‘Joanna, it’s me,’ Marcus said, suddenly there beside her. While Jo was a small figure in black, he looked cool and commanding in light slacks and a cricket jumper, the sleeves pushed up past his elbows. ‘I’ve just passed that fortune-telling misfit. Has she upset you?’
On his way home after a routine meeting on school affairs with the vicar, he had cut through the churchyard, and behind the cover of a yew tree had overheard every word of the conversation between Joanna and Mardie Dawes. He would say nothing about it, but he was not going to allow Joanna to be blackmailed.
‘She was taunting me about Molly’s death.’ Tears sprang to Jo’s eyes. This latest blow, and having to keep it a secret, was more than she could bear. ‘People have been so unkind.’
‘You’ve lost your water,’ he said softly, relieving her of the watering can and offering her a consoling arm. ‘There’s a seat near Molly’s resting place. I’ll take you there then get more water. You’re shaking, you need peace and quiet.’
‘Thank you, Marcus.’ Numb and confused, she leaned against his arm. ‘I… I was coming to see you after I’ve finished here.’
‘Is there something I can do for you?’ He held her trembling hand. ‘You only have to ask, nothing is too much trouble for a very good friend.’
Jo sat on the bench, frozen as she recalled every mean word Mardie had said, terrified over the blight the blackmail would bring to the future.
When Marcus came back with the water, she gazed down at the dwarf roses she had left beside Molly’s grave. ‘Would you mind, Marcus? I’ve put a vase there. I don’t think I can manage at the moment.’
‘Of course. I’d be happy to.’ He knelt and filled the vase with water, arranging the white roses inside it with meticulous care. ‘They’re very pretty. Molly would have liked them.’
‘I wanted to bring something personal for her.’ Jo shuddered, as if the weather had turned cold and unfriendly, but the sun was a golden globe in the bluest of skies.
‘It’s been a trying time for you. My mother is in bed. Will you come to the schoolhouse and have some tea?’
‘No, thank you. I’d rather stay here. I need the fresh air. Will you stay with me? I don’t want to be alone right now.’
‘I’ll stay as long as you need me.’ He sat close beside her. ‘How can I be of service to you?’
‘What?’ Jo said vaguely.
‘You were coming to see me,’ he reminded her gently.
‘Oh, yes.’ She took a small white envelope out of the pocket of her dress and handed it to him.
Marcus looked at his name and address on the envelope, written in her flowing hand. ‘Is it an invitation?’
‘No. I’m sorry because this is going to cause you great inconvenience. It’s my resignation. I want to leave the school in three weeks; it will nearly be the end of the term. Luke and I are getting married. We’re going to provide a stable home for Rex and Marylyn.’
It was like a blow to Marcus’s heart but he worked hard not to show it. ‘If I may say so without seeming heartless, is making a home for the children a good enough reason to get married?’
He flinched at her reply. ‘It isn’t just that, Marcus. Luke and I are deeply in love. We have been for some time. I know people don’t approve of our relationship but I don’t care.’
‘It is a shame to have to give up your career. You are an exceptional teacher and will be an enormous loss to the school.’
‘Some people won’t think so,’ she said bitterly.
‘I don’t think it is you they have anything against, Joanna. Their views are…’ even though he wanted to shout from the church turrets that she must be out of her mind to marry a man who was a self-seeking failure, he would not say a word to hurt her. It would not further his hopes to win her for himself.
‘Their views are understandable? Well, whatever they think I don’t agree with them. No one knows Luke like I do. They haven’t seen his gentle side. They don’t care that he’s been hurt and humiliated. I want to go home now. Will you walk with me until I’m out of the village? I don’t feel strong enough to face any more animosity alone.’
‘I’ve got lots of time to spare. I’d be delighted to see you safely home.’
Marcus would have liked to linger at Cardhu but Jo said she needed to rest.
A few minutes later, standing on the bridge, he pulled out the envelope containing her resignation, crumpled it in his hand, and tossed it into the stream.
Jo went upstairs to her bedroom; it would be hers and Luke’s permanently soon. Tomorrow she would have to hand over the first instalment of the blackmail money to keep Luke out of prison, to keep him free and alive. He was worth it, he was worth anything. Whatever Luke might have done it would make no difference to her. Her love for him was unconditional. And she knew in her heart he was not a murderer. He was not a violent man. He was kind and tender, and at times childlike, with good reason to hate his mother.
Feeling utterly alone, she picked up a shirt Luke had left behind, then curling up on the bed she hugged it to her body and cried for hours.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Returning home, Marcus went straight to his study. Lighting a cigarette to calm his nerves, he looked up the telephone number Katherine Venner had given him. She was his best hope in stopping Joanna’s wedding. He had the notion Joanna would marry in secret to prevent family intervention.
‘Mr Lidgey, Marcus,’ Katherine gushed familiarily over the telephone. ‘At last, I was beginning to think you were ignoring me.’
‘Not at all, Mrs Venner. I do apologise. I’ve been preoccupied with my mother’s needs and a tragedy in the village.’
‘How is Joanna?’
He restrained his anger at her false motherly interest. ‘Quite well, I think. She’s grieving terribly over the little girl. I suppose you are busy preparing for the wedding. It will be a rush for you.’
‘What wedding?’ Katherine enquired brusquely. ‘Are you telling me Joanna is getting married?’
‘You mean you know nothing about it?’ Marcus returned as if surprised. ‘Joanna’s wedding to the local itinerant dealer, Luke Vigus. You do know she has an attachment to this individual?’
‘Yes, I’ve been informed about it.’ Katherine could not hide her rage. ‘Can you tell me why she has suddenly made up her mind to actually marry this rag-and-bone man?’
‘I feel uncomfortable at imparting this news to you, Katherine. It is really none of my business. It’s a consequence of Vigus’s younger sister’s death. Joanna is giving up her career to become mother to Vigus’s remaining younger brother and baby sister. It’s very noble of her. She will be a tremendous loss to the school.’
‘She’s what! Children!’ Katherine exploded. ‘I’m so sorry, Marcus. I didn’t mean to shout at you. You will understand, of course, that all this is a terrible shock to me. I must inform my son at once. Alistair will put a stop to this nonsense. Oh, damn, he’s in Scotland at the moment, not expected back for a few days. I’ll telephone him anyway, he can write to her. I’ll go to Cardhu tomorrow, although it won’t do the slightest bit of good. Joanna won’t listen to me, I’m afraid. Thank you for ringing me, Marcus. If I get the opportunity perhaps I could call on you? I’d be most interested to meet your mother,’ Katherine ended on a hopeful note.
‘My mother is indisposed at the moment. I wish you well in talking some sense into Joanna. Vigus is totally unworthy of her. Goodbye, Katherine.’ Marcus put the receiver down. He couldn’t stop trembling. Stubbing out the cigarette, he put his hands to his temples, feeling the beginnings of another violent headache.
* * *
The old miner’s cottage was the epitome of gloom, waste and desolation. Neither stones nor ashes had been laid to form a proper path to the front door of weather-bleached wood. If there had been a flower or vegetable garden created by the former inhabitant it was now under a tangle of weeds, ferns, nettles and brambles. Marcus’s eyes flicked to the two small, glassless windows. Dar
k curtains flapped in the wind.
Mardie Dawes was at home, either inside the cottage or in a nearby dome-shaped granite construction. He had heard her singing an indecent ditty to the tune of ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’. The shrill singing started up again. She was in the outbuilding, which was about ten feet high and incorporated a misshapen chimney and a narrow slit for entry and exit. He assumed it was where she made her illegal gin.
‘Mardie Dawes,’ he called out.
There was the sound of something clattering to the ground, then swearing and muttering. Marcus waited.
Mardie crept out on to the moorland dirt, grimacing, showing her yellow teeth. She stayed close to the strange building, eyes glowing with suspicion. ‘What can I do for you, Marcus Lidgey?’
‘You don’t seem pleased to see a customer, Miss Dawes.’
‘You want to buy something?’ Mardie asked nervously.
Marcus glanced coldly round the vicinity. ‘I should imagine it is the only reason for someone venturing here.’
‘Love potion, is it?’ Mardie was a little less fearful of him, but she marvelled that no one else had ever grasped the madness in this man’s face. ‘I saw the way you looked at the Venner maid in the churchyard this afternoon.’
Marcus came closer. He wasn’t sure which smelled worse, the woman or her illegal brew. ‘I’d like a bottle of your best gin, Miss Dawes,’ he said as pleasantly as if he was in the best society.
‘I didn’t take you for a tippler of that kind.’ Mardie laughed tensely.
‘Actually, it’s for someone else.’
‘Oh, I see. Give me a minute. I’ll fetch one out to you.’ Ducking her head under the low portal she disappeared inside the still-house.
Marcus followed her. The construction was dark and shadowy, the walls mouldy and running with condensation. He did not notice the overpowering stink of fermenting alcohol.
Snatching up a bottle of gin from a bench, Mardie squealed to see him so close to her. Backing away from him, she held out the bottle at arm’s length. ‘Take it. You can have it for nothing, being a new customer.’
The bottle in his hand, Marcus yanked out the cork which he threw to the ground. His eyes, like sharded ice, bore into the old woman. ‘Were you telling Miss Venner the truth about Luke Vigus killing his mother?’
Mardie stepped back until her spine was pressing against a bench, on which a row of bottles and flagons of gin vied for space with herbal potions and lucky charms. Her eyes were steadily growing in size. ‘I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Then let me refresh your memory.’ His voice was low and deadly. ‘This afternoon, you subjected Miss Venner to the horrors of blackmail in the churchyard. Was it true what you said?’
‘No! No, it wasn’t.’
‘Then who did kill Jessie Vigus?’
Mardie stared at him, searching his mind.
‘Well? Speak, I’m beginning to lose my patience!’ he snapped.
‘No one killed her, she fell in.’ Mardie was blubbing rapidly. ‘I’m sorry, honest I am. I’ll tell Miss Venner it was all a mistake. I’ll tell her I’m sorry.’
‘It’s too late for that, Mardie Dawes.’ Marcus reached inside his coat pocket.
‘Keep away from me!’ Mardie yelled like a demented savage, her arms shooting out and sending her wares crashing to the floor. She could back away no further and fell to the ground in terror. ‘Don’t hurt me. I know you’re in love with Joanna Venner. Let her go on believing Luke might’ve done it. That way she’ll turn to you. I promise I won’t bother her no more.’
Marcus glared down at the woman huddled beside the bench, clawing at the dirt. ‘With you gone there will be no witness either way and she’ll always doubt Vigus’s innocence. You hurt Joanna. You caused distress to the woman I love.’
Holding the bottle upright he shook gin over Mardie.
‘Stop! I said I’m sorry. Oh, God help me.’ Mardie screamed in desperation as gin flowed over her face, splashed on her clothes, arms and legs.
When the bottle was empty Marcus stood back. ‘You shouldn’t have made her suffer. I can’t bear anyone hurting her.’
Mardie screamed madly as he produced his cigarette lighter.
‘I’ll be doing the world a favour getting rid of you. You deserve to be dead like Jessie Vigus. You’re both scum. Neither of you are fit to live near honest, decent people, people who care about children and don’t do terrible things to them. No one’s going to mourn your death.’
Bending down, he lit the hem of Mardie’s skirt.
She shrieked and tried to beat out the flames that shot up the alcohol-soaked material. Reaching past the flames Marcus lit her hair. Soon she was a screaming, writhing mass of burning.
Tearing his eyes from her crazed dance of death, he bolted out through the narrow slit and raced off over the moor. He did not stop until he’d scaled Carn Galver, where he looked down with cold satisfaction as the dome-shaped building, a ball of fire, collapsed in a glowing heap.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Luke was leaning on the quiet bar of the Admiral Benbow at Penzance, in the company of a few dockers and seamen.
He was on his third pint, silent and morose, when the landlord laid a newspaper down in front of him. ‘Have you seen today’s news? There’s been another tragedy in Parmarth.’
His confidence struck low, Luke was in no mood for more bad tidings but his eyes caught the headline the landlord was pointing to. ‘WOMAN DIES IN FIRE ON MOORS’. He read on, then muttered scathingly, ‘Mardie Dawes. Good riddance to her. Hardly in the same league as my sister’s death.’
‘You knew this Dawes woman well, did you?’ the landlord asked.
‘She was a damned nuisance. Reckoned she could tell fortunes but was a fake. Think yourself lucky, Mike, she never frequented your pub. Had a bad gambling habit. She’d have sold her soul to put up her stake money.’
‘Says there’ – the landlord tapped the newspaper – ‘she must have had an accident with the home-made liquor she was making. Went up like a light. The likes of her don’t do my trade no good. Oh, well, that makes three sudden passings-on now. I take it your mother’s not showed up?’
‘No, and I’m not going to waste my time wondering what happened to her.’ Luke downed the last drop of the pint and lit a cigarette. He shook his head when Mike made signs enquiring if he wanted a refill. ‘Make it a large whisky this time. I need something to feel warm inside.’
‘Feeling poorly, are you?’
Luke stared into space. ‘No. I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
‘Like what?’
Luke lifted the glass of whisky and swished the amber-gold liquid about inside it. ‘Like I’m getting married in a couple of weeks’ time.’
‘What?’ Mike’s jaw fell open.
‘Eh?’ gasped a drinking acquaintance nearby who had been listening in on the conversation. ‘You? Getting married? I don’t believe it.’
‘Sometimes nor do I.’ Luke shook his head.
‘If you feel like that then don’t go through with it,’ the drinker said sympathetically.
Luke knew him as an amiable young man who sometimes found employment on the docks, weighed down with the burden of a wife and six children. Luke sold him cheap knick-knacks at Christmas for his family. He often bought him a drink but so far today had not extended the hospitality.
‘’Tisn’t like that, mate,’ Luke said hastily. Visions of Jo flooded his mind. Jo laughing, crying, angry, wistful, intense, tireless, caring, loving. He loved every part of her. He missed her so much at that moment, wanted desperately to be with her. He had left her without a proper goodbye, and with all the wedding arrangements to make. ‘I love her very much. All I want is her. When we get married I’ll be rearing my brother and baby sister too. Never bargained on that.’
‘And it’s a bit frightening for you? I can understand that.’ The young father nodded. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll soon take to it. Me and the missus have
never had anything much but we always get by. ’Tis hard bringing up a big family but we don’t regret a single one of ours. They’ve brought their love with them and that’s all that matters.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Luke said quietly. ‘What’re you having to drink?’
The young father asked for a pint of bitter. After the landlord had pulled it, and accepted a drink for himself, he folded the newspaper and threw it aside to wrap rubbish in later, its contents old news, already forgotten. Thoughtfully, he wiped down the counter. ‘Things have a way of working out for the best, Luke.’
‘Yeh, guess so, Mike.’ Luke’s familiar friendly smile finally returned. He thought fondly, Jo will always be mine and I will never, ever, leave her.
Chapter Thirty-Four
In the larger of the two unfurnished bedrooms at Cardhu, among Celia’s trunks, dance dresses and tennis rackets, things Celia had not used for the last three decades of her life, Jo was making decisions. This room was to become Rex’s. She would ask Luke to carry the stored items up to the attic. Rex would have a new bed and new clothes. Nothing flashy, just the same as the other boys in the village but better quality than what he’d been used to all his life. He would have lots of toys and board games, and she would encourage him to play boisterously and have fun, just as Celia had done with her.
Jo hoped Rex would be easily persuaded to leave Mrs Wherry’s house, where he and Marylyn had lived since Molly’s death. He had made no reply when she told him she and Luke were to marry, that he was to live at the big house, with her as his mother. Nor did he ask why she was breaking this news to him instead of Luke or why his brother had gone away. The boy did not seem to care. Jo would make him care. And she would teach him how to live without Molly and to accept her love.
She moved on to the other spare bedroom. Square and compact, it would be Marylyn’s nursery until she was old enough to take over Jo’s old room. A cot would fit nicely facing the window. Jo would fetch her dolls and Noah’s ark and rocking horse from Tresawna House. The furniture would be white, and Jo would paint fairy motifs on it and bright murals on the walls. Luke would baulk at the money she intended to spend on the children, but she was determined to have her way. Once they were married, Rex and Molly would be her children.
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