‘I’ll not be long – it will soon be dusk. It’s best that I check them now and then. If any of them are struggling, they’ll have the warmth of the kitchen overnight. You can get yourself home, if you wish. I’m sure your mother will be glad to see you, and I can get my own supper.’ Adam pulled on his coat and put on his cap, then watched as Lucy sat back down in her chair and returned to her darning.
‘No, sir, I’ll wait until you return. I’m in no rush for home. Everybody will be crammed into the house on an evening like this, and I enjoy the peace of this kitchen and don’t mind waiting to serve you supper.’ Lucy looked up at him; she was content at Black Moss’s fireside, looking across at the man that she had feelings for.
‘Very well, I shouldn’t be more than an hour. I just want to check all is well. I won’t be long.’
Adam strode out of the kitchen and went round the back of the farmhouse to the stables. There he saddled up Rosa and led her to the mounting block, then rode her up the moorside, with his collar turned up to keep the rain from trickling down his neck. The moor was clouded in mist, and his sheep were hardly visible until he was nearly on top of them. Lucy was right; most of the sensible mothers were sheltering behind the drystone walls, protecting their offspring by sitting close to them and the wall. But some more foolhardy ones were still grazing on the wild moorland grasses, and their lambs looked a little dejected, although all of them seemed to be bearing up to the weather conditions.
Adam eased himself out of the saddle and walked across to where a set of twin lambs were curled up close together in the rushes for warmth, with their mother grazing a few yards away from them. The sheep bleated a warning to her offspring and, although cold and damp, they rose onto their legs and ran to their mother as Adam approached.
‘So there’s nothing wrong with you two then,’ he whispered, as they both butted their mother for milk and she defiantly stamped her foot at the sight of Adam. He smiled and made his way back to his horse, but stopped quickly as, through the swirling mist and rain, he momentarily glanced the shape of a man. ‘Hey, you! Stop right there. Do you know you are trespassing?’
The figure stopped for a brief second, and it was then that Adam noticed he had a lamb hanging down from one of his hands. It was Jacob Baxter. Adam recognized him despite the poor visibility, as he was the only red-haired man for miles around.
‘Stop right there and put that lamb down, you bastard.’ Adam ran quickly in the direction of the man, but his injured leg impeded him, as the figure disappeared once more into the mist. But Adam was not going to give up that easily. He knew the man had to climb over the wall somewhere along the border where both lands met. He ran blindly along the tufted heath of the moorland, guided slightly by the bleating sound of the distressed lamb being carried by Jacob Baxter, and not taking any notice of the moorland beneath his feet until it was too late. He’d forgotten to take care when approaching the wall and the boggy mire that he had talked about making safe, but had never got round to; and now he was regretting that, as his feet squelched in the peaty mire and he was being sucked down too quickly to escape the bog under his own steam. Before he knew it, the bog had sucked him down to above his knees and, try as he might, Adam could not pull his legs out of it, sinking deeper with every move made.
‘Help – for God’s sake, help me!’ Adam shouted into the grey mist, hoping that Jacob Baxter would show sympathy with his situation and would help him out of the mire. But instead he heard the rumble of top-stones being dislodged from the dividing wall, as the thief made his way back onto his own land, leaving Adam sinking deeper and deeper into the dark, stinking bog. ‘Help, Help!’ Adam shouted, as his body became crushed by the clinging peat. He tried to pull on the moorland grasses and drag himself out, but with every move, he went further down into the bog. He was wet, cold and alone, and fighting for his life as he tried, again and again, to hoist himself out of the peaty grave. To make things worse, night was beginning to fall. His only hope was that Lucy would still be at his home and would perhaps realize that something was wrong.
As the darkness fell around him, and his senses started to become unclear, Adam prayed to hear Lucy’s voice. He had no intention of ending his days crushed in a bog with his life only half-lived, but at the moment that looked likely to happen, as hypothermia started to affect him.
Lucy lit the oil lamps, placing one in the window and looking out into the gathering darkness. Adam should have been back by now, unless there was a sheep lambing and it had held him up, as he didn’t like leaving them on their own, in case they had problems. She was going to be home late, and her mother would be worrying about where she had got to, she thought, as she pulled the boiling kettle and the pan of stew to one side of the fire to keep warm. She’d give Adam another half-hour and then, if he hadn’t returned, she would have to leave the house unlocked and bank the fire up, and leave him to feed himself, as he
