Kilgarthen

by Kilgarthen (retail) (epub)

  ‘Where’s Father?’ Marianne yawned.

  ‘Up in his study,’ Barbara replied, putting a soft boiled egg and toasted soldiers in front of her daughter. ‘It’s quiet, he’s probably fallen asleep.’

  ‘Good.’

  Barbara didn’t reprimand her. They did not want his company. Since Marianne had revealed her pregnancy, mother and daughter had formed a close relationship and actually enjoyed one another’s company. Cecil spoiled it with his constant petty criticisms and superior attitude. Both women had thought about how better their lives would be if he dropped dead or was killed in an accident. They hadn’t admitted it to each other but they didn’t feel guilty that such ideas had passed through their minds, their loathing of him was so great.

  Now Marianne had accepted she couldn’t dispose of her baby and had felt it moving and growing inside her, she wanted to keep it and Barbara had promised her that she would; somehow she would see her first grandchild grow up. Barbara’s half-sister, Marta, a childless young widow who lived at Barnstaple in Devon, might be persuaded to take Marianne in until the child was born. Marta was well off and generous and lived in a large house. She might consider giving Marianne a permanent home and perhaps Barbara could follow her daughter later. Then somehow the two of them and the baby could set up home together. Barbara had never considered leaving Cecil until now but the baby had given her new hope of life without him and his bullying.

  But Marianne needed money to get away. She had selfishly spent all her wages and Cecil only gave Barbara enough to buy the groceries and have her hair done. She had never been able to save and there was no one they could ask to borrow money from. Barbara had considered asking Laura to lend her money, knowing it was a terrible cheek but believing Laura would be glad to have the mother of her husband’s illegitimate child out of the village. But it was known that the young widow had been left very little money. Doubtless Cecil would throw his wayward daughter out, not wanting her disgrace to become public and embarrass him, but they hoped and prayed he would give her the money to go. They trembled when they thought of the moment when they would tell him. For now they were content to enjoy a chat.

  ‘I hope that Mr Macarthur has been found,’ Barbara said, refilling their teacups. ‘He seems such a nice man.’

  ‘Yes, it would be a terrible waste, a handsome man like him dying on the moor. You’d think with the experience he must have gained working on Tregorlan Farm he’d have been more careful.’

  ‘Well, even an experienced farmer has been known to get lost half a mile from his own front door in the mist or snow. Ada Prisk says he’s after Tressa Davey.’

  ‘Tressa! Tressa? Don’t be silly, Mum. She may be pretty but a man like Andrew Macarthur wouldn’t be interested in the likes of her.’

  Barbara smiled. ‘Because you’ve been staying out of other people’s way lately you haven’t been keeping up with the gossip, my girl.’

  ‘Tressa Davey’s a lucky girl then. Wow! I’d give anything to have a man like him after me.’

  Up in his study, Cecil woke up. The paraffin had run out in the heater and he was cold. He moved sluggishly as he covered himself up, put his magazine away in its hiding place, then climbed down the ladder to take a much needed bath. He was in a good mood and was humming ‘We’ll Gather Lilacs in the Spring’ as he passed Marianne’s room. The door was ajar and he could see the room was messy, with the bed unmade and clothes strewn about on the floor. He tut-tutted. This would never do. He’d have to have a word with her mother. He went into the room to see just how bad it was.

  Clothes and coat hangers were lying on the floor, shoes were all over the place, items of make-up and perfume bottles were strewn higgledy-piggledy on the dressing table. Lipstick had stained the lace runner. Hair was clogging up the hairbrush. On the bedside table books were stacked in a tall untidy pile. Cecil swiped each one off the pile. What trash! Ridiculous titles. Love’s Young Dream. Heart’s Desire. Forever My Love. Dr Springfield’s Mother and Baby Manual. What on earth was this?

  Cecil thrust open the first page. It described the symptoms of morning sickness; some of them were underlined. He turned more pages. There was a diagram of a sixteen-week baby in the womb. Written beside it in Marianne’s writing were the words, ‘The size of my baby.’

  ‘What?’ he roared. It all fell into place now. Marianne’s mystery virus. Her refusal to go to work and out with her friends. The furtive whispering that went on between her and her wretched mother. The way Barbara had refused to let her lift a heavy basket of laundry the other day.

  Cecil was seething mad. He was shaking. He was red in the face. He had business with his slut of a daughter and her lying bitch of a mother. But not in his dressing gown. First he would get dressed and then he would bring coals of fire down upon their heads.

  ‘Help me clear the table for your father’s breakfast, Marianne,’ Barbara said, resigned that this period of respite was over. ‘I can hear him coming down the stairs. I don’t want you in his way.’

  Cecil appeared in the kitchen and the two women were amazed to see him dressed in his second-best suit and black tie, not his old pair of flannel trousers and sweater that he would wear to clear the snow from the paths. The remains of his hair was Brylcreemed and severely parted.

  Barbara sensed deep trouble. She put a hand on Marianne’s arm and stepped in front of her. ‘Are you going somewhere, dear?’

  ‘No,’ he spat venomously, ‘but she is.’ He pointed a stiffly held finger at Marianne. ‘Whore! Slut! Get out of my house this minute. I’ll have no bastard-bearing trollops living under my roof.’

  So he knew. Well, it saved the trouble of having to tell him. Barbara stepped forward and lifted her chin defiantly. She wasn’t a meek wife putting up with whatever he cared to hand out now. She was a mother fighting for the future of her young. ‘She needs some money before she can go,’ Barbara said, sounding calmer than she felt. ‘We can ask my half-sister, Marta, to take her in.’

  Cecil looked so fierce that Marianne burst into tears and clung to her mother. ‘I’m s-sorry, Father.’

  He was unmoved. This girl was no longer his daughter. She was no better than the lowest of whores. ‘It’s no good being sorry, you bloody bitch. It’s too late for that. Too late the moment you lay down for the filthy swine who got you like this. Get out of my house before I throw you out.’

  He strode across the room and thrust Barbara aside, pulling on Marianne’s arm. She began to wail and he struck her viciously in the face. Barbara grabbed hold of his arm and yanked on it. ‘Let her go, Cecil. I won’t let you treat her like this.’

  ‘And I won’t have the little whore under my roof a moment longer,’ Cecil howled like a demented animal. He shoved Barbara away from him, then gripped the neck of Marianne’s jumper. She choked as he hauled her to the outside door.

  ‘Let her go! Let her go!’ yelled Barbara, beating on his back and trying to force his hands away from Marianne. ‘You can’t throw your own daughter out into the snow!’

  Cecil dragged his screaming daughter to the door and opening it wide he threw her outside. Marianne fell headlong into the snow-covered dustbin and it fell over, its contents spilling over the whiteness without making much sound. ‘If I ever catch sight of you again, I’ll kill you, I swear it!’

  ‘Run, Marianne,’ Barbara shouted, trying to get past her husband at the door. ‘Run to Laura Jennings, she’ll take you in.’

  ‘Mum!’ Marianne shouted back where she lay.

  ‘Get up, Marianne. Go on, for your own sake,’ Barbara cried, then she screamed in pain as Cecil yanked her back by the hair and slammed the door shut. He turned the key and hit her full in the face.

  ‘This is all your fault, you useless bitch. Our daughter, our only child, bringing disgrace down on my head because you’re no good as a mother.’ His face was an ugly mask of evil as he drove the full force of his fist into Barbara’s stomach before she could move away from him.

  She fell, hitting th
e cupboard under the sink. ‘It’s not my fault,’ she shouted, clutching herself. ‘It’s you, you’re vile and you’re filthy, Cecil Roach. You’re disgusting and the police would be interested to learn of the beastly things you get up to. You’re not fit to be a husband or a father and you’re not fit to teach innocent little children. I hate you, you unspeakable bastard. I wish you were dead.’ This was the first time Barbara had spoken out against him and once she started, it all came pouring out. She wanted this loathsome creature to know exactly how she felt about him. Then she cried out in fear.

  His foot was raised and he thrust it towards her head. ‘You bitch! I’ll make you pay for every word you’ve just said!’

  * * *

  Andrew drifted in and out of consciousness. At times he felt freezing cold and was surrounded by blackness and thought he was still bound up in the back of the kidnappers’ van or the place they had taken him to. Then he would smell the scent of jasmine floating on the air and he’d smile happily and murmur, ‘Tressa.’

  The last time she answered him. ‘Yes, Andrew. I’m here. Can I get you anything?’

  He opened his eyes and saw he was lying in one of a pair of twin beds with knobbly brass bedsteads in a strange room. Tressa was standing by the door. He wasn’t interested in his surroundings, he only took in that they were rather grim and basic with pale green distempered walls and sparse furniture. It was warm and smoky from the peat fire. He patted the side of the bed. ‘Come closer, Tressa. Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to kiss me again, but if you want to I won’t stop you.’ He grinned and the effort hurt his jaw and he became aware of a thudding headache. ‘Ohhh,’ he put up a hand, which was still encased in a glove, to his forehead.

  Tressa went to him quickly. ‘There’s some aspirin on the chair by your bed. Sit up and I’ll help you take some.’

  ‘I can’t sit up by myself.’ It would have been a good ruse to get her to help him but he was telling the truth. He felt as weak as the proverbial kitten.

  Sitting on the bed, she put her arms round him and pulled him up. He rested his head against her breast and breathed in her fresh feminine scent. There was the smell of jasmine on her. So she used his present frequently. He’d have to get her some more.

  ‘Lie back on the pillows. I’ve plumped them up for you,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t, my head’s spinning. Will you hold me for a minute?’

  ‘Just for a minute,’ she stressed. ‘Dad wouldn’t like it if he saw us.’

  ‘Bloody hell, Tressa. I’m not about to pull you into this bed and make love to you.’ But how he wanted to.

  ‘Don’t swear, Andrew, and don’t say things like that,’ she chided him like a naughty child. ‘Dad wouldn’t like that either. Now lie back and take the aspirins and soon the pain will go away.’

  He could have said a lot of intimate things, hoping she would put it down to weakness or pain but he felt she’d not allow any more liberties. He lay back and took three aspirins out of her hand and washed them down with the glass of water she held for him. He had nearly died from the kidnapping but he was grateful it had brought him here under Tressa’s care. ‘Thanks. I don’t remember much about yesterday after the men put me in this bed, except for Laura turning up and continually telling me how sorry she was. What’s been happening?’

  She looked at him as though she was relieved he was behaving himself. ‘You’ve been sleeping most of the time. Aunty Joan, Laura and I have taken turns watching over you. Spencer has taken Laura home. It’s nearly teatime now. We couldn’t get you to the hospital yesterday and it would have been stupid to try to take you on to the pub.’

  ‘I’ll be fine here,’ Andrew grinned. ‘I must thank your father and Joan.’ He recalled the efforts she had made getting him out of the smuggler’s hide. ‘Were you hurt, Tressa?’

  She touched her sides. ‘Just a few bruises here.’

  He wanted to caress the places where her hands had just been but knew he daren’t. ‘I take it this is your brothers’ room?’

  ‘You’re in Matty’s bed. You’re wearing his shirt.’

  He looked at the small fireplace, topped with a narrow ledge where the Davey brothers’ few childhood toys stood. ‘You shouldn’t have lit a fire for me. You can’t afford the peat.’

  ‘Peat is free, we have right of turbary. You just have to work hard digging for it. We’ve got lots so don’t worry about it.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I’ll make it up to you and no arguments. I’ve got my pride too.’ He held up his hands. ‘Whose gloves are these? Can you take them off now? I feel like a baby with mittens on.’

  She pulled the gloves off slowly. His hands were swollen and streaked red, blue and purple. Tressa took hold of them gently. ‘Do they hurt?’

  ‘A bit.’ She squeezed and he grimaced. ‘A lot. They’ll be all right, won’t they?’

  ‘I should think so. It won’t be long before you’ll be back writing all that legal stuff at your desk.’

  ‘Tressa, I might not be going back to London. What—’

  ‘I have something to show you,’ she interrupted before he could say any more. As usual she was dressed in her brothers’ old clothes and she took a piece of paper out of her trousers. ‘Dad got this on Saturday. It’s about those grants you put him on to. It’s a form. They want more details. When you feel up to it, perhaps you can check he’s filled it out right.’ She put it back into her pocket.

  ‘The sooner he gets it back in the post the better,’ Andrew said. He looked gloomily out of the high window which had almost colourless short curtains at them. The form could have waited. Tressa wasn’t prepared to talk about anything that might involve the two of them. Perhaps when the mess the Morrisons had left was cleared up he would be going back to London after all.

  ‘I’d better go,’ Tressa said, getting up off the bed.

  She didn’t want to leave him but her father was downstairs and would be watching the clock to see how long she stayed up here. Jacka was pleased that Andrew was safe and he was welcome to enjoy the hospitality of their home until he was completely well. Jacka had thought things through and was sorry for accusing Andrew unjustly of being a Casanova, but all the talk about villains from London and kidnapping had hardened his resolve that no matter what Andrew’s feelings were, he was not the man for his daughter. Tressa wasn’t as sure about that as her father.

  Chapter 28

  ‘So I missed all the fun and games while I was in London, Mother?’ Harry Lean drawled. He’d got back to Hawksmoor House in the early hours of Friday morning that week and was enjoying breakfast with Felicity. ‘A kidnap, a dramatic rescue, a pregnant girl thrown out into the snow and her mother falling mysteriously down the stairs.’ He sipped his coffee and smiled under his long dark eyelashes. ‘It’s heartbreaking.’

  ‘It isn’t funny, Harry,’ Felicity chided. ‘Laura must have been worried out of her mind before her friend was found.’

  ‘Lucky him, being found by Tressa,’ Harry observed, picturing the girl he still desired and the man who had more honourable feelings towards her in the little deserted farmhouse.

  ‘Yes,’ Felicity said drily, frowning disapprovingly. She hadn’t forgiven him for his assault on Tressa Davey. ‘Andrew Macarthur is back in the pub and almost recovered and Laura’s jewellery has been retrieved. It’s all so terribly dramatic. Hard to believe it happened on our doorstep.’

  Harry helped himself to more toast and buttered and marmaladed it thickly. ‘It’ll keep the tongues wagging for months. Where’s Marianne now?’ He wasn’t in the least bit concerned about her but he wanted to know if she was likely to be a nuisance to him again.

  ‘She ran up to Laura’s cottage for help but Spencer had taken her overnight to Tregorlan Farm to see Andrew Macarthur. She stayed there until Laura got back. The girl was in a terrible state. Laura got to work straight away and contacted Marianne’s aunt in Barnstaple, who sent her some money. As soon as the snow thawed, she travelled up there on the next train
.’

  ‘Good. I mean good that Marianne had someone to take her in. And good on Laura. Makes you wonder how the village managed without her. I take my hat off to her.’ Pity I wasn’t around to comfort her during her ordeal, he thought, smiling to himself again. He had much to smile about today.

  ‘Don’t you see the significance of what I said, Harry?’ Felicity leant forward and took his hand. ‘It was Spencer who took Laura to Tregorlan Farm. He went to Little Cot to tell Laura that Andrew Macarthur had been found, and that’s not all. He told her he’d been thinking, that he’s changed his mind about her seeing Vicki after the last quarrel they had. She’s hoping he will finally come round about Vicki where you and I are concerned.’ Harry sprang up and hugged and kissed his mother. ‘That would be wonderful! So that’s why you’re looking bright and chirpy this morning.’

  ‘It would make my dreams come true and it would all be due to Laura for somehow breaking through Spencer’s grief and stubbornness.’ Felicity studied her son. ‘You’re looking rather pleased yourself, darling. Did your business in London go well?’

  ‘Yes, it did, thank you, Mother. And I’m quite certain a little piece of business I’ve been setting up locally is about to come to fruition too.’

  * * *

  The children of Kilgarthen were finally able to start school that morning. Laura was outside the pub buying fresh fish from the van when the mothers and children started the first of their twice or thrice daily trips, depending on whether their offspring stayed for dinner at the school. She looked keenly at the few vehicles that drove through the village to deposit children and her heart gave a sharp flip when she saw Rosemerryn Farm’s Ford saloon.

  Spencer and Vicki swept past and the little girl waved enthusiastically to her. Laura stepped away from the van and waved back until the car was out of sight and although she had only glimpsed Vicki’s face, the shine and excitement on her features had caused a lump to rise in her throat.