the field looked white with them, and Helen never tired of watching their frolics or the way in which the ewes called them to heel when they went too far.

  “They bring up their young in the right way, these wise old ewes!” she said to Jane one afternoon about a week later as they sat over their tea together. “No nonsense with them! They allow them so much licence and then you can hear the voice of authority! People think that sheep are stupid creatures, but that’s not so. When you’ve worked among them you know that they reason out a good many things for themselves. Animals never spoil their offspring as we sometimes do, Jane,” she added heavily.

  Jane poured her some fresh tea.

  “Do you think Nigel is more settled?” Helen went on “He came in this morning to tell me he was going to the Priory for a day or two to work down there with the cattle, but he didn’t seem to know whether it would be a permanent job or not. Adam is building up a wonderful herd there, but he can’t be both here and in the dale at the same time. The Priory would be a wonderful opportunity for Nigel. But, of course, he must serve his time and prove his worth, as Adam had to do. It’s all so worrying, Jane.”