The Drowned Village. Kathleen McGurl

him to stay in touch.

      ‘Jed Walker, isn’t it? I am sorry for your loss.’

      He spun around to see who was speaking. She was a well-dressed woman of perhaps forty, wearing a tailored black coat and a neat hat, and carrying a shiny black handbag.

      ‘Aye, I’m Jed Walker,’ he answered.

      She held out a black-gloved hand. ‘Alexandria Pendleton. Your wife used to be my housemaid, before she married. I live up at the manor.’

      Of course, he recognised her now. She was from the ‘big house’ as the village folk liked to call it. In days gone by, before the Great War, the Pendletons had owned most of the land around here. But now there was just the manor house and one farm. The current squire of the manor worked in government and spent most of the week in London, travelling up and down the country each week by rail. Jed shook her hand, ashamed of his rough workman’s hands against her soft leather. ‘Pleased to meet you, ma’am.’

      ‘Edie was a good worker. We missed her when she left us to get married. So tragic that she has died so young. Oh, is this your daughter?’

      Stella had sidled up to Jed and once again slipped her hand into his.

      ‘Aye, this is my eldest. Stella, say hello to the lady.’

      Stella bent her knees in an approximation of a curtsey, then stepped back so she was partly behind Jed. She was hiding her tear-stained face, he realised.

      ‘Sorry about the lass. It’s been a hard time for her, and we had a long walk over the fells from Brackendale.’

      ‘Surely you’re not going to make her walk back as well?’ Mrs Pendleton looked shocked. ‘Wait there a moment.’ She trotted off across the churchyard in her high-heeled shoes, and caught the arm of a man in a chauffeur’s cap and jacket. Jed watched as she spoke to him; he nodded, and then she returned to Jed and Stella.

      ‘You shall ride back to Brackendale in my motorcar. Thomas will take me home first for I have much to do, and then he will return here to take you and the child home.’ She nodded curtly, a woman who was clearly used to being obeyed.

      ‘Thank you. That is very kind,’ Jed replied.

      ‘It is nothing. You can wait by the lych-gate.’ Mrs Pendleton took her leave, and walked over to the front of the church where her Bentley was waiting.

      ‘Come on, lass. We’ll wait where she said, and then we’ll get a ride in a big, powerful motorcar.’ Jed took Stella’s hand and began to walk over to the lych-gate. But before they had got very far, Maggie approached.

      ‘What was all that about? Hobnobbing with the gentry now, are you?’ She gave him a quirky smile as if to show she was teasing. Jed felt irritated. Why couldn’t the woman see that today, the day he buried his wife, was no time to be fending off flirtatious neighbours?

      ‘Stella’s tired. Mrs Pendleton has offered her motorcar to take us home.’

      ‘Ooh, exciting! Is there space for me, do you think?’

      Jed shook his head. ‘She offered the ride to me and Stella. I wouldn’t dare take anyone else. The word’ll get back to her and she’ll think I was taking advantage. Sorry, Maggie.’

      ‘Hmph. I suppose I’ll have to walk, then.’ Maggie turned on her heel and marched away, leaving Jed breathing a sigh of relief. They had history, he and Maggie. Way back when they were young, just in their twenties, he’d stepped out with her once or twice. There’d been a couple of bus rides into Penrith, and visits to the cinema. A dance or two, and a Christmas kiss under the mistletoe in the Lost Sheep. But then he’d met Edie and had fallen head over heels in love with her – her easy laugh, her endless optimism and kindness, her soft grey eyes and capable hands. He’d had to let Maggie down gently, and although she’d come to his and Edie’s wedding and congratulated them, she’d never married herself, and he’d always suspected she had never quite got over losing him. Well, it couldn’t be helped. A man couldn’t influence who he fell in love with, could he? And he would never regret a second of the time he’d spent with Edie.

      He sat beside Stella, inside the lych-gate, and took her hand. ‘We’ll be all right, lass. You, me and little Jessie. We’ve still got each other, and your ma’ll be watching over us from up above, like that skylark you saw.’

      She turned to him and offered up a sad smile. His heart melted. She was the spit of Edie, and like her in temperament too. Jessie, in contrast, was shaping up to be more like him – impetuous, contrary, and a bit of a handful at two years old. But Stella was a darling, a good girl, a real asset. Just as well. She’d had to grow up quickly when her mother became ill, and now she’d have even more responsibilities if they were to stay together as a family, the three of them. He sighed. The future would be tough, and he had no idea how they would manage. His only consolation was that his love for his daughters was surely powerful enough to pull them through.

      A crunch of gravel made him look up. The Bentley was back. The chauffeur remained sitting in the driving seat, gesturing to Jed to open the back door. He’d have got out and opened it for Mrs Pendleton, Jed thought wryly, but he was grateful enough that Stella was not having to walk. He tugged open the door, and Stella climbed in first, then he followed. Inside, the car smelt of leather and polish. If it hadn’t been the day of Edie’s funeral Jed felt he’d have enjoyed the experience. It wasn’t every day you had a ride in an expensive motorcar like this one. Usually his transport would be the bus to Penrith or a ride in a trailer towed by one of his neighbours’ tractors.

      The road route back to Brackendale took them to the bottom end of the Glydesdale valley, following the stream, before turning northwards in the direction of Penrith. A little further along there was a left turn, heading westwards into the Brackendale valley. This was the new road, built by the waterworks to allow easy access for the construction traffic. It was smoothly surfaced and wide enough for two tipper trucks to pass each other. A far cry, Jed thought, from the rutted old track, more potholes than tarmac, that they’d had to use before. The new road continued past the dam worksite and as far as Brackendale Green, along the side of the valley. It marked, Jed supposed, where the new waterline was expected to be, once the valley was flooded.

      ‘Pa, look,’ Stella said, tugging his arm and pointing out of the window. The site of the dam had come into view as they’d rounded a corner. It had been a few months since he’d last come this way, and it was clear much progress had been made. Whereas before there’d been just a scar across the valley where the land had been cleared and dug out to house the huge foundations for the dam, now there were massive concrete structures rising up. Fifty feet wide at the base, and tapering towards the top. The highest sections were over fifty feet high but Jed had heard the dam would be up to a hundred feet above the level of the Bere beck that flowed through the valley.

      ‘It’s coming on,’ he said to Stella.

      ‘What will happen when the dam goes all the way across?’ she asked, turning to him with her wide, sad eyes. So like Edie’s, he thought, with a stab of pain at her loss.

      ‘Then the water will rise up on the upper side, and the little lake we already have will grow very much bigger, lass. And they’ll control how much water flows through into the pipes that will lead all the way to Manchester.’

      ‘What about our village? Will the water reach there?’

      ‘It will eventually, lass.’

      ‘What will we do?’

      Was this really the best time for such a conversation? On the very day they’d buried her poor mother? Jed sighed. She had to know, sooner or later. ‘We’ll have to go and live somewhere else. Everyone will.’

      ‘Where?’

      ‘That I don’t know, lass. I really don’t know.’

Chapter 3