Some Old Lover's Ghost by Judith Lennox Read Free Book Online Page A

laughing, she dug her fingers into the soil to help herself sit up. The tip of her forefinger touched something hard and cold. Scrabbling at the earth, she drew out a small metal disc.
    When she scraped away the impacted soil and polished it with the hem of her skirt, she saw that it was a coin. The coin was lumpy and of uneven thickness, and she recognized neither the face impressed on it, nor the battered ancient script. There was a small hole drilled near the rim. Tilda fished in her pocket for a length of string, and threaded it through the coin. As she strung it round her neck, she muttered to herself, ‘Grant that no hobgoblins fright me, no hungry devils rise up and bite me,’ and crossed her fingers for luck. Then she lay back on the scented grass and thought again of the man outside the Fox and Hounds.
    Emily insisted Tilda walk home with her each evening, before cycling to Southam. Three days passed, and they saw only the fat publican, greeting the brewer’s dray. Emily was distraught.
    ‘He was probably just passing through, on his way to London, or somewhere exciting. No-one interesting lives in Ely.’
    But on the fourth day, they saw him again.
    ‘Oh Lord,’ Emily muttered. ‘Oh Lord. Come and stand close to me, Tilda, so I can put my lipstick on without him seeing.’Emily rummaged in her handbag and drew out a lipstick and powder compact. ‘“Practically Peony”,’ she whispered to Tilda, between dabs at her mouth. ‘Too gorgeous, isn’t it? Mummy would kill me. Have some – no—’ Emily gave a little scream. ‘Too late. He’s coming. Oh Lord.’
    A voice said, ‘Can I give you ladies a hand? You look awful laden up,’ and Emily whispered, ‘Irish. Divine.’
    He was tall, green-eyed, his curly black hair just touching the collar of his white shirt. ‘I don’t mean to intrude,’ he said ‘but I’ve seen you both once or twice and feel I almost know you already. My name’s Daragh Canavan.’ He held out his hand. ‘Let me help you with that bag, Miss …?’
    ‘Potter.’ Emily handed him her shopping basket. ‘Emily Potter. And this is Miss Greenlees.’ Tilda and Daragh shook hands. ‘We go to secretarial school. It is terribly dull. I went to London for a weekend in December, and I thought it was absolute heaven.’ Emily’s face was much the same shade as her lipstick and she was talking too fast.
    ‘I’m more of a country boy myself. Those big cities can be awful lonely places. Where do you live, Miss Greenlees?’
    ‘In a village called Southam, about six miles from here.’
    Daragh Canavan walked between them, carrying Emily’s shopping bag. When they reached the Potters’ home, Tilda climbed on her bicycle, called her farewells, and freewheeled down the slope.
    That evening, after tea, Tilda washed clothes, and Aunt Sarah cut wood in the yard. Tilda wrung out the wet stockings, put them in the wicker basket, and opened the scullery door. As she stepped out into the garden, she heard voices.
    ‘I just thought, why not let me chop that wood for you, missus? I could do it in no time.’
    Tilda, recognizing Daragh Canavan’s voice, almost dropped her basket.
    ‘I can chop my own wood, thank you very much, young man.’
    ‘Ah, sure you can, missus, I just thought to take some of the work from you.’
    ‘And why should you wish to do that?’ Aunt Sarah sounded suspicious.
    ‘Because my ma brought me up to be a good, Christian gentleman.’
    Tilda heard Aunt Sarah’s snort of disbelief, and then the thud as the axe broke into the wood. She left the scullery and crossed the yard.
    ‘Good evening, Mr Canavan.’
    Aunt Sarah paused in the act of swinging the axe. ‘Do you know this young man, Tilda?’
    ‘We met this afternoon in Ely.’
    ‘I see. Such a good, Christian gentleman.’ Aunt Sarah’s voice had taken the tone she used with tradesmen who tried to sell her short. The tradesmen tended to wither beneath Aunt Sarah’s scorn.
    Daragh Canavan looked