Listening to the Quiet

by Listening to the Quiet (retail) (epub)

  ‘You’ll do. Follow me,’ Sally said curtly.

  Marcus was bending over his mother’s armchair, as if making sure she was comfortable. ‘Mrs Lidgey has been greatly looking forward to meeting you, Miss Venner.’

  ‘I can speak for myself, Marcus,’ Eleanor said. Releasing his wrist, she manoeuvred him aside and extended her hand to Jo. ‘You are very welcome, Miss Venner. Do sit close to me. I’m very grateful to have another woman’s company. Miss Teague was invited, of course, but she rarely socialises of an evening, and the vicar is still away on a speaking tour.’

  ‘I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs Lidgey,’ Jo replied. Before sitting on the sofa, close to her hostess, she felt her hand being explored by the woman’s long tapering fingers.

  ‘Sherry, Miss Venner?’ Marcus remained on his feet, anxious the evening would go well and for it to be over. Eleanor had just threatened to smash his violin if he did not turn on all his charm to the young lady. He could take his violin up to his room, but his mother would only ask Sally to bring it to her, then she would pretend to drop it.

  ‘Yes, please, Mr Lidgey,’ Jo said, her eyes flickering on him for a few moments before returning her attention to his mother.

  Eleanor Lidgey’s long neck was encircled with a Queen Mary-style pearl choker. Her gleaming silver-white hair was swept up in dramatic peaks towards a centre parting. Jo found herself noting the elegant shades of her lipstick and eyeshadow, how her eyebrows naturally formed the shape of birds’ wings in flight. Dynamism, candid maturity, shone from her quick dark eyes. Her every cast and motion declared social grace.

  Finally, Jo glanced round the room and decided the few pieces of refined, Edwardian furnishings had come from Mrs Lidgey’s house at Penzance. A harpsichord, its lacquered woodwork deeply scratched, a cello and a full-sized violin took pride of place in a corner. Otherwise it was a drab room with no outstanding features. The Lidgeys looked out of place here. Jo was curious about their lives before they came to Parmarth.

  Sherry glass in hand, she enjoyed a strictly feminine conversation with Eleanor. Then Jo noticed her body was gradually slipping, no, collapsing in on itself. She did not pity the woman, there was nothing frail about Mrs Lidgey despite her disability. If she could stand up straight she would be as tall as her son. From the evidence of the ivory-framed family photographs, she had once been an active woman. Jo glimpsed her late husband in the wedding photograph, a small, boyish-looking man.

  ‘I lost my husband many years ago, when my son was a little boy,’ Eleanor said. ‘I used to live at Penzance, in far larger and more comfortable surroundings, of course.’ She looked directly at Marcus. ‘But it’s so good to be close to one’s family, don’t you agree, Miss Venner? You’ve chosen to lodge at one of the local farms, I understand. Could someone not motor you over from Carbis Bay every day? Tell me about your past connections with Parmarth.’

  Jo wondered if Mr Lidgey was uneasy about the way his mother was interrogating her. His eyes kept shuffling to the clock, he was shifting on his feet. She had expected this curiosity and answered, not altogether untruthfully, ‘I became acquainted with Miss Merrick many years ago when my pony threw a shoe while I happened to be riding past Nance Farm. We formed a close and enduring friendship. The conditions of the farm are quite civilised actually.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. How many people live at the farm?’

  ‘Just Miss Merrick. Her brother was killed in the war.’

  ‘Some fine men died in the war, men with loose associations with Parmarth. I must mention, Miss Venner,’ Eleanor smiled apologetically, ‘that I knew Sheridan Ustick. I appreciate how his death must have been a terrible loss to Miss Celia Sayce, your late friend.’

  Marcus repeated the rumbling sound in his throat he’d given in the hallway. He wanted to dash across to his mother and order her to shut her mouth. She had demanded he be pleasant to their guest. Why did she have to indulge in thinly veiled tactlessness, which might offend Joanna Venner? Why must she always make life harder for him?

  ‘Mama, perhaps Miss Venner would be interested in our plans for the garden this spring.’

  Jo sipped her sherry awkwardly, but perhaps it was better Mrs Lidgey aired her knowledge about Celia and Sheridan Ustick. She had spoken so pleasantly.

  ‘If I may ask, because there are so many different tales circulating, what was it Miss Sayce died of?’ Eleanor continued in the same soothing tone. ‘It seemed such a long time before she was buried. I hope there were not any problems.’

  Marcus clenched his fists until his nails seared his palms. He felt revoltingly lightheaded. Why must his wretched mother keep taunting their guest? If Miss Venner discerned the true nature of her questions, he sensed she would not easily forgive such unadulterated prying. It would make it harder for him to gain her trust.

  ‘It was two or three days before it was discovered Miss Sayce had died. She had no family. Her solicitors had to make the arrangements for her funeral.’ Jo volunteered the information to avoid more speculation. Celia was resting in peace, and Jo would strive with all that would prove necessary to keep it that way.

  There was a tap on the door and Sally announced the meal was ready. Marcus lifted Eleanor to a more upright position then handed her her two walking sticks.

  Jo gazed above the overmantel at a portrait of him in gown and mortar board, holding his degree certificate. Painted about ten years ago, there was a semblance of hope and aspiration about him that was not evident now. Presumably he had served in some way during the war – his age dictated he would have been just old enough to enlist – but had he been a schoolmaster all his adult life? Why was a man of high academic and musical abilities apparently wasting his talents here? Meeting the unfathomable gaze in the black eyes in the portrait, she felt his reason for being in Parmarth was not as simple as hers.

  Marcus said courteously, ‘I’m afraid I cannot offer you my arm, Miss Venner. Would you kindly follow us to the dining room.’

  When Eleanor was on her feet, Jo saw her right hip was slightly out of alignment with her body. Nonetheless, she was an imposing figure. Jo followed as she shuffled slowly to the next room, supported by her son.

  At the table, Marcus was too nervous to join in with much of the conversation, only politely halting Eleanor, who monopolised Jo with sparkling chit-chat, to pour more wine for the two women. Jo noticed he ate half-heartedly and drank copiously. After the meal, he escorted them back to the sitting room then left them to their coffee.

  The moment he closed the door, Eleanor became rather sad. ‘It was a shame there was no other gentleman available tonight to keep Marcus company. Sometimes I fear he must get very lonely. Well, never mind our problems,’ she said, shining with enthusiasm once more. ‘You seem to enjoy living at the farm. Such an inappropriate place, but you’re adventurous, I should think. Do you find all those animals and things of nature refreshing?’

  Jo was pleased Eleanor Lidgey seemed to understand her values. ‘Actually, it is invigorating.’

  ‘I’m sure your mother doesn’t approve.’ Eleanor’s next words were spoken as if in great alarm. ‘Oh, please forgive my frankness, Miss Venner. I fear I shall offend you. I’m afraid I have a tendency to speak exactly what’s on my mind. I interrogate everyone for every scrap of news. My disability has left me almost entirely housebound and I am bereft of scintillating company. I rather hoped you and I could be friends. The vicar calls occasionally but it’s not the same as female companionship. Miss Teague used to come but I found her boring. I feel you and I could entertain each other. You will come again, Miss Venner? Do say you will, and often.’

  ‘I shall be glad to.’ Jo smiled, eager to make her hostess feel she had no need to apologise. Eleanor Lidgey was outspoken but utterly charming. ‘You were right about my mother. Neither she nor my brother are happy about me teaching here, but I chose to follow my own path.’

  ‘Really? Excellent.’ Eleanor smiled approvingly.

  Shortly, smellin
g faintly of tobacco and brandy, Marcus rejoined them. He contributed small talk to the conversation, undertaken with warm smiles often aimed at Jo, but Jo noticed he diligently watched his mother, sometimes with marked anxiety. At a quarter to ten, he glanced darkly at the clock.

  Eleanor stalled him by mentioning the school. ‘Has Mr Lidgey informed you, Miss Venner, that the staff, when not on playground or dinner duty, often take tea here? You would be very welcome to join us. It will save you eating in cramped conditions and help cheer an otherwise lonely day for me.’

  ‘No, I did not know, Mrs Lidgey.’ Jo glanced at Mr Lidgey, who smilingly confirmed it. ‘I shall enjoy spending time here.’

  ‘I’m sure you will do very well at the school,’ Eleanor continued, ignoring Marcus’s restless movements. ‘As you are familiar with the village you will understand something of the children’s problems. The Jelbert twins will require a firm hand. The Vigus children rarely attend, in fact they are not often seen outside their cottage, which apparently is no better than a hovel. My son and the authorities are always chasing them up. The boy has the most unspeakable habits and the girl never stops whimpering. You will like Ann Markham. She is very attentive, and although she lives on a farm she manages to come to school scrupulously clean.’

  ‘I’m sure I shall have a reasonable idea of their backgrounds,’ Jo said, disturbed to hear more unfavourable things about the Viguses. If true, why did Luke Vigus, who seemed to own an agreeable disposition, allow the situation to carry on? ‘I hope to put it to good use. I’ve seen a few of the children about the village and spoken to them.’ She would have liked to have seen more than the collection of either saucy or suspicious faces, including a couple who had deliberately hidden from her, but guessed that if the children weren’t earning a few pennies or doing jobs for their parents, they were off playing on the moors.

  ‘I’m confident you’ll be a credit to the school.’ Marcus smiled at Jo again.

  His eyes crept back to the clock. He was anxious to pack his mother off to bed quickly. A river of sweat was running down his back. He had to get outside, let the wide open expanses of the moor calm him. He was concerned that Joanna Venner, astute and perceptive as she was, would notice his discomfiture. It would not be as difficult to romance her when alone with her. Prolonging the evening would not serve him at all.

  ‘You taught young ladies before,’ Eleanor said. ‘Will you be able to cope with small boys?’

  ‘I taught at a mixed primary school for six months before joining the academy,’ Jo said.

  Marcus consulted the clock again. It was five minutes past ten o’clock. ‘Mama…’

  ‘Are you going to play something for us, Marcus, dear?’ she fielded him, then asked Jo, ‘Which instrument would you like to hear, Miss Venner?’

  Jo was denied the chance to answer.

  ‘I think you have stayed up long enough, Mama,’ Marcus stated recklessly. ‘Davey Penoble will be waiting to drive Miss Venner home.’

  Eleanor’s mouth stayed open in mid-sentence. She looked about to argue but suddenly smiled. ‘See how he cares about me, Miss Venner? Very well, Marcus. I know I ought to go to bed. I am tired. Thank you for coming, Miss Venner. Please do call on me again shortly.’

  Jo expressed the necessary compliments to Eleanor while Marcus called for Sally.

  ‘Stay with Mrs Lidgey,’ Marcus ordered her. ‘I’ll see Miss Venner to the door.’

  Taking Jo’s outdoor things from Sally, he ushered her along the hall then helped her into her coat. ‘I do hope you have enjoyed the evening.’

  Jo replied truthfully that she had, but she wondered if it was the same for him. He looked heated and she wondered if he had caught a fever.

  With a final ingratiating smile, Marcus opened the door and deposited her safely into Davey Penoble’s lantern light.

  He locked up. A hand on his arm pulled him round roughly. ‘I saw you running your eyes over her,’ Sally tore into him. ‘Well?’

  He ran a heavy thumb down Sally’s cheek. ‘Whatever I think about her, you’re the one who’s here, aren’t you? Help me get my mother to bed.’

  ‘Come back after Sally’s finished with me, Marcus,’ Eleanor ordered, as he stepped back from her bed.

  When Sally left the room, Marcus reluctantly returned. Eleanor would only keep ringing her bell if he didn’t. She took his hand. It seemed the more he longed to get away from her the more unnatural strength she called on to keep him prisoner. Only minutes ago she had admitted she was tired, now she was breathing lustily, had him in a vice-like grip.

  ‘Hoping to slip away somewhere, were you? Foolish boy. You’ll never, ever get away from me. The Venner girl is young and lissom, has a spring in her step. You know what to do?’

  ‘I could do the task better if you allowed me free rein,’ he said irritably.

  ‘You aren’t capable of making your own decisions, Marcus. You change the way you feel moment by moment.’

  ‘But even if I do manage to induce her into my bed it doesn’t follow she’ll hand her money over to me.’

  ‘Stop worrying. I’ll think of something. Win her over soon, then you can tell me all the intimate details of your conquest. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  He would not. And he could not answer his mother. Capitulating to her again, he switched off his mind, his feelings, his emotions, in the same way, out of self-preservation, he had taught himself many years ago.

  ‘Now kiss me like you did as a boy, my darling. Show your mama just how much you love her.’

  * * *

  When she arrived back at Nance, Jo found Lew in the kitchen. He was wearing a clean shirt and had combed his hair. All her senses were instantly alert. ‘You’re not usually here this late. Why have you returned? Where’s Mercy?’

  ‘Gone for a yarn over Boswella Farm. Mercy said how pretty you looked in your evening dress. I wanted to see for myself.’ Lew’s handsome dark eyes were searching her, as intrusively as if he was actually touching her. ‘You look and smell beautiful, Jo. I’d never have thought you’d turn out to be a dazzler.’

  He came closer and closer. Jo squared her balance. His smile was full of charm. Here was male sexuality at its most blatant, and despite his scandalous reputation, Jo was not left unstirred. ‘I think of you as a big brother, Lew. You always treated me like a punchbag but you were never cruel to me like Russell. I hope we can be friends, but take warning, there will never be anything stronger between us.’

  His dusky eyes stole a few more seconds of liberty then he shrugged his shoulders. He knew how wildly Jo could fight. ‘Pity. I’d like to make love to you, Jo. I know what a woman likes. It would be good for both of us.’

  ‘I’m not here looking for romance, Lew. Certainly not a casual affair.’

  ‘We could be anything you like to each other, Jo. Think about it. You’re not like other women. A tart like Sally, or a narrow-minded prim-skirt, or a quiet little homebody. You’re your own person. You look for more out of life. You’re totally a woman, Jo, and a very alluring one.’

  Jo did not shut out his compliments, even though they were probably made only out of his hope for yet another sexual conquest. They filled her to the very roots of her femininity with confidence.

  Bending his head, Lew put his lips over hers. His huge rough hands came to her waist, kneading the silk of her clothes against her skin. Jo’s body leapt into life. The arousal he provoked in her took dominance over her good sense. She kissed him back, tasting him, trying him.

  Lew pulled her in tightly against his body, sliding a hand up over her back, already seeking to unfasten her dress. It felt good to be up against him, but it wasn’t overwhelming. He was a sensitive, knowledgeable kisser and his hands weren’t too direct or hurting her, but he wasn’t exciting her enough. He wasn’t what she was looking for. For Jo, there had to be much more. Her power of reasoning returned. There were too many complications to yield to him. He had good looks and an overpowering virility, but he
was a heartless philanderer. And he was Mercy’s nephew. An old playmate. Something of a brother to her, as she had mentioned earlier.

  Pushing his arms away, she drew back from him. ‘No, I’m sorry. This is all wrong for me.’

  ‘Don’t, Jo. Just give us a chance.’

  ‘No, Lew.’ She made a cut-off motion with her hands. ‘It’s no use trying to talk me round.’

  He took a moment to catch his breath, nodding regretfully. ‘Pity, but if that’s the way you feel, fair enough. Friends it is then. All that’s left to say is welcome back. I reckon you’re going to shake up this place.’

  Chapter Nine

  Sixteen pairs of inquisitive, seven-to-nine-year-old eyes were fixed solidly on Jo. Most of the children were poorly attired. The girls, outnumbering the boys by nine to seven, were dressed in jumpers and skirts, with the odd dark gymslip, and strapped or lace-up shoes. The boys were in short grey trousers and jerseys or jackets, a few with the addition of a tie. Many of the children had gaps in their mouths from losing milk teeth.

  Jo smiled broadly at her class. It was an overcast morning. The oil lamps were lit, but with the windows high up, designed to prevent outside distractions, the pupils at the back were in a semi-gloom; the domain of the shy and the mischievous, until she got around, out of inevitable necessity, to moving some of them forward.

  ‘Good morning, children. My name is Miss Venner.’ She waited for a respectful response. The only reaction was open mouths, a variety of blinking and stares. She put a little more authority into her voice. ‘Before I go on, you must return the greeting to me.’

  From the front row, a fair-haired, bright-eyed girl, sporting the traditional wide ribbon on the crown of her head, chanted in a heavy Cornish accent, ‘Good morning, Miss Venner.’