Scarlet, however, was only too glad to have a friend in whom she could confide. She explained how Garrett was badgering her to name the day for their wedding, and how she was afraid to commit herself. ‘I’m terrified of making a mistake,’ she admitted.
‘Do you love him?’
‘No. Not in the way he wants me to love him.’ Scarlet was bluntly truthful.
‘But look what he’s offering you, Scarlet.’ Shelagh appeared distressed to see how Scarlet was so torn in her dilemma. ‘A marriage can be successful… if one partner loves enough for two. Think about it before you say no,’ she urged, ‘be sure of what you’re doing… there’s little Cassie to think of as well.’ She came to Scarlet and put a comforting arm round her neck. ‘You’ve been through so much, Scarlet. Don’t throw away the chance of a good life. And what’s the alternative?’
‘There’s no alternative.’ Scarlet was well aware of what Shelagh was so gently pointing out. Suddenly Greystone House and her father loomed in her mind, to darken her spirits. ‘Tell me what’s been happening with you,’ she asked. At once the atmosphere changed, just as Scarlet knew it would. She felt Shelagh move away, her sudden silence unnerving. ‘Is he well?’ She could not bring herself to openly refer to him as her father.
‘No, he is not well, Scarlet.’ Shelagh had returned to the wicker chair now, as she met Scarlet’s dark gaze with anxious brown eyes, her whole countenance appeared altered. The small round shoulders were slightly stooped and her short stocky fingers began nervously fidgeting with the folds of her sombre brown skirt. ‘He’s a strange man,’ she said in quiet voice, ‘since that night when he closed his door against you… he’s gone from bad to worse. Sometimes he’s almost out of his mind. He won’t eat properly… and he locks himself in the cellar for days on end.’ She shook her head, lowering her eyes to the floor and growing more agitated beneath Scarlet’s curious gaze. ‘Oh, I know I should leave him… I’m a fool not to leave him. But he’s ill, you see… he needs me.’ She raised her eyes and Scarlet was surprised to see that they were bright with tears. ‘I can’t leave him,’ she said, ‘you do understand? I’ve come to regard him as my responsibility… and Greystone House as my own.’
Scarlet was shocked by the startling revelations concerning her father, not only because he had always been so formidable and now was reported to be tragically punishing himself, but because of Shelagh’s admission that she could not leave him. A startling thought crossed her mind and she had to put it to Shelagh. ‘Are you saying you love him?’ The idea shook her to the core.
‘I don’t know if I “love” him.’ Shelagh also seemed shaken by Scarlet’s question. ‘All I know is that Greystone House has become home to me. Your father is ill.’ She smiled, and Scarlet’s heart went out to her. ‘It’s so good to be needed, Scarlet… to have a purpose.’
‘I think I understand.’ Scarlet glanced towards the cradle. ‘I, too, have a purpose now.’ Even so, she found it hard to believe that anyone could willingly tie themselves to her father. Memories of her mother came into her thoughts. Was there ever love in Greystone House? If there was, she could not recall it. Yet there was something prevalent there. Some intangible essence that clung and sucked you into itself, making you want to belong. Even now, in spite of everything, she herself was not entirely free of the malevolence that lived and breathed in the house of her childhood. Often when the moon was unusually high in a black cloudless sky and the wind swept the moors with its mournful melody, she would hear the house calling her, wailing her name like a lost soul. It seemed to know that she was waiting, listening, and forever struggling with that part of her that craved to return. There was evil in Greystone House. Vincent Pengally was that evil. Scarlet knew that it was he who beckoned her back. He meant to punish her for the dreadful thing she had done. She had defied him, betrayed him, and because of it he would always haunt her. He wanted her very soul. Trembling inwardly, Scarlet went to the cradle. Cassie was the sin her father would never forgive. She was desperately afraid for Cassie. And for dear Shelagh, who seemed blind to Vincent Pengally’s corrupt and predatory nature.
‘What’s the matter, Scarlet?’ Shelagh saw the crippling fear in Scarlet’s eyes when she brought her anxious gaze to bear on that kind homely face.
‘Don’t stay at Greystone House,’ Scarlet pleaded. ‘Get away from him… before he hurts you!’
For a moment, Shelagh appeared astonished, then her brown eyes crinkled into a warm disarming smile as she rose to collect her coat from the chairback. ‘Bless you, Scarlet,’ she laughed, ‘your father won’t hurt me. He relies on me too much.’ She put on her coat and gloves, tucking her green and yellow scarf into the deep collar and coming to tickle the baby under the chin. ‘You’re so lucky, Scarlet… to have someone of your very own.’ Suddenly her voice was serious. Turning to Scarlet she reminded her, ‘I am not so lucky… all I have is your father. Like you, I have little alternative.’ She offered her face for Scarlet to kiss. When the kiss was gladly given with a long loving embrace, she told Scarlet, ‘The world is a cruel and frightening place, Scarlet. Would it be so difficult for you to let Garrett protect you from all that? I know he adores you… and I’m certain he’ll treat little Cassie like his own flesh and blood.’ She had never pressed Scarlet as to who was Cassie’s father, although she had her own suspicions. For now, though, she wanted to save Scarlet from a worse fate than marrying Garrett Summers. Vincent Pengally was an unforgiving man, and only Shelagh knew how dangerously vengeful he felt towards his daughter and her child. ‘Say yes to Garrett,’ she urged Scarlet now. ‘Who knows… you could well learn to love him dearly.’ After playing with the child a moment longer and passing on John Blackwood’s wish to be remembered to Scarlet, Shelagh reminded her, ‘I’m not far away should you need me. I’ll call whenever I can, you know that… but I do have my hands full, what with your father being so very difficult, and I still have to cope with the everyday running of the house.’ She also revealed how the smithy was being allowed to run down. ‘Your father doesn’t seem to care that half his customers now take their horses to the blacksmith in Minehead.’
Scarlet was sorry to see Shelagh go because, for a short while, there had been real friendship to warm and guide her. She thought long and hard on Shelagh’s wise words. Her mind was made up. When Garrett returned, she intended to tell him that yes, she would agree to become his wife, and they could begin making plans for the wedding in the spring of next year. In spite of her determination to see it through for Cassie’s sake if for nothing else, there was an uneasy murmuring inside Scarlet, and a terrible sense of impending doom.
‘Good lord, Silas… anybody’d think you’d seen a ghost!’ Old Mr Turnbull was not surprised to find Silas already lighting up the forge. He had come to rely on him to be the first to work every morning, and today was no different, except that the young man’s handsome face appeared ashen, and his manner was unusually strange. ‘Are you alright, lad?’
Silas nodded, his black eyes seeming stark in his quiet face. He did not speak, but Mr Turnbull was not offended by this. He had long accepted that Silas was a man of few words. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a lovely day,’ he remarked in an effort to draw Silas into conversation. ‘The first day of May, eh? It’s just as well it’s coming summer… what with this blessed coal rationing. It does make life difficult and no mistake!’ When Silas made no response, he too succumbed to a deep and thoughtful silence.
Several times throughout the morning Mr Turnbull surreptitiously watched Silas at his labours. As always, he was astonished at the young man’s appetite for work. Silas had been here for almost a year now, and not once had he done anything that warranted reproach. He was a quiet brooding fellow, keeping himself to himself and offending no one. He lived a monotonous life, working each hour God sent and saving every penny he earned. During the one occasion when he had confided in another human being, Silas had revealed to Mr Turnbull how he intended to buy his own business, perhaps a smithy or
a small farm where he would breed the finest hunters and sell them to the gentry hereabouts. Mr Turnbull had assured him that, with his knowledge of horses, he should do well. He also suspected that Silas had a young woman somewhere, and though he never mentioned her, there were times when he would fall into deep thought and a yearning far-away look would come into his eyes. There was no doubt as far as Mr Turnbull was concerned. The lad was haunted by love, and by something else besides; although Mr Turnbull couldn’t say what exactly, only that it did seem on occasions as though Silas was deeply tormented.
In the early days, soon after he’d come to work at the Barnstaple smithy, Silas had a habit of disappearing for days on end, and then appearing just as suddenly. He had not done that for some time though. All the same, he was a difficult man to get to know. Mr Turnbull was convinced that Silas would make good, not only because he was the best worker ever seen at this forge and didn’t squander his money like the others; but because he was driven by a raging passion to succeed, to become a man of property; to be somebody. He was different in that way, and in other ways. He was not one of the men, and was not treated as such. There was something about him that warned people off. He had suffered too; suffered badly at the hands of some devil. It was there, in his dark soulful eyes, and in the deep cutting scars on his wrist and arms. Almost as though he’d been strung up and tortured.
Throughout the long exacting day, Silas spoke not a word. His tormented mind kept returning to the article he had seen in the newspaper that morning, together with a picture. A picture of Scarlet, looking extraordinarily lovely in a pale shimmering dress and wearing a coronet of flowers, her arms closely linked with that of a man. The dress was a wedding gown, and the man was Garrett Summers.
Scarlet was married! The words echoed over and over in Silas’s tortured thoughts, until he could think of nothing else. Scarlet had betrayed him. He cursed them both, cursing Scarlet more bitterly yet wanting her with every fibre of his being.
At day’s end, weary and exhausted, Silas climbed into his bunk. His frantic thoughts had given way to a more orderly and calculating pattern. With clarity he saw what he must do. He must bide his time until he was a man of consequence. Then, and only then, could he dare to go back and claim what was his, what had always been his! Scarlet was not lost to him. For now, though, she could have her short freedom. But when the time was right, when he could return without guilt or fear, when the shadows that pursued him were finally dispersed and all the horrors from his past laid to rest for ever, he would return. He would have his Scarlet again, or no other man would! Nothing on this earth, or in the heavens beyond, would keep them apart for ever. Their lives were too irreversibly entwined.
Part 4
1923
Torment
…The night is long
That never finds the day
Shakespeare
13
The maid thrust the poker through the bars and deep into the grate, agitating the dead coke ashes until they were all despatched into the lower tray. Withdrawing the tray, she laid a grimy cloth over it to prevent spillage, then on quick silent footsteps she departed, closing the door behind her, leaving Scarlet still seated at the far end of the room, thoughtfully gazing out of the window and down the long winding drive.
Wistfully, Scarlet looked up at the sky. Here and there were floating grey patches and the promise of rain, but in the far distance there was a vast stretch of bright blinding light. The breeze was gaining momentum. Soon the rain clouds would pass and the sun would break through. Sighing, Scarlet turned her gaze indoors, letting her dark eyes rove over the unquestionable grandeur of the drawing room, whose ornate expensive style and furnishing characterised every room throughout Selworthy Manor: deep plush carpets, velvet curtains, the smell of old leather and beeswax. Scarlet loathed it all. Some two years she had lived here, yet she could find no corner in which she belonged. She was uncomfortable in the presence of servants, and secretly awed by the invincible Ruth Taylor. Scarlet’s stubborn refusal to be humbled by the housekeeper had only heightened the ill feeling between them, making them bitter enemies. Garrett’s father had reluctantly managed to come to terms with his son’s choice of wife by ignoring her and staying out of her way at all times. There was resentment all round her, yet Scarlet was bitterly determined to hide her great unhappiness from them all. She made every effort to be polite and undemanding; she treated the housekeeper with respect and firmness and left her in no doubt that Scarlet Pengally could give as good as she got. She smiled and kept her dignity, exchanging pleasantries with Garrett’s father whenever he inadvertently found himself in her company, even though her reward was an icy reception which might have frozen out a lesser woman. She suffered the touch of Garrett’s probing hands on her and bore the grunting weight of his invading body in the dead of night when his appetite was roused. And always she gave the impression that his lovemaking was something good and exciting to her, when in reality the fusing of his bare flesh with hers made her inwardly cringe. Yet he was good to her, always kind and attentive, protecting her from the ill will of others and – his greatest endearing quality to Scarlet – treating Cassie as though she was his own. When Scarlet had borne him a son two years ago, she had been afraid that Garrett would favour his own flesh and blood in place of little Cassie. But he treated them both with equal love and attention. Scarlet was grateful for that. Garrett’s father, however, went out of his way to cultivate the boy’s affection, while ignoring Cassie as heartlessly as he did Scarlet. There were times when she wondered whether he might have somehow discovered that Cassie was not Garrett’s. Yet she knew that could not be. The only two people who knew that for certain were herself and Garrett, and neither of them wanted the truth known. She consoled herself with the fact that Edward Summers was not partial to females, on top of which he had never forgiven Cassie for being born out of wedlock. He saw David as being his only grandchild and, as such, the only legitimate heir after Garrett. Although Scarlet abhorred the old man’s rejection of Cassie, she was ashamed that her own maternal instincts towards David were not as they should be. She resented the fact that he was the favoured one, even doubted Garrett’s impartiality sometimes. And the boy was the result of a long unbearable night when Garrett had returned, hungry for her, from one of his business trips. The memory was not a pleasant one. Neither was the birth itself, which was an agonising and prolonged experience.
In all of her loneliness and frustration there had been two beacons of light in Scarlet’s life: one was her darling daughter; the other was Shelagh, who had kept in touch and proved to be a lifeline for Scarlet. She was a good listener, and seemed always ready with words of encouragement.
Suddenly, Scarlet was aware of a motor vehicle drawing up outside the front door. Quickly she crossed the room and came into the spacious hall. Here she paused on seeing the young maid coming towards her from the direction of the nursery. Cassie was toddling along beside her, wrapped in warm leggings and hooded coat. On seeing Scarlet, the child stumbled forward, excitedly calling, ‘Mummy… Mummy!’ Laughing, Scarlet swooped to pick her up. ‘Hello darling,’ she said, kissing her warmly. Then, turning to the young woman, she smiled, ‘Thank you.’ There it was again, that uneasiness she always felt when confronted by servants at her beck and call. Scarlet was reminded of the time soon after Cassie’s birth, and the forceful way in which she had to persuade Garrett that she would care for her daughter; there was no need of the nanny he insisted she must have. The thought of someone else tending to her child, answering her cries in the night and watching her grow day by day in that intimate way only a mother could enjoy, had filled her with dread. Cassie was hers. She would be the one to raise her! Seeing how adamant Scarlet was, Garrett had given in gracefully. But when his own son was born, his determination to employ a nanny was steadfast. Scarlet gave little resistance this time. Strangely enough, the prospect of Garrett’s child being ministered to by another woman was not so painful to her.
After being assured that the boy was sleeping, Scarlet made her way out of the house. She was really looking forward to the trip to market – a rare pleasure.
‘Well, I’m blessed!’ John Blackwood took off his cap and thrust it under his armpit. ‘It ain’t so often you come into the market these days.’ His smile was broad and full of delight. Scarlet was amused to see that he had two more gaps in his front teeth since she last saw him eight months ago.
‘I couldn’t stand being cooped up in that house a minute longer,’ Scarlet told him, her attention suddenly caught by the sight of a little boy playing nearby: a handsome little fellow with light brown hair and laughing green eyes that were smiling at Cassie. ‘Trent?’ she asked.
‘Aye. That’s my young ’un… Trent. Growed a bit since you last seen him, ain’t he, eh?’ John was bursting with pride as he stooped to sweep the boy into his arms. Swinging him up onto the wagon, he pointed to Cassie, who was hiding shyly behind Scarlet’s back. ‘Pretty little thing, ain’t she, boy?’ he laughed, shaking the boy until he began loudly giggling. His laughter was infectious and soon Cassie also was laughing and peeking out from the folds of her mammy’s skirt. ‘The lass ain’t much like you, is she?’ John thoughtfully regarded the little girl’s short fiery golden hair and dark eyes. ‘She’s got your eyes, though… dark and pretty. The fair hair’s from her daddy’s side, I expect?’ He quietly observed Scarlet, thinking how lovely and prosperous she looked in that tweed coat with its fur collar and matching cuffs. Her long black tresses fell from beneath a brown beret that was placed on her head at an attractive jaunty angle.
‘I expect so,’ agreed Scarlet, wondering, not for the first time, how Cassie’s hair was more like Garrett’s than that of her father; Silas’s hair was dark, so was hers. But then her own darling mother had hair the colour of Cassie’s. Perhaps Silas’s mother was fair also? It suddenly struck Scarlet that she knew nothing whatsoever of Silas’s background. She knew only the awful things her own father had told her, and that Silas was just there; all her life, he was just there, skulking in the dark, silent and forbidding. She had never discovered who he was, or where he had come from. Only that he would never leave her. Suddenly she shivered, even though the cold February wind was subsiding and a surprisingly warm sun was beginning to peep through.
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