Pengarron Land

by Pengarron Land (retail) (epub)

  ‘Good morning, Mrs Bray,’ he said, fidgeting about as though eager to be on his way. ‘I’m told I can find Matthias Renfree here.’

  ‘You can indeed, Clem. Come on in a minute, m’dear. He’s just having a word or two with Mr Bray.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Bray, I have my dog with me. I’ll be content to wait for Matthias out here.’

  ‘Oh, well, if you’re sure, Clem. He’ll be but five minutes, I believe. I’ll tell him you’re here.’ Faith Bray was far too tactful to remark to Clem on his change of circumstances. She put a motherly hand on his shoulder and gave him the kind of smile that said without words how sorry she was before she closed the door.

  In a few minutes Matthias Renfree left the Brays’ cottage, greeting Clem with a warm handshake. The two fell in step, Charity following behind, to walk back down to the farms on which they worked.

  ‘I’m surprised to see you up here, Clem,’ Matthias said, watching him closely in between each careful step over the marshy ground.

  ‘I went over to Ker-an-Mor first of all. Your father told me I would find you here.’

  ‘I started work early so I could have a few words with Jeb before he goes on core.’

  ‘I thought perhaps you were visiting the Trembaths. How are they now?’ Clem sounded evasive and Matthias raised his eyebrows.

  ‘The Trembaths are still distraught, but it isn’t them you want to talk about… What is it, Clem? Has Kerensa spoken to Sir Oliver?’

  Clem stopped walking and looked back over the stark moor, the bracken and heather, like his hopes, colourless and swept by relentless winds. He blinked moisture from his eyes and Matthias wasn’t convinced this was entirely due to the cold wind.

  When Clem felt the need to confide in someone he always chose Matthias Renfree. Only four years older than himself, they had been firm friends since the time Morley Trenchard had worked on Ker-an-Mor Farm before he’d gained the tenancy of Trecath-en.

  Having shown a keen intelligence from his early years, Matthias had been schooled by the Reverend Ivey under the sponsorship of Sir Daniel, and later Sir Oliver. This had been done on the understanding he would one day take over his father’s stewardship of Ker-an-Mor Farm and the adjoining stud stable. Adam Renfree had managed Ker-an-Mor for over thirty years, continuing an unbroken tradition of Renfrees working in loyal service of the Pengarrons going back two hundred years. A hard drinking, hard swearing man, he had nurtured a wish for his son to follow in that tradition. Unbeknown to anyone but the Reverend Ivey, Matthias would have preferred to enter the priesthood, but he felt honour bound to fulfil his father’s hopes and the Pengarrons’ expectations. A lapsed Anglican of many years’ standing, Adam strongly disapproved of his son’s involvement with the newly formed Methodist society. For Matthias, organising prayer and Bible meetings, teaching children some basic lessons, and the ability to give spiritual comfort when it was needed, fulfilled the greater part of his own spiritual needs. Some folk now called him Preacher Renfree and he was a sensitive, respected father figure to many. It was this aspect of his friend that Clem needed now.

  ‘I saw Kerensa earlier this morning,’ he said miserably, running a hand through his hair. ‘She was in the churchyard, just standing there, so still and so small, staring down at her mother’s grave. Oh, yes, Matthias, she’s spoken to him, but he wouldn’t even listen to her.’

  Matthias was shorter than Clem, but as he was standing on higher ground their eyes met on the same level. He knew better than anyone how much Clem loved Kerensa Trelynne, and it hurt him to witness his friend’s distress. Matthias liked to walk alone on the moors, and on a clear summer day would feel at his closest to God. Now, it seemed, a hundred malevolent spirits were abroad in the howling wind all about them.

  Repressing a shudder, he said, ‘I can’t think of anything to say to ease your pain at this moment, Clem. As for Kerensa, she is going along with a decision she will have to live with for the rest of her life. All we can do is pray for her, and for the strength you will need to face the future.’

  ‘Without Kerensa I have no future. It tears my heart in two to think of her belonging to anyone else but me, especially to that man. What sort of a life will she have, Matthias? I’ve heard the Manor is not fit for pigs to live in. Then there is his drinking, his gambling, his women…’ A fierce look entered Clem’s sad eyes. ‘If Kerensa ever needs me, at least I won’t be far away.’

  Matthias had not missed that hard look. Very seriously he said, ‘Be careful, Clem. I know Sir Oliver better than you do. I’ve seen him drinking with my father on occasions as if there were no tomorrow. He’s not an easy man to cross. It takes a brave man, or a fool, to try.’

  ‘I don’t care about that, I don’t care what happens to me any more. I swear if he ever hurts Kerensa, I’ll… I’ll…’ Breaking off, Clem turned hurriedly to wipe away tears with the sleeve of his jacket before walking briskly on.

  Matthias caught up with him, wisely keeping his counsel until they had left Lancavel Downs where they petered out on to Ker-an-Mor farmland.

  As they closed in on the sturdy buildings of the farmyard, he said, ‘What are you going to do now, Clem?’

  Shrugging his shoulders, he answered miserably, ‘I don’t know. Go back to work, I suppose.’

  ‘If it’s any comfort to you, the picture painted of Sir Oliver is far blacker than it is true. The Manor house is an awful state, I grant you, but while its cleaning is badly neglected, the building itself is not in ill repair. And while Sir Oliver does drink and gamble, and has been involved with too many women of doubtful reputation, he’s far too intelligent to have let it get out of hand.’

  ‘What are you trying to tell me, Matthias?’ Clem blazed. ‘That Kerensa is going to marry a paragon of virtue!’

  ‘No, no, of course, not,’ said Matthias hastily, while visibly reeling from Clem’s unexpected outburst. ‘I was only trying to say—’

  ‘I’m going to lose the girl I love and who loves me and we can do nothing about it because of the power and position that bastard holds over us. Make up your mind! One minute you tell me to be careful, the next that I should not mind too much. Is that it? You all want me calmly to step aside and just let her go, don’t you? If you ever fall in love with a woman in the same way that I love Kerensa, Matthias Renfree,’ Clem spat out the words, ‘you’ll know what it feels like if some high and mighty bastard snatches her out from under your nose, and laughs at you into the bargain.’

  ‘Clem, look—’

  Turning abruptly on his heel, Clem stormed off.

  ‘Clem, wait, Clem!’ Matthias began to run after him but stopped after a few steps. If he judged correctly by the rage on Clem’s face, should he attempt to stop him, he might well be beaten to the ground, friend or not. Matthias was badly shaken. He had seen a lot of people made momentarily bitter while in distress, but never before had he encountered such a look of pure hatred.

  Chapter 5

  On her return from the Manor, Kerensa told the Reverend Ivey in a dull matter-of-fact voice what had been said between Sir Oliver and herself. Not wanting her to brood, the Reverend allowed Kerensa just one day of solitude to come to terms with the changes in her life. Feeling she would be better kept busily occupied, the next morning over breakfast he brought up the subject of the three female servants.

  Kerensa, pale and listless, showed no enthusiasm for the subject as she picked at the plate of food in front of her. A feeling of guilt still persistently gnawing its way through him, the Reverend pressed her for the names of the women she thought to be suitable. Two she had in mind were sisters of Matthew King and lived down in the fishing village with the rest of the over abundantly blessed King family. At the Reverend’s suggestion Kerensa agreed that their father be asked to call at the parsonage at his earliest convenience.

  Solomon King arrived later in the morning with his father, a sometimes genial, sometimes prickly old man, who was the official head of the family. They came dressed in their
Sunday best suits and sat awkwardly on the edge of their chairs, turning their caps round and round in rough brown hands.

  Heading the formal discussion, the Reverend explained to the two fishermen that their granddaughters and daughters respectively were being offered the positions of cook and housemaid, to start immediately, at Pengarron Manor. Kerensa listened quietly throughout, having very little to say. When the Reverend had finished, the Kings, father and son, respectfully entered into a brief discussion between themselves. They then agreed to the offer, grateful to have two of the superfluous unmarried females of the family off their hands. Privately they thought it a shame their womenfolk would come into contact with Sir Oliver but at least they could keep an eye of Christian concern on young Kerensa Trelynne.

  As Solomon and Grandfather King took their leave they shook hands with the Reverend and Kerensa, promising her, ‘We’ll pray mightily for thee, maid.’

  With the afternoon not yet far advanced Kerensa set off for the Manor with Ruth and Esther King. Bestowed with the advantageous height characteristic of their family, and seven and eight years respectively her senior, the sisters were considered to be suitable escorts for Kerensa. She preferred leading Meryn to riding him, walking along with the sisters who had to adjust their own long ungainly strides so she could keep up with them.

  Ruth and Esther King, with their heavy bone structure and mousey brown hair pushed in under tightly knotted scarves, were not at all attractive but, like all women who constantly handled fish, they had flawlessly clear skin. They had been toughened by a life of near poverty and arduous labour in the salting cellars. Kindly natured, they walked protectively along on either side of the girl they looked on as a ‘dear little maid’. Despite their strange situation the three fell into friendly conversation as they travelled.

  When they reached the Manor house, Jack once more appeared out of nowhere to lead Meryn away. Kerensa led the sisters round to the back of the building to enter by the kitchen door. Jack had shyly told her the Manor house was empty; Sir Oliver was away on Ker-an-Mor Farm and Beatrice sleeping off a bottle of cheap gin in one of the outhouses. Kerensa was relieved by this news. She had not relished the thought of another meeting with either of them so soon. She was pleased though to see Dunstan again as he limped his way from his basket by the kitchen fireside to greet her, but the old dog made it quite plain he wanted nothing to do with her companions.

  They found the kitchen and its ancillary rooms in an unsanitary state which brought about many exclamations of disgust from all three. Ruth vigorously banked up the fire that was threatening to breathe its last while Esther fetched water from the pump in the yard in the biggest receptacle with a handle she could find, a cross between a bucket and a jam-pan, putting it on the hook to boil for cleaning up some of the filthy mess.

  While they waited for the water to boil, Kerensa gingerly led the way through the other rooms of the huge house. Warily, they looked all around. The sound of their footsteps echoed behind them as if they were being followed by some of the long dead Pengarrons, curious as to who these strangers were and what they were doing there. Many of the rooms were locked, and apart from the study Kerensa had already visited and a small bedroom obviously used by Sir Oliver, those they could gain access to were layered in shrouds of dust and cobwebs, and deposited with mouse droppings.

  ‘Bless my soul!’ Esther kept exclaiming. ‘It will take months to clean up all this mess and have the house fit to live in. It’s a good job I won’t be needed to cook for a while yet.’

  ‘Do you think Sir Oliver ever comes into these rooms, Kerensa?’ asked Ruth.

  ‘I’ve really no idea,’ she replied. ‘For some reason he doesn’t seem to mind Beatrice’s laziness, and appears to be fond of her too.’ Kerensa ran a finger along the stair rail as they looked down over it to the great hall below, frowning as she held the finger up to study the dirt collected on it. ‘Beatrice herself is just as dirty as this,’ she said, ‘but it will be as well for us to be careful what we say to her. Sir Oliver told me she will always have a place here.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not bothered about her,’ laughed Ruth. ‘Likes her drink too much does that one. I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of her.’

  ‘That water must be good and hot by now,’ Esther put in. ‘Shall we go downstairs and make a start?’

  ‘You go ahead. I’ll be down in a moment. We could do with a dish of tea first, if you’d like to find the things to make one,’ Kerensa said, trying to sound natural.

  Esther and Ruth exchanged curious glances at this but did as they were asked and without question.

  Not really knowing why, Kerensa slowly walked back into Oliver’s room. Even though he was nowhere in the house she felt his dominating presence everywhere, especially in his study, and here where he slept. There was the subtle scent of expensive cologne, mingled with those of brandy and tobacco. She moved about the room, lightly touching some of his personal belongings with the feeling of being an intruder, nervously looking back at the doorway at regular intervals, fearful he would suddenly appear.

  His clothes were strewn about and Kerensa picked up the discarded garments one by one, smoothing out the creases and carefully placing them over the back of a chair. Untidiness fitted in well with his unpredictable character, as did the bottle of brandy and glass she discovered on the bedside table. The bed had been carelessly made and after straightening the covers, she traced a finger along the embroidered initial P that curled its way on the wide hem of the lace-edged sheet.

  She found nothing on his dressing table to give her even the smallest hint into the depths of this enigmatic man; there was only a hair brush, a clothes brush, and a pipe filled with unlit tobacco. Cautiously, Kerensa opened the door to a clothes closet, and with her fingertips touched the sleeve of a lavishly embroidered, sea blue dresscoat. She tried to picture what Sir Oliver would look like in such a garment. Most handsome, she decided reluctantly, and had a vision of him at a social function, never-empty glass in hand, talking wittily with the gentry, the ladies throwing themselves at his feet. Such an eligible unmarried man would be hotly sought after… what on earth would they think of his decision to shun their company and marry below him? A lady would surely not be content simply to have the Manor house cleaned through, to share Sir Oliver’s basic manner of living. Kerensa was thankful it would suit her.

  Deep in thought, she was startled when Ruth called up the stairs that the tea was brewed and ready to pour. With rapid guilty movements she removed her fingers from the dresscoat and shut the closet door.

  The room overlooked the stableyard and as she passed by the window Kerensa glimpsed Jack down below, grooming Meryn, his lips pursed as he whistled a favourite tune. The sight brought Kerensa back to reality. She left the bedroom and ran down the wide stairway, a faint smile on her face at last.

  * * *

  The following day Kerensa found Jack the most pleasant of company as they rode to Lancavel Downs. Jack himself was captivated by Kerensa’s gentle loveliness, and from a shy beginning, took delight in giving her simple instructions on how to ride Meryn more comfortably. She was pleased to take his kindly meant advice, and as they trotted along she listened with interest as he told her some of his past.

  He knew little of his own background; his first memories of his life were as an orphan among travellers who lived by criminal practices. Jack was taught to steal and this he had skilfully done. At the age of about eight, on a busy market day in Marazion, he had had the misfortune to try to steal the pocket watch of none other than Sir Oliver himself. Jack had received the severest thrashing of his life, but his fortunes had changed when Sir Oliver had offered him the job of stableboy, and with it the chance of a new start. It was obvious to Kerensa that Jack had left his previous way of life well behind him; it was also obvious that as well as being his benefactor, Sir Oliver was something of a hero to the boy.

  Again Kerensa found herself confused as she considered the contradictory things she�
��d heard about Oliver Pengarron’s fickle nature.

  ‘You like Sir Oliver, don’t you, Jack?’ she asked, wanting to learn more.

  ‘Aye, miss, I do that. Oh, he d’like for things to be done proper in the stables, and heaven help ’ee if they’m not, but he’s fair enough most of the time.’

  ‘You don’t find him a hard master, then?’

  Young though he was, Jack had the perception to realise something of what was going on inside her head. He looked at her evenly. ‘Folk d’tell tales about his lordship.’

  ‘Do they?’ Kerensa said, but she thought that even if Jack didn’t believe them, some of them must be true, there were so many.

  She talked of other things. Jack was greatly impressed when Kerensa mentioned she could read and write and his admiration was not lessened when she stressed that her skill stretched to no more than her own name and the most simple of words. By the time they reached Lancavel Downs, across potholed ground and muddy ditches, she had promised Jack she would show him what his name looked like when written down on paper.

  Leaving Meryn with Jack and Nessa, the old mare, Kerensa braced herself against the bitterly cold wind and enquired from Faith Bray as to the whereabouts of the cottage of Colly Pearce and his sister, Rosina. In place of the motherliness of old, Faith Bray’s manner was subservient to the point of bobbing a curtsey. Kerensa felt lonely and disappointed by Faith’s attitude as she left the Brays’ doorstep and hurried away to the Pearces’ cottage.

  Rosina Pearce was a lame girl of the same age as Kerensa. Frail and nymph-like, she was blessed with a pleasant disposition. She answered the door immediately to Kerensa’s knock, then grabbed Beelzebub by the scruff of his neck as he lunged viciously at her visitor. With surprising strength for one so small, Rosina pushed the snarling mongrel back into the cottage, slamming the door shut behind her. She stood outside with Kerensa, the dog yapping and scratching at the door to get out.