All the dear faces (74 page)

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Though it was no more than three o'clock in the afternoon it was so dark it might have been midnight as the cloudburst emptied over the giant of Skiddaw. The wind had risen to a howling gale and both dogs cowered at Annie's feet. Moving to the window which rattled with every beat of her frightened heart, the dogs clinging to her heels, Annie peered out at her own reflection. There was nothing to be seen, absolutely nothing and she might have been buried in a great black hole. There was nothing from which she might get a bearing. No building, no tree, not a star in the sky, nor a shape on the ground, and the feeling of disorientation was appalling. Not in all her years in Lakeland had she seen such black nothingness and she wished now she had gone with Charlie. At least she would have had the comforting, comfortable good sense of Phoebe to sustain her and the baby's sweetness to cheer her. She had hoped she would be able to make her way over to the barn where Royal was stabled for he must be hungry by now, and probably terrified out of his wits. The cows would be easier to get to for the byre was attached to the house and she had only to feel her way along the wall to reach it but she would have left the animals to fend for themselves, really she would, if she could have crawled up the track to Upfell and the company of Charlie and Phoebe
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She was badly alarmed by a sudden thump at the back of the farmhouse, then another, the second one so violent she could feel the tremor of it in the soles of her feet as it shook the sturdy building. What was it? Had something fallen, a tree perhaps or . . . ? The thought had not had time to formulate itself in her mind when she felt the icy cold surge of water bite into her bare feet. She looked down and to her horror, seeping under the door was a dark slick which stained the floor with the sediment it contained. It moved inexorably about her feet and across
the stone flags, rising, even as she watched in stupefied amazement, to lap at her ankle bone.

“
Oh, dear God . . ." she moaned, shaking her head in denial, ready to wrench open the door and escape it, to run screaming up the track for Charlie and Phoebe, for anybody since she did not want to drown here all by herself. Not here in this dark and empty space where she existed alone. Alone because of her love for one man. A self-chosen loneliness but terrifying nevertheless and she could not bear it. Reed . . . I need you, Reed . . . I am so afraid in this cold and alien place . . . Reed . . . Oh, dear Lord . . . where? . . . where should she run to? . . . the dogs . . . Dandy, they were beginning to panic . . . to howl in fear, catching it from her and if she did not get a tight grip on herself . . . help me . . . someone . . . Reed ..
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She looked about her, fighting her panic and as suddenly as it had come, and for no apparent reason, it left her. It was as though his strong and vital presence was standing beside her filling her with a calming peace, and she was calm. As though his mind had reached into hers, giving her comfort, touching something in her, steadying her, soothing her pounding heart, and she was renewed by it.

“
Come on, lads, stop that noise, Dandy," she said firmly to the animals, "it's upstairs for us. There's nothing to be done here until the rain stops. Now, let's see . . . food . . . water, rushlights, flint and striker . . . and there's the milk. Up you go, Blackie . . . aye, it's all right, boy, up you go," for even in his terror he was not sure he should move up the stairs where he was never allowed. "Good boy, up you go.
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It took her ten minutes to collect as much food as she could, the hot `tatie-pot' which had been bubbling on the fire, the last to go, and even as she moved to the bottom stair the water was already there before her and on the hearth the fire was doused for only the second time since she had returned to Browhead, its acrid smoke billowing up the howling chimney
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Chapter41

It was the water flooding into his mouth which brought him to his senses, choking him to consciousness, coughing and spluttering, though at first he was so confused he had no idea how he had got where he was, or even who he was
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He sat up, held fast in a violent bout of shivering, the pain at once beginning to bang agonisingly inside his skull. Dear God in Heaven, where? . . . what? . . . he was soaked through, his clothing plastered to his body like wet cement and just as heavy, but he could not seem to be able to collect his wits sufficiently to tell him how he had got into such a state. He could hear nothing but the thunder of water and the howling of the demonic wind accompanied by an occasional thud which he could not recognise though it sounded dangerous. What in hell's name? .. . where was he going? . . . how? Jesus Christ, but his head hurt, and it was as he put his hands to it, unable to bear the pain of it a moment longer that a dead sheep came to rest against his back, almost thrusting him from the flooded road and into the lake where . . . yes . . . where his horse had gone! He remembered that . . . his horse galloping away into that impenetrable curtain of hailstones . . . He had been on his way to Browhead . . . to Annie, when the ice particles had sliced at him and the roan he had purchased in Keswick, but how had he come to be hurt? There was blood coursing down his face, mixing with the pelting rain. He could taste the saltiness of it in his mouth, but he really could no longer sit in the rising water, pondering on how he had come to be here when he needed — with all his heart he needed — to get to Annie. She would need him. She would be alone now that chap had married
her maidservant and presumably taken her off to a life of their own, and Annie would be in need of him. He knew that with a certainty which had first come to him in New York and had grown with every mile he had travelled to get to her. At last, at last, Annie Abbott needed Reed Macauley
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He rose unsteadily to his feet and the dead animal behind him thudded into the backs of his legs almost knocking him over again. It was a dead sheep as he had thought but the force of its journey down the rocky fell had shorn it of its fleece as neatly and cleanly as if it had just come from a 'boon' clipping. He watched it in absolute honor as it hurtled away from him towards the turmoil of the lake. He knew the terrifying elements of the Lakeland weather, but he could scarcely believe the forces which had been capable of such a thing. What power had been called up that was so fierce it could strip a fleece from a sheep and what damage was it causing up on the mountains, and more importantly, between here and Browhead? He must get on. He had almost five miles of road to cover and already he was up to his ankles in a rushing, foaming torrent of water. His head was bursting in a pain which almost blinded him, and the rain continued to drown him in its vicious clutch. The wind whipped about him, lashing the downpour into a frenzy and as he straightened himself, turning his sightless gaze towards the head of Bassenthwaite Lake the trees in Dodd Wood, their tops whipping and soughing like demented souls in hell, began to move towards the lake.

“
Jesus God!" he moaned. "Oh, Jesus . . ." for before his horrified eyes a whole line of them, enormous oaks which had stood for hundreds of years, slid slowly from their birthplace and on to the road, the earth in which they had stood torn cleanly away by the force of the water which carried them. They remained upright for a moment then slowly, painfully, lifted by the boiling, brown fury which had convulsed down the mountain, they toppled over
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It was terrifying, unbelievable. They were a fortress,
those trees, unassailable, invincible, and though he had seen it happen with his own eyes, Reed could not believe it. He had ridden past their enormous trunks, in the shadow of their grandeur, beneath the magnificence of their summer foliage since he was a boy on his first pony, taking them for granted, not really seeing them, or their beauty and now they were gone, humbled by a strength greater than their own, torn from their roots as though they were no more than young saplings. He felt he wanted to weep for their destruction and yet he had no time for it. He must get by them, or over them or through the jagged root system which barred his way, standing twenty feet or more in the air, tangled and clogged with earth, for beyond them was his love and there was nothing more sure in this terrifyingly unsure world than the certainty that she needed him
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Annie stood at the top of the stairs looking down them to where the pale gleam of the rushlight she held aloft showed the flood water. It gave the appearance of lying still but in reality it was creeping inch by slow inch towards her. It had reached half-way up the stairwell, black and silky and in it floated minute particles of debris which had been forced under the door by its strength. There were other things, familiar things, pots and pans and cups, the stool on which she had rested her feet to the fire several hours ago. The box in which she kept her rushlights, the rush-light holder, the one Phoebe had used, and the snuffer. They turned idly in the water where the light reached, bumping against the stairs and each other as though trying to be the first to get up to her. Which they would soon if the water continued to rise
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She had no idea of the time, nor even of how long she had been up here but she knew if the water came any higher, reaching the upper floor she would have to get out. As soon as it was as high as the top of the bedroom windows her escape route through them would be cut off. She would be trapped. She would drown and so would the animals
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She moved back into her bedroom and closed the door behind her, an instinctive action which came from her need to shut it out, to bar its entrance, that which lay behind her, though her commonsense told her there was no shutting it out. The menace was behind her, beneath her, all around her. And if she got out, when she got out, what would she do? Where would she go? The wind howled viciously beyond the window and there were constant thuds at the back of the farmhouse as, she supposed, debris was brought down from Middle Fell, from Ullock Pike, Great Calva and Skiddaw on the seething discharge of floodwater. If only she could see out into the vortex of madness which she could only imagine and which was crashing and thudding about the building, but apart from the window-sill which was revealed when she placed the rushlight up to the glass, it was as black and dense as it had been for the . . . for the? . . . how long? . . . what time of day was it? . . . or night? . . . She really couldn't seem to assemble any sensible thought into her brain for it had lost its bearings in this strange and displaced world into which the storm had thrust her. She must think .. . think. . . decide . . . make a plan, some action which, if it came to it, would get herself and her animals to a place of safety, if such a thing existed in this mad confusion, this violence and destruction which was threatening her. If only she had someone to talk to, to discuss the predicament she was in. Someone to whom she could say, 'what d'you think? Shall we hang on and hope the water goes down, that the deluge stops and the tempest ceases to rage, or shall we get out now, climb up on to the roof, perhaps . . . ?' She had no one, only her dogs who were whimpering at her feet, and Dandy, the straining unease showing plainly in three pairs of eyes as they looked up at her
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She sat down on the bed, the dogs huddling against her legs, the cat at once crawling into her lap. She was cold, so cold she could feel the violence of her shivering shake the bed. It was January, the coldest month of the year up here on the fells. She had no heat, only the blankets on
her bed and the clothing she wore, to warm her. She was tempted to get into the bed but if she should fall asleep what would she find when she awoke? Her bed floating on the water, her nose to the ceiling . . .
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A short, nervous laugh erupted from her. God, this was no time to be laughing, she thought, but it had the effect of steadying her. She must eat something. The tatie-pot was cold now but if she was to . . . Oh, Lord Jesus, but the thought terrified her . . . if she was to climb out of the window into the unknown tenor beyond it, then she must be strong, fortified at least by a nourishing meal for the struggle ahead of her
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She stood up, moving again to the window and suddenly, as though a giant match had put a light to a rush, the moon appeared from behind a scudding cloud, shining against a backdrop of deep and silvery blue across which tattered and wind-tossed clouds raced, ragged, uneasy and dark. The light of the moon, intermittent as the clouds whipped by it, revealed the full horror of the flood and even as Annie stared at it, appalled, there was an angry roar as an avalanche of rocks, tons and tons of them leaping and tossing as though they were no heavier than a handful of pebbles flung by a child, hurtled by the end of the farmhouse and in their path was the barn.

“
NO! . . . Oh, dear Lord! . . . No! . . . Royal . . ." She strained against the window, screaming out the name of the good-natured, loyal animal who had been her friend for almost three years as though in warning but even as she did so her practical mind told her that Royal was, in all probability, already dead. The waters of the flood had reached the upper level of the barn just where its sloping roof began and above which she stored her hay. Below it, and below the water line Royal had been stabled. She could imagine his terror as the water crept up his legs, up the sides of his rough flank until it reached . . . He would have kicked and kicked, doing his best to free himself .. . she could not bear it . . . the thought of his desperate, lonely struggle to escape
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Tears rolled down her cheeks and her shoulders heavedas she wept and she turned away from the window, trying to shut out the images which flashed across her vision. Her eyes caught the movement by the door and her heart bucked in terror as the slick black waters, silent and menacing as a snake, rippled across the floor towards her. It was here . . . Reed . . . it was here ..
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