The Letter

by Ruth Saberton

  Daisy had been wondering when she would see her godfather and was rather relieved to learn he was out. The thought of trying to make polite conversation over dinner when she was tired and on edge was unnerving. As was the idea of eating all alone in the dining room.

  “I’m very happy to eat supper in here,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to go to any extra trouble.”

  Mrs Polmartin looked pleased with this answer. “Well, I won’t pretend it doesn’t save me a little work. We tend to eat in here at seven. Why don’t I show you to your room when you’ve finished your tea and you can settle in?”

  Once she’d eaten her cake, Daisy followed the housekeeper up the staircase. Being south-facing, the Rectory should have streamed with light on an afternoon like this, but all the windows were shrouded in heavy net curtains and the doors leading from the landing were tightly closed as though jealously guarding secrets. There was a musty smell and deep shadows lurked in corners. Papa had mentioned that after the Reverend’s wife and son had died he’d shut himself away, but Daisy had thought this was just a turn of phrase.

  Now she wasn’t quite so certain.

  “The master doesn’t like these rooms opened,” Mrs Polmartin explained as they passed by. “They were used by the mistress. After the Lord took her, we left the rooms. It didn’t feel right to use them.”

  Papa had told Daisy that Reverend Cutwell’s wife had died in childbed a very long time ago and the baby hadn’t survived. The shadows seemed to stir and Daisy shivered. This part of the house smelt old and sad.

  “The bathroom is at the end of the corridor.” Mrs Polmartin pointed to the farthest door. “We have an indoor water closet here.”

  Daisy was glad to hear it. She didn’t fancy venturing out into the graveyard to find the privy or, even worse, having to use a chamber pot. She was about to ask where her room was when the housekeeper gestured to a narrow flight of stairs leading from the landing.

  “We’ve made the attic bedroom ready for you, Miss. Nancy arranged it all, as I have trouble with those stairs on account of my knees.”

  Daisy thought it more likely that the rather large housekeeper wouldn’t fit up the staircase, but she nodded politely. “Thank you.”

  “I hope you find it to your taste, Miss.”

  Daisy hoped so too, although she was rather surprised to have been given an attic room. Usually servants occupied such quarters. Was this a clue that her godfather was expecting her to earn her keep? What was her status here exactly? Family? Servant? Or something in between? Perhaps she wouldn’t belong anywhere. She glanced at the steep stairs. Her bad leg, already tired, started to throb at the mere thought of climbing them. You’ll just have to get sea bathing and make it stronger, she told herself firmly. That’s why you’re here, after all!

  “I’m sure it will be lovely,” she said. The climb was exhausting, yet when she reached the top Daisy instantly forgot about any discomfort.

  Her hands flew to her mouth in surprised pleasure. This was like arriving in a brave new world! Unlike the gloom of the floor below, the attic room was bright with sunshine flooding in from windows on both sides. The floorboards glowed in the warm light and to her delight she could see out to sea, where the waves sparkled and the sky stretched to infinity. The opposite window boasted a view towards Rosecraddick Manor; when Daisy craned her neck she could just make out the magical tower she’d admired earlier. Now she could be a princess in her own tower!

  The room wasn’t elegant but it was very pretty. It had faded floral wallpaper, a bright rag rug on the smooth floorboards and a colourful patchwork eiderdown covering a big brass bed. There was a washstand, a comfy armchair piled with cushions, a dressing table, a big chest and a rail for hanging clothes. A merry fire danced in the grate and an age-speckled mirror hung above the mantelpiece, making the room feel even bigger. Everything had been cobbled together from bits and pieces but the overall effect was feminine and welcoming.

  Gem had left her trunk at the foot of the bed, so Daisy opened it and began to put her belongings away. Little by little the room began to feel as though it was her own, and by the time she drew out her new journal Daisy felt far more cheerful. There would be a great deal to write about, she was certain – starting with a description of the waves, perhaps? Or maybe a few lines about her journey? She carried the diary to the window that overlooked the sea and wondered where to begin. The pages and pages of blank paper were ripe with possibilities and she could hardly wait to fill them. Her new life in Cornwall started here.

  Daisy lay the book on the windowsill and, opening it slowly, pressed the first page flat with the palm of her hand. Then she fetched her fountain pen, pulled off the lid and wrote with a firm and determined hand:

  Daisy Alice Hills

  1914

  Diary

  The nib hovered over the page for a moment before she drew breath and began to write.

  Chapter 3

  Daisy, May 1914

  “I trust you have something edifying with which to occupy yourself today?”

  Reverend Cutwell peered over his newspaper like an old bespectacled tortoise peeking out of its shell and Daisy, who’d been reading his newspaper across the table rather than eating her boiled egg, was thrown for a moment. She struggled to think of a suitable reply while her godfather regarded her with thinly veiled irritation. The Reverend Cutwell, Daisy had quickly discovered, was not a morning person.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said.

  “And would you care to elaborate on what this might be?”

  Daisy had only been at the Rectory for a few days, but she’d been quick to work out how best to handle her godfather. Set in his ways, old-fashioned and exceedingly grumpy, he hadn’t seemed particularly pleased to see his goddaughter. So far, she’d sat through two painful suppers with him, making timid attempts at conversation; there had been several equally awkward breakfasts too. She had decided that she much preferred to take her meals in the kitchen, in the company of the servants. It might not have the elegance of the dining room with its deep crimson walls, gold-brocade curtains and vast mahogany table, but at least there she was able to enjoy her food without worrying about saying the wrong thing. Already the sea air had given her an appetite –something she’d lacked for months. There had been some very lively conversations in the kitchen too, albeit kept firmly in check by Mrs Polmartin, and these had helped Daisy feel more settled. She’d been pleased to learn that she would be eating in the kitchen whenever the Reverend was away from home.

  Eating with her godfather was a nerve-racking affair. He was a stickler for table manners and proper behaviour, and his scrutiny put Daisy on edge. Anxiety turned her food into cotton wool and she could scarcely choke down a mouthful – a fact that caused the Reverend to scowl. Last night he’d made several sharp comments about appreciating what the Lord provided.

  “Well?” said her godfather impatiently. He folded his newspaper, placing it face down on the white tablecloth, and regarded Daisy as if she were an idiot. “The Devil makes work for idle hands.”

  Daisy only just stopped herself from rolling her eyes at this.

  “I’m going to go saltwater swimming, Godfather,” she said sweetly.

  Reverend Cutwell made a noise that was something between a snort and a bark. He didn’t approve of sea bathing and he especially didn’t approve of young ladies doing so. Nonetheless, Daisy’s swimming was for medicinal purposes and it was the primary reason for her coming to Cornwall, so he had no grounds for objection. This didn’t stop him making his feelings clear though: as she forced herself to eat her egg, Daisy was treated to a lecture about decorum. Young women had to behave a certain way and, above all, they had to preserve their modesty. Their very lives, as well as their immortal souls, depended upon it.

  Daisy had spluttered into her teacup at this and swiftly had to pretend to have a coughing fit when her godfather shot her a suspicious look. Having already attempted to swim in the sea in her woollen bathing cost
ume, she was quite decided that the opposite was true: modesty was rather dangerous.

  And with this thought, the seed of an idea was planted…

  As her godfather’s words continued to drone through the dining room like one of his sermons, Daisy didn’t hear a word. She’d learned to swim with Mama and was a confident, if not particularly stylish, swimmer. The idea of swimming in the sea had excited her and yesterday she’d had a wonderful morning meandering along the cliff path, her hands trailing through swathes of wild garlic and purple thrift, before picking her way down a steep path to a rocky cove. Her hat had slipped from her head and bounced merrily against her back as she’d skipped and hopped her way down the track, her boots sending scree and earth skittering to the ground and her straw basket swinging from her hand. Her heart had pounded as the glittering water below drew her like a magnet. The fact that her leg was aching from the physical exertion barely mattered to her.

  When she was finally on the beach, she’d craned her neck upwards in the direction of the cliff path, just to make sure she wasn’t visible from above. She would need to change into her bathing costume, and the last thing she wanted to do was scandalise the locals – or, indeed, the good parson. Being on her best behaviour was exhausting and it had been a relief to exchange his scrutiny for that of the beady-eyed gulls and cormorants.

  Honestly, Daisy had laughed to herself as she’d located the perfect changing spot behind some large rocks, who would be wandering by or make the effort to walk all the way down here? Her godfather spent most of his day closeted in the study with the door most firmly and determinedly closed (it hadn’t taken Daisy very long to realise she wouldn’t be playing the part of Dorothea Brooke), and Mrs Polmartin and Nancy were busy with household chores while Gem and the menfolk worked the land or tended the horses. She’d noticed a sailing boat skipping across the horizon and supposed that the fishing fleet was probably far beyond, but nobody else was around. The place had been deserted.

  Daisy was alone. Totally and utterly alone.

  She couldn’t recall a time in her life when this had ever been the case. Reading in her room didn’t count because Papa or Meggie were always in the house – and besides, how could you ever be alone in London? The city teemed with life. This was the first time she had ever been properly alone.

  And it was glorious!

  Somehow Daisy had managed to undo all the lace on her corset and change into her bathing costume. Once she’d wrestled the woollen garment on, it had felt scratchy against her skin. She’d pulled the matching cap onto her head, folded her clothes neatly into her basket and draped her towel over the rocks to warm in the sunshine. Then Daisy had stepped into the sea, shrieking as the icy water nipped her skin and the waves raced in and foamed about her ankles. Then she’d forced herself to start swimming. At first the cold sea had made her gasp, but it hadn’t been long before her body had grown accustomed to the chill. She’d spent a very contented hour splashing about and floating on her back to watch the clouds. When at last her teeth had started to chatter, she’d struck for the shore – only to discover that the weight of the sodden wool made it very difficult to swim. The wet fabric wanted nothing more than to drag her limbs beneath the waves.

  By the time she’d reached the beach, Daisy had been exhausted and her leg aching so much with the effort of dragging the costume through the water that she’d wanted to weep.

  Modesty was no fun! Daisy had reflected as she’d towelled herself dry. Who was there to see her anyway on a deserted Cornish beach? A few seagulls? A crab or two? Nosey shannies in the rock pool?

  So today, which promised to be another glorious sun-drenched affair, Daisy had a plan and it was one she could hardly wait to put into action. As she let herself through the Rectory gate and skirted past St Nonna’s to the cliff path, Daisy laughed out loud with joy. She felt so much better for being here. The sea and the clear Cornish air were already working their magic, and if meals with her godfather weren’t so stressful she’d probably have put on lots of weight too. These days she was always ravenous. The mere thought of thick doorsteps of bread smothered with yellow farm butter and accompanied by hunks of cold mutton was enough to make her mouth water. Maybe tomorrow she would pack a picnic. With Keats in her basket too, she would be able to read in peace.

  Still smiling, Daisy followed the steep path to the cove. Once she was safely out of sight, she pulled off her hat and tugged the hairpins from her bun so that her wild curls tumbled to her waist. She felt alive and happy. Even the heaviness and aching in her leg had subsided, and once she was on the beach she could hardly wait for the cool kiss of the green water and to feel the waves carry her.

  And this time there wouldn’t be any heavy wool to drag her down!

  She’d selected the sheltered spot behind the bigger rocks at the far end of the bay as a perfect place to change. As before, Daisy checked she was alone before tugging off her boots, unrolling her woollen stockings, stepping out of her dress and unhooking her corset. Oh, the relief of taking that garment off! Yet another unfairness that women had to bear. How wonderful it would be to move and breathe easily all the time.

  Clad only in her drawers and camisole, Daisy glanced about the cove. As she teetered on the brink of doing something so shocking, her heart was racing and her hands were shaking. How ridiculous! There was nobody here to see. But even so, maybe she should clamber over the rocks to the next cove along. That was even more secluded and perfect for what she had in mind.

  This was the moment when she ought to be pulling on the itchy bathing costume and tucking her hair up into the knitted cap, before inching her way into the water in a modest and ladylike manner. Yes, that was what she should do, but Daisy Hills wasn’t the kind of girl who always did what she was supposed to do, especially when the joyous freedom of slicing through the water beckoned.

  Before she had time to change her mind, Daisy abandoned her belongings and scrambled over the rocks to the next beach. Her feet slithered on the seaweed and she slipped a couple of times, grazing her knees on rough barnacles, before she found herself in a small cove that was little more than a bite out of the cliffs. This was the perfect place, she thought delightedly. It was totally hidden.

  With a whoop of pure exhilaration, Daisy ran to the sea and hurled herself into it, gasping as the icy waves hit her chest. Without the weight of the woollen costume she was soon splashing through the water with her legs kicking up a wake of salty diamonds. Swimming unencumbered was a joy and so easy! Daisy bobbed with the waves and then floated on her back. As her camisole fanned out in the water and her hair floated like a halo of seaweed, she imagined herself as a tragic heroine. The Lady of Shalott maybe? Or Ophelia?

  Daisy closed her eyes, relishing the sunlight that turned her lids to flame and the whooshing of her blood through her veins as the water blocked her ears. All was tranquil and she floated in a pleasant haze of daydreams – until strong hands closed around her waist and shocked her back to the present.

  What?

  Daisy’s eyes snapped open but salt water sloshed over her face, filling her nose and mouth. For a moment she began to sink. Surfacing again, she fought for breath. Somebody was pulling her through the water and she twisted and turned, kicking out at whoever it was and thrashing with her arms.

  The hands tightened their grasp on her waist and Daisy was towed through the waves, unable to protest. Whoever her captor was, he was a strong swimmer; despite her best efforts to escape, he powered through the water until the sea grew shallow and Daisy felt pebbles roll beneath her toes. As a big wave broke, she pitched forward and landed on her hands and knees, panting and spluttering.

  What just happened?

  “Are you all right, Miss? Can you breathe?” asked a man. His voice was gentle and beautifully spoken. He took her arm and raised her to her feet. “You’re safe now. You haven’t drowned, I promise.”

  “I wasn’t drowning! I was swimming!” Daisy protested. She was shaking, although whether from
cold, shock or anger she wasn’t sure. It was infuriating. Couldn’t a girl swim in peace even in a secret cove?

  “Swimming?” he echoed. “On your own? Are you insane? The currents are utterly deadly here when the tide turns. Nobody swims then. Or they don’t unless they want to drown.”

  “I didn’t know that, did I?” Daisy snapped. She felt cross and more than a little stupid.

  “Well, now you do. Anyway, isn’t it customary to wear a bathing costume when one swims, rather than undergarments?”

  Daisy pushed her wet hair out of her face and blinked away seawater. As the world came back into view she saw eyes as green and deep as secret rock pools regarding her with concern, tinged with amusement. The eyes belonged to someone not much older than her, with thick golden hair slick with sea spray pushed back from a sun-kissed face. His linen shirt and pale trousers clung to his body and the water turned the fabric translucent, tracing every line of his muscled arms and strong shoulders. He reminded her of one of the Grecian statues she’d looked at once when Papa had taken her to the British Museum. Until now, this was the closest she’d ever come to seeing a real-life young man disrobed.

  “The water’s wonderful for swimming in, but not so great for modesty,” he grinned, catching her looking.

  This was when Daisy realised that her long camisole was just as saturated as the stranger’s clothes. Sure enough, when she looked down she saw that the thin white cotton was clinging to her legs and breasts. Her godfather would combust if he ever saw her in such an indecent state. Her garments were transparent and she may as well be naked!

  With a howl of horror, Daisy crossed her arms over her chest while the young man chivalrously turned his back – but not before she’d seen his face flush and the green eyes flicker with an emotion she couldn’t quite name.

  Whatever it was though, it made her pulse start to race.