It was market day. Two of the farmhands had taken the calves by cart into Truro at daybreak, but Alec had decided not to follow on after breakfast to observe the auction or conduct his other business there. Instead he lined up more of his farm vehicles in the outer yard.
‘Jim! Jim!’ Taking an impatient puff on a cigarette, he peered about for the youth who should have been on his way to him with paint, axle grease and tools. ‘Jim! Where the bloody hell are you?’
‘Time you had another word with he, Alec.’ Edwin Rowse was about to leave for town, deputizing for his son-in-law. ‘Lazy young bugger’s slipping off all the time, he’s getting tired to the bone and as cantankerous as Pip was. No one can say a right word to him.’
‘Do you think he’s sickening for something?’ Alec snatched at the opportunity to consider someone else in his household might be ailing rather than his beloved daughter.
Edwin guffawed and grinned. ‘Aye, spring fever! Got himself a maid, he has. Haven’t you seen the silly look on his face when he goes out? Or gotten the smell of him when he finally gets back?’ The farm manager tapped his weather-raddled neck. ‘Got marks here he have and that’s not the only place.’
‘Don’t tell me he’s actually gone that far?’
‘Bound to happen one day. He’s always been one for casting his eye round.’
‘Sounds like he’s seeing someone experienced, so it can’t be Elena Rawley.’ Alec sighed, rumbling like a steam engine. ‘I’ll speak to him, before we get some outraged father turning up with a shotgun.’
‘He’s always gone a long time so whomever ’tis must live yonder. Put the ruddy bull to shame, he will.’ Edwin hoped a spot of wicked humour would lessen Alec’s moroseness. He was another one who looked as if he needed a good night’s sleep.
‘Well, he’d better not spend any more time with this girl when he’s supposed to be working. Market cart’s hitched up for you, Edwin. The pig is on board for the butcher. We’ll put away one for ourselves in a fortnight; Emilia says the pig meat’s getting low. Did you pick up the money I left on the desk for your lunch? Take my usual table at the Red Lion.’
‘Dolly’s made me a pasty and I’m taking a flask, never catch me in a posh hotel.’ Edwin did not take his elevated state all that seriously. The cowman here before his daughter married his boss, he was ordinary, small in build, middle-aged but looked much older. He took simple enjoyment from his and Dolly’s extra comforts since leaving their tied cottage five years ago, and quiet delight in the close proximity of his three grandchildren. Shortly before this, he had been showing Will and Tom how to make sailing boats from corks, twigs and triangles of canvas. When he got back, they were to float them together on the pond.
‘At least have a pint somewhere.’
‘I might.’ Edwin took out his tobacco tin and started a slow, deliberate filling up of his ancient charred pipe. ‘What’s the matter? Why’re you finding so much work close to the house? The carts are usually only cleaned up one at a time, and anyway none of ’em needs nothing urgent done. Why’re you so unsettled today then? I know you don’t like change. Cap’n Tristan getting married and Jonny leaving here’s disturbed you, and you always do say that change and change about’s usually followed by some disaster.’
Alec lit another smoke from the butt between his lips. ‘I’m afraid, Edwin.’
Edwin lifted his flat cap and scratched his donkey-grey hair. ‘Afraid’s a strong word. Can’t see what you got to be afraid about.’
‘I can’t get this feeling out of my mind that something terrible is about to happen.’
‘Sometimes I think you’re a mite too superstitious. Never seen the old folk sniff the wind as often as you do, or buy so many trinkets from the gypsies. What’s on your mind this time?’
Alec watched Edwin’s stubby, leathery forefinger work the tobacco into the pipe bowl in precise circular and prodding movements. He had a lot of respect for Edwin’s unruffled nature and common sense, but nothing could shift the unease icing up his guts. He didn’t want to feel this way. Have this insistent foreboding. This touch of insight, foresight, whatever it was. On these occasions he had been proved right or wrong in equal numbers, which pointed to it all being coincidence. But he was a deep thinker – it was a long-standing habit of his. It was useful at times, a retreat. Or like now, a curse.
‘I’m afraid because Emilia’s afraid for Jenna. She hasn’t left her for a second since she stopped breathing at Roskerne and she sat up with her again all last night.’
‘She’s her mother. She’s bound to be worried after a terrible fright like that. Women usually fuss more over their children than us men. The little maid’s all right. The new Mrs Harvey’s doctor said so, didn’t he? He said she’s a bit of a weakling but should thrive, given time.’
‘He wasn’t there when it happened. The man’s a goddamned, incompetent fool!’ Alec shuddered as he relived the biting fear of losing Jenna. He shook in anger as he recalled the humiliation of being dressed down by Winifred’s condescending, ageing doctor, who had accused him of foolishness, of being likely to have done Jenna more harm than good with his actions. ‘He was wrong, Edwin. Emilia did not panic for no good reason and cause me to panic too. Emilia’s too strong, too sensible for that, and I’d never, ever do anything to risk the welfare of one of my children. I’ve delivered enough animal young to know when one of them needed assistance to start breathing. That Newquay quack was furious at being hauled out of his warm bed. He might have been satisfied with Jenna’s breathing and heartbeat, her colour and even the way she cried while he manhandled her, but he didn’t explain why for a few revolting seconds she was dead. She was, Edwin, I swear she was.’
Edwin had never seen Alec so intense, so anxious, consumed by fear. He was worried himself now. Jenna had been taken to Hennaford’s Dr Holloway the day after the return from Roskerne. He had agreed with the Newquay doctor’s diagnosis, but Dr Holloway was becoming increasingly absent-minded and dithery, had even been known to contradict himself during a consultation. Few locals had faith in him anymore. ‘What’re you going to do?’
‘Emilia’s suggested we give it a week. If Jenna’s not put on any weight by the end we’ll seek specialist advice.’ Alec had someone in mind, his lawyer’s son, Doctor Reggie Rule, the pediatrician Selina Bosweld had consulted about his character.
Sara approached them on her way to the dairy to scald the morning’s milk to begin the process of producing trays of thick, golden cream which would find its way into many of the county’s shops, hotels and guest houses, and much further afield. ‘Jim’s holding the pony for you, Mr Rowse. He says she’s getting skittish.’
‘So that’s where he is. I thought Midge had harnessed the market cart.’ Alec massaged his temples. His head was aching so much it felt about to explode.
‘He did but left for the fields, not thinking Mr Rowse would be so long,’ Sara replied, hoping her remark would not be considered disrespectful. She was eager for Jim not to get into any more trouble. Since he had taken up with this mysterious girl, whose identity he was refusing, unusually, to share with her, he was even more big-headed and his tiredness was making him grouchy and unco-operative.
‘I’d better be off then.’ Edwin made haste away, his head down. Always a little bent over, the smoke from his pipe drifted back from an even lower level today.
‘Mrs Em’s taken the baby out for a walk in the pram,’ Sara said quickly, before Alec moved off or got lost in thought. ‘She said it would do her good.’
‘It will. Was Jenna wakeful?’
‘No, fast asleep.’
‘Was she pale?’
His eyes were boring into her, demanding answers. Making Sara both timid and rapt to be receiving such close scrutiny. ‘Um, she had lots of colour, I thought, when I took a peep at her.’
‘That’s good.’ It was something to cling to, but not enough. ‘Tell Jim to make a start here on his own scraping down the wagon. Tell him also that he’s not to leave the yard today.’ Alec needed to be alone, with no distractions. He needed to concentrate harder than he ever had done before. To will Jenna better. To pray good health into her. In a drawer of his desk he had a growing collection of good luck charms. He would take them to the church, to call on any and all powers, to plead for a safe and happy future for his child.
‘You don’t look well, Alec. Can I get you something?’
‘What?’ He had half turned away and the silvery sweet voice had broken through his urgent strategy like a violation.
Sara leapt back. Her moment of bravery in keeping him with her a little longer had gone horribly wrong. Her remark and her question had been personal. Although her master usually insisted everyone call him by his first name, having no time for what he called petty convention, she had never done so before. She had breached propriety and was in for a well-deserved reprimand. Her heart dropped like a stone. He would never see her as anything but a lower-class servant who should remember her place. Worse still, he might now think her a nuisance.
‘My goodness, Sara, did I snap?’ His hand came to rest on her shoulder. ‘You look shaken. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’
‘No, I… I, um, just thought you looked a bit poorly, that’s all.’
‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. You were being kind and here’s me barking the wits out of you. I do have a headache. I’m going to take a breath of air. You run along.’
Although he was dejected, Alec’s long athletic strides took him quickly out of her sight. Rooted to the ground, Sara rubbed a hand where he had touched her. She turned her head and sniffed that sacred place, her excitement making her believe she could detect the smell of him there. Her tummy did crazy somersaults. Her head soared up to the sky and she broke into a joyful version of ‘You Made Me Love You’. How she wished she could make him love her, and keep the sensation of his touch, his wonderful masculine essence on her for ever. She had an idea where he was going. Long Meadow was one of his favourite places when he wanted to be alone. How she wished she could run on ahead of him, find herself a little hiding place there and curl up and watch him.
A lonely half a mile on from Devil’s Arch, the church offered Alec the privacy and isolation he desired. He sat at the end of a pew beyond the north aisle, the oldest and darkest part of the echoing, cold building, and spread his lucky charms – cheap tin animal shapes, silver horseshoes, dry and disintegrated sprays of heather – along the hymn book ledge in front of him. He called on each talisman separately to do its work. He had also brought the gold cross, that had once been his grandmother’s, from Emilia’s jewellery box. Gripping the cross so tightly its holy shape was impressed upon his flesh he stared ahead, imploring the half life-size crucified Christ fashioned from polished mahogany up on the wall near the altar for His divine intervention.
‘Please,’ he whispered. ‘It wasn’t your Father’s will for my first child to survive when Lucy sought to purposely destroy it inside her, nor for my brother, Henry, to come through the war. Please don’t let my little Jenna be taken away from Emilia and I. I’m sorry for being weak, but I don’t think I could bear it.’
It was closing in on midday when his leaden feet were crunching back down the gravelled, weed-strewn path outside. He felt as cold as ice and the earnest warmth of the sun did nothing to give him ease or comfort. He didn’t hear the rooks cawing from tree to tree or notice the glorious yellow and pink primroses and the bright blue speedwell spilling over the banks and graves.
The rectory was only a few hundred yards away, hiding behind a tall hedge and trees of sycamore and ash. He and Emilia had only been there two days ago to arrange Jenna’s christening, which was to be held on Sunday afternoon. He could go there now and ask the staid, but kindly, rector to pray with him for Jenna. But he couldn’t bear it if he was told he was probably worrying over nothing, or that God’s will was God’s will and was not to be questioned, or that whatever Jenna’s fate might be God knew what was best for her. He didn’t want to be reminded of one of the rector’s favourite expositions: that whatever happened in life, God gave those who called on Him the strength to see it through.
Alec fell down on the churchyard steps and wept. ‘It’s not strength I’m asking for, Lord. I just want my little girl to be all right.’