Pengarron Land

by Pengarron Land (retail) (epub)

  ‘You were going to ask me something when you first arrived.,’ Kerensa said, when they were outside again.

  ‘Oh, yes. I was going to ask you about Richard Astley’s widow. I buried her husband yesterday and I’m hoping there might be a position for her here at the Manor.’

  ‘I know the Astleys well from the Bible classes, they were a close-knit family. It’s so sad. We need no one here, but Oliver told me last night Lady Rachael is to offer Mrs Astley work cleaning at Tolwithrick.’ Kerensa fell into a melancholy silence.

  ‘Well, that is good news.’ The Reverend left her in her quietness for a while, then gently asked, ‘What are you thinking about?’

  She sighed deeply. ‘The Trembaths, the Bawdens, the fatherless Astley children. There’s so much tragedy in the world. It makes me feel guilty to be living in a grand house, wearing fine clothes and having servants to do everything for me if I want them to. I would like to do something useful, feel my life is worthwhile.’

  ‘I happen to know you have been very good to Rosina Pearce,’ the Reverend said.

  ‘But there’s so little I can do even for Rosina. She can’t accept much help because Colly objects.’

  ‘Why don’t you tell Sir Oliver how you feel, my dear? At the least, I’m sure he’d be interested.’ The Reverend stopped, and pulling down the branch of an apple tree drew in a deep breath of sweetly scented blossom. ‘Kerensa, perhaps I should have mentioned this earlier to you. It may help you to know there is one burden you don’t have to bear alone.’

  ‘Oh?’ She looked up expectantly.

  ‘You see, I know what passed between you and Samuel Drannock in the church.’

  ‘You do? Did he tell you?’

  ‘No, it was Jenifer. She was deeply concerned that you were hurt by Samuel’s blunt refusal to allow you to give them any further help. She also told me of his true parentage.’

  Kerensa leaned her back against the trunk of the apple tree. She closed her eyes for a moment and let out a deep breath. ‘Oh, Reverend, it’s such a relief to be able to share it all with someone. I thought Oliver had fathered Bartholomew and cast Jenifer aside, and I treated him so badly. I haven’t been able to explain my behaviour or ask his forgiveness. I suppose the best thing is to try to forget it and look towards the future, and do what I need to get everything cleared up from the past. Then perhaps I will be able to settle down here and give Oliver that child we both long for. I’ve come to terms with Clem marrying Alice and my own guilt at hurting him so much. There’s just one thing left and that I simply have to know. Reverend, I want you to tell me exactly how my mother died…’

  * * *

  While she waited impatiently for the writer of the letter she was holding, Lady Rachael Beswetherick held it close to her powdered face and read again for the umpteenth time. As far as she was concerned the letter’s contents were all very mysterious, a suggestion of a secret meeting, but she was apt to allow the simplest of matters to grow out of proportion.

  As she reached the bold signature at the bottom of the last page again, she cried, ‘Ah, at last!’ and waved away the servant who was proceeding Sir Oliver Pengarron and about to announce him. ‘Where have you been? How can you be so cruel as to keep me waiting for so long? I’m simply dying to know what you want to see me about!’

  Oliver kissed her on both cheeks and sat down, perfectly relaxed, at the small round table set for two out on the immaculate sweeping lawn at the rear of Tolwithrick house. He teased her impatience by gazing lengthily all around them, then said, ‘I’m not late, Rachael.’

  She snatched up the letter, her sharp nose almost on the paper as she searched for the time mentioned on it, then pursing her ruby red lips she tucked the letter down into her bosom. ‘You can be an absolute beast at times, Oliver Pengarron,’ she said, sounding aggrieved. ‘I’ve a good mind not to grant you this interview you desire with me.’

  ‘You won’t do that, Rachael,’ he replied confidently.

  ‘Oh! And what makes you so certain of that?’

  Oliver slowly helped himself to a tall glass of barley water, then drawled, ‘Because you are too nosey.’

  ‘Well! Of all the—’

  ‘Shut up, Rachael,’ Oliver said, in the same lazy tone. ‘Facetiousness does not become you. I’ve written to you, you’ve read my letter, you’re desperate to know why I’ve asked to speak to you alone, and here I am. So let’s not waste any more time.’

  Rachael threw back her bewigged head and let out a most unladylike laugh. ‘I’ve a good mind to slap your handsome face, just for the pleasure of kissing it better.’

  ‘Be my guest,’ he said, putting it close to hers.

  Rachael couldn’t resist giving him the kiss. ‘You’ll never change, dear-heart, and who would want you to?’

  Oliver’s face changed with a remarkable speed to become straight and deeply serious. ‘Kerensa might.’

  ‘Well, that gets straight to the point,’ Rachael said, also becoming subdued. ‘And I thought it would be her you wanted to see me about. How is she these days? Coming to terms with her double ordeal?’

  ‘Yes, she is slowly, I think. She’s been much better since the girl who was once her maid turned up one day out of the blue to visit her.’

  ‘Oh, the one who married the farmer’s son?’

  ‘Yes, the farmer’s son to whom Kerensa was betrothed. Thank you for being tactful, but I’ve come here today for some straight talking. That was also a shock to her – Clem Trenchard getting married. I want your advice, Rachael. Kerensa is very young, she’s led a sheltered and protected life, and thanks to her grandfather, myself and others, this year has been spent in turmoil. Now, after the attack on her, I’m not sure what to do about her. I want her to be happy.’ Oliver looked a little unsure of himself, then continued. ‘Rachael, despite the many differences between Kerensa and me, in our ages and background, I want our marriage to work. I don’t want to do anything to hurt her. I was hoping you, as a mature woman, could advise me on what approach to take from now on.’

  Rachael smiled. ‘You’re getting very fond of Kerensa, aren’t you?’

  ‘Am I?’ Oliver asked self-consciously, sipping his barley-water.

  ‘You know you are, Oliver. You dote on the girl.’

  He looked down the length of the long lawns but didn’t see the clipped privet or formal rose trees at their end. His mind was back at the Manor. ‘She’s given purpose to my life, Rachael, she’s brought not only life to the Manor but the whole Estate, and hopefully, one day when we have children, there will be someone to pass all my hard work on to.’

  ‘It’s made me very happy to hear you say that. William and I had often talked in the old days about how lonely you were. Now you have Kerensa, and as far as I can see you are doing all the right things by her. You’re patient and caring and have been staying at home more often.’

  ‘I don’t like leaving her for too long in case she starts brooding. I planned to come over here today because I knew the Reverend Ivey was calling on her.’

  ‘You only need to give her time now, Oliver, to get over her hurt, let her mourn for the dog. Everything will be perfectly all right in time, I’m sure of it.’ Rachael put a hand over his. ‘You know, Oliver, I believe Kerensa’s rather fond of you too.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ he returned quickly. ‘She may tolerate me, perhaps she doesn’t feel too badly about me now… but she must still be somewhat in love with Clem Trenchard.’

  Rachael took her hand away and cast down her eyelashes, putting her fingertips to pouting lips. She gave a small shake of her head. ‘Well, only time will tell about that.’

  Chapter 18

  The moment the Reverend Ivey left the Manor Kerensa rode straight to Trelynne Cove. Jack had been worried about her rigid white face as he’d saddled Kernick, and had wanted to ride with her, but she’d insisted on being alone. She stood on the shoreline of her old home, her heart rent into pieces, her mind hardly able to take in w
hat the elderly parson had told her.

  Waves licked at her feet, over her shoes and day dress; she had not bothered to change her clothes. She didn’t realise she was getting wet until the sea water reached her knees. She turned numbly. Her legs would hardly carry her as she waded back on to dry land.

  Her head spun as her eyes darted around the cove, picking out spots where she had sat and climbed and played. ‘All this time,’ she whispered, ‘and I didn’t know.’

  Her eyes stayed on one particular place: a dark triangular crevice up in the rocks. It looked a deceptively small opening, but she could crawl through it. So could a small man. Old Tom had hidden his smuggled booty through there. He had even made a little hidey-hole out of a shallow cave to hide in in the event of trouble. She had been going to squeeze through the crevice and look about for signs of the old man on the day she had seen Ted Trembath up on the cliffs. His presence had stopped her. Since then there had always been something to keep her away. But not now. Now she would go and look.

  ‘Grandfather!’ she seethed, and ran across the beach, her heart thumping wildly, face burning in pure rage, mind almost exploding. Pebbles scattered under her feet. She tripped, fell, cried out in anguish, pulled herself up and carried on with fists clenched, hair flying in front of her eyes. She clambered up to the crevice, stayed still a moment, breathing gasps of salty air.

  Kerensa got down on her hands and knees and, heedless of the rough edges of the rocks, crawled through the crevice, scratching and bruising herself as she hauled herself through to the other side.

  The surge of the sea was stronger on this side of the rocks. Several feet away it crashed over the granite, and high up above was the spot where Davey Trembath had been dragged to his death. Kerensa looked up and pushed anguished hands to her cheeks, her body shaking with the agony of the things Old Tom had done, and was thought to have done.

  There were not many rocks to climb over to reach the old man’s hidey-hole. Kerensa did this nimbly despite the rigidity of her body, her dress tearing as it dragged behind her. She had to be more careful getting around a chunk of rock jutting out several inches across the only safe path through to the hidey-hole. Around that and she was facing the hidey-hole. And that was not all.

  She let out a strangled whimper and clutched her hands to her breast. She edged forward, one tiny step at a time. Her grandfather was sitting huddled at the entrance of the little cave. Strewn around him were a few things from the cottage; blankets, a mattress, a stool, a tin kettle and mug, and his sack of belongings. A fire had been lit. Several empty gin bottles were scattered about. Kerensa could go no closer because of the stench, Old Tom had been dead for some time.

  She stared at the grisly sight. There was nothing left that she could recognise of the man who had brought her up and loved her – and sold her – who had done so many terrible things, one being the worst thing you could do to a child.

  ‘How could you, Grandfather?’ Kerensa whispered to his corpse. ‘How could you take my mother away from me?’

  And then her tortured heart, mind and soul gave vent to all the shock, pain and outrage she had suffered at the old man’s actions, in one almighty scream.

  * * *

  Not long after Kerensa had left the Manor, Oliver arrived back in the stableyard to find Jack preparing to leave on Meryn. Jack cantered up to him.

  ‘I was just going after her ladyship, m’lord. She went out on Kernick not long since, insisting on going alone, but I didn’t like the look of her and she didn’t change for riding.’

  ‘You were doing the right thing, Jack,’ Oliver said, brow furrowing. ‘Did she say where she was going?’

  ‘No, sir, but I was going to try Trelynne Cove first.’

  ‘I’ll go there myself. You hurry along towards Marazion in case she went that way, and if you catch up with her, whatever you do, and no matter what she insists, don’t leave her alone.’

  Oliver galloped all the way to Trelynne Cove and found Kernick hitched to the cottage door. He peered all around but there was no sign of Kerensa. He entered the cottage and searched the two rooms but nothing had disturbed the dust since his last visit. He shivered in the empty gloom, the cottage long since scavenged of all its furnishings and fittings.

  He ran up and down the beach, calling her name, looking behind outcrops of rock, glancing into every opening and crevice he had found on his frequent visits. It might have been from instinct, but he climbed up to the place where Kerensa had crawled through and stopped. Anxiety gnawled at him. He put his hands on his hips and bit his bottom lip. If Kerensa was, or had been, in the cove, there was no sign of her now. He put his hands to his mouth to call her name again and heard the long agonising scream. It froze his entire body.

  ‘Kerensa? Kerensa! Where are you?’ He looked about wildly in every direction. Had the scream meant she had gone over the cliff as Davey Trembath had done? ‘Kerensa!’

  Panic rose inside him, then he heard her call back.

  ‘Oliver!’

  ‘Kerensa! I’m over here, I can’t see you!’

  The knots in his stomach twisted again until a movement down low to his right attracted his attention. From a triangular-shaped crevice a small hand appeared, followed quickly by the auburn head, shoulders and top half of his wife. Springing into action, Oliver knelt and pulled Kerensa out. He tried to hold her at arm’s length at first but once her hands had clutched his shirt she clung to him tighter than a limpet.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ she sobbed wretchedly. ‘I’m so glad it’s you.’ She repeated the words over and over and he gathered her to him like an infant, stroking her hair and gently rocking her.

  ‘It’s all right, my love,’ he soothed her. ‘I’m here now, and whatever it is can’t hurt you any more.’ He waited for her sobs to die away and her body to become still against his. She felt hot to his touch and her tears had soaked his shirt.

  Oliver held on to her, thinking how well her small body fitted into his arms. When she fumbled for her handkerchief he loosened his hold, and searching inside her sleeve he found it for her and placed it in her hand. She wiped her eyes and clung to him again.

  Caressing her cheek with a finger he said, ‘Can you tell me what it is now.’

  ‘He’s dead,’ she whispered, her voice choked with tears.

  ‘Who’s dead, my love?’ Oliver asked gently.

  ‘Grandfather.’

  ‘You’ve found him? Old Tom?’ he said incredulously.

  ‘Yes. He’s through there.’

  ‘The crevice you crawled out of?’

  ‘Yes. He’s dead!’ she shouted. ‘He’s dead and I’m glad!’ Her sobbing started again and he held her as before.

  ‘Shh, shh, my love. You’ll make yourself ill.’

  ‘I’m glad he’s dead!’ Kerensa cried viciously, suddenly pulling away from Oliver. ‘I hate him! I hate him!’

  Shocked by her outburst he let her slip from his arms. He caught hold of her before she could stumble far. She struggled violently to get away.

  ‘Let me go! Let me go!’

  Gaining her other arm he held her tightly and felt sickened as his fingers dug into her flesh as she struggled. ‘Stop it!’ he shouted. ‘Kerensa! Stop it, will you!’ Taking her by the shoulders, he shook her. ‘Now stop it or I’ll be forced to slap you. And, please, my love, don’t make me hurt you.’

  The outburst stopped as suddenly as it began. ‘Oliver…’ she said feebly. ‘I’m sorry.’

  He pulled her close. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for, my love. Now tell me slowly what this is all about.’

  ‘He killed her,’ Kerensa told him very quietly. ‘He killed… my mother.’

  Oliver thought back to the time of Mary Trelynne’s death but he had been with his regiment then and knew of nothing unusual about it. ‘How did he kill your mother, Kerensa? What happened?’ he said gently.

  ‘It was when I was about seven years old. Grandfather… he… he raped her. My father had died
not long before and up till then… he… he’d never touched her. When I think of what Peter Blake tried to do to me… he is young… handsome… Grandfather… old and dirty.’ She swallowed hard and fresh tears appeared as she continued.

  ‘Mother became pregnant. She was very ill. One day she was so ill she begged Grandfather to fetch help… but he refused.’

  Kerensa broke off and Oliver, his face drawn tight at what he was listening to, tenderly kissed her tear-stained cheek.

  ‘And then?’ he said softly.

  ‘And then, apparently, when Grandfather was out,’ Kerensa picked up the thread of the tale again, ‘Adam Renfree and the Reverend Ivey, who had been suspicious that there was something wrong, turned up just before my mother died. She… she bled to death… from a miscarriage. It was too late to save her.’ She cried quietly and Oliver took her hand and held her closer.

  ‘Who told you this, Kerensa?’

  ‘The Reverend Ivey, earlier today. He didn’t want me to know, Oliver, he hoped he would never have to tell me, but I’ve been making enquiries about my mother’s death and he thought it better coming from him. I can remember now my mother being ill, two men turning up one day and later taking my mother away… they buried my tiny half-brother in the churchyard that night. Only they and Ben Rosevidney know where. They told everyone my mother died of pneumonia so as not to disgrace her name. No one bothered to question the word of a parson and a respected man like Adam, and it would have remained a secret if I hadn’t been curious. They couldn’t be sure that someone else might not know something about it and tell me one day.’

  Oliver sighed deeply. ‘What a dreadful thing to have happened. Your poor mother. And what a terrible shock for you, my love. I thought I knew all there was to know that had happened in the parish but this dreadful affair is a complete surprise to me. What I can’t understand is why on earth the Reverend Ivey allowed Old Tom to raise you.’