by Gloria Cook
‘You know very well we have all our papers delivered from your very stores. Don’t be disrespectful. Good morning.’
‘What did you come in for then? Just to hang about?’ Delia threw after her in accusation. She never failed to attempt to pull others down. People declared if there were another grocery shop and post office in the village they would patronize it and let the Newtons ‘go hang’.
‘I shall return bye and bye,’ Dorrie said loftily. Delia Newton was the one person she liked to put in her place. She couldn’t see Delia’s face but knew she would be quilling with turkey-faced indignation.
Dorrie caught Verity up hurrying for the churchyard. There was a secluded wooden seat under the trees round at the north side of the church and the pair headed there. They sat and Dorrie held Verity’s hand. ‘You told Greg and me the facts, that you and Julius disagreed over when to have children, that he refused to go ahead with the wedding unless you agreed to have them straight away. I think it’s very reasonable that you wanted to wait a year or two after typing your way through the war and then the resettling programmes in a stuffy Whitehall office; that you preferred to build up your new home and travel before starting a family. You said Julius’s attitude hurt you and that you felt rejected and you’re very angry, but what else is there, darling? What did you mean when you said to Greg that he’s an affront to womankind?’
Verity gripped Dorrie’s hand fiercely but she wasn’t crying. It was outrage alone that was running though her like an unquiet engine.
‘He was totally hateful.’ She spat the words as if her hate was a tangible thing. ‘He humiliated me, Aunt Dor. He said I wasn’t normal; that breeding children was what marriage was all about, and what else did I expect when I’d one day be a baronet’s wife, that I would from the start have access to his money, and the finest house and the best social position. That I’d only have to drop a few sprogs and then I could do what I liked, providing I kept it concealed.’ Then Verity was trembling and gazing at Dorrie in a bewildered way, and Dorrie was horrified to read fear in her. ‘When I mentioned love, he laughed in my face. “Don’t be bloody foolish,” he said. I’d always suspected he didn’t really love me but considered me rather as a good catch. I thought he’d come out with the old chestnut that he wanted a separate life outside our home and keep a mistress, and perhaps allow me to take a lover, but what he actually said was, the bloody rotten swine, “How could you expect someone to love you?” He crushed me to pieces, Aunt Dor. I felt like I was in splinters. There’s nothing wrong with me, is there?’
Still Verity did not cry but all the while her eyes swelled in size as if the core of her very self was fast being eaten away. Dorrie pulled her in close. ‘Oh, darling, of course there’s nothing even the slightest bit wrong with you. It’s him, don’t you see? He wanted you – and what man wouldn’t, you’re beautiful in every way – but he wasn’t prepared to allow you your spirit, your zest for life, or even to have your own thoughts. It’s clear to me the man’s a beast and a bully. He would have systematically drained you until there was nothing left of our wonderful Verity. He’d have turned you into one of those nervy slavish wives. You truly would have been crushed, Verity, darling. You must be thankful that you’ve had a very lucky escape.’
‘I am, Aunt Dor, believe me. The thing is, I mean, haven’t you noticed Mother and Father haven’t rung to ask me how I am? I fibbed to you and Uncle Greg that I rang them to say I’d arrived safely. They’ve disowned me. I mean really, really disowned me. Father was raving mad when I told them the engagement was off and Mother said I was the biggest disappointment of their lives. When I refused to apologize to Julius and try to win him back they were even more furious. Father insisted that I at least apologize to Sir Thomas and Lady Urquart but I adamantly refused. Father and Mother wouldn’t listen to my side of things, to see that I had done nothing wrong. So they told me to leave, and that they’d washed their hands of me for good.’
Verity’s trembles became feverish and her voice was edged in fury. ‘All they care about is their damned position. I hate them for it. What sort of parents are they? You or Uncle Greg would not do such a thing to your child. They said they would never forgive me for letting them down. Well the feeling is mutual. I hate them with all my heart and I’ll never ever forgive them!’
Five
Belle Lawry could not prevent a shiver jerking along her spine as she walked up the rough path to Merrivale. The place was unbelievably bleak and dark, the stuff of eerie dreams. Her son Sam, presently working with her husband Charlie, had played here with his friends during the property’s empty years and been frightened by the apparent hauntings. ‘I swear on my life, Mum, some of us saw this huge looming shadow and Jenna Vercoe swears she heard a voice.’ Sam, until then a dedicated scoffer of all things supernatural, had looked warily over both shoulders as if the spooks had followed him home. ‘There’s something bad lingering there. We shan’t go there again.’ But he and the others had gone back, playing games of dare but always soon scarpering away with more scary tales.
Charlie had laughed at Sam. ‘It’s all in your imagination, you’re all frightening yourselves.’
‘I don’t know so much,’ Belle had reacted by chewing her lower lip. ‘There’s many a thing under sun and moon that can’t be simply explained away. I’ve read accounts of people seeing their loved ones, even though they were off fighting in both wars, and then learning their son or husband had been killed at the exact same time they’d seen them. They’re spiritual messages. There’s nothing stronger than the bond of love. And there’s always evil lurking about . . .’
‘Oh, don’t tell me you think all those rumours are true, my little darling, dearest.’ The ever jocular, tactile Charlie had grabbed Belle and squeezed her affectionately. ‘You’ve got your serious face on. Whoo-ooo. Let’s go up there and have a seance.’
‘Don’t even joke about it, Charlie,’ Belle had returned sternly, but she was happy to stay in Charlie’s embrace, her favourite place to be since their courting days seventeen years ago. Their love had been instant and passionate, and quickly followed by a hurried wedding and Sam’s birth. ‘There’s God and there’s good and evil forces. It’s not at all fanciful to believe that the evil and madness that provoked those dreadful murders is still lurking there. I hope one day the place is demolished.’
When news reached Belle that Merrivale was inhabited again, by a mystery woman and her son, of Sam’s age, Belle had felt sorry for them. Dorrie Resterick had paid them a visit and received no reply, although she was sure someone had been at home. No one else had bothered to go to Merrivale, not even the vicar, but he maddened most of the parishioners by his stance that people knew where to find him if they wanted him.
Then unexpectedly, the boy from Merrivale had turned up at The Orchards looking for work. At the time Belle had been at the village school, teaching the children country dancing in readiness for the annual village Summer Fair, which would be held at nearby Petherton, the semi-grand home of the doughty and gritty Mrs Mitchelmore. During the war, the much-married, bottle-blonde Honoria Sanders, the younger sister of Mrs Mitchelmore, had offered to take over the burden of the Summer Fair and hold it at her more modern home, Sawle House, to give Mrs Mitchelmore more time to concentrate on all her happily self-imposed war work.
Mrs Mitchelmore had bristled with indignation. ‘Burden? I’ve never found anything in my life a burden, as you know. Whatever I’ve had to tackle I’ve come out the other end on the top, as you know. Don’t parade around like Lady Muck. You’re no use here at Faith’s Fare. You take twice as long as the other ladies in rolling bandages, and a serviceman’s sock will never be finished in your hands because you don’t know one end of a knitting needle from the other. You’re a spectacle in the WVS uniform, all bursting chest and wiggling posterior. Hop it. The Summer Fair has always been and always will be held at Petherton. Do I make myself clear?’
Honoria was not one to allow anything or anyone to du
ll her indomitable spirits. ‘Absolutely, old girl.’ She had pouted her full scarlet lips, her voice low and purring. ‘I’m not leaving the WVS today, not ever. Besides, I’ve supplied wool to my staff – reduced, I might add, to two middle-aged women now, I am not waited on hand and foot – and they are eagerly knitting away for the Forces, and for servicewomen too, we mustn’t forget them, must we? Your boring old Sedgewick allowed Petherton to get run down. It’s been dog-eared for years. Sawle House is larger than Petherton and is in fine fettle. Most of the lawn has gone for crops but it offers far more space and comfort than your grounds possibly could. Perhaps the villagers should be asked if they would like a break from tradition from where the fair is held. Don’t you think it would be for the best?’
‘Over my dead body! It would let Sedgewick down; he would turn in his grave.’
‘Maybe he would, but be careful, Esther, dear.’ Honoria had ended the spat with the same words she employed more than once to her sister.
Belle had speculated to Dorrie what those words might mean, but Dorrie always replied, ‘Just sibling rivalry, I’m sure, my dear.’
‘But we don’t know much about their background, do we? They both turned up in the village when Mr Sedgewick returned from London with Esther as his wife, years ago, but the women have never really talked about their past.’
‘We know enough, wouldn’t you agree? Mrs Mitchelmore gets things done and Honoria is free-handed. They’re a great benefit to the village.’
Dorrie was the most perceptive person Belle knew but annoyingly she wouldn’t be drawn into forming speculative gossip.
The only time Mrs Mitchelmore was addressed as Esther was by Mrs Sanders, who was Honoria to all her friends – and she had a lot of friends, Belle among them, because she was generous-hearted and unpretentious. Unlike her sister, Honoria never issued a bad word about anyone. Someone hearing about the sisters for the first time might think Mrs Mitchelmore was masculine and gauche. The truth was she was slim and cut a strong figure, in a leonine way.
Belle had learned from Charlie that he had been forced reluctantly to turn Finn Templeton away. ‘I felt really bad but we are already employing more workers than we can comfortably afford. So are all the farms until they take on casuals for harvest. I said I’d keep my ear to the ground for him but I’m not hopeful. Ex-military men usually come first, as they should.’ It turned out that Mrs Templeton had given birth to a baby girl that very day. Dorrie had telephoned with the news, and had since mentioned that Mrs Templeton was not recovering well from the birth.
Approaching the drab and desolate cottage, Belle felt guilty for not coming here before. The Templetons might favour their privacy, but since the baby’s birth others had sent them foodstuffs, garden produce and thoughtful little gifts. Young Finn Templeton had sought work from Belle’s husband, and she somehow felt she had let him down.
From his bedroom window Finn watched the young woman with a jaunty step heading towards the back garden – another kind local, carrying a laden shopping bag. The locals knew to drop things off at the back door and only one or two had tried to inveigle an invitation inside. Finn had made polite excuses not to allow anyone in, although each time he’d said his mother was sleeping it was the truth. Fiona rarely troubled to keep herself awake for more than half an hour at a time. Finn feared she would keep to her bed way beyond the ten-day lying-in period. Leaving Eloise dozing in her cradle, loaned from Sunny Corner’s attic, as were other nursery items, he quietly hurried downstairs and outside to the back garden.
The woman was coming closer and he could see her clearly. In an instant Finn’s heart splintered into a thousand pieces and reformed and he felt reborn. Amazingly he saw everything with greater clarity. He heard birds trilling, cooing and chittering in the trees where before he had only heard the dark heavy boughs heaving in complaint. Whoever this woman was she was utterly gorgeous, lithe and sensuous, honed like a goddess with eyes of iridescent brown and gypsy black hair that swirled about the soft feminine contours of her peachy face. Suddenly his life didn’t seem so daunting any more. It was fate her coming here, meant to be, meant for him.
She raised a friendly hand to him. ‘Hello there.’
Finn usually eyed newcomers warily and shuffled his feet but this time his hand shot out and he waved back. ‘Hello, good morning, my mother and the baby are asleep but you’re welcome to come in.’ The words were out of his mouth before he’d managed a second thought.
He stared greedily at the beautiful stranger and roved his eyes all over her. The more he looked the more he wanted to see all of her. She was a creature of dreams and already he had devoured enough of her to sketch her exact likeness on paper when she left. He didn’t want her to leave, however, and wished he could keep her here as long as possible. She had ignited and inflamed something primeval and divine in him and already he could not bear to let her go.
Belle reached out her hand. ‘Hello Finn, I’m Belle Lawry, wife to Charlie from The Orchards. I’m pleased to meet you. I hope you don’t me calling on you.’
‘Certainly not, Mrs Lawry.’ Finn was surprised he had found his voice but he had no idea how he’d sounded. He simply concentrated on the warm hand clasping his, her living touch, her pulsing flesh, until she pulled her hand away. Suddenly the nightmare and despair and his humiliating fallen position were worth it to meet this awesome woman. He was crushed to learn she was married but then of course she would be; a woman of her supremacy would soon have been snapped up. He was elated to know she lived not far away yet he damned the fact he wouldn’t be able to see her nearly every day at The Orchards. He smiled his deepest smile, his spirit singing heavenly themes, for she was here and he had invited her inside and would have her all to himself. ‘It’s very good of you to call, Mrs Lawry. Please step in. I’ve managed to get hold of some coffee, would you like a cup?’
‘That would be very nice, Finn.’
He shivered deliciously, loving the way she said his name, gently emphasizing it a little. He fell in step with her on the patio and he smelled her refreshing lemony scent. She was wearing a cotton poppy-print skirt, quite faded, and a plain short-sleeved blouse. His eyes roamed over her superbly toned limbs, her graceful neck and shoulders and neat waist and shapely breasts. Belle was the perfect woman. She was paradise.
‘But I don’t want to use up your rations, Finn. After all you must find it hard to get to Newton Stores. I have a cousin in Canada and he kindly sends us parcels of food, so I’ve brought with me some coffee and a few other things, which I hope you’ll accept, Finn.’
‘I’d be glad to and I’m very grateful. You are very kind, Mrs Lawry.’ If only he could call her Belle. She wouldn’t belong to Charlie Lawry when she was here, and he had already worked out a way of inviting her to come again.
‘My gosh, it’s looking very nice in here, not at all what I expected after all the time the place had been left to go to pot,’ Belle exclaimed, once inside the kitchen. ‘Everything is sparkling.’ She used all her senses to glean if there was anything eerie but felt nothing menacingly peculiar, not in the kitchen anyway. It wouldn’t be right to mention the prospect of ghosts and the murders to Finn. He probably had too many everyday concerns to deal with anyway to give a moment’s thought to such things.
‘That’s thanks to Mrs Resterick and Miss Barnicoat. Together they showed me how to put plenty of elbow grease into the cleaning. They’ve spent hours here scrubbing and dusting and cooking and it was good having their company. Mr Greg kindly brought over some things, especially for the baby. Don’t know how I would have managed without them. Mrs R has been a brick. She’s been like a doting aunt to me, and Eloise too. I told her I’d like to provide some things for Eloise myself, and Mrs R told me that Denny Vercoe, the craft worker, also deals in all sorts of stuff and if you haven’t got the cash he’s happy to barter. Mrs R said I could pop Eloise in with her when I go out. I’d best not leave her here alone with Mum just yet.’ Finn deliberately paused.
Yes! Finn yelled out inside his head, with rapture. He could manipulate her offer to suit him. ‘Really? I’ll be glad to take you up on that,’ he replied, unable to keep the enthusiasm out of his tone. ‘Nurse Rumford has been a wonderful help too, although she’s getting nowhere with Mum, I’m afraid. I expect you’ve heard she has this post-natal depression thing. I’m grateful to the neighbours who have been so good to us, you included, Mrs Belle.’ There, he had said it, turned her title into something much more familiar and she didn’t seem to mind. This way he had got rid of her husband’s claim on Belle. His Belle. He wanted her to become his Belle.
‘You’re very welcome, Finn. While the kettle’s on, may I see Eloise? I’ve got a son, Sam, he’s the same age as you and I’m sure you’ll become friends. Sam’s like his dad, friendly and easygoing. I would have loved to have a little girl but it wasn’t to be.’
Finn didn’t like her having a son who might get in the way. ‘I’ll bring Eloise down. Come through to the front room. I’m afraid it’s not very grand.’
Finn couldn’t tear his sight off Belle, who in turn was avidly examining the shabby state of the long wide room, which ran under the main bedroom and the bathroom. The furnishings were meagre.
Belle was saddened for Finn and his family. There was the evidence in the hanging shelves and a candle box of fresh wood dust outside tiny boreholes indicating live woodworm. A crocheted blanket of multicoloured squares and some chintz cushions lifted the barrenness a little, with a linen runner on the sideboard. Holiday snaps of Finn and his mother in various foreign locations were set there, with two highly detailed drawings depicting Tolkien-like creatures signed by Finn. On the mantel over the gaping brick fireplace was a bracket clock, which Belle recognized as coming from Sunny Corner, and two dark wood carved giraffes that she had seen on the shelves in the thrift niche. A white milk jug with a chipped rim was filled with wild flowers and sat on the ledge of a boarded-up window.