Across the Sands of Time

by Kavanagh, Pamela

  ‘Close the door, Polly,’ the master ordered. ‘Now then. You will know why you have been summoned here. Can you tell us precisely when you last saw your mistress’s diamond pin?’

  ‘Why, yes, sir. I saw it this morning when I dressed Madam’s hair. It was on the dressing-table dish with the roses round the rim. I mentioned to Madam that it would be better put away … sir.’

  ‘So you did, Polly.’ Dorothea’s voice broke. ‘Oh, how I wish I’d taken notice.’

  ‘It’s sure to be here somewhere, ma’am,’ Polly said comfortingly. ‘Maybe it’s become caught up in a shawl and put away. Will I take a look for you?’

  ‘Polly, the room has already been searched with a fine-tooth comb.’ Jerome Kendrick’s stern expression did not waver. ‘Tell me truthfully. Was the pin still there when you tidied up after the mistress had left for town?’

  ‘Why, yes, sir.’ Polly looked in puzzlement from one to the other. ‘I clearly remember seeing it when I replaced the hairbrushes and pin-boxes on the dressing-table. After that I went to see to Miss Florence and Miss Amelia. Why … why, sir. You surely don’t think I had anything to do with the fact that’s it’s gone missing?’

  ‘No, Polly. Of course not,’ cried Dorothea from the couch. ‘The very idea, Jerome! One could trust Polly with the crown jewels!’

  ‘In which case Polly should have no objection to her room being searched. Well, Polly?’

  ‘No, sir, of course not.’ Indignation burned on Polly’s cheeks. ‘But you won’t find anything!’

  ‘Nevertheless, since you were the last one to set eyes on the wretched object it might be just as well.… Oh, do not weep, my dear. It’s not the end of the world. If it doesn’t turn up I’ll buy you another pin.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be the same, Jerome,’ Dorothea sniffed. ‘It was your engagement gift to me. It has a sentimental value that cannot be replaced.’

  The room was duly searched, the pin found.

  ‘Polly. How could you?’ her mistress said, injured reproach in every line of her elegant figure. ‘And after all I’ve done for you too!’

  Polly, her eyes wide and imploring in her white face, could not believe it.

  ‘But Madam … I didn’t do it,’ she protested. Beneath the bodice of her gown her heart was beating a frightened tattoo. ‘Please believe me. It must have been planted there. Maybe for a joke. But I did not do it!’

  ‘That’s enough, Polly.’ Jerome Kendrick’s voice was cutting. ‘You will pack your bags and leave the house first thing in the morning. There will be no references, of course, but I shall make sure you receive whatever wages are due to you.’

  He drew himself up to deliver his last, stinging remark.

  ‘Needless to say, you will have no further contact with my children. As soon as you have gathered together your belongings you can remove yourself to the kitchen. One of the maids can take over here until a substitute is found.’

  As the door shut behind them, Polly subsided on to the narrow iron bed, arms wrapped around herself, rocking to and fro.

  ‘I didn’t do it,’ she whispered vehemently into the enclosing darkness. ‘I did not!’

  In the grey hour before dawn next morning Polly left the house, her bundle of belongings under her arm. As she crossed the silent square, Harry Kendrick was just returning from a night carousing with his friends. Polly met his gaze squarely, noting the shiftiness of his pale eyes, the weak mouth and set of jaw in an otherwise handsome face.

  Harry was the first to look away and Polly, giving a small, bitter smile of understanding, straightened her back and walked on under the lightening sky.

  At the ancient walls that surrounded the city she paused, gazing out over the grassy stretches of the race-course known as the Roodee, towards the river. The oily slap and swish of the water lapping the banks carried over the quiet morning air, bringing to mind her trysts with John Royle on the estuary wharf at Parkgate.

  How she missed John, his kindly face and steady grey gaze. Perhaps she should have made an effort and got in touch. Now, it was too late.

  No sweetheart, no home, no job in a fine house and, without the necessary letter of recommendation, no hope of finding another. She had lost everything.

  Hitching her bundle of clothes more securely under her arm, she started to walk, heading out of the town, a small, solitary figure that was soon lost to view.

  Swimming up out of the deep mists of sleep, Thea opened her eyes. Her long hair had come loose from its plait and lay in a tangled dark-gold mass across the pillow.

  Too late. Too late! Polly Dakin’s thoughts hammered on her senses. Maybe Polly had been trying to tell her something. She had lost her own love, it seemed irretrievably. Was Thea in danger of doing the same?

  A late-November darkness pressed against the window. Thea glanced at the bedside clock. Six-thirty. Early yet, though not too early to ring. Sitting up in the bed, she reached for her mobile and punched out Dominic’s number. His voice when he answered was wakeful and alert.

  ‘Thea?’

  She felt a rush of sudden indescribable joy.

  ‘Hi, Dominic. Is the weekend still on?’

  ‘Indeed it is. You’re coming then. Terrific! I’ll find out the flights for you and be in touch.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Can I ring you at school? Around lunchtime?’

  ‘I guess so. Make sure and call after twelve. I’m in class until then.’

  ‘I won’t forget. I’ve lots to tell you, Thea.’

  ‘Really? I’m looking forward to it. It’s been ages since I was in Ireland. I certainly didn’t expect to be going there right now. What a guy you are for springing the surprises.’

  They talked some more and then rang off. Half-smiling, half-wondering if she was doing the right thing, not really caring, Thea leaned back against the pillows and allowed herself the luxury of planning what clothes she would take with her … always supposing she could coax Dad into looking after the ponies for a couple of days.

  ‘Dad!’ Bryony had seen her father coming out of the subway and ran to catch him up. ‘How are you? It’s been ages!’

  ‘Bryony, lass!’ Chas beamed at her, unable to keep the smile from his face. ‘I’m fine, love. All the better for seeing you.’

  ‘How’s Mum? And Woodhey? Did you get the ploughing done before the wet weather set in?’

  ‘Just about. You know how it is. You never get all you want done on a farm, the next season always creeps up on you. Your Mum’s all right. A bit quiet, but that’s to be expected. She’s taken on a lot of extra work with these farmers’ markets.’

  Beside them the rush-hour traffic chugged past, the drivers finding a way through the congested roads of Birkenhead as they made for home after the long working day.

  ‘So, what are you doing in town?’ Bryony asked.

  ‘Seeing the accountant. It’s been a better year this time. At least some good has come of it. Bryony, lass …’

  ‘Yes?’ Bryony throat went dry. Here it comes, she thought. The moment she was dreading. The outpourings of reproach and how gutted they all were over what had happened. All her fault.…

  ‘When are you coming to see us?’ he asked abruptly. ‘This weekend mightn’t be a bad time. Your sister’s going away and she’s lumbered me with the ponies. If you came on Sunday you could have some lunch with us and do the honours. You know how good you are with little pests. Ponies always see me coming!’

  ‘Don’t I know it! Remember when old Pixie nipped your backside? You couldn’t sit down for a week and Mum couldn’t stop laughing!’

  Bryony felt an overwhelming relief. Here was the excuse she’d been waiting for to make it up with her parents, and it would be a lot easier without Thea there. Especially now with the subject of Geoff like an elephant in the room.

  Bryony swallowed. Mum might know what to do about Geoff, who continued to treat her like a kid.

  ‘I’d love to come, Dad,’ she said. ‘And consider it a deal o
ver the ponies. I expect they’re turned out on the pasture right now, so there’ll be the field-shelter to muck out and fresh straw to lay. I’ll help Geoff with the early milking as usual, then come straight on to Woodhey afterwards. It’ll be a good opportunity for Helen to have Geoff to herself for a while.’

  Chas rubbed his pinkly-shaven face with his hand.

  ‘Did I hear correctly when you said “early milking”? I don’t rightly remember you ever seeing Sunday morning at Woodhey. Still in the land of nod, you were.’

  ‘Things change, Dad,’ Bryony sniffed. ‘I’ve got used to being up before six. The only thing that’s no different is the car.’ She pulled a woeful face. ‘I’m still never quite sure if it’ll get me places or not!’

  He looked concerned.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to see about a replacement – can’t have you breaking down on the road. Like I said, there’s been an improvement with finances this year….’

  Chas consulted his watch.

  ‘Well, I’d better be off. See you on Sunday, Bryony. I’ll tell your mum to rustle up an apple pie. It’s still your favourite?’

  ‘’Course it is. With oodles of yummy custard done the way only Mum can make it. Mmm, I can’t wait!’

  She fetched her father a kiss on his cheek and watched him go striding off, still smiling; a good-looking, robust, country man in sludge-coloured cords and warm winter jacket, the farm’s audit papers in a battered brown leather briefcase swinging from his hand.

  Everything comes to she who waits, Bryony thought, and wouldn’t Geoff be chuffed when he heard she was doing the right thing over the rift in her family at long last?

  Nevertheless, that Sunday, Bryony felt her stomach tighten when she drove into the yard of her home. Everything looked the same – the hosed surfaces, the big green tractors standing neatly side by side in the big barn, smoke huffing from the tall chimneys of the squat old farmhouse that was so different from the classic proportions of Roseacre, but strong on character all the same.

  Across the fields, Thea’s ponies were enjoying a headlong flight round and round the pasture, kicking their heels against the cold wind that surged in off the estuary. They’d be a handful when she crossed the field to tackle the work in the shelter.

  The kitchen door opened and Mae came out.

  ‘Bryony! You’re nice and early. Coffee’s on. Come on in and get warm. Dad’s gone to the newsagent for a paper. We’ll have the chance for a chat before he gets back.’

  ‘Great,’ Bryony said, pleased there was no awkwardness, no hint of recrimination. It was going to be all right.

  Later, ponies seen to, lunch eaten and the sitting-room fire stoked up to a good blaze, the three of them sat down and relaxed.

  ‘I shouldn’t have had that second slice of pie but it I couldn’t resist it,’ Bryony said to her mother.

  ‘It always was a toss-up as to who got the last piece, you or your brother!’

  Bryony laughed.

  ‘Talking of Richard, have you heard his CD on the radio? Jazz Today played two tracks this morning – Geoff has music on while he milks. The cows like it.’

  Mae sat up in her chair.

  ‘Richard’s band was playing?’

  Bryony nodded.

  ‘Tracey was singing on the first track. Sounds great! The album’s out in the shops so I got you one.’

  She delved into her bag and brought out the CD with Richard and the band smiling on the cover. Chas sat stony-faced in his armchair, but Mae reached out and took the disc.

  ‘Thank you, darling. What a lovely thought. Don’t the boys all look handsome? And look at Tracey. She’s a lovely girl.…’

  ‘I’ll say!’ Bryony tugged at her own wildly curling hair – a bequest from her father and her bane – and gestured at her jeans and jumper.

  ‘Tracey Kent makes me feel like something off the back page of “Farmer’s Weekly”!’

  Mae burst out laughing.

  ‘Bryony! You’re much prettier than anything I’ve seen there.’

  Mae didn’t mention that Richard had already sent a copy of the CD for them, and that it lay hidden in the dresser drawer out of her husband’s sight.

  Bryony contemplated her father’s silent figure.

  ‘So, what do you think, Dad? Isn’t it great having a famous name in the family?’

  She was aware of her mother holding her breath and mentally crossed her fingers. The day had gone well so far; she didn’t want to spoil it but Dad was taking this grudge with Richard too far.

  ‘Aye. I reckon so,’ Chas grunted at last. The air lightened considerably. Mae raised an eyebrow in gratitude at her daughter.

  ‘I’ll put it on, shall I?’ Bryony rose, taking the CD, dropping her father a kiss on the top of his greying mop of hair. ‘Dear old Dad. I love you all the more when you act grumpy!’

  ‘Not so much of the old,’ Chas protested, but his mouth was twitching, and when the cheerful and heart-tuggingly familiar sound of the Richie Dene Band blasted out into the still corners of the beamed and flagged room, he didn’t tell Bryony to turn it down.

  ‘I should think there’s hope for Rich yet. That must be a relief, Mum,’ Bryony said to her mother afterwards, when they had gone into the kitchen to make a pot of tea, leaving Chas snoozing off his dinner.

  ‘There could be,’ Mae replied. ‘Oh, I do hope so. This year has been so difficult, what with one thing and another.’

  ‘I haven’t helped, have I?’ Bryony said in a low voice. ‘Sorry, Mum. I don’t know what comes over me sometimes. But then, I always was the black sheep, wasn’t I?’

  ‘Not at all!’ Mae was shocked. ‘It isn’t easy being the youngest in a family, love. I should know. There are five years between your Uncle Jake and myself and my sisters were almost a different generation. Anna and Lucinda always seemed so grown-up to me. They used to tease me mercilessly.’

  ‘Did they? I never thought of you being the youngest, Mum. Did you all get on?’

  ‘Oh, more or less. Funny to think of us all so spread out now … Anna in Australia with a family, Lucinda a career woman in the States and Jake in New Zealand. I’m the only one to have stayed on home ground.’

  Mae slid the big black kettle on to the hob and grinned affectionately at her daughter.

  ‘You look different. More … grown up? A bit tired around the eyes? I hope Geoff’s not working you too hard at Roseacre. You’ve got your own job to cope with, too, remember.’

  ‘I doubt if Geoff would notice if I wasn’t around.’ Bryony sighed. ‘He’d just ring for a relief milker and tell Helen they’d better step up the search for another farm hand!’

  Her young voice was bitter and Mae looked up sharply.

  ‘Oh? But I thought the three of you were getting on so well at the farm.’

  ‘Oh, we are! I mean, we don’t fall out or anything and Helen’s been marvellous to me. Mum, I – I think I’m in love with Geoff. But to him I’m just Thea’s pesky little sister. Sometimes I can’t bear it!’

  Hearing the throb of tears, Mae took her daughter’s hand.

  ‘Darling, I don’t think you’re seeing things clearly. Geoff’s just lost his father. Mike Sanders was a huge presence in his life – in both their lives. The farm revolved around him. He made Roseacre what it is today.

  ‘Right through the recent farming problems, particularly in the dairy trade, Mike kept their heads above water. They survived when others went under. Geoff’s got a hard job stepping into his father’s shoes. He’s got a lot on his mind, love. I should imagine it’s given him a few sleepless nights. Don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Bryony said slowly. ‘I hadn’t really thought of it that way. Geoff’s so good on farm. It doesn’t seem a strain to him, though putting it that way, you could be right. Helen once said something similar but I’m afraid I didn’t take it on board. You know me!’

  ‘Yes, I know you!’ Mae laughed. ‘I should go on as you are doing, being at Roseacre and not making
any demands. Give him time. One day he’ll see you differently and, believe me, it’ll be illuminating for him.’

  Bryony’s voice dropped to a whisper.

  ‘And Thea?’

  ‘Your sister’s got other things on her mind at present.’

  ‘Like Dominic Shane? Have you heard the rumour that’s going round? Apparently there’s a question mark over his integrity. Something to do with doping when he worked at Ferlann Ridge?’

  ‘There’ll always be talk, you know what people are. They get hold of a story and then it grows feet and legs. I like Dominic. He seems genuine enough to me.’

  ‘Me, too and Geoff won’t hear a word against him. Says he’s a brilliant vet and you know how careful they are at Roseacre as to who looks after their cattle. No, it’s the horse people who are spreading the gossip, namely Bob Perrit.’

  Mae frowned.

  ‘I do hope this doesn’t mean trouble for Dominic – and for Thea. Oh, dear. You do have to wonder about Dominic Shane though. He could be one of those unfortunates who attract trouble no matter how clever or hard-working they might be. It’s what your Gran Dene calls the black dog of fate snapping at the heels.’

  ‘I hope not. It’ll be tough on Thea otherwise. I think she really likes him….’

  Bryony drew in a breath and let it out again in a long sigh.

  ‘Mum, I don’t want Thea to think I’ve fallen out with her. Not that she could be blamed for believing the worst about me and Geoff. But I behaved like an idiot.’

  ‘No,’ her mother said stoutly. ‘You did your best. Call it growing pains. We’ve all suffered them one way or another. Ah, the kettle’s boiling. Fetch the cake tin, please, Bryony, there’s a chocolate sponge. What a good thing we Partingtons don’t run to fat or we’d never be able to fasten our waistbands!’

  Thea hadn’t quite known what to expect of Ireland. On the Friday evening, Dominic had been waiting for her as the plane touched down. They had driven through the brightly lit streets of Dublin, Dominic pointing out places of interest, Thea craning her neck to see the enchanted city she’d always wanted to visit.