Too Close to the Sun

by Jess Foley

  In the kitchen her father poured two mugs of water to take into his workshop, one for himself and one for Billy.

  ‘How’s Billy managing?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Oh, well enough. I’ve got him doing some sanding for me. It’s a simple enough job. I’ve told him that when he’s done he can go on over to the farm. He’d much rather do that. And I can’t say as I blame him.’

  As he moved to pick up one of the mugs Grace noticed the condition of his thumb.

  ‘Pappy,’ she said at once, ‘are you all right? Your thumb doesn’t look too good.’

  He nodded. ‘It’s still a bit sore, I’m afraid. That damned splinter.’

  ‘Come into the light – let me look at it.’

  In the light close to the window she examined his thumb. It was swollen, the flesh about the nail red and angry-looking. When she gently pressed the nail he winced.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ she said, ‘I think you have a little infection there.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll bathe it before I go to bed.’

  As he finished speaking Mrs Tanner came into the room carrying a basket of clothes, ready for ironing. As she set the basket down, Mr Harper picked up the other mug, excused himself and went out into the yard and to his workshop.

  ‘So,’ said Mrs Tanner as she began to sort through the clothes, ‘have you got everything ready for tomorrow?’

  ‘Just two or three things to iron,’ Grace replied, ‘and then it’ll be done.’ She added, ‘I bought some cotton in Corster. I might take it with me and work on it there.’

  ‘Your father told me as how you was lucky enough to get a ride home – with Mr Spencer from Berron Wick.’

  ‘Yes – I was very fortunate.’ Grace had thought several times about the journey back from Corster in Mr Spencer’s trap, her thoughts for the most part focusing on his man-servant, Rhind. And still she could hardly believe that he had said such words to her: ‘You might fool some people, but not me. I can see through you – like glass.’ What had he meant? His words had been uttered so softly – so softly that only she had heard them. Now Mrs Tanner’s words had brought it all back.

  ‘Mr Spencer’s manservant was with him,’ Grace said. ‘A man by the name of Rhind – I think that’s his name. A very – dour sort of character.’

  She had half-hoped that her words would prompt some recognition from Mrs Tanner, but there was none.

  ‘Rhind? No, I never heard anything about him,’ the woman said, ‘but there was a bit of talk in the past about his master.’

  ‘Oh? And what would that be?’ Grace asked.

  ‘Well, nothing against him, as such.’ Mrs Tanner took from a cupboard two smoothing irons and began to wipe their surfaces. ‘But people do say as he fell on his feet, so to speak.’

  ‘Fell on his feet? What d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, marrying as he did. The Addison woman. She had everything – and he had nothing. Not even a name.’

  This was interesting, and nothing now could have prevented Grace from saying: ‘Not even a name? I don’t understand.’

  Mrs Tanner hesitated before answering. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘there was a bit of talk when he was a child – not much, but I recall it happening. About his birth.’

  ‘Tell me,’ Grace said. The ironing was now forgotten.

  ‘Well,’ Mrs Tanner said again, ‘ – they said as he was only born the right side of the blanket by the skin of his teeth, as you might say. That was the talk, anyway. I mean – well, the fact is that his mother married when she was already well on the way with him – and on her wedding day holding her bouquet much higher than usual. The way they do. She married a much older man. There were lots of rumours about, but it was only a nine days’ wonder, you understand, and without fuel gossip soon dies down. While he was still a boy he went off – to London, some said, and also to foreign parts. And then didn’t come back to Berron Wick until he came back with his wife – Mrs Spencer. Miss Addison as was. So there you are –’ another shrug, ‘whatever the truth of it, there’s no denying that he made the best of his beginnings. Certainly he’s now got everything he can possibly want.’

  ‘The house is huge,’ Grace said. ‘It’s so grand. It’s like a palace.’

  Mrs Tanner nodded. ‘Yes. Mr Gresham certainly left his niece well off. Nice to have an uncle so well placed, don’t you reckon? And be the only beneficiary. And if you’re a man, how nice to have your wife come into so much money.’

  ‘Have you ever seen Mrs Spencer?’

  ‘No, but there’s been a bit of chatter about her too. She lived in Swindon before she married Mr Spencer. And she was no spring chicken either when they were wed.’

  ‘I met her,’ Grace said. ‘The other day when Billy and I went to Asterleigh House to deliver some pictures for Father.’

  ‘And?’ Mrs Tanner looked at her curiously. ‘What was she like? I hear she walks with a limp.’

  ‘Yes, she does,’ Grace replied. ‘Though I don’t think it’s so very bad. What I did notice is that she has beautiful skin. She’s very well preserved.’

  Mrs Tanner laughed. ‘And I’m sure she’d thank you for saying so, my dear.’

  After Mrs Tanner had proceeded with the ironing for a while, Grace took over. Not only ironing her own things, but those of her father and Billy. This would give the older woman’s back a rest, and allow her to start preparing vegetables for the main meal.

  Grace was coming to the end of the basket of clothes to be ironed and Mrs Tanner had gone to another part of the house when Billy came in. ‘You look a little warm,’ Grace said as she exchanged the cooling iron for the hotter one that waited on the stove.

  ‘I am,’ he said, then added, by way of explanation, ‘I’ve been sanding wood. It’s thirsty work. Now I’m off to see Mr Timmins. Pappy told me I can go and help him. Mr Timmins says the harvest will be starting soon. He’ll need all the help he can get.’ These days Billy was spending so much of his time at Timmins’s farm, helping out in any way he could. He loved to be active and thrived on being useful.

  Moving to the wall beside the kitchen door, he stretched up, reached down his hat and put it on. ‘Mr Timmins says not to forget my hat. This hot sunny weather, he says I mustn’t risk sunstroke.’

  ‘No, you certainly must not,’ Grace said.

  Billy was turning in the doorway now.

  ‘When’ll you be back?’ Grace asked. ‘Are we likely to see anything more of you today?’

  ‘Later,’ he said, ‘when I’ve finished.’

  ‘You be back by six, all right?’

  ‘All right.’ He turned, tapped his forehead as if prompting memory. ‘I meant to tell you, I saw your Mr Stephen.’

  ‘You what?’ She asked the question but she had heard him, clearly. ‘You saw Mr Stephen? Mr Stephen Cantrell?’

  ‘I saw him yesterday. He was near the post office.’

  Grace stood there with the smoothing iron raised in the air, then carefully set it down on the stove again. ‘And – and what did he say?’

  ‘He didn’t say anything. He didn’t see me.’ He took a step away, eager to be gone.

  ‘Where was he? Tell me.’

  ‘I told you, near the post office. He was on his horse, riding along the street.’

  ‘You’re sure it was him?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure.’

  ‘How come he didn’t see you?’

  ‘He had his back to me. As I turned the corner I saw him riding away.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re mistaken. Perhaps it was somebody else.’

  ‘No.’ He frowned and shook his head as if such an error was beyond him. ‘I know what he looks like.’ He paused. ‘I must go.’

  ‘What? Yes, you go on, then. And have a nice time.’

  ‘I’m going to work,’ he said, as if work and nice times couldn’t go together. And adding, ‘I’ll see you later on,’ stepped out into the yard and was gone.

  After a moment Grace left the ironing and went out into the yard. Anot
her few steps and she was turning in at the door of her father’s workshop. He looked round at her expectantly as she entered and came to a stop in the room. When she didn’t speak, he said, ‘Yes, Gracious? Was there something?’

  ‘What?’ She gave a little laugh. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing here.’ She put a hand to her forehead. ‘My mind is going. Too much sun.’ His woodworking tools were all around, sitting on shelves, hanging on the walls, lying on the bench. Her eyes saw it all but took nothing in.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ her father said.

  After a moment she said, ‘Billy – Billy had some foolish story that Stephen is back home. He said he saw him yesterday in the village.’ She shook her head. ‘Billy couldn’t have seen him. It must have been someone else he saw.’

  As she spoke, she heard the sound of hoofs, and turning, saw a horse and rider trot into the yard. As they passed the window she said, ‘It’s the Cantrells’ groom. What does he want?’

  With her words she passed through the open door into the yard. As she emerged, the young man, the visitor, turned the mare and got out of the saddle. Seeing Grace, he straightened and put fingers to his cap. ‘Miss Harper,’ he said, ‘ – just the one I’ve come to see.’ He took an envelope from his pocket and held it out. ‘A note for you from Mr Stephen. He says I’m to wait for an answer.’

  Grace thanked the man and took the envelope from him. It was addressed to her in Stephen’s familiar hand. Turning away, she came to a stop, quickly tore open the envelope and took out the letter. She read it through, then lifted her head to see her father standing in the workshop doorway just a few feet away. He was eyeing her expression keenly.

  ‘Seeing the Cantrells’ man,’ he said, ‘and the smile of excitement on your face, I can only assume the letter’s from Stephen.’

  She looked at him and nodded, then went back to the letter. ‘He says he arrived back yesterday morning.’ She sounded a little breathless. ‘He wants to come round this evening at six o’clock – if it’s convenient.’

  ‘And is it?’

  ‘Oh, Pappy …’ She turned again, took a few steps towards the groom who stood beside the horse, now hitched up, and said, ‘I’ll just keep you a minute,’ and then went quickly into the house.

  Up in her bedroom she got pen and paper, and, sitting at her small writing desk, quickly wrote a reply to Stephen’s letter, and sealed it in an envelope. Back down the stairs again and she was out in the yard and moving to the young groom. She thanked him again for delivering the letter and handed him her letter in reply. She watched then as he unhitched the horse, swung up into the saddle, and clattered away across the cobbles towards the lane.

  She remained standing there for some seconds after he had turned out of her sight. Stephen was back in Green Shipton, back at his family home in the village, where he usually stayed during his periods of leave from the merchant ship on which he was Second Officer.

  With a little sigh of pleasure she turned and moved towards the workshop.

  Her father did not look around as she entered, but continued at his work, sanding a piece of timber. ‘So,’ he said, still without looking up, ‘have you sent the young man an answer?’

  ‘Yes. He’ll be round at six.’

  Somehow Grace got through the time remaining, spending most of it helping Mrs Tanner with the chores about the house. Then, when Mrs Tanner left at five, Grace went upstairs and began to prepare for her visitor. When she was ready she sat waiting.

  It was 5.50 when she heard the sound of hoofs on the cobbles. Yet she would not look from the window, but remained there, on the chair. She heard the hoofs stop, and after some seconds the sound of voices, Stephen’s voice and that of Billy. Two minutes later came the sound of hurrying feet on the stairs, and then a knocking on the door. She opened the door to see her brother standing there, a little breathless, his face flushed from exposure to the afternoon sun. ‘Your Mr Stephen’s here,’ he said, thrilled to be the bearer of good tidings. ‘You didn’t know, did you? He’s here, now, downstairs, in the parlour.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Are you coming down?’

  ‘Of course I’m coming down.’ It would not do to seem too eager. ‘Just give me a minute.’

  He turned and she called his name and he came back across the landing.

  ‘What is it?’ he said.

  ‘Billy, when I come down – you make yourself scarce, all right?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Billy.’

  He sighed. ‘All right.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  After Billy had withdrawn and his footfalls had faded on the stairs, Grace remained there, looking at her reflection in the glass. Stephen was back, and here she was planning to leave the village for a fortnight. How could she? How could she be away when he was here? Hands fluttering slightly, she touched at her hair, adjusting the pins, then twitched at the sleeves of her blouse and skirt. And, dear Lord, she thought, I look so dowdy. But there was nothing to be done about it now. She leaned forward a little, closer to the glass, and pinched a little more colour into her cheeks. Then she rose, smoothed down her skirt and left the room.

  Downstairs in the hall she moved towards the parlour, pushed open the door and went in.

  He was standing by the fireplace, tall, slim, and dressed in a dark grey, single-breasted suit. He had turned at the sound of her approaching step, and now greeted her with a little smile. She came to a halt just inside the doorway and smiled at him in return.

  ‘Hello, Grace,’ he said.

  ‘Hello, Stephen …’ A brief pause. ‘Welcome back.’

  ‘Thank you.’ As he spoke he lifted a hand to brush his fingers through his thick fair hair. Grace saw a touch of nervousness in the gesture, and for a moment wondered at it.

  ‘Please, Stephen,’ she said, gesturing towards an easy chair on the other side of the fireplace, ‘do sit down.’

  He muttered thanks and sat. She followed, sitting in the chair facing him. It had been almost four months since they had last met. Their meeting had taken place not long before her mother’s death. So much of that time now was hazy in her memory, but she could remember his being there, his presence, their walking in the lane, his concern at her mother’s illness.

  Now as she exchanged glances with him she thought how well he looked with his tanned skin and his hair bleached a paler shade by the sun. ‘You’re looking well, Stephen,’ she said.

  ‘Thank you, Grace.’ He looked down at his hat resting on his knee, then said, ‘Oh, I was so sorry to learn about your mamma, Grace. That was so – so awful for you. For all of you.’

  She nodded. ‘Thank you. It was indeed. It was a dreadful thing. But I so appreciated your letter, Stephen. Your letter to Father, too. They meant a lot to both of us.’

  He shrugged. ‘It was nothing. How are you now? Are things a little easier?’

  The sympathy in his voice was dangerous. One had to be so careful. Sympathy – it could make a break in the strongest dam, fracture the strongest resolve. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘things do get easier. But – well, I suppose we just take it a day at a time.’

  ‘Yes. And how are the rest of your family – your father and your brother?’

  ‘They’re well.’ A little shrug. ‘We keep busy.’

  ‘Of course. When young Billy let me in just now I thought, how he has grown.’

  ‘Oh, yes, he grows so fast. You can’t keep up.’

  His glance left her own, drifted away, then lowered again, settling on his hat once more.

  ‘You almost missed me,’ Grace said after a moment. ‘Tomorrow morning I’m supposed to be leaving for Remmer Ridge to stay with my aunt. I’m to stay with her for a fortnight.’

  ‘Then it’s as well I called today,’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘It is indeed.’

  A little silence fell, and to fill the space she added, ‘Now that I’ve finished working for Mr and Mrs Marren I have a little free time, you see. So it seemed an ide
al time – to visit my aunt.’

  ‘What time are you leaving?’

  ‘Pappy’s driving me to Liddiston station at ten. I shall get a cab at the other end.’

  ‘You’ve stayed with her before, haven’t you?’

  ‘Oh, yes, on several occasions over the years. She’s my father’s elder sister.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure she loves your company.’

  ‘I hope so.’ This was so much small talk, she thought, chatter to fill space. ‘Billy said he saw you near the post office,’ she said. ‘You were riding through the village.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t see him.’

  ‘No – you were going in the other direction.’

  ‘Ah.’ He gave a grave nod.

  The conversation was not easy, Grace thought. ‘How long are you home for?’ she asked.

  ‘At least seven weeks, as far as I know. There’s some refitting to the ship to be done. Then we sail for Jamaica again.’

  ‘So you have a nice long time at home.’

  ‘It will be pass in the blink of an eye. It always does.’

  Grace nodded. The period between their meetings had caused a certain shyness between them, she thought. But it was only natural, and they would get through it soon. They would have time now that he was back.

  A little silence fell between them, then Grace said, ‘Goodness, I don’t know what I’m thinking of – I haven’t offered you any tea. Would you like some?’

  She began to rise from her seat, but he gave a hurried gesture for her to remain. ‘No, thank you, really. I had some just before I came out.’

  ‘It’ll only take a minute.’

  ‘No, honestly, thank you. I can’t really stay that long.’

  His words took her a little by surprise. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’m sure you must have a lot to do, having just arrived back.’

  ‘Yes – this and that.’

  There was something wrong, Grace thought. Granted, there would be acknowledgement of the death of her mother, and the family’s grief, but in spite of that there should have been a greater ease between them. But it was not there. He had not even made a step towards her. And the conversation, such as it was, was constrained, stilted. In her mind she had pictured their reunion – and it had never been like this. She was aware suddenly of the silence in the room, and in the quiet she heard the singing of a blackbird in the flowering cherry just outside the window.