Someone Special (8 page)

‘I’ll buy soap tomorrow,’ she had said. ‘Oh, put a pan of water on the range when you arrive or you won’t have any hot water to scrub with. I daresay hot is needed?’

‘Yes,’ Hester said baldly. ‘Cold just spreads the dirt around.’ She hesitated a moment, then decided that if she didn’t ask she would never know. ‘Who was your last scrubbing woman, Mrs Cledwen?’

‘We had a – a girl from farther up the coast.’ A shadow crossed the older woman’s face, but whether it was of sadness or annoyance Hester could not have said. ‘Mr Geraint dismissed her; she was an idle creature and none too bright. I hope and trust you’ll be very different from Katie, Mrs Coburn … no, I shall start as I mean to go on and call you Hester.’

‘Very well, Mrs Cledwen. Shall you be here tomorrow morning at ten?’

‘Yes, I’ll be here, though perhaps not every morning. And come in the back way, if you please. Mr Geraint would not be amused to find you in his front hall every day.’

‘I’m not walking by those geese,’ Hester said firmly. ‘If I have to get bitten to death to get here I’ll give the job the go-by.’

Mrs Cledwen smiled. She looked quite different when
she smiled; she ought to do it more often, Hester thought, smiling back.

‘No, it’s all right, the geese live in the main courtyard. If you turn to your left, ignoring the big arch, you’ll find another, smaller arch. Go under that and … but you may as well leave by the back door now, then you’ll see the back way for yourself.’

She let Hester out into a courtyard with what she assumed were coalsheds and woodsheds to one side. Across the cobbles Hester went and under a small arch, to find herself in the wild gardens which she had noticed as she approached the castle, though seen at close quarters their resemblance to gardens was not striking. It’s downright dangerous, Hester thought, pushing painfully through rampant rose bushes and stopping to kick viciously at a clump of nettles threatening her bare legs. Poor old Prince Charming, if he had to tackle this lot to reach the sleeping beauty then he really needed that damned great sword.

She had been longer in the castle than she had thought, though; the sun had set and night was approaching fast. In the dim half-light it was hard to see where the path had once led, and soon Hester realised that she was lost. No, not lost precisely, she corrected herself, glancing behind her at the dark bulk of the castle; she just couldn’t find her way out of the maze of the wild garden. Now that almost all the light had gone, the paths, hard to see in daylight, merged with all the rest. If she went straight ahead she would get bogged down in the beds and clawed to pieces by the straggly roses and the great mass of brambles which flourished where flowers had once massed in the borders. The only way out was back – she would find the castle wall, make her way along it until she reached the big arch, and then dive for the driveway below, hoping that the geese were roosting, or snoozing, or whatever it was geese did after dark. Just so long as they weren’t prowling after
trespassers, preparing to spring out on the unwary …

Hester found the castle wall and clung to the grey stone, feeling the most complete fool and praying that no one would come out and find her in this most embarrassing of predicaments. To lose oneself within feet of the house one has just visited, how could she admit to such a thing? But she began inching her way along, one hand on the wall, now and then having to move away for a moment when a shrub or a particularly large bramble patch barred her path but returning to the wall at once, as one returns to one’s mother when lost and alone. It was slow work but at least she was making progress, though she burned from nettle stings and could feel a thousand scratches where brambles and rose thorns had snatched at her undefended flesh.

She rounded a buttress and it was then that she noticed the lighted window. It was quite high up, and it threw a golden glow right across the wild garden, illumining – oh, thank God, Hester thought exultantly – a small, meandering path. If she could reach that path it would surely lead her on to the driveway once more. She fixed her eyes on the path and began to hurry, which was her undoing; she walked into something solid, clutched at what felt like someone’s arm, let it go with a squeak of fright and realised it was a statue just as she began to fall, totally unable to help herself.

Hester and the statue hit the deck together in a welter of arms and legs, Hester landing in what felt like a gorse bush. She disentangled herself and scrambled painfully to her feet, her fear and misery giving way to a much healthier emotion: anger. What a stupid place to put a statue, halfway across a path! The thing had virtually attacked her; if she hadn’t bumped into it she would have been well out of here by now, on her way home. What was that word Mrs Cledwen had used with such force? Yes, bloody! It was a
bloody
statue, a beastly stupid statue,
and she just hoped it was as injured by the encounter as she was.

She was cursing the statue in the worst words at her command – and they turned out not to be nearly bad enough – when someone spoke to her. A deep, low voice came from above her head.

‘What the devil … just who do you think you are, crashing about down there?’

She looked up. A dark figure was leaning out of the golden window; silhouetted against the light she could not make out any features, but the voice had been a man’s.

‘I’m … I’m sorry,’ Hester stammered. It must be the old man, that would be just her luck, and what would he think of a scrubbing woman who got lost on her first visit to the castle, crashed through his garden wreaking havoc and – she glanced down at her enemy, supine at her feet – breaking a valuable statue into three distinct and separate pieces? ‘I was lost. I’m going home now.’

‘Wait.’ It was the voice which had shouted at her across the hall, she was sure of it. ‘Don’t try to move, wait.’

The golden light streamed out again; the figure in the window had disappeared. Hester drew a sobbing breath and looked wildly round her. If she ran like anything she might still get away, he couldn’t have got a very good look at her, he was in light, she in darkness. If she could only escape before he appeared … But she had gazed up at the window too long; her night-sight had temporarily deserted her. She could not pick out the path, all she could see were brambles, roses and more statues, or they might even be wicked fairies for all she knew, waiting to finish her off. No path, gleaming in the lamplight, no way of escape for a bruised and battered scrubbing woman.

She stood still while her night-sight returned and starlight illumined the wild garden once more. But before
she could take advantage of it a dark figure emerged from under the big arch. He came towards her, clearly knowing the paths like the back of his hand. He reached her, and caught her arm just above the elbow in a firm grip.

‘Come along; I’ll set you on the right road,’ he said, his voice sounding half annoyed, half amused. ‘You can tell me who you are and what you’re doing in my garden as we go.’

‘I came about a job,’ Hester said breathlessly, thanking God he hadn’t appeared to notice the dismembered statue. ‘Mrs Cledwen said I was to leave by the back way, but it was nearly dark and I came in through the front door so I didn’t know where I was. I must have strayed off the path.’

He had been leading her forward, rather like a prison warder leading a prisoner, but as she spoke he stopped and peered at her. Then he gave a muttered exclamation and pulled her into the beam of golden light falling from the window of the room he had just left.

‘My God! What are
you
doing here?’

The light which fell on her face hid her questioner, but Hester frowned up at him. The voice was familiar, it sounded … She pulled away from him and moved sideways so that the light fell on his profile.

‘You! I thought I recognised that voice. I might ask you the same question, John. Do you work at the castle too?’

He was still staring down at her, so she had ample opportunity to stare back. He had a harsh face, all planes and no curves, a hooked nose, thick black hair streaked with grey. His mouth gave nothing away, it was just a line, his chin jutted, clean-shaven usually but now blue with the day’s growth.

‘Work at the …? Oh, I see. Yes, I do. And what job did you come after?’

‘Scrubbing woman,’ Hester said. ‘Are you the gardener? Matthew never mentioned there was a gardener.’

‘Matthew?’ The man frowned, his firm grip on her upper arm beginning to make Hester’s muscle ache. She tried to pull away but he held on.

‘You must know him; Matthew Coburn. He lives at the lodge,’ Hester said. Suddenly she did not want to tell John she was married to Matthew. Let him guess, she thought, staring up into his grim face. He never told me he worked here when we met in Rhyl. ‘I thought you said you were going to put me on the right path?’

‘Yes, but I didn’t know it was you, then,’ the man said. ‘What happened to you? You disappeared.’

‘So did you,’ Hester pointed out. ‘Look, I must go, and you’ve left that window hanging open. If the wind gets up it’ll probably swing and break. Show me the path home, please. I’m late already.’

‘You live locally; right on my doorstep and I never guessed,’ the man murmured. ‘Hester, I …’

‘John …’

He drew her into his arms and Hester found herself clinging, raising her face to his as she had raised it once before, only then there had been bright summer stars above them, and the lights on the promenade had twinkled and shone, then the sounds of the funfair had drifted to them on the breeze and presently the sand had been cold and soft beneath her shoulders, his body warm between her and the dark night sky. And she had clung to him as she was clinging now, her lips parting for his kiss, her body tingling to his touch.

On that enchanted night last summer he had made her forget everything but his arms, his touch; now it was the same and she only came to her senses when she felt her shoulders against the castle wall and the warm weight of him leaning on her, trapping her against the stones. Abruptly she realised that anyone could look out, anyone
could see, as he had seen, out of that lighted window. And it was different now, she was a married woman, she could not, must not, should not …

‘John, no! Don’t, I mustn’t … think if anyone else looked out of the window. Let me go.’

Rather to her surprise he sighed and pulled her away from the wall, to rest against the breadth of his chest.

‘Foolish little Hester! There’s no one up there, I was alone. Will you come with me, into the castle, up to my room? We can be comfortable there, you can tell me how you came to be here.’

‘I can’t do that,’ Hester said. ‘I can’t just go with you, I’m not, I’m not …’

‘You’ve changed,’ John said. He stroked gently down the swell of her breasts, making her heart skip a beat, then double its pace. ‘You were a sweet, wild child. Now you’re a woman.’

It was useless to deny it once he had noticed the change in her; indeed it would be very wrong to deny her marriage, her motherhood.

‘Yes. I’m married now. I have a child.’

He nodded, eyes still steady on her face. ‘I should have guessed; is that why you went?’

In her turn, Hester nodded. It was too complicated to tell him the whole story.

‘Yes. And why I must go now, if you please.’

He took her shoulders and swung her round, to face away from the castle and the golden light from the window.

‘Of course, if that’s what you want. See the drive? I’ll walk down to it with you, then we must both return to our own places.’

They walked in silence to the drive. Reaching it, he stopped and turned to face her.

‘Who did you marry?’

‘Matthew Coburn; at the lodge.’

To her surprise, he grinned. She saw the flash of his teeth in the starlight, the laughter crease in his cheek deepened.

‘Really? We’re neighbours, then. Did you say you’d got a job up at the castle?’

‘Yes. I’m going to work there.’

He touched her cheek with the backs of his fingers, then lowered his voice, the tone of it as intimate, suddenly, as the most tender of caresses.

‘Then we’ll see each other again. I’m glad. Take care, little Hester. There’s your road.’

She half expected him to kiss her, at least to squeeze her hand, but he simply turned away, walking with the long stride she remembered, and disappeared under the great arch without once looking back.

‘Well? It weren’t so terrible, were it? Did Mrs Cledwen tell you when to start an’ that?’

Matthew had come to the back door as soon as he heard her hand on the latch and now he smiled down at her in the hazy lamplight, his pleasure at her presence warm and comforting. Hester came right into the room and closed the door behind her. She smiled at Matthew and took his hand in hers. Suddenly, all the things that had happened this evening shrunk into perspective; the strange Mrs Cledwen with her bad language and lady’s voice, then Hester getting lost in the wild garden and being found by the man she had met last summer – they were all unimportant beside Matthew and his gentle, loving smile.

‘Is Helen all right? I got the job, I start tomorrow at ten. Mrs Cledwen says I can take the baby with me, in her pram. Is she a sort of housekeeper, Matthew, or a poor relation or what? She’s obviously the boss, but she talked so strangely, it confused me. Still, the job seems all right – I’ll get half a crown a week.’

‘That’s very little,’ Matthew said. ‘How long d’you work, for that?’

‘Two or three hours a day. From ten until lunchtime Mrs Cledwen said. I’m not sure when she counts lunchtime, but she didn’t say I’d get a meal, she said I’d have to get back to you, so I expect it’s just the two hours.’

‘Once you’re into the job we can ask ‘em for a bit more,’ Matthew said now. ‘Baby’s been fine; asleep all evening. I made you a cheese sandwich and I boiled the kettle; want some tea?’

‘Oh yes please, that would be …’ Hester stopped short. ‘Oh Matt, look at my skirt!’

It was the first time she had ever shortened his name but in her distress she scarcely noticed. Glancing down, she had seen her blue cotton dress snagged and torn, and below the hem of the skirt her legs were stung and scratched, the sandals stained. She put a hand to her hair; it was like a bush. What a mess she must have looked, even in the faint light from that upper window – what a mess she looked now!