Taken to Heart

by Jane Jackson

  Draining his coffee cup, Charles rose from the table and left the dining room. As soon as the afternoon post had arrived he would return to the harbour. As he crossed the hall pounding hoofs skidded to a halt on the gravel outside. Waving the approaching manservant away, he opened the front door as the rider ran up the steps already reaching for the knocker.

  ‘Steven!’

  ‘Thank God you’re here.’ The lawyer removed his hat and wiped his perspiring forehead with a crumpled handkerchief. ‘Where can we talk?’

  ‘Follow me.’ Charles led the way into the sitting room and closed the door. ‘My dear fellow—’

  ‘I have bad news. Barton’s bank has failed.’

  Charles felt the blood drain from his face. For an instant the world went black and he gripped the back of an armchair to steady himself. ‘How much have we lost?’

  ‘Only the money from K&P that you paid into the new company account.’

  ‘But – the draft from Ralph Daniell—’

  ‘Is safe.’

  As relief coursed through him, Charles tugged a bell rope. ‘Ale or brandy?’

  ‘Ale, if you please. I’m parched.’

  ‘Take off your coat and have a seat.’ The door opened. ‘A jug of ale, if you please, John. See that Mr Vincent’s horse is given water, then pack me an overnight bag.’ The servant left, closing the door quietly. Tossing his greatcoat over a chair, Steven sank onto a sofa. ‘Tell me what you know,’ Charles said.

  ‘In truth, I didn’t know anything until this morning when my clerk ran in to tell me there was a notice on Barton’s door announcing the bank was closed. I’d been hearing the odd rumour about his son—’

  ‘What kind of rumour?’

  ‘That he had bought into a flooded copper mine anticipating a resurgence in the market. It was a shrewd move, especially as the Anglesea copper trade has collapsed and the Cornish market is rising. By all accounts the mine contains high-grade ore. But the cost of pumping out and restoring the machinery was higher than expected. He needed more money.’

  ‘So who better to ask than his father who owns a bank?’ Charles said bitterly.

  Steven nodded, falling silent as the manservant entered carrying a tray.

  ‘Thank you, John,’ Charles said.

  Placing the tray on a side table, the servant bowed. ‘Your bag is packed, sir. I’ll saddle your horse at once.’ He closed the door quietly.

  Charles poured ale and took it to his friend.

  ‘Anyway,’ Steven continued. ‘I made a few discreet enquiries, and discovered that several of Barton’s customers were complaining about what they perceived as unnecessary delays in being able to withdraw money from their accounts. There could have been a simple explanation. But something didn’t feel right. So I decided not to deposit the draft until I found out more.’

  ‘I’m grateful for your caution.’

  Steven raised the tankard in salute. ‘Your very good health.’ He downed half.

  ‘Give me a moment to tell my housekeeper,’ Charles said, ‘and I’ll return with you to Helston. My first task is to open a new account for the Porthinnis Harbour Company with another bank and deposit Daniell’s draft. I need to have money available to settle accounts and pay wages.’

  ‘Charles, the loss of this money means—’

  ‘I know,’ Charles broke in grimly. ‘There won’t be enough to complete the project.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘What I must. I’ll have to ask Samson for additional funds.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  As she walked up the road towards Kegwyn, Jenefer felt her pulse quicken in anticipation of seeing Charles. Pausing at the gate she looked back at the harbour. The sea was pewter-grey, the sun a white disc sinking in a pearly sky. Far to the west a low line of cloud bubbled like boiling milk.

  Gangs were unloading cargo, barrowing stone to be tipped onto the growing piles ready to be spread as soon as the roadbed was ready. More men laboured on the quay extension: erecting the next pair of piles, sawing planks and cross members for the corresponding section of deck. She could see a small boat tied to one of the piles, tipping concrete. Out beyond the harbour entrance a brig was anchored a short distance from the headland beneath Pednbrose and men were heaving huge lumps of granite overboard to form the base of the mole.

  Without warning, and for no reason she could think of, unease slithered down her spine. She brushed it aside. Everything was going according to plan. She breathed deeply as pride and pleasure expanded inside her. Charles was responsible for all this: for bringing work and a prosperous future to the village. Mr Keat too was proving invaluable.

  As she crossed the gravel she noticed some deep gouges and wondered what Harry had been dragging across it. Climbing the steps she tapped three times with the knocker.

  Cora Eustace opened the door. ‘Afternoon, Miss Trevanion. I’m afraid mister isn’t here. A gentleman arrived here just after two. In some rush he was: skidded his horse all across the gravel. Harry was afeared the poor thing was going nose over tail. Anyway, John come into the kitchen saying he had to fetch a jug of ale then saddle mister’s horse.’

  ‘John?’ Jenefer had not recommended anyone of that name.

  ‘John Noall, mister’s own valet. Now he’ve come, Abel Caddy have gone back to Trescowe. Anyhow, couldn’t have been no more’n twenty minutes later, mister and this gentleman rode off in some great rush. Mister had an overnight bag with ’n and I had no chance to ask when he’d be home again. But just before he went he did say that if you come by I was to ask you very kindly to pay the wages and he’d see you when he got back. Want to leave that, do you?’ She nodded at the folder of letters Jenefer was holding. ‘I’ll put ’n on the bureau, and he’ll see it the minute he go in.’

  ‘Thank you, Cora.’ She handed over the folder and bade the housekeeper good afternoon. As she retraced her steps, Jenefer wondered what could have taken him away in such a hurry. It had to be a matter of great urgency.

  As the doubts caused by his reticence crowded back, she fought them hard. If the passion in his kisses were not enough to convince her of what he felt, she had only to remember his parting words while standing in her kitchen: You are everything to me. Everything.

  Her heart still skipped a beat every time she recalled the sound of his voice and the look in his eyes. Why then would he not commit himself? They had come so far since their initial wariness. She recalled the way he had pressed her into helping him find a house; his interest in her business; their discussions about the project; and underlying it all, deep, powerful, undeniable attraction.

  But in truth she knew little about him. He had spoken briefly of his childhood and of his work abroad. But courtesy would not allow her to press when he steered conversation away from personal matters. She knew she was valuable to him regarding the harbour project and he had always been generous in his gratitude. He had kissed her with a sweetness that had brought tears to her eyes, and a passion that had stirred her to the depths of her soul, leaving her weak, breathless, and aching for more. Trust me, he’d said. She would, she must.

  As the clerk withdrew and the two men bowed politely, Charles was relieved to have found Samson in his office and was thus spared having to call on him at home. He had no quarrel with Susan. But he was glad to avoid any risk of meeting Eve or her mother.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to see you, Charles. Take a seat.’ Samson lowered himself into a high-backed chair behind his desk. ‘Have you heard the news about Barton’s?’ He shook his head. ‘A bad business, very bad.’

  Placing his hat and gloves on a side table, Charles sat, crossing one leg over the other. The moment his gaze had met Samson’s he had noted a barely suppressed excitement that warned of trouble. He waited, apparently relaxed. But behind the façade he was wary.

  ‘Mind you,’ Samson continued as if sharing a confidence, ‘I began having doubts about Edward Barton weeks ago. The man looked ill.’

  Charles recalle
d Barton’s pallor when he had visited the banker’s office to set up the new company account.

  ‘I knew his son had bought into a copper mine,’ Samson went on. ‘A good move, considering the price of Cornish ore has doubled in recent months. But then I started hearing rumours about spiralling costs and no money to meet them. Next thing I learn is that Edward Barton has put money into the venture. But I happen to know he lost much of his personal fortune in the copper crash. So where, I asked myself, had he obtained funds to invest? I had a bad feeling. What if Barton was propping up his son’s venture using clients’ money? Of course, I could have been wrong. But I wasn’t willing to take that chance. So I closed Kerrow & Polgray’s account and transferred our business to the Helston branch of Praed’s Cornish Bank. Just in time as it turned out.’

  Charles brushed dust from his thigh as he fought to control his fury. Samson had willingly, deliberately, forfeited K&P’s investment in the Porthinnis Harbour Company. When he spoke his voice was flat calm. ‘It didn’t occur to you to warn me?’

  ‘My dear fellow.’ Samson spread his hands. ‘How could I? You weren’t at home, so how was I to know where you were?’

  ‘You could have informed my attorney. You know his address well enough.’ Charles took a calming breath. There was nothing to be gained by pursuing it. ‘No matter. Your decision was indeed shrewd and timely. The fact that K&P has not suffered financially from Barton’s collapse is excellent news. I was less fortunate as the funds K&P invested in the Porthinnis Harbour expansion were lost.’

  ‘And you have come here to beg for more.’

  Charles resented Samson’s phrasing and his manner, but knowing it was deliberate he refused to bite and merely nodded.

  ‘I have opened a new company account at Praed’s with a banker’s draft for eight thousand from Ralph Daniell. But that won’t be enough. Work has begun on a new road, the quay extension and the mole, and we are making good progress. But to complete the project, the funds lost to Barton’s must be replaced.’

  ‘Of course I’ll help you,’ Samson said. ‘On one condition.’ Sitting back in his chair he regarded Charles over his steepled fingers. ‘You must install a manager at Porthinnis and return home.’

  Home? What home? It cost Charles every ounce of will power he possessed to remain seated. Cold rage made him tremble inside, but his voice was rock steady, his tone scathing. ‘Have you no shame? Such a demand is disgraceful. It is emotional blackmail. The bank’s failure and resulting loss of company money are entirely a business matter. They have no connection to my personal life.’

  A dull flush stained Samson’s cheeks, but his gaze did not falter. ‘Your continued absence is causing gossip, and soon that will reflect on the company. Eve is restless and unhappy. Her mother is terrified the truth will come out. If it does, the scandal will dash any hope for Susan’s future prospects.’

  ‘I am not responsible for Eve’s situation, nor answerable for her behaviour. Both are a direct result of indulgence by you and her mother. Nor will I delegate responsibility for a project of such importance and financial benefit both to the company and the village.’

  Samson’s mouth thinned and he raised his chin. ‘That is my condition.’

  Charles rose to his feet. ‘To hell with you. Tomorrow I ride to Bodmin to appear at the Archdeaconry Court. My marriage to your daughter will be annulled. As far as the harbour expansion is concerned, I withdraw my request. I shall raise the necessary funds myself.’

  Jenefer pushed her dinner plate aside and turned the page of the Sherborne Mercury and General Advertiser. She scanned the latest news of the war reprinted from the London Gazette, then her gaze skipped over announcements of a Turnpike Trustees meeting, an advertisement for remarkable cures for cancers, and another for the sale of a brewery and malthouse.

  Conscious of the work still awaiting her attention, and hearing the postman’s voice as he greeted Ernestine, she was about to close the newspaper when her gaze was caught by the heading BARTON’S BANK.

  The notice was small, a few lines only, announcing the bank’s failure. Horror gripped her as she read on: an investigation had begun and Barton’s clients were advised to contact solicitors whose address was given below. Barton’s was the bank in which Charles had placed the funds for the harbour development.

  ‘Letter for you, Miss Trevanion,’ the postman called through the open door.

  ‘One moment.’ Fetching her purse she paid him, and her heart lurched as she recognized Charles’s writing. Hastily she broke the seal and unfolded the sheet.

  Forgive my scrawl but I write in haste to inform you of the failure of Barton’s Bank. Let me reassure you that though some funds were lost, the main part, namely the draft from Ralph Daniell, is safely deposited with Praed’s. Though inconvenient, the loss will not jeopardize the project. However, dealing with the repercussions will keep me away a while longer. I apologize for the burden my absence will place on you. But I have the utmost confidence in your ability to liaise with Mr Keat and keep the work moving forward. I will tell you everything on my return.

  Ever yours, Charles.

  Closing her eyes, Jenefer pressed the letter to her heart, thrilled by his trust and belief in her. After reading it again she refolded it and tucked it into the dresser drawer, then put on her coat and bonnet and hurried down to the harbour to inform Mr Keat that Charles would be away a little longer, and to ask if he had everything he needed.

  The archdeacon, his black garb a stark contrast to his white wig and florid complexion, sat in an ornately carved high-backed chair befitting his status as the bishop’s representative in matters of ecclesiastical law. In front of him a table held several leather-bound volumes with gold lettering on their broad spines. Below the dais two clerks sat behind smaller tables containing ledgers, paper and writing materials. Their tables, one on either side of the dais, were angled so they could easily see both the Archdeacon and the petitioner’s lectern at which Charles now stood. It was clear their function was to take detailed notes of the hearing and record the archdeacon’s decision.

  Arriving at the old Franciscan friary that housed not only the Archdeaconry Court which specialized in matters relating to wills, marriage and legitimacy, but also an additional courtroom and a house of corrections, he had waited for almost an hour in a large anteroom thronged with people. Some had sat silently on chairs against the wall and stared at the floor. Others, alone or in family groups listened with anxious expressions to black-suited men he assumed were lawyers. Eventually he had been summoned and guided in by a clerk. After taking his place at the lectern he had waited while the archdeacon scanned some papers. Then he looked up.

  ‘I will hear your petition, Mr Polgray.’

  ‘Sir, I request that my marriage be annulled on the grounds of fraud and deception. When Eve Kerrow married me she was already with child by another man. Her mother colluded with her to ensure I was kept ignorant of the situation. In support of my petition I have submitted to you a letter from Dr Edmonds, the Kerrows’ family physician, which states that on the date of his examination, June 14th, the pregnancy was by his estimation at least three months advanced. I have included a certified copy of the entry in church records of the date of my marriage to Eve Kerrow dated 24th May, plus notarized statements from four witnesses that prove I was not in England when the child was conceived.’ Charles’s hand touched the breast of his coat beneath which he had placed the folded documents. ‘I have additional copies should you require them.’

  One of the clerks rose from his seat, carried a large black Bible across to Charles and set it in front of him on the lectern.

  ‘Place your right hand on the Holy Bible.’ Charles did so. ‘Do you solemnly swear that all the information you have given this court is true?’

  ‘I do so swear,’ Charles declared, his voice strong and clear.

  Remaining beside him, the clerk turned to face the archdeacon while his colleague’s pen scratched in the silence.

&
nbsp; ‘You may go, Mr Polgray.’ The archdeacon nodded dismissal. ‘I shall inform you of my decision in due course.’

  About to protest, to demand – plead – he be told now, Charles felt the clerk’s hand grip his elbow with strength surprising in one who appeared thin and somewhat frail, and was ushered out of the court.

  ‘Wouldn’t have done any good, sir,’ the clerk said quietly. ‘The archdeacon takes his responsibilities very seriously. Even when all the criteria have been fulfilled and a nullity decree is inevitable he never tells the petitioner so during the hearing.’

  ‘If I were to stay in Bodmin tonight, might I be able to collect the decree tomorrow?’

  ‘With respect, sir, the court generates a vast amount of paperwork. The matters dealt with and the decisions made here reflect on the bishop and the church. Procedures must be followed. All this takes time. And, again with the greatest respect, sir, yours is only one of a long list of petitions to be heard during this session.’

  ‘Of course.’ Charles reached inside his coat for money. ‘I understand, and am more than happy to recompense you for any inconvenience.’ Whatever it cost would be money well spent if it meant he could return to Porthinnis with the annulment in his pocket.

  ‘No, sir.’ The clerk put out a hand, forestalling him. ‘You don’t understand. The archdeacon is a most able gentleman, and I consider it a privilege to have clerked for him this past twenty years. But he deals with matters in a particular order. In all the time I have known him that order has remained unchanged. I’m sorry, sir.’

  ‘My apologies. I intended no offence.’

  ‘I take none, sir.’ The clerk was too discreet to offer commiserations, but there was sympathy in his gaze.

  Charles slapped his hat against his thigh as frustration and disappointment boiled over. ‘What was the point of summoning me here? Why make me ride all this way for an appearance that lasted less than five minutes?’