Kilgarthen

by Kilgarthen (retail) (epub)

  ‘They died of old age, first the husband then the woman. Dad said Mrs Trethewey was a devil of a woman. Milked her cows and fed her pigs and chickens up to the day she died with her boots on. Nobody inherited it and nobody moved in. The stock was taken away and the place fell into disrepair, as we see it today.’

  ‘Sad really. Makes you wonder about their lives.’

  ‘I’ll show you something of what their ancestors were like,’ Tressa said in an excited voice after she’d repacked the army bag.

  She went a few steps into the next room which had once served as the parlour. Andrew followed her and she put out a hand to stop him going in any further than where she stood. Ragged curtains were drawn at the single window and it was dark and dreary but he could just make out a wide deep hole dug out in the middle of the stone-flagged floor.

  Tressa pointed to the hole. ‘That was a “hide”. Where smugglers used to hide their contraband.’

  ‘Like in the book Jamaica Inn? That’s amazing.’ Suddenly afraid he was being made a fool of again, he tapped her shoulder. ‘You’re not telling me a story yourself, are you?’

  ‘No, honest.’ She shook her head. ‘Dad told me. Me, Matty and Jimmy used to come here and make up adventure stories.’

  Andrew was about to ask her if she thought of him in the same light as her brothers; he might as well know, but she exclaimed, ‘That’s odd.’

  ‘What’s odd?’ He followed her line of vision and saw a cigarette packet lying on the floor about a yard away from their feet. ‘Perhaps a hiker took a rest in here.’

  ‘There wouldn’t be any hikers in the weather we’ve had lately. I was here only two days ago with Meg and the packet wasn’t here then. Harper’s Bazaar. I’ve not seen that brand before.’

  Andrew frowned. He had. It was an expensive brand favoured greatly in the clubs of the capital city.

  ‘The hail’s stopping. We’d better get ready to start work,’ Tressa said tightly. She was greatly annoyed that a stranger had come to one of her special private places. Looking moodily at Andrew, she muttered, ‘Have you brought gloves with you?’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Tressa, I’m not a complete idiot,’ he returned. Sometimes he wondered if she saw him as a man at all let alone a romantic partner.

  * * *

  Carrying a packet of soap flakes, Laura followed Joan who was humping a huge basket of dirty laundry, into one of Tregorlan’s outhouses. As they pushed through the galvanised iron door, the wonderful smell of stored apples hit Laura’s nostrils; she felt like a small child allowed to see inside an Aladdin’s cave. The high windows let in very little light in the ramshackle building and Joan lit two lanterns and hung them up on hooks. The roof was made partly of rusty iron and curved timbers and it was rather like being inside a cave. Laura watched amazed when Joan lit a strange contraption that looked something like a large primus stove and put a huge pot of water on its top to boil.

  ‘Jacka knocked this together years ago,’ Joan said proudly, referring to the stove. ‘It heats the water up quickly and has never let me down.’ She took the packet of soap flakes and sprinkled some into the water.

  ‘Can I do something to help?’ Laura asked. She had hardly spoken to Joan Davey before arriving at the farm with Andrew just after breakfast but they were getting along well, and although rather shy, Joan seemed glad to have another woman to chat to.

  Because Johnny Prouse was so much better and wanted to be his usual independent self, and to take her mind off missing Vicki, Laura had asked Andrew if she could come to the farm with him today. She also wanted to witness for herself how Andrew was getting on in his attempted courtship of the elusive Tressa.

  Joan handed her a long narrow piece of bleached wood. ‘You can stir the flakes into the water if you like while I sort out the washing.’

  Laura stood at a safe distance and stirred the water, likening it to a witch stirring up her potions over a cauldron. A good witch, of course; she wished she could whip up a love potion that would work on the other woman’s niece. Joan tipped the laundry onto the stone floor and sorted it out into piles of whites, coloureds and handwash. She dragged an ancient creaking mangle out from its resting place in a corner, and a washtub and board. Laura felt she’d stepped back into another era. She forgot her troubles for a time.

  She was greatly relieved that the Morrison brothers’ fresh claim for money had been discounted, but the repercussions of the quarrel with Spencer marred the happiness she’d found at feeling she was accepted and belonged in Kilgarthen. She was also apprehensively waiting for all hell to break loose when Cecil Roach was informed of his daughter’s pregnancy. Barbara had told her they were waiting for term to begin when he would have to spend most of his time in the school building.

  Laura had something special that was balm to her soul – Ince. She’d had no regrets as she lay in his arms after they had made love. It had been Ince who had suggested they take their new feelings one step at a time. He’d kissed and caressed her with gentle affection as they’d agreed they wouldn’t make love again unless something permanent came out of their association. He didn’t want to compromise his faith and Laura didn’t want to be rushed into something she’d later regret. She had moved out of the master bedroom tainted with Bill’s presence and now slept in the bed she and Ince had used and the memories were a warming comfort to her.

  ‘When the flakes have dissolved, I’ll put the sheets, pillowcases and smalls in to boil first,’ Joan said. ‘Every now and again I pound on ’em with the stick to help get the dirt out.’

  Laura watched wide-eyed as Jacka’s longjohns were put in with the bed linen and then some knee-length drawers. The other pairs of knickers, big and ugly, must be Tressa’s and she felt sorry for the girl not having any feminine underwear. She would never feel womanly and attractive if those were the only things she wore. A small cotton nightdress was tossed in next, a garment so thin that Laura saw through it before it hit the bubbling water. Andrew had told her of Tressa’s Christmas wish for a new nightie; apparently it hadn’t materialised.

  It took two hours to complete the washing, the women taking it in turns to go out to the well and draw more water. When the laundry had been washed, scrubbed, rinsed and mangled, they hung it up on lines in the outhouse because there was no chance of it drying outside today. They tipped out the dirty soapy water, packed away the mangle and washtub then carried the towels and tea towels into the kitchen to dry over the range.

  They found Tressa and Andrew there, back from Reddacoombe Farm and refilling their flask before they went off to the fields to repair the damaged wall.

  Laura raised her eyebrows at him in question. Andrew shrugged his shoulders wearily and put on a dismal face. Tressa was going about her task of filling the flask wearing her usual faraway expression. He needed help and while Laura had worked in the outhouse she had formed a plan that might turn things round a bit. There was a dance in the village on Saturday night, ideal circumstances for romance to blossom.

  Chapter 24

  Tressa lazed back in the warm fragrant water. It was pure luxury. The white enamelled bath was in a room all of its own. There was space to stretch out in it rather than having to sit cramped with knees up to her chest like she did in the oval-shaped tin bath in the kitchen at home. The water actually came out of two taps, one hot and one cold, doing away with the need to heat water on the range and cool it down with buckets of cold water from the pump. Here Tressa had the chance to use the jasmine bath cubes and soap Andrew had left for her and its lovely perfume filled the air. She’d washed her hair using the little sachet of shampoo Laura had given her. It was much better than using soap. Now she was lying back and relaxing in the warm sweet-smelling water like some grand lady.

  When Laura had asked her if she’d like her to do her hair for the dance, Tressa’s instinctive reaction had been to decline the offer. She’d intended to go to the dance, her father had insisted on it, rabbiting on again about her needing to meet some ni
ce young man and thinking about her future, but people like Laura usually wanted to form friendships and Tressa had never felt the need for any kind of friendship. Then Laura had said she could play the gramophone if she came to Little Cot to get ready for the dance. That had been an irresistible pull. She’d be able to tell Matty and Jimmy about that later.

  She’d arrived at Little Cot half an hour ago with her shoes and the dress she was going to wear in a bag. Laura had shown her over the cottage and after seeing her delight at the bathroom had told her she could use it if she wished; she’d have to wash her hair anyway. Then Laura had tactfully asked her if she’d care to have some underwear given to her as a Christmas present, explaining that her ‘Aunty Maureen’ always got her size wrong and it was too small for her. Now the small pink cotton bra and matching French knickers were lying on the bathroom chair with Laura’s bathrobe, waiting to be put on.

  When the water got cold, Tressa climbed out of the bath and pulled out the plug. She wrapped a fluffy white towel under her armpits then bent over the bath and swirled the water round and round as it emptied away; it certainly beat having to carry the tin bath outside with Aunty Joan and tipping the water away in the yard. As she straightened up, her elbow touched a jar of bath crystals on the shelf and knocked it over. The strong smell of roses wafted upwards and masked the smell of the jasmine. The little accident startled her. Fortunately the jar hadn’t broken and Tressa picked it up and put it back in its place, then she crouched down and began sweeping the crystals into a pile using the sides of her hands.

  Suddenly the bathroom door was swung open and she gave a little cry of alarm.

  Andrew was standing there and he looked as if he had been given the shock of his life. ‘Tressa!’

  ‘Laura said I could take a bath here,’ Tressa explained in a tone that was almost a wail, like a child pleading that it wasn’t being naughty, ‘I knocked a jar over.’

  Her startled expression made his heart turn over. ‘It’s all right, darling. I just popped in to see Laura but she doesn’t seem to be in and I was making sure she wasn’t being robbed.’ Neither of them noticed that he’d called her darling. His eyes were rooted on her.

  Tressa had never felt so embarrassed in all her life, she straightened up and gazed back at him, her pretty pale face covered in a bright pink blush, her hands grasping the towel protectively round her, her long wet hair dripping over her slender bare shoulders.

  She looked so young and vulnerable, deliciously innocent, her soft female form moulded under the towel, that he longed to hold her. His feelings were so intense he was afraid she’d read his feverish mind. He knew he must go before he frightened or offended her.

  ‘I—I’ll leave you to it then. Don’t worry about the crystals, they’ll brush up easily.’ As he turned to go, he saw the box of toiletries he’d tried to give her for Christmas and his heart soared. He hastened from the room and closed the door before his face gave his elation away. So she’d accepted them after all; she must think something of him, like him a little bit.

  He had wanted to ask Laura what he should wear to the dance tonight. He didn’t want to overdo it, and he knew the villagers expected things to be just so. She must have popped out for something. He hoped she wouldn’t come back for ages.

  He worked fast. He made coffee, searched in the cupboards for some cake — he’d noticed Tressa was very partial to cake – and found a chocolate swiss roll. He put cups and saucers and a jug of hot milk on the tray and carried it into the front room.

  He pranced about the room excitedly. Moving an occasional table nearer the settee, he put the tray on it. He tossed his coat and other things on the chairs so there was no room to sit on them. He flopped down on the settee and tried to look casual. He pressed his fingertips to his face to stop it twitching. He took several deep breaths and rubbed his chest over his hammering heart. When the bathroom door opened, he lurched to his feet, his eyes set on the doorway where Tressa would appear.

  She was surprised to see him there and stood self-consciously in Laura’s bathrobe, her towelled hair tumbling arrestingly over her shoulders. ‘You’re still here?’

  ‘I thought you’d appreciate a hot drink on such a cold day and something to eat. Come and sit down.’ He patted the space beside him.

  She looked back uncertainly into the kitchen. ‘I need to find a brush and clear up the mess I made.’

  ‘I’ll do that in a minute, come and sit down.’

  Tressa thought that in the circumstances, with her wearing very little, she ought to ask him to leave. But she hardly had the right to turn one of Laura’s friends out of her home. And the food and drink looked and smelled good. It never crossed her mind that he could have something dishonourable on his mind; she couldn’t make up her mind about Andrew but she knew he was no Harry Lean.

  She padded over to him on bare feet. She didn’t sit close and he resisted the impulse to edge nearer to her; he was ever mindful of Laura’s advice not to rush her, knowing she would bolt like a wild pony. He breathed in the intoxicating aroma of her and jasmine talcum powder; he would always adore that heady combination.

  ‘Have some cake.’ He lifted the silver coffee pot. ‘Black or white?’

  She looked at him as if he’d gone mad. ‘Black or white what?’

  ‘Coffee. Do you take milk?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never drunk it before, we can’t afford it.’

  Andrew’s heart ached. He wanted to give her everything in the world. ‘Try it with milk. I’ll make sure it’s not too strong.’ He watched her take the first tentative sip.

  ‘It’s nice,’ she said, glancing at him.

  ‘Good.’

  After that she ate and drank without talking, and all the while he gazed at her. She gave no indication that she was aware he was doing it. A droplet of water fell off the tip of her hair and his heart burned with the desire to stroke the spot on the bathrobe where it fell on her arm.

  Remembering her promised treat, Tressa got up suddenly.

  ‘You’re not going?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Laura said I could play the gramophone. She said I only have to wind it up.’ She turned the handle cautiously, as if she was afraid she would break it off, then moved the needle across. Instead of ‘Chattanooga Choo Choo’ there came a loud scratching noise. ‘Ohhh! I’ve broken it!’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ Andrew sprang to her side. ‘These things are tricky but I think I can put it right for you.’ He made a great show of lifting off the needle arm and hummed and hawed like an aged scientist deliberating over something of great national importance. He placed the needle in the correct place on the disc. ‘There we are.’

  When she heard the music, Tressa clapped her hands with glee. ‘Thank you, Andrew.’ It was one of the few times she had called him by name.

  She sat on the settee and listened to the song with a childlike delight. When it had finished, Andrew put on ‘White Christmas’ and the room was filled with the crooning of Bing Crosby.

  ‘This song is wonderful,’ Tressa said dreamily. ‘He’s got a wonderful voice.’

  ‘It’s the theme tune of a film called Holiday Inn,’’ Andrew said, thinking she probably didn’t know the fact. ‘It’s an excellent film. I’ve seen it many times.’ He was looking through the records. ‘Bill had a good collection. I’ll find some big band music to put us in the mood for tonight. Do you like dancing, Tressa?’

  She made no comment and he looked at her. She was paying no mind to the music but was looking at him intently. He smiled at her, intending to ask her to spare him a dance tonight; it would be heaven to hold her in his arms at last. He never got the chance. Laura came back and ordered him out.

  ‘Thank you for making the coffee for Tressa but you have to leave now, Andrew,’ she insisted. ‘Tressa and I have to get ready.’

  ‘Oh, very well,’ he muttered grudgingly, putting on his coat.

  ‘What did you want to see me for anyway?’ Laura asked as she sho
wed him to the door, forbidding him one last look at Tressa as she pushed him gently off the doorstep.

  He’d completely forgotten. ‘Nothing important. See you both tonight.’

  * * *

  Ince put a final polish on his shoes then smoothed at his curly hair in the mirror on the kitchen wall.

  ‘Why can’t I come to the dance with you, Uncle Ince?’ Vicki asked him for the umpteenth time, her fists rammed in appealingly under her chin as she watched him from the table.

  ‘I’ve told you, princess, you’re too young. It’ll be your turn in a few years when you’re a beautiful grown-up lady.’

  ‘Are you going to dance with Laura?’

  ‘I expect so,’ Ince replied uncomfortably, seeing the reflection of Spencer’s stern face in the mirror.

  ‘Bet she’ll look beautiful,’ Vicki said wistfully. ‘I wish I could see her.’

  Vicki knew better than to talk about Laura to her father but he didn’t stop her mentioning her to Ince. Spencer viewed his closest friend and daughter from a stony-faced distance. Vicki missed Laura and was hurt and puzzled about why there had been a sudden unexplained break in their friendship. Spencer knew he wasn’t being fair to Vicki but Laura’s remarks about Felicity, his mother-in-law, had hurt too much. He couldn’t forgive Laura, even though he’d come to admit that what she had said was true. Felicity had only been following Natalie’s wishes about keeping quiet over her poor health. It wasn’t Felicity’s fault Natalie had died. It wasn’t anybody’s fault, except perhaps the snow’s for not letting the ambulance through so Natalie could have the Caesarian operation. It was his fault that Felicity had suffered for nothing for nearly five years and that Vicki had never known the love and care her grandmother would have lavished on her. He couldn’t do anything about that now, no matter how unfair and wicked it was. His feelings were too raw.

  ‘I’ll see you later then,’ Ince said to him after he’d hugged and kissed Vicki goodnight. He knew he wouldn’t. Spencer would be closeted in his room when he got back. He wouldn’t be sleeping. He’d be remembering his loss and if it cut to the roots of his soul like it often did, he would be softly crying.