had promised she would when Audra had been wavering in Madame Stella’s. And Audra had reminded herself yet again how lucky she was to have Gwen for her friend.
At the end of their day’s excursion, on the way to the bus stop, they had passed the Arcadian Rooms, where tea dances were held every afternoon in the Palm Court. Everyone knew that this was the place to go, the smart spot in town where the local swells foxtrotted and tangoed to the strains of Stan Stanton and His Syncopated Strollers.
Both young women had been itching to visit the Palm Court for weeks, and Gwen, who had learned the Charleston from her brother, had been teaching it to Audra in their off-duty hours. Audra had been astonished and thrilled when Gwen had announced she was taking them to a tea dance at the Palm Court on her birthday. ‘It’ll be my treat, my birthday present,’ Gwen had said, beaming at her. ‘And you’ll wear your new dress and everyone will admire you in it.’ The two of them had been bursting with excitement and anticipation as they had ridden on the bus back to Ripon, and they had been counting the days ever since.
But there would be no trip to Harrogate after all. No tea dance at the Palm Court of the Arcadian Rooms. No one to admire her or the new dress. Audra sighed. Earlier she had planned to wear it just for her own pleasure, although she had not been quite sure where she would go in it all by herself. But now she changed her mind.
Audra was nothing if not practical, and it struck her that it would be foolish to risk ruining it, or getting it crumpled and soiled. Far wiser to save the frock for another special occasion, she reasoned. And there’s bound to be one in the future, now that I have a friend like Gwen. Perhaps we’ll go to the church Garden Fête in August, and then there’s Gwen’s birthday in September. We must celebrate that. Yes, something’s bound to come up, she reassured herself, her natural optimism surfacing as it invariably did.
Audra was blessed with a sunny disposition and a cheerful personality, and it was these traits, coupled with her strong will and intelligence, which had saved her in the past. They helped her to cope with her problems in the most positive way. She never let her troubles burden her for very long, sought always to solve them with expediency. And if this was not feasible, she tried not to dwell on them unnecessarily.
Now she roused herself, took the blue frock off the bed and returned it to the wardrobe in the corner of the room.
After she had slipped out of her blue-and-white-striped nurse’s uniform and put it away, she peered at the other garments hanging there, wondering what to wear for her walk in the country.
Although she did not have an extensive wardrobe, the clothes she did own were of good quality, and because she was fastidious they were never anything but immaculate. For economic reasons, Audra made all of her summer clothes herself, and these were mostly light-weight dresses in the darker spectrum of colours; to her practical turn of mind these were guaranteed to wear better than the paler shades. Finally her hand came to rest on a navy cotton dress with a dropped waistline and a sailor collar trimmed with white. She pulled it out, found her black leather walking shoes with flat heels, and began to dress.
Suddenly Audra thought of Gwen. How self-centred I’m being, she chastised herself. Here am I, concerned about my birthday, when Gwen has a sick mother to nurse. Audra wished she could go to Horsforth today, to help Gwen, but it was much too far to travel with only an afternoon free. Poor Gwen must be run off her feet, not to mention dreadfully worried, she thought. Then her face brightened as she adjusted the collar of her dress, pivoted to look at herself in the small mirror standing on the chest of drawers. Gwen’s father was a doctor, and her brother Charlie was a medical student at Leeds University. Mrs Thornton was in good hands. She would soon be well again, and Gwen would be returning to the hospital in no time at all.
As she left her room and hurried down the corridor, it struck Audra how truly attached she had become to her friend. Ever since Gwen had come to work at the hospital a year ago, her life had changed for the better and it was much more bearable now. Until then none of the other nurses had ever attempted to be friends with her. Audra knew that this was mainly because of her background, her manners and her cultured way of speaking.
The other nurses thought she was a snob, that she was stuck up and unapproachable. But this was not true at all. It was her shyness that held her somewhat apart, prevented her from making the first gesture.
As if she had instinctively understood this, happy, laughing, gregarious Gwen had paid not the slightest attention to her reserve. Having singled Audra out as the one girl she wanted as her friend, she had persisted, and had broken down the protective walls Audra had built around herself. Within the first week of knowing each other they had become inseparable.
I don’t know what I’d do without Gwen, Audra thought, banging the front door of the hospital behind her. She’s the only person I have in the world.
She had not intended to go to High Cleugh.
But before she realized it she was almost there.
When she had set out from the hospital, Audra had had no particular destination in mind. She had taken the road that led to Sharow and Copt Hewick, both small villages on the outskirts of Ripon.
There was no special reason for her to go there, other than that they were pleasant little spots; also, the route was picturesque, the surrounding landscape pastoral and unusually pretty at this time of year.
Arriving at Copt Hewick, Audra wandered slowly up the cobbled main street, thinking how well-kept everything looked on this hot June afternoon. The dainty gardens in front of the neat cottages were bright with lupins and poppies and delphiniums; lace curtains glowed whitely behind sparkling windows; every doorstep was newly scrubbed, each step outlined with yellow scouring stone.
Glancing up ahead at the Blackamoor Inn, Audra noticed that it, too, was spruced up. Its white walls and black shutters had been treated to fresh coats of paint, and even the sign swinging over the front door appeared to have been artistically embellished with a few colourful daubs from somebody’s paintbox.
Audra hesitated at the Blackamoor Inn, which was the junction of several roads, wondering whether to take the main thoroughfare to Boroughbridge or the secondary side road that led to Newby Hall and Skelton. She chose the latter, although she did not follow the road to its end. Instead she veered off to her right when she was halfway down, favouring a narrow lane flanked on either side by dry stone walls.
After only a few steps along the lane she stopped dead in her tracks, immediately understanding exactly where her feet were leading her. She half turned, wanting to go back the way she had come. She discovered she could not.
High Cleugh drew her towards it like a powerful magnet.
With every step she took Audra Kenton told herself she was making a mistake, exposing herself to heartache, especially today of all days, yet still she continued to walk, almost against her own volition.
By the time she came to the bottom of the long, twisting lane she no longer cared whether she was being foolish or not. She was conscious only of her yearning to see the one place she loved above all others on this earth. She had stayed away far too long.
She climbed over the stile set in the wall, jumped down into the long pasture and ran through the tall grass. It rippled and swayed like an undulating sea of green under the light breeze which had blown up. Unexpectedly, a couple of cows lazily lumbered across her path, and she dodged around them, plunging ahead, her young face
