Through Glass Eyes (27 page)

Glancing from the window, Grace noticed something unusual about the Tourer parked on the lane where James had left it. The roof was still down, but the bonnet was up and the engine was being cranked over. Why had James left the party? she wondered, and where was he going with the car? Perhaps he was planning to take the children for a ride. Or did he have things to do at the farm? It was strange he hadn’t said anything before she left.

As she watched, the man leaning down beside the radiator grille stood up. Despite the goggles covering half of his face, Grace knew instantly it wasn’t James.

Running out the door, as quickly as she could, she shouted, ‘Hey! You! What do you think you’re doing?’

The man leaned down and turned the crank-handle again. This time the engine fired and, after quickly closing the bonnet, he jumped into the driver’s seat.

Grace reached the lane just as the Tourer started to roll. Jumping on the running board, she grabbed hold of the passenger door. ‘Get out! This isn’t your car!’ she screamed.

The driver accelerated.

‘Stop thief!’ she yelled

But the man had no intention of stopping and the car was gathering speed.

Even above the sound of the piano, James heard Grace’s screams but, by the time he reached the lane, the car was halfway down the hill. He started running but the Tourer was going faster. Twenty miles an hour – twenty-five miles an hour – too fast to take the bend!

The brakes were of little use on the loose gravel and when the driver jammed his foot on them, the narrow tyres skidded towards the verge. When the car hit the soft edge, the chassis bounced and Grace was tossed onto the wet grass which sloped steeply away from the road. Landing on her back she slid to the bottom of the slope like a sledge down a hill of fresh snow.

James watched helplessly. When the car reached the corner, it spun in a complete circle, ran on two wheels, then tottered slowly onto its side before coming to a halt. Though the engine spluttered and died, the front wheel continued spinning in the air, while steam and boiling water spouted from the radiator.

A man was lying on the road at the far side of the car, blood smeared across his face. But James didn’t care about him. It was Grace he was worried about. She was lying at the bottom of the slope. Sliding down the grass to her, he lifted her hand. She didn’t move.

‘Grace!’ he cried.

Chapter 27

The Strid

Grace groaned as she lifted her head. ‘I’ve been kicked by a cow before today, but it never felt quite like this!’

James kneeled down and helped her sit up. ‘Promise me you won’t ever do anything like that again. You could have been killed!’

‘Are you all right, Grace?’ said Alice, sliding down beside the pair.

James jumped up. ‘Stay with her! I want to find the bastard who did this!’

Scrambling back up the hill was not as easy as getting down and although James dug his fingers into the soil, his feet would not grip on the wet slope. After a few unsuccessful attempts, he resorted to the longer route round the bottom of the hill. It brought him out further down the lane. Heading back to his car, up the rise, he wondered what damage had been done. At least the windscreen was still intact and the headlights were in one piece. He was certain the running board would be twisted, because the Tourer was resting on it.

Walking around to the far side of the vehicle, he expected to find the thief lying on the gravel, but he had disappeared. The only trace of the offender was a few spots of blood.

James was angry. He didn’t care about the man’s injuries, but he did want to see him punished for what he had done to Grace.

‘Coward!’ he yelled, scanning the bushes. ‘You’ll get what’s coming to you, one of these days!’

James led the constable upstairs and knocked on the bedroom door.

Having complained of feeling unwell after the accident, Grace was in bed. Alice had insisted she rest, having grave fears she might lose the baby which was due in a few months’ time.

Grace fastened her bed jacket. ‘Come in!’

‘Can you describe this man?’ the policeman said.

‘I’m sorry,’ Grace said. ‘I couldn’t see his face. His cap was pulled low on his forehead and he was wearing a pair of goggles. All I remember was a drooping moustache, brown and straggly, and the look in his eyes as the car speeded up.’ A shudder ran through her. ‘I think he was laughing.’

James looked at the constable, but refrained from speaking.

The policeman closed his notebook. ‘Thank you, Mrs Oldfield. If you think of anything else, please let me know.’

‘I will.’

Collecting his bike from the front fence, the officer wheeled it out to the lane. ‘You said you thought the man was injured.’

‘There was blood on his face but he took off that quickly, I don’t think there was much else wrong with him.’

‘I hope it’s not that fellow, Wilkinson or Crowther, or whatever he now calls himself. I was hoping we’d seen the last of him.’

‘Do you think it could be the same man who robbed us?’ James asked.

‘I’m damned sure it is,’ the constable replied, as he wheeled his bike to the lane. ‘Shame the magistrate had to dismiss the case through lack of evidence. This fellow is cunning. Like a fox, he is. Goes to ground for a while, then when he feels safe, up he pops again. But it’s the first time I’ve heard of him trying to pinch a car.’

‘Have you had any other reports in the area?’

‘Not here. But I heard of a case last week in Otley. A poor woman who lived on her own was robbed and beaten up. Left her in such a state she could hardly talk. All she could tell the local Bobbies was that the man had a moustache. Hardly enough to go on! But I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same fellow.’ He looked James in the eye and spoke quietly. ‘That young wife of yours is lucky to be alive. I suggest you keep a good watch around the place.’

 Tapping his helmet firmly on his head, the policeman swung his leg over the bike’s saddle. ‘I’d give my right arm to get my hands on that man! Deserves to be put away for life in my book.’

‘We’ll watch out,’ James said. ‘Thanks.’

Though Lucy and Cyril’s arrival was expected, the car’s engine had hummed so quietly up the hill no one heard it coming. The vehicle was brand new and expensive, the latest model from the Armstrong Siddeley factory.  Even in the greyness of the day, the chrome work gleamed.

‘They’re here,’ Grace called excitedly, when she saw them through the window.

James was first outside to hug his mother and shake hands with her new husband.

‘It’s so good to be home again,’ Lucy said.

How well she looked, James thought. And happy too.

‘Nothing has changed,’ she said, standing at the gate and running her eyes over the three adjoining cottages.

But in James’s mind, a lot had changed in the two years since his mother had left to settle Edwards’s affairs in India. He and Grace had married. Andrew had been born and another baby was due at Christmas. Mr Fothergill now lived with them permanently, as he could only manage to walk a few yards, and only with reluctance allowed himself to be pushed around in the bath chair which James had bought for him. Alice had returned to Honeysuckle Cottages and was settled into her new part-time job at the nursing home. And Rachel was living there too, although neither he nor Grace saw much of her. When Alice was working, Rachel was minded by a lady in the village, and every Saturday the pair travelled to Ilkley to spend the day with Pansy and Miss Pugh. James had seen little of Pansy recently, because her aunt’s mental state had deteriorated considerably and she didn’t like to leave the old lady alone for very long.

As they chatted around the fire, Grace served tea and Lucy asked about the farm.

‘Things are improving,’ James said, glancing at his wife. ‘We went through a bad spell for a while, didn’t we?’

Grace nodded as Andrew crawled onto her lap, his eyelids drooping.

‘We’ve got a labourer and a lad working for us now,’ James said. ‘Local men. Both good workers. It makes such a difference. Money’s a bit tight at times, but we manage.’

‘When the baby’s born I’ll be able to do more,’ Grace added. ‘I hate being useless.’

John Fothergill shuffled in his chair but said nothing.

‘Well I must say you look happy, James. Married life must suit you.’

‘And you look happy too, Mum.’ James turned to Cyril. ‘You must be good for her!’

They all responded to Cyril’s broad smile. ‘Good for each other,’ he said, winking.

While James and Cyril talked about the farm, Mr Fothergill was content to sit and listen. James was filled with enthusiasm. He was eager to show his mother the changes he had made to the dairy, and the modern milking equipment they had had installed. He wanted to take Cyril out to the far meadow to show him the red Angus bull they had bought to cover the black heifers. ‘No trouble with the Angus breed with the calving,’ he said. And he wanted to show them both over the parcel of land he had just managed to lease to run the small beef herd on.

‘We’ll have a bumper season next year,’ James said.

John Fothergill leaned forward in his chair towards Lucy. ‘He’s got his head screwed on right, that lad of yours. Done far more than I ever did with the place. I could never see further than the end of my nose, but young James here, well, there’s no stopping him.’

‘Only problem is finance,’ said James seriously. ‘Can’t do anything without capital. That’s something I want to talk to you about, Mum, but it can wait until later.’ He paused. ‘Now tell us about your travels and about yourself, Cyril. My mother has been keeping us in the dark. I want to hear about this man who swept her off her feet.’

‘Me!’ he said. ‘Don’t blame me. If anyone was doing the sweeping, it was this mother of yours.’

Lucy smacked his hand playfully. ‘You wait till I get you next door!’

He laughed. ‘See what I mean!’

The evening sky was changing colour. Across the meadow the hilltops glowed in the dying rays of the sun.

‘I want to sell the cottage,’ James announced to his mother. ‘Grace and I have been talking about it for some time. It would be more sensible for us to live at the farm rather than walking there every day. Besides, Grace misses her big kitchen, and there will be plenty of room for Andrew and for the new baby when it arrives. Apart from that, John will be happy to be back in his own place.’

Lucy thought for a moment before answering. ‘But you could lease your cottage and get a decent rent for it.’

‘We considered that idea, but right now it’s capital we need. If we sell, we can put the money back into the farm. It’ll pay big dividends in the long run.’

‘I know John Fothergill’s a good man,’ Lucy said, ‘but is it wise to put all your money into a farm that’s not yours?’

‘It is though!’ James said. ‘He signed over the title to me and Grace some time ago. It’s all legal. He said he didn’t want problems with it when he was dead. He’s a good man, Mother, he really is.’

Lucy agreed, John Fothergill was a generous man.

‘Do you and Cyril want to buy my cottage?’ James asked, rather uncomfortably. ‘You could knock down the adjoining wall and make the two places into one. It would give you much more space, and the cottages are in need of
modernising.’

Lucy hadn’t considered that idea. ‘It’s possible,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘Cyril and I haven’t yet decided what we shall do in the future. But, somehow, I don’t think we will stay in Yorkshire.’

James was not surprised.

‘There are places we like overseas. And we both enjoy the sunshine. But Cyril likes his home in Kent and I have to admit it’s a lovely place. The house is set in a big garden with huge rhododendron bushes around the lawns. I’ve never seen them in full bloom but he tells me they look beautiful. And Kent is such a nice county.’

As they walked across the back meadow, Lucy’s mind drifted. It was a long time since she had felt the field beneath her feet. She smiled: ‘I remember struggling across this ground with the hand plough.  Me, Pansy and Alice worked this meadow every year while you were away at the war. And I remember the horses too. How patient they were.’

James’s smile was wistful as he remembered Goldie, his horse that lived out its years in the paddock and was only put down when it went lame. He thought too of Edward’s mare. The horse that was stolen and never recovered.

‘You and Edward used to enjoy your rides together,’ Lucy said. ‘He was such a remarkable man. Without him none of us would be where we are today.’

‘We should go inside,’ James said. ‘You are getting cold.’

‘No, just a shiver,’ she murmured. ‘And a few memories.’

Cyril bought the tree for Christmas. It was the tallest one they had ever had in the house, its tip touched the ceiling. He also bought the coloured lights which were a change from the tinsel and paper decorations of previous years. This year all the presents were wrapped in fancy paper and the pile was bigger than it had ever been before.

 Rachel was so excited, and when it was time for Pansy to arrive, she was constantly rushing outside to look for her grandmother. When the car finally pulled up, she ran down the path, arms outstretched to greet her. In the crisp air their combined breath puffed like steam from an engine. Jumping up and down, Rachel tugged at the shopping bag on Pansy’s arm and dragged her grandmother into the house.

‘Isn’t it wonderful all being together like this?’ Lucy said. ‘It has been so long.’

Christmas dinner was a feast. Turkey and pork and all the trimmings. The turkey had been raised and fattened on the farm, but James had bought the pig at Otley market.

‘We should build some sties,’ James said to his father-in-law. ‘Get two or three gilts and a boar. We’ve got plenty of grain and I’d have no trouble selling the piglets.’

Mr Fothergill agreed. The idea was worth thinking about.

Rachel wasn’t interested in pigs, apart from the gingerbread ones Lucy had made with currants for eyes and a candied-peel tail. For Rachel it seemed to take forever before the adults were finished at the table and Mr Fothergill’s chair pushed through to the front room.