Pengarron Land

by Pengarron Land (retail) (epub)

  ‘It depends what you want me to do, Clem,’ she answered, disturbed by his intensity.

  ‘If ever he does anything to hurt her, if he ill-treats her in any way at all, will you tell me? Promise that you’ll tell me.’

  Chapter 7

  As the days of February passed slowly into March, each one became progressively warmer, bringing clear blue skies and tranquil seas. Trees, shrubs and bushes displayed the first glimpses of their summer splendour. Spring daffodils and celandines appeared alongside the paler hues of the primroses which were splashed in clumps on common land, roadside verges, ditches, and ranged across the cliffsides. The budding gorse bushes were not to be outdone and burst forth with their own deep yellow to add to the glorious wild golden beauty.

  Farm workers pulled off their shirts to feel the sun’s caressing warmth on their back as they tilled the fields and planted their crops with high hopes and a heavensent prayer for a bountiful harvest to offset another poverty-stricken winter. The Wheal Ember tin mine was considered to be doing well with only two fatalities and one lost limb since the start of the new year. The mine Captains and the speculators, who had money invested in it, were confident that with the splendid amount of good quality ore being brought to daylight from its awesome depths out under the sea, ample cash would be made at the next tin stamping. At Perranbarvah the fishermen were grateful for the whiting, pollack, skate, and mackerel in particular, which filled their nets out at sea, and the pilchard catches that could still be coaxed into the seine-nets on shore.

  As she had promised, Beatrice had duly returned to the Manor the day after the wedding. For the most part she caused no trouble, limiting the work she did to insisting she carry in the three o’clock tea tray Kerensa shared with Oliver in his study, on the infrequent occasions he was actually there. The old woman doted on her new mistress despite the changes she’d brought, and much to Kerensa’s dismay she was clutched to the other’s ample, smelly bosom at every opportunity. Despite that, Kerensa soon became fond of Beatrice too. Ruth and Esther tolerated her provided she kept out from under their feet. Alice ignored her.

  While the people who lived and worked around them got on with their lives Kerensa was learning what it was like to be the baronet’s wife. From the beginning Oliver made it clear that he was to be master in his own house and he expected her to obey his every wish without question and to keep the servants in line. Although daunted by his expectations, Kerensa found if things ran smoothly in the house he took little interest in it. His habit of staying away from home for several days at a time gave her some welcome breathing space to adapt to living in the huge Manor house with its history that seemed to press in on her from all sides and live with her in the present.

  If time stood still for Oliver in his ancestral home and in his memories, he raced on regardless with his life and into the future. Kerensa could not forgive him for forcing her into the marriage but knew it would be foolish to live at loggerheads with him and risk bringing his wrath on herself, and perhaps the servants. She must at least make life as bearable as possible. She decided to study Oliver when he was at home, and find out what she could about him while he was away, and use what she learned to try to ward off his more negative moods, which imposed themselves on the whole household.

  She had little success at first. He watched her as much as she tried to watch him, and she was nervous that he would consider any such scrutiny an invitation to the marriage bed. She was prepared to submit to her duty in that respect, and while she could not complain to herself because he was always considerate and not too demanding of her, she was certainly not going to give him any idea that she was encouraging him. He was in many respects a complex, unreadable man but she was beginning to feel that he was occasionally won over by her determination to be calming and unobtrusive, and her attempts never to be too sulky or quarrelsome. It was not a hard task to steal glances at his handsome face.

  Kerensa’s greatest pleasure came from the time she spent in the gardens under the fatherly supervision of the crusty-tempered, heavily white-bearded, Jake Angove. The head of the Manor’s three gardeners Jake was twin brother to Nick Angove, Marazion’s blacksmith. Although to others he could be surly and indifferent, Jake had willingly taken Kerensa under his wing, silently wishing just one of his many granddaughters possessed the girl’s grace and dignity.

  The spacious, beautifully landscaped gardens to front and back of, and at each side of the Manor, had been designed by Oliver’s grandmother. Kerensa had been all round them many times with Jake, discussing their various points and making plans for their further development. She was fascinated to learn from him that the lady responsible for them, Lady Mary-Anne Pengarron, had also been a Pengarron bride from a working-class background. Oliver’s outrageous grandfather, Sir Charles, had been an elderly bachelor when he had inherited the title and estate.

  ‘He was proper wild,’ Jake told Kerensa as they ruthlessly pulled up weeds together. ‘Didn’t give a darn for what people said about him, did old Sir Charles. He married the woman he fell in love with. My, that woman! She was nothing like you, m’dear. She had a temper like a devil, swore worse ’n’ any man I’ve ever heard, and screamed like a banshee with it.’

  ‘And she designed all of this?’ Kerensa said incredulously, waving both arms in all directions.

  ‘Ais, that’s right. You wouldn’t think a woman like her would have had it in her. Sir Charles adored her, and she adored Young Oliver when he came along.’

  Kerensa sat back on her heels and looked at Jake in amazement, her mouth wide open. ‘You call him Young Oliver, Jake?’

  ‘Ais, have done all his life. From the time the little beggar run over my tilled ground trampling my seedlings as a tacker.’ The gardener tugged his long wiry beard and winked at her. ‘Reckon that’s where he do get some of his ways from, eh? His grandparents? I never did give him no mind, myself. Here, m’dear, next time he starts one of his rantings and ravings, just you think about what I just told ’ee.’

  Kerensa felt a smug satisfaction to have this secret told to her about her proud husband. She laughed and wondered if she should tell Alice.

  ‘Young Oliver,’ she repeated to herself before renewing her attack on the weeds.

  One afternoon, with Dunstan contentedly plodding beside her, Kerensa stopped to listen to some rather mysterious noises she heard coming from a small wooden hut at the back of the stableyard. Full of curiosity she peeped around the open door. The inside of the hut was fitted with benches and shelves, each one bearing varying sizes of cages and boxes, blankets and foodstuffs. She stepped inside. Dunstan did the same then flopped down lazily in the doorway.

  Kerensa peered into some of the boxes. They were empty. Looking up at the sound of a fluttering noise directly above her head she found herself looking straight into the beady wide eyes of a fully grown tawny owl.

  ‘Oh, what are you doing up there?’ she gasped in surprise.

  The owl blinked a welcome to her from its high vantage point.

  ‘Good afternoon, m’lady,’ said Nathan O’Flynn, cautiously stepping over Dunstan to stand beside Kerensa.

  ‘Good afternoon, Nat,’ she whispered back, not taking her eyes off the owl. ‘He’s beautiful, isn’t he? Does he live here all the time?’

  ‘Only until he gets better. He’s got a twisted leg.’

  ‘And you’re looking after him?’

  ‘His lordship is actually. He came across him a couple of nights ago. He’s looked after injured animals and birds in here since he was a small boy. I just take over when he’s away.’

  Kerensa was both surprised and impressed by this piece of information. She peered over the tops of the other boxes, stopping at the sight of a curled up bundle of grey fur. ‘What’s in here? It looks like a squirrel.’

  ‘It’s a squirrel, sure enough. I found it myself only this morning. It had its foot chewed up in a gin trap.’

  ‘Poor little thing, it’s only a baby. Will it recover,
Nat?’

  ‘Can’t say for sure. I’ll ask his lordship to have a look at it this evening. He’s got more of a way with ’em than I have. He has Beatrice make up ointments and potions from herbs and things.’ Nathan ran his large hand through his bushy hair and angrily frowned. ‘The little thing was caught in a trap – set, I suspect, by that rogue Colly Pearce. His lordship won’t be too pleased about it, that he’ll not.’

  Kerensa delicately stroked the sleeping grey form with her finger.

  ‘Are there any more little creatures in here, Nat?’

  ‘Only old Esau, the field mouse. He’s been here for ages and ages.’

  Kerensa looked up at the tawny owl’s hooked beak. The owl moved its head on its short neck and blinked at her.

  ‘Don’t you worry about Esau, m’lady. He’s safely tucked away inside his lordship’s pocket at the moment. Goes round with his lordship quite often, even in the Manor house, but his lordship says nothing for fear of provoking screaming females all over the place.’

  ‘I’m not afraid of mice,’ she said proudly.

  The large bird with its mottled buff plumage seemed to nod its agreement.

  * * *

  Oliver spent much of his time away from the Manor working with Adam Renfree, the steward of the Estate’s home farm and horse stud. Ker-an-Mor Farm, at three hundred acres, was a bare mile from the Manor, and barley was planted and harvested right down to the cliff edge. From one angle it overlooked the east side of St Michael’s Mount. The two men often rode there to share meal breaks together, drinking wine and eating pies and pasties ably made for them by Esther King and Jenna Tregurtha, Adam’s woman friend.

  They enjoyed this time together, Oliver relaxed in the genial company of his own gender, the rough and ready Adam having no care for differences of class. He took a man as he found him. Watching the sun gild the magical castle on the Mount, they sat on their coats to discuss the conditions of the other farms rented out on the Estate.

  ‘Trecath-en’s doing well, but I’d expect no different from Morley Trenchard,’ Adam said, ‘though I b’lieve he’s having a small bit of trouble with his son, Clem.’

  ‘Why? Taken to drink, has he?’

  ‘Huh! Not with Matthias looking out for him. No, he’s moody and uncooperative. But I s’pose he’ll snap out of it.’

  Oliver looked deeply into the glow of the bottle of wine he was holding up to the rays of the sun.

  ‘He had better,’ he remarked slowly.

  Oliver felt no guilt over Clem Trenchard’s heartbreak. In Oliver’s class marriages were made mainly for financial or political reasons, or to fuse two eminent families together to make them more powerful. The gentry were brought up to do their duty to their families in all aspects of their lives; there was no room for sentiment and one was expected always to behave with decorum. Clem Trenchard’s sulky behaviour had earned only Oliver’s antipathy. If Kerensa was similarly heartbroken she hid the effects well and there was nothing sulky about her attitude.

  In fact, you’re rather spirited, Oliver mused, his mind drifting off to the times he’d overheard Kerensa laughing with Alice, sharing what was obviously a private joke. When he made his presence known to them they resolutely straightened their faces, but when they thought he wasn’t looking the audacity of the expressions they passed between one another made him wonder if some of these jokes were at his expense.

  ‘Polcudden and Barvah Farms are doing well, Orchard Hill not too bad. It’s just the Richards on Rose Farm who’re lagging behind with their tilling and planting,’ Adam said.

  ‘We’ll keep an eye on them,’ Oliver replied, coming back to the matter in hand, ‘but that young man Richards will never make much of a farmer, I fear. How are the Berrymans managing with the loss of so many calves through their defective bull?’

  ‘Well, ’twas pretty bad and Daniel is hoping to make up for it this year with the bull we’ve loaned him, but you know Daniel, sir. He don’t let much get him down for long. I’ve never lost sleep over Orchard Hill Farm.’

  ‘You still friendly with that attractive widowed sister of his?’

  Adam Renfree’s jaw fell.

  ‘How on earth did you know about that? I haven’t broadcast it about.’

  Oliver leaned back on his elbow to allow the sun to warm his face. With a smile relaxing his dark features he said, matter-of-factly, ‘There’s very little that escapes my attention, Adam.’

  ‘Dear life, I’ll be damned,’ said Adam, looking at the other man with a mixture of disbelief and respect, ‘I haven’t even told Matthias about my friendship with Jenna Tregurtha.’

  ‘Would he object?’

  ‘No, not Matthias, he seems to like everybody. Besides, it’s not as if I’m about to give him a stepmother.’ Adam waved his pasty crust in an arc, obscuring his view of the ant-sized figures of people crossing the causeway between Marazion and the Mount. ‘Did you know they Wesley brothers will be preaching hereabouts in the summer, sir? Matthias is getting all fired up about it already.’

  ‘Yes, I know that too,’ Oliver said with a boyish grin. ‘The Manor is full of Wesleyan followers. I’ve overheard them talking.’

  ‘You don’t mind that, sir, – or the Reverend Ivey?’ Adam asked seriously.

  ‘I have no cause to hold anything against the Wesleys or their ilk. Nor has the Reverend Ivey. He gets on very well indeed with your son, Adam. I’ve joined in many an interesting discussion with them, debating the whole subject.’

  ‘Well, you always did have a proper thirst for knowledge, and you’re more tolerant than most people think,’ Adam said drily. ‘I must admit, though, I assumed the Reverend shared the views of the majority of Anglican ministers and despised this Methodism business. Got no interest in none of it myself.’

  Oliver said no more on the matter. He greatly respected Adam Renfree, who had taught him and his boyhood friend Arthur Beswetherick to ride the sturdy Pengarron stud ponies from the time they could walk. As they grew, he and Arthur had followed Adam about the farmland, the three of them entering into an easy companionship. Together they had spent many carefree hours labouring at harvest time, tilling and planting the land, tending livestock, learning the intricacies of the stud animals and riding hard across the cliffs. Adam Renfree was a burly man possessing an uneven temper and a finely controlled drinking habit. Oliver knew how much his farm steward held the church in contempt, and disapproved of his son’s interest in matters spiritual.

  ‘We’re getting far better results from the crops now we’re using Tull’s drills and plough,’ he remarked, looking back across the fields, ‘we have crops growing in places not dreamt of in my father’s time.’

  ‘Aye, people will always need feeding,’ Adam nodded. ‘I just hope this hot sun so early on doesn’t mean we’re in for a dry summer.’

  ‘Mmmm, Beatrice is already giving out warnings of scorching ground and the springs and rivers drying up,’ Oliver said soberly.

  Adam Renfree let out a long sigh. ‘Is she?’

  A ladybird alighted on the back of Oliver’s hand. He was not as superstitious as most Cornish men and women, but regarded it as sacrilege to kill a ladybird, even if unintentionally. He put a finger out in front of the little creature, counting the seven black spots on its red back.

  ‘Careful,’ said Adam, rising to his knees, his eyes kept fast on the ladybird, ‘you got seven years of good luck there.’

  Both men watched with bated breath as the ladybird crawled obligingly on to Oliver’s finger, explored the lightly tanned skin for a short while, before spreading its wings and flying away inland, leaving its pungent smell behind.

  The mesmeric moment over Adam sat back again and reached for the wine bottle.

  ‘When we’re finished here, sir, think I’ll head back to the farmyard to have a look at old Bethy. She’s an old girl to pup, and may need a bit of help.’

  ‘Will they be pedigree or is it an unknown sire?’

  ‘They’ll be as black
as pitch, sir. More grandchildren of old Dunstan.’

  * * *

  On the surface of the Wheal Ember mine, scattered about the towering engine house, were many ramshackle wood and corrugated shacks and sheds, and enormous heaps of mine waste and building materials which blighted the once beautiful landscape. It was a sight that continually offended the eyes and senses of Oliver Pengarron. He felt no differently as he rode up to the mine early one afternoon with the intention of seeing Hunk Hunken, its underground Captain. Leaving Conomor to wander at will, he walked briskly to the shafts.

  Giggling bal-maidens nudged one another as he passed by them, leaning over to whisper in the nearest ear and encouraging the small ragged grinning boys working with them to imitate the tall man’s strides. Oliver ignored them until he saw Rosina Pearce working quietly among them. She caught his eye because she was in the simple grey dress that Kerensa had been wearing on the day she’d opened the cottage door to him in Trelynne Cove. Even from a distance Oliver could make out dark marks on her arms as she hammered at the rocks. He sighed heavily. It was obvious the girl’s brother had been beating her again. Oliver wished heartily that Colly Pearce wasn’t so adept at poaching without being apprehended, then he could be sent to prison at the maximum sentence and the girl could be given some much needed relief. He couldn’t abide unnecessary cruelty.

  He moved away and turned his back on the workers to gaze out across the sea where the swell of the water rose and fell like the gentle breathing of a sleeping child, and overhead gulls floated lazily on warm thermals.

  Oliver was in a contented mood. He had repossessed all of his family’s land, and the one part of the last transaction he had so furiously baulked at was not turning out to be the demeaning experience a gentleman might have supposed. Kerensa was not coarse-mouthed and common, or subject to uncleanliness, with no concept of how to better herself, as were most of the women who were presently gawping at his back. She showed an interest in the running of his house, and spent time working in his gardens; she showed an interest of sorts in him because he had noticed she often stole glances at him.