by Jane Jackson
‘Bleddy Morton’s cement,’ Keat said. He drained his cup and stood up. ‘I’d best get back. Men’ll be arriving for work.’
Charles drained his own cup. ‘I won’t be beaten.’ He spoke softly, the words a vow and a declaration of intent. He stood up. ‘We will rebuild, Mr Keat. It will take a little longer than planned—’
‘There’ll be some mess to clear away first,’ Keat said.
‘Then get to it, Mr Keat. The tide is ebbing. Concentrate on salvage. With luck, some of the wood will be reusable. As soon as you know how much you need to replace, inform Miss Trevanion and she will order it. The crumbled cement and stone on the seabed must be dredged out of the way. You will need heavy chains.’
‘Leave it to me, Mr Polgray. I’ll hire men and boats on a day rate. Be down d’rectly, will you, sir?’
Charles knew what Keat was really asking. The men would need reassurance that despite this setback work would continue, and the picture he had painted for them at the harvest dance, the hopes he had kindled, would still be realized.
‘I’ll be at the harbour within the hour.’
Kept awake for much of the night by the howling wind and rain splattering like gravel against her window, Jenefer rose early. She washed; brushed and pinned up her hair, then put on a long-sleeved, high-necked gown of apple green muslin, fine wool stockings and her brown ankle boots. She carried the slop bucket downstairs and opened the top door to a mellow autumn morning.
The sky was a clear blue, the air crisp and scented with wood smoke and frying bacon. She had just finished her breakfast of buttered bread and hot chocolate when she heard running feet on the cobbles outside. She started to smile, assuming Lizzie’s son, Billo, had been sent home by his father to collect whatever had been forgotten before they set off for the day’s fishing.
‘Miss! Miss!’ Billo shouted, hammering on her door.
Hearing the urgency in his tone Jenefer wrenched it open just as Lizzie appeared.
‘What is it, Billo?’ The boy’s face was flushed from his sprint and his chest heaved as he sucked in air.
‘Dear life, boy!’ Lizzie began, but fell silent at Jenefer’s touch on her arm.
‘Miss, the quay’s gone. Washed away in the gale last night.’
‘Oh my dear lord!’ Lizzie gasped, one hand flying to her cheek.
‘Mr Polgray sent me—’
‘Go back and tell him I’m on my way,’ Jenefer said. Pausing long enough to put on her short jacket and grab a notebook and sharpened pencil from among the books at one end of the table, she dashed out again. ‘Lizzie, will you—?”
‘Leave it all to me, bird. You get on.’
She arrived on the back quay breathless, heart racing, and stopped abruptly, appalled at the destruction wrought by the storm. Labourers had gathered at the end of the quay. Two boats were already anchored below amid the wreckage of the extension and men were hauling lengths of decking and broken supports out of the water. Two more had managed to secure ropes around a floating oak pile and were preparing to tow it into the harbour where most of the fishing boats appeared to have survived the storm unscathed.
Jenefer looked for Charles, and spotted him among the miners on the quay. As if sensing her presence he looked up. After a few more words with the men, he started towards her. She met him halfway. ‘What can I do?’
The quick flare of gratitude in his eyes told her all he did not have time to say. ‘I must ride to Truro.’
‘To see Mr Daniell?’
Charles nodded, his expression grim. ‘I had eight thousand set aside for the construction. I lost two when Barton’s failed, and last night’s disaster has cost us another £2000.’
‘Will you apply for an additional loan or an extension of the repayment period?’ Jenefer asked quietly.
‘Both. Though I think it unlikely he’ll agree.’
‘Surely it’s in his interest to be flexible? This is a setback to be sure—’
‘It should never have happened.’ Charles fought to contain his anger. ‘The cement was faulty and I intend to prove it. Which is where I need your help. Get a sample of it from Mr Keat. I’ve told him to expect you. Then write a letter to Parker’s – you sign it on my behalf – asking them to test it against their standard product. While I’m in Truro I’ll try to find another supplier.’
Jenefer nodded. ‘I’ll do my best to catch the morning post. Is there anything else?’
‘Not at the moment. Except.…’ He hesitated.
‘Yes?’
‘I should warn you it is possible Mr Daniell will demand the sale of Pednbrose.’
Jenefer looked across to the headland. ‘That was another time, a different life. Perhaps whoever buys it will rebuild. It would be nice to see a house there instead of a ruin.’ She darted a grin at him. ‘I shall miss the fruit. But as I helped myself to it for three years even though it was no longer mine I’m hardly in a position to complain.’
‘You are … amazing.’
‘No, I’m not. Bad things happen to people all the time. I could have become bitter and resentful. But what would that have achieved? So I picked myself up and rebuilt my life. When I look at where I am now, at all I have learned, and the friends I have made,’ − her face grew warm but she held his gaze − ‘I would not change a thing.’
He swayed slightly towards her and she felt an answering pull.
‘I think’ − she swallowed, pointed − ‘Someone is trying to attract your attention.’
Reluctantly he glanced round. ‘It’s John with my horse. I’m not sure how long I’ll be away. But when I get back, will you come to dinner? Doubtless I should have asked if I might call on you.’ His mouth twisted wryly. ‘But we are less likely to be interrupted at Kegwyn. And there is so much I need to tell you.’
She touched his hand lightly. ‘Thank you. I should enjoy that very much.’
‘I must go.’
‘Safe journey, Charles,’ she smiled up at him. ‘And good luck.’
His expression turned grim. ‘I’ll need it.’
Jenefer was kept busy during the next three days. Each morning she walked down to the harbour, detecting a little more warmth in Cyrus Keat’s gruff welcome as items he asked her to order were delivered. The roadbed was nearing completion. Seven of the eight oak piles had been retrieved, as had most of the supports and decking. Meanwhile cargoes continued to arrive.
She updated accounts relating to the harbour and her own clients, noted invoices in the relevant ledgers, worked out the wages and drew the money from her own account to pay them. Each time she stopped, for a meal or at the end of the day, she wondered where Charles was, and what success he was having.
It was just after midday on Friday when she left her cottage. ‘I’m just taking some money round to Tom Lawry,’ she told Lizzie.
Reaching The Standard she saw a dogcart halted near the front door. The driver, and an older woman smartly dressed in a maroon coat and matching bonnet trimmed with ribbons and curved ostrich feathers, were helping a younger woman dressed in sapphire blue to alight from the cart. Though Jenefer was too far away to hear what was being said, it was clear from their voices that the two women were arguing.
She walked through the back door into warmth and the mouthwatering scent of roasting meat. She peered into the kitchen.
‘Hello, Nell. Something smells delicious.’
‘Lovely great joint of beef, miss.’ A white apron covered Nell Hitchens’ faded pink gown. Her frizzy hair was tucked into a frilled cap, and flour dusted her forearms as she rolled out pastry with brisk strokes. ‘If you want missus I b’lieve she’s in the private parlour making up the fire.’ Nell rolled her eyes. ‘Annie never come in this morning, so there’s just the two of us.’
‘I won’t disturb her then. Where’s Mr Lawry?’
‘He should be in the taproom.’
Thanking her, Jenefer started along the passage and almost collided with Esther as she emerged carrying a coal scuttle.
<
br /> ‘Hello, my bird,’ Esther beamed. ‘How you keeping? Busy as ever?’
Jenefer smiled and pulled a face. ‘Even busier, but it keeps me out of mischief.’ She held up the purse. ‘I’ve brought the week’s beer money.’
‘Best if you give it to Tom. If you give me a minute to drop this I’ll tell ’n you’re here.’
‘No, Esther, it’s all right. I’ll take it in myself.’ But she was talking to herself as Esther had disappeared into the kitchen. Jenefer turned into the short passage that led to the back of the taproom. As she drew closer she recognized the voice of the woman from the dogcart.
‘But the road from Helston is very poor and most uncomfortable, especially for someone in my daughter’s delicate condition. Something should be done about it.’
Jenefer heard a sound behind her and looked round as Esther reappeared.
‘Anyway,’ the woman continued, ‘we are come to see my daughter’s husband who has business here in the village. His name is Polgray. Would you be so kind as to oblige us with his direction?’
Jenefer’s gaze met Esther’s. Her daughter’s husband? Delicate condition? Polgray? Jenefer’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. There was a roaring in her ears and the world went black. Her legs gave way and she slid down the wall, her hand still clamped across her mouth, afraid she would be sick, afraid she would scream. Then, after the first shattering, numbing shock came a knife-thrust of pain. She pressed her forearm across her waist and bent forward in agony.
‘Oh my dear sweet Lord!’ Esther whispered. ‘All right, my bird. I’ll fetch some brandy. You just stay there. Don’t try to move.’ She went to the door of the tap and called to her husband in a whisper. ‘Tom! Tom!’
In the far distance Jenefer heard him excuse himself. Then his voice was nearer.
‘What?’ There was a pause, then, ‘God alive! What happened? What’s wrong with her?’
‘She was bringing you the beer money. She heard—’
‘Aw bleddy hell. What’s on with ’n? He never said a word about no wife.’
‘Never mind that now.’
‘I want hot chocolate, Mama,’ a petulant voice demanded. ‘And hot water and towels. I need to lie down. I’m so uncomfortable.’
‘I knew how it would be. Didn’t I warn you?’ her mother demanded.
‘Tom, fetch me a glass of brandy,’ Esther instructed, ‘then take them up the front stairs to one of the bedrooms.’
Jenefer wished she could die right here, right now. It would all be over and she wouldn’t have to think, or feel, or remember. She was aware of an arm around her shoulders. Her hand was gently pulled away and a glass pressed against her lips. She inhaled the pungent fumes of cognac.
‘Come on, my bird, drink it down. ’Twill do you good.’
She tried to push it away, tried to shake her head, but her body wouldn’t work. ‘I don’t want—’
‘Yes, you do,’ Esther was gentle but firm. ‘You can’t stay here on the floor. Come on, now. Drink it down. Soon as you’re feeling stronger I’ll take you home.’
Jenefer pictured her cottage. Home. She wanted to go home. Grasping Esther’s hand she tilted the glass and gulped down the brandy.
‘Careful, bird,’ Esther cried in alarm.
It burned like fire and she nearly choked. But as heat spread through her limbs so too did strength. Jenefer scrambled unsteadily to her feet. Steadying herself against the wall she pressed the purse into Esther’s hand. ‘Please – give it to Tom. I have to go now.’
In the taproom Tom was suggesting that the young lady must be weary from her journey, and would welcome a rest in comfort and privacy. ‘There’s a nice quiet bedroom at the top of the stairs. Fire’s already laid. Won’t take but a moment to light it. My wife will wait on you in just a minute. And I’ll send word to Mr Polgray.’
‘No point,’ Jenefer whispered to Esther as the passage swayed and the floor heaved. She blinked hard. ‘He isn’t here. He went to Truro.’
‘Come in the kitchen and sit for a while,’ Esther coaxed.
‘No. I—’ She choked on a sob, and bit hard on her lower lip. It hurt and the pain steadied her. ‘I’m going home.’
‘I’ll come with you—’
Jenefer gripped Esther’s forearm for an instant. ‘No.’ It was all she could manage. She walked as fast as she could across the yard and down the street. Head down, looking neither left nor right, she turned into the alley. Her breath kept catching. She felt as if something inside her was slowly tearing. As she reached her door Lizzie came out with a bowl of scraps for the chickens. Her welcoming smile dissolved into shocked concern.
‘What’s wrong, bird?’
Jenefer shook her head, went into her cottage and bolted the door. She pulled off her bonnet and threw her coat over a chair. She sat in the armchair by the range, clasped her arms across her body and rocked. Too much pain: she couldn’t bear it. Trust me.
She had put Martin’s betrayal behind her, refusing to let it blight her life. Learning the truth about his double life had been a terrible shock. But it was her pride and self-esteem that had suffered most, for she had not loved him.
What a fool she had been. It was only too clear now why Charles had never spoken of love. He could hardly have proposed marriage to her when he had a pregnant wife waiting at home. You are everything to me. How could he have said that? Treated her so? He had told her how much he valued her. But he didn’t. He couldn’t have. He had been living a lie, and forced her to do the same. She had loved him. While he – he had made use of her. Made a fool of her. It hurt. It hurt so much.
He had never said he loved her. But his eyes, his lips: they had told her his heart. Was it all just a charade? She could not believe that. Because if she did, it meant he thought her worthless. Why had he not told her he was married? Why had he allowed her to think – to hope? You are everything to me.
Memories, thoughts and arguments swirled in a tangle of shock and grief until she felt as if her head would burst. She sat, hugging herself and rocking in agony. Now and then rage, hot and blinding as lightning, pierced her. And she hated him. Not just for his lies, but for being so much less than she had believed. But the rage passed like the storm had passed, leaving her wrecked and broken.
Her eyes burned but no tears fell. Unable to sit still she paced, holding herself together. For three years she had struggled against prejudice to rebuild her life. She had dealt fairly with people, answering criticism with kindness and patience. She had tried always to be honourable. And this was the result? Was it somehow her fault? She had refused to conform, had wanted to remain independent and determine her own path in life. It had made her different. Yet she had kept the villagers’ respect and even won their affection.
Then he had come. He had sought her out, involved her in his plans and trusted her with privileged information. Why had he done that? Why had he led her to believe – or had she imagined it? Seen what she wanted to see? No, every instinct told her his feelings had been as deeply engaged as her own. But he was married and he had not told her. How could she go on? What was the point?
There was a knock on the door. She shivered and realized the room was cold and the light was fading. The knock was repeated. Then she heard Lizzie’s voice.
‘Open the door, bird.’
‘Go away, Lizzie.’
‘I’ve been up to see Esther.’
There was no escape. By tomorrow the arrival of Charles’s wife and her mother would be all round the village. Jenefer opened the door then, suddenly light-headed, stumbled back and sat on the stairs. Lizzie walked in, closed the door and went straight to the range.
‘Dear life, ’tis cold in here.’ She riddled the ashes, pushed in a few kindling sticks then tipped a shovelful of coal onto the embers and opened the damper. By the time she had lit the lamp and closed the curtains, the fire was roaring and throwing welcome warmth into the room. Only then did she come and kneel in front of Jenefer. ‘I’m some awful sorry, bird,
’ she said softly.
‘Oh, Lizzie,’ Jenefer whispered. ‘What am I going to do?’ Leaning forward she rested her forehead on Lizzie’s shoulder. As Lizzie’s arms went round her, Jenefer’s chest heaved. She tried to hold on.
Lizzie stroked her back. ‘Let it go, bird. ’Tis only me.’
Jenefer gave a low shuddering cry, and like a dam bursting, all her shock and pain, the shame and grief poured out in wrenching sobs.
Chapter Twenty
Charles rode through the gateway at Kegwyn, relieved to be back. He was tired to his bones. As he reached the house, the front door opened and Cora hurried out waving a piece of paper.
‘Tom Lawry sent his boy round with this. He said you must have it the minute you got back.’
Charles reached down and took the note. Written in obvious haste it said simply: Come at once. Trouble.
For an instant he wavered. But such a message, especially from a man as steady as Tom Lawry, could not be ignored. Lifting off his saddle-bags he handed them to Cora. ‘I hope not to be long.’
She nodded. ‘The water’s hot for your bath, and I got cold beef, pickles and fresh bread ready on a plate.’
At the inn’s yard he handed the reins to the stable boy.
‘Loosen the girth and give him a drink, but don’t unsaddle him.’
Tom met him in the passage. ‘What—?’ Charles got no further.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ Tom hissed, his expression dark and fierce. ‘Your wife and her mother is upstairs. Arrived not an hour since asking for you. In some state they was, especially the young missus, her being in the family way.’
‘It’s not as it appears.’ Why was he excusing himself to an innkeeper? Because this village, these people, mattered.
‘You tell Miss Trevanion that.’ Anger roughened Tom’s voice. ‘She heard them asking for you and fainted clean away, dear of her.’
Charles felt the blood drain from his face. ‘She was here?’
‘She’d come with the week’s beer money.’
