A Stranger Light

by Gloria Cook

  She was confident she would secure the job of daily help at Tremore House. She had met up with Tristan Harvey, after he had escorted the Smith children to school, and he had intimated as much. If all went well and she gained a permanent position, things would be really settled. ‘I appreciate your plucky little girl in bringing to light about the stranger who frightened Pearl yesterday, Mrs Dowling,’ he’d said. A typically tall, black-haired Harvey, he’d smiled down on her. ‘The headmaster and Miss Brice saw no one loitering about themselves but they’re keeping all the children under close observation today, just in case. I’m about to ask round the village if anyone saw this individual. A thin chap in a long heavy coat and a dark hat, with a strange light in his eyes, the girls said. It all sounds ominous. I’m considering informing the police.’

  ‘I hope it proves to be nothing to worry about, Mr Harvey,’ Susan had said. ‘Who do you think it might be?’ Susan never spent more than a few moments talking to men, specially unattached ones like Tristan Harvey, whose wife had died in a road accident during the war. Lance’s manic jealousy had seen to that, but she felt comfortable with this gentleman. Mr Harvey had been an officer in the Great War, and his late brother the local squire, but he never put on airs and was open and friendly. He had a kind face, adorned with a neat moustache sprinkled with silver, as was his thick hair. His was a face she felt able to look into. She had never dared look directly at a man when Lance had been alive. As a committee member of the Royal British Legion, and an official of other ex-servicemen’s charities, Tristan Harvey had arranged for her to receive all she’d been entitled to as a war widow, and she owed him her gratitude.

  ‘Well, if it’s above board, perhaps he’s a relative of the children,’ Tristan replied, adding vehemently, ‘He will not be able to take them away. I’m their legal guardian.’

  Susan had thought it typical of his goodness to be so concerned over three orphans while having a grown-up family of his own.

  She rounded a deeply curving bend in the road, which then went back on itself for a few yards. Here in the hedgerow was a sharp dip, made by children scrambling over to play in the field on the other side, and it gave a view of the lane she had just left behind. She took fright. She saw a man matching the description of the stranger who had scared Pearl at the school. He wore a dark trilby hat and was striding along with his head down. Susan froze to the spot. Then he looked up and saw her. ‘Oh, hello there,’ he called. ‘I was wondering if you…?’

  Susan gasped. She wasn’t about to find out what he wanted and forcing her feet to move she hurried off. She’d go straight to Faye and tell her she had seen the stranger.

  ‘Please wait!’ he called again.

  He carried on talking, but Susan didn’t stop to listen. She trusted few people, and this man was an apparent threat to the children taken in by the Harveys. She ran all the way to Tremore House, spattering her legs with mud. Her headscarf fell round her neck and her wavy ash-blonde hair was quickly tangled by the fresh wind. She was out of breath when she reached the house. She hammered on the door. ‘Faye, hurry!’ she shouted through the letterbox. ‘Open the door!’

  She heard running. Faye yanked the door open. Her son came toddling in her wake. Faye went back to Simon and snatched him up in her arms. ‘Susan! What on earth’s the matter? Come in.’

  ‘No! It’s him, the stranger, the man who scared Pearl. He’s coming this way!’ Susan thrust out her arm to indicate the way to the village. ‘If you come with me now we can face him together.’ Her instinct to protect the young superseded her fright.

  Agnes, the lank, white-haired housekeeper, had rushed from the kitchen in her apron to find out what the commotion was about. ‘Take Simon.’ Faye pushed the startled boy into her arms. She pulled on a raincoat and took two old umbrellas out of the hallstand. ‘Right, let’s find out who this man is.’

  ‘If he’s turned round we should still catch him before he reaches the village,’ Susan said, panting, running along slightly after Faye, who had the advantage of not being puffed out. Like Faye, she was wielding an umbrella like a weapon.

  ‘He’d better have a good explanation,’ Faye shouted over her shoulder. ‘He had no right to upset Pearl like that.’

  It took only a couple of minutes for them to face the stranger in a straight stretch of the lane. He stopped in the middle, bearing a look of shock as they ran at him. Faye slowed down for Susan and they approached him together, close enough to see him blinking. ‘Ladies?’ he said, lifting a crooked arm as if he might need to ward them off.

  ‘Who are you?’ Faye demanded. ‘Why were you at the school yesterday?’

  ‘What? Well, I…’ He went still and then something strange happened, his eyes appeared to be vacant.

  ‘Speak!’ Faye shouted.

  The man was about thirty, of a good height but woefully skinny; his overcoat was large enough for two of him. He seemed to have slipped into a trance. Faye glanced at Susan and whispered, ‘What do you think his game is?’

  ‘Be careful,’ Susan hissed.

  Faye went forward a few more steps. The man was gazing right at her yet he was not seeing her. She prodded her umbrella in his chest. He made no reaction. Nothing. ‘He doesn’t seem to be with us, Susan.’

  Susan came to her side. She fluttered her hand in front of the stranger’s eyes, which were pale brown and large within a haggard sallow face and heavily under-shadowed. He didn’t blink. ‘He doesn’t know we’re here. He’s switched off for some reason. Do you think he’s ill?’

  Faye lowered her umbrella. ‘You watch him. I’ll see if he’s got any identification on him.’

  With Susan ready to make a swipe at the man, Faye moved to his side and gingerly reached inside his coat pocket. ‘Nothing in here. The coat is good quality.’ She rummaged in the other pocket. ‘Cigarettes, lighter. House keys. Ah, train tickets. Let me see… he’s travelled down from Surrey and got off at Truro station. Pearl and the twins don’t know anyone from Surrey. This is all very odd.’ She stepped in front of the stranger and gazed into his eyes. They were glazed over. She was still cautious, but now that he seemed helpless and definitely wasn’t a tramp or a thug, she was beginning to feel sorry for him. Feeling more like an intruder, she gently put her hand into the inside breast pocket of his coat and pulled out his wallet. ‘This should tell us who he is.’

  Taking her sight off him, Susan read his identification card. ‘Mark Richard Fuller. His address is there, and a telephone number.’

  There was a photo of a young woman, much creased and faded, as if well thumbed and looked at often. Even in its poor state she came across as striking and lovely, with a formidable presence. Faye turned the photo over. There was a name on it, Justine. Next she found a note, which she read aloud. ‘It says his next of kin is his wife, Justine. We could give her a ring, find out exactly what he’s up to. He doesn’t look the sort to get up to funny business, but we can’t be too careful. Well, we just can’t stay here like this. He doesn’t look strong enough to give us any trouble. We’d better take him to the house. Perhaps I should call for the doctor. I’ll phone the shop. Uncle Tris is bound to have gone there first to ask if anyone’s seen a stranger, but if he’s already left, I’ll get the Eathornes to go after him and send him home. Is this all right with you, Susan?’

  ‘Yes, fine. Poor man.’ She was peering at him closely. ‘He did wrong yesterday, but, well, there’s something about him… he’s certainly not capable of hurting anyone.’

  ‘Yes,’ Faye agreed. She snapped her fingers in front of Mark Fuller’s face. Nothing. ‘We’d better take his arms.’

  ‘Ohh.’ Mark Fuller moaned softly, but there was a pitiful edge to it. Susan and Faye quickly dropped the hands reaching out to him. They watched as he shook his head and slowly came out of his stupor. He rubbed his eyes then looked to left and right. ‘Where…?’ Putting his head straight he saw the two women and looked utterly bewildered.

  Faye and Susan kept their umbrellas low
at their sides, but stayed vigilant in case he proved trouble. ‘Hello. Mr Fuller, isn’t it?’ Faye kept her voice soft.

  ‘What? Um… yes.’ He rubbed his temple and pulled a hand down over his face. ‘Oh… I’m in the little village, aren’t I?’

  ‘Yes,’ Susan said. ‘Do you know exactly where you are?’

  ‘Cornwall. Hennaford. I came down here to… to find some children.’ His expression changed to one of enlightenment, the laxness in his body went and he straightened his back, an obvious military stance, and he was in control of himself. ‘The Smith children, originally of North London, and billeted here during the war at the house of a Mr Benjamin Harvey. Their father served under me in the Far East. I’m very sorry, I’ve made an awful hash of things. I can see I’ve caused you both great alarm. I’m former Lieutenant Mark Fuller, of the Royal Artillery. I was with Corporal Vincent Smith when he died. I promised him if I got back in one piece I’d look up his children, see if they were all right. I’m staying at the pub. Mrs Brokenshaw told me this morning that Mr Harvey was killed on active service, and the way to Tremore House. I was on my way there. I should have asked yesterday.’ He looked embarrassed, ‘Are either of you two ladies Miss Faye Harvey?’

  ‘I am. And this is my friend, Mrs Susan Dowling,’ Faye said. She was relieved Mark Fuller offered no danger to the children, but she grew serious. ‘Yes, Mr Fuller, you did make a hash of things. You shouldn’t have gone to the school and spoken to Pearl without first consulting me or my uncle. You scared little Pearl. She had no idea who you were.’

  ‘And you’re angry with me, and rightly so,’ Mark’s face fell, making him look years older and washed out. ‘I can only say how sorry I am. I get a bit vague at times, although that’s no excuse for what I did yesterday.’

  ‘You seemed… unwell just now,’ Susan said carefully.

  ‘Was I? Oh yes. My apologies again. Um, injuries. Prisoner of war…’ He looked away.

  Faye felt sorry for confronting him so strongly. ‘There’s no need to apologize for that, Mr Fuller. You look all done in. Would you care to come to the house and recover with a cup of coffee with us?’

  ‘Well, if it’s no imposition.’ He smiled briefly at the two women and it lifted away some of the weariness from his face. They walked off, Faye and Susan either side of him, protectively, feeling they might need to nudge him along if he went off into a trance again, both attempting to hide the umbrellas behind their backs. As if it had suddenly dawned on him, he said, surprised, ‘You’re not English, Miss Harvey. I was told the Harveys had been the landowners in Hennaford for generations.’

  Faye gave him a brief account of her history, leaving out Simon. ‘The family history is varied and confusing. My Aunt Emilia lives on the other side of the village, and my Uncle Tristan used to live at Newquay, but he’s handed his house over to his step-daughter. He came to live with my father during the war, and after I came down from Scotland we took in the Smith children together. I’m sure the children will be interested to learn all they can from you about their father, Mr Fuller. You will be careful what you say?’

  ‘Oh yes, of course.’ His voice was steeped in sorrow, in anguish, and the women got the impression that despite his lapses in memory, the details of Vincent Smith’s death were harrowingly engraved on his mind.

  ‘I’m sorry, that was thoughtless of me,’ Faye said. ‘Actually, it’s very good of you to come down all this way to see the children.’

  ‘It’s good of you to give me the opportunity to see them. I’d have come a lot earlier, but I’ve not been many weeks out of convalescence. I came across a photograph Vincent Smith placed into my keeping, and then it took some time to recall who the children were. It’s how I recognized the little girl.’

  ‘We noticed you live in Surrey, Mr Fuller,’ Susan said. ‘You have a family there?’

  ‘Only my wife, Justine. Actually, we’ve grown apart, have just agreed to separate.’

  Susan looked for more sorrow on his gaunt face. It was evident, but there was also something that might indicate resignation. Coming to terms with the irreversible changes the war had made to their lives was the only way some people coped. He was trembling and had grown grey and was sweating. She was pleased they were closing in on the house. The journey down from Surrey had obviously been too much for him. ‘The war has made so many of us victims.’ It was the usual sort of thing to say, although she didn’t include herself in the comment.

  Minutes later they were in the drawing room, where a log fire crackled cheerily under a magnificent fireplace. Mark was revived by coffee and Agnes’s fruitless cake. He drank and ate absently, and Faye and Susan got used to his vagueness, which descended upon him at pitiless intervals. During those times the women came to an arrangement that Susan would come in each weekday, between school hours, and do the cleaning and laundry and some baking, at three pounds, five shillings a week. Faye was hoping Susan would become a friend as well as an employee. Susan, although pleased Faye had introduced her to Mark Fuller as an equal, had no thoughts of relinquishing her habitual aloofness. She was enjoying the surroundings, grander than any she had been in before was enough for her. The house, a former steward’s cottage had been greatly extended, including a balcony, and changed to modern lines by Ben Harvey nearly thirty years ago. The decor was light, giving the illusion of even more space. She was making a mental list of the basic things she would now be able to afford for Maureen, and how she could make their little home more comfortable.

  ‘Poor gentleman.’ Agnes observed when she came to collect the coffee tray, as Mark once more became unaware of his environment. ‘He’d be something of a fine-looking man, I believe, if he got a bit of flesh back on him, don’t you think?’

  Faye gazed at him. ‘Perhaps. I suppose so.’ She agreed with Susan’s observation about him in the lane that there was ‘something about him.’

  She glanced at Susan, who merely shrugged. She wasn’t interested in a man’s looks. Lance had been handsome in a roguish way, one of the reasons her youthful mind had been captivated by him, which in turn had made her truly a captive.

  Agnes tutted. ‘You young women have no sense of romance. A mysterious stranger turns up to do a good deed and you both sit there like a couple of maiden aunts.’

  The moment she left the room, Faye burst out laughing. ‘She should talk! She’s been a maiden aunt all her life. And it’s not as if he’s actually single.’ She studied the silent Mark, wondering if his mind was stuck somewhere, hoping it was nowhere grim. He didn’t seem distressed, but she wondered if he got horrific flashbacks of battle or his incarceration. If so, it would be the horrors and inhumanity of a Japanese labour camp – Vincent Smith had died during the building of the Burma-Thailand railway, known as the Railway of Death.

  Tristan Harvey came bowling into the room. ‘I’ve found out all about that chap! Oh, is this him? He’s off and away, I see. Ruby Brokenshaw, in the Ploughshare, told about his mental lapses. She’s quite concerned about him, and had tried to get him to stay put and ask us to visit him there instead. He’d said, it wouldn’t be polite. So the mystery’s cleared up. The children will be delighted, I should think.’ He turned to Susan and gave her a gracious smile. ‘Good morning again, Mrs Dowling. Have you ladies come to an agreement about the domestic arrangements?’

  ‘We have, Uncle Tris,’ Faye said. ‘Susan will start tomorrow, working with Agnes, who will show her the ropes.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, that’s a relief all round. Now, when Mr Fuller comes to, I shall be glad to make his acquaintance.’ Susan got to her feet. She had declined to remove her coat on entering the house, and after pushing her headscarf into a pocket she had tidied her hair with her hands. She had no idea how appealing she looked with tresses of lush ash-blonde hair falling on her shoulders. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to run along. I have things to do at home.’

  ‘Feel free to come and go as you please, Susan.’ Faye offered to see her to the door, but Susan in
sisted on seeing herself out.

  ‘She’s very nice. We’re lucky to be getting her,’ Tristan said, flitting to a window where he’d get a view of her in the lane through the garden gate. ‘She’s a bit of a dazzler too.’

  ‘Uncle Tris!’ Faye was astonished. Hopeful women pursued him, but this was the first time he’d shown interest in someone. Her uncle’s leanness, while so many middle-aged men tended to become portly, his thick hair and gentle looks, made him engaging and attractive.

  ‘Oh, I know I’m old enough to be her father but, well,’ he straightened his tie light-heartedly, ‘Susan Dowling’s worth more than a second look, even though she’s totally unconscious of it.’

  ‘I don’t think she’d appreciate any sort of male attention,’ Faye said doubtfully. Not even from a man as courteous and as genuinely pleasant as her uncle was. ‘She’s seen off more than one potential suitor.’

  ‘And of course, she’d never consider an old chap like me, anyway,’ Tristan went on jovially, dismissing the idea.

  Leaning forward in front of Mark’s chair, he watched the younger man surfacing from his other world, whatever it might be. ‘Now let’s see if this chap is well enough to return to his lodgings.’

  A moment later, Mark keeled over and Tristan caught him before he hit the floor. ‘Faye! We’d better call the doctor.’

  Chapter Three

  Mark found himself in a strange place, staring at two women who were strangers, and both carrying infants. Where the hell was he? And who were these flame-haired women? He closed his eyes. Opened them again. Sometimes when he did this the apparition would disappear. But the strangers were still there. These women were real and they were staring back at him. He got a horrible dragging feeling in his guts, the same sickly sensation as when he’d discovered before that he was inadvertently trespassing. Now, for goodness sake, where had he wandered off to? He looked down at himself hastily; thank God, he was dressed but his clothes were crumpled, as if he’d slept in them.