Leaving Shades Page 11

  Rob and Lofty won the first round of euchre; their opponents, Davey Vage, Rob’s next-door neighbour, the engineer of Morenwyn, and one of the crewmen, a young family man named Arthur Trenchard, won the second. Rob bought the next round of drinks. Davey’s was lemonade. Rob sat down, passed round his cigarettes to all except Davey, who preferred his pipe. Rob lit a smoke himself, and then leaned back idly in his chair and eyed Davey while the older fisherman dealt the next hand of cards. ‘How do you feel about Evie’s posh sister being back in the area then, Davey?’

  Lofty’s annoyed eyes, and fresh-faced Arthur’s stunned ones, shot to Davey and then to Rob. Lofty was vexed. Rob was a happy-go-lucky bloke, but when the mood took him he got mean; he would bait someone, anyone, deliberately provoking hurt. It was always unexpected. Lofty said tartly, ‘It’s none of our business, Rob. Let’s just get on with the game.’

  ‘I’m only curious,’ Rob said smoothly – too smoothly for Lofty’s liking –while keeping his gaze fixed on Davey.

  Davey Vage calmly shifted his well-loved ancient pipe to the other side of his bristly bottom lip then picked up his cards. He gave Rob a quick shrewd look, conveying that he was not going to answer him. Not now, not ever. It was Davey’s way. He had once rattled a bully, a slovenly mannish woman, as it happened, by his refusal to rise to the bait and he had received a beating, started deviously, for it in this very pub. People respected Davey for not backing down, and because he was a hard-working and fearless fisherman.

  Lofty smirked to himself. Rob was dogged in all his intentions, but this would teach him a lesson for being such a big-head. In his sixty-three years Davey Vage had never left the cove unless he was away from it working. He was a man of simple tastes, content with his allotment near the cliff top and his radio. He attended the Methodist chapel, situated two narrow streets up behind the quayside homes, but only in the evening accompanied by his adopted daughter Evie. Evie, like Judy, kept house and earned money by knitting. Evie also made lace. Davey did not use bad language, as far as everyone knew, and he never raised his voice. He avoided being drawn into an argument and never offered an opinion about others’ lives, shunning topics like religion and politics. He spoke little, and Evie was just the same.

  The Vages seemed to eat well but otherwise they lived frugally. People considered Davey to be tight-fisted with money towards Evie, who at twenty-five had not for some years put on a new item of clothing. She did not have her hair cut short in the current style but wore hers longer, resting on her shoulders. She was slim and darkly pretty, as her mother Iris had been, but she also resembled Phil Tresaile. She was apt to keep her head down when approached until spoken to. She would be polite and smile pleasantly but offer scant conversation. Male interest in her had never been reciprocated. No one was aware of Davey chasing off would-be suitors to her, but people considered him responsible for her lack of a social life.

  It had been assumed that Davey, who had lived a long time alone after his parents’ deaths, would never marry, and the cove had been shocked when he’d made an honest woman of the shamed and four months pregnant Iris Keane, after she was heartlessly abandoned by the loathed parish he-goat Phil Tresaile. Rumour had it that Davey had never consummated his marriage to Iris. Three lots of single bedding used to be pegged out on the Vages’ clothes line, and the couple had maintained a passive but kindly relationship. Davey had been quietly delighted when Iris’s baby girl was born. He had given the child his surname and always called Evie ‘my handsome’, an affectionate term to the Cornish. Sadly, nine years later, Iris had died of pneumonia, and Davey had kept Evie almost isolated at home.

  Still staring at Davey, Rob pulled his mouth to one side and smiled. It was a smile Lofty did not like.

  Thirteen

  Philip James Tresaile

  Beloved Son

  17 May 1905

  It was a large grave for a baby who’d been born and died on the same sad day. A three-foot stone angel, kneeling and praying, was at its head, the epitaph engraved deeply into the plinth. The rest of the grave was enclosed by stone kerbing and filled in across the top with marble. It all portrayed the importance of the little soul buried underneath.

  This was the second time Beth had visited her twin’s resting place. Yesterday she had driven here with Christina. Each had brought a posy of carnations and rosebuds. Beth had picked the flowers from the gardens and Christina had tied them with royal blue ribbon. Christina had worn black, her cloche hat netted at the front, and as the weather had been cool she’d added a crossover light summer coat. Beth had not brought any black clothes with her but she had managed to find something suitable from Christina’s wardrobe.

  Side by side they had solemnly entered the churchyard. Beth had carried the posies and a bottle of water. Christina’s walking stick had been essential to her safety due to the rough neglected paths. Almost all of the consecrated grounds were sadly overgrown. There was a riot of red clover and primroses, weeds and nettles. Beth had kept a watchful eye on Christina.

  The little grave was just beyond the church building, immediately off the path. The grass around it was trimmed, and lily of the valley and violets grew there for religious significance – and, Beth thought, as a living remembrance of love for the lost baby.

  ‘I get Mark Reseigh to cut the grass every other week,’ Christina had said in a whisper of a voice. It was obvious to Beth that coming here, even after twenty-two years, was still raw and painful for her. ‘The Reverend Oakley is criminally lax at keeping the grounds in order. The same can be said for all his duties. It’s the common opinion it’s time he retired. Well, Beth, here is where young Philip lies.’

  Crouching, Beth had quietly trickled water into the two marble pots, one at the top and one on the middle of the grave, and carefully placed the flowers. She put a gloved fingertip on her twin brothers name. Philip, she said softly in her mind. He had grown with her inside her mother’s womb. Could she feel an empathy with him? She had always felt something was missing in her life but had thought the cause was the insecurities of her childhood. Perhaps it was also the loss of the companionship of her twin.

  She had concentrated to see if she could gain some kind of connection with Philip. She’d felt a growing tugging sensation in her heart, like warm fingers touching it. Was Philip communicating with her? As far as she knew from attending church, the souls of children, like those of the faithful dead, were sleeping in Jesus’ care, until the time of the new earth and heaven. Beth was warmed and soothed at the thought of Philip sleeping peacefully and protected. ‘Philip,’ she mouthed, feeling at one with her brother. She felt suddenly she was complete. The old insecurities were falling off her like sheets of ice. And she was further comforted at wondering if her own lost baby was with Philip.

  A sense of deep peace had fallen. The breeze was sharp but Beth couldn’t hear a rustle from a yew tree, a holly or a laurel bush, or a long wavering grass. There was none of the usual harsh cawing from the rooks. The stillness washed over Beth. Christina touched her shoulder and Beth was sure her mother had felt it too. They were sharing a haven from all the rigours of life and it was balm to their souls.

  ‘Philip,’ she had repeated to herself. ‘I hope you can hear me. It’s me, Elizabeth, Beth, your sister.’ She listened. She concentrated. Nothing came in return to her words but the sense of peace intensified. ‘Rest in peace, Philip.’

  She straightened up, and as she did so her ears were filled with the sounds of wind-blown greenery and the croaking of big black birds.

  ‘Are you all right, Beth?’

  Beth heard the huskiness of emotion in her mother’s voice and looked straight into her eyes. ‘Yes, I’m fine. How about you?’

  Christina nodded, although her cheeks were pale and flushed with pink spots. ‘This is all very moving for me. Having my twins reunited.’

  Instinctively, Beth had put her hand inside Christina’s, and Christina had squeezed her hand gently. ‘Did he look like me?’

&n
bsp; ‘Yes he did. He was less than half your weight and a yellowy, poorly colour. I knew he was gravely ill but I willed him to get better. I was only allowed to hold both of you together for a little while. Then the midwife pulled Philip out my arms and took him away to the next bedroom. I wasn’t told Philip was going to die. I never saw him again.’

  ‘That must have been awful.’ From holding Christina’s hand Beth had gathered her in to hug her gently. ‘I know there must be a lot more to this sad story. I’d like to hear it all, even if it’s painful to me. Will you be able to manage that? It will be very hard for you.’

  ‘I want everything to become absolutely clear to you, Beth. Thanks for thinking of me,’ Christina had said, steeped in gratitude and glorying in her daughter’s caring embrace.

  When the two of them parted they both dabbed at their moist eyes and smiled watery smiles.

  ‘Shall we talk back at the house where it will be comfortable and totally private?’ Beth said. ‘As I remember, the Reverend Oakley had a habit of haunting the churchyard and throwing holy water about. To drive out evil forces brought in by the unsaved, Miss Oakley used to say, although she’d add she didn’t believe it was strictly necessary. Mr Oakley could be a scary sight.’

  ‘He hasn’t changed,’ Christina smiled. Then she was pensive. ‘Do you mind if I take a minute to go to Francis?’

  It was on that plaintive question that Beth was sure she knew beyond any doubt the sum of her mother’s character. Christina was always eager to please. She sought acceptance from Beth even now, and that made Beth sad. Christina was keen not to offend and that made her vulnerable, easy to manipulate and put down. It was how she had always been. My God, Beth thought, if I was suddenly horrible to you now; if I dredged up some new hurt, real or imagined, you would apologize and accept the blame. Beth felt sick in her stomach. Long before she herself had been a neglected, suffering soul, her poor mother had been the same sort of victim, and her heartbreaks had been so much worse. Beth saw her mother now the way Joe and Mrs Reseigh saw her, the way Francis Vyvyan had seen her. A good, unselfish person not embittered by all the tragedies heaped on her. Beth’s heart almost broke for Christina. She felt guilty for having allowed such a torrent of loathing for her mother to build up.

  Beth had tucked Christina’s arm through hers. ‘I’d like to walk you there. If I may I’d like to be with you at Mr Vyvyan’s resting place.’

  ‘Oh, Beth,’ Christina had quietly wept in delight.

  * * *

  From that point a new relationship between Beth and Christina had been forged in peace and understanding and the bond of blood.

  Now Beth had come to Philip’s grave alone. Not dressed in black today, she expressed no outward sign of grief. That she kept in her heart. ‘Hello Philip, it’s me again. Beth. I had to come again. Mother and I had a long talk after we left here yesterday. She’s OK. Everything is all right between us now and always will be. I wanted you to know that, just in case you were worried.’

  Making sure no one else was about to disturb her, Beth sat down on the firm grass, avoiding the flowers on the ground. She just wanted to be alone with Philip for a while. Soon tears welled up in her. ‘Things might have been so different if you’d survived. I’ve told Mother about my baby. Perhaps he or she is with you now. Next time I come here I’ll lay some flowers for my own lost child.’ She bit her lip. It didn’t stop the tears. She let the cascade fall.

  * * *

  She had cried a lot yesterday, both she and Christina. They had chosen to talk in Beth’s old room, sitting side by side on the little bed. The sky had cleared and the sun was shining contentedly by the time they arrived back at the house. Kitty and Joe had taken the dogs outside, Grace cradled in Kitty’s arms, the haven which she had barely left since her rescue.

  ‘A-after Philip died,’ Christina had begun, as the two clutched hands, ‘Phil blamed me for our son’s death. The doctor and midwife said no one was to blame. The baby hadn’t formed properly and it was one of those cruel acts of nature, it had not been God’s will he should live for very long. Phil ordered them to get out, saying they were useless and should have been aware I was carrying two babies. He threatened to make complaints about them, but he never did. Your grandmother had written that she couldn’t make it here for my confinement, so I was left alone as a new mother with a new baby. Phil had refused Mrs Reseigh’s offer to be here. “It’s not your place,” he’d told her rudely. He didn’t like her because she had favoured me from the start of our marriage.’

  ‘Was my father a good husband to you at the start?’ Beth had asked.

  Christina hesitated.

  ‘Don’t be afraid to tell me the truth.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure. Mrs Reseigh can verify what I’m about to say. Phil was so proud for the first few days after we moved into this house, immediately after our quiet wedding in the church. Your grandmother stayed with us for a fortnight. She encouraged Phil to choose the furniture and decor he liked. He made some hopeless choices but thankfully she steered him in the right direction before anything was delivered. I was so happy to be Phil’s wife I didn’t care what they decided. She used her contacts to help Phil get a job in an insurance office in St Austell. He quickly developed a good eye for fine taste and he got on well at the job. Well, Phil had a way of charming people.’

  ‘That’s why you fell in love with him?’

  ‘Yes, it was so easy to do. He had such a dashing smile. When he wanted to he could change his voice to suit any occasion. Then my mother went home. Phil ventured down to the cove for the first time with his head held high, saying he’d show everyone he’d made something of himself. But he soon came back in a terrible rage. He refused to say why, but I could tell he had been humiliated. He banned me from going down there and refused to speak to me for days.

  ‘I learned the reason why after church one morning. I always went alone. I did everything on my own. I overheard a group of women talking. They were sniggering about my pregnancy and about Phil, saying Phil had been rightfully brought down for thinking he was better than anyone else, that some of the men had put him in his place and told him he was a parasite and a kept man, that he’d have nothing and would never come to anything except for my mother doting on him, and him charming the— well, something rude about me. It must have badly hurt Phil’s pride. He started to find fault with me and accuse me of thinking he wasn’t good enough for me. I’d tell him how much I loved him and that I didn’t care what people thought of me, but he’d shout that I was a liar and I must wish I’d married some toff in my own league.

  ‘Well, he couldn’t go down to the pubs for a drink so he started dressing up and went off to the hotels. Occasionally he’d stay out all night. I was so worried the first time he didn’t come home.’ Christina had sighed heavily. ‘He just got angry with me. He misconstrued everything I said and demanded to know if I was accusing him of having an affair. “I was just tired, that’s all,” he’d shout. “I forgot the time. The manager mentioned they had a spare room and I took it. I needed a break, that’s all. Is that too much to ask?” He started drinking a lot more than usual when at home, leaving bottles lying about and falling asleep wherever he was.

  ‘Phil was home when I went into labour. For those next few hours he was like a different man. He was very attentive towards me. I had hopes that once he was a father everything would be normal and we’d settle down as a family. I knew he had hopes for a son, he had already chosen boys’ names, but I wasn’t concerned if the baby was a girl. I thought he’d be happy to try for a boy next time.

  ‘After you were delivered the doctor went out of the room to tell Phil we had a healthy daughter. I asked the doctor what he’d said.

  ‘“Oh,” the doctor replied.

  ‘“Just that?” I asked the doctor. “Was he pleased?” I asked.

  ‘The doctor said, “Of course, Mrs Tresaile. Like a lot of new fathers he was stunned. I’m sure he’s delighted. He’s slipped downstairs for
a little drink. He needs to relax after all the anxiety.”

  ‘Then it suddenly became obvious I was about to deliver another baby and the room became frantic. I couldn’t be left so Phil wasn’t told until after baby Philip was born. Phil ran into the room so excited, but when the terrible news was broken he howled like an animal and tore out of the house.

  ‘Later, after I’d managed to give you your first feed, the midwife put you down in the cradle. The doctor and midwife left, taking my little boy away with them, and I was worried they wouldn’t come back to tend you and me. I was completely worn out. My heart was aching for my lost baby. I couldn’t rest for worrying about what was on Phil’s mind. Finally he came back. I was going to ask him how he was and offer him a look at you but when I saw how furious he was I just froze. He didn’t look like my Phil, his face was purple and twisted with rage and he was pointing at me, accusing. “It’s your fault my son died,” he screamed over and over again. I was so frightened I cowered under the bedcovers.’ Christina was crying, her chin wobbling. ‘He shouted that he didn’t want a daughter, didn’t want you or me either. That I should have known I was bearing two babies and should have looked after his son inside me, that it should have been the girl who died.’

  With huge scalding tears streaming down her face and dropping off her chin, Christina had appealed to Beth. ‘It was the first time I let you down, Beth. I was afraid Phil might hurt you but I was too scared to move and protect you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You don’t have to say any more.’ Beth had been so moved by Christina’s agony she could only whisper, desperate salty tears on her own face, and she’d eased her mother’s head to rest on her shoulder. ‘I understand how it was for you. My father never stopped being cruel to you from that time on, did he?’