Eden Falls

by Sanderson, Jane

  Jem said nothing. Across the yard, Lady Henrietta emerged from the kitchen door with two arthritic Labradors in tow. Jem’s terrier zigzagged through their legs and barked, and Henrietta bent down to tickle him behind his ear. ‘Now then little fellow,’ she said to the dog, and then, addressing Jem, ‘I thought I’d bring Min and Jess, unless you think they’ll slow you down.’ They were the late earl’s dogs, trained to the gun, although the soft weight of a pheasant in their mouths was but a distant memory. Now their most useful service was as foot warmers on a winter’s evening, or footstools in the summer. In either case, they would lie still for as long as anyone required them to.

  ‘Master’s dogs’re allus welcome,’ Jem said. He set off towards the arch, which led to the open countryside and Harley End, and the bailiff clucked with indignation. Henrietta gave him a questioning look.

  ‘I was querying Mr Arkwright’s inadequate record-keeping,’ he said treacherously.

  ‘But it’s your job, Mr Blandford, to keep the accounts,’ said Henrietta. She didn’t like the bailiff, or even trust him especially; she believed he had delusions of superiority, and they had had run-ins in the past, when she had had to check his arrogance and put him in his place. But her father had rated him highly, and for this reason he had kept his position; this, and the fact that it would be more trouble than it was worth to dismiss him. The estate properties were numerous indeed, and Absalom Blandford knew the details of every last one: the rents, the tenants, the leases. He looked at her now with his hard, conker-brown eyes, and said, ‘My accounts ledgers bear the closest possible scrutiny, Your Ladyship, but the land agent persistently refuses to oblige me by keeping even a rudimentary tally of expenditure.’

  The bailiff was probably right, thought Henrietta; she imagined Jem was as sparing with his figures as he was with his conversation. But she said, ‘Please don’t trouble Mr Arkwright again with such matters,’ which forced him to bow his head and say, ‘Very well, Your Ladyship.’

  She set off after Jem, and the dogs plodded single file behind her. Absalom watched the small procession. In his world a goodly number of people fell short of his own high standards, and among them was Lady Henrietta Hoyland. She allowed her heart to rule her head, and she smelled strongly of horse. He again held his handkerchief over his nose and mouth and took a dose of its lavender scent. Thus restored, he hurried back to his office where, from time to time, he was free to imagine Lady Henrietta on her knees in front of him, begging forgiveness for her foolishness and pleading with him not to leave her for the Devonshires at Chatsworth, where his unequalled talents and hawk-eyed acumen would be properly appreciated. In his way, he mourned the passing of the sixth earl more than anyone. The unswerving loyalty that he had always tried to show to Teddy Hoyland now had nowhere to reside.

  Chapter 44

  Silas gave Eve his arm and walked her from the car to the hotel with a smile of benign triumph, as if he alone had nursed her back to health. It was lunchtime, and there were chicken wings and pork ribs griddling over the jerk pit; the air smelled of green pimento wood and peppers. Hotel guests mingled on the terrace with tall glasses of rum punch. There was a sense of lively camaraderie and a smattering of music, and in the thick of it all was Hugh Oliver, straight off the boat. He emerged from the throng with his arms wide.

  ‘I wish your husband could see you now,’ he said, and to his great surprise, this stopped Eve in her tracks. Silas, however, strode on up to Hugh and shook his hand boisterously. ‘As I live and breathe,’ he said. ‘The “and Co.” in Whittam & Co. How the devil are you?’

  But Hugh was looking at Eve’s face, which was full of alarm. ‘Why?’ she said.

  ‘Because he has you knocking at death’s door, my dear woman, and here you are, as palely, beautifully alive as an English rose.’ He had a silken tongue, Hugh Oliver, but it made little impact on Eve, who only stared.

  ‘Marvellous, isn’t it?’ Silas said, loudly and more robustly than seemed strictly appropriate. ‘Full recovery from the nastiest bout of yellow fever I’ve ever seen. We have a fighting spirit, we Whittams: never say die. We should put it in Latin, above our doors.’ He laughed, but no one joined in.

  ‘But Daniel doesn’t know, does ’e?’ Eve said to Hugh. ‘None of them know, thank goodness.’ She was halfway up the path, and appeared rooted to the spot, so Hugh began to walk down to her. Behind him the music and laughter seemed suddenly at odds with the mood here, on the herringbone path in the fragrant garden. Eve had worked a miracle in his absence; he had shouted for joy when he first arrived and found the staff – the same staff as before, with a few new faces too – greeting guests with wide, Jamaican smiles and a calypso beat. But now some strange, unexpected current ran between himself and Eve: a fundamental failure of understanding or communication. She was rigid with the new anxiety that his words had caused her, and Hugh couldn’t comprehend the reason. Behind him, Silas said, ‘I thought it best to let them know.’ He sounded defiant and defensive. ‘If the worst had happened, it seemed better to prepare them for it.’

  ‘But it didn’t,’ Eve said. ‘The worst didn’t ’appen.’

  ‘And aren’t we all deeply grateful for that!’

  Eve fixed him with an unsmiling gaze.‘So did you send another telegram, to let them know I was on t’mend?’

  On the terrace above her Seth appeared, looking shy and uncertain of his reception. Eve, seeing him, smiled and said, ‘Seth, sweetheart.’

  ‘Hello,’ Seth said. ‘You look well.’ He would have liked to hug her, but everyone was looking now, including the guests.

  ‘Seth did, didn’t you Seth?’

  This was Silas, addressing his nephew with a confident smile. ‘That is, I asked you to.’

  ‘What?’ said Seth. ‘Sir,’ he added, not wishing to sound insolent. He had no idea what his uncle was talking about.

  ‘The telegram, telling the Netherwood clan that all was well; did you deal with it?’

  There was a silence, long and uncomfortable, which was broken by Eve. ‘Not to worry,’ she said quickly. ‘Fact is, I’m fine, and we can let ’em all know now, can’t we?’ Seth’s ears were puce-coloured; always, the physical manifestation of his emotions began here. He looked as if he might cry. ‘It’s all right, love,’ she said, and Silas laughed. Seth, confused by his uncle, was angry now at his mother, for treating him like a child. He glowered silently.

  ‘A mother’s love for her child knows no bounds, isn’t that right?’ Silas said. ‘I was about to be torn off a strip for being at fault, yet now you discover the failing is Seth’s the offence is forgivable.’

  Seth, struck mute, tried to remember being asked to dispatch a telegram, but couldn’t. If he had, he would have been forced to ask how to go about it, never having sent a telegram in his life. But it was inappropriate, he felt, to challenge his uncle in front of everyone, on this happy occasion, and in any case Silas was already ushering everyone inside, introducing Eve to some of the new English guests, spreading bonhomie, so the moment for any form of self-defence was lost. His mam didn’t blame him, he could see that, but neither did she realise the truth. She had merely excused his supposed forgetfulness, in a very public and shaming way.

  Later that day Hugh showed him how to word a telegram and how to send it via a telephone call to the Western Union in New York City. This made Seth feel a little better, a little less like a hapless dunce. He didn’t know what to say about the injustice done to him by his uncle, so he said nothing at all.

  Eve had an afternoon nap with Angus, who had given up the habit in her absence but made an exception in honour of her return. They slept for two hours, holding hands, and then, when they woke, he led her downstairs to the kitchen where, he told her with great authority, Ruby would have jobs for them both. She didn’t, in fact, but to oblige him she sent him down to the entrance gate to wait for Roscoe to return from school, as if, without Angus, her son would never find his way into the hotel. Eve sat down and for a while she wat
ched Ruby moving purposefully around the kitchen, and then she said, ‘I owe you a great deal, Ruby.’ Ruby put down the spoon she had been using and said, ‘You owe me nothing at all.’

  ‘I don’t know ’ow you make that out. You nursed me and you cared for Angus. I don’t know what would’ve ’appened without you.’

  ‘I did what any mother would do for another,’ Ruby said, although she knew there had been more to it than that. It had been a sort of devotion. She busied herself at the range, where scallions and tomatoes simmered. She was making codfish fritters, which would be served as canapés before dinner, and now she added two fat cloves of garlic, chopped small, to the skillet on the hob. They popped and hissed in the hot oil and juices, and their particular smell rose up at once, filling the kitchen.

  ‘Well, anyway,’ Eve said, ‘I’m grateful. I shan’t forget what you did, and I shan’t forget you.’

  ‘Forget me?’ Ruby said, turning from the pan with an expression of mock astonishment. ‘What an idea! No one can forget the person who first fed them curry goat.’

  ‘Not to mention callaloo, and ackee with saltfish,’ Eve said, smiling. ‘Can’t get any of that at t’Co-op in Netherwood.’

  Ruby turned away again, and with her back to Eve said, ‘When will you go?’ She hardly wished to know the answer.

  ‘I don’t know. Quite soon, I expect, but it all depends.’

  This seemed vague enough not to cause Ruby any immediate consternation. She didn’t like to think of Eve gone at all; somehow Eve stood between herself and Silas Whittam and made her feel stronger. And Angus; the thought of him made her catch her breath. He was the sort of lovable, trusting child whose friendship was a gift. No: she knew they didn’t belong here, but she didn’t want them to go.

  A clatter at the back door heralded the arrival of Roscoe, accompanied by his little shadow.

  ‘Roscoe said we can swim,’ Angus said. ‘Can we, Ruby?’

  ‘Please,’ Roscoe said, in a reprimanding voice that made Angus scowl, although he repeated the word dutifully enough. Ruby felt a jab of concern that the child was seeking her permission rather than his mother’s, and she looked across at Eve, who was, in turn, looking at the boys, from one to the other.

  ‘Mam?’ said Angus, redressing the balance. ‘Please can we?’ His childish lisp was endearing, and it wasn’t too much to ask, but Eve didn’t answer. She only turned and looked back at Ruby with an expression that the other woman understood at once.

  ‘Certainly,’ Ruby said to Angus, and then to Roscoe she added, ‘but be back before five.’ He grinned at her by way of assurance, slung his satchel into the scullery and took a banana from the hook by the larder, then said, ‘Race you,’ and ran out of the door. Angus flew out after him with a howl of indignation, leaving Ruby and Eve alone again. They were held still for a moment by a heavy, significant silence, and then Ruby said, ‘You remembered.’

  Eve nodded slowly. ‘Strangest thing. I saw Roscoe, and thought there was something of Silas in ’is face, and then I recalled that night when you talked about it all. It’s like remembering a dream.’

  ‘It was quite a night,’ Ruby said, a little tightly.

  ‘I think, if I didn’t already know, I wouldn’t see any resemblance at all. I see you in Roscoe, usually.’

  ‘Well, he’s my life’s work,’ Ruby said and tried to smile, although she felt tense, and sad, as if everything now would be different, and none the better for that. All Roscoe’s life she had hidden the identity of his daddy. She believed it to be right that Eve should know the truth but even so, she couldn’t see a happy outcome.

  Behind her, the sweet smell of caramelised scallions began to spoil, so she turned at once to shove them around in the skillet and stop them from blackening. There was some small comfort in this everyday activity. She took the pan off the heat and flaked the salted cod into it, breaking up the firm white flesh between her fingers and thumbs. Her heart raced, although she didn’t precisely know why, and beneath her feet the ground seemed unfirm, like the deck of a boat in a heavy swell. Eve said nothing, but Ruby could feel her eyes upon her – at least, she thought she could, but when she turned Eve seemed to be looking inward, at her own private thoughts.

  ‘That woman,’ she said now. ‘Justine.’

  Ruby waited.

  ‘Is she carrying Silas’s child?’

  She hadn’t been sworn to secrecy, so Ruby said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Does ’e ’ave others?’

  This was a question so obvious that Ruby was astonished she had never asked it herself. ‘I suppose he might do, yes.’ She thought of all the long-limbed young women who harvested his fruit and carried it on their heads down the track to the Rio Grande. She thought of their strong, slender arms and the softness of their breasts and bellies beneath the gaudy cloth of their dresses. It was inevitable, she thought now, that one or other of them would have been plucked from the ranks like ripe fruit, to be enjoyed by their employer. He was greedy. He had no restraint. Who knew how many offspring he had sired?

  ‘Ruby, I’m so sorry. I feel ashamed.’

  ‘Not on my account, I hope.’

  ‘No, no, of Silas, of t’way ’e carries on.’

  Ruby shrugged, and Eve thought how much the gesture reminded her of Anna, which in turn made her long for her friend.

  ‘Mr Mention,’ Ruby said, ‘that’s all he is, checking off his conquests with notches in a stick. He likes Jamaican girls.’

  ‘And Justine – do you think ’e likes ’er?’

  ‘For now, I think he probably does. In his way, that is.’

  ‘Ruby, when we talked, the night I fell ill, did you tell me you loved Silas?’

  Ruby said, ‘Once, a long, long time ago, I thought I loved him, yes.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I hate him. Many people do. I don’t want people to know he’s Roscoe’s daddy. Especially, I don’t want Roscoe to know, although I think that’s a vain hope, because he’ll probably tell the boy himself one of these days.’

  Eve sighed, a long, despairing sigh that touched Ruby’s heart because she could see how different these siblings were, and how difficult it must be for Eve to hear these truths. Ruby thought for a moment, searching for something good to say, and then, ‘He’s morally lax, Eve, and he’s selfish and arrogant. But he isn’t absolutely wicked.’ Eve looked at her with gratitude, for trying to be kind.

  Chapter 45

  When Seth had first come to Jamaica he had found its beauty oppressive. The abundance of colour and the crushing, endless march of foliage had seemed too much, and certainly most unlike Bristol. But then, Bristol had seemed exotic compared to Netherwood. The Avon Gorge had made him gasp the first time he saw it: the towering limestone cliffs and the depth and breadth of the Avon were as dramatic a natural landscape as he had ever seen. Also the lively, filthy, crowded docks where the seagulls – massive birds, Seth thought: cruel beaks and talons, and mocking, wheeling cries – filled the skies when the cargo steamers came in, dropping like feathered rocks to steal what they could from the decks. It was all as foreign to Seth as another country, and indeed he had felt as if he spoke a different language from the clerks he worked with, whose Somerset burr was as odd to his ear as his Barnsley tyke was to them.

  But Jamaica had stunned him. Something like claustrophobia came upon him the first time he walked from the hotel to the waterfalls, which were only accessible through a tunnel of vivid, dripping green. He remembered looking closely at the construction and feeling repelled by the vines and the creepers that had knotted themselves into and among the leaves to make a woven roof and walls that would surely, ultimately, strangle anything tender, anything soft. It had reminded Seth of the tangle of briars around Sleeping Beauty’s castle: sinister and defensive. He would have liked to take a machete to it, or a sword, just as the prince did.

  He had only been once to Eden Falls, and that was because of the tunnel. It annoyed him that his mam loved the falls so much that
she’d named the hotel after them, and that Roscoe Donaldson took Angus there most days and had taught him to swim. Seth couldn’t swim. There was a large pond on Netherwood Common where he pretended to swim, so no one knew he couldn’t. He knew where the shallower parts were and stuck to those. That, or he sat on the edge saying no, he didn’t fancy a swim today – and that was always a plausible stance, because it was a mucky hole where sometimes people drowned unwanted puppies and kittens in tied sacks. He should probably have learned here, in the warm waters of the Caribbean Sea: how to begin such a thing, though, at the great age of almost seventeen? He could hardly ask Roscoe for help.

  These thoughts streamed through his mind and darkened his expression as he sat on the terrace of the hotel, listening to the sounds of the jungle. The solitaire bird, hidden somewhere in the tree canopy, had set up its plaintive whistle, which was supposed to be hauntingly melodic but Seth thought sounded more like a metal gate with a chronic squeak.

  ‘Spot of oil, lad, that’s what you need,’ he said to the bird, and jumped when Hugh Oliver said, ‘Beg pardon?’

  Seth blushed and said, ‘I was talking to myself.’ Hugh smiled, then sat down next to him in a seat that swung, very gently, as it took his weight. Seth’s admiration for Hugh was unbounded. He had a way of dealing with life that Seth longed to emulate: an equable approach to disruption or disorder. Seth had never seen him lose his temper – that is, never in the way that Uncle Silas did, making cruel verbal parries, shouting down even the most timorous of counter-arguments. When Silas tried this approach with Hugh, he would employ a quiet, steely smile to throw him off kilter and then walk away until tempers had cooled. Seth had seen it many a time – had tried the smile in front of a mirror – but he couldn’t pull it off. He looked merely simple, not steely. If Seth found the courage to confide, Hugh would probably help him achieve the same sangfroid, or something approaching it, because he was a kind man, and generous too. For all these reasons, Seth admired him, but especially he admired his good looks. Hugh was a Bristolian of very unexceptional parentage, but somewhere along the line of his ancestry, an English seafarer had bred with an African slave. This was the legend, at any rate, and certainly Hugh had never attempted any other explanation for his glossy dark curls, his wide-set dark brown eyes and his skin colour, which seemed unremarkable – pale, even – here in Port Antonio, but so markedly exotic in Bristol and Netherwood.