Northern Spirit (39 page)

He steadied her by the arm as she leant on the rails, and looked across
to Waterhead and could see the Langdale Pikes in full view, but a cool breeze
from across the water hit their faces and Betty went back to the safety of the
car.

She’d travelled this route many times before, but always with her
husband, and to be with David in Fred’s old car brought back happy memories.
But at ninety-two she didn’t know when her final day would come; she had to
expect it at anytime. Her heart had jumped a little more of late and she felt
fragile, like a small bird nestling in someone’s mighty hand. Dizziness at
times had overwhelmed her and, if not for David’s presence, she doubted she
would have had the courage to stay at Foxglove Cottage alone.

‘Where exactly do you want to be in Kendal?’ David was wondering how on
earth this elderly lady would manage the bustle of the town that she was
un-accustomed to.

Betty rooted deep into her handbag and pulled out a small card.

David glanced at the inscription as he drove. He noticed the name
"Piercy," then abbreviations after it. He saw the number and the
street and the word "Solicitors".

He handed it back to her, bewildered.

David parked the car on the tree-lined avenue. Betty held onto his arm
and she led him into an old house. The entrance hall was cold; a parlour palm
struggled for light as it sat in the corner.

A matronly receptionist welcomed them and ushered them to two hard
chairs. ‘I’ll inform Mr Piercy you’re here, Mrs Keldas.’ Speaking in an
efficient tone. ‘You look very well.’

Mr Angus Piercy emerged from his office. He was a tall, thin man, with
a cheerful manner. To David he looked business-like in his pinstriped suit. He
came across and warmly greeted Betty.

‘What a pleasure this is Mrs Keldas,’ as he held on to her hand and
then stretched out his hand to David. David felt compelled to stand as the man
grasped onto him.

‘This is my great-nephew, David,’ Betty was proud.

‘Ah, yes. . . . I do remember you now,’ the solicitor said, ‘from your
uncle’s funeral.’

Still embarrassed about his behaviour that day, David had an
overwhelming desire to leave, and the corner he now found himself in felt
uncomfortable; remorse struck him as he guessed this man would have wondered
why he didn’t attend his own father’s funeral.

‘Please sit down, David, and Miss Banks will bring you coffee.’

David was glad to resume his sitting position as Betty was taken into
the office.

The matronly receptionist returned with a tray of coffee and biscuits
and David struggled with the china, afraid of breaking anything, but happier
knowing his aunt was no doubt assuming her own business affairs.

Miss Banks continued to eye David as she returned to her desk. He had
certainly cheered what would usually be a dull day. She watched him flick
through the newspapers, and could see he was uncomfortable with the large reams
of paper of the broadsheets.

David looked about him and felt nervous at the attention. He stared at
the bare panelled walls of the office, which were sparsely decorated by some
framed certificates and then, fumbled again with newspapers.

It was some time before he heard the door handle of the office twist
open. Angus Piercy’s voice much louder as they emerged. David quickly stood up.

‘Well, good day to you young man, it has been a pleasure to meet you.’
He reached out for David’s hand again and shook it. ‘And good day to you, dear
lady.’

David led Betty out into the fresh air, glad of the sunlight. ‘I’m
sorry Aunty, but I’m too warm!’ and he pulled off the blazer and carelessly
threw it onto the back seat of the car. ‘Where now?’

‘Now, you take me out to lunch, David . . . and show me that hotel
where you work.’

*       
*        *

Betty was content that David seemed more at peace today; she hoped
she’d given this to him but, as soon as they returned to the cottage, he was
outside again, walking up the hill in the late afternoon sunshine. David hadn’t
changed his clothes, he’d just seen that Betty was comfortable and left her
sitting in her fireside chair. She was far too tired to plead with him to stay,
and she desperately needed a nap. Betty sighed, ‘Oh young man. Don’t start
wandering like your father. What can I do to help you?’

Betty was right, of course, there was nothing she could do for him; his
mind was in turmoil. He needed time to be alone and to think.

He climbed the hill and sat down on a grassy plateau; his favourite
spot. He too felt sleepy and in the warmth of the sunshine, took off his shirt,
sat back on the grass and shut his eyes; his pale skin soaked up the heat from
the sun. He lay with his arms behind his head as a pillow; as dark hairs on his
chest and torso were exposed to the sun.

David thought of Keld Head and the busy life he’d had, contrasted with
the peace here at Foxglove Cottage. The change had been good for him, he knew
that. But it wasn’t until Linzi had called today did he realise how much he
missed his family. Despite knowing she was only his half-sister, he still had a
strong attachment for her. He never-the-less felt angry with his mother, but
whether she knew of George’s affair with Joanne or not troubled him. He
certainly didn’t want to cause any more pain and distress by asking her. And,
if his mother didn’t know the truth, he would have to keep silent. He was
certain that Tony would keep the confidence, but would Joanne. She had acted so
bitterly toward him, almost hateful. But there was nothing more he could do
only to hope, and to live in silence with this knowledge. If his relationship
with Joanne had disturbed his mother, he wasn’t to blame; he had acted in
innocence.

David realised once again that he had broken his promise not to leave.
Linzi was right to call him a hypocrite, but maybe not in the sense that she
meant. But, despite all this, David could still not come to terms with the idea
of going back. He was afraid he would be persuaded to stay. He never wanted to
work at Keld Head again; he doubted he could even go near the tower. The image
of George Keldas’s dead body sickened him, as he remembered his own face and
body spattered with the blood of the man he’d believed to be his father.

He wondered who’d cleaned up the mess. Who had scrubbed the walls and
floor? Who had milked the cattle that night? It was all a vague blur. He felt
uneasy now as Keld Head had a morbidity that he’d never assumed before and it
went beyond hatred, as he thought of the place that had the darkest of secrets
he could imagine. But this sweet meadow above Hawkshead was warm and light;
there was no darkness at Foxglove Cottage. The sun always seemed to shine or
the fire would climb so high up the chimney that it would brighten the whole
cottage.

David slipped into a deep sleep, dreaming of dark corners, cobwebs and
oak beams. He dreamt he was a hostage and someone had tied his hands behind him
on a wooden chair. Then another man came along, much like himself and released
him, but then started to wrestle with him. But he refused to fight.
I will
not do this. . . . I will not do it! I will not be afraid!
Then a tall man
in a pinstriped suit came to shake his hand; he congratulated him and said:
‘Well done David. . . . You have escaped!’

A rustling noise woke him up, and he opened his eyes and saw a young
woman standing over him, watching.

‘I’m so sorry about your shirt,’ she said.

David looked beside him and saw a small terrier paddling muddy paws
across his white shirt and he sat bolt upright.

‘It’s - it’s okay. Please don’t worry.’ Aware of his semi-nakedness and
embarrassed by his pale and bony flesh, David picked up his soiled shirt and
slipped it over his chest.

The girl continued to eye him; she saw the jagged scar from an old
wound across his mouth, his dark eyebrows and stunning eyes, and she smiled.

‘David. . . . It is you, isn’t it? I didn’t recognise you.’

‘Hello, Hannah. I’m er - just getting some sun,’ seeing the girl’s
tanned skin and soft, brown, shoulder length hair.

‘I’m sorry about the dog,’ she repeated, as the small Lakeland terrier
sniffed at David’s best shoes. Hannah continued to stand awkwardly before him
and then reached down for the dog. ‘Jassie . . . Jassie, come here.’

‘Are you well, Hannah?’ David wanted to keep her attention. ‘What are
you doing up here?’

‘I’ve come over Claife Heights,’ she gestured to the forest, ‘I’m just
heading for the village for a drink.’ Hannah’s face glowed. She pulled a small
haversack off her shoulders and threw it down on the floor.

‘And you David. . . . Are you well?’ She was astonished at his
appearance, unable to believe this was the same man that had irritated her,
then recklessly flirted with her, only a few months earlier.

David began to feel uncomfortable with Hannah standing over him, and
tried to get up but struggled with his aching back. He apologised and remained
sitting.

‘I’m sorry, Hannah. I’ve been working under my car and I hurt my back.
Please . . . Why don’t you sit down.’

She untied a pullover wrapped about her waist, folded it, and then sat
down on it. ‘What an amazing view.’

David looked across at her, happy to be on the same level and, as he
glanced at her profile, he had to agree. He pointed at the mountains above
them, ‘There’s the Old Man, then Wetherlam, that’s Dow Crag beside it.’

‘So, how far have you walked?’ she questioned him. He was dressed too
smartly for fell walking; his appearance only spoilt by the paw prints of the
dog.

‘I haven’t come far. You see that cottage down there,’ David pointed to
a group of white cottages, ‘I’m staying with my aunt . . . she lives here. This
is her field.’ David felt pure elation; he had gone from a nightmare into
paradise. The man in the pinstriped suit had told him well done, and it was.

‘How’s Barry keeping?’ David wanted the conversation to continue.

‘Oh, yes . . . he’s well.’ She hesitated a little.

‘And are you well, Hannah?’

She laughed at his repetition, ‘Yes, yes we’re both well, David.’ And
then speaking more soberly said, ‘You know about Barry and Eleanor do you?’

‘Yes, yes. How’s he coping?’

‘He’s doing okay really. I guess he’s known for some time that things
haven’t been right between them. I should be in Wales now, but he’s asked me to
stay on a bit longer. He’s been so kind to me - he’s treated me like a father
and it’s the least I can do for him.’

David’s eyes widened at this statement and he was reassured. ‘So you’re
leaving for Wales soon?’

‘Afraid so. . . .’ Hannah pulled at some tufts of grass from beneath
her and, as she ripped and tore at them, she sub-consciously tossed them into
the air. ‘There’s a practice in Cardiff waiting that specialises in small
animals. But I hope I can come back soon.’

David hoped so too.

‘You said you needed a drink? Please . . . please come to the cottage.
I’ll make you some tea, or perhaps a cold drink,’ and he raised his eyebrows.
‘Do you really need to be in the village?’

‘No. . . . No, not particularly. I’d like that, but will your aunt
mind?’

‘Oh, she won’t mind. . . . Besides, she’ll be asleep.’

With his back still aching, David struggled to stand. He picked up
Hannah’s rucksack and threw it across his shoulder.

*      
*       *

David left her sitting in the garden and went to get some lemonade. He
brought a bowl of cold water for the dog; anything, to make a good impression.
He was pleased all was tidy in the garden; that he’d bothered to cut the grass
and repair the garden furniture.

‘My aunt will be out in a minute. . . . She’d like to meet you.’ He set
the tea tray on the grass in front of her.

The old lady came outside into the sunshine and took Hannah’s hand and
David graciously relinquished his seat for her.

‘Aunty, this is Hannah Robson, she works for the vet. You remember
Barry Fitzgerald, don’t you?’

‘Ah, Hannah. I’m pleased to meet you . . . I really am. So you’re a
friend of Davey’s are you?’ This was certainly an answer to her prayer.

‘Yes, I am a friend - I hope.’ Hannah replied.

Betty talked at length to her about the cottage, and about the farm she
used to work at Spickle Howe with David’s late uncle.

Hannah deduced that she was talking about the old man that had been
murdered, and marvelled how much like Kathy Keldas, this old lady managed to
keep a sense of dignity about the tragedy that had touched her. She was open
and happy, and it had only appeared to be David out of all of them, that had
been severely affected by it.

Hannah liked Betty; she could see that David was comfortable and much
changed living with her. He was different, not only in his appearance but also
in his manner. Yes, Barry was right, she had mis-judged him.

David sat on the garden wall opposite, happy to let his aunt do most of
the talking. He looked at his watch. ‘Where have you left your car?’

‘It’s at Bowness. I’ve come across on the ferry.’

‘Oh, dear child. . . . You’ve come all this way alone!’ Betty said.

David laughed, ‘my aunt believes in silly stories. There’s supposed to
be the fabled Crier of Claife, who haunts the woods. He was allegedly sent
insane by an “
encounter
” while he rowed his ferry across Windermere. She
thinks he’s still up there don’t you, Aunty?’

Betty looked disapprovingly at him, and Hannah said, ‘I’ve had a lovely
walk. Please don’t worry about me Mrs Keldas. I’ll really enjoy the walk back.
I’ll be fine.’

‘I’ll hear nothing of it!’ Betty tapped her two walking sticks on the
ground. ‘This mischievous young man of mine will take you back to the ferry,’
she insisted. ‘David. . . . Please drive Hannah back. . . . It’s late and she
must be tired.’

‘No . . . no really, I’ll be fine.’