Sel looks from one to the other, his sharp eyes missing nothing. “I’ll take the bed then, Mrs Bogg, if you don’t mind…”
“Not much good if I did, would it,” Mrs Bogg gives a cackle of laughter, her eyes alight with mischief. “Now then Mr What’s-it, have you got me present?”
Sel gestures towards his secretary. “The bottle, dear, the bottle.” After rummaging in her shoulder bag, watched impatiently by Sel and Mrs Bogg, Beatrice produces a small bottle of whisky. At a gesture from Sel, she pours a liberal measure into the water glass on the table beside Mrs Bogg’s chair. Mrs Bogg takes a sip, smiles; looks at them expectantly. Sel clears his throat: “Now, dear, what have you to tell us about the ash trees at Brown End…?”
Mrs Bogg takes another sip of whisky; places the glass carefully down on the table beside her, looks at Beatrice seated on her hard chair, legs neatly crossed, biro poised above her notebook. “You got no man, then?” she asks, gesturing towards Beatrice’s ring-less hands. “What be wrong with ‘ee?” Sel makes the sort of convulsive movement such as kind hearted people often do when they feel someone’s about to be hurt. Beatrice appears unmoved by the question, and simply smiles.
“Perhaps you can give me the answer to that.” Silence again, but something has happened in the little room; a kind of magic. Afterwards neither Sel nor Beatrice herself are able to explain what form it had taken, but the magic was there alright. Mrs Bogg sighs, closes her eyes:
“Have you the mark?”
“Mark…?”
“Aye, the mark. Tis in the form of a little fish, ‘nobut an inch long, between yer legs – there,” she leans forward and places a hand on Beatrice’s left thigh, high up near the crotch. Sel cranes forward excitedly.
Beatrice nods, “I was born with it, they wanted to remove it when I was a child, but decided not to bother. The doctor said it wouldn’t show, not even in a bikini, it’s too far up.”
“Me sister had the mark, and me Great Aunt Ali. She drowned herself, me Great Aunt Ali, over Wigton Bottom – she were a beautiful girl, they said. Never saw her meself, died before I were born.”
“And your sister…?”
“Died in the Asylum.”
“Oh.”
In the silence that follows someone can be heard walking down the passage pushing a trolley; a blackbird chirrups in the Virginia creeper under the window; a lawn mower starts up.
“Now, Mrs Bogg,” Sel tries unsuccessfully to keep the excitement out of his voice, “you haven’t yet told us about the ash trees. Is this, this fish mark, connected with them in some way?”
Mrs Bogg looks at him, takes another sip of whisky, blinks: “They say you be on telly?”
“Yes, for my sins, but what about –?”
“I never seen ‘ee.”
“Well, maybe not.” He’s trying not to sound irritated, knows she’s winding him up.
“You b’aint be in that Coronation Street, be ‘ee? I can’t abide that Coronation Street.” About to reply that of course he’s never been in Coronation Street, he sees Beatrice, in control now, imperceptibly shake her head and mouth the word ‘no’. He shuts up.
“Mrs Bogg,” Beatrice’s voice is soft, soothing, “can you tell me who Tavey and Brian were and what happened to them. Did your sister and great aunt know about them?”
“Not all, but some.”
“And they told you?”
“Me sister did, told me when she were in the Asylum. We all knew the story, or some of it, when I were a child. They used to say if you went up to Browns round Michaelmas, when the moon were full, and knelt under Tavey’s tree, you’d lose yer baby.” A sharp intake of breath from Sel, Beatrice’s fingers tighten round her biro.
“Please, Mrs Bogg, please, please tell me all you know, it’s important – I think, in fact I’m almost sure, that something has to be done. There’s someone else involved, you see and it’s time…”
Mrs Bogg looks down at her hands, half folded in the blue blanket, mutters something unintelligible under her breath; appears to come to a decision. Then raising her eyes, and in the manner of a child reciting an oft-learned lesson, begins her story:
“Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, there were this girl called Tavey, lived at Brown End. Her father were a rich landowner – one of them Romans, and she were his only child. Anyway he were away at the wars a lot, and when he were away, her mother being dead, Tavey was left alone at Browns with only an old nanny, the servants, and slaves – they had slaves in them days – to see how she went on. Well, Tavey were a good looking girl, wild with it too, and all the men were after her, but her father wanted her to wed someone as rich as ‘ee, and there were nobody like that round Browns. Nothing but them Ancient Brits, what we used to learn about at school.
“There was someone though, this Brian, the son of one of one of her dad’s tenants. Came from an ancient, well-to-do family, who some said had owned all the land thereabouts before them Romans came and that’s how Browns got its name. Brian and Tavey were of an age, played together as children, and always been friends. But when they began to grow up, as was bound to happen, thrown together as they were, with no one else around for competition, they fell in love and wanted to marry. Of course there were no way Tavey’s dad would have Brian for a son-in-law: he wasn’t a Roman for a start, and he wasn’t rich. But with him being away so much at the wars, and the old nanny letting her run wild, Tavey didn’t care what her dad or anyone else said, and she and this Brian spent all their time together. Then one summer’s day, as was also bound to happen, Brian had his way with her. Tis said in the Grove above Browns on Dog’s Head Hill, but of course no one really knows. Anyways, she said she loved him, and perhaps at the time she did, and promised she would persuade her dad, when he came back from the wars, to give his permission for them to get wed. She couldn’t before that, she told him, even though, after a few weeks, she found she were expecting Brian’s child, because her dad would be so angry he would disown her.
“Brian told his mum – his dad had died a few year back – that he were to wed Tavey, but they must wait until her father returned so he could give them his blessing. His mum weren’t pleased, thought no good would come of it (and she were right) but there were nothing she could do as her husband having passed away, Brian was head of the family. And so they waited.
“The months went by and Tavey’s dad didn’t come. Her time came and still he hadn’t come. The baby were born and turned out to be a fine boy. Black hair and blue eyes, he had. His father, Brian, doted on him and gave him a little silver cup with animals dancing round the rim. Some say the cup was like me ring here, which me granddad dug up one day when he were haymaking in the paddock at Browns and gave me mum.
“The baby were already a few months old by the time Tavey’s dad came home at last. Tavey kept him hidden away – she were frightened of telling her dad, because her dad hadn’t come home alone, he’d brought with him a husband for her: a fine, handsome young man of his own people, rich too, whose home was far away across the sea. And Tavey, being a fickle sort of girl, was really pleased. She liked the young man very much and was glad her dad had chosen him to marry her; she longed to get away from Browns and see the world and if she married him she could. So she never told her dad about the baby, nor how she’d promised to marry Brian. Instead, she ordered the old nanny to get rid of the child, find a home for him on a farm somewhere far distant where he could grow up as a servant, and tell his father the child had died, so there was no need for them to marry. The nanny promised. Well, she didn’t know what else to do; she was frightened that if Tavey’s dad got to know of the child, he would punish her for being too lax with his daughter – turn her away, or even kill her.
“As to Tavey, she didn’t care for the child; she wanted to forget him and his father, get away from Browns and see a bit of life. Brian could marry one of his own people, she told herself, better that way. By giving him his marching orders she’d be doing him a favour. But it seems tha
t after all the nanny didn’t send the boy away. She killed him – none knows why, perhaps she couldn’t find anyone to take him – one night when he were asleep in his cradle, and buried him and his little cup in the place where the ash trees at Browns grow now, and told her mistress he had caught ill and died.
“Brian had been banished from Browns, so she went to his house and told him the baby had died, that it was nobody’s fault and they’d done all they could to save him. Brian didn’t believe her, but there was nothing he could do. Then Brian’s mum, who had turned Christian a few years back, sent word that she and her son wanted the child to have a Christian burial, so he might be sent on his way properly according to their custom. But Tavey gave orders they mustn’t be told where the grave was, as they might make trouble and upset her marriage plans. The wedding was to be in some town far away, Tavey’s dad was to accompany them for part of the way and preparations for the journey were already in hand…”
Mrs Bogg’s narration had already started to slow down, and at this point her eyes closed and she seemed to drop off. Sel and Beatrice remain silent, not wishing to break the spell. Sel sighs and looks at his watch. However, Maureen saves the day with a knock on the door and the promised tray of tea. “Alright then?” she asks brightly, casting a quick glance at the half empty glass of whisky on Mrs Bogg’s table. Sel jumps to his feet solicitously to help with the tray. Beatrice pours tea and Mrs Bogg, refreshed from her nap, takes another sip of whisky. Maureen leaves them at last, shutting the door carefully behind her.
“What happened then?” Beatrice asks, afraid that the spell has been broken and the old lady won’t tell them any more. But she does.
“On the day they were to leave, a fine summer’s day it were, Tavey’s dad and her intended had ridden on ahead and Tavey herself, all dressed up in her best, was saying goodbye to the servants and farm people in the great yard at Browns, when out from behind the barn comes Brian’s mum. She’s dressed like a queen in a long blue robe with a circle of gold round her neck. The servants fall back in fear, for she truly looks like someone from another world. She walks up to Tavey standing by the litter that is to carry her away and shouts, loud enough for all those present to hear, that she is a murderess. That the baby Marcus had not died of an illness, he had been a fine, healthy child; it was she, Tavey, who had ordered him to be killed. She knew this to be true, there were witnesses to the deed, and because of it Tavey and her descendants would be cursed for ever more. It were a dreadful curse too, and the servants and slaves, all except the nanny who stayed by her mistress’s side, were struck dumb with fear and ran away into the fields to hide.
“But Tavey weren’t frightened. Just stands there, hands on her hips, smiling. Tells Brian’s mum she doesn’t care about the curse, not at all, nor does she care what happened to the baby. He had been a mistake and was better dead. As for the baby’s father, her son, Brian, it would be well for him if he grew up, stopped behaving like a moon calf and found a wife from his own people, when he could then have as many sons as he wished. ‘I’ll go my way and you go yours, old woman,’ she says, ‘and let that be an end to it.’ Then she turned away climbed into her waiting litter, and began her journey, leaving Brian’s mum standing there.”
Mrs Bogg pauses in her story, wondering perhaps how best to end it. “And then?” Beatrice asks, trying not to sound impatient.
“And then… well then, she makes the sign of the cross, falls down in a fit and dies. But just before she does – or some say that’s what happened – she commands the rooks – there’s always been rooks at Browns even in them days – to be the guardians of the baby’s grave.
“Of course there’ve been lots of stories over the years, nowadays most people have forgotten, but there were when I were a girl. One of ‘em is that one day Tavey will come back to find the grave and give the baby proper burial and that her spirit won’t rest until she does.”
“But what about Sam? Where does he fit in?” Beatrice is beginning to sound agitated again.
“Eh?” There’s genuine bewilderment in Mrs Bogg’s voice. “Who be Sam?”
“Brian, the father of the baby? What happened to him?”
“Some say he disappeared after his mum died and was never seen again, but no one really knows; those that wrote the story down later didn’t say.”
“But he’s come back, he…”
This time it’s Sel who shakes his head; Granny Bogg too is becoming agitated, it’s plain no further questions can be asked that afternoon. He gets to his feet: “Mrs Bogg, you’ve been so very helpful, we can’t thank you enough, and do hope my secretary and I haven’t exhausted your patience too much. Perhaps we might look in on you again in a day or two, if you’re feeling up to it?” He bends down and takes the old lady’s hand, who remains with her head bowed muttering to herself. “We are most grateful, Mrs Bogg, we really are.”
Beatrice bends forward and kisses her; as she does so Mrs Bogg whispers something inaudible, but before Beatrice can ask her to repeat it, she’s dropped off to sleep again, and despite Sel’s promise of another visit, something tells her they won’t be seeing Mrs Bogg again.
*
Sam is alone in the shop, wondering what to do. Emmie’s still out, must have stayed and had a snack in Belchester, and it’s Karen’s lunch hour. He’d thought of ringing Beatrice again, but each time he picked up the phone, something seemed to hold him back. He simply couldn’t stand the thought of her screaming at him again or, indeed, slamming down the receiver. If only there was someone he could talk to. He’d wrapped the precious little cup in one of his sweaters and placed it in a drawer in his desk, hopefully out of harm’s way. Anyway, the sight of it brought such anguish he could hardly bear to look at it.
“Here I am then, Major.” Karen bursts through the shop door. “Bet you was wondring where I’d got to.”
“No.”
“Well I was held up see, and guess what? I met a friend of yours in the posh bar at The Trojan – not exactly met him, he was busy chatting up Vera, but he did say hi.”
“Did he give his name?” Sam wasn’t really interested, but he had to say something.
“Told V. his name was Sidney Parfitt, and he’s been out in Oz for the last eight years, but he be back now and looking for your shop.”
“Must be a friend of Mrs Mallory’s; I’ve never heard of him.” Probably an old flame of Emmie’s, he thinks, and then forgets about him.
Karen settles down on her stool behind the counter, rummages in her shoulder bag, gets out her tube of Polos: “I’ll take over, Major, if you want a break.”
Sam puts the receiver back on its cradle – he’d removed it earlier, wanting time to think – and wanders away upstairs. He’s had no lunch but doesn’t feel like eating anyway. Karen pops a polo into her mouth and settles down to her magazine.
*
“It’s yours, isn’t it, this baby? You’ve been carrying on with her all the time you and I –”
“Give it a rest, pet.” Jack and Emmie are seated in the bar of The Roman Centurion in Belchester, a pub Jack sometimes frequented at lunchtime. After a miserable morning spent wandering round Belchester, wondering what she should do about the scene over breakfast, knowing she should end the affair here and now; that Jack Fulton didn’t care tuppence for her whether he’d been carrying on with Clarrie Woodhead or not, but unable to bring herself to do so, Emmie had decided to offer an olive branch and had managed, not without difficulty, to track him down there.
“Just tell me, that’s all I want, just for you to tell me.”
Jack takes a gulp of lager. “Look, pet, I simply do not know where you got this story about Clarrie, Mrs Woodhead, expecting. It’s the first I’ve heard of it, and she is married, you know. It’s not uncommon for married women to have babies.”
But Emmie isn’t having it: “Sarcasm will get you nowhere Jack Fulton. I do happen to know she’s married, but I also happen to know her husband’s been doctored –”
&nb
sp; “You make the guy sound like a bloody Tom.”
“I don’t care what I make him sound like. It can’t be his baby, so it must be yours.”
“Oh no it can’t?” Jack takes a bite of sausage roll. “It can’t be mine either, because I’ve been doctored too…”
Chapter 11
“What a perfectly heavenly spot,” Philippa Cardew rhapsodises over the view from her bedroom window.
“It is, isn’t it,” Beatrice tries but fails to put some enthusiasm into her voice. “The bathroom’s next door, and there’s a kettle for hot drinks in the cupboard.”
Philippa Cardew is tall, in her late thirties. Her outfit – white, broad-shouldered suit, trailing blue chiffon scarf and a little hat with a veil made popular by the Princess of Wales – is more suitable perhaps for opening a garden party than a weekend in the country. She plonks herself down on the bed; reaches for her cigarettes.
“Dinner is at eight,” Beatrice continues, making for the door, “and Sel would like a briefing session afterwards. Drinks in the sun room seven thirty.”
“Dear old Sel, so efficient; one wonders sometimes, doesn’t one, whether he ever lets up.” Beatrice bristles in defence of her boss, but is too tired, overwrought, and bemused by the interview with Granny Bogg, to think of a suitable reply. Where was Sam, she wonders. Why hadn’t he rung?
“You look tired, darling,” Philippa, removing the little hat and running her fingers through her streaked blonde hair, gives her a sharp look, “all this business must be somewhat of a strain. Fun for us of course, but you’re caught in the middle, and our Sel can be a bit of a slave driver. Clarrie and I, you know, go back a long way, we both worked for Sel in the old days at the Beeb, and by God he kept us at it. I remember –”
“Look, Miss Cardew, I’m awfully sorry, but I must go, Mr Head’s still waiting downstairs to be shown his room; what with Mrs Woodhead not feeling well…”
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