Killigrew Clay

by Killigrew Clay (retail) (epub)

  ‘It sounds strange and wonderful,’ she answered him in a breathless voice, her fingers curling more tightly around his. ‘I’ll be so proud to be your wife, Ben, to hold my head up high in the town—’

  ‘No more than me,’ he said huskily, because it was as though she had read his thoughts and given him the answer he wanted. She could wait too, because they had the rest of their lives to be together. Ben was confident that his father would welcome Morwen Tremayne as his daughter. He had looked on her that way for a long time now… but meanwhile they must tell no one but Charles Killigrew and Morwen’s family. Ben saw the sense of Hal’s words. The clayworkers had enough to take in for the present.

  * * *

  Six weeks later, the scene at Killigrew Clay works was very different from the barren silence of the strike. The old year had gone, and with it all the uncertainty, the anger, the hardship. Killigrew Clay was once again in full production. The clay waggons had taken their loads to Charlestown port, with more care than of old in view of the recent tragedy; at all the pits there was music in the familiar drone of the beam engines; the scraping of clay blocks; the rattling of the small trucks back and forth to the sky-tips; the good-natured banter of clay men and bal maidens and kiddley boys.

  There was the glow from the fire-hole and the heat from the kilns to warm the day; the welcome sight of digging out for the rail tracks, already under way as Ben Killigrew had promised, with great approval from the town. The clayworkers had their extra pennies jingling in their pockets every hand-out day, and though none particularly wished Charles Killigrew ill, all were agreed that it had been a good day when young Mr Ben took over.

  They even approved the way he’d elevated the Tremayne men so deservedly, and with more diplomacy than they knew. Ben had chosen his words with care the morning they had all returned to work, and slightly denigrated himself in favour of Hal Tremayne’s greater knowledge of the way the clay pits operated.

  ‘I know you won’t want a dunderhead squelching about the works,’ he’d said bluntly. ‘I think you’d much prefer one of your own to be giving direct orders when necessary. Do you approve of Hal Tremayne as my works manager, and Sam the new pit captain of Number One pit? If there are any sensible objections, let’s have them now, and we’ll talk them out.’

  There were none, nor any when Ben went on to say he’d be needing his new manager close at hand to the offices. Which was why he’d offered Hal and his family a house to rent near the town, and that Sam was free to take over the cottage if he wanted it. He made it all sound perfectly natural, and the clayworkers took it so. They were plain-speaking men, and appreciated a plain-speaking boss.

  After the talk was finished, Sam Tremayne’s eyes glinted with approval as Ben made to leave Number One pit.

  ‘Like I said, Ben, you’ve a way wi’ words. If you’ll tip me the wink when the time’s right for it, I’ll drop a few hints as to you and our Morwen, so it won’t come as such a shock to ’em – if ’twould be of use. They’ll take it better from me.’

  ‘I’ll do that, Sam, and I thank you for the suggestion,’ Ben smiled, knowing the two were on good terms at last.

  And in the end, the telling had gone smoothly. Sam discovered a diplomacy to rival his future brother-in-law’s, so that by the time the date for the second wedding was official, the clayworkers were saying belligerently that there was no reason why Morwen Tremayne shouldn’t marry Ben Killigrew. She was a fine maid, and good enough for any man, and Ben Killigrew should be thankful she’d accepted him…

  * * *

  The weeks had been busy ones. The Tremaynes had moved into the new house, and Bess looked nearly as young and lovely as her daughter with all the pleasure it gave her. Sam and Dora had spent some time at the cottage, changing it to their own taste, and playing make-believe wedded bliss until it became the real thing… there had been a letter from Matt to make Bess laugh and cry, but she couldn’t deny her wayward son his freedom, when he seemed to be so hopeful and happy, still certain that America was a golden land of opportunity, even if he was still with Jude Pascoe. The two of them had found work and lodgings at some great dock, and had seemingly settled.

  Charles Killigrew had improved dramatically, and Ben wondered uneasily if he was going to regret selling out to his son, but happily he did not. He was more than content to take a back seat now, under no illusions from Doctor Pender that if he resumed his old ways, the next attack might well be his last.

  And he had much to live for now. As he tried vainly to tidy his hair for the second, and most important wedding he’d been allowed to attend recently, Charles smiled with satisfaction at his reflection in the mirror. Thank God his speech was intelligible again, and he was no longer the gargoyle he’d hated so much. He was still Charles Killigrew, if only the figurehead now of Killigrew Clay, and he could still appreciate his son’s lovely bride, and envy him a little…

  ‘Ready, Father?’ Ben came into the bedroom, and Charles sighed through his smile, remembering the vigorous young sprig he himself had once been. It was like seeing his own youthful image as Ben stood beside him… but today wasn’t a day for wishful dreams. He looked quizzically at his son and shook his head slowly as a thought occurred to him.

  ‘I wonder why you wasted all that money in buying me out, Ben. Killigrew Clay would all have been yours one day—’

  Ben laughed. ‘I know. But I may never have felt it was really mine the way I do now, Father, with the same pride in ownership. The clayworkers sense the way I feel too, and that’s worth as much to me as any inheritance.’

  Charles smiled more thoughtfully. ‘You’ve really grown up, my boy. It’s a longer journey than people realise to grow from a child to a man.’

  Ben helped Charles to his feet.

  ‘But you’ll admit I was right to choose my own wife, Father? You wouldn’t want anyone else for me but Morwen?’

  ‘Would it have done any good if I had?’ Charles said dryly.

  ‘None at all!’

  ‘Good. For she’s the only one to match you,’ he chuckled.

  * * *

  The words remained in Ben’s head as they drove to Penwithick church. They could have chosen a more imposing church, but this was Morwen’s choice, and he was in complete agreement with it. This was where they had first pledged themselves; where Celia had been brought for burying; where it was peaceful and cool and a fitting place for a man to wed the woman he loved, without pomp and with the simplest ceremony, their loved ones around them.

  Ben turned as the rustling among the congregation told him Morwen had arrived. He turned, his throat full with love and pride as she walked slowly with her father to stand beside him. She was ethereally beautiful in a pale coloured dress, a posy on her head and carrying a sheaf of wild flowers. On anyone else it might have seemed humble trappings. On Morwen it looked spectacularly beautiful by its simplicity. Her long lustrous black hair framed her lovely face, her eyes seeing only him, love glowing in them as she took his hand, and the preacher began the words that would bind them together for all time.

  From then on, the day became a haze for them both. The exchange of vows, the kiss to seal the marriage, smiles and tears and happiness spilling over… leaving the sheaf of wild flowers in the churchyard for Celia… the jaunt back to the the new Tremayne house in traps and carriages, to exclaim over Bess’s homemaking and the fine spread she had laid on for her daughter’s wedding. No Killigrew spread this, but homely fare, baked lovingly by the bride’s mother, as tradition decreed.

  There were few guests outside the family. Hannah Pascoe had been sent a courtesy invitation and declined, to everyone’s relief. Doctor Pender attended, and escorted Charles home afterwards, so the newly married couple could travel back alone.

  It seemed but a minute, it seemed like years, before Ben and Morwen were at last leaving her family’s house with their good wishes echoing behind them. By now it was late in the evening, and as the carriage rumbled through the wide gates of Killigrew H
ouse, Morwen looked at the large mellow stone building as though she saw it for the first time.

  No longer in awe of it, but seeing a friendly, welcoming house, lights shining behind the gleaming, faceted windows. Home from this day on… she had lived there for some while, but never in the same capacity. Never as Ben Killigrew’s wife…

  They went straight to the new bedroom specially prepared for them, where a fire burned welcomingly in the hearth. Ben threw off his topcoat and gently untied the strings of Morwen’s soft woollen cloak before he took her in his arms.

  ‘Welcome home, Morwen Killigrew,’ he said softly. ‘It’s time to stop laying ghosts.’

  She laughed, tipping her face towards him. He could always read her mind…

  ‘Even if they’re comfortable ghosts?’ she said huskily.

  He drew her close. ‘Ghosts are of the past, darling. I prefer to look ahead to our life together, and in time to some adorable babies to delight us both and appease my father. You know he won’t be easy in his mind until he sees the future of Killigrew Clay assured by his grandson, don’t you?’ he added teasingly.

  She loved him too much to be embarrassed.

  ‘And when do you propose to begin all this?’ Daringly, she teased him back, her eyes glowing in the firelight, her mouth a promise of desire, her arms holding him, wanting him…

  Ben scooped her up in his arms. She could feel the maleness in him and the arrogance that had the power to thrill and excite her. He lay her on the new wide bed and began to slowly unfasten the buttons on the wedding dress, pausing between each one to kiss her nose, her mouth, her throat; and then his lips followed the trail of soft white flesh his fingers exposed. She heard the raggedness of his breathing, and knew that the time for teasing was over.

  ‘God, I love you so much,’ he murmured against the sweet warmth of her. ‘So much—’

  ‘And I you, Ben,’ Morwen whispered. ‘So much. I never knew such love existed until now.’

  Somehow Ben discarded his clothing, not wanting to let her go for a moment, as though even now she might be an illusion, a dream he’d imagined for so long… but now at last he lay with her, his body covering hers, and she was real. She was here in his arms, she was part of him, and he of her… there was nothing else in the world but the sweet tingling joy of belonging, of knowing that pleasure was given and received in equal measure, in love that was limitless… and time ceased to have meaning for them as physical love for each other took them to the height of all sensation.

  ‘I’ve wanted you like this, my Morwen,’ Ben whispered against her mouth. ‘I’ve ached to fall asleep with you beside me, and to wake up with you still next to me, and to know that we’ll always belong together.’

  ‘You and I have always belonged, Ben. I’ve known it in the heart of me, even if I haven’t always admitted it. We can’t deny what’s destined for us.’

  He looked into her lovely face, the face of love that only he would see, and saw the sudden exquisite change of expression as his seed flowed into her. They were truly one in those moments, and together they would begin a new dynasty. She clung to him, and there were no more words.

  Next in The Cornish Clay Sagas:

  Clay Country

  Clay Country, the second in the Cornish Clay series, is an emotional saga of love, pain and family, perfect for fans of Katie Flynn, Rosie Goodwin and Maureen Lee

  Find out more

  First published in Great Britain in 1986 by Severn House Publishers Ltd

  This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by

  Canelo Digital Publishing Limited

  57 Shepherds Lane

  Beaconsfield, Bucks HP9 2DU

  United Kingdom

  Copyright © Rowena Summers, 1986

  The moral right of Rowena Summers to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781788634670

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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