Larkrigg Fell (23 page)

‘Oh, she likes to quietly boss and organise me, and can be incredibly stubborn, but she has her head in the clouds much of the time. And is far too proper for her own good. Don’t you think so?’

‘I think she is all these things you say, but also sweet and kind and very loving. Why cannot I love you both?’

Sarah gave a low throaty chuckle. ‘Ask her that, not me.’

‘I do not wish to upset anyone, you understand? Not Jonty or Tessa, or Beth.’ He slid a hand between her legs and began to rub. ‘I want only that which I deserve.’

Sarah arched her back, giving a low groan. ‘You deserve me, darling. Didn’t I always say so. To hell with Beth.’

This seemed to amuse him, laughing as if it were the funniest joke in the world, and Sarah laughed with him.

Moaning softly and moving her body to an instinctive rhythm, she pushed her fingers through her hair, lifting it back from her face, revealing the perfect line of cheekbone and brow. ‘I am much more exciting, wouldn’t you say? Without any hang-ups whatsoever.’

As he turned her over and thrust himself inside her, Pietro heartily agreed.

A blustery autumn changed into a cold December and life at Larkrigg grew tough. Beth had never realised how quickly a fire could consume logs and how difficult they were to get dry in a freezing house. She’d thought that Jonty and Pietro had made ample provision for winter but the fuel was disappearing at such an alarming rate that more logging expeditions had to be planned. With no other form of heating they desperately needed the warmth. And it was worth the effort. Beth did so love the scent of pine and the acrid tang of oak, even if the smoke did billow out from the damp logs and make their eyes sting. It was all part of country life.

Whenever the weather permitted they would spend hours in the woods, chopping and sawing whatever dead branches they could find lying about, fitting household chores in on wet days. Occasionally they would make the long journey to the hospital at Lancaster to see Jonty. He never seemed to welcome their visits and relations between Sarah and Tessa continued to be strained. But Beth insisted it was the right thing to do.

‘We can’t forget him. He’s our friend,’ and Sarah would widen her eyes at such remarks and make some pithy comment that made Beth blush with fresh guilt.

They saw less of Andrew these days, and she was worried about him. Probably didn’t call because Tess was no longer with them, Beth concluded. But Christmas was almost upon them so she gathered some eggs for Seth, and one fine morning set out to visit Cathra Crag.

The eggs would serve as a good excuse for the visit. That way there’d be no embarrassment for either of them. Then she’d tactfully ascertain whether Andrew was getting over Tess.

The grass was crisp with hoar frost, crackling beneath her booted feet, the air so cold it almost hurt to breathe it in. But she didn’t mind, just looked about her at the beloved beauty of the mountains, reminding herself how lucky she was to be living in such a magnificent place.

Seth would be glad of a visitor, she thought. This cold weather must keep him confined largely indoors, carving his crook handles. He’d probably welcome a bit of crack, as he called it. The prospect of the visit made Beth sing as she strode out over the fell tops, but that was only because she liked this old man who lorded it over everyone at Cathra Crag.

He was exactly where she expected, seated on his rush chair in the chimney corner whittling a piece of wood which he told her was ash, nature’s best. The image of a stag’s head was coming to life in his hand.

‘Hey up, lass, you’re looking a bit peaky. You’re not on one of these daft diets, are you?’

Beth placed the mug of tea she had made into the old man’s bony hand and sat down beside him on the three-legged stool by the fire. ‘Your eyes are too sharp by half,’ she laughed. ‘I haven’t been sleeping too well but I’m fine, really. How about you?’

‘Oh, they’ll not kill me off so quick.’

Beth smiled. ‘I don’t suppose they will.’ She sipped her tea, the homeliness of the old house warming her, soothing her heartache. Perhaps in time she would look back on all of this and laugh. She didn’t feel much like laughing right now but indulging in self-pity did no good. If Sarah wished to blame her for the accident, there was nothing she could do about it. Certainly rushing into marriage with Pietro was not a solution, sulk as he may.

‘Have you always lived here?’

‘Since 1886.’ He frowned. ‘Or was it 1885? About then, anyroad. I were born upstairs in t’front room and I’m still here. Not a traveller am I? But t’house isn’t worn out yet.’ He grinned at her, showing his few front teeth, yellowed with age and stained from his baccy.

She laughed, eyeing the ash from the fire scattered over the rag rug, and the peeling paper on the pock-marked walls. But it was Andrew she was concerned about. ‘I can see it’s good for a few years yet. What about Andrew? Was he born here too?’

‘Oh aye. His mam tried a few improvements to the place but mainly give it up as a bad job. She were allus sickly, poor soul.’

As Beth searched her mind for a way to ask after his grandson’s health, she heard his clogs scrape on the step and then stamp hard, as if knocking off the worst of the mud. Then the sound of them ringing on the slate floor as he approached. When he saw Beth his face went bright red. She smiled up at him, her heart suddenly racing with nervousness. Would he blame her for the loss of Tessa? Would she have to bear the guilt of that blighted relationship as well?

Chapter Thirteen

‘Hello. I came to see how you all were.’

‘She’s taken a fancy to me, has this little lass,’ Seth informed him, dropping one wrinkled eyelid in a huge wink.

There was a small tight silence as Andrew took off his jacket and hung it on a peg at the back of the door. When he turned round, Beth searched his face for any clue of his feelings but could find none. There was nothing else for it, she decided, she’d just have to take the risk and ask.
‘Have you seen anything of Tess lately?’

‘No, why should I?’

‘I only thought…’

‘That’s your trouble, Beth, sometimes you don’t think. You dream dreams, not necessarily the right ones.’

She bit on her lip, wishing the floor would open and swallow her. ‘You’re probably right. Sarah calls me a romantic loony.’

‘So you are at times.’

‘Sorry.’ The pain was clearly too raw for him to even bear the mention of Tessa’s name. Beth decided she must change the subject, take his mind off her blunder. ‘I came to see Seth, and you of course, as I’m in need of advice over what best to do with my twenty acres?’ She glanced from one to the other of them but no such advice seemed to be forthcoming. Andrew had turned his back on her and Seth was paying excessive attention to cleaning out his old clay pipe.

‘I would’ve thought you had plenty of folk to ask advice from,’ Andrew said, the faintest hint of mockery in his tone.

‘Who?’

‘Nick.’

‘He’s very busy. And neither Sarah nor Pietro know anything about farming.’

‘No,’ Andrew said drily. ‘They wouldn’t.’

Something hurt in the back of her throat but she swallowed it and battled bravely on. ‘And you’re the expert, right?’

He pulled off his dusty overalls and tugged his shirt over his head preparatory to having a wash, to stand before her bare chested, clad only in trousers and his clogs. ‘I thought you were content with things as they were. With your few birds.’

The muscles of his chest were strong and firm and rippled almost with a life of their own, calling to mind the day she had watched him at the wrestling. Beth would have turned away embarrassed, but was too aware of the challenge in his grey eyes. She felt slightly breathless, and believing he was deliberately trying to unsettle her, her next words came out sharper than she intended.

‘I want it to be a proper smallholding. I may not have been too successful thus far but I’m at least willing to learn, and listen.’

‘Eeh, I remember Meg when she were just starting out on t’farm,’ Seth reminisced. ‘Drank in every word, like she were thirsty for aught you could tell her.’

‘I’ve always admired Gran. She knew what she wanted from life and went for it. I’d love to be like that.’

Andrew said, ‘But you don’t know what you want, do you?’

Beth bridled. ‘What makes you say so?’

‘I thought it was Jonty Reynolds you had your eye on, but mebbe I was wrong. Mebbe you don’t mind which one of ‘em it is.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Now Jonty Reynolds is no longer available, you’ve had to look elsewhere. I hear you’re living with the Italian now.’

Beth felt the colour drain from her cheeks then flood back in again, stunned by his words and the acid in his voice. She half glanced at Seth but the old man was concentrating on his whittling, gone suddenly deaf.

‘Pietro is still living at Larkrigg. So what, exactly, are you suggesting?’

‘Nowt to do with me. Live with whom you choose.’ He turned the taps full on, letting the sound of water gushing into the sink drown any reply she might have made. He dipped his head in and sluiced himself over head and chest, scrubbing vigorously with a large block of soap while Beth struggled with her rising temper. She was waiting with a towel when he had rinsed himself clean with cold water. His eyes met hers, solemn and questioning while hers told him very decidedly that he had no right to judge her, no
right at all. Then he shook back his wet hair and buried it in the towel.

‘I’m obviously not the only one who can make wrong assumptions,’ she told him, and turning to Seth, continued more briskly, ‘I wondered about Christmas trees.’

She went back to her stool and locking her arms about her knees, fixed her eyes upon the old man’s face, studiously ignoring Andrew for all she was aware of his hovering presence. She wasn’t at all interested in growing Christmas trees any more, but not for the world would she let Andrew guess as much. How dare he speak to her with such contempt? What had she ever done to offend him so?

Her heart was pounding and deep inside she felt quite sick. ‘I’ve been reading up about them,’ she continued with false brightness. ‘If I plant a thousand this year, and every year for the next four years, by then the first crop should be tall enough to sell. What do you think? Am I right? Will I make a profit?’

Seth gave a bark of laughter. ‘I’d say you’re a chip off the old block right enough. You’ll do all right, little lass. What do you think of that, Andrew lad? She’s going to grow us a forest.’

‘Fox cover,’ said Andrew sourly and reached for a clean shirt from the airing rack above the fire. Beth got to it first and handed it to him, a fiery challenge in her blue-grey eyes.

‘You don’t approve? Why not? If it’ll make money and save the house from falling down around our ears. And we need to eat. It’s worth trying. Unless you have any better suggestions?’

He shrugged on the shirt and started to button it. Her eyes clung stubbornly to the glimmer of naked flesh rapidly disappearing behind crisp cotton. ‘Do you intend keeping sheep?’ he demanded, making her jump.

‘I’ll need to keep a few, I suppose, if only to keep the grass down.’

‘If so, then they’ll eat any young whips of trees you put in.’

Beth hadn’t considered that possibility. ‘I could fence a section off.’

He laughed. ‘That’ll get rid of your profit then. Play at farming if you must, but don’t expect to make much money at it. There’s little profit in the land these days.’

‘I could try.’

‘You asked for my advice and I gave it.’

‘Thank you.’ Her tone was cool. ‘But it seems rather negative.’

‘It’s your land, suit yourself.’

‘Yes it is,’ she said loftily. ‘Thanks for your help. Or lack of it.’

She turned her back on him then and chatted with Seth for some time, struggling to digest his advice. But he was very helpful on what and how to plant, the cost of tree guards, when she might hope to lift her first crop, and his suggestions for marketing. Time flew as he enlivened their conversation with numerous anecdotes from his long farming life which took an age to tell, but at least Seth’s advice was positive and truly beneficial.

Andrew remained silent throughout, sitting in the chair opposite and never taking his eyes from her face, nor offering one word of comfort or information which might be of use.

Then he glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf and got up to reach for the frying pan. ‘One o’clock. Bacon and black pudding, grandad? Dad’ll be in soon.’

Beth wrinkled her nose. ‘Black pudding?’
 

The old man cackled with laughter. ‘Sliced and fried there’s nowt to better it. D’you want a piece? It’s an aphrodisiac, tha knows.’