Rosemerryn

by Rosemerryn (retail) (epub)

  Ada beamed. ‘I’d be pleased to. That’s what we’re all put on earth for, to help one another.’ She got up without a moment’s delay, took off her coat, pulled out the apron she just happened to have in her bag, and went to a cupboard to find rags and the Brasso.

  * * *

  Tressa Macarthur leaned over from the bed to Guy’s cradle and felt about gently on the baby’s neck. Andrew sat up in bed beside her. ‘He’s all right, isn’t he?’

  ‘He’s lovely and warm,’ she replied, and Andrew could see her muscles relaxing. ‘I can’t stop myself from checking that he’s still breathing.’

  ‘Only natural, I suppose,’ Andrew said, gathering her tenderly into his arms and kissing her soft brow. ‘I can’t get over how clever you are, darling, bringing him into the world.’

  Tressa returned the kiss and cuddled in close. ‘You had something to do with it too, Andrew.’

  ‘We’re both clever then, the cleverest, luckiest parents in the world. I don’t want you returning to slogging it out on the farm again,’ he added seriously. ‘I won’t forget how hard it was making you take it easy at the end of your pregnancy. Besides, it’s good for Bert Miller to have a job since he lost his on the plantation. We’ll need him for good now.’

  ‘I couldn’t bear to tear myself away from Guy at the moment but I’m looking forward to getting a breath of fresh air. Shouldn’t hurt to put him out in his pram for a little while this morning. I can sit beside Dad and watch over him.’

  ‘That’s the ticket, darling. I don’t want to go to the office worrying about you both. I hope Jacka’s not overdoing things. I’d hate him to have another heart attack.’

  ‘You needn’t worry about Dad. He’s so determined to watch Guy grow up he won’t do anything silly.’

  Guy made a strange little noise and Tressa sprang upright and bent over his cradle again. She put a hand to her pounding heart. ‘It’s all right, it was only a cough.’

  Andrew flopped back on the pillows. ‘Phew, you nearly scared the life out of me. Daisy Tamblyn was right when she congratulated me yesterday; she said apart from the love and joy they bring, children are a lifelong worry.’

  * * *

  Kilgarthen reckoned it had seen many a wondrous sight and happening but it had never boasted a visitor who moved in royal circles before today, if the gossip put about by Ada Prisk was correct. It wasn’t true and Celeste didn’t know what Ada had said about her when she took a morning stroll in the bracing air. She was wearing full make-up, a natty black hat, her fur stole and a tailored suit which accentuated her generous bosom, the tight skirt making her hips and bottom sway. Most of the people who greeted her nudged each other afterwards and declared that for a friend of royalty she seemed ‘a bit common’.

  Celeste tottered over the road on her unsuitable shoes and studied the sign of the pub, the Tremewan Arms. She decided that, like the rest of the large square granite building with its window boxes, small-paned windows and low porch, it had character. She wondered if Ince ever went into the pub. If she didn’t receive an invitation to dinner from Harry Lean tonight she would spend the time here so Laura could entertain Spencer alone. The door opened and a man and woman came out. He was broad in the body with a cheery, brown, whiskered face holding twinkling pale eyes, and she was small and neat and seemed full of energy. Both were middle-aged. The man stuck out a large paw.

  ‘Mornin’ to ’ee. I’m Mike Penhaligon and this is my wife, Pat. Pat was cleaning the windows and saw you coming up the hill from Little Cot. We reckon you must be a friend of Laura’s. We always like to welcome newcomers. We’re the landlord and landlady here.’ He had a loud friendly voice.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr and Mrs Penhaligon,’ Celeste said, smiling graciously. She was met with a good-natured protest and the couple insisted she call them by their first names. ‘The people in the village are so friendly. I’ve met a few already. Laura went to Rosemerryn Farm very early this morning and a dear old lady made my breakfast.’ She told the Penhaligons about her friendship with Laura and why she had come to Kilgarthen.

  ‘We hope you enjoy your stay,’ Pat said kindly and genuinely. She made a mental note to fetch her shopping bag and hurry to the shop to learn the gossip that Ada Prisk was no doubt spreading. ‘You must call in soon. First drink will be free.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  Pat thought Celeste an unusual friend for Laura; they were so different, and she remarked so to her husband the moment Celeste turned and tripped back down the hill.

  For a moment Celeste gazed at the ornate iron pump which provided most of the villagers with their only drinking water. Most people admired it; she thought it was archaic. The pump stood in front of an empty cottage. Next to an arch for rambling roses stood a ‘For Sale’ sign which bore the name H. Lean. Laura had told her that Harry was an estate agent. It was a pretty little building, seemed to be in good repair and like some of the other dwellings around, it was long, low, whitewashed and had a thatched roof. No doubt Harry would get a good commission on its sale, but Celeste couldn’t understand how anyone could live in such an impossibly small house.

  She headed for the telephone box. It’ was a nuisance, Laura not having a telephone in Little Cot.

  A piercing wolf-whistle stopped Celeste in her tracks. She pursed her lips into a smile and looked about for the giver of the compliment. Every other householder seemed to have been on their doorstep a few moments ago but now there was no one to be seen. Celeste walked on.

  There came another loud wolf-whistle. She kept walking. And another wolf-whistle.

  ‘Nice bit o’ leg.’

  Celeste spun round. On her heels was a boy, frecklefaced, ginger-haired, his nose running, his clothes including a knitted slipover full of holes, worn-down boots lagged in mud. His pert features made him about ten years old and he was small for his age. He must have jumped out from behind the hedge. Screwing up his grubby face he stared blatantly into Celeste’s eyes.

  Lifting her chin and putting her head to the side, Celeste asked demurely, ‘Was it you who whistled at me?’

  ‘’Es, you’re a smasher.’ His eyes dropped to the twin swells of her bosom. ‘You’ve got nice everythin’.’

  Most of Celeste’s contemporaries would have swiped a hand across the boy’s face and stormed off. Celeste was much amused by him. ‘What’s your name?’

  Wiping his dripping nose with the heel of his hand, the boy gave her a semi-toothless grin; his large brown eyes appeared to be permanently wrinkled at the corners. ‘Alfie Uren, that’s me,’ he replied, stabbing a dirty finger at his thin chest. ‘I know who you are. Miss Celeste Cunnin’am. Everybody in the village are talkin’ about you.’ A look spread over the boy’s face which Celeste could only describe later to Laura as ‘definitely lecherous’.

  She wanted to take her handkerchief out of her skirt pocket and wipe the mixture of black jam, mud, and blood from a deep scratch off his chin.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Alfie. I’m going to the telephone box to look for a number for a taxi. I couldn’t possibly travel into Launceston or Bodmin on the bus.’

  ‘Double four, two. That’s the taxi number. That’ll save ’ee lookin’ for it in the box.’

  ‘Thank you, Alfie,’ Celeste smiled. Taking a scrap of paper and a tiny pencil out of her skirt pocket she wrote the number down.

  ‘You b’lieve me?’ Alfie gasped incredulously, scratching his unruly long hair.

  ‘Of course. Why shouldn’t I?’

  Alfie pulled a face which made him look like a pug dog. ‘Most people don’t b’lieve nothin’ my family say. They call us scruffy and gyppos. They say me old man’s bone idle ’cos ’e don’t work and me mum’s disgustin’ ’cos she’s had six kids nearly one after the other. Me mum’s half gypsy, she’ll tell your fortune for you for a shillin’. She says there’s a big black cloud hangin’ over this village,’ he ended dramatically.

  ‘Well, I’m not narrow-minded like those p
eople,’ Celeste announced loudly, outraged on Alfie and his parents’ behalf. ‘You have no reason to lie to me about the telephone number, have you, Alfie?’

  ‘Nah.’ He looked away bashfully.

  ‘Then I shall reward you with threepence for your trouble. I’ve only brought enough money for the telephone call. You can walk to Little Cot with me.’ Celeste looked around as if she was hoping for a big audience. ‘I don’t mind you talking or walking with me. I’ll just book a taxi first.’

  ‘Thanks, miss,’ Alfie said. When Celeste emerged from the telephone box he fell into step beside her, his hands stuffed in his pockets. ‘I ’aven’t ’ad no money for sweets for ages. We ’ardly use our sweet coupons. You gotta car?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got a Mercedes in London.’

  Alfie was much impressed. He walked backwards just in front of Celeste so he could see her face. ‘You ever been to car races?’

  ‘I have, a few times.’

  ‘Wow! Aeroplanes are me favourite. You ever been in an aeroplane, Miss Celeste?’

  ‘Lots of times,’ she smiled down on him.

  ‘Wow! Lucky thing. Take me with you next time? I can’t wait to grow up and do me national service. I’m goin’ to join the RAF and fly all the time. If we ’ave another war I’m goin’ to be a fighter pilot. The Yanks built an airfield on the moor during the war, at Davidstow. One of their aircraft crash-landed on Langstone Downs. No one was killed. I’d like to see the place where it ’acked up the moor. The Yanks were nitwits. Do you know why it was a stupid place to build an airfield there?’

  ‘No,’ Celeste replied, but she was sure the chatty boy was about to tell her all about it.

  ‘Well, the moor is often covered in thick mist.’ Alfie crossed his eyes in incredulity. ‘You can’t fly in mist. You’d think they would’ve asked someone! Did you know anyone who was a fighter pilot in the war?’

  ‘I had a friend who was killed in the Battle of Britain.’

  Alfie looked as if he would burst with pride. ‘We ain’t lived in the village long but I don’t think they’ve ’ad anyone as famous as you ’ere before.’

  ‘I’m not famous, Alfie.’

  ‘You are t’me,’ the boy stressed, carrying on with his precarious backwards walk. ‘Can’t wait t’tell me brothers.’

  ‘How many brothers have you got, Alfie?’ Celeste asked. She had enjoyed listening to Alfie’s chatter all the way back to Little Cot and was holding her purse on the doorstep. She had kept Alfie outside but only because, it didn’t seem fair to Laura to let such a mucky child inside her home.

  He counted on his fingers. ‘There’s me first, then Colin, Graham, Maurice, Rodney and I’ve gotta baby sister called Emily.’

  Celeste put a silver coin in the palm of his hand. ‘Here’s half a crown. That should be enough for sweets for all of you.’

  ‘Wow! Thanks, Miss Celeste. You’re a smasher, all right.’

  As Alfie ran back down the hill, his arms spread out and flapping like an aeroplane’s wings, making a loud engine noise, Celeste watched him thoughtfully.

  * * *

  Laura was taking her time pegging up one of Spencer’s work shirts on the washing line. She was deep in thought. Now would be the ideal time to ask him to supper with her. Ince and Harry were muck-spreading in the fields and Vicki was playing with Joy Miller’s six-year-old son Benjy in her playhouse in the huge garden. Harry’s mother Felicity wasn’t due to arrive until just before lunch.

  Although Spencer had been unusually friendly and responsive since she had arrived at the farm this morning, Laura was nervous. The invitation would declare her hope of them permanently sealing their relationship but perhaps he was content with the way things were. She could be risking the comfortable familiarity they had attained since he had hurt his hand.

  She took two steps in the direction of the outbuildings, was overcome with fear and doubt and instead made her way indoors. She realised she had carried the washing basket with her and dropped it on the back kitchen floor. Coward, she scolded herself. If she didn’t arrange the supper date, Celeste would never let her hear the last of it. The terrible thought that Celeste would brazenly arrange it herself gave Laura the courage and determination she needed. She went outside in the bright spring sunshine and headed for the irregular sounds of an axe being wielded on dry wood.

  ‘Damn and blast it!’

  Laura very nearly gave way to cowardice again. Chopping wood with one hand wasn’t an easy task and Spencer was losing his temper.

  ‘Why don’t you leave that for now?’ she said soothingly.

  He paused, holding a piece of half-split wood in his gashed hand. The axe had flown out of his other hand and was lying some three feet away. He looked down guiltily at the dirty bandage, dropped the wood and hid his hand behind his back. When he grinned at her sheepishly, Laura wanted to burst out laughing. Spencer brought so many moods out in her, sometimes she felt she was mothering him.

  ‘Time for a mug of tea, is it?’ he said to ward off a chastisement.

  ‘Time you found yourself an easier job,’ she couldn’t resist pointing out. ‘There’s plenty of kindling chopped anyway.’

  ‘Don’t I know it.’ Harry had chopped several bundles last night and it didn’t please Spencer that his brother-in-law was so efficient about the farm. He retaliated, ‘I hope you aren’t overdoing it. You’re not an unpaid slave here, you know.’

  ‘I know that, Spencer. I’m happy doing what I do here for—’

  ‘Vicki’s sake,’ he ended for her. He had heard that so often it ground on his nerves. ‘Where’s this tea then? Have I got to go inside for it?’

  ‘What tea?’ She was looking at him strangely. ‘Spencer… I was wondering if…’

  ‘Yes?’ he said eagerly. He sensed she was going to say something out of the ordinary, hopefully about the same thing he had been steeling himself all morning to ask her.

  This beating about the bush was prolonging the agony so Laura plunged straight in. ‘Would you like to come to my cottage for supper with me tonight? Just me, I mean. Celeste won’t be there. She’ll be going out.’

  He could hardly believe his luck. Her invitation gave him that last little bit of boldness he needed and he blurted out, ‘Laura, I was about to ask you out for a meal myself.’ Bright colour spread all the way up his neck and face and he went on with a little tremor in his voice, ‘Look, why don’t we race on a bit, put an end to our understanding and the villagers’ expectations and get married?’

  ‘Spencer!’ Laura dashed her hands to her face and laughed like a young girl asked out for the first time. ‘I – I thought it was going to be so difficult…’

  He was laughing too. ‘I’ve gone nearly out of my mind rehearsing what I would say to you. So that’s settled then?’

  ‘Yes… I… yes.’

  He was still smiling but he ran his hand through his hair uncertainly. ‘There is one thing you ought to think about before you’re absolutely sure.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Life’s going to be rather basic after what you’re used to. No electricity or proper bathroom. You might not find it very comfortable here, specially in the winter. I – I thought it was only fair to point it out.’ Spencer was genuinely worried about this, he wanted to provide well for Laura but couldn’t afford to make modernisations to Rosemerryn.

  Celeste had pointed out the same things to Laura, asking how she would cope without her modern conveniences if she ever married Spencer. Laura felt she could put up with any circumstances to be Vicki’s stepmother, and she hoped Spencer would allow her to spend some money on the house after they had settled down.

  ‘I don’t think I’ll find it a problem,’ she said confidently. ‘What do we do now? Tell Vicki and the others, I suppose.’

  ‘And go down into the village to see the vicar.’

  ‘I want a quiet wedding, Spencer.’

  ‘Of course. I mean so do I.’

  There was still several
feet of cobbled yard between them and neither had moved, although their eyes were locked tight. Both realised they had a lot of boundaries to cross.

  Laura was aching inside. What should she do? It seemed daft to say something like, ‘Well, fine, now we’ve settled that, I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Spencer could almost read her thoughts. He’d been bold once and it was up to him, on his home ground, to be so again. He strode up to Laura and took her hand. ‘You won’t regret it, Laura. Rosemerryn needs you.’

  He was about to plant a kiss on her cheek and see what progressed from that when Vicki and Benjy came running up to them. Tears were streaming down Vicki’s face and she grabbed Laura’s skirt. ‘Laura,’ she piped up in her fiercest voice. ‘Benjy said you don’t really want to be my mummy. Tell him you do.’

  Laura pulled her hand free from Spencer’s and picked Vicki up in her arms and dried her tears. ‘I do, darling. Your daddy and I have just been talking about it and I’m going to become your mummy very soon.’

  Chapter 5

  The following Sunday afternoon Ince Polkinghorne knocked on the shabby front door of Les Tremorrow’s dreary small cottage. Ince was dressed in the clothes he’d worn to chapel but he carried a bundle of work clothes and his boots. He had been careful about the time of day he’d come to the smallholding. The Methodist minister, the Reverend Brian Endean, had told him Les’s back was worse, but although he might be grateful for some help he couldn’t abide people calling on him during mealtimes.

  Receiving no answer, Ince knocked again, louder. There was a cough and a long complaining grunt, a shuffle of heavy feet.

  ‘Who is it? What do ’ee want?’

  ‘It’s Ince Polkinghorne, Mr Tremorrow. I heard at chapel this morning that your back is worse. I thought you might be glad of a hand about the place. I’ve brought my work clothes with me.’