Outside, it was pitch black but the rain had stopped. Bryony ran across to the parlour where Jim Stokes was finishing the milking.
‘Any news?’ he enquired, his blunt, middle-aged face full of concern.
‘Not yet. Kettle’s on. Would you like tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, please. Milk and two sugars. The missus generally does toasted teacake or something as well.’
‘Will biscuits do for now?’ Bryony told him about her car, left apparently dead on the side of the road.
‘Don’t worry about that,’ the cowman said kindly. ‘My lad’s a mechanic. He’ll get it sorted. I’ll give him a bell.’
‘Thanks, Jim. Have you any idea what the cat has to eat?’
‘There’ll be something in the cupboard, no doubt. The missus is right fond of that cat.’
‘I’ll see to it,’ Bryony said. ‘Tea in, say, fifteen minutes?’
She was coming in from having shut in the hens for the night, gratified that the casserole she had thrown together now seemed to be simmering fragrantly from the oven, when the phone began to ring shrilly.
She snatched it up.
‘Bryony? It’s me, Geoff.’ His voice sounded strained. ‘It’s not good news, I’m afraid. The hospital did all they could but it was hopeless. Dad’s gone, Bryony. I’ve just spoken with the doctor. She said it was a massive coronary.’
Bryony swallowed hard.
‘I’m so very sorry, Geoff. He was a lovely man. He always used to tease me and make me laugh. Look, I’ll stay here till you get back. I’ll light the fire in the lounge, shall I? Your mum might be glad of it.’
Ringing off, feeling suddenly older and rather worn down, Bryony went out to tell Jim the news.
‘Mike Sanders – gone! I can’t believe it,’ Mae said to Chas. ‘Poor Geoff. And poor Helen. They’ll both take this very badly.’
Chas, just in from the fields, went to the sink to wash his hands.
‘Aye, it’s a bad do. Are you going round there?’
‘I feel perhaps I should.’ Mae was thinking aloud. ‘Sending a card seems so inadequate, somehow. There might be something I can do to help. I’ll go after lunch. I could take Helen one of my fruit cakes and pick up some flowers from the market garden on the way.’ She shook her head again. ‘Poor Helen.…’
An hour later she was driving through the lanes to Heswell, some of her delicious home-bakes in a basket on the seat beside her. Mae was surprised, on reaching Roseacre with its wide concreted yards and mixture of ancient and modern cattle housing, to see a familiar little car parked in the yard.
Standing there, undecided whether to go round to the front door of the big stone-built farmhouse or use the back, the decision was taken out of her hands when the door opened and Bryony emerged.
‘Mum!’ Her daughter’s face registered surprise, and then started to crumple. Unable to conceal her relief, she sprang forwards and gave her mother a hug.
‘Darling! What a lovely surprise.’ Mae kept a firm hold over her emotions and with great effort managed to give the impression of calm. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes thanks. Oh, Mum. Isn’t it awful about Mr Sanders?’
‘Terrible,’ Mae agreed. ‘I know he wasn’t a well man but it still comes as a shock. I’ve brought a few things for Helen. How is she?’
‘Oh, you know. But she’ll be glad to see you. Mum, I’m sorry but I’ll have to go. I slipped out during my lunch break to bring some shopping Helen wanted from town. They’ve been fantastic at the shop about letting me off early and so on, but I don’t want to push things.’
‘Of course not,’ Mae said, noticing that the formal address of Mrs Sanders had given way to the more familiar use of the woman’s first name. She thought her youngest girl had a maturity about her that had not been evident a few weeks ago when she had left home.
‘You run along. My love to Liz. ’Bye for now, Bryony.’
She dropped a kiss on her daughter’s cheek and went on to the house. As she rapped on the door, Mae found that her hand was shaking.
Helen Sanders seemed pleased at the visit and was touchingly grateful for the offerings Mae had brought.
‘That’s so good of you,’ she murmured. ‘People are so kind.’ Her face, bereft of make-up, looked pale and wan.
‘I have to say what a boon Bryony has been. I really don’t know how we would have coped without her.’
‘Really?’ Mae stammered, her eyes widening in surprise. She heard how Bryony had comforted the older woman and kept house and even given Jim Stokes a hand with the milking whilst Geoff saw to the hundred and one formalities required.
Mae, astounded and bursting with pride, couldn’t wait to get home and tell Chas.
‘I always said she was the one with the most heart,’ Chas agreed later. He had greeted her news quietly and had been thoughtful for a while. The evening meal was now over and they sat in front of the television set, curtains drawn against the inclement November night.
‘How did she look? Spiked hair and nose-bobs like her friend, what’s-her-name … Liz?’
‘Not at all. She was dressed for work and you know how particular they are on appearances at the shop. She seemed … well, older somehow.’
‘Did she mention coming to see us?’
‘Not as such. Chas, there was hardly time. I told you. She had to get back to work.’
Chas grunted, though Mae had not missed the pride that had sprung to his eyes when she had repeated Helen’s accolade about their daughter. It was now replaced by the bleakness that had been so much in evidence this autumn. Bryony’s rejection of her family had gone deep.
‘Did Helen mention what their plans were for the farm?’ he asked abruptly.
‘We didn’t touch on it. Geoff will take over, I suppose. He was doing the bulk of the work anyway during the latter months. Mike wasn’t fit to do more than potter, and Helen sees to the secretarial side of things. They’ll manage, I’m sure.’
‘It’s a shame Thea and Geoff couldn’t make a go of it,’ he grumbled. ‘Thea could have turned her hand to anything on that farm, including all the blasted red tape and paperwork.’
‘But Thea has her own career,’ Mae pointed out fairly. ‘Talking of Thea, have you any thoughts on what is to become of the Harbour House?’
‘Should I have? It’s not my concern any more. The property was made over to them by the solicitor, all square and legal. It’s up to Thea now what she does with it.’
‘I expect she’ll have to buy Geoff out. As I understand it he put quite a lump sum down on the house.’ Mae’s brow creased. ‘Oh dear. It’s all so complicated. I’m none too happy over Thea, either. She’s lost weight. She works too hard, all those extra hours she puts in at school, then the ponies and the history group to run. It all takes its toll.’
‘Hard work never hurt anyone, love. It’s stress that causes the problems. Thea will be all right. She’s going through a sticky patch but she’ll cope.’
At that moment the phone rang from the kitchen.
‘Who can that be at this time of night,’ Mae grumbled, getting up to answer it.
She heard the television set being turned up as she left the room and Chas flicking through the channels.
She lifted the receiver.
‘Hello? Woodhey Farm.’
‘Mae? It’s Roz. Jam stall next to yours at the Heswell Market?’
‘Oh, Roz, hello.’
What now, Mae thought, her heart missing a beat.
‘Have you heard the news?’ The woman’s voice throbbed with excitement. ‘Remember that petition we got up contesting the threat to close us down? Well, it’s worked! The town committee have allocated us a new venue off the main road. It’s more spacious than the other. There’s adequate parking and the rent’s not so high. Better all round, in other words.’
‘Well, that’s marvellous!’ Mae said. ‘I thought for a moment you were about to tell me something awful had happened!’
‘Not this
time.’ Roz laughed. ‘Nice to have a bit of good news for a change, isn’t it? We’ve the customers to thank as well. Apparently they made a huge fuss when word got out that we were going. Good, eh?’
‘I’ll say. What a relief. And here I was wondering whether to put my name down for one of the other markets, Nantwich or Whitchurch. Either would be a long way to drive and heavier on the expenses. Now, I won’t have to. Fantastic!’
‘I thought you’d be pleased. I know I am. No doubt we’ll be hearing officially from the market committee in due course. It was the woman who headed the Heswell shoppers’ protest who told me.’
‘So when do we start at the new place? Not immediately.’
‘Oh no. It won’t be until the contract runs out at the end of the year. We’ll start at the other venue in January.’
‘Fingers crossed until all is signed and sealed then.’
‘Well, I can’t see a problem, myself. I’d better ring the others. ’Bye, Mae, see you Tuesday.’
‘Yes, and thank you.’
Mae couldn’t keep the smile from her face. She rang off and hurried to tell Chas the glad tidings.
‘Whoa, pony. Steady. Now walk on.’
The young filly tossed her head skittishly and Thea tightened her grip on the lead-rope. It was early yet, a hazy Sunday morning towards the end of November, mist wreathing up over the mudflats, the roads and lanes reasonably quiet. At least, that was what Thea had hoped when she had opted to do some road-work with her latest show prospect. So far, that was the third vehicle to have gone past and she hadn’t yet reached the main highway.
The showing season was long over and the ponies, looking rotund and snug in their thick growth of winter coat, had been turned away until early spring. A spacious wooden shed in the corner of the grazing gave shelter against the worst of the weather.
Generally, however, the hardiness of their native breeding prevailed. Only extremes of weather sent her small herd seeking refuge, and even then Thea would find them standing in the lea of the building rather than inside it, their noses against the outside wall, tails tucked in against the offending elements.
The approach of yet another driver brought a wary flick of the ears from the pony.
‘Steady, Merry. Walk on,’ Thea commanded.
Up behind them came a car but this one slowed down sensibly and crawled past. Thea recognised Dominic’s vehicle. Driving on a short distance, the vet pulled in and stopped….
‘Thea, hello there,’ Dominic called, jumping down. ‘You’re out early.’
‘I could say the same for you. Or is it more a case of working late?’
‘You’ve said it!’ Dominic quirked his lips ruefully. ‘A misplaced calf-bed. The vet on duty was already out on a call so I did the honours. Why do they always manage it in the middle of the night?’
‘You tell me,’ Thea countered with a laugh.
Dominic ran an experienced eye over the pretty grey pony.
‘Nice filly. How old is she?’
‘Just coming up to twelve months. She’s a handful. I need to get her going on the long reins but it’s difficult on your own.’ She coloured. ‘Well, Geoff or my brother could sometimes be persuaded to help at this stage.’
‘Strong arm stuff, is it?’
She nodded.
‘It’s amazing how wilful they can be. If Merry decided to take off I doubt if I could hold her.’
‘Want a hand now? Give me half an hour to get cleaned up and I’ll be right back.’
‘Are you sure? You must be exhausted.…’
‘Oh, I’ll be glad of the fresh air. I know how tricky these youngsters can be. A pony back home once took off with me across the peat bogs. Halfway to Galway we were before I could stop him!’
‘Go on!’ Thea giggled. ‘You’re making it up.’
‘Now would I do that?’ His blue eyes twinkled. ‘Half an hour, then? She can graze the verge for now. Don’t go away. I’ll be right back.’
Throwing her a wink, he returned to his car and drove off. Thea, feeling suddenly less anxious, allowed the filly enough rope to crop the roadside grass and turned her thoughts to the Harbour House.
‘Why not consider renting it out?’ her father had suggested only last night. ‘It would bring in a good income.’
‘I know. It’s the thought of someone else enjoying the fruits of my hard work that stops me. Silly, really.’
‘I’d take it back off your hands myself, but I’m afraid funds won’t stretch to it right now.’ Chas sighed.
‘I know, Dad. I wouldn’t dream of putting you to the expense. I’ve considered living there myself. Well, it would give Mum my bedroom. It’s nice and big. She could take in students. Or do B&B like the Demseys at Ridgeway.’
‘I reckon your mother’s got enough spare bedrooms if she wants to do that,’ Chas replied. ‘Anyhow, she’s got enough on her hands as it is. Think about renting, though. Let me know what you decide.’
‘OK, Dad.’ On impulse Thea had given her father a hug. The year that had begun with such promise hadn’t turned out well for her parents. Thea was saddened to have added to their burden. Sorry, too, over the sadness at Roseacre. Her first instinct had been to go and see Geoff and Helen.
But then she had second thoughts. They’d only have been embarrassed, and Helen was such a stickler for correct form. In the end she had penned a warm little missive of condolence and left it at that. What Bryony had been doing there she had no idea.
Thea sighed, giving the pony a little more rope to reach a particularly lush clump of wayside grass.
Dominic’s return put paid to more musing. Spruce in clean cords, Aran jumper and padded jacket, his dark hair slicked back wetly from the shower, he looked wide awake and ready for work.
‘No Trina?’ Thea enquired.
‘Trina’s had a romp round the garden and is now sleeping off her breakfast. Let’s concentrate on one thing at a time.’ He took the pony’s lead-rope off her. ‘Right then, we’ll do the lanes and come back along The Parade. That should get the tickle out her feet. Come on, Merry, me girl! Walk on!’
The morning was almost over by the time they returned, Thea feeling much more relaxed, to Woodhey, where the Sunday roast sizzled mouth-wateringly in the oven.
‘Stop and have some lunch,’ Chas said to Dominic. ‘It’d be nice to have company. I could show you that winter wheat crop you were interested in.’
‘Yes, do stay,’ Mae agreed.
Dominic accepted the invitation readily.
‘My car’s down the lane. I should fetch it. And there’s the dog.’
‘What if I pick up your car and fetch Trina?’ Thea offered. ‘That’ll leave you free to walk the fields with Dad.’
After the long trek on top of the broken night, it was probably the last thing Dominic wanted and Thea hid a smile.
‘Good idea,’ he said manfully. ‘While you’re there you might as well pick up those house deeds you were interested in.
Thea’s face lit up.
‘You’ve got them? Great!’
‘The solicitor sent me the whole batch. Apparently all land records are now going on electronic files, so there won’t be cause to keep those old documents any longer.’
‘So what happens to them?’ Mae asked.
‘I expect they’ll be destroyed.’ Dominic shrugged. ‘My solicitor said I could keep mine. It’s tough on future history fans. No more boxes of old papers to rummage through!’
He handed Thea his car keys.
‘Large padded envelope on the kitchen table. You can’t miss it. Watch Trina doesn’t have a go at you!’
‘That’ll be the day!’ Thea said with a smile.
She left her mother making coffee for them all and went back into the sharp wintry air. The sun had come out and her spirits, already lifted, rose still higher. Sprinting down the lane, long plait thumping on her shoulders, she came to where Dominic had left his pick-up and drove on towards Parkgate, enjoying the handle of the bigger
vehicle after her own small car.
She was given a rapturous welcome by Trina. Fussing her, Thea picked up the bundle of papers, pausing. Lunch would be an hour yet. Where better to read about the house but there, in the very place where Jessica Platt had been born and raised?
Sitting down at the table, the setter at her side, Thea took the papers out of the envelope and found the one she wanted. The central heating was on, humming away soothingly, the house warm and quiet. After the exercise in the bracing outdoors, the contrast was pleasingly soporific.
Thea allowed her gaze to roam round the room. It would be very different now from when Jessica knew it. She looked up at the marks of the crafter’s awl on the twisted old ceiling beams, wondering if Jessica had once done the same, yawning.…
Jessica opened the letter the post boy had just delivered, spreading it out on the small mahogany writing desk in front of her.
My dearest Aunt Jessica, Polly had written in her neat hand.
I trust this finds you in good health. I have now been at the position you very kindly found for me with the Kendrick family for one whole month, and feel I must let you know how I fare.
My mistress treats me well and the master, too. The children, Miss Amelia and Miss Florence, are wondrous sweet and no trouble at all. There is an older son, Harry, by an earlier marriage, who thinks a lot of himself. Chester is very different to Parkgate, with much noise and bustle. The house on Stanley Place is in a good neighbourhood.
There is no carousing at night as at the Harbour House, and we grow our own fruit and vegetables in the large back garden. I am sure the milk here is watered down, for it looks and tastes thin.
It grieves me to think of poor Mama and how much she will be missing me. Have you visited her? I miss Papa too. I am sure he does not mean to be unthinking and boorish. As Mama used say, ’tis the drink speaking. But there, I am gratified to have found a good place here.
I wonder, Aunt, if you could find me news of John Royle, the fisherman’s son from Hoylake?
Across the Sands of Time Page 9
