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What was that? A cow? No, too small. A sheep? Could be. The shape moved again, came closer. She saw small bright eyes staring back at her. And horns.
Horns? Did sheep have horns? She kept very still, waiting to see if this creature was dangerous. In her condition she couldn’t run away. A second later she realise
d what it was—a goat! Wearing a leather collar and trailing a long chain. Obviously it had been tethered somewhere, but had escaped.
Dylan knew nothing about goats. Warily, she tried to assess this one—was it likely to attack her?
The animal bleated at her, curling back a long, mobile lip. The yellow-blue eyes were a little alarming, there was a wildness in them which worried her, but she risked patting it. The goat bleated again and leaned against her legs. Having company, even that of a mad-looking goat, was better than being alone in this wilderness of snow.
‘Hello, goat,’ she said chattily. ‘Are you as cold as I am?’
The goat stared up at her. She had the distinct impression it was looking at her bump.
‘Yes, I’m going to have a baby,’ she told it, feeling feverish. It was beginning to get dark now; night would soon fall. She had to find help soon; she would die of exposure if she didn’t.
The goat must come from that house over there. Turning the animal back in the direction from which it had appeared, Dylan leaned on it, taking hold of the thick, curly coat which, despite the covering of snow, was warm to touch.
‘Nice goat,’ she flattered. ‘Lovely goat. Come on, show me the way to your home.’
The goat began to move and she clung on to it, but the pace it set made her sprained ankle hurt more. ‘Don’t trot so fast. I can’t keep up!’ she gasped, as if it could understand every word she said. She didn’t care if she was being ridiculous. She was too terrified that she might give birth out here in this snowy field with only a goat for a midwife.
Ruth had been doing housework for two hours, and was dying for a cup of tea. As she stood at the kitchen sink filling the kettle she gazed gloomily at the blizzard still raging. She had meant to do last-minute shopping tomorrow—the local shops would be shut for three days over Christmas. Of course you might find some of them open in tourist spots like Windermere, but that was quite a drive from here, and parking was difficult there even in winter. She would have preferred to make sure she had everything she needed without having to make any emergency dashes to hunt for things she had forgotten, but this snow was going to make life difficult, if not impossible. Even if it stopped later, temperatures would probably fall after dark; then they would get ice, turning the roads into skating rinks. Ruth didn’t fancy the idea of driving into the village tomorrow now.
Just as she was turning to put her kettle on the hob she saw something looming through the blur of whiteness which was the world outside.
Leaning forward, Ruth peered incredulously. Someone was in the field. Someone of extraordinary shape, apparently as wide as it was high. A sort of walking blob. A white walking blob.
And what on earth was its companion? Half the size, just as white, but with what looked amazingly like horns on its head.
A primeval shiver ran down her back.
The blizzard lessened slightly a second later and she got a clearer view. The first shape she identified was Fred. A Fred made much larger and rounder by his outer coating of snow.
How stupid to be scared of Fred! That would teach her to let her imagination run away with her! But who was that with him? As the two of them came through the gate into her garden Ruth stared fixedly, trying to identify the other shape plodding slowly along, holding on to Fred’s coat. Was it...could it be...a woman under all that snow? A very fat woman.
‘Oh, my stars!’ Ruth exclaimed, almost dropping the kettle. Not fat, she realised—just very pregnant.
Putting her kettle on the hob, she hurried out of the back door. The plodding figure raised her head and Ruth felt a pang of pity as she saw the pallor of the small, delicate face. Why, she was just a child! The weariness in the big blue eyes, the tremor of the soft pink mouth, which showed no trace of lipstick, made her look about fifteen.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked the girl, knowing it for a stupid question the second she’d asked it. Of course she wasn’t okay! She was obviously limping, she had cuts and bruises on her face, and she looked exhausted and in pain.
‘Sorry to be a nuisance,’ the girl whispered. ‘Could you ring for a taxi for me...? And I ought to tell a garage. I crashed my car over there...’ She waved a hand vaguely at the field.
So that was it! Ruth said comfortingly, ‘Let’s get you indoors first. You look as if you’re chilled to the bone.’
Putting an arm around her, Ruth helped her the rest of the way to the back door. Fred followed, but Ruth firmly shut him out.
‘Wait there. I’ll sort you out later!’
He gave her a furious glare and stood there, pawing the snowy ground as if about to charge the door. She wouldn’t put it past him.
‘Don’t you dare!’ she yelled at him, before turning to look at her guest.
First things first. She couldn’t let the girl sit about in those damp clothes; she would catch pneumonia.
‘Let me take your coat and boots, then you can sit in front of the range. It’s been alight all day. These old ranges burn anything, you know. Such a blessing. I feed half my household garbage into it. I do have an electric hob, too, which is useful if you’re in a hurry, but you can’t sit in front of that and toast your feet the way you can with a range. What’s your name, by the way? I’m Ruth Nicholls.’
As she talked she unbuttoned the girl’s snow-encrusted coat and slid it off her shoulders. Her mind was working fast at the same time. She must ring Henry and get him to come out.
