Pennyroyal (9 page)

Cassy was curled up in a cosy chintz chair, long slim legs wrapped in a billowing, maize-colour, tiered cotton skirt, a cotton top a few shades darker. Her hair was freshly washed and curtained her smiling face in an aura of feathery gold.

“I’m sure your grandfather had his reasons. I daresay you’ll find out soon enough.”

“I’d really like to know now. And I’d like to know when the mine closed and why. No one seems to want to tell me.”

“People are pretty close around here about some things. Of course I don’t come from here. I was born in Yorkshire.”

Cassy had to smile. Yorkshire was the next door county, hardly a continent away.

“Take that Mr. Everand, for instance.” Mrs. Hadlow settled down to a gossip, her fingers busy with knitting a thick cardigan. “He’s been away for years, travelled the world to more places than I even know exist. But has it changed him? No, there’s a Derbyshire man if I ever saw one, every inch of him.”

“Jake Everand? You mean he was born in Derbyshire?”

Mrs. Hadlow nodded. “Not six miles from here. The Everands own Kettlehulme Manor Farm, but they haven’t lived there for years. Lovely old place. It’s derelict now, I believe. Probably cost a fortune to put it right.”

Cassy let her lashes hide her eyes. It was not simply this new information that threw her composure. She did not want Mrs. Hadlow to see the confused expression that just a mention of his name could bring to her eyes, flooding them with warmth.

It had been a strange experience, sitting in the liquid darkness together. The rock soon became too uncomfortable for such awkward lovemaking, and they spent the time drinking coffee and talking, but with Jake holding her close, using the warmth from his body to shield her from some of the pervading chill.

Eventually Albert returned to the rescue, bringing a small auxiliary generator and other equipment which the two men got working. Jake insisted that Albert should ferry Cassy back to the flight of steps, leaving him in Dove Hole Cavern to continue the survey. She had left him in a daze, emerging from the mine into the daylight, blinking and bemused.

She tried to shake off her growing involvement. How could she fall for someone who would never return her feelings? It was the path to disaster.

She must simply enjoy the pleasure that he had given her and leave it at that. Clearly it was only the usual reaction of a man to the availability of a pretty girl. But Cassy knew she was vulnerable to the power that he had over her…a very basic animal power that could destroy her defences in a few moments of passion.

“I won’t…I won’t,” Cassy murmured.

“What did you say, dear? Won’t what?”

“I won’t give up till I find out everything about Pennyroyal,” said Cassy hurriedly.

“That’s right,” said Mrs. Hadlow placidly. “Meanwhile would you like to put the kettle on for me?”

“Of course.” Cassy filled the kettle, amused at this tiny sign of independence that owning Ridge House had given Mrs. Hadlow. Once she would have rushed to do everything.

There was still a lot of the afternoon left and Cassy was drawn to the window, to the windswept hills. The late sunshine was shifting over the moors and fields in patches of gold-hued glory. It would be nice to feel sunshine on her skin.

“I think I’ll go out for a walk,” said Cassy.

“Don’t go too far,” said Mrs. Hadlow.

“I won’t go out of sight of the house,” said Cassy. “I’ll just go to the top of that hill.”

She set off briskly, glad that she still had the old anorak over her cotton outfit. It was breezy and the sunshine only a deceptively thin warmth. She took the path across the lower field, the long grass brushing her knees, shedding dried seeds, meadow cranesbill and blue scabious scattering the crumpled petals of a dying summer.

The enchanting landscape of heathered moors and rock-edged hills was rising ahead of her. The path disintegrated into a track that meandered past loose stone-walled fields and treeless limestone uplands.

The sky was a still ceiling of blue without a single cloud in sight, only skylarks, wheatears and meadow pipits rehearsing evensong.

She took a track to the west, going towards the sun, enjoying the peerless air and great panorama unfolding around her. Yet she loved London, its bustling, crowded streets and its fascinating history. It was her favourite city in the world. But these hills and dales struck a chord in her heart that could not be denied. She strode out as she left the foothills and began climbing, feeling the energy strong in her young limbs. The track lead through a series of gorges, becoming more rugged and rocky, short mossy grass and hawthorne scrub clinging to the soilless clefts. As the track climbed higher, the great limestone plateau became visible, swept by the endless wind that defied anything to grow.

She reach a summit and spun round, the gusting wind tearing at her clothes and her hair. It was so exhilarating. She did not know where she was, what Tor or Hill or Ridge. She had reached the top of somewhere and far below, almost out of sight in the valley, were people and houses. No one could see her. No one knew she was here. She was watching everything and everyone but as secretly as a creature from another world.

She ran to the other side of the plateau to find another wind-blasted ridge stretching as far as the eye could see, long fingers of heathered wastes falling from its undulating spine.

She watched the rosy colours of the sun spreading across the fields below, saw new shadows appearing in the landscape. Their significance did not occur to her straight away. The sun was going down quickly as if anxious to get away and make amends on the morrow.

Cassy took the nearest descending path, confident that anywhere downwards was right. She scanned the fields looking for the familiar grey slates of Ridge House. Nothing looked quite the same in the lengthening shadows, hollows filling with mist. It was a little unnerving but she kept going, knowing that somewhere in the valley was Netherdale and the Daimler, and beyond that Castle Inn, a hot bath and change of clothes.

She began to hum to herself under her breath as she jolted down the track, slipping in places on deceptively smooth mounds of moss. She would soon be there. She just had to keep going. It was disquieting that nothing looked familiar, but then she did not know High Torwell.

As she reached the lower slopes, Cassy realised there was no sign anywhere of Ridge House or Netherdale. She had come down the wrong path and was on the other side of the plateau; that could be the only explanation. She had to climb back to the top again while there was still enough light and find the right track.

“Don’t panic,” she told herself. “These aren’t the Alps. You’ll be back in no time if you keep your head.”

But she remembered tales of lost walkers, hikers far more experienced than she, the treacherous bogs. It would be no picnic if she was out on the moors at night.

She began to think of Jake. He would simply reckon she was being standoffish and eating elsewhere, that she had regretted those moments of intimacy in the cavern, and was showing her independence by disappearing for the evening.

Cassy was shivering now as the wind blew through her thin skirt. She huddled inside the anorak, digging her hands into the pockets for warmth. Clouds had appeared from nowhere, glowing rosily in the sinking sun.

It was a glorious sight but Cassy had only time for a momentary appreciation. Long shadows like a gloved hand were creeping over the landscape, obliterating the view. She knew that once the light had gone she would be quite lost.

“Grandfather…” she said aloud, “couldn’t you help me a bit…please?”

But there was no answer unless it was in the wind that was blowing more fiercely as she reached the summit again. Which way now? She scrutinised the paths to see if she could identify anything. She had to make the right choice.

Orange street lights were coming on in the distance but there was no way of knowing if it was Netherdale. She saw headlights weaving through another patch of darkness, a car going along a country lane.

She fastened on to that one bit of information…a country lane. If she could find her way to that, then it did not matter if she was miles from Ridge House. A road of any size would eventually lead her to civilisation and phones and taxis.

Suddenly the lights were friendly. They meant that there were people somewhere there. As she stumbled down the now darkened track, she clung to that knowledge.

At an unexpected turn, her foot slipped and she fell heavily on her elbow. It was the same elbow she had hurt the previous day and a second infliction of pain on the same spot was more than she could bear. She cried out sharply.

“Ouch…ouch.”

As she turned, rubbing her elbow, she caught sight of a thin, white, moving beam of light. It was sweeping sideways and upwards.

“Help, help,” she shouted without stopping to think further. “I’m up here! Please help me!”

The waving beam stopped, then stabbed upwards taking a slow arc over the side of the hill. Cassy waved frantically, hoping her pale skirt would show up.

“Cassy? Don’t move. I’m on my way.”

It was Jake’s voice, distant and far away. She might have known he would be the one to find her in this invidious situation. Still, by the rule of losers and choosers, people who are lost on moors cannot choose who rescues them.

She did as she was told; she did not move, listening to the rustling of undergrowth as Jake took a shortcut across the tough moorland grass to where she waited. It took him some time to reach her. It felt like hours to Cassy but when he appeared, a dark bulky shape, breathing heavily, she realised he had hurried the uphill climb.

“Are you all right?” he called from a few yards away.

She ran and flung her arms round him, not caring if he was annoyed with her. She was just so thankful to see him and to have his tall, powerful body near her own.

“Hey…let me get my breath back before you squeeze the daylights out of me.”

He closed his arms round her loosely and she relaxed against him. He did not sound too angry. There was relief in his voice and Cassy did not question why. It was more than enough that Jake was there.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The words tumbled out before Cassy could stop them. “I know I went too far. I didn’t think. It was all so beautiful; I just wanted to go on and on. And then I went down the wrong track and had to go back. . .”

“There…you’re safe now. Let’s get going before Mrs. Hadlow calls out the Rangers. Can you walk?”

“I’m not hurt. I just bumped my elbow.”

He took her hand and Cassy closed her eyes so that the strong clasp could become imprinted on her memory discs. He began to lead her down the track, sure footed and obviously knowing the way.

She was exhausted by the time they reached the foothills and Jake had to help her along, his arms round her waist. When she stumbled and fell for the third time, he swung her up into his arms and carried her as if she weighed nothing, her long hair fanned across his shoulder, the sweet scent of her skin arousing strong feelings of protectiveness. It startled him and when he put her down by the parked Land Rover, he looked closely into her drawn face, his heart racing. Tired and dirty, she was still the loveliest woman he had ever seen.

He did not touch her. It would have been unfair. He stood apart, devouring her with his eyes. Those kisses in the Cavern had been unstoppable, unleashed by a torrent of wanting that had started that first moment of waking and seeing her by the fire. His reaction had taken him by surprise. No woman had affected him so much for many years. He knew his feelings were being rocked out of their normal iron control, but the idea of any relationship or commitment was out of the question. He had had his independence for too long to change now. He would have to get Cassandra out of his system somehow, but gently…

“Get in, Cassy. You need a hot bath and a good night’s sleep. I’ll stop at the first call-box and phone Mrs. Hadlow.”

“I’m sorry,” said Cassy, wondering if this was the only thing she could say now. It occurred to her that they must be some distance from Ridge House if it was quicker to telephone.

But it was not a long drive into Netherdale and the lights of Castle Inn had never looked more welcoming. Jake fetched her room key from Reception and left an order for a tray of tea, sandwiches and some brandy to be sent up immediately.

“I don’t want any sandwiches,” said Cassy.

“They’re for me. I’m hungry.”

“Couldn’t you get a meal in the dining-room?”

“I doubt it. It’s pretty late. You took a long walk. You were out on those moors several hours.”

Cassy believed him. She was aching all over. Her legs were like jelly and her neck felt stiff.

“Thank you for finding me,” she said. “There’s no need for you to wait. I’m sure you’ve got plans for the evening.”

“What evening?” he said. “Bert Armstrong makes the best roast beef sandwiches in Derbyshire and I’m not missing out on them. You have your bath, then I’ll give you a quick rundown on what I found out about the Pennyroyal today.”

Cassy did not want to invite him to her room, neither did she want to dress and come back down into the lounge. She was far too tired. But the desire to know about her mine was strong.