Porthellis
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
The Roscarrock Sagas
Copyright
Porthellis
Gloria Cook
This book is dedicated to the memory of my very dear mum, Betty Eley, whose love and constant encouragement in my writing I shall sadly miss.
And to welcome my grandson Daniel John Webb.
Chapter 1
‘For goodness’ sake, Matt, don’t look so miserable,’ Hannah Penney chided her husband. They had just arrived at the large, mid-eighteenth-century clifftop house of Roscarrock. ‘It’s a wedding reception we’re going to, not a funeral.’
‘But we went to the reception your parents held for Leah at their cottage, Hannah,’ Matt sighed, as wearily as if he’d come home after a hard night’s fishing. He leaned over the pram of their sleeping ten-month-old son and fussed with his covers. ‘I don’t see why we have to be dragged along here as well just because the high and mighty Opies are insisting they have drinks and cake too. And I don’t see why—’
‘Oh, stop complaining,’ Hannah said, vexed. Matt’s dark features had scowled all the way along the two miles of narrow, twisting lanes from Porthellis, the fishing village where they lived and where the wedding of Hannah’s younger sister and Greg Opie had been held. She pulled the covers from his hands. ‘Nathan’s warm and comfortable. Stop trying to delay us going in. We’re late as it is with him demanding a feed.’
Stuffing his hands into the trouser pockets of his smart navy-blue suit, Matt gazed wistfully back down the long winding drive. ‘I was going to put in an hour on the allotment and then I wanted to be alone with you and Nathan. I don’t get much free time and I’m not happy to be spending it at this sort of thing.’
Hannah ignored him. She loved Roscarrock; it exuded warmth and friendliness. Its tall windows overlooked the mild south Cornish coast, its wisteria-clad walls were framed at the back and sides by cedar, sycamore, ash and oak trees, and a small wood sheltered it from the elements near the cliff edge. Spring flowers and white ribbon adorned the railings of the six wide stone steps that led up to the imposing house.
Putting a hand on her waist, Matt looked into her deep blue eyes. ‘We don’t have to stay long, do we, darling? I’ve never felt comfortable under this roof.’ A grand building in magnificent grounds it might be, but Matt couldn’t forget that if its owner had got her way, he and Hannah would never have married. ‘Our mothers are in there with your Aunty Janet. There’ll be the usual rush with Feena Opie to cluck over Nathan. It’s not good for him and it drives me mad.’
Hannah looked down at her son’s peaceful face and frowned; she, too, didn’t like Nathan being fawned over by the four women who vied to give him the most attention and win his delighted chuckles. She stroked Matt’s arm ‘We’ll take him inside in the pram and hope he’ll stay asleep. I expect Patrick will be eager to get away as soon as the speeches are over. He’ll probably suggest you a look around the gardens with him. I’ll come and get you when I’m ready to leave.’
Matt put his other hand on her waist and gently pulled her close to him, his wide, sensuous mouth easing into a smile. Hannah responded warmly as he kissed her.
At the drawing room window, Adela Skewes, the Methodist minister’s wife, was admiring the wonderful sweep of daffodils round the giant oak tree on the lawn when she spotted the embracing couple. She turned to Feena Opie, the dignified lady who owned Roscarrock, and fluted sentimentally, ‘Anyone would think they were the newlyweds.’
‘Well, Hannah and Matt are very much in love,’ Prim Spargo cut in, to Feena Opie’s annoyance; the two women despised each other. Prim darted off to the door to ensure she was the first to greet Nathan.
‘Hannah is an exceptionally lovely young woman,’ Feena said loftily to Mrs Skewes, her eyes on the blonde, shapely young mother who bore a slight resemblance to herself in her younger days. ‘She’s gifted and intelligent, and she proved to be an excellent housekeeper.’ Hannah was helping Matt carry the pram up the steps and Feena signalled to Patrick Opie, her penniless, rather eccentric great-nephew, to go to their aid.
‘You must regret losing her to Matt,’ Mrs Skewes commented thoughtfully, giving an ingratiating smile. She was eager to get on convivial terms with Mrs Opie, even though Mrs Opie attended church and had scathingly voiced her disapproval of her grandson’s wedding taking place in the Wesleyan chapel of the fishing village below her property. Roscarrock was the biggest house in the locality and the Opies were well-connected. They had had little contact with Porthellis over the years and only Hannah, Matt and a few of her family had set foot inside it in recent times. Mrs Skewes hoped this event would encourage the Opies to widen their circle of friends.
‘Love and romance must have its way,’ Feena said with a forced smile. She excused herself from the minister’s wife, hoping the woman had missed the sour note in the statement. Matt had taken Hannah away from her and he made no secret of the fact that he did not welcome her interest in his wife.
Feena bitterly resented Matt’s interference. Hannah was her natural daughter, born out of an affair she had had with Jeff Spargo many years ago. The affair had turned bitter and Feena had tried to destroy Jeff’s marriage by informing his wife Prim of Hannah’s birth. She did not succeed. Instead, Prim had offered to bring up the unwanted child herself. Her marriage to the womanising Jeff had never been easy, and deteriorated further when she began to use Hannah to remind him of his sins until Jeff could no longer bear the sight of his illegitimate daughter. He blamed Hannah for a tragic boating accident in which her little brother had drowned and threw her out of the house. Hannah was ten years old at the time, and Prim’s older sister Janet Rouse had taken her in. Two years ago Feena Opie had belatedly decided to take an interest in Hannah, primarily because her legitimate daughter had died, and she had employed Hannah as her housekeeper. The two women had grown very close, until Hannah had fallen in love with Matt and had subsequently learned the circumstances of her birth.
Feena slowly made her way to the hallway, walking with the aid of a gold-topped cane. She suffered from arthritis in her left hip which had been broken during a burglary at the house eighteen months ago, and she often used a wheelchair to get about. As she entered the hall, she saw that Prim Spargo, Janet Rouse and Matt’s mother Mrs Penney were already stationed around Nathan’s pram.
‘Is he warm enough?’ Janet put her handbag down on a marble-topped side table and felt the baby’s forehead. ‘I know ’tis spring but there’s a cold wind today.’
Before a discussion could begin, in which the four ‘grandmothers’ were apt to compete with each other over who knew more about babies and childhood than her rivals, Matt spoke up briskly. ‘I’ll wheel him into the dining room where he can sleep in peace. Perhaps Mr Patrick would like to keep me company.’
Only Hannah’s expression was warm as she smiled at him. Patrick Opie was the first of the three Opies living at Roscarrock she had met. A close bond had formed between her and the shy widower who had turned out to be her cousin. ‘Thank you, Mr Patrick,’ she said, using the term she retained when they were in company, for her relationship with the Opies was still a secret to all but a few people.
As the men withdrew with the pram, Mrs Penney politely excused herself and returned to the drawing room to mingle with the small number of guests. Hannah was immediately set upon by the three remaining women. When Nathan wasn’t there she was next in line for their suffocating attention. It sometimes made life difficult but because of the circumstances of her birth and upbringing Hannah understood their motives.
The shock of discovering that Feena Opie was her real mother had turned her world upside down. Pampered more as a companion to the reclusive lady of Roscarrock than as a servant, Hannah had grown to love her new life as a housekeeper here, believing that Mrs Opie valued her company and services for their own sake. She had found it hard to forgive the web of lies and deceit that for so long had blighted her childhood and early adulthood, but the unlikely intervention of her father had finally brought her round. Jeff, Prim and Feena had all lived to regret their actions and Hannah had not wanted anything to spoil her future with Matt and their son, with whom she was already pregnant. She sometimes reflected on the irony that after such an unsettled childhood she now had three ‘mothers’.
Hannah accepted the women’s compliments on how lovely she looked in her new wide-brimmed hat and coral-pink and white linen dress. Her leather clutch bag, neat white gloves, almond-toed high heels and the jewelled stick-pin brooch Matt had given her enhanced her tall figure and proud bearing, giving her the air of a woman born and bred in these surroundings. Indeed, during her time at Roscarrock she had acquired a confidence that occasionally bordered on superiority, an addition to her open, honest character that Matt did not much like.
‘I made the dress and I know what suits her best.’ Janet pursed her lips and rubbed her horn-rimmed glasses on a handkerchief in her no-nonsense fashion. Hannah braced herself; Aunty Janet could be bluntly outspoken and was more inclined to upset Prim than Feena Opie whom the two fishermen’s wives rarely saw.
Prim had at first refused to attend this second wedding reception; the only other time she had stepped over Roscarrock’s threshold was the day she had carried Hannah out of it. But at the moment the fact that her decision to come after all obviously did not suit Feena Opie pleased her too much for her to take offence at her sister’s continuing claims on Hannah.
‘You look like a bride yourself, Hannah, my dear, but then you do have natural style,’ Feena slid in triumphantly, looking disdainfully at Prim’s plump figure which was stuffed into a two-piece rayon suit. The suit was new, made by Janet who was an expert seamstress, but its beige colour dulled Prim’s sallow complexion and made her pale blue eyes look watery. Her small-crowned hat was like a saucer on her flat greying hair. Feena acknowledged that she herself was no glowing beauty; she was tall, slender and poised, and wore her chic London fashions with sophisticated flair – ‘dressed to death and killed with fashion’ was Prim’s comment to Janet in the chapel – but her face had given way to gravity, wrinkles and puffiness. Jeff Spargo’s good looks may have encouraged him to be a callous womaniser, she reflected, but it was no wonder he sought his pleasures elsewhere when he had such a frumpy wife at home.
Prim asked where the toilet was. Feena stopped a maid carrying a tray of hors d’oeuvres and ordered her to show the bride’s mother where she could freshen up. Suspicious of her sister’s intentions, Janet said she must powder her nose too. Feena invited Hannah into the drawing room.
‘You are coming to visit me on Wednesday afternoon as usual, aren’t you, dear? And bring Nathan with you,’ Feena said smoothly while beaming a cultivated smile round the room.
The question was something of a demand; Feena liked to have her own way. ‘Yes, of course,’ Hannah replied, taking a glass of champagne offered by a bright-faced maid; despite her Methodism, she was allowing herself one drink today.
Hannah allowed Feena to monopolize her for a full quarter of an hour then extricated herself to make her way to Leah; it was the bride who should be receiving all the attention today.
While Hannah had worked at Roscarrock, Leah, scarred on the face in the boating tragedy, had painfully emerged from the shell she’d crept into and had taken a job here too. Childlike and innocent, she had met Feena’s grandson, the playwright and novelist Greg Opie, and the two had formed an unlikely match. The relationship was generally disapproved of owing to the difference in their ages and class but now, fifteen months later, Jeff and Prim had reluctantly signed the consent form so the couple could marry. There had been many arguments over the arrangements for the wedding; it was the peace-loving Patrick Opie who had suggested they hold a reception in both houses.
Leah and Greg were standing in front of the marble fireplace, Leah looking happy but nervous, and breathtakingly lovely in her wedding gown. She was eighteen years old and looked disturbingly like a child. She wore her long, black hair down about her slight shoulders, in the hope that the glossy tresses and her veil would help conceal the scar on her right cheek. Greg was nearly ten years older, an academic who was as reclusive as the other two Opies. A fair-haired man with sharp grey eyes, he was inclined to be pompous and rude to all outside the family. He had adored Leah from the moment he’d set eyes on her and he clung to her possessively.
Hannah kissed and hugged Leah. She had a good relationship with the bridegroom who, strangely to her, was her nephew, but her secret forbade any show of affection to him. ‘Congratulations,’ she said warmly to them both.
Hannah had helped Leah into her wedding dress in their parents’ cottage and it had taken a lot of encouragement to reassure her she was the traditional beautiful bride, reminding her that her scar was now no more than a thin white line.
‘At least you’ve got the right to get married in white,’ Hannah had joked while fastening the row of tiny buttons on the white crepe de Chine couture creation Greg had insisted Leah should have. ‘As Matt and I jumped the gun I wore pale blue, remember?’
‘I wish I wasn’t a virgin,’ Leah had wailed. ‘I wish I had given myself already like you did then I wouldn’t be terrified of what is going to happen tonight.’
‘Leah!’ Hannah was slightly shocked. ‘It’s never a good idea to do what Matt and I did. It nearly brought disaster on us.’
Another man in her life, one she had trusted from childhood but who had turned out to be as calculating as Feena Opie in keeping her and Matt apart, had insisted she marry him. Daniel Kittow had lost his reason when he’d realised she was expecting Matt’s baby and had very nearly raped her. The memories of the happiness she could have lost made her shudder.
She held Leah’s hands and smiled into her pale, worried face. ‘You’ll be fine, just leave it all to Greg. He loves you, I’m sure he’ll be understanding. It’s a wonderful experience every time with the man you love, I promise you.’
‘I wouldn’t mind so much if we were spending the night somewhere else and not at Roscarrock,’ Leah whispered nervously, and Hannah wondered again if her sister was mature enough to get married. Leah was fascinated with Roscarrock but she did not want to live in it while Feena Opie, who could be very forceful, was its mistress. Greg’s chosen lifestyle meant she would
meet few of his friends and acquaintances.
Hannah surveyed the plushly furnished drawing room. ‘Well, Sarah, Naomi and Lizzie seem to be enjoying themselves,’ she remarked gaily. Sarah and Naomi were their older sisters and Lizzie was their cousin, all taking a well-deserved break from husbands, motherhood and household duties for the afternoon and enjoying a look inside the big house. They were sitting on a sofa, sipping champagne and nibbling tiny smoked salmon sandwiches. With them was another cousin, Jowan Rouse, Janet’s fisherman son, another individual who had been keen to see inside the house but was now trailing his youthful eyes over Lily, the chirpy, freckle-faced under-housemaid who had taken Leah’s place when she and Greg became engaged.
‘Your sisters and cousins must come here any time they like, darling,’ Greg said. He was anxious that Leah should feel totally at home at Roscarrock; he was only too well aware how shy she was of strangers.
Hannah glanced across the room and was surprised to see Mrs Opie talking to her father. It was obviously out of social politeness as they were not paying the courtesy of looking one another in the eye. Their loathing of each other was apparent and Hannah felt a queer lurch in her heart to think that if not for the union of these two people, who were worlds apart, she would not be standing here now.
Mrs Skewes approached the bridal couple with a smartly dressed woman Hannah had not seen before. Leah stiffened nervously; she did not know the woman either.
‘Allow me to introduce you to my niece, Miss Grace Treloar,’ Adela Skewes resonated first at Greg. ‘She’s staying at the Manse for a few weeks. She sat in the chapel to watch the wedding and when I introduced her to Mrs Opie in the forecourt, she graciously invited Grace to attend the reception here.’
‘Pleased to meet you, Miss Treloar,’ Greg replied gallantly. He didn’t seek new friends and was not the slightest bit interested in the newcomer. His best man was signalling to him and he excused himself and Leah, leaving Hannah with the two women.
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