Killigrew Clay

by Killigrew Clay (retail) (epub)

  ‘Don’t get so flustered, dar,’ Hal grunted. ‘Give him some refreshment if there’s any left, and be your natural self. The man won’t eat you!’

  ‘No sir, Mr Pit Captain!’ Bess said smartly, a small smile tugging at her mouth. It was a long while since any of them had smiled. She wouldn’t have dared now, if Morwen hadn’t been sleeping in her bed corner, suddenly exhausted.

  Hal opened the door to the pit owner and offered him a seat. Charles came straight to the point.

  ‘A bad business, Hal, and how are your two young ’uns taking it, being most closely involved with the dead girl?’

  Hal told him quickly. Charles was appalled to learn how Matt had thrust aside Morwen’s bed curtain with her dead friend in his arms, and the shock of the discovery.

  ‘I hadn’t heard that bit,’ Charles growled. ‘The tales have got so garbled, I wasn’t sure what to believe, but this is a ghastly story.’

  He took the drink of tea from Bess’s hands and drank deeply. Behind the bed curtain, Morwen heard the buzz of voices and recognised her employer’s. She was tempted to stay where she was, but knew that her Mammie would hear the bed creakings and guess that she was awake. Her head still mazed, she slid out of bed and joined the others.

  ‘Morwen, my dear, I’m sorry about all this!’ Charles spoke awkwardly, covering the intense shock of seeing the girl look so ill and dazed.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured the inane reply expected of her, and hated the falseness of it. Then she looked into Charles Killigrew’s eyes, and knew that he had meant it sincerely. Strange, that he of all people… she had to look away, because he suddenly reminded her too poignantly of Ben. And she didn’t want to enquire too deeply how sincere Ben had been, probably coming straight from his Miss finelady in Truro with the newspaperman…

  She heard a sudden choking sound, and heard her mother exclaim in alarm.

  ‘Mr Killigrew, are you ill?’ Bess cried, as he clawed at his chest. His face reddened as much with anger as pain.

  ‘Damned blasted ticker playing me about,’ he hawked between the knifing pains. ‘Got some powders in my weskit pocket. Mix with water —’

  He was exhausted, just giving instructions, Hal found the powders, and Bess tipped one into a mug of water. Charles closed his eyes, cursing his luck, then felt a cool hand on his brow, and a soft voice in his ear.

  ‘Don’t talk, Mr Killigrew. Don’t move. Stay still and breathe gently. Think of nothing, and let the strength flow back into you.’ Morwen spoke by instinct, her breath warm and sweet on his cheek as she knelt beside him. He did as he was told, marvelling at the stillness in the girl that could create such serenity in him at that moment. She was beautiful and spirited, yet she possessed a power in her that he was sure she never suspected.

  He felt the cold touch of the cup against his lips, and was instructed to drink the draught. He obeyed, and thought of nothing, and at last he felt the pains subside.

  ‘That’s better,’ he heard Hal say in relief. ‘Your colour’s coming back, sir.’

  Charles opened his eyes and saw the concern of the family. He envied them their closeness. His eyes went to Morwen’s with gratitude.

  ‘I would wish to have a daughter like this one, Hal. But I’ve stayed long enough, and I’ll be on my way—’

  ‘Not alone,’ Hal said at once. ‘I’ll accompany you. ’Tis no hardship to walk back from St Austell on a fine day—’

  ‘’Tis no hardship for Charles Killigrew to send you back in his trap, neither. Keep it on permanent loan, Hal. You’ll need transport to visit your son in Charlestown, mebbe, and I’ll not have my pit captain reporting with sore feet each day. Do me a favour and take one of my vehicles off my hands. Have you a shed for it, and room to sleep the horse?’

  ‘I’m not sure about the rightness of it, Mr Killigrew—’ Hal began.

  ‘Take it before I expire through arguing, and take me home, man.’ Charles found the talk irksome. He’d made the offer spontaneously, and he wanted no arguments.

  The gift of a trap and a horse meant little to him. No more than a coffin lining. He felt a swift guilt at his own wealth that was making him so generous to these others this day.

  They still had so much, he thought suddenly. There was so much love in this cottage, and at the Penry home too, where a man could make a coffin for his daughter and think the gift of a lining made it a shroud fit for a princess. They made him humble, and it wasn’t a feeling Charles Killigrew liked too often.

  ‘We thank you, Mr Killigrew,’ Bess said with quiet dignity. ‘’Twill be put to good use here.’

  Charles nodded, telling Hal shortly to see sense the way his good woman did. A daughter like Morwen and a wife like Bess. The man already had riches beyond measure.

  He thought about those healing hands of Morwen’s as Hal drove him home. The girl would be a wonderful wife for a young man. Passionate and temperamental when roused, calming and gentle when needed. Charles hid a smile. It was usual for a man to choose a wife, but in Morwen Tremayne’s case, he guessed she would have very definite ideas of her own on that score.

  By the time they reached Killigrew House, he’d told Hal ten times he meant what he said about the horse and trap. The subject was becoming tedious to him. He had a stableful of such items, and it would be one less to dispose of after his death, if Ben was so inclined.

  That was it, of course, Charles thought, with sudden insight. He’d had a brief brush with death, in the guise of the Penry girl, and a sharp reminder of his own limitations. Hal had best take advantage of his mood, because no doubt by tomorrow he’d be back to his hollering self again!

  He was thankful to wave Hal away and get indoors, to be met immediately by Hannah’s grumblings and his son’s prickly temper. Too much time with Tom Askhew hadn’t sweetened Ben one little bit. He answered Ben’s questions on the doings at the cottages, then stumped away after telling him they’d both be attending the bal maiden’s funeral on Thursday. And ignored his sister’s sniffing comment that the world must be going mad when Charles Killigrew condescended to such a thing. His mouth clamped shut. He wouldn’t risk another attack on Hannah Pascoe’s account. He had some hard thinking to do, and he wanted a clear head to do it.

  * * *

  Thursday was cool, the sky overcast, the sun deserting them. Celia had so loved the sun… though Morwen could no more connect bright, pretty Celia with the object inside the pale wooden box, carried by a team of awkward clayworkers, than she could understand the Killigrew mens’ presence here.

  It was good of them, but it wasn’t fitting. The day belonged to simple folk, and Morwen felt resentment burning inside her as the walking party neared Penwithick church, and she saw Ben and Charles waiting at the porch in their sombre dark clothes. Most of those following the coffin had no special clothes for the day, and wore a hotch-potch of colours. Celia would have liked that, anyway, Morwen thought, fiercely protective.

  She thought of Celia, lying inside the silk-lined coffin, and shivered. It seemed such a little time ago that Morwen had wondered how it must feel to be clothed in silk. But not like this… not like this…

  Ben watched the slow, dignified progress, made even slower because of John Penry dragging his injured leg, one arm beneath a makeshift crutch. His father and Morwen Tremayne supported him. To Ben, it seemed as though Morwen completed a close-knit circle, with a noisily crying woman behind the three of them.

  He saw Morwen’s pallor and ached to comfort her, but she looked as though she needed no one. Charles watched her too, and remembered her gentle touch when he had needed her. An idea began formulating in his mind, even then… it had begun when Hannah had discovered he’d given the trap to the Tremaynes.

  ‘You’ve given a vehicle to a clayworker? They’ll all be wanting bits of the estate next. I think you’ve lost your senses, and the Lord only knows why I remain in this mad-house—’

  ‘Then go!’ he roared. ‘I’ve had enough of your whining to last me a lifetime.
Pack your baggage and I’ll drive you to that prissy friend of yours as soon as you like. I’ll pay all your dues, and it’ll be worth my fortune to see you living away from this house.’

  Her mouth had dropped open with shock.

  ‘What about Jude?’ she demanded.

  ‘He can stay if he works,’ Charles snapped, the upset doing him no good. ‘The minute he shirks, then out he goes.’

  ‘And who’s to run the house for you? Do you think it runs itself—?’

  ‘The cook knows how to cook, and the maids know how to skivvy,’ he retorted. ‘Any fool could do the minimum of work you do, and I’ve made my decision.’

  She saw that he had. When Charles was so adamant, Hannah knew there was no point in arguing. The moon would turn blue before he’d change his mind. She glowered at him.

  ‘I’ll move out tomorrow,’ she said stiffly. She didn’t care, as long as he made her financially secure, and she knew the Killigrew pride wouldn’t let him turn her out destitute. She didn’t care about this house any more. Let them all stew in their own juice, and see if the house could revolve without her!

  * * *

  Charles forced his thoughts back to the solemn occasion. Hannah had been gone a few days, and although he felt as though a fresh clean breath of air filled the house, the servants definitely needed someone at the helm. His eyes met Morwen’s across the church, and the idea took strength. It was ludicrous, of course. She was only seventeen years old, with no social graces, except for natural ones. She wouldn’t agree to it. The servants would complain… and who were they to complain, when he paid their wages? He dismissed the thought.

  He began to see himself as a benefactor, rescuing her from the bal maiden’s lot. And more than that. He would rescue her from constant memories of her friend, whom they were burying today. His mind was made up, and he sought out Hal Tremayne as soon as the coffin had been lowered into theground.

  People were drifting away. Morwen stayed by the graveside, her long dark hair hiding her face as she threw some wild flowers onto the coffin. Ben moved towards her, determined to speak his mind, but her mother reached her first, with her two young brothers. She didn’t look at him as they drew her away. She didn’t need him.

  * * *

  If he’d followed her, he’d have known that Morwen didn’t go straight home with her family, needing time to be alone. Ben rode back alone to Killigrew House, unsettled and frustrated, taking out his anger on his cousin Jude, as he so often did. His father hadn’t got back from Penwithick yet, and he never guessed at the furore going on at the Tremayne cottage when Morwen returned from her long lonely walk across the moors.

  She stared at her father in disbelief as he told her of Charles Killigrew’s suggestion.

  ‘I told un you must decide for yourself, Morwen, but ’twill be a fine chance for ’ee—’

  ‘Our Morwen will get all posh, and talk funny like the rich folks,’ Freddie chanted. ‘She’ll have no time for we—’

  ‘’Course she will,’ Jack said scornfully. ‘She’ll come on visits and tell us daft things about the parties the Killigrews have—’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Bess put in. ‘Morwen must decide, but I agree with your Daddy, Morwen. Mr Killigrew means it kindly. He wants you to be his housekeeper, and he’d like you around the place, not forgetting how you calmed him the other day when he had his attack.’

  ‘Besides, ’twill make more room in the cottage when our Sam gets wed,’ Hal added. ‘Not that you must take note of that, Morwen. ’Twas just a thought—’

  She found her voice, shouting so forcefully they all stared in amazement.

  ‘No! I won’t go to the Killigrews, I won’t! ’Tis the worst suggestion I ever heard, and you won’t make me, none of you!’

  Her heart beat wildly as she leaned against the wall, feeling hopelessly trapped, because how could they know, any of them, how she would feel to be living in the same house as Ben Killigrew, for whom her feelings were in such turmoil, and under the same roof as Jude Pascoe, who had done the terrible, unforgivable thing to her friend?

  It was an impossible suggestion. Charles Killigrew should never have made it, whatever his reasons. She couldn’t bear to consider it. It added to the nightmare in which she had existed ever since Celia’s death. Living in the Killigrew House would be a constant reminder. She loathed Jude Pascoe, and she despised herself for ever thinking she could love Ben Killigrew, and believing for one minute that he meant the sweet whisperings to her at the Larnie Stone.

  She was bitter that he had dared to attend Celia’s funeral. She wondered that Jude Pascoe hadn’t been there too, flaunting his part in her death. But neither of them knew of it, did they? No one knew but Morwen, and the weight of it all was beginning to crush her.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jude couldn’t believe his luck at his mother’s departure from Killigrew House. Things were looking up, despite the fact that he had to work at a menial job for his uncle. He had an unlikely new friend in Matt Tremayne, who had now moved into lodgings near the port. He’d thought Matt was going to back out of the arrangements after the upset of the bal maiden’s death, but he hadn’t.

  A pity about the girl, Jude thought with a frown. She’d given him the runaround at Truro Fair, and played virgin with him up on the moors, with hollering fit to wake the dead. But some girls did that. They pretended the fellow was the first one, tightening themselves up, and even colouring themselves with a red wash to look like blood. He was too knowing to fall for that one!

  He breathed in the tangy sea air, doubly refreshing after the tedium of the day’s work for his uncle. Matt Tremayne had quickly got the scent of adventure in his veins, and together they could have some high old times. He saw Matt swaggering along now, almost the old sea-salt already, enviously watching the seamen arriving from the cargo ship, faces tanned like teak from long days in strange exotic waters, bounty slung over their shoulders in bulging packs.

  ‘Do ’ee fancy a spell on the briny then, Matt?’ Jude greeted him.

  Matt grinned. ‘Why not? The world must be bigger than the little bit we see around here.’

  ‘That it is,’ Jude echoed. ‘Why shouldn’t the two of us see some on it together?’

  They laughed, not really considering it seriously as they went off to the nearest kiddleywink. They were oddly assorted companions, yet they struck a chord in one another, and Jude had long since decided that Matt was the best of all the Tremayne bunch. And far better than his snot-nosed sister, so prissy about him funning with the Penry girl. But Matt was all right, and the future was definitely looking rosier.

  * * *

  Daniel Gorran had struggled with a bad bout of influenza for several days, and had decided he could no longer see his accounting books properly through his streaming eyes. Ben Killigrew had called on him that very afternoon, and was appalled to see how the man was carrying on. The office smelled of stale breath and medication, and he told Daniel shortly that the whole place should be washed down with disinfectant to stop the germs from spreading. Influenza could kill.

  ‘I’ll see to it,’ Gorran began wheezing.

  ‘No, I’ll do it,’ Ben retorted. ‘I’ll send for someone to come in at once. Meanwhile, have you any objection to my looking through the Killigrew books, Daniel? I know my father was well satisfied, but I’d like to study them myself.’

  ‘Do as you wish, Ben. I’ve every trust in you, and you’ll have a more scholarly head on your shoulders than we older ones.’

  He was stopped by a paroxysm of coughing and sneezing, while Ben tried not to breathe in too deeply. He’d do better to take the accountancy books away, but he knew Daniel never let them leave this office unless he took them himself. The man took himself off, saying a few days in bed would put him right, while Ben promised to get a cleaning woman in to disinfect the place, and to lock up after him. He decided to stay and supervise that all was done properly.

  Truth to tell, Ben was anxious about Charles Killig
rew’s complacency regarding the clay profits. Morwen had been right, he thought suddenly. Rail tracks from the clay pits to Charlestown port were long overdue, and Killigrew Clay was lagging behind other pits who had already constructed them. Some of the profits should go towards rail tracks.

  He was anxious about Charles too. His thoughts went off at all angles. Charles had been too quiet of late, unlike him. He’d had a violent spat with his sister, and Hannah had departed in a huff, leaving the household incomplete, but infinitely more harmonious. But something had to be done there. Ben had begun to feel that all the responsibility was perhaps too much for his father. In which case, the sooner he learned all there was to know about the financial state of Killigrew Clay, the better.

  By the time Ben had studied the books for an hour, balancing figures on paper and in his head, he was even more concerned. The money wasn’t there for rail tracks, and yet it should be there. Daniel Gorran should have advised Charles on the slackness of his debtors. Money was owing, and hadn’t been collected. Money that was expected by the clayworkers, as Charles had promised.

  Ben knew them of old. They wouldn’t wait for ever for their pittances. Charles could have a strike on his hands if he wasn’t careful. He was furious at Gorran’s slackness. The man was getting too old for his job, and should take on a younger partner. Ben dismissed the idea of applying for it himself. He was more interested in the clay than in financial jugglings…

  The sudden realisation shook him. Yes, dammit, he was interested in the clay. It was his heritage, as Charles had so often tried to drum into him. But he’d had to feel it for himself, and he felt it now, with a fierce determination to keep Killigrew Clay the finest in the county.

  His head throbbed from studying the books, and the strong smell of disinfectant with which the cleaning woman had liberally scrubbed surfaces and floors all around him. His temples felt near to bursting, his limbs ached, and he’d do well to have an early night, to ponder over how best to put Killigrew Clay on a more secure footing, before the realisation spread through the clayworkers that their paltry pay rises were being delayed far longer than they expected.