Windy Night, Rainy Morrow

by Ivy Ferrari

  The children’s play grew quieter, and the subject was dropped. ‘I saw Francey just now.’ Tina said, ‘She said she was waiting for Adam Copeland.’

  He flushed. ‘I’d hoped she’d learned more pride than to keep making a fool of herself over Adam Copeland. She hopes if she makes folks talk he’ll have to marry her. But that’s the last thing he’s likely to do.’

  ‘Is she really in love with him?’

  ‘She’s daft about him, in her own way.’ Matt’s voice was lowered again, so that the children couldn’t hear. ‘But she doesn’t say no to going out with anyone else she fancies—hoping to make him jealous, I expect.’

  ‘Is that what she did—with Bruno?’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve told you—they were just friends.’

  Tina was still not reassured. ‘I tried to see Helen.’ She told him of her abortive effort in the storm.

  ‘Why should you want to go there?’ His eyes looked suddenly wary, she thought. ‘She’s not very likely to talk to you.’

  ‘I wanted to find out if she had been playing fair by Bruno. I would have asked her, straight to her face.’ Tina said doggedly. ‘Don’t you think I have every right?’

  Matt got up, turned his back to stare into the fire. ‘I’d leave well alone, Tina.’ He pretended the fire needed stoking and was busy for a full minute. Tina’s suspicions were aroused again. She was still not convinced there had been nothing between Matt and Helen.

  ‘Did you know Helen was a very nervous girl—inclined to be hysterical?’ she asked.

  ‘Aye, so Adam would have folks believe,’ he said drily. ‘There was no sign of that about her when she was with your brother. She was a different lass then. It was earlier, before he came on the scene—’

  He broke off, with the consciousness of a man who has said too much, and turned to look at the twins. Bobby rolled the dice. ‘I’ve got a six. Wake up, Rosie—I’ve got a six!’

  Rosie’s head was on one hand. She watched in a listless way, then yawned. ‘I’m tired, Bobby. Finish the game.’

  ‘Better be off to bed, Rosie.’ Matt said. ‘Or you’ll be getting behind in your lessons again, and get wrong from Miss Purvis.’

  Rosie got up, hesitated, then came across to Tina. ‘Thanks for the games.’

  Tina slipped an arm about her. ‘Want, me to come up later and tuck you up?’ The child’s eyes brightened.

  ‘Don’t forget to wash, Rosie.’ Matt ordered.

  Tina went upstairs after a few minutes, noticing how the upper floor, with its rough whitewashed walls and ragged stair-matting, was even less devoid of comfort than downstairs. She found the child in a tiny single room, containing no more than a bed and a rough wash-stand. Rosie was curled up in a shabby nightdress on the unmade bed. It was only too evident she hadn’t washed.

  ‘What’s the matter, Rosie?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m tired.’

  ‘Didn’t you make your bed this morning?’

  She sat up and stared. ‘We never do. Francey does it, if she can be bothered.’

  ‘Come on, let me help you. You go and sponge your face. I’ll make your bed for you.’

  Rosie dabbed listlessly at the enamel basin. Tina was efficient when she cared to be and plumped the pillows into an enticing nest. The bed linen, though rough, was clean.

  ‘By, that’s nice.’ Rosie settled on the pillows, her hair still tousled. Tina found a hairbrush, persuaded her to sit up while she brushed the fine fair strands. ‘You’ve pretty hair, Rosie. Have you a ribbon so I can tie it back?’

  ‘There was one, but I lost it.’ Rosie snuggled down again and pulled a girl’s comic from under the mattress.

  ‘Are you allowed to read in bed, Rosie?’

  Again Rosie stared. ‘There’s nowt to stop us.’

  The comic looked lurid and over-stimulating. Tina guessed Rosie was an imaginative child. Was she over-taxing her young brain? Could this be the reason for her listlessness?

  Tina peered over her shoulder. ‘Do you get this comic every week?’

  ‘Aye, and it’s right good!’ Rosie gloated. ‘I like the middle story best—see here.’ She spread out the picture-script. ‘It’s all about a lassie called Denise Dawnley ... Daring Denise, they call her. She’s the same age as me, an’ in this one she’s joined a circus, an’ the trick-rider lass, she’s broken her leg. So Denise dresses up to look like her an’ wears a mask an’ then rides with the circus ponies. Only the lad on the trapeze, he knows, an’ when Denise nearly falls off an’ she’s hanging by the stirrup, this lad—Lorenzo, he’s called—comes swooping down on his trapeze an’ just whisks her up. An’ all the audience think it’s an act they planned, like. So after that they do it every night.’

  ‘Goodness!’ said Tina, amused by the fanatical glow in Rosie’s eyes.

  ‘Aye—an’ last week she was in the jungle, among man-eating tigers. An’ next week she’s up in an aeroplane ... Look, it tells you here: “Don’t miss Daring Denise’s next exploit. What dangers and adventures will she meet in the air? Order your copy now.” ... Only we don’t. Bobby and me, we get our comics from the sweetie-shop in Hexham.’

  Tina laughed, ‘You’ll have to let me know how Denise gets on, won’t you? What about lying down to sleep now?’ She bent to kiss her. ‘Good-night, Rosie.’ As she reached the door Rosie called softly: ‘Will you go in and see Bobby? He’d like that.’

  The adjoining bedroom door was open and Bobby was sitting up in bed drawing.

  ‘Hallo, what’s that you’re doing?’ Tina asked.

  Bobby displayed his sketch shyly. ‘It’s one o’ the pigeons. Forest Fawn—it’s a mealie, see, and I’m going to crayon it after.’

  ‘That’s very good, Bobby. But isn’t it time to go to sleep now?’

  ‘Why?’ Bobby was clearly mystified. ‘I sit drawing while it’s light. Then sometimes I light the candle—we’ve got no electric upstairs.’ He hesitated. Thanks for the games, Miss Rutherford.’

  She pulled a face. ‘Can’t you call me Tina?’

  ‘Matt said we weren’t to be cheeky. Bruno—’ He checked himself and flushed.

  ‘Yes, Bobby, what about Bruno?’ Tina asked in a low voice.

  Bobby looked embarrassed. ‘Matt said we weren’t to talk to you about him.’

  Tina felt distressed. ‘Well, suppose you tell me this one thing you were going to say?’

  ‘Oh, it was just that Bruno showed me how to get the shading right in my drawing. He used to come up and see us some nights and do shadow tricks on the wall with a candle.’

  Tina smiled in poignant memory. ‘Did he do the butterfly and the kangaroo—and aeroplanes?’

  ‘Aye—how did you know?’

  ‘Because he did them for me, when I was a little girl.’ The room blurred before her eyes. ‘I’m glad you were friends, Bobby.’ She gave him a soft good-night and left the room.

  Matt had been making coffee and poured out a mug for her. ‘It’s good of you to bother with the twins, Tina. Bruno, he used to play with them by the hour. He’d the knack, somehow. Many’s the time I’ve sat down here listening to them all laughing their heads off up there. Aye, and they behaved for him. They’d do anything he asked them.’

  His voice faded as he saw the tears still in her eyes. He laid a gentle hand on her arm. Tina, you’re upset. I shouldn’t have mentioned Bruno—’

  ‘It wasn’t that. Bobby was telling me about the games Bruno played with him—’

  ‘I warned them not to mention him—’

  ‘Why?’ she demanded. ‘Why should they be warned off? They loved him—they still love his memory, as I do...’

  She broke down into unrestrained weeping. Matt’s arms closed about her. ‘Oh, come on, Tina, come on, hinney. You’ll make yourself ill.’

  She clung to him, groping for comfort He had spoken softly and kindly, had shown true concern, and for the moment it was enough. She found deep solace in the knowledge that in this humble home Bruno had given and r
eceived affection.

  Matt’s jacket was rough against her face. He held her close, patting her shoulder. ‘Come on, Tina pet this won’t do.’

  He produced a clean handkerchief and mopped her eyes. Her tears subsiding a little, she rested against him. His rough endearing words went on, until suddenly she felt him stiffen. He set her gently from him and she turned to see Adam Copeland and Francey watching them from the kitchen doorway.

  Tina’s heart jerked. She was aware of her red eyes and dishevelled hair. Francey’s face was mocking.

  And Adam Copeland’s? He leaned against the doorpost, almost lazily surveying the scene. His eyebrows lifted as he said: ‘Well, well, sorry we barged in! But we weren’t to guess such a strong emotional scene was going on!’

  Despite the casual words, the glance he sent Tina was withering.

  Matt released her. ‘It was nothing.’ he said. Tina was upset, that’s all. We’d been talking of Bruno.’

  The name dropped like a stone in an already troubled pool. Adam’s face showed a determined blankness. Matt went on:

  ‘Was there something you wanted, Mr. Copeland?’

  The other man eased his long frame from the door-post and eyed Matt steadily.

  ‘Yes, there was, apart from driving your sister home. She tells me she’s been stood up by Chris Irwin. At least she insists she was waiting for him ... The other thing—that dog of the twins.’ His voice was severe now. ‘I’ve had more complaints from the farms. This is your last warning. If you can’t keep the animal under control you must find a more suitable home for him. I don’t like to deprive the children of their pet, but the farmers have the right about this, as you well know.’

  Matt’s face burned, but he spoke quietly. ‘I do my best, but Hadrian does give us the slip at times. I’ve never held with dogs being chained up, but I admit the twins get careless about watching him.’

  ‘Then I suggest you teach them better!’ Adam Copeland rapped. ‘They’re your responsibility, my lad. Yours and your sister’s here. And she knows my opinions on that score only too well.’

  ‘There was a time, Mr. Copeland, when you yourself had a lot to do with Francey’s neglect of the bairns. Times when you and she—’

  ‘Have a care, Matt! Have a care what you say. Francey herself will tell you the times I’ve lectured her about the twins.’

  ‘You don’t own us, Mr. Copeland.’

  ‘No.’ Adam’s voice was quiet, but held a hint of cold steel in its depths. ‘I don’t own you. Sometimes I think it might be easier if I did.’

  His glance, masked of all expression, rested for a moment on Francey’s bent head. Tina’s heart seemed to fall. Was it true then, as she had suspected all along, that Adam’s conscience regarding Francey was still troubling him? And what about Francey’s assertion that she was meeting Chris? To whom had she lied—to Tina herself, or to Adam?

  Adam Copeland made as if to turn away, but swung back. ‘Oh, and please note, Matt, that your sister has been delivered safe and sound to your door. I’ve heard rumours that you consider I’m getting her talked about.’ His glance at Francey was now almost contemptuous. ‘May I point out to you that she’s quite capable of doing that without my help.’

  ‘Adam!’ Francey cried out in protest. But all he did was to push her, none too gently, into the room. ‘No more arguments, my lass. From what I can see your first need is an apron and some elbow grease.’ His gaze roved the messy tablecloth. ‘And if I do find you’ve been neglecting those children or their home I promise you shall unleash all the powers of the Welfare Department at your door!’

  ‘You’d better not try!’ Matt was thoroughly roused.

  Adam ignored him and filched Tina’s coat from a chair. ‘This yours, Tina? It’s getting dark. I’ll drive you home.’

  ‘No, thanks!’ Her chin tilted.

  He threw the coat with some force. ‘Get it on and don’t keep me waiting. I’m sorry about spoiling the passionate love scene, but perhaps you can resume it at a later date.’ Then, as she still did not move, he took her firmly by the arm and propelled her forward. ‘Move, my lass! I haven’t got all night.’

  Tina thought it expedient to obey. ‘Good-night, Matt,’ she called. ‘I’ll be back.’

  Adam’s gaze went from one to the other. ‘Congratulations, lad—she must have liked it!’ And he strode out of the house without bothering to see that she followed. But follow she did.

  Tina got into the Land-Rover. He drove it, bumping and clattering, to the meeting of the ways. Here he braked and sat watching her. ‘Getting quite involved with young Matt, aren’t you?’

  ‘He’s a friend.’ she said coldly.

  ‘That all?’ There was a mocking curve to his mouth.

  ‘Maybe a little more.’ No harm in letting him think so, she told herself in her hurt pride.

  His laugh was somewhat subdued. ‘He won’t do for you, Tina. Too quiet, too rough and ready—too narrow.’

  ‘Narrow? Because he stays at home and minds the children while Francey—and you—’

  His eyes were sword-bright ‘While Francey and I—do go on!’

  ‘You must have encouraged her!’ she insisted.

  ‘On the contrary, she encouraged me.’ He smiled. ‘The trouble with Francey is she has no sense of timing.’

  ‘So you encourage her when you’re in the mood, and drop her when you’re not?’

  ‘Something like that.’ He sounded almost complacent.

  ‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?’

  ‘Not a bit of it, my dear. There are always Franceys around. Like the poor, they’re always with us.’

  ‘You’re callous!’ she burst out.

  ‘I’m truthful.’ But his eyes sparked with amusement Was he merely teasing?

  ‘In your case.’ said Tina heavily, ‘it amounts to the same thing.’

  This time he laughed without restraint, then examined her face closely. ‘Why this concern over Francey Finch? It couldn’t be—jealousy?’

  ‘Jealousy?’ she faltered. ‘Why should it be?’ But her face burned.

  ‘I leave that to you to decide.’ He lit a cigarette, gazed reflectively into the gloom of the trees. The sleepy twittering of nesting birds was all about them. ‘So you really went to Quarry Farm to talk about Bruno?’

  ‘At least he’s spoken of there with kindness and affection.’ A tide of tears threatened.

  ‘And this upset you?’

  ‘Of course. After always hearing him condemned by you, it was very moving to know that there he was appreciated.’

  His face was cold and stern now, all mockery gone. ‘You said just now I was both callous and truthful. To tell you the truth about your brother perhaps I had to be callous. Yet there was a time’—he drew on his cigarette—‘there was a time, my dear, when I could have spoken of him with just as much affection and praise as you may have heard from Matt That time is past, unfortunately.’

  ‘You’re so sure, aren’t you?’ Her tears fell now, unmanageable. ‘You couldn’t be wrong. Adam Copeland could never make a mistake—the farmer’s friend, the people’s adviser, the county magistrate—he could never be wrong!’

  ‘Oh, I can be wrong. But I never accuse without complete evidence. The evidence was there—’

  ‘I won’t accept that—I won’t!’ She turned away, her tears a flood now. Again a large clean handkerchief was thrust into her hand.

  ‘Dry your eyes, Tina. We won’t argue about it.’ His tone was final. ‘You’re upset, and I’ve learned by now that your excess emotionalism is a fine show of Roman candles. ‘I’m not in the habit of shutting down a weeping girl either, callous though I might be. Now take a grip of yourself. If I escort you into the house like this Isa will be certain I’ve seduced you and will no doubt produce an appropriate text!’

  This incident at Quarry Farm gave Tina much to think about. Far from the tangle unravelling, it seemed twined into further confusion. Bruno’s involvement with the Finches was deeper th
an she had imagined, but she was still far from drawing any conclusions about her brother and Francey; then too there was the enigma of Adam’s feelings for Francey and even now a hint of complication concerning Francey and Chris.

  All she could do was to wait, to be tuned in and watchful.

  As the Easter vacation passed the students on the dig were replaced by other amateur archaeologists of mixed ages and occupations, some using a week or two of their summer holidays to pursue their hobby, others perhaps between jobs or waiting for university places.

  Chris managed his shifting personnel with admirable aplomb, but his was no enviable position. Since Bruno’s death his burden of responsibility was heavier and perhaps because of this he sought her company less. She had hoped he would take her on mere Wall excursions, but each time she decided to ask him she was conscience-smitten at sight of his tired and preoccupied face. Better to wait, perhaps, until he had settled into his new position of authority.

  Meanwhile Tina was still absorbed in her office work at Hadrian’s Edge. She noticed that Adam Copeland was much more inclined to discuss estate problems with her, to include her in his routine affairs. He would say; ‘We must see to this—’ instead of ‘I must see to this.’ It was ‘We must send them a letter ... We must look up those files...’

  At these times Tina felt a glow of satisfaction, almost of reluctant delight, He had also further unbent to detailing stories of the district and some of its eccentrics.

  ‘Bell, now he’s a queer one. He’s the farmer at Heather Houses—’

  ‘I know. And isn’t it his brother who has Low Dene?’

  He cocked an impressed eyebrow. ‘You’re learning! ... Well, this Bell I’m talking about—Alec—he’s only a small man now, you might say. But in his heyday he farmed in a big way towards the coast He had a housekeeper and maids in those days, but the housekeeper was a bit forgetful. One day he found no pepper on the table and roared at her to ask why. She said she’d forgotten to order any. “By Gow!” he shouted, “I’ll see you never forget again.” And he ordered a ton of the stuff. They say there’s still some of it rotting in an old barn on that farm to this day.’