Free All the dear faces by Audrey Howard Page A

Maggie Blamire out from behind the bar counter of the inn and nto the pitchy darkness of the long garden at the back of :he privy.
    “ Try it, Sam," Mr Macauley said as though he had read Sam's mind. "Now then, Victoria, let's be off home. It's i fair ride to Long Beck and I don't fancy the fells after lark. ”
    Placing his foot in the stirrup he leaped lightly into the saddle with the fluid grace of one who has been on horse-back from the day he could toddle. He put his heels to the mare's side, guiding her from the yard and out into the busy street of Penrith's centre towards the monument which divided it, noting that the clock on the tower stood A one thirty.
    “ Hup Victoria," Sam heard him say as the animal broke nto a canter .
    Victoria! Imagine calling a horse Victoria. It was said in he dales that Reed Macauley had named the foal, given o him by his father in the year their young Queen lad come to the throne, after her, which had seemed somewhat disrespectful, even insolent to the intensely public-spirited community of middle-class yeomanry and manufacturers of Bassenthwaite parish, though it had brought a wry smile to the dour men of the fells who, calling no man master, spoke as they pleased and allowed others to do the same .
    She was about a mile out of Penrith on the road to Keldhead when he caught up with her, striding gracefully along beside the grass verge, her skirts swinging, her head high, her long back straight and supple, the child almost running beside her. It was just gone two o'clock by then, November, and already the short winter's day was beginning to lose its light. It would be dark within the hour and the road was not lit as those in Penrith were. So where were this young woman and her child headed? He was amazed that they had got as far as they had since last he had seen them in the station yard, particularly the child who could not have been more than three or four years old .
    She did not look round as his mare approached at her back. The road was completely deserted since the folk in these parts had more sense than to tramp about, unless it was absolutely necessary, especially on a raw winter's afternoon as nightfall approached. The high banks on either side of the road topped by drystone walls were dank and squelchy with dormant winter vegetation and the remains of last year's leaves. The trees arching darkly across the road were grim and bare against the pale, rain-washed sky and the low sun was no more than a veiled yellow ball setting directly ahead of them. Clouds were moving over the fells from the west and the skies would soon be `kessened out' as his mother used to say and if he was not mistaken, and as a countryman he seldom was, though it was unusual at this time of the year, it could herald snow. And here was this young woman stepping out with her child as though she, and it, were off on a summer Sunday afternoon stroll, the large wicker basket she carried — her only baggage — holding a picnic perhaps, which they would eat at the end of it! It was none of his business, of course, but could he call himself . . . well, a public-spirited gentleman, which he considered himself to be, if he did not enquire of her intent and destination? She might be a stranger with no knowledge of the district, which was bleak and inhospitable to say the least, or of her own danger in it. The weather could change from minute to minute and though it was clear and fine now within the half-hour she could be striding into the teeth of a howling blizzard. And not only that, there were pedlars and vagrants about, out-of-work colliers and weavers, desperate men who would throw her over the wall and have not only her purse, but her, before she could lift her voice in a shout for help which would, in any case, go unheard and unheeded.
    “ I beg your pardon," he said pleasantly, raising his hat as his mare drew abreast of her, for lady or serving wench he was invariably charming to the female sex, which