A Woman of Substance (40 page)

‘It’ll never work, Edwin. And yer might hurt yerself.’

‘No, I won’t, Emma. And I’ve thought it all out very carefully.’

Working with the hammer and chisel, Edwin had soon made the space big enough to take the crowbar. He put the crowbar
into the hole and wedged a small but strong log behind it, placing this on the ground to the left of the rock. ‘Stand back, Emma,’ he warned, ‘go over there by the trees. The rock will fall forward, and I don’t want you standing in its path.’ Using all of his strength, Edwin pressed on the crowbar, pushing the protruding end of it on to the log, using it as a lever to force the rock away from the Crags. But it did not move. Edwin began to sweat profusely, and his arms ached, but he forced himself against the crowbar determinedly.

Emma held her breath, clasping her hands together. Edwin was wrong. It would not work. She had no sooner thought this than she saw it moving.

‘Edwin! Edwin! I think I saw it coming away,’ she shouted.

‘I know,’ he gasped, ‘I felt it myself.’ With a final thrust of energy he pressed against the crowbar, and, as he did, the rock toppled forward as he had predicted it would. A small aperture on the face of Ramsden Crags was revealed. This was about eighteen inches wide and two feet high. Edwin could not conceal his excitement. He swung around.

‘Look, Emma! There’s a hole here,’ he cried triumphantly. He knelt down and peered into it, and then he inched his head inside. ‘It’s like a little tunnel. And here’s the shilling and the nail!’ He picked them up and pulled back. He held them out to show her, his face wreathed in smiles.

‘Where do yer think it goes?’ Emma asked, running to join him at the aperture.

‘I don’t know. Under the Crags, I suspect. They do stretch back for miles, you know. I’m going in.’

‘Oh, Edwin, do yer think yer should?’ A worried look settled on her face. ‘It might be dangerous. What if yer started a rockslide and got stuck in there?’

Edwin stood up and pulled out his handkerchief. He mopped his damp face and brushed his hair back. ‘I’ll only go in a little way. And I brought candles and matches. They’re in the sack. Would you get them for me, Emma, and that length of rope, please.’

‘Yes, course I will.’ She brought him the items he had requested. ‘I’m going in with yer,’ she announced.

He stared at her and frowned. ‘I don’t think so. Not at first.
Let me go and investigate, and then I’ll come back for you.’

She compressed her lips and said stoutly, ‘I’m not afraid, yer knows.’

‘Yes, I know that. But I think you should stay here, just in case I need something.’ As he spoke Edwin tied the rope around his waist. He handed her the other end. ‘Hold on to this. There could be a labyrinth of tunnels in there. I’ve been reading up on rock climbing and potholing, and potholers always tie a rope around themselves, for safety.’

Emma, who was now visibly impressed that Edwin’s deductions had been accurate, immediately saw the sense of this. ‘Well, just be careful—’ She looked at Edwin, so tall and muscular, and then at the aperture. ‘How are yer going ter get in there? That’s what I wants ter know. It’s ever so tiny.’

‘I’ll have to squeeze in, and then crawl along.’

‘Yer’ll get yerself all mucky, Edwin Fairley. Cook’ll wonder what yer’ve been up ter. Yer’ll cop it!’

Edwin’s mouth twitched and he burst out laughing. ‘Emma, do stop worrying so much, and about trivialities. Cook’s not going to say anything. We’ve come this far. Let’s at least complete the project.’

Emma sighed. ‘All right. But go ever so slow like, and if yer needs me, tug on the rope. Promise?’

‘I promise.’

It was with a certain amount of trepidation that Emma watched Edwin disappear into the aperture. Slowly the length of rope unwound itself, as he moved further into the tunnel, until she was finally clinging to the very end of it, straining against the outer wall of the Crags. A flicker of anxiety crossed her face, and she lowered her head and called into the tunnel. ‘Edwin! Are yer safe?’

‘Yes,’ came back his voice, echoing hollowly as if from a long distance.

‘Yer’ve used up all the rope,’ she cried, her voice rising shrilly.

‘I know. Let go of it.’

‘No! I won’t!’

‘Emma, let go of it!’ he shouted in a commanding tone. She did so, much against her better judgement, and knelt down,
looking into the aperture, suddenly afraid for Edwin. It seemed ominous in there.

But within minutes she heard a small scuffling sound, and to her great relief she saw the top of Edwin’s fair head. She moved away from the opening so that he could squeeze out. His shirt and trousers were covered with dirt and his face was smudged with grime. He straightened up, grinning broadly. ‘What’s in there?’ she asked, with mounting curiosity.

‘A cave, Emma! A fantastic cave!’ he cried, his light eyes shining. ‘You see, I was right after all. Come on, I’ll show you. And we don’t need the rope. The tunnel is fairly straight and leads right into the cave.’

‘A real cave. Fancy that!’ Emma said, and then she smiled a little shamefacedly. ‘I’m sorry I was doubting yer, Edwin.’

He laughed. ‘That doesn’t matter. If you hadn’t doubted me I might not have felt obliged to prove myself right. Come on. Let’s go.’ He collected additional candles, and continued, ‘You follow me. Keep your head down at first. The tunnel is very low at the outset.’

Edwin entered the hole and Emma wriggled in behind him, blinking her eyes as she adjusted to the darkness after the bright sunlight. They crawled along at first, but the deeper they went the higher and wider the tunnel became and they were able to walk in a crouching fashion the rest of the way. Soon Emma could see the faint flickering of the candle Edwin had left in the cave, and a few seconds later he was helping her to her feet in the cave itself.

Edwin began to light the extra candles and arrange them neatly in a line along a narrow ledge near the entrance. Whilst he was engaged in this task, Emma looked around with enormous interest. As the candles flared and illuminated the darkness, she saw that the cave was indeed fantastic, as Edwin had said. It was a large cavern with a ceiling that soared up into a weird conical shape. There were flat little ledges extending out from some of the rocky walls, while other portions had great indentations juxtaposed next to flat areas that were so perfectly smooth they looked as if they had been polished by a giant hand. There was a breathtaking grandeur about this
ancient and spectacular interior, which was as old as time itself perhaps. It was cool and dry and absolutely silent. Emma felt a sense of awe.

Edwin handed her a candle and took one himself. ‘Let’s investigate,’ he announced. He moved ahead and his foot struck something on the floor of the cave. He looked down, lowering the candle so that he could see better. ‘Emma, look at this! It’s the remnants of a fire!’ He kicked the blackened and charred wood, which instantly crumbled. ‘For heaven’s sake, somebody discovered the cave before we did.’

‘Yer right,’ Emma asserted, staring at the charred wood. Then she caught a glimpse of what looked like a heap of sacks in the far corner. ‘Over there, Edwin. Sacks, I thinks.’

He followed the direction of her pointing finger and strode rapidly across the cave. ‘They are, indeed. And on this ledge above them there is an old piece of tallow candle. Oh, come on! Let’s see what else we can find. You go around that side, and I’ll poke about here,’ he finished, his voice vibrating with eagerness.

Emma walked slowly, holding the candle out in front of her. She looked from side to side alertly as she moved, glancing down at the hard earth floor, scanning the high-flung walls. To her immense disappointment the far side of the cavern appeared to be quite empty. She was about to turn back and rejoin Edwin when the frail light from the candle illuminated a patch of smooth wall. She was certain she could make out faint markings on the wall, like writing scratched on to the surface. She ran over and held the candle close to it. It
was
writing. How interesting.

And then Emma sucked in her breath in amazement, for the first word she read was
Elizabeth.
She moved the candle. Written underneath was
Elizabetta.
And below,
Isabella.
Slowly, Emma’s eyes followed the column running down the wall of the cave.
Lilibeth
,
Beth. Betty
,
Bess. Eliza. Liza. Lisa.
Next to this column was one single word, carved in giant capital letters.
ADAM.
She swallowed. Under the name was a small heart with an arrow piercing it, and inside the heart were the simple initials A E.

Emma’s eyes were pinned to the wall and those initials. A
coldness settled over her, as she remembered the locket she had found in her mother’s wooden box. Not me mam and
him
!

‘Emma! Emma! Where are you? Cooee! Cooee!’

She pulled herself together as Edwin’s footsteps drew closer, echoing on the hard ground. She opened her mouth and closed it at once, for a moment not trusting herself to speak coherently. Finally she called, ‘Over here.’

‘What did you find?’ Edwin asked, rushing to her side. She pointed to the writing on the wall mutely. Edwin’s eyes lighted on his father’s name at once. ‘Adam!’ he read wonderingly, staring at the giant letters. ‘Why, my father must have found this cave years ago!’ He sounded jubilant. ‘And look, here’s every derivation of the name Elizabeth, even in Italian and Spanish. This is very intriguing, indeed. Who do you think Elizabeth was, or is?’

Emma was silent. Edwin appeared not to notice her lack of response, or her utter stillness, for she was as rigid as stone standing next to him. ‘Well, I don’t suppose I can very well ask Father. However, let’s search around a bit more.’ Edwin was buoyed up with enthusiasm. He left Emma standing in front of the scratchings on the wall, still staggered at their dreadful implications.

‘Come here, Emma. I’ve found something else,’ Edwin shouted after a few seconds had elapsed. Emma stifled the desire to run out of the cavern and it was with considerable reluctance that she joined him in the corner where the sacks were stacked. Edwin was holding a flat oval pebble, about three inches long and two inches wide. He handed it to her and held the candle over it. ‘Do you see, Emma? The pebble has been painted on. It’s a miniature, in oils, of a woman. See! I think it’s Aunt Olivia. Yes, I’m positive it’s her.’

Emma said nothing, but thought grimly:
No
,
it’s not. It’s me mam.

‘Don’t you think it’s Aunt Olivia?’

‘Yes,’ Emma responded dully.

Edwin put the stone in his pocket. ‘I think I shall keep this,’ he said.

Emma shivered and the candle wavered about in her hand. Edwin did not fail to notice this. ‘Emma, you’re cold.’ He
clucked sympathetically, and put his arm around her. Emma tried hard not to shrink away from him.

‘Yes, I am. Let’s get out of here. It’s warmer in the sun.’ Without waiting for him to reply, she extracted herself and ran to the opening of the cave. She blew out the candle and placed it on the ledge, and crouching, and then crawling, she moved with incredible speed along the tunnel until she was out in the fresh air. She heaved a sigh of relief. She would never go back in there. Never.

Edwin emerged a few moments later. His eyes sought out Emma. She stood under the shadow of Ramsden Crags, shaking her dress free of the dirt and dust, her hair blowing about her in the wind, her face inscrutable. As he continued to gaze at her he recognized that the strange coldness which sometimes invaded her face had crept back on it. Sensitive as he was by nature, and especially to Emma, he at once detected a change in her mood, and a change that was radical. It distressed him.

He walked over to her and took her arm. ‘Emma, is something wrong?’ She did not answer, and averted her face. ‘Is something wrong?’ he said again, more loudly.

She shook his hand off. ‘No, nowt’s wrong.’

‘But you look peculiar. And you fled like a frightened rabbit out of the cave.’

‘No, I didn’t. I was cold, that’s all.’

Edwin turned away, realizing he would not make any headway with her at this moment. He brushed the dirt off his trousers, and began to busy himself collecting the tools. He felt suddenly deflated. Emma had seated herself on the flat rock where she always sat. He watched her as she lifted her long hair and moved it back over her shoulders gracefully. Then she folded her hands in her lap and sat staring ahead, looking out across the moors, and to the valley far beyond. He smiled to himself. She looked so prim and curiously dignified. No, regal, he told himself; it’s the way she holds her head so high, and keeps her back so straight.

He wandered over to Emma, attempting a show of casualness. He sat down on the ground at her feet and looked up at her. ‘Do you feel better now? Out here in the sunshine,’ he
ventured gently.

‘Yes, thanks,’ Emma said quietly, without so much as glancing at him.

Edwin winced. She sounded so cold and remote. He rested his head against the flat rock and closed his eyes, wondering why she was adopting this stern attitude. She had shut him out most purposefully, he recognized that. He felt a twinge in his chest, and that sense of loss he had experienced before.

Meanwhile, Emma’s fertile brain was racing. How could her sweet and gentle mother have been friendly with Adam Fairley?
That terrible man.
And anyway, her mother had spent part of her girlhood in Ripon with Cousin Freda. It struck her then, and quite forcibly, that Elizabeth was not a very unusual name. Might it not be some other Elizabeth whose name was carved on the wall? A girl from the gentry perhaps, who had known Adam Fairley when he was young. There was more likelihood of
him
being friends with a girl of Quality than with one from the working class. But there was the stone Edwin had found. Still, that might really be a painting of Olivia Wainwright, just as Edwin believed. It certainly looked like her. She thought then of the locket. Yet even that didn’t mean anything significant. Lots of people had names beginning with an A. Anybody could have given it to her mother. Emma now found all of these conclusions quite irresistible. And because the idea of a friendship between her mother and Adam Fairley was intolerable and unacceptable to her, for it would besmirch her mother’s memory, Emma slowly convinced herself that her mother was not the Elizabeth of the cave.