Unforgettable

by Gloria Cook

  ‘I’m so pleased things are back on track between you and Fiona,’ Belle said, throwing her last ball at a coconut on its stand and narrowly missing again. Finn had won a tiny rag doll for Eloise.

  They walked away. Finn hoped no one had noticed how often he had gravitated towards Belle today, careful not to make it always when she was alone. She was currently having a break from the white elephant stall. Sam had finally plucked up the courage to ask Jenna to be his girl, she had agreed, and Sam had paraded her on his arm. They had played a much-appreciated stint together on their guitars, Jenna singing in her clear country-style voice. The couple were gathering up used cups, saucers and plates and taking them to the scullery. Charlie was busy at The Orchards and wouldn’t show up until later.

  It was rapture for Finn to be so physically close to Belle; his whole self was prickling and shivering inside with feathery whispers and the need to touch her. He was a little afraid he would actually reach out and possessively take her hand. He refused to entertain the thought that Belle only saw him in a motherly way. ‘Now Mum’s seen my father for what he really is at last it feels like we’ve started a new life. The only bugbear is Guy Carthewy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for all that he’s done for us and it’s a heck of a lot – and goodness knows how I’ll repay him, but I will, no mistake – but I wish he wouldn’t interfere.’

  ‘In what way does he interfere, Finn? Gosh it’s hot, let’s get a beaker of juice and sit somewhere breezy. On the fountain steps.’

  ‘OK.’ Finn was delighted she had not suggested sitting in the tea tent. It was full of old biddies seeking shade, and no doubt as much gossip as they could wring out of everyone, and Belle might be sidetracked.

  ‘Guy means well, I know,’ he said when they were perched on the stone steps under a dry cherub water fountain. ‘He’s offered to sponsor my fees to go to college or even university. He wants the leeway to move in on Mum now she’s planning to get a divorce. Guy, of course, has offered to pay all the legal expenses. But Mum is just as likely to change her mind. She really adored my rotten old man. Guy will just add to her confusion.’

  Belle looked Finn in the face and he gazed blatantly back into her eyes. He had done many drawings of her, secretly hidden in a tiny wall cupboard in his room, a place once used to keep candles and lanterns. He drank Belle in, breathed her in, stealing more and more of her for his forbidden memories. The beautiful reality of her now was more than an image. It was written all over his heart and as soon as he was alone he would capture it on paper. For the millionth time he imagined kissing her lush lips. ‘But some of what you’ve said isn’t a bad thing, Finn.’

  ‘It is to me,’ he said, his voice dropping to a husky quality. ‘I’m not ready to leave Eloise in anyone else’s care. Mum seems to love her as a mother should, but she could easily slip back again into that awful depressed state. Eloise is my responsibility and I’ll be keeping it that way for some years to come. My future doesn’t count. Besides, after all the troubles of the last months I’m perfectly happy.’ I’m not ready to leave the area and hardly ever see you. I’m perfectly happy when I’m close to you like this.

  ‘That’s good to hear, and I do believe anyone can make something of themselves no matter what their circumstances are. Now Fiona is beginning to venture out again, I’d like to invite her over to The Orchards,’ Belle said. ‘Do you think she would join us for Sunday tea tomorrow? Sam has invited Jenna, but we’ll still be a small group.’

  ‘She might possibly,’ Finn smiled, happy to get another chance to be where Belle was. ‘But Guy Carthewy is there most Sundays.’

  ‘Well, he’s welcome too. I think he and Charlie would get on fine.’

  ‘They haven’t got anything in common,’ Finn said, keeping the sharpness out of his answer. Except for both of them getting in my way. He loathed it when Belle mentioned Charlie.

  A sudden stir of excited voices made them look towards the edge of the lawn. Pushing Eloise in her pram was Fiona, and Guy was with her, looking wholly like a complete family. ‘Mum’s here!’ Finn squawked in disbelief.

  ‘Right then, I can ask them both to tea personally.’ Belle was up and walking towards the newcomers. Finn ran after her.

  Verity was the first of the crowd to reach Fiona and Guy. ‘Hello!’ Then she lowered her voice sensitively. ‘You look wonderful, Fiona, and you’ve done very well to come out. What did you think of your first look at Nanviscoe and now here? Hello Guy.’

  ‘It’s all very charming.’ Fiona’s reply was genuine and nervous. Her hair had reclaimed its glossy sheen, and the feather-embellished hat she wore pinned jauntily to the side of her head was sleek and chic. In a classic tea dress with peplum waist and silk stockings, her heels not too high to accommodate her long walk, she was a picture of discreet glamour, and was receiving many complimentary comments. She glanced at Guy for support. He was hovering protectively. ‘I’ve been thinking for a while now about walking to the village. Guy convinced me I might as well plunge in and come to this event where I’ll meet just about everyone at once.’

  ‘Well, let me introduce you to some people,’ Verity said. ‘Here comes Belle. And Mrs Mitchelmore is on the way. You’ve heard all about her.’ Verity watched Fiona anxiously, hoping she would cope with the exuberant greeting she would get from the lady of the manor and the influx of people wanting to see the baby, and Fiona and her generous landlord. At least she wouldn’t have to contend with the bitchy Delia Newton. She need not have worried. Fiona was calling on her old hostess skills and chatted quite comfortably to all the well-wishers and nosy parkers. She thanked those she knew had been good to Finn. Guy was charm and gallantry itself and many asked about the changes to Merrivale, saying they were pleased the renovations would have laid the old ghosts to rest. Finn was all smiles to have his baby sister here. He proudly gave Eloise the rag doll. He took control of the pram and pushed Eloise about to further show her off. People were putting sixpences and shilling pieces into the smiling baby’s tiny hands for good luck and fortune and Finn carefully gathered them from Eloise’s clutch.

  While Belle went back to the white elephant stall, Verity led Fiona and Guy to the tea tent, where she introduced the couple to everyone there. They bought tea and plain scones, butter only available on the first batch laid out. ‘Seems you’ve just missed the vicar,’ Verity said, as they sat at a table covered in snowy linen with a small vase of violas. ‘The Reverend Lytton never has much to say anyway. He’s an old misery. May I ask if you’ve thought about having Eloise christened in the church? St Nanth’s is lovely inside.’

  ‘No, I haven’t thought about it at all, but I will. I’ll talk to Finn. I’m sure he’ll agree on the Godparents being Guy, Dorrie and yourself, Verity. Would you do us – and by that I mean Finn and me – the honour of becoming one of her Godmothers, Verity?’

  ‘I’d be delighted, and it would be my honour. Wentworth Lytton will rush through the ceremony but it’s what we all promise God that counts.’

  ‘I’ve still got Finn’s christening robe. I’ll put on a little tea after the church. Invite Nurse Rumford and Mrs Pentecost too, and the Lawrys and the Vercoes.’

  ‘What, all the Vercoes? The children too?’ Verity laughed. ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Fiona smiled. ‘Jean and Jenna will keep the children in line, and it’s only for one afternoon anyway. Jean and Denny have been good to me. I want to repay all for their kindness. It’s time I faced up to life again. Thanks to Dorrie, Greg and yourself, Finn and I have been quickly accepted into the community. And Guy will be there, of course.’ Fiona looked at her lifeline.

  ‘You’ll always be able to count on me, Fiona,’ Guy said.

  Verity saw the love for Fiona shining out of his pleasant eyes. Perhaps in time there would be another cause for celebration.

  ‘Enough about us,’ Fiona said, nudging Verity gaily. ‘I want to learn about your Mr Newton. Is he here? I haven’t as much as caught a glimpse of
him yet.’

  ‘Jack is not my Mr Newton.’ Verity made a surprised face. ‘He’s my employer and I see very little of him. I enjoy my work in his farmstead office. It was in a bit of a mess but I soon cottoned on to his disordered way of doing things. He actually had everything pretty much up to date. He didn’t really need my services, but he’s good about finding people work. I dare say he would have found something for Finn if he had gone there instead of The Orchards that day. The staff are a cheery lot, from cowman to stable boy. From what I’ve gathered Jack was so horrified as a boy by his father and grandfather’s harsh treatment of the workers, including regular thrashings and docking of pay, that he is set on making amends. There are only workhorses kept there now. I learned that Jack was thrown off his pony as a youth and hurt his back and hasn’t ridden since. Accounts for his passion in fast cars, I suppose. Apparently, he begged the Forces to let him join up, even as a squaddie, but they all turned him down, declaring his back would soon give up on him so there was no point. Next week I’ll be starting in the library of Meadows House. It needs to be put into order. His father was a great collector of books and maps, he says. Some are still packed in boxes and have never seen the light of day. I can’t wait to open them!’

  ‘Jack Newton sounds fascinating, so much more than a ladies man. I hope I get to meet him sooner rather than later,’ Fiona said.

  ‘Sounds like my kind of chap,’ Guy agreed. ‘Passed him on the road once or twice, drives a bit too madly, of course, but I suppose it keeps his mind off things. Can’t see him being a happy man, really. May I filch the last scone?’

  Fiona put the scone on his plate. ‘Tuck in, you are a one to fill up,’ she told Guy indulgently, then back to Verity. ‘So is Jack Newton here today?’

  ‘Oh, definitely not.’ Verity dipped to a whisper. ‘I forgot to mention that he hasn’t attended the Summer Fair since his wife died. She hung herself. He found her body on the morning of the Fair and has never spent this particular day in the village since, even though Mrs Mitchelmore thoughtfully changed it to a week later. Lytton refused to take her funeral in the church or allow her to be interred in the churchyard, and she was buried quietly somewhere in the grounds of the house.’

  ‘The poor man must have been devastated,’ Fiona whispered too. ‘It’s no wonder he doesn’t want to be reminded of that dreadful day.’

  ‘Sounds like there might be some sort of mystery behind it,’ Guy ruminated. ‘I wonder if Mrs R has ever thought so.’

  ‘Well if Aunt Dorrie has, she’s never mentioned it,’ Verity replied ponderously. ‘I’ll ask her about it.’ It was then that Verity recalled she had meant, before her new job stole all her attention, to ask her knowledgeable aunt about Mrs Rawling, mother of the wretched murdered Mary. Mrs Rawling didn’t go to any village events and seemed to have been quite forgotten. Verity resolved to find out if there was more behind it than just the poor woman’s wish to be left alone.

  Fifteen

  ‘Lorna . . . Lorna are you . . . there?’

  Again Delia was met with silence. She had no idea how long it was since she had awakened and lay muzzily calling for her cousin to help her to the bathroom. Where was the wretched Lorna? For that matter where was Soames? There were no sounds coming from below in the shop, no bell ringing to announce customers.

  Delia was consumed by panic, the same kind of vile choking feeling she was experiencing more and more. They had abandoned her, had gone for good. That crazy lurching dream was not a dream at all, but real. Soames and Lorna had packed their bags and sneaked away leaving her alone, to wither and starve and weaken and die.

  ‘Ohh!’ She began to cry and fat tears seared down the sides of her face and ran into her ears. The two people who were supposed to be caring for her had absconded and left her to die in her own wetness, for that would be the case if she didn’t soon get on the lavatory seat. She had been left to die in agony and humiliation. Lorna, the bitch, the wicked taunting bitch, had resolutely refused to let her have the commode in the bedroom until the evening and more than once Delia had suffered the horror of her own hot burning pungent urine wetting her lower regions.

  Then through her mugginess Delia realized she didn’t have to stay put and wait for that cruel fate, for her own evilly arranged murder to catch up with her. Her limbs might feel like lead weights – and sometimes as if she had no limbs at all – but Nurse Rumford had kept expressing to her that she did have strength in her arms and legs, that the weakness was all in her mind. The nurse spoke either patiently or briskly to her, stubbornly refusing to believe that Delia was as weak as a newborn kitten. ‘You have to try, Mrs Newton. You have to change the way you think. I’ll lift your legs down over the side of the bed and then Miss Barbary and I will take you by the arms and walk you up and down the landing. You can do it, try, try, try. If you persist in just lying there, in giving up, you will lose all your muscle tone and you truly will become an invalid. Ignore feelings of dizziness, even of feeling sick. You can walk. Come along now, trust in Miss Barbary and me and between us we’ll have you up and about in no time. Think how wonderful it will be to sit in your armchair in your sitting room again.’

  Nurse Rumford had been gentle and strong with her but Lorna always managed to hurt Delia and drag her to the bathroom rather than support her carefully.

  ‘She’s hurting me,’ Delia would cry.

  ‘No, I’m not, I’m doing my best,’ Lorna would wail. And Nurse Rumford believed her because Lorna was sly about pinching Delia or grabbing her roughly.

  ‘Try not to make a fuss, Mrs Newton. Be brave, be determined,’ Nurse Rumford would say.

  When Delia was back in bed gasping for breath after each ordeal, Nurse Rumford wrote down her notes and ignored Delia’s distress. Delia would lament, ‘I’m not putting it on. I feel really terrible. Let me sleep, all I want to do is sleep.’

  When Nurse Rumford left, Lorna would leer down at Delia. ‘Now you know what it feels like for the shoe to be on the other foot. For years you tormented me, made me feel less than a worm. You were brave and determined in those days about putting me down every chance you got. Me and others like poor Mrs Rawling. The first day she came into the shop after her daughter’s murder you cruelly told her that her Mary got what she deserved, shot like a dog for fornicating. You destroyed the remains of the poor woman’s dignity. You’re an evil, malicious witch. Well, you’re the one who is shit under my shoes now. I hate you and Soames hates you. Do us all a favour and die. Make it soon.’

  Remembering every damning malicious word of Lorna’s, Delia flew into a rage. From somewhere deep inside her she let out a scream. It had hardly a decibel, but her wrath rendered up enough energy to allow her to push back the covers and drag her legs down over the edge of the bed. Bit by bit, grunting like a pig with half a nostril, she got her feet down to rest on the rug. She flopped her head to her chest and waited for her faintness to clear. Reaching out shakily she got a grip on a glass of water and slowly, slowly managed to take a few sips. It was risky owing to her burning need to urinate but she was desperate for sustenance.

  ‘Bitch!’ she gasped, her slumped body heaving in the effort. Her mind wasn’t hazy and she knew Lorna’s insistence and jeers about her being forgetful were lies. The fact was Lorna rarely put her meals close enough for her to eat and minutes later would laugh and take the uneaten food away. ‘You bitch, you’re starving me, trying to kill me. We’ll see about that.’

  Delia had no notion that it was the day of the Summer Fair. Still believing she had been abandoned, but probably on a Sunday for a day’s jaunt, she was determined to get to the bathroom and then raise the alarm to her plight. Nurse Rumford might be attending her tomorrow but Delia wasn’t going to wait until then, to suffer any more of Soames’ neglect and Lorna’s cruelty.

  Looking up she planned her way out of the bedroom by reaching out and grabbing hold of the chest of drawers, the wardrobe and the glass doorknob, she’d shuffle round the open door and get ou
t of the room. If her legs failed her she would crawl to the bathroom on her hands and knees. Somehow she would do the necessary and get down the stairs on her bottom. Then she would haul herself up on to her knees at the nearest window and bang on the glass for help. Someone would be about sooner or later, neighbours going to and from the church or children outside playing.

  It was proved that Nurse Rumford was right; she could use her legs. They were shaky and wobbly but inch by inch she was out of her room and lurching along the landing, with the aid of the wall and a tiny table with a potted fern on it. She had to pass the top of the stairs and then she could grab the bathroom doorknob.

  She heard a clicking noise and paused to listen. She knew that noise. Someone had opened the kitchen door that connected to the passage below. A second later Lorna appeared, decked out like she had been to a wedding – but wait! She was wearing the new hat Delia had bought for the Summer Fair. Fury and indignation swept through Delia in burning waves. ‘Take off my hat, you thieving bitch!’ She hurled each word like a poisoned splinter down the stairs.

  Lorna was pinned momentarily to the spot but then she hauled in the full confidence born out of her bitter resentment. She tossed her handbag on the gate-leg table. ‘So you’ve managed to get out of your stinking bed, have you, you sweating, smelly hag? You’d better move double quick if you want to make it to the bathroom or you’ll be fouling your prized Axminster, which you’re always boasting about, and if you do I won’t be cleaning it up. Instead I’ll rub your bleddy snooty nose in it, just like the bitch you are.’

  ‘You evil dirty maggot, that’s what I called you as a girl, maggot! And that’s what you still are, Lorna Barbary, a flea-ridden, mangy maggot.’ Wrath giving her super strength, Delia gripped her hands on the top of each stair rail. ‘You were the one who used to wet herself. The boys called you pissy-wissy, while you cowered in the playground blubbing into the hanky you kept in the pocket of your pissy knickers. You were a joke and you’re still a joke. I see it all now, what you’re up to, trying to take over my life. You must be mad if you think you can get the better of me. You’ve been feeding me with extra pills, haven’t you? Making Soames and the nurse believe my condition is worse than it is.’