‘Since she married Ben Killigrew, and especially now, since she’s your boss and ’tis her say-so whether you get your dues at the end of the week to put food into your babbies’ bellies,’ Hal bellowed back.
Morwen listened, appalled. One minute they were an orderly crowd. The next, they were a belligerent mob. She felt her hands clench on the rail of the trap, and her knuckles were white, the skin stretched taut.
‘Will you listen to me?’ she almost screamed the words to make them quiet. Some were prepared to listen, but she had to yell above the mutterings that were never going to die down.
‘I’ve said what I came to say. You have jobs to come to every day, and there’ll be wage packets for you every week. What more do you want?’
‘We want to know who’s paying off Ben Killigrew’s debts, and what effect the loss of the spring despatches is going to have on we, Morwen Killigrew, that’s what.’
The words were taken up again and again, and threaded between them was a new and insidious message.
‘A woman ain’t the proper person for being in charge of a clayworks. ’Tis a man’s job. We don’t want no tales of some other woman boss’s success. Killigrew Clay’s allus been run by a man, and ’tis a man we want now.’
‘Do you want me to change my sex or wear trousers or work in the fire-hole?’ Morwen screamed back at them. ‘I can’t change the fact that my husband’s dead. I apologize for his death. It was unthinking of him to leave you all like this!’
She was desperately near to tears. She swallowed the great lump in her throat, frustration and despair almost overcoming her. She felt Hal’s large calloused hand close over hers and looked at him through brimming eyes.
‘’Tis time,’ he said quietly, close to her ear. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she wanted to lean there, to melt into his strength, to let him take all the burden away from her. But this was a sharing, a partnership, and she kept her weight firmly on her own feet as Hal roared out for silence. The shock of his voice stilled them for a moment, but it was long enough.
‘You want a man at the head of Killigrew Clay, you buggers? You want the truth of it? You’ve had a two-man partnership at the head of Killigrew Clay for years now, ever since the rail tracks disaster.’
The crowd was church-hushed now, uncertain, disbelieving, as Hal continued in a voice as unyielding as the granite cliffs.
‘You all remember my son, Matthew, come home lately on a visit from America. You all know how he went away poor and came home rich from the gold pickings in California. What you don’t know is the gift he made my Bess and me in those early days, wealth enough to help save Killigrew Clay when all seemed lost. Without our Matt’s money, you’d all have been scratching for pennies years back.’
‘What in hell be ’ee saying, Hal Tremayne?’
‘What I’m saying, you shit-bagging buggers,’ he went on in their own free language, ‘is that Hal Tremayne’s been more’n your Works Manager these past ten years. I’ve been in partnership wi’ Ben Killigrew all that time, and now that he’s dead, I’m in partnership wi’ Morwen. Killigrew Clay belongs to the two of us, and ’ee can all like it or lump it, but that’s the way ’tis going to be.’
The silence was like a shock wave running through them. Too traumatic to draw breath for a second, and then explosive in its violence.
‘You’m a lying bastard, Hal Tremayne, and if ’tis your way of gaining control, we’ll not stand for it. You and your daughter have cooked this up atween ’ee—’
‘We have not!’ Morwen yelled. ‘’Tis all perfectly true, and my Daddy has papers to prove it. We’ll have a deputation of you to come to the Killigrew offices in St Austell in a few days from now to show you—’
‘Oh ah! To give yourselves time to fix up the papers, I s’pose—?’
‘No, you ignorant fools!’ Morwen was appalled to hear herself shout so witheringly, but she couldn’t seem to stop. ‘To get the documents from the lawyers and the Bodmin bank, so you’ll see for yourselves that it was all done legally ten years ago. Do you think I’d be daft enough to say my Daddy was part-owner if it wasn’t true? It could all be proved otherwise easily enough. And if none of you likes the present ownership, you can all try for jobs elsewhere. There’ll always be men eager to work for Killigrew Clay, whoever’s in charge.’
She saw the heads begin to nod reluctantly. Inside, all her nerves were like jelly, but she’d be damned if she would let them see it. She was Morwen Killigrew, and never more conscious of old Charles Killigrew’s trust in her. She owed this to him, and to Ben, and she kept her head held high until the angry mutterings were distilled into a single voice from one spokesman, the recently-appointed Pit Captain of Clay One.
‘All right, Mrs Killigrew,’ he growled in what might or might not have been a sarcastic tone. ‘We ain’t pleased with the way Hal Tremayne’s deceived us all these years, but none of us wants to be out on our backsides. Give us the day of the meeting, and a deputation will be there.’
She nodded briskly. They had won. The papers were all legally solid, and her father would take his rightful place in the order of things at last. Hal may not have wanted this, but she did. Oh, she did. The responsibility of it all was too much, but it wasn’t until she and Hal were on their way down the moors towards St Austell again that the tears finally began to fall, and when they did, they came in a torrent.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘We have to discuss Ran’s offer, Morwen, if only because he’ll not be satisfied until he gets a proper reply,’ Hal said eventually. ‘I can’t make up my mind about it. The money’s in the bank account to settle a lot of the bills, and I’m not sure we need another partner.’
Was she just contrary, or was it just Tremayne pride that made her react in the same way Ben had done?
‘It’s your money, Daddy, and you and Mammie might need it one day—’
‘What should we need it for?’
‘To visit Matt, maybe—’
‘Your Mammie don’t need that, my love. Matt’s come home, and she’s content to have seen ’un once more. Money means nothing to us, but it means a lot to Killigrew Clay. Dammit, girl, ’tis as much my business as yours, and if I say we put the money to good use, then that’s what we’ll do.’
He was as unbending as she, and she could see that his temper, slow to rise, was beginning to come to the boil again, so soon after the confrontation at Clay One.
‘’Tis something we must sort out with Daniel Gorran, Daddy. In a few days, when we’ve got over all this.’
She kept saying the same words. In a few days. Later… Yet it wasn’t her nature to put things off. Once trouble was imminent, she had always preferred to get it out in the open and thrash it out. But where business was concerned, Morwen was already learning that impetuosity didn’t always pay. She soon learned something else too.
Once the news of Hal Tremayne’s long-time partnership with Ben Killigrew was out, the whole town seemed to be talking about it. Tales were garbled and often ludicrous, and through them all, Hal Tremayne and his daughter behaved with dignified control. If the maids at Killigrew House wondered, and street acquaintances whispered and stared, they could all be ignored.
What couldn’t be ignored was the reaction of the children. Walter was still away in Truro, but the others were agog with the sudden interest in their family. They trailed into the drawing-room together, and Albert was the new leader in Walter’s absence.
‘Is it true, Mother?’ Albert demanded. ‘A woman stopped me in the street and asked if my grandfather was the real owner of Killigrew Clay. What’s happening, Mother?’
Morwen looked at him with a little shock. She had always thought Walter was growing up too fast, but now that he wasn’t here, Albert was taking charge. He seemed taller, less in Walter’s shadow… the sensation of the new generation taking the place of the old made Morwen give a sudden shiver.
‘He’s not the sole owner, darling, but he’s a partner with me. He was i
n partnership with your father for many years, but he never wanted it known. You know Grandfather Hal. He never liked any fuss.’
She kept calm and brisk as she spoke, seeing the frown on Albert’s face. She quickly realized she had underestimated him in many ways. With barely a pause, he echoed her own thoughts of a few days ago when she and Hal had faced the clayworkers. Since then, Hal had obtained the necessary documents, and together with Morwen and the lawyer to explain things properly, they had satisfied the deputation of clayworkers at the town offices that Hal’s claims were as he had stated. And then the town had buzzed with the revelation. As Ben’s wife, Morwen had known of the partnership from the start, and now Hal himself had gone to Truro to let Jack and Freddie in on the best-kept Killigrew secret, before they heard it from outsiders. It was yet another secret…
‘Will it be called Tremayne Clay now then, Mother?’
She gave a small laugh. ‘Of course not. Why should it be changed?’
‘Granddad Hal’s a Tremayne, and so were you, and me and Walter and Primmy will inherit, along with Justin and Charlotte, and we’re all half-Tremaynes.’
His blue eyes challenged hers.
‘Nothing will change, Albert,’ she said firmly, catching the look of alarm in Justin’s face.
‘I don’t want to be a Tremayne,’ he muttered.
‘You’re not,’ Morwen snapped. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Justin, and don’t make difficulties where there aren’t any. And if any more people stop you in the street, you’re to say, it’s family business and nothing more. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Mother,’ they said in unison.
Charlotte began to pout, tired of the others looking so cross at matters she didn’t understand.
‘When are we going to see Uncle Ran again? He said we were going to have a party at his house.’
‘Darling, we can’t have parties just yet,’ Morwen told her gently.
‘Why not?’
Justin suddenly shouted at her. ‘Because our father’s just died, that’s why not, you ninny. People can’t sing and dance for years and years afterwards—’
‘Not years, idiot,’ Primmy said nervously. ‘It’s not years, is it, Mother?’
Morwen looked at the four bleak faces and felt a stab of compassion for them.
‘No, my loves. Your father wouldn’t have wanted that. It will be weeks, not years—’
‘Can’t I even play the piano?’ Primmy was mournful. ‘I’ll play the saddest songs I can, Mother. That will be all right, won’t it?’
‘I’m sure it will. And we’ll see Uncle Ran soon, I promise, even if it won’t be for a party. We could ask him for Sunday tea, though. You boys can ride over to New World this evening and invite him, if you like.’
They cheered up at once.
She left them to their own devices, hearing the strains of Primmy’s tortured piano playing drift out of doors as she took a stroll around the garden in the afternoon sunshine. It was already a few weeks since Ben’s death, and she was lonely without him. With his death, she forgot all the bad times, the hateful times, and remembered only the love. It was as though distance from him had totally changed her feelings.
There were times when she ached for Ben with an almost physical pain. There were others when she hated herself because of her disloyalty to him, remembering how she had betrayed him with Ran. There were times when she panicked, wondering if she would ever be able to love again, or if she was trapped now with her own guilt. She felt truly as though she was in some kind of wilderness, and it was an effort to suggest doing anything, even inviting Randell Wainwright to tea. Especially inviting Ran to tea, because she was no longer sure of her own feelings.
* * *
Before that happened, there were uninvited visitors to the house. The children had gone to the beach, and Mrs Horn came into the drawing-room with a sniff and a snort.
‘Mrs Killigrew, are you at home to Mr and Mrs Askhew from Truro? If ’ee don’t feel like seeing folks, ’ee only has to say the word and I’ll send ’em packing!’
Morwen was startled. ‘The lady and her husband?’
Mrs Horn nodded. ‘That’s what I said. Shall I tell ’em you’m not up to seeing visitors yet?’
‘No. No, don’t do that, Mrs Horn. Send them in, and make us some tea in a little while, please. We’ll take it in the summer-house.’
The housekeeper sniffed all the way out, and Morwen guessed rightly that it would be the hard-voiced newspaperman that she didn’t like. Miss Finelady Jane Carrick – Mrs Tom Askhew – was liked by everyone.
Jane came in like a refreshing breath of spring, moving to take Morwen’s hands in hers for a moment. Naturally Jane and her parents had been at the funeral, but this was the first time she had called to pay her respects.
‘Morwen, darling, how are you?’ Jane said softly.
Morwen retreated at once. How dare this girl call her darling, as if they were friends? They had never been friends. Rivals, yes, and uneasy acquaintances, but never friends.
‘I’m well,’ she said coolly. ‘But what a surprise to see your husband in Cornwall again. Does this mean you’ll all be going back to Yorkshire again soon?’
Tom spoke in his gravelly voice.
‘Quite soon, Mrs Killigrew. ’Tis a place of little attraction for me, except for finding my wife here, of course. And Cathy seems to have found some amusements of her own in Truro.’
‘How nice,’ Morwen said politely, and turned away from him. ‘Jane, it’s very warm indoors. I’ve asked Mrs Horn to bring us tea to the summer-house. Shall we go and sit there?’
‘That will be lovely.’ The warmth in Jane’s voice made up for the coolness in the other’s. For the life of her, Morwen couldn’t take to this girl. That devilish jealousy she had experienced on their first meeting still plagued her, and it irritated her still more to know that it was for no possible reason.
‘It’s good of you to call, Jane.’ She made an effort to be sociable when they were seated in the wicker chairs in the summer-house.
‘I would have come sooner, but I wasn’t sure when Tom was arriving, and he wanted to see you too.’
Morwen looked at him in surprise. ‘Did he?’
She couldn’t think why. They had never had much to say to one another before he whisked Jane off to Yorkshire years ago. In fact, she had never really trusted the newspaperman, despite the fact that he’d helped Ben further his cause for his rail tracks by his hard-hitting and sensible features in the Truro newspaper, The Informer. Apparently, now he was a leading light in The Northern Informer in his home town.
He said nothing as Mrs Horn brought out a tray of tea and Morwen acted the hostess, and then he leaned back, stirring the cup with unnecessary force.
‘I won’t beat about the bush, Mrs Killigrew.’
Why did his use of her full name irk her so? Yet, if he’d been familiar and called her Morwen, she knew very well that would have irked her just as much. She just didn’t like him, and had always found it hard to resist showing her dislike. She looked at him impassively.
‘Everyone knows by now that your father’s been in partnership with your husband for some years.’
She hated his flat nasal voice. She made no comment, but waited for him to go on.
‘It’s no secret, either, that the clayworks business has been falling off lately, and your own losses when the ship sank must have been a real disaster to you. What I’m interested in doing for my northern paper, Mrs Killigrew, is a feature on these events, as seen through the eyes of an owner’s wife; namely, you. Naturally, my paper would pay you handsomely for any personal details you may care to offer.’
Morwen’s mouth had fallen open at his gall. She heard Jane murmur something to her husband, and then he spoke more quickly.
‘I don’t mean to offend you, Mrs Killigrew, but my readers would find it enormously interesting, and since we’re doing a series of articles on the potteries, the story of your lives here would complement th
ese. Starting from the humble clayfolk and going on to the gracious tables of the rich, so to speak.’
With every word, he dug himself in deeper. He was bloody irritated by her. She sat there as if carved out of ice, her beautiful face glaring at him and making him feel less than dirt. And who the devil was she, anyway? Nowt but a clayworker’s daughter, if the truth be told.
Morwen found her voice. ‘Get out of here, Tom Askhew,’ she said in a deep, vibrant voice. ‘How dare you come here so soon after my husband’s death and try to make me bare my emotions for your miserable little readers?’
‘Morwen, Tom didn’t mean it like that—’ Jane said, distressed. Morwen rounded on her at once.
‘How else did he mean it? Does he hope I’ll say that Killigrew Clay will come a cropper now? I’m sure he knows all about Ben’s little difficulties. Everyone else seems to know. Why doesn’t he just make up a tale and be done with it?’
‘Now then, Mrs Killigrew, don’t jump to conclusions,’ Tom patronized her. And oh, how she hated that emphasis on the first syllable in conclusion. Con man was more to the point, she thought furiously. Conning his way in here and playing on her vulnerability…
‘What I want to show my readers is that the business will undoubtedly survive, despite having a woman at its head. Your father will see to that, I’ve no doubt, knowing the clayworks so well. You Tremaynes seem to be a strong-willed class of folk. What are the chances of changing the name to Tremayne Clay instead of Killigrew Clay? I confess it’ll not have the same ring to it—’
When Albert said it, Morwen could shrug it off. When this condescending lout said it, she could have strangled him.
‘Get out of my house, and don’t come here again, either of you. You’re not welcome here, and now that the Killigrew men are gone, I don’t have to pretend an acquaintance with you that I don’t want and certainly don’t need.’
She could see that Jane’s pretty eyes were filled with tears, but she hardened her heart against her. Jane may have toyed with Ben’s youthful love, but Morwen was the bereaved widow, and how dare they come here with their insulting offers of money for a newspaper story!
Family Ties Page 31
