Clem glanced about the churchyard to ensure they were alone, then he put his arm round Kerensa’s shoulders, the beautiful young woman he had once nearly married. ‘I’ll never forget that time, so many folk died. How’s Kelynen today? She was so ill back then… I was so frightened, looking on her as I do as our child, Kerensa.’
‘Well, thank God she recovered fully.’ Kerensa smiled on this happier note.
‘She’s like one of my own. ’Twas me who delivered her, who first saw her,’ Clem said, adding in his thoughts, and your damned husband hates all that I’ve had to do with her. ‘I suppose Sir Oliver spends so much of his time with Kelynen because he feels he has to make up for not being around at her birth, and calls her Shelley because he won’t use the name I suggested for her.’
Kerensa was used to the fact that the two men who loved her hated each other. And she still cherished Clem. She put her face against his shoulder for a moment. ‘Kelynen’s not as highly spirited as her brothers and sister, she can be quiet and moody at times, just like you are.’
‘Can she really?’ Clem looked delighted.
They looked into each other’s eyes and the twenty-two years that had passed since circumstances had forced them not to marry seemed to disappear. For a long stolen moment they were two young people betrothed and in love again.
Then Clem moved away and stood at the foot of his wife’s grave. ‘I really did love her,’ he whispered, his voice choked. ‘Not in the way that I loved you, and still do, but I loved Alice very much.’
‘I know you did, Clem.’ Kerensa brushed fresh tears away and forced a smile. ‘You can walk with me to the Parsonage, if you like. I’m taking tea with the Reverend Lanyon and Miss Lanyon.’
Clem walked close but, for propriety’s sake, slightly behind Kerensa, flexing one of his hands.
‘What’s the matter with your hand?’ Kerensa asked, eyeing it before he could hide it away. She knew Clem didn’t like unnecessary fuss.
‘Oh, ’tis nothing much. I was in Marazion a short time ago and saw a stray dog attacking a rabbit and fowl stall in the market. I went to help and the dog turned on me. I chased it off but not before it nipped me. ’Twas a good thing I left my dogs with Kenver to keep him company back on the farm. Would have had a proper fight on my hands.’
‘You need to get that hand looked at, Clem.’
‘’Tis nothing to fuss over,’ he said dismissively.
‘I’ll have none of that, Clem Trenchard,’ Kerensa said with mock sternness. ‘You don’t want to risk blood poisoning, do you? You can come into the Parsonage with me. I’m sure the Reverend Lanyon won’t mind if I clean the bite and spread a salve over it for you. What would Jessica say if you were laid up and she had to nurse you? She has enough to do as it is, being the only woman on the farm.’
‘I would enjoy you nursing me, my little sweet,’ he returned, using the term of affection he’d first called her in their courting days. ‘Jessica will never have need to be concerned over me but she worries the life out of me.’
‘Oh, Clem, I am sorry. What is it this time? Can I help?’
‘Jessica’s always been wild and reckless but she’s practically out of hand now. She thinks she’s like the twins, free to go where and when she likes and do what she likes. But Philip and David can look after themselves. David never mixes with the rougher element and Philip’s got his strength to rely on. Since Alice died, Jessica’s got no mother to turn to, to teach her the finer things of life, to show her how to be feminine, to do the things women should do. I don’t know about that sort of thing, Kerensa, I don’t know what to do.’
They had reached the Parsonage back door where a wide porch led into the kitchen. Kerensa stopped walking. ‘Where is Jessica now, Clem? Presumably at Marazion with her brothers for the wrestling championships.’
‘Aye, that’s right. I left her in the twins’ care. I’m supposed to be on my way home to get on with the chores but I felt compelled to stop in here and… well, speak to Alice about Jessica. Alice adored her, I know she’ll be relying on me to look after Jessica and see she comes to no harm.’
‘Alice wouldn’t expect you to look after Jessica all by yourself, Clem. She knew what Jessica’s like, she used to confide in me. I believe Alice would have expected me to look after her too. The next time she’s over at the Manor with Olivia and Cordelia, I’ll have a little chat with her.’
‘Well, if you can find out what goes on inside her head and tame her down a bit, I’d be eternally grateful. It’s made me realise that I’ve never known much about women.’
‘Yes,’ Kerensa said softly, looking into his eyes. ‘I believe you are a little shy of them.’
‘Not with you,’ he said, touching her shoulder. ‘You look no older than Jessica and you’re as beautiful as the girl I fell in love with. ’Tis hard to believe in a few months you’ll be—’
‘Clem Trenchard! It’s bad manners and tactless to mention a woman’s age!’ Kerensa said, laughing as the warmth and love on his face turned to horrified embarrassment. ‘I’ll be forty and it’s no one’s business but mine to mention it.’
‘Sorry,’ he muttered, and Kerensa loved it when his fine, fair features turned into their usual expression of moodiness.
‘You’re right,’ she said, nodding at him, ‘you don’t know much about women, and you probably don’t know either that your handsome, moody face holds a great attraction for them. Well, I suppose we’d better go inside. If Miss Catherine is watching us she’ll be wondering why we’re taking so long coming in.’
Kerensa had only entered the Parsonage by its front door once, on the day she had been brought here to reside until her enforced marriage to Sir Oliver Pengarron. While she’d stayed here she’d made a point, out of stubbornness and to emphasise her working-class background, of entering only by the kitchen door and had always continued to do so.
The Reverend Timothy Lanyon was languishing in a chair at the kitchen table. He jumped up to greet his two visitors. With his long arms waving furiously, he welcomed Kerensa and Clem in the animated fashion his parishioners were still trying to get used to. ‘Come in, come in, sit down and join us, that is Nancy and me, Catherine doesn’t approve of me drinking tea in the kitchen. Nancy has just baked a batch of her delicious scones.’
‘I thought you might be in here, Timothy,’ Kerensa said, allowing him to sweep her into a chair. ‘I believe the kitchen is your favourite place.’
‘Place. Aye, it is that.’ Nancy Wills, who had the habit of repeating the last word of another’s sentence, chuckled. She stood up with the stocking she was darning and bobbed a curtsey to Kerensa. ‘He’s under my feet all the time, m’lady,’ she added fondly, glancing at the young parson who’d returned to his chair.
Miss Nancy Wills was the Lanyons’ housekeeper. An agreeable little woman in her early fifties, she moved about silently and one could quickly forget she was there. She manoeuvred Clem, who was obviously feeling uncomfortable, to a chair close to the parson.
It had proved a difficult task to replace the virtues of the Reverend Joseph Ivey in the parish of Perranbarvah and no one had expected a man like Sir Oliver Pengarron to install a purely conventional incumbent. But the parish had not been prepared for any part of the Reverend Timothy Rawlyn Lanyon. They had expected a parson of mature years and much experience. The Reverend Timothy Lanyon had neither. He was expected to be modest of stature and ill-favoured in face. He was neither.
He did come from a genteel family but he did not possess the usual qualities. He cared nothing for etiquette and saw no reason to treat women in a more respectful manner than men; in fact it was soon discovered he could be singularly rude to them. But he had the redeeming features of a small scar in the middle of his chin which formed a most interesting cleft, humorous grey eyes, and his straight earth-brown hair allowed wispy bits to escape along his forehead and in front of his ears. The number of women who came to listen to his no-nonsense approach in the pulpit had markedly increas
ed.
‘Put your feet up, man,’ he exhorted Clem, ‘make yourself at home. No need to stand on ceremony in this house.’
‘Clem is in need of medication, a dog bit his hand,’ Kerensa explained, as Clem looked stunned at the parson’s mode of communication. He had rarely seen and never spoken to the Reverend Timothy Lanyon.
‘Nothing serious, I hope,’ Timothy said, springing up and almost knocking a plate of scones from Nancy Wills’s hands. He grabbed the plate and put them under Clem’s nose, which stopped him rising as a mark of respect. ‘Smell these. Delicious, aren’t they? I’ll get my medicine box. You sit tight and have a cup of tea, have a scone, have one with jam and cream on it. I think you must be Clem Trenchard of Trecath-en Farm. Have a well-running concern on the Pengarron estate. Well, good for you, man, I like to see people getting on in life. Got two sons and a daughter, haven’t you? One son who likes to wrestle, so do I,’ he pointed to his chin, ‘that’s how I got this little scar, took a bad fall. Your other son’s interested in becoming an itinerant preacher like the Blakes’ son, so I’ve heard, but I’m glad to say he comes to church. I tolerate this Methodist thing but don’t entirely approve of it. I’ll expect to see you and the rest of your family back in church where you belong. I hear your daughter’s a parish beauty but a bit of a tomboy. Haven’t caught sight of her yet, the parish had a long interregnum, only been here a few months.’ Timothy Lanyon finally thrust his hand out for Clem to shake.
Clem looked thunderstruck and only managed to nod back.
‘I’ll see to the medicine box,’ Nancy said firmly, taking the plate of scones and conveying them safely to the table. ‘Reverend Tim, sit down and sit still. Lady Pengarron has just come from the churchyard.’
‘My apologies, m’lady,’ Timothy Lanyon said humbly, noting she was clad mainly in black clothes. Kerensa always dressed this way when bringing flowers to the churchyard.
‘Please be yourself, Timothy. There is a time to be sad and a time for good humour, and I have to say I rarely leave your company without being greatly cheered.’
‘You are too kind to him, m’lady,’ Nancy said, keeping up the teasing that the young parson enjoyed as she poured out fresh tea. ‘Though I do believe the old Reverend would have approved of him, he still needs to learn to keep still.’
‘He reminds me of my son, Luke. He’s another one who’s continually on the move,’ Kerensa said.
Clem sat stiffly, feeling out of place and wishing he had not allowed Kerensa to talk him into coming into the Parsonage. She was the only person in the world who could have done so.
‘Do you take tea, Mr Trenchard?’ Nancy asked him kindly.
‘Um… oh, yes please, thank you.’
‘Nice and strong I expect. Most gentlemen like their tea strong.’
Clem watched Nancy as she placed the tea on the huge table. He stared suspiciously at the china cup and saucer. What made her say he was a gentleman? He’d never been called that before. Was it because he had entered the room with Kerensa? He suddenly wondered if the new parson knew of his and Kerensa’s past love and that there were still feelings between them. It was common enough knowledge and folk were always ready to gossip. Clem relaxed. He was taking tea in the Parsonage with the parson and the Lady of the Manor, and it occurred to him that Sir Oliver Pengarron, who did not trust him where Kerensa was concerned, would be angry and jealous. Clem smiled warmly at the little housekeeper and its rarity and masculine beauty sent her into a fluster.
‘I… I must go and fetch the Reverend’s medicine box!’
Kerensa smiled to herself and wondered how Nancy Wills would look upon Clem if she was ten years younger.
Timothy Lanyon cut scones, jammed and creamed them for all without asking, and they were silently being savoured when the medicine box was brought in. It was carried by Timothy’s older sister by three years, a lady with milk-white skin and a straight carriage, Miss Catherine Lanyon.
She greeted Kerensa then spoke to her brother. ‘Nancy is at the front door receiving the couple from Rose Farm who enquired about having their baby baptised, Timothy.’
‘I’m on my way.’ Timothy shot up from his chair, stuffed half a scone into his mouth, swilled it down with a gulp of tea and sped out of the kitchen under one of Catherine’s disapproving frowns.
‘There goes the whirlwind,’ Kerensa said.
‘Yes,’ Catherine said dryly.
Then Timothy’s head flashed back round the doorway. ‘If you’ll excuse me, m’lady.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Kerensa laughed.
‘And you, Clem?’
Surprised to be included in the delayed show of manners, Clem nodded over his teacup and the young parson was finally gone. Clem put his cup down hastily when he realised he was under the scrutiny of Miss Catherine Lanyon who was probably wondering why her brother had spoken so intimately to him.
‘I understand you have received a dog bite on your hand, Mr Trenchard,’ Catherine said in her clear and distinctly feminine voice. Clem had expected her tone to be reproving but it was cordial.
‘’Tis nothing,’ he said, and he was cross that his words came out meekly and made Kerensa titter from her chair behind Catherine.
The next instant he was horrified when Kerensa said, ‘Men always say things like that, Miss Catherine. They’re such babies when they’re hurt.’
Catherine placed a small towel on the table. ‘Put your hand on there, please, Mr Trenchard.’
She moved about lightly as she unpacked some of the small bottles and ointment pots from the medicine box. Clem had never seen her up close and was surprised to see her face was rather childlike and that she was not unattractive, as he’d taken it for granted an unmarried woman of her age would be. Her hair was the same colour as her brother’s but pulled back too severely. Her eyes were a lighter grey, enhanced by slightly curving dark brows. She was the same height as Kerensa, which Clem thought was the right size for a woman, comfortable for a man to relate to.
Kerensa got up and watched as the three deep teeth marks on Clem’s hand were cleaned and covered with an ointment.
‘That smells quite pleasant,’ she said to Catherine.
‘It’s got sage in it, m’lady,’ Catherine replied.
Clem sat rigid, determined not to wince, which he was sure Kerensa expected, as the ointment stung the open wounds.
Catherine glanced at Clem often. Kerensa noticed this and knew Clem had too and was unhappy about it.
When she was satisfied that the bite was thoroughly cleansed, Catherine looked Clem in the face and said in a soothing voice, ‘If you’ll just keep your hand on the towel, Mr Trenchard, I’ll fetch a clean bandage for it.’
Clem would have protested but he wanted this woman, whom he was finding disturbing, out of the room.
‘Better now?’ Kerensa asked sweetly when Catherine had gone.
‘I don’t know why you have to make fun of me,’ he said sulkily, and looking mournfully at his hand added, ‘I’d rather you had bathed this. She acted very strangely. I’d have thought she’d look down on the likes of me.’
‘I don’t know why you’re so surprised at Miss Catherine’s attitude towards you, Clem,’ Kerensa said, half in teasing. ‘You’re a very handsome young widower.’
‘Eh? What are you saying? She can’t possibly be interested in me. She’s gentry, I’m just a—’
‘A handsome widower only one year past forty who’s a successful farmer and a man of some substance. Miss Catherine’s ten years younger than you, not old by any means – unless you’re an unmarried woman. And the Lanyons are regarded as minor gentry; they won’t be setting their sights too high in the marriage stakes.’
‘I believe you’re gone quite mad, Kerensa! Me and that woman have nothing in common! I’m a Methodist, she’s a diehard Anglican. That makes a big difference even if the new parson is tolerant like the Reverend Ivey was, and you heard the Reverend Lanyon just now, he’s not that tolerant anyway. You’ve go
t it all wrong!’
Kerensa tapped his shoulder. ‘Shush, she’ll hear you. And don’t be such a crosspatch.’
‘Well, I still wanted you to bathe my hand. You ought to kiss it better for saying such a ridiculous thing to me.’
Kerensa gave him a superior look. ‘Too late, she’s coming back.’
They were silent with straight faces when Catherine came back. She looked at them both curiously, as if she knew they’d been talking about her.
‘Not got your dogs with you today, Mr Trenchard?’ Catherine asked casually as she bandaged his hand.
‘I’ve been visiting my wife’s grave,’ Clem said shortly, emphasising the word ‘wife’. ‘Hardly the place to bring dogs to.’
‘Oh, yes, of course. I… um… like dogs. Yours are fine animals. I often remark to my brother that we ought to keep a dog. If we do decide to have one, perhaps we could ask you for some advice on the matter.’
‘I’m usually very busy.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Catherine’s face gave no sign of how she felt about Clem’s bluntness, but Kerensa was sure she’d been cast down inside.
‘Kelynen knows a lot about dogs, Catherine. You’ve seen her dog Rex. She’ll be happy to tell you all you’d need to know.’
‘That would be very kind of her,’ Catherine said, packing up the medicine box. ‘I hope your hand will give you no further trouble, Mr Trenchard. Now if you’ll excuse me I have something I must attend to. I expect my brother will return shortly.’ Without looking at Clem again she left.
‘You didn’t have to be so rude to her, Clem Trenchard.’ Kerensa pounced on him at once. ‘You didn’t even thank her.’
Clem had the grace to blush. ‘No, I didn’t, did I.’
‘Well, you’ll just have to do it some other time, won’t you?’
Before Clem could answer, there was a sudden flurry and Nancy Wills came rushing in in a state of elation. ‘Oh, m’lady, you’re going to be so thrilled! Sir Oliver and Miss Kelynen are riding up to the front door and they have someone with them. It’s Captain Pengarron!’
Pengarron's Children Page 3
