‘Miss Tremayne, it’s always a pleasure to see a member of your illustrious family.’
‘Why, thank you, Sir,’ Skye said, taken aback by his educated voice and manner.
‘My predecessor had family connections with them, of course, and your cousin Jordan is well thought of in our northern affiliate. Please come into my office, and I hope you’ll take some tea with me?’
‘Thank you, yes,’ she said, warming to him.
‘So what can I do for you?’ he asked.
She gave a small laugh. ‘I don’t really know that you can do anything. I’m staying with my grandmother and visiting my relatives, and since I do freelance work for a magazine in New Jersey, I wondered if you could show me any old issues to throw some light on the area, and my family in particular. American readers are intensely interested in anything from this side of the Atlantic. If you could loan me any issues, I’d be enormously grateful, and take great care of them.’
Lord knew why she was gabbling, or suddenly so nervous. She wasn’t asking for the earth, even though it had been a spontaneous request. But she couldn’t think why she hadn’t thought of it before.
‘I’ll be glad to help you in any way I can,’ he said. ‘When you’ve finishd your tea, we’ll go into the basement and go through the archives.’
‘I don’t want to take up too much of your time—’
‘Nonsense. My time is at your disposal, Miss Tremayne.’
She couldn’t be unaware of his admiring look. She knew she presented a trim figure in her pale cream suit, the skirt just flared enough to allow for easy cycling, and her long hair kept reasonably tidy beneath the flowered hat. She hadn’t missed the pressure of his fingers when he’d taken her gloved hand in his, and she had enough vanity to feel a glow of pleasure at his interest. Even if he didn’t interest her in any special way, it did a lot for her woman’s self-esteem to know that she was admired.
They spent more than an hour in the basement studying the archive newspaper issues, and by the time they emerged upstairs again, decidedly hotter from the enclosed atmosphere, Skye had a bundle of them to take away with her.
‘It was stifling down there,’ she commented. ‘But thank you for being so patient. I know how busy you people are.’
‘Will you have lunch with me?’ he said abruptly. ‘A new riverside inn has just opened that’s proving very popular. I would deem it a great honour, Miss Tremayne.’
Skye had other places to go. She had intended calling in on Albie and Rose, she should go back to New World and study the archives and see what she could glean about this clayworking world, and she should say no to an invitation from a man she had only just met.
‘That would be lovely. And won’t you call me Skye?’
‘I will if you’ll call me David. Is it a bargain?’
They cut across the formalities as easily as cutting through butter. It had been this way with Philip, thought Skye, but Philip had never been free, and she forced her resentment of his deceit to overcome all other feelings. It was safer that way, knowing nothing could come of their attachment. But here was David Kingsley, who was a pleasant young man with whom to spend an hour or so, and who shared the world that she knew. And that was all she asked of him.
‘My cousin told me about the tragic events in Sarejevo. Do you think there will be a war?’ she asked him directly, when they had been served with enormous servings of meat pie and peas.
‘Undoubtedly,’ he replied, to her consternation.
‘Oh, I had hoped you were going to scoff at the idea. Do you have any inside information?’
He grinned. ‘It’s easy to see your journalistic background, Skye, and good to talk with an intelligent woman who doesn’t have her head in the clouds and think only of marriage and babies.’
‘I’m not sure that makes me sound very feminine!’
‘Then forgive my impertinence when I assure you there could never be any doubt about that.’
But she wasn’t a journalist for nothing, and she knew well enough that he hadn’t answered her question. She also knew enough to hold on to it.
‘So what do you know that the rest of us don’t?’
David shrugged. ‘Nothing specific. But it’s well known that Germany has a huge, well-trained army, ready to move at one word of command from the Kaiser. They’ve been restless for years, and once they assert their power over neighbouring countries, we’ll have no option but to declare war.’
‘Why is that?’ she said, trying not to become unduly alarmed at his earnestness.
‘Because under the Treaty of 1839, Britain had promised to protect Belgium from her foes. If German troops march into Belgium, as the most likely and least-defended target,’ he shrugged again, while Skye’s nerves tingled.
‘Can we please talk about something else?’ she said swiftly, knowing she had been the one to provoke this change of attitude in him, but wanting to get away from it now.
‘Of course,’ he said, leaning across the table to squeeze her hand for a moment. ‘And I believe someone is watching you very closely. Is it someone you know?’
* * *
It had to have been fate that made Philip Norwood escort his fiancée and her aunt to this very inn, he decided. It was new, and had been highly recommended, and it was full of people enjoying the sunshine. His brief introduction to the summer college term was over, and Ruth had insisted that it was far too hot to stay indoors.
But the unexpected sight of Skye, listening so intently as she looked into the eyes of a very personable young man, twisted his heart. And when the man reached across to touch her hand and she seemed to make no objection, he could hardly bear to sit here a moment longer.
‘Shall we go, ladies?’ he said abruptly. ‘If you’ve both finished your meal, I have to return to my rooms to begin writing my next term’s project for the students.’
He invented the need for work on the spur of the moment. And if he was unnecessarily curt, the unworthy thought flashed into his head that at least Ruth couldn’t hear it. He knew her aunt would be only too pleased to be indoors and away from the river smells. But Ruth’s gaze had followed his own, and seen the flowered hat atop the long black hair and the slender figure of Miss Skye Tremayne.
She might be deaf, but she wasn’t stupid. Any normal acquaintance of the young lady would have wanted to stop and say hello, and to thank her for last night’s party.
The fact that Philip preferred to hustle them all away spoke far more to Ruth than any words could have done. And it needed serious thinking about.
Chapter Eight
For the next couple of weeks, Skye immersed herself in scouring the old newspaper issues and writing articles for inclusion in the magazine back home. The flavour of the past and the present seemed to envelop her. There were interesting reports about strikes and marches, and the fluctuations of china clay fortunes over the years. There was an inclusion of her own parents’ departure for America with Cresswell’s folks. And an arresting piece of information regarding a lady called Harriet Pendragon, who was apparently refuting all interest in Killigrew Clay in perpetuity.
Skye’s nose smelled a story here, but since her grandmother had succumbed to a summer cold and taken to her bed, she felt disinclined to question her about it. But she wasn’t so reticent with Theo when he called to enquire about Morwen’s health.
‘It’s past history, but you’d do well not to mention that name to her, nor to my father,’ Theo warned her.
‘Why on earth not, when it’s here in the paper for all to see?’ But it wasn’t for all to see, only for those who had access to old and forgotten events. And those who remembered.
‘Do you know what it’s all about?’ she asked Theo.
‘I heard tell of it. The woman tried to buy out various pits in the district, but she had her sights set mostly on Killigrew Clay, and especially on its owner.’
Skye wondered which of them it could have been. Was it his own father, Walter? But she daren’t ask
so boldly.
‘Do you mean Ben Killigrew?’ she said instead.
‘No. It was long after he was dead that the Pendragon woman came into town dressed like a harlot, by all accounts, and decided to make Ran Wainwright the target for her affections.’
‘So what happened?’
Theo shrugged. ‘There was some tale of Morwen saving the Pendragon woman from an accident at Truro Fair. Mebbe that’s what turned it all, but I don’t rightly know, and nobody’s telling. I’d advise you not to pursue it.’
And if Harriet Pendragon had set her sights on Morwen’s husband, there would have been more than a little jealousy between the two women, thought Skye. She knew all about Morwen having once been wild and strong-willed, but if this Pendragon woman was as sensual and rich as Theo implied, then those things could be a powerful attraction to a man. Even a married one. Or one who was betrothed.
As the thought slid into her mind, Skye determined anew to put all thoughts of Philip Norwood behind her. There was no need for her to visit Truro too often, and she had thwarted any ideas David Kingsley might have of pursuing her by saying she would be busy for the next month, but that she would bring the archive material back when she had finished with it. His admiration had been flattering, but she didn’t want any such involvements, and he could hardly mistake her coolness.
But Theo had also come to New World to report that he and Walter were looking into the possibility of using one of the disused linhays at Clay Two as a small pottery, as an initial experiment into costings and production. One of the Pit Captains had a brother who could throw a pot, and his nephew was also learning the craft, and the pair of them were willing to start things off.
It all sounded pretty haphazard to Skye, but even the largest business concerns had to start somewhere, she conceded, and from recent conversations with her grandmother, she knew Morwen wouldn’t agree to spending a large outlay on speculation until they were sure it was a viable concern.
Theo said he thought he might drive over to Wadebridge tomorrow to take a proper look at Emma’s pots, and Skye asked eagerly if she could go too.
‘Why not?’ he said lazily. ‘It’s always better to be looking forward than back.’
She guessed he was referring to her current interest in their family history, but surely nothing could harm them from that – and looking forward was becoming less and less comfortable. Every newspaper was now predicting that war was imminent. All the talk at the clayworks was of enlisting, and if that happened, there was a real danger of losing half their workforce before the autumn dispatches were sent off.
No amount of overtime and bonus inducements had got them halfway there yet, and a small, unestablished pottery wasn’t going to make a ha’porth of difference to the mountains of china clay left waiting to be sold. Even she could see that.
‘I’ll call for you tomorrow morning, Skye,’ Theo told her. ‘Be ready early, for we won’t want to stay the night. I can’t abide the stink of pigs for too long.’
However much she tried, she couldn’t really like Theo. There was a nasty side to him that she hadn’t found in any of her other relatives. Not that she knew Freddie and Bradley in Ireland, but from what Cathy had scathingly told her, she guessed they would stay firmly entrenched where they were until all thought of hostilities was over.
* * *
Emma welcomed the visitors with open arms, glad of a diversion. She loved her life, and she loved her man, but farming could be tedious work, which was why she and Will had taken to flower-growing. But how much time could you give to watching bulbs grow and flowers blossom?
The pots now, that was creative, and something she enjoyed so much, even though she was no expert. She led the visitors out to her little shed and the outside oven, with as much pride as if she exhibited a new-born babe.
‘So you’m taking up my suggestion, are you?’ she said triumphantly. ‘I knew you’d see the sense in it.’
And mine, Skye added silently, but happy enough to let Emma take the credit for it. She admired the makeshift arrangements Will had made for Emma to work in, slightly amazed that such an ungainly person had the skill to produce something of more than passable beauty in such basic surroundings. With Killigrew money, they could surely do far better, and go far.
‘I suppose you’m thinking ’tis all poor work,’ Emma said cheerfully. ‘But it keeps me happy, and I’ve even had a shop in Padstow asking to buy a coupla pots to display in their window. I might get rich yet, so you’d all better look out.’
‘It’s not poor work at all, Em,’ Skye said, before Theo could put the dash on her words. ‘You’ve done well, but have you ever thought of getting together with the others for a more commercial arrangement?’
Emma shook her head. ‘No, I’m happy to potter in a small way. I’ll gladly give ’em a few pointers, but there’s plenty of folk more expert than me, and anyway, I’m no businesswoman, nor ever wanted to be. If you can make a success of it, Theo, then good luck to ’ee.’
It was odd how so many of them reverted to the country way of talking when they got together, Skye thought. But it was also somehow endearing, like clinging to childhood and a way of life that was gone forever.
* * *
The August Bank Holiday festivities were not going to be subdued by any crisis in faraway Europe, and people flocked to the beaches and the rivers, or took picnics into the country as usual. The moors, as well as every cottage garden, were in full blossom, and the sun shone brightly, as if the storm clouds of war had never existed.
Everything that was safe and serene came to an end on the fourth day of August, when with the speed of a swooping hawk, the news became rife that Germany had invaded Belgium, and therefore Britain had declared war on Germany.
Barely a week later a rare letter from Skye’s brother arrived at New World, and her face was hot with shame at his words as she read it.
“I urge you to come home, Skye. Mother and Dad are worried, and your place is with them, not with these unknown Cornish hicks. I can’t give you any confidential details, but I can tell you there are serious thoughts going on here in Washington that if any tin-pot little European country thinks it will draw the United States into its squabbles, it can just think again. I can’t make it any plainer than that.”
Dear Lord, was there ever a more pompous prig than her brother, Sinclair! Skye thought. How hateful he sounded, and how ashamed she felt of him. He reminded her of Uncle Luke. The preacher and the politician, they were two of a kind, Skye thought savagely, before screwing up the letter and tossing it into her waste-paper basket.
“If I go anywhere, it will be to see where I can help,” Skye wrote back at once. “Aunt Charlotte’s girls are already busily rolling bandages to help the wounded. Do you think I’m lily-livered enough to desert them all now? I’m writing to Mom and Dad, and I know they’ll understand.”
She gave a shiver at her own words. For of course they wouldn’t, they’d want her home, safe from harm. But remembering those girls of Charlotte’s – what the devil were their names? – she knew there would be wounded men, and dead heroes, and horrors that no women had ever encountered before, other than the brave ones who had always been prepared to be nurses and aides. And young girls like… like Vera and Lily Pollard, that was it… would be ready to do their bit. It should make all of them feel ashamed. She said as much to Morwen, her face troubled.
‘Don’t let your thoughts dwell on it,’ Morwen told her. ‘If you feel the need to work, I’m sure Walter will find a job for you at the clayworks if the men start deserting us. Birdie tells me there are long queues of men rushing to enlist in the towns. We’ll soon be a country of twittering women.’
Skye started to laugh at her mournful face, and at the thought of grubbing about in the clay as her grandmother and forbears had done! Working as a bal maiden certainly wasn’t for her… but catching the glint of anger in Morwen’s eyes, she hastily re-arranged her features.
‘I’d be less than useles
s, Gran, but I’ll have to do something useful. It may be that there’ll be an opening for me at The Informer if they start to lose their reporters.’
And she could always stay with Albert and Rose, but she wasn’t sure that would be such a good idea, since she had sensed a withdrawal in Albie at the party that she couldn’t explain. And it was only the vaguest notion, anyway.
She hadn’t gone through all the archive newspapers yet. But pursuing the details of her own family history seemed of less importance right now than the way everyone was suddenly caught up in a sense of patriotic fervour.
Just as Walter and Theo had feared, a gang of clayworkers from each pit declared themselves a Killigrew Pals Battalion, and went down to St Austell to enlist together.
There was no option but to close Clay Two temporarily, and put all the remaining clayers to work at Clay One. Once the dispatches had gone from there, they would decide what was to be done.
All thoughts of bringing the pottery into operation now had to wait. Everything concentrated on moving the clay to whatever destination they could, because, just as predicted, all their European markets were immediately closed to them.
It alarmed Skye that Morwen had taken to her bed almost permanently now, as if to close her mind to all that was happening, and seemingly took no interest in the war stories that began to circulate, or their own situation. No matter how much Skye tried to stimulate her with snippets of information, she was listless in the continuing hot weather, and Birdie advised the girl to leave her be.
‘But I’m worried about her. She’s ill—’
‘She’s old,’ Birdie corrected. ‘And she’s seen enough of life to know when she’s coming to the end of it.’
‘Please don’t talk like that! It’s bad luck! My Mom used to say so, and she was never wrong.’
Primmy's Daughter Page 12