Twenty-Two
A large canvas bag slung over his shoulder and lugging a heavy sack under his good arm and yet another lighter one with his healing arm, Rob was taking supplies to Our Lily. For the last three days he had done a lot of light work on the lugger and it was good to be useful again, out in the fresh air, unbothered, as he had been all his life by the cold, wind and rain. Lofty was refusing to allow him to fish out at sea for another week yet despite his assertions that he was strong and well enough to.
This morning Rob had made his usual plea. ‘I won’t be a liability, Uncle. You’ve been struggling with two men down for far too long.’ Douglas’s heroism at rescuing Beth Tresaile had gone some way to cancelling out his neglect and lies over Rob’s injury and he would return to work for good in time. His prolonged soaking in bitterly cold seawater had led to him suffering mild pneumonia. With Rob happy to win Evie as his bride he had got over the last of his hurts and anger with Douglas. He had reclaimed his old adage that blood was thicker than water.
Lofty had shaken his head, sagely, immovable on the matter. ‘Sorry, boy, I’m not taking any risks on you getting hurt again. Don’t reckon that arm’s quite up to it yet and neither does the doctor. You’ll have to be patient a bit longer. Soon be time to load up the herring nets and head for Plymouth waters. I’ll see about it then. Here’s the money for the rest of the shopping. Don’t forget my baccy. Get yourself some fags.’
Once again Rob trotted off dutifully to the chandler and general stores, not minding too much as Evie was accompanying him, as she always did, to get her daily shopping. And Davey hated it, as he did now over the manner in which Rob hailed him cheerfully on the way back from this trip. ‘Evie’s putting the kettle on, Davey. Are you joining us?’
Davey muttered under a dark expression, ‘I’ll be in when I’m ready.’ That would be only after Rob had left his house.
Rob shrugged. ‘If that’s the way he wants to be, what can we do? Gives us more time to be alone.’ Rob wasn’t bothered, but Evie was getting more and more frustrated with her father’s hard line.
‘It’s so unnecessary,’ she said. ‘He’s even refusing to go to chapel with me. It’s not fair of him.’
If Davey kept up his growing hostility he would lose Evie’s respect and perhaps her love, and Rob would have little to do with his scowling father-in-law after the wedding. Davey could try what he liked but he wouldn’t stop Rob making Evie his wife. He would elope with her if things became really bad, once he had walked Alison down the aisle, two days before the start of the herring season.
‘Oh look,’ Evie said, ‘It’s Douglas on the quayside. Glad to see he’s wrapped up well. Glad we’re having a dry day at last.’
‘Auntie Posy’s got him coddled up like a baby,’ Rob laughed. ‘Can he join us for crib?’
‘Of course,’ Evie said. Her father would not like it and his attitude was too bad of him. She had been hurt and horrified that Davey had not uttered a single word when she had got home that awful day and reported that Beth had been found alive, although far from well. If he would have preferred it that Beth had drowned in the sea then it was just as well he was refusing to attend chapel.
‘You go on in, boy,’ Lofty told his recuperating son. ‘Too cold for you to stay out here. Should be home by the fire.’
‘I just wanted a look at the boat, Dad,’ Douglas murmured. Although bundled up he was a slim sight for he had lost a lot of weight. His rugged face had lost its colour and he had a noticeable beard and moustache, the blackness of his facial hair accentuating his paleness. His appearance was different and so was his demeanour, part of his attempt at a fresh start. His shoulders had lost their droop now his father had told him he was proud of him again. ‘Had to get out for a minute. Thanks Rob, Evie, just a quick drink, thanks. I promised Mother I wouldn’t stay out long.’
‘Take my arm, Douglas,’ Evie said, sticking her elbow out to him.
Douglas could only nod. His eyes were wet with emotion to be accepted again wherever he went. He had received many a kind remark during his slow walk here. A sudden coldness washed down his spine and instinct made him look across two of the moored luggers at Morenwyn. Davey Vage was glaring at Rob as if he wanted to kill him.
Once Douglas was ensconced in Evie’s little armchair near the warmth of her range, he asked, ‘How’s Miss Tresaile? I hear she’s still not too good, nor Miss Copeland. Strange business the way she turned up at the vicarage. She going back to Owles House soon? Mrs Vyvyan kindly sent me all sorts of thank you gifts, and a letter, chocolates, flowers and a book. Everyone would love to know what really happened that day. No one’s sure yet, are they? Except ’tis believed when Miss Tresaile fell Miss Copeland went into shock and ran off and must have fell down where it was earthy; had to be in the woods. God knows how or why she ended up at the vicarage, some sort of instinct, I suppose.’ Mentioning instinct made Douglas recall the ghastly feeling that had made him look at Davey Vage and witness the man’s venomous expression shot at Rob. Evil, it was evil, Douglas thought, shivering horribly.
‘Here, drink this, it’s cocoa, do you more good,’ Evie said, giving Douglas a big mug. She handed him a tea plate with a large round of hevva cake on it. ‘You’ve answered most of your own questions. Both Beth and Miss Kitty are still laid up in bed, and both are barely speaking a word to anyone. Miss Kitty is refusing to leave her room, and she refused to see Mrs Vyvyan when she called there to reassure her she was welcome back to Owles House, that there was no need to feel guilty about leaving Beth, if that’s the problem. Even Mr Copeland isn’t getting anywhere with Miss Kitty. He’s staying at the vicarage too but she hasn’t spoken to him yet. She’ll allow Miss Opie to read to her for a little while each day and the vicar to pop in and say a prayer, but that’s all. It’s such a worry. Doctor thinks Miss Kitty’s had a complete nervous breakdown and might need specialist help. We must pray and hope they will both return to normal soon.’
Evie was not going to divulge all she knew about her sister and Kitty. She had only told Rob the full details. That Beth kept sobbing and crying, ‘It’s all my fault. Poor Kitty, she doesn’t deserve her suffering. Tell her I’m so sorry.’ Further to that she could not be drawn. Apart from Mrs Vyvyan’s call at the vicarage she had hardly left Beth’s bedside, and would only be relieved by Mrs Reseigh or Evie, or Joe for short minutes. The district nurse called every day to give her a blanket bath and Dr Powell called every other day. He declared Beth’s distress was emotional and had little to do with physical pain, and that it was understandable she was having the most dreadful nightmares. It might prove necessary for Beth to also need psychiatric help.
‘If only we knew what Beth means by the accident being all her fault,’ Mrs Vyvyan would lament anxiously. ‘It’s such a mystery. What could Beth have to be sorry about? She and Kitty have always been the best of friends. It doesn’t make sense. And why is Kitty refusing to see her brother? She was devoted to him. He was everything to her. He knows something, I’m sure he does, but he’s keeping tight-lipped.’ Mrs Vyvyan spoke about a mystery but her eyes would dart away to Evie. Beth had told them both about her love affair with Stuart Copeland, and that her confession to Kitty had gone horribly wrong. A mystery? Not to Evie and Mrs Vyvyan.
* * *
Bang, bang! ‘Eh! Anyone there?’ It was Gabby Logan. She was a regular visitor to Owles House’s back door. ‘Got news for ’ee.’
Just home from school, Joe let her in. ‘It’s just me downstairs, and the dogs. There’s no change in Beth, I’m afraid, Gabby.’ He carried out a little custom that had come into being. Gabby, today in an ancient mouldy trench coat, had Tickle up in her arms and Joe passed her an old towel to wipe Tickle’s paws. He filled a small crock with water for Tickle, who greedily, noisily and messily quenched his thirst. ‘So you’ve got news? Go on.’
‘He’s just had a pee and a poop so your mother’s floors won’t suffer,’ Gabby grinned impishly, but it was rather ogress-like. She put
Tickle down and the three dogs began a tussle over the towel. Joe demanded the towel and sent them to lie down, each with a dog biscuit. He was the only other person Tickle obeyed.
‘I’m a dab hand at tea making. Would you like some?’
‘Ais, proper job! You do have a lovely way of talking, Master Joe. Lots of sugar, if you don’t mind. Got any grub? My guts is so empty it’s practically festering.’
‘Take a seat. Call me Joe. You’re Beth’s friend and that makes you my friend too.’
‘Really? Blimming heck, never had friends before.’ Gabby beamed with delight and her fat reddened nose deepened to an even darker shade. While Joe got busy with the domestic things, Gabby plonked down on a chair, after bringing it out sideways to the table. She sniffed, swiped at her runny nose and began her news. ‘I’ve been scouring the woods with Tickle every chance I’ve got. Think I’ve found where Miss Kitty ended up. Deep into the trees, the old fox’s den down the steep drop, near the crossed-over fallen trees. Know where I mean?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Joe said, spooning tea leaves into the dark blue teapot. ‘I remember showing Kitty that place a long while ago. Can only think she ran there just by some instinct.’
‘Well, I believe she was trying to hide away. Tickle went right in and came out with shreds of her clothes and her missing scarf. I s’pose something spooked her ’ventually and she scrambled out, but by then mad as the bled-blimming Hatter and wandered about till, thank God, she stumbled on to the vicarage.’
Joe nodded. It cleared up only a tiny part of the mystery.
‘Or…’ Gabby said enigmatically, devouring two chocolate cream biscuits together from the biscuit barrel Joe had put on the table.
‘Or what?’ Joe eyed her. ‘Don’t muck about.’
‘Why the vicarage, I asked myself, even if she were mazed in the head? If she was operating on instinct could’ve been sanctuary she was after, not cus she was scared, not that sort of sanctuary, but out of guilt that she didn’t try to save Miss Beth from falling.’ Gabby raised her awry eyebrows, deadly serious now. Beth had obviously told her friend about her secret affair, and probably Gabby’s attempt at blackmail and things had got way out of hand, and Gabby felt some responsibility over the whole thing.
‘I don’t believe that,’ Joe answered stridently. ‘I’ve run the facts through my mind again and again. Certainly something very wrong had happened between Beth and Kitty on that cliff walk. My mother knows what it was all about but she refuses to tell me. It brings me back to the common belief. Beth fell and either Kitty froze and couldn’t help her or Kitty tried to but failed. Then the horror of believing Beth was dead shut down Kitty’s mind. I’d like to see Kitty, but Mum says there’s no point in trying.’ Joe sighed wearily, sitting down at the table and pouring two mugs of tea. ‘It seems it’s going to take a long time before Kitty is well enough to face anyone or anything.’
Gabby took the liberty of dropping five sugar lumps into her mug and then feeding several lumps into her jacket pocket. She took a big glug of tea, the scalding liquid apparently not searing her tongue and throat. ‘Seems to me that if Miss Kitty’s refusing to see grown-ups, and she pro’bly got her reasons, then you’re the only one she might care to see. You’re a wily boy. Easy enough job for you to slip into see her, don’t you think?’
Suddenly Joe’s handsome dark face was lit with design. ‘I’ll take some flowers over to her tomorrow, and make sure that I see her, never fear.’
‘Good boy.’ Gabby gobbled and slurped, swallowed and burped. Joe was considering Gabby from eyes narrowed from intent.
Gabby noticed. ‘Got something in your eye, boy, or something to say?’
‘Beth’s always grateful to hear you’ve asked about her. She’d said before that she really got to know you during the car journey. She cares about you. It’s possible that she might be glad to speak to you for a while. You’ll be coming from a different direction to the rest of us, as it were. When we’ve finished this, perhaps I could put the suggestion to Mum. Would you try, Gabby?’
‘Course I will! I’d do anything for the lady who was so kind to me.’ Gabby gave an odd look but a touch of the maternal could not be mistaken in it. ‘Make up a fresh tray, Joe. When your mother comes out of Miss Beth’s room, I’ll go in. My face might be as ugly as hell but it could be the one to do the trick.’
Twenty-Three
Before his day’s work, Mark took Rowella to Posy Praed, and as usual he took off his daughter’s warm winter coat, woollen bonnet, scarf and gloves. He always arrived early enough to linger and to make sure, always unnecessary, that Rowella was settled.
‘How come you’re at the vicarage this morning?’ Posy asked, when he headed for the door, his tin crib box tucked in under his arm. ‘I thought you were expected at Miss Chegwidden’s now and the vicarage later.’
‘Oh, I asked the vicar and Miss Chegwidden if I could change over. It’s more convenient for me.’ Mark pulled on his cap and was out the back door and gone. He was telling himself his change of plans was more to his liking but it didn’t really make any difference to his day. Spinster Miss Chegwidden, the last of a centuries’ old fishing family, lived down in the cove in a tiny cottage and Mark was to reset the slabs, two were lifting and quite hazardous, in her little back yard. Hearing of Miss Chegwidden’s need Mark had offered to do the work free, but proud Miss Chegwidden was insisting he would take a shilling for his dear little ‘cheeil’. His work in either place would take roughly the same time, but someone in particular was due at the vicarage this morning – although Mark was trying to ignore the fact.
He had judged it right. Claire Opie was only inches from Wildflower Cottage’s gate. He lifted his cap to her. ‘Good morning, Miss Opie,’ he called politely. ‘Do you happen to be walking up to the vicarage?’
‘Yes, actually I am, Mr Reseigh. Why?’ Claire asked, surprised to be hailed so heartily by him.
‘Me too, can I walk with you?’ Mark could hardly believe what he was doing. This had come about over a casual remark of his mother’s, that now the highly-strung, unsuitable Miss Howard-Leigh was out of the picture, Claire Opie would make a perfect loyal wife of the vicar, and perfect for Portcowl. It was the place of her birth and she knew every parishioner, and since her change to a humbler heart she was liked and respected by everyone. Mrs Reseigh had pointed out that the local single women were now stamping out a path to the Reverend Benedict’s church services and his front door on a variety of matters. Mark had not liked the reference to Claire at all.
For some reason Claire had been roaming into his mind lately and he had been disappointed to see nothing of her since the day she had turned up at his home. She had been unobtrusive and very pleasant, and Rowella had liked her. He found himself annoyed at how it seemed that every time Claire went to the vicarage to attend on Miss Kitty, the vicar happened to be at home. It had hit Mark as a tremendous shock to realize he was becoming jealous of the time Claire was spending at the vicarage, or rather every minute she might be in Jacob Benedict’s company. When his beloved Juliet died he’d thought this side of him had died forever.
He had reproached himself, he had vowed to remain faithful to Juliet’s memory, but people’s remarks had finally broken through to him, even from Juliet’s parents, Posy and Lofty, that Juliet would want him to seek love again and provide Rowella with a new mother. He had tried to make himself forget Claire existed, but his mind kept going back to his disappointment at not finding her at home when he’d called on Mrs Opie to discuss the summer house. Mrs Opie had shelved the idea of a summer house, and Mark resented the obvious fact that the woman was pushing Claire in Jacob Benedict’s direction.
Right now, although Claire did not seem to mind travelling beside him she did not seem much interested in him either. She did not ask about Rowella but mentioned the weather, that sort of ordinary thing.
‘I’m sure you’re a comfort to Miss Kitty,’ he ventured, but not in the way of gossip. He was complimenting her
. And my mother tells me you’ve been busy making little garments and toys for the poor. I admire that.’
‘Thank you,’ Claire answered, wondering why he was suddenly concerned about her affairs. Had he just given her a warm smile? Could he really be interested in her? His hair was neatly barbered and he had shaved closely and smelled of a light aftershave. Now she thought about it, it seemed he had been waiting for her to come by this way. This was all really strange. She glanced at him. He had his cap back so his face was not hidden. She caught her breath. He was looking straight at her.
Your hair is looking very pretty today, Mark was thinking. He saw she was wearing dark pink lipstick and a little eye shadow; for Jacob Benedict’s benefit? Was she drawn to the other man? It would be understandable. Benedict was an attractive man and he had a great deal to offer as a husband. If Claire liked him then she shouldn’t, Mark thought, rather vexed, she had seen how he had neglected the humiliated Miss Howard-Leigh. But if Benedict was piling on the charm, Mark had better not stand idle. ‘Have you been invited to Alison Praed’s wedding, Miss Opie?’
Claire raised her softly curving eyebrows. What a strange question from him. ‘Um, yes, I have. I’ve got to know her now I’ve taken up knitting and I sometimes join her and Mrs Coad, who very kindly taught me to knit. Miss Praed invited me to her wedding only yesterday.’
‘Good,’ Mark replied, faltering. Was he going out of his mind? He felt safe with his widower-hood and bringing up Rowella, just them and his mother. He liked and he demanded his own space. How could he possibly think he could share his life with another woman? It was a betrayal of Juliet. No, he couldn’t hide behind that notion. Juliet had been wholly loving and giving. The last thing she would have wished was for him to deny himself a new start with someone else. But he hadn’t really thought it through. What made him think he could love Claire? She had a snobby mother. Marjorie Opie would make an insufferable mother-in-law. No you wouldn’t! Mark told the haughty image of the woman in his mind. You’d get short shrift from me… but only if Claire returned his interest and things grew serious between them. Mark had never been afraid to meet a challenge, but he didn’t think like that about Claire. She was lovely and kind and warm and all the other things a good woman should be.
Reflections Page 19