Kilgarthen Read online

  ‘Yes, I do see,’ Daisy replied breathlessly. ‘It must all have been a terrible shock to you, Billy dying like that, so young, bless him. Twenty-seven’s no age to die, and him doing so well too. Yes, he would have wanted you to look after the business, what with you losing your father only a couple of months ago. You’ve had a very tragic time.’

  Laura didn’t want to talk about Bill. ‘Did you ask who was on the telephone?’

  ‘A Mr Andrew Mac-something,’ Daisy puffed out obligingly.

  ‘Andrew Macarthur. He’s the family solicitor,’ Laura explained, feeling Daisy was owed this knowledge after having her afternoon upset twice on her account.

  ‘Must be something important then.’

  ‘Yes.’ Laura smiled to herself. Andrew was also a friend and probably wanted to know how she was faring. He’d been concerned about her insisting on making the long journey straight back. It would be good to hear his familiar voice.

  Daisy showed her into her snug sitting room and left her there. Laura picked up the big black telephone, which stuck out like a sore thumb on a highly polished sideboard. She could hear Daisy talking to Bunty Buzza in the kitchen.

  ‘Hello. Andrew?’

  ‘Laura! Thank goodness I reached you before you left Kilgarthen. Listen, I’ve got some serious news for you. I think you’d better sit down.’

  ‘Sit down? Whatever for?’ She lowered her voice. ‘Has the press found out about those women who died with Bill?’

  ‘It’s nothing like that, Laura.’ Andrew Macarthur’s usually quiet voice was so grave that Laura eased herself down onto a chair. Her hope of finding a little comfort from him was slipping away.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘You remember how jittery Bill was several months ago, just before your father died?’

  ‘Yes, what about it?’

  ‘I’ve found out why. Bill was involved with some shady characters—’

  ‘I’ve always known that,’ Laura interrupted impatiently. ‘He was up to his neck in underhand deals. He made money for the company through them. Dad never knew why the profits were so high but he trusted him.’

  ‘There was more to it than that, Laura. He’d got in with some big boys, the Morrison brothers, a particularly nasty firm that likes to be paid on time or off come your toenails. Bill was worried out of his mind – well, you know that by the way he treated you when you refused to sell your grandmother’s jewellery. Bill couldn’t come up with the money he owed after a deal went wrong. Then he procured the ten thousand your father left you personally in his will and that kept the Morrisons quiet for a while.’

  ‘The swine!’ Laura gripped the chair arm in rage. ‘I… I thought that money was safely in my bank. It was my escape route if I ever left him. I don’t mind admitting to you, Andrew, I was about to use it.’

  Andrew Macarthur made a sympathetic sound then went on with his distasteful news. ‘Bill got himself out of that jam but promptly put himself into another. He over-committed himself on a housing project which it was rumoured the government was going to build. He borrowed twenty-five thousand pounds from the Morrison brothers but the government decided to build somewhere else. And now that Bill’s dead, the Morrisons have pulled the plug. They want their money back and so do several other major creditors. I’m sorry to tell you this, Laura, but this will mean the company will go bankrupt. By the time the receiver’s finished, there won’t be a penny left. I thought I ought to tell you now, Laura. I was afraid you might commit yourself to selling the cottage or something, which might not be wise in the circumstances. Laura, are you still there?’

  Laura felt numb, in the way she would have done if she had buried a husband today whom she’d loved. She had lost something very dear to her after all, the company her father had built up from nothing, which he had wanted her and the grandchildren he’d hoped she’d give him to inherit, the company which he had entrusted Bill to look after for her lifetime needs.

  She took a deep breath. ‘G-go on, Andrew.’

  ‘I’ve done some figures for you, Laura. By the time the Morrison brothers are paid off, and they’ve got everything wrapped up legally, and the other commitments are met, all that you have left is your grandmother’s jewellery, a few hundred pounds in a bank account which Bill didn’t touch, and his cottage in the village which he didn’t put up as security. At least you have something to tide you over with for a while.’ Andrew’s voice was echoing with regret and concern. ‘Laura, are you still going to travel back now? Shall I meet you somewhere? Would you like me to come down and collect you?’

  ‘No, no. Listen, Andrew. I need a few minutes to think things over. Can I ring you back in about half an hour?’

  Laura put the receiver down and sat very still. The numbness began to wear off to be replaced by a strange and terrible anger which was seeping into every part of her body. Bill had unexpectedly changed her future for a second time. He had robbed her of her inheritance, the company which he had cockily called his own for over two years, his prize acquisition, his undeserved reward for clawing himself up from nothing. And now another sensation was assailing her; because there was no company left for her to run, she was freer from Bill than when his body had been lowered into the village dirt. Tears of bitterness and, for a moment, a sense of peace mixed together and ran down her face.

  When her tears stopped, she felt drained, rather fearful and a little excited. Apart from a few friends, she was all alone in the world and somehow she had to make a new life for herself.

  She became aware of the voices in the kitchen. What would Daisy Tamblyn say to what her precious Billy had done? Laura crept to the kitchen door and was about to go in but hesitated over something she overheard.

  ‘I know what Billy was like, Bunty. I loved him dearly, but I won’t hide behind pleasant memories and not admit his bad points as well, specially to you. He must have led that poor young woman in there a dog’s life. No wonder she didn’t want to come to the hall and wants to go straight back home. Who would blame her if they knew the truth?’

  Home. Laura didn’t have a home now, except for the one where she’d eaten Bill’s favourite biscuits. She kept her ear to the door. So Bill’s aunt knew his real character.

  ‘He could be cruel even as a small boy,’ Bunty agreed. ‘Just like his father. William Lean was a cruel devil and no mistake. He deserved his sticky end.’

  William Lean? Laura gulped back a sudden cry. Had Bill known this? Bill’s father had been called Ron Jennings. He had worked as a groom for William Lean. She forced herself not to go charging into Daisy’s kitchen and ask what Bunty Buzza had meant. William Lean had been the local big landowner, a tyrant according to Bill’s account. He had been Harry Lean’s father. Bill had been dark and similarly built to Harry Lean. Could the amused-looking man at the funeral be Bill’s half-brother? There was no facial resemblance. Bill had been bull-necked, his teeth had been crooked, his skin sallow, eyes intense, his eyebrows had met in the middle over heavy brows. His pale eyes had stared from the thick glasses he’d worn for reading.

  ‘’Tis no wonder Billy turned out like he did,’ Daisy said sadly. ‘It wasn’t really his fault.’

  Not his fault? Laura fumed. For being callous, manipulative and unforgiving?

  ‘S’pose we shouldn’t be surprised that Spencer Jeffries didn’t come to the funeral.’ Bunty was speaking. ‘He and Bill hated each other, and Spencer had good reason, too, if you don’t mind me saying now we’re speaking so plain.’

  Who was Spencer Jeffries? This was the second time his name had been mentioned. If he hated Bill, then Laura wanted to meet him, they had something in common. Laura was suddenly curious about the villagers, who in the main seemed to hero-worship her late husband. Yet despite her love for her nephew, Daisy admitted his faults to her friend and confidante. Why did these ordinary people love and revere Bill so much? True, he had given them money, her father’s money and part of her squandered inheritance. It had built the village hal
l, it had paid for the chains that had been put round the war memorial she had passed by in the churchyard, it had supplied a generous donation towards the church organ fund even though Bill had rarely stepped inside the church. He had obviously been different when among the people of Kilgarthen.

  Laura felt shaken by the double revelation, that Bill had bankrupted the company and that he’d been fathered by someone other than Daisy’s sister’s husband. After several days of feeling nothing over Bill’s death, her newfound freedom and the depth of her various and complicated feelings overwhelmed her. She didn’t feel like returning to London, she couldn’t face the long journey alone so soon. There was nothing she could do for her father’s company that Andrew Macarthur couldn’t do anyway.

  She considered staying in the village overnight, and even a day or two longer. She could try to learn something more about Bill, then perhaps she could purge her soul of some of the effects of his cruelty, free herself from the feelings of bitterness for her lost years as his wife when he’d made her feel worthless, less than a human being. She had no idea what her future might hold, but learning something about Bill’s past might make it easier to begin afresh.

  Chapter 2

  Laura tapped on the kitchen door and went inside. The two women were sitting in small comfortable armchairs either side of a cream-coloured range in the fireplace. The kitchen was warm and they were a cosy sight. Laura felt a pang of loneliness. She’d thought Bill’s tales of village life were quaint but he had known the comfort of belonging to a close-knit community. Was that the reason he had spent so many weekends here? The two women were smoking and hastily stubbed out their cigarettes.

  ‘I’ve decided to stay in Kilgarthen overnight,’ Laura told Daisy and Bunty, raising her chin in challenge.

  Daisy smiled kindly and put her chubby hands together, ‘Oh, we’re delighted, aren’t we, Bunty?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Bunty answered emphatically. She took off her winged glasses and polished them on a towel hanging on a nearby hook but she was gazing at Laura keenly.

  ‘I was wondering,’ Laura said, feeling awkward, ‘do you think the villagers will be offended if I go to the hall? I feel awful about leaving the churchyard so suddenly. You see, I was so upset, and not knowing anyone here…’ She thought the best way to find out more about the side of Bill she didn’t know was to lie. Daisy and Bunty were taken in. They might have known his true nature but they accepted that she’d loved Bill like they had and was grieving over him.

  She made a quick return telephone call to Andrew Macarthur, which Daisy would not allow her to pay for, then the three women set off down the hill. The sky was overcast and the wind was picking up. It was bitingly cold.

  Laura wasn’t embarrassed by the sudden turn of heads and the hum of shocked whispers her unexpected arrival caused in the hall, the ‘Bill Jennings Hall’ she read on a brass plaque over the door on her way in. The people inside were proud of the building, a good size thanks to its benefactor’s generosity. It was strongly constructed to withstand the harsh weather coming off the moor behind it.

  ‘Mrs Jennings has decided to join us after all,’ Daisy chirped up in the hush the mourners had lapsed into. ‘She was too upset before and needed to go to Bill’s cottage to compose herself.’

  Laura realised she was confronting a variety of personalities. Some people genuinely offered her their sympathy, others were ingratiating as if she was some sort of celebrity, probably hoping she would keep up Bill’s tradition of spending money in the village. Those who’d made unkind remarks about her were unforgiving and looked away.

  Laura looked for the people she had noticed at the graveside and they were all here except for Marianne Roach. A tall, thin woman with a high bosom and wearing a severe straw hat over an iron-grey bun bore down on her and Daisy whispered to Laura that she was about to meet the village gossip, Ada Prisk.

  ‘Such a terrible tragedy, such a loss to the village, Mrs Jennings.’ Ada Prisk had a sharp, grating voice and looked Laura straight in the eye. ‘What will you be doing with the cottage? You could rent it to someone local. We’re a bit remote here for holidaymakers, although we get some who like to go pony trekking over the moor, and last year we had a family down for their holiday from Liverpool whose kiddies had been evacuated down here. We don’t want any foreigners living here among us.’

  ‘I hardly think Mrs Jennings wants to think about things like that now, Mrs Prisk,’ Daisy said grittily, taking Laura’s arm and steering her away. ‘If you’ll excuse us…’

  Laura smiled at Daisy. She was a comfortable person to be with and Laura sensed she felt loyalty towards her. ‘Call me Laura.’

  ‘Oh, yes, that will be nice. If you like, call me Aunty Daisy. Now, my dear, from what I can see, not many people have gone home yet, which is good. Perhaps you’d like to be introduced to a few people.’

  A number of the mourners were looking at her with something approaching reverence and Laura realised she must appear a bit of a lady to them. But not Mike Penhaligon. He held out his large warm hand and shook hers enthusiastically. From Bill she knew he was Cornish but not a born ’n’ bred villager and she took to him at once. He had a friendly face with twinkling pale eyes, a bumpy forehead, broad nose and red cheeks.

  ‘Come to the pub tonight, Mrs Jennings. We’re seeing Bill off with a drop of good brandy.’ He grinned, making his brown whiskers crawl up his florid face. ‘There’ll be a good turn-out.’

  ‘Leave her be, Mike.’ Pat Penhaligon laughed kindly as she brought Laura a cup of tea and a plate of food. She was small and neat and looked at her big jovial husband adoringly. ‘He isn’t happy ’less he’s got a drink in your hand, gets you a little bit merry and singing your head off.’

  ‘It sounds good, Mrs Penhaligon, but I don’t know about coming to the pub tonight. I’ll have to think about it. I want to spend some time with Aunty Daisy.’ To Laura’s surprise it was the easiest thing in the world to slip into calling her Aunty Daisy.

  ‘She’d love a drop of drink.’ Mike roared with laughter, wiggling his whiskers about. ‘Bring her along too!’

  ‘Quieter, Mike,’ Pat scolded. ‘You’re at a funeral, remember.’

  ‘The vicar’ll come,’ Mike asserted, nodding as he pictured the scene. ‘He’s a good’un for an up-country vicar. Lead the singing ’n’ all, he will.’

  Pat made a ‘what can I do with him’ face at Laura. ‘It’s men only,’ she whispered. ‘We women like to keep our decorum.’

  As Laura tried to drink the tea, served in thick white crockery, Daisy introduced her to the Methodist minister, the Reverend Brian Endean. A short, portly, elderly man in dull clothes, he held her hand for some moments. ‘Bill wasn’t one of my flock but he wasn’t slow to put his hand in his pocket when I put out an appeal for funds to repair one of the chapel windows. I didn’t know him well because I don’t live in the village but he was a well-liked and respected man. I know you’re not chapel but if I can ever be a help to you, please do not hesitate to contact me.’ The Reverend Endean seemed a little shy of her and he quickly withdrew after Laura thanked him but she sensed his sincerity.

  The tea was stewed and lukewarm but Laura swallowed it down and devoured the two ham sandwiches, clotted-cream scone, a sausage roll and piece of Victoria sponge on her plate.

  ‘Will you have a yeast bun?’ Barbara Roach offered in her soft hesitant voice. ‘Mrs Tamblyn made them. She always does the yeast buns for village occasions.’

  ‘They look and smell delicious.’ Laura felt a kindred spirit in this woman. Bill had told her that Cecil Roach was ‘a sodding bully and led his poor cow of a wife a dog’s life’. The woman was looking down at the wooden floor. Her colourless eyes had dark shadows under them, her nervous hands were constantly fidgeting. Laura nodded pleasantly. ‘I think I’ve just enough room left for one.’

  ‘It’s wise to keep up your strength at a time like this,’ Barbara Roach returned, her sad eyes brightening a little in her thin,
pale face. ‘I do offer you my deepest sympathy. Bill will be a great loss to the village. I’m Barbara Roach, by the way, wife of the village schoolmaster.’

  Unlike the others whom she had met, Barbara Roach did not point out her family to Laura. Cecil Roach was talking, in a formal manner, to another man and had his back to her. It occurred to Laura that he’d had his back to her all the time.

  ‘Thank you for your card of sympathy, Mrs Roach, it was comforting to receive it. Let me guess, you were responsible for the sponge cake.’

  Barbara was delighted. ‘Yes! Yes, I was. How did you guess? I do the sponge cakes for all the village events.’

  ‘It takes a light hand to make a lighter than average sponge, Mrs Roach.’ Laura could see she had won a friend for life. If Cecil Roach was as dour as his hard, lined face and stiff clothes suggested, and she recalled Bill telling her he’d been caned often by ‘Old Cesspit’, Barbara never received compliments on her baking from her husband.

  Laura found herself monopolised by a group of villagers and Felicity Lean left before she could exchange more than a polite nod with her. Laura would like to have spoken to her. Did the elegant woman know that some people thought her husband was Bill’s father? She heard Harry’s pleasant tones filtering through from the doorway and a sudden hearty laugh. Evidently he had come back to collect his mother. Had Mrs Lean told her son the widow was staying in the village after all?

  Finding herself temporarily left alone, Laura responded to a mellow voice at her elbow. It came from a calm-faced man with such gentle brown eyes that Laura felt an immediate flicker of warmth towards him. Aged about thirty, he was dressed in a rather shabby suit which fitted in only a few places on his wide shoulders and otherwise lean frame. His hair was dark and curly. The few lines around his softly formed mouth and strong nose were made, Laura guessed, from kind and gentle smiles.