Page 41 of The Affairs of Ashmore Castle (Ashmore Castle #2)
The sky was completely grey now, and a slight wind had got up, but gave no relief from the heat, or from the tiny black flies that stuck to the sweat on every exposed patch of skin and flew maddeningly into his mouth.
Thunder flies, the local people called them.
There was that oppressive feeling to the air that said not just rain was coming, but a proper storm.
Now everyone worked in intense silence, frantic to get the last of the harvest in.
Giles’s hands were sore, but he ignored the coming blisters in the common purpose.
Now men hurried to a new row as soon as one was finished; no one rested in the shade.
Not that there was shade any more. With the sun hidden, everything was the same depthless grey.
A false twilight crept up as the clouds darkened.
The breeze grew stronger, but fitful; there was a metallic taste on the air.
Only one row left. The men ran to it, started forking madly.
Every cart, every man was on the last row.
Giles saw Alice, driving a different cart now, drawn by a square-jawed black.
Hay flew at him non-stop from two forkers, barely giving him time to level it.
The sky was plum-coloured; some of the horses were growing nervous; the cart he was on jerked back and forth as the horse tried to start and was checked.
Cart full. He jumped down, landed badly and stumbled, was caught by a large hand as hard as horn and set back on his feet without a word.
He ran down the line to another cart. Every man, having cleared a section, ran to the next.
The air was prickling with electricity. The sky was so dark it was hard to see.
Nearly done – nearly done! A sharp little wind whipped cold past his sweaty cheeks, sending loose strands of hay whirling. A horse flung its head up and whinnied.
‘Here it comes!’ someone shouted.
But it was lightning first, a great searing blue gash of it that cracked like a whip, lighting the scene for a second, leaving a smell of ozone behind.
And then a huge boom of thunder, ridiculously overdone, as though the god’s hand had slipped.
One-grandfather-two-grandfather, he had counted.
Two miles off. Carts were dashing for the farmyard, drivers urging the horses into a clumsy trot.
Last little bit. There was no place or pitchfork for him, but he couldn’t leave.
Four men forking like devils, one man on the top, the driver holding the horse back with difficulty, ready to race.
And the last bit was up, the cart was on the move, the forkers jumped and caught hold of the sides, and the one on the tail grabbed Giles’s arm and shouted, ‘Come on!’ He made a stupid, tired, clumsy leap, got his sore hands over the edge of the tail gate, scrabbled for a foothold, was yanked into place by an arm more muscled than his would ever be, and was carried away.
And the rain came: large round drops like pennies, warm, falling separate onto the shorn field, making dark circles in the dust on the cart’s rim.
The horse was cantering, ears back, as if demons were pulling its tail, and it was all Giles could do to hold on as the wheels hit uneven places and the cart leaped into the air like a startled cat.
When they reached the farmyard, he almost fell off, watched it go on towards the big barn.
There was nothing for him to do there. Every man who had a fork was waiting to get it in.
The rain increased, not the big warm drops now, but the cold hard ones, and even as he watched the last cart being emptied, there was another crack of lighting, and the heavens opened.
Rain streamed into his eyes, and he stood stupidly, trying to wipe it away, like trying to divert a waterfall with a teaspoon.
Suddenly Alice was beside him, grinning at him through the sheeting rain.
‘Glorious, isn’t it?’ she shouted. She was soaking wet, tendrils of hair glued to her cheeks, conducting the rain to her chin and thence to her chest. Seeing the state of her jerked him out of his stupor.
He grabbed her arm and ran for the stables where he had left Vipsania.
Everyone was seeking shelter. Someone was unharnessing the last horse from the last cart and leading it away. The cart was empty. The hay was in.
In the shelter of the stable doorway, Alice turned. ‘We did it!’ she cried, elated.
‘That last lot might be a bit damp, but they’ll save most of it,’ he said.
She looked at him, shaking her head at his prosaic response. ‘Giles, we did it!’ she repeated. ‘It was a heroic battle, and we won !’ She smiled hugely, and he found himself grinning back at her.
‘What a day,’ he said. ‘I’ve never been so tired.’
‘Worse than a day’s hunting,’ she agreed.
‘I shan’t be able to move tomorrow. You’re soaked through,’ he said, touching her cheek. It was icy cold. ‘We need to get you home and into a hot bath.’
She made an economical gesture out of the door, beyond which nothing could be seen but the rain, a flickering impenetrable sheet, with little silvery spurts and coronets where the drops hit the ground like bullets. ‘We can’t take the horses out in that,’ she said.
A hunch of wet clothes, a dripping hat, and a screwed-up face in between poked itself into the doorway for as long as it took to shout, ‘Beer and hot taties at the house!’ and disappear.
Alice and Giles looked at each other. ‘Hot potatoes,’ Alice said. ‘I’m starving!’
‘Let’s go,’ he said.
The storm strode and bellowed about the tops, lightning cracked, and the rain pounded, rushed, rivered.
Mrs Webster and Rose were busy calming the maids who were afraid of thunder and lightning, those who had been set off by the ones who were afraid, and those who just relished an excuse to have a good fit of hysterics.
Kitty was in the nursery, calming Nanny and Jessie, and keeping an eye on her boy, who slept unmoved through thunderclaps that made the women shriek.
Moss and Sebastian mustered the men of the house to fasten shutters, place buckets under leaks, and stop up ill-fitting windows and cracks under doors.
The stable staff were fully engaged in calming the unsettled horses and diverting the streams of water coming down the hill away from the stalls.
Nobody had time to wonder where Giles and Alice were, although Giddins, the head man, did wonder anxiously what had become of Vipsania and Biscuit, and to hope that they had been put safely under shelter before this lot started.
The storm rolled away over the hills; the thunder died, muttering intermittently like someone who, with the argument long over, returns to say, ‘And another thing . . . !’ And then it was gone too far to hear.
The intensity of the rain eased: it ceased to pound and merely drummed, then gradually stuttered to a stop, leaving an eerie silence behind it, punctuated by the sound of drips and of gurgling in gutters.
A greenish gleam of light appeared to the south-west, and widened; the clouds thinned and the darkness became twilight, and then a watery evening revealed itself.
And just at the point when everyone would finally have had the leisure to wonder where the missing were, they returned, Giles driving the pony-trap with Alice beside him and Vipsania tied behind.
Giddins was so glad to see his two horses dry and sound, and exhibiting an entirely normal desire for their evening feed, he barely noticed that the two humans were distinctly damp.
Moss, with Mrs Webster hovering behind, met them in the hall, and said, ‘I took the liberty of putting dinner back, my lord.’
‘Good,’ said Giles. ‘I could eat a horse. But Lady Alice needs a hot bath before that.’
‘Hot water for both of you, my lord,’ said Mrs Webster. ‘I’ll see it’s brought up immediately.’
And by the time Giles and Alice reached their rooms, Hook and Daisy, flying up the backstairs, were there to greet them and help them out of their wet clothes.
No one, of course, asked them where they had been or why they had got wet.
Such explanations waited for the family, at dinner, where talk was so lively, Kitty had no need of her stored question, and no opportunity to ask it.
The woodsman’s wagon, drawn by Della, trundled into the stableyard, and Giddins, who happened to be crossing it, walked over, laid a hand on Della’s rump, and squinted up at Axe Brandom enquiringly.
‘Load o’ fence posts,’ Axe said. ‘Where d’you want ’em?’
‘Round the backyard, o’course,’ Giddins said. ‘You don’t suppose we wants ’em in the stables?’
Axe was unembarrassed. ‘Just askin’.’ He seemed in no hurry to redirect his load. ‘That was a storm and a half t’other day. I heard a big beech over to Ashmore Court got struck and come down on the stable roof. You had any damage?’
‘No damage,’ Giddins said. ‘Horses was a bit spooked, but that’s to be expected.’
Axe nodded. ‘And Lady Alice – she all right?’ he asked casually.
Not casually enough. Giddins frowned. ‘What’ve you got to do with Lady Alice?’
‘I see her at the haysel up at High Ashmore. Heard she got soaked in the rain. Hope she didn’t catch a cold, that’s all.’
‘She’s lively as a cricket, far as I know. But it’s not for you to go asking, Axe Brandom, just because your brother’s her ladyship’s groom. You don’t go bandying our young lady’s name about.’
Axe shrugged. ‘Civil enquiry, that’s all. Don’t go bustin’ your braces.’ He clucked to Della and started to back her round.