The path from the village to the Foss was well trodden by village children. It was a secret cavern, a hideaway, where the beck cascaded over silver stone shelves, falling headlong into a deep pool overhung with trees and bracken, a hiding place for salmon and trout, and the slabs were cool to bare feet. There was always lots of splashing and fooling about, but the water was cold and shallow in parts and fathoms deep in others. You had to know where to jump in. It was supposed to be haunted by a highwayman who fell to his death when chased by the squire’s men in the good old days.
Half an hour later, Selma was trudging behind her brothers. They could hear squeals of laughter ahead echoing across the rocks. There would be the usual gang of village lads all vying for a good jumping-off point, with silly girls giggling, eyeing them up. Selma shivered by the cool shade of the trees. She thought all that romancing was embarrassing. She never knew where to look when the boys took off their shorts.
Now there were strangers in their pool, picnicking across the bank, boys she’d never seen before, dressed in proper one-piece swimming costumes, with a basket of food on a rug. They stared across at the intruders, nodded but said nothing.
‘It must be them twinnies of Cantrells’, alike as two peas,’ whispered Newt with a respectful nod in their direction.
Selma eyed them up with interest. They were tall and gangly, about fifteen or so, fair-haired and slender as willows, not rugged and leathered like her brothers. She’d never seen a proper bathing suit before on a lad.
Newt and Frank stripped off their workday shirts and breeches to splash in the water. None of the Bartleys was a strong swimmer but they were good at diving underwater, turning circles and coming up somewhere far away from where they’d gone in. Selma dipped her toes in the water and screamed.
Not to be outdone, the two boys on the far bank started shouting. ‘Fancy a diving match?’ one of them turned and yelled. ‘Come on, let’s show these bumpkins how to dive!’
The other brother hung back, watching as first Newt and then Frank, intent on their own fun, ignored the jibe by jumping off the ledge midway. Selma edged herself into the water, embarrassed to take her clothes off now there was an audience. Better to paddle and not show off Monday’s washing to strangers.
One of the boys swam across the beck and climbed up onto the slate ledge jutting out above where Newt had jumped in. Selma gawped up as the boy postured on the edge and made a perfect dive into the pool. He rose to the surface grinning, and that was the first time she clapped eyes on Guy Cantrell. The other twin was already clambering up even higher to the topmost shelf that none of them had dared use before.
Frank shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t go that high, chum. It’s not safe.’
‘I’m not your chum,’ the boy pouted.
‘Don’t be a fool, Angus. Do what the young man says,’ yelled his brother.
‘Come on, Newt, can’t let them toffs show us up!’ Frank shouted in defiance.
‘I never took you for a coward, Guy!’ yelled his brother from his rocky perch.
It was then that Selma knew that something awful was about to happen and she couldn’t stop it. ‘Don’t jump, please, Frank, on our mam’s life. Showing off’s not worth it!’ Selma screamed. Frank hovered, shocked at her outburst, and backed off just as Angus Cantrell took a flying leap from the highest ledge, plunging down into the dark abyss, down and down and not bobbing up again.
Everyone was in the water, sensing something was wrong. Guy was splashing about, unsure of his bearings now. Selma pulled off her skirts and dived deep, opening her eyes to get her bearings. Newt was already down there, coming up for air, gasping before diving down again. It was Frank who spotted the boy curled up on the rock floor. Selma and Newt dived in to grab him but he was wedged.
‘Over here!’ she screamed to Guy, who dived with them to rescue his brother, pulling and tugging to set the boy free.
They dragged him to the surface. There was a gash on the side of his head. He was not breathing. Guy took over, turning him on his stomach, lifting his arms to raise his chest. ‘Come on, Angus! Someone go and get help! Give me a hand,’ he ordered Selma, while Frank ran off as bid. It felt like hours before the boy coughed and spluttered but then promptly fell back into unconsciousness.
‘He’s alive!’ said the boy with the ink-blue eyes glinting with fear and relief as he looked up at the Bartleys with gratitude.
Selma swam across the beck and waded back with the picnic rug over her head to cover Angus’s cold body.
‘What a daft thing to do!’ Newt said.
Selma wanted to kick him. ‘Shut yer gob! Let’s get some warmth into his limbs. He’s so cold. Pile all our clothes on him.’ She felt so helpless. They must keep him warm and dry while they waited. That was what you did with a sick horse.
It was an age before the servants from the House arrived with a flurry of blankets and Angus was passed from arm to arm until he could be placed on a dog cart. Still he made no movement.
‘Hell’s bells! Mother will kill us for this,’ sighed Guy, who looked close to tears.
Selma resisted the urge to reach her arm out to him. ‘Praise God, he’s alive and that’s all that matters,’ she whispered.
‘Thanks to you and your brothers. My mother will be so grateful. What a frightful thing to happen—and I don’t even know your names,’ he said, reaching out to shake their hands. His fingers were like ice, his lips trembling with shock and chill.
‘We’re Bartleys from the forge, my two brothers, Newton and Frankland, and I’m Selima but everyone calls me Selma for short. Sorry we were trespassing on your land.’
‘Thank God you were. From now on feel free to enjoy this cursed place. I don’t think I’ll ever dare come here again. We’ll be gated by Mother when she hears about this. What unusual names you have…I’m Guy Cantrell, by the way, and you must call me Guy. How can we ever thank you?’
‘It was nothing,’ Frank blushed.
‘Make sure your dad has his horses shoed at our place,’ quipped Newt, the elder, apprenticed as a farrier, heir to Asa Bartley’s smiddy and always one for the last word. Selma turned pink, embarrassed, and nudged him hard.
‘Of course…Better go now. Mother will be back soon and Father will be furious. She will want to thank you in person, I’m sure,’ Guy repeated, pausing to smile at Selma.
She stared back as if a magnet were pulling them together until they both dropped their eyes. One look into those deep blue pools and thirteen-year-old Selma felt to have grown three years in three hours. She had come to play at the Foss as a child; why did she now feel she was leaving here closer to a woman? Suddenly she felt naked, her chestnut hair dripping wet, hanging in rat-tails, shivering in her darned underwear, shabby, uncouth, ashamed to be just a blacksmith’s daughter. One look from Master Cantrell and she didn’t know who she was any more.
Hester Cantrell saw the doctor’s new motor car parked in the drive, blocking her carriage from the front portico. Annoyance quickly changed to panic. What was he doing here? Not waiting for the step to be let down from the carriage, she stumbled out, rushing up the steps of Waterloo House with an energy that belied her fifty-three years.‘What the blazes is going on, Arkie?’ she said, storming past the parlour maid, and looking to Mrs Arkholme, the housekeeper, standing at the foot of the stairs, wringing her hands.
‘I’m sorry, Lady Hester, but it’s Master Angus. He’s had an accident in the Foss…I took the liberty of calling Dr Mac. He’s with him now.’
‘Why wasn’t I