A Time Like No Other (11 page)

‘How long will you be gone?’ Her distress was so strong she barely noticed the bark of the tree trunk against her back, nor his arms which stretched on either side of her, the palms of his hands flat on the trunk, effectively capturing her, should she take it into her head to escape, which she didn’t.

‘A few weeks, perhaps a month or two. It depends on the customers I am to call on, those who have shown an interest in Sinclair cloth.’ His light grey eyes were sharp, speculative, almost colourless in the pale light beneath the tree as they looked down into her face.

Speechlessly she returned his look and a sudden tension in his tall figure woke her senses, her female senses to the danger, no, not danger for Roly would never do anything to hurt her, but the hazards she was allowing herself to be led into by this familiar but suddenly fascinating man who had been her husband’s closest friend.

She made a movement as though to break away but he leaned forward so that his breath fanned her cheek.

‘Will you miss me?’ he murmured.

She made one last effort to move away from this perilous moment, for she finally knew that this should not be happening – surely? – so soon . . . so soon but when his mouth came to rest on hers she felt her lips parting. His caressed hers, folding them ever so gently into his, nothing fierce or even passionate, so that she was able to pretend to herself it was no more than a friend kissing a friend.

‘Lally, sweet Lally, it won’t be long before I’m home again,’ he told her and as he led her, bemused, out of the woodland and up the slope of the lawn to the house she wondered what he meant.

7

She had spent the morning discussing spring sowing with John Graham at Cowslip and pigs with Henry Higgins at Thickpenny, understanding not a word of what they told her and worse still,
knowing
that they were well aware that she was out of her depth. It made her all the more determined to ride over to High Clough to see Harry and if he was not there to try one of his other mills until she found him. She had prided herself that she could manage without him, foolishly believing that the scant bits of information she had picked up from John Graham, from Bob Archer at Prospect and from Polly McGinley at Folly, from the estate books in the office, had provided her with all she needed to know as ‘squire’ of the estate. She had ridden astride Merry from farm to farm, dressed still in her kid breeches but with her riding-habit skirt decently draped over them, having realised she had shocked many of the tenants in her bold outfit. The skirt had a slit up the side which made mounting and dismounting easier and it meant she had no need to ride side-saddle. She also took Fred and Ally with her wherever she went, for she was wary of the Weaver boys who always seemed to appear, grinning like idiots, slipping out from behind a group of trees or rising from the very ground whenever she rode through Moor Wood or Tangle Wood at the back of the house and where, she presumed, they were poaching her game, or even a deer. They did not try to accost her but they made her uneasy and she felt the need to have someone, even if it was only Carly, at her side. But then Carly had duties to perform, if not with the horses and the stables then giving a helping hand to Barty and Froglet who had their work cut out maintaining the extensive gardens and the grounds about the house.

Those who farmed Thickpenny, Cowslip, Prospect, Folly and the Home Farm were all doing their best to help her ‘play herself in’ but she was aware that they saw her as a lady, a member of the gentry who was incapable of running an estate such as this and that soon she would lose interest and they could slip back into their old ways. At least some of them! She had learned many things such as how much fallow land Bob Archer had at any one time, how many acres supported his Friesians and how many were devoted to wheat or barley or root crops. She knew because she had recorded it in the estate books and then memorised it. Henry Higgins had given over his twelve-acre field to kale. Folly Farm was principally a dairy farm sending twenty-eight dozen eggs to market each week, along with dozens of baskets of butter shells, which Polly was an expert at making, neatly trussed chickens and specially ripened cheeses, while the Home Farm was the principal source of market garden produce which also went to the market in Moorend. She knew all that but in the six months since Chris’s death none was as yet showing a profit. She fed money into the estate, and the farmhouses and their outbuildings had been renovated, implements replaced, stock on the farms had improved, the lambing season had been a success and the moorland beyond the woods was white with skipping bleating lambs and their anxious mothers, all due to the money provided by the bank, but she knew she was falling behind since she had so much else to do. There was the household to be supervised, with the help of Biddy, of course, and the children to whom she must give some of her time, but with Harry’s invaluable guidance and encouragement, and company, she admitted, since she missed Roly, she knew she could do so much more.

She had taken her midday meal with the children in the nursery, the dogs following her up the stairs and nosing their way into the cheerful room. Alec was rolling about on the floor and at once the dogs, since they were still young, began to play with him as though he were a puppy himself. They pushed their big heads against him and trapped him with their paws, being gentle but making him shriek with laughter and delight. They licked every patch of bare skin they could get at and when Jamie fell on them, determined to have his share of the fun Nanny Dora, as she had begun calling herself, lamented that they would become over-excited. But it did no good, for the mistress was as bad as them and, taking off her riding skirt, joined them on the floor, rolling over and over with the two little lads in her arms, protecting them from the hard floor but making them squeal with delight. The dogs barked and the noise was heard downstairs where Biddy tutted as she set the nursery tray.

‘Take this up, Jenny, and tell Miss Lally not to get those lads in a state for it’ll be us that has to calm them down after she’s gone off wherever it is she’s going this afternoon. Her animal is waiting in the yard and Carly has things to do other than walk the thing up and down. I don’t know, you’d think she was a child herself the way she is with those lads . . .’ but she was smiling, for it did them all good to hear Miss Lally laugh again.

‘Where you off to, lass?’ Biddy asked her suspiciously as she passed through the kitchen, longing to beg her to take Carly with her but knowing it would do no good. The lass had a mind of her own these days and did as she pleased since there was no one to gainsay her. At least she had on her decent riding skirt over those brazen breeches.

‘To see Harry Sinclair,’ Lally replied, which answer pleased Biddy inordinately.

She set Merry to a wild canter across the springy moorland towards the lane leading into and through Moorend. High Clough and Mill House which overlooked it were reached by what had once been a rutted lane but Harry had made it into a firm cobbled highway to accommodate the dozens of wagons that trundled up to the mill a dozen times a day. They brought the bales of raw wool to the sheds to be sorted and scoured and carded, proceeding through the many processes until they reached the finished product, the lengths of fine woollen cloth which were then transported to their destinations, either to different parts of the country or to the ships that conveyed them to the four corners of the earth or at least to the buyers Roly had found for them. Once, in his grandfather’s time, it had been sturdy calamanco which would last a woman all her married life but Harry had seen that though this was all very well in the old days women today did not wish to wear the same garment so long, preferring the fancy lightweights that had become the fashion. He had experimented with lightweight worsteds and within two years had doubled the mills’ profits.

She clattered into the frantically busy yard where brawny men, hot and sweating, were unloading the fleeces from a wagon, their muscles rippling in the spring sunshine. They stopped to stare at her, for it was seldom lasses of her kind were seen in this yard, only the beshawled women who worked in the sheds for twelve hours a day with their children beside them!

She dismounted at what she supposed to be the outside stairs to the offices, turning to smile at a young lad who ran eagerly to take the reins.

‘Is this the way to Mr Sinclair’s office?’ she asked him and, delighted and speechless, the lad nodded, turning to look at the men to make sure they were witnessing his glory.

Harry sprang to his feet as she side-stepped the clerk who was determined to announce her, his face breaking into a revealing smile before he had himself in hand.

‘Lally, what are you doing here?’ he stammered, ready to kick himself, for he sounded like a foolish schoolboy confronted with a female for the first time. He had not seen her since the awkward day when he had come across her out alone on her mare and before he had had time to curb his tongue had given her the length of it in his dismay. She had told him in no uncertain terms that she considered him to be an interfering old fuddy-duddy, or so it had seemed to him and since then he had had no news of her except through Roly. Now, with Roly out of the country, he had pondered on whether he might ride over, casually, of course, and enquire into her health and that of her boys. Now here she was in his office and he felt the joy of it enter his heart. He knew he would cut a ludicrous figure if he showed his feelings and so his voice became gruff to hide them.

‘Can I give you . . . er . . . tea . . . coffee, perhaps . . .’ turning imperiously to the hovering clerk. ‘Hawkins, is there such a thing available?’ causing the clerk to raise his eyebrows, for Mr Sinclair well knew that there was a woman in a small kitchen at the back of the offices whose job it was to cater to Mr Sinclair’s every culinary need.

‘Of course, sir, which is it to be?’

Harry turned politely to Lally and was quite astounded when she began to laugh. ‘Oh, Harry, I don’t care. I didn’t come here to drink your tea but to ask you to . . . well, would you like to dine with me one evening? I have so much to tell you . . . to ask you and we can hardly do it here . . .’ with this man goggling at us, her words implied. ‘We could make it a celebration for Her Majesty’s birthday. We’re only a few days late and I’m sure Her Majesty won’t mind. What d’you say?’

Suddenly conscious of the clerk still vacillating in the doorway, Harry made an impatient gesture for him to leave, the moment giving him a chance to hide his gratification at what seemed to him to be her genuine desire to heal the breach that had developed between them. He wished she had not made mention of the Queen’s birthday and the country’s celebrations, for it would have pleased him much more if her invitation had been solely to dine with
him
but nevertheless it was a beginning. She looked so lovely, her cheeks glowing with health and the enjoyment of her ride over, her eyes gleaming a turquoise blue between her thick lashes, her lips parted in a wide smile so that he felt a most foolish need to jump over his desk and sweep her into his arms. What would she do, he mused, if he gave in to the desire, but as was his nature he hid his feelings though his mouth twitched ready to break into a most unusual broad grin.

‘Why, I should be delighted,’ he said gravely, wishing he had his younger brother’s charming aptitude for spontaneity. Never at a loss for words, was Roly, and always ready to meet any situation with exactly the right manner. And yet at Christmas, before Roly came home, he and Lally had seemed to get on and be at ease in one another’s company. Well, whatever it was that she had in mind he was fully prepared to take advantage of it. Dear God, he brooded, even his own thoughts were stilted!

‘Shall we say tomorrow evening then, unless you have something else . . .’

‘No, no, I’ve nothing . . . planned . . .’ and even if I had I would gladly cancel it. ‘But won’t you have that cup of tea or . . .’

‘No, I must get back or Biddy will be sending out a search party.’

‘You don’t mean you’ve ridden over here . . .’ he began, then stopped himself, for it was over the same subject they had quarrelled last time.

‘Now then, Harry,’ but she was smiling as she moved towards the office door.

He strode across the rich carpet and held it open for her, breathing the fragrance of her as she passed him. Good sweet Lord, he loved her . . . he loved her . . .

‘Until tomorrow then, Harry.’

‘Until tomorrow.’ His face was at one and the same time boyish in his gladness and yet remote, as was his nature. His eyes were their usual deep impenetrable brown, with seemingly no warmth to them and his hair, which she had seen tumbled in thick curls over his forehead, was brushed smoothly back. His voice was so cool in his effort to conceal his feelings she turned for a moment to look at him as though to say what the devil have I done wrong now, but his eyes, reflecting his emotions though he was not aware of it, became warm and she smiled at him as she made for the staircase. The boy still held the reins of her horse and the tail end of the smile caught him a stunning blow.

‘Thank you . . . er . . .’

‘Sam, missis.’

‘Thank you, Sam.’

Sam was enchanted. What a tale he would have to tell his mam when he got home. She was confined to the tiny room they shared, her emaciated, frail and bone-weary body keeping her in bed for the most part. She saw no one because all the other women and their families who lived in the tall and tottering house were in their loom gates from five thirty in the morning when the gates were closed against latecomers until dark fell and she looked forward to his homecoming and the things he had to tell her. Mostly it was nothing much except what had happened in the sheds and yard about them and the hour he had spent at his sums, but today he could describe the lovely young lady and the words she had spoken to him. She had asked him his name and thanked him for holding her horse. She had smiled at him and was ready to allow him to help her on to her glossy horse until the maister got there before him.