The Emma Harte 7-Book Collection: A Woman of Substance, Hold the Dream, To Be the Best, Emma’s Secret, Unexpected Blessings, Just Rewards, Breaking the Rules. Barbara Taylor BradfordЧитать онлайн книгу.
She was flabbergasted to see her brother Frank standing on the threshold. He banged the door shut furiously, and hurtled down the stone steps, his boots clattering loudly, his small face white and cold, his thin body shivering in his threadbare jacket.
‘Good gracious me! What’s all this, then?’ cried Mrs Turner, looking perturbed.
Emma jumped up and flew across the room. ‘Frank lad, what’s wrong?’ she asked, pulling him to her protectively. Frank was gasping for breath, his eyes were wide with fright, and the freckles stood out on his drawn face. Emma led him to the fire gently, clucking to him in her motherly way and patting his shoulder soothingly. The boy’s breathing was laboured, for he had run all the way from the village, and, as yet, he was unable to speak. Finally he managed to gasp, ‘Me dad says yer’ve got ter come right sharpish, our Emma. Now!’
‘Whatever’s the matter?’ said Emma, staring into his face with alarm, her mind racing. Frank’s eyes filled with tears and before he spoke Emma knew instinctively exactly what he was going to say. She held her breath and prayed to God she was wrong.
‘It’s our mam, Emma. Me dad says ter tell yer she’s right badly. And Dr Mac’s there. Come on!’ he yelled, frantically tugging at her arm.
Emma’s face went chalk white and fear darkened her eyes, so that they took on the colour of malachite. She pulled off her apron, ran to the kitchen cupboard, and grabbed her coat and scarf without uttering a word. Blackie and Mrs Turner exchanged worried glances. Mrs Turner said, ‘Now, lass, I’m sure it’s nowt serious. Don’t be fretting yerself. Yer knows yer mam has been a lot better lately.’ Her tone was reassuring, but her plump face was the picture of concern.
Blackie had risen and solicitously helped Emma into her coat. He squeezed her arm and said consolingly, ‘Mrs Turner’s right. To be sure she is, Emma. Don’t be afeared now. Ye mam’s in good hands with the doctor.’ He paused and looked into her stricken face. ‘Would ye like me to come with ye?’
Emma looked up at him and shook her head. ‘But if Dr Mac’s with her it must be summat serious.’ Emma’s voice quavered and her eyes brimmed with tears.
‘Now, don’t be jumping to the conclusions,’ Blackie said with great gentleness, endeavouring to calm her fears. ‘Ye mam will be fine, mavourneen. Sure and she will.’ Emma looked up at him sorrowfully and she did not answer. Blackie put his strong arms around her and hugged her to him. After a few seconds he released her and touched her face tenderly. ‘Ye must have faith,’ he whispered softly, gazing into her eyes.
‘Yes, Blackie,’ she whispered, tying on her scarf. Then she grabbed Frank’s hand and hurried him across the room. ‘I don’t think I’ll get back in time ter help yer with dinner, Mrs Turner,’ she called, running up the steps. ‘But I’ll try. Ta’rar.’ The door slammed behind Emma and Frank.
Mrs Turner sat down heavily in the chair. ‘It seemed too good ter be true. The way her mam improved in the last few weeks. The calm before the storm, if yer asks me,’ she muttered dourly. ‘Poor bairn, and she was having such a good time for once.’
‘Let’s not look on the black side, Mrs Turner. Her mam might be having a small attack, that’s all. It could be a false alarm,’ said Blackie with a show of cheeriness, but his heart was heavy and a melancholy look clouded his black eyes.
Once they were outside, Emma did not attempt to question Frank at all. She knew, deep in the marrow of her bones, that it was imperative for her to get home as quickly as possible, without wasting a minute of precious time. Her father would not have sent for her unless her mother had taken a turn for the worse. In spite of the confident reassurances Blackie and Mrs Turner had given her, Emma was quite positive of this, and she trembled as her alarm fired into cold terror.
Hand in hand, Emma and Frank ran across the stable yard, down the path by the copse of great oaks, and through the Baptist Field. Together, they struggled up the small slope rising to the plateau of moorland and the wide track that led to the village. By this time, Frank was fighting for breath and he found it difficult to keep up with Emma’s increasing pace. She gripped his hand tighter and pulled him along after her relentlessly, ignoring his protestations and little gurgling cries.
He tripped and fell, but Emma did not stop, nor did she pay any attention to him. With an almost superhuman strength she dragged him along in her wake, his little body trailing limply in the dirt behind her. His wailing cries and earpiercing screams finally registered, and pulled her up short.
‘Frank! For heaven’s sake,’ she yelled wildly, staring down at him furiously. ‘Get up, lad! This minute!’ She attempted to pull him to his feet, but Frank lay inertly on the path.
‘I can’t keep up with yer, our Emma.’
Emma, who was not a naturally cruel person, was now disturbed almost to the point of hysteria. Her only thought was to get home to her mother, who needed her. ‘Then yer’ll have ter follow me,’ she shouted with coldness.
Emma set off along the rough moorland track, her iron will pushing her forward with a preternatural energy. She gathered speed as she ran, her skirts flying out behind her in the wind. And one thought filled her mind as she ran: Don’t let me mam die. It was a prayer really, and she repeated it over and over again. Please, God, don’t let me mam die.
When she reached Ramsden Ghyll, Emma stopped and looked back. She could see Frank following on behind. But she could not wait for him, and she plunged down into the Ghyll without slowing her pace. At one moment she stumbled and almost fell, but she recovered herself quickly, and flew on. It was dark in the Ghyll, where the overhanging rocks cast giant shadows and excluded all light, but Emma did not notice the eeriness or the gloom. She was soon scrambling up the path on the other side of the Ghyll, and out into the bright sunlight. She was panting excessively and her breathing was impaired. Yet she did not stop. She hurtled forward along the top path, stones and bits of dirt flying out behind her, until, sobbing and breathless, she staggered up to Ramsden Crags. She rested against a rock, trying to regain her breath. The sound of pounding horse’s hooves thundering along the path suddenly broke the silence. Emma looked back, startled. She was surprised to see Blackie galloping towards her on one of the Squire’s horses. He held Frank in front of him.
Blackie brought the horse to a standstill and Emma recognized Russet Dawn, Master Edwin’s chestnut. Blackie leaned down and gave her his large hand. He stuck out his foot and said, ‘Jump up, Emma. Use me foot to mount.’ Emma did as he instructed and pulled herself up on to the horse behind him. ‘Hang on,’ he cried as they set off again at a brisk canter. Soon they were in sight of the church spire and within minutes they were pulling up at Top Fold.
The kitchen of the Harte cottage was deserted when Emma entered and closed the door softly behind her. It was gloomy in the late-afternoon light, and desolate. The fire had burned out and the grate was filled with cold ashes and there was a smell in the air of cabbage and fried onions and burnt pots. Me dad spoilt the Sunday dinner again, Emma thought absently, as she took off her coat and scarf and looked around. The cottage was ominously silent and Emma shivered as she crept up the stone steps to her mother’s room, her heart beating rapidly as her alarm increased.
Her father was alone, bending over Elizabeth. He was gently wiping her sweating face with a flannel and he stroked her damp and tangled hair lovingly. He looked up as Emma tiptoed in. His eyes were dark and brooding and filled with sorrow, and his face was harshly set and the colour of dull lead in the twilight.
‘Me mam – what happened?’ Emma whispered hoarsely.
Jack shook his head wearily. ‘Dr Mac says it’s a relapse. She’s been growing weaker and weaker these last few days. She’s no fight left in her,’ he mumbled in a strangled voice. ‘Doctor just left. No hope—’ His voice cracked and he looked away swiftly, biting down his grief, swallowing hard on the incipient tears aching in his throat.
‘Don’t