The bedchamber door was opened at last and out came a harassed-looking woman wearing what once had been a clean, hygienic apron, carrying a linen-covered chamber pot in outstretched hands which she handed to the footman. Oliver moved further up the corridor to get out of range of the smell of the pot’s contents and watched the footman move off towards the servants’ staircase with his face still completely deadpan.
The nurse bobbed Oliver a curtsey and hastened away. A few moments later the valet appeared and, seeing Oliver, who was striding towards him with the intention of knocking on the door to find out if he could be admitted, he hastily and humbly apologised.
‘I’m very sorry, m’lord. I had no idea you were here. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see if Sir Martin will receive you.’
‘Are the windows opened?’ Oliver demanded to know.
‘The… um, windows, sir? Yes, yes, they are. Sir Martin likes to take the air at this time of day.’
‘Then I’ll go straight in,’ Oliver said, moving so the valet had to dodge out of his way. ‘I don’t need a fanfare to announce my arrival. Good morning, Martin,’ Oliver called breezily, going directly to a window and half sticking his dark head out of it.
‘Damn me, who’s that?’ Sir Martin bellowed from the enormous bed he was confined in, propped up by many pillows. ‘Oh, it’s you, Oliver, is it? Have I kept you waiting? I’m sorry about that, I have a bit of trouble—’
‘Yes,’ Oliver said, cutting the other baronet off. ‘Never mind. How are you today otherwise, Martin?’
‘Huh, kept starved and that’s a fact! Ruddy medics. Won’t let me eat a thing. I ask you, my boy, what else can a man in my condition do to enjoy himself but eat, positively gorge himself! You’re a master of the art of smuggling, Oliver. You could smuggle something in for me.’
Oliver believed the strict regime the aged gentleman’s doctors kept him to was probably doing him more harm than good. ‘What would you like? I’ll bring it with me next time.’
‘Good, good, you always were a good boy. Some pickled walnuts would be nice,’ Sir Martin said excitedly, then he turned grumpy. ‘Now come away from that ruddy window! I know why you’re over there. I’ll have you know this room’s as fresh as a spring daisy. That valet of mine, he’s a ruddy fool! Only here to keep me a prisoner and see I have no fun! He plonks bowls of scented petals all round the room and lights scented candles when I’ve done my duty. Now get yourself over here!’
Oliver came forth grinning. He viewed the much-overweight Sir Martin through twinkling eyes, wrapped up as he was in gown, shawls and nightcap, and Oliver saw the future for Sebastian at the grand old age of eighty-four.
‘Let me take off some of your wrappings, Martin. They have you done up like a newborn baby.’
‘Ruddy fools! They’ll kill me. I tell you, my boy, they’ll do for me. I didn’t want to come here to live, I wanted to stay on at my house at Marazion. But they say I’ve got to die at Tolwithrick, the family home. My only pleasure in life now is the one and a half pints of port wine I’m prescribed every day for my health. Ah, that’s better,’ Sir Martin ended gratefully, when he was down to just one shawl. Then he was off again. ‘You’re a good boy, you always were a good boy. Handsome and tall, a great achiever, grew up to be a man who’s done something with his life.’
Oliver sat on the bed, smiling affectionately at the old gentleman who still saw him as a boy even though he had reached middle age. He stayed smiling when the mood of the other suddenly changed again.
‘Why didn’t you come and see me last week? You were supposed to come and see me last week. I know I’m right so don’t you dare say that I’m not. Well, where were you? Too busy, I suppose… everybody’s too busy to visit an old, old man like me…’
Oliver took one of Martin’s weak, podgy hands gently in his own. ‘You know I’ll never be too busy to come to see you, Martin. You will always be one of my closest and most respected friends and I look on you with great affection. I sent my apologies to you for last week. Kane had suddenly come home, remember? He’s been to see you, do you not recall his visit?’
Sir Martin looked far away and forlorn. ‘Kane? Kane? But didn’t your little son die?’
‘No, that was Joseph, two years ago. Kane is our elder son, our first child. He went away in the army, do you remember now?’
‘Oh, Kane… the one you and Kerensa adopted, the one she found ill-treated…’
‘Yes, that’s Kane. What did you think of him?’
Becoming lucid again, Sir Martin nodded vigorously and Oliver had to straighten his nightcap. ‘Ah, he came to see me. A fine figure of a man you have there for a son, Oliver. You and Kerensa must be very proud of him.’ Then the aged baronet grinned lecherously and bade Oliver move closer. ‘He told me how he got his wound in the stomach, the one that put him out of action for so long. A bit naughty of him, eh? Game for a bit of sport though, like I was in my youth.’
‘Well, he was the one trying to rescue another from being naughty, as you put it, and yes, we are proud of him, both Kerensa and I and all the family.’
‘Have you been up to the Roscawen mine like I asked you? To see if everything is working in the proper order and the profits are being maintained? I wish I could get out of this bed to see it. It’s a new mine, a good mine, should yield as much as the Wheal Ember did in its heyday.’
‘I rode up to Lancavel Downs only a few days ago. Everything seemed to be in order. I’ve had a discreet chat with William and he’s confident you’ll show a good profit this year. You’re doing very well for a mine that’s only been in operational order for two years.’
‘William! Don’t let him pull the wool over your eyes. He may be my eldest son and heir, but he’s so soft with Rachael he’ll let her spend the family fortune clean away on clothes and fripperies!’
Oliver could hardly upset William Beswetherick by taking too keen an interest in the family’s business affairs but he couldn’t say so to the old gentleman without upsetting him. He said simply, ‘I’m sure you have nothing to worry about, Martin. The Roscawen mine is producing plenty of good-quality tin ore.’
‘Well, I’m glad to hear it. Still full of Methodist tinners, I suppose. Pumped full of dissenting rubbish by your farm steward, Renfree, in that meeting house he built for them. You shouldn’t have let them put up that building, Oliver. It’s more on your land than Lancavel Downs. We’ll have to fight to keep the working class in order one of these days, you wait and see. And it’ll be the fault of gentlemen like you for allowing them too many liberties. There’s been trouble building up for years in the colonies and now they’re turning on us. Things are serious in America, the country’s young and revolutionary. Wouldn’t pay stamp duty in seventeen sixty-five and now shots have been fired against us in a bid for independence.’
‘Yes, I know,’ Oliver said, amazed how Sir Martin kept up with current affairs despite being bedridden. ‘Luke is bitterly disappointed he’s not fit enough to go out to help quell the rebellion. But with his frozen arm…’
‘Quite, a shame, a pity. How’s that new young parson fellow you put in at Perranbarvah? Measuring up all right, is he? You should get your own little family chapel like we have then you wouldn’t have to travel to church every week. Mind you, our cleric’s an absolute fool. Comes to see me every day but he’s no comfort, can’t even say a prayer unless he reads it out of a book!’
‘The Reverend Timothy Lanyon is rather different to the Reverend Ivey but I’m pleased with him so far. He’s honest and good-humoured, two valuable attributes in a parson, and the main thing is he’s a believer.’
‘Sounds just like your old cleric. Doesn’t have anything to do with all this Methodist rubbish, does he?’ And Sir Martin was back on one of his favourite subjects.
‘He’s fairly tolerant of it, Martin. If a thing’s not harmful, I believe we should tolerate it.’
‘Not harmful!’ Sir Martin bellowed and spittle seeped down his worn-out face. ‘Good heave
ns, man, they’re a dissenting rabble. Shouldn’t be allowed to go on with it. Their loyalty to the Crown is questionable for a start with them wanting to break away from the established Church, and what’s wrong with the Church anyway? And would they fight the French for example? Eh? Eh? We never know when the French are going to sneak up on our coast and endanger our homes and womenfolk. We never had a minute’s rest over the French from fifty-six to sixty-three. We never knew then and we never know now when they’re going to sneak up and murder us in our beds. Where will all your Methodists be then, eh? In cahoots with their French equivalents over the Channel and refusing to take up arms for King and country!’
‘I think you are getting a little over-heated and over-anxious, Martin. Many Methodists still attend church regularly. In fact the ones to be first interested in it were regular attenders and John Wesley chooses his preachers from men who have a love for King and country.’
‘You know everything about everything, don’t you?’ Sir Martin said accusingly, then forgetting Oliver was there he hummed to himself for several moments. He spoke to someone who was not there, at least to someone whom Oliver could not see. ‘Yes, Amy’ and ‘No, Amy,’ he said with a boyish smile, and Oliver knew that the old gentleman thought his late wife, Lady Ameline, whom he had always affectionately called Amy, was in the room. Oliver waited patiently to be noticed again.
‘Got Kerensa and your little girl with you today?’ Sir Martin asked suddenly. ‘The little one with the boisterous dog?’
‘Yes. Kerensa’s out in the gardens taking tea with Rachael and Hezekiah, and Shelley is with your youngest grandchildren. They’ll both be up to see you before we leave.’
‘She reminds me of your mother Caroline, your little girl does. Did I ever tell you that?’
‘No,’ Oliver lied and added patiently, ‘I’d like to hear about it.’ Sir Martin began to drift off to sleep, talking occasionally between little puttering snores. ‘A wonderful lady… Caroline… little girl… just like her…’
When he was sleeping deeply, Oliver quietly left the room. He joined those sitting in the shade from a hot sun on the terrace. Finding Rachael’s cheek under her wide-brimmed hat he kissed it, then greeted Hezekiah Solomon and kissed Kerensa before sitting down next to her.
‘I wager you must be kissed more often by your husband than any other lady in Cornwall,’ Rachael purred at Kerensa.
‘I wouldn’t bet against you, Rachael, I’m happy to say,’ Kerensa laughed, holding Oliver’s large hand.
‘Look at them, Hezekiah, what do you say? They’re like newlyweds, aren’t they?’ Rachael appealed to Hezekiah from her painted face.
‘I’ve always thought Oliver to be the most fortunate of men,’ Hezekiah replied, looking at Kerensa from behind his powdered face.
‘Why didn’t you get married, Hezekiah?’ Rachael asked bluntly. ‘You have a penchant for the ladies yet we’ve never seen you with a regular companion adorning your arm.’
Captain Hezekiah Solomon was most secretive and Oliver and Kerensa had learned to respect that in him. They held their breath as his white features, become harsh with age now, hardened into extreme annoyance at the over-dressed matron. He did not reply but brought a bone china teacup to his thin lips in a perfectly manicured hand. His eyes met Kerensa’s briefly over the rim and she smiled at him. He smiled back when he lowered the cup, but it was not the angelic smile that once had charmed all who saw it, and the snake-like ice-blue eyes in his macabre white face seemed to be fronting a hidden fury.
Without realising it, Kerensa tightened her fingers round Oliver’s hand and he looked at her curiously. She was becoming increasingly uneasy about Hezekiah. He was as well-mannered as he’d always been, he had kept up the standard of flamboyant fashionable dressing that he adhered to, but he was no longer friendly. Not in the warm and humorous sense. She wondered if he was concealing an illness.
She knew he must be well past the age of sixty, and a few months ago he had suddenly sold his ship and bought a house at Penzance close to the Assembly Rooms. To keep up his desire for privacy, he had invited no one there and Kerensa didn’t even know if he had servants. He called on Oliver and herself and the Beswethericks occasionally, the only friends he seemed to have made or wanted. He spent most evenings at the Assembly Rooms or the card tables at social outings but no one knew what he did the rest of the time. Kerensa wondered if he was still involved in Oliver’s smuggling ventures around the Mount’s Bay coastline but she could not picture him carrying contraband up the steep black cliffs.
When Rachael realised Hezekiah was not going to answer her, she giggled shrilly and stood up abruptly. ‘Come inside with me, Kerensa, and help me choose what to wear at dear Olivia’s twenty-first birthday party. I wish she would allow everyone to wear a costume but I’ll probably have something made specially anyway.’
The gentlemen rose to their feet and Kerensa used Oliver’s hand to help her rise. She shot him a worried look. Hezekiah was beginning to bring a bad taste to everywhere he went.
‘That man is beginning to get on my nerves,’ Rachael complained inside the grand house as they mounted the elegant stone stairway. ‘He’s never rude to you but he certainly is to me!’
Kerensa felt a loyalty to Hezekiah Solomon and replied, ‘He likes to keep his privacy, Rachael. He wouldn’t have answered me either.’
Rachael had as much difficulty with the ascent as her fat son. Having pushed a strong piece of wood down the stomacher of her gown to stop her belly sticking out, the garment was too tight and uncomfortable. It had the unfortunate effect of thrusting up her bosom which wobbled about in loose wrinkled flesh over the top of her stays. Kerensa wanted to tell Rachael to have a wider piece of lace sewn in there. She herself wore dresses with simple pleating and padding and could take her slender figure up the stairs with youthful poise.
‘But don’t you think he’s rather strange, Kerensa?’ Rachael asked, leaning a moment on the stair rail. ‘Oh, I admit he’s always been a mysterious man and what wouldn’t we give to know all about him and his past. But, well, it’s never struck me until recently but he’s… oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say, but I was talking to Olivia about him the other day and she told me that he makes her flesh creep.’
Kerensa looked at the struggling matron with scepticism. Lady Rachael Beswetherick was inclined to exaggerate. ‘Olivia said that? Why, for goodness’ sake? Hezekiah has always been aloof where children are concerned but he’s always been kind to her, and generous.’
‘But that’s the point, Kerensa. Haven’t you ever wondered why he’s lavished her with so many expensive gifts since she’s grown into a woman? Have you ever asked if she cares to receive them? Have you asked Hezekiah if he has any intentions towards her?’
‘Hezekiah? Wanting to marry Olivia? You must be imagining things, Rachael. I think he’s not taking kindly to growing old, that’s all.’
‘Kerensa,’ Rachael caught her wrist, ‘I am deadly serious. I believe there’s not just something mysterious about Hezekiah but definitely unhealthy. And I’ve noticed the way you are beginning to feel uncomfortable in his presence too. I saw the look you gave Oliver outside. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll keep a careful watch over Olivia when that dandified little man’s around.’
* * *
Oliver and Hezekiah were looking over Rachael’s latest proud acquisitions at Tolwithrick, a collection of exotic shrubs in large pots placed in a row on the top step of the terrace. Their distinctive scents were appreciated by Hezekiah.
‘I think I shall obtain some of these creations for my garden at Penzance,’ he said, the melodic tone of former years now an uneasy rasp on a listener’s ear. Time had been no less harsh to his voice than it had been to his looks.
‘It’s typical of Rachael to overdo it though,’ Oliver replied, studying the number of plants and over-decorative pots standing much too close together and spoiling the effect. ‘Kane brought home some unusual plants from his travels
for Kerensa and me, and I believe she’d kill us to obtain them.’
Hezekiah clasped his hands behind his withered body and moved on to something different. ‘I see I am not to be included in the number of those invited to dress in mythological costume at Olivia’s birthday party.’
Oliver laughed and touched the rubbery leaf of a plant, releasing its potent fragrance. ‘Kerensa and I are also considered too old to be among those included in that part of the celebration, Hezekiah. Rachael is most put out. No doubt she’d come dressed looking like a sea witch and frighten the other guests. We said Olivia could make the arrangements herself. She’s been aided and abetted by Cordelia and Jessica Trenchard of Trecath-en Farm. It is their idea to have only the younger people dressed in costume, I’m happy to say.’
‘I see,’ Hezekiah said.
While Hezekiah had shrivelled in size and lost all manner of attractive appearance, Oliver Pengarron had kept his straight back, proud aristocratic bearing, and great height. His black hair had not dulled and was enhanced by the touches of silver-grey it bore, his striking dark features were distinguished by lines and still turned every woman’s head. It was an insult to Hezekiah that this other man, who had Kerensa, the only woman he’d wanted and had never acquired by seduction or force, had kept his looks while even the attribute Hezekiah had been most proud of in himself, his glorious long white hair, had turned a garish yellow and he had to wear a variety of wigs styled on how his hair had once been.
Hezekiah Solomon was a man incapable of any tender feeling. He hated Oliver passionately, because he was the only man he’d been afraid of, and took cruel comfort in the thought that if he couldn’t have his wife, there was still the equally beautiful daughter…
‘Have you heard any more news about the unfortunate woman who was so brutally murdered in the street where you live, Hezekiah?’
‘I find little interest in the killing of a whore, Oliver. She probably deserved it.’
Oliver shot a look at Hezekiah. He’d sounded bored but his expression, as usual, gave nothing away. ‘Did you know the woman was Peter Blake’s mistress?’ he said, to test the other man’s mood.
Pengarron's Children Page 7
