Twenty-Eight
Finn had been back at Petherton for two weeks. He had burnt up all the rubbish from the first cellar, tending it gravely, using a rake to ensure nothing fell out of the towering blaze and escaped to create danger or mayhem elsewhere. Each time he threw on another old box of odds and ends or piece of unwanted furniture he did so with incensed relish. The day after his agonizing hangover he had shredded every picture of Belle Lawry and thrown them into the stream, also destroying the ethereal image he had forged in his mind about her.
‘I’m no longer a fool over you, woman,’ he bellowed inside his head, his face burning in the heat, his eyes full of smoke. ‘I’m no longer under your spell. I’m not a slave to your enchantment. Hate me, would you, for admiring you, for thinking I’d loved you. Offended you, did I? Not – as – much – as – you – have – offended – me.’
He had hurled a broken standard lampshade into the crackling, roaring conflagration and snarled aloud. ‘What kind of woman are you? You only had to warn me off, put me in my place. I was never any danger to you. If you love your bloody Charlie so much how could you see I was possibly a rival to him? If you’re that jealous and protective of your marriage then God help any woman who takes a fancy to him.’
Much later, when raking the embers and ash together to form a neat circle he quietly asked the world at large: ‘Is anyone really what they seem? My father certainly wasn’t. Julius Urquart wasn’t. And the woman I thought was a pleasant housewife and mother turned out to be oversensitive and two-faced, not really a friend to me and Mum at all. Anyone else would have laughed and shrugged off my infatuation. I wasn’t about to jump on her and rape her, for goodness sake!’
He grinned smugly. He had done much to put the prickly Lawrys right. During the time he had spent entirely at home illustrating Mrs R’s poems, Belle Lawry had called at Merrivale once, bringing a little basket of fruit and expressing the neighbourly sentiment of hoping Finn had recovered from the dyspepsia. Finn sketched and painted in the guest bedroom where the light was best, where no tall trees cast any shadows. Often he had Eloise in with him lying on a thick blanket chuckling and kicking her chubby legs and shaking and chewing on her toys. He heard Belle’s voice gaily calling hello and he felt sick deep in his core. His passion for the woman had turned into loathing and disgust; he did not recognize that he was deeply hurt and felt betrayed. To his bewilderment and shame he felt too embarrassed to face her yet. He didn’t want to set his eyes on the woman for a very long time, until he could meet her eye to eye and behave as if she was no more than a friend’s mother. He was glad to stay mates with Sam. He didn’t see much of him because it was the busy fruit-picking season, but Sam had popped in with Jenna, bringing Tilly with them, and Finn had fussed round Tilly as if she was the only girl ever worth knowing. Sam would no doubt tell his parents that Finn was ‘sweet on’ Tilly – a snub to the Lawrys. Tilly’s dainty oval face, with its long curling lashes and cute bow lips, was perfect for Finn to ask her to sit for him, and portray her likeness as one of Mrs R’s fairy princesses. This meant they spent time alone on Tilly’s day off. Finn always walked her back to Petherton on his arm and kissed her goodbye on the cheek.
Fiona had come upstairs to him. ‘Did you hear who has arrived, darling?’
‘Uh-uh,’ he replied, a paintbrush between his teeth but expressing an uninterested sigh.
‘Why not take a break and join us for coffee?’
‘Ask her to accept my apologies, Mum,’ he had said grimly, getting on with the woodland glade scene. ‘I can’t leave this right now.’
‘Of course, darling.’ Fiona had ruffled his hair and given him a quick hug to show she was proud of him. Finn loved this, his mother doling out affection. ‘Eloise has drifted off. I’ll pop her into her cot.’
While Belle Lawry was there, instead of transferring a sketch of Tilly the fairy princess to the glade and painting it, Finn darkened the scene and added another character from the theme – the Warty Witch.
After the bonfire, he had been given the job of whitewashing the cellar, making it lighter and not so intimidating, and then neatly to fit in the items Mrs Mitchelmore had decided to keep, and finally to pen a list of the spoils and hand it to Mrs Mitchelmore.
Now he was striding down the servants’ passage with Mrs Mitchelmore to start on the second cellar.
‘You won’t find the stuff down there is as old, Finn,’ she said, jangling a big bunch of keys. ‘A good part is what I’d had put in after I married my husband. It’s quite tidy I think. Put aside anything you think might be rubbish and I’ll come and take a dekko. What I really want you to dig out is the trunks of dressing-up clothes and lug them up to the morning room. You know which room that is, don’t you?’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Finn said. He had the whole layout of Petherton in his mind after discovering an old map and taking a close study of it. He reckoned there was plenty of scope for hidden passages and rooms in the old place. He teased Tilly about being careful when she dusted or she might find herself suddenly swung into a creepy unlit smugglers’ lair infested with gigantic cobwebs or stumble over the skeleton of some heinously murdered wretch.
‘Don’t be daft,’ she had giggled but then glanced all around fearfully. They were outside in the yard where Finn was taking a smoke and Tilly had sneaked a free minute to join him. ‘You don’t really think so, do you?’
‘Oh, you’re priceless, Miss Dimples,’ he had roared with laughter. ‘Don’t worry, if you disappear I’ll come and rescue you.’
Tilly had smiled down at her hands shyly, displaying her delight that he had a particular name for her. It meant she was special to him. Mrs Teague, the plain cook and laundry woman, stressed to Tilly she was a lucky maid indeed to have such a personable, clever young man courting her, ‘but don’t forget to keep your hand on your ha’penny and keep your ankles crossed. Don’t go the way of the sinful. Besides the mistress’d skin you alive for letting her down.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of doing what you’re meaning and I don’t need telling how lucky I am to have Finn,’ Tilly had replied cheerfully, thinking in her head of floral headdresses and bridal veils.
‘Now we have a proper village hall with its own little stage and curtains, I’ll produce dramas and pantomimes, concerts and the like. Costumes will be called for and I can get that off to a flying start, my sister and I dressed up, child and woman for fancy-dress parties. Let me know as soon as you’ve put something in the morning room. Oh, and you, Finn, I will call on to play the role of the handsome hero, ah, ah no arguments.’
‘If I must act I’d rather play the villain,’ he said firmly. Mrs Mitchelmore, he had found, liked a bit of dispute even if she did not countenance being beaten.
‘I dare say you will at some point; people go for handsome villains. To change the subject, how are you getting on with your project? I must say I do like your artwork. You portrayed to a T the essence of Petherton, all shabby gentility with a hint of the mysterious, now up in the hall. I understand Tilly features in fairy princess form in this effort by you and Dorrie Resterick. I heartily wish you well in following your chosen artistic career, Finn. It would be a crime if you couldn’t make a good deal out of such a God-given talent. You may draw Tilly here in the grounds, if you’d like. Just ask me about when and I’ll tell you where. Actually, something might be discovered in the dressing-up clothes for her to look the part.’
‘Really?’ Finn replied, delighted at the honour she had bestowed on him. Although she would have the Summer Fair nowhere else but in her grounds she extended no other invitations to Petherton. The more time Finn spent here the more he liked her. She was the stuff of the British Raj. If she had been captured in enemy occupied territory in the war she would have given the Germans or Japanese a hell of a time. Finn could picture her rallying the women and children in an interment camp, proud of her sweaty rags and greasy tats of hair and her malnourished, sore-ridden body – and torture scars for speaking out in defiance. ‘That’s very kind of you. I like coming here.’
‘Thought you did,’ Esther said stoutly. ‘Consider yourself my odd-job man when I need a spot of painting done or similar.’ She unlocked the cellar door further down the passage, nearer to the kitchen, and Finn propped it open. ‘Same rules apply; there is a window down there but it’s not to be opened for security’s sake, probably wouldn’t budge anyway, so do come up regularly for air and water. There was enough whitewash left, wasn’t there? Good, there’s no rush. I’ll leave you to it.’
Finn had already shifted the bench alongside the wall and lined up the lanterns on it. His bicycle flashlight was in his crib bag. Leaving his bag on the bench and taking the flashlight and lanterns to light once down inside the cellar, he descended the solid wooden stairs with the exhilarating expectation and hope of an explorer of Africa.
He got off to a bad start. On the third step down his head smacked into a low beam with a loud thwack that rocked him and brought him down hard on his backside and sliding down hitting his back on the next four steps, stopping with his elbows on the step above. He had managed to hold on to his flashlight but lost grip of the lanterns that plunged down into darkness in a nerve shattering clattering and smashing of glass. ‘Damnation!’ he yelled, and much worse. Mrs Mitchelmore had obviously not been down here. She was a stickler for detail and wouldn’t have forgotten that treacherous beam.
‘Finn, are you all right!’ Tilly called down to him.
‘I think so.’ He sat forward. ‘Owahh!’ Sharp hot needles of pain shot through his head, backside and back.
‘I’m fetching Mrs Mitchelmore,’ Tilly cried.
Finn was too muzzy in the head to make out what she had said. Stabbing bright stars of light flashed under his closed eyelids. ‘Bugger, hell and . . . and . . . I’ve made a hash of things in the first minute.’
‘Stay where you are, Finn.’ He heard Esther’s loud order. ‘Matilda and I will soon have you up and out.’
Finn didn’t know if he had languished on the stairs for minutes or hours but it passed through his foggy brain that his employer and Tilly carried him up to the daylight, quickly and easily. He felt the flashlight pulled from his grasp. Then Mrs Mitchelmore said, ‘Ah, I see the problem, a hefty great low beam. This cellar was badly planned. That must be painted white. I’m so sorry, Finn. I had no idea. We’ll get you into the servants’ parlour, it’s closest and you can lie down on the settle. I’m sure you’d prefer Matilda to clean the nasty bump on your head; the skin has been broken and needs to be bathed in antiseptic. Have a mug of hot sweet tea, that will do the trick, haven’t got any sugar at the moment but there’s some honey. If you see double or can’t keep your balance I’ll run you over to the doctor in the old jalopy.’
‘Are you seeing double?’ Tilly asked while she dabbed at his bulging bruised and bloodied bump an inch above his headline.
‘Don’t know, got my eyes closed, that’s stinging like anything.’ He liked Tilly being up close to him, slender and gentle and moving softly. She smelled as fresh as spring.
‘Nearly finished. Mrs Teague will have your mug of sweet tea ready. We’ll join you and take our morning break. There’s some scones left over from yesterday’s teatime, we’ll be having those. That will make you feel better,’ Tilly said chirpily.
‘You make me feel better.’
‘Do I?’ she whispered. If he had been looking at her he would have seen her sweet face light up with joy and hope.
Finn didn’t answer but wrapped his arms round her trim waist and leaned against her chest. He could hear her heart fluttering and feel one small breast under his cheek.
‘Eh, saucy,’ she pushed him away smoothly, giggling in embarrassment. ‘What would Mrs Teague say? And the mistress if she saw?’
‘That’s what I like about you, Tilly; you know how to behave properly.’ Finn grabbed her hands and squeezed them lightly, affectionately.
There was a rattle and quick steps. ‘I did hear,’ Mrs Teague said, ‘and she’s very glad you acknowledge a decent girl when you see one, young man.’ The cook had bustled in with a loaded tray. ‘Make sure you keep it that way. Tilly’s a good chapel girl. She goes every Sunday to the little chapel along By The Way lane. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, but you’d do well anyway to treat her with the utmost respect or you’ll have Denny Vercoe with his hands at your throat. He’s her guardian, don’t you forget it. Well, sit him down at the table, Tilly. The sooner he drinks this special brew the better for him.’
Short, stringy, apple-cheeked and sharp-eyed, Mrs Teague, her greying hair in a hairnet under her cap, took her seat at the head of the table. ‘We’re too early for Ellery but he likes his tea stewed anyway. Butter his scones, Tilly, and put them in his place. Scones for you, Finn?’
‘I don’t feel like eating right now, thank you, Mrs Teague,’ he said politely, parking next to Tilly at the table. ‘And you need not worry about Tilly. She deserves to be treated right and properly and that’s what she’ll get from me.’
‘So it’s official that you’re walking out together then?’ Mrs Teague persisted, her eyes boring into Finn.
Tilly halted in spreading butter on the scones and stopped breathing, as red in the face as the dish of raspberry jam on the tray. Hanging on to the breath, every scrap of her crying out in the hope she was part of a romance, she glanced at Finn.
‘If Tilly agrees,’ he replied, smiling at her. ‘If she’ll have me. Will you?’
‘O–of course, I’d love to, and Mrs Mitchelmore doesn’t seem to mind. She’s always been good to us, hasn’t she, Mrs Teague?’
‘She has indeed, and don’t you forget it. No taken advantage or you’ll have me to answer to, maid. I came here in service as a twelve-year-old in Mr Sedgewick’s day. I started as scullery maid and worked up to parlour maid, was nearly a full complement of servants in those days with a battleaxe housekeeper. I left when I married, sadly had no children, but when my man died Mrs Mitchelmore took me back. There was just her here by then. Yes, she’s a good mistress. We’re a nice little group here, almost like a family, Finn Templeton, so don’t you dare spoil it.’ She smiled at last. ‘Otherwise, you’re very welcome as Tilly’s young man.’
‘I’m relieved to hear that,’ Finn said, sipping his tea, a welcome whet to his dry mouth. He grinned. ‘You were scaring me, Mrs Teague.’
He leaned sideways and kissed Tilly’s cheek. Then disquiet came. What was he doing? He had more or less pledged himself to Tilly with an engagement of marriage in the not too distant future. You fool! He couldn’t just let her down, she was too good and sweet and lovely to do that to. But he did like her, very much, and he enjoyed her company. He would just have to go along with it. Let the future sort itself out.
‘How did you and Mrs Mitchelmore get me up so easily from the cellar?’
Mrs Teague cut in – Finn was to learn that she did most of the talking at the servants’ table. ‘It was the mistress, she more or less carried you on her own. I was watching. Tilly only had to hold your head. The mistress is a strong woman. She was a good nurse for old Mr Sedgewick – God rest him – lugged him in and out of bed and into his wheelchair like a good’un, she did. She’s made of good stout British stuff, isn’t afraid to put her hand to a few repairs about the place. If she’d married Mr Sedgewick when he was a young man there might have been children; an heir. Wish there was, with her sister Mrs Sanders also not having children, only God knows what’ll happen to Petherton in the future. Never heard the sisters mention they got cousins or any relatives. All I know about them is they said they’ve moved around a lot and come from a military background. Still, Mrs Mitchelmore is a lot younger than me so I’ll either be dead or nicely retired when she passes on – she’s given me to understand she’s set aside something for me in my old age. And you needn’t worry, maid.’ She eyed Tilly and jerked her head at Finn. ‘You’ll long be married with a family by then.’
Tilly gazed at Finn all aglow. His stomach sunk to his working boots. What had he got himself into? How could he have been so stupid and careless? He was in too deep to simply cut himself off from Tilly. He would just have to let things run, for now.
Tilly smiled at him and he found himself smiling back. Things could be worse, he supposed. Tilly was Tilly, after all, lovely, open and genuine.