Pengarron Land

by Pengarron Land (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’ve got something on my mind,’ Oliver replied grumpily, staring down at his outstretched feet.

  Hezekiah sat down beside him. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe it, Hezekiah.’

  ‘Tell me anyway.’

  Drawing on his pipe with a sigh, Oliver blew smoke into the cold air.

  ‘In a week’s time, I am to be married.’

  ‘You’re what! Have you got some luckless female with child?’

  ‘No. Not that.’ Oliver sprang up and thumped his fist on a water barrel. ‘Trelynne Cove, the place where we tried that unsuccessful landing, was once Pengarron land. Recently I purchased it back. At an exorbitant price, I might add.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘As part of the bargain, I agreed with that wretch Old Tom Trelynne that I would marry his granddaughter.’

  ‘You agreed… good Lord! I have heard tell of this Old Tom character, but I didn’t know he had any kin, let alone a granddaughter.’

  ‘Well, he has, and I’ve got to marry her,’ said Oliver moodily.

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ Hezekiah said, bringing a hand up to his chin, his eyes wide in amazement. ‘What’s she like, this girl?’

  ‘Nothing like her grandfather, thank the Lord. She’s quite beautiful, actually, but very young.’

  ‘Ah, a virgin?’

  ‘I’d stake my life on that.’

  ‘Every man hopes to marry a virgin, of course, but even that does not qualify a village girl as a suitable bride for a gentleman. Surely you can get out of this marriage, Oliver?’

  ‘I intended to take a wife this year, Hezekiah,’ he said, picking at the wood of the water barrel and receiving a frown from the captain who couldn’t bear to see anything less than smooth and perfect. ‘I want a son, an heir to my estate. I’ve worked damned hard rebuilding it and I want to see it passed on to the next generation, the fruit of my loins, not one of those damned awful distant cousins I have residing at Zennor. I’ve looked around carefully at all the available ladies and none of them are suitable – a pretty grim lot actually. I wanted Trelynne Cove back and got myself a bride into the bargain, it’s as simple as that.’

  ‘As simple, Oliver?’

  He paced the deck like a caged animal for several moments. ‘Enough of this talk!’ he exclaimed. ‘I have Trelynne Cove, and Old Tom can rot in Hell!’

  ‘But surely, Oliver,’ persisted Hezekiah, ‘the cove wasn’t so important that you had to agree to marry the girl who lived in it.’

  ‘I’ve ridden up to the Point many times to think about it, Hezekiah,’ he said with a long deep sigh. ‘I set out one morning with the intention of regaining my family’s land. I became carried away by my own pride and utter determination to achieve that desire… It will be the first and only time I will be outwitted like that.’

  He moved to the other side of the lightly swaying vessel and gazed down into the moving water. Hezekiah joined him, and neither spoke for a long time.

  Finally Hezekiah said, ‘Do you want to marry this girl?’

  Oliver shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I know I want her,’ he told his friend, and the lazy waves below.

  Chapter 6

  Four weeks later to the day that the bargain had been struck over Trelynne Cove, Oliver and Kerensa were married. The parish church of Perranbarvah was packed to capacity for the occasion. Sitting importantly in the front pews were members of the local gentry; the Harrts, the Ransoms, the Courtises and the Coles; and Oliver’s sour-faced cousins from Zennor.

  The middle pews were taken by the traders of a higher social standing from Marazion, along with Mistress Hilary Gluyas, Mrs Tregonning, Adam Renfree and Nathan O’Flynn. Crowded together on rough benches, or standing at the back, were many of the estate workers and all the tenant farmers, except for the Trenchards, and their families. Much to the consternation of the occupants of one of the back benches, Beatrice waddled into the church, reeking of gin and perspiration, and pushed her way in beside them.

  There was much talk when Oliver entered, walking briskly up to the front of the church with Hezekiah Solomon as groomsman on one side. On the other was the fat elderly Sir Martin Beswetherick, owner of neighbouring land to the Pengarron Estate and the main speculator of the Wheal Ember mine. The younger females in the congregation, some stealthily, others openly, eyed the handsome figure of the tall baronet. They had never before been treated to the sight of Sir Oliver in his court dress. Elegant in garments of deep sea blue, he also wore his ceremonial sword, the hilt of which was encrusted with semi-precious stones, the sword knot made up of bunches of blue ribbons.

  Mrs Tregonning, who was repeatedly dabbing a handkerchief to her eyes even though the ceremony had not yet begun, was outraged at the sight of Hezekiah Solomon.

  ‘Just look at him,’ she whispered behind her hand to Adam Renfree sitting next to her. ‘He looks quite ridiculous, like one of they court dandies.’

  Hezekiah was dressed even more flamboyantly than usual. His dresscoat and breeches were scarlet. Layers of Brussels lace overflowed at his wrists, while his gloves were lavishly embroidered, each buttoned with three tiny rubies. The ruby and emerald pin on his tasselled necktie matched the buckles glittering on his kneebands and low-heeled pumps. He had no need to wear a wig. His abundance of long white hair fell easily into extravagant curls, and was at that moment tied at the nape of his neck by a wide scarlet ribbon.

  A subdued crowd had gathered outside the church and they moved apart to make way for Kerensa and Jeb Bray as they walked through the churchyard from the Parsonage. With still no sign of Old Tom, Jeb had agreed to be substitute in her grandfather’s place. With her skirts unceremoniously hitched out of the mud, Kerensa held up her chin and nodded to those in the crowd she knew. She had no care for her dress, a beautiful but discreet creation in ivory silk and satin (Mistress Gluyas believing her colouring did not suit the traditional white and silver), and the self-control she was determined to keep showed on her face. But inside her heart ached for Clem. She hoped he wasn’t there, stationed behind a wall or one of the gravestones. She could not have borne to see him at that moment. If he spoke her name, if he pleaded with her with his eyes to come to him… it was all a torment to her and Jeb Bray knew it. He motioned for the people gathered around the church doorway to move aside. He stopped with Kerensa just outside the entrance.

  ‘Now, m’dear,’ he said gently, ‘are ’ee going to be all right?’

  ‘I’ll have to be, Mr Bray, won’t I?’ she said in a small voice.

  ‘Do ’ee want to stay out here for a little while? Make him wait?’

  ‘Not with everyone watching.’ She took a deep breath and tried to smile at Jeb, but couldn’t. ‘This is not going to be the wedding I dreamed of and I might as well get it over with.’ She mentally determined to shut herself off from what she was about to do.

  Inevitably, Kerensa captured the most attention from those inside the church. On a signal from the Reverend Ivey, the small band of hired musikers announced her arrival. She walked slowly up the aisle, holding on tightly to Jeb’s arm. He carried out his duty reverently, refusing to be intimidated by the increasingly exalted company as they progressed to the bridegroom’s side.

  Oliver did not turn round to see Kerensa walk towards him. The music stopped when she reached his side. Neither looked at each other. Both stared ahead. When the Reverend turned to face the couple he too looked through them and not at them, as though he wished to inform the congregation he did not approve of this marriage. He had officiated at a great many weddings, but on this day, in the church he had favoured the most in his long ministry, he could not bring himself to look upon this as a holy sacrament.

  Clearing his throat and taking a deep breath, he began to speak the words of the ceremony in the hushed church.

  ‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony
.’

  Is this all really happening? Kerensa thought. She felt she was not really there, but in a mysterious other world, like the strange creatures carved on the cabinet in the ballroom of Pengarron Manor.

  ‘…signifying unto us the mystical union that is betwixt Christ and his Church… and is commended of Saint Paul to be honourable among men…’

  Honourable… The word ran through Oliver’s mind. Some here would think me not to be honourable… but it was her grandfather’s wish that I marry her.

  ‘…and therefore is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly… but reverently, discreetly… and in the fear of God…’

  A moment of panic seized Kerensa. Wasn’t she entering this marriage unadvisedly and wantonly? Certainly not reverently, not when she had promised herself to Clem.

  ‘…Therefore if any man can show just cause, why they may not lawfully be joined together…’

  Oliver breathed in deeply, tightening the corners of his mouth. Might that young fool Trenchard be somewhere in the church, and about to cause a scene and turn the ceremony into a farce? The moment passed. Oliver expelled the breath and relaxed.

  ‘Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?’

  The hand given by Jeb Bray to Oliver was small, soft and cold. He held it lightly as he repeated his vows in a clear voice. Kerensa’s were barely audible. When Hezekiah Solomon placed the tiny gold ring with which he had been charged on the Reverend’s prayer book, he did so with a dramatic flourish. As the Reverend blessed the ring he gave Kerensa a brief smile of encouragement. Her face quite frozen, she was unable to return it.

  Removing his other hand from its resting place on the hilt of his sword to take Kerensa’s left hand for the giving of the ring, Oliver turned, finally, to look at his bride. He was completely taken aback by the depth of the composure and the delicate, almost supernatural beauty he saw in the expressionless young face that turned to look up at his. Firmly, but gently, he pushed the ring down her finger, his dark eyes laying siege to hers, as time itself seemed to hold its breath in the ancient Cornish church.

  The bells pealed out in celebration through heavy rain as the couple left the church. By this time a much larger crowd had gathered outside to see Kerensa Trelynne emerge as the new Lady Oliver Pengarron. Most of them stared at the baronet in stony silence to show their disapproval at what he had just made her do, but the few who wanted to keep in with the Lord of the Manor for their own ends clapped and cheered. Oliver was unconcerned as he led Kerensa to the waiting coach. She forced a brave smile this time for her sympathetic onlookers, but took no care to hold up her dress as it dragged behind her in the muddy path.

  Barney Taylor, standing smartly to attention, opened the carriage door. He was about to offer his hand to help his new mistress inside but Oliver swept her up in his arms, lifting her in himself as if she were no more than a small child. He shook hands with the Reverend Ivey and accepted the best wishes of the guests who were not to attend the reception at the Manor. He was then accosted by his angry cousins, furious at the possibility of their inheritance slipping away if he sired an heir by this girl, with recriminations over his marriage, vowing their intention of never accepting her as part of the family. Oliver looked jubilant as he sent them away, red-faced and outraged by his stinging retorts.

  Before climbing into the carriage beside Kerensa he threw a handful of silver coins into the cheering crowd. It caused a rush of ragged children, and some older greedy individuals among them, and angered members of the gentry who were endeavouring to get into their carriages out of the rain.

  Kerensa had been peering out of the windows on each side of the carriage before Oliver joined her. She was anxious to know if her grandfather had appeared to witness the final part of the agreement he’d made with the man who was now her husband. But Old Tom Trelynne was nowhere to be seen.

  Nor was Clem Trenchard.

  When the carriage moved off, Kerensa was visibly shivering. Without a word, Oliver pulled a blanket from the seat opposite and placed it round her shoulders. Kerensa quietly thanked him, but for the rest of the journey over the rough muddy roads, neither spoke. She looked out of the window at the bedraggled seagulls scavenging the thawed ground of the ploughed fields. Red-stemmed coltsfoot was appearing in the hedges and dripping lambstails nodded from the awakening hazel bushes.

  Oliver glanced occasionally at his bride, her face half-hidden by the short pearl-encrusted veil flowing from her headdress. At one point he reached out to touch the cold, white hand that now wore his ring, but changed his mind. Instead he settled comfortably back against the upholstered seat to muse over the celebration he had planned at the Manor.

  It would be the first time for many years there had been any kind of entertainment there and he had ordered a wealth of food, ale and spirits to be prepared for the thirty or so invited guests. Without the sobering company of his cousins the proceedings promised to be even more enjoyable.

  Keeping up a Pengarron tradition, Oliver had arranged for generous quantities of food, ale and rum to be laid on at the separate celebrations to be held in honour of his marriage in the fishing village, on Lancavel Downs, and at Ker-an-Mor Farm. It had earned him further disapproval of the local Methodists, and the grateful anticipation of the heavy drinkers of the local populace who were not going to boycott the parties. Oliver didn’t care much what anyone thought of him today. He intended to enjoy himself to the full, and if it provided a break in the tedious, wretched lives of others less fortunate than himself, so much the better.

  Ruth, Esther and Alice, attired in new servants’ uniforms purchased by their master, were nervously waiting in the great hall when the carriage pulled up outside on the wet gravel. They bobbed awkward curtseys to Oliver and Kerensa before hurrying off to get trays of champagne, port and wine to offer the guests following in the carriage’s wake. They had been disappointed not to have been able to be present at the wedding ceremony itself.

  Leading the way into the ballroom, where the reception was to be held to the accompaniment of a full string orchestra, Oliver coolly informed Kerensa she was to stand beside him as they received their guests. When this was done he abruptly left her to stand alone while he engaged Sir Martin Beswetherick in conversation over the latest profits to be obtained in tin and copper ore. Kerensa felt slighted at his extreme bad manners in leaving her so, when he must know only too well how difficult the situation was for her. She was also smarting at the way the gentlemen among the guests, with the exception of only one, had eyed her up and down crudely when they’d been received.

  Only the dandy Hezekiah Solomon had shown Kerensa any real semblance of courtesy or friendliness. She was relieved when he came to stand beside her.

  Hezekiah had been looking forward to meeting this working-class girl whom Oliver had reluctantly agreed to make his bride. He had secretly taken in every detail of her appearance and agreed with Oliver’s assertion that she was beautiful. Hezekiah liked her soft accent, her bearing, and in particular her air of innocence. He envied Oliver his wedding night.

  ‘May I say, ma’am, you look absolutely enchanting in your wedding gown,’ he said, beaming his angel smile at her.

  Kerensa trusted that smile and returned a charming one of her own. ‘Thank you, Captain Solomon. Are you a friend of Sir Oliver’s?’ she hoped he was. It would be good to like at least one of her new husband’s friends.

  ‘Indeed I am, ma’am. We also do… business together.’

  Kerensa decided she liked this butterfly of a man. Although his clothes could not be said to be easy on the eye, he helped her feel at ease in an otherwise painfully awkward situation.

  ‘I hope we may also become friends one day, Lady Pengarron,’ he went on.

  ‘I’m sure we will, Captain Solomon,’ she readily agreed, feeling flattered for no accountable reason.

  ‘So you’re acquainting yourself with my wife, are you, Hezekiah?’ Oliver interrupted them. />
  ‘I am indeed. A most pleasant task, too, I assure you. I congratulate you on your choice.’ Hezekiah said this with a small bow to Kerensa, his eyes not leaving her face.

  ‘In that case, my friend, you can drink to our health and future sons.’

  Oliver had taken a tray of champagne from Alice. He thrust a glass at Kerensa. She took it from him, but with no intention of drinking it. Hezekiah took a glass for himself, inclining his head to Oliver and Kerensa with another angelic smile.

  ‘To your health and to your future, Oliver. Yours too, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you, Hezekiah.’ Oliver downed his champagne with a toss of his dark head. ‘Now for a decent drink, my friend. I have a fine cognac I want you to try.’

  Hezekiah bowed again, and withdrew.

  Oliver turned to Kerensa and treated her obvious discomfiture with an irritable gesture.

  ‘Why not get yourself something to eat?’ he muttered.

  The two men joined their circle of friends, leaving her to glare angrily out of the window.

  As darkness began to fall some of the guests took their leave, but were quickly replaced by others. They now numbered seven in all, three of whom were women. Though fashionably dressed they looked cheap and gaudy, their faces heavily made up to disguise their age; one also wore several patches to hide the pockmarks on her hard face. After scathingly greeting Kerensa they ignored her, except for the odd knowing look interspersed with raucous laughter as they joined in obviously vulgar innuendoes at her expense.

  As the evening drew on the party changed to a more frolicsome mood, of a nature Kerensa found both embarrassing and distasteful. The three women fawned over Oliver and the other men, and like Sir Martin, tucked in hungrily to the remains of the food. Kerensa remained in the ballroom for a further hour, not eating, not drinking, not moving. If anyone noticed when the quiet young bride slipped away from her own wedding celebrations, they didn’t seem to care.

  * * *

  Kerensa was relieved to find the kitchen deserted. When Esther, Ruth and Alice had been told they were no longer required they had left to join their families in the village celebrations, Esther and Ruth to a quiet supper in the fishing village, Alice taking Jack to the noisier bonfire party on Lancavel Downs. Dunstan, who had sought her company so often in the four preceding weeks, raised his head, greeting her with a friendly grumble. Kerensa ran over to him and threw her arms around the old dog’s neck, not caring at all that he was dribbling down her gorgeous dress. She hated its finery of ruching, tiny bows, silk flowers and gleaming pearls, knowing it was nothing like the dress Old Tom had once proudly talked of having made for her wedding to Clem.