Moving On (A Polvellan Cornish Mystery Book 6) Page 7

  Leaning forward, Jess took Helen’s small hand in hers and stroked her arm with gentle fingers as she softly sang lullabies. Then she talked about all the things they had seen on their walks to the marina. Her throat grew dry, her eyes wet. An hour passed.

  ‘That’s enough for now,’ the nurse said. Jess hadn’t heard her come in. ‘Time you went home. When you get in, make sure you have something to eat and a hot drink. You can phone in the morning to see how she is.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Jess pushed herself out of the chair, utterly drained. She washed her hands at the basin then returned to the visitors’ room, pulling off her mask and apron. Shelley rose as Jess entered.

  ‘How is she?’ Viv asked.

  ‘The nurse said she’s no worse so I’m clinging to that. Shelley, can we give you a lift home?’

  The girl shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’ll stay. The nurses have other patients to look after. Rob’s shift doesn’t finish until six a.m. It could be later if they get busy. I’ll sit with Helen so she hears a familiar voice.’

  Jess nodded. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then.’

  ‘It is tomorrow.’ Viv yawned. ‘Sorry. C’mon on, bird. Let’s go home.’ She tucked her arm through Jess’s. ‘Looking limp as a rag you are.’

  They made their way out through the noise and bustle of A&E into the cool night air.

  ‘She so small, Viv. She’s hooked up to machines and covered in spots.’

  ‘Then ’tis a good job she’s sleeping and out of it, dear of her. Car’s over there,’ she pointed. ‘I know you got your knickers in a twist over Shelley and your Rob. And I know it’s none of my business. But ’tidn yours neither. I tell you this, Jess, Shelley think the world of that dear baby.’

  ‘Helen already has a mother.’

  ‘I don’t see her here.’

  ‘This conference is important to her job.’

  Viv snorted. ‘More important than her baby in hospital? What kind of mother is that?’

  An unwilling one, Jess thought but didn’t say.

  The following afternoon Viv dropped Jess at the entrance to the hospital car park. She was going to the nearby supermarket while Jess spent time with Helen and they would meet up in an hour.

  A nurse was checking readings on the machines when Jess entered the isolation room, a new apron over her clean jeans and polo shirt, her hands thoroughly washed.

  ‘How is she?’

  ‘Her temperature’s down and the rash isn’t any worse. She can’t take anything by mouth yet so the drip is keeping her hydrated.’

  ‘Does that mean it might not be meningitis?’ As the nurse hesitated, Jess added, ‘You’re going to tell me I should ask the doctor. I will, but he isn’t here and you are. Please?’

  ‘They’re looking at other possibilities.’

  ‘Oh, thank God! Has Shelley been in?’

  ‘Here all night she was. Dr Trevanion sent her home when he come off duty this morning. He stayed on here for an hour. Shelley’ll be back again any time. She dotes on this little maid. All right if I leave you? I’m just outside if you need anything.’

  ‘We’ll be fine.’ The nurse went out and Jess sat down and gently took Helen’s hand in hers. When the little girl stirred Jess guessed the sedation had been reduced. Surely that had to be a good sign? Her eyes remained closed and she settled again.

  Jess rubbed her thumb lightly over the back of Shelley’s small, plump hand. She talked about her research and wondered how the sheet was looking now after all Gill’s efforts. She sang nursery rhymes, and songs that had been popular when her twins were babies.

  Movement caught her eye. She glanced up as Shelley came through the double doors wearing blue cotton trousers and a matching polo shirt. Seeing Jess, she waved then turned to talk to the nurse who handed her a fresh apron and mask.

  Jess released the baby’s hand, gently laying it on the sheet, and stood up, flexing her back.

  Shelley opened the door. ‘I can wait if you’d like to stay longer.’

  Jess smiled and shook her head. ‘I’ve run out of nursery rhymes and talked myself hoarse. Did you sleep?’

  ‘Five hours. I was out before I hit the pillow.’

  ‘That will have done you good. Helen’s a little better. The nurse will tell you.’ She paused at the door. ‘Thank you, Shelley.’

  The girl looked up. ‘What for?’

  ‘Caring.’

  ‘I love her.’

  And that, Jess thought as she left A&E and crossed the crowded car park to meet Viv, was both a comfort and a problem.

  ‘How is she?’ Viv wanted to know as Jess pulled the door shut and fastened her seat belt.

  ‘She stayed all night. Rob sent her home at six this morning, then he –’

  ‘The baby, Jess. How’s the baby.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I thought –’

  ‘I know what you thought. But you got to stay out of it and let them sort it out for theirselves.’

  ‘Says the woman who wanted to give Brianna Pellow a hard slap for snogging her son-in-law.’

  ‘Yes well, I might’ve wanted to. Truth is my hand do itch every time I see her. But I’m being strong. Now, what about that dear baby?’

  ‘They think it may not be meningitis after all.’

  ‘Thank the Lord for that.’

  They talked all the way home. Viv dropped her off opposite her gateway. Unlocking her front door, Jess bent to pick up a piece of paper from the mat. She dropped her handbag on the worktop, switched on the kettle and unfolded the note. It was from Harry. He had found something else in his mother’s attic he knew she’d want to see.

  She picked up the phone and dialled his number. It rang twice.

  ‘Carveth here.’

  ‘Harry, it’s Jess. I’ve just got your note.’

  ‘How is your granddaughter?’

  How did he know? Daft question. The Polvellan grapevine put the internet to shame. His next words confirmed it.

  ‘I was in the post office this morning and Mrs Eathorne told me.’ Viv would have told her.

  ‘She’s a little better, thanks for asking. What have you found?’

  ‘May I bring it down?’

  ‘Cuppa? I’ve just boiled the kettle.’

  ‘Ten minutes.’

  She had made a pot of tea and was laying slices of buttered fruit loaf on a plate when she heard his footsteps on the path. Opening the door, she saw him carrying a large and clearly heavy oblong box wrapped in an old towel.

  ‘Hi, come in.’ She stepped back.

  ‘Wait till you see this.’ He crossed to the kitchen table, set the bundle down and opened the towel.

  The wooden box was about a metre long and half a metre wide, with a hinged lid and metal carrying handles on each side. Every surface was painted with a border of cream flowers and green leaves. Within the border a broad band of jade green was stencilled with a gold leaf pattern. Inside that another border, this time pale orange, surrounded a row of orange and cream flowers interspersed with more green leaves. But what drew Jess’s gaze was Gothic lettering on the front, either side of the ornate metal lock. It read RZ Montclare 1809.

  ‘It’s her bridal chest. My grandmother – that’s my mother’s mother – had one. The lid had a beaded edge but the box part was plain. It certainly wasn’t painted like this. Granny called hers a hope chest. I did some research on an antiques site. Apparently girls on the continent began embroidering all the household linens they would need for their married life while they were still in their early teens. Obviously at that age they didn’t know who they would marry, so the convention was to embroider the initial of their last name and leave a space for the initial of their husband’s last name to be added later.’

  ‘Where did you find it?’

  ‘Under some books in a trunk that had been to India and back at least twice. The trunk was behind several packing cases. You would not believe how much stuff I’ve already thrown away. The skip I’m filling is the third. My mother f
ollowed the family tradition of hoarding, most of it junk.’

  ‘Not this.’ Jess ran one hand reverently across the lid then looked up at him. ‘The monogram on the sheet must be her work. MC for Montclare Carveth.’

  ‘Which begs the question, what happened? Why was her portrait banished to the attic wrapped in bed linen that would have taken weeks to embroider and was a symbol of their union?’

  Chapter Seven

  On Thursday afternoon Jess was skimming through reports of masked balls, lavish dinners, picnics and other entertainments laid on for the Congress delegates and their ladies. One entry mentioned British Foreign Minister Castlereagh’s concern about Stewart’s love affairs and drinking. Jess felt a pang of sympathy for Carveth. Being aide to a man of such erratic behaviour must have been extremely demanding.

  The phone rang. She snatched up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s Rob, Ma. Helen is being discharged in an hour.’ Before Jess could ask any questions, he went on. ‘The rash has faded. They stopped sedation and removed the oxygen line late last night. When Helen woke, Shelley was allowed to bathe her and give her a bottle. Mr Tadros, the A&E consultant, and Mr Braithwaite from Paediatrics think it was an acute viral infection that has run its course.’

  ‘What a relief. I’m so glad for Helen, for you and for Shelley who has been absolutely marvellous. And Fiona –’

  ‘Ah yes, Fiona. At least she’ll be spared the effort of phoning the hospital.’

  She winced at his bitterness. ‘Give her a chance to explain, Rob,’ she urged. ‘There may –’

  ‘She left a message on my voicemail yesterday morning saying she had spoken to the ward sister and that Helen’s swift recovery meant it couldn’t have been serious.’ He was silent for a moment, and Jess recalled sitting by Helen’s bed in the isolation bay, holding her tiny hand and willing her to get better. She heard him clear his throat and knew he was fighting the fear-filled memory of hours that had stretched into days. ‘I’ve called her mobile three times but it’s switched off. I’ve just rung the hotel. The course ended at lunchtime yesterday. Fiona hasn’t come home yet. So where is she?’

  At midday on Saturday Jess answered her landline.

  ‘Hi, Ma.’

  ‘Hi, Rob. How’s Helen?’

  ‘She’s her usual sunny self, eating and drinking normally. And the back tooth that was giving so much trouble is finally through.’

  ‘I am glad.’ She hesitated. ‘Have you heard from Fiona?’

  ‘Apparently she’ll be home tomorrow. She didn’t say where she’s been and I didn’t ask. I’ve got the weekend off so Shelley and I are taking Helen out for the afternoon. We need fresh air and a change of scene.’

  ‘You certainly do. Have a wonderful time. Give Helen a kiss from me.’

  ‘Thanks for your support, Ma.’

  ‘I’m always here for you, Rob.’

  She replaced the receiver, saddened by the unfolding situation. As a mother her instinct was to protect. But Rob was no longer a child. He was a grown man. He knew the outing with Shelley and Helen was a brief calm before the coming storm. She wished there was something she could do. But Viv had been right. Rob and Fiona’s marriage was their business and she had to stay out of it.

  Relieved but tired after the stress of the past few days she had spent the morning making two large savoury quiches, now cooling on the worktop. She took her half-dozen wine glasses from the top cupboard. As she rinsed and polished them she thought back to when she had moved in.

  Before leaving Truro, desperate to raise money, she had held a garage sale. Her best china and crystal glassware had been among the first things to go. She had replaced them from the flea market, buying six mugs with different floral designs, and two cups, saucers, bowls and plates in a popular pattern. Since renewing her friendships with Viv, Gill, Annie and Mor, then getting to know Claire, she had been back to buy more.

  She set tea plates, serving platters and paper napkins at one end of the worktop. At the last Over-Sixties Lunch before the summer break, Mor had told them she didn’t want to go out for her hen night.

  ‘You know I aren’t one for a lot of fuss.’

  ‘You got to have a proper send-off,’ Viv argued.

  ‘Mor, how about a get-together at my place?’ Jess suggested. ‘The six of us have shared so much there, good news and bad. Your wedding is the best.’

  Mor’s smile had held relief and delight. ‘Oh, Jess, be ’andsome that would. Sure it won’t be no trouble?’

  ‘’Course it won’t,’ Viv piped up. ‘We’ll all bring a plate – not you, Mor. You get a night off. We’ll have a lovely spread and drink to your happiness.’

  After a sandwich and a cup of coffee, Jess worked through more entry forms for the tractor section of Keith Stevens’ Vintage Rally. Some gave only basic information: the make, horse-power, year, registration number and current owner. Others included much more detail, listing the previous owners, what the vehicle had been used for, who had begun the restoration and how long it had taken. The oldest so far was a Fordson F, 20hp, built 1919/20. Imported from British Columbia in 2004, it was currently being restored, but difficulty finding parts meant it was taking a long time.

  Her mobile rang, making her jump. She glanced at the clock, saw it was nearly four and lifted the phone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘All right, my lover?’

  ‘Tom! When did you get home?’

  ‘’Bout an hour ago. Chris is still unloading and I been going through the phone messages.’

  ‘Was it a good sail back?’

  ‘It was bleddy quick. We had a south-east gale behind us and couldn’t have stopped if we wanted to.’

  ‘Any damage?’

  ‘My shoulders is aching but everything else is in working order.’

  Jess laughed. ‘I’m glad to hear it. But I meant the boat, not you.’

  ‘She’s fine. Take more than a bit of a blow to give her trouble. Is Percy OK?’

  ‘As far as I know.’

  ‘So it’s all still on for tonight?’

  ‘Yes. Mor and the others are coming here about half seven.’

  ‘’Andsome. Doug said he’d spend an hour or two with Percy and tell him about our trip so Ben can come up the pub for a drink and a bite of supper with me and Jimmy and we’ll give ’n his camera. Right, I’ll leave you get on. ’Bye, my bird. I’ve missed you awful.’

  ‘’Bye, Tom.’ As she ended the call confusion bubbled up again. His week in Brittany had given her a respite. His absence had released her from having to give him an answer to his request that she move in with him. She was no nearer a decision.

  Her reaction to Harry Carveth had surprised and unsettled her. But common sense told her she was making too much of it. Her experience of men was limited to Tom and her late husband. Appreciation of a good-looking mature man – who also happened to be a widower – was nothing to get in a knot about. After all, Viv admired him and no one was more married than Viv.

  Or was it a sign? Proof that she wasn’t as committed to their relationship as Tom was? She did love him, but was that enough? He wouldn’t be making the compromises. His life would stay exactly the same, just with added benefits. Hers would change completely – again.

  That evening Jess was touched to see that despite Mor saying she didn’t want any fuss, everyone had dressed for the occasion.

  She had teamed her long black skirt and flat gold sandals with an emerald scoop-neck top and a necklace of gold and emerald beads. Annie was in black trousers and a maroon paisley over-shirt. Claire had chosen a vivid multi-hued kaftan. Gill looked elegant in a three-quarter sleeved dress of pastel pink and lilac, and Viv had chosen a navy, turquoise and shocking pink tunic over turquoise Capri pants and high-heeled mules. Two pink silk roses were pinned at one side of her high-piled hair. The five women moved around each other with practised ease, reaching for dishes and setting out the food they had brought.

  ‘How’s the baby?’ Gill wanted to know
.

  ‘She’s fine. She bounced back just like Viv said she would.’

  ‘What about you?’ Claire’s smile held sympathy.

  ‘Still shattered. Anything more from Ginny?’

  As Claire shook her head there was a knock on the door. It opened and Mor looked in. ‘You’re all here.’

  ‘Come in, Mor,’ Jess went to meet her. ‘Let’s have your coat.’

  ‘Did I get the time wrong?’

  ‘No. The others came a few minutes early so we could get the food set out.’

  Mor handed Jess her light waterproof coat, revealing a long navy skirt topped by a pale blue long-sleeved blouse with a pleated front and plain, round neck.

  ‘I love your blouse, Mor,’ Claire said. ‘Very elegant and not fussy.’

  ‘Tina chose it for me,’ Mor said as Jess hung her coat on a peg at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Been good as gold she have. She know what suit me better’n I do.’

  ‘You’ve had your hair done too!’ Viv peered at it.

  Mor’s hand went to the back of her neck. ‘Not too short is it? Only Tina said I should have it done now so it got time to settle before the wedding.’

  Jess took photos with her phone as everyone chatted. ‘It really suits you.’

  ‘Getting rid of that perm was the best thing Tina ever did,’ Gill said.

  Claire nodded. ‘Brushing it back at the sides really lifts your face, Mor. I’m going to ask her to take more off mine next time.’

  ‘Got used to your ring yet?’ Viv teased, perching on the padded arm of the sofa so Mor could sit down. Jess handed out glasses of sparkling wine.

  Mor splayed her fingers with their short unpolished nails, smiling at the sapphire and diamonds on her left hand. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? When Ben give it to me we was both shaking. I can’t b’lieve – I never thought – I mean –’

  ‘You going to finish that sentence anytime soon, Mor?’ Annie enquired. ‘Only this fizz is going flat.’

  Mor giggled. ‘Sorry. It’s just – I never knew I could be this happy.’

  ‘You deserve every bit of it.’ Jess raised her glass. ‘Here’s wishing you and Ben a wonderful wedding day and long and happy married life.’ They all drank.