Barbara Bradford - A Woman of Substance

‘We were lucky to find the cave when we did,’ said Edwin to the gaping Emma by his side. He looked about him, shaken by the riven and shattered landscape. ‘Do you realize we could have been killed out here! Either by lightning or by drowning in the flood!’ Emma nodded and shuddered at their narrow escape, not speaking.

‘Look at the waterfall up on Dimerton Fell,’ Edwin then exclaimed. ‘I’ve never seen it so full or raging before. It’s incredible.’

Emma followed the direction his finger pointed, and caught her breath. The usually gentle waterfall, clearly visible in the moonlight and icily shimmering, had been transformed into a phenomenal spumescent cascade that was magnificent yet uncanny in its magnitude. Emma had to admit it was beautiful and said so, but her worry about returning to Fairley Hall was increasing by the minute. ‘Edwin, don’t yer think we should try and make it back ter the Hall. Cook’s going ter play pop with yer, and me as well.’

‘Yes, I do believe we should make tracks immediately,’ Edwin agreed. ‘Thank goodness the moon is so bright. At least we can see where we’re walking. Shall we go?’

He made to leave and Emma tugged at his arm. ‘But what about the opening ter the cave?’ She inclined her head towards the aperture. ‘The rock that covered it up before looks ter me as if it’s sunk right inter the mud.’

‘You’re right, it has.’ Edwin swung around, his eyes searching. He spotted the ruptured trees. ‘I’ll use some of those branches to cover the hole, and come back another day to put the rock in place.’ He left the rocks, plodding through the slime doggedly, and dragged one of the trees over to the cavern’s entrance. He stuck it deeply and securely into the muddy earth. The gnarled branches camouflaged the opening effectively.

Uncertain of what other disasters awaited them, they nonetheless set off bravely, their feet sinking into the glutinous mud, boots squelching, as they hurried away from the Top of the World, heading directly for Ramsden Ghyll. Emma slipped once as they scrambled over a ridge, slithering on the sodden ground. Edwin caught her immediately, and put his arm around her protectively, helping her to maintain her balance until they reached the narrow track. They had to manoeuvre their way with deliberation, stepping over disrupted rocks and splintered branches that had been flung haphazardly on to the path during one of the landslides. Upon reaching the Ghyll they stood hovering at the edge, staring in stupefaction. The bright moonlight illuminated part of the deep gully, enough for them to see that it was brimming with bubbling water seemingly about to seep over the top at any moment. Dead birds, rabbits, and a sheep wobbled misshapenly among the debris on its ghastly black surface, gruesome reminders of the fury so recently unleashed. Emma shuddered and pressed her face against Edwin’s broad shoulder.

Edwin, holding her comfortingly, turned away. ‘I should have realized the Ghyll would fill up. We’ll have to turn back and go down over the ridge to the beck, cross it, and make for the lower road to the Hall.’

‘But won’t the beck be flooded as well?’ Emma suggested, biting her lip.

‘Most probably. But at least it’s a bit narrower and not a ravine like the Ghyll. It shouldn’t be too deep. We can swim across.’

‘I can’t swim,’ Emma wailed.

‘Don’t worry. I’ll look after you, Emma. I told you before, you will always be safe with me. I’ll never let any harm come to you. Ever.’ He hugged her to him affectionately, hoping to allay her nervousness, took her by the hand, led her back along the track and down an incline, reassuring her gently all the way. Unfortunately, Emma’s prediction was correct. The little beck, where they had washed earlier that afternoon, had become a fully fledged and gushing stream, water spewing over the rocky hillside with remarkable swiftness, an eddying whirlpool foaming whitely against the banks. Edwin threw the picnic basket on the ground, gritted his teeth, and lowered himself cautiously down the bank and into the swirling depths. The water rose up to his chest. ‘Leave the sack, Emma,’ he shouted, ‘and get on to my back. Put your arms around my neck, and hang on for dear life. I’ll swim us both across.’

Emma hesitated. This girl, who was not, in reality, afraid of anything, had a strange and incomprehensible fear of water. Even as a small child, when her mother had washed her hair, she had always screamed, ‘Don’t get the water on me face, Mam,’ the panic rising in her inexplicably.

‘Emma, come along!’ Edwin called. ‘This water’s freezing.’

Quelling her apprehension, Emma followed his instructions and tremblingly climbed on to his back. Edwin struck out across the beck, but he had misjudged the force of the water and several times he thought they would be dragged downstream, as if there were a rapid current sucking at his legs like a vortex. Yet he knew this could not be so. They went under once, but he valiantly struggled to the surface, spluttering, and pushed forward, swimming with all of his strength. It was an exhausting battle for Edwin, and a terrorizing experience for Emma, who clung to him tenaciously. Finally they reached the opposite bank. Edwin panted and gasped and spat out water, catching hold of a small shrub miraculously intact on the side of the bank. He paused to regain his breath, grasping the roots of the shrub, and then he hauled them both up out of the swirling beck, stumbling and sliding in the process. They fell on to the ground and lay there for several minutes, chests heaving, coughing and rasping and wiping the water from their faces.

At last Emma said, ‘Thank yer, Edwin. I thought we’d drown once. I did, really. But yer a good swimmer.’

Edwin’s chest was congested and tight, and he was unable to speak, but he gave her a lopsided smile and shook his head wearily.

‘Do yer feel all right?’ Emma regarded him with some misgiving. In the moonlight he looked extraordinarily pale and depleted, and he shivered more violently than she herself did.

‘Yes.’ He groaned, sitting up. ‘Let’s get going. It’s cold, Emma.’ He grinned ruefully as he looked at her dripping hair and face and clothes. ‘We’re like a couple of drowned rats again.’

“But we’re safe and we’ll soon be at the Hall,’ she responded, adopting a cheerful tone.

The lower road had turned to mire and was also strewn here and there with rocks and branches. In spite of its slimy surface, and the various obstructions, they managed to walk at a brisk pace, and once Edwin’s breathing was more normally restored they began to run, holding hands tightly, only slowing their pace when they had to skirt boulders and dismembered trees, arriving at the main entrance to Fairley Hall much sooner than they had anticipated. One of the great iron gates, bearing the Fairley family crest in polished bronze, had been half ripped off its hinges, and dangled precariously from the high brick wall surrounding the grounds. Walking up the gravel path, they saw that even here the storm had wreaked its havoc. Flower beds had been flattened, bushes shredded, hedges crushed, and some of the box and yew topiary specimens, clipped into fantastic shapes, had been smashed beyond recognition.

To Edwin’s immense distress one of the great oaks had been struck by lightning, split asunder, a monument to time finally felled by God’s wrath and nature’s unpredictability. It was here that Edwin paused and took Emma in his arms. He pushed back her dripping hair and gazed down into her face, its loveliness unmarred by the water and mud streaking it, palely gleaming in the moonlight shafting through the bower of green oak leaves drifting above them. He bent down and kissed her fully on the mouth and with passion, but it was a passion tempered now by tenderness. They clung together, swaying gently. After a moment of silent communion, Edwin said, ‘I love you, Emma. You love me, too, don’t you?’