Rose Cottage (18 page)

‘Ah!’ That was from Miss Agatha. ‘A woman?’

‘I don’t know. It could be. If so, it’s possible that it was that couple Miss Linsey saw in the cemetery.’

‘Do you know who he was?’

‘No. A stranger to Todhall, apparently. It was Lil who answered the door to him.’

‘And she’s not been here very long herself. A stranger to the village? So what was his interest, do you suppose, in your grandfather’s grave?’

‘It’s Aunt Betsy’s, too.’ In face of that intelligent, unwinking stare I did not feel like taking the thing any further, and said merely, ‘Davey Pascoe and I went up there today with flowers, and there were some already on Aunt Betsy’s grave. They could have been put there on Sunday.’

‘Connections of Betsy Campbell’s. I see. Yes.’ A final, summing look at me that apparently decided her to leave the subject. ‘Ah, well.’ And Miss Agatha, stiff, deep-voiced, still braced with disapproval of the whole world of dreams and visions and ghosts from the past, sounded resigned, rather than relieved. ‘Well, Mildred, it seems as if Bella may have been right, even if misguided.’

‘Poor Bella. She has been so distressed.’ That,
tremulously, from Miss Mildred, and it brought a snort from her sister.

‘Then she might at least have kept it to herself. It’s a mercy that Kathy here has so much sense.’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ I said. ‘But I must say I hope Miss Linsey isn’t going around telling her story to everyone in the village!’

‘I doubt if she will. She is in some ways,’ finished Miss Agatha, with (I thought) considerable restraint, ‘a difficult neighbour. But I think I can assure you, Kathy, or should I call you Mrs Herrick now?’

‘Kathy is fine.’

‘I can assure you that this won’t go any further. We only came to tell you about it because Millie here has been so upset, and we did not know what Bella had already said to you. And you need not worry that she will go about repeating her nonsense in the village – for nonsense it is, whether true or not,’ she finished robustly. ‘I have spoken to her myself.’

And I’ll bet that puts paid to any more dreams for a fair while, I thought, then was afraid I had said it aloud, because Miss Agatha smiled suddenly, her eyes twinkling behind her spectacles. ‘I’ll see that it does,’ she said. ‘And I’m sure you are far too sensible to lose any sleep over it. Come, Millie.’

They went.

Sensible or not, I did lose a fair amount of sleep that night, but morning came safely at last, and brought Prissy, elegant, laughing, and laden with goodies for lunch.

She had brought smoked salmon and some fresh rolls, and a bag of peaches.

‘I didn’t think Barlow’s shop would be stocking these quite yet,’ she said cheerfully, dumping them on the kitchen table. ‘And I won’t tell you where I got them. The blackest of markets, needless to say, but it’s my conscience, not yours, and I’ve had more practice with that than you, being a vicarage child. I keep my conscience in my stomach these days, anyway. Here, I brought a lemon, just in case. There’s a tin of ham, too, but since you’d asked me to lunch I thought I could leave the main course to you. You used to be a good cook before you went up in the world.’

‘Stewed rabbit,’ I said, and then laughed at her carefully expressionless face. ‘No, don’t worry. There’s no one to shoot the poor little beggars now. It’s chicken.’

‘Well, thank goodness for that! I thought that heavenly smell couldn’t be rabbit! So there’s a black market here in deepest Todhall, too?’

‘Only pale grey. I was lucky. I remembered Mr Blaney used to do a poultry round on Fridays, and I got a spare. Oh boy, this salmon looks wonderful! Thank you! That makes it a feast. Drink first? I scrounged some reasonable sherry from the Black Bull. Now, canny lass, sit thisel’ doon, and for a start, tell me how you got that gorgeous figure, Podgy Pris?’

‘Doing without smoked salmon and roast chicken. Years, just
years
, my dear, of disgusting things like raw cabbage and carrots and home-made yoghourt. But it’s worth it in the end. It’s Slim Scilla now. Thanks. Cheers.’ She raised her glass and sipped sherry. ‘Not bad, for Todhall! Yes, Gordon won’t have me called Prissy any more, I’d have you know.’ She laughed. ‘I went up in the world too, my girl! I didn’t see it like that at the time, because I fell for Gordon in a big way before I knew anything about him, but marrying a wealthy banker is definitely a step up from any vicarage you care to name!’

I laughed. ‘I believe you! Scilla? It’s pretty. Same with me. I’m Kate to all Jon’s friends, but somehow now I’m back here Kathy comes more natural. And so, I’m afraid, does Prissy.’

‘Fair enough. So long as you forget the Podgy bit!’

‘How could I even think it, seeing you now? Hang on a minute while I look at the chicken … Yes, it’s about ready. Now, we’ve a lot to catch up on. Tell me all about it. I know you got some sort of teaching job after Gordon was sent overseas, and then the school was evacuated to Canada. When was he demobbed, and are you settled over here now, and where are you
living? Heavens, we have lost touch, haven’t we? Your mother and I keep up, of course, Christmas and birthdays and such, but I don’t really know a thing about you, except that you’re happy, and now that you and Gordon are together she’s dying to enter the Granny stakes. Any hope for her?’

‘Not up and running yet, but her name’s down.’ She laughed, stroking a hand down over her flat stomach. ‘Podgy Pris will soon be with us again.’

‘Well, that’s wonderful. When?’

‘Oh ages, Christmas, and you will be godmother, won’t you? We mustn’t lose touch again. You’re surely not thinking of living here? I heard about Aunt Betsy, but I don’t know – I mean, how’s your grandmother? Is she—’

‘Still alive? Sure. She went back to Scotland after Aunt Betsy died. She’s fine, at least she’s in bed just now getting over the flu, but she’ll be with us, please God, for a lot of years yet. Look, shall we start on the salmon?’

‘I brought some brown rolls. They’re in that bag. I hope you’ve got some butter, or is it still Gran’s marg?’

I laughed as I set the dish on the table. We had always been able to say things like that without offending. ‘Here you are, ma’am. They make their own at Strathbeg, and Gran gave me some to bring. Help yourself, there’s a whole half-pound.’

It was a delightful meal. There was five full years’ news and gossip to make up. She knew only the barest facts about my marriage, and, cut off as I had been from my childhood’s friends, I had never talked about
it before, that brief, frantic span of my life, when I had spun from rapture (I had loved him dearly) to dread, the nights that were not passed with him spent wakeful, listening for the planes overhead, trying, uselessly and without comfort, to count them, the number going out, the lesser number returning. And then the final grief, the long-expected, numbing blow that stops the pain and brings a kind of relief. Life had stopped. Life would have to go on. Life went on, and in time the unbelievable began to happen; pleasure and happiness came back, and even joy. But love? Not again. I said it very firmly. Not again.

‘Not anyone?’ she asked.

‘It’s just that I don’t think that could happen to me again. It would be different now, love would, I mean. I’m older, and want different things. Coffee? It’s Barlow’s best, which isn’t exactly fresh-ground, but it’s quite okay.’

After coffee we washed up, then wandered outside into the sunshine, down to the gate and on to the bridge. The sun was hot on our backs as we leaned elbows on the railing and gazed down into the clear, sliding depths below.

‘There’s one! Look over there, in the shadow of that stone. Do you remember when we came looking for eels, and Davey Pascoe fell into the beck and broke your grandfather’s rod, and got thrashed for it?’

The flood of memories, as deep and clear as the stream below us, took us well into the afternoon, till Prissy, looking at her watch, said reluctantly, ‘I’d better be going, I suppose. We’re leaving tomorrow. Gordon
has to be in London for two or three nights. How long did you say you’d be here? And will you go back to London, or up to your Gran’s?’

‘I’ll go north first, to see her settled with all her stuff, and I’ll stay, if she’ll let me, till she’s out and about again, Look, won’t you stay a bit longer, and have some tea?’

‘I really can’t.’

‘Well, come back in and get your bag, and we can exchange addresses. Would you like some flowers?’

We had been making our way back as we spoke, and she had paused at the gate, where the roses and honeysuckle had gone wild along the fence.

‘Love some. Hotel bedrooms are kind of soulless, and I haven’t been back in England long enough to get used to these heavenly gardens.’

‘Half a minute while I get the scissors.’

When I got back into the garden she was over by the toolshed. ‘This rose! Isn’t it just lovely? Would it last if I took some?’

‘Not long, but it’s worth it. I’ll cut it in bud, and that should get it to London with you. Take care, it’s pretty prickly, and I’m not sure if these scissors are strong enough. Ought to have secateurs, really, but they’ve gone. Gran gave the tools away to Davey.’

‘Well don’t bother, then. It’s a sweet rose, and they must have been pretty fond of it. They’re all the same in this corner, even the one that’s been dug up. There’s the label, look, under those weeds.’ She picked it up and handed it to me.

I took it. A small metal label, embossed with a name,
CHINA: OLD BLUSH.
A label that had presumably fallen from the bush when it was dug up, and which had been flung aside among the weeds when I, in my turn, had dug in the same spot.

I stood there, staring down at the thing in my hand. So that was it, the solution of Miss Mildred’s mystery, the light in the cottage garden, the man digging. That laborious job, done with the clumsy coal shovel, was not a grave, for buried treasure or anything else. He had simply been digging up a rose bush.

Why?

I knew the answer, of course, even if I could give no reason for it. To take it to the cemetery and replant it on the grave.

‘And if he shifted it at this time of the year, no wonder it looked as if it was dying for lack of water.’

‘What was?’ asked Prissy curiously. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘I’m sorry. I was thinking aloud. It’s nothing, just a sort of mystery that keeps cropping up, but probably doesn’t mean a thing.’

‘Well, if it doesn’t, it seems to worry you just the same. You looked for a minute there as if you were sleepwalking. Want to tell me?’

So I told her, standing there by the toolshed, and turning the little label over and over in my hand.

She only interrupted once, to say, ‘Huh! Witches’ Corner! Doesn’t change, does it?’ when I got to Miss Linsey and the sisters, but when I had finished she was vehement.

‘Well, of all the silly old cuckoos! What do they think
they were doing, coming down with you here on your own, to chew it all over again? Were you frightened? I’d be scared witless, anyway, sleeping down here by myself.’

‘No, I’m not scared, I like it here. Confused certainly, and maybe a bit nervous, but I don’t honestly think there’s anything to be scared about. All it comes to is that this man, presumably, must be the one who broke in and took the things from the wall-safe. Heaven knows who, or why. And if he really did dig up one of these roses and take a whole lot of flowers over for Aunt Betsy—’ I dropped the label back on the weeds, and dusted my hands together. ‘Well, it’s another piece in the puzzle, and no doubt they’ll all fit in in the end.’

‘I hope so, I must say!’ said Prissy. ‘It’s all a bit weird, but I think you’re right, it sounds pretty harmless to me, and so do old Linsey-woolsey’s fancies. So forget them. Anyway, you’ll soon be away and out of it all.’ A shrewd look. ‘Am I right in detecting a bit of nostalgia, a bit of the Old Toddler, about you? Well, it’s been fun, but forget it, chum. Get back to London, and central heating and telephones, and get on with your real life. There’s nothing for you here.’

‘You may be right. But I’m here for a day or two anyway. And I’m sure there’s nothing really to worry about. Mysteries don’t go well with Todhall and Granddad’s roses.’

‘If you’re sure you’re all right—’

‘I’m sure. If I do get scared I can always go to the Pascoes. You’ve got my addresses – London and
Strathbeg? Great. It’s been lovely, Prissy, and don’t let’s lose touch again, especially with your interesting news coming up! Take care, and thanks again for everything. ’Bye.’