A Death in the Dales

by Frances Brody

  ‘Thank you.’

  I left the barn. She followed.

  Without another word, Selina Gouthwaite walked back towards the farmhouse with heavy tread, as though weary enough to fall asleep standing. I remembered the feeling, from when I had been nursing all night and felt ready to drop, and I sympathised.

  Back at the car, Beth looked at me, full of expectation.

  ‘She doesn’t know where Martin is, Beth, but don’t worry. We’ll go on looking.’

  ‘What do we do now?’ Harriet asked.

  ‘Leave this farm and enquire at the one we passed earlier.’

  I dreaded to think what kind of welcome we would meet there. This was a different race of people. We had entered a hostile land.

  Eight

  High spirits fled. The mood in the car had flattened. Both girls were silent after the encounter with Abner Gouthwaite.

  There was something slightly ridiculous in this venture, a woman and two girls scouring unfamiliar countryside for a runaway boy who knew very well where to find his sister if he chose so to do, and for a farm labourer, Gabriel, who might be able to tell us something.

  The most sensible idea was to head for the farm we passed earlier and enquire there. Martin Young must have slept somewhere. If I were a boy on the run, I would prefer a farm building to laying down my head on some grassy bank, especially with the amount of rocks around here.

  Plenty of sheep took an interest in us as I drove back along the lane, but no humans came into view. On the short journey between the two farms, Harriet looked to the right and Beth to the left, hoping to spot some person who might have seen Martin, but without success.

  I brought the car to a stop a few yards from the entrance to Catrigg Farm whose wooden nameplate was nailed to the five-bar gate. Unlike the previous gate, this one was attached to the post, and bolted.

  ‘You two girls wait here this time. I won’t be long.’

  I let myself in, shutting the gate firmly. Noisy hens showed a particular interest in me. The farmhouse was a little way off, just visible between several buildings. This looked promising. Perhaps Martin had found refuge here, either by invitation or stealth. I was tempted to go into each building and call his name but it would be better to enquire first and enlist the family’s help.

  I passed two structures and came level with a third, a shippon with the door standing open. I paused, and listened, hearing the mooing of cows, but also a young female voice singing ‘Greensleeves’.

  Gentle splashing sounds accompanied by singing gave me an odd feeling of having stepped into another world.

  I looked inside and saw a young woman seated on a three-legged stool next to a cow, her face resting sideways against the creature. She wore a floral frock, a large pinafore, a hood and pattens over her shoes. Milk squirted from her fists into a pail below. I had stepped into a Thomas Hardy novel, with musical accompaniment.

  She was the young woman whose banns were read in church this morning. What was her name? Murgatroyd, that was it. Jennifer Murgatroyd. It was the same print frock she wore at church but she had discarded her bonnet for the hood. The cow turned to look at me, a pretty animal with dainty horns.

  I ducked out of sight, thinking that the cow might stop yielding, through bovine embarrassment.

  After a few moments, Jennifer patted the cow, rose, picked up the stool in one hand and the pail in the other.

  When she had tipped the milk into a churn, I spoke.

  ‘Miss Murgatroyd!’

  She gave a small cry of surprise and then turned to face me.

  ‘I startled you. I’m sorry. It is Miss Murgatroyd?’

  She gave a tentative smile. ‘Yes, that’s me.’

  ‘I was in church this morning and heard your banns.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’

  She seemed suddenly shy, so I encouraged her. ‘Such a lovely morning for your banns.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I should introduce myself. I’m Mrs Shackleton, staying in Langcliffe.’

  We were still speaking across a wide space. Now she came towards me. ‘How do you do. I saw you talking to Mrs Trevelyan and I heard you are staying at Lilac Cottage.’

  ‘With my niece, Harriet. I don’t like to bother you but I wonder if you might be able to help me.’

  ‘Are you lost?’

  ‘No. I’m taking Harriet and a girl from the village on a picnic.’

  ‘You should go to Catrigg Force, that’s a lovely spot and popular for picnics.’

  ‘Thanks for the suggestion, but first of all we’re looking for the girl’s brother. She’s Beth Young and works in the mill. Her brother Martin was working at the farm up the road, until yesterday. I don’t suppose you’ve seen him?’

  ‘No. I’ve been staying in Settle at my fiancé’s house. Mrs Pickersgill has baked the wedding cake and made my dress, you see, so there has been a lot to do.’

  ‘That must have been enjoyable.’

  ‘Yes. Mrs Pickersgill is very good. Mother has been that busy with lambing and doesn’t have time. I suppose we should have done it all sooner.’

  ‘Well you have another three weeks. You have the cake, the dress and the fiancé, that’s the main part seen to.’

  She smiled. ‘I hope so.’ She turned back to the cows, telling them she would let them out soon.

  ‘Might I look round the outbuildings to see if Martin is hiding here? It’s worrying because he is only thirteen. And perhaps then I could talk to your parents. They may have seen him.’

  ‘I’ll look round out here. You wouldn’t know where to start or where to look. I do know about Martin working for the Gouthwaites, poor lamb.’ We stepped out into the sunshine.

  She waved towards the house. ‘You go speak to Mam. Dad’s in bed poorly. I couldn’t understand why they weren’t in church to hear my banns. They said they would be, even though it’s lambing time. But Dad took sick.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. What’s wrong?’

  ‘Oh just overwork I suppose and a tummy upset. Mam said to let him rest so I haven’t seen him. We’re shorthanded. That’s why I’m doing the milking.’ She paused and waved her hand in the direction of the farmhouse. ‘Just knock on the door and go in. It’ll be all right. I have to turn out the cows but I’ll take a quick look round for Martin first.’

  ‘Thanks then.’

  She smiled.

  Her smile was infectious. I smiled back as the hens spotted her and came clustering round.

  Just knock on the door and go in, she had said. I knocked and waited. No one answered. I knocked again, and stepped inside. The kitchen, with its spotless surfaces and shining brasses, was deserted. I called out hello. A baby lamb lay curled on the hearth in an apple box lined with a strip of blanket. A ginger cat, lying on top of the lamb, looked up at me with big marmalade eyes. Deciding I was no threat and of no account, it shut its eyes.

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs. A door opened.

  The woman who stood there was an older version of Jennifer, with a broad, pretty face and bright blue eyes. We took a few steps towards each other.

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, Mrs Murgatroyd. Jennifer said to come in as I wanted to ask you something.’

  She stared at me as if she had not understood a word. She came to a halt by a bentwood chair and gripped the wooden back with her hands so hard that her knuckles turned white.

  ‘It’s nothing terrible. I just wanted to know whether you’d seen the lad from the farm up the lane.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her mouth opened a little. She tilted her head to one side. Was there something wrong with the woman, I wondered. Perhaps she was the one who was sick.

  ‘Is something the matter, Mrs Murgatroyd? Jennifer said your husband is unwell. You probably don’t need any help, but I did nurse during the war.’ I thought about Harriet, ready for her picnic lunch, and hoped this would not take long.

  She bit her lip. ‘I wondered when someone would come. I thought the future in-laws might come
back after church, but they’ve better things to do than muddy their shoes.’

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘You’re a nurse you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Will you come upstairs? It’s my husband.’

  I followed her up the creaking stairs. The landing floor was uneven, with bumps and dips, the floorboards having made their own decisions over the years about what was a good shape to take.

  She led me through a door into a bedroom at the front of the house. This, too, had uneven floorboards that were spread with a sheepskin rug. A four-poster bed dominated the room. Mrs Murgatroyd gently moved her husband’s arm which lay on top of the eiderdown. She lifted back the bedcovers, revealing a sleeping figure. He faced us, away from the direction of the light, lying on his right side, his knees drawn up. He wore long underpants and a striped shirt. At first, he looked as though he slept but there was no rise and fall. He was curiously still.

  Mrs Murgatroyd sat down on the bed. She took his hand. There was no movement, no flicker of the closed eyelids. Gently as I could, I took his hand from hers and felt for a pulse. She already knew the outcome. The hand was as cold as any stone.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Mrs Murgatroyd.’

  ‘It’s true isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She began to weep, flinging herself onto his body, sobbing. ‘What were you thinking of to go dying, you daft beggar. You’ve no business dying.’ She shook him. ‘Do you hear me?’

  I held her by the shoulders and led her to a raffia chair. ‘He can’t hear you now, Mrs Murgatroyd.’ A stupid thing to say. ‘He looks peaceful.’ A second stupid thing to say.

  She stayed in the chair where I had placed her while I lifted the blanket and eiderdown over his body. ‘When did he die?’

  ‘I don’t know. What kind of wife doesn’t see her husband is dead, but thinks he’s sleeping?’

  ‘I might have thought that, too.’ Lie. How could she not know? It must be shock, or denial.

  ‘I didn’t realise how bad he was. I thought I was letting him sleep this morning. I didn’t tell the men. I knew my mister here would say, Let them get on with their jobs. I did everything meself, thinking I was doing him good to let him rest, and that when he woke, he’d be his old self. But he won’t.’

  ‘No.’ I murmured the reply under my breath, because no answer was required.

  ‘I can’t tell our Jenny. She’s come back that full of herself and delighted about the wedding dress and the cake, telling me how the villagers were full of congratulations over the banns.’ A slight note of bitterness crept into her voice. ‘And what a marvel her future mother-in-law is, and how in Settle the sun shines out of everybody’s backside. I couldn’t burst her bubble.’

  ‘Has Mr Murgatroyd been ill?’

  ‘He’s never ill. He took a bit poorly last night, but it was summat and nowt. Or at least I thought it was summat and nowt, and so did he. We’re not used to being poorly.’

  ‘Mrs Murgatroyd, I’m so sorry. What a most horrible shock.’ I almost put my hand on her shoulder, but did not. It would be too familiar, too intrusive. ‘Let’s go downstairs.’

  She nodded. ‘I have to tell her.’

  ‘Yes, and the men, and the doctor.’

  ‘Nay, doctor’s no use now.’

  ‘Let me make you a cup of tea.’

  This time, I led the way.

  The kettle was on the hob, boiling. I spotted a brown teapot on the table. ‘You sit down. Tell me where’s the caddy and the cups.’

  ‘There — on the side.’

  I took down the caddy and spooned tea into the pot. The shelf above was packed with home remedies, in bottles and jars. Had he dosed himself with something and had a bad reaction?

  Minutes ticked by as I made the tea. I remembered Harriet and Beth waiting patiently outside. Beth would imagine I was finding information about her brother. It would be too much to hope that Jennifer had found Martin hiding in a barn.

  I spooned three sugars into a cup, poured in the milk, gave the tea in the pot a couple of stirs. When it was strong enough, I poured.

  ‘Take a good drink. You need the sweetness for your shock.’

  She picked up the cup and drank.

  ‘I’ll find Jenny and send her to you.’

  She shook her head. ‘No!’

  ‘Mrs Murgatroyd, it must be done. One of your men must go into Settle for the doctor.’

  She gulped and then played with the handle of the cup, as if testing whether it might come off in her hand. ‘He came in feeling sick. When he vomited, I thought he’d fetched up whatever ailed him and he’d be better for a rest.’

  ‘Is there someone you can send for?’

  She was not hearing me, but speaking half to herself as if explanations might bring him back. ‘He felt sick and dizzy, he complained he wasn’t seeing right.’ She tapped her chest. ‘He felt right fluttery. I made him get himself into bed and take a drop of morphia. I took up hot water bottles and a mustard plaster for his tummy. I thought that’d ease him, that and a dose of laudanum. He said if he could sleep a little he’d be all right. So I left him in peace.’ She began to cry. ‘Peace, call it peace. Forever peace.’

  ‘I’ll go fetch Jennifer.’

  ‘Jenny?’ She spoke more to herself than to me. ‘What’s to be done? What will we do without him? She loves her dad.’

  I squeezed her hand. This was no time for words, at least none that I could think of.

  I left the farmhouse, to find Jenny. She saw me first. That smile again. ‘Martin isn’t in any of the barns. I’ll ask the men to look out for him.’

  ‘Are any of the men nearby?’

  She shook her head. ‘Out in the fields, seeing to the sheep.’

  So there was no one to go for the doctor. ‘Jenny, I’m going now but your mother wants you.’

  ‘Oh all right. Had she seen the boy?’

  ‘I didn’t ask, but don’t worry about that. I’m sure he’ll turn up.’ She would have plenty else to think about now.

  ‘Did Mam say what she wants me for?’

  ‘She’ll tell you.’

  Something in my voice alerted her. I felt I had to warn her. ‘You’ll need to be strong to hear what your mother has to say.’

  ‘What…?’ The smile faded.

  ‘I’m going to Settle. You won’t be alone long, you and your mother. Go to her.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘I can’t say more. I’m very sorry.’

  All colour fled from her face. She hurried towards the house.

  Harriet and Beth watched eagerly as I arrived back at the car.

  ‘Any luck?’ Beth looked up hopefully. ‘You were a long time.’

  ‘He’s not there, but there’s no reason to believe he’s come to harm.’

  Harriet wasn’t fooled by my soothing words. ‘What’s the matter, Auntie?’ She looked pale and wan.

  ‘Are you all right, Harriet?’

  ‘I’ll be all right when we have our picnic.’

  ‘Have something now.’

  ‘No! We have to do it properly. Find a good spot.’

  ‘We’re near a lovely waterfall that Dr Simonson told me about and Jennifer Murgatroyd just mentioned. It’s called Catrigg Foss or Force.’

  Beth cheered up. ‘I’ve heard of it. The foreman from the mill goes there sometimes with his family.’

  I unfolded Aunt Freda’s map. It was a little awkward but I spread it on the bonnet, and looked for the area I wanted. We were very close to the waterfall. At the same time, I tried to work out how long it would take to drive to Settle for Lucian. Poor Mr Murgatroyd would be going nowhere. It seemed callous to leave Mrs Murgatroyd and Jennifer alone any longer than necessary but my duty was to Harriet who needed my care. She should eat little and often and it had been hours since breakfast.

  I closed the map, making a bit of a mess of the folding. Harriet reached out and took it from me. ‘I’ll do that.’

  I started
the motor and drove back along narrow Goat Lane in the direction of Stainforth. The waterfall was just outside the village. Lucian had mentioned a gate and a narrow footpath. I stopped the car near the gate. The waterfall was accessible only on foot.

  Harriet stood up and looked around. ‘Where’s this waterfall then?’

  ‘Listen and we might hear it. There’s a footpath. Come on, I’ll show you.’

  I carried the picnic basket. Harriet took the blanket.

  Beth picked her way down the path, calling back to us. ‘We might see Martin. He’ll think it’s such a surprise to see me with a new friend and an auntie with a motorcar, and sandwiches.’

  She spoke so cheerfully that I encouraged her, to keep up her spirits. ‘Yes, wouldn’t it be good to bump into him without even trying.’

  ‘But we are trying, aren’t we?’

  ‘Of course we are.’

  Without the noise of the car’s engine, the place was still, its silence broken only by the call of a curlew and the growing sound of rushing water. We descended on rough and crooked limestone steps towards the waterfall. I trod carefully, watching the girls bound ahead, stopping myself from calling out that they should be careful on this steep and stony path.

  The sound of the falls grew louder. The girls had stepped onto enormous limestone slabs and were walking to where the water teemed over high rocks.

  Harriet looked all around her. ‘It’s so lovely here, and peaceful, like a secret grotto, but wild as well. This is perfect.’

  Beth laughed. ‘What a racket that water makes. It makes a whisperer of the mill pond.’

  I joined them and looked down. The view was dizzying. Catrigg Force was an apt name. The sheer drop into the river took my breath away and made me anxious that the girls go no closer to the edge. There was no one else here. A popular picnic spot, Jenny Murgatroyd had said. Well, not today.

  Beth had taken the picnic rug and was looking for a good spot.

  Harriet stood beside me. We were standing on massive uneven slabs that had been here since the ice age. She said quietly, ‘What’s the matter? What happened in the farmhouse that you stayed so long? I saw you in the yard, talking to the girl who was in church this morning.’