Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

‘I feel like it’s teatime. Are yer hungry, Edwin?’

‘I’m absolutely famished!’ He was overjoyed to see her good humour fully restored. He jumped up and strode over to his jacket. He pulled out his small gold pocket watch. ‘Why, Emma, it’s already four-thirty. I’ll unpack the picnic basket at once.’

Emma began to laugh, shaking her head. Edwin stared at her nonplussed. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘I wish yer could see yerself, Edwin Fairley. Yer looks like a chimney sweep. Yer face is all mucky, and yer hands, and just look at mine.’ She held up her hands, palms outward, to show him. He joined in her laughter.

‘I’ll race yer ter the beck down yonder,’ she cried. She leapt up and flew down the adjacent hillside. Edwin raced after her. He caught up with her and snatched at her belt. She laughed and struggled, but he held on to the belt tightly. tripped and fell, and rolled down over the moorland, still laughing with hilarity. They landed at the edge of the beck, and Emma would have fallen in if Edwin had not held her tightly in his arms.

‘Now look what yer’ve gone and done, Edwin Fairley,’ Emma remonstrated with mock annoyance through her laughter. ‘Yer’ve got me frock all wet in the beck.’

Edwin released his grip on her and sat up, impatiently pushing the lock of hair away from his forehead. ‘I am sorry, Emma. But it’s only the hem. It will dry quickly in the sun.’

‘Aye, I hopes it will.’

‘You mean, “yes, I hope it will”, Emma,’ Edwin corrected her.

She threw him a knowing look and said in a mimicking tone, ‘Yes, Edwin, you are quite right. I was not speaking properly.’ She pronounced the words very carefully and her voice, always sweet and melodious, was now so cultivated he gaped.

Emma poked him in the ribs. ‘I can speak like you if I want to,’ she said, and then confided, ‘I used to listen to your aunt. She has a lovely voice.’

‘So do you, Emma, when you pronounce your words correctly and don’t lapse into the Yorkshire dialect.’ He smiled at her fondly. ‘I hope you don’t mind when I point out mistakes in your speech. But you did ask me to do that.’

‘Yes, I did. And I am grateful.’ She smiled to herself. She knew she had surprised him and this tickled her tremendously. She leaned over and washed the dirt off her hands in the beck, then cupped them and splashed water on to her face.

Edwin took out his handkerchief and gave it to her with a boyishly gallant gesture. ‘Dry yourself on this.’

When Emma had finished her toilet, Edwin also washed himself, and then they sat at the edge of the beck that tumbled down over the rocky hillside, talking happily, enjoying being together as they always did. Edwin chattered enthusiastically about going to Cambridge to study for the bar, and explained in great detail what a barrister actually was. In turn, Emma spoke proudly of Winston and how handsome he had looked in his uniform, when he had come home on leave from the Royal Navy.

‘He’s been back ter Fairley twice now,’ Emma said, ‘and me dad’s much better. More settled about Winston being away-’ She sat up abruptly and looked at the sky. ‘That’s funny, I just felt a splash of rain.’

Edwin lifted his head. ‘But the sky’s blue and there are only a few grey clouds.’

‘We’d best get the picnic basket and hurry back ter the Hall,’ Emma announced quickly.

‘Oh, don’t be silly. It’s only a summer shower. It will pass in a few minutes.’

But as he spoke the pale sun was doused by bloated clouds moving up over the rim of the moors with gathering speed. There was a loud blast of thunder. It appeared to crack the sky wide open, releasing searing blades of brilliant white lightning and then an eerie greyness that flooded out swiftly, staining the sky as effectively as black dye colours cloth, and obliterating the light.

‘Come on!’ Edwin cried. He pulled Emma up to her feet and with urgency. ‘The weather is so unpredictable on these wretched moors. You never know when a storm will blow up.’

Together they scrambled up the hill. The rain came down in lashing torrents. It was heavy driving rain that fell like a relentless waterfall. By the time they reached Ramsden Crags almost all of the light had vanished and the only illumination came from the staccato flashes of lightning charging the sky with electricity, and the thunder boomed, echoing and reverberating against the towering structure of Ramsden Crags. Edwin and Emma were drenched to the skin, their clothes, faces, and hair streaming with water.

Edwin grabbed the sack and his wet jacket and tossed them over to Emma. ‘Take these,’ he shouted, and pushed her towards the opening of the cave.

‘Don’t yer think we should make a dash in for the Hall?’ she protested.

‘We’ll never make it, Emma. We’re in for a real thunderstorm. Look at the sky. It’s as black as night. Don’t argue! Into the cave, my girl. We’ll be safe there, and dry.’

Although Emma was decidedly disinclined to return to the cave, she had to admit that Edwin’s suggestion was sound. They had no alternative, really. The moors could be extremely dangerous in this kind of stormy weather. She clutched the sack and his jacket to her, and, with her lips grimly tightening, she crawled into the aperture. Edwin followed, pushing the picnic basket in front of him.

Once they were inside the cave, Emma stood at the entrance, trying to get her bearings. Edwin pulled out his handkerchief, wiped his hands, and gave it to Emma. Then he immediately took charge, and with such a burst of energy and efficiency Emma was momentarily startled. He lit the candles on the ledge at the entrance and opened the picnic basket.

‘Here’s the Sunday Gazette ,’ he called. ‘I brought it to read, in case you were late. Good thing, too. Make some paper spills with it.’ He dropped it at her feet, and went on, ‘I saw a pile of logs and twigs over by the sacks earlier. They were perfectly dry. We’ll soon have a fire going.’ He picked up a candle, took Emma by the hand, and led her to a far corner.

‘We’ll make the fire about here,’ Edwin said, scuffing the earth with the toe of his boot. ‘It’s about the best spot, since it gets the cross-ventilation from the tunnel to the outside and that one back there.’ He gestured to another aperture Emma had not noticed before.

‘Where does that go, Edwin?’

‘I’m not really sure. It was too small for me to crawl into when I investigated earlier. But there are currents of air coming in from the moors. Now, come on, Emma. Let’s hurry. Then we can sit on the sacks and attempt to dry ourselves. I’m freezing, and I’m sure you are.’

‘Yes, I am.’

It did not take them long to get the fire started. The paper and the twigs caught hold at once, and when they were burning Edwin placed a couple of small logs on top of them. He began to busy himself with the empty sacks. There were about a dozen of them and these he arranged on the floor, rolling others into bolster-like shapes which he propped against the wall. ‘It will be quite comfortable, Emma,’ he said, turning and smiling at her reassuringly.

Emma was standing by the fire, shivering and shaking with cold. Her face still glistened with water and her wet hair streamed down her back. She was trying to wring out her dress, which was thoroughly soaked.

Edwin hurried to the fire, shivering himself. He began to cough. Emma looked across the flames at him and frowned. ‘Oh, Edwin, I hopes yer don’t catch another cold, just when yer better.’

‘So do I,’ he gasped, coughing behind his hand. After a moment the rasping subsided, and he said, ‘I think you had better take off your dress, Emma. We can then spread it out to dry.’