Rosie was sorry the conversation had taken this turn. She knew she ought to go but couldn’t bring herself to leave this man’s disturbing company.
Oliver remarked, as if he was testing water, ‘It hasn’t escaped my attention that Matthias Renfree has been calling more often at Trecath-en Farm.’
She grasped the opportunity to speak of someone else. ‘Well, he’s always been around a lot. He’s a very good friend of Clem’s of course and he helps Kenver to write his poetry down. He’s godfather to Philip and David and takes a lot of interest in them.’
‘His calls are more frequent now,’ Oliver persisted. ‘Does he not call on you particularly, Rosie?’
‘On me? Whatever for?’ Rosie answered too sharply. ‘There’s no reason for him to. I go to nearly all the Bible classes. If he calls more it’s for Kenver’s sake, he can’t leave the farm and the preacher holds a prayer meeting for him there sometimes.’
‘Well, if I were Matthias Renfree and had a lovely young girl such as yourself in the vicinity I’m certain I would ride over to Trecath-en Farm every single day.’
Rosie couldn’t help but flush with pleasure. ‘Would you?’
‘I would indeed.’ He leaned towards her. ‘And if I was Matthias Renfree, would I receive a welcome?’
‘I… I don’t know. Matthias Renfree is nice enough but I’m not sure if he’s looking for a wife, or if he really wants one.’
Sir Oliver had set Rosie thinking about why Matthias was in fact so often at the farm. He didn’t seem to want anything in particular, he just seemed to hang around but if Clem wasn’t there he didn’t leave until he’d seen him. Was he there to ask Clem’s advice on matters of the heart?
‘Perhaps it would cross his mind if he were encouraged,’ Oliver said. ‘You do want to be married one day, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she said softly, gazing down at her hands.
‘And presumably to be a farmer’s wife.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then you could do no better than Matthias Renfree. He’ll be steward of Ker-an-Mor Farm after his father, he’s learned and godly and has an agreeable countenance. Don’t you agree, Rosie, or are you looking elsewhere?’
Rosie frowned and did not answer.
‘Why do you not speak?’ Oliver asked, as though he was taunting her.
‘I… I’m sorry, sir,’ Rosie faltered, looking up appealingly. ‘I don’t know what you mean by coun-te-nance.’
‘Countenance? It’s another word for one’s face, Rosie.’
‘Oh,’ she laughed awkwardly. ‘I do have trouble understanding some of the big words the gentry use sometimes.’
‘No more than I do with an old man or woman speaking in a broad dialect. Now answer my question.’
Rosie did not believe he was trying to sell her Matthias Renfree as a prospective husband but that he wanted to know what was on her mind where men were concerned. She said, finally, ‘I haven’t given Preacher Renfree or anyone else much thought.’
‘Why is that, Rosie?’ he said, putting his head slightly to one side, a glimmer of mischief creasing his eyes. ‘A lovely young woman like you must surely attract a good deal of male attention.’
He had changed her from ‘lovely young girl’ to ‘woman’ and the word had stronger implications. A rise of panic brought her to her feet; what kind of attention did he have in his mind where she was concerned? Something not wildly different from that of the young miners and fishermen that Clem kept at a determined arm’s length? Or was the baronet not remotely interested in her, seeing her as only a menial to be made amusement of or a stupid little fool. Whatever it was, her embarrassment was too painful for her to remain another moment in his company.
‘I really must be going,’ she blurted out.
‘Do you like foxes, Rosie?’
The question seemed to be almost thrown at her.
‘Um… foxes?’
He took a long swig of wine, emptying the bottle.
‘A young dog fox established a new den for himself and his mate in the autumn not far from this clearing. I thought to have a look at them the day after the morrow. He’s fairly active during the day, this particular fox. Make your way here in the early afternoon if you would like to see them too.’
Chapter 15
The Reverend Ivey no longer looked forward to his regular visits to the manor house. He had hoped Oliver’s emotional outburst would have settled down by now. But it appeared that his overheated reaction to Samuel Drannock being his half-brother was not a sudden furious storm that would quickly blow out; nor did he seem inclined to forgive either him or Kerensa for keeping the secret between them over the years.
Thoughts of Oliver’s blinding rage in his study that day could still make him tremble. The Reverend had a deep sympathy for Oliver’s feelings but it was too late to wish things had taken a different course. Samuel Drannock was dead and nothing could change that.
And nothing could change the fact that he was due again at the manor in an hour’s time and if he didn’t hurry along he would be late. During his prayers in the church this morning he’d thought to offer up one requesting that Oliver would not be there but then he’d felt that it wasn’t right to ask for such a thing in a sanctified place. But as he waited for his manservant, Ben Rosevidney, to saddle his pony, the Reverend hoped and hoped Oliver would not be at home. He’d had quite enough of the baronet’s stone-hard face glaring across his desk at him, and the sharp retorts to his every remark, which made the Reverend’s old heart lurch.
Ben Rosevidney was deaf and dumb and during his many years’ employ at the Parsonage he and the Reverend had learned to communicate in signs and facial expressions and right now Ben was eloquently communicating his anxiety at the Reverend’s apparent reluctance to get going, pointing often in the direction of the manor. Sighing heavily the Reverend finally mounted his pony; if he was late it would only fuel Oliver’s ill humour with him.
Why could Oliver not understand, the Reverend reasoned with himself, that he and Kerensa kept quiet for the best of reasons? He kept his pony at a brisk trot but was ready to slow down if it meant being one minute early. If the truth had emerged before Samuel’s death, the Reverend firmly believed, to give himself a crumb of comfort, then the situation could have been even worse. Samuel had despised Oliver. If the fisherman had remained stubborn in his assertion never to accept Oliver as kinsman or take any offers of help or money, Oliver would have been hurt and furious. He was a titled member of the gentry, it would have been unthinkable for him to be snubbed by a poor fisherman. Oliver was used to having his own way. If he couldn’t have got in by the front door he would have tried the back, probably by using Jenifer and the children as pawns to achieve his own ends. There would have been a terrible clash because Samuel Drannock had been every bit as stubborn and proud as his half-brother.
And what of Bartholomew, the eldest of the Drannock brood? He resented the poverty his family lived in. He might have been set against his father’s wishes. Wilful, obstinate and bearing the Pengarron looks, would he feel he had the right, along with his brothers and sisters, to the Pengarron wealth and privileges? The Reverend had marked the changes in Bartholomew’s character over the years. He had not accepted his station in life and since his childhood had made large strides in bettering himself. Most importantly, with his mother’s help he strove to speak well and had learned to read and write far better than the basic skills. He was not going to be content to fish the seas all his life, even though the shared gift of the Young Maid had improved his prospects considerably.
Thoughts of the fishing lugger brought another frown to add further wrinkles to the parson’s intelligent face. Although Peter Blake, on Rosina’s behalf, regularly sent food to the children of the Wheal Ember miners, it was out of character for him to give away such a lucrative vessel. Had Oliver had something to do with that? He had a responsibility towards those who could not help themselves but it would also have allowed him further revenge on th
e man who had once tried to force himself on Kerensa. Oliver Pengarron was a complex and volatile man. Perhaps it was inevitable that, given the necessary circumstances, the contradictory emotions in him would one day fuse together and explode. But with what consequences – and for whom?
The Reverend’s main sympathies naturally lay with Kerensa. She said very little, putting on a brave front at home and outside of it. Although the children were unusually tetchy, they hadn’t seemed to notice the estrangement of their parents; they had only grasped in their young minds that something somewhere was wrong. Kane was the most perceptive. Aware of Kerensa’s lingering sadness he spent more time with her, instinctively knowing when to chat and try to cheer her and when to sit quietly and just keep the mother he adored company. He could not guess the reason for her melancholy; his father was careful to appear his normal self in front of his children.
It was a credit to the loyalty of the manor’s staff that no gossip of the rift was abroad in the parish. The Renfrees knew and the Reverend had noticed Matthias watching Clem Trenchard closely. Matthias obviously shared the Reverend’s own worst fear. Clem still loved Kerensa deeply and if the news broke, he would not simply accept the situation without employing some kind of action to see Kerensa. The Reverend dared not think of what might happen then.
As he neared the manor’s parklands a cold drizzle of rain began to wet his face. Jake Angove and an under-gardener were replacing some fencing and by their gloomy faces and short acknowledgement of his approach he knew the situation had not changed. The Reverend reined in under a cedar tree and examined his pocket watch. He was not running late and he set his pony at a slow walk. If time still remained to his advantage when he reached the manor’s front door, he would engage the stable boy in conversation and after that Polly O’Flynn who would undoubtedly open the door to him. Joseph Ivey did not consider himself a coward; in his opinion, in the circumstances everyone would behave in the same way.
Pulling his round black hat down firmly, he rode on, gazing downward, not seeing a group of shabbily dressed men coming up to him until one hailed him.
‘Afnoon to ’ee, Rev’run’. We’m just come from the manor ’ouse. Bin askin’ if anybody’s seen my maid or ’as any idea where she might ’ave gone off to.’
The Reverend looked down sorrowfully on Carn Bawden. ‘I’m saddened to hear that Heather has not yet been found. Was anyone there able to be of any assistance to you, Carn?’
‘Naw,’ Carn Bawden replied, wiping droplets of rain from his eyelashes. ‘I d’reckon we’m seen the last of ’er. I b’lieve she’s gone off fer good. I’m just out makin’ one last round askin’ after ’er fer the missus’ sake. Jack, the groom up ’ere, ’e wus friendly with Heather like. I wus won’drin’ if she told un any of ’er wild fancies. Said ’e reckoned ’e wus with ’er on the night she disappeared. The boy’s proper worried about it, ’e wus rather fond of ’er, but anyway I assured un I don’t b’lieve ’e ’ad anythin’ to do with ’er goin’ missin’. Young Jack wouldn’t ’urt nobody. No, Rev’run’, I’m afraid ’e ’ad more t’fear from ’er than she did ’im.’
‘If there’s anything I can do for you, Carn, be sure to let me know,’ the parson told the weary miner.
‘Thank ’ee, Rev’run’, but I’d reckon it ’ad t’appen one day. Well, good day to ’ee, we went be keepin’ ’ee ’ere in the rain.’
A young girl bored with a life of hardship going off to seek excitement elsewhere was no new occurrence. For Heather Bawden to do so was not surprising, the Reverend Ivey thought, shaking his head at life’s foibles.
He became almost exuberant a few minutes later when Michael, who came to stable his pony, told him that Oliver had suddenly left the manor after the midday meal and wasn’t expected back that day. Polly showed him into Kerensa’s sitting room where she was reading a fairy tale to Olivia, Kane and a very fidgety Luke. It was a simply written tale of ‘Jack the Giant Killer’; her reading was much improved and she read it with confidence.
‘It seems I have come at an opportune moment, Kerensa,’ the Reverend said, beaming a smile at each child as Kerensa paused. ‘I have not heard the tale in many a year. Do carry on, I will listen with the children.’
Kane and Olivia, sitting cuddled together on a sofa, parted and moved to make room for him to sit between them and then leaned against his arms, holding his hands. Luke, not to be outdone, left Bob where they had been rolling on the floor and clambered on to the Reverend’s lap and began twisting his clerical collar. Kerensa looked doubtful at the arrangement and mouthed the words, ‘Are you all right like that?’ The Reverend nodded happily and she carried on with the tale.
‘…and that was how the giant came to his end on St Michael’s Mount. Brave Jack had won the day.’ Kerensa closed the illustrated silk-bound book and smiled at her audience.
‘Did you see how big that giant was in the picture, Reverend?’ asked Kane. ‘He’s nearly as tall as Father.’
‘Well, I don’t think your father is quite as tall as the giant was,’ the Reverend laughed.
‘Our Jack is just as brave as Jack the Giant Killer,’ Olivia said.
‘No he isn’t,’ Luke said, with a snort. ‘He may be good with horses but he’s not at all brave.’
‘Yes he is,’ Olivia argued.
‘I tell you he isn’t!’ Luke insisted. ‘He happens to be afraid of women so he’d never be brave enough to kill a giant.’
The superior tone in Luke’s voice, reminiscent of his father, made Kerensa as cross with him as his words. ‘That’s enough, Luke! Don’t let me hear you say a thing like that again.’
‘Well, it’s true. I overheard—’
‘Luke!’ Kerensa warned as Kane and Olivia tittered. ‘You should not listen in on other people’s conversations and if you do so accidentally, you should not repeat what they say.’
‘Jack is very brave,’ Olivia poked her younger brother in the side. ‘So there.’
This did not bring forth the tussle the Reverend expected. Instead Luke said loftily, ‘Girls know nothing.’
‘Can we have the story of St Michael killing the dragon at bedtime?’ Kane asked, climbing down from the Reverend and giving his mother a hug.
‘You can, my love, but not your brother if he’s naughty again just once more today,’ Kerensa said firmly, kissing Kane’s cheek then giving Luke a chastising stare.
‘Don’t worry, Mama, I know how to behave myself.’ Luke said it very sweetly but to the Reverend it sounded like a challenge. ‘May I go outside to play?’
‘If you don’t get too wet and muddy, certainly you may.’ Kerensa spoke each word clearly and precisely and Luke lowered his eyes. The Reverend was relieved she had gained the upper hand. But he wondered if she had bigger battles to face with this child in the future.
He pulled three wrapped squares of Mrs Tregonning’s treacle toffee out of his coat pocket and the children eagerly took a piece each. Then Luke and Kane went outside to play knights and giant-killers in the rain and Olivia left to ask Cherry to help her lay out her paints.
‘They become more charming every day, Kerensa,’ the Reverend said after the noisy clattering of shoes had died away.
Kerensa smiled at him, putting the book on a shelf and clearing toys away from the table next to her chair to make room for a tea tray. ‘Mind you, they’re not perfect,’ she said. ‘Luke, as you know, can be the most difficult, but Olivia can be stubborn and temperamental and Kane, well, after his terrible start in life he can become very quiet and withdrawn at times. It’s as if he knows something really awful happened to him but he doesn’t quite know what. I hope he doesn’t have trouble feeling part of the family when he’s grown up.’
‘Does he still have nightmares, Kerensa?’ the Reverend enquired.
‘Sometimes he has several in a row, then not for ages. Poor little soul. All children have the occasional nightmare but Kane screams like nothing you hear on earth. It goes right through us. Cherry usually ends u
p in tears.’
‘I’m sure he’ll grow out of them,’ the Reverend said comfortingly. ‘He has plenty of love and attention and Luke and Olivia accept him completely from what I can see. Oliver used to have terrible nightmares, did you know?’
‘No, he’s never mentioned it, but then I wouldn’t expect him to talk about anything that seemed a weakness or a failure.’ And the sadness that seemed part of her life overshadowed her again.
The Reverend nodded, then, mindful of Luke’s recent behaviour, he said thoughtfully, ‘Luke is rather like his father was as a boy.’
‘Yes, Luke is a miniature of Oliver,’ Kerensa agreed softly.
The fire was a poor one, and fearing Kerensa was feeling the cold, the Reverend tapped the three big logs sitting on the embers with a long brass poker until a blaze flared up to his satisfaction. He felt enough at home in the manor to do such things unselfconsciously. He turned round and clasped his hands together under his coat tails. Kerensa did not look any warmer. She looked at him with tired eyes; her sparkle and youthful vitality had dimmed noticeably.
‘Does it worry you at all, my dear? Luke being so much like Oliver?’
‘Not at all, Reverend,’ she replied with a light smile. ‘I love Oliver very much. I know Luke will always be difficult and although he is a little jealous of the special closeness between Kane and Olivia, he’s very protective towards them. He has Oliver’s stubbornness but he also has his love of animals and sense of fairness.’
‘Kerensa,’ the Reverend moved up and down on his toes and heels and she knew that his next words would be spoken with great care, ‘you mentioned a sense of fairness. My dear, I cannot see that Oliver is being fair to you at the moment.’
She sighed and picked at a flower-bud pattern on the sleeve of her dress. ‘Or to you, Reverend.’
‘That is not important. It is not I who has to live with him. Is there no improvement in his attitude?’
‘No, none, I…’ Kerensa’s eyes sprinkled with tears and she wiped them away with the side of her hand. ‘I just cannot get through to him.’
Pengarron Pride Page 19
