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Chapter 6 : Town

Teresa pushes back her chair and stretches her arms above her head.  The time on the laptop says 1:24 pm. She is hungry.  After saving the text once more, she straightens up the books and pamphlets on the desk.  She turns off the computer, picks up her cup and goes downstairs.

            The fare in the refrigerator looks paltry today.  She had boiled eggs and toast for breakfast.  There is nothing more to eat but apples and biscuits.  Sandwiches in the Tea Room?  Why not?  Teresa takes her backpack that serves as a purse and steps out into the sunshine.  The menu in the tea shop is brief: fish and chips, ham sandwich, or ploughman’s lunch. 

            The couple from Manchester is sitting at one of the picnic tables.  When Teresa picks up her tray, the woman waves to Teresa to join them.  As she slides on to the bench, Teresa realizes that she has begun to miss the company of others.    The man is Charles and the woman is Edna.  Charles drove a delivery truck and just recently retired.  Edna leans forward to confide, “It was his heart, you know.”  Teresa looks at their plates of greasy fish and chips.  If this is the way they eat, it’s no wonder, she says to herself.

            “’At’s right,” Charles agrees.  “The old ticker was on the blink, but it’s right as rain now.”  He thumps his chest for emphasis.

            “Now Edna here, she still works part-time as a receptionist in a doctor’s office,” Charles says.

             “We have two sons.  Charlie lives in Australia, and Michael lives in Dublin,” Edna says.  “And we have three grandchildren.”

              All Teresa tells them is that she is from Baltimore, divorced, and on holiday for the summer.

            “What she should I see in the area?” Teresa asks.  This is the best way to learn about the treasures in a new locale.

            “Oh, you must visit Killerton House.  The costume exhibit is delightful,” Edna says. 

            “And there’s Jamaica Inn,” Charles adds.  “A bit overrated, but still worth seeing.”

            “Have you been out on the moors yet?” Edna asks.  “They’re something as well, though the heather is at the end of its season.”

            “I just got here last night,” Teresa says.  “I’m booked for a week.”

            “We thought we might take a room here, too, but Edna isn’t fond of ghosts,” Charles says, nudging Edna in the ribs.  “So we’re off to Cornwall today.”  The two pick up their trays.  “Nice talking to you, Teresa.  Have a good holiday.”

            “Yes, thanks.  You, too.”

            Teresa takes another bite of her sandwich.  She has forgotten about the encounters one has when traveling.  Back in her twenties, she might meet a fellow traveler, have a deep, self-revealing discussion, and part ways forever.  The journey itself was a unifying thread linking young wanderers.  Teresa finishes her sandwich.  Leave it to the English to combine cheddar cheese with Bramston pickle.  Must have been the influence of Indian chutney.  She gazes at the facade of the Manor.  She can now identify the window of Margaret’s room.  The dark beams of the Tudor-style building frame all four windows on the upper level.  Grateful for the brief conversation with Charles and Edna, she decides that today she’ll see the town below and find a supermarket, and then perhaps she’ll drive out into the countryside.

            Half an hour later, Teresa is strolling in a small seaside park, watching children ride on a vintage carousel.  A sign at the ticket booth states: The Walston Family presents for your enjoyment a traditional Victorian Carousel with galloping horses and golden cockerels. 

            The music is perfect: loud, tinny, and dated.  She smiles as the platform begins to turn.  The pink and white horses plunge forward and slide back, while the cockerels move more sedately up and down.  The younger children hold on tightly; the older ones do tricks on the horses’ backs, turning around in circles.  One boy tries to ride standing up, but the attendant soon stops that performance.

            Between the two concrete jetties is a small, rocky beach.  Teresa picks her way over the slick rocks, peering into tide-pools.   Not much sea life exists in them: some brown seaweed, a snail or two, a few crusty barnacles.  It is an unusually hot day.  Teresa returns to the park and buys an ice cream cone at the polka-dotted vending cart. 

            A voice behind her says, “Hallo.  Aren’t you staying at the Manor House?”

            It is Rhoda with the two little girls. 

            “Yes, hello.  I’m Teresa.  You’re Rhoda, aren’t you?”  They shake hands.

            The older girl, Elsa, is pushing Susannah in one of those fancy European strollers.  A basket of strawberries is on the stroller tray.  Susannah has one strawberry in each hand.  She alternates taking bites from each.  Teresa is tugged by a memory of Marco, her son, at the same age.  He had started as a blonde, too, but his hair had gradually darkened until it was auburn brown.  It would have been his birthday next month.

            “We’re having pleasant weather,” Rhoda says.  She takes a blue-striped tea towel and wipes strawberry juice off Susannah’s cheeks.

            “Yes, it’s been lovely,” Teresa agrees.  “How long do you plan to stay?”

            “Five days, maybe more.”  Rhoda smiles.  “You have children?”

            “I did, but my son passed away when he was young.”

            “I am so sorry.”  Rhoda squints into the afternoon sun.  “Oh, there is my husband with Tom.  Please, excuse us.  Nice to meet you,” she adds.

            “And you.”  Teresa waves a greeting to Stefan and Tom.

            Along the main street she finds a Sainsbury’s supermarket.  She wanders along the aisles looking at unfamiliar foods.  She collects some in her basket: pickled beets in a shrink-wrapped plastic bag, creme fraiche, crumpets.  She tosses in some staples like spaghetti and sauce, chicken, lettuce.  To carry it all back to the car, Teresa buys two canvas bags.  One has a picture of the carousel on it and the other says, “Devonshire has it all.”

            Back at the Manor, Teresa sets the Devonshire bag down on the stoop in front of her door so she can negotiate the lock.  She enters and sets the carousel bag and her keys on the counter.  She steps outside to pick up the second bag of groceries.  The door slams shut behind her.  Strange, she thinks, there’s no wind today.  She tries the knob.  It won’t turn.  The door is locked.  Teresa blows her bangs in an exhale of frustration.

            At the Manor House door, the sign says “Closed.  Next tour at 3:00.”  The counter clerk at the tea shop tells Samantha that the caretakers are doing the rooms.  Trish or Ted should have a key.  Teresa finds Trish by the maid’s cart stationed outside another cottage door.  Trish is a chunky woman of about forty with a head of overprocessed blonde hair.  She has a wide smile with crooked, nicotine-stained teeth.  When Teresa explains that she is locked out, Trish clicks her tongue.

            “Tsk.  Second time today.”  She stumps along the path to Teresa’s door, which she unlocks with one of a couple of dozen keys on a ring.  Trish pushes open the door, standing aside to let Teresa pass with her bag of groceries.  Then she leans her head into the living room. 

            “All right, Margaret!” she shouts. “Twice is enough for one day.  I got me work to do, you know.  Can’t be unlocking doors all day long!”

            Teresa listens, eyes wide.  “You’re talking to the ghost?” she says.

            “Damn right I am.  Up to her tricks, locking’ doors and messin’ with the electric.  Thinks she’s funny, she does.”  Trish starts to step out and then turns and smiles.  “Are you liking Devonshire?”

            “Oh, yes, very much.  I went into town after lunch.  The carousel is lovely.”

            “Yes, it is that.  Where will you go this afternoon?”

            “I thought I’d drive out to the moor.  What do you think of Jamaica Inn?  Is it worth a stop?”

            “Oh, yeah.  It’s a bit of a tourist attraction now, what with their paranormal evenings and all.  But the building is almost as it was three hundred years ago.  Nice day for a drive, too.”

            “Then it’s settled.  I’ll do that.”  Teresa says.

            Trish jangles her keys in farewell and heads off down the walk.  Teresa puts her own keys in her pocket.  She’ll keep them on her person from now on, and a flashlight in her backpack.  She considers this ghost business as she puts away the groceries.  Is she going to accept that there’s a ghost in the Manor House?