Leaving Shades Read online

  The vicar’s wife had seemed much like the old Queen Victoria, young Beth had thought. In her high piping voice she had referred to Beth as ‘the little Miss. Well, we must suffer her, I suppose.’ Thinking about it now, Beth realized Mrs Oakley had been embarrassed that her husband’s stipend did not stretch to all their needs and Miss Oakley had taken on private lessons to help out. Mrs Reseigh had said that Mrs Oakley had become bed-bound due to a stroke and Miss Oakley had dutifully nursed her until her death.

  Beth turned round and round in the room, taking everything in with delight. Crying softly and hugging herself she lowered herself down on the little bed. ‘You didn’t want to shut me out of your life, Mother. You never forgot me.’

  So why had her grandmother given her the impression that the woman downstairs, who had welcomed her return so openly and with such gratitude, had been a totally uncaring, rotten mother?

  Beth continued weeping for a short while, then she dried away her tears and went to the high window to see how different the view down over the lawn, the cliff and the sea would be to her now, as an adult. She saw Kitty – who appeared to be carrying something – and Joe. The pair were involved in an animated conversation. Chaplin kept glancing up at whatever was in Kitty’s arms.

  Beth ran out the bedroom, heading for the stairs. She had to see Christina before her friend and young brother came inside.

  At the foot of the stairs, leaning on her walking stick and looking up worriedly, was Christina. Again Beth saw her mother was steeped in that hope that was like a stranglehold on her.

  ‘You’re not about to run away are you, Beth?’ she pleaded.

  ‘No, no!’ Beth called down to her, thundering down the stairs.

  She made the bottom then, mindful of Christina’s frailty, she slowed down and smiled the biggest smile of her life. Then her arms were out at full stretch and she was sobbing with every emotion she possessed. ‘Mother, Mum…’

  She took her mother into her arms and laid her head on Christina’s shoulder. Christina sobbed, ‘Oh, Beth, my darling Elizabeth…’

  Eleven

  ‘Scruffles would be a good name for her,’ Joe declared in an authoritative tone. He was in the scullery, carefully washing the forlorn foundling puppy in a large white enamel bowl placed inside the deep stone sink.

  ‘I don’t like Scruffles.’ Kitty made a face. ‘I certainly won’t be calling her that.’ She and Mrs Reseigh, Christina and Beth surrounded Joe, all wanting to help him. Kitty was particularly anxious to take a major role in the clean-up of her puppy.

  Joe was stubbornly ignoring her advice and that of the other three women. ‘Oh, do stop all that silly cooing over her,’ he had ordered the four of them from the start. ‘You’ll frighten her all the more.’

  ‘Don’t be rude, Joe,’ Christina had scolded him, but not seriously. Joe was being his usual I’ll-take-charge-of-this self. And she was too happy to be annoyed with him, or with anyone or anything else. She was wonderfully happy. She and Beth had just become reconciled, the outcome beyond all her cherished dreams. There were still events to be chewed over, explanations and apologies to give, doubtless some uncomfortable moments for them both, but the fact that Beth had called her Mum and grasped her so firmly in the hall surely meant the reconciliation was unbreakable. Christina had glanced at Beth, and her heart leapt in delight at witnessing Kitty mouth to Beth, ‘Is everything all right?’ And Beth had smiled and nodded, before taking an avid interest in the poor tiny bedraggled puppy.

  ‘I’m sure you’ll find something the poor little mite can have to eat and drink, Mrs Reseigh,’ Beth had said when Joe and Kitty had brought their pathetic little find inside. Then she’d turned to Joe. ‘The puppy first has to be shown it can trust us. You’re doing a great job, Joe.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Joe had replied.

  Christina knew that despite his preoccupation with the puppy, Joe had taken in the new terms between her and Beth, and Christina’s heart had soared to hear her children relating so well to each other. It touched her deeply that Beth was automatically allowing Joe the leadership of the situation.

  ‘Some water to drink and some warm milky sops to begin with, eh, Mrs Reseigh? And is there some meat paste?’ Joe had said. ‘When she’s full I’ll clean her up.’

  ‘I can do that,’ Kitty had cut in.

  ‘It’s best left to me.’ And Joe would not be swayed otherwise.

  Thinking the puppy was a soulful-eyed adorable creature, and that it was typical of Kitty to immediately decide to give it a home, Beth had relaxed and watched engrossed throughout the proceedings. The discovery and arrival at the house of the puppy had been timely. Its plight and rescue had mopped up a lot of the pain of her emotional reconciliation with Christina and placed their particular situation on an even keel. It had cut through any need to mention what had taken place between the two of them. Their ease with each other was apparent to all.

  Lifting up the saturated shivering puppy from the bowl, Joe deftly tipped out the dirty soapy water then gently rinsed the puppy’s coat with warm water from the pitcher Mrs Reseigh had put on the draining board. Finally it was over and the puppy was a woeful dripping scrap, trembling in Joe’s hands. The women oohed and aahed.

  Kitty had ready one of the old towels kept to dry off Chaplin when it was necessary. ‘I’ll take her now, thank you,’ she told Joe in a tone that permitted no room for argument. ‘She is to be my dog.’

  ‘I was going to suggest that.’ Joe handed the puppy over to Kitty and helped her to wrap the towel round it.

  ‘There you are, my poor darling, finished at last.’ Kitty caressingly dried off her new little friend and kissed the top of its damp head. ‘You’ll soon be warm and dry and no one will ever hurt you again.’

  While Mrs Reseigh slipped away to check on lunch, the rest of the company went along to the sitting room. Kitty took a quiet fireside chair with the puppy, now snuggled into a small soft blanket in her arms. With Chaplin close at his side, Joe pulled up a chair next to her and talked about what food was suitable for the puppy, cautioning that it might require a trip to the garden soon to relieve itself. ‘If you haven’t got any oatmeal or ham in the cottage then get some. Chop the ham into tiny pieces. You can have the first sleeping basket we bought for Chaplin.’ He proceeded with tips for training.

  Beth and Christina sat on the same sofa. Neither knew quite what to say for now and they were content to focus on the endearing drama in their midst, the first thing they had shared together for many long years.

  Kitty had not taken her eyes off her bundle for a moment. ‘I’ll call her Duchess.’

  ‘You certainly will not,’ Joe snorted.

  ‘What’s wrong with Duchess?’

  ‘It’s ridiculous for her.’

  ‘Well… um… Lady.’

  ‘Too soft.’

  ‘Daisy.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  There was a thoughtful pause from Kitty. ‘Ah. She was found huddled amidst some ferns. Fern, I’ll call her Fern. It’s perfect.’

  ‘Daft.’ Impatient sigh.

  ‘For goodness sake, Joe, she’s my puppy.’

  Beth and Christina exchanged amused glances.

  Kitty stroked the puppy’s damp forehead, the love she already felt for it clear on her lovely face. The puppy stirred and opened its eyes, and lifted its head to lick Kitty’s fingers. ‘You’re mine. You’re beginning to feel safe with me, aren’t you?’

  ‘She’s bonding with you, Kitty,’ Beth said. ‘You’re going to have to forgo some of the sightseeing you hoped to do by looking after her. I’ll be glad to help, of course.’

  ‘It’s good that were not leaving yet awhile,’ Kitty replied meaningfully.

  ‘There is a lot of getting to know one another to do. Will that be all right with you, Joe?’ Beth asked him.

  ‘As long as things stay the way they are now; amiable, with no resentfulness or digs.

  ‘I know,’ Joe said. ‘You could name her after
a famous movie star. Bebe, after Bebe Daniels.’

  ‘I don’t think so!’

  ‘Greta or Garbo. Or Clara, after Clara Bow.’

  ‘Never. I don’t believe you’d even contemplate those names, Joe, if you weren’t a moving picture devotee. I am too, by the way. The very name for the puppy has jumped into my mind. She’s going to be called Grace, after a favourite old aunt of mine. She’s Grace and that’s an end to it.’

  ‘Grace is perfect for her,’ Beth said, just as the puppy’s tiny face again popped out from the confines of the blanket. Its big sad eyes sought Kitty’s face, searching for approval and reassurance, a place where it was wanted and where it belonged. Kitty lowered her face to the puppy and laughed when Grace licked her chin. Kitty clucked to her and kissed her several times. ‘Oh, just look at her. She loves you already, Kitty.’

  Beth was also sending admiring looks at Joe, occasionally catching his eye. He returned a steady gaze each time. Her half-brother was clever and capable – and a little domineering with a budding arrogance – and he was totally comfortable in the company of women. Although she had not taken in all the implications of her emotional discovery that Christina had never stopped loving her, that it seemed that circumstances outside of Christina’s will had led to her mother’s neglect of her, Beth now had different questions on her mind. If she got fully involved with Christina, if she bonded with her and came to fully care for her, wanting to share Joe’s role in taking care of their fragile mother, how would Joe react to that? He was at ease with Kitty, in a way he was even flirting with her, but while he seemed to have accepted the new understanding Beth had with Christina, would he ever want a brother-and-sister relationship with Beth? He had taken practically no notice of her throughout the ministrations to the puppy. Would Joe ever trust or accept her?

  Christina said nothing but smiled hopefully. Finding the puppy at this time was such a helpful distraction, a way to dissipate the unease of the day. It seemed to be a sign that all would be and stay well.

  Joe shrugged his sturdy shoulders. ‘Grace will do, I suppose. We’ve kept all the things we used when Chaplin was a puppy. I’ll dig them out of the old stable for you.’

  ‘Thank you, Joe,’ Kitty said. ‘I shall be glad of any advice you can give me.’

  Joe gazed at his mother and then at Beth. He was happy to take Kitty Copeland as he found her, a thoroughly pleasant, undemanding individual, and fortunate, he felt, not to have undergone any life-shattering experiences. As for Beth, he accepted she’d had a rocky start culminating in an incident of harrowing proportions. He understood why she had held years of antipathy towards his mother. He was pleased Beth had enough of an open mind to realize quickly that his mother had not been utterly streaked with badness. Phil Tresaile and his grandmother, between them, had nearly succeeded in destroying his mother. Phil Tresaile had been an amoral heartless swine but the full reasons for his grandmother’s malice must be uncovered. Beth had come here wanting to learn the whole truth. Joe was not going to allow her to leave until she had got all of it. Only then would she become who she really was, and if she had inherited those same rotten traits as her father and grandmother, he, boy that he was, would send Beth Tresaile packing for good.

  Joe suddenly put an end to his mother’s and Beth’s wishful musings, and it caused shock all round. ‘Mum, Beth, obviously there’s going to be a lot of soul-searching ahead. Why not bite the bullet and get on with it? It won’t be as difficult if you’re under the same roof. Mum, I’d like to suggest that Beth and Miss Copeland move out of Mor Penty and spend the rest of their stay in Cornwall here, with us.’

  Twelve

  Rob Praed, the fisherman who had spoken to Kitty on the quayside, pushed his way into the Sailor’s Rest and in his usual manner swaggered up to the bar. With him was his father Linford, known to all as Lofty for obvious reasons. Rob dropped some coins down on the bar towel.

  ‘The usual, gents?’ Ken Tresaile was already reaching behind him for the men’s personal pottery tankards kept permanently on a shelf.

  There was no need for either Praed to answer Ken. The pint would be the first of two that Lofty would drink this evening, before leaving at nine o’clock for Wildflower Cottage for a bite of supper. Rob would down as much beer as took his fancy and he’d go home when it suited him. He was to play euchre with Lofty, the skipper of the lugger Our Lily, and two fishermen from Morenwyn, until Lofty left for home. Then he might continue with cards, or play darts or skittles, or simply hang about chatting to other local patrons. He also enjoyed banter with holidaymakers. His soft grey eyes conveyed an easy-going nature but his well-set stubbly jaw suggested some hardness. Rob might call in at one of the other two pubs in Portcowl. It wasn’t many nights he went home before closing time.

  Often he sought some female company before finally going home to his quayside cottage where he lived with his two younger sisters. Judy, the elder, kept the house and made pin money by knitting fishermen’s jerseys. She was one of the two young women who had watched Rob from round the quay the day he had flirted with a beautiful red-haired lady. Judy had later found out, through customary women’s chit-chat, exactly who the young lady was. Alison, his other sister, worked in a sail loft. Rob cared for Judy and Alison with a fatherly eye, but he insisted they did not interfere with his life.

  He pulled out a packet of Players Weights and offered it first to Ken, who took a cigarette, and then to Lofty, who put one behind his ear ‘to smoke later’. Lofty smoked very little and his wife Posy usually ended up with his free gifts.

  ‘That’s a turn-up for the books, eh, Ken?’ Lofty said, after savouring the first thirst-quenching draught from his tankard. He pushed back his peaked cloth cap, revealing his receding hairline. His fingers, like all fishermen’s, were deft but thick, covered with the scars of his trade from baiting up and hauling in heavy nets and handling scaly fish. ‘Phil’s daughter returning to Owles House. And she staying at Mor Penty and you not even knowing it. Young Miss Elizabeth Tresaile, the poor, frightened, frozen little maid Posy and me took in that night. I’ll never forget her huge desperate eyes, how she clung to Posy. You remember it, don’t you, Rob? You was there.’

  ‘I do,’ Rob said, listening while slouching against the bar and gazing about, smiling and nodding at the early evening regulars and dressed-up holidaymakers who were drifting in. There were no attractive women in yet.

  Burly, seasoned and amenable, landlord Ken sucked in his breath. He had a wealth of greying hair and thick trim black eyebrows that moved about in time with his changing expressions. ‘Surprise, you say? You can say that again, Lofty. My niece staying in Portcowl and me not knowing it.’

  ‘How’d you feel about it, Ken?’

  Putting his elbow on the polished mahogany bar top, Ken settled his heavy chin in his palm. ‘S’pose it’d be something to see young Elizabeth again, not that I caught many glimpses of her as a child, mind. She had such a woeful little face and no wonder. Can’t picture her all grown up. Now she’s at Owles House and if she’s really forgiven Christina after what she done to her, maybe she’ll call in here, curious about me. I’ll leave it to her.’ Ken sighed heavily, still hurt over the irony that he was another victim of his younger brother’s wickedness. Ken’s wife, Myrna, had left him years ago, taking their three young children with her, after constantly accusing Ken of being secretly in love with Christina and thinking of Myrna as second-best. Myrna had not been far wrong. For a while Ken would have liked to be in Francis Vyvyan’s place, but once their son had been born Ken realized that he and Christina had nothing in common.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind meeting her friend again. Miss Katherine Copeland,’ put in Rob, his eyes shining with possibilities. ‘She’s very beautiful and I like redheads. She was sitting outside the pub a couple of days ago, Ken. Perhaps she was hoping to catch sight of you to report back to her friend what her uncle seemed like.’

  ‘Maybe. Pay you to keep away from this redhead. No good will come out of
it.’ Ken’s words were gruff, with an embarrassed catch in his tone. It was well known that he had been ‘sweet’ on the young and naive Christina Frobisher. He moved away to serve another customer.

  Lofty looked at Rob. ‘Elizabeth Tresaile coming back will dredge up more bad memories. I’m thinking about Evie Vage, Phil’s other child. How’s she feeling, I wonder, having a rich half-sister practically on her doorstep? Mind you, Evie will take it all in her stride and say little. She’s the most reserved person in the cove. Davey might not like it, it’ll remind him he’s her adoptive father.’

  Rob made a dismissive face. Evie Vage had been with Judy the day the Copeland beauty was outside the pub. Judy had said that, as usual, Evie now couldn’t be drawn on her thoughts about Elizabeth Tresaile. ‘I’m only interested in her friend,’ he answered.

  ‘Well, unless this Miss Copeland comes down to the cove this weekend you might miss her altogether,’ Lofty said, as he and Rob took their drinks to the euchre table. ‘We’re all off pilchard driving come Monday.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ken called out to them as he served a half pint and a port for an elderly holidaymaker and his wife. ‘For the next few weeks the fleet will be moored up at Newlyn and you men’ll be home only at the weekends and my takings will be down. So drink up!’