Chapter 21
Vicki Jeffries and Benjy Miller ran at full pelt through the farmyard, making dust sweeps, leaping over the muddy puddles, scattering chickens and ducks, making them squawk and quack in indignant protest. As the children ran either side of the well, Vicki tripped on a granite cobblestone and was sent sprawling. Benjy rushed back to her and pulled her to her feet none too gently; they didn’t have a second to spare.
‘Come on, Vicki, or he’ll catch up with us.’
Resisting the urge to brush down her dress and rub her sore knee, Vicki set her face bravely and ran on, pulled faster and faster by her playmate.
They made the garden, scurried along the narrow cinder path for a few feet then ran straight across the vegetable patch, kicking up the mounded earth between two rows of potatoes, all the while willing Vicki’s playhouse to get closer and closer.
‘We’re nearly there,’ Vicki gasped, ignoring her stinging knee and the painful squeeze Benjy had on her hand. ‘Quick, quick, or we’ll be done for.’
They crashed through the low door of her playhouse. Red-faced and breathless they slammed the door shut and scrambled behind the little makeshift table, pulling the hem of the old piece of curtain that served as a tablecloth over their heads. They clung to each other, just able to make out the panic in each other’s eyes. The sound of their deep breathing filled the little wooden building. Vicki clutched a hand to her heaving chest. They waited, fearfully.
In a few minutes the suspense was more than Benjy could bear. Gingerly he rolled up the curtain and peered at the door.
Vicki waited an agonising second then yanked him back down. Under the cover of the curtain, she whispered timidly, ‘Did he follow us?’
‘Didn’t see him. He’ll have our guts for garters this time.’
‘He’ll stram our legs and bums.’ Vicki rubbed a hand over her bottom as though it was already sore.
‘He might even eat us alive.’
Sensing the added danger of Vicki beginning to wail, Benjy put his hand over her mouth. ‘Shush. I can hear him coming.’
The children ducked their heads and clung together tighter. The playhouse door was opened. He came inside. He was touching their things. Vicki’s tea set made up of oddments Laura and Felicity had given her chinked as he moved it about. He was picking up toys scattered on the floor. If he got hold of Benjy’s toy bow and arrows, made from hazel stems and a strong piece of elastic, he might use it on them. Benjy’s big brother had sharpened the ends of the arrows with the penknife he’d got for his birthday. ‘Sharp enough for pig-sticking,’ Tony had proudly declared. Sharp enough for Benjy and Vicki to get stuck like a wild pig.
He was coming closer. He only had to look over the tabletop, see the shape of their bodies scrunched up under the curtain and their numbers were well and truly up.
There was a long intake of breath followed by a little triumphant laugh. The curtain was pulled off. ‘Out you come.’
Vicki and Benjy scuttled back against the playhouse wall and broke into a simultaneous fit of screaming and pleading for their lives.
‘Vicki! Benjy! Whatever has frightened you like this?’ Laura was most alarmed.
‘Oh, it’s you, Mummy,’ and Vicki ran to her to be comforted. Benjy forgot he was a ‘big boy’ and clung to Laura’s apron.
‘Who on earth did you think I was?’ Laura crouched down and took Vicki on her knee, keeping an arm round Benjy’s trembling waist. ‘Out with it, the pair of you. Anyone would think you were about to be murdered.’
‘We were,’ Vicki whimpered, shuddering as she leaned against Laura’s bosom and wiped away a tear.
‘By whom? What have you been up to? Vicki? Benjy?’
Feeling braver, and rather stupid now, Benjy owned up, ‘We were playing.’
‘Yes, but what were you playing?’ Laura demanded, caressing Vicki’s feverish cheek then retying the red ribbon on the crown of her head. ‘I can’t approve of you playing games that are scaring the wits out of you both. You must tell me or I won’t allow Benjy to come to the farm for a few days to play and I’ll tell his mother.’
‘He was coming to get us,’ Vicki whispered dolefully, her chin wobbling as she imagined the terrible fate she’d been convinced had awaited her and Benjy.
Laura felt her alarm growing again. ‘Who was? Have you been making up stories about moor spirits coming out of the marsh again? Or imps and goblins coming to steal you away?’
‘No, it was Pawley.’
Laura gazed at her stepdaughter and shook her head. She’d been afraid Vicki was going to say that. She would have to talk to Spencer about this. Vicki and Benjy’s colourful imaginations had been getting out of hand and could be the cause of a lot of hurt and embarrassment. It was also extremely unkind of them and she would not tolerate it.
‘You can play indoors for the rest of the day where I can keep an eye on the pair of you,’ she said sternly, shooing them outside.
‘Ohh,’ both children protested. ‘We were going to play Robin Hood.’
‘I won’t have any arguments. In you go. I came to fetch you for your milk and biscuits anyway, and after that I’m going to explain something to you.’ Laura picked up Benjy’s cache of arrows on the way out of the playhouse. ‘And I shall blunt the ends of these. Don’t let me catch you playing with them like this again, they’re quite dangerous. I saw you running through the yard. If you trip and fall on one of these you could be very badly hurt.’
‘I did trip, Mummy,’ Vicki said, mournfully sticking out her bony knee and displaying her graze, hoping Laura would be more lenient with them because of it.
But fifteen minutes later, chastened and grumpy, Vicki with a plaster on her knee, the children were sent to Vicki’s bedroom to play there until lunchtime.
‘I don’t want to play with dolls,’ Benjy muttered, his small squat face turned down in mulish disgust as he flopped down on the bed. ‘There’s nothing but girls’ toys in this room. We can’t even jump up and down on the bed because your mum will hear us.’
‘I know where there are some boys’ toys,’ Vicki said mysteriously, wanting to impress her friend.
‘Where? Something your father had as a boy?’ Benjy said hopefully.
‘Come with me.’ Vicki poked her head round her bedroom door and listened. She could hear Laura singing and the sound seemed to be coming from the back kitchen. They had time to nip in and out of the spare room.
‘Who sleeps in here?’ Benjy inquired, gazing round the bare surroundings.
‘Nobody, silly. Can’t you see the bed isn’t made up? This was my Uncle Ince’s room when he used to live with us,’ she added wistfully.
Vicki often came into this room and sat and moped on the single bed, wondering why Ince hadn’t come back to see her. He had been nearly as close to her as her father was and she missed him dreadfully. Her hopes that things would return to normal had been crushed when Mike Penhaligon and the vicar had arrived and taken the rest of his belongings away. The little room was a sad and lonely place now. Gone was the blue and yellow counterpane that had once belonged to Ince’s mother and had covered the bed. Gone were his Bible, the adventure books he had read, war and cowboy stories, the photographs of his late parents, the one of him as a beaming curly-headed schoolboy, and the old wind-up gramophone and records he had proudly brought home one day. She had been three years old and she remembered his delight that the contraption actually worked and how she had run to his lap, disturbed by the deep scratchy voice of a singer called Paul Robeson. His hairbrush, comb, the jar of Brylcreem he had used on special occasions, a ship in a bottle, a framed school certificate for excelling at cross-country running – they had all gone, no longer a part of her life. Uncle Ince seemed to have been gone for ever.
Sometimes she was very cross with her daddy. He had got Laura as her new mummy and then got rid of her beloved uncle. Because he had hurt Uncle Ince, Uncle Ince didn’t love her any more. He was never mentioned at the farm and Vicki was p
erceptive enough to know she must not bring up his name or ask questions about him. But last night, as she’d lain in bed thinking about Uncle Ince and how she was missing him, she had an idea. Next time she saw Uncle Harry she would ask him if he would take her to see Ince. She knew from careful listening outside church that he was still in the village. She was sure Uncle Harry would do it for her.
Quickly, before she and Benjy were caught at their mischief, she pulled a big tin box out from under the bed. Benjy got down on his knees beside her.
‘I found this here the other day,’ Vicki whispered. ‘When Mr Penhaligon and the vicar came for Uncle Ince’s things they missed this box. It’s got all sorts of things inside it, toy cars, farm animals and a tractor, a magnet, peashooter, compass, a broken watch, all sorts of lovely things made out of nutshells. It must be Uncle Ince’s secret treasure trove. I can’t give it to him yet and I know he wouldn’t mind me looking inside and taking things out if I’m careful. You can too, but only if you promise to be careful.’
‘I promise,’ Benjy said, suitably awestruck and full of anticipation.
‘Cross your heart and hope to die?’
Benjy made dramatic lines over his narrow chest with a finger. ‘Cross my heart and hope to die. You have my word on it.’
Scampering like two kittens they carried the box to Vicki’s room and sat on the mat on the other side of the bed, ready to push the box of delights under the bed if they heard Laura coming up the stairs.
‘Why doesn’t Pawley sleep in your Uncle Ince’s room?’ Benjy asked at length while studying a brass nut and bolt on the palm of his hand and wondering what they had come from.
‘He doesn’t want to,’ Vicki shivered. ‘He’s got a tent pitched in the top field. You can see it from my mummy and daddy’s room. He asked me if I’d like to see inside it but I said no, of course.’
‘Do you think your mum was right about what she said about him?’
Vicki added the figure of a tiny painted horse to go with the farmyard animals she was laying out in a line on the mat. ‘I suppose so. No more games like this morning though. Agreed?’
‘Agreed. But wouldn’t you like to see what Pawley’s got inside his tent? All grown-ups might have boxes like this one, full of goodies to play with.’
‘I’d like to see inside it, but not with him there.’
‘We’ll have to sneak up there some time, take a quick look inside.’
Vicki nodded, but both children knew they’d never summon up the courage.
With no disgruntled sounds coming from upstairs, Laura hoped the reason had something to do with the strict chiding she had given the children. All was quiet, with only the noise of the fire hissing and crackling and the bubblings of a large ham simmering on top of it. She hoped Vicki and Benjy had understood all she had said to them.
Pawley Skewes had turned up at the farm a week ago. Laura had answered the sharp knocking on the back door.
‘Evenin’, missus. Is your man at home, the man who farms this place, that is?’ Pawley Skewes had stood in the twilight, a man aged about forty, Laura guessed, with a soft rich voice. He was of medium height, wide-shouldered, the sleeves of his worn shirt rolled up revealing twisting blue veins as thick as rope on his forearms. He stood with his cap pulled down over one side of his face, slightly turned away from her. A huge haversack, bursting at the seams with what were obviously his worldly possessions, lay at his feet.
Before she could ask him any questions, Pawley Skewes explained his reason for being there. ‘I’m looking for work. ’Tis a busy time for farmers right now with the haymaking, but if you’re fixed up I’ll be happy to take anything. Even a day or two. I’m not looking for much pay. Just somewhere to pitch my tent and access to a stream for water.’
Laura knew Spencer could not struggle on alone every day. He was becoming bone-tired and she feared it could eventually lead to an outbreak of bad temper. They were getting on quite well but she felt it wouldn’t take much for them to have a quarrel – there was a lot of unresolved hurt to be dealt with yet. She invited Pawley Skewes inside, and it occurred to her then that Barney hadn’t barked to alert them of the approach of the stranger. The dog was watching him, lying flat on his stomach, his long pink tongue hanging out, as if he was waiting for something.
Wearily eating his supper, Spencer didn’t bother to get up for the stranger. He put down his knife and fork and hoped the man’s business wouldn’t take long – probably a holidaymaker come asking permission to set up camp.
‘This is Pawley Skewes, Spencer,’ Laura said. ‘He’s looking for work.’
‘Take a seat,’ Spencer said, pulling out a chair. ‘You’ve heard I’m looking for someone?’
‘No, I’m just here on the off chance.’ Pawley Skewes kept his face half turned away.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea, Mr Skewes?’ Laura asked. Spencer hadn’t said anything but she knew he had given up hope that Ince would come back and had put the word around that there was a vacancy for a farmhand on Rosemerryn Farm. Pawley Skewes could be the answer to one of her prayers.
‘Thank you, Mrs…’
‘Mrs Jeffries. Laura Jeffries. There’s some roast left if you’d care to join my husband.’
‘That’s very civil of ’ee and I won’t refuse, but…’
‘But what?’ Spencer asked. He had been trying to get a better look of Pawley Skewes’ face under his hat.
‘You might not want me eating at your table when you see this.’ And Pawley swept off his hat.
Laura tried not to gasp but a loud exhale of air escaped her throat and her hands involuntarily made fists. Spencer’s eyes flicked closed for a moment, he gulped, then said firmly, ‘Sit down. Tell us all about yourself.’
Doing as he was bidden, there was no look of gratitude or anything else on Pawley Skewes’ face; he couldn’t make expressions. One side of his face, the side he let people see, was white, taut and immobile, the other side was more or less missing. The remnants of red-raw flesh stretched over the bones of his skull from forehead to chin. The eye on the better side was a dull blue, the other eye colourless and bulging. ‘You have my thanks, Mr Jeffries. I’m usually sent away.’
‘The war?’ Spencer inquired grimly.
‘Aye, at Dunkirk. The boat I was in, a small fishing boat, was blown up. I was one of the few men who didn’t drown.’
‘I feel very humble in the presence of men like you. Being in a reserved occupation I didn’t get to fight the war in the same manner. I worked hard but in comparative safety. We use first names in this house. You may be in luck, Pawley. My last farmhand… left about three weeks ago. Have you any farming experience?’
Pawley put a hand in his shirt pocket and took out a wad of paper. ‘I have references.’
Some minutes later, Spencer said, ‘Very impressive. It says you have engineering and mechanic abilities. That would be a godsend with the present state of my tractor. I see you’ve moved around quite a bit. Why did you leave the last farm?’
‘The farmer’s son dropped out of college. He couldn’t afford to employ the both of us. But you probably won’t be surprised that it’s usually because a farmer’s wife or children object to my face.’
‘That’s terrible,’ Laura said, putting a plate of food and cutlery in front of Pawley.
He looked longingly at the food. ‘Thank you, missus.’ He ate a few mouthfuls, delicately, slowly, to avoid his hideous injury making it slop over his chin. He looked at both Spencer and Laura. ‘If you take me on I’ll keep out of the way once my work’s done.’
‘That’s not necessary,’ Spencer said.
Pawley went on as if Spencer hadn’t spoken. ‘I’d like my food to be part of my wages and I’d like to collect it and take it to my tent, if that’s all right with you. I like my privacy.’
‘Let’s give it a try then,’ Spencer said. He was pleased when they had worked out all the arrangements. Spencer hadn’t liked the thought of someone else using Ince’s room.<
br />
Laura had tried to prepare Vicki about Pawley’s face before taking her by the hand to meet him the following morning after he had mucked out the shippen. She hoped her daughter would be able to accept him without staring or taking fright. They were to find out that Pawley had a marvellous way with animals, he could sense sickness in a beast twenty-four hours before Spencer could, and to introduce his talent he had got the irascible Barney to do tricks. Barney was executing perfect somersaults when they approached them. Vicki laughed and clapped her hands, but the moment she noticed Pawley’s disfigurement she went rigid. She didn’t scream or say anything nasty or tactless, she went sickly white and looked anywhere rather than at Pawley.
After that, Laura had suspicions that although Vicki didn’t mean to be deliberately cruel, she and Benjy were making up monster stories about Pawley, frightening themselves more and more. They had admitted that today they had crept up behind him as he’d been heaving dried bales of hay up to Spencer to make a new rick, and when Pawley had turned round to say hello, they had run away, scared witless.
That night in bed Laura put down the book she was reading and turned to Spencer. He had been in the house all evening, going over his account books, but there was another reason why she had waited till now to discuss the problem of Vicki’s reaction to Pawley. It was getting on for four weeks since she and Spencer had made love. Apart from wanting this for their marriage’s sake, she was very attracted to him, and it was frustrating not to get that close to him. She was sure he wanted their lovemaking to resume too but was worried she might rebuff him. He was a proud man. She was certain he had been about to kiss her in the kitchen the other day and she had allowed Vicki to spoil the moment. If it had left him feeling rejected, he would need some sort of encouragement.
‘Spencer?’
He was just settling down and was lying on his back. He usually didn’t turn away from her until she put the light out. ‘Mmmmm.’ It was an indistinct sound.
‘Have you realised that Vicki has been frightening herself by making up scary stories with Benjy about Pawley’s face?’
Rosemerryn Page 24