Family Ties

by Family Ties (retail) (epub)

  ‘So she’s dead. What’s that to do wi’ me? I went to America years ago with your brother Matt, though God knows what he’s been up to since we parted company.’

  Morwen’s knees were shaking, and she suddenly realized the danger of being here alone with this man, but she had to go on now.

  ‘My brother’s well rid of you. It’s not him I’m here to talk about. It’s Celia Penry.’

  ‘What about her? Did you bring me the money or have you put a packet of newsprint in the bag?’

  He scrabbled in his jacket to check, and immediately Morwen saw what a fool she had been. She hadn’t stopped to think, but Jude’s own words told her all she had needed to do. She could have tricked him with wads of newsprint. Instead of which, she had taken Ben’s money to pay him off… but if she succeeded, then it would be worth it.

  ‘The money’s there, and it’ll be the first and last that you’ll get.’

  He gave a taunting smile. ‘Is it now? I’ve found myself a nice little source of income, and I’m not letting go of it that easily. My cousin Ben can afford to pay up, knowingly or not. I’ve been watching him, and he’s doing very nicely at the gambling tables, winning a packet at all the gaming houses in town lately.’

  Morwen’s heart leapt. So that was where Ben went, and where he had got all that money. No wonder there were so many used bank-notes. Ben never used to keep so much money at home… her thoughts began to scramble again, and she needed to keep a clear head. Whatever she thought of Ben’s gambling had nothing to do with this confrontation with Jude Pascoe.

  ‘You won’t get another penny from me,’ Morwen said in a tight, deliberate voice. ‘If you threaten me again, I shall go to the constables with certain evidence.’

  The sound of a sea-bird screeching high above was the only sound in the next seconds, and then he had moved across the sands to her, his hand digging cruelly into her arm.

  ‘What evidence?’ he snarled. ‘Did that poxy brother tell you of the seaman who drowned the night of the wrecking? It was an accident, but we knew nobody would ever believe us, and decided to leave the country fast—’

  ‘I know nothing of any seaman drowning,’ Morwen’s lips shook and she was sure they were drained of colour from the faintness washing over her again. Nor could she remember the night of one wrecking among many along the Cornish coast, but it explained so many things, and how her sweet gullible brother would have been swept along under the influence of this man. That, and his dream of America suddenly beckoning…

  Jude let her go so violently she almost fell in the soft sand. She forced back the involuntary tears at the pain in her flesh from his rough handling.

  ‘Then what the hell are you talking about, shit-bag?’

  The tears dried, and her voice was as vicious as his.

  ‘My friend Celia. The girl you murdered, along with her unborn baby. Your baby, though God knows I blessed the day when that died too, thinking it had come from your stinking flesh—’

  He gaped at her in disbelief.

  ‘What baby?’ he blustered. ‘And how could I have murdered her? She was well enough when I left for America. I’d forgotten her—’

  ‘But I don’t forget,’ Morwen whipped out. ‘Nor does the doctor who examined her after she was found floating in a claypit. Nothing was said of her condition then, but it would only need a word from me and the body could be exhumed and there would be clear evidence of a child being conceived. The constables would take a very keen interest in the person responsible, I promise you, and I’d be more than willing to give evidence. So would Ben!’

  She finished wildly. She didn’t know if the doctor would even remember anything. At the time, Morwen was sure he suspected, although Celia had put about her fear of a growth in her stomach and had walked into the claypool to her death. If they dug her up from Penwithick churchyard, would anything but bones remain after all these years? Morwen couldn’t even guess, but she stared unblinkingly into the eyes of the man she had hated for so long, and prayed that he would believe it all.

  ‘The girl on the moors—’ he muttered.

  ‘That’s right. The girl on the moors. Don’t you remember her screams, Jude Pascoe? They’re still in my head, and I pray they’re still in yours.’

  He laughed uneasily.

  ‘Who’d take notice of anything Morwen Tremayne said?’

  For the first time in her life, she felt the power of her position, and straightened her back.

  ‘Probably nobody. But everyone would take notice of Morwen Killigrew, wife of the owner of Killigrew Clay, daughter of the Works Manager, and someone who’s considered a lady in St Austell.’

  Jude’s eyes were dark slits.

  ‘So what’s your price for not telling Ben about your fancy-man?’ He still bluffed, but his voice was less sure now, and Morwen felt the sweet triumph of revenge at last.

  ‘My price is never to see or hear of you again as long as I live. Never to contact me or my family, and to go back to America or anywhere else on earth, as long as it’s away from England.’ It was no longer enough just to say Cornwall. He had to be away from these shores for ever. ‘If I get one hint that you don’t do as I say, I shall take my evidence to the constables, and also to The Informer, in Truro. I promise you that even if your part in Celia’s death couldn’t be proved and the law didn’t get you, the clayworkers would.’

  She stood very still now. Jude knew the character of the clayworkers. He knew well enough that he would be lynched and strung up without a trial or a hearing. Morwen Killigrew might be a lady in the eyes of the town, but to the clayworkers she would always be Morwen Tremayne, one of their own, and one whom they trusted and believed. And Jude’s fate would be assured.

  He scowled furiously. ‘All right. It seems that you’ve won, dear cousin. I’ve had enough of this narrow-minded country, anyway. And with this to buy me a passage and a new start, I’ll get back to where a man can breathe without feeling stifled. You’ll see no more of me.’

  He patted his jacket, and any hope Morwen had of retrieving the five hundred pounds faded. He would never give it back, and she had been stupid and reckless in bringing it. But it was too late now, and she must be thankful for what she had.

  She turned blindly, unable to look at him a moment longer, slipping and sliding up the winding sandy steps to the cliff-top and rushing towards Sheba. The mare whinnied in protest as Morwen twisted the reins sharply, and galloped as fast as she dared away from the shore and towards the moors.

  She couldn’t return to the house yet. She needed time alone. She needed to free her mind of the painful memories Jude Pascoe revived. She needed to talk to Celia…

  * * *

  It was a long while since she had visited Penwithick churchyard, to the quiet corner where the simple granite stone recorded Celia’s name, the dates of her birth and death and nothing more, as her father had wanted. Celia Penry, 1834–1850. Morwen stroked the marbled surface, wishing she had some flowers to arrange. She looked around. There were early wild daffodils already blooming along the grassy banks. Quickly, Morwen picked some, and lay them by the headstone.

  ‘It’s over, Celia,’ she murmured softly. ‘I’d have paid a king’s ransom to see the look on his face when he realized what it would cost him if he dared show his face here again. I’ve done what had to be done, so sleep easy now.’

  A soft, sighing breeze was all the answer she got, but her eyes were calmer when she finally rose from her knees. In some small way, Celia’s death had been avenged. It wasn’t the worst that could happen to Jude Pascoe, but it was the worst that Morwen could do, short of betraying Celia’s shame, and the public knowledge of which her friend had been so terrified.

  She remounted her mare and trotted gently now, past Clay One, where the throb of the beam-engine was the heartbeat of Killigrew Clay. Past the hordes of clayworkers, gouging and firing, trundling and tipping. Past the groups of bal maidens, their distinctive white bonnets bobbing as they scraped the clay b
locks and chattered incessantly. Past the milky-green clay pool where Celia had drowned, and past the peaked, white sky-tips, where the impurities of the clay waste glinted in the watery January sun.

  She had just cast out the biggest impurity of her life, and she could swear with that strange Cornish intuition of hers, that Celia knew and approved. She could feel it in the nodding sway of bracken and sense it in the clear golden blossoming of gorse that welcomed another year, another beginning.

  * * *

  Such serenity of mind was dashed as soon as she returned to Killigrew House late that afternoon. Ben was home from his meeting with the accountant, and it obviously hadn’t gone well. The children were home from school, and Morwen could hear raised voices the minute she stepped inside the house.

  ‘I didn’t take it,’ she heard Justin scream. ‘Why do you always think the worst of me?’

  ‘I bet you did, you little sneak. You pinched my pencil yesterday—’ Primmy said maliciously.

  ‘Nobody’s talking about bloody pencils,’ Ben roared. ‘I’m talking about a great deal of money that’s missing from my study, and none of you is getting anything to eat until I find the culprit. You can starve for a month, but I’ll have an answer.’

  Outside the drawing-room door, Morwen froze for a moment, as if willing the scene inside to go away. She knew it wouldn’t. She could imagine the children, frightened and upset, each knowing they weren’t to blame, each wondering which of the others had done this terrible thing. Charlotte was crying noisily, and Walter and Albert were fighting.

  ‘I never go to Daddy’s study,’ Albert shouted. ‘It’s not allowed—’

  ‘You’re a pompous pig, Albert,’ Walter bawled back.

  ‘Have you been in there without my permission, Walter?’ Ben snapped.

  ‘No, I haven’t!’ Walter began howling at once, all his hurt pride evident in his voice. ‘Are you accusing me now?’

  ‘I am not. I’m waiting for the guilty person to do the honourable thing and own up.’

  ‘It might have been one of the servants,’ Primmy defended her brothers hotly.

  ‘It might,’ Ben retorted. ‘But they’ve all been in my employ a long time, and none of them would be so stupid as to think they could steal hundreds of pounds and get away with it.’

  ‘Hundreds of pounds!’ Justin said in a strangled voice. ‘What would we do with hundreds of pounds?’

  ‘That’s what I’m bloody well trying to find out, you nincompoop!’ Ben yelled at him.

  Morwen couldn’t bear it any longer. She opened the drawing-room door and went inside. All the children looked terrified, and Charlotte rushed to her mother at once, burying her face in Morwen’s skirts. Ben was puce with rage.

  Morwen looked at him over the top of the child’s dark head. She didn’t need to be a medical expert to know that such anger was bad for him. The long scar was a livid red lightning slash in his cheek.

  ‘Please don’t censure them any more,’ she said quietly to Ben. He rounded on her at once.

  ‘This is nothing to do with you, Morwen. One of these little charmers is a thief, and I’ll know which one if I have to take a strap to them all.’

  ‘You’ll take no strap to any of my children,’ she said furiously, and at the sudden sneer on his face, she guessed he was on the brink of disclaiming parentage of three of them. She knew she must act quickly to prevent the damage it would do to them to hear the truth this way.

  ‘You seem to have lost your senses to think the children could have taken your money, and I know more of this matter than you think. We’ll discuss it in private, Ben.’

  His face registered complete outrage at her words, and she shooed the children out of the room, saying they could go to the nursery and have their tea sent up, and everything was going to be all right. She stood stiffly, facing her husband.

  ‘So we’ve got petticoat rule in this house now, have we? You’ll please remember that I give the orders here, Morwen!’ He oozed sarcasm.

  ‘Since when did Ben Killigrew give his wife orders? Please sit down, dar, and calm yourself. I fear for you—’

  ‘I’m perfectly all right. Don’t fuss, woman,’ he snapped, the ghost of his father at that moment. But he sat down heavily, glowering up at her, and told her sarcastically to explain herself, if she could.

  Chapter Eleven

  She hadn’t thought this far ahead. She had taken the money in a panic, fearing what Jude Pascoe might do, and seizing on the chance to challenge him with the truth about Celia, and be rid of him for ever. Now she saw that the only way out of this was to be scrupulously honest. As Ben waited, hard-eyed, she rummaged for the letter Jude Pascoe had sent to the house that morning, and handed it to him silently.

  ‘Good God!’ Ben’s rage was directed at Morwen now as he skimmed the words. ‘Do you mean to tell me you stole from me to pay off a common blackmailer?’

  And never a word about whether there was a grain of truth in the letter. Never a care about his wife having a lover… just concern for his precious money… at the realization, something in her died at that moment.

  ‘I did it for one reason only!’ she said fiercely, praying that her voice wouldn’t break. ‘And not the one I might have expected you to show concern about! You obviously don’t care whether I’m enamoured of Ran Wainwright or not. But I’ll put your mind at rest, in case you should be interested: nothing happened between us at his house. I’ll admit I panicked when I got this letter, as any wife would, but I decided to pay the man for a very different reason.’

  ‘There’s no bloody reason for associating with scum. You should have torn the thing up, or come to me, and I’d soon have gone to the authorities and got the man locked away—’ Ben was incensed now.

  ‘You don’t listen to me or talk to me lately, Ben. Besides which, I was positive I knew the identity of the blackmailer, and now he’s gone—’ she began to feel hysterical at the look of derision in his eyes.

  ‘My God, you’re more of a simpleton than I thought,’ Ben said savagely. ‘Blackmailers never give up.’

  ‘This one will. He’s gone for good. If not, he knows I’ll expose him for the murderer that he is.’

  At last she had got his attention, she thought bitterly. Until now, his total concern had been for his money. He was obsessed with it, and she had never realized it until now. ‘Murderer? And who is this choice person, may I ask?’

  ‘Your cousin. Jude Pascoe.’

  Ben leapt out of the chair. ‘What? Have you lost your mind? He’s in America, and good riddance to him—’

  ‘No, he’s not, Ben. Although I hope he’ll be on his way back there very soon. He’s been in Cornwall for some time. I thought I saw him at Truro Fair, and I assume that he followed Ran and me to Ran’s house, and got completely the wrong idea.’

  Ben’s eyes narrowed at the small quaver in her voice. ‘What the hell did you tell him that makes you think he’ll go away again?’

  ‘I told him about Celia,’ she said. ‘I told him the doctor had evidence of her losing a baby, and that she drowned herself because of the shame. I said I’d ask the doctor to dig up Celia’s body, and that I’d send the whole story to the newspaper so that everyone would know, and that if he didn’t get lawful justice, he’d get it from the clayworkers. You know as well as I do that they’d tear him to pieces and no one would ever know the truth of it.’

  Ben stared at her in silence for a minute or two. ‘Christ, but you never let go, do you?’ Ben said in grudging admiration. ‘Your bluff wouldn’t have held up, of course, because the body would be decomposed by now, but the thought of a mob of clayworkers lynching the bastard would have done the trick. You’re cleverer than I gave you credit for.’

  He never noticed how she flinched at his callous reference to Celia.

  ‘I didn’t do it to be clever,’ she said hoarsely, wilting now. ‘I did it for Celia. Five hundred pounds was a small price to pay for revenge.’

  Ben’s eyes flashed again
. ‘It doesn’t alter the fact that you stole it from me, but we’ll ignore that for the moment. What’s important is that I need that money, and I need it now.’

  ‘What on earth for? The boxes were stuffed with money! I’ve never seen so much.’ She was suddenly shame-faced. ‘Ben, I’m sorry. I had no right to take it. I didn’t think—’

  ‘I said we’ll forget it.’ She could tell that his nerves were on a knife-edge once more. ‘I’ve just had a blistering afternoon with Daniel Gorran. Thank God the American’s no longer working with him. I wouldn’t have cared for him to hear us wrangling like fish-wives.’

  ‘What’s happened?’ she said in fright.

  He looked at her coldly, moving to the sideboard to pour himself a large brandy. He wasn’t supposed to drink heavily and he knew it, but his eyes dared her to question him as he spoke mockingly. Morwen knew him well enough to know it hid real alarm.

  ‘What’s happened, my dear, is that the price for china-clay is plunging, and we’ve had outstanding debts to pay for months. It didn’t matter too much. Businesses are always run like that, and Killigrew Clay’s name was enough to put the debtors off while the bank interest accumulated. Only there’s not much money in the bank now, and with the rapidly falling prices for clay, the debtors have decided they won’t wait, and I was counting on the money in the study to pay the bills.’

  Morwen ran her tongue around her dry lips. ‘But Ben, there must have been several thousand pounds in there—’

  ‘And it might just have been enough to keep them quiet for the time being. As it is, I shall just have to get more from somewhere.’

  ‘You’re in debt for over two thousand pounds?’ she whispered. Such money was a fortune. She belonged to a family who would have scratched for pennies to keep themselves honourably out of debt, and now her husband owed thousands. It all made a mockery out of gentle-folk and their morals.

  He laughed without humour, speaking now with false bravado. ‘Oh, a bit more than that, my love, but I dare say I’ll find the money, providing you keep your fingers out of my affairs in future.’