For the next few weeks Hannah’s life fell into a comfortable pattern. Sometimes she took Saturday afternoon off, other times she didn’t. She continued her private chats with Daniel and valued his friendship more than ever; he was very attentive and took everything she said and did seriously. She knew Matt didn’t like it but he did not object. He sat next to her at chapel, they occasionally had meals in each other’s homes, they went for walks. They talked, but of nothing personal; they kissed but not passionately. Matt had brought up the subject of borrowing his uncle’s car to go to the pictures but she had sidestepped the issue. Hannah couldn’t work out how she really felt about him; part of her hoped his feelings for her would peter out and he would put an end to their courtship himself.
‘’Tis time you stopped seeing Daniel Kittow,’ Prim would grumble when they were gathered at Janet or Sarah’s house, and she would refuse to eat the cakes and buns Hannah bought at the bakehouse with her wages. ‘The man’s no good. He won’t make no woman a decent husband, he’s up to his neck in fishy things and I don’t mean what he pulls out of the sea. He don’t do nothing openly. He was seen recently skulking up on the cliffs with a man called Ken Blee from St Austell who’s been to prison for thieving, it was in the papers. It’s not fair on Matt. He’s a fool to let you go on like it.’ And her mother always ended with a plea to her to leave Roscarrock.
‘I wish you’d tell me what you have against the place, Mum,’ Hannah said each time. ‘If you would only give me a good reason then perhaps I’d think about it.’
Prim’s eyes would fill with tears and all she’d add was another plea that Hannah be careful, saying ominously that Hannah might find two of the Opies friendly, but they were only friendly to her. It bothered Hannah, and so did Daniel’s mixing with shady characters, but she put it to the back of her mind.
The villagers took it for granted that she and Matt were a couple and occasionally she had to ward off questions about an engagement.
‘When are you going to make the announcement?’ Miss Peters asked as with many others they decorated the chapel for Harvest Festival.
‘You asked me that at the Sunday School anniversary tea party,’ Hannah replied, making to escape up a ladder to put a couple of mackerel in the nets the caretaker had draped over the gallery.
‘And you never answered me then,’ Miss Peters huffed indignantly. ‘Leave they fish. Let the men do it. ’Tisn’t ladylike climbing about putting your drawers on display. Help me put these apples round the vegetables in the windows.’
Sighing in resignation, Hannah handed the fish to the Sunday School superintendent and took the basket of pollies – sweet yellow apples – from Miss Peters. The formidable old woman led the way to a window at the back of the chapel.
Hannah took a long satisfying sniff of the air. ‘Doesn’t it smell wonderful in here with all the fruit and vegetables?’
‘Don’t change the subject.’ Miss Peters skilfully placed the apples in a pleasing display with the red and green ones already arranged beside two huge marrows. ‘Well, when are you getting married?’
‘We haven’t talked about it,’ Hannah whispered because the ears of two women arranging vases of russet, golden and red chrysanthemums at a nearby table were wagging.
‘Why not?’
‘We just haven’t.’
Miss Peters stared at her for so long Hannah felt she could read her deepest thoughts. ‘I don’t know what else you want out of life, Hannah Spargo. You may like it at Roscarrock, but let me tell you this, there’s nothing more worth having for you than Matt Penney. I hope one day you’ll see it, for your own sake.’
When she wasn’t either sewing for Janet or looking over the gardens with Patrick Opie, Hannah spent much of her free time wandering through the small woods which were teeming with wildlife. She saw moths and butterflies, crows, pigeons and a woodpecker, scurrying insects on the mossy floor, a creamy coloured stoat and rabbits by the dozen and once she was treated to the rare sight in daylight of an old badger whose quiet, ambling character reminded her of Mr Patrick.
She was beginning to re-establish the overgrown path running through the woods to the cliff which towered seventy feet above the sea, Hidden Beach and Porthellis. She’d tried many times to find the blocked up entrance of the tunnel Patrick Opie had mentioned, but with no success. She assumed it must be overgrown with grass, ferns, gorse or hawthorn. She gave up looking for it and instead would pick a spot to sit and watch everything below. She couldn’t make out who all the small figures down in the village were but guessed it was from here that Patrick Opie had spied the beach through his telescope and chanced upon her going there the day he’d offered her the job. She decided to save up for some binoculars.
One sunny day Mrs Opie told her to put on her best hat because Mr Gregory was going to take them to St Austell in his motorcar. Hannah sat on the thick upholstered back seat in the year-old, four-door, black and cream Railton saloon beside Mrs Opie and listened as Mrs Opie and Mr Gregory chatted. They obviously had a great affection for each other but Hannah hadn’t grown to like him and was dismayed to learn he was going to be at Roscarrock until after Christmas. He seemed to take little interest in her and she knew she had been wrong to fear he was going to bother her in the way gentlemen sometimes did their female staff, but there were occasions she caught him staring at her, as if he was trying to work out something puzzling.
Greg pushed his grandmother through St Austell’s streets in her wheelchair, heading first for a bookshop. As he looked at volumes with unpronounceable names, Mrs Opie bought a copy of an epic novel that was sweeping the country and America. Hannah was astonished and delighted when Mrs Opie presented it to her over tea that evening. She read Gone With The Wind quickly, enjoying every word of the tempestuous Southern beauty Scarlett O’Hara’s troubled life and adventures in the American Civil War. She left it with Sarah to pass on secretly to Leah and was waiting to hear if her shy younger sister had enjoyed it.
When Angie Miller was taken poorly with a stomach upset and took to her bed for the first time in five years, Hannah climbed up to the servants’ quarters with a glass and jug of fresh water to see how she was faring. Hannah had not been up here before; she’d wanted to, but had felt she would be trespassing on Angie who was even shyer than Leah.
The short landing branched off to left and right, presumably for male and female servants, and Hannah wasn’t sure where to find Angie’s room. She tried left, tapping on the first door and opening it slowly. It was an empty room, more spacious than Hannah had imagined a servant’s room would be, with two bare iron bedsteads and some furniture, of better quality than she and her sisters had shared at Cliffside Cottage. The ceiling sloped sharply and there were huge black beams running across the floor. The other two rooms were also empty and Hannah walked across the landing. On the side of the landing facing the front of the house a small door opened on to the roof. Beside it was a window which gave a marvellous view of the sea. She tried the attic door but it was locked. The next room was a bathroom, small and basic but a luxury to anyone who did not have one at home.
She found Angie in the last room on this side of the landing. As Hannah entered, she sat up in bed in a flannelette nightdress buttoned up to her neck, her hair covered in a black hairnet. She looked very ill but she managed a shy grin. ‘Sorry about this, miss.’
‘Don’t be silly, Angie,’ Hannah said kindly, stepping over the black beams that ran across this room too and setting the jug down on the small square nightstand by the bed. ‘You can’t help being ill. You must have plenty of rest and recover properly before trying to get out of bed.’
‘But I was going to do the ironing this afternoon.’
‘I will do that,’ Hannah said firmly. ‘Could you take a drink of water? It’s the best way to help the germs pass through you.’
Hannah filled the glass and Angie took a few sips before falling back with a reeling head on the pillows.
‘Thank you, miss,’ she said when her head had cleared. ‘I keep running to the toilet but at least I’ve stopped being sick.’
‘That’s good,’ Hannah said, wondering how servants had managed in the past before the bathroom had been fitted on this floor.
‘You’ve got it lovely in here, Angie,’ she added, looking round the room. Colourful hessian mats covered the bare boards and there were pictures of country scenes and Bible texts on the wall. A few cheap plaster ornaments were dotted about and wooden-framed photographs rested on a large oak chest of drawers. There was also a wardrobe and a built-in cupboard with butterfly hinges. Hannah hoped Angie wouldn’t feel it an intrusion as she studied the old brown photos of various groups of people. ‘Are these your family?’
‘They’re all me family, they lived at Portscatho. My dad was a fisherman, he drowned when his boat sunk in a storm just before I came here. My mum died two year later, she weren’t never very strong and ’twas thought she never got over Dad’s death. My brother Tommy died of cancer soon after and my aunty and uncle moved upcountry. I got no one left now.’
‘I’m sorry, Angie,’ Hannah said, thinking how lucky she was having so many in her family, even if two hated her.
‘Aw, don’t you go being sorry for me, miss. I’m happy just so long as I can stay here.’
‘Well, I’m sure Mrs Opie could never do without you, Angie,’ Hannah smiled. ‘Now I’d better leave you to get some rest. I’ll check on you in a couple of hours.’
As she got to the door, Angie said, ‘Miss?’
‘Yes, Angie?’
‘You aren’t going to leave here soon, are you?’
‘No. What makes you think that?’
Angie blushed, adding to her high colour. ‘I thought p’raps you might go and get married. You have a young man, I know, and the butcher’s boy said he’s some good-looking and you’re really smitten with him. I-I don’t want you to go yet.’
‘Don’t worry, Angie,’ Hannah smiled in reassurance. ‘If I do get married it won’t be for a very long time.’ After that, Hannah couldn’t get Matt out of her mind, no matter how hard she tried.
Towards the end of September the pilchards moved out towards the Isles of Scilly and while many of the fleets returned to their home ports, the Porthellis luggers joined the hardy Mevagissey fishermen to chase the fish. The drive would last one more week then the boats would come home to prepare for the dogfish season. The fishermen would be at home during the day but out most of the night then; they got up at three in the morning to go hunting for dogfish.
Leah knew that when the boats came home at the end of the week she’d have no chance to go to Roscarrock for a very long time. She’d told herself she would go there the second week Hannah had left to live in, but each time she’d come near to setting out along the narrow lanes that hadn’t seen her feet since childhood, she’d convinced herself with a good argument why she should not. She was upstairs in her bedroom, sitting and dreaming. Constance scorned her need to be alone for long periods, calling it unnatural, but Leah found a measure of peace and contentment in her own little world where she could pretend she had a perfect face and a man like Rhett Butler from Gone With The Wind would one day come and sweep her off her feet. It helped her forget her recurring nightmare of Eileen Gunn’s remains rising up from the seabed to get her and it helped her forget her guilt that if she hadn’t insisted on squeezing herself and Edwin into the boat it might have stayed upright, he and Eileen would still be here today and Hannah would not have been thrown out of her home.
She had read Gone With The Wind again and again and felt guilty about keeping it so long. It was hidden under old toys in the bottom of the wardrobe and Leah knew she ought to sneak it out of the house and take it to Sarah’s. At the weekend her father had either been too tired to care what she was doing or spent most of his time at the pub, but if he saw the book he would tear it up, and there was always the possibility her grandmother’s snooping might uncover it. It was Thursday afternoon and Hannah had taken her afternoon off yesterday, so she would be at Roscarrock now. Constance was snoozing in her chair and Prim was out; this could be her last chance to smuggle the book out of the house.
Taking the book out of the wardrobe, still in its paper bag, she hid it under her cardigan. Stealthily descending the stairs, pulling her over-sized hat down firmly over her head, she slipped out the front door, careful not to let it bang in the wind. She was over the bridge in a trice, and as usual ignored everyone who greeted her, not wanting to look them in the face, until she reached Sarah’s cosy little house in River Street.
Sarah was not at home. Everything was neat and tidy, no cooking utensils or flour on the table to say she had taken bread or pies to the bakehouse, nothing to give a clue as to where she had gone. Leah waited half an hour. She considered leaving the book on the table, but she couldn’t risk her mother popping in and discovering it; Prim would be upset that Hannah was receiving gifts from the lady whose name she refused to have mentioned in the house. It wasn’t like her to bear malice but Leah understood how hard it had been for her, first to have had Hannah fostered by Aunty Janet and now to have another woman housing her and showering her with kindness.
Leah thought about leaving the book in a drawer for Sarah to find but that seemed such a cowardly and ungrateful thing to do. She could take it to Roscarrock, of course, but she baulked at the thought. She ran the flat of her hand over the paper bag. Scarlett O’Hara wouldn’t have been scared to be seen if she had been scarred all over her body; she would have gone anywhere, any time she wanted. Inspired by the book’s heroine, Leah hid the book in her cardigan again, took a last look out of the window to see if Sarah was on her way home, then left the house to start up the village hill.
When she had passed all the shops and houses and turned into the lane, she relaxed and enjoyed the exercise. The further she walked between the blackberried hedges, the more a sense of freedom overtook her and she realised she had been living in a prison of her own making. And she felt excited. She was going to see Roscarrock close up at last; more than that, she was going to see inside it. Hannah must have felt this way when she’d made the journey for the interview.
A partridge suddenly flew out of the hedge letting out its loud grating ‘kirr-ic’ call. Leah watched with startled eyes as the brown and chestnut bird disappeared over the opposite hedge of Hemmick Farm. ‘You frightened me out of my wits, stupid bird,’ she breathed, her hand pressed against her hammering heart. But it hadn’t frightened her enough to send her scurrying home.
Leah arrived at the gateway of Roscarrock and took the book out of her cardigan; no need for secrecy now and it gave her a ready excuse if she was challenged as to why she was here. Butterflies formed in her tummy and she told herself not to be nervous. There were only five people at Roscarrock, one was her sister and one a simple maid. She walked on, but her steps slowed, stopped, started again, and repeated the pattern. She was arguing with herself. Mrs Opie might have said Hannah’s family were welcome but perhaps Hannah was supposed to make arrangements with the lady first. Hannah hadn’t said so though. Leah was horribly aware of the clothes she was wearing. Her dress was old and faded, cardigan stretched hopelessly out of shape, shoes flat and scuffed. Her long black hair was flowing free and tangled by the wind. Leah never bothered about her appearance. Would Hannah be ashamed of her?
The moment she got a full view of the house, all her misgivings were overridden by the desire to look around inside it. She sped on, taking in the magnificent gardens, the green of the trees and shrubs changing to rich yellows, reds and browns with the approaching autumn, marvelling at the height and girth of the oak trees on the lawn, looking in wonder at the house itself. It didn’t seem creepy or bleak, but grand and majestic.
She took the narrower path that branched off round to the back of the house but suddenly Hannah was tearing down the front steps towards her.
‘Leah! You came after all! Oh, I’m so glad.’ Hannah grabbed and kissed her in a bear hug.
‘Careful,’ she protested, afraid Hannah’s exuberance would alert one of the Opies to her presence. ‘You’ll bend the book. I’ve brought it back.’
Hannah didn’t seem to hear. Hauling Leah along by the arm, she trilled, ‘Come inside. You won’t believe what you’ll see.’
‘Shouldn’t I go in by the back door?’ Leah asked doubtfully.
‘No, I never do unless I’ve got muddy feet.’
Linking her arm through her younger sister’s, Hannah pulled her through the door, then tilted Leah’s hat back from her face. ‘Well, what do you think?’
Leah’s mouth was wide open but she was speechless. Hannah let her go and watched as Leah’s eyes, underneath her big round glasses, travelled from floor to ceiling and up the first flight of stairs. Leah crept forward and gingerly touched an upholstered armchair. ‘Fancy actually sitting on something like this.’
‘See that painting?’ Hannah said, pointing at the wall. ‘That’s Mr Gregory, the man I thought was a ghost.’
‘Is he in there?’ Leah whispered in awe, knowing from Hannah’s tales that the study was next to this particular painting.
‘Yes, but he rarely comes out until mealtimes.’
‘Will you get into trouble with me being here, Hannah? Am I stopping you from working?’
‘I was just going to water the house plants. You can come with me and I’ll show you over the house at the same time. Then I’m going to take Pogo for a walk and you’ll be able to see more of the gardens.’
‘Won’t they mind? The Opies?’
‘Not at all,’ Hannah smiled confidently. ‘As long as we don’t go near their private quarters.’
‘You are lucky, Hannah,’ Leah said as Hannah led the way down to the kitchen to fetch water. ‘I wish I could work here.’
Hannah started on the upstairs’ plants so Leah could see her room first. ‘We’ll take tea up here later.’ She put on a high-faluting voice. ‘Like two grand ladies.’
‘Aw, you’re some lucky,’ Leah repeated, fingering the soft silky bedcover wistfully. She only had coarse blankets at home and because her father had sold the ones on the other bed in her room, she still had to lay her coat over the bed in winter to keep warm. At the basin she smelled the lily-of-the-valley soap.
‘I’ve got plenty,’ Hannah said. ‘I’ll give you a bar to take home.’
‘Better not, Dad or Gran would smell it and there’d be hell to pay.’
As they walked down the corridor to water the plants in the north window, Leah tapped Hannah’s arm and whispered, ‘Do you still hear those ghostly footsteps at night?’
‘Yes, now and again, but I daren’t leave my room to see what they might be with Mr Gregory sleeping in the room next to the bathroom. I’m afraid he might see me.’
There was the tinkling of a bell. Leah drew in her breath. ‘What’s that?’
Hannah pointed to the door that led to her employer’s suite of rooms. ‘It’s Mrs Opie ringing for me. You go back downstairs and wait for me in the drawing room, that’s the door opposite the study. I don’t expect she’ll keep me long.’
‘I don’t know,’ Leah muttered worriedly. ‘Perhaps I’d better go.’
‘Don’t do that, you’ll be all right. Mr Patrick won’t come in from the garden for hours and Angie is up in her room. Go on, I’ll join you shortly.’
Leah obeyed, still full of doubt. Hannah went in to Mrs Opie. She was in the sitting room, painting a still life of fruit and cheese on a cheeseboard.
‘Did I hear you talking to someone, Hannah?’ she asked, mixing colours on the palette and filling in a grape.
‘Yes, it’s my younger sister Leah. It’s all right for her to be here, isn’t it? It’s not stopping my work.’
‘Of course it’s all right, dear.’ Mrs Opie smiled graciously. ‘You may take some time off and catch up later if you like. Bring a tea tray in here. I’d like to meet Leah.’
Hannah hesitated.
Mrs Opie raised a curved eyebrow. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘I hope you don’t think me rude or ungrateful, Mrs Opie, but the thing is, Leah is terribly shy.’
‘Of course, the scar. Well, never mind, perhaps another time. She may call any time she likes.’
Hannah thanked her and hastened down the stairs to tell Leah that Mrs Opie had invited her to take tea with her.
Feena Opie set aside her paintbrush and smiled with satisfaction. She’d had no idea who the shabbily dressed girl walking up the drive was until she’d looked up at the house and Feena had seen her resemblance to Jeff Spargo. She had Hannah. With a little time and trouble, she’d take a daughter away from Jeff Spargo that he wanted.
Leah looked around the drawing room with childish delight, standing in the middle of the carpet, too afraid to touch anything; simply being here among the many beautiful things was enough. The grand piano captured most of her attention. The shiny wood was decorated with medallions depicting mythical creatures she’d seen in a book at school, the stool was gilt-edged and had curved legs. Clutching her hands in front of her, she went up to it. She took off her glasses for a closer look. What would the piano sound like? A heavenly choir, she thought. It inspired her to hum the hymn ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’.
‘Who are you?’ a voice said at the door.
Leah nearly leapt out of her skin. She spun round guiltily. A tall, fair-haired man stood with his hands on his hips, gazing at her intently. It was Hannah’s ‘ghost’. ‘I… I didn’t touch it.’
‘I didn’t say you did,’ Greg Opie replied, coming closer. ‘I asked you who you are.’
Leah backed away, turning her face in fear he would see her scar. ‘I’m… Leah Spargo, Hannah’s sister… It’s all right for me to be here…’ she got out in halting tones. ‘Mrs Opie said Hannah could have family visit her.’
Greg Opie advanced on her like a bird of prey. ‘Keep still, I’m not going to eat you. So you’re Hannah’s sister? How interesting. Take off your hat, you don’t need it indoors.’
It didn’t occur to Leah that she didn’t have to obey him; he had made her feel like an intruder and she found him intimidating. She pulled off the hat and held it tightly in both hands with her glasses, keeping her face turned. He was right in front of her. She couldn’t retreat any further because her back was against a sofa. Greg crooked his head to see her face and she dropped her chin.
‘Why are you afraid to look at me?’ he demanded.
Leah was on the verge of tears. ‘I… I want to go.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’ve told you I’m not going to eat you and I’m sorry I startled you. You were looking at the piano. Do you play?’
‘N-no, sir,’ and Leah briefly gave him eye contact. He was grinning and she felt foolish. He put out his hand.
‘I’m Greg Opie. Pleased to meet you, Miss Leah Spargo.’
Leah thought she would die. She had never shaken the hand of anyone more important than the minister before. Timidly she put her hand in his. His grip was firm, smooth and cool.
‘We’re introduced now so it’s all right to look at me,’ he said.
Leah knew she couldn’t keep her head down. Slowly she raised her chin and, with her face crimson, braced herself for the expected expression of horror as he saw her scar. He seemed to devour her every feature, but he kept smiling.
‘You and Hannah are both pretty but you’re not at all alike.’
Leah stared at him. Pretty! Did he call me pretty?
‘Has Hannah been showing you over the house?’
‘Yes, but Mrs Opie rang for her,’ Leah answered with a little more confidence.
‘Is there anything in particular you’d like to see?’
‘Yes,’ Leah admitted. ‘A chandelier.’
Greg pointed to the ceiling. ‘Up there, the lighting.’
Leah gazed up, utterly awestruck. ‘It’s more beautiful than the stars,’ she breathed.
‘Well, I think the Almighty might argue about that but they are rather splendid.’
Hannah entered the room and was surprised to see her sister and Greg Opie looking up, Leah with her head bare, glasses off, black hair cascading like a waterfall down her back, seemingly quite at home. Greg saw her first.
‘Hannah, I was looking for you or Angie to make me some coffee when I heard someone in here. I’m pleased to have made your charming sister’s acquaintance.’
‘I’ll make the coffee for you, Mr Gregory,’ Hannah said, wondering what he could have said to Leah to put her at her ease.
‘Five minutes then,’ he said, and after a small smile at Leah he left the two girls alone.
‘I’ve never seen anything as wonderful, as beautiful, as gorgeous in all my life as the drawing room,’ Leah enthused as she sat on a stool at the kitchen table and watched Hannah making tea and coffee. And she had something to boast about for the first time in years. ‘He called me charming.’
‘I know,’ Hannah smiled. ‘I’ve never heard him compliment anyone before, not even Mr Patrick on his cooking.’
‘And,’ Leah said dramatically to get Hannah’s attention again, ‘he called me pretty.’
‘Did he?’ Hannah said, wondering with a niggle of worry why Greg Opie had said that. Putting some cream biscuits on a plate, she went on emphatically, ‘Well, you are pretty. You’ve been told often enough.’
Leah ran her finger down her right cheek. ‘He didn’t seem to notice my scar.’
‘That’s because it hardly shows. You’ve been told that often enough too. It’s just a thin white mark.’
‘Oh, Hannah,’ Leah said with all her heart. ‘I wish I could work here.’
‘Well, you never know, perhaps Mrs Opie will decide she needs more servants one day.’
Leah put her chin in her hands and fell into a daydream about just that.
Upstairs, Mrs Opie was thinking about the very same thing.