by T L Blake
Robyn couldn’t help but consider it a message. The forest was showing her how easily a scene could change. How easily light could completely transform not just the vision in front of her, but the feeling of her surroundings. Kat was Robyn’s light, her brightness. Robyn had come to Porthmollek with a darkened soul, but Kat was dragging her back towards the light.
Eventually the canopy above began to thin and Robyn came to the edge of the trees.
The wind hit her before she stepped out from the woodland. She had been walking gently uphill since leaving the cottage and now Robyn found herself not far from a cliff edge. She stepped out high above the sea and looked out on wild waves breaking into white mist below. The wind came straight off the ocean with bracing force and washed over her face whipping her hair back behind her.
The smell of the woodland was immediately replaced by brine and bromine and the smallest taint of seaweed. Robyn could almost taste the salt on her tongue, so she shut her mouth and inhaled though her nose.
Stepping closer to the edge and leaning precariously forwards, Robyn looked down to see waves crashing against the rocks below, spraying foam and froth into the air in a rhythmic oscillation that was accompanied by a great roar. She could even feel the misty moisture on her face, the water droplets driven by the wind. The drop was sheer and about a hundred feet so Robyn stepped back.
To her right, a slope headed down to a little pebble beach, the beach she had come to find. Next to the undulating rough sea, it had a smattering of grey pebbles and several fingers of jagged shale rock. It was small and pleasant but it was not what grabbed her attention.
Set back from the beach and being overgrown by long grass, stood a church. The small construction stood lopsided in the valley just off of the cove. It was made of stone, had sunken down many years ago, at the tower end, and was surrounded by a low stone wall.
Intrigued, Robyn turned to the right, bypassed a lone great oak tree that stood overlooking the cliff like a guardian, and started heading down on what appeared to be an old path sunken into the grass.
Approaching the church yard, Robyn could now see that the low wall she had seen from the cliff top was not low at all. It was, in fact, waist high. Covered in luscious grasses, the wall had appeared to be much shorter due to the top third being the only visible portion. It had clearly been built by a skilled craftsman many years ago and was showing signs of age. Irregular and differently sized stones had been placed in such a way that there was barely a gap between each and for many years the wall had stood against the ravages of the wind coming off of the sea. Even now, most of it stood as true as the day it had been erected. In a few places, and only where the wall was not protected by the binding layer of grass, the stones had come apart and the wall had begun to crumble.
Passing the long wall, Robyn moved to a little gate. Cast iron and moulded in a filigree design, the once blackened metal gate, now leaned precariously against nettles and grew into the grass. It stood oxidizing in the sea air and the salt coming off of the ocean had taken its toll. Corroded and fragile, the gate stood open, hanging by only one remaining hinge. It was a travesty that this once cared for building had been left abandoned and the sheer loneliness of its isolation drew Robyn in.
Lifting her knees high to walk through long grass, Robyn headed for the church, treading carefully on the remnants of a little path of stepping stones.
Clearly old, the church was fairly plain in construction, with no ornate carvings and no figures on the outside. The tower was square with a simple roof structure and had no spire. There were stone vents over the tower windows to both protect the church bell from the elements and to enable the ring to disseminate out as far as possible in order to encourage the local folk to mass. Lichens mottled the stonework and modern plywood boarded up the windows and the door. The board, bleached in the sunlight, matched the shade of the stone walls but where screws holding the boards in place had rusted, trails of darkness streaked down the wood. It was clear that the church had been abandoned for many years. It had been left to slowly disappear under the inevitable spread of nature as she reclaimed her land.
Slightly disappointed that she couldn’t look inside, Robyn turned to the only thing she could have a look at; the gravestones.
On either side of the main door, two large stone slabs lay horizontal to the ground, raised by only a couple of inches. These marked the final resting place of two previous vicars from the mid-1700s as far as she could make out from the erosion of the letters. The script chosen for the lettering was difficult to read despite the age and her visual impairment didn’t help. Robyn turned west and headed for the first headstone that was still standing.
Deciphering what she could, it soon became apparent to Robyn that the headstones closest to the door were the oldest. She saw recurrences of names, as members of the same family had been laid to rest near each other, and noticed the delicate ages of those who had died. Not many lived to what you would call ‘old age’ back then and there were a lot of children.
Heading further around the church, Robyn started seeing dates from the 1800s. Lots of the names that she now recognised, Rowe and Yelland stuck out immediately as the names of the Head Teacher and a pupil from one of her classes. Many generations of local families had been interred in the churchyard and judging by the comparability of the names with those on her class registers, many descendants of these people still lived locally. It was quite nice to think that the community had such deep roots, especially as she wanted to plant some of her own.
When she found a stone from the 1850s, Robyn noticed a change in the inscriptions. The carvings were not so old and were therefore easier to read, but her curiosity still had her crouching in front of a large rectangular slab that was entirely plain and undecorated, except for a three inch diameter circle at the top. Putting her hand out and feeling the indentations like Braille, Robyn read the names on the stone. Father, Mother, Grandmother and three children were all listed on the particular stone.
Robyn knew of family plots, where, as members of the same family died they were added to the stone but all these people had died on the same date. She wondered what could have happened to them; fire, disease, or accident? What tragedy befell this family all those years ago?
The next stone had fallen but the writing was face up. This one had two names, husband and wife but there were no dates as the break in the stone had cut them off. Feeling the sorrow of the place, Robyn looked around for more.
Moving around the yard, Robyn took in everything that the stones had to offer.
A Celtic cross monument listed four names, all the same family and all died on the same date in 1877. An intricate three sided spiral design enclosed in a circle had been carved carefully in the centre of the cross but there was little other detail.
She discovered three more markers representing events that had wiped out families. The dates varied from the 1840s to the early 1900s. She didn’t know if there were any more, as many of the stones were either too damaged, too eroded, or they had fallen face down, but they had her intrigued enough the go back around the small churchyard and have a second look at the five graves that depicted tragedy.
On closer inspection, Robyn noticed that the small three spiralled symbol was carved on all of those peculiar stones except the first, which only had the circle. Sometimes the symbol was carved deeply, etched cleanly and easy to spot, but sometimes it was seemingly scratched on, as if an afterthought, making it difficult to see.
Other stones had the symbol too, stones with only one occupant and stones that she could not read.
The latest dated stone in the graveyard was 1942. Where had the dead been buried since?
With nothing more to see, Robyn headed to the beach, moved some pebbles to make a flatter surface to sit on and sat pondering. She thought of the families that had perished and felt sad, especially for the young children who hadn’t really started life before it was snatched away from them. She thought of explanations for the
deaths, but couldn’t think of many disease outbreaks or anything else that would explain the mystery. Robyn was pretty certain that there hadn’t been outbreaks of plague between 1800 and 1900 but her knowledge of flu outbreaks centred only on the one during the First World War. She thought of the industrial revolution and accidents. Would children have been working then? Would children have been mining then? Cornwall was famous for its tin mines and they had been open throughout all of that time.
Fire was an obvious choice. With no fire brigades and houses containing substantial amounts of timber in their construction, fire would have ravaged them in minutes. Small windows, cramped tight staircases and no alarms meant that if fire broke out, especially at night, it could very well claim live, many lives.
Landslide ricocheted through her mind. The great hills around St Austell, now covered in grass and seeming almost natural, were, in fact, great hills of waste pulled out of the china clay mines. In Wales in the 1960s, in the village of Aberfan, a mountain of waste from a coal mine had buried a school and some farms. Over a hundred had died, mostly children. But these deaths were at different times. This was no disaster.
Deep in thought, Robyn hadn’t noticed that she was no longer alone on the shore so when a wet nose touched against her wrist she jumped.
Snapping her head up, Robyn looked into the soulful black eyes of a dark Labrador. His gaze appeared slightly sad and a little wary. Her quick jump had startled him too. His legs were wet, probably from running in the sea, and he held his tail down and still, but his coat was luscious and shiny. Tightly packed with short hairs it called out to be touched, stroked
Without thinking, Robyn automatically held out her hand to pat the dog on the head, to sooth him and assure him that she meant him no harm. The moment she touched his smooth coat, he gave his approval, swept his tail into the air and began swinging it joyously. He took a step forwards and lowered his head to place it on her lap, his soulful eyes looking up expectantly before she indulged him and rubbed behind his ear. Appearing to like the fuss, the dog cocked his head to one side to encourage her to do it again then rolled over to expose his underside in complete submission.
Robyn laughed out loud as the dog let down his guard completely and exposed his stomach, utterly trusting, and nuzzled his head into her legs in utter pleasure.
Whilst petting the Labrador and giggling at his response, Robyn didn’t think about his owner. Not until two booted feet stopped in front of her, and a deep, smooth voice said, “I’m sorry, is he bothering you?”
“Oh no! Not at all.” She slowly raised her gaze.
Robyn’s eyes drifted over dark leather boots with black laces, and up denim clad, long legs. Denim gave way to a black sweater that clung to a slim waist and flat, hard stomach. She felt her lungs tighten as her eyes swooped further up and moved to the lean solid chest that showed clearly defined muscle under the tight sweater. Her heart thumped heavily as she lifted her gaze to broad shoulders and a rolled turtle neck collar that covered a pale, long neck, leading to a chiselled jaw that had darkened with a day’s worth of stubble. Her breath held in her throat as her eyes rose up to the face. Defined nose, high cheekbones, dark brows, black hair and piercing pale eyes surrounded by thick black lashes.
“Oh,” he said, “I didn’t recognise you.” The words were dismissive but she could have sworn she caught a slight startle before they escaped his lips. His deep voice was clipped and his stance no longer easy and carefree. Andrew Obursen loomed over Robyn and the look upon his face was of pure disgust.
“Uh” was all she could force out. Her calm had definitely been shattered and it had been a fairly pleasant afternoon.
“How did you get here?” His deep and lustrous voice drifted on the breeze but was no less demanding. He stood over her, holding the dog’s lead, looking windswept but stiff. His stature and frown made him aloof, and she wondered just how much starch he used to put such a board up his back and stick up his arse.
Robyn sat beneath him, frozen and incapable of conscious thought. Fear trickled into her system. Again, the intensity of his stare and the luminosity of his pale eyes captured her, making her feel exposed before him.
“Nobody comes here, so why would you?” Andrew continued, his lips a thin line.
Robyn felt the weight of Andrew’s loathing. What did Kat see in him? She may have had an unexpected and unwanted reaction to Andrew’s touch before, but without it, she could see more clearly. This was a man who liked to keep apart, and from the look of him, Robyn was happy to oblige.
“Kat found it on one of her runs.” She kept her voice low, refusing to let him know that she was riled.
One dark brow lifted in query as his stare intensified and Robyn felt compelled to expand.
“She swims here. I thought I would come and take a look, as it was so nice today.” She was babbling, allowing the words to flow out too fast. She could have kicked herself. What the hell was wrong with her? To regain control she sucked in a deep and purposeful breath as she hefted the dog’s head from her legs.
She was at a distinct disadvantage sitting down. Andrew towered over her, standing over six feet and she knew she would feel less dominated from a standing position.
Andrew watched as Robyn rose off of the shingle, but purposefully offered no assistance. This petite woman had unnerved him before with her guileless eyes and her captivating face. He’d spent a lifetime standing apart from others, keeping a very precise distance, yet this woman threatened to shatter all the barriers he had erected. That fact made him angry. “How did you get here?” he demanded once again, intending to find out why she was stalking him.
“I walked.” Her voice had a melodic cadence despite her curt reply. It matched her fragile frame, but also showed that she was strengthened with a ruthless, steel inner core. She was a mystery he had no intention of solving, but he liked that he had angered her.
“So you’re renting Holbrook Cottage.” He knew it well, had spent time there as a boy. Looking towards the trees where she must have followed the old path, he couldn’t help but question the coincidence of this woman living in the only other house that was close enough to the cove to make use of it. Perhaps someone was playing old games again. He would have to put a stop to it. He had not returned to dig over old ground. “Lovely, but a bit isolated.” He turned back to her face and caught what he thought was surprise before her shutters came down. His lip curved without conscious command.
Her eyes narrowed. “I like that, or I wouldn’t have rented it.” Her answer was meant to be cold but her anger brought raw fire to it. This woman had a stubborn streak a mile wide yet she exuded fragility. It was a compelling mix that in any other situation, he might take time to study. Here, now, however, he had no intention of acquainting himself further.
“Well, Max seems to like you.” The dog was utterly smitten and currently rubbing his traitorous body around her shapely legs.
She glanced down at the besotted mutt and he could see her anger fade. “Yes, he certainly seems to.”
“Come Max, it’s time to go.” He needed to separate himself before that stunning combination of pale alabaster skin, rich brown hair and wide hazel eyes had him doing something he’d regret. Bending down to grab the dog by his collar and lead him away, he threw out a casual farewell. “Goodbye, Miss Darrow.”
“Goodbye.” Her words washed over him on the breeze as he turned to home.
Determined not to run in retreat, he walked casually but with long strides over the shingle and around the headland. Fearing what he would do if he saw her there watching him, he did not turn around.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The soft soles of Robyn’s trainers slapped against the wet concrete as she ran across the rain drenched platform and headed for the shelter of an ornate Victorian awning. The overhang held off the sheeting rain, but its metallic roof clanged with every impact. The noise added a tuneless melody to the dreary day.
Out of breath, Robyn looked up the track. She
was late, but not too late thank goodness. The hanging information screens informed her that the train’s arrival was imminent.
Traffic had been overly cautious on the waterlogged roads, holding her up. The sunny respite had ended, but at least Kat was back. Robyn had found things to do with her time, but the days alone had proved her reliance upon her friend. Kat brought colour into her monochromic world.
Finally, the train came into view through the curtain of rain. A small black speck in the distance, it slowly enlarged as it drew nearer. Robyn’s blood began to warm.
The train snaked forwards, slowing as it approached the station. Edging along, the driver struggled to fit the train’s entire length against the small concrete platform, but he managed not to overshoot before coming to a full stop.
The doors began opening even before the brakes had been set. People dashed off and onto the carriages in a desperate bid to thwart the rain.
Robyn stayed under the awning, keeping her head dry and a watchful eye on the fracas. A mixture of joy and worry ran through her stomach. She hadn’t heard a word from Kat since she had left. It meant that despite the fierce hug that Kat had given her when she left, there were still issues between the two of them. Robyn could hardly complain about her friend’s need to put space between them to work it out. Ever since the beginning of the school year they had been living in each other’s pockets. Such closeness, combined with the fact that they were two very different people, had to make problems every now and again. Robyn just hoped that they found a way to work through this latest issue.
