Yet somehow she could not find the words to protest. It was as if the depression had made her dumb. She knew deep down that the time would come when she would have to resume her old life, but she thrust it far to the back of her mind, living each day as it came and pretending that this welcome hiatus could go on for ever.
Now the shadow was back, dark and threatening. She felt the tentacles of fate closing in around her, trapping her. Home! Morwennan would never be home to her. It was a prison where Selena, the black widow spider, waited, where she would have to submit once more to Francis’s unwelcome attentions, where her poor deformed baby had been born and died. The shadow was back and it would not let her go, not even when Francis had departed once more and the little house was empty but for Aunt Prudence bustling comfortably as she prepared the evening meal.
The walls of her haven seemed to be closing in on her; she had to get out, though she knew that even in the open air the feeling of being trapped would go with her.
‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said, and her voice seemed to come not from her own lips but from somewhere outside herself.
Aunt Prudence nodded. She could see that Francis’s visit had upset Julia.
‘Don’t be too long though,’ she said. ‘There’s fresh mullet for supper, landed this morning.’
And: ‘I’m not hungry,’ Julia replied in an echo of the words she had used so often when first she came.
Aunt Prudence sighed. ‘Well, don’t be too long anyway.’
Julia took a shawl and left the house. She walked without direction in a haze of despair until she found herself in the harbour.
It was a fine clear evening. The sun, already low in the sky, cast a pinkish light on the grey stone harbour wall, lazy waves lapped at it gently and ran in white-frilled sorties on to the shoreline. Julia stood with her shawl drawn about her shoulders, watching them, mesmerised. And suddenly it came to her that if she were to walk into the sea and keep on walking there would be no need for her to return to Morwennan – ever.
The water looked inviting to her, a deep grey-green that, further out, became aqua-marine and then deep sapphire. She imagined it closing over her head, cool, salty and sweet, taking away the pain in her past and her dread of the future. She would be a part of it, swirling with the strings of seaweed on the tide.
Julia took a step forward. The shawl fell from her shoulders. Oh, it would be so easy! One more step and then another…
‘Julia!’
She frowned. The sea was calling her name. She took another step.
‘Julia!’
She paused, confused. The voice seemed to be coming from behind her, not from the waves at all. She turned, the light breeze lifting a loose strand of hair and blowing it across her face.
A man was standing there, a tall, well-made young man whose shirt ruffled in the same breeze that teased her hair. A young man she recognised, a young man from another life.
He has come to say goodbye to me, Julia thought. Or to lead me to the other side…
And then he began to run towards her and she realised this was no ghost.
‘John!’ she whispered, the first stab of disbelieving joy breaking through the wall of foggy despair, then rushing through her like the pent-up wall of water breaching a crack in the sea wall. ‘Oh, my dearest love! John!’
He reached her, took her in his arms, held her so tightly the breath was squeezed from her body. Her face was pressed into his shoulder, the tears she could not stop were soaking his shirt. She clung to him, lost in the sheer wonder of the moment. Then, as he smoothed her hair away from her tear-wet face, she raised her head, looking at him, drinking in the sight of his lean, weather-tanned features.
‘I don’t believe it! I thought you were dead!’
‘Not me.’ He smiled into her eyes, a smile that stopped her heart just as it always had. ‘I thought you were dead – to me, at least. I heard you were wed.’
She caught her lip between her teeth.
‘I am.’ She saw the shadow come into his eyes and rushed on: ‘But not willingly! I would never have wed willingly! No one but you!’
‘You thought I was dead. You just told me so.’
‘But I’d have waited for ever in the hope… Where were you? What happened?’
‘Well, I was at sea, of course. The voyage took much longer than I expected.’
‘They said you were lost.’
‘And so we were – to all intents and purposes. We ran aground on the Spanish coast.’ He held her away, looking down at her critically. ‘What has happened to you, Julia? I scarcely knew you! Have you been ill?’
Her eyes filled with tears again.
‘Oh, John… I can’t tell you…’
‘You must.’ He took her hands in his. ‘I think we should find somewhere we can talk. There’s a great deal we have to say to each other.’
She nodded wordlessly. Hand in hand they walked away from the sea.
* * *
The sun had gone down in a ball of red fire before they finished talking.
Julia learned of the voyage that had so nearly ended in the disaster she had feared, and how, when he had returned to Falmouth, he had found her gone.
‘You went to see Aunt Prudence?’ she said in astonishment.
‘Well of course! I thought to find you there. Instead she told me not only that you had gone to your father’s but that you were betrothed – to a gentleman with a fine house.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Julia said. ‘Aunt Prudence never said a word to me about it – not then nor now. Why did she not tell me?’
‘I dare say she thought you were lost to me. And no doubt she reasoned that to tell you now would cause only trouble.’
‘I dare say. But still…’ She pushed her puzzlement aside. There was so much she wanted to know that was of far greater interest than Aunt Prudence’s omission. ‘What do you do now? Have you given up the sea?’
He laughed. ‘Me? Never! I’m master of my own packet now. We sail next week with the mail and a cargo of bullion to Brazil.’ There was pride in his voice, but Julia’s heart sank.
‘All the way to Brazil? Next week? Oh, John, I can’t bear it!’
He looked at her narrowly.
‘You have a husband now, Julia. How can it matter to you how soon I leave – or how distant my destination? It’s for the best, no doubt.’
Julia bit her lip, tears pricking her eyes. The thought of returning to Morwennan – and Francis – had cast a dark enough shadow before. Now, knowing that the love of her life was not dead as she had thought, but alive, it was insupportable.
‘Take me with you.’ The words escaped with no thought at all, but the moment they were spoken she knew she meant them with all her heart. ‘Oh please, John – take me with you!’
‘But your husband…’ The love, the longing – and the indecision – were written all over his face.
‘I hate him,’ she whispered. ‘I loathe and despise him. He won me, John, in a game of loo with my father. Won me like a bag of chips. I married him because he gave me no choice, but I believe I have repaid my father’s debt to him many times over. Oh please, my love, don’t leave me again! I can’t bear it. Do you know what I was planning to do when you called my name? I was about to drown myself rather than go back to my old life. And I’ll do it. I can’t go back to him – I can’t! If you love me, John, if you ever loved me – take me with you, I beg you!’
He looked into her lovely tormented face and felt a tide of anger against the man who had done this to her rise in him. Love her? Oh dear God, yes, he loved her with all his heart. He remembered the nights lying in his narrow cot on board the tossing vessel when he had ached for her, body and soul, the overpowering desire to return to England and make her his, his despair when he had thought he had lost her to another man. He had been torn apart by the vision of her in the arms of another, living, loving, laughing, sharing the days and nights, bearing his children. But he had tried to tell himself t
hat she had so much more than he could ever offer her and if she was happy that was all that mattered.
Now he could see all too clearly that she was not happy.
What in heaven’s name had this man done to her that she had become in such a short time this pale despairing echo of her former self? As yet he did not know. It would take time to learn the secrets of her disastrous marriage. But one thing he did know. He could not – would not – fail her again.
‘I can’t promise you an easy life, my love,’ he said. ‘I can’t give you all the things your husband can. But if it’s what you want, then I will take you with me.’
‘Oh, John!’ she whispered. ‘It’s what I want more than anything else in the world.’
And the tears that gathered in her eyes now and ran down her cheeks were tears of relief and happiness.
* * *
When John sailed from Falmouth the following week Julia was with him.
Only Aunt Prudence knew of her plan – an Aunt Prudence who was filled with remorse for not telling Julia that John had come looking for her.
‘I thought it would just upset you and make things worse my dear,’ she said anxiously. ‘I thought it was best to let it lie in the past since you are bound to Francis Trevelyan. I see now I was wrong. I’ll help you now and I’ll keep your secret. But I think it’s best your uncle knows nothing of your plans. Since you are in our care he might feel obliged to warn Francis.’
And so when Julia left the little house at the crack of dawn, taking with her only those few things she could carry, there was only Aunt Prudence, who had crept out of the bed where her husband snored, to hug Julia and wish her well.
John’s packet, the Guinevere, rocked gently in the harbour; despite his preoccupation with making ready to leave, John was watching for her, and he hugged her close before leading her up the gangplank.
‘Julia – you came!’
‘Well of course I came!’ she retorted. ‘Did you not want me to?’
‘I want you beside me more than anything,’ he replied. ‘But this voyage will not be easy for you, my love.’
‘I don’t care,’ she said fiercely. ‘As long as we are together and I never have to go back to Morwennan I don’t care about anything.’
They sailed with the morning tide and before long Julia understood John’s apprehension. As the boat pitched and tossed she became violently seasick and was forced to retire to the small cabin, where she lay for days on the narrow bunk, thinking dizzily that her wish for death was about to be granted. She could keep nothing down, not even a cup of broth or a dish of tea; even a sip of water churned in her protesting stomach. She slept fitfully in the heaving bunk and was only dimly aware of John sponging her face and changing her stained and crumpled bodice when he spared himself from the duties of captaining his ship towards calmer waters. Never in her life had Julia been so ill, but though she longed desperately to be back on dry land, never for one moment did she regret leaving with John. This sickness would pass. Life with Francis had been a hell she had thought she would be forced to endure for ever.
Then one morning she awoke feeling better. When she raised her head the cabin no longer swam around her and she realised to her amazement she was ravenously hungry. John counselled that it was best for the moment to content herself with a cup of soup, but when it was finished she begged for a slice of salt pork and some ship’s biscuit. When she rose from her bunk she felt a little dizzy and weak and her legs wobbled like milk jelly, but the sickness had gone.
Julia went on deck, looked with pleasure at the billowing sails, stood at the rail and scanned the endless horizon with eyes filled with wonder, and watched with interest as the mariners went about their work.
This was John’s world, now she was a part of it. Julia felt as free as the seabirds that followed the fishing boats into harbour, or the porpoises she glimpsed among the froth- topped waves in the wake of the ship.
Life settled into an easy routine; she befriended the little cabin boy, on his first voyage and homesick for his mother; she mended the rents and tears that appeared in the clothing of the officers; she nursed the bosun when he fell ill. And whenever John could spare the time they sat together talking and talking, hungry for every detail of the other’s life in the time they had been apart.
The one thing Julia was quite unable to bring herself to mention was the brutal way in which Francis had taken her virginity, but it scarcely mattered now; it was something that had occurred in another life. The girl who had held herself so stiff during his subsequent love-making was gone now; as she gave herself gladly to John Julia found herself wondering at how something which was so utterly repellent with one man could be such heady joy with another.
John was a sweet and tender lover and, mindful of the unpleasant experiences he felt sure she had endured, he led her gently and without demands until one night Julia, frustrated rather than comforted by his reticence, took the lead. She crawled astride him as he caressed her, straddling his body with an instinct as old as time and stopping his surprised response with her mouth.
‘Lie still,’ she whispered urgently. ‘My darling, lie still.’
Startled, he did as she bid. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered her wet softness on to his hard body, raised, lowered, again and again until she took him inside her, deeper, more fully than ever before. A groan, half pain, half delight, escaped her lips and he rolled her over on the bunk so that he was once again in control. But this time there was no holding back, no restrained gentleness. He drove into her with every atom of his need, taking her with a great shout of triumph and then assisting her to reach the same dizzy heights of delight.
‘Oh, my love,’ he murmured as they lay naked and damp with sweat in one another’s arms. ‘Oh, my love – I did not hurt you, did I?’
And she murmured back, drowsy and gloriously replete: ‘If that is hurting me, John, you can hurt me as often as you like.’
In all her life Julia thought she had never known such bliss, and though she could never quite forget her poor baby, the pain faded to a dull ache and whole days passed when she did not think of him at all. As for Francis, she tried very hard not to think of him either. He must know by now that she had left him, but she thought it would be his pride that was hurt the most. She had, after all, brought him little pleasure. She thought that in all likelihood he would be glad to be rid of her.
Eleven
No further mention was made that day by either Francis or Selena of anything that had passed. I did notice, however, that Mrs Durbin looked at me oddly when she brought in Charlotte’s tea and I wondered if she knew something of what had been said.
It would not surprise me. Very little escaped Mrs Durbin. And if anyone knew the whole story of Julia and what it was Francis and Selena were keeping from me, it was her, I felt sure. She had been here so long and she was so much a part of the family.
I made up my mind that at the first opportunity I would sound her out, but as it happened she raised the subject herself when I carried the dirty china back to the kitchen. Though she was busy preparing vegetables for the evening meal she turned to me with a determination that suggested she had been stewing things over in her mind and could keep silent no longer.
‘Don’t believe everything you’re told about Miss Julia, Charity. She was a lamb and don’t you let Miss Selena tell you anything different.’
So – she had overheard Selena talking to me and I had been right in thinking she had been fond of Julia.
‘Will you talk to me about her, Mrs Durbin?’ I asked urgently.
Mrs Durbin lopped the green fronds from the top of a carrot.
‘It’s more than my job’s worth. You’ll hear nothing from me. Just don’t believe all you’re told,’ she repeated darkly. ‘There’s things they don’t want you to know, that’s all I’m saying.’
And I could get no more from her.
* * *
That evening after dinner Tom came to the house. The atmosphere over t
he meal had been strained and his appearance was doubly welcome to me.
All very well to tell myself Tom was not the sort of man I should be taking an interest in; it made not one bit of difference to the way I felt whenever I saw him. My pulses raced and my tummy flipped and, whatever problems had been concerning me, I experienced a sudden inexplicable surge of happiness. It was silly and irresponsible, I knew; it was courting trouble, I knew, and yet I could not help myself.
Francis seemed less pleased to see Tom. ‘There’s no problem is there?’ he asked shortly.
‘Not at all.’ Tom was smiling, seemingly oblivious to the tension that hung heavy in the air. ‘For once I have not come to talk business, Francis. I’ve come to ask when you next intend to give Charity a day away from her duties, and I hope I can persuade you to make it next Wednesday.’
I quickly averted my eyes. I could feel the colour rushing to my cheeks and those treacherous pulses hammering.
‘Next Wednesday?’ Francis said. ‘What significance does next Wednesday have in the scheme of things?’
‘Why, it’s the fair in the village. Surely you cannot have forgotten? I was hoping to take Charity – if she’ll consent to come with me, that is,’ he added with a smile in my direction.
‘Oh, if there’s a fair I’m sure Charlotte would like to go to it!’ I said quickly.
‘I’m sure she would,’ Tom said drily, and I knew that he had been hoping to have me to himself. ‘What about it, Francis?’
‘Whatever you like,’ Francis said. He looked tired and bad tempered.
‘Good! And since it’s a lovely evening, perhaps I could persuade Charity to take a stroll with me now. With your permission, of course.’
‘Whatever you like,’ Francis said again. ‘Charlotte is in bed now – Charity’s duties are finished for the day.’
I knew I should refuse his offer. But oh, I did not want to refuse!
Morwennan House Page 14