He twisted the horse’s neck in his eagerness to get away from here, regardless of the animal’s protesting cry. He ignored Hal’s outraged look at being summoned to St Austell instead of thrashing things out here in his hut. He was so sick of the whole clay business he wanted to ride as hard and long as he could, away from the dankness of the clay and on to the free open moors where he could get some good clean air in his lungs.
He didn’t need telling that he had done wrong in firing the pistol. Other bosses may have done the same, but that didn’t make it better. It was a bully’s way, and Ben didn’t want to dwell on that. He had never been accused of bullying… into his head came Morwen’s softly accusing voice, ‘Why must you teach the boys that awful fighting art, Ben? It’s so cruel, and I’m sure they’ll hurt themselves. You’re a bully to insist on it!’
He rode hard, unheeding of the way the horse foamed, until the heaving flanks beneath him made him slow down to a trot. He patted the sweating neck, speaking shortly to the beast as he slid from his back and let them both recover.
Was it cruel to insist on teaching his boys to defend themselves from whatever they came across in life? Was he a bully to want no evil to come to them? He swore violently as he stubbed his foot on a hidden stump, and recognized the soaring granite mass of the Larnie Stone nearby.
He had no idea he had ridden as far as the mystical Cornish standing stone, through whose hole could be seen the distant sea at St Austell. The stone where Morwen and her friend Celia had danced at midnight after swallowing a witch’s potion, hoping to see the faces of their true loves. Celia had seen the wicked laughing face of his cousin Jude, and Morwen had seen Ben Killiigrew, and the pattern of their lives had been set.
Did she sometimes wish that day had never happened, Ben thought suddenly? Was Hal Tremayne wishing right now, as he dealt with the furore Ben had left behind, that Ben Killigrew had never entered their lives at all, but had stayed a dandified college boy who wouldn’t soil his hands with the clay?
Ben wished his thoughts away. There was no place for sentiment in business, and Hal must realize that. His married life was totally separate from his business life, and the Tremaynes must accept that too. He simply refused to get caught up with these petty personality crises on top of everything else.
A small breeze blew through the coarse bracken, like a sorrowing sigh. The mist would soon be rising, swirling about the moors and creating ghostly images. The late afternoon sky was already darkening, and Ben had no wish to be up on the moors in an October mist. A man could lose his way and his footing, and some said his reason too, when he was mist-touched.
He turned the horse more gently and rode at a fair pace the way he had come, knowing he still had to face Hal’s pride and Morwen’s questions. And half wishing he too had never heard of a family called Tremayne.
* * *
‘So you’ve chosen to use violence, have ’ee, Ben?’ Hal faced him across the stout oak desk at Ben’s office in the town. Ben had had to wait a long time for Hal to arrive, and it hadn’t put him the best of tempers. Nor did he like being put on the defensive.
‘Violence? I didn’t fire directly at anyone, and you know it. Nor would I have done—’
‘Not this time. But pistols are a coward’s way, Ben, and I never thought to see ’ee resort to such a thing.’
Ben scowled. His own father was dead, and he didn’t need Morwen’s father taking on the role of guide and mentor.
‘And what would you have done?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘Tried reasoning. Diverted ’em. Anything other than what you did,’ Hal retorted.
‘When I want your advice, I’ll ask for it.’
‘I thought you just did.’
They glared at one another, the first time he and Hal had acted more like enemies than friends. There had always been respect on both sides. Now Ben knew to his regret, that there was little respect in his father-in-law’s eyes today. He resented the fact keenly. Hal was still a clayworker at heart. He might understand those like him, but he was no scholar, nor a young boss, and as such didn’t understand the fine line he sometimes trod to keep that status.
‘For God’s sake, man, sit down,’ Ben said irritably, as Hal began stifling a cough and going puce in the face at the effort. ‘We’ll gain nothing if you collapse in the middle of an argument. Have you seen a doctor about that cough?’ It was out now, bluntly and without preamble, and he heard Hal swear beneath his breath.
‘I don’t hold wi’ doctors,’ he growled.
‘Perhaps Bess won’t hold with having a dead husband. I’ll ask Doctor Pender to call at the house and see you tomorrow morning. Take the day off. I’ll be at Clay One, so there’ll be no need for you to be there for once.’
Hal’s blue eyes flashed. ‘And have the men say I’ve backed down because of all the fuss?’
‘Don’t be bloody stupid. You’ll see the doctor and there’s an end to it. I’m not having you hacking and barking all winter and getting my head snapped off by my wife for not making you see sense. Tremayne women usually get their own way, in case you haven’t noticed.’
Hal gave the glint of a smile.
‘I’ve noticed. So what’s to do about the trouble then?’
Ben leaned back. He knew he’d gained a small victory. Hal would see the doctor, though Ben knew very well he’d be at the works the minute the man had gone. The two of them had calmed down a little; but there was one more thing that needed saying.
‘Let’s get one thing straight first of all. I apologize for the way I referred to you, Hal. It was unforgivable. If you’d just end this farce and tell everyone that you’re my partner—’
‘No. I’ll continue working until I drop, so we’ll hear no more o’ that.’ He was doggedly adamant. ‘And we’d best forget one chance remark. ’Tis less important than what’s to be done.’
He had clearly had time to think too, and Ben breathed a little more easily. The last thing he wanted was to have Hal as an enemy. He gave a shrug.
‘For the present, it will be as I said. I’ll be at the works every day. We’ll work together, which is as it should be.’
‘And what of this journey to London that our Morwen’s been on about? Don’t that come up soon?’
Ben swore beneath his breath. He’d completely forgotten the forthcoming trip to London and the honour to be bestowed on him at his old college. He couldn’t refuse to go. He didn’t choose to refuse, anyway. But the plans would need to be altered. It was no longer feasible to spend several weeks away from Cornwall. God knew what might happen if he did.
There might very well be no clayworks to come back to if he left it in the hands of fools. He didn’t look directly at Hal. He never meant to think of his father-in-law in those terms, but when all was said and done, there were men born to lead and others born to follow, and Hal Tremayne was most definitely one of the latter.
‘My plans will have to be changed,’ Ben said abruptly. ‘I doubt that Morwen will be too disappointed if I don’t take her with me, since she was never over-keen on the idea. I shall be away for the minimum of time, Hal. A day to reach London, a day for the presentation, and a day to get back. Three days in all. I daresay the works won’t fall to ruin in that time.’
‘I daresay they won’t,’ Hal said evenly.
Ben shot out his hand and Hal took it grudgingly. Without realizing that he did so, he echoed his daughter’s thoughts; Ben Killigrew had changed. He was no longer the young and dashing clay boss, but a man borne down by worries and frustrations. He had grown hard, and if that was what responsibility did to a man, Hal wanted none of it.
‘Do as I told you, Hal,’ Ben warned him as they parted company. ‘I’ll want to hear what Doctor Pender had to say when I see you next.’
‘Mebbe,’ Hal grunted, and left the younger man to glower at the implacable stiff walk of his wife’s father.
Morwen was waiting for him when he got home.
‘Well?’ She said at once. �
�How serious is it?’
‘Serious enough that I’ve decided I can’t spare so much time in London. I need to be on hand to keep my eye on them. They act like spoilt children half the time.’ He spilled out his rage, fully aware of the flare of hope on Morwen’s face at his words. He related what had happened, leaving out the ignominious firing of the pistol, and the angry exchange with Hal.
‘By the way, I told your father I’d get Doctor Pender to call on him tomorrow morning,’ he added casually, taking her mind off the troubles immediately.
‘And he agreed?’ she asked in astonishment.
Ben spoke grimly. ‘He had to. I shall be at Clay One tomorrow morning and every morning, and I told your father I want a full report of what the doctor has to say.’
‘But if you’re to be there every morning, what about our time in London?’ Morwen said carefully. It was coming close now.
He gave a short laugh. ‘Your eyes give you away, my sweet. Have no fear, you’ll not be expected to accompany me. I can barely take the time to go myself, but I’m damned if I’ll let clayworkers’ squabbles dictate to me, and ruin a splendid occasion. I shall go alone, and be back in three days.’
When she said nothing, trying desperately to disguise the enormous relief she felt, Ben walked to where she sat on the sofa, leaning down and tipping up her chin with his finger. It was less a gesture of love than of mockery.
‘Will you exist without me for three days, my love? I’m sure that you will, especially with the dashing Ran to keep you company. I daresay you’ll hardly miss me at all!’
He strode off to put the gun back in the study, wishing he’d never seen the damnable thing. And Morwen sat very still, her eyes suddenly pricking. Once, Ben would never have spoken to her in such a way.
There was spite and hurt and frustration in his voice. And whatever he had intended by his words, Morwen realized blindingly that there was truth in what he said, so much so that she hardly dared to face up to it.
Chapter Five
The doctor gave Hal some linctus for his chest, saying that it was no worse than for any middling man, and would see him well into old age, providing he took reasonable care. Morwen breathed a little more freely when her mother told her, though she added tartly that for a Works Manager to go tramping about in the damp clay-clogged earth at all hours probably went completely against the doctor’s warning.
But there was another bit of cheerful news. There was to be an October Fair in Truro at the end of the month. Details were announced in The Informer newspaper, and the Killigrew children were agog with excitement when they discovered it.
‘Oh, please can we go, Mama?’ Primmy pleaded. ‘Please say we can! Uncle Ran will take us, even if Papa says he’s too busy like he usually does! Uncle Ran will let us have fun!’
Morwen laughingly shushed her, egged on by her other eager little daughter. Charlotte’s blue eyes shone like jewels as she climbed on to her mother’s knee, mindless of Morwen’s freshly-donned dress, all ready for afternoon tea with several town dignitaries who had been invited to meet Randell.
Thankfully, both he and Ben were still upstairs, for Ben would be none too pleased at hearing his daughter’s careless dismissal of her father’s presence, however innocently said.
‘I’m sure we can go to the Fair, and I’m just as sure that your Papa will want to take us,’ she said.
Justin pulled a face. ‘If he’s in his usual bad humour, I’d rather it was Uncle Ran,’ he muttered.
‘Justin, that’s enough,’ Morwen said sharply.
‘Well, I don’t care who takes us as long as we go!’ Primmy put in airily. She paused in front of the mirror, on her way to the pianoforte, which she was learning with considerable dexterity, and Morwen noted with sudden alarm how vain the girl was becoming. She was eleven years old, but sometimes she behaved with an elegance that was far beyond her years.
‘If we do go to the Fair, you’ll stay with the adults at all times,’ Morwen assured her. ‘There are rogues and pickpockets at these places, and there will be no slipping away to watch puppet shows or hurdy-gurdy men on your own. Is that understood?’
‘It sounds as if you’ve been to plenty of Fairs, Mother,’ Walter added his piece grumblingly. ‘You’ve never let us go before, and we’re not babies—’
‘Well, I’ve said you can go to this one as long as you all behave, and there’s an end to it.’
She knew she was being tetchy, and she wondered that Albert wasn’t clamouring about the Fair too. But he was more taken up in watching the progress of a beetle across the mist-spangled lawn outside. Albert would happily go wherever anyone else directed. He was the least complicated of the children, the nature lover.
As for the rest of them… there were plenty of arguments between them. Walter, the eldest, couldn’t seem to get along with Justin at all, though Morwen admitted that it was usually Justin who picked the fight. And the girls… Primmy was growing up too fast, and little Charlotte at six years old was beginning to want her own place in the family. She was no longer a baby, Morwen thought, with a small stab of regret. They were all moving on, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop it.
But all this talk of Truro Fair was making her think backwards, not forwards. She had avoided its lure for years. Yet she only had to see the words on posters or in the newspaper, and she was instantly a girl again, with the smells and the colour and the excitement of Fair-day filling her senses.
She was one of the rich pageant of bal maidens who flocked to the Fair, walking miles across the moors and thinking nothing of it, decked out in bright colours and frilled bonnets, all hoping to catch the eye of a good-looking young man for a stolen kiss in a hay-loft or behind a cart, thrills and excitement spiced with daring and danger.
Her friend Celia had once found such kisses at Truro Fair. The memory could still twist Morwen’s heart, remembering how pretty Celia had taken too much of the heady potent sweet-drink and been cajoled into more than stolen kisses with Jude Pascoe, Ben’s cousin. While Morwen herself had stumbled into Ben’s arms, pushed by the crowd. She had looked into his dark eyes and known in an instant that their destiny was somehow going to be linked.
‘Mama, why have your eyes gone all funny?’ She heard Charlotte’s curious voice, and felt the child tugging at her skirt. She looked down quickly, feeling the heat in her cheeks, her mind and her soul still filled with those wondrous, turbulent, terrible days…
‘They’re not funny, little chick,’ Randell Wainwright’s strong voice said, swinging the child up into his arms and making her squeal. ‘Your Mama’s eyes are beautiful, just like yours!’
Morwen blinked swiftly as Primmy crashed the notes on the pianoforte, sitting bolt upright, and the boys started jumping up and down saying that carriages were approaching.
It broke into a moment that could have been charged with emotion, and Morwen was glad of the intrusion, even though she promised to speak to Primmy severely in the near future. The girl was definitely getting above herself.
Later, the dignitaries and their wives were seated as if in some elaborate tableau in the drawing-room, replete with tea and little cakes, and Primmy was performing for them beautifully, her slender fingers tripping over the keys.
And as Primmy turned to accept their applause and praise, her face glowing as if with rapture, it was only then that Morwen recognized the need in her.
‘We should have seen it long ago,’ Morwen said to Ben, when at last they were alone in their room that night. ‘Sam’s children will always be fighters. It’s born in them. Justin and Charlotte won’t have inherited this drive, this need to prove themselves, because they have their heritage—’
‘You’re talking absolute rubbish as usual,’ Ben interrupted irritably. ‘The older ones don’t even remember their real parents, so how can they feel any differently? We treat them all the same. And aren’t you forgetting Albert? There’s a dreamer if I ever saw one. He reminds me more of your brother Matt than Sam! Nothing
will disturb Albert, my dear. I sometimes wonder if there’s anything inside that head of his, apart from bees and insects.’
She came to his defence passionately. ‘You’re being unfair. And if you do liken him to Matt, well, Matt hasn’t done so badly, has he?’
‘All right. But I really don’t want to have a lengthy discussion about the children at this hour, Morwen. The afternoon was tedious enough, without all this nonsense about Truro Fair.’
Morwen rounded on him. ‘Ben, you will take them, won’t you? I promised them we’d go—’
‘Then you shouldn’t have promised before asking me. How dare you promise on my account?’
His anger rose so swiftly she could hardly believe what was happening. She knew the scaggies were still troublesome, and that the men resented the boss being at the works every single day and treating them like naughty children, but he didn’t have to vent his spite on his family…
‘I dare because I thought it was what you’d want,’ she said tremblingly. ‘Families go to the Fair, Ben, and I thought we were a family—’
He chose to ignore her distress. Either that, or they had grown so far apart that he simply wasn’t aware of it.
‘Well, this family will have to go without me,’ he said shortly. ‘You’ve clearly overlooked the fact that it coincides with the time I shall be in London. I’m sure it will be no hardship for our American cousin to take you and the children to Truro Fair, my dear, and that it will be infinitely preferable to you than going to London with me!’
He turned out the gas-light abruptly and slid into bed beside Morwen. She lay there, unmoving, slow tears streaking her face.
‘You haven’t asked me about London since you decided to take so few days off, Ben—’
‘Would it have made any difference? You’ve made it perfectly clear that you’ve no wish to do your wifely duty—’
Family Ties Page 6
