Pengarron Land

by Pengarron Land (retail) (epub)

  ‘All right, all right, I’m coming,’ a shrill voice called out within. Peter Blake’s housekeeper opened the door no more than a crack and peered out short-sightedly at the slight figure of the girl standing there in shabby clothes. ‘Yes, what is it, m’dear? Did Mr Blake tell you to come up and wait for him?’

  ‘Open the door, woman!’ shouted James Andrew impatiently. ‘Me and the young Preacher have got your master here and he’s hurt bad and needs a doctor.’

  The housekeeper opened the door wide and screamed at the sight of Peter Blake, covered in blood and caked mud, supported by the two men.

  ‘Calm yourself and run and fetch Mr Blake’s doctor. Quickly now,’ ordered Matthias in a more kindly tone.

  After a moment’s dithering the woman collected her bonnet and shawl, and with a scrap of lace-edged handkerchief stuffed against her gulping mouth, pitter-pattered down the dark shadowy staircase.

  Moving about inside Blake’s rooms, Rosina had located his bedroom and beckoned to the others to bring in its unfortunate occupant. Holding Blake’s limp form upright, the men pulled off his dirty, stained dresscoat and waistcoat, and laying him carefully on the bed with the covers pulled back, they each dragged off a leather boot. They asked Rosina to turn her back as they pulled off his breeches and the rest of his clothes. Placing the covers gently over Blake’s shivering and jerking body, they stood back and looked down on him. Rosina turned around and stood between them.

  James Andrew announced he must be on his way and Matthias thanked him for his help. ‘It’s all right, young Preacher,’ James said, with a deep sigh, ‘but after what he’s done, and even lying there like that, it don’t bring the Good Samaritan out easily in a man, I can tell you. I’ll say good day to you then.’

  He gave Rosina a warm smile. ‘You take care of yourself, maid. Pity about your shawl. It’s all muddy and bloodstained, and it won’t wash easily out of that tartan twill. That daughter of mine left one behind when she took off with that tinker fellow. You’re welcome to it, maid. I’ll get the missus to bring it up to Jeb Bray’s tonight for the Bible class.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Andrew. It’s kind of you to think of me,’ Rosina said, straightening the bed covers.

  ‘It’s him who needs to thank you, maid,’ James Andrew said seriously. ‘I’ll be off then. I wish you both well of this affair.’

  The housekeeper returned with the doctor in his gig and was of no use at all. She sat and sobbed in the kitchen, drinking endless cups of tea and leaving Rosina to boil water and find clean linen to tear up for bandages.

  Doctor Charles Crebo was an efficient surgeon and physician, well versed in the treatment of broken ribs, broken jaw bones, major and minor cuts and contusions, split lips and crushed hands. He worked for over an hour, stitching, cleaning, prodding, bandaging, and regularly listening to the heart and lungs of his patient.

  ‘There you are, my dear,’ said Dr Crebo, as he fastened the last piece of bandage on Blake’s hand, to Rosina on the other side of the bed. ‘You make an excellent nurse.’

  ‘Thank you, Doctor,’ she said softly. ‘Will Mr Blake be all right? He looks an awful mess.’

  Ugly bruises and swollen lips had transformed Peter Blake’s handsome face into a bloated ugly mass. The top of his body and one arm were swathed in bandages. Matthias Renfree came and stood beside Rosina. He looked at the figure beginning to stir in the bed, and repeated her question.

  ‘By and by,’ said Charles Crebo, ‘he should be, as long as no complications set in the next forty-eight hours, and if he fights off infections. Master Renfree, you can tell me something. It’s obvious to me how Mr Blake came by his injuries, but have you any idea why someone should do this to him? He’s not a popular fellow I know…’

  ‘I have my thoughts on the matter, Dr Crebo,’ Matthias replied soberly, ‘but for the time being I’d rather keep them to myself.’

  ‘Very well. As you please. Do you reckon there could be another injured party about somewhere?’

  ‘That, I think not.’

  ‘Well,’ said the doctor with a long sigh, ‘someone could easily find himself facing a murder charge over this.’

  ‘Excuse me for butting in,’ Rosina said, ‘but I want to show you something.’ From a deep pocket of her skirt she produced a small, ivory-handled pistol.

  ‘May I?’ Charles Crebo held out his hand. Rosina passed it to him. ‘Where did you find it, my dear?’ he asked, scrutinising the pistol closely.

  ‘Beside Mr Blake,’ Rosina answered quickly. ‘Has it been fired?’ she added anxiously.

  ‘No, the firing mechanism is jammed, thank God. There are two initials on the handle. P.B. It looks as if Mr Blake’s adversary may have had a lucky escape.’ He put the pistol down on the bedside table and looked again at his patient. ‘I suppose that accounts for his crushed hand. Probably been stamped on by a heavy boot. Well now,’ he said brightly, rubbing his hands together, ‘where is that hysterical woman with the tea?’

  The housekeeper obliged them with a fresh pot. Clutching her handkerchief to her mouth to stifle another scream, she ventured over to the bed to look down at her employer.

  ‘Poor Mr Blake,’ she squeaked between sobs. ‘What a terrible thing to do to him, it’s the work of the Devil himself. Did you bleed him, Doctor?’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman,’ said Charles Crebo airily, disappointed there was not a slice of madeira cake or a shortbread biscuit to go with the tea. ‘Don’t you think he’s lost blood enough already?’

  Rosina shuddered and Matthias reached back to the chair where he had thrown her shawl. He frowned at the stains on it, but they were mainly dry, having been close to the hearty fire he had lit to keep the bedroom warm.

  ‘I’m afraid this will have to do for now, Rosina,’ he said kindly, wrapping it round her shoulders. ‘Are you all right?’

  She became embarrassed by his sudden concern, and the smiling fatherly looks Dr Crebo was aiming at her at regular intervals. ‘Yes. Thank you. But who’s going to nurse Mr Blake over the next few days?’ she said, looking doubtfully at the housekeeper.

  ‘Well?’ the doctor turned to the woman who clutched her bosom in alarm.

  ‘Oh! Not me. I couldn’t… I just couldn’t!’

  ‘How about you, my dear?’ the doctor said to Rosina. ‘I’m sure Mr Blake’s family will pay you well.’

  Rosina’s gentle face coloured. ‘No,’ she blurted out, ‘my brother wouldn’t like it.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Charles Crebo curiously.

  ‘I know!’ interrupted the housekeeper, ‘Mistress Courtis! Mr Blake’s half-sister. She’ll arrange something, I’m sure. I’ll go and call on her at once. She ought to be told about this anyway.’

  ‘I’ll drive you there myself,’ said Dr Crebo, collecting up his bag, coat and walking cane. ‘Lives over Trevenner way, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, Doctor. It’s very kind of you,’ simpered the woman gratefully. ‘But what about Mr Blake? These good people can’t stay here all day, but I can’t leave him alone. I wonder if Mrs Angarrack will come up from the shop, but she isn’t too good on the stairs at her age.’ She ended with a panicky attack of biting her nails.

  Rosina had been thinking about her brother. It had been the last day of May, the day before, and Colly had received his monthly wage, so she could almost be certain he’d be holed up somewhere in an alehouse well on the way to getting roaring drunk. It was about four-thirty and he wouldn’t arrive back home for several hours yet.

  ‘I can stay a while longer, if you like,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Why, bless you, my dear, you’re an absolute angel,’ declared Peter Blake’s housekeeper, looking overly relieved. ‘I’ll get my shawl and bonnet,’ she squawked at Charles Crebo. ‘Oh! And bless you too, young man, it’s nice to know there are a few good Christian people about these days. Did I hear the doctor call you Master Renfree?’ She gave Matthias a short-sighted false smile.

  ‘That is r
ight, Mrs…?’

  ‘Mrs Blight,’ she told him with a silly giggle. ‘I believe I’ve heard about you. Hold Bible meetings or something, don’t you? I’d come along myself only Mr Blake wouldn’t approve, you see. Says it’s just a lot of silly nonsense put about by people from a holy club or something he heard about when he went to Oxford University. He’s a very clever man, you know, is Mr Blake. Anyway, I can’t get out much myself these days, it’s my nerves, you know.’

  Matthias had not seen Mrs Blight before. Indeed not many people in Marazion had. She was content to stay in her room and indulge herself in a glass or two of gin when her master entertained a visitor, invariably of the gentler sex, or to occupy herself with her household duties.

  ‘Don’t worry about Blake, Mrs Blight,’ Matthias said, not looking at her but the patient who had begun to moan and curse. ‘I’ll stay with Rosina until you get back with Mistress Courtis.’

  Dr Crebo watched Blake until consciousness slipped away from him again, then he left a collection of bottles, jars, salves and ointments, all labelled with neat, clear instructions for their usage, on the highly polished bedside table. What Mrs Blight lacked in fortitude, she made up for with cleaning abilities.

  When Dr Crebo and the squeaky housekeeper had left, Matthias put more logs on the fire. ‘There, that should keep it going for a while, Rosina,’ he said, when satisfied with the blaze.

  ‘Thank you, Preacher,’ she said, her voice as soft and clear as the morning dew. ‘Mr Blake is sleeping now, I’ll sit and watch over him.’

  Hammering was heard on the outside door. Matthias smiled and said, ‘I’ll go and see who that is.’

  Rosina pulled up a chair by the bedside. Between anxious glances at Blake she took delight in noting the beautiful ornaments, pictures and furniture in what she considered a very grand place. A bracket clock in an elegant marquetry case, its square face, handle, and finials on the top all of gleaming brasswork, fascinated her the most. After a while she got up to see who was keeping Matthias so long talking at the door and saw Seth Angarrack from downstairs who had come up anxious to know what had happened to his landlord. Rosina had a quick closer look at the bracket clock before returning to her post.

  She was startled by the deep, cornflower blue eyes watching her movements.

  ‘Who… are… you?’ Blake gasped painfully.

  ‘My name is Rosina,’ she answered him, ‘but you shouldn’t try to talk. You need all the rest you can get.’

  He tried to lick his dry lips, but having bitten his tongue in several places when he was shaken, it was too sore and he gagged and choked. Rosina rushed forward and raised his head until the unpleasant moments passed and he was relaxed enough to be lowered back on the pillows.

  ‘Water…’ he murmured with an effort. ‘Will… you… get… me…’

  ‘Yes, Mr Blake,’ she said, smiling to encourage him. ‘I’ll only be a minute.’

  In the kitchen she filled a small basin with cold water and searched out a piece of clean cloth. ‘Here you are, Mr Blake,’ she said on her return. ‘I’ll squeeze a few drops of water out of this cloth for you.’

  The drops of water moistened his split lips and he just had enough strength to use the tip of his tongue to take some into his mouth. It was only a short time before he was panting with the effort.

  ‘Don’t go,’ he said breathlessly.

  ‘I’ll stay with you until your sister gets here,’ she reassured him, ‘your housekeeper has gone to fetch her.’

  Matthias had finally relieved himself of the ageing shoemaker and come to stand the other side of the bed. Blake did not realise anyone but the slightly built golden-haired girl was there.

  Rosina glanced at Matthias with a look that conveyed her sympathy for Blake’s plight. She squeezed more drops of water for Blake, he all the time looking at her like a frightened child. He watched her as she put the cloth and basin down and sat on her chair. When he couldn’t see her face Blake became agitated so she moved closer and looked directly down into his eyes.

  Matthias moved to another chair, a short distance away, and bowed his head in silent prayer.

  ‘Don’t leave… me… please…’ Blake tried to raise his bandaged hand to Rosina but did not have the strength to do it.

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t,’ she said soothingly.

  The agitation left his eyes and Blake slipped into unconsciousness again, his breathing coming in regular laboured gasps. Rosina gently stroked his hair and sang softly in the hope it might comfort him somehow. Matthias sat and listened, quite enchanted by the girl’s lilting voice, until a key was heard in the door heralding the return of Mrs Blight and the arrival of Blake’s half-sister.

  Chapter 17

  The interment of three miners crushed to death by a rockfall down the Wheal Ember mine saw the presence in Perranbarvah’s churchyard of the Reverend Ivey and Matthias Renfree. Such a gathering was not an uncommon occurrence, with accidents on the land, at sea, and the many local tin and copper mines, as well as the weak, the young and the old being snuffed out at frequent intervals by a variety of fevers. Attending a burial was part of the normal way of life for the whole community.

  The rockfall had claimed the life of another of Ted Trembath’s brothers, this time Curly. With him in death was Amos Bawden, son of Carn and sister to Heather, the little girl who had carried the news of the discovery of Davey Trembath’s body. Richard Astley was the third, leaving behind him a widow and four young children to fend for themselves in a harsh world.

  Like the day of farmer’s son Henry Sampson’s funeral, the sun blazed down in a cloudless sky, making the children restless and the mourners tug in discomfort at the unwelcome heat in their black clothes.

  ‘We meet too often like this, Matthias,’ the Reverend Ivey said, shaking his head sadly after the last of the large number of mourners had left the churchyard.

  ‘Yes, Reverend. I suppose we should be thankful it was only three dead. Apparently Ted Trembath and Colly Pearce were among those who were able to scramble to safety. If Ted had died, his mother would no doubt have made up a fifth burial today,’ remarked Matthias, stooping to pick up a fallen wild flower dropped by a female mourner.

  ‘I didn’t notice Colly Pearce paying his respects among the mourners, or giving thanks for his escape,’ the Reverend commented drily.

  ‘That was only to be expected, of course, but what I did notice were fresh bruises on Rosina’s face and throat, even though she did her best to conceal them. I am greatly concerned about her welfare.’

  ‘That poor girl. I wish something could be done about her dreadful situation, but it’s difficult to think of any that would not make the matter worse.’

  ‘Actually, Reverend, I’ve had an idea about that.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ said the elderly parson in a hopeful voice. ‘And what might that be?’

  ‘Well, I thought… I… um… could offer Rosina marriage.’ Matthias kept his flushed face on the wild flower he was twirling between finger and thumb. ‘I know we’re not in love or anything, but I’m very fond of her. She’s quite the sweetest little thing… and… and I suppose I could do with a wife, and I’d really look after her and… and…’ Matthias’ rapid speech finally petered out.

  The Reverend Ivey was partly amused, partly serious. He kept his eyes on a pile of dry earth dug for one of the graves to allow Matthias’ embarrassment to subside.

  ‘You don’t think it’s a good idea then, Reverend?’ he asked awkwardly.

  ‘I really don’t know, Matthias, I’ll have to think about it. Mind you, it would be wonderful to think of the girl safe and sound away from her brother. If you can spare the time, come into the Parsonage for tea. There’s something I would like to talk over with you.’

  ‘I can spare a little more time, Reverend. I hope Mrs Tregonning will have a fresh batch of her yeast buns just out of the oven. I wouldn’t tell Faith Bray, of course, but I’ve tasted none better.’

  The deliciou
s warm smell wafting out through the kitchen window as they neared the Parsonage told Matthias his hope was not in vain. Settled in the parlour he and the Reverend discussed the families of the recently deceased men.

  ‘There are other wage earners in the Trembath and Bawden families,’ the Reverend said, ‘but Richard Astley’s widow and children will have to leave their cottage and she will have to find some form of employment.’

  ‘Perhaps they need someone at the Manor,’ Matthias suggested.

  ‘That could be a possibility. I’m going to see Lady Pengarron tomorrow. I’ll ask her about it then.’

  ‘Sir Martin Beswetherick sent Mrs Astley two guineas,’ said Matthias, absent-mindedly crumbling a piece of yeast bun. ‘Not a lot of help in the long run, but better than what most of the mine owners would do.’

  ‘I’ll inform you if she can be taken on at the Manor. If not, we’ll see what else we can come up with.’ The Reverend’s voice took on a grave tone. ‘Actually, the thing I want to discuss with you, Matthias, concerns Kerensa Pengarron.’

  ‘The attack on her by Peter Blake, you mean?’

  ‘No, not that. Although the effect on her of that distressing incident has been worrying me a good deal, this could be even worse.’ The Reverend ran a hand over his bald pate and through the wisps of surrounding grey hair. ‘It’s about Mary Trelynne, Kerensa’s mother.’

  ‘Oh?’ said Matthias, baffled and intrigued at the same time.

  ‘You won’t know anything about her death, of course?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Matthias broke in. ‘I know the exact circumstances of Mary Trelynne’s death. My father told me about it when we were discussing Kerensa’s decision to go through with the marriage to Sir Oliver. I must have been about fourteen at the time of her death and remember feeling then there was something odd about the whole affair. When I mentioned it to Father he told me about the other terrible thing Old Tom was responsible for. Makes me shudder just to think of it. Why has all this come up now?’

  ‘On the day of the attack Kerensa came over to see me concerning her mother’s death. I was delayed that day and didn’t see her, but she is bound to ask me again soon. It seems Kerensa has always been curious to know all the details of how her mother died, and knowing that I was present at the time she wants me to tell her of her mother’s last moments. I’m afraid Kerensa has no idea of the dreadful circumstances behind them. She has told me she wants to put the past behind her so she can look more firmly to the future but of course hearing the truth will only distress her, not comfort her in any way. What I fear now is, if she broaches the subject again tomorrow, will she be able to bear up under the present strain she is going through? I’d be interested to hear your opinion, Matthias, you knew her quite well before her marriage.’