“Tell me more,” she said firmly. “What about your family?”
“Well, there have been Creeds in Sancreed since time immemorial, but not all of us have been as circumspect as yours truly,” he continued. “We only attained respectability midway through the eighteenth century, which coincides with when the current house was built. Before that we were privateers and then fair traders to a man; some of us were hanged, some died in battle, a very few made it back home.”
Juliana sat up straight. He had a rather proud look on his face, and she smiled at the sight of it.
“And so what are you?” she teased. “Or rather, which would you be if you had your choice? Smuggler or…?”
“The correct term is ‘privateer’,” he replied with a smirk, “although all that really meant was that you were a smuggler with a government licence! However, I’ll have you know that I am considered to be perfectly respectable!”
He turned and stretched an arm along the back of the seat. It rested just above her shoulders. She could feel the tweed of his coat against her neck, and a flicker of recognition ran down her spine. She had sat here before, and Adrien had put his arm around her, just like this. She had to make herself concentrate on what he was saying.
“Just sometimes, though,” he said, a wistful tone in his voice, “I can hear the water calling and I know exactly what it was that made them go to sea, all my ancestors. It’s in my blood, like everyone else born here. You can’t escape it.”
“So you have always lived there? At Trevennen.”
He nodded, hair flopping in the breeze from the window he had opened.
“Of course I went away to school, then to Oxford. But Trevennen was always home. I didn’t get back much during the War. Leaves were never long, if we got them at all. My parents understood. Afterwards, I wished I had made more of an effort. They both died of flu not long after the Armistice.”
He paused for a moment.
“It was a shock, to lose them both so quickly, but in a way I’m glad they didn’t have to see the aftermath. They grieved over every local boy who died; they would have been heartbroken to see some of the survivors.”
He sighed, and she could see that he was thinking of something in particular, given the flicker of pain that crossed his face. He removed his arm without looking at her, and carefully slowed to allow a couple of large sheep to scramble from their precarious position on the road to the top of the steep bank, where they swivelled their woolly cream heads to scream after the car as it passed.
“To be truthful, until the War was finally over, I almost couldn’t bear to come back to Cornwall,” he said finally. “The thought of it tormented me, especially at night, when I tried to sleep. To fall asleep instead with my window open to the sea, to the sound of the waves on the rocks. To wake to clear skies and clean air and silence… I think I was scared to come home, in case I couldn’t make myself go back.”
She was touched that he would confide in her like this, then realised that to Adrien they had a history. He was talking to a woman with whom he had shared his life, not a stranger who until a week ago had been unknown and unsuspected. His voice tailed away, and his face bore a look of trouble that made him for an instant very much younger. Without thinking, Juliana reached out and touched her fingers to his cheek.
“But you have that,” she said. “You are home for good, now. I suppose… I suppose we both are.”
He almost smiled, although his eyes, scanning the road ahead for more livestock incursion, looked wary.
“I hope so,” he replied.
She was about to ask him what he meant, when the car swept clear of the high hedges and for the first time all day the sun shone through to illuminate the sweep of scrubby heath all around. The moor was low and still, a vast grey blanket with only patches of mauve and lime to suggest that one day soon the flat space would be covered with green things and bursting with life, yet she could sense the promise of the season ahead. She was charmed, and content now to sit and gaze out of the window. Adrien subsided into peace beside her, and they spent the next hour in what was not an uncomfortable silence.
Finally the car slowed and took a sharp right, the narrow road twisting between steep hedges, verdant banks beneath scattered with the gay spectrum of primrose and scilla. Occasionally there was the lowing of cattle in the fields beyond, or a pheasant scared from its casual perambulation to rise shrieking in the cool air. Once Juliana caught sight of a fox, its red-and-white body poised by a stile with a small brown body clasped in its jaws, wary as it watched them drive by. The air seemed warmer, tucked between the hedgerows, and added to the soft, damp scent of spring was that of salt. She instinctively touched her tongue to her lips. Beside her, Adrien caught the movement and smiled.
“Can you tell we are nearly there?” he asked, and with that the tall hedges flattened out and they were at the top of a steep hill. In front of them was spread out a wide vista of sparkling sea, endlessly changing greens and blues under a clear and shining sky.
Adrien slowed the car and she leaned forward eagerly, the movement echoed by her husband.
“I’m glad the sun came out before we got here,” he said.
He was gazing at the view with as much enthusiasm as she, it seemed.
“I so wanted you to see it at its best,” he said, then laughed. “There will be plenty of opportunity to see it through the rain, believe me!”
He started the car again, then stopped with a jerk, and clapped his hand to his overcoat pocket. Juliana looked at him in surprise. He pulled out a small leather box and opened it.
“I almost forgot,” he said shyly. “I thought you might like these back.”
“These” proved to be a white gold wedding band, and an emerald set in the same metal, the stone an exquisite scissors cut. Without thinking, she held out her hand, and with a smile of pleasure at her response, he removed them from the velvet one by one and slid them over her ring finger. They were cold and heavy, and unexpectedly familiar. She gazed at them for a long moment, and then up at Adrien, who was watching her closely, no longer shy, but intent.
“They feel right,” she said, surprised. “Like they belong to me. As if I just didn’t know they were missing before.”
“They were found close to where you disappeared,” he replied, and his face stilled, as if the memory had taken him by surprise. He was still holding her hand. Now he laid it back on her skirt, no longer looking at her. “I kept them. I’m glad that I did, now you have come back to wear them again.”
With that he took the brake off and drove on, over the top of the hill, and she saw now a small town spread out below them, clinging closely to the road as it wound downhill. The houses snaked along almost single file, then spread out along and around the small harbour below, imitating the line of the water up the hills on either side.
The car passed a number of small cottages, some of them so close to the road that Juliana felt she could reach through the brightly painted gates in the wall and rap at the front doors. She was about to ask about them when the car swung abruptly off the road to stop outside a squat stone smithy, the door wide open. Someone was working at the forge inside; she could see the glowing red of hot metal sparking in all directions as a hammer fell. A horse stood in the lee of the building, tethered loosely to a fence, tearing up a great mouthful of grass.
To the right was a large wood-sided shed, with a rusty corrugated metal roof. In front were two carts, one a single dog cart and the other with a capacious back end. Both bore ample mud on their wheels, but the bodies were spick and span clean. The gravel courtyard boasted a single pump for petrol, a large bucket of water and a brush, and a pair of long overall-clad legs ending in stout rubber boots that stuck out from under an old Morris. Adrien leapt from his seat and stood beside the Morris.
“Mags! I’m back,” he called, stepping back hastily as the legs wiggled and a young woman squirmed in double time out from her pebble bed.
She flung herself upon
him with a squeal, only stepping back as she saw his outstretched palms and realised that the front of her canvas overalls was covered with oil, and her hands no better. Adrien said nothing else, but pointed over at the Alvis. The grubby face under its knitted cap changed from delight to sheer astonishment, and then back to delight again.
“Juliana!” she shrieked, spinning from the car to Adrien. “Why didn’t you let me know you were bringing her back today?”
“You knew we were coming back soon. I did let them know at the house. I called last night. We left London very early this morning.”
Margaret’s face cleared.
“That explains it. I spent last night in Redruth. It was easier to sleep there and come in early this morning.”
She looked guilty.
“Actually, Mother did call earlier, but it was market day and we were busy. I forgot to call back.”
Her eyes gleamed as she appraised the Alvis.
“Going well? She must be, if you made it back from London in one go. I hope you didn’t scare your wife into fits!”
She spun again, elegant movements despite the boots and her ungainly apparel, then approached the car and leant over to address the occupant.
“I’m revoltingly grimy, as your husband has pointed out, so I shall not pull you out for a hug, although I’m so pleased to see you that I could dance a jig! Everyone’s been so excited since we heard that Uncle Andrew had found you.”
Under the coating of oil and dust, a pair of green eyes sparkled.
“We shall have to put off our reunion until I am cleaned up,” she said, and then she noticed the lack of response from the car and her face fell. “You really do not know who I am, do you?”
Juliana was forced to shake her head.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t remember.”
Margaret bit her lip, doubt clouding her face, then she seemed to pull herself together.
“Never mind!” she said breezily. “We can have the pleasure of getting to know one another all over again!”
Adrien, who had been watching this display with some trepidation, looked at the girl fondly, then crunched back over the gravel and got back into the car.
“That’s the spirit, Mags,” he said. “Dinner tomorrow?”
“Ooh, lovely,” she said. “Big do?”
“Jamie’s coming home, and Damaris is doing what she can to wheedle some time off. We’ll do family only tomorrow, don’t want to scare Juliana off! Mrs Fennell can kill the fatted calf for Sunday lunch instead.”
“Helena’s coming back too,” said the girl. “The Arnetts are going back to India, now the youngest one’s off to prep school.”
Margaret leant back down to the car and beamed at Juliana, who could not help but smile back, the girl’s happiness was so catching. Whatever she had been thinking before, Margaret was sincere now.
“You have no idea how ecstatic we are that you are home! See you tomorrow, darling Juliana!”
Leaving her to wriggle back under the car, they drove slowly downhill, until the road reached the water. In front of them was an immense stone building housing the harbour offices and a large packing shed. It sat out over the water, grey and squat, surrounded by a thick wooden dockside. Crowding it on all sides were fishing boats large and small, their mainsails flapping, and a chorus of metallic jingles sounding from the topmost spits.
The road split here, with the right-hand fork winding past the tip-tilted public house on the corner and then disappearing in a long curve behind it, to reappear on the other side of the harbour, leading up to the headland. Two carts were blocking the other side as they were loaded with the day’s catch, packed round with ice and dripping silvery scales in shining puddles over the cobbles. Unable to turn, Adrien stopped the car opposite the Lugger, as the public house’s sign declared its name to be, and hailed a tall man who was standing nearby.
“I’m back, Roskelly. How has the catch been? You look busy.”
The man touched his hand to his cap, then did a double take as he registered Juliana sitting alongside. He tugged at the brim again, more vigorously, and walked over to the car. He was a tall man, and had to bend down to make eye contact. Juliana had a glimpse of a lean weathered face, pock-marked and lined, but his smile was wide and genuine, and the whole was set off by a magnificent moustache and set of mutton-chop whiskers.
“It’s been a good week, Mr Creed, sir. Just finishing loading. But if I might, it looks like the week’s been better even for you!”
He smiled again at Juliana, revealing a set of gaps in yellowing teeth. His good humour was so evident and his eyes so bright and kind that she liked him immediately.
“Mrs Creed, it does the heart good to see you back here,” he said to her. “Welcome home, lady.”
He straightened up to shout instructions at the carts, which had finished loading and were readying to leave the quayside.
“Where are they taking the fish?” Juliana asked Adrien. There seemed to be an enormous amount of it, and she had seen nowhere for it to go to, not in those carts, certainly.
“Most of it will go up to London, by rail,” he answered. “The station is about two miles away. The carts will get it up there for the late train.”
He grinned.
“The distance to the station is one of the reasons Mags started her taxi service as well as the garage. She is the only mechanic for miles. On market day she never stops, either with the motor taxi, which you didn’t see today, or the pony and jingle.”
“One of the reasons?”
He gave a sly smile.
“The other is that she is crazy about machinery, and it seemed to her a good excuse to be able to work on engines as much as she wanted.”
He broke off as David Roskelly turned back to the car.
“See you, the way is clear now. Good day, sir, lady.”
He tapped his cap again with a wide smile and then moved away, waving the carts past as the donkeys that drew them started to plod slowly uphill. Only as they passed and the car was able to move did Juliana realise that everyone who was near enough to look was staring at her. The fishermen, readying to repair to the Lugger to drink beer; a knot of women outside the small stone cottage that housed, according to its painted sign, the post office and general store; even the children who were running around stopped to look. She caught the eye of a woman standing under the post office sign—behind her pince-nez her eyes were bright and curious, and although she immediately bowed her head in acknowledgement, her gaze was keen and Juliana knew that the news of her arrival in town would be widespread before many minutes were out.
Driving up round the harbour, Juliana was by now uncomfortably aware that the car was the focus of all attention, and was so busy avoiding anyone else’s eyes that she missed the rest of the town and only calmed down when they had left habitation behind and were pulling up the hill and setting out due west, into the golden dusk of the setting sun. It was not long before they turned again, right this time, through a stone gate, and up a wide, winding drive. She expelled her breath.
“I feel like I was on parade! Did we have to go through that?”
Adrien looked sympathetically at her.
“I’m sorry if that was uncomfortable for you, but I didn’t want us to seem to be sneaking back,” he replied, shaking his head. “Everyone knew that you had been found, and that you were coming home. Better for everyone to see you, and know you are here, than let the gossip start. I don’t know about London, but the grapevine here is the strongest plant there is.”
As the car wove between vast rhododendron bushes and swathes of sprouting green leaves, he continued to concentrate on the drive, and told her:
“You’ll have to be prepared to be something of a wonder here, for a while at least, Juliana. Your disappearance was the talk of the countryside. So many villagers helped search for you. Even when…”
His voice broke here, and he coughed. Juliana waited for him to continue, but there was no time, as
they pulled up in a large square driveway, surrounded by green shrubs and low trees. To two sides was the house, on the other the beginning of an arbour, and alongside it a green-painted gate.
“Welcome back to Trevennen, Juliana Creed. Welcome home!”
They stood on the gravel by the car. Adrien’s voice was gentle as he took her hand and kissed it, with a faintly formal bow that made her smile. He looked at her and his dark eyes were alight with a happiness that warmed Juliana more than even his words did.
“I’m famished,” he continued in a more prosaic fashion. “Let’s see what’s for tea.”
The house was large and long. Several rows of windows twinkled above her head, and the front door was a thick oak slab that looked as if it could withstand pirate attack with ease. It opened onto a square high room, dark parquet flooring shining in the electric light that spilled out onto the stone steps as Adrien opened the door. Straight ahead was a wooden staircase that split halfway up and branched off to either side to join a gallery that ran around. An octagonal table sat square in the middle of the room, with a magnificent celadon Chinese vase in the middle, filled at the moment with sprays of pale red blossom. By the table was a small, very blonde woman who stood at ease, sorting through the letters than sat there. At the sound of the door, she turned to them and her eyes fastened at once onto Juliana. Her pink mouth smiled, but Juliana was not sure that the movement was reflected in her eyes, which were small and blue and cold.
Adrien introduced them.
“Juliana, this is Fancy Evans, my cousin. Fancy, look who I happened to find in London!”
He beamed as he slipped Juliana’s outdoor coat from her shoulders and bore it off down a corridor to the right.
“How delightful to see you again, Juliana,” Fancy said politely, as if they had merely not seen each other for a month or so.
The Dead Woman Who Lived Page 4