Taken to Heart

by Jane Jackson

  ‘So Prowse is not entrusted with money?’

  Jenefer shook her head. ‘No, because—’

  ‘The villagers’ cargo has been paid for in advance.’ Charles nodded. ‘So what does he get out of it?’

  ‘A fee for the use of his boat for one run a month.’

  ‘Who pays that?’

  ‘I do. I charge each person one per cent of their profit to look after their accounts.’

  A quick smile of appreciation crossed face. ‘So those who make the most pay the most.’

  She nodded. ‘The boat fee comes out of that. What?’ she said as he shook his head and a wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth.

  ‘Don’t you see? You’re privy to the financial affairs of half the village and entrusted with large sums of money. You pay him what he no doubt considers a paltry amount while he takes all the risks. I’ll lay odds he has been unable to find a merchant willing to let him have goods without payment of a sizeable deposit, or at least a letter of guarantee. Seeing other smugglers making large amounts of money is increasing his resentment. He’s looking for someone to blame. Your success would be reason enough. That you are a young and’ – colour stained his cheeks but his gaze remained steady − ‘a very beautiful woman adds insult to injury as far as he is concerned. You live alone which makes you an easy target. That is why I ask you to be on your guard.’

  As her heart tripped on a beat then raced to catch up, Jenefer clasped her hands tightly in her lap. ‘Thank you. F–for the warning,’ she added quickly in case he thought she was thanking him for his compliment. He had called her beautiful. No one had ever done that.

  He cleared his throat. ‘Regarding my request for help,’ − he adjusted the sling supporting his bandaged hand − ‘I think that by offering payment I may have offended you. If so, I apologize. But should you agree to help me, and I very much hope that you will, the work is certain to encroach on what little spare time you have. I could not ask that of you without offering recompense.’

  ‘I am not offended,’ she replied truthfully. ‘And my hesitation was in no way due to reluctance. I was simply wondering how to rearrange my current work.’ To confess her hope that he had asked her as a friend while payment implied a business arrangement, would only embarrass them both. ‘I should very much enjoy assisting you. To learn how such a project is organized will be fascinating.’ Could he tell she hadn’t been entirely candid with him? Had he seen her flinch before she looked away?

  He inclined his head. ‘My apologies for the misunderstanding. However, much as I appreciate your generous offer I cannot accept it. I do want your help. Indeed, there is no one I would rather—’ He stopped abruptly and looked away. Then his gaze returned to hers in a silence filled with questions.

  When he spoke his voice was harder, more determined. ‘However I will not take advantage. I must pay you. Do what you like with the money.’ He gestured with his free hand. ‘Give it to the poor if you wish. But I will have my way in this.’

  He must pay her. Did he fear being in her debt? Was he determined to keep their dealings impersonal? Yet if that was so, why had he cut himself short? He had called her beautiful.

  ‘Miss Trevanion?’

  To argue with him was not only futile, it would be ungracious. ‘You may have your way. I will say no more on the subject, except’ – as his chin rose and he started to frown, she smiled − ‘thank you.’

  ‘The debt and gratitude are mine.’ With a brief nod that declared the matter settled he leaned back in the armchair. ‘The sooner I find a house, the more convenient it will be for both of us. I can hardly ask you to come to my room at The Standard. Nor is it convenient to work here.’

  Jenefer eyed him, her voice deceptively quiet. ‘I manage very well.’

  ‘I meant no criticism of your arrangements,’ he said quickly. ‘But I see you find it necessary to leave the door open to ensure sufficient light. Also, would I be right in thinking your neighbours interpret the open door as an invitation?’

  She couldn’t deny it.

  He lowered his voice. ‘You remember I asked you to treat any discussion between us concerning the harbour as confidential?’

  Shock made her heart quicken. ‘I have not said a word—’

  ‘Of course you haven’t.’ His mild impatience was strangely reassuring. ‘Nor was I suggesting otherwise. But how can we expect to maintain that secrecy if the open door allows anyone passing to overhear our conversation?’

  He was right.

  The sound of quick footsteps on the flags outside made them both turn.

  Chapter Nine

  Rapping knuckles on the door were a mere formality overlaid by Lizzie’s voice. ‘I tell you, miss, I’ll swing for that Annie Rollason one of these days. Just see if I— Oh!’ She stopped in the doorway, her bristling anger forgotten as one hand flew to her cheek.

  ‘Oh my Lor’. I’m some sorry. Miss, if I’d known I never would’ve—’

  Charles caught her eye, one dark brow lifting, and Jenefer conceded quietly, ‘Your point is made.’ She turned to her neighbour. ‘It’s all right, Lizzie. You remember Mr Polgray?’

  Lizzie nodded, curiosity overtaking her embarrassment. ‘’Course I do.’ Turning to Charles she bobbed a curtsy. ‘Lovely morning, isn’t it?’ Then she registered the sling. ‘Dear life! Whatever happened to you?’

  ‘Lizzie,’ Jenefer interrupted quietly. ‘Was there something you wanted to see me about?’

  ‘It’ll keep.’ She turned to Charles. ‘I aren’t being nosy, mister, but word is you’re looking for a house to rent? Be interested in Mr Trembath’s place, would you?’

  Charles glanced at Jenefer. ‘I have no idea. Would I?’

  They both turned to Lizzie and Jenefer asked, ‘Is that the one on the far side of the harbour?’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘Above the Judas heaps.’

  ‘Judas heaps?’ Charles enquired.

  ‘Dangerous rocks running from the shore out to sea,’ Jenefer explained.

  ‘House is called Kegwyn,’ Lizzie said. ‘’Tis named for the hawthorn blossom that covers the hedges every spring. Lovely ’tis. Look just like snow. Matthew Trembath inherited the place when his father passed on. He’s a mine engineer, lost his wife and baby three months back, poor soul. Anyhow, he’ve gone out to South America. Peru, or some such place. I heard about it while I was in the butcher’s. ’T is being let furnished, and Mr Rollason have got the key.’

  Charles rose to his feet. ‘I am most grateful to you, Mrs Clemmow. I should certainly like to visit the house. I’ll go and request the key from Mr Rollason.’ He turned to Jenefer. ‘Would you be so kind as to accompany me to view the property, Miss Trevanion? I’ll need staff and would appreciate your advice.’

  Walking with him to the door Jenefer wanted to say she’d be delighted. Instead, while butterflies danced in her stomach and confusion reigned in her head, she matched his formality with a polite nod. ‘Of course.’

  ‘I should be no more than twenty minutes.’

  As his footsteps receded she returned to the table.

  ‘Honest, miss,’ − Lizzie wrung her hands − ‘I’m awful sorry bursting in like that.’

  ‘It’s all right, Lizzie. Truly.’ Slotting the list Louise Laity had given her into one of the ledgers, Jenefer closed them both and gathered the letters into a neat pile. ‘What has happened to upset you?’

  ‘Annie Rollason.’ Lizzie’s voice shook with renewed anger. ‘Got some spiteful tongue on her, she have. Going on about all the benefits me, Sam and Billo get because of you living next door.’ Lizzie’s anger dissolved into distress. ‘I don’t need she nor anyone else to tell me how much we owe you.’

  Grasping Lizzie’s shoulders Jenefer shook her gently. ‘Stop that at once. If there is a debt, it’s mine. Without you to cook my meals and do my washing and ironing, I could never have developed my business. Nor could I continue to run it efficiently, for there are not enough hours in the day for me to do everythi
ng myself. Our arrangement is a private matter that suits us both and has Sam’s blessing. It’s none of Annie’s business, which I’m sure she knows. The truth of the matter is that Annie is jealous.’

  Sniffing back tears, Lizzie wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron. ‘I know I shouldn’t take it to heart.’

  Jenefer slid an arm around Lizzie’s shoulders. ‘No, you shouldn’t. But that is easy to say and hard to do. If Annie really is upsetting you, the quickest way to stop her is to offer sympathy for her unhappiness.’

  ‘What have she got to be unhappy about?’

  Jenefer shrugged. ‘How would I know?’

  Lizzie thought it over. ‘Tell her I feel sorry for her?’ As Jenefer nodded, a grin spread slowly across Lizzie’s face. ‘Oh yes. She’d hate that, Annie would. She ’ve always fancied herself special. She used to tell the rest of us that she would marry up and have a proper house with a girl to do the heavy work and a maid who would look after her clothes and dress her hair in the latest fashion. Harry Rollason’s a good man and a hard worker, but he isn’t what she had in mind. Though truth be told, she was lucky to get ’n. He must have some patience, that’s all I can say. I s’pose she picked up her grand notions from Mrs Gillis.’

  ‘Mrs Gillis? Tamara’s mother?’

  Lizzie nodded. ‘Didn’t you know Annie and Mrs Gillis is cousins?’

  Jenefer shook her head. ‘Though I don’t know why I’m surprised. Half the village appears to be related either by blood or marriage.’

  Taking a deep breath Lizzie straightened her back and smoothed her apron. ‘I won’t go looking for trouble. But next time she start I’ll have her. Cut her off at the knees I will.’ Emphazising her determination with an abrupt nod she blew out a breath. ‘Here, miss, I was just thinking. After you’ve looked at the house, how don’t you invite mister back for dinner? Nothing against Esther, she cook a nice roast at The Standard, but with mister’s arm in that there sling he’ll feel some fool if he got to have his food cut up for ’n.’

  ‘I don’t know, Lizzie.’ The idea was all too appealing. ‘Someone in my position—’

  ‘There isn’t no one else in this village in your position,’ Lizzie pointed out.

  ‘Exactly. Which is why I need to be very careful about—’

  ‘What people think? You know as well as I do, you could live like a saint – which you do, near enough – and there’d still be gossip. People will think what they want. So how don’t you please yourself for once? Mister have got a nice way with ’n. And he must like you else he wouldn’t have come calling.’

  If only. Berating herself for wishful thinking, Jenefer moved round the table and squared up the already tidy papers. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Lizzie. He came because his injury means he can’t write and he needs help with correspondence.’ There is no one I would rather— What? Ask for help? That was most probably what he had intended to say. He knew she had business and financial experience, and understood the importance of confidentiality. He simply needed someone he could trust. That was all. So why hadn’t he said so? He had called her beautiful.

  ‘He did? Well, there you are. You’ll have plenty to talk about. Go on, you ask ’n. Do you good to have a bit of company. If he got other things to do he can always say no. You get yourself ready. I’m going in and do extra veg.’

  Jenefer waited for Charles to close the gate, then walked beside him towards the house. Long and low, it was built of stone with a slate roof and a pillared porch that protected the front door. He followed a flagged path round the side. Multi-paned sash windows gleamed in the sunshine and fragrant honeysuckle scrambled up the stonework to arch over French doors that opened onto wide shallow steps and an area of grass in need of a scythe.

  He stood for a moment then turned in a slow circle, surveying the property and the view. ‘This is it,’ he stated with quiet conviction. ‘This is the house I want.’

  Startled, Jenefer looked at him. ‘Might it not be wiser to wait until after you have seen inside before deciding?’

  ‘I will not change my mind.’

  Her amusement was tinged with frustration and, she had to admit, a little envy, for the house was delightfully situated, and the wide windows would let in so much light. She thought of her little cottage with its single kitchen window and the ever-open door. ‘Then why, when you clearly have no need of my opinion, did you insist on me coming?’

  ‘For the pleasure of your company,’ he replied, his gaze on the house.

  On two sides of the property trees provided shelter and privacy. Glossy green holly offered rich dark contrast to the autumn russet and gold of sycamore, elm and ash. The lawn stretched the full width of the house and sloped gently towards to an overgrown hedge. At one end a single Stone pine, with its distinctive forked trunk and broad canopy, stood sentinel. At the other, a small gate was barely visible amid the overgrown sloe and hawthorn bushes. Beckoning her to follow he set off towards it.

  Beyond the gate a path ran along the cliff top above narrow coves where waves foamed against jagged black rock, and golden-brown weed ebbed and flowed in the clear water.

  As she reached him he said, ‘Do smugglers use the path or coves?’

  ‘I have no idea.’ His brows rose and he shot her a dry look. ‘Mr Polgray, I act as agent for a merchant and keep accounts for the villagers. I take no part in the trade myself.’

  He eyed her again then looked out to sea. ‘You are too modest, Miss Trevanion.’

  ‘I’m not sure what you mean.’

  He turned to face her. ‘It is my understanding that you hold a position of great trust.’

  ‘Well, yes, but—’

  ‘That aside, you have lived in the village all your life. You must know at least some of the routes and hiding places.’ She nodded. ‘And they are – where? Trust me, Miss Trevanion. I have a reason for asking.’

  Trust me. His arrival signalled change for the village. Maybe it was an opportunity for her as well. Perhaps it was time she stopped fearing change and embraced it instead. But to do that she would have to release the past and lower her protective barriers. ‘I’m aware of paths and tracks leading from coves along the coast from Pednbrose. I have also heard mention of hiding places in barns and wells, in caves, the church bell tower, and certain cellars. But—’

  ‘To the best of your knowledge has any part of this property ever been used in connection with smuggling?’

  Jenefer shook her head. ‘No.’

  ‘You’re certain?’

  ‘I am. The rocks off-shore make this side of the harbour and village too dangerous.’

  He smiled. ‘Thank you. That was my only reservation. You have laid it to rest. Now, let us look inside.’ They returned to the front door and he inserted the key. The door opened silently on well-oiled hinges.

  In the spacious hall she inhaled, testing the air for the sweet mustiness of damp or decay. But all she could smell was beeswax and a hint of lavender. She followed him into the drawing room. The carpet had been rolled up to expose a varnished wood floor. The furniture was draped in Holland covers. Lifting the latches on the shutters he folded them back one at a time. The room faced south and sunlight streamed in, reminding her of Pednbrose when her mother was alive and Betsy could walk and the family held a position of prominence in the village.

  She blinked stinging eyes. Then one shrouded shape caught her attention.

  He walked round the room and paused in the doorway. ‘I’ll take a look upstairs.’

  Distracted, she gave him a brief smile. After a moment’s hesitation when he seemed about to speak, then changed his mind, he left. Alone in the room she lifted the cloth. The pretty walnut-veneered spinet looked similar to the one on which her mother had taught her to play.

  But as she raised the lid she saw an immediate difference. On her mother’s the keys had been made of wood. These were ebony and bone. Had it been a gift from Matthew Trembath to his wife? Or an heirloom, inherited from one or other of their famili
es? Had Mrs Trembath sat in this sun-filled room, perhaps playing for an hour each afternoon while she looked forward to the birth of her baby? Now she was dead and he had gone to South America. How fragile life was: how swiftly joyful anticipation could shatter into tragedy.

  She glanced toward the doorway then, unable to resist, drew out the brocade-covered stool. Sitting down she began tentatively to play a Bach minuet.

  As her fingers moved over the keys she recalled her mother playing this same piece, and was suddenly rocked by a sense of loss. Dwelling on what had gone achieved nothing. Nor did wallowing in self-pity. For the past three years she had combated loneliness by keeping busy. But work was no longer enough. Shaking her head to dispel tears that blurred her vision, she switched in mid-phrase to a frivolous air. But lack of practice tripped her fingers and after the third missed note she sighed and gave up. His voice from the doorway made her jump.

  ‘That was pretty.’

  Quickly she closed the lid, tucked the stool away and pulled the cloth cover into place, embarrassed by her poor playing. How long had he been watching? ‘Either you have no ear for music, or you are being kind.’

  ‘You do me an injustice,’ he said mildly. ‘I have an excellent ear. And I am not in the habit of saying things I don’t mean.’

  Shame burned. ‘I beg your pardon. That was unforgivably rude.’ She forced a cheerful smile, fearing the desolation she had glimpsed and wanting it banished. ‘So, is the rest of the house to your liking?’

  ‘I have yet to see the domestic quarters. Would you come with me? You will know better than I what may be required.’

  At the far end of the hall Jenefer opened the door into a spacious kitchen. A large window let in plenty of light. The cavernous open hearth had been swept clean. Fire irons, brandis and bellows were neatly placed side by side. An enormous table occupied the centre of the flagged floor with wooden benches tucked underneath and an armchair at each end. Plates, dishes and cooking pots filled two long shelves. A flour hutch and saltbox stood near the hearth where warmth would keep them dry and free of mould.