by Jane Jackson
Cupping her elbow he guided her towards the door. ‘It was less an offer than a statement of intent. As for talking to people, I shall have plenty of opportunity during the months ahead. But tonight they will be happier talking to each other.’
He was right. Beaming, George handed over Jenefer’s cloak, waiting until Charles had placed it about her shoulders before proffering his hat. A coin changed hands and George’s smile widened as he raised a gnarled hand to his forehead.
‘Thank ’ee kindly, sir. ’Night, Miss Trevanion.’
After the heat generated by the press of bodies and scores of candles flickering in their holders around the walls, the night air was sharp, cool, and fresh. As she took a deep breath and waited for her eyes to adjust, Charles drew her hand through his arm. She felt hard muscle beneath the fine cloth of his black coat. They set off down the road. She glanced skyward and saw stars playing hide-and-seek behind ragged clouds.
They walked through the alley, down the cobbled yard and stopped at her door. With everyone at the dance all the cottages were in darkness. Somewhere in the trees at the top end of the gardens an owl hooted mournfully. Reluctantly she withdrew her arm from his. As she did so he caught her hand.
She felt the pressure of his thumb on her knuckles. He was standing so close she could feel his breath feathering her cheek. She wanted – she wanted this evening not to end. He talked to her as no other man ever had. His touch aroused delicious sensations, and stirred emotions that were new and intoxicating.
Painful memories loomed at the back of her mind, warning her to be wary. But this powerful attraction, this depth of feeling, demanded she leave such fears in the past where they belonged.
She raised her face but it was too dark to see his expression. It was late. He had escorted her home, now propriety demanded they part. But they had spent the entire evening in company. He had told her so little of what had transpired in Truro and she wanted so much to hear more.
‘W-would you—?’ she began, about to offer him a cup of tea, when his head came down and his lips brushed hers, once, then again, the touch silk-soft. Her breath stopped and she stood utterly still. He made a sound deep in his throat, as if he were in pain. But before she could speak, his mouth covered hers once more. His lips were warm and exquisitely gentle, his kiss cherishing and so achingly tender that her eyes stung and tears clogged her throat. The world tilted and she gripped his arm to stop herself from falling.
He raised his head and her lips felt bereft. ‘Oh God, Jenefer.’ His voice sounded hoarse and strained. ‘I—’
She covered his mouth with her fingertips. ‘If you are about to apologize, I wish you will not.’ Her voice was unsteady. ‘I should be sad to think you regretted—’
‘I don’t. I should, but I don’t.’ Grasping her forearms he stepped back, deliberately putting space between them. ‘Go in now.’ Leaning past her he opened the door. ‘Please. Go inside. When I hear you bolt it I will know you are safe.’
As he strode down the deserted street, the sounds of revelry drifting faintly on the air, he could still taste the sweetness of her lips. He should not have kissed her. But he had wanted to ever since meeting her in the walled garden.
The more time he spent with her, the more he realized how rare she was, how special. They had known each other only a few short weeks, yet there was an affinity, an understanding between them that did not need words. It was there in the depths of her gaze, in her smile. He had never imagined such a thing possible between a man and woman. Aware of her losses, her suffering, he felt a powerful need to protect her. Yet he was the greatest threat to her happiness.
Chapter Fifteen
Waking early, Charles had summoned his valet. Shaved, washed and dressed, he was anxious to start the day. But knowing it would be both long and demanding, he made a hearty breakfast of cold roast beef and buttered bread followed by two cups of strong coffee.
He stepped out into a grey chilly morning. The long balmy days of summer were now a fading memory. As he walked briskly down to the harbour the sky was just beginning to lighten above a dark and restless sea. Falling leaves were tossed and swirled by the breeze. More crunched beneath his boots.
He reached one end of the back quay just as Cyrus Keat approached from the other.
‘’Morning, sir.’ Keat touched the brim of his hat.
‘Good morning, Mr Keat. I appreciate your promptness. When did you arrive in the village? Yesterday?’
Keat shook his head. ‘Don’t travel on a Sunday, sir. I come down on Saturday and stopped overnight at the Three Mackerel. I asked about lodgings and the landlord directed me to Mrs Passmore backlong.’ He jerked a thumb over his shoulder towards the road. ‘Very pleasant woman.’
‘I hope you’ll be comfortable there.’
‘Sure I shall be, sir.’
‘When we talked at The Bull, I gave you an idea of what the project entailed. Would a written list of jobs be useful to you?’
‘I’ll take one if you want, sir, but I don’t need it.’ He tapped his temple. ‘’Tis all here.’
‘As you wish. However, since we spoke there has been a development concerning the cement.’
‘Parker’s can’t supply? Don’t fret, sir, I haven’t got the second sight,’ Keat said straight-faced. ‘I already heard they got the contract to supply the docks at Bristol and Southampton.’
‘So I was informed in their letter. As a result they can only supply a quarter of what we need. Nor can they deliver for three weeks.’
Keat shrugged philosophically. ‘Better’n nothing, I s’pose. Where you going to get the rest? From Morton’s?’
‘I’ve ordered five hundredweight, to try. Have you used it?’
Keat shook his head. ‘No. But ’tis plain as day they’re hoping to take some of Parker’s trade, and they’ll have to be good to do that.’
Charles nodded. ‘If it proves satisfactory I’ll double our order.’
‘So, what d’you want done first?’ Keat asked, as they walked to the edge of the quay and looked out past the harbour entrance.
‘As soon as we have working parties organized and one gang clearing the waste ground, I want the leading marks put in place to indicate the position of the mole. If we begin construction at the end nearest Pednbrose headland,’ − Charles pointed − ‘the poles can be sited on the seaward side of the property. Those for the quay extension can be sited on the south-west side.’
Keat nodded. ‘I’ll get both sets in place today. I took the liberty of arranging hire of a horse and cart for two days to carry away all the rubbish.’ He nodded towards the waste ground.
‘Hired from where?’
‘Hammill’s farm. Mrs Passmore is a cousin to Mrs Hammill. I sent the boy from next door round with a note promising payment at the end of the two days.’
‘I applaud your foresight, Mr Keat.’
‘’Tis what you’re paying me for.’
Hearing voices and the tramp of boots, Charles looked round and saw men streaming onto the quay from all directions. But it was Jenefer Trevanion who caught and held his attention. Walking ahead of the men, she looked neat and elegant in a short dark-green jacket over a gown of pale primrose, and a simple but fetching hat. Then he noticed her shoes. Instead of fashionable kid slippers coloured to match her gown, she wore neat, practical brown lace-up boots. He found this almost unbearably touching.
As she drew closer the colour in her cheeks, stemming perhaps from her walk or the chilly air, deepened from pale pink to rose. But she met his gaze directly as she dropped a curtsy.
‘Good morning, Mr Polgray.’
Charles bowed. ‘Good morning, Miss Trevanion. Permit me to introduce Mr Keat, my clerk of works.’ As Jenefer inclined her head in polite acknowledgement, Charles turned to Keat, noting the crease between his brows. He did not blame the man for wondering what this lovely young woman was doing on the quay at daybreak. In his clerk’s place he too would have been curious, and irritated at the appa
rent distraction.
‘Recently, Mr Keat, I hurt my wrist in a fall.’ Adjusting his right cuff, feeling the bandage beneath, Charles tried to ignore the nagging ache. Controlling his spirited horse during the long ride to Truro and back had aggravated the injury. Though it was frustrating, it also provided a legitimate reason to seek Jenefer’s continued help.
‘Since then Miss Trevanion has managed all correspondence and administration relating to the project. As a bookkeeper for many local businesses and acquainted with everyone in the village, her understanding of finance and her local knowledge have proved to be of immense value.’ Pleasantly stated it was nonetheless a clear warning.
Keat nodded again, his gaze flicking briefly between them, and Charles knew he had made his point.
‘Mr Keat,’ Jenefer smiled, ‘I understand from Mr Polgray that you are a man of considerable experience. Naturally you will have your preferred way of doing things, but if I can be of help you have only to ask.’
He studied her for a moment. ‘Who’s the best carpenter in the village?’
‘Eddy Barnicoat, if you can get him,’ she replied promptly. ‘His workshop is just down the street from Tresidder’s shop. He is well liked in the village. But more important from your point of view, he has a reputation for good work, fairly priced and completed on time.’
‘Much obliged.’ Keat touched his cap again, and this time Charles glimpsed respect.
Glancing into Jenefer’s basket, he saw a new ledger and several pencils. Catching her eye he silently arched one brow.
‘It occurred to me – you will need a list of names. For the wages book?’
‘Of course.’ He should have known she would come prepared. Again his heart gave a peculiar stutter. Why could he not have met her a year ago? Before he fell into the trap so artfully laid for him by Eve and her mother? ‘No ink-pot and pens?’
She met his gentle irony with a droll look. ‘No desk or writing slope. It will take but a few minutes to ink the names in later.’
He held her gaze for a moment. Long enough, he hoped, for her to read his gratitude and so much more he was not free to say. As her lashes fluttered down he turned to face the gathered men, waiting until they fell silent.
‘Good morning. Let me introduce Mr Keat. As clerk of works he will oversee all practical aspects of the project, and will be on site at all times. Though we shall need tradesmen, much of the work is straightforward labour.’
From her vantage point Jenefer was able to see the expectancy, feel the hope.
‘The first task for the road gang’ − Charles gestured towards the site − ‘is to get rid of all the rubbish and debris. Mr Keat has already hired a horse and cart to carry it away for disposal. Next, the furze, heather and bracken must be cut down and burned. After the width of the roadbed has been measured and marked, the turf will be stripped and drainage ditches dug on either side. The spoil from the ditches is to be piled in the middle then tamped, shaped and rolled to a camber. A hundred and fifty tons of two-inch granite stones have been ordered and will be arriving by sea. These will be evenly spread to a depth of nine inches.’
He turned to Jenefer. ‘Where will it be most convenient for you to take the names?’
She had already thought about this and indicated a small stone building on the corner between the eastern and back quays. ‘The fishermen’s hut.’ Though closed, the wooden double doors were never locked. Inside there was a table and several chairs where the old fishermen gathered to smoke their pipes, share a tot of spirits and chat. They usually wandered down around mid-morning. She would be finished long before then.
‘Miss Trevanion will be in the fishermen’s hut. Give her your name for the wages book, then tell Mr Keat your trade if you have one. He will organize the working parties. I want the road ready for use in seven weeks, and the new quay completed in twelve.’
Jolted by his words, Jenefer made her way through the crowd. Charles’s voice followed.
‘I won’t tolerate bullying, and any man not pulling his weight will be instantly dismissed. If you have a grievance tell Mr Keat. If he cannot resolve it I will be informed. Any questions?’
‘What about after, when the road’s done?’ someone asked.
‘There will still be work on the new quay and the mole. And when they are completed the increase in cargo traffic will provide jobs for all those who want them. Are there any miners here? Men familiar with timber-work?’ Half-a-dozen hands went up. ‘As soon as Miss Trevanion has taken your names, meet me at the end of the quay.’ He turned to his aide. ‘They are all yours, Mr Keat.’
It was his straightforward manner, Jenefer realized as she took out the ledger and opened it on the stained and rickety table, which made him so valuable to K&P. That surely was the reason he, and no one else, was dispatched to solve problems and settle disputes. But with the project completed he would move on to wherever the company needed him. She wouldn’t think about that. Work had only just started. At the dance he had said completion would take six months. But now he was talking about half that. It was hardly any time at all.
‘Quiet!’ Keat roared, silencing the buzz of conversation. ‘How many of you own an axe, saw, billhook, shovel or wheelbarrow?’ A forest of hands went up. ‘Bring them back with you after dinner.’
Jenefer scribbled names, addresses and trades as fast as she could. Her writing deteriorated and her hand cramped. But she pressed on, anxious not to delay the work or keep the clerk waiting. As the last man hurried away she closed the ledger and flexed her aching fingers.
Rubbish collected from the waste ground was fast forming a growing pile. A large high-sided farm cart drawn by a sturdy brown horse with fringed plate-sized hoofs clattered onto the quay. She recognized the driver as one of the Hammills’ grandsons. As Cyrus Keat went to speak to the lad, Jenefer looked for Charles. Seeing him on the western quay gesturing as he explained something to the group of miners, she returned the ledger to her basket and left the harbour. He knew where to find her.
Late that afternoon, Jenefer walked down to Hannah’s shop to collect the money for the next free-trade cargo. Though there was no one else in the shop Hannah leaned over the counter and she pushed the purse across, and lowered her voice. ‘Now you know I aren’t one to pry.’
Swallowing a rising bubble of laughter, Jenefer fastened her teeth on the soft flesh inside her lower lip. There wasn’t a man or woman living in the village more curious about other people’s lives. But because they knew Hannah wasn’t malicious, few minded. Indeed, if it was necessary to circulate news or enlist help for a village function, people simply told Hannah. She made it her mission to inform everyone who entered the shop.
‘But?’ Jenefer teased gently, arching her brows.
‘But ’tis all over the village that you been helping mister, writing letters for ’n and suchlike, because of his bad hand.’
‘Is it?’
Hannah nodded. ‘And who better? If it wasn’t for you taking on our accounts when Percy was so bad with his chest, well, I don’t know what I’d have done, and that’s God’s truth.’
Reaching across the counter Jenefer patted Hannah’s arm. ‘You were my first client. Do you remember? I had no money and asked you to pay me in groceries?’
Hannah clapped her hands to her cheeks. ‘I aren’t likely to forget. I feel awful about that.’
‘There’s no need. I was delighted. As for my helping Mr Polgray being all over the village, I can’t say I’m surprised. But surely people have more important things to—’
‘More important than hoping for a love match? ’Tis plain as day the two of you are well-suited.’
As she felt telltale warmth in her cheeks, Jenefer knew denial would only make her look coy and simpering. It would also be a waste of breath. They were well suited. She was as certain of that as she was of her own name. Yet regarding his intentions she was as much in the dark as everyone else. Deflecting twin darts of hurt and anxiety, she forced a smile. ‘Why, Han
nah. You’re quite a romantic at heart.’
‘Nothing wrong with that.’ Hannah’s face softened. ‘I remember when Percy used to come courting me. He even wrote me a poem once. Four lines it was and they rhymed lovely. I’ve still got ’n in a drawer upstairs. The paper have broke all along the folds. But it don’t matter.’ She patted the crisp white kerchief swathing her from throat to waist. ‘Every word is writ on my heart.’
‘Oh, Hannah.’ Jenefer was surprised and touched.
Hannah clicked her tongue. ‘Dear life! Hark at me going on. You didn’t come in for that.’
Sensing her embarrassment Jenefer quickly changed the subject. ‘How is Percy’s cough?’
‘Nearly gone. Good job too. I couldn’t have took much more of it. But that there mixture Mrs Casvellan sent down for ’n worked a treat. He been feeling so much better he walked down to the harbour this morning to see what’s going on.’ Hannah rolled her eyes. ‘Him and half the village. Still who can blame ’em? I reck’n mister is the best thing to happen to this village in years. Once that new quay is finished and there’s more ships coming and going, life will be better for everyone.’
‘I hope so, Hannah.’
‘’Course it will. You just wait and see.’
Walking home, Jenefer hoped the rest of the village shared Hannah’s feelings. As for the rumours, had Charles heard them? Very much his own man and valuing his privacy he would not enjoy being the subject of gossip. Yet he must be aware that the two of them working together made it inevitable. She knew he was not indifferent to her. So why did he not say something?
She chided herself for her self-absorption. This was his first solo venture: a heavy responsibility and hugely important to him. There would be time enough to talk of more personal matters. When? Once the work was finished, what then? He would leave.
All her concerns about marriage and her fear of losing her independence flooded back to mock her. How ironic that just as those fears had begun to fade and her feelings for Charles Polgray were growing deeper and stronger every day, with his time here limited, the chance of anything permanent between them seemed ever more unlikely. Was that why he had not declared himself, or made promises he would be unable to keep?
