Leaving Shades Read online

  Lily was gleeful. If she performed her part well the boys might let her join them on other adventures. She glanced furtively at Joe, who had propped his staff against the wall. What was he going to do? He pulled a screwdriver out of the tool belt. He was going to break into the building, and not by trying to saw through the heavy padlock.

  Joe launched himself into the battle of undoing the four rusted screws in the door plate and the fierce effort required soon made sweat break out on his brow and neck. His shoulders ached and he clenched his jaw and panted from the difficulty of getting a firm grip on the screw heads. The screwdriver kept slipping and his knuckles got skinned but he doggedly persevered, grunting, silently swearing to encourage himself. A tiny bit at a time he released each of the four screws slightly then began the easier task of getting each screw out. He didn’t ease up for a second, trusting Richard and Chaplin to give an urgent signal if they all suddenly needed to flee.

  It seemed a beastly amount of time before he had the door plate and the padlock in his hands. He placed them carefully on the ground. The screws he put in a pocket. Warily but quickly he pulled the door open and peered in through the internal darkness. His nose was hit by an overpoweringly sweet fruity smell. His eyes confirmed what he was expecting to see and he put his thumb up to Richard – Gabby certainly did keep her wine stash in here. Shelves lined the walls and bottles of different-coloured wine stood two deep like proud sentinels. Reaching in and up towards one of the top shelves with his staff, Joe gave the nearest bottle a hefty push then swiftly withdrew the staff and slammed the door shut. Lily wasn’t looking his way and her whole little body jumped in shock. ‘Oh!’

  ‘Shush!’ Richard hissed, but he shuddered himself. Joe had successfully broken into Gabby Magor’s wine keep, and now they must get away sharp without leaving any evidence of their trespass here or the hag would dish out some diabolical payback on them. She had never let a grudge rest. And personally, he would get a thrashing off his father, who did not spare the rod.

  Hearing the satisfying smashing of glass in one explosion after another, Joe kept his weight pressed against the door so no alcohol could splash out on him. Working fast he retrieved the metal pieces, and following a tricky start he got the locking device back in position. To disguise the places where he had scratched off rust he rubbed dirt in them. Inevitably the strong fruity smell of liquor reached his nose and he saw trickles of the stuff seeping out from under the door. He jumped back to avoid his feet being incriminated.

  ‘Right, she’ll discover it sooner rather than later,’ he called to the others. ‘But she’s a short-sighted old mare so it’s not likely she’ll spot the padlock has been taken off. She’ll think it was her own fault. Now let’s get out of here.’

  He and Richard shot off, with Chaplin in the lead, retracing their journey Lily scrambled after them, her heart thumping from the sheer excitement of it all. She had taken part in a bold and daring boys’ escapade of just retribution. She’d been let in on a secret, and although she would love to tell her grown-up brothers and daring cousin Rob all about it, desperate for them to be proud of her, nothing under the skies would persuade her to give away a single word.

  Joe suddenly remembered Lily was with them and he looked back for her. She was lagging well behind on her little short legs. Slowing down, he held out his hand to her. ‘Come on, I’ll help you along.’

  Stretching her hand out to his, Lily put on a tremendous spurt. She leaned forward too far, and then she was falling and the ground was rushing and slammed into her. The breath was completely thumped out of her lungs and her scream was a silent one. Then she didn’t move.

  ‘Lily!’ Joe cried and tore back to her. Crude horror engulfed him and grew to the heights of terror. Dark red blood was oozing from one side of Lily’s face. He fell to his knees beside her and touched her gingerly on the shoulder. ‘Lily? Lily?’

  Richard was coming back towards them but slowly, his eyes frantic and scared as they looked down on the sprawled little girl. Chaplin reached Lily and went down on his haunches, whining. ‘J-Joe… wh-what…?’

  Joe lifted his head and white horror escaped his every pore. ‘Rich, I — I think she’s dead.’

  Fifteen

  Clouds were gathering out at sea and the breeze was turning into a persistent wind, chilly in its touch but a welcome relief from the blistering heat of high summer. The air was smoother, kinder. The sky was darkening to a meek bluish-grey. Beth welcomed the mild gloom after the last four stuffy airless nights and searing dry days, when a doleful sluggishness had fallen on all those at Owles House. Beth was in the twin-bedded, Regency rosewood-themed guest room she shared with Kitty. They had insisted on one room to save on housework and each day, to ensure Christina and Mrs Reseigh had no extra workload, they shared the domestic duties. They also brought food delicacies back from the cove and the local farms.

  Energized by the fresher atmosphere, Beth had made the beds and dusted the furniture with its scrolling effects, shaped rails and raised mirrors. She got down on her knees while dry-mopping under the half-tester beds to ensure not a wisp of fluff was missed. It was pleasing to restore the room, which faced west and overlooked quiet garden borders, the woods beyond and a glimpse of sea, to gleaming neatness. It was especially pleasing to Beth to see her things and Kitty’s dotted about in here, giving the room a personal and homely air.

  Beth marvelled how she felt so much at home in Owles House. That she could go to her childhood room and recall the few good memories of bygone years rather than the nightmarish ones. It was important to her to have that little place to retreat to, somewhere she could gather her thoughts and mull over how blessedly different things had turned out than she had expected. She knew if she had left this house, left Christina, the woman she was now comforted and even proud to have as her mother, in a tempest of self-righteous hostility, her life would have been even harder to bear than she could imagine. She had stopped looking for slip-ups in Christina’s reformed character. Her mother had vindicated herself. Learning she had been loved and wanted by one of her failed parents was the deepest solace to Beth’s bruised heart and soul, to her sadness at facing a future without Stuart and her baby.

  Once, however, when she was in the nursery bedroom, Beth’s loss had grown almost unbearable. Lying on the little bed, her legs curled up so her feet didn’t hang over the footboard, she had cradled the doll in her arms and tried to think back to when she might have played with it. Then she had made the fatal slip of wondering what it would have been like to hold her baby in that way. She’d clutched the thing of bisque and cloth against her chest and sobbed for a lifetime.

  Beth would not allow her father to occupy her thoughts. He didn’t matter to her. It seemed he had never loved her and he had been a brute to her mother. He had been a chancer. He was dead and could not reject her again. She was glad he had not died a squalid death, and she felt only a fleeting guilt that she was spared the consideration of whether, if he had survived the war, she should attempt to track him down or not.

  What did bother her was the bitter history between Christina and her grandmother. Why had her grandmother seen Phil Tresaile in such positive, even affectionate terms? She had obviously loathed her daughter long before the disgrace incurred by Christina’s pregnancy out of wedlock. Beth regretted not making the emotional and literal journey to her mother before. In the light of what she now knew, she would have had a lot of questions to put to Marion Frobisher. Beth would continue to probe for answers, but not from Christina, who appeared only to believe her mother had resented her because she had preferred her dead son. Mrs Reseigh would willingly answer any questions but it wouldn’t be right to ask her; revelations gained from the forthcoming daily help might upset the close relationship she shared with Christina. Beth’s primary plan on arrival here might have been to cause unease, but she didn’t want to leave the like behind her when she decided – and she was in no hurry – to end her open-ended stay.

  The fir
st lazy raindrops pitter-pattered on the windowpanes and the velvet curtains stirred from the half-hearted draught. It wasn’t necessary to lower the bottom pane pushed up on its sashes. Beth stretched her hand outside and relished the cool wetness spotting her palm. The shower wasn’t fated to last long. It wouldn’t please the ever-silent Mark. He was hoping for a prolonged downpour to refresh the gardens under his care. He was the opposite of old Mr Jewell. Mark was masculine in stature, uninterested in sharing his botanical knowledge, and most of the time frustratingly monosyllabic.

  ‘I really must go down to the cove and call on Ken Tresaile,’ Beth chided herself aloud. He was her uncle; there was no reason not to meet. Both Christina and Mrs Reseigh said he was a good man, and she didn’t want him to think she was shunning him. But it had been wise for her to spend lots of time with Christina.

  It was more difficult to forge a closer relationship with Joe, mainly because he was still wary of her. For a lone child only twelve years of age it must be hard to suddenly relate to a grown-up sister. Except for the blood tie, Beth found they had little in common and Joe must feel that way too. She wasn’t jealous of the camaraderie Joe and Kitty enjoyed. Beth preferred reading and music to chess or grooming the dogs. Kitty was used to having a brother, and it came easily to her to indulge in verbal tussles and exchange daft jokes with Joe. Beth liked looking over the house with Christina, discussing antiques and fabrics and fashion, rather than racing about outside and climbing trees. Dear Kitty, she still had such a lot of endearing youth in her, and she would probably always be like that, bless her. Beth tended to be quiet and thoughtful, while Kitty was a great chatterer, although in the last few days (she couldn’t hide it from her friend who knew her so well) she had taken to daydreaming about a particular rugged young fisherman…

  * * *

  The day after Lily Praed’s accident, a contingent of anxious visitors from Owles House had arrived at Wildflower Cottage. Beth had driven so Christina could join a jittery Joe, and Kitty. Richard Opie, who often slept over with Joe during the holidays and weekends, was also with them. Beth had not envisaged that her second arrival at the fishing family’s home would find her at the rear of a line of people bearing get-well wishes, flowers, sweets and a chocolate cake.

  ‘I’ll never forget the sight of Joe carrying the little injured girl into the cottage’s front room.’ Kitty had told the sorry tale of Lily’s accident after she and Richard had walked home a very shaken Joe. ‘She had taken a terrible fall while out playing by herself, and goodness knows how long she would have stayed on the ground if Joe and Richard hadn’t come across her. The boys were stricken with fear for her. She was bleeding all over her ruined dress and Joe’s shirt. Her bottom teeth were pushed through the skin under her bottom lip, her nose was twice its usual size and she had a lump on her forehead the size of her fist. She had bruises all down the length of her front. She was conscious, but Joe said she was in shock and hadn’t spoken a word after he had picked her up.

  ‘Her poor mother Posy went to pieces. Rob Praed, her nephew, rushed down to the Sailor’s Rest to ask to ring for the doctor. It was an hour before he arrived. Well, the doctor patched poor Lily up and left instructions on how she was to be nursed. Joe and Richard refused to leave until the doctor assured them Lily wasn’t going to die. Lily is so precious to the Praeds after they lost their other daughter, Juliet, Mark’s wife. It must be awful for Mrs Praed knowing the men have got to leave to fish away for five whole days. Apparently, at the weekend, they leave their boats berthed at Newlyn and catch the train from Penzance to St Austell, and then take two buses to arrive home,’ Kitty had ended wistfully.

  For the rest of the day Christina had fussed worriedly over Joe, who was stunned and subdued. Kitty had kept him close company. Beth too had made every effort to reassure Joe but he had not responded to her at all. He had spoken little. Mostly he was switched off in his own horror. With his precocious maturity it was easy to forget he was still a child.

  ‘Hello there, it’s good of you all to come. Come in, come in.’ Posy Praed had emerged from her front door and beckoned them into her home. She was a lumpy figure in a faded print apron over a much-worn plain blue frock. Thick-heeled, dull black shoes pummelled by years of wear and repairs accommodated the shape of her wide bumpy feet. Darned fawn lisle stockings filled the scant space between her shoes and long hemline. Her short plain greying hair was tucked in under a hairnet. Her pale eyebrows had been allowed to grow awry. Trickles of red thread veins edged the corners of her nostrils. It seemed unlikely that a trace of titivating had ever been done to her candid motherly face. Beth had thought that Posy wasn’t much bothered with her looks anyway.

  Taken momentarily back to the time when this woman had scooped her up in her arms and done her best to soothe her fears, Beth recalled a cosy picture of a close, happy family, content with their lot, headed by frumpy but kind-hearted parents who, rather than call each other by their first names or pet names, addressed each other as ‘Mother’ and ‘Father’, or even in the Cornish way as ‘Maid’ and ‘Boy’.

  ‘It’s very good of you to receive us, Mrs Praed,’ Christina had said, all smiles and concern. ‘How is dear Lily this morning? We’ve brought a few things for her, if that’s all right.’

  ‘Aw, she’s sleeping at the moment. That’s very kind and thoughtful of you all, Mrs Vyvyan. Do come in. I’ll show you into the front room, and I’ll soon have the kettle on.’ Posy kept up her welcoming waving in, but Beth could tell she thought it something of an honour to have Christina call at her house. ‘Aw, Miss Copeland, ’tis nice to see you again. You were such a help yesterday calming things down and taking care of the boys. Aw, and you must be Miss Elizabeth,’ Posy said over her shoulder to Beth, snatching looks at her while she led the way down the broad passage. ‘I can see you’ve grown up to be a fine lady. Oh, mind none of you catches your legs on my son Barry’s bits of metal there. He’s trying to invent something or other for the boat.’

  When they were all in the good-sized front room, which faced the charming wilderness garden, Joe pleaded, ‘Can we see Lily, Mrs Praed? Richard and I? We’ve brought fudge for her. It’s soft so it shouldn’t hurt her sore mouth.’

  ‘Aw, bless you, Master Joseph. ’Fraid Lily won’t be able to see anyone today except me, the doctor and her gran, who’s sitting with her. Like I said, she’s sleeping. Has been most of the time, praise God. When she wakes she frets and is in pain. ’Tis a hard job to get her to sip a little water. Her head aches something awful, her nose is like a fat tomato and Doctor had to put a stitch in where her teeth came through. Lily will need to rest for some days yet.’ Posy dabbed at her eyes, clearly overcome. ‘We can’t thank you boys enough for bringing her home. She don’t usually play in the woods on her own. Well, take a seat everyone. I’ll make a pot of tea.’

  Beth had noticed both Joe and Richard were uncomfortable with the praise but assumed they were embarrassed by it. Normally, she felt, they would have been pleased to be seen as heroes but they had been thrown by the little girl’s distress. She had overheard them mumbling long into the night.

  ‘Please don’t put yourself to any trouble, Mrs Praed.’ Christina had touched Posy’s arm in the sympathetic manner of one mother to another. ‘I don’t think we should intrude on you. I’m sure you’ll be receiving other visitors. We’ll leave the things we’ve brought. If we may, someone will call every day to ask how Lily’s progressing. If there’s anything we can do, please, please do send word.’

  ‘Yes, please do that, Mrs Praed,’ Beth added, eager to return the woman’s long-standing kindness to her. ‘We’ll be happy to take Lily and anyone in the family anywhere that’s needed in the motor car. Are you able to keep in touch with Mr Praed?’

  ‘Oh, that’s not a problem. Mark, my son-in-law, will pop into the Sailor’s Rest every evening where my husband will telephone him from Newlyn. Thank you all very much for coming.’

  The Owles House people had quietly trooped outsi
de and returned to the car. Beth had noticed, inside the cottage, how Kitty’s eyes kept straying to the mantelpiece where Praed family photographs comfortably sat, her eyes in particular lingering on a rugged, smiling young man in overalls and jersey on the deck of Our Lily.

  After Beth and Kitty had retired to their room that night, Kitty had mentioned Rob Praed in an offhand manner, but she had done so several times. ‘I found when Rob invited me inside his uncle’s cottage it was crammed with people getting together for a bit of a do. It’s a tradition of the Praed family and their neighbours before the men start each new fishing season. There were more people looking over Mr Praed’s well-tended vegetable garden. I was made so welcome and was enjoying myself. I’d barely had time to meet Rob’s two sisters when Richard tore inside without knocking and shouted that Lily was badly hurt. It was as if time had stopped for a moment. On seeing the dreadful state of Lily in Joe’s arms most people flew into a fluster. It was Rob who took charge of everything. He seems very capable.’

  Beth had kept to herself the remark, ‘He seems a whole lot more than that to you, Kitty.’ Kitty had obviously been deeply impressed by Rob Praed, despite Christina and Mrs Reseigh’s description of him in general conversation as the local Lothario. Beth had shrugged it off. Kitty was too sensible to be swept away by such a man.

  * * *

  On the way downstairs, Beth decided to visit three very different addresses. First the vicarage, then the Sailor’s Rest. And then to No. 1 Quayside where Evie Vage lived. Only at the vicarage was she sure she would receive a welcome. Beth found the wan figure of Muriel Oakley forever filtering into her mind. The recollection of her encounter with the pale Miss Oakley, and of her sudden scurrying departure, rarely left her. Miss Oakley’s goodness to Beth as a child and her careful yet jolly teaching methods meant Beth had not been daunted at receiving lessons, even in a musty, dark, crumbling old place where her outlandish parents stalked the corridors. Miss Oakley didn’t deserve to be lonely and listless. Beth had learned that the Reverend Oakley’s increasingly bizarre ways, his growing inability to effectively pastor his congregation, had seen their number dwindle to single figures. Having lost virtually all respect for his position, the locals were hoping his retirement was not far off. Perhaps Miss Oakley was longing for that too, envisaging life in some smaller, warmer ecclesiastical home. Miss Oakley would be useful in helping Beth fill in some of the blanks of her formative years, but Beth also felt she owed Miss Oakley something, some of her time and a little companionship.