Daisychain Summer

  ‘Ssssh. You don’t mean it; you know you don’t. You are tired, Clemmy. Come now – try to sleep? I’ll stay with you, hold your hand.’

  ‘But I can’t sleep! Whenever I close my eyes it’s all I see – the car in flames and that stupid sheep. He swerved to avoid it, hit the tree, you know. I’ll have that tree cut down!’

  ‘My dear, don’t torment yourself. Remember that Elliot loved you dearly.’

  ‘No! It’s all my fault!’

  ‘Nobody’s fault. Just a terrible accident.’

  ‘Listen, will you? I was angry with Elliot. I said things I shouldn’t have. I said he was no better than a young tup – only the other day I said it! And it was a tup – a young ram – that ran out and killed him! What am I to do?’

  ‘You are to take your tablets. I insist that you do, Clemmy. They will help you – let you sleep,’ Helen murmured, guiding the stumbling figure across the landing, pushing open a bedroom door. ‘There now – lie down.’ She eased off Clementina’s shoes, then shook two tablets from the bottle, offering them, eyes pleading.

  ‘I wish they were poison, Helen. I could sleep, then, and never wake up.’

  ‘You mustn’t talk like that! Please take them – for me?’

  Reluctantly, truculently, Clementina placed the tablets on her tongue, then swallowed them obediently.

  ‘Poison,’ she murmured, sipping the water Helen had poured. ‘And just see if I don’t have that tree cut down! It’s my tree; this house is mine and everything in it and all of it for Elliot. He had everything to live for.’

  ‘Hush, now.’ Helen took the trembling hand into her own, holding it tightly. ‘Lie down. Try to sleep?’

  ‘I don’t want to sleep. I want to stay awake, be with him right to the end …’

  ‘But Edward is with him, and his brothers, and Anna. Please try to rest?’

  ‘I want a cigarette, Helen.’

  ‘But you don’t smoke. It would make you cough. Besides, I don’t know where –’

  ‘There are cigarettes in the box on Elliot’s dressing table. Bring me one – please?’

  ‘Very well.’ Frowning, Helen slid the bottle into her pocket. Clemmy hadn’t liked the cigarettes Elliot smoked, said the smell of them nauseated her.

  Reluctantly she crossed the landing, shivering without reason, all at once reluctant to enter Elliot’s room. For a few seconds she stood, staring at the ornate carving on the heavy door, the brightly polished brass fittings. Then fearfully, almost, she turned the knob.

  Alice glanced at the mantel clock. Ten minutes past noon. Soon, he would be gone for ever. Soon, when Nathan murmured, Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, she would know that never again need she fear Elliot Sutton. Never again would she walk in Brattocks Wood, follow a sudden turn in the path and see him there.

  Once, she had done that and he had barred her way, taking her wrist, demanding she tell him her name.

  That had been awful, but nothing so awful, so evil, as the night in Celverte. That night, she didn’t have the strength to fight him; that night she had learned Tom was dead and she wanted to die, too, on that cowshed floor. But Elliot Sutton had not killed her; only taken her savagely. Yet now he was gone and she need never again fear he would stumble on the truth of Drew’s fathering. The deceit had died with him.

  She ran up the stairs, opening the door of the alcove cupboard, easing back the linoleum that covered the floor, prizing up the piece of board that revealed the opening below.

  The small cash box lay there. In it she kept her precious things; Daisy’s sapphire christening brooch, the pearl engagement ring, her marriage lines, Daisy’s birth certificate. But most precious of all was the buttercup spray she had pressed in her Bible. Tom had given it to her. His buttercup girl he’d called her, and from their first kiss came the certainty that she would love him till the day she died.

  Carefully she opened the envelope in which it lay; carefully she took it out. It was brittle, now, and brown. Tom had taken it with him when he left for France, laid it in the little Testament that was his mother’s parting gift.

  She had never thought to see her buttercups again, for Tom was dead, she thought, and who, when they laid his body in the hastily-dug grave, could care about a spray of buttercups? But they had come back to her and now they were her talisman; while she had them she knew nothing could harm her nor Tom nor Daisy.

  She smiled tenderly, tearfully, returning the envelope to the box, hiding it away again. Elliot Sutton was dead. She knew she should pray for him, but could not. She eased the linoleum back and then, before she rose to her feet, she closed her eyes and bowed her head.

  ‘Dear Lord,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you with all my heart for my happiness – and let me keep it, please?’

  Ashes to ashes …

  Anna Sutton stared down into the deep, dark grave and the ornate coffin being lowered into it. It was almost over. She had concentrated hard on the words of the service in church, and though they were strange to her she had been glad of Nathan’s gentleness in the saying of them.

  In Russia, the giving back of the dead was different. There, the coffin was not closed until the moment of interment, but she supposed they had not been able to do that for Elliot. It wouldn’t have been kind.

  She thought of that handsome face; of eyes that teased and laughed but that mostly mocked; called back the darkness of him and the tallness, remembered the first time he had touched her in the twilight of the little garden at Cheyne Walk. That night she had wanted him with an intensity that shocked and shamed her. Such feelings were strange and new to her and from then on her days had been spent thinking of him and her nights in dreaming of tomorrow, when she might see him again.

  And then she remembered her wedding night and when it was over she had found the truth too late. Elliot did not love her. She had lain at his side, staring into the darkness, certain that what took place in that hotel bed was not an act of love. Elliot had taken her. It had been necessary to get the son Pendenys needed so much. She had merely been another woman in his bed – like Natasha Yurovska.

  Next day they boarded the Orient Express and had mated – it was the only word to describe it – from London to Venice and from there to Florence. And when they returned to Denniston House she was already pregnant – with a girl, had she but known it.

  She began to shake and Edward saw it and reached for the black-gloved hand, holding it tightly so she might feel the comfort of his sympathy for her.

  Sympathy for Anna, he brooded, not for himself nor Clemmy and not for Elliot. He felt nothing inside him but a coldness, a numbness. Grief would come, Helen had promised him, but he did not want to grieve for his firstborn, for the son who had not been Sutton fair. He had wondered, sometimes, if Elliot were his, then chided himself for his thoughts. Elliot had been no changeling. He, so warmly welcomed, had been beautiful from the minute of his birth; a beauty he quickly learned to use for his own ends. Elliot could charm the birds from the trees with a smile; could crook a finger and have any woman he wanted.

  How many women had he seduced? How many children had he fathered – hedge children, Clemmy would have called them. Somewhere, was there perhaps a son? Edward Sutton hoped not. It would be too cruel to think about.

  He glanced across to the tiny mound that covered his grandson’s grave. Soon, when the earth settled, they would place a white marble cross there. There would only be his initials carved into it, for he had not lived. Nicholas, his grandson. Now there was only Bas who disliked Pendenys almost as much as he did.

  I’m sorry. Edward’s sombre thoughts spanned the distance between father and son. I cannot to my shame mourn you, Elliot, but I pray with all my heart that God may yet accept your soul …

  He glanced at Anna, his lips moving in the smallest of smiles. ‘Be brave,’ he whispered.

  She pressed the hand that held hers in reply. She would be brave. Soon it would all be over. She had held her head high, worn her black, received condolences from
those who called. She was Aleksandrina Anastasia Petrovska. She did not weep in public.

  She lifted her eyes. Someone was looking at her, she could feel it. Across the grave she met Amelia’s eyes and inclined her head in the smallest of bows. And Amelia returned her courtesy, then concentrated on the prayer book in her hand.

  Poor little Anna, she brooded. But at least she was free of him, now. Had she loved him, Amelia demanded silently, right up to the end?

  She recalled a bride, love shining brightly in her eyes. My, but that had been some wedding! Must’ve cost Bertie’s mother a pile and every dime of it well-spent, if the satisfied smile on Clementina’s face was anything to go by. Amelia hoped they would deal kindly with Anna and the child. Talk had it the Petrovskys had little but aristocratic pride on which to live.

  Life was strange. She and Bertie had come to England to celebrate the birth of a child – a boy, they had hoped – and instead had stood witness to two deaths.

  Instinctively she reached for her husband’s hand. Dear Bertie. She had not the right to be this happy with her life – not at a graveside. She snapped shut her prayer book and forced her eyes to the coffin.

  Dear Christ in heaven, forgive him his sins and teach him better ways? And I thank You most humbly for Bertie and Bas and Kitty. Amen.

  A sweep of white caught Anna’s eye and she turned to see Nathan standing beside her.

  ‘My dear – there is nothing more we can do for him, now. Come with me, to Pendenys? Mother will want to know about it – and Aunt Helen. Let’s tell her that all went well, shall we?’ He turned to Edward Sutton. ‘Are you all right, father?’

  ‘Thank you, yes. And thank you for what you have done. It couldn’t have been easy for you. Your mother will be glad to see you.’

  He nodded to Countess Petrovska before replacing his hat, wondering what lay behind the slablike mask that was her face, what thoughts were forming in her mind.

  Would she insist that Anna and Tatiana return to London with her? Would Anna want to go or would she want to stay at Denniston House? It was hers now, he supposed. He wondered how generously Clemmy would deal with Anna, would support her and the child who had been born a girl. Poor little Tatiana. Had she been a boy, the sun, the moon and the stars would have been hers for the asking.

  He walked behind Nathan and Anna to the waiting cars, glad it was all over; glad until he realized that this day was the beginning of a life to be spent in Elliot’s shadow; a life regulated by Clemmy’s moods. It had never been easy, he sighed; now, it would be almost impossible to bear unless, of course, Clemmy turned to Nathan to fill her lonely days – find him a wife as she had found one for Elliot.

  Poor, poor Nathan …

  June came to Rowangarth in a blaze of beauty. Wild roses and honeysuckle trailed the hedgerows and elderflowers hung in sweet-smelling clusters along the lanes. In Brattocks Wood, the first foxgloves flowered and the cow pasture was golden with buttercups.

  Helen raised her hand as Julia and Drew crossed the lawn. Drew. Eight, at Christmas. So precious; so like Giles.

  ‘Hullo, darling.’ Helen offered her cheek for his kiss. ‘How did it go, today?’

  ‘Ooooh …’ The contents of the tray Mary carried towards them were of more interest. They always waited tea for him. It was one of the nice things about the end of lessons at the vicarage. ‘Uncle Nathan says I must learn French, grandmother.’

  ‘But you already speak it quite well.’

  ‘Yes, but now I’ve got to learn to read it and spell it and oh, French verbs are going to be awful.’

  ‘All part of growing up,’ Julia smiled. ‘And here comes tea. Hope it’s curranty bread and cherry buns. And did you know, Drew, that Mrs Shaw is making a party for you, tomorrow, to say goodbye to Bas and Kitty? I think you should phone Pendenys, and invite them over.’

  ‘And Tatty? Can she come, too? I know we must be kind to her, but do I have to ask her nanny? And I wish Kitty and Bas didn’t have to go back to America,’ Drew pouted.

  ‘There’ll still be Tatiana, dear.’

  ‘But she might go back to London – and she’s a girl.’

  ‘So is Kitty,’ Julia reasoned.

  ‘Kitty is different. She doesn’t always have her nanny with her and she can climb trees and –’ And she could spit further than any of them, though best not mention that. ‘Kitty likes Pendenys, but Bas says it’s haunted and he never wants to live there. Do you know that one day, Bas might have to come and live at Pendenys for ever? He says it’s an awful thought.’

  ‘When will you ever learn, Drew Sutton, that no one has to do anything?’ Julia frowned.

  ‘But it’s true! Bas heard the grown-ups talking. If Uncle Nathan doesn’t get married soon, there’ll be nothing for it but for Bas to inherit and that’s going to be one heck of a nuisance. Well, that’s what he said – and it’s all because Uncle Elliot died.’

  ‘Children who listen to what grown-ups say can often get it wrong,’ Julia warned. ‘And you’re not to talk about Uncle Elliot – leastways not when Aunt Clemmy is there. It makes her sad.’

  ‘She’s acting like a drama queen, Kitty says. And Bas says he’ll be glad to go home it’s been so awful at Pendenys since it happened. Bas would like it if they never came again, but they might come over for Christmas – help Aunt Clemmy to be happy again.’

  ‘Child! Stop your prattling! Drink up your milk, then be off and phone Pendenys and Denniston. Four o’clock tomorrow, tell them. And hurry,’ Helen ordered. ‘There are things I want to tell your mother – privately.’

  ‘Nice or nasty?’ Drew took another cherry bun.

  ‘Neither. Just ordinary things – about the estate.’

  ‘What about the estate?’ Julia demanded when they were alone.

  ‘Nothing that need worry you. First, though, we have an appointment with Carvers. Since – well, the accident – everything has got a bit behind. The papers are ready for the share transfer of the tea garden. We’re to go there at two, tomorrow. And there’s another thing. Williams told me several days ago, but it slipped my mind.’

  ‘Williams? Oh – the woodman. Anything wrong?’

  They heard so little from the woodman and his wife who came, after the war, to live in Keeper’s Cottage. They seemed, Julia frowned, to keep themselves to themselves, and though she hadn’t exactly avoided them, to see Keeper’s Cottage with someone else living in it – someone who wasn’t Alice and Daisy and Tom – didn’t exactly please her.

  ‘Williams gave notice, a week ago. In all the upset, I forgot.’

  ‘So when are they leaving?’

  ‘Seems there’s no hurry. It was just a warning, so to speak. He’ll work out his month and then maybe more – till they find a place of their own, that is. I told him I was willing for them to stay on.’

  ‘But has he come into money, or something?’

  ‘He has, Julia; quite a lot. Five thousand pounds, in fact.’

  ‘Heavens! A relative in Australia, was it?’

  ‘No.’ Helen smiled mischievously. ‘A benefactor in the Irish Free State, though you’re not to breathe a word to anyone. I told him I would respect his confidence. It was the Irish Sweepstake. Isn’t it splendid? I’ve always been aware of these lotteries but never have I heard of anyone winning anything. Well, Williams has won – or to be more precise, his brother has.’

  ‘But it’s supposed to be illegal; they aren’t allowed to sell tickets in England. And I thought you didn’t approve of gambling, mother.’

  ‘The Sweepstake isn’t gambling; it’s for the hospitals in Ireland. They could do with one like it here. And as for being illegal – everyone knows they sell tickets here. Williams’ brother drew a horse though he thought it didn’t have a hope of getting round the Grand National course, much less winning. So he offered Williams a share in the ticket; hedging his bet, I suppose you could say. Anyway, the horse – I forget its name – was placed, so there was ten thousand pounds to share between them. Now
promise you won’t say a word, Julia?’

  ‘Promise. But what will they do with all that money?’

  ‘They plan to go back to Wales – buy a cottage. They should get a decent place for five hundred pounds. The remainder he intends to put in the bank – it should make quite a bit of interest for them. Mrs Williams is going to work for her sister who has a cake shop and tearoom. They’ll be quite comfortably off. Williams’ wife has always missed her family, I believe.’

  ‘So Keeper’s Cottage will be empty?’

  ‘I suppose so – but probably not until Michaelmas. They’ve got to go to Dublin, I believe, to get the money, but it’s all cut and dried. It’s nice, isn’t it, when work is so hard to find and people are going hungry, to hear of someone having some luck.’

  ‘Nice.’ Alice and Tom should be coming back to Keeper’s, Julia frowned, but Rowangarth didn’t need a gamekeeper and Tom had a good job at Windrush; better than a woodman’s. ‘Oh, dammit, mother – why did you have to tell me that!’ she demanded. ‘You know how much I ache to have Alice home again!’

  ‘I know, dear. But we couldn’t even think of offering the job to Dwerryhouse. It would mean a cut in his wages and there would be Alice to think about.’

  ‘Alice would come like a shot – I know she would.’

  ‘But Dwerryhouse is well settled and has a good employer, and Alice only lives a day’s train ride away.’

  ‘I know, dearest, and I’m being selfish. It’s just that I miss her so – and you’d like her back, I know you would.’

  ‘Ah, yes. She cared for Giles when he was so ill after the Army sent him home. And she is Drew’s mother. How can I help but want her home? But I want what is best for her and I think you shouldn’t tell her about Williams. She might fret to come back, and Tom could well want to stay at Windrush. We mustn’t do anything to cause friction between them. Let’s agree not to say anything until Keeper’s Cottage is empty?’

  ‘All right.’ Julia’s mouth set stubbornly. ‘But Drew should soon be taught to handle a shotgun properly and who better to do it than Tom?’