The Beswethericks would listen to Sir Oliver. James had thought he might receive a sympathetic reception from him as he himself had married a girl notably younger than himself. Life wasn’t fair at times, James decided. He had truly thought the girl gliding down the stairs in the sea-green dress with pearls round her throat was one of Ameline’s friends; she looked no older than Ameline. How old was Lady Pengarron? He did a quick calculation in his head. According to Ameline she had been seventeen when married, eight years had passed – twenty-five. Sir Oliver had been twice her age at the time of the marriage, which made him now, good lord, forty-two! Even with his colourful past the man could still be taken for James’s own age – thirty-six. Life was certainly not fair.
Sir Oliver looked away, and James followed the baronet’s gaze. It stopped at Lady Pengarron who was dancing at a sedate pace with Mr John Sarrison in the same set as Sir Martin and Ameline. James had heard Sir Oliver was possessive over his wife, as he was with his land and chattels, but there was more here than that. There was no mistaking the pleasure in those dark unreadable eyes as Lady Pengarron twirled gracefully under the old gentleman’s stiffly held arm. When her husband caught her attention, she smiled and waved her hand to him. A surprise indeed. It appeared they were actually in love! It was most unexpected because according to gossip it certainly wasn’t the case when they first married and very few married people he knew had any regard for one another, let alone love. Like the self-esteemed coroner, Thomas Cole, and his haughty wife, also in the set, who seemed to be tolerated in genteel company only because of Cole’s position.
James wished again he had been in Cornwall for longer than four months. He would have to enquire of Ameline more about the people here, the Pengarrons in particular, if he wasn’t going to make a greater fool of himself. It was all so bothersome, he had only come down to this backward county from London to arrange the disposal of an inheritance. He had stayed this long, and at a great deal of inconvenience, because he had fallen in love with Ameline Beswetherick and had had to court her and her family. If he could win Ameline, he would hurriedly set the wedding day and hot-foot with her back to London and never set eye on Cornwall again. And now, just when he was hopeful his suit would be accepted, it seemed Sir Oliver Pengarron was making things difficult for him.
‘Are you quite well, Mr Mortreath?’ asked Ameline, when the dance ended. ‘If I may say so, you look most uncomfortable.’
‘I do feel a trifle hot I must confess, Miss Ameline,’ he replied, his face lighting up at her concern. ‘Did you enjoy your dance with Sir Martin?’
‘Yes, thank you, but not with Mr Ralph Harrt, whom I partnered earlier. I believe he dances as he would chase a fox before his hounds. He is not agile on his feet as you are, Mr Mortreath.’
‘How kind of you to say so, Miss Ameline.’ The remark gave James encouragement. ‘May I have the honour of claiming another dance with you before too long this evening?’
‘Indeed you may. I have promised one dance to my brother, Martin, one to my father and one to Mr John Sarrison, although he may soon be danced off his feet in the same way as Mr Alfred. Grandfather has vowed to dance twice with every lady in the room but he looks as if his age and rheumatism will soon have the upper hand of him. Oh, and one dance with Oliver, Sir Oliver that is, but I will save the remainder for you, Mr Mortreath. Have you been introduced to Sir Oliver yet?’
‘Yes, yes… a… a most charming man,’ James blustered.
‘And Lady Pengarron?’
‘Yes, I spoke to her briefly. She seems most charming too.’
‘I’m pleased you’ve accepted her. Some people are beastly about her background, working class, you know, and it does anger me. I believe one should take people as one finds them and she has always been very sweet to me.’
James was relieved he had not made another error about the beautiful Lady Pengarron. He had spoken the truth about finding her charming and would have liked to have asked her to dance, but fear of Sir Oliver’s reaction had stopped him.
Ameline was smiling at him and James felt another surge of confidence. If she had a regard for him and wished to accept his offer of marriage, then even if Sir Oliver was against him it wouldn’t matter.
Ameline’s smile died when she became aware that Captain Hezekiah Solomon was looking straight across the hall at her. Her hand flew to clutch James’s arm. He misread her action and plunged into part of the speech he had prepared for her father.
‘Miss Ameline, I have the intention of asking…’
She was not listening to him. Hezekiah Solomon was rapidly making his way over to them.
‘What… what was that you were saying, Mr Mortreath?’ she said shakily, moving abruptly so her back was towards Hezekiah and giving James her full attention.
‘I was saying that I intend to speak to your father—’
James was rudely interrupted. ‘I am hoping that I may have the pleasure of the next dance with you, Miss Ameline,’ Hezekiah said forcefully over her shoulder.
Hardly turning round, Ameline said coolly, ‘I’m afraid I have promised the next dance to Mr Mortreath. In fact I have none available for the rest of the evening, Captain Solomon.’
She could feel his eyes burning into the side of her face. They flicked to James Mortreath and back to Ameline. ‘As you please, Miss Ameline,’ Hezekiah said tonelessly, then bowed with a characteristic flourish and withdrew.
James looked at her shaken face. ‘Do you not like him, Captain Solomon?’
‘No… he…’ Realising she was still clinging to his arm she pulled her hand away and clenched her fists. ‘The next dance is about to begin, Mr Mortreath. Shall we take the floor?’
‘I’d be delighted.’
James led Ameline to the set forming closest to them. He felt more conspicuous than usual when Hezekiah Solomon took a position next to Sir Oliver and inclined his cologned white head to the baronet’s ear.
Unlike James and Ameline, Kerensa Pengarron was thoroughly enjoying the evening’s celebration. She had forgotten her earlier feelings of foreboding due to the fog, and was unaware of the different effects her presence was having on some of Sir Martin’s guests.
Chapter 3
Kerensa stood huddled at Oliver’s side in the driving rain in Perranbarvah’s churchyard. From time to time she glanced anxiously at Ruth and Esther King, two of Pengarron Manor’s servants, and sisters of the young fisherman whose burial they were attending. It was two months since the fishing boat tragedy and the fourth time the mourners had gathered to lay a member of the King family to his final rest.
At Kerensa’s other side was Matthias Renfree, the son of the Pengarron estate’s home farm and stud steward. He was supporting Elizabeth King, the grieving mother of the deceased, Mark King. She sobbed unrestrainedly throughout the solemn words spoken by the parson, the Reverend Joseph Ivey. Matthias was a source of great comfort to Elizabeth, devout as he was, like the Kings, to John Wesley’s teaching of the Gospel and Christian way of life. Before the funeral today, Elizabeth had told him, Oliver and Kerensa that she was grateful to the Almighty for giving her back all of her loved ones from the deep.
The Kings were too poor to provide coffins for their dead menfolk and it would have been the loan of the parish coffin for each in turn and burial in nothing more than a shroud but for the thoughtful intervention of Oliver. He’d approached the family through Matthias Renfree, offering to supply a coffin for each of the deceased if and when they were found. Elizabeth King had received the offer with the dignity and spirit with which it was given and her menfolk were lowered into the ground, up above the fishing village where they had all been born, encased in timber from the Pengarron oak plantation.
The first funeral had been for brothers Solomon and Jonathan, who on the day following their deaths were washed up only yards apart on Perranbarvah’s beach, not far from the moored boats. The next had been for John, Solomon and Elizabeth’s youngest son, whose body was discovered days later
trapped among rocks half a mile along the beach. Days later again, Grandfather King’s body was found washed ashore further along the coast in Trelynne Cove, his arm flung out with index finger pointing to the sea where many yards away lay Josh. It was said the Kings believed the old fisherman had found his grandson who had vanished unseen from the Young Maid.
And then Mark’s remains were found floating entangled in wreckage from the Lowenek far out at sea. At his funeral today Kerensa noticed there were no Drannocks present. Jenifer, Samuel’s distraught widow, the mother of a large family herself, had been ailing for some time and at the previous double funeral had been at the point of collapse. Bartholomew had taken her out of the churchyard and half carried her home.
Kerensa glanced round the graveside taking note of who had turned out to mourn. There was Rosina Blake, a young woman with whom Kerensa had been on friendly terms until Rosina had married Peter Blake, owner of the Young Maid. Rosina was well thought of, though her husband was not. She was another devout Methodist and a gentle, caring young woman. She stared down sadly at the grave and shook her head often.
Next to Rosina Blake were most of the Trenchard family, whose head, Morley, held a farm tenancy on the Pengarron estate. With him was his elder son, Clem, the man Kerensa had once been going to marry, and his wife, Alice, Kerensa’s closest friend. Kerensa would like to have talked to Alice afterwards but she could not with Clem there; knowing that Clem still loved her, Oliver was jealous and suspicious of him. Clem looked at her at the same moment her eyes reached his face. He smiled back weakly, as befitted the occasion, but his face was full of warmth and affection. Before she could reciprocate, as if an instinct had been stirred Oliver moved across her line of vision.
The final prayer was said and the mourners, mostly fisherfolk and a large turn-out of local Methodists, moved off to plod dejectedly back up or down the steep hill that ran outside the churchyard. Kerensa managed a brief smile at Clem before he left with Alice on his arm. Then she turned to speak to Matthias Renfree.
‘Ruth and Esther are going to spend another week with Elizabeth,’ she told him. ‘Will you go with them, Matthias, and see if there’s anything they need, please?’
‘Aye, m’lady, I’ll do that,’ Matthias assured her in his quiet, soothing voice. ‘Your presence and support has already been very much appreciated. I’ll have a quiet word with Matthew. He’s been badly shaken up by the tragedy but I’m sure he’ll be able to take over from his grandfather and keep the family together. He has a lot of responsibility now with his own young family and Jonathan’s motherless brood, but they’ll get through with the Lord’s help and that of the community.’
When Matthias had gone, Oliver put two firm hands on Kerensa’s shoulders. ‘Are you all right, my love?’ he whispered into her ear.
She turned her head to look up at him and her face quickly became sprinkled with raindrops. They mingled with the tears in her eyes and she was surprised to find herself trembling. ‘It’s all so terrible, Oliver. Whatever will they do?’
Oliver looked at the mounds of freshly dug wet earth. With the last King buried, and when the ground had settled, he would have a large headstone erected with all their names inscribed on it and the date of their tragic deaths, the twelfth day of April, 1761.
‘We’ll do what we can to ease their pain and provide for their comfort, Kerensa,’ he said dully, ‘as much as the Kings and Drannocks feel able to accept. They’ve lost so much and the parish has lost some of its best characters. While you were talking to Renfree I was having a word with Matthew King and Lowenna, his wife.’
‘How is Paul?’ Kerensa asked at once, rather fearfully. ‘Did you ask them? Did they say if he’ll pull through?’ Only hours after the terrible accident, Paul King had succumbed to a severe bout of pneumonia.
Oliver smiled and tenderly stroked her cheek. ‘His fever has abated at last, my love, don’t you worry. Dr Crebo has told the family he has every chance of fully regaining his health.’
Kerensa’s slender form sighed. ‘Thank the Lord for that, at least. Another funeral would be unbearable.’
‘Matthew King has told me something that both he and I find wholly unbearable,’ Oliver said, his features hardening. ‘Peter Blake will not allow him and Bartholomew Drannock to take over the Young Maid when she is repaired. Not only is he denying them the means of their livelihood, the swine is demanding compensation for the damage, too.’
‘Oh, Oliver, no! How could he be so cruel?’
‘I’m afraid cruelty and unfairness come all too easily to that particular man, as you well know. For all his outward appearance of benevolence, he cares for no one other than his wife and child. King and young Drannock are going to see him again and ask him to reconsider, but if they’re unsuccessful at getting him to change his mind, then perhaps I can. I will not leave the situation as it is.’
‘What will you do, Oliver?’ Kerensa said, hastily taking his hand as if by this she might forbid his plans; she would never forget that Oliver had once almost beaten Peter Blake to his death for harming her. And he could be equally protective over the people of the parish where he was Lord of the Manor.
‘I’ll take care of it,’ he said firmly. ‘Do not be concerned, I won’t raise a finger to him,’ adding mentally, ‘unless he gives me just cause.’ Oliver knew by the face Kerensa was making that she did not believe him, but before she could extract a promise from him not to lose his temper with Peter Blake he moved on to another concern left by the tragedy. ‘Are you still of a mind to call on Jenifer Drannock, my love?’
Kerensa narrowed her eyes at his ploy, but answered, ‘Yes. Jenifer probably needs more help than the Kings do. She has no one but Bartholomew to turn to now, the other children are too young to be of much help. Come to that, Bartholomew is very young to be head of the family.’
‘You go along now, my dear. I don’t want you getting a chill. I’ll take some refreshment with the Reverend Ivey and you can call at the parsonage when you’re ready to go home.’ He gave her his striking smile, said, ‘Take your time,’ then kissed both her wet cheeks.
* * *
The first time Kerensa had entered the Drannocks’ cottage, set amid the tightly packed cluster of fishermen’s cob-built homes, was eight years before when she’d been an unhappy young bride. It had always been a drab, dirty-looking building and in the years since had shown no improvement. Kerensa had visited only twice, because Samuel Drannock had shown his disapproval of her calling and had forbidden her to give Jenifer any more of the gifts she had brought to ease their poverty.
Kerensa wondered how Jenifer would receive her today. She knocked loudly on the battered door. There was no reply. Slowly she lifted the buckled rusty latch, pushed the door open a few inches and called out softly, ‘Jenifer, are you there?’
There was still no answer. Kerensa’s concern for Jenifer and her children outweighed the fear of a rebuff. She pushed the door open wider, stepped quickly inside and closed the door against the heavy rain.
She was in the kitchen, the only living room of the cottage. It looked empty, bleak and cold. Jenifer Drannock had never aspired to being an efficient housewife and the stark surroundings looked even more untidy and dusty than Kerensa remembered. The room smelled of dampness and stale food. Kerensa rubbed at the top of her arms under her cloak, wistfully noting the cheerless fire sputtering in the hearth, thinking that the vast moorlands of Lancavel Downs in deep winter were more hospitable than this.
With her eyes on a poker and the intention of raking among the charred sticks of driftwood to encourage a blaze, Kerensa stepped over a scattered heap of soiled laundry. She jumped back as a large scruffy grey cat leaped off the back of a chair and hissed at her before its paws hit the cold unplanched floor. The cat glared at her, making her feel even more of an intruder, then made its way to the door with its half-chewed-off tail up in the air. It was then that Kerensa saw the still figure of Jenifer Drannock sitting to the side of the door on a small set
tle. She was wearing ill-fitting black clothes borrowed from the neighbours and against the dark wood of the high-backed settle only her hands and face were clearly visible. The blank expression on her haggard white face made her seem like a creature from another world.
‘Jenifer!’ Kerensa blurted out, guilt rushing to her cheeks. ‘I… I hope you don’t mind me walking in like this.’
‘Not at all, my dear,’ Jenifer replied, her voice dry and vacant. ‘It is good of you to come. If you can stay, sit yourself down – if you can find a clean enough chair.’ She waved a weary hand in no particular direction. ‘I’m sorry, I just haven’t had the heart…’
‘I understand,’ Kerensa said gently. ‘Would you like me to tidy up a few things for you?’ She glanced at the rickety table with its remains of several sparse and unpalatable meals.
‘No, it’s all right, my dear, thank you. Ruth and Esther King were here a short time ago. They’re coming back when they’ve settled their mother, and seen to Paul. They’ll sort out all this mess between them. I feel so sorry for them, losing so many of their family. They’ll be kept busy here for quite a while… take their minds off the tragedy. You can cheer up that fire if you like, you’re shivering in those wet things. People have been kind, they’ve brought us some extra logs. Pile them on and get warmed through. Here,’ Jenifer held out a well-used knitted blanket made up of a few squares. ‘Take off your hat and cloak and put this round your shoulders. It’s not very big but it will cover a little bit of a thing like you.’
Kerensa stoked up the fire without speaking and when the logs were roaring she cleared laundry off a chair by the table and sat down. ‘Wouldn’t you be warmer over here by the hearth, Jenifer? It must be draughty by the door and with the window nearly over your head.’
Pengarron Pride Page 4
