by Jane Jackson
Satisfaction kindled warmth in Thomas’s belly that eclipsed the brandy’s heat. He felt a smile spread across his face. Yes.
‘What you grinning at?’ Willie spat furiously. ‘’T isn’t funny.’
‘No, it isn’t. I take it you’ve come to me because you want revenge?’
‘Bleddy right I do.’
Better and better, Thomas rubbed his hands briskly. ‘So do I, Willie. So do I.’ Once rid of Devlin he, as next of kin, would inherit all his brother’s possessions: the lugger, the galley, the new boat John Gillis had on the stocks, the building on the waterfront, and the cottage in Hawkins Ope.
With all that to call his own, even after paying off his debts he would be set up for the rest of his life. He’d be a man of substance commanding the respect he deserved. He would get rid of that virago Maisy Roberts, have this place painted, hire properly trained staff, and buy some elegant furniture to replace what he’d had to sell. Tamara Gillis wouldn’t turn her pretty nose up at him then. Her mother would make sure of that.
Morwenna Gillis had always fancied herself a cut above the rest of the village. How delicious it would be to see her curtsey and simper to him, anxious that he offered for her daughter and not someone else’s.
‘So what you going to do, then?’ Willie challenged. ‘Want me to find a couple more tinners?’
Thomas shook his head. ‘No, I have a much better idea. The next time my brother makes a run to Roscoff, the Riding Officer and the Customs cutter must be informed.’
‘If they catch’n you won’t get the lugger,’ Willie warned. ‘Smuggler’s boats is always forfeit. Saw ‘em in three they do, so they can’t be used no more.’
Thomas tapped his fingers on the grubby surface of the paper-strewn desk. ‘There is always a price, Willie.’ But in order to finally be rid of his hated brother, losing the lugger was a price worth paying.
With her old cloak hiding night attire now soot-stained and filthy, Jenefer sat shivering beside Ernestine Rowse’s hearth. She was cold to the marrow of her bones. Behind her Maggie talked to Ernestine, their voices too soft for Jenefer to hear what they were saying. She guessed Maggie was recounting the events of the night, events that once again had turned her life upside down.
Maggie placed a cup of hot milk into her trembling hand and gently closed her fingers around it. A plate containing a slice of soft white bread spread with butter was placed on a wooden stool beside her. Jenefer looked at it. She guessed the flour had been salvaged from the wrecked schooner, or smuggled over from France. But it was so much nicer than coarse dark barley bread. She looked up into Maggie’s concerned face. ‘Thank you.’
‘You drink that while ’tis hot,’ Maggie urged. ‘I’m going back with Treeve and pull out some of that there furniture in the barn. Mrs Rowse is boiling up a kettle of water so you can ’ave a nice wash. Mr Varcoe already opened up next door. He’ve left the key on top of the mantle. Me and Treeve’ll be back soon as we can. Be all right will you?’
Maggie’s anxiety pierced the fog of shock and grief clouding Jenefer’s brain. Straightening her back she drew in a deep breath and forced herself to smile. ‘Thank you, Maggie. I’ll be fine. As soon as I’m tidy I’ll go up to the parsonage and see Dr Trennack. You get along now.’ She turned to the woman whose home she had no memory of entering. ‘This is very kind of you, Mrs Rowse.’
Ernestine bobbed a brief curtsey as Maggie closed the door behind her. ‘That’s all right, miss. ’Tedn no trouble. I’m some sorry ‘bout your father and all.’ Using a thick folded cloth to protect her hand, she lifted the kettle from the triangular iron stand and poured steaming water into a large basin on the well-scrubbed table, then set the kettle down on the hearth. Taking a dish with a piece of soap in it from the windowsill she placed it beside the basin, then pulled two clean linen towels from the airing frame above the open fireplace.
‘I’m going up the shop, miss. I’ll be a bitty while so you take your time. Just pull the door when you go out.’
Half an hour later, strengthened by her breakfast and refreshed by a thorough wash, Jenefer buttoned a lavender coat-dress over a frilled while petticoat, tied the ribbons of a woven straw hat beneath her chin, and set off for the parsonage.
Surrounded by more books than Jenefer had ever seen in her life, Dr Trennack stood with his back to the fire, his hands clasped beneath the long tails of his dusty black frock coat. Tall and slightly stooped, he reminded her of a heron.
‘The day after tomorrow? Is that not perhaps a little hasty?’
‘I don’t think so, Mr Trennack. My sister and I are the only family. And considering the circumstances of my father’s death –’
‘Ah, yes, I see,’ the priest nodded. ‘I’ll send Mr Semple up to prepare the grave.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Er,’ he rubbed pale long-fingered hands. ‘You are quite sure that –’ he coughed, ‘that your father’s mortal remains will have been retrieved?’
Nausea rose at the back of Jenefer’s throat. She swallowed hard and gave a brief nod. Devlin Varcoe had promised.
‘In that case, let us discuss the details of the service.’
Afterwards she stopped at Jack Hammill’s workshop and chose a coffin she could ill afford. Then, her head throbbing from the clamour of things needing her attention, she hurried down the street and saw the cart, piled high with furniture, pull up at the entrance to the lane. Treeve jumped down and helped Maggie off.
Aware of villagers stopping to watch and murmur, Jenefer slipped quickly down the narrow passage onto the cobbled yard that fronted the row of four cottages. Maggie hurried in behind her carrying a china basin and matching jug.
‘There’s a table, two chairs, and a chest of drawers,’ she panted. ‘Treeve got to go back for the bedstead and a wardrobe. I couldn’t b’lieve all the stuff I found. I got a kettle, half a dinner service – some of it’s cracked but least you’ll have decent plates – and an old drawer with all sorts of knives and such. Oh, and an earthenware pot like we use for pickling pilchards, a couple of nice big stone jars, and a saucepan.’ She glanced round then whispered, ‘And a po.’ She set the basin and jug down, bustled across to the range and opened the fire door. ‘The whole lot do need a good wash. ’Tis all filthy dirty and covered in cobwebs. Now, first thing we –’
She was interrupted by a knock on the open door. ‘Oh, ’tis you, Lizzie.’
‘All right, Maggie? I seen you come back and I – Oh, beg pardon, miss.’ A plump, rosy-faced woman, wearing a frilled cap and a hessian wrapper over her brown wool petticoat, pressed a hand to the kerchief crossed over a patterned bodice faded from repeated laundering.
Jenefer smiled. ‘Mrs Clemmow, isn’t it?’
‘That’s right, miss. I aren’t on the nose,’ she added hurriedly. ‘I just thought you’d be wanting a bit of kindling for the slab. Teasy to start they are.’
‘Lizzie, that’s ‘andsome.’ Maggie took the bundle of finely chopped wood.
‘Want a hand do ’ee?’
‘I wouldn’t say no,’ Maggie beamed.
‘What shall I do?’ Jenefer enquired, adding as the two women exchanged a glance, ‘I’m not going to sit and watch while you work. So, shall I help Treeve unload the cart?’
‘No!’ Maggie yelped. ‘No, miss. That would’n’ do at all. Look, soon as we got the fire going and some water boiled –’
‘I’ll go down the pump while you light the slab,’ Lizzie said. ‘There’s an old keeve up the shed.’ She indicated with a jerk of her head. ‘He’ll do for a wash tub.’
Changing into an old gown, Jenefer rolled up her sleeves and with one of Lizzie’s hessian wrappers tied around her waist, washed dust and cobwebs off the furniture Treeve and Maggie unloaded from the cart and carried round to the cobbled area outside the cottage.
Her move to this cottage would be all round the village by now. So what if Devlin Varcoe owned it? She was a tenant just like any other. He had never lived here.
Betsy liked Tamara. But Betsy liked most people. Being the younger child, she had never borne the weight of responsibility or their parents’ expectations. Was that why she had been able to accept Jared as an equal, caring nothing that he was merely a fisherman with no education?
Was this, Jenefer wondered as she scrubbed and wiped, the reason – apart from her betrothal – she had tried to deny her attraction to Devlin Varcoe? The fact that when he wasn’t smuggling he was a fisherman? Yet there was a world of difference between him and the rest of his crew. For a start, he owned property, as well as his boat.
It suddenly occurred to Jenefer that there was little to choose between her own thinking and that of Morwenna Gillis, whom she considered an appalling snob.
Shame brought hot colour to her cheeks. If she were not already a topic of village gossip, she soon would be, just like Tamara. The difference was that while Tamara had chosen to be different, she had not.
At midday Jared arrived with three pasties cooked by Inez, a jug of ale for Treeve, and a twist of paper containing some tea leaves. Jenefer shared the brew with Maggie.
By 4.15 daylight was fading to dusk, and another kettle of water was boiling on the range. Treeve returned with the cart carrying several sacks of coal retrieved from the bunker at the back of the house.
‘Best I brung it up ‘ere to you, miss. If I’d ‘ave left’n overnight some thieving bugger would ‘ave been in and took it.’
‘That was thoughtful, Treeve. Thank you.’ Grateful for help already given, and only too aware of how she would depend on her neighbours in the coming days, Jenefer asked him to take a bag to each of them. It still left three for her.
The table, chairs ,and chest, now clean and dry, had been carried inside. When Treeve returned, Henry Tozer, who lived with his son Ben in number four, helped him manhandle the bedstead up the stairs. As they came down, the rain that had threatened all day finally started.
Maggie was rinsing out the cloths they had used to wash and dry the crockery and cutlery. Jenefer, aching from unaccustomed physical effort, rested in one of the chairs when a knock on the door made them both look up. Maggie opened it and Jenefer heard Lizzie Clemmow’s voice.
‘Here’s three eggs, a loaf, and a pat of butter.’
Light-headed with tiredness, Jenefer pushed herself to her feet. ‘Please come in.’
‘No, miss. Thanks all the same. I aren’t stopping. Tipping down it is.’ Lizzie wiped her palms down her apron. ‘’Tis just a bit of something for your tea. Sam said I shouldn’t come bothering you, but Maggie won’t have had no time for baking, and we’re some grateful for that there coal. Got a lovely fire going we have.’
‘You’ve been so kind. I don’t know how we’d have managed without you,’ Jenefer’s gratitude was heartfelt. The day had been difficult in so many ways. Yet it would have been even harder but for the generosity of people that previously she had only nodded to in passing.
A tide of crimson climbed Lizzie’s throat and flooded her face. ‘No such thing, miss. Nor I don’t want you thinking I’ll be on the doorstep every whit and stitch. But if’n you do need anything, well, you know where I’m to. Right, I’m gone.’
‘Good as gold she is,’ Maggie said. ‘You mind what she said, miss. She’ll help you best she can, and she isn’t no gossip neither.’
That night Maggie insisted on sleeping in the chair by the range while Treeve took the cob and cart back to the stable.
‘Better fit I’m up there, miss. Fire was almost burnt out this afternoon. With this ’ere rain damping’n down there’s bound to be someone on the prowl. Anyhow, can’t leave master up there all alone.’
Pressing her fingertips to her mouth Jenefer nodded, unable to speak.
‘You stay in the dry, mind,’ Maggie warned her husband. ‘I can’t be doing with you catching cold.’
‘Don’t fuss, woman,’ Treeve growled. But he stood still while Maggie fastened a piece of old sail canvas around his shoulders.
Next morning as dark full-bellied clouds slunk across the sky driven by a cold wind, Jenefer stared at the devastation and shivered inside her warm coat. The acrid smell of wet soot caught in her throat as she waited. She was glad Betsy wasn’t here.
‘She wanted to come,’ Jared said. ‘But mother said ’t would only give you more worry. She said to ask you ‘'bout the funeral.’
‘Tomorrow.’ Jenefer had had to clear her throat, unable to tear her gaze from the blackened ruins of what had once been her home. ‘Jared?’
‘Miss?’
‘You will look after her?’
‘Long as I’m breathing. Think the world of her I do.’ With a brief nod he had moved away to join Treeve, Jack Hammill and Devlin Varcoe inside the ruins where they were searching for whatever was left of her father.
She clasped her hands tightly as Devlin and Jared appeared, Jack and Treeve behind them, each carrying one corner of a piece of canvas on which lay a bundle wrapped in sacking. Jenefer started forward but Maggie caught her arm with surprising strength.
‘No, miss. There’s no helping him now, and ’t would do you no good.’
Lowering the canvas to the ground, the men gently lifted the bundle and laid it in the coffin on the back of the cart. Jack put the lid in place. Then all four men turned to Jenefer and briefly dipped their heads.
Chapter Ten
As the parson spoke the words of committal by the graveside, Jenefer gazed at the freshly turned earth. She hadn’t expected to see so many people. Yet by funding cargoes of contraband that ranged from wheat flour and cognac to silk and tobacco her father had touched the lives of virtually everyone in Porthinnis.
Betsy held her hand tightly. Jared stood on the far side of Betsy’s chair, his parents behind him. Devlin and his crew, a pale and sombre Thomas Varcoe, and a crowd of villagers clustered at a respectful distance. John and Morwenna Gillis stood with Dr and Mrs Avers. But she didn’t see Tamara.
She tossed earth onto the coffin, trying not to think of what it contained. Then at last it was over. She saw Jared bend towards Betsy. Maggie took her arm and steered her gently away.
‘Come on, my bird. You can’t do nothing more.’
With no money to pay Maggie and Treeve their wages for the quarter, Jenefer decided to let them have the cob and cart.
‘You won’t arrive empty-handed and they’ll be useful on the farm,’ she said as Maggie clapped her hands to her cheeks and her eyes brimmed.
‘That’s brave kind, miss,’ Treeve twisted his hat between scarred hands. ‘Much obliged to ’ee.’
Next morning, when they reached Helston, Jenefer climbed down from the cart, trying hard not to notice or care about the stares of passers-by. She hated being an object of curiosity, yet it was inevitable when her mode of transport was so out of keeping with her blue coat-dress and feathered hat. ‘Thank you both for all you’ve done.’
‘You make sure you’re down by the farmer’s market for ha’past three, miss,’ Treeve reminded her. ‘Janner Laity will be watching for you. You can ride home with he.’
Jenefer nodded. ‘Have a safe journey.’
As he flicked the reins and clicked his tongue, Maggie looked back over her shoulder, her chin quivering. ‘Miss you awful, I will.’
Feeling her eyes prickle, Jenefer waved then turned away. Tightening her drip on the drawstring purse containing her jewellery, she set off up the street towards the offices of her father’s solicitor.
Seated behind a vast oak table on which lay three large leather-bound volumes bristling with page markers, a brass inkstand and several piles of folded documents tied with red ribbon, Mr Renfrew’s helpless gesture betrayed both embarrass
ment and irritation.
‘My dear Miss Trevanion, I wish it were not so. Indeed I do. I wrote several times to your father impressing upon him the importance of putting his affairs in order. But I fear he responded neither to advice nor entreaty.’
Rigidly upright, her hands clasped in her lap, Jenefer moistened her lips. ‘So there is nothing?’
Clad in black, his head covered by a grizzled wig with two rigid side curls and a short pigtail, the lawyer steepled soft plump fingers over his straining waistcoat and shook his head. ‘I believe you were already aware that the house and grounds are entailed and are now the property of your father’s cousin, Mr Charles Polgrain? I shall be writing to inform him shortly.’
‘You had better tell him that his inheritance is currently a burnt-out ruin,’ Jenefer said. ‘However, it is a very pleasant location. No doubt when he receives the insurance money he will rebuild.’ Hearing the bitterness in her tone she immediately felt guilty. It was not Mr Polgrain’s fault that the laws governing inheritance gave him a property he had never seen while leaving her and Betsy dependent on the kindness of strangers.
‘Ah.’ Something in Mr Renfrew’s tone tightened the knots of tension.
‘It wasn’t renewed?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Brief sympathy for her father’s heir was lost beneath a wave of anger. For months she had been trying to talk to her father about their finances. Every attempt had met with ill-tempered rebuff. Now he was dead and she was alone and penniless. Fighting the urge to scream and stamp her feet at the unfairness of it all, she stretched her mouth into a polite smile.
‘Mr Renfrew, may I trouble you for the loan of a pen and some paper? As I explained, my sister and I escaped with nothing but our clothes and there is someone I need to inform of all that has happened.’
