Pengarron Land

by Pengarron Land (retail) (epub)

  Jenna Tregurtha, who spent more time on Ker-an-Mor than on her brother’s farm, came to the kitchen door and shook breadcrumbs off her large apron on to the cobbles. All the puppies save one struggled out of Oliver’s arms to scramble off to snap up the unexpected titbits before the fowls who were bent on the same notion.

  Oliver stroked the remaining puppy and lifted it up to look under its belly. ‘Well, little fellow, I think I know someone who would very much like to have you for her own.’

  He pulled the black velvet ribbon that Kerensa had bought for him from his long hair. He had stayed the night of May Day at Sir Martin’s house and arrived home late the next day to find the ribbon on top of a note left on his desk. It was written in Kerensa’s girlish hand and was now folded up inside his breeches pocket.

  ‘There you are, my boy,’ Oliver told the puppy as he tied the ribbon firmly around its neck. ‘Adam will know which one of you I want kept aside by this.’

  Digging the note out of his pocket he read it through very slowly again, savouring each word, hoping it would provide an answer to the mystery of Kerensa’s attitude towards him.

  ‘Dear Oliver,’ the note read, ‘I Hope you will Like this Ribbon I Bought for You at the Fair.’ It was signed simply, ‘Kerensa’.

  Once more he felt a pang of disappointment at not having reached home to say goodbye to her before she left for Tolwithrick. Folding the note carefully he put it back in its place. The puppy licked his face and playfully bit his hand with needle sharp teeth as his thoughts wandered far away.

  After putting in a satisfying day’s work, Oliver welcomed the appearance of Hezekiah Solomon at the farmhouse. Adam Renfree immediately brought out a pack of cards in the parlour but instead of the friendly game enduring until the small hours of the following morning as Oliver hoped, Hezekiah left precisely at nine o’clock to keep a mysterious assignation with an unknown lady. From the looks Adam cast in the direction of the kitchen, where Jenna Tregurtha could be heard preparing supper for them, Oliver perceived his farm steward also desired female company. After eating he tactfully withdrew from Ker-an-Mor Farm.

  He was undecided where to go at first, riding off in no particular direction, but very soon he had been drawn towards the Manor house. Kerensa might not be there in his bed tonight, but her things were in the room. Her primroses were in her sitting room, her fragrance still lingered throughout the house.

  He wondered what she was doing at Tolwithrick. Probably making herself busy with Rachael’s eight children. Eight children… He would be content with only one, a son or a daughter, if she turned out to be like her mother. Kerensa would make a good mother.

  Rachael would be spoiling her, of course. Making sure she was waited on hand and foot, giving the girl more than she could possibly want or need, and probably trying to fill her head with silly notions. Well, Kerensa was too sensible to allow Rachael to influence her unwisely. As for William, he’d been captivated by Kerensa from the first moment he had seen her, but he was a man a husband did not have to worry about. He lacked the imagination to have affairs. If his brother Arthur had still been alive, however, he would have taken some close watching.

  The last of the daylight was fading when Oliver reached the Manor grounds. Movement not far in front of him caused him to narrow his eyes as he made out the figures of Clem Trenchard and Alice Ford. The two were involved in a heated argument and neither heard his approach until he was nearly on top of them. Clem looked up sharply and muttering something to the girl, abruptly walked off in the direction of his father’s farm without acknowledging Oliver’s presence.

  Anger flared up in him. He was offended by the youth’s lack of manners. Ignoring his landlord was something Morley Trenchard would never have done. He watched Clem’s back until he disappeared out of sight then looked to Alice for an explanation of what had occurred between them. She had one hand held to her throat, the other clutching her stomach. His displeasure with Clem Trenchard was forgotten as Oliver quickly dismounted.

  ‘What is it, Alice?’ he asked gently. ‘Are you ill again?’

  ‘I… I just feel…’ she managed, before a severe wave of nausea filled her whole being. With both hands to her stomach she doubled over, only just turning her head in time to prevent herself from vomiting over Oliver’s feet.

  Alice moaned between each spasm of retching. Her vision left her for a moment, ringing filled her ears, and she would have sunk to the ground if Oliver had not supported her.

  It was several moments before she could speak again. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I…’

  ‘It’s all right, Alice,’ he said, thrusting his handkerchief into one of her hands before helping her move a few steps away. ‘Have you finished or is there more to come?’

  ‘Yes… I mean, no. I’m sorry. I’ll be all right now, sir.’ She wiped her mouth with the handkerchief, then turned it inside out to dab at her eyes. ‘I’ll be all right now,’ she repeated. ‘It… it just comes over me any time of the day or night.’

  Releasing his firm grip on her only when he was sure she was steady on her feet, Oliver whistled for Conomor.

  ‘When you’re ready, Alice, I’ll lift you up on my horse and get you quickly into the Manor house. You’re shivering. I’ll get one of the King sisters to make you a hot drink and help you into bed. It’s a pity Beatrice has not come back from Painted Bessie’s yet, she would have a remedy to get you well in no time at all,’ Oliver’s tone was one of kindness and concern.

  ‘Please, sir,’ Alice sounded panicky, ‘I don’t want Ruth and Esther to know about this. I don’t want anyone fussing round me.’

  ‘Very well. If that is what you want,’ he said soothingly. ‘I wish I had something to keep you warm.’

  He lifted her up to ride side saddle as though she were as light as thistledown.

  ‘How long is it that you have been unwell like this, Alice?’ he asked, taking the reins and walking beside her.

  ‘A few days now. I’m that sorry, sir, and sorry I couldn’t go over to Tolwithrick with her ladyship.’

  ‘I should think the company you’ve been keeping of late is enough to make anyone sick,’ Oliver remarked, still rankled by Clem’s abrupt departure.

  ‘You mean Clem, do you, sir?’

  ‘Yes, I do. He was fortunate not to get his head blown off tonight. I keep a pistol in my saddle in the event of meeting undesirables on the road… or on my property. If you want someone to pay you court, Alice, I’d have thought there were more suitable young men attending your Bible meetings than him. If you’ll take my advice, you won’t see Trenchard again.’

  Alice’s lip trembled and her eyes filled with tears. ‘He doesn’t want to see me again anyway. He was just telling me when… when you rode up to us, sir.’

  Oliver stopped walking. ‘I see. Are you fond of him, Alice?’

  ‘Yes,’ she blurted out through her tears.

  ‘In that case, I’m sorry. We haven’t much farther left to go now. Hold on tightly, I’ll soon have you warm and comfortable.’

  * * *

  It was well past midnight when Clem lay on his bed in the cramped room he shared with his brother. He’d stayed out late purposely to ensure his family would all be sound asleep when he returned. The anguish he’d suffered at having to be so forceful with Alice still remained with him. The girl had been determined not to make what he had been trying to say easy for either of them. Quite deliberately she had misconstrued everything he had said in an effort to end their relationship as painlessly as possible.

  ‘You’re just a bit tired, Clem,’ she had insisted, ‘only a bit off colour. Perhaps you’re coming down with the same sickness as me.’

  At the last he had been so brutal with her he believed even high and mighty Sir Oliver Pengarron himself could not have achieved a better job of it. When Alice finally had to admit she understood what he was saying she had become almost hysterical, accusing Clem of being selfish and cruel, of wanting her for one thing only, and now he’d
got it, no longer wanting her at all.

  If she had allowed him to finish, Clem would have explained that he needed time to be by himself, to sort out his feelings, to see which direction his life was to take. They could have stayed friends and perhaps sometime in the future…

  What future? he thought wretchedly in the darkness. He thumped his pillow then looked hastily across at his crippled brother to see if he had been disturbed, but Kenver slept peacefully on.

  All Clem could see of his brother was the back of his fluffy fair hair. He almost envied Kenver at that moment. Paralysed from the waist down from birth, he had no aspirations towards marrying or producing a family, content to craft useful or more exotic items from wood, stone, shells and driftwood, or to sculpt them from blocks of granite. Florrie regularly sold the finished articles at the marketplace in Marazion, and at fifteen years old Kenver was contributing well to the family coffers. He was no liability to them, a term Morley Trenchard had used concerning Clem more than once in the last few months.

  His thoughts were brought back to the sixty faggots of furze he had cut and tied that day; he had made up for the necessity of that remark. But the relentless stinging of his scratches was a more than uncomfortable reminder of the price he had paid while doing so.

  Turning restlessly, he stared out of the window at the indigo star-speckled sky, and very soon the stars merged into a glimmering haze as tears of hopelessness brimmed over in his eyes.

  * * *

  Dunstan plodded back into the kitchen after his last visit to the garden for the night. He took his reward of a biscuit gently out of Oliver’s fingers, then nuzzled his master’s leg as a thank you, before taking it to eat at his leisure in his bed next to the fireplace. He was licking up the crumbs when the sound of a light step brought his old head up expectantly. But it wasn’t the girl he’d hoped it would be, and grumbling like the sound of low thunder over Perranbarvah, he settled himself down to sleep.

  Alice hastily pulled her shawl tighter over her nightdress. She had not expected there to be anyone in the kitchen this late except Dunstan.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir…’ she began, then broke off miserably.

  ‘It’s all right, Alice,’ he said, moving over to her with a hand held out in case she became faint. ‘Are you ill again?’

  Despite being uncomfortably hot, Alice shivered. She couldn’t meet her master’s eyes and looked down at the stone floor beneath her bare feet. ‘I’ve just got a bit of a headache, that’s all,’ she answered shyly. ‘I couldn’t sleep so I came down for a sip of water.’

  The grandfather clock in the hall chimed a quarter hour past one o’clock. The night was oppressively close and stuffy. The mixture of smells, the yeast, herbs, game, smoke from the smouldering fire and Dunstan’s own peculiar odour, was suddenly overwhelming to Alice. The kitchen walls and ceiling seemed to close in on her, bile rose in her throat and acid burned at the base of her stomach. It wasn’t until Oliver asked her if she was about to be sick that she realised she was rubbing her stomach in circles with the flat of her hand.

  ‘Um… no,’ she murmured in confusion. ‘I don’t like the smells in here. If I could just have some water… lie down…’

  ‘A little brandy would do you more good,’ he suggested.

  ‘I don’t drink anything like that, sir,’ she told him, her teeth beginning to chatter as she shivered more and more.

  She made to move past him to the water pump at the huge stone sink, but he stood his ground and barred her way.

  ‘A small drop of brandy won’t hurt you, Alice.’

  As she would not look up at him Oliver bent his head close to hers to encourage her. Alice turned her head from him but he took her chin in one hand and raised it as he eased her back round to face him.

  ‘It will settle your stomach. St Paul rendered similar advice – ‘But use a little wine for thy stomach’s sake’ – and even your Preacher Renfree can’t argue against that.’

  There was no fight left in her, Alice nodded meekly and allowed Oliver to lead her to his study.

  He poured a small measure of brandy, topped the glass with water and gave it to Alice, ensuring both her hands were clasped firmly around it. As he poured a drink for himself she moved over to a window, pretending to look out of it as she sipped the sweet-tasting liquid, her hands shaking in uncontrollable spasms.

  Oliver warmed the bowl of his glass between his hand, glancing only occasionally at her so not to increase her distress. He finished his brandy slowly. Alice had hardly touched hers.

  He called softly across the room, ‘Alice?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Do you feel any better?’

  ‘Not really. I…’

  With an effort she placed her glass down safely on a small circular table at her side. Sobs racked her body as she put her head in her hands. Oliver reached her quickly. Alice sensed him there. She turned and cried wretchedly within the comforting warmth of his strong enfolding arms.

  * * *

  The next day found Oliver and Clem in Perranbarvah’s parish church to attend a funeral. William and Lamorna Sampson of Polcudden Farm were bereaved of their son Henry, his neck broken when he had been thrown from a pony trap. It was a particularly sad tragedy for the Sampson family. Two sons had already predeceased him, and his death left his parents with three small daughters and no son to take over the lease of Polcudden Farm in later years.

  The whole farming community of the Pengarron Estate, along with many an interested onlooker, was gathered for the funeral. It had been thankfully cool inside the church, but the sun was stifling hot as the plain wooden coffin was lowered into the ground to rest in the family grave with the two other Sampson sons. As the mourners moved off, Ben Rosevidney moved respectfully out of sight to collect his shovel. He would return the earth to the grave only when the last mourner had left the churchyard.

  After offering a few comforting words to William and Lamorna Sampson, and promising to arrange for a suitable labourer to help on Polcudden in their son’s place, Oliver walked over to the Trenchard family.

  Morley took off his cap as he approached them. ‘Sorry business, all this, m’lord,’ he said with a resigned sigh.

  ‘Indeed it is, Morley,’ Oliver agreed, looking from him and nodding a solemn greeting to Florrie and Gran Donald before resting his eyes on Clem. ‘I want a word with you,’ he said coldly. ‘Now, if you please.’

  Clem said nothing. Morley and his wife exchanged worried glances. Gran Donald took the initiative. ‘We’ll make our own way over to Polcudden for the funeral tea. Clem can catch us up later.’

  The Reverend Ivey watched the two men left alone by the retreating Trenchard family. With an expression of deep concern, he gave Lamorna Sampson his arm and led her gently to the farm cart that was to convey the remaining members of her family back to their home. He threw worried glances over his shoulder every few steps until the two men were out of his sight.

  ‘I don’t think we have anything to say to each other,’ spat Clem, the moment his family were out of earshot.

  ‘Well, I have a good deal to say to you, Trenchard,’ Oliver returned, moving in closer to gain a more dominating position. ‘About Alice Ford.’

  ‘My friendship with Alice has nothing to do with you.’ Clem made a move to follow his family. ‘Just keep out of my business.’

  ‘Something has happened to make it my business. You either listen to me, Trenchard, or I’ll shout loud enough for everyone to hear what you’ve been up to.’

  It was enough to bring Clem to a halt. ‘Well, what has happened? Alice is all right, isn’t she?’

  Oliver looked around. The churchyard retained one or two groups of quietly conversing people, and the beach at the bottom of the steep hill was busy with fishermen preparing to launch their luggers. With the over-inquisitive Mrs Tregonning off to the funeral tea, and Ben Rosevidney waiting to fill in the grave, the Parsonage garden afforded the best chance of privacy.

  ‘Follo
w me,’ he ordered.

  ‘What’s this all about?’ demanded Clem, when they were standing on the Reverend’s neatly cut lawn.

  Oliver stood no more than six inches away, his feet planted firmly apart, hands on his hips. He began speaking slowly. ‘I don’t like you, Trenchard. I don’t like your surly moods or your bad manners. Furthermore, I don’t like the way you worry your parents. A worried farmer may produce poor crops and livestock, neglect his farm.’

  Clem attempted to interrupt but was stopped by a raised hand.

  ‘But what I particularly dislike about you is the way you’ve seduced one of my servants, made her pregnant, and have now cast her aside.’

  Clem’s face paled. ‘Alice, pregnant! She’s said nothing to me about it. What makes you so sure?’

  ‘Don’t be a fool, man! Why do you think she’s always being sick? No one else at the Manor is, and we all eat and drink the same food and water. You don’t deny making love to her, do you?’

  Clem stayed silent for several moments, trying to take in this new development in the muddle of his life, then said stonily, ‘I’ll go and see Alice at once, and you needn’t worry – I’ll do what I have to do, to put things right by her.’

  ‘You most certainly will, Trenchard! There will be no question of your ducking out of your duty to her. Alice is a fine girl, she’ll make you a good wife.’ Oliver folded his arms and deliberately lowered his voice. ‘And perhaps it will stop you hankering after mine.’

  It was all too much for Clem. To be told of Alice’s pregnancy by this man, of all people. To be practically accused of wanting not to marry her when he had made it clear he would offer to, and then to be taunted over losing Kerensa to him, was more than he could bear. All the hatred and loss he had suffered because of this man’s actions erupted with the vicious strength of a freak wave over a jagged rock.

  With all his might he aimed his fist at Oliver Pengarron’s jaw.

  Always alert in a confrontation, Oliver brought up his forearm to ward off the blow and plunged his tautened fingers into the pit of Clem’s stomach.