Kilgarthen

by Kilgarthen (retail) (epub)

  He left, leaving Laura with the uneasy and indignant feeling that he had seen all she had to show.

  Chapter 18

  Barbara Roach called anxiously up the stairs to her daughter. ‘Marianne! Will you please come down now. Your father and I are waiting to go to the hall.’

  ‘I’m not going!’ Marianne shouted back in a rage. ‘How many times have I got to tell you?’

  ‘Please,’ Barbara pleaded. ‘You’re making him very angry.’

  ‘He can go to hell and so can you!’

  Barbara sighed. Chewing on her bottom lip, she went to the kitchen. What was the matter with the girl these days? She had refused to come out of her room all day. She’d seen the doctor and he’d said it was only a bad cold. The symptoms seemed to have cleared up. Marianne wasn’t coughing or sneezing, she didn’t sound congested and she didn’t look hot and flushed. Just pale and very sulky. Perhaps the cold had left her feeling depressed. It wasn’t like Marianne. She usually bounced back quickly after an illness. Last night when a group of her young friends had turned up in a car asking if she wanted to go to the pictures, she had turned the offer down. Oh well, Barbara thought wearily. If she’s not better soon I’ll talk to Dr Palmer myself. She gulped and swallowed painfully and a recent bruise in the small of her back began to throb. Now she had to face her husband with the news of their daughter’s obstinacy.

  Having taken Barbara into Launceston that day to do the last of their Christmas shopping, Cecil had been putting his car into the garage. He came back indoors and combed and Brylcreemed his hair in front of the hall mirror. He was wearing his most determined look; determined that the schoolchildren would perform their very best for him tonight.

  Barbara joined him, ready to leave. She was carrying her contribution to the refreshment tables wrapped in tea towels.

  ‘Where’s Marianne?’ Cecil demanded, his brow furrowing like a ploughed field as he slicked the few strands of hair that had the hopeless task of covering the top of his shiny head.

  ‘She says she’s not coming,’ Barbara told him in a timid voice, her face twitching in anxiety, the dark bags under her eyes deepening in colour. She had been dreading this moment; she knew she would be blamed.

  ‘What? Why not?’ Cecil’s huge Adam’s apple moved up and down menacingly. ‘What’s got into that girl these days? She’s always rude and sulky. She hardly goes to work, she’s always grumbling there’s something wrong with her. She’ll lose her job if she doesn’t buck up her ideas, and it’s a damned good job!’ He prodded Barbara painfully in the chest. ‘Why didn’t you insist on her coming with us? You’re her mother. You’re no more bloody good as a wife and mother than a cow with a blasted crutch!’

  ‘It’s best to let her stay home, dear,’ Barbara said, trembling, the food on the plate in her hands at risk of tumbling off. ‘She hasn’t got over her cold yet. It’s left her feeling weak and down in the dumps. There’s several people poorly with one at the moment. Besides, if we force her to go in the mood she’s in, she might say something to show us up. You know what she can be like.’

  ‘Bah! I wanted all my family to be there tonight. I wanted your support. Is that too much to ask?’

  Barbara had walked past Cecil and reached the door. He pushed her hard between the shoulder blades and her nose hit a square of frosted glass. It hurt her and she knew it would stay red and swollen all night. She’d have to say there were two members of the Roach household who had colds.

  * * *

  Laura put a plate of egg and pickle sandwiches, a plate of sausage rolls and a large chocolate gateau she had made on one of the long trestle tables in the village hall. Then she unloaded the box of table decorations she had made from slim layers of wood, pine cones gathered at the edge of the Trebartha woods, tinsel, holly and gold-painted ivy.

  ‘You are clever, Laura,’ Roslyn Farrow said in admiration, squeezing her arm. ‘As Kinsley keeps saying, we may have lost Bill but we’re blessed to have gained you. What a pity I couldn’t rope you in to do an act. I’m sure you can sing or dance or recite a poem.’

  ‘I’m happy helping out behind the scenes, Roslyn,’ Laura replied, surveying the tables with a critical eye. The snowy white cloths were barely visible beneath various shaped platters of food of every description. ‘Looks like we’re going to have enough food for tonight.’

  ‘Don’t you bet on it. It’s amazing what the villagers can come up with despite the shortages but my lot can shift mountains of the stuff.’

  ‘It must be lovely having a family,’ Laura said longingly.

  Roslyn eyed her thoughtfully. ‘Well, you’re young enough to marry again one day, Laura, and have a large brood of children.’

  ‘And it won’t be difficult for you to find someone to father them,’ attested Ada Prisk, letting a plate of ginger biscuits hit the table with a thud. She stood very straight, her hands gripped tightly in front of her, a withering look on her sour face. ‘They’re queuing up for the job already.’

  Roslyn sighed and pulled on Laura’s arm to lead her away but Laura wasn’t going to let the old woman get away with that. ‘And what exactly does that mean?’

  Ada smoothed unnecessarily at the table cloth. ‘You’re an attractive, rich young woman. I’m sure you must have some money of your own and Bill would have been heavily insured. You’ve had your solicitor friend sniffing round you already and Ince Polkinghorne took you to the top of the tor. There was that other strange London fellow, he was interested in you, and Harry Lean, but then he of course goes after anything in a skirt so he wouldn’t leave you out. You’ve even had Spencer Jeffries calling at your house and the only woman he’s ever shown interest in before was his poor dead wife.’

  Laura put her hands on her hips, her blue eyes ice-cold and spitting fury. Roslyn feared the evening was going to be spoiled by a heated quarrel before it had even begun.

  ‘Don’t forget Johnny Prouse, Mrs Prisk.’ Laura hurled each word with venom at the old blabber-mouth. ‘I spend a lot of time alone with him and I even spoke to the milkman this morning! You should mind your own business, you nosy old shrew!’

  ‘Well, really!’ Ada retorted indignantly, shaking her tall thin body like a bird ruffling its feathers. ‘You should watch your mouth, young woman.’

  ‘Me?’

  Before Laura could say anything else, Roslyn stepped between them. ‘I think Mrs Jennings has a point, Mrs Prisk. Your remarks were untoward to a recently widowed woman.’

  The last thing Ada Prisk wanted was to go down in the estimation of the highly respected vicar’s wife. ‘Well, I, um, didn’t mean any harm. I was only referring to Mrs Jennings’ beauty. It’s something she can’t easily hide. Gentlemen are bound to notice it.’

  The audience had started to arrive and, not wishing to ruin the concert, Laura retreated to sell programmes. She tried to take her mind off Ada Prisk by thinking over what Roslyn had said about there being time for her to have a family. The last thing she wanted was another husband, but more than anything else in the world she wanted a family. To achieve that she’d have to marry again. At least tonight she would have the opportunity to act as a mother.

  The seats were nearly filled when Ince, Spencer and Vicki arrived. Roslyn took over the programme table while Laura led Vicki backstage to change into her dress. Make what you will of this, Ada Prisk, Laura thought defiantly. Ince, who was the third act on, came backstage with them.

  ‘Would you like to meet me in the pub for a drink afterwards?’ he whispered to her.

  ‘Yes, I would, thank you,’ she replied. She was going to start the tongues wagging tonight.

  Vicki chattered excitedly as Laura helped her out of her jumper and trousers and sturdy shoes and into her pretty blue dress. As Laura tied on her dancing shoes, her attitude towards Spencer softened at his thoughtfulness in wanting Vicki to feel the same as the other children. Backstage, in a little side room, there was a noisy squash of women and children struggling into costumes and applying ma
ke-up and Vicki was just part of the commotion. Spencer would have been out of his depth here.

  Leaving the crush, Laura led Vicki by the hand and took a peep round the curtains to see who was in the audience. Johnny Prouse was sitting importantly in the front row beside Pat Penhaligon who had left Mike to a quiet night on duty at the pub. Felicity Lean was also in the front row, studying the programme and occasionally looking around and smiling at various members of the gathering. When Felicity saw Spencer, she looked sad and hurt and when she caught his eye he looked away. Laura wanted to challenge Spencer about the way he was shutting Felicity out of Vicki’s life, but it was none of her business and she would do nothing to risk the relationship Spencer was allowing her to establish with Vicki.

  Laura was surprised to see Harry sitting beside his mother. He had turned round and was talking to Jacka Davey but his eyes were on Tressa who was talking to her Aunty Joan. Tressa was wearing a pretty dress but it was old fashioned and didn’t suit her. Laura thought it a pity she didn’t do something with her hair. She felt guilty for teasing the girl in Daisy’s shop and wondered if she could make it up by offering to do her hair sometime. She was good at that. Roslyn had roped her in to help with the hair and make-up behind the scenes tonight.

  Someone else came in, a solitary male. Laura gasped as he paid the threepence for his programme and sat down on the end of the last row of chairs. He caused a mild stir and some folk brought him to the attention of others.

  ‘What is it?’ Vicki asked, squeezing in front of Laura.

  ‘It’s my friend Andrew Macarthur. I wonder what’s he doing here.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s come to watch me sing and dance,’ Vicki said innocently.

  ‘That must be it,’ Laura said, dropping the curtain and ushering Vicki to her place in line. She hoped it wasn’t something serious, but Andrew had looked happy and relaxed, and surely he would have telephoned her if there were problems with the settlement of Bill’s estate.

  Cecil Roach was master of ceremonies and after an eloquent but lengthy speech the school choir started the proceedings with a carol. The next act was a twelve-year-old-boy with a small white poodle who jumped through a hoop. Laura clapped loudly after Ince had finished his hymn. She congratulated him on his superb tenor voice and promised to attend the Methodist chapel one Sunday to hear him sing again. Mr Maker, the elderly man who’d spoken kindly to Laura after her first Sunday in church, recited a long poignant poem about the two world wars, which he’d written himself. Daisy and Bunty’s comedy act as a pair of big-bosomed gossips getting their news mixed up made Laura ache with laughter. Ada Prisk left in the middle of their turn, presumably to go to the toilet.

  Halfway through the show, there was a short interval of ten minutes to allow the audience to stretch their legs. The village male voice choir started off the second half with a wide selection of songs and Ince performed again, looking most handsome in his maroon blazer and tie. Bert Miller, Joy’s husband, played a medley of popular songs on a mouth organ, comb and paper, the spoons and a piano accordion. The sketch named the Shoemaker and the Piskies that Cecil had written was almost professionally acted and very well received. He was pleased with the children and told them so when they herded off the stage. Laura saw some of them visibly sigh with relief; they could enjoy their Christmas holiday now.

  Vicki was on next and tears of emotion filled Laura’s eyes at her clear tinkling voice as she sang and danced a Judy Garland number. Laura sought Felicity’s face and saw her wiping her eyes with a handkerchief. When Vicki came off to thunderous applause, Cecil waylaid her and told her he was looking forward to seeing her at school next term, that she was likely to be the star of the school. Filled with pride, as though she was the little girl’s real mother, Laura hugged and kissed her as she changed her clothes.

  ‘Did you hear Daddy playing for me?’ Vicki asked proudly. ‘He’s very clever.’

  ‘Yes,’ Laura lied. ‘He did a wonderful job.’ She had been so wrapped up in Vicki’s performance she hadn’t heard a note of Spencer’s rendering on the piano. Laura was thrilled that he didn’t come backstage to reclaim his daughter, allowing Vicki to stay with her until the concert finished, even through the community singing at the end.

  Laura was terribly embarrassed at the final curtain when Roslyn took over from Cecil and thanked her publicly for all she had done for the village. Laura had to leave Vicki with Ince and go on to the stage and receive a bouquet of flowers which was presented to her by Roslyn’s daughter, Rachael.

  A loud murmur of voices went up and there was a scraping of chair legs as the centre of the hall was cleared and the chairs put round the sides. The eating and tea drinking began but Laura found herself still the centre of attention. She had yet to talk to Andrew and find out why he was here. He had waved cheerily to her and was now chatting to Jacka and Joan Davey; Tressa was nowhere to be seen. Laura was worried that Spencer would take Vicki straight home before she could extricate herself from those gathered round her but when the last well-wisher headed for the food tables, he came up to her with Vicki who was eating a slice of the chocolate gateau.

  ‘Thank you, Laura,’ he said sincerely. ‘You made the evening go well for Vicki. She won’t feel so nervous about starting school next term now.’

  Laura thought this was the ideal opportunity to suggest something that would help Vicki fit even more easily into school. Vicki had listened politely to Cecil Roach on the stage but the look on her face had showed she’d been daunted by him.

  ‘You could always let Vicki play with some of the other children, Spencer. I’d be happy to bring them to the farm and supervise their play or take Vicki to their homes – the vicarage, for instance.’

  Spencer looked almost helpless. ‘Yes, I suppose…’

  ‘Can I, Daddy?’ Vicki piped up now she had swallowed a mouthful of cake. ‘Can I have someone to play with me? I liked it when Benjy played with me that time.’

  ‘All right, pipkin.’ Spencer ruffled her hair, dislodging her ribbon which Laura instantly put right. He’d do almost anything to make her happy. ‘We’ll see about it after Christmas before school begins.’

  ‘It must be hard seeing them grow up,’ Laura said sympathetically. She saw Felicity standing by the doorway, evidently about to go, looking wistfully at her granddaughter. ‘What a pity you haven’t got any relatives.’

  She saw Spencer’s jaw tighten and heard his sharp intake of breath. ‘You’d better get yourself something to eat while there’s still some food left. If you’ll excuse me, I think Ince wants a word with you.’ Taking Vicki by the hand, he led her backstage to collect her dress and dancing shoes.

  * * *

  Tressa had been to the toilet and was alone in the outer hallway making her way back to the hall. Her mind was on the food she’d left on a plate on one of the tables. Aunty Joan was only a plain cook and made nothing like the delicious-looking chocolate cake. Tressa had a big slice waiting for her. She hoped no one would eat it before she got back. She was dismayed to see Harry Lean approaching her.

  ‘Don’t you try to stop me getting past,’ she threatened him, balling her fists.

  ‘I’ve just seen my mother to her car and was coming back for my coat. No law against that, is there?’ Harry smiled like a cat about to devour a saucer of cream. ‘But now we’re here like this, Tressa, my dear, why don’t we have a little chat?’

  Tressa backed away. ‘What about?’

  ‘No need to be suspicious, darling. I know about your father’s financial difficulties. I have thought of a way to help him. Interested?’

  As Harry Lean was an intelligent man who dealt with finance, Tressa dropped her guard. Her sweet young face brightened. If her father’s worries could be lifted this Christmas could be one of the happiest he’d ever had. ‘You have a way to help Dad?’

  ‘Yes.’ Harry moved closer to her. ‘I know a way he can get hold of one hundred pounds. A sum of money like that would see the end of all his money worries
. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘What does he have to do?’

  ‘Not him, sweetheart. You.’

  ‘Me?’ Tressa was puzzled. ‘What’s it got to do with me?’

  ‘Well, it’s like this, Tressa. I’ll let your father have one hundred pounds, which he wouldn’t have to pay back, if you do something for me.’

  Harry was walking towards her and Tressa was moving backwards. Her back was brought up against the wall holding the rows of pegs the villagers’ coats were hanging from.

  ‘You mean you’re offering me a job at Hawksmoor, with the horses? You’ll pay my wages in advance?’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking of anything like that at all, darling,’ Harry said huskily, a heat unrecognisable to Tressa shining out of his dark eyes. His arms were about her in an instant. ‘Let me show what I do mean.’

  Too late Tressa realised what he was up to and she began to struggle. Harry had hold of her tightly. He was pushing her back into the coats and her arms were pinned against her sides as he brought his mouth down over hers. Tressa couldn’t scream and the only movements she could make were with her feet, but he was standing with his legs astride, out of harm’s way. Tressa was horrified. She felt sick to the core of her being. She felt she was being smothered. When he pushed his tongue into her mouth she became frantic.

  Harry took his mouth away and pulled her head back by her hair. He had enjoyed that long kiss. Tressa’s struggles meant nothing to him. ‘You get the picture, darling?’

  ‘You rotten bastard!’

  She screamed as loudly as it would come out of her throat. ‘Let go of me!’ He had loosened his grip and she wrenched herself free then immediately launched herself in a violent attack upon him.

  Harry howled as one of her fists hit his brow bone and the other was plunged into his guts. Tressa lashed out with all her might, shouting and screaming, gouging at him with clawed fingers, kicking his shins and yanking on his hair.