Dust of the Land

by J. H. Fletcher

  ‘A good education is the key to a good life,’ she told him, as she did nearly every day. ‘Therefore you must work hard and study hard. Hah?’

  She had never lost her Chinese way of speaking, nor had she made any serious attempt to do so. Why should she? She was Chinese, after all.

  Later, with James asleep, she and Richard went for a walk.

  The mansion her mother-in-law had named Desire was easily big enough to accommodate all the family but two years ago they had moved out and bought a three-bedroom bungalow not far from the Swan River. It had seemed strange to Su-Ying that they should do this but it was the way things were done in the west and she had learnt to accept it, even though in her heart she did not agree.

  They strolled along the footpath beside the water. The darkness was alive with cicadas. Water birds squawked sleepily in the reeds, the sky was full of stars and the surface of the stream was burnished with silver light.

  They walked hand in hand, saying little, listening to the murmur of the water. In the bushes a dark shape took off in a thump of frightened feet.

  Startled, Su-Ying’s fingers tightened on her husband’s hand.

  ‘Only a wallaby,’ Richard said.

  ‘It made me jump,’ she said.

  ‘Leave jumping to the wallabies,’ he told her, and kissed her on lips and eyes before they strolled on.

  They walked for another five minutes before turning back. Su-Ying’s being was suffused with warmth. Richard seldom kissed her outside the bedroom; what he had just done signalled affection rather than desire, yet affection was capable of kindling desire and she tightened her grip on his hand. Impulsively she stopped in mid-stride and turned to him. Starlight shone silver in his eyes as she put her arms around his neck, willing him to kiss her again. As he did. Willing him to place his hand on her breast, a portent of what was to come when they got home. As he did.

  She knew she was beautiful tonight. When she was a child her grandmother had told her that love made all things beautiful; that knowledge gave her confidence, and her smile was radiant.

  ‘Come on, then,’ she said, tugging at his hand. ‘Come on.’

  They reached home to find the telephone ringing.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Bella crossed the rhododendron garden that in spring would be a wonderland of red, orange and white blooms and went into the house. It was a palatial entrance. From the glossy black front doors, fifteen feet high, the visitor had a view of a vast marble-floored hall with a sweeping staircase rising to the second level. It was a fairy-tale welcome to a fairy-tale palace. All was clean and ethereal, as though the hall and staircase were flying. The marble might have made it cold but the effect was softened by high windows rising to the second floor, through which the afternoon sunlight fell in slanting pillars of golden light. There were red and indigo silk carpets from China spread upon the floor and a Qianlong bowl in a display cabinet; Bella’s taste had always favoured the Asian.

  She climbed the stairs to her private study and sat at her desk. She studied the photographs of those who had loved her, those she had loved.

  While she waited for Owen to join her she considered who might be behind the day’s developments. Pete Bathurst was the obvious suspect. BradMin’s boss had the most to gain if Tuckers failed yet he could not have done it alone. He might have tipped off the international press, but outside Tuckers’s top management nobody knew their financial situation. It had to be an inside job. Who, beside herself, was in the know? Peace and Richard? They were her children, for God’s sake! Richard’s wife Su-Ying, whom she respected so much? Martin Dexter, her friend and would-be lover? Owen Freeth, the lawyer who had been with her for twenty-one years? It was unthinkable that any of them could have betrayed her, yet one of them must have done it. No alternative was possible.

  Bella buried her head in her hands. Was there nobody she could trust?

  The answer was stark and inescapable: there was not. She had always been alone; she had learnt that lesson as a child and repeatedly since, her memories of betrayal and abandonment as painful now as ever. Yet she had also benefitted from her experiences. She had learnt to fight, to be on her guard. No one got close to her without permission, while to be alone was also the burden and privilege of leadership. Now, in this hour of trial, that was doubly true. Betrayal was a blade, cutting deep. She could feel the hurt spreading through her body. Something else, too: a remorseless will to win, despite everything. And, in winning, to destroy the culprits. Whoever they might be.

  She knew people called her ruthless. She preferred to think she was determined. Whichever it was, it stemmed from the time when she was six years old and had first discovered what it was like to possess, then lose, everything her heart desired.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  It was early morning, the blackbirds singing in the hedgerows, when Bella heard the horse in the lane. Mumma was sweeping out the sitting room and Bella saw her straighten her back as the gate clicked.

  It’s Daddy come to see us, thought Bella, clapping her hands, but then she remembered it couldn’t be because Daddy had visited them only two days earlier and told them he would be away for two weeks with his father the earl visiting some of the family’s estates in Devon.

  The next thing Bella knew, this man, thickset and gaitered, was banging his clenched fist on the cottage’s open door. He looked horrible, with a round, scarred head and close-set eyes. His shoulders filled the doorway. He smiled, showing broken teeth. ‘Mornin’, Missus.’

  Mumma looked at him suspiciously. He was from the estate, Bella knew, but why he was here this sunny June morning she could not imagine.

  ‘Nice place tha got ’ere,’ the man said.

  ‘It’ll do,’ Mumma said shortly. ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘Name’s Willis. Factor at Grange. ’Appen tha knows that.’

  ‘I know who you are, yes.’

  ‘Got bad news, Missus. Sorry ’bout it.’

  He doesn’t look sorry, Bella thought. His huge fist was holding a folded piece of paper, which he thrust under Mumma’s nose.

  Mumma looked without touching it. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Notice to quit. Twenty-four hours’ notice.’

  Watching, Bella saw Mumma’s face go white. ‘’E’s ’avin’ us put out?’

  ‘That I can’t say. All I know is out tha must go, by this time termorrer. An’ I’ll be ’ere to make sure of it.’

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ Mumma whispered. Her eyes were wet. ‘’Ow can ’e do this to us?’

  ‘Thee an’ thine,’ Willis said. ‘An’ I’ve orders to check the furniture, an’ all, to make sure tha don’t tak’ nuthin’ that don’t belong to yer.’

  ‘But where will we go?’

  ‘Where tha wants, as long as tes away from ’ere. ’Ere,’ he said impatiently. ‘Tha gunna tak’ it, or mun I drop it on’t floor?’

  ‘It’s a misunderstanding,’ Mumma said desperately. ‘I’ll go to the Grange, talk to someone –’

  ‘Tha’ll not get past gate,’ the man said.

  ‘Who’s to stop me?’ she said with sudden fury.

  ‘Orders. ’Ere, tak’ it.’

  He thrust the paper into her hand and walked away, heavy body swaying on his gaitered legs. At the gate he looked back at Mumma, still staring at him from the open doorway. ‘This time termorrer, I’ll be back.’

  The latch clicked; he was gone.

  Bella was scared, sensing trouble. Mumma stared at nothing, the tears running down her face.

  ‘’Ow could ’e ’ave done this to us?’ Mumma said. ‘When we loves ’im so much?’

  She was talking to herself, or to the air, which frightened Bella even more. ‘What did the man want?’ she asked.

  ‘They’re gunna chuck us out.’

  ‘Will Daddy be coming with us?’

  ‘No, he won’t.’

  ‘But I like it here. I don’t want to go.’

  ‘You mustn’t talk like that!’ Mumma tried to p
ut on a cheerful look but Bella was not fooled. ‘We’ll go back to London, jest the two of us. You’ll like London. You ’n’ me’ll ’ave a great time together. What you think o’ that, eh?’

  Bella stared at the tears shining in Mumma’s eyes. ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘Excitement, that’s what it is. A new adventure.’

  But she put her arms around Bella and Bella felt the sobs she was trying to hide. Frightened and uncomprehending, she stood with eyes screwed tight, face pressed into Mumma’s side, and felt the secure foundations of her world shake as she prayed with every ounce of her being that this nightmare, so terrible and unexpected, would go away.

  Mumma found them a one-room flat in the slums of Rotherhithe, on the third floor of a dilapidated building not far from the church. Along the river the low tide exposed mud banks where gulls pecked at refuse brought down by the stream, and the air was foul with its stench. There was one bathroom and toilet per floor, shared by ten families. Usually it was filthy.

  ‘This is a horrible place,’ Bella wept. ‘I want to go home.’

  Home to the cottage, the apple tree, the blackbird singing in its branches.

  ‘You’ll just have to get used to it,’ Mumma said.

  Bella knew she never would. It was June yet the weather was cold and it never seemed to stop raining; after the neat Yorkshire cottage it was a nightmare. For weeks after their arrival Bella suffered from terrors that woke her every night, shaking and crying with fear. She couldn’t understand how her world could have fallen apart so horribly or why Mumma didn’t seem able to put things right.

  Every morning Mumma went out, telling Bella she was going to look for work. Sometimes she came back smiling, saying she’d done some cleaning for a lady down the street. Those were the days she brought home something special for their tea – but it didn’t happen very often. Most days when she came back Bella could tell from her expression that she’d had no luck. Then she would sit and stare out of the window and sigh and once Bella caught her in tears.

  Bella ran and put her arms around her. ‘Don’t, Mumma!’ She was so scared that she started to cry too. They clung sobbing to each other.

  ‘Are we gunna die?’ Bella asked.

  Mumma choked and tried to smile as she wiped the tears off both their faces. ‘Of course we’re not gunna die!’

  ‘There’s only one thing for it,’ she said the next day.

  She polished Bella’s boots, dressed them both in their best coats and hats and held her hand as they walked down the street to the bus stop.

  ‘Where we goin’, Mumma?’

  ‘A house called Tankerton Manor, outside Whitstable. Your mumma was in service there before the war. That’s where she met your daddy, when he was a guest of the family.’

  ‘Why we goin’ there?’

  ‘To see if they’ll give me a job.’

  Tankerton Manor lay half a mile from the estuary and Bella saw the occasional glint of water as she and Mumma walked down the long drive beneath an avenue of elms warped by age and the wind. They went around to the back of the house and Mumma knocked on what she said was the kitchen door.

  Bella knew how nervous Mumma was by the bright smile she gave her as they waited.

  The door opened. A ferocious face, red and scabby, glared out at them. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Does Mrs Stubbs still work here?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’ the woman said.

  ‘Tell her Jenny Tempest.’

  The door closed in their faces.

  ‘Who’s Mrs Stubbs?’

  ‘The housekeeper.’

  They waited while Mumma jiggled her foot. Then the door opened again and the same woman confronted them.

  ‘Mrs Stubbs ain’t at ’ome to no Jenny Tempest.’ A mean smile showed broken teeth. ‘She says to tell you she wonders you got the nerve to show yer face.’

  And the door slammed. Bella sneaked a sideways glance, saw Mumma’s face as white as white. ‘Why was she so nasty to us?’

  ‘They didn’ like me bein’ friendly with your daddy,’ Mumma said. ‘That’s why he took us to Yorkshire to live near ’im.’

  ‘Why didn’ they like you bein’ friendly?’

  ‘Never you mind.’

  Sitting beside her in the bus Bella heard Mumma say: ‘I’ll ’ave to get ’old of ’im some’ow. What else can I do?’

  And began writing a letter as soon as she got back to the flat.

  ‘You writin’ to Daddy?’ Bella asked.

  ‘No, dear. To my friend Mrs Grice.’

  Wife of the Ripon Grange under-gardener. Bella remembered her; Mrs Grice was nice. And Ripon Grange was where Daddy lived, not far from their cottage. She’d been past it lots of times but never inside.

  ‘Why don’ you write to Daddy?’

  ‘’Cause I don’t think he’d get the letter.’

  Two weeks later a strange man – about fifty and tall, with grey hair and wearing a dark suit – knocked on the door.

  ‘’Elp you with sumfing?’ Mumma said.

  ‘My name is Rigby,’ he said. ‘I ’ave the honour to be in the service of Lord Richmond.’

  Bella, watching from behind Mumma’s shoulder, saw him look with distaste at the stained walls of the building. The way he spoke, he might have been a lord himself.

  ‘I ’ave been instructed to locate Mrs Jenny Tempest,’ he said.

  ‘That’s me,’ Mumma said.

  ‘Lord Richmond ’as sent me to bring you to him. At his townhouse in Jermyn Street,’ he added.

  ‘Lord Richmond?’ Mumma repeated uncertainly.

  Mr Rigby had a beaked, haughty nose and used it.

  ‘The Earl of Clapham,’ he said.

  Bella knew who that was. Daddy’s father, which made him her grandfather.

  ‘What’s ’e want wiv me?’

  ‘He did not confide in me. Come,’ Mr Rigby said impatiently. ‘Let us not keep his lordship waiting. There is a car downstairs.’

  ‘I ain’t goin’ nowhere wivvout my daughter.’

  ‘Lord Richmond did not mention a child,’ Mr Rigby said.

  ‘Too bad.’

  They stared at each other but Mumma didn’t budge.

  Mr Rigby sighed. ‘Bring her if you must,’ he said.

  Bella looked at the carved portico, the white pillars on either side of the granite steps leading to a door that was glossy with black enamel. 73 Jermyn Street was very different from Rotherhithe.

  Mr Rigby led them into a side room and told them to wait. This they did, with Bella clutching Mumma’s hand. They stood in the middle of the room and did not dare sit down. The door opened and a man came in. He was the tallest man Bella had ever seen, with grey hair, lined face and a big moustache.

  He looked at them both, taking his time, before speaking to Mumma. ‘So you are Jenny Tempest?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’ She gave him a curtsy.

  ‘I find it hard to believe we are having this conversation,’ Lord Richmond said, ‘but there it is.’ He crumpled his vast length into a chair and flapped his hand impatiently. ‘Sit down, the pair of you.’

  They did so, Bella’s bottom perched on the very edge of the chair.

  ‘I have seen the letter you sent my son.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to trouble you, my Lord –’

  ‘I should tell you that neither my son nor I had any hand in your leaving the cottage. We had been away, as you no doubt know, and my son was shocked to find you had been evicted behind his back, and to have no means to contact you. It is fortunate that I had to come to town for the state opening of parliament just after your letter arrived. Tell me, how long had you been living in the cottage?’

  ‘Six years, my Lord.’

  ‘But you had known my son before that, of course.’

  ‘Since just before the war, my Lord.’

  ‘He has a very high regard for you,’ the earl said. ‘You know that?’

  ‘I know it. Thank you, my Lord.’

  ‘Don�
�t thank me. I wish he’d never met you. But there it is. And now there is the question of the child. Your child. And his.’ The beaky nose took aim at her. ‘She is his, I take it?’

  ‘Yes, my Lord. There’s bin no one –’

  ‘Quite. How old is the girl?’

  ‘Seven come August.’

  ‘Seven years. The same time that my son has been married.’

  ‘Yes, my Lord.’

  ‘Yet he and his wife have no children. The doctors insist there’s nothing wrong but she remains childless. It seems probable,’ said the earl, ‘that this child will be the only grandchild I shall ever have. I have therefore decided to do something for her.’

  Bella could feel Mumma quivering, her hands clenched tight in her lap.

  The earl said, ‘I intend her to come and live at the Grange and be raised as a member of my family. What do you think of that, eh?’

  ‘I am sure it would be a great honour for her, my Lord,’ Mumma said.

  ‘Rigby tells me you are living in reduced circumstances. Being at Ripon Grange would give her chances she could not expect otherwise. She would meet people of a completely different class. It might be possible for me to arrange a suitable marriage for her when the time came. However…’ The earl stared at Mumma severely. ‘I am afraid there can be no question of your coming with her. My son’s wife, you understand –’

  ‘Perhaps I could move back into the cottage?’ Mumma said.

  The earl shook his head. ‘I don’t think that would be wise.’

  ‘You want to take Bella away from me,’ Mumma said.

  Now Bella was more scared than ever. She whimpered, seeking the assurance of Mumma’s hand.

  ‘I don’ want to go nowhere wivvout you,’ she protested.

  Neither Mumma nor the earl took any notice.

  ‘I would be willing to pay you an annuity,’ he said. ‘Forty pounds a year, perhaps.’

  ‘But Bella would no longer be part of my life,’ she said.