Summer’s Last Retreat

by Summer's Last Retreat (retail) (epub)

  By getting to the church early he thought no one would see him and he could settle in one of the yew trees. But as he walked past the stone relics of former villagers, he bumped into Pitcher.

  For a moment, neither spoke. Then Pitcher looked at the tall young man and groaned softly.

  ‘Why did you mess everything up, boy? Couldn’t you be satisfied with the others? If you had left Violet alone we could have persuaded people to forgive you, but, well you know what Mrs Palmer is like. No chance now of us ever working together.’

  ‘I didn’t mean it to happen, it was just a sudden need on both our parts,’ Barrass stuttered. He was embarrassed at talking to Pitcher, whom he considered a friend as well as an employer, about his own daughter.

  ‘Never imagines it with your own children,’ Pitcher went on. ‘Always sees them as babies and lacking the more vulgar feelings of grown people.’

  ‘She’s twenty-two,’ Barrass said softly. ‘I doubt you were feeling childish at twenty-two.’

  Pitcher smiled reminiscently. ‘No more did Emma,’ he confided. ‘But,’ he added briskly, ‘there’s no chance of Emma forgiving you. Although I have tried, boy, I have tried.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ Pitcher asked.

  ‘I came to see the wedding.’ Barrass hung his head. ‘I shouldn’t stay, I know that. No one should stay when everybody wishes them gone, but I’ve been around the village since I was less than two. Where can I go?’

  ‘I’ll have a word at the next meeting of the village elders and see what can be arranged. Seems to me that if I can forgive your trespasses, then others should.’ Pitcher touched the boy’s arm and said, kindly, ‘You come-along-a-me and I’ll show you where you can stand and not be seen.’

  A small window, devoid of glass, was hidden behind a bushy yew tree growing against the church. Squeezing between the wall and the tree’s branches, and stretching up onto his toes, gave Barrass a perfect view of the inside of the church.

  * * *

  Emma and the twins had been there on the previous day to decorate the church with late flowers and the fruits of autumn. It was Pitcher’s idea to use berries and the still colourful leaves; he dared not tell her that one of his customers had told him that was how Betson-the-Flowers overcame the shortage of blooms.

  Emma was among the first to enter, with the twins in close attendance. The three of them wore heavy plaid cloaks under which glimpses of pale cream dresses showed. The twins looked about them with a superior expression on their rather plain faces, and Emma looked near to tears. Edwin, who arrived next, with Thomas, a neighbouring farmer as his support, wore a strikingly smart suit and cloak in lovat green, with accessories in cream. His trousers were full at the top and tight below the knees, on which buckles gleamed. Polished shoes of fine leather with rather pointed toes made Barrass wonder how many times the man had fallen foul of them. They seemed impossible to wear without tripping up on every piece of litter. Chattering, pointing and even stifled giggling from some of the newly arrived guests did not appear to worry the wearer of the newest fashions. And he even walked to and fro to give them a better view.

  William and Dorothy Ddole were there with Penelope, who wore a soft blue woollen dress and jacket, with a shawl of white lace across her shoulders and head. Beside her sat John Maddern who was – to Barrass’s mind – as outlandishly dressed as Edwin, in those strange shoes, a suit of nankeen yellow with a shirt so frilled it made him look pigeon-chested, forcing him to hold his head up at an uncomfortable angle to avoid being buried in the lace.

  William and Dorothy seemed dowdy by comparison to John Maddern and Edwin. Barrass guessed the two friends had been to London or Bristol for their wedding clothes. He touched the frayed collar of the shirt given to him by Penelope, and felt the roughness of the serge trousers in appreciation. Clothes did make a difference to how a man felt about himself. He knew that better than most.

  He remembered the pride he had experienced when first dressed in the clothes belonging to Penelope’s brother, Leon. Perhaps that same feeling was in the two men being stared at, admired and whispered about by the congregation in the slowly filling church. He felt an empathy with the two men, an understanding that transcended his poverty and lowly state. One day, he would be dressed in fashions that would make others stare.

  When Violet entered on her father’s arm, Barrass felt a weakness overwhelm him, and tears threatened. He stepped back from the vision of the woman who rarely wore any other colour than brown, who was dressed in a rich blue taffeta gown that trailed along the ground in a way that made her appear to float down the aisle to stand beside her intended. Her hair was in a thick plait down her back, half covered by the veil that hid her face from him.

  The murmured chanting of the marriage service reached him but he hardly heard it. He stood a silent sentinel to her leaving him for ever, watching as her lips moved in the repeated recitations. Then as she lifted the veil from her face, he gave a strangled groan.

  He jerked his head back and a branch slipped from behind him and forced its way into the church through the opening. Violet looked up, and for a moment, across the church, their eyes met. It was she who lowered them first, and he saw her shoulders shake with a sensation of horror, before he left his hiding place and ran away.

  * * *

  When he reached his part of the cliffs he saw that in his absence Arthur had been with a dish of bread and milk. He sat without any real hunger to eat it, then climbed down to the cave. Thoughts of Violet made him careless of anyone seeing him, and he did not approach the cave with any attempt at caution. Sitting at the entrance was Blodwen’s father, Ivor. In his hand he carried a thick, crudely carved stick: bulbous at the top, slimmed to an easily grasped handle at the bottom.

  ‘Ivor!’ Barrass gasped. He turned to get back up to the cliff top, but Ivor called him.

  ‘Stop, boy. I want to talk to you. You’d best not try to run, I’m as handy at throwing this as hitting with it,’ he warned, tapping his other hand with the weapon.

  ‘What d’you want?’ Barrass hedged, knowing full well what the irate father had in mind.

  ‘My daughter has lost her place. Worked in the laundry of the workhouse she did and earned a good wage. With a belly swelling almost as you look at it, she’s been told to leave. She had a job for life she did and now you’ve messed it all up for her!’

  ‘I’m sorry…’ Barrass stuttered.

  ‘So are we. Now we’ve decided that if you were to marry Blodwen, then come and work for me, then we’ll forget about breaking your head, and be friends.’

  Barrass looked longingly at the cliffs above him. He should have followed his first instinct and run away. He was fond of Blodwen, but the prospect of being married to the amiable but none too bright girl for the rest of his life terrified him. He didn’t know what his life would hold, but he knew he had to aim higher than Ivor’s daughter.

  ‘I would not make her a good husband,’ he muttered.

  ‘But she would be churched, and might even get her job back, so she won’t be much of a burden to you.’

  Barrass looked at the sea, frothing and foaming, rising and falling, and the prospect of risking himself to its mercy, to avoid the man standing threateningly before him, looked worth considering. But he thought he might as well risk the heavy stick in Ivor’s hand as oblivion in the powerful sea.

  ‘No,’ he said firmly.

  * * *

  Penelope rode home with her parents trying to pluck up the courage to ask her father about the debts they were incurring in the village and town. She had managed to prevent her mother from seeing them, by developing the habit, even in these cold winter days, of going for a short walk and meeting Kenneth as he called with the letters. She knew that it was Henry Harris’s job to break the seals on them, but she did so herself, while Kenneth sat with Florrie and shared the latest news. She placed the opened letters on Henry’s desk, and made a note of each overdue debt with incre
asing anxiety.

  If only Leon would come home, but with his regiment in America it was unlikely he would be home for a very long time. She was tempted to speak to Henry, but each time she prepared herself to tackle the subject about which women were supposed to understand so little, she lost her nerve and asked him instead if he was well, and if Bessie Rees was proving to be a suitable servant.

  One morning just a fortnight before the celebration of Christmas was to begin, she counted up the bills she knew had not been paid and learnt to her alarm that they amounted to over eight hundred pounds. Something had to be done, but who could she approach? The decision was made for her when Olwen came in with an embarrassed expression on her young face and asked to speak to her.

  ‘What is it, Olwen? There is nothing wrong, is there?’

  ‘Mistress Penelope, I found this and – I’m sorry but I read it. Your teaching me my letters has brought such a lot of excitement for me I can’t stop my eyes translating the scribbles into words now, no matter how I try.’ Breathlessly, Olwen handed Penelope a note, torn across but clear to read.

  It was a demand for payment of monies overdue, for the purchase of two horses and seven couples of hounds.

  White-faced, Penelope stared at Olwen, who backed away as if from a blow.

  ‘Sorry I am, but once I’d read it, I thought you should see it even if I got a wallop for my trouble,’ she said at speed. ‘Sorry I am, but I thought maybe you didn’t know and your father, he trusts that old Henry Harris who’s old and a bit dreamy, to see to it all and I thought perhaps he’d forgotten.

  ‘Yes, that’s probably what happened. I’ll see him as soon as he comes. In fact, he’s late. He should be here by now. Go and see if his horse approaches and tell me the moment he arrives, will you?’

  ‘You aren’t going to hit me for reading something I had no business to read?’ Olwen looked in surprise at the girl, only a little older than herself. Since she had worked at Ddole House, she had received more smacks than in all her previous years.

  On her fifteenth birthday in September when she had asked Florrie to allow her to go home a little early to eat the special food her mother had prepared, she had been soundly smacked for impertinence and told that people like fishermen’s daughters had no right to remember a birthday, let alone celebrate it. She had celebrated it nevertheless, by a late-night visit to Barrass, where they shared a basket of food she had saved over three days, in a midnight picnic.

  Now she stared at Penelope in surprise.

  ‘Thought I’d be smacked for sure,’ she said. ‘I nearly threw it at the back of the fire and pretended I hadn’t seen it.’

  Penelope smiled grimly. ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

  She asked the girl to go outside and wait for the secretary and bring him straight to her.

  ‘I’ll make sure he explains to me exactly what is going on,’ she muttered half to herself.

  When Olwen had gone to keep watch, Penelope stood at the window and looked out at the gently rising land behind the house. The grass was still a rich green in the fields that had not been ploughed, although the frosts had killed most of the flowers she grew in the beds near the house, and the heather had lost its colour and showed only as patches of black on the distant hills.

  The sky was a sombre screen with the threat of rain or even snow in its lowering cover which had a hint of purple in the grey. She felt very alone. As she watched, sleet began to fall, and the hills swiftly vanished from sight. Remembering the girl outside watching for the secretary, she rang for Bethan and ordered her to go and bring Olwen in.

  All morning she waited for the man to make his appearance. So intent was she on what she would say to him, and how she would handle his protestations that he was able to cope with his work efficiently, she did not realize that her mother was also long overdue. Dorothy had ridden daily this past week, and on her return did not seek Penelope out but went at once to her bed.

  Darkness came early, with the sleet turning to snow which settled on the paths and trees and made the once sombre day into one of magical beauty. The silence made the house seem isolated and the reflection of the limited light on the white ground gave it a sense of unreality. Only thoughts of the inadequacy of the ageing secretary spoilt her enjoyment of it.

  When Bethan came to ask her if she should serve tea or wait for the return of Mistress Ddole, she was startled into realization that her mother had been gone for hours and might be lost in the steadily falling snow.

  ‘Bethan, is my mother in her bed?’

  ‘No Miss, she hasn’t returned yet from her ride.’

  ‘Not returned?’ She stared at the servant in disbelief. ‘But she must be! She’s been gone for more than four hours!’

  ‘No Miss Penelope, I’ve just been to see if she would like me to serve tea in her room.’

  ‘I’ve been so remiss! Send the stable boys out to find her, will you? At once. Get everyone you see to help find her. Oh, how could I be so forgetful?’

  The boys from the stables and those who were working in the barns dropped their tools and, pausing only to gather lanterns, hurried off into the storm. Penelope put on her thickest coat and went out through the kitchen door, intent on walking around the immediate area in case her mother should be talking to one of the cottagers.

  Florrie called to her and begged her to stay inside.

  ‘Sure to find her soon, Miss, and she’ll need you here to comfort her.’

  ‘Cold she’ll be, I’ll get the fire roaring in her room.’ Bethan, moving as speedily as she was able, slowly picked up the coal bucket and walked half dragging the heavy load from the room.

  ‘I’m going to ask at the cottages,’ Penelope said firmly, quelling Florrie’s pleas for her to stay. ‘I’ll come back soon in case my mother has been found.’

  ‘Shall I come with you, Miss?’ Olwen asked, and Florrie gave a glare that would have silenced anyone else.

  ‘Hush, girl,’ she hissed.

  Unrepentant, Olwen looked at Penelope and said, ‘Best you don’t go on your own, Miss Penelope. It wouldn’t help anyone if you slipped and we had to search for you as well.’

  ‘She can come,’ Penelope said as Florrie raised a hand to slap Olwen. ‘Come on, but make sure you are well wrapped. It’s warm in here but we won’t retain that warmth for long once we go out there.’

  Tight-lipped with disapproval, Florrie helped Olwen into a coat too large but thick enough to keep the worst of the cold from her. Then, as the two girls slipped out of the door, she added more kindly, ‘Now do as Miss Penelope tells you, mind, and be careful.’

  ‘I’ll look after her,’ Penelope promised, but as she left, Olwen couldn’t resist whispering to Cook,

  ‘Me look after her more like!’

  After leaving the courtyard they were horrified to see that the snow had already obliterated everything so it was impossible for them to know where they were after only a few minutes of walking. They set off in what they hoped was the direction of the row of cottages to the north of them, but after finding themselves walking back over their own footsteps, they felt a fear that made them hug each other and wonder where to step next.

  ‘Best we go back,’ Olwen said. ‘It wouldn’t help if we got ourselves frozen to death. Let’s get back while we can still see our footsteps.’

  It was not as simple as she hoped. The marks made by their boots were already filling in. It was only Olwen’s keen eyesight that brought them to the bulk of a building and led them around its comforting presence to the kitchen door. They fell inside and while Olwen removed the coat Florrie had found for her, the other two servants helped Penelope to remove the wet outdoor clothes, slip on a warm dressing gown and sit near the kitchen fire.

  ‘See you to your room, shall I?’ Bethan asked.

  ‘No. I think I’ll stay here. There’s bound to be news soon.’ But the brave words were a sham. Having been out and seen the ferocity of the sudden snowstorm, she already doubted if she would see he
r mother alive.

  ‘Pity it is that Mr William is away in that London place,’ Florrie said. She always spoke disparagingly of any place larger than the village, convinced that the extra inhabitants were all evil.

  ‘He is on his way home,’ Penelope said. She was staring into the fire, her voice vague, her thoughts on the sick, defiant woman probably wandering around in the blinding snow, growing weaker and weaker. She sobbed as she thought of having to tell her father of her lack of care, her forgetfulness which must surely end with her mother dying in the cold, white wilderness. She started as Florrie pressed a cup and saucer into her hands, then sipped the tea gratefully, feeling it trickling down inside her and spreading in a warm comforting stream.

  She cried in trepidation as there was a knock at the door. Florrie patted her soothingly before she opened it to admit Daniels.

  ‘Carter Phillips called me,’ he explained as he stamped the thick snow from his boots and came to stand near Penelope. ‘Is there any news yet?’

  ‘Nothing, but so many are searching she will surely be found soon.’

  ‘It’s more than likely she is already warm and safe in some cottage and instructing them how to care for her horse and telling them the correct way to prepare her tea.’ He smiled to persuade Penelope to believe it, but in his heart he feared that the desperately ill woman who rode to defy her mortal disease had found the sudden storm too much for her failing strength.

  Florrie and Daniels sat in a corner talking in low tones, while Bethan went to and from the window, looking out in the impossible hope of seeing someone returning with news. Penelope sat hugging the empty cup with Olwen sitting on a stool close by her silently comforting her.

  When the first men returned with no news except that the storm was worsening, Penelope accepted their defeat calmly and asked them to continue as soon as they had eaten and rested.