Chapter 10
Oliver’s dark eyes widened and brightened, his strong features sharpened, his bearing dominated the parson’s study.
‘I cannot possibly be the boy’s father,’ he told Reverend Ivey. ‘I have wondered if one of my grandfathers had an affair with one of the boy’s grandmothers and the resemblance has emerged only now. I have also had the thought that my father may have sired the boy but Jenifer Drannock is not the sort of woman to have given herself freely to a middle-aged married man, even of my father’s standing. There could be one explanation, of course. My father may have forced himself upon her. I have no doubt he was capable of such a thing. You usually have your ear to the ground in the parish. Is there anything that you can tell me? I realise of course that it may be difficult for you to speak but rest assured I’ve never been under any illusion as to my father’s true character.’
The Reverend’s watery brown eyes could keep no secret from this man. Oliver Pengarron was too perceptive and he had a disconcerting habit of searching a conversant’s face.
‘Well, I do know something…’
‘I thought as much. Tell me all,’ Oliver commanded, leaning forward, ‘all that you know.’
‘Well, um… your father, Sir Daniel…’ the Reverend was obliged to clear his throat noisily, wishing feverishly that Oliver would drop his penetrating stare.
‘Yes, my father…?’
‘Your father, Sir Daniel… is… was… oh dear, this is very difficult. He is not the father of Bartholomew, rather he had an… association with Samuel’s mother. I… ah, know this to be true because I stumbled across them myself at one time. Sir Daniel was very angry, he made me swear never to tell anyone. Samuel’s mother married a Newlyn fisherman, Caleb Drannock, and six months later she gave birth to a son. It was in the same year that you were born. As he grew up the child resembled his mother, folk had no reason to believe he was none other than Caleb’s son. I believe that was the reason why there has not been the customary gossip, just the odd remark… While Samuel was still an infant Caleb Drannock was drowned at sea, his mother returned to live with her family, now all dead, at Perranbarvah. She never married again. The rest you know.’
Very slowly Oliver got up and walked behind his chair. He gripped the back tightly. His face had lost its usual dark colouring. Sparks seem to be darting from his eyes. With the evidence of Bartholomew’s looks and manner he had been certain that Pengarron blood flowed, if not in all the Drannock children, at least in Bartholomew. But the closeness of it had utterly shocked him.
‘Do you mean to tell me that Samuel Drannock was sired by my own father? Are you telling me that that fisherman was my half-brother? Born when I was born? Growing up not two miles away from me?’ His voice was husky, part in rage, part in hurt. ‘And all these years I knew nothing about it! Why have you not spoken of this before? Why have you kept silent for so long?’
‘I… I was not absolutely certain Sir Daniel was responsible for Samuel’s birth until Jenifer confided in me a few years ago. Apparently Margaret Drannock confessed it on her death bed. That was how she and Samuel himself came to know.’
‘And why did Jenifer suddenly feel the need to confide this astonishing confession to you?’
‘You do not expect me to tell you that, do you?’ returned the Reverend, rallying briefly to his own cause. ‘That is between Jenifer and me.’
Oliver strode abruptly to the window, his silhouette unmistakably similar to Bartholomew’s who had stood there a short time before. He looked out at the same scene, the parsonage back garden where autumn leaves were scattered over the neatly cut lawn and beneath the solitary apple tree. And beyond, the silvery shimmer of the sea over the tops of the shabby cottages in the village below.
‘I never had any brothers and sisters,’ he said numbly, ‘they all died in infancy. I’d always yearned for family life. I didn’t know what it was like until I married Kerensa and we had the children. Before that I was lonely most of the time, even more so when my closest friend died on the battlefield. And yet all those years, all those years you schooled me as a child, I had a brother…’
‘I’ll pour you a glass of port wine while you take it all in, Oliver,’ the Reverend said soothingly.
‘Damn your blasted port wine!’ Oliver raged, thrusting his arms up in the air with hands held claw-like. ‘Don’t you understand what this means to me, you old fool? I had a brother out there!’ He stabbed one hand at the sea. ‘I always wanted a brother, someone I could talk to, share things with. A brother with a family – a sister-in-law, nephews, nieces. Now I find I did have a brother! But it’s too late. He died just a few months ago. For God’s sake, Joseph Ivey, I had a brother. And you knew. You knew. I had the right to know. I had the right, damn you!’
The terrible thunder of his violent outburst shattered the Reverend’s composure. He had risen to his feet but fell back heavily in his chair, scattering the notes of his revised sermon and knocking a glass of water on top of the papers. He was blinking rapidly and had to cough several times before he could speak.
‘I, I, I… um… please c-calm yourself… I, I implore you, Oliver… I… I…’ Water dripped on to his black clerical clothes.
Oliver sped across the room and thumped both fists on the desk. The Reverend jumped at his fury. Then the sparks died out from Oliver’s eyes and as though he was suddenly exhausted he slumped down into a chair. It seemed as though something deep inside him, part of his personality, part of the man himself, had died.
After a prolonged heavy silence he gave a shuddering breath. ‘I’m sorry, Joseph. Did I frighten you badly?’
The Reverend called on all the years of his experience to cope with the situation. ‘No, I… no… Oliver… I’m so sorry about your distress… I would like to explain a little more but… but I fear it will cause you even more pain. You see, Samuel did not want you to know…’
‘Go on,’ Oliver ordered, but in a subdued voice. ‘I want to hear everything you know.’
‘Well, he had… a strong dislike for you.’
‘That wouldn’t have mattered,’ Oliver said miserably, then laughed ironically. ‘I didn’t like him. But given the chance to get to know one another better over the years, who knows what may have happened. Now the man is dead and there will never, never be the opportunity.’
The Reverend Ivey was a deeply worried man. ‘Oliver, what will you do now, regarding Jenifer, Bartholomew and the children? I strongly advise caution.’
‘I don’t know, I’ll have to think… I’d thought originally that if I found out that the Drannocks were my kin today I would think about what to do while I was away, then talk to Kerensa about it. Now I know they’re so closely related I don’t know what to do. I won’t be hurrying down the hill and knocking on their cottage door if that’s what concerns you.’
‘Good… good. I can see it will take time for you to come to terms with all this, Oliver. If you need to talk…’
‘Yes, of course. Thank you, Joseph. I’m sorry I shouted at you, insulted you.’
‘I understand,’ the Reverend said, ‘and it’s better that it was me. It’s what I’m here for.’
They lapsed into another heavy silence and eventually Mrs Tregonning tapped on the door and hesitantly entered the room. ‘Forgive me for asking,’ she said nervously, ‘but is everything all right? I mean, nothing awful’s happened, has it?’
‘Everything is fine, Mrs Tregonning,’ the Reverend reassured her.
She didn’t seem the least bit convinced as she looked from one strained male face to the other. ‘Shall I bring in some tea, then?’
The Reverend looked enquiringly at Oliver who shook his head.
‘I must go,’ Oliver said. ‘I was going straight from here to attend to business at Penzance, from there on to Launceston and finally up to London for the coronation, but I think I’ll go home first. I need to see Kerensa.’
The Reverend paled and wished he had an angel at hand to carry a swift w
arning to the manor. ‘Please, come and see me when you’ve completed your business and we’ll talk this over again.’
When Oliver had left, insisting on seeing himself out, the Reverend turned to Mrs Tregonning who was wringing her plump hands in her huge apron. ‘Could you get me a cloth please, Mrs Tregonning,’ he said, a shake still in his voice. He moved the wet papers, pulled out his pocket handkerchief and dabbed at the wet smears left on the ancient scratched desk top. He did not look at his housekeeper. ‘I seem to have knocked over my glass of water.’
Mrs Tregonning side-stepped the request and broke a rule she had kept the entire time she had spent as the Reverend’s housekeeper. ‘What on earth was all that shouting about?’
‘I really do wish I could tell you, Mrs Tregonning. Before you fetch the cloth will you please pour me a large glass of port wine.’
She stared anxiously at him as she poured the drink, and placed it on his desk. The old parson left it untouched. He was too preoccupied wording a prayer that when Oliver got home and told Kerensa the news that had shocked him her reaction would be the right one.
* * *
‘Oliver!’ Kerensa was greatly surprised at his sudden entry into her sitting room. ‘Did you forget something?’
‘I had to come back, Kerensa. I needed to see you.’ The distress with which he had left the parsonage and galloped recklessly home was unmistakably written on his face.
She rushed into his arms. ‘What is it, my dearest? What’s happened?’
He held her tightly, crushing her against him so that her face was pressed against his chest. His shirt was wet with sweat and through the linen she felt his skin feverishly hot. She prised her face away and looked up with anxious eyes while ice clamped her stomach and tormented her heart.
Her husband was a strong, capable, confident man. She had never seen him like this before. Something was terribly wrong. It couldn’t have anything to do with the children, she had heard them playing in the garden just half an hour ago and now they were safely out for a walk with Cherry their nursemaid, Ameline Beswetherick and her personal maid. There could be nothing wrong with them. Someone must have died. Why else would Oliver be so upset? Kerensa had no living relatives and Oliver had only distant ones; he would not be brought to this by the loss of one of them. Alice was her closest friend. Had something happened to Alice? Was she…? Oh, please God, not Clem! But then Oliver would not grieve for Clem.
‘What is it, Oliver. Tell me!’
He answered her plea with a long, pained exhalation of breath that warmed her brow. Then at last he spoke. ‘Today, my love, I have learned,’ he said each word so slowly Kerensa creased her beautiful face and searched his as though to help and hurry him, ‘something that has left me very badly shaken. I have just come from Perranbarvah where I called on the Reverend Ivey.’
‘The Reverend has… has passed away?’
‘It is nothing of that nature, my love… Kerensa,’ Oliver held her at arm’s length, ‘tell me, has it ever crossed your mind that Bartholomew Drannock bears a likeness to me, his eyes, his hair, his mannerisms?’
So that was it. He knew. The ice seeped into the middle of her heart, spread out and froze solid. ‘I… um… yes… I suppose it could be said he is a little like you.’
‘There’s a very good reason for that, my love. I’ve been curious about Bartholomew for a long time so today I finally made up my mind to ask the Reverend Ivey about it. He told me that Samuel Drannock was my brother, that my father was his father too. It means that Bartholomew and his brothers and sisters are my nephews and nieces, Kerensa. Our children are their cousins—’
Oliver stopped. Kerensa’s reaction was not what he had expected. Where was the shock? She did not even seem surprised. And why had her body stiffened? She should be bubbling over with excitement with what he was telling her and yet she was standing like a block of granite. She pulled in her bottom lip and said nothing.
‘Did you hear what I said, Kerensa?’ His voice began to rise. ‘I have just told you that Samuel Drannock was my half-brother!’
‘Yes, yes I heard you.’ She pulled away and turned from him. ‘It took me by surprise, that’s all… I… I… the Reverend told you, you say?’
Oliver said bluntly, ‘Are you really surprised, Kerensa?’
‘What? Yes. Of course I am. It takes some getting used to… I…’
Another wave of shock coursed through Oliver. ‘You knew, didn’t you?’
Kerensa did not reply.
‘You knew!’ Oliver snapped, pulling Kerensa roughly back to face him. ‘You knew! God help you, woman, I believe you knew about this before I did!’
Kerensa trembled, her mouth too dry to speak. She felt sick to the core. She had always hated keeping Samuel Drannock’s secret from Oliver. She had kept quiet for Samuel’s sake then in fear of Oliver’s reaction to her keeping it for so long. It hadn’t occurred to her that Oliver might become curious himself and ask questions. What a fool she had been. She could only nod weakly at him now.
Oliver could hardly bring himself to believe it. ‘How long?’ he hissed. ‘How long have you known? Answer me!’ He shook her once. It was enough to force out an answer.
‘When we first married… Samuel told me… he stopped me from visiting Jenifer and giving food and clothes to her for the children.’
‘He told you himself? All that time ago?’ he said incredulously. ‘So the man stopped you giving charity to his wife, that doesn’t explain why he should tell you the truth of his parentage. Why did he do that? What was the reason? What was it?’ Oliver was shouting. His face was red, a small vein on his neck prominent and purple from the heat of his fury.
‘Let go of me, Oliver.’ Kerensa tried to sound calm. ‘Let me go and I’ll tell you all about it.’
‘Indeed you will, Kerensa, or I swear I’ll shake the truth out of you.’
He let go of her and she rubbed her arms where he’d gripped her fiercely. She moved out of his reach but he followed her and breathed heavily down on her while she began a shaky explanation.
‘On my first visit to Jenifer I… I noticed Bartholomew looked a lot like you. He was only a child then but I was quite shocked. Jenifer saw my reaction and told Samuel. They were worried that I might believe Bartholomew was yours… your son.’
‘And were they correct?’ Oliver asked harshly.
Kerensa flinched and looked down at the carpet under their feet, her eyes unconsciously fixed on a crown-shaped motif. ‘Yes… I… I was upset,’ she answered with difficulty. ‘I was upset because I thought you’d… deserted Jenifer… It was an easy enough mistake to make at the time, Oliver,’ she pleaded. ‘I hardly knew you except by your reputation. You went with so many women…’ Kerensa looked up into his face. ‘I know now of course you would never have deserted anyone, leaving them with your child.’
‘I suppose I ought to be grateful for that!’ Oliver said sarcastically. ‘When did Samuel tell you the truth, put you right in your… assumption?’
‘Well, I… I paid Jenifer a visit not long after their last child, Cordelia, was born. When I left, Samuel was waiting by the lychgate to speak to me. We went into the church. That’s when he told me about Sir Daniel being his real father. He asked me to keep it a secret from you,’ Kerensa proceeded earnestly. ‘It was on the same day that Peter Blake attacked me and killed poor Dunstan. I haven’t wanted to dwell on anything that happened on that dreadful day. Please, Oliver, try to understand—’
‘I understand this!’ he snarled. ‘You are my wife and you tell me you love me, yet for eight years you have kept this a secret from me. If you had the slightest amount of imagination you would have realised just how important it would be to me.’
‘I did what I thought was the best at the time.’
‘The best? I can hardly believe you said that. I trusted you, Kerensa, but now I find you’ve betrayed me.’ Oliver clenched his fists and held them tight against his sides. ‘It makes me wonder what else you
’re holding back from me. What other secrets are you harbouring in your pretty little head?’
‘There’s nothing else, Oliver, believe me. Will you please calm down,’ she pleaded, ‘you’re getting this all out of proportion.’
‘Oh, am I indeed! I love you, Kerensa. I always thought I could trust you. I believed there was nothing we did not share, that every part of you was a part of me! Now I find that the only person I’ve ever been able to trust completely was Arthur Beswetherick. He was my only real friend, the one person in the whole rotten world I’ve ever been able totally to rely on!’
Oliver was shouting at Kerensa at the top of his voice and his rage was making him shake alarmingly. At first Kerensa had felt nervous at her secret being found out, then guilty, then afraid of losing his love and respect. But now she was angry at his self-pity and it was she who was shouting.
‘Shut up! How dare you go on like this! Arthur Beswetherick is dead and in the past, Oliver. And he couldn’t possibly have been so perfect, no one is. He must have had faults and weaknesses like every other person who has ever lived. You’ve put him on a pedestal, turned him into a folk hero. You can’t expect anyone to be as perfect as the image you insist in keeping hold of. You don’t have to be so angry with me, it was your own father who did the dirty deed in the first place and you don’t know the whole truth of the situation concerning Samuel Drannock or you wouldn’t carry on so! Many, many times I’ve wanted to tell you but it would only have caused you pain!’
‘How?’ Oliver said venomously, furious at her disparagement of the man whose memory he cherished. ‘Forget my father and just you tell me how the truth about the Drannocks would have given me pain.’
‘Oliver, please,’ Kerensa pleaded, taking a gulp of air. She had turned deathly pale and the room swam before her eyes. ‘I wish you would not take it this way… this isn’t easy.’
Pengarron Pride Page 13
