Authors: Barbara Perkins
‘Yes, there would be. I wasn’t going to risk those fields, even though it’s only five miles home that way. Even a sure-footed beast like this boy couldn’t have done that without risk with the dark coming down.’ Kevin frowned again, while I edged away so that a bale of straw was between me and Thunder.
‘
If
we can get through the second ford—and we might, if I put you up and try to lead you through—we’ve got a ten-mile walk, which won’t be pleasant in this, but—’
‘You—I c-can’t get on that horse!’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ll be there.’
‘You s-said yourself it would be murder to put a stranger up on him—’
‘Don’t panic. The only trouble is, it’s going to be dark pretty soon. The only thing to do is to go out and see what the second ford’s like before it gets any dimmer—I doubt if he’d go through it in the dark, even for me. After that it’ll be lanes all the way—the route I was going to take, though not,’ he said ruefully, ‘on foot. However—’
‘Isn’t there a farm anywhere near?’ I asked desperately. The knowledge that he was seriously contemplating putting me up on Thunder gave me a feeling of terror. ‘An-anyway, if
you
can wade through, I’m s-sure I can—I’ve already done it once, through the other one, getting out of the car!’
‘There’s nothing nearer than Whatham Hall four miles away, and I told you, the water’s rising that way,’ Kevin said coolly, ignoring my other protestations. ‘It’s lucky you didn’t try to find your own way across the fields on foot—even I wouldn’t want to in this weather, and I know most of the country. You’ve chosen the dampest place in the county to get yourself marooned. Well, here we go, Thunder, out in the rain again before it gets any darker. Yes, yes, I know—ill-treating you, aren’t I? But we wouldn’t have been home yet anyway, even if we hadn’t had to stop and hunt for Charlotte!’
‘I’m s-sorry,’ I said with as much dignity as I could muster through chattering teeth, making to follow, at a safe distance, as he began to lead Thunder back into the downpour. ‘P-perhaps you’d better just go on—and tell someone where I am, if you’d be so kind!’
‘Abandon you to drown yourself trying to do something idiotic? You do have a low opinion of me, don’t you?’ Kevin turned his head to glance at me, and added curtly, ‘Stay in the dry while you can, and keep listening. I’ll shout if it looks possible. Stay
inside,
I said! You’ll probably catch your death of cold anyway—stamp your feet, move about, try to keep warm—but there’s no point in both of us getting even wetter, for the moment!’
He swung himself into the saddle, rain streaming down his face, and urged Thunder gently down the hill. They were lost to sight almost immediately, dusk and sheets of water obliterating them from my sight. I stated out forlornly, listening hard: after a moment or two, shivering with cold and wet, I did as he had told me and stamped round the barn to try to restore my circulation. I wondered, suddenly, if he
would
go off and leave me—after all, I had told him to—and felt a panicky wish to see him coming back even if it meant sharing the barn with Thunder again. It looked horribly dark out there ... I realized, miserably, how worried they would be at Thurlanger if I didn’t come back at all, and knew that it would be sensible if Kevin did go on and tell them I was safe. In this barn, I supposed I was safe—though a scuttering noise made me think abruptly of rats. Weren’t there usually rats in barns? And how savage were rats? The thought nearly sent me out into the rain, but I visualized myself stumbling into a returning Thunder, and steeled myself. Besides, I thought resolutely, Kevin would be even more scornful if he knew I was feeling weak, scared, and very much like starting to cry...
By the time he came back, after a long twenty minutes, I had got over wanting to cry by an effort of will. I had also had come to contemplate, bitterly, that any woman might be glad to have a rescuer riding up on a shining steed, but that maidens in fairytales were never reported as being afraid of horses. However, the horse was beginning to seem preferable to being abandoned here in the near-dark with the rats ... I reminded myself that rescuers in fairytales didn’t make females in distress feel so unutterably foolish or make it clear that they were only bothering to concern themselves because they happened to be there: I hadn’t missed the fact that Kevin had obviously been riding back from Whatham Hall, where Rosalind was. I was attempting to work myself into a thoroughly ungrateful mood, for the sake of courage, when a flicker of torchlight brought me to my feet. It was Kevin returning, and I was shaken with relief at the sight of him. I stumbled up from the straw bale on which I had nervously been sitting, and tried not to feel that I might have flung myself at him if he hadn’t had Thunder in tow.
‘No good,’ he greeted me, putting the torch down alight on a bale and shaking streamers of rain out of his hair. ‘I’m afraid we’re stuck, and we’ll have to make the best of it. It’s too dark already, and another half-hour’s going to bring more flooding than less, from the sound of things.’ An increased drumming on the wooden roof above our heads bore him out—though I wouldn’t have thought it could have rained harder than it was already doing. ‘You’d better dry yourself off as far as you can with some hay,’ he added, sparing me a brief glance before he turned to reassure Thunder, snickering nervously again. ‘You’ll find some unbaled stuff in the loft at the back there—and you might throw some down, while you’re at it—’
‘Stuck? How—how do you mean, stuck?’ I asked, finding my voice. ‘How—how long for?’
‘Till it gets light. It’s no use trying to move until then, we won’t manage to pick our way through this lot in the dark, with nothing but a torch. Steady, Thunder, boy. Yes, I know, you want your stable, but you’ll have to put up with this, I’m afraid. And at least we can find you something to eat, which is more than can be said for us!’
‘You mean we’re stuck here for the
night
?’
‘Yes,’ Kevin said curtly, still paying more attention to his horse than he was to me. He glanced round the barn. ‘It’s dry, and we can probably manage to keep warm enough—’
‘B-but...’ I remembered the rats, and made quickly for the cold, wet dark outside. ‘If
you
were going to get through I’m sure we all can! And I w-won’t—’
He moved quickly, and I found myself caught firmly by the arms and pulled back into shelter. ‘
I
was going to get through before it got so dark. Don’t be silly, Charlotte. You’re perfectly safe. Even,’ he said sardonically, looking down at me, ‘with me. Come on, now, be sensible. We’ve been living at close quarters for almost three months, so surely you know me well enough not to be scared!’
‘B-but we can’t spend the night here—’
‘As an alternative to drowning, it seems a good idea. No, you are
not
going out there.’ He caught hold of me more tightly, so that I was hard up against his soaked jacket. ‘For goodness ‘sake, what’s the matter? I’m not going to hurt you! Dislike me as you may—and you’ve made it quite clear that you do—you can hardly think I’m going to—’
‘It’s n-not—there are
rats,
and the
horse
—’ I had, I had thought, got over my inclination to cry, but it was coming back in full force. ‘H-Henry will be terribly worried if we don’t come back! Th-they’ll think something awful’s happened to us!’
Kevin let go of me abruptly—making me realize that it had at least been some comfort being gripped against his chest, though I couldn’t imagine why—and stepped back. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said in a controlled voice. ‘I don’t like the idea of worrying them any more than you do. I just can’t see an alternative. As for Thunder, he won’t hurt you—and the rats are probably more scared of you than you are of them. So try to be sensible, will you? And if you’re not going to be useful, keep out of the way while I fix things up!’
The curtness of the last sentence was a lot more bracing than sympathy would have been. I turned my back on him, fumbling for a handkerchief in my wet sleeve—though there was no real need to hide my face from him, since the torchlight made little enough illumination in the spaciousness of the barn. After a moment I realized that Kevin was, very capably, building a barrier between his horse and the night with the bales of straw—the horse, I thought bitterly, being naturally the most important of us—and as he completed that he made for a ladder dimly visible at the back of the barn, and pulled himself up to an upper half-storey. I looked across at Thunder, nervously, and he looked back at me. He was standing quite still, gleaming in the yellowish light from the torch, looking strong but wearily patient, so that I warmed to him—from a distance. A heap of loose hay came down, tossed from above, then another, and Kevin’s voice floated down to me from the dimness.
‘There’s a pitchfork up here, so you can protect yourself against me with that if you feel the need to, can’t you? I thought you might like to know.’ A further forkful of hay came down, then Kevin himself, by way of the ladder. He glanced at me, then moved across to Thunder, busying himself with unsaddling him. ‘Rub yourself down with some of the hay. It’s reasonable for humans as well as horses. Here—’ he turned round, and flung a wispy bundle in my direction. ‘Is the top half of you dry under that mackintosh? Take it off, then, and put this on underneath it—it’ll keep you warmer.’
He had unbuttoned his own wet jacket: now he was pulling a sweater over his head. Resentful as I might be feeling, I couldn’t but protest. ‘You’ll get cold yourself—’
‘I’ll be warm enough, I’m working.’ The sweater came floating over to me, thrown accurately so that it landed against me with a soft thump. ‘That wasn’t,’ he added, ‘a sarcastic remark. For once, as I’m sure you’re about to say.’
‘It wasn’t me who started—’ I broke off, bit my lip, and stared at him as he began to rub the now unsaddled horse down, working with busy efficiency. I found my voice was shaky. ‘It’s very kind of you to—’
‘Put it on, for goodness’ sake,’ he said curtly.
‘You—you could have got through, and gone on home, if you hadn’t been bothered with me—’
‘Still thinking I might have abandoned you? I don’t particularly want to be party to your early death—contrary to the ideas you seem to hold. Now, will you please do something about getting yourself dry? Or shall I come and do it for you?’
The threat was enough to make me pick up a handful of hay, hastily, and try to mop my wet hair, face, skirt and legs with it. Kevin, having seen that I was obeying him, turned back to his horse. He talked to him quietly as he worked, and Thunder turned his head briefly to whicker and nuzzle at his master. I listened to the rain still drumming on the roof, and wondered hysterically what I was doing here. Trying to get dry ... that was one thing, but I was also about to spend a long, cold, hungry night—in December—in this barn, with Kevin Thurlanger and his horse...
After a while, with the worry nagging at me, I said,
‘Where on earth will Henry think I am? He might send out a search party, or something. For you, too.’
‘Yes, I know. Can’t be helped. With any luck he’ll assume you got stuck somewhere and took shelter at a farm, and no one’s going to start driving around here in the dark because of the risk of getting stuck themselves.’ Kevin sounded practical about it, though not without concern. ‘He won’t worry about me too much. Anyway, as soon as it’s light we’ll start back. Charlotte, I told you to put that sweater
on
.’
‘Y-yes, all right,’ I said quickly, since he looked determined enough to put it on me by force. I gave him an ungratefully resentful look as he turned back to finish with Thunder, and tried to rally myself. ‘He’ll expect me to have phoned, surely—’
‘The lines are quite probably down. You’ll have to stop fussing—it won’t help. He’s not,’ Kevin said drily, ‘likely to think I’ve kidnapped you, if that’s what you’re afraid of!’
‘We’re going to have a charming time if you’re g-going to spend it picking quarrels,’ I said crossly. ‘And it’s all very well to say I’ve made it clear I dislike you—it
wasn’t
me, it was you, you s-started attacking me before I’d even been at Thurlanger five minutes, and—well, even if I do owe you an apology over Essie, you were pretty horrible yourself, and you called me a pea-goose, and all sorts of things!’
He looked at me across the barn, and I lifted my chin defiantly. He said, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘Apologies all round, then. I did suggest starting again from scratch ... It might have occurred to you, mightn’t it, that as a doctor—which I am—I’m not all that likely to want to be lumbered with running a large estate? I took up the profession because I wanted to do it,
not
because I wanted to retire from it at the first opportunity! I’d rather Henry broke the entail, and I should say he might be able to if he tried hard enough—but if he doesn’t or can’t, the only thing I’d be able to do with Thurlanger is to let it, or hope Essie marries someone who wants to run it even though it wouldn’t belong to him. I shan’t be doing a job near Thurlanger for ever, I don’t suppose—and I’m only here now because Henry wanted it, and it happens to be convenient. Besides providing someone to keep an eye on Essie when he goes away, which I do in a brotherly spirit and certainly nothing else!’
‘Yes, I—I know. But it
was
Essie who put the idea into my head,’ I said with as much dignity as I could muster. ‘And I might have apologized if you hadn’t been so insulting, so—so there!’