Stoney Beck

by Jean Houghton-Beatty

  Jenny glanced through the pages. “Thank you. This will come in handy. I thought this afternoon I’d drive out to Miss Biggerstaff’s house. I hate what happened in the tearoom. She thought she knew me is all, and I certainly didn’t mean to come across as, rude. I was tactless and I’m sorry about the whole thing.”

  Mr. Pudsley’s right eyebrow went up about half an inch. “If I were you, I’d just forget it. Biddy meant it all right. She’s like that with everyone.”

  Jenny put the change in her purse. “Still, I can’t stand mixed signals. It’ll drive me nuts until I’ve apologized. And I’d hate to give Americans a bad name.” She stuck her purse back in her shoulder bag. “Is her place hard to find?”

  “No, take a left out of here, up Market Street.” He gestured with his hand. “Then another left at the post office onto Vallhellyn Lane. Go about three miles and you’ll come to Glen Ellen on the right. Big Tudor-style house, sits back off the road. That’s where Biddy lives. There’s a massive dead tree in the middle of the front lawn. You can’t miss it.” He polished a glass and held it up to the light. “It’s the biggest house for miles around. It used to be a showplace when the Fitzgeralds were alive but all that’s changed. Now you can hardly see the place for the weeds.”

  Ten minutes later Jenny drove through the open gates of Glen Ellen. The drive was littered with last year’s dead leaves and the roses bordering the overgrown lawn fought with weeds for a bit of sun. A couple of squirrels chattered and scampered along the naked limbs of the dead tree, while another sat in a hole halfway up the trunk, a nut between its paws. There was a fishpond covered with water lilies near the tree and a huge black cat crouched at the edge hoping for the odd goldfish that swam too close. Jenny jumped at the grating sound of a shutter as it swung loose from the huge front window. She counted the windows, six downstairs and six on the floor above, all with drapes tightly closed except for the upstairs window closest to her. It all looked so sad and neglected. Still, if she squinted her eyes to soften the edges, it wasn’t hard to imagine the showplace Mr. Pudsley had said it once was, to see the manicured lawn with the roses in full bloom, and a strong healthy tree offering shade.

  She parked next to the green Toyota which she guessed was Biddy’s, then walked around to the front entrance. She pressed the bell and waited, her mouth poised to give a big friendly smile when Biddy came to the door. But when the door opened, Jenny found herself staring into the face of a girl who could have been any age from eighteen to thirty. Sometimes it was hard to tell with Down syndrome.

  Jenny gave her biggest smile. “Is Miss Biggerstaff at home?”

  The girl nodded, then put a finger to her lips. “She’s asleep,” she lisped in a soft wheezy voice. Her face was pale, anxious. “I can’t let you in. Biddy said strangers are dangerous.”

  “Yes, well, she’s right of course. There’s no way I’d ever let a stranger in my house.”

  The girl stepped outside and plopped down on the dusty bench placed against the wall. She patted the place beside her and looked up at Jenny. “Can you sit with me for a bit. My name’s Sarah and when Biddy wakes up, you can come in. I mean we won’t be strangers any more and then I’ll make you a nice cup of tea. What’s your name?”

  “Jenny, Jenny Robinson. If Biddy’s taking a nap, she might sleep for ages. Maybe I’ll come back another time.”

  “Are you from America?” Sarah asked shyly. “You talk like some of those women on the telly.”

  Jenny smiled, at the same time warming toward Sarah. “Yes, I’m American but I’ve never been on the telly. I’m just plain old Jenny Robinson from Charlotte, North Carolina.”

  “You’re not old.” Sarah patted harder on the bench. “Please sit with me. I’ve never spoken to an American lady before. You’re so pretty. Bet you could be on telly if you wanted to.”

  “Thanks, Sarah,” Jenny said, sitting beside her, “and you can be my press agent.”

  They both turned at the sound of a car coming up the gravel drive, then Sarah let out a little whoop.

  “It’s Andy.” She stood up and almost knocked Jenny off the seat as she lurched past. She held fast to the rail as she took the steps one at a time, then shambled across the gravel toward Andy Ferguson who had just stepped out of his car.

  A huge grin split his face as he strolled toward her. “How’s my best girl?” he asked as he pulled a small plastic bag out of his pocket. “Here’s your Elton John tape and his “Candle in the Wind.” Took me ages to find it. Finally got it in Grasmere. Got this Chris de Burgh one too. It’s got “The Lady in Red” on it.”

  Sarah took the tapes then reached up and plopped a big wet kiss on his cheek? “Oh Andy, I love you. Thank-you, thank-you.”

  Andy looked across at Jenny, still sitting on the bench at the top of the steps. He walked toward her, Sarah at his side. “What’s Miss America doing at Sarah’s house?”

  Jenny smiled, focusing on an oil stain on his collar. “I met Miss Biggerstaff in the Hare and Hounds on my first day. We talked, and well—”

  “Why don’t you call her Biddy,” Sarah interrupted. “Everybody else does.” She rocked on the balls of her feet. “You can come in now. Andy’s my friend, and you’re his friend, so that makes us all friends. Come on in. I’ll put the kettle on.”

  Jenny turned to Andy. “I hate to just barge in. Biddy’s asleep but what if she wakes up and finds me sitting in her house?”

  Andy shrugged. “What if she does? This isn’t her house, anyway. It belongs to Sarah. Biddy’s the housekeeper. Sarah isn’t able to live alone. Still, she has a right to invite friends in. God knows, she doesn’t get much company up here.”

  Sarah came to the door. “Come on, come on. I’ve got the kettle on and I’ve already got out the biscuits. They’re your favorites, Andy, the chocolate-on-one-side ones.”

  Andy stood aside while Jenny stepped into the wide hall. There was a mustiness about the place, as if no windows were ever opened to let in the fresh air. Most of the doors were closed and the dark paneling only added to the gloom. A crystal chandelier hung over the wide staircase, its obvious beauty marred by a patina of grime on its myriad prisms and by the cobwebs strung between the arms. Sarah led them through the hall and took a right into the kitchen. This room was cleaner and brighter than the rest of the house. Sarah pulled back the curtains and raised the window.

  “Biddy doesn’t like the curtains pulled back like this,” Sarah said. “She won’t let me open the window either, so if she comes down I’ll shut it.” She closed her eyes, tilted back her head, and took a deep breath. “Don’t you just love that fresh air coming in.”

  She motioned for them to sit at the big refectory table while she filled their cups, placed a cookie in each of their saucers, then sat beside Jenny with Andy in the chair opposite. “Isn’t this nice,” she said in her wheezy voice. “Friends coming to visit and us having tea together.”

  Jenny took a sip of the tea. “It sure is. This tea’s the best I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Jenny’s an American lady,” Sarah said to Andy. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Andy had his elbow on the table, chin resting on his hand, his blue-eyed gaze full on Jenny. “Yeah, she’s a smasher all right. Definitely not the type you see every day.”

  Sarah giggled in her funny way. “Are you in love with her?”

  “Almost,” he said with a grin. “Just give me a couple of minutes.”

  Jenny laughed and rolled her eyes. “Hey, come on, you guys. Give me a break.”

  Sarah poked her in the side. “I’m not a guy. I’m a girl. Guys are boys like Andy.”

  “Americans call everyone guy,” Andy said, his gaze still on Jenny. “It’s a sort of unisex thing.”

  He gave Sarah a teasing look. “But see, your guest is embarrassed, so why don’t we change the subject. You said on the phone you felt better. Are you sure you’re up to working tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Please come and get me, Andy.” Sarah twirled the spo
on round in her cup creating a mini-maelstrom. “I’m nearly better and it’s so lonely here with just Biddy.”

  “If she thinks it’s OK, I’ll pick you up at eight thirty. Someone can always bring you home if you don’t feel well.”

  He bit into biscuit and turned to Jenny. “Sarah works in Malone’s Corner Shop, but she’s been under the weather lately.”

  Jenny smiled to hide her surprise. Sarah didn’t look capable of holding a job.

  “I’m a good worker, even if I am a bit slow,” Sarah said as if she’d read Jenny’s thoughts. “Ada said I’m the best help she’s ever had. You tell her Andy.”

  Andy nodded. “It’s true. Ada did say that and she also told me she didn’t know what she’d do without you.”

  “You got me the job, didn’t you, Andy. I’m in charge of the magazines and newspapers. Oh, and all the cards, as well as the sweets and chocolates. Things like that. It’s a very ’sponsible job. Pretty soon I’ll be able to run the whole shop.” She looked fondly at Andy then turned back to Jenny. “Andy’s my very best friend in the whole wide world.”

  Andy winked at Jenny. “Sarah’s a big con artist. Last week she told Ada Malone she was her very best friend.”

  Sarah giggled. “She is. You both are.”

  When they heard the heavy tread on the stairs, Jenny and Andy looked toward the hallway, while Sarah got to her feet and scuttled as fast as she could to the window. She closed it, yanked the curtains back in place, then flopped back in her chair just as Biddy turned the corner and came into the kitchen. Her gaze swept the table, and settled on Jenny. Her question though was directed at Sarah.

  “I thought I told you not to let strangers into the house.”

  Sarah rolled her eyes, her third biscuit halfway to her mouth. “Biddy, honestly.”

  Biddy’s eyes bored into Jenny’s. “Well, you didn’t waste any time. You acted so insulted when I said I knew you’d come snooping around, yet here you are. Proves I was right.”

  Biddy could have bitten out her own tongue. Hadn’t she promised herself if she ever laid eyes on the girl again, she’d apologize for her outburst, explain it away as a case of mistaken identity. She sneaked a glance at Andy Ferguson. The stunned look on his face irked her, him with his raised eyebrows and superior ways. Still, she couldn’t afford to let him, of all people, see her lose her temper. The last thing she needed was him reporting her to the Social Services, or saying something to his friend Dr. Hall. More than anything though, she didn’t want Andy Ferguson’s uncle to know any of this. Thank God the man was away for the summer. Surely the girl would be gone before he got back from France.

  Jenny pushed back her chair and got to her feet. “You keep insisting you know me, but how could you? I’ve only been in the country a couple of weeks. Never been here before in my life. I must look like someone you knew and I don’t have the least idea what you’re talking about.”

  Biddy pretended to peer at her more closely, even took off her glasses, blew on them, and wiped them on the dishtowel. She put them back on as she got right up into the girl’s face. She gave a little fake laugh of embarrassment, and even managed a shame-faced shake of the head. “I’ve changed my mind. Now that I look at you closely, I don’t think you’re that girl in the photo after all. Can you overlook the faults of an old woman with bad eyesight?”

  Jenny almost clapped. The woman’s sudden about-face was good enough to win her an Oscar. Still, it was to Jenny’s own advantage to play along. Biddy smiled her toothy non-smile, but at the same time looked unsure, as if she didn’t know whether she was the cat or the mouse. “Let’s forget it,” Jenny said. “Stoney Beck was on my list of places to see and I’ll be gone soon. Besides, I don’t want to come across as an ugly American.”

  Sarah grabbed Jenny’s arm. “You’re not ugly. Andy’s nearly in love with you and we both think you’re gorgeous.” She turned to Biddy. “Isn’t she gorgeous, Biddy?”

  Biddy’s smile was locked on her face “It’s plain to see she’s made a hit with you.”

  Jenny stuck out her hand. “Friends?” She tried not to stare at the nails of the hand grasping hers. They were bitten down to the quick, while the nails on the woman’s other hand were long and curved, reminding Jenny of a claw. She glanced beyond Biddy at Andy, who was leaning back in his chair, arms folded, a cynical smile on his face and rolling his eyes for Jenny’s benefit. She wasn’t the only one who had a handle on this strange woman. She picked up her purse and edged closer to the door. “Guess I’ll be going. Thanks for the tea and cookies, Sarah. They were real nice.”

  Andy was already on his feet. “I need to go too. I’ll be here tomorrow, Sarah. Eight thirty sharp.”

  “Are you going back to the Hare?” he asked as he and Jenny walked toward their cars. “If you are, would you join me for a drink in the bar?”

  She concentrated on that tiny scar on his upper lip. Andy Ferguson was a deal all right and she almost said yes, but too much was happening too fast. Out of nowhere came a vision of the cottage’s oversized easy chair. She wanted to snuggle down in it and re-live her visit to St. Mary’s, savor her time with the priest minute by precious minute. She pulled out her car keys. “Can I take a rain check? I’ve hardly had a minute to myself since I left home. Think I’ll go back to the cottage and read some, then maybe take a nap. If I take it easy today I should feel like a million dollars by tomorrow.”

  Andy leaned against his car door and folded his arms. “If I said you already look like a million, you’d consider it a line, so I won’t say it. Anyway, you’re probably sick of hearing it.”

  “I sure am. I’m so sick of guys lining up for miles, falling all over themselves to tell me.”

  He grinned. “Yes, well, I might just have to jump the queue.”

  She almost told him she didn’t mind if he went right to the head of the queue, but instead she gave a casual wave and headed for her car. Because of the presence of him and Sarah, her visit to Glen Ellen had gotten her nowhere. There’d been no chance to ask Biddy a single question and now she needed time alone to plan her next move. Intuition told her unless she trod lightly, this uneasy peace with the woman wouldn’t last long.

  Chapter Six

  Jenny woke early, before six, shaking and sweating. She hadn’t slept well, her night full of disjointed dreams about the priest. In one dream she told him she was his daughter. He smiled and when he opened his arms wide, Jenny walked into them. She danced from him to the boys’ choir and they all sang “Ave Maria.” But then the dream changed. This time Jenny stood before the lectern and told the congregation that this God-fearing priest of theirs was a phony. Father Woodleigh had talked Beverly Pender into sex. Jenny had thumped on the lectern and said she could prove it because she was the priest’s daughter. Father Woodleigh had sprung to his feet and screamed at her liar, liar. The congregation got to its feet, pointed at her and chanted liar, liar. The priest had finally told her to get out of St. Mary’s and if she ever set foot in the church again, he would have her thrown into the tower.

  Now though, after a shower and a full English breakfast, and with the sun already warm on her bare arms, only fragments of the dreams remained. As she headed up Market Street, her mind was a beehive. Questions whirred around in there like drones, questions for which she had no answers. She had told the priest she wanted to return especially to listen to the choir. But where would that lead? It was all too hard. Seeing him, liking him, yet unable to let him know she was his daughter. And if she ever did decide to tell him, what would be his reaction? How could she ever expect him to feel anything but resentment at her turning up like this? Hadn’t she noticed? He was a priest and the scandal would ruin him. What would it benefit if she went back to St. Mary’s? The memory of two visits instead of one?

  Once again she stood outside Dr. Hall’s surgery. The light was on in the front room, and through the net curtains she saw the fuzzy shapes of five or six people in chairs lining the walls. Obviously the waiting room
. Maybe this evening she would stop and see if Dr. Hall was the doctor who had her photograph.

  Further along Market Street, she smiled and nodded at the woman weeding her garden and said good morning to an old couple coming out of the post office. She crossed Hallveck Common, and after she checked out the pink and white pants suit in the window of The Lake Boutique, she went inside The Bookworm. A man in his early twenties with a gold ring in his left ear stood behind the counter. He leaned his back against a shelf of books while he watched a tiny television placed beside the cash register. When Jenny gave a loud attention-getting cough, he turned round, still laughing at some joke from the set.

  “Yes?” His tone was brusque, as if she’d interrupted him.

  She fumbled in her bag for her pen and small pad to give the impression she was a woman with a purpose. “This may sound like a crazy question, but has this bookshop been here long?”

  “What do you mean by long?”

  “Twenty-six years maybe?”

  “At least that.” He gave the television another quick look, then turned back to her. “Are you making a survey or something?”

  “I guess you could say that. Some friends back home told me about a bookshop they visited when they came here on their honeymoon twenty-five years ago. They couldn’t remember the name and I wondered if this could be it.”

  “This is it, all right” he said. “The only book shop as far as I know that’s ever been in Stoney Beck.”

  “Guess it’s changed hands a couple of times since then though?”

  “My partner and I, own it now. Bought it a couple of years ago from an old woman. She died last year.”

  “Ah.”

  “Can I show you some books?”

  “Thanks but I guess I’ll just browse.”

  He nodded before turning back to his TV.

  She wandered down the aisles, ran her hand along the books, and pictured her pregnant mother lugging armloads of them around the shop, bending and stretching her swollen body as she placed them on the shelves. What an act she must have put on to appear carefree as well as strong and healthy so she wouldn’t lose her job.