by Gloria Cook
‘Promise me you won’t go near him again.’
‘I will not.’
Laketon shook his arm, then squeezed his hand around it tight, and tighter, until it hurt. ‘Promise me or I’ll make you and him sorry. I never let anyone get in my way. You know that.’
‘So you say.’ Joshua thought to demand that Laketon let him go but they were in shouting distance of Sol and he was suddenly afraid Laketon would make a scene. ‘Listen, it’s only ever you I have on my mind. If it makes you happy I’ll keep away from everyone else. Now let us spend a little time together.’
‘Very well, but take warning . . .’
Vexed with Phoebe’s and Anthea Nankervis’s mean attitude towards Amy and her mother, Tara went for a walk to clear her head. She wanted to tell Joshua about the meeting and knowing how most days he liked to observe the restoration work she strolled the way of the boathouse. From a distance, she saw him talking, or rather, he seemed to be arguing, with Laketon Kivell. He gave Laketon Kivell too much sway, the carpenter shouldn’t be allowed to make so free with the grounds. Goodness! Kivell had Joshua in his clutches. Tara could hardly believe her eyes. Kivell seemed to be threatening him. Why wasn’t Joshua railing against the fellow? He should order him back to work. He should dismiss him.
Then they were making for the trees. Tara gasped in horror. They were . . .
She ran. It explained a lot, everything in fact as to why Joshua wasn’t a proper husband to her. Tara didn’t realize that she wasn’t the only Nankervis wife who had witnessed the scene. Coming from a different direction to find her, Phoebe had not noticed Tara either. Phoebe hurriedly withdrew. She was not as horrified as Tara. It was a shock to find out her brother-in-law’s secret but it was one she was delighted to have discovered. She would use it.
Tara slowed down when she got to the house, and after relinquishing her outdoor clothes, she forced herself to make a dignified walk to the library. She opened the door and went in, closing it behind her. She faced Michael. She had hoped to be calm but she was trembling, her chest was heaving, and her breath was coming in horrified little gasps.
Michael shot up from the long library table. ‘Tara! What is it? You appear to have had a terrible shock.’
‘I–I . . .’ She felt dizzy and swayed on her feet.
He reached her quickly and the next instant had his arms about her. In her distress she threw her arms around his body and clung to him. ‘What is it? Tell me.’ He held her so he could look into her face. Her lovely face. Pink and flushed and frantic. She wasn’t frightened, nothing had scared her. She must be angry. ‘Has someone upset you?’
‘Yes. Offended me deeply,’ she said in a gasp of a voice. ‘First Phoebe and then Joshua.’
Michael couldn’t be more rapt. His wife and brother had opened a way for him to get closer to Tara, as he’d hoped to do for so long. ‘Forget them. You’re with me now,’ he said in the gentlest tone.
‘Yes.’ She kept her arms about him. She didn’t want to let go. She needed his strength. His understanding. His quiet, pleasant ways. He was gazing at her so kindly, and more. She saw desire, something she’d never see kindled in her husband’s face. She had the most wicked of thoughts. She would never have a child, an heir to Poltraze, with Joshua. She was doomed to float about the place with nothing of real importance to do. She wanted a son, to breed the radical she’d first hoped for on the night of her engagement. His brother had already sired a son . . . Michael was staring at her lips, smiling into her eyes. He wanted her. It was good to be in his arms, to be held by a man who desired her. She was filled with sensual need.
When he lowered his head to place his mouth on hers she met the kiss with equal keenness. He drew her to the end of the room, deep within its shadows. ‘Tara, you’re so lovely,’ he murmured.
She didn’t speak. She didn’t think. All she knew was this great longing to become a woman, to be taken by him, to be used and to use. Moments later, against shelves of musty old books, she cried out in pain and triumph.
Twenty-Two
Sarah was taking lessons with Tamsyn, Arthur and the Kivell children to read and write. She was also learning a little geography, history, holy scripture, and even science. She grasped everything swiftly, impressing her new mother-in-law, one of her teachers, with her ready, intelligent mind. Her favourite lesson was dancing, and with a fascination for music she was learning the pianoforte and the flute.
She didn’t miss the village or the mine at all, but she missed Amy. Amy was prohibited from coming to Burnt Oak, and Sol, subdued and serious, was living back at home. From Jowan she had learned that Mrs Lewarne had thrown some very harsh words at Sol. Something must have happened between Amy and Sol, they had either got too close for Mrs Lewarne’s liking, or Sol had tried to have his way with Amy. Sarah thought it might be the latter – Sol would have a great sexual appetite if he was anything like his father, yet it was easy to see that Sol had a great affection, at least, for Amy. Whatever the reason, it had meant Amy had not attended her wedding.
‘I’m thinking of going over to Chy-Henver today,’ Sarah informed Tempest, as she helped tidy up the music room after a lesson about Samson and Delilah from the Bible. She likened Titus to Samson, he was big and strong and long-haired, but she would never be a betrayer like Delilah had been. Titus was not an honest, misguided man like Samson, but he was brave, he had a kind side, and she would always love him no matter what he did. ‘I’d love to see Amy again. Do you think Titus will mind?’
On most occasions when Tempest talked to Sarah, she studied her face closely. ‘It should be all right but don’t stay long. Titus will want you to show him you’re settled as his wife. I’ll pack a basket for you to take, something from the kitchen, and a little gown I’ve made for baby Hope. If you give me a moment I’ll write a few lines to Mrs Lewarne, asking her to be so kind as to accept the gifts.’
Tempest was kind to Sarah but she never particularly sought her company, which was hurtful to Sarah because she was sure Tempest, who had prompted her to relate all she knew about Amy, would behave otherwise if it was Amy who was here. In view of Tempest’s supposedly supernatural powers, and as the head of her family, Sarah was in awe of her, usually too nervous to ask her any questions, but today she found the boldness. ‘Has Sol had a falling-out with Mrs Lewarne and Amy? Has something gone wrong with him working there?’
‘Sol and Amy have fallen in love,’ Tempest answered at once, surprising and delighting Sarah with the confidence. ‘Mrs Lewarne has concerns. She doesn’t realize that she can’t deny them their destiny.’
‘Did you see it? You know . . .?’
‘I did.’ It was a simple matter of fact to Tempest. ‘I’ve had the sight since a child. I wish I’d seen my own fate. I’d never have ventured out the day of my kidnapping. But I would never have had Sol in my life. Sometimes even the worst situation throws us compensation.’
‘Did you see that I would meet Titus?’
‘No, not before it happened, but the instant I saw you, Sarah, I knew it had been inevitable. You are very young and beautiful.’ Again came the searching of Sarah’s face.
Sarah found it unsettling and she had endured enough. ‘Why do you keep staring at me, Mama Tempest? Do you see something? Is it my baby?’
Tempest reached out and put a light touch on Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah felt a tingling there, she looked at the elegant hand and then into Tempest’s steady gaze, and she knew, with a sense of great comfort, that she need never be afraid of her mother-in-law. This woman may have owned up to murdering her husband, but she would not ill-wish anyone who didn’t deserve it. ‘Sarah, what makes you think you’re having a baby?’
‘Well, I don’t know really,’ she stumbled, reddening up, for she felt silly. ‘I’ve never had monthly courses. A lot of bal-maidens don’t. It’s believed to be something in the water from the mines that girls are exposed to. I could just be late coming into full womanhood, but I could be pregnant though.’
&
nbsp; ‘I can always tell by looking into a woman’s face if she’s pregnant. Sarah, I see no signs in yours.’
‘Oh! Titus will be disappointed. He wants another son. At least four children with me.’
‘I could be wrong.’ Tempest smiled, but she looked grave. ‘Don’t mention anything to Titus yet. If you didn’t conceive before the wedding, as he’d thought, there’s no reason why it couldn’t have just happened. You run along, dear, and get ready to go to Amy. I’ll meet you in the hall.’
Tempest asked Eula to see to the gifts then she stationed herself, hands pressed firmly together, at the foot of the stairs. Titus hadn’t left Burnt Oak today, and during the afternoons he was home he took Sarah up to their bedroom. Sure enough, inside he came, about to search for her. He raised his thick black eyebrows at seeing his mother’s uncompromising stance. ‘What’s wrong, Mama?’
‘Nothing. Sarah’s going out, and I’m here to see that you don’t hold her up.’ Tempest exuded total authority.
Titus, who was afraid of no one but his mother, in fear that if she could kill his father, she might ill-wish him, never argued with her. He always endeavoured to earn the love and respect that he’d never had from her. He had tried to understand that as her first-born, raped by his father, it was inevitable that she’d hate him too, but it was a constant source of hurt to him. It made him feel small. It made him lash out at others and seek ways to be seen as important, it made him need to be in control. ‘I’m not about to stop her.’
‘Good.’ Tempest thanked Eula when she brought the laden basket.
‘Where’s she going?’
‘To visit her friend, Amy. Her only friend, thanks to you.’
‘She has new friends now. As much company as she wants. As my wife, she’s a respected member of our community.’
‘She’s respected because she’s a nice girl, just like Sol’s poor mother was, and unlike your two mistresses, who tried to rule the roost with you. I like Sarah. Do not hurt her. Ever. Do you hear me, Titus?’
‘Loud and clear, Mama,’ he said with a liberal amount of bitterness. Her interference in his new marriage, spoken in front of a smirking Eula, the sister who had no love for him either, meant it would be spread round the whole family by nightfall. To save face, he said, ‘I wouldn’t dream of doing my darling Sarah harm. I adore her. Ah, look, here she comes.’
As she met his appreciative gaze on the top stair, Sarah was a radiant vision in a sea-blue plaid outfit and matching bonnet, her hands inside a fur muff. Titus ran up to her and escorted her down. He took the basket from his mother. ‘I’ll drive you over to Chy-Henver, my darling,’ he said. ‘My wife goes everywhere in style.’
‘What time do you want to leave there?’ Titus said, as the trap jolted along the bumpy wintry road, putting a possessive hand on Sarah’s leg. ‘I’ll wait in the Arms and come back for you.’
Sarah was thrilled over his loving concern but she wouldn’t take advantage of it. ‘I expect Amy is very busy, so I won’t stay long. Would an hour and a half be all right?’
‘Anything you say, my love.’
He didn’t say another word until they reached Meryen. ‘If anyone here turns their nose up at you . . .’
Sarah realized he was in a black mood. She glanced at him. He was staring from side to side as they passed the houses and shops. Looking for people. Looking for trouble. She had heard that minor accidents had happened, away from the mine, to the bal-maidens Bess and Mary, who had humiliated her. Titus had to be responsible for both occasions. It must be her fault he was now angry. She should have mentioned it to him first. He was her husband and would be bound to want to know her plans. She offered up a quick prayer. Please don’t let there be anyone about. Until this, she had been blissfully happy with him, in her fine warm clothes, cared for and cossetted.
‘I won’t go out again without telling you first, Titus.’
He made a gruff noise under his breath. Nothing more.
Sarah kept a few moments of crestfallen silence. ‘I don’t have to go there now. Perhaps we should turn round and go home.’
‘You’ve got no choice today!’ he thundered. ‘Mama Tempest will want to hear about those blasted Lewarne women. She wants Sol to marry the damned girl some day. Well, that’s one wish she won’t be getting!’
Sarah’s prayers were answered. There was no one to be seen in the village. Now she prayed Titus wouldn’t show his ill-humour at Chy-Henver.
Sol was in the workshop. The squire was holding a shooting party and wanted no noisy work in the grounds disturbing his guests. Hearing a trap pull up he came outside expecting to see a customer and was amazed to see his father helping his young stepmother to alight.
Amy had heard the arrival and on seeing Sarah she ran outside in her apron. Her eyes met Sol’s, and at the same instant they broke away. An automatic occurrence between them now, and one that always felt horribly unnatural.
Her mother was upstairs feeding Hope. With her room at the front of the house she wouldn’t be looking out, so Amy looked at Sol again, giving him the warmest and deepest of loving smiles. He did the same to her. Witnessing their love helped lift Sarah out of the misery of this being her only visit here as a married woman. Should she be worried about Titus’s threat that he’d never allow Sol and Amy to marry? She decided to forget it. Sol was strong, he wouldn’t let Titus ruin things for them.
Sylvia had heard the trap stop outside on the road. Hope was dozing at her breast and she eased her away and laid her in the cradle. Then she went down to see who had come. It was the first time she had seen Titus Kivell at close quarters and it was something of a tummy-wrenching shock. In some ways he was a handsome man, but very much a brute with his scars and natural aggression. How could Sarah have not seen that? It was frightening how easily the cunning man had exploited her, but here she was, gazing at him as if he was some divine being. Yet when Sylvia looked at the well-dressed girl again she saw something else, a nervous eagerness to please him, and the beginnings of fear. Sylvia would have ordered Titus Kivell away, or at least made it plain he wasn’t welcome, but she must consider Sarah.
‘Sarah, how lovely to see you,’ she said. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Kivell.’
‘And to you, Mrs Lewarne,’ he replied, conversationally. He put his hands on Sarah’s shoulders and pushed her forward slightly. ‘Sarah was wanting to visit Amy, her friend.’ This was put in a confrontational manner.
‘She is always very welcome here,’ Sylvia said, then because she felt there was no other choice, ‘Would you both care to come inside for tea?’
Amy, Sol and Sarah looked at him for his reaction; he hadn’t expected that. Good for you, Mum, Amy thought. Sol was ready in the event his father caused trouble. Sarah sighed with relief. Titus couldn’t complain he was being shunned here. Perhaps he’d change his mind and let her come again.
Titus was all gracious smiles. ‘Thank you indeed, but I’m sure you ladies would prefer to tittle-tattle without my company. I’ll have a word with Sol, and see how Jowan’s work is coming along. Sarah, beloved, enjoy your afternoon.’ That should unseat the comely Sylvia Lewarne a little off her moral high horse. He preferred much younger women, girls on the threshold of life, but he enjoyed the sight of a nursing mother. In a few months Sarah would be the same, and at her most beautiful.
Sylvia ushered the girls inside, with actions as if gathering them into her arms to protect them from the despicable devil.
The instant the back door was shut, Titus turned on Sol. ‘You could have owned all this by now, not behaving cap in hand to that bloody hoity bitch! You listen too much to your grandmother. She’s turned you into a goose. So has that girl! I saw the way you looked at her. What’s the matter with you? There’s women aplenty to see to a man’s needs but you’re hankering over a wench who don’t amount to much. I don’t feel the slightest pride in you any more.’
It was all designed to insult, to injure and enrage. Sol peered levelly at his father. He gave an upwa
rd lift of his head, then in a voice that dismissed and mocked, ‘I don’t give a tinker’s cuss what you think of me.’ He walked away.
‘Don’t you dare turn your back on me!’ Titus strode after him and made to whirl him round and put a raised fist to his face.
Sol faced him before he could execute his intentions. ‘Clear off, Father. The extent of your manhood these days is to control some unfortunate girl and to bully everyone else. You don’t do a thing that’s useful. You may mock me over Amy but you’ll never know the real meaning of love. That makes you the smallest person I know.’
Titus looked as if he’d been delivered a devastating blow to the roots of his soul, as if he had imploded. With his fists balled like lumps of iron he raised them to the level of Sol’s eyes. ‘I could kill you for that! I’ve done it for less.’
‘It doesn’t make you a man.’
Rattled beyond anything he’d ever had to deal with before, Titus thought hard to save face. Sol was a young man who seemed to be going nowhere in life, settling for so much less than he could achieve, yet he was calm, in total charge of himself. ‘Bastard,’ Titus uttered. ‘Don’t speak to me again until you apologize.’
He stalked to the trap, turned it round in the yard and drove off to the Nankervis Arms. He wasn’t going to win an argument with Sol. The more he said, the more he was being made to look a fool. He would not let Sol get away with it. Liked it at Chy-Henver, did he? Playing the chivalrous knight? Well, how would he feel if the pathetic little business was taken away from his little love? Titus knew people, lawyers who could be paid for falsifying documentation. In a few days he’d have the Lewarne women out on the street, then his high and mighty son would have to support them, have them as a burden, tied down and trapped for the rest of his life. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? Morton Lewarne was never going to show his face in Meryen again. The authorities were looking for him in connection with Marcie Dunn’s murder, her body discovered four days after the last time Morton was seen in her shack. Morton had not given his real name at the Wayfarer’s Inn, but the description of Marcie’s lover had put Titus on to his true identity. Wherever he was he’d not come forward and reveal himself now. Yes, Titus grinned to himself, picturing the weeping and bewilderment he was about to invoke. In a few days’ time, he’d put an official letter into Sylvia Lewarne’s pious hand, informing her that her husband had sold him all the property of Chy-Henver for a very reasonable price. In reality, nothing!
