by Gloria Cook
Julian grunted. ‘Two bob’s worth in a back alley the first time and not at all satisfying.’ Then he grinned, ‘There’s a certain address I know, old chap, where one can seek a bit of comfort. There’s other activities to excite the blood too. Liquor, gambling, ways past the shortages, if you get my meaning.’
‘Sounds just the place, Julian.’ The motor car chugged smoothly on.
‘Have you by any chance…?’
‘Of course.’
‘Same sort of assignation as I?’
‘Nothing like that.’ The motor car rounded a tight bend and made the short distance to Tremore Farm and parked in the lane, which was straight and comfortably wide here, with a crossroads in sight and a small woodland beyond. The two young men got out.
Ben had spoken just now with emotion. ‘Surely not with Emilia? She seems a jolly decent sort of girl to me.’
‘It was with her, Julian. It happened once and we were in love.’ Ben stared down at the animal-fouled road. ‘I can trust you not to mention it?’
‘Absolutely.’ Julian was thoughtful. ‘Ben, why don’t you try to win her back?’
‘Too much has happened between us.’ There was no track leading to the farmstead, it stretched back from a low granite wall that was overrun with dead weeds. Ben cast his attention over the dejected huddle of buildings. ‘This is the property I intend to make my own. All the land from Bracken House and what you can see from here will be mine. The woods have little commercial value, but beyond the trees lies the ruins of the old manor house. I intend to make use of its timber and stone.’
An aging collie was lying down in the middle of the entrance, much of its long whiskery coat matted with mud. It trailed its head off its front paws, sniffed the air, showing its blindness from cataracts, then dropped its head down, disinterested and unbothered.
‘Hello, Sully, I haven’t seen you in ages.’ Ben stroked the collie’s head. In this simple act of friendliness he was washed through with the comforting sense that he belonged here, had been predestined to own this place. ‘We have something in common, only yours was caused by nature.’ His moments of bliss were stolen by the harsh recollection of the girl he would never forgive for his disablement.
‘Are you sure you want this place, Ben?’ Julian called from where he was staying put so as not to further soil his expensive leather shoes. ‘It doesn’t look much in comparison to Ford Farm. It’s only about half its size, isn’t it? It all seems pretty bleak, the house a leaky draught-ridden hovel.’
Ben rose up, tall and straight and commanding, dazzling his friend by his air of deadly intent. ‘It’s exactly what I want. A challenge. The Ministry’s been on to Buzza, the manager, for ages to build up its production. It’s one reason why the owner wants rid of it: he can’t be bothered with the harassment. I’ll help win the war by doubling the yields from these fields next year, I swear. I’ve got enough money to buy Tremore and put in good healthy stock. And I’ll add to my holdings, you see if I don’t! My brother might own one half of Hennaford, well, I’m going to own the other.’
Chapter Nineteen
On the second evening after the return from Roskeme, Emilia was packing for Alec and Jonathan, who were to take the early morning train the next day up to London, to visit Tristan.
This was the first time she had entered Alec’s bedroom since Tilda had taken over the cleaning. She chewed her nail, wondering how she could have become involved so quickly with the brother of her former fiancé, and become engaged again.
She stroked the pillow where Alec’s head should have lain last night, then picked it up and hugged it against her body. She loved him. Why else had she allowed him to steal into her bedroom last night and not leave again until just before dawn? She loved him and she had everything she wanted.
The cases finished, she carried Archie’s supper out to him, marvelling again at the pleasant change in his appearance rendered by Honor’s unexpected skill with a pair of scissors. She asked him if Honor had mentioned when she was coming over again, and he answered he did not know. She said goodnight to her father, and then to the Trewin brothers, on their way home to Wayside Cot carrying their meal, a pail of rabbit stew.
Alec was late for the supper table, having been suddenly called into Truro by Mr Rule, about the business of the Tremore property, according to the hand-delivered letter she had read to him. She ate with Lottie, Tilda and Ben. There was the minimum of polite conversation. Once or twice she noticed Ben staring at her in a strange manner, but at least he didn’t seem so hostile. She was not looking forward to his reaction when it was disclosed, after the London trip, how close she was now to Alec.
‘Something’s cheered him up,’ Tilda whispered to her, while dishing out the steamed treacle pudding and thick golden cream.
‘Here you are, Ben.’ Emilia passed his helping to him.
‘Thank you, Emilia.’ He gave her the merest smile, and the change to ‘Emilia from ‘Em’ reflected the loss of their friendship.
‘Jonny’s so excited he’ll have trouble dropping off to sleep tonight. He was drawing a picture for his daddy when I left his room.’ Emilia kept up the conversational tone.
‘It will be good to see Tris again,’ Ben said.
Alec suddenly crashed through the door, causing a draught to rush like a malevolent phantom around the kitchen. He fixed his eyes on Ben. A steady, unflinching glare, and it was so full of hurt and anger that Emilia’s first reaction was to run to him.
‘Emilia, you and Tilda take Grandma and leave the room. I need to speak to my brother alone,’ he said in the deadliest tone.
Ben leaned back in his chair, casual, unperturbed. ‘Yes, we do need to talk man to man, Alec. Shall we go to the den?’
‘If you were a man, Benjamin Harvey,’ came Alec’s blistering reply, ‘I’d insist on us going outside and I’d give you a well deserved thrashing.’
‘What’s he done?’ Emilia looked from Alec and stared at Ben.
‘I’ve only taken control of my own affairs, Emilia,’ Ben replied, flicking his hands in a manner to show he thought his brother’s wrath was of no consequence to him. ‘Alec’s had them in his hands far too long. It’s none of your business but you might as well hear this, it will affect you.’
‘I’ll take Mrs Harvey out of the room,’ Tilda said nervously.
‘No, stay, Tilda. I guarantee there will be no unpleasantness on my part, and Alec is too considerate to make a scene in front of you. There’s going to be some changes here, from this very minute actually, and as you’re part of the establishment here too, you might as well know now.’
‘What’s going on, Ben?’ Emilia demanded. ‘Are you leaving? Is this what it’s all about?’
‘I shouldn’t be surprised you’d cotton on to part of the situation at once.’ Ben smiled at her – to Emilia it was a smarmy smile. ‘How Alec admires your astuteness, and I can predict he’s going to rely on it more and more in the future.’
Emilia glanced at Alec. The rigidity throughout his whole body grew more pronounced. Tilda took hold of her hand.
‘Sit down, ladies,’ he said, ‘and listen to the tale of my brother’s betrayal. I’m sure it will disgust you both as much as it does me.’
They obeyed, but he remained standing, his hands splayed out on the table, leaning towards his brother. His features growing more and more contentious. ‘Go on, Ben, spit out what you want to crow about. You have centre stage.’
‘I don’t see it as a betrayal, Alec.’ Ben’s eyes parried with Alec’s, the milkiness of the blinded left side glowing unnaturally. ‘I’ve always wanted to strike out on my own, you know that, and as soldiering is out of the question, I decided I’d like to own the Tremore estate rather than just be your manager there.’
‘And you’ve achieved what you want by two despicable acts,’ Alec cut in. ‘Taking advantage of the fact that I can’t read. I’d have not known about them until it suited you, you stinking Judas, if Ernest Rule hadn’t been examinin
g recent transactions of mine.’
‘Making that tiny alteration to sign for my own money was merely a matter of taking what’s mine, when I want it.’ Ben made a jeering dismissive gesture. ‘And then I made a more appealing offer for the Tremore estate? So what? That’s business.’
‘I can still stop the cheque!’
Ben was unruffled and unrepentant. ‘Why do that? You might as well get me out of the way. And you wouldn’t want Tris to come home to a major upset in the family, would you? Then there’s Honor to consider.’
‘What’s Honor got to do with this?’ Emilia was advancing on Ben with the desire to smack the sickening smugness off his face.
He looked straight at her. ‘We’re engaged. I’m going to give her the stability she’s never had. Her aunt’s happy with the prospect.’
Emilia’s eyes expanded, she was struck speechless.
‘Well done, Ben, it’s obvious you’d have made an excellent soldier,’ Alec spat. ‘A more honest and trustworthy officer would have been difficult to find.’
‘There was no need to say that!’ Ben leapt to his feet. His fleetness brought him almost eye to eye with Alec.
‘Oh, isn’t there?’ Alec hissed into his face. ‘You didn’t make an honourable deal with the Tremore estate, you did it solely to hurt me. To gain some form of juvenile one-upmanship. You may have your money, but you can also take my wishes that your success slides downhill in every way possible from now on.’
‘You shouldn’t be so bitter, Alec,’ Ben said in a low and dangerous voice. ‘You’ll have a clear road to get at the one thing you’ve been skulking after for ages. You know what – who – I’m talking about. It’s why you wanted me at Tremore in the first place, isn’t it?’
‘Who else would I have placed there, you young fool? It’s your actions, not mine, that have been born out of malice and jealousy. You thought it all out, didn’t you, Ben? How you could cause me the most insult, and perhaps get back at Emilia in some way too. No doubt, you’ll be taking the Trewins with you, leaving me badly understaffed again.’
‘Why shouldn’t I take them with me? I was the one who offered them some dignity, they’re loyal to me. You’ll soon have your workhouse brats. It’s what you want, see how you get on with them.’
‘You and the Trewins can go first thing tomorrow. I won’t have deceitful men on my property.’
‘So be it. In due course, when I need to ask for your consent to marry, I hope you’ll not be petty for Honor’s sake.’
‘If it wasn’t for that foolish girl, I’d tell you to go to hell!’
‘As you did Lucy, brother? I overheard you wish that on her when she was dying. She hated you. She treated you just exactly as you deserved. You’re a loser, Alec. A nobody. Lucy felt demeaned to have a husband who could do nothing more for her than sign his name on the marriage lines.’
‘Shut up, Ben!’ Emilia screamed, then she rushed to Lottie, sorry to have raised her voice, for the old lady was getting agitated. ‘It doesn’t matter what someone can or can’t do, only the way they are. You deserve every word of the description Alec’s given you.’
‘Do you think she’ll mind?’ Ben indicated Emilia to Alec with a jerk of his head. ‘The clever, efficient little country girl you want so much? She’ll ask for a lot less than Lucy, but will she mind being stuck with someone who’s so stupid he has to get his four-year-old nephew to write to his wounded brother for him?’
‘God in heaven, what ever have I done to you?’ Alec smashed his fist across Ben’s jaw. Ben was plunged backwards, his arm striking the table and sending crockery and cutlery hurtling to the floor. ‘Get out from under my roof! Go to your grander friends or sleep the night with your workmen, but never, ever, set foot in my house again. I won’t have you back here even for Tristan’s sake.’
Lottie was shrieking and drumming her heels. Emilia motioned to Tilda to help her take Lottie towards the larder – her intention to shelter in it, for Ben never walked away from a fight. Thankfully, the distraction of the goods on the shelves distracted Lottie from her hysteria.
‘He deserved that wallop,’ Tilda said, her nervousness replaced by indignation.
Emilia watched, horrified, as Ben emerged from the breakages, wiping blood from a cut lip, his sight boring into Alec. Alec balled his fists, and Emilia could see he was ready for his brother, welcoming a battle.
Ben took a deep breath; then, letting out a mighty roar, he hurled himself at Alec.
It surprised Emilia that Alec should be faster than Ben. He nipped aside and punched Ben in the gut, sending him reeling to his knees, his head bent over nearly to the tiles. ‘The bullies never got the better of me at school, little brother. No one ever has.’ Then he added in slow, deliberate stings. ‘Now here’s a shock for you. Emilia’s mine already.’
The breath crushed out of him, it was several seconds before Ben was able to look up. Panting, gasping, he struggled to his feet. His eyes burned into Emilia, then Alec. ‘I might have known you’d waste no time. There’s one thing you should know about her, brother.’
Emilia waited, without caring, for him to turn their time together in Tristan’s house into something sordid.
‘I know what it is and I don’t care.’ Alec went to Emilia, laid possessive hands on her.
Ben gazed at Emilia with a conflict of expressions. Disbelief, regret, sorrow, anger. Then in a hard and fixed way, something which Emilia knew he would never forsake. Unforgivingness.
Chapter Twenty
Passchendaele had been taken and British tanks had defeated the Germans with little resistance at Cambrai. The Allies were concerned that Russia was about to pull out of the war. All this seemed to Tristan to have happened in another world, another lifetime. Here in the countryside of his birth, where the air was so fresh he could taste its purity, only the khaki on his wasted limbs told him he had lived through the deepest depths of a hellish nightmare. A nightmare that was continuing for others with a persistence far beyond the call of honour and bravery.
His house seemed smaller, as if it had never been his. A quick glance through the rooms convinced Tristan that Ursula was never coming back to him. She had left most of her clothes, many of her personal things, even her childhood toys, but there wasn’t anything of hers here. Someone had been in recently and given the house a methodical clean – the smell of polish lingered but the air was stale.
Easing the stiffness cramping around his ankle, he went to his dressing table to see if he was crying. He felt so numb he wasn’t sure. He took off his cap. No, he wasn’t crying.
Dear God, is this how I really look?
Away from the hospital and a hundred variations of unhealthy pallor, he saw just how pale and thin and grey he was. He had scars and furrows, pits and dents all over his body, but his face bore deeper affliction. Aberrant – that was the only way he could describe himself, with his pronounced cheekbones, colourless lips, sunken staring mad eyes and withered skin, all bordered by his startling hair of dull blackness.
No wonder Jonathan had hidden behind Alec throughout their first visit and had still been unsure of him on the next. No wonder the medics were adamant that it might be months yet before he was fit again for active service. He looked more in the next world than this one, hardly good for morale for those he’d take into battle. But, by God, he was determined to get back in the show again, and to do something more useful next time.
His mind given to lapses of concentration, Tristan forgot why he was looking in the mirror. Tears were dripping off his chin. Pulling open the top drawer, he searched for a handkerchief. Out with it came an envelope; Ursula’s writing was on it. He gripped the furniture. He couldn’t face her ‘Dear John’ now and stuffed it in a pocket.
‘Right, right.’ He cleared his throat, made to comb his hair but his toiletry things were missing. ‘Where…? Oh, yes, the farm. Get along there then, got a son to see. At least I’ve got my son.’
Emilia was teaching the girl from the workhous
e the secrets of butter making. The butter was sold at sixpence a pound locally and outside the county and made a good income for the farm. ‘Now we press the butter with damp muslin to wash off the buttermilk. This is when we add the salt…’ Fourteen-year-old Sara Killigrew usually paid attention but she was peering out of the window. ‘Sara?’
‘Sorry, Miss Em, only there’s a soldier, an important looking one out there.’
‘What? Let me see. Tristan!’
Emilia rushed out from the dairy, telling herself she wouldn’t cry in front of the man whose discovery of Billy’s body had confirmed his death, but she did. Limping, using a walking cane, he was a shadow, a ghost of the man who had left his family over a year ago. Through his kind, informative letter about Billy’s death, she felt a special connection with him.
Tristan held out his hands to her and it seemed natural to share a hug with him. A clinging, prolonged hug, for he was shaking with emotion and, while she fought to check her own feelings, she was glad to give him comfort. She reached up and dried his eyes, hiding how it disturbed her to see his decline.
‘Thank you, Emilia.’ His voice was a whisper. He wasn’t sure if he could cope with her vibrancy or her compassion. There was a silent thought-ridden moment. ‘So much has happened… I thought I’d never see the farm again.’
She held his hand for some moments. ‘I know, Tristan. I understand. I’m so pleased you’re home at last. I’m sorry about Mrs Harvey.’
Tristan could only nod.
‘Jonny’s gathering firewood with Jim, one of our new hands,’ Emilia said brightly, hoping to raise his spirits. ‘Jonny likes to trot along behind him. They should be back soon. We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow. We were planning a proper homecoming for you.’
‘I talked the hospital into releasing me a day early.’
‘You must be tired. Come inside and rest. You’ll meet Tilda, and this is Jim’s twin sister.’ Emilia introduced the girl who had crept out behind her.
