“But she never took it up seriously?” she asked. “She is a governess, I believe.”
“The life of an artist was not what she wanted. Too unstructured. Helena wanted more of a routine, and started off as a housekeeper. To a family back on furlough. Coorg, I believe they came from. There was not enough for her to do, so she took on teaching the children too.”
It didn’t sound much like fun to Juliana.
“And she enjoys this?”
Geoffrey laughed.
“She thrives on it! She will come back here and spend a couple of weeks reorganising our house and our routine. Then she will get bored and start looking for something else to do.”
He smiled. It was odd to watch the upward curve of his mouth on the right not being mirrored on the other side. The tin was beautiful, but despite Helena’s artistry, it still remained just a picture. Geoffrey chuckled fondly over a memory.
“The last time she came home for a holiday, she organised all Margaret’s tools for her and cleaned them up. Margaret was furious when she got home to find out what had happened. Said she had known exactly where everything was, and the grease was to keep them in good shape. They are fond of each other, really, but it is not a good idea for them to live in the same house!”
Another maid appeared, a skinny girl with black pigtails pinned on top of her head, pushing a loaded tea trolley in front of her. She set the trolley carefully between the two, bobbed a curtsey and departed, taking a great deal of trouble not to stare at the guest. Juliana could almost hear the strain as the girl kept her eyes away.
“Adrien told me you were an expert on Cornwall, Mr Clevedon.”
“Geoffrey, my dear, please. We do not stand upon ceremony in this house. As you will know, having met my daughter.”
Remember Mag’s rapturous first greeting, and the high jinks at dinner the night before, Juliana could not but agree.
“Geoffrey, then. I’d like that.”
“And although you do not remember, you and I were great friends once,” he said gently. “I hope that we shall be again.”
He settled back and indicated for her to pour tea, as she realised that his hands had not escaped the flames that had ravaged his face. She poured out for both of them and put his cup and saucer down beside him.
“It is so strange, being back here and not knowing anything of where I am. I am keen to know a little more about where I live now. Adrien was insistent that you were the person to ask.”
Geoffrey lifted his cup carefully, several of his fingers not bending as easily as they ought. He sipped his tea before answering.
“Adrien is kind. It was not my subject originally. I was a doctor, you know. But I do take a keen interest in history now, and since moving here I have had a great deal of time on my hands. I read a lot, and the history of this part of the country really is engrossing. I am thinking of writing a history of the tin mines. Such an important part of the economy here, and the miners themselves are fascinating.”
Juliana leaned over and helped herself to a piece of anchovy toast. It was still piping hot, and someone had been lavish with both butter and relish.
“That’s what makes the estuary that odd red colour, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Very good, Juliana.” He smiled in return.
“Jamie told me when we were at the boathouse. No glory for me, I’m afraid.”
They ate in silence for a moment, doing justice to the delicious spread. Juliana took more toast.
“Perhaps you can help me. Adrien called me an emmett,” she questioned, careful not to drip butter on the carpet or her skirt. “A stranger, it means, apparently. Do they really think like that here?”
This earned another of his half-smiles.
“I am an emmett too, Juliana. Born in Sussex,” said Geoffrey. “It doesn’t matter how long you live here; if you were born east of the Tamar, you will never belong in their eyes. They are a peculiar lot, the Cornish. Very sure of themselves as Cornish, rather than English.”
“Adrien said something about that,” she replied, wiping butter from the corner of her mouth. “He woke me up when we crossed the Tamar. It was important to him, as if we’d crossed into another country.”
Geoffrey nodded.
“I think they see it as such. There are many wonderful stories about their independence, their ability to endure great hardships, and to overcome them. And a sense of togetherness that I find most touching. Do you know the story of Trelawny, and ‘The Song of the Western Men’? I’ll lend you a copy of a local history book that I discovered recently, it’s full of such things. And most useful as a guide to how people think round here. You will need it. Things will be very different to living in the centre of our capital.”
Nibbling at a currant biscuit, Juliana smiled. “That is an understatement.” She changed the subject, shyly. “You… you said you were a doctor. May I ask, was that why you were in France? Jamie said this morning that you were injured over there.”
Geoffrey cut his scone into pieces.
“Before the War, I was a surgeon at the Middlesex. Not far from your old abode, I believe.”
Juliana did know it.
“Gino Perdoni had his appendix out there,” she replied. “I got to know Men’s Surgical well.”
“His operation was probably done by one of my old housemen,” Geoffrey replied. “Anyway, when the War came, I realised quickly that this was going to be a war of attrition. I decided that I could be of most use with the Army. Sylvia, bless her, agreed wholeheartedly. I spent the next two years trying to patch up the rivers of young men who streamed through the hospital. Sent as many as possible back to the trenches, some got to go home, and some… well, it was the most dreadful mess all round.”
Juliana remembered the pain in her heart each day she passed Mr Stevens with his flowers and his matches. He had been a foot soldier. Geoffrey had made his contribution to the war effort with his skills as a doctor, but that had not spared him when the guns had fired and the gas canisters opened.
Geoffrey continued with his tale.
“I was invalided home mid-1916. Didn’t see the Somme out. And at about the same time that young fool ran off to join up. You know about Jamie? And his friend Simon?”
He shook his head, and for a moment sounded more angry than sad.
“I didn’t know Jamie served in France!” said Juliana. “He did mention someone called Simon, though. He went off to look for him earlier.”
“You will meet Bob and Daphne Cundy tomorrow. Simon Cundy is Bob’s nephew. He was orphaned when only a boy and came here to make his home with them. He and Jamie have been dear friends from the start. The two of them came home from Flanders in one piece, but only just. I think sometimes that it was their friendship that kept them going. They were so young to have to cope with what happened out there. What happened to them took years of their youth, and left them struggling to find their way.”
He looked troubled now. Whatever anger had been there had been temporary.
“Stupid boys, the two of them, and yet they meant well. That was one of the tragedies of the whole thing. All those young men who really believed they were doing the right thing. And in the end just cannon fodder and worm bait.”
Juliana said nothing. She realised that Geoffrey was almost not talking to her, but to himself.
“I was terrified for them. I knew what they were facing. Jamie had joined the Army. Adrien was already out there. Simon is a Quaker, and refused to fight. He joined the RAMC instead. Many Quakers were reviled for being conscientious objectors, but that didn’t stop them from doing their bit. I knew firsthand that being in the Medical Corps wasn’t going to save Simon from anything that Jamie went through. Not that there was anything at all I could have done by then. They were on their own. Dreadful things happened over there. But we came home, at least,” he finished. “Ours were not the families who had to stand in the churchyard with no coffins to bury, or grieve again each November that their own boy did not get to return.”
He changed the subject firmly after this.
“How are you getting on with the rest of the household?” he asked, watching her face carefully.
“I don’t think Fancy is overjoyed,” she answered frankly, sensing that it was safe to do so. “Everyone else has been wonderful, but she is… cold. She is perfectly polite, but there is no warmth behind it. Does that make sense?”
Geoffrey nodded, and thought for a moment before he answered.
“I heard about what happened last night. Sylvia was furious that Fancy should ruin your first dinner at home, although she did say that Adrien could have dealt with it all better. She was extremely cross with him too. He ought to have explained everything fully to you, as soon as he could.”
“I discussed it with him. I understand why it was difficult,” said Juliana, loyalty to her husband stopping her from saying anything further, although describing it as a discussion was stretching things a bit. After that short, fraught talk last night they had barely spoken. They had been painfully polite to each other at luncheon, each very aware of the state of things between them. “What puzzles me more was why Fancy brought the subject up. She did it deliberately!”
Geoffrey looked out the window. She could see that he was debating what to say next.
“I am sorry that you have sensed this so quickly,” he said finally, his good eye rather sad. “I doubt the situation will change. I have known Fancy for many years. In many ways I pity her. But alas, the current situation is not ideal. She stayed at Trevennen initially to help Adrien. Having Fancy there, and the two children of course, from time to time, was a distraction, and he did not have to worry about running the house. Of course, now that you have come back, the situation is rather bizarre.”
“I suppose Fancy will want to go back to her own house, won’t she?” asked Juliana, rather hopefully.
“Arnold Berkley and his sisters rent that from her,” replied Geoffrey slowly. “Elizabeth Berkley is delicate, that was why they moved to Cornwall. She has been rather ill recently. I really am not sure how that will resolve.”
She sensed that he thought it unlikely that Fancy would move back of her own accord, at least in the near future, and felt disheartened. She took a slice of seed cake and passed another to her companion.
“You said that you pitied Fancy. Pity is not an emotion I would associate with her,” she remarked.
“Sylvia has known her since childhood. They saw a lot of each other when they were younger. They shared a governess for a while, in fact. Fancy was the middle girl of three. The oldest, Gertrude, was a beauty, and one of the gentlest, kindest girls you could find anywhere. Lamorna, the youngest, was not beautiful, but was clever, and content to be so. Fancy was stuck in the middle. Attractive, but not a beauty. Intelligent, but not brilliant. Their father favoured Lamorna. He was tickled to have a child like her, and was instrumental in allowing her a proper education. She studied at Shrewsbury. And their mother was very like Gertrude. Fancy was, unfortunately, left without a champion. A difficult position to be in. It soured what was already a difficult nature.”
“How sad,” said Juliana, thinking of the petulance of Fancy’s mouth, and the sour look in her eyes.
“Indeed. She has spent her life being out of sorts with the world. The man she originally hoped to marry was betrothed to another. She married Hubert instead; he died when the children were not yet ten. Before that they were brought up mainly by a nursemaid. Damaris is a realist; always has been. She realised how things were early on, poor soul; she has made no claim on any maternal affection for many years. She channels all her love to her brother. Jamie is a dreamer and still yearns for love from his mother; hope springs eternal in him.”
Juliana nodded.
“I saw the way she treated them when they arrived,” she said. “It was like watching someone kick away a puppy, the way Fancy turned away from Jamie. Damaris seemed really not to care.”
“She pretends to be cold, but I believe that it still hurts her,” replied Geoffrey. “She simply refuses to show it. Over the years she has grown a carapace to shield herself. In her own way she is as stubborn as her mother.”
He sighed.
“I am not telling you this as gossip,” he told her. “The situation at Trevennen is not at all ideal for you. Or Adrien, for that matter. I want you to understand it a little. Perhaps it may help you to find your feet there.”
There was a pause. He touched his scarred hand to his face, to the mask, as if he had pain there, but Juliana realised that any discomfort was mental. He was an honest man, and obviously battling with finding a balance between truth and good manners.
“Do not underestimate her, Juliana. Don’t be lulled into a false sense of security. She was not fond of you before. That will not have changed.”
“What did I do to her? Did I hurt her in some way?”
“No, just that you married Adrien. Fancy had ideas of her own about a bride for him.”
Juliana was surprised.
“Really? She still bears a grudge even now?”
“Unfortunately. Belinda Mayfield is Fancy’s god-daughter. The daughter of the man Fancy hoped originally to marry. Fancy was keen on Adrien and Belinda making a match. She was most put out when he went to the Continent and came back with a bride of his own choosing.”
Given how things were turning out, Juliana was not sure that Fancy had not been correct. Geoffrey saw the unease on her face and patted her hand, the silk-soft scar tissue of his own like a whisper against her skin. She grasped his fingers gently, thankful to have found a friend.
“He made the right choice, in my opinion,” he said quietly. “Things may be awkward at the moment, Juliana, but work through them. You and Adrien have lost three years, to be sure, but you have a lifetime to make it up.”
Chapter 6
Sunday morning dawned, and with it the spectre of church service, another event that Juliana was dreading, knowing that she would be the centre of attention. Having been tempted to cry off, she woke that morning with the realisation that such a course of action would only delay the inevitable. She had much better hold up her head and get it over with. For her own sake, and for Adrien’s, too. The glimpse of his emotions during that frightful scene after dinner on Friday night had been a shock to her. Realising that the rearrangement of their lives was not only causing turmoil in her mind, but also in that of her husband, she wondered again what steps he had taken to rebuild his life during the last three years. Knowing that she had been presumed dead and buried, she would be surprised if he had not at least thought about finding another wife.
As it turned out, the whole experience of attending the service was not as bad as she had thought it might be. Adrien had tucked her hand through his arm as they left the car. She was grateful for his attention, and saw the gratitude reflected on his own face at the determined lift of her chin as they approached the lychgate. They did not linger in the churchyard, and after the initial reaction of the other attendees, that same mix of curiosity and uncertainty she remembered from the other day, they simply walked through the church and sat down together. A hush fell as people sneaked a look at the newcomer, but with nothing else to look at, the novelty seemed to wear off, and the entrance of the vicar put a stop to any lingering chatter. The congregation fell silent, and Juliana found something of interest in the shape of the man preaching.
William Saxby was a mountain of a man. Well over six feet tall, and built like a boxer, with an immense brown beard that contrasted rather charmingly with a head of close-cropped curls. He had gentle blue eyes and a voice with an impressive range, and Juliana found his sermon more interesting than she had expected. She decided that she liked him. She knew she had been right as he shook her hand at the door on their way out. His eyes twinkled at her as he held her hand in a huge paw and looked down at her.
“The pleasure we feel in having you returned to us, Mrs Creed, knows no bounds. I look forward to talking more over lunch.”
/> She felt warmed by his obvious delight, a pleasure that was reflected by his wife, Jean, an attractive woman with honey-coloured hair, who was wrestling patiently with two small children.
“Juliana, how wonderful to see you again. Let me just get these two monsters back home, and William and I will be right up,” Jean Saxby said with a wide smile. “Oh, Daphne, didn’t see you there! Lintie, Jolyon, say hello to Aunt Daphne and to Mrs Creed. Juliana, this is Daphne Cundy, our doctor’s wife and stalwart of the local musical society.”
The children, twins, a boy and a girl with their father’s blue eyes and a wild crop of honey-coloured curls each, attached themselves to their brevet aunt and shrieked their hellos up at her with gusto. Daphne Cundy disentangled herself from the children with kisses and ease borne of practice, and shook Juliana’s hand warmly. The children ran to their father and were swung up onto his shoulders, and Jean followed them with a promise to Juliana to be as quick as possible. Daphne laughed, a low growl of a noise that was surprising in such a small, neatly made woman.
“Juliana, my dear, how delightful,” she said, her voice as deep and scratchy as her laugh. “You look marvellous. A little peaky, perhaps, but that’s living in London for you. All that smog and omnibus traffic.”
She lit up a cigarette and inhaled deeply.
“Won’t take long to get your colour back. Oh, Adrien, there you are. I’m off to the house, to get the car. Bob was called out this morning, something wrong over at the Walters’ farm, but he should be home now,” she rattled on. “Just have to see that the boys are organised for lunch. Hello, Jamie. Didn’t see you sneaking around back there.”
“Morning, Aunt Daphne. You look well,” he replied, leaning over and kissing her cheek. She rose onto her tiptoes and kissed him back, leaving a pink smudge by his mouth, then pinched his ear fondly.
“Seen Simon yet?” she asked. “He hasn’t been to the house for a while. I knitted him some socks, thought he might like some new.”
“Ow, don’t nip so!” Jamie said with a grin, rubbing at his ear. “And to answer your question, I saw Simon yesterday. He didn’t mention needing socks, but bring them up with you at luncheon. I’ll take them up to him.”
The Dead Woman Who Lived Page 10