by Jane Jackson
‘Bleddy right.’ Immediately the maid clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘Oh, miss, I’m some sorry. I didn’t mean –’
‘I know you didn’t. Hold the glass while I lift her up.’ But it took both of them to get her mother propped up on the pillows.
Tamara picked up the glass from her bedside table. ‘Here, Mama. Drink it all. It will make you better.’
Draining the glass, Morwenna pushed her daughter away. ‘Better? Are you mad? How can I feel better? What am I to do? It will be all over the village –’
‘It will if you don’t lower your voice,’ Tamara said with quiet firmness. ‘They can hear you out in the street.’ She handed Sally the glass. ‘Ask Mrs Voss to make a pot of tea, will you? Does she know –?’
‘I ’aven’t said a word, miss. On my mother’s life, I ’aven’t.’
‘I’d be grateful if you keep it to yourself for now. Mrs Voss is bound to ask why my mother is upset. Tell her I went riding on the moor yesterday instead of paying a morning visit to the Avers. My mother was anxious for me to meet their nephews. But they left this morning and now it’s too late.’
That at least had the advantage of being the truth. Nothing remained secret for long in the village. Tamara knew she was only postponing the inevitable. But she needed time to think.
Morwenna looked up from the handkerchief she was shredding and demanded piteously, ‘What will people say?’
‘Mama, it’s no one else’s business.’
Morwenna’s voice cracked on a bitter laugh. ‘That won’t stop the gossip. Unless –’ A thought occurred to her and she clutched at it. ‘Rozwyn Trevaskis! She knows about herbs and such like, doesn’t she? No doubt that mother of hers has taught her how to get rid of – inconveniences. You must ask her –’
‘No!’ It was instinctive and immediate, out before she had even had time to think. Tamara stared at her mother, shaken yet not altogether surprised by her suggestion. ‘Roz is a healer, Mama. She wouldn’t –’
‘How do you know? How can you be sure unless you ask her?’
‘No.’ Tamara placed a protective hand over her stomach. ‘I can’t. I won’t.’ Whatever Roz’s mother had done, Tamara knew Roz. She would never use her knowledge to cause harm.
Morwenna beat her hands on the bedclothes and rolled her head against the carved wood behind her. ‘Have you no pity? Will you take pleasure in seeing your poor mother scorned and your father a laughing stock?’
Watching her mother, Tamara knew her distress was genuine, but suspected her concern was for herself and her standing among the village’s well-to-do families. Moments later her suspicion was confirmed.
Wiping her eyes and nose, Morwenna drew a deep shaking breath. Her eyelids looked heavy as the laudanum began to take effect. ‘I have to know who is responsible, Tamara. I assume this man is not yet aware? Indeed, he cannot be if you were not.’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘There is nothing else for it. He must be informed and you will be married as soon as it can be arranged.’
Moving across to the window Tamara looked out beyond the harbour to the sea. She still loved Devlin, had loved him for as long as she could remember. Marrying him, making a life with him had been her secret dream. But not like this. She didn’t know which would be worse: if he married her believing she had set out to trap him, for which he would never forgive her, or if he refused to marry her.
He cared nothing for public opinion. And he had rejected her once. That wound was still raw. She had been so sure he would understand: would recognise her gift of herself as proof of her love and her commitment to him. She had been certain that though he was fighting it, what he felt for her was as powerful and deep-rooted as her love for him. Even now she still found it hard to accept how wrong she had been. His reaction had shaken her to the core. She could not go through that again.
‘I can’t.’
‘What do you mean, you can’t? Oh dear God, he’s not already married, is he?’
‘No!’ Startled and hurt, Tamara stared at her mother. ‘Do you really have such a poor opinion of me?’
‘And if I have, whose fault is that? Such shocks I’ve had this morning. My heart is beating fit to burst.’ She pressed her handkerchief to her breast. ‘So don’t you dare look to me for sympathy. You have brought this on yourself. But it’s your father and I who will have to deal with it. Now, tell me his name. You owe me that.’
It was a fair point. Turning from the window Tamara sat on the bed and took her mother’s hand. ‘I did not intend this, Mama. I’ve never set out to cause you trouble. You see, I believed –’ She stopped. It was pointless trying to explain. Her mother would never understand. ‘I love him, Mama.’
Fighting the effects of the laudanum Morwenna blinked slowly and pursed her lips. ‘Who?’
‘Devlin Varcoe.’ She watched her mother’s face, hoping for a softening, some glimmer of sympathy or understanding.
‘Dev –’ As Morwenna’s eyes widened, her face flushed brick red. Snatching her hand free she slapped Tamara’s face with all her strength. ‘After what your father said, this is how you defy us? How dare you! How dare you! Well, he had his way, now he must do his duty and marry you.’
Rising to her feet, Tamara swallowed tears as she smoothed the skirt of her habit. Her cheek stung and burned. She tasted blood and realised she had bitten her tongue. ‘No, Mama. He is not to be told. And if you go against me I will deny it.’
After a moment of blank shock, Morwenna’s face twisted with misery. Wailing, she flung herself sideways across the pillows. Then while Tamara watched, the laudanum finally took effect and her mother’s sobs changed to snores.
Chapter Thirteen
‘Ah, there you are. I’m in a hurry and cannot stay long.’
Having worked hard all day preparing the lugger, Devlin was in no mood for his brother’s pomposity. He spoke without looking up. ‘Goodbye then.’
‘What?’
Devlin sighed. ‘What do you want, Thomas? Why have you come?’
‘To arrange your next trip.’
Putting the last of his gear away, Devlin ushered his brother out into the dusk and locked up.
‘You’re very quiet.’ Thomas made it sound like an accusation as he followed Devlin up the stone steps and into the loft.
Ignoring him, Devlin opened the door, and saw at once that Inez had been in. He lit the lamp and hung it on a hook. Kneeling to put a light to the kindling, he lifted the lid on the pan sitting on the brandis ready for re-heating, and smelled mutton stew. His mouth watered. A bit of meat would be tasty after all the fish he’d eaten lately. He hadn’t expected her to bring anything today: not now she had Betsy Trevanion to look after and Jared ill as well.
‘You didn’t make that?’ Thomas pointed to the pan.
‘No.’
‘So who –?’
‘None of your business. How are you going to settle your account with Hedley and pay for a cargo?’
‘Don’t you worry about that. I have the money.’ Reaching into the inside of his frock coat, Thomas removed a soft leather bag and hefted it in his palm. Devlin heard the clink of coin.
As the sticks crackled, he laid a couple of larger logs on the fire and turned a sceptical eye on his brother. ‘Oh yes?’
‘See for yourself.’ Thomas untied the cord and tipped gold pieces onto the table.
Devlin rose to his feet. ‘Now where did that come from?’
‘None of your business.’ Thomas smirked.
‘You still owe me the boat’s share for the last trip,’ Devlin reminded him. ‘And as I’m not making any more excuses for you to our uncle, that purse had better be enough.’
‘It’s more than enough,’ Thomas snapped. ‘I made a handsome profit from selling off the brandy you raised. Harry Carlyon’s cargo being impounded meant there were shortages. I was able to double my price. Harry would have appreciated that.’ Thomas swept the coins back into the bag, tied the cord, and left it on the table. ‘So when will
you go?’
A feather of unease brushed Devlin’s skin. He frowned, trying to find a reason for it, then gave up. Concern about delivering Casvellan’s letter was making him see shadows where there were none. He focused his thoughts on the run. ‘Tonight.’
Thomas couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘Tonight?’
Devlin shrugged. ‘Unless you want to wait three weeks for the moon to wane.’
‘No. No. Tonight it is then.’ He rubbed his palms briskly. ‘Will you have time to arrange the string and – ?’
‘Thomas, you mind your affairs and let me take care of mine.’
‘No need for that. I was only asking. You haven’t had much warning. How will you let everyone know?’
‘I’ll manage.’ Devlin had no intention of telling Thomas that the crew, the landsmen, and Roz had all been making preparations since mid-morning. The less he knew the better. ‘We’ll be ready to sail by nine tonight.’
‘When will you be back?’
‘Depends on the wind and if we can make the tides.’
‘I know that. But roughly which day?’
Devlin went to the shelf and took down a large plate and a pewter mug. ‘All being well, Thursday night or early Friday morning.’ As his brother nodded, still rubbing his hands, Devlin took a ladle, knife, and spoon from the table drawer. He glanced up. ‘Close the door, will you?’
Thomas looked over his shoulder. ‘It’s already closed.’
Devlin stirred the stew, then replacing the lid and resting the ladle on his plate he straightened. ‘On your way out.’
Wiping up the last of the gravy with a hunk of fresh bread, he sighed with satisfaction, leaned back in his chair and stretched his feet, clad in thick wool socks, towards the blaze. He still had a couple of hours before leaving for the boat. Sailing short-handed meant that every man would have extra duties, and maintaining a sharp lookout was imperative if Casvellan’s letter was to reach its destination. He would try to get some sleep.
Levering himself to his feet, he stretched. Reaching over the table to pick up his plate and the pan, he heard a quiet tapping on the door and froze. Surely it couldn’t be … No, it couldn’t. She would never come back. Not after the way he had – the repeated tapping conveyed urgency. One of the crew? Surely not his brother again?
Removing the bar, Devlin lifted the latch and opened the door. He was startled to see Morwenna Gillis, wearing a dark blue greatcoat and a bonnet-style hat with a long poke that hid her face from all except the person directly in front of her.
‘I must speak to you privately,’ she said quickly in a lowered voice, and walked past him into the room, leaving Devlin no choice but to close the door.
‘It is not my habit to make calls at this hour,’ her tone was still harassed, but Devlin noticed her gaze darting around the large room, and felt his irritation growing.
‘I am glad to hear it,’ he said dryly. ‘Now that you are here, perhaps you’ll tell me why?’ He indicated the chair he had just vacated. But she shook her head, smoothing her leather gloves over her knuckles.
‘I won’t sit. I do not intend to remain here a moment longer than necessary.’
Devlin waited. What would have brought her here? Was there a problem at the boatyard? No, John would have come himself. Was it John? Was he ill? Were there money problems?
Morwenna took a deep breath. ‘Mr Varcoe, Tamara is expecting your child, and what I want is for you to do your duty and marry her.’ She glared at him, her bosom heaving with agitation.
Used to masking his emotions, Devlin stared back, knowing she could see nothing of the tumult inside him. Of all the things she might have said, he had never expected this. Tamara? A child? His child?
‘Why should you assume it’s mine?’ Guilt stabbed, but he bitterly resented this overwrought woman’s intrusion into his home and his affairs.
Morwenna’s chin jutted. ‘You are offensive, sir!’
‘Perhaps. But I ask again, why do you assume it’s mine?’
‘Because my daughter told me so. Despite all Tamara’s other sins – and God knows they are legion – she is not and never has been a liar.’
Turning away, Devlin raked a hand through his hair. A child? If it existed it was his. Tamara had come to him that evening, full of news, soaked from the rain, and a virgin.
‘You cannot blame me,’ Morwenna began, misinterpreting his silence. ‘I have done my best. But she is completely unmanageable. She believes herself in love with you.’ Morwenna’s irritated gesture and down turned mouth told him exactly what she thought of that.
Devlin gripped the back of the chair with both hands. ‘Why are you here alone? Why did she not come with you?’
Morwenna’s gaze skittered sideways and once more she smoothed her gloves over her fingers. ‘I did not think it appropriate –’
‘Does she know you’re here?’
‘That is none of your –’
‘She doesn’t, does she?’
Morwenna’s head flew up. ‘No, she doesn’t. She had the effrontery to instruct me not to tell you. Not tell you! The very idea. But you have a duty –’
Hot anger welled up, tightening his muscles, demanding release. Devlin shoved the chair from him. It scraped loudly on the wood floor then collided with the table making Morwenna jump.
‘You presume to lecture me, madam?’ She flinched and took a step back. ‘You who cannot control your own daughter?’ He knew it was unfair. No one could control Tamara, least of all this foolish woman. But to listen while Morwenna Gillis made demands and issued instructions was beyond bearing.
Morwenna’s eyes filled. ‘Mr Varcoe, I beg you …’ As she held out a beseeching hand Devlin turned away.
‘Save your tears, madam. They don’t impress me. Nor have I patience with such wiles.’ Tamara hadn’t wept. Despite her naked shock, the hurt she had been unable to hide, she had not wept. Her eyes had glistened, bright as moonlit water, but she had not allowed a single tear to fall.
Grinding his teeth he strode to the fire and crouched, seizing a log and stabbing the embers so that sparks flew. Then, remembering he must let the fire die for he would leave soon, he threw the log back onto the pile in the corner of the hearth.
He heard rustles and a sniff and a sigh as Morwenna wiped her nose. ‘Mr Varcoe, I appeal to your better nature –’
‘My better nature?’ With a harsh laugh, Devlin spun round. ‘But according to you I have none.’ He watched hot colour climb Morwenna’s throat and turn her face the colour of brick.
Holding herself rigidly erect, Morwenna clung to her dignity. ‘It is true, this is not a match I would have chosen. But the choice has been taken out of my hands. To demonstrate the willingness of my husband and myself to make the best of the situation, you may consider your new boat a wedding gift. It will cost you nothing.’
Her condescending smile betrayed her. Thrown this bone, he was supposed to come to heel like a dog.
Hiding his fury, Devlin strode to the door and wrenched it open. ‘You have said what you came to say.’
Startled, her smile dissolving, Morwenna stared at him. ‘But –’
‘No buts, madam. Out,’ he jerked his head. ‘You were not invited, nor are you welcome.’
Morwenna gasped, her gloved hand flying to her throat. ‘You can’t –’
‘Oh, I can,’ Devlin grated. ‘Leave now or I’ll put you out myself.’ He held the door until she had reached the threshold. Knowing she would try to have the last word he didn’t give her the chance. ‘I doubt your husband has any notion of the offer you have just made.’ The renewed surge of colour proved him right. ‘But even if he did, I won’t be bullied and I can’t be bought.’
Stepping outside, she turned one last time, her mouth opening. He shut the door.
The wind was brisk and cutting as Jenefer walked up the main street. She had chosen her clothes carefully, wanting to create an impression of sobriety and willingness to work, while revealing none of the desperation t
hat was her constant companion, or her anger at being in her current position.
As she opened the shop door a bell jangled. She inhaled the shop’s particular aroma: cheese, from the big round missing a wedge on a slate at one side of the counter, the fishy reek of train oil from the barrel in the corner, and the earthy scent of potatoes and turnips in their sacks on the floor.
Hannah Tresidder came in from a room behind the wooden counter, wiping her hands on the apron that covered her brown serge petticoat. A cap covered her hair and a muslin kerchief was tucked into her calico bodice. The sleeves were pushed half way up bony arms.
‘Morning, miss. Sorry about your father an’ all. Lizzie Clemmow was in earlier. She said you might come by.’
Jenefer detected a note of suspicion in Hannah’s tone. There were dark circles of fatigue beneath her eyes and strain had etched creases across her forehead and between her brows.
‘Mrs Clemmow has been a great help to me these past weeks.’
A glimmer of warmth softened Hannah’s harassed frown. ‘Kind soul she is.’ Curiosity sharpened her gaze. ‘I ’eard tell you was working down the pilchard cellars.’
Hating the fact that her circumstances were common knowledge and had probably been talked about and even laughed over, Jenefer stiffened. ‘I did, for a few days.’
‘Never fancied it meself.’ Taking a cloth from beneath the counter, Hannah gave the wooden surface a brisk wipe.
Jenefer clenched her teeth to hold back the angry retorts that clamoured for release. ‘It wasn’t very pleasant.’
‘Well, ’tidn what you’re used to, is it? Any’ow, what can I do for ’ee?’
Jenefer gripped her purse a little more tightly. ‘Actually, it’s more what I might be able to do for you, Mrs Tresidder. Mrs Clemmow mentioned that your husband isn’t well. I’m sorry to hear that. How is he?’
Hannah shook her head. ‘Proper poorly, dear of ’n. He can’t stop fretting about the shop, and that do make him all mithered so he can’t sleep. Then I’m up and down half the night.’
No wonder she looked exhausted. ‘I know nothing about running a shop, Mrs Tresidder. But I do know about keeping accounts. I managed my father’s business accounts for several years. And after my mother died I took over the housekeeping budget as well. So, I was wondering, while your husband is ill, if you might find it useful to have help with the shop accounts?’
