Melinda Hammond (5 page)

 'No, don't look round yet. I want you to see the house from the main gates. At that distance you can appreciate the whole building.' He squeezed her hand. 'You must not be afraid to lean on me, for the path is still a little slippery.'

 'Thank you. How long have you lived here?'

 'All my life. My father died when I was a baby, and Mama came here to look after my great uncle. Once I had finished my schooling Sir Ambrose set me to work with his steward and when he died it seemed natural that I should take over.'

 'And have you never wanted your own estate?'

 He hesitated. It was only for a moment, but Verity was aware of the tension in him.

 'My father's house had to be sold on his death to pay his debts.'

 'Oh Luke I am sorry.' Verity squeezed his arm. 'But Sir Ambrose has left you a property, has he not? Mr Bannerman told me of it. Perhaps you think he should not have done so, but I was interested to know all I could about my grandfather and Highclough.'

 'It is no secret that my great-uncle left me the estate at Sowerby. When Sir Ambrose died Rafe told me he would manage Highclough until you were in possession, but I thought I should stay here, at least until you had settled in.' He glanced down at her. 'Do you object?'

 'Oh no, how could I do so? I am very glad you are here.'

 'So too am I.' He stopped, smiling at her for a moment before he turned her around on the path. 'Look. This is Highclough at its best.'

 Verity caught her breath. The house stood before her in all its splendour. The winter sun had reached its height in the southern sky, and the north front of the building was in shadow, the creamy-grey stone dark against the dazzling snow that surrounded it and with a clear blue sky throwing the roofline into strong relief. Highclough was a long, low house, just two storeys high, giving the appearance of sturdiness rather than elegance. A gabled wing rose at each side of the great hall with its tall stone mullioned and transomed windows. Protruding between the hall and the western gable was the square tower of the entrance porch with heavily carved stonework surrounding the black oak door while inset above it was a beautifully carved stone window in the form of a rose. Set back from the main building was the new west wing with a row of deep windows indicating the ballroom, and Verity tried to work out which of the smaller upstairs windows belonged to her own bedroom.

 'Well, do you like it?'

 'Luke it is beautiful! Not at all as I imagined it. Quite magnificent.'

 He laughed. 'I knew you would love it. Come along, I'll show you the shrubbery.' He led the way to a walled garden on the eastern side of the house. 'We had best stop at the gate because the paths have not been cleared in here. Mama has never cared much for the garden, and it has had little attention in recent years, but I think it could be very attractive.'

 Verity looked through the stone arch to the garden beyond, where straggling bushes drooped under the weight of snow. Several statues had been placed amongst the bushes and a stone bench stood against the house wall.

 'It's a southern slope, and sheltered from the wind,' he continued, 'I believe it would be possible to grow most things here.'

 'You have no need to convince me. I think you really love this house.'

 'I have spent so many years looking after Highclough, farming these unfriendly slopes, is it any wonder that I should be attached to it?'

 'Not at all. I only hope I can do as well.'

 Luke looked as if he would speak, then changed his mind. After a moment he said, 'We had best be moving on. It does not do to stand too long in this chill wind. Would you like to see the stables?'

* * * *

It was several days before the snow finally cleared sufficiently for Verity to venture out again. In the meantime the servants fetched up fresh supplies of food by sledge and indoors the ladies were kept busy turning out cupboards and attics. When Mr Bannerman returned to Highclough a week after her arrival, he emerged from his office at mid-morning to be confronted by the sight of Miss Shore dressed in a faded woollen gown and her arms full of old sheets.

 He stopped, his brows raised in surprise.

 'Miss Shore! I am sorry, I did not bring you here to be a housemaid.'

 'I am nothing of the sort!' she laughed. 'Cousin Megs and I are clearing out the linen cupboards and these sheets are past mending, so I am on my way to the housekeeper's room to see if Mrs Ditton can make use of them.' She twinkled up at him. 'You would not believe how very righteous it makes one feel to have all the cupboards in order.'

 'You are right, I would not believe it! My poor girl I had no notion you would be so bored.'

 'Oh I am not bored, truly I am not! I was merely teasing you!' She assured him. 'Megs and Luke are most attentive. We spend the evenings playing at cards or conversing and there is a library full of books, and I have my needlework and sketching. But the fact is that Cousin Margaret has been longing to clear out these cupboards for many years and was never allowed to do so while my grandfather was alive.' She broke off, an anxious look on her face.

 'Perhaps, as you and Mr Reedley are executors, we should have asked you first?'

 'My dear girl I have no interest in household linen, and neither does Reedley. What does alarm me however is that you should be reduced to dealing with such trifling matters.'

 She opened her eyes at him.

 'Trifling! It is far from that sir, as I think you would acknowledge if you were to find a hole in your sheet tonight!'

 She saw the gleam of mischief in his eyes and backed away, laughing.

 'Very well, Mr Bannerman, let us say no more on that head. But I will concede that I am more than ready for a distraction. What would you suggest?'

 He gave her a considering look.

 'Can you ride?'

 'Yes.'

 'Then I'll send a message to the stables. I have a few papers to tidy up and then we will ride out. Meet me in the great hall in an hour.'

* * * *

 It was a little under an hour when Miss Shore presented herself in the great hall attired in an old but well-fitting riding habit. She heard a door open and turned to see Luke Worsthorne coming out of the library. He was looking solemn.

 'I heard Rafe giving orders to have the mare saddled. I am so sorry, Cousin. Had I known that you wanted to ride I would have suggested it sooner.'

 'No, how could you know?' she said smiling. 'I had not thought of it. Besides, until today the ground has been too hard for riding.'

 'I still wish I was escorting you!' He came up to her, looking so angry that she placed one gloved hand upon his arm.

 'We can ride out another time, Luke, when you are not so busy.'

 He glared at her for a moment, then the anger left his face and he covered her fingers with his own. 'I should never be too busy for you, Verity.'

 'I am sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Shore.' Mr Bannerman's cool voice was heard from the gallery and Verity looked up to find him looking down upon her. She nodded.

 'I am ready, sir. I will meet you at the door.' With a fleeting smile at Luke she disengaged her hand and walked out of the hall.

* * * *

 The mare that had been saddled for Verity was overweight and sluggish, and she found herself eyeing Mr Bannerman's rangy black hunter with something akin to envy as she struggled to keep up even a sedate pace. A chuckle escaped her and she found her companion's hard eyes upon her, demanding an explanation.

 'I am ashamed to say I was comparing my mount most unfavourably with yours, sir! This is most ungrateful of me, since for the past few years I have not been able to ride at all.'

 'Mrs Worsthorne rides but rarely, I believe.'

 'She does not ride at all if she can take the carriage,' came the frank reply. 'However, it is very good of Megs to allow me the use of her mare.' She sighed. 'I have no doubt that with regular exercise she will improve.'

 They had turned onto a well worn track, making their way up to the open ground. Most of the snow had disappeared, but looking around Miss Shore could see large white patches where the drifts had collected against the rough walls that divided the upland pastures. She was moved to enquire where they were heading.

 'I thought you might like to see Newlands - my home.' He touched his heels to the hunter's glossy flanks and the horse broke into a trot, while Verity's mount was obliged to canter to keep up.

 'This is the quickest route, directly across the moors,' he said, waiting for her to come up. 'The carriage way winds down to Derringden and is much longer. On a fine day this ancient track is by far the better route. In summer you will find the packmen still use it. They call in at all the local farms, selling ribbons and trinkets, or collecting yarn to deliver to the local weavers. They may call on you towards dusk. Ambrose allowed them to bed down in the stables overnight, but of course you may not wish to continue that practice.'

 'I see no reason to change, as long as they do no harm.'

 'They will cost you a meal and a little fodder for the ponies, but I have always thought it a small price to pay for the news they bring with them.'

 They rode on, their path curving around a rocky outcrop that Verity had noticed from the great hall window at Highclough.

 'Oh, what is that?' She pointed to several huge weather-worn stones that stood like sentinels at the entrance to a large circular area cut into the rock.

 'It's a delph, an ancient quarry. This area is known as Bridestones. Years ago couples used to come up here to marry - in those days it was sufficient for a man and woman to make their promises in front of witnesses to become husband and wife.' Intrigued, Verity turned her horse off the path and rode up between the stones.

 'It is sheltered from the wind here,' remarked Mr Bannerman, following her into the rocky circle.

 The floor was covered with a springy turf but high stone walls sent their voices echoing back to them. Verity looked around her with interest.

 'It's like a large, outdoor room!'

 She pointed to a large rocky slab that lay beneath an overhang, forming a natural shelf.

 'What is this,' she asked him, laughing. 'Some form of altar used for human sacrifices?'

 He grinned. 'In a way.'

 She moved the mare towards him, her face glowing with interest.

 'Really? Tell me.'

 'Miss Shore, such tales are not for female ears.'

 Verity laughed. 'Having said so much you cannot refuse to tell me.'

 'Very well. That ledge is called the marriage bed. Legend has it that couples consummated their marriage here, in view of their witnesses. That way the man could not later deny the union.'

 If Mr Bannerman had hoped to shock his auditor he was disappointed.

 'How barbaric!' she exclaimed. 'Uncomfortable, too. I am glad we live in more civilised times.'

 Her companion laughed. 'Do you think so? I suspect this place is now used for cock-fighting and gambling.'

 Verity shuddered.

 'Even worse. Pray let us move on.'

 They returned to the path and were soon moving down towards more sheltered farmland. Mr Bannerman stopped and raised his crop.

 'There.' He said, pointing. 'That's Newlands.'

 Verity looked down at the fertile valley opening out below them. The land was divided into tidy fields with lines of straight walls, and on the south-facing slope, against a back-drop of trees was a neat, square house with a regular five-bay frontage and a centre door. It was approached by a sweeping drive that curled through a well-tended park.

 'Oh how pretty!'

 'It is not as old as Highclough of course.'

 'But a great deal more practical.'

 'I believe so.' His eyes reflected her smile. 'My grandfather built it. He intended to replace the surrounding farms with more parkland, but to date we have preferred the income from the farms. Would you care to take a closer look? We could take a little refreshment before our journey back to Highclough.'

 Verity readily assented and they followed the worn path down to a wider track that eventually led them to the house itself. Mr Bannerman led the way to the stable block where a surprised groom ran out to meet them.

 'Ah, Matthew. Will you take care of our horses while we step inside? Thank you. We should not be above an hour.'

 He slid from his horse and walked over to lift Miss Shore down.

 'Come in and meet Cook. Let us see if she can be persuaded to provide us with a hot drink.'

 He led her through a side door and along a narrow passage hung with ancient spears, shields and crossbows.

 'Signs of my family's passion for the hunt,' he explained, observing her interest. 'My grandfather collected most of these trophies and insisted they should be displayed. My own preference is to take out the gun dogs for a day's shooting, although when my sister is here we set up the archery targets in the garden, or even in the great barn if the weather is too bad.'

 He guided her into a large, warm kitchen, where a rosy cheeked female in a spotless apron was dozing in a rocking chair before the fire. As the door creaked she opened one eye, sitting up with a shriek when she recognised her visitor.

 'Mister Bannerman, how dare you come a-creeping up on me like that!'

 'I'm sorry, Cook. Did I startle you? I have brought Miss Shore over to see Newlands, but we cannot go into the house in all our dirt.'

 'No indeed sir. Mrs Hartley would be a-scolding you for days if you was to muddy her carpets - if she was here, that is, which she isn't sir, you having give her leave to visit her sister in Leeds and saying as how you wouldn't be back again for a couple of days. Well well, sir. Let me see what I can find for you. Coffee, is it? Or hot chocolate?'

 Chattering on, Cook clattered about the kitchen, moving the kettle onto the flames and sending an open-mouthed kitchen maid to fetch the best cups for the master. Smiling, Mr Bannerman escorted Verity to the big table in the centre of the room and gently pushed her down into the arm chair at its head, perching himself on the bench to one side.