Kilgarthen

by Kilgarthen (retail) (epub)

  Daisy was annoyed at that but then began to chuckle. Bunty stopped slicing ham. ‘What?’

  ‘Well, first of all I thought he’d come down here after Laura but now I’m not so sure. He lost his way here this morning. Got himself covered in mud. He turned off to Tregorlan Farm and met up with young Tressa. He couldn’t stop talking about her. I bet he’s never come across anyone like her before, probably couldn’t understand why she didn’t fall for his charm. If you ask me he’s smitten with her.’

  Bunty looked astonished. ‘Tressa wouldn’t notice if every young man on the moor was interested in her. Don’t expect she gave him a second thought, except that he was another up-country idiot who couldn’t find his way to the village. Fancy that though, a man like he taking a shine to a young village maid.’ Bunty shook her head as she returned to the meat slicer and wrapped the two ounces of ham in greaseproof paper. This latest bit of news had little entertainment value as far as she was concerned. ‘As soon as he gets back to London he’ll forget her. He’d only be interested in those party types.’

  Daisy grinned impishly and took a five-pound note out of her pocket. ‘Bet you he won’t, not that easily. See this? He gave it to me. Do you know what for? To pack up a box of groceries and a bar of chocolate, so he can take them up to Tregorlan Farm.’

  Bunty stared at the five-pound note, took off her glasses, polished them on her apron, put them back on and stared again as if she had never seen that much money before. She pursed her wrinkled pale pink lips and her hooded eyes glimmered with suspicion. ‘What’s he up to, Daisy? He’d better not have designs on Tressa like Harry Lean has, or I’ll be straight over to Tregorlan Farm and be putting Jacka on to him. We don’t want no funny goings-on aimed at our young women from the likes of he!’

  Daisy put the tin of biscuits on the counter, lifted the counter flap and joined her friend on the other side. She put the money under a shopping pad and picked up a pencil. ‘Well, I’ve met Andrew Macarthur and I think he’s genuine. Laura says he’s been a good friend to her. You see, he shared the Daveys’ breakfast, and when I told him Tressa can eat like a hunter, he realised that he probably ate part of hers. Well, you should have seen his face, Bunty. He looked horrified. Said he wanted to make it up to her and that’s what this five pounds is all about.’

  ‘Crumbs. You never know what’s going to happen next. It’ll be a great help to the Daveys. Save them spending on groceries for weeks. But they won’t like being offered charity. Jacka will be awful upset.’

  ‘I tried to put Mr Macarthur right, Bunty, but he insisted. As soon as he’d settled himself into the pub he would have been up here and heading straight for Tregorlan Farm, but I managed to put him off until tomorrow: Said the Daveys wouldn’t appreciate being disturbed twice in one day, even if it is someone bearing gifts Perhaps by then he’ll have second thoughts.’

  ‘I hope so. If he’s staying in the pub he might find out something about that strange bloke who’s staying there.’

  ‘What’s strange about he?’ Daisy ears pricked up. ‘Pat said he’s convalescing. He looks pale and a bit sickly. He comes in for cigarettes most days. Be better for him if he didn’t smoke.’

  ‘Well, I think he’s one of them writers. He seems to be taking a very close interest in the village, if you ask me. When I went to see Laura for a contribution to Johnny’s collection he was looking at me closely. A man who’s convalescing shouldn’t be hanging about in the cold staring at people.’

  ‘Mmmm. Oh well, Ada Prisk will soon have his business, whatever it is, out of him. The postwoman brought me a parcel from my cousin Dorothy this morning. I’m hoping there’ll be something in it I can pass on to Tressa. Her maid, Susan, is only thirteen but she’s a big girl and her castoffs might fit her. It’s a good job she’s not too proud to let the village folk help her out. But before I take a closer look at it I’d better get on with some work.’

  * * *

  Marianne Roach crept round the side of the hay barn and took a furtive look around the stableyard of Hawksmoor House. As she’d hoped, there was no one about. She glanced at her wristwatch. It was two minutes to ten o’clock. She put her hands up to her hair and patted the snood that held it in place. Then she made her way jauntily over the cobbles in a pair of brown leather boots with a deliberate sway of her hips. She found who she was looking for in one of the stalls. Harry Lean was dressed in full riding kit and was saddling a large bay stallion. If he co-operated with her plan, and she was sure he would, a problem that may have been left her by Bill Jennings’ sudden death could be solved.

  ‘Hello, Harry,’ she purred, walking slinkily towards him. Harry was standing on the other side of the horse. He’d been concentrating on securing the horse’s tack and was startled. ‘Good heavens, Marianne. What are you doing here?’

  Marianne fluttered her heavily mascaraed eyelashes and, poking out her bottom lip provocatively, caressed the stallion’s neck. ‘He’s beautiful. What’s he called?’

  ‘I thought everyone in the village knew the names of Hawksmoor’s horses,’ Harry answered charily, his dark eyes drawn in under a heavy frown. ‘This is Charlie Boy. I asked you what you are doing here.’

  She ran her red nail-polished fingers slowly over the saddle, tracing the pattern of the fancy stitchwork. ‘I heard you were taking a day off work and I thought you’d probably go riding. I know you always leave the stables dead on the dot of ten o’clock and ride the moors before arriving back at the pub for a lunchtime drink. I changed my day off too. I thought we could spend some time together.’

  Harry’s wide nostrils flared and the corners of his mouth turned white with displeasure. ‘What the hell for?’

  ‘Eh?’ Marianne’s face fell but she rallied quickly, offering a sultry look. ‘I thought you’d want to after the other night when you took me for a ride in your car.’

  ‘That was just a pleasant little interlude for both of us, nothing more,’ Harry said irritably. He checked the stirrups were in the correct position.

  ‘But surely you want to get to know me better?’ Marianne rounded the horse, making the animal toss its magnificent head. Leaning towards Harry, she ran her fingers up his arm. ‘I’m sure we’d enjoy an hour or two on the moor together. You only have to lend me one of your mounts. I’m a good rider.’

  Harry gathered up the reins and pushed the girl away from him. The pulse in his neck throbbed and stood out against a blue vein. ‘I took the day off to enjoy a time of relaxation, not to have a bloody little brat hanging round my neck.’

  ‘You didn’t think I was a brat the other night,’ Marianne said indignantly. ‘Look, I’ve brought this with me.’ She reached inside her jacket and took out a small bottle of brandy.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ Harry demanded tersely.

  ‘In Launceston. A man I know bought it in a pub for me. Come on, Harry. Don’t tell me you aren’t game for a bit of fun. You like women. You’ve made that plain enough. We could have a really good time in a quiet place together. There won’t be anyone about at this time of the year. If you don’t fancy the moor we could always go somewhere more comfortable. I’m sure you must know some good places.’

  Harry ran a finger round the whorl on his chin. ‘Why do you want to have a good time with me?’

  Marianne’s whole body seemed to sigh with relief. ‘Because you’re handsome and experienced with women. A girl doesn’t want to go with someone who doesn’t know what he’s doing the first time.’

  ‘You’re right about me, Marianne. I do like women. Fully grown, adult women.’ Harry laughed unpleasantly. The men in the office would love hearing about this little tart. Some of them would be asking for her name and address. He went on in a sneering tone, ‘But you’re just a stupid little girl and I’m not interested in you. So clear off and stop bothering me or I’ll tell your father what you’ve just offered me.’

  ‘But what about the other night?’ Marianne’s chin trembled and she found it hard to keep a grip on hers
elf. ‘In your car we—’

  ‘Just kissed and fooled around a bit.’

  ‘I could tell my father it went further,’ she spat, the bad temper she’d had from infancy taking over now.

  Harry caught hold of her wrist and twisted it until she yelped. ‘Now you listen to me, you little bitch! I’m not a man to be fooled with. Although I doubt very much you are a virgin I haven’t done anything to you and heaven help you if you say I have. And as for your miserable wretch of a father, I know something about him which would not only ruin his career as a two-bit schoolmaster but would destroy his whole life and your mother’s as well. Now, I’m going to let you go and you are going to run along like a good girl and will never ever bother me again. Is that understood?’ He turned her wrist cruelly.

  ‘Yes! Yes! All right, I promise. Just let me go!’ Marianne begged him, struggling to get free.

  Harry pushed her away and she had the added humiliation of landing heavily on her backside. She got up and rubbed at her buttocks. ‘I’ll get you for this, Harry Lean! Just see if I don’t!’ With tears flowing down her face and streaking her make-up, Marianne fled from the stall.

  Harry led the stallion out in the biting fresh air, a hearty chuckle escaping from his throat. ‘There’s a couple of women I’d like to have my wicked way with on the moor or anywhere else for that matter, and neither of them is Marianne Roach,’ he told Charlie Boy as he mounted him.

  * * *

  A short time after Andrew had left to unpack his things at the pub, Laura heard a loud ringing noise and looked out of Little Cot’s window to see a butcher’s horse and van pulling up beside the pump. Pat Penhaligon came outside with her coat and headscarf on, carrying her purse and a large tin plate. She was soon joined by similarly dressed and armed housewives and a queue formed at the open doors at the back of the van. Laura could hear Pat laughing and joking with the butcher and his other customers and after a few minutes the pub landlady withdrew with her plate of meat.

  Laura read the name on the side of the red and grey van: ‘Morley Trewin, Master Butcher and Poulterer’. Grabbing her coat and digging about in her handbag for her purse and food coupons, she ran to the kitchen, picked up a dinner plate then went outside to join the queue. A woman was just leaving and Ada Prisk was being served with ‘sixpence worth of pasty beef and a piece of lamb, stringed and prepared for a roast, and make sure it’s good lean meat!’

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Jennings,’ Ada boomed out before the butcher and the two women still in the queue could greet her. ‘’Tis a brave bit cold today but I dare say you’re getting used to it now. I hear there’s a gentleman down from London to see you. Friend of yours, is he?’

  ‘That’s right, Mrs Prisk,’ Laura replied shortly. Smiling pleasantly, she turned to the other women, both ordinary looking and in their late thirties. ‘It’s Mrs Martin and Mrs Sparnock, isn’t it? Your late mother-in-law used to do the church flowers,’ she said to Mrs Sparnock. ‘I saw you both walk up the hill and you live just along the road from me. I’m getting to know a few people in the village now.’

  ‘’Tis a pleasure to speak to you at last, Mrs Jennings,’ Mrs Sparnock said. ‘Welcome to Kilgarthen. Your husband was a great asset to the village.’

  ‘Aye, he was,’ agreed Mrs Martin who then looked shyly down on the ground.

  Ada Prisk paid for her meat and nudged Laura as she left the van. ‘Staying in the pub, is he? Your friend?’

  ‘Yes, he is,’ Laura answered as patiently as she could.

  ‘Here for long, is he?’

  ‘I really don’t know, Mrs Prisk. That’s his business.’ Laura’s face closed over and she looked away at the peak of Hawk’s Tor.

  ‘Huh! Village is getting full of foreigners, if you ask me,’ Ada Prisk sniffed, charging off with her head in the air. Laura was amazed at how fast she could walk for her age.

  ‘You mustn’t mind Mrs Prisk,’ Mrs Martin said, drawing Laura’s attention. ‘Meet Mr Trewin. He and his father and grandfather before him have looked after the village for meat for over sixty years.’

  ‘Morley to you, ma’am.’ Morley Trewin winked round Mrs Sparnock while playfully brandishing a meat cleaver. ‘All the ladies know they can trust me to call three times a week, Monday, Thursday and Saturday mornings, come rain or shine. If you’re poorly and can’t come to the van then I’ll call at your door.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Laura said, warming to the huge friendly grin that seemed to split the butcher’s red face in half.

  ‘He likes a bit of a joke but he’s harmless enough,’ Mrs Sparnock said. ‘And I’ll have a nice bit of kidney for the cat.’

  ‘You spoil that ruddy cat,’ Morley Trewin said, tossing a scrap of kidney on the scales. ‘Wish my missus would treat me the same. Never catch she tickling me tummy while I’m sprawled out in front of the fire.’

  Laura laughed with the other two women. ‘See what I mean,’ Mrs Sparnock chuckled, and Morley gave them another of his winks.

  When Laura was looking over the wares in the van, a small boy, swathed in warm clothes, came up behind her. He was carrying an enamelled dish. ‘Would you like to go first while I make up my mind what I want?’ Laura smiled at him.

  The mischievous dark face of the boy, which was covered in treacle toffee, grinned back at her. ‘Thank ’ee, missus. Me mother’s goin’ down with a cold. I’m old enough to come out to the butcher now I’m nearly five,’ he ended proudly.

  ‘You’re about the same age as Vicki Jeffries,’ Laura said thoughtfully, standing aside for him.

  ‘A half pound of pasty meat like me mother usually ’as,’ the boy said to the butcher.

  ‘Righty-o, my luvver.’ Morley took the dish from the boy and sliced a chunk of skirt off a side of beef. ‘This lady is Mrs Jennings, Benjy. Mrs Jennings, this little rascal is Benjy Miller. He lives further down the road from Mrs Sparnock and Mrs Martin and just round the bend. He’s a big boy to come up here all by himself.’

  Laura looked up and down the road. There was only one vehicle to be seen, the pony and jingle being driven slowly towards them by the fat elderly woman, but some of the rare traffic that passed through the village drove fast. ‘Why don’t you wait for me and let me walk you back home, Benjy?’

  ‘All right, Mrs Jennings. Me mother’s dyin’ to meet you. You can come in and ’ave a word with ’er.’

  ‘I’d be glad to. Do you know Vicki Jeffries, Benjy?’

  ‘Only a little bit,’ Benjy replied, putting his finger up his nose and twisting it round. Laura pulled his hand gently away. ‘Me mother cleans for Mr Jeffries and once she took me with ’er and I played with Vicki. Mother caught us eating a spoonful of sugar. She wouldn’t take me again because Mr Jeffries wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘I see,’ she said. That man doesn’t like anything very much, she thought sourly.

  The old woman was driving past and she waved briefly to those at the butcher’s van. She seemed to study Laura from shrewd green eyes that stood out clearly in her, moon-shaped face. She was as wide as a doorway and filled the seat of the jingle. She was much older than Laura had first thought. Her wide-brimmed bonnet was decorated with ribbons and dried flowers today.

  ‘Who’s that woman? Where does she live?’ Laura asked Morley.

  ‘That’s Ma Noon and she lives right down past the other side of the village in a little place well off the beaten track. She had a smallholding and kept goats but lives only on her pension now. She’s a bit strange, some people say she’s mad. Your mother won’t let you or your brother and sisters go near her, will she, Benjy?’ The butcher patted the boy’s head and Benjy nodded. ‘All the village mothers feel the same way, always have as far back as I can remember. I reckon she’s harmless enough. Your husband, Bill, weren’t afraid of her. He used to spend hours at her place as a child.’

  Laura thought it strange that after all the people he’d talked about, Bill had never mentioned Ma Noon. ‘I’d like to meet her,’ she said. Ma Noon could
tell her something about Bill’s childhood.

  ‘Aw, don’t you go and call on her, Mrs Jennings,’ Morley said in a warning voice. ‘She don’t like that. She’ll only have people on her property that she invites herself.’ Benjy was getting impatient to get back to his mother. He took out a purse that was rammed down in his coat pocket and handed it to Morley who took out a half-crown and put in the change. He put the purse back firmly in the boy’s pocket.

  ‘I won’t be long, Benjy,’ Laura said.

  She bought two chicken drumsticks for herself and Andrew and some sausages for the next day, then after dropping her meat off in the cottage she walked down the road with Benjy. He insisted on carrying his mother’s meat himself and wouldn’t let Laura take his hand. They passed the row of cottages below Little Cot and after walking a hundred yards turned off up the lane that led to the school. Benjy preceded Laura up the path of the first house on the corner.

  He sprinted round the side of the building and disappeared and Laura assumed he’d entered by a back door. She heard him shouting, ‘Mother! I’ve brung someone back with me.’

  By the time she reached the back door, Joy Miller was standing on the doorstep, holding a handkerchief to her nose. ‘Oh! Mrs Jennings. Do come in. It was good of you to walk Benjy back. I didn’t like sending him up the hill for the meat but I came over all dizzy and I’ve got to have a meal for my man when he comes home from work. He’s a woodsman on the Trebartha plantation and ’tis hard work.’

  Inside the kitchen, Joy flopped down on a lumpy armchair which was covered in a brightly covered crocheted blanket. Laura closed the door after her. She recognised the linoleum that had been awaiting collection in the shop.

  ‘Can I get you anything, Mrs Miller?’ she said anxiously. ‘Shall I call the doctor?’

  ‘I don’t need a doctor,’ Joy replied, holding her head with her chubby hands. ‘My head will clear in a minute. Sounds awful asking when you’ve been kind enough to visit me but I’d love a cup of tea, if you wouldn’t mind. And I’ll take a couple aspirins.’