by Gloria Cook
Emilia shook her head. ‘Not a word.’
‘I never thought she’d go off like that.’ Jonny was stern. ‘A bit selfish of her. I know she was gloomy over Mark, but it doesn’t make sense. She didn’t even say goodbye to me and I thought we were friends.’
Emilia paused while pushing the last flask into a second canvas bag. ‘She said she would get in touch with you. She told me she had an urgent meeting with her publisher. After the upset of the day before, I admit I didn’t take a lot of notice, but thinking about it now it does seem rather strange. She asked me to phone Honor and tell her what she was doing. Honor said she had always made a point of speaking to her herself before. And Abbie was very quiet. She thanked me and slipped away without popping in to Jill or Kate. Tilda had told her about Biddy Viant’s visit, and Abbie said she wouldn’t cause any more trouble. You could take that remark as meaning Abbie herself had caused some trouble. Before the commotion, she had gone through to speak to Jill and disappeared immediately afterwards. She didn’t come back until late then refused to eat anything saying she wasn’t hungry, that she was tired, and went straight up to bed. Early the next morning she was packed up and asking if she could ring for a taxi. I hope she’s all right.’
‘Is it possible she could have upset Jill? I thought myself that day Jill had been in a bit of a state beforehand to lose control so badly. Perhaps that was why Abbie shoved off the way she did.’
‘But we don’t know for certain that she’d upset Jill and we mustn’t ask Jill about it. She’s only just coming out of her depression and doesn’t want to remember anything about that day. Kate won’t want it brought up either. Apparently, she’s having nightmares.’
‘Oh, the poor little thing. Well, I’ve heard she’s got a birthday coming up. Anything special happening for her?’
‘Jill’s planning a little tea party. She was going to ask everyone from Tremore to come but they won’t be able to now. It will have to be just us.’
‘I’ll do something nice for her.’
‘Keep it low key, Jonny,’ Emilia warned. ‘Kate will hate too much of a fuss.’
Jonny laughed. ‘You forget I know women, Aunt Em. I’ll do the right thing.’
‘Mind you do. Kate may look more her age now but she’s still just a child.’
‘Good Lord.’ Jonny was amused. ‘You can’t possibly think I’d try my charms on Kate.’
The telephone rang and Perry came through from the den. ‘Em, darling, it’s Honor for you. She’s very anxious. She seems to think Abbie is missing.’
Jonny saddled a horse and took the bags of food and flasks in Emilia’s stead. Going back over the good times and the amazing intimacy he’d shared with Abbie, he hoped she was simply hiding away to think things through. But it wasn’t like her to be inconsiderate to her parents. Honor and Archie must be going through the wringer over this.
In a field adjacent to Long Meadow, Tom and Denny James, one of the farmhands, a happy-go-lucky, constantly whistling youth, had been cutting grass since before sunrise, when it was cooler and the grass was easier to turn. Tom was driving the tractor, pulling the finger beam grass cutter, looking back every so often to see if the half-diamond jagged blades were working efficiently. He was satisfied. The young, sweet grass would make good hay for the cattle, it was tall and perky, unlike last year’s crop when heavy snowfalls and subsequent swirling winds and downpours of rain had left it flattened and almost impossible to cut cleanly. Denny was following on after him with the horse-drawn rake, to turn and separate the grass in order to air it and keep it dry.
Jill and Kate had joined them two hours later, bringing breakfast. Jill liked to stay close to Tom, and now she was up to manual work again he was glad to have her where he could keep a watch over her.
Wearing leather gloves, old trousers and shirts, their hair under turbans, they were using forks to scrape the grass out along the hedges and out of the ruts where the rake couldn’t reach. An important job but a toilsome one, where blisters on the hand were quickly formed if one wasn’t used to hard graft. They stopped at intervals to wipe sweat from their brows and ease their aching backs. Kate wore specially adapted boots. With thick socks they were more comfortable than her shoes. ‘Soon be crib time,’ Jill said, taking a breather, eyes on the gate for a sign of her mother-in-law. ‘Oh, Jonny’s bringing it. We’ll probably get another pair of hands, in between him aiming his camera at us.’
Kate watched as Jonny swung down off the saddle, as agile as the cowboys in a film she had seen with Jill and Tom. He was heaps more handsome than the hero in the film, and the ones of the romances she had attended with Jill. He tied the reins to the gate and waved to them. Jill waved back. Kate continued to stare. Jonny had tried to coax her to pose for him in much the same way as Abbie Rothwell had done. She would feel too uncomfortable for that but she wouldn’t mind if he took a snap of her and Jill together. She had overheard a woman at one of the play rehearsals call him a ‘magnificent animal’ and she had noticed how women followed his every movement and hung on to his words. Even Mrs Patterson and Miss Grigg became giggly and coquettish when he was near them. He was good to watch, but now he was closing in she looked down at the ground.
‘Hello ladies.’ He smiled his earth-shattering smile. ‘Aunt Em had to take a telephone call, so I’m taking her place. Tom and Denny have seen me and are on their way.’ He had brought a small rug with him, always a gallant. He spread it out on the ground. ‘Sit yourselves down. You’ve been working hard so I’ll be mother and pour the tea.’ He uncorked one of the flasks.
Kate waited for Jill to lower herself down on the rug then she sat on the side furthest away from Jonny. She couldn’t get used to his jovial tones, and the way he always seemed to overshadow her. He took too much interest in her. Alan Killigrew had spoken to her at the last two rehearsals, and although she didn’t want to go out with him she had felt it was time to be sociable with him. Each time Jonny had edged Alan out, interrupting the conversation and showing Alan disapproval. Jonny should mind his own business. She didn’t need his protection. She didn’t need mollycoddling in any way. Denny was chatty with her and had hinted about taking her for a walk. Would Jonny behave in the same manner towards him?
Tom dropped down beside Jill and put his arm round her. Denny arrived and sat cross-legged at Kate’s side. There was no more room on the rug but he was happy on the dry ground. Jonny frowned at Denny when he passed him a mug and a rock bun. When Denny started to whistle, Jonny glared at him. ‘Do you mind? Some of us are trying to talk.’
Denny passed Kate a wry look. She smiled at him. ‘How’s your mother?’ Denny had told her his mother had tripped over a stool and hurt her arm.
Denny’s freckled face lit up, as it always did when Kate spoke to him. ‘Arm’s still very sore. The bruises are coming out. She put her hand out to break the fall, was lucky she didn’t break her wrist.’
This brought unwelcome memories of her grandmother with her arm in plaster and a sling. Kate couldn’t suppress a shudder. Last night she had dreamt about the old woman. They had been together in a dark claustrophobic cave, a witch’s den. With a cauldron bubbling out an evil smell and huge spiders’ webs full of tiny dying creatures, and screeching bats and hideous toads. ‘Have you brought everything?’ Granny Moses, in a black raggedy dress and cloak, her features more twisted and sharp and her eyes glowing red, had demanded again and again. Kate had no idea what she meant but felt if she didn’t soon produce whatever it was she would be in the gravest danger. Then Granny Moses had grasped her own throat and started choking. ‘Help me, help me,’ she’d pleaded in more and more terror. To Kate’s horror, large eels had spilled out of her mouth but still she was choking. ‘Help me!’ The screaming had gone on and on and Kate, struggling in her sleep, had finally woken up in a ghastly fright, sweating and burning hot. It was as if her grandmother was tormenting her from the grave and she had been left with a horrid bleakness.
Denny slung an arm round her
shoulders. ‘You all right, maid? You’ve gone all pale.’
Jill was on the alert. ‘Is something wrong, Kate?’
‘Are you getting tired, Kate?’ Tom said. ‘Jill’s just told me you didn’t get much sleep last night.’
Kate hated having all their eyes on her, particularly Jonny’s. ‘Was that boy trying anything on with you?’ he demanded, glaring at Denny. Denny snatched his arm away.
Kate was angry Denny should be accused and made to feel guilty over nothing. ‘No, of course not! Don’t say things like that. Denny was just being kind.’ It pleased her to see Jonny suitably chastened. He muttered an apology to the farmhand. ‘I just felt a bit sick for a moment. I’ll be fine when I’ve had my crib.’
‘That’s the spirit,’ Jill said, referring to her being brave enough to take Jonny to task. He did seem to have the habit of crowding Kate. There were already enough people looking out for her.
Jonny dipped his rock bun into his tea to hide his confusion. He had deserved the ticking off but he was bewildered about how much it troubled him to have invoked Kate’s ire. For some reason it was important to him that she liked him.
Tom found his cousin’s red face diverting. This had to be the very first time a female had made him blush, and a slip of a girl too. Wickedly he asked, ‘Are you going to take a photo of the happy band of workers, Jonny?’
‘What? Yes, if you’d all like me to.’
He used up all the film, and later in the darkroom he studied every one of Kate’s likenesses through a microscope. How had she responded to the boy? Was she looking into the camera or at Denny James? Tom had joked and made everyone laugh and in every photo Kate was either smiling at the lens or Jill. No obvious interest in the spotty-faced gawky boy, apparently. Next, Jonny was asking himself why this mattered to him so much.
Chapter Twelve
Delia was woken by stumbling noises and aggressive swear words. Sidney lurching in drunk from the pub was an increasingly regular occurrence. He defied his mother by doing this. Delia sighed in despair. Biddy had become even more obnoxious since returning from seeing Kate empty-handed. Another bitter quarrel would blast through the house in the morning. The last time Sidney had come in drunk he had vomited on the stairs and Biddy had threatened to throw them both out. She would too, not caring one bit about her coming grandchild. To compensate for Sidney’s wages she said she would take in a lodger.
Delia feigned sleep. Sidney took all his ill-humour out on her and he demanded sex more frequently, as if his dominance over her proved he was master of his life. Every time he was rough and he hurt her, and sometimes she ended up with a pain in her stomach. She didn’t mind pain there too much and prayed she’d miscarry. Then she would leave this wretched existence and get a live-in job somewhere far away.
She listened in dread as Sidney pulled off all his clothes, mumbling and cursing. He ripped the bedcovers clean off the bed. ‘Lie on your back, bitch,’ he muttered through the stuffy darkness.
She couldn’t go on pretending. He’d get more hostile. ‘Please Sid, I’m not feeling well. I’ve got awful cramps. Get into bed and get some sleep. You must have already roused your mother. If you keep disturbing her there’ll be even more hell to pay.’
‘I’m not worried about that old hag. I wish she was dead. If she complains I’ll tell her so. I’ll push her down the stairs. I’ll throttle her. She won’t go on getting the better of me.’ He made threats against Biddy while tanked up on alcohol, but in the morning he’d whimper to her like a trembling mouse. He came up close to Delia’s face. She could only make out his outline but she knew he was staring down at her. ‘Whinging bitch. You’re always whinging at me. You’re my wife and you’ll do your duty.’ He threw himself on top of her and submitted her to fear, pain and violation.
* * *
As she piled the breakfast dishes into the sink in the tiny back kitchen, Tony came up behind her and whispered, ‘I heard what went on last night. How badly did he hurt you?’
Tony tended to sulk and was weak-willed but he had been helpful to her occasionally, carrying buckets of water in from the pump and heavy flaskets of washing in from the line. Once when she had dropped and broken a plate he’d covered for her to save her a bawling out from his mother. His question brought on the pain of her bruises and scratches, none of which were visible outside her clothes. She didn’t want to speak about her degradation, made so much worse by the knowledge someone had been listening.
‘Was it bad?’ Tony persisted.
She nodded.
‘He had no right to do that, the bastard! You’re a lovely person. I’m working round the back of Acorn Cottage today. I’ll be alone. Miss Chiltern’s going into Truro. Slip out, say you’re going to the shop, and meet me there. I’ve got a plan to get us out of this hell-hole.’
As Delia went about the housework she was oblivious to Biddy’s carping. Not for a second did she think it wrong to run out on Sidney, he was violent and rotten right through and did not deserve her loyalty. One thing was sure, if she stayed here she’d keep being raped and producing children, with her life becoming ever more terrible. She would be better off dead than face that. She didn’t have a single penny of her own and nowhere to go. Could Tony really get her away from here? But was he reliable? It wouldn’t hurt to hear what he had to say. Luckily, Biddy wanted more tobacco and a few other things, and Delia stepped out gratefully into the fresh air.
Acorn Cottage was a solitary thatched dwelling, surrounded by high hedges and tall gates, a half mile down a quiet lane. Its owner Miss Chiltern originated from genteel folk. She was fastidious about privacy and did not mix with the locals. Tony was renewing glass panels in the greenhouse and had been downing his tools every so often and looking out for Delia. He led her round to the back. ‘I’m glad you came, Delia.’ There was a confidence about him and he seemed taller and more manly away from home. He took her to the garden bench to sit down. ‘Do you want to leave Sidney?’
She hesitated. Could she trust Tony? It might be a trick and he would tell Sidney she wanted out of their marriage.
‘Don’t worry.’ He caught hold of her hand. ‘I can’t stand it at home another day either. I know a way I can get hold of some money. If you’re willing, it’ll set us up nicely. We could slip off and catch the bus to Truro, then the train to Penzance and set up home together. I’d find us a really nice place, Delia, I promise, better than that stinking hole we’re living in. I really like you, Delia. I hate to see what Sidney and Mother is doing to you. I think we could be happy, make a real go of it. We could say we’re married, you being Mrs Viant would be no lie. You only have to give me the word. I’m going on my own anyway.’
It was a tempting offer. Penzance was by the sea; she’d like that. Tony had talked about getting away, starting up somewhere far off, even London, and Sidney and his mother had scoffed at him, accusing him of being a dreamer, of being too cowardly to branch out on his own. If Sidney came after them he’d not look for them further down in Cornwall. ‘Where’s this money coming from?’
‘Better you don’t know.’ At her frown, he added, ‘It’s underhand, it’s the only way, but it’s nothing for you to worry about.’
Something to do with the black market, she supposed. Rationing was worse now than during the war and there were lots of people making an extra few quid. Tony though must be referring to the riskier dealing in stolen goods. She’d turn a blind eye to that to better her life. ‘When can we get away?’
‘In about a couple of weeks. Sit tight. Try not to upset Sidney. I know it’s horrible for you, Delia, but go along with him in everything. I don’t want him hurting you so bad you get laid up. Just think about the wonderful life we’ll have together, think of the baby being mine. One good thing, if it looks like a Viant no one will ever suspect the truth.’
It was something to dream about; something to give her hope. ‘Thanks, Tony. I’d better get back. Your mother clocks me in and out.’
‘Just one minute
.’ Tony put a hand on the side of her face and leaned round and kissed her lips. He wasn’t rough like Sidney always was. Why on earth had she kept courting him? She allowed Tony to give her a full kiss. She didn’t want to be tied down with him any more than she did his brother, but he was her only way out of her disastrous life. While she walked briskly back her mind was only on that.
Tony lit a cigarette and went to the dining-room window. He put his nose up close to the glass. The curtains were almost closed but he could see some fine pieces of old furniture, polished to a gleaming shine. Porcelain ornaments and silverware and oil paintings were there for the taking. No doubt the old lady had lots of valuable jewellery and kept cash inside. He had done many odd jobs for her. He knew her movements to the letter. He knew the easiest way to break into her home. He would wait for a couple of weeks after he’d finished this job to allow for time and distance. Then he’d relieve Miss Chiltern of as much of her wealth as he could and start a new life with Delia.
Chapter Thirteen
Douglas Goodyear arrived by taxi at Ford Farm. It was not his first visit. Emilia showed him into the sitting room and called for Perry to join them. ‘Any news of Abbie at all?’ she asked the visitor, chewing her lip.
‘I’m afraid there’s still nothing.’ Goodyear was an individual of impeccable pinstripe suits, with an air of importance and an astute gaze. He was also a willing solver of problems, which had led him to offer his services to the Rothwells to come down to Cornwall and search for his former sister-in-law. An old Army officer to the core, and holder of the George Cross for valour, good looks had been determined to pass him by. He held his bearing ramrod straight, with his hands behind his back. ‘All the police can ascertain is that Abbie bought a railway ticket at Truro railway station for Paddington on the morning she left here, but to the best of their knowledge she never boarded the train. My own inquiries have also found nothing significant. Abbie seems to have totally vanished. It’s nearly four weeks now. I’m afraid we can only fear for her safety. She never failed to keep in touch regularly with her parents before, or with Rupert. One thing Rupert always praised her for was how she kept him abreast of her movements.’
