Haweswater by Sarah Hall Page A

lad. That M’nchister fella’s wearin’ a suit as costs as much as thee’s house, if Lordie felt like sellin’ up. Fella’s not up fu’ t’scenery, nor buying a cottage fer lil’ kiddies to grow up in. He’s got some mighty weight, mighty weight. His face’ll tell thee that. Next time w’see young fella, he’ll niver be laffin’ like t’uther day. But it suits me grand, in a way; mine are all gone. Purchase order’s dun on t’farm. Notta fella morehard priss to leave t’dale than me. And thee’s young enough to start ova agen. That wee un’ll git gud schoolin’. Janit can teach in town. Zac’s not up t’farmin’. Too much watter in t’lad’s heed binow. And that bonny lassie’ll not fetch up wid a complete git fer a husband if she’s out of Shap’s v’cinity. Betta selection in Penrith, like. Lordie’s not gonna renew, Sam; bugger’s not losin’ out, neither. I tell thee, th’ll be compensation plenty fu’ t’auld bugger. Nowt fer thee.
    Samuel sighed.
    – Cheerful auld bugger, in’t ya?
    Nathaniel grinned at Samuel with a mouth of brown and missing teeth.
    – I am. I am.
    Then he stood up painfully, lifted off his cap and wiped his brow of sweat with a sleeve and replaced the cap in one movement. With a gnarled, arthritic hand he took a pipe out of his jacket pocket and a tin of loose tobacco. He filled the pipe and left it in his mouth, but he would not light it until he was inside, out of the wind. Nathaniel was a practical, wise old man. He was endlessly jovial, respected and admired throughout the region.
    The two men walked down the fields towards the village. They walked comfortably in a silence accepted by both parties. Words, when they were exchanged, were restrained, cordial.
    – Seca grand evening, like.
    – Aye, grand, Nate.
    The wind was getting up. It brought references to the winter within it, which bothered Nathaniel’s chest. He wheezed but never slowed his pace. The two men paused by a herd of cows in the lower fields and Samuel bent to check the hooves and underbelly of one of the beasts. He stood up and sent a piercing whistle back over the darkening hill, and a minute later Chase came streaking down it with a rabbit in her jaws. She jogged lightly by the feet of the two men.
    – Gudog.
    They continued on towards the small clutch of houseswhich was disappearing into the dusk. By the time they reached the Dun Bull, the night had almost settled down fully. From the mountains half-circling Mardale came the released scent of the earth, strong and woody from winter’s concentration, and along with it came the fresh flavour of the pushing spring.

    Janet Lightburn had not wanted to spoil her father’s birthday, nor had she been in the mood for an argument with her mother about any of the information she wanted to disclose. At the gathering in the Dun Bull Inn there was little room for her to find a clear space and deliver the news, it was crowded with men of the dale who had come to discuss the visit from the suited man and the air was yellow with smoke, making it difficult to get firm eye contact with them all in turn as she wanted to. But she stood firm among them, inhaled the collective masculinity of the place and adopted a fairly fierce tone to get their attention. It was nothing new in itself, she had been known to speak with authority on issues before, and with the confidence of a politician. Nevertheless, the men grumbled as they became quiet, begrudging her presence somewhat.
    The shake to her hand was not nerves, it was not even the subconscious intimidation of being outnumbered fifty to one by men. If she trembled, it was because the issue she was discussing stirred her up and agitated her. She had put in a telephone call to the Lowther Estate, she said, that morning, and after a considerable run-around from Lordie’s secretary she had managed to speak to Peter Talbot, the estate manager. They would all remember him, having helped to drag him from the lake