Shadow on the Fells (13 page)

Back in the yard, Chrissie backed up to the big barn door, cut the engine and guided the sheep into one of the pens. After being out in the elements, she basked in the barn's warmth, and the aroma of sweet meadow hay filled her nostrils. Chrissie let out a sigh. She never tired of seeing a newborn happily settled with its mother, and this one seemed okay now, already up on wobbly legs and searching for a teat. The ewe nudged it close, nibbling and licking its rump, and Chrissie gave her an armful of hay.

“You'll be okay,” she said. Now she could turn her attention to the barn's other inhabitants. The adopted lamb had been relieved of its lambskin jacket the day before and was totally bonded now with its new mum. Tomorrow she would return the pair to the meadow. She peered into their pen, pleased to find the lamb lying down next to its mother, stomach obviously filled to capacity.

There was nothing more satisfying, she thought, than seeing the weakest thrive; it was worth all the cold and wet and physical work. Some animals didn't make it, of course, and she had never become hardened to that. It felt like a personal failure when one of her charges died. Tonight, though, all was well. For once, she could go to bed without a worry.

Yet for some reason, as she made herself coffee and a sandwich and tried to relax in front of the TV before bed, Chrissie's mind kept on going back to Will. She wanted to avoid him, but somehow he always seemed to be there, interfering with her life. He had looked so helpless and lost when he came out of the gloom into the beam of her flashlight, but she knew that wasn't the real Will Devlin. She'd seen the other side of him when they'd clashed over the planning permission.

She sipped her coffee, appreciating the moment of calm in her normally busy life, but to her annoyance she couldn't seem to get him out of her head. On impulse, she decided to do a search for him on the internet. She wasn't proud of snooping, but he was her nearest neighbor; surely she should have the right to know what kind of man he was.

When she typed in
Will Devlin criminal lawyer
, she found him right away. Tall, handsome and very smartly dressed, he stared out at her from the screen with eyes of steel and an arrogant tilt to his head. If she hadn't known it was him, she would have hardly recognized him.

The man in this photo was nothing like the Will Devlin she had met. This man was obviously in control, a man with confidence and assurance whose reputation for handling difficult and high-profile cases was known around the world. The kind of man she would normally move heaven and earth to avoid.

Intrigued, Chrissie scrolled down to an article in one of the top newspapers. There was a photograph of Will leaving court, his head held high and his jaw firmly set. The headline read, Criminal Lawyer or Just Plain Criminal?

Was that the case that had made him decide to walk out on his career? Either way, it didn't affect her, she told herself. Chrissie liked to try and take people at face value, and as far as she was concerned he was just her dysfunctional, albeit attractive, neighbor who always seemed to get things wrong, from the way he dressed to the way he behaved. The exception was when he'd helped her with the sheep that night... And the kiss, had he gotten that wrong? Her head said a determined
yes
, but her heart... Her heart hadn't decided yet.

He was a fish out of water, floundering around in an alien environment. The image made her smile. She might even like him if it wasn't for their clash over the land—and those moments when he showed his lawyer side. If he thought he was going to get away with bringing tourists to Craig Side then he had another think coming. Tomorrow she would start working on the petition properly. She was confident in her objections; she just had to put them down on paper. In fact, she didn't have to think hard about them at all. The negative impact tourists would have here was obvious. She remembered the ewe she'd helped earlier. What if a pack of tourists had come traipsing by, stressing out the already struggling creature by stopping to gawk at the proceedings like they were some kind of sideshow?

Or what if a hiker left the gate to the low pasture open and the lambing sheep got out? It could take weeks to herd them up again, assuming they all survived...

And then of course there were the dogs. Visitors always seemed to bring their dogs with them on holiday, and in her experience, the majority of them had no control over their pets. She'd seen it all before. Just last year one of her ewes had been half-eaten by a family's dog. She'd found the sheep motionless beside a wall, in total shock, its hindquarters chewed like a lump of raw meat. The dog had stood there, staring at her, some kind of German shepherd cross whose instincts had burst through all the layers of domesticity. That dog was probably still lying on a rug in front of someone's fire. The beloved family pet disguising the wolf.

The abhorrence she'd felt that day rankled inside her. She needed to think this through properly and make sure she got it right. She owed it to that poor ewe, if nothing else. She knew the Lake District needed tourists, and she was well aware that they would never go away completely, but at least she could fight to stop development up here on these fells. This was her home, not a resort.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

C
HRISSIE
WOKE
AT
five thirty the next morning with a fog in her brain. Forcing her eyes open, she sat on the side of the bed with her head in her hands. “Get it together, Chrissie,” she told herself. “Sheep are waiting.” It was mornings like this that really made her question her choice of career.

A cup of hot coffee made her feel a lot better, and when she opened the back door to find that the rain had stopped, she even managed a smile. Floss ran past her and Chrissie called her back into the house; the little dog was coming on well, but she wasn't yet ready to work with the sheep.

“Won't be long, girl,” she said, patting Floss's ruff of white hair and pushing her back into the kitchen.

The clear, sharp air quickly blew away Chrissie's cobwebs as she set off with Fly and Tess at her heels and a song back in her heart. Truth was, she loved this time of the morning, walking across the yard through the velvety darkness, so familiar with every inch of her surroundings that she didn't even need a flashlight.

The dogs went crazy, sniffing for rats, especially when a couple ran right in front of them, almost over Chrissie's toes. With a sharp whistle, she called them back. Immediately obedient, they followed her to the barn, waiting in excitement as she opened the big door and let out the aromas of feed and hay and sheep.

Inside, a low, yellow light gleamed through the darkness so that she could just make out the penned sheep and lambs clambering up from sleep. The big ewe in the farthest pen let out a rumbling bleat and Chrissie smiled to herself. This sheep had only been in the barn three or four days and Chrissie'd had a devil of a job getting her in here, but now it seemed the nervous ewe already knew the routine. That was the amazing thing about these sheep—they were wild and tough, but they knew how to adapt in order to survive, and even more importantly, for their young to survive.

“Here you are, girl,” Chrissie said, throwing an armful of soft, sweet meadow hay into the pen. The ewe stared at her nervously, yellow eyes wide, and then she started nibbling on the hay while her lambs began eagerly feeding on their mother's rich milk, tails wagging and tiny rear ends bobbing up and down.

For a moment Chrissie stayed to watch them, satisfied with their progress. Tomorrow, she decided, she would let them back out into the meadow.

Checking on each pen's occupants, Chrissie gave out more hay and made sure the water containers were full before pulling the tractor keys from the pocket of her voluminous jacket and rattling them. Tess and Fly came racing over, and with a last quick look around Chrissie closed the barn doors and headed for the vehicle.

“Come on, then,” she said to Tess and Fly, urging them to jump into the cab. “Time to do it all over again.”

Except, she realized as she climbed into the driver's seat, she wasn't about to do it all over again. Although the routine might be the same, each morning presented new challenges; births, deaths and other problems filled each and every day at lambing time, and she wouldn't have it any different.

This morning, however, the problems were fewer, which told Chrissie that the lambing was almost over. The meadows were filled with healthy lambs and sheep, and soon it would be time for the single lambs to go back to the fell with their mothers, while the less hardy twins spent a little more time down in the shelter of home.

She felt a deep sense of satisfaction as she returned the tractor and went into the kitchen, kicking off her boots on the porch. Floss ran to her, whining softly, and Chrissie smiled, telling her to sit. When the little dog instantly did as she was bid, Chrissie pulled a treat from her pocket. Her methods of training might not comply with those of some of the other shepherds in the area, but her success rates were good and her dogs always wanted to please.

As she put on the kettle, she found herself wondering what it would be like to train the unruly Max, who had none of the collie's sharp intelligence but a very loving heart. It didn't matter, she told herself. She wasn't about to find out anytime soon.

Since she had finished her tasks a little earlier than usual, after breakfast Chrissie allowed herself the luxury of sitting down with another cup of tea and yesterday's paper. Every morning, the postman brought a daily paper, but she didn't know why she bothered when it seemed that the news made her either sad or mad.

“Well,” she said dropping the paper into the magazine rack. “What a waste of time.”

Used to their mistress's ramblings Tess and Fly lay motionless in front of the stove, but little Floss jumped up and came across to sit in front of her, tail wagging and head tilted to one side. Chrissie smiled. “Don't take any notice of me ranting on, girl. It would just be nice to read something really happy for once.”

She'd be sad, thought Chrissie, when Floss went back home. She'd become really attached to the pup, who would have a great future if her owner decided to do sheepdog trials with her. She'd suggest it to him, Chrissie decided, standing and stretching her arms above her head. Both the older dogs were up at once, knowing the routine.

“And today,” said Chrissie, looking at Floss. “You get to come with us onto the fell. On a long leash, of course, but at least it's a start.”

The mail van pulled into the yard just as she stepped out the door. With a cheery “Mornin',” the postman handed her a stack of envelopes, and she flicked through it. Three bills and a bank statement, she noted with a sigh, heading back into the house with her stomach churning. If Roy Eddery had sent her a big bill for the tractor then, basically, she was finished.

Putting off the dreaded moment, she opened the other bills first. The amounts seemed to glare out at her from the page: £500 for feed, £275 for fuel...and then the dreaded tractor bill. Her hand shook as she pulled it from its envelope. The amount was a staggering £1,502.45. She threw it onto the table in disgust, reaching for the bank statement. She'd had to get the tractor fixed, even though Roy had warned her that it would be expensive. The farm couldn't function without a tractor, especially at lambing time.

She'd been trying not to think about her financial problems for the last few weeks; life was stressful enough at this time of year. But this bill had brought it all back with a bang. She was used to going it alone, but suddenly she felt lonely, her independence in tatters. If only her parents were still alive. Her mum had always been so good with the farm finances, whereas she and her dad had been more interested in caring for the stock. This wasn't the first time she'd found herself wishing she'd spent more time listening to her mother, and it definitely wouldn't be the last. Perhaps her aunt was right; perhaps she did need someone in her life...a partner, like her parents had been to each other.

Well, she had to try and find the money somehow, and soon, for Roy's garage was struggling just as much as her farm. In fact, she thought, scanning the column of figures on the bank statement, according to most of the people she spoke to, it seemed as if all the businesses around here were struggling to survive. Her overdraft limit was sixty thousand, and at the moment she was way too close to that line. She could just about manage the other bills, but the tractor payment would take her way over.

Trying to retrieve her usual sense of calm, Chrissie sat down. A problem was not a problem, her dad had always told her; it was merely a challenge to be overcome. She always liked to think like that, but this time...

Placing her head in her hands, she fought off tears, searching for a way out. None appeared.

She would have no decent income until the lambs were ready for sale, and selling off grown sheep to pay the bills would be suicide for High Bracken because she would never be able to afford to restock. Fewer sheep meant fewer lambs the next year.

The future loomed bleakly ahead of her. She wouldn't be the first farmer up here to face this situation...nor the last. But she wouldn't give up the fight. Not yet. This land, her work and her life here on the fells, was too important to her. She had to find a way through this...somehow.

* * *

W
ILL
WOKE
EARLY
and let Max out into the garden, making sure that the gate was firmly closed so there was no chance of his escaping.

He was just sitting down with his coffee when the phone rang. He picked it up impatiently. Today he had planned to call in at High Bracken with a bottle of wine for Chrissie to say thank you and maybe have another go at her about training Max. In a way, the dog had saved his life, and Will really felt that he owed Max the opportunity to prove himself. No matter what anyone said, he didn't believe Max was dumb; he was just full of life and love and exuberance, and surely those couldn't be bad traits.

“Hello?” he said in a sharper tone than he intended.

“Hey,” replied Roger. “I'm on your side, remember.”

“Sorry.” Will liked Roger—he was up-front, straight talking...and kind of ordinary. He liked that, too. Will had met enough professionals who thought they were something special; up here on the fells, so close to nature, people didn't have egos like that. They just got on with their jobs—whatever they were.

Had he been like that once? he asked himself. Arrogant and full of self-importance? He hoped not, but he wouldn't bank on it. Power and glory had definitely gone to his head. “Bad night, I'm afraid.”

“Ah...” Roger's answer, or lack of it, spoke volumes.

“And before you start any rumors,” Will snapped, “I hadn't been drinking. If you must know, I got lost in the mist when I was walking Max on the fells yesterday... Chrissie Marsh found me and brought me home.”

“Oh...well, then I'm glad you're okay,” Roger said. He sounded sincere. “It was cold last night and exposure can be a dangerous thing.”

“Look...” For once in his life, Will was at a loss for words. “I apologize for my short temper, but it was a bit of a traumatic experience. I'm trying to persuade Chrissie to give Max some training and I'm heading on up there soon, so if you want to see me—”

“It's just these plans. If you could stop in as you're going past we can maybe get them in to the planning council in time for this month's meeting. There will be objections, so the sooner the better...before they can get too much ammunition to fire at us.”

“I'll be there in half an hour. So...you really think there will be objections?”

“No doubt about it. The local farmers always object when tourists are involved.”

“Well, then they need educating,” Will said. “The Lake District needs tourism if it is to survive.”

For a moment, the line went quiet. “It's Chrissie who needs educating more than most,” Roger told him. “She must be struggling—all the hill farms are—and she needs to find a way to make tourism work for her.”

“I know how she feels about tourists, but surely she wouldn't actually put in a formal objection,” Will insisted. “She's a bright, intelligent woman who must understand that things have to change.” He formulated his next words carefully before speaking. “Anyway, we... Well, let's just say I've gotten to know her a lot better lately. She'll come round to my way of thinking eventually.”

“I wouldn't be too sure of that,” Roger said. “I've known Chrissie Marsh a long time, and she can be very stubborn when she wants to be. She won't change her mind easily.”

Roger's comment dug deeper than Will would have liked, but Chrissie would have told him she was objecting. Surely she wouldn't go behind his back. She wouldn't do that to him.

Before Will could leave for Roger's place, Jim Wentworth caught him and insisted that he go and see how the work on the roof was progressing.

“Any more news on the planning?” Jim asked as they stared up at the rafters in the traditional old stone barn.

Will smiled. “I knew this was a ruse,” he said. “The barn is fine. You just wanted to nag about the planning.”

Jim looked him straight in the eye, and when he spoke his tone was serious. “The weather is improving now, and I'm nearly finished here. I have people ringing up every day with work for me, so if you're not ready for me to start on the accommodations soon, I'm afraid you'll have to get someone else.”

“We're both in luck, then,” Will said. “Because I'm on my way up to Roger's shortly to see if we can have the plans ready for next month's meeting.”

“And you'll let me know how it goes?”

“I'll ring you later,” Will promised.

Despite his assurances to Jim, Will's meeting with the architect proved to be anything but decisive. He was way too uncertain about what he wanted to be satisfied with Roger's ideas, and a new and as-yet unformulated idea was circling around in his head.

“Alright,” Roger said eventually with an exasperated sigh. “Let's just go for outline planning for now, to turn the farm buildings into holiday accommodation. Then we can work on getting the details ready for next month's meeting.”

“We might get refused anyway,” said Will. “If as many people as you think are going to object.”

“Get Chrissie Marsh onside,” suggested Roger. “That's your best bet.”

Will grinned. “I'm working on that.”

* * *

R
OGER
'
S
ADVICE
WAS
still on Will's mind as he drove up the steep, narrow lane to High Bracken and parked in the yard. The whole place was bathed in spring sunshine and for the first time he realized just how pretty the farm was, and how steeped in time. Unlike most of the other farms dotted around on the fells, High Bracken hardly seemed to have been altered for at least a hundred years. Craig Side was old-fashioned, but at least the yard had been concreted; here the ground between the Lakeland stone buildings was still covered by cobblestones.