‘Had yours long?’ Joy inquired.
‘It’s been building up over a couple of days. I was aching all over when I woke up this morning and felt too awful to go to work.’
‘I know what you mean. I hope they’re managing all right on Rosemerryn Farm without me. My Bert was coughing this morning. I hope he doesn’t go down with it too. We can’t afford for him to be off work. I suppose my children will get it one by one.’
‘Yes,’ Marianne agreed weakly. ‘I hope it doesn’t go through the school. My father won’t be pleased if half the children are unable to perform in the concert.’
‘Aw, that would be a shame. Two of mine are in the choir and have been practising their carol singing every night. My eldest boy is in the sketch. He’s going to be the shoemaker. Mr Roach wrote it, didn’t he? You must be very proud of your father, Marianne.’
‘Yes,’ Marianne replied, looking away impatiently.
The doctor put his head round the door. He was middle aged and portly with round glasses perched on his humourous face and wearing a crumpled grey suit, his colourful bow tie awry. ‘Ah,’ he said in a high-spirited fashion. ‘I see I have some customers.’ He rubbed his long hands together. ‘Who’s first?’
Marianne had arrived first but she paled and felt rooted to the chair. ‘You go first, Mrs Miller. It’ll be less time hanging around for Benjy and you look in worse condition than me.’
Joy got up gratefully. ‘Oh, you are a dear. I won’t be long.’ She joked with the doctor as she went through the door, ‘It’s not for my usual reason, Dr Palmer. I stopped at Benjy and there I’ll stay.’
Marianne moved to the seat closest to the door to show she was next in case someone else came in. She hoped no one would be there while she saw the doctor, but at once Laura led Johnny Prouse in on her arm. A feeling akin to fierce hatred filled Marianne’s heart for Bill Jennings’ beautiful young widow. She tossed her head as Laura settled Johnny in a high-backed chair from which he could eject himself with the minimum of effort.
‘Are you comfortable, Johnny?’ Laura asked like a mother fussing over a newborn baby. ‘I should have insisted you let the doctor come to your cottage. I don’t know what he’s going to say about you coming out like this.’
‘I told you the hospital said I could take a breath of fresh air. Don’t ’ee go worryin’ now. You’re a good maid to help me. I hate being stuck indoors. P’raps after—’
‘Certainly not!’ Laura exclaimed. ‘I’m taking you straight home. You’ve only been out of hospital a day. You mustn’t do too much too soon. Do you want to end up in there again?’ She sat down beside him and said, ‘hello’ to Marianne. Marianne turned her head and glared at her.
Johnny was peering at Marianne, making her feel grossly uncomfortable, but his accident had left his mind befuddled and he was having trouble recognising people. Eventually, he said, ‘’Tis young Marianne Roach, isn’t it? The schoolmaster’s daughter?’
‘That’s right, Mr Prouse,’ Marianne replied. ‘I was sorry to hear about your accident and about your dog.’
‘Thank you,’ Johnny said, his tears threatening to appear again. ‘He’s gone on to greater glory now. How are you then, m’dear? Have ’ee met Mrs Jennings? She’m only a newcomer to the village but she’s been some good to me.’
‘I’ve only seen Mrs Jennings at her husband’s funeral,’ Marianne said, flinching when the scraping of a chair leg in the sitting room spoke of Joy Miller preparing to leave.
‘I’m sorry we haven’t had the chance to speak before, Marianne,’ Laura said, wondering if the girl had inherited her tart character from her father.
Joy and Benjy Miller came out of the sitting room and stopped to speak to Johnny and Laura. Dr Palmer raised his eyebrows to see Johnny, but as he was accompanied and was obviously being well looked after, he beckoned to Marianne. A moment later she was sitting meekly facing him over the dining table.
Dr Palmer had served Kilgarthen for many years and he knew all of its residents. ‘Now what can I do for you, Marianne?’ he said kindly. ‘I don’t see you very often.’
She blushed to the roots of her hair and her breath felt tight in her chest. She couldn’t believe this was happening to her. How could she have been so stupid? How could Bill Jennings have been so irresponsible? ‘It… it’s rather delicate.’
‘Don’t be embarrassed. I’ve been a doctor for over thirty years. If it’s a woman’s problem, don’t forget I’ve heard it all before.’
If it was possible for her to go redder in the face, Marianne would have. ‘I… I saw Dr Sedgewick last week…’ She crossed her fingers and prayed hard.
‘Yes,’ Dr Palmer said, searching for her notes among the pile he had on the table. ‘And what was that for?’
‘I had to have a test,’ she said in a very small voice, bowing her head and looking at her hands twisted in her lap.
Dr Palmer glanced at her then opened a piece of paper he took from her file. He read it, his face becoming grave. ‘I have the result here.’
She couldn’t look up. Tears pricked her eyes. She had no hope left. ‘Wh-what is it?’
‘I’m afraid it’s positive, Marianne.’
‘You mean I’m…’
‘Yes, it means you’re pregnant.’
‘Oh, no! What am I going to do?’ Marianne crumpled in the chair and burst into tears. Dr Palmer rose and poured a glass of water from the jug Bunty had left for him. He rounded the table and put it into her trembling hands, holding it for safety. ‘Take a sip. Go on. Then take a couple of deep breaths.’
Marianne obeyed. He put the glass down and held her hands firmly. ‘What am I going to do, Doctor?’ she repeated despairingly. ‘My father will kill me.’
‘Well, first things first. What about the baby’s father? Will he support you? Is there any chance of you getting married?’
‘N-no,’ she sobbed. ‘He wouldn’t be interested. Anyway, he was married.’
‘Nonetheless, he must be made to take on his responsibility.’
‘He wouldn’t have anything to do with it,’ Marianne bleated, getting panicky. She wasn’t going to tell the doctor who the father was and she had come to realise that even if Bill Jennings hadn’t died, he wouldn’t have helped her. ‘He’d only get angry and deny it.’
Dr Palmer patted her hands. ‘Then the only thing you can do is to tell your mother. Of course she’ll be very upset but in my experience most mothers come shining through in cases like this. Your mother is a particularly nice woman, Marianne. I’m sure she’ll stand by you.’
‘But she’s terrified of my father!’ Marianne exclaimed. ‘I’ve told you, if he finds out he’ll kill me.’
‘Things are never as bad as they seem. You’re in an emotional state now, my dear. I’m afraid you can’t keep pregnancy a secret. Tell your mother. She’ll be the best one to tell your father, she’ll know when to pick the best moment.’
‘But… but can’t I…’
‘Can’t you what?’
‘Have an operation or something to get rid of it?’ she implored him, tears dripping off her chin. ‘I’ve heard it can be done. No one need ever know.’
Dr Palmer shook his head. ‘You’re young and healthy, Marianne. Nothing could justify that. Take a day or two to get used to the idea. Tell your mother, then when you’re ready come together to see me at the main surgery. Now, have you got a hanky?’
‘Yeh-yes.’ She fumbled in her coat pocket and produced one.
‘Dry your eyes and drink the rest of the water. Take a couple of deep breaths and when you go out people will only think you’ve got a bad cold.’
Marianne knew she could do nothing more to ease her predicament today. She followed the doctor’s instructions and went into the waiting room. She pretended to have a fit of coughing and rubbed at her nose and eyes, hoping that those waiting – there were four more people here now – would be fooled. When she saw Laura, she had an idea.
She stood in front of her.
‘Mrs Jennings. Could I possibly call on you later today?’
Laura disappointed her. ‘I’m sorry, Marianne, but after I’ve taken Mr Prouse home I have to get ready for an invitation to tea and then I’ve got a dinner appointment. We’ll have to make it some other time.’
Before she burst into tears again, Marianne blurted out, ‘Oh, never mind.’
She fled the house and ran down the hill and into the churchyard. She wove her way through the graves and stopped at the newest one, the mound of earth where the body of Bill Jennings lay under a heap of rotting wreaths.
‘You bastard!’ Marianne shouted despairingly, kicking at the earth.
Chapter 15
It was only because Ince would be there that Laura managed to pluck up the courage to knock on the front door of Rosemerryn Farm. It was answered by Spencer and he awkwardly showed her inside and took her coat and scarf.
‘Have you told Vicki I’m coming?’ Laura asked rigidly, watching his face for signs of rancour.
‘Yes, she’s quite excited. We’ve had no one but Daisy and Bunty over for a meal before.’ He looked unsure of himself. ‘Thank you for coming. Before we go in,’ he expelled a long breath through his nose, ‘Ince has come up with another idea. He thinks it’s best if we call each other by our first names, to sound friendlier for Vicki’s sake. I hope you don’t mind.’ Laura thought he probably did.
‘No, not for Vicki’s sake,’ she said tight-lipped, clutching a bag of gingerbread men that she’d baked herself, hoping Spencer would find something that could be put on the table more acceptable than sweets. The hallway of Rosemerryn Farm seemed very small with the two of them in it.
He swept back his hair, something he did often when nervous. ‘Right then, we’re in the kitchen. We always eat in here, it’s bigger and cosier.’
Vicki was wearing a pretty pink and white dress and ran to the door to greet Laura. ‘Thanks for coming, Mrs Jennings,’ she chirped, holding out the corners of her dress. She had obviously been well rehearsed and Laura wondered if it was Spencer or Ince’s doing.
‘Thank you for inviting me, Vicki,’ Laura said, putting on her best smile, which for Vicki was genuine. ‘I’ve brought you some gingerbread men, to put on the tea table. I remembered that it was your favourite story.’
Vicki clapped her hands. ‘Ooh, lovely.’
Ince took the bag of biscuits from Laura. He welcomed her warmly but said nothing more for now, he was going to let Spencer do the honours at this meal. The two men were dressed smartly in white shirts and ties but their trousers were casual. Laura was glad she had not overdressed and had put on a simple straight skirt and a matching jumper and cardigan.
‘Come and sit down, Laura,’ Spencer said, hesitating slightly over her name. He escorted her to his chair at the fireside. Vicki immediately dropped her doll on Laura’s lap.
‘See, I’ve dressed Lizzie up in her best outfit for you.’ Laura admired the doll then gazed at the shining face of the little girl. She was astonished that anyone could look so innocent, be so perfect. Her skin glowed honey-gold, her cheeks had a healthy rosy hue. Her deep-set blue eyes were like sparkling gems, her hair was tamed at the top of her head with a large sugar-pink ribbon, a few tiny curls lay on her forehead.
Spencer put his hands on Vicki’s shoulders and she gazed up at him. The breath caught in Laura’s throat as she saw the love between them. He turned his attention to Laura. ‘I’ve explained to Vicki that we’re both very sorry about the row we had the other day. I’ve told her that adults can behave very silly at times, but that we’ve made it up and are friends now.’
‘That’s right, Vicki,’ Laura said. ‘I’m very sorry I shouted and frightened you.’
‘That’s okay,’ Vicki said, happy with the explanations. ‘Will you read me a story after tea, please?’
‘I’d be delighted to,’ Laura replied, feeling she’d received the highest honour in the world.
‘Well, then,’ Spencer said in a slightly more relaxed voice. ‘Ince has made the tea. Shall we eat?’
Ince had put Laura’s gingerbread men on a plate with a lace doily on it, in a place of honour on the table. It joined ham and cheese sandwiches, oat biscuits, sausage rolls and a caraway seed cake.
‘This all looks delicious,’ Laura said, allowing Spencer to show her to a chair. ‘Specially the cake.’
‘Daddy nearly dropped it,’ Vicki said brightly, wriggling about on the big cushion on her chair, her face showing she was eager to tuck in. ‘And he said a bad word.’
As Ince looked down at his plate smiling, Laura deliberately heightened Spencer’s increasing embarrassment by staring at him. She felt elated. He was finding this more trying than she was. ‘Did he?’ she said sweetly.
Spencer put his elbow on the table and chewed his thumbnail. ‘Will you say the grace, Ince?’ he growled.
After the blessing, Ince passed the plate of ham sandwiches to Laura. She took one and put it on her plate. Spencer poured out the tea and his hand was shaking a little as he put a cup beside Laura.
‘Is that how you like it?’ he asked as if something was constricting his throat.
Laura wondered if she was seeing a shyer, more sensitive Spencer or whether he was hating every moment of her being there and was gritting his teeth. She looked in the cup. The tea was stronger than she preferred but she said, ‘Yes, thank you,’ and turned her attention to Vicki. ‘Your dress is very pretty, Vicki. You look lovely in it.’
‘Thanks, Mrs Jennings. Lots of people think you’re lovely. I heard them saying it in church.’
‘Really?’ Laura said self-consciously, trying to get down a bite of ham sandwich and praying she didn’t choke on it. She knew both men were looking at her. What were they thinking? Did they agree with the church members? For the first time she became aware of just how good-looking Spencer was. He was powerfully built, his fair hair was thick and shiny, his face was rugged, weather-scarred but somehow beautifully worn like the moor, his eyes were a clear crystal grey and penetrating under a strong brow. Ince was also an attractive man. His body was similarly built from hard work, his face was kinder, gentler, totally appealing, and she had felt the warmth of his capable arms round her. What a thing to strike you when you’re sharing a tea table with a child, Laura thought, feeling nervous. She strove to think of something to change the subject.
‘Your dog doesn’t come inside?’
‘Barney never comes inside,’ Spencer said, finally helping himself to some food, a sandwich which he broke apart with brute force. ‘He’s wild by nature.’
I’ve gathered that, ran through Laura’s mind.
‘Are you going to be in the concert?’ Vicki asked her as she took a gingerbread man for herself and began picking off its candy peel and currant buttons and facial features.
‘I’ve promised Mrs Farrow, the vicar’s wife, that I’ll help with painting the scenery.’ She smiled at the little girl, grateful to her for claiming her attention. It would have been an enjoyable meal if Spencer hadn’t been there.
‘I’m going to sing and dance. I go to Bodmin for dancing lessons.’
‘I’ll look forward to seeing you sing and dance. I’m sure you’ll be the best act in the concert.’
‘Daddy and Uncle Ince can’t sew a button on my concert dress prop’ly. Can you do it for me, please?’
Laura glanced at Spencer for his reaction. ‘I’d be pleased to have a try.’
‘Thank you,’ Spencer said in a neutral tone.
Laura would have given anything to know what he was thinking. He ate little of the meal and she declined a second cup of tea to get it over with as quickly as possible. They left the table, and after a short private discussion between the two men, Ince removed the dishes from the table and began washing up. He refused to let Laura help him. Vicki fetched a storybook and climbed up on her knee. This was the best part of the afternoon.
‘Perhaps when you’ve read the story you’d be kind enough to sew this button on th
is dress,’ Spencer said, holding up the dress, a frilly blue silk concoction, and a glass button.
‘I’d be glad to,’ Laura replied with a smile. She felt more confident now the meal was over and she was enjoying having Vicki close to her.
‘I’ll get the sewing box then,’ he said, turning on his heel. He put all three items on the table.
When the story was read – it was Cinderella this time – Vicki climbed down off Laura’s lap and fetched the sewing things. Laura took only a few moments to sew the button on the dress.
‘That’s a relief,’ Ince said gratefully as he dried his hands. ‘Our hands get rough and clumsy on the farm.’ He held out his hands to show the calluses. ‘It’ll save one of us taking it over to Daisy’s.’
‘I was glad I could help,’ Laura told him. ‘Will you be doing anything in the concert, Ince? How about you, Spencer?’
‘I’m singing the “Old Rugged Cross”,’ Ince said, beaming with pride. ‘I’m told I’ve got a good tenor voice. I belong to the village male voice choir. I’ll be performing in their spot too.’
‘I shall look forward to that. And you, Spencer?’
‘I’m playing the piano for Vicki,’ he told her, and she knew he’d imparted the information grudgingly.
‘Sounds like the whole village is getting involved. What about your neighbours the Daveys? I’m thinking about Tressa in particular. I haven’t met her yet but my friend has and he was quite taken with her.’
‘Tressa’s very sweet but rather shy,’ Ince said. ‘She’ll probably just come and watch. Joan and Jacka might do something. One year they sang a medley of American minstrel songs. He has to be careful with his chest now.’
Spencer was looking at Laura darkly. ‘And just what sort of interest has your friend got in Tressa Davey?’
Laura looked back at him primly and answered in the same cool manner. ‘Nothing untoward, I can assure you.’
Kilgarthen Page 17