Unforgettable

by Gloria Cook

  ‘Well, I suppose you could give them to a charity,’ she had offered, hating to even discuss the wretched caboodle.

  ‘To sell, you mean? No, not that, they would only end up languishing in a variety of rich girls’ nurseries. They should be played with, dressed and redressed. I’ll get on to the Salvation Army and they can hand them out to an orphanage and other worthy poor children.’

  Verity had secretly shuddered, praying that none of the dolls and things would pass on any sort of curse to their new owners.

  ‘Stand safely back, Verity,’ Jack said kindly, taking charge of the burning. ‘I’m just glad of your support. I’ll feed the fire.’

  Hugging her cardigan round herself, Verity watched in a sort of awful mesmerized trance as Jack tossed the wax, bisque and cloth limbs, heads, torsos and wads of torn-off hair, to sizzle, stutter and hiss diabolically in the flames. The stink of the glue was acrid and Verity stepped further and further back to prevent her nose and lungs being fouled. Let this be a complete cleansing and let Jack then leave that poor wretched creature forever in the past.

  At the end as the last obscene doll part was burning out of existence and the flames were beginning to die down, Verity felt dirty all over her skin and hair and her lungs soiled and choked.

  Jack saw. ‘Oh no, I’m sorry you’ve got so grimy, Verity. I shouldn’t have wanted you to stay so long. Please do go inside and ask Cathy to run you a bath, while you have plenty to drink. Mrs Kelland can make you something hot and soothing with honey in it. I’m sure Cathy will be glad to lend you something to wear. Please don’t go home yet. I’ve asked Mrs Kelland to make us a light cooked tea. You will stay?’

  His plea was hopeful and needy, but also persuasive. Verity was happy to stay, she was hoping to. She liked everyone attached to this property, and now the ghost of poor Lucinda had been purged there was nothing left to pass a gloom over it, a gloom of bad regretful memories for Jack.

  Cathy’s clothes were not going to fit Verity’s taller, curvier form so she sat down to the meal clad in Mrs Kelland’s best dress, its generous width pulled in with a tie belt. Her legs would have been too much on display and so the cook-housekeeper had also loaned her a skirt to wear under the dress, pleated over and held fast by a couple of safety pins. The result should have made Verity look like a bag stuffed with potatoes but she actually appeared rather fetching, although old-fashioned. She smelled of coal tar soap and dabs of Mrs Kelland’s violet scent that the woman had insisted she put on her wrists. Her wet hair was pinned up in a high bun giving her an exotic Latin look. ‘I’ve helped dress ladies before when the occasion has called for it but I’ve never turned one out looking like you, though you still come across just as lovely, Miss Verity,’ Mrs Kelland had declared, amused, as Verity was, by the end result.

  ‘I’ll return your clothes tomorrow and thank you, Mrs Kelland.’ On the cusp of the moment she had given the woman a hug. ‘You all make me feel so at home here.’

  ‘Well, you said it, miss.’ Mrs Kelland went off to her kitchen chuckling a certain chuckle.

  The implied meaning was not lost on Verity. At home here. That was a not unwelcome notion.

  ‘You look charming, Verity,’ Jack said gallantly, at the foot of the stairs. Verity had taken so long relaxing in the deep Victorian bath and getting ready that Jack had beaten her in cleaning up for the meal.

  ‘I think I rather do,’ she smiled, accepting his waiting hand. As for him, he was enticing and virile in a white open-neck shirt and cravat, his potent muscles bursting against the fine linen of his shirt.

  ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Ravenous.’

  He eyed her for many long seconds. ‘Let’s eat.’ He escorted her into the dining room as if they were about to dine at a regal banquet, but once at the table – a long shining beauty set with a simple silver vase of roses – he brought the mood back to natural friendliness and engaged her in light-hearted banter.

  In utter contentment they munched their way through breaded ham, and egg and parsley flan, boiled potatoes and salad leaves. Dessert was a delicious strawberry mousse. ‘Just about all from my own produce,’ Jack said proudly. ‘And thanks to the best company I’ve had in absolute ages the food has never tasted so good.’ Until now he had only gone through the motions of living, regularly getting drunk and bedding the temptress kind of women to seek refuge from the numb coldness in his mind.

  Verity accepted the compliment with a salute of her wine glass. ‘Jack, when do you next want me to do some work for you at the farm office?’

  ‘I don’t; there’s nothing there for you to do,’ he replied frankly, although he lifted his wine glass to his cheek and was smiling round it at her.

  ‘Oh, does that mean you don’t require my services any longer?’ Verity asked the question in a serious tone edged with disappointment, yet her heart gave a series of tingly leaps. Jack’s winning smile gave away his intention to keep her in some way in his life. Verity wanted nothing more than to stay in it in some capacity.

  ‘We can say that officially you’re my personal assistant, if you like. One thing pressing on my mind is to find out what happened to my sister Stella, and my brother Tobias. I only have my father’s word that Tobias is dead. It’s true Randall cut off Stella without a penny. She wrote to me a few times, just sketchy notes, saying she was working in medicine and was about to go overseas, there was nothing more after that. But what I really want from you, Verity, is to be my companion.’ He put his glass down and reached for her hand. ‘Would you like that?’

  She placed both her hands round his. ‘More than anything, Jack.’

  ‘In this house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Together with me forever – you know what I’m asking you?’ He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them gently.

  ‘I do.’ She pulled the huddle of their hands and kissed them as he had done.

  ‘It was not exactly a romantic and conventional proposal but we’re two people who’ve been through enough of life’s experience and don’t need that. We’re on the exact same wavelength; we’ve helped each other move on from the past. Agreed, Verity?’

  ‘Agreed, Jack. Totally.’

  He released her hands and drew her up from her chair and fully into his arms, gazing smilingly and tenderly into her eyes. ‘You won’t have to worry about me going astray. That’s all out of my system and it was an empty way of running away from my woes anyway, to forget them for a while. I’m in love with you, Verity, darling. I fell for you hard and fast when I pulled up beside you in the car that day. I hope one day you’ll fall in love with me too.’

  Wrapping her arms snugly and now possessively round his neck and stretching up on tiptoes to kiss his sensuous mouth, she whispered huskily, ‘You don’t have to wait for that to happen, Jack. I’ve been in love with you for a long while.’

  Twenty-Eight

  Finn had been back at Petherton for two weeks. He had burnt up all the rubbish from the first cellar, tending it gravely, using a rake to ensure nothing fell out of the towering blaze and escaped to create danger or mayhem elsewhere. Each time he threw on another old box of odds and ends or piece of unwanted furniture he did so with incensed relish. The day after his agonizing hangover he had shredded every picture of Belle Lawry and thrown them into the stream, also destroying the ethereal image he had forged in his mind about her.

  ‘I’m no longer a fool over you, woman,’ he bellowed inside his head, his face burning in the heat, his eyes full of smoke. ‘I’m no longer under your spell. I’m not a slave to your enchantment. Hate me, would you, for admiring you, for thinking I’d loved you. Offended you, did I? Not – as – much – as – you – have – offended – me.’

  He had hurled a broken standard lampshade into the crackling, roaring conflagration and snarled aloud. ‘What kind of woman are you? You only had to warn me off, put me in my place. I was never any danger to you. If you love your bloody Charlie so much how could you see I was possi
bly a rival to him? If you’re that jealous and protective of your marriage then God help any woman who takes a fancy to him.’

  Much later, when raking the embers and ash together to form a neat circle he quietly asked the world at large: ‘Is anyone really what they seem? My father certainly wasn’t. Julius Urquart wasn’t. And the woman I thought was a pleasant housewife and mother turned out to be oversensitive and two-faced, not really a friend to me and Mum at all. Anyone else would have laughed and shrugged off my infatuation. I wasn’t about to jump on her and rape her, for goodness sake!’

  He grinned smugly. He had done much to put the prickly Lawrys right. During the time he had spent entirely at home illustrating Mrs R’s poems, Belle Lawry had called at Merrivale once, bringing a little basket of fruit and expressing the neighbourly sentiment of hoping Finn had recovered from the dyspepsia. Finn sketched and painted in the guest bedroom where the light was best, where no tall trees cast any shadows. Often he had Eloise in with him lying on a thick blanket chuckling and kicking her chubby legs and shaking and chewing on her toys. He heard Belle’s voice gaily calling hello and he felt sick deep in his core. His passion for the woman had turned into loathing and disgust; he did not recognize that he was deeply hurt and felt betrayed. To his bewilderment and shame he felt too embarrassed to face her yet. He didn’t want to set his eyes on the woman for a very long time, until he could meet her eye to eye and behave as if she was no more than a friend’s mother. He was glad to stay mates with Sam. He didn’t see much of him because it was the busy fruit-picking season, but Sam had popped in with Jenna, bringing Tilly with them, and Finn had fussed round Tilly as if she was the only girl ever worth knowing. Sam would no doubt tell his parents that Finn was ‘sweet on’ Tilly – a snub to the Lawrys. Tilly’s dainty oval face, with its long curling lashes and cute bow lips, was perfect for Finn to ask her to sit for him, and portray her likeness as one of Mrs R’s fairy princesses. This meant they spent time alone on Tilly’s day off. Finn always walked her back to Petherton on his arm and kissed her goodbye on the cheek.

  Fiona had come upstairs to him. ‘Did you hear who has arrived, darling?’

  ‘Uh-uh,’ he replied, a paintbrush between his teeth but expressing an uninterested sigh.

  ‘Why not take a break and join us for coffee?’

  ‘Ask her to accept my apologies, Mum,’ he had said grimly, getting on with the woodland glade scene. ‘I can’t leave this right now.’

  ‘Of course, darling.’ Fiona had ruffled his hair and given him a quick hug to show she was proud of him. Finn loved this, his mother doling out affection. ‘Eloise has drifted off. I’ll pop her into her cot.’

  While Belle Lawry was there, instead of transferring a sketch of Tilly the fairy princess to the glade and painting it, Finn darkened the scene and added another character from the theme – the Warty Witch.

  After the bonfire, he had been given the job of whitewashing the cellar, making it lighter and not so intimidating, and then neatly to fit in the items Mrs Mitchelmore had decided to keep, and finally to pen a list of the spoils and hand it to Mrs Mitchelmore.

  Now he was striding down the servants’ passage with Mrs Mitchelmore to start on the second cellar.

  ‘You won’t find the stuff down there is as old, Finn,’ she said, jangling a big bunch of keys. ‘A good part is what I’d had put in after I married my husband. It’s quite tidy I think. Put aside anything you think might be rubbish and I’ll come and take a dekko. What I really want you to dig out is the trunks of dressing-up clothes and lug them up to the morning room. You know which room that is, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Finn said. He had the whole layout of Petherton in his mind after discovering an old map and taking a close study of it. He reckoned there was plenty of scope for hidden passages and rooms in the old place. He teased Tilly about being careful when she dusted or she might find herself suddenly swung into a creepy unlit smugglers’ lair infested with gigantic cobwebs or stumble over the skeleton of some heinously murdered wretch.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ she had giggled but then glanced all around fearfully. They were outside in the yard where Finn was taking a smoke and Tilly had sneaked a free minute to join him. ‘You don’t really think so, do you?’

  ‘Oh, you’re priceless, Miss Dimples,’ he had roared with laughter. ‘Don’t worry, if you disappear I’ll come and rescue you.’

  Tilly had smiled down at her hands shyly, displaying her delight that he had a particular name for her. It meant she was special to him. Mrs Teague, the plain cook and laundry woman, stressed to Tilly she was a lucky maid indeed to have such a personable, clever young man courting her, ‘but don’t forget to keep your hand on your ha’penny and keep your ankles crossed. Don’t go the way of the sinful. Besides the mistress’d skin you alive for letting her down.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing what you’re meaning and I don’t need telling how lucky I am to have Finn,’ Tilly had replied cheerfully, thinking in her head of floral headdresses and bridal veils.

  ‘Now we have a proper village hall with its own little stage and curtains, I’ll produce dramas and pantomimes, concerts and the like. Costumes will be called for and I can get that off to a flying start, my sister and I dressed up, child and woman for fancy-dress parties. Let me know as soon as you’ve put something in the morning room. Oh, and you, Finn, I will call on to play the role of the handsome hero, ah, ah no arguments.’

  ‘If I must act I’d rather play the villain,’ he said firmly. Mrs Mitchelmore, he had found, liked a bit of dispute even if she did not countenance being beaten.

  ‘I dare say you will at some point; people go for handsome villains. To change the subject, how are you getting on with your project? I must say I do like your artwork. You portrayed to a T the essence of Petherton, all shabby gentility with a hint of the mysterious, now up in the hall. I understand Tilly features in fairy princess form in this effort by you and Dorrie Resterick. I heartily wish you well in following your chosen artistic career, Finn. It would be a crime if you couldn’t make a good deal out of such a God-given talent. You may draw Tilly here in the grounds, if you’d like. Just ask me about when and I’ll tell you where. Actually, something might be discovered in the dressing-up clothes for her to look the part.’

  ‘Really?’ Finn replied, delighted at the honour she had bestowed on him. Although she would have the Summer Fair nowhere else but in her grounds she extended no other invitations to Petherton. The more time Finn spent here the more he liked her. She was the stuff of the British Raj. If she had been captured in enemy occupied territory in the war she would have given the Germans or Japanese a hell of a time. Finn could picture her rallying the women and children in an interment camp, proud of her sweaty rags and greasy tats of hair and her malnourished, sore-ridden body – and torture scars for speaking out in defiance. ‘That’s very kind of you. I like coming here.’

  ‘Thought you did,’ Esther said stoutly. ‘Consider yourself my odd-job man when I need a spot of painting done or similar.’ She unlocked the cellar door further down the passage, nearer to the kitchen, and Finn propped it open. ‘Same rules apply; there is a window down there but it’s not to be opened for security’s sake, probably wouldn’t budge anyway, so do come up regularly for air and water. There was enough whitewash left, wasn’t there? Good, there’s no rush. I’ll leave you to it.’

  Finn had already shifted the bench alongside the wall and lined up the lanterns on it. His bicycle flashlight was in his crib bag. Leaving his bag on the bench and taking the flashlight and lanterns to light once down inside the cellar, he descended the solid wooden stairs with the exhilarating expectation and hope of an explorer of Africa.

  He got off to a bad start. On the third step down his head smacked into a low beam with a loud thwack that rocked him and brought him down hard on his backside and sliding down hitting his back on the next four steps, stopping with his elbows on the step above. He had managed to hold on to his flas
hlight but lost grip of the lanterns that plunged down into darkness in a nerve shattering clattering and smashing of glass. ‘Damnation!’ he yelled, and much worse. Mrs Mitchelmore had obviously not been down here. She was a stickler for detail and wouldn’t have forgotten that treacherous beam.

  ‘Finn, are you all right!’ Tilly called down to him.

  ‘I think so.’ He sat forward. ‘Owahh!’ Sharp hot needles of pain shot through his head, backside and back.

  ‘I’m fetching Mrs Mitchelmore,’ Tilly cried.

  Finn was too muzzy in the head to make out what she had said. Stabbing bright stars of light flashed under his closed eyelids. ‘Bugger, hell and . . . and . . . I’ve made a hash of things in the first minute.’

  ‘Stay where you are, Finn.’ He heard Esther’s loud order. ‘Matilda and I will soon have you up and out.’

  Finn didn’t know if he had languished on the stairs for minutes or hours but it passed through his foggy brain that his employer and Tilly carried him up to the daylight, quickly and easily. He felt the flashlight pulled from his grasp. Then Mrs Mitchelmore said, ‘Ah, I see the problem, a hefty great low beam. This cellar was badly planned. That must be painted white. I’m so sorry, Finn. I had no idea. We’ll get you into the servants’ parlour, it’s closest and you can lie down on the settle. I’m sure you’d prefer Matilda to clean the nasty bump on your head; the skin has been broken and needs to be bathed in antiseptic. Have a mug of hot sweet tea, that will do the trick, haven’t got any sugar at the moment but there’s some honey. If you see double or can’t keep your balance I’ll run you over to the doctor in the old jalopy.’

  ‘Are you seeing double?’ Tilly asked while she dabbed at his bulging bruised and bloodied bump an inch above his headline.

  ‘Don’t know, got my eyes closed, that’s stinging like anything.’ He liked Tilly being up close to him, slender and gentle and moving softly. She smelled as fresh as spring.

  ‘Nearly finished. Mrs Teague will have your mug of sweet tea ready. We’ll join you and take our morning break. There’s some scones left over from yesterday’s teatime, we’ll be having those. That will make you feel better,’ Tilly said chirpily.