by Gloria Cook
Then during the war she’d fallen under the spell of Fergus Blair, and Simon had been the result. Another result was she’d come away from Scotland not trusting men. Fergus had disregarded her hopes of a settled life by refusing to divorce his errant wife, he’d put his position first; a divorce would have made him unacceptable in society. Although he’d seen she was well cared for during her confinement and had settled a very generous amount on her and Simon, he had left her afterward to go out into the world and cope alone. Fergus had pressed her to take the easy way out and have the baby secretly adopted, but she’d wanted to keep it, to have someone to love who would love her back.
And Simon did love her. He was everything to her and deserved to be protected in every way, whatever it took. He deserved the best, and the best she could do for him was to get him away from this village where small-minded people would always seek to put him down. He might be heir to her estate and the garage, but there was sure to be someone who’d try to make him feel inferior, less of a gentleman. The worst thing from such an existence was that he might never be able to love someone properly. He might, like she had herself recently, allow himself to become infatuated with the wrong person, to be plagued with hopes for the wrong reasons. She saw now why she had been drawn to Mark.
She had met him while he was weak and needy, unable to be a threat to her. He was a good man, but he too had hurt her. While he willingly heaped attention on Pearl and the twins, and even affection on Maureen Dowling, he more or less ignored her own dear Simon. She knew what she had to do.
She marched back to Lottie and looked her full in the face. ‘I’m about to solve your biggest problem.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Lottie was troubled by her dark incensed expression. ‘What’s wrong? I could see Mr Frayne said something to upset you. What was it?’
‘Never mind him. You want a large farm and property near to home. Well, you can have one. Mine!’
Chapter Ten
He could see the old man again. He was often here at Rose Dew. Watching him. He had not come so close before. Addi always fretted but this time he stood stiffly, ruff up, ears pinned back, sniffing and wailing. ‘It’s all right, boy,’ Mark said, putting down the slate roof tiles he was about to carry up the ladder. ‘It’s only Jude.’
Mark knew the name of the ghost. He had called on Agnes in Back Lane and she had told him all about the Tremore farm labourer who had lived here a century ago.
After declaring it was good to see Mark looking so well, Agnes had invited him into her gleaming little front room. She looked settled in her new home as if she had lived there all her life. ‘I’m delighted to be the first you’ve called on, Mr Fuller. I hope we see more of you out and about in the village.’ She poured tea and then poured out the tragic tale. ‘People don’t like to talk much about Jude Keast. They think it’s unlucky, that some of what that poor soul went through might rub off on them, but I’m a religious woman and therefore not particularly superstitious. The Tremore estate stretched much wider in them days, and gentry lived in the old manor house, long gone now, just beyond the crossroads. You obviously aren’t afraid of him haunting Rose Dew.’
‘It doesn’t bother me at all, Agnes. Jude doesn’t like me being there, but I don’t get the sense he means me any harm.’ Mark ate a shortbread biscuit with a hand hardened by work with stone and wood, hammer and saw. He was pleased with his labours on Rose Dew and pleased with the health and vigour and the sense of purpose it gave him.
‘There’s not many who’s had a sadder life than poor Jude. He was the second son and the second best. When his elder brother died of consumption, his parents were heartbroken. They never got over it and Jude could never please them. His mother quickly pined herself to death and his father died from a heart attack not long afterward.’
‘So Rose Dew has seen plenty of sorrow.’ Mark nodded. There was a sense of melancholy surrounding the place.
‘I haven’t got started yet. Jude tried to make a life for himself. He married a girl from Perranporth, met her during a beach outing there. It was no love match, but they rubbed along together. She had a baby and Jude was thrilled. But one day Jude went home from work and she and the baby had disappeared. There was no sign of her taking a thing out of the house. Seemed she just went out and vanished off the face of the earth. Drove poor Jude nearly out of his mind. He searched for them every spare minute he got. Each time he came back with no clue to their whereabouts and he got lower and lower in spirits. He became a recluse. Never went to chapel or down to the village, grew what he could to feed himself, and kept a few chickens. No one ever saw him except about the farm. After a while no one called on him anymore, all too afraid he’d gone soft in the head. The years passed. Then one day he didn’t turn up for work and the steward went over to Rose Dew to find out why. Found Jude in bed with a high fever from blood poisoning. He’d cut his leg on a rulling hook and it had gone anguished. He died two days later. All alone he was, poor soul. After that some strange happenings were reported there and people got too scared to go near it. I must say, I always pitied young Susan, living so close. Now, does that settle your curiosity, Mr Fuller?’
‘Yes. Thank you, Agnes. It’s a terrible thing not to know what has happened to a loved one.’ He knew that from fellow POWs. It had been hard enough when a man got a Dear John letter and had been left to endure captivity under the rejection, but sometimes letters would dry up from home, leading to anxiety, bewilderment, or anger and resentment. Jude Keast must have suffered all this. ‘I suppose Jude is buried in the churchyard.’
‘He is, but not next to his parents and brother. Lonely in life, and lonely in death. As I said, it’s a sad story. But I’m glad to see renovating the place is doing you good. That you’ve got colour in your face and that you’ve put on a bit of weight. Miss Faye is looking after you very well indeed.’
‘I owe her a large debt of gratitude. One day I hope to repay her.’
He had smiled while speaking and gazed into space. Agnes hoped he was picturing Faye. Eyeing him, she said meaningfully, ‘She’s a fine lady, and her Simon’s a dear little boy.’
‘Yes. I confess I haven’t taken a lot of notice of him. Infants scare me.’
‘But you feel comfortable with older children?’
‘Well, they don’t dribble all over you, and you can talk to them properly. I never had brothers or sisters, so I enjoy playing games with Pearl, Maureen and the twins.’
‘You’ll find Simon will do more each day,’ Agnes said pointedly, issuing him a second cup of tea.
Mark didn’t miss the edge of chiding in her tone. ‘Oh. Faye might be thinking I don’t care all that much for Simon. I’ll rectify that this evening. Offer to read him a bedtime story.’
‘Miss Faye would appreciate that.’ Agnes smiled with satisfaction. She had seen Faye’s efforts to cosset and please him and her hope that he’d notice her. She considered herself a good judge of character, and had liked Mark from the start. Agnes thought he would make an excellent husband for Faye. If only he would see it.
On the walk from Agnes’s home to Rose Dew, Mark had thought about Faye at the Bring and Buy with Simon. How brave, to take Simon with her. As the only unmarried mother in the village, she must inevitably have to ward off a certain amount of disapproval. She was a lot like Justine, able to make strong decisions and stand her ground. She was hospitable and caring. He’d done little to show his appreciation. Working for nothing on a scrap of her property was not nearly enough, and as he was hoping to rent Rose Dew, it was for his own benefit too.
‘I’d never be this fit if it wasn’t for Faye,’ he told Addi, as he set about replacing missing and broken roof tiles. ‘And there’s something else about her. She’s wonderful. She’s a damned beautiful woman.’
He talked to Addi constantly. The dog was his faithful companion and trusted confidant. He could tell Addi things he could never bring himself to tell a person. And now he was talking to Jude Keast. A slightl
y indistinct figure, in dark serviceable clothing, a neckerchief and tattered flat cap, hovering just inside the broken-down garden wall. ‘Hello. I’m Mark and this is Addi. We don’t mean to intrude. We don’t want to take the place away from you. I don’t think you like seeing Rose Dew falling down and the garden left to grow wild. We could all exist here together, going quietly about our own business.’
Mark heard a tapping noise. He glanced away for a second, and when he looked back, Jude had gone. Addi relaxed and stretched out comfortably under the front windowsill to doze. ‘I think Jude’s getting used to us, boy.’
He climbed the ladder to begin inserting tiles. He had nearly finished repairing the roof and was down to the guttering, which the Cornish called laundering.
‘Afternoon.’
‘Jude?’ Mark swung round. At the same instant Addi was up on his feet and rushing towards the wall.
‘That ain’t me. Here, that dog going to stay on your side or what?’
Mark stared at the stranger, summing up, that although he was nervous of Addi, and despite his slick appearance, he was an undesirable and a show-off. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Only if you can tell me where I can find Susan Dowling.’ The man employed a friendly tone, but with a touch of sharpness. He obviously felt a mutual dislike of Mark. ‘Thought she’d be home at this time of day.’
Mark climbed down off the ladder. ‘What business have you got with her?’
‘No need to come over all defensive, mate. Susan’s my sister and her little girl Maureen is my niece. I’ve the ruddy right to know where they are. The name’s Kenny Locke. And who are you when you’re at home?’ While casting anxious glances at Addi, Kenny Locke was leaning forward as if ready for trouble, or to hand it out.
‘I had no idea Mrs Dowling had a brother.’ Mark was at his most formal, while searching Kenny’s hard face. ‘My name is Mark Fuller. I live in Hennaford. There’s a fundraising occasion at the school. Mrs Dowling and Maureen will have stayed on for it.’
‘I see.’ With narrowed eyes, Kenny glanced at the cottage. ‘Last time I was here I saw a glimpse of this place. Ruddy creepy. Just bought it and doing it up, are you?’
‘No. Do you live locally?’
‘No.’ Kenny was not to be any more forthcoming than Mark was. ‘I’ll go wait for Susan.’ Giving Addi one last glare, he strode away, lighting a cigarette, puffing the smoke back over his shoulder as if to convey an aggressive snub to Mark.
Mark got the message. He knelt beside the dog and hugged its broad soft, sandy-coloured neck. ‘There were a few chaps like him in the camp, Addi. Only out for themselves. They’d steal the last sweaty rag off a man’s back or his last grain of rice. I saw men give up and die because their only scrap of hope had been cruelly snatched away from them. We’re going to have to keep a close eye on Susan and Maureen.’
* * *
That evening in the sitting room at Ford Farm, Lottie moved in front of the fireplace to centre stage. She was a confident figure amid the plush Victorian furnishings, the huge moulded, scrolled and beaded mantelpiece lending her an important backdrop. ‘I’ve got an announcement to make.’
‘Honey, you’ve been looking excited for hours. Have you got good news for me?’ Nate left Edwin, Tom and Jill at the card table and joined her. Emilia turned off the wireless play she and Perry were listening to. Tilda put her knitting down. Everyone was gazing at Lottie’s tummy, making assumptions, exchanging knowing glances.
Lottie had more important news than her pregnancy. ‘Yes, darling. I was offered the perfect place for us today!’ She gave a little hop and clapped her hands.
‘Great. We’11 look over it first thing tomorrow.’ Nate smiled. He was pleased to see her happy, bubbly and vital, as she’d been when they’d first met, rather than the touchy, angry stranger she had become.
‘We won’t have to go very far.’ Lottie’s eyes were aglow over her wonderful news, which had been hard to keep secret until the right moment.
‘What are you talking about, sweetheart?’ Nate was puzzled, but he had captured a little of her excitement.
‘Oh, it’s just the best thing to have ever happened! It’s Tremore! Faye offered it to me today. She’s selling up. She wants to move away. And I’ve accepted! We’ll only have to move across to the other side of the village. Isn’t it wonderful, Nate? Can you believe it, everyone?’
The whoops of glee Lottie was expecting didn’t happen. All were stunned. Nate was cool. ‘You shouldn’t have made such a big decision, even about your cousin’s property, without talking to me first and alone. I don’t mean anyone here any disrespect, but I’m sure they’d all agree that important issues between a man and his wife should be first discussed just between the two of them.’
A lot of troubled glances were passed around the room, followed by lowering of eyes and a tense hush. It was clear everyone agreed with Nate.
Lottie felt as if she had been struck by a giant wave of freezing water. The rapid change from elation to a dark sense of rejection and resentment made her feel faint. She put out a hand to a winged armchair to stay on her feet. ‘But—’
‘But nothing, Lottie,’ Nate growled. ‘When are you going to consider me as the other half of our marriage?’
‘Why on earth is Faye thinking of selling up anyway? It’s all too sudden,’ Emilia whispered to Perry. She felt sorry for Lottie, it was awful to see her suddenly deflated, but she wouldn’t dream of interfering. It was understandable that Nate should be aggrieved. The telephone rang. Perry excused himself to answer it. Tilda, hating what was obviously to be more confrontation, took the opportunity to slip away to the kitchen.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lottie whined at Nate. ‘Maybe I should have talked to you first, but don’t you think it’s the best thing?’
‘Maybe doesn’t come into it, Lottie.’ Nate was angry that she couldn’t see his hurt. He wasn’t being bloody-minded or stubborn. He came from a long line of hardy pioneering folk, who had fought cattle barons to gain and hold on to their land. The women had been tough, but the men had always headed the family. He felt that Lottie treated him with contempt and made him feel an outsider.
‘Why can’t you be happy about it?’ Lottie hurled at him in accusation. She may have been thoughtless, but it was hardly the crime of the century. He was making her feel small in front of her family.
‘I’d be more than happy to look over a place with you, but not to be told it’s a finished deal. I thought you were going to say you were pregnant.’ Nate threw up his hands in exasperation.
‘Actually, I am!’ she snapped back. ‘Does that make you happy?’
With a scrape of her chair, Jill suddenly got up and left the room. Tom shot a glare at Lottie, one of discontent at Nate, and went after her.
‘Whatever’s the matter with her is not my fault.’ Lottie crossed her arms and turned her back on Nate.
‘You can’t blame anyone for feeling uncomfortable. It’s not the first time you’ve caused discontent in the house,’ Nate fumed. Why couldn’t Lottie see how selfish she was?
‘OK, so I’m not perfect, but neither are you.’ Lottie turned and pointed at him. ‘But Tremore is. Can you get off your high horse for just one moment and see that?’
Emilia was on her feet. ‘Will you please both calm down?’ Perry put his head round the door and beckoned to Emilia. They spoke outside the room for a few moments – while Lottie and Nate carried on their quarrel – then they both returned. Emilia put up her hands for silence. ‘Right, the pair of you, before you say anything else or come to any decisions there’s something you must listen to.’
‘What?’ Lottie said moodily.
‘I think you’d better sit down, Lottie.’ Emilia was worried about her daughter’s high colour and gasping breaths.
Lottie ignored her. Nate sighed in frustration at Lottie. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am. Go ahead.’
‘Perry’s told me that it was Tris on the phone. It seems he’s just received the same n
ews.’
‘And? Trying to change Faye’s mind, is he?’ Lottie demanded.
‘Not trying, Lottie. He has.’
‘What? He can’t! She can’t! It’s not fair!’
Emilia tried to coax Lottie to sit in the armchair. ‘Sit down and listen, please, my love. You’ll understand then.’ Lottie refused to budge. Emilia’s look of appeal to Nate failed; he was too angry with Lottie to care about her comfort. Emilia went on. ‘Tris was as shocked as we all were by Faye’s sudden decision to sell up and move away, to start a new life. It wasn’t as if it was something she’d been considering for a while. It seems Mr Frayne upset her this afternoon. He made her feel unworthy to take part in village life because she’s not married, and now she’s worried that any prejudice and deadly whispers will have a bad effect on Simon. She’s determined to move away and pretend she’s a widow so Simon won’t be shunned.’
‘If she’s moving away, and who can blame her if people like that old fool keep picking on her, then what’s stopping her selling Tremore to me?’ Lottie interrupted. ‘To us,’ she quickly aimed the last words at Nate, with an impatient twist of her mouth. Nate stared back stonily.
‘I’m afraid when Faye spoke to you, Lottie, she hadn’t given herself time to think it all through,’ Emilia said. ‘Tremore is Uncle Tris’s and the Smiths’ home. He and Faye took the children in together. I’m so sorry about your disappointment, darling, but I think you’ll agree that it’s only right and fair that Faye should have offered Uncle Tris first refusal on Tremore. And of course, if she really does go ahead to start again elsewhere, he will buy it. She sends her apologies to you.’
