‘Oh, Scarlet!’ The small eyes grew wide and bright. ‘I’ll help you all I can, you know that. And of course we must keep it from your parents at all costs.’ Her voice dropped to a fearful whisper, ‘Especially from your father, or there’s no telling what he might do!’ She had seen for herself how unnaturally Vincent Pengally doted on Scarlet. One thing puzzled her, though, and she was urged to ask, ‘Whose is it, Scarlet?’ She was well aware that Scarlet had little contact with the young men from the village. That left only Silas, who had been gone for some time now; John Blackwood, and that was unthinkable, and Garrett Summers. He seemed the likeliest one. ‘Is it Garrett’s?’ she asked at length.
‘Garrett Summers?’ Scarlet was astonished. ‘Why should you think that?’
‘I’m sorry, Scarlet.’ Shelagh was suitably remorseful. ‘It’s really none of my business but, like I said… I’ll help you all I can.’ She couldn’t help adding, ‘If it is Garrett Summers’s child, then I’m sure he’ll do the right thing by you. His father’s a wealthy man, and Garrett stands to inherit it all some day.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it, Shelagh.’ Scarlet thought it strange that Shelagh had jumped to that particular conclusion. But then she reminded herself that Shelagh knew very little of Silas, or of their dangerous feelings for each other, because he had left Greystone House almost as soon as Shelagh had arrived. Perhaps it was just as well.
‘Tell me only as much as you want to.’ Shelagh collected the candleholder from the mantelpiece and, after lighting the candlewick, she took it up, coming to where Scarlet was still seated at the table, head bowed and deep in thought. ‘Your secret is safe with me, Scarlet,’ she said. ‘Trust me.’
‘Thank you, Shelagh. You really are a good friend.’ Scarlet looked up with a warm smile. ‘Later… I might want to talk.’
‘Whenever you’re ready, I’ll be a willing listener.’ Shelagh took the candle and quietly departed the room, leaving Scarlet more relieved, yet still deeply anxious as to the outcome of it all.
Scarlet would have been even more anxious if she had known that every word of her conversation with Shelagh had been overheard.
When Shelagh had gone before her to make Hannah comfortable for the night, Scarlet stood at the parlour door, gazing at her father, who was sleeping in the chair. The flickering light from the lamp on the mantelpiece played on his face, accentuating the ungainly features and creating such an eerie effect that, for an unnerving moment, Scarlet imagined him to be looking straight at her. Even in his sleep, he had the uncanny power to make her uneasy. In spite of the fact that he was now middle-aged and the passage of time had taken its toll, he remained a formidable force, physically powerful and mentally hostile; although of late, following the series of unpleasant and bizarre events, he had become increasingly nervous and strangely secretive, throwing himself into his work with such savagery that might cripple a lesser man; he had resisted employing another in place of Silas, and so his work was especially demanding. Before turning into the corridor, Scarlet wondered how he would react when he discovered that she was with child. The prospect filled her with dread.
Upstairs in Hannah’s room, Scarlet found Shelagh softly singing as she busied herself in tidying away the paraphernalia that seemed always to accumulate during a normal day. Hannah lay, drowsily watching.
‘Not asleep yet?’ Coming to the bed. Scarlet kissed her mammy and afterwards sat on the nearby chair, gently stroking Hannah’s brow.
‘I am tired,’ Hannah murmured, closing her eyes, ‘but I mustn’t go to sleep.’ Her pale blue eyes opened in alarm. ‘If I do go to sleep, you won’t let anyone else come into my room, will you?’
‘Of course not.’ Scarlet’s smile was reassuring. ‘No one will come into your room, Mammy… believe me.’ These past weeks she imagined the darling woman to be shrinking before her eyes. ‘You’re not to worry about such things. Shelagh and I will keep you safe.’ Still the blue eyes gazed at her, almost unseeing.
‘Come on now, Hannah.’ Shelagh came to the bed and tucked the eiderdown tighter across Hannah’s narrow shoulders. ‘You know perfectly well that you’ll come to no harm. Not while we’re both here to keep an eye on you. So you can go to sleep with an easy mind.’ When she saw Hannah’s tired eyelids droop, she blew out the candle, collected the lamp and touched Scarlet on the shoulder. ‘We’d best leave her now,’ she whispered, ‘she’ll be alright, don’t fret.’
Glancing at the small still figure in the bed, Scarlet was satisfied that if they went now, they would not be missed. She followed Shelagh, going on tiptoe across the room. As they drew level with the window, Shelagh gasped aloud and drew back as though shocked. Half-turning her head, she stared at Scarlet with round frightened eyes. ‘There’s someone out there!’ she said in a loud whisper, the lamp trembling in her hand.
Quickly, Scarlet came to the window and peered out into the night. It was pitch black, but the moon was high, casting a yellowish glow over the bleak moorland below. Scarlet raked her eyes over the primitive landscape, from the high ridge to the yard below; she could see nothing untoward and she told Shelagh so.
‘There was something… someone!’ Shelagh assured her, with a shaking voice. ‘A dark figure… walking the ridge, and looking in this direction!’ In her fright, all thought of Hannah must have fled her mind. It was only when there came a cry from behind her that Scarlet realised how Hannah must have listened to it all. ‘Who’s out there?’ she demanded to know, coming quickly to Scarlet and clinging to her, her every limb quivering with terror. ‘Is it the same one who taunted me? Has he come for me?… Has he?’
‘Don’t talk nonsense, Mammy… there’s no one out there. Isn’t that so, Shelagh?’ She looked on the white-faced young woman for reassurance.
‘Dear me! What a perfect idiot I am, Hannah!’ Shelagh remarked, forcing a laugh and pointing out of the window to the ridge above the house. ‘See there,’ she said, taking Hannah by the arm and gently drawing her out. ‘D’you see… along the ridge, to the right… that clump of trees?’ She pointed again and lifted the lamp towards the window. ‘The breeze is getting up to a fearsome strength… it was the tree I saw… and its branches blowing in the wind.’
‘There you are, Mammy,’ Scarlet herself was relieved. ‘It was nothing sinister, was it?… Nothing to be worried about.’ She folded her two arms about Hannah’s frail shoulders and began leading her towards the bed, being more insistent when she sensed Hannah’s resistance.
‘As Shelagh told you, Mammy… it was only the wind blowing the trees,’ she told her firmly.
‘You wouldn’t lie to me, child… would you?’ Hannah climbed into bed and, on Scarlet’s direction, she slid down beneath the covers, her wide blue eyes staring up. ‘If you lied to me… that would be a terrible thing,’ she warned.
Shocked by the sternness in her mammy’s voice, Scarlet told her firmly, ‘I would never lie to you… I never have!’
She indicated for Shelagh to leave. After a while, all was quiet, and soon Hannah’s rhythmic breathing told Scarlet that she also could leave. Her mammy seemed to be resting easily. She would have departed the room, then and there, but for her father’s heavy footsteps mounting the stairs. Quietly she waited until she thought he too would be asleep.
When she felt it was safe to do so, Scarlet came out onto the landing and went quickly to her own room a short distance away. There she undressed and strip-washed in the cold water from the jug. Normally she would have taken the bowl downstairs and emptied it, but tonight she felt exhausted. Drawing on her cotton nightgown, she climbed into bed, and was soon in that dreamy comfortable state between being awake and sleeping; and she could not get Shelagh’s words out of her mind. ‘If it is Garrett Summers’ child, then I’m sure he’ll do the right thing by you. His father’s a wealthy man, and Garrett stands to inherit it all some day.’ Scarlet wondered at the deviousness of her own thoughts. All of what Shelagh had said was true. And, if it proved to be necessary, Garre
tt might well provide a useful means of escape!
Yet, even while the possibility presented itself, Scarlet was drawn into other, more tormenting thoughts, thoughts of Silas. What had become of him, she wondered. Was he many miles away, perhaps in some other girl’s eager arms? Had he forgotten her, as she intended to forget him? Or did he mean what he said when he had vowed to come back for her? The prospect gave her no pleasure. ‘Stay away,’ she murmured. ‘You stay away from me!’ She deliberately thrust all thought of him from her mind. But the pain was still there, in her heart. Soon, weariness overwhelmed her, and she drifted into a deep fretful sleep.
Hannah could not sleep. Something had disturbed her and now it was playing on her imagination, being made to grow out of all proportion by her own terrible fears. Time and again she screwed her eyes up tight and willed them not to open, not to look towards the window. But they would not stay closed. They would not be drawn from the window, and her fears would not be stilled. She knew that, in spite of her denial, Scarlet had lied to her! In her poor twisted mind, Hannah was convinced that something terrible was about to happen. ‘Scarlet.’ Her voice was little more than a whisper, a desperate cry for help, but she knew that help would not come; Scarlet had lied to her! Who would help her, then? Hannah could think of only one soul who would come to her aid… just as she had done once before. The herb-gatherer! Yes. She must get to her. Before the others came, and it would be too late.
In the darkness, Hannah stumbled. ‘Ssh!’ She remained perfectly still, listening. They must not hear, or they would stop her. They must not stop her! Encouraged by the ensuing silence she went on, pausing at the window and looking out, just as she had done earlier when Shelagh frightened her. But it was only the branches of a tree blowing in the wind, wasn’t that so? See! There it was again, on the high ridge. Hannah peered deep into the darkness, her attention drawn to the ridge and the clump of trees. Yes, there it was. It was the wind, moving the branches and making them look so real it was fascinating. There was something strangely hypnotic about the way in which the branches swayed and beckoned. Hannah was mesmerised. But quick! She must escape this house, before it was too late. They were all her enemies. Even Scarlet!
Outside, the wind gently howled and the moon grew dim as Hannah climbed towards the high ridge and the one who waited there. She was not afraid, because the voice was kind, soothing. ‘Hannah,’ it whispered, ‘don’t be afraid. I’ve come to help you… I’m your friend.’ And she believed it with all her heart. It was the herb-gatherer, come to take her to safety, she thought.
Blindly, as though in a dream, Hannah followed the voice, over the ridge, along by the spinney, and down towards the fast-flowing river. The wind tore at her hair and pierced her nightgown with bitter fingers; the moon slipped away behind the grey clouds, and all around was steeped in darkness. Hannah stumbled on, her bare feet cut and bleeding. She must not be left behind. The thought made her frantic. On and on she went, watching and following. Now she was led to the river’s edge. The voice murmured in her ear, ‘Now you’ll be safe, Hannah.’ The hand on her shoulder was gentle, loving. A sensation of falling. Then the cool lapping water, smooth as silk against her skin, enfolding, embracing. At long last she was safe.
11
‘But why won’t you go to her grave?’ Shelagh demanded. She followed Scarlet into the shed, where she and John were busy crating apples. ‘It’s been three months now, and still you won’t pay your respects.’
‘She knew how much I loved her… needed her, yet she took her own life!’ Scarlet rubbed the apples with such vigour that the skin ruptured. ‘She deserves no respect.’
Shelagh gave a small cry of frustration, before appealing to John. ‘You talk to her. I can’t make her see sense!’
John looked at Scarlet. He saw how distressed she was, and how vicious her temper was becoming, and he knew when to leave well alone. Returning his anxious gaze to Shelagh, he softly mouthed the words, ‘Best leave her be.’
Sighing deeply, Shelagh understood his meaning and, collecting up her wicker basket, she resumed her journey into the village, ‘I shan’t be long,’ she called out behind her, ‘I’ve a deal of shopping to do. And I mean to see a friend. You think on what I’ve said, Scarlet!’ Her voice fell away. ‘She’s only hurting herself… nobody else,’ Shelagh could be heard muttering as she picked her way along the rows of newly set greens. ‘I’ve tried… nobody can say I didn’t try to warn her.’
‘Going to see that pot-girl from the Luttrell Arms,’ observed John indignantly. ‘Huh! Some friend that one is… if you ask me, she’s a brassy, conniving sort!’ He glanced at Scarlet. ‘Don’t be so savage with them apples, my girl,’ John warned Scarlet, ‘you’ll have ’em splitting apart in your hands.’ When Scarlet made no response, he changed the subject. ‘Shelagh’s settled in a treat at Greystone House, don’t you think? And she copes very well with your father.’ He straightened up from the workbench, tipped his neb cap back on his head and groaned, ‘By! These day me bones seem to creak more than they used to, but we none of us get any younger, do we?’ He glanced at Scarlet, thinking how she’d filled out lately, and attributing it to Shelagh’s wholesome cooking. But her face was unusually pale, especially considering that today was one of the hottest they’d had during the whole of September, and she tired quickly; that was not like her. His heart went out to her. Poor girl, he thought. Deserted by Silas, and now by her mammy. Ah, but then Silas would likely be back one of these fine days, seeing as how he worshipped the ground Scarlet walked on. As for Hannah, well, she was past the helping and was likely better off where she was, poor demented soul. He wouldn’t forget that night when Scarlet raised the alarm and the whole village turned out, tramping the moors till daylight. It were him as found the wretched creature, some way down the river and caught fast between the tentacles of an overhanging tree. She was lying beneath the surface in a shallower area, with her long white nightgown billowing above her like a mantle. He recalled the look on her face when they brought her onto the bank! Strange it was, almost as if she was smiling. It put the fear of God in him, and that was a fact. As for Vincent Pengally, he had gone to pieces… locking himself in the smithy till all hours, and falling into a black, silent mood when he wouldn’t talk to a single soul for days on end. Funnily enough, he even recoiled from Scarlet, and it was Shelagh who finally coaxed him into a better frame of mind. She positively spoiled him, going to the trouble of enticing him to eat by cooking his favourite dish of veal, while she and Scarlet were made satisfied with a lesser dish, which wasn’t quite so costly. It seemed almost as though Shelagh had naturally slipped into Hannah’s shoes. She was a real godsend.
‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Scarlet,’ he said now, hoping to lighten her mood. ‘You’ve nothing to reproach yourself for, you know… your mammy did what she did because she was a very sick, misguided woman. Oh, look, Scarlet… can’t you find it in your heart to forgive her?’
‘No!’ Scarlet rounded on him with such vehemence that he was visibly shaken, ‘and I’ll thank you not to talk about it. You and Shelagh both.’
‘We’re only thinking of you. I don’t like to see you punishing yourself. And you know how fond Shelagh is of you.’ He might have said more, but the forbidding look on her face dissuaded him. ‘Alright… I know when to keep my mouth shut.’
For the remainder of the day they worked in silence, with Scarlet deep in thoughts of her mammy and of the child who would not be still inside her. She knew that the moment was not far away when her father would begin to realise, now that he was coming to terms with the awful way in which Hannah’s life had ended. She would never come to terms with it!
In the village Garrett Summers had stopped Shelagh to ask after Scarlet’s well-being. ‘I’ve been to the smithy under every excuse I could devise and still I haven’t been able to exchange a single word with her.’ He looked at her with pleading eyes. ‘I was away for a while, and I’m desperately afraid she’s forgotten me. How is
she, Miss Williams?’ He walked beside her. ‘I was shocked to hear about Mrs Pengally… a terrible thing. Scarlet must have been devastated.’
‘She was, and still is, I’m afraid. But Scarlet is strong-hearted. She’ll be alright.’
They came to the corner of Church Street, where they paused to discuss quietly other matters concerning Scarlet’s well-being. They talked of the manner in which Silas had gone from Greystone House – ‘like a thief in the night’ explained Shelagh, adding that she was of the same opinion as Scarlet’s parents ‘where that one was concerned’. All the while they talked, Shelagh toyed with the idea of acquainting Garrett with Scarlet’s condition. Yet she was not altogether certain whether that would be a useful thing to do. Uppermost in her mind was the intention of bringing the two of them together; she saw Garrett as a means by which Scarlet could evade the wrath of her father, when he found out the truth. She suspected that Vincent Pengally was a man who would show no mercy.
‘Will you tell Scarlet how very much I’ve missed her… how much I need to see her and talk with her?’ Scarlet had remained an obsession with him. During his absence from Dunster, and ever since his return, he had tried to put her out of his mind, but he could not. He adored her now, more than ever. ‘Her father keeps her so isolated. Once upon a time she would escape to the moors in the dead of night… or on the day when Mr Pengally does his rounds. Recently I’ve wandered the moors… looking to find her there, but I never have.’ There was desperation in his voice.
‘These days Scarlet rarely leaves the house,’ Shelagh remarked cautiously. ‘Losing her mammy in that way was a terrible shock. Scarlet has become very withdrawn and quiet in herself.’ She was aware also that Scarlet had suffered badly because of her passion for Silas, and because of the way he had deserted her. There had been times when she sensed that there was something about Silas and Scarlet that went far deeper than mere passion or love; some inexplicable thing that had drawn them together with the same relentless power that had eventually wrenched them apart.
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