As a child, Jo had risked her mother’s rage by covertly helping during the farm’s busiest periods, bottle-feeding orphan lambs, broadcasting corn seed from a ‘seed-lap’ which had protruded grotesquely from her scant body. She was eager to pitch in again.
Changing into a skirt, blouse, cardigan and comfortable old slippers, Jo unpacked her things. It had been sensible to bring clothes hangers; there were none in the ancient wardrobe which stood on ugly bracket feet and smelled of camphor, used for treating woodworm. She hung up the lavender sachets she’d brought with her and left the wardrobe door open to let in the light. Thick, off-white, wax candles in glass jars and enamel candlesticks were dotted about the room. Jo would have use of a lantern to light the way to and from her room at night. It was all crude and basic, her mother would have hated it, but Jo would not mind foregoing the niceties of life too much.
There was a small square table which would be useful as a desk where she laid her pen and stationery and the letter from Marcus Lidgey, Parmarth’s headmaster, confirming her post.
As there was no dressing table, she put her brush and comb, clothes brush, make-up, trinket jars and rosewater bottles on the chest of drawers, a chunky monstrosity of pitch pine, which also accommodated her small clothes and the rest of her personal things. Before putting her jewellery box away she opened it and gazed at an exquisite cameo pendant. She treasured this piece of jewellery most, a gift from Celia on her twenty-first birthday.
‘You up there, Jo?’ a loud voice rang out from the foot of the stairs.
‘Mercy!’
Jo hurried downstairs down to her friend and landlady. They shook hands warmly.
‘Have you been here long?’ Mercy’s large blue eyes searched Jo’s face. ‘Will you be comfortable, do you think? There’s no proper bathroom. ’Tisn’t like Cardhu.’
‘I arrived about twenty minutes ago,’ Jo replied brightly, dwarfed by her friend’s bulk. Mercy was big-boned and well above the average height of a woman. ‘And of course I’ll be comfortable.’ Nance did not boast a bathroom but there was an upstairs toilet, a tiny cubby-hole equipped with an Elsan, enamel bucket and little seat. ‘It’s good of you to let me live here. You’re used to being on your own.’
‘Maybe, but at times I’ve been lonely since Bob was killed. Come into the kitchen, stew’s nearly ready.’
Jo happily braced herself to accept twice an exuberant welcome. She was practically knocked off her feet by the two long-haired collies before Mercy called them away. Catching her breath, Jo collapsed in the sunken rocking chair next to the hearth. ‘I think I’d better use the front door when I come home from the school or church.’ She grinned contentedly.
‘I’ll slap a bit of concrete down to the front door so you don’t get your feet dirty,’ Mercy said, plonking a huge mug of tea down on the fender, close to Jo.
‘Don’t put yourself to any trouble for me, Mercy.’
‘Get on with you, maid. Won’t have you teaching looking rough as rats. I’m proud of what you’re doing.’ Mercy was cutting thick slices of bread. She spread roughly half an ounce of butter on each slice with the lack of finesse she used while working. Although broadly built, she had a totally feminine shape, undisguised by the collarless flannel shirt and corduroy trousers she wore. While busy, she had a habit of clenching her big white teeth, adding extra lines to her forty-six-year-old face, which was weathered with a permanent redness. She was an attractive woman; well liked in the area.
‘So your mother took it badly then?’
‘Turned me out, damn her.’
‘She still mixing with them arty types?’
‘Yes. She finds this interest of hers a better cover for her affairs than when she used to cart me round with her.’
‘I regret the day my brother met your mother.’ Mercy’s expression darkened. ‘While she paraded herself round Penzance’s streets on market day. It stopped Bob getting married and raising a family. But I’m glad to have met you, Jo, and I’m glad we’re still friends.’
‘So am I, Mercy. My mother’s selfishness has caused a lot of pain over the years, but she doesn’t always succeed in accomplishing her aims or I wouldn’t be here now.’
‘Well, never mind she. What did you think of Marcus Lidgey?’ Mercy ladled out the stew.
‘Mr Lidgey’s younger than what one expects in a headmaster. I would place him at about thirty-five years of age. He was stern and precise at the interview, but I gathered he has some forward-thinking ideas for the school and the pupils, but unfortunately only for the boys. I shall see what I can do about changing his traditional views. Celia mentioned his name and appointment a year ago in a letter, and that he had a house at Penzance and taught in London before coming to Parmarth. What do the villagers think of him?’
Jo carried her tea to the table and sat down on the end of a long bench. Mercy had lit the oil lamps, and a glance out of the window showed night was spreading its inky fingers over the land. There were no curtains here or anywhere else in the house. Mercy had a simple philosophy for an easy life; if she never cleaned the windows there was no need for curtains.
‘I’ve not seen him often. His widowed mother lives with him. She’s crippled, practically housebound. He’s devoted to her, hardly ever leaves her side. Keeps to himself mostly, but then there’s nobody round here his sort can socialise with. You could change that. Said to be down on his luck. Why else would a man like he take a position round here? Talks with a plum in his mouth as you must’ve heard. He’s church, of course. People respect him. The maids continually cast an eye in his direction. He’s not bad-looking, don’t you think?’
‘I did notice.’ Jo thought back to the dingy hotel room at Penzance where the interview had been held. The faces of the school’s governing board, all gentlemen of good repute and flourishing businesses, were a blur. Her main impression of Marcus Lidgey was that although immaculately groomed, he seemed a little careworn. While he’d listened attentively to her answers to the stark questions forwarded to her by the stiff board members, he was restless, as if eager for the interview to be over. On the one occasion he had smiled at her, while shaking her hand goodbye, his intense dark eyes had softened at the edges. ‘You must know more about him than that, Mercy. Gossip gets around just as quickly, I’m sure.’
‘You know me, Jo. I’m not much interested in what people do.’
‘Of course people could pass similar remarks about me. What is someone of my background doing teaching in a small primary school?’
‘They already are. ’Tis best you don’t say you aren’t staying here indefinitely, they’ll see it as disloyalty. You won’t be accepted easily, you know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but I’ll enjoy the challenge. It will be good experience for my future plans.’ It would be five years before Jo’s wealth was available to her, to found her school. Would Parmarth hold her interest for that long?
A plate of stew, enough to appease the appetite of three men, was placed in front of Jo. An odd knife and fork were sent skidding down the table towards her. Mercy was a wonderful cook and Jo took an appreciative sniff of the meal. ‘I’ll never manage all this, Mercy.’
‘No matter. What you leave the animals’ll gobble up.’ Mercy laughed kindly. She sat on the stout chair at the head of the table, where once her brother had sat, swallowed a giant mouthful of food and waved her fork at Jo. ‘I’ll put a bit of fat on you before Easter, never fear. Now, my handsome, you can do what you like to your room but don’t go bothering yourself with housework or anything outside.’ Mercy looked at her next forkful of food and smiled secretly to herself. ‘I’ve got plenty of labour on the farm. Still got Darius Pendower every day. Throw your washing in the washhouse. Kizzy Kemp’ll see to it. There’s sheets in the airing cupboard when you want to change your bed. I’ll do the cooking. I prepare overnight for the next day. But help yourself to anything in the larder if you get peckish.’
‘Thanks, Mercy. We didn’t mention board and lodgi
ng. I’ll earn nearly a hundred a year. I thought I’d give you six shillings a week. And I’d like to help out with a few jobs each day.’
‘Three shillings,’ Mercy said, giving Jo no room to insist on the higher remuneration. ‘You’re a friend. You’re welcome to feed the poultry and number the eggs on the chart. I want you to treat this place like home. There’s no furniture in the parlour, didn’t really need it so I sold it one hard winter to buy cattle feed. The canvas on the floor has some life left in it. If you want to get a few bits together you can have guests in there. I always stay in here so they won’t be no bother to me and I won’t be no bother to them.’
‘Thank you, that might be very useful.’ Pictures flashed through Jo’s mind of holding meetings, with Mr Lidgey’s permission, for parents who were interested in their offspring’s education and future.
‘Got a drop of beer when we’ve finished eating,’ Mercy said. ‘Are you going to travel often to Carbis Bay to see Katherine?’
‘I shouldn’t think so,’ Jo said quietly. Resting her knife and fork beside the remains of her meal, she stared grimly at the mismatched cutlery.
‘Never mind,’ Mercy said. ‘You can’t change the course of the sea nor the weather, and you can’t change the ways of some folk. It was a great pity about Celia Sayce. I’m very sorry, Jo, I know how much you’ll miss her.’
Jo’s eyes filled with tears. ‘I wouldn’t have had much of a life if it wasn’t for her, Mercy. My biggest regret is that she died alone. I wish she’d got word to me that she was so ill.’
Mercy looked solemnly at her paying guest. ‘Jo, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, the news is out about Celia’s circumstances. Gossip, some of it cruel considering how well she was accepted for an outsider in the village, started circulating shortly after she died.’
‘So that’s why there was such a poor attendance at her funeral.’ Jo smarted. ‘How narrow-minded can people be?’
‘You’re about to find out. You haven’t lived in a village where everyone wants to know everybody’s else business. I hope it won’t make things hard for you.’
‘I won’t let it, Mercy. I knew it would take a while for the villagers to get used to my presence at the school, but I thought coming to live at Parmarth was going to be agreeable. It isn’t going to be, is it? To begin with I won’t have Celia’s companionship, but one thing I swear, I will not allow any disrespect to her name.’
Chapter Four
Marcus Lidgey sat rigid and tense at the dining table in the schoolhouse. Hardly tasting his cooked breakfast, he divided each forkful with his quick, correct movements, longing for the meal to be over.
What excuse could he offer to escape the woman directly across the table from him?
That he must attend to important work in his study? There were no exercise books to be marked. He’d finished the task at the beginning of the Christmas holiday. She would be aware of it. A letter to the school governing board? But she would know he had no reason to write to the board. He had seen each member recently, when Miss Joanna Venner’s appointment at the school had been confirmed. Marcus had difficulty swallowing the next mouthful of food and gulped at his tea. A letter to the Jelbert twins’ parents? He often had occasion to complain about their disruptive behaviour at school.
Becoming aware that his mother, of sparse appetite, was watching him, Marcus ate mindfully.
‘You will invite Miss Venner to dine with us when you show her around the school tomorrow, darling?’ Eleanor Lidgey’s tones were powerful, husky and to the point.
She attempted to sit up straight but was gradually sinking into the ungainly heap that would anger her if she glimpsed her reflection in the glass of the long sideboard. An accident had reduced the mobility and strength of her spine, but not the magnetic expressiveness of her uncommonly beautiful face.
Against his will, she held Marcus’s gaze. He had inherited her high forehead, perfectly proportioned cheekbones and finely moulded mouth, but while her dark eyes were darting and lively, his held no light, no enthusiasm, no life. She looked much younger than her sixty-two years, even, as now, when wearing no make-up. Her hair shimmered with a silvery incandescence. Eleanor seemed to be endowed with strange powers of inducement, and could draw people to her and hold them fast, and break them as quickly or as slowly as it pleased her.
‘Of course, Mama,’ he said, employing his deep and resonant voice carefully. All his interactions with Eleanor were reasoned out beforehand.
‘I find it strange that she is to live at Nance Farm.’
‘Nance Farm?’
‘Yes, Marcus. Sally informed me; Russell Trevail told her last night that Miss Venner has moved in with his aunt. Such a terribly coarse family. I think it rather ill-considered of Miss Venner to be associated with them. The other Trevail brother is said to have fathered the latest Vigus child. It would be more suitable if Miss Venner could live at Cardhu, even though Celia Sayce is departed and the scandal concerning her past has finally broken.’ Eleanor kept herself informed of all happenings in the village, despite rarely mixing with the locals, owing both to her indifference towards them and the constant pain in her back.
‘It was her first intention.’ Marcus shuddered suddenly. ‘Cardhu is a lonely house.’
‘Have you been there?’ Eleanor asked sharply.
‘No. I’ve had no reason to.’ Marcus rubbed his temples. He was getting another of his headaches. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do anything about Miss Venner’s living arrangements, Mama.’
‘Talking of that Sayce woman. There was a long interval between her body being discovered and her burial, don’t you think?’
‘Was there?’
‘Marcus, I do wish you’d take more interest in the village. Information about what is going on outside this horrid little house is diverting for me. I would like to have known Celia Sayce lived close by, rather than finding out for myself in the obituaries in the West Briton. Incidentally, has the Vigus woman turned up yet?’
‘Oh, yes,’ he replied hastily. ‘Her elder son found her wandering on the moors late yesterday afternoon. I’m sorry I forgot to mention it. She had gone off on a drinking spree, apparently.’
‘Again? That woman is a disgrace. To get back to Miss Venner, what will the vicar think of her living at a dirty farm?’ Eleanor looked down over her regal nose. ‘But, of course, her background is of no real consequence. Her mother was only a shopkeeper’s daughter before she ensnared William Venner. He left her penniless, you know. She strayed from his bed once too often, and he divided his money between his two children. Tell me all you know about the young lady.’
Marcus painstakingly repeated the few details he knew of the newest member of his staff. ‘Due to her past connections with Parmarth she was considered the best equipped candidate to realise the needs of children from a depressed mining district. I think her idealism rather foolish. She has excellent references and qualifications in English language and literature. Miss Venner has given up a position in an excellent academy, has halted, perhaps irretrievably damaged, a promising career. I am confident she will be good for the school. I should obtain exceptional results from her.’
He, in fact, had been the only member on the interviewing panel who had been keen to select Joanna Venner. While listening to the direct, enthusiastic answers to the questions put to her, Marcus received the impression the vicar and the others had been concerned she would bring dangerous new ideas with her. That she might encourage the children to think for themselves and not merely absorb their lessons in the usual parrot fashion. Marcus had seen her as an equal in class and interests. She was something of an exciting prospect rather than the staid spinsters who had also applied for the post. He had argued with great persuasion to secure Joanna Venner for the school. She might make his existence here a touch more bearable.
‘Should you now? She has something in common with you, descending to a lesser position. Although in her case it is voluntary.’ Marcus flinched. Eleanor
pushed aside her almost full plate. ‘Never mind what she will do for the wretched school. We could make her future loss our gain. She could be the means of us getting out of this dreadful place.’
Marcus could not pass another morsel between his lips. For several minutes he had realised where the conversation was heading. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Don’t pretend to be in the dark, Marcus. I shall get angry with you.’
‘She’s unlikely to fall for a story about one of your non-existent charities in this quiet place.’ He was getting anxious. It grieved him he could no longer look forward to the professional relationship he had anticipated with Joanna Venner.
‘Then there’s only one other option: you’ll have to seduce a substantial sum of money out of her.’
Marcus recoiled at his mother’s immoral scheme.
‘Is she pretty? It will be a bonus.’
A vision of Joanna Venner’s compact features, pure complexion and vivid green-flecked eyes was imprinted on Marcus’s mind. Small-boned, alert, resourceful, she had an original, sparky quality about her.
‘Marcus!’
‘A-actually, she has a rather quaint face.’
‘Sally’s met her. She’s remarked that Miss Venner is a funny little creature, given to uneasy temperament. Never mind. As things are at present, she will have to do.’ A pained expression burned the predatory mien off Eleanor’s features. ‘I’m in agony again. I shall have to lie down until luncheon.’
There were no servants’ bells in the headmaster’s house, which was dark, closed and uninspiring, and Marcus immediately leapt for the door. ‘I’ll call Sally.’
‘No, my dearest boy.’ Eleanor looked at him intently. ‘Don’t take her away from her work. You can settle me after you’ve carried me upstairs.’
A sudden shower of hail battered the window. It startled Marcus but he longed to be outside in it. Anywhere but here right now. ‘I really have to—’
Listening to the Quiet Page 3
