‘The girl’s more Killigrew than Tremayne these days,’ growled Sam.
‘Be quiet, all on ’ee,’ Hal said tersely. ‘We’ve more important things to think on than our Morwen’s doings at the moment. Are you sure o’ this, Freddie? ’Tis not more of your fancyin’ like Jack says?’
‘Ask ’em for yourself, Daddy! They’m all running about, telling folk! And Ben Killigrew said as how he were givin’ old Nott a fine send-off, and one for the clayworkers who got crushed an’ all—’
Bess clutched Hal’s arm.
‘Oh Hal, do ’ee think ’tis all true?’
His voice was more caustic than his wife’s.
‘If ’tis, then ’tis we who should have been told first, not the townsfolk. What’s it to do with them? ’Tis we who’ve been living on scratchings all these weeks, while they grow fat in the town—’
Bess shook his arm with impatience.
‘How can you be so stubborn? What does it matter who was told first? If Ben Killigrew means to put things straight, that’s all that matters—’
‘Tell that to the clayworkers, dar,’ he retorted. ‘I’ve no doubt they’ll be here in their numbers soon, demanding to know why the posh folk get preference over we!’
As though to reinforce his words, they heard the rumpus beginning outside, the running feet over the marshy ground, the shouting and hollering, the demands to know if Hal Tremayne had been in on this report they were hearing from their kiddley boys…
‘You see, Mammie?’ Sam said tensely, backing his father as always. ‘Daddy was right. The mens’ mood is as sparky as a tinder-box. It takes next to nothing to set them off—’
Jack and Freddie were bobbing up and down by the window, their faces filled with alarm.
‘Why do they allus come here?’ Jack said resentfully. ‘’Tain’t our fault we had a strike, nor that the Penrys got themselves killed! ’Tain’t our fault that our Morwen be more Killigrew than Tremayne, neither—’
‘That’s the second time I’ve heard that today, and I’ll not hear it again,’ Hal snapped. ‘I’ll try and calm them until we hear something official. I’ve no doubt Ben will be here soon, if he’s any sense, and if there’s anything in the tale.’
He was more disturbed than he showed, feeling like the rest of them that if any changes were to be made in the running of Killigrew Clay, then they had a right to know of it. But he trod a fine line. If he swayed too much towards the men’s feelings, there could well be a new riot and a rush to the town to create more havoc. If he showed himself in too much sympathy with the bosses, he risked the safety of himself and his family. He knew it only too well.
When he opened the cottage door, he was met by a sea of angry faces. The other pit captains were among the clayworkers, the kiddley boys swelled up with importance at having been to town and got the information.
‘You’ll have heard the news from your boy, Hal Tremayne!’ Gil Dark shouted at once. ‘When’s young Killigrew taking time off from his fine friends to come and tell we properly? When do we get our dues?’
His words prompted a loud chanting. It was all they cared about, and Hal couldn’t blame them. The money was desperately needed by families entirely dependent on Killigrew Clay for food and warmth. They asked for little else, and it was hopeless to try to quieten them for a full five minutes as they hurled abuse at Hal, at Ben and Charles Killigrew, and at Hal’s own daughter.
‘Yours be a fine family, Hal Tremayne!’ The jeer went up. ‘Yon Matt’s gone for a sailor, your missus be too good for the bal maiden’s work, and your Morwen’s as toffee-nosed as they Killigrews by now! Do ’ee still have time to care what happens to we—?’
Hal was slow to anger, but when the abuse became personal to his own family, he showed that he could roar with the best of them. His voice rose above the din now.
‘You stupid, short-sighted buggers! Instead of coming here like a crowd of sheep, why don’t you listen to your own children and think what good can come o’ this? If Ben Killigrew’s the new owner o’ Killigrew Clay, it means one o’ two things. Either Charles Killigrew is dead, or the young un’s showing what he’s made of, and taken control. If he means to pay us our dues and build the rail tracks we need, then we’ll all be in profit!’
‘Ah. If he does all they things!’ the shouts went up again after the brief pause.
‘If we give un a chance to tell us, we’ll all be as wise as he!’ Hal shouted back.
‘Where is he, then? Why ain’t he here, doling out the pennies—?’ The anger spilled out again.
Gil Dark pushed forward, flapping his hands about for quiet. He turned to Hal, his face stormy.
‘All right, Hal Tremayne. Now I’ll tell ’ee what the rest on us think! Either we see the Killigrew boy and hear what’s what, or we smash up his bloody offices like we started afore, and then we’ll start on his bloody mansion—’
Roars of approval followed his words, and Sam whispered quickly in Hal’s ear.
When the bellows died down, Hal spoke out again, his voice becoming hoarse.
‘Listen to me a minute, you hot-headed fools! I say we put a time limit on it. Ben Killigrew should be here to tell us, and we’m all agreed on that. But we don’t know all the facts yet. If Charles Killigrew’s dead, the boy will be distraught, and no man who ever lost a loved one can deny him that!’ He waited for the few jeers that followed, and had a ready answer for the complaints that Ben hadn’t been too distraught to call a town meeting.
‘We’ve all heard what happened with the clay waggon. He had to settle the townsfolk first or they’d have lynched him—’
‘Ah, and we’ll be doin’ the lynching if we don’t hear from un soon!’ The roars went up again, but now Gil Dark and the other pit captains stood solidly beside Hal, and this time it was Gil who tried to placate them.
‘Hal Tremayne’s talking sense now, you buggers. Listen to un, can’t ’ee? We’ll give the Killigrew boy until nightfall. If he don’t appear, ’twon’t be only Nott’s bakery that’s burning in St Austell town tonight! And that’s a promise I’ll keep with the rest on ’ee.’
* * *
Morwen and Ben finally left the solicitor’s chambers, thankfully breathing the cool fresh afternoon air after the stuffiness inside. Ben decided they should return to Killigrew House to tell his father that all had gone well, and that the solicitor would be calling on him soon with more papers to sign.
‘We’d best have a bite of food as well,’ Ben said. ‘And then I must visit the works, call the pit captains together, and convince them that the strike must end.’
‘Don’t leave me behind, Ben. I want to come too. I want to see my family.’ Her voice was jerky, the events of the past hours suddenly too enormous to comprehend.
She bit her lip. Everything seemed unreal, and it was as though the family life she had once known belonged to someone else. Perhaps it did. She was no longer the same Morwen who had run wild across the moors with Celia Penry, hair flying, eyes glowing, dreaming of young men who would sweep them up in their arms and love them… love them… it was all a dream… and nothing ever stayed the same…
‘I can’t stop you,’ Ben said. ‘But I don’t anticipate a great welcome from the clayworkers until they’ve heard me out, and I’ve discovered that they’re none too keen on listening. They prefer action to words.’
He was polite, the strain telling on him too, and she knew that his thoughts were not solely with her. He had too much at stake, and he must be exhausted. He’d had so little sleep… Morwen pushed down her brief resentment. There would be time for themselves later… though she didn’t dare guess at the future. Not any more.
She couldn’t guess at how Ben was going to fulfil all his promises, but the solicitor had been so impressed with what Ben was telling him, that Morwen presumed all was well. She hadn’t realised he had such a business brain, and the figures quietly being discussed in the solicitor’s chambers were more staggering than she had ever dreamed about. It divi
ded them even more…
‘Your father will be anxious to know the town meeting went well,’ she said quickly, smothering the swift misery.
‘It went better than I expected,’ he admitted now, able to smile properly for the first time in a long while. It felt strange to smile, to think that at last he began to see daylight, as though at the end of a long dark tunnel. He had plans… and at last he was able to utilise those plans. He was no longer reliant on his father, no longer the courtesy figure at the works. Ben Killigrew was Killigrew Clay. It was a good and heady feeling, the feeling of power. And he had the substantial amount of ready money he’d won at the dice table last night. He had more than power…
They spoke little on the ride back to the house, and once there, Ben went immediately to see his father, while Morwen told the household staff what had been happening. They were agog, but when they knew that the young man with the forceful ways was taking charge, the fact wasn’t entirely unwelcome. A household without an able master was like a ship without its captain, and it was obvious to all that Charles Killigrew would never again be the man he was.
‘Can you serve us some food as quickly as possible, Mrs Horn?’ Morwen said, while they were digesting her words. ‘We have to be away again very soon.’
Cook looked at her keenly.
‘You mind and look after yourself, my dear,’ she said kindly. ‘You’m extra pale today, and ’tis all a strain on a young maid, the caring for a sick man, and attending town meetings, let alone the terrible sights at poor old Nott’s bakery last night! You take a rest after your meal, and let Mr Ben see to his own business. We’ll see to Mr Killigrew’s needs—’
Morwen shook her head almost feverishly.
‘Thank you, Mrs Horn, but I have to go to the clay works with – with Ben. My family is too much involved in all this for me to stay behind. I’d never be easy in my mind if I wasn’t there, but I’m grateful for your concern.’
She hurried out before the cook and housekeeper saw the shine of tears in her eyes at the rough kindness. When would there be an end to it all? When would there be time for dreaming again…?
‘Will you come and see Father for a few minutes, Morwen?’ she heard Ben’s voice. ‘He likes to see for himself that you’re still part of the household. You calm him better than anyone.’
She looked up to see him watching her from the top of the curving staircase, and composed herself. She mustn’t crack now. She intended being at the clay works today at Ben’s side, at her family’s side.
The thoughts were a muddle in her mind, and she gave up trying to sort them out, and went to sit with Charles for a short while until their meal was ready. Ben was right. There was a softening in the old man’s eyes whenever she was around. She held his hand, and told him gently what he must already know from Ben, that all had gone well, and that the townsfolk were reassured. She told him more. She told him how splendid Ben had been, how proud Charles would have been of him… the hand holding hers squeezed gently.
‘Were – you – proud?’ he asked in his quavering voice.
She felt her face grow warm. Yet what did it matter if Charles knew? Perhaps he already knew. He might lie here, as useless as a lump of his own untreated clay, but the brain was still active enough to think, to sense emotions, to guess at feelings…
‘I was proud,’ she said softly. ‘So proud of him!’
Impulsively, she leaned forward and did something she would never have dared do when Charles was strong and whole. She kissed his twisted cheek, her soft dark hair falling forward to tease his skin, the scent of her a swift delight to his nostrils. A small smile curved the good side of his mouth as she moved back in sudden embarrassment. He still held onto her hand.
‘You – and – Ben,’ he said weakly. ‘You – and – Ben.’
His eyes closed, and he had drifted off to sleep as he was wont to do without warning. Morwen looked down at him, and the stinging behind her eyelids again was a poignant pain. She left him sleeping, but his words echoed in her head like a sweetly recurring tune.
* * *
They left for the works in the late afternoon. This time they rode in the Killigrew trap, for the sky had darkened and a light rain had cooled the day. As they climbed the steep hillside towards the moors, the mist clung to the slopes in ghostly wisps, yet to Morwen there was nothing sinister about it.
This was familiarity. Behind her the grey huddle of St Austell town, and beyond that the distant sea; beneath the horse’s hooves was the spongy moorland, spangled with wild flowers that blossomed even in winter; the tangle of bracken, the fronds of yarrow, the glory of yellow gorse; humble cottages and lowlier hovels, with curls of smoke winding towards the sky from their chimneys; the few tall shafts of the tin mines, the more prosperous clay pits, with their milky pools and glittering sky-tips; the standing stones…
Morwen was suddenly aware that her breathing had quickened, and that Ben had called the horse to stop. He was watching her face, and slowly he leaned towards her, his arms around her in a protective circle, his mouth warming hers. Skin touching skin, breaths mingling; all the longing and the needing was instantly there, when Morwen had been so heartbreakingly afraid it would never happen again…
‘We’ll spare a little time for ourselves, Morwen,’ he said huskily. ‘And there’s only one place where I can tell you all that I want to say.’
She nodded wordlessly. Ben jerked the horse to a trotting pace, and the trap took them across the moors to where the Larnie Stone loomed up out of the mist. The rain still fell softly, but neither heeded it as Ben helped her down from the trap, and they moved towards the magical stone together.
Ben held her in his arms and bent to kiss her lips. They were in a perfect, silent world, enveloped in the gauzy half-light, oblivious to anything but each other for long, sweet moments. Moments stolen out of time…
‘You don’t know how jealous I felt when I thought it might be John Penry’s face you saw through the stone, my Morwen,’ Ben said, when he released her mouth at last, still holding her close. Morwen drew a shuddering breath.
‘And now he’s dead, and so is Celia,’ she said tremulously. ‘So much has changed since that night when we foolishly took old Zillah’s potion, Ben. John and his father crushed in that terrible accident, and Celia drowning. My brother and your cousin gone over the sea, your poor father so ill. Everything’s changed so since the spring—’
Ben tipped up her face to meet his.
‘Spring will come again, my darling, and few things stay the same. Only one thing – and that’s my love for you. Even that changes – it deepens with every hour, and that’s what I wanted to tell you, here at this trysting-place. I wanted you to be sure of it. I want you to marry me, Morwen.’ He suddenly held her even tighter, and his heartbeats drummed against hers. ‘Oh God, I love you so much it hurts. I can’t bear to think of anything else coming between us.’
‘I love you too, Ben!’ She said the sweet words, loving the sound of them, loving him. She was delirious with joy, and even a sudden sharp gust of cold wind that whipped her hair across their faces couldn’t spoil it. He held her for long moments before he led her back to the waiting trap and helped her inside it, his voice still husky with passion as he said that they were foolish to stand there in the rain, and at this rate they’d be going to a burying instead of a wedding!
His words dazzled her. He meant it. She knew he meant it, and yet she couldn’t think beyond the moment. Ben Killigrew wanted to marry her… and the fact would throw more cats among more pigeons than anything else that had happened. Ben Killigrew was now a boss, and bosses didn’t marry clayworkers’ daughters… but she wouldn’t think of that! She would only think that he loved her and wanted her for his wife, and it was the most beautiful thought of her entire existence.
They rode back towards the clay works, his arm still around her. It was as though the brief pause at the Larnie Stone had unleashed all the words they had been unable to say to one another all
these past weeks. Too many other happenings had kept them from themselves, but now at last the future beckoned, no longer something to fear…
* * *
Morwen didn’t notice the exact moment when Ben’s arm was no longer around her, or when his mood subtly changed. The nearer they got to the clay works, the quieter he became, and the more aware she was of the unusual number of men and boys about in the cold damp air.
Ones and twos became small groups and then larger ones. Some carried flaring torches as the daylight faded, and the mutterings among them when they realised who was in the smart trap became more menacing. There were shouts and accusations, a few bawdy remarks that made Morwen’s face flame, some vicious jibes, several stones thrown… they quickly became surrounded.
‘I see we’re too late,’ Ben said savagely. ‘News of a sort has obviously reached them before us. Damn their eyes. We should have got here sooner.’
Instead of diverting to the Larnie Stone. Instead of lingering closer to heaven than anything Morwen had known on this earth… she imagined the thought buzzing in Ben’s mind, and her stomach seemed to knot up inside her.
‘There’s my Daddy!’ She gasped out the words, as she saw Hal and her brothers near Number One works. She felt unutterable relief at seeing them, even though their faces looked so grim and set. Hal had decided they could no longer stay in the cottage waiting for nightfall, so nearly upon them now, and if any rally was to begin at Number One works as the others had decreed, then he must be there too, to try and drum some sense into their angry heads.
‘Sit still, Morwen,’ Ben ordered, as the men began ranting for their dues and giving no one a chance to speak. Hal pushed his way through them as Ben jerked the horse to a stop. He ignored Morwen as she shrank back in the trap. This was mens’ work.
‘’Tis well that you’ve come here,’ Hal said grimly. ‘We’re due explanations as well as our wages, and if there’d been any more delay, your offices in the town would have been fired.’
Killigrew Clay Page 28
