by Gloria Cook
‘A what?’ Alec was bemused.
‘Oh, I don’t know, Alec.’ Emilia shrugged him away, suddenly impatient to leave here. ‘Let’s get this finished. We’ve got people coming and I want to get back to Jenna.’
Stunned by her sudden bout of irritability and the fact she had never pushed him away before, Alec strode back to the pony he had been working on.
Something caught his eye and he looked up. He was being watched, from the main bedroom, where Ursula had died and where, as locals would have it, while they had gathered kindling or played in the woods, her ghost had gazed out at them from the window. A legend had quickly built up around Ursula’s tragedy – pining for the lover who had abandoned her just hours before her death, is how it went. Those of a more flourishing imagination declared she held up her dead baby to the glass and that her appearance always foreshadowed a death. A dead baby, of course, could play no part in a bona fide haunting, but level-headed people, including Dolly Rowse, had sworn they had seen Ursula’s ghost. Two days after Dolly’s sighting, his grandmother had died unexpectedly in her sleep.
The figure above caused a chill to ride up his spine and he muttered a quick prayer to ward off trouble, but almost at once he was breathing out in relief. It was Selina Bosweld who was looking down on him. At him and then Emilia, and her expression was ponderous and strange.
* * *
Tristan Harvey was closing in on Ford Farm in a sporty black Citroën, something he had been planning to own for a long time. He’d collected it from the dealer on getting off the boat two days earlier at Portsmouth. With him was his cousin, Winifred Stockley, and sandwiched in between them was her daughter, of Jonny’s age, Vera Rose. Unknown to the rest of his family Winifred was now his fiancée. He had spent last night at her house, on the Cornish north coast.
He had the top down to enjoy both the dozy heat and the scintillating breeze, and was amused that despite the reduced speed for safe navigation through the narrow lanes, Winifred was hanging on to her wide-brimmed, voluminously scarved hat. It was what he liked about her, her touch of old-fashionedness, and the comfortable familiarity built up from their childhood years.
‘Jonny’s going to love this,’ he referred to the motor car. ‘Can’t wait for the chance to take her touring again. Would you like to do that for a honeymoon, Winnie? I thoroughly enjoyed bringing her down. Followed the coast as much as possible, would never have seen those fascinating little places where I stopped off otherwise. We could go to Torquay; it has many fine hotels.’
‘It’s a lovely thought, Tris, but I think we should be careful about money, well, your money.’
‘Stop worrying, dear girl. I’ve made a few successful investments with the money Alec paid me for the house and my bank wasn’t exactly empty before that. We’ll be able to jog along nicely for a year or two until I’ve worked out what I’d like to do now that I’ve resigned. I’ve thought about writing, although I don’t see myself as the new Joseph Conrad. Might set up in a little business. I don’t want you thinking of it as being my money only, Winnie. You’ll be providing me with everything I need just at the right time.’
The wreath of knots marring Winifred’s refined brow did not shift. ‘Great-Aunt Clara gave me to understand she would leave me a tidy sum after her death. It was a terrible shock to learn she was penniless. I was thinking I’d have to turn Roskerne into a guest house or sell it and move into something smaller. We could keep both options in mind, Tris.’
‘Don’t give it another thought. You’d hate to leave Roskerne and I’d hate to have lots of demanding people around me. Why don’t we just see how things turn out? You’ve got me to look after you and Vera Rose now, so no more worrying.’ Tristan smiled in his calm, caring way. He was not handsome like Ben nor did he have Alec’s imposing stature. He was pale and on the thin side and bore scars on his face and body from shrapnel wounds, but his quiet considerate manner made him everyone’s friend and confidant. ‘That’s an order. No, scratch that, I don’t give orders any more. I’m just plain Mr Harvey from now on, and this time next week you will be Mrs Harvey. There’ll be no more loneliness for either of us, we’ll grow old contentedly together.’
At last Winifred let go of her hat and leaned back against the buttoned upholstery. She gazed at the hedgerows bursting with wild flowers, of pink, white and yellow. Bluebells swept along them and through the wooded areas. She caught the glorious scent of wild violets. At intervals, through sturdy five-bar gates, she saw Alec’s thriving fields; a four-horse plough team was busy in one of them. In another were some of his cattle, and another his ewes and lambs. ‘What’s Alec going to say about us getting married? More to the point, what’s Jonny going to say? Perhaps you should have mentioned it in your last letter to him, Tris. He would have had time to take it in by now.’
‘Jonny will be delighted with me coming home for good and the prospect of living at Roskerne. He’s always loved his summer and Easter stays with you. Eh, Vera Rose? More fun for you and Jonny on the beach from now on.’
‘Can’t wait. It’ll be brilliant, Mummy,’ Vera Rose enthused. She was concentrating on the steering wheel, longing to drive the Citroën herself.
Tristan was fond of the fun-loving, sporty girl, who was confident in her school lessons, and who, like himself, had a great reserve of patience. She was the ideal companion for Jonny to grow up with for the remainder of his childhood. A childhood Tristan was grieved to have missed for so many years, but the catastrophe of the war and personal tragedy, then the need for the country to try to build itself up for the next generation had kept him away from home.
‘Well, you two may be feeling confident,’ Winifred said, ‘but no one else has the slightest notion that this has been on our minds for quite some time.’
Before Tristan could offer another avowal, there came a blood-curdling yell. It seemed to echo all around them, bouncing off the ground and hitting the trees. Tristan stalled the car, suddenly chilled to his bones. He knew it was silly, it was only an animal, likely a dog fox, but they had reached a hill closed in by tall bare hedges and covered over by overhanging branches, a place Ben had named Devil’s Arch. A dark place Tristan had the occasional nightmare about, of dead, faceless soldiers once under his command, marching into nothingness, and always preceded by Corporal Billy Rowse, Emilia’s dead brother.
There was a loud swooshing, another unnerving ejaculation, then a rupturing and splintering of wood. Those in the car watched in horror as a figure hurtled into sight from high up in front of them and plummeted into the muddy ditch.
Tristan only just managed to suppress a soldier’s oath. Fright made him petrify then he was dashing out of the motor car. The figure, a boy in clothes fit only for the rag-and-bone man, lay still, dishevelled and dirty. Down on his haunches, Tristan felt rapidly for broken bones along the arm that was covering the casualty’s face. All seemed sound, so he moved the dirty limb aside, hoping he wouldn’t be presented with a terrible head wound.
‘Jonny? Dear God! Jonny!’
Jonny stirred, opened his eyes. ‘Owahh. Oh, heck.’ He did not realize it was his father helping him to sit up.
‘Oh, heck indeed, Jonathan Harvey! What on earth do you think you were doing? You could have been killed. Do you think you can stand up?’
Jonny blinked up into the alarmed, concerned face. ‘Dad?’
‘Here, Tris, take my handkerchief,’ Winifred said from behind him, pushing the scrap of cloth into his hand. ‘His ear’s bleeding.’
‘It’s nothing,’ Vera Rose, who had joined her mother, muttered with gleeful scorn. ‘He was only stunned for a minute. Last hols he nearly chopped his arm off while pretending to be a musketeer.’
‘What?’ Tristan followed Winifred’s suggestion, and from an upward glance he found himself surrounded by a crowd of urchins, all boys, all as grubby as tramps. Will was among them.
‘Is he gonna die, mister?’ a boy asked, sounding as if for the drama of it he was hoping to be told, ‘
Yes, and very soon.’
‘Home, sonny!’ Tristan boomed. ‘And the rest of you. Will, where’s Tom? You haven’t left him behind somewhere, have you?’
‘Mum says he’s too young to come this far,’ Will explained, contrite and respectful, until gaining a particular crossed- fingered signal from the leader of the Harvey gang; then a stubborn gleam filtered through his eyes. ‘We were only playing highwaymen, Uncle Tris. You were our victims.’
‘You should have been loyal to your brother and not left him to play alone, Will. Get into the motor car.’
‘Whose car is it, Dad?’ Jonny’s injuries, which to him would amount to a pleasing collection of bumps and bruises, were forgotten. He peered over his father’s shoulder.
‘It’s mine, son.’
‘Wizard! How fast does it go?’
‘Not fast enough for you, I’ll be bound,’ Tristan said crossly, hauling the boy up gently in case he had a serious injury not yet apparent. ‘Into the back with your cousin, and don’t you dare get mud and filth on my new upholstery. When you’re cleaned up, young man, you and I are going to have a serious talk.’
As the car continued up the hill, Will turned to Jonny to share an impertinent grin and to poke playful fun at the silly moustache his Uncle Tristan was now sporting, but his leader was staring at the back of his father’s head.
Despite his modest years Jonny had the sharpest mind in the Harvey family. Why was his father out of uniform? The running boards of the car had an unusual amount of luggage strapped to them. His eyes veered to his second cousin, who for reasons of respect he called Aunt Winifred. She had removed her glove to pass his father the handkerchief; a new ring with stones in it had replaced her wedding ring. She was getting married again, that was obvious, and to his father, going by the familiar way he had handed her into the car just now. Jonny loved the lanes, the fields, the meadows and the moorland here, and especially the farm the motor car was now pulling up to. He was suddenly afraid for the future.
* * *
Selina thanked Ben and Jim for carrying a heavy trunk upstairs to the main bedroom, her bedroom. She was unaware of the underlying friction between the two men, so restrained towards each other had been their behaviour. Jim was eager to get a good tip. Ben wanted only to impress her.
‘The only thing left to do now is to dispose of those few items out on the landing that we won’t be needing. Would you mind taking them up to the attic for me, Jim? Then you must be given something for all the hard work you’ve done, your sister too. Perry and I insist.’
‘I’ll have it up there quick as pore, Miss Selina.’ Jim left the bedroom at the same pace as his boast.
It was late afternoon. Selina had sent Sara home as soon as she’d unpacked Libby’s belongings in a small front bedroom, explaining, ‘Mirelle will know where everything else is to go.’
‘It’s all worked out well for Perry and I,’ Selina said to Ben, when Jim could be heard pulling the attic ladder down. ‘We sold most of our furniture to the couple who bought our house and we like what’s here; good solid mahogany and pretty rosewood. I shall enjoy displaying our mother’s Royal Worcester.’ She leaned back against the marble washstand, her hips jutting forward. She was wearing a loose flowing skirt and a fitted blouse, which accentuated her large, rounded breasts. Not fashionable, but attractive because it was easy to wear and gilded her supple movements. ‘Gosh Ben, look at you. You’re quite grimy.’
‘It’s worth it if you’re happy, Selina,’ he smiled, rubbing his hands down the front of his shirt. He had smiled at her throughout the whole operation of moving her in and every smile had been reciprocated, without coquettish flirting or feigned coyness. Here was a woman proud of who she was, radiating self-assurance. She was, no doubt, unmarried because she had no wish to tie herself down to one man and domesticity. She was a woman of this post-war age. Ben found her qualities intoxicating. The excitement he felt about her outstripped anything he had ever known for a woman before.
‘I won’t insult you, Ben, by thanking you with an offer of money. You must come to lunch tomorrow. I’d like that very much. Perry too.’
‘What time shall I come?’ He was looking at her lips. Her eyes had dropped to his a moment earlier.
‘When you like. We never stick to conventional times unless I’m on duty. We’ll probably eat about one o’clock.’ She had a way of suddenly coming towards a person and she did this now to Ben.
‘I’ll come at ten.’ With her this close, it didn’t feel he was being forward to reach for her hand.
She returned his firm grip. ‘We have a special connection, Ben. I felt it that day at your brother’s farm. You did too, didn’t you?’
His heart leapt: she was going to kiss him. There was no build-up of passion. She kissed him ardently from the start. Moving her lips against his with a power that was both draining and arousing, while using such a discriminating control his senses were pitched high and sent reeling.
They only stopped kissing when they heard Jim pushing the attic ladder back up in place. Ben was left fighting to regain his wits lest Jim see the evidence of the intense physical effect on him.
Selina wiped moisture off his mouth with gentle thumbs. ‘We’ll spend some time alone tomorrow, Ben.’
She led the way downstairs and asked Jim to wait outside the front door. She took Ben into the parlour to say goodbye to Perry and Libby, then she saw him off at the gate. ‘Enjoy your family gathering this evening, Ben. Tell Emilia I’ll be calling on her soon.’
When Ben had got round the bend in the lane he made to light a cigar but failed because his hands were trembling. His insides were churning; his head felt as if it was somewhere up high in the clear blue sky, floating with the cottony clouds. He broke into a run, leapt into the air, flinging his fist up victoriously. ‘Yes! She’s gorgeous!’
Selina surveyed Jim where he was waiting for his promised tip, his cap not yet replaced on his fair head. She ushered him back inside, took him into the parlour to Perry, who was now in the wheeled chair, and setting up a doll’s house with Libby. Most of the toys had been placed in this room. Libby would spend most of her time with her father and only go upstairs to bed. Paintings of sailing ships in battle on dramatic seas, and elephants and tigers had replaced those formerly on the picture rail. A gramophone, ornaments of fairies, a collection of glass paperweights and a pair of stuffed owls had also been unpacked.
‘Have you anything else for Jim to do, Perry?’ Selina winked at Jim. ‘We mustn’t let you escape until every last little job is done. Awful, aren’t we?’
‘I don’t mind at all, miss. Mr Harvey said to stay at your disposal for as long as it takes.’ Jim was not the sort of youth to blush easily and become bashful. He wanted to make money, to save, in case he and Sara ever found themselves in need. His early years in the workhouse had left him wary of fate.
‘No, no, you get along, young man. Thank you for all you did. Let me see.’ Perry leaned back and felt about in his trouser pocket. Selina took the money he produced.
Out in the hall, Jim was pleased with the two half-crowns given him, one for himself and one for Sara.
‘Oh, drat,’ Selina exclaimed. ‘I didn’t see that box before in the corner. It’s full of books and quite heavy. Would you mind, Jim?’
‘Course not, Miss Selina.’ Jim was calculating how extra jobs here might prove profitable towards his nest egg. He hefted the box up in his ample arms. ‘Where to?’
‘Up to my room please. I enjoy a read before I retire.’
Selina followed Jim into the bedroom and pointed to where he was to put the box down. ‘Just a minute, there should be some magazines inside that I’ve finished with. You can take them home to Sara.’
‘Thanks, miss. She’d ’ppreciate that.’ Jim hovered, unsure how to behave when alone with a lady in her bedroom.
Selina began placing books on the deep windowsill. ‘Do you live in the village, Jim?’
‘Um, no, miss. At the farm.
Both Sara and me. Been there nearly six years now. Was in Truro before that.’
‘Do you miss town life? This is a quiet spot, isn’t it?’
‘Don’t make no never mind to me where I live so long as me and Sara have a decent roof over our heads and good food to eat. Hennaford is quiet, but everyone knows everybody else’s business, of course. Mr Harvey’s the squire here.’
‘I hate busybodies. Put this one on the table beside the bed, will you?’ Other books she ordered to be placed on the mantelshelf. ‘Here’s a couple of magazines. Place them on the bed. There are more. Do you have a girlfriend, Jim?’
‘No, miss.’ He reddened, glued to where he was beside the rug waiting for the next order. Miss Selina Bosweld was as bossy as a schoolmistress, the sort who seemed able to read minds. Even though she had her back to him, if he fluffed this she might be able to tell that although he boasted of conquests, he had, in truth, got no further than flirting. ‘Well, I’m sweet on someone. She’ll be at the party tonight. Her father’s the Methodist minister, he don’t approve of me.’
Selina turned round, dropped a handful of magazines on top of the others. ‘Don’t let that stop you, Jim. I never let anything stop me from going after what I want. You have to believe you’re good enough for anyone.’
‘I—I do.’
‘So I should think so. You are a sweet boy. You have a good face and, no doubt, a good mind. When you want to take a wife, I’m sure Alec Harvey will set you up in a cosy little tied cottage. You see, you already have a lot to offer a woman.’
Jim stared, his limbs frozen as she came closer and closer to him. Her beautiful violet eyes were boring into him.
‘Have you ever had a woman, Jim?’
An age passed for Jim. He could only shake his head.