Daisychain Summer

In a flurry of long black skirts she was gone, striding down the lane at almost a run.

‘Well!’ said Alice to the kettle on the hob. ‘And what do you make of that!’

Friendly, though, and a countrywoman – that was plain enough, for who but a countrywoman knocked on back doors then walked in, unasked?

Work-roughened hands she’d had. Alice had felt their sharpness against her own. Sleeves rolled up to the elbow; a long, flower-patterned pinafore tied at her waist. And such a smile! Dark, though. A bit of gypsy in her, somewhere. Maybe, like Jinny Dobb, she could read tea leaves, look into the future. But of one thing Alice was certain. Her new neighbour would not be difficult, as she had feared. Rather the opposite, she thought as she stirred the coals to hasten the kettle. Her new neighbour seemed outgoing and uncomplicated and one who wouldn’t be opposed to a gossip over a cup of tea! She wished she had been better prepared; been able to do the bake she had intended offering in welcome. Now, she sighed, a pot of tea and a plate of currant bread would have to suffice.

The green lorry parped its horn as it passed her house. The new tenant at Willow End had spoken nothing but the truth; there had indeed been little to unload.

Alice walked carefully up the lane, teapot in one hand, plate in the other. The small boy sitting on the doorstep sucking his thumb got to his feet as she approached.

‘Hullo,’ she smiled. ‘It’s Keth, isn’t it?’

The boy nodded, dark eyes gazing up into her own.

‘And I’m Mrs Dwerryhouse. I live at Keeper’s, down the lane.’

He was too thin, but there were a lot of too-thin children about, these days. Fatherless bairns, most of them, with mothers hard put to it to feed them on the pension the Army allowed.

‘Well, if it isn’t Mrs Dwerryhouse and carrying a pot of tea! Come you in, and welcome. You’m my first caller. Sit you down, m’dear!’

‘I’m sorry. Can’t stay. I’ve left my little one in her pram. I’d intended baking you a pie. As it is …’ She placed the plate on the table, gazing around her.

The floor was bare. A table stood in the middle of the room with three chairs around it. Arranged beside the fire, already burning brightly, stood two rocking chairs and an upturned box with a cushion on it.

‘A cup of tea would go down a treat – and is that curranty bread home-baked?’

‘It is, though I’ve been away and my cake tins are empty.’

‘Away, is it? Well, now that I’ve got here, it’ll take more’n wild horses to drag me from this house. Beautiful, it is – and Dickon and me never setting eyes on each other for nigh on six months. When he finds us here and smells his dinner cooking, he’ll be bowled over!’

‘You’ve brought meat with you, Mrs Purvis?’

‘No, but first thing I set eyes on was a rabbit hanging in the pantry. I’ll soon get the skin off it and get it into the pot. I’ve brought potatoes and onions with me. It’ll be such a surprise for him!’

‘A lovely surprise, but I’ll leave you to it. I’m going to the village. Is there anything I can get you when I’m there?’

‘Thank you, but no. I’ve brought adequate with me, though it’s kindly of you to ask. And tomorrow, when I’ve got myself straight, I hope I might return the compliment and entertain you to tea.’

Brought adequate? Alice frowned as she walked the lane that wound into West Welby, yet both of them thin as rakes, just like Dickon Purvis. But she would find a way to help them; do it without hurting their fierce pride. She, who had so much, whose little one was chubby-cheeked and whose husband walked straight-backed and true, would help the unfortunates who seemed to have so little. Not only was it her duty, but it would be in thanks for her blazing happiness. And she would favour especially the thumb-sucking Keth. A few mugs of milk, a few slices of dripping toast would work wonders for that pinched little face!

She raised her eyes to the clear September sky.

I’m so happy and I thank You with all my heart. And may it please You to let me keep it, God?

‘Psst! Lady Anna!’ Glancing at the house next door in case the formidable Cossack should appear, Elliot Sutton stood at the back garden wall hidden, he hoped, by a large flowering shrub. ‘Good afternoon to you.’

‘Why – Mr Sutton!’ She pretended surprise. She had known he’d been watching her from an upstairs window and it did not disturb her to hear him call her name. ‘Should we be talking like this?’

‘I see no reason why not. We are neighbours; we have been introduced and anyway, it is more fun this way – secretly.’

‘Yes, it is. And since our mothers are at this very moment discussing our future, then I think it perfectly correct for you and me to talk. After all, there is the thickness of the wall between us!’ she smiled, impishly.

‘Our future? I wouldn’t say that, exactly!’

‘You wouldn’t, Mr Sutton? Then I have a half-crown in my pocket that says you are wrong.’

‘I accept your wager!’ He threw back his head and laughed. Not only was Anna Petrovska disturbingly direct, but free from maternal supervision there was the makings of fun in her. ‘Though I’d rather you made it a kiss!’

‘Then a kiss it shall be.’ Her eyelashes dropped coquettishly. ‘And you shall pay it tonight, at this very place at – nine o’clock, say?’

‘How about ten? It’ll be darker!’ He said it in all seriousness, his eyes challenging hers. ‘Though if the hairy Cossack sees us –’

‘Karl? Don’t worry about him. He wouldn’t tell Mama. He and I are the best of friends.’

‘What is he, in your household? A butler – a caretaker?’

‘Neither. He is – Karl,’ she shrugged. ‘We are grateful to him. He helped us escape from the Bolsheviks. We owe him a great deal, though who he is we have never quite discovered. Sufficient that he is a Czarist. When we got to England we kept him with us – a debt of honour, you see.’

Elliot Sutton did not see. In his eyes, the man was a hanger-on, though since Anna Petrovska seemed so attached to him he had the good sense not to say it.

‘Debt of honour – yes, of course. And here he comes, now, to protect your honour, my dear!’

Karl bore down on them, gesturing, calling out in Russian, ignoring Elliot completely.

‘My mother is home – yours too. I must go.’ Then she smiled, her eyes teasing. ‘Until ten,’ she whispered.

‘So you’ve made a start?’ Clementina remarked as Elliot entered the room. ‘I saw you out there – wouldn’t be surprised if the countess didn’t see you, an’ all!’

‘Don’t worry. The faithful Karl came to warn Anna. But might one be informed of one’s fate?’

‘One’s fate? Talk straight, lad! If you want to know if the countess is willing for you and Lady Anna to meet, then the answer is yes. And don’t thank me,’ she rushed on. ‘I’m only the mother who’s got your interests at heart which is more than you deserve what with your carrying-on and your wilful ways and –’ She stopped to draw breath. ‘And from now on, you’ll mind yourself with women – and you know what I mean! That girl next door is a virgin. And don’t look so shocked. Virgins still exist, though I reckon it’s all of ten years since you chanced on one!’

‘Mother – please?’ She really should take more care. The family – and himself in particular – were well used to her directness, but one day she would forget herself in polite company and he shuddered, just to think of it. ‘And I do thank you for all you have done for me. I appreciate it more than you know. But do you think she should be addressed as Lady Anna?’

‘Her mother’s a countess, so surely her daughter has right to a courtesy title.’

‘But her father, I believe, was a count. Does that entitle Anna to –’

‘It entitles me to call her what I want, and as far as I’m concerned, the daughter of a countess is entitled to the courtesy. And them that don’t like it can lump it! Anna Petrovska is aristocracy!’

‘Russian aristocracy. Is it the same as ours?’

‘Their Czar was our king’s cousin; that’s good enough for me! Now then – when do you aim to shift yourself and get this thing settled?’

‘I intend, dearest mother, to meet Anna at ten o’clock tonight. We made a wager this afternoon, and it would seem I have lost it. I must honour my debt.’

‘Sneaking out in the dark? You’ll do no such thing!’

‘Try to stop me!’ He planted a kiss on his mother’s cheek, pinching her bottom as he did so.

‘Impudent young puppy! Mind your manners!’ She made to cuff his ear, but he sidestepped her.

Impudent, yes – but hers, she thought fondly as he waltzed nonchalantly out of the room. Elliot had the devil in him but she would always love him best. People misunderstood him because he was handsomer than most men – and richer than most, an’ all. Or would be, one day.

‘Now mind what I’ve told you,’ she called to his blithely retreating back. ‘Watch your step, son – or else …’

Of course he would watch his step, Elliot Sutton promised the mirror image he so often gazed upon. Didn’t he always – or almost always? And hadn’t his mother as good as promised that as soon as he was married and had provided a couple of sons for Pendenys, he could please himself what he did?

He frowned, wondering what it would be like, getting sons with Anna Petrovska. A virgin, his mother said; an aristocratic virgin. Yet there had been a challenge in her eyes, a promise. She might make him a tolerable wife in spite of her careful upbringing. He must now, he admitted sadly, forget about the servant in black, next door. Too near to home. Best he should concentrate on establishing himself with Anna – with Lady Anna. All things considered, he’d had a good run for his money. He must watch himself for a while; be on his best behaviour until he had done his duty by Pendenys and earned his reward for doing it.

He sighed, pleasurably. Anna Petrovska, he supposed, would do very nicely; better, indeed, than some of the mare-faced daughters of English aristocrats with their lumpy, childbearing hips. It pleased him to think that the Almighty had created women in man’s image, but had had the good sense to create them sufficiently different to make them interesting and pleasurable – and infinitely accommodating. It was his unshakable belief, his gospel.

He hoped the girl next door would not put on the required show of modesty and refuse him twice before she accepted him. And more to the point he hoped she would be there, tonight. She had very kissable lips. And very exciting breasts. It mightn’t be half bad, married to her.

He began to think of expensive motors and a bank account credited with an amount equal to his mother’s approval. Aleksandrina Anastasia Petrovska. Would she – or wouldn’t she? More to the point, when she did, would she prove fertile? His own virility, he knew without doubt had already been established. There was nothing wrong with the breeding prowess of Sutton males. Even his cousin Giles had surprised him, getting the servant pregnant. A sly one, that sewing maid; pretending modesty, fighting for her honour. Like a wildcat she had clawed him, that first try in Brattocks Wood. If it hadn’t been for the damned dog things might have been different, like the second time. At a place called Celverte, hadn’t it been? Very vague, that second time. He’d been well in his cups that night. Pity he couldn’t remember more about it.

Yet think – could he have had anything to do with that child Julia hawked about with her? Could he, had Giles lived, have challenged him?

But the child Drew was everything a Sutton should be; was fair, as Giles was. He supposed he should give credit for that begetting to Giles who, after all, was dead whilst he, Elliot Sutton, was gloriously alive – and that was all that mattered.

But it was a thought, for all that!

‘Take her will you, Tom?’ Alice withdrew her nipple from her daughter’s lips. ‘Asleep, already. Put her over your shoulder, just in case there’s any wind to come up. Don’t want her waking, soon as she’s put down.’

‘What is it, love?’ Tom gathered his daughter to him. ‘Got a bad head?’

‘No.’ She rarely got headaches. ‘Just that – oh, it’s nothing!’

‘Then why’ve you hardly said a word since I came in, tonight? Summat’s bothering you.’ He knew her too well to accept denial.

‘It’s something or nothing. I suppose. When I went to Willow End –’

‘To see if she’d got herself settled …?’

‘Settled – yes. She put the kettle on and we had a chat. And then she said – oh, I’m daft, even to think it, but –’

‘But best you tell me, for all that.’

‘Well, like I said, I thought I’d push Daisy down the lane – give Keth the sweeties I’d bought for him in the village – just trying to be friendly. Polly Purvis is a worker, I’ll say that for her. She had a stew cooking and the windows cleaned and bread rising on the hearth, when I got there.’

‘She was in service in these parts, I believe, when she met Dickon. But you knew that.’

‘I did, Tom, though Polly reminded me of it. Said she’d soon get the family on its feet again, now they were together and money coming in regular. Said she had contacts around these parts from way back and would be looking for work, to help out.’

‘But what about that little lad?’

‘She isn’t going out to work. She intends taking in washing, if there’s nothing to stop her doing it. I said I was sure Mr Hillier wouldn’t mind, if she hung it out of sight at the back.’

‘Nor will he. But it isn’t the washing that’s bothering you, is it, Alice?’

‘No. It’s more something she said. “We’ll manage all right,” she said. “And once Keth goes to school, I’ll be able to go out mornings, scrubbing.” And had you thought, Tom, that she’ll even have to dig that garden of theirs; Dickon can’t use a spade with one foot near useless, now can he?’

‘Come to think of it, he can’t – though there’ll be plenty who’ll give a hand. But go on?’

‘Well – I wished her luck, told her I was sure there’d be work. And then she said it. Said she looked like Mary Anne and that any woman in their family who’d ever looked like Mary Anne inherited her luck, too.’

‘Mary Anne who?’ All at once, Tom was uneasy.

‘Mary Anne Pendennis, that’s who! I couldn’t believe it at first, so I said – casual as I could – that Pendennis is an uncommon name but she said no, it isn’t. Not around Cornwall, it seems.’

‘But there’ll be a fair few Mary Anne Pendennises in Cornwall.’

‘So there will, I grant you. But how many by that name married a northerner – a foundry worker, by name of Albert Elliot? Polly had all the family history off pat.’

‘Too much of a coincidence.’ Now Tom knew the reason for his unease.

‘Is it? Think on this, then. Didn’t Mrs Clementina call her house Pendenys Place, and name her first son Elliot – her maiden name? And Nathan and Albert she called for her father and grandfather. Coincidence, Tom? And Polly Purvis was Polly Pendennis, before she married Dickon. She’s actually related to Clementina Sutton. Polly’s grandfather was a Pendennis. She told me he had two sisters; one of them called Sarah Jane – the other –’

‘Don’t tell me! The other was Mary Anne! But what luck did that great-grandmother of Elliot Sutton’s ever have? Took in washing, didn’t she, and worked as a herring woman. You think that’s lucky?’

‘Look, Tom – Polly said it. Mary Anne’s luck, because Mary Anne’s husband ended up with his own foundry and their son got even richer.’

‘All right, then. Polly Purvis – Pendennis – is cousin twice removed to that Elliot? Can’t hold that against the woman!’

‘No, but there’s her son – that little Keth. He’s dark, too. I don’t think I want him to come to my house.’

‘Dark, like his many-times removed cousin, Elliot Sutton, you mean? So you’re going to hold it against the bairn? You, who said you’d make a fuss of the little lad; feed him up a bit? Yet now it seems he’s got bad blood?’

‘I didn’t say that, Tom!’

‘Bad blood,’ Tom urged, his temper rising quick, Alice acknowledged, as it always did when he got himself bonny and mad. ‘And that little lad isn’t going to be allowed near our Daisy because he’s Elliot Sutton’s distant kin? Oh, Alice, I thought better of you. And it isn’t even proven, either!’

‘It is, Tom. As far as I’m concerned, it is.’

‘Then you’ll tell Polly Purvis; tell her about Elliot who is dark because it threw back from a great-grandmother he never knew? But being dark is nothing to do with it; being wicked is more to the point and being spoiled and indulged by his mother and made to think he can do no wrong. He’s what that foolish Mrs Clementina made him and the washerwoman four generations back has nowt to do with his womanizing nor his wickedness!’

‘I never thought to hear you defending one of Mary Anne’s, Tom!’

‘But Elliot Sutton isn’t one of hers! He’s got her Cornish darkness, that’s all. Mary Anne Pendennis was a woman who worked hard to help her man start his first foundry, and was a decent woman, if all Reuben told me is true. I’ll not have you thinking such nonsense, Alice! I thought you had more sense about you. I thought –’

‘Whisht, Tom! Stop your shouting or you’ll wake the bairn. Here – give her to me and I’ll put her to bed. I won’t have you frightening her!’

‘And I, lass, won’t have you getting yourself into a tizzy because Polly Purvis seems to be related to that Elliot, and so distantly related as makes no matter,’ he insisted, his voice gentle again. ‘And I’m sorry I made a noise. It’s something I’ll have to check, this temper of mine.’

‘Very well, and I’ll try not to let myself worry over it. And I’ll not take it out on that little Keth, either.’ Her lips moved into the smallest of smiles. ‘And when he comes to see Daisy, I’ll give him some toast, well drippinged, and sugared bread, an’ all. Does that please you?’

‘It does.’

‘Then will you take that little lass up to her cot, or are you going to sit there, nursing her all night?’

‘I’ll take her up now – if you’ll forget all you’ve heard this day about Mary Anne Pendennis and not chew it over with Polly Purvis and make more of it than it deserves. Any road, who wants to be saddled with kin like him? Do the young woman a favour, and forget it? And remember, that Cornish great-grandmother is nothing to do with you, nor me, nor Daisy!’

‘Nor is she. And I won’t talk about it again – I promise …’

She watched her man cradling their child, supporting her with a work-roughened hand, and tears sprang to her eyes, just to see the way he loved her.

And he was right – or almost so. That long-ago Mary Anne had nothing to do with her nor Tom nor Daisy. But what of Drew, her firstborn; almost the same age as Keth, and Keth’s cousin, though many times removed.

Yet Keth was dark – Mary Anne Pendennis dark – and Drew was Sutton fair and she, Alice Dwerryhouse, was a happy, contented woman who would be kind to the little boy who lived at Willow End, if only because he had the misfortune to look like a man whose very name she detested. And would never say again, if she could avoid it.

10

He saw her from his window as she turned the corner by the church, and hurried to his front door. When she opened the gate to his tiny front garden, he was standing on the doorstep, arms wide.

‘Lass!’ He folded her to him, awkwardly patting her back.

‘Reuben! Let me look at you,’ she smiled tremulously. ‘So long …’

‘Too long, Alice. But come you in. I’d heard tell you’d be arriving today. I’ve been watching out for you.’

‘News still travels fast, in Holdenby.’ She closed the almshouse door behind her. ‘I hope you’ve got the kettle on.’

He had. He nodded to the tray, set ready with cups, then asked, ‘And where’s that little Daisy, then?’

‘Fast asleep in her cot, with Julia watching over her. I’ll bring her to see you, in the morning – Drew, too.’

‘Aye. I like to see the boy. Her ladyship brings him, sometimes, when she visits us pensioners. He’s growing into a fine lad – a Rowangarth Sutton if ever I saw one.’ He looked at her, meaningfully.

‘He is, thanks be. And I’m coming to accept that nothing of what happened was his fault,’ Alice said softly. ‘All at once I saw him not as –’ She stopped, cheeks flushing. ‘I saw him as Julia’s son. He said, “Hullo, lady,” when we met. That was when I began to see things differently. And tomorrow, Lady Helen will be his legal guardian. It’s why I am here – to sign the papers.’

She could talk to Reuben and not watch every word she said. Reuben knew about Drew’s getting: knew everything.

‘And how’s Tom? Seems he got himself a good employer. Gentry, is the man?’

‘N-no. I wouldn’t say Mr Hillier is gentry, exactly. But he’s a gentleman and so taken with Daisy.’ Best they should talk about Daisy. ‘Makes a real fuss of her. And Tom’s well, and a fond father. There’s nothing too good for his little girl. It’ll be the start of his first real season at Windrush Hall, come October. Since we went there, he’s been busy rearing birds, and stocking up. There was only rough shooting and vermin shoots for Mr Hillier, but this year the game birds are thick in the covers. There’ll be good sport.’

‘You’ll be wanting to be back before it all starts, lass. It’ll be Tom’s busy time.’

‘I know,’ she smiled guiltily. ‘I’ve got to stop this gallivanting about. I’ve been away from home twice, this summer.’

‘Home? Is home down there now, Alice?’ Reuben lifted the kettle, pouring splashing, steaming water into the teapot.

‘Home’s where Tom is though we’ll always be northerners, him and me. It felt as if I’d never been away when I got into York and saw the Minster.’

‘You travelled up with Miss Julia, didn’t you?’ Reuben stirred the pot, noisily. ‘What was her doing in London this time?’

‘Legal business – about Aunt Sutton’s estate. I met up with her in London. I was glad of her company. It’s a long journey, with a baby.’

‘So you’re happy, lass? It turned out all right for you?’

‘I’m happy, Reuben.’ She picked up the teapot. ‘But I worry about you and I miss you. I wish you’d come and live with Tom and me. We’ve got three bedrooms.’

‘An’ you’ll need them all when you have more babbies! Thanks, lass, but I manage well enough, here. This little house is easy to keep warm; at Keeper’s, I rattled about like a pea in a tin can. And there’s Percy for company. Percy Catchpole’s retired – didst know?’

‘I did, but I’d still rather you were near me.’

‘And I’d rather you were here, Alice; you and Tom living beside Brattocks Wood, like we alus thought it would be. I looked forward to seeing you and him wed, and bairns around you.’

‘But that can’t ever be, Reuben. Rowangarth has no need of a keeper, now.’ She took his hand, holding it to her cheek. ‘Even if Giles had lived, he’d not have wanted birds reared to be shot out of the sky. He was against any killing. And come to think of it, if Giles had lived me and Tom wouldn’t have been married.’ She sipped her tea, frowning. ‘There won’t be any keeper here, for a while. Drew won’t be handling a gun for another ten years.’

‘You’re right – but even old men have dreams. You can’t blame me for wanting you up here, even though it would have its drawbacks – if you see what I’m getting at?’

‘You mean I wouldn’t have felt easy living near Pendenys? You are right – and as for Tom being here, when him and Elliot Sutton could meet and cross swords – oh, no! I’d always be on edge. Tom has a temper on him when he’s roused; best we’re well away from Rowangarth.’

‘So Tom’s still bitter about young Sutton?’ He held a match to his pipe, puffing thoughtfully, avoiding her eyes.

‘He is, Reuben. When he found out who Drew’s real father was, I never saw him so mad. He went white and quiet and walked out of the house; didn’t come back for hours. He said he’d shot better Germans. Tom can hold a grudge for ever. Some things he’ll never forgive and one of them’s Elliot Sutton.