Killigrew Clay

by Killigrew Clay (retail) (epub)

  ‘That be a boss’s man talking, sure as eggs be eggs—’

  Hal tried another tactic. ‘Didn’t we all agree that rail tracks would be better than waggons for shifting the clay to the port?’ He had to shout to make himself heard. ‘Why the sudden turnaround when ’tis suggested?’

  ‘Nobody said nothing about jobs being lost when it happened—’

  ‘Nobody’s said nothing about it now, you daft buggers,’ Hal raged, wishing his youngest son to the devil for starting all this by his innocent prattling.

  ‘They’ll not listen, Daddy,’ Sam yelled in his ear.

  Hal thought swiftly. They all looked to him to take command, being in charge of number one pit, and he waved his hands about for silence.

  ‘Shall we find out the truth of it from Killigrew, then?’ Shouts of approval met his words, and Hal glared around.

  ‘Then I refuse to take sole responsibility for facing un, since you all seem set to doubt my word.’

  Some of the men shifted uneasily, showing shame and embarrassment at the accusation, for of all men there, Hal Tremayne was the one most respected and trusted. Deep down, they all knew it.

  ‘What do ’ee propose then, Hal?’ Eric Leeman spoke up, knowing he’d started much of the present discontent after his own son had come running to him with Freddie Tremayne’s tale.

  ‘That we four pit captains go straight to Killigrew House tonight,’ Hal rasped. ‘You’ll trust the four of us not to conspire against ’ee, will you? We’ll find out what’s to do, and report it back to you all tomorrow. Is it agreed?’

  There were rumblings of ayes and nods and a few grudging cheers.

  ‘’Tis settled then. Gil Dark and Walt Pugsey from Number Three works can go in Pugsey’s cart. Billy Brown from Number Four can come in the trap wi’ me—’

  ‘Oh ah, the boss’s trap—’

  Hal pushed his way through the crowd of clayworkers and caught the spokesman by the scruff of his neck and twisted.

  ‘If you’d prefer to go instead of me, Leeman, just say so.’ He let the man go, hearing him choke and splutter. The kiln worker backed down at the raucous jeers of his fellows, all knowing him for a loudmouth and not much else. Certainly never the type to face a boss in his own house.

  ‘Does anyone want to change the arrangements?’ Hal demanded. There was no reply. ‘Then get back to your homes until there’s summat to report, and try to think on the consequences of doing anything foolish.’

  He marched back indoors, slamming his own door behind him. His breath came thickly, but he saw that he had his wife’s approval in the plan, and Sam slapped his father on the back. Jack slunk at the bend in the stairs, his thirteen-year-old eyes fearful, and of Freddie there was no sign now.

  ‘I’ll deal with the boy when I get home,’ Hal said curtly. He gave Bess a quick hug, turned and left the cottage. The men were still there, parting as Hal reappeared, and Billy Brown, the young pit captain of Number Four works, marched after him. Pugsey and Dark had gone to fetch their cart, within ten minutes the four of them were making the impromptu descent through the deepening twilight towards St Austell and Killigrew House.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was late evening when the two vehicles wound their way back through the cobbled streets of the town, and into the pitch darkness of the moorland tracks, their way lit only by the swaying lantern on the Killigrew trap. They rode in silence, each mouth clamped tightly shut at Killigrew’s reception of them, each mind working furiously on how to break the news to his men. They had until tomorrow morning… or thought they had…

  ‘Good God Almighty!’ Gilbert Dark broke the gloomy silence as they came to the rise in the moors leading to the flatter hill top. ‘What do the gormless buggers think they’m playing at?’

  Hal reined in the horse and trap alongside the humbler cart, his eyes grimly taking in the sight above them. From here, it resembled hundreds of glow-worms shimmering on the dark sky-line, but each of the four pit captains knew it was nothing so innocent.

  None of the clayworkers had had any intention of returning home that night until the dispute was settled. They were encamped now, with lantern and torch flare and hooded candle, faces grotesque in the flickering lights, gaunt and wary as the pit captains neared them, crouched in the darkness and mindless of cold or damp. Gil Dark muttered uneasily.

  ‘You’d best continue to be spokesman, Hal. You’m the best un wi’ words.’

  ‘Only if I have your backing,’ Hal snapped. ‘You all heard the boss, same as me. Are you all convinced I’m not in his pocket, nor ever have been?’

  Three voices affirmed at once.

  ‘Just so long as we’re all agreed to let ’em have their way,’ Walt Pugsey said. ‘If they’m ready to strike, there’s to be no stopping ’em. ’Tis their right.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be the man to try,’ Hal growled, as the body of men rose at their approach, awaiting the report.

  Hal tried to be as unemotional as possible, considering that emotions were tinder-dry and ready to explode at any minute.

  ‘I don’t need to tell ’ee how contrary Killigrew can be, nor how quick to rouse. He don’t like his business dealings being questioned, and he don’t like tales being bandied about that belong to him and his son and their accountant—’

  ‘What’s some poncey accountant to do wi’ us?’ The shouting began. ‘Tell us about our wages and our jobs, Hal Tremayne. ’Tis what we’re here to find out!’

  Hal tried to shout them down.

  ‘’Tis the accountant that advises Killigrew on how the money should be spent, you dolts. There are bills to be paid, and money owing, and the advice was to hold back on the wage rises for a few weeks, that’s all, until the money flows in—’

  Howls of rage drowned him once more.

  ‘What about our bills? What of the money owing to us, while the boss sits in his fine house? And what’s all this talk of new machinery to put us all on the streets—?’

  ‘There’s no new machinery,’ Hal bellowed. ‘Nor rail tracks neither, though young Killigrew’s bitterly keen to go ahead with that idea, which would benefit all on us if you’d only see it!’

  He tried to be scrupulously honest about the scene at the house, with the six men hollering and bawling at one another. Charles had seemed no worse for the upset, thumping on his heavy oak desk and telling the pit captains to get out and sort out their men, which was what they were paid to do.

  His eyes had sparkled with a strange mixture of anger and exhilaration when they had gone, but Ben’s mouth had tightened with fury.

  ‘That was very stupid of you, Father. They’ll strike, and you know it!’

  ‘Let them,’ Charles said breezily. ‘We can hold out longer than they can. I wasn’t bluffing about the dues owed to us, and once they’re paid, I’ll be generous enough. They’ll get their extra pennies and twopences, and they’ll get it from the day I gave them my say-so. But let them sweat over it for a while. ’Twill prove to them who’s the strongest here.’

  Ben didn’t like it. He would have liked it even less had he heard the outraged shouts high on the moors that night in the flaring torchlight, as the men of all four Killigrew Clay works elected to strike as from that moment.

  ‘’Twas a bad omen from the day the young Penry girl drowned herself in the clay pool,’ one or two older ones muttered. ‘The pit was fouled from that night.’

  ‘We’ll have none of that kind of talk,’ Hal said angrily. ‘You’ll each report to your pit captain in the morning, when we’ve gone through what funds are available while the strike lasts. Now go on home, the lot of you.’

  They dispersed grudgingly. While they were all together, they could ignore the coming weeks of hardship, when wives and children would suffer. The funds each pit captain had suggested long ago for times of emergency were pitifully small, but better than nothing when honour was at stake. And each man hoped fervently that the strike wouldn’t last long.

  * * *

&n
bsp; What in God’s name had possessed Morwen to go running to her father with tales? Ben thought furiously. Charles had stumped off to bed without bothering to rouse her and question her. The damage had been done, and if the autumn waggon-loads were a week or so late reaching the docks, it would make little difference to supplies of the clay blocks being shipped out, he had said stubbornly. It wouldn’t be the owners who suffered in the end.

  It seemed as though they continued the argument for hours, but finally Ben couldn’t wait until morning to find out the truth of it. Indiscreet or not, he marched up to her room and hammered on the door. It inched open a few minutes later. From the candle-light behind Morwen, he could see the outline of her shape very clearly beneath the cambric nightgown and hastily wrapped shawl.

  ‘What do you want? I asked Mrs Horn to tell your father I was coming to bed early with a bad head—’

  Ben pushed past her into the room and closed the door behind him. Her heart beat rapidly with fear. Was he so like his cousin after all…?

  ‘You’ll have more than that by the time I’ve finished,’ he snapped. ‘Do you know what you’ve done?’

  Morwen stared at him, realising that this was no young man bent on seduction. He looked at her with contempt, and a sick feeling washed over her. She knew at once what he’d come about. Her chin tilted in the way he often found endearing, and which now seemed to infuriate him.

  ‘If you mean did I think it wrong to inform my daddy of the delay to the mens’ wages, or even stopping them altogether, then no! I didn’t think it wrong to tell him. It was his right to know, and I think you and your father are guilty of underhand business methods—’

  ‘What do you know of business methods? A mere—’

  ‘Go on, say it! A mere bal maiden, without a brain in her head. That’s what you were thinking, isn’t it?’

  ‘No, it wasn’t,’ Ben snapped. ‘I was about to say you’re a mere girl, and should leave mens’ work to the men. But after your interference today, I doubt that any of them will report for work tomorrow.’

  Morwen’s skin felt clammy all over. She had heard her parents speak of strikes, with dread in their voices. With a young family to feed and no money coming in, what hope of survival did they have?

  ‘You don’t know that it will come to that,’ she said, her lips wooden.

  ‘I do know it. The pit captains came here as a deputation tonight. I wonder you didn’t hear the rumpus from my father’s study. Yours was the spokesman, and it was obvious where the story came from, though it’s got embroidered in the telling, and the men now think we’re about to replace them with machinery.’

  ‘I didn’t say that! Do you think they’ll strike, Ben?’

  ‘Of course they’ll strike, thanks to you!’

  He turned on his heel, and horrified tears sprang to Morwen’s eyes. She felt so unreal. She had taken a headache powder before she went to bed, and she felt too muzzed to deal with this tonight. And she hadn’t meant any of this to happen. She had only wanted to warn her own family… she ran forward to clutch Ben’s arm. She had to make him see that she’d meant none of it… her shawl slipped from her shoulders, and the words wouldn’t come. He was so angry, a stranger to her. Her fingers involuntarily dug into his arm.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ben,’ she said tremulously. ‘But I can’t bear it if you blame me!’

  He looked down at her. Her black hair tumbled around her shoulders, dark against light. Her face was white, her eyes shimmering with tears, her soft mouth trembling with shock. He gave a smothered oath and gathered her into his arms, feeling her sway against him. She was still warm from sleep, still bewildered by the swift change of events. His fury vanished like the dawn mist on the moors. He saw the long line of her throat and the pulse fluttering there. He wanted to hold her and love her…

  ‘You’ll catch cold,’ his voice was husky. ‘You shouldn’t be out of bed.’

  He scooped her up in his arms as though she was feather-light, and moved towards the bed with her. She could feel his heartbeat, as wild as her own. As he lay her down, his breath was warm on her face. Her hands were still clasped behind his head, and without thinking, she tightened them, imprisoning him to her. His mouth touched hers, as gentle as thistledown, and then more urgently, demandingly…

  It was as though Morwen had held all her emotions in check since the night at the Larnie Stone, that had begun so excitingly and ended so horrifically. As though she had been made of ice since then, and now at last the sun began to shine and the ice to melt… wrong or right were words neither of them considered as they moved together, first tremulously, then more surely, in an overwhelming need for each other. The first time for Morwen… the only time that mattered to Ben…

  Into Morwen’s scattered thoughts came the certainty that this was so different from Celia’s ordeal… it had to be different, because every touch of hands or mouth brought pleasure instead of pain, a new and exquisite delight… though there was a moment when Morwen struggled to speak, when she remembered Celia…

  ‘Ben, don’t – don’t hurt me—’

  ‘Don’t be afraid, my sweet one,’ he said softly against her breast. ‘I won’t let anything happen to you, though I must confess it would be the sweetest thing to know you carried my baby, but it won’t happen, Morwen. Trust me, darling.’

  His voice caressed her senses as his body caressed hers, and she didn’t question how it could be that he knew so much about loving. She questioned nothing in the wonder that he was here with her, and wanted her. It was so beautiful to be wanted, so loved…

  By the time Ben left her room, Morwen was drowsy with sleep once more, and a wonderful feeling of well-being. She hardly remembered how it had all come about, how the anger burning between them had somehow turned into love. It didn’t matter how. If she had nothing else, she had had this one precious night…

  * * *

  She awoke with her head throbbing more painfully than before, and struggled to recall what had happened. The memories flooded back together. The fury in Ben’s eyes at the certainty of a strike at the clay works. And the hour in his arms that followed… she lay and thought about that for a long while, and slowly Morwen’s face burned, wondering in the cold morning daylight if she had been incredibly foolish.

  All the loving feelings had gone, and she felt bitterly that she had become what she always despised – the servant who was a willing bed-mate for the master’s son. How would he treat her this morning? How was she meant to react to him? She had been a fool, a gullible fool, for he would never want her as a wife. Not when he already had a wife promised to him!

  She looked at the clock on her table, and sprang out of bed, wincing as she did so. It was late, and she should be downstairs, organising breakfast. It was too much to hope that Ben would be gone from the house. The gentry didn’t usually rise so early. But to her amazement, Jude Pascoe was lounging in the dining-room, and grinning widely at her, to Morwen’s annoyance.

  ‘Looks as though there’s fun and games going on, don’t it, Morwen? My uncle and cuz went off at a fine rate early this morning to see what’s to do at the works. Seems as if the men are striking or summat.’

  Morwen looked at him coldly, saying nothing. She didn’t have to talk to him. His eyes narrowed, still with that offensive grin on his face.

  ‘Still, you’ll be all right, won’t you? I’d say the Tremaynes have come out of this little lot pretty well.’

  ‘And just what’s that supposed to mean?’ she was provoked into snapping.

  ‘Well, you’ve got a job away from the pit, haven’t you? Your Matt’s doing all right at the docks, and don’t your Mammie take in sewing for the gentry now? A strike needn’t bother the Tremaynes too much with all that money coming in!’ he taunted her.

  Morwen was scarlet with rage. But despite her anger, she began to realise how the clayworkers would see it – the way Jude Pascoe outlined the facts. And there was more. If her parents had moved into the little house away from the
cottage, they’d have been thought even more in Charles Killigrew’s pocket. As it was, this strike effectively stopped any such move. Her father would never agree to it now. And how would that affect Sam and Dora’s wedding? The enormity of it all was only just beginning to dawn on her.

  ‘Don’t you have work to do?’ she snapped at Jude.

  ‘Oh ah. Me and your Matt have got some business of our own down the coast aways,’ he leered. ‘We’re taking a job on a trawler to Falmouth way to see if there’s any dock work going there. We’re getting tired of the same old faces here.’

  It would be good riddance to him, Morwen thought viciously, but she didn’t know what her Daddy would say to Matt moving even farther away from the family. Everything was changing, she thought, in a moment of blind panic. Nothing ever stayed the same, no matter how you tried to keep things safe… she swallowed, because that kind of thinking was for children, like Freddie, and she was supposed to be a grown woman now, with responsibilities…

  * * *

  Charles Killigrew and his son went straight to Number One clay works. The men were on strike, but it seemed that none of them could keep away. They hung about in groups, arguing and muttering among themselves, and plenty had had tongue pie from their wives for breakfast. The pit captains were still sorting out the strike fund, and spread among all the men, it would be meagre dippings. And there was no knowing how long the deadlock would continue. There was a rumble of apprehension as the Killigrew men approached the pit.

  ‘Where’s Hal Tremayne?’ Charles demanded to know.

  ‘In his hut, Mr Killigrew, sir,’ he was told sullenly.

  Charles eyed them keenly.

  ‘Are all you men agreeable to this strike?’ he bellowed suddenly. ‘Do you know what it means to go hungry for weeks on end, with your womenfolk belly-aching at you to return and bring home some regular money?’