Larkrigg Fell (25 page)

Confused, she tripped over a bucket, sending dirty water splashing all over her feet. Cursing silently for not having emptied, she sought the light switch. Nothing happened. Oh, lord, the snow must have brought some wires down, or part of the fragile roof. She scrabbled in her bedside drawer for a torch.

It was freezing cold on the landing, making her shiver, and her bare toes ache on the wooden boards. The wind rattled the window ferociously, blowing along the landing as if there were no glass at all to stop it. The snow would be drifting worse than ever in this howling gale. Somewhere in the depth of the house a disaster had taken place, Beth was sure of it.

Shivering with cold she hurried to Pietro’s door and pushed it open without knocking, calling his name in a soft whisper. There was no reply. The bed was empty. Where was he? Not still drinking wine in the kitchen, surely? She hurried out of the room and was at the top of the stairs when she heard the next sound, like a cry in the depths of the house.

At first she put it down to the fierce north-easterly and started down the stairs. It came again and she crept back, to look thoughtfully along the landing.

Beth found herself walking along it, like a ghost in her pale dressing gown, bare feet making no noise on the cold boards.

The sounds were clearer now. That cry again, and a soft moan. Could it be the wind? Or Sarah crying, still grieving for Jonty? Beth could hear her own heart beating loud against her ribs as gently she turned the handle of her sister’s door and pushed it silently open.

A single candle glimmered on the bedside table, giving off very little light but sufficient to halo in its glow the pale flesh of two entwined figures in the great bed. A gust of wind from the open door made it gutter and die, but not before they’d turned towards the door and seen her.

Beth lay like a stone in her own bed for the rest of that night. She’d hurried back to it like a frightened rabbit into its hole and knew nothing on earth would persuade her to confront them right now.

It was as if a part of her had been waiting for this to happen, as if this unspoken fear had been the true reason why she’d hesitated at committing herself. As if she’d needed to be absolutely certain it was truly her Pietro wanted, and not Sarah.

Now her doubts had been proved justified.

It wasn’t the small and rather plain sister he’d wanted at all, but the tall, sophisticated, sensual beauty. She’d simply been fooling herself in believing otherwise.

If she slept that night, Beth had no recollection of it. She got up next morning feeling as if nothing quite penetrated her sense of unreality, sound-proofed as if by the snow. She discovered that the weight of the snow had indeed brought a portion of roof down through the ceiling in one of the back bedrooms. Splintered laths and plaster were everywhere. Bed, furniture, ancient carpet, everything was blanketed in a rapidly thawing mound. Through the cross beams could be seen a gaping hole, open to the rafters and a glimpse of innocent blue sky.

Yet even this disaster seemed as nothing compared with the greater one which had taken place this night. A hole had been punched in her heart and through it shone her sister’s happiness.

‘You don’t really mind, do you?’ Sarah chattered, as she generously buttered herself a slice of toast. ‘You and Pietro were pretty well finished anyway, weren’t you? He says you’d completely lost interest in him.’ She was bubbling over with suppressed excitement, her face alight with a lovely radiance.

‘Did he?’

Beth sat with her own toast untouched, trying to take in the full implications of everything which had occurred these last few days. and nights, and not quite getting to grips with any of it. Everything she touched seemed to turn sour.

‘You do understand how sorry I am? But it’s best out in the open, don’t you think? We’ve been wanting to tell you for simply ages. You’ve only yourself to blame, darling. You’ve ignored him for weeks.’

‘Have I?’ Beth marvelled at the steadiness of her own voice when inside she still felt numb with shock. She welcomed the numbness for she knew the pain would be worse when it faded. What exactly did Sarah mean by -
wanting to tell you for simply ages?
She opened her mouth to ask but Sarah interrupted her.

‘Pietro says he really cannot bear any more of your squabbling.’

‘Squabbling?’

The violet eyes were luminous. ‘He is human, darling. He needs love and attention or he’ll wilt away. All men are the same, sweetie. Why can’t you realise?’ She gave an expressive shrug, her beautiful mouth curving into a smile of mischievous delight. ‘What a pretty coil though, eh? Pietro says he can’t help loving us both, because we are twins. Isn’t that sweet? And since you clearly no longer wanted him he came to me.’

‘You mean you took him.’

Sarah pouted. ‘Don’t be a poor loser. And don’t blame Pietro, the poor darling couldn’t help himself. Neither of us could.’

Something inside of Beth finally snapped and she stood up, white and shaking. ‘This isn’t a piece of jewellery, or favourite dress you’ve commandeered, Sarah. This is the man I love.’

‘Oh, phooey, don’t play the drama queen. You’re only pretending to be cross, I can tell.’

The callous audacity of the selfish act was bad enough, Beth thought, but Sarah’s absolute certainty that she wouldn’t mind was utterly breathtaking. Yet she knew that Sarah never thought of anyone but herself. That was the way she was, the way she’d always been. She didn’t recognise any hurt except her own To expect Sarah to be any different would be to go against the laws of nature. ‘You know nothing about the way I feel. Perhaps you never have.’

‘Silly child, I understand you perfectly.’ The lilting voice took on a plaintive note. ‘I’m not like you, darling, all self-sufficient, sensible and contained.’

Beth gasped. ‘Is that how you see me?’

Sarah pouted. ‘You can be very bossy you know, in your own quiet little way. You could have had Pietro if you’d truly wanted him, as I could have had Jonty.’

Beth wondered if that were true.

‘Besides, the whole thing is your fault from start to finish. If it weren’t for your appalling silliness and romantic nonsense I’d still have Jonty, wouldn’t I? The accident would never have happened. And you know how I need a man. I must have one. It’s essential to my health and well-being. And you owe me. You do see that, Beth darling, don’t you?’

Chapter Fourteen

Christmas was a misery. With no hope of reaching Broombank they had to make the best of things on their own. There seemed nothing to be done either about the roof, not until the thaw came, so Beth closed the door on it and hoped for the best. No carol singers came to their door. Few Christmas cards arrived since even the postman couldn’t get through. And the food they held in the larder was poor and not particularly festive. Beth put up a small tree and decorated it with scraps of coloured paper and tin foil, but it did little to cheer her.

And night after night she could hear them making love. She buried her head beneath her pillows but still she could hear them, if only in her imagination. Her ears strained to catch every gasp, every cry of release, every creak of the old bed springs. Her eyes grew hollow and dark ringed through lack of sleep. Often she would pace the floor of her bedroom for hours until she was too exhausted to stand up and would then fall into bed and sink into oblivion. Blissful relief.

How could she bear to go on living in this way? And what would she do when the thaw did eventually come? If she left, she would lose everything. She had already lost Pietro. Was she prepared to give up her sister too, who was still dear to her? And Larkrigg Hall - her inheritance?

Beth couldn’t bear to leave and she couldn’t bear to stay.

It was a bleak and lonely time. One night she thought she heard tapping at her door and very nearly went to answer it. But then realised it must only be the constant drone of the wind and snuggled down again beneath the warm sheets, forcing herself to relax and sleep.

During the day it was almost worse.

The snow lay in great drifts, banking up against dry-stone walls, glittering with frost on their outer surface but deadly soft beneath. Where the wind had scoured the grass of thick snow, her feet made prints in the crisp hoar frost, disturbing the tiny icicles which feathered every blade of grass. The world looked so pure and white and beautiful while she felt dark and muddied and ugly.

Every morning Pietro and Sarah would go off to play in the snow like children. Beth could hear their squeals and shouts of laughter as they sledged and threw snowballs and stuffed the icy snow down each other’s necks.

‘Come with us,’ they urged. ‘We’ve made skis with bits of wood. We’re going to try cross-country skiing. Come on, Beth. Don’t be such an old misery-boots.’ But as politely as she could, she always declined.

In Larkrigg Hall itself the cold bit deep with iron jaws. The water, which came from a private spring nearby, froze in the ground. And snow continued to fall from time to time through the hole in the spare bedroom ceiling. Life was impossible, yet what could she do?

Larkrigg belonged as much to her as it did to Sarah. More in a way, for Sarah would not have stayed on had she not been persuaded into it. So how could Beth risk abandoning it, even if she’d been able to get away? All she could do was grit her teeth and carry on.

She dressed in layer upon layer of her warmest clothing, and as far as possible confined herself to working in the kitchen where the restored range now gave off a radiant heat.

One morning she was digging out the hen arks from beneath feet of snow, stacking broken spars of wood, inspecting damage, thankful that at least the poultry remained safe and well. Pietro came to stand beside her, saying nothing. She ignored him, as she had done for over a week now. At last he spoke.

‘It was no good for us, was it?’

‘You clearly thought so.’

‘You didn’t love me enough.’

Beth felt the curl of restoring anger deep inside and welcomed it as the land would welcome the sun. ‘You think not?’

‘You were infatuated with me, and I with you. But it could not have lasted. We are too different.’

‘And you discovered this fascinating fact in Sarah’s arms, did you?’

‘You are angry with me. I deserve your anger. But Sarah, she needs me.’

Beth gazed at him, stunned. ‘And I don’t?’

He held out his hands, palm up in a helpless gesture. ‘You are sensible and strong. You will survive.’

How could he say such a thing? How could he ever imagine that she, Beth Brandon, the shy, awkward twin could ever be the strong one? Wasn’t it enough to be jilted once, very nearly at the altar, let alone twice? Why did it always have to be she who was the loser?

‘See how you build this place with your own hands. You have the dream and you go for it. I admire that in a woman.’

‘Yet there must be something wrong with me. I do the work while Sarah has the fun. Is that how it goes? And somehow Sarah always seems to get everything she wants.’ Beth was proud of the way she was holding on to her dignity with not a threat of a tear. Her calmness was really quite astonishing, as if a mist had gone and she could see everything quite clearly at last.

‘Sarah is the weak and feminine one. She cannot manage alone but needs someone to take care of her.’

Beth’s jaw had dropped open. ‘You think Sarah is weak and feminine?’

‘But of course. She love me very much. As I love you. In different way. You understand?’

The idea was so preposterous and he looked suddenly so boyish, and pathetic and sorry for himself that a spurt of rebellious laughter bubbled up in her throat. ‘As a matter of fact, Pietro, I think I do understand. More than you realise.’

He looked pleased. ‘Good, now we can still be friends.’

‘Not quite as we once were.’

‘Why not? You are the sweet, forgiving one. Did I not always say so? When you feel better, we can all be the best friends and love each other, sì?’ Then he brushed a kiss upon her brow and smilingly walked away, as if he’d made everything right between them. Beth let him go without protest, too angry to cry.

The trees of Brockbarrow Wood were like black sticks in the snow, back lit by the brilliant glare of a low winter sun. A thaw had at last set in and Beth’s wellington boots sloshed through puddles and lumps of melting ice as she made her way down the hill. Her spirits were lifting at the thought of calling upon Ellen. It felt good to be at last out of the house and this morning, with the sheep trods at least passable and running with water, was the first opportunity she’d had.

She carried piping hot soup in her basket which Beth meant to offer tactfully as a lunch for them both. She guessed it might prove to be the most substantial meal Ellen would have tasted for some time, since most of her money went on her animals and birds.