The Dead Woman Who Lived

by Endellion Palmer

  “Jamie!”

  The last was from Fancy, who appeared beside them with Ada and her tray for collecting the empty coffee cups. Jamie pretended not to hear and was halfway up the side of the house before Fancy got another word out.

  “Get back down here! You’ll ruin that wisteria.” Her voice was strident. “And you might fall.”

  The last seemed like an afterthought, and Juliana saw the curl of Damaris’ lip as she heard her mother.

  “Fancy, be quiet and let him climb,” said Adrien ominously. “He’s not going to fall if you don’t break his concentration.”

  Fancy let out another squeak, but cut it short. They all stood in a semicircle around the terrace and watched in silence as Jamie climbed higher, taking his time around the window to Fancy’s room, where the wisteria trunk branched into two. He rested his feet on the sill as he tested the vine, then set out again. Heights clearly held no terrors for him. He swarmed up the side of the house like a monkey, and a minute later he reached the cat. Juliana could hear him crooning to it as he tried to release it.

  “It’s Osiris! And she’s had kittens! Not sure how she managed to get them here, but there are three of them with her. Ow, I’m trying to help, little beast. Lay off!”

  Damaris bit her lip as she listened to her brother. Juliana was standing alongside, and her mouth twitched as she listened to Jamie talking to the cat.

  “He can’t be serious, even forty feet up the side of the house,” Damaris murmured to her. “Oh, there, he’s got it free.”[3]

  Jamie, balancing carefully, tucked his pullover into his flannels before pulling the cat free and thrusting it down his front. He picked up several smaller bundles of fur and put them in the same place, then began to make his way back down the vine. He was within fifteen feet of the ground when one of the kittens broke free, by dint of using its claws to work its way up his chest. Jamie’s howl of pain was clear, and before Juliana knew it, she had scaled the ground floor wall herself, and with a little careful footwork, she was next to him. She pulled the kitten clear of its grip on his neck, and making a bag of her skirt, she dropped the kitten in, pulling the tweed closed over its head. Jamie descended first, wincing at the destruction those tiny claws had wrought, and then helped Juliana down the last part.

  “So, nothing wrong with your climbing skills,” he panted, producing Osiris and her remaining kittens when he stood back on terra firma, eyes resolutely avoiding the tops of her stockings.

  She gave an embarrassed smile, unbunching her skirt as quickly as she could and smoothing it over her legs.

  “You learn something new every day,” she said and gave the kitten to Ada, who bore the lot off to the scullery to find a bed for them.

  Damaris bore her brother into the house to clean the scratches the kitten had left—he was bleeding onto his shirt, and she was threatening him with an iodine bath as they moved inside.

  Juliana excused herself from the party to take a basket of food up to the estate cottages, where the Roskelly matriarch was indulging herself with bronchitis. Juliana had been a visitor to the cottages during the first months of her marriage. She and Granny Roskelly had enjoyed her visits thoroughly; Juliana had been thoroughly charmed at the old lady’s tales of life gone by in Sancreed, and the old lady had enjoyed a pair of fresh and receptive ears. Upon hearing from her husband of the old lady’s recent illness, Juliana had asked for some invalid delicacies to be prepared in the kitchen, and the beef tea being finally ready, she went to deliver it.

  ***

  Alistair found himself alone on the terrace. He sat down on the bench by the wall, yawning in the heat of the sun and the aftermath of his excellent luncheon. Alistair was almost asleep when a noise from the morning room awoke him. The window was directly to his left and had been pushed open to attract the breeze, but the wind had died and the afternoon was still now, and the voices drifted out easily.

  “Ask her, Didi! For God’s sake, why not?” Jamie sounded almost angry.

  “I can’t! I have some pride left!” replied his sister, equally intense. “I don’t even feel good about keeping the money from before. It’s still there, still intact. I should give it back. I will most definitely not ask for more.”

  “But this is your future!” he shouted.

  “I can’t do it, anyway! You know that.”

  She sounded almost tearful, and Alistair sat up straighter as he listened. So far he had seen nothing but amity between the two. From the tone of their voices, this was a real argument.

  “Why not? It’s the chance of a lifetime! Being a Sister, having input into the running of the place, all your ideas!”

  Jamie was at his most beseeching. He was clearly baffled as to his sister’s motives. There was a silence after this.

  “You’re not going to go because of me, is that it?” he said finally.

  “I can’t leave you here to cope with Mother on your own,” she replied. “She’d rip you apart like tissue paper.”

  There was a thump of feet on carpet, and then Jamie spoke again. His voice was rough.

  “I don’t want to be beholden to you, Damaris! I shall be eternally grateful to you. But you can’t throw away your life for me.”

  Damaris snorted. It was a most telling noise.

  “Beholden, nonsense,” she said shortly. “What I did, I did because I wanted to. You’re my brother. You’re practically the only family I have, and you are infinitely precious to me. And I’m not going to leave. That is all there is to it.”

  She paused, sounding embarrassed at what she had said.

  “Unless you come too?” she said, after a pause. “We can start again there.”

  “I can’t!” Jamie sounded angry now, and his reply was immediate.

  “Can’t or won’t?” she answered, taunting him. “Is this about Simon? Jamie, you can’t protect him forever. You’ve done what you can!”

  A slammed door indicated that the conversation was at an end, and Alistair’s face was thoughtful. Once again, Simon Cundy’s name had come up in conversation. And what did Damaris mean by protection? Protection of Simon? Or protection from him?

  Chapter 21

  Juliana enjoyed her walk up to the cottages. She set out gaily, admitting freely that even at its best, London was a far cry from Cornwall on a warm afternoon, with the fresh brine of the sea and warm heather to smell, the sharp cries of sea birds in her ears. Perhaps some stiff exercise would give her a peaceful night’s rest when the sun went down, instead of the uneasy sleep and vivid nightmares that kept waking her up.

  Granny Roskelly was ecstatic at her visitor, and Juliana enjoyed her time sitting at the old lady’s bedside as the beef tea was sipped and compliments paid. They did not talk for long; the old woman’s breathing was still harsh and painful and she tired quickly, but she permitted Juliana to leave only after promising to make another visit soon.

  Juliana was dismayed to see that the sunlight had dulled since she had entered the cottage, and the clouds had crowded the sky, menacing and promising heavy rain. She set off with a quick stride, but in her haste, she took a wrong turn on the path, and out of nowhere, she found herself at the edge of a great bowl carved out of the stone tops and stopped with a thump in her heart, looking out over the great hollow in surprise.

  The quarry spread out, deep and round, with the water it cupped a cold steel-grey, reflecting back the rain clouds that were mustering overhead. According to Adrien, the quarry had only been abandoned five years ago, yet the sides had already softened and relaxed. Plant life had quickly sprouted around the basin’s edge, and along the water at the foot. Bending to pick a spray of heartsease from a patch at her feet, she heard a cry. The smallest noise possible, but discernible as a living thing.

  Shades of that wretched cat, she thought.

  Knowing she had not imagined the noise, Juliana searched around the clifftop, but with so little ground cover, she sensed the origin of the sound was elsewhere. And elsewhere meant over the side. She e
dged closer, feeling a light drizzle begin to fall as she did so. Dropping to her knees, she leaned over the edge, looking down the sheer bank underneath her. On a scraped-out ledge about twelve feet below the rim was a scrubby tree, holding onto the side of with attenuated roots and determination, and pressed firmly against the tree was a small brown dog.

  Without a second thought she wriggled over the edge. The digging had left small ledges up and down the height of the wall, and carefully she inched downwards, one foothold at a time, her fingers digging deep. She was almost at the tree when her foot slipped and she slid into the branches, grabbing the dog with one hand and the thin trunk with the other, as the whole thing slid halfway from its precarious hold. She grabbed wildly as she swung out, the wind whipping off her hat, the rain making her hands slick.

  Screaming for help, she clung to the tree with one hand, clutching the dog with the other, knowing as she did so how futile it was. There was likely to be no one else up here for days. Her only hope was to hold fast and hope that the tree did not dislodge completely while she waited for the rain to stop. But it increased instead, and the ledge started to crumble under her feet. She tucked the dog inside her mackintosh to free up her hand and thought of climbing down. A quick glance below showed that there was no slope to manage such a feat—directly below her was an overhang, and she had no idea how deep the quarry side went back underneath it. She visualised her fall and shuddered.

  “Juliana!”

  The relief that flooded through her as a voice rang out above her was almost enough to loosen her grip, but she kept her nerve and her hold and looked up to where a bedraggled black head was visible.

  “I’m stuck—the ledge is crumbling.”

  “Hold on! I’m coming down to get you. Do not let go!”

  His reply came without missing a beat, then his head disappeared. She waited, long minutes spent clutching at her lifeline and feeling her arms begin to go numb. Finally another shout told her he was back; a rope snaked past her shoulder and Simon climbed down to her. Without a word he tied it under her shoulders, then swarmed back up the side himself and began to pull up. Between the tug of the rope and the footholds she managed to find, copying Simon’s ascent, she reached the top, sliding over and rolling onto her back, hot tears coursing from her eyes. Simon flopped next to her, and together they lay under the increasingly heavy rain, caked in mud and breathing hard. He rolled onto his side and looked at her.

  “What on earth were you doing? Did you fall?” he asked, sounding still breathless.

  As if in answer, the dog poked his nose out the top of her coat and gave another whine. As he scrambled out, Simon pulled him over and sat up, cradling the small thing gently.

  “He was stuck. I tried to help him,” Juliana said.

  Simon’s eyebrows rose until they disappeared under his wet hair.

  “You went down there for a dog?”

  She could see the astonishment on his face even as his hands ran over the dog’s body, checking for damage.

  “It was stupid, I know,” she muttered. “But it was all right until the ledge gave way.”

  He looked at her quizzically. “You were lucky,” he said. “That side’s been eroding a lot. There were a rockfall only a week ago.”

  She looked over at him and picked up the rope. “Where did you get this?” she asked.

  “It were on the ground, coiled up over where the shack used to be. Only thing around that I could find. There were nowt else.”

  She examined it more closely. It was old and loose and fraying in patches. It had been knotted in certain places to strengthen it, but the thought that she had relied on it to pull her up was terrifying.

  “This could have snapped at any moment,” she said with a shiver.

  He nodded, stroking the dog’s head.

  “And yet you came after me,” she persisted.

  “Couldn’t just leave you, now, could I?” he said awkwardly. “I knew it would hold for a bit. You’re not much of a weight.”

  Simon bent back over the dog and looked up over the small brown body.

  “It’s his back leg, the right. Someone shot at him. There might be some pellet still in there. He’s a stray, for sure. He’s too thin to have been fed properly.”

  Then he changed subject suddenly.

  “You shouldn’t have gone down there, you know. Promise you won’t do nowt like it again?”

  She nodded, watching him stroke the dog’s head, and realised that his hands were shaking.

  “You might have been killed,” he said, and she realized how scared he had been.

  “I know. And so might you,” she replied. “I’m just so thankful you were around.”

  “I were going home and then I thought I saw you. It can be dangerous up here, when the light is bad. I came to make sure you was all right.”

  His voice was thick with his Yorkshire accent. Juliana could see how upset he was and felt guilty.

  “I got lost coming back from the Roskellys,” she replied. “And I am all right, thanks to you.”

  She placed her hand over his and squeezed. He jumped at her touch, looking at her in surprise, then smiled tentatively.

  “I’m right glad, too.”

  Simon stripped off his jersey and wrapped the dog in it carefully.

  “What to do with him?” Simon asked, clutching the bundle against his damp chest.

  The rain was now coming down in a soft, regular stream. Simon’s hair was plastered to his skull, and the mud on his face from the quarry walls was washing off in dirty rivulets that stained his shirt. Without her hat, which was still halfway down the side of the quarry, Juliana knew that she looked the same, although at least her coat offered some protection.

  “He needs cleaned up—the shot taken out. Then he should be kept warm, and fed right,” he continued.

  He looked at Juliana. After a pause, he flushed.

  “I can’t look after him, Juliana. It were right cold last night. It wouldn’t be good for him.”

  She knew what else he was not saying. Finding good food for a dog would be too much.

  “He can come with me,” said Juliana immediately. “We need a dog down there. And perhaps he can come up and stay with you later on, when he is recovered?”

  She hated to think of Simon alone in the hut, but knew better than to say so.

  “We can share him,” she said. “He can be yours and mine both.”

  Simon looked at her, one of his searching glances into the back of her head, then leant across and pressed his mouth against hers. He smelled of soap and toothpowder under his coating of gelatinous mud, and she kissed him back without thinking. When they pulled back, mindful of the dog being crushed between them, they looked at each other for a long time without speech.

  “You are a nice girl, Juliana Creed,” he said finally.

  “I like you too, Simon Cundy,” she replied and smiled at him.

  As they stood by the quarry edge, Juliana realised that after three years of living like a nun, she had been kissed by three different men in just about as many days. She wondered if she should be ashamed, but could not feel it. Adrien was her husband, she was supposed to kiss him. She enjoyed it, and their growing closeness had led her to look forward to their future together. There was desire between them, passion that was going to have to be addressed soon.

  Jamie had kissed her, she thought, because he wanted to feel that someone loved him. He craved it. He opened under it like one of the paper flowers she used to find in her Christmas stocking. She would drop them into water and watch the dried specks unfurl as they soaked up moisture. Within minutes they changed from dehydrated flakes to fantastically shaped floral gems, their colours vibrant and full. Jamie’s colours appeared with her.

  She thought that Simon’s kiss had been a simple stirring of desire. His life had been shaken about like a sandstorm in the desert, and finding his way back had been slow. Perhaps this meant he was ready to get back to a more normal life. Turning ba
ck to the present, Simon’s sweet scent of wintergreen and yellow soap still around her, she was on the verge of turning for home when the sky darkened in a moment, and a low growl of thunder rolled across the hill-top.

  In an instant Simon changed. His body stilled in the space of a single moment, physically shrinking as his eyes darted from side to side. Juliana recognised his fear. It rolled from him like a fog. He started breathing unevenly, shallow breaths that tore from his throat. He seemed unaware of where he was, or of his companions, and Juliana started to panic. She wasn’t overly fond of thunder herself, but this was terror on a different scale. She took the dog from him, tucking it inside her mack to keep it warm, and forced the guernsey back over its owner’s head. Once he was dressed, she grabbed his arm.

  “You are coming home with me,” she said, not sure if he could hear her. The thunder died away, and he turned towards her stiffly.

  “I have to get back,” he said, eyes blank. “Can’t you hear them? It’s starting again.”

  “You are soaked to the skin, Simon. The fire will be out and you said yourself how cold it was. Can’t you feel the chill now?”

  “They’ll need me. They always need me,” was all he said.

  Juliana started to march towards home, towing him behind her. He tried to stand firm, throwing off her arm so hard she nearly fell, but she turned on him.

  “You need to listen to me. You’ll end up ill if you don’t get into dry clothes and get warm,” she warned him sternly, remembering that he had taken bronchitis that winter. “As soon as it’s over, you can do what you want. But for the moment, you are coming with me. That’s an order.”

  Another roll of thunder approached, and she took advantage of his terror and incomprehension to pull him along beside her. The moans that escaped him during rumbles from the sky frightened her, as did the low mutter that he kept up between times, when he made attempts to get away from her. After he shoved her so hard she ended up on her hands and knees in a mud puddle, she jumped to her feet and grabbed him so hard that he cried out.