She worked steadily, looking up now and then to admire the view. From up here she could see a lot further over the moors. She could also see down over the village. She saw the stone cross sticking up from the gable of the old school; the Royal Oak’s jumble of roofs and chimneys, and the top floor and roof of the Blue Ball opposite, giving rise to a few pleasant thoughts about Jack Blackmore, and some speculations, too, to keep her going. She could see the top of the old mill down the Stindsford road, and beyond it some high trees and the hint of chimneys just showing through them which she thought were probably those of The Hall.
When she had visited Bursford as a child she had had The Hall pointed out to her in passing as the ‘big house’ of the village – the place where ‘the squire’ lived. Of course, they didn’t use those terms any more in this modern world, but she was glad at least that she had heard of it and knew where it was when Jack had mentioned it. Her memory from childhood was only of an old house of a largeness out of her experience, tall trees and many windows, and gateposts, which had seemed to her the apogee of grandness. No-one in her parents’ or grandparents’ circle had gateposts. The people who lived in The Hall were from another planet, as far as the child Kate had been concerned.
Well, now the adult Kate had had lunch with an inhabitant of Gatepostworld, and had a date with him into the bargain. She wouldn’t, of course, be overwhelmed by the consideration, now she was grown up and sophisticated and had lived and worked in fast-paced London; but she couldn’t help a little smirk of satisfaction and a wink towards the wide-eyed child she had been. She thought of Gaga, and how pleased she would be that her money was giving rise to new experiences for her granddaughter. I must write to her tonight, and tell her about the lunch, she thought. It would probably give her more pleasure than talk of flaunching and mortar and re-bedding tiles.
It really was a fine day, and it was beginning to get very hot up there on the slates. Kate wondered about sunburn – a fine thing to think of in England in May! She hoped she was going to be able to get the job done today. It was a nuisance that she had to remember she had no food in the house and mustn’t leave it too late to go and do a shopping run. She had borrowed a bit of milk from Kay who, enquiring about the state of her commissariat, had also put her up a cheese sandwich for her lunch when she did the children’s, so she was covered for lunchtime, at any rate. She began to feel very hungry, and looking at her watch, found it was half past twelve. Past time for a break.
She eased herself down the slope to the ladder, descended briskly, and went to wash her mortar-y hands in the bathroom. Glancing at her reflection in the mirror over the basin, she saw that she had caught the sun. She needed to be careful – it wouldn’t do to go to the Country Club looking like a tomato. She rummaged about in one of the boxes until she found the remains of the suntan cream from her last holiday, and took it downstairs with her to put on after lunch.
She put the kettle on and made herself a big mug of tea, and then went outside and sat in the shade of the house on an upturned milk crate she had discovered in the tangle of the garden. The cheese sandwich was large and delicious – man-sized, just what she wanted – and blessed Kay had put in a couple of chocolate biscuits and a lump of cake as well. She’d save the cake for teatime, when she was bound to be peckish again. What it must be like to have a wife! she thought. Men didn’t know how lucky they were. If she ever got married, all she’d get was a husband.
Lunch finished, she continued to sit, enjoying the wonderful smells of open air and green things, and listening to the birds. The tortoiseshell cat appeared, dissolved itself under the front gate and came mincing down the path towards her. It wiped its nose elegantly on her outstretched fingers, then settled down companionably a few feet away, just beyond the house-shadow, tail firmly tucked around its feet, squeezing its eyes blissfully in the sunshine.
It was all so peaceful; Kate felt extremely relaxed, and was in no hurry to call an end to lunchtime. Indeed must have nodded off for a minute, because she started awake as her head lolled forward, to find the cat had disappeared, and became aware of the sound of horse’s hooves. It was the unmistakable thub-dub of unshod hooves on the packed dirt of the track behind the house, and she stood up cautiously, expecting to see some of the wild ponies that used the track to take them from one grazing to another. She could only hear one set of hooves, but the others might be walking on the grass.
When the animal came into sight, it was indeed an Exmoor pony, with a dark bay coat, thick black mane and tail, and the typical mealy muzzle and eye patches; but it was no wild mare. It was beautifully groomed and glossy, was wearing a saddle and bridle, and was being ridden by a girl in a blue shirt, jodhpurs, and well-polished jodhpur boots. She looked about twelve or thirteen and had fair hair in a thick plait down her back, and a pretty, cheerful, freckled face.
Kate stood watching with pleasure, remembering the joy she had had riding at that age. Dad had been very horse minded, and had paid for riding lessons at O’Rourke’s at Castleknock for Aileen and Kate – the others hadn’t been interested. Aileen had given it up after a while, when she started to be interested in boys instead, but Kate had always loved it. When she visited Granny and Grandpa they arranged for her to go out riding from Langtrey’s on Almsworthy Common. Sometimes Dad had gone with her – they were the most special times of all, when he shared with her his knowledge of Exmoor’s history, flora and fauna. On ponyback you could get closer to all sorts of creatures than you could on foot, and could go so much further, and to places otherwise inaccessible.
She expected the girl to carry on past down the track towards the open moors, but instead she turned her mount firmly into School Lane and halted in front of Kate’s garden gate as if that had been her destination all along.
‘Hullo,’ she said, fixing Kate with a solemn and perhaps slightly cautious eye. ‘Can Daphne have a drink? Mrs Brown always used to give him a bucket of water if he needed it.’
Kate roused herself. ‘Yes, of course. I’ll have to wash the bucket out first – it’s had mortar in it.’ She got up, and tilted the bucket towards the girl to show her the remains.
The girl smiled, evidently relieved that Kate was disposed to be friendly, and said, ‘Can I come and in and see what you’re doing? They say you’re doing up the cottage yourself. That must be fun.’
‘It is. Hard work though.’
‘I’d like to see how you’ve changed it. I used to come here a lot when Mrs Brown lived here. She was nice. She always used to invite me in.’
‘You can come in and welcome, but there’s not much to see yet. It’s pretty bare.’
‘What was the mortar for?’
‘I was working on the roof this morning. Have to take advantage of a dry day.’
‘You’ve caught the sun,’ the girl observed, jumping down.
‘Can you tie him up?’ Kate wondered. The pony wasn’t wearing a headcollar and she didn’t think she had a piece of rope anywhere.
‘I’ll bring him in the garden and shut the gate,’ said the girl. She looked round. ‘There’s nothing here he can hurt, really, is there?’ she added with breezy self-confidence.
True, if slightly tactless, Kate thought. The girl led the pony through into the garden and shut the gate, and Kate went over to help by running up the stirrups. ‘If you slip the end of the reins under one of them, they won’t slip down where he can tread on them.’
‘I know,’ the girl said, but she looked at Kate with interest. ‘You know about horses.’
‘I used to ride,’ Kate admitted. ‘I thought you said his name was Daphne,’ she admitted, patting the thick neck. The pony was already investigating what there was to eat in the tangle of the ground-cover. He shook himself as if shaking off her caress, and stamped a forefoot, but it was probably only a fly.
‘I did – it is,’ the girl said. ‘You see, Ed bought him for me – my brother – because Chloe’s a bit small for me now, and she doesn’t like to jump, and he called him
Daphnis, but Mummy said there was no such name and he must have meant Daphne, so that’s what he got called after that.’
‘Oh, Daphnis and Chloe – I get it!’ Kate said.
‘Do you?’
‘The Greek story – the lovers, Daphnis and Chloe. Weren’t they a shepherd and shepherdess?’
‘That’s what Ed told me. Mummy didn’t get it. She said what was the point in knowing silly old stories like that if you couldn’t even give a pony a proper name? Anyway, it was too late by then – the name stuck, and he’s called Daphne. Except at shows, then we put him down as Daphnis because otherwise there’s confusion over whether he’s a mare or a gelding and it’s a nuisance.’
‘You show him, do you?’
‘He’s won loads of cups,’ she said proudly. ‘He’s by Shilstone Zulu, the champion stallion, out of Sell Valley Doris – she was a champion too. And he jumps. We came third in the Junior Open at Little Buscombe last year.’
‘Gosh,’ said Kate, leading the way into the cottage. ‘I didn’t know I was in the presence of equine royalty.’
Inside, the girl stopped dead, and said, ‘Oh, it looks so different with all the furniture gone! A bit sad, really. Mrs Brown lived here for years and years, and now there’s nothing left.’ Kate had nothing to say to this. The girl, staring around, went on cheerily, ‘You’ve knocked the wall down. I like that. I can’t believe how much lighter it looks.’
‘Just getting rid of all that dark wallpaper made a difference,’ Kate said.
‘What else are you going to do?’
Kate told her a bit about her plans.
‘It’ll be so nice,’ the girl said at last. ‘Mummy will be ever so pleased.’
‘Will she?’ Kate said, passing with the bucket into the kitchen. ‘Why is that?’
The girl stopped, and turned and looked at her. ‘Oh. Don’t you know who I am?’
‘Well, I’m sort of guessing, but you haven’t said yet.’
‘Oh, sorry! Jolly rude of me. I’m Jocasta Blackmore. Mummy’s Lady Blackmore – it was her you bought the cottage from.’
She stuck out her hand in a practised manner, and Kate shook it and said, ‘I’m Kate Jennings.’
She scraped the last bit of mortar out of the bucket – fortunately it was almost empty, and stuck it under the running tap to clean it. Jocasta watched, and said wistfully, ‘Mrs Brown always used to give me a drink, too.’
‘I’d be happy to oblige, but I’m afraid the only thing I can offer you is tea. I don’t have anything else in the house.’
‘I like tea,’ Jocasta said happily. ‘I didn’t use to, but I started drinking it for breakfast instead of milk. Mummy says too much milk makes you fat.’
‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ said Kate with a glance at the girl’s slim, athlete’s figure. ‘Did Mrs Brown give you something to eat as well?’
‘Well, usually. Cake or biscuits or something. But if you don’t have anything …’
‘I just happen to have a large piece of cake left over from lunch, that you’re welcome to,’ Kate said.
They took the bucket of water out to the pony while the kettle was boiling. He was head down, nosing among the weeds and eagerly tearing up mouthfuls, and seemed entirely indifferent to the water. Kate wondered if it had just been a ruse to get talking – not that she minded. When the tea was made she put the cake on a plate and they went out together to the front garden, Jocasta carrying one of the kitchen chairs, and they sat where Kate had been sitting, and watched the pony grazing as they drank their tea.
‘He likes it because it’s something new,’ Jocasta said. ‘I suppose it’s a different taste.’
‘The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence,’ Kate said.
‘Is it?’
‘It’s a saying,’ Kate explained. Amazing how these old bits of lore didn’t get passed on any more.
‘It’s true,’ Jocasta discovered. ‘You always see cows with their silly heads stuck under the wire trying to get a bit of grass in the next field when there’s perfectly good stuff on their own side. This is fab cake.’
‘My next door neighbour made it. I was all out of food today, so she made me a sandwich for lunch, and put the cake in with it.’
‘Oh, Kay, you mean. I know her. She’s ever so nice. So why did you buy Little’s?’
Kate explained she’d been left some money and had fancied a change – she left out the dating disasters from the story.
‘I can’t imagine ever being tired of London,’ Jocasta said. ‘There must be so much to do. I know Mummy would rather live there. She’s always going up for the day, and she moans like anything when she comes back that she wishes she could have stayed.’
‘Would you like to live there?’
‘Well, maybe. Not all the time, because I do like riding and dogs and things. But I wouldn’t mind some of the time.’ She took another bite of the cake. ‘There’s been an awful fuss at home about Mummy selling Little’s. Ed was mad as fire. Do you have any brothers?’
‘No. I’ve got four sisters.’
‘Five of you? That must be brilliant! I’ve always wanted a sister, but Daddy died when I was a baby so that was a washout. All I’ve got is two brothers, and they’re really old,’ she concluded gloomily.
‘Aren’t they nice?’
‘Oh, I suppose they’re all right, in a way, but it’s not the same. Ed is so strict about everything, and he’s always worrying about money, and he gets cross, and he and Mummy have terrible rows. Jack’s all-right-ish. I mean, he’s not strict like Ed, and he doesn’t tell me off, but he’s really embarrassing sometimes. He’s so old, but he pretends to be young, which makes me squirm. He keeps going out with different girls, and some of them are my friends’ sisters – God, it’s embarrassing! I mean, why can’t he just do old-people things instead of trying to be cool, which he so isn’t? You should see him dancing! Honestly – gag!’ She rolled her eyes.
Kate thought it was not the moment to reveal she was going to a dance with him on Saturday. Instead she asked what was more interesting to her. ‘Why didn’t Ed want your mother to sell Little’s?’
‘Because she’s not supposed to sell any part of the estate. Daddy wanted it all kept together, because Grandpa had to sell so much of it because of death duties, and Ed feels the same. He hates the idea of letting anything go. When Daddy died, Ed thought it would all be left to him because he’s the eldest, but instead Daddy left everything to Mummy for her lifetime. Ed says she’s only supposed to spend the income from the estate, and not be able to sell anything, but apparently the way it was drawn up, the will and everything, there’s a loophole or something. Anyway, it wasn’t written down properly by the lawyers, so when Mummy needs more money, she sells something. She sold some paintings last year, and Ed made such a fuss, so she said this time she’d sell something no-one liked or wanted, which was Little’s, because it wasn’t a pretty cottage and no-one wanted to live in it. But Ed made even more fuss and said that selling real estate was even worse than selling chattels and if Mummy couldn’t see that she was an imbecile and not fit to be in charge of a piggy bank.’
Kate saw the unhappy look on the girl’s face, and thought she understood why she had paid this sudden visit, and why she was so eager to chat. She came from a divided household; and she was lonely. I’ve always wanted a sister.
‘He didn’t really say that?’ she said.
Jocasta nodded. ‘He was pretty mad,’ she added in exculpation. ‘And he apologized the minute he’d said it. But every time he comes down there seems to be a row. It’s terribly boring.’ She looked away as she said it. Not boring, Kate thought, but upsetting.
‘What do you mean, when he comes down? Doesn’t he live at The Hall?’
‘Oh, yes, but he works in London. He’s got his own company, and he’s usually there in the week, three or four days, but he comes home for weekends because he’s supposed to be running the estate for Mummy, and Jack runs the fac
tory.’
‘You have a factory?’
‘Don’t you know?’ she exclaimed, opening her eyes wide. ‘Haven’t you heard of Blackmore Tweed? It’s famous all over the West Country, and it’s sold in London and everything. We make all sorts of woollen cloth, lots of it from our own wool, but especially the tweed – even Mummy says it’s beautiful, and she buys all her clothes in London.’
‘I see. And Jack runs the factory,’ she said thoughtfully.
‘He’s supposed to,’ Jocasta said casually, ‘but I think it probably runs itself, because he doesn’t seem to go there very often. He’s always messing around and having fun. That makes Ed mad, too.’ She sighed. ‘Everything seems to make Ed mad these days.’
‘Poor Ed,’ Kate said absently.
‘Poor Jocasta,’ the girl retorted vigorously. ‘Stuck in the middle of it.’
‘Yes, that must be tiring,’ Kate said.
Jocasta warmed with the sympathy. ‘I say, you could come riding with me! I don’t mind having Chloe if you want Daphne. Though you’re so small and thin you could probably ride Chlo if you wanted. She’s only eleven-two, but Exmoor ponies are very strong. They can carry big heavy men, and keep going all day.’
‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’ Kate remembered belatedly.
‘Half term,’ she said promptly. ‘We finished yesterday, and we get all next week and go back the day after Bank Holiday. Wouldn’t you like a ride?’
‘I’d love it, but you’d better ask your mother first. She might not like you lending a pony to a complete stranger.’
‘Well, you’ve bought her house, so you’re not really a stranger. You’re practically family. That was really good cake,’ she added wistfully, wiping up the last crumbs with a forefinger.
‘I’m afraid that’s it. I only had the one piece,’ said Kate.
‘Oh well, I better be going. Daphne doesn’t like stopping for long.’ The pony was contentedly grazing, but Kate had an idea that Jocasta was belatedly feeling some social embarrassment, though whether for having revealed family secrets or for having eaten all the cake herself, she couldn’t tell.
Kate's Progress Page 10
