by Diane Allen
‘Right, sir, see you in the morning perhaps. And thank you again for filling an old man’s stomach.’ Jed tugged on his cap as a sign of respect.
‘See you in the morning, Jed. Glad Agnes has filled you.’ Tobias watched as Jed closed the garden gate and disappeared down the rough pathway. He’d finish his cup of tea and then have a wander and inspect his sheep, all the while thinking of Polly at Paradise.
The grass was growing fast for early May. Tobias was thankful it had been a mild spring and winter was now a distant memory. Soon it would be time to turn the stock out of the bottom meadows and let the lush green grass grow, for the coming winter feed. He walked slowly around the few remaining sheep left to lamb. All were grazing contentedly, none showing signs of being ready.
His mind returned to thinking of Polly. He’d never seen a prettier thing, and she had a farm to her name. Bad luck with women had always dogged him – not that there had been many. Those that he had managed to get interested in him had soon vanished, once their parents told their daughters of his parentage, and how he was conceived. He hated his bloody father with a vengeance so fearful that it would probably take him to his grave. How his mother could be so saintly about him, Tobias didn’t know; he’d have seen him hanged for being such a bastard. What she must have gone through to be raped by him, then outcast from her family, he couldn’t comprehend. And to be told your child was dead was cruel enough. But then to find that her parents had lied to her, and that her child was alive and had been living like a dog under the table at Grouse Hall, must have been too much for Daisy. He could still remember the day his father had died, and the sheer relief when that horrible man had brought him back, lying over his saddle, dead. And the warm feeling of Daisy’s arms around him as he cried, half with relief over his father’s death, and half with fear of what the future held for him.
He needn’t have worried about his future, for Daisy had turned out to be his mother, and his grandfather had made sure that Tobias, rather than his wayward son, had inherited Grouse Hall. After that, his life had gone from strength to strength: good schooling; a loving home with his mother and her husband, Sam Allen; and, most of all, he’d learned farming with a passion and a skill that had earned him three farms in Garsdale and Mallerstang within his twenty-five years. The only thing missing in his life was the love of someone of his own, someone to share his life with. Good horses, good food and fine clothes weren’t to be taken for granted, but it was time he found himself a wife – someone like him. Polly Harper seemed to have taken his eye, and now he knew that she came from a farming background and was unwanted by her natural father, like himself, she seemed even more appropriate. How could a father walk out on his children, or treat them roughly? If he had children, he’d nurture and love them with every breath in his body, because without love, a child was nothing.
Tobias gathered his thoughts. He’d have to think of a plan to get to know Polly and her family. Unfortunately he had no reason to go and knock on the door of Paradise Farm, and he probably wouldn’t get a warm reception anyway. All the dale knew him, or knew of his upbringing, and thought the worst. He’d think it through and see what he could do. There must be a way to get to know Polly better.
Polly stretched and snuggled down deep into her feather bed, pulling the sheets and blankets up to her chin. She watched the dappled shadows of sunlight bursting through her window onto the ceiling, and listened to the swooping, screeching swifts and swallows as they excitedly went about their business of making new nests under the eaves of the farm building. She didn’t want to get out of bed, for she was comfortable and relaxed, and she just wanted a day to herself, to do whatever she wanted. She was tired of knowing how to dose sheep for fluke-worm, or how to calve a cow. In fact she was fed up of farming, full stop, but she just hadn’t the heart to tell her mother and father. All the lads her age looked at her as if she was abnormal, when she strode about the market with her father; and as for the lasses – well, apart from her best friend, Maggie, they didn’t give her the time of day. She loved the land, but wasn’t ready to be tied to it. She wanted to have a bit of fun, like Maggie was having with Ralph Bannister, her most recent admirer, and the latest one in a very long line.
‘Polly, are you up yet? Your father’s waiting. He says you’ve the hens to feed, and the calf-shed wants mucking out,’ Ada shouted from the bottom of the stairs, trying to rouse her snoozing daughter.
‘Yes, Mother, I’m coming.’ Polly sighed and pulled the covers back and sat on the edge of her bed, looking out of her bedroom window. Well, at least it was a good day, and she wouldn’t get soaked to the skin or freeze to death while looking after the new spring lambs. She untied her nightdress and pulled on her dress for the day. Even her dress had seen better days. No wonder she couldn’t catch a boy’s eye. She looked in her wardrobe mirror as she brushed her long, dark hair. It was her crowning glory, and she knew it. Falling nearly to the middle of her back, it was thick and glossy, with a slight curl, instead of being lank and drab. Along with the bright blue of her eyes, she knew that her looks – if she put on the right clothes – could be striking.
‘Oh well, another day on the farm, waiting for Mr Right to come along. Although he never will, not while I’m stuck cleaning the calf-sheds out. But if he does come along, please don’t let him be a farmer,’ whispered Polly to herself. She tidied her bed, plumping up the pillows and straightening the blankets and quilt, before opening her bedroom window to let the fresh spring air into the room. She looked down to the bottom pasture, where she usually saw her father’s gift to her: the Herdwick ewe and her three lambs. That’s funny, she thought, they’re not there. Her father must have moved them this morning, but the rest of the flock were still there. Perhaps they were down near the gill’s edge. The lambs always went where their mother went, so they’d be with her. She pulled her hair back over her shoulders and made her way down the narrow, creaking stairs to the kitchen.
‘I thought you were never going to get up. It’s eight o’clock, and your father’s done a day’s work already. He should be on his way back from the station, after dropping off the kit of milk to Evie that she asked to be sent to Liverpool. He expected you to go with him.’ Ada banged the cup of tea down in front of Polly.
‘I just wanted a lie-in, Mam. I was tired.’ Polly drank her tea and took a bite from the bread and jam put in front of her.
‘Aye, well, we are all tired. It’s a hard life, but if you want to keep food on the table and a roof over your head, you’ve got to work for it. And lying in bed thinking daft thoughts, like that Maggie Sunter puts in your head, does neither. She’s all right, for her father owns that new dairy they are building, so she will never have to lift a finger. They’re made of money, that lot.’ Ada sat across the table from Polly and looked at her. ‘You want nowt with listening to her. She’s not like us, Polly. We’re farming stock, and her mother’s from off the stage in Bradford. She caught Bill Sunter’s eye when he stopped a night after delivering some milk, and before he knew it she said she was having his baby. Poor bugger was caught, with a baby that probably wasn’t his!’ Ada sighed and folded her arms. She was worried about Polly. Edmund hadn’t seen it, but since winter had turned into spring, Polly had become restless and not as interested in the farm. She prayed that Polly hadn’t been given her father’s wandering feet and that she was about to lose her, too.
‘I don’t think Maggie would thank you for talking about her like that, Mother. She’s a good friend to me. In fact she’s the only one I’ve got.’ Polly was nearly in tears. She couldn’t suit her mother at the moment, whatever she did.
‘Well, just don’t listen to her daft tales, and make sure to keep your feet on the ground. I listened to Maggie the other day when she was on about that Bannister lad. I just thought to myself: thank heavens our Polly is not that fickle. We brought you up with values, and I know you are a daughter to be proud of. Come on, Polly, I’m not that cross.’ Ada smiled at her pride and joy as she w
iped a tear away from her cheek.
Ada had been wanting to get that off her chest for a day or two. She’d been horrified with what she’d heard and didn’t want Polly to go the same way. With Edmund being out of the house, it had given her chance to raise the subject.
‘You know men are always wanting something they shouldn’t have. Until you are married, you make them wait for it; and then, when you are married to them, you’ve to endure it, whether you want it or not.’ Ada blushed; sex was never talked about in the Harper household and she felt uneasy with the subject.
‘Mother, I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ve seen plenty of tupping sheep, and I’m not that daft.’ Polly sniffed and put her head down. She didn’t know who was the more embarrassed of the two of them. Changing the subject, she coughed and lifted her head up. ‘Has my father moved the Herdwicks? I couldn’t see them from out of my bedroom window.’
‘He never said he had done, and he hasn’t had time this morning.’ Ada got up from her seat and was glad of the opportunity to change the subject to something more comfortable.
‘I’ll go and feed the hens and then, before I start on the calf-shed, I’ll have a look down in the bottom pasture. They are probably down the gill side.’ Polly drank her tea in one gulp and then stood up, making for the door. ‘Stop worrying about me, Mother, I’m not that daft. And Maggie is a good friend, but hasn’t a lot of sense, as you say, when it comes to men.’
‘I just worry, Polly. You aren’t our baby any more. You’re all grown up, and your father doesn’t realize this.’ Ada watched as Polly left the house and went across the yard and into the barn. She was the spitting image of her real father and that spelt trouble, she was sure of it.
Polly threw out handfuls of yellow corn kernels to the greedy clucking hens pecking at her feet in their eagerness to eat their daily ration. ‘Out of my way, you clucking, mucky things.’ Polly hated the hens. She hated climbing in the hen-hut and putting her hand into the straw-lined laying boxes to pick up the eggs. She’d guarantee that there would be hen-muck on some of the eggs and that she’d put her hands into it, in the dim light of the hut. She always thought about that when her mother boiled her an egg for her breakfast. Mucky things! She gazed down over the field. She still couldn’t see the Herdwicks and hoped to God that they hadn’t decided to wander. She went into the hut, collected the eggs without incident and then left them in the porchway of her home, before walking down into the bottom pasture.
The day was glorious, the sun warm and, in the wood behind Paradise, a cuckoo was singing its signature song. It echoed around the dale. Polly ran her hand through the cow-parsley and buttercups that were flowering in the pasture and lifted her face to the sun. She loved its warmth. It made her feel so much better, after the long, cold, grey months of winter. Looking around her, there was no sign of the missing sheep. She wandered down to the gill side and followed it as far as the road, but there was still no sign of the missing foursome. They must have got out under the gate and onto the road – her father had warned her that they were escape artists. Polly opened the gate and walked onto the road that led in one direction to Hawes, with the other way leading to the market town of Sedbergh. Which way to take? She decided to take the road to Hawes and walked over the river bridge and through the narrow cluster of houses known to the locals as The Street. Len Brunskill, Edmund’s friend, was standing outside his house as Polly walked past.
‘You’ve not seen a sheep with three black lambs, have you?’ Polly stopped.
‘Nay, lass. You’ve not lost the Herdwick and its lambs, have you? I told your father he’d not keep ’em.’ Len grinned, showing his toothless gums. ‘I’ve not seen them go past this last hour, and nobody’s said anything to me. I’d try the other way, if I were you.’ Len yawned. ‘I didn’t sleep right well last night. I was woken with a noise about midnight. I looked out of my window and there was a grey horse on the bridge. I’ve been trying to think whose it was all morning. It looked like a ghost-horse in the moonlight.’ He wandered away with his thoughts as Polly half-listened, wanting to carry on with her search.
‘All right, thank you.’ She turned around and made her way back over the river bridge, getting to her field gate just as she heard a horse and cart coming up behind her.
‘Open the gate, our Polly,’ her father shouted as his cart clattered over the bridge.
Polly ran quickly and opened the gate for her father to ride up the path to home.
‘Whoa, Clover! Do you want a lift up home? What are you doing down here?’ Edmund pulled his horse up as Polly closed the gate behind him.
‘I’m looking for the Herdwick and her lambs. She’s gone missing.’ Polly looked flustered.
‘Eh! She could be miles away by now, bloody animal. Come back up home with me. I’ll just have a bite to eat and then we’ll go out with Clover and the cart, unless somebody brings her back first. Don’t waste your energy looking for her on your legs – she could be anywhere.’
Polly didn’t need to be told twice. She didn’t fancy walking the roads on her own and climbed in next to her father.
‘Don’t worry, I knew she’d not settle. We’ll find her and, when we do, I’ll hobble her front legs together – that will stop her trailing.’ Edmund urged Clover on and the cart made its way back home.
‘I don’t know why you bought them. All we’ve done since she lambed is watch her like a hawk, and she’s still managed to escape,’ Polly moaned.
‘I thought you liked her and her lambs?’ Edmund was surprised by Polly’s outburst.
‘She’s only a sheep. They are all a bit thick, and always do what others do.’ She got down from the cart as Edmund brought Clover to a standstill. ‘I’ve got better things to do with my time than chase daft sheep.’
‘And what’s that then, lass? Had you something in mind for today?’
‘Seemingly, cleaning the calf-shed out, or so my mother tells me, a real ladylike job.’ Polly couldn’t bite her tongue. She knew she was being sarcastic.
‘Aye, well, we all have to pull together. I don’t suppose you wanted to be up by five this morning to catch the express train with the milk, did you? So think yourself lucky, Miss, and we’ll have less of your cheek.’ Edmund tied the horse up and watched as Polly flounced into the home, picking up the abandoned hens’ eggs as she entered the kitchen. There was no pleasing that lass at the moment, he thought.
‘Have you found them?’ Ada came downstairs after hearing their voices and looked at the sulky face of Polly.
‘No, they are out on the road, Father says. He’ll go and look for them with Clover when he’s had a bite to eat.’ Polly slumped in a chair and waited for her father to enter the kitchen, regretting her hasty words.
‘Well, they’ll turn up somewhere. Everybody knows whose they are, up and down the dale, so there’s no need for that long face. It’ll stop that length, if the wind changes, you know.’ Ada could see that Polly was in a mood and tried to make light of it.
‘I’ll go and clean that calf-hut out and get out from under your feet.’ Polly jumped up and made for the door, hoping to meet her father before he came in. But it was too late, for he was just entering the porch as she opened the kitchen door.
‘Where are you off to, and what’s with the bad mood?’ Edmund stopped Polly in her tracks.
‘I’m off to clean the calves out and I’m just a bit fed-up.’ Polly wanted to say, ‘I want a different life’, but she daren’t, not to her father.
‘Aye, well, everybody gets days like that. But the sun’s shining and we are all well, and that’s all we can ask the good Lord for.’ Edmund looked at his wild-eyed daughter. He’d seen that look in Dan’s eyes, just before he left.
Polly went past him and didn’t answer as she walked across the farmyard to the calf-shed, grabbing the pitchfork and brush that were against the entrance, before disappearing from sight.
‘Aye, Mother, we’ve got another wild ’un on our hands. She’s just like her father,
God help us.’ Edmund sat down to his drink of tea and the bread and dripping that Ada placed in front of him.
‘She’s at that age, Father, and being friendly with that Maggie Sunter doesn’t help. But we can’t wrap her up in cotton wool, and she’s to grow up sometime. That’s where we went wrong with our Dan. We mollycoddled him too much. Happen now she’s left school she could do with working for someone a few days a week – someone we know?’
‘But there’s enough to do here. She wants nowt with working for someone else.’ Edmund wasn’t going to let Polly out into the wider world. She was his life, his hope of carrying on the farm.
‘Aye, but she’s a lass, Edmund. Sheep and cows are not the be-all and end-all of everything. Besides, she could bring a bit of money in as well. Have a think about it, and then we’ll talk to her. It’ll make her think how lucky she is living here – when she has to get up at seven in the morning and won’t finish work until perhaps as late as seven in the evening. Two days a week with someone else will be just the thing to bring her back into the real world.’ Ada sat back and watched Edmund finishing his breakfast with a scowl on his face. She knew she was right. Polly was bored, and if they didn’t do something about it, they were heading for disaster.
The calf-shed had never been cleared with such fervour. The old rush bedding had been thrown out into the barrow in the yard, and the cobbles on the floor were being brushed to within an inch of their life, as Polly took out her frustration on the job she hated. Bloody animals, bloody farm – she hated the lot at the moment. The only thing she did like was wandering over the fields and watching nature in all its glory. But she knew she couldn’t do that all day.
She stopped in her tracks as she heard hooves come into the yard and the snort of a horse as its rider alighted. She put her pitchfork down, rubbed her brow and went to the doorway. It was him! What was Tobias Middleton doing at her house? She watched as he tied the grey dapple to the wooden railing of the kitchen garden and then brush himself down, without noticing her presence. Polly was full of panic. He mustn’t see her or smell her like this; she’d just cleaned out the filthy calf-shed and must look an awful mess. She turned and hid around the corner of the barn, accidently knocking the brush over, sending it clattering to the floor.
