The Tale of Applebeck Orchard Read Online Free Page B

for nearly ten years now. He’d lived here longer than that, of course, ever since he had retired from Her Majesty’s Army in Egypt in search of a quiet life in a green country under a sun that did not blister the hide off a fellow. He had chosen Sawrey for its peace and quiet, although he had to admit that there hadn’t been much of that lately. His position put him into the thick of things, requiring him to certify deaths, deal with disturbances, witness documents, and uphold property rights.
    And footpaths were an especially sore subject these days. Almost every time a piece of land changed hands, either the seller or the buyer made a determined effort to close off any footpaths through it, to which the Claife Ramblers—a group of fell-walkers who advocated free access to all the countryside—took immediate offense. There was nothing new about any of this, of course, especially in the Lakes, where walkers flocked to cross the wild moors and climb the fells. The poet William Wordsworth had flung down his pen and destroyed a wall blocking a path between Ulls water and Lowther Castle. And just twenty-three years before, in the summer of 1887, some 500 people stormed a blocked footpath at Fawe Park, near Keswick, not forty miles away. To hearten themselves, they sang their own version of “the Lion of Judah,” with the stirring words, “The Lions of Keswick will break every chain, and open the footpaths, again and again!”
    The captain was necessarily involved with this sort of thing because Parliament had passed a law, back in 1815, giving the justice of the peace the authority to determine whether the “highway, bridleway, or footway” in question should remain open or be “stopped up and disposed of.” In the past three years, Miles had been called to rule on four other footpaths in the district. Since he himself was an advocate of open access to fields and fells, he had in every case but one ruled in favor of keeping the footpath open. It was a devilish tricky business, and it all fell on his shoulders.
    “Seems to me you’d better get on it right away,” Will Heelis said. A solicitor who lived in the nearby market town of Hawkshead, Will was a tall, athletic-looking man with fine eyes, a strong jaw, and a shock of thick brown hair that fell boyishly across his forehead. He remained a bachelor, in spite of Miles’ efforts to pair him with his sister, Dimity. Instead, Dim had defied her brother and married Christopher Kittredge. “It will soon be the anniversary of the Keswick affair,” Will added, pouring himself another cup of coffee. “We might be listening to Ragsdale and his Ramblers singing ‘The Lions of Sawrey will break every chain.’ ”
    Miles shook his head glumly. “We certainly don’t need that,” he agreed.
    Will frowned. “I wonder what Harmsworth has in mind by closing the path. So far as I know, Applebeck Farm isn’t for sale.” In his legal work, he usually happened across all the land transactions in the district. He knew what was for sale or what had recently sold, and for how much.
    “This bis’ness will do nothin’ but cause hard feelin’s,” Dick Llewellyn said dourly, as he took his leave. “Thi’ll speak wi’ Mr. Harmsworth today, Cap’n?”
    “As soon as possible,” the captain promised. When his neighbor had left, he said to Will, “I don’t suppose you’d like to go with me to call on Harmsworth, would you? This afternoon, p’rhaps?” He was not exactly eager to make the call by himself. Not that he was afraid of the man, of course. But Harmsworth was known to be of intemperate moods. He might be less likely to go off the handle if Will came along.
    “I would, of course, but I don’t think it’s my place,” Will said seriously. “I’m known to be a supporter of the Freedom to Roam Bill.” Member of Parliament James Bryce had first introduced the bill more than twenty years before, with the idea of restoring open access to the countryside for any