Winter’s Children: Curl up with this gripping, page-turning mystery as the nights get darker. Leah Fleming

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СКАЧАТЬ lay back again, making lists in her head. If they were going to make this their home then it needed customising a little: a throw over the tweed sofa, some gaudy coloured cushions, posters on the walls to cover the anaemic paintwork. They would find the nearest market town and find a few items to cheer up the place.

      The two of them ate breakfast slowly at the breakfast bar, slices of toast and boiled eggs from the welcome basket. Evie retired to the sofa to watch children’s TV, surrounded by her latest Beanies, sucking her thumb while Kay inspected the barn conversion with closer interest. Why was the conversion so suburban in design? Where were the galleried upstairs and exposed rafters she’d seen in Country Living magazine? Even the great barn doors were walled in with stone, disguised rather than enhanced, ruining the spirit of the place, well crafted though it all was.

      It was only when Kay put her head out of the door that she realised that the wind was whipping up the rain across the garden like smoke from a bonfire. She had forgotten how damp it was in Yorkshire. They were going to need some serious weather gear, Wellingtons and waterproofs. Their anoraks would hardly keep this onslaught from soaking them to the skin.

      This was not exactly the picture of rural bliss Kay had in mind for an autumn arrival; no newspaper through the letterbox or pint on the doorstep, no bus passing on the way to market. How would she survive without her Guardian? There was so much she was going to have to find out from Mrs Snowden and she must thank her for the welcome pack. In the rush to offload her larder she had brought only frozen packets wrapped in newspaper. What if they were cut off by snow? Kay started to make a survival list of provisions for their store cupboard just in case they were stranded. She felt like a pioneer in the Arctic.

      Once all their clothes were unpacked, they looked too flashy for country living. Evie’s books and toys would have to go in the spare room somehow. Kay was just slamming the door shut when a hooded apparition in a battered mackintosh, looking for all the world like the famous Hannah Hauxwell in a blizzard, came battling across the path carrying a tray covered with a cloth.

      ‘Glad to have caught you, Mrs Partridge. Sorry I wasn’t in last night but I hope you’re settling in. Not much of a weekend, I’m afraid, the forecast is dire … very unseasonal for the time of year,’ said a rosy-cheeked woman peering out from under the hood. ‘I’ve brought you some of my baking just in case you’re short. It’s just some parkin.’

      ‘Come in, come in, Mrs Snowden,’ ushered Kay with her hands full of videos. ‘We were going to come and thank you for the milk and eggs and bread.’

      ‘You’re welcome, lass. It takes a brave soul to land themselves up here for the back end of the year. You’re our first visitor this season. As you can imagine we’ve not exactly been the most popular of venues this summer,’ replied the older woman. Her voice was soft and low, an educated voice with only a hint of a Yorkshire accent.

      ‘Do thank your husband for coming out to rescue us last night,’ answered Kay, and watched the woman’s face burst into a smile out of which came a deep throaty laugh.

      ‘Just wait until I tell Nikolas. I know it’s been a rough year but my son hasn’t aged that much, I hope. It was my son who let you in,’ she replied.

      ‘I’m so sorry!’ Kay muttered. ‘It was dark, I was tired, I wasn’t really looking at him properly. Oh dear!’ The old lady laughed. At the sound of chatter Evie came to the kitchen still in her pyjamas, her fair hair straggling over her face. ‘This is my daughter, Geneva. Say thank you to Mrs Snowden, who gave us our breakfast and a tray of parkin for our tea.’

      ‘What’s parkin?’ Evie looked at the flat brown squares with suspicion.

      The smile on Mrs Snowden’s face faded as she beheld the child.

      ‘I thought it was just your husband and yourself, Mrs Partridge, the two of you?’ she stammered, eyeing the girl with surprise.

      ‘We’ve got our wires crossed, I’m afraid. No, there’s just Evie and me, just the two of us now, come to have some peace and quiet for a while,’ Kay replied, not wanting to go into details.

      ‘So she’ll be off to Wintergill School then? The bus collects them at the end of the lane.’

      ‘We’ve not decided yet … I might teach her at home for a while until we go back to the Midlands. It’s a bit of an experiment, isn’t it, Evie?’ Kay turned to her daughter but she just shrugged her shoulders.

      ‘It’s a good village school, one of the best. Pat Bannerman runs a tight ship. Both mine went there when they were little …’ Then the woman stopped abruptly. ‘I’m not sure this is the right place for a kiddie.’

      ‘I’m sure it will be. She’s no trouble and we need a break from routine so I’m not sure I want to settle her into another school.’ Kay looked up as Evie disappeared back to the television. ‘We do need to gear ourselves up for this weather though. Where’s the best place to go?’

      ‘How old is she?’ asked the woman in a far away voice.

      ‘Nearly eight. She’s tall for her age but quite young in other ways.’ Kay was curious as to why Mrs Snowden wanted to know about Evie.

      ‘She’ll happen find it lonely up on these tops. There aren’t many children left on the farms. They’re all bussed to school. Do watch out for her – farms are not playgrounds. I don’t usually encourage families here. I thought you were a couple or I’d have said. We couldn’t take the responsibility if anything … not that there’s much farm work happening yet,’ said the woman whose eyes were darting to the little girl as she was talking.

      ‘Don’t you worry, Evie is a sensible child, used to dodging traffic. I’ll make sure she knows her country code. And thank you for the cakes. Baking is not something I’ve done for ages,’ she confided. Eunice had kept the pantry full of cakes and pies but her own appetite had still not returned.

      ‘It’s a way of life up here, or was, but now the young ‘uns seem to like shop-bought stuff. You never know what’s in it, do you? I’d better leave you to settle in. Is everything to your satisfaction? Anything else you’d like to know?’ Mrs Snowden made for the door.

      ‘I’d like to know more about your old house. I thought we’d be staying in part of it. I can see it’s got a history,’ Kay replied. There was no use in hiding her interest.

      ‘It’s got so many bits, added on and knocked off, you’ll have to ask my son about all that. It’s his interest. It’s been in my husband’s family since Queen Elizabeth’s day. Ask Nik to give you the tour, if you don’t mind the mess. We live back to back, so to speak. It suits us that way.’ Mrs Snowden smiled and, despite her forthright manner and stern visage, Kay liked the look of the woman. She must have been a beauty in her day with such high cheekbones and fine piercing blue eyes.

      ‘And your husband? Does he still farm?’ Kay asked.

      ‘Lord, no! Not unless he’s ploughing St Peter’s fields. He passed on years ago, before all this bother with the farming industry. He was a Maggie’s man and thought the good times would last for ever.’

      ‘I’m sorry. I can see the fields are empty. It must have been a terrible year up here,’ Kay nodded with sympathy hoping she hadn’t upset the widow.

      ‘Aye, lass, one I never thought I’d see in my lifetime. Tom had a good innings. I was younger than him and times were easier then. You could educate your children off the moor. He worked СКАЧАТЬ