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.
ground at her feet and looked up at her. ‘Do you feel better now? Out here in the sunshine,’ he ventured gently.
‘Yes, thanks,’ Emma said quietly, without so much as glancing at him.
Edwin winced. She sounded so cold and remote. He rested his head against the flat rock and closed his eyes, wondering why she was adopting this stern attitude. She had shut him out most purposefully, he recognized that. He felt a twinge in his chest, and that sense of loss he had experienced before.
Meanwhile, Emma’s fertile brain was racing. How could her sweet and gentle mother have been friendly with Adam Fairley? That terrible man. And anyway, her mother had spent part of her girlhood in Ripon with Cousin Freda. It struck her then, and quite forcibly, that Elizabeth was not a very unusual name. Might it not be some other Elizabeth whose name was carved on the wall? A girl from the gentry perhaps, who had known Adam Fairley when he was young. There was more likelihood of him being friends with a girl of Quality than with one from the working class. But there was the stone Edwin had found. Still, that might really be a painting of Olivia Wainwright, just as Edwin believed. It certainly looked like her. She thought then of the locket. Yet even that didn’t mean anything significant. Lots of people had names beginning with an A. Anybody could have given it to her mother. Emma now found all of these conclusions quite irresistible. And because the idea of a friendship between her mother and Adam Fairley was intolerable and unacceptable to her, for it would besmirch her mother’s memory, Emma slowly convinced herself that her mother was not the Elizabeth of the cave.
In no time at all she felt more cheerful. She looked down at Edwin resting peacefully at her feet. Poor Edwin. She had been mean to him and unfair, when he was always so nice to her. She tapped him lightly on the shoulder, almost playfully.
Edwin opened his eyes and glanced up, not without apprehension, uncertain of her mood. To his delight Emma was smiling at him, that lovely and most radiant smile, and her emerald eyes danced with the brightest of lights.
‘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. They 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,