The Youngest Bridesmaid (27 page)

BOOK: The Youngest Bridesmaid
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III

The hours of waiting seemed very long. Lou was grateful for any small chore to occupy her mind, and as the evening passed, it became evident that Tibby was not only relinquishing the household reins for the first time, but was incapable of constructive e
ff
ort. She sat, an old, bent woman, rocking herself and
muttering, and Lou caught snatches of ancient superstitions and island beliefs, and every so
of
ten invocations to saints with strange Cornish names to work miracles.

How much of the jumbled folk-lore assimilated since coming to Rune Tibby believed in it was hard to guess. She had not, thought Lou, seriously credited the legend of the
Druid

s Cave, using it for her own purposes just as Melissa had done, but the unfamiliar Cornish saints seemed real enough, and although Piers and Sam became confused in the old woman

s mind until they merged into a single personality, Lou herself had apparently not lost her identity.


You

m mistress here now, missis, you

m what he needs, and he knows it,

Tibby kept saying.

You

m a
good maid, a loving maid, and Tibby was wrong to harm you—mortal wrong.

Tes a judgment on me if Sam

s taken.


You haven

t harmed me, Tibby,

Lou said gently, understanding that for Tibby, young Sam Smale had taken the place of the nursling who had grown beyond her jurisdiction.

You were jealous for another bride, that

s all, but she

ll be gone soon.


Gone—aye, Miss Blanche went long
ago. Her was never meant for Rune, nor for Sam.


Piers, not Sam.


Yes, Sam

s dead.


We don

t know, Tibby. There

s always hope, and Sam

s a good seaman.


He
never should have listened to that Jezebel—
t
empting the spirits for her fancy trash,

said Tibby strangely, then suddenly began to talk quite rationally. She went back into the past, it was true, but her speech was perfectly coherent, and Lou could not know
t
hat she herself, curled up on the hearth in a dressing gown, brought back the old nursery days with merciful obliteration of the present.

She told Lou tales of Piers

childhood, dwelling reminiscently on trivial incidents which, until now, she must have almost forgotten, bringing to life a time when the Merricks were ordinary, simple people not yet gilded by the dazzling trappings of wealth and fortune. Listening enthralled, as she would have to any bedtime story of improbably good fortune, Lou began to have another picture of her husband, the picture of a boy who, thrust suddenly into a world of make
-
believe no less unexpected than her own, had later sought to escape from his loneliness in the freedom and power that riches could bring him.


His father died too soon, you see,

Tibby said, still rocking gently,

and Piers came too young into the inheritance. Tes natural, I suppose, for a young man to let money go to his head for a time, but Piers never squandered, even then. He liked to play with power, maybe, and the world soon taught him that other folks are venial.


Why do you tell me this, Tibby?

Lou asked.


Because,

Tibby answered,

for all the
h
eartless change in his marriage plans, I think he

s chosen right. Yes, missis, I know I gave you no
welcome when you came, but my thoughts were mazed with the old ties ... Piers never found love because he never looked for it. Women to him were easily come by, and when it came to settling down it was a case of selection and no more. A man, you see, can marry from a sense of duty to the future, and not miss the best that

s been withheld, but a woman ... a woman needs more, and gives more. You

ve already given your own heart, haven

t you, missis?


Oh, yes,

said Lou simply.

It isn

t difficult to learn to love Piers here on the island.

She scrambled to her feet and limped over to the window to look out. There seemed to be a lull in the storm and the almost forgotten household sounds were loud in the sudden stillness, the ticking of clocks, steam hissing from pots and kettles on the range, and the familiar monotonous creak of Tibby

s rocking chair.


It

s gone quite suddenly,

Lou said.

Could it mean the storm

s dying?


When the tide

s on the turn the weather can change,

Tibby answered indifferently.

You

m right, though,

tes surely quieter. You

d best eat something, missis.

Lou had no appetite for food, but it seemed best to encourage the old servant

s return to normality by acquiescing. Melissa, too, could hardly be left to go supperless to bed, but Lou had to prepare a tray and take it up herself. Tibby

s hostility which, it would seem,
like her strange affections, had to be directed
somewhere as an outlet, was focussed now on the guest.


There

s stew in this pot; take her a bowlful of that,

she said, beginning to bustle round the kitchen again.

I

ll have something more tasty for you when you
come back.

Lou ladled the stew into a bowl, sniffing it suspiciously, and Tibby, catching her in the act, gave a harsh chuckle.


There

s nothing in it that would harm, a babe,

she said, and Lou let out a little
sigh of thankfulness that at last the old woman seemed to have accepted her on equal terms.


You did doctor those potions you gave my cousin, to keep her here, didn

t you, Tibby?

she said casually, and Tibby sniffed.


Aye, I did,

she admitted defiantly.
“‘
Twasn

t meant at the time in spite for her, but it pleases me now to think of the vomiting she endured to stop on the island.


You

re a wicked old woman,

Lou said, picking up Melissa

s tray, and both of them exchanged a smile of mutual respect and liking.

Melissa was not in her own room, but across the passage in Lou

s, tearing clothes off their hangers and throwing them into suitcases, the mink coat clung across her shoulders, stoles and fur jackets bunched over her arm. Lou stood in the doorway watching her, the tray in her hands, and Melissa swung round guiltily.


Oh, it

s you,

she said, sounding relieved.

I thought at first it might be Piers.


Piers,

said Lou gravely,

is out in the boat looking for Sam. You don

t seem to care, Melissa, that your trivial needs may be costing lives.


What utter tripe! Sam shouldn

t have gone if it wasn

t safe, and Piers had no need to go chasing off like a distracted hen.


You have no sense of values, have you? You couldn

t care less what happens so long as you get your favorite brand of cigarettes.


Really, darling, you

re all making a frightful
fuss about nothing, and your high-minded husband was damn rude to me. I

m well out of this marriage if it means playing second fiddle to this ghastly island, and you can keep the much publicized Piers Merrick with my blessing.


Thank you,

Lou replied politely.

What are you doing with my clothes?


Your
clothes! I

m helping myself to some of my own trousseau, that

s all,

snapped Melissa.

I

m going to have something out of this half-baked plan of Blanche

s to get herself out of a jam, and you promised me the mink, anyway.


The mink was a hostage for good behaviour,

Lou said with deceptive mildness.

Even you can hardly claim to have played fair. In any case, Piers will have the final say in what you take away tomorrow. For myself, I couldn

t care less.

Melissa eyed her doubtfully. Little Cousin Lou who had been of no consequence in their lives for so long looked as dim as usual standing there in her dressing gown holding a tray like a schoolgirl dispatched on an errand, but there was something about her all the same that gave a belated warning for caution.


Lou—you

ve always been generous,

she began, her voice softening to the wheedling tones which once had had easy power over her cousin.

You have only to say the word to Piers and he

ll eat out of your hand. You

ve got him where you want—or didn

t you know?

Lou

s patience snapped, and with it the good manners she had been trying to hold on to.


Don

t you realize, you bitch, that he may not even come back? That while you

re standing here trying to bargain for a few furs and anything else you can get, I

m nearly out of my mind for Piers

safety?

she shouted, and banged the tray down on the nearest table with such violence that Tibby

s stew splashed into Melissa

s face.

Here

s your supper, and I hope it chokes you! There

s no convenient drug in it this time to make you ill, and if there were I

d see you

re on the launch tomorrow if it

s the last thing I do, and I hope you
are
sick

sick as a dog—!

She began to run down the stairs, forgetful of her injured ankle until the sudden pain slowed her down and she reached out to the banister for support. The unfamiliar force of her own feelings had shocked her, not only into fresh anxiety for Piers, but the frightening realization of how easily murder might be done in the heat of the moment. She could, she thought, clinging shaking to the banister rail, have choked the life out of her abominable cousin without remorse.

Somewhere in the house a door banged in the wind, the stove in the hall gave out an acrid belch of smoke and Tibby

s voice called suddenly from
the kitchen.


Missis ... missis ... the launch is putting in. They

re back ... or one of

em is
...

Her voice faltered on the last words, and Lou sped down the dimly lit passage to the kitchen, ignoring her aching ankle.

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