‘Be afraid of him, Tressa. Be very afraid of him. The danger will come in an unexpected way.’
With a shaky hand Tressa sipped her tea. She wished she had never come here. She had come to help and had received a lot of frightening mumbo jumbo in return. She couldn’t tell Andrew about this. He was so protective of her he would be furious with Dolores for upsetting her. She thought about what Andrew would say to comfort her. It would be something along the lines of the other woman finding out all the information about the villagers that she could to help her charlatan purposes to make money out of gullible people. Everyone knew what Harry Lean had been up to over the years concerning her. The obvious danger from him was that he’d go too far one day and rape her. Tressa couldn’t believe Harry would ever do that but she couldn’t stop a violent shudder. Guy stopped feeding and began to cry pitifully. She had a hard task comforting him.
Dolores said very little else. She crooned softly to Emily when she’d finished feeding her then put her in her crib without changing her wet nappy. Tressa cut Guy’s feed short. She refused to let Dolores look at her hand for a full reading but gave her two half-crowns to ward off bad luck, and as an extra precaution thanked her for the warning.
Dolores was still in a serious mood when she thanked Tressa for the baby clothes and showed her out of the house. Tressa saw a tiny bottle on the doorstep and stooped to pick it up. It was filled with purple liquid. She handed it to Dolores.
‘It’s gentian violet,’ Dolores said, twisting the bottle round in her long, tapered fingers. ‘Someone must have left it for the kids, to paint on their impetigo.’
‘That was thoughtful,’ Tressa replied, trying to regain her sense of perspective in the mild sunshine. ‘It’s very effective.’ She believed the act of kindness had come from Ada Prisk.
‘A two-edged sword,’ Dolores said, and Tressa was fearful she was going to announce a prophecy of doom and gloom. ‘This stuff will make the kids’ skin go purple and that’s just as embarrassing as the impetigo. It’s not necessarily caused by uncleanliness, you know,’ she finished defensively.
‘Of course not,’ Tressa agreed. ‘Well, I must be going.’
‘Drop in any time,’ Dolores called after her as Tressa wheeled the pram out into the lane.
Tressa waved goodbye. She would call again, but not for a long time and certainly not with Guy.
Dolores slopped back to the kitchen and gazed down on her sleeping daughter. She rocked backwards and forwards on her feet. ‘Poor baby, poor baby,’ she murmured over and over again. ‘Poor Guy.’
* * *
Andrew wasn’t the only one to take a day off from his office. Harry was out riding on the moor with Celeste. They had followed the Withey Brook which ran at the back of the village and through Hawksmoor property, then they had trotted on to Twelve Men’s Moor to look up at the half-mile ridge of granite that made up the summit of Kilmar Tor. Celeste declined the scramble to the top and they finally stopped for a picnic at a quiet little spot Harry knew.
They sat on a blanket. Harry unpacked the food hamper. Granite boulders lay embedded in thickets of gorse and fern and on the open heath. Here and there was a pink or purple or yellow or blue splash of small-headed moorland flowers. A crow, its feathers ruffled by the steady warm wind, seemed to be watching Celeste from its perch on an old wooden post that stood aslant. The bird reminded Celeste of a particular stern, gowned schoolmistress from her past, who because of her high jinks and pranks had declared to both staff and pupils that Celeste was the bane of her life. Miss Forsythe wouldn’t be at all surprised at the many twists and turns her life had taken.
Celeste leaned back and looked up at the sky. ‘There’s quite a few clouds up there. Are you sure we won’t suddenly get caught in a mist? Laura wrote to me about the time she got lost on the moor out riding and nearly died.’
Harry put a sandwich box down on the blanket and gazed about. He sniffed the air. ‘We’ll be fine. I’ve lived here nearly all my life and you get a sixth sense about the weather changing. Here, have something to eat. I’ll open the wine.’
‘Did you happen to bring any lemonade or something? I don’t want any wine, thank you.’
‘No wine?’ Harry was mortified. ‘This is a very good hock. I chose it specially.’ He rooted about in the hamper. ‘I’ve brought some water in case it was a hot day. If I’d known I would have packed a flask of coffee.’
‘Water will do fine, darling.’ Celeste munched delicately on a ham sandwich. ‘Mmmm, food tastes so much better out of doors and best of all in a setting like this.’
‘It’s also one of the best settings for making love in,’ Harry drawled. ‘See that post over there? The one the crow’s on? Just past it there’s a deep depression in the ground and a sort of natural cave. You come across it almost by accident. The opening is very small but it’s quite wide once you’re inside it. I first went in it when I was a boy and found it was safe. It’s shored up and roofed by moorstone. I used to show it to my friends – in fact I made my first conquest inside it.’
‘I don’t doubt it,’ Celeste muttered, and he missed the hint of sarcasm.
‘But making love outside is better. We’ll be all right, there’s no one around for miles.’
‘Maybe so, but I’m not in the mood, Harry.’
‘That’s disappointing. I felt certain you were going to make this a day to remember.’
He brushed away a large black and red insect stinging his arm and smiled while pouring himself a generous glass of wine, confident she would change her mind. Celeste made love with an abandon even he had a hard time keeping up with. He would make this their last time; regular sex with a woman usually gave her the notion he was making a commitment to her. He intended to get married one day, perhaps in about five years, to provide an heir for Hawksmoor. Until then he wanted to enjoy his freedom.
‘How much longer are you staying in the village?’ he asked.
Celeste was glad he didn’t try to talk her round or get moody with her. She hadn’t enjoyed making love with Harry the last time and she’d had to work hard to achieve satisfaction. Her body needed the rest. It would have a very important job to do quite soon. If only Harry, or Ince, were different sort of men, they might get involved, but Harry saw women only in terms of how he could get sex, and how much of it, out of them, and Ince was too honourable.
‘Oh, just a few more weeks,’ she replied. ‘Then I have something pressing to do. Of course it’s not the same now Laura’s married. I thought we’d go around together, but she’s become all domesticated and so far we’ve only gone on shopping trips to Launceston, Bodmin and Liskeard and one afternoon we drove to Dozmary Pool in Spencer’s clapped-out old car. I’m keen to do something for the Uren family before I go though. Do you know them?’
‘The dirty lot? The mother looks as if she might have been a rare beauty in her day but I couldn’t fancy it with her now.’ Harry would in fact have made an overture to Dolores if she’d kept her family clean. ‘I don’t see you as the crusading type, Celeste.’
‘It’s the children I feel sorry for. The poor little things don’t stand a chance in life. I’ve approached the vicar. He and his wife are getting a few people together to try to help – Tressa Macarthur’s one. I hope she can overcome her shyness or she won’t be much use.’
‘Tressa? She’s not shy, just very quiet. Has she agreed to help?’
‘Yes. I saw the vicar’s wife as I was leaving the cottage and she told me Tressa would be calling on the Urens today and would be letting me know how she got on. I’ve made friends with the oldest boy, Alfie, he’s quite a card. I think he’s an intelligent boy. Given a better home life he could go far. I’ve made inquiries as to whether they are entitled to any government help, what health checks there are for children now, that sort of thing. As soon as I know I shall call on the family myself.’
Harry leaned back on his elbow and stared into his wine for a long time. ‘I suppose people in our position shou
ld help those who aren’t so fortunate. Is there anything I can do? I’d ask my mother but there’s a gymkhana and fete at Hawksmoor House soon and she’s busy organising that.’
Celeste had seen the way Harry looked at Tressa. She didn’t want any complications in her attempts to help the Urens. ‘If I think of anything I’ll let you know.’
‘Don’t worry, Celeste,’ he returned, aware of her coolness and considering this picnic a damned waste of his time. ‘I’m sure I shall think of something myself.’
Chapter 12
One of the first things Laura did as Vicki’s stepmother was to accompany her to the school at Lewannick and introduce herself to her headmaster and teachers. Before, she had mainly cared for Vicki’s practical needs, now she did more personal things. She chose new clothes for Vicki. She taught her how to arrange flowers and sew simple doll’s clothes. They soon fell into a pattern where they did everything together, baking cakes, tending the flower garden, feeding the ducks and chickens, pegging out washing, roaming the moor on foot or pony; Benjy Miller became quite forgotten, and sometimes so was Spencer.
As far as Laura could see, Spencer seemed to be settled with the changes their marriage had brought him and she overlooked his odd spark of bad temper. When he wanted to be quiet, which was a big part of his nature, she left him to it. Sometimes she thought he must be thinking of Natalie. He had obviously trained Barney to behave; not long after the wedding, Barney had stopped leaping and barking at her unless he was glad to see her. Spencer congratulated her on the progress she had made with the milking and other manual jobs and she was pleased with this and with herself.
On one subject she encountered difficulty – money. One evening Spencer was impatiently filling out some government forms at the kitchen table. Laura had not yet learned that he was best left alone while he was applying himself to this task which he hated with all his heart, and she mentioned that she wanted to make some changes to Vicki’s room. With Vicki’s help she had taken the measurements for new curtains and they had talked about fresh paint, borders and bedding and she had the details jotted down in a notepad.
She hid the notepad behind her back when he sighed heavily, staring down at the pen in his fingers. ‘We can’t afford it. The tractor needs overhauling first and some of the outhouses need repairs. I can’t do it all from moorstone and odds and ends.’
‘But I could pay for it, Spencer,’ Laura said coaxingly, adding quickly when he glowered at her, ‘The things needed for Vicki’s room, I mean.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with Vicki’s room,’ he said in a decidedly frosty tone. ‘Natalie decorated it right through just before Vicki was born.’
Hurt and feeling something of an intruder in her own home, Laura turned away.
‘It’s my responsibility to provide, Laura,’ he muttered, returning to the forms. ‘For all of us.’
Catching him in a better mood a few days later, after reminding him of Celeste’s faint and how she might have needed the doctor quickly, she persuaded Spencer to agree to having a telephone installed. He had got better prices for some calves at market than he’d anticipated and he insisted that he would pay half the cost. Laura thought that although the outhouses could wait, it was a pity he didn’t spend the money on the tractor instead.
Both Laura and Spencer appreciated Ince making himself scarce. As soon as his work was done he either made his way to extra chapel meetings or to Johnny Prouse’s to do a few repairs to his little cottage. Sometimes they worked so late Ince stayed overnight. Laura and Spencer noticed that he didn’t go to Carrick Cross any more. Spencer’s irascible attitude towards Ince eased and for the most part they resumed their old easy-going friendship, but every now and then, when Ince had a smile or kind word for Laura or she for him, Spencer would glare at them.
Laura was intimate with Spencer any time he wanted, which was often, when Ince wasn’t there, eager to conceive a baby and enjoy the physical contact. She looked forward more and more to these times as her attraction to Spencer grew, sometimes initiating them herself. She had great hopes for the future, but her optimism had a setback at the beginning of June. She was collecting eggs in the hen house when she felt a familiar niggle of discomfort in her lower stomach. She hurried to the toilet and her disappointment was immense when her fear was confirmed; there was to be no new baby on Rosemerryn yet.
She felt thoroughly miserable and was glad Vicki was at school, wanting to be alone. She had said she would finish off in the shippen that morning but forgot all about it.
‘Milking no longer holding an attraction for you?’ Spencer asked teasingly as he came inside for lunch. A large number of orchid-like wild flowers grew in the field where he had been herding his cattle and he held out a bunch of the creamy white and rose-pink blossoms to her.
‘No,’ she replied astringently, putting a plate of bread and butter on the table with a thud.
‘I didn’t mean anything by that remark, Laura.’ The flowers were dropped limply at his side. ‘I’m quite happy if you just want to look after the house and Vicki. If you’ve been getting tired and feel I’ve been taking advantage of you then I’m very sorry.’
He had spoken so sincerely, tenderly, his face reflecting his words, it made Laura search for her hanky and dab at the tears that seared her eyes.
Spencer went to her. He put his arms round her and she pressed her face against his chest. Caressing her hair, he said gently, ‘What’s brought this on?’
‘I – I’m just being silly,’ she sniffed, feeling very foolish.
He lifted her face and kissed her hot cheek. ‘Silly about what?’
‘I’ve got my monthly.’
‘Is that all?’ He ruffled her hair and held her tighter.
‘I want a baby so much, Spencer. Don’t get me wrong, I love Vicki dearly but it’s something I’ve always wanted. Sometimes it hurts so much, like a terrible physical pain.’
Tenderly he brushed away the tears falling down her face and smiled warmly. ‘Think about it this way, darling. In a few days’ time we can have a lot of fun trying again.’
She laughed and sobbed at the same time, then taking his floral gift from him she wound her arms round his neck and clung to him.
* * *
‘You look nice today, Joy,’ Bruce Tamblyn said, taking another long appreciative look at her. They were at the back of the shop which had just closed for the lunch period. Joy was fetching her cardigan. Daisy had left to walk to Rosemerryn to spend the afternoon with Laura; she welcomed these little breaks Bruce’s presence allowed her.
Joy’s appearance had seen a few subtle changes of late, and the more observant among the villagers had noticed they had occurred since Bruce’s arrival in Kilgarthen. From her regular wage at the shop she had saved up and treated herself to a permanent wave. She had lost several pounds in weight, practically starving herself to do so, and the ten stones, four pounds she was down to suited her large frame. She had started to wear the outfit she’d worn at Laura’s wedding and some beads when she went to work. Today she had put on a little lipstick and powder.
Joy stroked her small sweeping waves with a coquettish but self-conscious movement. ‘With Celeste Cunningham charming all the men in the village I… I thought I ought to take stock of…’ Bruce was looking at her closely and her face burned. ‘Of my looks.’
‘You’ve done an excellent job, Bert must be very proud of you.’ He lowered his voice to a husky whisper, ‘I’d much rather have your looks to that London woman’s, Joy.’
‘You would?’ Joy squeaked, twisting her cardigan in taut hands.
She wanted to linger here before going home. On the second day she had worked in the shop with Bruce he had told her all about his unhappy home circumstances. She had sympathised. He had seemed grateful and she had felt less in awe of him. She found him rather dashing compared to the rapidly receding charms of Bert who had grown stouter and more boring by the year, his only idea of an outing a weekly trip to the pub without h
er. Bruce was always courteous to her and paid her compliments. He hastened to lift heavy boxes for her. He sent sweets home to her children. Joy began to resent the mediocre life she led, tied down in a small village miles from the nearest town, with a man who belched at mealtimes and rarely uttered a word of gratitude. Bruce made her feel young, attractive and alive again. He had given her the incentive to make the most of herself.
‘How about having a cup of tea with me before you go?’ Bruce said nonchalantly. ‘Your kids are at school. Bert’s at work. I haven’t got anyone to talk to now Mother’s gone out. I could make us a sandwich.’
‘That will be very nice,’ Joy replied in the careful tone she’d adopted to lessen her natural warm Cornish burr. She was crimson with embarrassment as she followed him into the kitchen. She knew full well Bruce Tamblyn was a man of the world and that agreeing to stay here alone with him meant more than sharing a spot of lunch.
Bruce hardly took his eyes off her as he made the tea and cut a plate of Spam sandwiches. Joy sat meekly at the table. She thought she was sitting there in a regal manner, like someone who was used to being entertained, but after a few moments she realised she was sitting on her hands and leaning forward in the habit of one of her small daughters who was always eager to eat. Horrified, she snatched her hands off the chair and sat up straight. She took a sandwich off the plate with all the decorum she could muster, making the tiniest bite in the bread and thick-cut meat.
Bruce munched away completely at ease. He smoked a cigarette, keeping it in the ashtray between puffs, turning it round and round and slowly tapping off the ash, watching Joy, contemplating, anticipating.
Joy’s throat wouldn’t receive more than the first bite of sandwich and the tea would only go down in an obvious nervous gulp. She didn’t want anything to eat and drink anyway. Her stomach was churning. She glanced at Bruce, smiled, gazed down shyly, then did it all again.
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