Primmy's Daughter

by Primmy's Daughter (retail) (epub)

  She had to be comforted by that, and by the gradual evidence of Morwen’s own will to live. Even though there was huge relief when the doctor confirmed that Morwen was not suffering with the Spanish flu that was ravaging countries around the world, she seemed to get no better, nor thankfully, any worse. It seemed as though something stronger than herself was telling her to hold on to the thread of life, however tenuous it became.

  Most of the family members who visited at intervals, kept well away from the old lady’s bed, to which she was totally confined now, except for short periods of sitting out each day to avoid painful bed-sores.

  At the beginning of October, autumn descended on them in crisp, misty mornings that turned the countryside into a ghostly fairyland, and the leaves on the trees changed to a fiery flame and gold. And Freddie and Bradley arrived on a brief visit from Ireland. Their appearance in her room brought a flash of the old spirit to Morwen’s eyes.

  ‘What’s this?’ she wheezed. ‘I suppose the pair of you have some horse-dealing business to settle, and thought you’d call on the old biddy before it was too late. Is that it?’

  ‘Mother, of course it’s not,’ Bradley blustered, but her brother Freddie chuckled, squeezing his sister’s frail hand, his blue eyes as twinkling as ever.

  ‘You know me too well, dar, and you’m right, o’ course. Not that we ain’t concerned about you, and Primmy’s girl’s been very obliging in keeping us up to date wi’ what’s been happening here.’

  ‘Including this idea of Theo’s for branching out with a pottery,’ Bradley put in, unable to resist putting in his own objections as usual. ‘It sounds daft to me, Mother.’

  ‘Shut up, Bradley,’ Freddie said mildly. ‘Morwen can’t be bothered with all that business talk now.’

  ‘Since when was I ready to ignore anything to do wi’ Killigrew Clay?’ she said, perverse as ever. ‘And ’tis not a daft idea at all, Bradley, so you can just keep your nose out of what don’t concern you.’ She paused. ‘Unless you’re wondering just how much it will concern you when I snuff it.’

  She had the satisfaction of seeing his face burn with annoyance, and Freddie put a hand on his arm to stop him blustering still more.

  ‘Morwen, the boy meant no such thing, so keep your dander down, there’s a love, and tell us a bit more about this pottery idea, if you’ve the breath for it.’

  The middle-aged “boy” scowled, but decided to leave them to it. If any of them thought he was sizing up New World or the clayworks with any idea of cashing in on it after his mother died, they were on the wrong track. He had no more desire to come back here to live than fly to the moon, and he had no interest in clay in any shape or form. He and Freddie had built their own lives, and done well with it.

  But it didn’t hurt to stir things up a bit and watch the sparks fly. He wasn’t a Tremayne for nothing.

  And this girl of Primmy’s… now there was the spit of her Mammie if he ever saw one, in every way. Primmy had always been a dazzler of a girl. And this Skye was more a Tremayne than his sister Em, and certainly more than the insufferable Luke… how the hell the three of them could be so closely related, Bradley couldn’t think.

  He sought out Skye in the conservatory, watching her for a few moments before she realised he was there.

  ‘Lord, you startled me,’ she said with a forced smile.

  He looked and sounded what he was, a rough-talking horse-dealer, but he was family, and deserved politeness.

  ‘So how do you think Gran looks?’ She asked him.

  ‘At death’s door,’ he said dryly. ‘She should have been kicking up the daisies long ago, but knowing her, she won’t go until she’s good and ready.’

  But there was a limit to politeness…

  ‘That’s a pretty callous thing to say about your own mother, isn’t it?’ she snapped.

  Bradley shrugged. ‘When you deal in horseflesh as I do, you realise that life’s cheap, girlie. I thought you’d have learned that much from the time you spent in France. Mother’s had a bloody good innings, and she’s just hanging on by the skin of her teeth, if you ask me.’

  ‘I’m sorry I ever did. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m expecting my husband home at any minute.’

  She brushed past him, but he caught her arm.

  ‘I ain’t meaning to upset you, cuz, and I’m no threat to you, if that’s what you’m thinking. Me and Freddie are moving on tonight, and all this,’ he waved his arms about, as if to embrace the entire county, ‘well, it’s like another world to us now, and we don’t want none of it.’

  ‘Is that meant to reassure me in some way?’

  ‘You can take it any way you want.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Morwen’s shadowy daydreams took her anywhere she wanted to go. That was the best thing about daydreams. Not a second was wasted before she was breathing in the aromatic scents of yarrow and bracken and gorse on the glorious moors above St Austell, as surely as if she was there.

  Pictures of the past flitted delightfully through her mind, filling her with memories and images… seeing herself and Celia, teasing and scolding young Freddie for not bringing their tea quickly enough, and slopping half of it in his haste to be with his big brothers, working the clay.

  And proudly watching her brother Sam in his pit captain’s hat like her Daddy’s, striding across the wet earth in his long boots, while Jack followed his every move, copying him and envying him.

  And Matt, there was her darling brother Matt, so dreamy-eyed, and always wishing himself somewhere else… across the Atlantic ocean, perhaps, or hatching up impossible plans with Jude Pascoe at one of the kiddleywinks, more like.

  Her dreaming thoughts abruptly changed direction, bringing them more sharply to the present, and an imaginary picture of what was happening at Clay One now. The autumn dispatches would have been sent safely off to their various destinations, and the depleted army of clayworkers would be resting briefly before they continued on their endless treadmill, gouging out the riches of the earth, and building the mountains of waste until they almost reached the sky.

  Sky-tips, Morwen thought, with the same satisfaction she always had. Was there ever a more apt name for the glittering white mountains that reached towards heaven? The thought of it had charmed her as a girl, and it charmed her now. Especially since she would be climbing one of ’em herself very soon.

  She was thankful for the family’s sake that the doctor had finally decided she hadn’t had this terrible case of flu that was killing so many folk now, or they’d all be scurrying away from New World to their own bolt-holes like frightened rabbits. But, with a strong sense of fatality, she knew that life was ebbing away from her. It didn’t scare her. The time was almost here.

  She was still in control of her senses, thank God, and aware of what was going on in the world. And since all the signs were that the war in Europe was almost at an end too, it was a good time for Theo to be planning ahead.

  The final plans for the pottery would have to unfold without her, but that was right too. Young uns should take on the responsibility for the future, and there was a great joy in her heart that Skye was so ready to take her place in the doings of Killigrew Clay and whatever this new venture was to be called.

  Skye had already voiced a few ideas to her, just to keep her amused, Morwen suspected, but so far, nothing had seemed right. It could just be called the Killigrew Pottery, of course, but since there were no Killigrews left, they all felt that it should be named something completely different. A new name for a new way of life, alongside the old.

  But there was time enough for that, and why should she worry her head about it, anyway? It wouldn’t be her concern, and she didn’t have to worry about anything any more.

  * * *

  ‘What is she hanging on for?’ Charlotte whispered to Birdie from the foot of Morwen’s bed a few weeks later. October was drawing to a close, and Charlotte decided she may as well end her weekly tearful visit to her mother, since Morwen had
fallen into a raggedy-snuffling sleep.

  ‘She was always stubborn and determined to do things her own way,’ Charlotte went on, as if resentful of the fact, ‘but you’d think that when it came to dying, she wouldn’t have any say in the matter. She’d just go.’

  Birdie was outraged at such heartlessness.

  ‘Only the Lord will decide on the time a body takes to arrive in the world, and the nature of their journey out of it, Mrs Pollard,’ she said, as they crept out of the room.

  ‘Oh, of course! And not for one minute am I wishing to hurry it up, but I do hate to see her in such distress with her breathing,’ she said quickly, in case the woman thought she was hinting at anything else. ‘Perhaps she’s hanging on to see Skye’s baby born. Do you think that could be it?’

  ‘Mebbe,’ Birdie said. ‘And mebbe not. I’m not in possession of any second sight, and nor do I care to speculate on such a notion.’

  Charlotte put a hand on the woman’s arm. ‘I know you’ll be feeling this as badly as the rest of us, won’t you, Birdie? What will you do… afterwards?’

  Birdie blinked rapidly, half wishing the insensitive woman to Kingdom Come, and fearfully thankful that she didn’t have the wherewithal to make such wishes come true.

  ‘Get on with things, same as we all have to. I’ll be staying with my brother, I daresay, until I decide what to do. But I’d rather not talk about it if you don’t mind, not while she’s still with us. It ain’t decent.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Charlotte. But she left the house feeling uneasy, knowing they all had to think about it.

  Everything would change after Morwen died, though she guessed that Skye and Philip and their coming baby would remain in the house. Morwen had made it plain to anyone who would listen that it was her wish. Charlotte didn’t begrudge them that, though some might. But they all had their own homes and were comfortably off, and they certainly didn’t need the cold monstrosity of New World to live in.

  She drove her smart little motor back to town with a feeling of relief at getting away from the sickroom. But all the time, her own words were swirling around in her head. What was Morwen hanging on for?

  * * *

  The sitting room door opened abruptly after the briefest tap while Skye and Philip were talking quietly that evening. Dinner was long over, and they had said goodnight to Morwen and sat with her until she had drifted into sleep. It was late, but this quiet hour alone before they retired for the night had become precious to them both, when they could talk over their respective days, and pretend for a little while that there were no battles still being fought in Europe, and that life would go on serenely forever.

  Skye looked at the housekeeper in annoyance, knowing that if it had been Birdie or Nurse Jenkins interrupting them, it would have been on account of her grandmother. But if it was just some domestic upset, then Mrs Arden should deal with it herself, even though it was obvious that she was agitated.

  ‘What is it?’ Skye said impatiently.

  ‘Mrs Norwood – Ma’am – there’s folk come visiting.’

  ‘At this time of night?’ Philip exclaimed angrily. ‘What kind of folk come calling at such an hour? Go and tell them Mrs Wainwright is sleeping, and to come back tomorrow.’

  ‘I’m not to say who ’tis, Ma’am, but ’tis you they’m asking for, and ’tis certain sure you’ll be wantin’ to see ’em,’ the housekeeper said, ignoring Philip completely.

  Skye realised now that she wasn’t simply agitated. She was tense with excitement and brimming with her own knowledge. Her eyes glittered, and her face was flushed. And since she was normally so calm and unflustered, it must be very important folk, folk who specially wanted to see her…

  Skye’s heart was suddenly beating very fast, and she leapt up from her chair, all the pulses pounding in her veins as the wildest imagining of all took hold of her. For surely, it could only be… it had to be… but it couldn’t be…

  The shapes in the doorway behind Mrs Arden moved into the light, and with a cry of pure joy Skye had flown across the space between them, and into her mother’s arms.

  ‘Oh Mom, I can’t believe it’s really you!’ she gasped out, and all the pent-up emotions she had held so desperately in check recently burst out in a torrent. ‘And Daddy too. Oh, it’s just too much. I’ll never mock Cornish intuition again, if it brought you here when I needed you most!’

  She raved on incoherently, laughing and crying as the three of them held each other, while Philip looked on, the outsider for the moment, and more than happy to be so.

  Only he knew what a terrible strain Skye had been under all these weeks, keeping up her spirits for the old lady upstairs, and only letting her guard down in the bitter, weeping hours of the night when he had held her close.

  He could see the ghost of her beauty in her mother, and the strength she had inherited in her father’s jaw… and when the pair of them could get a word in through their daughter’s babbling, he heard Primmy Tremayne laugh ruefully.

  ‘It had nothing to do with intuition this time, honey. It was that companion of Mammie’s that decided us that we’d best come and see her while there was still time. And war or no, with Sinclair’s influence in high places, we managed to get a passage on a ship right away.’

  ‘Birdie got you here? But how?’ Skye said. ‘And why on earth didn’t you let us know you were coming! It’s too bad of you, Mom, to give me such a fright!’

  Primmy gave a short laugh at this mild censure. ‘I know it. But I was always the unpredictable one in the family, honey, and when Birdie wrote to me, telling us just how bad Mammie, it seemed like the best idea for us just to up sticks and travel.’

  Albie would have said it was so – so Primmy, thought Skye, bringing him unexpectedly to mind. How would Albie take this sudden appearance of his adored sister? How could any of them take it, except with pleasure?

  ‘So you’ve seen no one else yet?’ she said quickly.

  ‘My Lord, no we haven’t,’ her father said. ‘All your Mom wanted to do was to get here to see Morwen’s condition for herself. And yours too, honey,’ he added.

  ‘And I must say you’re looking fine and dandy, Skye,’ Primmy said softly, and for the first time she looked to where Philip was still standing politely. ‘And this must be Philip.’

  Skye started, having almost forgotten him in the shock of her parents’ arrival. But now she drew him towards them, bringing him into their circle, her happiness complete at having the three people she loved best in the world all together.

  ‘Mom, Dad – this is my husband,’ she said, almost shyly.

  It was a long while before any of them thought about going to bed and sleeping. Mrs Arden brought them tea and sandwiches, and arranged for a room to be prepared for the travellers, who were anxious to know everything about Morwen’s condition.

  ‘There’s so little to tell,’ Skye said. ‘She simply goes on from day to day, but you’ll see for yourselves in the morning.’

  ‘But I think you should prepare her, darling,’ Philip put in. ‘It will be a shock to her to see your parents, even if it’s the very best of surprises.’

  ‘You’ll be shocked to see her too, Mom,’ Skye said slowly. ‘She’s not the way you remember her.’

  As if Primmy couldn’t bear any more of such talk, she began asking brightly about the rest of the family. Those near enough for them to come calling, and those far away.

  ‘Uncle Freddie and Bradley visited once and went away again,’ Skye said, trying not to sound too scathing. ‘We never hear from Uncle Jack now. Emma comes when she can, but the farm keeps her fully occupied. Charlotte’s more of a regular, and sometimes her girls come here as well – I told you how well I got along with Vera when we met up in the hospital in France, didn’t I? Cousin Theo is here quite a lot, and his wife brings the baby – and I know I’ve told you a few things about the delectable Sebastian!’

  She paused for breath, all the family names jangling in her head, and then Primmy sa
id the one name she realised she had been studiously avoiding.

  ‘And Albie? Does Albie come to visit?’

  By now Philip had poured the two men a glass of brandy, and Skye saw Cresswell’s eyes meet his wife’s above the rim of his glass. Primmy’s face was tinged with pink, and in an instant Skye knew that her father had always been perfectly aware of the relationship between brother and sister.

  Just how deep or incestuous that relationship had ever gone, Skye didn’t know, and never wanted to find out.

  ‘Albie doesn’t visit too often. Aunt Rose is ailing, and he doesn’t like to leave her. But he’ll be so happy to see you and Daddy, Mom,’ she said carefully, including them both.

  ‘I’ll telephone him in the morning, once I’ve seen Mammie,’ Primmy said.

  It was the early hours of the morning before they all went to bed, but Skye found it difficult to sleep. Wrapped in Philip’s arms, she thought how simple her own life was in comparison to others. There had never been another love in her life before him, and she was sure there could never be anyone to take his place. But even as she thought it, a cold shiver ran through her.

  From all she had learned about the fiery young Morwen Tremayne, her grandmother had once thought like that. Morwen’s love for Ben Killigrew had been just as intense as hers for Philip, but it had waned, and she had found a second love in Randall Wainwright that was just as passionate, just as fulfilling.

  Love wasn’t the all-consuming, exclusive emotion everybody thought it was. There was always the capacity for more, for love to die and to grow again. Her own husband had proved that.

  She moaned softly without realising it, remembering Philip’s ex-fiancée, Ruth, who had loved him long before Skye came on the scene, and had confidently expected to marry him. How wicked did that make her, for stealing another woman’s man?

  ‘Come here,’ Philip said gently, holding her closer in his arms. ‘I don’t know what’s worrying you now, but your parents are here, so be happy, sweetheart.’