The Black Mountains (29 page)

He hesitated, tempted by the thought of a pleasant half-hour's relaxation on the shady swing seat, but the memory of Rebecca's abandon this morning was too strong.

“It's a beautiful afternoon!” he told her. “ It's all down hill going, and it'll be cooler by the time I come back.”

As he started down the hill, however, where the cow parsley grew high in the hedges, and the banks were white with moonflowers, he realized just how hot it was. Before he had gone far, perspiration began to trickle down his neck, his waistcoat felt uncomfortably tight, and at every step his shoes stuck to the newly-tarred road. Briefly he allowed himself the luxury of toying with the idea of buying himself a horseless carriage, like Donald Thorne's, and learning to drive it. It was, he thought, the kind of status symbol a man in his position needed to keep up his standing in the town. But not even the contemplation of a motor could keep his thoughts from Rebecca for long.

He walked on, past Farmer Brent's fields, past the church and the cottages opposite, with their upstairs windows thrown open to the summer afternoon, but their doors firmly shut and their gardens deserted. The town was so quiet that, if he had not seen the preparations for the garden party from his office window, he might have thought Rebecca had invented the whole thing. But even as the thought crossed his mind he heard the strains of the town band, and as he walked on it grew louder and louder until it seemed to sit in a mushroom cloud over the Rectory lawns and spill out into the road beyond.

At the stone-pillared entrance gate, Caroline Archer sat beneath a large black umbrella, a bowl for collecting admittance charges on a card table in front of her. Alfred paid his tuppence and went in, pausing for a moment or two on the drive to look around him.

At first sight, it seemed the whole of Hillsbridge must have come to the garden party. Most of the adults were clustered around the improvised bandstand at the end of the drive, while the young ones were trying their hand at the croquet game and the other competitions. A small marquee had been set up, and there were a number of stalls selling everything from pincushions to home-made pickle. Grace O'Halloran, pretty as a picture, was running the hoop-la stall and doing a roaring trade with the men, while her younger sister Stella was in charge of a bran tub for the children.

Because of the heat, most people were trying to stay in the shade under the trees, but Alfred could not see Rebecca or Marjorie anywhere. Once, he thought he caught a glimpse of Marjorie's cream blouse and dark skirt, but before he could make his way towards her he found himself confronted by Reuben Clarke, the bachelor who had succeeded Mr Archer as Rector.

“How nice to see someone from Withydown here” he beamed, stationing himself directly in Alfred's line of vision. “And how fortunate we are with the weather, too! I think we may say the Good Lord is smiling on our effort here today.”

Alfred surveyed Reuben Clarke with contempt. He had no time for a parish spiritual leader who lived in the Rectory alone with his housekeeper. But Reuben Clarke was perhaps not the most sensitive of men and seemed unaware of the expression of distaste that was fixed on Alfred's face.

“I suppose the truth is that people are glad of excuse to enjoy themselves,” he went on. “Since this war started, they've missed the flower shows and fêtes. One can understand the need for economy, of course, but it is still nice to see a garden party in full swing, even if we did need the excuse of raising funds for our boys at the Front to justify it.”

“Quite … quite …” Alfred muttered impatiently. He turned away, and as he did so, he saw Marjorie among the crowd. Cutting Reuben Clarke off in mid-flow, he raised an imperious hand to her, but to his surprise and annoyance she seemed to look straight through him before turning and disappearing hastily into the crowd again.

Puzzled, he bade the Rector a curt “Good afternoon” and hurried across the lawn after her. How could she have failed to see him? And, more to the point, where was Rebecca?

He pushed his way irritably between the people, searching for the two girls. Drat it, they'd both disappeared! It was just as if they were trying to avoid him.

The crowd in front of him parted slightly, and Alfred pushed forward. Then he stopped abruptly. There, in front of the bandstand, was Marjorie, and with her a young man—a young man who actually had his arm round her waist. But of Rebecca there was no sign.

Swelling with indignation, Alfred strode forward. The young man turned and saw him, and his arm dropped from Marjorie's waist. But it was at Marjorie herself that Alfred found himself looking. She had turned pale suddenly, and her eyes were startled and afraid.

“Why, Mr Church, I didn't expect to see you here …” she said in a desperate effort at normality. “ Becky didn't say …”

Although he was inwardly seething, he asked stonily, “Where is Rebecca, Marjorie?”

“Becky?” There was just the smallest hesitation, then she went on smoothly, “She's just gone off to search for a … a privy, Mr Church. It's very hot, and we've been drinking rather a lot of lemonade.”

Alfred's brows lowered, and he glared at Marjorie to express his distaste at the indelicacy. Then he let his eyes pass to the boy who stood awkwardly beside Marjorie.

“Is she alone?” he asked, his voice heavy with meaning.

“Of course.” Marjorie's eyes were wide and innocent. “ Who would be with her, Mr Church? I'm just… just talking to Billy while I wait for her. Billy's an errand boy at the shop where I work.”

Alfred inclined his head majestically.

“I see. I will wait for her here with you then, shall I?”

An expression that might almost have been alarm flashed across her face and was gone, then she tucked her arm into his, smiling up at him with all her old charm.

“Oh, I wouldn't do that. She'll be ages, and it's very hot. Why don't you sit down and have a cup of tea, and I'll tell her you're here when she comes back. You really do look as if you could do with a cup of tea.”

He hesitated, melting slightly. It was impossible to be angry with Marjorie for long, and the thought of a cup of tea was very tempting.

“Come on, Mr Church,” She tugged at his arm, smiling up at him. “ Come and sit down, and I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go and look for Rebecca myself, in case she's stopped to talk to someone. It's so beautifully cool in the Rectory it's tempting to do just that.”

“In the Rectory? She's in the Rectory?” he repeated and she laughed.

“Of course. Where did you think she'd go? They wouldn't expect young ladies to walk along to the public conveniences.”

Slightly mollified by the fact that she was now completely ignoring the young man named Billy, he let her lead him across to where the tables and chairs had been set out on the grass.

“Now you sit there, Mr Church. Look, that's the best table. Take it quickly while it's empty, and I'll get your tea.”

Her touch on his arm and her bobbing curls had almost restored his humour, and as he stretched his long legs he found himself wondering momentarily whether people might be deceived into thinking she was actually with him. The thought had the effect of making him feel almost young again, and he narrowed his eyes, watching her join the queue at the tea stall and then pick her way back towards him across the grass carrying the cup and saucer with the utmost care.

“There you are, Mr Church. Now I'll go and find Becky.”

From the seat she had chosen for him he had a perfect view of her slim figure dancing down the drive in the direction of the Rectory, and he watched her until she had disappeared into a group of folk gathered round a stall by the front door. Then he stirred sugar into his tea and settled back to drink it.

Clearly, he thought, his suspicions had been unjustified. He should have known that Rebecca would be safe with Marjorie.

When a fly began buzzing around his table, Alfred Church was annoyed. He had always hated flies—they had gone against his code of extreme hygiene at all times. And now this fly was becoming persistent and landing on his teacup. He flapped at it aggressively with his handkerchief, but he accidentally knocked it into the tea, where it buzzed loudly in an attempt to save itself from drowning. Disgusted, he rose to get himself another cup, but as he did so, he saw a girl with bouncing curls and a cream blouse hurrying away down the drive. It was Marjorie! But where was she going? She was supposed to be fetching Rebecca from the Rectory!

The cup of tea forgotten, he stared after her, until she disappeared through the gates and into the street. Then, clumsily, he pushed the chair aside and went to follow her.

By the time he had reached the gates, she was half-way along Town Street and he hurried after her. For a few moments when she disappeared around the slow curve in the road, he was afraid of losing her, but when he rounded the curve himself and saw her still hurrying in the direction of Eastlands he slowed his pace and moved closer to the wall that bordered the road.

She was going into the churchyard, if he wasn't mistaken! Could it be that the Rector had asked her to run some errand for him?

If so he was making a fool of himself by following her. And yet …

No, whatever errand Marjorie was on, it had nothing to do with the Rector, he was certain. If she had had nothing to hide, she would have come back and explained where she was going, not just slipped past him. In addition to all her other actions this afternoon, he realized she was behaving very oddly indeed, and his instinct, clearer now that the entrancing Marjorie was a street-length away, told him that whatever it was, it had something to do with Rebecca.

Marjorie, hurrying still, skirted the high pavement at the roadside and passed through the arched gate into the churchyard, and, puzzled, Alfred hastened his own step again.

Surely Rebecca was not in the churchyard? It was a pleasant enough spot, certainly, particularly on a hot afternoon such as this, with the broad path winding between the weathered old gravestones and the tall yew trees throwing large patches of shade, but there had been shady spots in the Rectory garden too without leaving the garden party and walking right across Hillsbridge. Unless …

Alfred's eyes narrowed suddenly, and his breath came faster. The only possible reason for coming to this part of town on a Saturday afternoon in summer would be to find solitude. There was no shortage of that. Beyond the churchyard, the meadows lay, green and sleeping beneath the still hot sun, stretching all the way to the river and beyond, curling around the secret places on the banks and under the trees, waist-high in purple loosestrife and yellow flags. But Rebecca would not have come to look for solitude alone. There would have been someone with her.

The memory of a December night and a boy, half seen in the fog, came to Alfred. Then, in a blinding flash of realization, a hundred other things fitted into place so completely that he marvelled at his own stupidity in not seeing the truth before. The change in Rebecca's manner, her gaiety, the number of times she had been out unescorted in the past months, and the way he had found her only this morning admiring her body in the mirror—yes, that particularly—could mean one thing and one only.

A boy! Rebecca was deceiving him with a boy, like some common, whoring slut! He had raised her with firmness and decency and the moment he allowed her a little freedom she behaved in this disgraceful, filthy manner!

Almost beside himself, he hurried on, and as he rounded the corner of the church building, he saw Marjorie again, standing beneath the yew trees at the churchyard's edge, and looking down across the low stone wall towards the farm track. Her eyes were shaded against the sun as she peered anxiously to left and right, and with her arms raised, the thin material of her blouse strained enticingly across her slender back. But for once, in his blind fury, he hardly noticed. He left the path, his boots making no sound on the soft grass, and came up behind her without Marjorie knowing he was there. Then his rage burst from him in an explosive: “So!”

She spun round, gasping with fright and turning pale as she had done at the garden party.

“Mr Church …” she stammered.

He towered over her, his face purple with fury.

“Where is Rebecca?”

She swallowed, recovering herself a little, though her eyes were still round with fear.

“Rebecca? I told you, she's …”

“Don't lie to me!” He caught her by the arms. “ You've done enough lying, you brazen hussy! All this time she's been deceiving me, and you've been helping her. Don't deny it!”

“But Mr Church, I didn't mean to …”

“Lies! All lies! Just now you looked me in the eye and told me she was in the Rectory, while all the time … You're lying, cheating vipers, the pair of you!”

His fingers bit painfully into her arms, pulling her closer, and his breath came in harsh gasps. Sweat poured down his face, and his eyes were wide and crazed, the eyes of a maniac. Terrified now, she tried to break free, but he held her fast.

“Lying, whoring vipers!” he roared.

The smell of him came at her then, the camphor in his clothes, the sweat and his fetid breath, all in one nauseating cloud. She twisted her head away, retching, and he towered over her, half-lifting her off her feet and pressing her back. She struggled in blind panic, too shocked even to cry out, but he was too strong for her. For agonizing, timeless moments she pulled and wriggled and squirmed, kicking at him helplessly.

“Please!” she sobbed. “ Oh, stop, please stop!”

But he was like a man possessed. Back, back, he pressed her until she thought her spine would snap.

Then, just as the edges of her consciousness began closing in like the dark, curling edges of an old photograph, the pressure seemed to lessen, and as she fought her way back through reeling senses, she became aware that he was no longer looking at her, but beyond her, towards the river. For another moment, still paralysed with fear, she dangled from his grasp like a limp rag doll. Then, with a sudden violent movement, he flung her aside. She hit the ground with a sick thud and rolled over in the long grass.