Unlike his usual chaste shows of affection, tonight he kissed her long and hungrily, the pain in his handsome face threatening to overwhelm them both.
They talked and argued for hours. Kerensa lit candles against the rapidly growing darkness. Despite the freezing rain and the sharp winds blowing in off the sea, the cottage was warm and cosy as Clem fed the fire at regular intervals with logs and pieces of driftwood. They sat huddled together before the blaze.
‘We must be prepared to face the fact I may have to marry Sir Oliver, Clem,’ she said wretchedly.
‘How can you say that?’ he returned, viciously prodding the fire with a poker.
‘Because of all things I said earlier, and because Sir Oliver was so angry when I tried to speak to him.’
He pulled her round to look at him. ‘You believe the situation is cut and dried already, don’t you?’
‘I… I don’t know,’ she answered, pressing her face against his shoulder as tears jewelled the corners of her eyes. ‘I believe our only hope is not to do anything that would make Sir Oliver go on with it just to serve his pride, his arrogance, his… do you understand what I’m trying to say, Clem?’
‘Yes, my love,’ he said at last, breathing into her sweet-smelling hair. ‘I’m afraid you’re probably right.’
They kissed tenderly, clinging tightly to each other, then Kerensa told him he ought to go.
‘Let me stay the night,’ he pleaded.
‘No, my love, it wouldn’t be right. You know what might happen with us feeling the way we do at the moment. It would only make things more difficult for us, and your family must be getting worried about you by now.’
‘I wish you’d change your mind… but I understand.’ He kissed her in a way that tempted her to waver and tell him he could stay.
‘When will I see you again?’ he asked, when finally he let her go.
‘I don’t know where Sir Oliver intends to have me taken to tomorrow,’ she said, frowning deeply.
‘I’ll find out easily enough. He won’t be able to keep it a secret. I’ll try to see you. Don’t worry, my dearest love,’ he added, with an optimism he was far from feeling. ‘I love you, Kerensa, no one will keep us apart.’
‘I love you too, Clem… always remember that.’
She clung to him a little longer before he opened the door and stepped out into the cold wet hostile night.
* * *
After Clem had gone Kerensa barred the door. Wrapping herself in a blanket, she sat on the old rug her grandmother had made and gazed dejectedly into the fire. She had sat in much the same way on winter evenings as a child with Old Tom. He had made hot chocolate for her from cocoa beans smuggled in from Spain which he had ground down himself, and although it was rather a fatty drink Kerensa had found it delicious with sugar added. As she sipped the chocolate he had told her many wild and colourful stories, then tucked her into bed. She did not go to bed that night, and her eyes did not close in sleep until dawn broke to chase away the darkness of the night.
Twenty-four hours had passed from the time Sir Oliver had rapped on the cottage door, when a tapping on the window roused Kerensa from a fitful sleep. Her head and limbs ached as she got unsteadily to her feet. Her arm felt painfully numb where it had been trapped under her body as she slept. As she rubbed her arm the tapping became more persistent, and wrapping the crumpled blanket around herself against the coldness, she looked apprehensively out of the window to see who was there.
She thought it might be Clem. It wasn’t, it was a cock robin, come for the crumbs she scattered on the window sill each winter morning. Snatching up the remains of a loaf of bread from the table Kerensa went outside and broke off pieces for the robin. It had flown away when she unbarred the door. She stood at a short distance and watched the bird fly back to the sill, its brown and red body bobbing up and down as it pecked up the crumbs.
There was a mist out to sea giving visibility of no more than fifty feet over the shifting grey water, but on shore it was dry and the sky overhead held only a hint of a shade of greyness.
Kerensa walked down the path to the beach and scattered breadcrumbs over the cold black rocks. A flock of screeching gulls materialised as if by magic, rapidly clearing the rocks back to their former state.
When the last gull had flown off, apart from the gentle roll of the sea, all was quiet, oppressively quiet, with a feeling of remote unfriendliness in the air. At other moments when Kerensa had been alone and looked at these surroundings, she had felt herself to be the only person in the world; today she heartily wished she was.
When she returned to the cottage the robin had gone and sadness overwhelmed her again. Tomorrow, the bird would find no one to feed him crumbs of bread.
Once inside she set to work, vigorously raking out the ashes of the fire. She threw dried seaweed and kindling wood in the grate but it took her longer than usual to light them. Her fingers were stiff and clumsy, not from the cold but because she was angry. It was a feeling she was unfamiliar with and it made her feel guilty and uneasy. She was angry at everything and everyone and felt like throwing things around the cottage. ‘Proper mazed’ her grandfather would have called it. She was angry at a situation that was to force her into a marriage she neither sought nor desired. Angry at the two men who had included her in a bargain they had made, as though she had no right to feelings or opinions, hopes or wishes for herself.
She was even angry at Clem, this because of the guilt she felt at his distress and the worry that he might communicate with Sir Oliver and make matters worse. It was the anger she felt with herself that hurt the most. Why hadn’t she faced her grandfather and Sir Oliver together yesterday and bluntly refused to have any part in their unfair, ridiculous agreement? Kerensa was hurt and confused, and anger supplied her with a wall of defence to protect her vulnerability.
What would happen, she wondered, if she refused to take one step out of Trelynne Cove with whoever it was the proud, arrogant man sent to collect her? But all the arguments she’d put to Clem the night before kept flooding her mind, and, she mused, Sir Oliver would probably be so angry, he’d ride down to the cove and haul her up on his big black horse and take her away himself. No, she decided she had no wish to be humiliated. Whatever she had to do, she would do it with dignity. But as she tidied up the cottage more angry thoughts only served to add to her misery.
She made a pot of tea but had no appetite for breakfast. While sipping from a mug at intervals, she packed a small battered trunk with the things she treasured. She would take with her a gilt-edged mirror her merchant-sailor father had brought back from the Barbary Coast for her mother; the cheap tin, fish-shaped brooch bought for her in Marazion market by Old Tom; a lace handkerchief she’d found abandoned on the roadside; a tiny green medicine bottle washed ashore amongst some driftwood; and the faded leatherbound Bible given to Jacob Trelynne by Sir Henry Pengarron. And the love tokens given to her by Clem.
Folding the few clothes she possessed she laid them carefully over and around the things that meant so much to her. She did not open the bottom drawer of a chest in the corner of her bedroom and tried not even to look at it. Among other things lying neatly arranged in the drawer was the linen she had stitched and embroidered to take to Trecath-en Farm with her as Clem’s bride. She decided she would not take them now, and probably not at all.
Carrying the trunk from her bedroom she put it down by the outside door of the other room, and with this done, once again went outside into the cold morning air.
As she paced aimlessly up and down the beach Kerensa wished the crunch, crunch of the smooth pebbles under her feet could drown out her thoughts and diminish her anger and misery. Eventually, she found herself on the shoreline next to the outcrop of granite, and not having the will to climb to the top, sat desolately on a rock at the bottom.
When Nathan O’Flynn rode down into the cove a short time later he found her sitting on the rock, scratching idly at the coarse sand with a piece of rotten driftwoo
d. She did not turn to see who it was as he took long steps to reach her.
‘Kerensa,’ he said softly.
During the summer before Clem had taken Kerensa to Ker-an-Mor stables to see a newly born foal. Nat had been there that day with other interested estate workers and it was then they had first met. With her sparkling grey-green eyes, the burnt copper sheen of her rich dark hair, and her captivating smile, Kerensa had turned many an appreciative head.
He was shocked now at the depth of sorrow in her pale young face as she turned and looked up at him. ‘Haunted. That was how she looked, kind of haunted,’ he was later to tell Jack and Barney Taylor.
‘Hello, Nat. Have you come for me?’ she said quietly, her voice remote.
‘That’s right, m’dear,’ he answered, sitting down beside her. Picking up a handful of pebbles he tossed them one by one into each approaching dull grey wave, only speaking when his hand was empty. ‘I’m taking you to Perranbarvah. It’s been arranged for you to stay with the Reverend Ivey until… until you’re married,’ he said in an apologetic fashion.
They sat for a moment watching a latecomer on its way to join the fishing fleets at Newlyn. The speed of the lugger, with its entourage of scavenging gulls following in its wake, encouraged Kerensa to her feet. She threw the driftwood away with a careless movement. With her back straight, head up, and chin forward, Nat was fascinated by the look of determination that kindled her eyes.
‘I’ll get my things.’
Nat stood beside her and put out a hand lightly on her shoulder.
‘I’m so sorry for you Kerensa, for you and Clem. If ever you need a friend…’
She gave him a faint smile. ‘Thank you, Nat.’
It took but a few minutes to secure her trunk on Derowen’s back. Frowning at its size, Nat said, ‘What about the rest of your things, Kerensa? You must have more than this.’
‘It will do for the time being,’ she said firmly.
He glanced all around. ‘Is your grandfather about somewhere? I could arrange to collect the rest from him, or perhaps he’d like to bring them over to the Parsonage himself later on?’
‘He’s gone – for good, Nat,’ Kerensa informed him sharply. ‘I don’t know where he is.’
‘When was this?’
‘Yesterday.’
Nat whistled through his teeth. ‘If Sir Oliver knew you’d be alone here last night, he would have sent me over for you yesterday. I’ll come back and put a padlock on the door. It might keep the scavengers out for a while when word gets out the cove is deserted.’
He had brought Meryn, the grey pony, with him and helped Kerensa up to sit side-saddle on the animal’s sturdy back. Unused to riding, she sat stiff and upright. As Nat turned to mount his own horse, she called his name.
Turning back, he said gently, ‘Yes, m’dear?’
‘Nat, do you think there is a chance Sir Oliver will change his mind?’
He looked down to the ground and kicked away a stone in front of his foot.
‘No, Kerensa,’ he replied grimly, ‘I’m afraid I do not.’
* * *
As Kerensa and Nathan O’Flynn were travelling to the tiny fishing village of Perranbarvah, the Reverend Joseph Ivey moved about its bitterly cold parish church. Built of granite, small and sturdy to combat the effect of the wind and sea, the church today did not provide the Reverend with the feeling of tranquillity he usually found there.
He shivered and fidgeted all the way through his morning prayers. Feeling the need to linger he rose, and laying aside his prayer book walked back down the aisle and scooped up the handful of brittle dead leaves that had blown in as he’d entered the arched doorway. He then made an unnecessary check on the faded kneelers of the front pews, all hanging like sentinels on their hooks. Then, with a finger to his chin, he studied at length the stone floor beneath his feet, as if there he might find a solution to ease his troubled mind. After that he moved across to the tiny St Luke’s chapel where he knelt to pray, but still he found no peace.
Finally, in full Sunday morning solemnity, he climbed up into the pulpit. He swept his eyes around the empty church and coughed apologetically as though he was keeping an impatient congregation waiting for a long overdue sermon. Feeling rather silly, he looked down at his hands resting on the pulpit’s edge and picked off imaginary drops of candle grease from the wood with a well-manicured fingernail.
A sudden scratching at the heavy door by a straying animal looking for shelter caused the Reverend to jerk up his head, a guilty blush burning his wrinkled cheeks. On hearing the cat mew pitifully at not being able to gain admittance, the parson offered up a quick prayer of silent thanks that it wasn’t Mrs Tregonning, his housekeeper. Proudly responsible for the cleanliness of the church, at a time when most church buildings had been allowed to fall into serious states of disrepair, she would have frowned reproachfully at his actions.
Throughout all of this, the problem the Reverend was turning over and over in his mind was the forthcoming marriage of the bad-tempered owner of Pengarron Estate to the goodly natured young girl from Trelynne Cove.
He had arrived at the Manor house as soon as he’d been able following the hasty summons from Sir Oliver. Although he and Sir Oliver enjoyed a close friendship, the Reverend could never forget that with most of his parishioners living in or near to poverty, it was Pengarron money that kept the small church at Perranbarvah functioning adequately and in reasonably good repair.
The Reverend had been parson of the church, dedicated to St Piran, from the time of Oliver’s infancy, he being the only surviving Pengarron baby. He had baptised the child, and with a paternal eye watched Oliver grow up through an overindulged childhood and a reckless high-spirited youth. He had missed him during the years spent with his regiment as a young man.
It had been the Reverend’s responsibility to teach Oliver, an intelligent, assertive boy, until he had entered public school. The Reverend liked Oliver far more than he had liked Sir Daniel, Oliver’s father, who had been an amoral, unfeeling man. It was to the Reverend that Oliver, as a distraught ten year old, had turned for comfort when his mother, Lady Caroline, had died in childbirth.
In the eight years since Oliver had taken over the running of the Pengarron Estate, following his father’s death, he had often discussed important matters with the Reverend, on occasion sending requests for him to call at the Manor. As he’d ridden to the Manor house the day before, the Reverend had mulled over the possible reasons for the urgency of Oliver’s summons.
From the moment he entered Oliver’s study it was apparent a crisis of some kind was at hand, but on hearing the reason for the younger man’s ill humour, the Reverend had been deeply shocked. He’d been too ill at ease openly to point out to Oliver that he’d brought this intended marriage upon himself. He’d tried from time to time to do so, in a roundabout way, but Oliver Pengarron was not a man to listen or be reasoned with, when in one of his infamous adverse moods.
As more of the tale had unfolded the Reverend had become more and more perturbed, particularly so when he realised the agreement made over Trelynne Cove would force a girl into a marriage to which she would not have consented given her own choice.
Eventually he had agreed to call the banns. There would be no going back, and Joseph Ivey stood in his church feeling guilty and ashamed of his weakness in not standing up to the baronet.
The Reverend met Kerensa and Nat as he was leaving the churchyard. He greeted them cordially as they trotted the last few yards towards him. Kerensa gladly accepted the Reverend’s offer to stroll through the churchyard with him to the Parsonage, while Nat rode on along the cart track with her trunk.
‘You are most welcome, Miss Trelynne,’ the Reverend said, offering her his arm. ‘Mrs Tregonning, my housekeeper, has a room prepared ready for your stay.’
Thankful to be able to ease her aching limbs from the uncomfortable journey, Kerensa took his arm and with a shy smile said, ‘Thank you for your hospitality, Reverend
.’
The Reverend Ivey coloured guiltily. They strolled through the churchyard. The church and Parsonage were built halfway up a steep hill and looked down over the cluster of closely built cob cottages of the fishing village below.
The Reverend sighed as he watched the fisherfolk, busy about their work in the crisp winter air.
‘It won’t be easy for you, my dear,’ he said gently, ‘all this sudden change in your life.’
‘I was not born to marry a baronet, Reverend, that much is certain,’ Kerensa remarked miserably. ‘I want to marry Clem, and we are hoping Sir Oliver will change his mind and settle for a different agreement over the cove.’
The Reverend Ivey knew this to be highly unlikely. Sir Oliver Pengarron was a man of his word, and if he had agreed to marry Kerensa Trelynne then he would do just that. The Reverend tried to think of a way to comfort Kerensa. ‘Sir Oliver is not entirely a bad man…’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ she retorted quickly.
‘Well, there’s been many a charitable deed he has done quietly for his tenants, estate workers and others in the parish, Miss Trelynne.’
‘Really?’ Turning her head she looked down over the cottages at the wide still strip of grey sea. ‘That does surprise me.’ Then looking earnestly at the parson, she went on, ‘Oh, look, Reverend, I want to marry Clem, I love him and he loves me. You know that, we’ve talked to you about it. Can’t you talk to Sir Oliver? Please,’ she pleaded, ‘he might listen to you.’
‘I…’ The Reverend was embarrassed and made temporarily witless. ‘I’m afraid it… it would do no good.’
Kerensa sighed loudly and all the energy seemed to go out of her body, ‘And I was afraid you would say something like that.’
She walked on, the Reverend keeping hold of her arm but staying one step behind.
The winter sun, growing in strength and height, illuminated the scarlet berries of the hawthorn bushes growing on hedgerows either side of the gate leading to the back of the ivy-clad Parsonage. Kerensa reached up and lifted a few berries on her fingertips.
Pengarron Land Page 4