Fearing he was about to hear something private and feminine, Ince excused himself, saying he’d make some tea.
‘You’ll find some food I’ve left for you on a plate in the larder,’ Laura said, giving him an encouraging smile. ‘You haven’t had a cooked meal today. I’ll make something for you later.’
‘I’m fine, you look after Celeste,’ he replied, and Laura got the impression he would not be argued with.
She turned her attention to Celeste who was now lying with her eyes shut and an arm crooked across her brow. ‘What’s the matter, Celeste? What is it?’
‘There’s no need to go on about it, Laura. It’s nothing much, just a short-term problem.’
‘Oh, that? Do you want me to fetch something for you while there are no men about?’
‘No, I’m all right, Laura. I just need a little sleep, that’s all.’
‘You must stay here tonight.’
‘I most certainly will not. I’m not in the least bit ill and you’re on your honeymoon.’ There was another chuckle. ‘And incidentally, it stands out a mile that the wedding night was a roaring success. If I stayed here it would mean turning Ince out of his bed and that wouldn’t be fair. He seems down in the dumps over something as it is.’
‘Poor Ince, I feel terrible over the way he feels so lost in his own home. I never stopped to think how my marrying Spencer would affect him.’
Celeste moved her arm and opened one eye, its mascara all smudged. ‘You’re really fond of him, aren’t you? Exactly how far did your romance with him go?’
Laura turned her face away from that penetrating eye. ‘How can anyone not be concerned about Ince? He’s so kind and gentle, a thoroughly nice man. He doesn’t deserve to be made to feel ill at ease.’
‘He would make the ideal husband. You’d think someone would have snapped him up by now. Oh, well, no use me putting a bid in. I’m not his type at all.’ Celeste half sat up. ‘Listen, I feel better already. I’ll get Harry to drive me home in a little while but I insist, Laura, no doctor.’
‘Well, if you’re sure you’ll be all right,’ Laura said doubtfully, getting up from the bed. She knew from way back that Celeste would hit the roof and be intolerably rude to the doctor if he came. ‘I’d better run downstairs and catch Harry before he leaves for the telephone.’ Alone, Celeste lay down again and putting her palms on her stomach gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling.
* * *
Spencer was always the last one to bed in his household and that night, when he was satisfied the farm was secure, he climbed the stairs hoping for another night of passion. He wouldn’t have been so bold normally, reckoning on making love two or three times a week, but he had pleasant memories of just a few hours ago and he and Laura had got on well all day. This marriage looked like it was going to work. He was taken aback to find Vicki in bed with Laura.
‘What’s the matter, pipkin? Are you feeling poorly? You should have been asleep hours ago.’
‘I wanted to give Laura, I mean Mummy, another cuddle,’ Vicki replied, yawning and rubbing her eyes then snuggling in tight to Laura.
To counteract his rapidly forming frown, Laura said, ‘It’s been an exciting time for Vicki these past few days, Spencer. She couldn’t settle down to sleep tonight.’
‘Well, she can’t sleep in here.’ Things would be very awkward if this went on every night.
‘She knows that. I was just about to take her back to her own room.’
Laura had one of her own nightdresses on tonight, a sensible garment rather than the piece of nonsense Celeste had put in her overnight bag, but it was silky and feminine, and she was pleased to feel Spencer taking a keen interest in her as she walked out of the room. She tucked Vicki up in her little bed and padded back to her own room ten minutes later. As she crossed the short landing, she noticed light coming from under Ince’s door.
Spencer was sitting up in bed, wearing just his pyjama bottoms. He had turned the lantern light down to a warm rosy glow. When she got in beside him, he put his arm round her shoulders and pulled her close. Laura eased herself away and picked up a book she had unpacked from her belongings and put on the bedside cabinet.
‘I usually read for a little while,’ she said, opening the book at its bookmark.
Spencer took it from her hands. ‘Agatha Christie? Mmmm, we’ve got a lot to learn about each other. I like Thomas Hardy myself.’ He put the book down on his side of the bed and nuzzled her neck. Laura liked it, alarmingly so, but she tried to retrieve her book. Spencer pushed it out of reach and began to undo the buttons at the front of her nightdress while taking her lips in a hungry sensual kiss.
Laura would have welcomed this if they’d been in the house alone or with just Vicki sleepy and across the landing. But Ince’s little room was connected to theirs and she couldn’t bear the thought that he might hear them.
Realising he wasn’t getting the response he wanted, Spencer stopped. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, his voice husky, ready with a score of different comforts and inducements.
Laura felt embarrassed to admit it but she didn’t want him to think she was rejecting him personally. ‘I’m sorry, I’m just afraid that we’ll be overheard.’
Sighing heavily, he lay back on his pillows and linked his hands behind his head. ‘I understand.’
‘Do you, Spencer? I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings between us.’
‘Yes… this time. But we can’t always wait until we think the others are asleep. It’ll take the spontaneity out of it.’
Laura patted his arm. ‘We’ll work something out.’
Spencer murmured something in agreement but he couldn’t see how, not with Ince living under the same roof.
Chapter 10
Laura was up early again the next morning and Spencer and Ince assumed she had come into the milking shed to ask them what they wanted for breakfast. She was dressed in very old clothes and they were surprised when she put a white coat on over the top of them, rolling back the long sleeves which hung down over her hands.
‘What are you doing, Laura?’ Spencer asked after exchanging a puzzled look with Ince.
‘I’m determined to learn to do everything on the farm and I want you to teach me how to milk the cows,’ she replied breezily, and she struck a defiant stance in the lantern light to show them she wouldn’t brook any arguments or male patronising.
Ince felt it was a good idea but it wasn’t his place to say anything, so he kept quiet.
Spencer raised his fair brows but was careful to keep his face perfectly straight. ‘Well, all right, but you don’t have to learn right now, Laura.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll still make your breakfast. Vicki is sound asleep so I’ve slipped out for my first lesson.’
Spencer wasn’t bothered about Laura learning the ropes round the farm; Natalie had always done a farmer’s wife’s share of the work despite growing up in a privileged household and having trained as a personal secretary. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, ‘You’ll need a cap as well.’
This had gone smoother than she’d anticipated; Spencer could be very stubborn if he didn’t agree with something. Laura took a white cotton cap off its hook and placed it on her head. She had made up her mind long ago that if she ever married Spencer she would be a farmer’s wife to the full. She was more likely to enjoy her new life and it would make things easier in times of illness, holiday or accident.
Spencer strode up to her and turned the cap round so the peak was at the back of her head; he made a display of touching her affectionately, to hammer home to Ince that she was his woman and that she didn’t mind close attention from him.
‘Right then,’ he said, ‘the cows are all in their places. You already know their names and that Luby’s a kicker. Ince or I will milk her. We’ve just started to feed them with cowcake mixed with barley. You can see how much we’re putting in their own bit of trough.’ He handed her a dipper. ‘You can carry on.’
Laura had not clos
ed the door as she’d come in and after she plunged the dipper into the sack of barley, the meal swirled round in the draught and hit her in the face. She coughed and sneezed and wiped gritty bits from her eyes. Taking a quick glance at the men, she was infuriated to see them grinning at each other in amusement. Ince closed the door and she thanked him rather tartly. He got on with his work quietly. Pursing her lips, she carried on with her task.
‘You have to wash the teats next,’ Spencer said, resisting the desire to brush husks of barley out of her hair which she’d tied back with a red scarf. ‘Go fetch an udder bucket. No, not that one, that’s a milking pail.’
Laura duly took back the pail and brought an udder bucket which was different in shape and size. He handed her a clean cloth. ‘Right, you wash each teat separately and check it for signs of soreness and disease. I’ll show you how to do it on old Maisie, she’s the quietest girl we have.’
Laura copied his careful actions successfully and found the teats softer and smoother than she had thought. On her husband’s patient instructions, she took back the udder bucket and picked up the pail again and a little three-legged stool. She sat down close to the animal at its side, near the tail end.
‘Now you can see why I turned your hat round,’ Spencer said. ‘You have to get very close to the cow and the peak would knock it off. Now, face up under her body and take a firm hold of two teats.’
Flexing her hands a couple of times and hoping she wouldn’t scratch Maisie with her long fingernails, which she guessed rightly wouldn’t last long that way, Laura took a deep breath and put her fingers round the two nearest teats.
Putting a hand on her shoulder, Spencer looked up under Maisie’s body. He pushed Laura’s hands further up the teats and tightened their grip. ‘Don’t be afraid of hurting her. You won’t get the milk out if you go about it too gently and she won’t like it.’ He squeezed and pulled over her hands and two small streams of creamy milk skitted downwards and sang in the bottom of the pail.
‘I did it!’ Laura cried delightedly in the same way Vicki would.
‘Carry on by yourself,’ Spencer said, taking his big rough hands away.
With her cheek pressed against the cow’s warm body, Laura squeezed and pulled on the teats. Nothing happened for several moments then she produced a double stream, irregular ones at first, but she was getting milk from the cow.
Spencer stroked Maisie’s back. ‘Make sure the teats are empty before you go on to the next ones. I’ll come back and see how you’re doing in a little while.’ He moved to the other side of the shippen to sterilise the churns.
Laura gritted her teeth and nearly forgot to breathe in her determination to milk the cow properly. As the milk gradually covered the bottom of the pail and began a tentative journey up its sides, she got red in the face and prayed Maisie wouldn’t shift about or drop a large smelly pat which might splash her, but Maisie seemed content to chew on her morning feed. Laura had done many jobs about the yard, some dirty, some requiring a lot of physical effort, but working with a warm live animal was exhilarating.
When Ince had finished milking Luby who was tied up at the other end of the stalls, he crouched down beside Laura and watched her efforts. She was on the other two teats now.
‘How do you think I’m doing?’ she panted.
‘Very well,’ he replied, smiling at her. ‘Some cows give us one or two full gallon buckets, others you’re lucky if you get a jugful. Maisie’s usually a good milker, you’ll get a full bucket out of her today. Takes about ten to fifteen minutes altogether.’
No more milk would come and Laura took her face away from Maisie, rubbing her neck which had acquired a painful crick because she had been so tense. Ince squeezed all four udders to make sure they were empty. ‘You’ve done a good job here.’ He patted her shoulder in congratulation. ‘I’m proud of you. Vicki will be some excited.’
He and Laura had their faces close together and something made them look up. Spencer was standing over them, his face as black as a thunderstorm over Hawk’s Tor.
* * *
Andrew Macarthur had a day off from his solicitor’s office. He had done the milking on Tregorlan Farm with Bert Miller and he had taken the chums down to the stand they shared with Rosemerryn for collection by the milk company. He was on his way home on a new tractor and trailer for breakfast, feeling happy and fulfilled. He had given up a high-flown life and lucrative career in London to settle down in Cornwall when he’d so unexpectedly fallen in love with Tressa and he didn’t regret a moment of it.
The wife whom he adored more than life itself had given him a healthy thriving son, and their lovemaking since Guy’s birth was the same wonderful experience each time as their romantic wedding night. He had the challenge of his job in Bodmin and he had built Tregorlan Farm up into a successful business. The rundown parts of the farm had all been fixed or dismantled, and modern machinery produced quicker and more profitable results. Jacka’s weak herd of cattle had been replaced with a fine breeding stock. Everything in his life was perfect and nothing could spoil it.
The dawn light was just forming and Andrew’s heart did an uneasy flip when the tractor’s headlights caught a strange shape heading towards him in the lane. He pulled into a passing place and laughed with relief and amusement at his foolishness when he saw it was only the Reverend Kinsley Farrow on his bicycle. Andrew turned off the engine and the vicar stopped pedalling.
‘Good morning, Mr Farrow. You gave me a terrible fright. I thought at first you were a floating ghost of some poor lost soul on the moor or perhaps one of the small people grown to a grotesque size.’
Kinsley chuckled. ‘Well, perhaps if I can get you to believe in the supernatural, Mr Macarthur, I’ll see you more regularly in church for spiritual succour. Tressa rarely misses these days.’
Andrew sidestepped the friendly admonition the vicar gave him every time he saw him; he didn’t need anything else in his life. ‘You’re up early. Couldn’t you sleep?’
‘You’re absolutely right. My wife calls it my spring fever. But I can’t sleep on in the mornings at this time of year, there’s always such a feel of promise in the air.’
‘Would you care to come back to Tregorlan for breakfast? Tressa will be pleased to have you join us. I’ve got the day off from the office so I’m in no hurry to be off anywhere.’
Kinsley was addicted to fresh air but he didn’t have to think twice. Coming from a middle-class family on its uppers he had starved in his student days and fared little better when he was called to take the cloth and went to theological college. Kinsley never refused a meal and he would do justice to whatever Roslyn put in front of him.
‘Thank you for your very kind offer. Actually I was going to call on Tressa later today so this will suit me very well.’
The two men and Tressa, who was a hearty eater, tucked into a large plateful of food, augmented by big, wild fried mushrooms. When they had cleared their plates, Kinsley brought up the subject of Celeste Cunningham’s visit to the vicarage and her concern for the Urens.
‘I agree they need help, Vicar,’ Tressa said, pouring them all more tea, ‘but I can’t see what I can do.’
‘Roslyn rather thought you could try to befriend Mrs Uren. You have something in common, you both have new babies.’
‘I see.’ Tressa was thinking about what she could say to break the ice with Dolores Uren. In the circumstances she could hardly ask her for advice on child care.
‘Roslyn thought you might be at a loss as to how you could approach Mrs Uren. She’s got an idea. Good used clothes are often handed into the vicarage and Roslyn passes them on to where they are most needed. Recently a bag of girl’s baby clothes was handed in. Would you, I wonder, mind telling a little white lie? I’m sure the good Lord won’t mind in this case. You could say they were given to you, before little Guy was born, and as you had a boy you wondered if she would like them for her little girl. They are very nice clothes, apparently. They shouldn’t offend Mrs Ure
n in that respect.’
‘I think it’s a very good idea, Vicar,’ Tressa said enthusiastically. ‘I’ll pop along to the vicarage discreetly and pick the clothes up today and call on the Urens afterwards.’ She noticed Andrew was looking dubious.
‘Don’t you want me to do it?’ she said, going to him, and he immediately put his arm round her slight form and held her close.
‘It isn’t that, darling. I don’t like the sound of Gerald Uren. He sounds a bolshie character to me if he can’t be bothered to get work and I’m afraid he might get stroppy with you.’
‘Oh, you need have no worry on that score, Mr Macarthur.’ Kinsley ruefully remembered his ill-fated excursion up to the family’s front door. ‘The man really is bone idle. He told me to, well, to something off, but he couldn’t even be bothered to come to the door to tell me.’
* * *
A little later that morning, just before opening time, Bruce Tamblyn took it upon himself to rearrange some of the merchandise in the shop. He wasn’t impressed with its contents. The shortages made for empty spaces on the shelves, the packaging was dull and dummies were used in place of goods in the window. The place was dreary, out of date, smelled musty and needed brightening up. Who still bought Partridge’s Remedial Stomach Mixture? he asked himself. Or Mrs Cox’s Magic Gravy Mixture?
‘You can’t put margarine in the window, Bruce,’ Daisy said, glancing up from behind the diamond mesh of the little post office corner. ‘It needs to be kept cool. The sun shines right into the window about midday.’
‘Oh, sorry, Mum. I wasn’t thinking,’ he said jovially, taking three packets of margarine back to their original place in the cold cabinet.
‘You will remember that you can’t serve in the post office, dear, won’t you? You need a licence for that. There’s one or two who’d report you and get me into trouble, I can tell you.’
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