that." A short, breathless pause. "Troubles—of my own?"
He looked a little embarrassed, and stabbed at the ground with his stick. "Maybe I didn't ought to 'a said that, I only meant as everyone knew it wasn't all plain sailing with you and Mr. Con. Happen one takes these things too hard at nineteen."
I smiled. "Happen one does. Well, it's all over now. Let's forget it, shall we? And you mustn't blame Con and Grandfather either, you know. I was young and silly, and I suppose I thought I'd like to get away on my own for a bit. I didn't want to be tied down to Whitescar or—or anything, not just then, not yet; so when the time came, I just went without thinking. One doesn't think very straight, at nineteen. But now I'm back, and I'm going to try and forget I've ever been away."
I looked away from him, down towards the farm. I could see white hens ruffling in the straw of the stockyard, and there were pigeons on the roof. The smoke from the chimneys went straight up into the clean air. I said: "It looks just the same. Better, if anything. Or is that absence, making the heart grow fonder?"
"Nay, I'll not deny it's well looked after. As well every way, nearly, as in your Granda's time." I stared at him. "As in—you talk as if that*was past."
He was prodding at the earth again with his stick. "Happen it is."
"What d'you mean?"
That quick, almost surly glance upwards again. "You'll see,, Miss Annabel. I don't doubt but what you'll see. Times change."
I didn't pursue it, and he turned the subject abruptly. He nodded past me, the way I had come, towards the towering woods that surrounded the site of Forrest Hall. "Now, there's the biggest change you'll find, and none of it for the better. Did she tell you about Forrests?"
"Yes." I looked back to where the crest of the ivied oak reared above the skyline, the glinting darkness of the ivy making it stand up like a ruined tower against the young summer green of the woods. "Yes, Miss Dermott told me. Four years ago, wasn't it? I thought the old lodge looked even more dilapidated than it should. I never remember anyone living there, but at least the drive looked reasonable, and the gates were on."
"They went for scrap, after the fire. Aye, we miss the Hall, though it's not all gone, you mind. They're using some of the stable buildings over at West Lodge for poultry, and the old garden's going strong. Mr. Forrest got that going himself, with Johnny Rudd—you'll mind Johnny? He's working there still, though there's nobbut one horse in the stables. Mr. Forrest kept that one when the stud went; he's one of the old
'Mountain' lot, and I reckon Mr. Forrest couldn't bear to part, but I doubt he'll have to be sold now. He's just running wild there, and eating his head off, and there's no one can hardly get near him." He grinned at me.
"You'll have to get to work on him yourself, now you're back."
"Mc? Not on your—I mean, not any more. Those days are past, Mr. Bates." "How's that?" The story that Lisa and I had concocted came glibly enough. "I had a bad fall in the States, and hurt my back—nothing drastic, you know, but not a thing I'd dare risk doing again."
"That's a shame, now! I reckoned Johnny'd be rare pleased when he heard you were back. He hasn't the time to bother on wi' horses now, not at this time of year; and the colt's spoiling. Mr. Con's been along to take a hand to him, now and then, but the youngster's taken a rare scunner at him, seemingly. Won't let him near. There's naught else fit for a ride at Whitescar."
"I expect I've lost my touch, anyway."
"Eh, well," he said, "it's like we said. Things change, more's the pity. Every time I walk up this road I think on the way it was. It's sad to see the old places falling down, and the families gone, but there it is."
"Yes." Beyond the ivy-clad oak, behind a sunny tracery of treetops, I could see a chimney. The sun glinted warm on the mellow stone. There was the glimpse of a tiled roof through the boughs. A wisp of
He looked a little embarrassed, and stabbed at the ground with his stick. "Maybe I didn't ought to 'a said that, I only meant as everyone knew it wasn't all plain sailing with you and Mr. Con. Happen one takes these things too hard at nineteen."
I smiled. "Happen one does. Well, it's all over now. Let's forget it, shall we? And you mustn't blame Con and Grandfather either, you know. I was young and silly, and I suppose I thought I'd like to get away on my own for a bit. I didn't want to be tied down to Whitescar or—or anything, not just then, not yet; so when the time came, I just went without thinking. One doesn't think very straight, at nineteen. But now I'm back, and I'm going to try and forget I've ever been away."
I looked away from him, down towards the farm. I could see white hens ruffling in the straw of the stockyard, and there were pigeons on the roof. The smoke from the chimneys went straight up into the clean air. I said: "It looks just the same. Better, if anything. Or is that absence, making the heart grow fonder?"
"Nay, I'll not deny it's well looked after. As well every way, nearly, as in your Granda's time." I stared at him. "As in—you talk as if that*was past."
He was prodding at the earth again with his stick. "Happen it is."
"What d'you mean?"
That quick, almost surly glance upwards again. "You'll see,, Miss Annabel. I don't doubt but what you'll see. Times change."
I didn't pursue it, and he turned the subject abruptly. He nodded past me, the way I had come, towards the towering woods that surrounded the site of Forrest Hall. "Now, there's the biggest change you'll find, and none of it for the better. Did she tell you about Forrests?"
"Yes." I looked back to where the crest of the ivied oak reared above the skyline, the glinting darkness of the ivy making it stand up like a ruined tower against the young summer green of the woods. "Yes, Miss Dermott told me. Four years ago, wasn't it? I thought the old lodge looked even more dilapidated than it should. I never remember anyone living there, but at least the drive looked reasonable, and the gates were on."
"They went for scrap, after the fire. Aye, we miss the Hall, though it's not all gone, you mind. They're using some of the stable buildings over at West Lodge for poultry, and the old garden's going strong. Mr. Forrest got that going himself, with Johnny Rudd—you'll mind Johnny? He's working there still, though there's nobbut one horse in the stables. Mr. Forrest kept that one when the stud went; he's one of the old
'Mountain' lot, and I reckon Mr. Forrest couldn't bear to part, but I doubt he'll have to be sold now. He's just running wild there, and eating his head off, and there's no one can hardly get near him." He grinned at me.
"You'll have to get to work on him yourself, now you're back."
"Mc? Not on your—I mean, not any more. Those days are past, Mr. Bates." "How's that?" The story that Lisa and I had concocted came glibly enough. "I had a bad fall in the States, and hurt my back—nothing drastic, you know, but not a thing I'd dare risk doing again."
"That's a shame, now! I reckoned Johnny'd be rare pleased when he heard you were back. He hasn't the time to bother on wi' horses now, not at this time of year; and the colt's spoiling. Mr. Con's been along to take a hand to him, now and then, but the youngster's taken a rare scunner at him, seemingly. Won't let him near. There's naught else fit for a ride at Whitescar."
"I expect I've lost my touch, anyway."
"Eh, well," he said, "it's like we said. Things change, more's the pity. Every time I walk up this road I think on the way it was. It's sad to see the old places falling down, and the families gone, but there it is."
"Yes." Beyond the ivy-clad oak, behind a sunny tracery of treetops, I could see a chimney. The sun glinted warm on the mellow stone. There was the glimpse of a tiled roof through the boughs. A wisp of
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