anne hampson - precious waif
TRANSCRIPT
Precious Waif
By Anne Hampson
Mills and Boon, 1969
Precious Waif
by Anne Hampson
Harlequin Romance - 1969
Cathy was completely alone in the world when her unknown
uncle Charles Blythe appeared on the scene to rescue her, and
Cathy was duly grateful. But there was one thing about her Uncle
Charles that Cathy didn't know .. .
CHAPTER I
ON either side of the valley the crags rose steeply to merge with
the sky as the shadows deepened over the wild, uninhabited
moorlands. A blue mist hung suspended, then dropped like a
curtain, only to rise again, swirling, wraith-like, as if performing
some mysterious ritual dance.
The path skirting the clough held many perils, but the girl moved
with the Base and grace of a fawn, her step light, unerring, her
head erect.
Higher and higher she went, part the entrance to the old Hall
until, reaching a break in the gritstone fence, she left the path and
made her way through the bracken towards a distant knoll.
Near the crest of the knoll, in gaunt outline against a sombre sky,
stood a circle of yews, guardians of the resting place of the
Fanshawes, one-time owners of the Hall and the vast Callderton
estate.
The Hall lay in ruins, the burial ground neglected except for one
grave, with the soil newly-turned.
For a long while the girl stood by the grave, her hands clenched,
her eyes moist, and in her heart a hatred so intense that it seemed
to envelop her whole being.
Retracing her steps at last, she paused now and then to peer
down into the main valley far below. Dimly she could make out
the row of huts, high on a rise above the river bank, defacing the
landscape. Strewn along the valley floor ancient trees lay dying
where they had been torn from the soil, grim evidence that man
and machine were continuing their work of destruction. The last of
the Fanshawes had died of a broken heart because of the rape of
his land—or so it was laid. That was forty years ago, when the first
reservoir had been built, further downstream.
And now Paul, her father, who had also loved the valley.
He had been born there, and his father and grandfather before
him. Hardy folk they were, those who chose to live on the lonely
Pennine moors. Close-knit and staunch, they were an isolated
community, bound by one common endeavour, that of wresting a
precarious living from the unyielding land.
They had put up a formidable resistance to the Callder Valley
Scheme, but their fight was hopeless from the start. How could
they, a mere handful of people, oppose the powers of a great city,
or flaunt the government order?
One by one the families had left, and as each property became
vacant it was demolished in order to prevent pollution. The toil of
generations was destroyed in hours as orchards and gardens were
razed and barns and sheds burned down.
Only Paul had held out, for more than a year. Coming to a bend
in the stream, where a resistant band of rock had caused a
waterfall to form, the girl stopped, casting anxious eyes around,
seeking for the stakes which would tell her how high the waters
would eventually rise. The stakes were spaced fairly evenly over
the area to be submerged and, finding the one nearest to her, she
breathed a sigh of relief. The waterfall had been one of Paul's
favourite spots. It was to be saved.
The cottage came into view. Low and thatched, it nestled in the
curve of the terrace by the Packhorse Bridge where Hunter's
Clough joined the main valley of the Callder. A light flickered in the
window; Mrs Foster was there, Mrs Foster from the lonely inn half a
mile away. She had no need to come, for she was merely a
neighbour, but she was homely and kind, and she worried about
people.
Pushing open the door, the girl entered the tiny kitchen. It had
an air of warmth and mellowness; it smelt of paraffin and burning
logs. On the hearth a cat stretched lazily, then settled down again
to resume its disturbed slumber. Taking it all in one helpless,
despairing glance, the girl moved to the fire and held out her hands
to the blaze.
"Cathy love, where have you been? Not up to that grave again?
You shouldn't, child, it's morbid." Mrs Foster emerged from the
scullery, wiping her hands on her apron. "I've tidied up, and there's
a pie in the oven. I don't suppose you've eaten today?"
Cathy made no reply. The money had almost run out, but pride
would not allow her to admit it. Turning to the window, she rested
her elbows on the wide sill and stood gazing out towards the huts.
Lights had appeared in the windows and men could be seen mov-
ing about. Which hut was he in? she wondered.
"Mrs Foster, have you ever hated anyone so much that it made
you—ache inside?" she asked, without turning her head.
"No, I haven't, and neither should you ! The man's an absolute
stranger, and likely to remain so. You don't even know his name !"
The girl's brooding gaze settled on a truck by one of the lighted
windows. Brown and Davis … , but neither Brown nor Davis existed
any more.
"He killed my father."
"Pour father had a stroke; lots of people have them—my own
father did. Now sit down, love, and I'll get your pie. You'll feel
better when you've eaten."
The table was already laid, and Cathy sat down. No matter
what Mrs Foster said that man—the `Big Boss' as the valley folk
had called him—was responsible for her father's death.
Mrs Foster brought the pie from the oven and put it on the table.
"Have a good tuck in, child, while I make you a drink." She went
outside to fill the kettle from the pump, and Cathy listened for the
familiar sound of water dancing between the boulders. The stream
by her door did not go very far; already it was diverted, piped into
the Tordale Reservoir downstream, leaving a section of the valley
dry in order that work on the dam could proceed. Mrs Foster
returned with the kettle and put it on the fire.
"They say the artificial Lake will enhance the valley," she
submitted, as if reading Cathy's thoughts. "You must admit the
Tordale Reservoir is very pretty."
"Man never improved on nature." Cathy helped herself to a
generous portion of pie, surprised to find she would actually enjoy
the meal. "It's good of you to come, Mrs Foster. Thank you very
much for making the pie."
The old woman watched her in silence for some time, noting the
painful thinness of her amis and body, the unnatural pallor of her
skin and the sadness in her eyes. They were an unusual colour of
smoky grey, and far too large for her face. Her pair, long and
straight, was the deep rich colour of tarnished bronze.
"Perhaps you have lived too long with nature," she said, ignoring
Cathy's thanks. "Your father was a dreamer and you take after
him. I hate to say this, being as it's not much more than a fortnight
since he died, but it would have been much better if he'd given
more time to preparing you for life and less to his study of the
rocks. What good that does anyone I fait 'to see !"
"Paul wrote some wonderful papers on the evolution of the
Pennines," began Cathy, then she stopped. Mrs Foster would not
understand that Paul had been a brilliant geomorphologist, nor
could she imagine the thrill of knowing just why that mountain was
there, or this valley here; or why the river ran straight at this point
but meandered at that; or why it made a steepsided valley in its
highland stage, yet flowed through a flood-plain as it neared the
sea. All these things Paul had taught her and much, much more
besides. She knew, for example, just why this particular Pennine
valley was so suitable for the construction of a reservoir. Soft water
owing to the absence of time, high rainfall and, because of the
nature of its rock structure the beds, or rock layers, dipped towards
the river. This meant that the maximum amount of water would
eventually be conserved. Yes, Paul had always known that the
synclinal nature of the valley would one day spell its doom.
"Well, he didn't make much money from them," Mrs Foster
retorted, reaching for the tea caddy. It would have been far more
sensible if Paul had left the valley years ago and found himself a
proper job !"
"He had me to look after from a baby, remember," said Cathy
with some indignation. In her eyes, everything her father had
done was right. Her mother had died when Cathy was only three
months old, and since then he'd given himself up almost entirely
to his studies. As Cathy grew older she too became keenly
interested and whatever the weather they could both be seen,
high on the moorlands or hillside, equipped with field notebooks
and maps, binoculars and hammers. No one had ever quite
understood what they were doing, and Cathy knew Mrs Foster
had always regarded it as a waste of time, especially as the only
profit from all that work had been the odd pound or two which
Paul occasionally received from some obscure magazine in which
one of his articles had appeared.
"We've got to do something about you, Cathy love." Mrs Foster's
voice broke in on Cathy's thoughts. She watched as the old woman
poured her tea, and then poured a cup for herself. "You cannot
stay here much longer, you know."
"I'm quite resigned," returned Cathy in flat tones. "I had a letter
from the Water Board this morning; they've given me a week. The
cottage will be demolished on the first of April." Her lips trembled
and her eyes shone, dark and intense. "It's his doing, of course.
There's no need for me to go yet; it will be twelve months before
the flooding begins, and it's only then that this part of the valley
will be involved."
A deep sigh escaped Mrs Foster as she began to explain that,
while anyone still lived in the valley, some pollution must inevitably
take place.
"He's only doing a job of work," she went on, clearly trying to
reason with Cathy, "and your father must have held him up, no
matter what you say. Personally, I think he's been extraordinarily
patient. If you'll excuse my saying so, Paul was a very stubborn
man."
"A good man, though," submitted Cathy quietly. "He would
create rather than destroy, never interfere with the beauties of
nature simply to put money in his pocket."
Pushing her plate away, she drew her cup and saucer towards
her. But the tea choked her and she rose and went over to the
window again. The scene had now become indistinct, but she had
a mental picture of the whole devastated area. Giant-sized
machines whose function it was to scar and gash the valley sides;
great trucks piled high with what was now termed `timber'.
Other trucks standing in readiness for the loading of those trees
which lay about, mutilated and dying. Tomorrow there would be
more felling, and the next day, and the next. All the doomed
trees were marked by a great splash of white paint; the trees she
and the other children had climbed, the friendly oak in which
they had made their `den', the trees that had sheltered the
garden front sun and wind, and the house from the savage
storms that raged across the moors in winter. All these must go,
by order of one man. Who was he to order the destruction of a
thousand trees? How could he live with that on his conscience?
But he had no conscience. He was ruthless and arrogant, hated
by his staff and even unpopular with the designers of the
reservoir, with whom he should be working in close liaison.
Typical of him, she thought, to find fault with the design, to
consider himself capable of improving on the work of experts.
Rumour also had it that, after his uncle had brought him into the
firm as a young consultant geologist, he had repaid the old man's
kindness by ousting him completely and taking his place as head
of the firm.
"That man's wicked, Mrs Foster, and I hope that one day he'll be
punished." The vehemence of her words brought a troubled frown
to Mrs Foster's brow, and she spoke with unusual sharpness.
"It's very wrong for a young girl to have such hatred in her heart !
Your dislike of this man stems entirely from the fact of his being the
head of the contractors.
But don’t forget it was the Water Board that acquired this land,
and it's been known for many years that another reservoir would
eventually have to be built here. If his firm weren't doing the job
then another one would be. How would you have liked to have
been in Lowport three summers ago when the town's water supply
was completely cut off? Don't think me and my Joe like this any
more than you do, but we know it's got to be. Towns must have
water, and so men must build reservoirs."
Logic in those words, Cathy had to admit. It was true that during
a severe drought three years ago the Tordale Reservoir had dried
up. The previous winter millions of gallons of water had been lost
when, after weeks of torrential rain, the reservoir had overflowed.
The new Callderton Reservoir would collect this excess water during
the winter, so ensuring a constant supply to the downstream
reservoir during the drier summer months.
"I know you're right, in a way," she owned, "but I still can't help
hating him. Paul became so harassed, especially when all our barns
and sheds were demolished. I'm sure he expected the cottage to be
demolished, too, about our ears. That's what caused the stroke—I
know it. That man could have left us alone for at least another
year."
Mrs Foster shrugged. She obviously thought the subject
unprofitable, for she changed it.
"Have you- any idea what you're going to do?"
Cathy shook her head and for the first time fear entered her
voice.
"No—I can't think properly yet. If I had a little more time, so that
I could get over Paul...."
"You can't live up here all alone, dear, even if we could manage
to persuade them to give you more time. Our Doris goes home
next week so she won't be able to sleep with you. My other
granddaughter is coming for a visit, but I don't know when." She
paused as Cathy came back to the table and began to sip her tea,
which had now gone cold. "What a scrap you are!" she exclamed
involuntarily, as Cathy, suddenly shivering, drew her cardigan more
closely around her thin body and began to button it up. "No one
will ever take you for nineteen—you look no more than sixteen. I
don't know what's to become of you, I'm sure !"
Cathy didn't know, either. All her life she'd been one with nature,
a creature of the wilds. She knew nothing of the busy world down
there on the plain, nothing of people or of life. Yet she did not
blame her father, for she'd always been content with her lot. And
she could not agree with Mrs Foster when she asserted that Paul
had been selfish, that he hadn't cared that his daughter would one
day have to face the world, innocent and unprotected against the
dangers lurking there. Nevertheless, she did wonder how she would
live, and how she was to support herself. Her fears were once more
revealed and Mrs Foster spoke kindly, saying that she hoped Cathy
wouldn't be upset, but they had better go through the box of
papers which she had mentioned the other day.
"There may be someone, somewhere, who would have you for a
while," she went on, "just until you get on your feet, as it were."
"I have no one." Cathy spoke without interest. "But you can
examine Paul's papers if you wish. It won't upset me."
"Then I'll fetch them down. Clear the table, so that we can sort
them out. From what I could see they appeared to be in something
of a muddle."
No doubt about that. Mixed up with old bills and birth
certificates were numerous papers dealing with Paul's theories
regarding the evolution of the Pennines. There was also a technical
treatise on the glaciation of the region and another entitled, `The
Environmental History of the Sand Grains from the Carboniferous
of Derbyshire'.
"I suppose," said Mrs Foster with undisguised sarcasm, "that you
know what this is all about?" "Oh, yes." Cathy's eyes brightened
momentarily. "We did ever such a lot of work on that. You see, it's
been discovered that the histories of sediments can be interpreted
from the surface textures of sand grains, and therefore—" The look
directed at her brought Cathy's explanation to a halt. "It was all
very interesting," she added lamely.
"It must have been," was the dry comment, and then, "Here, sort
there out while I see what I can do with this little pile."
They worked silently, in the light of the oil lamp. At the end of
half an hour Cathy leant back in her chair.
"I knew there wasn't anyone," she said with renewed fear. "Paul
always said we only had each other."
Mrs foster was absorbed in an old faded diary; she put it on the
table as Cathy spoke and began to agree with her. But on noticing
Cathy's expression she became silent again and picking up the
diary she flicked the pages until she found what she wanted. After
a slight hesitation she calmly announced that Cathy had an uncle
who, at the time of the entry in the diary, was living in
Leicestershire.
"An uncle?" Cathy stared unbelievingly, though her eyes shone
with hope. "What's his name?"
"Charles Blythe."
"I've never heard of him. What does it say about him?" Cathy
leant across the table in an attitude of puzzled inquiry and was
surprised to find Mrs Foster avoiding her eyes. "That's Mother's
diary, isn't it? When was the entry made?"
"Let me see ... nineteen years ago. There's quite a story here," she
added, again flicking the pages. "Pour mother had a sister who
married a man named Peter Blythe. They went out to Australia."
"Yes, that's right; Aunt Margaret, it was. But both she and Uncle
Peter are dead. I never remember seeing 'either of them."
"Your Uncle Peter had a brother who lived in Leicestershire. His
address is here, at the back of the diary. It could be that he still lives
there."
The light went out of Cathy's eyes.
"I didn't know about this brother, but in any case, he wouldn't be
any relation to me." Her mouth trembled with disappointment and
she made a valiant effort to check the tears which threatened. "I
knew we had no relatives," she ended, on a little sob.
"He's a sort of uncle," said Mrs Foster, obviously determined to
find a link. "If he's your uncle's brother then he too must be your
uncle—yes, I'm sure that's right."
"But Uncle Peter is dead."
"What difference does that make?" Mrs Foster closed the diary, a
thoughtful expression on her face. "Could still live there," she said
again. "I’ll take this home, if you don't mind, and write to him
tonight. We should have a reply by Thursday."
Could this Charles Blythe really be her uncle? Cathy wondered,
unaware that she clung to a straw. Had she someone of her own,
after all? If her mother had written about him nineteen years ago
he must be quite old by now, for Uncle Peter had been over thirty
when he married Aunt Margaret. Yes, he must be middle-aged, at
least, and probably like Paul in other ways, h —kind and gentle
and patient. A smile of gratitude touched her lips as she glanced
across at Mrs Foster.
"You're so good to go to all this trouble for me, and you did so
much for Paul during his illness. And now, if you c-can persuade m-
my uncle to have me—" Emotion swept over her suddenly and Mrs
Foster put in soothingly,
"There, pet, don't you dare cry after being so brave all this time.
Leave it to me," she added, a determined glint in her eye. "If I don't
get you nicely fixed up my name's not Annie Foster !"
The reply to Mrs Foster's letter had not come by Friday and
Cathy said, in some desperation,
"He won't answer, I know he won't. Why should he? After all, we
aren't really related."
Nevertheless, when Mrs Foster arrived at the cottage on
Saturday afternoon Cathy's first words were, "Have you heard from
my—uncle?"
"No, love, but—but I'm sure we shall hear something on
Monday." Her tope, and the way she avoided her gaze, made
Cathy frown in puzzlement. It almost seemed as if the old woman
had spoken impulsively, and that the now wished she could take
Jack Chose words and say something altogether different. Had she
heard from Charles Blythe? Had he replied, refusing his help?
Considering the position from his point of view Cathy felt he would
be fully justified in refusing to accept responsibility for an unknown
girl, a girl who, he must know, was not in any way related to him.
She continued to stare at the laid woman, who had suddenly
begun to clear away the dishes from the table. She appeared
unconformable, and a little angry; for a moment Cathy felt sure
she'd received a curt and definite refusal from Charles Blythe, but
after some consideration she had to own that her suspicions were
ridiculous. For if Mrs Foster had received a reply to her letter there
was nothing to be gained by remaining silent about it.
"Do you really think he'll reply by Monday?" Cathy's voice broke
as fear overwhelmed her at the thought of having to be out of the
cottage by Tuesday. "I'm frightened now, Mrs Foster. Where can I
go?"
"You'll have to come to us for a while," Mrs Foster began, when
Cathy interrupted her.
"Mr Foster said right at the beginning that he wouldn't be
involved," she reminded her dully, and the old woman's mouth
compressed.
"Never worry, dear. I’ll go dong and see this—" Flushing hotly, she
broke off, acutely aware of Cathy's glance of surprised inquiry.
"What I mean is, I'll go with you into Lowport on Monday and see if
we can get you fixed up with some lodgings. Yes, that's what we'll
do. And now I really must be off; Joe gets so impatient if his tea isn't
on the table prompt at five." Taking up her coat, she put it on
hastily. "Our Doris will be along about ten, to stay the night with
you."
Cathy stared at the closed door; her eyes flickered after a while
to the clock on the wall. Not yet two—and Mrs Foster had suddenly
decided to rush off, to prepare her husband's tea ! No doubt about
it, Mrs Foster was certainly in one of her peculiar moods today.
Dismissing the matter, Cathy went into the little scullery to wash
the dishes, which Mrs Foster had loft in the sink. Then, pulling on a
sweater, she left the cottage and proceeded along the river bank,
her eyes searching. No, the landslip had occurred at the bend and
couldn't be seen from here. A hint of satisfaction entered her eyes.
That man would be having some trouble, and he'd have plenty
more ! For the whole region around the point where the dam was
to join the Bank was unstable, but he couldn’t possibly know it.
There would be more slips, and he would suffer many headaches
before the reservoir was finished. And if he'd committed himself to
a completion date then he would find himself in even greater
trouble.
Cathy’s gaze moved as an old man ambled along the path
towards her. Opening the gate, he passed through and closed it
after him. Mien he looked at Cathy with come uncertainty.
"Still mad with me?" he asked, and a forint smile suddenly
touched Cathy's lips.
"No. I'm sorry I said that to you, Mr Johnson. I didn't really mean
it."
"You don't think I'm disloyal, then?" He still appeared uncertain
as, leaning on the gate, he searched her face. "I do need the
money—and I get bored, too, when I'm at home all the time. It's
not a bad job, either, being watchman, not for an old man like me.
Interesting too--get to know what's going on and so have
something to talk about when I get home." He paused, and then, "I
understand how you feel, lass. Maybe I'd be the same if it was my
home he was pulling down. Luckily that we moved years ago,
when Bella's father died, and left us the cottage." He paused again,
glancing towards the huts, and then to the river bank below. "Been
a serious landslip up there," he informed her, and Cathy's eyes
flickered once more with satisfaction.
"I saw it from the cottage—through the binoculars, that is'
"Two men were trapped. In a pretty bad state when they were
brought out"
"They were hurt?" Cathy hadn't thought of that. "Are they in
hospital?"
"No, it was shock mostly. The boss took them home, in his own
car. Very feeling of him, I thought."
"Nothing of the kind ! He was probably afraid, because he
shouldn't have had men working there. If he knew his job he'd do
some investigating because a minor slip occurred some weeks ego.
But I don't suppose he knows where to start," she added
disparagingly.
"He doesn't usually work on a Saturday, but he's been there all
morning, the old man submitted. "Moving about, examining the
bank and the rocks above. Seems sort of puzzled, if you know
what I mean?" "He will be puzzled," returned Cathy. "I know
exactly what you mean."
"Only just gone home; looks very tired and dispirited. Felt rather
sorry for him; it must he a great worry.
"He doesn't need your pity, Mr Johnson. He deserves to worry—
seeing that he causes so much worry to other people!" Mr Johnson
said nothing, but continued to stare at her mildly. She flushed a
little and remained silent for a space and then, curiously, "What’s
his name?"
"Not heard it yet. Everyone call’s him 'the boss'. Cathy's eyes
rested for a moment on the half-finished dam, then moved to the
row of huts above.
"Which one is his office in?" she asked as the old man turned to
follow the direction of her gaze.
"The one at that far end. Sumptuous, it is; wouldn't believe you
were in a hut at all."
"Do you know where le lives?"
"Ferndale-on-Callder. Rent’s a home there, on the river, I
believe."
"Ferndale?" For some reason she could not exploit Cathy hated
the idea of his living anywhere so close, or such a lovely village as
Ferndale-on-Callder. She recalled what Paul had told her about its
history. It had originally been in Cheshire; it had one inn and a
church, and apart from a small amount of building winch had
taken place over the past year it had changed little from the time
when the church had been a monastery founded by Hugh Lupus,
the `wolf' of Cheshire. Built on a terrace of the river, the village had
magnificent views over the rugged heights of the Pennines, with
the heather-strewn moorlands spreading away in the endless
distance to the south and east. h was only about five miles
downstream from the Tordale Reservoir; Cathy had been there
often, for at one time her father had carried out some extensive
research on the glacial deposits in the region. With each visit she
had become more and more enchanted with the village and she
often thought that next to the volley itself, Ferndale would be the
place in which she would choose to live.
And now he lived there ! She couldn't think of anything more
ironical. Still, it was some consolation to know that his stay was only
temporary. Obviously he would move once his work here was
completed.
"Must be going, lass." Mr Johnson's rather gruff voice interrupted
her thoughts. "And now that you're not mad with me can I come
for my cup of tea in the morning?"
"Of course." She smiled at him, an apologetic little smile, and said
again, "I didn't mean it. But I felt so angry at the idea of anyone up
here working for him. All the workmen come from Lowport each
day, as you know." Poor Mr Johnson. He'd been so upset and
looked almost ready to throw up the job. For she'd accused him of
disloyalty, asserting That she herself would have preferred dire
poverty to taking a penny from that man. This was true; in fact,
she would starve rather than accept his money, even though she
worked for it, but it had been mort unfair of her to expect Mr
Johnson to refuse the job, especially as he was so active and,
therefore bored with his retirement.
The following day, Sunday, Mrs Foster came early, bringing the
milk, for which Cathy insisted on paying. This time the old woman's
manner was even more strange and when Cathy murmured
something about having only two more days at the cottage she
said, with what seemed to Cathy a most exaggerated carelessness,
"We'll get you fixed up tomorrow. Perhaps, after all, that Mr
Blythe wouldn't make a suitable guardian for you, now. What I
mean is;" she added hastily as Cathy paused in her dusting to look
across at her in puzzlement, "he might be quite an austere person
and not try to understand your position at all. He could be entirely
without feeling," she continued, with what seemed to Cathy quite
unnecessary heat. "And you do need sympathy and understanding,
dear, seeing as you're about to make a great change in your way
of life. It wouldn't do at all if he didn't turn out to be what we
expected, would nit?"
"No—no, I suppose it wouldn’t.... Cathy took an ornament from
the mantelshelf and absently flicked the cluster over k. "What did
we expect him to be like? I imagined him to be elderly, and rather
like Paul. I never think of him as being austere, or—unkind."
"Neither did I until—Well, until I gave it more thought. For
instance, we have no real reason for assuming him to be elderly.
True, your mother did write about him nineteen years ago, but he
could have been a mere schoolboy at that time."
"Yes ... yes, he could." Thoughtfully, she replaced the ornament,
and stared at it for a moment. She could rot imagine being either
happy or comfortable with a young man, not alter having lived for
so long with her father. "I wonder why he didn't reply to your
letter," she added at last. "Do you think, alter all this Time, he's left
that address? Did you put your address on the back of the
envelope so that it could be returned to you?"
"Yes." The admission came with obvious reluctance. Mrs Foster
bent down to stir the fire.
"And it wasn't returned to you.... Then he must have received it.
How strange that he hasn't acknowledged it." She stood for a
while, considering this. "What did you put in it?" she asked curiously.
"What did you tell him about me?"
"Oh, just what thought was necessary—" She moved quickly as a
spark shot from the fire on to the rug. Cathy put her foot on it,
waiting for the old woman to continue. "I explained the situation,
and said as how you'd been up on the moors all your life. I told him
you were quite young for your age, and immature, and that you
were probably ignorant about--erthings—"
"But I'm not!" flashed Cathy indignantly, "No wonder he hasn't
replied. He probably thinks I'm stupid !"
"No such thing. That you are not, dear, and I thought it best to
explain that, just in case he decided to take you. I also told him
about your father, that he was the well-known geomorphologist,
Paul Blalkeman. He seemed very interested and wanted to
know—" The old woman broke off in dismay and Cathy's eyes
opened very vide in a stare of surprised interrogation. But Mrs
Foster recovered her composure immediately and continued, quite
calmly, "Your father, of course. I explained that he was interested in
the rock formations around here, and that he was always wanting
to know their history. I said that what he hadn't known about
these rocks wasn't worth knowing, and that he wrote it all down
and made mails about it and so on."
"You told him all that? It must have been a long letter." And a
boring one, thought Cathy. Mr Blythe wouldn't want to know all
that. Her brow suddenly creased; there was something here she
failed to understand, but before she could phrase a suitable
question Mrs Foster was speaking again, saying that it was quite a
long letter. And then she went on once more to advise Cathy net to
trouble her head about Mr Blythe, for she felt sure he would not be
a nice person at all. In fact she might even refuse his help, once she
had met him, so Mrs Foster was sure it was all for the best that he
hadn't replied to the letter.
"You mean, I might dislike him? Yes, I could, of course," and then,
with a deep sigh, "Well, he hasn't given me the chance to like or
dislike him, and I don't know whatever I'm to do."
Before Mrs Foster could reply there came a gentle tap on the
door and Mr Johnson walked in. He greeted them, said he hoped
he wasn't too early, and then made himself comfortable in the
chair by the fine.
"No, I'm just going." It seemed to Cathy that Mrs Foster heaved a
great sigh of relief as she spoke. She certainly appeared to welcome
the old man's presence, and that was very strange for it was well
known in the tiny village down by the inn that these two could
never agree about anything. "Good-bye, Cathy dear. I'll bring you
something up latter for your lunch." And with that she was gone.
CHAPTER II
"OLD busybody," murmured the old than, putting his feet on the
fender.
"She isn't—don't say things like that, Mr Johnson !" "Talks about
everybody—"
"Not here. She never gossips, honestly. She's been wonderful to
Paul and me."
"You're young, that's why site never gossips. But get her with
some of her cronies down at the pub. No one's affairs are safe with
her around." He pointed a finger at Cathy, who was about to
protest again. "I'll wager everyone around our village knows
everything about you."
"It doesn't matter. " Cathy took the kettle from the hob. "In any
case, they know everything already."
"Yes ... maybe. But say as she was to talk about you to a
stranger. Within five minutes they'd know the lot !—know as how
you roam about like a wild thing—yes, I've heard her call you the—
and as show you feel about the boss up there and how you hate
him like poison and blame him for Paul's death— No, don't defend
her, lass, know what I'm saying. Good-hearted, I'll not deny, but I
hastes a woman as gossips as the does !"
Cathy opened her mouth again to protest, then decided the
matter was not worth troubling her head about. Supposing Mrs
Foster did gossip, it could not do anyone any harm. She went
outside to fill the kettle, and a little while later, a mug of tea in his
hand, Mr Johnson was rambling on about the valley and the site,
seeming to consider his job of watchman a most important one
indeed. Cathy tried to show interest, having to smile, for it seemed
scarcely necessary to have a watchman at all, seeing that the entire
volley around was uninhabited. As he went on Cathy felt that this,
too, must surely be gossip-but Mr Johnson would be horrified at the
idea of his being put in the same category as' Mrs Foster.
"The boss is there again this morning," he submitted alter a little
silence. "Has his uncle with him. They've been wandering all around
the site, looking at the landslip."
"I thought he and his uncle didn't get along."
"Seemed quite friendly; he's over on a visit. Heard him say he'd
passed the business into good hands, so I expect he's satisfied." He
took a drink and put his mug on the hob. "They were measuring
up, near the slip. No doubt about it, there's difficulty up there—and
it’s giving the boss some trouble, I can tell you. However, he seems
to have found a way of solving the problem—"
"Solving it? What do you mean?" Cathy spoke with a sharpness
that startled the old man. "Flow do you know he is going to be
able to solve the problem?"
"Well, as I said, they were measuring up. I was holding on to one
end of the tape, so I couldn't hear it all— me being a fair way off.
But there's the boss, looking sort of haggard, like. And suddenly it
seems he's thought of something, and he starts talking to his uncle.
They both look relieved and I tried to move nearer—" He broke off,
flushing slightly and, picking up his mug, took another long drink.
"Yes, Mr Johnson, go on?" urged Cathy. "Did you manage to
move nearer?"
"A little. St seems that he—the boss, that is—knows of a map, or
some maps, that will help him. Said he could get hold of them, but
that he would have to put up with a great deal of inconvenience in
order to do so. His uncle said it would be well worth it, though, and
the boss agreed. Apparently the early solving of the problem will
serve six months' work, and several thousand pounds. Just think of
that!"
"He doesn't know what he's talking about," returned Cathy
scornfully, relieved that the problem was not to be solved so easily,
and that the `boss' was not to be saved thousands of pounds. "The
only maps which could possibly help him are in my possession. Paul
made several, mapping all the faults and instability in the area.
There's no geological map of this region which could help him, and
that's why he hasn't been able to salve the problem before now.
No, Mr Johnson, if he thinks he can find a map then he's in for a
disappointment. "
"Well now, lass, he did seem as if he was sure about getting it.
Seemed very confident indeed."
Cathy shook her head emphatically.
"I know there isn't one-the plates were destroyed during the war
and this area hasn't yet been resurveyed." She frowned in
puzzlement. "I can't think why he should be so sure there's a map.
He's a geologist himself, so he knows there isn't one."
Mr Johnson didn't seem inclined to pursue the subject; he took up
his tea again and drank till the mug was empty.
"Guess I must be going, lass." He stood up and paused, frowning.
"Shah I see you again?"
"Come in tomorrow morning, Mr Johnson. I'm not leaving until
Tuesday."
"But Mrs Foster said as how they were pulling the place down on
Tuesday."
"That's right. I--I shall have to be out early—"
Valiantly she choked back the tears, though her voice was
scarcely audible as she added, "Mrs Foster is coming with me on
Monday, to find somewhere...." Her heart began to thump madly,
for it came came upon her suddenly that she had but a few hours
left. Two days, she had told Mrs Foster, but now she found herself
counting the tune in hours. A few hours before she went down
there into the City, alone and without the slightest notion of how
she was to earn her living. Aware of Mr Jhnson's growing
embarrassment, she forced herself to smile. "Everything will be all
right —once I've found a job."
A little while later she was high on the Hunter's Clough, her head
thrown back, the wind on her face. Tuesday now seemed a long
way off. She stood there for a time, enveloped in silence, with now
and then the breeze faintly stirring the pines, high on the his side.
Then suddenly her whole body tingled; she turned a full circle, sure
that she was being watched, watched from a distance. Not a soul
in sight; the tingling sensation remained and she turned once more
and her gaze became fixed on the hut at the end of the row. But
she would not be visible from there, unless of course anyone was
using binoculars... But why should they? and was it someone in the
hut? She moved out of the range of vision, a thoughtful expression
on her face. She had no time to dwell on her strange conviction,
however, for a sudden roll of thunder warned her that she'd have
to make her way down to the cottage with all speed, otherwise she
would be soaked. Coming to the head of the gorge she took the
wide cleft with a flying leap, justly proud of her achievement . . .
and again she experienced the sensation of being watched. The
storm had beaten her, for the descent was long, and she was
drenched as she flung wide the door and entered the cottage,
slamming the door behind her.
Then she stopped, a look of blank astonishment on her face.
Slowly she backed to the door, intent on escape.
"It's all right, Cathy. I'm Charles Blythe; Mrs Foster wrote to me
about you." The quiet words of assurance had the desired effect.
Cathy moved forward; the fact of his being her uncle swept away
her trepidation, but he was so different from what she had
expected that she spoke without thinking.
"Are you my uncle?" His expression told her she had said the
wrong thing; she tried to smooth over her mistake and blundered
even more badly. "I didn't think you would look like that." She
wondered again if he'd originally y refused to take her—and if so,
why had he changed his mind ? She also remembered Mrs Foster's
doubts about his being elderly and kind, like Paul. 1t would almost
seem that Mrs Foster had second sight for, tall and lean, with
severely-cut features and piercing grey eyes, Charles Blythe was just
about as formidable a man as Cathy had ever seen, and as for his
age—well, he couldn't be much more than thirty. It soon became
apparent that tolerance was not one of his virtues, for he made no
allowance for her impulsive words, did not stop to think that tact
might be unknown to her simply because she had never been
obliged to practise t,
"Indeed ! And what did you expect me to be like?"
She recoiled from his tone, yet at the same time she knew that
despite her disappointment she must not antagonise him. For he
was all she would have in that strange new life which faced her.
"I didn't mean to make you angry, " she quivered. "I just thought
you would be older." Perhaps it was unwise to judge by
appearances. He must have some kindness in him, otherwise he
would not have taken the trouble to come and see her. "Are you
taking me back to live with you in Leicestershire?" Had he noticed
her anxiety? she wondered, hoping that he wouldn't realise that
from her point of view it was a case of 'any port in a storm'.
"Do you think you would litre to make your home with me?" he
asked laconically, and Cathy knew for sure that nothing could be
hidden from him.
"I . . . think so." She sounded uncertain and her voice quivered
slightly. Charles stood with his back to the window and for a brief
spell her eyes were drawn to the scene outside. The rain had ceased
but a grey mist veiled the bills. The moorlands were sombre and
dark and forbidding as on a winter's eve, in that mysterious half-
1light of dusk. To the valley folk the moors had been repellent in
this mood, but for Cathy they had always felt a strange fascination.
They drew her irresistibly and she knew no fear as she ventured
forth into the gloom to become one with the brooding landscape.
Her glance returned to Charles and, her doubts swift1y
evaporating, she said in a firm little voice, "Yes, I think I would like
to live with you.' She regarded the matter as settled and inquired
when he would be corning to fetch her. Before he could reply
another thought struck her. "Have you come by car?" she asked.
"Yes, I left it on the—" He stopped abruptly and she glanced up,
puzzled. "I left it on the verge down the road," he said at fast in
calm and even tons.
"You could have brought it up to Callders Bridge," she informed
him, "but you weren't to know that. It's very good of you to come
all this way to see me. You must have had a tiring journey." Even
as she spoke Cathy noticed how fresh he looked. But perhaps he
was one of these men to whom a drive of eighty miles was no
trouble at all.
He made no reply and Cathy became mare of his critical
scrutiny. What was he thinking? She wondered, recalling what Mrs
Foster had told him about her. She turned slightly to glance in the
mirror, and had to own with some disgust that Mrs Foster had been
right when she said she looked no more than sixteen. She moved
her glance again to Charles in an effort to read his thoughts. An
unprepossessing scrap of humanity, Paul had once called her, and
probably this man thought the same. But Paul had spoken with
affection, for he was intensely proud of her, really, hopefully
maintaining that, if only she could fill out a little, she'd be like her
mother. Cathy herself wasn't too sure about that, for photographs
of her mother showed her to have been beautiful, with delicately-
contoured features, widely spaced eyes and a forehead high and
unlined. Cathy glanced once more at her refection, and her eyes
flickered ruefully. Her saturated clothing clung tightly to her robin
body; water dripped from the hem of her dress and from her pair.
Charles spoke suddenly, in a curt and imperious atone, advising her
to go and change.
"It doesn't matter." Mechanically she plunked the dress away
from her shoulders. "They'll soon dry." She felt at ease; he must be
hungry alter the journey and she had nothing to offer him. "Would
you like a cup of tea?" she asked awkwardly.
"I should change your clothes," he repeated, but she merely shook
her head and picked up 'the kettle from the bob.
"Cathy," said Charles in a very soft tone, "go and change your
clothes."
Hall way to the door, Cathy turned, staring at him from her
enormous eyes. Never in her life had she been given an order. Not
once had Paul questioned her right to do as she pleased. Neither
had interfered with the liberty of the other; they'd gone their ways
in complete freedom, unhindered by laws, unbound by convention
and answerable to no one. Had she wished to, change her clothes
she would have clone so. It was too much trouble and as far as she
was concerned but ended the matter. However, she excused her
uncle's attitude, for he couldn't know all this. She must explain,
though, so that he would not repent his mistake.
"Paul never tried to make me do anything I didn't want to, so if
you will please remember in future—" Cathy went no further, for
something warned her that it would be mort imprudent to do so.
Charles had moved and now stood by the fire in an apparently
careless attitude, but there was a definite menace in the way he
tapped his lingers on the mantelshelf, and his lips had compressed
into a thin bard lire that made her wish she'd put off the
explanation until a more opportune time.
"That was very remiss of Paul." Danger now in the quiet tones.
"Put down that kettle and do as I tell you."
For a moment the light of defiance entered her eyes, then she
replaced the kettle and left the room. She would obey him this
once, to save further argument, she decided, or he might change
his mind about giving her a home. However, at the first suitable
opportunity she must have a talk with him, so that he would fully
understand and alter his manner accordingly.
She returned to the kitchen a few minutes later with a towel in
her band. She gave it to Men, saying he could dry her hair- and
assuming the gesture would reassure him that she bore no ill-will
for what had just occurred.
"Paul always did it--a man can rub harder," she explained with a
smile. "I'll get a chair; you'll find it much easier if I sit down."
"Did your father permit you to call him Paul?" inquired Charles in
icy topes.
"Yes." She turned, her hand on the back of the chair. "I'll call you
Charles if you like. It's much more friendly."
"You will call me Uncle Charles." The towel was flung across the
zoom; she caught it and held it against her, wondering what she'd
clone wrong. "Now sit down on that chair and listen to what I have
to say !"
Cathy did as she was told, clasping the towel in her lap. No one
had hart her in any way before, and it was also a new experience
to hear tones so stem and cold, and to have eyes regarding her
with such censure in their depths. She recalled her father's
gentleness, and several times blinked away a tear before it fell.
What Charles had to say did nothing to improve her unhappy
state. His work took him away from home; that should have
pleased her but, strangely, it did pot. For she must live with
strangers—two women and a man. Charles said little about Moira,
his stepmother, and Cathy suspected he was not on the best of
terms with her. Beryl, Moira's daughter, also lived at the Grange,
Charles's home in Leicestershire, and Steve, the old man who,
Charles said, was interested only in ‘bed, books and food', was a
tramp befriended by Charles's father over twenty years ago. At first
he had lived in the stable, but an illness had brought him into the
house where he had remained ever sine, comfortably clothed and
fed—at Charles's expense. At least, Cathy surmised it was at his
expense, although Charles had pot exactly said so. Also living in the
house were two elderly maids. The gardener, who was married,
had a flat in the old stables.
Cathy felt helpless and afraid as she contemplated her life. She
watched Charles's face as he talked and knew without any doubt
at all that she would rather dive with him than anyone else, no
matter how unkindly he might treat her. For although he was very
different from what she had expected, she still clung to the hope
that he would eventually adopt a fatherly attitude towards her.
"Will you come home at the week-ends?" she faltered, a tremor
of dejection in her voice.
"That may pot be possible," he began, and then, as her face fell,
"Perhaps I'll manage it—occasionally."
Another battue of wills occurred When Cathy was informed that
she would be taken down to Leicestershire later that day.
"Today? But I haven't to be out until Tuesday. I would much
rather stay—if you don't mind." Although resigned to moving,
Cathy clung to every precious moment, and she wondered if her
uncle understood that, for there was no hint of impatience in his
zone as he laid,
"I do mind, Cathy. A couple of days can't make much difference."
"I didn't know you would come today. It's impossible for me to be
ready."
"Cathy," he said, still without heat, "has it occurred to you that I
might be inconvenienced by such a delay?"
She bit her lip; she hadn't meant to be selfish or thoughtless.
"You can't take me down on Tuesday—is that it? I cap go by
train, then. Mr Foster will take me to the station, and you can meet
me—or send someone. That should be all right. And so can I stay—
?" She paused in an agony of suspense as she noted his expression.
"We shall go today." He spoke with quiet forbearance, though he
did add, with a touch of asperity, "And, Cathy, please do not be for
ever arguing with me!"
That was almost too much for Cathy; surely it was he who
argued with her ! If only he were more easygoing, litre Paul, she felt
sure they'd get along famously. How would the like it, she
wondered, if she were to adopt a similar attitude and tried to force
him to do things against his will? She knew without doubt that he'd
object, so why shouldn't she? It all seemed so unfair, but she
capitulated, once again because she feared he might change his
mind about taking her into his home.
Charles then informed her that he had telephoned Mrs Foster
earlier on, and she would be here directly after lunch to help with
the packing. He would return for her at four o’clock, and she must
be ready.
"I don't expect to be kept waiting," and with that curt warning
he left her.
Cathy was on the Packhorse Bridge when Charles arrived back
at the cottage; she watched him leave the car at the Callders
Bridge, noting his impatient movement as Mrs Foster spoke.
Neither appeared to have noticed her, but then the trees still
standing partially hid her from their view.
"The child's terribly upset, Mr Blythe, though she does try to hide
it, poor dear. Seems to have taken to you, though." Mrs Foster
spoke with obvious anxiety. "You will be kind to her, won't you? I
fear everything will be so difficult. I'm angrier than ever with her
father for keeping her in this isolation. You'll be very kind to her?"
she said again, on a note of uncertainty.
"I don't intend to beat the child," came the tart reply from
Charles. "Where is she now?"
"She was looking for pebbles—"
"Pebbles?" the frowned.
"Quartz pebbles, I think she said—but look around, you'll find her
and she'll explain. I've just a few books to pack, and then
everything's ready to be put in the car." She paused for a moment.
"Are you going to tell her?" she asked fearfully, and Cathy's head
jerked up. "As I said, everything will be so difficult, and when she
knows...."
Cathy stood very still, tensed and alert, waiting for Charles to
speak. But his voice was loft, his words indistinct, and all she heard
for the moment was something about his being careful, and his
family and friends would be warned. Warned of what? Cathy
shrugged, too unhappy to allow the question to tease her. Then
after a little white Charles's voice became dear.
"—a few weeks of civilisation and she'll soon realise just how
stupid these notions are. I don't attach any importance to them in
the least, and I'm quite sure she will have forgotten them in a very
short while, so don't worry about the matter at all, Mrs Foster."
Charles saw her then, and began to walk towards her. Cathy
looked away, having no interest in his presence as she savoured
these last precious moments before leaving the valley for ever. He
stopped at the end of the bridge, as if not daring to come nearer,
and Cathy wondered vaguely if her remoteness repelled him,
forbade any closer approach. She herself felt detached as, gazing
ahead of her she scanned the wide expanse of moorland, taking
every detail to memory. The splashes of pink and purple that here
and there softened the grim panorama of bluffs of rotting shales
and gritstone scarps, fretted and seared by the relentless forces of
nature; the wild and distant mountains grotesquely merging with a
sullen sky; and, nearer to, the lone habitation darkly fusing with the
landscape, with the Wildlingstone Brook and Hunter's Clough
meeting almost at its front door before flowing on to join the
Callder River.
At length Charles moved, starting forward again with purposeful
strides. She turned; his face seemed harsh in the misted light. She
likened him to the terrain at its most sinister, and knew no fear.
"I thought I told you to be ready," he admonished, reaching her
side. "It seems you've left all the parking roc Mrs Foster. What are
you supposed to be doing now? Come along, at once!" He
obviously expected her to hasten to do his bidding, instead, she
gave him a tranquil smile and informed him that she was making
a wish.
"I've found two pebbles for us—they're not easy to find because
they have to be quartz pebbles; the others won't work. You have
to stand in the centre of the bridge and make your wish just as the
pebble hits the water. We all used to do it—the children, that is.
Now !" She felt his eyes regarding her, and then she once more
forgot his presence as a profound feeling of desperation swept over
her. She wished hard, as if by sheer intensity of feeling she would
make her wish come true. The pebble dropped, hitting the water
with a little splash. She turned to him then and smiled.
"I suppose I mustn't ask What you've wished?"
"Oh, yes, we made it a rule that you could," she replied, and a
faint smile touched his lips. "I wished that the bridge would be
saved."
"The bridge?" Charles glanced downstream to the Callders
Bridge, reputed to have been built by the Romans.
"This bridge," said Cathy. "I would like them both to be saved, of
course, but to me this is the more important because it's the
Wishing Bridge. It's very old and beautifully built. I hope some
generous person will pay to have it removed, otherwise it will be
submerged along with all this part of the valley, submerged for
ever."
"It would be a most costly business to move it," Charles pointed
out. "I shouldn't bank on that wish coming true."
"It will cost four thousand pounds."
"How do you know that?" he asked curiously.
"Because at one tune a man was going to have it moved, but
when he knew how mach it would cost he changed his mind. " She
recalled the negotiations that had gone on over the removal of the
bridge. Everyone thought the man a crank even to consider
spending all that money just to cave a few stones from
submergence. "Do you think I've wasted my wish?" Cathy's tune
was anxious, but Charles spoke brusquely, saying that he was quite
sure she had wasted her wish. She gave a deep sigh, then
brightened somewhat as she opened her palm to offer him the
shining white pebble,
"Here's yours. Wait till it touches the water, remember. "
"No." He shook his head. "Seeing that you've wasted your first
wish, then have another."
Her face fell, revealing her disappointment. She dropped the
Stone into the water.
"What was it this time?" he asked, rather gently, then started
back at the fire in her eyes.
"I wish that one day he'll be punished !"
"He?" Charles's tons were loft and smooth. "Who is 'He'?"
"The man in charge of the reservoir. I would like to see him suffer
for what he did to my father." her hand on the wall of the bridge
was white and clenched. "I would like to be the one to hurt him,
but I don't suppose that could ever be."
Following the direction of her gaze to where the row of huts were
dimly visible through the mist he said, "What exactly did—that man
do to your father?"
"He killed him."
"I understand that he died after having a stroke. Many people
have stokes, Cathy."
"It was brought on by worry—oh, (I know we'd have had to
move eventually, but there was no need for that man to harass
Paul the way he did. You see," she went on to explain, "there are
no actual workings in this area—the dam is being built
downstream. We wouldn't have been affected until the flooding
starts in about twelve months' time, so there's no need for such
urgency."
"I expert the man was only doing his job," submitted Charles. "I—
er--believe that when a reservoir is being constructed the whole
area to be flooded must be cleared several years previously in
order to prevent pollution. This must occur, you know, if people
were deft in the valley."
"You sound as if you agree with him."
"I can't disagree with him," he returned shortly, and then, "Come
along, we've wasted enough time already. I meant to be away
from There just after four o'clock !"
Cathy trotted beside him as he strode back to the cottage. She
felt sorry for the change in his manner and said in a small, contrite
voice,
"You think it's wicked to hate like this? Mrs Foster thinks so, too."
He obviously hadn't the patience to answer and Cathy went on, "I
can't help it--it's so strong inside that it hurts. I know I shall hate
him for as long as I dive."
Charles stopped suddenly, to glance down at her in stern reproof.
"I don't know you very well, Cathy, but I would have thought a
strong feeling of hatred like this would be wholly foreign to your
nature. Beware of it, for it could prove to be your enemy. It could
one day destroy you." And on that cryptic remark he turned again,
leaving her to follow in puzzlement over his warning.
Half an hour later, with everything in the car, Charles and Mrs
Foster were standing by it, and Cathy stood alone in the cottage.
"What is the girl doing?" she heard him snap. "Are we never to
get started?"
Cathy came out of the cottage and stood at the door, watching
Mrs Foster's face as it became clouded and uncertain.
"Ah, there you are, dear." The old woman sighed with relief as
Cathy moved towards the car. "I was just about to explain to your
uncle how hard it must be for you leaving the place where you
were born, knowing it will soon vanish for ever, that you can never
come back to see it. Come, love, your uncle is waiting; do make a
little haste."
Seated in the car, Cathy looked up at Mrs Foster. "Good-bye."
There was only the merest quiver of sadness in her voice, although
her eyes were unnaturally bright. "Thank you far everything. I'll
write soon." "Yes, dear, write very soon to let me know how you're
getting along. Good-bye, love, and take rare." Charles switched on
the ignition and started the car. Then he switched off again, eyeing
Cathy narrowly.
"What is that?" He referred to a strange sound coming from one
of the boxes in the back of the car. Cathy pretended not to
understand.
"I didn't hear anything," she began, and realised at once that
she'd given herself away. "Was it a noise you heard?"
Charles merely waited, his lean brown fingers moving
impatiently round the wheel, his narrowed gaze fixed upon her.
"I told you, dear," said Mrs Poster, and still Charles waited.
"It's Joseph," admitted Cathy, biting her lip. And when he still
remained silent she added, "The cat. Please let me take him." But
she know, even before she made the request, That it would not be
granted and she turned to Mrs Poster, her lips quivering. "You will
take care of him—and let him sleep in the house ?"
"Of course I will. Didn't I promise to give him a good home? We
need a cat," she went on, looking at Charles, "on account of the
mice. They're only field mice, you know, but they will come inside—
" She tailed off as Charles, with a gesture of exasperation, got out of
the car. Taking out the box, he handed it to her.
"Thank you. And now perhaps we can get started !"
CHAPTER III
TO Cathy the way seemed long, and at times the journey was
pair-raising, for Charles drove at top speed. She had been on a
motorway once, when Mr Poster had arranged a trip to Blackpool.
But sitting beside the driver, and especially a driver determined to
keep to the fast tune, was very different from sitting in a coach,
gazing out of the window, sublimely unconscious of the hazards in
front. After a while, however, she became used to the speed, but
took no interest in her surroundings. Charles drove for mile alter
mile in silence, taking her away, far away from her home and the
valley, away from the lofty crags and heathered moors, away from
freedom—to what?
Could it be only six weeks since she and Paul had tramped over
to Castleton to find the fluorspar which she had wanted for her
collection? The previous day a young student geologist had come
striding across the moors. The hammer in his hand was passport
enough; he shared their frugal meal while they all talked `shop'. He
told them of the fluorspar lying under a thin covering of boulder
Clay; but it had originally cooled well below the surface and in
consequence the crystals were large. As Cathy's sample was
mediocre she and Paul, after obtaining the exact location from
their visitor, had risen at dawn and gone off, complete with packed
meals and all the tools necessary to chisel out the rock. She saw her
father now, so fit, precariously balanced on a ledge in the limestone
outcrop as, with expert fingers, he had manipulated the removal of
the Clay covering, then hacked skilfully at the fluorspar—or Blue
John as it was more commonly called. They had taken only what
they required for other avid collectors would came that way. Paul
had taught her always to be sparing with what she removed,
whether it be .a rock specimen or fossil.
It had been late when they'd returned to the cottage, for the
rocks had yielded many treasures other than the fluorspar. The
moon rode high, glinting on Shining Tor and casting shadows dimly
on Cat’s Tor as the racing clouds hall masked its light. They were
exhausted but happy; they had gone and come as they pleased,
with no one to question or complain. Surely Paul's way of life was
the right one, thought Cathy, her heart twisting with grief and a
terrible ache catching at her throat. She needed desperately to still
her unhappy reflections, and longed to Mark to Charles, but she
feared he would not welcome her chatter when his attention was
required on the road.
Leaving the motorway at last, Charles glanced at his watch and
announced his intention of stopping somewhere for dinner. There
would be nothing ready at home, le said, for as his stepmother and
Beryl usually went out on Sunday evenings, a late meal was not
served. Soon afterwards le drew on to the car pack of a large hotel,
then handed Cathy a comb and told her to tidy her hair.
"Yes." She turned anxiously towards him. "Are we going in there?"
He merely nodded, and Cathy swallowed bard.
"I'm not hungry,", she said, pulling the comb through her hair. She
had washed it after Charles had left, and it shone, and kinked at
the ends giving her an elfin-like appearance. "Mrs Poster brought
me some steak for my lunch." She made to return the comb, but he
told her to put it on the shelf.
"You'll find you're hungry once you're inside," he assured her.
"Besides, I have some time to waste."
Time to waste? Rather silly after all that speeding. Maybe he
drove fast for the sheer pleasure of it, but why wish to waste time
now? She frowned uncomprehendingly but after a moment her
brow cleared. She felt he was doing this to save her
embarrassment. He was making sure that his family would be out
when she arrived at his home, so that she could settle in for an hour
or so before being confronted with too many new faces. She cast
him a sideways glance, saw the inflexible line of his mouth and the
cool impersonal stare. Yet he must have some kindness in him, she
concluded, recalling that the same idea had score to her earlier
that day when le came to the cottage.
"May I wait for you in the car?" she murmured at fast, aware
that he expected some comment from her.
"No," he said shortly. "You'll have to get used to mixing with
people, so we might as well begin right away"
She could scarcely refrain from clutching his band as they were
escorted the full length of the dining-room to a small table by the
window. The smiling waiter pulled out a chair and sine sat down
opposite to Charles. After watching him pour the wine she at last
had the courage to glance around. To her surprise no one seemed
to be taking the slightest notice of her and site was emboldened to
pass comments on the lights, the decorations and, latter, on the
soup. But Charles did net encourage her to talk and she again
lapsed into a shy silence.
During the meal she watched him, following with meticulous
care all le did. He held his glass in a certain way, and assuming this
was the correct thing to do site picked up her own glass, rather
gingerly, trying to follow his example. The glass slipped, clattered
against the water jug and broke, attracting the attention of the
nearby dinners whose chatter ceased abruptly. The waiter, at her
side on the instant, began colleting up the pieces as Cathy watched
in horror the ugly stain spreading over the spotless white cloth.
Charles took the stem of the glass from her trembling fingers and
handed it to the waiter.
"Eat your fish," he said with fine composure.
"Yes." She kept her eyes averted until, hearing voices about her
once more, she ventured to look up at her companion, searching
his face for the impatience she expected to see there. She longed for
a gentle word, yet knew it would release the tears; perhaps Charles
sensed it too, for he spoke sharply to her, telling her again to eat
her fish.
"Yes, Uncle Charles." Was he already regretting taking her--
wondering what troubles lay ahead for him? He seemed
thoughtful, and glanced across at her several times. perhaps, she
thought, dejection flooding over her, he was already debating on
how to rectify his folly, trying to devise some means of having her
taken off his hands.
When they left the hotel he handed Cathy the key, telling her to
sit in the car while he made a telephone call. He joined her a few
minutes later, a smile of amusement on his face. Cathy turned to
him impulsively as he slid into the driver's seat and closed the door.
"I am so sorry; I disgraced you terribly. And you weren't angry—
that was kind of you."
"I could scarcely be angry," he said, "when the blame was entirely
mine."
"Yours? How could that be? I can't see it at all."
"Can't you, Cathy?" he said, rather gently. "Never mind, then. It's
not important."
The car purred away and Cathy leant back in her seat, watching
him. How 1itale she knew of min. He wasn't married, because he
hadn't mentioned a wife. But had he any brothers or sisters—or any
relatives other than those he had mentioned? Had he a girlfriend?
,She examined him in profile. The arrogant fines of his face and the
imperious set of his shoulders should have stamped him a superior
being, but Cathy had no knowledge of the hierarchy still existing in
the `civilized' way of life. To her all men were equal because Paul
had said so, and although she knew without doubt that there
would be occasions in plenty when he would frighten her, she
would never feel in any way inferior to him.
For some reason she had expected her new home to be set amid
a congestion of houses, shops and numerous other buildings, and
when Charles at last turned onto the drive of the Grange she
exclaimed in surprise, "Is this it?"
She stood for a moment looking across at the expanse of
undulating green land, while Charles took his briefcase and one or
two other articles from the car.
In the far distance stood an ancient manor house and, nearer to,
another black and white house with careful modem additions. In
the other direction she could make out the shadowed slopes of
Charnwood Forest and her heart lifted. It might not be so bad after
all, for there seemed to be endless land on which to roam. Not wild
and mysterious like the moorlands, of course, but at least it spelled
freedom.
Lucy, the elderly maid, met than in the hall, flushed and visibly
agitated.
"We were in such a quandary when you phoned, Mr Blythe." She
held out a hand and took his coat. "Mrs Blythe and Miss Beryl had
just gone out and we didn't know what to do."
"You did as I instructed, I hope." He frowned. "What do you
mean, you didn't know what to do?"
"It was the room. Mrs Blythe doesn't like the guest room to be in
permanent use; she likes to keep it, as you know, for when her
married daughter visits us. And that loft only the attic room."
"I expect you prepared the guest room for niece?"
"We did, but, I don't know what Mrs Blythe will say.
'It need not concern you, Lucy. Cathy, take off your coat."
"We had to move a lot of Miss Beryl’s things—she kept them in
there. I don't know what Mrs Blythe will say," she repeated on a
distinctly anxious note, and Charles's brows lifted arrogantly.
"I said that need not concern you," he snapped. "Cathy, your
coat."
She began to unbutton it, glancing around. Massive Tudor doors
and archways; black wainscoting in the hall and a long, darkly-
leaded window on the landing. She shuddered, afraid of the space
and yet at the same time feeling imprisoned. Landing her coat to
Charles, she obeyed his nodded command and followed Lucy up
the vide staircase and along the landing until the maid stopped
and opened a door.
In the same way the bedroom overwhelmed her, gathered her
to its oppressive dimness. Here again the same Tudor influence;
beams and plaster and oak-liner walls. Even the door to the tiny
dressing-room studded and arched. Cathy paused just inside the
door, lost; and desperately unhappy. How could she live in this
dark and cheerless house? Tears rolled down her face; Lucy asked
her what was wrong, but Cathy could only shake 'her head
dumbly.
"Don't you like your room, miss?"
Cathy shook her head again, conscious even in her misery of her
debt to Charles.
"We've not long since had central heating put in," submitted Lucy
with pride. "And the curtains are new."
They were drawn across the window; green velvet, thick and
dark. There had been no need to shut out the night and the stars
up there on the moors, no need to worry, as you undressed by
candlelight, that anyone might see. Crossing the room, Cathy
swung back the curtains. The black and white house was nearer
than she had thought, and to her left stood a row of four cottages
she had not seen from the drive. In the distance the old manor
house looked bleak in the fading light. It was now used by the
Army, Charles had told her as she stood in the drive. Closing the
curtains again, she watched Cooper put down two of her cases by
the bed.
Lucy seized the opportunity to escape, and as she passed the
gardener she whispered something about a queer one. Cathy
blinked, unable to believe her ears, but as Cooper smiled at her she
thought that perhaps she hadn't heard correctly.
The last two boxes, brought up one at a time, took Cooper's
breath away and he panted as he remarked on weight.
"My rocks and fossils," she informed him briefly, g on the lied and
frowning at its softness.
`Fossils, miss?"
For the first time she had no interest in explaining about her
hobby. Nevertheless, she could not be rude and ignore his enquiring
gaze.
"Sea creatures," she laid dully. "And a few plants."
"Sea creatures and ... plants?" Cooper glanced at the wooden
boxes with their lids firmly nailed on, then his eyes returned to
Cathy, regarding her with open suspicion. "In there?"
"That's right." She gave him a vacant stare, thinking of her firm
bard bed with its flock mattress and patchwork quilt.
Her expression remained fixed and vacant; Cooper took a
strategic step backwards and spoke in soothing tones.
"Won't they die—shut up in those boxes?"
"Die?" she echoed blankly. "They're three hundred million years
old." Perhaps, she thought, it would more comfortable to sleep on
the floor.
"Are they n-now?" Cooper swallowed hard and another step
backwards. "That's very interesting—very interesting indeed. Three
hundred million years you said?"
"Some of them are, that is. But some are only hundred and fifty
million years old."
"Is that all, miss?" He gave a rather cracked little laugh,
continuing his backwards progress to the door. His wary eyes never
left her face as he added, with slight tremor in his voice, "Just
youngsters, as you might say." He had reached the open door when
Cooper suddenly became conscious of what had been going on.
"Oh, I'm sorry—Come back, Mr Cooper, I didn’t stop to think for
the moment— " But Cooper had gone, closing the door rather
noisily behind him as if in hurry to be off. Cathy frowned, reflecting
on how Lucy too, had made a similar hasty departure.
She began to unpack, feeling guilty about Cooper. It would not
have hurt her to have explained. But then she dismissed the
matter. He probably wouldn't have been interested even if she had
been in the mood to explain.
Her few clothes hung forlornly in the wardrobe, and all but one
of the drawers remained empty. The room was just pleasantly
warm but, used as site was to the cool pure air of the moors, she
felt stifled. The knob on the radiator caught her attention; she
turned it, gingerly, as if hall expecting it to blow up. Nothing so
drastic happened and after a white she was relieved to find the
room was becoming cooler.
She had no bookcase, so she loft her books in their packing, but
her rocks and fossils decorated the window-sill, the dressing-table
and even the top of the bedside cabinet.
This made her feel slightly more at home, though site would
never like the room, and with a little sigh that hurt her throat, she
went downstairs to the sitting-room where Charles was seated in a
large chair by the fire, intent on a booklet he held in his hand.
"Your father was a clever man." He looked up without smiling,
and tapped the booklet. "He knew a great deal about land
formation."
"Where did you get it?" Cathy sat down on the rug at his feet,
resting her head against his knee, in the way she had always done
with Paul. If Charles felt any emotion he hid it perfectly.
"On the floor of the car; it must have fallen out of one of your
boxes." He flicked the pages, apparently without interest, and his
tone was expressionless when spoke again. "The little mails are very
good. Your father was an expert cartographer too, it would seem."
A long pause followed his words and then,
"I did those," Cathy informed him demurely.
"You—You've done these maps?" His voice remained cool, but a
hint of respect had entered into it.
"Paul's are much better. He's mapped most of our area—on a
much larger scale, of course." She moved her head to examine the
map in the book. "The con-tours here are all wrong."
"I didn't look at the contours closely, but the map is beautifully
executed." His atones became expressionless again. "I can't think
Paul's are better than this." He glanced down at her bent head,
and to where her hair sprawled on to the map, and on to his wrist.
"You're quite gifted, Cathy."
She smiled unselfconsciously and asked if he would come to see
another of her maps, a larger one.
"Indeed I would . . . and, perhaps . . . one of your father's?"
"They were under all my books," she apologised over ten minutes
latter. "I didn't think I'd be so long."
"Your books? Yes, I noticed them when I was in the cottage." He
paused, his mouth curving grimly, and Cathy thought perhaps the
titles had confounded him. For they were all technical books; books
on palaeontology, mineralogy and lithology, also numerous
volumes on the Pleistocene period—in fact, all the books on would
use when taking a degree in geology. "We must get you a
bookcase. I'll came home next week-end and we'll go into town
and buy anything else you require "
"Next week-end?" she faltered. "Does that mean you're going
away tomorrow?"
"I must. You will be all right with my stepmother and her
daughter, both of whom you will meet in the morning before I go. I
shall see them tonight and explain why you have come, so when
you do meet them in the morning you won't feel uncomfortable
because they'll already know all about you." He smiled fain and
seemed amused. "They're going to be most surprised to hear of my
long-lost niece, but I expect they'll make you welcome." He didn't
make that sound convincing and Cathy said dejectedly,
"I haven't ever lived with women—I'm not used to them at all.
You see, even the callers were mostly men, hikers and geologists
and tramps."
"There's Steve. You might actually find him a kindred spirit. Did I
mention him?"
She nodded.
"You said he was interested only in food, bed and books," she
reminded him wanly.
"Nevertheless, you'll like him. As told you, he used to be a tramp,
so you should get on." He laughed then. "I meant that in the nicest
way. He's a lover of nature, so you should have something in
common."
Cathy laughed with him, revealing for the first time the dimples,
and the dancing light in her eyes. Charles's own eyes flickered
oddly. He seemed to stiffen and with an abrupt movement he
reached for one of the maps she held. Handing it to him, Cathy
knelt beside him this time and took hold of one side of the map as
she read it out across his knees.
"This is one of Paul's. See, isn't it better than mine?"
"It's certainly very beautiful," he agreed, yet with a strange hint
of disappointment in his voice. His glance strayed to the other maps
lying on the rug. What are those?"
She stared, disappointed at his lack of enthusiasm. She picked up
another map and opened it out. This is a geological map," she
began, folding it up, but Charles said he would like to see it.
"But it's a geological map," she repeated. "Do you know anything
about geology? If you do I'll explain about the canal, but if you
don't it would only bore you."
"I think I know enough to enable me to follow you," Charles
retorted crisply.
"If you have only a slight knowledge of the subject I can make
you understand." She spread her hands without any intended
affectation and added, "Ill not become too technical, I promise."
"That's most kind of you."
Cathy could not mistake the sarcasm in his tone and she blinked
up at him for a moment. But then she became absorbed in the
map, speaking with that supreme confidence which only a
thorough knowledge of her subject could give. Her accents were
low and tender, but now and then they would be the murmur of
the breeze through the pins, or the music of water cascading
joyfully over the rocks. No harsh sound had ever touched her ears.
She stopped speaking at last, looking up into his face with clear,
animated eyes.
"So now you know something of the rock structure in my valley. I
hope I haven't bored you ?"
"Not at all. " His glances strayed to the map again. "But you
didn't tell me about these little marks here. What are those?"
"Faults—do you want me to explain what those are?"
"I have an idea what they are."
"Paul did a lot of work on this area years ago when some of the
soil covering was removed after exceptionally heavy rains, and he
discovered this instability in the bank. Do you see this grit-shale
junction I mentioned?"
He nodded, his eyes strangely alert.
"A landslip occurred recently at this point"
"May I ask how you know that? I shouldn't have thought you
could see from your cottage."
"With the binoculars you car."
"So you've been keeping track of what has gone on by the aid of
binoculars?"
"Paul and I were interested," she owned, a soft flush spreading. "It
was only natural." And, alter a slight pause, "That man—the one in
charge of the building of the reservoir—is supposed to be something
of a geologist, but he—"
"Something of a geologist ! What exactly do you mean by that?"
Cathy blinked at him for a moment, then made a disparaging
gesture with her bands.
"A geologist, then. But he isn't very clever, in fact he's totally
incompetent to be in charge of a project litre that."
"What reason have you for saying the?" Charles's voice was like
ice, and again Cathy blinked at him before going on to say that,
had he known his job, he'd have expected the slip.
"He probably did expect it," he returned in the same frigid tones,
but Cathy shook her head vigorously.
"He couldn't have because.... " She tailed off, a look of horror
spreading over her face. "Do you really think he would have
expected the slip to occur?"
"Anyone in charge of a scheme like that must know what he's
about. Yes, I'm sure he would have considered the possibility of a
landfall."
"Then he's even more wicked that I thought !" she aspect. "Oh,
you have no idea just how wicked he is, Uncle Charles I"
A muscle moved at the side of his mouth and it was while before
he spoke.
"Perhaps you will tell me, then?"
"Two men could have been killed by that slip."
"Killed? May I ask where you obtained this information?"
"The watchman is a friend of mine, and he told me about the
men being trapped. I suppose," she went on in a voice choked with
disgust, "that he's committed to finishing the work in a certain time,
and if he fails to do so he'll lose money. So he deliberately allowed
men to carry on working there. Don't you agree it's a wicked thing,
to do if, as you say, he expected the slip?"
Charles's mouth compressed and his glance was cold. He ignored
her question and said there could be a possibility that the men had
been working there against orders. Then he softened slightly as he
asked her to show him another of her father's maps. She showed
him several, but she again had the odd impression that he was
somehow disappointed, and when at last he asked if these were all
she had Cathy looked up to stare at him in surprise.
"No, I have some more, but they're of the limestone area. Do you
want to see those?"
Charles shook his head, frowning.
"I thought you said your father had mapped almost the whole of
the gritstone area."
"He did, and I thought all the maps were here. The others must
be somewhere. . . ." She paused in slight puzzlement. "I wonder
where they've got to. I hope I haven't burnt them along with the
rubbish I took from the cottage."
"Surely you wouldn't do that?" His tons were sharp and again she
sent him a glance of surprise.
"I can't think I would . . . but Mrs Foster burnt some papers too. It
would be awful if they'd managed to get on the fire. They were
lovely—and the only maps i existence showing all the faults—at
least, Paul used say there were no others." She folded the maps,
feeling strangely dispirited, for Charles appeared to be angry about
something. When she had put the maps neatly in a pile on the rug
he told her shortly that it was time she went to bed.
"But I'm not tired. I would like to stay up and meet Mrs Blythe
and Beryl tonight. May I call her Beryl?"
"She is only twenty-six, so I see no reason why you shouldn't call
her Beryl. Mrs Blythe you will call Aunt Moira. Now go to bed."
"I said I wanted to stay up," she emphasised firmly. Paul would
never have dreamed of telling her she must go to bed. She would
go when she was tired. "I wouldn’t sleep if I went up now. We rarely
went before midnight."
Charles's glance became arrogant and stem; Cathy looked down
at her hands.
"We must understand one another right away," he said coldly. "I
shall not brook any disobedience, Cathy. You will learn to do as
you are told."
She reached down to replace one of the maps that had slipped
off the pile.
"Perhaps we should have a talk about that," she suggested,
persuasively but without meekness. "Paul always taught me that
no one was entitled to inflict his will upon another person. I could
never be dictated to—oh, don't think me ungrateful," she added
hastily, "but please try to understand. I've never done anything I
didn't want to."
Removing her hands from his knee, Charles leant - back in his
chair- and regarded her in frigid silence until, frowning, she lowered
her head again.
"Do you really imagine you can continue to do as you like?" he
enquired softly.
She considered this for a moment, and then,
"I won't do anything wrong or outrageous, Uncle Charles."
"Thank you for the concession ! You will do as I tell you. We live in
a civilised society and each one of us bas to conform in some
measure to the wills of others. The world would be in complete
chaos if everyone decided to do as they pleased !"
Cathy hadn't noticed anything chaotic about life up on the
moors, and the people had always done as they pleased.
"Is it because I've talked too much?" she asked as the idea
occurred to her. "Have I bored you, and so you want me to go?"
"No, Cathy, that's not the reason," he replied wearily. "It's just that
I consider you've had a tiring day and an early night won't do you
any harm."
In that case, she assured him, she could stay up, for she was not in
the least tired. In fact, the day had been almost restful compared
to those days of tramping over the moors with Paul.
"So why can't I stay up?" she went on reasonably. "You're not
wishing to be alone, and I'm not tired.... She shrugged. The matter
as far as she was concerned was settled. Sitting back on the rug she
drew up her knees under her chin and embraced them tightly. A
smile appeared, and the dimples, and the smoky grey eyes were
not sad. "Would you care to see one of my maps, now?"
"No, I would hot," he returned with quiet authority. "You will do
as I say and go to bed !"
She recoiled from his tone, as she had recoiled from it earlier in
the cottage. Her lips trembled and her eyes darkened in
bewilderment. Quickly she rose to her feet, picking up the maps
and making for the door.
The following morning she was up at dawn, leaving the silent
house and making her way across the fields, exploring her new
terrain. Hedges separated the fields for the most part, but dry stone
walls were also much in evidence. Dimly Cathy recalled reading in
one of her father's geographical magazines that a new fossil had
been discovered in a place called Broadhouse Eaves, in
Leicestershire, and she wondered how far away this was. On
impulse she returned to the house for her geological hammer.
There was an unwritten law among collectors that walls be strictly
left alone, but in the absence of quarries or other outcrops they
were very tempting...
She wandered across the fields, taking in her surroundings and
trying to recall what she knew about the rock structure of the area.
Beneath this cover, which gave the soft and undulating aspect to
the landscape, there lay some of the oldest rocks in the world; it
was in these rocks that the new fossil had been found, and it was of
these hard rocks that the walls were made, for in many places the
softer covering had been removed, allowing these older rocks to
come to the surface.
Stopping now and then, she examined the blocks which topped
the walls, but saw nothing of interest and continued on her way,
wishing she had not brought the hammer, after all.
Once, a distant farmer appeared to be shaking his fist at her, but
she decided he must be greeting her and she waved back, her
spirits lifting at the gesture.
The dew lay heavy on the grass, and a cool breeze touched her
face. She sighed for the moors, yet accepted what she had. Things
could have been worse, for at least she did not have to live in a
town. There entered into her a new resiliency possible only with the
very young.
On her return she came to the wall which ran the full length of
the garden at the rear of the black and white house she had seen
on her arrival. Stopping to look at a small boulder perched at an
odd angle, she then began scraping away at it with the hammer,
unaware of the presence of the man who, coming from behind a
clump of bushes on the other side of the wall, stood staring down at
her in some considerable surprise.
"May I ask what you're doing?" he asked at length.
Cathy jumped, though there was nothing frightening about the
man's voice or his manner. In fact, he had a pleasant lazy drawl
and his expression was merely one of curiosity.
"Is this yours?" she said timidly, indicating the wall. "It is. What are
you intending to do—knock it down?"
A Swift smile appeared, but before she could reply three poodles
bounded out from somewhere at the side of the house, sprang over
the wall and leapt up at her, barking loudly and licking her hands
and legs.
"Oh, you're nice, but. . . ." She felt overwhelmed, for the dogs
were wild with delight.
"Belinda ! Samantha—Debbie, come hem!" A smiling woman
carne down the path, calling the dogs, who took not the slightest
notice. She was middle-aged, with faintly auburn hair and a
plump, comfortable sort of figure. Behind her came a young girl,
about seventeen, whose voice brought the dogs running to her,
much to Cathy's relief. The two joined the man, who no informed
Cathy that she was trespassing.
"But how can that be?" she wanted to know, casting a
bewildered glance around the field. "I'm only walking on the field."
"The field belongs to me." His tones were still tolerant, his eyes still
curious.
"Surely I can walk on it. I'm doing no harm at
I've never heard of anyone not being able to walk through the
fields."
"_No?" The man raised his brows at that. "Where do you come
from? You don't live round here." His glance flicked to the hammer
she had put down on the wall.
Aware of the half-amused, half-curious eyes of the woman and
the girl, Cathy flushed slightly and pointed in the direction of the
Grange.
"I live there—with my uncle."
"At the Grange? Mr Blythe lives there."
"He's my uncle. I only came last night." She glanced from the
man to the woman and decided they were the parents of the girl.
The man had black hair, greying at the temples, and a handsome
face, brown and faintly lined.
She knew instinctively that she would like them all.
"I didn't know Charles Blythe had a niece?" The woman turned
to her husband in puzzlement, though it was clear she did not
doubt the truth of Cathy's statement.
"I don’t think he knew himself," Cathy put in. "I didn't know I had
an uncle—not until my father died. Then Mrs Foster, our neighbour,
found Uncle Charles's address in an old diary of my mother's. He
took me to live with him," she went on confidingly. "Otherwise I
should have had nowhere to go, and I'd have had to go into a
home . . . or something." Her vagueness brought a smile to the
man's lips, but his wife seemed anxious as she enquired if Cathy had
any other relatives.
"No, but I'm quite all right with my uncle; I don't need anyone
else." She stared at the woman with wide, f rank eyes, troubled by
her expression. "You don't like much uncle?"
"Yes, we do, indeed," responded the man quickly. "But you ... ?"
Cathy's gaze remained fixed on the woman. She felt strangely
depressed at the idea of her not liking Charles.
"Yes, my dear." She smiled reassuringly. "We're quite good friends
of your uncle. It's just that—well, he isn't used to children—not as far
as I know."
"I'm not a child," returned Cathy indignantly. "I'm nineteen."
Both the man and the woman opened their eyes wide at this
piece of information and the girl stopped fondling one of the dogs
to stare in surprise. She had not spoken a word to Cathy, but stood
regarding her curiously from the terrace where the three dogs sat
up contentedly on a little rustic garden table. Flushing under their
stares, Cathy picked up the hammer from the wall and waited
uncertainly for a moment, but no one spoke.
"I'd better be going," she laid, her smile embracing them all.
"Breakfast will be ready."
"Come and see us when you feel like it," the woman invited,
returning the smile. "We're nearly always in. Just come through the
gate there—at the side of the house."
"Thank you very much, I will. Good-bye." Turning, she sped across
the field to the fence separating it from the drive to the Grange.
Her steps were light and she waved gaily after bounding over the
hedge with the ease of an athlete. The hammer was still in the air
when she almost collided with Cooper. His jaw dropped, and
before Cathy could utter the bright `good morning' that came to
her lips, he had disappeared into the flat and slammed the door
behind him.
A deep frown settled on her brow. He'd taken offence over her
not explaining about the fossils last night, she realised with growing
dismay. He probably thought she'd been disparaging his ignorance
on the subject, and felt hurt. Cathy hesitated by the gate,
wondering whether to knock at the door and tell him it hadn't
been that at all. But then she would have to explain about the
fossils—what they were and how they got into the rocks. She had
explained to people before, and it invariably took a long time, for
many people could not at first assimilate the idea of the boundless
aeons of time involved in the formation of the rocks. Aware that he
was watching her from a window, Cathy was also aware of his
white face, and thought that perhaps his running away had
nothing to do with her at all, that he was feeling unwell, and she
decided to leave the matter for the time being.
The smell of bacon cooking made her feel hungry, but no one,
other than the person cooking the break-fast, seemed to be
stirring. What time did they get up ? She thought of her
exhilarating walk in the clear air and the sunshine and wondered if
they knew what they were missing.
However, from the dining-room came the rattle of crockery and
as Cathy reached the door an elderly, grey-haired woman
emerged carrying an empty tray. She took one look at Cathy,
another at the hammer, then fled in the direction of the kitchen.
For one astounded moment Cathy stared after her, then she
shrugged her shoulders and went upstairs to her room.
Tossing the hammer on the bed, she crossed to the window and
gazed out over the field to the black and white House beyond. No
one in the garden, but the dogs raced wildly about on the lawn.
What was the girl's name? she wondered, thinking how pleasant it
would if they became friends. With a warmth she would very have
believed possible, she went out and along to the room occupied by
Charles.
"Can I come in?" Without waiting for permission she opened the
door.
"No !"
She let go of the handle as if it were hot, pausing awhile in
puzzlement. Then she tried again.
"Is it all right now?"
Charles came to the door, fastening the girdle of his dressing-
gown.
"What the—What do you want!" he demanded eyeing her
angrily. "And what do you mean by walking into my room?"
"I didn't walk into your room. You never gave me the chance.
May I come in now?"
With a sigh of exasperation Charles opened the door wider and
she went past him into the room. Kicking off her shoes, she sat on
the bed, tucking her legs under her in a comfortable and
apparently settled position.
Charles could only stare.
"Is that grey-haired lady the maid, or is she Mrs Blythe?" she
asked, looking up at Charles and wondering if he were one of those
people who always got up in the morning feeling bad-tempered.
"Mrs Blythe will still be in her bed."
"Then she's the other one—not the one I saw last night?"
"I presume you're telling me you've seen Alice?"
"Is that her name? Well, Uncle Charles, there's something wrong
with her. She acted in a most peculiar fashion and I wondered if she
were a little—well, if she has something on her mind."
"Probably; most people have things on their minds.
As for there being something wrong with her, I don't quite
understand." He stopped, glancing at her in some perplexity. "In
what way did she seem peculiar?" Cathy spread her hands.
"When I came in she just looked at me and ran away. It was
almost as if she'd seen a ghost."
"Nonsense ! You're imagining things. You should have spoken to
her; she would have expected you to do so."
"She gave me no opportunity to say a word—and Cooper was
the came."
Charles, on his way across the room to open the curtains, turned
abruptly.
"What's the matter with Cooper?"
"I think I upset him last night because, when he mentioned about
the boxes being heavy I said they contained fossils, and he must
have expected me to explain what they are. When I saw him a few
minutes ago he ran in and shut the door before I had time to say
good morning—or anything. He did look white, though," she added
on an anxious note. "So he could be I suppose." Her wide brow
furrowed in thought. "Would he really be interested in the fossils, do
you think? I hope not, because I wouldn't like him to be hurt."
"I'm quite sure that Cooper would be the last person to find
interest in your fossils," commented Charles dryly. "And I'm also sure
that you're allowing your imagination to run away with you.
There's nothing peculiar either with Cooper or Alice." He pulled
back the curtains, letting in the sunshine. "Now be off; I want to
dress."
Cathy settled herself more comfortably on the bed. "It's all right,"
she murmured obligingly. "I don't mind."
"What did you say?"
"You can get dressed. I don't mind at all. I always chatted to Paul
like this."
"Do you mean to tell me you sat and watched your father
dressing?" he exclaimed, after an astounded silence.
"I didn't watch him." Cathy gave a faint chuckle at that idea.
"You have your dressing-gown on, so you can get dressed inside it.
You have to wriggle about, but it's quite easy. Paul did it, and so
did I."
"I'm not Paul," said Charles cuttingly, "and I am not in the habit
of dressing before strange females. Out!" He pointed to the door.
Cathy jumped off the bed, picking up her shoes and staring at him
in bewilderment.
"I'm not a strange female," she protested. "I'm your niece."
"What difference does that make?"
"Well, we're related, so it makes a lot of difference."
"It seems to me," he said in the same cutting tons, "that your
father hadn't the slightest notion of how to bring up a daughter.
He had no right to dress in your presence, and as for allowing you
to dress in his—it's disgusting!"
"That's not true," she objected, with increasing bewilderment.
"Paul brought me up from a baby; he had to do everything for me,
perhaps until I was six or seven, I can't remember. He wouldn't
expect me to shy of him from the moment I began looking at
myself."
"Perhaps not," conceded Charles wearily. "But you're now a
woman, and you've known me less than twenty four hours. Despite
these facts I'm sure you have so perfectly logical reason why there is
no harm in o popping in and out of each other's bedrooms.
However I don't want to hear it, either now or at any other time.
Close the door behind you."
With a deep sigh Cathy took a few dragging steps the door, then
turned.
"I'm afraid of seeing Beryl, and Aunt Moira, because I don't know
them. I want to go down with you."
"Stay in your room, then, and I'll call you when I'm ready."
"And I wanted to tell you about some people I've met. They live
in that black and white house over there. The lady said they were
your friends."
"The Deans?" His glance became curious, but he merely said, "Tell
me about them over breakfast"
CHAPTER IV
THE commotion began with Alice giving in her notice. Charles
had come downstairs, after having called to Cathy, informing her
he was ready. No sooner had he entered the dining-room than
Alice told him she would be leaving at the end of the week.
"This is very sudden," he frowned. "has anything upset you?"
Neither he nor Alice noticed Cathy, standing by the door. "Is it
anything Mrs Blythe bas done?" he added, and Cathy wondered if
he were quite used to dealing with complaints about his
stepmother's conduct towards the servants. It certainly seemed like
it.
"No, it isn't that. I don't feel comfortable any more sir. None of us
do."
"Perhaps you'd better explain," said Charles, his frown deepening.
"It's the young lady, sir; we're all scared of her. I don't like saying
it—with her being your niece—but she isn't normal, is she, sir?" and,
seeing his expression, she added, rather hastily, "She's acted so
strangely with Cooper. Last night she tried to make him believe she
had some—Now what did he say they were? Oh, yes, sea-serpents,
in a wooden box all nailed up. And some plants—they were all
nailed up in a box too, and she said they were millions of years old.
And she stared at him in such an odd manner, the way they stare,
if you understand me? This morning it was worse and we thought
she'd become violent. Walking about with a hammer she was, and
would have killed poor Cooper," she added dramatically, "but he
managed to get away though she did make as if to follow him, he
said. She had the hammer when she came in, so I know he spoke
the truth. I ran for my life!" Alice sniffed plaintively, casting him a
glance of reproach. "I've been here so long that I'm too old to
change my job, but I could never rest in my bed with her in the
house, being as she's not normal."
"Of course my niece is normal ! Don't talk such nonsense," he
snapped, frowning as if trying to recollect what Cathy had said
about Cooper and the fossils. But he wouldn't remember, thought
Cathy, for he didn't take very much notice at all of what she was
trying to tell him.
She still stood at the door, just inside the room, her brow creased
in puzzlement.
"Come here !" Charles ordered and she came forward hesitantly,
quite put out by his scowling countenance. "What did you do to
Cooper last night?"
"Nothing—I don't know what she's talking about," she answered
nervously. "And I never went near her with the hammer."
"You did, miss, and you actually waved it in Cooper's face. They
don't always remember what they do," she went on to inform
Charles. "My sister had a friend who—"
"That's quite enough," he interrupted haughtily. "There has
evidently been some misunderstanding, but that does not excuse
disrespect towards Miss Cathy. Kindly remember that she is my
niece!" He waved an imperious hand in the direction of the
sideboard. "Take that stuff away and keep it warm. Then tell
Cooper to come in here at once."
"Yes, Mr Blythe." Alice picked up the tray and thankfully made
her escape.
"I’m very sorry, Uncle Charles." Cathy cleared her throat with a
little nervous cough. "Will she leave, do you think?"
Charles made no reply to that; instead, he delivered her a
withering homily on the imprudence of carrying a geological
hammer about among people who had no idea what it was for.
"Why you chose to take it with you this morning is quite beyond
me," he continued in the same scathing tones. "There isn't a quarry
or an outcrop anywhere near that you could use it on—" He
stopped, his eyes narrowing perceptively. "You're not on the moors
now, remember. Every wall, every field—every scrap of land
belongs to someone !"
"It did on the moors, but no one questioned your right to walk on
it."
"Where have you been this morning?"
"I went across the fields."
"Then you had no right; you were trespassing."
"I can't see that," Cathy objected. "Paul said that the land
belongs to everyone, that you should be free to wander over the
countryside just whenever you wish."
An exasperated sigh escaped Charles.
"Your father's unorthodox ideals do not apply here," he informed
her shortly. "It's not possible for you to go tramping over cultivated
land." He threw her a direct and meaningful glance. "I shall not
expect to receive any complaints about you, Cathy. I hope I make
myself clear?"
Her chin lifted firmly.
"There's no harm in just crossing the fields," she maintained,
tossing her head defiantly. "I could never become used to walking
all the time on pavements and roads. Never !"
Charles's brows rose arrogantly and a warning glint entered his
eyes.
"You will observe my wishes," he said, very softly. "Among the
many things to which you will become used is the acceptance of
my authority. I warned you last night that I shall not tolerate your
defiance. While you remain in my care you will obey me."
His last words startled her, quelling any inclination for further
argument.
"You mean that unless I submit to your will you'll send me
away?"
"I'm not threatening you," he returned shortly. "Nor do I expect
you to `submit to my will' as you term it." How else could it be
described, if she must always defer to his wishes and commands?
"Can't I ever do the things I choose to do?'
"Certainly; so long as they're within the bounds of convention."
Cathy sighed deeply, looking up at Charles unhappily "I don't
think I shall ever get used to all the restrictions."
"Give yourself time," he said, rather gently. "It will be difficult, but
you will try, my child—to please me." The ghost of a smile flickered
then. She would like to please him but, somehow, she feared she
would cause him a great deal of trouble instead.
And her fears were strengthened when she saw Cooper's face, as,
after knocking at the door, he entered the dining-room, eyeing her
warily.
"You wanted me, sir?"
"I have a feeling you wish to leave me—because of something my
niece said to you last night."
"Well, Mr Blythe, I don't want to leave, having such a nice flat
and a good job, but she—Miss Cathy, sir, she acts sort of queer."
"What exactly happened last night? Alice tells me you were
worried about some fossils Miss Cathy has." "She said they were sea-
serpents, and—"
"Sea creatures, Mr Cooper," amended Cathy nervously.
"Yes, and that they were millions of years old. Well," he reasoned,
turning again to Charles, "nothing can live all that long; you must
agree with me there, sir?"
Charles's lips curved in amusement as his glance flickered to
Cathy and back again to the gardener.
"The sea creatures are all dead, and quite harmless. You can
take my word for it
"Dead?" repeated Cooper in an awed voice. "Miss Cathy really
has some of these sea creatures?—and they've been dead all that
time?"
"Correct. My niece collects them."
Cooper's eyes opened even wider at this statement. It would
seem as if he considered them both mad.
"I thought she was rambling, sir." Cooper again glanced warily at
Cathy, for her lips were quivering with suppressed laughter. But,
noticing his expression, she said contritely,
"I'm so sorry, Mr Cooper; but I did call you back so that I could
explain, didn't I?"
"Yes, miss," he had to admit. "But you stared so queer, like."
"I don't know about that," she returned, frowning. "I only wanted
to tell you about the fossils, and homo they're really made of stone
and you find them in the rocks."
"Is that it, miss?" His face cleared miraculously. "Was that why you
had the hammer?"
"What puzzles me," interposed Charles, "is why you were
brandishing it in Cooper's face?" He shot her glance of enquiry. "Isn't
that what Alice said?"
"I wasn't; I waved to the Deans, and when turned round Mr
Cooper stared at me for a moment and then ran away—" She
broke off, unable any longer to check her merriment. But she soon
became serious again as she apologised profusely to the gardener,
almost begging him to stay. Her plea, accompanied by a smile that
captured his heart at once, brought forth the assertion that he had
never even contemplated leaving, and it was that stupid Alice who
had somehow given the wrong impression.
When he had gone Charles admonished Cathy for her `abject'
attitude towards Cooper when asking him to stay.
"I'm sure I wasn't abject," she protested. "But as I was to blame, I
had to apologise and ask him to stay. That's only right."
"You do not beg servants to stay. Try to remember, please, that
you are now in a superior position." "But how—?"
"And you do not address the gardener as 'Mr'," he interrupted
shortly. "Cooper doesn't expect it." Cathy did not comment on that,
but went back to his earlier statement.
"I can't be in a superior position," she said in tones of protest.
"Paul always said that everyone is equal." "Paul lived in his own
little Utopia!" he retorted with mounting impatience. "You now live
in a world of reality, and the sooner you forget your impracticable
ideals the better!" He rang for the breakfast to be brought in; they
began it in silence, and through the fence was the disturbing
undercurrent of Charles's patience with her. She thought sadly of
her father, ways placid, always genial, and, searching the taste of
her companion, she wondered what this so-called civilised society
had done to people.
Although hall in dread of meeting Mrs Blythe and her daughter,
Cathy found herself breathing a deep sigh of relief when, towards
the end of the meal, they both put in an appearance.
The days dragged interminably. Charles had gone immediately
after breakfast on the Monday, and although it was now only
Thursday morning Cathy felt she had been away from the moors
for weeks. She had wandered over the fields, and inevitably found
herself ordered off the farmer's property. Had the farmer been
polite, had he requested and not ordered Cathy's reaction might
have been different. As it was she told him in no uncertain terms
just what she thought about the laws of trespass—and continued to
cross his fields whenever she felt like doing so. That the farmer had
threatened to contact the police trouble her not at all, though his
threat to contact Charles ha given her some slight misgivings.
She had explored the house, and hated it more then ever. She
could not abide its grim and dismal space, in dark passages and
heavy furniture. She disliked Mrs Blythe though she became friends
with her daughter Beryl, she felt, nursed some sadness, but it was
she who told her of the broken engagement, for Beryl spoke very
little, even to her mother. Cathy recalled Charles attitude towards
Beryl during the brief space when had all been together at the
breakfast table. He had been cool to Beryl, but kind. Not so with
his step mother. It was clear that there was no affection between
them; Charles tolerated her simply because he would consider it his
duty to do so.
Steve, as Charles had predicted, proved to be a kindred spirit,
but he was merely an amateur botanist knew little of rock
structure or of the sculpture of landscape. Nevertheless, he was an
interested listener and any observations he made were relevant
and intelligent.
But there seemed no doubt that they all considered her peculiar.
Both Beryl and her mother read novels, and so raised their brows
at Cathy's own reading matter. Steve had borrowed one of Paul's
papers, but it had proved too technical for him and he returned it
to Cathy unread. More and more she missed her father, and the
lively discussions they'd had—and even the arguments, for on
occasions her own theories had clashed with his. Here, she found
nothing to do, and she feared she would eventually become like
Steve, interested only in bed, books and food.
After lunch she went outside to the old man, whose favourite
spot was the tumbledown summerhouse which seemed to be held
together by the ivy and wild ramblers that clung to its roof and
walls.
His head was sunk in a book; a look of wispy hair fell down over
his face, and his spectacles hung precariously on the tip of his nose.
A benign smile creased his ace at Cathy's appearance and he
moved to let her sit down beside him. But she found a rickety stool
and sat n that, her thin legs dangling, her hands clasped between
her knees.
"What are you reading?" she asked, noticing the frailness of the
hands gripping the book.
"Thought I'd like to read something about your Pennine moors,"
he smiled. "They don't appear to be overendowed with flora from
what I can see."
She wanted to know how he had come by the book d evinced
some surprise at discovering he had taken from the library at the
Grange. True, it was a fairly I-known book, but of interest mainly
to the inhabitants of the region. She would never have expected
Charles to have it.
"We do have some variety," she told Steve. "The soils high up are
acid peats, though, resting on the rotted gritstone and shales, so we
have great expanse of cotton grass. But we have wild bilberry, and
the heather is beautiful. We have numerous lichens and mosses,
and a great many ferns, of course."
"I never tramped that part of England," he said with some regret.
"I'm beginning to think I've missed something."
"How long were you a tramp?" she wanted to know. To Cathy
there was nothing odd in being a tramp; she had met many
tramps up on the moors when out on those long expeditions with
Paul, and often they would invite one to supper and give him a
straw bed in outhouse or barn.
"Nigh on forty years." Steve's eyes clouded reminiscently. "A
wonderful life—wonderful !"
"Why did you take to the road?"
"Crossed in love," was the brief reply, and a tinkling little laugh
escaped her.
"They all say that."
Steve laughed then and his eyes held amusement too.
"I believe so," he admitted. "People always want reason, you see,
and that one seems to satisfy them. I took to the road because I
craved for freedom, enjoyed every minute of it, yet on looking
back I know it was a selfish attitude. No one should shirk
responsibility like that."
Cathy's brow furrowed.
"Would you not do the same again, then?"
"Yes, because I'm a born shirker."
"I don't agree. My father always said that everyone should be
free to do as he pleases."
"That wouldn't do at all." Steve shook his head emphatically.
"Just imagine the chaos if everyone did exactly as they wished."
Charles's words repeated, or nearly so. For the first tune Cathy
felt a tinge of doubt, wondering if, after all, there could have been
something wrong with her father's philosophy. But no. He was so
good, so clever; he had been always happy, and he had made her
happy, too. How could his way have been wrong?
"I think happiness is the most important thing," she said wistfully.
"We should all be free to find happiness in our own way. Paul and I
were happy, and I know that, whatever happens, I shall never be
as happy again." Her voice was not quite steady and Steve scru-
tinized her critically.
"You really do believe you were happy, up there among the bills,
but wait until you've tasted true happiness; I think it was
contentment you found, my dear, you and your father."
"Contentment is true happiness, surely?"
The old man shook his head.
"The ancient Greeks defined happiness as `having something to
strive for, being admired by many, and being loved by a few'.
Now, let us compare that with our definition. Had you anything to
strive for?"
Cathy admitted she had not. On the other hand, she hoped she
would never strive for material things. From the conversation of
Mrs Blythe and Beryl Cathy had readily learned with disgust that
most people's ambitions were dominated by money, and those
things which money can buy.
It's only living things that matter." She spoke her guts aloud.
"People and animals, birds and plants."
"All right. The second requisite was you admired by many?"
"No.... We didn't know anybody, not after the others had left."
She recalled for a moment the young people who had been her
companions until about three years ago. They liked her well
enough, but they thought her rather odd in preferring Chose jaunts
with her father to the company of boy-friends. No, she did not
think she had ever been admired by anybody.
"And you were not loved by anyone but your father." Pausing to
allow that to sink in, he noticed her heightened colour and the
sudden tightening of the clasped hands. "Do you really suppose you
were happy my dear?"
Cathy blinked at him, seeing compassion in the fad eyes. What
he said was true; she had never been love by anyone but her father
. . . and now he had gone. Suddenly a terrible fear engulfed her,
greater by f than the recent fear of leaving the valley and trying
adjust to the demands of convention. Who would e love her now?
She thought of the people with whom she lived. There seemed to
be scant affection between any of them, even between Mrs Blythe
and her daughter, so obviously no affection would be extended
Cathy herself. Steve, to whom she had immediately opened her
heart, felt pity for her—nothing else.
Charles?
He could not be expected to feel anything. Until just over a week
ago, he had not even heard of her existence. Besides, he was too
cold, too unfeeling to love anyone. Were he capable of loving, then
surely he would have been married long ago.
Steve seemed to be awaiting a reply, and she owned bleakly
that, by the standards of the ancient Greeks she had not known
happiness, but what she had experienced with her father was the
nearest she would ever come to it. At which the old man smiled
with the wisdom of age and said quietly,
"I'm sure, my little friend, that you will one day know happiness
in the way defined by the Greeks."
Long after she was in bed Cathy reflected on Steve's assertion
regarding her future happiness. She supposed he had meant that
one day she would marry and have children. She had never
thought about marriage; it was a vague state, meant for others
but not for her. She would have been content to spend the rest of
her life on the moors, living in the came tiny cottage in which she
had been born. In her brief acquaintance with her new family she
had learned rot only of Beryl's broken engagement, but also that
Moira's other daughter, who had two children, was living apart
from her husband. To Cathy it seemed that marriage should be
regarded as a permanent state from the first; it was very wrong
that children should be separated from their parents. Up on the
moors couples had never thought of separating, but down here
everything was so different.
Perhaps Steve had been right when he said she had own
contentment and rot happiness, but it had been much more
comfortable than trying to grapple with the complications and
problems of civilisation.
She tossed and turned until at last her mind became with sleep.
Charles intruded mistily into her thoughts. Where was he? What
was he doing? How little she knew about him...
As usual she was up before anyone stirred, but the kept her in.
Should it continue all day time would hang more heavily still, she
mused bleakly. On the moors rain did rot matter. There was no one
to look askance if she came in dripping wet. Here, the whole
household had stared in amazement on the one occasion when she
had done so.
After reading for a while she stood by the window, looking across
at the Deans' house. Even from here it seemed much more warm
and friendly than the Grange. The modern additions pleased her,
for there had been no intentional meaning off the old and the new.
She fell to studying the building, and realised the skill of the
architect. Modern additions to the nucleus of a Tudor cottage could
have looked incongruous, but these were exceptionality pleasing to
the eye. The gardens, too, were in excellent taste, with trimmed
yews and hollies, a sunken rose garden and an orchard stocked
with young apple trees. Beneath the trees was an ornamental pool,
and slang the drive spring flowers their brilliance of colour against
the of a laurel hedge.
Cathy recalled the struggle of growing things up on the moors. So
tenderly she would nurture a bulb plant, only to have it the, often
after a valiant effort survive.
Her eyes pricked, and she blinked bard.
The houses she had seen on her various walks pretty, and so were
the gardens with their flowers blossoming trees, but nothing could
compensate for the grandeur of the hills and the moors—or the
freedom roam them at will.
The Deans had asked her to visit them, and several times she
had started out to do so, but shyness overcome her and always she
had turned back. Yet she had an urgent longing to talk to the girl,
to make friend of her own age.
During breakfast Cathy sensed, not only the familiar resentment
against herself which Mrs Blyth had shown froam the very first, but
undercurrent hostility between mother and daughter. Obviously
they had had another of their frequent quarrels. Beryl, sulky and
quiet, ate scarcely anything, and now and then she would react an
almost baleful glance at her mother, who seemed bent on ignoring
it. Beryl would have been mort attractive, Cathy decided, if it
weren't for the perpetual droop to her otherwise pretty mouth. Her
hair was the colour of pale honey, and expertly styled, and her eyes
the vivid blue of a cornflower newly opened. What had gone
wrong with her engagement? Steve could not say; it had been
suddenly broken off and that was all he knew. Everything Cathy
had learned had come from Steve, whose attitude towards bath
mother and daughter was one of indifference. They resented him,
and he remained calmly untroubled by that resentment. He it was
who had told Cathy about Sheila and her being separated from
her husband. Steve had also, told her that Beryl worked in an office
in Loughborough; she worked only for pocket money, making no
contribution towards the expense of running the house.
So many people seamed to be dependent on Charles, and Cathy
decided she must soon begin looking for a job, so that she could
pay something towards her keep. She would mention it to Charles
when he came home at the week-end.
Beryl rose from the table, bade them a stiff `good morning' and
went out.
"What are you going to do today?" Mrs Blythe inquired, helping
herself to more toast.
"I don’t know. I hope it won't rain all day." Cathy felt awkward,
now that they were some, but it would rude to leave before Mrs
Blythe had finished her breakfast.
"You seem to spend most of your time down the garden with
Steve," the older woman remarked, eyeing Cathy with disdain.
"You appear to have much common."
Cathy could have pointed out that no one else had shown the
least interest in her, or ever made an effort to include her in the
conversation. During the evening or over meals, Beryl and her
mother sometimes talked, discussing some piece of local gossip, but
not once had either of them taken the slightest interest in Cathy,
true, when alone with Beryl, Cathy could talk, and even feel
comfortable, for Beryl seemed incapable of the sites and subtle
insinuations which her mother often directed at the girl whom she
would probably always regard as an intruder.
"He's mort interesting to talk to," Cathy submitted at length. "All
tramps are." The last words were added without thinking, and she
saw Ms Blythe shudder.
"I expect you met a good many, up there on the moors?"
"Yes, we did." Cathy became strangely tongue-tied and
endeavoured to think up an excuse to get away.
"What a queer existence." She watched Cathie through narrowed
eyes. It was not for the first time, and Cathy expected once more to
be cross-examined "What was it your father did?"
With a slight gesture of her bands Cathy passed that off ; she had
no wish to explain. But Mrs Blythe persisted.
"You said it was something to do with geology?"
"He studied the rocks," was the brief and totally inadequate
explanation.
"I can’t imagine why Charles never told us about you before. We
did net even know that Peter's sister-in-law had a daughter." She
paused and Cathy wondered what Charles's mother had been like,
and how anyone could marry this straw-haired person with the
protuberant eyes and sagging chin. "The relationship is extremely
flimsy, you must be aware of that?"
The colour rose in Cathy's cheeks as a stab of pain shot through
her, but she was in no way subdued for all the hurt and sudden
fear she felt. Her eyes began to sparkle with a light that even
Charles had not yet encountered.
"Had my uncle thought this," she retorted in stiff and quivering
tones, "he would not have accepted responsibility for me. Since my
arrival here you have shown unnecessary curiosity regarding Uncle
Charles's action in agreeing to give me a home, but I must remind
you that it's not your affair. If you ask me any more questions
regarding either that, or my life before I came here, I shan't answer
them."
"Why, you--you—impertinent girl. ! How dare you speak to me
in this manner !" Moira's face was red with fury and her voice
trembled as she went on to warn Cathy that the matter would be
reported to Charles the moment he returned. "Hell make you
apologise, my girl—just you wait and see !"
Cathy rose, excused herself, and went out. But once in her room
the items hung on her clashes before she angrily blinked them
back. What that hateful woman said was true, but Cathy clung to
that flimsy relationship, so great her fear of being entirely alone in
the world.
And because of her unhappiness and insecurity Cathy gathered
the courage to visit the Deans. She felt rather like a scarecrow as
the rain dripped from her hair and her coat.
The bell echoed merrily somewhere in the far distance; the dogs
barked riotously, leaping up at her as the door was opened.
"Cathy ! Come in—we expected you before this. Belinda, down !"
But the dogs had not been trained in obedience. They continued to
reveal their delight in the true doggy fashion, and as they licked
her hands and legs she felt suddenly warm and at home.
"I'm so wet," she said, wiping the rein tram her face. "I'll take my
shoes off."
Mrs Dean laughingly told her rot to bother; the place could never
be spotless, with the dogs pattering in and out all the time. Taking
her coat, Mrs Dean handed Cathy a towel, calling to her daughter,
who appeared clad in rather grubby jeans and a sweater. The toy
poodle she held. Under her arm was more sophisticatedly clipped
than the other three.
"You two have met? Yes, of course. Bridget, dear, go and bring in
the milk. Cathy must have known it's coffee time."
Bridget put down the dog and it ran to Cathy, coat white and
fresh after a shampoo.
"How many dogs have you?" Cathy asked shyly, holding the
poodle in her arm.
"Only three, that one isn't ours. Bridget does a little dipping, for
pin-money."
"Pin-money?"
"Pocket-money." Mrs Dean's eyes flickered with amusement, and
she hesitated before continuing. "Pour uncle called on Monday
morning and told us a little about you—and your life on the moors.
We all understand now That you might have certain difficulties.
But we'll do our best to help you to—eell, to adapt to your new
environment, as h were."
"Thank you." Cathy flushed slightly, wondering if, like those at the
Grange, the .Dean considered her to be somewhat odd. "Beryl
works for pocket-money," she said, changing the subject. "You must
all be very rich." Glancing round the ultra-modern kitchen, she
thought
82
of the tiny scullery at the cottage; its whitened gritstone walls, its
Brown earthenware sink and brick washing boiler away in the
comer.
"We'll be years getting straight after all these alterations," Mrs
Dean said wryly. "I daren't think about the money we've spent !"
"Who cares?" Bridget filed the milk pan and put it on the stove.
"So long as Daddy brings in the cash." her apparent indifference
was belied by the warmth in her eyes.
An affectionate family, thought Cathy, a wistful expression on
her face. She snuggled the dog against her, thinking of those who
lived at the Grange and of their coldness which seemed to be
reflected in the very atmosphere of the house itself.
By the time they had finished their coffee Cathy felt she had
known her new friends for years. She had been taken all over the
house; the new part was furnished in the modern style and the
luxury of it all took Cathy's breath away. Bridget's room was
exquisite, with everything in delicate pinks and white and frilly
curtains adorning the window winch took the whole length of the
wall.
But Cathy fait no envy, not only because she had no knowledge
of the emotion, but also because she was ever-conscious off a deep
gratitude to Charles for what she had. In any case, as her eyes
dwelt on the view the cultivated land and man-made scene—she
could not help but compare it with the view from her tiny
whitewalled room at the cottage, and a deep sigh escaped her.
But she was determined to adapt, and when asked if she would
like to accompany Mr Dean and Bridget into town, she stemmed
the impulse to refuse, and ran home to get the money Charles had
given her before leaving on Monday. They were to have lunch at a
hotel, and Cathy did hesitate for a moment, recollecting her
unfortunate experience when dinning with Charles on the way
down here.
Mrs Blythe asked stiffly where she was going, and a faint sneer
touched her lips when she told her. Steve, however, nodded his
approval.
"A nice family," he said. "I'm glad you've made friends with
them."
Lunch proved to be a very different meal from that which Cathy
had shared with Charles. For one thing, it was more informal, and
for another, Mrs Dean and Bridget chatted away all the some, as if
making a deliberate attempt to put Cathy at her ease. She thor-
oughly enjoyed herself and when the bill arrived she asked if she
might pay.
"No, dear," objected Mrs Dean. "This is on me."
"I would like very much to pay," Cathy insisted. "You've brought
me, so it's only fair."
Mrs Dean hesitated. Cathy would obviously derive pleasure and
satisfaction from paying for the meal. And she would learn
something, too...
"Very well, dear, that’s kind of you."
Bridget appeared rather shocked, but any remark she had been
about to make was quelled by her mother's glance.
On looking at the bill Cathy also experienced a shock. There
must be some mistake, for it came to more than she and Paul had
spent on groceries for a whole week. She glanced round, wondering
whether to call the waiter and ask if he had made a mistake—or
perhaps she should ask Mrs Dean. But after a little more
consideration she decided to wait and ask Charles about it
Having made this decision she paid cheerfully, g to be able to
return her friends' kindness in inviting her to accompany them.
The rain had stopped and the homeward journey was pleasant
and releasing. Bridget drove the car and Cathy sat beside her.
Watching the other girl, Cathy became fascinated by her handling
of the controls. That such small and dainty hands could be so
capable ! Much more comfortable than sitting beside Charles,
thought Cathy, remembering how fast he had driven.
Mrs Dean had been to the hairdressers, leaving the girls to do the
shopping. Bridget had bought a dress and some shoes. After taking
these back to the car, they then collected the meat, which was
ordered, and Bridget bought shampoos for the dogs and a collar
for Debbie. Cathy remained serenely untempted, though she
almost succumbed when Bridget, having bought her dress,
indicated a sweater in a vivid green winch she said would suit
Cathy's colouring perfectly.
"But I don't really need tilt," said Cathy, putting it bock on the
stand.
"You don't buy things because you need them," laughed Bridget,
her grey eyes twinkling. "I don't need anything I’ve bought. It's fun
to buy things you don't need."
Unable to agree to this particular kind of logic, Cathy said
nothing.
They dropped her at the gate, telling her to come over just
whenever she wished .She stood and waved to them until the car
turned the bend and became lost to view.
The outline of the Grange seamed more forbidding ever, and the
warmth left her as she neared the t door.
The noisome ivy creeping to the windows, intent on shutting out
the light; the ugly studded door and snarling lion head. She
knocked and Alice came, small and pinched and very tired.
Up in her room, Cathy gazed out to watch the dogs racing across
the lawn at Pinetree Lodge, her new friends' home.
And then she glimpsed the car, winding along the lane, now lost
to sight, now appearing again. Charles had said he might come
Friday night, but it would most probably be Saturday morning
...and it was only Friday afternoon.
Racing down the stairs, she almost collided with Steve, who was
making for the sitting-room.
"What’s all the commotion about?" he wanted know.
"Uncle Charles, he's here !"
She flung open the door and ran down the steps.
"You've come !" she exclaimed, her face glowing as she waited for
him to get out of the car. "You have come !"
"A must intelligent observation," remarked Charles, looking her
over critically.
"You said it might be tomorrow, and that seemed a long time.
I'm happy now!"
"Your delight is extremely gratifying. There's no need to clutch
my sleeve like that, child...I shan't run away !"
CHAPTER V
THE week-end did not begin very well for Cathy. No sooner had
Charles entered the house than Moira descended upon him with
complaints about Cathy's insolence, demanding an immediate
apology. With a sharp discerning glance at his niece Charles knew
that some admonishment would have to be forthcoming, but as he
first wanted to hear her version of the incident, he told her to follow
him upstairs and allowed her in his bedroom.
With an air of unconcern she slipped off her shoes and sat on the
bed, her feet tucked under her. Charles tossed his briefcase down
beside her and put his suitcase on a chair.
"Well?"
"She was rude to me," Cathy informed him, not in the least put
out by the ominous quality of his tone. "She?"
"Mrs Blythe."
"I said you will call her Aunt Moira."
Cathy's chin rose stubbornly.
"I don't like her enough for the. I think she's not a very nice
person" Mechanically, she toyed with the look on the briefcase. It
snapped open and she fastened it again.
"Why were you rude to her?" asked Charles, eyeing sternly.
"I said she was rude to me."
"I heard what you said. Answer my question."
With, a little gesture of resignation she explained what had
happened.
"I fait to see why you should take offence," he remarked when
she had finished.
"She said our relationship was flimsy," Cathy repeated, and
Charles did not notice the plea in her voice or the appeal in her
eyes.
"Our relationship is flimsy," he responded rather absent-mindedly
as, unfastening his case, he began taking out his clothes. "She spoke
only the truth." He went to hang his things in the wardrobe and
Cathy watched his profile through the mirror, noting the thrust of
the chin and the tightness of his mouth. Her own lips quivered, and
there was a distinct catch in her voice when she spoke.
"You are my uncle, though, aren't you? You must be my real
uncle, otherwise you wouldn't have given me a home."
He turned swiftly; she looked up at him, pleading for
reassurance.
"Yes, Cathy," he replied in gentle tones. "I am your real uncle." He
smiled at her; both were aware of the gain of pretence, yet his
answer restored her confidence and when he eventually delivered
his stricture the received it without any sign of contrition.
"I shall not insist on an apology this tune," he told her, "but you
will treat your aunt with respect—" He broke off as her chin rose
once more. "You will not only treat her with respect," he cautioned
darkly, "but you will also call her Aunt! "
Her fingers still played with the clasp of his brief - case; it snapped
open again and this time she made an effort to close it. Charles was
still unpacking, his face dark and set. She felt miserable and
changed the subject, hoping to divert him.
"What's in here?" Raising the flap of the case, she made to extract
some papers. The back of a clothesbrush came down hard on her
knuckles; Cathy rubbed them soothingly and cast Charles a glance
of reproach. "Are they private?"
"Certainly !"
"Paul and I never bail any secrets from one another," she sighed,
and then, "I don't know anything about you, do I? What is your
work? I asked Steve, but he seemed most evasive, saying I must ask
you to tell me."
Charles field up a tie, examined it critically, then put it aside for
cleaning.
"I build roads," he submitted at length. "At least," he added
quickly, "building roads is part of my work." "Roads.... ?" His
statement brought the colour rising to Cathy's checks. "Then you
must know quite a lot about geology?"
"A fair amount."
"But you pretended net to—"
"No, my dear. You took it for granted that my knowledge was
scanty," he put in with a feint mule, and Cathy's flush deepened.
"I feel so ashamed. You must know much more than do. Oh, why
did you let me talk like that?"
"It isn't important—and I found your description of the valley
most interesting." If he derived any satisfaction from her
discomfiture he did not show it. Going over to the bed, he smiled
down at her reassuringly, but her embarrassment remained and
she hung her head. Then suddenly she assimilated the fact that
they had this interest in common; it enabled her to identify him a
little more closely with her father. This brought a ck smile; she
glanced up, revealing the dimple, the glimmer tin those
devastatingly beautiful eyes.
Charles turned away abruptly to continue his unpacking.
He did not take such a lenient view of the next con plaint
regarding Cathy's behaviour. They had just finished breakfast and
were almost ready to go into Leicester when he was called to the
telephone. On his return to the sitting-room, where Cathy was
waiting, his eyes were bard and his mouth compressed as, lifting a
finger he said, very softly,
"Cathy come here."
She approached without hesitation, though profoundly conscious
that his expression portended trouble.
"Was he the farmer?" she asked, going rather pale in spite of her
apparent calm.
"I warned you that I didn't want to hear of angry complaints
about your conduct," he snapped, dark anger in his glance. "What
do you mean by continuing these escapades ! I'm angry enough
that you have disobeyed me, Cathy, but more angry still that you
should be impertinent to Mr Morgan !"
"He argued with me," submitted Cathy with a toss of her head.
"He argued?"
"Well, we argued," she conceded. `But he was very rude to me,
truly. He even threatened me with the police, which was silly. What
ran they do?"
Charles sighed wearily, his anger subsiding, though the muscles
tightened round his mouth.
"I've promised him you will, be over this afternoon with an
apology, and that you will also give hem your word not to trespass
on his land again."
"Apologise for crossing fields? I've never done that in my life!"
"Then it will be another new experience for you,' laid Charles with
amazing calm…
"And a most unpleasant one—if I did it," she retorted. "I don't feel
I owe him an apology—"
"You will do as I say, nevertheless," inflexibility now in his tone.
"I've made the promise on your behalf, and you will keep it." He
paused before adding, very softly, "I warn you, Cathy, don't try my
patience too far."
But still she refused.
"I couldn't--oh, no, that would be impossible! I wouldn’t mean it,
so how could I sound sinicere?" Another sigh escaped him.
"In that case," he said quietly, "you will go to your room
immediately on our return and stay there until you're ready to
obey me."
For an astounded moment she stared at hem, her expression one
of open revolt.
"I'm nineteen, not nine !" she reminded hem, flushed with anger.
Never in her life had she been sent to her room ! In fact,
punishment of any sort was totally unknown to her.
"Were you nine," he short at her grimly, "I should more effectively
he able to deal with you ! Now, what is it to be?—either you agree
to my wishes or you remain upstairs until you change your mind !"
Flinching under the sudden harshness of his voices, Cathy felt the
colour leave her face. She was hurt beyond reason at this dissension
between them.
"I w-won't apologise." her bands were tightly clasped, and her
voice had a sort of defiant desperation. "I can't humble myself
when I know I haven't done anything wrong."
"We all have to learn humility some time in our lives," he said, in
rather softer tones. But Cathy could not visualize Charles in a
position of humility, so she felt it most unfair of him to expect her to
humble herself, convinced as she was that no offence had been
committed.
Charles awaited a reply, but she remained silent; her mouth was
set defiantly but the hint of moisture still hung on her lashes. She
expected some punishment and wondered if he would deny her
the outing to which she had looked forward since he'd mentioned it
the last week-end. His brow was dark, creased in thought, and
Cathy felt certain he was considering this, but contrary to her
expectations he said he would leave the matter for the present, but
he hoped, upon reflection, that she would own to being in the
wrong and offer to apologise to Mr Morgan and at the same time
promise not to trespass on his land again.
Friction remained during the drive, but on arrival in the town a
truce developed and Cathy's talk became light and eager, finding
an equally pleasant response in Charles's own conversation.
He ordered a bookcase for her and, allowed to choose her own,
Cathy experienced genuine pleasure in doing so. Her thanks were
profuse; Charles appeared to be amused about something, but it
wasn't until her revisit to town that she guessed at the reason for
that amusement.
Despite her professed scorn for material things, she had managed
to choose the most costly bookcase in the shop !
They lunched at a small but exclusive restaurant and although
much of her shy hesitancy remained there was no mistaking the
growing confidence in his manner. Charles remained on it and
seemed pleased, bringing a flush of pleasure to Cathy's checks.
The appearance of the waiter bringing to mind colt of the
previous day's lunch, Cathy mentioned Charles anger if she should
have queried the bill.
"Certainly not but I hope you didn't, child !"
"No," she answered seriously, "but it was very dear—I thought
there must be some mistake."
"Sounds reasonable enough to me." He smiled across at her in
some amusement. "That particular place is about the most
expensive in Leicester, so I consider you came off lightly, in fart." A
slight frown appeared. "Mrs Dean allowed you to pay?" he asked,
but almost immediately his brow cleared as comprehension
dawned. "Apparently we're to have some assistance from the
Deans. I must remember to repair the damage to your pocket
money," he added. "Remind me if I forget."
"Oh, no, I've been thinking, Uncle Charles, that I must find a job."
"Must you?" Charles glanced casually at the menu. `What exactly
have you in mind?"
Cathy wrinkled her brow in thought, but appeared to having
some difficulty.
"Do you think I could serve in a shop?" She took e menu handed
to her and fixed her attention on it r a moment. She told Charles
what she wanted for e sweet course and he ordered. He had not
replied to her query and she repeated it, glancing across to see the
suggestion would be received. A smile of pure amusement spread
over his face, bringing an inaudible of surprise to Cathy's lips. She
leant back in her conscious of an entirely new emotion. Was this ? It
certainly was most pleasant to be sitting in luxurious place, with the
orchestra playing sofa and her very handsome uncle sitting
opposite... he was handsome when he smiled in that particular .
Yes, she decided, this must be pride…
To her astonishment she found herself feeling glad he was not old
and fatherly, alter all.
"No, Cathy, I don’t think you could serve in a shop," he said at
last on an emphatic note.
"Why not? The work doesn't seem to be very hard."
"I wasn't thinking of the work, particularly," and then, still clearly
amused, "Do you suppose you could endure being confined to the
back of a counter for about eiGht house a day?" The very idea
added to his amusement and he had to laugh, though Cathy
herself was clearly giving the question serious consideration.
Her forehead creased again, this time with sudden doubt.
"I must earn my living, Uncle Charles," she declared at length.
"Must you, my waif ?" Charles became serious. "I don’t think we
need trouble ourselves about it. There's no immediate necessity for
you to start earning your living."
Cathy began eating her sweet. Was Charles thinking the same as
she?—wondering what sort of work she could do? Endeavouring to
contemplate her future, she could not for one moment imagine
herself in the restrictive atmosphere of any indoor occupation—and
as for taking orders !
Charles was smiling faintly to himself and she shot him a glance
of inquiry.
"Maybe, when you begin going about a little, you'll find yourself
a suitable husband," he said, "and that will solve the problem."
So he was obviously resigned to supporting her until he handed
her over to some other man. Cathy flushed, and tilted her head.
"That time might be a long way off, in fast, I might never marry.
And I can't dive indefinitely on your—your charity."
"We shall have the muter for the present," responded Charles in
tones that brooked no further discussion on the topic.
Lunch over, they did some more shopping, and Cathy began to
feel a certain prude in ownership. Charles bought her some smart
clothes, and also a sweater and some jeans. Mrs Dean had said this
was the most suitable attire for every day, because the dogs had
no respect for cloches or stockings.
"You'll probably be spending a good deal of turne with us," Mrs
Dean had said when advising her about this. "Perhaps you may
like to help Bridget with the clipping later on."
Charles also bought her a handbag and, once in the car, she took
it from its wrapping to examine it, fingering the beautiful leather
with a gentle, caressing movement. Casting her a sideways glance
as he took his eyes off the road for a second, Charles smiled faintly
to himself ... Her curiosity was so appealing, and even more so the
tremulous smile she bestowed upon him as, once again, she
thanked him for the present.
She chatted until they neared the Grange, then became dumb
as he slowed down to bring the car into the side of the road before
the gate leading to a farmhouse.
"I'll wait here while you go and see Mr Morgan," he said, without
expression.
The gate lay at the end of a long driveway, for the farmhouse
was down in a dip, out of sight of the road.
"I can't.... " Cathy hesitated a long while as the inner battle raged;
then the light of rebellion glinted and she clenched her fists tightly
in her lap. "I've done nothing wrong. Paul always said. . . ." But
Charles had started up the car and they drove in silence to the
Grange.
"Have I to stay upstairs?" she faltered as they entered the hall.
"I'm afraid so, Cathy. I meant what I said." And he left her
standing there, her parcels under her arms. She received no
invitation to go down for tea, but a tray was brought up to her.
Later, Alice came to tell her dinner was ready.
Sitting at the table, Cathy was profoundly conscious of the rather
triumphant gaze of Mrs Blythe, and the questioning glance of her
daughter. Charles ignored her throughout the meal, but when it
was over he said quietly,
"You may go now, Cathy. Good night."
Beryl came to her, much to Cathy's surprise.
"What's wrong?" she wanted to know, clearly concerned. "Why
has Charles sent you up here?"
Cathy explained and Beryl pondered over it for a while. The
droop no longer marred her features, and she looked quite pretty,
dressed in bright coral, with her hair, as always, beautifully styled.
"You would be wise to do as he wishes." The advice was given in
gentle soothing tones, yet with a fun emphasis too. "Charles will win
in the end, Cathy there's no point in holding out."
The conviction had already become rooted, yet Cathy still could
not bring herself to submit. Her father's laws and rules were the
only ones she under stood. According to his philosophy the land
belonged to all, and, therefore, she had every right to cross th fields.
Cathy mentioned this to Beryl, who shook her head emphatically.
"The land isn't it yours—or mine," she reasoned. "You must accept
that it belongs to Mr Morgan. It's very different from your wild
moorlands," she went on wit a surprising note of compassion.
"There, you can run at will without doing any damage, but here
that wouldn't do at all. The land is cropped—"
"But those fields aren't," put in Cathy. "They haven't even been
ploughed."
"Then they will be for hay—or perhaps Mr Morgan intends
putting the cocas on those particular fields. But the land is his
business, Cathy, his living. What would happen if everyone
trampled over it as you do?"
Cathy bit her lip as she began to see the sense of this, but she
made no promise to see Mr Morgan and, with a small gesture of
impatience, Beryl left her.
Darkness fell; stars and moon lit the night sky and reflected
themselves in a small pond far away in the distance. Cathy looked
round the room, taking in the shadowed outline of all it
contained—and suddenly it took on the aspect of a cell...
Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks as she stood gazing over the
smooth and undulating landscape, while actually seeing the wild
and heathered moors, bathed in a silver radiance with the far hills
rising to the fretted peaks whose summits were canopied with
snow. She saw the deeply-incised valleys, clefts dissecting the vast
and sombre upland plain; saw the jagged spurs and naked scarps,
carved to their present form by wind and rain and glaciers, nature's
mighty tools.
On a night like this she would have been out, either with Paul or
quite alone, with the cold clear air on her face and legs, and the
great domed sky above, subtly lit by the incandescence of a
myriad stars. A racing moon would pick out the glistening snowy
heights of Shining Tor, rising starkly above Hunter's Clough to
shelter the lonely resting-place of the Fanshawes.
She saw the Hunter's Clough itself, descending from its torrent
stage in a series of miniature cascades until its course become
abruptly checked as it joined the brook which flowed under the
Packhorse Bridge before meeting the Callder. She traced the
Callder, from his headwaters on the wild terrain of Axe Edge, high
in the Macclesfield Forest, to the point where its freedom was
curtailed and it was confined to the pipeline which took it into the
Tordale Reservoir. Confined by man . . . that man!
The following morning she knocked timidly on door and waited
for Charles's permission before attempting to enter his room. He
was fully dressed, glancing through some papers, which he folded
as she came in. He watched her, noting the shadows under her eyes
and the slightly nervous movement of her hands.
"I will do as you wish," she said simply, aware of the softening of
his eyes, and allowing her thoughts to link him with Beryl. Did they
go out often together? Mrs Blythe had said they usually called
somewhere for supper, so Cathy assumed they went out regularly
when Charles was at home. "I'm sorry f-for b-being obstinate." She
hung her head, but only to hide the brightness of her eyes.
A small silence followed her words before Charles said, with
infinite gentleness,
"My little waif, come here." He held out his arms and she went to
him. Resting her head on his breast, she wept—wept for her father
and her freedom . . . and for something else she could not
understand. His arms and comforted her, his voice stilled her tears.
"I know it's hard for you to accept these restrictions, but you must.
A little time, and you'll come to enjoy your new home. I'm quite
sure of this, Cathy." The slanting sunlight and set alight the
burnished copper of her hair d she looked up to see a most odd
expression on his eyes. He bent his head to touch her forehead with
his, then dried her eyes and smiled, noting the faint responsive
tremor of her mouth. "Would you like me to walk with you when
you go to see Mr Morgan?"
"Yes, please." The tremulous little smile deepened. Shall I go
now—or after breakfast?"
`After breakfast will do. I don’t expect Mr Morgan welcome too
early a visit."
Cathy had never had a harder task than humbling 1f, especially
as Mr Morgan was far from grain his reception of the apology. As
she promised not to trespass on his land again she wondered how
she would become used to keeping to footpaths and roads, and it
seemed to her that there was no point at all in rambling under
those conditions. Besides, the fun lay in field-work, whether mental
or practical. How could one reach any sort of conclusion, postulate
a theory regarding the probable evolution of a landscape without
coming into close contact with that landscape? Also, there were
always exciting things to be found, things that the uninitiated never
dreamed existed, and therefore missed.
When she returned to Charles, who had waited by the gate, he
took her hand, patted it and said,
"Good girl; it wasn't so bad, after all, was it?"
She smiled and said nothing. She had pleased and for some
indefinable reason that seemed to be that mattered.
During the next few months their relationship to on an intimacy
which was pleasant, yet slightly disarming to Cathy. Then one
week-end Charles telephone saying that he had had some trouble
at his work and could not possibly get away. The same thing
happened the following week-end, and although Cathy felt utterly
miserable, she was at the same time grateful for the friendship
extended to her by the Deans. She spent most of her time with
them, and very soon she and Bridget had become firm friends,
doing their shopping together in town and usually having a meal
before returning home. The Deans had many visitors; when these
came to dinner Cathy also received an invitation and she soon
began to find a new pleasure in dressing for the occasion. Bridget
introduced her to one or people of her own age, and Cathy noticed
what they wore, how they did their hair and what kind of make-
up they used. She met Bridget's boy-friend, Noel, worked in
Glasgow and therefore did not get do his home in Loughborough
very often. Noel brought a friend with him and almost
immediately he and Cathy discovered they had a common
interest, for although Bill had no knowledge of the technicalities of
land formation, he had recently begun the hobby of fossil
collecting. He and Cathy talked a good deal about this and
eventually Bill suggested that, on his next visit, which would be for
several days, they should go up to Derbyshire and she could show
him the best places to find the fossils.
"I'll hire a car, and if we go early in the morning we should have
a good long day," Bill said eagerly, after Cathy had brought some
of her fossils to show him. "I shall look forward to our outing."
Bill was just twenty-one, and very fair with blue eyes and a
frank, open expression. He had no parents, and at was the reason
Noel had invited him to spend the aster holiday in Loughborough.
Both boys thought it most opportune that Bridget also had a
friend. The four of them went about together and on one occasion
they attended a dinner dance.
I can't get up," protested Cathy, shaking her head terminally as
Bill insisted. All her diffidence returned the other three tried to get
her on to the floor. She not really wanted to go to the dance, but
Bill had looked so disappointed that she had agreed. When he
asked her to dance, however, she took fright and her at actually
contracted with fear. "I haven't ever danced in my life," she said,
her cheeks losing their colour as she looked up at Bill.
In a few words, and with the utmost tact, Bridget explained. Bill
obligingly agreed to sit - out, but requested Cathy to tell him all
about her life upon the moors.
"It must have been jolly interesting!" he added, setting himself
down again beside Cathy.
She received this with some measure of doubt at first because
everyone else except Steve had concluded that her life before
coming to Leicester must have been exceedingly dull. But Bill
seemed quite sincere, and she proceeded to give him a rough
outline of her life and explained the reason for her having to move.
"Will your lonely cottage still be there when we go?" he asked
with genuine interest. "I should like to see the site of that fine
settlement."
Cathy shook her head, telling him of the demolition order.
"The two bridges are still there, though," she we on to inform him.
"They're to be submerged, unless someone saves them, that is. We
did think at one time that the Packhorse Bridge would be saved,
but the m who offered to move it changed his mind because would
have cost too much.''
"What would anyone want to move a bridge for. Bill asked,
frowning. "Where would one put it?"
"Over another stream. You would have to be very selective, of
course, because a bridge like that could easily look incongruous."
She paused in thought don't think any of the downstream
tributaries would do—they're all rather narrow. It could be taken
up-stream—though I can't think for the moment of stream over
which it would look just right." She turned to smile at him, and then
went on to say that could wander upstream from the Callders
Bridge see if they could discover a suitable position for bridge. Then
she gave a deep sigh as she reflected the futility of such an
excursion. As Charles had s no one would be willing to spend all
that money to the bridge from submergence.
Bill and Noel went back to Glasgow the following day, and
although she felt a gap at their departure, Cathy knew it was
Charles she really missed.
Where was he? A month now since he had been home. Each
Friday he phoned her expressing regret at not being able to leave
his work. He obviously had a serious problem on his hands, and
something he had said had given Cathy the idea that it concerned
instabi-1ty of the rocks. That would be troublesome, she knew, for
one had to be so careful when building roads. There must be no
danger of collapse.
Cathy wished she could help him; the next instant he chided
herself for her presumption. Beside Charles e was a mere novice.
He phoned her on Thursday saying he would be own the
following afternoon.
His eyes grew dark and unfathomable as he watched her
running downstairs; then they flickered with admiration—and at
the same time held a hint of regret. Cathy stopped with sudden
shyness, waiting for his comment.
"What is this, my waif? What have they done to you? Turn
around."
Holding out the folds of her dress, Cathy obeyed, literately
moving nearer to him as she turned. `Do you like me?" Her eyes
shone a welcome. No taking her pleasure at his appearance. "I
bought it morning—especially for you !" She sent him a questing
glance, but he said nothing; she sensed his mixed emotions. He had
wanted her to adapt, to tare and be like other girls of her age, and
yet.... A sigh of regret escaped him, but he still made no commet
and Cathy went on, quickly and rather anxiously, have lipstick
on—and do you like the colour of my nail varnish?" She held out a
manicured hand to show him.
"I do not," he returned shortly. "You can remove it"
"I put it on especially for you, Uncle Charles." Her lip quivered at
his tone, and she felt bewildered by the little pain suddenly tugging
at her heart. "I thought you wanted me to be ... modern?"
"Not too modern." His tone softened at her expression. "Don't
change too quickly, my little waif—I find I quite liked you as you
were."
She looked at him in perplexity; she had been so sure he would
be pleased at the change in her.
"You don't like my dress, even?" She kept her eyes on his,
anxiously awaiting his verdict.
At last he smiled, and her world shone again. He held out his
hands, and she put hers into them, acutely aware of their strength
and their warmth.
"You look charming, Cathy. I'm proud of you. The dress is in
excellent taste. I presume all this is the rest of Mrs Dean's influence?"
She nodded.
"And Bridget's—but I chose this dress myself. I choose everything
myself, though I usually ask Dean or Bridget if they like whatever I
am buying She spoke with a certain confidence, and a new
maturity, though the childish innocence still looked out f those
lovely eyes.
"Come into the sitting-room and tell me all that have been doing
while I've been away," he in retaining one of her hands. "I sincerely
hope haven't been up to any mischief?" he added with a quizzical
lift of his brow, and Cathy was quick to declare her innocence of
any further misdemeanours.
Mrs Blythe and Beryl were out, but Steve sat on the side of the
fire, his book almost touching his eyes, and his spectacles hanging,
useless, on the tip of his nose. He glanced over them, and over his
book, to scrutinize the faces of his benefactor and his `new little
friend' as he chose to call Cathy. The colourless eyes finally rested on
their hands, still clasped, and an enigmatical smile touched the thin,
pale lips.
"Hello, Steve." Charles sat down in the deep armchair on the
opposite side of the fireplace, and Cathy sat on the rug at his feet.
"Are you well?"
"Pretty good, on the whole, Charles. And you, what's been the
matter to keep you away so long?" Steve dropped his book on to
his lap. The spectacles dropped on to the floor. Cathy picked them
up, laughing.
"I've told you so many times, Steve. You'll break them. Where's
your case?" She rose to look on the mantelshelf, then moved to the
small table by the wall. `Here it is—now keep them in it!" She spoke
sternly, aware of Charles's prolonged gaze or that Steve was, turn,
staring at Charles.
"I've had some trouble at the works," returned Charles as Cathy
sat down again.
"Fixed now?" His expressionless gaze held that of Charles for a
moment, then moved to Cathy, who waited with sudden interest
for her uncle's reply. "No, afraid hot." A deep sigh escaped him, but
he achnged the subject and the conversation turned to ht and
everyday matters for a while, then Steve ced at the dock and
announced his intention of g a short nap before tea.
Cathy looked up at her uncle as the door closed behind Steve.
He seemed exhausted and depressed and knew he had been
under a great strain. In the most natural way she knelt up to kiss
him on the lips, offering the comfort she had given her father when
he, too, had been wrestling unsuccessfully with some geological
problem.
A little gasp of astonishment escaped him at the gentle,
spontaneous gesture, and there was no mistaking the look of
tender concern in her eyes.
"My waif, what was that for?"
Her eyes became pensive and faintly regretful.
"I wish I had Paul's knowledge. Then I would be able to help
you." She sat down on the rug again, and rested her head against
his knee. A dimness had suddenly pervaded the room as the sky
darkened with the promise of rain. A log slipped to send a shower
of light to catch, fleetingly, the delicate fine of her profile and
lighten her hair to the colour of burnished gold. Charles touched it,
letting his fingers run through it. His touch was gentle, almost
tender, and Cathy suddenly quivered with a strange and new
emotion Charles sensed it and seemed annoyed by it. She felt an
almost physical ache when his voice resumed familiar impersonal
tope as he asked her again to tell him what she had been doing
during the past month.
She told him all that had happened, speaking in the low sweet
voice that seemed to bring the music of the wild moors right into
the room. She told him of meeting Noel and Bill, and of their going
out together. But she made no mention of the projected trip into
Derbyshire; she had a faint uneasiness about her uncle allowing her
to go on to the moors with a young man and should he forbid her
to do so she would either have to defy him or disappoint Bill. Much
simpler, she decided, to remain silent about the matter.
And she felt glad she had done so, for Charles seemed vexed
even at the idea of her going out with Bill at all.
"You were together all the time—the four of you, I mean?" His
voice held a hint of steel, and the hand resting gently on the top of
her head was removed. Yet there was a frown of anxiety in his
glance as he added, you didn't split up into pairs?"
"No." Cathy looked up innocently. "We were together all the
time—except when Bill brought me home, of course."
"He brought you home?" Again that edge of steel to his voice.
"Mrs Dean allowed it?"
She stared blankly for a space and then, in some bewilderment.
"Is there any reason why Bill shouldn't bring me home?" She
waited, still uncomprehending, but Charles did not answer. He
merely regarded her searchingly as if waiting for some sign of
embarrassment or heightened colour. He appeared to be satisfied,
but Cathy was left with the strange conviction that he intended,
once again, to pay a visit to Mrs Dean.
CHAPTER VI
THE tea was brought in and Charles and Cathy took it atone by
the fire, both rather silent, each strangely content in the company
of the other. When they had finished and the tray had been
removed Cathy settled down again at her uncle’s feet. She sensed
once more his depression and tentatively mentioned his work
again.
"Paul knew so much . . . but of course you do," she added hastily
and with rising colour. "I'm sure you will solve the problem, Uncle
Charles." Yet her anxiety remained and she caught his band and
put it to her cheek, as if once more to give him comfort.
He did not speak for a white, but she knew by his sudden frown
that his thoughts were on the problems his work.
"Never Mind about it, Cathy," he said at lest apparent
carelessness. "Let's think of something else. Show me that map—the
geological one—again."
"Yes," said Cathy, "and oh, I meant to tell you, I' found the other
maps—the bundle I thought I'd—But perhaps they aren't of any
interest to you... ?"
Charles's eyes flickered. He told her to bring the maps for him to
see.
She sprang up immediately, eager and happy that should show
interest.
"They're all relating to the Pennines," she said faint apology a few
minutes later as she knelt on rug sorting out the maps. "Which area
would you the limestone, or the grits and shales ?"
"The grits and shales; show me the one you thought you had lost."
She handed it to birr, taking hold of one side as he opened it
across his knees. He examined it carefully, surprising her by his keen
and prolonged interest.
"Paul often seemed to have an instinct," said Cathy, beginning. to
search through the other maps, opening them, then folding them
again. "There's another one somewhere, with more on it than the
one you have, but he never finished it—Oh, yes, here it She spread
out the map, over the one he had. His eyes became darker and his
interest even more pronounced.
He and Cathy talked a long while about the map, with all Paul's
brilliance revealed through his daughter's lips. Now and then,
though, she would bring a quick frown to Charles's face as she
commented scathingly on `that man'. He, too, would be having
difficulty.
"I do believe this is the point where the dam is to join the bank,"
she declared with evident satisfaction. `Here, of course, is the
obvious place--this is area of stability, but he won't know that. I
imagine he's grouting away, trying to reinforce the bank here, but
he's fighting a losing battle because it's completely riddled with
faults."
They spent another half hour examining other maps
Cathy’s pleasure in having someone to share her interest was
obvious. He realised for the first tune how it must be for her here,
having so little in common with those with whom she was forced to
live.
She might have read his thoughts, for, glancing up, he said in
rather pleading though doubtful tunes, "Will you be coming home
every week-end from now? "
"I wish you didn't have this problem," she said, her eyes clouding
"Where do you live all the week? Can I--please can I come with
you?"
"That's not possible, my child," he sounded faintly regretful, sue
thought, and asked,
"Is it because you live at a hotel? If you do, then I'll understand,
for it would be far too expensive for you to have me with you. But
if you live in a house?"
"It's not the expense," he returned with caution. "But there are
other reasons why not practical for me to have you with me." Her
lip drooped and she uttered a sigh of resignation. "Don't look so
dejected, my waif," he added, eyeing her quizzically. "I should have
thought you would feel much more comfortable without your stem
uncle around, giving you orders and scolding you."
She thought about this, and for a moment became detached,
enveloped in that intangible quality which had surrounded her as
she stood atone on the Packhorse Bridge the day Charles had
brought her away from her moorland home.
She glanced up at last, to give him a rather ruff smile.
"I did resent your authority that first day, didn't I ?" she owned,
half expecting a frown to appear on dark brow. "You see, I hadn't
ever been scowled and it hurt ... here, inside—" She raised a hand to
her heart and with a swift, involuntary gesture Charles slipped an
arm around her shoulders, his fingers and gentle as they touched
the delicate curve off her neck. "But now that I love you," she went
on placidly "I don't think I mind at all—" She paused on hearing a
smothered little exclamation, but then went on a "And if I love you
it's neural that I want you around—even though you scold me all
the time. I would rather have that than those separations, Uncle
Charles, for I'm not very happy without you." Her lip quivered and
she moved her head, as though to find comfort by resting it in the
crook of his arm. She felt him move restlessly, become conscious of
his hand on her head. He caressed it absently. She wondered what
his feelings were. Only those of an uncle for his niece or perhaps
those of a father for his daughter. She sighed and asked, "When
you're finished this work will you be living here always?—or will you
go somewhere else?"
"I can’t say, Cathy," he replied at length. "In any case, it will be
another year before I've finished the project on which I’m engaged
at present. You have the Deans. You seem to spend a good deal of
your time there, so I don't think you should be bored, or lonely."
Cathy said nothing; he had not fully understood what she
wanted to convey . . . or alse he was being deliberately evasive;
impossible to tell which. She wanted to explain, to let him know it
was he whom she missed, and that it was not a question of her
being bored or lonely, but rather that of having someone of her
own close at band, someone to provide an outlet for her love. But,
glancing up, she noted in his face that hardness which had
dismayed her on their first meeting, and with a sudden ache of
dejection she left his side and began carefully to fold her father's
maps and turn them to their wrapper.
The following morning they again went into Leicester time to
visit the museum where they spent hours in the geological section.
The new fossil which had been discovered at Broadhouse Haves
was not there, much to Cathy's disappointment. There was,
however, a plaster cast of the fossil, and a leaflet describing it was
on sale.
"Do you know why the fossil isn’t at the museum, Uncle Charles?"
said Cathy, reading the leaflet on the way home.
"No, dear." Charles kept his eyes on the fine of traffic in front.
"They couldn’t extract it the rock was so hard" her voice quivered
with sudden excitement, "The fossil is still in the rock, and the exact
location is given here in the map reference. . . ." The fossil was still in
the rock ! and Broadhouse Eaves was not so very far away.... One
of the world's rarest fossils, over six hundred million years old, and
there for the taking. A frown creased her brow. The experts had
been unable to extract it--but Paul would have been able to do
so—and she acquired much of his skill. "Could we go and see it? she
asked tentatively, her eyes sparkling as she examined the
photograph of the newly-discovered fossil.
"As long as it's not on private property," return Charles in tones of
mild inflexibility.
Cathy's mouth set firmly.
"Surely you're not saying that this fossil belongs someone!"
"If it's on their land, yes." Charles swing the into the narrow, tree-
lined lane; the Grange and the Deans' house came into view.
"Where is this fossil?"
A long hesitation, and then,
"On the golf course—at least, on land belonging the golf course.
That's part of the Charnwood Forest isn't it?"
"This is all part of the Charnwood Forest." "And forest land
belongs to everyone."
"The golf course happens to be private property." Charles turned
into the drive and a few moments later they were standing beside
the car, Cathy's eyes defiant, Charles hard and unyielding. "You will
not go near that golf course, understand?"
"Can't I even look at it?" Unconsciously she gave away her
intention and a dangerous glint added to the severity of his glance.
"What do you mean, `even look'? What else had you in mind ?"
Cathy bit her lip.
"N-nothing, Uncle Charles," Cathie returned meekly, too meekly !
"If I hear of your going anywhere near that golf course, Cathy, I
hall be very angry indeed."
This merely drew forth her militant expression again. "That fossil
doesn't belong to anyone," she asserted with a toss of her head.
"How can it when it was there hundreds of millions of years before
man ever came on the earth? It's a stupid idea—Paul would laugh
at such a ridiculous notion of its being anyone's property !" "In that
case," said Charles with amazing patience, `you will agree that it ns
not —and never could be--your property?"
That fossil, Cathy decided, belonged to whoever could extract it.
Did her uncle really believe she could making the attempt?
"I can’t see the sense of leaving it there—"
"I expect you to do as I say!" He looked at her squarely for a long
moment and when, as if considering argument at an end, he took
a parcel from the car, the door and made to walk away towards
the house. But a light had entered Cathy's eye at his action all that
first resistance to authority took possession her. Neither her love for
Charles nor her fear of his displeasure acted as a brake on her
defiance. Had the fossil been up on the moors she would have been
free to do what she liked with it.
"I shall try to get it out," she announced firmly, though her colour
did fade somewhat as she observed his changing expression.
"Cathy," he said, in a very soft tone, "if you so much as touch it I
sail punish you-severely, do you understand?"
She recalled the misery of Chose long hours when she had been
confined to her room and for a brief space she faltered. But then
the light of determination once more entered her eyes.
"No one can question my right to add that fossil to my collection !
Paul would have been the first to agree about that, and to
encourage me...." Cathy tailed off; the mention of her father
seemed to have an odd effect on Charles, for suddenly his nostrils
flared. Nevertheless, his tone retained that soft inflection when at
last he spoke.
"Cathy ... have you ever been shaken?" Her eyes opened very
wide, but she did not speak and ire added in the manner of one
goaded quite beyond human endurance, "Damned silly question
for me to have asked !" and then, warningly, "You will be, though, I
can assure you—and not before very long ! "
"If you did that to me," returned Cathy, a sparkle I her eyes, "I'd
never forgive you—never!"
"I don't believe you would," he said as, to her surprise, his anger
left him. "No, I'm sure you wouldn't.'
The rugged outcrop glistened in the sun and. Cathy moved this
way and that in order to view the f from various angles. She felt
disappointed, for imprint was far from pronounced. In fart, it was
merest indentation in the rock and became almost in-visible when
viewed from certain angles. For over three hours she had used all
her knowledge and skill, but the rock was too hard. Many others
had been there before her, judging by the damage to the area
around the actual fossil. But all appeared to have been experts, for
no damage had occurred to the fossil itself. Witte a deep sigh she
stooped and collected up her tools and a few minutes later she was
negotiating several strands of barbed wire that had been fixed as a
barrier against intruders.
She should have known of course that, had it been humanly
possible to extract it, the fossil would now be in the museum; the
man who had discovered it would have made sure of that. Having
successfully passed under the barbed wire, Cathy slung her
rucksack over her shoulder and made her way to the bus stop.
There vas one slight consolation; she would not be in trouble with
her uncle !
He had cautioned her again this morning over breakfast. His
voice had been hard and his eyes stem, so Cathy had adopted a
submissive attitude because she didn't bear him to leave her like
this. She was rewarded by his smile, and a quick ides on her brow
he said, as they walked to the car,
"Be a good girl, and I'll try to come down at the week-end—in
fact, I think you can rely on my coming " He hesitated. "I think I've
solved the problem 'that has been troubling me for so long."
Cathy called at the Deans' after alighting from the Mrs Dean was
in the kitchen and she looked up cutting sandwiches, a Swift smile
of welcome on face. She observed the rucksack with some
puzzlement but made no comment on it.
"They're all in the sitting-room, dear," she informed Cathy after
inviting her to cake off her coat.
"All?"
"Noel and Bill are here." Mrs Dean hesitated uncertainly, and
then, "Go on in, Cathy, and Bridget will give you the news herself."
She continued with the sandwiches and Cathy regarded her with
faint curiosity for a moment as if expecting her to explain, but Mrs
Dean told her again to run along to the sitting-room.
Bridget and Noel were engaged; Cathy became overwhelmed
with a strange shyness as she offered her congratulations, and she
wondered the reason could be the way Bill looked at her—with
that prolonged and interested regard. He made room for her on
the couch beside him and when Mrs Dean brought in the tea he
very attentively saw to her needs.
There was to be an engagement party at one of the large hotels
in Leicester and naturally Cathy was invited.
"I wonder if Charles would come?" said Mrs Dean thoughtfully, a
strangely troubled look in her eyes as she saw Bill put his head close
to Cathy's. Charles had called in this morning and requested that
she made his niece and this Big were not left atone together. The
hotel where the party was to be held stood in extensive grounds;
invariably the couples left the balloon wander off onto the gardens.
Watching Bill now there was no doubt in her mind about his asking
Cathy take such a stroll.
Personally, she considered Cathy too timid to come any harm,
but she could understand her uncle’s anxiety and she meant to
respect his wishes as far as she could.
"Uncle Charles?" Cathy's eyes brightened. ` That would be lovely
!" For some reason she remembered her pride as she sat opposite to
him in the restaurant how she had noticed for the first time that he
was handsome, and that the had been glad he wasn't old and
fatherly like Paul. Cathy could think of nothing so wonderful as
having her uncle for an escort—and she could dance a little now,
for alter that occasion on which she had refused to dance with Bill,
Bridget had insisted on giving her lessons. To dance with Charles, to
feel the strange comfort of his arms.... Cathy found her eyes straying
to Bridget's ring; a new and unfathomable emotion swept over her
and the hand that held her cup trembled slightly.
The following day Cathy stood by the sink in the out-house,
watching her friend shampooing Belinda. "Bridget, what does it
feel to be in love?" mater several attempts Cathy managed to
phrase the question, though she felt the colour rising swiftly as she
did so. Pausing, her bands buried in lather, Bridget smiled, her eyes
shadowed in faint compassion.
"Have you never had a boy-friend?" she asked gently.
"No—but I didn't want one," Cathy added hastily and with truth.
"I—I used to like being on my own." he waited for an answer to her
question and then mildly repeated it.
Bridget's eyes shone; absently she began to run her fingers into
Belinda's fur again.
"It's just . . . wonderful !" she laid briefly, and a touched Cathy's
brow.
"There must be more to it than that," she stated. There must be !"
`Must there ?" Bridget raised her eyes from her "Why? "
Cathy searched for an answer. "Well... feel wonderful when you
walk on the moors in the I, or when you watch the water cascading
over the rocks, or when you feel the icy cold wind in your hair—
Love isn't like that !" She looked at her friend, her great eyes cloudy
and bewildered. "What do you feel like, Bridget—here, inside?"
Her friend's eyes suddenly widened.
"Are you—do you think you might be falling in love with Bill."
"Bill?" Cathy blinked at her. "No, it isn't Bill."
"Then who?" Bridget ceased her rubbing again; Belinda shivered
and glanced round at her mistress with a sort of dignified reproach
in her eyes. "We weren't aware you knew anyone else. Have you a
boyfriend we don't know of ?"
"No, no, I haven't. You see it’s—it's—" Cathy broke off, flushing
even more vividly. One did not fall in love with one's uncle. Bridget
would consider that to be very odd. "I just wanted to know what it
felt like," she added lamely, and then, with a shaky little laugh,
"Poor Belinda, you look so unhappy!" Cathy reached for the jug of
warm water. "Shall I rinse her, Bridget? While you get the towel?"
Cathy stood poised on the rooky ledge at the head of the clough,
gazing out a cross the green expanse of heathered moor to the
distant heights of Kinder Scout, snow-sprinkled and glistening in the
sun.
Bill, hammering away in a farad outcrop dose by, paused in his
task to glance up at her. He saw her outlined against the sky, a
remote, elusive figure with all the glace of a nymph. Her eyes, wide
and clear, moved to smile down at him with the candid innocence
of a child. Her long slight hair, whipped from her forehead by the
breeze, seemed on fire. Bill caught hir breath ... and resumed his
labours.
After a while Cathy joined him. He had a fossil in avis hand and
was clearly delighted with it.
"Do you know what it is?" he asked, preparing to wrap it
carefully in a piece of tissue paper.
"Lamellibranch, non-marine." Cathy regarded the specimen with
a frown and asked Bill if he intended keeping it.
"Of course." Bill wrapped it up and placed it in his bag. "I haven't
one of those."
Cathy shrugged, and then remembered that Bill was a very new
and inexperienced collector.
"There's a band of them lower down the clough," she said, "on the
site of an old lake bed. Come, I’ll show you. We can find a much
better specimen than that."
Fascinated; Bill watched Cathy as she ran her hand under the
bank of a small stream which ran through the lake bed before
joining the Hunter's Clough. To his amazement she brought forth a
beautiful specimen of the fossil and, taking out a handkerchief,
wiped it clean.
"There--" She saw his expression and laughed. `They aren't
always embedded in the rocks," she told him "Quite often the
water does the work for you and you merely have to pick them
up. In any case, fossils found in the shales are very easily extracted—
not like the limestones. "
"I always thought fossils were rare," Bill said, taking from her to
examine it admiringly. "But you seem find them everywhere !"
"Not everywhere. But fossils are not rare by any means—it’s just
knowing where to look for them."
They retraced their steps down the clough to the n valley and the
road alongside the Callder, and several times Cathy regarded Bill a
little anxiously as he negotiated the stony path. On one occasion he
almost overbalanced as he missed his footing where the path had
been undercut by the stream and collapsed.
They reached the car without mishap, however, Bill put his
rucksack and 'ode in the bout. Cathy out the picnic basket and the
flasks.
"We'll have our lunch by the river," she said. "W you bring the
groundsheet, Bill, and the mg?"
The lunch was soon spread out, ready and inviting; Bill sat down
on the mg, but Cathy remained standing for a while regarding the
devastation through eyes dimly kindled with halite. They moved
slowly from rutted, mud-strewn river bed to the row of buts on
hillside above. For countless ages the valley had gaining in form
and beauty as nature slowly and d worked its wonders. Then along
comes one man, determined mined to destroy...
The two bridges atone gave evidence of habitation. They looked
forlorn and sad amid all ugliness. The Wingstone Brook still flowed
under Packhorse Bridge, and the main river under the tiers Bridge,
but only a few hundred yards do the bed was dry.
"Where was your little cottage?" Bill's question into her thoughts
and she pointed to a spot below Packhorse Bridge. A terrible
bitterness entered her as she spoke.
"There.... That pile of stones was our—our home." Her eyes
wandered again to the huts, and her clenched as on the day she
had stand on the bridge making that last wish.
She sat down and took a sandwich from the which Bill held out
for her.
"I expect you feel awful," Bill looked at her understanding, but a
moment later added, I’ve been terribly lonely though, up here,
especially winter. What did you find to do?"
"My father and I used to go off no matter what time of the year
it was—or what kind of Luther. You get used to it. We always
found plenty to do." He seemed puzzled and Cathy told him a little
about her father's work, and about the papers he used to write.
"We get many geologists up here," she went on, `and tramps, of
course. "
Bill shook his head in a slightly bewildered way. He ed to
understand this strange girl. How could anyone actually enjoy such
isolation?
"Would you return—if you could, Cathy?" He handed her the
sandwiches again, watching her eyes as they took on a brooding,
reflective expression. "Would u really go back to your old life?"
Her gaze sought once more the row of huts. That had changed
her whole life, and brought about father's death. She knew she
would always hate and yet...
With a sudden catch of wonder she found herself thinking of
Charles and realising that, had this upheaval in her life not
occurred, she would never have him. Confused, and filed with a
heavy sense of guilt, she was gradually forced to accept the
astounding truth.
Her life had held no real meaning until she met Charles !
This feeling she had for him was different from that she had
known for her father—but was it the kind of feeling Bridget had for
Noel? Cathy's heartbeats quickened with fear. If this new emotion
were that kind of ... then what about Charles's feelings for her? She
to view the situation dispassionate , but her thoughts floundered
helplessly and her fear increased.
Charles had accepted responsibility for her merely a sense of
duty; his attitude was ever that of stern guardian. When he loved it
would be someone like Beryl, a girl who shared his interests and his
way life, one who had been brought up in a `civilised' society.
Mechanically, she took the cup of tea which Bill had poured out
for her, aware of his curious gaze as he awaited her reply.
"I—I don't know," she murmured, her eyes on the heap of
gritstone blocks that had once been her home. "I really don't
know.... "
CHAPTER VII
THE following afternoon Charles turned into the narrow, tree-
lined road still uncertain as to how he meant to deal with Cathy.
His face was taut and grim as he recalled John's mentioning the
couple on the clough. He had not shown much interest at first, for
the couple were not trespassing, but a chance remark referring to
the girl's agility caused Charles to take the binoculars from his uncle
and scan the lonely heights above the clough.
Only one girl could stand like that, erect and proud, poised like
some magnificent wild creature surveying its vast terrain, a
graceful slender silhouette against the pine-clad hills sheltering the
desolate ruins of Callderton Hall.
Charles had caught his breath; he could have been anywhere on
the site; she could so easily have seen him. How had Mrs Dean
come to allow the trip? Charles's lips compressed as he realised that
Cathy must intentionally have avoided mentioning it ... as she had
deliberately avoided mentioning it to Him.
She must have guessed he would not give his consent. He turned
into the drive and as usual Cathy ran down he steps to greet him.
But suddenly she paused, a soft flush rising, an unaccustomed
shyness holding her back. Had he stopped to define her attitude, to
mark the glow in her eyes and the faint tremor of her lips, his
reaction might have been different, but in his present mood he saw
only an air of guilt and his mouth tightened again as he closed the
car door with a sharp, deliberate movement, before turning to
regard her with hard and angry eyes.
"Is there anyone in the sitting-room?"
"Yes—''
"Then come upstairs !" he commanded brusquely. I want a few
words with you !"
"I h-haven't done anything wrong," she faltered closing the door
behind her as she followed him into room.
Flinging his suitcase on the bed, Charles rounded on her,
demanding to know why she had gone up to Derbyshire without
his permission. The way the colour le her face and the sparkle
faded from her eyes, the way she flinched under the dark fury of
his voice only served to increase that fury—and his suspicions. "You
knew last week-end, when you were telling me about this young
man—this Bill—that you were planning the trip, didn't you?" Cathy
was too staggered by his manner to utter a word, and he added, in
the same wrathful tones, "Well, is there something wrong with your
tongue?"
"How—how did you find out?" she said at last, staring.
"That's my business!" he snapped, and then, "Answer me—why
did you go up to the valley without my permission !"
She stood erect, very pale, her wide grey eyes hurt and
bewildered, recalling her thoughts of yesterday remembering how
she had wondered at the new, exquisite sensation that had so
unexpectedly entered into her. She had fallen asleep feeling
excited, filled with anticipation, eager for the moment when she
would see the car come winding along the lanes...
His face was more severe, more rigid than she had ever seen it as
he stood there, glaring down at her awaiting a reply. Her chin went
higher; her fists clenched and a militant light entered her eyes.
"I don't know how you could have learned of it," she said, "but I
don't think it matters very much if you're aware of my visit to the
moors. It's not necessary for me to obtain anyone's permission to go
there—to see the place where I used to live." Her voice was low and
calm despite the rapid beating of her heart. "I said that first day
that I'd never been told what to do, that I had always pleased
myself. I told you that Paul—"
"Don't you dare quote another of your father's impractical
philosophies to me," he warned, eyeing her levelly. "Had he
attended more to his duty my own task would have been easier; as
it is, while I'm responsible for your welfare you will regard my
wishes."
"That's a subtle way of putting it !" she flashed. "What you really
mean is that I must obey your orders—well, I won't, so now you
know ! And it doesn't matter how you scoff at Paul's ideas, I believe
in them !" She stopped, remembering that only last week-end she
had said she no longer resented his authority. But that had been
such an intimate occasion, with Charles so gentle and she herself in
a tender, docile mood. Tears started to her eyes, much to her
chagrin. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, and
when she again met his gaze the militant light had returned. "I've
never been meek and submissive—and I couldn't ever be, or give
up my freedom, and—and if you insist I shall find a job and leave
you !"
He actually looked startled at her words. She felt he had
expected a clash of wills but had not doubted that his own will
would prevail. Her expression remained stormy and he spoke more
guardedly, and with some caution.
"Now you're being silly and childish," he began when she
interrupted him, her voice tense and indignant.
"That's how you think of me, isn't it?—as a child, a silly child who
needs to be protected. But I'm older than Bridget and she—she—
Oh, you don't understand ! You want me to regard you as a
father... Her voice trailed away into silence as the impact of her
new emotion again hit her, forcibly; she lowered her eyes, for they
were suddenly brimming with tears.
"A father?" murmured Charles after a lengthy pause. His anger
had subsided now and his mouth curved in a faint smile which was
half bitter, half amused. "No, my waif," he said with unexpected
gentleness, "that's not how I would have you regard me."
She stared, bewildered.
"Not as a father? Then what—?" Cathy trembled, and her wet
lashes blinked rapidly as she tried to read his expression. "How w-
would you I-like me to—? She broke off, lowering her head in
sudden embarrassment, and the moment was lost. Charles gave a
deep sigh and reverted to the subject of the trip.
"You did know, last week-end, that you intended going up to
Derbyshire?"
"Yes," she returned dully. "Yes, we had discussed it."
"Then why didn't you mention it?" She looked directly at him,
unflinching now. "I somehow knew you wouldn't—approve."
Charles noticed her hesitation; he smiled at her way of putting it.
"And if I hadn't approved?" "I should still have gone."
"Yes, I'm sure you would." And then, curiously, "What did you do
all day?"
"Collected fossils, and had a picnic by the river."
"Is that all? You spent the whole day collecting fossils?"
"We wandered over the moors as well." She looked oddly
puzzled as she added, "What else could we be doing?"
Charles laughed, but after a moment he became serious as he
asked her to promise not to go up to the moors again, either alone
or with anyone else. She was too hurt and dejected to note his
anxiety, or the persuasive inflection of his voice. She failed to
understand the request and as he would offer no reason she felt he
was once again assuming a dictatorial attitude, contriving by more
artful means to subjugate her, and she was immediately on the
defensive, sure that any weakness on her part would soon result in
total submission to his will, so she refused. But at the same time she
had no desire that he should construe her attitude as a deliberate
flaunting of his authority, for the idea of his becoming indifferent, of
his leaving her entirely to her own devices, was just as dismaying as
the prospect of his gaining complete mastery. She therefore
qualified her refusal by reminding him that, as she had no
transport of her own, she obviously could not go at all unless Bill
were available to take her. Aware of the sudden tightening of his
jaw again, she moved swiftly to the door, giving him no time to say
anything as she added,
"May I go now?—there isn't anything else you want me for?" She
was still very pale, yet calm and dignified, and her voice was
surprisingly steady and clear. Charles's face relaxed. He said softly,
an odd smile touching his lies,
"You're a wretch, Cathy, a stubborn little wretch and I wonder
why I bear with you. No, I haven't anything more to say; you may
go," and, turning, he drew his suitcase to the edge of the bed and
began to unpack.
Cathy went slowly downstairs, acutely aware of the softening of
his mouth and voice, and yet dominating her thoughts was his
anger, which seemed quite out of proportion, for all she had done
was to remain silent about her intended trip into Derbyshire with
Bill. A deep sense of unhappiness engulfed her as she again
reflected on that eager anticipation with which she had awaited
his arrival. She did not know what she expected, but never had she
visualized the week-end beginning like this. One thing was clearly
revealed; Charles had no feeling akin to hers; no new tender
emotion had entered into him, otherwise he could never have
spoken to her in tones so harsh, or looked at he with that cold and
angry glint in his eyes.
Unable for the moment to face Moira, and probably Steve,
Cathy sat down on the stair, cupping her chin in; her hands.
The dimness, the oppressive weight of oak-lined walls and
massive beams, the shadow-darkened corners and the Bank,
must-tainted air.... She shivered, imprisoned—and suddenly
terrified that she would never escape.
But she did escape.
For a fleeting moment she stood on the precipitous heights
above Hunter's Clough, the pine-scented breeze on her face,
gazing dreamily across the purple moors t where the sun-haze, a
floating film of gossamer, veil and softened the distant ragged
scarps. Above, high and white, tangled wisps of cirrus cloud hung
motionless in a sky of purest blue.
The moors in their warmest, gentlest mood; this w her natural
habitat and only here was she free. Why should Charles try to deny
her this freedom? What right had he to say she must not visit the
moors just whenever she wished? His attitude was unreasonable in
the extreme. She remembered her conviction that he would object
to her going with Bill—though she could not think why. However, it
seemed his objection had nothing at all to do with Bill, for he had
asked her not even to go alone. A sudden frown crossed her brow.
What difference could her returning to the moors make to Charles?
There was no explanation for his attitude and she became more
fully convinced that it sprang from a most illogical desire to assert
his authority. A light sparkled in her eyes; Bill was staying over for
the party tomorrow night . . . in fact, he was staying over until
Tuesday.
Moira glanced up from manicuring her nails as Cathy entered
the sitting room and moved over to the couch. The older woman's
eyes narrowed perceptively as she examined Cathy's face, and a
half-sneer of satisfaction curved her mouth into an ugly line.
"In trouble again, are you?" Cathy said nothing, but shot her a
glance of intense dislike. "No wonder," added Moira, "if you speak
to him the way you speak to me—always snapping."
"I never snap at you !"
"What are you doing now?"
"Well, if I do it's because you snap at me."
Moira screwed the top on the bottle of nail varnish with a slow,
deliberate movement.
"I must say this—and you're not going to like it but this house has
never been the same since you came. I often wonder if Charles had
some particular motive for bringing you here. Seems very odd that
he brought you at all—I'm sure it wasn't out of a sense of duty." he
held out a hand to examine the crimsoned nails, and then
continued, looking straight at Cathy,
"Whatever his reason he must be heartily regretting his action by
now."
Cathy's eyes glittered, but she remained thoughtfully silent for a
moment, her mind dwelling on her recent visit, with Bridget, to the
large house in Leicester where Alison, a friend of Bridget, was
installed in a flat. She had left home, wishing to be independent,
but the flat was too expensive, and she hoped to find someone to
share it...
Moira was obviously awaiting some comment and Cathy said
brusquely,
"If Uncle Charles is regretting it he'll tell me him self. I don't expect
he'll thank you for telling me !" Rising from the couch, Cathy went
swiftly to the door, her face white, her lips quivering with anger.
"Such insolence ! I notice you never let Charles hear you speak to
me like this ! I shall certainly tell him—"
The door opened and Charles appeared, glancing swiftly from
Cathy's pale countenance to that of his stepmother, set and
diffused with colour.
"Tell him now, then !"
"What's this?" demanded Charles, his glance changing to one of
severity as he regarded his niece.
"Ask her !" Brushing unceremoniously past him Cathy ran out of
the house and down the path to join Steve in the summer house.
He was dozing; his spectacles lay where they ha dropped from his
nose on to the newspaper lying acre his knees. As Cathy stood by
the door and watched, head droped further forward, nodding,
then jerking little convulsive movements, and gradually lowering
her eyes clouded with compassion. What was it like be eighty-
two?—eighty-two and alone in the world?
"Steve. . . ." she murmured, and as he lifted his h and blinked at
her, "why don't you go upstairs and have a proper rest?" She sat
down on the stool, smiling at him. Strange how calm she felt now.
But Steve had that sort of effect on her; he was always so quiet and
composed.
"What are you doing here, little friend?" he wanted to know. "I
thought I heard Charles's car? You usually have no time for anyone
when he's around." Putting on his spectacles, he eyed her curiously,
then began fumbling with the newspaper, turning the pages with
awkward, clumsy fingers.
"He's busy," she submitted, and then, still regarding him with
compassion, "Did you never have any relations, Steve?"
The pale eyes twinkled.
"Well now, I expect I did have a mother." Having found what he
wanted he proceeded to fold the paper carefully and very slowly,
watching Cathy all the time. "Yes, I expect I must have had a
mother."
Cathy laughed, and took the paper as he held it out to her. He
indicated a certain column, pointing to the headline, and below
Cathy read, with increasing dismay, that `someone' had been
making abortive attempts to extract a rare and precious fossil from
the rocks in the outcrop above the golf course. The owners of the
land were considering what action to take, for this was private
property. The barbed wire fencing had been cut through and
damage had also been done to other fencing further down the
road. Flushed, and with an expression both frightened and puzzled,
Cathy met the mildly enquiring gaze of her companion.
"Other people had been there ... and the fencing as all right
when I left."
"I removed the paper," commented Steve, taking it from her
again. "I think perhaps it had better be mislaid, don't you?"
Cathy automatically put up a nervous hand to her mouth. If
Charles should discover this, after what had just occurred...
"Thank you, Steve," she said gratefully, and then, "Do you
suppose they can find out who was there? Will they call in the
police?" For the first time she regretted her rebellious action. "What
do you think will happen?"
"I shouldn't worry too much." Steve shrugged and tossed the
paper into a comer. "They'll probably never discover who it was.
You say you didn't damage the fence?"
"You know I wouldn't do a thing like that!" she returned
indignantly. "Someone else must have gone after me, and cut the
fence. I don't know why, though, because I managed to get under
it."
Steve eyed her up and down, smiling.
"I daresay you did—quite easily." He fell silent for a spell, and
then, "You mustn't do such a thing again," he warned. "Charles is
only human, you know, and—" He paused again as though to
make her attend carefully to his next words. `You must own, my
dear, that you've been something of a trial to him."
Her eyes clouding, she again thought of Alison's flat in Leicester.
"I expect this rare fossil was very tempting to you," remarked
Steve after a while. "You mentioned some information you'd let me
have?"
"The leaflet? I couldn't find it and realised I'd left it in the car—
shall I fetch it for you now? Are you really interested?"
"I'd like to read about it, yes."
The car was unlocked; Cathy reached for the leaflet, taking it
from the shelf where she had left it last week-end. Charles's
briefcase was on the passenger seat he had not fastened it securely,
for the flap was open and some of the papers had slid on to the
floor. She picked them up, vaguely aware of charts and plans and
there among them.... But it couldn't be ! Cathy turned back the
comer of the map—Paul's geological map of that part of the valley
in which the dam was being constructed. Her eyes flickered
uncomprehendingly as she recalled his interest in that particular
map. In fact, he had scarcely shown interest in any that had not
covered the region in which the reservoir was being built.... What
could he want with it?—and why had he taken it without asking?
Had he extracted it from the folder after she had put it there, or—
With a shock she realised he must have taken it from her room.
But why?
Staggered by her discovery, she returned to the summer house
and gave the leaflet to Steve, an absent expression in her eyes.
Should she tackle Charles with her discovery? There must be
some logical explanation. She knew he liked maps, and she herself
could sit and read a map with as much interest as other people
could read a book. Perhaps Charles was the same.... She shook her
head, for had that been the case he would simply have asked her
to lend him the map.
It was clear that he had wanted the map, but had not intended
her to know that he wanted it !
Thinking again of the plans and charts, Cathy murmured good-
bye to Steve and, leaving him already absorbed in the history of
the fossil, she made her way back to the drive. But before she
reached the car again Charles had come from the house and had
already taken out his briefcase. Seeing her he paused and to her
surprise he smiled as she came up to him.
She did not reply at once, trying to decide whether or not to
mention her discovery. But she knew he would be placed in an
awkward position, which would not please him at all. Also, as he
had told her on a previous occasion that his papers were private,
he would be justifiably annoyed that she had touched them, even
though they had fallen on to the floor of the car. No, she did not
see how she could inform him of her discovery and, suddenly aware
of some serious misgivings, she deliberately forced herself to dismiss
the matter from her mind. Her uncle would explain in his own
good time.
"Aren't you vexed?" she asked. "About Moira?"
"I daresay you were both equally to blame." He paused, then
added with a hint of amusement, "Would it matter very much to
you if I were?"
Falling into step beside him, Cathy walked in silence for a
moment, wondering at this indulgence while once again recalling
his anger.
"I was so looking forward to your coming," she murmured almost
to herself.
He did not comment for a space and then, with a mixture of
gentleness and regret,
"And I spoiled it, didn't I ?"
She cast him a glance of surprise, then nodded. But he had
yielded ground and she did the same.
"Perhaps I should have mentioned it to you, Uncle Charles—
about going into Derbyshire I mean."
They entered the hall; Charles paused by the table, took a bunch
of keys from his pocket, locked his briefcase, and left it on the table.
Something made her ask if he had solved his problem.
"Yes, Cathy, thank you." He paused uncertainly for a space, and
then, "Soon, dear, I'll tell you all about it.
Cathy frowned in puzzlement. How odd to thank her. He could
of course merely be thanking her for the enquiry ... but she had the
strange conviction that his thanks were for something much more
important than that. The tone in which he had called her dear,
however, made her forget everything else for the moment. She
smiled, a tremulous little smile; all his anger was forgotten and she
felt again that new emotion about which she no longer had any
doubts at all.
"I'm so glad—" She discovered with a slight shock that she could
not address him as usual and found herself adding, shyly, "Can I—
can I call you Charles?" but then she remembered his previous
reaction when she had asked him a similar question. "Perhaps you
wouldn't like it?"
"On the contrary," he returned gently, "I would like it very much."
They joined Moira in the sitting-room; Beryl came in as they were
having tea, an unfamiliar sparkle in her eyes as she greeted
Charles, and then Cathy. Her mother received no more than a
perfunctory nod of the head. A change had come over Beryl
during the past week—ever since her visit to the theatre with
Charles, or so it seemed to Cathy. She glanced at Charles; his smile
was tender, his eyes reassuring and a warm and happy feeling
engulfed her. Whatever the reason for the change in Beryl, it had
nothing to do with Charles.
"Has Mrs Dean been in touch with you?" Beryl inquired of him,
pouring herself some tea. "Bridget's engaged and we're all invited
to her party."
"She phoned a short while ago." Charles passed her the cakes,
smiling somewhat ruefully. Cathy suspected he didn't tare much for
parties and was surprised to hear him say he'd accepted the
invitation.
"You're coming?" she breathed, her eyes shining, and then, "It’s to
be a very swish do. I hope my dress will be suitable."
Charles frowned.
"Where did you find that expression?" he wanted to know.
"Everybody says it," replied Cathy without concern. "Don't you
like it?"
"Not particularly." he noticed the odd expression on Beryl's face
and added, "What makes you think your dress may not be
suitable?"
"Well, I'm wearing a long one," Beryl explained, "and so is
Bridget."
"But I'll look all right in a short one, won't I?" Cathy seemed
doubtful, eyeing them in turn.
"Probably." Beryl helped herself to another cake. "Everyone
won't be wearing long dresses—but they do look nice."
Much later Charles and Cathy walked over to the Deans' and
were urged to stay for supper. Charles seemed proud of Cathy and
gratified to see her so completely at her Base. The Deans had by
now a great affection for her and she felt more at home with them
than she did at the Grange. When the meal was over Cathy and
Bridget automatically cleared away the dishes and washed them
up. They went upstairs, and were laughing and moving around.
Cathy never treated the rooms at the Grange with such familiarity,
and when they returned to the sitting-room, she saw Charles
regarding her with a most odd expression in his eyes.
On their way home he said casually,
"We must go into town tomorrow and buy you a dress."
"Oh, no, Charles," she began, flushing slightly, I don't really need a
new one."
Glancing down, he took in her smart appearance, her exquisitely
tailored coat and expensive shoes, and smiled faintly to himself.
"Spent up?" he asked, and she started in surprise at his tone. Then
a rueful smile appeared, and the dimple.
"I must try to be more careful with my money—but the shops are
so full of lovely things. I know I should resist; I could at first, quite
easily."
"No need to resist, Cathy; it won't do you any harm to indulge for
a while."
She sensed tenderness about him, felt his hand under her arm as
they crossed the side-road leading to Mr Morgan's farm. And- for a
moment she had an urge to clear up the mystery of the map, and
also to ask him again how he knew she had been up to the mores.
But she remained cautiously silent, loath to risk a change in his
mood. Yet the questions continued to trouble her, for in some
inexplicable way she knew the two were linked. After a while she
put the matter from her, telling herself once again that Charles
would supply an explanation of his own accord when he was ready
to do so.
"We'll go into Leicester tomorrow," said Charles as they turned
into the drive. "I'll buy you the dress," and, as she again made to
protest, "I refuse to escort my—er—niece unless she is looking just
right for the occasion." The way he said that, the hesitation and the
slightly increased pressure on her arm gave her an odd feeling of
expectancy. But he did not speak again until they entered the
house, and then it was only to remark on the lateness of the hour
and say it was long past her bedtime. She would have liked to stay
up and sit with him alone, for everyone else was in bed, but Charles
had already picked up his briefcase from the table and made for
the stairs and Cathy had no option but to follow. On the landing he
turned, lifted her face and kissed her on the lips, watching the
colour rise in her cheeks. Then he had to laugh at her expression.
"What are you thinking? That Paul never kissed you like that?"
"How—how did you know?" she asked in surprise, putting a
finger to her mouth, as if to feel his kiss.
"Never mind." He was still amused, although his tone became
serious as he added, "I'm sorry I took on so about your trip to the
moors, but I shall explain to you, very soon." And then, cryptically,
"In the meantime, think about it; think about it carefully."
"Think... ?" She threw him a glance of bewilderment. "Think
about ... what?"
Charles made no reply, but merely kissed the top of her head
and bade her good night.
Cathy was dancing with Bill, but all the time she was aware of
Charles's eyes following her around the ballroom. She was in vivid
green, a billowing creation of net and shaded satin. As usual her
head was proudly held, her movements exquisitely supple; a smile
came swiftly as she caught his glance. Charles responded and
Cathy's heart began to do strange things. She tripped and Bill
apologised.
Charles had the next dance with her; she felt the - strength of his
body against her and his firm cool hand on her back. He
congratulated her on her dancing and her appearance, stating
that the Deans had worked hard and he was pleased with the
result.
"I'm just as you wanted me to be?" She was truly feminine,
glancing up at him coyly and waiting expectantly for his reply. He
brought a deliberate edge of coolness to his voice and her
excitement ebbed.
"Not quite," he said on a cryptic note, and a few minutes later
she was Sitting with Bill watching him dance, first with Mrs Dean
and then with Beryl.
"Do you suppose there's anything between those two?" said Bill,
noting the slight frown which had come to Cathy's brow as they
passed.
"You mean . . . are they in love? No, I don't think so—" She
paused, wondering why she was not quite convinced. "Beryl was
engaged—I don't know what happened, but it was broken off.
Steve thinks that her mother objected because the young man was
quite poor."
"Beryl is old enough to please herself, surely?"
Cathy nodded, recalling what little Steve had told her, though he
had also added that it was entirely supposition on his part, for he
was not in the family's confidence, being, since the death of
Charles's father, considered by Moira and her daughter as
something of a nuisance, and that was why he spent his time either
in bed or in the garden.
"Steve thinks Moira had one big row with this Eric, and he was so
angry that he just walked out and became engaged to someone
else."
"He's engaged again?"
"Yes. Bridget knows the girl—says she isn't nearly so nice as Beryl."
"I wouldn't say Beryl was very attractive." His glance once again
sought out the girl under discussion. She was looking up at Charles
and laughing, and Bill felt he should take his statement back.
"She used to look rather miserable," Cathy owned. "But lately—
this last few days—she's been different, almost happy." She ended
on a faintly puzzled note as she too noticed Beryl and Charles
laughing together. They came closer and there was no mistaking
the softness in Charles's eyes as he looked down at his partner.
"They could be in love," said Bill. "Certainly they appear suited.
How old is Beryl?"
"Twenty-six," replied Cathy in a flat tone.
"Just right." He turned, a grin spreading over his face. "We could
soon be receiving another invitation to, a party."
The colour left Cathy's cheeks at that and as the dance finished
and Charles returned he regarded her anxiously, asking if she felt
all right.
`Yes, I'm fine." She tried to sound light-hearted, and failed.
Charles insisted on taking her home, and as i was past eleven none
of the others made any protest.
"We shah all be moving soon," said Bridget. "Ami you're right;
Cathy dues look rather tired."
"Can we sit for a while?" asked Cathy half an hour later as they
entered the house.
"You're very tired, dear."
"Please, Charles....?" Her eyes were wide and strangely pleading
and after a small hesitation he took her arm and they went into
the sitting-room. The fire had died and although the room was
pleasantly warm from the radiators he switched on the electric
heater
They sat on the couch and for a moment Cathy looked around
her at the sombre furnishings of the room. No one seemed to have
any interest in the house at all; no one thought of brightening up
the place with new covers and curtains or bright coloured paint or
wallpaper. And yet, thinking of the tiny stone cottage on the
moors, she felt that brightness in itself was not all that important,
for the furniture in the cottage was heavy and old and the walls
merely whitewashed over the rough gritstone blocks.
It was the atmosphere, she realised. There was no warmth here,
no affection or love. She closed her eyes tightly; smelled the heady
scent of pine logs burning saw Paul with brow furrowed, delving
into the problems created millions of years ago, saw herself
kneeling beside him, sharing the tank of trying to solve those
problems.
There had been love and warmth and unity of purpose up there
in the lonely moorland cottage. Love and warmth...
"What is it, my—?" His glance flickered over her and he added,
with faint regret, "I'm afraid I've lost my little waif—you're so
elegant and lovely tonight, my dear."
"It's nice like this, you and me—so quiet." She rested her head
against his shoulder and a sense of tranquillity entered into her and
she forgot the cottage and Paul and the secrets of nature which,
she often felt, would in the end defy man's puny efforts at
discovery.
"But you have enjoyed yourself tonight?" His tons were half
amused and yet a trifle dry. "All the boys were wanting to dance
with you, I noticed."
"And I only wanted you," she murmured, trying not to yawn.
"Always it's' you I want, Charles." She turned her head, suddenly
afraid of something she did not understand. She dragged out the
words, "Beryl looked very happy tonight."
"She's certainly happier these days," he returned, and before he
could expound on that Beryl appeared, flushed and smiling.
"Still up, Cathy?" she exclaimed in surprise. "I thought Charles
would have bundled you off to bed right away—you seemed to be
so tired."
Cathy rose, as if impelled by some unspoken request of both
Beryl and Charles. Controlling the sudden quivering of her lips, she
said, with forced lightness,
"Yes, I am tired. Good night, Beryl; good night, Charles." Their
response seemed without interest, perfunctory, and at the door
Cathy turned. Beryl was sitting on the couch beside Charles, in the
place she herself had just vacated.
It was late on Sunday afternoon that the news of Cathy's
escapade on the golf course reached Charles. His visitor, the owner
of the land, had presented him with unmistakable evidence that
Cathy had been trespassing there and had even given Charles the
date. He was a reasonable man, listening to the explanation with
some slight interest, and on Charles's offering to pay for the
damage to the fencing he agreed to let the matter drop.
As he showed his visitor out Charles's mouth was set and grim.
The thought of the expense did not trouble him half as much as the
humiliation of having to ask the owner of the land not to
prosecute.
On his return to the sitting-room he sent for Cathy who, seated
on the stool in the summer house talking to Steve, looked up as
Alice gave her the message.
"I'll come back later," she laid to Steve, "and don't fall asleep with
your glasses on!" she added sternly. "You'll be breaking them one of
these days."
Charles was standing with his back to the window, his face
hardened and darkened by the shadows. Cathy stopped by the
door, blinking at his expression, and trying vainly to think of a
reason for it. With a slow and deliberate movement he picked up a
book lying on the table at his elbow.
"I believe this belongs to you." He held out the book to her, his
eyes hard and cold as steel. Cathy moved hesitantly forward and
took it from him.
"My field notebook?" She gave him an uncomprehending stare.
"Where did you get it?"
"Where did you leave it?"
"In—in my room, I suppose...." Her head suddenly jerked as she
recalled the last entry. With a trembling, mechanical movement
she turned back the cover, unable to meet Charles's icy gaze. "Did I
leave it—?" A lump rose in her throat, preventing further speech for
the moment.
"On a ledge in the old quarry—nicely labelled with your name
and address, and the date on which you tried to extract the fossil."
His voice was frightening in its quietness and her trembling
increased. She swallowed convulsively several times before she
could articulate her words.
"How did you get it–I mean, d-did someone return it?" The way
she looked down at her book, her bands nervously curling round it
one moment and plucking at the pages the next, the slight
trembling of her mouth and the effort she'd made to steady her
voice, all frayed his temper, yet he kept in under control, for he was
fully aware that nothing would afford him greater satisfaction
Than to seize her by the shoulders and shake her unmercifully, and
if he lost his temper that was exactly what he would do.
"Don't stand there asking stupid questions ! What do you mean
by giving me all this trouble? And do you mind explaining why you
deliberately out through the fencing?"
"I didn't—oh, Charles, you don't believe that ! How could I cut
through the barbed wire? I went under it... " She swallowed again
as his eyes darkened even more angrily at her admission. "And as—
as for the fencing further down the road, I didn't even go near it,
and that's the truth."
A long silence followed her words, and during it Cathy realised
her mistake. She put a trembling hand to her mouth, waiting for
his response. He spoke very softly.
"I don’t believe I mentioned anything about any other fencing.
Seeing that you didn't go near it, perhaps you twill tell me how you
know it has been damaged?"
Cathy did not reply; she had lifted her head now and her eyes
were far too bright for the tears to be held in check much longer.
Did Charles really believe she would commit a deliberate act of
vandalism by damaging another person's property? Surely he
knew her better than that ! He stood waiting, glaring down at her
and all she could say was that she hadn't damaged any fencing. He
interrupted her with an angry and incredulous exclamation,
expressing disgust that she could stand there and he to him.
"I'm not lying !" she protested, immeasurably hurt that he could
so readily believe these things of her.
"Then how do you know the fencing was damaged?" he stated,
obviously shocked that she could look him straight in the eyes while
telling him a deliberate untruth.
In order to exonerate herself she at last owned to having read
about the damage in the local paper, and, took the blame for
removing the paper so that Charles could not discover what she
had done. This astounding admission left him completely speechless
for a moment and Cathy seized the opportunity of telling him
about the Her attempts which had been made previous to her
own, and asserting that others must also have gone there
afterwards because there was no damage at all to the fencing
when she left the golf course. If she expected all this to have the
effect of mollifying him she was mistaken.
"I'll have no more of it, understand ! Since the day you arrived
here you've given me trouble. I shall not have people coming to
this house complaining of your conduct—you do realise you could
have been prosecuted ?—nor do I expect to be presented with any
more bills for your wilful damage to property--"
"Oh, no, I didn't—you don't have to pay !" She met his gaze
unflinchingly as she again denied all knowledge of the damage to
the fencing. "Charles, you must believe it wasn't me."
"I don't know what to believe—or what to expect when I arrive
home at the week-ends—"
"That's not fair—" Her mouth felt dry and her throat1 hurt. She
stared at him pleadingly but to no avail.
'From now on you will forget all your father's absurd ideas and
do as I say!" Her eyes filled up, but Charles, still smarting under the
indignity of leaving to ask his recent visitor for leniency towards her,
merely added darkly, "And gars won't help you—in fast, if anything
like this happens again I'll give you something cry for!"
CHAPTER VIII
CATHY went slowly down the path towards the summer house,
considering with deep unhappiness Charles' words, and reluctantly
admitting their truth. Her thoughts then reverted to the flat in
Leicester, and as she entered the summer house and sat down she
hesitated only a moment before saying.
"Steve, what sort of a job do you think could do?"
She watched him take his spectacles from the end his nose, saw
the pale eyes flicker before settling on her as if in keen
interrogation. "I feel it's time I earned m own living," she added,
aware that the expected son further explanation. "Charles can't
keep me indefinitely."
"Sa you call him Charles now," he remarked, for the moment
diverted. "Wondered when you'd get round to that" He paused
and then went on, without mach expression, "I came here when
Charles was nine knew a about the family from his father; knew
Charles couldn't possibly have a niece."
His meaning was clear; she wanted to cry, but the weight of her
misery held back the tears. She asked again if he had any ideas
regarding the type of she could do.
"Does Charles know what you're contemplating?" enquired,
breathing heavily on his spectacles.
"No, I haven't mentioned it to him yet. I thought I find a job first."
She refrained from enlightening Ste as to her intention of leaving
the Grange, for she f the first thing he would do would be to pass
an information to Charles who, although welcoming the idea,
would perhaps feel a little guilty and decide he had better try to
make her change her mind. "I've been wondering what I could
do—I can only think of being a shop assistant."
"Not for you at all," he laid, echoing Charles's statement of a few
weeks ago. "You'd feel imprisoned standing there all day behind a
counter." He began polishing his glasses with a piece of paper he
found in his pocket, taking considerable time over the tank. "Think
you should consult Charles about this, and see what he has to say.
Don’t really think he'll approve, my Little friend; can't see him
letting you do in"
"He can't stop me!" Cathy retorted with a toss of her head. "I'm
qui to determined to get a job, Steve, whether le approves or not !"
"So ... had a quarrel? Now what could the be about, I Wonder?"
He rubbed at his spectacles again, vigorously. "Like to tell me?"
Cathy hesitated, wishing she could take back that indignant
retort that had caused Steve to make a guess at the truth. Not
that she and Charles had actually quarrelled, for she herse1f had
been subdued by the knowledge that her own foolishness had left
her open to suspicion over the damage to the fencing. She hadn’t
argued, only pleaded with him to believe her, but he'd remained
adamant, and that had been enough to convince her that he had
come to the end of his patience, and although le might make some
demur at her going, he would in the end be inexpressibly relieved
to be rid of her for good.
"He found out about the fossil," she told Steve at fast, twisting her
bands in her lap. "I left my field notebook at the quarry and
someone returned it—the owner, :I think it must have been,
because Charles says
147
he has to pay for the damage." Her voice faltered. "Do you
believe I did it, Steve?"
"No, and neither will Charles when he's stopped to think. Was he
in a taking ?"
She nodded, her lips trembling.
"He—he said I'd been a trouble to him from the very first—and--
and I have, Steve. I've been a trouble and an expense, and ifs only
to be expected that he's come to the end of his patience."
"Charles wouldn't cave about the expense . . . but you shouldn't
have gone near that golf course, you know. Knew it was wrong,
didn't you?" and when again she nodded, "Couldn't expect Charles
to be exactly pleased about having someone complaining. But I
shouldn't take it too seriously; he'll soon forget all about art. As for
finding a job—You weren't thinking of leaving us, were you?"
She glanced up sharply; she hadn't expected Steve to be so
astute.
"It much be better," she said miserably, "if I went away before I
cause him any more trouble."
Steve put up his spectacles to the light and then, putting them
on, he peered at her over the top of the thin steel rails.
"Just you go away and think about it, my little friend," he
advised. "We all say things which we don't mean; we all hurt
people at times and are sorry afterwards."
Not all; Cathy heaved a deep sigh as she recalled that her father
had never once uttered a cross word to her . . . and then in fairness
had to admit she'd never provoked Him in the way she had
repeatedly provoke Charles.
After tea she went over to Pinetree Lodge. It was first tune she
had clone so when Charles was at home and Mrs Dean glanced at
her in surprise, asking if Charles had already gone.
"No, not until tomorrow morning." She paused. "Is Bridget out?"
"She and Noel have gone for a walk, but Bill is in the other room,
listening to records. Go in to him, dear." Bill smiled a welcome and
stopped the record player.
"This is a nice surprise; I didn't expect to see you until tomorrow."
His glance held admiration, but he also noted her dejection.
"Would you care to come for a walk with me?"
They walked along the lakes, and Cathy thought of the moors
and the soil carpet of moss beneath her feet. A desperate yearning
overcame her and she asked Bill if be would take her again into
Derbyshire. He agreed eagerly, saying he would telephone the
garage about a car.
"They did say there would be one available any time," he told
hic. "I'll call for you early—about nine." "Make it a little later, will
you, Bill?" Charles usually left about eight, but he ,round just decide
not to go so early. "I’ll be ready at half-post."
They were on the moors by lunch-time. The day was warm and
'the sky dear and they just wandered over hills and down valleys,
taking the easy paths or crossing the moors at .random. They hart
had a snack at lunch time, but by three o'clock day were bath
hungry and made their way bock to the car which was standing on
the verge by the Callders Bridge. After the meal, and when
everything had been cleared away Cathy stood gazing up to the
heights above Hunter's Clough.
"Would you like to see the remains of the old Hall?" she asked,
and Bill quickly nodded. "There isn't very much left standing," she
added on an apologetic note, for she didn't really want to go to the
Hall; it was merely an excuse to climb the rooky path and stand,
high above the Callder Valley, with the clear cold breeze on her
face and legs, for she didn't know how long it would be before she
would come here again.
But they were only about half-way up the clough when she
decided to return. Instinctively she knew a mist was about to fall
with the rapidity to which she was so accustomed, And, apart from
that, Bill 's method of climbing worried her. He did not take
enough heed of her warnings, seemed to think she exaggerated the
danger.
"Me?" He looked all around at the clear sky and sharp outlines of
the distant hills. "There's no sign of must!"
"Nevertheless we shall have to make haste. It comes down so
swiftly that people on the roads are often taken unawares. If we
hurry we'll manage to get through the narrowest fanes before it
becomes really thick. It will be impossible to drive if we don't,
because of the sheer drops and the many twists and turns."
After some further argument Bill at last agreed to retrace their
steps, thought he still maintained she was mistaken about the mist.
"Be careful," warned Cathy as they reached a narrow part of the
path. "Watch for undercutting." He did rot seem to realise what
that was and she went to explain. "The stream cuts into the bank,
although the path appears quite safe, there's often great hallow
beneath it. This path hasn't been repaired for years and the stream
bas clone a great deal damage." It seemed impossible, she mused
for a while that at one time the path had been wide enough a
strong enough to take the carriages, rot only of owners of the Hall,
but of the numerous guests w they so often entertained. "Watch
this here." It was in front of Bill and she turned, but he didn't
appear to take the slightest notice and she realised that he was—
perhaps naturally a trifle resentful of her continually giving out
advice. She site laid silent, praying that he would automatically
follow in her own footsteps.
They continued in silence for some time, then Bill, looking up
from the path to the far summit of the highest peak, admitted she
was right about the mist.
"It's dropping so swiftly !" he gasped, for the sun was already a
yellow bail suspended ominously in a sombre, darkening sky. "I
wouldn't have believed it could come down so--" Without warning
Cathy felt him snatch at her arm for support as he slipped and fell
headlong into the rocky bed of the clough. Twisting in mid-air,
Cathy managed to release herself from his grip and landed on her
feet, though one of her ankles received a nasty jolt and her head
began to bleed profusely as she caught it on a jagged piece of rock
overhanging the clough.
Stunned, she could only stare at Bill's motionless body and then,
forgetting her pain, she lifted his head out of the water and
dragged him to the narrow, boulder-strewn ledge skirting the
clough on the opposite side front the path. She glanced up art the
path, high above her; as she thought, the stream had undercut the
steep bank all dong this area. She had kept to the far side, but Bill
had not noticed that the path had narrowed to a little over a yard
in width. He was unconscious and blood trickled slowly through his
coat from a wound in his arm. Cathy's heart raced with sickening
peed. He was clearly badly hurt and there was not a sign of life for
miles—Her eyes darkened as she looked down at the row of buts.
For one fleeting moment she hesitated, then, taking off her coat
and fixing it under Bill's head as a pillow, she set off at a slow and
difficult pace down the clough to the road. Crossing it, she made
her way on to the site, limping along the babk of the Callder with
all around the deafening roar of machines tearing at the valley
sides, digging into the mud of the river bed. She had a vague
impression that the dam itself was nearing completion, that work
was progressing much quicker than she had anticipated. The work
now going on in the river bed seemed to be in the nature of
clearing up. How soon, she wondered, before flooding would
began?
She staggered and almost fell; men turned to regard her
curiously and then she was aware of someone running towards her,
and of his saying, as he caught her as she swayed,
"What is it, lassie? You're hurt."
She put a hand to her head. The machines, the huts—everything
spun.
"On the clough just above the rapids, a young man. The mist—"
They'd never find him. "I must come with you. . . ." The light began
to fade; she felt the roughness of heavy overalls against her face
and two brawny arms lift her as if she were no more than a baby.
The slanting rays of the sun fell on !the bed and Cathy opened
her eyes, blinking in a dazed and puzzled fashion as she tried to
take in her surroundings. Satinwood furniture and a cream-
coloured carpet; peachtinted walls, a wide low window with cream
velvet curtains touching the floor. She had a vague sense of
movement and turning her head, wincing with sudden pain.
Through a haze she saw a young girl rise and leave the room She
moved her head again; it throbbed and she put up a hand and felt
the bandage.
"Bill !" she screamed, sitting up.
"Hush; Bill is safe--in hospital. He down." Gentile hands placed
her back on the pillow. She stared, still dazed, yet acutely aware
that once again she had brought trouble to Charles.
"They sent for you—how did they find you? How did you get here
so soon?"
"Soon?" He skipped over the previous question and she was too
dazed to notice. "You were brought here yesterday."
Her brow furrowed in an effort at concentration. "You mean it's
Tuesday?"
"Tuesday, and almost lunchtime."
Cathy gazed round again and her eyes became fixed on the
distant heights she could see from the window. Kinderscout. She
turned to phrase a question then paused for a space as she noticed
his expression. His eyes seemed bard and there were tight little fines
about his mouth. The reason was obvious; she had come up to the
moors in defiance of his wishes, had caused him more
inconvenience by having him brought away from his work. In a
dejected little voice she at last inquired where she was.
"I went to the reservoir," she added on a sudden note of
sharpness. "I'm not in his house, am I? I should hate to accept
hospitality from him !"
Charles noted the loathing that entered her eyes and a small sigh
escaped him.
"This is a house in Ferndale-on-Callder," he said, sitting down on
the edge of the bed. "A Mr Riding lives here--he happened to be at
the reservoir and offered to have you until you recover, seeing that
there was no necessity for you to go into hospital."
"What is the name of this house?" asked Cathy after a lengthy
silence. "It is a nice house, with an atmosphere."
The doctor said she must remain in bed for four or 154
"Waters Meeting."
"That is a lovely name—" Her brow wrinkled. "The Raven's brook
runs into the Callder at Ferndale." "By the end of the garden," he
supplied. "Hence the name."'
She looked somewhat curious that he should have learnt that
much and asked how long he had been here. "Since yesterday,"
came the calm reply.
"You've stayed the night?" and when he nodded, "So you've been
kept away from your work because of me.... " The trouble she had
caused him ! What was he thinking? No need to ask herself that
question. He was obviously dwelling on this latest escapade and
wishing wholeheartedly that he had never set eyes on her. Her
defiance, her strict adherence to Paul's beliefs which had led her to
repeated acts of rebellion, had completely upset Charles's placid
way of life. Moira was right when she said he must be regretting
having taken her into his home. She thought of all the money she
had cost him, of the repairs to the fence still to be paid for, and
tears pricked her lids. Was Paul wrong, after all? Had she heeded
Charles's advice, done as he wished her to, none of this would have
happened. Glancing at him again she realised his features were not
grim any more, but drawn and strangely troubled. She herself
became very tired; her interest lapsed and she dozed into a half-
sleep, but through the dimness she could see what she must do.
Before she slept she made a firm resolve to leave him, to make her
own way in life and let Charles return to the peaceful existence he
enjoyed before he made that foolish decision to take her into his
care and provide for her.
The doctor said she must remain in bed for four or five days, but
by the end of the third day the bandage had been removed and
her ankle gave her no more than an occasional twinge of pain. So
the enforced inactivity became irksome and each hour more
boring than the last. Some of the time Charles was around, but on
a couple of occasions when she had asked Sally where he was she
had been told he was out. This puzzled Cathy, for she could not
think where he went, especially as he was absent for several hours.
He did not tell her where he had been and she felt she had no right
to ask him. Another circumstance which puzzled her was the
evasive attitude of Sally whenever Cathy asked her about the
house or its owner. It almost seemed as if she had been told not to
enter into any discussions with Cathy, and although she was always
smiling and pleasant, Sally invariably made some excuse not to
remain talking.
Mr Riding too, seemed unwilling to talk either about the house
or himself, though he did let slip on one occasion something about
a nephew. Cathy liked him on sight; he reminded her of Paul, with
his shaggy brows and good-humoured face and twinkling eyes. She
thanked him for having her; he seemed amused by this, and even
more amused when she said it must be a great inconvenience for
him to have Charles as well.
He sat with her on several occasions, always when Charles was
out. In fact Cathy soon realised that either he or Charles remained
in the house. On the fourth day, however, they bath went out,
leaving Sally and Cathy atone in the house. Cathy read for a time
and then decided to put on a dressing-gown and sit for a while by
the window. The sun was hot and shimmering on the moors and
the distant foothills and she gazed across to the greater heights of
Kinderscout. Then she gave her attention to the scene below; the
garden immaculately kept, with its clipped hews and hollies, its
herbaceous borders and rockeries and its wide smooth lawns
spreading down to the banks of the river. What a lovely place in
which to live ! A tiny sigh escaped her as she thought of the Grange
with its forbidding façade and grim interior. And, her dejection
increasing, she thought of the flat in Leicester where she
contemplated living. It was surrounded by buildings and traffic and
roads...
Sally came out of the house, a shopping basket on her arm.
Cathy's eyes flickered darkly and with a sudden urge to be out of
doors she dressed quickly and sped downstairs, her ankle no longer
giving her any pain. She stood on the bank of the Gander, the sun
glinting in her hair and the soft breeze on her face. There was a
strange clarity in the atmosphere which seemed to cut out height
and distance so that the moors blended subtly into the brown hills
and they in turn folded in pure harmony with the ragged heights
which seemed to tower right above her head.
How eould she go back to what Charles termed a civilised
society? Here life was simple, direct, uncomplicated. No forced
submission to tyrannous conventions, no tiresome restrictions or
ideas of unnatural self-control.
With a deep sigh she turned and went back through the garden
to the house, entering the sitting-room through the French window
and then making her way to the hall with the intention of
returning to her room at once in case Sally should find her out of
bed and report the matter to Charles. She paused in the hall to
look around. Yes, this was a happy house, with brightness
everywhere; no dark comers or musty smells, no massive oak
beams pressing down, no dismal furniture and wood-lined walls.
With a slight feeling of guilt, yet impelled by some irresistible force,
Cathy gently pushed open the door on her left. A study, obviously
Her attention was arrested by the plan almost covering one wall.
`Location Plan of the Callderton Reservoir', she read, her pulse
beginning to race. Almost unable to think, she stood rooted to the
spot, for spread out on the desk beneath the plan itself lay Paul's
map, the map she had found in Charles's car... .
Charles ... it couldn't be ! As if in a daze she entered the room, her
face completely drained of colour. It couldn't be ...and yet so many
things were now explained. With trembling bands she touched the
map, fighting desperately against the truth. But the truth would
not Abe denied or cast off. She dosed her eyes tightly, unable to
bear the shock, and the burden d her knowledge. And as she
fingered the map again the weight of her burden increased as she
realised that Charles had, without the slightest feeling of
compunction or remorse, taken and utilised the skill and know-
ledge of her father, the man whose ideals he bad never hesitated
to scorn and disparage. She dwelt on the stratagem employed in
order to gain that knowledge, remembering how he had asked,
quite casually, to see Paul's maps, adopting the manner of one
whose sole interests was the appreciation of the artistry used in the
making of the map. She remembered her own eagerness, happy
that he should wish to look at her father's work. Only a man who
was completely callous could act like that, and for a moment she
began to wonder about his kindness in taking her into his home....
Moira's words carne to her.... The suggestion that Charles had some
motive for taking her. Mr Johnson's words came, too, stank with the
truth she still tried to avoid. But Cathy knew without any doubt
that what Moira had hinted at was the right. Charles had not given
her a home because of any feeling of pity even; on the contrary he
had merely used her for his own ends, given her a home merely in
order to obtain access to her father's maps.
Cathy's lips quivered as she recalled how very grateful she had
been to Charles, how she had come to regret the trouble she had
caused him and had been so filled with contrition that she had
planned to leave him so that he could return to the peaceful life
he'd known before becoming involved in her problems. The know-
ledge that her gratitude had been misplaced brought a painful
lump to her throat, and despite these terrible truths that had
become known to her she struggled against the revulsion that
threatened to overwhelm her. Yet she could see Charles only in this
new light, as a man whose harassment had led to her father's
death, a man who derived satisfaction from flaunting his
mechanical strength to ravage the beautiful structure of nature, a
man who had no qualms at. all about using people for his own
ends. And he had proved by his destruction of a thousand trees
that he had no regard for, life.
Spurred on as she was by this vision of Charles she forgot all she
had learned in the part few months about control, and slowly she
reverted to the wild state of unbridled emotions. Her hatred had
been directed at an image, a vague and shadowy person whom
she had never really expected to meet and in her new environment
it had gradually began to fade and become unimportant. But now
it was a deep and uncontrollable passion sweeping over her, and
although there intruded into her mind Charles's warning that her
hatred, could one day destroy her, she disregarded it; she forgot,
too, Charles's generosity, his gentleness on so many occasions and
the comfort he had so often given her, all this faded into
insignificance and he became once more the hard, unscrupulous
man she had at first branded him, the man she had sworn to hate
for as long as she lived.
She heard the car stop in the drive, but still she could not move.
A strange calm enveloped her; she realised with a shock that
Charles's warning had again intruded into her mind, but again she
thrust it off and despite her outward calm the strength of her
loathing remained her dominant motion.
Charles stood by the door taking in the situation as his eyes
rested on her hand, still touching the map. He was clearly taken
aback at seeing her in his study; he seemed shocked at the way in
which the truth had been made known to her. Cathy faced him,
white to the lips, her body rigid, her eyes dark with the intensity of
her hate.
Neither spoke and the silence became unbearably long. Cathy's
hand moved automatically over the edge of the map, her fingers
pressed on a crease that shouldn't be there. Charles was the first to
speak; his tones seemed more harsh than ever.
"How dare you come in here, Cathy ! This is my own private
room !"
"I felt the need to go out for a few moments," she began in
explanation, and then shrugged. Her calm amazed her; it was as if
her whole being were numbed by the shock of her discovery. "I
have no excuse for coming in here." She looked at him squarely.
Her face was still very pale, but she became imbued with a singular
feeling of strength and her voice held only a slight tremor as she
continued, "It was meant to be. How long did you think you could
go on deceiving me?"
"I did not intend going on," he snapped, her calmness and quiet
accusatory tones acting as a fan to his anger. "I would have told
you long ago had you not persisted in the stupid assertion that you
hated me. I said I'd tell you, you must remember."
Confronted with that statement, Cathy found herself confused
and shook her head as though to bring her mind into some sort of
order. She had hated a vague image of someone whom she held
responsible both for her own, and her father's, unhappiness, but....
Charles she had loved, first as a benefactor and then as...? She
continued to stare at him, searching his face and finding no softness
there. He seemed so harsh, so cold and remote with neither Shame
nor regret in his manner. Angry at her discovery of his deceit, yet
not in the least troubled that she might be unbearably hurt by that
deceit. She saw him, too, as he was on Sunday, when he had so
callously accused her of bringing him trouble since the day she
came to him. He had been utterly insensible to the fact that he had
taken her into his home solely to suit his own purpose.
"You're the man who caused Paul's—" The words stuck in her
throat, yet she did rot think to ask herself why she could net finish
the sentence. "You broke his heart, threatening as you did."
"I never once threatened him. He had to go, and I gave him
time." He paused on noticing the look of contempt that entered
her eyes. "I'm not making excuses, as you appear to think ! I don’t
need to ! The Water Board gave orders for the clearing of the
valley, not me !" He shrugged angrily. "Your father would have
died in any case—"
"How could he? He was in perfect health !" Again she saw him,
perched on the limestone ledge, bronzed and glowing with life.
"Paul was not a great deal older than you, but his life was cut short
by—by—" Once more she could not go on, and Charles cut in
wrathfully, telling her rot to talk such nonsense.
"Your father couldn't have been in perfect health, otherwise he
wouldn't have died. You're no longer a child and it's time you
accepted the inevitability of his death ! You became obsessed with
a most irrational dislike of someone you didn't even know, and
although there might have been some slight excuse for it the time
of your father's death, there is no excuse for it now !" He paused,
watching the cold metallic glint in her eyes which marred their
usual warm and tender light. "I am not in any way responsible for
what happened—and I will not allow you to put your father's
death to any account !"
Cathy made no comment, for her head was now aching
unbearably. Also, she was aware of a sound sense of caution, for
she was still very much under Charles's protection. She was still in his
home, dependent on him for the very food she ate. Shuddering at
the idea, she wondered what Paul would have thought of his
daughter's being so completely reliant on such a man. She tried to
recollect his attitude towards the `Big Boss' and, strangely, could
not recall his ever having said one word against him. But of course
Paul was so well-disposed towards his fellow men. Whatever his
opinion of Charles he would keep it to himself, and however much
he considered Charles to be in the wrong, he would forgive him.
But she would never forgive him, nor would she ever forget his
wickedness. She thought for a moment of the tender love she had
felt for him and a terrible little pain tugged at her heart . . . for she
knew that at the back of her mind there had dwelt the vague
hope that he would one day return her love.
"I shall find work just as soon as I car," she said, checking the
sudden break in her voice, "and then I'll go."
"There's no need—" All anger left hum; he held out his hands in
an impulsive, almost pleading gesture. She stepped back, widening
the distance between them, and his hands dropped to his skies
again. There was a long silence and then, gently, "If you do leave
me, Cathy—and I believe you mean to—you'll come back—"
"Come back--to you?" Her eyes were dark with loathing and
contempt. "Do you think I can't manage on my own? Well, I can;
I'm quite capable of taking care of myself." And she added, slowly
and deliberately, "When I leave here I never want to see you
again—never as long as I live !"
CHAPTER IX
WITH a feeling of intense satisfaction Cathy stood book to survey
the three she along one Wall of the new geological section of the
museum. She had just finished labelling the specimens of rocks and
minerals, and had also drawn a sketch-map of the localities in
which the exhibits had been found.
How lucky to have obtained this post, she mused, recalling how
the curator, having heard of her father from a friend, and having
been told of Cathy's own suitability for the post, had written to ask
if she were interested in taking over the new project. She had been
diffident, lacking her new-found confidence, but had agreed to
attend for interview. The curator had assured her that she was
quite capable of taking charge of the new section and, because she
wanted fervently to leave Charles, she had eagerly accepted. She
had been curious to know who had recommended her for the post,
for she could think of no one who would be likely to know of her
capabilities regarding geology and land-formation. Tentatively, she
had enquired of the curator, but he had passed over her question
and she had not liked to broach the subject again. But she would
always be grateful to that unknown person, for in her haste to
leave Charles she would have accepted any job, whether she would
have been happy in it or not.
A shadow crossed her face as she recalled those last few moments
with Charles. He had been so hunt, and there were little grey fines
round his eyes and mouth.
He had spoken gently to her, telling her that her hatred was
uncharacteristic, something she believed in but which wasn't real.
She had been puzzled by that, but at the same time so imbued
with her professed hatred abate she had paid no attention to any
show of feelings on his part. It had not taken her long to realise just
how grossly she had misjudged him, how illogical her attitude, She
suddenly saw everything front Ids point of vies', could find reason in
all he had ever clone. True, he had given her a home in order to
obtain access to the map, but once having taken her into that
home he bad denied her no thing—at least, nothing within reason.
She remembered his generosity and kindness, his great
understanding of her problems. And if at times his attitude had
seemed arbitrary and inflexible, it was entirely for her own good;
Cathy could see that all too clearly now. She even excused his
taking of the map, knowing full well the he would have asked her
for it had not she, by her attitude, made it impossible for him to do
so. Strange; she thought with a deep sigh of regret, that she had
resented his action, yet she now felt only pride that her father's
work had been of mine service to him. Paul would have been
proud, too. He would have wanted Charles to have the map.
Having mused on all this for some time, and having recalled
Charles saying that she would return—as if he really wanted her to
do so—she contemplated for a while the possibility of going back to
him. But then she remembered her previous resolve to leave him,
and the reason for it. In an agony of despair she once again
recollected her behaviour, her deliberate rebellion against all that
she now knew to be right. Charles had said she had caused him
nothing but trouble, and of course he meant it. What a problem
she must have been to him, always doing the wrong thing, causing
him anxiety and expense and humiliation. For it could not be very
pleasant for a man with Charles's pride to have people going to
him with complaints about her conduct. No wonder he'd laid he
didn't know what to expect when he came home at the week-
ends. Reluctantly she at last had to admit that he could not
possibly want her back; in fart, he must be heartily thankful for her
hasty departure. Perhaps, after all, it was for the best, she thought,
resigning herself to the ides of never seeing Charles again, for he did
not love her and it would be a strain to be constantly near to hum
and have to keep her own feelings hidden.
Cathy turned at last, bringing her thoughts back to the present
as she regarded two other showcases on another wall, also filled to
capacity. Most of the exhibits were hers, but already a few
interested people had brought in specimens as gifts or loans. In this
way Cathy had begun to build up a collection, but there were still
many empty showcases and Cathy invariably sport her week-ends
searching for something new. Her companion on these expeditions
was a young man who had been so interested that he had lent his
entire collection of semi-precious stones. For several weeks he had
come in, bringing something different, and eventually he had
asked Cathy to dine out with him. A firm friendship had sprung up
between them, but as soon as Cathy realised that Gareth wanted
to be serious she confided in him, telling him about Charles and the
reason for her leaving him. After his initial disappointment Gareth
had accepted the situation, although he maintained that Cathy
merely lad a `crush' on Charles, and that she would eventually see
her folly and forget all about him.
"It isn’t the first time happened," he told her, not without a hint of
amusement. "It's quite a habit with young girls to fall for an older
man."
Cathy had made no reply to this. It was quite impossible to
explain her feelings for Charles, or to convince Gareth that no one
could ever take his place.
Gareth usually called on his way home from work and took her
home in his car. Cathy had a tiny flat in Lowport, and it had
become a regular thing for Gareth to stay for tea on one or two
evenings each week, for he was teaching Cathy to drive, and
immediately alter tea they would go off into the country, with
Cathy, now fully confident, at the wheel.
"Will ever be able to afford a car, do you think?" she asked
Gareth on a rather desolate note.
"You'll have to begin with a second-hand one. We'll start looking
round; there are bargains to be had, and I'm sure we shall find you
something reasonable." He paused as she pulled up at the traffic
lights. "I think you're about ready to take your test," he began,
when Cathy interrupted him, suddenly losing her confidence.
"Oh, no, I'm not nearly good enough yet I—"
"You're very good. I'm quite sure you I will pass first time."
Cathy said nothing, but she did not intend taking her test yet
awhile. For if she took it and failed it would undermine her
confidence; much better too have more practice, especially as she
had no car of her own, and would not have, she felt sure, for
several months yet, for she had spent her money on furniture and
fittings for 'the flat and had very little saved towards a car.
They stopped at a little café and had supper, and as it was late
when they arrived back at the flat, Gareth dropped Cathy and
vent straight home. She entered the flat, lighted the gas fire, and
sat down, feeling strangely relieved the Gareth had not come in
with her. For she was beginning too feel troubled about their
relationship. Gareth obviously still believed that what she felt for
Charles was not very deep and his attitude was clearly one of
patient but optimistic waiting.
She sighed dejectedly. Soon she would have to disillusion Gareth,
and that would mean the end of their friendship, the end of their
expeditions to the country and the seaside in search of new
material for the museum. And it would mean a reversion to the
loneliness she had experienced during those first few months after
leaving Charles. She sighed again, thinking of the Deans, of Bridget
and of the other young people whom she had met at Pinetree
Lodge.
Bridget's had been a fashionable wedding, and Cathy had been
the chief bridesmaid. But now Bridget lived in Glasgow and Cathy's
only contact with her was by letters. Bill, fit and well again after
several months in hospital, was engaged to Alison and they were to
be married in July.
How her life had changed, sighed Cathy, realising just how much
she missed her friends. But she was invited to Alison's wedding, and
for a few hours she would see them ell again.
For several days, ever since she had received the invitation,
Cathy had been conscious of a strange excitement and now, forcing
herself to accept the reason for it, she allowed her mind to dwell on
the possibility of a meeting with Charles. Incidents which she had
thrust to the back of her mind now came crowding roc the fore.
She recalled his kiss, that night after their visit to robe Dean's for
supper. She had been so naïve over that kiss and Charles had
laughed at her reaction. And then he had apologised for his anger
over her visit to the moors, saying he would explain. She had been
puzzled then, but now she knew he'd meant to tell her about
himself and his job, had meant to try to persuade her that she
really had nothing against him because he wasn't in any way
responsible for Paul's death. He had also told her to think about it
carefully. The vague implication there was not so easy to interpret.
It could of course have meant that Charles was jealous of Bill, but
Cathy felt this was not possible, for Charles had never once given
her reason to believe that he had any feelings for her other than
those of a guardian for his charge . . . Or had he? She thought
again of his kiss and she thought again of the tenseness in his voice
when he had said, with such firm conviction, that she would return
to him.
Should she have returned to him long ago when she had first
thought about it? At the time she had been convinced that Charles
must be inexpressibly relieved at seeing her go, and that he hadn't
really meant what his words would seam to imply.
She recalled that Charles had received an invitation to Bridget's
wedding and he had sent an excuse saying that pressure of work
made it impossible for him to attend. Unlikely, then, that he would
be at Alison's wedding, for he scarcely knew her. Cathy had been
surprised to learn from Bridget's last latter that Charles had been
invited to the wedding, but then she remembered that Charles had
visited Bill regularly while he was in hospital. For as Bill had no
relatives, and both Noel and the Deans lived too far away to pay
regular visits, Bill would rarely have seen a visit had it not been for
Charles. So obviously it was because of Charles’s kindness that Bill
had decided to invite him to the wedding.
But Cathy felt that if Charles did decide to attend it would not
be out of a sense of politeness towards Bill, but because.... She
caught her breath. For some reason she could not define Cathy felt
that, if Charles did put in an appearance, it would be for no other
purpose than to see her again.
Cathy wondered if anyone at the wedding felt so utterly
dejected as she. She had never really expected Charles to come, she
told herself, and yet as she entered the church she could not control
the wild beating of her heart as she looked around. With an effort
at discipline she turned her attention at last to the ceremony,
listening to the wards and taking in the seriousness of their
meaning.
And then it was all over and the bridal party vent onto the
vestry. Bridget, hers flushed with happiness, turned to Cathy and
remarked on Alison's dress, and on her new hair-do, and even
mentioned the bride-groom, saying how handsome he looked.
Latter, at the reception, Mrs Dean sought Cathy out and they
had a long chat, Mrs Dean wanting to know all about Cathy's job
and asking with obvious concern how she was getting along all on
her own. Bridget and Noel joined them at the buffet and Bridget
wanted to know why Cathy hadn't yet been up to Glasgow to see
them.
"I'll come when I get my car," she promised, forgetting her
disappointment for a while in her pleasure at being once more with
her friends came and see you, too," she added, smiling at Mrs Dean.
She and Gareth had seen a car, quite old, but in good order
mechanically, and perfectly sale, Gareth had assured her.
"Have you passed your test, then?" inquired Bridget with interest,
and Cathy gave a grimace.
"I take it on Saturday " and then, "I hope I pass, because I want
to go up to Father's grave on Sunday. It's his birthday." Strange
that she could think of Paul now without any pain, and without
that terrible hatred that was so very wrong.
"You visit the moors often, I expect?" Mr Dean offered a glass to
Cathy, watching her curiously and noticing the sadness in her eyes.
"I haven’t been since—since I left Charles."
"The reservoir is finished—at least, the dam and the other
workings are completed. The flooding began a while back, and I
expect it's going satisfactorily, judging by the rain we've had lately."
Cathy remained dent. She knew the work had been completed,
for she had read about it in the newspaper. Where was Charles
now? she wondered. And what was he doing? Was he living
permanently at the Grange? She knew the house at Ferndale was
not his, so it was unlikely that he would retain it once the reservoir
was completed. She would have liked to ask where Charles was
working now, and if he were at the Grange at present, but as she
had difficulty in talking about Charles to the Deans, she
abandoned the idea.
Aware that Mr Dean was still regarding her curiously she allowed
her gaze to travel from him to his wife. Had Charles told them why
she had left? Neither Mrs Dean nor Bridget had ever mentioned
anything about it in their letters. If Charles had mentioned her
professed hatred they must consider that a very foolish reason for
leaving her home. But of course they did not know all. True, she
had left Charles because she thought she hated him, but her return
would have been prompt had it not been checked by the
assumption that he had welcomed her departure and would
probably view with the utmost dismay her intrusion once more into
his peaceful and uncomplicated existence. In fast, the thought now
stroke her that he might even have refused to take her bock; he
was not obliged to give her a home and no one could blame him if
he decided to cast her off completely. Whit a trembling little sigh
she raised her glass as the bride and bridegroom were toasted
again. Mr and Mrs Dean were now surveying her through slightly
troubled eyes and she shook off her dejection and joined in the
gaiety. She moved about, talking to the various people she had
met at the Deans', and very fast she found herself alone for a few
minutes with Alison.
"Are you enjoying it?" site asked anxiously, and Cathy smiled and
nodded. Alison, she had noticed, had gone all round, having a
word with every guest. Cathy thought this charming, for Alison
could have been forgiven for being totally wrapped up in herself
on this, her day.
"I'm having a lovely time—it's wonderful to see you all. What are
you doing? I know you're at the museum, but what about your
evenings and week-ends? You never say much about those in your
letters. "
Cathy gave her a brief outline of her life, saying she spent most of
her week-ends out rock and fossil collection.
Alison wanted to know how she managed this without a car and
Cathy told her about Gareth.
"Oh, yes, someone &d mention that you have a boyfriend," said
Alison with sudden interest. "New who was it?—I can't remember,
but it was Beryl who told me that Charles knew about it." She
paused, eyeing Cathy with an odd expression. "You haven't ever
mentioned him in your letters, and you've said nothing to Bridget
about him. He isn’t married or anything?"
"Of course not" exclaimed Cathy with slight indignation. "But
we're not serious, so there's nothing to tell. Gareth and I are only
friends." So Charles knew about Gareth. Him? Cathy wondered, her
brow cooing in puzzlement. She was about to ask Alison if Charles
were living at the Grange when Alison herself spoke.
"You know of course that Beryl is getting married?"
"Beryl... ?" Cathy felt her heartbeats quicken and she had
difficulty in asking whom Beryl was going to marry.
Alison’s face lifted in faint surprise before she said, in a tore that
suggested her words were unnecessary,
"There's only one man for Beryl—always has been. Surely you
know that" She paused, still clearly surprised. "You didn't see how
happy she became, and you living in the same house?"
"But—but she wasn't going out with anyone."
"She did go out with him occasionally—but he wasn't exactly free,
was he, having complicated his life by—?"
"Darling, I hate to interrupt, but we really must be getting
ready." Bill turned to Cathy, smiling an apology. "We've a train to
catch and we haven't much time."
Half an hour later everyone was outside the hotel, waving to the
departing couple. Then the taxi mingled with the traffic and
became lost to view. Within an hour Cathy herself was on the train,
having politely refused Mrs Dean's invitation to stay the night. She
could not stay so close to the Grange, could not run the risk of
seeing Charles and Beryl together.
She stared unseeingly through the 'window, once again going
over Alison's words. There had always been one man only for Beryl
... So it must have been she, then, who had broken the
engagement, and not he, as everyone believed.
Well, thought Cathy with a terrible little ache of dejection, there
would be no more wondering if Charles had meant those words
about her returning to him, no more wondering whether or not he
wanted her. It meant an end, also, to her tormenting periods of
indecision when she asked herself if she should return and discover
for herself what his reaction would be. It was all very clear now why
he had rot come to the wedding; he had finished with her for good,
probably forgotten her altogether in his new-found happiness with
Beryl. Had he always loved her? No, Cathy felt sure he hadn't
cared anything about Beryl when she, Cathy, had fast come to the
Grange, for although Charles had been kind to Beryl, he had
always been rather cool and she had felt his feelings were
sympathetic yet rot really affectionate.
Cathy found herself recalling again certain incidents which had
affected her and Charles. There was his tender comfort when he
had held her after she had agreed to apologise to Mr Morgan;
there was the time when he had said, with that strange intonation
in his voice, that he did not want her to regard him as a father. As
the incidents crowded in one upon another she realised that,
knowing only of the sort of love Paul could give her, she had in her
ignorance failed to interpret a gentle caress, a tender glance, a soft
word of comfort. But now with startling clarity she understood,
facing the staggering knowledge that Charles had in fact loved her.
Her lips quivered uncontrollably; she put a hand to them, aware
of the woman opposite, regarding her oddly from over the top of
her newspaper, but her lips would rot be stilled; she had lost Charles
through her own folly, lost his love because of a hate which in the
end possessed no substance. He must have waited patiently, for
months—If only she had gone back ! But now it was too late;
Charles had found happiness with someone else, was making a
new life for himself, a life in which she, Cathy, could have no place
at all.
CHAPTER X
THE driver flashed his lights impatiently, and continued to do so.
"I wish," he muttered savagely to his companion, "that stupid girl
would release her handbrake !"
He wasn't to know that he followed a very new driver, and
when at hast she found a place to pull in, he shot her an almost
baleful glance as he accelerated in order to pass.
Starting up the car again, Cathy edged carefully away from the
loft earth on to which she had been driven. Only twenty-four hours
since her test; anyone less intrepid would have hesitated before
attempting to negotiate the notoriously dangerous road through
the moors, but Cathy had been determined to visit the grave on
Paul's birthday.
A few hundred yards further on the new short length of road
widened out, and the new bridge spanned the submerged lower
course of Hunter's Clough. Pulling on to the broad verge, Cathy left
the car and stood on the bridge, leaning against the rail in
bewilderment as she tried to fix the location of the drowned
confluence of Hunter's Clough and the Wildlingstone Brook.
Before her and away to the 1eft the reservoir stretched in a long
expanse of gleaming silver, still and clear under the pale and
promising rays of an early sun. A film of mist hung across the moors,
quivering against the distant heights of Kinderscout. The vast
silence was broken only by the occasional cry of a curlew and the
only other sign of life was a solitary sheep grazing on the hillside
above the Wildlingstone Brook. Cathy brought her gaze back to
the reservoir.
No evidence of the tremendous undertaking, no defacement of
the land, no visible sign that man had transgressed on nature.
While deeply conscious of loss, Cathy at the same Time knew a
profound sense of pride in Charles's achievement. Her eyes scanned
the surrounding hillsides; thousands of young trees had been
planted, replacing those destroyed. They would grow and flourish
to enhance in later years the natural beauty of the valley. She had
spoken of destruction, but this was creation ...man's creative powers
deftly blended with those of nature.
Her throat felt tight and her eyes darkened with regret and
remorse. This beautiful highland lake was the moult of Charles's
endeavours, his expert planning. How clever he must be ! And he
was good and kind, too ... and he had been all hers. How could she
have been so foolish as to lose his love? She recalled his warning
that her hate would prove to be her own destruction, and a little
spasm of pain shot through her.
Returning at last to the car, she drove slowly away, her mind still
on her irreparable loss while her eyes flickered vaguely over the
lake, trying to locate the area in which the Packhorse Bridge lay
submerged. The Wishing Bridge.... With a shudder of recollection
she heard that last wish of all. She had wished Charles would be
punished—and that she would be the one to punish him.
A few minutes later she again drew in to the side of the road
and, taking out the flowers, she locked the car and made her way
along the newly constructed path following the lower end of the
reservoir. How still the water ! The Hunter's Clough had descended
so merrily, now swirling in potholes or around the fallen boulders,
now plunging in a series of rapids or cascades until at last it met
the Wildlingstone Brook before the two flowed on to join the
slower-moving waters of the Callder.
The path soon merged with the original rooky way alongside the
clough. Cathy had lost none of her agility; she trod the familiar
path with the old grace of movement and eventually reached the
entrance gate to the Hall. Making a small detour, she turned off to
take a look at the ruins. Stone front the fellah walls had been used
to reinforce other parts of the building, and the massive gritstone
crest, pride of the Fanshawes, had been cemented into place
before the fallen masonry of the entrance. With a kittle sigh Cathy
turned and continued her accent to the lonely graveyard.
Opening the gate, she stood for a long moment, looking up at
the imposing headstone and cross above the grave of the last of
the Fanshawes. With him were buried his family, and all around
were the graves of his servants, overgrown with heather and ferns
and mosses. Moving over to Paul's grave Cathy frowned in
puzzlement someone had attended to it, not very recently, but not
so very long ago. Who...? Not Mrs Foster; she could never climb up
here. Her puzzlement growing all the mime, Cathy removed the
odd weed or two, but when it came to throwing away the faded
flowers she found herself laying them aside, reluctant even to take
them from the grave. Who could have come up here and done
this? The question nagged and for a long while she stood there, her
eyes moving front her own flowers to the faded ones, and then to
the far comer where the weeds had been put into a heap.
Turning at last, she closed the gate and walked pack through
the bracken, reaching, the path once more. The way down was
pleasant, for the clough was a youthful highland stream, enjoying
its freedom before its activity was stilled and it was a stream no
more but part of the placid moorland lake.
On reaching the car Cathy sat in it for a while, her eyes wide and
dreamy as she gazed across the smooth expanse of water. She saw
the cottages and the bridges, the orchards and the narrow strips of
arable land. Casting her mind still farther back she saw the tiny
school and the shop, the stone farmhouses and the mill. She
remembered Mr Jones who had his one-man coalmine, tunnelling
into the hillside. She thought of the people and their humble
dwellings, of their struggle for existence—and she wondered if they
still suffered pangs of regret at leaving the valley.
M fast she moved away, driving with the windows right down to
enjoy while she could the pure cool air of the moors. She had had
her hair out short and it soon became windswept, flicking in half-
curls away from her forehead. The sun was still to low for comfort
and she reached for her dark glasses, putting them on as she turned
to take one last swift glance at the shining waters of the reservoir.
She drove slowly, and in the middle of the road, for the sheer
drop on her left terrified her. On the rare occasions when she met
an oncoming car bath she and the other driver had to slow down
to a crawl. After a while the river went under the road and as the
drop was now on her right she was able to relax and enjoy the
scenery.
Noticing a car several tends away, she brought her attention
back to her driving, concentrating for a few moments on the
manoeuvres necessary for a successful passing of the other car, for
the road was made even narrower by a shale bluff protruding
into it at the point where the two cars would probably meet.
Better to draw into the side and come to a standstill before
reaching the bluff, allowing the other driver plenty of room
because of the drop on his left. Yes, that would be the courteous
thing to do. Having decided on her action Cathy gave herself up
to the contemplation of the scenery again, though her mind
remained alert to the fast that her full attention must be on her
driving immediately beyond the point where the Heatherstone
Clough came under the road to joie the main valley of the
Callder....
And then she saw it ... merging with the landscape and looking
so right over the dough, just as if it had always been there.
The sight of the bridge blotted out all else, though even as she
jammed on her brakes Cathy, realised her mistake. The car
swerved dizzily on a film of shale and came to a halt with the boat
literally clinging over the gorge. She stared, petrified, as the other
car approached. Would the driver realise that one touch would
send her hurtling into the gorge? Her heart thudded sickeningly,
but the scream died in her throat as, making a split-second
decision, he turned his car into the bluff.
Under her terrified gaze tons of rotting shale slid down the bluff
burying, first, the bonnet, then rising threateningly to the roof. Her
legs could scarcely support her when, at last, She managed to get
out of the car and move away from it to the centre of the road.
The man had already made a hasty escape from his car; he
stood regarding it for a moment before turning to advance
wrathfully upon her. Cathy gave a little gasp, put a trembling
band to her mouth, and stared at him unbelievingly from behind
her dark glasses.
"What the devil do you think you're doing?" he burst out
wrathful1ly. "I've seen some stupid women drivers in my time, but
you—" He stopped. Cathy had taken off her glasses; she held then
at arm's length, pointing in the direction of the bridge. She was still
dazed by the shock and her voice trembled when she spoke.
"It was the bridge.... You did it, for me—you saved the bridge for
me !" She began to feel light-headed, almost hysterical. "You spent
all that money to move the bridge—It was for me, wasn't it? It
must have been!" She swayed unsteadily and Charles took her
hand and led her to the narrow verge on to which she had
intended shopping her car.
His eyes were dark and brooding and there seemed to be about
him a strange humility she didn't litre to see. A muscle twitched in
his throat, but no sound came at first from his moving lips. Then she
heard his voice, deep with emotion.
"Cathy ... so you did come." His words implied that he had been
hall expecting her—hoping. "My dear, I—I—" And then the saw that
his whole being rebelled at this humility, that strength reasserted
itself. His eyes glinted and his voice became cold and harsh. "Is the
key in your car? I'll move it."
"No—no !" White to the lips, she clung to his sleeve. "It's too near
the edge. You—It isn't safe !"
Charles gazed towards her for a space, then with a firm,
deliberate movement he uncurled her fingers and walked towards
the car.
"The gears !" she cried. "Don't put it in reverse !" "I think I know
where the gears are ! "
They both turned as the sudden screeching of brakes told them
another car had pulled up by the bluff. Four young men emerged
and stood staring in amazement onto the half-buried car which
they had so narrowly missed.
"What a mess !" one of them exclaimed. "How could you manage
to drive it into—Oh, I see !" He caught sight of Cathy's car and thus
last three words spoke volumes. The hot colour returned to Cathy's
face as she realised that all four men had taken in the situation at
a glance, obviously assuming the older car to be hers.
"What can we do to help?" another said practically. "Can we tow
it out, do you think?" He glanced at his own car, which was not
very large. "It's going to take some moving from under that shale."
Charles, his face taunt and grim, surveyed his damaged car for
some moments, and then,
"There's a farm about two miles along the road—you passed it.
Perhaps one of you would see if the farmer has a tractor
available?"
The driver of the car went off at once, and another of the young
men suggested they try to remove some of the shale from around
the wheels. Charles was already opening the boot of his car; he
produced a spade, and Cathy's eyes widened. She moved over to
the car and glanced into the boot. A beautiful spray of roses, a
garden fork and a pair of hedge clippers. Her eyes became dark
and intently thoughtful as they moved to the bridge—and then
back to the flowers.
One of the men had taken the spade, and Charles went over to
move Cathy's car. She held her breath in a sudden access of fear as
she watched his hands on the steering wheel. For one sickening
moment the wheels spun on the wet shale, and then the car
moved gently forward. Charles parked it on the verge and then,
taking off his coat, he held out his hand for the spade.
Cathy moved over to him and, oblivious of the watchful interest
of the three young men, she put a hand on his arm.
"You're net going to be married—it was all a mistake? You aren't
engaged to Beryl, after all?"
Charles stopped digging and looked up with a frown. "Beryl?
What are you talking about?"
"I thought—I thought—" She spoke in a cracked, high-pitched
tone and Charles put down the spade.
"Better sit in the car," he suggested. "You're suffering from shock."
Walking over to her car, he opened the door, but Cathy did not
move. She just stared at him, her lips parted, her heart throbbing
with hope.
"No, it isn't shock. I don't need to sit in the car. Perhaps I can
help—"
"Get in." The old familiar quiet authority; Cathy did as she was
told; she watched the operations and yet saw nothing, for the
sudden realisation that Charles was not marrying Beryl blinded her
to all else.
How stupid she had been ! Charles had laid she would return to
him, and he had assumed she would have the sense to do so once
she found she didn't hate him . . . once she realised that, on the
contrary, she loved Him. Yes, Charles must have known she loved
him ... but if he loved her, too... ?
She recalled his words of a few moments ago; he had hoped to
see her, no doubt of that. She supposed she must at some time
have mentioned the date of Paul's birthday, and although Charles
had come up to attend to the grave, Cathy felt sure that his chief
reason for being here was the hope that he would see her. She
frowned suddenly in bewilderment. Had Charles really wanted her
he could have made the first move, for he could easily have
obtained her address from the Deans. He was proud, yes, but she
could not believe he'd allow his pride to intervene where his
happiness was concerned. And another thing suddenly struck her;
they could so easily have missed one another. In fact it seemed
incredible that they should have met, because her obvious way
back to Lowport was along the road she had already travelled.
She had come this way merely for the change of scenery, merely to
prolong the journey, for it was still early in the morning and she
preferred to be here rather than to sit alone in the flat.
Her confused thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of the
tractor. The farmer stared at the car, took off his cap to scratch his
head and spoke rather sadly about a 'white—off'. Charles gave a
shrug of resignation and the hot tears stung Cathy's eyes. From the
very first she had been a source of trouble to him, she mused again.
Perhaps he had now come to the end of his patience with her and
her hopes of a reunion were to be dashed. Perhaps this, the
absolute destruction of his lovely car, would be the limit beyond
which his endurance could not be stretched. He would scarcely be
human if there came no halt to the wrongs he would forgive.
She watched the car being towed away. Charles picked up his
coat and extracted a card from the pocket.
"Better let me have a bill for the damage to your clothes. " He
handed the card to one of the young men who, although
accepting it, shook his head firmly.
"Not at all. Only too glad to assist."
"Thank you, then; I do appreciate your help."
The men were soon driving away; Charles put on his coat and
then went over to the stream to wash his hands. Taking a towel
from the shelf, Cathy left the car and followed Him, stopping to
pick up a shining white pebble from the bank as she did so.
"I have a towel...." She offered it, hesitantly.
"Thanks—I can manage." Producing a handkerchief from his
pocket Charles dried his hands. Cathy watched him, swallowing the
pain in her throat. Then, dropping the towel on the bank, she
walked along the clough and stepped on to the bridge. Slowly she
moved to the centre and stood gazing down at the clear, sparkling
stream below.
He made no immediate move to follow her; she seemed
surrounded by a haunting solitude as, lifting her head, she scanned,
pensively, the heather-strewn moorlands which folded away in a
series of gentle inclines to the distant massive heights.
But at last he stood beside her, drawn by some dominant,
irresistible force. She turned, and it hurt not to be able to touch
him, to move into his arms and coax away that harsh expression
frown his eyes.
"How long has the bridge been here?" Cathy spoke in a low
voice, profoundly conscious of the strain between them.
"Two months." His tons were clipped and distant.
"It looks exactly as it did before," she murmured in some
wonderment. "People who didn't know would think it had always
been here." Charles made no comment on that; he stood erect,
gazing across to the ragged cliffs lining the gorge. "How did you do
it?" asked Cathy with gentle perseverance.
"It wasn't difficult." He turned now to survey her coolly. "We
numbered every stone before dismantling it, so we knew exactly
where each must go when we came to erect it here."
"What a lot of trouble ... and expense." Cathy spoke with an odd
mixture of apology and satisfaction. A bitter smile curved Charles's
lips but he merely said,
"I agree with what you said at first; it would have been a pity to
submerge it." His tone implied disinterest; Cathy heaved a little sigh
and changed the subject.
"What are you doing now—now that the reservoir is finished?"
Again that bitter twist of his lips.
"Building another," he replied harshly. "Defacing another valley."
"No—oh, no, Charles... !" His hand rested on the wall of the
bridge; he sensed her intention of touching it, and removed it
abruptly. "I've seen the reservoir. It’s a beautiful highland lake. The
valley hasn't suffered at al"
His only reaction was to move impatiently as if wishing the
subject to be dropped. Cathy's lips trembled; his pride was in the
ascendancy and she almost despaired of getting through to him.
She fell silent, unable to find anything to say which would bring a
response while he remained in his present mood.
The moors, too, were hushed; patterned in colour and softened
by filmy shadows as puff-balls of cloud passed lightly before the
brilliant sun. What a contrast to the season of merciless wind and
blinding snowstorms, of lashing min that left the wild bleak land-
scape shrouded in a sinister writhing mist.
Even the blackened gritstone walls were velvetclothed, spread
with the golden-green of lichens and mosses, and fringed with tiny
red-brown cushions of liverwort. In the far distance the outline of
Black Edge was a purple silhouette folding imperceptibly into the
violet-blue of the summer sky.
"Tell me about the new reservoir," said Cathy at last on a note of
pleading.
"What?—technical details?" His eyes flickered indifferently. You
don't want to hear about those."
Tears threatened; she felt for a handkerchief and found the
pebble. For a long while she held it between her fingers, then it
sank into the water and became lost in the foam.
"Don't you want to know what I wished?" She turned to him, still
undaunted.
"Not particularly." His voice was curt, but Cathy sensed the
tremulous note there, saw the deep lines round his mouth and the
pain in his eyes.
"I wished that you would forgive me—that we could begin all
over again." He remained silent, his hands clenched on the wall of
the bridge, staring broodingly into the stream. His pride still held
him aloof, but she again recalled his first words, `Cathy ... so you did
come', and a wise little smile curved her lips. "I said I could take
care of myself—" She broke off, noting the faintly bitter light in his
eyes as they swept over her in an all-embracing glance. She looked
a typical modern miss, sure of herself, with all her confidence
revealed in the way she dressed, the way she did her hair and even
in her bearing. "I said that, but I was wrong." She ventured to touch
his sleeve and felt the muscles of his arm relax. "I need you, Charles;
I need you for always, to care for me and—and to guide me."
For a long moment he stood there, unrelenting, his gaze still on
the stream below, but when at last he turned to look at her the
pain had left his eyes, although he still seemed disinclined to speak.
"Charles ... I've been stupid and stubborn, but you are wiser." She
spread her hands indicating the bridge. "I know you love me, and I
love you..." Her eyes suddenly lighted on the fallen shale, partly
blocking one side of the road, and a little catch entered her voice
as she added, "I’ll try very hard not to be such a trial to you, I
promise I will."
He resisted her no longer, but drew her tenderly into his arms
and kissed her.
"Cathy, my dear...." His voice deepened with emotion and his
body quivered as if casting off the last remnants of pain. "It's been
so long. I felt you'd be back in no time at all—surely you soon
realised that you didn't hate me? Why didn't you come back to
me?"
"I wanted to, but then I remembered what a trouble I'd been
you said I had, Charles, and I knew you were right. "
"Darling, you let that stop you ! You must have known I didn't
mean all those things I said. What a muddle ! There was I, waiting
and hoping and wondering why you didn't come. And then," he
added, a grim note entering his voice, "just when I had decided to
come to you some friend of Beryl's said she'd seen you several times
with a young man—"
"A friend of Beryl's? But how could she have seen us?"
"She had moved to Lowport on her marriage. Knew you by sight,
it seems, having seen you with me in Leicester."
"And you believed that he and I were . . . serious?" she began,
then leant away from him, a puzzled frown touching her brow.
"But you came here today to see me. Did you find out that Gareth
and I were only friends?"
"I had a card from Bill—he's on his honeymoon, as you know—
and he mentioned you and said it was a pity you couldn't get
yourself settled down with a young man. He seemed faintly
troubled about you, saying he and Alison were disappointed that
you weren't serious about this Gareth." He paused, drawing her
close again. "That's why I'm here today. I thought you would come."
"You were going to Paul's grave?" She spoke softly, her head
against his breast. "I've already been there."
"I guessed it. My intention was to stay up there, waiting for you. I
expected you to come as far as Tordale by bus and then walk—it
never occurred to me that you'd manage to get here so early." A
slight shudder passed through him and his voice was tight as he
added, "I could have missed you—I almost did."
Supposing they had missed each other? Cathy's heart jerked; she
pressed closer to him and put the thought from her. She
remembered Beryl and asked him whom she was going to marry.
Instead of answering her question he wanted to know what gave
her the idea that he was going to marry Beryl, and Cathy
explained, adding that although she had in fact come to realise
that Charles had once loved her, she concluded that he had found
consolation with Beryl.
"You idiot !" He took her face between his hands, looking deeply
into her eyes and shaking his head as though unable to understand
how she could possibly have imagined he would find consolation by
marrying someone else. "She's going to marry her old boy-friend.
They'd been seeing each other on odd occasions even while he
remained engaged to the other girl. A most unsatisfactory
arrangement, I should have thought, but Beryl certainly seemed
happier for his renewed interest. He's finished with the other girl
now, of course, and he and Beryl seem happy enough—though in
my opinion she'd be far better off without anyone so fickle." He
went on to tell Cathy the reason why the original engagement was
broken. It had been Moira's fault; she and Eric had never agreed
and one evening there was a serious quarrel between them and
Eric went off in a temper, telling Beryl that he would never
entertain marrying a girl with a mother like hers.
"I do hope they'll be happy now," said Cathy when he had
finished. "Are they going to live in Leicester?"
"Shouldn't imagine so. If they've any sense they'll live as far away
as possible from Moira."
Neither made any further comment on the subject and silence
fell between them. They stayed on the bridge a long while, content
to be close, to have found each other at last. The depth of silence
around them was broken only by the gentle flow of the stream
and the whisper of wind stirring the heather until, from afar, came
the plaintive cry of a curlew, floating across the sunlit moors to echo
faintly against the naked sides of the ravine. Witte a sigh of
contentment Cathy looked up at Charles, her eyes reflecting all her
love. His arms tightened about her in a tender protective
movement as he bent his head to kiss her gently on the lips. The sun
was high in the sky when at last he said,
"What about lunch? Shall we go into Buxton, or shall we go
home?"
"Home?" Cathy blinked at him. `Home' was the Grange—eighty
miles from here !
"I've bought Waters Meeting," he informed her with a smile. "I live
there permanently now."
Witte a swift movement she leant away, her eyes wide and
shining as the full significance of his words registered.
"It's yours—for keeps? Oh, how marvellous—"
"It's ours—for keeps," he corrected softly, and then, "The Grange is
being sold. Moira bas found a small house and will move as soon as
Beryl gets married. I have no desire to keep that old place on; it's
far too big, and too dismal."
"Steve... ? Cathy murmured, her face going pale. "Is he all right?"
"He's with me at present." His face wore a look of amused
resignation. "Do you mind, darling? I'm afraid we're stuck with him
because, frankly, I haven't the heart to put him in a home, and
there isn't anywhere else he can go. I brought him here because I
discovered Moira wasn't being very kind to him."
The colour returned to Cathy's face.
"I don't mind at all if Steve lives with us," she said in tones of relief.
"I should hate to think of his going into a home." And then, after a
thoughtful pause, "The Grange, though—hasn't it been in the
family for generations?"
"It has, but that's no reason for keeping it on. I have no desire at
all to return to Leicestershire." He smiled tenderly down at her. "I
can understand your feelings at having to leave these wild
moorlands, Cathy, for I too would find great difficulty in doing so
now that I know them in all their changing moods."
Before them, the perilous road and the gorge; behind and
around them the heathered moors, still and warm. In the distance,
Shining Tor rising above the valley, with the headwaters of Hunter's
Clough emerging from its rocky cliffs to gleam like a silver ribbon as
it sped on its way to join the clear calm waters of the new
Calderton Reservoir.
"I would rather go home," said Cathy in a soft and husky voice.
And then, more brightly, "I'll drive you just to let you see how good I
am I"
"Good—?" A smothered exclamation left Charles's lips. "You're not
serious !"
Cathy flushed, her eyes straying to the fallen shale. "That was a
mistake," she began when Charles interrupted her.
"Hand over the key."
"But, you see—the bridge—"
"The key !"
"It's in the car you left it there." She paused, then tried again. "It
was an understandable mistake. I saw the bridge and forgot
everything else."
"I'm fully aware of what happened," said Charles, accepting her
admission with amazing calm. They were walking to the car; Cathy
increased her pace and was already in the driver's seat when he
reached it.
"Move over," he commanded, and reluctantly she obeyed,
though a slight pout touched her lips. She had been rather proud
of her driving until that disastrous mistake occurred.
"I know you want to show off," said Charles as he eased the car
from the verge, "but do you really expect me to risk my life ... when
I have so much to live for?" He spoke with tender humour and
Cathy laughed then and as he glanced at her for an instant he saw
the dimple appear. He caught his breath—and turned his attention
to the road.
A few minutes later they were following the winding lane
downstream into a deeply-incised part of the valley where the high
steep sides were clothed with ferns; and then the valley widened
out and there before them shone the lake, blending so naturally
with the lands-cape, and h was with a sudden shock of surprise
that Cathy remembered that its function was entirely one of utility,
that of maintaining the vital supply of water to the people of
Lowport.
She turned to watch Charles's face. No hint of pride there, but
the faint flickering of his eyes portrayed his satisfaction.
They continued alongside the reservoir for a while and then left it
as the road followed an ancient terrace, formed long ago when the
river flowed at a much higher level than at present. Then they
were descending again and into view came the river, flowing more
sedately now as it reached maturity. And down from the hillside
tumbled the youthful little Raven's Brook, speeding along joyously
as if in eagerness to reach its destiny ... the union with the main
river at Waters Meeting.