Philippa Carr: Midsummer's Eve

Mrs. Cherry, the mother of six, was once again pregnant. It was a perpetual state with her. As soon as she was delivered of one child, another was on the way. But in spite of her constant disability, Mrs. Cherry was perpetually cheerful; she had a loud booming laugh which seemed to accompany all her remarks—funny or not. Her body, made larger by her state, continually shook with merriment, for no one appreciated her mirth as wholeheartedly as she did herself. George Cherry, her husband, was a little man, not much above his wife’s shoulder, and he seemed to get smaller as her bulk increased. He walked in his wife’s shadow and his almost sycophantic titter never failed to follow her hearty laughter.

Soon after that visit two disasters struck the place.

Mrs. Cherry had milked the cows. “I always believe in keeping going till me times comes,” was a favourite saying of hers. “Never was one to believe in lying up too early like some.” So she kept to those farm duties which she could perform and halfway across the yard from the cowsheds she saw a riderless horse galloping past the house.

She went to the gate and out to the path. By that time the horse had turned back and was coming towards her. She saw it was the Tregorran mare which was in foal. She shouted, but she was too late to get out of its path and as it galloped past her she was knocked back into the hedge.

Her shouts had brought out the workmen.

She was, we were told, “in a state.” And that night her child was born dead.

Meanwhile Tregorran’s mare, attempting to leap over a fence, had broken a leg so it had to be destroyed.

The neighbourhood discussed the matter at length.

I went with my mother to call on Mrs. Cherry when she had recovered a little. It was about a week after the incident. Her fat face had lost most of its colour, leaving behind a network of tiny veins. She shook like a jelly when she talked; and for once did not seem to find life such a joke.

My mother sat by her bed and tried to cheer her.

“You’ll soon be well, Mrs. Cherry, and there’ll be another on the way.”

Mrs. Cherry shook her head. “I’d be that feared,” she said. “With the likes of some about us who knows what’ll happen next.”

My mother looked surprised.

“You see, me lady,” said Mrs. Cherry conspiratorially, “I knows just how it happened.”

“Yes, we all do,” replied my mother. “Tregorran’s mare went mad. They say it sometimes happens. Unfortunately there was the foal. Poor Tregorran.”

“’Tweren’t nothing to do with the horse, me lady. It was her . You know who.”

“No,” said my mother. “I don’t know who.”

“I was standing at the gate when she passed me. She said to me, ‘Your time won’t be long now.’ Well, I never did like to as much as speak to her, but I was civil-like and I said yes it was close now. Then she said to me, ‘I’ll give ’ee a little drink made of herbs and all that’s good from the earth. You’ll find it’ll give you an easy time, missus, and it’ll cost you so little you won’t notice it.’ I turned away. I wouldn’t take nothing from her. That was when it happened. She went off muttering, but not before she’d given me a look. Oh, it was a special sort of look, it were. I didn’t know then that it was for my baby.”

“You really don’t think Mother Ginny ill-wished you?”

“That I do and all, my lady. And not only me. I heard she had a bit of a back-and-forther with Jim Tregorran.”

“Oh no,” said my mother.

“’Tis so, me lady. I know she have cured some warts and such like but when there’s trouble around ’ee don’t have to look too far to see where it do come from.”

My mother was very disturbed.

As we walked home she said: “I hope they are not going to work up a case against Mother Ginny just because Tregorran’s mare ran amok and Mrs. Cherry stood in her path.”

My father was coming out of the house and with him was Mr. Hanson, our lawyer, and his son Rolf. I was delighted as I always was when Rolf came. I loved Rolf. He was so clever and he had a special way with me. I believe he liked me as much as I liked him. He never let me know that he considered me too young to be noticed. He was eight years older than I but was never superior about it as Jacco was, and Jacco was only two years older than I.

Rolf was very tall and towered over his father, who was rather portly. Rolf was not often in Poldorey because he was completing his education and was away for long periods. I thought he was very handsome, but I heard my mother say that although he was not good-looking he had an air of distinction. He was certainly good-looking in my eyes, but then everything about Rolf was perfect as far as I was concerned. His father was always telling us how clever he was and so, even on those occasions when he did not accompany his father, he was often discussed.

Rolf had travelled a good deal. He had done what they used to call the Grand Tour and he could talk fascinatingly about places like Rome, Paris, Venice and Florence. He loved art treasures and the costumes of long ago. He was always collecting something and he was passionately interested in the past.

I used to listen to him enraptured but I was not sure whether it was what he was telling me or just that I simply loved to be with Rolf.

When I was very young I told my mother that when I was grown up I should marry either Rolf or my father.

She had said very seriously: “I should settle for Rolf if I were you. There is a law against marrying fathers and in any case he already has a wife. But I’m sure he’ll be flattered by the suggestion. I’ll tell him.”

And after that I would think that I would without question marry Rolf.

As soon as he saw me he came to me and took both my hands. He always did that. Then he would stretch back, still holding them and looking at me to see how much I had grown since our last meeting. His smile was so warm and loving.

I cried: “Oh Rolf, it’s lovely to see you.” I added hastily: “And you too, Mr. Hanson.”

Mr. Hanson smiled benignly. Any appreciation for Rolf delighted him.

“How long are you here for?” I asked.

“Only a week or so,” Rolf told me.

I pouted. “You should come more often.”

“I’d like to. But I have to work, you know. But I’ll be back in June for a few weeks … round about Midsummer.”

“Would you believe it,” said Mr. Hanson admiringly, “he’s interested in land now. He’ll be trying to pick your brains, Sir Jake.”

“He’s welcome,” said my father. “How’s the Manor coming along?”

“Not bad … not bad at all.”

“Well, are you coming in?” said my mother. “You’ll stay to luncheon. Now, no excuses. We expect you to.” My mother smiled at me. “Don’t we, Annora?”

My attachment to Rolf always amused them.

“You must stay,” I said, looking at Rolf.

“That,” said Rolf, “is a royal command, and one which I personally am delighted to obey.”

My mother was still bursting with indignation about Mrs. Cherry’s remarks and mentioned what she had said.

“I hear,” said Mr. Hanson, “that Tregorran is talking freely about the woman’s ill-wishing his horse.”

“Superstitious nonsense,” said my father. “It will pass.”

“Let’s hope so,” added Rolf. “When things like this happen people work themselves up into a superstitious fever of excitement. Civilization drops from them. They blame the forces of evil for their misfortunes.”

“If Tregorran had looked after his mare properly she would not have been able to get out,” said my father. “And Mrs. Cherry should know by now that it is unwise to stand in the path of a bolting horse.”