Rosemerryn

by Rosemerryn (retail) (epub)

  Joy didn’t see Bruce as quite the thrusting Romeo of her dreams now. The air of refinement she’d thought she’d seen in him had chipped away into sordid little cracks. But for all that she was afraid to lose him and took the short journey up Daisy’s stairs with him. It was no good though, things had been spoiled. The excitement of their affair had disintegrated for her. For the first time she was worried that they would be caught, that Daisy would come home early, or one of the children would be sent home poorly from school, or Bert would have an accident at Tregorlan Farm and be forced to come home and send someone looking for her. She was tense and unresponsive.

  Bruce did not enjoy their union either. That evening he was in a dank and bitter mood.

  ‘I was wondering, Mum,’ he said, trying to sound casual as he helped Daisy clear the tea table. He was putting the condiments back in the larder so he wouldn’t have to look at her. ‘Could you lend me a few quid until my savings in Canada have been transferred over here? I’ll let you have it back straight away then.’

  ‘Of course, Bruce. I’ll fetch my purse. How much do you want?’ Daisy never missed the opportunity to be generous to Bruce, to make up for the years she had thought herself a poor mother, the reason why all her children had left home early. She paid him two pounds a week for working in the shop, a very generous sum, and he had free board and took as many cigarettes from the shop as he liked.

  ‘I was thinking of a bit more than that,’ Bruce replied, shuffling his feet in a nervous little dance as he folded up the tablecloth and put it back in its drawer. ‘I want to get some new clothes and a pair of shoes and I was thinking of buying a present each for the kids and sending it to them.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Daisy was glad he wanted to do something for the children he rarely mentioned but she couldn’t see why he wanted to add to his wardrobe; it wasn’t vast but he had everything he needed. ‘How much do you want then?’

  Bruce reddened and his stance showed he was on the defensive. His voice came out gruffer than usual. ‘I, um, was thinking of about one hundred pounds.’

  ‘One hundred pounds! I haven’t got that sort of money.’ Daisy had more than that, but she was careful where money was concerned.

  ‘You must have something stashed away,’ Bruce asserted aggressively. His mind had been busy making calculations from the day he had got here. ‘You must have made a tidy sum over the years with the shop. You could draw some out of the bank.’

  Daisy was annoyed at his insistence. There was no pleading in his angry countenance. He was motivated by plain greed and was using bullying tactics. Although she enjoyed his company she knew she had been right not to trust him too deeply.

  She said tartly, ‘I’m not as well off as you think, my son. For a start, all the income from the shop doesn’t come to me alone and I haven’t got the sort of big savings you think I have. Just a little bit put by for my retirement.’

  ‘What do you mean, all the income doesn’t come to you? Have you been sending some to Susan or Alison?’

  ‘No, I have not. I never hear a word from your sisters so I’m not in the habit of handing my money over to them. I’ve worked hard for what I’ve got and I intend to hang on to it.’

  ‘Who is getting your money then?’ It was an angry demand.

  Daisy saw red but she hoped a partial explanation would soften him. She didn’t want to fall out with him. ‘Laura owns half the shop so she has half the takings.’

  ‘How come?’ Bruce hissed in exasperation.

  Daisy couldn’t admit the truth, that many years ago she had tricked her sister, Bill Jennings’ mother, out of her lawful half of the shop. Laura had discovered the truth and realised that the sister’s half should have gone to Bill Jennings and then, as his widow, to her. Because Daisy had been so good to her since her arrival in the village, Laura had made peace with her, and Daisy had given Laura half her savings and half of the shop as recompense.

  Bruce looked so twisted and hateful he no longer resembled her son. Daisy was becoming nervous of him. ‘I was going through hard times and she bought into it,’ she told him.

  ‘Okay, fair enough. But even so, surely you can lend me a hundred pounds.’

  Daisy could but he didn’t deserve it and she doubted if she would ever get it back. Her silence made him explode.

  ‘I don’t want you to give it to me, Mother. I only want a bloody loan. You’ll get it back, every damned penny. Hell and damnation! You help out a bloody gypsy and her filthy brats but you won’t help your own son.’

  Daisy was feeling afraid now, but she wagged a finger at him. She felt she must stay in control or he would never stop browbeating her. ‘I won’t be spoken to like that, Bruce. I might not have been the best mother in the world to you after your father ran out on us, but you can’t come back into my life and order me about. I won’t lend you any money, not now, not ever after this. If you don’t like it, well, you know where the door is.’

  Snatching up his jacket, he strode across the room. ‘Don’t worry, you rotten old cow. I’ll be walking out through it for good soon enough.’

  Daisy cried for a few minutes after he’d slammed the door then wiped her eyes and washed and dried the tea dishes. She knew Bruce wouldn’t have stayed with her for ever, there was too much restlessness in his dark spirit. She sat down in her armchair at the side of the range and got comfortable, picking up her knitting. She’d quickly get used to life on her own again, she had lived alone for years and felt she was missing nothing. It wasn’t what she wished but perhaps the sooner Bruce went, the better, hopefully before he dragged the Millers’ marriage through the mud.

  Chapter 20

  Ada Prisk had waited a long time; three weeks was an achingly long time to have so much scouting and scouring go unrewarded. She had been looking out for Eve Pascoe. But except for two attendances at chapel with Les, which Ada, being in church, had missed, there had been no other appearances in the village by Miss Pascoe. The young lady hadn’t been seen anywhere else either. Ada had skulked about Johnny Prouse’s cottage in the hope that Eve would call on Ince Polkinghorne to continue offering him her comfort. No one knew much about her, except Ince apparently, and he wasn’t saying anything about anyone to anybody at the moment. So Ada baked an apple crumble and took it to Carrick Cross.

  Mindful of the smallholding’s hauntings, Ada had another worry as she squeezed her big feet, one in front of the other, along the narrow grassy track. She was terrified of snakes and slowworms and prayed none were slithering about in the thick growth, ready to bite her ankles.

  As she closed in on the smallholding, Ada’s thoughts returned to her mission and centred on the questions she would thrust on Eve Pascoe. She excused her blatant curiosity by telling herself that as one of the oldest inhabitants of the village it was her duty to welcome newcomers. Fear of the ghost of Tholly Tremorrow rearing up to show her his ‘ferrets’ had kept Ada away from Carrick Cross before today, and after the rumours of its dilapidation she was amazed at how orderly the place was. She admired the painted plaque on the gate.

  To her relief, she found Eve outside with Les. She had been afraid she would find the place deserted and tempt its spirits to torment her, and because of her age and arthritis she was in pain and wilting fast under the blazing hot sun. Les was snoozing in a shaky-looking deckchair, a newspaper over his head and chest, a loose hand coming up every now and then to flick away a troublesome fly. Eve was sitting at a little round table, painting a small piece of flat wood. She was wearing a straw sunhat and a neat dress covered with an apron. An umbrella kept the sun off her. She got up at once to greet Ada.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Pascoe,’ Ada said with all the graciousness of a true high-born lady. ‘I’m Mrs Ada Prisk. We said hello at the Hawksmoor fete but I’m afraid we didn’t have time to get to know each other then so I thought I’d come and introduce myself properly. I’ve brought this for you and Mr Tremorrow.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you, Mrs Prisk,’ Eve repl
ied, taking the proffered dish of apple crumble and peeping under the red and white checked tea towel.

  Woken by their voices, Les lifted the newspaper, saw who had come to disturb the peace, grunted in unfriendly fashion at Ada, then settled back again under his paper hideaway.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mr Tremorrow.’ Ada hoped he would stay asleep, she hadn’t come here, on unhallowed ground, to see him.

  ‘I’ll just take this inside, Mrs Prisk. It will go nicely with our evening meal,’ Eve said. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea or a cold drink?’

  ‘A cup of tea, not too strong, would be very nice,’ Ada replied, gazing all around.

  ‘Do take my seat, Mrs Prisk. I shall fetch out another chair.’

  Ada wasn’t fast enough to take a peek inside the house before Eve closed the front door. She sat at the table, grateful for the shade given by the umbrella. She looked at Eve’s handiwork and was impressed by the picture of a badger, a fieldmouse and a thrush amid a border of campion, bluebells and buttercups. Then she gazed around again, determined to see all there was to see, still a little afraid a ghost or a monster would jump out from behind the boundary walls, the small turf rick, the shed, the water butt, or from either side of the house. Everything was in fine fettle, thanks mainly to Ince’s hard work, Ada thought, glaring grimly at the lazy old man beside her.

  A few minutes passed and Eve returned with a tray of tea. She had bought a teak tray for just such an occasion, set now with a snowy white lace cloth she had fetched from the sitting room. She poured the tea to Ada’s requirements, in her grandmother Ruby’s best china, then went back inside to get another chair. When seated on the other side of the table, she poured tea for herself.

  ‘We don’t see many visitors here.’ Eve raised her neat brows for an explanation, sure that the village gossip would enlighten her on a matter about which her prickly old grandfather would not.

  ‘Well, people don’t come this way very often.’ Ada stared down into her cup, somewhat embarrassed. She glanced at Les, hoping he wasn’t listening, then leaned over the table and whispered, ‘It’s the ghosts, you see.’

  ‘Ghosts? What ghosts?’ The only ghost Eve knew about was the one of her grandmother that Ince had mistaken her for on their first meeting. ‘In a peaceful place like this?’

  Ada looked at her doubtfully. ‘You don’t find it… creepy?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘You like it here then?’

  ‘Very much so.’

  ‘It wasn’t known hereabouts that Les had a granddaughter. Are you on a long visit or do you live here now?’

  ‘I haven’t any definite plans.’

  There came a hard set to Eve’s chin, a subtle change in her brown eyes. Ada realised she was looking at a closed face; Eve Pascoe would be careful to give nothing away and if Ada asked too many personal questions she would soon find herself ejected, kindly but efficiently, from Carrick Cross.

  Never mind, there were other burning issues to be brought up. Watching the young woman very carefully, Ada said, ‘You and your grandfather must find Ince very useful about the place.’

  ‘We do, we did. We haven’t seen him lately.’

  Ada frowned. From the attention Eve had given Ince on the day the village had first seen her she had thought there must be something ‘going on’ between them. She wasn’t the only one who had thought so. Now it didn’t seem to be the case. ‘Not since the fete, you mean?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Eve had seen Ince afterwards but she had no intention of telling the busybody. She had been glad to accompany him to Johnny Prouse’s cottage and with Johnny, Mike Penhaligon and the Reverend Farrow she had seen Ince safely ensconced in one of the bedrooms. Johnny had left the room to get clean bed linen, Mike Penhaligon to get a cold compress for Ince’s face, the vicar to rush back to the fete to reassure anyone who might have been distressed by the proceedings. Eve and Ince had been alone for a few moments.

  Ince had lain on the bare mattress, his arm over his face as if hiding away from the world.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Ince?’ she had asked softly.

  He put his arm down and shook his head, making himself wince. As well as the physical pain there was an agony deep within him plain to see.

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘No, not now. Perhaps never.’ His voice was little more than a murmur.

  She sensed he was uncomfortable in her presence. She was a stranger in Kilgarthen. He knew her, but not very well, and he had been extremely annoyed about her assumed name. ‘I’d better get back to Grandfather. Goodbye, Ince.’

  ‘Goodbye, Eve.’

  And that had been that. Eve had thought their goodbyes had only been farewell. She and Les had expected to see Ince at Carrick Cross soon after that, but he never came, his goodbye had been final. She knew from the mobile baker that Ince hadn’t left the village and still lodged at Johnny Prouse’s. She wished he would come to the smallholding. She missed him, his gentleness, the solid honesty about him. She missed his fine face, dark curly hair, his rare smile.

  Could the rumours about him and his boss’s wife be true? No, she had quickly decided, Ince was too honourable a man for that. Les, who usually took delight in being spiteful about others, said the rumours were absolute nonsense. Eve had caught sight of the classically beautiful Laura Jeffries at the fete. She had seen her talking to her handsome, grim-faced husband and there had been an obvious tension between them. But was Ince in love with her? Did he have hopes because of the unhappy marriage? A pity Eve couldn’t ask the village oracle, but even without the harsh training instilled in her by her former employer to mind only what concerned her, Eve had never been given to gossip.

  ‘I’ve always thought Ince to be a rather lonely man,’ Ada said, speaking as if she was an authority on Ince’s life. ‘He confides in me, you know. What he’d really like is to settle down and have a family of his own. I tried to make a match for him with my cousin’s daughter but the maid had just started walking out with someone else. That was a shame. There’s a dear little cottage up for sale in the village, just right for a man to take a bride to. Ince is a good man, would make someone a good husband.’ Ada looked hard at Eve. ‘Don’t you think, Miss Pascoe?’

  ‘I’ve given Ince very little thought, Mrs Prisk,’ Eve replied, looking directly into the old woman’s beady eyes. That same harsh training had taught her never, ever to show her emotions and it stopped her betraying herself although her conscience pricked her for lying. ‘Another cup of tea, Mrs Prisk?’

  Ada drained her cup to hide her disappointment. She was amazed that Ince, once so keen to take a wife, seemed to have overlooked the somewhat demure but amiable Miss Eve Pascoe. The young woman might seem like someone who belonged to a past age but she would do Ince very nicely, in Ada’s view. Ada wasn’t wholly convinced Eve wasn’t interested in Ince; all unattached women were husband hunters in her opinion.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she answered. ‘You make a lovely brew, Miss Pascoe.’ Ada moved on to her next line of questioning and pointed to the wood painting. ‘That’s lovely. Are you an artist?’

  Eve wasn’t above throwing Ada a crumb of information. ‘I’m a lady’s maid actually.’

  That accounts for the air of good breeding about you, Ada thought triumphantly. Eve was obviously out of work now or else she wouldn’t be here. ‘But you like to paint?’

  ‘Yes, I always have done.’

  ‘I noticed the name plaque on the way through the gate. You’re very clever. You could make a good living making that sort of thing for the holiday trade and I’m sure the locals would be interested too.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Eve asked thoughtfully.

  ‘I’m sure about it.’ Time to find out something about Angela Tremorrow. ‘Do you make things like that for your mother?’

  A ring of sadness shrouded Eve’s pretty face. ‘My mother is dead, Mrs Prisk.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry. Recently, was it?’
/>
  ‘Just a few weeks ago.’

  ‘Oh dear. And your father?’

  ‘He was killed during the war.’

  ‘How dreadful. I understand you come from Plymouth. Plymouth man, was he?’

  ‘Yes, he was a docker and I have no brothers and sisters.’ Eve hated telling all these lies but it was what her grandfather wanted. After what her mother had done, running away from home and having an illegitimate baby, Eve felt she owed him that much.

  ‘And you decided to look up your grandfather?’ Eve didn’t deny it so Ada knew she was right on that score. ‘I didn’t know Angela had married.’ Ada thought she might have imagined it, but did Eve Pascoe’s rock-solid, prim demeanour slip a little?

  Eve began packing up the tea tray, a signal that the question and answer session was over, but she was grateful to Ada, the only person apart from the two ministers who had paid the courtesy of calling on her. Mindful of Ada’s anxiety when she had talked of ghosts, she offered, ‘It’s rather a lonely walk along the track leading here. Would you like me to come with you until you reach the lane?’

  ‘How kind.’ The suggestion was very welcome. Ada hadn’t forgotten the terrors that could be awaiting her on the narrow path.

  There was not enough room to walk side by side on the path so Eve stepped onto the springy moorland turf. They had a noncommittal conversation about the moor, the wildlife, and the coming beach outing for the village children.

  ‘Your help with the little ones would be greatly appreciated if you went along, I’m sure,’ Ada said just before they parted on the hot tarmac of the lane. ‘I’d go myself but I’m a bit too old to go tearing round with a ball and the sun gets too much for me at the seaside.’

  Eve smiled thoughtfully but said nothing. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to get involved in the life of Kilgarthen.