Magpie, page 9
‘Now you look angry,’ Barnabas observed.
‘I am. I am full of rage.’
‘And your pace matches your fury. Slow down, I cannot keep up.’
Susanna relented, stopping on the corner of Clappers Lane. She looked up at him and relaxed a little. Managing a laugh, she said, ‘You do me good, Barnabas the smith. You ease my nerves.’
‘Then that is all for the good.’ He smiled down at her and a warmth filled his face. ‘I am mighty fond of you, Mistress Susanna.’
She laughed more freely. ‘We have but lately met. How can you become fond of someone of whom you know so little?’
Barnabas’s lips curved. ‘I know not but it is true. Maybe it is sorcery?’ he added coquettishly.
Susanna quailed, she felt her gorge rising and rocked back on her pattens. Putting a hand to her throat, she gazed, wide-eyed at him.
He was quick to recognise her terror. ‘I’m sorry. It was a jest. An ill-advised joke to make when we all know women who have hanged. What is it? Tell me.’ He put a hand on her arm. ‘You have gone very pale.’
Susanna got her breath back. Swallowing bile, she was ready to speak. ‘The Lacey child has died,’ she gasped, ‘up at the manor, and Prudie was the cunning woman who attended. Goodwife Flowers has just accosted me and insinuates there has been talk of,’ she hesitated, unwilling to say the word, ‘witchery. What am I going to do, Barnabas? How can I protect the Tenpennys?’ She stepped nearer and whispered hoarsely, ‘Prudie’s mouth runs off with her, she’s inclined to get indignant and angry. Says things before she speaks.’ She put a hand to her mouth to stop the tears. ‘Just as I have done with that woman, Flowers. Oh, but she made me so cross I couldn’t help myself.’ Ice-cold fear solidified in her. ‘And that is exactly what she wanted, of course. The sow.’
Barnabas was silent as he digested this rush of information. He studied her and then said kindly, ‘I haven’t lived here long but even I know how this town likes to talk. Don’t fret, Mistress Susanna, it’ll all blow out on the next tide. Come, take my arm, we will walk to your cottage, explain to Mistress Tenpenny what is afoot and all will be well.’
Susanna hesitated. She wished her life had no more concerns than that of handsome young men wanting to take her arm. ‘If I do, there’ll be more tattle in Flete. It’s as good as a promise of marriage for some.’
His eyes twinkled. Despite his youth, they had well-worn creases at the edges fanning down his cheeks. A sure sign of a man who laughed long and hard. ‘Would that be so tragic? I can think of worse fates.’
‘So can I.’ Despite her preoccupation and the threat of blethering tongues, Susanna slid her arm through the one he offered.
As they made their way along Clappers Lane, Susanna let a tight breath release. Life could hold little to fear if she had the protection of such a man. Her snatch at happiness lasted only until they approached Tenpenny Cottage. From within she could hear Star howling. An unearthly and tragic sound containing all the sorrows of the world.
‘Something is wrong.’ Susanna picked up her skirts and ran. Fear stabbed. ‘Something is terribly, terribly wrong.’ Flinging open the door, she stopped short. Prudie sat in John’s chair by the fire, rocking to and fro, her face shrouded by her apron. At her feet Star sat on his haunches, his long nose pointing at the ceiling, ears flat, howling as if his heart would break. Susanna rushed to the old woman and crouched at her side. Putting a consoling hand on the dog’s neck, she said, ‘Ssh now, Star. Hush now, dog! What is it, mistress? What ails you, Prudie? Prudie! Speak to me.’
For a long moment, there was no reply and then Prudie stopped rocking. Star ceased his racket and the old woman began to speak, her words dropping heavily into the quiet. ‘Oh Susanna, dear daughter, dear adopted child, we have to be brave. We have to be so very brave.’ She drew in a harsh stuttering breath. ‘For our John is gone. We are left alone. My good John is dead. What are we to do? We are alone. Two women alone and defenceless in the world.’ Prudie began to wail again and covered her face, her shoulders wracked by heaving sobs.
CHAPTER 11
JULY 2018
Warm sun and squawking gulls woke Beth at five, along with a dog howling piteously somewhere in the distance. A tremendous sadness hung over her, along with the echo of someone sobbing uncontrollably.
She lay blinking in the pink early morning light, disorientated. Knowing she wouldn’t sleep again, she got up and made tea. It would be another long day surviving on too little sleep, but she was almost relieved to be awake. The dream, although shifting and vague, had been full of such sorrow she had no desire to risk returning to it. Why was she overwhelmed with misery? Her whole being felt dragged down. Tears prickled at the back of her throat, but she refused to give in to them. It had been just a dream, that’s all. Stirring the teabag vigorously in her mug, she vowed to ring Lorna and their grandparents later, to check all was okay. Resolutely practical, she rarely gave in to superstition, but the pall of sadness lingered and couldn’t be ignored. What if it meant something was wrong?
Giving herself a stern talking to, that if any disaster had befallen her family she would have been rung, Beth took her tea back to bed and scrolled through her emails on her phone. Opening one from Jade had all premonitions of doom returning. Thumping her mug down on the bedside table and sliding up in bed to better concentrate, she gasped as she read, barely believing the contents:
You! You are the one I blame. I married Hugh. He was the one I wanted. He was the one I always wanted. All through university I had to stand on the sidelines and watch as you played with him. You never loved him. Not really. Not like I love him. It was the happiest day of my life when you two split up. You didn’t know, did you, that I went over to the States to visit him? That’s when we got close. I heard all about how badly you treated him, never wanting to commit, always going your independent way. Miss Aloof, Miss Nothing Can Touch Me, Miss I Don’t Need Any Help. I tried to get him to marry me but he kept holding off, saying he wasn’t over you, it wouldn’t be fair to me. But I got him in the end, didn’t I? I’m going to give him the perfect home and marriage. Something you never could. I’ll give him baby after baby if that’s what he wants. It doesn’t matter that it wrecks my body, wrecks my head. I’ll be the perfect mother to his perfect babies.
It went on, becoming even more of an incoherent ramble. The gist being Beth had ruined Hugh for Jade. No matter what she did it was never enough, never what Beth would do. Jade resented coming second in Hugh’s eyes and it was all Beth’s fault.
Beth lay back on the pillows horrified and furious. The fucking cow! Who did she think she was? This was way over and above one of her usual rants. Always quick-tempered, Jade often went off on one for about five minutes, about being cut up when driving, or a shop assistant ignoring her, only to laugh it off, sink a wine, grin and carry on a normal conversation. But she’d never, ever put her thoughts down in an email and never as accusatory and as personal as this.
Biting back her anger, Beth searched her memory. Had it really been like that at university? She didn’t remember it that way at all. She and Hugh had enjoyed a casual student relationship, but their feelings had been real and they had loved one another. Had she really been remote? Come across as too independent? It was true, due to her upbringing, she relied on herself first and always expected others to let her down but surely there had been a true mutual warmth in her and Hugh’s relationship, no matter how young they’d been. And she had loved him. Getting over him had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, especially knowing he’d moved on to her best friend.
She scanned the email again, noting it had been sent at two thirty that morning. Jade had no doubt been up with the baby. Was Hugh up too, or leaving everything to his wife? She knew he’d taken no parental leave and had returned to work straight away. Jade had family but they lived an hour away so she was on her own. Had Beth been Jade she would have felt a little abandoned. Her lips twisted. But maybe, as she was perceived as being so self-reliant, she would have coped better. The flush of anger faded. She thought back to when she’d visited, Jade’s spikiness and her strange behaviour with the biscuits. This was more than Jade’s usual mulishness; the woman was struggling. But it was still hard to forgive.
She glanced at her phone again. What the hell was she supposed to do with the information? Ring Jade? Demand an apology or at least an explanation? And what was she to blame for, exactly? Jade had got exactly what she wanted, hadn’t she? Rage licked at her again. It wasn’t yet 6am so too early to ring. She could email back. She could ignore it but was that abandoning Jade? Beth couldn’t walk out on a friend who looked like she needed help. Could she ring Hugh, or would that seem like going behind Jade’s back? Surely it would feed into her paranoia if she suspected Beth and Hugh were talking about her. Lorna’s words came back to her, ‘Get rid, they’re toxic.’
‘Argh! Bloody Jade. What am I going to do about you?’ Beth flung the phone onto the bed where it bounced once and then lay faintly accusing. Picking it up again, she scrolled through a few baby forums. They were eye-opening. Scanning threads on ‘baby blues’ and post-natal depression, none of it seemed to marry up with how Jade was behaving.
‘Maybe she is a cow,’ Beth said to herself. ‘A prize bitch. A mean girl. Always has been and I’ve never noticed.’
Going into the kitchen to make more tea, she slotted bread into the toaster. Was it actually her problem to solve? Surely Hugh had noticed how erratically his wife was behaving? Thinking back to when they’d been in the flat all she could remember was how irritable he’d been with Jade and how longingly he’d stared at Beth’s wine. Was he really that obtuse? Maybe she should get in touch with him and suggest Jade see someone. But was that fair on Jade, going over her head like that? Maybe there was nothing wrong with Jade other than a deeply bad mood and a huge bout of resentment.
Forcing herself to reread the email, one sentence jumped out. That Jade had visited Hugh in the States. The information slid greasily into her consciousness. Neither Jade nor Hugh had ever mentioned it. It was yet another betrayal. The image of them having a lovely time in Boston and keeping it a secret hit her hard. She wasn’t sure she’d forgive them that. Making her decision, she muttered, ‘Not my monkeys, not my circus. If you’ve got a problem, sort it out between yourselves. If you can write those words, Jade, then you’re no friend of mine.’
Taking her plate of toast to the tiny table underneath the window, she stared out upon Clappers Lane. The only life that could be seen was an enormous tabby cat skulking in the shadows of overhanging Tudor gables. Thankfully the howling dog had quietened. She wondered who it belonged to. As far as she knew, no one in the lane owned one. Gulls swooped and cackled overhead and the breeze whipped up white horses on the bit of sea she could glimpse. She sighed. The move hadn’t been all she’d hoped for. Footfall in the shop had been impossible to predict. Trade on one day could be brisk, on others non-existent. There was no building of momentum. Beth wasn’t sure she’d done the right thing. Maybe sticking to online selling was the way forward. It had been how she’d started but, ironically, trade had been so brisk it had been impossible to do the business justice whilst working at her office job. It had left her precious little time to make soap, customers got irritated at waiting and at not being able to get hold of stuff straight away. Everyone lived in an instant-gratification society, mainlining Amazon Prime these days. Her customers didn’t understand the time and effort it took to make a batch of soap. It was why she’d made the compromise to stock from other sources and not make all the stuff herself. She’d thought, having a base where people could come in and buy in person, was the answer. Now it didn’t seem the case. The more she thought about it, the more appropriate the idea of closing the shop seemed until she felt properly ready to open up again in a way she wanted to. Flete was getting busy with tourists but they didn’t seem the sort to buy handmade soap and hand lotion and, so far, few had ventured off the beachfront long enough to discover Clappers Lane. The resurfacing would put them off even more. Little point in staying open with no customers being able to get in.
The Clappers Lane business owners’ meeting had been short and to the point. Latest intel was the work was likely to take four weeks minimum with the lane being partially accessible and completely closed for some hours each day during the height of the repairs. It would be an unholy mess. Beth sucked in a deep breath and made some decisions. She would close the shop, concentrate on building stock, get a proper website sorted and create far more of a social media presence. Relenting, she would also ring Jade as soon as it was a civilised hour to do so. But she wasn’t looking forward to it one bit.
Three hours later, Beth slid the newspaper-wrapped parcel containing the bone handle and the glass bottle, still a little sooty with chimney dust, into her bag, clattered down the steep stairs and marched out across the cobbles in Clappers Lane towards the main shopping street. Anger gave her feet wings.
The conversation with Jade had been terse and unhelpful. When Beth asked what it had all been about, Jade had dismissed the email as the ramblings of a nursing mother who was surviving on little sleep. When Beth had explained how disturbed and upset it had made her, Jade had abruptly cut the call. There had been no apology.
‘It just isn’t on,’ Beth mumbled to herself as she strode onto Cross Street, ducking out of the way of a car that hadn’t quite successfully navigated the mini roundabout and mounted the pavement. Glaring at the driver, some of her foul mood dissipated. If that’s what Jade was going to be like, she’d go low contact; she didn’t need the hassle. Lorna would be so smug.
Once on the narrow pedestrianised shopping street, she relaxed a little. It wasn’t the most exciting place in the world and certainly didn’t live up to its quaint moniker, Narrow Sheep Walk. She halted outside her destination, the tatty door of the town’s museum, debating whether to get a coffee first or go straight in.
‘Going in?’
It was Nathan. Dressed casually in chinos and a short-sleeved navy-blue linen shirt, he had a hessian shopping bag over his shoulder. He exuded good health and fitness.
‘Oh hi, Dr Smith. Seem to bump into you all over the place.’
He grinned attractively. ‘Small-town life. And the local GP having quite a considerable amount of leave at the moment. And it’s Nathan. Are you feeling better now?’
‘I am, thank you.’ Beth didn’t want to dwell on her health problems so changed the subject. ‘You didn’t fancy going away anywhere?’
Nathan shook his head. ‘Not sure I can be bothered with an airport; the security rules do my head in. Having a few weeks at home.’ He pulled a face. ‘Forcing myself to catch up with the gardening. I’ll do some walking too, get a few runs in. Besides,’ he gestured around him, ‘why go away when you have the delights of east Devon?’
Beth bit her lip and followed his gaze. She wasn’t sure how serious he was being. All she could see was an old-fashioned butcher, a second-hand furniture shop and the usual smattering of charity shops.
‘I know what you’re thinking. This part’s on the run-down side but Flete has real community and, despite it being fairly popular with tourists, we don’t get overrun during the summer.’
Beth thought of her takings that week. ‘Not so good if you’ve just opened a business though. I’ll need the tourists to keep me going through the winter.’
‘True,’ he admitted. ‘Perhaps once the resurfacing is done, Clappers Lane will be a more attractive prospect. Although I concede there’s not much for visitors in this part of town. Having lived in Lyme briefly though, I really appreciate being able to park more easily. And Flete has kept its banks and post office, which is always a bonus.’
‘So far.’
‘So far,’ he agreed.
‘And there’s the museum.’
‘Which is open at the moment, I believe. Are you going in?’ He peered at the handwritten sign hanging on the door proclaiming its opening times.
‘Yes.’ Beth reached into her bag and eased out the parcel. ‘I’d forgotten all about these. My chimney sweep found them when he was doing the inglenook in Tenpenny House. It’s a bone handle, I think, and a little bottle.’ She held the grubby package up to Nathan. ‘I wondered if someone at the museum might know more about it. I think the handle might be quite old.’
‘Ah yes. Ian. He’s quite the character.’
‘That’s one way of putting it. Unreconstructed male would be another.’
Nathan laughed. He scrubbed a hand over his shorn hair and grimaced. ‘He certainly has a unique take on some things.’
‘Women especially.’
‘And speaking of characters…’
Nathan got no further as the museum door was wrenched open and a tiny elderly woman glared out. ‘If you’re coming in, come in. Don’t stand there yammering on my doorstep all day.’
‘Bill. Hi.’
‘Oh it’s you, Dr Smith.’ The old woman’s lips pursed. ‘Didn’t think you lot did house calls no more.’
‘Not a house call, Bill,’ Nathan said cheerfully. He slid the shopping bag off his shoulder. ‘I’ve something to collect from you, if I may. And this is Beth Loveday. She has a couple of objects she’d like your expert opinion on.’
Bill narrowed her eyes behind owlish spectacles. She flipped a thick white plait over her shoulder. ‘Loveday, eh? Come yourselves in then. You’ve timed it well; I’ve just put the kettle on. Flip the sign to shut, will you, Beth Loveday, so as we’re not disturbed.’
