The Promise

by Michelle Vernal

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t even know for certain you’d be the right Constance. It’s all been a bit of guesswork but you can see can’t you, given the circumstances, why I felt I needed to try and find you? Erm, are you alright? Should I call for Nurse Jill?’

  Constance turned her attention to Isabel, her voice sharp. ‘It will take more than a voice from the past to see me off, young lady. I lived through the war and worse.’

  ‘Yes, of course. Well, I’ve said what I came to say.’ Isabel got up from her seat feeling disgruntled and deflated at the same time. There would be no cosy chat about who Ginny was to Constance or why she felt she shouldn’t have left Wight. She would never know, but at least she’d done her part—she’d kept her promise. Isabel made to leave, but Constance spoke.

  ‘What I don’t understand is, if all you had to go on was a name and Wight how you found me?’

  Isabel explained her conversation with Father Joyce at the funeral and how she’d felt compelled to come to Ryde and try at least to fulfill her promise. She told her about finding work at the Rum Den and how she’d trooped around the various rest homes to no avail, finishing by telling her how she’d come to be renting a room in Constance’s old house. ‘So you see it was as though clues were being dropped my way wherever I went, but it was enquiring as to the room to let that lead me to you in the end.’

  ‘I see.’

  Isabel had said what she’d come to say, and she hadn’t been made to feel welcome, in fact, she felt like she’d already outstayed it. ‘Well, it was nice to meet you Miss, er, Constance.’

  ‘Is that eczema on your neck?’

  Isabel paused mid-step startled by the question, and her hand flew to her scarf. She thought she’d hidden the patch successfully, but this woman was hawkeyed.

  ‘Let me have a look.’ She beckoned her closer putting her glasses on once more.

  Given Isabel had always been taught to respect her elders she dutifully undid her scarf and bent down to show Constance the irritated skin.

  ‘Hmm, a chamomile bath, using the dried flowers tied off in a cheesecloth or piece of muslin would help with that. Or, and listen carefully, because I think given the rawness of your skin this will be more effective. Boil two cups of horsetail herbs in four cups of water for ten minutes and add it to a tepid bath. That should do the trick. You can follow the treatment up by dabbing honey, raw honey mind, on the areas affected. The inclusion of bone broth in your diet is helpful too as is a regular dose of cod liver oil. A daily dip in the sea or application of seawater to the affected area will help relieve the itching.’

  Isabel’s gaze flitted to the window. A dip in the sea could induce hypothermia. She was acclimatised to warmer waters than the English Channel, but the rest sounded interesting and the day was stretching long ahead of her. She had nothing to lose by trying something different, and this woman by all accounts knew her herbs.

  ‘Where would I find horsetail herbs?’ Isabel envisaged herself trudging over fields with a basket slung over her arm foraging for herbs.

  ‘There’s a new shop opened on Union Street. It's not hard to find, and there’s not much the young lady who owns it doesn’t stock.’

  ‘Oh.’ The romantic image vanished. ‘You must miss your shop. It was very popular I’ve been told.’

  Constance gave a little nod.

  There was something in her expression, a hint perhaps of the loneliness of old age that made Isabel ask, ‘Shall I come back and tell you how I get on?’

  ‘I’d like that,’ Constance replied to Isabel’s surprise, and she was pleased she’d suggested a return visit as she caught a glimpse beneath the woman’s hardened shell to the softer centre inside. As she turned to leave, Constance called out to her, ‘Would you like a Malteser before you go, dear?’

  Chapter 24

  The Solent’s water journeyed in with gentle lapping and covered Isabel’s bare feet. She couldn’t help but squeal at the coldness of it, hopping from foot to foot as it whooshed away again leaving rivulets of water running down the sand. Her jeans were rolled up to her calves but were still damp thanks to the odd rogue wave. She wasn’t the only hardy paddler on the bluish-grey horizon. Two women a short distance from her were laughing, their skirts held up in bunches as they ventured deeper into the water where it formed white tips. They’d get wet knickers if they carried on, she thought sagely. There were even a few brazen enough to go for a dip; she saw as one man reared up out of the water. He shook his head, sending droplets of water flying. He looked like a seal in his wetsuit, she thought. A seal who was auditioning for a shampoo advert.

  The next time the water swished in, she was ready and bending down she filled the empty medicine bottle, she’d picked up at Boots, her second port of call after the herbal health store. The store, she’d seen from the twirling sign as she walked up Union Street, was called The Natural Way. Inside, it was light and modern, and just as Constance had said she would, she’d found everything she’d needed for what she was now thinking of as her war on eczema.

  The shopkeeper, a woman around her age, had looked up from the box she was unpacking as Isabel entered. For someone working in a magic potions shop, she looked rather normal as did the shop, Isabel decided taking in her faded khaki cargo pants and yellow T-shirt with a white dove pictured on it. She was pretty, she noticed absently, her pixie cut framing a roundish, friendly face. There was no nutcracker nose, chin with warts or pointy black hat to be seen.

  ‘Hi, I’m Delwyn—how’re you today?’

  ‘Good thanks.’ Isabel’s eyes scanned the shelves.

  ‘Is there anything, in particular, you were looking for?’

  ‘There is, yes. Raw honey for starters please.’ Isabel followed Delwyn’s lead and stood staring at the array of jars. ‘It’s for my skin.’

  ‘I’ve just the thing.’ She picked a jar filled with golden liquid off the shelf and handed it to Isabel. ‘This is fresh from a local hive as of yesterday.’

  Isabel swallowed hard upon seeing the price. It better be worth it. ‘Thanks. I also need some dried chamomile please.’

  The shelves of the shop Isabel saw scanning them were full but not cluttered with packets of every kind of dried herb imaginable. There were specialty teas, and aromatherapy oils and her eyes scanned the ‘raw materials’, shelf with curiosity. Distilled witch hazel, neroli oil, organic beeswax, myrrh gum—it really was a shop full of ingredients for a witches brew.

  ‘Believe it or not, I’m out of dried chamomile, sorry. I’ll have it back in stock by the end of the week. I could give you a call as soon as it arrives if you like?’

  Isabel didn’t want to wait that long. ‘Oh bugger. Well, what about dried horsetail herbs then?’ She hadn’t fancied the sound of that, but Constance had said she thought it would be more effective. In for a penny, in for a pound and all that as her mother would say!

  ‘Yes, that’s not quite such a big seller.’ Delwyn smiled scanning the shelf. ‘Ah, here it is. Horsetail likes the banks of streams and boggy ground. It’s rampant in these parts. If you don’t mind my asking, what are you using it for?’ She handed the packet to Isabel for her to inspect.

  ‘I don’t mind. I get a bit of eczema. It’s not severe enough for a visit to the doctor, but it’s enough to be annoying, and Constance Downer recommended it, I think you might know her?’

  ‘Oh yes. She’s an amazing lady. Quite the legend around these parts and very knowledgeable. I’ve only met her the once when she called in and introduced herself. I could chat with her for hours; there’s not many self–trained herbalists left.’

  Amazing and grumpy, Isabel thought unkindly. ‘Well, I had a chat with her this morning about my eczema, and she recommended bathing in chamomile or a brew of horsetail tea.’ She showed Delwyn her neck, seeing her wince at the sight of the weepy, red patch.

  ‘Is she still doing consultations then? I thought she’d retired when she moved into Sea Vistas. That is where she’s living, isn’t it?’
>
  ‘Yes, and I don’t think so. I had a message to pass on to her from a relative, and she spotted the patch on my neck. That was how the conversation came about.’

  ‘Ah, I see, well, Constance would know. I’ve thought about calling on her. Like I said, I’d love to talk to her about some of the old remedies.’

  ‘You should. I got the feeling she’s lonely.’

  ‘Really? I thought she’d have a steady stream of visitors. I will go and see her then.’

  ‘Be warned she can be a bit—’

  ‘Acerbic?’

  ‘Good word.’

  ‘My granny was like that; loneliness can do that to a person. Whole days could pass after my granddad died without her seeing anyone. It won’t phase me. Good luck with the horsetail and honey. I’d love to hear how you get on. If it makes a difference, it means I can recommend it to other customers with confidence.’

  ‘I will,’ Isabel said, following Delwyn to the counter. She handed her the honey and herbs and waited while she rang them up before handing over a decent wedge of the previous night’s earnings. She thanked her and took the bag from her before heading down to the water.

  Now, satisfied she had enough water in her bottle for the eczema assault she headed back up the beach. She sidestepped a woman who’d draped a striped beach towel over her lap to keep the brusque wind at bay. She was sitting in a fold-out chair, her nose in a book. Isabel paused to admire the sandcastle her two girls were building nearby before carrying on. Her feet were coated in gritty sand by the time she reached the spot where she’d left her shoes.

  ‘It’s good for the garden that, isn’t it? Seaweed’s even better, though.’ A gent walking his dog nodded toward the bottle in her hand while the labrador pulled at its lead eager to be on its way.

  He must have watched her scooping it up out of the sea, Isabel realised.

  ‘Brings my carrots along a proper treat does seaweed.’

  She smiled at him. ‘Oh, I’m not using it for my garden. I’m going to try it on my eczema.’

  He rubbed his chin, with his free hand. ‘Eczema, you say? Stop pulling, Riley, old boy.’

  Isabel nodded brushing the sand off her feet.

  ‘My wee granddaughter has a bit of bother with that. She’s only nine, poor love, and it drives her mad not being able to scratch it. Her mother’s even resorted to putting socks on her hands at times. I’d like to know how you get on with that.’ He nodded toward the bottle. ‘Can I give you my mobile number?’

  Isabel was a little taken aback but couldn’t see any harm in giving him a quick call as to whether her remedies were successful or not. ‘I’m using it in conjunction with a few other bits and pieces I picked up from the herbal shop up the road there.’ She gestured vaguely in the direction from which she’d walked down to the water before putting the bottle down. She dug her phone out of her pocket while he chatted away.

  ‘My name’s Don, and this impatient mutt is Riley. Say hello Riley.’

  Isabel gave the panting Riley a wary pat. One canine admirer was quite enough thank you very much, before entering the number Don relayed into her contacts. ‘Okay then, I’d best be on my way, but I’ll be sure and give you a call Don to let you know if any of this stuff helps.’

  ‘That’d be great, thank you, lass. Come on now, Riley.’

  ͠

  ‘Ow, ow, ow,’ Isabel moaned into the bathroom mirror, as she spritzed the sea water onto her neck. The salty bite stung but was bearable, only just. She’d put a pot stuffed with horsetail herbs on to boil as soon as she’d raced up the stairs, grateful Rhodri was busy downstairs. He’d been talking to a customer when she’d breezed past, and had given her a passing wave. She hadn’t wanted to hang around explaining what she was about to do, eager just to get on with the task at hand. She wanted to tell someone about her visit with Constance though, and so as soon as she’d hung her damp jeans over the clothes rack, she rang her mum.

  ‘You’re doing what?’ Babs asked.

  ‘I am boiling horsetail herbs up in a big pot to pour into my bath.’

  ‘Why? And what are you doing having a bath in the middle of the day? You’re not royalty you know. Oh dear, Prince Charles has just had an accident. Outside now! It’s the second time since you left. Shoo, off you go.’

  Isabel heard the door shut and then her mum came back on the line.

  ‘I think it’s anxiety from you leaving again. Give me a sec to mop this up will you?’

  ‘Hey, don’t blame me for your incontinent corgi,’ Isabel said knowing it had fallen on deaf ears. She trawled through the drawers until she found what she was looking for, a wooden spoon.

  ‘Right, that’s sorted. So come on then tell me what on earth it is you’re up to and more importantly how you got on visiting the woman in the retirement home. Was she your Constance?’

  ‘She was.’ Isabel relayed the story of the cantankerous Constance and how she’d given nothing away where Ginny was concerned. She also told her how she’d spotted the flare-up on her neck and had suggested a remedy for it. ‘Remember I told you she used to run a herbal remedies shop in the gallery part of Pier View House?’

  ‘Yes, and you’ve nothing to lose I suppose. I tried rinsing my hair with beer once to give it extra shine, but your dad wasn’t too happy. Said it was a waste of good ale. It worked a treat though. It sounds to me like her snarkiness is because she’s lonely. Your nan was the same, but then she was the one who opted to go to a care facility in flipping Dorset. There was nothing whatsoever wrong with Sunny Days around the corner here.’

  Her words echoed Delwyn’s and Jill’s. ‘Jill’s one of the nurses who works at Sea Vistas, said the same thing, Mum. I’m going to go back and see her tell how I get on with this brew.’

  ‘Let me know and all. One of the ladies at work her son suffers from it something awful too. She’d be interested to hear of an alternative remedy.’

  ‘Al right Mum, love to Dad. I’ve got to go.’

  ‘Bye Isabel, and remember to scrub the bath out afterward. You don’t want to mark your card with your chap this early in the piece.’

  ‘Landlord, not chap mum,’ Isabel said, before hanging up.

  She’d turned the element on the stove off. The herbs were giving off a slightly sweetish smell, almost like wet grass, but nothing noxious enough to send Rhodri flying up the stairs to see what she was up too. It felt rather decadent running a bath in the middle of the day, she thought, putting the plug in. It was only going to be tepid so it shouldn’t send the heating bill through the roof. Leaving the bath to fill, she padded back into the kitchen to strain the herbs before carefully carrying the full pot back through to the bathroom. She upended it into the water and watched the steeped brown mixture slosh in with a grimace. It didn’t look very appealing but needs must.

  Chapter 25

  The stinging on her neck from the salt water was easing now, and it felt pretty good, Isabel thought, clambering into the bath trying not to shiver at the cool temperature. She took a deep breath and submerged herself up to her chin in the water, glad she’d had the foresight to put a shower cap on. She didn’t want her hair getting wet; it would be her luck the herbs would set off some strange reaction with the colour. As her body adjusted to the temperature, she relaxed beginning to drift.

  In her mind’s eye, she conjured up a symphony. They were waiting for her to come on stage, Isabel cast around, where was she? Oh, there she was stepping out from the wings draped in a fabulous silver gown. The dress shimmered beneath a moonlit sky and moved to the rhythm of her steps. The fabric rippling like cascading water as she glided confidently across the stage bearing an uncanny resemblance to Celine Dion but with green hair. Andre Bocelli stood spotlighted in his white tuxedo, looking impossibly handsome and Isabel took his outstretched hand before whispering in his ear.

  A cheer went up from the crowd who were reclining on picnic blankets, the sweet scent of the Tuscan grass tickling their senses as bottles of wine were dr
unk, and cheese platters indulged in. The eager audience had been waiting all night for this moment, hers and Andre’s duet.

  The cheering grew to a jungle-like roar in its power, as Andre leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. They waited for an age for the sound to die down and then as it ebbed, Isabel opened her mouth and, submerged in a bath full of horsetail tea, she began to sing.

  Her voice rose carrying itself up and over the notes of the hauntingly, beautiful, “The Prayer.” She could hear her favourite Italian singer’s wonderfully rich voice as clearly as if he was there singing alongside her—not soaking with her in the bath obviously. She hadn’t taken complete leave of her senses. Besides he was a happily married man and she would never do that to another woman. Isabel enjoyed the sensation of effortlessly climbing to the highest pitch. It was an otherworldly feeling of her voice almost not belonging to her, as the purity of a note soared free. It was why she loved to sing.

  The acoustics in the bathroom were pretty good, she thought, launching into “Time to Say Goodbye”, the shampoo bottle an improvised microphone. By the time she climbed out of the bath despite the water being stone cold, she felt amazing. Euphoric, almost. Singing did that for her. It lifted her to a higher plane if only for a little while. She gave a little bow to the empty bathroom before pulling the plug and wrapping herself in a towel.

  Her neck looked better already she decided, wiping a patch of condensation off the mirror and peering at it. She scooped a blob of honey from the pot and plastered it onto the patch. Next, she daubed it on the pesky area inside the crook of her arm. Isabel twisted this way and that, but so far as she could see, she hadn’t come out in any hideous spots.

  Yes, it had been worth all the palaver, she decided straightening up the bathroom before swishing out the bath until she was satisfied there would be no tell-tale brown rim left behind. Her clothes lay in a pile where she’d stepped out of them, and scooping them up a sprinkle of sand fell like fine drizzle to the floor. She’d sweep up the remains of her walk on the beach in a bit but first things first, she needed some fresh clothes to change into. Her jeans, she remembered, were on the clothes rack in the sitting room drying out.