Grant’s hand patted the roan’s neck, “Nothing quite compares with the feel of a horse under you. I’ve often thought I’d like a holiday like that. Take a pack-horse behind ... go up through the centre of the country to Molesworth, the real outbreak. Take the old trails, pitch a tent at night, light a camp-fire. Get right in behind the ranges. Never yet have I found a companion who’d like to do it with me.”
Sarah drew her breath in. “Sounds idyllic ... belonging to other days. I suppose there’s enough of the gipsy in me to yearn for simplicity, for slower means of travel.”
“It would appeal to you, Sarah?”
“Yes. Once Father and I spent a week in Orkney, going from village to village in a gig. I was twelve; It was wonderful.” She bent to fiddle with her stirrup. The thought of Grant setting out on horseback for the hinterland made her realize just how kindred they might have been had they met in other circumstances. Well, she would never set out with Grant, threading through the lonely mountain passes, camping under the stars. She found an odd comfort in the fact that neither would Elaine. Suddenly Sarah knew she dared not prolong this early morning hour.
“Race you back, Grant.” She dug her heels into the chestnut mare.
Sarah had told the matron of the hospital that she would be leaving, and asked her to say nothing till she was gone, simply telling her that the partnership had not worked.
Came Wednesday ... Sarah went out to wave goodbye to Mrs. Mac and Grant, surprising the housekeeper by kissing her goodbye.
She stood at the cattle-stops and watched them disappear around the first bend, heard them dip into the ford, watched them crest the hill beyond. Grant was gone. Sarah returned to the cottage to finish the joyless task of packing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
All day the thought that accompanied her, weighing down her heart was that in all probability she would never see Grant again. Perhaps he would shrug his shoulders, feel that it wrote finish to an episode he had never welcomed, and be glad that he could bring Elaine back to the homestead free of all personal dislikes.
She had no compunction about taking the little Austin. That had been Grant’s Christmas present to her, and she felt that Challowsford owed her at least that much. It would make life in the city, much easier for her. And for the flitting it was a godsend. She would have hated to engage a local carrier and cause talk.
It was just as well she had to hustle. If you were busy enough, you didn’t reach breaking-point. Sarah only stopped for a brief snack at lunch-time. She would give the children a picnic tea when they were some miles on their way, and she would do most of her explaining as she drove. That was the part her mind shied most from.
Towards four o’clock Sarah changed out of her working slacks, stuffed them into the already overloaded boot of the car and got into her tweed travelling suit, the one she had come to Challowsford in.
She kept looking out of the window for the cloud of dust that always betokened the arrival of the school bus at the boundary paddock where the children picked up their ponies. At last she saw it and knew she’d not have long to wait. She wanted to get it done now.
Perhaps it was just because she was so on edge that they seemed to be taking longer than usual. Ah ... she could hear the horses now ... but ... that sounded like just one horse, not two, and that one was being ridden hard! The children always stopped at the ford to let the ponies drink their fill ... this one didn’t, this pony was being raced through.
Sarah knew panic.—Now what? Had one of the children been thrown? Oh, not now, God, not now ... The pony came into sight, hooves flying, Rory on its back. Sarah’s heart lurched against her side. What had happened to Pauline?
Rory jerked to a standstill, leaped off.
Sarah rushed out. “Rory! Where’s Pauline?”
“Oh, Paul’s all right, she’s just gone over to play at Sally’s—went on with the bus driver. She’ll pick up Russetty later ... but I came through the paddock by the old quarry, and little Garry Winslow’s there, stuck halfway up the cliff. He’d fallen over. Luckily he fell on to a ledge. I told him to stop crying, I’d get help. But you’ll have to hurry, Sarah, he’s awfully scared.”
In a moment all her own problems were forgotten. Garry was an adorable, adventurous four-year-old. Her blood ran cold.
“Is he hurt, do you think? How far up is the ledge? I’ll go to him. Just to have someone beside him will help. If I can get to him—but I must. You start phoning, Rory, in case we can’t manage alone. We’ll need some men, ropes, stakes, and something to drive the stakes in with. And the ropes must be good ones. Ring Winslows’, Grangers’ Angus’. Tell them they’re not to panic, or to startle the child.”
Sarah rushed at the boot of the car, dragged out her slacks, zipped off her skirt, and donned them.
A hasty rummage brought sandshoes to light. Rory was at the phone, she could hear him ... she’d noticed he had cast one puzzled glance at the car as he’d gone inside, but he was well disciplined and would ask his questions later.
Sarah seized Darky’s reins, swung herself into the saddle and was off. She felt sick as she came to Quarry Hill. The child had been lucky. He had landed on a grassy ledge, but the crags above him overhung; no one would be able to rescue him from there, climbing. If he was rescued from the top, it must be with ropes. That meant someone had to go up to him to secure the ropes. The ledge might be wide enough to take two people. It was doubtful if it was firm enough.
But whatever the hazards, that little lad needed company. If he looked over ... became dizzy ... It didn’t bear thinking of!
Sarah called quietly, though she knew the boy had seen her: “Hullo, Garry. I’m coming up. Just sit quite still and I’ll be up soon.”
As she was speaking, her tone Casual, she was studying the face of the cliff closely. Best to decide now the safest way up. No good climbing so far and finding no foothold.
There were one or two tricky bits, but they weren’t as bad as the hazards her father had attempted all those years ago, though Sarah, looking at the jagged rocks at the foot of Quarry Hill, thought she’d rather there was sea beneath her. She disciplined her mind. Don’t think too much, Sarah; don’t look down, just climb and keep climbing. Pity the cliff face was so loose and shingly, though.
At Challowsford, Grant Alexander’s car swept over the cattle-stops, and instead of finishing up at the homestead, raced on to pull up at the cottage. He supposed he should have stopped at Amberley and picked Mrs. Mac up, since he was a day early, but he preferred to see Sarah alone anyway. He had things to say.
He halted in amazement, Sarah’s name checked on his lips as he saw the car piled up to the roof with luggage, the boot left open, Sarah’s good tweed skirt lying on the grass. What the devil?
“Sarah?” he shouted, “Sarah?” No answer. The back door was open and he went in. There were flasks on the table, cups, polythene bags of sandwiches ... his eye fell on a letter propped against the empty vase in the room denuded of all other ornaments.
He discovered there were two letters, one to Mrs. Mac, one to him. He tore his open.
Dear Grant,
By the time you get this I shall be gone. I just can’t take it any longer. I’ve tried to put up with it for the children’s sakes, hoping that some day you might put yourself in my place and realize what a dilemma (as far as the children were concerned) I was in. It wasn’t easy for me to take your bounty. I’ve always been most independent. However, I put up with that. Subdued my pride. But when I heard you say to Elaine that I wasn’t truthful, I could bear no more. Till then, I had come to think that you were beginning to trust me.
I’ll see the solicitors, and sign over everything. I’ll cancel Rory’s application for St. Andrew’s. Please don’t try to find me. My mind is made up and I relinquish all claims to the estate. I’ve taken a position, far away, that will enable me to be with the children, and I have leased a flat.
I am just telling you that because you might be concerned about the children. I must thank you for the considerate way you have treated them. While you have always distrusted and despised me, you have always been kind to them.
They will miss you, I know, and I hate doing this to them, but there are limits to what I can bear, even for their sakes.
Sarah Isbister.
Grant read it to the bitter end, stood very still ... But she hadn’t gone, the car was still here. She would have been gone had he returned as planned, tomorrow. If it hadn’t been that Elaine had phoned him just before he left this morning that she was already in Christchurch, he would have come home to find Sarah gone.
At that moment he heard a movement outside rushed out and saw Rory, with a great iron spike in his hands, and a coil of rope and some chains, staggering towards the jeep.
Grant ran. “Rory! What’s all this? What’s happened?”
He got no further. Rory’s face was white under the freckles.
“Sarah’s gone to rescue Garry Winslow. He’s fallen over Quarry Hill. He’s stuck on a ledge. I’ve rung the Winslows’, and the Grangers’, and Angus’.”
Rory wasn’t wasting any time, he was thrusting the things into the jeep as he spoke.