Pennyroyal (13 page)

This group of headstones were taller, wider, more ornate and intricately carved, the worn surfaces filled with name after name as member after member of this local family followed each other into the churchyard of St. Boniface. Cassy felt a wave of dizziness as her eye followed the name repeated again and again…Everand, Everand, Everand…

The implication of the last engraved name did not register for some moments:

LEWIS JACOB EVERAND

Departed this transitory life 22 November 1951

Aged 35 years

Pride of Pennyroyal

Cassy was shaking. A chilling wind suddenly buffeted her from all directions.
Pride of Pennyroyal.
What did that mean? Why was it engraved on the tombstone of Jake Everand’s father? What had she stumbled on in this remote country churchyard?

She tried to unscramble her brains but the facts would not marshal themselves into any order. Somehow Lewis Everand was connected with Pennyroyal.
Pride of Pennyroyal.
It was written like some family motto. She remembered the flower in the heraldic device over the front door at Kettlehulme. A wild flower, an herb…the pennyroyal!

She ran from the churchyard, out onto the green, almost forgetting where she had parked the car.

Suddenly she remembered what it was they had overlooked. The worksheets in the office at the mine. They would be dated. No one had looked at the dates.

The car covered the miles to Pennyroyal as if it knew the way on its own. She pulled up in the empty yard, climbing out with shaking legs. She had the keys to Pennyroyal in her bag. They were the last thing Jake had given her before leaving.

The door creaked open obediently. This time Cassy stood in the doorway filled with apprehension and fear; none of the excitement was left. The cobwebs stirred in the draught, beckoning her in with grey fingers. She went straight over to the high desks and sifted rapidly through the browning papers.

“They were here!” she muttered to herself. She remembered Jake mentioning them. “They must be here!”

The worksheets were not in order. Columns of miner’s names, the shifts worked, the load moved… Cassy hurriedly turned them over, searching for the last one.

When she found it, Cassy stood and stared at the faded brown writing. The list of miners who had clocked in for work that day was very short, only four names. The work load was nil. The rest of the sheet was blank and empty. But the date that headed the sheet was clear and underlined twice: it was the 22 November 1951. The day that Lewis Everand died.

Slowly she withdrew the sheet and tried to roll it, but the paper was dry and crumbling in her hands. Lewis Everand had died on the day that Pennyroyal closed. And they had been best friends, her grandfather and Lewis Everand, like brothers.

Her gaze was drawn to the mouldering shoes abandoned on the floor and she lifted them gingerly. Their owner must have had small, dainty feet. They were not shoes for walking the moors, unsuitable fashion shoes, still encrusted with the mud that had rotted them. Cassy carried them out to the car and put them on the front seat, but she already knew the answer. They were Alician’s shoes.

She drove back to Ridge House slowly and soberly. Now Mrs. Hadlow would have to tell her all that she knew. Cassy had a right to know.

But Amy Hadlow had gone out. A note was propped on the kitchen table. Mrs. Hadlow had gone to a whist drive and would be back about seven. There was some cold ham and salad in the pantry.

Cassy flung herself into a chair. She had no appetite, though she was sure the supper was delicious. This inheritance was becoming more complicated by the minute, and she was not sure that she wanted to be involved.

If only Lewis Everand was not part of the mystery; she wanted everything between herself and Jake to be perfect but the shade of his father was going to change everything.

She hid her head in her hands. She felt an unreasonable anger towards Jake. Surely he had noticed the date on the worksheets; he must have known that his father died on that day even if Jake had not been born then. Their relationship was already fraught with difficulties without any further complications.

Cassy was tight with emotion when the telephone rang. She knew it was Jake before she lifted the receiver. The sound of his deep voice made her vitally aware of him.

“Cassy…darling?”

“Jake.”

“I said I would phone.”

“Yes, thank you. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” She heard his chuckle, low and warm.

“I only left you a few hours ago and already you want to talk to me. What a girl. Well, I’ve some good news for you, Cassy. I knew Pennyroyal would not be difficult to get rid of. There’s an offer in the pipeline.”

“An offer for Pennyroyal? But isn’t that quick? Do they know that it’s worked out?”

“Of course, they do. My report goes with the sale particulars. But Pennyroyal does have a certain novelty value, and if the buyer is rich, it can be put down as a tax loss.”

“I’m not sure I approve of that,” said Cassy.

“It’s done all the time whether you approve or not.”

“And the offer?”

“The asking price.”

Cassy’s heart fell. She had not wanted a quick sale. She had almost hoped it would not sell, even if that meant the end of her dream of Cassandra. She forced a spark of enthusiasm.

“That’s wonderful. Who is the buyer?”

“I’ve no idea. The buyer wants to remain anonymous. The sale is being handled by a broker. What have you been doing?”

“Oh, I’ve been around and about,” said Cassy vaguely, wondering whether to tell Jake what she had discovered or not. She wanted desperately to know how much he had kept from her.

“I’ve found the date that Pennyroyal closed,” she announced bluntly. “Isn’t that interesting?”

“Is it interesting?” he drawled.

Cassy took a quick intake of breath. “Of course. I’ve been trying to find out for days. No one would tell me. But it was there all the time. I’m surprised you didn’t see it, Jake.”

“Me? Why should I? How did you find out?”

Jake sounded mildly curious, but it was difficult to tell over the telephone.

“Remember the worksheets in the office at the mine, those sheets of paper on the desks? You were looking at them.”

“Was I? I don’t recall.”

Cassy stared out of the window. The light was fading, the edges of the high peaks etched against a mackerel sky. A deep disappointment was reflected in Cassy’s voice. She hoped fervently that Jake would now admit to knowing the date.

“November 22, 1951,” she said, her voice throbbing.

“Ah…” he said.

“Does that mean anything to you?”

“Should it?”

Cassy let out a smothered cry of protest. She wanted to believe him but she knew that he was still keeping something from her.

“Oh Jake, don’t lie to me,” she cried. “You must have known. It was the day that your father died. Don’t pretend that you didn’t know. How can anyone not know when their father died?”

“I wasn’t even born.” His voice was stony.

“That’s no reason for not knowing. Especially here, in Netherdale and the connection with Pennyroyal, Kettlehulme and everything,” Cassy went on incoherently.

“What connection? Is there a connection? How did you find out when Lewis Everand died? Who told you?”

“No one told me,” said Cassy, exasperated. “I quite realise that a lot of people have been trying to keep the facts from me, for reasons known only to them. But I found out by accident, although it’s there plain enough for anyone to see. In the churchyard of St. Boniface. The family grave…that’s how I found out. It’s engraved on the headstone.”

There was a silence. It was not a companionable silence and Cassy could have wept. She wished she had not broached the subject on the telephone. She should have waited till they were together.

“But don’t let’s argue on the telephone,” she said shakily. “I’m sure you’ll tell me all about it when you return. I should know, don’t you agree?”

“No, I don’t agree,” he flared. “None of it is any of your business. What’s it to you when my father died or when the mine closed? You’re not really interested in Pennyroyal, only in what you can get for it to start your precious agency. It beats me why your grandfather left it to you when you treated him so badly when he was alive.”

Pain and humiliation shot through Cassy. How did Jake know? Had Mrs. Hadlow told him? Surely not, Mrs. Hadlow would not be so unkind even if her opinion of Cassy’s behaviour was low.

“And the situation between me and my grandfather is none of your business either,” said Cassy angrily. “You have absolutely no idea why I…I mean, what was the reason…oh, I don’t have to tell you anything. You, of all people. You shouldn’t jump to conclusions. I thought engineers and surveyers dealt in facts, not gossip.”

“It’s no idle gossip the way you ignored him for ten years.” His voice was like ice. “Some granddaughter.”

“How dare you! That’s not fair and very cruel. I didn’t ignore him. I don’t have to take these insults from you, Jake Everand. You’ve no right to talk to me this way.”

“I’ll talk to you any way I like, Miss Ridgeway.”

“No one talks to me like this, especially a bossy and arrogant man like you, Jake Everand. I don’t see any point whatsoever in continuing this conversation,” said Cassy.

“Neither do I,” said Jake, slamming down the receiver.

Cassy rushed from the room, out into the shadowed yard, distressed, trembling, close to tears. There was nowhere to go. She had moved out of Castle Inn in order to be near Jake Everand; now he was the last person she wanted to see.

She wandered restlessly, her hands slack and limp by her side, head bowed. What had she done? Kettlehulme had been wonderful, full of surprises, an oasis of unexpected happiness. Now she had spoiled everything with her stupid insistence on the truth. What did it matter when the mine closed, or why? The present was more important; nothing could change the past

There was so much about Jake Everand that she respected and liked: his power and authority, his strength and undeniable masculinity. She wanted to love him. But she needed more to love in a man; gentleness and tenderness were such elusive qualities. Yet there were times when Jake showed a gentler side to his nature and his touch was pure magic.

The encroaching dusk reminded Cassy that Amy Hadlow might appreciate a lift back to Ridge House. Cassy wearily pulled on the honey sweater and drove the Daimler carefully along the lane. She was getting a headache and she knew from experience that she should not drive in such a condition. But the Derbyshire roads were familiar and she kept her speed down.

She parked the Daimler near the village green and walked the last few yards to the hall. Its lights were on and the doors open, voices and laughter floating but on the evening air.

The whist enthusiasts were leaving slowly.

“I had such a run of trumps,” Mrs. Hadlow was saying as she buttoned her long navy coat. “I couldn’t go wrong.”

“Did you win a prize?” Cassy asked.

“No, I never expect to win anything,” said Mrs. Hadlow. “I just enjoy the game and seeing my friends. Well, this is nice,” she exclaimed on seeing the big car parked outside.

“Jump in,” said Cassy, opening the door for her. “We’ll have a nice, cosy evening together.”

“What a treat,” said Mrs. Hadlow, her homely face alight. “We’ll have a long chat and nice cup of cocoa.”

Cassy realised she could not disappear to bed now. When they reached Ridge House, she took the first opportunity of swallowing a couple of paracetamol tablets. If she sat quietly somewhere for twenty minutes, the headache might go.

Fortunately Mrs. Hadlow went upstairs to her bedroom to change out of her best dress, leaving Cassy to herself downstairs in the sitting room. Cassy switched off the main light, just leaving on a small table lamp so that she could see.

She pulled up a footstool and relaxed back in an armchair, closing her eyes with some relief. She tried to empty her mind and relax but it was not easy. Her thoughts were tormented, razor sharp thrusts into her throbbing head. She would never be able to cope with someone like Jake Everand. It was for the best if she put him out of her life forever.

Vaguely she was aware that someone had come into the room but she did not open her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got a headache, Mrs. Hadlow. It’ll be all right. I’ll just stay here in the dark for a while.”

As there was no reply she assumed Mrs. Hadlow had tiptoed out of the room. But Cassy was wrong.

It was the lightest touch, like the brushing of butterfly wings. At first she thought she was imagining the feeling, but then she realised that fingers were gently but firmly massaging the back of her head and neck. They expertly drew the tension along the hollow each side of her spine, and brushed it down over her hunched shoulders.

The hands moved to the knotted muscles in her shoulders and kneaded the pain with a touch that was never too heavy or prolonged. The light sweep after each kneading seemed to take away a fraction of the pain each time and brush it into the air. Cassy felt the tension easing and the pain disappearing.