Luckpenny Land (21 page)

She was glad she had made the effort but regretted not bringing her bike when she found Lanky in bed, coughing blood and in obvious pain. There was no fire or heat of any kind in the cold house and no sign of his having eaten. The air was acrid with the tang of the old ash that lay untended in the grate, and a thin layer of yellow dust powdered everything.

‘I’m fetching a doctor. Just as soon as I’ve got some hot soup down you.’

‘No you’re not. There’s nowt he can do.’

‘We’ll see about that. And I shall light a fire in your bedroom, so don’t argue.’ With no telephone at Broombank and it being black dark outside by the time these essential tasks were done, Meg decided the doctor would have to wait until morning. There was no question of leaving Lanky alone, so she made up a bed for herself by the fire downstairs, and could only hope that little Effie would not wake and be frightened, all alone in a strange bedroom.

At first light Lanky seemed no better, though he took a little scrambled egg and a sip of tea. Meg quickly dealt with the milking, surprised and saddened to find Lanky had only four cows left out of what had once been a sizeable herd, then ran as fast as her legs would go to the doctor’s house, more than two miles away. Her sides were near splitting when she got there but she leaned on the bell while she gasped for breath.

A large, well-set man, still with a marked north-east accent to his quiet voice even after more than thirty years in Westmorland, came in answer to the desperate ringing. But Dr MacClaren only gave a sad shake of his head when she told him the facts.

‘I’ll call in later this morning. Lanky has never been properly right since he got gassed in the First World War.’

‘I didn’t know. Why didn’t he say?’

The doctor gave a wry smile.’ He’s got his pride. Doesn’t like to be a burden to anyone.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake.’

‘That’s the way he is, Meg. Your ma used to call on him quite a bit. It’s good to see you taking over. He needs a bit of care.’

‘I do what I can, I’m very fond of him.’ She might have said he was the nearest thing to a real father she had known, her own being very far from ideal, but it wouldn’t have been proper, not to the doctor who’d delivered her.

‘Keep him warm, well fed, and above all quiet. Rest is essential. The farm is too much for him but he’ll never sell it. You look more and more like your mother, you know.’ The doctor grinned. ‘No wonder he thinks you’re special.’

Meg flushed with embarrassment, wanting to ask what he meant by that remark, but the doctor was on his way back indoors, anxious for his breakfast before starting on the day’s calls and surgeries.

She was back at Broombank before eight but Meg knew she had a problem. How could she return home to look after Effie when she didn’t dare leave Lanky? He needed care too. Fortunately this was a quiet time in the farming year but there were the hens to be fed and a hundred and one other jobs at both houses.

‘You get off home,’ he said, reading her thoughts. ‘I’ll be all right.’

‘Like heck you will.’ Sal would have to look after Effie for once. She’d stop on, for a little while, and see to the old man.

It was early afternoon by the time Meg felt she could safely leave him. Loyalties to her old friend and to Effie still warred within. First there had been the doctor to wait for and then she’d had to see that Lanky got a bit of dinner inside him. She’d spent a couple of hours hosing down the cow byre which really did stink, and had made some effort to clean up the house.

Then she’d written a short letter to Jack, explaining that his father was ill. Would the Navy give him leave to come home and sort it all out? she wondered. Somehow she doubted it, but oh, what she wouldn’t give for Jack to walk in the door this minute, smile that wonderful smile of his and place a sweet kiss on her lips.

Perhaps she could bring Effie back with her, then she could look after both at once. Meg brewed a pot of tea and took the tray upstairs to discuss the matter with Lanky.

‘Aye, bring the lass here by all means. I’ll be up and about in an hour.’

‘Indeed you won’t. I shan’t move an inch from this chair unless you promise me you’ll stay right where you are.’

Lanky’s old eyes twinkled with pleasure. ‘Just as stubborn as your mother.’

Meg kissed the wrinkled cheek. ‘And as determined to get my own way.’

‘Eeh, your mam rarely got that.’

‘No, I don’t suppose she did, not with my father about.’ Meg sat down on the edge of the bed. ‘Tell me about her. You loved her, didn’t you?’

His eyebrows lifted in astonishment. ‘How did you guess?’

Meg gave a soft chuckle. ‘I should have guessed long since if I’d had any sense, but it was something the doctor said. Go on, tell me.’

For the first time Meg could remember, Lanky flushed like a boy. ‘It’ll have to be our secret. It’s not something to broadcast.’

‘All right. I won’t tell.’

‘Aye, I did love her. I’d always loved her if you want to know, even when she was young Annie Follett. I rather thought that she had a fancy for me. We’d certainly talked about getting wed one day. Nothing definite, you understand. Just youngsters we were, dreaming.’ Silence fell and Meg thought the old man had fallen asleep but then he suddenly opened his eyes and continued. ‘Then the war came and I went away. Joe didn’t go. Flat feet or summat, I don’t remember. Mebbe he just had to stay and look after the farm. When the war was over and I came back, she’d already wed him.’

‘Why?’ Meg was shocked by this apparent disloyalty on the part of her lovely mam.

‘By rights you should ask her that, only she isn’t here any more so I don’t suppose it’ll matter. The truth is she thought I were a goner. It shook her when I come back. Not quite the man I was, admittedly, but with all me limbs in place which was more than some had. Anyway I met my Mary and wed her. We were right happy, but I never forgot sweet Annie.’ He started to cough again and Meg was all concern.

‘I’ve made you talk too much. Rest for a while. Don’t say any more. I’ve seen to the animals. Now I must pop home, check on Effie and fetch you some food.’ She leaned close and laid her soft, warm cheek against the old man’s rough one. ‘I’m glad you loved Mam. It makes us seem more like family.’

Lanky gave a quiet chuckle and, lifting a shaky hand, stroked Meg’s hair.

‘You’re a grand lass. You remind me of her in a lot of ways. I shall always be grateful for the joy you’ve brought to a foolish old man in his last years.’

‘Oh, don’t talk so soft.’ She kissed him, trying not to let her tears fall upon his cheek as his horny hand held hers, still with its startlingly strong grip.

‘Don’t hurry back. Do what you have to do. I’ll be all right now.’ Unable to find her voice through the choking tears, Meg could only nod and stumble to the door. How different her life would have been if only her mother had waited and married Lanky.

Ten minutes later Joe walked into Broombank yard with a determined stride. He would have driven up in the old van but petrol was getting expensive and he didn’t like to waste money. He’d taken a short cut across the fields, so didn’t see Meg running down the lane. And told no one where he was going.

It was more than twelve months since he’d last asked for his loan to be settled, the interest had accrued very nicely since then and he wasn’t prepared to wait any longer. Now that war was a reality a man needed all his assets to hand. Particularly with a married son to keep.

He found Lanky by his fireside looking as if he’d just got up. No wonder the place was going to rack and ruin. ‘Never would have thought to find you indoors at this time of day.’

Lanky, having politely offered Joe refreshment and been refused, took a quick sip of his honey and lemon mixture, hoping to quieten the cough that he felt stirring. He wanted none of Joe Turner’s pity. ‘I suppose a chap can stop for a bite if he wants to.’

Joe sniffed his disbelief, as well he might for it was a time Lanky would normally have been out on the fells, working. But that had been in the days when he’d been fit. It was plain he was far from that now. ‘Getting a bit slack, eh? You’ll be missing your Jack.’ Joe, as always, had the knack of pouring salt on a wound.

‘He has to do his bit for King and Country.’

‘I don’t hold with wars.’

Lanky was feeling too ill for the roundabout question and answer game he and Joe usually indulged in. ‘I’ve only stopped for a minute,’ he lied. ‘So if you’ve owt to say I’d be glad if you got on with it.’

Nothing could have suited Joe more. ‘Aye, you can be blunt with me, lad. We’ve known each other long enough.’

‘Then you understand that I’m a patient man but even I have me limits.’ The cough almost choked him as it burst forth and he quickly sipped the warmed honey mixture again. He preferred his own tinctures to the doctor’s newfangled stuff.

‘Thee wants to get that cough seen to.’

When the spasm had passed, Lanky faced his rival with as placid an expression as he could muster. He felt so ill he wondered how he was managing to keep upright. ‘I suppose you’ve come for your money?’

‘Well, I’m not made of brass, tha knows.’

‘I haven’t got it.’ There it was. The truth. Out in the open at last. Plain and simple. ‘I can’t pay you. Not now, nor in the foreseeable future. I don’t know if I ever can.’

Joe clicked his false teeth for a bit, deep in thought. ‘Well now, that’s a shame. I was hoping we could have this matter settled today. Have you made up your mind what thee is going to do about it?’

‘No.’

The silence that now fell between the two men was filled with unspoken vengeance. A lifetime of resentments, one against the other. It was as if the veneer of friendship had finally been stripped away and the relationship shown for what it truly was: a jealous, bitter rivalry with its seeds sown long ago in the distant past.

‘I’ll have to take summat else then, in lieu.’

‘You’re not having my land, not now, not ever. Annie was right about you, Joe Turner. You’re a cold hearted son of the devil and no mistake.’

‘And you’re a stubborn old fool, that’s what you are. And Annie a greater
_.
one for wasting so much time on you.’

The last vestige of colour drained from the parchment cheeks. ‘Don’t you besmirch Annie’s name! There were nowt between her and me after you and she wed and you know it.’

‘So you say.’

‘It’s true.’

‘You could have had her, and gladly, in return for a hundred acres or so.’

Lanky half rose in his chair. Incensed by Joe’s taunting he had a longing to smash the self-satisfied face to pulp but the exertion even of moving was too much and he fell back, the burning rasping cough starting up again, the phlegm in his throat near choking him. He knew he shouldn’t let Joe’s taunts provoke him. Joe was not a man to let his women wander. He always liked to be in control, bragging that Annie belonged to him and would do only as he directed.

When the honey and lemon had soothed the cough sufficiently for Lanky to speak again, his voice was low and resolute in its calm. ‘So you’d take away a sick man’s animals? You’re a hard man, Joe Turner. With few morals.’

‘Morals have nowt to do with business.’

‘Do your worst then and see if I care. Only leave my land alone.’

The cough threatened again and Lanky calmed himself before continuing. ‘You didn’t deserve Annie. I can’t think why she chose you. She should have known I would come back. I told her I would, even if I was a poor study with writing.’

A heat was closing over his head. It was like a fire that blotted everything out but the sight of Annie’s pretty face. A face that had kept him sane when he was in the army hospital. So lovely she had been with her cloud of shining hair, just like Meg’s. He could scarce think straight now but he was almost sure that she’d stood here, less than six months before she died, and told him that she had never stopped loving him through all those long years. Words he’d stored in his heart with joy. So nothing Joe Turner could say would spoil that truth.

Joe, however, was determined to try. ‘You should have written to her more, told her where you were. She got fed up of worrying.’

Lanky, an intensely private man, best with his own company, and, like Joe himself unable to read or write, still cringed at the embarrassment of having someone else write his feelings on paper. At first it hadn’t mattered because he’d been given regular leave and their time together had been sweet. But then, without warning, he’d been sent to France and that was it. There’d been a third letter but that had never been posted as he’d been struck down by the gas and spent the rest of the war being moved from hospital to hospital.

He was glad she never saw him like that, so sick, spewing up blood and bile, half a man. He’d wanted to be well before he contacted her again.

But by then it had been too late. She’d married Joe and his dreams had crumbled to dust. That was the one time in his life when he, a grown man, had cried.

‘You’re right though,’ Joe said. ‘She might have waited. Only when I told her you were probably dead, she agreed to marry me.’

‘You told her what?’ The faded eyes went blank with disbelief. ‘You hadn’t heard that I was dead, had you?’