Meggie was right. Counting your blessings worked and was certainly preferable to thinking about all the things you’d lost…
The battered brown trunk bumping into her calves made her limp worse and her leg ached, but Daisy gritted her teeth and ignored this. Instead she thought about what was inside. There were two new dresses, one a deep green serge for dinner and the other a sprigged cotton, threaded with green ribbons. She’d also packed a knee-length bathing costume, a pretty straw bonnet for Sundays and a pair of brand-new boots. There were new hair ribbons too, which a weeping Meggie had given Daisy just before the hansom cab had drawn up. Meggie, who’d been valiantly wielding the comb for as long as Daisy could remember, knew that if Daisy was left to her own devices she would let her wild mane of red curls tumble to her waist.
The final blessing Daisy could think of was tucked safely at the bottom of the trunk, deliciously wrapped up in brown paper and possibilities. Just thinking about it made her shiver with anticipation. It was a new journal, a present from Papa and the most treasured gift ever, with its smart embossed cover and pages of unmarked creamy cartridge paper. Throughout the long journey westwards, Daisy had itched to open it and write her first entry but had somehow managed to contain herself. The train had rattled and jolted over the tracks, and smuts had blown in while the windows were open; such a beautiful book didn’t deserve blots or wobbly characters. Instead she’d sat up straight with her back against the scratchy fabric and watched as the fields and sky slipped past in a blur of startling green and bright blue. There would be time enough to start writing properly once she arrived at Rosecraddick Rectory, she’d decided.
So now, as she waited on the quiet platform, Daisy wondered what she would do if nobody came to fetch her. Although this would certainly be an adventure to record in her journal, she had no idea how she would find her godfather’s place. It was only thanks to the stationmaster calling, “Rosecraddick Halt!” that she’d known where she was at all. Anxious not to hold anyone up, she had reached out of the window and opened the door almost before the train had lurched to a stop. Then Daisy had retrieved her trunk from the luggage car and waited for the steam to clear and for someone to step forward and claim her.
It was yet to happen. So far she was alone, and all that hissing of steam and slamming of carriage doors felt as though it had occurred an entire lifetime ago.
Daisy frowned. This wasn’t what she’d expected. From what she did know of her godfather, he was a stickler for good timekeeping. She recalled him constantly checking the big pocket watch Eddie had so envied, and tutting if anyone had been so much as a minute late to meals. Apart from a few vivid details like this though, Daisy didn’t remember a great deal of her godfather’s last visit to Fulham. She and her little brother had been confined to the nursery for much of it. Mama had been very irritable for the entire stay and at one point had made Eddie rinse his mouth out with soap and water for cheeking her. This was most unlike Mama, and Eddie had spat out saliva for hours. Daisy had had to wear her best pinafore, so starched by Meggie that the frills scratched like brambles, and had been expected to be seen but not heard at the dining table. Usually Daisy loved to chat and Papa and Mama were happy to listen to her, but her godfather, it transpired, had very strict opinions on children – and pretty much everything else too. When the Reverend had departed, the whole household had heaved a sigh of relief, life had returned to normal and Daisy hadn’t given her godfather another thought.
At least, not until recently. Daisy hoped that now she was a very grown-up sixteen she might find his company a little easier. Maybe she could be of use to him about the parish and help with sermons, like Dorothea in Middlemarch? Or perhaps she would visit the sick and read them words of comfort, like Beth in Little Women? These ideas cheered her hugely because, as Meggie could testify, Daisy’s strengths lay firmly in intellectual pursuits rather than housework. In any case, Daisy felt certain that lots of adventures lay ahead and that in no time at all her journal would be crammed full of them.
As the spring sunshine played peekaboo with strands of cloud, Daisy ignored Meggie’s dire warnings of freckles and dark skin and raised her face to it. The warmth promised happiness and hope, and her heart lifted. Somebody would be along soon. Putting her trunk down and pulling a battered edition of Keats from her bag, she settled down to read.
“Excuse me, are you Miss Hills?”
Daisy’s head whipped up. A young lad with a nut-brown face and eyes as blue as the bright sky was staring at her with interest. A lock of chestnut hair slipped from beneath his cloth cap to fall across his face, and he pushed it away with an impatient gesture.
“I am,” she said. “I’m Daisy Hills.”
“Phew! Glad you’re still here, Miss!” said the lad. “I’m Gem Pencarrow and the Reverend Cutwell sent me to meet your train.”
Daisy stood up. She was very aware that her hat had slipped from her head, her hair was a mess and she probably had soot on her nose. None of this had mattered a jot when she’d thought an elderly groom would be collecting her, but now that she was aware of Gem’s blue-eyed scrutiny taking in her faded poplin, old shawl and scuffed boots, she felt her face flush. Unlike her, he was at ease. She noticed not only his breeches and polished country boots, but also the way his lawn shirt was rolled up to reveal his strong, tanned forearms.
“You’re very late,” she said, standing up and putting her book away. “I thought I’d been forgotten.”
Gem laughed easily, not seeming offended that nervousness had made her short with him. “No chance of that, Miss Daisy. The Reverend never forgets anything. His eyes mightn’t be what they were, but he’s as sharp as ever and he’d skin me alive if he knew I was late meeting you. I’m sorry about that, Miss, but Merlin threw a shoe so I had to go by the smithy.”
Daisy assumed Merlin was the horse. “That’s perfectly fine,” she said, straightening her spine and making sure she had the upright carriage Meggie insisted a young lady should exhibit, regardless of polio and weak legs. “I was reading Keats. Reading always passes the time, don’t you think?”
Daisy certainly thought so. While she’d been in hospital she’d read and read and read until she’d thought her brain couldn’t possibly absorb any more words. The Brontës, Austen, Wollstonecraft, Byron, Shelley… all these old friends had transported her away from the pain and the long bedbound hours, just as they’d been her escape when Mama had passed away. Reading and writing meant everything to Daisy. Perhaps one day the words she wove would make that magic happen for somebody else. She very much hoped so. That would be the most rewarding thing in the world.
Gem, picking up her trunk and swinging it easily onto his shoulder, laughed. “It’d take me all day just to read a few lines, Miss! Not much of a scholar, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, but books are wonderful!” Daisy began earnestly, but Gem only smiled and reached for her bag.
“I’m sure you’re right, Miss.”
That ended that conversation, Daisy realised as she followed Gem out of the station. The long journey had been lonely and, apart from an elderly lady who’d sat opposite in the compartment and talked about her daughter without pausing from Paddington to Reading, there had been little chance of conversation. Daisy, who usually spent hours discussing literature and politics and art with her father, was longing for someone to talk to. She already knew that her godfather wouldn’t think these topics suitable for a young woman, and now Gem had gently reminded her that they weren’t social equals. Maybe, thought Daisy, watching Merlin’s swaying rump as the dog cart carried them along the leafy lanes, she’d have to chat to the horse instead. Away from the safety of home everything was so complicated.
The ride to Rosecraddick took the neat little dog cart (exactly the kind of vehicle Daisy would have expected her godfather to keep – functional and tidy but definitely sans livery and footmen) up and down some very steep hills. Having been a Londoner for most of her sixteen years, Daisy hadn’t spent much time i
n the countryside. Now, as Gem clicked his tongue to Merlin and the dog cart sped up a little, she glanced about with interest.
Rather than bustling with horse buses and hansom cabs and the odd motorcar, the Cornish roads were rough and empty. All around was a patchwork of fields, each scrap of colour stitched together with dark hedges and embroidered with woods of deep green. When they passed the occasional hamlet or isolated dwelling where chickens scratched in the dust and cats snoozed on windowsills, Gem waved and called to people. Apart from this, the only sound was the clop of Merlin’s hooves and the squeak of the harness. The world seemed too slow, sun streamed through the leafy canopy above and golden fields either side of the lane glowed with the burnished promise of a good harvest. Although Daisy felt more nervous with every mile that brought them closer to the Rectory, she was heartened by the prettiness of the hedgerows foaming with cow parsley and dotted with swathes of pink campion. Wordsworth and Coleridge could have waxed lyrical about the spot, of this Daisy felt certain.
Gem clicked his tongue again and, in response, Merlin picked up pace as the road swung to the left. Soon they were passing a pair of imposing wrought-iron gates hung from stone pillars topped with huge stone orbs. An immaculate drive stretched ahead to an impressive manor house; at the foot of the front steps stood the smart carriage Daisy had admired earlier.
“Whose house is that?” she asked Gem, so intrigued that she forgot to worry about protocol and whether she ought to be talking to the groom. Besides, Gem with his dimpled smile and easy manner was the first person she’d spoken to for hours.
“That’s Rosecraddick Manor, Miss,” Gem said, following her gaze. “The family who live there own most of the land around here.”
“It’s beautiful.” Daisy’s gaze was drawn to the tower over the arched front door, the windows as dark and secretive as closed eyes. What a wonderful view that room must have. She could imagine reading for hours up there or simply sitting and looking out over the rest of the world. In such a spot you’d feel like a princess in your own private kingdom. How magical.
The Manor was left behind now as Merlin trotted on with a sudden enthusiasm that suggested home wasn’t far away. Gem drove the dog cart through a lane edged with small cottages with lobster pots stacked outside and nets strung out for mending. The street here was as busy as the rest of the route had seemed deserted. Women wrapped in shawls and with baskets over their arms were going about their business, while a group of grubby children bowled a hoop along – earning themselves a reprimand from Gem when it wobbled too near the cart. Men in darned jumpers and smocks sat outside the inn, smoking and talking as they drank from metal tankards. The air was sharp with salt, and when the cart rounded the corner and the road continued to drop away, Daisy gasped to see the endless blue of the sea.
Her eyes were wide. She’d read about the English Channel, of course, and had seen the vast marshes and leaden line of the Thames, but never before had Daisy understood the vastness of the sea. The cliffs swept away into the deepest azure and the rolling water glittered as though the entire contents of Aladdin’s cave had been poured into it. Seabirds soared high above and her ears were full of their calls and the crashing of waves on rocks.
It was possibly the most breathtaking sight she’d ever seen.
“Rosecraddick Rectory, Miss.”
The dog cart turned towards a short drive where a Georgian house draped in ivy presided over a clipped lawn and immaculate flowerbeds. A stately cedar tree held centre stage on the lawn and, as she looked at it, Daisy’s pulse skipped a beat. There was a memory, yet not a memory; she was aware of something she had to remember but that slipped out of reach as soon as she tried to think of it. The warm air shimmered and for a moment she felt the heat of fire and saw the limbs of the tree become a charred skeleton.
“Are you all right, Miss? You’re awfully pale,” Gem said.
Daisy couldn’t answer. The whole world was starting to tilt. She hadn’t had the dream for years – so long, in fact, that she had all but forgotten it – but now her heart was racing as though she was waking up in the grey dawn, her nightgown cold with sweat and her entire body trembling. Meggie used to come running and Mama, before she was sick, would always fetch a hot posset and hold her close until the night terrors faded.
Oh! She was being ridiculous. It was just a dream, a foolish dream she thought she had grown out of.
Gem halted Merlin in front of the Rectory’s shiny front door and looked across at her. His blue eyes were filled with concern.
“Is it the heat, Miss? Are you coming over faint?”
Daisy took a deep breath and forced herself to smile. It was the heat, but not in the sense that Gem meant. It wasn’t the golden warmth of a spring evening that had affected her: it was something far more intense, from a place of unknown horrors.
“I think it must be,” she said as he helped her down from the dog cart. “Yes, I’m sure that’s it.”
But her words sounded doubtful even to her own ears because, as absurd as it might seem, she had the overwhelming feeling that she’d been here before.
Her old dream meant something, Daisy thought. It felt like a warning.
Chapter 2
Daisy, May 1914
“You must be Miss Daisy! Welcome to Rosecraddick Rectory!”
The front door swung open and a plump woman stepped forward. She was dressed in black and her white hair was scraped back from her round face in a bun; the overall impression would have been rather severe had it not been for her smiling face and warm greeting. Still a little dazed, Daisy found herself being ushered into a gloomy panelled hall where the air was cool and a longcase clock ticked sonorously at the foot of the staircase.
“Don’t just stand there gawking, Gem Pencarrow,” the woman called over her shoulder. “Bring Miss Hills’ trunk in and carry it up to her room. This week, mind. No dawdling or detours to the pantry!”
“Yes, Mrs Polmartin,” said Gem, catching Daisy’s eye and giving her a ghost of a smile as he lifted the trunk. Daisy’s lips twitched. Smiling at her was probably not at all appropriate, but she liked the sense of camaraderie and there was something about Gem that reminded her of her brother. Daisy had missed Eddie terribly when he’d gone away to school. Maybe her godfather would allow her brother to come and visit in the holidays? That could be fun and the idea cheered her.
Once Gem was on his way with the luggage, the older woman turned to Daisy.
“I’m Mrs Polmartin, the Reverend’s housekeeper. You must be tired and thirsty after your long day? Can I offer you some refreshment?”
Daisy realised she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, hours and hours ago – and that had only been a boiled egg. She was light-headed from hunger rather than sinister premonitions. That was all. She must have been reading too many gothic novels.
Relieved, Daisy followed the housekeeper’s swishing skirts along the corridor and into a big kitchen. There was a large range at the far end with a kettle set on the hotplate whistling away while a young woman sat at the big table chopping carrots, oblivious to the cloud of steam filling the room. She was curvy, with a beautiful complexion like something straight out of an advert for Pears soap, and locks of her golden hair were making a break for freedom from her mob cap. She was obviously the kitchen maid, but from the dreamy expression on her face and the very slow carrot-chopping, Daisy guessed her mind was on other things than the kitchen chores.
“Nancy Trehunnist!” bellowed Mrs Polmartin, making both Daisy and the daydreaming Nancy jump. “I asked you to prepare the vegetables this morning. After you’d aired a room for Miss Daisy. Have you done either?”
Nancy Trehunnist couldn’t have looked more confused if the housekeeper had been speaking French. Daisy wondered whether she’d find carrots in her bedroom and pillowcases served up for dinner. She smothered a giggle.
But the housekeeper wasn’t amused in the slightest.
“Gem has taken Miss Daisy’s trunk up, Nancy. You�
��ll need to unpack it and make sure you’ve lit the fire, as it still gets chilly in the evenings. Oh, and fill the jug for the washstand too. Well? What are you waiting for?”
Having spent a great deal of time in hospital, Daisy had become adept at reading people. The long months spent recovering from her illness had passed slowly and when she’d felt too ill to read her books, Daisy had studied her fellow patients and the staff. The arch of an eyebrow or the flicker of an eye held a wealth of secrets and it didn’t escape her notice that at the mention of Gem, Nancy’s gaze had shot up from the half-chopped carrots.
“Yes, Mrs Polmartin. I’ll see to it right now,” the girl said, bobbing a hasty curtsey and then dashing from the room with an energy that moments before would have seemed impossible. Daisy smiled to herself. So, Gem Pencarrow had an admirer. She could see why.
“Take a seat, Miss. You must be tired from your journey,” Mrs Polmartin said, pulling out a chair.
“I am. Thank you,” said Daisy.
She took her place at the large kitchen table and looked around her while Mrs Polmartin brewed tea. She could see that there was a large sink at the far end and, beyond that, a scullery and larder. The smell of roast beef drifted from the range and Daisy’s stomach rumbled. Hearing this, the housekeeper cut her an enormous slice of fruit cake.
“Reverend Cutwell generally likes to dine at half past six,” she said, placing the cake in front of Daisy. “I expect you’ll usually join him but he’s dining at Rosecraddick Manor this evening, so I thought you could eat supper in here with us. Unless you’d prefer me to set the dining table? Whatever you think proper, Miss.”
The Letter Page 14