The Last Mrs. Summers Page 5

  “Well, you do look rather stylish, you know.”

  “Really? This old thing?” But I could tell Belinda was pleased. “One of my own designs, this cape. Do you like it?”

  “I think it’s fabulous.”

  “I was hoping to get an order from Harrods, but now I don’t actually need the money. Still, I can’t see myself being idle. It’s just not in my nature. I nearly went bonkers when I was holed up in Switzerland with nothing to do.”

  “I agree,” I said. “I was becoming so bored alone at Eynsleigh. Darcy wanted me to start entertaining the neighbors but frankly the thought terrifies me. I’ve never given a tea party in my life.”

  Belinda laughed. “I can just see you as lady of the manor, holding court over the village, opening garden fetes, judging livestock competitions, sitting on the parish council, leading the Girl Guides.”

  “Don’t.” I shuddered. “I’m just beginning to realize that this is now the life I’m stuck with. I’m not sure I’m ready for it. And certainly not sure I’ll be any good at it. Can you see me leading the Girl Guides?”

  “You’ll soon have oodles of babies to amuse you,” Belinda said. “I’m sure Darcy hasn’t wasted any time in that department.”

  “I hope so,” I said.

  Belinda caught my tone and looked up from her glass. “What’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

  I chewed on my lip. “It’s just that we’ve been married three months and no sign of a baby yet. You’re right. Darcy is a very enthusiastic lovemaker so I’m beginning to wonder if something is wrong with me. What if I can’t have children?”

  Belinda gave an incredulous laugh. “Three months? Darling, that’s nothing at all. Goodness, if I’d become pregnant at the drop of a hat, I’d have had a whole brood of children by now. Frankly I was flirting with danger and terribly lucky it only happened once.”

  “But you said you took precautions?”

  “I did, but they are not always reliable, you know. And there were times when one got carried away and was not too careful. And in my defense I have to say that I really believed that chap wanted to marry me. He certainly hinted as much.” She sighed. “Anyway, it’s all past now and it turned out for the best, didn’t it? So no more men for me. I’ve renounced them entirely from now on. I’m going to become pure and virginal.”

  I chuckled. “Hardly the latter, at this stage.”

  “Well, pure anyway. I’ll become an incredibly successful businesswoman and an adoring godmother to your brood of children.”

  We both looked up as the woman came in bearing two plates on which resided enormous pasties. I had been rather afraid that a pasty would be a dainty little thing and I’d still be hungry. Instead they filled a whole dinner plate. I took a bite: warm flaky pastry and then a delicious interior of meat, potatoes and root vegetables in a rich gravy.

  “This is delicious,” I commented, looking up for a second.

  “They are good, aren’t they? Cornish pasties are one of the things I remember fondly from my childhood. They make them for the miners, you know. To take down the mines for their lunch. That rim of pastry is for the miners to hold with their dirty hands so that they don’t actually touch the good part.”

  “How interesting,” I managed to say before I went back to eating.

  After a pint of hard cider that was surprisingly strong and the pasty I felt much better. Ready for anything, in fact. Belinda must have felt the same because she said, “Well, now we’d better go back and tackle that oil lamp, I suppose, since there is nowhere to stay and I don’t feel like driving all the way into Padstow.”

  Chapter 5

  AT WHITE SAILS.

  THE NIGHT OF OCTOBER 15

  White Sails is an overly refined name for what is a primitive fisherman’s cottage, and so remote it feels like the middle of nowhere. I’m not sure I want to stay here but Belinda still seems quite keen.

  We managed to coax a box of matches from the landlady and went back out into the night. The wind had dropped when we arrived back at White Sails and we could hear the surf crashing onto rocks far below us.

  “I wish we had thought to ask to borrow a torch,” Belinda said as we felt our way down the treacherous steps. She clicked her cigarette lighter on again and held it up like the lady with the lamp as we found our way down to the house. Once inside we took the glass top off the oil lamp and after much discussion (and a few choice words) we got it to light.

  “At least it still has oil in it,” Belinda said, turning it up so that soft light flooded the room. She turned to examine our surroundings. “Oh, and look. There is some firewood beside the stove.”

  This was now my turn to show expertise. When I had first arrived in London alone, without servants, I had learned to light a fire. I got this one going, to Belinda’s squeaks of admiration, and suddenly the room looked much better. We found a candle on a window ledge and carried it through to the rest of the house.

  “Please tell me there is a bathroom,” Belinda said.

  “There’s a kitchen with a big sink,” I said. I went over to it and turned on the tap. Water came out, ice cold but with a satisfying patter. I turned it off again.

  “Oh, and this is the bedroom.” Belinda was also exploring.

  There was just one bedroom, containing one bed, a large rickety wardrobe and a tall chest of drawers.

  “It looks as if we’ll have to share the bed tonight, unless you’d rather have the sofa,” Belinda said.

  “The sofa looks lumpy and not quite long enough,” I said. “At least it’s a big bed.”

  “I can see that furniture shopping will be the number one priority.” Belinda left the bedroom and went back into the kitchen, carrying the candle. Not wanting to be left alone in the dark I followed her. There was an old wood-burning stove and a sink, but in the larder we made an interesting discovery. “Look. There’s some food in here,” Belinda said. “A tea caddy and some bread that’s not too stale, butter, milk, cheese and a jar of jam. . . . Someone has been here recently.”

  “I wonder if your solicitor telephoned and had someone stock up on basics for you.”

  “But he didn’t know when I’d be coming down. I only said that I’d want to take a look at the property before I decided whether to keep it or sell it.”

  “Well then, perhaps one of the locals has been using it to go fishing.”

  “Or it’s possible it was my uncle Francis,” Belinda said suddenly. I heard the uncertainty in her voice.

  “Does he live down here? You’ve never talked about him.”

  “That’s because I never liked him. I don’t think Granny did much either. He was the black sheep of the family, you know. My mother’s younger brother. Much younger. Never settled down, never got a job, always in debt. Gambled, drank, mixed with undesirable people.”

  “So where is he now?”

  “I’ve no idea. When Granny sold I heard that she settled some money on Uncle Francis but that’s the last I heard of him. Probably got through it quickly in Monte Carlo.”

  “But he didn’t inherit any of your grandmother’s estate when she died?”

  “No. It all came to me. You should see how furious my stepmother was that I was now a rich woman. She suggested I share the bounty after all they’d done for me. The cheek of it! Granny paid for my schooling and the wicked witch made me feel quite unwelcome on the few occasions I came home.”

  “Just like me and Fig,” I said, nodding in sympathy. “But what about your father?”

  “Daddy? He’s not a bad sort but quite clueless about what’s going on around him. He loves his farm and his pigs and prize bulls and would never notice when the witch was horrid to me. Anyway, that’s now all in the past. I am independent and have a bright future ahead.”

  She said this more to convince herself than me, I thought.

  “We s
till haven’t found the bathroom,” I pointed out. “I don’t fancy going out into the storm to pee.”

  “Well, it’s not here, is it?” Belinda sounded frustrated. “The inhabitants must have a chamber pot somewhere and then chucked it out of the window and into the sea.”

  “Don’t even entertain such a disgusting thought,” I said. We were both giggling to mask our uneasiness with this situation.

  We searched some more until we found a door we hadn’t noticed before, in the kitchen wall. It opened onto a flight of steps descending into darkness.

  “Goodness, how scary,” Belinda said. “I wonder what can be down there. Surely not the bathroom?”

  Belinda held up the candle, looking like something from a gothic novel, and we went down the steps, one at a time. I have to confess I let Belinda go first. Below was a stone basement with another large sink. The smell of fish still lingered. In one corner was a rusted tin bathtub, and in another a toilet. Goodness knows where that drained to!

  “Not exactly much privacy,” I pointed out.

  “Not much privacy? Is that all you can say? Georgie, it’s awful! Can you imagine coming down here in the night?” Belinda sounded horrified. “Forget what I said about furniture being the number one priority. The first task is a proper bathroom.”

  “Are you sure this place is worth all the effort?” I asked. “It’s terribly remote. Would you really want to be here alone?”

  “I’m not sure,” she said. “I like the idea, but . . . let’s sleep on it. I always say things look better in the morning.”

  We took turns in using the facilities while the other stood guard at the top of the stairs.

  “Do you think we should lock the front door, just in case?” I asked as we started to get ready for bed.

  “Who is possibly going to bother us out here?” Belinda said. “But maybe you’re right. We are far from any help, aren’t we?”

  She turned the big iron key in the latch. “Satisfied?” she asked. I was.

  “I don’t feel like turning off that oil lamp, if you don’t mind,” Belinda said.

  “I agree. And wake me up if you need to go down to the lavatory.”

  “I rather wish I hadn’t had that pint of cider now,” Belinda said.

  “Me too.”

  We climbed into the bed. The mattress was lumpy and the springs squeaked every time one of us moved.

  “I wouldn’t recommend this for a romantic hideaway,” I said, making Belinda laugh.

  “Oh crikey, can you imagine!”

  We both lay there laughing, as one does when very nervous.

  “I’m freezing. How about you?” Belinda asked.

  “I certainly am. The blankets feel damp, don’t they?”

  “I could put my cape over us. And your overcoat.” She got up and started to drape them over the bedding.

  “Remind me whose mad idea this was,” I said.

  “At least you are not having to give tea parties and feel lonely and bored,” she said.

  “You’re quite right. It is an adventure. I must remind myself of that—especially if I have to get up in the night.”

  “Wake me and I’ll hold a candle for you,” Belinda said.

  The extra layers started to warm us up. The wind had died down and all one could hear was the distant thump of waves on the rocks below. Gradually I drifted off to sleep. I awoke to pitch darkness. The oil in the lamp must have finally given out. I lay, staring at nothing, wondering what might have woken me. Then I heard it again . . . the slightest sound. Was it the creak of a door?

  Only the wind, I told myself. I knew from experience at Castle Rannoch that old houses were full of noises as they creaked and sighed and shifted. I turned over and tried to go back to sleep. I had almost drifted off when I felt the covers being thrown back and someone climbed into the bed beside me. The bedsprings creaked ominously. Silly Belinda, I thought. She’s been to the loo by herself. How considerate of her not to have woken me up.

  Then I realized this person was getting into the bed on my left side. Belinda had been lying on my right. I reached out a hand and felt the warmth of her body. Then who on earth? It’s Darcy, I thought. Darcy coming to surprise me. He had done the same sort of thing before, arriving unexpectedly in the middle of the night, creeping into bed beside me. That was when I remembered that Darcy would have no idea I’d be here. I hadn’t given the address to Mrs. Holbrook.

  I was instantly wide awake and sat bolt upright. “Belinda! Wake up. There’s someone in our bed.”

  This had an immediate effect. The intruder leaped away, exclaiming, “What in God’s name?”

  “What’s happening? What is it?” Belinda murmured sleepily. I could see why she had had so many problem encounters with men if it took more than this to wake her up!

  My heart was thudding so fast I could hardly breathe. A cigarette lighter was switched on, revealing a disheveled young man with dark, unruly curls not unlike Darcy’s staring at us as if we were ghosts. He was wearing a big fisherman’s jersey, his trousers were rolled up above bare legs and he was holding that lighter out in front of him as if to keep us at bay.

  The only comforting thought was that he looked as alarmed at seeing us as I was at finding him climbing into my bed beside me.

  “Who the devil are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”

  Belinda had regained consciousness. “I am Belinda Warburton-Stoke and this is my property. So more to the point would be what are you doing here?”

  “The place has been empty for years,” he said. “I’ve been using it when I come back late from a fishing trip. Good little harbor to put into when the sea gets up.” He stopped, thought for a moment and then said, “Did you say you were Belinda? Lady Knott’s granddaughter?”

  “That’s right. My grandmother has died and I have inherited her property,” Belinda said, still sounding like I did when I was under extreme duress and could hear myself giving an imitation of my great-grandmother Queen Victoria.

  “Your old granny was quite fond of me,” the intruder said. “She used to let me use this place.”

  “Did she really? Well, I’m afraid those days are over. Kindly leave immediately.”

  He came a little closer, holding up the lighter over us. “But I remember you,” he said. “You used to come down here for the summers, didn’t you? There was that whole group of kids. I used to join you when I wasn’t needed to help my dad. I’m Jago. Remember me?”

  “Jago?” She stared at him. “But you were a skinny boy, rather shy around the rest of us. And didn’t you have blond hair in those days?”

  “That’s right. From being out in the sun so much. I might have grown and filled out a bit since then.” And he laughed. Again I was struck by the resemblance to Darcy. That self-assured, almost cocky laughter. He was really rather handsome.

  “And I seem to remember you were quite a pale and skinny little girl yourself at the time. You had freckles and your hair also wasn’t quite as dark.”

  “Maybe so.” Belinda snapped the words, confirming what I had always suspected—she dyed her hair black. “So you’re still living down here and fishing for a living?”

  “Well, the fishing is more like a sideline,” he said. “But, yes, I’m still down here.”

  “Well, I suppose I can’t turn you out in the middle of the night,” Belinda said. “You can sleep on the sofa but I don’t want this to happen again.”

  “Very well, your ladyship,” he said primly.

  “I’m not a lady. Only a miss,” she said.

  “Not married yet?”

  “That’s rather an impertinent question to ask a stranger. Are you?”

  “Haven’t found the right girl yet,” he said.

  “And I have been too busy furthering my career.” Belinda still sounded haughty and huffy. “My frie
nd beside me is both a lady and married.”

  “Well, bully for her,” he exclaimed with an amused grin in my direction. “So are you coming down here to live now?”

  “I’m not sure of my plans yet,” Belinda said. “My first one is for a good night’s uninterrupted sleep after a long day’s driving.”

  He cleared his throat as if the encounter had been making him as nervous as we were. “Very well, Miss Belinda. I appreciate the offer of your sofa because I don’t like to leave my boat unguarded. But I’ll not trouble you any longer and wish you a good night’s rest.”

  He and his cigarette lighter disappeared into the living room and we heard the sofa creaking as he made himself comfortable.

  “Well, I promised you adventure, didn’t I? You can’t say this is boring,” Belinda whispered to me. “Jago—what was his last name? I can’t remember. He was one of the local boys who hung around with us in the summer. We had a group of kids who played together, mostly summer visitors but a couple of local children too.”

  “Was his father a fisherman?” I asked.

  “I don’t think so. Anyway, he’s certainly grown a lot since then.”

  “He’s quite handsome, don’t you think? He looks a lot like Darcy.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed. I was too annoyed.” She moved closer and whispered in my ear. “Actually you know what he was doing, don’t you? Did he smell of fish to you?”

  “Not exactly. He smelled maybe salty. Of the sea?”

  “So he wasn’t fishing at all, Georgie. He was smuggling!”

  Chapter 6

  WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 16

  AT WHITE SAILS

  More excitement! An intruder in the middle of the night. And what’s more, he knew Belinda. Goodness, won’t I have a lot to tell Darcy!

  When we awoke the next morning there was no sign of our intruder or of any boat in the little harbor below. He might almost have been a ghost or even a bad dream brought on by too much pasty, except a large hunk of the bread and cheese was now missing from the larder!

  “I must say the fellow has a nerve,” Belinda said. “I wonder what he was smuggling? Cigarettes and booze from the Continent, I shouldn’t wonder. Liquor has always been the smugglers’ favorite.” Then she frowned. “I just hope it isn’t something worse.”