Helen Phifer - The Forgotten Cottage

As Betsy was walking through the front door of the pub she walked into Joss, who was on his way out.

‘Sorry, Joss, I’m running late. I never saw you there. Are you leaving so soon? It’s only early.’

‘Good evening, Betsy. It’s been a grand day, hasn’t it?’

Betsy nodded in agreement; if her mother was dead when she went home it would indeed be a grand day.

‘Yes, Joss, it has been a wonderful day. Why don’t you come back inside for one more drink—I like to see you and who will I speak to all night if you go home now?’

She could see the redness creeping up his cheeks and he was looking at her as if he was seeing her clearly for the first time. He noticed her long black hair, ice-blue eyes and her ample bosom.

‘I want to come back in, I really do, but my father isn’t well and I said I would milk the cows and take my boys back home. They’re up at the farm with my mother.’

Betsy reached out and let her fingers brush along his bare arm. ‘I am sorry to hear that, Joss. I hope he is better by the morning and then you can come back and talk to me tomorrow night. That is, if you would want to?’

Joss shivered at her touch and she smiled.

‘I’ll be here waiting for you. Do not forget that, Joss Brown.’

She turned away from him and entered the pub but she felt his eyes behind her. He was standing watching her until she let the heavy wooden door shut and he could no longer see her. Betsy was having a grand old day. If everything went to plan, Joss would call round to offer his assistance, she could cry and tell him she couldn’t bear to live in her cold, damp house, which still smelt of death. She hoped he would offer her a room at his cottage in exchange for some cooking and cleaning. Then she would work on him until he was besotted with her and ask for her hand in marriage.

The pub was busy and Betsy worked hard all evening. Old Jack Thomas would not leave her alone. For an old man he was like an octopus and whenever she passed him he would grab a handful of her behind. She’d laughed at him and slapped his arm away, telling him to behave himself or she would have him thrown from the pub. The other men had laughed. The talk in there had been good-humoured, the warmth from the sun today having a good effect on everyone’s mood.

When it was time to go home she felt her stomach begin to churn. She hadn’t seen a dead person before and hoped her mother didn’t look like something from a nightmare. She put her cloak over her shoulders and declined an offer from one of the younger men in the pub to walk her home. She didn’t want any gossip to get back to Joss and this was such a small village it would; there was no doubt of that. Her house was not a two-minute walk from the pub and she was home in no time, even though she had trailed her feet, uneasy about what she was about to find. She stood outside for a minute, trying to calm her shaking hands, then Betsy pushed the front door open and stepped inside, listening for any sound. It was so quiet; she couldn’t remember the last time she had heard such peace in this house.

‘Mother, I’m home now. How are you feeling—do you still want me to fetch the doctor?’ There were no candles burning as there would be every other night. The house was filled with darkness. Betsy’s heart was beating fast with fear and excitement at what she might find behind the tatty, moth-eaten curtain that separated the living room from her mother’s bedroom. She felt her way into the small kitchen, along the shelf above the stove for a candle and matches; she struck a match and the orange flame lit up the room briefly. She held the flame to the wick before it went out; it soon caught and the candle began to burn.

Not realising how much her hand was shaking until she lifted the candlestick up, she looked in the direction of the curtain; her feet did not want to move but she forced them to take a step forward one at a time until her outstretched hand was touching the coarse material.

She drew it back and screamed; not for one minute had she expected her mother to look as she did. Her face was frozen in an expression of contorted agony. Her head was turned towards the curtain, her eyes were wide open, staring at Betsy, accusing her of murder, and there was blood around her mouth—so much blood. Betsy had no idea what she had expected to see but it had not been this and she carried on screaming until the neighbours came running to see what was the matter. She was led away by Mrs Whitman from next door, who had taken one look at her mother’s body and gasped, crossing herself.

‘Come, child—there is nothing you can do for her now.’

Betsy let her lead her by the hand to her house next door; this one was full of light and did not smell like her house had. A bleary-eyed teenage boy came down the stairs and Mrs Whitman ordered him to run and fetch Dr Johnson.

Chapter Two

The bell rang to tell them visiting time was over and Annie bent down to kiss Tom’s cheek. He was so pale and had aged since he’d been admitted three days ago but at least he was alive. Will also bent down and kissed his dad, who grinned at the pair of them. His speech slurred, he spoke slowly. ‘He really is a big softie underneath that cool exterior.’

Annie nodded. ‘He is adorable, but you had us all worried, Tom. Don’t go doing anything like that again.’

‘I’ll try not to.’

They turned and hugged Lily then left them to it. Closing the door to the private room behind them, Annie and Will left the hospital hand in hand. Neither of them spoke until they got outside.

‘You know he was really lucky, it hasn’t affected his speech too much and he can still walk and move his arms. I think he’ll need someone to help at home, though; it’s not fair to expect Lily to look after the house and my dad; he can afford to pay someone.’

‘Oh, I don’t know; plenty of people don’t really have a choice, Will. They just have to get on with it and I don’t mind popping in every day on my way home from work.’

‘I know, but my dad isn’t most people; he could afford a housekeeper or a nurse to help out. Even if it’s only until he’s back on his feet. I’ll speak to Lily. I bet she refuses point-blank but it would make sense. I just wish we lived a bit nearer to them.’

‘We could always go and stop with them for a little while.’

‘Yes, we could, but it’s not as if either of us are around much; we both work long hours and opposite shifts. What would you think about moving somewhere up there—a bit closer for you for work and nearer to my dad?’

‘I’d love to, Will, but it depends on what we can afford. I love your house; it’s perfect and buying something similar in the Lakes would cost a lot more than we can afford.’

Will pulled her close and kissed her. He loved the way she was so practical with money. She never expected anything like a lot of people would, given his dad’s wealth.

‘I love you.’

‘I love you too. Now, come on, take me home. I need a long soak in the bath and my pyjamas.’

‘You also need me to scrub your back.’

‘True, but I need a glass of wine and some chocolate more at this very minute.’

Will opened the car door for her and she got in. It had been a long day. She’d started work at eight so had been up since six, then she’d worked a ten-hour shift, which had been busy, and then gone straight to the hospital to meet Will. She sank back into the soft leather seat of Will’s BMW and closed her eyes.

He looked across at her and smiled; he was going to start looking for a house that Annie would fall in love with and was much nearer for her to get to work and nearer to his dad. He didn’t mind being the one to have the longer commute; he enjoyed driving. It gave him time to think things through; a few of his cases had been solved on long car journeys when he’d had the time to really think about them. All he wanted was to make Annie happy, give her the life she deserved. He’d heard from his dad’s friend about a farm cottage that had been empty for twenty years; it was going up for auction and tomorrow he would make an appointment to view it. It was on the outskirts of Hawkshead and not as close as he’d like, but it was a beautiful village and there was the car ferry which ran most days so Annie could get across to Bowness. They’d gone to the quaint village for a wander round the last time they had a weekend off together and Annie had said how much she’d love to live somewhere like that, so it would be perfect for both of them. When he finally pulled up outside his cottage he gently shook Annie, who was asleep.