Rosemerryn

by Rosemerryn (retail) (epub)

  Fully awake now, his mouth stretched wide in a yawn letting out foul breath, Gerald sat up grumpily, leaning his slight weight on the crooked upholstered arm. ‘Not now.’ He pushed Dolores away from him, pulling up the single crocheted cover to conceal his naked body; Dolores couldn’t get enough of him, one reason why he was always so tired and the boys were sent outside to play for the greater part of each day.

  ‘It’s not that, darling. Do you remember what I told you yesterday about what that farmer said to me? About me not looking after the children properly.’

  ‘Yeh.’ Gerald reached for his cigarettes, lit one, throwing the spent match on the floor. ‘What of it? Who cares what the nosy old bastard said?’

  ‘He made me feel ashamed, Gerry, that’s what. I want things to change a little.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think it’s time we settled down, as a family, I mean. Try to get a few nice pieces of furniture together, make sure the kids are well fed and clothed. I want my kids to have a future. I don’t want these people talking about us unless they’ve got something good to say. I’d like you to help me. I can’t do it all on my own. I thought I could get your breakfast and then you could go and tidy up the garden a bit. I burnt some things last night but there’s still some more that needs seeing to. Also, Gerry, there’s a farm near here called Rosemerryn. I’ve heard the farmer fell out with his farmhand yesterday. I thought you could go over there and ask for his job, before someone else gets there first. Failing that, you could try the local quarry. What do you say, darling?’

  Gerald drew in deeply on his cigarette and blew out smoke rings. He smiled. ‘You want my answer now?’ She nodded eagerly.

  ‘Did you look into your crystal ball this morning?’

  ‘Eh? What do you mean? You know I haven’t got a crystal ball.’

  ‘Pity, then you would have seen this coming.’

  He brought his arm back in a wide arc, thrust it forward, and smashed his fist across her face.

  Chapter 17

  Spencer had been cutting grass since five o’clock in the morning, before the sun came up, when it was cooler and the grass was easier to turn. Coming along after him, turning the grass with the hay kicker to air it and keep it dry would have been Ince’s job but he would have to do that himself now. It was hard work and he did not relish the extra sweaty labour, but he was eager to get his haymaking finished while the grass was young and sweet, making better hay for the cattle. He prayed that the ominous rattling coming from the tractor’s engine wouldn’t mean the wretched thing was going to pack up on him.

  To add to his already bad mood, the previous poor winter of swirling winds and heavy rains had flattened much of the grass and in many places it was impossible to achieve a clean cut. Spencer turned himself round at intervals and cursed the finger beam grass machine with its half-diamond jagged blades for not doing the job properly.

  On the last occasion when he turned back he saw Laura heading towards him, her blonde hair bouncing as she took long athletic strides. In normal circumstances he would have admired her tall stately form. Now his bold features tightened with displeasure and he swore softly under his breath. Then he saw she had his crib bag. He was glad of that. He’d forgotten it and he couldn’t work on pride and anger alone all day and evening. Turning off the engine he jumped down from the tractor and waited, gloomy-faced, for her to reach him.

  She was smiling self-consciously at him and before she could speak he said tersely, in a manner of dismissal, ‘You needn’t have bothered bringing that. I’ve managed without before. I can drink from the stream.’

  ‘I haven’t just come with the crib,’ Laura replied, quickly handing him the bag then sweeping her eyes up and down the two and a half acres of enclosed field. She added, deliberately loudly, ‘I’ve come to help you.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ he scoffed, flinging the crib bag over his shoulder and making to climb up on the tractor.

  Laura pulled him back, making him stumble and press his heavy boot on her feet. She winced but made no sound. ‘I meant it, Spencer. You can’t work here alone all day.’

  ‘Why not? What do you know about it?’

  ‘There’s no need for you to be so hostile.’

  ‘There’s no need for you to be here.’

  ‘Well, I am, and I’m staying whether you like it or not. What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Nothing if you haven’t brought Brindle with you. A true farmhand would have known he’d need her to pull the kicker. Anyway, as I’m working alone I’ll do it later.’ His face rearranged itself from irritation to fear. ‘I take it you’ve left someone with Vicki?’

  Laura forced herself to answer calmly. ‘Of course I have. Vicki is quite happy being with Celeste.’

  ‘Her?’ Spencer boomed scathingly. ‘What does that woman know about children?’

  ‘Enough to keep Vicki safe and well and occupied. Now, what do you want me to do for you? You won’t shake me off, Spencer.’

  ‘I don’t need your help. You’ll only get in my way. I can manage on my own today and tomorrow I’m going to see about taking on a new man.’

  ‘That’s tomorrow. Today I’ll help you.’

  ‘You’re impossible.’ And with that Spencer got back on the little grey tractor, started it up after some difficulty and Laura had to spring back to avoid the five-foot arm of the grass machine knocking her off her feet as he drove on.

  She was left standing in the middle of the field in the two-foot high green grass. So as not to be in Spencer’s way when he turned the tractor round and came back, she moved to where the grass was cut, its texture like a saggy carpet, moulded together like fleece off a sheep. The grass smelled sweet, its syrupy strength seeping up her nostrils and threatening to make her head ache, she was so tense. She knew it was the kicker’s job to turn over and separate the grass so it could dry out, and there was a high hot sun for that today, but even if she had brought Brindle with her, she would have had difficulty attaching the kicker to the horse’s harness and controlling the mare.

  Standing there, left abandoned, fields all about her, the outer reaches of the moor boasting their silent dramatic tors, she felt small and helpless. She picked nervously at the cloth of the old shirt she was wearing. Washed many, many times, it smelled of the moor, animals and Spencer. There was a patch on the shoulder, a small tear at the back she had not seen to yet. There was a huge tear in her marriage. By remaining here, could she repair it, patch it up, or was she risking destroying it for good? Spencer did not tolerate anything interfering with his wishes.

  The tractor was coming towards her. She felt like running home to the farm and taking over from Celeste, but she was rooted to the spot and felt it would take the grass machine itself to remove her from it. Spencer was sure to leave her standing there like an idiot, a scarecrow with its arms clamped rigidly to its sides. He’d drive straight past, not looking at her, his face set like granite, angry, resentful.

  A fieldmouse scuttled just in front of the tractor’s front wheels. Laura gave a warning shout but it was too late. The little brown creature disappeared in a small bloody splash and she screamed in horror, feeling wholly responsible for the fieldmouse’s death.

  Spencer jumped down and grabbed her arms. ‘What is it? What’s frightened you?’

  The words wouldn’t come, she could only point at the red stain on the ground.

  He followed her staring eyes and taut finger but could not make out what had alarmed her. He felt frightened. ‘Laura, for goodness sake, tell me what’s wrong.’

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, streaking the make-up she had put on for him. At that moment she couldn’t have been more distraught if she’d witnessed a child being killed. That innocent little fieldmouse would still be alive if she hadn’t come here and insisted on staying. Spencer wouldn’t have stopped the tractor to talk to her. He would have been somewhere else in the field now and the tractor wouldn’t have run over the fieldmouse. It mattered; like
everything that happened when one was distraught and almost past reason, it mattered terribly.

  ‘It’s all my fault,’ she sobbed.

  Lost and bewildered, Spencer pulled her into his arms. He had pondered on her reason for being here, why she was so keen to help him, be in his company, but if it was an attempt at a reconciliation, presumably so Vicki wouldn’t suffer, she hardly seemed to notice she was now in his arms.

  ‘What’s your fault, Laura?’ he breathed softly.

  ‘The fieldmouse. It was killed by the tractor’s wheel. If I hadn’t come it wouldn’t have happened.’

  For a moment Spencer didn’t know whether to laugh, hug her tightly, or order her back home for being a fool. Not the latter; because of her distress over the death of a little insignificant creature he had just lost a bit of his heart to her. He shook his head and let her go, but stroked her arm.

  ‘Small animals are killed every time a field is cut. If not a fieldmouse then perhaps a rabbit. It’s nobody’s fault, Laura, it just happens.’

  ‘Why is life so cruel?’ she sobbed, turning away from him. Expecting a sarcastic answer, and not wanting to hear it, she started the walk home, quite defeated.

  Spencer grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘If you really want to help, there’s a fork over by the gate. You can scrape the bits all along the hedges, where the kicker can’t reach, and in the ruts where the cattle have left hoof prints which the kicker can’t reach into. Would you like to do that? It’s laborious and sweaty work but a very valuable job.’

  Laura looked across at the gate, at the fork leaning against it, then at her husband uncertainly, rather suspiciously.

  ‘We’ll work for an hour,’ he said briskly. ‘Then have some crib in the shelter of the hedge by the gate. Me and… I always eat there. It will be cool after the hot work.’ He gave a gentle parting shot. ‘Don’t overdo it, mind. You’re not used to this sort of work.’

  From the gate, set about halfway along the hedge, Laura had worked nearly to the first corner of the field when she realised the cranky drone of the tractor’s engine had stopped. During that long hour she had not looked across at Spencer once, it was enough that he was letting her stay, had given her a job. She hadn’t had much time for thought, only to hope that Vicki was getting along with Celeste. An ugly thought, that Vicki might not forgive her for leaving her with a woman she didn’t care for, she cut off as sharply and brutally as the fieldmouse had lost its life.

  Leaning the heavy fork against the hedge, she walked over to Spencer where he was laying out the crib. She flopped down next to him on the hard ground and gratefully took the mug of tea he was holding out to her. ‘Thanks, my throat’s never felt so parched.’

  ‘Haymaking’s thirsty work,’ he muttered.

  And then her hands were filled with hot stinging needles, sharp searing pains. She put the mug down on a large stone and looked at her palms. They were bumped all over with blisters, up every finger and both thumbs, a big fat one at the bottom of her wedding ring. Before she could hide them, Spencer took her hands in his.

  ‘You’d better call it a day.’

  ‘Ooh…’

  Her sound of disappointment was so like one that Vicki made, his heart did a strange flip. He had never thought of Laura as childlike before, but she was twelve years younger than he was and, as her husband, he had promised to care for all her needs. It occurred to him then, and it was an uncomfortable thought, that his behaviour towards her contained a strong element of childishness.

  ‘I didn’t feel them forming.’ She frowned, holding her hands up close to her face. She had considered bringing gloves with her but had felt they wouldn’t give her the authentic look of a farmer’s wife.

  ‘You can’t carry on like that, Laura,’ he said softly. ‘You’ll be in agony. I’m grateful for your help but why don’t you go back to Vicki now?’ He formed a smile, and it had warmth in it. ‘She must be missing you.’

  Responding, she admitted, ‘I quite enjoyed working out here but I am missing her.’

  ‘There you are then. I’ll see you this evening. I hope Celeste can cook a good roast, you’ll need her help with those blisters. I’ll be ravenously hungry when I get back.’

  Gingerly holding the mug, two Spam sandwiches and a slice of seed cake, Laura consumed her share of the crib silently. She had won a small victory by receiving Spencer’s sympathy and didn’t want to force a conversation that might annoy him. It was only now she realised how closely he had held her after the fieldmouse’s death and she regretted that she hadn’t made the most of the situation.

  ‘Food never tastes better than out of doors when you’ve been working hard, does it?’ she said conversationally, brushing crumbs off her trousers and getting up to go. ‘I’ve packed lots of food and some Mason’s herb beer for you. Don’t forget to wear your hat, the sun’s extremely hot.’

  Spencer made a wry face. They parted amicably.

  * * *

  Laura rushed home, hot, perspiring and dust-streaked, happier than when she had left, anxious to know if her absence had bothered Vicki. Celeste reported that she had been polite and well behaved and had kept mainly out of her way in the playhouse. Vicki waited for Laura to take a bath and change her clothes then clung to her for the rest of the day. Daisy had turned up that morning and helped Celeste to get everything at the farmhouse under control. Seeing how tired Laura and Vicki were after their restless night, Celeste suggested they take a nap, and cuddling up together, they slept all afternoon.

  Tressa came over in the evening, and with bandages over her blisters, Laura helped her do the milking. Vicki went with them, never more than a few inches away from her stepmother. Spencer was surprised to find them in the shippen, finishing the work by putting the milk churns in the granite trough of cold water to keep cool overnight.

  ‘We’re just finished here, Spencer,’ Tressa said. She kept her voice light but there was a touch of contempt in it for him.

  ‘Thanks for coming over, Tressa,’ he said. He held his hand out to Vicki but she shook her head and held on to Laura’s white coat.

  ‘I’m always glad to help my friends,’ Tressa replied, looking him tartly in the eye. ‘Now I must get home. It’ll soon be time for Guy’s next feed.’

  When Tressa had left, Spencer asked Laura how her hands were.

  ‘They feel much better, thank you,’ she said, his concern giving her hope that he was over the worst of his wrath with her. Still being cautious with him, she added, ‘Well, I must go upstairs and change. Celeste has cooked us a lovely meal. We might as well make an occasion of it.’

  Vicki finally kissed her father but she was unwilling to let Laura out of her sight and went with her.

  Celeste had waited all day for an opportunity to berate Spencer, and the moment he came inside she left the gravy she was stirring on top of the range and went straight in on the attack.

  ‘You owe Laura and Ince an apology.’

  ‘Mind your own business.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Spencer. Are you a man or a lemming? Why are you so set on self-destruction and of those around you too? Why are you behaving like an utter bastard? Do you feel so guilty about wanting to be happy again after Natalie’s death? Is that it? Does it frighten you so much? If Ince and Laura’s old relationship hadn’t been the excuse to cause a rift then you would have picked on something else – Laura’s cooking perhaps. You just want to crawl back into your shell of woe and self-pity again, don’t you? Are you so used to being in the slough of despond that you want to stay in it for ever?’

  Spencer was listening to her as he buttoned up his clean shirt. If he hadn’t come to some of the same conclusions himself during the lonely afternoon’s work he would have been so furious with Celeste he would have thrown her out of his house by the scruff of her neck.

  He held up his hands in submission. ‘I don’t need all this, Celeste.’

  ‘Oh yes you do!’ Celeste was very angry. ‘All one hears on this farm is V
icki this and Vicki that! Vicki is very important of course and if this present trouble is upsetting you and Laura, then think what it’s doing to her! And for goodness sake stop and really think about Laura in all this stupidity of yours. You are the most arrogant and selfish man I’ve ever known, and yes, I admit it, I’ve known a good deal! Don’t let your marriage slip away from you, Spencer, over your damnable jealousy. Laura is kind and patient, but do you want to risk reaching a point where she may not be able to forgive you? I had a chance of real happiness once, not so long ago, and I threw it all away. Why can’t you realise just how lucky you are? You had one happy marriage and tragically your wife died. Now you have something most people rarely get, a second chance, and you’re hell bent on destroying it.’

  Blistering hot tears were streaming down her face and she wiped them away with her sleeve. Spencer handed her a towel and she buried her face in it. To stop her trembling he put an arm round her shoulders and led her to sit down.

  ‘Have you got it all out of your system now?’ he asked gently, brushing back a tress of red hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.

  She was astounded. ‘You’re not angry with me?’

  ‘No. I’ve been thinking along similar lines all afternoon or I would have given you short shrift. And I got the feeling you were scolding yourself some of the time. I wouldn’t advise you to get het up like that too often. It’s not good for the baby.’

  Celeste’s mouth fell open. ‘You know I’m pregnant? Does it show? With my full figure I thought I’d succeeded in concealing it.’

  ‘No, it’s not obvious. You’re about five months, I’d guess. I can’t explain it, there’s something about you that I recognise from when Natalie was carrying Vicki. How do you feel about it?’

  A look of tenderness filled Celeste’s splendid face. ‘I was devastated at first but now I couldn’t be more pleased. In fact I’m thrilled. I can’t wait to hold him or her. No one knows but you and me, and perhaps Dolores Uren, she muttered something along these lines the other day. I came down to Cornwall to consider what to do. I’d never intended to keep the baby, but something stopped me from getting rid of it. I thought I’d go away somewhere, give birth and put it up for adoption. At least it would make a childless couple happy. But since coming to Kilgarthen something has made me cling to the child just as it’s clinging now inside me. Seeing Laura mothering Vicki and getting involved with Alfie has helped.’