Mrs Petty made a private note of this decision too. It would not be forgotten.
Lucy drew up plans, agonised over colour schemes, purchased curtain fabric and found a woman willing to drop whatever she’d been doing and make them up within a week. She visited every furniture store in town, and also in Carlisle and Lancaster, purchasing new chandeliers and lamps, sofas and pretty little tables, and an elegant dining room table and eight chairs.
‘Exactly the right number for a dinner party, and really, I’m utterly ashamed to invite anyone to sit on those battered old balloon-backed monstrosities. Absolutely ancient! Came in when Victoria was a girl, I’m sure. Art Deco is the coming thing now. We must move on and be modern. These improvements should have been made years ago. Matters will take a turn for the better, now that I am back. Mark my words, standards will be raised.’
‘And a good thing too, Mama,’ agreed her sycophantic son Jack.
Callum watched events unfold in gloomy silence, simmering with hatred and resentment on his mother’s behalf. He wished he could write to Kate and urge her to come home, warn her that this woman was taking over her house. But how could he? She had to be allowed time to heal, to make a full recovery so that she could better stand up to her sister-in-law. It would do no good at all to bring her home too soon only for her to sink back into depression.
But if Lucy did succeed in taking over the running of the house, as she clearly intended to do, and her son ultimately took control of Tyson Industries, Callum would be out of both home and job, because not for one moment could he contemplate living and working under such circumstances. He’d have to go off some place and start a new life, join the Navy perhaps.
Only then he wouldn’t ever see Bunty again, and he wouldn’t like that one bit.
They’d taken to meeting in the summer house. That they were in love was beyond doubt. This was the main reason why Bunty had no wish to go to Switzerland, though neither had she any wish to be turned into a lady if it meant turning out like her own mother. Nor did Callum wish her to go. He loved her exactly as she was, and certainly didn’t want to risk losing her to some well-heeled dandy.
He told her so now as they cuddled up together, hidden from view in the upper loft. He kissed her soft lips, stroked her full breasts, held her close in his arms. ‘’Course, she might make you go. You’re only seventeen, after all. And I’m not even quite that, though I soon will be. It’s not as if we can get married or owt, not yet.’
‘But you would marry me, wouldn’t you, Callum, if we were old enough? If we were eighteen, for instance, we could elope across the border to Gretna Green.’
She could hear a wood pigeon cooing in the trees, smell the dampness of autumn in the air, the lingering scent of a garden bonfire.
‘I don’t know about that.’ Callum was nothing if not cautious. ‘Your mam wouldn’t approve. She intends to pick out a fine rich husband for you.’
‘I don’t think I could bear that.’
‘Me neither.’
They looked at each other, appalled by the prospect.
‘We’ll have to run away. It’s the only way.’
‘I can’t, not just yet.’
Bunty pouted, which made her look temptingly seductive. ‘Don’t you love me at all, then?’
‘’Course I love you. I worship the ground you walk on. Only me mam needs me to stop on around here for a while longer, at least till I’m sure she’s on the mend. Besides, I need to be content in me own mind that it’s the right thing to do, that you love me enough. You’re a lady, after all, and I’m – I’m a peasant, like yer brother says.’
‘Oh, don’t listen to Jack. What does he know about anything? I do love you enough, I do, I do! Kiss me again, Callum, and I’ll show you how very much.’ And he was more than happy to comply.
Their loving hadn’t been entirely chaste. Sometimes he grew quite daring, unfastening the buttons of her frock and slipping his hand inside to caress her soft, plump breasts, as he was doing today. Bunty never made any sort of protest, as eager to taste the pleasures of the flesh as he.
Tonight they were more daring still, perhaps in defiance of her mother’s strictures. They’d sneaked out after dark for this blissful hour together, and Bunty didn’t hesitate to help him remove her dress, followed by her chemise, so that she was dressed only in her cami-knickers, and soon not even those.
‘You’re so beautiful Bunty, how could I not adore you?’
Callum felt that familiar tightening of his loins, then a breathless urgency that he’d never experienced before. He had to touch every part of her, explore the soft folds and secret delights of her enchanting body. He was fascinated by the bush between her legs, by the way her nipples sprang to the lightest caress, the way she moaned softly when he touched her in her most intimate places and lay back in open invitation. How could he resist, he had to have her, loving her as he did?
They lay together afterwards on the dusty floor, a patch of moonlight illuminating their nakedness, for it had been short work for Callum to remove his own garments and claim her as his own. It had been the first time for both of them, but the whole delightful experience had seemed perfectly natural, and neither gave a single thought to the possibility of any consequences.
It was as they were creeping back through the garden, giggling as they stumbled over some tree roots, since they had only a pale moon to guide them, that a voice rang out.
‘What the hell have you been up to now, peasant?’
Callum was stunned and appalled to find their way blocked by the tall, arrogant figure of Jack. His mouse brown hair wasn’t slicked down as it usually was, but spiky and rumpled, his tie loose and his collar undone. He’d clearly been drinking, and his foul mood all too evident.
Not answering his question, Callum turned to Bunty. ‘Go to bed, don’t you get involved in this.’
‘But I am involved. Jack, this has nothing to do with you. Callum and I are – friends, and we’re entitled to meet and – and talk, if we want to.’
Jack snorted. ‘I bet that’s not all you were doing! My God, I’ll have you for this. First you go around asking questions, calling in the police and practically accusing my mother of causing that damned accident to your stupid father, now you’re interfering with my sister. Take your filthy hands off her!’ Jack lunged for Bunty, grabbing her arm and dragging her roughly to his side. ‘As for you, you stupid little tart, we’ll see what Mother has to say about this.’
Bunty’s eyes grew wide with fright. ‘No, no, you mustn’t tell her, you mustn’t say a word! What are you accusing Callum of? What was all that about the accident?’
‘Shut up, and do as you’re told.’
‘You leave her alone, you bloody bully!’
‘Or else what? What will you do? You don’t belong here. You’re not a genuine Tyson, not part of my family. You’re a brainless, spineless brat. Eliot Tyson disinherited us because of you, workhouse bastard that you are! And he caused my father’s suicide.’
‘That’s not my fault, even if it’s true, which I doubt. And who says you have any right to the business?’
‘I have the right because I’m a Tyson, and you’re not! If your father really was drowned in the river, then you should follow him to his watery grave. Or better still, maybe we should fix up another accident ... to your stupid mother this time.’
Callum flung out a fist and smashed it into Jack’s sneering face. Blood spurted, making a satisfying mess all down his clean shirt front. Jack glanced down in surprise, flinging Bunty aside as he put one hand to his injured nose, cursing under his breath.
‘You’ve ruined my best shirt, you turd!’
He flung out a wild punch, roughly aiming at Callum’s nose, which he missed.
Callum couldn’t help but laugh, seeing Jack nearly overbalance himself in his efforts to retaliate. It was a mistake. He’d been almost as surprised as Jack to find that his own blow had connected. He’d never had much opportunity for fighting, not on t
he farm in the quiet of the Langdales, although the farmer had knocked him about quite a bit.
Unfortunately, Jack had been taught the sport of pugilism at public school and his next punch landed full on Callum’s jaw, sending him sprawling. Callum was back on his feet in a second, but, drunk or no, Jack was the better fighter, aiming blows with remarkable efficiency, demented with fury and fighting like a madman.
Not that Callum was simply going to grit his teeth and take the beating. He’d done enough of that over what seemed like a life-time. Instinct came into play, fuelled by all the pent-up frustration and rage battened down over years of abuse and neglect, and by the burning resentment he felt towards this youth and his dratted mother.
He defended himself with gusto, if not particularly effectively, certainly doing his best to counter the punches, managing to dodge some of them and giving as good as he got to the rest. Blood flowed, teeth were broken, knuckles skinned and bruised, and all the while Bunty’s screams over-rode it all.
They might well have gone on until they’d actually killed each other, or one of them was at least knocked unconscious, had not Lucy’s voice rung out across the garden.
‘Who’s there? What is going on? If you don’t get off my land this minute I’ll set the dogs on you.’
Since the dogs in question were Aunt Cissie’s lazy hounds, Callum almost laughed out loud, except that Jack’s knee chose that second to connect with his rib cage, and with all the wind knocked out of him, he crumpled and fell to the ground. He was vaguely aware of a tussle going on between Jack and Bunty as he dragged his sister away, but was in no position to protest or to help her. Callum knew when he was licked. He lay on the ground quite unable to move. And if he didn’t have a couple of broken ribs, it would be a miracle.
Lucy found him within seconds, and, sparing not a thought for the possibility of such injuries, dragged him to his feet then pushed and shoved him up the stairs to his room at the back of the house.
Flinging him on the bed, she bore down upon Callum in a flurry of rage, the like of which he’d never before seen in all his life. She stormed about the small room like a hurricane, picking up books and hurling them to the floor, sweeping a photograph of his mother right off his bedside table and smashing it to the ground.
Callum could do nothing. He lay curled on his bed, nursing his injuries while she wreaked her revenge.
Then Lucy turned her attention back to him, spitting and hissing at him like a wild cat, berating him with the kind of unleashed fury he’d never before witnessed, not even in Mr Brocklebank, so that he actually feared for his life. One punch on his ribs, which could well be cracked, and she could easily puncture his lungs.
‘If Jack has given you a pasting, you must have richly deserved it. Pity I came outside when I did. Next time I’ll leave him to finish you off. Let this serve as a warning: keep your nose out of my affairs! No more questions asked, no further visits to Constable Brown. Do you understand what I’m saying? You may think you’ve beaten me in getting back here, causing trouble at every turn, but I’m not done with you yet. Not by a long chalk.’
Callum spoke with difficulty, his lips so badly cut he could barely move them, and his mouth tasted rusty with blood. ‘I’m not scared of you. There’s no way you can hurt me more than you have already.’
She laughed then, throwing back her head and almost chortling with glee, as if welcoming the challenge. ‘Oh, yes, there is. The best way to hurt you, boy, is through your mother. And nothing would give me greater pleasure.’
Mrs Petty claimed never to have seen such injuries in all her born days, declaring her own simple skills with herbs and medicines to be quite inadequate to the task. But Callum wouldn’t hear of her calling in a doctor.
‘Too many questions. I’ll be OK.’
‘You will not, young man, not in your present condition.’ She’d found him still in his room the next morning, having gone looking for him when he didn’t turn up for his breakfast in the kitchen, as arranged, or gone off to work at his usual time. ‘So what happened? Walk into a door, did you?’
‘Something of the sort.’
Mrs Petty snorted with disgust, not wishing to appear soft with the lad even though her heart went out to him, seeing him so badly injured. ‘Well, I only hope the other chap is worse. Lads will be lads, I suppose, when all’s said and done. But we has to do summat about this mess.’
She sent Ida scurrying for hot water and the pair of them bathed and tended Callum’s wounds, washed his face and bruised knuckles, then seeing how he winced, trying to protect his ribs, strapped him up with some strips of old sheeting. ‘If tha’s broken owt, it’ll get more painful later, rather than less, so take a swig of this.’
Despite his protests, Mrs Petty forced down a spoonful of her famous elixir. ‘You can have another spoonful when it gets bad. I’ll leave it by your bed. Only one, mind. It’s powerful stuff. What a commotion we’re having today! Didn’t you hear mother and daughter having a right set to earlier? I’ll have to look sharp because I have to help pack Miss Bunty’s luggage. She’s off to her fancy finishing school.’
‘What now? Today?’ Callum was shocked and struggled to sit up.
Mrs Petty pushed him gently down again. ‘Left this morning, first thing. Her luggage is to be sent on later.’
And so Callum was left alone with his loss; to his tears over losing Bunty without even having the opportunity to say goodbye, and to his worries over his mother. What would happen when she came home from Scarborough? Lucy’s threat had been all too real. The battle lines were clearly drawn. She’d failed to rid herself of them thus far, but had practically admitted that she’d succeeded with Eliot. His mother might well be next. How could he possibly protect her?
Chapter Seven
Kate returned home unexpectedly a few days later, to what appeared to be utter pandemonium, viewing the scene before her in complete bewilderment. When she had left, the house had been perfectly calm and quiet. Now, a mere three weeks later, she seemed to be surrounded by mess and mayhem on all sides with dust, dirt and chaos everywhere, workmen occupying every room.
From what she could see through the open door of the drawing room, half the plaster from the ceiling was all over the floor, and the sound of hammering coming from the dining room was deafening. Kate stood transfixed in the hall, staring about her as if she didn’t know quite where she was. What could they be doing in there, and what would Eliot have said about all this mess in his lovely old house?
It was Aunt Vera who came to her senses first. As she spied Lucy running down the stairs to greet them, she set down her carpet bag with a thump and stoutly enquired what on earth was going on.
‘Oh, dear, you’ve come home too soon,’ was Lucy’s swift response. ‘You should have stayed on for a fourth week as I begged you to in my last letter, then I could have had everything looking quite lovely by the time you got back.’
Vera, who was unused to being challenged, tartly responded, ‘All what looking lovely? This is much more than a burst pipe in a bathroom.’
‘Which you led us to believe was the problem,’ echoed Cissie, looking prim.
‘I can only think you’ve suffered some sort of flood to cause such mayhem.’
Lucy gave a trill of false laughter. ‘Dear me, no, nothing so dramatic. The river has behaved itself beautifully but I decided to go ahead and install a second bathroom. I really cannot endure Ida bringing up jugs of hot water every day. I never feel quite clean and the water is generally lukewarm by the time that ancient hip bath if full. I’ve also installed a bathroom for you, dear aunts.’
‘For us? Oh, my dear,’ Cissie declared, quite perking up at the thought of a proper bathroom.
Vera was less easily mollified. ‘And who is paying for all this, might I ask?’
Lucy smiled pityingly at her. ‘I’m sure dear Eliot’s estate can run to a few small improvements. It’s long past time the house was brought out of the Victorian age, don’t you think? We
agreed upon that, did we not Kate?’
‘Did we?’ Kate struggled to focus on the mass of detail Lucy was giving her, her voice rattling on about the hours she’d spent searching for the right curtain fabric, or paint, or wallpaper, as well as bullying people to come and get the work done quickly and spare Kate the trouble.
‘I thought it would be an excellent opportunity to make a start while you were away, to save you the bother since you were so low. I know it looks bad at the moment, but at least you avoided the worst of the mess. Sadly, now that you have returned home a week earlier than expected, my lovely surprise has been ruined.’ Lucy sighed, melodramatically. ‘But I’m quite certain that you’ll love it, once the house is clean and tidy again, the new furnishings arrive and ...’
‘New furnishings? What new furnishings?’
When she was in Scarborough walking along the sea front, Kate had thought herself well enough to return home and take up the reins at the factory again. Enjoying the stiff sea breezes, eating the excellent breakfasts provided by their landlady at their small hotel she’d felt alive again, fit for anything.
But now, standing here in the midst of this chaos with Lucy pointing out all the deficiencies of her home, high-handedly making changes without consultation, Kate could feel her new-found confidence and courage beginning to slip away. ‘I don’t recall agreeing to new furnishings, or anything else for that matter.’
Lucy patted her hand in a condescending, patronising manner. ‘Oh, dear, and I so hoped that the sea air would do you good. Have you no recollection of our little discussion before you left?’
‘Discussion?’ Kate began to feel even more confused.
‘When we spoke of the need for a second bathroom, didn’t we also decide to replace those dreadful old sofas, and that ancient dining room suite? I felt certain that you would remember. We did agree that it must be done. Admittedly,’ Lucy continued, adroitly taking advantage of Kate’s confusion, ‘We did not discuss redecoration, but I decided there was little point in bringing new furniture into a faded, shabby room. I took it upon myself to call in the decorators while you were all away, to spruce the place up a bit first. Long overdue, I feel. My dear, it was filthy, and I’m sure you’ll be pleased with the result when it is finished.’
The Woman From Heartbreak House Page 6
