The Black Mountains

by Janet Tanner

  Six months had done nothing to dull the magic that came from being together. There were still so many things to talk about, so many things to discover about one another.

  They had watched the bare winter trees turn green for spring. They had picked the first bluebells in the woods that flanked the river. They had laughed in wonder at the spindly legged calf in Farmer Brent’s yard as it took its first staggering steps, And as the earth swelled with promise and burst into new life, so their love grew from their first uncertain tender kiss until it seemed to fill the whole world.

  I never knew it could be like this, Rebecca thought, drawing her knees up so that the sheets formed a cool tent around her legs. I never for one single moment imagined that this was what they meant by love—this breathless anticipation, this feeling of living in a fairy-tale world where wonderful things really happen.

  A tiny breeze stirred the curtain, wafting the scent of a fresh summer morning into the room, and Rebecca let the sheets collapse around her legs, turned them back and slipped out of bed.

  There was water in the jug on the wash-stand, and she poured some into the bowl, splashing it on to her face. Then she stood back, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

  Her hair, falling thickly to the high collar of her cambric nightgown, framed her small heart-shaped face, and the cold water had brought a glow to her cheeks and a sparkle to her eyes. Slowly she unfastened the nightgown, slipping her arms out of the sleeves, and letting it slide down into a heap at her feet. Then she reached out and tilted the mirror so that it threw back a reflection of her body: small firm breasts, rounded hips and plump white thighs separated by a small pointed tuft of soft brown hair. For a long moment she looked, safe in the knowledge that the rest of the house was sleeping, studying every detail as she had never studied it before, and pride began to warm her. She ran her hands lightly over her belly, appraising the flare of her hips and thighs, then moving up to cup her breasts. In her hands, they felt firm and full, and as she rubbed them gently she felt the soft little nipples swell and harden against her palms.

  Something stirred inside her then, a shiver of excitement deep inside the most secret part of her, and a smile curved her lips so that her whole face looked somehow fuller and more mature.

  Fleetingly she thought of the decorum with which she had been raised, the terrifying modesty that had led her mother to explain menstruation as a way of getting rid of blood if you make too much, the shame she had felt when first one breast and then the other had begun to grow, small, unevenly shaped swellings beneath her all-concealing camisole. They had led her to believe there was some dark secret about maturity, so that she had tried to dress and undress herself without a single moment of nudity. But now there was something in the way she felt—in the way Ted made her feel—that made her bold, and it seemed to her that she stood on the brink of something enormous and wonderful and unknown.

  She moved her hands again, sliding them over her skin and feeling the small, delicious shivers that spread like ripples on a pond.

  Why should she be ashamed? she asked herself. Why should she be ashamed to touch her own body, or even look at it? God had made her this way, after all, just as he’d made the trees and the flowers and that sweet, rubber-legged, little calf. He’d given her breasts and a belly and secret places between her thighs, and the Bible taught that God was pleased with his work …

  “Rebecca!”

  So lost in wonder was she that, until the thunderous voice shattered her dream world, she had no idea she was being watched, and she jumped violently, instinctively trying to hide her body.

  “Rebecca, for the love of God what are you doing? Cover yourself at once!”

  He stood in the doorway like an avenging angel, a robe pulled on over his nightgown, his face distorted with rage and disbelief. Beneath his furious gaze, her shock became acute embarrassment. She fumbled for her own gown with hands that shook. Why couldn’t he go back to his own room while she dressed herself? Why did he have to stand there, looking?

  Her legs were trembling so that she had to struggle to get the nightgown past her knees; she tried to turn away from him, and almost fell as she stepped on a fold of material. After long, agonizing moments she managed to get it up over her hips. Another wriggle, and she was able to pull it high enough to cover her breasts.

  Terrified, she turned to look at him, clutching the cambric folds about her. But to her surprise he said nothing. His eyes, dark and furious, held hers for a moment, then with a tightening of his mouth, Alfred Church swung around and left her and went back along the landing to his own room.

  Still shaking and still clutching her nightgown around her, Rebecca stood in the middle of the room and waited. But the sounds she dreaded to hear did not come. Soon afterwards her mother began moving about, and she knew the day had begun.

  But when she reached for her camisole, which was hanging over the back of the wicker-work chair, and slipped it on, she managed to do so without baring her body for a single moment, and suddenly it seemed as if the morning sun had dimmed and everything was tinged with shadow.

  THE SIGHT of Rebecca had shocked Alfred more than he would have believed possible. For the life of him he did not know what had made him cross the landing and look through her bedroom door that morning when he got out of bed to use the chamberpot, and he could only think he must have been guided by Providence. For although he had been aware for a long while now that she was growing up, what he had seen this morning made him realize that Rebecca was not only a mature young woman, but also a sensual one.

  He had stood in the doorway, looking at her with fascinated disgust, and the indecent beauty of her body seemed to impress itself upon his memory, so that all day as he went about his tasks he kept seeing her. How could such a transformation have taken place under his very nose and he not have realized it? he asked himself. Not only that, how could he reconcile his shy, modest daughter with a hussy who could fondle her breasts and stand to admire her naked body in a mirror? It was what he had imagined in his worst nightmares, and it was becoming a reality. Heaven only be praised that Rupert had agreed to his proposals for a settlement on Rebecca, although he would have to wait until he had finished his articles before marrying her.

  If he could have managed it without Rupert losing face, Alfred would have liked to suggest that he should finance the couple so that they could be married without delay, but it couldn’t be done. He, like Rupert, would have to be patient. But the intervening years would be difficult ones, when her every move would have to be watched, for there must be no question of her letting her sexuality betray her now.

  The thought reminded him that Rebecca had been going out a great deal more lately than she used to, and he wondered at the wisdom of this. She was with Marjorie, it was true, but if he was honest with himself, he was not sure that Marjorie was the best company for her, and although the things they did seemed harmless enough, there were times when he had asked himself just what it was they learned at Esperanto that had brought such a sparkle to Rebecca’s eyes and made her so happy and eager to please.

  All day he thought about it, aware of some sixth sense telling him all was not as it should be, and that afternoon, when Rebecca and Marjorie left for the parish garden party that was being held on the Rectory lawns, the feeling intensified. How could he know if Rebecca was behaving as she should? There was only one way to find out.

  “I think I’ll walk down to the garden party myself,” he said to Winnie, who was hulling strawberries for jam on the lawn behind the house.

  She looked up at him anxiously. “ In this heat, Alfred? Why don’t you wait until it’s a bit cooler.”

  He hesitated, tempted by the thought of a pleasant half-hour’s relaxation on the shady swing seat, but the memory of Rebecca’s abandon this morning was too strong.

  “It’s a beautiful afternoon!” he told her. “ It’s all down hill going, and it’ll be cooler by the time I come back.”

  As he started
down the hill, however, where the cow parsley grew high in the hedges, and the banks were white with moonflowers, he realized just how hot it was. Before he had gone far, perspiration began to trickle down his neck, his waistcoat felt uncomfortably tight, and at every step his shoes stuck to the newly-tarred road. Briefly he allowed himself the luxury of toying with the idea of buying himself a horseless carriage, like Donald Thorne’s, and learning to drive it. It was, he thought, the kind of status symbol a man in his position needed to keep up his standing in the town. But not even the contemplation of a motor could keep his thoughts from Rebecca for long.

  He walked on, past Farmer Brent’s fields, past the church and the cottages opposite, with their upstairs windows thrown open to the summer afternoon, but their doors firmly shut and their gardens deserted. The town was so quiet that, if he had not seen the preparations for the garden party from his office window, he might have thought Rebecca had invented the whole thing. But even as the thought crossed his mind he heard the strains of the town band, and as he walked on it grew louder and louder until it seemed to sit in a mushroom cloud over the Rectory lawns and spill out into the road beyond.

  At the stone-pillared entrance gate, Caroline Archer sat beneath a large black umbrella, a bowl for collecting admittance charges on a card table in front of her. Alfred paid his tuppence and went in, pausing for a moment or two on the drive to look around him.

  At first sight, it seemed the whole of Hillsbridge must have come to the garden party. Most of the adults were clustered around the improvised bandstand at the end of the drive, while the young ones were trying their hand at the croquet game and the other competitions. A small marquee had been set up, and there were a number of stalls selling everything from pincushions to home-made pickle. Grace O’Halloran, pretty as a picture, was running the hoop-la stall and doing a roaring trade with the men, while her younger sister Stella was in charge of a bran tub for the children.

  Because of the heat, most people were trying to stay in the shade under the trees, but Alfred could not see Rebecca or Marjorie anywhere. Once, he thought he caught a glimpse of Marjorie’s cream blouse and dark skirt, but before he could make his way towards her he found himself confronted by Reuben Clarke, the bachelor who had succeeded Mr Archer as Rector.

  “How nice to see someone from Withydown here” he beamed, stationing himself directly in Alfred’s line of vision. “And how fortunate we are with the weather, too! I think we may say the Good Lord is smiling on our effort here today.”

  Alfred surveyed Reuben Clarke with contempt. He had no time for a parish spiritual leader who lived in the Rectory alone with his housekeeper. But Reuben Clarke was perhaps not the most sensitive of men and seemed unaware of the expression of distaste that was fixed on Alfred’s face.

  “I suppose the truth is that people are glad of excuse to enjoy themselves,” he went on. “Since this war started, they’ve missed the flower shows and fêtes. One can understand the need for economy, of course, but it is still nice to see a garden party in full swing, even if we did need the excuse of raising funds for our boys at the Front to justify it.”

  “Quite … quite …” Alfred muttered impatiently. He turned away, and as he did so, he saw Marjorie among the crowd. Cutting Reuben Clarke off in mid-flow, he raised an imperious hand to her, but to his surprise and annoyance she seemed to look straight through him before turning and disappearing hastily into the crowd again.

  Puzzled, he bade the Rector a curt “Good afternoon” and hurried across the lawn after her. How could she have failed to see him? And, more to the point, where was Rebecca?

  He pushed his way irritably between the people, searching for the two girls. Drat it, they’d both disappeared! It was just as if they were trying to avoid him.

  The crowd in front of him parted slightly, and Alfred pushed forward. Then he stopped abruptly. There, in front of the bandstand, was Marjorie, and with her a young man—a young man who actually had his arm round her waist. But of Rebecca there was no sign.

  Swelling with indignation, Alfred strode forward. The young man turned and saw him, and his arm dropped from Marjorie’s waist. But it was at Marjorie herself that Alfred found himself looking. She had turned pale suddenly, and her eyes were startled and afraid.

  “Why, Mr Church, I didn’t expect to see you here …” she said in a desperate effort at normality. “ Becky didn’t say …”

  Although he was inwardly seething, he asked stonily, “Where is Rebecca, Marjorie?”

  “Becky?” There was just the smallest hesitation, then she went on smoothly, “She’s just gone off to search for a … a privy, Mr Church. It’s very hot, and we’ve been drinking rather a lot of lemonade.”

  Alfred’s brows lowered, and he glared at Marjorie to express his distaste at the indelicacy. Then he let his eyes pass to the boy who stood awkwardly beside Marjorie.

  “Is she alone?” he asked, his voice heavy with meaning.

  “Of course.” Marjorie’s eyes were wide and innocent. “ Who would be with her, Mr Church? I’m just… just talking to Billy while I wait for her. Billy’s an errand boy at the shop where I work.”

  Alfred inclined his head majestically.

  “I see. I will wait for her here with you then, shall I?”

  An expression that might almost have been alarm flashed across her face and was gone, then she tucked her arm into his, smiling up at him with all her old charm.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that. She’ll be ages, and it’s very hot. Why don’t you sit down and have a cup of tea, and I’ll tell her you’re here when she comes back. You really do look as if you could do with a cup of tea.”

  He hesitated, melting slightly. It was impossible to be angry with Marjorie for long, and the thought of a cup of tea was very tempting.

  “Come on, Mr Church,” She tugged at his arm, smiling up at him. “ Come and sit down, and I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll go and look for Rebecca myself, in case she’s stopped to talk to someone. It’s so beautifully cool in the Rectory it’s tempting to do just that.”

  “In the Rectory? She’s in the Rectory?” he repeated and she laughed.

  “Of course. Where did you think she’d go? They wouldn’t expect young ladies to walk along to the public conveniences.”

  Slightly mollified by the fact that she was now completely ignoring the young man named Billy, he let her lead him across to where the tables and chairs had been set out on the grass.

  “Now you sit there, Mr Church. Look, that’s the best table. Take it quickly while it’s empty, and I’ll get your tea.”

  Her touch on his arm and her bobbing curls had almost restored his humour, and as he stretched his long legs he found himself wondering momentarily whether people might be deceived into thinking she was actually with him. The thought had the effect of making him feel almost young again, and he narrowed his eyes, watching her join the queue at the tea stall and then pick her way back towards him across the grass carrying the cup and saucer with the utmost care.

  “There you are, Mr Church. Now I’ll go and find Becky.”

  From the seat she had chosen for him he had a perfect view of her slim figure dancing down the drive in the direction of the Rectory, and he watched her until she had disappeared into a group of folk gathered round a stall by the front door. Then he stirred sugar into his tea and settled back to drink it.

  Clearly, he thought, his suspicions had been unjustified. He should have known that Rebecca would be safe with Marjorie.

  When a fly began buzzing around his table, Alfred Church was annoyed. He had always hated flies—they had gone against his code of extreme hygiene at all times. And now this fly was becoming persistent and landing on his teacup. He flapped at it aggressively with his handkerchief, but he accidentally knocked it into the tea, where it buzzed loudly in an attempt to save itself from drowning. Disgusted, he rose to get himself another cup, but as he did so, he saw a girl with bouncing curls and a cream blouse hurrying away down the
drive. It was Marjorie! But where was she going? She was supposed to be fetching Rebecca from the Rectory!

  The cup of tea forgotten, he stared after her, until she disappeared through the gates and into the street. Then, clumsily, he pushed the chair aside and went to follow her.

  By the time he had reached the gates, she was half-way along Town Street and he hurried after her. For a few moments when she disappeared around the slow curve in the road, he was afraid of losing her, but when he rounded the curve himself and saw her still hurrying in the direction of Eastlands he slowed his pace and moved closer to the wall that bordered the road.

  She was going into the churchyard, if he wasn’t mistaken! Could it be that the Rector had asked her to run some errand for him?

  If so he was making a fool of himself by following her. And yet …

  No, whatever errand Marjorie was on, it had nothing to do with the Rector, he was certain. If she had had nothing to hide, she would have come back and explained where she was going, not just slipped past him. In addition to all her other actions this afternoon, he realized she was behaving very oddly indeed, and his instinct, clearer now that the entrancing Marjorie was a street-length away, told him that whatever it was, it had something to do with Rebecca.

  Marjorie, hurrying still, skirted the high pavement at the roadside and passed through the arched gate into the churchyard, and, puzzled, Alfred hastened his own step again.

  Surely Rebecca was not in the churchyard? It was a pleasant enough spot, certainly, particularly on a hot afternoon such as this, with the broad path winding between the weathered old gravestones and the tall yew trees throwing large patches of shade, but there had been shady spots in the Rectory garden too without leaving the garden party and walking right across Hillsbridge. Unless …

  Alfred’s eyes narrowed suddenly, and his breath came faster. The only possible reason for coming to this part of town on a Saturday afternoon in summer would be to find solitude. There was no shortage of that. Beyond the churchyard, the meadows lay, green and sleeping beneath the still hot sun, stretching all the way to the river and beyond, curling around the secret places on the banks and under the trees, waist-high in purple loosestrife and yellow flags. But Rebecca would not have come to look for solitude alone. There would have been someone with her.