Read All the dear faces Online
Authors: Audrey Howard
All the dear faces (70 page)
“
Why not? I feel almost myself again now and a sight of something other than these four walls will do me good.
”
Annie was not so sure. She had noticed Charlie's tendency to gaze into the far distance across Bassenthwaite Lake, his eyes unfocused and . . . well, not blank, exactly
but . . . not the same as they once had been. Calm, cool, his smile was now, not the warm and wonderful thing which had invited all about him to share his laughter. He had an air of weary acceptance, no, it was not even that, it was . . . an emptiness which, though she supposed it stopped all pain, was not really the essence of the merry and audacious man she had loved so well. But then he had been ill, she comforted herself, and really did she want back again, that urgent, vitally alive desire Charlie had once felt for her? He had wanted to love her and be loved by her. He had seen no one but her and had needed her to look at no one but him, but now he was smiling down at Phoebe with affectionate regard and could she be anything but glad that he seemed . . . content
?
He grew stronger each day, getting out of his bed, sitting by the window, creeping downstairs where he was greeted ecstatically by the dogs when they were not out on the fell with Annie. The snows came on the last day of the year and for five weeks they were shut up together, going no further than the cow byre, the dairy, the barn, only Annie moving heavily through the drifts, up to the inlands where her flock, which numbered nearly 150 now and would, in the spring, be doubled, were gathered. There was plenty of hay in the barn, and with Royal to pull the sledge up the track she had laboriously cleared, she was able to get it to the flock. The thought of what she would do in April when the lambs were dropped was a constant worry to her, but by then perhaps Charlie would be himself again and able to help her in the checking of them and their dams. That is if he was still here. She had no idea what he meant to do when he was completely recovered and not wishing to appear as though she was prying into his affairs, or giving him the idea that perhaps it was time he moved on, she had not pressed him. Dear God, it was hard, not for her alone, since she was frozen for ever in her gnawing love for Reed Macauley, but for her and Charlie since she did not want to drag up the past by referring in any way to how it had once been
.
Have you come to terms with it now Charlie? Have youaccepted that I don't love you as you wanted me to? Do you in fact love me at all, or has it all been burned out of you by its own fierce heat? Are you content? Can we live side by side in friendly companionship, you and I? Work together as once we did, or are you merely gathering your strength in readiness to move on? Am I to hire a man to help me? Not just with the lambing as I know I must do, but a shepherd to watch my, flock
?
She could not ask such questions of him
.
The thaw set in at the end of February and the sound of the icy streams which carried the melting snow down to the lake was loud and musical. No sooner did it seem spring was on its way than winter returned, not snow this time, but a hard, cruel frost. Bright sunshine which had no warmth it in but cast itself over the sparkling hoar-frost until it hurt the eyes to look at it. It crackled beneath the feet, every ridge in the track, every furrow in the fields, every blade of grass stiff and white and crackling. The tussocks of heather up on the fell sparked and winked. The sky was blue and gold, flecked with dusty grey clouds which looked like gunbursts. The sunshine glinted on Phoebe's clean windows, burnishing them to gold, and whooper swans sailed low over the fields. At night there was a fine half-moon in the cold blue sky with a single star beside it shining on a crisp, white, silent world
.
Maggie Singleton came over the fell from Long Beck in March, the first time she had been able to manage the walk since the snows first came. She had her boy on her hip, eighteen-month-old Jonty, and another one on the way, she confided smilingly to Phoebe who had willingly put aside her spring cleaning to gossip with this woman who, surprisingly, wanted to be her friend. No, Maggie went on disconsolately, Mr Macauley had not put her and Jake in to run Upfell farm, and what a sad waste it was to see that snug little farmhouse going to rack and ruin. All the livestock had been fetched up to Long Beck, the flock put with Mr Macauley's, since it seemed Mr Macauley could not spare Dobby Hawkins to run up and down the fell to see to them, he had said before he went away.
“
Is he not here then?" Phoebe asked. They were alone, she and Maggie, Annie up on the inlands checking on her flock, Mr Lucas in the barn trying his hand at the swills, just making sure he could still make one, he had said. He was nearly himself again now, tall and lean and sinewy, handsome too, with his eyes so pale and cool, and his thin face regaining its amber hue. Quieter than Phoebe remembered, but content enough, she thought, and seemingly well settled back at Browhead. He and Annie were at peace with one another, none of the tension remaining which had once strained the very walls of the farmhouse.
“
No, he went off with himself as soon as the snow began. I'm off to Keswick he says to Will, who is head shepherd, so mind tha' looks after the flock. My bank manager knows where I am if anything is needed. Will tha' be stayin' in Keswick, Maister, Will ses. No, ses Mr Macauley, I'm to go further than that, an' he got that funny look on his face, sort of far away as though, despite still being there, he'd gone some distance from where he started and didn't quite know where he was."
“
An' what's the news of . . . Mrs Macauley? Is she to come home then?" Phoebe's voice was diffident since she did not really care for prying into other folks affairs but this concerned Annie who was her friend, at least it might do, and it was best to be prepared for any eventuality
.
Just outside the door where she had bent down to remove her stout boots, Annie froze to stillness. It was not that she wanted to eavesdrop, or even wanted to know what Reed was doing, and certainly she did not want the sound of Esmé Macauley's name in her ears, it was simply that the paralysis which had gripped her at the mention of his name would not allow her to move.
“
Nay, I couldn't say, Phoebe. Poor soul, what is she to do? But then she should never have left him, should she, no matter what . . . well . . ." Maggie stopped speaking, suddenly aware that she was treading on thin ice, for had not the cause, or so it had seemed at the time, of Mrs Macauley's departure, been Annie Abbott in whose home she now sat
?
The boy who had been playing quietly with two pewter mugs and some smooth pebbles from the beck, putting them solemnly from one to the other, suddenly began to bang them on the stone floor, his childish delight with the noise he made bringing both women to their feet.
“
I'd best be off, Phoebe," Maggie said, swooping him in her loving arms and kissing his cheek soundly; in the ensuing farewells it seemed quite natural for Annie to step inside, smiling as she did now, no sign of the pain which, though it nagged her constantly like a bad tooth, had flared in raw agony at the sound of Reed Macauley's name.
“
Eeh Miss Abbott, tha's lookin' grand," Maggie said kindly, though Annie looked nothing of the sort.
“
And so do you, Maggie. Your son has grown tall and handsome, and will you not call me Annie, please?
”
Maggie bobbed her head in pleasure, wondering for the umpteenth time why folk in the parish of Bassenthwaite hated this woman so much.
“
Well, thank you, Annie, ah will. Ah hope tha' don't mind me comin' to see Phoebe."
“
This is Phoebe's home, Maggie. She may invite whoever she pleases. And I'm glad to see you. I will not forget your kindness when . . ." She put out a tentative hand to the boy, her face working, and when he beamed at her, she smiled, then turning, moved up the stairs.
“
Goodbye, Maggie," she called over her shoulder, "come again soon," and they could both hear the painful tears in her voice
.
The letter was delivered in May. The lambing was over and on Annie Abbott's inlands, her intakes and further up the fell where the first-born had been shepherded, her flock of almost three hundred hoggs, gimmers and wethers and their dams drifted contentedly across the new tufted grass. The ploughing had been done, the plough pulled by the patient strength of Royal and guided by the equally patient and quiet strength of Charlie Lucas. Clover and Daisy, her calf, had been put out to pasture and in her fields Annie watched the tiny new start of her crops, oats and rye and barley, which had been sown a month ago
.
She had even bought a cart from the blacksmith whose forge lay just outside Hause. She had taken Royal to be shoed and had seen it, somewhat knocked about, but when she and the blacksmith had agreed a price and he had made a few repairs, Royal had pulled it up the track with herself at the reins, feeling as proud as Her Majesty Queen Victoria, she had said, grinning at the admiring Phoebe
.
During the winter months, from the materials she had bought at 'backend', she had cut out and made a gown for herself, and Phoebe had done the same, sewing side by side in the light of the sieves and when Charlie had gone to his bed, trying them on, fitting one another with a pleasure which was the deeper because of the uniqueness of it. It was the first brand new dress either of them had ever owned. Phoebe's was a deep lavender blue which enhanced the colour of her eyes and contrasted becomingly with the dark brown sheen of her hair.
“
Leave off that silly cap, Phoebe, " Annie had told her, and surprisingly Phoebe had not argued "You're .. . pretty, Phoebe," she added, meaning it, though it was not strictly true for Phoebe would never be other than plain, fresh and sound, with the bloom of good health about her, but never pretty
.
Her own gown was of wool in a tawny shade somewhere between russet and gold. It was almost the same colour as her hair, full-skirted with a well-fitted bodice down which a long line of pearl buttons ran from neck to waist. She had tied a sash of tawny velvet about her waist, an indulgence she had allowed herself, another being the pair of high-heeled, high-sided black kid boots, wondering at the time whether she would ever wear them. She had made a deep fringed shawl from the same material as her gown and with her hair twisted into an enormous shining knot at the back of her head, the height and weight of which lengthened her white neck, she looked quite, quite superb
.
The letter was addressed to Miss Annie Abbott and asked her in the most courteous tones if it would be convenient for her to call in at the bank in Market Place in Keswick, where the manager had something of importanceto discuss with her. He could not reveal what it was in the letter he said, since it was a matter of the utmost delicacy. She had only to call in at any time and he would be honoured to receive her, any time
.
She put on her new gown.
“
I think it would be appropriate if you accompanied me, Phoebe."
“
Me?" Phoebe was flabbergasted. "But ah've the butter ter churn an' them potatoes . . ."
“
Never mind the potatoes. They can be done tomorrow."
“
But cannot tha' go on tha' own? Tha' always do." "Not this time, Phoebe. Put on your new dress and
Charlie will drive us in the cart. It's market day after all." "But . . ."
“
Don't argue, Phoebe, it's time."
“
Time for what?"
“
For wearing dresses," and with this mysterious answer, it seemed Phoebe must be content
.
Chapter
38
They caused a minor sensation in Keswick. It was the day of the Hiring Fair and the market place was packed from building to building with all the men and women who had been there on that day, five years ago, when she had come looking for work at the inn. They all knew her and her notorious past. They had become accustomed to the indecent way she dressed, to the sight of her long heavy hair rippling carelessly down her back, to the way she strode out with her trousered, unwomanly legs, and to her complete lack of concern with the niceties which even the poorest woman in the district regarded. They didn't like it, but they had become used to it, and to her. Her name had been sullied many years ago when she had run off with that strolling player and when she had returned she had deliberately, or so it seemed to them, flaunted convention by taking in, presumably as her lover, that well-spoken but flippant fellow from God-only-knewwhere. Her name had been linked with that of Reed Macauley, so much so it had driven his young wife out of her own home, and now, he was gone for good, some said, and it could only be the fault of the woman from Browhead
.
The cart moved slowly along the market place, Charlie speaking soothingly to Royal who was not awfully sure he cared for the press of people about him, towards the Moot Hall in its centre, the lower floor of which housed the covered market, its upper the council chamber where the Lords of the manor held court. Their passage was slow since those who had come to the twice-yearly hiring fair, placing themselves where they might be studied by those who were looking for maidservants, labourers, shepherds, yardmen, stable lads, stood in long meandering lines downthe street. There was little interest in the cart at first for everyone in the market place was hurrying and scurrying here and there, intent on their own business or standing behind their stalls, arranging and re-arranging their wares more attractively, haggling with customers and generally engaged in the business of making a profit. There were other vehicles, a carriage or two, farm carts, passing along the street and the one carrying Annie, Phoebe and Charlie was almost at the Moot Hall before a farmwife from up Orthwaite way recognised the elegant young woman who swayed gracefully with the movement of the cart as it passed her stall. The woman in the cart was not only elegant, she was beautiful in her tawny gown and slipping shawl, her russet hair catching fire in a gleam of sunlight. Her back was straight and her head tipped imperiously with the weight of her hair and when she turned to speak to her companion, her long golden eyes narrowing in a smile, the woman from Orthwaite could only stand and gawp, her hand still held out to receive the few coppers a customer was putting in it. The customer, herself a regular visitor to the market, turned to look where the stallholder stared and her own mouth fell open. The live chicken she had just purchased squawked indignantly, and she was so startled she let go of it, allowing it to flutter awkwardly under the feet of a passing farmer. He cursed, ready to give her 'what for' but he, in his turn, followed her gaze, his eyes popping as he watched the progress of Annie Abbott along the market place
.
It spread like wildfire, men nudging other men, women whispering to a neighbour, and though those who had come to hire themselves out did not know her, for many had tramped from places as far away as Penrith or Windermere, they stared nevertheless, for Annie Abbott was a woman worth staring at. The cart continued on to the left of the Moot Hall into Station Street. By now the word that some stupendous sight might be seen had reached the Royal Oak Hotel on the corner of the street, and men crowded at every window.
“
It seems we are giving the good folk of Keswick
something to talk about, Annie," Charlie's voice was laconic.
“
That's nothing new, is it?"
“
I suppose not. But they have not seen you dressed so superbly before."
“
No, they will be speculating on where, or how, I got the money to buy such finery. It would not, of course, occur to them that I earned it honestly, and with hard work."
“
Annie, don't you realise by now how much you liven up their drab lives? They would be quite devastated if you turned respectable."
“
I am respectable, Charlie."
“
I know that, Annie, but they don't.
”
Charlie, whose clothing, that which he had worn when he first came to Browhead, had been burned when he was ill, was dressed in the casual manner of a man of the land. A pair of well-made hodden-grey breeches, contrived by Phoebe and Annie who swore they could easily make a living in the tailoring trade, they were becoming so proficient, with knee-length military-style boots. A shooting jacket like that of a gamekeeper with many pockets beneath which he wore a hand-knitted woollen jerkin. A 'wide-awake' hat with a low crown and a wide brim was set at a jaunty angle over his eyes. These had been purchased at one of the second-hand clothes stalls which abounded in the market, but by now Annie was paying Charlie a wage and he meant to have a decent suit of clothing made when he had saved enough money, he told her
.
He handed them down from the cart with such a flourish it might have been a carriage drawn by four matched greys, and the crowd of onlookers had the strangest inclination to applaud for really, could you help but admire her, the woman from Browhead? She had turned to smile at them like visiting royalty, the smile somewhat sardonic, before she entered the bank which stood in Station Street and what, they asked one another, was she doing there? By God, she looked well, the men told one another, remembering perhaps, those who had been served theirale by her at The Packhorse many years ago, the shabbiness of her dress then. The women were inclined to pull their faces since it seemed to them the wages of sin must be very high indeed
.
The manager sat them down with much ceremony, wringing his hands and bowing, overcome by the honour of having them in his office, and the three of them exchanged amused glances for it seemed the possession of a little money had a magical charm for Mr Burton. By now, of course, Charlie was aware of the finding of the tin box, the contents of which generations of Abbott women had accumulated, but surely it was not enough to cause Mr Burton to bow and scrape as he was doing? Three hundred pounds was more than the majority of men in the parish saw in a lifetime but there were many wealthy farmers, industrialists and the like in Cumberland, owners of mines, and those who held shares in the new railways which brought them in more in a twelve month than the whole of Annie's savings, and which they deposited in Mr Burton's bank. So why was he so fulsome, lavish even, with his bowing and scraping?
“
Now then, Miss Abbott, to the purpose of this meeting if I may," having enquired of her health, the state of her farm, the weather and everything else connected with her which came to his mind. He had before him some documents, one of which he took up, studying it for a moment before laying it carefully on his desk again. "I have here the deeds to Upfell Farm. They are in your name and have been for the past twelve months almost, but .. . well . . . I was asked not to present you with them until . . . until now. They were purchased by a certain person who wishes to remain anonymous and . . ."
“
Reed Macauley." The name was spat out as though it was made of bitter fruit and Mr Burton looked up sharply. "I am not at liberty to . . ."
“
Don't be ridiculous, Mr Burton. Everyone in the parish knows the farm was bought by him and . . .
”
Mr Burton held up his hand. He did not think he cared to be called ridiculous, not in his own office, and certainly
not by this woman who, until today, or at least the last time he had seen Mr Macauley, had, in his opinion, been a fast hussy who was no better than she should be. His expression said so.
“
Miss Abbott, that may be so but the deeds were inscribed directly from the name of Garnett to that of Abbott. The name of Macauley was never . . ."
“
Where is he?" She could feel the anger, an anger so weighty and hard to control she knew she was in danger of it getting away from her. If it did, Mr Burton might be the one to carry the burden of it and it was really nothing to do with him. He was not at fault, poor man, he was merely the messenger who carried the news and could not be blamed for Reed Macauley's madness.
“
Where is he?" she repeated, oblivious of Phoebe, who, feeling uncomfortable from the first in this splendid room, was now ready to stand up and get back to Browhead as soon as possible. Even her own transformed appearance had lost its wonder. She hadn't the slightest notion of what was going on, only that it was making Annie so murderously angry, she seemed about to hit Mr Burton. Charlie was saying nothing, and nothing showed in his face beyond a mild interest and a cool contempt for Mr Burton and, or so it seemed to Phoebe, all he stood for.
“
Miss Abbott, I cannot divulge the whereabouts of my client. I am merely doing what he asked me to do which is to give you these deeds and to tell you that you may take up the care of your livestock . . ."
“
My livestock? None of it is mine."
“
Your name is on this document, Miss Abbott, therefore it belongs to you."
“
No." She wanted to scream and strike out at him. Of course she really wanted to strike out at Reed Macauley. To strike him hard and fatally, but since he was not here, anyone would do. The heavy outraged stone in her chest which was pressed high against her lungs, making it difficult for her to breathe, would not shift and she could feel herself fighting for air. But into her mind had come a tiny probing question which asked her why she felt so angry,so overwhelmed by the need to lash out, if only he had been here, at Reed Macauley for doing what he had always done. He had given her what he knew she wanted. Ever since he had bundled that hamper of food down the track from Long Beck to Browhead it had been the same. In any way he could, whether she agreed or not, he had provided for her, protected her, watched out for her interests, and she did want Upfell, she had let him know it, and here it was ready to fall into her lap. She had been prepared to buy it from him but he had struck her and told her to leave his house and his life and since then she had not seen him, nor heard about him except Maggie's words telling Phoebe that he had gone. Where was he? Dear God, was she never to have peace? . . . Dear God, Reed . . . would she ever know the peace of not loving him? . . . Reed . . . Reed .. .
“
I cannot accept it." Her voice was harsh. "I will not accept it."
“
Then what am I to do with it, Miss Abbott? Mr Macauley was quite adamant in his instructions and 1 cannot just leave a valuable property lying idle with no one to care for it. I have sent instructions up to Long Beck only this morning, as Mr Macauley told me, to return the livestock to ... "
“
That is nothing to do with me."
“
It is your farm, Miss Abbott, and they are your animals, therefore it seems to me that it has something to do with you. It is your responsibility."
“
NO!"
“
Miss Abbott . . ."
“
Inform Mr Macauley that he must return at once and see to them for I will not . . ."
“
I cannot do that. He has gone abroad and I cannot say when he will be back.
”
Mr Burton closed his mouth in a white line of anger, aware that he had said more than he intended, but really this splendid woman with her great dazzling eyes and heaving bosom was too much for any man to withstand. She had not deliberately gone about wheedling information out
of him, as many women would, but she had got it just the same
.
The silence was deep and long and into it Charlie's voice fell quite casually.
“
There is an answer, of course.
”
Annie turned to him like a drowning sailor clutching at a piece of driftwood floating by and he wondered at the intensity of this love she had for Reed Macauley. It made her, a woman normally so practical, level-headed and thoughtful, act in a way that was none of these things. There was nothing she wanted more, he happened to know, than to run Upfell next to her own farm and yet her stubborn, illogical, proud and female mind would not allow her to accept it from a man who, it was very evident, loved her more than his own life. Reed Macauley was willing to go away, leave the life he had known since he was a boy so that she might live in peace. Or was it that he needed it, needed to get away from her, as he himself had needed to do six months ago? She was a flame, warm, bright, lovely but very lethal, a dangerous flame in which an unwary man could be consumed, as he had been, and the heat of her had burned him out, as perhaps it was burning out the essence of Reed Macauley, leaving no more than an empty husk.
“
What is it, Charlie?" Annie's voice was eager and Mr Burton found he too was on the edge of his seat.
“
You have some three hundred pounds deposited with Mr Burton's bank, have you not?"
“
Yes, I intend to start a business . . ."
“
Why do you not buy the farm instead? The business could come later."
“
Mr . . . er . . . Lucas, Miss Abbott cannot purchase what she already owns."
