Saddle the Wind (42 page)

‘Ah, that we will.’

‘Well – goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Blanche.’

With Jacko at his heels, Ernest turned and went into his bedroom. Blanche watched his door softly close and then went into her own room.

She lay awake in bed with dreams of the future going through her mind. It was time she got away from Colford and Hallowford. No matter how much Uncle John wanted her back at Hallowford House she could not see any future there for herself. She had to make her own future. From now on it was up to her. At last she slept.

She was awakened by the barking of Jacko. She sat up in bed and looked at her watch on the small, cheap bedside table. It was almost seven. Ernest had overslept. Quickly she got out of bed and, pulling on her dressing gown, left the room and knocked on Ernest’s bedroom door. There was no answer. She knocked again, and called his name. Still getting no response she opened the door. The room was empty.

Starting down the narrow stairs she called to him. Still no answer. Entering the kitchen she found it empty but for Jacko who stood tied by a rope to the leg of the kitchen table. At the sight of her he strained to reach her as she went past him into the scullery. Ernest was
not there, neither was he in the front parlour. Nor was his bag, or his overcoat. There was, though, on the kitchen table, a letter, addressed to her.

Her hand shaking slightly, her heart thumping, she took up the sheet of notepaper, unfolded it and read the words that he had written.

My dear Blanche,

This letter will come as a great shock to you, and I’m sorry to be the cause of so much disappointment. By the time you read this I shall be well on my way, and there will be no point in your trying to catch me up. This is the only way, Blanche – you must realize that – for me to go on my own. It will be easier for us both. You won’t be held back by me anymore, and you’ll be able to go and live with Mr Savill again, which is what you should have done. I, on the other hand, will do better alone. I shall find success much faster if I’m on my own – and I do intend to find success, you can rely on that. And you can also rely on the fact that once I’m settled and am doing all right I shall write to you. Then, if you care to, you can come up north to join me. It won’t be long till I do – and I shall, I promise you that. I promise you faithfully.

In the meantime, look after yourself. I’m sorry to desert you like this, Blanche, but I hope you will understand and won’t think too badly of me. And please, look after Jacko for me. I can’t explain to him as I can to you, and he’ll miss me, I know. Still, I know I’m leaving him in safe hands. If only I could tell him it’ll only be a while and we’ll be back together again. I must go. Forgive me, Blanche. Just be patient for a little while, then
you’ll hear from me and we’ll have everything we want.

Until then you’ll always be in the thoughts of

Your loving brother,

Ernest

When Blanche had read the letter she read it through again. Then she laid it down on the table and, moving to the dog who was agitatedly whining, pleading to be set free, she bent to untie the rope that held him. As her fingers worked at the knot she murmured:

‘He’s gone, Jacko. Ernest – he’s gone without us.’

When Blanche released Jacko from the rope that tethered him, he ran to the door, scratching at it, whining to be let out. Then, when she opened the door he dashed out into the yard, round the house and into the lane. She stood there watching as he sniffed around, seeking Ernest’s scent. And all at once, finding it, he took off, dashing away along the lane.

Later she made her way to Trowbridge station. On her arrival she not only learned that Ernest had been there earlier and had bought a ticket for Bradford before taking the train, but she also found Jacko there, sitting silently and unmoving on the platform, waiting as if at any time Ernest might return. She had taken his lead with her and after attaching it to his collar she coaxed him reluctantly away, bringing him back again across the fields to the cottage.

If she had imagined that that was the end of it where the dog was concerned, however, she was mistaken. Whilst worrying herself over what she should do and where she should go, she also had the added pain of seeing Jacko moping about the house, wandering from room to room. Very swiftly the dog set up a pattern in which he would climb the stairs to Ernest’s room, circle the room and then come back downstairs where he would move from the kitchen into the scullery, then pad back through the kitchen and into the front parlour. There he would go to the window where, rearing on his
hind legs, forelegs on the window frame, he would gaze out along the lane, eyes and ears alert for the slightest sign. Five or ten minutes later and the whole pattern would begin again. Watching the creature’s worried movements, his continual searching, Blanche thought she would go crazy. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Jacko, be still!’ she cried out to him after observing the pattern of his repeated searching for the tenth time. ‘
He’s gone! He’s gone! He’s not coming back
!’ The dog turned to her, looked up at her with sorrowing eyes, then after a moment moved on again, his search continuing.

From the day Ernest and the dog had found one another they had never been separated. Now Ernest had gone and Jacko’s world had come to an end.

As time wore on it was as if the dog realized that his master would not return, and, as if resigned, his prowling ceased and he lay down beneath the old sideboard, head on his paws, dark brown eyes open, looking at nothing. When, later, Blanche put down food for him, he ignored it.

Jacko’s lack of appetite, however, was not her only concern; she had other things on her mind – one of which was the problem of where she was going to sleep come Saturday night. Her searches revealed no shortage of rooms available in the area, but it was finding a house where she was also allowed to take the dog that proved the difficulty. She knew very well that she only had to go to Hallowford House and there would be a welcome for her, but she could not bring herself to do so. She must, she felt, strive to keep her independence; she had taken so much from John Savill in the past; she could not go seeking his charity now at the first crisis.

Eventually, after searching around and making inquiries, she at last, late in the afternoon, located a house on the edge of Ashton Wick where there was a
room for rent and where she could take Jacko with her. It was a small cottage, humbly furnished, but the middle-aged owner, a widow, a Mrs Grimshaw, had a kind heart, and a soft spot where animals were concerned.

‘He can sleep in the shed,’ Mrs Grimshaw said. She studied the dog as he stood at Blanche’s side, tethered by the lead. ‘He’ll be all right there, will he?’

Blanche nodded. She was sure he would, she said. Then, looking down at the animal she added, ‘He won’t eat.’

At the suggestion of Mrs Grimshaw, who was obviously concerned, the dog ended up sleeping in Blanche’s room. Not that Jacko seemed to care one way or the other where he was. He showed no interest whatever in his surroundings or in what was happening to him. He was perfectly obedient, as always, but all his accustomed eagerness and energy had gone. And although he drank the water that Blanche set before him he continued to refuse whatever food she offered. As the days passed she watched him wasting away, his strength and energy fading before her eyes. It was as if with Ernest’s departure, so had gone all the animal’s will to live.

Crouching before him as he lay on the floor beneath the window, Blanche tried to tempt him with some scraps of lean meat that Mrs Grimshaw had brought for him. The dog took no notice. With tears in her eyes, Blanche pleaded with him. ‘Oh, for God’s sake, Jacko, do eat –
please
. I can’t bear it. If you don’t eat you’ll die.’ But still he lay there, only moving to make occasional trips into the garden, and Blanche watched his energy draining away, and the fear grew within her that he would soon be dead.

But then at last, after several days had passed and she had given up all hope that he would eat, she watched one afternoon as he sniffed at the food she placed before
him, and then, to her joy, as he took some in his mouth and ate.

With tears of happiness and relief swimming in her eyes, she watched as he finished the meat. She knew now that he would be all right.

Blanche and Jacko remained as lodgers in Mrs Grimshaw’s little house until June. And then it was that John Savill discovered something of Blanche’s circumstances and at once went to see her. After learning of Ernest’s departure he set out to persuade her to return with him to Hallowford House.

She eventually agreed – and not a little gratefully – though making it clear that the dog must go with her, and that she also wished to continue with her teaching of the Andrews children at Ashton Wick. Of course Savill agreed at once – though where the dog was concerned he thought what a sorry-looking thing it was – a lack-lustre, docile creature, lacking in any degree of spirit. Blanche, however, he quickly found, was fiercely protective of it and determined that it should have the best possible care.

On an afternoon in July John Savill and his brother Harold sat in the library of Hallowford House as Blanche entered the hall. Hearing her footsteps John Savill called out to her.

‘Is that you, Blanche?’

A moment later Blanche, carrying her light coat, appeared in the open doorway. She had just returned from Ashton Wick. Smilingly she greeted the two men where they sat on either side of Savill’s desk.

‘How was your day today?’ Savill asked, and Blanche replied to the effect that it had been much as other days. After a pause she asked whether there had been any
post for her. Savill replied that there had not. She thanked him, and left them, and Harold remained turned in his chair to watch her trim, retreating figure as she crossed the hall and started up the stairs. When she had gone from sight Savill crossed to the door and closed it. As he turned he said with a shake of his head,

‘Her brother – Ernest. She’s heard nothing from him since he left.’

‘That was in the spring, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes, back in April.’

‘And there’s been no word from him?’

‘Nothing. Blanche believes he went up to Leeds or Bradford – but there’s no way of knowing. Naturally she’s worried by his silence.’

Savill moved back across the room and stood at the window and looked out onto the lawn. Behind him Harold said:

‘What’s going to become of her?’

At the words Savill turned to his brother. ‘I don’t know. I wish I knew.’ He paused. ‘What I’d like is for her to meet some young man and make a good match. She’ll make somebody a fine wife.’

Harold nodded. ‘And she’s attractive enough.’

Savill turned to him. ‘Attractive enough? Harold, she’s a beautiful young woman – or haven’t you noticed?’

Harold smiled. ‘Yes, of course.’

Savill sighed. ‘Perhaps I’m hoping for too much too soon for her. After all, she’s only nineteen. There’s time for her to meet someone. I suppose that with Marianne settled I want the same for Blanche too.’

Harold said, frowning slightly: ‘Are you sure that Blanche expects you to be concerned for her in this way?’

‘Whether she expects it or not,’ Savill said a little
sharply, ‘I
am
concerned. How can I not be? She’s been a part of our lives here for many years. We love her and I have a responsibility towards her – whether or not she wants it. Which is why I’m going in to Trowbridge to see Baron this afternoon.’ He shook his head. ‘I should have done it years ago, made legal provision for Blanche, but I always put it off. No more, though. All that business with her going off to live in that little cottage really brought it home to me. I’ve got to make sure that she’s provided for. Marianne’s all right now. Her worries should be over. But Blanche’s situation is very different.’

Harold nodded then said, ‘It won’t be long before Marianne and Gentry are here, will it?’

Savill smiled. ‘Not long.’

‘And then, next month, the wedding.’

‘Yes.’

‘And then what? Marianne will return to Sicily to live, I suppose?’

‘Of course. That’s where Gentry’s home is – where his future work will be.’

‘How does Marianne feel about that?’

‘Happy enough, I believe. But there, she’s very much in love. I don’t think it would matter much where she went as long as she was with Gentry.’ He sat down at his desk. ‘Gentry, though, she writes, is talking about going off to fight in South Africa – which of course makes her very unhappy. Still, we seem to be having better fortune out there of late, so perhaps the war will soon be over and he’ll no longer feel obliged to join in.’

In the kitchen Blanche saw to the feeding of Jacko, after which she took him outside. Leaving the house behind her she walked out onto the road for a little way and then left it to walk on the heath. Walking slowly along
one of the narrow, bracken-fringed pathways that bisected the heath, she watched as the dog moved back and forth, sniffing here and there, ambling back to her to check on her continuing presence, and then trotting off again – though never going very far away. Observing him, she thought again of Ernest’s departure. Every day she expected to hear from Ernest, wherever he was. There would be a letter telling her how well he was faring, and then he would be sending for her to join him. And when that happened she and Jacko would go to him, and together they could make a new start. So far, though, there had been nothing, no word at all. She was certain, however, that she would hear in time.

In the meantime she could only wait. And the days were passing. It was mid-July now; in a few days the two Andrews children would be leaving to spend a summer vacation at the seashore. Blanche then would be left to her own devices. Later, Marianne would be returning – with Gentry – to be married. After which Gentry would take her back to Sicily.

Blanche thought back to the time when she and Gentry had met on the bridle path near Colford, and with the thought she saw him in her mind again, so clearly. It was not new to her, the memory; it would come to her unbidden, often when she lay wakeful in her bed. And at those times she would think again of how they had lain together in the primrose-dotted grass; for brief, tantalizing moments she would be able to feel again the sensation of his body on hers, his closeness; know again the scent of him, the sweet taste of his open mouth on her own. When the memories dissolved they would leave in their wake a sweet, lingering ache. She would be glad, she said to herself, when Marianne and Gentry were married and were settled in Sicily. Until then, anticipating Gentry’s arrival in Hallowford, she
found herself increasingly disturbed by the thought of him.