Killigrew Clay

by Killigrew Clay (retail) (epub)

  ‘Bribe me too then,’ Celia taunted. ‘Sounds to me you’re already goin’ up in the world to do such a thing! Anyway, I’m goin’ to see old Zillah, so you can come or not, as you please.’

  ‘All right,’ Morwen had been nettled into agreeing. ‘At the end of the day’s shift, but don’t go telling anyone. If my Daddy gets to hear, he’ll have my hide for breakfast.’

  She felt a thrill of anticipation, all the same. Zillah scared and excited her, and Morwen was a true daughter of Cornwall. She believed in magic…

  Celia’s words ran through her mind all afternoon. Going up in the world, was she? It didn’t feel like it. She still lived in a crowded cottage, when others had space to breathe, and great houses with tiny windows that glowed and shimmered in the sunlight…

  Did such folks lie between silken sheets? Silk sheets… how must that feel? She tried to imagine herself lying between them, the slippery fabric cool and sensual against her skin. Enveloped in silk, and warmed by a lover’s arms. A lover whose imaginary face was uncannily like Ben Killigrew’s, and her mouth was dry, knowing it.

  She bent to her task in the linhay, scraping the dirt from the clay block and scattering the fine powder over her hands. Miss finelady’s hands were naturally white, not whitened by clay dust like her own. The depressing thought made the sweet fantasies vanish at once. Celia was right. Young gentlemen only looked at working girls for one thing. They married Miss fineladies, and sported with the rest.

  * * *

  She tried to forget it as she and Celia neared old Zillah’s hovel. She wondered what their reception would be. It varied, according to Zillah’s mood. Visitors could be just in time to see one of the old woman’s mangy cats hurtle out of the door, squawking and screeching, with old Zillah’s boot up its backside. It was wiser, then, to creep away unseen.

  Today, they were in luck. Zillah emerged from the hovel as they approached. Her blackened clay pipe hung from one corner of her mouth. Her hair, like grey wisps of fern, was caught by the breeze in comical strands. Her wizened face creased into a cackling smile as she saw them.

  ‘Been waiting for you, my pretties,’ she wheezed, as two cats wound about her legs like encroaching vines. ‘Come to jaw with old Zillah, have ’ee?’

  Celia giggled nervously, nudging Morwen’s arm to go inside as Zillah stood back for them to enter. It was like stepping into a strange murky world, as the mixture of smells clogged their nostrils, and they tried not to breathe too deeply.

  ‘What do ’ee want of old Zillah, my pretties?’ The old woman said keenly, eyeing them both as she bade them sit on the edge of a dark settle.

  ‘We want to know who we’re going to marry,’ Celia said boldly, since Morwen seemed temporarily struck dumb.

  Zillah cackled again, her black eyes boring into them both, one after the other.

  ‘Old Zillah never needed a man in wedlock, and mebbe ’twill be the same for you—’ she taunted.

  ‘Of course it won’t,’ Celia said crossly. ‘Don’t talk to us in riddles—’

  ‘Can you tell us, Zillah?’ Morwen’s voice had a small catch in it. Celia was doing this all wrong… Zillah turned to her at once.

  ‘There’ll be a man for you, my pretty,’ she slurred, and Celia snapped angrily, annoyed at the inference.

  ‘What kind of man? Tall, dark and handsome and well connected?’ she said sarcastically.

  Zillah’s old eyes flashed. ‘I’m in no mood for fortune-telling today. You can make your own destinies and get what you deserve. I might just tell ’ee how to foresee a certain important man in your lives, if you’ve the nerve to follow instructions,’ she challenged them.

  Morwen’s spine prickled. ‘What sort of instructions?’

  ‘Do ’ee dare to go to the Larnie Stone at midnight? If you go there and drink the potion I give ’ee, then walk slowly round the stone twelve times before ’ee look through the hole towards the sea, you might see the face of a certain man—’

  Celia sniffed. ‘You mean we’ll be tipsy by then, from your evil mixture and circling the stone, and we’ll imagine anything!’

  Zillah fixed her cold eyes on her.

  ‘Why did ’ee come here with such doubts in your mind, miss? ’Tis all I can tell ’ee for today. Suit yourselves if you want the potion.’

  She stared at them unblinkingly, like her cats. She was tired of them now, and Morwen knew they’d get nothing more from her. She shivered, unsure whether she would want to visit the Larnie Stone at midnight. It was a great granite mass of stone, halfway down the moor between the clay works and St Austell. Its middle was a great gaping hole, through which the sea could be seen. It was reputed to have mystical powers, and many a poor child was said to have been cured of the rickets by passing him through the stone at sunset.

  Why midnight for this particular experiment? Morwen dreaded the thought, and knew how Celia hated the dark. It was the only thing she feared. She was steeped in superstition, since her mother had died in darkness, and two relatives had perished in a collapsing tin-mine several years back. To die alone and in the dark was Celia’s worst fear. But since Celia had goaded Morwen into coming here, she suddenly found a new strength.

  ‘We’ll take the potion, Zillah,’ she announced, ‘if you’ll tell us the charm will still work on a moonlit night, and that we can choose the date.’

  Zillah croaked triumphantly. ‘I knew ’ee for a brave un, my pretty! Aye, the potion can be safely kept until needed. Depends on how soon ’ee wants to know your fate. And you’ll have some pennies to pass into old Zillah’s hand, I trust?’

  She never asked a proper fee for her services, then no one could say they didn’t get value for their pennies. She was usually overpaid, by folk who wanted the most potent of her charms. It was only a pittance from the two girls, but the potion was handed over gravely.

  ‘Don’t waste too much time, pretties. You’m ripe for the loving, and there’ll be many a young sprig ready for a bit o’ cuddling. Remember now. Twelve times round the Larnie stone. Not one more nor less, or the charm will be wasted. Take half the potion each, before you begin your circling. There’s magic in the circle, pretties. Remember old Zillah’s words.’

  They got to their feet as the old crone’s voice grew heavy, and the atmosphere of the hovel seemed suddenly charged with a force they didn’t understand. It was a relief to them both to be outside in the clean fresh air, and only then did they manage a hesitant laugh. If it hadn’t been for the small green bottle Morwen clutched in her hand, they might have thought they had imagined it all.

  With one thought in mind, they grabbed at their skirts and raced over the moors, and as far as possible from the old mystic. There was one comfort. The moon was on the wane right now, so they had several weeks before they need do anything about Zillah’s potion. They had time to find their courage.

  * * *

  The group of men walked determinedly towards the largest of Killigrew’s clay workings. Grim-faced, white with dust from their shift, they intended to waylay Hal Tremayne before he went home. The group was led by their own pit captain, Gilbert Dark.

  John Penry was among them. He was in total agreement with the grievances of his fellow workers, but thinking privately that he was sorrier to have missed seeing Morwen Tremayne that afternoon. He hadn’t seen her for a while. He’d dearly like to work here, but his mother’s death-bed wish was that the family shouldn’t all work in the same pit, because of the disaster that had befallen his two cousins in the tin-mine. And since his sister Celia worked alongside Morwen, John continued working in number two pit.

  He was too indecisive to change things. In his heart, he knew he’d never win a girl like Morwen. Even coming here today, staunchly behind his pit captain, was no personal decision. He swam with the tide, and despised himself because of it. He saw the tall figure of Hal Tremayne ahead of him, and heard Gilbert Dark greet him, shaking Hal’s hand to show that this was no disorderly arrival.

  ‘Now then, Hal Trema
yne. The men of Clay Two would have words with ’ee, and with your men.’

  Hal saw the glints in the clayworkers’ eyes, and the set of their chins.

  ‘There’s few of my shift left here now, and the rest are about their work. If there’s words to be said, say them to me. Is there trouble?’

  Murmurs of discontent rumbled among the men.

  Gilbert Dark stood with feet spread apart and arms folded, an implacable bull of a man. ‘There will be, man,’ he said grimly. ‘Fact is, we’ve heard that several pits over Hendra way are paying their men twopence a day more than Killigrew pays, and their bal maidens a penny a day more. Since most of us have got whole families working for Killigrew, that makes a goodly reduction in overall income!’

  The muttering grew, and some of Clay One’s workers stopped work to listen as Hal called sharply for quiet.

  ‘If this is true, and not just kiddleywink gossip, what’s to do about it, Gil Dark? Why this deputation to Clay One?’

  ‘’Tis bloody obvious, man,’ Dark snapped. ‘Clay One’s the biggest pit, shipping near to seven hundred tons of china clay to put silver in Charles Killigrew’s pockets. Clay Two ships less than half that much, with Three and Four lagging behind, but still healthy enough to make Killigrew Clay a powerful concern—’

  Roars of assent stopped his flow for a minute, and he shouted louder as he continued.

  ‘If ’tis the likes of us, working our guts to make Killigrew’s fortune, then the likes of us should get some of the rewards from the bugger, in line with other pits.’

  ‘I’ll not incite my men to strike!’ Hal bellowed.

  ‘Boss’s man!’ Some of the Clay Two workers chanted. ‘Bloody boss’s man taking supper at the big house—’

  ‘Which of you bastards said that?’ Hal roared. Normally slow to anger, he felt his blood boil, and his blue eyes blazed like fire as he glowered at the men.

  There was a scuffle among them as some resented their fellow workers’ baiting, and Gilbert Dark hollered at them.

  ‘We came here with a proposition,’ he snarled. ‘If you buggers will be silent, let’s put it to the man.’

  ‘What proposition? I’ve said my piece. No strikes from Clay One,’ Hal snapped back.

  ‘I ain’t mentioned no strike, dammit!’ Dark roared. ‘I’m proposing a march down through St Austell town to Killigrew’s fancy office to put our case to him, all above board. What’s your thought on that, Hal Tremayne?’

  Their eyes clashed, but Hal knew it made sense. He resented upsets like this being thrust on him without warning, but he had the wits to know that his own men would be disgruntled if some action wasn’t taken. The news of the wage rise in other pits would spread like wildfire. He cursed the gossip-mongers who’d brought the tale to the Killigrew workers. And cursed even more the owners who hadn’t put their heads together to keep the clay wages on a par with one another. He nodded shortly.

  ‘I’ll agree to a march, if ’tis organised right. We’ve had few complaints about the boss before now, and ’tis best that we keep calm and sensible until we hear him out. Have you talked to the captains of Three and Four yet?’

  ‘Not yet. We came to you first,’ Dark’s voice had altered now, looking to Hal Tremayne as their natural leader.

  ‘Then see them next.’ Hal took command. ‘We’ll set a day, then after the main shift, each pit captain and half a dozen selected men will make the march. ’Twill be near to thirty men in all, and enough of a crowd to be marching through St Austell streets. No more would get into Killigrew’s office. Do you approve, Dark?’

  ‘Sounds fair enough. But make it soon. Next Monday would be a good day—’

  ‘All right.’ Hal felt angry at being pushed into this. There were ways of settling things without strikes and force, and he considered a march only just short of either method.

  ‘We’ll have the new young workers to add to the march, to make up the numbers,’ Dark went on relentlessly, and Hal’s eyes narrowed.

  ‘New workers? We’re not taking on more at present—’

  ‘’Tain’t what my men heard at the kiddleywink, then,’ Dark was full of resentment now. ‘Seems that Killigrew’s putting his son and nephew to work at Clay One for a day a week to learn the ropes. I suppose Killigrew thinks a boy wi’ brains enough for college can learn in a day what it takes a man a lifetime to learn. And as for t’other one—’ He spat noisily.

  ‘The nephew’s brains be all in his breeches, be all accounts,’ one of the men sniggered.

  ‘You’re mad, the lot of you,’ Hal said angrily. ‘I’ve heard nothing of this, and Killigrew would have told me—’

  ‘Oh aye, we know you’re in his pocket wi’ your invitations, Hal Tremayne, but mark my words, ’tis true. So do we have your word on it that the two new apprentices will be included in Monday’s march?’

  Hal felt cornered, and knew there was only one answer he could give to the grim-faced Clay Two men. He laughed harshly.

  ‘Aye,’ he said sarcastically. ‘If young Ben Killigrew and his cousin appear here on Monday morning, which I reckon is as likely as seeing pigs fly, I’ll see to it that they’re included in the march, though I fancy an extra twopence a day to either on ’em will be laughable. How did you come by the tale?’

  One of the men spoke up.

  ‘I seen the nephew in the kiddleywink late last night. He were well away wi’ the drink, and cussin’ like no gennulman ever should because he and his cuz had to show their faces at Hal Tremayne’s pit on Monday morning. Heard it from his own mouth I did, and I’ll fight any man who calls me liar!’

  ‘Clear off to your home instead,’ Hal said, more incensed than he let on at hearing the tale third hand, instead of from Charles Killigrew himself. ‘You’ve had my say-so on it, Gil Dark, and that’s my last word.’

  He strode through the Clay Two men, who opened out and scattered to let him pass, respectful towards Hal Tremayne, no matter how much jawing there was between them. Hal walked at a good pace, his fury hardly abated by the time he reached his own cottage and banged the door shut behind him. Only then did he let out his rage in a great hammer blow of his fist against the wall.

  * * *

  Bess had left the pit long ago. She should be here. Hal needed her, and raged at her absence. No one was at home. The boys and Morwen were off on their own pursuits. Hal was as prickly as gorse when Bess arrived home minutes after him, her eyes shining, and oblivious to her man’s mood.

  ‘I’ve taken Mrs Pollancy’s sewing to her, Hal, and she gave me afternoon tea and introduced me to two of her friends, real ladies with nice ways! She’s been showing them my work, and they want to employ me as a seamstress, and say they’ll get me more work if I want it. They said my work’s of a high standard, and ’tis criminal for me to be working at the clay pit, Hal, and I should be using my skills properly. ’Tis a wonderful chance for me, dar, and I’d be here all day for when you came home. It’s whatever you say to it, Hal, and if you think ’tis being disloyal to Mr Killigrew to leave the works, then I’ll abide by your say-so—’

  The bubbling words died away as she saw that Hal was saying nothing, nor sharing in her excitement. They had always shared everything, joys and tears. She touched his arm and felt it rock hard. He relaxed at her touch and hugged her to his broad chest, smoothing the dark hair back from her forehead. His Bess looked as young and eager as Morwen at that moment, and his voice was thick as he answered, annoyed that he’d been so caught up in Gil Dark’s revelations that he hadn’t captured his wife’s joyous moment.

  ‘When did I ever hog-tie you to doing what you didn’t want to do, Bess? If ’tis your pleasure to sew fine fabrics for others, then so be it. As for disloyalty to Charles Killigrew, ’tis no one’s business but our own. He’ll not miss one of his minions, when there’s always more to replace them—’

  Bess was startled. This was so unlike Hal. Especially now that he was an important cog in Killigrew’s wheel.

  ‘What’s h
appened, dar?’ she said quietly. They didn’t often use endearments, but the shortened form of darling was their own special word when private moments were shared.

  Hal felt the tension creep back. He told her quickly what had happened at the works, and that he was probably making too much of it.

  ‘No, you’re not!’ Bess exclaimed. ‘It’s demeaning that Clay Two workers should march to Clay One like that. If they’ve a wish to try for more wages, then let them. And it’s quite wrong for young Ben and that Jude boy to report for work on Monday without your knowing of it first. You’ve a right to feel angry.’

  His face softened at her indignant look. She calmed him, as she had always done.

  ‘What would I do without ’ee, dar?’ Hal asked her softly.

  Bess smiled, thankful enough to see the cloud lifting from his brow. She kissed him lightly on the mouth.

  ‘Don’t even think of it, Hal. So do I take it I’m the first of the Tremaynes to cut the Killigrew cord?’

  He laughed. ‘I like the sound of the words, Bess! Aye, you’ll be first, and no doubt the last. I’ll tell the boss on Monday.’ The fact gave him an odd feeling of satisfaction. Whole families worked for the same boss until they died, and saw no shame in it. But for his Bess to retire voluntarily, gave him as much pleasure as his own raised status to pit captain.

  ‘You’ll have to finish out the week, of course,’ Hal said.

  ‘I can give him one more week!’ Bess was jubilant. ‘It’ll be almost like living the soft life, to be home all day long, just like a lady, Hal!’

  He held her around the waist, and spoke with mock anger.

  ‘You’ve always been a lady to me, woman, and don’t you ever forget it!’

  * * *

  Morwen was unaware of the coming changes in the Tremayne household, more concerned with carrying the green bottle of precious liquid she held so tightly. She was feeling light-headed at the thought of taking the potion, and the consequences that Zillah promised, and giggled nervously as she and Celia raced over the turf towards home.