Tremarnock Summer

by Burstall, Emma

  The rest of the house’s occupants had no doubt gone to bed, but Bramble was now wide awake. She reached for a sweater and padded silently into the bathroom, before tiptoeing downstairs to the kitchen, where she made herself a cup of tea. No matter if she was up for the rest of the night; she’d already had plenty of rest.

  She carried her mug into the shabby TV room and sat on the squashy old sofa that Wilf had used when he’d seen the Robin Hood film. She was about to look for something to watch herself when a creak made her jump, and Maria popped her head around the door and asked if she was all right. She was in a plain dressing gown and her grey hair, normally iron-straight, was all messed up.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ Bramble explained, her heart still pitter-pattering. ‘Did I wake you? I’m sorry.’

  Instead of going back to bed, Maria waited, her glasses glinting in the semi-darkness, as if she had something to say. Bramble had never invited her to sit before, but for some reason she did so now, and the older woman acquiesced, perching slightly awkwardly on the edge of the sofa and staring at the small hands resting on her lap.

  ‘You know...’ she began in a low voice, as if someone might overhear, ‘you know that things between your grandfather and grandmother were not as they seemed; it was not as people thought.’

  Bramble started. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean,’ Maria began slowly, ‘I know you think, like everybody else, that Lord Penrose abandoned your grandmother when she fell pregnant, but that was not at all the case. He loved her; he wanted to marry her. But she wouldn’t have him; she said that he was too old for her. Her parents tried to persuade her but she flatly refused – she was a headstrong young woman – so once they’d finished bullying her, to no avail, they put it about that he’d behaved disgracefully.

  ‘They were furious, you see. They only found out about the baby when your grandmother was six months gone, and by then it was too late. They wanted revenge, but it wasn’t enough just to ruin their daughter’s life; they had to harm Lord Penrose, too. They lashed out, and in the end I think they even began to believe their own lies. He offered marriage, money, everything, but they wouldn’t accept. They wanted to punish him for their shame and disappointment, and my God they succeeded.’ She took a deep breath. ‘They almost broke him.’

  Bramble’s pulse was racing. She’d wanted so much to learn about her grandfather, but Maria had always seemed so closed, so reluctant to give anything away. All that Bramble had managed to glean so far was that Lord Penrose apparently ‘cared’ about her, the granddaughter whom he’d never met. Now, it seemed, there was far more to the story.

  ‘Did he have any contact with Alice after that – or his daughter, my mother?’ she asked.

  Maria shrugged. ‘A little. The occasional note, the odd photograph. Perhaps Alice regretted her actions, I don’t know. But it was very dangerous to correspond; her parents could never find out. When she died, Mary, your mother, wrote sometimes, too, but she was a troubled girl – such a terrible upbringing.’ She sighed again. ‘Lord Penrose would have given anything to help her, but she half-believed all the nonsense that had been peddled about him, and in any case, she was beyond rescuing, poor girl. She was doomed from the start.’

  Bramble felt a lump in her throat, like a boiled sweet that wouldn’t go down. ‘Did my mother send him the photograph of me as a baby?’

  Maria nodded. ‘He treasured it, just like the others.’

  ‘It’s so sad. So many blighted lives, such a waste.’ Bramble paused. ‘I’m glad you’ve told me, but why now, Maria? Why didn’t you tell me when I first came to see the manor, just after he’d died?’

  Maria was still staring at her hands, but her black eyes seemed to glisten in the moonlight that shone through a gap in the velvet curtains.

  ‘I loved your grandfather,’ she began. ‘Not in the romantic sense, you understand, but because he was a good man, a kind man. I never knew him before he met Alice. I only came to work for him after she’d gone. By then he’d stopped laughing, stopped entertaining; he’d already become a recluse. But I heard the stories about the famous parties, the fun, and I could see the sadness in his eyes. I always hoped that he’d eventually meet someone new and find happiness at last, but it was not to be.’

  She hadn’t answered Bramble’s question, and Bramble could tell that there was more to come.

  ‘There were only two people who seemed to bring him any joy,’ Maria went on, crossing her arms over her chest as if she were cold. ‘The first was you.’

  Bramble started. ‘Really? Even though he didn’t know me?’

  ‘He knew about you. He knew your father was a good man and that he’d married a kind woman after your mother died. He knew they brought you up well and that you were a...’ She hesitated, as if wondering which words to choose. ‘...a spirited young woman with, er, with potential.’

  Bramble wasn’t sure if this was a compliment or not, but let it pass.

  ‘He also knew that you were bored with your job and craved adventure.’

  ‘How on earth did he know that?’

  ‘He had his ways,’ Maria explained darkly.

  ‘You mean he spied on me?’ Bramble was astonished.

  ‘Not exactly. Well, from time to time he hired someone to find out a little information. He only wanted to know how you were getting on and that you were all right.’

  ‘That’s still spying,’ Bramble huffed. It made her shiver to think that Lord Penrose had been keeping an eye on her, discovering things that perhaps she’d rather he hadn’t known. Had she been snooped on at work? At Matt’s flat? At lunchtime in the café with Katie? There was a law against that, surely?

  ‘Why did he bother if we were never going to meet anyway?’

  ‘Because he wanted you to have the manor, but he needed to be sure that you could cope with the responsibility. He loved Polgarry, you see. He wanted to preserve it for future generations, but at the same time he knew that he’d failed at the task himself, that he’d neglected it badly, and that only the right person would be able to bring it back to life.’

  Bramble narrowed her eyes. ‘And what made him think I was the right person? I haven’t exactly done a great job up to now.’

  The housekeeper had been sitting very upright, staring into the darkness, but now she lowered her chin in acquiescence. ‘That is true; you have made many mistakes. But all is not lost. You cannot allow a few setbacks to put you off. You must try harder – for your grandfather’s sake.’

  Now Bramble understood, and she was angry. ‘A few setbacks?’ she stuttered. ‘Is that how you’d describe what’s happened to me? I’ve split up with my long-term boyfriend, my land agent turned out to be a snake, Katie’s gone, I’m up to my neck in debt, the manor’s falling apart and I narrowly avoided drowning myself and my friend’s little daughter.’

  The housekeeper pursed her lips.

  ‘Do you honestly expect me to give up everything just to keep this old manor going, because it’s what Lord Penrose wanted, a man my mother and father hated and whom I never even met?’

  Still Maria remained silent.

  ‘He might have been good to you,’ Bramble went on, aware that her face and neck were on fire, ‘but as far as I’m concerned, he’s given me nothing but trouble and unhappiness. And another thing,’ she blurted, ‘I didn’t dare tell you before now, but you’re going to have to leave when his money runs out in a few weeks. I haven’t got anything in the bank; there’s nothing up my sleeve.’

  To her surprise, Maria simply shrugged. ‘For me that is not such a problem. I am old now, past retirement age, and I have enough put by to last until I die. But you, you are young and vital. The estate’s survival depends on you.’

  Bramble felt suddenly very small, alone, overburdened and frightened. ‘Don’t leave me!’ she wanted to say. ‘I didn’t mean it! I’ll find the money somehow. I can’t do this without you!’

  She opened her mouth to speak, but the housekeeper had
already risen and was re-fastening the cord on her gown.

  ‘I am very tired now. I bid you goodnight. I would only ask that you think very carefully before you give up on your inheritance. It is for Lord Penrose that I say this, not for myself, but it is also for you. You see, despite your youth and your errors, I believe that if you abandon Polgarry, you will live to regret it.’

  And with that, she departed, leaving Bramble staring at the empty space she’d left behind. Was the housekeeper right, or was she talking nonsense? And if Bramble were to stay at Polgarry after all, how on earth was she supposed to survive?

  It was only when she rose, thinking she might go back to bed for a while, that she realised she hadn’t asked Maria about the other person who had brought her strange, unhappy grandfather joy.

  *

  At Bag End, Liz was wide awake, too. Robert had insisted on taking over from her at the hospital so that she could get some rest, but whenever she closed her eyes, her mind was filled with nightmarish images of Lowenna in the churning water, choking and gasping, fighting for her very life, so that it was preferable to keep active, to try to distract herself.

  After pouring boiling water from the kettle into a mug, she carried yet more tea that she probably wouldn’t drink into the dimly lit sitting room and settled in an armchair, her feet pulled up beneath her. The television was on, but no matter how hard she tried to focus, nothing seemed to penetrate; it was as if she were imprisoned in an isolation chamber, the walls of which were transparent, yet no intelligible sight or sound could filter through. She wanted so much to break free, to receive warmth and comfort from the outside world, but couldn’t. Even Robert had failed to ease her anxiety. She felt frozen with shock and fear.

  Lowenna would recover; the doctors had told her so. As young as she was, they were confident that her little body would survive what had happened and that her brain, thank God, had been unaffected. But Liz knew what it was to experience the terror of nearly losing a child. Rosie’s tumour had brought her close to death, and although she was stable now, there was always an underlying niggle at the back of Liz’s mind, a dread that her eldest daughter would relapse.

  Was there some curse on the family that meant the worst would happen? Had she been wrong to imagine when she met Robert, and after Rosie recovered, that their turn for happiness had finally arrived? Liz reached for the remote and turned up the volume, telling herself not to be stupid; there was no reason not to believe the doctors who’d assured her that Lowenna was on the mend, and yet... The roar of strange voices hurt her brain, and she was still unable to make out what they were saying. She snapped the set off again. Better to sit in silence than be assaulted by white noise.

  Picturing Lowenna lying in that strange bed made Liz long to be beside her, to cuddle and reassure her if she woke. She should never have agreed to come home; almost drunk with exhaustion as she was, she’d have had more peace if she’d remained with her daughter all night. She was half-inclined to call a taxi and hurry to the hospital right now.

  Tabitha had informed her that Bramble was already back home, but Liz had chosen not to make further enquiries. In fact, she could hardly bear to hear the young woman’s name. She couldn’t believe now that she’d entrusted Bramble with her daughter, and shuddered to remember how casually she’d handed her Lowenna’s pushchair, her bag of nappies and the precious child herself, and how she, Liz, had breezed off to the supermarket feeling lucky that she wouldn’t have to drag her youngest with her after all.

  Never again. From now on she didn’t think she’d let Lowenna leave her side. She’d forever be anxious, watching for signs of danger, and it was all Bramble’s fault. She’d been reckless and immature, and it could have ended so very differently. Liz didn’t ever want to see her again.

  She was still sitting there, half-dozing in the armchair, when Rosie came limping downstairs as fast as she could in her school uniform. Dawn had broken and light now filtered through the half-closed curtains. It was Monday morning and Liz had quite forgotten.

  Traumatised as she was, it gladdened her heart to see the fresh face of her eldest and her clear, bright eyes. She must be looking forward to the coming week, which was a blessing indeed after her previous unhappiness with Tim. Liz suspected that Rafael was playing no small part in this, for Rosie had been sticking by his side since the start of term. She was no doubt enjoying introducing him to the other pupils, showing him what was what, and it would be increasing her kudos also, particularly among the girls.

  ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ Rosie asked, concerned, when she clocked her mother’s strained expression.

  Liz nodded. ‘I’m tired, that’s all. I didn’t sleep much.’

  Rosie went into the kitchen to make breakfast and Liz trailed after her, relieved at last to have some diversion.

  ‘Robert said he’d be home around ten. I’ll probably be at the hospital when you get back later, but I’ll give you a ring.’

  After Rosie had gone, Liz dressed and wandered around the house, wondering what to do with herself and praying that her husband would hurry. She was glad when the doorbell rang half an hour later and Tabitha was waiting on the step.

  ‘I just dropped Oscar off,’ she explained as Liz moved aside to allow her in. ‘He didn’t want me to go, but as soon as he spotted a friend he was all right.’

  Liz made coffee, which they drank at the kitchen table, and Tabitha tried to tell her that Bramble had fought furiously to save Lowenna from the waves.

  ‘I called in on Fergus on my way back from school,’ she explained. ‘He’s an odd, gloomy bloke, but he seemed almost pleased to see me. It must get lonely up there on the cliff. He’s had a massive shock, too. So has his son. He said he could see Bramble and Lowenna in the water as he followed the other man, Matt, down the hillside. Bramble was holding Lowenna above the waves, even when she was being sucked under herself.’

  Tabitha reached out across the table and put a hand on Liz’s.

  ‘I completely understand why you’re furious with her. I would be, too, if it had been Oscar. But—’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Liz, pulling away. ‘Can we change the subject – please?’

  Tabitha agreed, and chatted for a few minutes about her forthcoming gig, but she could tell that Liz wasn’t listening. At last Robert arrived, looking white and exhausted but bearing the news that Lowenna was awake and had eaten a good breakfast.

  ‘I’m going to try to get a couple of hours’ sleep,’ he informed the women, running a hand through his messy brown fringe. ‘Then I intend to call in on Matt at the B and B where he’s staying. He told me he’s planning to go back to London tonight and I want to thank him again. No words or gifts could repay him for what he did, but I’ll do my best to persuade him to come for a free meal. It’s the very least I can do.’

  Liz nodded and said, ‘Good idea.’

  Tabitha said that she, too, had to get on with her day.

  ‘Fergus said he was going to go to Polgarry Manor later to finish fixing the roof,’ she commented, but Liz gave her a fierce look.

  ‘Don’t mention that place to me. I hate Bramble. I’m sorry but I can’t help it; it’s just the way things are. I don’t want to think about her or speak to her again as long as I live.’

  21

  IF IT HADN’T been for Matt, Bramble would have spent all day in her pyjamas, lounging around in bed, fussed over by Cassie, Bill and Maria, and trying her best not to dwell on either yesterday or tomorrow. As it was, she forced herself to take a shower and get dressed. She was shocked by the reflection that stared back from the bathroom mirror. The skin on her face, pale at the best of times, appeared bleached, like a sheet left to dry in the hot sun, her round blue eyes had shrunk to slits, while the arch in her nose and dimple in her chin seemed more prominent than ever.

  ‘Did he say what time he was coming?’ she asked Cassie when she strolled into the bedroom.

  ‘Why don’t you ring and ask?’

  It was the obv
ious thing to do, but Bramble couldn’t bring herself to speak to him on the phone, for she had no idea where to begin or what to say. Should she thank him for saving her life or apologise for her cruel treatment of him? Or perhaps she should make small talk first and ask about his parents and job? She could only hope that when she saw him face-to-face the right words would come, though truth and eloquence didn’t seem enough; she’d need a touch of magic.

  He arrived at around midday. Alone in the reception room, she could hear his footsteps through the open window crunching on the gravel, and she guessed that he would have made his own way. He preferred walking to hanging around for the bus or train, though he’d had to put up with it when she’d worn high heels. ‘Nothing wrong with Shanks’s pony,’ he used to joke, eyeing her ankle snappers with disapproval. ‘Cheapest form of transport.’

  When the footsteps stopped for a moment, she pictured him pausing to take in the grand entrance, its battered stone steps leading up to the old oak door, the vast windows and decorative turrets. What would he make of it? That it was just as dilapidated and forbidding as he’d envisaged, or would he be pleasantly surprised by the soft-grey stone, crumbling gardens and pleasing symmetry?

  Feeling suddenly sick with anxiety, she got up from the sofa where she’d been sitting and paced around, her ears pricked up, waiting for the creak of the door that would signal his arrival.

  Maria spoke first, her words echoing in the marble stillness, followed by a breathless Cassie.

  ‘Matt! Come in, for heaven’s sake! Did you walk all the way? Goodness! You must be worn out!’