her head. ‘Not even as a secret? You don’t have to tell me the details if you
‘No,’ said Loveday sulkily, and Josephine could tell from her frown that she was speaking the truth. ‘I was hoping to see him at the theatre, but I had to go. I don’t suppose you saw him?’
‘I’m afraid not.’ She decided against worrying Loveday by telling her that Christopher had not shown his face at the Minack – or anywhere else, for that matter. ‘I didn’t even see much of you. You left in such a hurry – are you feeling better now?’
‘Much better, thank you – not that Christopher cares. He made such a fuss of me at first when I didn’t feel well, and I thought he was sure to come and see me today, but he hasn’t as much as sent a message.’
Josephine was confused. ‘I thought you hadn’t seen him?’
Loveday looked at her as if she were a little stupid. ‘I haven’t.’
‘But if he was concerned last night when you felt ill…’
‘No, not last night. When I was
Surprised, Josephine said: ‘Loveday, how did you feel back then, when Christopher was so worried about you?’
‘Horrible,’ she said, shuddering. ‘I was sick all the time – just like I was once when I ate some berries I found in the woods, except this went on for longer.’
‘And last night? Were you sick then?’
‘No, that’s stopped now, thank goodness. Morveth gave me something to make it go away. Last night was just the curse, but it hurt more than usual. Morwenna said it was so bad because I hadn’t had one for a while. I suppose that makes sense, but I’m glad it’s better today.’
Josephine was torn between relief that Loveday remained blissfully ignorant of her obvious miscarriage, and horror at this latest example of the way in which the girl was so easily manipulated by those around her. ‘It sounds as though Morveth looked after you well,’ she said. ‘What did she give you?’
‘I don’t know exactly, but it smelt funny. Morwenna was angry with her for making me drink it yesterday when I wanted to go to the play, but Morveth said something about it having to be right with the moon, and if she waited another month it would be too late.’
Reminding herself that this was 1935, Josephine said: ‘And Christopher knew you were being sick?’
‘Yes. He was really nice to me about it, but I could tell he was worried.’
I bet he was, Josephine thought. She could imagine how Jago Snipe would have reacted to the news that his son had got Loveday pregnant. Running away – if that was indeed what he had done – must have seemed by far the lesser of two evils. ‘Did anyone else know you were ill?’ she asked.
‘No. Morwenna said we should keep it to ourselves, and I was to stay at home as much as possible until I felt better. That’s why she got so angry whenever I ran off – but it’s so boring, being stuck in the house all the time.’
‘What about Harry? Did he know you weren’t well before he had his accident?’ If Harry had found out that Christopher was taking advantage of his little sister, that would explain the animosity between them.
Loveday considered the question for a moment. ‘No – he would have done something to make me feel better,’ she said. ‘He always knew how to cheer me up.’
It was the first time that Josephine had heard Loveday use the past tense with regard to her brother. At least she seemed to be coming to terms with that tragedy, although the news of Nathaniel’s death – and possibly Christopher’s – could surely not be kept from her for much longer, and she was bound to be deeply upset when she heard. ‘I know he’s made you cross – I would be, too – but you and Christopher are very good friends, aren’t you?’ she said gently. Loveday nodded, and she looked so sad that Josephine was tempted to try to explain the situation to her: was allowing her to believe that Christopher had betrayed her affections really any kinder than being honest with her about the danger in which he might have found himself? In the end, she decided against it; she could only guess at what had really happened to the boy, and telling Loveday something which she subsequently discovered to be a lie would only make her as insensitive as everyone else. Instead, with the unpleasant taste of treachery in her mouth, she did as Archie had asked. ‘Did Harry ever have a special friend, like you have Christopher? One person with whom he was particularly close?’
‘No. He had me and Morwenna.’
‘Of course he did, but I mean someone different.’ The irony was not lost on her as she added, ‘Someone outside the family.’
This seemed to be a new idea to Loveday. She thought about it, but eventually shook her head. ‘Definitely not. I would have known.’
‘Even if he didn’t want to tell you?’
‘Oh yes. Sometimes I used to follow him, you see, just for fun.’
‘And he didn’t meet anyone, or go anywhere in particular? With Nathaniel, for example?’
‘Into the village, usually. And he did meet people, but not someone to be alone with, not like…’ She left the sentence unfinished and looked down at the sheets, embarrassed. ‘Anyway, Nathaniel wouldn’t be like Christopher, would he?’
Josephine was saved the embarrassment of further explanation by the sound of someone opening the back door. Morwenna had returned sooner than expected, perhaps having had second thoughts about leaving her sister alone to talk to a stranger, and her time with Loveday was clearly about to be curtailed. Footsteps stopped halfway up the stairs, as though Morwenna were trying to listen to their conversation, and Josephine said brightly to Loveday: ‘Would you like me to read you the first chapter before I have to go?’
Loveday nodded enthusiastically, and handed her the book. She had barely got halfway through the first paragraph before she was interrupted, but the voice was not Morwenna’s.
‘I’m sure you mean well, Miss Tey, but I think Loveday needs some rest now.’ She turned to see Morveth Wearne standing in the doorway, her face resolute and brooking no argument. ‘Perhaps you could come back another day.’
It occurred to Josephine that the same offer might have been made to a condemned man with more hope of its being allowed to come true, but she resisted the temptation to jump up as though she were one of Morveth’s pupils. ‘Oh, we’ve been taking it easy, haven’t we?’ she said casually, glancing conspiratorially at Loveday. ‘And it’s good to know that your patient is so much better than she has been of late.’
This last comment could hardly have been more blatant, but Morveth did not even flinch. ‘Then let’s make sure it stays that way,’ she said, opening the door slightly. It was a subtle gesture, but somehow harder to disobey than an outright order to leave.
‘I’ll come and see you again,’ she promised Loveday defiantly. ‘Enjoy the book, and don’t be too careful with it. When you’re better, I’ll let you read some of the new one.’ She bent down to kiss the girl’s forehead, and whispered in her ear so that Morveth could not hear what she was saying. ‘You never know, I might find a role for you in it. But that’s
Loveday beamed at her and she left the room, glad that Morveth at least refrained from seeing her off the premises like a poacher discovered trespassing on estate land. As she closed the door behind her and walked down the path, Josephine could feel the eyes burning into the back of her head. She resisted the temptation to turn around.
Chapter Seventeen
Beth Jacks got up from where she had been kneeling on the cold stone floor of the church, and turned away while Jasper Motley tidied his clothes. Such modesty was hardly necessary, he thought, as he watched her wipe her hand quickly across her mouth, but at least she was getting better at masking her revulsion. If anyone had a right to be disgusted, it was he: her face was rarely without the marks of her husband’s fist these days, and that purple stain of shame made it almost impossible for him to take any satisfaction in their sex – if what they did now was even worthy of the name. He had long since abandoned any attempt to force himself on her as he would have liked to; her compliance made no allowance for the sense of power which had first awakened, then guided, his sexuality, and she ought to be grateful that he was willing to continue the arrangement at all.
She took a seat at the vestry table, while he lifted the lid on the panelled oak coffer and removed a black bag.
