Saddle the Wind (28 page)

Savill sighed again. The deaths of the two Farrar children had touched him more than he might have guessed and he wondered increasingly about the effect it had had on their mother. She had not been to the house since before the epidemic had begun, and although he and the other members of his household had been going about their business for over a month now, no one had seen anything of Sarah Farrar about the village. Earlier, in January, Ernest had called at the house and told Mrs
Callow that his mother would not be able to do the Hallowford House laundry again until she was strong enough once more. When that would be, he had said, he didn’t know. Since that time Ernest had visited the house on several occasions to see Blanche, but of his mother at such times he had said little. Savill’s only sources of information with regard to Sarah Farrah had been Robert Kelsey, and the vicar, Tupper, who had called on her on a number of occasions. Kelsey had reported that she had recovered quite well from her illness, although it had left her somewhat weak. With regard to her emotional and mental state, however, he, like the vicar, had shown himself far less satisfied.

Over Christmas Blanche had confided to Savill her mother’s intention of taking her back to live in Coates Lane. He had not been surprised at the news, though seeing the unhappiness in the child’s face he had for a moment been at a loss as to what to say and could give her no words of comfort other than to tell her that she would soon settle down and be happy again. He knew well how difficult it would be, though. His own hopes regarding Blanche had been finished by the influenza. He had had to dismiss from his mind every thought he had ever entertained about her adoption. Sarah Farrar had lost two of her four children in the space of a week. He couldn’t think of taking away a third.

With regard to Mrs Farrar’s decision to take Blanche back to the cottage, however, there had been no word since that which had come from Blanche herself …

On Thursday Ernest called at Hallowford House and left word that he would call for Blanche on Sunday afternoon.

When the day came Blanche changed her clothes after lunch and went into the hall to wait.

She sat there nervously, viewing the visit to the cottage with mixed feelings. There had been no further word from her mother about her, Blanche’s, returning to live at the cottage, but she felt sure it wouldn’t be long now. And although she felt that for her mother’s sake she should go, still, in her heart she didn’t want to. To her Hallowford House was home.

The minutes went by. The hall clock struck three, three-thirty. As she sat there Mr Savill appeared from the library. ‘What’s this?’ he said, with a little frown. ‘Still no sign of your brother, Blanche?’ Blanche shook her head: ‘No, not yet, sir.’

Alone again, Blanche continued to sit there, her guilt lying on her like a cloak. She had not wanted to go to the cottage – and now, as if in answer to her prayer, no one had come to take her. She continued to sit there for some moments longer and then suddenly she got up, snatched up her coat and hurried from the house.

At the foot of the hill she turned into Coates Lane, slowing her pace as she approached the first of the cottages. Reaching the gate she stood for a moment of hesitation, then entered the front garden and went round to the back.

Entering the kitchen she found her mother sitting by the range, darning socks. At Blanche’s appearance Sarah lowered her hands and looked at her. After a moment she said awkwardly:

‘Hello, Blanche. What are you doing here?’

Blanche stood and gazed in silence. Her words, her greeting, had died on her lips. Her mother looked different, so different. She looked smaller than Blanche remembered. She looked thinner, somehow shrunken – and older; there were lines in her face that Blanche had never seen before. Her hair, once a rich chestnut, now had streaks of white in it. Turning, closing the door, Blanche said:

‘Ernest didn’t come – up to the house …’

Sarah lowered her eyes to the half-darned sock in her hands, then, looking at Blanche again she said: ‘You came out without your bonnet. You must take care. This weather’s treacherous.’

Blanche frowned. ‘I was waiting for Ernest but he didn’t come. I didn’t know what had happened.’

Sarah gave a little shake of her head. ‘Oh, my dear, forgive me – I’ve had so much to do. I thought it would be better to wait until another day. I should have let you know. I’m sorry.’

Blanche continued to stare at her. It wasn’t only the way her mother looked; there was something else different about her. She seemed almost cool – offhand. Their meeting again after all these weeks – it was not at all the way Blanche had expected it to be. She had expected her mother to take her in her arms, to kiss her. Instead her mother remained in her chair, the sock and the darning needle in her hands.

‘I was waiting,’ Blanche said. She paused. ‘I – I thought you’d want to see me. I knew how – how sad you must be.’

Sarah didn’t speak for a moment, then she said, ‘Does Mr Savill know you’ve come out?’

‘I didn’t tell him. I just – ran out.’ Blanche felt bewildered. ‘Didn’t you want to see me today, Mama?’

‘Oh, yes, my dear, but –’ Sarah sighed. ‘But you’d better not stay, though. I think it would be better if you go on back up to the house. But next time. Stay with me for a little while next time. Not today.’

Blanche stood there for a few seconds longer then turned and moved back to the kitchen door. She opened it and looked back at her mother. ‘Goodbye, Mama,’ she said softly.

Sarah just nodded, her eyes lowered to her still,
clenched hands. After another second Blanche stepped out into the yard.

As she emerged from the front garden she saw Ernest coming up the lane from the direction of the village. When he caught sight of her he waved and quickened his steps. She stood waiting for him. As he reached her side he said, smiling,

‘So you came down after all. I wasn’t expecting to see you today. We thought you were going off somewhere with Mr Savill.’

She didn’t know what he was talking about. ‘Going off? With Mr Savill?’ She shook her head. ‘I wasn’t going anywhere. I waited for you, Ernest, but you didn’t come.’

He frowned. ‘But Mam said she got a note from him – Mr Savill – saying that you would be …’ He let his words tail off. Then he smiled. ‘Anyway, where are you off to now?’

‘Back to the house.’ She nodded in the direction of Gorse Hill. She could feel tears starting in her eyes and she blinked them back.

‘Ain’t you gunna stay for tea, then?’

‘No …’

‘No? Why not?’ He studied her for a moment or two then crouched before her so that his face was on a level with hers. ‘What’s the matter, Blanche?’

Shaking her head, she said, ‘I don’t understand. I don’t understand.’

‘What? What don’t you understand?’

‘Mama – she’s – she’s so different. Why?’

‘– Oh, Blanche, you must remember – she’s had so much unhappiness lately.’

‘Yes, I know that. I mean she’s different with me. She’s not the same with me anymore.’

His hands moved from her shoulders and gently
touched her cheeks. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid she’s different in lots of ways lately. But just – give it time, eh? She’ll be all right again. Just give it time.’

She nodded. He straightened before her and said, ‘You want me to walk up the hill with you?’

‘No, thank you, I’ll be all right.’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fine. We’ll see you soon, then, yes?’

‘Yes, see you soon, Ernest.’

Something was wrong, Savill thought. First of all Blanche’s brother had not come to collect her, and later, after her return from her visit alone to the cottage, she had seemed troubled, unhappy. On Savill’s questioning her, however, she had said nothing. Afterwards, bearing in mind what Kelsey and Tupper had told him, he decided to call himself and see the child’s mother.

Now, sitting facing Sarah Farrar in the kitchen of the cottage, he thought he had never seen such a change in a person in so brief a time.

As she poured the tea – he had accepted the offer more for her sake than his own – he brought up the subject of Blanche. ‘I understand, from Blanche,’ he said, ‘that last year you spoke of wanting her to come back and live here with you again.’

She didn’t answer for some moments, and in those moments, watching her, thinking of all that she had so recently been through, he gained some inkling of the situation. For some reason or other she didn’t want Blanche back yet; she wasn’t ready.

When at last she spoke she kept her eyes fixed on the cup in her hand and said simply: ‘I – I want what is best for Blanche.’

‘Yes, of course you do.’ He couldn’t get over the
change in her. And it wasn’t only in her looks, the way she had aged, it was everything about her. In the past he had always been so aware of a certain indomitability of spirit that had somehow shone through, whatever had happened. Not now. Not anymore. Now to his eyes she looked beaten, utterly defeated.

‘Mrs Farrar,’ he said carefully, ‘I know how much you want Blanche to come back to her home but – why not wait until you feel quite well again? A few months isn’t going to make any difference, is it?’

At his words she looked up at him and he saw a faint but unmistakable flicker of relief in her dull eyes.

‘I’m sure it would be better for both of you,’ he added. ‘For both you
and
Blanche.’

She gave a slow, brief nod, then, frowning, she said:

‘But – to give you responsibility for her still … You’ve already done so much for her – for us.’

‘Oh, please, please.’ He raised a hand, palm out. ‘I shall never be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me. Never. I have so much to be grateful for where you’re concerned. For so much – for all you’ve given me and Marianne. Mrs Farrar – you
gave
me my daughter. You
gave
her to me. You gave me her life, and since that time, through Blanche and through your own kindness, you – you have added to the quality of that life – of Marianne’s life. Please, I ask you, don’t speak of what I have done for you.’

She said nothing to this, but continued to gaze down at her cup.

‘So,’ he said, ‘will you allow Blanche to remain where she is – until you’re well again?’

‘Well – it would be better for her,’ she said. ‘I know it would be, of course.’ She raised her eyes to his. ‘And if it – suits you, sir …’

‘Oh, indeed. We shall be happy to have her with us
for as long as you want, Marianne and I.’ He paused then added softly, ‘We love her, Mrs Farrar. We love her – very much.’

That evening Sarah told Ernest of Mr Savill’s visit.

‘And now Blanche is going to stay there?’ he said. ‘Up at the house?’

‘Yes.’

‘But – I thought you wanted to bring her back.’

She paused before she spoke again. ‘Bring her back,’ she said. ‘Bring her back to what, Ernest? Don’t you realize – the only thing that saved her was being where she is now. If she hadn’t been up at the house during the sickness …’ She let her words trail off. Then she added, her words seeming to echo in her mind from some past time:

‘Leave her where she is. She’s better off there.’ She paused. ‘And anyway, it’s where she belongs – now. She hasn’t been mine for a long time.’

On Sunday afternoon while Sarah prepared the tea, Ernest and Fanny walked across the heath to the river. March was drawing to a close and new buds could be seen on the trees, and in the springing grass the first signs of awakening life. Beside a gnarled old oak Ernest drew Fanny to his side and they stood in silence while she nestled into his warmth. After a while they set off again, arms linked, walking back through the copse towards the road. On reaching the cottage in Coates Lane Fanny helped Sarah set the table and afterwards the three of them sat down to eat. This was only the second time Fanny had gone to tea with Ernest and his mother since before the epidemic. As on the last occasion a week before, the meal that afternoon was a fairly quiet, subdued affair. When it was over Fanny helped
Sarah wash the dishes. Afterwards they sat around talking for an hour, until Fanny said that she had better get back home. Ernest set off to walk back to Fox Lane with her. As they left Elm Street, heading for the green, Fanny said,

‘I’ve been waiting for you to say something, Ernie.’

He knew what she meant, but he said vaguely, ‘Oh, what’s that, then?’

‘
What’s that, then?
Ernie, you know very well what I’m talking about. The last time we spoke about our gettin’ married you said it was too soon to think about it – because of your mam, you said.’

‘Ah …yes.’

‘Well – is it still too soon? I mean, she’s a lot better now, ain’t she?’

‘I dunno.’ He sighed. ‘It’s changed her – a lot.’

‘Well – bound to, a thing like that. How could it not? But she’s getting better now, you can see she is.’

‘I dunno,’ he said again. ‘I thought she was getting to be all right. She seemed to be. But then it was like she reached a particular point and just – sort of stayed there. She don’t get any better and she don’t seem to get any worse. She just stays the same.’

They walked on in silence for a few paces, then Fanny came to a halt. As Ernest stopped at her side she looked up into his face.

‘Tell me, Ernie, what’s gunna happen to us? When d’you reckon we can get married?’ She laid her head against his shoulder. ‘Oh, I’m that impatient to be wed and have my own home. I’ll be eighteen next month and – oh, I don’t want to wait for ever.’

‘Course you don’t. Neither do I, but –’

‘But what?’ She raised her head, looked up at him. ‘Tell me the truth, Ernie, you’re just not ready to get married, are you?’

He didn’t answer.

‘Are you?’ she insisted.

‘– I love you, Fan …’

‘
I love you, Fan
,’ she echoed scornfully. ‘Yes, you love me, but not enough, right?’ She paused, then said evenly, ‘Tell me, are we getting wed or not?’

‘I want to,’ he said. ‘Believe me, I do.’

‘But …?’

‘Please,’ he said, ‘try to understand. Our mam’s gone through hell these past weeks. I can’t leave her now, Fan, I just can’t.’