The Black Swan (39 page)

“Yes, Mam.”

A woman came into sight. She wore a print apron over a dark brown skirt and cotton blouse. Her hair was pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck and several strands had escaped from it.

“Oh,” she said, stopping short when she saw me. “You must be one of them from Gray Stone.”

“Yes,” I told her. “We’ve only just moved in.”

“How long will you be staying there? People don’t stay long at Gray Stone.”

“No. I gather it is let out for short periods.”

“Well … seeing as we’re neighbors … if only for a short while … come in and have a glass of cider.”

The invitation was given spontaneously and I felt it would be churlish to refuse. So I said I should be delighted to.

She took me through an orchard to the house. We crossed the yard where the chickens were rooting about for food, and she led the way into a large kitchen. It was warm, for there was a huge fire with an oven beside it. I could smell something savory cooking.

“I’m Mrs. Hellman,” she said, “the farmer’s wife. Them out there swinging is our two … Jim and Daisy.”

“It is nice to meet you and so kind of you to invite me in. I’m Mrs. Fitzgerald.”

“Don’t come from these parts, I see.”

“Oh, no.”

“From the South, reckon.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re at Gray Stone with your husband?”

“My husband and my sister-in-law.”

“Oh, the three of you. Got any help up there?”

“We brought a maid with us.”

“That’s good for you. There’s not much to be had round here … not unless you have them living in.”

“Yes. We are a little isolated here.”

She moved to a barrel. There was a tap at the side and she poured the cider into two pewter mugs.

She set them on the table and smiled at me.

“We like to be neighborly up here, you know,” she explained. “We’re blunt … and honest … none of that waltzing around what you’re trying to say to cover it up and make it sound nice. We say what we mean … and if them that hears it don’t like it … well, they must take it as it comes.”

“Perhaps it’s the best way.”

“So you’re only staying for a short while?”

“We’re looking for a house.”

“So you’re settling up here?”

“If we can find the right house.”

“In Bradford, I suppose. That’s a fine town.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing it.”

“What sort of house are you looking for?”

“Something not too new. I rather like old houses.”

“Plenty of them round here. I came here when I married and reckon I wouldn’t want to move till they carry me out in my coffin. Hellman’s family have farmed here for years. It’s hard land to farm. Too much of the moor. Hellman often says we ought to sell up and go somewhere where the land’s more fertile. But there’s some good sheep country around here.”

“Yes, I know. My husband is in wool.”

“Oh, that explains it … you being here and all that. How’s the cider?”

“Delicious.”

“See that old barrel? My husband’s grandmother and her grandmother before her made cider in that. There’s something about the flavor. It’s all our own.”

“You must have a great deal to do.”

She laughed at me. “On the go most of the time. That’s why it’s so nice to sit down and chat with a neighbor over a mug of cider. My husband knows a lot of what goes on round here. He would, of course, living here all his life. He rides into Bradford quite often. He knows most of the wool people there. Fitzgerald, you say? I can’t say I’ve heard of them but I reckon Hellman will know them.”

“My husband has not been up here very often. He has an office in London, but he thinks he should be here more. That’s why we are going to look for a house.”

“Well, I’m pleased. Gray Stone’s been empty for over a year. I don’t like houses to stand empty … and as I’m saying it’s nice to have neighbors. If you want anything at any time, you just pop over.”

“That’s kind of you. Alas, it is rather far.”

“You’re in the country now. We don’t live on top of each other. You’re from London, I reckon. You’ve got the look of it.”

She smiled, faintly amused, admiring me with a hint of contempt for one who was a stranger to the fresh winds of open spaces.

I said, “I have lived a long time in London … and in the country, too.”

“The country … not Yorkshire.”

“No. Quite near London. A place called Manorleigh.”

“Manorleigh … that rings a bell.”

I thought, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. She will be remembering. Headlines flashed into my mind:
THE MEMBER FOR MANORLEIGH WAS SHOT DEAD OUTSIDE HIS HOUSE IN LONDON TODAY
.

And up to that moment, from the time I had seen the children, I had not thought of it and my dilemma.

“Yes,” she said. “I seem to have heard of that place.”

I said quickly, “So … we are coming to Yorkshire … if we can find something.”

“You won’t find a finer place to live in the whole of England.”

“It’s certainly beautiful,” I said. The dangerous moment was past. She had forgotten Manorleigh.

“By the way,” she said. “If you want fresh eggs at any time, one of the children would bring them to you … or I would myself. Hellman says the eggs are my affair. Well, it gives me a bit of pocket money and they’re not much trouble really.”

“Perhaps I could take some back with me,” I said.

“Well, if you’d like to.” She went to the door and shouted, “Patty!”

I heard an answering voice from some way off. She came back to the table. “Patty’s the dairy maid. I’ll tell her to get some eggs for you. How many would you like? A dozen?”

“I should think that would be good.”

The door opened and Patty came in—plump like her mistress, with rosy cheeks and fair curly hair.

“This is Mrs. Fitzgerald, Patty,” said Mrs. Hellman. “Just moved into Gray Stone.”

“Oh,” said Patty: “That’s nice.”

“She’s taking a dozen eggs. Pick some of the big brown ones for her. Show her what a good country egg is like. She comes from London.”

Patty said, “I’ll get some of the nice big brown ones, Mrs. Hellman.”

“You do that,” said my hostess.

While we finished our cider she told me about the difficulties of farming … the droughts, the high winds and the unpredictable weather generally. She said she hoped we’d be comfortable at Gray Stone. We were not far from Bracken.

“It’s only a little village, but there are a few shops there. About a mile or so away. Hellman goes in every three or four days to pick up the post. Well, you can’t expect them to deliver it out here. The only places are us and Gray Stone. You couldn’t expect it, could you? So in he goes every few days or so to collect it. There’s a little post office place in Bracken. It works all right. You’ll be comfortable in Gray Stone, I reckon. It’s a bit higher than the farm and the winds whistle round the place something shocking at times. People say the place is haunted, but you don’t want to listen to them. You don’t look the sort who’d believe that kind of nonsense … coming from London. We don’t hold with it much up here. But some people get silly ideas in their heads and when a place is empty … you know what it is.”

“I didn’t know it had that reputation.”

“Well, it’s no more than any old house gets … particularly if it is left standing empty.”

“Has it always been let out?”

“Since old Hargreaves died. That would be eight or nine years ago. He lived there with his old housekeeper. His family didn’t bother much. They were after his bit of money. Then his son and son’s wife came down to look after him. It wasn’t long after that he was in his coffin. Of course, there were rumors. Did the old man die naturally or did they give him a little push? They got the house. We all thought they’d sell … but they didn’t. They did this letting and you get people there … for a while. Then they’re off.”

The door opened and Patty came in with the eggs.

“There,” said Mrs. Hellman. “A dozen of the best.”

I paid her what she asked and she put the money in a box on a shelf with an air of satisfaction.

I was grateful for the cider and her friendliness. I felt remarkably pleased that we had a near and affable neighbor.

I said, “I am sure we shall want more eggs. Although it’s my sister-in-law who does the housekeeping. Could you send us another dozen in a week’s time?”

She beamed her pleasure.” Either I or one of the children will bring them over.”

Her eyes sparkled at the prospect. I could see that she was full of curiosity to see what the new neighbors were like; and as I rose to go she said how pleased she was that I had called.

“If there’s one thing I like, it’s being neighborly,” she said. “After all, we’re only here once, aren’t we? We might as well make the most of it. And here we are … out here … away from things, you might say. It’s only good sense that we know each other.”

I agreed with her, said good-bye and carefully carried the eggs back to Gray Stone House.

Roland had returned and he and Phillida greeted me as I came in.

“How are you?” asked Roland anxiously.

“A lot better, thanks. I have been for a long walk and it has been quite interesting. I have met our nearest neighbors and I’ve brought back some eggs. I have ordered a dozen to be sent in a week’s time. Is that all right?”

Phillida seized on the eggs. “Marvelous. Oh, they’re beauties. So we shall have eggs in constant supply.”

“We shan’t need to bring them back from Bracken in the dog cart,” I said.

“What’s this about a dog cart?” asked Roland.

We told him and he thought it was a good idea.

“I was invited in and given some cider,” I told them.

“My goodness,” said Roland with a smile. “You do move fast.”

“The people are very friendly here. They may seem a bit gruff and they are impatient with our more diplomatic Southern ways. Here a spade is called a spade, I gather. That’s what was implied. However, beneath the rough exteriors …”

“I know,” put in Phillida, “beat hearts of gold. It’s wonderful about the eggs.”

“Their name is Hellman,” I said. “There are two children, Jim and Daisy.”

“You have discovered a lot.”

“I did learn that Mr. Hellman’s grandfather and his father before him farmed on the same land. They’ve got sheep, too, so they know about wool. Mrs. Hellman reckons her husband is on good terms with all the wool people in Bradford.”

“Oh?” said Roland rather quietly.

“Did you tell her we were concerned in the wool trade?” asked Phillida.

“Of course. It couldn’t have been all one-sided. She said she had never heard of the Fitzgeralds.”

“I expect she enjoyed your visit,” said Phillida. “It must be lonely for her out here. Visitors would be welcome.”

“I am sure that is so. I’m glad you are pleased about the eggs.”

“Now listen to Roland’s news,” said Phillida.

“I’ve got the horses,” he said. “They are being brought over this afternoon. There will be a nice little chestnut mare for you, Lucie.”

“That’s lovely. And they are coming this afternoon?”

“I asked them to be quick. I want you and Phillida to be satisfied with what you are having.”

“Of course we shall be!” cried Phillida. “Go on, Roland.”

“There is the possibility of a house. It’s just outside the city. It sounds delightful.”

“How old?”

“This will please you. Eighteenth century. It sounds elegant and is quite spacious. As far as I could gather, it has a lot of interesting features.”

“When can we go and see it?”

“The owners are living there. They haven’t moved out yet.”

“That means that it would be a long time before we could move in.”

“No. They are ready to move out as soon as the sale is completed. They are away for a few days, but as soon as they come back we can view it.”

“Isn’t that wonderful!” cried Phillida. “I confess to feeling as impatient as you do.”

“So,” said Roland, “we shall have to wait for a few days till they return, and then … well, let’s hope it is all the agent says it is.”

“So it was a successful morning,” I said.

“Very,” replied Roland. “And the best thing about it all is that you are feeling better.”

“Lunch will be served very soon,” said Phillida. “What about an omelette with Mrs. Hellman’s eggs?”

“That sounds good,” I replied. “I’ll just go up to change my riding boots.”

“Don’t be long. I’ll take the eggs to Kitty.”

I went up to the room I shared with Roland. I don’t want this house, I thought. I shall have to explain to Roland. It isn’t fair to him not to. He’s so kind and thoughtful, and he will notice the difference in me. I must tell him.

I took off my boots and put on a pair of shoes. There was water in the ewer so I washed my hands.

When I went down Phillida and Roland were in the dining room. They were talking very quietly, but with some heat, which was unusual with them. I caught a few snatches of what Phillida was saying. “It’ll have to be soon. It should have been over by now. It’s your fault. You were the one who wanted to wait.”

As I entered she stopped abruptly and I fancied she looked a little startled. Then she said lightly, “I was scolding Roland. I was telling him that if he had gone to see about the horses earlier we should have had them by now.” She laughed. “I was really cross with him which was very wrong of me. Well, you can’t keep an omelette waiting.”

Kitty brought in the food and we all agreed that it was delicious.

“The eggs are so fresh,” said Phillida. “Possibly laid this morning. Good for you, Lucie, making such good use of exploring our local color.”

A few days passed. Several times I had been on the point of telling Roland that I was in love with Joel and for that reason the relationship could not be the same as it had previously been between us. I reminded myself that I had thought I had loved him, that I had been very eager that we should have a normal and happy marriage. But now that I had seen Joel, talked with him, I realized what I had lost and I could never really be reconciled.

Roland knew I was disturbed and thought it was due to the vision I had seen … or as he would say, “thought I saw.” He knew I was in a disturbed state. I was indeed—both because of what I had seen and my loss of Joel.