‘No! Oh, God, no!’ Morwen screamed, scrabbling back against the wall as though afraid to let Matt near her. ‘What have you done? Matt, what have you done?’
Her screaming didn’t stop, and a new shock rippled through Matt. He dumped Celia on the bed and struck Morwen hard. He’d never struck her before, and his fingermarks showed on her face in angry red weals.
‘Christ, what d’you think I’ve done?’ he shouted. ‘I’ve just dragged the maid from the clay pool where she’d drowned, and I’ve brought her here for cleaning before her father sees her like this. What else d’you think I’ve done?’
Morwen’s harsh sobbing quietened him. Of course she didn’t think he’d murdered Celia. It was merely the first thing that came into her head. She knew why Celia had drowned. She should have seen the possibility last night. She shook violently.
‘We must tell Thomas Penry,’ she whispered through chattering teeth. ‘You tell him, Matt. I’ll wash Celia’s face. You tell un to come and get his daughter.’
He looked at her uneasily. ‘Will you be all right alone with her?’
Morwen glared at him. She needed to be alone with Celia. She needed to do some kind of penance… but she couldn’t expect Matt to know or understand that!
‘I’ll be all right as long as I keep busy,’ she stuttered. ‘Just fetch her father, Matt. He has a right to be told what’s happened. He’ll be at the church—’
Matt turned and left her. Morwen made Celia more comfortable on the bed, resisting the appalling urge to ask her how she felt. She fetched a wash-cloth and wiped away the slime from Celia’s soft mouth and pearly cheeks.
‘Forgive me, Celia,’ she whispered to her friend. ‘I shouldn’t have left you alone last night. You should have stayed here wi’ me. We’d have shared the memories, Celia—’
Now Morwen had to bear them alone. She squared her shoulders as she finished her task. They had told lies, and now she would have to tell more lies. She must, to keep Celia’s secret…
She flinched as a hand touched her shoulder. She turned to see her mother standing there, sadness clouding her blue eyes.
‘We met our Matt, Morwen, and he told us,’ Bess said quietly. ‘Her Daddy will come for her soon.’
Morwen’s whole body was suddenly convulsed with weeping as she threw herself into her mother’s arms.
‘Oh, Mammie, I should have seen this coming. She’s not been herself for weeks now—’
‘Hush, my lamb. How could you have known what Celia meant to do?’
Morwen swallowed, knowing she must continue to keep the secret, however tempted she was to blurt it all out at this moment. She didn’t know how Celia had found the courage to die alone and in the dark, the thing she most dreaded. If Celia had that much courage, then Morwen must find her own.
Thomas Penry arrived and gathered up his daughter without saying a word. His fortitude made it all the more terrible somehow. Hal came home and spoke softly to Morwen.
‘Our Matt’s gone for the doctor and the constable, Morwen. They’ll want to talk to you, to see if you can throw any light on why Celia should have been in the clay pool.’
For the first time, Morwen felt caution sweep over her. She took a deep breath, saying she didn’t know what anyone could tell them. Celia was dead…
‘Will you go to her cottage to speak with the doctor, Morwen?’ Hal insisted gently. ‘You saw her last, my love, and it could be important.’
Morwen’s quick wits knew the importance of it more than Hal did. She nodded, and quickly made her way to the Penry cottage, suddenly nervous as she saw the doctor’s cart outside. If she lied now, God must surely forgive her the wickedness of it to give Celia this last bit of dignity…
Inside the cottage, John Penry still reclined, his broken leg plastered and awkward, his frustration at such a time obvious to all. His Aunt Ruth was red eyed, but in command of the household now. The doctor was upstairs with Thomas and presumably Celia, and she could hear the low rumble of their voices. The constable asked Morwen a few keen questions, and seemed satisfied with her answers. She was then told to go upstairs to where Celia lay beneath a sheet, and Morwen had the wild urge to wrench it away from her face, because it would stifle her… she forced down the nausea the feeling induced.
The doctor asked more probing questions than the constable, but Morwen was ready for them, her mind having worked like lightning on the walk to the cottage. She was able to tell him why Celia’s mind was so tormented…
‘She thought she had a growth in her stomach, Doctor. She was very afraid, and wouldn’t tell anyone but me. She was ashamed, as though she could be held responsible for it. She couldn’t be, could she, Doctor?’
Morwen held her breath. He must have examined Celia. Did he know the truth? Could he have guessed, even before he looked at her? The thought of the cancerous growth had been an inspiration to Morwen. Celia had spoken of the pregnancy in those terms so bitterly.
‘Of course not,’ the doctor said at last. ‘It might explain her state of mind, which can play strange tricks when it gets a fixation. If the poor girl was convinced she had a growth, then she should have come to me. Since she didn’t—’ He gave a small shrug, and then gave an imperceptible nod, as though satisfied that everything was in order here. Or else he had no wish to investigate further…
‘I think you can send for Mrs Bagley now,’ he said gently to Thomas Penry, referring to the laying-out woman. ‘I won’t disturb your grief any longer.’
He went downstairs and out of the house with the constable, and Celia’s aunt went for Mrs Bagley at once. Thomas looked in bewilderment at Morwen, across Celia’s bed.
‘Our Celia thought she had a growth in her stomach, you say?’ He couldn’t take it in. Morwen went to him and put her arm around his shoulder.
‘She didn’t want to worry you, Mr Penry. If this was her choice, we all have to bear it. I loved her too—’
Her voice broke, and she felt Penry’s hand stroking her hair, the way he used to stroke Celia’s.
‘You’m a good maid, Morwen. You’ll walk behind the coffin wi’ the Penrys. Celia would like that. I must get started on the making of it. ’
He left her alone with Celia. Morwen went to the bed, pulling back the sheet to stare down at her friend. She looked as though she was just sleeping. As though she understood how Morwen had made everything as right as she could. Morwen’s throat felt choked as she bent to kiss the cold cheek.
‘I’ll miss you,’ she mumbled, before she fled down the stairs and out into the sunlight.
* * *
News of the drowning quickly reached St Austell. Ben Killigrew was away visiting the Carricks in Truro, where news filtered through more slowly. No one had thought to bother Charles Killigrew with it personally, and when he heard, he went about roaring like a bull.
‘A maid in my best pit drowns herself because of a stomach growth, and nobody thinks fit to tell me!’ he bellowed at his sister Hannah, who had heard the tale while out walking with her friend, Emily. Hannah answered back furiously.
‘Don’t talk as though you blame me for it! I’m just passing on a tid-bit of news. She was only a common bal maiden, anyway. Rough, noisy creatures, all of them—’
‘She was one of my workers, you stupid, heartless bitch, and she died at one of my pits!’ Charles roared back. ‘That makes it my concern. What kind of owner d’you take me for, if I don’t show an interest? The maid may have been poor, but nobody’s deserving of a growth in the belly, nor death in a slurry pit. Sometimes your lack of humanity makes me wonder how we were ever produced by the same seed!’
Hannah went scarlet. Truth to tell, Charles couldn’t exactly place the girl, but he knew that Penry was the name of one of his waggoners, and that his daughter worked at number one pit as well. Of course he was bloody well concerned! And after his evening meal, he intended going up to the cottages to see the family. No one would say Charles Killigrew was too big a man for that. His chest tightened as
he stamped about, reminding him of the doctor’s warning that he wasn’t immortal. Slowing him up a jot, or else he’d be the next one needing a wooden overcoat.
* * *
Ben waited impatiently outside Tom Askhew’s lodgings in Truro. It was time Jane told her parents the truth… while he waited, Askhew had another visitor, and then to Ben’s surprise all three people emerged together, the man to hurry away, Jane and Tom with disturbed looks on their faces.
He knew at once that something was wrong.
‘What is it?’ He asked quickly.
‘That man—’ Jane began.
‘He’s one of my informants for the paper,’ Tom said in his flat nasal accent. ‘Not officially on the payroll, but useful at times. There’s been a to-do at your father’s clay works—’
‘What?’ Ben forgot his dislike of the Yorkshireman, and looked at him sharply.
‘Aye. Some lass has drowned herself in one of the clay pools, I’m told. I’m off to find out more for the Informer. If you’re going there yourself, Killigrew, I’d be obliged of a lift in your fine trap to save me the cost of hiring a nag—’
Ben disliked him even more, but dislike of Tom Askhew wasn’t his prime concern right now. All he could think of was the lass who had drowned herself. All he could think of was Morwen Tremayne. His Morwen… his entire body throbbed with fear that it might be her…
‘Of course I’m going there,’ he snapped. ‘We’ll drop Jane at her house first, and you’d best tell what you know to your father, Jane. He’ll want to be kept informed. I’ll send Tom back with news in due course. It’ll be an excuse for him to set foot in your house with a legitimate reason.’
He put the fellow in his rightful place with a touch of sarcasm, but that too was of little importance to him right now. Jane tried to hide the swift pleasure Ben’s words brought, quickly hidden because it was a girl’s death that was under discussion.
Why should that matter to the lovely Jane Carrick, the one Morwen Tremayne so scathingly called Miss finelady? What did it matter that Ben Killigrew’s heart had stopped beating for a moment, and then raced on erratically, still not knowing which girl had drowned herself in the clay pool? If he discovered that it was Morwen… whatever Ben’s feelings for her before now, they suddenly multiplied a hundredfold.
Chapter Ten
The whole day was a nightmare to Morwen. Why couldn’t everyone leave her alone? It seemed as though they hounded her, either with sympathy or just plain curiosity. They were ghouls, the lot of them. People came and went, and Bess told them what she could, wanting to spare Morwen any more pain. They felt too embarrassed to call at the Penry cottage, so it was to the Tremaynes’ that they came…
Out of the sea of faces during that terrible day, came one that Morwen didn’t know. With sharp features and a strange accent, a notebook in his hand. With him was someone she recognised immediately, whose presence could make her heart drum, and she didn’t want the feeling… not now… not any more…
‘Sit down here, Mr Ben, and you too, Mr Askhew, and just ask our Morwen anything you like, while I make some tea—’ Bess said in agitation.
Mr Ben! Morwen felt a surge of hysteria sweep over her. She loathed hearing the Killigrew boy addressed so grandly. Why kow-tow to him, when but for the grace of God Morwen might be in the same plight as poor Celia…? But her mother had no knowledge of that, of course…
She felt a hand cover hers. Felt its warmth, and wanted to snatch it away, hating the memories it awoke.
‘How are you, Morwen?’ Ben said quietly. ‘I’m so sorry about your friend—’
Her voice was brittle. ‘Am I expected to say I’m quite well, thank you, sir?’ Her eyes stabbed with tears, her throat felt thick, but he wouldn’t let her pull her hand away from his. She was as numb and frozen as Celia. Couldn’t he see that?
‘Morwen, this is Tom Askhew,’ he ignored her words. ‘He wants to put a brief account of what happened in the Informer. It will be a fair account, you have my word on it—’
‘A fair account? Is Celia on trial then?’ Morwen said shrilly. ‘Why should I help to sell newspapers—?’
Ben knew he’d chosen his words badly. Truth to tell, he was overwhelmingly relieved to see Morwen alive and not beneath the muck of a clay pool. He ached to hold her close and take that haunted look away from her, but he could see it was the last thing she wanted from him. He could see the blame in her eyes, even if no one else could. He didn’t understand it, but it was blatantly obvious to him.
‘I’d like to see that the lass had a few kind words said about her, Miss Tremayne,’ Tom Askhew said gravely. ‘’Tis not prying in the general sense. Will you help me put the record straight for her, so folks wouldn’t think badly of her?’
Tom knew the right words to say. He saw the indecision in her eyes, and asked brief, detached questions that wouldn’t distress her too much. He was clever, businesslike and sympathetic at the same time. He drew out what little Morwen was prepared to tell him without fuss, and closed his notebook before she began to feel harrassed.
He looked at Ben enquiringly. There was nothing else to do here. Reluctantly, Ben got to his feet, his face still troubled as he looked at Morwen. She hardly seemed to notice whether he was there or not. He could see that she was in severe shock, but he sensed there was something more… something Morwen kept a tightly-guarded secret. He knew it as surely as night followed day, but he had no choice but to follow Tom out of the cottage as Bess said firmly that she thought her daughter had said all there was to say.
Ben didn’t want to discuss Morwen with Tom Askhew. He drove him back to Truro as fast as his horse would go, wanting to be rid of the man. He was very troubled by Morwen’s attitude. Naturally she was grieving, but it was more than that. Ben had sensed the hate in her, and Morwen wasn’t a hating person. He burned to find out the truth.
But first he had to get this fellow back to Truro. As silent partner in Killigrew Clay, Carrick had a right to know what had happened, and it gave Tom an excuse to enter the house in his role as newspaperman. And although it made Ben’s lips tighten to think of Richard Carrick offering the fellow a glass of his best port, oblivious to the fact that he was his daughter’s lover, all Ben wanted was to be rid of him.
* * *
While Ben went back to Truro, Charles Killigrew was already setting out to call on Thomas Penry as a good boss should. He still bristled at his sister’s sneering comments on the fact, and he had nearly given her her marching orders at dinner-time. She had shouted back that her friend Emily would be happy to give her board and lodging.
‘Then why don’t you go there?’ Charles had thundered. ‘I’d willingly pay to be rid of you, whenever you care to pack your bags!’
He’d never meant it more, though the upset had started the grinding chest pains again, but he still intended calling on the Penrys, as benevolent as a father-figure at that moment.
He heard the sound of sawing wood as he neared the cottage, and smelled the dry dust in the air. Charles followed the sounds and smells. Thomas Penry was in the yard at the back, measuring and sawing, and keeping furiously busy as though his hands stopped his mind from mourning. His grief was too raw to give the boss the customary deference, but today, neither considered the fact.
‘’Twill be the finest coffin this side o’ Truro, sir,’ Thomas grunted in his exertions.
‘That it will,’ Charles agreed, eyeing the oblong box taking shape. ‘Will you allow me to line it for you – to make it more – more—’
‘Comfortable.’ Thomas said. ‘If ’ee’ve a mind to it, sir. Our Celia will lie there like a princess.’
The tinge of pride in his words made Charles’s stomach. Christ, but there were times when he loathed the class distinctions that made a coffin lining of such importance to a simple man, when the cost to Killigrew was no more than a good breakfast.
‘I’ll see that the lining’s sent here in good time,’ he said briskly. ‘It’s a bad day for you, Thomas
, and for your family.’
Thomas shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t understand why she didn’t tell me what ailed her. She told Morwen, but then she told Morwen everything. But to be troubled about a growth in her stomach and not tell her own father—’ His eyes returned to the coffin. ‘Goin’ to kill her anyways, o’ course, if ’twere a growth, but to drown herself in the clay pool like that—’
He sawed furiously for a few minutes, sending little flurries of golden dust into the air like powdered rain.
‘Funeral’s on Thursday afternoon, sir, after my shift,’ he went on, businesslike again.
‘For God’s sake, man, you’ll do no shift that day,’ Charles said roughly. ‘You’ll stay at home until the time comes. My son Ben and myself will attend Penwithick church for the burying.’
Thomas looked at him in awe. If he touched his forelock now, Charles felt he would strangle him. He turned away before the man could stutter his thanks. Such a small thing to do, that obviously meant so much…
‘Morwen’s walking behind the coffin, o’ course, sir. Morwen was her best friend, see? Thank ’ee, sir—’
Charles moved out of earshot and climbed into his trap. He felt as though he’d run a mile uphill. The humility of these people stifled him at times. Thomas Penry, drunk, was as riproaring as any man, but sober, he was like a limp rag at times, like all of them. No, not quite all. Thank God for Hal Tremayne and his family, who had the guts to speak their minds when necessary and not fear the consequences.
Morwen’s name had cropped up again, as though determined to weave itself into the fabric of his life. He’d heard the tale that Matt Tremayne had found the dead girl, and guessed what a shock it must have been for Morwen. He would see for himself how she fared.
Bess immediately began fussing as she saw the Killigrew trap approaching the Tremayne cottage.
Killigrew Clay Page 12
