Portrait of a Girl (16 page)

‘
That rich Mr Verne you used to know—’ Joe said to me one day, ‘they say he’s not there any more—’

My
heart jerked for a second, stood still, and then raced on again. ‘Gone away, do you mean?’ I asked.

‘
Not exactly. But I’ve heard tell he goes up country a lot. Funny though — he called the other day—’

‘
Here? At the Golden Bird?’ I gasped.

‘
That’s right,’ Joe answered, polishing a glass and not looking at me.

‘
But why didn’t you say?’

‘
I wasn’t here,’ Joe told me with a shrug. ‘Neither was Maria — she’d gone out to the market. It was that new boy we have who took the message.’

‘
For me?’

‘
He
asked
for you. According to the lad — what he said was — did a young lady called Miss Brown or something or other live here — one who sang and danced at nights?’ and the boy said no, he hadn’t heard o’ one, there was only a guest, he said, a rich lookin’ lady with a deep voice; not a singin’ one at all. An’ he doubted she could dance. She was kind o’ proud, an’ a bit buxom-like. He’d not heard her name, he said. Well, it was true, wasn’t it?’ Joe looked up and eyed me quizzically. ‘You never
do
sing now, and you don’t converse much either, and the lad’d only bin here two days.’

‘
I can’t sing,’ I said. ‘My throat’s still a bit raw. But I wish you’d told me before, Joe. How long ago was it?’

‘
A week or so,’ he said. ‘I didn’t think it was that important.
Is
it?’

‘
It could be,’ I replied evasively. ‘It could be something to do with Signor Luigi, I suppose.’

‘
Oh. That Italiano. But he don’t matter to you any more does he?’

‘
If — when — when I
do
recover properly,’ I said, ‘and I shall, I’m sure I shall—’

‘
Then you’ll be here with
us
, won’t you? Isn’t that what was arranged? Once you was better you said, you’d be part of the Golden Bird like ‘twas in the past.’

‘
Yes,’ I said, feeling suddenly miserable. ‘Of course.’

The
matter was dropped there outwardly, but I knew the time was coming for a change. Either I had to tell Maria about the baby, or find a future somewhere else. But where? And what would I do? Somehow I had to make a living. ‘Oh Rupert,’ I thought, ‘why didn’t you stay here longer? Why didn’t you wait to see Joe or Maria? And where are you? Why did you have to go away?’

The
string of questions rang through my brain ceaselessly. But it was not until a week later that I found courage to face Maria with the truth.

‘
I have to leave; Maria dear,’ I told her one evening before the taproom opened. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I know I can never properly repay you for all you’ve done for me, but — I have to find Mr Verne.’

She
stared at me for seconds before making any comment. I could feel her gaze searching my face. Then she said, ‘I see. So it’s him.’

‘
Him? What do you mean?’

‘
You know very well. Part of you’s been with us since you landed here those months’ ago, but not your heart, girl. Oh, you’re fond of us, but being fond’s a different kind o’ thing to loving. And I reckon you love that rich gentleman, for all he’s left you wantin’ and longin’.’

‘
No, he didn’t leave me. I left him,’ I stated flatly. ‘Because he didn’t need me enough, and because of his wife. She hated me, and things happened that weren’t — good. Strange, dreadful things. I think she was at the back of them all.’

Maria
sighed.

‘
Then for heaven’s sake why d’you want to return? ’Specially when he probably isn’t there. I’ve told you what the lad said, how he was always taking off up country. What’s the sense of going back then? You tell me that.’

‘
There isn’t always sense in loving, I suppose,’ I admitted, feeling the old knot of pain at my heart. ‘It just happens and once it’s there, there’s no way of stopping it. You go on, and on, and try to think the world’s the same place, but it isn’t — it never could be. These few months I’ve tried to harden myself against it, I have
tried
. But, Maria, what’s the point when — when—’

I
stumbled over my words, hesitated, while she questioned, ‘Go on, when what, girl?’

‘
When I’m going to have a baby,’ I blurted out.

There
was a long pause; my heart steadied gradually, relief at telling her made me suddenly more relaxed and content. When I looked at her face she was shaking her head, astonishment slowly giving place to acceptance of news that was distasteful to her.

‘
So that’s it,’ she said at last. ‘The reason for it all — your silences and dizzy spells. I might’ve known.’

‘
No, how could you? You didn’t expect it of me. Neither did I — I was always so — well, prim with the men, wasn’t I, during the time I sang for you? But this is different, Maria,’ I touched her hand tentatively. ‘It’s true, and real, and I couldn’t fight against it — I
wouldn’t
have anyway. From the first moment I saw him it started. How can I explain? I just can’t. It was just—’

‘
A middle-aged man with gold in his pocket putting a spell on an innocent girl,’ Maria interrupted tartly. ‘Oh, I know the sort. But I wouldn’t have expected it of him — not of Mr Verne.’

‘
You don’t know him. And it wasn’t like that at all. Rather the other way round. I don’t expect you to understand. But please
try
.’

Maria
clasped her hands over her ample breasts. ‘I don’t know what Joe’ll say. He’ll be shocked, ’specially as he has a weak spot for you and expected you’d carry on here later as you did before.’

‘
Perhaps I will — later, when everything’s over, the baby, I mean,’ I told her. ‘If you’ll have me, that is. It all depends on Rupert. But you see now, don’t you, why I have to go?’

‘
No
. You could have the child here. This is a decent tavern. The child’d have a good home. There’d be no stintin’ or scrapin’. — Whether you sang or not, you’d be good for the Golden Bird; you could help—’

‘
Not if Rupert wants me,’ I said firmly.

‘
But, Josie, just get things straight in that muddle head o’ yours. As you said yourself, he’s married. His wife’s sick and difficult — what d’you think your appearing in your state is going to do for him? Tell me that. Expect a welcome, do you? Then it’s high time you had another think.’

But
I was beyond thinking.

‘
I must go to Rupert,’ I said. ‘There are things I have to find out, and explain. I have to know what’s been happening to him. I
have
to.’

‘
And
where
will you go? That there cottage of his? Or Kerrysmoor itself?’ Her voice had become hard, bitter.

‘
No, I shall go to Truro first, The Crown where Rupert meant me to be when I left Tregonnis. They’ll help me there, I’m sure they will, and I shall at least have news. There’s Signor Luigi, too. He’s sure to have knowledge of Rupert’s affairs and whereabouts.’

At
last, after further argument and protestations, Maria had to accept my decision. When Joe heard later, he was saddened rather than shocked; his attitude was more reasonable than Maria’s, perhaps because men in certain circumstances have the aptitude for seeing things in a different light.

It
was arranged, therefore, that I should take the postchaise from Falmouth for Truro the following week, on the understanding that if matters were unsatisfactory and didn’t work out for me I would return immediately to the Golden Bird. Oh, they were good folk, and insisted on returning most of the payment I’d forced on them to help pay for my board at the inn.

‘
You take it,’ Joe said, forcing a wallet into my hand when I was about to start off for the square where the chaise waited. ‘You’ll need it sure enough, in that fancy place. Put it in your valise now, an’ don’t let any pryin’ Johnny know you’ve got it. Funny folk travels about nowadays.’

Gratitude
almost brought tears to my eyes. I felt momentarily guilty at abandoning the two people who’d grown to care for me almost as a daughter during the time I was with them.

Was
I doing the wise thing? I didn’t know, or really care. Ten minutes’ later, to the clatter of wheels and hollow sound of horses’ hooves, only one thought registered in my mind. I had started on the journey that in one way or another must bring me news of Rupert Verne.

Chapter Eleven

Although quite a time had passed since Rupert had written the note ensuring his responsibility for me at the inn, the landlord received me politely, and I was given a pleasant but old-fashioned bedroom, looking over a kind of courtyard bordered by a granite wall and a few almost leafless trees. There was a framed oleograph of General Gordon hanging on one wall, and a picture depicting Queen Victoria’s coronation on another. Two angels escorting a little child in a nightgown to Heaven hung immediately over the heavy oak four-poster bed. The furniture was dark mahogony, and a smell of camphor mingled with the faint tang of malt permeated the air. The china ewer and basin on the washstand were patterned with pink roses, and the curtains were heavy crimson plush, on each side of a blind that rattled when pulled by a cord.

A
framed religious text stood on the chest of drawers; I had no doubt that it was considered a privilege to occupy such a room, but a weary sense of depression fell on me. I felt smothered at first, with an almost hysterical urge to escape and somehow find transport to Tregonnis immediately.

But
I managed to curb my impatience and to eat the ample evening meal provided of roast beef, vegetables, and apple pie.

I
didn’t think I’d manage to sleep well in the stuffy surroundings, but I did, I was too exhausted to keep awake, and in the morning after a good breakfast of gruel and boiled ham, I made enquiries about Signor Luigi.

‘
Luigi?’ the manageress asked me, arching her heavy black brows over a hawk-like nose. ‘You meant the proud little Italiano? — the music teacher?’

‘
Yes. I have to contact him.’

She
was a stout woman with her dark hair piled high over a plump pink face. Gold rings dangled from her ears, jet beads and locket decorated her large bosom.

‘
He is a friend of Mr Verne’s,’ I explained, ‘and was giving me singing lessons until — well, until my throat became bad — I had a fever you see, and had to stop them. But it’s important I contact him now. Which is the quickest way to his home? I feel like walking, and—’

‘
Oh, but you won’t find him there now,’ the plump woman stated very definitely, ‘He’s gone.’

‘
Gone
?’

She
shrugged. There was something Spanish about her, nonchalant and slightly contemptuous, as though a famous maestro was of no consequence to the clientele of the hostelry.

‘
That’s what I said,’ she told me. ‘You never know when those foreigners are likely to take off. He’ll be back, of course, sometime; he often does it in the winter — prefers a bit of sun on the continent to the cold here. I don’t blame him, being a free man, if he is. But then you never know, do you? He could have a wife or a woman tucked away in Italy.’ She paused, eyeing me shrewdly, ‘Was your business important with him, Miss — Miss—?’

‘
Lebrun,’ I answered. ‘Josephine Lebrun.’

‘
Ah yes. I remember now.’ She folded her arms and regarded me knowingly.

‘
And my business wasn’t important,’ I added, before she could get another question in. ‘Not with Signor Luigi. The person I really have to contact is my — my—’ I searched for the right word and miraculously found it ‘— my sponsor, whose name you have, Mr Verne. First of all, though, before going to Kerrysmoor, I have to call at Tregonnis.’

Her
jaw dropped. ‘Isn’t that the place, the cottage where — where that dreadful thing happened?’

‘
What dreadful thing?’ I asked sharply. ‘What do you mean? What’s happened?’

Her
mouth tightened into a small button.

‘
Ah. That’s what we’d all like to know. But if you go there you’ll certainly have a shock, Miss — Miss Lebrun. As for Mr Verne — it’s hardly likely you’ll find him at Kerrysmoor. Not at the moment.’

‘
But
why
? You
must
explain.’

‘
Pardon me!’ she said in ridiculously haughty tones. ‘There’s no must about it. I gave my solemn word to Master Verne to keep my mouth shut about things going on in that bad place — we all have. All of us here. Of course, there are all manners of rumours spreading, some may be true, some not. But if you take my advice you’ll stay here for a time until Mr Verne makes it his business to contact you. When you didn’t turn up before he was very put out, and called here twice. It was, if I may say so, a little thoughtless of you to go wandering about when you were under his protection. Still, that’s not my affair. I have collateral, and assurances from him that any expenses incurred by you will be amply repaid. You are, in a way, under our protection. I hope you get my meaning, Miss Lebrun.’

Yes,
I got her meaning, and I had not the slightest intention of complying with it.

At
the first opportunity I decided to sneak out of the Crown and somehow make my way to Tregonnis.

The
opportunity arrived that same afternoon. A November mist hung heavily over the streets of Truro, and with my valise packed, and wearing my brown cape over the warmest and most inconspicuous gown I had with me, I made my way softly down the stairs, tip-toed past the parlour where the landlady was having her beverage of tea, laced, I guessed, with something stronger.

A
wave of foggy air greeted me as I stepped into the street. Any traffic there was, crawled. Figures were mere blurred shapes passing by. This was all to my advantage. No one would be likely to notice the indeterminate figure of a woman passing with chin sunk into dark clothing, just one chilly pedestrian among others making her way to some vague destination. I walked aimlessly for a time, simply taking any corner that appeared unexpectedly willy-nilly, uncaring of where it led. At one point I tried to hail a cab, but the jarvy was huddled into his coat and passed unheedingly, which perhaps was as well. I was getting short of funds, and realised that I’d probably need all I’d got for cheaper transport covering a longer distance. Tregonnis was a considerable distance from Truro — a fact that I’d not properly considered before.

At
last I came to the outskirts of the city. The lights that had feebly illuminated the streets before, had flickered out one by one. All now was hushed and grey, and dark. Hedges, the occasional distorted shape of a building or shed came into looming blurred visibility then faded again, taken into coils of thick vapour. A damp river smell crept from low land to the road, and I had a brief glimpse of what could have been water lying beyond a clump of bushes. The next moment it had gone. I walked on mechanically for some way, chilled and a little frightened, knowing I had behaved unreasonably. It would have been wiser to have waited until the morning when the fog might have cleared. How would I reach Tregonnis in such weather? How would I find shelter of any kind to help me on my way?

I
was debating whether to turn and somehow find my way back to the Crown when a beam of reddish light straggled through the mist some distance ahead of me. As I drew closer I realised it filtered from somewhere round a bend in the roadway, carrying with it a distant malty smell characteristic of a tavern or kiddleywink. Relief filled me. An inn of any kind must provide temporary warmth and shelter.

I
quickened my steps, and was taking the corner when a broad shape lumbered against me, swaying and muttering obscenities. I almost fell, but managed to step aside and plunge on, with the reeking smell of spirits thick in my nostrils. The inn stood on my left. There was a sign of some sort swinging over the door, making a creaking sound that became peculiarly interrupted with the rise and fall of voices and raucous laughter from inside. Remembering to keep my reticule safely close in an inner pocket of my cape, I entered. The air inside was thick and cloying, steamy with male breath and beer. I hesitated before entering the tap room, and put my valise down for a moment to easy my aching arm. It was then that a burly figure emerged from the bar, obviously on the point of leaving. In the glow of the reddish oil lamp his face showed a rubicund and rustic kindliness that somehow suggested he could be a local man, probably a farmer, and that he was not inebriated.

‘
Well!’ he exclaimed in a Cornish burr, ‘a lady, on a night like this, an’ alone. Where ee bin from, m’ dear, and where ee be too? Tedn’ a right place for ee in theer. Travellin’? Eh?’

In
a rush, because I had no one else to confide in, and he appeared honest enough, I told him I had to get to Tregonnis that night somehow, that I could pay a certain amount for transport, and that if he knew of anyone willing to take me, or a waggon—

‘
It’s very important,’ I urged. ‘I was wondering whether to stay here, if they could put me up, and then start off early when the light was better. But what I have in my — in my bag — isn’t enough for a proper bedroom and food, and — and—’ I broke off desperately, knowing I was making a poor exhibition of myself.

A
large palm descended on my shoulder.

‘
Midear young wumman, this place edn’ for the like of you, an’ like as not theers no space ’tall for virtue this night. A man o’ any kind c’n take care of isself, but
you
?’ He gave a gruff laugh, ‘Now tell you what, chile, I can’t say I’ve heard tell o’ this ’ere Tregonnis you do speak of, but I’ve me cart outside an’ good stout mare. Goin’ westwards I am, of I can give ee a ride — alongside, I’ll do et willin’, an’ no questions asked. No pay neither. Joseph Killiwarne I be, an’ the Killiwarne’s is honest farmin’ folk—’

Well,
I accepted the offer gratefully, and minutes later I was once more setting off, with someone I’d never seen or heard of before, into the dark and thickening Cornish night. He’d said westwards, and Tregonnis was to the west, in the direction of the wild North Coast.

We
’d been driving only a few minutes before he asked, ‘Where’s it near to? This Tre — Tre-whatsit? — you mentioned?’

‘
Kerrysmoor,’ I told him. ‘Mr — Mr Verne’s place.’

‘
Ah
!
Him
.’

‘
Do you know him by any chance?’

‘
Only by repute midear, as they say. ’Bin trouble like, I do b’lieve. Some wumman.’

My
heart sank. I felt suddenly so very alone and lost again.

‘
Oh. I had heard but wasn’t sure what the trouble was. But I—’ I thought up as reasonable an explanation as I could. ‘I used to work there. And I’ve business to discuss.’

‘
I see. I see. Tedn’ my affair midear. Whatever business you do have mus’ be important to get you goin’ theer on a night like this. Funny weather. I doan altogether like et. Could be a storm comin’, one o’ they freak kind you doan quite know what t’expect. Bein’ used to the land an’ its ways, I got a nose for this sort o’ thing. Ais! — a storm brewin’ for sure.’ He paused, and when I said nothing, continued, ‘Know Tharne, do ee?’

‘
Oh
yes
,’ I exclaimed. ‘Tharne isn’t far from Tregonnis. If you could put me down there, I’d be perfectly all right.’

‘
Depend on th’ fog,’ the man said. ‘We’ll see. I’ve a nephew theer, callin’ on him I am, before tekkin’ off ’gain, f’r Penzance way.’

I
didn’t ask his nephew’s name, or probe in any way about his business. Neither did I comment on the fact that it was unusual for any farmer to be making such a journey at so late an hour. It wasn’t my affair. He could be involved in any lucrative sideline. What lay under cover at the back of his cart was his concern and his alone, whether of a legal or smuggling nature.

So
we clattered on down unknown ways and turns stopping only occasionally to give the horse a rest, while Joe Killiwarne took a nip of whisky from a bottle, and forced a little on me.

Very
gradually the fog lifted considerably, revealing, as the man had predicted, a sullen belt of black cloud, blanketing the night sky. Everything was very still, but occasionally the clouds parted to reveal a thin stream of watery moonlight emphasising the deep gloom of approaching rain.

When
we reached Tharne he offered to take me on to Tregonnis after his business with his nephew was over. But I refused.

‘
It’s only a short distance,’ I told him, ‘and once I reach the main road I can soon be there. I don’t want to waste any time or hurry you. I’m very grateful for the lift.’

I
offered him payment once more, but he wouldn’t accept it, and following a few more polite and cursory remarks we parted, and I was on my way towards the cottage.

The
light became eerie. The overhanging heavy sky seemed to lower as an insidious rustling wind scurried along the ground swirling what remaining mist there was in grey coils over the wet earth. A few dead leaves tapped my ankles; the surface of the nearby stream quivered into glassy brilliance for brief seconds when shafts of silver-green moonlight momentarily pierced the massed clouds before dying again into stygian blackness. I found my way more from habit than sight. Every moment I half expected to hear the clip-clop of hooves and heavy wheels of Joe Killiwarne’s cart approaching. If I had, then I’d have taken an offer of a lift for the rest of the way to Tregonnis if it was still forthcoming. But there was no sound of human presence or activity — only a low rumble of thunder from the distance and intermittent flashes of lightning.