by Anne Mather
Mary still lingered, and turning back into the room, she said: ‘I didn’t know Mrs Radley had had an accident. How did it happen?’
‘Didn’t Mr Carne tell you?’ asked Mary in surprise, and Lesley felt her cheeks colouring.
‘No,’ she said carefully. ‘No, he didn’t. Just that—she had.’
‘Oh.’ Mary grimaced, and then, apparently deciding there was no harm in elucidating, added: ‘Well, she fell down the cellar steps. Two Christmases ago, it was, right on the festive season. Missed everything, she did. In hospital for—oh, something like six weeks.’
‘Really!’ Lesley was dismayed. ‘How awful! But I wonder how she could have done such a thing. She’s gone up and down those steps every week for the past thirty odd years!’
‘Yes, well—maybe she wasn’t being as careful as she normally is. What with all the rows with Mr Carne and all—–’
She broke off abruptly, but not before Lesley’s curiosity was aroused, and they both stared at one another in discomforted silence.
‘I’d better be getting along,’ Mary decided, making for the door. ‘Where’s your luggage and I’ll fetch it up?’
Lesley shook her head. ‘There’s only one case, and it’s in the hall,’ she said. ‘I’ll get it myself later.’ She paused. ‘Mary …’
‘I’ve said too much already, Mrs Radley,’ Mary declared firmly. ‘The boy’s room’s next door, as you’ll probably have guessed, and we still have our evening meal about seven. If there’s anything else you want …’
Lesley sighed and shook her head. Only answers, she thought depressingly, wishing Mary would confide in her. But after all, why should she? So far as Mary was concerned, she had walked out on her husband for no good reason, and Lesley ought to be grateful that at least she had not turned against her because of it.
Left to herself, Lesley put down her handbag and ran cooling fingers through her hair, lifting it away from her neck and catching sight of her reflection as she did so. Despite her desire to appear calm and composed, there were hectic flags of colour in her cheeks, and her eyes were flecked and troubled. Why had Mary suggested that Marion might have married Aaron Bowland out of pique? What had she meant about Carne and his mother having rows? How had Mrs Radley been so careless, and would she ever recover sufficiently to take up her duties as mistress of Raventhorpe? In those early days, when Lesley had lived at the farm, Mrs Radley had had a finger in every pie in the district. Chairwoman of the Kirkby Clough branch of the Women’s Guild, active member of the church council, organiser of the local point-to-point meetings; she had regularly run the cake stall at the agricultural show at Ravensbeck, and entered her own jams and preserves in all the competitions. In truth, her record was a daunting one, and Lesley, newly graduated from university, had known next to nothing about any of the things she held dear. Baking cakes or making jam had been a hit-and-miss affair at best, and she had retired defeated from any contest with her mother-in-law.
Lesley could see now, with the wisdom of experience, that she must have appeared quite useless so far as Mrs Radley was concerned. But then Carne’s mother had always compared her with girls like Marion Harvey. The fact that Carne had made a fool of himself over her, as his mother had put it, damned her further in Mrs Radley’s eyes, and those occasions when she had come upon them in one another’s arms had deepened the scowl of contempt she continually wore in her daughter-in-law’s presence. That she was jealous, too, was concealed very well, but Lesley knew she resented the hold she had had over her only son.
Jeremy’s room had been newly decorated with strip-cartoon wallpaper, and a bedspread depicting the outline of a motor car. Lesley knew he would love it, and he would also love the pile of toys someone had thoughtfully provided for him. There were jointed army dolls and a helicopter for their use, a car transporter, complete with vehicles, games and jigsaw puzzles and boxes of toy soldiers; a veritable treasure chest of entertainment for someone of Jeremy’s age.
Thinking of Jeremy made her wonder where he was, but a swift glance out of the window did not enlighten her. Burt Worsley was talking to one of the other cowmen by the milking shed, but there was no sign of Mrs Radley or her grandson, or indeed of Carne himself.
On impulse, before going downstairs in search of her son, Lesley went to the door to the master bedroom, the bedroom she had used to share with Carne until he had chosen to sleep in the room she was occupying now. The door opened easily on to golden-brown tumble-twist and plain cream walls. Long cream silk curtains moved in the draught from the windows and the figured cream bedspread was turned back to reveal brown sheets. The few prints that occupied the walls Lesley had chosen, but otherwise it was completely different from when she had slept there. Only Carne’s brushes occupying the glass tray on the dressing table, and a tie draped carelessly over the square bedpost denoted anyone used the room, and its bare simplicity drove a shaft of sudden pain through her chest. They had been happy, she thought emotionally. But it had all gone wrong …
Downstairs again, she found Mary in the spacious kitchen busily shelling peas into a bowl.
‘Let me help you,’ she offered at once, and Mary hesitated only a second before handing over the chore.
‘If you’re looking for Jeremy, he’s not here,’ she announced, moving to the long stainless steel drainer unit, which had been part of the modernisation. ‘He’s gone over to Barrowside with—with his father. You don’t mind, do you?’
‘It would be all the same if I did,’ replied Lesley, her smile a trifle forced. Already Jeremy was moving away from her, and it was not a good feeling. ‘Did he ask where I was?’
‘I don’t know. They’d gone when I came downstairs,’ explained Mary uncomfortably, and Lesley gave her an understanding smile as she seated herself at the long pine table.
‘Mrs Radley’s in the drawing room if you want her,’ Mary added, dropping potatoes into a bowl. ‘Young Jeremy does like a steak and kidney pudding, I hope. I thought you could have that, and maybe a piece of raspberry pie to follow.’
Lesley looked up. ‘I can see you’re determined to make us fat!’ she observed ruefully, forcing a light tone, and Mary looked relieved.
‘Well, I think you could stand it,’ she exclaimed. ‘It’ll do me good to cook for a family again, and put some flesh on bones!’
Lesley looked down at the pea-pod in her hand. ‘Carne’s mother’s lost a lot of weight, hasn’t she?’ she ventured, and Mary sighed.
‘I’ll say this,’ she declared, as if coming to a decision. ‘There’s been a lot of unhappiness in this house since you left, Mrs Radley, and no mistake—–’
‘Mary!’ Carne’s mother’s voice was harsh and grating. ‘You talk too much. You always did—and about things you know nothing about.’
Mrs Radley was leaning heavily against the framework of the kitchen door, watching them, and Lesley, looking across at her, wondered how long she had been there.
‘I just thought Mrs Carne ought to know how things have been,’ Mary retorted now, with no sign of intimidation.
‘Mrs Carne!’ Mrs Radley made it sound like an insult. ‘You’d best call her Miss Matthews, for that’s what she’ll be soon enough, I’ve no doubt.’
‘What do you mean?’ Lesley had to steel herself to remain where she was, when every nerve inside her was crying out to her to stand up.
‘I mean when Carne divorces you, of course,’ replied Mrs Radley coldly. ‘You must know that’s in his mind.’
‘I didn’t know.’ Now Lesley could sit still no longer. ‘Carne doesn’t confide in me!’
‘He doesn’t need to, does he?’ exclaimed Mrs Radley scornfully. ‘There are new laws now, you know. Anyone who can prove they’ve lived apart for more than two years can apply for a divorce with or without the consent of the other party.’
Mary was looking embarrassed, but Lesley had to pursue it. ‘Then why didn’t he do it before this? Why didn’t he get a divorce?’
‘Because of the boy,�
�� retorted the older woman cuttingly. ‘Carne’s not a complete fool, although where you’re concerned I’ve sometimes had my doubts. He cares for his son, and as soon as your mother wrote and told him you were sending Jeremy away to school, he realised the truth of what I’ve been telling him for years. You only took the boy away to spite him! You didn’t really want the trouble of a baby at all, did you? As soon as he was old enough, you got rid of him.’
‘That’s not true!’ Lesley was white-faced. ‘That’s not true.’
Mrs Radley sneered, ‘Try convincing Carne of that!’
‘He had to go to school—–’
‘But not boarding school.’
‘He did. I—there was no one to—to look after him.’
‘So you admit it?’
‘Mrs Radley, I have a job of work. I have to earn money.’
‘If you were so keen on working, why did you give it all up to marry my son? You were never happy here, we both know that. Why the devil didn’t you stick to your own kind?’
Lesley’s mouth was parched and her tongue felt as if it was glued to the roof of her mouth. She had had arguments with Mrs Radley in the past, but never had Carne’s mother displayed her feelings so openly. She was glad Jeremy was not around to hear it. Rows always upset him, and she sensed Mrs Radley would not care what lies she told in front of the boy if she could turn him against his mother.
‘I think you ought to ask Carne that question,’ she said now, speaking slowly and deliberately, choosing her words with care. ‘He asked me to marry him, not the other way about.’
Mrs Radley pressed her thin lips tightly together, and then turned and stumped away down the hall, leaving Lesley’s legs feeling absurdly like jelly. She was glad to sink down again into the chair beside the table, and her fingers automatically continued popping pea-pods as if nothing momentous had happened. Mary, still standing disapprovingly by the sink, clicked her tongue and turned back to her task, and for a while there was silence between them.
The appearance of a huge tortoise shell cat, stalking in from the yard, its plume of a tail raised proudly, brought Lesley out of her state of numbed disbelief. ‘Mrs Pepperpot!’ she exclaimed, although her voice wobbled over the last syllable. ‘Oh, Mrs Pepperpot, it’s so good to see you again!’
Sinking down on to her knees beside her chair, she gathered the disdainful creature into her arms, but the cat, unprepared for this demonstration, flexed its claws against her bare arm.
‘Ouch!’ Lesley released her abruptly, but at least the incident had served to banish the foolish emotionalism she had been feeling. ‘Still as independent as ever, aren’t you?’ she exclaimed. ‘We must be two of a kind.’
Mary glanced round then, her face revealing her indignation. ‘That’s right,’ she declared. ‘Don’t you let that old besom scare you away! Frightened of losing her position here, that’s all she is. Always has been.’
Lesley looked up, still kneeling on the floor. ‘I don’t know why,’ she said wearily. ‘Her position was never in any doubt.’ She shook her head and got slowly to her feet. ‘She knows I’m only here for Jeremy’s sake. Why can’t she at least try to be polite?’
Mary looked as though she would like to say more, but discretion got the better of her. ‘This sounds like Mr Carne now,’ she said, as the low rumble of a motor vehicle came along the side of the house, and Lesley had barely time to wash her hands before Jeremy came bouncing into the kitchen, grinning all over his face.
‘Hello, Mum,’ he said, sparing a moment to greet her before turning back to the man who was following him. ‘I’ve been for a ride in the Landrover. It was great!’
Lesley managed a faint smile, and then Carne’s tall frame blocked the sun in the doorway, his Levis already smeared with grease. He had rolled back his sleeves and unbuttoned his shirt almost to his waist, and the sweat glistened on his smooth flesh.
His gaze flickered quickly over Lesley, and then moved to Mary. ‘Something smells good,’ he remarked, reserving his smile for her, and she gave him an answering greeting.
‘Steak and kidney pudding,’ she said, putting fresh water into the pan of potatoes, ‘and don’t you say you’re not hungry because I shall be very cross.’
‘I saw some sheep,’ added Jeremy, addressing his mother again. ‘And I met Mr Newton who looks after them. We went to his house, and his wife gave me some home-made lemonade. Oh, and some biscuits,’ he added guiltily, as Mary pulled a face at him.
‘Well, don’t you go refusing your dinner, my lad,’ she said, but it was only teasing, and he knew it.
‘I like steak and kidney pie,’ he said shyly, and immediately won Mary’s affection. ‘The food at school is awful! The potatoes are all lumpy, and they have tapioca! Frog-spawn, we call it.’
‘Jeremy!’
Lesley called a halt to this particular topic of conversation, but she guessed it was something else Carne would store up to use against her when it came to a discussion of Jeremy’s education. But he would not succeed in taking the boy away from her, she told herself fiercely, although not very convincingly.
Dinner was served in the panelled dining room. Lesley guessed this was a concession to their presence. In the old days, they had eaten in the kitchen, more often than not, and Mrs Radley had kept the dining room for special occasions. But like the drawing room, it was no longer sacrosanct, and Lesley couldn’t help thinking how much nicer it was to sit at the polished oak table with the whole sweep of the valley visible from the long Georgian windows.
Jeremy was having dinner with them, too, but it was late for him and Lesley couldn’t help thinking that Mary’s satisfying steak and kidney pie was hardly the best thing for him to go to bed on. She determined to have a word with Carne some time during the following day and ask him whether Jeremy might not have a high tea about five-thirty so that he could get to bed at his usual time of half past seven. But tonight was a special occasion, she conceded, and he was enjoying the feeling of being important. Mrs Radley, seated opposite Lesley across the table, never spoke unless it was to or about Jeremy, and his father was almost as guilty. Lesley herself said practically nothing at all, doing her best to do justice to Mary’s cooking and trying not to feel apprehensive of the weeks ahead, when she would not be here.
After dinner, it was Jeremy’s bedtime, and Lesley took him upstairs after he had said goodnight to his father and grandmother. He undressed tiredly, the events of the day uppermost in his mind, and he settled down on his pillows still talking about what he was going to do tomorrow.
‘Do you think you’re going to like it here?’ Lesley knew it was an unnecessary question, but it had to be asked, and he nodded eagerly.
‘Did you know my—my father owns most of this valley?’ he asked, putting his hands behind his head. ‘Grandma says there’ve always been Radleys in Ravensdale. She says it will all belong to me one day.’
Lesley’s lips compressed. ‘Grandma shouldn’t tell you things like that,’ she replied severely. ‘Little boys have a lot of growing up to do before they decide what they want to do with their lives. You might not like farming when you get older. You might want to be a—a doctor, or an engineer, or—an airline pilot.’
Jeremy’s air of self-confidence evaporated. ‘You know, don’t you?’ he said miserably. ‘Someone’s told you. Who was it? Did someone from school write to you?’
Lesley sat down on the side of his bed. ‘It was someone we met at the station yesterday,’ she explained. ‘A Mrs Morrison.’
‘Oh!’ Jeremy pursed his lips. ‘The Blot’s mother!’
‘Who?’ Lesley stared at him.
‘The Blot! Mark Morrison. You know—mark—blot! Get it?’
‘Reluctantly,’ agreed Lesley dryly. Then she sighed. ‘But why ever did you tell him such a thing?’
Jeremy sniffed. ‘I didn’t tell him, actu’ly. It was Hubbard.’
‘Old Mother, I suppose.’
He giggled then, and shook his head. ‘No, Hubbard�
�s one of the prefects. We wouldn’t dare make jokes about him.’ He hesitated. ‘It was after sports day, you see. No one came—–’
‘Darling, I was working!’
‘I know that. But—well, after—after the parents had gone, Hubbard and one or two others cornered me and said I was a—a—a basket!’
‘A basket?’
‘That’s what they said.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Lesley understood only too well.
‘They said I didn’t have a father, that they betted I didn’t even know who he was. I said I did. I said he was too busy to come to a rotten sports day. So—so I made that up, about him being a pilot, I mean. No one else’s father was one of them, so I didn’t think they’d find out. Now, I suppose they have.’ He looked glum.
‘Not exactly,’ remarked Lesley reassuringly. ‘Your father didn’t—rat on you, as they say. But I really think you ought to tell them the truth anyway.’
‘What truth?’
‘Why, that your father’s a farmer, I suppose. Or a landowner, at least. Sooner or later, someone’s going to find out that he’s not an airline pilot, and then your life won’t be worth living.’
Jeremy’s lips trembled. ‘I wish I never had to go back there,’ he muttered, and her heart plummeted.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I hate that place,’ he mumbled in a low voice. Then he looked at her. ‘Couldn’t I live at Nanna’s and go to a school in London? I’d be ever so good. I wouldn’t be a nuisance or anything, and Nanna would look after me.’
Lesley got up from the bed, pulling the covers straight as she did so. ‘I think it’s time you went to sleep, don’t you?’ she suggested gently, bending to kiss him. ‘We’ll talk about this some other time.’
Jeremy shifted uncomfortably. ‘I’ve got a tummyache,’ he complained, and a feeling of impotence swept over her. She no longer felt as if she had any control of the situation, and Jeremy’s indigestion only accentuated the forces working against her.