Taken to Heart

by Jane Jackson

  ‘The archdeacon is a shrewd man, sir,’ the clerk said, guiding him along a stone-flagged passage towards a massive oak door that stood open. Outside the sun shone; in the passage the light subdued, the air cold. ‘And one of great experience. Your manner and conduct will have told him as much as the papers you submitted. May I suggest you go on home?’

  ‘Please, you must have some idea. How long—?’

  ‘Depending on the weather and the state of the roads, a week at most. It may be less.’

  Hiding his devastation, Charles made a brief formal bow. ‘I’m obliged to you.’ Replacing his hat he left, pulling the brim low over eyes that burned. He had pinned all his hopes on returning to Porthinnis a free man, his marriage dissolved as if it had never existed. Now he faced more waiting. Still weary from the previous day’s long ride, the shocking news of Barton’s collapse and his unpleasant scene with Samson, he considered staying in Bodmin another night and calling on the clerk again in the morning. But he could not afford the time.

  He returned to the inn where he had passed the previous night. He had slept little. Now he must move forward. The hearing was over and with luck he would receive the decree within a week. In the crowded dining room he ate steak pie washed down with ale. Then strapping his bag to the back of the saddle, he mounted his horse for the long ride back. Before he reached Porthinnis, he needed to have thought of a means of raising the additional funds.

  After several days had passed with no further news, Jenefer wrote a note to Charles asking him to call on her when convenient. Needing a break from paperwork, and wanting a walk and some fresh air, she decided to carry the note up to Kegwyn herself, intending to leave it with Cora. But when the door was opened in response to her knock, Cora’s harassed expression broke into a smile.

  ‘Miss Trevanion! Come in, come in. Mister got back not ten minutes since. He was asking if you’d been round. I told ’n about the letters you brung.’

  ‘I won’t stay.’ Jenefer had to force the words out, so great was her desire to see him. ‘If he has just returned he will have much to do—’

  ‘He’ll be some mad if—’ Cora began.

  ‘Indeed, I will,’ Charles said.

  As the housekeeper turned, Jenefer saw him approaching down the hall. As he came forward into the light, her heart went out to him. His face was drawn and haggard. His boots were muddy, his fawn breeches and dark green coat were streaked with dust, and his hat had left a red mark across his forehead.

  ‘You look exhausted,’ she said softly, the words out before she realized. Catching herself, she offered him the note. ‘Really, I won’t stay. I simply wanted to leave this for you—’

  ‘A moment, if you please,’ he interrupted her and turned to the housekeeper. ‘A tray of tea, Mrs Eustace?’

  ‘I’ll bring ’n to the sitting room, shall I, sir?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Cora bobbed, smiled at Jenefer then bustled back to the kitchen.

  Charles stood aside and gestured for her to enter. ‘Humour me,’ he said as she hesitated. ‘I’m tired and thirsty. I have been hours in the saddle. But now I am home, and you are here, and I want to hear what is in your note from your own lips.’ His gaze dipped to her mouth and her lips tingled as if he had kissed them. Her breath stopped in her throat as he raised his eyes to hers. ‘Please?’

  She stepped inside and he closed the front door, then opened the sitting-room door and stood back for her to pass. Crossing to the spinet he opened the lid and beckoned her over.

  ‘While I make myself presentable, will you play something? This house has been too long without music.’ He backed towards the door. ‘I will be but a few minutes.’ Leaving it ajar, he disappeared, and Jenefer heard him take the stairs two at a time.

  She smiled to herself. Her reluctance had been genuine. He did look desperately tired. But his determination that she should stay for a while was balm to her troubled soul. Laying the note on top of the spinet, she drew out the stool and sat down. Resting her fingers lightly on the keyboard, she thought for a moment then began to play a sonata by Thomas Arne. She followed that with two pieces by Purcell, glancing up as Cora carried in a laden tray and set it on a low table.

  ‘Don’t you stop,’ Cora said. ‘Sound lovely, it do.’ She went out leaving the door ajar, and returned moments later with a plate of buttered scones and another of squares of hevva cake.

  Jenefer was halfway through a Bach minuet when Charles returned. She stopped playing. His hair was damp and neatly brushed and he had changed his clothes for cream pantaloons tucked into glossy hessian boots, a dark blue coat and a fresh neckcloth. He came to stand by the spinet, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched her.

  ‘Please, finish it. You play—’

  ‘Very ill.’ She smiled up at him. Her fingers trembled and she struck a wrong note. ‘You see?’ She closed the lid and stood up. He indicated a sofa by the low table containing the tea tray. She sat, and watched him fold into an armchair, his knees so close to hers that they almost touched. He had washed off the dust and grime of the journey, but not his exhaustion. Barton’s collapse must have hit him hard.

  He smiled at her. ‘Will you pour?’

  She did as he asked, aware of him watching, and feeling her throat and face grow warm. When she had placed the saucer in front of him he lifted the cup, raising it slightly in salute, then drank deeply. ‘So, tell me what is in your note.’

  Jenefer cradled her cup, resting her hands on her lap so their tremor was less noticeable. ‘Hannah wanted to know if there was any connection between the failure of Barton’s Bank and your absence from the village. It’s possible she could have made the connection on her own, but I think it more likely she overheard others discussing the possibility. As the most important thing was – is – to maintain confidence in the harbour expansion, I told her that Ralph Daniell of the Cornish Bank in Truro is a major investor in the scheme. I also reminded her of his golden reputation as a shrewd businessman and his nickname of guinea-a-minute. I said that though Barton’s collapse was tragic for everyone involved, it would have no impact on Porthinnis or the project.’ She raised the cup to her lips, heard it clatter against her teeth, felt the hot liquid soothe her dry throat and warm her tense stomach then lowered the cup once more.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind. I realize I took a lot upon myself. But it seemed to me that what mattered most was to maintain confidence. And that meant stopping the rumours and quashing any doubts.’

  ‘Mind?’ He shook his head. ‘I could not have done better myself. In fact, had I been here I would have done exactly the same.’

  Pleasure swelled like a bubble inside her. She felt light enough to float. She glanced up at him, saw a muscle jump in his jaw, and set her cup on its saucer.

  ‘Charles, you are exhausted. I want to hear your news. I have looked forward so much to your return. But right now you need—’

  ‘I need you to tell me what is in your note.’

  ‘Very well. It – I – I have a business proposal to put to you.’

  He gestured for her to continue.

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘I want to make you a loan to replace what you lost at Barton’s on the same terms as your agreement with Kerrow & Polgray.’ She paused to take a breath, growing hot under his intent gaze. ‘From my point of view it’s an excellent investment. The project is sound. And I like the idea of my money working for the good of the village.’ She jumped as he left his chair and strode to the window, clasping his arms across his body as he stared out.

  She stayed where she was. Despite his utter stillness, once again she sensed a violent battle raging inside him. ‘I didn’t actually write all that. My note merely asked you to call on me whenever it was convenient as I had a business proposal to discuss with you. But as I’m here, I thought—’

  He did not move. She wondered if he had even heard her.

  ‘Charles?’

  He turned. The light w
as behind him, his face in shadow.

  ‘I don’t know.…’ His voice cracked.

  ‘How to thank me?’ she teased, wanting him to respond in kind. Something was preying on him. Of course it was. The expansion of Porthinnis harbour was entirely his responsibility and he had just lost a sizeable amount of money earmarked for wages and materials. ‘I neither seek nor desire thanks. As an investment opportunity it speaks for itself. So if you were about to turn me down,’ she hurried on, ‘please don’t. Unless – have you found an alternative source of funds?’

  He released a deep sigh. ‘Since my attorney arrived with the news I have been exploring alternatives. I applied to K&P for further funds, but the terms demanded were unacceptable. So without your investment the development is at risk.’

  She went to him, clutched his arm. ‘You can’t let that happen,’ she said fiercely. ‘The village needs it.’

  ‘I need it,’ he said quietly, laying his hand over hers. ‘And I accept your offer. There are no words to express my gratitude.’

  Jenefer laid her fingertips lightly against his mouth. ‘Then don’t try. I have no need of it.’ Her gaze searched his: saw hunger that matched her own, heat that burned her skin and turned her liquid inside. ‘I missed you,’ she whispered.

  Catching her hand he pressed warm lips to her palm, then held it against his beard-roughened jaw. ‘And I you. More than you will ever know.’

  Knuckles rapped politely on the door. Kissing her palm once more, Charles released her hand and Jenefer moved away.

  ‘Come,’ he called, remaining by the window.

  The door opened and Cora entered. ‘Beg pardon, sir, but Mr Casvellan’s here—’

  ‘No doubt the two of you have much to discuss,’ Jenefer said, quickly collecting her bonnet and gloves. ‘So I will leave you now.’

  ‘My most grateful thanks, Miss Trevanion.’ His eyes offered her more, much more. Then he turned to Cora. ‘Please show Mr Casvellan in.’

  Jenefer met Casvellan on the threshold and dropped a neat curtsy.

  ‘Good afternoon, Miss Trevanion.’ Casvellan bowed, then his mouth curved. ‘My wife tells me you were of great assistance at the happy event last week.’

  ‘She flatters me,’ Jenefer laughed. ‘But it was a wonderful and deeply moving experience. Good day to you both.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Casvellan declined Charles’s offer of refreshment, but lowered himself onto the sofa where so recently Jenefer had sat. ‘I am on my way home and will not detain you long. The reason for my visit is threefold. Firstly, to say how impressed I am, not only with the speed of progress on the various parts of the development, but with the quality of work.’

  Charles acknowledged the compliment with a nod. ‘I must share the credit with my clerk of works. Cyrus Keat was recently employed on a harbour development in north Cornwall. Familiar with this type of work, he has proved invaluable.’

  ‘My second reason,’ Casvellan paused, glancing away for a moment as if ordering his thoughts. When he looked up his gaze was level and penetrating. ‘You will appreciate, Mr Polgray, that during my years as a justice I acquired a wide and varied circle of acquaintance. Thus I am sometimes privy to information not generally known.’

  Charles’s mouth dried, but he held Casvellan’s gaze, hoping his features betrayed nothing of the sick dread stirring inside him.

  ‘For example, it has come to my attention that your new company suffered a significant loss when Barton’s failed. Yet by some miracle Kerrow & Polgray lost nothing, having most fortuitously transferred all company finance to another bank.’

  Charles had to use his tongue to free his upper lip from his front teeth. He adjusted the cuff of his left sleeve. ‘That is correct.’

  ‘I assume you applied to Samson Kerrow for further investment?’

  ‘I did. But without success.’

  ‘Surely he did not turn you down? After all, he had escaped intact. And the Porthinnis development is guaranteed to return a profit for its investors.’

  ‘No, he did not turn me down. But he attached a condition to the loan that was unacceptable to me.’ How much did Casvellan know? Charles moistened his lips. If he wanted Casvellan’s trust he had to earn it. Much as he loathed revealing what a fool he had been, honesty was the only course open to him.

  ‘Earlier this year I was the victim of a calculated fraud by people I knew and trusted. It has taken several months to rectify the wrong that was done to me. My appearance yesterday at the Archdeaconry Court in Bodmin will, I hope, finally bring the whole wretched business to an end.’

  ‘Miss Trevanion does not know.’ Casvellan’s tone made it a statement not a question.

  Charles could sit still no longer. He rose and started to walk to the window then realized Casvellan would not be able to see his face. Instead he crossed to the spinet and ran his fingers along the polished wood, vividly recalling Jenefer seated there, her fingers dancing over the keys as she played music that struck answering chords inside him. ‘When she and I first met, I considered it a private matter, nor was it relevant then. In addition I felt bound by a promise of silence to protect the Kerrows’ younger daughter.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now I must and will tell her. But I wanted the nullity decree in my possession first.’ He gestured helplessly. ‘As proof of what had occurred, and of my intent.’

  ‘How long—?’

  ‘The clerk said a week at most.’

  ‘Let us hope for less.’

  Charles assumed his guest would leave now. But Casvellan didn’t move.

  ‘Do you recall our conversation at Trescowe when I broached the possibility of my becoming a shareholder in your company?’

  Charles had not forgotten, but nor had he wanted to go cap in hand to the landowner until he had exhausted all other possibilities. He waited, his heart thudding heavily. Had Casvellan changed his mind? ‘I remember.’

  A faint smile lifted the corners of Casvellan’s mouth. ‘I am not about to add to your problems, Mr Polgray. I wish to formally confirm my interest. I foresee a great future for the Porthinnis Harbour Company.’

  Charles swallowed. ‘I am very much obliged to you.’

  Casvellan rose and offered his hand. ‘You have my sympathy. May I be permitted a word of advice? Choose your moment, but don’t delay too long. Better she hears the facts from you, than gossip and lies from others who may not have her best interests at heart.’

  As Casvellan rode away, Charles crossed the gravel and walked a little way down the gently sloping grass. The rising wind tugged at his hair and blew cold against his face as dark, rain-filled clouds rolled in from the south-west. The sea had developed a heavy swell and foam-crested waves crashed and splintered on the rocks below, hurling curtains of spray into the air. He tasted salt on his lips and turned his gaze towards the harbour and the partially extended quay.

  Might it have been wiser to begin building the mole from the end nearest the quay instead of starting construction at the end nearest Pednbrose? Possibly, but he’d had good reason for not doing so. It would have interfered with the trading brigs and the frequent arrivals and departures of those bringing stone from Penryn.

  The extension was sound and strong, the quality of work excellent. Mr Keat had seen to that. He was worrying unnecessarily. He returned to the house, ordered John to prepare a bath, and almost fell asleep in it. While eating the tasty supper Mrs Eustace had prepared, he read and signed letters, then jotted down reminders of tasks for the following day.

  Lying in bed he listened to the thunder of the waves and the howling wind. This past week he had lurched from the anxiety caused by Barton’s failure, to rage at Samson’s blackmail. But Jenefer and Casvellan had given him fresh hope. Jenefer: so unexpected: joy of his heart, beloved. I missed you. He slid into the deep dark sleep of exhaustion.

  Outside the gale raged, tearing twigs and leaves from creaking branches that bowed to its force. Rain lashed down. Waves lade
n with shingle smashed into the wooden piles and pounded the stones supporting them. Tiny cracks appeared in the cement, lengthened, grew wider. As it crumbled, a large lump of granite broke free and was sucked away by the swirling currents. Then another.…

  Charles tried to ignore the hammering, clinging to sleep. But it continued, demanding attention. He opened his eyes, realized someone was knocking on his door. ‘Yes?’ he croaked, pushing himself upright and shoving both hands through his hair.

  His valet entered. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, but Mr Keat is downstairs and wishes to speak to you most urgently.’ Opening the closet John took out a long quilted cotton banyan and held it open.

  Scrambling out of bed, Charles pulled it on over his nightshirt and shoved his feet into slippers. ‘Where?’

  ‘The dining room, sir.’

  He was still tying the sash as he ran downstairs. Opening the door, he smelled fresh coffee and saw Keat sitting at the table with a steaming cup in front of him. The clerk started to rise, but Charles waved him down. ‘No, stay where you are.’ Their eyes met and Charles steeled himself, dread a solid weight in his stomach. At the sideboard he lifted the coffee pot. As he poured a tremor shook his hand and some spilled into the saucer. He carried his cup to the table and pulled out a chair. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘’Tis the quay extension, sir.’ Keat’s weathered complexion was pale.

  ‘How bad?’

  ‘Gone. All of it.’ Keat gripped his own cup with shaking hands. ‘Once the piles went down the decking followed. Whole bleddy lot smashed to kindling.’ Keat raised angry eyes. ‘Some mess it is down there. I tell ’e, sir, it shouldn’t have happened. The wood was solid and the work was good. They miners know what they’re doing. You seen it for yourself.’

  ‘I did,’ Charles nodded. He swallowed hot coffee, feeling it curl in his stomach and send much needed strength through his body. ‘I agree with everything you say. So there is only one possible explanation—’