by Sara Seale
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have known. Am I forgiven, Tina?”
“Of course. I still haven’t thanked you properly because with Belle watching I felt kind of awkward. But, Craig, I do think it’s a most lovely piece of work and I—I’m very flattered that you thought it would suit me.”
“That’s all right, then, but don’t I get any reward?”
“Reward?”
“Well, there’s no mistletoe here, but we were both agreed that kissing of that kind means nothing.”
“Oh!”
She wished he had not brought the subject up. He was, she felt, trying to make amends for the lack he must acknowledge in himself but she wished he did not feel that he must humor her. She bent awkwardly and gave him a fleeting peck above one eyebrow, and, aware of her embarrassment, he was sorry that he had asked her.
“Well, you’d better go to bed. It’s been a long day,” he said. “You were a charming hostess, Tina, and a distinct success with my men.”
“Was I?” she said doubtfully. “But the tree was lovely, wasn’t it? All those hundreds of candles!”
His eyes grew tender as they rested on her. He had watched her linking hands with the children, her face soft and unaware, lifted to the lighted tree.
“Very lovely,” he said gently. “Now, go to bed.”
“Before I go,” she said, “I have a present for you. May I fetch it?”
“But you gave me a very handsome present this morning,” he reminded her with raised eyebrows.
“Yes. I know, but you see, you really paid for that so it doesn’t count. This is something special I found myself.”
He moved restlessly. “How you still hate this question of dependence,” he said, regarding her gravely.
“No, not so much, now. I’m earning my keep in a kind of a way,” she answered and was out of the room before he could reply.
When she returned she put something cold and heavy into his hand and when he saw what it was he said with genuine pleasure:
“Why, Tina! Wherever did you find such a charming thing?”
In the palm of his hand he held a piece of clear rose-quartz, exquisitely carved in the form of a conch shell.
“I found the lump of quartz in the summer in Merrynporth Cove,” she said. “And when I saw your collection of shells I knew just how I wanted it made. One of the men from the mine did it for me. I think it’s meant to be a paper weight.”
“It’s beautiful,” he said gently, turning the quartz round to catch the light. “And very fine work. Thank you, Tina, for such a touching and unusual thought. My mother would have loved it.”
“Would she?” Tina said shyly. She was glad now that she had insisted on a shell. She had always had the idea that his mother’s collection meant a lot to him.
III
The snow had gone by the New Year, but hard frosts had taken its place. Each morning the lawns were white with rime and the dark alleyways too slippery to walk in without caution. In the dairy milk froze in the pans, the kitchen’s maid’s hands were swollen with chilblains and Zachary’s wood stack got steadily smaller as the household demands grew with the intense cold.
“These wretched flags!” Belle would exclaim, huddling over the fire. “With stone floors and stone walls and rooms the size of village halls, how can one hope to keep warm?”
“If you took more exercise you wouldn’t feel the cold.” said Brownie unsympathetically. Her own hands in their woollen mittens were knotted with rheumatism, but she complained very little. “You’re getting fat, Belle, and it doesn’t become you.”
“If you think I’m going to plough across fields, looking like a village child in a knitted hood like Tina, you’ve got another guess coming,” retorted Belle and Brownie sniffed.
“Tina would never look like a village child as you well know,” she said. “Don’t let your jealousy deceive you too far, Belle.”
Belle looked amused.
“I—jealous of Tina!” she laughed. “My dear Brownie, I’ve scarcely expected to compete with my rather ineffectual little stepdaughter.”
“You competed at one time—in this very house, but you didn’t get far. Perhaps you were too sure of yourself,” said Brownie. “I’ve been watching you, Belle. If you’re not jealous of Tina as a woman you’re mighty jealous of any happiness that may come to her. Don’t try to come between those two, that’s all.”
Belle looked at her sharply. Brownie was ignorant and tiresome but she could be a danger, too. It would not take much to make Craig send her packing without the security she hoped to get from him when the time came.
“How fierce you sound,” she said placatingly. “As for being jealous of Tina’s happiness, that’s quite absurd! She’s done very well for herself, hasn’t she, despite the difference in age and the rather regrettable fact that my rich cousin’s not in love with her?”
“Is that what you tell the child?”
“Oh, she knows it for herself—how could she fail to? But she’s proved her fortune right so I daresay that will content her. Her experience is limited, you know, there was only Adwen, and they say you don’t miss what you’ve never had. You should be able to tell me if that’s true, Brownie.”
Brownie went on knitting, another cap for Tina by the look of it, Belle thought disparagingly, but she did not flare up.
“I’m too old to be hurt by you, Belle,” she answered dispassionately. “And my spinster status cannot possibly interest you. But Tina’s a young girl at the beginning of life. Let her be or I’ll speak to Craig of things you mightn’t care for him to hear.”
“What do you mean?”
“Only that you’re hand in glove with the Polrame lot, aren’t you? Lately when you’ve hired a car for your bridge parties, it’s Polrame you go to, isn’t it? Is it the father or the son you’re after this time?”
“How dare you!” cried Belle and Brownie smiled with sour triumph.
“I’ll forget it so long as you behave yourself,” she said, “but Craig wouldn’t, so have a care you don’t get talked about. It’s all one to me how you amuse yourself and you’re no better than they are for all your fine notions.”
For a moment Belle looked as if she would give hot denial, but she was too lazy to argue, and Brownie had started a train of thought that she had never before very seriously considered. One roof or another, she reflected indifferently, it made little odds so long as her future could be assured, and Polrame with its general air of neglect was no worse than Tremawvan with its smug respectability and its despotic master.
It was Brownie who surprised them all at dinner by asking Craig bluntly when he was settling his wedding day. Tina was so startled that she felt herself go pink and Craig answered with his hint of arrogance:
“You’ll be told in good time.”
“But will Tina be told, too?” Belle asked sweetly. “I thought it was the woman’s privilege to fix the day.”
“Well,” he said suavely, “since Belle has put us right about etiquette, suppose we leave the decision to Tina? I’m sure she will agree there is no tearing hurry.”
“Hardly flattering!” murmured Belle, and Tina answered in a small flat voice:
“No—no hurry at all.”
“I’m sorry if Brownie embarrassed you,” he told her later. “She doesn’t understand that our engagement needs time.”
Time for what?” she asked, conscious only of his reluctance to discuss marriage.
“Time for many things, he replied. “But mostly time for you, my inexperienced one.”
“But Craig how can I—” How can I learn experience if you don’t teach me? she had been going to say, but how could she bring herself to such a direct challenge and risk a snub which would forever destroy her courage? Zion Pentreath had not loved his wife. They would not pretend, the Pentreath men, and she supposed there was honesty in that.
“How can you what?” he asked with a smile. “How can you grow up quickly—is that what you were going to
say?”
“Something like it,” she answered evasively.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not rushing you, despite this family’s reputation for high-handedness.”
No more was said by any of them of any future plans, and Tina forgot the strangeness of her engagement in the many small delights of the day. She learned to cook in the big flagged kitchen with its copper pans and its cupboards filled with the local china-clay pottery, she came to know as well as Brownie the mysteries of the still-room and recognize the quality of linen and the ingredients of homemade wax and polish.
“Don’t you get tired of so much domesticity?” Craig inquired.
“Brownie is determined to turn me into a good housewife,” she said primly. “Your mother and your father’s mother were by-words in the district, she says. She hasn’t quite the same hopes of me but she said I started at a disadvantage.” She grinned suddenly, wrinkling her nose with pleasure. “But seriously, Craig, I love it all. It spells permanence, and well-being—all the things I’ve never had. Background is awfully important, don’t you thing?”
With the end of January the small frets of the household seemed to lessen. Belle’s tongue was softer and there was about her a mellowed indolence which remained unruffled so long as she was left alone. Even Brownie’s little digs hardly disturbed her. It was as if, thought Tina, sometimes a little uneasily, her plans for the future, whatever they might be, were maturing and she could afford to mark time with boredom.
Tina sometimes worried about her stepmother. When the time should come and Craig would announce his intention to marry, she could plead for Belle no longer. She knew her stepmother counted on an allowance, or at least a small settlement for Tina’s sake, but she did not think Craig would be willing to admit to a liability which did not, in truth, exist.
“She isn’t penniless,” was all he would say when Tina tentatively broached the subject of Belle’s future. “You might be surprised to know the extent of her little income thanks to nearly two years’ free lodging here.” No, thought Tina ruefully, even I have cost her nothing.
“Don’t worry,” he said with brusque assurance, “everything will straighten out in due course.”
Including, she supposed, their own problems, but she accepted the companionship and consideration he offered her with a grateful heart. There were no problems, really. She had learned that she could trust Craig, that behind the moods she did not understand lay a quality and integrity which she had long ago recognized, and that despite his strangeness, she could turn to him and he understood.
“Nothing lasts,” Brownie was fond of saying, either with consolation or reproof, and Tina on a day in early February with the suddenly milder weather deceiving one it was spring, realized that this was true of everything.
They were sitting at breakfast in the parlor, she and Craig and Brownie, when Zachary appeared outside the window gesticulating excitedly.
“What is it?” Craig asked, opening the casement, but Zachary was too overwrought to be coherent.
“Oh, maister ... oh, Mr. Craig, sir ... ‘tes tarrible!” was all he could say for some time, and when Craig told him impatiently to pull himself together, he said with simple reverence, “Tes they statues.”
“Well, what’s wrong with the statues? They’ve been here sixty years or more.”
“That’s it, sir. Old maister brought ‘em here and treasured ‘em and now look at ‘em! All knocked about and broke enough to frighten you. Foul work in the night there was. ‘Tes wicked!”
They all went out to look. He was right. Nearly every statue on the place had been defaced or mutilated in some fashion. Marks of a crowbar could clearly be seen where stone and granite had been heavily scored, broken limbs and even heads lay where they had been hacked off on the grass.
Tina felt sick as she looked. The statues had not been beautiful, but in their disfigurement they were mute testament of a hooliganism that was far more unlovely.
“The temple—is that all right?” she asked quickly.
“Aye, they didn’t bother with that. ‘Twas nought but a ruin, anyways,” said Zachary.
“Who could have done it?” asked Brownie, her little eyes bright with a rare emotion. “Who could have done such vandalism?”
“I don’t doubt maister could tell ‘ee if ‘ee thinks,” said Zachary and Craig exclaimed instantly:
“Polrame!”
“Oh, no!” cried Tina, horrified. “Adwen wouldn’t—no educated person would do such a thing.”
“There’s not a man in the district, fisherman, laborer, miner or factory hand, who would have done this to you, Craig,” said Brownie. “Those statues were known and respected for miles around. I think Zachary’s right.”
“Of course he’s right,” replied Craig. “The old grudge goes too far back to bear retaliation now, but there’s a more recent one. Yes, I think this is my cousin’s typical way of scoring off me because he failed in another direction, and I know just what I’m going to do.”
Tina looked at him then, and in the dark pirate’s face she read something that made her afraid.
“No, Craig,” she said, pulling at his sleeve. “You must have proof, and then you should prosecute. Violence will only put you in the wrong.”
Anger was burning in his vivid eyes.
“Do you think I need proof?” he cried. “Do you think I won’t repay violence with violence? I’ll not stand up in court and be made a laughing stock to suit your ideas of propriety.”
The tears sprang to Tina’s eyes, but it was Brownie who unexpectedly said:
“The girl’s right. Beating him up will do you no good. If you go and commit violence on Polrame property you’ll not be much better than a laughing stock if Adwen or his father brought a case, and they would.”
“Do you think I’m going to sit down under this?” he demanded furiously and Zachary interposed slyly:
“Happen they’ll come back, whoever they was. Hadn’t time it seems, to finish the job with they three little cupids nice and handy near the gate. A man’s entitled to defend his own property, Mr. Craig, sir. Better that way.
There was a little silence after he had spoken. The soft air of the February morning fell mildly on their angry faces and a robin perched on one of the defaced statues, inquisitive, indifferent to their problems.
“Very well,” said Craig at last, “I’ll wait for three nights. If by then he doesn’t come I’ll take my own measures.”
CHAPTER TEN
I
IT was an uncomfortable day for everyone. Brownie went about the house stricken with a hurt which Tina thought must go back to the days when she had come to Tremawvan as a girl and admired so uncritically all that the rich Pentreaths possessed or did. Tina tried to comfort her but her pride of family was too much outraged to be consoled by offers of kindness.
Craig came home early from the cannery and Tina found him in the gun-room cleaning his gun.
“Craig, you surely wouldn’t—” she began and when he looked up she saw the anger still burned deeply in him.
“I’m no killer,” he said grimly. “But I’ll wing any man who sets foot on my property after dark. Then we’ll be sure of marking our visitor.”
Tina went away. In this mood she could not help him, neither did he want her. She could only hope that Adwen, if it was indeed he, would not return to finish his work! She had little experience of firearms, but it seemed to her that in the darkness it was as easy to hit a man mortally as to wing him, and if Craig killed someone...
“Brownie, he musn’t,” she said, her eyes stretched with apprehension. Supposing he killed him by mistake supposing—”
“Is it Adwen’s skin you’re fearful for?” asked Brownie sternly, and Tina shook her head.
Of course not, don t you see ... if Craig was had up for manslaughter—even murder—I couldn’t bear it ... I couldn’t bear it...”
Brownie smiled reluctantly and patted her shoulder.
“Do
n’t you fuss yourself, child,” she said, dryly. “Craig’s an excellent shot so you needn’t fret yourself on his account.”
Tina was not reassured and went away to find Belle, who seemed the one person unmoved by all the disturbance.
“Such a fuss about those hideous old statues,” she said when Craig discussed it with her. “If you ask me, someone’s done you a good turn. Now you’ll have to have them removed.”
“You wouldn’t happen to have known of this beforehand, would you?” he said, his eyes narrowing.
Her laugh was a genuine one of tolerant amusement. “Oh, really Craig! I may have played you a trick or two but even I wouldn’t hire an assassin to knock your horrible statues about!”
He was inclined to believe her. She was too lazy and too concerned with appearances to encourage hooliganism.
“Well, at any rate there’s no doubt who I’ve to thank for the business,” he said. “And he’ll get as good as he gives if he comes back.”
“Very primitive, darling, and awfully typical Pentreath, if you don’t mind me saying so. The tinners and the smugglers and all the full-bodied riff-raff who demanded an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.”
“You’ll have to go back further than family history for that. The Bible isn’t to be sneered at if the Pentreaths are,” he said.
“There speak your Methodist forebears,” she retorted, still amused. “I’m sorry, Craig, if I seem unsympathetic, but I could never like those statues and I think you’re taking the whole thing much too seriously. Poor little Tina looked frightened out of her wits after she found you cleaning your gun with such thoroughness. She’s not used to these dramas.”
Tina did not know if Craig was up all night, but she slept fitfully herself, relieved when morning came that no shots had disturbed her. Craig went to work, as usual and Brownie seemed her normal self again. On the second night, Tina slept deeply from sheer exhaustion and did not dare to ask at breakfast if there had been any disturbances, but Brownie answered her unspoken inquiry with a shake of the head.
