A Summer Promise (2 page)

She had wondered whether to draw back the faded red gingham curtains at the small windows in the kitchen, but decided against it. Why should she warn Gran that she was up and doing, for goodness’ sake? And to be fair to Gran, she was unlikely to ask any questions. That was not her way. Maddy understood that her relative was a little embarrassed by the fact that it took her a long time nowadays to perform even the simplest task, for when Maddy had arrived at the farm Gran had been brisk and capable. Now, seven years later, she needed time to dress, longer to wash, and positively ages to sort out the necessary things to make herself and her granddaughter a fairly sustaining breakfast. So the fact that Maddy had got up early might be construed as criticism, and that was the last thing either of them wanted.

Ever since Gran had begun to slow down more tasks had fallen on Maddy, and though she had sometimes sighed impatiently when catching Gran half in and half out of her big, hand-knitted cardigan and waiting for someone – who else was there but Maddy? – to tug it up over her rounded, forward-stooping shoulders, she had had to learn tact. Gran did her best, but at times her own incapacity irked her and if Maddy was unkind enough to comment she would bring her black walking cane whistling round to land a blow on Maddy’s bare legs or arms. Maddy would suck in her breath and mimic twice as much pain as she felt, and Gran would tell her that it served her right, that she must learn to respect her elders and not to give what Gran described as ‘sauce’.

But today, she reflected as she slid quietly out of the back door and set out across the farmyard, she was so early that the sun was still below the horizon. Pale mist swirled across the meadows, and the fleeces of the sheep grazing on the sweet upland grass – not theirs, alas, but the flock belonging to Farmer Sutherland – steamed gently in the dawn, adding their own contribution to the pearly white and gold of the haze.

Maddy glanced to one side and saw that Snoops, the sheepdog, had raised his head to give her a doggy smile, his shaggy shoulders emerging from his kennel as he did so. Maddy shook her head at him, but his face was so full of hope that she relented, going over to the kennel and releasing his chain so that he came fully into the open, shaking himself vigorously, and then turning to look at her with that beaming smile, though of course it wasn’t really a smile, Maddy reminded herself, rubbing the large, pricked ears. But it was a sign of pleasure, which was just as good, and anyway, who was she to cavil at the friendly greeting, she who got few such? True, Gran sometimes congratulated her on her work, but much less frequently than Maddy thought she might when you considered how hard she had to work now that Gran was not able to do as much as she had once done. But Gran was old; very, very old, Maddy reminded herself, and when people became very old then younger ones had to look out for them. Maddy did not think she could ever have
loved
Gran, but she respected her and took a certain amount of pride in looking after her, even when it interfered with her own life.

For Maddy was a dreamer, and her chief pleasure was inventing stories in which she was usually the heroine and as such undertook Quests, Adventures or even Rescues, depending on what book she was engrossed in at any one moment. But Gran, who watched her with what Maddy could only conclude was a jealous eye, knew nothing of Maddy’s secret imaginary life and would think it simply a waste of time when compared with digging the vegetable garden, weeding and feeding it, and finding the hens’ cunningly hidden nests for the eggs which were a major part of their diet. There were even days when Maddy suspected that Gran begrudged the time she spent at school.

Maddy liked school, and she liked her teacher, Miss Parrott. A ‘plain, desiccated old spinster’ a school governor had once called her in Maddy’s hearing, but she was loved by most of her pupils and, more to the point, she understood and sympathised with them. She knew Maddy was a dreamer and encouraged her to give her imagination full rein – though not during arithmetic lessons – and though she had never, she assured them, been good at games herself, she could appreciate the attraction which such sports as football and cricket held for a goodly number of her class. It was unfortunate that her nose was enormous, like the prow of a ship, and sometimes the boys called her ‘Old Beaky’ and worse, but it was never cruelly meant. Maddy suspected that she knew all about the nicknames, but what did it matter? The important thing was the affection with which all the children regarded her.

Maddy reached the rough track which, if she had followed it, would have taken her down into the village. Today, however, she turned on to a different path, the one that led to Windhover Hall, the largest and most imposing house in the neighbourhood, which also happened to be the home of Maddy’s best friend, Alice Thwaite.

Taking this path meant that Maddy had to walk alongside the beck, and she usually stopped to paddle where the water was calmest, but today she was impatient to reach her friend. The previous day Alice had met Maddy out of school and had whispered, as she and Maddy turned away from the village, that if Maddy could get away early in the morning and come to the summer house – their usual meeting place – she had a surprise for her, something her friend would love. She would not say what it was, merely smiling mysteriously, but Maddy hoped it would be a book.

The school did not possess such a thing as a library, only a shelf of well-thumbed volumes of fairy stories, schoolgirl adventures and Blackie’s annuals, alongside improving books with a religious bent. But Miss Parrott did her best to offer those of her pupils who enjoyed reading more choice by bringing her own books to class and lending them out as though she herself were a tiny public library. This was sufficient for most of the class, but not for Maddy. She could not remember a time when she had been unable to read, and as soon as Miss Parrott realised that little Madeleine Hebditch could do so better than some pupils twice her age she made it her special task to provide the child with reading matter.

At first Maddy had been happy enough with the books Miss Parrott provided, but then one day, about a year ago, Alice Thwaite had come into her ken. Alice did not go to the village school but had a governess, and in the normal course of things the two girls would not have crossed one another’s paths, but it had been a Saturday morning and Maddy had gone down to the village with a basket of eggs and cress to sell at the market. Alice had been given her pocket money and had decided to spend it on some of the home-made sweets which Mrs Foulks from the post office sold on the front of her stall while her husband looked after the shop.

Maddy had eyed the other girl with considerable interest. Alice wore a silky pinafore dress fine enough for a party, Maddy thought, and she had rich dark curls tied back from her rosy face with a blue hair ribbon. She had large blue eyes framed by curling dark lashes, and she always seemed to be smiling. She was both taller and considerably plumper than Maddy, who had watched as Alice chose her sweets and handed over more money than Maddy earned in a whole day helping on Mr Sutherland’s farm. As Alice had turned away from the stall Maddy must have caught her eye, for the other girl held out the little white bag, her eyes sparkling. ‘Have one; go on, help yourself,’ she commanded. ‘Everyone likes sweeties, don’t they?’ And then, as Maddy still hesitated, she had seized her hand and tipped a chunk of toffee into Maddy’s palm.

Maddy knew about sweets, of course she did, but she had not then been in the happy position of tasting such things since her parents’ death. She had eyed the giver, then the chunk of toffee, then popped it into her mouth. ‘Thanks,’ she said as soon as she could speak, for the chunk had been a generous one. ‘Only I can’t give you anything except a bunch of watercress.’

The other girl had laughed; a gay tinkle of amusement. ‘That doesn’t matter. Too many sweets are bad for one,’ she had said. ‘What’s your name? I’m Alice Thwaite from Windhover Hall. My governess usually comes to the market with me but the poor thing has a shocking headache today so she’s kept to her room. You?’

‘I’m Madeleine Hebditch – everyone calls me Maddy – and I live with my gran at Larkspur Farm.’

‘Larkspur; what a pretty name. It’s that tall blue spike of flower, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, it is.’ Curiosity got the better of her. ‘You’ve not been at Windhover long, have you? Otherwise you’d know every farm and cottage in the neighbourhood. When did you come?’

She had been looking into Alice’s face as they talked and had seen a shadow of pain cross it, wiping out the happiness for a moment. ‘After my mother died,’ she said quietly. ‘My father owns a company in Bombay and couldn’t return to England, so at first I was sent to a boarding school down south.’ She had hesitated, looking searchingly at Maddy. ‘But I . . . I was very unhappy and my uncle decided that I should come and live with him since he has no children of his own. And then my aunt said that I was not to go to the village school but to have a governess, so they engaged Miss Spender.’

‘I see,’ Maddy had said doubtfully, for the truth was she had not seen at all. Surely this pretty, self-confident girl should not be shut away with only adults for company? Hesitantly, she had put her thoughts into words. ‘A governess is fine, I’m sure, but how do you meet other children? If you came to the village school you’d have plenty of friends.’

‘Yes, Miss Spender said the same,’ Alice had said gloomily. ‘The truth is, Maddy – is it all right to call you Maddy? – that when my uncle suggested the village school my aunt thought I’d have difficulties. You see, I struggle when it comes to reading. I can manage little words, but I soon get lost.’

‘Gosh,’ Maddy had said, sounding as horrified as she felt. ‘If I couldn’t read I’d – I’d die.’ Such had been her horror that she forgot her awe of this beautifully dressed and superior child. ‘I read lots and lots, only there are no books at Larkspur and I’ve already read all the ones Miss Parrott, my teacher, lends us.’ She had looked hopefully at her companion. ‘Do you have books of your own? If you do, I could read them to you. I’d like that.’

She had spoken tentatively, fearing to be thought a show-off, but when she looked at her companion the other girl’s face was wreathed in smiles. ‘
You’d
like it? How do you think I’d feel?’ Alice had said joyfully. ‘Oh, Maddy, it would be wonderful! You see, Miss Spender understands but I’m afraid Aunt Ruby thinks I’m just lazy. She tests me by making me read out of the Bible to her every night before I go to bed. Or rather she did, before she got bored . . . now she just lets me read a paragraph or two of anything I like. But even when I get it right – the reading, I mean – she’s very critical, so if you could help me to memorise some paragraphs it would be wonderful. I’m a quick learner if someone will just read something out to me . . .’

As they talked the girls had been walking slowly away from the market, and at this point Maddy had uttered an exclamation of dismay and clutched her companion’s arm. ‘Oh, Alice, I’m so sorry! I must go back.’ She indicated the basket on her arm. ‘I’ve got eggs and watercress for Mrs Grundy to sell for me. I mustn’t be late or I’ll lose sales and my gran will be cross.’ She had seen the look of puzzlement on her new friend’s face and hastily began to explain as they turned back towards the market. ‘We’ve a big flock of geese, a few ducks and some hens, so even though we eat a lot of eggs ourselves we’ve usually got quite a few to sell as well.’ For some reason she felt better, as though the Hebditches’ struggle to make ends meet and Alice’s struggle to read put them at a similar disadvantage. She had been about to put her thoughts into words when she realised, with a stab of pure pleasure, that the other girl understood. Relieved, they had smiled at one another and begun to make plans for their next meeting.

But now, the sight of Windhover Hall and the small flying figure of Alice as she ran through the formal gardens which surrounded her home brought Maddy back to the present with a jolt. Ever since that first fateful day – which she called ‘toffee share’ in her mind – Maddy had had an excellent source of books in Alice, for there was a large library at Windhover which Maddy now frequented on a regular basis. The vast majority of children’s books in that wonderful room were rather old-fashioned, having belonged to previous generations of the Thwaite family, but this did not put either girl off. Masses of reading matter was what Maddy desired more than anything else, and Alice simply wanted a friend of her own age, particularly someone who was more than willing to read to her from the volumes now at her command. Alice’s uncle John had no idea that his niece was getting reading lessons both from Miss Spender and from a ragged little village girl, but he had not failed to notice the improvement and no longer talked of sending her back to boarding school.

Right now Maddy was afire with curiosity, for never before had Alice suggested they should meet as early as possible, seeming to assume that the surprise, whatever it might be, would need time to be enjoyed. She was advancing at a smart trot when, just as she reached the corner of the shrubbery, the sun inched over the horizon, a scarlet ball of flame, sending its long golden rays all across the Hall’s formal gardens and creating a picture so beautiful that Maddy stopped dead in spite of herself. The shadows stretched long and blue in a way she had never seen, for she had never before come anywhere near the Hall’s glorious gardens at this time of day.

Maddy had always been told that Crowdale village was the most beautiful in all the dales and for a moment she simply stood where she was and drank in the view. The fells rose vivid green against the blue of the sky and the beck babbled through the valley, chattering busily and glinting in the rays of the sun. My father was right, she told herself, and so was Gran, for both of them had said many times over that Yorkshire was the most beautiful county in England and Crowdale the most beautiful village. And if Crowdale is the most beautiful village, then Larkspur is the most loveliest farm and I really am as lucky as Gran tells me I am.

But she wasn’t given long to admire the view. Alice had already reached the summer house and was beckoning urgently, and as she obeyed the silent summons Maddy remembered that though Alice’s aunt and uncle would still be tucked up in their beds the servants would be about their tasks and might easily stop to glance out of the long gleaming windows and note that Miss Alice and that little pal of hers from the village were up to some mischief. Accordingly she dodged from one patch of cover to another, then dived breathlessly into the summer house and sank on to the rustic bench within.