‘I don’t think you’ll find me a kind person,’ Beth said flatly.
Christina’s hand hovered to touch Beth’s arm but she was afraid it would be shrugged off. She had not earned the right, at least not yet, to comfort her daughter. ‘If you really believe that, Beth, then it’s not your fault.’
‘And perhaps it’s not all yours.’
Coupled with the fight to keep in control and stay clear of doing or saying anything offensive, this lifting away of some of Beth’s resentment towards her made Christina burst into tears, while using a hand to hide her quivering lips.
‘Do you want to sit back down?’ Beth asked. She felt genuinely concerned for Christina.
‘No.’ Christina’s answer was watery and emotional. ‘Thank you for saying that, Beth, thank you so much. It shows that you do have kindness to openly admit that to me, not to blame all your miseries on me. I let you down so badly. I shouldn’t have let things go on for so long like they did. I should have got help. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’ She sobbed wretchedly for a moment then with a supreme effort she stopped and smiled through her saturated face. ‘It’s so wonderful having you here. I promise I’ll be totally honest with you.’
‘I’m glad too,’ Beth said, while Christina mopped up.
The mother took the daughter to the dog’s resting place. It was round at the back of the house, past the far side of the kitchen garden, under the low branches of a giant willow tree. The women ducked their heads carefully to enter the quiet spot. ‘It’s where you and Cleo used to come and curl up together and sleep. You used to bring out a little crochet blanket and biscuits for you both to nibble on.’
‘How did you know all that?’ Beth said in astonishment, crouching down to touch the small grey memorial stone with the name Cleo and the words Faithful Friend inscribed in it.
‘I used to watch you play, quite a lot actually, even when I was more or less unattached to life. Mr Jewell told me about this little place. Sometimes I’d peep in here to make sure you were safe. Cleo always heard me but she’d just stay snuggled up to you. You always seemed so comfy and happy fast asleep with your companion. I’d feel so ashamed because you felt safer with Cleo than you did with me and she could give you more than I could. I think Cleo understood somehow that I was often incapable through the drink of responding physically to you.’
Beth ran her hand along the top of the little smooth headstone. ‘Dearest Cleo, I missed you for ages. Grandma got me some kittens and she bought herself a sweet Pekinese, but the dog wasn’t the same to me as you were.’
Leaving the peaceful grave the women made to enter the house by the back door. ‘So you weren’t as neglectful to me as I’d thought?’ Beth said.
Christina nodded. ‘I hope you believe me, Beth.’
She had sounded forlorn and quite pathetic, and Beth got the notion that Christina had slipped back in time in her mind to when she might have pleaded often to be believed, to be taken seriously by Phil Tresaile. Beth could imagine her hard, aloof father treating Christina as if she were a worthless hysteric. And Christina was probably somewhat at a loss without Joe and Chaplin at hand. ‘I believe you’re being honest with me. It was good to see Cleo’s grave.’
Thrilled that Beth was not taking her for a liar – one of Phil and her mother’s most constant accusations – Christina took Beth’s arm this time. ‘Beth, there is another grave you should know about. It’s in the churchyard.’
‘Oh? I take it you’re not talking about your husband’s grave.’ Beth’s heart speeded up uncomfortably. What was she about to be told? Christina was very nervous.
‘No,’ replied Christina, with a painful lump in her throat. ‘It’s a baby’s grave. You had a twin brother, Beth. He was named Philip after your father. He was born twenty minutes after you. It was a shock to me to go into labour again. I’m afraid he didn’t live very long. He was so tiny and his lungs hadn’t formed well enough for him to survive.’
‘I’ve got – had – another brother?’ Beth whispered in shock. ‘Why was I not told before?’
Nine
‘You did see what I meant?’ Joe stared at Kitty. They were walking back through the woods to the cliff path, the firm ground under their feet dancing in light and dark patterns where the bright sunlight daringly bypassed the high leaf-heavy branches. ‘And you will tell Beth?’
‘Of course I will.’ Kitty met his stern gaze. ‘Beth has come down here to learn the whole truth. It’s what she needs. And it’s what I want for her. I want to see an end to all her inner torment so she’s able to move on with her life.’
‘If my mother could have got back to her that day she would have done. But as you’ve just seen it was totally impossible after she’d wandered off in a daze and fallen down that steep slope. She was virtually out of sight. My father was helping with the search. The whole village scoured the area, even those that Beth’s father had turned against my mother, including the Tresailes. Most people thought she had jumped or fallen off the cliff into the sea. It was my father’s idea to get Cleo out of the kennels to help find Mum. Cleo led him this way and she scrambled straight down the slope. Dad climbed down on his rear after her. It was very tricky for Dad to carry Mum up but Cleo picked a way for him to follow. Dad wrote to her at the hospital. He really never left her side until the boat accident.’
‘I’m so sorry about the loss of your father, Joe. I admire you for the way you’ve stepped into his place. Have you got someone to go to when you need advice and some comfort?’
‘I do all right,’ Joe replied, offhand, but he was impressed at his companion’s thoughtfulness. He stole several sideways looks at her. Miss Copeland was really something to tell Richard Opie about. She was gorgeous, a bit like a movie screen siren but without all the powder and paint, and she didn’t know just how luscious she was. Best of all, she wasn’t prissy or twee. She was easy to get along with, a bit of a grown-up tomboy.
‘I’m on the outside looking in on the situation, Joe. Beth is as close to me as a sister could be, and I’ve witnessed how she’s been affected by her earliest years, but I want you to know, Joe, that unless I learn to the contrary, I have sympathy for your mother. She seems to be a very pleasant lady.’
Joe nodded, pleased with Kitty’s last outlook. ‘You knew Marion Frobisher. What did you think of her? Did you see her as a good woman? Mrs Reseigh says there were two sides to her. I think she wants to tell me more but is waiting until I’m older.’
‘You’re hoping I’ll say that Mrs Frobisher had a harsh side.’ Kitty gazed frankly at Joe. ‘If she did, I didn’t see it. She adored Beth, gave her the best of everything, introduced her to the arts, the theatre, took her to foreign countries, but she was also a typical adult in not wanting Beth to grow up spoiled and ungrateful. I found her a fascinating woman and she was a lot of fun.’
‘Did she send Beth to a boarding school?’
‘No, Beth attended the same private girls’ day school as I did.’
‘She packed my mother off to boarding school from the age of six, when her son died aged three. Before that there was a nanny. Mum was rarely allowed to go home in the holidays. She usually spent them at various other boarders’ homes. She must have felt very unloved.’
‘It sounds as if your mother must have had a very lonely childhood.’ Kitty thought sadly that perhaps Christina had found it hard to relate to her own daughter. Marion Frobisher had made it plain that she had no time for Christina, but she had spoken a lot about her cherished dead Leslie. Now Kitty had met Christina she had to admit there was conflict in Marion Frobisher’s attitude towards her daughter and granddaughter.
Chaplin was running on ahead sniffing out the familiar territory. He left the woods well ahead of the others but suddenly he was running back to them. He stopped yards away from them and barked, tossing his broad neck. ‘Chaplin’s found something,’ Joe cried like the boy in him. ‘He wants us to follow him.’
Grabbing hold of Kitty for a moment he
hurried her along. ‘Keep up!’
She laughed, happy to go along with the order. It seemed Joe had accepted her as an older playmate. He must trust her and that was brilliant. Chaplin barked again and shot off, making sure all the way that he was being followed.
Kitty blinked as they emerged into full sunlight, at the beginning of the short scrubby path that meandered down to the narrow cliff path. It wasn’t near the hottest part of the day yet but already the sun was beaming down relentlessly, its intense heat bouncing off the granite rock. As she went along, matching her longer legs to Joe’s swift pace, Kitty slipped her arms into her cardigan to avoid getting sunburned.
They reached a stretch of scrubby ground heaped with gorse bushes, brambles and wild foliage. Swathes of pink and purple heather and pink thrift and white and yellow wildflowers gave lots of pretty colour.
Chaplin leapt in among the shrubbery and soon lowered his head to the ground, his long tail up and wagging. ‘He’s licking something, something living I’d say, perhaps hurt. Stay back, Miss Copeland. Leave this to me.’
‘I’m not a helpless female,’ Kitty protested, but obeyed anyway, slowing down considerably, which was wise anyway because of the prickly growth. ‘What is it, an injured bird?’ She was going to add, ‘Be careful,’ but it wasn’t really necessary. Joe wasn’t a fool.
Joe went down on his knees, nudging Chaplin aside. ‘Hello there, little one. You’re in a sorry state, aren’t you?’
‘What is it?’ Kitty was dying to know. She could hear whimpering. Joe had his back to her and she could not see.
Joe gathered up something seemingly tiny in his arms. He turned round to Kitty. ‘It’s a puppy. Abandoned and ill-treated.’
Rounding a last gorse bush, Kitty saw Joe’s pathetic trembling little burden. The scrap of puppy had a long tangled coat, light brown and white with a bit of black. A pair of pinprick, watery dark eyes gazed at Kitty partly in apprehension and partly in hope. ‘Oh, the poor little thing, it’s starved. How do you think it got here?’
‘It was dumped.’ Joe rolled his eyes as if she was stupid. ‘Probably tossed in the woods but somehow it made its way here.’ He turned the puppy’s lower half over a little then held it firmly. ‘It’s a girl. She’s a cross-breed. See her pointed ears and tapering snout? She’s got long-haired collie in her.’
Bending close to the puppy, Kitty gently smoothed its head. It had curled up into a tight ball in Joe’s arms. ‘She’s so sweet. Well, we mustn’t stay here. She urgently needs food and water.’
‘That’s obvious,’ Joe sighed.
Kitty ignored his impatience. ‘Can I take her?’
‘She’ll make your clothes dirty.’ Joe moved past her. ‘Good boy, Chaplin, you’ve done well.’
Kitty followed the boy and dog procession until they were all clear of the foliage. ‘I’m not concerned about my clothes.’ She reached over Joe’s arm and touched the puppy again. ‘I’d like to carry her. Please give her to me, Joe.’
‘She’s got blood on her paws, and has fleas and probably worms,’ Joe said doubtfully.
‘That doesn’t matter.’
‘Good for you,’ Joe said, with an approving smile. Carefully he passed the trembling puppy into Kitty’s arms.
Kitty used the side of her cardigan to shield the puppy from the sun, now it had been taken away from the shade of the bushes. ‘Oh, you’re such a little darling,’ she cooed.
Joe led the way back to the house fast. ‘After she’s been fed and watered we’ll give her a gentle bath then make up a little bed for her.’
Delighted that he had included her in the puppy’s care, Kitty asked, ‘Will your mother let you keep her?’
‘She can’t stay with us, I’m afraid. Chaplin protects Mum. She easily copes with him but another dog would be too much for her. Any puppy is demanding until it’s trained and a dog with collie in it will need a lot of exercise. I’m sure someone local will take her in.’
‘Have you got any idea who might have abandoned her?’
‘I have actually. The puppy is lucky to be away from there.’ Joe would get Richard Opie to join him soon in paying a certain individual a visit.
Kitty carefully lifted the puppy up on to her chest. It gazed up winsomely at her and whimpered. ‘It’s going to be all right, you little darling. You’re safe now. No nasty person is going to hurt you again.’ The puppy snuggled in under her neck, trusting her. Kitty cuddled it protectively. In those moments she bonded with the hapless little parcel she was carrying. ‘There won’t be any need to look for a home for her, Joe. I’m going to keep her.’
‘You might want to think again about that,’ Joe said. They had reached the garden gate, and he opened it and ushered Kitty through.
‘There’s no need. I love her already. She’s beautiful, adorable. She’s so tiny I’m going to call her Tiddler.’
‘Don’t be silly! She won’t stay small. Look at the size of her paws. A name like Tiddler would embarrass her.’ Joe locked the gate.
‘OK, I take your point. Don’t be disparaging,’ Kitty chided.
‘Well…’
‘Well nothing, young man.’
‘Don’t call me that. I hate it!’
Kitty laughed.
They both laughed.
Ten
Beth put her hand on the door handle of her childhood bedroom. She was almost afraid to go inside. Dreadful memories might wrap themselves around, pull her back to all the insecurity and trauma of old and imprison her in it. It would make her despise Christina all over again. After what had been revealed to her so far, and how Christina was now, or seemed to be, Beth was feeling herself thawing towards her mother. Christina had, apparently, always loved her and never stopped. She had lost a baby. Beth knew the tragedy and aching loss of that. There were matters Beth still needed to resolve, but she certainly didn’t want to be plunged back into the role of accuser, didn’t want to become more vulnerable than Christina was. As well as learning she had had a twin brother there had been another shock. Beth also now had to come to terms with having an older half-sister, an illegitimate forsaken child of her father’s who lived down in the cove, her name Evie Vage. ‘This is all too much right now,’ Beth had said to Christina, who had looked at her with such concern. ‘Tell me all about her another time.’
‘Would you like to look over the house, Beth?’ Christina had offered some moments ago, after they had downed a pot of Mrs Reseigh’s well-brewed tea, around the kitchen room. Beth had liked this room the best during her first years, ensconced in here with Cleo and the cheerful, motherly, cuddle-giving, high-busted, slightly chubby Mrs Reseigh. Mrs Reseigh had seemingly not aged at all. Fashion had passed her by. Her hair was still the colour of chocolate and in a fat bun at the nape of her neck. Her dress was dark and shapeless, her full pinafore was a dark blue print, and a saggy cardigan was worn on top. This had been the same however hot the weather. Today she had on soft lace-up shoes. In the winter she had donned brown calf-high boots.
‘I’d like to very much,’ Beth had replied, eager for it yet afraid she would lose the peace and wonderful familiarity gained from Mrs Reseigh’s wholehearted reunion.
‘I can’t tell you how wonderful it is to see you again after all these years, Miss Elizabeth.’ Mrs Reseigh had smiled her habitual cheery smile. ‘You were a handsome little maid then and you’ve growed up to be a lovely young lady. You’re so like your mother. Do you remember my son Mark? He’s a few years older than you. He used to fetch up shopping and run errands for your mother. He married and made me a proud granny. Sadly he lost his wife, but little Rowella is the delight of our lives.’
‘Congratulations on becoming a grandmother,’ Beth had replied cheerily. Mrs Reseigh had the knack of lifting up others’ spirits. Beth could only recall Mark Reseigh as a tall, skinny boy, reluctant to speak, who was soon off when his task was over.
‘He’s still as quiet as a church mouse. You probably won’t see him today. He comes no nearer than th
e back yard to fetch his mug of tea. Well, this is lovely having you here, Miss Elizabeth. Mrs Vyvyan is over the moon you’ve come back.’
Christina had given Beth a smile, which Beth saw as being frantic with hope that she would understand this, know it, and be truly pleased about it.
‘I’m glad I’ve made the journey.’ Beth’s tone had been calm and light.
The obvious first choice was her old bedroom, where she had spent so much time alone with Cleo. She had climbed the stairs and walked down the long landing without taking notice of anything else. There was no point in being interested in other things if she was about to discover something hateful and hard to bear.
And now she stood before the bedroom door, trembling as she wondered what effect the excursion inside would have on her. Then she thrust up her head. ‘Don’t be silly. Christina is not a monster, and even if she was, I’ve survived my childhood, and she can’t hurt me now.’
One look in the room and it was confirmed to Beth that Christina was anything but a monster. Christina had kept her bedroom exactly the same as the day Beth’s grandmother had brought Beth back into it to pack a trunk of clothes and her favourite toys to take away for her new life. A doll that Beth had not played with much was lying on the bed alongside an array of stuffed and knitted toys that had also been left behind. There were the same nursery friezes of fairies and pixies on the walls, and the same matching pink and beige curtains, carpet and bedspread and quilt. Her dolls’ house was in the same corner. Her dappled rocking horse with a full mane of hair was in the same spot, and there was her pull-along waddling duck, and the box of bath-time toys. Her little pink-painted wooden table and chair, fashioned in the manner depicted in old fairy-tale books, had also been kept. She had sat there and played schoolmistress with Cleo and her toys as pupils.
‘I was very strict and bossy,’ Beth whispered, grinning to herself. She had copied Miss Muriel Oakley’s habit of looking down over her round-rimmed spectacles, using her thumbs and forefingers to form a pair of glasses. Miss Oakley had not been bossy. She had been softly spoken and quietly encouraging. She had always smelled nicely of roses. According to Mrs Reseigh, she was still languishing in the dark shabby old vicarage with her father. Beth remembered Miss Oakley’s parents as being rather ’barmy’. The Reverend Oakley had flapped about in his black robe, sometimes topped by a long cloak, and had frequently talked aloud and thrown up his stretchy arms as if he was acting. Beth had wondered in her young mind if he had elastic bones. He’d worn a gold crucifix so big and heavy that during his antics it had thumped against the full length of his chest. Miss Oakley had hurried Beth away on these occasions. ‘Come along, Miss Elizabeth. Dear Papa is in full flight again. His sermon, you know. We mustn’t disturb him.’
Leaving Shades Page 9
