‘But the Lord knows when he’ll really get going.’ He shook his head.
‘He’s short of money?’ But she already knew the answer.
‘Short is right. He’s got a bit but nothing like what is needed. He should be employing labour and machines to clear the place. But he’s only got enough to carry him for six months or so. His old father was a bit of a swine, you know—he must have hated his guts. Mike always loathed this place, and now he can neither sell it nor let it. The only thing he can do is live in it. He must have felt very loath to come back, for he’s always said they could do what they liked with it. But some of the birds around here have been trying to get a compulsory order on the land. Well, anyway, here he is. And he’s got some nice neighbours.’ The smile with which he accompanied this latter was a bit too pert and it brought Rosamund slowly to her feet. She was just about to take her leave of him with a laughing remark to match his own when she saw the subject of their conversation. Across Gerald Gibson’s shoulder she saw in the distance Michael Bradshaw emerge from the wood. As she watched him hesitate for a second before coming on she was filled with an uneasiness and a desire to dive into the water. Her voice was quiet as she said, ‘Here’s Mr Bradshaw now.’
‘What? Oh!’ Gerald turned and called a greeting to his friend. ‘Hello there.’ And as he drew nearer he shouted, ‘I’m still here. I met a water sprite.’
Rosamund could not translate the expression on Michael Bradshaw’s face as he came up to them; there was a blankness about it that could be hiding any type of emotion. It was, she supposed, a definite poker expression, but nevertheless it filled her with a vague unease. Whereas she certainly hadn’t minded sitting next to Gerald Gibson in her bathing costume, under Michael Bradshaw’s look she had the feeling that she was almost naked, and she wished heartily that she had her dress at this side. To cover her embarrassment and make light of the situation she laughed as she looked at Michael, saying, ‘I’m trespassing again.’
‘Yes, I see you are.’
Oh dear, dear, he was utterly humourless. Surely he couldn’t mean that he minded her being on this side of the pond? He hadn’t minded her trespassing to take the child back. She felt the unfairness of the situation.
‘Well’—she was looking him straight in the eye as she spoke—‘I’d better get to my own side, I suppose.’
He did not answer and she turned now and looked at Gerald Gibson, and she forced herself to smile amicably as she said, ‘Goodbye then.’
‘Goodbye. I’ll be seeing you.’ His voice, high and pleasant, held perhaps just the faintest note of embarrassment. But his embarrassment was nothing compared to her own as she turned her back on them and entered the water. She felt hot with it, and with annoyance too, and this came out in her stroke, for her crawl sent the water spraying and she arrived at the other side somewhat exhausted. She suppressed the urge to turn round to see if they were still there, and, picking up her towel, she rubbed at her hair. Then she pulled her dress over her wet costume and slipped on her sandals. As she turned her face towards home, her name being called brought her around, not to look across the river but to the bridge and Andrew.
‘Been havin’ a dip?’
‘Yes. I didn’t hear the car.’
‘No, I walked over.’
She waited for him to reach her side, and as she turned again she glanced casually across the pond. The two men were still standing on the far bank and looking towards her. Her sense of humour taking over, she laughed to herself. She had spoken to three men in a matter of minutes, two of them comparative strangers. This had never happened to her before. It would seem that the fenland was crowded with men.
‘I’d like to bet that the burly one of those two is Bradshaw.’ Andrew had given a little jerk of his head in the direction of the pool.
‘Right first time.’
‘Who’s the other?’
‘A friend of his, name of Gibson, from Hockwold. Do you know him?’
‘I don’t know him, but I know a Gibson, an elderly man, could be his father. By the way, are you on visiting terms with his lordship?’ Again Andrew indicated the pool.
‘I wouldn’t say visiting terms, Andrew. I bumped into him in the wood a few nights ago. I was dashing for you—father had set the bed alight.’
Andrew stopped. ‘What happened?’
‘Oh.’ Rosamund went on to relate her father’s lapse, just touching lightly on it and also on the outcome of her meeting with Michael Bradshaw. But when she told him about the child, being Andrew he said, ‘Poor devil! He has his hands full, then. I’ll drop in and see him sometime. Perhaps I can lend him something. You always want the loan of something when you’re starting from scratch again.’
Rosamund said nothing that would deter him from visiting Michael Bradshaw. The man’s attitude to another man might be different altogether. Anyway, Jennifer would likely give him all the reasons why he shouldn’t visit their neighbour.
‘How’s Jennifer?’ Andrew kept his eyes looking straight ahead as he asked this question, and Rosamund too looked ahead as she answered, ‘I don’t know how we’ll find her now, but she looked rather beautiful when I left her a little over an hour ago. She had put on a new dress she had made—I think she was expecting a visitor.’ She glanced at him sideways and met his eyes now, and they laughed together.
‘Do you think absence has made the heart grow fonder?’
‘I would say it has, but don’t overdo it, Andrew. She’s…’ She looked at him fully now as she said, ‘She’s not very happy at present.’
He nodded at her, and in silence they continued the journey to the house.
As Rosamund led the way up the steps she called, ‘Jennifer! Jennifer!’ and when she received no answer she went into the sitting room, only to find it empty, then into the kitchen, saying to Andrew as she passed him, ‘Sit down a minute, I’ll get her.’ In the kitchen she found her father making a drink and asked immediately, ‘Where’s Jennifer?’
‘I…I think she went up to bed. She was a bit disturbed—in a huff, I think.’
‘Bed? But it’s only nine and Andrew’s here. Go and talk to him, Father, will you?’
‘Yes, yes, I’ll do that.’
Rosamund, leaving the kitchen, went straight upstairs and into Jennifer’s room.
Jennifer indeed was in bed and pretending to be sound asleep. Standing over her, Rosamund shook her by the shoulder and said, ‘Come on, you can’t be asleep yet. Jennifer, listen to me. Andrew’s here.’
‘Well, he knows his way back home.’
‘Don’t be silly. Don’t be a fool, Jennifer.’ Rosamund was hissing at Jennifer now, and Jennifer, swinging herself round in the bed and sitting up, hissed back at her. ‘A fool, am I? Yes, I know I am. I’ve sat there all night waiting for him. And last night, and the night before. I suppose Miss Hooper is otherwise engaged tonight or he wouldn’t be here.’
‘Look.’ Rosamund was speaking patiently now, softly and patiently. ‘Get up, Jennifer, and get dressed. I’m telling you, don’t let Andrew go away without seeing you. If you do you’ll be sorry for it.’
‘Me be sorry? Why should I be sorry? I’ve been sitting here like a Victorian miss just waiting for him to condescend to come and see me. Ask yourself, has he ever come this late before?’
‘He’s been working.’
‘He’s been working other nights but he could always find time to slip across. I’m not coming down, and you can tell him that.’
‘You’ll be sorry, I’m telling you. You’ll be sorry.’
Jennifer’s voice was calm now and had a cold ring to it. ‘I’ll be sorry? What are you trying to tell me—that he’s after somebody else and if I’m not careful they’ll hook him? Well, let them go ahead. I’m not running after Andrew Gordon now, or ever.’
On a burst of swift anger Rosamund leant towards her sister as she exclaimed, ‘No! But you could run after Mr Bradshaw. Why, if you could do that, can’t you pocket your pride and come downst
airs for a minute?’
‘You’re an absolute pig. Go on, get out and leave me alone.’
As Rosamund turned to go to the door Jennifer’s voice hit her saying, ‘Now you can go and comfort dear, dear Andrew; you’ve always had a sneaking liking for him. Oh, I know.’
Rosamund, filled with anger, turned and for a moment glared at Jennifer. Then, clamping her lips together, she swung round and out of the room.
She had no need to speak when she entered the sitting room. Andrew, who was talking to her father, broke off for a moment to look at her, and then resumed the conversation—the house was not so large that voices would not carry downstairs. She left the room without speaking and went into the kitchen.
Five minutes later Andrew opened the kitchen door and, putting in his head, said, ‘I’ll be off then Rosie.’
‘I’m making some coffee, Andrew.’
‘Not for me, thanks all the same.’
She walked to the front door with him, but she did not say anything.
Her father, embarrassed for Andrew, was standing behind them. ‘Goodnight Andrew. Try to look in tomorrow.’
Andrew made no reply to this but simply said, ‘Goodnight, Henry.’ Then, smiling somewhat sadly at Rosamund, he said, ‘Goodnight, Rosie.’
‘Goodnight, Andrew.’ She did not add to her father’s invitation, ‘Come tomorrow.’ That would be up to Andrew. He was a quiet man, but a stubborn one. Jennifer was a fool.
Chapter Six
It was seven long hot days later, and the occupants of the mill, each in their own individual way were tasting unhappiness.
Henry Morley, because he couldn’t get at his craft. The materials had been sent for but had not yet arrived, and Henry had found that there was only one thing that had the power to ease his craving, and that was work, even if the finished article was only an imitation of the real thing.
Jennifer was unhappy with an unhappiness that she wouldn’t have believed possible, and all over Andrew Gordon. The old stick-in-the-mud Andrew Gordon. Andrew had not been near the place since a week tonight and she could not sleep for thinking of him…and Janice Hooper. And she was not a little puzzled at her own reactions, for she was now also full of self-condemnation over her casual treatment of Andrew during the past two years.
And then there was Rosamund. Clifford’s defection had hurt her deeply, and she was filled with vague fears that she couldn’t pin down but which were all mixed up with the insecurity of their lives. Their security was really no worse than it had been for years, yet in a strange way she felt that it was threatened. Life at the moment seemed very empty and purposeless. This had been added to by the fact that for the last five days she hadn’t seen the child. The last two occasions she had taken her back from the other side of the river she had delivered her to Maggie, for Michael Bradshaw had been nowhere in sight. She just couldn’t guess at what method he had adopted to keep the child in, but whatever he had done it had apparently succeeded.
She was in her room, actually on her hands and knees polishing the uneven wooden floor, when Jennifer came in. Her sister’s voice was stiff and slightly sarcastic as she said, ‘You have a visitor.’
‘Me?’
‘Yes. I would straighten your hair, you look a sight.’
‘Who is it?’ Rosamund asked this question as she ran her fingers through the thick coppery tumbled mass of hair.
‘Our neighbour, Mr Michael Bradshaw.’ The name was given stress.
‘Mr…What does he want? Did he say he wanted to see me?’
‘Well, he certainly didn’t want to see me.’
‘Oh…oh.’ Rosamund pulled off her apron, and, again pushing her hands through her hair, went rather self-consciously past Jennifer.
‘I’ve put him in the sitting room.’
Rosamund, glancing back at Jennifer, was on the point of saying, ‘What do you think he can want?’ but decided against it and hurried on down the stairs.
When she entered the sitting room Michael Bradshaw was standing facing the door as if waiting for her. She closed the door behind her and stood with her back to it for a moment before advancing towards him. She did not give him any formal greeting, but, rubbing her hands together and on a nervous laugh, said, ‘I’m very untidy, I was polishing the floor.’
As he looked at her hands she felt that she wanted to push them quickly behind her back.
Reverting to formality, she said, ‘Won’t you sit down?’
‘No…No, I can’t stay…Thank you. I’ve…I’ve come to ask you a favour.’
‘Yes?’ She was looking straight up at him. ‘Is it the child?’
‘Yes. She’s been in bed for some days now with measles. Maggie does her best, but she’s too old to keep running up and down stairs and I’ve…I’ve been tied for days and it can’t go on, I’ve got to get the land cleared. I was wondering…if you could spare a few hours in the afternoon or’—he shook his head—‘any time to relieve me. It would just be a temporary measure. I’m looking out for someone to take charge of her.
‘I would be pleased to.’ She had not hesitated for a second. ‘My time’s my own after lunch.’
‘It would only be for a short time until she’s over this.’
‘That’s all right. I wouldn’t mind…’
‘I mean that; I don’t…’ His voice had risen a tone now. ‘I don’t want to impose on your good nature. I am seriously looking for someone to take charge of her. The trouble is…’ His chin jerked sideways and he went through the motion of pushing his cuff up and looking at his watch as he went on, ‘I couldn’t afford to engage someone professional, say a nurse—not at present, anyway. May I ask if you know of anyone who would fit this bill around here?’ He was looking at her again. ‘Someone not too old and yet not too young to be…to be afraid of her.’
She shook her head and thought for a moment before she said, ‘I can’t recall anyone to mind at present. The only young ones are the Brown children, and they are too young, they are still at school. I don’t really know anyone in the villages, they are too far away.’
‘Yes, that’s the trouble, the isolation.’
‘I can ask Andrew…Andrew Gordon. He comes in contact with quite a lot of people, he might know of someone.’
‘Thank you. I’d better state the facts whilst I’m on. I’m offering three pounds a week part-time, or as much time as they will do for that amount, and I can’t say for how long I’ll be able to pay that, but I must have someone for the next few weeks; and again I’m not under the impression that that sum is going to entice anyone out this far. Still, there it is.’
Every word he had said was indicative of the straits he was in, but no-one would ever have guessed it from the tone of his voice. It was brusque, even haughty, as if he were proposing to make breathtaking terms, yet, strangely, she was not now adversely affected by his manner. She had the desire at this moment to pull him off his iron guard by saying, ‘Come on, what are we waiting for? Let’s go!’ Instead she said, ‘Will you have time to stay and have a drink, we usually have it about now?’
‘No, thank you, I must get back.’
He was moving towards the door now when he turned and, looking at her again, said, ‘I’ve told you before that I think you are very kind. I can only repeat it.’
His words were so stiff, his manner so proper, she felt for a moment she would rather have him yelling at her, or being rude as he had been during their first two meetings. This kind of politeness she felt was entirely unnatural to him. He was the type of man who would laugh heartily, and curse heartily…and love grandly. She found herself blinking as she looked away from him. She said, ‘You are really doing me a favour. We’re…we’re very slack at present and there’s nothing to fill one’s time.’
He was staring at her fixedly, and now he said in a more natural tone, ‘You want me to believe that, so I will.’
‘I’ll be over shortly after lunch, about half past one. Will that do?’
‘Yes, that�
�ll do.’ His hand was on the knob of the door and he was about to open it when his glance swept the room as he commented, ‘You have some lovely pieces here; you are to be congratulated. It’s something different from what it was in the Talfords’ day.’
She was looking towards the desk as she replied, ‘Yes, they are lovely pieces and they’ve created in me a passion for antiques, but…’ She paused and turned her eyes to him again as she said quietly, ‘They are not ours, they don’t belong to us.’ She was strangely happy that she was able to say this; it gave her a deep satisfaction to couple their own lot with his, and so she added, ‘Everything in this house belongs to my aunt. The property is my uncle’s, and we can only stay here during my father’s lifetime.’ She gave a little sigh here and finished on a wry smile. ‘My aunt will make short work of us once my father goes.’
He seemed unable to answer her for a moment, and then a remarkably softening effect swept over his face. It couldn’t be called a smile, it could be attributed rather to a slackening of tension in the muscles. ‘We could be practically what you call in the same boat,’ he said.
She nodded at him and smiled broadly.
‘I’ll see you this afternoon, then?’
‘Yes, this afternoon.’
They walked into the hall and out on to the steps, and there he turned and inclined his head towards her before running down the steps with a lightness of tread which was unusual in a man so heavily built.
Jennifer, coming out of the kitchen and joining her at the front door, looked to where he was stepping into the boat and she said, ‘He wants you to go and see to the child, doesn’t he?’
‘Were you listening?’
‘No. But what else would bring him here? He can turn on the charm when he wants anything. It’s a wonder I didn’t slam the door in his face…I almost did.’
Rosamund said nothing to this, and as she walked across the hall towards the stairs Jennifer was forced to ask, ‘What are you going to do?’
The Fen Tiger (The House on the Fens) Page 10