She turned sharply towards the darkened profile beside her. Handsome and unrelenting, and grown so hard that she grieved for the old Ben, the Ben she had loved so wildly, not this stuffy, pompous man who took himself and everything else too seriously.
‘Duty! Since when did you and I talk about duty to one another! That’s not the way I think of our marriage.’
‘Then perhaps you should. You allow your social graces to slip at times, Morwen. I noticed it this afternoon when our guests were here. It does little credit to our name, and sets a bad example to the children.’
This was too much. Morwen ripped off the bedcovers and slipped out of the bed, standing beside it in her nightgown, hands clenched, eyes blazing, consumed with an anger greater than she had ever known.
‘I set a bad example to the children, do I? When you have so little patience for your own son that you constantly beat him down with words if not with blows. If that’s what you think, then ’tis a good thing you’re not coming to the Fair wi’ us, for I might forget myself and go funning along with the bal maidens. ’Tis all I’m good for, wouldn’t you say – Sir?’
Her breasts heaved with the effort not to cry as she looked down at him. Knowing and hoping that there was still a chance, even now, for all this to end in a tumble between the sheets, for Ben to leap out of bed and catch her in his arms. For the laughter to begin, and the loving to melt all the hurt…
‘Try to control yourself, Morwen, for pity’s sake. Do you want to waken the entire household with your ravings?’ Ben snapped.
At his words, something inside her died. She reached for her dressing-robe with shaking hands. Her voice was brittle, her throat aching with unshed tears.
‘That would never do, would it? ’Tis not how a lady should behave. I apologise for being myself, Ben. I won’t keep you or anyone else awake a moment longer.’
She turned swiftly and sped out of the room, along the corridor and into another bedroom. It hadn’t been used for a while, it was cold and faintly musty, the sheets unaired. Morwen didn’t care. She cared about nothing but the enormity of realizing that she and Ben seemed to have reached a crisis point in their marriage, and he wouldn’t or couldn’t recognize it.
Morwen crawled between the cold sheets, still wrapped in her dressing-robe, shivering violently. She couldn’t think sensibly. The long night stretched ahead, dark and dreary. Somewhere out at sea she heard the eerie moan of a ship’s fog siren, echoing the emptiness inside her.
She had the children she had longed for, to make her life complete… but somehow in the process she had lost her husband. She couldn’t think of anything else. She had lost Ben, and he didn’t seem to care.
She turned her face into the unfamiliar pillow, stretching out her arms towards the empty place beside her as if in supplication, and wept as though her heart would break.
* * *
St Austell market-place had always been a thriving source of servants’ gossip. Many a young serving-girl came rushing home with a tasty tid-bit of news for her mistress about some other lady in the town, some scandal or other to brighten servants’ eyes and enliven a dull day for their gentlefolk.
‘I’m telling ’ee ’tis true,’ Fanny from Killigrew House said indignantly to the young parlour-maid from Oakville Manor. ‘Mrs Killigrew’s bin sleeping in that spare room for six nights now, and goes about looking like summat’s wrong wi’ her face, where she’s bin crying so much.’
‘And what about ’im, then? Do he allow such goings-on from his missus?’
‘Ain’t got no choice, ’as he? Mrs Killigrew’s got a mind of her own, though why anybody ’ould want to leave the Master’s bed to sleep on her own, I can’t think.’
The other girl sniggered. ‘Ain’t ’ee offered to warm it for ’un yet then, Fanny? You’m slipping!’
‘I’m thinking on it,’ Fanny said airily. ‘Mr Killigrew’s going away to Lunnon for three days next week, and she ain’t going with ’un, neither.’ Her eyes gleamed as she thought of another item of news. ‘I’ll tell ’ee summat else too. I don’t think the American gennulman’s too upset by all the goings-on.’
‘Oh-ho. Fancies your mistress, does he?’
Fanny nodded vigorously. ‘’Tis as plain as the nose on your face, Edie, and that’s plain enough for anybody—’
She ducked laughingly as Edie’s hand came up to give her a playful swipe. The stallholder swore loudly at the two prancing maids as they knocked a trayful of cabbages flying, and none of them noticed the person turning to stare thoughtfully after them as they disappeared into the Monday crowds. None of them would have recognized him anyway.
* * *
Jude Pascoe had come home to Cornwall, after what some might call a long exile in America. He didn’t see it that way, even though he hadn’t come home a rich man. He hadn’t prospered in the way his companion Matt Tremayne had done, apparently, from the whispers that had come Jude’s way. Even in New York, it wasn’t so difficult to get news of what was happening on the far side of the continent in California.
He knew Matt had struck gold, and for a while he had toyed with the idea of going west to seek him out. Matt owed him something. If it hadn’t been for Jude, Matt would probably be dead by now, hanged as a murderer for his part in drowning the foreign sailor in the midst of the wrecking.
Jude easily dismissed the fact that if it wasn’t for him, Matt would never have got caught up with the infamous wreckers in the first place, and that it had been Jude’s hand, not Matt’s, that delivered the final death blow to the sailor. Jude was adept at forgetting things too uncomfortable to remember.
He assessed the situation cannily. Matt wouldn’t welcome him in his new-found wealth, and Jude doubted if he’d get a penny out of him, for all his blusterings. Jude knew very well that he didn’t cut too fine a figure any more. His youthful, rugged good looks had succumbed to heavy drinking and a lusty appetite, and he knew he was gross and unattractive. Matt’s wife would probably show him the door, and that would be that. Far better to try his luck elsewhere.
And why not his old home, where his mother was still besotted by her errant son, and his uncle wouldn’t risk the good name of Killigrew by turning him out on the streets? Charles Killigrew would give him money and shelter, however grudgingly, until he decided what to do next.
It hadn’t taken Jude more than a day in St Austell to discover that both his mother and uncle were dead, that his cousin Ben was now in control of Killigrew Clay, and married to that damnable black-haired imperious bal maiden, Morwen Tremayne. And there was a whole brood of children at Killigrew House.
Ben hadn’t wasted much time, Jude thought. He himself had always been the lecherous one of the two, but he didn’t blame Ben for getting on with things. From what he remembered of the passionate Morwen Tremayne, and her luscious friend, Celia Penry…
Jude’s thinking had paused for a moment in the cheap, smoke-filled kiddleywink where he was lodging. Celia Penry… he hadn’t thought about her in years. His mind flashed over the events as if he was seeing them through a kaleidoscope.
Pretty doe-eyed Celia with her come-hither glances that could curdle a man’s guts with pleasure… plying Celia with sweet-drink at Truro Fair while Miss Haughty-face Morwen looked down her nose… fondling Celia and seeing the promise in her eyes, and getting the secret out of her that she and Morwen were visiting the Larnie Stone with the old witch’s potion to make them see their true loves through the stone…
And the rest of it, persuading Ben to go with him, to go funning with the maids at midnight on the moors. Celia screaming with laughter as he went chasing her, and when he found her, the sweet piercing of her maidenhead and soaring inside her and spilling out his seed… and Celia screaming, and screaming…
‘Be ’ee looking for a night o’ pleasure, my ’andsome?’
Jude’s hand jerked on the ale-pot as an inviting female voice spoke alongside him. The whore slid along the wooden seat to press close against him, the cheap,
sickly scent enveloping him for a moment. The woman’s hand squeezed his leg, moving towards his thigh, and he felt himself rise. He pushed the memory of Celia Penry’s terrified eyes out of his mind, and smiled into the painted face.
‘If you think you’re up to the best night you’ve ever ’ad, lead on, babe,’ he said coarsely. He gave a soft chuckle as he saw her eyes widen with delight.
‘Be ’ee from over the sea then, my dear?’
‘That’s right. All the way from America, just to see you, with more’n a sixpence to pay for a good time.’
Nobody took any notice of the whore hugging his arm as they moved towards the stairs. If she thought he was American, so much the better, Jude thought with satisfaction. Local girls seemed to have the notion that the Americans were bigger and better than anyone else, especially in the breeding tackle department, and he wasn’t about to disprove it.
And as well as this night of enjoyment, he had this other news to ponder about. Cousin Ben and his wife weren’t getting along, and there was somebody else in the running – he was an American too, if the maid’s words were correct. And Ben was leaving his wife, whom Jude still thought of as the clayworker’s daughter, alone for three whole days… Jude wasn’t too sure yet what he was going to do with the information, and it needed some thinking about. But one thing was certain. Jude Pascoe was back all right.
* * *
One by one, the children hugged their father and kissed him goodbye. They lined up like a row of little soldiers, Morwen thought with love. And Ben was so perfunctory with them all, as if he couldn’t wait to be away from them. But it wasn’t them, of course. It was her. It was Morwen he couldn’t wait to be away from.
Ever since she had moved out of their bedroom, Ben had only spoken to her when it was absolutely necessary.
Then he was cold and polite, and it was so obvious Morwen was quite sure the servants must know, and it only added to her humiliation.
She wasn’t sure just how much Randell Wainwright knew, or guessed. He still remained in the house as their guest, but he had seen a possible house just outside Truro that he might consider purchasing, and Morwen had promised to look over it during their visit to Truro Fair.
The children were all invited to an early tea with Jack and Annie and their children, and Morwen and Ran would join them later when she had given him her opinion of the new house. It was something to look forward to. It helped to shut out the fact that nothing was resolved between her and Ben, and it seemed as though it would remain that way.
And she just couldn’t bear to see him leaving like this, so cold and unforgiving, when she had done nothing wrong…
She caught at his hand when he would have turned to leave, unable to believe that he would snub her in this way, and not bid her a tender good-bye in front of the family and servants. Her eyes pleaded with him, and then he bent to give her the coolest peck on the mouth.
‘I hope you have a wonderful day at your college, Ben,’ she said tremulously. ‘We shall all be thinking of you, and I shall be so proud of you.’
He looked at her stonily.
‘Thank you, my dear. At least you won’t be lonely. You have family and friends around you, and the delights of Truro Fair tomorrow. I know you’ll enjoy it. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must leave.’
He might have been speaking to a stranger. Morwen’s eyes were blinded with tears as she caught sight of Fanny nudging Mrs Horn’s arm as they each bobbed in turn as Ben strode past them. They all know, Morwen thought. They all pity me, or laugh at me, and it’s all so unfair…
‘Don’t look so sad, cousin,’ Ran said gently. ‘Three days isn’t so long, and he’ll be back before you know it.’
How could Ran not see the change in Ben… but why should he? He hadn’t known the old Ben. Ran had only ever seen the cold clay boss that Ben had become. Even towards her own father… Hal had been so bitterly hurt at Ben’s treatment of him. He hadn’t held it back from Bess, and Bess had told Morwen, filled with indignation and anger…
At such times, Morwen’s family loyalty was as fierce as ever. She was still Morwen Tremayne, despite all the fine trappings Ben Killigrew had showered upon her. And knowing how he had insulted her father, she had been shamed by him.
Now she smiled brilliantly into Ran Wainwright’s eyes, so brilliantly that he caught his breath for a moment.
‘You’re right, Ran. I refuse to be sad. None of us must be sad. Let’s all have tea together and then play charades. What do you say? Do Americans know how to play charades, or do my clever little daughters have to teach you?’ she added, as Primmy and Charlotte clapped and jumped up and down, the gloom of their father’s departure diminishing in seconds.
Ran laughed. His teeth were so tidy when he opened his mouth, Morwen thought unexpectedly. White and tidy, and not with ugly gaps in them like half of the men she knew.
‘Oh, we Americans know plenty of parlour games, coz. We’re not as uncivilized as you seem to think!’
Primmy caught one of Ran’s hands and one of Morwen’s, the young-old composure slipping for once. Charlotte did the same, jumping up and down in her excitement and linking the four of them in a small, intimate circle.
Morwen was very aware of it. She was aware too, of the undisguised admiration in Ran Wainwright’s eyes, and her laugh was slightly breathless.
‘Run and tell Mrs Horn that we’ll have tea served up immediately, then, Primmy, and you boys can be thinking up some words to mime.’
She turned away from Ran’s gaze in some embarrassment. Ben had gone away and left her in his care, and it was good to have a relative as a chaperone and bodyguard in the house, but she could never really think of Ran as a relative. He was too different, too unlike anyone she had ever known before. Too masculine and attractive for her peace of mind.
And she would be a fool not to know that he was attracted to her as well. She did know it, and sometimes it was like a balm, and at other times it disturbed her more than she admitted.
Morwen threw herself into the game of charades, as much to keep up the children’s flagging spirits at their father’s departure, as to keep herself busy. While she was occupied, however simple the task, she could temporarily forget that something between her and Ben was dying… and that something else was imperceptibly coming to life between her and Randell E. Wainwright.
She smothered such thoughts as best she could while the children shrieked and clapped at the sight of Ran on hands and knees silently growling like a tiger, and easily guessed the animal he was miming. Then it was Morwen’s turn. She had prepared her mime, and moved in a stately fashion around the room, her head held high, graciously touching one child’s shoulder and then another with an imaginary sword.
‘Queen Victoria!’ shrieked Primmy. ‘I knew you’d do that mime, Mama. You always do it!’
Morwen laughed into her beautiful, sparkling eyes.
‘That’s because I’m so good at it,’ she said airily. ‘I was always meant for noble things, didn’t you know that?’
They all laughed and teased, and Ran joined in, and it was the most joyous day Morwen could remember for a long time. And after their tea, they all sat cosily in front of the fire while Primmy played for them, and as the music flowed all around them Ran looked down into the flushed face of his Cornish cousin, and thought he had never seen anything so lovely.
‘Being noble in the ways of the world wouldn’t become you, Morwen, and I mean no disrespect,’ he said softly, out of earshot of the children. ‘There’s no merit in being what you’re not, and you don’t need the trappings of society women. Your charm was born in you. Don’t ever lose that.’
She was startled at his frankness. She knew by now that American gentlemen were eloquent, and uninhibited by prissy protocol. The knowledge touched a spark in her that was in danger of becoming a flame, and Morwen suddenly felt afraid.
‘I was forgetting that you will know all about my background from Matt,’ her tone was light, deliberately misu
nderstanding him, ‘and we country folk should never aspire to be kings, is that it?’
‘It is not, and well you know it,’ Ran said gravely. ‘In my country we set little store by a person’s birth. It’s what he does with his life that’s important.’
Morwen stood up abruptly.
‘Goodness me, how serious we’ve all become,’ she said quickly. ‘Play something lively, Primmy, and we’ll all sing.’
She moved across to the pianoforte, and the children clustered around her. Ran remained where he was, lighting a cigar and leaning back on the sofa, wreathed in an aromatic scent, watching and listening to the little family group, to which he’d become more attached than he had ever expected or intended.
One thing was abundantly clear to him. Ben Killigrew might be the head of this house, but Morwen was its heart, and to Randell Wainwright, she would always be a queen.
Chapter Six
Jack Tremayne’s humour was definitely improved. He had discovered that there were other ways of preventing a wife becoming pregnant than by enforced celibacy for the rest of one’s life. In desperation, he had begged Doctor Vestey to put him out of his misery and suggest something other than visiting street women, which would shame him and Annie too.
Jack’s pleas were eloquent. He was in dire need. He would die without the comfort of his wife, which he had been assured of in the marriage vows. He would probably end up cutting his wrists or throwing himself in the Lemon River or beneath the wheels of a waggon if he didn’t get help …
Finally, the doctor had obliged, after much hawking in his throat, with details of appliances that made Jack wince at the very idea of them. There were further instructions about times of the month that made him scarlet with embarrassment, having always thought that these were women’s doings, and nothing that should concern a man, except for the inconvenience if he wanted her to perform her marital duty.
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