Kilgarthen

by Kilgarthen (retail) (epub)

  He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face to his. ‘Are you saying you love me? And do you want to make love?’

  ‘Yes, I love you, Andrew. I’ve been thinking about how I feel all day.’ She kissed his lips.

  He wanted to shout for joy but kept his voice to an emotional whisper. Apart from Jacka taking ill, this has been the best day of my life. What about my other question?’

  Tressa was fighting with herself, but she had been brought up to do things in their proper sequence. ‘I want to but it wouldn’t be right with Dad and Aunty Joan in the next room, but when the time is right…’

  Andrew blinked away tears of pure happiness. He crushed her to him. ‘Just holding you here like this is enough for now, darling. And the time will be right when I meet you in the village church and make you my wife as soon as I possibly can.’

  Chapter 31

  ‘They fell for it. What twerps grown-ups are. Old man Lean played into my hands.’ These were words from Bill’s first diary dated 1932, when he was twelve years old.

  Now that the frights of Andrew’s kidnapping and Jacka’s heart attack were over, and Jacka was recovering, Laura had picked up her husband’s diaries again. It was a cold, brisk day early in February and she was going to take her first ride on a Hawksmoor pony later in the day. She felt that if she read anything unpalatable, the moor and fresh air would cleanse it from her mind.

  What had Bill been referring to? The obvious answer was that it had something to do with William Lean being his father. Many of Bill’s entries showed spite and gloating and would have made sense only to himself. She had read several pages from all the diaries. What he’d written about her had made her shiver with repugnance. In an early entry: ‘Thank God I can come down here to get away from her. Her adoration makes me sick.’ Then later: ‘I can’t stand her feeble face of suffering.’

  It made uncomfortable reading and Laura knew she had been married to a thoroughly despicable man with no conscience. She felt consoled in the knowledge that nothing she had done had made him the obnoxious individual he’d turned out to be. He had written scathing things about most of the villagers; some, it seemed, he’d hated. ‘These pathetic people think I’m wonderful. They’re so moral and upright, but money always talks. Bloody hypocrites! My father did as much for them but they never fell at his feet.’ Laura was puzzled by that last statement. Had William Lean not been so horrible after all? Even Aunty Daisy hadn’t escaped his spite, he had referred to her as ‘that silly interfering woman’.

  As Laura had suspected, Bill had splashed money round the village only to show off. An entry about the war memorial read: ‘They loved the decorative chains for the war memorial. Actually felt sorry for me because I couldn’t join up. (Not much wrong with my eyes.) The Davey boys and the others were idiots and they think I was honouring them.’ Honouring yourself, more like, Laura thought.

  The only genuine thing about him had been his love for the moorland and its unique wildness and beauty. It had been this that had brought him back here, a salve for his rotten soul.

  As she closed the volume Laura knew she would get no answers to her questions from the diaries; Bill had used them as an outlet for his sneering envy and contempt, not to record facts.

  As she set off for her riding excursion, Ma Noon was coming up the hill towards her.

  Laura nodded a greeting but didn’t attempt to stop the jingle. She was surprised when the old lady brought the pony to a halt.

  ‘How is Mr Davey progressing?’ she asked from within the confines of her big ribboned bonnet.

  Once again her polished voice was a shock to Laura and she hoped her face didn’t betray it. ‘He’s allowed out of bed for an hour a day and the doctor and district nurse are looking in on him. He’s a bit depressed but that’s only to be expected. If he’s careful and doesn’t try to overdo his work in the future, the doctor says he should avoid another attack.’ Laura knew that despite Andrew’s reassurances that he was going to make sure everything would work out all right, Jacka was still worried about being evicted from his home, but Laura kept that to herself.

  ‘The poor man. I am glad to hear he is getting better though.’ Ma Noon regarded Laura with a critical eye, taking in her riding clothes and boots. The old woman might keep herself almost entirely to herself but Laura felt sure her shrewd green eyes didn’t miss much. ‘You look as if you’re going somewhere.’

  ‘I am, to Hawksmoor stables. I’m borrowing a pony to trek over the moor.’

  ‘Hop up. I’ll drive you there, if you like.’

  Laura wasn’t going to miss this opportunity to get to know the mysterious Ma Noon and perhaps discover some information about Bill’s past. She climbed up and squeezed herself beside Ma Noon’s bulk. She held her knapsack on her lap. ‘I’m taking a flask of tea, some food, a light raincoat and a good map,’ she explained.

  ‘Very sensible,’ Ma Noon commented, making the pony walk on. ‘I see you have dressed sensibly. The moor won’t be trifled with.’ Like all the locals, she spoke of the moor as if it was a living thing.

  ‘Have you lived in Kilgarthen all your life, Mrs Noon?’ Laura asked, smiling with false charm at Ada Prisk who stared at them with her mouth wide open as they passed her.

  ‘Only since I married. Like all parts of the moor, Kilgarthen has changed a lot since those days. Life probably seems primitive to you but when I was a bride we had no shop and no sub-post office, and until the roads were tarmacked we had no delivery vans plying their wares. There was no coal as an alternative to turf and we used to live almost entirely on potatoes and salt pork.’ She looked at Laura through the corners of her eyes. ‘We cared nothing for fashion.’

  Laura would have liked to ask her many personal questions but felt she couldn’t on such a short acquaintance; hopefully there would be another time. She brought up the subject of Bill. In his diaries he’d referred to the old lady simply as Ma and logged the times he had called on her. ‘I understand Bill came to your smallholding often.’

  ‘He did. People think me rather strange and perhaps I am, but no matter, I live my life as I choose to. Bill wasn’t afraid of me like the other children. I caught him one day throwing stones at my goats. I asked him not to do it again. He was surprised that I didn’t shout at him or threaten to get the constable after him – that’s never been my way. When he said he was sorry, I asked him into the house to take tea with me, something I’d never done before, and our friendship grew from there. He was a very mixed-up child and I didn’t mind that he used to boast that he wasn’t afraid of me to the other children. He came often and did little jobs for me and I was very grateful for all that he did for me as a man. Each time he came back to the village, after he’d seen his aunt, Mrs Tamblyn, he called on me. He used to confide in me and although he made a success of his life, I sensed he was often unhappy.

  ‘Before I say any more about him, I ought to add that I knew of his dark side. As a boy and youth he used to get frustrated and fly into terrible rages. He never took them out on me but used me as a sounding board. I knew he could be ruthless and although he rarely spoke of you, I was sure that he never treated you right. I’m sorry Bill turned out the way he did. I never went to his funeral, but then I haven’t set foot in the graveyard since I laid my husband to rest there thirty-five years ago, but I do miss Bill.’

  Laura detected emotion in Mrs Noon’s throat and she kept silent until they had passed by the Methodist chapel and driven on several more yards. ‘I’ve been told that Bill resented his humble life and felt he should be treated better as he was really William Lean’s son.’

  ‘So you’ve heard those rumours. Bill should never have started them.’

  Laura stared at Ma Noon. ‘You mean Bill started them himself? But why?’

  ‘I don’t know why, Mrs Jennings. I pleaded with him to put the matter right but he never did.’

  ‘But that’s a terrible thing to do.’ Laura was outraged and could hardly trust herself to carry
on with the conversation.

  ‘He paid for his sins,’ Mrs Noon said, her voice sharpening, shoulders stiffening. ‘He died very young. I would think that punishment enough if I were you.’

  The other woman’s loyalty to Bill was obviously unshakable. ‘I won’t say anything, if that’s what you’re hinting at, Mrs Noon, but you can hardly expect me to respect Bill’s memory.’

  ‘Why not? You married him for better or worse. My husband was the devil incarnate and I stood by him through thick and thin. He was also taken young. I was left free to do as I pleased after that. You’re in the same position. Take my advice and do the same.’

  ‘I am, but we’ll have to agree to differ on some of your views.’ Laura was thinking of Barbara Roach. Laura didn’t believe the stories of Barbara falling down the stairs and having flu. Bruises caused by what had obviously been a vicious beating had still been visible on her face yesterday when she’d dared to show her face in the shop for the first time since Cecil had thrown Marianne out in the snow. Barbara had refused to stop and talk, not even responding when she was asked how Marianne was. Laura hoped Barbara hadn’t heard the speculations about who the father of Marianne’s baby was. Ada Prisk had declared that one of several men could be responsible, ‘after all, the girl has always been a flighty piece’.

  Laura was glad when Hawksmoor House appeared just up ahead. Mrs Noon might not be mad as some villagers thought she was but she was certainly very strange. ‘Thank you, Mrs Noon. It was kind of you to go out of your way for me.’ She got down and waited for the old lady to turn the jingle round.

  Ma Noon studied her for a moment. ‘Like I said, Mrs Jennings, I do precisely what I want to. Good afternoon to you.’

  As the jingle ambled back down the lane, Laura was left with the thought that there went a contrary character. She said she had stuck by her husband, but how willingly? Had she turned bitter and passed it on to Bill? She shrugged her shoulders. No matter. She didn’t expect to be invited to the Noon smallholding and the old lady was unlikely to play a part in her future life.

  The Hawksmoor stable boy had Laura’s mount, a dark, quiet mare named Honesty, ready for her. He gave a few instructions and asked her what route she intended to take and what time she would bring the pony back, then he tweaked his cap and left the stableyard. Laura led Honesty into the yard and walked her up and down to get the measure of her, talking to get her used to the sound of her voice. She put her riding hat on, her foot in the stirrup to mount when a pair of hands on her waist made her shriek and whirl round.

  ‘Harry Lean!’ She was horrified he was there, she had chosen a day when Felicity said he would be sure to be at his office. He was dressed in a suit and she suspected he had come home early to proposition her. ‘What do you think you’re doing? How dare you creep up on me and touch me like that.’

  ‘No need to go on so,’ he laughed, much amused. ‘I wasn’t about to try to have my wicked way with you, Laura.’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ she snorted. ‘I haven’t forgotten how you molested Tressa Davey. She told me what you offered her.’

  He raised a dark sardonic eyebrow. ‘Whatever she may have told you, she got it all wrong. I never meant her any harm. I was only trying to help her father. How is Jacka? I hear they may be evicted because he couldn’t pay his mortgage or something.’

  ‘You needn’t worry about the Daveys, Harry,’ she told him in no uncertain terms. ‘Andrew Macarthur has been to see the bank manager and is sorting it all out for them. In his position, he is sure to be successful. Now if you’ll excuse me, I want to go riding. The air is getting damper and I want to get on.’

  Harry’s face had darkened. He was seething; it seemed his plan to have the Daveys evicted was about to be ruined. Then, looking at Laura, he rallied. Well, never mind, one must be sporting about these things. Macarthur was likely to succeed where he had failed; he hoped Tressa Davey would go the same way as Marianne Roach. This young widow would do in Tressa’s place. He rearranged his features into a pleasant smile. ‘I’m glad to hear Macarthur’s being helpful. I was able to get away earlier than I expected today. Give me a minute and I’ll change my clothes and join you.’

  ‘No, thank you, Harry,’ she said emphatically. ‘I want to ride alone.’

  He moved closer and put his arm over the mare’s saddle. ‘Oh, but I insist. You don’t know the moor and you might get lost.’

  ‘I have a lot of thinking to do,’ Laura snapped. ‘If I can’t go alone then I won’t go at all.’

  Harry knew he wouldn’t get anywhere with her if he didn’t comply with her wishes. He put on an innocent expression. ‘Oh, very well. As you wish, Laura. Just trying to be friendly.’ He moved away from the pony.

  On a sudden impulse she turned to him. ‘Harry, have you ever heard the rumours that Bill was fathered by your father?’

  ‘Hah!’ Harry laughed evilly. ‘I wondered how long it would take before you heard that and brought it up. It was all Bill’s doing. The bastard thought he could wring money out of the old man by offering to scotch the rumours himself My father whipped him that day with his riding crop.’

  ‘Why didn’t your father ever deny it? He didn’t, to my knowledge.’

  ‘There wouldn’t have been any point. A denial would have been almost as good as an admission. There’s no smoke without fire, people would only have said. He left the rumours to die a natural death and I don’t care what the blasted villagers think.’

  ‘Would you stay here if it wasn’t for your mother, Harry?’ she was curious to know.

  ‘Why? You interested in running off with me to start a new life?’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘I’ve also got a niece on the other side of the village, remember. You’re well in with Spencer now, so I hear. When do you think it likely that a miracle for Mother will occur?’ On this he was as serious as a judge in court.

  ‘Soon, I hope. That’s all I can say at the moment.’

  * * *

  Laura was glad to get away from Hawksmoor. The air on the moor was bracing and the solitude freshened her mind in a way nothing else could. Using the map for guidance, she trotted along the course of the Withey Brook where a great variety of water weeds grew in all shades of brown, green and red; in many places they gave the appearance of seaside rock pools. From out of their weedy hiding places small trout darted. She moved over thick, sweeping patches of bracken which were interspersed with rough grassland and stunted bushes bending to the prevailing east wind. Here and there some yellow was bursting forth on the budding gorse bushes.

  From her vantage point on the pony’s back she could see the tracks that foxes and other wildlife had made. She crossed the brook over a narrow wooden bridge, brushing away midge-like insects which bombarded her face. The track she was following had been used in ancient times and was marked by a weathered granite cross. Every few minutes she stopped and scoured the landscape and looked up at the tors and craggy rocks that rose up like silent sentinels. Two big black crows cawed to each other from a pair of boulders as if they were discussing this visitor on horseback. A kestrel, magnificent on the wing, wheeled overhead and Laura felt it was watching her.

  Trotting on, she came across some unbroken ponies a few hands shorter than Honesty and dismounted to approach them. There were a dozen in all, in a variety of colours. Some were cautious, but when one trotted up to her, its wide head nodding as if in greeting, the others followed suit. She stroked their shaggy coats and tangled manes and they nuzzled her, hoping for a titbit of food. When she remounted, she was followed for some time by the inquisitive ponies.

  Back on the track again, she soon located a Bronze Age settlement on Bastreet Downs. The remains of many of these ancient communities were scattered across the whole of the moorland. Laura could make out the circles where their huts had once stood and the site of a barrow where a chieftain had been buried and where his bones and worldly possessions probably still remained unexcavated. It was strange to think
of those hardy pre-Celtic tribes living and working in this very spot.

  Sitting at the foot of the burial mound, she drank from her flask and ate her sandwiches. She was content with life and felt it was beginning anew at last. She was more able to think out here on the moor; the air was fresh and clean, the wind invigorating. Staying to live in Kilgarthen had been the wisest move of her life. If she had gone back to London she would have been surrounded by bad memories and probably become bitter. Although she had chosen to live in Bill’s village, his influence on her life had all but vanished. She had met new people and become involved in their lives. She had found comfort in Ince’s arms, proving to her that one day she could form a proper relationship with a man, and although she was sorry she had hurt him, she was glad that he understood she needed to be unattached for now. She had watched Andrew’s innocent romance unfold before her eyes. Best of all she had found Vicki.

  A snatch of chilly wind suddenly tugged at her clothes and she looked up at the sky. It had turned a gloomy grey and even as she looked a thick mist began to descend. A prickle of alarm made her gather up the knapsack and hasten to the pony.

  ‘Come on, Honesty, we must head for home. The weather’s changing fast.’

  She headed the pony back the way they had come, a niggle of fear sitting on her back. She had been told often that the weather could change with frightening speed on the moor but she didn’t realise it could happen in mere seconds. She urged Honesty on but the track was narrow and they couldn’t canter for fear of stumbling on the tufts of long grass and the jutting rocks. She told herself she had nothing to fear, she wasn’t far from Hawksmoor, about two miles.

  The distance she could see up ahead was steadily getting shorter. If she could make it to the bridge she could dismount, and although she would have to beware of boggy patches, she could follow the course of the Withey Brook and with luck find her way back to Hawksmoor. Moments later the ragged hems of the mist sank down to meet the moorland floor and she couldn’t see past the pony’s head. All she could do was to let the reins drop loose and allow Honesty to walk at will, hoping and praying she would find the way home.