Pengarron’s Children
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
The Pengarron Sagas
The Harvey Family Sagas
Copyright
Pengarron’s Children
Gloria Cook
This book is dedicated to my mum, Betty
Chapter 1
Jessica Trenchard forced her way to the front of a crowd which was circling a large area of grass where two brawny men were about to begin a wrestling match. There had been a recent shower of rain, and straw had been spread in the ring to prevent the wrestlers from slipping. Philip Trenchard, one of Jessica’s twin brothers, was in the ring and as he glimpsed her head of long golden curls he gave her a confident grin. The other twin, David, squeezed himself in behind her and held out his arms to protect her from the press of excited spectators or from furtive assault.
‘Where on earth did you get to?’ he shouted in her ear. ‘Phil was getting worried. He’s just stepped into the ring and is about to shake hands. Wouldn’t be like you to miss him wrestling.’
‘I was looking for Olivia and Cordelia, they said they would be at the market today. You needn’t worry about me,’ Jessica told him haughtily, her large blue eyes bright with the prospect of the coming match. ‘I can look after myself.’
‘I know that, but you don’t have to with your menfolk about.’
‘Tush!’ Jessica said impatiently. ‘How much money have you put on Philip?’
‘Nothing,’ David answered patiently.
‘Of course, I forgot you don’t bet,’ she said as they were jostled about. Jessica dug her heels into the wet ground and wished that instead of looking for her friends she had put the two shillings she had saved up on a wager that Philip would win.
There was a bigger crowd than usual for this match because Philip, who was gaining a reputation as a first-class wrestler, was to compete with the current Mount’s Bay champion, a huge fisherman, Matthew King, known as the Barvah Giant, and both the men were local. They had won their two earlier matches, contended the day before against different opponents, and now as ‘standers’ they were wrestling in the last rounds of the championship.
The crowd was thickening and the tension was growing steadily. The match promised to be one of the most skilful and tightly contended. Matthew King had many years of experience to go with his ox-like strength but Philip Trenchard had youth and speed on his side and the toughness of being a hard-working farmer’s son. The match was reckoned to go either way and the betting was feverish.
There were cheers and a surge of excitement as the wrestlers shook hands and sized each other up, circling round, knees bent, eyes locked.
Jessica listened to the opinions of the crowd, made up of men, women and children, both working class and gentry.
A pockmarked man who was jammed in next to her, remarked to his bull-necked companion, ‘Trenchard may be a fast mover but he’ll have to be pretty damned quick to get a hitch in first on the Barvah Giant.’
‘Aye, but I don’t reckon much to that cocky young clod-shifter’s chances anyway,’ the bull-necked man replied scornfully.
Jessica turned sharply with her mouth wide open but David clamped his hand over it. ‘You’re not to say a word, Jessie!’ he warned her. ‘Just watch the match.’
She struggled and mumbled angrily under his hand but David would not give way. His sister’s tongue ran away all too often and he wanted to watch Philip peaceably.
‘Olivia and Cordelia are ladies. If they’re about here somewhere you’ll show yourself up by wagging your tongue,’ he scolded her. ‘If I let you go, do you promise to keep quiet?’
Jessica nodded but once freed she shot him a reproachful look and elbowed him viciously in the ribs.
The crowd fell silent and the rustling of the straw in the ring was the only sound to be heard as the wrestlers and the sticklers, the three men chosen from among well-known former wrestlers to referee the match, moved about.
Jessica watched with bubbling excitement, proud of her tall, well-built brother’s expertise in the ring and proud of herself for the work she had done on his wrestling jacket. She didn’t take kindly to the supposed feminine art of sewing but had taken hours to stitch the short, tight-fitting garment from tough, untearable linen for the wrestling moves called the hitches, which were made by gripping and then pulling on an opponent’s jacket.
Philip tucked his jacket up at the bottom to prevent Matthew from getting a good purchase. Matthew, who preferred to wear a sash worn over one of his massive shoulders and across his barrel chest to rest at his side, was known to take up to half an hour to make his first move, and had then often won a match outright. They wore nothing else but their breeches and thick stockings and Jessica knew her brother liked to show off his muscular physique and handsome limbs. She saw Matthew’s patient expression and she chewed her full red lips, hoping Philip would not attempt his first hitch too soon.
Minutes ticked by. The two wrestlers were content to bide their time and raise the tension of the onlookers. The crowd began to mumble but every eye stayed rooted inside the ring.
Jessica clutched David’s coat sleeves in her fists, willing Philip to be careful, to remember all he had learned over the thirteen years he had been wrestling since a boy.
In a sudden rapid movement Philip reached out with his right hand and gripped a hitch on the sash on the Giant’s right shoulder. Then he passed his left hand under Matthew’s arm, gripping the sash at the back of Matthew’s neck. It was a good move and would have resulted in a winning throw on a lesser man but Philip couldn’t get control of Matthew’s heavy body to lever him off balance. Before Matthew could grab him and turn the hitch to his advantage, Philip released his hold and stepped quickly backwards. But Matthew had got a tight hitch on Philip’s jacket and the crowd broke out into roars of encouragement for whichever of the men they favoured. With a tree-trunk leg bending the backs of Philip’s knees, Matthew attempted to lever Philip over his hip to the ground in a ‘back heave’.
Jessica squealed. If Matthew brought off this throw and got any three of Philip’s two hips and shoulders on the ground and one of the sticklers considered it a ‘fair back’, then Matthew would win the match outright.
Matthew succeeded in lifting Philip off his feet to hit the ground.
Shouts of ‘Get his pins down, Matt!’ or ‘Wrastle un off, boy!’; and ‘You have him there, King!’ or ‘Get up, I say, Trenchard!’ rang out, according to the spectator’s station in life and on whom he had placed his money.
Jessica screamed, ‘Get up, Phil, get up!’ and cheered wildly as Matthew only managed to get two of Philip’s ‘pins’ down on the ground and a stickler signalled for the contenders to break, get up and resume as before.
Further round the front row of the ring of eager spectators, Kane Pengarron was watching the wrestl
ing with a nostalgic smile warming his face and lightening the dark shadows of pain under his eyes. He was twenty-four now. It was two years since he had stood in this marketplace, gripped with the same fervour.
The preceding match had been contested by two very young standers, boys of no more than twelve years, intent on going on to win the youths’ championship. Kane Pengarron had recognised only one boy as the son of a local man; he hoped he would be able to watch the remainder of the matches without being recognised himself. He was the adopted son of the Lord of the Manor of the next parish. His presence would cause a stir among the spectators and he wanted to savour this match and the other familiar sights, sounds and smells that a market day at Marazion could offer at his leisure. People looked at him often; he cut an impressive figure in his army officer’s uniform, but so far he had managed to keep his head down and stay unrecognised.
Kane had put ten guineas on the Barvah Giant. He had watched Matthew King wrestle from childhood and every time the amiable giant had won. Kane knew the Trenchard twins well; many years ago he had played with them and had retained their friendship. He knew of Philip’s strength and desire to become the Mount’s Bay and then the Cornish champion. Kane was impressed today at the way he had kept both hips off the ground and foiled Matthew King’s winning throw.
The wrestlers were bending forward now, eye to eye, feet wide apart for balance. Expectation rippled through the crowd. Then Matthew sprang up and at arm’s length grasped the cords on the front of Philip’s jacket. At the same moment he pivoted his left leg and turning to face Philip’s direction he pulled the younger, lighter man along, four, five, six, seven paces, speeding up the forward movement as he went for a ‘flying mare’. When Matthew had gained satisfactory momentum he stopped running abruptly, arched his back and tried to pull Philip over his buttocks. But on the halt Philip had dug his feet into the ground and with straining muscles pulled back hard and his jacket was wrenched from Matthew’s grasp.
Despite having his money on the Giant, Kane cheered at Philip’s display of brute strength. Jessica squealed in delight and jumped up and down, and her golden mane of curls caught Kane’s attention.
‘Jessica Trenchard,’ he muttered under his breath and laughed. ‘You haven’t changed a bit and still as pretty as a picture.’
Instinct told Jessica she was being watched and she swept her head around the crowd until her shining blue eyes caught sight of the noble figure in the red tunic with white facings. Kane nodded his head and lifted his hand. Jessica stared back, raised her stubborn chin, pouted her lips into a cupid’s bow and refused to return the acknowledgement.
So you’re still a haughty little madam, Kane thought, much amused, before returning his attention to the match.
Jessica kept her eyes fixed on Kane’s dark face and leaned back to whisper in David’s ear, ‘Look over there, see what the cat’s dragged back into Marazion.’
David saw Kane at once and grinned heartily and waved to his old boyhood friend.
‘What are you bothering to do that for?’ Jessica cried crossly. ‘He’s as horrid as his rotten brother.’
David ruffled her hair and shot his eyes back to their own brother. Jessica glared at Kane who put his hands round his lips and mouthed the words, ‘I’ll see you after this.’
‘Not if I have anything to do with it!’ Jessica returned hotly.
At that moment a cheer went up and the crowd surged forward. Jessica was pushed round into David’s chest and when she’d struggled to face the ring again she saw with horror that Philip was on the ground and one of the sticklers was holding up the Barvah Giant’s arm in victory.
‘Ahgg!’ she screeched. ‘That Kane Pengarron’s made me miss the end of the match! What happened? How did the Giant win?’ she demanded, doing a little dance with her heels.
‘With his favourite throw, a forehip,’ David said with a sigh. ‘It was all over in a moment. You should have been watching, Jessie.’ Then grabbing Jessica’s arm he dragged her along to join the supporters who were giving Philip their commiserations.
‘Well done, Phil, you did your best,’ Jessica said.
‘Aye, I did, but the best man won,’ Philip said sportingly, while enjoying the adoration he was getting anyway, and particularly from a gaggle of interesting-looking young females. ‘But I’ll beat the Barvah Giant one day, I swear to that.’
Matthew King extended his congratulations to Philip on a well-fought match and took his army of little children off to enjoy the sideshows before his next match. Philip was exchanging his wrestling jacket for his usual shirt when a voice, this one edged in a cultured tone, hailed him from behind.
‘You wrestled well, Philip. It was a pity you didn’t meet the Giant in the final round, then you would have been the runner-up. I don’t believe any other man is capable of beating you.’
‘I know that voice!’ Philip whirled round. ‘Kane Pengarron!’ He shot out his hand in greeting. ‘Bloody hell, man, it must be all of two years!’
Kane pumped the proffered hand while Jessica looked on, scowling. ‘It’s good to see so many old friends in one place,’ he said, passing his hand on to David and then to Jessica. He held her reluctant hand, and when he tried to raise it to his lips she snatched it away. Kane laughed and looked at the twins. ‘I see you’ve done nothing to tame this little one.’
‘I would be grateful, Captain Pengarron, if you would not refer to me on such terms,’ Jessica said tartly.
The group was asked to leave the ring so the next match could begin and Kane suggested they all retire to a refreshment tent – ‘For good ale and pasties as my treat.’
‘How are things in the Thirty-second Foot?’ David asked Kane when they were standing in a corner under the dirty canvas, chewing on enormous pasties.
‘The regiment is fine. I’m home because I had an… accident out in the Caribbean,’ Kane replied, then went on quickly, ‘This is good, you don’t taste anything like this when you’re away from Cornwall and I didn’t realise I was so hungry.’
‘Hurt bad, was you?’ Philip asked. ‘Now I’ve had the chance to study your face, I can see pain written all over it.’
Jessica looked up from sipping water from a small tankard. Kane Pengarron had changed a good deal in the last two years. He may have suffered somehow but he had a more confident air about him. His hair, which had been red from childhood, had a dark brown tint to it now; his face, which had always been worth a woman’s second look, was thinner, almost gaunt, and his strong chin was covered with a shadow, needing a razor’s attention. But his eyes were the same, a warm dark brown yet somehow permanently startled, and they begged a woman’s constant attention.
Kane caught her examination and grinned and raised his ale tankard to her. Jessica put the last morsel of crimped pastry into her mouth, eyed him solemnly as she swallowed it then thrust her tankard at one of her brothers.
‘I’m off to find me friends,’ she said loftily, and made to exit the tent.
‘Don’t be late getting back to the wagon, Jessie,’ Philip ordered at her back, ‘or I’ll tell Father and you’ll have him after you. And don’t get into any trouble.’
Jessica let out an impatient sound and flounced away.
Kane took his eyes from her pleasingly rounded form and turned to the twins. ‘Trouble? Who are Jessica’s friends?’ he was curious to know.
‘They’re nothing to worry about, Kane, they’re your sister and your cousin,’ David replied.
‘Olivia and Cordelia? I’m pleased to hear Jessica still gets along with them at least,’ Kane said.
‘Aye, Jessie’s an awful worry to us sometimes,’ Philip remarked, swiftly finishing off his ale then slapping his tankard down on the trestle table for a refill. ‘But at least she’ll be all right with your womenfolk for company.’
Kane nodded, reflecting light-heartedly to himself that the Trenchard twins’ rebellious younger sister had indeed not changed one little bit.
Jessica swept hers
elf, cloaked but hatless, through the busy market crowds. There was always a bigger crush when the two-day wrestling championships were being held but her demeanour helped her to pass through easily, her long fair curls bouncing down to her waist over the hood of her cloak. She was disappointed Philip had lost his match but she’d known he was unlikely to beat Matthew King, and she grudgingly shared a viewpoint of Kane Pengarron’s – that it was a pity they couldn’t have met in the final round.
‘Oh well,’ she mused out loud, ‘there’s always next year.’
‘There’s always now if you’d like, Jessica.’ A young man, whom she had not seen making a beeline towards her, stood directly in front of her.
Instantly in a fury, Jessica made to bawl the man out but when she saw it was Simon Peter Blake she flashed a huge smile instead. ‘You nearly got your ears bitten off then, you dolt, Simon Peter.’
‘For a moment I thought you were going to beat me into the mud.’ He offered her his arm.
‘’Tis a good job for you that I’ve known you all my life and I know you’re only jesting with me,’ Jessica replied, taking his arm and using it as a lever to leap over a pile of sheep droppings.
‘You know I meant more than that, Jessica,’ Simon Peter said seriously. ‘I’d marry you tomorrow if you’d have me. I’ve told you often enough.’
‘I know, and I’m flattered for all that, but I don’t see myself as an itinerant preacher’s wife and besides, I’m only eighteen years old. I don’t want to get tied down yet. Folk don’t expect it from a man and I don’t see why I have to be any different.’
‘You break my heart, Jessica Trenchard,’ Simon Peter said wistfully, ‘don’t you know that?’
‘Oh, Simon…’ Jessica was two inches taller than Simon Peter. She looked down at his pale face and planted a kiss beside his delicately chiselled nose. ‘’Tis a pity that my brother David’s not a woman. With his plans to be the same as you with the Methodists you would have made a happy couple.’
‘But you are a Methodist,’ Simon Peter pointed out.
‘Aye, but not in the same way as you and David and your mother are. And anyway, you’re gentry and I’m working class, it wouldn’t work.’
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