The Apothecary's Widow

by Diane Scott Lewis

  “She did mention….” Tregere’s high brow appeared to stretch higher. “I might have misunderstood, but what are you implying?”

  “We only seek the truth, sir.” Odgers hovered closer to the deacon. He seemed to have regained his magistrate’s strength of purpose. “You didn’t plan or carry out any retribution against Mrs. Pentreath did you?”

  “No, vengeance is left up to God.” Treger’s face blanched. “You cannot think— surely you don’t believe I had anything to do with her death?”

  “Please tell us what happened between you,” Odgers said. “It will do you good to clear your conscience.”

  “I swear to you, I had nothing to do with it.” Tregere drooped forward, his long arms dangling. “I may not be perfect, but I could never take someone’s life.”

  Branek stepped past the fireplace, his fingers clenched. Two bronze statuettes sat in an alcove. They at least looked clean. On closer inspection, they were finely detailed sculptures of David and Mary Magdalene. “These look very expensive. How did you pay for them on a deacon’s salary?” He plucked one up, the bronze heavy.

  “Mr. Pentreath, please be gentle.” Tregere hurried over. Hands shaking, he removed the statue of David from Branek’s grasp and stroked the head. “These are precious to me.”

  “I’ve seen similar in Florence when I was a young man.” Branek studied the bronze again. “They remind me of Donatello.”

  “They are Donatello,” Tregere said with an indignant snivel. “From the fifteenth century.”

  “Did you spend the stolen money on them? And Mrs. Pentreath was about to ruin you?” Odgers asked.

  “Even If that were true, I would still never murder another person, especially a helpless woman.” The deacon’s gaze filled with despair. “You have to believe me.”

  “You’ve lied about stealing the funds several times. Why should we believe you?” Odgers’ gaunt face tightened further, a man who looked much older than his years.

  “Indeed. People act out of character to satisfy their obsessions.” Branek suspected the statues might be fakes, the deacon duped. He could never have stolen that much money without consequence.

  “Admit you purloined the funds.” Odgers shuffled toward them, almost tripping over a discarded book. “How else could you have paid for this artwork?”

  “Some items are worth the trouble. Mea culpa.” Tregere’s eyes filled with tears. He returned the statue to its alcove. “I admit I took a crown here and there. You have no idea how small a stipend I must survive on. I found that deep in my soul I deserved the extra compensation.”

  “You were pilfering from the church, the congregation. How shameful. Have you forgotten thou shalt not steal?” Odgers flapped a hand against his thigh like an agitated bird. “And Mrs. Pentreath….”

  “She noticed the discrepancies.” Tregere frowned and ran a finger over Mary Magdalene. “She was a sharp, and forgive me for mentioning, shrew of a woman. I wanted her to attend to her own shortcomings, and leave mine alone.”

  Branek breathed slowly over his rising expectations. He craved a confession, a reprieve for himself and others. “When you visited my wife during her illness, did you adulterate the medicines to keep her quiet?”

  “Of course not! I never touched any medication. I came to Polefant Place to ask her forgiveness for my sins.” He met their scrutiny, his face morose and drawn. “She wouldn’t grant it. She said if I didn’t repent and repay, she’d write to the bishop. I did my best to comfort her in her suffering, but I didn’t kill her. I swear on my life.”

  “Can we believe you in this?” Branek wanted to toss one of the statues across the room. He thrust his hands behind his back and stepped away. Still no quick solution! The churchman had proven to be a liar, but embezzlement was far different than cold-blooded murder. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted to kill my wife?”

  “Why don’t you speak to that saucy young maid? She was around the medications and the lady’s person.” Tregere’s nostrils pinched. “She acted far above herself, and not that caring of her mistress, if you ask me.”

  Grace again! Could Branek be right in his fears? He braced himself with one hand against the wall.

  “We’ll deal with her, if necessary,” Odgers said. He pointed a finger in the churchman’s face. “You will be placed under arrest for embezzlement, Mr. Tregere. And your art will be sold to compensate. I will send over a constable. I warn you not to leave these premi—”

  Someone knocked frantically at the cottage door.

  Branek shoved his feet through the debris and opened it to Odgers’ clerk.

  “Good, you are still here, Mr. Pentreath.” The young man’s face was pale as parchment. “A message came from the manor. There’s been a cave in up at Wheal Marya!”

  “The devil you say! I must go there immediately.” Branek’s breath nearly choked him. He hurried out the door to fetch Zeus, his hopes crashing in like debris and mine timbers around him.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Jenna entered Polefant Place’s warm, smoky kitchen. Sally stirred a pot over the fire, swinging her wide hips from side-to-side like a bell as she hummed. The kitchen maid shoved a pan of dough into the bread oven built into the brick at the left of the hearth.

  “Good day to you, Sal. Hard at work as always, I see. Your kitchen clean an’ perfect.” Jenna’s nerves in a bundle, she used an extra dollop of friendliness to assuage them.

  The cook turned. Her chubby face opened with a smile. “Jenna, so good to see you, lass. You’re making yourself quite the visitor here.”

  “I’ve missed you, that’s all. You’re looking in fine health.” Jenna kneaded her fingers on her cloak. Underneath she wore a burgundy, close-robed gown she’d bought second-hand. She’d even put a burgundy ribbon on her straw hat, all to impress Mr. Pentreath.

  “Ess? I’m hot an’ fat as always.” Sally laughed and wiped sweat from her brow with her forearm. “You look an autumn flower. What brings you out here?”

  “Flower, is it?” She prayed her face didn’t redden, given her mission of seduction. Or would it be a simple explanation and a final goodbye? Uneasiness coiled through her. “Is Mr. Pentreath at home? I—need to speak with him.”

  “Oh, naw, you haven’t heard? The master’s not here.” Sally’s smile vanished. She rapped her spoon on the pot’s edge. “There was a cave-in up at Wheal Marya. He should be there by now.”

  “Fie! That’s terrible, the poor miners.” Jenna fought her disappointment that he wasn’t here, but her feelings swirled with concern. Mine cave-ins were always a danger and fear. “I hope Mr. Pentreath won’t go down into any mine shaft. He wouldn’t have the experience to survive it, would he?”

  “He is an impulsive man. Now sit down and tell me what ails you. You’re quite upset, I see.” Sally plopped into a chair, which creaked loudly under her bulk.

  “I should go up there to help.” Jenna stepped toward the door, confused in her muddle. “Men could be dying.” Mr. Pentreath!

  “Others have already gone. You’d only get in their way.” Sally pointed to the chair like a queen to a subject. “Sit. What did you need to see the master for?”

  Jenna couldn’t wipe the idea of bereft widows from her mind. Or Branek, injured, or…. Now he was “Branek” to her once more? She trembled and remained standing. “It’s only—he’s angry with me over a misunderstanding. I came to clear it up.”

  “He has been in a foul mood lately.” Sally raised her double chin at Jenna. “What did you do to anger him?”

  “’Tis very private. That’s why I’m here.” Jenna stared at the flag-stoned floor as if she might garner strength from its hard surface. She lowered her voice and said, “He shouldn’t be in such a foul mood. I hear he might be courting Hester Odgers.”

  “Did you now?” Sally reared back, her gray eyes sharp. “I’ve not heard of it. ’Tis too soon to think o’ that, I’d wager.” She glared over at the young maid and waved her from the kitchen. “
As I told you, he’s borne enough with his first marriage.”

  Jenna grimaced, further hating this woman she’d never met. She rubbed at her face. “Why didn’t he annul the marriage, since there were no children?”

  “Oh, he asked her for that or a separation, he did. She wouldn’t stand for it, the shame of it all. As if not caring for the joys of the bedroom weren’t shame enough.” Sally winked. “My husband, God rest his soul, woulda beat the hide off o’ me if I’d denied him his rights. But I took much pleasure from it, too. A woman should, you know. Men are like children. If you don’t play the jade, they’ll always take a whore on the side.”

  Jenna playing the jade hadn’t stopped Lem. She moved closer to the door. “Mr. Pentreath is too much of a gentleman to behave like that.” Images of their passionate afternoon filled her head. She winced with guilt. Wasn’t she here to persuade him to that very purpose?

  She gripped the door latch, gathering an ounce of dignity. At least she behaved better than Delen Drake—Mr. Pentreath wasn’t married.

  “You’re fond o’ the master, don’t deny it.” Sally wagged a finger at her.

  Jenna sighed; she’d given up denying her attachment. She pressed on the cold, metal latch. “My foolish feelings seem to be etched on my face.”

  “’Tis better to care than to be cold an’ brittle.” Sally leaned over the table, shifting her enormous belly like dough across her thighs. “But be careful in your ‘fondness,’ lass.”

  “Mr. Pentreath deserves my fondness.” Her resolve to bring him back to her increased by the second, despite Sally’s warning. “He should have demanded a separation an’ sent his wife packing.”

  “Mrs. Pentreath threatened to insist that her father pull out his investment in Wheal Marya at the idea of a separation. What could the master do? With the war in the colonies, it would’ve ruined him.” Sally rose from the chair with a groan and massaged her hip. “The mine did well back then. The estate managed right fine on the earnings, since Wheal Blanche had closed.”

  Jenna stared at the door, impatient to depart. “The mistress sounds like a despicable woman.” She lifted the latch, then hesitated. “Why did she wish to stay if she was so unhappy?”

  “Divorce, or the road to it, is a scandal. She were a prideful an’ sour one, all right. Even threatened to discharge Will, after all the years he’d put into the estate, an’ him an’ Mr. Pentreath friends since they was mites.” Sally shook her white-capped head, her plump cheeks wobbling. “To be poisoned is a harsh thing, but no one misses her.”

  “Threatened Will? But why would she fire him? He’s an honest, hard-working man, isn’t he?”

  “Ess, he is. Now I didn’t hear it. But Melor, our old butler, he said he heard Will asking Mrs. Pentreath to be more tender toward the master. More than once, he asked.” Sally waddled back to the hearth. “She didn’t like that, not from a servant. An’ no one wants their faults thrown in their face. A bad business all around.”

  Jenna squirmed with anger then opened the door to a rush of cool air. “I’ll be on my way now. I’m going up to the mine to see if I can help.” And check on Mr. Pentreath!

  * * *

  Inside the cave-like mouth of the mine, Branek coughed and pulled another man covered in mud and dust to the top of the steep shaft. He smiled at each one, relief coursing through him. Other miners dangled down a rope, standing on a rickety ladder as they helped their fellows up to the entrance from the top level of the multiple shafts. Men staggered up, carrying their tools, items they’d purchased themselves and couldn’t afford to leave behind.

  The whim was winched up with the basket used to haul the tin from below, but the bin was full of more tools to be salvaged.

  Branek cringed at the blood on the men’s arms and faces, the acrid stench sharp. One man limped terribly; another held his arm across his body.

  “Please, if you need a doctor, have him bill me for the visit.” He patted each one on the shoulder, praying they were all safe. An energy coursed through him at being able to help.

  “Damme! We did our best, sir,” one man cried, while others stared in surprise to see him there.

  “I’m sure you did. I only care if you’re all alive.” Branek stared down the dark shaft and blinked painfully, his eyes and nose filled with grit. “Are there any more down there?”

  “We don’t see no more.” Their voices echoed.

  He helped the other rescuers up along the rope and ladder. Dust floated all around them, blanketing the air. The men had rusty markings of ore on their clothing, and smelled of pungent blasting powder. Their hat candles smoked in the clay holders. Many had candles missing, the clay cracked or gone completely.

  Branek pulled out his handkerchief and wiped his nose and eyes. “Are you certain we’ve gotten them all?”

  “I’ll ask the men if everyone’s accounted for when we gather out here.” Nerth directed miners like stumbling sheep into the daylight. The men squinted, removed hats, and shook dirt from their hair.

  One threw his pickaxe on the ground, cursing in anger. Many others grumbled in frustration. “What will we do now with no work?”

  Stepping out with them, Branek brushed dust from his shoulders and breathed the sweet air. “So what does this mean for the mine? Can it still be worked, to keep these men employed?” he asked Nerth.

  “I’ll have to go down later an’ check what can be salvaged,” his captain replied, swiping his dirty hair from his forehead, his square face encrusted with filth.

  “I saw it, sir, right afore the cave in.” A miner, his eyes stark white in his grimy visage, approached. “I saw a vein o’ tin. A right big one it were.”

  “Are you certain? But can the shaft be made safe enough to dig out?” Branek wiped the dirt from his mouth, trying not to let his hopes rise.

  “If it’s shored up better, could be,” the miner said.

  A man on horseback rode up, carrying a small keg. “Can I help? I brought beer for ye lads. Others are comin’ with more.”

  The miners cheered and headed toward him. The cask was opened and passed from hand to hand, men taking gulps to clear their throats.

  “What do you think, Nerth?” Branek turned to his captain again. “Does that miner know what he’s talking about?”

  “He’s a dependable sort, sir.” Nerth coughed and spat on the ground. “Might be the truth. Once or twice we thought we was close.”

  “Can the mine be made completely secure?” Branek stretched his back. “I don’t want to try, if it’s dangerous.” He desperately needed the tin revenue, but not at the risk of lives.

  “There’s always danger. We’d need more men an’ timber.” Nerth swiped his sleeve across his mouth with a slurp. “I’ll inspect it afore we get too far. But the job will take money. More adits to drain water would have to be drilled.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Branek swept dirt from his breeches. He slapped his hat against his boots and released more clouds of dust. He would break down and ask Lucinda for a loan. Her husband could well afford it. He cringed at the idea; however, he had to swallow his pride. “But if we can manage the excavation, be sure to take every safety precaution.”

  “Thank ’ee for helpin’, sir,” one of the miners said.

  More kegs arrived and the men indulged as laughter along with curses, both relieved and frustrated, filled the air.

  “It was my privilege to assist.” Branek strode to a barrel, dipped in his handkerchief and wiped his face and hands, the cold water soothing. Handed a cask, he took a gulp of the beer; the rich hops and wet brew quenched his thirst.

  “The men are all here, sir.” Nerth nodded to him. “We was lucky this time. But it won’t last if changes don’t get made.”

  “As I’m fully aware. Give me your estimate of the work by the week’s end.” He put on his hat. “Enjoy yourselves, men. I’m thankful you’re all safe. And don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He only hoped he could.

  The miners talked among
st themselves, pulling into a circle of camaraderie. Branek walked away from them, feeling like the outsider, but still heartened to be here, and to have been useful. He smiled slowly, enjoying the moment.

  The cold wind whistled along the valley and up the ridge. The sun hung low in the sky, fuzzy behind a few clouds. He untied Zeus and traipsed with his horse along the ridge, stretching his sore knees. The fresh air chased away the dank stink of the mine.

  His sister wouldn’t charge him interest, and perhaps he could get his affairs in some order. He should have asked her earlier, but his vanity wouldn’t allow it. He was learning to shed that sin little by little. More so, to allow the bad memories and misunderstandings, the disappointment of his marriage, to slough off like dead skin.

  Wheal Blanche’s engine house shimmered in the mist several hundred yards away. Once yellow lantern light would have spilled out of its high arched windows.

  Two jackdaws flapped overhead, slicing through the murky sky.

  A sound, like a footstep behind him, made him look. He saw no one there among the few stunted trees and the tors that thrust up from the earth—twisted granite in shades of brown and gray. It was probably a small animal, a badger or hare. He walked on, leading Zeus. At a similar noise, he hesitated. He felt the same prickle along the back of his neck he’d had the night he was shot. He touched his belt. In his hurry, he hadn’t brought the pistol.

  “Who is there? Come out and show yourself.”

  Zeus snorted and tossed his elegant head.

  Shadows stretched along the ground, the sun dipping lower. A thin man staggered out from behind one of the tors.

  “I’m here, sir! Do I count for nothing?” The voice was slurred. He wore the drill coat, this one threadbare in places, of a miner, his boots scuffed.

  “Were you in the mine accident?” Branek angled his head for a closer look at the man whose face was in shadow. “Are you injured?”

  “Weren’t my core.” The man stumbled closer. The stench of gin drifted off him. “My mite died today. No money for a doctor, an’ she sufferin’ so.”