by Diane Allen
He patted Polly’s hand and thought about Matt. He was a secretive one, that was for sure. Joe hadn’t quite worked out what Matt was after at Paradise, but he did know that Matt was trying his best to worm his way in with Edmund. Perhaps he was just glad to have a grandfather and to know where his roots lay, but Joe knew Matt better than that. He was a schemer and didn’t do things without a reason.
‘Shh, Polly, I’m here.’ He calmed Polly as he bathed her head, whilst she yelled out for Martha and then muttered something that stopped him in his tracks.
‘Tobias, Tobias, I love you. Why didn’t you come?’
Although said in a delirium, the words that Polly yelled out cut like a knife through Joe’s heart. So that was why she had been out in the rain and wind. She’d been waiting for Tobias! She’d always be waiting for him, and Joe knew it. They were alike to the colour of their hair and the blue of their eyes; both fatherless, both wild like the fells themselves. Joe had hoped that Polly would grow to love him, but he’d seen her at Maggie’s wedding, talking to Tobias. He’d seen the twinkle in her eyes, the coy look she gave him and the playful finger that curled her hair as she spoke to him. He himself was playing second fiddle, and always would be, no matter how much he loved her.
‘So she’ll be all right, Doctor?’ Edmund sat at the kitchen table with Dr Spence from Hawes and watched as he closed his bag.
‘I’ve given her something to bring her temperature down and to make her sleep. Keep giving her those powders, and she should be fine in a day or two. She’s fit enough, and it could have been a lot worse – we could have been looking at pneumonia. As it is, I think she just has a severe chill. You need some sleep yourself, Edmund, you’re not getting any younger.’ Dr Spence looked at the white-faced old man over the top of his spectacles. ‘Do you not think of selling up and retiring to Hawes?’
‘I’ll be right. When I leave here, it’ll be in a box, Doctor. This is my home and always will be, and after my day, it’ll be Polly’s.’ Edmund wasn’t going to be told by a town-dweller what to do with his ancestral home. After all, it was nowt to do with the doctor and, besides, he hadn’t enough brass to sit back with his feet up, like a toff.
‘Well, don’t be doing too much. I want no early-morning train-catching with that milk of yours – that’s a young man’s game. Go and make peace with Bill Sunter, and let him pick your milk up from the bottom of the lane.’ Dr Spence knew he was overstepping the mark with his advice, but it was common knowledge that words had been said between Bill Sunter and Edmund Harper.
‘When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it. Tha came to look after Polly, not to tell me how to do my business. Now I’m grateful for that, but if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some stock to look at, while she’s asleep.’
‘I’m only telling you that you’re not as young as you were, Edmund. I didn’t mean to interfere.’ Dr Spence made for the door.
‘Aye, well, happen so, but I keep my own council. It’s better all round, and perhaps you should try it.’ Edmund held the door open and glared at Dr Spence, who up until then he’d thought of as a friend.
‘If Polly gets worse, you know where I am. But she should be all right now, as her fever’s broken. Good day, Edmund.’
Dr Spence shook his head, once outside the house. Edmund could be a stubborn old devil, once his mind was set.
Edmund slumped in his fireside chair and stoked the dying embers of the fire into life, watching as sparks crackled when he added some dry kindling sticks, before adding a shovel of coal from the bucket that he kept next to the fire. Today he felt his age. The doctor was right. He’d watched young Joe Fothergill mount his horse, without a creaking limb, and had wondered where all those years had gone. He was thankful Joe had visited. By the time he’d returned from Hawes with the doctor, Polly had started to improve. It must have been Joe’s soothing ways. But it was funny how the lad couldn’t get away fast enough, once he and the doctor arrived. You’d have thought he’d have wanted to know what the doctor said, Edmund thought. Still, perhaps his father needed him. After all, Joe had stopped a good length of time, and the joinery business didn’t run itself.
He put the kettle on the fire and waited for it to boil, walking to the bottom of the stairs to hear if Polly was making any noise, before making himself a cup of tea. There wasn’t a murmur. She was asleep, thank God. What a night it had been. The doctor was right in a way: too many such nights and he wouldn’t be delivering milk up to Hawes Junction four times a week for the good people of Liverpool, whether his sister wanted it or not!
14
Polly sat in the chair next to the fire and listened to the bleating of the sheep and lambs as Matt and her grandfather herded them out of the yard and down the home field, then onwards to be sold at the market at Hawes. She had always hated the day when the year’s lambs, and some of the older sheep, were sold to bring in much-needed income for the winter months. But this year it seemed worse. She’d not helped Edmund with the decision about what sheep to keep and what to sell; Matt had. And her disappointment had been made worse by knowing that the old Herdwick ewe that she’d encouraged Edmund to buy in the spring was amongst the sheep for sale. It would probably end up with the knacker-man now. Poor thing, she thought, it was only being sold because it was long in the tooth and past its best. Polly couldn’t help but think it was a good job the same thing didn’t happen to humans, or else there would be nobody alive past the age of forty.
At least her grandfather had heeded her pleas for him to keep the three lambs, despite how troublesome they were proving to be, as they tackled the limestone walls with their escape tactics, causing gaps to appear and a cursing from her grandfather. They were bonny little sheep and easily spotted from down in the valley, with their nearly black fleeces. It was the fleeces that made them so loved, along with their sweet white faces.
Polly yawned and stretched out in front of the warmth of the fire. Usually she would have walked the road behind the herd, along with her grandfather, but since catching the chill she had felt so weak and her legs were still a little shaky. It had been five days since she was so ill that she could hardly get out of her bed, but now her strength was returning, along with her spirits. Since Tobias’s failure to show for their lovers’ tryst, she had been in a dark place with her moods, but now – with the love shown by her grandfather, and the bed rest that he had insisted on – she’d decided that she could live without the teasing Tobias. He wasn’t going to get the better of her, with his promises of unkept meetings and his flattery. He was playing with her feelings and, like a fool, she’d nearly died because of his games.
She listened to the grandfather clock ticking. The house was silent. The only noise was the constant tick. It was heaven to be alone with her thoughts in front of a warm fire. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of past events, but she couldn’t help but remember her grandfather saying that Joe had looked after her while he fetched the doctor, and that she should thank Joe for his care. But how could she, when he hadn’t been near her since her recovery? She’d asked Matt this morning if he’d seen Joe and hadn’t got a straight answer, just a mumbled ‘No’, as if he was hiding something. No doubt Joe would turn up like a bad penny when he was ready. She’d thank him then, and make sure she treated him with a bit more respect. He was, after all, always there for her, which made him twice the gentleman that Tobias was.
Polly yawned, her eyes filling with water, and brushed the tears away. Another few hours in bed wouldn’t go amiss, she thought. After all, it was only seven-thirty in the morning and no one else was around. She placed the fire-guard around the fire, yawned again and then climbed the stairs to her bed. There she climbed in under the patchwork quilt made by her grandmother and curled up in a ball, in the comfort of her feather bed. Within minutes she was asleep, without a thought for Joe, Tobias or Matt.
Matt stood with his grandfather near the pen that held the fifty or more sheep and lambs that they had patiently walked down the road
from Garsdale. It had taken at least two hours, with the sheep stopping to nibble at the verdant grass borders, and the lambs taking scare at the slightest movement. Both Edmund and Matt were glad when they had passed the Halfway Houses that heralded the run into the town of Hawes, and then went up the slight incline into the main street and the awaiting pens. There auction staff waited at the road-end leading over to Widdle, flapping their hands to ensure the meandering sheep went in the right direction, and then into the wooden pens that lined the main street, finally then into the night holding-pen, called the Penny Garth.
‘I’m glad we’ve got them here, Matt. It’s a bloody hard job moving them, and this old lass is getting past her best, a bit like me.’ Edmund ruffled his sheepdog’s head as it panted for breath, its tongue dripping with saliva. ‘She’s crippled with rheumatics. Polly usually does the dog-work, so it’s a good job you offered to help.’
‘Aye, well, I knew you’d never make it on your own. And the weather will be getting worse before long, so you’re best getting them sold, and then you’re all right for the winter.’ Matt leaned over the pen, looking at the mixture of Swaledale sheep and lambs, and wondering what they’d fetch at auction. ‘Last time I did this was when my grandfather died in Dent. We had to pen them up at his farm sale. It broke my heart, it did, to see all the stock sold. But there was nowt I could do about it.’ He leaned back on the wooden pen, with one foot resting on the slats, and gazed across the road at the auctioneer selling his first lot, as Edmund pulled his cap down over his brow.
‘Aye, there’s nowt worse than losing a farm. I was sad to hear it, when I found out that Bernard had died. He was a good man, was your grandfather, as straight as a die. Your grandmother must miss him.’ Edmund spat as he heard the auctioneer banging down his hammer at a lower price than he’d expected.
‘She does, but what can you do? And she depends on me to keep a roof over our heads. She pulled a face at me this morning when I said I was coming to help you, instead of going to work with Bill Sunter. But it’s like I said to her: I couldn’t see you stuck, not with Polly being so poorly, and you being my new family.’
Edmund could hardly control the smirk on his face. He’d wondered when the hint of payment for the day was coming. There was one thing he’d learned quickly about his new grandson: he didn’t do owt for nowt, and today was not going to be an exception.
‘Aye, well, we’ll see what this lot makes. Have a beer in the Crown and then I’ll pay you what I think you’ve earned. How’s that?’ Edmund leaned and looked at his flock, as the auctioneer moved closer. The farmers and landowners of the district were swarming around him as he shouted in a rhythm of quick bids, as the farmers let him know in their own secret way of bidding. Some touched their caps, some stroked their noses, others just held their finger up or nodded their heads slightly. All their signs meant the same thing: that they were bidding for that particular sheep, or pen of sheep. The auctioneer had to have a quick eye and know the farmer well to recognize his style, quickly registering the bid and then finally knocking his gavel down at the last bid.
‘Excuse me, Mr Harper, I wonder if I could discuss a little business with you?’
Edmund turned to see Tobias Middleton standing behind him.
‘What do you want?’ Edmund didn’t mince his words, as he noticed that Matt had come quickly to his side.
‘I wondered if I could interest you with an offer for your flock? I’d pay a fair price, and it would save the hassle of the auctioneer. Jed, my shepherd, says that they are in decent shape, and I need to restock a farm I’ve just acquired.’ Tobias looked nervously at Matt. He disliked the man, even more so since the episode in the graveyard.
‘Aye, I saw Jed Mathews looking at my lot. I thought they were for him, else I’d have stopped him. I don’t think I’m interested in selling them to you.’ Edmund leaned over the fencing, not looking at Tobias as Matt stepped forward.
‘You heard my grandfather – he’s not interested.’ Matt stood a few inches from Tobias, in between him and his grandfather.
‘Edmund, I thought thou was a reasonable man. Tobias here is a good man; he’s not like his father – he’s a bloody good farmer, for all his airs and graces. They’ll not get a better home.’ Jed pulled on Edmund’s arm. ‘He’s all right, is the lad.’
‘I’ll give you ten shillings a head, and half a crown for the old Herdwick. That’s more than the auctioneer’s sold the last three lots for, and you’ll have no commission to pay.’ Tobias stepped forward, only for Matt to stop him going further.
‘It’s not bad brass, Grandfather, but you’ll have to make your mind up. Our pen’s the next to be sold.’ Matt’s love of money soon made him change his mind.
‘He’s right, Edmund. It’s a fair price and he’ll buy them all, even the old lass that should be in the knackers’ yard.’ Jed looked at Edmund, who wasn’t saying anything.
The auctioneer and the crowd gathered around Edmund’s pen now, pushing the debating party as they looked at the pen of sheep.
‘From Paradise Farm, Garsdale: forty-five Swaledale lambs, five hogs and a Herdwick that’s a bit long-in-the-tooth. What am I offered?’ The auctioneer lifted his gavel and waited for the first bid. ‘I can split into lots!’ He paused.
‘Threepence for the old Herdwick,’ the knacker-man shouted from the back of the crowd. And the farmers laughed.
Edmund breathed in deeply and stood on the wooden fence around his sheep. ‘These sheep aren’t for sale. I’m withdrawing them from the auction.’ He scowled at the auctioneer and looked around at all the farmers he knew. ‘Bugger off to the next pen! I’ve decided not to sell them today.’
The crowd muttered and swore, discontented, as they moved on to the next pen.
‘Mr Harper, this is most irregular. You can’t just withdraw from the sale,’ the auctioneer growled.
‘I bloody can, and I just have. You’d better get a move-on – they are waiting for you.’ Edmund spat out his mouthful of saliva and turned to Tobias. ‘Tha can have ’em, providing that old Herdwick lives out its days in peace. Our Polly loves the bloody old thing, and she didn’t want to part with it. It’s only because she’s poorly that she’s not with me today, and it would break her heart further if she knew it had gone for dog-meat.’
Tobias and Jed breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘Of course I’ll look after the old thing. I presume you prefer cash? I hope Polly is not too ill?’ Tobias delved into his pockets, producing a wad of money, which Matt nearly gasped at, when Tobias counted it out into Edmund’s hand.
‘She nearly died from a chill. She got sodden over a week ago when she went for a walk. She’s only just getting her strength back.’ Edmund counted the notes that were in his hand, and noted the hesitance of Tobias’s count, at the news of Polly being ill.
‘That’s not good news. Can you pass on my best wishes to her, if I’m not being presumptuous?’ Tobias smiled as the last note was counted, but in reality he was worried about Polly. She must have been caught in the downpour when he was with his mare.
‘She’ll be all right, don’t you worry,’ Matt butted in.
‘I’ll tell her, lad.’ Edmund watched the cloud that passed over Tobias’s face. ‘She’s a good lass, is my Polly. I’d never want anyone to hurt her.’
‘No, I understand. She is precious to you.’ Tobias watched Edmund as he studied his face.
‘Aye, she is. She’s my life, and I live for her.’
Matt sighed; no matter what he did, Edmund would never think the same of him as he did of Polly.
‘This one’s the new one in my life. He’s to prove himself to me.’ Edmund patted Matt’s shoulder, hearing him sigh. ‘But Polly we raised as our lass, and she’s special.’
‘I know how you feel, Mr Harper. And now Jed and I will take your sheep home. Thank you for doing business with me.’ Tobias had read the message well. Polly was to be respected, or else!
‘Are you not coming for a drink for luck with us,
to the Crown?’ said Edmund to Tobias and Jed, as he and Matt stepped away from the pen of sheep.
‘Not today. I’d rather get these home.’ Tobias untied the pen’s string fastener and watched as Jed walked the sheep out of the pen.
‘Another time then, lad.’ Edmund smiled as he strode out down the street. That had been a good morning’s work, and happen he’d been wrong about Tobias Middleton.
‘I don’t like that cocky bugger.’ Matt sat in the corner of the taproom of the pub and said what he thought about Tobias Middleton.
‘Tha’ll like his money, though. Here – here’s two quid to put in your pocket. That’ll keep your mother quiet.’ Edmund pushed two pounds into Matt’s hand, as he watched Len get in the drinks at the bar. ‘I hope our Polly’s all right at home on her own. We’ll only have these and then I’ll get myself home.’
‘He’s sweet on her, you know. Tobias Middleton – you should watch him.’ Matt was grinning as he placed his easily made money in his pocket.
‘Who’s sweet on who?’ Len asked, as he placed three pints on the table next to them.
‘Tobias Middleton and our Polly. I can’t stand him, flash bugger!’ Matt slurped a mouthful of beer and sat back in his seat.
‘Tobias – he’s a grand lad, once you get to know him. My Martha is friends with his mother. Martha worries about him, because folk judge him to be like his father.’ Len looked at Edmund.
