by Jane Jackson
‘I see. But if she’s not eating how can she regain her strength?’
‘While she’s accepting fluids her refusal to eat is not as yet a major problem. Also I’ve prescribed a mild sedative to ensure she sleeps as much as possible. Violet is very experienced with such doses. You may be aware she is also personal maid to Mrs Chenoweth?’
‘Ah,’ said Edwin.
‘Exactly,’ John said. ‘Mrs Chenoweth is also benefiting from mild sedation. Anyway I’m much obliged to you.’
As Edwin followed him out into the hall there was a knock on the front door.
‘It’s all right, Miss Bowden,’ Edwin called as Flora bustled out from the kitchen. ‘I’ll answer it.’
Muttering that it was ‘never right nor proper’, Flora retreated again.
Reading surprise and amusement in the doctor’s raised brows Edwin gave a wry shrug. ‘Miss Bowden and I have different ideas about a minister’s role. I think she misses Mr Peters.’
‘The village certainly saw a lot less of him than it does of you.’
‘So I’ve been told.’ Edwin opened the door. Martha Tamblin was standing on the step, her hand raised to grasp the knocker again and clearly in the grip of powerful emotion. She blinked as the doctor appeared. After a brief nod and a murmured, ‘Aft’noon, doctor,’ she ignored him.
‘Listen Reverend, I’m sorry to come bothering you but you did say –’
‘I did, Mrs Tamblin. I’m glad you took me at my word. How can I help?’ Feeling the doctor pat his shoulder as he passed, Edwin raised a hand in acknowledgement without shifting his gaze from Martha’s anxious face.
‘Polly’s in my kitchen sobbing her heart out, poor little mite. Took me ages to find out what was wrong.’ Martha’s chest swelled and she reddened with anger. ‘Little buggers! Telling the child her mother didn’t slip; she jumped because she wasn’t right in the head. I tell you, there’s some spiteful people in this village and that’s the truth. No youngster would think up something like that by theirselves.’ She glared up at Edwin, her eyes full of tears. ‘Then she asked me if it’s her fault her ma drowned.’ Martha pressed a hand to her face, her mouth trembling. ‘I tell you Reverend, if my heart wasn’t broke already – that little maid have been looking after her sister and brothers since she could walk. Good as gold she is. I told her and told her it wasn’t nothing she done or didn’t do. I said her ma had gone to heaven to be with her da. I meant it for the best. Only I shouldn’t have said it because Poll think that means her ma didn’t love her and Meg and the boys, else she wouldn’t have gone away and left them.’ Wiping her wet eyes she sniffed, ‘Poor little soul. I dunno what to do, Reverend. Will you come and talk to her?’
‘Of course I will.’ Pity wrenched Edwin’s heart. Conducting Ellie’s funeral service so soon after her husband’s had shaken him. Six-year-old Polly had not cried in chapel or at the graveside. Chalk-white apart from the dark circles round her eyes, she had held her toddler brother on her skinny hip while Martha carried the baby on one arm and held little Meg’s hand with the other.
The coroner had called it a tragic accident. But that hadn’t stopped the whispers. His housekeeper considered it her duty to keep him abreast of all the village gossip. When he tried to tell her he wasn’t interested she had startled him by demanding how he could do his job properly if he didn’t know what was going on.
Later, thinking it over in his study, he saw that she had a point. He did not have to believe the rumours. He certainly never repeated them. But being aware enabled him to call on someone – always offering a legitimate and totally unrelated reason – when spirits were lowest and comfort most needed. Occasionally he was turned away. But when he went back, as he always did, he was usually invited in. Sometimes the invitation was grudging, sometimes defiant. He didn’t mind.
‘Step inside a moment,’ he opened the door wider. ‘I just have to tell my housekeeper I shall be out for a while.’
Martha shook her head firmly. ‘I’ll wait here if it’s all the same to you.’
Edwin sighed inwardly. He wanted the manse to be a welcoming haven to all those seeking his help. Yet while people like Mrs Williams, Mrs Nancholas, or the stewards and elders were happy to sit and drink coffee or tea while they discussed chapel business, few of the villagers would step over the threshold. They wouldn’t say why. But he knew.
Flora Bowden was an efficient housekeeper who had clearly suited Mr Peters very well. Because Edwin did not share his predecessor’s ideas or methods, his relationship with the housekeeper was not comfortable. In any case he didn’t want a housekeeper he wanted a wife. He wanted Grace. Grace who was suffering God knew what agony of mind. Slamming a mental door on that thought Edwin smiled at Martha Tamblin. ‘I won’t be a moment.’
Polly’s incoherent grief brought back painfully vivid memories of Akhil. Sitting opposite the little girl at the kitchen table he repeated softly and gently that her mother had loved her – loved all of them – very much and would never willingly have left them. Then while Martha fed the baby and Meg played with her brother on the floor, he asked Polly to tell him some of the things her mother had said or done that made her feel warm and happy.
Later, when Polly rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and said she was sorry for making her nan cry, he ached with compassion. She was six years old. She had lost both parents within a few months of each other. She had spent her childhood taking care of her siblings. Now she was apologising because her grief had upset her grandmother.
He supposed he ought to tell her to be brave, that her mother wouldn’t want her to weep. The words stuck in his throat. Instead he told her that sometimes, if she felt very sad, it was all right to cry. Her nan wouldn’t mind because she understood.
‘Even though your mother was a grown-up she was still your nan’s little girl. So your nan misses her too, just like you do.’
Polly peered at her grandmother whose face was wet with tears. After an instant’s startled glance in his direction Martha nodded. Edwin watched comprehension and relief fill the little girl’s red swollen eyes.
‘So I don’t have to be brave all the time?’
Catching Martha’s eye Edwin waited, saying nothing.
Swallowing audibly Martha smiled through her tears. ‘Of course you don’t, my bird. But shall us try not to cry in front of the little ones? I tell you what, when we’ve had tea and got these three up to bed, you and me’ll have a cuddle and I’ll tell you some of the things your ma got up to when she was your age. Like that would you?’
‘Oh yes,’ Polly breathed nodding vigorously. ‘Did she do naughty things sometimes?’
Martha nodded. ‘A little terror she was, and got her bottom smacked for it. But I loved her just the same. Just like I love you.’ Her voice breaking she cleared her throat loudly.
Scrambling down from the chair Polly picked up the empty water pitcher.
‘C’mon, Meg, coming up the pump with me?’
As the two children went out hand in hand Edwin followed them to the door.
Martha put down the bottle and tilted the baby forward over her splayed hand. As she rubbed and patted his back his head wobbled like a flower too heavy for its fragile stalk. ‘You’re a good man, Reverend.’
The words cut deep. Edwin raised a finger to his lips to silence her. ‘You know where I am if you need me, Mrs Tamblin.’
As he reached the junction between Miners Row and the main street the clock in the tower struck six. It had been a long and busy day. This last hour had resurrected memories he wished might have remained undisturbed. Bitterness snaked through him. God certainly moved in mysterious ways. In seeking to bring comfort to a child and her grandmother he had been brutally reminded of the reason his yearning for Grace could never be fulfilled.
He loved her but could never tell her so. He had deliberately avoided her. Now Doctor Ainsley’s request for his help meant he had to see her again. Rejoicing at the prospect he was horrified at the reason and anguished
as he tried to imagine her suffering. He must never forget even for a moment that for him nothing would change. Though the opportunity to help her through this crisis was a precious gift, keeping his own feelings hidden would demand the kind of strength he wasn’t sure he possessed.
He started across the road taking little notice as a horse trotted up from the smithy.
‘Mr Philpotts?’
Glancing up he saw Bryce Damerel rein in.
‘Could I – do you have a moment?’
Edwin hesitated. ‘Is it important?’ Bryce’s expression blanked like shutters closing and Edwin realised he had been misled by the smile. This had not been a casual enquiry. Swiftly he tried to retrieve the situation. ‘Of course it is, or you wouldn’t have asked.’
‘No, it doesn’t matter. Really.’ Bryce shortened the reins and his horse moved forward. To delay him Edwin said the first thing that came into his head.
‘Dr Ainsley called to see me earlier –’
‘Dr Ainsley?’ The colour drained from Bryce’s face.
‘Yes. About Gr … about your sister. Was that what?’
‘No – Yes – I – Excuse me, I have to go.’
As the horse broke into a trot Edwin stared at Bryce’s back. He had an unpleasant feeling he had missed something important. No one could force a person to talk if they didn’t want to. But his initial response had hardly been encouraging. When he visited Damerel house in a few days’ time he would try to catch Bryce and apologise.
Dorcas’s garden gate squealed as Henry opened it then closed it again behind him, buoyant after his successful trip to Hayle. He was back where he belonged, on top and in control.
Expecting her to be in the garden his mouth had already shaped itself into a smile of greeting as he walked round the corner. The familiar sight of her easel with the chair behind it and the low table to one side warmed him. A backing board still rested on the pegs.
Now he was here he realised how much he had missed her. But there were only so many hours in a day. It was a matter of priorities. The cottage door was wide open.
As he approached it Dorcas appeared on the threshold, warned of a visitor by the squeaky hinge. But instead of coming out to greet him as she usually did, she remained where she was and folded her arms.
Guilt turned to irritation. He wasn’t in the mood for a scene. He raised his hands. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s weeks since I was here, but I’ve –’
‘Been busy? Indeed you have.’
Her tone made him think of a cliff-edge on a stormy night. Something was wrong. In all the years he had known her he had never seen that expression on her face. It stripped the flesh from his bones, exposed every nerve. Though distorted by the thick spectacle lenses her gaze was hard enough to bore through rock. He opened his mouth but she didn’t allow him time to speak.
‘I understand congratulations are in order.’
How had she found out? Who could have told her?
‘Dorcas.?’
‘You’re not going to deny it then? Tell me it’s all a mistake?’
‘No.’ He was determined to regain control of the situation. ‘I think it would be better if we discussed this inside.’
‘Still worried about your reputation?’ Her tone was a corrosive mixture of bitterness and pain.
‘No. But I am concerned about yours.’
‘Liar!’ As her face crumpled she whirled round and vanished inside. He followed, closing the door from force of habit. It was going to be far more difficult that he’d imagined. He stood looking out of the window onto the garden. He heard her moving about in the small kitchen. There was a splash of water. A few moments later she re-entered the cosy living room. He watched her cross to the only armchair.
In the past they had always sat together on the old sofa she had re-covered in holly-green velvet and brightened with gold and crimson cushions. Now he sat alone.
‘Dorcas, nothing will change. Nothing has changed. I was married before.’
‘To an invalid.’
‘I need no reminder.’
‘But Mary Prideaux is by all accounts a very healthy active woman. So,’ Dorcas’s spurious brightness set his teeth on edge. ‘Is this to be a marriage in name only? I thought not,’ she murmured as he looked away. ‘She’ll want a child while she’s still able.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Angry at feeling guilty, Henry was sharp. ‘Surely it’s a perfectly natural desire?’
‘Oh yes. If she is blessed, her child, unlike mine, will be fortunate enough to grow up knowing who its father is.’
Sliding from the sofa Henry knelt in front of her. He reached out to put his arms around her. But when she fended him off he sat back on his heels resting his hands on his thighs.
‘Dorcas try to understand. Mary is my only hope. Without her money Wheal Providence is finished. Thirty years of my life will be wiped out. Can’t you, just for a moment, think beyond your own hurt pride? Everything I possess is tied up in that mine. I’ve mortgaged the house. Over the years I’ve sold off every disposable asset –’
‘I know,’ she interrupted bitterly. ‘When I was living in Falmouth you had me evicted from my cottage so you could sell that.’
How in God’s name did she know? Shaken, he rallied every argument he could think of. ‘You couldn’t have stayed there. Not after you fell pregnant. Isn’t this cottage better in every way? Doesn’t it have the garden you said you always wanted? Haven’t you told me countless times how happy you’ve been here?’
‘Yes. But that’s not the point.’
He pushed himself up onto the sofa, deliberately putting distance between them. ‘Then I don’t know what your point is. I brought you to a place where you were safe, where you could paint in peace, where you had privacy to come and go as you pleased.’
‘That was for your benefit, not mine.’
Ignoring this inconvenient truth he carried on. ‘You have lived here for thirty years and it hasn’t cost you –’
‘I’ve paid rent,’ she flared.
‘That barely covered the repairs and maintenance.’ He tried to get a grip on his temper. ‘I did it with the best of intentions. Because I loved – love – you. I wanted our son to grow up in safe surroundings.’
‘Our son? Suddenly Hal is our son? So why have you never acknowledged him?’
This was too much. ‘For God’s sake, Dorcas!’ Henry exploded. ‘Why are you bringing all this up now? Haven’t I got enough on my plate? Without Mary’s money it will all be over. Everyone who invested in the mine and remained loyal during the hard times will be wiped out. I don’t mean just the adventurers, the major investors. I’m talking about the dozens of small business owners and the miners themselves. More than half the men in the village will lose their jobs. I didn’t have any choice. Can’t you see that?’
‘So what happened to the money you raised from selling this cottage?’
He swallowed. ‘How?’
‘It doesn’t matter how I found out. This is the second time you have sold my home over my head. Why didn’t you tell me, Henry? Didn’t you think I’d be interested?’
‘It was a simple business move. A means of raising capital I desperately needed. Besides, it hasn’t made any difference. For heaven’s sake, you haven’t been put out on the street. You’re a sitting tenant. You’re safe. Indeed, considering your reaction I’m glad I didn’t tell you. You might at least try to understand my position.’
Taking off her glasses Dorcas rubbed her face. ‘Henry, I have spent the last thirty years understanding your position. Couldn’t you have talked to me first?’
He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Everything happened so fast. Besides you’re so much a part of my life it never occurred to me it would make any difference. I still don’t see why it should.’
She stood up so quickly her glasses slid off the chair arm onto the floor. ‘It already has. You had better go.’
‘Dorcas, wait.’
‘No, Henry. Just go.’ As
she went to open the door she tripped over the edge of the rug and staggered forward, banging her shoulder against the doorframe.
‘Are you all right?’
No, she wasn’t.
‘Here,’ he thrust the spectacles into her hand. ‘There’s no point having them if you don’t wear them.’ He saw her bite her lip as she put them on. ‘Did you hurt yourself?’
‘What do you care?’ Her voice was flat and cold as she held the door open.
‘You’re being ridiculous.’ There was no reasoning with her in this mood. With a shrug he walked past her and out into the evening sunshine. ‘I’ll come and see you again, when you’ve had time to calm down.’
‘I don’t think so. There’s nothing more to be said. It really is a pity you couldn’t have found time to talk to me first. I’d have told you my good news.’
‘Well, tell me now. What good news?’ It was probably something to do with her painting and he wasn’t really interested. But for old times’ sake he didn’t want to part on bad terms. He’d leave her alone for a month or two, give her time to start missing him.
‘Mr Williams at the Bank tells me that Hal has been sending money back to Cornwall. He wanted it invested in property. So guess who bought this cottage when you put it up for sale?’ She raised a hand not giving him the chance to interrupt. ‘He has also been putting money into shares for me. I didn’t know anything about this until a few weeks ago when I received a letter from a Stockbroker in London. I’m a wealthy woman, Henry.’ Her mouth twisted briefly. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to visit so I could tell you.’
While he stood on the step, stunned and speechless, she quietly closed the door in his face.
Chapter Twenty
Edwin waited five interminable days. To get through the long hours he kept himself busy. It wasn’t difficult. For a minister who took his work seriously there was always more to do than time available. He made his usual visits to the sick and elderly housebound. He spent twenty minutes each day at the school. He wrote letters, presided over meetings and put in an appearance at numerous village activities.