‘Yes, indeed, it is very lovely here in every way. We’re also blessed at home with fine sea views. It’s rather enchanting to watch the fishing boats going out to sea and returning safely. May I ask you Mr Benedict when your fiancée is due to arrive? I am looking forward to meeting her.’
‘You may ask of me anything you wish, Miss Opie.’ He gave her a sideways smile. ‘I shall have the pleasure of Bettany’s company in a few days time. She will stay for a while to look over her new home and will be here for the Grand Tea Party. Ah, look, it’s Mark Reseigh. Good morning to you, Mark!’
Claire blinked at his sudden hearty address and frowned over his use of an underling’s first name, both inappropriate – but not the end of the world. Claire felt herself slightly rebuked. It didn’t really matter, did it, how one person related to another, as long they were polite? She halted, in line with the vicar, while Mark Reseigh approached them from where he had been among some trees, skirting a lawn to avoid his boots churning up the grass. He had a sack hanging from one weathered hand. He lifted his cap. Good, thought Claire, he knows his place, his betters. She was uncomfortable to feel her conscience prick her. She got an unwelcome remark in her ears that Mr Benedict might chide her with, ‘We’re all equal in the eyes of God.’ Life had never seemed like that to her before – perhaps it should have though. She couldn’t recall her father preaching such a thing in one of his long, dreary sermons in the Methodist pulpit. Her mother would prefer to attend the Anglican church; she had confided to Claire that she felt embarrassed to admit to guests at the hotel, if any asked her advice where they could worship on a Sunday, that she and her husband were not Anglicans. Mrs Opie had received, so she said, many a disapproving turn of head. ‘It puts us among the tradespeople, Claire. I hate it. I have to get your father to change camps. He could easily become the church warden and have standing in a higher place.’ Claire had shared her mother’s opinions. Now she thought the only way that the church of the Cornish St Irwyn was higher than the Methodist chapel was merely in relation to its greater height in regard to sea level.
Gosh, she mused, a little stunned, Mr Benedict’s character is rubbing off on me. And she was pleased, she felt released from her normal beliefs and assumptions. She would reflect on all this when she got home.
‘How are you, Mark?’ Jacob asked the gardener when he was near. Jacob was aware that the young lady at his side, instead of being the intense, flustered soul he knew her to be from his calls at her home, was growing relaxed and patient.
‘Yes, and how is your lovely little girl?’ Claire added. ‘I must say she is such a credit to you.’ Where had that come from? Claire asked herself. She had noticed the dark-haired, strikingly pretty, chirpy two-and-a-half-year-old was bright and well behaved, but otherwise she had not given her another thought. She had not cared about the local children and wasn’t – hadn’t – been at all interested in this Grand Tea Party raising funds in part for the village school where she had known much misery.
‘Rowella is very well, thank you, Miss Opie,’ Mark replied, with evident pride and devotion.
‘Currently with her other grandma, Mrs Praed, I suppose, being doted on,’ Claire added. She was pleased she had gained the confidence to lead the conversation, a first for her. Usually she just followed her mother’s ideas, after listening to her with only half an ear.
Mark concurred she had supposed right, then after explaining he was at Owles House to attend the greenhouse and the conservatory, and to pick up blown about debris in the grounds, he excused himself and returned to his work.
‘A good man,’ Jacob said. ‘Had many such chaps under my command during the war. Mark was about to enlist when the Armistice was called. Thank God his youth saved him.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Claire replied in the hearty manner he might have used. She saw the proceedings ahead in a different light. She even realized she had an idea or two she might put forward, to be helpful rather than to impress. Only really important things were important to her now. She hoped Mr Benedict would not mention her mishap in the lane inside Owles House, and he did not.
Six
I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. Beth was in the dining room, waiting for Kitty to bring Stuart and his children, and Miss Marchant, to join her, Christina and Joe for the teatime meal. At this early hour they were to eat a hearty beef stew, followed by apple and cinnamon pie and custard, to nourish and warm the visitors, and enable the children to return to Mor Penty for their usual bedtime.
Beth had laid the cutlery perfectly but she was fiddling with the arrangements. ‘I hope this isn’t going to be too much for the children. They’ve done a lot of travelling. They must be quite worn out, poor things. Perhaps it would have been better if this had been put back until tomorrow.’
‘You may be right about that, darling,’ Christina replied, doubt also etched on her soft, naturally pale features. ‘But it was what Kitty thought would be best. It will mean the children won’t be going to bed tonight possibly nervous about meeting Joe and I tomorrow, and Mr Copeland will be glad to be in adult company, I should think.’
Beth gave a careless shrug, but her nerves and emotions were in havoc. In normal circumstances the coming visit would be a delight and she’d be eager to do all she could to help the Copelands, but how was she to meet her former lover. Damn Stuart for wanting to come down here. How selfish could he get? He must know how unsettling this would be for her. Or was he so insensible that he believed she had moved on so far in her new life she now only saw him as a friendly acquaintance from the past? The pictures and words sent to her from Louis and Martha tugged at her heart – it was always the children who suffered in these situations – but had Stuart contrived for them to send their sweet polite thanks to her?
Something else came into her mind. She had received another letter that day, but watching Rob Praed falling into the ditch outside Wildflower Cottage had pushed the second letter out of her mind. The cause of Rob Praed’s injury, the terrible infection that had caused his collapse, and the tale behind it, had caused a maelstrom of shock and high feelings among the fishing community and the rest of the cove. With his innocence established, practically every family in Portcowl had beat a path to Praed’s door with good wishes, gifts of foods and other stuffs and the proceeds of a monetary collection, so he and his sister Alison would not suffer financially while Rob was laid up and not earning.
Beth had run straight into Wildflower Cottage, bewildered to find Lofty Praed and all his sons there, one of them was sobbing with his head on his arms at the kitchen table, and the rest standing about shamefaced. ‘Come quickly, Mr Praed!’ Beth had cried; she had realized the cause of the strange scene later. ‘Rob is down in the ditch out in the lane and he’s very ill.’
‘Oh my God, no,’ Lofty Praed had wailed. ‘What now?’
All except the weeping Douglas Praed, had lifted Rob, now near unconscious and moaning, his muddied body drenched in sweat and jerking, and carried him inside and laid him down on the lumpy settee in the front room. Rob’s predicament was obvious. Mrs Praed had handed Rowella to Beth and hurried off to the kitchen; the medicine box and lots of boiled water was called for. Linford Praed had raced down to the cove to fetch the doctor.
Linford had returned with Rob’s two sisters. ‘Doctor won’t be long. I told him the trouble. He’s just getting some surgical stuff together. Said it sounds like the wound needs urgent lancing. We’re to lay Rob on the kitchen table, scrubbed down first, and put clean linen on it, and for us to strip him to the waist and carefully wash off any dirt. We need to get all the animals out of the house.’
‘We’ll help Aunty Posy do that,’ Alison and Judy had declared. Linford had told the sisters about Douglas’s disgrace. ‘Can someone make sure that lying swine isn’t in there? We might kill him! He’d better pray that Rob will be all right.’
Beth had kept Rowella out of the way, in another small downstairs room at the front of cottage, where the furnitur
e was made up of odds and ends and there was an ancient harmonium. It was a cosy room, warm from the other fires lit in the home. It was where young Lily often played, so there were some toys to amuse Rowella with. The beautiful raven-haired little girl was perfectly happy with Beth, as Beth was with her. They were wholly familiar with each other from the times Mark or Mrs Reseigh brought her to Owles House. Many times Beth had wondered if her lost baby would have been anything like clever little Rowella.
Doctor William Powell, of wrestler stature, rolling voice, full gingery beard and a waxed edged moustache, and high, brown, laced boots and tobacco-smelling Norfolk jacket, had announced he’d been alerted to the patient’s side in the nick of time. ‘As I thought, no time to get this chap to hospital, but I saw a lot worse in field dressing stations at the Front.’ First fitting up a drip into Rob’s arm, the men holding a delirious Rob still, Dr Powell had lanced the deep wound and cut out the infected flesh. The arm was then stitched, dressed and put in a sling.
‘You should have seen his fingers working,’ Posy had told Beth, after the doctor, fortified with a cup of her strong sweetened tea and two thick slices of yeast cake had left. ‘As swift and neat as could be, as expert at lace making as Evie, I’d say. Now we got to carry Rob upstairs. Rob would probably prefer to go home, but doctor’s forbid it for now. He’s to go in the twins’ room. He won’t want to go in Douglas’s. Doctor’ll call back this evening, he said. We got to get some liquid into Rob when he comes round, lots of sips, as much as he can take.’
‘Rob’s coming home as soon as possible,’ Alison said, almost in tears. ‘He didn’t deserve this. Rob would never do anything remotely dangerous on the boat and he’d never lie about it! An accident’s an accident and everyone understands that so Douglas needn’t have lied about it. It just shows how low he has sunk. If Rob loses his arm, I’ll never forgive him.’
‘And we insist that we’ll pay for the doctor,’ Judy had added, forcefully. ‘Uncle Lofty offered, but Rob wouldn’t want that.’
Rob’s recovery was going to be a drawn-out affair.
* * *
The letter writer must think I’m very impolite or uncaring, Beth thought. She didn’t have time to fetch the letter now, still inside the pocket of the coat she’d worn that day. The dogs were barking, and Joe called out that Kitty and the others had arrived. Beth swallowed hard and dredged up a smile on her face. As far as everyone else knew she and Stuart were friends from way back and she had no reason not to give him a warm welcome.
Taking a deep steadying breath, Beth walked with Christina out to the porch. The telephone rang. ‘I’ll get it,’ Beth blurted out, glad of the interruption as a face-saver for a while. ‘I’ll dash to the study so the call doesn’t encroach on the arrival.’
‘Hello, Owles House.’ Beth stood in front of Christina’s desk with her back to the door.
‘I’m so glad it’s you who has picked up the phone, Beth,’ replied a familiar and totally unexpected voice.
‘Connie?’ Stunned in surprise Beth was forced to unscramble a rush of confusion. ‘Is that you?’
‘Indeed it is, Stuart’s wife, one and the very same. Has he and my children arrived in Cornwall yet?’
There was harshness in Connie’s tone, and Beth believed her to be shaking, not with nervousness or contrition, as she should be, but anger. There was a fighting spirit to Connie, something unusual in the Connie that Beth had known before, and Beth sensed trouble brewing. She blew out between pursed lips, damning Stuart again for bringing himself and his family back into her life. Beth didn’t want these Copelands upsetting the peace for Christina and Joe and herself. ‘They got here safely today. In fact they’ve just arrived here at my mother’s house for a meal. Do you want to speak to him or the children? I know the children have missed you terribly.’
‘I do want to speak to the children very much of course I do, but not yet. I miss my children more than you could ever know, Beth Tresaile. So you saw fit to ignore my letter?’ Beth’s mouth fell open, now she knew why the mystery letter’s writing had been recognizable to her. Connie’s voice was pitched icy and bitter. Beth could interrupt her and explain why she had not yet read her letter but she decided to listen to her.
‘I asked you to meet me where I’ve been staying for the last few days, at the Grand Sea View Hotel. Did you think I’d just go away? I’ll repeat what I wrote to you. I made a terrible mistake but I’m alone now and glad if it, and I want my marriage and children back. I want you to help me, Beth. I knew all about your affair with Stuart almost from the beginning. Stuart was useless at hiding the facts. I didn’t mind because I’d fallen in love with someone else too, but that’s come to a sorry end. I want to revive our marriage; we both owe that to the children. I know poor Louis is having a rough time of it. The problem is I can’t stand knowing that Stuart still hankers after you, Beth. I want you to show him he hasn’t got a chance in hell of getting you back. Another try at our marriage would be empty and dry if he can’t get you out of his mind. You owe me, Beth. I didn’t reveal your affair with Stuart, and I’m pretty sure you lost a baby to him, didn’t you? I’m not a vindictive woman. I don’t want to spoil your friendship with Kitty. But now I feel no consideration for you whatsoever after you chose to ignore my written plea.’
‘Listen to me, Connie,’ Beth said urgently. ‘I’m sorry about the letter. I would have read it the day I received it but I came across a local fisherman who’d had a terrible accident and he had collapsed and was in danger. I’m sorry but I forgot all about your letter, I swear. I can assure you the last thing I want is to have Stuart back.’
‘Good! You can help me win Stuart back. I want you to do only what you can do. I want you out of his head. It’s as simple as that. If you don’t help me exactly as I want, then I’ll spill the whole truth about you and my husband to Kitty. I’ll make out you were a marriage wrecker. Kitty will hate you for it.’
‘There’s no need for that.’ Beth couldn’t keep a little acrimony out of her reply. ‘I didn’t want any of this. Believe me, I don’t want Stuart back. I wish to God he hadn’t asked to come down here. I only agreed to allow him to stay in my cottage for the children’s and Kitty’s sakes. I’ve moved on from him, Connie.’ Then she found herself saying, ‘Actually, I’m seeing a local man and I’ve never been happier. Look, we really need to talk in person.’
‘We certainly do. Come here tomorrow for morning coffee. Ask for Mrs Smithson. It’s the least you can do for me.’
‘I won’t be a minute late. I really ought to go, Connie, or the others will think it odd.’
‘Well, you can start working for me straightaway, can’t you? Have a good evening, Beth. Make sure you do the right thing.’ Connie’s clipped tones faltered. ‘G–give the children a secret kiss from me.’
This last emotional request eased some of Beth’s growing horror. ‘I will.’
Aware of the artificially jolly voices coming from the hall, as often happens during introductions, Beth replaced the receiver and put a hand to her agitated stomach. She did not have time to go through all her chaotic feelings. She patted her face to smooth out any giveaway signs that she had just been shocked, challenged and put in the tightest spot of her life. She turned sharply on her heels while splashing on a big smile, hoping it would appear natural and sincere, that she would seem relaxed and not to be feeling out of the ordinary. She went to the hall, keeping her gaze low so she would first focus on the dear, rather tragic Copeland children.
It worked Beth’s way. Pulling off her second red and white woollen glove, Martha Copeland came rushing to her, and Beth bent and scooped the lovely chubby little girl up into her arms. She hugged and kissed Martha and laughed when Martha did so to her. Beth realized then how much she had missed the children who had been brought up to look on her as an aunt.
‘Oh, Auntie Beth.’ Martha squeezed her neck. ‘It’s ages and ages and ages since we saw you. I like your house by the sea. Will you be spending lots of ti
me with us, like Auntie Kitty?’
‘Of course, every minute I can,’ Beth promised. ‘Auntie Kitty and I will take you and Louis all over the local area. It will give your daddy a chance to have lots of time to himself.’ Heed the point, Mr Copeland. I don’t want to spend time with you. Beth then sought Louis and holding Martha’s weight with one arm she put her hand out to the petulant-looking boy. ‘Hello, Louis, won’t you come and say hello? You probably think you’re far too grown up for hugs. We can just shake hands, if you like.’
Much like Stuart in looks, Louis also had a sprinkling of freckles over a neat nose and full lips like Connie. Beth was moved by how breakable he looked under his sullenness. She could tell he’d just about had enough of change and upset and was on the verge of tears, and it wrenched at her heart to see how he was trying to hold his tears back. Here was a boy of seven years whose father wasn’t coping and who needed his mother. Beth carried Martha to him and Louis went tenuously to meet her. Beth placed Martha down and kept her arm round the little girl, and with her other arm she gently pulled Louis to her. ‘It’s all right, darling,’ she whispered in his ear. ‘Don’t worry. You like dogs, I remember. You can have lots of fun with Grace and Chaplin, and there’s so much else you can do here. Will you be OK? Auntie Kitty and I will show you lots of exciting places. We’ll go exploring.’ Then she raised her voice. ‘It will give Daddy lots of time by himself to relax.’
Louis nodded, clung to her for a moment then shuffled. Feeling his tension Beth let him go.
‘Louis wants a puppy. We both want a puppy,’ Martha piped up in the hard-done-by manner of a child trying to manipulate getting her own way. ‘But Daddy won’t let us have one. He said he couldn’t cope with a puppy as well as us. Auntie Kitty found a puppy down here. Will you take us to the place she found Grace so we can see if we can find a puppy? Daddy can’t refuse us having an abandoned puppy, can he, not really.’
Reflections Page 6