Impulsively she leaned forward. 'Perhaps you'd like to come and visit us at the cottage? I'd enjoy showing you what we intend to do with the garden.'
Mrs Grantham smiled, but Kirsty could almost sense her withdrawing into herself. 'That's very kind of you, my dear, but I haven't left the house for quite some time now.' With an expressive gesture of her hand she indicated the wheelchair.
Kirsty looked at her sadly. 'You've given up.' It was a statement, not a question. ,
For a moment the older woman's chin came up and she recognised the cool, autocratic look she had seen, on Gyles' face, but then Mrs Grantham suddenly sagged in her chair, her face lined with unhappiness. 'Oh, dear, does it show so much?'
Kirsty crossed swiftly to kneel down beside her and take her hand, trying to pass some of her young strength through her touch. 'Only to me. You put on a wonderful act, but I've worked in a hospital and I've
met many people who were going through what you're going through at the moment. They think there's nothing left for them and wish that they had been killed rather than maimed. I've seen young men in their twenties who've been in car accidents and who've begged the doctors to put them down like a dog, but later they've realised that half a life is better than no life at all and before long they're dancing with their girl-friends in their wheelchairs.'
Mrs Grantham gave a wan smile. 'I know you're trying to be kind, child, but I've been crippled for a long time. I had a riding accident when Gyles was only-a boy. The bones didn't knit together properly and I've never walked since. Oh, at first I accepted it because there was always the hope that one day I would be cured. But now so many years have gone by.' She gave a little hopeless shrug.
'So you've let yourself get defeated and just gradually withdrawn until you don't go outside the house any more, and soon you won't go outside your bedroom and then you'll stay in bed like an invalid until you let yourself die.' Deliberately Kirsty sounded rather scornful. 'And you'll be too tired to let your friends come and visit you, and you'll allow your relations to worry themselves sick because you won't tell them the truth and let them help you. Why, I bet you even put on this act that there's nothing wrong to your Own son!'
Mrs Grantham stared at Kirsty, her eyes wide and 'shocked. 'I pretend to him most of all.' She gripped Kirsty's hand tightly’ 'Will—will it really be like that?'
'Yes, it will.' She paused a moment to let it sink in, then said urgently, 'Unless you realise now, before it's too late, that you owe it to the people who love you to try and snap out of it and start living again.'
'But—but it's been so long. I don't know how.’
Kirsty stood up. 'It's really very simple. We'll start right now. Is this your shawl?' She took the shawl from a nearby chair and draped it over the elderly woman's shoulders, then pushed open some: casement doors leading out 'into the garden and saw that a ramp had been built over the steps. Turning back to Mrs Grantham she said, 'It's a lovely day. Won't you make it the first day of your future?'
She waited, knowing that the impetus must come from Mrs Grantham herself. Slowly the woman guided her (chair ,to the doorway and then hesitated. Kirsty held out a hand towards her. She took it and held it tightly. And then she was down the ramp and outside, both of them laughing a little with relief.
Kirsty didn't let her stay out too long. Just ten minutes in which they wandered round the garden and Kirsty picked flowers and put them in the older woman's hands. After she'd helped her back inside she took her leave, confident that once started, Mrs Grantham would find the courage to go on. She thought about it as she walked home and it wasn't until she had almost reached the end of the lane that she realised that it was Gyles himself who owned the dead cows and that he couldn't possibly have deliberately poisoned his own cattle. And strangely enough this knowledge made her worries feel a whole lot lighter and she was humming happily to herself as she turned into the cottage.
CHAPTER SIX
Kirsty's visit to the Manor had unexpected results, for later that day Penny went to answer a knock at the door and ushered in an elderly man who introduced himself as Mr Reynolds.
'Mrs Grantham is an old friend of mine,' he explained. 'I teach history at the college in Barbara and I'm also the secretary of the Local History Society. Mrs Grantham phoned me this morning to tell me about the inglenook you found here, and I wondered if I might have a look at it?'
'Why, of course." Kirsty led the way into the sitting-room. 'I'm afraid all we've done is pull out the old Victorian fireplace. We haven't had time to do anything more.'
Mr Reynolds examined the inglenook minutely. 'It's a very good example. And the rest of the room looks interesting too. If you take down that plasterboard on the ceiling you'll probably find the original beams underneath. Do you know much about restoring old property?'
"Not a thing,' Kirsty confessed. 'We'll just have to get some books from the library and find out as we go.'
Their visitor looked at them thoughtfully before accepting Penny's offer of a cup of tea. Over it he told them about some of the projects the Society had undertaken.
'I wonder,' he said rather diffidently, 'if you would consider letting the Society undertake the restoration of your sitting-room? We have several very keen to members who could come along in their spare time and work on it.'
'That's very kind of you,. Mr Reynolds. Ordinarily I would have jumped at the offer, but unfortunately we just can't afford to pay anyone to do the work, Kirsty admitted honestly. 'But, thanks, anyway.'
'Oh, you won't have to pay them. They would be pleased to do it for the experience and the pleasure that they'd get out of it. Although we would want to take photographs of the progress as we went along, if you wouldn't mind?'
'Mind? Good heavens, no. Why, that's wonderful. We'd be terribly grateful.'
'That's settled, then,' Mr Reynolds smiled. 'It's May Day next week, so I suggest we start then if it's convenient.'
The sisters assured him that it was and hugged each other gleefully when he'd gone.
'I must write to Mrs Grantham and thank her,' Kirsty exclaimed.
'Why don't you go and see her again?' Penny enquired. 'You seemed to get on all right with her this morning.'
Kirsty shook her head. 'No, I've given her the little push she needed, but now the rest must come from her. If I go to see her again she might rely on me instead of herself. I'll just write a note and take it up to the letterbox at the gates of the Manor.'
But there were household chores to do first and it was dark again before Kirsty set out on her errand. A slight breeze had blown the clouds away and the night was dear and bright, the stars shining like tiny diamonds strewn across the sky. The wind ruffled the leaves in the trees and from one of them a nightjar flew out as she passed, startling her with its harsh cry. There
were other noises from the nocturnal creatures in the hedgerows, and once a rabbit scuttled across the lane towards the meadow, its white bobtail dear in the moonlight.
Kirsty quickened her pace as she neared the Manor gates, her footsteps echoing along the metalled road in the darkness,' but then, seemingly from nowhere, a voice said sharply, 'Who's there?' and she almost jumped out of her skin.
A man came out of the gateway and to her consternation she saw that it was Gyles. He crossed quickly towards her and she stifled an urge to turn and run. Their confrontation the previous day was still too raw for her to face him again with any equanimity.
'Kirsty?'
'Yes.'
He came nearer so that he could see her clearly. 'Out for a walk?'
'No. I—I came to deliver a letter.' She lifted her hand to show him the envelope in it.
'For me?'
'No, for your mother."
'Ah, yes. She told me you called earlier. I'll take it for her, shall I?'
Kirsty held it out to him and found to her annoyance that her hand was shaking.
He put it in his pocket. 'My mother said you wanted to see Ted Singleton about the cows?'
'Manor Farm has always been run by a manager and supplies the house, but the other farms on the estate are run by tenant farmers who own their livestock, so it was a natural mistake.' He waited but when she didn't go on he asked, 'What did you want to say about the cows?'
Kirsty put her hands in the pockets of her jacket and turned away, walking a few paces from him before she spoke. 'I—I wanted to offer to pay for them,' she said, her eyes fixed on the ground.
'You admit you were responsible, then?'
She turned to find him watching her intently. She opened her mouth to deny it, but then shrugged mentally. What was the use? He would never believe her. 'The hedge clippings were from my garden, yes.'
His voice hardened. 'Why didn't you admit it at the time? No one thought that you'd done it deliberately and it would have saved a great deal of bad feeling if you'd…"
'Will you please stop lecturing me?’ Kirsty broke in sharply. 'If you'll just tell me how much the annuals were worth, I'll send you a cheque first thing in the morning.'
Gyles stepped angrily towards her, 'Do you know the value of prize cattle?'
'No, but it doesn't matter how much they cost because I'll raise a loan against the house if I have to. Just tell me how much!' Her voice started to rise hysterically. 'I'd rather sell the place than be indebted to you!'
'You stubborn little fool!' Kirsty tried to turn away, but he caught her arms and jerked her angrily round to face him. 'Do you really think all I care about is their value? It's the waste of their lives that angers me. That, and the progeny we hoped to have bred from
them. All right, the animals were insured, but money can't replace the years of work that went into breeding them.' He stared intently into her face, but she kept her eyes firmly lowered and his voice hardened again. 'But I don't suppose you've taken in a word I've said. You're like all townspeople—you think that writing out a cheque solves everything, puts everything right again. Well, it doesn't, not here. And now you'll have lost the respect of the whole village, just because you were too much of a coward to tell the truth earlier.'
When she still stayed silent he shook her roughly. 'Do you understand what I'm saying to you? Do you?' he demanded angrily.
Enraged beyond words, Kirsty put up her hands and tried vainly to push him away’ and when she couldn't balled her hands up into fists and beat furiously against his chest. 'Let go of me, damn you! How dare you speak to me like…'
'You little spitfire!" Gyles jerked her towards him, imprisoning her arms against his chest.
For a few moments Kirsty continued to struggle, but suddenly became aware of the hardness of his body against her own, of his arms like steel bands holding her pressed close to him and of his face, just a few inches away, of the sheer animal maleness of him. She became very still, her pulses facing, her mind in a whirl and yet all her senses throbbing with awareness. His breathing sounded uneven in her ears and she suddenly realised that he was as conscious of their closeness as she. But he didn't let her go, instead his arms tightened and he looked down at her with a strange glint in his dark eyes. Her heart came up into her throat and a wave of heat seemed to set her insides on fire. Slowly he bent his head towards her.
Blind panic filled her and she turned her head sharply away. 'Let me go! 'she gasped. And then on a rising note of alarm, 'Let me go. You're hurting me!'
Immediately he released her and took a step backwards. 'I'm sorry,' he bit out abruptly, and dug his hands into his pockets. 'I didn't mean to hurt you.'
Kirsty stared at him, fists clenched, her voice unsteady. 'No, you'd draw the line at that, wouldn't you?’ It wouldn't be the gentlemanly thing to do to hurt a woman physically, but it doesn't matter how much you hurt me mentally by accusing me of being a fool and a liar, let alone all the things you thought me when we first moved here.'
His voice was harsh. 'What else am I supposed to think when you deny your guilt one day and then admit it the next?'
'I didn't admit anything. I just said that I felt responsible because the clippings came from my garden.' She looked at-him pleadingly. 'You jumped to conclusions and were wrong about us before, can't you admit that it's possible you've been mistaken this time?'
He looked at her for a long moment, his face brooding, then he gave an abrupt, negative shake of his head. 'I want to, Kirsty, but there’s no other possible explanation and I…'
But Kirsty didn't wait to hear him finish. 'Oh, what does it matter? What the hell do I care what you think of me?' And she turned with a sob, that belied her words and ran down the lane towards the cottage.
That weekend the members of the Local History Society arrived early on the Saturday morning and were soon hard at work. They were a friendly crowd of a mixed age group and there was a lot of laughter and frequent breaks for liquid refreshment to wash down the cakes and scones that Penny pressed on them. The two girls felt duty bound to be on hand in case the workers needed anything, but on the Monday the work had progressed so well that they took the afternoon off and walked down to the village green to watch the May festivities. Several stalls and sideshows had been set up, and after they'd watched the children weaving through the intricate maypole dances they wandered around, stopping to buy home-made fudge or guess the weight of a cake. They were trying their luck at bowling for a pig, when Dave Pagett joined them and spent the rest of the afternoon with them. Kirsty was pleased to see him, not only for his own sake, but-also because she had noticed one or two people giving them curious glances and guessed that the story of the cows must have got round» so she was grateful to him for the support his presence gave them.
While they were watching the tug-of-war beween a team from the local pub and those from surrounding villages, Kirsty turned and under cover of the enthusiastic shouts of encouragement, asked him whether he had heard.
He nodded. 'One of Ted Singleton's farm hands was talking about it in the pub the day it happened, although apparently the Squire had told them not to say anything. But this chap told it in confidence to someone and was overheard; purposely, I shouldn't wonder, and it was all over the village in no time.'
'I see.' Kirsty looked at him in some dismay.
'Shouldn't worry about it too much, though,' Dave said reassuringly. 'Nobody blames you; things like that happen all the time in the country.'
'But they think I lied about it, don't they?' she said bitterly.
"They just think the Squire frightened the wits out of you.' He gave a chuckle. 'This chap said he hadn't seen the Squire so mad in years I'
Kirsty derived a little comfort from his words and was able to watch the displays of Morris dancing and the comedy of Saint George and the Dragon that followed without her mind being so clouded with anxiety. She found that she very much wanted to be a part of the crowd of spectators, all of whom knew one another and knew the,piayers as well, so that every line was greeted with ribald comments and witticisms that made the villagers roar with laughter but meant nothing to outsiders. Dave tried to explain, but got so involved with village histories that he eventually gave up.
There was to, be a dance in the village hall that evening and Dave asked them both to go, but Kirsty tactfully said that she. must stay at the cottage while insisting that Penny go instead.
'But don't let her overdo it,' she warned Dave when he called to collect Penny and was waiting for her to get ready. 'She still gets tired very easily.'
Perhaps Kirsty did feel a little wistful as she watched them set off. Penny flushed and excited, Dave with his hand under her elbow in a proprietorial mixture of pride and care, but she determinedly pushed it aside; now was no time to start feeling lonely or maudlin. And when Mr Reynolds called her in to look at
the finished room, she was glad she'd stayed. The members of the Society stood aside as she walked in and watched for, her reaction with eager expectancy. Kirsty stood in the middle of the room and just stared, open-mouthed, at the transformation.
'Why—why, it's fantastic!' And in fact she hardly recognised the place as being the same shabby room. They had stripped off the old plaster from walls and ceilings to expose the original beams, and these they had cleaned and treated to bring out the colour and age of the wood. Then they had carefully re-plastered in between the beams, making the room look far larger than it had before. The brickwork of the ingle-nook had been cleaned with a wire brush and shone its original deep red colour which looked warm and attractive even without a fire, and the carving on the thick oak lintel could be clearly seen as a design of swathes of vine leaves and bunches of grapes. On top of all this they had mended the broken panes in the latticed windows and repainted all the woodwork and the window-seat. They had even cleaned the floor and varnished it.
'There are still one or two things we have to do, of course,' Mr Reynolds told her. 'We still have to emulsion the walls and ceiling when the new plaster dries out, but we should be able to do that in a couple of days and then you can use the room.'
'It's marvellous. I'd never have believed it could look so good.' Kirsty was warm with her thanks and praise, which they seemed to appreciate. Then someone suggested that they all go for a drink, so they made their way to the village pub and took up half the space in the small saloon bar, where they sat around laughing and talking until closing time.
Sally Wentworth - Garden of Thorns Page 10