‘It’s all right, I’m not offended. Perhaps you could oblige me with a few pennies to buy a bite to eat.’
Rosina had covered her friend’s embarrassment again and Kerensa knew she would use the money to buy the first good meal she had eaten in ages.
‘Have you had any news of your grandfather yet?’ Rosina was also curious about Kerensa’s new life as the Lady of the Manor but too tactful to ask in case her old friend was extremely unhappy.
‘No, nothing yet,’ Kerensa replied wistfully, ‘I suppose he’ll get in touch with me eventually.’
‘Are you worried about him?’
‘Well, yes and no. I’d like to know where he is and what he’s doing, of course, but Grandfather can look after himself. He said he was going off on a ship to start a new life, but you never could believe a word he said. I think he’s just lying low somewhere for a while… I do miss him.’
‘I’m sure he’ll turn up soon,’ Rosina said to comfort Kerensa while gently pulling her out of the way of a man carrying a huge tray of pies on his head and earmarking his pitch for the place to spend the pennies she had been given. ‘He’d probably cause a few problems if he was around at the moment.’
‘Like turning up regularly at the Manor asking for money when he knew Sir Oliver wasn’t there? Yes, I’ve thought of that.’ Kerensa smiled fondly as she recalled Old Tom’s character.
Kerensa managed to extract a promise from Rosina to send word to her via Alice if she required anything and was able to ask for it, then Rosina limped away to the pieman.
Kerensa moved on by herself, pleased that although she could not see Rosina as often as she wished there at least was one person she could still feel comfortable with.
She looked again at the stalls and wondered whether to buy something for Oliver. At first she decided she would not, then feeling guilty at being churlish, bought a long wide length of black velvet ribbon. In the event of her leaving the Manor for Tolwithrick before he returned home sometime later in the day, she mentally wrote a note to leave with the ribbon on his study desk.
So deep in thought was she as she began to leave behind the noisy hubbub of humanity, she did not see the man standing directly in front of her until it was too late. Her purchases were scattered over the dusty ground as she walked straight into him.
‘Oh, I’m so sorry!’ she cried out.
‘No need for apologies, Lady Pengarron. It would have helped if I had stepped out of your way,’ said a smiling Peter Blake. ‘Allow me to be of assistance to you?’
He gathered up her parcel and other purchases but made no movement to hand them to her. ‘Are you quite alone, ma’am?’ he enquired of her. ‘It seems to me that indeed you are, although I cannot understand why this should be the case. If I may say so, it’s rather remiss of your husband to leave you unescorted with the town full of rogues, drunkards and cut throats. If you’ll allow me, I’ll feel it an honour to escort you to your intended destination, ma’am?’
For some reason this young man, whose face had qualities to turn the eye of a female of any age, with a smile full of charm revealing the whitest of straight teeth, made Kerensa instinctively feel uncomfortable.
‘I thank you, Mr Blake,’ she said, keeping her eyes on him rather distrustfully. ‘My pony is in the stable of the Sealey’s Hostelry.’
‘So you know who I am, Lady Pengarron, despite the fact we were not introduced at Sir Martin Beswetherick’s house a few weeks ago.’
‘Lady Rachael told me your name, Mr Blake.’
‘Did she, indeed?’
They turned the corner by a grocery shop where a group of dirty urchins were wrestling in their path, throwing up choking dust from the dry ground.
‘Hey! You there!’ shouted Peter Blake. ‘Hold still till we’re past.’
The children unwillingly pulled apart, scowling as the gentleman and lady walked past them. Blake tossed them a few copper coins and they sent up yet more dust in their scrabble for them.
Blake laughed. ‘Practising for the day they will be able to take part in the wrestling matches, I fancy. Will you be watching the wrestling this afternoon, ma’am? This fellow King, the one they call the Barvah Giant, is reckoned likely to win again this year.’
‘I will be joining my husband to watch the wrestling, sir,’ Kerensa lied, afraid Blake would suggest she accompany him. She was in fact hoping to come across Nathan O’Flynn to escort her back to the Manor, having had enough of the May Day celebrations for this year.
She stumbled suddenly into a pot hole and Blake reached out and grasped her arm as she steadied herself.
‘Take my arm, ma’am, before you have another misfortune today. Perhaps when…’
Kerensa looked up from the offending pot hole to see why Peter Blake had stopped talking. The reason was the way a tall, fair-haired young man, with a curly-haired girl clinging on to his arm, was coldly staring at them. A wave of shock coursed through her at seeing Clem and Alice together in such a manner, and Clem was making it obvious he didn’t much care for her being in Blake’s company.
It was she who broke the silence. ‘Hello, Clem. Hello, Alice.’
Red-faced, Alice stammered. ‘Oh, m’lady, I… I was on my way to find Ruth and Esther when I—I saw Clem. We thought they might be by the maypole…’
‘They were not there a short while ago, Alice,’ Kerensa informed her.
Clem’s blue eyes were searching Kerensa’s face. Blake looked with deep interest from one taut expression to the other. Recalling the information gleaned from his half-sister about the young Lady Pengarron, he quickly arrived at a correct understanding of the situation.
In a bitter voice, Clem said, ‘If you’ll excuse us? Good afternoon, m’lady. Sir.’
‘Of course. Good afternoon to you both,’ Blake said genially in his quiet voice. ‘Enjoy yourselves at the fair.’
Clem walked quickly on, followed by the embarrassed Alice. Charity bounded after them, but not before she squatted to wet the dust in front of Blake’s feet. Skirting the wet patch as they continued on their way, he raised one gently curving eyebrow.
‘Friends of yours, are they?’
Kerensa tried to sound matter-of-fact. ‘Alice is my maid. Clem is the son of one of the Pengarron Estate’s tenant farmers.’
‘Seems a disagreeable sort of fellow to me.’ Two small girls running towards them stopped their progress again and Kerensa was relieved not to have to talk any more about Clem.
‘’ere, lady,’ one of the girls said shyly, ‘we picked some flowers for ’ee.’
Both girls held up a huge bunch of pale yellow primroses in grubby little hands.
‘Why, thank you very much,’ Kerensa said, taken with surprised delight, smiling at each of them in turn. ‘It’s very kind of you.’
With great care she placed her hands over the little girls’, and one at a time slowly drew out the bunches of primroses until she was holding the floral gifts. She breathed in the delicate scent of the flowers, made strong and heady by the heat of the sun.
‘They’re really lovely. Thank you again. When I get home I’m going to put them in a crystal vase in my sitting room.’
‘Up in the big Manor house, lady?’ asked one girl, wide-eyed.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Will ’is lordship see ’em too?’ the other girl wanted to know.
‘Yes. And he likes wild flowers as much as I do.’ Kerensa glanced down at the purse hanging by its drawstrings from her wrist. ‘Oh, dear.’
‘Is something wrong?’ Peter Blake asked quickly.
‘I want to give them sixpence, but my hands are not free,’ she said, looking helplessly at the primroses.
‘Well, that’s no problem,’ he said, and producing two silver coins from a waistcoat pocket, dropped one into each pair of eager hands.
‘Thank you, sir, and you, lady,’ they said excitedly, and skipped off to spend their reward among the crowds at the fair.
‘You seem to be mak
ing a habit of coming to my rescue, Mr Blake,’ Kerensa commented.
‘Most willingly I assure you, ma’am,’ he said pleasantly.
Blake was obviously aware of Kerensa’s growing embarrassment. She felt him to be a sophisticated man, a calculating man, but not in any sense dangerous in the same way as Oliver.
He allowed them to reach Sealey’s Hostelry without further conversation. It was quiet within, favoured only by a small number of the older gentlefolk at that moment, who were eager to be out of the hot sun and the noise and bustle.
Kerensa looked around the unfamiliar surroundings and wondered who to approach for assistance. A serving maid came forward and offered to relieve her of the primroses.
‘Thank you for your help, Mr Blake,’ Kerensa said drily. ‘There is no need for you to be detained any longer.’
Blake smiled with all his charm, a small dimple appearing at each corner of a rather sensuous mouth.
‘Oh, I have nowhere in particular to go, ma’am, or nothing in particular to do. May I not ask you to take some refreshment with me?’
As Rachael had remarked, he was quite beautiful; not tall like Oliver or Clem, but many women might think him more attractive than either with his cornflower blue eyes. Most women would be flattered and delighted to be receiving his attention, but Kerensa distrusted him, even feared him a little, the reason why this should be so, completely eluding her.
‘My husband has taken a room in the hotel for the day,’ she said determinedly. ‘I wish only to withdraw and rest for a while.’ She opened her purse and took out a silver coin. ‘Your shilling, Mr Blake.’
He took the coin and kissed her hand. ‘I hope to have the pleasure of your charming company again very soon, Lady Pengarron.’
‘In church perhaps, Mr Blake?’ she said mischievously.
‘That, I fear, will never be, ma’am. Myself, I am an unbeliever. I thank you for the shilling, but I did not want it returned. Your servant.’ With a bow, he turned and left the hotel.
Kerensa felt a chill spread inside her. She had not told such lies to anyone as she had to Peter Blake. What was it about him that caused her to act that way? He was a perfect gentleman. Too perfect perhaps, and according to Rachael, not a gentleman at all. What exactly did that mean? She was at least glad it was not a lie about Oliver taking a room for her convenience here in the hotel.
On entering the building Blake had placed her purchases on the clerk’s desk. Retrieving them, she asked to be shown to her room and to be informed at once if Nathan O’Flynn made an appearance outside.
She followed the same serving maid wearily over the worn carpet as they climbed the staircase. It would be a blessed relief to be a good distance tomorrow from Oliver and his dark moods, from the fishing village and the Drannocks. She would miss Dunstan… but why did Oliver have to insist she take her maid? At that moment she was bitterly jealous of Alice.
Why had she been holding on to Clem’s arm like that?
Outside in the hot sunshine Peter Blake looked up at the sky and smiled contentedly. He pressed the shilling coin to his lips before slipping it into a waistcoat pocket, then made his way to the nearest brothel.
Chapter 12
High up on a sloping valley of Trecath-en Farm, Clem Trenchard was sweating heavily as he cut furze to be used for fuel in the winter. It was a job that required skill and vigilance and he knew his father would be scornful of his discarding the shirt which offered some protection against the harsh spines of the drying gorse bushes. In the mood he was in Clem could easily have been tempted to cast off the heavy thick leather gloves he wore and allow his hands to be ripped to shreds. As it was, the long scratch marks and the droplets of blood resulting from them on his arms, neck, and shoulders, purged some of his despair as he worked at a furious pace.
To add to his frustration Alice had not gone to Tolwithrick with Kerensa. On her return to the Manor on May Day, she had been taken violently ill. Kerensa had delayed her departure for Tolwithrick until the following morning but Alice had been too ill to get out of her bed. Ascertaining that her maid had no serious malady, Kerensa had left the Manor on her own. She had never felt the need for a personal maid and the Beswethericks would have more than enough servants if she did find she required one.
Clem had secretly watched Kerensa leave in the stately refurbished Pengarron coach, driven by Barney Taylor, with Jack sitting self-importantly at his side. To Clem it brought some small comfort to his aching soul to know that for as long as she was away, Kerensa would not lie in the arms of Oliver Pengarron.
Immediately following the disturbing meeting with Kerensa and Peter Blake, the lack of a reason for her being in Blake’s company adding to his worries for her, Clem had tried to end his association with Alice. Cleverly she had sidetracked his every attempt, encouraging him to drink too much ale in an effort to lift his rapidly failing spirits. The outcome had been yet another sinful union between them, and it was getting harder and harder to face his parents and grandmother in the mornings. Why couldn’t she realise that her presence only served as a painful reminder of the girl he loved and had lost, and still couldn’t get out of his mind?
Prickles embedded in the knee of his breeches pierced deeply into his flesh as he knelt to retrieve the sharp hatchet which had spun out of his hand in his careless hacking.
‘Bloody girl!’ he swore angrily. ‘Why did you have to be hanging on to my arm when we came across Kerensa with that man Blake? Only the Lord knows what she must be thinking now.’
Charity was restlessly hunched on all fours, close by. She got slowly to her feet and ambled uncertainly towards her master. Clem took no notice of her and glared down the empty valley.
‘Hell and damnation to everything!’ he screamed at the top of his voice.
Charity jumped back and darted her head in each direction while the young man himself looked about to challenge anyone who might have heard his outburst.
He returned to work, crying out with an oath as a group of barbarous spines raked across his chest. His father would have told him it served him right for swearing and harbouring such uncharitable thoughts.
Charity edged back closer to Clem, but he ignored her. He worked on until the furious stinging across his chest and arms made him straighten up, and pulling off his gloves, he reached for his water flask. The water he poured over his wounds was warm and soothing. Charity wriggled across his feet and whined appealingly to him as he gulped down enough warm liquid to quench his thirst.
Contrite at his disregard, he ruffled her ears and sought comfort for them both in hugging her warm soft body to him. Mechanically, he poured water into a cupped hand for the dog to lap from.
As he stood up the river below glittered across his line of vision. There was an elm tree on the opposite bank. It was under that tree he had first made love to Alice.
‘Now, with Kerensa away to stop you feeling guilty about us,’ he murmured, his body slouched in an attitude of defeat, ‘you’ll bother me all the more.’
He pulled his shirt on over his head grimacing when the rough material dragged over the deep scratches in his flesh. He carried on with his work, taking more care but without easing up on his pace. When he’d cut enough furze he tied large bundles securely into faggots. A farm labourer was expected to cart back fifty faggots of furze in a good day’s work, to be dried off and later ricked near to the farmhouse. Clem was likely to complete fifty, and another ten, and with them several deep painful scratches on his body as proof of his rage and foolhardy speed.
* * *
Oliver Pengarron was in no mood for company either that day as he toiled with the heat of the sun burning down on his back. He was butchering half of a pig he had just killed. Before leaving the farmyard to ride out on his daily rounds of the busy Estate farm and stud, Adam Renfree had stopped to give him a report on the latest dairy yields and had offered to send him some help. Oliver had bluntly refused, saying the farm hands would be more usefully occupied in the fields th
an getting in his way.
He arranged the expertly butchered half of the pig into barrels of salt for consumption in the coming winter. The other half he loaded on to a cart to be taken to the butcher’s shop in Marazion. Pumping up plenty of fresh spring water, he filled several buckets to swill and scrub away the pig’s blood and other evidence of the slaughter before washing himself thoroughly clean.
For propriety’s sake he put on his linen shirt to return the sharp knives he had used to their places on a rack on the kitchen wall. As he passed the dairy on his way back to the yard a young dairymaid at the window held his attention for a few moments. She glanced up from the large stone sink at which she was smacking butter between wooden pats and blushed under his steady gaze before looking away. Although she possessed no other physical resemblance to Kerensa, the dairymaid had the same tender build.
Oliver sighed heavily and walked off briskly. Why does every wench I set eyes on remind me of something about her? he thought crossly.
Perching on the side of a water trough he kicked stones and pieces of straw at his feet. What’s got into her these days anyway? And why did she become as cold as ice overnight?
Wiping sweat from his brow he reached for his pipe and tobacco. Whatever the reason, I can’t think it’s because of anything I have done.
He lost interest in his pipe when half a dozen black puppies spilled out of a barn and raced over to him. Oliver knelt to gather them up in both arms, the squirming bundle of fur fighting one another to lick his face, neck and hands while wetting his breeches in their excitement. Some of the farm hands ignored the puppies, some seemed to like them, while others still were likely to kick them aside, but from this particular man they were always sure of receiving a warm welcome.
‘Women,’ Oliver said to the puppies. ‘Why can’t they be more like men? Or animals? Or the seasons of the year, each coming in turn, one after the other? Even the sea is less unpredictable and easier to understand than they are.’
Pengarron Land Page 23
