Rosemerryn

by Rosemerryn (retail) (epub)

  Bruce turned his back on his mother and a harsh look distorted his ruddy features. ‘I won’t forget.’ He breathed out long and hard. He saw a woman heading for the door. ‘Ah, here comes our first customer. I’ll tell her we’re not open for ten minutes yet.’

  ‘You can let her in, Bruce. That’s Joy Miller who I was telling you about. She works here for a couple of hours on Monday mornings and afternoons when I’m busy after the weekend.’

  Bruce unlocked the shop door and the bell rang out its friendly dinga-ling over Joy’s head as she walked through the door. She was an ordinary, eager to please sort of woman, nearing thirty, with weak, plump features, who had let her hair, figure and dress sense go since having her four children. She was shy and embarrassed when introduced to Bruce. She was wearing an overall, her hair in a scarf twisted in turban fashion, ready for work.

  ‘I heard you w-were here, Mr Tamblyn,’ she stammered, her nondescript eyes on the floor, a hand with bitten-down nails smoothing at straying wisps of hair. The newest arrival in the village was nearly as sophisticated-looking as Harry Lean or Andrew Macarthur; what wouldn’t her Bert give to wear clothes like his? And his Canadian accent sent shivers down her back, it was very close to the burr of an American airman she had taken a secret shine to during the war. ‘I don’t expect you’ll find many changes to the village since you were here last.’

  ‘Only the village hall which my cousin Billy had built, Mrs Miller,’ Bruce replied, looking into her flushed face and seeing the once pretty girl she had been. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you. I’m sure you and I and my mother will get along just fine working together.’

  ‘I’m sure we will. Well, then, I… I’ll make up Johnny Prouse’s little order that he always picks up on a Monday morning.’

  Late in the afternoon, after school was over, Laura came in with Vicki and Daisy bustled them through to her sitting room to meet Bruce properly, leaving the intimidated Joy to manage alone in the shop. ‘Just give me a shout if someone wants stamps or a postal order, Joy,’ Daisy told her.

  ‘So you were married to Billy?’ Bruce drawled, taking his time shaking Laura’s hand. ‘I’m sorry I never met you then.’

  He seemed reluctant to let go of her hand. Laura pulled it free and moved away from him; he was standing so close he seemed to loom over her. Laura could not have said why but she took an instant dislike to him. There was something false about this man and she didn’t like his boldness. She was certain she had just met a braggart.

  Wanting to distance herself from him, she said in her coolest voice, ‘A pity you missed my wedding. Your sudden appearance must have taken Aunty Daisy by surprise.’

  Daisy had told Bruce the true nature of Laura’s marriage to his cousin. He would have tried to charm the beautiful widow so recently turned bride but as she seemed as friendly as a snake to a racoon, he returned to the subject he was sure she must loathe. ‘Billy did a lot for Kilgarthen. You can see his mark everywhere. You must be proud of his memory.’

  Laura merely nodded. She knew he was taunting her.

  Vicki had been staring at Bruce since they’d arrived. He looked familiar and when he scowled she remembered where she had seen him. Running to Laura, she clutched her skirt and buried her face against her waist.

  ‘That’s the man who was horrible to Uncle Harry, Mummy,’ she whispered nervously. She hadn’t been afraid of the man while sitting in the car but it was different being in a room with him.

  ‘I’m sorry I frightened you yesterday, Vicki,’ Bruce said, putting on a mellow voice. ‘Your uncle scared the wits out of me and your Aunty Daisy. We ended up in a ditch. How about I take you into the shop and treat you to some candy – I mean sweets?’

  Laura instinctively drew Vicki closer to her and Vicki shook her head. ‘Perhaps on the way out, Bruce. She’s a little shy at the moment.’

  Bruce ruffled Vicki’s hair and she shook his hand off. His face hardened but he spoke casually. ‘As you said, if I’d arrived earlier on Saturday I would have seen your wedding. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Daisy didn’t notice there was a strained atmosphere between her son and the two visitors and she was disappointed when Laura said they couldn’t stay long. After buying sweets for Vicki and a few groceries, they were soon walking back to Rosemerryn.

  Glad to get away from the ‘nasty man’, Vicki chattered happily ail the way back but Laura couldn’t get the dark brooding look of Bruce Tamblyn’s face out of her mind. She hoped he wouldn’t spell trouble for Daisy. His wasn’t the only disgruntled male face she’d had to put up with that day and the moment Spencer came in from the fields for his evening meal she tackled him over his.

  ‘I want a word with you before Ince comes in.’

  Spencer was washing at the sink with his shirt off and he dried his torso slowly, eyeing his wife warily. He hadn’t missed the edge of discontent in her voice.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘To put it bluntly,’ she said, tossing her hair away from her face and putting her hands on her hips, ‘I want to know why you are being so unkind and offhand with Ince. You’ve been irritable with him all day.’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Spencer said defensively. ‘And you can’t say a thing like that. We haven’t been in the yard for most of the day.’

  She wasn’t going to let him get away with that. ‘In the milking shed this morning then. Don’t split hairs.’

  He narrowed his grey eyes and tightened his mouth. ‘Why are you so angry with me?’

  ‘Don’t be evasive, Spencer. Ince is your best friend yet you’re treating him like a worthless menial. You’ve been short with him and impatient, he can’t do a thing right for you.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Spencer muttered sulkily. He wasn’t about to admit his jealousy – or that he had suspicions.

  Ince came in at that moment and after grunting to Laura passed through the kitchen to his bedroom without a word to his ‘best friend’.

  ‘There,’ Laura said triumphantly, going up close to Spencer so their vexed voices wouldn’t alert Vicki, who was upstairs playing, that they might be on the verge of their first row. ‘Neither of you spoke. What’s going on?’

  ‘If something’s going on, why does it have to be my fault?’ Spencer said, raising his voice.

  ‘Because it’s you who’s being nasty and not Ince, and you can’t deny it, can you?’

  Spencer was in a corner here. He could turn on Laura and demand to know why she was so keen to take Ince’s part but after his surliness with Ince, she was asking a reasonable question. He knew he wasn’t being fair. It could be successfully argued that Ince was only being friendly to Laura, he was a kind, helpful man. Spencer didn’t want to fall out with Laura, he was very fond of her and he wanted her to be obliging in his bed. She was a strong-minded woman and there would probably be none of that if he upset her too much.

  He told a blatant lie. Smiling disarmingly, he went on drying himself. ‘You’re not used to us yet, my sweet, we’re often like this. I get huffy with Ince. He takes no notice of me. He knows I don’t mean anything by it. But if it makes you feel any better I’ll try not to sound like I’m having a go at him.’ Bending forward he kissed her cheek and gave her a boyish grin. Then he turned away and whistled gaily as he put on his shirt.

  Laura stared at his back, not sure whether she believed him.

  When Ince came downstairs he thought that after a day of either being ignored or picked on, the meal would be eaten in stony silence. But Spencer seemed to have got over his bout of jealousy in the cow shed and he laughed and talked as though everything was normal.

  Ince responded in the same manner and he saw Laura visibly relaxing. But he knew things were not normal. They never would be. He and Laura had been too close, were still too close, and there was more than a feeling of awkwardness here while Laura established herself as the mistress of Rosemerryn. Ince knew, looking sorrowfully at Vicki whom
he had helped to rear from birth, that for the sake of his friends’ marriage he must move out of the farm.

  Chapter 11

  Tressa collected the baby clothes from Roslyn Farrow and felt very nervous as she walked along School Lane, half expecting that she, too, would be sent on her way by the Urens. Their house was the second in a terrace of four council houses and it was a striking contrast to the Millers next door and the other two. There was no tidy garden or well-cut lawn. The front of the house looked like a scrapyard and the Urens had only lived there a few weeks.

  There was no sign of Alfie but his four younger brothers were raucously playing cowboys and Indians and Tressa found herself having to duck missiles used as bullets and arrows on the way up the front path. She took it all in good part although she was glad she had Guy’s pram hood up. The boys stopped racing about and whooping at the tops of their voices and stood and stared at her. None of them had shoes on. All four of them were dirty and had impetigo. The two new cases had small red spots and blisters round their thin lips, the other two had loose crusts over weeping sores round their mouths and on their hands and knees. Tressa shuddered at the sight and felt sorry for them.

  ‘Got any chewing gum, missus?’ the oldest of the boys asked, copying Alfie’s form of cheek; not unexpectedly he was viewing her with suspicion.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ Tressa replied, hoping none of the children would try to pull back Guy’s covers and touch him. She wished she had left Guy at home but it would have made her errand more difficult. ‘Is your mother at home?’

  ‘She is,’ a terse voice said from the doorstep. ‘And what do you want with me?’

  Tressa turned to see a tall, dark, well-set woman in long floating clothes which had seen better days. She was holding a scrawny, almost naked baby who was feeding fretfully from her bare pendulous breast. Dolores Uren looked about thirty years old and despite having borne six children in quick succession she had an enviable figure and a proud beauty about her. A thick plait of long black hair hung over her chest, getting in the way of the baby’s suckling, gold-hooped earrings glittered in her ears, her nails were exceedingly long, pointed and varnished crimson red. Her black eyes seemed to bore deep into Tressa’s soul and she knew she would have to be careful with her little white lie.

  ‘I’m Tressa Macarthur, Mrs Uren.’ Tressa pushed her fine pram up to the doorstep and the other woman looked in at Guy who was stirring from his sleep. ‘I live at Tregorlan Farm on the outskirts of the village. I hope you won’t be offended at why I’ve come here.’ She couldn’t help herself colouring. ‘You see, when I was expecting Guy, people were very kind and passed on some of their baby clothes to me. I, um, wondered if you would like to have the little girl’s clothes I was given.’ Tressa lifted up the bag of clothes she had only just put at the bottom of the pram.

  ‘What are they like?’ Dolores Uren asked, regarding Tressa with a twist to her full red lips.

  Tressa gulped, heartily relieved that Roslyn had unpacked them at the vicarage so she could see them. ‘Little dresses and cardigans mainly. There’s ever such a sweet little pink and white dress with smocking at the front. And there’s leggings and a winter coat and bonnet. They’re in good condition or I wouldn’t be offering them to you.’

  ‘Don’t you want to keep them for yourself in case you have a girl next time?’

  Tressa had already thought out answers to possible questions she might receive.

  ‘There’s no guarantee I would ever have a girl,’ she said, ‘and I thought it a shame to have them lying about in a cupboard when they could be put to good use.’

  ‘Do you know why I reckon you’re here?’

  Tressa made ready to run back down the front path with the pram. ‘No, why?’

  ‘You’re lonely.’ Dolores’ voice dropped a tone, the aggression which seemed a living part of her went out of her eyes. ‘It often happens to new mums. Your man’s at work and you can’t lead the active life you’re used to, or see your friends when you want to with a baby in tow everywhere you go. You don’t know what to do with yourself all day, do you? So you’ve come looking for company.’

  Suppressing a deep sigh of relief, Tressa admitted that was the truth, although it wasn’t; she was perfectly happy caring for Guy and had her father and aunty for company when Andrew was at the office.

  ‘Want a cup of tea? Come inside and bring your baby with you. I’d like to have a good look at him.’ When Tressa hesitated, worried what the condition of the house would be like inside, Dolores smiled reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the kids don’t touch your lovely pram.’

  She shouted at the four boys who had gradually edged closer to them and were hanging on to their every word, hoping a treat of food was in the offing. ‘Carry on with your game, you lot, and don’t you dare touch this nice lady’s pram or I’ll stram your arses bloody hard. Mind you stay in the garden.’

  The boys ran off, hooting and screaming, and Tressa wanted to put her hands over her ears. A glance down the garden and she saw the predatory figure of Ada Prisk watching her. Ignoring the old woman’s beckoning hand, she lifted Guy out of his pram and carried him inside the house after Dolores.

  ‘That old hag’s been spreading some tales about we,’ Dolores said over her shoulder, leading the way down a narrow passage. There was a nice shade of blue paint on the walls from the previous tenants but it had a line of small grubby handprints on it.

  ‘I shouldn’t take any notice of Mrs Prisk, she does cause trouble but she’s really kind-hearted,’ Tressa said.

  They reached the kitchen at the back of the house. It contained a table of sorts, two bare wooden rocking chairs and the crib which the baby slept in. A very old dog of indeterminate breed left an old bone it was trying to gnaw on and wobbled its way over to Tressa.

  ‘That’s Woody,’ Dolores said, holding her daughter in one arm while still feeding her and expertly tipping tea leaves from a tin teapot one-handedly into the sink and making a fresh brew. ‘I’ve had him for years. As you can see, he’s on his last legs now.’

  ‘He’s lovely,’ Tressa said, gingerly patting the dog’s matted thin grey head. ‘I’ve got a dog. Meg. She’s a big brown mongrel.’

  ‘She must be useful on the farm. Do you take milk? Don’t worry, it’s fresh. I try to give the kids a little bit most days. I haven’t got any sugar though.’

  Dolores poured out three mugs of tea, one mug was huge and she excused herself to carry it out of the room.

  Tressa put the bag of clothes on the table then sat down in one of the rocking chairs which was very comfortable. She had been hoping she could report back to Roslyn and Celeste Cunningham that the Urens weren’t really dirty, that Dolores just allowed the children a free rein to roam about and get grubby, but the kitchen hadn’t seen a broom or mop in weeks, dust was thick everywhere, the cloam sink was stained brown and smelt offensively. There was a general smell of rotting food, dirty nappies and baby sick.

  ‘There,’ Dolores said when she came back with little Emily. ‘That’s got my man settled. Now we can have a nice little chat. I’ll tell your fortune if you like, but I’ll have to charge or ’tis unlucky.’

  Tressa didn’t want her fortune told but she would be glad to give Dolores all the money in her purse if it meant putting some food on the table for the children. Guy was stretching and puckering up his face in Tressa’s arms, threatening to cry at any moment.

  ‘If it’s his feed time don’t be afraid to feed him here,’ Dolores said, sitting in the other rocking chair and switching Emily to her other breast. ‘The kids won’t come in and Gerald won’t be getting out of bed for ages.’

  ‘Is your husband poorly, Dolores?’ Tressa asked.

  ‘He’s not ray husband,’ Dolores said bluntly. ‘We never got married. He’s not the father of my first four either. Gerald doesn’t come round till much later in the day – he’s what you might call a night person.’

  Tressa could guess why Gerald Uren ha
d difficulty getting out of bed. Amongst the other smells, she recognised the dank odour of stale alcohol. She wondered how the Urens managed for money but of course she couldn’t ask. Guy woke up and began to bawl. Tressa opened the front of her dress and unselfconsciously fed him.

  ‘He’s a fine baby,’ Dolores remarked, ferreting about in her dress, coming up with half a cigarette and lighting it. ‘He’s nearly as big as my Emily already and he’s weeks younger.’

  ‘He was nearly nine pounds born,’ Tressa said to make Dolores feel better about her under-developed offspring.

  ‘Do you want any more?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Andrew and I would like four. Two boys and two girls would be nice.’

  Dolores gazed into her eyes for several long, unsettling moments. ‘You’ll have them too, believe me. I always wanted a girl. I’m expecting another one at the end of the year. I hope it’ll be another girl.’

  ‘That will be lovely,’ and Tressa could have kicked herself at how lame and insincere she sounded. Poor child was what she was thinking.

  ‘Your husband’s a good-looking, sandy-haired man, isn’t he?’

  ‘That’s right. He comes from London originally.’

  ‘I’ve seen you together, it’s obvious how much he adores you.’

  Dolores suddenly leaned forward, dislodging Emily from her nipple and making her whine as she searched about desperately for it. Tressa felt disturbed. She trembled. Dolores’ eyes had become huge and intense, there seemed to be sparks flashing from them. The room seemed cold and eerie now.

  ‘I’m going to give you a warning now, Tressa, and I hope you won’t take it lightly.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘This may sound like a typical gypsy’s warning, but beware of a black-haired man. He means you harm.’

  Tressa tried to laugh it off but she felt frightened and found herself blurting out, ‘Oh, you mean Harry Lean. He’s been trying to seduce me for years but he never gets anywhere. I’m not afraid of him.’