The Loner (11 page)

‘Here, Viv,' Gill put another slice of tart on her plate.

‘Adelaide was described as fragile,' Jess continued. ‘In middle-class Victorian England this was considered the mark of a lady. Henry was fond of Adelaide and she declared that if any obstacle was put in the way of their marriage, she would remain single for the rest of her life.'

‘Sounds a bit intense to me,' Annie murmured.

‘You have no idea,' Jess said. ‘Adelaide brought a large dowry to the marriage. So even allowing for her jointure –'

‘What's that then?' Viv demanded.

Jess turned to the back of the folder. ‘A jointure is money or property settled on a wife by her husband to support her in her widowhood should he die first.'

‘They done things proper back then,' Mor declared.

‘Now there's life insurance,' Annie said.

‘If you're lucky.' Gill directed a sympathetic smile at Jess.

‘And the stingy sod have paid the premiums,' Viv added.

Jess grinned. ‘Fat chance of me going into a decline with you lot around.'

‘All that drooping and wailing?' Annie snorted. ‘I got no time for it. Come on then, we'll be here all night else.'

‘I found letters from several doctors about Adelaide. She would fall into deep depressions that lasted several weeks –'

‘I knew it,' Annie said. ‘No wonder her family was keen to get her married off.'

Ignoring the interruptions, Jess kept going. ‘Then she would start to improve. But instead of levelling out, her mood would soar to euphoria. She only slept three or four hours a night and crammed her days with social activities. But after two or three weeks, exhaustion would plunge her back into despair and depression. I found accounts for all kinds of medicines and treatments. One was from a private sanatorium that looked after half a dozen patients considered a danger to others and at risk of self-harm.'

‘She was in some bad way then,' Viv said.

‘You haven't heard the worst of it. In 1918 Adelaide Chenhall was accused of killing a local doctor believed to be her lover. She was judged unfit to stand trial by reason of insanity and confined to the private wing of the Cornwall County asylum at Bodmin.'

‘Dear life,' Mor gasped.

‘Surely her being mad was grounds for divorce?' Gill said.

Jess nodded. ‘Henry's solicitor believed he would get a sympathetic hearing if he applied. But he wouldn't because it would have been reported in the papers. That would have made her condition public and shamed her family.'

‘So he was tied to a madwoman,' Viv said, ‘with no hope of marrying anyone else.'

‘Exactly,' Jess said. ‘By 1914 Gilbert & Sullivan operas were hugely popular. All over Britain amateur operatic societies were performing them under licence. The terms of the licenses were very strict, not just about details of the costumes and sets, but about the morals of the cast as well.'

‘Cheek!' Viv huffed.

‘Things was different then,' Gill reminded.

‘In 1915 Henry applied to join the army but was rejected on medical grounds. He'd had rheumatic fever as a child and this had left him with a weak heart. As he couldn't fight he threw himself into raising funds for the War Field Hospitals' Supply Unit. He organised swimming galas, sports events, and concerts.

‘After the terrible battles in northern France, some of the casualties were brought to Falmouth. Schools and halls were turned into temporary hospitals. Local people set up canteens in churches, and soldiers were taken into homes all over the town.

‘In 1918 Henry spent some time in a London hospital. Then in 1920 he returned to Cornwall where sisters Maisie and Evelyn Radford were becoming known for staging grand opera and choral recitals. Henry preferred Gilbert & Sullivan and attended a production of
Princess Ida
staged at the Palace Theatre in Berkeley Vale.

‘One of the lead roles was played by twenty-year-old Marigold Mitchell. A good actress with a beautiful voice, she had been with the society since the age of fourteen. After the show Henry asked to meet the cast. He praised them all, but it was Marigold who entranced him. He was forty-eight years old, shy, stressed, and lonely, and he fell headlong in love with her.' Jess looked up and saw them watching her.

‘Go on then,' Viv urged.

‘What are you waiting for?' Annie demanded.

Smothering a smile, Jess returned to her notes. ‘Henry stayed to talk to the producer, determined to invest in costumes and sets for more Gilbert & Sullivan operas.

‘Marigold lived with her widowed mother, Sarah, a dressmaker employed in Downing's Drapers. Marigold worked in Downing's office as a typist. Sarah was involved with the society, altering and repairing costumes. Her late husband's mother lived with them in a small cottage in Coke's Backlet off Church Street.

‘I found Marigold's replies to Henry's invitation to supper. In the first she thanked him but declined. When he asked again, this time including her mother if she would kindly consent to come too, Marigold accepted.

‘Sarah Mitchell wrote to Henry saying she admired his efforts to alleviate the suffering of men injured in the war, and his generosity in supporting the society with a view to raising more money. However, as he was married and his wife was in Bodmin asylum, she could not but be concerned about his intentions towards her daughter.

‘There wasn't a copy of Henry's reply. But in Sarah's response she says she will be honest in return. She cannot deny that Marigold loves him. But persisting in his attentions will deny her any chance of marriage and a family.

‘I found a heart-wrenching letter from Henry in which he cites Sarah's arguments and tells Marigold they must part.'

‘No!' Viv moaned.

Annie shushed her.

‘Marigold stayed calm. She wrote saying she was truly blessed to have him and her mother care so deeply for her. But it was her life, her decision, and she wouldn't give him up. He had married his wife in good faith. No one could have foreseen her tragic illness.'

‘I bet her family wasn't surprised,' Annie muttered darkly.

‘Shhh,' hissed Gill and Viv.

‘Marigold told him that no one can see the future. Her mother would have to accept that she loved him, as would he.

‘Henry planned to stage five G&S operas from May to September, changing every month. After the summer visitors had gone, the winter months would be spent learning new operas, rehearsing, and making new sets and costumes.

‘After Marigold's grandmother died, Marigold and Sarah had to leave the cottage. Henry moved them into the Market Street property. But this cost Marigold and Sarah their jobs at Downing's. Without Henry's financial support their situation would have been desperate. Meanwhile the ongoing costs of Adelaide's care were a drain on him.

‘Living upstairs, Marigold and her mother had a bedroom each, a sitting room, and bathroom. Sarah had a south-facing workroom at the back and took in sewing and dressmaking alterations.

‘Marigold decided to open a café on the ground floor and decorated it with posters and playbills. She hired a cook who was also a member of the society, two waitresses, and a girl to wash up. A letter from Henry's accountant praised Marigold's financial management.

‘Henry varied the winter program at the Palace Theatre by inviting other companies to stage musical variety shows or put on a pantomime.

‘In 1930 Marigold fell pregnant. But when her pregnancy began to show, Henry had to tell her she couldn't take part in the operas any more.'

‘Why not?' Gill demanded.

‘She was unmarried and expecting a child. That went against the morality clause and the licenses wouldn't be renewed. Marigold was afraid he would leave her.' Jess swallowed. ‘In the folder was a draft of his letter to her in reply. He confessed his guilt that he had never loved Adelaide the way he loved her, and though they did not have the benefit of a church blessing, he was hers body and soul. Picture me sitting in the Record Office with tears streaming down my face.' She spoke lightly but the memory made her throat ache.

‘Marigold had a daughter. Henry registered her birth and was named as the father. They called her Zoe.' Jess swallowed hard. ‘She died two weeks later.'

Mor and Viv gasped.

‘Though Henry and Marigold were devastated, the loss brought them closer. Henry paid Sarah to make costumes for the productions. Though Marigold was still running the café, he asked her to train new actresses and singers joining the society – who better?'

‘He wanted her to feel needed,' Mor said, her chin quivering. Viv patted her hand.

‘Society members with carpentry or painting skills built and refurbished the sets,' Jess continued. ‘The shows were popular and well supported. Then in 1938 Henry fell ill with heart problems. His producer and stage director asked Marigold to take charge of the company. Thanks to Henry sharing all the financial details with her because he trusted and valued her opinion, she proved to be a shrewd and capable manager.'

Jess cleared her throat and steeled herself. ‘Henry died in 1939, aged sixty-seven. Marigold was devastated. Together nearly twenty years, he had been her only love. The report of his funeral in the local papers focused on his wartime fundraising and his dedication to the operatic society. The church was overflowing. Confined in Bodmin Asylum, Adelaide did not attend. At the burial Marigold was told by Henry's solicitor that the Market Street property was hers for her lifetime.'

Viv got up, wiping her eyes. ‘Wrung out I am.' She crossed to the sink and refilled the kettle.

‘What happened to her after?' Mor said, wiping her nose and tucking the tissue up her cardigan sleeve.

‘Took the words out of my mouth you did, Mor,' Gill said.

‘You have got the rest?' Annie demanded.

‘Yes. But I need a drink first. My throat's dry as sandpaper.'

With fresh tea made and poured, Jess described the rescue from Dunkirk. ‘But a hundred and forty thousand soldiers were still in France. Eight thousand were taken prisoner when Paris surrendered in June. The others, along with civilians fleeing the German advance, crowded onto every boat they could find and escaped across the Channel. Steamers, trawlers, liners, cargo boats, and naval craft arrived in Falmouth crammed with exhausted, filthy, and hungry people. Forced marches had left soldiers' feet so swollen their boots had to be cut off.'

‘My uncle was one of them,' Annie broke in. ‘He said people were good as gold, offering them cups of tea and all. But they had to be very careful and only drink tiny sips at a time.'

‘Why was that, Annie?' Mor asked.

‘Because the sea was covered in oil and they'd swallowed it when they swam out to the boats.'

‘Dear life!' Gill was horrified.

‘Soon after, refugees started arriving from the Channel Islands. They were followed by twenty thousand evacuees from London and other cities,' Jess continued. ‘Marigold organised concert parties to raise morale. With many of the cast called up, wounded, or killed she returned to the stage herself and encouraged fresh talent.

‘Some newspaper reports were supportive. Others questioned her fitness to train impressionable young people. But they were shouted down by all those who remembered the money she and Henry Chenhall had raised for the World War One relief effort.

‘In 1944 Sarah's sight failed and the effects of rationing made it impossible for them to keep the café going. That was when Marigold boxed up all the memorabilia and stored it in the attic, then turned the café into a lunchtime soup kitchen for the needy.

‘In 1950 she leased the café to a new tenant who turned it into a coffee bar. In 1952, the year of the Queen's coronation, Sarah died, aged seventy-seven.

‘Marigold died in 1975 and the property reverted to the estate. The new owner was a second cousin of Henry's. After lying empty for a while the ground floor was reopened as a burger bar, then a vegetarian café, as I'm sure you all remember. Then back last year Simon Opie, the son of Henry's heir, inherited the estate.' Jess closed her folder. ‘The rest you know.'

‘That was some story, Jess,' Gill said.

‘You brung it all to life,' Mor wiped her eyes again.

‘I don't want to hear no more talk about you stopping,' Annie warned.

‘She's right, Jess,' Viv said. ‘Listening to that it was like Marigold and Henry was here, like we knew them.' She pushed herself off the sofa. ‘'Tis no good, I got to go. I been sitting here with my legs crossed because I didn't want to miss nothing.'

As she bolted upstairs the others all got up. Gill went to the sink and turned on the tap, and Annie and Mor began collecting the used crockery.

‘Tell you what I heard today,' Gill said over her shoulder. ‘Treeve Kingdon have bought the farm alongside the marina.'

‘What do Boss want with a farm?' Mor asked, drying the plates as Gill washed them.

‘He's going to turn the old barns and cowsheds into holiday lets.'

‘Never mind that,' Viv said from the stairs, ‘what about Mor's hen night?'

‘I don't want –' Mor began.

‘'Course you do,' Viv said.

‘Don't worry, Mor,' Annie patted her arm. ‘I won't let them go mad.'

‘We got to see you off in style,' Gill said.

Morwenna eyes filled. ‘I can't hardly believe it. I never expected –'

Jess put an arm around her. ‘We're your friends, Mor. You're stuck with us now.'

The End

Rachel's Recipe

Leek and potato soup

Ingredients

1lb potatoes

2 large leeks

1 rasher bacon

Salt and pepper

¾pint stock

¼pint milk

½oz butter.

Chop the bacon up small and fry lightly in a saucepan. Add the butter, sliced leeks, and peeled diced potatoes. Cook on a gentle heat until the vegetables are tender. Add the stock, season well, and cover. Simmer for a further twenty minutes. Add the milk to the soup just before serving. Reheat and add more seasoning if necessary. Delicious with a sprinkling of finely grated cheddar cheese.