‘I suppose so,’ Kitty muttered, not brought to feel guilty, as was Christina’s intention.
‘And you, Beth, shouldn’t be scathing about Evie’s engagement. Evie is a sensible girl, and her love and happiness shone out of her. She trusts Rob and she should be allowed to happily plan her future like any other bride-to-be. No more moping about it. Do you want to bring her down?’
‘Of course not, Mum.’ Beth did feel bad about her lukewarm response when Evie had excitedly brought her the news. ‘I’ll see her tomorrow. I’ll take her shopping and buy her something for her bottom drawer. But I’d like a private word with Rob. I’ll do all I can to make things special for Evie, but I’ll be watching Rob very keenly, and if I get the chance I’ll warn him not to hurt her.’
‘Fair enough,’ Christina replied, relaxing in the strongly upholstered seat. ‘Now let’s enjoy the day. The weather’s calm and the sun’s warm, it’s a great occasion for lots of fun with the children and the dogs.’
Stuart and Connie met the car hand and hand, and wearing big smiles and layers of casual clothes. Louis and Martha were also bright, and giggly and excited, their coats, hats, scarves and rubber boots on, and ready with buckets, spades and beach balls.
‘Auntie Kitty!’ Martha squealed. ‘Come and see our sandcastle. It’s huge, bigger and better than any other in the whole world.’
‘So I can see from here.’ Kitty laughed, as she and the dogs spilled out of the car.
‘We’ve got a camp.’ Louis jumped up and down. ‘Come and see. Daddy helped us build it, back where the tide can’t reach it. Mummy’s given us heaps of stuff to make it like a real camp. Come and see it. Mummy said she’ll bring out drinks and eats to us.’
‘Did she?’ Kitty turned her eyes on Connie, and saw with satisfaction how her sister-in-law shrunk back a little from her. Good, madam, that you’re not completely sure of yourself. Make sure you try hard for Stuart’s sake. ‘I’ll come with you right away.’
Beth and Connie carried the wicker picnic hamper to the campers. ‘Everything is obviously going well,’ Beth said, with pleasure.
‘Couldn’t be better. It’s funny, that you and I should be on the same side. I’ll be eternally grateful to you, Beth. Stuart and I have a proper partnership again. The break up was horribly painful but that’s now in the past. Hopefully, Kitty will come round in time. She was rather spoiled by her parents and by Stuart. She must have felt I came between her and her doting big brother. I think she resented me from the start. Her sunny nature never really extended to me. It was one thing Stuart and I used to quarrel about, but never mind. Louis is back to his old self. Kitty should be glad about that.’ Connie gave Beth a sideways glance. ‘You and I had better not seem too friendly or Kitty will get jealous. I don’t know why she doesn’t look for a husband.’
‘Kitty is happy to go along with fate,’ Beth said. ‘It would be good for her to fall in love.’
‘It would make her see things differently, that husbands and wives have trials along the way. So what about your love life, Beth? Are things progressing with your romance with the fine-looking Mark Reseigh? I saw him in the cove the other day, with his daughter. Stuart and I introduced ourselves. He was very polite, but as you said, he was very quiet. He’s so proud of Rowella. She’s a lovely child. I can see why you would fall in love with her. You and Mark come from different backgrounds. Do you really mean anything to each other? If I may say so, you don’t seem very enthusiastic about getting married and settling down. Did Stuart hurt you so very badly at the end of your affair? I’ve heard Mark Reseigh has never come to terms with losing his wife. Have you both got some sort of understanding that will go nowhere to avoid seeking anything deep and lasting?’
Beth didn’t know what to say. She had noticed Mark a lot more since her lies about him to Connie. She had not spoken to him much in the past, respecting his introvert nature, but she had taken to drawing out conversations with him.
‘Mornin’, ladies. Nice bit of weather, eh?’
Startled, Beth and Connie nearly dropped the hamper. ‘Gabby Magor,’ Beth blurted crossly. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Free country, ain’t it?’ Gabby bristled, screwing up her ugly, dirty face. She had a gone-out, rolled-up cigarette dangling on her bottom lip. She spat it out. Tickle was in the distance running towards the ebbing tide, and loud barking announced Chaplin and Grace were running to join him. ‘This beach isn’t private, never has been. I don’t go on your land Miss High ’n’ Mighty, so don’t be so bleddy rude. Weren’t you brung up to show respect to your elders? Well? Speak up, don’t stand there with your gob open wide’s a bleddy drawbridge.’
‘Good morning, Miss Magor. How are you?’ Beth said tightly and insincerely.
‘Seen better days, some worse. This your friend’s sister-in-law then. Mornin’ missus. Heard you was staying at the Grand Sea View under the name Mrs Smithson. Very fishy, I thought. So he took you back then?’
‘It’s none of your business,’ Beth belted out. ‘We can’t stop you being here but I’d like you to move away and stop bothering us.’
Gabby gave the most chilling leer, pulling back her lips and showing the blackened stumps of her teeth. ‘Don’t want your bleddy company anyway, toffee-nosed bitches.’ Performing a lewd gesture, she slouched over the sand for the shore.
Peeping out from the canvas flap of his camp, Louis’s tummy hit his feet to see the lumbering spectacle of Gabby Magor assailing his mother and ‘Auntie’ Beth. Was the smelly misfit telling his mother about the brief request he had made to her in the cove when he’d run off? Apparently not, as a minute or two later nothing was said when his mother arrived with the food and drink.
Gabby leered to herself all the way to Tickle and hung about throwing sticks for him, and Chaplin and Grace to chase. She had followed Beth and Connie for some time before revealing her presence to them only after she had overheard all they had said.
* * *
Later in the day, Louis was the last to leave the camp, the others having drifted indoors a good while ago. He was on his hands and knees about to crawl out on the sand but shrieked when an unsightly face pushed into the canvas flap opening.
‘Hello, my ’andsome. Don’t be ’fraid, it’s only me. Got good news for you about that puppy you asked me for. Be one ready to leave its mother on Sunday. Bit like your aunt’s dog, it is, a little male. Sweet as honey, it is. I’ll bring it to the beach in the morning and leave it to run about, and you can find it and your parents’ will have to let you have it. Now, just tell me where you’re going to leave that thirty bob.’
‘B–but I don’t need a stray puppy now, M–Miss Magor. My parents are getting my sister and I one each, when we go home.’ Louis crawled backwards further into the camp to get away from the woman’s beastly smells and because he was afraid of her. Tickle squirmed inside past her heaving bulk and flew at his face, licking him madly. He tried to grab the excited little furry body but Tickle was too wriggly and suddenly Louis was flat on his back with the dog on his chest, licking him all over face.
Gabby pulled Tickle back with one giant-sized filthy hand. ‘Don’t want it! That’s no bleddy good to me. I’ve paid for it, ten bob. I still want that, and a quid for my trouble, brat like you can afford it.’
‘I–I’ll still give you the money. I swear!’
‘When?’ Gabby bawled. ‘Don’t you dare try to pull one over on me, not ’less you want me to come here all quiet-like and push your mother and father off the cliffs and make you an orphan.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Louis pleaded. ‘Look, take my penknife for now. I’ll say I lost it. I’ll have the money at the tea party thing. I could give it to you then.’ The last thing he wanted was for this old witch to turn up here again, when she might carry out her threat.
‘Mmmm, lemme think. Wasn’t planning on going to that… but it might be fun. You have a deal Master Louis. You can slip me the money then. Don’t try no silly tricks. Be
seeing you.’ Gabby shunted herself out of the camp and away, leaving Louis to cough and choke on her putrid smells and fretting over her menace.
Thirteen
Mark Reseigh was the first to arrive at the vicarage on the day of the Grand Tea Party. As previously arranged, he put up staves and ropes either side along the drive to prevent people wandering off in the grounds. He stationed brightly painted arty posters at the points outside, ordered fussily by Mrs Opie, and the same inside the house. The Opies arrived, and Mrs Opie oversaw Winifred placing the small tubular white china vases of dried flowers, prepared by Mrs Opie the day before, on the tea tables. Miss Howard-Leigh offered to help but was in fact just twittering about, giggling nervously and apologizing. Mark tipped the sack of bran, a bit at a time, into the tub, an old beer barrel, while Claire dropped in the wrapped prizes to be covered up.
She had gazed down at the bran, taking on a childlike wonder. ‘It looked so ordinary before but now it’s taking on that sense of magic and anticipation one gets when a gift is wrapped, don’t you agree, Mr Reseigh?’
Thinking how like Rowella she was when his daughter was about to receive a treat, Mark nodded. ‘The kids will line up to take a lucky dip before you can say nine pence.’
‘Your dear little girl too, no doubt.’ Claire glanced down at the polished floor.
Mark knew his reticence to openly socialize made Claire shy about making personal remarks to him. His mother regularly urged him to make an effort to seek a new romance, her knitting needles swiftly clacking away. ‘’Tis no harm to speak to someone, Mark,’ she’d say. ‘You’re too inward-looking. It doesn’t do you any good. Juliet wouldn’t want you to hide yourself away all the time. One thing you mustn’t do is to rely totally on Rowella to fill the empty spaces in your life. Don’t want to see you turning out like Davey Vage, jealous of all Evie’s friends and even her own sister. Miss Beth is a wonderful young lady. He’s got no right to object to her. He may be showing acceptance about Evie’s engagement, but I don’t believe for a minute he’s not going to try to put strife in the way of the wedding, try to get her to call it off. He’s artful, that one. I’ve never liked him. Although he done right by Iris, and took on Evie as his own, he’s cold-hearted. By the look of it Rob’s learned his lesson and given up his wilder ways. I think he and Evie could have a good life together, if left alone. But they won’t be, mark my words. There’ll be heartbreak ahead for dear Evie. She’s such a nice maid too, doesn’t deserve it.’
‘I’d never be like Davey Vage, Mother,’ Mark defended himself. Invariably, when relaxing at home, with Rowella tucked up upstairs in her cot, he would dip his head in a book, a Western or detective thriller. ‘I adore Rowella but my love for her is unselfish. I’d protect her with my life though.’
‘So you should, every good parent should. But back to the point I was making. You want to start thinking about making a life for yourself. Juliet wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life pining for her. There’s some nice young women about. Claire Opie for one. Now she’s stopped copying her hoity mother and dressing like she’s going to a fashion show she comes across as a pleasant soul, a little shy and kind-hearted. She tries her best to speak to you, but as usual you barely notice her and you make her feel awkward. Shame on you, Mark.’
‘You’ll have that cardigan finished tonight,’ Mark said, mocking her furious knitting. ‘Be a new record for you.’
‘You can’t make me change the subject.’ There were times when his mother’s doggedness with him outmatched Davey Vage’s subtle controlling ways with Evie. ‘Have you noticed Claire is a pretty young woman?’
‘Yes Mother, I have. I don’t go round with my eyes shut.’ Once again he put his bookmark between the pages of The Lone Frontiersman. Then he’d snickered. ‘You’re not seriously suggesting I think about having the dreaded Marjorie Opie as a new mother-in-law, are you? God help me.’
‘Well, there is that, and it’s a shame.’
‘Now can I get back to my book? I’ve read the last sentence a hundred times.’
Mark picked up the sentence, but then his mother had made a remark that had astounded him. ‘There is something I’ve noticed lately that you haven’t. Miss Beth is always looking you over. She finds excuses to take out your mug of tea and ask about the plants. How do you feel about that then, my son?’
Mark had scoffed. Then retired to bed before his mother threw the name of every other single woman in Portcowl at him.
But the very next day, during one of his regular times at Owles House, Beth had been there, in the doorway of the garden shed where he was collecting together some tools. ‘Good morning, Mark. I’m on my way to the kitchen garden. I thought I’d look in and say good morning. How’s little Rowella?’
Mark had not known how to take her sudden appearance. Was Miss Beth being more than polite? Could she be taking an interest in him? No, his mother was having daft notions. He and Miss Beth merely took each for granted. She didn’t gaze straight into his eyes or search his face, not really. ‘Morning, Miss Beth. Rowella is well, thanks,’ he’d replied, in his usual manner, civil and brief.
‘Well, I’ll be on my way. I’ll bring out your tea in an hour.’
She’d walked off, and for the first time he had watched her, while leaning across the workbench, through the small smeary window. She had a good stride on her long legs, today in loose trousers. She was attractive and womanly from her back view, and Mark was surprised to acknowledge, she was sensual. He had not seen women as sexual beings since Juliet’s death. ‘Blast!’ He’d hurled himself round and leaned against the workbench. He didn’t want women back in his life in any way. He could cope with being left on earth without his adored Juliet as long as he had his precious daughter, and his mother. He felt safe, sane. If his daughter had died with Juliet he would have killed himself. Three times he had gone up on the cliffs with the intention of leaping into the rocky depths, a certain death, and only his baby’s tiny beautiful face had kept him alive. He took pleasure from rearing his clever, gorgeous little girl. There had been times he had even felt content. He’d thumped his fist into the planked wall of the shed, relishing the pain and blood he drew. He cursed everything under the sun. He had put his life into a sort of bearable slumber and he did not, would not, be awakened from it. Since then he had made a point of giving Miss Beth only fleeting eye contact since and no more.
‘Stop it, Mother,’ he had crossly told her when next she had badgered him about looking for a new woman in his life. ‘I don’t want to hear another word on this matter. I’m happy as I am. Accept it, or I’ll take Rowella and move out.’
Now he was here with Claire Opie and he was sorry for making her feel ill at ease. She was unassuming and ingenuous, and he did not want her to think he found her a nuisance or as someone only to be overlooked. It came to him that his whole attitude was rather ignorant, and unkind to undeserving people like Claire. ‘It should be a good village event this afternoon, Miss Opie,’ he said, adding a light smile. ‘You’ve worked as hard as anyone to make it a success. Oh, look your mother is beckoning us. She’s got our next jobs earmarked, no doubt.’
‘Oh yes, we mustn’t dally.’ Claire returned his smile. Her spirits rose. At last someone had given her some credit for her contribution and her right to be present here.
‘Rowella will love all the colourful sights and hustle and bustle.’ Mark went on to form a conversation. ‘She loves being with people and receiving lots of attention, like she gets from the Praed family.’
Claire was lost for a moment at how to reply to his unexpected addition. ‘She is the brightest little soul. I can quite imagine her delight at dipping into the bran tub.’
Marjorie Opie was tapping impatiently on her notepad of tasks to be done. Then she gleaned that her daughter was on slightly familiar terms with the reclusive gardener. Her initial surge of indignation was exchanged by a sweep of approval. Claire had not managed to attract a husband of wealth and status and there
was even less possibility she would now she had decided, despite Marjorie’s reproofs, to dress down. The steady, self-employed Mark Reseigh would be better for Claire than no husband at all. ‘Come along, you two,’ Marjorie called gaily. ‘We’ve so much to do and no time to lose. Miss Howard-Leigh wants a barrier put across the bottom of the stairs to stop people taking the liberty of slipping away upstairs. I’ve left a length of red cord on the newel. Apparently there are two narrow heavy china plant stands in the conservatory that will do for posts. Then return to me quickly.’
Mark thought to protest that he could do the task easily by himself but Mrs Opie was already turning away and issuing fresh orders to the parlour maid. Claire was stunned her mother had ordered she go with Mark. Was her mother’s mind so busy she had not realized she’d doubled her and Mark up unnecessarily. Claire shrugged. It was better to go along with her mother’s demands and not reason why.
At the foot of the stairs, Claire picked up the red cord, while Mark went off to fetch the plant stands. In a few hours’ time a steady trail of humble feet would tramp along the rush matting put down to protect the tiled floor. There would be eager faces, young and old, all curious to see inside the renovated vicarage, and excited about the event, one of a few that brightened their ordinary, often dull and hard lives.
From further up the long passage, Jacob emerged from his study, rubbing his hands together in readiness for what he fully assumed would be a memorable day for the parish. He smiled to himself at the gentle sight of Claire standing still and evidently waiting for something. ‘Miss Opie,’ he boomed heartily Good morning to you, and thank you for coming so early to be part of the troops. I trust you are well? May I ask what the cord is for?’
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