by Gloria Cook
She rang the bell and a short time later heard the dogs barking and the shouts of the footmen and grounds staff. Returning to the drawing room she waited for the report. Her thoughts wandered to Titus Kivell’s widow. She had known Sarah Kivell briefly. As a girl, Tara had met Amy in a quiet place on the downs and sometimes Sarah had accompanied her. Sarah too had lost her only friend when Amy left. Sarah was a tragic figure but a proud one too, refusing the help Tara had offered through Amy. Tara compared her life with the bal-maiden’s; she had a privileged life with all the necessities and comforts but she was nearly as miserable as Sarah.
The report was a long time coming. The ageing butler entered on an important glide. Upright, thin and disagreeable of countenance, he intoned, as if he had dipped his tongue in vinegar, ‘The dogs picked up a scent but I’m afraid the intruder managed to slip away, ma’am. The men are stationed in the grounds for the night as a precaution.’
‘Thank you, Fawcett.’ Tara dismissed him with a swish of her hand. She loathed the sanctimonious shrew-like flunkey. All the servants were aware of the true nature of their squire’s interests but all except this horrid smirking little man were wholly respectful towards her, obviously sympathizing with their mistress, who treated them well.
‘Shall I order word be sent to the master, ma’am?’
Tara withheld eye contact with him for a moment, but she could well imagine his hard eyes twitching and the raising of his superior nose. Fawcett would know where the squire was and why. The servants had been ordered never to disturb him while he was not in the house. Fawcett would enjoy his master being embarrassed. In a glacial voice she replied, ‘As everything is under control the squire need not be informed until the morning when he is in the steward’s office.’
‘Very well, ma’am.’ Fawcett withdrew and closed the door after him without the slightest sound, but Tara felt there was a triumphant simper in his action.
‘You’re certainly one individual I won’t miss,’ she seethed. She returned to her room and the window.
The intruder had successfully stolen away, an easy task for a cunning Kivell. Their line led back to nobility, long intermingled with the lawless. Living under their own rules, the land they dwelt on belonged to them. During the last few years they had branched out from their close-knit community, Burnt Oak, to seek respectability in the ever-expanding world. Many businesses in Meryen were now owned by a Kivell. The locals had begun to marry into the family, but others complained they were covetous and planned to take over the entire village.
The village . . . Tara turned away from the window and sank down on the couch. In her hopes to get away she had forgotten her duty to the inhabitants of Meryen. Little would have been done for the poor labouring classes in recent years if she hadn’t persuaded Joshua to provide a doctor and a school, and some land to build other public buildings. She had set up a number of charities which drew scant support from the neighbouring ladies now that Poltraze had lost its past glory and boasted no up-and-coming men of importance. Without her, the poor would almost certainly be abandoned altogether. The sick, the young and old would suffer if she went away. She had a duty to them, but her first duty was to Rosa Grace.
Her heart was sore and burdened as she wrote the letter to her husband.
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Copyright © Gloria Cook 2006
Extract from A Cornish Girl © Gloria Cook 2016
Gloria Cook has asserted her right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
First published by Ebury Press in 2016
www.eburypublishing.co.uk
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN 9781785032233
