The Chain Garden (20 page)

Later, when Polly rubbed her eyes with her knuckles and said she was sorry for making her nan cry, he ached with compassion. She was six years old. She had lost both parents within a few months of each other. She had spent her childhood taking care of her siblings. Now she was apologising because her grief had upset her grandmother.

He supposed he ought to tell her to be brave, that her mother wouldn’t want her to weep. The words stuck in his throat. Instead he told her that sometimes, if she felt very sad, it was all right to cry. Her nan wouldn’t mind because she understood.

‘Even though your mother was a grown-up she was still your nan’s little girl. So your nan misses her too, just like you do.’

Polly peered at her grandmother whose face was wet with tears. After an instant’s startled glance in his direction Martha nodded. Edwin watched comprehension
and relief
fill the little girl’s red swollen eyes.

‘So I don’t have to be brave
all
the time?’

Catching Martha’s eye Edwin waited, saying nothing.

Swallowing audibly Martha smiled through her tears. ‘Of course you don’t, my bird. But shall us try not to cry in front of the little ones? I tell you what, when we’ve had tea and got these three up to bed, you and me’ll have a cuddle and I’ll tell you some of the things your ma got up to when she was your age. Like that would you?’

‘Oh yes,’ Polly breathed nodding vigorously. ‘Did she do naughty things sometimes?’

Martha nodded. ‘A little terror she was, and got her bottom smacked for it. But I loved her just the same. Just like I love you.’ Her voice breaking she cleared her throat loudly.

Scrambling down from the chair Polly picked up the empty water pitcher.

‘C’mon, Meg, coming up the pump with me?’

As the two children went out hand in hand Edwin followed them to the door.

Martha put down the bottle and tilted the baby forward over her splayed hand. As she rubbed and patted his back his head wobbled like a flower too heavy for its fragile stalk. ‘You’re a good man, Reverend.’

The words cut deep. Edwin raised a finger to his lips to silence her. ‘You know where I am if you need me, Mrs Tamblin.’

As he reached the junction between Miners Row and the main street the clock in the tower struck six. It had been a long and busy day. This last hour had resurrected memories he wished might have remained undisturbed. Bitterness snaked through him. God certainly moved in mysterious ways. In seeking to bring comfort to a child and her grandmother he had been brutally reminded of the reason his yearning for Grace could never be fulfilled.

He loved her but could never tell her so. He had deliberately avoided her. Now Doctor Ainsley’s request for his help meant he had to see her again. Rejoicing at the prospect he was horrified at the reason and anguished as he tried to imagine her suffering. He must never forget even for a moment that for him nothing would change. Though the opportunity to help her through this crisis was a precious gift, keeping his own feelings hidden would demand the kind of strength he wasn’t sure he possessed.

He started across the road taking little notice as a horse trotted up from the smithy.

‘Mr Philpotts?’

Glancing up he saw Bryce Damerel rein in.

‘Could I – do you have a moment?’

Edwin hesitated. ‘Is it important?’ Bryce’s expression blanked like shutters closing and Edwin realised he had been misled by the smile. This had not been a casual enquiry. Swiftly he tried to retrieve the situation. ‘Of course it is, or you wouldn’t have asked.’

‘No, it doesn’t matter. Really.’ Bryce shortened the reins and his horse moved forward. To delay him Edwin said the first thing that came into his head.

‘Dr Ainsley called to see me earlier –’

‘Dr Ainsley?’ The colour drained from Bryce’s face.

‘Yes. About Gr … about your sister. Was that what?’

‘No – Yes – I – Excuse me, I have to go.’

As the horse broke into a trot Edwin stared at Bryce’s back. He had an unpleasant feeling he had missed something important. No one could force a person to talk if they didn’t want to. But his initial response had hardly been encouraging. When he visited Damerel house in a few days’ time he would try to catch Bryce and apologise.

Dorcas’s garden gate squealed as Henry opened it then closed it again behind him, buoyant after his successful trip to Hayle. He was back where he belonged, on top and in control.

Expecting her to be in the garden his mouth had already shaped itself into a smile of greeting as he walked round the corner. The familiar sight of her easel with the chair behind it and the low table to one side warmed him. A backing board still rested on the pegs.

Now he was here he realised how much he had missed her. But there were only so many hours in a day. It was a matter of priorities. The cottage door was wide open.

As he approached it Dorcas appeared on the threshold, warned of a visitor by the squeaky hinge. But instead of coming out to greet him as she usually did, she remained where she was and folded her arms.

Guilt turned to irritation. He wasn’t in the mood for a scene. He raised his hands. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s weeks since I was here, but I’ve –’

‘Been busy? Indeed you have.’

Her tone made him think of a cliff-edge on a stormy night.
Something was wrong
. In all the years he had known her he had never seen that expression on her face. It stripped the flesh from his bones, exposed every nerve. Though distorted by the thick spectacle lenses her gaze was hard enough to bore through rock. He opened his mouth but she didn’t allow him time to speak.

‘I understand congratulations are in order.’

How had she found out? Who could have told her?

‘Dorcas.?’

‘You’re not going to deny it then? Tell me it’s all a mistake?’

‘No.’ He was determined to regain control of the situation. ‘I think it would be better if we discussed this inside.’

‘Still worried about your reputation?’ Her tone was a corrosive mixture of bitterness and pain.

‘No. But I am concerned about yours.’

‘Liar!’ As her face crumpled she whirled round and vanished inside. He followed, closing the door from force of habit. It was going to be far more difficult that he’d imagined. He stood looking out of the window onto the garden. He heard her moving about in the small kitchen. There was a splash of water. A few moments later she re-entered the cosy living room. He watched her cross to the only armchair.

In the past they had always sat together on the old sofa she had re-covered in holly-green velvet and brightened with gold and crimson cushions. Now he sat alone.

‘Dorcas, nothing will change. Nothing has changed. I was married before.’

‘To an invalid.’

‘I need no reminder.’

‘But Mary Prideaux is by all accounts a very healthy active woman. So,’ Dorcas’s spurious brightness set his teeth on edge. ‘Is this to be a marriage in name only? I thought not,’ she murmured as he looked away. ‘She’ll want a child while she’s still able.’

‘What’s wrong with that?’ Angry at feeling guilty, Henry was sharp. ‘Surely it’s a perfectly natural desire?’

‘Oh yes. If she is blessed, her child, unlike mine, will be fortunate enough to grow up knowing who its father is.’

Sliding from the sofa Henry knelt in front of her. He reached out to put his arms around her. But when she fended him off he sat back on his heels resting his hands on his thighs.

‘Dorcas try to understand. Mary is my only hope. Without her money
Wheal Providence
is finished. Thirty years of my life will be wiped out. Can’t you, just for a moment, think beyond your own hurt pride? Everything I possess is tied up in that mine. I’ve mortgaged the house. Over the years I’ve sold off every disposable asset –’

‘I know,’ she interrupted bitterly. ‘When I was living in Falmouth you had me evicted from my cottage so you could sell that.’

How in God’s name did she know?
Shaken, he rallied every argument he could think of. ‘You couldn’t have stayed there. Not after you fell pregnant. Isn’t this cottage better in every way? Doesn’t it have the garden you said you always wanted? Haven’t you told me countless times how happy you’ve been here?’

‘Yes. But that’s not the point.’

He pushed himself up onto the sofa, deliberately putting distance between them. ‘Then I don’t know what your point is. I brought you to a place where you were safe, where you could paint in peace, where you had privacy to come and go as you pleased.’

‘That was for your benefit, not mine.’

Ignoring this inconvenient truth he carried on. ‘You have lived here for thirty years and it hasn’t cost you –’

‘I’ve paid rent,’ she flared.

‘That barely covered the repairs and maintenance.’ He tried to get a grip on his temper. ‘I did it with the best of intentions. Because I loved – love – you. I wanted our son to grow up in safe surroundings.’

‘
Our
son? Suddenly Hal is
our
son? So why have you never acknowledged him?’

This was too much. ‘For God’s sake, Dorcas!’ Henry exploded. ‘Why are you bringing all this up now? Haven’t I got enough on my plate? Without Mary’s money it will all be over. Everyone who invested in the mine and remained loyal during the hard times will be wiped out. I don’t mean just the adventurers, the major investors. I’m talking about the dozens of small business owners and the miners themselves. More than half the men in the village will lose their jobs. I didn’t have any choice. Can’t you see that?’

‘So what happened to the money you raised from selling this cottage?’

He swallowed. ‘How?’

‘It doesn’t matter how I found out. This is the second time you have sold my home over my head. Why didn’t you tell me, Henry? Didn’t you think I’d be interested?’

‘It was a simple business move. A means of raising capital I desperately needed. Besides, it hasn’t made any difference. For heaven’s sake, you haven’t been put out on the street. You’re a sitting tenant. You’re safe. Indeed, considering your reaction I’m glad I didn’t tell you. You might at least
try
to understand my position.’

Taking off her glasses Dorcas rubbed her face. ‘Henry, I have spent the last thirty years understanding your position. Couldn’t you have talked to me first?’

He shrugged uncomfortably. ‘Everything happened so fast. Besides you’re so much a part of my life it never occurred to me it would make any difference. I still don’t see why it should.’

She stood up so quickly her glasses slid off the chair arm onto the floor. ‘It already has. You had better go.’

‘Dorcas, wait.’

‘No, Henry. Just go.’ As she went to open the door she tripped over the edge of the rug and staggered forward, banging her shoulder against the doorframe.

‘Are you all right?’

No, she wasn’t.

‘Here,’ he thrust the spectacles into her hand. ‘There’s no point having them if you don’t wear them.’ He saw her bite her lip as she put them on. ‘Did you hurt yourself?’

‘What do you care?’ Her voice was flat and cold as she held the door open.

‘You’re being ridiculous.’ There was no reasoning with her in this mood. With a shrug he walked past her and out into the evening sunshine. ‘I’ll come and see you again, when you’ve had time to calm down.’

‘I don’t think so. There’s nothing more to be said. It really is a pity you couldn’t have found time to talk to me first. I’d have told you my good news.’

‘Well, tell me now. What good news?’ It was probably something to do with her painting and he wasn’t really interested. But for old times’ sake he didn’t want to part on bad terms. He’d leave her alone for a month or two, give her time to start missing him.

‘Mr Williams at the Bank tells me that Hal has been sending money back to Cornwall. He wanted it invested in property. So guess who bought this cottage when you put it up for sale?’ She raised a hand not giving him the chance to interrupt. ‘He has also been putting money into shares for me. I didn’t know anything about this until a few weeks ago when I received a letter from a Stockbroker in London. I’m a wealthy woman, Henry.’ Her mouth twisted briefly. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to visit so I could tell you.’

While he stood on the step, stunned and speechless, she quietly closed the door in his face.

Chapter Twenty

Edwin waited five interminable days. To get through the long hours he kept himself busy. It wasn’t difficult. For a minister who took his work seriously there was always more to do than time available. He made his usual visits to the sick and elderly housebound. He spent twenty minutes each day at the school. He wrote letters, presided over meetings and put in an appearance at numerous village activities.

This morning he had woken knowing he could wait no longer. Today he would – must – go and see Grace. But by the time he had dealt with a succession of unexpected callers it was almost one and Flora was complaining about his lunch getting cold.

Telling her he would be out for the remainder of the afternoon and reminding her to write down any messages, he closed the door before she could ask where he was going and set off up the village. After the previous week’s violent storm, sultry heat had given way to gentle sunshine and invigorating fresh air. Ice-cream clouds were driven by a cool north-westerly breeze across a clear blue sky.

Edwin walked fast hoping that brisk exercise would dissolve the tension making his heart race and his hands shake. He was oblivious to the sights and sounds of an almost completed harvest, the honeysuckle and fat blackberries entangled in the hedgerows, the branches of elder bowed under the weight of glossy black clusters the size of tea plates. While he walked he prayed for guidance and help in alleviating her distress. Then he prayed for the strength to resist his own yearning.

As he approached the house along the avenue of lime trees he saw her on the portico that sheltered the front door behind massive columns rising to roof height. She was dressed and lying on a tartan blanket that covered the slats of a folding wooden chair. Propped up on cushions, her head tipped to one side, she appeared to be asleep. Then as his shoes crunched on the gravel he saw her look up. Her hands flew to her mouth.

His heartbeat was loud in his ears, painful against his ribs. He kept walking. Pleasure at seeing her again made him smile. As he reached the steps she sat up. She was visibly thinner and her cheeks were wet with tears. She fumbled for a handkerchief. Finding a square of lace-edged cambric she pressed it to her face as she struggled for control. Watching her try to swallow sobs as her shoulders heaved he sensed her isolation, her belief that what she had done disgusted him. He couldn’t allow her to think that was why he’d stayed away.

‘I wanted to come sooner.’

At his words her gaze flicked up to meet his. In her tear-washed eyes he read hope and a desperate wish to believe him. He felt his resolve slipping.

‘Your uncle – Doctor Ainsley – came to see me five days ago. He told me what had happened. I wanted to come immediately. He asked me not to. In fact he forbade me. He said you needed complete rest.’

She watched him, still silent.

Fighting the overwhelming urge to take her in his arms and hold her close he glanced around, looking for another seat. The porch was empty. To remain standing would be intimidating and convince her he was poised to leave at any moment. Her chair, made of teak, was sturdy and wide.

‘May I?’ he smiled indicating the area near her feet. ‘That is if you feel up to having company for a while?’

Shyly she moved her legs to one side and he perched on the lower corner of the chair, resting his weight on one hand.

‘I thought –’ Her voice sounded strained and husky, as if speech was an enormous effort. ‘I didn’t want – I was hoping –’ Words tumbled incoherently as she fretted with the damp crushed cambric. His heart was wrenched by her effort to smile. ‘Would you like some lemonade? Or tea? I can ring –’

‘No, please don’t.’

Her gaze slid away. ‘They think I’m mad.’

‘Do you think you’re mad?’

She sank back against the cushions. ‘I think I was, for a while. You see I’d found out – and I couldn’t tell anyone –’ Her breath caught on a sob. ‘But what I did was so wicked. Those flowers – It wasn’t their fault. I can’t believe I –’ She covered her trembling mouth with her fingers, her eyes huge and haunted.

Pulling a clean handkerchief from his pocket he shook the folds from the crisply ironed cotton and pressed it gently into her fingers.

‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, wiping her eyes and nose again. Then she shuddered violently. ‘My head
aches
with it all – I can’t stop thinking. I didn’t want to believe – but I know it’s true.’ She looked up at him, beseeching. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

‘Talk to me,’ he coaxed quietly. ‘There’s no one here but us. As a minister I am bound never to reveal a confidence. As a friend I give you my solemn oath that I will never, as long as I live, repeat anything you tell me.’

Her eyes filled again and he sensed the battle raging inside her. He leaned forward, linking his fingers, elbows propped on his parted knees.

‘Trust me, Grace. Please. I want to help.’

Her face crumpled like a child’s. As she covered it with the handkerchief, her body shaking with sobs she was trying valiantly to suppress, he gripped his clasped hands painfully tight so he would not reach for her.

She took a deep jerky breath. ‘I never liked it – the chain garden.’ Her voice was almost a whisper. Leaning forward so as not to miss anything he caught a faint waft of her fragrant soap. He flinched, tried to disguise it with an encouraging nod, and looked down at his hands, swallowing hard.
God help him.

‘Could you tell me why?’

She shrugged helplessly. ‘It was just a feeling. Then I bought a book at one of the chapel sales. I didn’t – If I’d known –’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘I’m sorry I’m not making much sense, am I?’

‘It’s all right,’ he said gently. ‘Take as long as you need.’

Slowly she began to explain about her mother’s planting schemes, about the flowers and their meanings, her mother, her father, Mary, Dorcas, and Hal. Now the dam of silence had been breached words poured from her in a torrent.

As he listened Edwin struggled with complex emotions, the strongest of which was compassion. Who knew better than he that under intense emotional stress people did things or behaved in ways they would not have believed themselves capable of.
Not me, I would never…I’m not that kind of person.
But everyone was, given the right circumstances.

Eventually the flood slowed to a trickle then stopped. Grace lay with her eyes closed. While her confession had taken a visible toll it had also freed her from quivering tension. Though she was pale and looked exhausted she seemed calmer.

He didn’t rush into speech. He sat quietly thinking about what she had said, allowing her time to recover. After a few minutes she opened her eyes, watching him, waiting and growing anxious.

‘It seems to me,’ he said, ‘that the chain garden may have been your mother’s way of dealing with a situation she could not fight, and over which she had no power. When she died everyone’s life changed. Yours changed most of all. It was right for you to cut the ties that bound you to the past, especially if they were not of your choosing. Though you were driven by impulse, what you did took great courage.’

Grace stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. He could see the effort it was costing her to adjust. She would have been expecting censure, disapproval, and condemnation.
Even from him.

‘Courage?’ She tested the word but could not accept it. ‘Oh no.’ Her head moved against the dark green velvet cushion. ‘I wasn’t brave. I was angry. I’ve never – such
rage
. It was terrifying.’

Edwin nodded. ‘Perhaps your mother had similar feelings and used the chain garden to express her anger and pain. But in doing so she also created something that was superficially very beautiful.’

Grace’s eyes filled again. ‘I destroyed it.’

‘I said superficially,’ he reminded her gently. ‘What you destroyed were reflections of unhappiness. No one else in the family would have dared suggest changing the chain garden. It was too closely associated with your mother. Now it’s – it’s a blank canvas. The beds can be planted with –’ he spread his hands, ‘what about pink roses? They will fill the garden with beauty and perfume.
T
heir
only significance is love.’

It was only when he saw soft colour creep into her pale cheeks that he realised the deeper, more personal significance of what he had said. Glimpsing sudden leaping hope in her eyes he looked down at his hands.

He had to tell her. If he did, she might never want to see or speak to him again. She had trusted him, bared her soul. Integrity demanded he return that trust. He loved her. Instinct and her reaction told him that she felt the same about him. He wanted to marry her, have children with her and spend the rest of his life with her.

But he could not propose, not until she knew the full truth. Only then would she be in a position to decide whether she could commit her life and future into his care. He had to tell her.

Something of his agony must have shown in his face. For when he looked up she caught her breath.

‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

He gripped his hands more tightly, deliberately digging his thumbnails into his palms. ‘Grace, we’ve talked about what you did, about your reasons, and how guilty you felt afterwards. I hope I’ve helped you to see it differently now?’

She nodded. ‘Yes.’

His mouth was so dry he had to swallow before he could speak. ‘I must tell you that I have a stain on my soul far greater than any you could aspire to, or even imagine.’

Then without once allowing his gaze to drop from hers he described the nightmare events that had resulted in his departure from India.

As he talked her expression vividly reflected her horror at Lewis’s betrayal of all that the mission stood for, and her grief for Akhil’s suffering. When at last he stopped her mouth was trembling. Leaning forward she laid a tentative hand over his white knuckles.

‘What Mr Preston did was a terrible,
terrible
thing, all the worse because he was in a position of trust. I’m sure there must be a special place in hell for people who harm children.’

Edwin steeled himself. ‘The thing is… Grace, I will never know for certain if Lewis’s death was truly an accident.’

Bewilderment deepened her frown. ‘I don’t understand. I thought – Didn’t you say Mr Preston grabbed the dagger? That you were fighting him off when – when he – was stabbed?’

Nodding, Edwin moistened his lips. ‘Yes. But for an instant, in my heart, I
wanted
to kill him. I didn’t think he deserved to live after the dreadful damage he had done, to Akhil, and all the other children I never knew about. As a minister of God I preach forgiveness and redemption. Yet I wanted to take the life of another human being.’

Seeing that she didn’t know how to respond he stood up. ‘I’ll leave you now. You must be very tired.’ The sound of hooves made him look over his shoulder. ‘You have another visitor. I think it’s the doctor.’

John Ainsley had dismounted and was walking briskly towards the steps.

‘Thank you.’ Grace spoke quickly in a low tone. ‘For everything.’

Teeth clenched, Edwin nodded. Though he wished they’d had longer, he knew she would need days rather than hours to fully absorb what he had told her and all its implications.

‘Good afternoon to you both.’ John Ainsley’s smile held relief as his gaze slid past Edwin to Grace. ‘How are you feeling, my dear?’

Watching Grace’s wan face Edwin’s emotions were in turmoil.
He shouldn’t have told her. She had been through enough. Yet having asked for and been given her total trust, how could he have remained silent? What would happen now that she knew?

Her tear-swollen gaze caught his, the contact too brief for him to read. Then she looked at her uncle and tried to smile.

‘Better, thank you.’

As Edwin turned to leave, John patted his arm and murmured, ‘Well done.’

Edwin nodded grimly and walked away. She needed time: time to recover and time to think. All he could do was wait. Purgatory could not be worse than this.

Bryce turned so that the lowering sun was at his back and raised his camera. Beyond the moored schooners and brigs, quay punts and fishing boats, two six-oar gigs knifed through the dancing water, their muscular crews practising tactics. Tremorvah regatta, the last of the season, would take place the following week, and competition between the boats was fierce.

Though golden light and lengthening shadows warned him he was unlikely to get optimum results from his new purchase, he didn’t want to leave the quay just yet. There was a camera club meeting at the Polytechnic Gallery. He wouldn’t attend.

He had tried to picture himself turning up as usual. But when he thought about the effort of pretending everything was fine, that he hadn’t a care in the world, he knew he couldn’t do it. Half the members had no idea about what had happened. The others – those who knew only too well – would be watching him. He had not breathed a word. Surely they realised that he wouldn’t? He could only expose them by admitting his own involvement. The repercussions for his family were too appalling for him even to consider such a move.

He hadn’t been able to face staying at home. Grace was showing signs of recovery, but she was vague and self-absorbed, not hearing when spoken to, going off by herself for short walks. When he had asked if anything was bothering her, hoping for a chance to re-establish their former closeness, she had shaken her head, claiming she was still tired.

He couldn’t – didn’t – blame her for not wanting to talk to him. In recent weeks when she had tried, he had almost bitten her head off. Now he wanted to build bridges and needed a confidante he could trust, she was preoccupied.

Granny Hester seemed to be in a permanent state of nervous collapse. At least she was keeping to her room so they were spared her constant carping and self-pity.

As for his father – though bereavement and problems at the mine offered some excuse – his unpredictable swings from jocular to irascible made him difficult company. Not that he was around much. The business trips he was making almost daily demanded an early start whether he was travelling by train, on horseback, or in his light carriage. He rarely returned before dark.