Chapter 13
‘Oliver, Ted Trembath is here to see you,’ Kerensa said from the doorway of her husband’s study.
‘Show him in,’ Oliver returned dully, without raising his head from his paperwork. It was the longest sentence he’d allowed her in the last few days.
‘I would like a word with you first.’
The gentle rustle of her skirts informed him she was standing on the other side of his desk. ‘I’m busy,’ he said curtly.
‘I want to know why you spoke so harshly to poor Jack earlier today. He did nothing wrong. Luke and Kane often ride on home alone, you know that and allow it. Please, Oliver, don’t take the ill humour you feel towards me out on other people, it’s not fair.’ Kerensa had her hands clasped together and had no intention of leaving without an explanation.
‘Is a man not to be permitted to remonstrate with his own servants?’ Oliver threw down his goose quill, showering ink on his papers, desk and soiled shirt cuffs. He glared at Kerensa with cold eyes above an unshaven face and snapped, ‘It is none of your business!’
‘I think it—’
‘I gave Jack the sharp edge of my tongue because he was idling his time away in the company of a whorish bal-maiden. I don’t waste my time and I do not expect my servants to waste theirs. Now, as I have told you, I am very busy. If you insist on wasting any more of my time I shall have less of it to spend with Ted Trembath.’
It took a determined act of will for Kerensa to hold back an angry retort. In its stead she said coolly, ‘I’ll show Ted in then.’ At the door she turned back and asked tartly, ‘I take it you’re not too busy to have a wash and shave after Ted has gone.’
‘See to it,’ he growled, sprinkling fine sand to soak up the ink blots.
Kerensa had not wanted to be sharp with Oliver but his apparent loathing of her hurt so much. After he’d stormed out of the manor on the day he had learned that Samuel Drannock was his half-brother she had lived in misery and hope both. Misery over his fury and the pain it had caused him, and hope that while he was away on business and at the coronation he would cool down. But after spending several more days away than he’d planned Oliver had arrived home sullen and unforgiving. Kerensa could hardly believe he resented her so much, not after so many years of sharing a loving marriage. She thought it best to try to act normally and hope he would soon come round, but the weeks had passed with no change and he had not once given her a smile, a kind word, or a kiss. She had often tried to talk to him but he had time only for the children; in fact, she thought gloomily as she went back to Ted Trembath, he had time for anyone in the parish but her.
Ted Trembath declined Kerensa’s offer of refreshment and when she closed the study door the miner shambled hesitantly to the front of Oliver’s desk. He peered round the room, clearly impressed by all he saw. Oliver told him to sit down. Ted did so and laid his hat carefully on his lap, stealing a quick look out of the nearest window to see what grew in the garden.
‘I’ll show you over the grounds one day, Ted,’ Oliver offered tonelessly.
Ted coloured and cleared his throat apologetically. ‘Sorry, m’lord, I didn’t mean no disrespect.’
‘I know that, Ted. What can I do for you?’
Ted Trembath had known Oliver for years, he had smuggled for him until his youngest brother had been tragically killed on a run. Ted was numbered among the many local working-class men with whom Oliver got along well, but Ted was ill at ease in the powerful man’s house.
‘Well, first I do thank ’ee for seeing me so prompt. As you can see, because of the accident back along I’ve got a gammy leg and I’ll never climb down a mine shaft again on un, and in any case I’m a brave bit old to be going on as a working miner and would have to give it up soon anyway. With no more than meself to look after now Mother and me brothers are all gone these last years, I’ve managed to put a small bit by and that’s seen me through the accident. Well, the thing is, I’ll be leaving the cottage on the Downs soon, so a younger miner can take it, and,’ Ted looked down shyly, ‘I’ve a mind to marry Hunk Hunken’s widow, Lou. She’s a good woman and could do with a man to father her littl’uns. Her oldest boy is about to get married himself and he’s taking on her cottage. Well, the reason that I’m here, sir, is the offer you made back along, after young Davey died if you mind it, of finding me a cottage and work on the estate if ever I do need it.’
It was a long speech for the humble miner. He couldn’t look Oliver in the eye at its end and rested his sight on the fresh ink blots on the desk and papers. Self-consciously Oliver placed fresh pieces of paper over the ones he’d ruined. He liked and respected Ted Trembath and the insecurity he was experiencing of late pushed him to give the other man an explanation for the ink blots; something he would never have done before.
‘A little accident, Ted,’ he said abruptly. ‘I do indeed remember my offer of employment and a cottage. You may rest assured it’s as good as done. You can help load the sanding carts for the fields or something similar until you learn the ways of the land. It’s different to working on a vegetable patch. I’ll put you under Adam Renfree on Ker-an-Mor Farm, and please accept my congratulations on your forthcoming marriage.’
Ted gave his hat a little toss in the air and caught it with a wide swing of his arm. ‘Thank ’ee, sir, tes most civil of ’ee. Lou will be as grateful as me.’
Oliver was startled at the unexpected acrobatics with the hat and took a few moments to pick up the threads of the conversation. ‘Um, when would you like to move off the Downs?’
‘As soon as tes possible, if that’s all right with you, sir.’
Oliver thought for a moment. ‘I’m having the lodge at the end of the carriageway to the manor renovated for Nathan O’Flynn and his wife. They will be able to move in at the end of the month. You and Lou Hunken and her children will find his old cottage, small though it is, larger and more comfortable than the cramped shacks on Lancavel Downs.’
‘I do thank ’ee very much, sir. Lou will be some pleased to be able to fetch water from a pump instead of a stream. Tes proper civil of ’ee, there’s few men, working-class or gentry, who can be trusted to keep their word like you can. Now I best be going and let you get on.’
Ted headed for the door, stopped, then plucked up the nerve to ask, ‘If you don’t mind me asking of ’ee, sir, but are you quite well? You seem awful poorly to me.’
Oliver rapidly rearranged his stern expression into what might have been a smile. ‘There’s no need to be concerned, Ted. I’ve been away on business and have neglected to freshen up since my return.’
Ted accepted this and after sweeping his eyes over the ornamental mantelpiece, up to the ceiling and along the rows of tightly packed bookshelves, he reiterated his gratitude and left.
Feeling drained of energy, Oliver flopped back against his chair and stared blankly out of the window. There had gone a man who had known tragedy in his life, the death of a beloved brother and the heartbreak of feeling responsible for it. Ted Trembath had never forgiven himself for taking the boy along on the smuggling run. In his grief he had murdered evil Old Tom Trelynne, Kerensa’s grandfather, for betraying the smuggling run to the authorities, which had led to Davey Trembath’s death. Ted had since lost his mother through insanity and his two other brothers had been killed in separate accidents down the mine. Ted had been left with no one, his livelihood had been threatened by the mere fact he was ageing – not that he was old at thirty-four but too old for an underground miner – then an accident had put paid even to that. Now life had taken an upturn for Ted and he was looking forward to a new life with a new family.
Not so with me, Oliver thought bitterly. I had a new life and a new family after years of loneliness and now it’s all gone sour. I’ve loved and trusted one person more than any other in my life only to find that she betrayed me.
Oliver rubbed his hands over his face to force away his tiredness and tried to lose himself in his paperwork. But he knew it wouldn’t
work for long. He would feel either an uncontrollable rage in which he had to keep away from Kerensa, or an agony of longing to know his lost brother and the desire to jump in a boat and scour the sea for him.
* * *
‘Is everything well with Ted Trembath?’
Oliver gave Kerensa no answer. He was watching as she attended the lazy fire in the master bedroom. His gaze drifted and lingered on the gentle contours of her slender body, the delicately moulded form that he knew so well. Her flimsy nightgown concealed little to his experienced eyes.
Rising from the fire she shook her head to loosen the silky hair at the nape of her neck, the movement swirling the glossy length teasingly over the ivory-smooth skin of her bare shoulder where the gown had slipped. Her skin glowed rich and creamy in the firelight. The grey-green of her eyes seemed deeper tonight and so poignantly sad. Oliver stood leaning against his dressing-room door, silent and mesmerised.
Believing he was there only to change his clothes before he went out for the night and that his silence would last until then, as it had so many times before, Kerensa gulped back a sob rising in her throat and sat at her dressing table. She picked up a hairbrush and ran a thumb over the bristles then traced the scroll patterns on its heavy silver back.
Oliver blinked heavily and came out of his stupor. Realising Kerensa had said something to him he had to think hard to recall her exact words. After the loneliness of an afternoon getting nowhere with his paperwork, a late supper he’d picked at alone, he suddenly wanted to be with her. When he spoke he said the words rapidly, moving up behind her in the same way.
‘Long ago I promised Ted work on the estate and a cottage when he felt he could no longer go down the mine. I repeated the offer after the last mining accident. That time has come and that’s why he was here.’ He fought down the desire to take the hairbrush and caress her hair.
Before she lost his attention again, Kerensa jumped up and faced him. ‘I hate the way things are between us, Oliver. I’ve told you so many times how sorry I am. Please, my love, say you forgive me. Can’t we go back to the way things were before?’
Oliver had torn off most of his clothes and wore nothing but his breeches; the only barrier between his flesh and hers was the nightgown. The knowledge made his heart pound and when she pressed the flat of her hands on the hot moist skin of his chest he was overpowered by a painful desire for her and pulled her urgently against him.
The first touch of his lips was tender but erupted into a long fierce need for more. Kerensa’s body shook with a desperate need for him too. She moved her lips hungrily against his and entwining her arms round his neck she strained into his strong muscular body. Her heart and soul, imprisoned in despair since his furious withdrawal from her, soared. She had been so fearful the depths of his hurt and anger would stretch to their marriage bed. Almost roughly he lifted her off her feet and swung her down on the heavily draped four-poster bed.
The ecstasy of their lovemaking left Kerensa feeling vulnerable and wanting to weep. She lay half over Oliver’s body. He was tense and breathing rapidly. His arms were about her but his fingers were interlaced. The significance of this worried her; usually after a time of loving Oliver would tenderly caress her. The clasped hands meant an aloofness, a holding back from her. She wanted to get him talking again but didn’t know what to say. Yet again she asked herself why she hadn’t had the good sense to realise she ought to have told him about Samuel Drannock years ago?
Oliver was highly conscious of the light weight of her hot damp body on his. In the delicious moments of their coupling he had forgotten the anger he felt towards her, his emptiness, the pain of the loss that could never be regained. He stared sightlessly at the canopy above them. If he did not love Kerensa so very much then her betrayal would not have cut so deeply, leaving this bitter, helpless agony.
More hurt came in his secret acknowledgement that Kerensa was right about his dead friend, Arthur Beswetherick, Sir Martin’s youngest son. Oliver had grown, been schooled and matured into manhood side by side with Arthur Beswetherick. Everything they had learned they’d learned together. They had planned to take a suitable bride in the same year, rear large families and grow old together, comfortable in a never-ending companionship.
When Arthur bled to death on the battlefield of Dettingen, Oliver had been left distraught and lonely. The memories of his lost friend came back often to haunt him. The comradeship of two men who took up arms to fight, prepared to die side by side, was unique, unlike that of an ordinary friendship or the affection for a member of one’s family. In the lonely years until Kerensa had become his wife he had taken comfort in those memories. Oliver didn’t want to admit it but Kerensa had been right in what she’d shouted at him about Arthur Beswetherick. It was time to leave him in the past, but with the way things were he couldn’t do it yet.
Agonising thoughts of the lost brother denied to him, of how things might have been between himself and Samuel Drannock, refused to be blocked out. They grew and grew and festered like an open wound. Suddenly he thrust Kerensa away.
‘Oliver! What’s the—’ She was interrupted by a child’s cry along the corridor.
‘I’ll go,’ he said tersely, kicking the bedcovers so violently they became untucked and hit the floor.
Kerensa lay frozen as she listened to him hastily pulling on clothes. She remained still as she heard him order Cherry back to bed and go himself to soothe away the terrors of another of Kane’s nightmares. The two bedroom doors closed, one after the other. She was shut off. Retrieving the bedcovers, she wrapped them round herself like a cocoon. She knew Oliver would not come back to share them with her again that night.
* * *
Across the grounds, Jack left his tiny cottage in his one good suit of clothes. He was proud of his suit. He had bought it secondhand from a market stall and was convinced its good fabric and condition meant it had belonged to a man of means either bored with it or down on his luck. And as luck would have it for Jack, it suited his colouring and was a perfect fit.
He had brushed and combed his lank dark hair and oiled it away from his face where it tended to be unruly, then painstakingly tied it back with a bow. His cleanshaven neck and chin were anointed with the dregs of an intoxicating cologne from a discarded bottle of Captain Solomon’s, secretly procured from a rubbish pail and hidden away for use on special occasions.
There was no thought in Jack’s mind of seducing Heather. A long chat to get to know each other better and perhaps a kiss or two before going home would do for tonight.
Jack had heard talk about Heather at the Bible classes. She was said to be ‘loose’, ‘free with her favours’, and prayers for her soul were given regularly. Jack wasn’t sure if he believed the talk. He didn’t want to believe it. Matthias Renfree said she ‘couldn’t help the way she was’, the Almighty God would be merciful to her, and the members of the Society were obliged to treat her in the same way. Jack saw himself as Heather’s personal saviour, leading her away from a wayward life, helping her to start a new one, living quietly in his cottage as his wife. It was a pleasant, cosy idea. But would Heather agree?
If anyone was abroad under the frosty star-lit sky and saw two lanterns making a haphazard passage over the Downs to meet at the right of way, they might have mistaken the bobbing lights for those being carried by incautious free-traders or, even more frightening, by unrestful spirits. An amused smile might have curled their mouths if they had stayed to make out the figures of a youth on horseback and a girl on foot, moving closer together, until the lanterns became still, one beside the other.
‘’Tis a mite cold tonight, Heather,’ Jack said bashfully. ‘Thank you for coming to see me.’
Heather put her lantern on the cold hard ground and looked at Jack from the glow of his which he held at face level. ‘I thought to stay ’ome an’ keep warm by the fire, we’ve got plenty of peat in, but then I wanted t’find out what yer made of, Jack. Aren’t ’ee goin’ t’give me a kiss then?�
�
‘Of course. I thought in a m—’
Heather had no interest in preliminary small talk and gave Jack a full passionate kiss from her open fleshy lips then pushed him away.
‘Come on then,’ she purred, ‘since you’ve gone to all this trouble t’get all dressed up and t’smell so sweet fer me…’
Jack was still reeling from the shock of the girl’s hot mouth on his. ‘Wh-what do you want?’
‘I mean, come on!’ She cast off the shabby cloak wrapped over her dress and shawl and spread it over the crackling dead heather and ferns.
‘What are you doing, Heather?’ Jack whispered nervously at her back, looking about guiltily.
‘Put that blasted lantern down an’ mind ’ee don’t kick over mine,’ she hissed. ‘I know the Downs well enough but I don’t fancy walkin’ back in the dark, there’s always one soddin’ great boulder you ferget. And what are ’ee lookin’ about fer, we’m a long way from that damned buildin’ goin’ up, there’s no one ’ere to go on about ’ee bein’ saved.’
When Jack didn’t move, Heather gave a loud exasperated sigh. ‘You gonna stand there like a spare un at a weddin’ all ruddy night? Tes too bloody cold to ’ang about in, you’ll ’ave un freezin’ off!’ she ended with a salacious laugh. She sat down on the cloak and straightened out its edges.
Jack looked about one more time and quickly joined her, carefully putting his spluttering lantern next to hers. He was relieved the meagre light didn’t allow scrutiny of the colour burning his neck and cheeks. He was wearing the fine linen shirt Ruth and Esther King had made for him last Christmas. Heather tore it at the neck as she yanked the front open.
Jack told himself not to panic. He had not looked for this, but clearly his time had come. Heather wanted to see what he was made of. It was a good job he had some experience. Well, he thought he had.
Several months ago, after drinking too much mead and ale on a feast day, he’d met up with Bartholomew Drannock, Paul King and some other young bloods of the parish. All except Bartholomew and Paul had drifted away and they suggested a walk along the cliff top to Painted Bessie’s kiddleywink. Inside the ramshackle ale house the two fishermen plied Jack with cheap gin and the next thing Jack knew was that they were leaving the kiddleywink in the company of three females of dubious character. Unused to liquor, Jack was barely able to follow them but they hadn’t gone far.
Pengarron Pride Page 17
