An Orphan's Winter

by Sheila Jeffries

  Matt felt cheated. He felt their youth had been snatched away. And to make it worse, Lottie seemed to have a relaxed attitude towards it.

  The future he had looked forward to for so long was ruined.

  What was he supposed to do about this baby? He was the father, and that was an overwhelming thought. Matt remembered his own father, Arnie, and how calmly he’d coped with the disruption when Tom was born. Arnie had loved his family. Matt desperately needed to talk to him. Going up to the cemetery and sitting by the grave was the only option, but he’d tried it before and came away feeling even more desolate. Arnie wasn’t there, and never would be.

  But Grandad was still alive. Why not go down to Newlyn and talk to him?

  Matt reached into a cupboard and took out his map. Newlyn wasn’t too far. He compared the distance with Portreath. It was further and probably more hazardous.

  I’ll go while the sea is calm, Matt thought. His need to talk to his grandfather was overpowering. Grandad Vic was kindly and wise, and since he wasn’t in St Ives he wouldn’t be adding to the gossip.

  Matt looked at the picnic basket Lottie had left behind. There was enough food in there to sustain him for a while. He grabbed the empty fuel cans and headed for the garage, going a long way round to avoid Cora Bartle’s place. He was annoyed to find the garage closed. Early closing day on a Saturday and closed all day on Sunday.

  He couldn’t leave St Ives until Monday morning. It added another load to his overburdened mind.

  Matt returned to the boat in long strides and flung the two empty cans onto the deck. He crawled into the cabin, picked up his sketchbook and hurled it into a corner, its pages fluttering like a dying bird.

  Nothing mattered anymore.

  He’d lost Lottie. He didn’t want to draw or eat or do anything. He wanted today and tomorrow to disappear, to melt away under the sun or get washed away by the tide. The bruise on his face ached and Cora’s words clung round him like barbed wire.

  Half listening, half hoping Lottie might come, he lay down and sleep became his only sanctuary.

  He’d never felt so utterly alone.

  *

  Lottie began to think there never would be a right time to tell her family about the baby. Their day in Penzance was drawing to a close and Jenny looked happier than Lottie had ever seen her. The three of them were sitting on a bench near the railway station, waiting for John to bring the parcels of fish and chips.

  ‘I wish we could come here every day,’ Tom said. ‘I had the best time ever and I want to come again and bring Matt. Matt would like it, wouldn’t he, Lottie?’

  Lottie managed a nod. ‘Yep.’ Then she went on staring out to sea.

  ‘Are you all right, Lottie?’ Jenny asked.

  She nodded again. She met Jenny’s eyes. It might have slipped out then if something else hadn’t happened first.

  A voice called out, ‘Jenny!’ and a small, round woman came waddling up to them, her face crinkled with a sunray smile.

  Jenny gave a scream of delight. ‘Millie! Oh, Millie – I was hoping we might see you.’

  ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you – what a lovely surprise,’ Millie said. ‘And this is Tom! How you’ve grown!’ She turned her sunray smile on Lottie. ‘And Lottie! Well, you’ve grown up – quite the young lady now.’ Their eyes met and a question hovered in Millie’s eyes.

  She knows, Lottie thought, panicking. She folded her arms and tried to divert Millie from coming out with an unfortunate remark. ‘I’ve still got the doll you knitted me on the night of the shipwreck!’

  ‘You were a lost little girl,’ Millie said, ‘but you were lovely, my darling, and you’re still lovely, bless your heart. Now where’s Matt?’

  ‘Matt’s left home,’ Jenny said, tight-lipped.

  ‘He lives on Arnie’s boat,’ Lottie explained, ‘and he’s an artist. He paints pictures and sells them.’

  ‘Does he now?’ Millie looked down at Jenny’s iron leg. ‘What happened to your leg, Jen?’

  ‘Polio,’ Jenny said, and Millie sat down beside her. There was so much to talk about. Lottie sat quietly thinking about Matt, while Jenny related the long story to Millie who listened attentively and with compassion. By the time John arrived with the fish and chips, Millie knew the whole story of how the children had gone to the orphanage, and that they all now lived with Nan.

  Jenny did most of the talking and introduced her to John. Millie shook his hand and beamed. She looked at Jenny enquiringly and Jenny gave her a coquettish wink. Millie’s smile stretched even wider. ‘Ooh, he’s handsome – aren’t you the lucky one?’

  Millie and Jenny seemed like sisters who understood each other long before words tried to make sense of thought. They’d been next-door neighbours, together through thick and thin, helping each other with the washing, the childrearing, the poverty and the mopping up after storms, not just weather storms but storms in the family. They sat close together, automatically sharing Jenny’s fish and chips with no need for an agreement.

  Jenny talked and talked, and she’d just got started on Warren when John tapped his watch. ‘We ought to be heading for the station now.’

  ‘Behave!’ Jenny snapped at Tom who had made a ball from his fish and chip paper and was playing football with it.

  Lottie took one last look at St Michael’s Mount, fixing its enchantment into her memory. For something had happened to her on the Mount. While Tom had played and climbed, she’d sat very still, and a lady dressed in grey had hovered close to her. She’d had clothes stitched from the mist and fog, clothes that swirled in the breeze, clothes with no edges, the fabric fusing into the sunlight. Her hair was ash-blonde with tendrils floating outwards as if she was under water. She’d blinked her grey pebble eyes and moved her slender fingers down her body to touch the bulge where a secret child lay curled asleep.

  She’s like me, Lottie had thought, startled. She’s carrying a tiny baby.

  The grey lady’s eyes had darkened, and sadness rippled through her hair and clothes.

  Suddenly, she’d turned and wildly jumped from the high rock.

  A scream had echoed in Lottie’s mind as the grey lady fell towards the sea. Eerily, there was no splash but only a fusion, a melting of those gossamer-grey clothes into the crisp air around St Michael’s Mount, and a great sword of light shimmered as it pierced the waters of the bay.

  Had she been dreaming? Or had it really happened? And what did it mean? Nan would know. Lottie could hardly wait to get home and tell her. She had seen a grey lady who had disappeared into a pillar of light.

  ‘Come on, Lottie – we’re catching the train now.’ Jenny tutted and smiled at Millie. ‘She’s a daydreamer, our Lottie.’

  Millie waddled briskly into the station with them. It breathed with steam and noise from the steam engine that had been shunted, turned around and reversed onto the waiting brown and cream carriages.

  Millie was scribbling something in a red memo notebook. She tore out two pages and gave one to Jenny. ‘My address – and I’ve got a telephone now. You can ring me up for a chat.’ She waited until they were about to board the train, then stood squarely in front of Lottie. She looked directly into her eyes and handed her the other page.

  ‘That’s so you’ll know where I am, darling, if ever you need me. You can come and stay if you want. I’ll always love you, little Lottie. Don’t you forget that, darling, and God bless you.’ Millie gave her hand a tight squeeze. Then her eyes filled with tears and she let go. ‘Go on, get on the train!’

  Lottie leaned out of the window watching Millie’s dumpy figure getting smaller and smaller, waving as the train steamed out and was soon rattling along the curve of the bay, a last glimpse of St Michael’s Mount floating in the evening light.

  Nan was asleep in her chair when they arrived home in the cool of an autumn twilight. Bartholomew was draped over the back of the chair like a lion in a tree, his furry white chin resting on top of Nan’s head.

  ‘I’ll see yo
u in the morning, Jenny,’ John said, ‘at the gallery – will you come?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll be there,’ Jenny replied. She grabbed Tom who looked ready to wake Nan. ‘You say thank you to John for such a lovely day. We all enjoyed it, John, and I hope you did.’

  ‘I did.’ John smiled at the three sun-kissed faces looking at him. He ruffled Tom’s hair and gave Lottie a peck on the cheek. ‘Have a good day at school tomorrow, my dear. You’re doing so well.’

  If only you knew, Lottie thought, closely followed by yet another compelling prompt. Tell them. Tell them now. The chance might not come again.

  She hesitated. She was surrounded by happiness. It glowed in the air.

  Bartholomew was purring. John and Jenny were gazing raptly at one another. Tom was tipping out his paper bag of shells and pebbles onto the table. She couldn’t spoil it. So Lottie kept quiet, a decision she was to bitterly regret the very next morning.

  Chapter 17

  A Mother’s Fury

  The book of legends waited on Nan’s table, the gold-rimmed pages glistening as Jenny lit the gaslights. Nan woke up with a jump, dislodging Bartholomew. Tom was beaming at her, his cupped hands full of shells. Temporarily bewildered, she looked around at everyone. ‘You’re back already. I must have fallen asleep.’

  ‘Come on, Tom, don’t monopolise Nan. You’ve got school in the morning. Bedtime now.’

  ‘But Mum . . .’

  ‘Bed.’

  Tom pouted at Jenny’s fierce expression.

  ‘We’ll look at those interesting shells tomorrow,’ Nan promised, and Tom trudged unwillingly up the stairs.

  ‘He’ll be asleep before his head touches the pillow,’ Jenny said. ‘He hasn’t stopped all day.’ She limped into the kitchen to make a pot of tea.

  Alone with Nan, Lottie said, ‘I saw a grey lady, Nan.’

  Nan sat bolt upright. ‘A grey lady!’ She reached for the book with the gold-rimmed pages. ‘Tell me about her.’

  ‘She – she wasn’t real, Nan. Well, she was, and she wasn’t, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ Nan said. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Her clothes were filmy and drifting around her, and everything was grey, except for her hair and the whites of her eyes. She looked straight at me, Nan, trying to tell me something. Then she flung herself off the high rock. It was strange, really strange because there wasn’t a splash. She somehow disappeared into a pillar of light.’

  Nan’s eyes opened very wide. ‘A pillar of light? What exactly do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. It may have been the sun blazing on the sea, but to me it looked like a great sword of light.’

  Nan seemed to stop breathing, her storm-coloured eyes fixed on Lottie. ‘It’s happened,’ she wheezed. ‘I knew it would. I knew it.’ She reached out and took Lottie’s hand. ‘You sit down – sit on the pouffe, close to me – and tell me more.’

  Together they sat with the book tingling between them, as they’d done many times before. Sharing the magic. Sharing Cornwall’s ancient, mystic folklore. It had always been fun. Now it was deadly serious.

  ‘My goodness – the hairs on the back of my neck are standing up,’ Nan said.

  ‘I wasn’t sure whether I was dreaming it,’ Lottie said, ‘but it seems brighter and more detailed in my memory. She wasn’t evil, Nan. She was lovely, but sad, so very sad. That’s why she jumped, and why she chose me to share her feelings.’

  ‘And what were the feelings?’

  ‘Sadness.’

  ‘Yes, but why? Do you know?’

  ‘Because she was . . .’ Lottie hesitated, wanting to use the word pregnant but, well, it wasn’t Nan’s kind of word. ‘She had a secret baby growing inside her – like a miracle.’

  Nan closed her eyes and nodded.

  ‘That’s all I know,’ Lottie said. ‘I don’t know why she jumped.’

  ‘I do.’ Nan opened her eyes and looked intently at Lottie. ‘I’ve read the legend of the grey lady many times. She was beautiful, and the secret child was a love child. The grey lady worked in the castle and fell in love with one of the manservants. But he betrayed her. When she told him about the secret child, he denied being the father, turned his back and left her to fend for herself.’

  ‘So is that why she threw herself off the cliff?’

  ‘Yes.’ Nan pursed her lips.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ Lottie said, sensing Nan’s disapproval.

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Nan said. ‘The story has a special meaning to me, but we won’t go into it just now.’ Her eyes went dreamy and she glanced at the framed sepia photograph of the Lanroska family on the wall. She towered over them all, her hair piled high. She was slimmer then, with a haughty posture, dressed in an ornate, high-collared gown. Her son, Vic, stood beside her, square and proud with a neat moustache, and below them Arnie and Jenny sat on a velvet sofa, Jenny with a baby on her lap who must have been Matt. No one ever dared to ask where Nan’s husband was.

  Lottie kept quiet, watching Nan looking at the photograph. She was beginning to feel tearful again. The day in Penzance had been a distraction, but now she was facing a night of heartbreak when her mind would go over and over Matt’s ruthless behaviour.

  Ruthless, uncaring and selfish.

  Yet she still loved him and wanted him back. How could she make him listen? How could she make him care? And how on earth could she go to school tomorrow and study while love and anger crossed swords in her mind and a tiny child slept in her womb?

  Jenny brought the tea in on a tray. ‘You’re glaring at me, Nan,’ she observed. ‘Did I interrupt something?’

  ‘Yes, so you might as well hear it,’ Nan said bluntly, and turned to Lottie. ‘The pillar of light you saw – how long did it last?’

  ‘Just seconds,’ Lottie said, ‘and then it vanished and the grey lady had gone.’

  ‘What you saw was the sword of the Archangel,’ Nan said. ‘The sword of light used by St Michael, the Archangel, to protect a soul in danger. It’s been seen before on St Michael’s Mount.’

  ‘So who is the soul in danger?’ Lottie asked and the answer came to her instantly. Matt. She deemed it wiser not to say so.

  ‘Kindly stop rolling your eyes like that, Jenny,’ Nan said in a dictatorial tone. ‘I know you don’t like folklore but that doesn’t give you the right to rubbish it for other people.’

  ‘Well, don’t fill Lottie’s head with your mumbo jumbo,’ Jenny fired back. ‘She’s got enough to worry about with school tomorrow.’

  ‘She certainly has got a lot to worry about,’ Nan said. ‘More than she’s telling us.’

  The air trembled with unspoken words.

  Lottie picked up her mug. ‘I’m going to bed.’ She gave them each a kiss on the cheek. ‘Goodnight.’

  Jenny smiled at her fondly. ‘Goodnight, dear girl. Sleep tight.’

  ‘Sweet dreams,’ Nan said with a touch of irony.

  *

  ‘Do you think you could take this down to Matt?’ John asked when Jenny arrived at the gallery. ‘I noticed his boat was there early this morning when I was walking. There’s ten pounds in this envelope – his picture money – and I’m sure he’ll be glad of it.’

  Jenny nodded. ‘Course I will.’

  John handed her the envelope, his eyes looking at her caringly. ‘I thought it might be a good way for you to make contact with him. I know things are difficult. Would you like me to come with you?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ll be fine.’ Jenny set off, trying not to limp. Both her legs were painful from the walk across the causeway and she felt exhausted and irritable. Nan had been tetchy, and Tom didn’t want to go to school. He’d got blisters on his feet and Jenny had felt draconian about making him go. But Lottie had gone silently, which made Jenny worry. Lottie wasn’t often so silent and withdrawn, and she had shadows under her eyes. What could be wrong with her?

  John had no idea how difficult things were with Matt, and Jenny made light of it, not wanting t
o drag him into her family problems. Secretly, Jenny had high hopes of her relationship with John. He made her feel like a woman again and she knew he was serious. He wasn’t the sort of man to have a meaningless flirtation. She wanted him to see her at her best so she made an effort with her work at the gallery, enjoying welcoming tourists and she was delighted to find she was quite good at persuading them to buy a picture.

  Once she reached the harbour, she could see The Jenny Wren moored in a quiet corner. The cabin curtains were drawn so Matt must be still asleep. Jenny felt nervous about seeing him. The money would be welcome, but would she be welcome? First she must negotiate the granite steps with her iron leg and her walking stick. They were wet and slippery and there was no handrail, only the rough ridges of the granite wall to hold. Clinging to the stone with her fingertips, she edged down, her back against the wall, remembering how confidently she used to skip down and leap onto the boat when Arnie was there. She stood at the foot of the steps, realising she couldn’t possibly climb onto the boat without help.

  ‘Matt!’ she called, trying to sound friendly. ‘Are you awake? It’s Mum.’

  He wouldn’t be expecting her.

  When there was no response, she reached out with her stick and tapped on the cabin roof. ‘Matt. Will you come out, please? I’ve got some money for you – from John.’

  The boat twitched and rocked. The cabin door opened and Matt emerged, looking wild and savage. ‘What do you want?’ he growled.

  ‘John sold two of your pictures. I’ve got ten pounds for you. Can I come aboard?’

  ‘I suppose you’ll have to.’

  ‘Help me then. I’ve got an iron leg – or hadn’t you noticed?’

  Matt held out a begrudging hand. Jenny took it and gulped with the realisation that it was many years since she had held her son’s hand. Safe in the boat, she looked up at him and gasped in horror when she saw the bruise down the side of his face. ‘Matt! Your face – what happened?’ She tried to sound gentle when her instinct was to accuse him of fighting. He towered over her, making her feel small and dainty.