Scarlet

by Brindle, J. T.

  Here in this beautiful church, where on so few occasions her own mammy had brought her as a child, Scarlet found a measure of peace. She recalled how Hannah had always been afraid that her husband might discover her forbidden rare visits to God’s house; forbidden because Vincent Pengally fervently believed that there was no higher being. He denied all that was good and gentle, immersing himself in the darker, more evil elements of his existence. Hannah, therefore, was made to live by his beliefs. Yet there were times, though few, when she found the courage to defy him. Scarlet remembered. And among her heartfelt prayers the most profound was for Hannah. ‘I know I have never really trusted you, Lord,’ she murmured now, ‘but… who else can I turn to?’ Even so, she sensed that her tormented soul would never find sanctuary.

  Outside, unaware that Silas was observing her from a distance, Scarlet took a moment to stand over the spot where Hannah was buried. Afterwards she meandered down the path, watching Cassie run playfully up and down the bank, and occasionally pausing to gaze at the many old granite headstones that marked the places where the dead were laid to rest. Scarlet was saddened by one in particular, where lay an infant of one year and seven months, by the name of Jane, also a lady called Ann. Scarlet could not read the inscription but was told the names by her mammy. She wondered, in passing, whether they were mother and child.

  As she stood, slightly stooped towards the headstone, her gaze lingering awhile, there came over Scarlet a creeping horror that she was being watched. The sound of her name, spoken in a whisper, struck fear to her heart. ‘Scarlet… I’ve been looking for you.’ She swung round.

  SILAS! His name froze in her throat. She could hardly believe her eyes. Yet here he was, and it registered, even through her shock, how devilishly handsome he looked, in a long dark overcoat, his thick black hair loose and wayward about his face, and those intense violet eyes locking her to him just as they had always done.

  ‘You!’ Her black eyes were made brilliant by the horror that rose up in her. Instinctively she backed away, calling for Cassie. When the child ran to her, she clutched her tightly, until the blood was stopped in her tiny fingers. ‘GO AWAY,’ Scarlet implored him. When he still came towards her, calling her name, his gaze caressing her face, she swept the child up into her arms and, in her terrible panic, could only think to flee! Dark recesses were opened in her mind; her father’s warnings all began murmuring in her senses. ‘He eats little innocents… eats!… eats!’ She was a child again, frightened and vulnerable. But she loved Silas! NO! He was no different from her father. Why wouldn’t they leave her be? When his hands fell to her shoulders and her eyes were made to look on him, the words spat out. ‘STAY AWAY FROM ME!’ Fear became loathing.

  ‘Never!… I’ll never stay away.’ He would have taken the child and lowered it to the ground, but Scarlet had her so fast there was no parting them. Instead, he bent his head towards Scarlet, his voice but a whisper. ‘I love you,’ he told her, ‘and you love me, Scarlet. You belong to no other man. Come with me now… you and the child.’ When, unable to speak, she vehemently shook her head, he put his hand to her face, caressing her, awaking those feelings inside her that she believed to be long buried. ‘I am my own man now, Scarlet… with a small business and fortune enough for us to lead a good life. I’ve worked hard for this day. Don’t deny me now, Scarlet. I can’t live without you. I won’t live without you any longer!’ There was such agony in his voice that, for a moment, Scarlet was stirred to compassion.

  Suddenly, his mouth was on hers. In spite of herself, a small thrill ran through her. But then she remembered. She remembered and the spell was broken. Twisting away, she ran from him, on and on, his voice calling behind her in the distance, ‘You’ll never belong to any other man. I won’t let you!’ She dared not look back. Only forwards, to where the market traders loudly entreated and the people jostled each other, where she could be lost amongst them. Her head was pounding. He was back. Silas was back. Now the other things would be back. THE BAD THINGS!

  From across the road, Garrett Summers had seen them together. He had seen Scarlet in Silas’s arms; Silas, older and looking more prosperous, more handsome. He had seen how tenderly Silas had kissed Scarlet, and how she had melted in his arms. After that he could bear no more and had hurried away with a heavy heart, a broken spirit, and a terrible sense of outrage that threatened to consume him. For the first time in his life, he wanted to kill… Silas, Scarlet… both of them!

  It was Sunday. The watery sunshine of the previous day had given way to gentle snow showers. Torn by the events that had cruelly shattered any peace of mind she might have gained, Scarlet had spent a sleepless night. She was restless, apprehensive, beset by all manner of crippling doubts and torment. Garrett had not come home. WHY NOT? Where was he? She had punished herself time and time again, until she thought she must go crazy. Was it possible that he knew how Silas had approached her? Was he somehow aware that they had spoken together? That he had kissed her and, God forgive her, that she had wanted him to? He did know. He must! If not, why was he not there to meet her at the Yarn Market? And why had he stayed out all night?… something he had never done!

  In the back of her mind, Scarlet recalled a figure standing in the clockmaker’s doorway when she fled from the church. Could that have been Garrett… watching? The idea did not even bear thinking about. She covered her face in her hands and remained huddled by the fire, unable to rid herself of the awful premonition that some terrible tragedy was brewing! Since their return yesterday, Cassie had been upset, crying and asking her mammy why ‘the man wouldn’t let you go?’ This morning, when Scarlet had hoped the child might have forgotten, there had been a disturbing scene after the nanny had brought Cassie to Scarlet’s bedroom, informing her that ‘your daughter woke in a bad dream, Mrs Summers… she was very distressed… wet the bed. Who is this “man” she seems so afraid of?’ Frantic, Scarlet had failed to pacify Cassie. Eventually she sent both her and the nanny away; the one still crying, the other in a black mood following a lashing with Scarlet’s sharp tongue. Scarlet had felt deeply uncomfortable beneath the other woman’s cold glare. With her mouth set in a thin angry line, the nanny had quickly retreated from the room, thankful to take the child with her and wondering whether the young Mrs Summers – the unusually unkempt and nervous, frightened Mrs Summers – had taken leave of her senses. But then, she had reminded herself, wasn’t it common knowledge how the young master’s wife had never really fitted into this household? Added to which, she was of Pengally stock. And weren’t they all… somewhat strange?

  Unable to settle and not yet ready to apologise, even though she was riddled with guilt over her unforgivable behaviour, Scarlet had washed and dressed, then gone downstairs with the intention of searching out any sign of Garrett. It was when she drew level with the library door that she heard the disgruntled voice of Ruth Taylor, the housekeeper. She was addressing Edward Summers, telling him, ‘I’m not one to criticise, sir… but your daughter-in-law has caused a great deal of upset since coming to this house. She makes no attempt to fall in with normal routine… a routine I might add, that has been successful these many years… and she goes out of her way to antagonise both myself and the other members of this household. Why! Less than an hour ago, your grandson’s nanny was all but forcibly ejected from Mrs Summers’s room, after being spoken to most harshly! Really, Sir… I do think that you should have strong words with that young lady. She takes no notice of me.’

  ‘I suggest that you petition my son with your complaints, Miss Taylor. If you recall, I have guests from America. Have Mr and Mrs Thornton been informed that I am waiting breakfast for them?’ His manner was dismissive.

  ‘Of course, sir. They will be down directly. But… about the other matter. I understand that your son did not come home last evening. The main door was left unbolted after I retired… on the express instructions of Mrs Summers. It was still unbolted this morning, and Nanny reports that Mrs Summers was alone in her room… greatl
y agitated by your son’s absence, I believe.’

  There was an awkward silence while this surprising information was considered. Outside the door, Scarlet wondered what Edward Summers’s reaction would be. It was as she might have expected. There was undisguised pleasure in his sarcastic remark, ‘Well! Well! So… my son left his “lovely” wife alone all night, did he?’ There was another pause before, with irritation, he reminded her, ‘I have told you before… don’t bother me with domestic problems… I don’t have time for such matters! As you so rightly pointed out… she is my son’s wife, not mine! Thank God! Talk to him about it. It won’t hurt Garrett to know how ill she fits in here. Now then. Kindly wheel me to the dining room.’ Neither of them heard Scarlet slip quietly away.

  As she retraced her steps across the hall and up the grand curving stairway, Scarlet’s attention was drawn towards the nursery, which was situated some short way down the landing from the top of the stairs. She could hear a child’s laughter over soft American voices and, amidst it all, the nanny’s harsher tones. The door was open. Scarlet halted outside, looking in on the scene and regretting that she was not part of it. Beside the fireplace, the small pleasant figure of Mrs Thornton was stooped towards Cassie, the two of them playing some little game and every so often laughing out loud. Mr Thornton stood by the dresser, his tall authoritative presence seeming to fill the room, and overwhelming Nanny’s slight form as she proceeded to outline in the smallest detail the unsettling events of the morning. Suddenly all were aware of Scarlet’s presence and all eyes turned towards her; Nanny appeared to be suitably embarrassed though not repentant. Mr Thornton’s stony glare told Scarlet of his outright disapproval of her, though he could not altogether disguise his certain appreciation of her charms and a lurking lust that outshone the contempt in his eyes. Cassie’s gaze was the harshest, and the one which hurt Scarlet the most. The child had still not forgiven her for sending her away.

  At once Mrs Thornton came forward, a warm genuine smile on her face, and her hands outstretched in welcome. ‘Oh, Scarlet… what a delightful daughter you have in Cassie,’ she said, catching hold of Scarlet’s hand and drawing her into the room. ‘We have to hurry down to breakfast now, but I’m sure you’ll be glad to have Cassie to yourself.’ Suddenly her voice was quieter, her soft eyes more wistful. ‘I can’t have children, you know. Oh, I can’t tell you, Scarlet… what I would give for a child of my own… a daughter, like Cassie.’

  ‘Don’t burden others with your problems, Nancy,’ reprimanded her husband. ‘Just thank the Good Lord for the many other blessings He’s seen fit to bestow on you.’ In a moment he was at her side, his hand on her shoulder, gently turning her away. ‘Let’s not keep our host waiting,’ he suggested. As they departed from the room, Mrs Thornton glanced back to where Cassie was sitting, her small face enveloped in a deep frown and her unhappy gaze intent on Scarlet. Mr Thornton did not look back, but Scarlet instinctively knew that his thoughts were on her. The idea made her flesh crawl.

  Getting down to her knees, Scarlet reached out to touch her daughter’s soft fair hair, twirling it round her fingertips and smiling into those uplifted dark eyes. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart,’ she said lovingly, ‘Mammy was wrong to shout and send you away.’ She was relieved to see the warmth come flooding back into Cassie’s tiny oval face. ‘Can we be friends again?’ she asked. ‘Can we cuddle and make up?’ Soon there was no trace left of a frown, and the child eagerly threw her small arms around Scarlet’s neck, hugging her close and declaring joyfully, ‘Friends, Mammy.’ Scarlet held her tight. How easy it had seemed for Cassie to forgive her. Would that she could forgive. But there were things she could never forgive. Not now. Too much had happened. Too much had been left to fester for so very long.

  After a while, she held the girl away and turned to the nanny, who had been observing mother and child with interest and a degree of envy. ‘I really am sorry about my behaviour earlier,’ Scarlet told her, ‘it won’t happen again.’

  The woman nodded, her staid expression betraying nothing of her feelings. ‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I understand.’ She looked at Scarlet’s troubled face and at the dark shadows beneath her eyes. She recalled how young Mr Summers had not been at home all night, and still she felt no pity. Instead she would gladly have traded places with Scarlet, who she thought was very fortunate to be part of the respected Summers family, besides which she had two adorable children, and far too much beauty. Women like that seemed to think that the world owed them a living. Life was so unfair! However, she hid her feelings well, saying, ‘Cassie has asked me whether she can go out in the snow… is that alright with you, Mrs Summers?’

  Scarlet hesitated in her reply. But then a small excited voice piped in. ‘Cassie… play in the snow!’ Seeing that small face light up at the idea, how could Scarlet refuse? She embraced the child and kissed her tenderly. ‘Well, alright, then,’ she conceded, ‘but only for a short while… just a walk round the drive and back again,’ she informed Nanny, ‘and make sure she’s wrapped up warm.’

  ‘Of course. But we won’t be going just yet. I must see that David is settled first.’ She went over to the cot. Scarlet followed. ‘He’s such a good baby,’ Nanny added, ‘so quiet. And isn’t he the uncanny likeness of his grandfather?’

  Scarlet reluctantly agreed. Even though the boy was barely eighteen months old, he was the image of Edward Summers, with his sharp angled features and vivid green eyes; he could have been made out of the same mould. She watched now, as the nanny collected the child into her arms, cooing and making baby noises that made him chuckle and gurgle, his podgy fingers reaching out to tug the frilly cap from her head. On impulse, Scarlet reached out to curl her fingers round his tiny hand. At once he began loudly crying, as though the touch of her hand was painful to him, and the more she attempted to console him, the harder he screamed. Scarlet felt rejected, humiliated by her own son. He had the power to do that to her and, because of it, her love for him had been smothered. She had given birth to him, a long, difficult process that still scarred her mind; but she had never truly felt that he was part of her – not like her darling Cassie. David had been kept from her; raised by another. He belonged to the Summers men, not her. It was a painful thing for Scarlet to admit, but she had no love for the boy. Often she wondered whether it was because he had not been conceived in love. She did not know. And now she had stopped fighting her coldness towards him, yet she could not fight the guilt she suffered. That would not go away. It was another cross to bear, another burden to weigh her down.

  Leaving Cassie happily playing, Scarlet returned to her room. There she could close the door, shut out the harsh cruel world and be alone with her thoughts: thoughts of her father, of Garrett, and Silas. Thoughts that would not let her rest. During the next hour, she wandered aimlessly around the room, going from the long casement window to the fireplace, then back again to the window, where she gazed along the drive and into the distance, searching for Garrett. According to the stable-hand, Garrett had left Selworthy Manor in the carriage at about the time he had arranged to collect her and Cassie, then ‘he returned the carriage and soon after rode out on his bay hunter’. Scarlet was at her wit’s end. Why had he not been at the Yarn Market, then? It was true that her unexpected encounter with Silas had made her a few minutes late, but surely Garrett should have waited? Yet, according to what she had been able to discover since, he had arrived early and left the carriage waiting there while he himself set off on foot to scout for her. Shortly afterwards he had returned ‘in an anxious state’ and ordered the driver to take him back to the manor from where, soon after, he had ridden out across the moors. Since then, no one had any idea where he was. Scarlet might have consulted Edward Summers, but her instinct had warned her against it. And now, after the conversation she had overheard in the library this morning, she felt her instincts had been proved right. Garrett’s father would have no regrets if anything untoward had brought a rift between his son and ‘that damned Pengal
ly woman’.

  In the distance Scarlet could hear the church bells pealing out, calling parishioners of Dunster to early service. Suddenly she was engulfed by a tide of loneliness and despair. In that moment it seemed to Scarlet that, if there was a God, He had deserted her. There was no hope of love or laughter for her, no hope of peace or contentment; certainly not in this life. It seemed as though all of her life she had been immersed in darkness and fear, always struggling to reach for the light that would lead her out of that pit of Hell, yet, when she might glimpse the brink, something had dragged her down again. Surely death itself could be no worse. Then she thought of Cassie, and her heart was lighter. Cassie, who was fashioned from forbidden passion between Silas and herself; Cassie, who meant more than the whole world to Scarlet, more even than life. It was as though, on that night when she had given herself to Silas, when she had overcome the fear that marked her fascination of him, somehow there had been drawn from their passion all that was good and innocent; these elements alone had forged the unique creation that was Cassie. Now all that remained between Silas and herself was more sinister than it had ever been; a strong and forceful passion that could destroy them both. There was evil between them. She felt that in the churchyard yesterday, when he had held her close and kissed her. She felt it now. And she knew that she was not free of him.