Daughter of the River

by Daughter of the River (retail) (epub)

  He paused, and she was suddenly afraid he might make a flippant remark such as ‘Don’t you always need me?’ or some phrase of that sort. She should have known better. There was nothing trifling in the way he replied, ‘I had a feeling. Normally I would not have intruded upon what I know is a dark time for you, but I had this great urge to see you. I knew you would be by yourself, with your father and brothers at work, and something inside told me you should not be alone.’

  ‘And so you came.’

  ‘Yes, I came.’

  She had been sure that nothing on that grim morning could have lifted her heart, but Patrick’s arrival, and his reason for coming, achieved the impossible. That he should sense her need over such a distance, without any communication, seemed nothing short of both mystical and miraculous.

  ‘Bart’s left home,’ she said. Not even to Patrick could she tell the full story.

  ‘For good?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Maybe that was why I felt your distress.’ He held her more tightly, giving her the comfort of his presence. ‘I know you’ll miss him, but painful though the thought is, I have to say this – perhaps you will find life easier without him.’

  In the upheaval and upset of the morning this was something Maddy had not considered. Bart was definitely a disturbing influence in the family and had been for years. She did not want him gone, and certainly not in the present circumstances, but the prospect of a more peaceful life in the future did have an appeal.

  Maddy raised her head and looked at Patrick. ‘I don’t know how you’ve done it,’ she said, ‘but you’ve made me feel better. Half an hour ago there was nothing but misery in my life, then you arrived and suddenly you’ve made me feel better.’

  ‘It’s called love, sweetheart.’ Smiling, he kissed her lightly on the forehead.

  Suddenly she clung to him, driven by a desperate need. ‘Oh Patrick, what would I do without you?’ she whispered. ‘How would I live? Things have been so terrible lately! You are the one thing that makes my existence bearable.’

  ‘Dearest Maddy, don’t even think of being without me because it won’t happen. We were meant to be together, for always.’ His lips, at first gentle, became more insistent, as his hands about her waist grew more questing. The coarse sacking apron was discarded as one by one, with tantalising slowness, he undid the small buttons on the front of her dress. The softness of his hands on her skin brought comfort as well as arousal. In the midst of such misery he was her only happiness. As the one source of her joy, it was natural that she should go with him up the steep stairs to her attic room. There they slipped from their clothes and, revelling in each other’s nakedness, made love on the narrow bed. Her need for him brought an ecstasy of passion which drove away the darkness surrounding her. She had never realised that the act of loving could give such emotional relief. This irrefutable proof of Patrick’s love for her had blunted her desperate unhappiness as nothing else could have done.

  Afterwards, when they lay sleepy and content in each other’s arms, Patrick drew the coverlet more closely about her and asked, ‘No regrets?’

  ‘Of course not.’ She was surprised at the question. ‘Have you?’

  ‘No. But I only meant to comfort you, I did not mean things to go so far. You were vulnerable and not for the world would I have you think that I took advantage.’

  Maddy propped herself on one elbow, the better to look at his beloved face. ‘But you did take advantage,’ she pointed out. ‘And I am glad that you did. No one but you could have taken away the blackness; no one but you could make me see that there is a glimmer of brightness ahead, no matter how bleak things seem now.’

  ‘Oh, Maddy, what a creature you are for making a fellow feel good.’ He went to take her in his arms again, but desisted, smiling fondly. ‘No, I fear I know where that would lead, and I should have been back at the Church House half an hour ago. I must leave you for the present!’ He swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his shirt. We have some serious talking to do about our future. Not yet – too much has happened of late to put you in a turmoil and it would not be fair – but soon. And then we really will be happy. Today will be a trivial incident by comparison.’

  Maddy knew she should have felt ashamed for her lost virtue, but she could not. She still had much to mourn, but she also had a future, and that future was Patrick. With such a prospect ahead she knew she would survive anything.

  Chapter Twelve

  Now that she and Patrick had made love, Maddy felt closer to him than ever. She considered it to be a bond between them, a trust, proving that they belonged completely to one another. Not even the risk of pregnancy caused her any misgivings. When her monthly courses appeared exactly on time it was only then she experienced regret, for she would have loved to have borne Patrick’s child. It was not to be, however, and gradually for Maddy, as for the rest of the family, the winter days began to acquire a regular pattern.

  It was not the pattern they were accustomed to, that was gone for ever. But it was a systematic routine that they grew to appreciate. As they tried to become used to their changed lives, Jack was adamant about one thing.

  ‘Us’ve all been up to squire and said our thanks, as were right and proper,’ he said. ‘But us still be beholden to Cal Whitcomb for Davie’s coffin and that do stick in my craw, for all it couldn’t be helped. I be danged if us be going to be in debt to him for one minute longer than necessary.’

  In the last confused hours before leaving Exeter Maddy had sought out the undertaker who had supplied the coffin and found out how much it had cost. Once home again, it was no easy matter putting aside the money. Jack had forsworn his scrumpy without being prompted, though in truth he had scarcely touched a drop since the execution. He would glare at Lew and Charlie if they even mentioned a visit to the Church House, so that they invariably announced that they had gone off the idea and stayed at home.

  It was a hard struggle saving the money, especially in winter, when extra ways of earning a few pence were scarce. They saved hard, and Maddy took one of their few family treasures, a brass telescope, into Paignton to sell. Although she got a good price for it, the amount fell short of what was needed. Then good luck, in the form of winter ague, swept through the village, giving Maddy plenty of temporary employment standing in for folk who had been struck down.

  ‘That be it!’ announced Jack in triumph one evening when the contents of the Delft jug had been counted. ‘Us can pay Whitcomb, and I don’t mind telling you it be a load off my shoulders. Us’ll pay un tomorrow first thing.’

  ‘How?’ asked Lew.

  ‘What do you mean, how?’ demanded his father.

  ‘How’m you going to get the money to un? Be you going to knock on his door and say “Yer tiz” or what?’

  ‘You idn’t expecting me to go up Oakwood?’ Jack was appalled at the idea. ‘I idn’t setting foot on that land, I tells you straight.’

  ‘Then you’m going to have to traipse up and down the lane until you finds un then, aren’t you?’ pointed out Lew.

  ‘No I idn’t.’ Jack was firm. ‘Because one of you be going to pay him the money.’

  ‘Don’t be looking at me!’ Lew backed away. ‘I idn’t being the first Shillabeer to soil his boots on Whitcomb mud.’

  ‘Nor me,’ declared Charlie.

  ‘What do you think will happen to you if you call at Oakwood?’ asked Maddy. ‘That the ghost of Grandfather Shillabeer will strike you down?’

  ‘Course not,’ replied Jack uncomfortably. ‘But no Shillabeer—’

  ‘Never mind, I’ll take the money in the morning, and if pigs start flying and cows climb trees you’ll know who to blame,’ she said.

  ‘If aught of that nature be likely to happen then I be staying indoors.’ Lew’s grin held an element of relief. ‘Seagulls overhead be bad enough, but pigs and cows…’

  ‘Gurt fool!’ chuckled Maddy, pelting him with a sock that was drying on the line over the hearth. He res
ponded, Charlie and Jack joined in, and in the ensuing battle she observed that this was the first friendly horseplay they had indulged in for a long time. Little by little the wounds were healing.

  Early next morning Maddy walked over to Oakwood Farm and, seizing the highly-polished brass knocker, she rapped boldly on the front door. No lightning struck! The River Dart remained flowing in its natural course at the enormity of this event. The only happening was footsteps that sounded within. The door was opened by a gaunt-faced maidservant whose mouth dropped open with amazement at the sight of Maddy.

  ‘I would like to see Mr Whitcomb,’ said Maddy. Then, when she got no response she repeated, more loudly, ‘Mr Whitcomb? Is he in?’

  ‘I’d best fetch the missus,’ said the maidservant uneasily, and scurried back into the depths of the farmhouse.

  From within, Maddy heard Mrs Whitcomb’s voice raised in irritation.

  ‘Have you taken leave of your senses, Ellen? What would one of the Shillabeers be doing here? I suppose I’d better go and see who it really is.’

  Slippered feet scuffed along stone flags, and the short, stout figure of Mrs Whitcomb emerged through an inner door. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw Maddy. ‘Lord preserve us!’ she declared. ‘One of the Shillabeers, as bold as brass!’ Pulling herself up to her full stature, she advanced towards the front door, stays creaking, the white curls fringing her widow’s cap bobbing. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded.

  Maddy regarded the indignant woman. ‘I wish to see Mr Whitcomb, if you please,’ she said politely.

  ‘I don’t please, and nor does he!’ was the response.

  ‘I really must see him, it will only take a few minutes,’ Maddy insisted.

  ‘Oh, you must, must you? What about?’

  Something warned Maddy to guard her tongue. Mrs Whitcomb did not seem to know that they owed money to her son. Maddy began to doubt that Mrs Whitcomb knew how much her son had become involved with the Shillabeer family lately; she decided to be careful what she said. Mary Whitcomb had a reputation for having a sharp tongue, and the last thing Maddy wanted was to cause Cal trouble.

  ‘I need to see Mr Whitcomb on business,’ she said.

  ‘I know all my son’s business, but I know naught of this,’ declared Mrs Whitcomb, standing firm.

  Maddy was growing tired of the older woman’s attitude. ‘Mrs Whitcomb,’ she retorted, ‘your son is expecting me to call. There is a small matter between us that needs attending to. If he is not at home then kindly say so, and I will return at some other time.’

  Mrs Whitcomb seemed taken aback at this brisk approach. ‘He’s not here,’ she said, in a less belligerent tone. ‘He’ll be back in for his breakfast presently. You’d best come in.’ Then, in case Maddy thought this was too great a concession, she added, ‘I’m not having Shillabeers tramping up to my door all hours of the day and night. Once is once too often.’

  She led the way into a low-ceilinged, well-furnished room. The smell of polish overlaid an atmosphere of chilly formality common to best parlours, unused except for special occasions. Maddy wondered why she was being afforded such an honour. She soon found out.

  ‘You may as well sit,’ said Mrs Whitcomb, indicating an upholstered chair beside the unlit hearth.

  From her seat Maddy had an uninterrupted view of two glass-fronted cabinets against the opposite wall. They were packed with silver, delicate porcelain, and gleaming crystal. Maddy, as a representative of the Shillabeer family, was being shown what fine possessions filled the Whitcomb home, treasures far beyond the reach of a bunch of hobbeldehoy fishermen. Because she knew she was expected to comment on the display, she held her tongue, causing Mrs Whitcomb to speak up for herself.

  ‘My son had those cabinets made specially for me,’ she announced with pride.

  ‘Did he indeed?’ said Maddy.

  ‘And everything in them he bought for me,’ Mrs Whitcomb went on.

  Maddy was determined not to appear impressed, even though she longed to get close enough to examine the beautiful things. She remarked, ‘You are fortunate in your son. He is certainly generous.’

  ‘Is?’ snapped Mrs Whitcomb in irritation. ‘Is? It wasn’t Calland who gave me these. It was my other son, my Christopher, who was taken from me by the cholera.’

  If there was any doubt about the difference in Mary Whitcomb’s attitude towards her two sons, it was swept away by the disparity in her voice. Maddy was extremely thankful she had not betrayed the full reason for her visit. Cal’s mother clearly already held him in little enough esteem. A door banged at the rear of the house and firm footsteps echoed along the passage.

  Mrs Whitcomb winced. ‘Can’t he do anything quietly?’ In a louder voice she called, ‘Calland, you’ve a visitor.’

  Cal Whitcomb entered the front parlour, his face glowing with the chill of the morning. ‘Mad— Miss Shillabeer!’ he greeted her with surprise. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Whitcomb,’ replied Maddy, hoping his mother had not noticed his slip of the tongue. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you, but there is a matter I must settle with you. A private matter,’ she added with emphasis.

  ‘Ah yes,’ said Cal, ignoring his mother’s expression of blatant curiosity. ‘And you aren’t disturbing me, I assure you. But why on earth are we in the front parlour? It’s as cold as the tomb in here. Let’s go where it’s warmer. Can we offer you a cup of tea?’ He moved towards the door, to hold it open.

  ‘Thank you, but no.’ Maddy could see that Mrs Whitcomb was about to explode with indignation at this offer of hospitality. ‘My business will only take a minute, then I must be on my way.’

  ‘If you are sure? Then to business. A private matter I think you said.’ He looked pointedly at his mother, who withdrew with a sniff of protest. Closing the door after her he listened, his head on one side, until the shuffling of her slippered feet faded, then he turned to Maddy and smiled. ‘I can guess the reason for your visit,’ he said. ‘There is no need, you know.’

  ‘Yes there is,’ said Maddy. ‘We are in your debt, and the Shillabeers always pays what they owe.’

  ‘Particularly when it is to a Whitcomb, eh? You see how well I am coming to understand your family!’

  ‘Then you should know we would insist upon repaying you.’

  ‘This tit for tat repaying is getting out of hand. We really must stop returning the honours in such a way or we’ll never cease.’

  ‘This time it is rather more serious,’ said Maddy quietly. ‘We have more than one reason to be grateful to you. You made sure our Davie had a proper burial, and if we were to thank you from now until Doomsday for that alone it would never be enough. But we can pay you back for the coffin. It was exactly what we’d have chosen… if we’d had the time…’ Her voice broke. Unable to go on, she emptied her purse into a china bowl on the table. ‘It’s all there,’ she said, pulling herself together. ‘Count it.’

  Cal shook his head. There’s no need,’ he said quietly, not even looking at the bowl full of sovereigns and silver coins. ‘How are you faring these days? I hear your eldest brother has gone off to sea. Things must be very different for you now.’ There was such compassion in his voice that Maddy felt a lump rise in her throat.

  ‘We’re managing,’ she replied with difficulty. She had a sudden desire to confess to him the true reason for Bart’s departure. The crazy impulse only lasted a moment. Firmly she quelled it, and pulling her cape about her she said, ‘Now that our business is done I will interrupt your morning no longer. I am sure we both have a great deal to do.’

  ‘Then I must thank you for coming. Will you please offer my thanks to your father and brothers for their promptness. I never regarded it as a loan, but if they feel more comfortable this way, then so be it.’

  ‘They do,’ Maddy assured him. ‘And so do I.’ She held out her hand. ‘Thank you, Mr Whitcomb, and goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye, Miss Shillabeer.’ He shook her hand, then gave a
sudden grin. ‘In our forgetful moments we are much less formal with each other, aren’t we?’ he said.

  ‘But this isn’t a forgetful moment, is it?’ she replied, looking pointedly at the door through which Mrs Whitcomb had departed. ‘Nor, I fancy, is this the best time or place to be informal.’

  ‘Very true.’ He was still smiling as he escorted her to the door.

  Maddy entered the lane somewhat bemused by the events of the morning. Although she had been nonchalant in front of her father and brothers about coming to Oakwood, in truth she had been apprehensive. Now it was over she felt relieved. She had braved Mary Whitcomb in her home, and repaid Cal the money they owed him. But, strangely, it had never once occurred to her that she was in her ancestral home, the house which rightfully should belong to her family. As she was pondering on this unexpected omission her thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

  ‘He paid for your brother’s coffin, then?’

  Maddy jumped. ‘Who…?’ she gasped, then she saw Ellen, the Whitcomb’s elderly maid, leaning over the side gate to the farm. Rugs were hung on the washing line, and she had a cane carpet beater in her hand, but there were precious few other signs of activity.

  ‘How did you know?’ Maddy demanded.

  ‘Listened at the window,’ said Ellen, quite unconcerned. ‘Gawd, her’d go fair mazed if her ever found out.’ She inclined her head towards the house. There was no mistaking who she meant. ‘You and him speak really easy together. That idn’t the first time you two’m had a chinwag, not by a long chalk.’

  ‘What if it isn’t?’ Maddy raised her head haughtily and glared at the maidservant.

  Ellen merely gave a toothless grin. ‘Don’t worry, I idn’t going to say naught. I idn’t one to get poor Mr Cal’s ears chawed off. If that idn’t typical of him. Don’t make no fuss, yet he’d do a good turn for anyone. Even a Shillabeer.’ Then, shaking her head in wonderment at such generosity, she raised the carpet beater with sinewy arms and began thrashing the rugs.