Family Ties

by Family Ties (retail) (epub)

  Before he could answer, the children came rushing into the room, clamouring with Ran’s news. Ben saw the way little Charlotte was held tightly in the man’s arms, and how eleven-year-old Primmy gazed up adoringly into the handsome American’s face. To the three boys, Ran was clearly a hero, and jealousy ran through him, as keen as a knife.

  ‘I hear I’ve to congratulate you, Ran.’ He spoke with false heartiness. The American gave an apologetic laugh.

  ‘I would have liked time to consult with you on it, Ben, but the chance came this afternoon when the owner walked into Gorran’s Chambers. There were two others in the running, so I had to make a quick decision, and fortunately I was able to top their offers. I hope it’s the right decision.’

  ‘I hope so too.’

  Morwen’s eyes flashed at her husband.

  ‘Oh Ben, can’t you be more positive? It’s simply wonderful, and there will be even more reason for Matt to come home now. Louisa and Cresswell will have relatives on both sides of the family to visit!’

  ‘Yes, it’s wonderful,’ Ben said steadily, hoping that the sparkle in Morwen’s eyes was on account of this fascination with seeing her brother again, and not for the enjoyment of having Randell Wainwright around permanently. But not here at Killigrew House, surely! This new thought occurred. As if Morwen was reading his mind in her uncanny way, he heard her speak sweetly.

  ‘Ran will be looking for a house of his own in the district, Ben, and I’ve said it will be my pleasure to help him choose and to arrange the decor for him. It will be such fun, and the girls are going to help too, aren’t you, my darlings?’

  ‘So are we!’ Walter and Albert and Justin shouted in unison, as the little girls squealed with delight. ‘We’re all going to help Uncle Ran in his new house, and we can visit him there as often as we like. He told us so!’

  They laughed and joked and made plans, all through dinner and for the rest of the evening until it was time for the children to go to bed. And still Morwen hadn’t asked what had happened at Killigrew Clay that day. It seemed that she was too taken up with these new happenings to take any further interest. So much for her avid concern, Ben thought savagely.

  In the end, he interrupted the gleeful plans his wife and the American cousin were making as to colour schemes and carpets and furniture, discussing them just as though they were a newly-married couple. Ben told them shortly all that had happened at the clayworks meeting that day, and of his preliminary meeting with Bultimore and Vine’s before the all-important one in two days’ time. Morwen gave him all her attention then, but something still nagged vaguely at Ben’s gut.

  It was a feeling he didn’t like one bit. It was as if he needed to break through some invisible barrier erected against him. And it was Ben Killigrew now who, for once in his life, felt very much the outsider looking in.

  Chapter Four

  Mrs Horn had lit a fire in their bedroom that evening. The late September nights had turned cold, and the welcome flames leapt in the fireplace. Morwen held her nightgown in front of it to warm it for a few minutes, undressing in front of the comforting glow. Her long black hair was free from its pins, and fell in cascading waves over her bare shoulders. Through its tresses Ben could see the firelight, and it was though the flames danced in the silken strands. It made of her a wood-nymph, a creature of nature, which to Ben she had always been.

  She was unconsciously voluptuous. She had never had need of stays or bodices. She was firm and rounded and supple. To Ben she had hardly changed since the first heady days of their marriage, despite having had the children. He knew every soft contour of her. He knew the scent and the feel of her, and the answering caress of her fingers on his body. And the sudden need to make her his, to possess her and be possessed by her, was overwhelming.

  As though aware of his growing desire, she turned her head slowly. Her profile was etched against the orange glow of the fire, her arms poised to pull the nightgown over her head.

  ‘Leave it, love,’ Ben said softly. ‘Come to me.’

  He held out his arms, glorying in the nakedness of her. And Morwen, with that extra perception that made her uniquely Cornish, knew of his need that went beyond the urges of the flesh. She ran her hand expressively over the deep pile of the carpet on which she half-lay.

  ‘You come to me, dar,’ she murmured.

  Ben moved swiftly to her side, lying beside her on the Axminster that was warmed by the fire, making a lovers’ bed of it. Morwen lay back, her glorious hair fanning out around her head, the dark triangle between her thighs inviting him in. He ran his questing hands slowly over her breasts, feeling their quick response, hearing her breathing grow heavy as her desire rose to meet his in an instant.

  It was always so. It had always been so. No thoughts of anything beyond these four walls, and the love that soared within it, entered either of their minds from that moment on. Ben leaned over her, his flesh hard and familiar on hers, his arms holding her, wanting, every pore in him aching for fulfilment with her. His mouth sought and found hers, and when he spoke his breath was no more than a fraction away from her.

  ‘It seems a long while since I told you I loved you, my Morwen.’ His voice was husky with passion. ‘How can something so important be so overlooked?’

  She touched her fingers to his lips to hush him.

  ‘What need is there for words when you tell me of your love every day of our lives, just by being with me, dar?’ she whispered back. Right then, it was never so true. What need for words, when feelings, emotions, desire, said everything that was needed to be said?

  She felt the sweet pattern of their loving begin; the seeking hands; the teasing kisses on every part of her that changed so quickly to passion; Ben’s touch that was lust and love combined, rousing her to something approaching ecstasy.

  ‘Oh Ben, I want – I want—’ she said faintly.

  If it was unladylike to let a man know how much a woman could want him, such thoughts didn’t form part of Morwen Killigrew’s make-up. If he ever considered that such behaviour was unladylike in a wife, it was never now, never when his Morwen moved so erotically beneath him, bringing him near to his own state of rapture.

  The time for such delightful play was over. He parted the soft black tangle of body hair, knowing that she would be ready for him as always. It was almost fulfilment enough to slide inside that warm inviting place, to know that he was so wanted and welcomed there. In all the world there could never be such a feeling as this, this oneness, this perfection, this love…

  And afterwards, the sweet lethargy of lying motionless, still locked in love, with the fire’s warmth gently suffusing them, almost lulling them to sleep where they lay.

  Ben wished that life could always be this beautiful, and at last he realized the fire had died, and only a few embers still glowed in the grate. He kissed Morwen’s soft lips and dream-closed eyes, lifted her bodily and lay her between the bedcovers without attempting to pull the cumbersome nightgown over her head. She would be warmed enough in his arms.

  * * *

  A week later an urchin kiddley-boy ran all the way down to St Austell town, to summon Ben with all speed to Killigrew Clay. The boy’s eyes were saucer-round, awed at the sight of the big house, and ready to spill news of its grandeur to all those who had never seen it.

  ‘You must know what’s wrong, boy,’ Ben snapped in annoyance, when the child seemed almost dumb-struck and could barely stammer the necessary words. ‘Is it scaggying or what?’

  ‘I dunno, Mr Killigrew, Sir. I was just told to run and tell ’ee to come at once.’

  Morwen had heard the rumpus downstairs, and came into the dining-room, where Mrs Horn was tut-tutting over the boy’s unshod feet and the mud oozing on to her clean floor. Morwen took in the scene at once, and went to the boy’s side.

  ‘It’s Billy Dare, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Get your breath back a minute, lamb, and try to tell us what’s to do. Take a deep breath, and Mrs Horn will get you some lemon to drink and
a fruit scone to fill your belly.’

  Mrs Horn looked scandalized, but Morwen ignored her. She knew how it felt to be poor and hungry, and to be so overcome by the trappings of rich folk that the mouth dried and the legs turned to jelly. She knew how young Billy Dare would be feeling at coming here, when his family lived in one of the meagre cottages on the moors. A cottage where you could see the stars through the slates on the roof, and where the wind blew down the chimney and put out the peat fire, filling the rooms with a choking stench in minutes. Morwen remembered such a cottage where she had been born, remembered it with a fierce loyalty and love for those families who had nothing but the weekly wages packets from the clay bosses to feed their ever-growing broods.

  ‘Morwen, leave this to me—’

  ‘You frighten him, Ben,’ she retorted. ‘Tell us what’s happened, Billy. Is it fighting, perhaps?’

  She took a wild guess, and to her surprise the boy nodded vigorously. He sucked noisily at the lemon drink Mrs Horn thrust at him, and nearly gagged on the hot fruit scone.

  ‘There’s fighting summat awful, Missus!’ he said at last, spluttering crumbs and currants in his eagerness to say it and be gone. ‘Two bal maidens started it, and then more on ’em joined in, and my daddy says they’m like a lot o’ she-cats scratching and screeching and gettin’ no work done—’

  ‘Bal maidens fighting!’ Ben’s voice was furious. ‘Do you mean you’ve been sent all this way to tell me about women’s squabbles, instead of doing your work?’

  Billy Dare looked at him, scared and white-faced now.

  ‘’Tweren’t my fault, Boss! Mr Tremayne told me to come.’

  Morwen was angered by the derision in Ben’s face, as if women’s quarrels were unworthy of his attention. She was angered too by the way he had turned on the unfortunate child, no more than eight years old. She was unable to resist thinking how different life might have been for her own Charlotte, if she too had been born in a clayworker’s cottage instead of in the loving comfort of Killigrew House.

  ‘If Daddy thought it was necessary to send the boy, it must be so, Ben,’ she said in a clipped voice. ‘It must be more serious than just women squabbling!’

  She didn’t need telling how quick the bal maidens could be to fight when provoked. It was all part and parcel of the lusty freedom of the moorland life, women and children working alongside the men, and no doubt each side would have a proper supportive group cheering them on by now…

  ‘I shall ride up there immediately.’ Ben was clearly put out, and didn’t need his wife to point out what was obvious enough to him.

  He looked at the wide-eyed child. ‘You’ll find your own way back, and I’ll expect you to go straight there, or you’ll be docked a penny from your wages for dawdling.’

  He slammed out of the room without another word, paused to collect something he needed from the study, and left Morwen speechless at his arrogance. He had a great deal of worry on his mind, but this was too much… too much…

  ‘’S’all right, Missus,’ she heard the boy say with an unconcerned sniff. ‘I ain’t afeared of getting my feet wet. Me dad says they’m ducks’ feet by now, anyways.’

  Morwen felt her throat constrict. Years ago, her parents had used the same words about her brothers when they too were doing the cheap and cheerful jobs at Clay One.

  ‘Wait a minute longer, Billy,’ she said. ‘You’ll just sit down and finish that scone properly. And nobody’s going to take a penny from your wages.’

  She knew Mrs Horn was hovering outside the open door, no doubt wondering if the scallywag would pocket anything he shouldn’t. Morwen sent for Fanny, and when the maid came and bobbed enquiringly, her nose wrinkled at the sight of the clayboy perched on one of the best dining chairs, bare feet swinging.

  ‘Fanny, go to the closet in Master Justin’s room and find an outgrown pair of boots that look as though they might fit Billy Dare. Hurry now!’ She added the words as the maid’s mouth gaped open, the same as Billy Dare’s.

  ‘I never had no boots, Missus,’ he said nervously.

  Morwen smiled generously, but tears threatened at the backs of her eyes.

  ‘Well, you’re going to get some now. They may not be the best fit, but they’ll keep you warm and dry. You may tell your mother that it’s not charity, but that Mrs Killigrew had no more use for them, and can’t abide waste.’

  She hoped that the last remark would soften the indignity of passing on used boots. For all their need, clayworkers could be almighty proud when they chose. Ten minutes later, Billy Dare went clumping awkwardly out of Killigrew House, and Morwen prayed that he wouldn’t have blisters by the time he reached the clayworks. She doubted it. The poor little feet already resembled tanned leather. She dismissed him from her thoughts with an effort, knowing she had done all she could for him, bursting with anxiety to know what was happening up on the moors.

  * * *

  Ben wondered if he had come upon a fairground wrestling match. The two bal maidens who had originally started the fight had long ago exhausted themselves. It had been taken up by half a dozen others on each side, and the women slithered and scratched, punched and pummelled… but they were hardly recognizable as women any longer. They were caked in the slop of the clay slurry and the sinking mud of the pit. Light-coloured skirts and bonnets were caked with it, the fabric clinging to their bodies and revealing young shapes or pendulous breasts, all to the jeers and cheers of the clayworkers gathered round. Pennies that could ill be afforded were being tossed in the air as wagers to see which side would win.

  ‘What in God’s name is going on here?’ Ben roared into the hullaballoo.

  Nobody heard him at first, and then those on the outskirts of the group shuffled their feet and fell silent, as he forced his way through. He remained mounted to give himself authority, his horse whinnying at the clamour all around, and frightened at the oozing mud beneath his hooves.

  ‘Hal Tremayne!’ Ben bellowed next, too intent on keeping his balance to think first and speak later. ‘Where’s that damn-fool Works Manager? I don’t pay him to let my workers act like ruffians instead of getting on with their work.’

  He caught sight of Hal’s furious white face a minute later, and realized what he had said. But it was too late. The words were said. And if Hal didn’t like it, then he was a bigger bloody fool than he needed to be, Ben thought wrathfully. There was no need to play the game he did. Why not come out in the open and say he was part-owner, take life easy and spend his days in easier pursuits than pacifying these scruffs?

  He suddenly remembered he had done nothing about persuading Hal to see Doctor Pender. But if the man couldn’t look after his own health, he shouldn’t expect somebody else to do it for him. Ben’s small twist of guilt vanished.

  Hal pushed his way through the crowds closing around him and Ben in a way that was almost menacing. Ben shrugged off the feeling. This was his clayworks. He was the boss here, and if they wanted to collect their pay dues, they owed it to him to do their work.

  ‘There’s big trouble, Mr Killigrew,’ Hal snapped.

  Mr Killigrew? What was this? Ben looked at him sharply, seeing the angry pulsing in Hal’s throat. There was obviously trouble here. There was also going to be a reckoning between the two of them later, he guessed.

  ‘I’m not blind, man! Who started it?’

  The women began screaming abuse at each other at once. The clayworkers hollered, backing either side. The kiddley-boys screamed with laughter, dancing a jig in the mud and enjoying a respite in the daily boredom.

  Without warning, a cracking shot rang out, blue smoke rising into the air from the pistol in Ben’s upthrust hand. The screams were of terror now, and then the entire crowd was hushed except for the sounds of muted sobbing from those nearest to him. The horse jerked beneath him, but Ben dug his heels in tightly to the animal’s flanks, and gripped the reins with his free hand.

  ‘If any of you buggers want to argue with me further, you’ll find the
next bullet aimed at somebody’s head,’ he roared. ‘Now, you’ll let Hal Tremayne be spokesman, or you’ll know what to expect.’

  He looked down into the disbelieving eyes of Morwen’s father. Never, in all the years old Charles Killigrew had been boss of Killigrew Clay, had he fired a shot at the men. The pistol had remained in its case in the study, being cleaned and oiled at intervals to ensure its efficiency. It had never been needed, and Charles Killigrew’s proud boast had been that it never would. But Ben had spoiled all that. Ben had different ideas.

  ‘Two bal maidens had a disagreement,’ Hal said savagely. ‘One accused the other of walking out with one of the scaggies from Bult and Vine’s. T’other ’un said didn’t she know there were scaggies at Killigrew Clay already, so what did it matter, and the first was only jealous of her having a young buck. There was name-calling and mud-slinging, and next thing we knew they was wallowing in the mud, and t’others was joining in. It started out as a bit of a lark and caught fire.’ He had said his piece and his lips clamped shut. He had never felt ashamed of Ben before. Hal had been proud and honoured to call him son-in-law, but he was shamed by Ben’s action today. To fire on a bunch of clayworkers, even over their heads, was demeaning.

  But Ben wasn’t listening any longer. His attention was caught by that one phrase: Didn’t she know there was scaggies at Killigrew Clay already…

  ‘Do any of you buggers know anything about scaggies in my employ?’ He bawled at the clayworkers.

  There were shuffling feet, mutterings and growlings, but nobody answered. The bal maidens were sullen, shapeless masses of filth, and Ben was suddenly sickened by the whole lot of them.

  ‘Then if I can’t trust you to work without supervision, I shall make it my business to be here every day in future. I’ll see to it that no clay leaves this pit but what’s accounted for to me. If you want to act like children, then you’ll be treated like children. Hal, I’ll see you in my office in St Austell after your shift.’