‘That dried-up mess you left in the oven?’ he retorted. ‘It was marginally better than prison food, I suppose. I’m going upstairs to the bathroom.’ He ran his eyes over her clothes; a red and white spotted silk dress with padded shoulders and high round collar, silk stockings and high heels were hardly appropriate for housework. Shaking his head, he left her to it.
In the bathroom he stripped naked, scrubbed his skin, shaved, then not satisfied with his first wash scrubbed himself again. He brushed his teeth once, twice, three times, making his gums bleed, glad his sentence hadn’t been long enough to ruin his teeth which were white and even. He inspected the length of his body in the mirror tiles; his muscles had not lost their bulk but needed toughening up.
He put on new underpants and shirt. As he gazed at his pallid reflection in the cabinet mirror, he was heavy-handed with the aftershave. His grandfather had cared nothing for personal hygiene, Daniel had lived with the stink of fish scales and guts all his working life, he’d breathed in the putrefying odours of victims of drowning who had long floated in the water, but nothing had been as vile as the overpowering stench of the prison. On the way home from Exeter Prison he had stopped at a hotel where he’d immersed himself in a bath of burning hot water, scrubbing himself over and over with a bar of richly lathering soap with a non-chemical smell and dried himself on thick clean towels. His next stop had been a brothel, where he’d got a prostitute to check him for vermin, resisting her usual services; he’d never resorted to a woman of her ilk before and had seen enough sickness and disease in the last year and a quarter not to take the risk.
Now he had things to do, things he would enjoy. First he must get the Sunrise totally seaworthy. Fishing was a part of his life he craved and it would give him cover while he acted as go-between for thieves and fences. He had spent nearly all his savings on the house and he was eager to get back to both his means of livelihood. Once he was settled in the old routines, he would get on with his main reason for coming home to Porthellis: revenge on some of its inhabitants, particularly Fred Jose, Hannah Penney and her wretched husband.
Grace struggled with the washing while listening to Daniel moving about upstairs. Several times she filled the large blue-rimmed bowl in the sink with water heated from the range’s back boiler and carried it across to the small grey clothes boiler. Gingerly picking up the garments, she threw them into the boiler then screamed in fright and indignation. She had put too much water into the boiler and it overflowed and splashed her feet, rudely breaking into her thoughts about what Daniel might like for breakfast.
‘Damn,’ she hissed under her breath, looking about for something to wipe up the spillage. She found a mop in a cupboard and wiped it over the green and yellow linoleum. She went back to the sitting room, mentally positioning the furniture in the best places. She would busy herself with something she would enjoy, knowing the reason she was really here was the excitement of putting herself into a position that was ill-advised and, if the more colourful rumours about Daniel were true, potentially dangerous. After years of being stifled of every freedom by her dour, uncompromising father and boring, old-fashioned mother, doing her duty as an unmarried daughter, she intended to indulge herself in anything that took her fancy, no matter what anyone else thought. And, she admitted shamelessly, she very much fancied the so-called villain who owned this house.
‘You’ll have to take the coloureds out of the boiler,’ Daniel said sternly, striding into the room and putting his cigarettes and lighter into his trouser pocket.
‘Why?’
‘Because the colours will run and ruin the whites, and water that’s too hot will shrivel up my silk shirt,’ he said disdainfully. ‘And,’ he stressed unkindly, ‘you’ve forgotten the soap flakes.’
It was her unsuccessful attempt at his laundry that finally made Grace redden. ‘I’ll see to it at once.’
As she moved past him, he shot out a hand and grabbed her shoulder. He had one or two things to straighten out before their relationship went any further. ‘Haven’t you heard about me? Whatever people are saying, I’ll have you know it’s all true. Apart from being a convicted criminal I’ve always lived on the wrong side of the law. I get involved in fights and I’ve had affairs with dozens of women – married women, girls just over the age of consent, they’re all the same to me. I don’t like anyone and I don’t trust anyone. So what’s your bloody game?’
‘I don’t play games, Daniel,’ she said, unabashed that he was touching her, that she was looking straight into his blue eyes.
‘Your uncle and aunt would be horrified to find you’re here again and alone with me.’
‘Why don’t you let me worry about that?’
He let her go. ‘All right, I will.’
‘I was wondering,’ she began, attempting to gain his confidence, ‘what do you intend to do with the old cottage?’
‘The building’s sound. I’ll fit it up and rent it. I need a new crew for my boat and they’ll need somewhere to live. Get this straight, Grace, I don’t need help in rehabilitation, if that’s what you think. I know exactly what I’m going to do with my future.’
‘I don’t doubt anything you’ve said to me.’ She smiled with warmth.
‘Fine, as long as you know where you stand with me.’
‘Can I make you something for breakfast?’
‘No,’ he disappointed her. ‘I’ll get something from the bakehouse. No one will dare to refuse me after the scene you pulled in Hamlyn Innis’s shop. I’m off to take a long hard look at my boat then I’m going to arrange a memorial stone for my granddad. You get to the kitchen and rescue my washing.’
* * *
Hannah was chuckling as she left Janet’s house. Jowan, Janet’s son, had stopped her leaving sooner to question her about Lily, the under-housemaid at Roscarrock, and to ask her to try to find out if she might be interested in him. Jowan had recently dropped his hobby of astronomy for girls. Hannah liked Lily. Jowan could do no better than look in that quarter for a girlfriend.
She waved to Matt and Jeff as they unloaded their enviable catch of ray, ling, turbot, conger eel and skate for the merchant’s men, and then turned towards Cliffside Cottage.
She caught her breath when she saw Daniel striding, head up, shoulders back, down the hill. He was eating a huge saffron bun and drinking from a bottle of Coca-Cola, looking intently at his lugger moored beside the Misty. He was obviously heading for the boat and even if she quickened her steps she couldn’t avoid passing him.
As they got within a few feet of each other, she lifted her chin and looked straight at him. He eyed her coldly, said nothing, walked straight past her.
Hannah sighed heavily as she carried on her way. Outside her mother’s cottage she watched as Daniel reached the busy scene on the quay. The fishermen, including Matt, stopped working for a moment and looked in his direction, as if they were frozen in time. From what she could see, none of them spoke to Daniel and he spoke to none of them. He leapt aboard the Sunrise, disappeared inside the cabin and the men returned to their work. If Daniel’s return meant life in the village would always be as non-eventful, Hannah’s heart would rest easy, but she knew as certainly as the tide went in and out twice a day that it wasn’t going to be like that.
Chapter 4
Hannah preferred to stay at home when Matt was not at sea, but if she missed one of her weekly visits to Roscarrock, Feena Opie would get Greg or Patrick Opie to drive her to Seaview Cottage. Mrs Penney would give her a polite but cool reception, Prim or Janet would invariably turn up, and it usually led to sarcasm and back-biting. Hannah was in no mood for such behaviour today, but nor was she looking forward to fending off her real mother’s continual interference in the way she was bringing up Nathan. Nevertheless, as the house came into view, she felt the same delight as on her first excursion here for the interview as housekeeper.
A light shower of rain in the early hours had given the earth a fresh healthy smell. White, yellow and pink rhodod
endrons and azaleas in deeper hues lined the drive, and the gentle scent of magnolia wafted over her. The flowering trees and shrubs had been planted by Patrick to give pleasure to all the senses. Somewhere in the woods a pigeon cooed and a blackbird sang up high in the giant oak tree in the middle of the lawn. Roscarrock never failed to weave its magic in Hannah’s heart and although she loved her life in the fishing village, a small part of her wished she could live here, too.
Inside, the house had recently been given a fresh coat of paint throughout. The vestibule and hall and the high archway which separated them, and the intricately carved doors of the drawing room, dining room and the study-cum-library were pristine white. It gave the perfect backdrop to the Georgian and Victorian furniture and the grandfather clock. The plaster picture bays, which displayed many portraits in richly carved frames, were now a warm pink, contrasting tastefully with the thick, plum-coloured carpeting. Hannah carried Nathan up the first short flight of wide stairs to the exquisite Queen Anne window on the large square landing. She looked down on the back courtyard of the house and saw Patrick Opie by the stable, pushing a wheelbarrow piled high with manure. She turned and climbed the next flight of eight steps.
She made her way along the corridor to Feena Opie’s suite, hurrying past the room with a sea view that the lady had insisted she have when she worked here. It held bad memories for her. It was in there that she had read Feena Opie’s journal, left on her bed by a spiteful nurse, and had learned that her employer was her mother. And it was on that bed that Daniel had thrown her and nearly raped her.
Feena had watched Hannah arrive from her balcony but was now seated in her wheelchair. Pogo, her little Pomeranian dog, was napping on a chair and jumped down to yap excitedly about Hannah’s feet when she entered. Feena greeted Hannah warmly. She had got Lily to lay out some toys on a blanket near her feet and held out her arms for Nathan.
‘Hello, my sweet darling.’ She kissed his pink chubby cheeks. ‘Have you come to see me?’ She tickled his nose. ‘Hannah, sit down, dear. I want to have a serious discussion with you.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Hannah sat with Pogo on her lap, absentmindedly caressing his silky ears. She hoped she wasn’t about to be pressed with another of Feena’s aspirations for Nathan’s future. Last week she had been forced to stress that she and Matt had no intention of sending Nathan away to boarding school when he was seven years old. It was difficult arguing with a lady who gave orders rather than suggestions. ‘Is something the matter?’ she asked cautiously.
‘It’s about what Nathan will call me when he’s learned to talk,’ Feena said, happily allowing the baby to tug on the big yellow beads around her neck. ‘We can’t allow the truth to slip out, there would be a dreadful scandal, but I am his grandmother. I don’t want him to call me Mrs Opie, it would create a barrier between us. Come to that, there’s the question of what you call me, Hannah. You refer to me as Mrs Opie in company, which is the proper thing to do, but when we’re alone you don’t call me anything.’
‘I hadn’t noticed,’ Hannah fibbed. After she’d recovered from the shock of finding out Feena was her real mother, she hadn’t had a clue what to call her. ‘Have you any suggestions?’
Feena smiled as if she was pleased with herself. ‘My grandmother was also called Feena and was known affectionately by all the family as Bubsie. We can train Nathan to call me that. I don’t suppose you can call me Mother, even in private. Someone might overhear. And you think of Prim as that,’ she added rather sourly. ‘People take it for granted that I grew fond of you when you worked here so when Nathan has got used to my name, you can call me Bubsie too. I think it’s a splendid idea.’
Hannah agreed to the suggestion but privately thought the chosen name of Bubsie was ridiculous.
‘That’s settled then.’ Feena gently squeezed Nathan who was now prodding the tiny buttons that ran from below her elbow to her wrist on her wool-jersey sleeve. She turned her inscrutable blue eyes on Hannah. Hannah was gazing vacantly at a porcelain shepherdess on the mantelpiece. ‘You seem preoccupied today, my dear. Did Matt do poorly at sea?’ Feena already knew the answer. She kept abreast of all Matt’s work movements and, unknown to Hannah, got Patrick Opie to check that all of Porthellis’s boats were safely home at the end of each work period.
‘The Misty did very well, actually,’ Hannah replied, returning to the present. ‘Do you remember Daniel Kittow?’
‘Of course. The man who was sent to prison. What about him?’
‘He’s been released and he returned home yesterday. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it appears that the new house built just along the street from us belongs to him.’
‘I don’t like that,’ Feena frowned. She knew Daniel had been furious after Hannah had spurned him. ‘I’ve heard more about that young man from the Chief Constable. He would have been sent to prison years ago and for a much longer sentence if the police had managed to get the evidence against him. Don’t worry, Hannah. I’m sure the police will keep an eye on him.’
‘Daniel’s too clever to be caught out easily. He told me he didn’t steal from the village and I believe that’s the truth. I pity the person responsible when Daniel gets hold of him.’
Feena looked at Hannah in surprise; she had not mentioned this before. ‘Who do you think stole from the villagers?’
‘A fisherman called Fred Jose. I think he hid the goods in the Kittow cottage and informed the police to get even with Daniel for mocking him. Soon after Daniel went to prison, Fred and his father persuaded my uncle Terence Spargo and his son Morley to ask old Rufus Kittow to sell them his and Daniel’s share of the Sunrise. Rufus refused and bought them out instead. Only Daniel could have had that sort of money. I think Fred was too scared to fish with Daniel again.’
Nathan was getting restless and Feena bent over to put him on the blanket with the toys. ‘Who would guess all that was going on in what seems like a sleepy little village?’ she said lightly although her comment did not match what was running through her mind. ‘Would you like to ring for tea, dear?’
‘I’ll pop down to the kitchen and order it,’ Hannah said, knowing Feena would like some time alone with her grandson and it would give her the opportunity to speak to Lily. She put Pogo on his chair and then stopped at the door. ‘Thinking about Daniel, I’ve forgotten to ask about Leah and Greg. Have you heard from them since they went on honeymoon?’
‘Greg telephoned from Paris this morning,’ Feena smiled up from giving Nathan a wooden soldier which he promptly put in his mouth. ‘He said they’re having a wonderful time. After Paris they’re going on to Scotland. I think I’ll arrange a small dinner party to welcome them home. I shall invite Grace Treloar, I found her an interesting woman, but not her insufferable aunt. Matt’s got a passable suit. It won’t put him to too much trouble to escort you.’ She looked at Hannah closely. ‘Your parents are welcome too, to see their daughter settle into her new home.’
‘I doubt if Mother will come.’ Hannah frowned, realizing that Leah was going to have to divide her life in future.
‘Do ask your father. I don’t want to be accused of excluding them. This will be Leah’s home as much as Greg’s.’
Hannah loved dining at Roscarrock. She didn’t have an evening gown but she would wear the dress she’d worn at Leah’s wedding.
Feena seemed to read her thoughts. ‘I’ve ordered an evening dress for you from my local dressmaker,’ she said. ‘It’s on my bed. You can try it on before you leave. If it needs slight alteration it won’t take a minute for an accomplished needlewoman like yourself.’
‘Thank you.’ Hannah smiled, knowing it was useless to argue, and she did rather like being spoiled by Feena who had always been good to her.
In the kitchen she found Lily with Patrick Opie and Angie Miller, the middle-aged, thickly built housemaid, drinking tea at the long table.
‘Ah, here she is,’ Patrick said, springing to his feet. ‘We’ve kept the kettle simmering for you, Hannah. We all want to
see our little poppit before you leave.’ Having returned from Africa, widowed, homeless and penniless many years ago, he lived at Roscarrock as part gentleman, part servant, and often took tea with the staff in the kitchen. He often did the cooking, something he excelled at. Hannah wasn’t surprised to see him still in his baggy gardening clothes. He had a passion for gardening and produced the best vegetables and flowerbeds for miles around, spending more time outside than inside the grand old house.
‘Thank you, Mr Patrick,’ Hannah said.
Lily prepared the tea tray. Angie, who was painfully shy, blushed as she inquired, ‘How is young Nathan, Mrs Penney?’
‘He’s very well, thank you, Angie. Eats like a horse and is very active. I’ll make sure you get to hold him before I go,’ she said, knowing Angie would never pluck up the courage to ask.
‘Put plenty of my shortbread on the tray, Lily,’ Patrick beamed. ‘I’m sure the little man would like to nibble on one.’
‘He’ll love that.’ Hannah smiled affectionately at him. ‘You’ll all be a bit busier when Mr Greg and Leah come back.’
‘We’re looking forward to it,’ Lily said brightly as she bustled about energetically. ‘Be some changes round here then. Miss Benson says she’s going to give us new instructions. Me and Angie have started getting the big double bedroom ready. It’ll be nice having someone round here my own age but Miss Benson says I must remember that Miss Leah will be Mrs Opie Junior and I mustn’t be familiar with her no more.’ Lily was a chatterbox but closed her mouth the moment the door leading to the servants’ hall was opened.
A woman appeared, small in stature with short straight greying hair pulled back at the brow with a hair grip, dressed in a severely styled bottle-green dress and flat lace-up shoes. This was Miss Benson. She had been Roscarrock’s housekeeper before Hannah, and had left to nurse her elderly father. He had died at the same time Hannah had married and Mrs Opie had been delighted to have the efficient Miss Benson back in her employ. Aged about fifty, she had a nondescript, forgettable face and tended to be dour and uncommunicative unless there was a staff or household concern to be dealt with.
Porthellis Page 5