Reflections

by Reflections (epub)

  Jacob thought, if only I’d had Rob’s approach to my chosen future other half, I wouldn’t be going through this self-inflicted down in the dumps misery. It was true that while currently laid up Rob had lots of time to concentrate on Miss Vage, who was delightful and sweetly appealing in maidenly new-found love, but Jacob could imagine the tougher, steelier Rob furthering his claim in a constant stream of ways on his bride-to-be. The passion Rob had for Miss Vage, and her obvious intense anticipation of him radiated out of their every pore.

  Jacob kicked his shin, a rightful quest for a little unbearable pain. Damned inconsiderate numbskull, he was. He had shown Bettany the importance a teetotaller gave to strong spirits. When with her late at night, when the servants had gone to bed, in the soft mysterious glow of candlelight and fireside, he had harboured passion for her – in his loins, to his disgrace, because his sexual awareness had been the dominating factor. ‘Dear God, forgive me,’ he whispered. He knew now he had hardly really looked at Bettany, had barely stayed by her side even during their engagement party. If Bettany summed him up she might come to one damning description of him, a terrible let down, or something less flattering.

  Remorse swept his hand to the telephone. He must speak to her at once and beg her to forgive him. He would ask the archdeacon for compassionate leave and forsake the parish and go to Bettany and entreat her to believe that he had seen his glaring errors and he would make her a truly attentive husband. The brash motion scattered the pile of letters out like a deck of cards. As if an unseen force had lifted one envelope to stand out for his eyes he recognized Bettany’s feminine, curving handwriting.

  He snatched it up suddenly afraid, but he knew what he would read and he was not to be mistaken. Bettany’s message went straight to the point.

  Dear Jacob,

  I find no joy in writing this. I am really sorry but after hours of deep thought and anguish I have decided to break off our engagement. It will be painful for both of us for some time, but I am sure after a while you will agree with me that it is for the best. We are not really suited, and I don’t think we would have made a very successful marriage.

  I believe our feelings for one another did not grow into a strong love.

  Perhaps we both thought it was the right step for us, but we did not really blend well together. We both want and hope for different things out of life and I could not make a supportive helpmeet for you. While I found Portcowl charming it is not a place where I could live happily, as you seem to do. I beg your understanding. Please do not think too badly of me. It is my hope that if, God willing, we should at some time meet again we may pass a hand of friendship.

  I shall be returning your ring and your family’s engagement presents.

  Therefore this only leaves me to wish you well for the future and to offer you my sincere hopes that you will go on to find true happiness with the right woman one day.

  Jacob did not read her farewell. He got up on legs of lead and went to the window. His whole body let out an involuntary massive sigh and he clutched the latch and pressed his forehead against the cold glass. Guilt roasted high colour up from his throat to his scalp, for his overwhelming feeling was one of relief, of an escape; deliverance, blessed freedom.

  * * *

  Darkness. It was all around her, becoming part of her. She wanted to be consumed by it, to become darkness itself. She was cold, such a bitter bone-eating invasion. She longed to be numb, to lose her whole being, to have her existence cut off. The sound of water was running through her head, in rivers, in thundering cascades, turning her head into a whirlpool.

  Kitty drew herself deeper into the hole. An old fox’s lair in the heart of the woods, which Joe had showed her last year. Thick damp earth trickled down her neck and back. An itchy wriggling spoke also of grubs and insects. Tree roots, long, invisible tapering fingers dangled down and stung her face, and dirt worked its way relentlessly into her eyes. She choked on the rich cloying earth and spat it out. Her nose was thick with the stuff. She was sitting on hard sharp objects and more were digging into her sides; bones and other dinner stuff left by the foxes. She had fled here after seeing Beth plunge to her death. Not with the intention of concealing herself in here particularly. She had merely fled from the cliff and stumbled wildly and blindly into the woods, crashing through the undergrowth, her trousers ripping, her hat snatched off by a branch, twigs jagging her flesh all over. She had splashed through a fast running stream, getting muddied and bloodied while scrambling in and out of it. She had hared on only in some crazed instinct and had ended up here, desperate to be out of sight. She wasn’t hiding away. She wasn’t fit to be seen. To be spoken to, to commune with another soul in the world.

  She had killed. Pushed Beth then watched her falter, lose her balance and slip away and disappear from her sight while frantically clawing at the savage foliage that refused her grasping efforts to end her plunge. She had listened in a crazed fascination to Beth’s screams and then for the splash, the hideous watery sound that would signify Beth’s agonizing entry into its depth and her death.

  Kitty had waited. Time passed but as if it was almost standing still. How long would it take for a body to finish being slammed against the cruel rock and crash into the jaws of the restless sea? There it was, Beth’s final scream. Cut off. Silenced forever. And then the splash, more of a half-hearted splish it had sounded from that far down. It was over. But it wasn’t, not yet for Beth. She had to endure the terror of being sucked down, the pain and suffering. Beth had confessed her crimes. Kitty vented hate in return. Enough to send Beth to her death. Kitty’s abhorrent crime surpassed Beth’s, outweighed it in intent and monstrosity. Less than a minute it had taken her. To kill Beth.

  Kitty had stood there screaming and screaming, it was all she had known, the repugnant horror at what she had done, the despair of killing her best friend. Her head felt it would burst, explode and all of her with it. She couldn’t stand it. Finally she had abandoned Beth. It was monstrous of her. But she could think of nothing else to do. She was a monster, not fit to be anywhere near anyone else ever again.

  Here she was now, her back against her dank shifting prison chamber. Knees drawn up to her chin, arms grasping her knees and her head down. Eyes tightly shut. She swallowed earth. She was choking. Suffocating. She would die from ingesting earth. It was over for Beth. She was already dead from ingesting the sea. Floating and swirling, propelled by the waters’ unmatchable will, washed about in the infernal depths, only to reappear days or weeks later on some lonely shore.

  Killer, killer, killer, the water started hissing in Kitty’s head, booming through her brain. It was her maelstrom of hate that had turned her into a killer and now it had come to taunt her for all eternity. Here, in her hostile tomb.

  * * *

  Claire was dragging her heels towards the vicarage gates. Her mother had sent her to deliver another, no doubt, unnecessary message. Claire didn’t know what this one was in regard to, perhaps some silly idea that could be put forward to the social committee. The moment she had arrived home after the embarrassing trek to Mark Reseigh’s door, arrived home late to her mother’s chagrin, it seemed Marjorie’s mind had been striving even more in Claire’s absence and she was on tenterhooks to tell Claire her new idea.

  ‘We must watch carefully,’ Marjorie had declared, taking hold of Claire’s hands, in drama.

  Claire had sighed in her depths. Now what scheme?

  ‘I’ve been thinking.’

  ‘I gathered that. May I go and change?’

  ‘Don’t be facetious Claire, and no you may not go yet. Listen. There may be a greater hope, a finer position for you. If Miss Bettany Howard-Leigh finds she cannot reconcile to the Reverend Benedict and calls off their engagement there is hope for you. He would give you all you could dream of, and you he, as an educated local young lady of the highest reputation. He has already witnessed what a willing hand you are to his plans for the parish. You must start attending church. I have not talked
your father round yet about changing our place of worship but he cannot stop you from going to a service at St Irwyn’s. Your father is reluctant to give up as a lay preacher on the Methodist circuit but once we switched denominations he could become a church warden, serve on the PCC. Mr Benedict will then be able to turn the parish round excellently.’

  ‘Mother, you are taking a lot for granted on Father’s and Mr Benedict’s behalf.’ Claire was appalled at the insensitive display of vanity and arrogance. ‘And mine too. Please will you stop this striving to be matchmaker for me? I would love to be married and raise a family but only if a man truly falls in love with me. I will not do the running. It’s humiliating. Anyway, at present I have taken on a new commission for myself.’

  Marjorie’s thin, bow-shaped lips had pursed in offence. ‘I’ll thank you, young lady, not to speak to me in those tones. What new commission?’

  ‘There’s no need to look so shocked, Mother. I am perfectly capable of thinking for myself.’

  ‘What have you there?’ Marjorie pointed agitatedly at the packages Claire had brought home, having just noticed them.

  ‘Wool, knitting needles, patterns and trimmings.’ Claire raised teasing brows.

  ‘Oh, who for?’

  ‘For me, I’m going to learn to knit to make items for the poor and I’m to learn at the academy of old Mrs Coad. I’ve asked her and she has said she would be delighted to teach me. I will be having my first lesson tomorrow. Evie Vage happened to be with her and she said she would be happy to teach me to make lace. I’m going to become a hive of industry. Turn over part of my bedroom as a workplace. Father asked me the other day what I would like for my birthday. I’m going to ask for a sewing machine.’

  Mrs Opie was clearly outraged by her daughter’s flippancy. ‘I will not be mocked, Claire. And I will not have you become a seamstress indeed! Charitable works are worthy, be sure everyone knows that is your reason for doing this. Oh, I’m getting one of my headaches. I shall have to lay down for the rest off day.’

  ‘That won’t be possible, Mother. Mr Reseigh is calling this afternoon, just as you had hoped.’

  Claire had not stayed in the room during Mark Reseigh’s call. Instead she had stayed in her room reading through the simplest of her knitting patterns and practising casting on stitches. Mrs Coad had said the Salvation Army would eagerly take baby’s bonnets, blankets and other items, which they would distribute among the less fortunate.

  Since then Claire had triumphed in her first goal, a plain but perfect, white baby bonnet. I would rather be showing the vicar my achievement than handing him this pretence note, she thought, vexed with her mother. Hopefully, he would be absent from home. She would return home and rearrange her bedroom furniture, with Jean’s help, for the arrival of her sewing machine. Claire’s birthday was not for a week but her father had ordered a Singer machine immediately upon her request.

  As the vicarage came into view Claire had to jump out of the way as the Reverent Benedict sped towards her in his motor car, the top down.

  ‘Ah, the very person!’ He eased up beside her and leaned across and opened the passenger door. ‘Please get in, Miss Opie. There may be a crisis at Owles House. I’ll explain on the way.’

  Claire got in and had to hold on tightly to her hat as the motor car sped along. ‘Is someone ill? Has someone had an accident?’

  ‘An accident possibly. I’ve received a telephone call from Mrs Vyvyan. She’s fearful for Miss Tresaile and Miss Copeland who are long overdue from a walk over the cliffs. Unusually, Miss Tresaile requested they didn’t take the dogs. Mark Reseigh is at the house today and he’s following the route they took down the coast, with the dogs. If there proves to be a problem, I am confident you, Miss Opie, will be very useful with both a comforting voice and practical help.’

  ‘I’m delighted you have confidence in me, Mr Benedict. I’m always very pleased to offer help and support in any way that I can.’ Claire’s heart was pumping with gratification and purpose. At last she had a proper reason to justify her existence. Heavy raindrops hit the low windscreen and Claire felt icy wet spikes on her face. They would soon be in for a tremendous shower. ‘Oh no, I do hope Miss Tresaile and Miss Copeland are safe and well.’

  Twenty

  A group of hushed women stared out of Christina’s sea-facing bedroom window hoping and praying for signs of the search party of Mark, Mr Benedict, and Ken Tresaile, whom Christina had also alerted to bring Beth and Kitty home. Christina was using binoculars to scan the cliffs and she had lent a pair to Evie, who had joined Ken after he had arrived on Evie’s doorstep with the worrying news. Claire and Mrs Reseigh were on either side of the pair. The viewing was hampered greatly by the dusky dark sky and the rain battering on the panes, and although a fire was lit in the room all the women found themselves shivering at times.

  ‘What on earth could have happened to them?’ Mrs Reseigh whined for the umpteenth time.

  ‘We have no idea, Mrs Reseigh,’ Christina said patiently, although she was twisted with worry inside. ‘I’m sure the dogs will find them. Mark might have come across them ages ago. It’s likely one of the girls has twisted her ankle, something like that. They may be in a rather awkward place and Mark may have chosen to stay with them until more help arrives. He knows the Reverend Benedict would come after him.’

  ‘Someone will come along the cliff soon, I’m sure.’ Evie glanced uncertainly at Claire, who returned a sympathetic look, and then Evie strained to scan the land again. As much as she was anxious about Beth and Kitty, Evie was angry with her father. When her uncle Ken had turned up, Davey, at home for his morning crib, had scowled. ‘Can’t see no point in Evie going up there.’ He had made it sound like an order. ‘She can’t do nothing to help. They’re grown women, probably back by now taking a genteel cup of tea.’

  ‘I’m going.’ For the first time Evie had, crossly, opposed her father. ‘Beth is my sister, my flesh and blood. I need to know she is all right. If she’s had an accident she might need me.’

  Jerking his head sourly back to the food and drink before him on the table Davey had muttered. ‘The likes of her always need cosseting.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Ken had said, as they had hurried up from the cove, arms linked. ‘About time you stood your ground with Davey. You’ll be a married woman soon and he’s got to learn he can’t run your life any more. I’m sure Beth and her friend is fine, but like you I want to be there, just in case either are hurt. How are the wedding arrangements going? I swear I’ve never seen a man happier than Rob about his future. I know you’ll make a good marriage.’

  ‘Dad’s putting obstacles in the way. When anything’s mentioned he always says there’s plenty of time and that whatever it is can wait. I’m proud to wear my Vage engagement ring but I believe it was a ruse of Dad’s so I wouldn’t have one from Rob. He sighs with impatience when I go ahead with making my wedding dress and he only made a face when I showed him the pattern and material. I swear he sneers while I’m working on the lace for my veil. Beth offered to buy my bridal shoes but he wouldn’t hear of it. Demands to buy everything himself, but when I ask him for the money he comes up with excuses. Rob and I see his suggestion of a spring wedding as a delaying tactic. We’re sure he’ll try to break us up. He won’t succeed though. Whatever happens I will marry Rob and there’s nothing he can do to prevent it. I love Dad, he’s been a wonderful father, but it would be too selfish of him to deny me my happiness.’

  ‘I’m glad you see that for yourself. You don’t owe Davey your whole life’s devotion. He should be delighted for you, especially now Rob’s more settled in his ways. Be careful, Evie. If you need anything you can always come to me.’

  ‘Well, if Dad gets really narky, who knows, you might end up giving me away, Uncle Ken.’ And if that were to happen Evie would resent her father until he had a change of mind. He was ruining what should be a happy time of her life. It was selfish and nasty of him. It would be difficult living next door to him if h
e remained obstinately against her and Rob.

  ‘Perhaps Miss Tresaile and Miss Copeland got talking and forgot the time and walked further than they had anticipated,’ Claire tried, hoping to bring comfort.

  ‘But even if they had reached Porthellis they should be back by now. Mark should have met up with them ages ago. And anyway they would have given up long before in this dreadful weather.’ Mrs Reseigh twisted her hands round a crumpled handkerchief.

  ‘You’re not helping, Mrs Reseigh. I know it seems ages since the other men followed Mark but it’s not really,’ Christina sighed. She had heard quite enough of the older woman’s fears. ‘The wetness is why it would have been easier for one or both of the girls to slip. Carrying one or both of them back would be slow progress. Why don’t you go down and put the kettle on again? Miss Opie, would you mind helping Mrs Reseigh to bring up a tray. By then we may have seen someone returning.’