‘That’s the last thing you are, Kitty.’
There was a firm tap on the bedroom door. ‘Miss Copeland, may I come in?’
‘Yes, do, Mr Benedict.’
Thinking that Joe had been given time enough to be with his heartbroken guest, Jacob entered the room and homed in on the pair. He was struck by the soft atmosphere, the bond between the pair, and the first hint of a return to energy in the once feeble woman resting in the bed. ‘Well, I can see my prayers have been answered and this meeting has been a success.’
Twenty-Five
With great care, Beth got ready for Alison Praeds wedding. She wanted to look her best for Evie, and Beth was going to love seeing Evie in her bridesmaid dress. Also, it was rumoured that Kitty, who was still staying at the vicarage, was going to attend. If so, it was going to be the first day out for both Beth and Kitty since the cliff-top incident. Beth was hoping madly that Kitty would be at the wedding, that she might get the chance of a few words with her, or at least to aim a small smile at her, to show how sorry she was and that she longed to regain some of their former friendship.
It gave Beth hope that now Kitty was more or less fit and well again she had not chosen to leave the area and she was always happy to see Joe. Joe had conveyed that Kitty felt she did not really have anywhere else to go. She did not want to go back to her home, it would be too lonely, and she did not feel like staying with any of her distant aunts, uncles or cousins, and she had no interest yet in taking up the reins of her crafts business.
It did not matter to Beth that the whole of Portcowl knew every detail of the sordid affair, the gossip suspected of being spread via tradesmen by vicarage staff. Apparently Kitty had rambled in her speech a lot during her early days and nights there. It would have been quite easy for people to sum up the situation. Nor did Beth care that she and Stuart had both received malicious letters, one almost every day and each one in the same handwriting, calling them wicked adulterers and the like and claiming their presence was tainting Portcowl. Beth had written to the Reverend Benedict and Douglas Opie, as the main Methodist circuit lay-preacher, to be read out from the pulpits, expressing her remorse and concern not for herself but for those she had hurt. It had been a wise move for some cove dwellers had condemned the malicious letter writer, declaring that she – it was universally thought the culprit to be a woman, as it usually was in these cases – was a despicable coward and worse.
Beth intended to sit at the back of the chapel, with Christina, her uncle Ken and Mrs Reseigh, and Beth would leave instantly if trouble occurred, not wishing to spoil Alison’s big day. Mrs Reseigh had proudly put it about that Mark would be there with, ‘Miss Claire Opie on his arm, so you won’t be the only one being gawped at, Miss Beth. You’ve said sorry and that should be an end to it. Stick your chin up and damn the wagging tongues.’ The wedding was going to be a large affair, the Praed family alone would fill the bride’s side of the grey chapel, and Beth wasn’t looking forward to that part of it. Evie had said that Rob and Douglas would be looking out for her, and although that was a comfort, Beth had stressed she did not want to be the cause of any bother.
Beth and her entourage stepped on to the concrete court frontage of the chapel, situated at the end of Crescent Street. She was in understated elegant royal blue and grey and was wearing a new hat, the brim turned up to show she was prepared to display her face. It was hard to be a ‘fallen woman’, something that would stay with her all her life, and she kept swallowing in nervousness, but she met the eye of everyone who passed by her, even the one or two that made a point of ignoring her and those making snide remarks. At least everyone greeted her mother civilly.
The party took their seats in a back pew on the bride’s side. Beth lowered her head to pray, aware of heads swivelling round to stare at her and a rush of obvious whispers, which threatened to drown out the organ’s praise music. Beth searched the steadily growing congregation for Kitty but she was nowhere to be seen. More whispering, people knew exactly what she was doing. Then Beth got a sense of some of the onlookers holding their breath, hoping Miss Copeland would make an appearance and a drama of some sort would ensue. Shortly afterwards, a smartly suited Mark, carrying Rowella, who was gorgeous in a red outfit, escorted Claire quietly, but with a determined air, to sit in front of his mother. Another round of speculative whispering started up. Claire was in a fur-collared coat of chic lines, more like her former style, with a marcasite brooch, fashioned as a flamingo, sparkling near her shoulder. A little dark net on her bell-shaped hat coyly hid one eye, and accompanied by matching gloves and shoes she was a lovely sight. After offering their customary bowed prayers Mark handed Claire a hymnal from the ledge in front of them. She thanked him. Then they both looked up the number of the first hymn marked up on the hymn boards. They seemed at ease with each other. It seemed natural they should be together. The couple’s presence here like this was tantamount to an announcement of an engagement, an occurrence not conceived in anyone’s imagination, other than, at one time, Claire’s mother’s.
While continuing to seek Kitty, Beth wondered how Mrs Opie felt about her daughter’s escort. Mrs Opie was self-importantly flitting about and fussing with the floral arrangements and ribbons, her own handiwork. She was usually called upon to perform these skills on formal occasions and liked to flaunt her talents. She tapped in her gleaming black high heels to the back of the chapel. It was getting time for the bridal party to start arriving. She paused ceremoniously at Claire’s pew. ‘You look stunning, my dear, stunning, like a bride yourself!’ This made it plain she was expecting her daughter to get married quite soon and that she found the prospective bridegroom acceptable. Beth knew that gossip had it Mrs Opie had tried to steer Claire in the Reverend Benedict’s direction, but once Miss Copeland had been given sanctuary there, and Claire’s constant presence at the ailing young lady’s side had apparently borne no fruit, Mrs Opie had gladly fallen back on the freelance gardener. Eligible husbands of fairly high standing were in short supply in Portcowl.
When the bridal march was sounded Beth was disappointed to find the conjecture that Kitty might arrive to witness the wedding was just that, conjecture.
* * *
Knowing the cove would be practically deserted, with little staff in most premises, Stuart had taken the opportunity to fetch some supplies. His hat down and his muffler up over his chin, he crept about like a criminal. After shopping at the first grocery store he came to, where he had received frosty glares from the stout, florid man on the other side of the counter, he made his way to a bookshop, hungry for something gritty to read to take his mind off his returned, unopened letters from Kitty. Jacob Benedict had re-delivered each one to him personally, and had urged him not to give up hope. ‘You have nothing to lose by persistence. I have the feeling that Miss Copeland is merely giving herself time to recover her physical strength before she undertakes the emotional side of things.’
‘I hope you’re proved to be right, Jacob,’ Stuart had answered, unable to shift his crushing misery and the weariness at lack of sleep. ‘Kitty has always been utterly forgiving, brilliant about others’ shortcomings, but what I, and Beth, did to her is a totally different thing. Kitty wouldn’t have imagined such a thing in a thousand lifetimes. It’s no wonder she feels so trampled on. The whole business must have upended her in a way nothing else could. She must take as much time as she likes to come round, if she ever does,’ he had sighed. ‘I’m just glad Beth had the goodwill to invite me to stay here, and I’m very grateful to Joe Vyvyan for helping Kitty to feel better in herself. With Kitty staying put for now, it gives me hope.’
‘I know it’s a platitude but it’s one that is very true: time is a great healer. Hopefully, soon, Miss Copeland will see things in a better light. I know it to be true that she is a woman of kind and sympathetic character. She shines above most women in honour and integrity.’
‘That’s the irony. Kitty’s innocence and charitable nature is exactly why she was so thu
nderously brought down.’ Stuart had poured them both a small brandy. He always did this to warm Jacob on his way home, and it made Stuart feel good for a moment to follow a routine. He had examined Jacob’s bold face. ‘You sound as if you’re rather enjoying Kitty staying with you, Jacob.’
‘Well, I must say that having your good sister under my roof has made me see that Miss Howard-Leigh was certainly not the right woman for me.’ Jacob had showed a dash of awkwardness. ‘But of course Miss Copeland has too much on her mind to give me any thought except as her host and spiritual mentor, and you may rest assured, Stuart, I would not do a single thing to compromise that.’
Stuart trusted the vicar. He was ashamed that he was not a man to be trusted himself, and he slunk almost guiltily into the dark, cavernous bookshop. To try to gain some acceptance of sorts he bought half a dozen books on various topics. If the frumpy, youngish, bespectacled woman assistant recognized him from the harsh gossip she made no show of it. In fact she chatted with avid interest on the subjects he had chosen and Stuart had taken his time and left after much thanks and feeling a little uplifted. It gave him the courage to amble down to the quayside and take in the sight of the moored fishing boats. He wished he had brought his camera with him.
It was an evocative sight, the working boats fined up and well maintained, although roughed and scuffed from their tough employment. Oil, tar and fish were strong smells. Gulls flaunted their presence on decks and masts. At this time of year Stuart expected to feel a harsh wind on his flesh but it was calm and pleasant, a good day for a wedding, and he envied the closeness of the fishing community and the enjoyment they now had in the chapel and to come during the reception, when Lofty Praed’s cottage would be joyfully bursting at the seams. Stuart had heard the Praed men had cleared out the garden sheds for the overflow of men. He would have liked to have been a part of the male bantering, the cheering and teasing and games playing. But none of the fishermen would want to spit on him let alone consort with him. The locals all had great respect for Kitty.
His thoughts turned to Beth, now thought of as a scarlet woman. She had made it clear that Portcowl was her home and she wanted to live nowhere else, and hoped one day soon to regain her old life in the community. Her misdemeanour would pass into the background when the next big news item came to the fore, but she would never totally be allowed to live down her shame. ‘Poor Beth,’ he whispered aloud. ‘Braving the chapel and hoping to feel she belongs again.’
‘Have you heard from your family,’ Jacob had asked during his last call at Mor Penty.
‘Connie has kindly kept in touch. She says I may go over to Ireland to see Louis and Martha before they start their new school. After that I shall have to decide what to do with the rest of my life. I hope at least by then Kitty will have stomached the idea of communicating with me.’
While he had a chance of regaining at least some of Kitty’s time, Beth probably had none. As usual where love affairs were concerned it was the woman involved who was reviled the most. ‘Bloody unfair,’ Stuart told an uncaring gull.
After viewing all the luggers he walked round to the other side of the quay. The end cottage but one had a large white ribbon on the door knocker denoting from which home the bride had not long left. The cottage would receive a new bride next spring when Beth’s sister Evie married Rob Praed, Stuart reflected. He heard shuffling noises and then a thud coming from the back of the cottages and thought it quite odd. Surely all the locals would be at the chapel. He could hear a hymn being sung two streets above him. Then he remembered Evie had several cats. The noises were probably them. Nevertheless, and not really knowing why, he thought he would take a look and satisfy his curiosity. He stole round the end of the terrace.
A short man in an old worn cap, his coat sleeves pushed up, was in the Praed backyard. The weather-beaten man was bent over and appeared to be doing something to the ground. Stuart frowned. It seemed out of place. People often prettified or jokingly sabotaged the place where a pair of newly-weds were to spend their wedding night but this could not be the case here. The couple had their first night booked at the Grand Sea View Hotel, an extravagant gift from Rob Praed to his sister. Ducking back round to the side of the cottage, Stuart silently put his packages down.
He peeped back round. It was just as he thought. The man was up to no good for he was glancing stealthily all about him. Stuart nipped back out of sight. It was really none of business, but the man had worn a look of utter malice. Stuart was sure the man was Davey Vage, from the description he had heard of him, and there was bad blood between him and Rob Praed. Beth had mentioned once that she feared the old man would do something to prevent Evie marrying Praed.
Picking up his things, Stuart rounded the corner and sauntered towards the Praed’s back gate. ‘Good afternoon.’ He took a good look at what Davey Vage was doing. He had a crow bar in his hands and he seemed about to lift up the edge of a slate slab. ‘Doing a bit of maintenance work?’ Vage was unlikely to assume Stuart knew who owned which cottage. He was definitely up to something dodgy.
‘I’ve finished now, only got to brush up,’ Davey Vage retorted curtly, startled, his irritation at being interrupted plain to see. Then recognizing his conversant, he scowled. ‘You! Don’t you dare speak to me, the likes of you isn’t wanted round here. Clear off and get back to your lust-driven types and I mean well away from Portcowl.’
‘There’s no need to take that tone with me. We’re all sinners, aren’t we?’ Stuart stared at the hostile little man and saw anger boiling up in him. Here was one hard-hearted individual, and the description dangerous flashed through Stuart’s mind. Vage had been caught red-handed about some devious business but rather than be worried or embarrassed about it he was emanating pure hatred. Stuart repressed a shudder. Meeting such unmitigated enmity Stuart was unsettled but filled with hope. Kitty would never keep hating him or Beth. She had too much goodness in her and in time, when her hurt and confusion died away, she would come round. Kitty was incapable of unforgivingness while this man fed on it and every emotion like it.
Stuart strode away, puzzling over Davey Vage’s reason for the crow bar. At some time after dark tonight Rob Praed would return home and enter at the back of the property, it was the locals’ way. He would be alone, having escorted Evie home some time earlier, and he would be almost certainly filled with drink, unsteady on his feet, prime to trip over an obstacle, like an uneven slab. Had Vage’s intention been to cause a serious accident, one that would take Praed once and for all out of his daughter’s life? But such an accident might not prove to be fatal. Stuart shuddered and was shot through with dread. Had Vage intended to stay awake, ready to creep next door and use that crow bar cunningly about Praed’s head? The more Stuart thought about it the more the notion did not seem crazy. Vage’s actions had been witnessed and as a shrewd schemer he would abandon his plan, but he wished Praed harm and he was in a hurry to accomplish it. Praed must be warned and before the day was over.
Twenty-Six
‘Aw, Verity, you should have seen the wedding. The bride was beautiful and it was a sight to behold when she walked up the aisle on her brother’s arm. That Rob Praed is a really handsome man, I can tell you. And Evie Vage, his intended, she looked really lovely. There’ll be another lovely wedding next year to take a look at; can’t wait. I wouldn’t mind going down to this Lofty Praed’s house right now and join in the reception. From what I’ve heard they’ll be having a whole lot of fun.’
Kitty was listening in on the conversation between the upstairs maid and Winifred the parlour maid filtering in through the open doorway of the vicarage drawing room. Resting on a sofa, a soft blanket over her legs, Kitty found the cheery interchange more interesting than the woman’s magazine she had been trying to read.
‘Was Miss Tresaile there?’ Verity asked.
Kitty caught her breath. She knew this would be a burning question in Jacob Benedict’s household today.
‘She was, and she and her mother m
ade a stunning sight, although Miss Beth was as pale as hoar frost and nervous as a kitten,’ Winifred replied eagerly. ‘She got a bit of stick from some people. I felt quite sorry for her. I’ve always liked her. She’s always had the good grace to ask after all us servants each time she’s come here. I mean, what did she do that was so wrong? She fell in love. I know it shouldn’t have been with a married man but she didn’t kill anyone. And she did walk away from Mr C. Came all the way down to Cornwall and stayed here, she didn’t keep chasing after him. It’s what some women do. It’s just an awful pity he ever came down here. Everybody was so happy before, and Miss Beth, like her mother, has done a lot for Portcowl.’
‘That’s true, and when you look at it she hasn’t looked at a man since she got here, and she’s at the age when most of us are lamenting about not catching a husband,’ Verity said in a sorrowful way. ‘It’s a sad case for all. Pity they couldn’t put it all behind them or the heartbreak will just go on and on.’
* * *
It was a peaceful place. Kitty had stood here before, with Beth, at the little graveside of Beth’s twin, Philip Tresaile. Kitty did not know why she had come here. Perhaps she was looking for answers… ‘What would you have thought of all that’s happened, baby Philip?’ she whispered, feeling strange and remote from ordinary life. Her words seemed to actually seep down, down into the grave.
‘You would want me to forgive your sister and become her friend again, wouldn’t you? Once Beth knew of your existence she often remarked how close she felt to you. Have you been watching her? Did you watch her at the wedding?’
A heavy silence fell over Kitty and she felt compelled to speak again. ‘Did you see her fall into the sea? Did you see her struggling in the water? Was she very scared? Oh, Beth! Did you see me push her, Philip? Did you believe I tried to kill her? I didn’t mean to. Please believe me, I didn’t mean to.’
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