Touch the Silence

by Gloria Cook

  The room was on a comer of the house and from the front windows she could see all the way down the hill to the ford. The side window overlooked the kitchen garden and out across the fields. Nestled near the woods was Ford House, where Tristan’s adulterous wife lived in virtual seclusion after being shunned by her own family. The woods made Emilia wonder about the tramp; others of his kind had sought shelter there. With times being hard and drunkenness almost a national problem, more and more men, unfit for regimental service, were becoming homeless. Was alcohol a problem with Archie Rothwell? From what she had seen of him, she thought not.

  Tilda, who had taken over the best accommodation in the attics, had aired the room but it still felt bleak and unwelcoming. Until Tilda’s duster and polish had brought everything to a satisfying shine, small bare patches in the dust on the wash-stand, dressing table and mantelpiece had pointed to where some of Henry’s things had been removed; during Alec’s wanderings last night, Emilia assumed. Reverently, she had packed up the rest of Henry’s typically masculine possessions – lead soldiers, stamp and mineral collections, taking them down to the den as Alec had instructed. His clothes she put in the boxroom, and found that a lot of items, including furniture, were missing from there since she’d delved into Dorothea Harvey’s trunk.

  ‘I’ll put these on the bed for you, Em.’ Ben brought in a small dented suitcase, a large box and a carpet-bag – the things inside them the sum of her belongings. ‘It’s strange knowing Henry will never use this room again, even though, unlike Tris and I, he’d never been interested in the farm.’ Ben made a boyishly wicked face. ‘Pity I’ve got to pass Alec’s room to get to yours. He’ll probably lay a trap for me every night.’ She smiled with mock demureness and started unpacking the box. She found what she was looking for, a photograph of herself, Ben, Billy and Honor taken at Rowlands Fair in Truro during peace time; all, except Billy, still at school at the time. ‘I don’t suppose Alec will mind if we sit together alone downstairs. He won’t think we require a chaperon, I’m sure.’

  ‘Think you know Alec well, do you?’

  ‘Don’t get jealous, Ben. It’s you I love, never forget it,’ she laughed.

  ‘He’s brightened up in the twenty-four hours since you’ve moved in. Rare for him to change so fast. He can brood on something for months.’

  Tilda could be heard heading towards them. Emilia said, loud enough for her to hear, ‘What did the doctor say about your eyes, Ben? Sorry I’ve had no time to ask you till now.’

  ‘He hummed and hawed for ages. Waste of time! Said to keep bathing them and gave me these drops, and an eye patch if I think I need it.’

  He took a small brown bottle out of his trouser pocket and handed it to her. She prised off the lid and sniffed the lip of the glass. ‘Smells like antiseptic and dead flowers. I’ll make sure you do as he says. Your right eye looks less anguished but the left’s gone a bit cloudy. Does it hurt much?’

  ‘Like merry hell when the cold gets to it.’

  ‘Well, wear the eye patch. The doctor expects it to clear though?’

  ‘Of course. He says if it’s still bothering me after a few days he’ll send me to a consultant.’

  Tilda bustled in with an armful of lace runners. ‘I’ve found these in a drawer. Thought they’d pretty up your room, Miss Em.’

  ‘Thank you, Tilda.’

  ‘Right then.’ Tilda made straight for the door. She winked at Emilia. ‘All’s quiet. See the pair of you downstairs in a few minutes.’

  ‘She’s going to be a gem,’ Ben said, as he and Emilia closed in on each other to take advantage of the housekeeper’s kind discretion.

  * * *

  After putting Lottie to bed, Emilia, although unsure if she was expected to stay down with the two men, went to her room, feeling more comfortable about it being hers now. She changed into one of her newly acquired skirts and a lawn blouse – such a soft rippling feeling against her skin. She put on a pair of dark-blue suede shoes with high heels. How delighted she was to find Dorothea Harvey’s feet had been the same size – she had always wanted a pair of elegant shoes. Freeing her rope of hair, she shook its sweeping waves loose about her shoulders. Parading in front of the mirror of the handsome wardrobe, she felt graceful and feminine, something she had not bothered about before.

  There was a tap on the door. Assuming it was Tilda, she called out, ‘Come in.’

  Alec opened the door but stayed in the doorway. She had not seen him since breakfast – the ‘drenching’ of a sick cow had kept him away from the supper table. ‘I knew you’d come round to my way of thinking,’ he said. Some sort of satisfaction was clear in his frank expression.

  Emilia had never been insolent, but she took a moment to reply. This might be Alec’s house but this was her room, and she continued with the last of her unpacking. ‘If you’ve come about your gran, the doctor said she’s fine. Her heart’s as strong as a lion’s, and apart from her mind, he’s never seen a patient of her age as healthy as she is.’

  ‘Thank you, I hope Grandma lives for ever.’ He added something low and soft. Emilia thought it sounded like, ‘Angel.’ ‘I’m sorry,’ he went on, ‘But could I get something I’d forgotten on top of the wardrobe?’

  ‘Of course.’

  She stood back, watching as he reached up and took down a thick parcel, wrapped in crumpled brown paper and tied with string. It was addressed to Alec, the ink smudged. She was close enough to know he had drunk his evening glass, or two, of whisky, and he also smelled of something pleasant and indefinable. Himself, she guessed. Then she was ashamed of taking in such intimate details about him.

  ‘The things that were in Henry’s kitbag and his tunic pockets when he died,’ he explained. ‘Did you know they even sent back his uniform, complete with blood stains? I buried it in Long Meadow, Henry’s favourite place, and said a few words over it. It was the saddest thing I’ve ever done.’

  He was gazing at her, moisture glistening along the rims of his eyes, and Emilia felt privileged he had shared this sorrowful memory with her. ‘No, I didn’t know that. How terrible for you, Alec.’

  He returned to the doorway. ‘So, your mother and Honor Burrows are coming to tea tomorrow? You and Tilda must entertain them in the sitting room. Grandma will enjoy the extra company. Pity Honor’s a frail little thing, she could have been working here long ago.’

  ‘Honor would like to, but that snobbish old aunt of hers won’t allow it, which it ridiculous because they badly need the money. Pity she doesn’t die off and let Honor lead her own life.’ Emilia dashed a hand to her mouth. ‘I didn’t mean that. And it’s unlucky to wish someone dead.’

  Alec opened out the palms of his hands and shrugged. ‘Some people don’t deserve long lives. Is Florence Burrows mean to Honor then?’

  ‘She stifles her, I call that mean. Wants Honor to marry a gentleman, but no gentleman is likely to consider her with the fact she lives in a decaying house and she’s got nothing settled on her. I think she would have been happy with Isaac Annear. Florence Burrows took a high and mighty stance just because he was a carpenter! She may have educated Honor herself but Honor grew up with us village children. She won’t be happy unless she marries someone she feels comfortable with.’

  ‘It’s all academic now.’ Isaac Annear had been killed shortly after Henry. ‘You feel comfortable with Ben, though, Emilia?’

  ‘Of course, besides, Ben’s not a snob.’

  ‘Well, I agree that one should marry someone they’re suited to in temperament, position shouldn’t necessarily count. I find your honesty and opinions refreshing, Emilia. We must talk more. Thank you for allowing me to disturb you.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘Well, look at you, decked out like a lady fair.’ Dolly Rowse walked around Emilia in a circle, her stout fingers flicking at the crepe de Chine embroidered dress she was wearing. ‘Where did you get this from? And the shoes?’

  While Emilia explained, she took her mother’s and Honor Burrows�
��s coats then ushered them into the sitting room.

  ‘It was a strange thing for Alec to do, giving you his mother’s clothes.’ As she frowned, Dolly’s dull, old-fashioned, wide-brimmed hat, which she had refused to relinquish, dipped over her forbidding brow.

  ‘Doesn’t this dress suit me?’ Emilia used a questioning gesture to gain Honor’s opinion. Honor always told the truth.

  ‘You look lovely, Em,’ Honor said, smiling and taking the end of the sofa next to Lottie’s chair. She leaned forward and greeted the old lady. Lottie stared back at her, as if with suspicion, then craned her long neck and appeared anxious until she recognized Emilia among the strangers.

  ‘I didn’t say it didn’t suit you, Em. I said, it was a strange thing for Alec to do. He’s your employer, after all,’ Dolly persisted. Before the outbreak of the hostilities, although always alarmingly candid, she had been jolly and tolerant, a hair-netted housewife, wearing an apron all day long and content to ‘do’ for the rector’s wife. Now she wore the pinched and blanched face of a worried mother, the risk of a tragic fate for her son making her choose to resent what she saw as her daughter’s defection to live in here. Dolly was as keen as Honor’s aunt for people to ‘know their place’. She greeted Lottie in a humble way. It should be remembered Mrs Charlotte Harvey was the lady of this grand farmhouse, even if her mind no longer functioned properly.

  ‘And Ben, my young man, is his brother.’ Emilia hid her disappointment and banked down the desire to rush upstairs and change into her own simple church-going dress. She had only wanted to look nice, not play at being a lady. ‘Why shouldn’t I wear his late mother’s clothes?’

  ‘Now you’re living under the same roof as your young man and his brother, they’ll soon find out your tongue can be as tart as an unsweetened gooseberry, Emilia Rowse.’

  ‘I wonder who I got that off.’ Emilia would usually have kissed her mother by now but she kept her distance.

  ‘Did you say just now that we’re having cake?’ Dolly asked. ‘How did this Tilda manage that then?’

  ‘Tilda can make a feast out of a few supplies. She says the word “shortage” means “a challenge” to her. The sponge we’re having looks as light as duck’s down, but then, of course, there’s always fresh eggs here. And I have kept the larder well stocked with preserves. Well, make yourself comfy, Mum. Have you heard from Billy?’

  ‘If I had, maid, the letter would’ve been out of my handbag by now. Lieutenant Harvey will look after him.’ Dolly noticed a photograph of Tristan in his dress uniform on the piano, where a collection of sepia Harveys were gathered importantly together, and she stared at it as if imploring his image to do exactly what she hourly prayed for, to keep her son safe. She finally perched on the edge of a seat, and never having been in the finer part of the house before, absorbed the surroundings. Emilia waited for her opinion, wanting her to like her new home.

  ‘Very nice, very plush. Flock wallpaper. Wouldn’t look right on our walls, but wouldn’t it be lovely to have anyway? Look at the size of that mantelpiece, all scrolls and headings, and a skeletal clock, how fancy. The rectory is dismal in comparison. I’m always cleaning the damp off the walls. Mrs Harvey looks elegant this afternoon. Takes me back to the days when both she and the world were sane.’

  For her mother’s and Honor’s visit, Emilia had taken pleasure in dressing Lottie in some of the well-designed clothes she had worn for soirées and charity gatherings up until five years ago, before her mind had lapsed into senility. As if something of her earlier days had returned to her, Lottie sat up straight in her chair, smiling serenely, humming intermittently.

  ‘This is nice,’ Dolly said, fidgeting with her handbag when Tilda joined them, minus her cap and apron. Her mother’s self-consciousness made Emilia want to give her that missed kiss. After an initial reserve, due to Dolly’s stiffness, the two older women entered a conversation about domestic things.

  Emilia gave Lottie her tea and a slice of the golden jam and cream sponge. She sat on a footstool near Lottie’s feet and allowed her, humming without a break now, to fiddle with her hair, while she talked to Honor. Honor had brought her knitting, and her steel needles click-clicked into it between the delicate sips and nibbles she took.

  Emilia looked at her with fondness. If anyone should be labelled an angel it was Honor. Her white-blonde hair shone in delicate Empire curls, her pale skin was flawless, her blue eyes like velvet, her expression tender and trusting. She was femininity at its sweetness, guileless and faithful. The princess in Ben’s games. Honor was not frail, as Alec and others thought, but she appeared so, and Emilia, Ben and Billy had always sought to protect her. She lived on the north side of the main road that divided the village. Her aunt, the widow of a high-ranking police officer, a martyr to her reduced circumstances – rumoured to be due to her husband’s philanderings – tolerated her friendship with Emilia owing to Emilia’s close connection with the Harveys.

  ‘Alec’s said that any time one of the horses isn’t needed for working, I can use the trap to take Mrs Harvey out. You must come with us, Honor,’ Emilia said. ‘One day, if I can stretch the time, we could go into Truro.’

  ‘Wouldn’t we look grand?’ Honor said in her soft voice, casting off a khaki sock. She and her aunt collected all the Red Cross village contributions for the fighting forces, and the less fortunate.

  ‘Well, you and Mrs Harvey will,’ Emilia joked. ‘Have another piece of sponge.’

  ‘No, thank you. Save some for Ben.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Tilda will see to that. Wish I could send a fruit cake to Billy. Don’t know when we’ll be able to get the ingredients again.’

  ‘He knows you’re always thinking of him.’

  ‘Wish we’d hear from him. I’ll give Mum a letter to post to him on the way home. Wonder what he’ll make of me living here.’

  Honor looked at her in an insightful way. ‘You’re obviously not finding it disagreeable.’

  The humming behind Emilia had stopped and her hair, now pulled out of its ribbon, came to rest in a cloud of waves on her shoulders. She glanced round at Lottie. The old lady had fallen asleep. ‘Come upstairs with me, Honor, while I change before feeding the hens.’

  * * *

  ‘You’ll come here often to see me, Honor?’ Emilia said, tucking an old shirt of Billy’s into her trousers.

  ‘Of course.’ Honor was sitting on the bed, admiring the views from the windows. ‘Em, Aunt Florence is selling off more furniture to make ends meet. Things are obviously worse than she’ll admit. The house may have to go next.’

  ‘What will you do, Honor?’ This new concern for her friend added to the heavy weight Emilia already carried worrying about Billy. ‘I pray to God it doesn’t mean you’ll have to move away.’

  Honor gazed down at the bed quilt. ‘Do you think Alec will want to marry again?’

  ‘I suppose. From what I’ve gathered he’s always wanted his own family. Why do you ask? Oh, I see.’ Honor marrying Alec would solve her and her aunt’s financial troubles. Emilia didn’t like the idea of anyone, except, perhaps for Honor, becoming her next mistress. Then the thought of the small-minded Florence Burrows moving into the farm filled her with revulsion. She felt a strange possessiveness for Ford Farm. ‘Do you like Alec in that way?’

  ‘Oh, no. He’s so… sort of manly, isn’t he? I mean, oh, I don’t know really. What do I know about men? I quite liked Isaac Annear, I thought it would be interesting to watch furniture being made. Isaac was about the same age as Alec. I think I’d prefer someone nearer my own age.’

  Emilia fell quiet while rebinding her hair. Honor had always admired Ben. He would have been the ideal candidate to rescue her from this real-life predicament. ‘Well, whatever you do, Honor, don’t marry someone just to please your aunt. It will be hard to get a good price for the house in the present circumstances, but if your aunt does sell up, perhaps she could rent something off Alec. Hopefully there would be enough funds to keep you both for a
few years. Have you ever thought about Billy? He would be good for you. He won’t need much of a nudge in your direction, he mentions you in all his letters. He’s got no money, of course, but Mr Best’s keeping his job for him at the nursery. Billy’s a dedicated gardener, and a cottage goes with the job.’ She turned round from the mirror. ‘You remember all the fun the four of us used to have?’

  ‘I remember Billy in my prayers everyday, Em.’ Honor looked suddenly confident in her serene, acquiescent way. ‘Getting myself a job would help ease things at home. I’m going to look for one and Aunt Florence will just have to accept it. I’m pleased things aren’t so hectic for you now, but you must still watch that you don’t allow yourself to get worn out. I’ve noticed how both Ben and Alec tend to take advantage of you.’

  ‘Not in ways that I mind, Honor.’ Emilia’s eyes sparkled. ‘I’m going to walk back with you and Mum as far as the ford. Ben will be down there, keeping out of sight. We’ve arranged a quick meeting.’

  ‘Em! What if you’re seen together? You know what people will say about you.’

  ‘Ben and I are going to marry one day, Honor. Anyway, what does it matter?’ Emilia was suddenly impatient. ‘If I was to lose my reputation, the gossips might as well be telling the truth. Don’t look at me like that, Honor. Ben’s going away soon, and I haven’t the notion for doing only what’s right and proper.’

  ‘But you don’t intend to…’ Honor lowered her voice to the barest whisper and blushed, ‘…indulge in married love, do you? Say you don’t, Em! What if you have a baby? That’s what happens, you know. You should be thinking of getting married as soon as possible. I’m sure your father and Alec would give their consent. Yes, yes.’ Honor nodded, as if seeking to reassure her worries about this. ‘You must take the wisest course, Em. You’d be a properly respected widow if Ben were to—’