Listening to the Quiet

by Listening to the Quiet (retail) (epub)

  ‘We shall expect you at seven o’clock.’

  When they were back at the school gates, Jo’s attention was drawn directly across the road. In front of a tiny cottage in the middle of a long row of similar homes, Abner Jelbert was talking to a tall man with untidy black hair, a dark complexion and unwavering eyes, which were set fully on her. Luke Vigus was leaning against the window sill of the grimy building, smoking, his thumbs inside his trouser pockets. Jo noted again his extraordinary looks. Competition for Lew with the local women?

  ‘The older man is called Abner Jelbert,’ Marcus informed her.

  ‘I know him. I’ve been told his twins are in my class and are very disruptive.’

  ‘Indeed, they are. The other man is Luke Vigus. A rather undesirable character, older brother of two more of your pupils. I’m afraid you’ll find problems of a different kind in their case.’

  ‘I met him just a little earlier today.’

  Nodding at Jo, Luke muttered testily to his neighbour, ‘Who the hell does that miserable schoolmaster think he’s staring at?’

  A short time ago, Marcus Lidgey had knocked on the door and reprimanded him for not ensuring Rex and Molly attended school regularly. ‘I want none of your complaints, specially during holiday time. Tell my mother, not me,’ Luke had barked at him.

  ‘In the absence of a father, they are your responsibility, Mr Vigus,’ Marcus had returned obstinately.

  ‘’Tis nothing to do with me. Bugger off.’ Luke had shut the door in the headmaster’s face.

  ‘Don’t tell me she’s his bit of fluff?’ Luke remarked to Abner.

  ‘Nah.’ Abner chuckled. ‘She’s the new teacher. You probably haven’t seen her before, you being away most of the time. She used to be friendly with Celia Sayce. Mercy Merrick’s brother used to shag her hoity-toity mother. She’s got a sharp tongue on her. She’s living at Nance now; a strange set-up. Sweet-looking little thing, don’t you think?’

  Lighting another cigarette from the butt hanging out of his mouth, Luke blatantly studied the skimpy form in the fur-collared coat across the road. He would have been very disappointed if she had turned out to be Lidgey’s mistress. ‘She’s not bad at all. The school kids won’t know what to make of her.’

  ‘She’s no soft touch, Luke.’

  ‘You reckon? Let’s have a drink.’ Luke strode up the hill to his wagon behind the forge, where he had a crate of beer on board. Abner followed eagerly on his heels.

  ‘The Viguses are a misfit family,’ Marcus said wearily.

  Jo recognised a plump, unwieldy woman, wearing a faded paisley headscarf, a shapeless wool coat with a dipping hemline and carrying a floppy straw bag, heading towards them.

  Irene Trevail’s thumping steps slowed and stopped in front of the two teachers. ‘Hello, my luvver. So ’tis true then about you coming here to teach. Been taking a look round, have ’ee?’

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Trevail.’ Smiling, Jo held out her hand. ‘It’s good to see you again.’

  Irene Trevail shunned a handshake and gave Jo a hug and kissed her cheek. ‘’Twill be more than a nine-day wonder having you round here. Shame Miss Sayce passed over before you could settle in at Cardhu. I can mind she now, sitting in Mercy’s kitchen, not too proud to drink tea with us while you went off with my boys. Never mind, like Lew said, you’ll be nearly as well at home at Nance. I’m on the way there now, to get my weekly eggs, butter and cream.’

  She raised her plump, thread-veined face to Marcus, who was staring at the two women in something akin to disbelief. ‘She used to play with my boys backalong, ’master. As wild as the wind, she was, and could fight like Tom Henna’s cat. She’s dressed to death now, but there’s many a time I’ve seen she looking like a mimsy pulled through a furze bush backwards.’

  ‘Really.’ Marcus smiled as if he was charmed by the tale. He was unnerved. Joanna Venner had been under the influence of the nonconformist Sayce woman, and if she could behave like an Amazon, she would not be a pushover.

  ‘Mrs Trevail is the sister of Miss Merrick, whom I’m living with. I’ve been friends of the family for many years,’ Jo explained.

  ‘I see.’ Marcus was growing anxious. The Trevail woman was intent on a time of chatter and he had no wish to be included. The struggle to appear courteous was making his head ache and he was beginning to feel unreal. He felt the first prickings of an outbreak of sweat. Soon he would find it hard to breathe. These occurrences, when he was suddenly rendered panic-stricken, were becoming more frequent. The only thing that made him feel normal again was a long period alone or to play one of his musical instruments. ‘You ladies obviously have some reacquainting to do. If you’ll both excuse me. I’ll inform my mother she’ll be able to meet you on Friday evening, Miss Venner.’

  ‘Didn’t expect him to hang about.’ Irene stared after him, as he strode off in the opposite direction to the schoolhouse. ‘He takes the occasional drink in the pub but never mixes with the likes of us. Come to Heather Cottage for a cup of tea, Jo, and meet Father. Can’t wait to hear all your news. I’ll walk with ’ee to the farm later.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Trevail, I was about to—’

  ‘Oh, come on.’ Irene linked her arm through Jo’s. ‘Russell’s just got home from his shift at the Geevor. Thank the Lord, he’s still in work, at least for now. He’d loved to see you.’

  ‘I’m very sorry, Mrs Trevail.’ Jo swiftly disentangled herself from the former miner’s wife. ‘I was about to say I’m expected elsewhere. I’ll call on you and Mr Trevail some other time, I promise.’

  She hastened back through the village and wandered on to the moor. Alone at last, she was overwhelmed with grief and, her breath coming in frantic gasps, she began to weep.

  Chapter Eight

  ‘Hello, darling.’

  ‘Mother?’

  ‘Oh, Joanna, why are you ringing this number?’

  ‘It’s my home, isn’t it?’ Jo answered her mother as crossly as she was questioned. ‘I thought you might be interested to learn that I’ve settled into Nance.’

  Impatient sigh. ‘I haven’t got the slightest interest in what you’re doing there. Get off the telephone. I’m waiting for an important call.’

  As sarcastic as the words would come. ‘From the very young, wild-haired artist fellow I saw lurking about the grounds of Tresawna before I left? Are you bringing your affairs out in the open these days? How very modern. May I speak to Alistair now, please?’

  ‘No, you may not,’ Katherine snapped, and Jo knew she was barely restraining her fury. ‘Try later.’

  ‘But the landlord of the pub is kindly allowing me to use his private telephone. I don’t want to have to come—’

  Katherine severed the connection.

  ‘Horrid cow,’ Jo hissed at the receiver in her hand. She would have phoned back immediately but her mother would only cut her off again. The casual chat she was hoping to have with Alistair would have to wait until another time.

  ‘Couldn’t get through? Bert’s said I can use the phone next.’

  Jo found herself looking over her shoulder at Luke Vigus. If anyone but him had overheard her moment of pique she would be horrified, but for some reason she felt at ease in this man’s company. She put some pennies down on the landlord’s sideboard to pay for the call. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting.’

  Luke was there to arrange to pass on the stolen cargo on his wagon. ‘I’m happy to wait if you’ve another call to make.’

  ‘I haven’t, thank you.’

  After they changed places at the sideboard, and Jo was preparing to go outside into the sharp-as-ice evening air, Luke said, ‘I’m going for a drink after this. Care to join me?’

  ‘No, thank you. I must be getting back.’ It would cause a scandal if she walked into the public bar with this man, but part of her wanted to accept his invitation. Even in the gloom of the pub’s little parlour she saw his eyes reflected all the colours of the sky.

  * * *

&nbs
p; Which dress should she wear tonight? Jo held up her calf-length, blue-green evening dress and a less showy affair in pale pink with a simple neckline. What sort of fashions prevailed at the schoolhouse? These quiet parts were at least two decades behind the rest of the world. How old was Mrs Lidgey? Was she a woman of flair or an ancient granny-type? Jo wished she’d asked Mercy more about Eleanor Lidgey.

  Jo knew the evening dress was the obvious choice. The invitation wasn’t to take high tea, and Parmarth’s headmaster was a league above the average incumbent of a small village school. So it should be the evening dress. But it fell straight from the shoulders and flattened the tiny amount of bosom she had.

  ‘Damn it! Damn you, Mother! Why do you have to keep making your wretched point about my body being so underdeveloped? Why do I care, for goodness’ sake? You’re not worth it.’

  Flinging the garments on the bed, she undressed completely and approached the full-length cheval mirror she had seized from one of the farmhouse’s spare bedrooms. Did she still look like an adolescent girl? Or a boy even? Her waist was nipped in, her hips flowed in gentle angles. Surely she didn’t look like a boy? She turned sideways. Her breasts protruded from her body, not much, but it proved she was not totally flat-chested. Is this what a grown woman was meant to look like? Would a man find her body attractive?

  She took her breasts in her hands. They were not heavy and full, as she so desperately desired them to be, but they possessed a definite shape and when pressed together they formed a tiny cleavage, thank heavens.

  She liked the sensations of her own touch. It was a sinful act, but she did not quickly take her hands away and pull on her underclothes. Jo recognised her sexuality, her feelings, her needs. She saw her arousal as normal. One day she hoped to cross paths with a man who could satisfy all her needs, as Celia had found in Sheridan Ustick. Marriage figured at the bottom of her agenda. Until such time as a sense of equality and fairness prevailed, women teachers who became wives had to give up their careers. If she found the right love, faithful and discreet, a man she could love as deeply and enduringly as Celia had loved, she would have the best of all worlds. Maybe it was a selfish desire, but it was what she wanted.

  While putting on her cameo necklace her thoughts turned sorrowfully to Celia. If only she had lived to take a role in this new chapter of her life. Denied her friend’s affection and inspiring advice for ever, Jo felt a measure of unease about the future. As she applied her make-up, she grimaced at her uncertain reflection in the mirror. She was experiencing one of her darker moments. Celia would have been encouraging about her presentation for this dinner, but she had been beautiful and distinctly feminine, as was her wretched mother, whose cruel words about her plainness echoed in her ears yet again. People had noticed them, whatever they had worn.

  ‘Do I look all right, Mercy?’ She put the anxious question when downstairs.

  Mercy glanced round from scrubbing her hands at the kitchen sink. ‘You look fine to me. Pretty dress.’

  ‘But does it suit me?’

  ‘Yes, I s’pose so. I don’t know much about fancy clothes. Pity Lew’s gone home. He’s an expert on what looks good on a woman. Mind you,’ Mercy broke into gales of laughter, ‘he’s more expert at what a woman looks like when he’s taken them off her.’

  ‘Oh, you’re no help at all, Mercy.’ Jo sighed, checking she had her comb and a clean handkerchief in her evening bag.

  Leaning against the sink, Mercy surveyed her paying guest. ‘Why the long face? You’re not nervous of the Lidgeys, are you?’

  ‘No. I was just wondering if I looked the part, that’s all.’

  ‘Part of what, for goodness’ sake? You’re going out to eat, you’re not part of the menu. Where’s the girl who used to play barefoot over the moors? Not caring if she looked like a gutter urchin?’

  ‘Sometimes I think part of her is buried with Celia,’ Jo murmured despondently.

  ‘Nonsense. What did she teach you all those years? To be yourself, to make the most of your life and give no mind to the daft expectations of others. No one’s better or more important than anyone else. We’re all different. Good advice, remember?’

  Jo relaxed and let out an ironic laugh. ‘Thanks, Mercy. I needed to be reminded of that. I should have come straight to Parmarth and not gone home first. My mother always has a bad effect on me.’

  The sound of a motorcar was heard stopping in the lane. ‘Here’s your ride,’ Mercy said. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

  Jo slipped on her coat and wrapped a chiffon scarf round her head. ‘I want to thank you, Mercy. It’s good to have your support now that I’m without Celia’s.’

  ‘How did you come to drive for Mr Lidgey, Mr Penoble?’ Jo asked the blacksmith, while making herself comfortable in the front seat beside him in the black and red Ford coupe, which was in tip-top condition. ‘He must be the only person who’s ever had a car in Parmarth; even Miss Sayce chose to walk or ride her pony everywhere.’

  While he answered, Davey Penoble kept his keen eyes focused on the narrow bumpy road. ‘He don’t like leaving his mother at night. It was at night time the accident happened.’

  ‘What accident was this?’

  ‘When she fell down the stairs and damaged her back. Happened about a year ago, apparently. In her house on the seafront at Penzance. Sally says she likes to have company when it gets dimsy, so he always stays home. Must be a boring life for him, but it helps me to earn a couple of extra bob servicing the car and ’tis a pleasure to drive.’

  ‘Poor woman,’ Jo said.

  She watched Davey Penoble’s heavy, calloused hands carefully turning the steering wheel. She had become acquainted with him when Celia had commissioned a new wrought-iron garden gate from him, a speciality of his, incorporating his initials. The gate now hanging, perhaps forlornly banging on its decorative hinges, in front of the lonely house on this cold blustery night. Davey Penoble could hammer out a tool in minutes, and also as a farrier and wheelwright, expertly make or repair a horse’s shoe or cartwheel. Differing from the traditional blacksmith’s build, he was rangy-bodied, quiet-faced. Nearing middle age, he lived alone in the little cottage next to his work place.

  Jo considered he must be hunted diligently by the spinsters of Parmarth. Her mother liked to consort with hard-working, ordinary men. Men with meaty hands and sweat and grime on their bodies, who spoke coarsely, but Davey Penoble would not suit her requirements. He lacked the sort of overt masculinity and hint of something wild and primitive which Katherine sought. Perhaps she ought to introduce her mother to the thrusting-male adult version of Lew Trevail, Jo thought astringently. Luke Vigus was another prospect. Jo shrank from her last thought; he was too pleasant for her mother to taint.

  ‘I was surprised to hear about your appointment at the school. Mercy told me about it,’ Davey explained. ‘People are wond’ring exactly why you’ve come here to teach.’ He chanced a quick look at her before concentrating on his driving. ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, isn’t it a step backward?’

  ‘You could look at it that way. I’m surprised that people can’t see the main reason for my taking this opportunity was to live with Miss Sayce. You know how close we were.’

  ‘Pity she didn’t live t’see this day, then.’ As they neared the village, Davey slowed the car at a spot where a wide expanse of creeping willow bushes grew on a low bank. He bent forward over the steering wheel, peering into the shadows as they were lit up by the headlights.

  ‘Are you afraid of running over an animal?’

  ‘No, I’m afraid of running into Mardie Dawes. She waved me down just here as I was driving to Nance and I couldn’t get rid of her until I bought one of her potions.’ He tapped his jacket pocket and said wryly, ‘I’ll be all right if the rheumatics ever play me up.’

  ‘I haven’t had the misfortune to meet up with her yet.’

  Davey stopped the motorcar smoothly outside the school-house and helped Jo out. A chill wind gusted down the village street, sn
atching at her chiffon scarf. Jo shivered violently. Her evening dress and coat offered no real protection to her small bones against the harsh moorland weather. Davey lit the way to the front door with his storm lantern and rapped on the door.

  Sally Allett opened the door and invited Jo inside. Davey left to park the motorcar round the back of the house, then to pass the evening away in the Engine House Inn until he returned to collect her.

  ‘Perishing tonight, isn’t it, Jo?’ Sally addressed her as an equal rather than her master’s guest. ‘Here, give me your coat and things then I’ll show you into the sitting room. They’re drinking sherry.’

  ‘The food smells delicious, Sally,’ Jo said, unconcerned at the lack of ceremony.

  ‘It’s just roast beef. They don’t go in for nothing fancy here.’

  A deep throaty sound, edged with distinct displeasure, indicated someone did not approve of Sally’s familiarity. Marcus was bearing down the hallway towards them. ‘Come along, Sally. Don’t detain Miss Venner with idle gossip. Good evening, Miss Venner. I’m delighted you have arrived safely. It’s an extremely cold night.’

  A deep-throated voice called out from the room at the end of the passage. ‘Marcus, dear. Do come.’

  ‘Please excuse me for a moment,’ Marcus said pleasantly. ‘I’ll see what my mother wants.’

  ‘They’re very close,’ Sally said, laying aside Jo’s outdoor things to dispose of properly later. ‘He puts himself at her beck and call, nothing’s too much trouble for him. Mind you, he can be moody, fierce at times. You had better watch out.’

  Busy studying her image in a gilt-edged mirror, Jo missed the mischief gleaming in Sally’s pretty face. ‘It’s always good to hear of families who are close. How do I look?’ As the housemaid took full notice of Jo’s appearance, her face hardened. The ‘funny little creature’ was wearing a dress Sally could only dream of owning. The height of fashion, the silk sheath accentuated the limited contours of Jo’s figure in a beguiling manner. The discreet amount of carefully applied make-up took away all hint of sharpness from her delicately formed features. Diamante slides sparkled in her hair, sweeping the chin-length bob away from her neat ears. Joanna Venner looked poised and assured.