Pengarron Land

by Pengarron Land (retail) (epub)

  The words were out before she knew it. ‘I’m sorry, Clem,’ she cried, trying desperately to grab hold of him, but he roughly fought her off. ‘I’m sorry!’

  The look in his eyes silenced her and she put a hand over her open mouth. She had spoken too close to the truth.

  Very slowly and quietly, he said, ‘I hate you.’ He turned sharply and stormed out of the room, making the door rock violently on its hinges.

  Alice stayed still, huddled in a corner of the narrow bed, until Gran Donald came into her. She was staring into space and shivering with the shock of the brutal row. The old woman pulled her shawl round her shoulders.

  ‘Get yourself under the covers, m’dear,’ she said kindly, sweeping back the sheet and patchwork coverlet. ‘I’ll get you a blanket from the linen chest, you’re quite frozen.’

  Alice obeyed mechanically. She lay down and let Gran Donald place the covers over her and tuck them in at the sides of the bed. How could this have happened? How could a day she had enjoyed so much come to such a terrible end? She blamed herself for her stupidity in telling Clem where she had gone. She should have realised he would be angry with her for going to Peter Blake’s rooms.

  If only she had not said all those things to him. Not hit on the truth of his innermost dark brooding feelings and tapped the wound, ripped it open. To allow the poison to burst to the surface, to be expelled with such a dangerous awesome force, and engulf them both.

  It hurt so much, it cut painfully and deeply inside her, to know he loved Kerensa so overwhelmingly – to the point that even talking of a man who had once harmed her could scour his soul and turn all of his deep-rooted bitterness on his own wife.

  Damn you, Kerensa Pengarron! You’ve got a husband who has grown to love you, and you don’t even realise it! You live up in that big house and hold Clem, who should belong to me, by invisible strings. Let him go, why don’t you let him go? Alice’s distress was so great she could not hear Gran Donald speaking to her.

  ‘Would you like me to get you a hot drink, Alice? It’ll warm ’ee up.’

  She clumsily pulled herself into a sitting position. ‘Where’s Clem gone?’ she said hazily, her lower lip trembling as she spoke.

  ‘He went out, maid. I believe he’s found a litter of kittens for ’ee. Gone to check on ’em, I ’spect. You’ll be able to pick one out for yourself soon.’

  ‘He won’t come back.’ Alice began to cry, her whole body shaking.

  Gran Donald put her arms round the girl and rocked her ample body. ‘Now don’t you take on so, m’dear. There’s no need to upset yourself like this. All married folk do have a quarrel sometime or other.’

  ‘Not like this, Gran,’ Alice sobbed wretchedly. ‘I never really had Clem. Now I never will.’

  Chapter 26

  After the long hot summer the weather deteriorated with frightening speed and intensity. Angry black clouds marred the sky, as black as night, the long-awaited rain refilling the empty river beds and streams to overflowing, and deluging cart tracks, lanes and the pot-holed roads until they were impassable. Winds roared like a pride of hungry lions seeking to devour all in their path. The rich stayed warm and comfortable in front of constantly replenished fires while the poor shivered and froze in damp and draughty cottages and mean hovels.

  In the inhospitable early hours of one morning at the close of October, the three-masted sailing vessel, Amy Christabel was driven by hurricane winds like a helpless lump of driftwood on to the treacherous black granite at the foot of Pengarron Point. The tempest took only twenty-three minutes to wrench the ship asunder from bow to stern and claim a watery death for all its passengers, crew and livestock. Bodies, wreckage and cargo were strewn outwards to be swept east along the coastline to the sheer inaccessible cliffs below Painted Bessie’s kiddley, and in the opposite direction to Trelynne Cove and beyond.

  Anxious to avoid fighting and bloodshed on his property in an unstoppable, crazed, scramble to salvage the wreckage, Oliver gave permission for the inhabitants of the parish of Perranbarvah to comb the beaches, rocks, inlets and coves of Pengarron land, from dawn to dusk for a week. He gave a stern warning that any man, woman or child caught in the act of stealing flotsam from another, or of using violence to that end, would be brought before the magistrates and on his recommendation severely dealt with. People knew Sir Oliver would not make such a threat lightly. He was held in awe by those who knew him, or of him, and fear of his temper and personal retribution was enough to ensure that most kept themselves in line.

  While the elements of nature had been unmerciful to the seafarers of the Amy Christabel, they favoured the beachcombers and plunderers. Washed ashore with each succeeding tide was timber, strips of canvas sail, bales of silk, trunks of clothing, containers of coffee, tea and spices, and ship’s articles; lanterns, lengths of rope, carpenter’s tools and water barrels, and the carcasses of fowls and animals. The bodies of mariners and wealthy passengers that floated inshore were swiftly robbed of all they had with them at point of death; jewellery, false teeth, wigs and shoes that had not floated off, and every item of clothing.

  Oliver, Nathan and Jack made regular patrols of the clifftop and beaches, keeping a wary eye open for serious outbreaks of trouble. But even with the infiltration of outsiders from the parish in the scramble for the sacrifice thrown up from the sea, nothing more than minor skirmishes and the odd outburst of violent quarrelling disturbed the peace of the coastline when the winds dropped away.

  The rain too eased off by the third day after the wrecking. Strong and healthy again, Kerensa had Jack saddle Kernick, and, warmly dressed to ward off the cold, joined Oliver on his ride along the coastline. By the time they had made their way down into Trelynne Cove the exercise after her enforced recuperation had left her feeling wonderfully light-hearted, her whole body invigorated, her mind clear and alert. The bracing cold air had touched a rosy glow to her cheeks, the scenic coastal beauty an added sparkle to the eyes.

  For Kerensa it was the first time in the cove since her discovering her grandfather’s body and it was a shock to see only an empty space where the cottage she had been born and brought up in had stood. The storm had removed all traces of the small garden she had carefully tended. She paced out its boundaries by memory as Oliver gazed up and down the length of the shingle beach.

  ‘There were hundreds of people scavenging here only yesterday,’ he called to her. ‘Of the greedier variety, I suspect. Today, I can see only about thirty or forty.’

  ‘Where do you think they have all gone?’ Kerensa said, coming over to his side and looking down on the people dotted along the shoreline with handcarts, barrows and mules to take home their rewards.

  ‘They must have heard wind of a rumour of better pickings elsewhere,’ he said, ‘probably think there’s naught left but firewood to be washed ashore here now.’

  ‘You can’t tell anything for sure,’ Kerensa said knowledgeably, ‘Grandfather used to find many interesting things which he sold, years after any particular wreck.’

  ‘Well, they have only one week on my property,’ Oliver said drily, ‘so they’re obviously having a good look everywhere they can.’

  They walked down the path that had once led from the cottage door and on to the crunch of the shingle. Kerensa bent down to pick up a handful of the smooth cold pebbles and realised with a small pang how much she had missed her old life.

  ‘Looks like you have a visitor, my dear,’ Oliver told her.

  She straightened up to see a small girl with fair hair tearing across the shingle towards them and was delighted to see who it was.

  ‘Rosie! It’s wonderful to see you again.’ The girl stopped in front of her, panting to get her breath back. ‘Have you found anything interesting on the beach?’

  Not sure of the correct term to be used now when addressing Kerensa, Rosie did not use any name or title. ‘I got this,’ she said, holding out her hand to show the oval shaped locket she was clutching. ‘Lovely, isn’t it?’
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  ‘It’s very lovely,’ Kerensa agreed.

  ‘May I see it?’ Oliver said, stretching out his hand.

  Rosie closed her hand into a fist over the locket and glared up at the man who had caused her beloved elder brother so much heartbreak. Oliver put his hands on his hips and met her glare full on, and her expression changed to remind him of Clem in one of his sulky moods.

  ‘I will not keep your locket for long, Miss Trenchard,’ he said, amusement playing around his dark eyes. ‘I may be able to tell you something of its value, that is all.’

  Like all females encountering Sir Oliver Pengarron for the first time Rosie did not know what to make of him, especially with him calling her Miss Trenchard; no one had ever done that before. Her head came no higher than a point in the middle of his waist and shoulder and he seemed to tower over her like a giant. But the face that came closer to hers when he bent forward wore the handsomest of smiles and somehow he did not appear quite the demon she thought of him in her moments of fancy.

  After a moment’s pained thought she curtsied low, holding the corners of her skirt, to the baronet, but it was to Kerensa she handed her precious locket. Kerensa passed it to Oliver who moved away a short distance and held it up high to study it in a better light.

  ‘You’re not here by yourself, are you, Rosie?’ Kerensa said, taking the little girl’s cold hand.

  ‘No, I come over with Father, Gran, and Clem and Alice. Did you know Alice is going to have a baby?’

  ‘Yes, I did know. It will be nice for the whole family.’ Kerensa was surprised to hear Alice was here in Trelynne Cove, with her pregnancy so well advanced, and because she had not been over to the Manor for several weeks.

  ‘If it’s a little maid,’ Rosie said excitedly, ‘Alice said she hopes it’s like me, with lots of straight yellow hair, she hates her curls.’

  ‘Well, the baby might have a few curls,’ Kerensa smiled, craning her neck to see if she could locate Alice. ‘And I think Alice’s curls are beautiful.’

  ‘So does everyone, but her. She’s nice, is Alice. Got a cuddly sort of laugh and she made me a lovely dress for my birthday. First new one I’ve ever had. I really wanted Clem to marry you, but seeing as he couldn’t cus you went off and had to marry Sir Oliver back there, I’m glad he chose Alice instead.’ Rosie chatted away happily with the frankness of her youth, quite unaware of Kerensa’s amazed look at her. ‘She loves Clem, I heard her say so. Pity he don’t love her.’

  Kerensa threw a glance at her husband but he was absorbed with Rosie’s locket. ‘Why do you say that, Rosie? That Clem doesn’t love Alice?’ she probed gently.

  ‘They fall out a lot these days. Ask Gran down there. Clem shouted at Alice proper awful once. It was horrible. I put my hands over my ears. He never used to shout, never used to be so blamed miserable.’

  ‘Do you know why he shouted?’

  ‘Dunno. He musta bin sorry for it though. He got her a kitten the next day, for Alice to try ’n’ tame. She loves that kitten, spends nearly all her time in the lean-to with it now.’ Rosie looked up suddenly. ‘What does a-shamed mean?’

  ‘Ashamed?’ Kerensa’s concern was rapidly increasing. ‘It’s how you should feel when you’ve done something bad and are sorry for it.’

  ‘Then Clem musta done something bad,’ the little girl said, drawing in her fair features tipped with a red button nose, ‘cus Mother said to Gran, that he should be ashamed of himself.’

  Kerensa felt it was time to steer the conversation away from Clem’s and Alice’s unhappy marriage. ‘I can see your father and gran with Clem down on the shoreline, but where’s Alice? Come to that, where’s Charity?’

  ‘Alice is sitting in the lee of they rocks over to Mother Clarry’s, and Charity was up the other end just now with Bartholomew. He’s chucking sticks for her.’

  ‘Bartholomew Drannock?’ asked Kerensa slowly.

  ‘Yeh, that’s him, horrid boy. He tried to kiss me just now, ugh.’ Rosie suddenly pulled her hand away from Kerensa’s and went over to Oliver. ‘Can I have my locket back now? Please Sir,’ she added hastily, remembering her manners.

  Holding the locket over Rosie’s open palm Oliver carefully let it drop into her cold-reddened hand.

  ‘Is it val… val… is it a good one, Sir?’ she asked hopefully.

  ‘It’s solid gold, little one,’ Oliver was pleased to tell her, ‘and may have belonged to a girl of your own age if the pictures inside are anything to be judged by. The small sparkling stone in the centre on the outside is a diamond.’

  ‘A real one?’ Rosie breathed.

  ‘Indeed a real one. Keep it safe and it may serve you well in the future.’

  ‘I must go tell Clem. It was him who found it for me,’ said Rosie, racing off excitedly. ‘Thank ’ee, Sir. Thank ’ee,’ she called over her shoulder.

  ‘The child has a lot more charm than her brother,’ Oliver remarked. ‘I wonder if he’s searching for a trinket for Alice. I overheard the child say she was here.’

  ‘You heard the rest too, then,’ Kerensa said, with a sigh. ‘Alice hasn’t been to see me for a long time even though I sent Jack over with the trap, and when I enquired about it I was told she wasn’t up to travelling. I can’t think what she’s doing here in her condition.’

  ‘Poor Alice,’ Oliver said with feeling. ‘The girl deserves better than that moody Trenchard fellow. I find it difficult to understand what you saw in him that made you want to marry him.’

  Kerensa knew a side to Clem that Oliver could never know. A young man, loving, tender and good-humoured, with plans, hopes and dreams… so he had been once. She said nothing, but watched as he turned to look in their direction after Rosie ran up and spoke to him. He did not wave. Turning back, he waded into the rushing grey sea.

  Oliver had watched Kerensa for a reaction when he had made his detrimental remarks about Clem. Her face looked sad if anything, and he felt satisfied at Clem’s rebuffal of her; if Trenchard kept up that behaviour, on the odd occasion their paths crossed, his own sulky disposition might just kill off any longing she still had for him.

  ‘I’ll scout around,’ Oliver said, touching her shoulder. ‘What will you do, my dear? Find Alice?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kerensa replied quietly, ‘perhaps I will be able to cheer her.’

  ‘I’ll come and find you presently,’ he said, striding away over the shingle to talk first to Morley Trenchard.

  Kerensa moved in the opposite direction, holding up her skirts as she picked her way over the wet pebbles, calling hello to the people scavenging for anything that might add to their comfort for the winter. She threw back her head to enjoy the old familiar sounds: the rise and fall of frothy white foam over the coarse sand inches away from her feet, the light stinging wind in her ears, the shrieks of the outraged gulls disturbed in their isolation, and the tangy smell of salt and seaweed.

  A dog came bounding past on its way to retrieve a stick that whistled past her ear, almost dislodging her hat.

  ‘Charity!’ she called out. ‘Here, girl!’

  The dog promptly forgot the stick at her command and came bounding back, excitedly jumping up, with wet paws all over her dress and cloak.

  ‘So you do remember me, Charity?’ Kerensa laughed, smoothing her hand over the young bitch’s broad back. ‘Is your paw better now?’

  ‘Come on, Charity, get yerself here,’ a young voice said crossly from behind her.

  Kerensa turned to face Bartholomew Drannock. He stood feet astride, hands on hips, in much the same way as Oliver, and even for one so young he had a confident air about him as he looked her up and down. With his black hair and dark eyes it seemed incredible that the boy’s resemblance to the Pengarrons had gone unnoticed, and rumours not spread about the identity of his father despite Oliver’s absence from Cornwall at the time of his conception and infancy.

  ‘I’m sorry to see your manners have not improved, Bartholomew,’ she said, drily.

  ‘Can’t see no
use fer ’em,’ the boy retorted. ‘You look pretty,’ he added, moving closer to her in a most deliberate manner.

  Kerensa refused to be shocked by the young rascal and ignored his precocious remark. ‘How’s your mother, Bartholomew? And little Jack, baby Cordelia, and the rest of your family?’

  ‘What d’ya want to know about they for?’ he said, cocking his head to one side. ‘You’ll find me much more interesting.’

  Picking up a piece of driftwood Kerensa threw it back along the beach for Charity. She watched the bitch race off and turned back to the boy. With a sweetly superior voice, she said, ‘As you are incapable of holding a sensible conversation, young man, I’ll bid you a good afternoon.’ And she walked on to resume her search for Alice.

  ‘You walk pretty too!’ Bartholomew shouted after her before running after Charity.

  Kerensa shook her head but couldn’t help smiling to herself. The boy was unmistakably of Pengarron stock.

  * * *

  Sitting in the shelter of the cliff, Alice saw Kerensa approaching. She sighed heavily, and with a great effort got to her feet. Kerensa waved the instant she saw Alice and hurried to meet her friend.

  ‘Hello,’ she said brightly, ‘I was surprised when Rosie told me you were here.’

  ‘Hello, Kerensa.’ Alice sounded cold and unfriendly.

  ‘Would you rather be alone?’ she said uncertainly. ‘I can go and find Oliver.’

  ‘No, it’s all right. It’s just that I shouldn’t have insisted on coming here,’ Alice said miserably. ‘Clem’s cross now because I complained of the cold and asked to be taken home.’

  ‘Here, take my cloak,’ Kerensa said sympathetically, reaching to untie the ribbons.

  ‘No!’ snapped Alice. ‘No, I’m all right, really. There’s no need to fuss. You mustn’t get cold on account of me.’