Читать книгу Shadow On The Fells - Eleanor Jones - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

WILL DEVLIN ROLLED OVER in bed, breaking into a sweat as he woke in the darkness, horrible images flooding his mind. He sat up, flinging back his blankets. Would he never get a good night’s sleep again?

There was something heavy on his legs, pinning them down, and he made out Max’s pale shape in a beam of silvery moonlight. The big dog raised his head and flopped around, spread-eagling himself happily.

If anyone had told Will a year ago that he would be living alone in the country and sharing his bed with a dog, he’d have said it was impossible...and yet now here he was. Max slid off his legs and jumped onto the floor, instantly full of life. He was used to his master’s nighttime ramblings; sometimes they even went out for a walk in the darkness.

Tonight, though, Will felt too maudlin for a walk. Pulling on his dressing gown, he ran downstairs with Max at his heels, poured himself a stiff whisky and sat down beside the stove in the kitchen.

Had he been right to come here? Or was life in the Lake District just a crazy notion that he’d tire of soon? Remembering his disaster the previous day with the woman and her sheep, he realized he had an awful lot to learn if he was going to stay around here.

Max sat on his haunches, watching Will’s every move, his tail waving.

“Perhaps I should get you some proper training, Max,” Will said thoughtfully. “Assuming you’re even trainable...”

Max just looked at him, his brown eyes glowing with trust and happiness. That might have been what had drawn him to the pup in the first place, thought Will—the joyous innocence in his eyes. Innocence had kind of faded from Will’s life of late.

On the other hand, it had been Max’s innocence that caused the chaos on the fell today. Though Will doubted Chrissie would call the big dog “innocent” after what she thought he’d done to her sheep.

Taking another sip of his whisky, he pictured the straight-backed woman with her long blond braid. Chrissie. She didn’t really look like a Chrissie—more a Lorna or an Alice. A smile curled up inside him, warming the cold, hard place in his heart...

He shook his head. What did her name matter? In fact, the last woman he’d dated had been called Summer, and there wasn’t much about her that reminded him of the season—unless you counted how short-lived the relationship was. The shepherdess was no Summer, either. More of a Winter, he thought with a smirk. Remembering her honey-colored skin, though, he changed his mind to Autumn, with its golden tints and beautiful browns.

Summer had soon stopped getting in touch when he’d told her he’d given up his job and was moving to the country. He’d been put off at first, but now he was glad; he needed to be alone, for the time being, and he couldn’t see a future with her anyway.

Sighing, he dropped his empty glass into the sink and headed back up the narrow staircase. Tomorrow, he guessed, the architect would be on the phone. Will was so exhausted that it crossed his mind to put the whole project on hold, completely rethink the decisions he’d made recently.

He stood at the bedroom window, staring out at the formidable dark mass of the fell etched against the pale moonlit sky. This place held his future, he was sure of it. Fading dreams tumbled back into his consciousness, taking form again, meaning something. No, he couldn’t stop now. He needed this. Maybe he would have to rethink some of his plans so they would fit in with the environment here, but he wasn’t going to give up on the one thing that had carried him through these past dark weeks. Somehow he was going to make this work...no matter what the locals thought.

* * *

THE MORNING DAWNED bright and sunny, one of those early spring days when the whole world felt as if it was filled with promise. Is filled with promise, he corrected himself, feeling a resurgence of last night’s positive thinking. He glanced at the clock as he flung open the small window and leaned out to gulp in the sweet, clean air. There was a fog down in the valley, obliterating the rest of the view. Thick and white, it made the fells seem even more majestic as they loomed toward the clear blue sky.

“We are kings in our castle, Max,” Will said. “And when we are here, no one can touch us.”

Max just wagged his tail and twirled in a circle, impatient to go outside. Will smiled, feeling more lighthearted than he had in a long while. “Well, I’m a king... You’re probably more a court jester.”

He needed to get his head straight before meeting with his architect, so Will grabbed a piece of buttered toast and headed for the back door, remembering to take Max’s long leash from the hook. “No sheepherding for you today, young man,” he said, clipping the leash onto the dog’s collar.

The fog was lifting now, evaporating into nothingness to reveal the silver, sparkling lake and gray stone buildings way, way down in the valley. Will went through the gate that led onto the fell, noticing the patches of fresh white snowdrops coming up at the edges of the garden. They must have been there yesterday, announcing the arrival of spring, but he’d missed them. Funny how every day he seemed to see a new thing. It felt as if he’d just removed a blindfold that he’d been wearing for years, and now nature’s beauty was being revealed to him little by little.

Max pulled on the leash as they headed up the steep slope behind the house. He had decided not to go the same way as yesterday, just in case Chrissie—or Autumn, as he’d started thinking of her—was bringing the sheep down again. Today he wore sturdy boots, blue Wrangler jeans and a thick cream-colored sweater. Today, he was prepared; if he did come across her, she could keep her smiles to herself. He was dressed right and his dog was under control.

Will climbed for twenty minutes or so, not following a path but just aiming for the skyline and avoiding loose rocks and boulders.

He heard the high-pitched, ear-splitting sound from what felt like miles away, a piercing whistle that filled the clear air. Max stopped, whining in excitement, and Will took a firm hold of his leash. “Not today, boy,” he ordered, squinting into the distance.

No sign of her, thank God. The fellside was so vast that surely he couldn’t come across her by accident again. He continued on, his breath burning in his chest as the air got thinner.

* * *

CHRISSIE WAS PLEASED with herself. She’d been up before dawn to let Floss out, feed the animals and milk her two cows before grabbing her crook and calling to Tess and Fly. Perhaps today they could actually get the job done.

The heavy mist in the bottom of the valley made everything seem eerie and strange; Chrissie was used to mornings like this, but they never failed to move her soul. Taking a deep breath, she set out with long, easy strides, turning her face toward the pale early morning sun that cast its spell on the world.

By eight she was almost there, on the smoothest slope where the sheep liked to graze. To her relief she saw them at once, heads down and nibbling the sparse foliage. They looked up as one when she came into view, startled but not yet spooked by the woman and her dogs.

Today, she would have to take special care. Fell sheep were feral, they’d been badly frightened yesterday and their instinct to survive was strong. They moved closer together, herding up to face danger as a group, and she slowed her steps, motioning to Fly to go wide of the flock.

The sharp blue-and-white collie lowered herself to the ground, slinking around the back of the sheep that were starting to move down the slope. Tess waited, nose on paws, keen eyes and ears alert for her command.

Her moment came when a small ewe moved out from the flock. With one low whistle from Chrissie, Tess was straight on the sheep’s tail. Before she got close enough to truly spook it, Tess hung back, gently persuading the sheep to close in with the others. Chrissie felt a warm rush of pride at the way her dogs worked, hardly needing a command from her, and her confidence grew. Perhaps she’d actually manage to get these sheep down today.

For the next twenty minutes, they trotted almost amicably, content to be coaxed down the steep slope by the two easygoing dogs. And then the little ewe decided to make a break for freedom again and Chrissie let out a piercing whistle to warn Tess. Within minutes, the sheepdog had regained control and the flock streamed obediently toward the gate into the low pasture.

The sky was darkening, and Chrissie was relieved that they had almost reached the fields. Gray clouds descended, casting out the sun and obliterating the patches of clear blue. A slow, steady drizzle of rain enveloped the fell. Glad of the waxed-canvas jacket she wore, Chrissie pulled up her hood and kept on moving.

Rain was almost an everyday occurrence in the North of England and she gave it as little thought as the sheep, whose thick, oily fleeces glistened with raindrops. Still, poor visibility and high winds were risks up here and she was happy she hadn’t faced any more complications with the gather today.

The man appeared suddenly, as he had yesterday, and Chrissie suppressed a curse. At least today he had his crazy dog under control, she noted, and he was better dressed for the territory...except that maybe he should have thought to wear a coat.

She waved, signaling for him to stay back. He hesitated. His dark hair had curled in the rain and his sweater looked heavy and damp. He still hadn’t gotten it right, then, she thought, trying not to smile. What did he think he was doing hanging around these fells? She felt in her pocket for the bill; at least now she could give it to him.

“Meet me at the bottom,” she called, and he stopped in surprise. She pointed to the open gate that led to the fields by the farm. “Down there.”

He frowned, puzzled, but he began moving in that direction, hanging determinedly on to the leash as his dog strained against him, desperate for another bit of fun.

With a collie at either side running to and fro, and Chrissie behind the flock waving her crook, the sheep streamed through the gate. She pushed it shut with satisfaction, almost forgetting about Will. His deep voice behind her made her jump. “Why did you ask me to follow you down here...? Is it just so that you can give me another ticking off?”

“Ticking off?” she repeated, unable to stop her wide smile. “What kind of person says that? Reading the riot act, going mad, even telling off. Ticking off sounds, well, kind of private school, I guess. Posh. Come to think of it, you do sound a bit posh.”

Will nodded briefly. “And you sound very Northern. Anyway, why did you ask me to follow you? I know, don’t tell me—it was my good looks you couldn’t resist.”

A flicker of heat in Chrissie’s cheeks revealed her embarrassment; she wasn’t used to eloquent men out-talking her. In fact, talking to anyone was not her forte. She pulled a slip of paper from her pocket. “You owe me this...for the ewe.”

He frowned, his silvery blue eyes darkening. “But it ran off...we both saw it. I helped you, and it was fine.”

“Not that one.”

“There was another?”

She looked anywhere but into his piercing gaze. “One fell down a cliff face...it’s dead and so is its lamb.”

He stepped forward and took hold of her arm, but she pulled it away. “I’m so sorry.”

Chrissie met his eyes for a second, lifting her chin. “Sheep die up here. It happens. But you have to pay for this one.”

Will studied the crumpled piece of paper in his hand. “That much?”

“That much,” she repeated decisively.

He stared at her a moment longer then sighed. “I presume this is where you live,” he said. “High Bracken, you called it? I’ll bring you a check. You do take checks, I suppose?”

Chrissie glared at him. “Yes, can you believe it? I actually have a bank, in fact.” Suddenly she smiled again, a tiny smile that just turned up the corners of her mouth. “I even have the internet...and I can work it.”

It was his turn to appear uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean...”

“Yes, you did,” she said. “You think I’m some kind of country bumpkin with no brains. Well, I am a country girl and I’m proud of it, but I do have brains. It was either sheep farming or training to be a vet, and I chose sheep farming. I’ve never regretted it. I’ll be around the farm tomorrow if you want to drop the check off. The vet’s coming.”

She turned away with her dogs at her heels, but spun back to face him a second later. “Oh, and you certainly look a bit more in keeping with your surroundings today, but a coat is always a good idea around here.”

She strode off without another word. There was something so arrogant about the man, with his high-handed manner and his posh accent, and yet, standing there in his wet sweater, he also seemed kind of vulnerable. Bottom line: he was just another tourist and the sooner he headed back to his city life, the better.

She remembered what he’d said about owning property, but it had to be a just vacation home. Men like Will Devlin didn’t live around here; they just arrived with their families and interfered with the way of things before scuttling back to the city.

Did he have a family? she wondered. Did she really care? The answer that jumped into her head was not the one she wanted. For some bizarre reason, she was interested in the man who kept appearing on the fell as if from nowhere. Perhaps he was a ghost, she mused sardonically as she made her way down to the farm. Well, I’ll find out tomorrow, she thought. Because ghosts can’t write checks.

* * *

WHEN CHRISSIE REACHED High Bracken, the sheep safely enclosed in the low meadows, she made straight for the new arrival, Floss. The nervous little dog was excited to see her, and Chrissie played with her for a few minutes before leading her to the house.

The way Floss stayed close behind her told her that perhaps she would be one of the easier ones to train. That belief was strengthened when Chrissie stopped to gaze across the valley toward Craig Side and Floss sat obediently down beside her.

There were workmen in the yard again, she noted, tiny figures in the distance. Perhaps they were just repairing the roof. Andy had been pretty sure about the holiday rentals, though.

She imagined clusters of bright-coated tourists wandering across her land, letting their pet dogs chase the sheep and leaving gates open. They seemed to think they owned the Lake District just because it was a national park.

She’d go to the council offices in Kendal this week, she decided, to find out what was going on. One thing was for sure: if there was a planning application going in, then she’d be fighting it. She’d write a letter of protest and get signatures, and she could have a meeting with the local council to state her objections.

With a fresh boost of determination she pulled herself away from the view of Craig Side. What were her objections, though? I don’t like having tourists too close to my farm? The shops, hotels and holiday cottages around here—her neighbors—depended on tourists. But encouraging them to stay as far up the fell as Craig Side could cause all sorts of problems—as she’d witnessed firsthand with Will Devlin’s crazy dog. She could form her objection around that: tourists needed to be based closer to town, or in other nearby villages.

Smiling, she remembered that when tourists used to come tramping through Billy Parker’s yard at High Ridge, he would turn the garden hose on them. True, that was probably taking it a bit too far, but the thought still amused her. She’d been half in love with Billy when she was sixteen, and his impetuous behavior had drawn her to him even then. He was happily married now with two young children, but they had always remained friends...

“Come on, girl,” she said to Floss, heading back toward the house. She was eager for a late lunch and a cup of tea. “One thing is for sure. Whoever has bought Craig Side is in for a fight if they’re hoping to bring tourists all the way up here.”