All the dear faces Read online

  “Don't, Annie, there's no need . . .”

  His face, which had been ready to crease into a smile of disbelief, had become soft, transformed by his amazing need to help this self-willed woman. The expression on it was one his own servants, his friends, even his own mother, would not have recognised. He did not care for it, this hunger of hers to be independent, to be her own master, to stand up and take her place among the farmers of the community as she seemed intent on doing. He had not been consciously aware of it but he had been waiting, hoping in his secret heart that she would be overcome by the sheer enormity of it, unable to manage, forced by hunger and the need to succour her child, to ask for help. His help, since no one else concerned themselves with her except Bert Garnett and Reed was well aware why he hung about Browhead. And Reed would be there when she did. When she needed him. He got no further than that. He did not think in terms of what he might gain from Annie Abbott's delightful dependence on him, but he was a man, was he not, and would not turn away from any show of gratitude she might think it politic to offer.

  “Don't struggle like this, Annie. Don't . . . fight so. Can you not see it will come to nought for they will not let it. They will do everything in their power to stop you succeeding, so won't you let me . . . help you . . . ?"

  “Help me? How?" She stared suspiciously into his face, looking for the reason behind his offer but by now his emotions were well hidden.

  “I'm sure there must be something you need, something I have which . . . Why don't you let me . . . ?" Pamper you, make life soft and easy, dress you in pretty gowns and . . . His eyes became unfocused as his dreaming unspoken thoughts and the images they evoked filled his mind. She did not like it.

  “And what would you expect from me, Reed Macauley?" Her head lifted imperiously and her eyes were a vivid, flashing topaz in her colour-flooded face. "No man gives to a woman without expecting something in return, or so I have found."

  “I have not said I want anything." He vaulted from the wall to stand before her and down the field, at the sound of the raised voices, Phoebe and Cat turned to stare, their hands busy with the buttercups and daisies which they were weaving into collars for the two dogs. The dogs stood up uncertainly.

  “Can you not accept help without looking behind every offer for an ulterior, motive?" he continued, thrusting his hard, uncompromising face into hers.

  “No, I can't," and she did not back away. "Experience has taught me .. ."

  “Experience! Jesus God, this life you have led has made you suspicious of .. ."

  “Everybody, Reed Macauley. Everybody who wears trousers and that includes you. A favour here and a favour there and having accepted them, then I am in your debt and no doubt you would be riding down here on your fine horse to collect your dues ... "

  “Like Bert Garnett, you mean."

  “You have a filthy –"

  “Dammit, woman, and . . . damn you. You can go to hell on a handcart for all I care, carrying that pride of yours on your shoulders and with your belly flapping against your backbone and your tattered skirt barely covering you .. . Oh, Jesus . . . !”

  He turned violently away, unable to face her a moment longer so great was his anger and his . . . what? . . . What was this biting, clawing thing that ate at his guts and hurt him so badly he could not get away quickly enough? Whatever it was he did not like it and, he told himself grimly, he had no intention of suffering it. Not now, nor ever again.

  He and his mare thundered up the stony path towards Dash Beck, violent and dangerous, both of them, to any one who stood in their way, and at their heels ran the Merle dog.

  Annie stood silently, impassively, or so she led herself to believe, until all sounds ceased, then, calling to Cat and Phoebe, moved back to the spilled swill baskets.

  Chapter 13

  By September she had saved enough money to buy ten ewes and hire a ram to service them and at 'backend', the first Saturday in October, she and Phoebe and Cat set off to walk to the Keswick Tup Fair. It was tup time, that strange and mysterious moment in the shepherd's year when, with the shortening of the days, the ewe and the ram made it plain they were ready to mate. The lambs born in the spring were now almost as big as their dams. They were weaned and ready for sale along with the older ewes. But it was 'twinters', those of two winters which Annie was after, for a 'shearling' – of one winter – was too young to rear a lamb. It was barely dawn, so quiet she could hear the faint murmuring of the beck running at the back of the farm. The sun had already touched the highest peaks and was creeping down the sides of Bake-stall and Great Calva turning the gold of the rippling autumn bracken to a richness and a glory which stopped the heart with its beauty. Great swathes of heather made a patchwork of colour, dark and light, as billowing clouds formed shadows which chased one another up and down the fells. The wind made patterns on the waters of the lake and blew the swallows and lapwings helter-skelter across the patchy blue-and-white sky. It was cold, the chill of winter which came early to this high and treacherous part of the world already nipping at flesh which was reluctant to get out of a warm bed to face the cold early morning.

  Annie, in a ferment of barely controlled excitement, brushed and plaited her hair, roping the plait in a thick crown about her head. They had all three bathed the night before. Their neat and much-mended clothing had been washed and pressed with her mother's old box iron heated on the fire, Phoebe crashing the thing expertly and with that vigour she put into everything she did, up and down the kitchen table until there was not a crease to be seen in any of their poor garments. They would need new for the winter, Annie especially, since nothing of her mother's was fit for anything but cutting up into clothes for Cat. She might fashion a skirt for Phoebe and a bodice or two, salvaging the least worn pieces and carefully re-sewing them to make a whole, but there was nothing from which a gown or even a skirt might be made for herself. She needed to look presentable in her job at the Packhorse for though she had carefully darned and patched the skirt and bodice she now wore, they were becoming dangerously thin. The piece of cloth she had woven from the raw wool she had bought in the spring had been fashioned into a warm winter coat for Cat. Annie had made it long and roomy, lining it with a finer piece and it should last Cat for several years.

  She would buy, if she could, some more unwashed wool, perhaps a whole fleece and treat it herself in the way her mother had taught her and from it spin and weave another length of cloth to make into a winter outfit for herself. With new clogs for Cat, and her own and Phoebe's resoled, they would manage until next spring when her lambs were born.

  The anticipation of that day made her smile at her own reflection in the old mirror. Her lambs, her flock, and when he saw how well she had done Reed Macauley would be made to eat his words and take back all that humbug he prattled about women being incapable of fending for themselves.

  Her hands became still as she allowed herself to ponder on why it should concern Reed Macauley, and indeed why it should matter to her what Reed Macauley was concerned about. She had seen him only in passing as he rode down the track at the back of her farm, nodding briefly in her direction going God knows where since the only roads at the bottom of it led to Cockermouth, Workington or Carlisle and he would hardly ride that distance on his mare. Still, it was none of her business what he did and the rumour which was whispered about the parish, brought to her by the avid Sally, that he was to marry the daughter of some rich and influential industrialist from Yorkshire meant nothing to her. It was time he married, she told herself carelessly, since a man such as he and of his age must get himself an heir to inherit his family's wealth and position. It was his duty to carry on the name and perpetuate a line which had begun in Norman times and had brought prosperity and prestige to the name of Macauley. And naturally he could not ally himself or his pedigree with any but that which would match his. Not gentry, since he was not that, but good sound yeoman stock which was the backbone and sinew of England. A common man, a man of the people, but coul
d such words describe Reed Macauley who was neither common nor of the masses? He was a strong man with an unshakeable belief in his own superiority. A man with a confidence and self-reliance which knew absolutely that his viewpoint was infallible. Self-assured, the undisputed master of his own life, he was not a man who took kindly to opposition. Unique, unpredictable, uncommon, since he was not merely a farmer, albeit a prosperous one, as so many statesmen had become, but since the death of his father he had entered into the realm of business, his shrewd and imaginative brain guiding him into and through the maze of investments in the many booming industries on offer to men with cash to spare: the railways, mining, coal and copper, the trades allied to wool and timber which were prolific in Cumberland.

  But it was not just in his working life that Reed Macauley stood head and shoulders above his fellows. His nature was complex and many layered. It demanded satisfaction in every aspect of his life and where the men of the dales and fells, those with a guinea or two to spare, were careful with it, admiring in one another the growing size of their bank balance, Reed Macauley could see no reason to hoard his wealth. He surrounded himself with beautiful things, luxury even, in his home, Annie had heard, and about his person, caring not a fig for what the sensible practical gentlemen of his acquaintance thought of his foolhardiness. Beautiful women, perfumed and bejewelled, had been seen on his arm. Beautiful horses crowded his stable besides his ebony mare. A showy chestnut hunter, a pair of bay carriage horses, a phaeton, a curricle which he drove madly along the winding Bassenthwaite road drawn by a dark brown gelding of a spirited nature. His body was strong, tall, lean and completely masculine and was dressed always in the height of fashion: impeccably tailored coats and breeches, immaculately laundered shirts and cravats and the expensive, beautifully polished boots he favoured.

  So, he would marry then, this man who challenged her own independence and confused her mind which needed at this moment to be clear, steady, channelled into only one concern and that was the holding on to what she had gained in the last ten months and the building up of what she intended for the future. She wanted no complications, no distractions, and so, glad that he had the sense to stay away from her since what would Reed Macauley and Annabelle Abbott ever be to one another, she prepared herself for the next step she had planned for, worked towards, dreamed of in the last months of struggle. The starting of the flock. Her oats and barley, the few acres she had planted had been harvested by herself and Phoebe, wielding the scythe her father and his father before him had used, pausing again and again in their labours, to give the blades a new edge with the whetstone. They had gathered ash leaves, storing them in a large kist to feed to her sheep in the coming winter, guarding against the weather which might prevent the animals from foraging on the inlands about the farm. She would hand feed them in the farm yard if necessary for she meant to take no chances with her precious flock.

  The bracken, tall and sappy and which, if allowed, spread like wildfire across her precious pasture, had been cut and stored in the barn for it made splendid bedding for stock, should she have any, and who was to tell, if things continued to go well for her and prices were right, she might have a cow! They had, all three of them, for Cat was adept and quick to learn, cut rushes for the making of rushlights ready for the winter, peeling them and using the peelings to make besoms, brooms and 'bears', the crude matting which kept their feet from the cold slate floor. Her vegetables and fruit had been gathered, some of them dried, and the rest stored in preparation for the hungry months ahead. She was ready. Today she was ready.

  They went by the rough track along the Dash Valley and up beyond Dash Beck and Dash Falls towards the Great Skiddaw Forest where oak, ash, hazel and larch stood in silent and regal splendour. They had left behind the vast withering sea of bracken covering the slopes, the fronds which had, at the height of the summer, been a glowing gold, turning as autumn came to a delicate tawny brown and shading gradually to a subtle lemon hue. The forest was still canopied with branches full of leaves capturing every shade of autumn colour from the palest brown to the brightest yellow, with orange and flame and crimson in between. The leaves were beginning to fall, drifting lazily, slowly, delicately to the already carpeted forest floor, caressing their heads and shoulders as they passed beneath them, and Cat ran on ahead, doing her best to catch one in her hand, but Phoebe as befitted her new position as friend and helpmeet of Annie, walked sedately by her side. Splashes of brilliant red revealed themselves on rowan trees and on thorn, holly, yew and juniper as the berries ripened. Annie, on impulse, plucked a sprig of rowan and tucked it into her own springing curls since it was known that rowan warded off evil spirits and she wanted none of those about her today. Good luck was what she needed and any help in that direction was most welcome.

  The Tup Fair was the climax of the sheep farmers' year for it was here that the best ewes were matched to the sturdiest rams. Slight faults in either could be remedied if the right match was found, for the Herdwick sheep must be hardy and strong to withstand the rigours of a Lakeland winter. It was a small breed, lithe and agile, with a white grizzled face and long grey wool. It must be able to climb like a goat and leap like a frog. Its mutton was sweet and yet it could live on a handful of briar and shoots and thrive on it. Buried in snow it had been known to survive by chewing its own wool. For centuries it had been on the fells, proving its worth and stamina, its only fault being its real and lasting attachment to its own 'heaf ' or pasture, to which it had been known to return when sold miles away.

  The market place at Keswick when Annie, Phoebe and Cat turned into it had an air of great excitement about it. Through narrow, stone-walled lanes, great flocks of sheep heaved and cried, and a line of tups stood restlessly under a wall, tossing their fine curling horns which sprang, creamy white, from the base of their heads. They were held in by a hawthorn bush as potential buyers and hirers had a closer look. In every alleyway there were pens jammed from wall to wall with a moving, nervous sea of fleeces, for already the wool clipped in July was beginning to grow again. In the tup ring horny feet pattered on the cobbles and sharp horns clashed and scraped, for the close proximity of so much female flesh was almost too much for the male to withstand. They were ready to break out to get at it, fighting one another to do it. Farmers who had stock for sale were coaxing potential buyers into their own pens and in the circle in which the 'top' sheep were displayed a ram pawed the ground, ready to charge at anything that moved. There was a sheepdog or even two, at the feet of every man, alert, eyes brimming with intelligence, ready, should they be needed, to fetch an escaped hogg – an unsheared lamb – or twinter, or even to tackle a tup.

  The only women present were at the market stalls, buying the basic commodities which their husbands' farms did not produce. Decent, well-turned-out women, plain and serviceable, who worked hard in their own homes, dairies and yards but would not dream of presenting themselves amongst the men with whom their husbands did business. The area where the tup fair took place was a strictly masculine preserve and when the strikingly lovely Annie Abbott stepped out of her place, a woman's place, and into theirs, every man in the market was instantly aware of it.

  She was dressed in the best of what she had. The grey woollen skirt she wore in the snug at The Packhorse. A simple grey bodice and her old shawl and clogs, but the dull, washed out, much darned outfit made not the slightest difference to her appearance. Her straight and supple back swung gracefully; her shoulders moved as she walked and her long white neck swayed with the glorious weight of her hair. Her enquiring gaze fell smilingly on each sheep pen and she nodded graciously at each open-mouthed man who had them in his charge. A hush seemed to develop, filled only with the bleating of the sheep and the crack of the rams horns as, unwatched for a moment, they set about each other.

  Annie moved calmly as though she was in her own kitchen, one hand holding Cat's, the other firmly pressed against her pocket where her precious store of money lay. Phoebe, much recovered from her ordea
l and beginning to unfold into the strength of character and tenacity for endurance her new security had given her, walked steadfastly beside her and, all about them, men, in their best `setting-off' clothes and carrying their Lakeland 'setting-off' crooks, stared and began to mutter for though a woman might do as she pleased on her own acres, none with a shred of decency would come here where drovers thronged, drunk already some of them, rough mannered and foul tongued. Even the poorest woman with a pig or a goose for sale would do it discreetly away from the sheep market. And if she had to buy sheep could she not have found some man to do it for her, some experienced shepherd, instead of flaunting herself as she was doing in this strictly man's world. The noise and the stench was not for women's frail sensibilities and besides, men, without the presence of women, were inclined to relieve themselves against any handy wall, as one was doing now. A good 'larruping' was what she needed and there was not a man here who would not be glad to give it to her, and other things besides, some of them more pleasurable.

  Annie passed by, hearing nothing, seeing nothing but the sheep, and when she stopped by a pen in which twelve `twinters' huddled the farmer who was selling them was so transfixed he allowed her to venture inside and even examine a couple more closely, before he found his voice.

  “'Ere, what d'yer think yer up to? Your man should be doin' that, lass," he said roughly, but she turned her brilliant gaze on him before drifting out of the pen.