Bartholomew held out his hand: ‘Here, take hold of this.’
Unused to more than a leisurely stroll through the park lands of Tolwithrick, Ameline’s passage over the shingle was growing more difficult. As she was disinclined to argue with him, and as she was wearing kid gloves and wouldn’t actually have to touch his skin, she complied. She was breathless, her ordinary round face pinched as he closed his long fingers on the gloved hand she put out awkwardly to him.
‘Where are we going, Mr Drannock?’ she asked, her chest heaving.
Bartholomew suddenly felt a little sorry for her. He smiled as he answered. ‘To the end of the beach under Mother Clarry’s rock.’
‘Oh, Lady Pengarron told me about that,’ Ameline said, as they walked on. Bartholomew checked his long strides to match her stumbling steps. She wanted to take the initiative away from him and took the lead in conversation. ‘Lady Pengarron said Mother Clarry was supposed to be an evil witch and the smooth, flat rock, high up on the cliff, is reputed to be her seat. She would sit up there on nights bearing a full moon to laugh and gloat over the mischief she had caused. I wonder what she looked like. I should think quite hideous with dirty straggly hair with warts all over her face and a long hooked nose.’
‘She looks worse than that, Ameline,’ Bartholomew said seriously. ‘I saw her myself only the other day perched up on her seat.’
‘You saw her…?’Ameline stopped walking to read his face. His eyes looked into hers and then the corners of his mouth turned upwards. He was grinning, his eyes gleaming wickedly. And then he was laughing, not unkindly, just a low gentle laugh.
Ameline smiled herself, eventually. ‘Yes, I did believe you,’ she admitted.
‘What an innocent,’ he murmured.
She lowered her eyes and they resumed their walk. ‘I don’t recall giving you permission to call me Ameline.’
‘I had no intention of asking you for it.’
‘Indeed, and now I suppose you want me to call you Bartholomew.’
‘Certainly not. You can call me Mr Drannock.’ He was laughing again. She looked wildly about the cove and rested her eyes on the place where she thought Kernick would be. ‘Now you don’t know whether to go or stay, do you, Ameline?’ he said, practically in her ear.
Ameline gave a little shiver despite feeling hot and flustered. ‘I don’t know what to make of you. I don’t know if you’re being cruel or lighthearted… Perhaps it is better if I leave now.’
She sounded so unhappy Bartholomew found himself pitying her. ‘I promise to behave like a perfect gentleman.’ He looked at her downcast face. ‘Stay, please.’
Realising he was still holding her hand, she blushed violently, wishing she could break the hold of his deep dark eyes. She wriggled her hand free. ‘Are we nearly there now? At Mother Clarry’s rock?’
‘It’s not far, only a few yards.’
They walked the rest of the way with Ameline stumbling uncomfortably without his aid.
‘Let’s sit down,’ Bartholomew said, as an order rather than a suggestion.
Ameline obeyed, cautiously lowering herself on to the cleanest looking slab of granite and fussing her skirt into neat folds. He chose a perch not too close but where he could look down on her and placed a foot on another rock.
‘Will it be all right to call you Bartholomew now?’ she ventured.
‘Of course,’ he replied, tilting his head up to Mother Clarry’s rock. He pointed to it. ‘Well, there’s the witch’s seat. What do you think of it?’
Ameline angled her head and studied the rock carved out of the cliff face by the elements down the ages. ‘It’s impressive. One could easily imagine a witch sitting up there. It looks very sheer below it. Has anyone ever climbed up to sit on it? It must be very difficult, quite dangerous I should imagine.’
‘It is, I’ve done it often, as man and boy. ’Tis said if you try and fail, the witch will have you in her power for all eternity.’
Ameline looked at him closely. She thought him to be a little younger than herself, perhaps somewhere between man and boy. ‘The cove must be very eerie at night with all these tales of witchcraft and hauntings.’
‘It is, and during the day when the sea fog comes in thick it feels as though it’s trying to stop you from breathing. You can imagine all kinds of terrible things are about to come out of it and do the most gruesome things to you.’
He was smiling with an easy charm and she became aware of why she had felt she ought to have known him when he’d first walked up to her. Bartholomew Drannock looked rather like Oliver.
‘You’re having a good look at me,’ he said. ‘Do I remind you of someone or have you never seen a fisherman at such close quarters before?’ She blushed again, but not prettily as he was sure Kerensa would have done.
‘I’m sorry, I did not mean to stare but you do have a certain look of Sir Oliver about you.’ She looked at the sea. ‘So you’re a fisherman. Living inland as I do I didn’t realise how magnificent the sea is. Apart from glimpses when at Marazion, this is only the second time I have really seen it.’
‘Aye, it’s beautiful and dangerous, its own master, untameable but irresistible.’
‘Yes, I agree with that.’
While Ameline gazed at the mesmeric waters, Bartholomew set to thinking. Ameline Beswetherick was not the first person to observe that he resembled Sir Oliver Pengarron. It had happened often over the years. He had caught Kerensa looking at him in that strange sweet way of hers; had she noticed it too? He could easily become convinced there was Pengarron blood in him.
He had wondered if Sir Oliver could be his father although he would never believe his mother lacked the proper morals. Sir Oliver was known as a womaniser before his marriage, but although many a gentleman thought nothing of forcing themselves on village maids with no regard for the consequences, Bartholomew did not consider Sir Oliver to be one of them. On talking to his mother casually about Sir Oliver he’d learned that the baronet had been away with his regiment when he’d been conceived so he could not have sired him. Nevertheless, it might be worth his while to root about a little more. Looking at Ameline it occurred to him she might be of some use to him.
‘Do you know what’s out there across the sea, Ameline?’ he said, turning on his charm to the full.
‘We’re looking at the English Channel so we must be facing the Channel Islands and France, Bartholomew,’ Ameline replied, pleased she knew and didn’t appear an idiot.
‘I suppose you must have worn some of the French fashions smuggled in through Sir Oliver’s ventures.’
‘Yes, I daresay I have. It must be a very exciting place to live for the aristocracy but I really think I’d prefer England, particularly London. I’m quite fond of Cornwall but I’d quite like to live in London. Have you ever set foot on foreign parts?’
‘Aye, once or twice. ’Tis easy to get into the French ports, they like to think they can get us to bring their spies back over here. Got to be careful, mind. If they think you’re cocking a snook at them they’d as soon as cut your throat as look at you, and you don’t want anyone to think you’re a traitor. I’ve also sailed the North Sea for herring and I’ve called in at many other ports around the British Isles like Whitby, Hartlepool and Scarborough. Life away is very different to Cornwall, lived at a much faster pace, exciting as you said, but I find my home calling me back.’
‘So you’d like to live in Cornwall all your life?’
‘I don’t know about that, I want to travel the world.’ He presented her with his dazzling smile. ‘But right here will do for now. Are you enjoying your stay at the manor, Ameline?’
‘Oh yes…’
He kept her chatting until the tension slipped away from her shoulders and a becoming brightness turned her eyes from dull to a lustrous grey. He gained her confidence by telling her something of his family and his livelihood from the Young Maid. He knew she would feel it impolite and improper to ask him many questions and Ameline did not know he
was only imparting the kind of knowledge anyone who knew his family would know; deeper things were saved for his mother – and, if he got the opportunity, Kerensa.
On their way back he pointed out the spot on the shingle that was sometimes used as a midden by a fully grown dog otter and its mate. Ameline thought it indelicate of him to mention it but she expressed her intention to learn more about nature and her creatures. When they reached Kernick, Bartholomew knew she was pleased to have made his acquaintance and was intrigued by him. He had been careful in his flattery; a plain woman like Ameline would have received little in her time and she would know when it was insincere. He would have to tread carefully. But as he helped her to mount, a thought dawned on her that almost wrecked his plan right at the beginning.
‘You are very familiar with Lady Pengarron,’ she said, viewing him with a trace of mistrust. ‘Does… does she meet you here… in the cove?’ She knew there would be nothing improper on Kerensa’s part but she couldn’t quite bring herself to trust this handsome youth with his brilliant smile.
‘We met here once, purely by chance,’ he told her, keeping his voice nonchalant. ‘I’ve known Lady Pengarron for years. She is a friend of my mother’s. You can ask her, she used to call on us when I was a child until my father put a stop to it. Now he’s dead she calls regularly again. I asked her permission to come here. She gave it gladly and I can assure you Sir Oliver knows.’
His explanation worked. The doubt left her face. Bartholomew thought he could almost like this dull, quiet woman but life was hard and there was no room for sentiment in it. She was certainly destined to marry some boring gentleman, probably much older than herself, who would drain the last spark of life out of her. He might be about to use her but perhaps he could put a little energy and romance into her life at the same time. She might even be grateful to him in her old age.
‘Ameline,’ he said coyly, ‘will you be coming here again?’
She looked all around. ‘Yes. I rather think I will. I have yet to see the other side of the beach.’
‘You, uh, wouldn’t be thinking of coming here… say in about four days’ time?’
‘I might well do that,’ she smiled shyly, with eyelashes lowered.
Bartholomew led Kernick up the winding cliff path with Ameline watching his strong broad shoulders from the saddle. When they parted she set the pony at an easy trot. She would not reprimand Conan for falling asleep. She hoped it would encourage him to do it again when next he escorted her here.
She had forgotten the problems at the manor and her marriage proposal. She was intoxicated with new and wonderful sensations of hope and awakening and wanted them to stay with her for ever. She was already planning to wear a more becoming jacket and dress and her prettiest hat for her next ride to the cove. Ameline Beswetherick was attracted to Bartholomew Drannock as a moth was to the fiery dangers of a flame.
Chapter 12
Jack was in the tack room working up a fever while vigorously rubbing beeswax into Conomor’s saddle. At intervals he sighed crossly because he had not closed the door properly after him and it was banging in the wind.
‘’Tis a miserable life these days,’ he muttered to himself.
One of Nathan’s gun dogs was sleeping fitfully on a bed of straw covered with a cast-off blanket. Jack saw its body jump on the next nerve-jerking bang of the door and it gave a long moan.
‘I’ll get up and close it for ’ee, Reeth,’ he said apologetically to the dog. ‘I didn’t realise it was bothering you too.’
He shut the door firmly against the cold November rain and knelt down beside Reeth who slowly opened a mournful eye. A week before, Reeth had lost a front paw in an illegal gin-trap set in the oak plantation high on the hill that sheltered the manor house. Nathan had bound the stump and raced with the dog back to the stables and pleaded with Oliver to save him. Oliver had a knack for healing sick animals and after stemming the flow of blood he treated Reeth with a fennel poultice. He prescribed barley water to drink when the dog was able to lap and pronounced that if the infection didn’t claim its life it could get along quite reasonably with three paws instead of four.
Nathan watched the treatment with tears flowing unashamedly down his face. He and Polly had been married for seven years and although they hoped and prayed, even resorting to Beatrice’s fertility potions, they had not yet conceived a child. Nathan’s gun dogs were his ‘children’ and he swore a terrible revenge on the cruel culprit who had set the trap. So great was his gratitude to Oliver for giving Reeth the chance to live he might well have kissed his master had he been a female. But Oliver’s ill temper of the past few weeks forbade even a handshake of thanks.
Everyone took turns to watch over Reeth. Nathan and Polly sat up all through the first night, the dog’s mournful hot head cradled lovingly in Nathan’s lap. He spent as much time with Reeth as possible. Conan and Michael took turns through the following days. Luke and Kane came together and no high jinks ensued for a change. Kerensa came with Beatrice, with fresh barley water, clean blankets and soft cushions. Olivia came with Cherry and amid floods of tears left her favourite rag doll tucked in under his head. Ruth and Esther tempted his appetite with tender cooked meats. Oliver made inquiries on Reeth’s progress but did not check on his condition, being far too preoccupied. And Jack was there as much as the others.
‘Life’s miserable for you too, isn’t it, boy?’ Jack stroked the dog’s smooth brown and white head. ‘’Tis miserable for everyone round here lately. Little Miss Olivia’ll be along in a minute, she’s bringing ’ee a biscuit. Told me she’s gonna ask Esther to help her bake it for you herself, bless her heart. She’ll be here too, won’t let a drop o’ rain stop her.’
Jack returned to the saddle. Under his supervision all the equipment in the stables was kept at the highest standard but when Sir Oliver was in one of his bad moods he occasionally found fault. The mood he was in nowadays meant he found them often. He bawled Jack out each time, threatening that if he was not capable of the duties of his post as head groom over Conan and Michael he could soon find himself working under a more able man. His feelings cut to the quick at the injustice, Jack decided to give every item in the tack room a thorough cleaning himself.
The door was firmly shut but Jack thought he heard it banging again until he realised someone was knocking on it and he heard a small voice call his name. Rushing to open it he found Olivia and Ameline on the other side.
‘Begging your pardon, Miss Olivia, Miss Ameline, I thought ’twas the wind.’ Jack was most surprised to see Ameline Beswetherick there.
Olivia ran to Reeth and gently put her arms round him. Ameline stepped into the tack room quickly to be out of the rain and wrinkled her nose at the strong smells of horses, leather and polish.
‘How is the little doggie… um…?’Ameline called all servants by their surnames but as she had not heard Jack called by any other name she didn’t know what his was but she couldn’t bring herself to call him Jack. That would be too familiar.
‘He’s getting better slowly, miss,’ he replied, embarrassed by her presence.
‘See, Ameline,’ Olivia clapped her hands excitedly. ‘Reeth ate the biscuit. I told you he would. Father will be pleased.’
‘Oh… excellent,’ Ameline said, gingerly moving forward to view the dog with a precautionary gloved hand held to her face.
‘He won’t bite you, Ameline,’ Olivia said crossly. ‘He is ill, you know.’
‘Don’t be rude, Olivia!’ Ameline retaliated.
‘He knows you bake a good biscuit, Miss Olivia,’ Jack said indulgently.
‘Come away, Olivia.’ Ameline reached for her hand. ‘The doggie needs his rest and… um… needs to get on with his work.’
‘But I want to stay,’ Olivia protested. ‘I won’t get in Jack’s way. I often watch him work.’
‘You must learn not to argue with your elders,’ Ameline retorted. ‘Come along at once, Olivia.’
‘Oh, don’t be so prissy
!’ Olivia returned loudly.
Jack turned his head as he felt a big smile coming on.
‘You spend too much time in the kitchen sitting on the lap of that repugnant woman!’ Ameline stamped off in a huff, leaving behind the threat, ‘I shall talk to your mother.’
Olivia ran to Jack and put something in his hand. ‘Here’s a biscuit for you, Jack,’ she said, her little face disclosing she was highly amused at upsetting Ameline. She would doubtless share the moment with her two brothers at the earliest opportunity and they would all laugh at the young lady’s affront. ‘I’d better go. Don’t take any notice of Ameline, she’s cross because it’s raining and she can’t go out riding.’
Jack took a small bite of biscuit and gave the rest to Reeth. Reeth seemed to be perking up, he ate the biscuit quickly but let his head flop down as if all the attention was too much for him. Jack ruffled his ears affectionately and felt all over his lean body for fever. ‘You’re getting better, boy, and you’re getting used to all this pampering.’
He picked up his polishing cloth but was soon interrupted again. Beatrice burst in with a full bottle of gin clasped to her huge drooping bosom as tenderly as a new mother nurses a baby. She shook her ugly head, scattering raindrops over Conomor’s saddle and making Jack suck in his breath in irritation. Slamming the door shut, Beatrice heaved her fat flabby body down on the old backless chair she kept against the wall in the tack room for her furtive bibbing. She took a swig of cloudy liquid and hummed to herself.
In a while Jack asked her quietly, ‘What’s going on, Bea?’ his eyes darting round the room as if he feared he might be overheard.
‘’Ow do ’ee mean, boy?’ Beatrice was immediately on the defensive. ‘I only come out ’ere for a quick sup. I don’t do nobody no ’arm. If ’ee don’t like it I’ll take meself off somewhere else, I edn’t afeared of a drop o’ rain.’
‘No, what I mean is what’s gone wrong between His Lordship and Her Ladyship? They aren’t happy no more. Why did they have that awful big row? They’ve hardly had a cross word since the time Her Ladyship brought young Master Kane home from the market. Something bad must’ve happened. He’s always in a bad temper and she looks so sad all the time. Why’s he acting that way, upsetting Her Ladyship?’ Although Oliver was responsible for Jack’s good position and something of a hero to him, if anything was wrong between his mistress and master, like all the servants he declared Oliver to be the villain of the piece.
Pengarron Pride Page 15
