The Carpenter's Daughter

by Gloria Cook

  Sol had gripped his wrist and thrust his hand away. ‘I decide what I want. I only do what Grandmama advises. I want things to stay as they are for now. I certainly haven’t considered wanting Chy-Henver as my own.’

  ‘We’ll leave it for now,’ Titus had growled, hiding how much the close collaboration between his mother and his son rankled with him. ‘But if you and Mama have anything to say about it in future I want to hear it. Do you understand?’ Titus’s boast that he was head of his family had one flaw which never failed to humiliate him. His mother kept control of his excesses by her threat to ill-wish him, to bring him down. She had the ‘powers’ and he was genuinely afraid she’d use them on him.

  Sol had stayed silent, as if he had ended an annoying discussion. That would have brought Titus to a rage with anyone else, but Titus thought it was how a Kivell man should be, in charge, intransigent. Titus had brooded, downing his beer in one noisy draught, slopping it over his chin and chest. ‘Are you getting sweet on the Lewarne girl? Is that it?’

  ‘She’s just another girl.’ Sol had looked at his father levelly, but Titus had never been good at figuring out Sol. ‘I respect her mother.’

  ‘Bah! You’re getting soft.’

  ‘I am not, but it makes more sense to be hard when you need to be and flexible when it’s necessary, rather than go about riding roughshod over everyone. We need to present a softer image if we’re going to successfully integrate with the community.’

  Titus had got up, sneering at Sol as if he thought his son was going mad. Then he’d vented his ill humour on a drinker by stamping on his foot, accusing him of being clumsy and giving him a thrashing.

  ‘Now, Mrs Hichens, I can’t stay here much longer so I’ll bring the subject back to Sarah. She’s told me what a good mother you were before your tragic accident. How you always did what was best for her and the other two. Do you know what? I believe you’re a good mother even now and only want what’s best for your children.’ Titus got up and looked down on Nancy. Her eyelids were fluttering. ‘I can see I’m tiring you but you only have to bear with me a little longer. It must be a terrible thing for you, knowing you’re bringing Sarah down. Fate hasn’t been kind to you. The very sight of you is revolting. None of us wants to exist as some stinking, grotesque hulk, do we? But there’s no need for you to worry. I’m going to help you. And Sarah. You’re a good mother, Mrs Hichens. You’ll understand what I’m about to do.’

  He moved behind Nancy, then leaning forward he rolled up the pointed ends of her shawl. With eyes glittering coldly, he pressed the pads of shawl over her nose and face. At once survival instinct gave her feeble arms the strength to fight for her life. Nancy clawed the air and tried to fend off the thing that was suffocating her. Titus pushed her grasping hands away with his forearms.

  It took a few minutes to complete his task, the final arrangement to drape her shawl back in place. Nancy looked more gruesome than before. Titus put back the chair he’d sat on. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Hichens. You’ll be a nice colour by the time Sarah gets home so it won’t be too harrowing for her, and I want you to take your eternal rest assured that I will look after her from now on.’

  Sixteen

  Amy and Sarah were walking along the lanes, two neat attractive figures in black capes and bonnets. They were on their way to Burnt Oak.

  ‘Aunty Molly wouldn’t approve of where I’m going and I should feel guilty about lying to her,’ Sarah said. ‘She’s suggested Tamsyn and Arthur stay at her house tonight so I can have a break. Isn’t that kind? Lots of people have been kind to me since Mother’s sudden passing.’

  ‘That’s because you deserve it.’ Amy smiled. ‘People are impressed by the way you’ve coped since her accident at the mine and now with her death.’ She linked her arm through Sarah’s. Not everyone was being kind to her friend. To account for the rise in Sarah’s living standards a few nasty-tongued and jealous people had formed the opinion that she must have a well-off lover. Amy was sure Sarah knew who her benefactor was but she had fended off any questions. She hoped Sarah would never get to hear the rumours, and that she wasn’t in for some kind of awful disappointment concerning the benefactor and have all her new-found confidence wiped out.

  ‘Aunty Molly says it was a happy release for Mother. I suppose it was, but I wish she hadn’t been alone when she died. At least it didn’t look as if she suffered, just that she’d stopped breathing.’

  ‘I suppose it all got just too much for her body.’ There had been a lot of deaths recently. As well as the tragedy at the big house, eight people had succumbed to cholera, a constant threat due mainly to filthy habits. The villagers were thanking God that it didn’t seem they were in for an epidemic. The initial hope that things might improve with a new squire at Poltraze had quickly evaporated. Joshua Nankervis had made no intimations to Meryen that he was about to improve the lot of its people. There was a feeling of gloom everywhere. Amy had reason to feel down and anxious. Since the day of her sister’s birth her father was behaving wildly out of character, aggressively – when Sol wasn’t there – swearing, and drinking in his den, and staying out overnight. Until, or unless, he returned to his usual self she felt it best not to invite Tara to call.

  Now she was undertaking this long awaited excursion – she had been given permission by her mother to go to Burnt Oak today, to learn about Toby’s time with the family – she decided to be positive. ‘At least things are more settled for you, Sarah, and my mother and baby Hope are strong and well.’

  ‘There’s been an amazing change in your mother,’ Sarah replied. Of all the changes in Meryen, Morton’s moral decline was the most talked about. He had even stopped going to chàpel. Sarah had seen the drastic change in his appearance. Huge dark shadows hung under his eyes, eyes that stared out frighteningly, as if there were some madness churning away inside him. The two heavy vertical lines above his nose were now deep grooves and extra wrinkles gathered in his sulky thin lips. His skin was bloated and florid. From being a severely groomed man he was careless with shaving and looked as if he hadn’t washed for days. Amy never mentioned the shame and bewilderment she was suffering, so neither did she. If not for Sol Kivell, it seemed her friend would soon be falling on hard times. ‘I noticed that your mother seems almost fond of Sol.’

  ‘She’s got used to having him around.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘He’s a good worker.’ Amy was always guarded about Sol. While grateful to him for keeping the business afloat, she could never forget that he actually had no right to be there, and when it suited him he would leave.

  Apart from the sadness of losing her mother Sarah was content with her own situation. She was excited and her every nerve was on a bouncy spring at the thought of seeing Titus in his home. He had called at Moor Cottage on the night she had found her mother slumped in her chair. Nancy had been laid out for burial and the children had cried themselves to sleep. ‘I had a sense that you’d need me,’ he’d said. Such a comfort to her he’d been and she had felt honoured. Titus had arranged for Sol to make a pine coffin for her mother, a modest but sensitively crafted affair, and it had been with some pride that she had seen her mother buried decently.

  ‘I’m going to see about getting you somewhere far nicer to live in, my dear love,’ Titus had promised. He wouldn’t let her down, she trusted him. All she cared about was Titus. She must be in love with him for she felt empty when he wasn’t around and she ached to see him again. What would Amy say – and she was shortly about to find out – about her connection with Burnt Oak? That it was with Titus, a man who was feared and loathed, a man old enough to be her father? Sarah hoped to convince Amy that the man who had threatened her the day she’d searched for Toby had many good qualities.

  ‘Is Sol going to be there?’ Sarah asked, skirting round a dead bramble thicket hanging out from the hedge. ‘Did he turn up for work this morning?’

  ‘He comes every day now.’ Amy smiled faintly. Despite her reservations about So
l, he was good to her mother. When he delivered a finished item or made a repair in someone’s house he insisted on prompt payment, which he handed over to her mother immediately. She didn’t dwell on the fact that he was good to her in many ways too. She didn’t want to get to like him. That would be a losing battle. ‘He’ll be there later. Now the evenings are drawing in it will be dark before we leave Burnt Oak. Mother’s permitting him to see that we get back safely. It was his idea.’

  ‘So she trusts him?’

  ‘I suppose she does.’

  ‘Do you? You don’t mention him often.’

  ‘Why should I apart from the work he does?’ Amy put her shield up again. ‘And no, I don’t trust him altogether.’

  ‘Because he keeps certain company?’

  ‘That’s none of my business.’ A horrid feeling dragged down on Amy’s heart. Some sort of sense always told her when he’d been with a woman.

  ‘A pity. In many ways he’d make you a perfect husband.’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’

  ‘Ah.’ Sarah grinned and side-stepped in front of Amy so she could look into her face. ‘You’ve gone all pink and you were too quick with that reply. You do have a fancy for him, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I don’t.’ Amy was becoming bothered. ‘Well, all right, I admit it’s hard not to notice how attractive he is.’

  ‘Does he make you feel safe?’

  ‘A little.’ Amy’s answer was reluctant but when Sol was at Chy-Henver she did feel safe.

  ‘Well, I think the Kivells probably aren’t as bad as they’re painted. Everyone thought Titus would cause trouble when he came out of gaol but he didn’t. The men don’t jump into quarrels as often as they used to. The women are seen more often in the village and they’re quite friendly. The traders certainly don’t mind taking Kivell money. Perhaps gaol had a sobering effect on Titus. I believe everyone should be given a second chance. I, for one, wouldn’t be going to Burnt Oak today if I thought I was placing myself in any danger.’

  ‘Sarah!’ Amy laughed, cheered at last. ‘Where did you come up with all of this? Well, I, for one, am both pleased and terrified at the thought of getting a personal invitation to take tea with Tempest Kivell. Her name conjures up a stormy personality. I know Sol’s told her a little about me but I can’t help getting this uneasy feeling that she knows all there is to know. I’m so glad she said I could bring a friend and you’ve agreed to come.’

  ‘Come along then.’ Sarah picked up the pace, eager to be there as soon as possible. ‘She’s got the powers. If we’re late she might put a spell on us.’

  The reception Amy got at Burnt Oak from Titus Kivell was entirely different to the first time. His hair slicked back, in a suit of fine cloth, high collar and silk necktie, he was waiting for the girls at the top of the meadow beside the trap. ‘Good afternoon Miss Lewarne, Miss Hichens. I hope you’ve had a pleasant walk. I thought I’d save you the trouble of a rather muddy walk down.’

  Amy was stunned and didn’t reply. Sarah said brightly, ‘It’s very thoughtful of you, Mr Kivell.’

  With gaiety and chivalry, he helped the girls to climb up into the trap. As the trap shook and jarred on the short downward journey he kept up a cheerful chitchat. He drove through the open gates below into the courtyard and helped the girls alight. They were both overawed to find themselves surrounded by Kivell men and women, who had come out of the workshops and houses to greet them, and children of all ages. Many wore clothes of attractive low-key hues made from vegetable dyes, in tartans and prints, always a mark of the clan’s unique identity.

  ‘This is more or less my whole family.’ Titus swept a proud hand round the gathering.

  The introductions went on until the girls’ heads were a whirl of names. There was the oldest member, the hook-nosed, leathery skinned, Uncle Genesis, a blacksmith and farrier in a leather apron, who brandished huge, blackened hands. Tempest’s daughter Eula, a mother of seven, a quilter. Cousin Laketon, the carpenter; he was polite and well spoken, but Amy thought him hard-eyed. There was a new baby boy, Caleb, Titus’s first grandchild, to his eldest daughter, Delen. Some in-laws were included but the two common-law wives of Titus were not there. As the girls tried to take in all this information, both were aware they were the objects of avid curiosity and some suspicion. Amy wondered what on earth had got into Titus. Like the villagers, she was afraid the decision of the Kivells to begin mixing in the community would bring trouble. Some traders were being made anxious by the Kivells’ efforts to set up their own business premises, leading to a drop in their own trade.

  ‘You might care to take a look around later,’ Titus said. ‘But first tea with Mama Tempest. She’s waiting for you in her sitting room.’

  The girls glanced at each other, apprehensive at meeting the formidable woman. Once across the thick stone steps and threshold of the largest house, charmingly named Morn O’ May, they joined hands. Titus noticed and chuckled. ‘There’s no need to be nervous, young ladies.’ Another daughter of his, Marthan, aged about twelve, appeared in the hall and took their capes and bonnets. Titus ushered Amy on ahead and she had no notion that he and Sarah were touching and smiling into each other’s eyes.

  The stairs parted at the top and Amy calculated that eight or nine rooms stretched away on either side, leading off at angles according to the outside appearance, and that another staircase led up to the rooms incorporated in the attic. Even allowing for in-laws and new offspring, there was room enough here for the incumbents not to feel an encroachment on their own space. Where did Titus’s so called wives sleep? Would she and Sarah meet them?

  ‘Does your Uncle Genesis live here?’ Amy asked in challenge, glancing round at Titus. Why wasn’t the older man the head of the family?

  ‘’Twas my father’s house before mine,’ Titus replied. He met the challenge head-on, with narrowed eyes, and Amy shivered. He was being hospitable but in no way had he softened. She had best not do anything to upset him. She hoped Sol would not be long arriving.

  Sarah was smiling broadly, entirely comfortable here. She thought the whole of her humble home would fit into one of the rooms she glimpsed into, which was spread with musical instruments.

  The wide stone-flagged passage, covered with intricately woven runners, wended its way in turns and branched off into other short passages. Delicious smells came from one direction, indicating the kitchen. The thick walls were adorned with paintings and wood carvings and etchings. A long tapestry, Titus told them, portrayed his family’s history, and they caught snatches of a man falling off a horse, a land barren apart from oak trees, of buildings under construction, then busy craft-making scenes and grazing animals. Clocks, including a grandfather clock, side tables, coffer chests, lyre-back chairs, pedestals and mirrors were other additions. Many items began to show a familiar touch, no doubt Kivell crafted, but other obscure things, like silver candle boxes and Chinese urns, had likely, down the centuries, come here through dishonest means.

  At the end of the passage were carved double doors with brass handles. Titus tapped on one door. He waited. ‘Come in,’ a strong female voice called.

  Amy and Sarah traded ‘here goes’ looks.

  Titus opened the doors and went into the room. He held out the flat of his hand to tell the girls to wait. ‘Mama, the young ladies are here.’

  ‘Usher them in.’

  It seemed to Amy and Sarah as if they were about to be granted an audience with an important personage. They momentarily linked hands.

  Titus signalled for them to enter the room. ‘Mama, let me introduce to you Miss Amy Lewarne and Miss Sarah Hichens.’

  Morton was half-heartedly smoothing a long edge true on a piece of pine wood with a jack plane. Every few seconds he stopped and scowled at Sol, who was producing a harmonious sound with a panel saw. This morning the young swine had the audacity to tell him off for starting late. Morton had not replied. Sol had already ordered him to pull himself together and knuckle down as a husband and fath
er or he’d reckon with him.

  Although always nervous of Sol, Morton had worked up the guts to hurl back, ‘If you don’t like it why don’t you take yourself off for good?’

  Sol had fronted him, too close for comfort. ‘I choose to stay, for now.’

  ‘Why?’ Morton hissed, his anger and frustration at being worn down by events making him shake and fume. ‘What the hell’s in it for you?’

  ‘It pleases me to look out for Mrs Lewarne and Amy, and I’m doing it for Toby. Now, let’s get on. Don’t you want your business to thrive? You’ve lost the commission at the Dower House to my second cousin, Laketon. There’s little hope of work at Poltraze when the rebuilding of the burned-out wing starts. It would have been a lucrative commission.’

  It’s not my fault! Morton screamed inside his head and rushed outside. Damn you, Darius Nankervis, you’re partly responsible for putting me into debt. I hope you are rotting in hell. Damn you, Titus Kivell! How can I work with your vile spawn here! It was easy to see what Titus Kivell’s game was, to ruin his business and get it off him, and it was succeeding. Morton was in such a frenzy, he missed the fact that Sol was trying to help keep his business going rather than bring it down.

  Morton went back to the entrance to the workshop. He often ran out on his work, the only way he could bear his life was to spend time with Marcie Dunn, and Sol, used to working alone, had returned to his job. Morton glared at the powerfully working muscles of Sol’s back, wishing he had the guts to plunge a knife into it. So you’re staying here for my wife’s sake, are you? My wife, who doesn’t tolerate me but dances attendance on you. She shows you preference over me at my own meal table! Well, he’d had enough. Sylvia was his wife and it was time she remembered her place.