old man leant on a broom a short distance away, bent over with age, looking as if he would fall down if someone were to remove the broom.
Ryan staggered over to him. ‘Is there a porter?’ she enquired politely.
‘Yes,’ he nodded, looking at her over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses, his hair and moustache a light grey colour.
She bit her tongue to stop her sharp retort. ‘Could you tell me where he is, please?’ She kept her voice light.
‘I’m the porter, miss,’ he told her in an important voice, as if daring her to challenge his claim.
She wouldn’t dare! ‘Would you mind carrying my case?’ she persisted brightly.
He looked down at the battered brown case at her feet. ‘It looks on the heavy side.’
‘It is,’ she nodded.
‘I’ve got a bad back, you know,’ he began to shake his head. ‘The doctor told me to lay off heavy lifting.’
Again Ryan bit her tongue, deciding silence would be better than any criticism she would care to make about a porter who couldn’t lift heavy objects. By the look of Sleaton it was a small community, and this man could be related to half the population! Upsetting the village people would be a great start with the Montgomery family.
She gave a resigned shrug and moved to the lady taking the tickets. She looked as if she could be the porter’s wife!
‘You mustn’t mind Jack,’ the woman confided. ‘He retires next month.’
Not before time, by the look of him! And that didn’t exactly help her now. She could see she would have to become used to a slower and less efficient way of life the next few weeks.
Still, as Mark had claimed, Yorkshire was looking very beautiful; the gorse was in full bloom, everywhere a deep rich green after the early April showers. Flowers were in bloom along the neat garden at the side of the station—although Ryan doubted if Jack kept it in that neat state. Too much bending!
She thought of the next three weeks, three weeks of peace and quiet, three weeks of sketching and painting as much as she wanted to. Heaven on earth!
Once she got outside the station she looked around for possible transport to Montgomery Hall. There wasn’t any! She doubted this sleepy little village, with its homes all grey-brick thatched cottages, sported a local taxi. And Mark didn’t seem to have taken into account the fact that she had to get from the station to the house. The idea of a holiday in this remote part of Yorkshire suddenly began to lose its magic, the white-painted cottage that had the look of a picture-postcard beauty seeming perhaps too much of a drastic change from London. Well, it was too late to change her mind now!
She went back to the ticket-collector, who also seemed to double as the ticket-seller!
‘Going straight back, are you, love?’ she quipped. ‘The shortest stay on record,’ she smiled at her own joke. ‘We usually keep our visitors a little longer.’
Ryan smiled back, beginning to feel weary now. ‘I was wondering if there’s a local taxi …?’ She hardly dared voice the question.
The woman frowned. ‘Bert Jenkins from the village used to do a bit of driving, but he’s got a funny leg.’
‘Funny leg …?’ Ryan returned resignedly, beginning to think the whole village had one medical complaint or another.
‘Arthritis, I think,’ the woman nodded.
‘So there’s no taxi?’
‘Not any more.’ The woman shook her head.
Ryan pursed her lips and straightened her shoulders determinedly. ‘In that case, could you direct me to Montgomery Hall?’
The woman’s interest deepened. ‘Friend of the family, are you?’
‘Er—yes.’ She was taken aback at this open questioning, being used to the surliness of London transport workers.
‘Would you be the friend of Mr Mark’s they’re expecting?’
Her eyes widened even more. ‘Er—yes, I would. How did you know?’
The woman laughed. ‘Not much is a secret in Sleaton! Besides, my sister-in-law helps out in the house.’
‘I see,’ Ryan nodded. ‘The directions?’ she prompted.
‘Oh—of course.’ The woman looked disappointed that she didn’t want to stay and chat. ‘Turn right out of the station, it’s about three miles down that road—–’
‘Three miles?’
‘Mm,’ the woman nodded. ‘You can’t miss it. A big old manor house on the right-hand side of the road, set behind high iron gates.’
Ryan thanked the woman and moved off a little way down the road. Three miles! She couldn’t remember the last time she had walked that far—and certainly not with a heavy case and half a dozen canvases.
It looked a very long winding road, with a stone wall either side, the same grey stone the cottages and farmhouses were built from, and she began to see several of the latter as she walked along, the occasional dog barking in the distance, lambs bleating to their mothers in the fields. Ryan had never seen so many sheep in her life, they seemed to be everywhere, and most of the ewes were accompanied by one or two young frisky lambs. Spring was a beautiful time, a time of new beginnings, when all the world seemed fresh and new. Maybe it would be a new beginning for her too?
It was over a month since she and Alan had decided they weren’t suited, and yet she still hadn’t been able to accept the fact that he was gone from her life. Her break-up with him was partly the reason she had been so easy to persuade to come here, although after the first mile or so she was beginning to more than regret the decision. With no obvious public transport and no car of her own, she was going to be very tied to Montgomery Hall for the duration of her stay here.
In that moment she forgot all about how tired she was, and how much her legs ached, as a huge dog suddenly bounded down the road towards her! It looked enormous, a dirty grey and white colour, and Ryan looked around desperately for somewhere to hide. There wasn’t anywhere, and she held her case and canvases protectively in front of her. So much for the pleasure of the countryside; she was going to be attacked by a wild dog now!
But instead of attacking her the dog put its front paws on her thighs, looking up at her expectantly, its tongue hanging out, its stumpy tail wagging in a friendly manner.
‘Why, you’re just a big softie!’ Ryan went down on her haunches beside the dog, roughly patting its neck. He didn’t have a collar on, she ascertained that much. She also realised that his fur was all matted, besides being dirty, as if he hadn’t had a good brush in weeks. In fact he looked neglected altogether. ‘Where’s your owner, boy?’ She looked about them for an angry farmer demanding she leave his dog alone, but all she saw were the inevitable sheep in the neighbouring fields. ‘Are you lost then, hmm?’ she allowed the dog to jump over her excitedly. ‘I think you are,’ she nodded, standing up to brush down her denims, the dog’s dirty paws having put dusty marks all over them. ‘Maybe we’ll find him on the way,’ she reassured the bright-eyed animal as he gazed up at her adoringly. ‘You walk along with me. I could do with the company anyway,’ she added ruefully.
The dog needed no second bidding, but trotted along happily at her heels. Just having him along with her lightened her own mood, the sun suddenly seemed brighter, the birds sang happily in the trees.
She glanced down at the dog occasionally, realising that underneath all that dust he was probably an Old English Sheepdog. It seemed a shame that someone had let him get into this state. A good wash and brush-up and he would be a beautiful dog. And he had a lovely friendly nature, occasionally running off to chase an unsuspecting butterfly, coming back to her side quite happily once the creature flew out of his reach.
He