Taken to Heart

by Jane Jackson

  ‘Is that a hint of pride I hear?’ He wagged a chiding finger at her. ‘A sin against which we must be ever on our guard.’

  She inhaled slowly. ‘You are missing the point, William.’

  ‘Am I? I don’t think so. You have a talent for figures. Talents are a gift from God and, as the parable tells us—’

  ‘They should be used,’ Jenefer interrupted, failing to curb both her impatience and her tongue. ‘Which is exactly what I am doing.’

  ‘There are other ways,’ he said with quiet conviction. ‘Better ways. As a teacher for example.’

  ‘I already—’

  ‘Forgive me.’ He raised one hand, cutting her short. ‘This is not the time or place.’ His sudden grin was transforming. ‘I shall convince you, you know.’

  Trying to ignore her residual frustration Jenefer returned his smile. ‘Perhaps I will convince you. I perform a valuable service for village businesses, William. I say that not in pride, but as fact.’ Having made her point she would not labour it. ‘Still, as you say, this is not the time.’

  He cleared his throat and his flush deepened. ‘Will you permit me the honour of escorting you home?’

  ‘That is most kind. But I’m not going home. I have spent the morning indoors and feel in need of fresh air and exercise.’

  ‘Then I wish you an enjoyable afternoon.’ He hesitated. ‘When may I call on you? There are several parish matters we need to discuss.’

  Despite their differences she was fond of him. And, unlike most of the Overseers, he did not hold the poor responsible for their poverty. ‘Shall we say the end of next week?’

  Disappointment flitted across his face and was valiantly suppressed. ‘I shall look forward to it.’ Smiling, he bowed. ‘I daresay our paths will cross in the village. Good day, Jenefer.’

  She bobbed a curtsy. ‘William.’

  She walked briskly, trying to shake off conflicting emotions. He was a good man, a man of principle who lived by his beliefs. She accepted that. So why could he not accept her as she was? Why was he courting her at all? His constant gentle scolding – his accusations that in clinging to her work she was turning her back on God’s purpose – upset and confused her. She enjoyed her work and it benefited others. How could that be wrong?

  Dog roses and honeysuckle festooned the stone walls on either side of the entrance to Pednbrose. The wooden gate stood open for there was nothing left to protect. Grass grew through the lower bars. At the top of the short driveway she followed a flagged path patched with moss and lichen around to the front of the blackened ruins.

  What had once been a lawn now resembled a hayfield. Scarlet poppies nodded amid long grass. Beyond the bottom hedge and cliff path, the sea glittered like polished silver. A breeze sighed and whispered through trees on the hillside behind the property, their leaves just starting to turn yellow-gold, orange and brown.

  Jenefer reached the arched doorway that led into the walled garden. Seeing it as a stranger would, she noticed how badly the dark-green paint had cracked and peeled, revealing bare wood beneath. Lifting the rusting iron latch she opened the door.

  Within the tall stone walls the air was still, heavy, and much warmer. Instead of wind and sea she heard bees and birdsong, and inhaled the rich scent of warm earth and ripe fruit.

  Propping the door open with a large stone so he would know where to find her if he came, she followed weed-choked paths to the top right-hand corner. There, where west and south-facing walls joined, protected from wind and frost, a gnarled tree with large glossy leaves was heavy with greenish purple pear-shaped fruits the villagers called broad figs to distinguish them from raisins which, for reasons lost in the mists of time, they chose to call figs.

  When she had half-filled her basket with the ripest, she covered them with a folded cloth and moved towards the spreading twisted branches of the quince tree. Lack of feeding and pruning meant the crop wasn’t large, but there were enough vivid yellow fruits to fill her basket to the top.

  Each time she visited she was saddened by the worsening neglect. Until a few days ago Charles Polgray’s lack of interest in his inheritance had annoyed her. But his arrival signalled more far-reaching changes than she had envisaged or was ready for.

  Leaving The Standard, Charles nodded politely to people he passed, feeling their eyes on his back. Curiosity and suspicion were inevitable. He had to accept that. He didn’t have to like it.

  Fifteen minutes later he reached Pednbrose, walked round the front of the ruin and saw the wooden door propped open. He paused beneath the stone arch, surveying vegetable beds choked with crops left to rot and re-grow amid encroaching weeds. Clumps of yellow buttercups and patches of small white daisies had colonised the paths. Thistledown and dandelion seeds drifted on the warm air. But beneath the neglect was a large, protected, well-planned garden.

  Then he saw her. She was on the far side, her back to him as she picked fruit. He felt a tightening in his gut. Had he learned nothing? This was different. She was different. He watched as she raised one of the bright yellow quinces to her nose and inhaled its scent. Dropping it in the basket she lifted her face to the sun.

  At any moment she might turn and catch him watching. He cleared his throat to announce his presence. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Trevanion.’

  She whirled round. ‘Mr Polgray!’

  He shouldn’t have come. He needed her help. Deliberately deaf to the conflict raging inside him, he started forward.

  Her warm smile had the impact of a blow. ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘Think I’d come?’

  Shock and chagrin eclipsed her smile and, blushing, she looked away. He wished he hadn’t said it, hadn’t embarrassed her. Since leaving her after their ride from Trescowe he had been arguing with himself. Making use of her position and contacts in the village was justifiable as a sound business move. Wanting to spend time in her company, and thinking up ways he might achieve this, was not only inexcusable it was dangerous, and precisely the reason he should have sent his apologies. He knew that. Yet nothing would have kept him away. He had looked forward to it all morning, knew himself to be all kinds of fool, and felt ridiculously nervous.

  She lifted one shoulder, still not meeting his gaze. ‘No, what I intended to say—’

  ‘Before I so rudely interrupted.’

  ‘Was that I didn’t hear you arrive.’

  He gave her credit for a quick recovery, but knew he had guessed correctly.

  ‘Though had something prevented you from coming,’ she said carefully, ‘I would not have been too surprised. From the little you told me I can see yours is a very demanding life.’

  She had no idea. ‘So is yours,’ he replied. ‘Yet you came.’

  ‘That’s different. I had an additional reason.’ She held up the basket. ‘Of course, in law the fruit belongs to you.’

  ‘True,’ he agreed. He knew what she was doing. She had inadvertently revealed too much. Wanting her slip forgotten, she was deflecting him with a challenge. His uncertainty dissolved. At this moment there was nowhere he would rather be, and no one he would rather be with. As for the rest – to hell with it. ‘But if I give you retrospective permission, no crime has been committed. However—’

  ‘Let me guess. Your generosity has a price?’

  He felt a dart of admiration. ‘Mr Casvellan was right.’

  ‘He usually is. But about what in particular?’

  ‘That you have a shrewder grasp of finance than many men of his acquaintance.’

  Though she blushed, she held his gaze. ‘He flatters me.’

  Charles shook his head. ‘Unlikely. He struck me as a man of clear vision and forthright speech. But while I have no reason to doubt his opinion of you, I’m sure that as a woman of business you will understand I require proof.’

  ‘Naturally.’

  Seeing her soft lips compress to hold back a smile, Charles kept his expression solemn. But inside him pleasure leapt, bright and hot as a flame. She understood. ‘S
o in return for all the fruit you have rescued, my price – in full and final settlement – is two jars of quince jelly.’

  ‘Two?’

  ‘I’ll take another if you insist. I admit it’s a particular favourite of mine and one I enjoy all too rarely.’

  Her cheek dimpled as she tried not to laugh. ‘And I am expected to make it?’

  He looked down his nose at her, one dark brow lifting. ‘Of course.’

  ‘You drive a hard bargain, Mr Polgray.’

  ‘Do we have a deal?’ He extended his hand.

  ‘I should explain—’

  ‘Excuses already?’

  ‘No! It’s just I am not yet as proficient—’

  ‘Do we have a deal?’

  ‘Do I have a choice?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘Don’t ever complain that I didn’t warn you.’ With a mock glare she took his hand. But as their palms touched and his fingers closed around hers his breath caught. She had felt it too, for shock and vulnerability were naked on her face.

  Releasing her hand he pretended to survey the garden. He hadn’t expected— Too late. He risked a sidelong glance. Her head was bent over the basket, her eyes hidden by the brim of her bonnet. But the delicate nape of her neck and what little he could see of her face had flushed deep rose. His heart contracted. Tell her. He couldn’t. He had given his word.

  ‘I—’ His throat was dry, his voice a croak. He swallowed. ‘If you have all the fruit you need, will you show me the rest of the property?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ He read gratitude in her shy smile.

  He gestured for her to precede him along the narrow path. Walking close behind he caught a hint of her fragrance, something light and floral, summery. He forced himself to concentrate. ‘I met the curate on my way here. Has he been long in the village?’ The effort of keeping his tone casual made him sweat. He could only hope that if she noticed she would think it due to the heat.

  ‘Two years.’ She glanced back. ‘It has not been easy for him.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Doctor Trennack, our parish priest, introduced Mr Ince to the congregation at matins one Sunday morning. Within the month Mr Ince found himself solely responsible for the parish’s spiritual welfare. I suppose I should not say so—’

  ‘Indeed you should,’ Charles urged. ‘It is only right and proper that I know the terrible truth.’ Guilt loosened its grip slightly as he saw the corners of her mouth tilt upward.

  ‘If you insist.’

  ‘I do,’ he stated.

  ‘Well, the truth is that Dr Trennack has always preferred his books to his parishioners. Which meant that lacking the guidance he should have expected from his mentor, William – Mr Ince’ – she corrected quickly, ‘had to find his own way. Fortunately he learned fast and soon settled into village life. Because he was so obviously sincere, the village made allowances for some of his more’ – she hesitated, clearly seeking the right word − ‘progressive ideas.’

  ‘Is he a particular friend of yours?’ Driven by jealousy to ask, Charles wished he hadn’t.

  ‘We are friends, yes,’ Jenefer replied. ‘I help at the school he set up for the village children – those who are not tutored at home or sent away to board.’

  ‘But?’

  She threw up a hand, blushing. ‘Really, Mr Polgray. You are quite the inquisitor.’

  ‘Forgive me. It is force of habit. When I take on a new project I try to find out as much as possible about the area and the people with whom I’m likely to come into contact. Every detail adds colour to the overall picture.’ What he’d told her was the truth: just not all of it. He saw some of the tension leave her shoulders. ‘I assumed, when you agreed to assist me, that you would expect me to ask about the village and the people who live here.’

  ‘Yes, of course. It’s just— William has many good points. I would not want you to think otherwise. And I have the greatest admiration for him regarding his insistence that poor children are as deserving of education and a chance to better themselves as those from wealthy families.’

  ‘Some would call that heresy.’

  ‘Many did – do,’ Jenefer agreed. ‘Yet with patience and perseverance he got his way. Unfortunately, he shows less understanding regarding my business. He believes I should give it up.’ She caught her breath. ‘I beg your pardon. That was – I should not have said.…’

  ‘We made an agreement, did we not?’ he reminded. ‘Whatever we discussed was to remain between us?’

  ‘Yes, but … when you said that you were referring to the harbour project.’

  ‘True. But if the agreement is extended to cover all our conversations you need not feel constrained.’ He didn’t wait for her reply. ‘Tell me, do you consider your business to be less important than mine?’

  ‘No, not to me.’ There was pride in her voice, and her chin lifted. ‘Nor to those who are my clients.’

  ‘Then no apology is necessary. As for Mr Ince’s wishes, what are your thoughts on the matter?’

  She hesitated. ‘I’m sure he believes he has my best interests at heart. But were I to do as he asks I think – I fear – I would not be happy.’

  ‘Then you mustn’t.’

  ‘If only it were that simple,’ she murmured, walking on before he could respond.

  Kicking away the stone with his dusty boot, he pulled the wooden door closed and followed her, stopping in front of the burned-out shell.

  ‘What happened here?’ he asked quietly. ‘How did the fire start?’

  She returned to his side. ‘Two men broke in. They believed my father to be in possession of a hoard of gemstones brought back from India. What they didn’t know, and refused to believe when I told them, was that the stones had all been sold and the money used to buy free-trade cargoes. One of them had a gun and threatened to hurt my sister, so I shot him. I didn’t intend to,’ she added quickly. ‘He frightened me and the pistol just went off. The ball pierced his arm and he dropped the lantern. My father had spilled some brandy earlier in the evening and the candle rolled into it.’ Her voice faded to a whisper. ‘The flames spread so fast.’

  Though she was staring at the ruins he knew she wasn’t seeing blackened stone and charred wood. Her knuckles gleamed, bone-white as she clutched the basket’s handle, reliving the horror. The urge to put his arms around her and hold her close was overwhelming. It took every ounce of his strength to resist. He wanted to protect her, comfort her. He had no right. Instead, needing to touch, he laid his hand on her shoulder for a moment, then made himself step away. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘We tried, but.…’ She gave a brief helpless shrug. ‘My father died in the fire. At least Betsy and I got out.’

  A frown tightened his forehead. ‘But … I understood your sister is unable to walk.’

  She nodded. ‘I carried her on my back down the kitchen stairs. It’s funny,’ she went on, before he could respond, ‘I used to run up and down those stairs in seconds and think nothing of it. But that night, in the dark, with thick smoke making it hard to breathe and impossible to see despite the glow of the flames, it seemed to take forever.’

  ‘You lost everything?’

  ‘Almost.’ Her shoulder moved again. ‘Maggie – she was our housekeeper – helped me empty each of our closets onto the bed. We tied everything into bundles. Then we threw them out of the window. So at least we had clothes, sheets and blankets. But precious little else, apart from some old furniture, crockery and other bits that had been stored in one of the outhouses.’ Her quick smile was full of humour. It pierced his heart.

  ‘That junk furnished my cottage. And for my first job as a bookkeeper I asked to be paid half in cash, half in groceries. I learned how little I really needed in order to be comfortable.’ She glanced up at him. ‘If you remain long in Porthinnis, Mr Polgray, you are sure to make the acquaintance of the village’s well-to-do families. They will consider it their duty to warn you of Miss Trevanion’s peculiar ways.’ />
  Recognizing her wry tone as a façade behind which she hid the scars of that night, and those she had suffered since while trying to build her business, he knew she was one of the bravest people he had ever met. But this was not the time to tell her so.

  ‘Indeed?’ His features hardened. ‘I form my own opinions, Miss Trevanion, and have no need of others to do it for me. As they will learn.’ He relaxed and a smile tilted the corners of his mouth. ‘On our ride from Trescowe I asked you about houses to rent. Have you had time—?’

  ‘I haven’t, but Lizzie – my neighbour – was in the butchers and learned of two properties.’ Opening her purse Jenefer drew out a scrap of folded paper. ‘These are the addresses.’

  He shook his head. ‘It would take me far too long to find them by myself. Besides, you cannot have forgotten you promised me your assistance in return for a generous donation to your chosen charity.’ Her cheeks grew pink, but her gaze met his.

  ‘Forget such persuasion, Mr Polgray? How could I? I simply thought you might prefer to—’

  ‘Then you thought wrong.’ He wanted to offer his arm but resisted. Instead he took the basket from her. ‘Allow me. It looks – it is heavy. And before you tell me that you are used to carrying such weights, I have no doubt you are perfectly capable. But this afternoon it is my privilege. Do not deny me.’

  ‘You are a difficult man to refuse, Mr Polgray.’

  He smiled down at her. ‘I try.’

  Chapter Five

  ‘No, I’m afraid this will not do at all.’ Charles turned away from the elegant townhouse in the middle of a terrace two streets above the eastern side of the harbour. ‘It opens directly onto the road.’

  ‘Had you mentioned that proximity to the road was undesirable,’ Jenefer said, ‘I would not have brought you here.’

  ‘I like the house very well, but not its position. Do you know of another, perhaps with a small area or garden in front?’

  She shook her head. ‘This terrace was built during the reign of Queen Anne. It is the only one in the village.’