‘I will try to find someone for you, Sally. It could enable you to pay a farm worker, to make life easier. A discreet advertisement in the Yorkshire Post is the thing! I will take care of all that.’
The delicate scent of elderflowers hung in the air and Mrs Scott described how she made the cream, changing the subject tactfully to give the girl time to get used to the new idea. ‘I’ll make you some more while the flowers are out. I prefer the berries for wine making … elderflower wine smells so odd.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Scott.’
Perhaps she sounded ungrateful, but Sally could not find very much enthusiasm for Mrs Scott’s idea about the paying guests. Had Robin’s mother ever managed with no indoor servants at all? Probably not. A stranger living in her house would be a burden, a great deal of sheer drudgery. Sally thought of carrying endless buckets of coal upstairs for a bedroom fire, endless jugs of hot water for the washstand. There would be extra washing and ironing. And she’d have to think up and then cook different meals every day, to be served on crisp white tablecloths … it was months since the silver cutlery had been taken out and cleaned.
On the way home, Sally decided it was too late to call on Martha and George. But tomorrow she would have to ask George to sell the sheep for her as quickly as possible. The rent must be paid on time no matter what else happened. Long shadows fellacross the grass as Sally went down the gill to say goodnight to the sheep. The flock clustered round as usual, nibbling at the bucket and there were tears in Sally’s eyes as she looked at them. The sun went down but the girl lingered, unwilling to go inside to the dark, empty house.
I’ll ask if they can be kept together, she said to herself. And go to a good home … and maybe, later in the year … no, it was no good. She would never be able to get the sheep back again.
The evening sky was a clear green, merging gradually through blue into the pink of the sunset. The air was calm and from the hedge the scent of the elder bush reminded her of Mrs Scott and her kindness. The Scotts had been good to Sally since her father died. From Badger’s Wood an owl called and there was a movement in the grass. Suddenly, there they were, a young family of badgers, tumbling and fighting in a little hollow. Sally held her breath and watched them and the flock watched with her, curious, but quite used to these quarrelsome neighbours. The badgers played for some minutes and then the parent called and they set off in a line, presumably to learn hunting. Sally watched them go with a smile. She did not want to leave this place, ever. And if she had to sell the sheep to pay the rent, that was the price. She stroked Lavinia’s furry ears and walked slowly back to the house.
What if Mrs Scott were right, and a paying guest could solve the farm’s cash crisis? Sally lit a lamp and wandered round the familiar rooms, seeing them in a new way, as a visitor might. The house was old, with low-beamed ceilings and panelling on the walls. Would city folks find it attractive? Or just shabby and old-fashioned? The parlour was a pleasant retreat, lined with bookshelves and with a large stone fireplace. Roses peeped in through the open window. Sally had spent little time in the parlour since her father died.
There was an old-fashioned, panelled dining-room with the dining-table that Aunt Bertha coveted. Her father’s oak desk took up much of one wall. The kitchen was large, with a big cooking range, a separate pantry and dairy and a row of geraniums on the broad stone windowsill. A paying guest could eat in the dining-room. In fact, it could also be used as a guest’s sitting-room. And upstairs the big main bedroom stood empty. She would need toclear the wardrobe of her father’s things, give them to the church bazaar, perhaps. The curtains could be washed and the carpet needed attention. The sheets should smell of lavender and tomorrow, Sally
The delicate scent of elderflowers hung in the air and Mrs Scott described how she made the cream, changing the subject tactfully to give the girl time to get used to the new idea. ‘I’ll make you some more while the flowers are out. I prefer the berries for wine making … elderflower wine smells so odd.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Scott.’
Perhaps she sounded ungrateful, but Sally could not find very much enthusiasm for Mrs Scott’s idea about the paying guests. Had Robin’s mother ever managed with no indoor servants at all? Probably not. A stranger living in her house would be a burden, a great deal of sheer drudgery. Sally thought of carrying endless buckets of coal upstairs for a bedroom fire, endless jugs of hot water for the washstand. There would be extra washing and ironing. And she’d have to think up and then cook different meals every day, to be served on crisp white tablecloths … it was months since the silver cutlery had been taken out and cleaned.
On the way home, Sally decided it was too late to call on Martha and George. But tomorrow she would have to ask George to sell the sheep for her as quickly as possible. The rent must be paid on time no matter what else happened. Long shadows fellacross the grass as Sally went down the gill to say goodnight to the sheep. The flock clustered round as usual, nibbling at the bucket and there were tears in Sally’s eyes as she looked at them. The sun went down but the girl lingered, unwilling to go inside to the dark, empty house.
I’ll ask if they can be kept together, she said to herself. And go to a good home … and maybe, later in the year … no, it was no good. She would never be able to get the sheep back again.
The evening sky was a clear green, merging gradually through blue into the pink of the sunset. The air was calm and from the hedge the scent of the elder bush reminded her of Mrs Scott and her kindness. The Scotts had been good to Sally since her father died. From Badger’s Wood an owl called and there was a movement in the grass. Suddenly, there they were, a young family of badgers, tumbling and fighting in a little hollow. Sally held her breath and watched them and the flock watched with her, curious, but quite used to these quarrelsome neighbours. The badgers played for some minutes and then the parent called and they set off in a line, presumably to learn hunting. Sally watched them go with a smile. She did not want to leave this place, ever. And if she had to sell the sheep to pay the rent, that was the price. She stroked Lavinia’s furry ears and walked slowly back to the house.
What if Mrs Scott were right, and a paying guest could solve the farm’s cash crisis? Sally lit a lamp and wandered round the familiar rooms, seeing them in a new way, as a visitor might. The house was old, with low-beamed ceilings and panelling on the walls. Would city folks find it attractive? Or just shabby and old-fashioned? The parlour was a pleasant retreat, lined with bookshelves and with a large stone fireplace. Roses peeped in through the open window. Sally had spent little time in the parlour since her father died.
There was an old-fashioned, panelled dining-room with the dining-table that Aunt Bertha coveted. Her father’s oak desk took up much of one wall. The kitchen was large, with a big cooking range, a separate pantry and dairy and a row of geraniums on the broad stone windowsill. A paying guest could eat in the dining-room. In fact, it could also be used as a guest’s sitting-room. And upstairs the big main bedroom stood empty. She would need toclear the wardrobe of her father’s things, give them to the church bazaar, perhaps. The curtains could be washed and the carpet needed attention. The sheets should smell of lavender and tomorrow, Sally
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