CHAPTER TWO

Next morning Rachel woke early, tense with anticipation. Her bedroom seemed larger than it had yesterday evening when she had lugged her rucksack upstairs and unpacked her few belongings. Someone had placed fluffy towels and a container of talcum powder for her use in the ensuite shower room.

Suddenly it was too much. She wanted to be outside, starting the search while she had the chance. She threw on jeans, T-shirt and her thick jersey and trainers. Pulling a comb through her hair, she opened the bedroom door, and crept down the wide staircase and out of the unlocked front door.

There was no-one about. She paused for a moment to sniff the murky air, expecting to smell the peaty scent of open moorland. It smelled only of cold that whipped glowingly against her cheeks.

From the gravel drive an inviting path led across grass to a gate into the churchyard beyond — a good place to do a bit of detective work. She started by examining the headstones, moving slowly between them in the long, damp grass until the legs of her jeans were soaked to her knees. Then she went to the church door, and finding it unlocked pushed it open and went inside.

For a moment she could see nothing, and she wrinkled her nose at the mouldy smell. Then she wandered up and down gazing at the memorial tablets on the walls. The writing on most of them was hard to make out in the gloom, but she could see enough to realise there was no mention of her grandmother’s family name. Perhaps she had missed something.

She looked round for light switches, and found them hidden by the curtain by the door. Blinking in the glare, she could see at once there were no more tablets. She looked hopefully at the table containing various leaflets, and opened the visitor’s book to flip through for some clue.

Amazing to think that in this church in which the family of the young Sarah Swin-bank would surely have worshipped, there was no obvious sign that they had ever lived nearby. Disappointment welled up in her. Alderbeck Court had to be in the district somewhere. Simon Swinbank would know. Next time she saw him she would ask. She should have done so before.

Light reflected brilliantly on the windows with their coloured pictures in stained glass. With a last look round she left the church, plunging it into gloom again as she switched off the lights and closed the heavy door behind her. Surely it was darker out here now? A rumble in the distance made her shiver. Thunder? She hated thunder.

Head down, she ran along the path to the gate, and then stopped. Ahead of her was an upright tomb, like a box. One side was smashed in, and the stone on the top looked as if it would slide off at a touch. Her heart lurched to see it so suddenly. The wind and rain had done this over a long period of time. Whose tomb was it? She looked close.

When a twig snapped behind her, she spun round, her hand to her mouth, to see a dark-haired man in jeans and red-checked shirt.

“What do you want?” she gasped.

“You’ve found your way out here, any road.”

She took a step back.

“Who are you?”

His bold eyes laughed down into hers.

“So it were you who put the lights on in’t church? I thought I’d left them on myself. That’s all right then. No harm done.”

“I had a look round,” Rachel said, struggling to keep calm. “I’d better get back before it rains.”

He laughed but didn’t move to let her pass.

“I saw you looking at my great grandad’s tomb. A fine lad, old Zachary, as wild as they come so they’ve always said.”

“Excuse me, please.”

“Nowt’s amiss, surely? A pretty lass like you needs company.”

To her relief he moved to one side, but then decided to accompany her. Although he was wearing heavy boots he had crept up on her across the grass without a sound. Now, on the gravel path, she was conscious of his footsteps.

The rain came as they reached the gate, bucketing down from a black sky and soaking her in seconds. She didn’t see him go, but she was on her own as she burst through the kitchen door. Trembling, she stood for a moment, letting the water drip off her on to Julie’s clean floor. She peeled off her wet jersey, and slipped her feet out of her trainers. There was no sign of Julie. She reached for a hand towel and rubbed her hair hard. Then she went into the hall where a grateful warmth met her. The radiators were comfortably hot as she rested her hands on them. If only her aunt could have enjoyed some of the comforts provided here.

A sound from above made her look up. Mrs Woodfield leaned over the banisters on the landing.

“Oh, there you are, Rachel, my dear. Will you come up? Nerissa would like to see you now. My dear, are you all right?”

Rachel hesitated. Then she took the stairs two at a time, and arrived at the top with flushed cheeks and pounding heart.

“I’m a bit wet,” she said, pushing her damp hair behind her ears and trying to keep the quiver from her voice. “I went out. I won’t take long to change.”

Mrs Woodfield seemed not to notice Rachel’s bedraggled appearance. She looked down at the red roses she was carrying.

“Aren’t they lovely? They’ve just arrived. Julie left them on the landing table. Nerissa won’t keep you long. Just a quick word, that’s all.”

Rachel nodded, and followed Mrs Woodfield along the passage and into the room at the end. She looked in amazement at Nerissa who lay on the bed in a gold and crimson dressing-gown with her dark hair loose about her face. Red velvet curtains cut out most of the light, but she could see enough to imagine herself on the set of one of the television plays Aunt Sophie liked so much. It was the strangest feeling. For a moment she thought she could step straight out of it into her aunt’s familiar room and be back in her old life instead of here among strangers. Then she blinked, remembering.

Nerissa took the roses from her mother, and opened the attached card.

“Brian!” she said scornfully. “Where did he get these?”

“Not from the garden in March,” Mrs Woodfield said so tartly that Rachel giggled.

Then, remembering the real situation, she looked at Nerissa in sympathy. Nerissa frowned.

“So Brian’s been off to Rawthwaite again?”

“As long as he wanders off in his own time who am I to query it?”

For a moment her daughter looked annoyed, as if she needed to get to the bottom of something important. Rachel stared at Nerissa in surprise. What could it possibly matter to her to make her look like that?

Suddenly Nerissa’s face softened, and she held the roses to her face. Then she threw them from her and turned to Rachel for the first time. Her speculative glance travelled from her head to her feet.

“So, you’re here to help out with my mother, are you?”

Rachel smiled anxiously, aware of her clinging wet clothes and straggly hair.

“Rachel’s a good girl,” Mrs Woodfield said. “I’ve told her we’re not usually at sixes and sevens like this. I hope we’ll soon be able to get ourselves into a sensible routine.”

Nerissa moved a little on the soft bed.

“As long as you don’t expect me to be bothered.”

She nodded at Rachel in dismissal.

“You can take my tray down to the kitchen now.”

Rachel escaped thankfully, and paused on the landing to get her breath back. She had never met anyone quite like Nerissa before. What had she let herself in for? For a second she wished herself back in the Felphams’ house where everything was normal. Then she gave herself a little shake, and went downstairs to the kitchen.

She heard voices as she approached. Turning the handle, she pushed the door open with one shoulder and carried the tray inside. Julie came forward to take it from her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright. Horrified, Rachel recognised the dark-haired man from the churchyard whose bold eyes had made her want to run away from him as fast as she could. He had changed now into dry jeans and another checked shirt. He leaned against one of the bright units, and grinned at her.

“So, lass, we meet again! Julie wanted to know where you’d got to.”

“With Mrs Woodfield and Nerissa, upstairs.”

“In them wet clothes?”

“Leave her be!” Julie cried.

He frowned as he turned his attention to her.

“You’ll get more of what I gave you earlier, lass, if you’re not careful. So think on.”

His dark eyes were full of contempt as he moved to the open door and paused with his hand on the handle. Then he went through, crashing it shut behind him. Julie unpacked the tray.

“Take no notice, Rachel. He’s harmless, is Brian.”

Harmless! Rachel couldn’t speak. Brian before made her feel tainted, as if everything was somehow her fault. Julie’s eyes were sparkling blue as she smiled at her.

“I’ll make us a hot drink while you get out of them wet things, Rachel. Mrs Wood- field’s had breakfast so I’ll lay yours in here. I’ll not take long.”

“But who is he?”

“Brian? He’s my man. Don’t worry about Brian. He’ll not bother you, Rachel.”

No way! She’d make quite sure of that. So it was Julie’s husband who had sent Nerissa red roses? What on earth had she let herself in for, coming to live and work at Alderbeck? Something was badly wrong. Rachel felt it in the air when Mrs Woodfield came downstairs to have a few words with Julie. She left them in the kitchen together, feeling that what they had to say to each other might be private.

In the large, gloomy hall the light from the fanlight above the front door illuminated the carved wooden panel on the wall above the telephone. For a moment Rachel had the strangest feeling that she was looking at something copied from a tombstone, but when she went closer she could see at once that it was nothing of the sort. Someone had carved an intricate tree design. She looked at it with pleasure for a moment or two before the kitchen door opened and Mrs Woodfield emerged. She called to Rachel to come with her into the sitting-room.

“Rachel, my dear,” she said as they sat down together on the sofa, “I feel I owe you an explanation about what’s been happening since your arrival. I was meaning to phone your guardian, too, but perhaps that won’t be necessary now after all.”

Rachel’s throat felt dry.

“Not necessary?”

“Don’t look so worried, my dear.”

Mrs Woodfield leaned forward and patted Rachel’s cold hand.

“I meant, of course, that Nerissa won’t be leaving for the foreseeable future. She’s been rather ill, you see, though she thinks she’s better than she is. Anyway she’s agreed to stay on for the next few months. You’re welcome to stay here as a holiday of course, Rachel, until we decide what to do for the best. We’re not throwing you out. Don’t think that, my dear. And now I must get back to Nerissa.”

For a moment Rachel stood looking after her, feeling empty inside. Was Mrs Woodfield trying to break it gently to her that she was no longer required because Nerissa would be here to look after her instead?

In the kitchen Julia was unloading the dishwasher. She straightened and spun round.

“I know all’t time something like this would happen. It’s all Nerissa’s doing. She’s like that, is Nerissa. Can’t bear anyone to make arrangements but herself.”

She sank down on a stool by the table and stared at Rachel, breathing deeply.

“Aye, this is right bad for you. It would have been grand having you here, Rachel. Just as we were getting to know one another, too. I’m right sorry.”

Rachel nodded. Mrs Woodfield, kind though she was, wanted her out. Maybe she could find some other employment in the area and somewhere to live. For a moment she felt hopeful, but then reality struck. In this deserted place? But she wouldn’t give up. She would think of something to keep her here, not only to pursue her quest but also to be near Simon.

There was the sound of scraping feet outside, and Brian came in. He looked at Rachel, but stood behind Julie and put one arm round her shoulder. She shrugged it off.

“Give over, Brian. I’ve all’t rooms to do.”

“The old lady’s a right slave driver.”

His bright eyes seemed to invite Rachel to share the joke. She flushed, and looked away quickly.

“There’s nowt for you here, my lad,” Julie cried. “Get off back to your digging.”

Before he could move Rachel was out of the kitchen. She wasn’t used to all this clamour, all these people. She needed time on her own to think. Grabbing her jacket from the hall cupboard, she rushed outside. She felt the biting wind bring colour to her cheeks as she ran up the track to the high ground behind the house. Over the brow she sank down, breathing hard, and gazed at the bleak moorland that stretched as far as she could see. A dark line of wall traversed the whole scene like a rope on a mottled blanket.

The only sound was the faint bleat of a distant sheep. It was great. Already this wild country was getting into her blood. Her warm feeling of belonging lasted only until she remembered that unless she could find herself another job and accommodation very soon there wouldn’t be time to find any clues about the location of Alderbeck Court. Apart from the name there was nothing in the diary about it, not even a description of the house.

She sighed, thinking of her aunt. Had she read her mother’s diary, or had it been hidden away, forgotten, until Mr Felpham unearthed it? Impossible to think that Sarah Swinbank’s daughter wouldn’t have been curious about her mother’s young life in this beautiful, wild place. Or had Sarah never talked about it, put it out of her mind for ever as soon as she and Harry were married and started their new life? Even so it was odd.

Where the ground began to slope downwards ahead of her Rachel saw a line of something darker, and sprang up to investigate. The ground away from the track was soggy, and she had to take care to jump from one tuft of heather to the next. Now she was closer she could see that the mounds like giant beehives were made from stones and heather. They were hides for men with guns. She had heard of shooting moors. This must be one of them.

She leaned back against one of them and looked round her, liking the feeling of space and height. If only she didn’t have to go away from all this. How could she bear it?

With Nerissa available now to look after her mother she couldn’t stay at Alderbeck. She really would have to start looking round for something. Taking a deep breath of peaty air, Rachel struggled to push her worries to the back of her mind, but how could she stop thinking about them when the house seemed to be full of suffocating sadness?

There was some sort of path a little way from her, and she started moving towards it on the firmest ground she could find. Suddenly a brown bird shot up from her feet. She let out a startled yell, and then smiled, shamefaced. What did it matter what noise she made when there was no-one within miles?

The path widened into a track farther down, and she could see that it joined another one in the distance that would take her back to Alderbeck House. Confidently she leaped ahead, only to find herself knee deep in slimy mud. She pulled one foot out with a squelch, over-balanced and fell headlong. As she got herself up and back on the path she saw a vehicle on the track ahead. Spluttering and rubbing her face, she looked down at her clothes covered in black mud. Yanking up some dead bracken she tried to scrub the worst of it off without making much difference.

The vehicle, a Land-Rover, she could now see, pulled to a halt and to her relief she saw Simon Swinbank leap out followed by a black and white dog.

“In trouble?” he called.

No need to answer, only to get to him quickly.

“You’d better jump in,” he said, taking one look at her.

“I fell in the mud. I’d better walk.”

“We’re not afraid of a bit of mess, are we, Fly?”

The dog licked her hand. She saw that Simon’s cords were far from spotless and he wore heavy rubber boots. She climbed up into the Land-Rover, and he shut the door behind her and went round to his side. Fly leaped into the back, and stood behind Rachel with his hot, panting breath on the back of her neck. She kept her muddy feet together, trying not to spread mud everywhere.

“My trainers aren’t right for this,” she said as they set off down the uneven track.

“You need hiking boots. Something strong enough to support your ankles. There’s a place down in Rawthwaite that could fit you out.”

Simon was talking as if she was settled here for good, but at the best she had only a day or two more. She tried not to think about it as she slipped her jacket off and folded it inside out on her knee.

“Dare I ask if you’ve been enjoying yourself?” Simon asked.

She looked at him sharply, and saw the same sadness in his face she had noticed yesterday. Surely he didn’t imagine she didn’t care about having to leave? She was losing her hoped-for job for a start, apart from anything else.

“It’s great,” she said. “But some massive bird shot up at my feet.”

“You’ll have put up a grouse.”

“The colours everywhere are terrific. All those browns and yellows.”

He nodded.

“I’ve been up here with bales for the sheep. The work had to be done, but it’s a sad time. I’ll be glad when all this worry with Nerissa is over. My mother-in-law has been through a lot lately.”

Rachel was startled.

“Mother-in-law?”

“Ex-mother-in-law, Mrs Woodfield. Nerissa and I were once married.”

Married to Nerissa! Rachel’s sudden jolt of pain surprised her. The glamorous Nerissa and Simon, so quiet and serious, seemed so unsuited. Had Nerissa hurt him badly before they split up? It was easy to believe she had. Maybe that was the cause of his momentary sadness. Could he still be in love with her?

They arrived back at the entrance to Alderbeck House and Simon drove with care through the gateway, pulling up outside the front door. He turned to smile at her.

“It’s fortunate you’re here, Rachel. You’ll keep Mrs Woodfield company and she’ll like that.”

“But I won’t be needed now. Nerissa’s staying on.”

“She is?”

Was it her imagination or did his mouth soften for an instant? She couldn’t be sure. In any case why should it matter to her?

“That’s what Mrs Woodfield said.”

“Aye, so you’re worried you’ll be sent packing, eh? I’d better look into it when I come back later. Meanwhile, do what you can.”

He gave her a warm smile.

“Of course, I will,” she murmured as she opened the door of the Land-Rover.

The muscles of her legs ached as she jumped out. Her heart ached, too, as she watched the Land-Rover drive away.