Primmy's Daughter

by Primmy's Daughter (retail) (epub)

  ‘I don’t know,’ Skye said slowly. ‘What’s more to the point, what kind of a guy was your grandfather?’

  ‘The best, as far as I’m concerned, which makes it even more bewildering to meet with all this hatred. And by the way, what is your name?’

  ‘Skye. Skye Tremayne.’

  ‘That’s the prettiest name for a very beautiful young lady, if I may say so.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t. I’m not in the mood for compliments. Now, shall we take a walk over the moors, Lieutenant? There’s someone I want you to meet.’

  He snorted, his dark eyes flashing at the rebuff. ‘Hell, I’m not going to move one step until you cut all this British formality and call me Lewis. We’re cousins, aren’t we?’

  ‘I guess so,’ she said slowly. ‘Lewis it is then.’

  The waft of herbs and indefinable cooking smells came towards them long before they reached the hovel Skye pointed out.

  ‘Good God, what kind of a person lives in such a dump?’ Lewis exclaimed.

  ‘Some say she’s a witch. Others say she’s just a harmless old woman who mixes potions and herbal cures for any gullible person who asks for them.’

  She watched him closely as she spoke, but his face gave nothing away. If he had any idea what she was talking about, he was being as close as a clam, she thought. And she wished she could remember the details properly. As it was, they merely swam about in her brain like water-colour memories, indistinct and unclear.

  Helza must be persuaded to repeat it all while her senses were fully alert, Skye thought determinedly. There must be no herbal concoctions, no drugs. Then they would both learn of the tragedy of the past and the part their forebears had taken in it, and try to relate it to the present.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Skye sat down gingerly on the edge of a stool. She just managed to resist the urge to gather her skirts around her and make herself as small as possible in the stifling atmosphere of the cottage, added to by the vile-smelling stuff Helza smoked in her clay pipe. Lewis Pascoe seemed to have got over his initial distaste, and stared around with interest now.

  ‘Jeez, I never knew such places existed,’ he exclaimed.

  Skye saw Helza cock her head on one side and study him. ‘You bain’t from these parts, are you? Mebbe you’ve come from the same place as the pretty maid here.’

  ‘I’m American,’ Lewis said. ‘Lieutenant Lewis Pascoe of the United States Army, to be precise.’

  ‘Oh-ho, so now I see why you’ve come. You want to know if ‘tis true what I told missie here, do ’ee?’

  Skye leaned forward, anxious not to offend the old biddy. ‘I’ve told him nothing, Helza, because I can’t remember any of it clearly. You gave me a drink, remember?’

  ‘You needed it, as I recall, to steady your nerves.’

  But not to wipe out all memory of certain things that once occurred in my family, thought Skye in annoyance.

  ‘Can I offer ’ee both a drink now?’ she wheezed.

  ‘No thank you!’ Skye said quickly. ‘But will you tell us again, Helza – the things you told me then? About…’ she dragged the memories to the front of her mind as best she could, ‘about the old Larnie Stone, wasn’t it?’

  When the old witch said nothing, she became more agitated, her words rushing out.

  ‘It was to do with two young girls and a potion, and seeing the faces of their lovers at midnight.’

  ‘Go on,’ Helza cackled. ‘The memories are still in your head, my pretty, and you don’t need me to bring ’em out.’

  ‘But I do,’ Skye snapped. ‘I want you to tell my cousin exactly what you told me. He has a right to know as much as I do, and my telling would be biased.’

  ‘So it would,’ Helza agreed, glancing at the now silent Lewis. ‘Well then, how do it feel, my fine young feller, to know that one o’ yourn despoiled a young girl and caused her to drown herself?’

  ‘One of mine?’

  ‘Oh ah. ’Twere one o’ yourn all right that forced hisself on her. Name of Jude Pascoe, the felon were, and this here pretty maid’s granny witnessed every gory bit o’ the agony t’other ’un suffered because of the raping and the shame of it, afore she drowned herself.’

  ‘You lying old witch!’ Lewis burst out furiously. ‘You should be hounded out of here for weaving such evil tales.’

  ‘It’s the truth, Lewis,’ Skye cut in. ‘All of it. Every word of it is true.’

  And with every word old Helza bit out in her hoarse, lascivious croak, the memory of the first time Skye had heard it came surging back, every bit as horrific as it was then, and just as convincing.

  Without warning, Lewis knocked over the stool he had been sitting on and stormed out of the hovel. Skye stared at the old woman dumbly, realising she had no coins to give her, but it seemed that Helza wanted nothing.

  ‘He’ll take time to adjust to it,’ she said complacently, just as if she’d told him no more than a fairy tale. ‘You should never have brought him here if you didn’t want him to know. Just beware of one thing, pretty maid. Don’t let history repeat itself.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Skye said, starting to back away as the stink of the old crone’s clay pipe became even more excruciatingly rank. She heard Helza cackle again.

  ‘If ’ee don’t know by now what ’tis like to lie beneath a man, missie, then mind you don’t find out by lying beneath a wrong ’un, that’s all.’

  Skye turned abruptly, needing to get out of the cottage and breathe clean air before the overpowering stink of the place overcame her. She ran outside, to see Lewis stalking away from her, back in the direction of the sky-tips, more menacing than usual without the sunlight glinting on them, like great grey-white sentinels crouching over the clayworks and the gouged-out earth and murky clay pools.

  ‘Lewis, wait!’

  He stood still, not turning around, until she caught up with him. Then he whirled on her.

  ‘You should have warned me. Christ, that filthy old crone got as much excitement out of the telling as if she was being groped. And you believe it, do you?’

  His crudity didn’t shock her. She had heard and seen enough in the hospitals in France to know how men hit out verbally when they were hurt and shocked, and impotent to do anything else.

  ‘Of course I believe it,’ she said quietly. ‘And so must you. Can’t you see that it explains why Granny Morwen was so shocked at hearing your name? Her friend Celia was more than a sister to her. What Jude Pascoe did to her was unforgiveable.’

  She carefully avoided calling Jude his grandfather, distancing him from the act that was still so despicable and unforgettable to Morwen, even after all these years.

  They walked on rapidly without speaking, until the gaunt, holed standing stone reared up in front of them.

  ‘Is this the place then?’ Lewis almost snarled. ‘Is this where I’m meant to believe that that harmless old man I loved until he died, raped a young girl?’

  ‘This is the Larnie Stone,’ Skye said woodenly. ‘They drank a witchwoman’s potion and circled the stone at midnight like they were told, and Ben Killigrew and Jude Pascoe were waiting for them.’

  ‘How convenient. And you don’t think these flighty young dames encouraged them?’

  He oozed sarcasm and scorn, and Skye flinched. If Morwen had been vindictive over what had happened, then so was he in defence of his grandfather. And she was here alone with him, with Helza’s warning suddenly ringing in her ears.

  ‘I don’t know. I wasn’t there, any more than you were. I only know what I’ve been told.’

  ‘And maybe they weren’t the only dames ready for a bit of fun, eh? There’s nobody to see, honey.’

  He suddenly grabbed her to him, almost winding her. The stink of Helza’s cottage was still on him, and to Skye it was as if he was the evil one, he was Jude, and she was Celia, reincarnated, and it was all about to happen again…

  She wrenched herself away from him, her eyes full of terror, forcing the images
away.

  ‘How dare you!’ she screamed. ‘My grandmother was right to mistrust you. You’re tarred with the same brush as the other one, and if my husband gets wind of what’s happened here, he’ll kill you.’

  She stopped abruptly as he grabbed her left hand.

  ‘There’s no wedding ring, sweetheart, only a token—’

  ‘It’s here.’ She pulled the chain from her neck and thrust the gold wedding ring under his nose.

  ‘What’s this? Another secret in the family? Does the old lady know about it, I wonder?’ he taunted.

  ‘She knows. And I advise you to forget this conversation ever happened. Otherwise, well, you don’t know these clayers like I do. They’re a violent bunch with a tradition of protecting their own, and if it was known that Skye Tremayne had had trouble with a soldier, I wouldn’t give a red cent for your chances. Things have happened on these moors that have no logical explanation, like old buildings being burned to the ground and nothing found of the occupant but his boots.’

  She didn’t know why she was saying these things, nor why her voice had dropped to a husky, sing-song quality, as if someone other than herself was saying the words. She stood there defiantly, old Morwen Tremayne to the life, some might say, her black hair streaming in the wind, her blue eyes flashing with anger, her voice accusing and threatening.

  To her amazement, Lewis Pascoe began to back away.

  ‘You’re bloody mad!’ he shouted. ‘You’re in cahoots with that black-hearted bitch back there, and if you’re married at all, it must be to the devil. This family will hear no more from me, and the sooner I’m shipped out of here, the better.’

  Skye sank to her knees as he ran over the moors the way they had come, presumably to drive like a crazy man in his boneshaker car and back to his billets. For one awful, terrible moment, she felt a fleeting hope that he might lose control of the car and go hurtling into oblivion, to pay for all the pain his ancestor had caused Morwen, and Celia.

  Even though the thought was gone almost before it was formed, she shook uncontrollably. Because for that black-hearted instant, she knew it was in her power, as it was in everyone’s, to think evil thoughts, and to wish someone dead. And she had never done so in her life before.

  She gathered her senses together and ran back over the moors to the deserted Clay One, and her own car. There was no sign of Lewis Pascoe’s. There was no sign of anyone, and she wandered restlessly around the silent clayworks, unwilling to go home yet, and trying to piece together what it must have been like when it hummed with activity and workers.

  She closed her eyes, imagining Morwen and Celia, and her great-grandmother Bess, and a host of other bal maidens in their white aprons and bonnets, made even whiter by the constant clay dust. Whole families had spent their lives working for Killigrew Clay – lived and died for it, she thought, remembering the Killigrew Pals Battalion.

  It was too big to be destroyed by the lust of one evil man, or those who had sought to take control of it by other means. No strikes, disasters or losses had completely ruined it, and none would. There was something fundamental and enduring about a livelihood that had existed for generations. Theo and his little son, whose precocious antics she so scorned, would see to that. It was humbling…

  ‘Skye, what the devil are you doing? I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

  Her muddled thoughts were shattered as she heard a voice calling to her. She scrambled to her feet, brushing down the dirt and dust from her skirts, and saw Philip hurrying over the uneven ground towards her. He caught her in his arms.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘Is Granny Morwen all right? Has anything happened?’ she said through trembling lips, ignoring his question.

  ‘Your grandmother is tolerably well, though I had a shock when I went to the house to discover what had happened. But what are you doing up here? I’ve searched everywhere.’

  She leaned against him. He was so blessedly normal, so quickly regaining strength and vitality now, at a time when she felt as if her bones had turned to water and there was nothing substantial inside her at all.

  ‘Philip, I’m perfectly well,’ she said shakily. ‘I was just so upset after Granny Morwen’s attack that I had to get away and be alone. It was cowardly of me, I know—’

  ‘No, it wasn’t. You’ve had a hell of a few years, as we all have. You’ve seen worse sights than any young lady should ever see, and eventually, something had to crack. But now it’s time to go, Skye. Your car will be safe here until tomorrow. You’re coming home with me.’

  Home to New World, of course, because that was where she needed to be. She felt safe there. She had gone through a war, and she had never felt quite as disorientated and afraid then, as she did now. Lewis Pascoe had done that.

  ‘What happened? I know about the visitor,’ Philip asked as he drove them slowly home. ‘Mrs Arden told me some of it, and how he upset your grandmother.’

  ‘I’ll tell you everything, Philip,’ she murmured. ‘But not now. I’m only just coming to terms with it all myself.’

  He glanced at her, seeing the pinched look around her mouth. He already knew more than she suspected. Theo Tremayne hadn’t been reticent in explaining who the visitor was, and his connection with the family. And the more he learned about them, the more intrigued he was by the bonds that had kept this huge family together, and dragged them apart.

  ‘Stop the car, Philip!’ she said suddenly. ‘Quickly!’

  Almost before he did so, she had wrenched open the door and stumbled out, retching violently and spewing bile over the ground. He was beside her, holding her, while she sobbed helplessly.

  ‘I’m sorry, and I know I’m being a soft-ball,’ she gasped. ‘I’ve just always hated being sick. Mom used to say I’d better get over it if I’m ever going to have a baby, since she was sick every inch of the way with Sinclair and me.’

  She was gabbling, because the truth of it was only just beginning to dawn on her. It wasn’t the first time she had felt so nauseous, but because of her all-time aversion to the indignity of it, she had always managed to fight it down until now. It had been happening for a couple of weeks, and other things that should have happened, hadn’t. And she had never even considered why…

  ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’ Philip asked her slowly, still holding her close to his chest as the nausea subsided and her colour returned.

  ‘I think what I’m saying,’ she said shakily, when she could speak, ‘is that we’d better get those belated marriage announcements out pretty damn quickly, before the whole family is scandalised when I produce a little cousin for Sebastian.’

  She tried to make a small joke of it, because it was suddenly scary to think she might be carrying another human being inside her. And she didn’t even know for certain if it was true. Except in her heart, and in the feelings of new life that were suddenly surging inside her, blotting out the past, giving them a future that was theirs alone.

  She looked up at Philip, searching his face.

  ‘Is it… Philip, it is all right, isn’t it?’ she said, suddenly hesitant. ‘We always said we wanted children, but we never said when.’

  He gave a joyous laugh. ‘It still amazes me that it’s never happened before now, my passionate little darling! And if there was anything to give your grandmother an incentive to get well again, I’m damn sure this is it. You know how she dotes on you.’

  ‘But I don’t think we should tell her just yet,’ Skye said, guilty that she had totally forgotten Morwen in the intimacy of these last few minutes. ‘She’s had enough to cope with just recently.’

  Even though Skye knew that Morwen would have understood completely. But even good news could be a shock, and they had to choose the right moment for this secret to be shared, the best secret of all, because the dynasty would continue.

  In any case, the April party would have to be abandoned, with Morwen’s health so uncertain. She would need time to recover from her stroke, and S
kye refused to think that it could end in any other way. To her, Morwen was still invincible, even though she knew how mortal all of them were.

  What was more urgent now, was for Skye and Philip to carefully work out the wording for the marriage announcements and then post the cards to all members of the family. Once it was done, Skye went to The Informer offices in Truro and asked to see David Kingsley. He greeted her more warmly than of old.

  ‘This is an unexpected pleasure, Skye. I’m delighted with the articles you’ve been sending in recently, and happy for you to continue with a regular women’s column, as you’ve hinted more than once.’ He paused. ‘I presume that is what you came to see me about?’

  ‘Not entirely,’ she said, feeling her face flush. ‘I’ve come to ask if you would place this announcement in the paper, David. I’ve worded it very carefully as you will see, and if it could be included in one of my normal pieces of copy, it would reach the people most interested.’

  He took the envelope from her and took out the paper inside, scanning it quickly in his editorial way.

  ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Skye – is this true?’

  ‘Well, of course it is. It’s hardly something I would invent, is it?’

  ‘And you and your – well, I can hardly call him your fiancé now – have actually been married all this time?’

  ‘That’s right. But now that Philip’s recovered from his injuries, we see no reason to keep it a secret any longer.’

  ‘So why did you?’ he said, with the newspaperman’s nose for a story.

  She lifted her shoulders helplessly. ‘It seemed the right thing to do at the time. There was a great to-do about married women not going to war, and being together for part of the time was better than not being together at all.’

  He looked at her thoughtfully and then at the brief announcement she had handed him.

  ‘Then I suggest that you write this in an entirely different way. It’s far too formal a statement, and you should capitalise on the romance of it, Skye. Make it appeal to the readers as being the love story of the war, including your husband’s slow return to health. Readers will love it.’