The door to the cottage was opened. Jo braced herself for a confrontation with Jessie Vigus, who would almost certainly be outraged to find a stranger in her home. Jo would not let Marylyn go hungry again, even if it meant walking out of the cottage with her and ending up under arrest. Somehow she would ensure her presence here would not make things worse for the children.
Then Jo was holding her breath for a dispute with Luke Vigus.
Luke let out an oath of shock, nearly dropping the box of food held under his arm. For a moment, in the shadowy gloom of the hovel, he thought he was seeing a ghost. ‘Oh, it’s you.’
Jo backed away, afraid he would take Marylyn from her. ‘Good morning, Mr Vigus.’
Luke’s handsome tough features changed to an expression of indignation. ‘You’ve got no right to walk in here. What do you think you’re doing?’
Of all the bloody cheek! His first notion was to throw Joanna Venner out of the house, make her feel as small as a worm. Only there was nothing worm-like about her. The utter determination, the sense of power and authority she exuded, the accusation in her eyes over the state of the baby in her arms, made him feel less of a man. Joanna Venner lived at Nance Farm and had seen for herself how badly neglected Rex and Molly were. Now she was standing in the dirt and degradation of his home, for which he must partly bear the shame.
Jo gripped the baby tighter. There was no question of her backing down. ‘I haven’t come to interfere or patronise, Mr Vigus.’ She had difficulty keeping the contempt out of her voice. ‘I want to help the children. I would like to speak to your mother.’
Luke’s face worked with indecision. He glanced at the empty dresser drawer. ‘Put the kid back and get out. You do-gooders are all the same. You’ll soon tire of helping a lost cause.’
He was not as hostile as Jo expected and she felt not all of his anger was aimed at her. ‘I won’t give up. I never give up. Listen to me, I have an idea. I’ve thought of nothing else since Rex and Molly came to Nance.’
‘You can’t do anything.’ Luke ran a hand through his lank hair. All he wanted was to get away from her accusing green-flecked eyes. ‘Get away from here for ever. My mother will throw it back in your face. The kids’d be better off dead. Pity she wasn’t dead,’ he ended bitterly.
‘If you feel as strongly as that then you’ve got nothing to lose by letting me help you,’ Jo pointed out quietly. She felt she was getting a tentative foothold.
‘Who do you think you are, telling me what to do? You, who’ve got a whore for a mother.’
‘We’ve both got whores for mothers, but it doesn’t mean you or I or the children should suffer for it,’ Jo retorted levelly. ‘Does it, Mr Vigus? Have you no other family who could help?’
Luke considered her comments. This time when he had come back, the kids had never looked as hungry, battered, despairing. If nothing was done soon to improve their lot, Marylyn would follow the other babies to the churchyard. He had women friends on his travels, but even those he was on intimate terms with wouldn’t take in three scruffy brats. No one in the village was likely to help again. It was thought an orphanage was the best option for the kids. But Rex had begged him never to let this happen. He’d threatened he and Molly would run away from an institution, and God knows what would happen to them then.
Of course, he could stay home for good, keep an eye on the kids. But he couldn’t bear that. He couldn’t stand being in his mother’s company. His throat swelled tight with despair. God, he prayed, near to tears, why aren’t I as strong-willed as this schoolteacher seems to be? She can even look me in the eye and admit her mother’s a whore.
He stared at the door, and it seemed as if it had slammed shut on him, as if he was interred in a prison. He felt heavy chains forming around his heart, weighing down his soul.
Jo feared his long silence meant she was about to be expelled, her mission a failure.
He sighed sullenly, ‘There’s no one.’
‘Not even a godparent?’
‘The kids aren’t christened. I’ve got a cousin at Germoe but she won’t want to help with the way my mother is.’
‘Then will you let me help? Please?’
‘I’ll listen to what you’ve come to say,’ he replied grudgingly. ‘Sit down. I’ll see to the fire.’
Clearing dirt off a hard, bare chair, Jo sat down. Apart from two more chairs, the table and dresser, the rest of the furniture consisted of a three-legged stool and a worm-eaten chest.
‘Sorry about that,’ Luke said, embarrassed. ‘I’ll see about getting some more furniture.’
Keeping her raincoat wrapped round Marylyn, Jo watched while he lit a cigarette, then lighted a fire of sticks and dried furze. Even his simplest movements were made with impatient energy, a raw strength, like an animal of the wild. Jo sensed what it was costing him to permit her to stay, to say her piece, but she felt no sympathy for him. He had allowed his young brother and sisters to live in unspeakable poverty. Marylyn shifted feebly and whimpered in her arms.
‘Where are the other children? And your mother?’
‘The kids must be sleeping. The old woman’s probably sleeping off yesterday’s drinking binge.’
He pulled open the ragged curtains at the two front windows. Jo looked about the one-room living accommodation. It was not much larger than the bathroom at Tresawna House. The light that filtered through the accumulated grime on the poor-quality glass showed the dwelling an exceedingly grim, oppressive prospect. A child would not grow up with zest for life, with hope, in these surroundings. A dirty cushion and scraps of foul cloth which served as nappies were strewn about in piles of dirt.
‘Ugh!’ Jo leapt to her feet. Her lap was being soaked by strong-smelling urine. Her urgency frightened Marylyn, who bawled and stiffened. Throwing her saturated scarf to the floor, Jo gagged. She thought she would never get the stench of this place out of her nostrils.
‘Have you got something to wrap the baby in?’ she asked desperately.
‘Do you still want to help?’ Luke smirked.
‘Yes.’ Jo struggled out of her raincoat, while trying to pacify Marylyn. ‘A little pee is of no consequence.’
Shaking his head at her choice of words, Luke eyed her as she lifted up her skirt and slip, tucking dry tweed and silk in underneath the wet parts of the garments. She was basically straight all the way down, but she was revealing a pair of lovely legs. Firm knees, shapely calves and neat ankles, all wet with his sister’s dark yellow urine.
‘Well? Have you anything for her?’ Jo resumed her seat, making his eyes travel up to her indignant face. ‘It’s a cold winter day and the poor child is naked.’
He opened the cupboard built into the recess beside the fireplace and searched among its jumbled contents. ‘Here.’ He handed her a piece of ragged material and a discoloured baby’s gown. He saw the lack of covers in Marylyn’s makeshift cradle. Angels must have been watching over her last night. He pushed his next thought aside – that he should have been here last night, to make sure she got through it safely. ‘I’ll see if I can find a shawl. Sometimes Jessie doesn’t bother to wrap her up properly.’
Very awkwardly, Jo wrapped the material about Marylyn’s lower half and tucked in the edges, hoping it would stay put. Then, while Marylyn struggled and screamed, she somehow managed to get the nightgown over her head and push her woefully thin, flailing arms through the ripped sleeves.
His strong features straining at his sister’s distress, Luke passed Jo a shawl, a holey scrap of shapeless knitting.
At last, a little warm and comfortable, Marylyn’s voice fell to pathetic whimpers but she still moved her head from side to side seeking sustenance.
Luke took a bloomer loaf out of the box. ‘I’ve got some food, and milk for Marylyn. I always make sure the kids get plenty to eat when I’m here,’ he said defensively.
‘How often are you away from home?’
‘That’s my business,’ he said gruffly. ‘When I went away last month the
kids had good clothes on their backs.’ He passed Jo a curved baby’s bottle full of milk, heated over his camp fire and kept warm in a towel.
Jo stared at the heavy glass object in her hand.
Luke pointed to the teat. ‘You put that end in her mouth.’
‘I know.’
He grunted. He’d stake the contents of his wagon that this young woman knew nothing about child care. ‘I’ve just bought some new clothes for the kids to go to school in. They’re hidden away. The old woman sells everything I get for ’em cheap to Mardie Dawes. Mardie doesn’t care if someone’s kids are running round naked, as long as she’s making money out of it. She sells things on to tinkers, but I s’pose you know that.’
‘Mardie’s always been a nuisance,’ Jo said dryly. If Luke Vigus was trying to win her over he had a hard task.
He kicked at the dilapidated fireplace. ‘When I first came here I put up with my mother’s ways because she was all I had. I was hoping she’d be like my gran, who brought me up. She promised to change, give up the drink, clean the damned place. She’d manage a couple of days then slip back. She can’t give up the drink now, doesn’t even try. I’ve almost got used to it, the kids suffering, the stink, the hopelessness of it. Poor little sods. They don’t know what it’s like to be looked after properly. I do.’ One reason for him not abandoning the kids permanently was because his grandmother would not have approved. ‘I’m thinking of paying someone to look after the house and kids. It’s the best I can do. I have to go on the road to earn their keep.’
Jo listened carefully, while anxiously watching Marylyn, who was having difficulty sucking on the teat.
‘What’s this idea of yours?’ he asked tersely. How could he show gratitude to someone who showed him up as a selfish failure?
‘When people tried to help in the past, no doubt they expected your mother to give up the drink. The way I see it, if she won’t, then there’s no use asking her to.’ Jo adopted a softer tone. ‘I was going to suggest the same thing you’ve thought of. It’s a good start. Have you anyone in mind?’ Luke reached on top of the dresser, produced a long, sharp knife which he kept hidden there, and began cutting the loaf. ‘Beth Wherry. She only works part time at the schoolhouse. I’m sure she’d agree. I’m hoping to persuade her father to let her come. They’re a very religious family. I’m afraid he might not want the girl near my drunken mother.’
‘I’ve met Beth. She’s a sweet girl. If her father does agree, I’ll do all I can to support her. The children can come over to Nance for meals at any time. Mercy Merrick will be pleased to welcome them.’
Luke looked with suspicion at the uninvited guest in his home. ‘Why are you so keen to help? The kids aren’t your responsibility just because you’re Rex and Molly’s teacher.’ Marylyn had finished her feed. Jo held the minute body against her chest, wondering why her face was contorting, her stomach agitating. She prayed Marylyn was not about to be sick. ‘I didn’t come to Parmarth to play the lady bountiful, if that’s what you think. There would be no point in my taking on this more humble position unless I did my very best for the children in my class. How old is Marylyn?’
‘Um, about three months. She was born just before Guy Fawkes Night. You have to pat her back, bring up her wind.’
‘Wind? Oh.’ Jo followed his instructions and was rewarded with a loud belch from Marylyn, and a smelly posset of milk down her bunched-up skirt. ‘She must only weigh about twelve pounds.’
Luke turned away. He rubbed his stubbly jaw. Hurt came into his quiet tones, moving Jo to look at him again, and remember their first good-natured meeting. ‘We could all do with better care. I must get cleaned up. Coming here’s made me slovenly like my mother.’
‘I’m sure you’re nothing like your mother.’ Jo smiled at him.
Chapter Thirteen
Since her arrival at Nance Jo had kept a diary, written as if she were talking to Celia. She recorded each day at the school and each event spent roaming old haunts, all the places Celia had taken her to, even a stroll down the lanes, many so narrow that sledges instead of carts were still pulled by pack animals to convey goods and animal foodstuffs.
On one occasion she took a track past the abandoned twin engine houses and counting house of the Cam Galver Mine, situated directly across the coast road from the foot of Cam Galver itself. Soon, she was picking her way, as there was no obvious route, to reach the cliff over Porthmeor Cove, where she had learned to swim. The sea was huge. It pounded frustratedly on the dangerous, jagged granite far below her, and at the distant points, up and down coast. She would come back in the spring and picnic in the rocky places, where many times she had examined rock pools with Celia and collected driftwood for the Merricks.
Backtracking a short distance, she headed inland to the tall gaunt workings that had once been Parmarth’s lifeblood, a place that had become another of her playgrounds; she could still hear the persistent roar of the ocean. Owned and lost by the Morvah Mining Company, all the mechanical equipment, including the forty-inch pumping engine, had been removed and sold at the Solace Mine’s closure. The locals had quickly helped themselves to the massive timber beams and the bricks at the top of the tapering chimney stack, where the greatest strength of the construction had been needed, the latter requiring a precipitous climb. The remains of the engine house were strong enough to stand at least another century. Some of the stones had wonderful pink and blue hues incorporated in them, all were coated with mosses. The boiler house and sheds had been dismantled, their foundations, like the engine-house floor, encroached on by bracken, heather, gorse and brambles. Foliage, dead and skeletal, mercifully disguised the ugly attle as small hills.
She followed the course of one of the leats which had served the mine until it merged with the stream which eventually ran along Bridge Lane. And then she was standing on top of the desolate hill sheltering Cardhu. The house looked grey and isolated, bleak and empty, but Jo thought she heard Celia’s voice in the wind calling her name.
Each time she closed the diary she marvelled that she knew these pleasures and had escaped the unfulfilling future her mother had planned for her. The day after she added the details of her visit to the Vigus cottage, she decided to climb Carn Galver.
The sky was dull, the cross winds bitingly cold, and Jo dressed warmly, seconding Granny Merrick’s Burberry coat. She was only yards down the coast road when her hike was delayed by Mardie Dawes. She was dismayed at being accosted by this individual.
Mardie lived in a crumbling, ivy-invaded old miner’s cottage in a secluded dip on the moor. Little was known about her except she had didicoi origins. In her long flowing clothes, she was apt to spring out on travellers and thrust her herbal products under their noses, or demand she tell their fortunes. One glance at her heavily shadowed, glassine eyes, gummy mouth and malevolent expression ensured the stranger, or unwary local, usually paid up quickly. Some people sought her help with a health or love problem, or to buy her other homemade commodity, strong gut-rotting gin. Jo found it extraordinary that her mother not only believed the old woman’s ramblings but actually entertained her at Tresawna House.
‘Hello, Miss Joanna Venner.’ The old woman peered at Jo through slit eyes, rather like those of an ugly newborn baby. A whiff of something offensively musky wafted from her.
Jo could not return a simple greeting and hurry away. Mardie would follow and push her wares on her, and she could move amazingly quickly for her age.
‘Good afternoon, Mardie,’ Jo said cautiously.
Mardie’s hand dived into the deep pocket of the long, tasselled apron she wore over a red skirt. Out came an assortment of tiny, brown, cork-stoppered bottles. Mardie held one up. ‘To make your pretty hair shine, m’dear, got nettle and rosemary in it.’
‘I don’t want anything,’ Jo said ungraciously.
Mardie’s greedy eyes landed on the marcasite clip on Jo’s scarf. If unsuccessful at wringing money out of a potential customer, she would try to barter.
‘You can’t have it,’ Jo snapped.
‘I’ll tell your fortune for sixpence.’
‘No, thank you. Not now, not ever. If you’ll excuse me…’ Jo started away.
‘Saw your mother the day before you left home.’ Mardie stalled her, the wind tugging at the gold scarf wrapped round her head.
‘I know. My brother told me.’
‘She don’t care much for you.’
Jo gazed steadily at the old woman and gave no response. She was not about to give this mischief-maker ammunition to widen the estrangement between her and Katherine.
Mardie seemed to be reading the circles of her eyes, delving into the flecks, intruding in the corners, as if she was seeing into all of Jo’s thoughts, her hopes, her future. Jo reminded herself that Mardie was only a hindrance.
Mardie stared more deeply. ‘Your friend, Celia Sayce, was good to me. Used to give me regular little presents. I hope you and me can do business one day.’
‘I doubt it.’ Jo sighed impatiently.
‘I’ll look for a way.’ Mardie added a hard edge to her mocking tone.
At the sound of rumbling cartwheels heading towards them along the straight stretch of road, Jo looked ahead. A powerfully built grey horse with a confident step was pulling a covered wagon.
The women waited silently, knowing Luke Vigus would not pass by them without some sort of greeting.
Luke brought his wagon to a halt and jumped down beside them.
‘Here you are, Mardie.’ Luke produced a silver coin of high denomination and placed it on the old woman’s puckered palm.
Mardie ferreted about in her apron pocket then tossed him a rabbit’s foot attached to a length of cheap metal. Grinning pleasantly, he placed it around his neck.
Jo wished the old woman would go on her way. She wanted to enquire from Luke Vigus when Rex and Molly were likely to attend school.
Listening to the Quiet Page 12