Pengarron Land

by Pengarron Land (retail) (epub)

  Nearly everyone in the parish and on the Estate was there and a roar of cheers and claps thundered around the field next to the farmyard. Kerensa congratulated the May Queen, kissing her cheek and presenting her with a posy of flowers from the Manor gardens. Amid more clapping and cheering she found herself surrounded by small girls offering her bunches of flowers tied with brightly coloured ribbons.

  After that she wandered about among the people gathered there, talking to as many as she could and taking an interest in them all. Some she knew already, the others readily introducing themselves to her. She looked about for Clem, but he was not there. As all the other Trenchards were present, she assumed he was staying at home to be with Kenver, his younger brother, who had been crippled and housebound from birth.

  She approached the Trenchards and Florrie’s mother, Gran Donald, with apprehension, but there was no need to be worried. They were as warm and friendly as the last time she’d seen them, when she’d been Clem’s future bride. Rosie, Clem’s small sister, clung to Kerensa as she kissed her, presenting her with the largest bunch of wild flowers she had yet received.

  Oliver stood in the shade of an old hawthorn tree talking with Adam Renfree as they drank mead and leisurely smoked their pipes. He looked around at regular intervals until he spotted Kerensa, unaware that Adam was taking in the admiring glances he directed at the girl’s slender form. She wore a dress of russet brown that enhanced her natural beauty.

  ‘I’m holding a local court tomorrow, Adam. I was hoping by now to have Colly Pearce up before me. I’d have him up to Launceston for the next County Assizes so fast he’d think Old Nick was on his back,’ Oliver said passionately.

  ‘A crafty old fox that one, sir. I’d like to see him caught in one of his own traps one of these days. Would serve him right,’ said Adam, reaching for a jug of mead.

  ‘Go easy on that, Adam,’ Oliver teased. ‘Your son and my wife are making their way over here.’

  Adam pulled back his arm in a guilty movement. ‘S’pose it is a bit too early in the day,’ he commented with disappointment.

  Matthias Renfree was waylaid by a worried-looking miner, and Kerensa joined the men under the hawthorn tree.

  ‘Good morning, m’lady,’ Adam said, taking off his cap. ‘Um… not a lot of may blossom out yet.’

  ‘A bit too early yet, Adam,’ Kerensa agreed. ‘Will you be going over to Marazion after the ox roast?’

  ‘Not me, m’lady. I’ll stay here to keep an eye on things, but I daresay Matthias will later on.’

  Adam was somewhat surprised that after Oliver’s admiring looks at the girl he now stared straight over her head with features set like cold marble. He glanced slyly from one to the other and it soon became apparent that Kerensa was ignoring her husband too. ‘I trust you’re getting on well with Kernick, m’lady?’ he ventured.

  ‘He’s wonderful,’ she assured him enthusiastically, ‘we took to one another at once.’

  ‘I thought you would. Told his lordship here, didn’t I, sir, Kernick was the best choice for you when he picked him out?’ Adam looked pointedly at Oliver who merely grunted an affirmative reply.

  Kerensa and Oliver exchanged a brief unfriendly look then she bid Adam good morning and moved away to talk to Jenna Tregurtha.

  Oliver swallowed a mouthful of mead. He looked at his farm steward’s amused face. Adam moved round to face his employer, raising a curious eyebrow.

  Holding out his glass for a refill, Oliver said drily, ‘You can mind your own damn’ business, Adam Renfree.’

  When they arrived in Marazion during the middle of the afternoon, Oliver and Kerensa found the ancient market town packed with people enjoying the fair and festivities. Pilgrims on the spiritual journey to the castle on the Mount squeezed their way through the crowds.

  Leaving their mounts in the stables of Sealey’s Hostelry, Kerensa took the arm ungraciously offered to her by her husband, only to find herself having the greatest difficulty keeping pace with his long quick strides.

  ‘Please slow down, Oliver. I can’t keep up with you,’ she told him breathlessly.

  ‘Don’t concern yourself,’ he returned, his face displaying extreme annoyance. ‘Martin should be somewhere near the maypole. You can walk with him for the rest of the day.’

  Kerensa stayed quiet as she allowed herself to be pulled through the milling throng; Oliver’s height, bearing, and ill mood ensured them a speedy passage to the western end of the town where the maypole was situated, near to a slipway running down to the sea. She was more miserable than ever before. If she was wrong in her belief that Oliver had fathered the Drannock boy then the hurt and perplexity, the subsequent strained atmosphere, all of her making, was unwarranted and cruel. Yet deep inside she felt it was more than a coincidence, a misunderstanding, more an intuition…

  The maypole was adorned with brightly coloured ribbons and covered with flowers, including strongly perfumed white and pink may blossoms. As daintily as was possible in hob nailed boots or bare feet, bashful young men danced with radiant-faced girls, dazzling in their Sunday best dresses, posies and ribbons. Kerensa watched the streaming long ribbons flowing down from the rotating circle on the head of the maypole, as the skilful dancers passed in and out to form the pattern of a spider’s web. Oliver looked about for signs of Sir Martin and their circle of friends, finding no interest in the cavorting pastimes of the working class.

  He was not elated to be set on by Josephine Courtis, dressed as elaborately as the maypole, latching herself on to his other arm. She ignored Kerensa as she regaled Oliver with a tale about the unfortunate Mayor Oke, whose expensive new horsehair wig had been stolen clean off his bald head immediately after the opening ceremony. Oliver listened to the widow with a detached air but couldn’t help making an unfavourable comparison between her sharply receding chin, small startled eyes, blemished skin and prurient appetites, and the simple good taste and beauty of the young woman on his other arm.

  Spotting Matthew King proudly escorting Marazion’s May Queen, Lowenna Angove the blacksmith’s daughter, he called the lofty young fisherman over to him. It was easy to see Matthew regarded Oliver’s invitation as an honour, and he guided Lowenna, a wisp of a girl, through the bustle with such care one might have believed he thought she would easily break in two.

  ‘G’afternoon, m’lord,’ Matthew said gaily, ‘Tes a lovely day for the fair.’

  ‘And you have the loveliest of May Queens with you,’ said Oliver, treating Lowenna to one of his rare but striking smiles. ‘Have you seen anything of Sir Martin Beswetherick, at all, King?’

  ‘No, sir, but here comes the Mayor. He was talking to Mr Cole, the coroner, not so many minutes ago. He may know where Sir Martin is.’

  While Oliver conversed with Matthew King, Kerensa talked to Lowenna. Josephine Courtis stood moodily silent, but held on persistently to Oliver’s arm. Matthew and Lowenna moved off to wait their turn at the maypole as the town’s Mayor, Jonathan Lanwyn Oke, approached in his gait-legged walk to welcome Oliver and his new wife to the festivities. Having had the good fortune to have regained his splendid new wig the Mayor was in jubilant spirits. A man of steady habits he lived by the philosophy of ‘each to his own’. Although having at one time refused Oliver’s offer of a half-anker of brandy, he thought no ill of the other’s participation in freetrading.

  The Mayor informed Oliver that he would find Sir Martin, and their mutual circle of acquaintances, in the upstairs lounge of the Commercial Inn, sipping ale and mead in the company of the St Aubyns from the Mount. When Oke drifted off to greet other important visitors to the town, he left the scent of warm lavender water on the fresh breeze blowing in off the sea.

  Disengaging Josephine Courtis’ clinging hand from his arm, Oliver eased Kerensa round to face him.

  ‘I’m going to join Martin Beswetherick. You can remain here in Mistress Courtis’ company,’ he said curtly. ‘If you avoid the inns, alehouses and alleyways, you’ll be well able to look af
ter yourself for the rest of the afternoon. Nathan O’Flynn will be outside Sealey’s Hostelry to escort you back to the Manor at five of the clock.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be together, Oliver?’ Kerensa tried to whisper so the widow could not hear.

  ‘Why?’ he asked in undisguised hostility.

  ‘Surely people will expect us to—’

  He cut her short and pushed her hand away from his arm. ‘You should know me well enough by now to realise I seldom do what anyone expects me to.’

  Kerensa called after him as he stalked off. Oliver turned half round and looked at her coldly.

  ‘Will I see you before I leave for Tolwithrick?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘He’s in a bad mood today,’ remarked Josephine Courtis as Oliver pushed his way through the crowds. ‘More like his old self again. But then, your marriage is hardly a love match, is it?’

  Kerensa did not reply, hiding her hurt as she acknowledged some of her Bible class friends with a wave.

  ‘My dear, you must really feel at home here today… what with all these common working-class people about.’

  Kerensa wasn’t unduly bothered by the spitefulness of the remark but sadly realised how untrue the words were. There were few people she could feel comfortable with now apart from Alice, Jake, Jack, Nathan, Lady Rachael Beswetherick and the Reverend Ivey. Those from her old life for the most part were friendly and respectful, but too acutely aware of her changed position to shake her hand, kiss her cheek, or call her ‘maid’. And goodness alone knew what the class she had married into thought of her. Though Josephine Courtis’ comment was some indication.

  It was still painful, her loss of Clem. He was never far from her thoughts and she looked around in the hope of catching sight of him. If she could rid herself of the disagreeable widow, perhaps the two of them might snatch a few words together in a quiet place somewhere. She had not seen him since the day of Davey Trembath’s funeral, or received word of him, and Alice had of late become reluctant even to mention his name.

  ‘Looking for anyone in particular, my dear?’ Josephine said, a suspicious glint in her eyes.

  ‘No. Shall we look at the stalls, Mistress Courtis?’

  Josephine looked down her nose and bobbed up and down in her shoes. ‘Well, I have no wish to purchase anything – but as you please. You lead the way.’

  Kerensa did not push her way through the swelling crowds, but found most people willing enough to part a way through for her and the woman following close on her heels with a handkerchief crammed tightly to her nose. Kerensa stopped in front of a clothing stall. Pinching a garment between finger and thumb of one gloved hand, Josephine held it up and tossed it disdainfully aside. Refusing to rise to the bait Kerensa bought two serge shirts in a size she thought would fit Bartholomew Drannock; she knew the boy would not wear anything fancy and hoped Jenifer would accept them for him.

  ‘Charity, my dear,’ sniffed the widow. ‘You’ll end up like Oliver’s late mother, Lady Caroline. But you’ll know more about what to buy for these people than she did, won’t you?’

  Not taking her eyes from a small muslin dress she was holding as she examined its stitching, Kerensa said coolly, ‘I am not ashamed of my background or my upbringing, Mistress Courtis, nor shall I ever try to hide it. I’ve no more wish for your company than you have for mine. And as for Oliver, I have it on very good authority that he had not the slightest interest in you. And, anyway, I believe he prefers younger women.’

  The sharp-faced stall holder had listened in amazement as the girl he knew to be the new Lady of the Manor tongue-lashed the haughty doxy at her side.

  Josephine turned bright red with rage, and hissed back, ‘Why, you common little bitch! How dare you speak to me in such a manner!’

  ‘I found it easy enough. If you insist on being rude and tiresome, Mistress Courtis, you must learn not to be surprised if you are treated in kind. Good day to you.’ Kerensa had looked Josephine straight in the face and kept calm throughout the further tirade. She now turned to the stall holder. ‘I’ll take this dress, please, and another the same in a bigger size.’

  ‘Thank ’ee, m’lady,’ said the amused stall holder with a bow as Josephine Courtis stormed off to look for a familiar face with whom to share her outrage over the dreadful experience with Oliver Pengarron’s common little wife.

  ‘Shall I ’ave ’em sent up to the Manor for ’ee, m’lady?’

  ‘No, thank you,’ Kerensa said happily, glad to be minus the widow’s company. ‘I can manage. My pony is not far away.’

  ‘Let me carry ’em for ’ee then,’ offered the stall holder, tying a strong knot to finish off the neat parcel he had made from a square of bright red cloth for her.

  ‘No, no, no. It’s all right,’ Kerensa insisted. ‘You may miss another customer or have your stock taken. I’ll be fine, truly. But thank you anyway.’

  ‘As you please then, m’lady, an’ thank ’ee very much for your custom.’

  The stall holder gave another bow, longer this time, in a style not unlike that of Hezekiah Solomon.

  As she passed through the crowds Kerensa looked keenly about for signs of Clem. From the various stalls in the bustling noisy market town she bought a tortoiseshell inlaid comb for Alice, lace handkerchiefs for Ruth and Esther, a neckerchief for Jack, a little white apron for Rosina Pearce, and even dared to buy a small bottle of cheap scent for Beatrice.

  There was still no sign of Clem but as she browsed over a sweetmeat stall, pondering on whether to buy some sugared almonds for Lady Rachel Beswetherick’s children, she caught sight of two of the people she had bought gifts for. Rosina Pearce was helping a highly intoxicated Beatrice through the crowd, and the old nursemaid was bawling out news of Kerensa’s private life. She tried to rush to them as Beatrice’s words clearly reached her ears.

  ‘They git on me ruddy tripe, the pair of ’em! One minute they ’ate each other, then soon as they get t’like each other a little bit… well, whad’ya think? …summat ’appens an’ now they’m ’ardly talkin’.’

  ‘Shush, Beatrice,’ Rosina pleaded, ‘let’s just find a place and sit down.’

  ‘Oh, ’e’s an uppity sod, right enough. Don’t know when ’e’s well off! She’s a dear little maid, sweet ’n’ pretty, what more does ’e want? Eh? Eh?’

  Beatrice wasn’t mentioning any names but Kerensa knew the folk turning their heads to stare and listen to her could easily tell who it was she was shouting about. She almost knocked over a pottery stall in her haste to reach the old woman to shut her up.

  ‘An’ she,’ Beatrice went on, ‘she’s a dear little maid but I don’t know what she’s got ’er nose up in the bleddy air for these days. What more do she want? Gotta a fine roof over ’er ’ead, food in ’er belly, an’ a man who gives ’er—’

  ‘Beatrice! Stop it at once!’ Kerensa prodded the old woman with a fierce elbow and Beatrice rolled her piggy eyes at her.

  ‘Oh! Tes you, me ’an’some, I wus jus’ tellin’ little Ro… Ro…’

  ‘Be quiet, Beatrice,’ Kerensa hissed angrily. ‘Everybody’s looking at us.’

  ‘Didn’t mean no ’arm.’ Beatrice hiccuped, her eyes rolled again, and she looked as if she was about to collapse.

  ‘I’m sorry, m’lady,’ Rosina said. ‘I’ve been trying to get her out of harm’s way but she’s so heavy and with me having only one good foot myself…’ Rosina used her slight body as a wedge to hold Beatrice upright.

  ‘There’s no need for you to apologise,’ Kerensa said, looking about for a suitable place to put Beatrice out of the way in. ‘I thought she was going over to Painted Bessie’s – it’s a pity she didn’t! Look, there’s a barrel over there against that fence by the pig pen. Will you help me get her over there, please? I can’t manage on my own with all these packages.’

  ‘Of course,’ Rosina said. Then, ‘Hey!’ Beatrice had stood up straight and scuttled off before the two young women had a chance to gather their wits and t
ry to stop her.

  ‘Oh, well,’ Kerensa said to the startled Rosina, ‘she’s gone, and there’s nothing we can do about it now. I only hope she makes it to Painted Bessie’s in one piece.’

  Rosina was smiling to herself now, seeing the funny side of what had happened, but she kept a straight face before Kerensa, who was most annoyed. She would not make any reference to what she had heard. ‘I didn’t know Beatrice could move so fast. She’s a cunning old thing.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kerensa said, stung with embarrassment. ‘Anyway, it’s good to see you again, Rosina, we haven’t spoken in months. How are you? I do miss you, and the Bible classes.’ Like all the people who cared about Rosina, when meeting her Kerensa looked for signs of fresh bruises.

  Rosina smiled serenely but hurriedly pulled a sleeve down to cover her wrist. ‘I’m very well, thank you. It’s a lovely May Day. How are you keeping, m’lady?’

  ‘I don’t expect my friends to call me “m’lady” when we’re alone, Rosina,’ Kerensa said brightly. ‘Would you like to go somewhere and have a dish of tea with me?’

  ‘I would like to, thank you, but if Colly got to hear of it… and I’ve got to be on my way soon.’

  Kerensa always marvelled at how Rosina never sounded disappointed at not being able to do so many of the things she wanted to because of her selfish brother.

  ‘Well, I’ve got a little something here for you, Rosina, I hope you won’t be offended. It’s just a little white apron. And I bought some perfume for Beatrice but I think it wouldn’t be a good idea to give it to her now. She would be furious, I’m sure. I don’t know how I had the nerve to buy it in the first place. Perhaps you’d like to have it too.’

  ‘I’d better not, but thank you for thinking of me. I can’t accept anything else, Kerensa. You’ve already been very kind to me, sending along things by Alice, but Colly gets jealous.’ Rosina made the excuse, ‘He would like to give me nice things himself, you see.’

  ‘Well, perhaps…’ Kerensa glanced down at her purse then coloured profusely, but Rosina put a hand on her arm.