A Sixpenny Christmas (23 page)

Sam looked earnestly into the girl’s face and saw, in the pale grey light of dawn, that she was looking back at him, the expression on her face a mixture of scorn and amusement. He did not understand why she should look at him thus, but once again he had to admire her pluck. He was three times her size and had five times her strength, yet she was so clearly unafraid that once more he realised threats would be useless, and it appeared that blandishments were not going to work either. Suddenly the sheer misery of the cold and wet in which he found himself made him throw caution to the winds. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her until he heard the teeth rattle in her head. ‘Speak, you wicked little bitch!’ he screamed, his face not an inch from hers. ‘Which way is home? Tell me!’

To his astonishment the child actually grinned. ‘Remember Ariadne?’ she said. ‘So you’re lost, are you? Well, that makes two of us.’

When the rain started Chris was in the cowshed milking Jessie. Beside him, old Mr Williams was milking
Buttercup under the hopeful gaze of the sheepdogs, who knew that he would direct a squirt of milk straight from the cow’s udder into the mouth of any waiting dog, a treat much enjoyed by them all. Presently they both carried their full buckets through into the dairy where Lana, who had still not learned to milk a cow and was unlikely ever to do so, since she could not bear the feel of the long rubbery teats, was waiting for the milk to be emptied into the cooler so that she could sterilise the buckets in the big old sink which she had already filled with boiling water.

She was trying her best to be useful, and when she had finished in the dairy she joined the men in the kitchen, telling Chris that she would start laying the table for the evening meal. Chris grinned at her, for in return he was trying very hard to understand her fear of animals and to help her to conquer that fear. She was all right with the dogs now, she knew, so when he saw the rain begin in earnest he told Jacob and old Mr Williams to set off for home at once, opened the back door to let them out, and whistled for the sheepdogs, who immediately scampered across the yard and crowded into the kitchen. By now the rain was hitting the paving stones of the yard with such force that it looked as though they would soon be an inch under water. Lana would have shut the door, for with the rain it had begun to grow dark, but Chris stopped her.

‘Leave it, cariad,’ he said. ‘Nonny will be back from the village quite soon, no doubt soaked to the skin, and I bet she’ll make a mad dash across the yard straight into the kitchen. She’s gone to buy something for our mum’s present and I don’t know why she’s so late. Perhaps Mrs
Enfys is a bit low on stock, today being Tuesday and the vans delivering on a Wednesday.’

‘Okay,’ Lana said. She smoothed a hand across Egg’s black and white head and well pricked ears. ‘When we go back to Liverpool, Mum says she’ll mebbe let me have a puppy of my own.’

Chris gave her an admonitory glance. ‘Don’t you go getting a Border collie,’ he advised her. ‘They’re working dogs, you know, happiest when they’re up in the hills rounding up the sheep. If they’re miserable and bored they play up: chew chair legs, bark for hours on end, even fight other dogs occasionally. So if you want a puppy you’d best choose a nice little mongrel in need of a home.’ He grinned at Lana. ‘One with short legs so it won’t need too much exercise.’

Lana laughed with him. ‘I don’t suppose we’ll get a dog really,’ she admitted. ‘Auntie Molly said the city’s no place for a dog because if you let it roam free it’ll likely get run over and if you shut it up, with only a little yard to play in, it’ll go crazy.’

The two talked about dogs as they laid the table. ‘I thought Mum would be home by now,’ Chris said, going to the window to watch the rain bouncing off the paving stones. ‘Good thing the dogs came in before they were drenched; if there’s one thing I don’t like it’s the smell of wet dogs.’

Lana agreed with him, then remembered that she had left her waterproof up in her bedroom and whilst she had no use for it at present she really should bring it downstairs, for the chances were that, as the rain eased, Chris would ask her to go and let the cows out of the shed and drive them to the home pasture. Jacob usually
undertook this task, but because of the rain he had gone home early, so the sensible thing would be to fetch the waterproof, hang it on its peg by the back door, and be prepared for a rush out into the downpour. If, upon being asked to move the cows, she had to go upstairs for her mac first, it would be another black mark against her, and with Chris’s help she was beginning to do rather well, she considered.

It was the work of a moment to run up the stairs and into the bedroom she shared with Nonny. Once there, she looked rather disparagingly round the room. What a mess she saw before her! Two unmade beds, the clothes they had worn yesterday cast on the floor, the curtains at the window only half pulled back. Tutting beneath her breath, Lana began to put things right. She made the beds up neatly, smoothing the covers and turning down the white sheets. Next she sorted the clothes, hanging up the clean things and bundling the dirty into a pillow case. Then she went over to the window, swished the curtains back as far as they would go, and looked out at the rain-soaked scene before her. It certainly was pretty miserable out there; from where she stood she should have had a clear view of the mountaintops, most of which she could name by now, having been taught by Nonny and Chris. Today, however, the rain clouds were so low that they completely hid the mountains, and the slopes upon which the sheep grazed were largely hidden too, making the scene desolate indeed.

Poor Mum and Uncle Rhys, and Auntie Molly too of course, Lana thought. They’re going to have a miserable journey; I bet it will be full dark before Minnie the Moocher comes wheezing and stuttering into the
farmyard. And Minnie’s hood leaks like anything, so they won’t even stay dry. I’ll tell Chris I think we ought to have a roaring fire in the kitchen range and the pie ready to reheat as soon as we hear Minnie’s engine.

Lana was about to turn away from the window when a movement further up the lane caught her eye. A person or an animal was traversing the deep ruts and muddy hollows, but because the rain was so heavy she could not make out who or what it was. She pressed her nose to the streaming pane and then remembered: it must be Nonny! Doubtless the figure ploughing through the puddles was her poor friend, as wet as though she had been dunked in the river, and keen to get into the warmth and dryness of the farm kitchen.

Lana stepped back from the window, glanced approvingly round the now tidy room, and went over to the rail upon which the two girls hung their clean clothing. Knowing Nonny’s tastes she chose a faded cotton shirt, a thick navy blue jersey, a pair of canvas slacks and the appropriate underwear before picking up her own waterproof and balancing it on top of the pile. Then, her arms full, she left the room, descended the wooden stairs into the kitchen and began to arrange Nonny’s garments on the clothes horse, drawing it close to the range so that Nonny would have warm things to change into as soon as she had rubbed herself dry.

Chris, cutting the loaf with a large bread knife, stared at Lana’s preparations. ‘What on earth are you doing, girl?’ he asked rather impatiently. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to come and butter this bread.’

‘Sorry, it’s just that I thought Nonny might like to change out of her wet things as soon as she gets home.
I think I saw her coming up the lane when I was in the bedroom,’ Lana gabbled. ‘I’ll help with the bread and butter now.’

The two worked steadily but presently Chris looked across at his companion, a frown marring his brow. ‘Did you say you’d seen Nonny coming up the lane? Then where the devil is she?’ He bent to peer out of the nearest window. ‘It’s still raining cats and dogs but I can’t imagine that she would shelter in the stable or the cart shed, with the house so near.’

Lana joined him at the window, peering out, able to see very little through the pouring rain. And even as she opened her mouth to admit she might have been mistaken a louder crack of thunder than any they had heard yet split the air, and the accompanying stab of lightning made Lana give a little shriek and step back from the window. Chris was still frowning. ‘Are you sure it was Nonny you saw?’ he asked dubiously. ‘Could you have been mistaken? I wouldn’t doubt you, Lana, if Nonny hadn’t said this morning that she’d seen a tramp lurking around. Come to that, in August there are usually a number of tents pitched down by Trawsfynydd Lake or on the slopes of Snowdon itself. The only thing is, the holidaymakers don’t tend to come this way much, not even the mountaineers; they go for the better-known peaks. So it doesn’t seem likely that anyone but Nonny would be heading for Cefn Farm in weather like this.’ He sighed, then swished the curtains closed. ‘If she’s not home soon we’d better go looking. She’s a sensible kid but even a sensible one can slip and break a bone, though in this sort of rain she’d be extra careful.’ He turned away from the window to find Lana briskly making jam sandwiches,
which she wrapped in greaseproof paper and slid into the big pockets of her waterproof.

‘We’ll take some grub, just in case she is in trouble,’ she said. ‘We’ll fill your dad’s flask with hot tea as well, though I’m sure Nonny will laugh at us when she walks in and finds us dressed and ready to go out in search of her.’

Chris grinned his appreciation, stole one of the sandwiches and began to eat it, speaking rather thickly through his mouthful. ‘I’m sure we’re being really silly, but better safe than sorry, I always say. We’ll give her another ten minutes and then we’ll wrap up warm and go in search of her. Agreed?’

Chapter Nine

NONNY HAD SPOKEN
no more than the truth when she had told Sam she did not know where she was, for during the hours of darkness they had penetrated well beyond the Roberts land, and she had no idea where the cave he had spoken of was situated. Had she known she would have taken him to it, since she had the very best of reasons to believe that as soon as it got light rescue would be on its way. Last night the pain in her wrist, the blisters on her heels and the puzzlement and despair in her heart had almost made her want to give up, to cry, to agree to any suggestion he might make provided it would ease the awful aches and pains which beset her. She had been almost grateful when he had replaced her boots, but his big clumsy hands had not managed the laces at all well so that the boots had slipped with every step she took, and very soon large broken blisters had added to the agony of her chafed and bleeding wrist and the bitter cold which seeped, with the icy rain, through every garment she wore until it reached her skin.

At first, Nonny had longed for the dogs to come racing up the mountain in search of her but they did not do so; after all, why should they? They were not hounds, trained to follow a scent, but collies, trained to round up sheep. If I were a sheep I’m sure Feather would find me at once, Nonny told herself, stumbling along in the wake of her
hated captor. Every time they stopped, for he too was clearly growing wearier with every step, she had begun to nibble and pick at the cord around her wrist, and though she was making some progress it was very slow and she dared not risk his spotting what she was doing. She already knew him for a vicious and unscrupulous man, but now she was beginning to think that he was also unhinged. Why else would he have kidnapped the daughter of folk who had so little money that they would be unable to raise any ransom, no matter how small? The fact that he seemed to think she was Lana was immaterial, since Ellen was not a rich woman either. When he began to mutter and refer to himself as ‘your ole feller’ and chuntered on about someone demanding money from him, it only served to convince Nonny more than ever that she was dealing with a madman and must take the greatest care not to annoy him.

Instead, she began to think about his cave. In all their wanderings amongst the high peaks she and Chris had never found a cave and she wondered if this man had done so in truth or if he had just imagined it. Certainly there was nothing even faintly resembling a cave in the countryside which she and Chris had explored. So when she had admitted that she was as lost as he, she had spoken no more than the truth. Even now that the pale grey light of dawn was slowly increasing she could not see one familiar landmark, and realised with a stab of real fear that she and the madman could wander for days, never once coming across somewhere she recognised.

If only she could persuade him to change his mind and go downwards, towards the steep valleys which divided the peaks, then, even if they did not emerge into
country she knew, there would be people. She would not dare to ask openly for help, but she was sure she would be able to make folk realise that she was an unwilling prisoner. He would have to untie the twine which bound them to one another too, and though her boots still slipped at every step she was sure she could escape from him, once she knew in which direction safety lay.

In the strengthening light she looked up into his great coarse face and saw that the rage which had boiled up every now and again was fast becoming despair. Even as she watched him, for he was not looking at her but staring bleakly out over the great surrounding peaks, she saw water begin to run down his unshaven cheek. Was it tears? For the first time the light was strong enough for her to see that though one of his eyes was brown and sharp the other was sunk into his head, the eyeball itself as white as though someone had poured milk into the socket. Staring at him, Nonny tried desperately to corral an elusive memory which would not quite let itself come to the forefront of her mind. Someone had once mentioned a man who had been blinded in one eye in a fight, but hard though she tried she could not remember who. Would it enrage him further if she mentioned it, perhaps expressed sympathy? But the truth was she hated him so much that even the thought of speaking to him filled her with disgust; so far as Nonny was concerned he was not a man but a mad bull, and she did not fancy exchanging conversation with such a one.

He had been staring abstractedly ahead of him, but suddenly he heaved a sigh and got to his feet. ‘Sun’s comin’ up; it looks like it’ll be a fine day,’ he said. ‘If we walk in a straight line, followin’ the path of the sun, we’ll
get out of these bloody awful mountains; once we’re on the plain I reckon I’ll be able to think straight again and decide what’s best to do.’ He looked down at his companion. ‘That’s right, ain’t it? I left a note in the cottage. When they find it, then they’ll know why I took you. They can have you back just as soon as they stop houndin’ me for money; have you back and welcome. God knows you’re the last thing I want,’ he added nastily.