‘I’ll be all right, Bartholomew,’ Samuel said, momentarily resting a hand on his son’s broad shoulder. ‘I’m leaving Matthew in charge. Listen out for more survivors.’ Giving Matthew the other end of the rope, Samuel lifted his legs over the gunwale and lowered himself into the cold, hostile sea.
Salty spray washed over Bartholomew’s angry young face as he leaned over the side and watched his father’s tossed-about form becoming rapidly swallowed up in the fog.
‘Don’t ’ee worry now, Bartholomew,’ said Jeremy King, as Bartholomew lifted his dark head and angrily wiped dripping water off his cut chin. ‘Your tas is a good swimmer, he’ll be all right.’
‘Against these waves?’ Bartholomew said harshly. ‘He’d better be all right.’ He was furious with his father. Why did he have to act the hero? The skipper of the Young Maid wasn’t responsible for what had happened, it could just have easily been his boat struck by another vessel. Anything could, and did, happen in seas like this. Perhaps another lugger in the fleet had come to grief as well as theirs and the Lowenek this morning. Bartholomew looked at the almost empty fishroom. The cruel sea had won again; there seemed to be no way a young man could earn a living from it and better himself.
Jeremy watched Bartholomew nervously for a moment, guessing what was going on inside his head. Jeremy feared an outburst of the temper Bartholomew was liable to display when his father was not about. But he remained still, glaring down into the fishroom. Jeremy sighed deeply and moved away to stand beside Christopher. They linked arms across their shoulders and looked out to sea. If all went well, who would Samuel bring in? Their grandfather, father or uncle? Their brother Josh who had mysteriously disappeared from the boat? Or one of their cousins, Mark or John?
* * *
At regular intervals Samuel stopped his laboured swimming strokes to listen for the cries of the survivor, which were weakening. He was bumped and jarred by waves and wreckage and once a dead fish slapped against his face. His mind was half on reaching the survivor and half on the plight of the Young Maid. Would its owner blame him for the accident? Would he lose his precious rented boat after all these years of longing to skipper a brand-new one? Then there was the question of the damage caused to the boat. Samuel’s family was poor; if he was forced to pay for the repairs, where would the money come from? His wife Jenifer had been so happy for him when he’d secured tenure of the boat, it would be as much of a blow to her as to him if the worst happened.
Samuel’s limbs were aching unmercifully and his lungs were near to bursting at the end of the thirteen arduous minutes it took him to reach the survivor. He saw a pitiful small figure clinging desperately to one floating battered half of the Lowenek.
As he closed in on the figure, salt water stinging his half-closed eyes, Samuel called out loudly, ‘Who are ’ee?’ although there was no need to raise his voice now he was this close; it was something the fog made him do.
‘J… John King…’ came the feeble reply. ‘C… can’t… hold on…’
Samuel trod water for a moment and wiped water from his eyes. ‘Now don’t ’ee take on so, John,’ he called to encourage the boy. ‘I’ll soon have ’ee away to safety.’
He reached John and slid an arm under his armpits and over his narrow chest. Samuel held on to the wreckage for a short time to regain his breath.
‘I… I can’t… s-swim… very well,’ John stuttered in fear and cold.
Samuel said into his ear, ‘Tes all right, boy. You can leave go now. When I tug on the rope round my waist they back on the Young Maid will pull us in. Your brothers are waiting for ’ee on board. You’re safe now, the fog’s thinning out and we’ll soon see to put ashore.’
‘I’m scared, S… Sam…’
‘You’ll be all right, John, I’ve got you now,’ Samuel tried to reassure him, but he was exhausted and fearful himself.
When he felt the pull returned on the rope, Samuel had to prise John’s frozen fingers from the wreckage. He made sure the boy’s face was raised above the waters as he swam off. He knew that no one on the lugger could hear him but he shouted, ‘Matthew! I’ve got John!’ And thought grimly to himself, ‘At least this one’s saved.’
A bare second later Samuel’s head was smashed by the side of another lugger seeking shelter out in the fog. He had not one moment for memories or regrets before he died. His arm was flung out from John King’s body and the boy’s screams went unheeded as the youngest King at sea that day sank to join the skipper of the Young Maid.
Chapter 2
Hours later, a few short miles across Mount’s Bay, Kerensa, Lady Pengarron, arrived on the arm of her husband Sir Oliver at Tolwithrick, the stately home of the wealthy mine-owning Beswetherick family. With at least one hundred other guests invited from all over the county of Cornwall, they were gathering for the celebration of Sir Martin Beswetherick’s seventieth birthday.
‘I shall enjoy the party tonight,’ Kerensa said brightly, peering through the crush of people. ‘I hope Martin does, he’s been so looking forward to it.’
‘Your presence alone will ensure that, my love,’ Sir Oliver said as he acknowledged and returned a greeting from Sir John St Aubyn of St Michael’s Mount.
Kerensa was greeted too by Sir John, but not all the gentry, the bankers, magistrates, landowners and the inevitable interlopers who appeared at such a high social occasion would afford her the same courtesy. She was not born of the same blood or money, nor had she any connection with them before her marriage. But while Oliver would have been angered on her account, Kerensa was not offended by any of the cold stares, quickly averted eyes or tosses of haughty heads she received as she looked around the banqueting hall. She cared only about the proud aristocratic man standing protectively at her side and those among the people here who, like the Beswethericks, were their friends.
‘After this though,’ Kerensa went on, ‘I shall be glad to get home. I can’t wait to see the children again and find out what they’ve been up to.’
‘You did enjoy the last two days and nights though?’ Oliver asked, his dark eyes gleaming brighter than the hundreds of candles lighting up the hall.
Kerensa knew that gleam intimately. ‘The last two days were wonderful, my dearest, the last two nights even more so…’
Oliver lifted her hand and kissed the warm fingers. ‘Buying that little cottage at Mullion so I can take you away and have you all to myself for a day or two was a master brainwave of mine. I’m rather proud of it.’
‘So I can see,’ Kerensa replied, smiling up at her husband who constantly and openly lavished love and adoration on her. She had been bonded to him in marriage for eight years and except for the first few months they had been blissfully happy in each other’s company. She loved Oliver Pengarron with the same intensity with which he loved her. Everybody who knew them knew that too, although no one would have thought their marriage would turn out this way. Kerensa had been forced to marry Oliver, who had wanted to buy the little cove, formerly Pengarron property, which she and her grandfather had lived in. Her grandfather only cooperated when Oliver agreed to take Kerensa to wife. Oliver had been furious and Kerensa heartbroken that she could not marry the youth she was betrothed to. But the first year of their marriage had taken many unexpected turns and ultimately they had fallen in love.
None of Sir Martin’s guests who witnessed Kerensa bringing Oliver’s hand to her own lips were surprised at the gesture. Sir Martin often remarked on their marriage as a fairy tale come true and Kerensa likened those who shunned her to witches and dragons who would like to spoil it for her. She would not allow their disapproval to taint her happy life.
The display of affection between her and Oliver was interrupted by a maidservant, and, laughing, Kerensa allowed herself to be whisked away to the bedchamber of Sir Martin’s daughter-in-law, Lady Rachael Beswetherick.
Kerensa entered the bedchamber and nearly turned tail again to escape a confusion of harassed maidservants and the overpowering odours of
perfumes and powders. But Lady Rachael caught sight of her from her seat in the powder room where she was being attended by three maids.
‘Yoo-hoo! Here I am, Kerensa, my dear. Come in, come in.’
Kerensa stepped over several discarded gowns and pairs of dancing shoes and made her way through a haze of powder to Rachael’s side.
Rachael sent the maids away in a sudden scurry and stood up. She fluttered her heavily jewelled hands up and down. ‘Well, what do you think?’ she asked.
Kerensa stared at the other woman, gloriously arrayed in jewels of every colour, and an over-decorated gown of vivid orange with spiralling purple motifs, her wig elaborately dressed twenty-two inches high and graced with huge colourful feathers, more jewels, and stuffed birds of paradise. Lady Rachael looked, to even the kindest observer, little short of ridiculous. Kerensa blinked, swallowed, smiled widely, and blatantly lied. ‘You look beautiful, Rachael, perfect for tonight’s occasion.’
‘Of course I do,’ Rachael purred. ‘And you look your usual picture of glowing beauty too, Kerensa, my dear. One can easily see that you’ve had the most divine time alone with your husband, but then who wouldn’t with the most gorgeous man in the county.’ Rachael pursed her painted lips and risked the position of her wig by putting her head a little on the side. ‘I suppose you had the most terrible time wrenching yourself out of his arms.’
‘Of course I did, Rachael,’ Kerensa smiled.
Rachael laughed with a loud snort then swung round to survey herself in a full-length mirror. ‘Do you think I have enough jewels on, my dear? I simply must look my best for tonight. Old Marty won’t be seventy years old on every day of the week, and who knows, he might not be around much longer. Did you know the dear old thing wanted to hold the party in his tiny little house in Marazion? The very idea. There’s not enough room to comfortably hold twenty guests in there. I’ve got six children old enough to attend the celebration, so with them and William and myself, and you and Oliver that makes ten people for a start so I got William to insist…’
Kerensa couldn’t get a word in edgeways, or near the mirror to check on her own appearance, so she sat on the only chair not draped with discarded clothing and listened patiently.
‘I hope I’ve ordered enough food and wine to cope with the evening,’ Rachael continued, pressing another black patch on her chin in an attempt to conceal a wavy-lined wrinkle. ‘I don’t want to let old Marty down and I want the county to talk about the event for years. Talking of children, I was just now, wasn’t I? I’m waiting for Ameline to come to me, she has no dress sense at all, you know. My other older girls know exactly how to dress but I have to check on Ameline on every occasion, it’s so tiresome of her. I keep telling her, you only have to emulate your dear mama and all will be well.’
Kerensa smiled behind her fan and managed to get in a few words on a pause of Rachael’s breath. ‘That was strange weather we had earlier today.’
‘Was it, my dear? I was too preoccupied with the preparations for tonight to notice.’
Kerensa didn’t have any more time to remark on the weather. There was a timid knock on the door and Ameline Beswetherick appeared. Ameline took one look at her mother and came into the bedchamber quite fearfully.
* * *
Downstairs Oliver was joined by Sir Martin who handed him a glass of the finest white wine. He’d had a look of disappointment on his chubby face as he’d watched Kerensa disappear up the stairs.
‘I thought we would have trouble getting here through the fog,’ Oliver said, after appreciating the wine, ‘but it lifted almost as quickly as it fell. Kerensa kept saying there was something strange in the air, but you have a fine clear spring evening to celebrate your birthday, Martin.’
‘The fog spread across the bay and drifted out to sea in a very short time according to some of the talk I’ve heard tonight. Don’t know why people want to keep on about the weather when there’s more important things like my birthday to celebrate,’ Sir Martin ended grumpily.
‘My humble apologies. Happy birthday, Martin.’ Oliver raised his glass.
‘Damned old I’ve become, damned old, Oliver, my boy,’ Sir Martin sighed, then with a wicked glint in his yellowing eyes, ‘But not too old to appreciate a slender neck and a graceful step, and,’ he emphasised, ‘the flash of wonderful red hair. So tell me why that little wife of yours was taken off like that before my very eyes! Haven’t had my arm round her tiny waist for far too long and that’s a fact!’
Oliver smiled indulgently from his great height. ‘Kerensa was taken up the stairs to join Rachael and Ameline. I fancy that Rachael requires her as part of her grand entrance.’
‘Oh yes,’ Sir Martin bellowed. ‘Rachael and her grand entrances! She insists on carrying them out even if the occasion is not in her honour, as it isn’t tonight. And she’ll make the most of it, you can be sure of that. This is about the only year within the last ten or so she hasn’t been with child. Damn me, boy, it would be a sight indeed to see her fall down those stairs one of these days, all preened up like a hysterical pheasant.’
‘A sight indeed,’ agreed Oliver, turning his dark head and looking up the wide stone stairway.
‘Whose birthday is it anyway?’ Sir Martin said peevishly. ‘I wanted the celebration at my house in Marazion but Rachael badgered William into insisting I hold it here. Henpecked and beaten down, that’s what William is, not like you, Oliver. You’re master of your own house, as I was when my dear Amy was alive. Amy, Kerensa – they’re what real women are all about, they know how to treat a man, keep him content and satisfied in all his needs. Don’t seem to be many men with backbone about these days.’
‘What about young Martin?’ Oliver asked. ‘I hear he’s doing very well for himself in the regiment.’
‘Well, I’ll concede the point in his case, but that’s because he tries to emulate you rather than William. A fine grandson that boy is, a man couldn’t wish for one better, he’s a credit to the family.’
Sir Martin broke off his ramblings to greet two of his guests, elderly brothers, John and Alfred Sarrison, who wore matching clothes and pumps and identical idiotic grins.
‘What a pair of silly old fops,’ he snorted, when the brothers moved away to talk to other acquaintances in the noisy crowd. ‘They’re no fun,’ he complained. ‘Most of the people here tonight have no humour at all. Most of them have no class, all of them are boring. Except for you and Hezekiah, there’s no one here worthy of a bit of sport or a good session at the card tables. I may be getting on in years, my boy, but I can keep up with the best of ’em.’
‘I look on you as a most enduring ancient of days, Martin,’ Oliver said, with humour and sincerity.
‘Yes, yes, quite,’ the small, elderly gentleman nodded, with a dismissive wave of a podgy hand, ‘but if Rachael has not appeared within the next ten minutes, I shall order the musicians to begin the dancing. I’m paying a pretty shilling for them and this is still my house!’
Oliver sipped his wine with a wry grin. ‘However long it takes Rachael to get herself ready and make her appearance with your granddaughter and my wife, I’ll wager you that Hezekiah will take a good deal longer.’
‘Well, I won’t take you up on that,’ smirked Sir Martin, with a lift of bristly eyebrows. ‘Never have been one to put my money on a losing bet. Pity Judith passed on,’ he mused sadly, suddenly changing tack. ‘The best and most loyal servant the Beswethericks have ever had. She would have liked to have seen my seventieth… dear old Judith… but she didn’t suffer at the end, carried away by the angels in her sleep. Hope I go the same way when my time comes.’
‘Your time is a long way off yet, Martin,’ Oliver said firmly. Oliver Pengarron was a man renowned for his lack of patience but he had an unlimited supply with regard to the other baronet, who had taken to rambling more and more as the years progressed. ‘You may have had your three score and ten but you’re far from on the wane.’
‘Mmm, you could be right, Oli
ver. Where is that wretched woman?’ Sir Martin stamped his foot then cried out, ‘Ouch, damn me!’ because of his rheumatism. ‘I sent William up half an hour ago to hurry her up and he has disappeared. The trouble with Rachael is that ever since she learned what some of the ladies will be wearing at the coronation later this year she’s been trying to outshine the lot of them.’
At that moment William Beswetherick, Sir Martin’s eldest son, appeared at the top of the stairs with a serious-faced gentleman dressed in subdued autumnal colours who looked distinctly ill at ease.
‘Here comes William at least,’ Oliver said. ‘Who is the man with him? One of your guests, Martin?’
‘Ah, that is James Mortreath, he’s an acquaintance of William’s.’
‘Mortreath, you say?’ Oliver’s strong dark features became alive with interest. ‘There are Mortreaths back in my family history. I wonder if there is any connection. As far as I know they all died out years ago.’
‘You can ask him presently, it may prove interesting to you. He is a lawyer by profession, a very efficient one by all accounts and also has banking interests. He’s come down to Cornwall from the capital city to arrange the sale of a considerable amount of property he has inherited at Truro. William met him there at the races and since then he has called often at Tolwithrick – Ameline is the attraction.’
‘That is hardly surprising, Ameline is a most attractive young lady.’ Oliver gazed at James Mortreath. ‘Will he make a suitable husband for her? He doesn’t look comfortable in society and he appears to be much older than Ameline. The difference in their ages seems more apparent than my own to Kerensa.’
Sir Martin was smiling as he watched James Mortreath descend the stairs at the side of his son. ‘I’ve made enquiries about him. I wouldn’t allow my dearest granddaughter to marry just any young fop. William and I are in agreement. Mortreath’s a fine man, upstanding, successful and highly regarded and wealthy in his own right. I fancy he’ll ask for Ameline’s hand in marriage tonight.’
Pengarron Pride Page 2
