Edwin paused and looked at Emma. Her eyes were closed and he saw that she trembled slightly. He slipped out of the carriage blanket and, with the lightest of movements, he parted the tablecloth that still half covered her. She did not stir, although her eyelids fluttered and her eyes opened, became wider, as she stared at him kneeling over her. Edwin Fairley’s not a boy, he’s a man, she thought, with a flash of amazement, and a trickle of fear, for that masculinity was now fully revealed. Edwin sucked in his breath, gazing at her wonderingly, filled with a yearning desire to possess her completely. And he marvelled at her loveliness. Her skin had a floral pallor to it, but it was dappled golden, here and there, from the candlelight and the fire’s rosy glow. She resembled a perfectly sculptured marble statue.

Slowly and with great tenderness and delicacy Edwin helped Emma to overcome her terror, her reticence, and her inherent shyness. In spite of their mutual virginity, Edwin began to make love to Emma, and eventually she to him, under his softly whispered guidance. His desire flared into a passion he could no longer check, and it was this passion that imbued in him a finesse that was unconscious yet remarkable in its expertise. Only once did she stiffen, and he heard a small cry strangled in her throat as she bit it back. But he was so exquisitely gentle with her and adoring, this moment instantly passed, and soon he was carrying her along with him on a mounting wave of ecstasy. They were clinging together,moving now in perfect unison, engulfed by the sweet warmness of their fresh young bodies. Emma thought she was slowly dissolving under Edwin, becoming part of him. Becoming him. They were one person now. She was Edwin. She moaned and moved her hands down to the small of his back which vibrated under her touch. It was then that Edwin experienced such a sensation of joy he thought he would scream out loud. As he rushed headlong into the very core of her he did not know that he shouted her name and begged her never to leave him.

Some hours later the thunderstorm died as instantly as it had erupted into life, the torrential rain easing into a light drizzle that finally ceased with an eerie abruptness. The gusting high-powered gale that had ventilated those quiet hills had dropped away and an awesome stillness suffused the air.

The remote and cloudless sky was a darkling bitter green, almost black in its depth of colour, yet glassy and clear and filled with a curious luminosity, as if lit from within. A full moon was out, hard in its metallic whiteness, a perfect orb pitched in the cold wide sky, illuminating the moors and the fellsides with the clarity and brilliance of a noonday sun. Its sharp radiance fell upon the terrible devastation, bringing it into stark focus. The fulminating storm had ravaged the landscape.

The immense fells, poised in precarious leaning angles above the moorland, were towering precipitous cliffs and from them the unceasing torrents of rain had rushed down in streaming cataracts, inflating the natural waterfalls so that they had become liquid avalanches, bloating the becks and streams until they were swollen and spilling over their banks, which were already bursting under the pressure. The cloudburst had swept over the moors like a gigantic tidal wave, its force and speed uprooting trees and shrubs and heath, dislodging rocks and boulders, hurling all before it on its relentless downward journey. The small glens and hollows between the hills that punctuated sections of the moorland were completely flooded. Animal life not swift enough to escape had been trapped in the onslaught. Stray sheep had been drowned in the flood, their stiffened bodies floating grotesquely in the murky waters of these newly made but unnatural ponds. Battered birds littered the ground, mangled bits of broken bones and bloodied feathers, their trilling songs stilled for ever.

And lightning had left its stamp everywhere. It had struck trees, slicing them apart sharply and cleanly, and charring their scant foliage to blackened ashes. A horse tethered in the long meadow near Top Fold had been knocked down by a bolt, dying instantaneously before its owner could reach it, mane singed, grey coat dappled red and black. Not even the village was unscarred. Slates had been ripped off roofs, windows broken, plaster torn from interior walls, flaking off like minute sprinkles of snow, and one cottage was almost completely wrecked. A stained-glass window in Fairley Church had been shattered into hundreds of rainbow-tinted slivers. It was the memorial window recently endowed by Adam Fairley in commemoration of Adele Fairley’s death.

Up at Ramsden Crags, water sluiced over the great elevation of rocks and the ground was so muddy it was like running oil, a veritable bog, mucid and slippery. The two lone trees that had stood there for years, solitary sentinels to the left of the Crags, had toppled over in toy-soldier fashion, also demolished by the incessant flashes of violent lightning. Edwin crept out of the cave first and gave his hand to Emma, who was closely following him. They ducked away from the water that tumbled unchecked from the Crags relatively close to the aperture, their feet sinking ankle deep into the mire that oozed under them. Edwin placed the picnic basket on a boulder and helped Emma up on to the drier rocks, swiftly climbing after her. They gasped, almost in unison, and exchanged alarmed glances, dismay washing over their faces as they viewed the destruction so appalling to behold.

‘We were lucky to find the cave when we did,’ said Edwin to the gaping Emma by his side. He looked about him, shaken by the riven and shattered landscape. ‘Do you realize we could have been killed out here! Either by lightning or by drowning in the flood!’ Emma nodded and shuddered at their narrow escape, not speaking.

‘Look at the waterfall up on Dimerton Fell,’ Edwin then exclaimed. ‘I’ve never seen it so full or raging before. It’s incredible.’

Emma followed the direction his finger pointed, and caught her breath. The usually gentle waterfall, clearly visible in the moonlight and icily shimmering, had been transformed into a phenomenal spumescent cascade that was magnificent yet uncanny in its magnitude. Emma had to admit it was beautiful and said so, but her worry about returning to Fairley Hall was increasing by the minute. ‘Edwin, don’t yer think we should try and make it back ter the Hall. Cook’s going ter play pop with yer, and me as well.’

‘Yes, I do believe we should make tracks immediately,’ Edwin agreed. ‘Thank goodness the moon is so bright. At least we can see where we’re walking. Shall we go?’

He made to leave and Emma tugged at his arm. ‘But what about the opening ter the cave?’ She inclined her head towards the aperture. ‘The rock that covered it up before looks ter me as if it’s sunk right inter the mud.’

‘You’re right, it has.’ Edwin swung around, his eyes searching. He spotted the ruptured trees. ‘I’ll use some of those branches to cover the hole, and come back another day to put the rock in place.’ He left the rocks, plodding through the slime doggedly, and dragged one of the trees over to the cavern’s entrance. He stuck it deeply and securely into the muddy earth. The gnarled branches camouflaged the opening effectively.

Uncertain of what other disasters awaited them, they nonetheless set off bravely, their feet sinking into the glutinous mud, boots squelching, as they hurried away from the Top of the World, heading directly for Ramsden Ghyll. Emma slipped once as they scrambled over a ridge, slithering on the sodden ground. Edwin caught her immediately, and put his arm around her protectively, helping her to maintain her balance until they reached the narrow track. They had to manoeuvre their way with deliberation, stepping over disrupted rocks and splintered branches that had been flung haphazardly on to the path during one of the landslides. Upon reaching the Ghyll they stood hovering at the edge, staring in stupefaction. The bright moonlight illuminated part of the deep gully, enough for them to see that it was brimming with bubbling water seemingly about to seep over the top at any moment. Dead birds, rabbits, and a sheep wobbled misshapenly among the debris on its ghastly black surface, gruesome reminders of the fury so recently unleashed. Emma shuddered and pressed her face against Edwin’s broad shoulder.