Killigrew Clay

by Killigrew Clay (retail) (epub)

  ‘You nearly had me down,’ Freddie raged. ‘You were dreaming again, just like old Zillah, with that daft look in your eyes. Daft old Zillah. Daft old Morwen!’

  He began chanting, racing away from her on nimble feet that gripped the turf better for not having boots to impede them. Morwen raced after him towards Killigrew pit number one, where their father was now pit captain, and top man.

  Hal Tremayne worked the main day shift, from seven in the morning until half-past three in the afternoon. There were two other shifts, and he had worked them all in his time, but he now had the more regular hours, and would be free for tonight’s social gathering at Killigrew House.

  The clogging clay dust rose in their nostrils as Morwen and Freddie neared the pit, humming with activity at mid-afternoon. The dust was irritating to the throat, yet many clayworkers swore by the clay water to relieve an over-flatulent stomach. It was cheaper than a doctor’s visit to take a quick hand-scoop of the slurry, and the dry-tasting stuff quickly cured the bile.

  The ground in the pit was often likened to a river of milk, as the greenish-white liquid seeped and squelched underfoot. Standing in the clay for hours on end was hard on the feet. The men wore long leather boots with wooden soles, and packed them with straw in winter to keep their feet snug and warm. The local cobbler had lasts with every man’s name painted on them, and prided himself on knowing individual footprints and peculiarity of tread.

  It was a familiar scene to Morwen; the constant drone of the beam engine, pumping and winding and removing the coarse sand and stone to what Charles Killigrew affectionately called his sky-tips. There were the settling tanks, the fire-hole and pan-kilns; the linhay where Morwen worked with the other bal maidens, scraping sand and dirt, from the clay blocks beneath a reed-roofed, open-sided structure where the air assisted in drying the blocks already stacked for transporting. It was as familiar to her as the new pit captain in his hard hat and dark jacket, mark of his new status, striding towards her and Freddie at the end of the main day’s shift.

  Hal Tremayne had the good looks of all his family. He was strong as an ox, and well respected by his fellow workers. Pit captain of number one pit carried a special prestige. He smiled at his youngest son and his pretty daughter.

  ‘You’ll have heard the news from our Freddie, then, Morwen. We’re to go to the big house tonight—’

  He spoke as if it were a great honour. So it was, but Morwen wasn’t prepared to see it that way. She frowned.

  ‘I’ve nothing tidy to wear, Daddy—’ she began heatedly.

  ‘You’ve the pretty dress you’re wearing now, me dear, and a pretty sight you be an’ all. Aside from the scowl on your bonnie face!’ His eyes suddenly twinkled. ‘Your Mammie was expecting as much, and she has a surprise for you, Morwen—’

  ‘A surprise?’ Her eyes glowed like sapphires, and Hal realised that his girl-child was fast becoming a woman, with a rare beauty like her mother. In Hal’s eyes, Bess was beautiful still, but Morwen had something more. It was that odd little air of self-assurance that added to the delicate colouring of her skin and the richness of her smile, and the rippling blue-black sheen of her hair.

  ‘I’ll see the surprise before you do, our Morwen!’ Freddie shouted. With a squeal of laughter, Morwen grabbed up her skirts and raced after him, a child again. A mile away from the pit, they arrived at the Tremayne cottage, both panting, the bag of buns a sticky mess in Morwen’s grasp.

  Inside the cottage, warm and cosy, Bess Tremayne smiled. This was her favourite time, when the family came home, and they were all together again. The two elder boys, Sam and Matthew, worked the early shift, and were already scrubbed clean for the evening. Jack, at thirteen, and overly conscious about himself, still grumbled about going to the big house for supper, but knew he’d find no compromise in his mother. Charles Killigrew was actually sending a conveyance to take the Tremaynes to town and bring them back again, and Bess intended seeing that her brood was well turned out for the occasion.

  ‘Daddy said there was a surprise for me, Mammie,’ Morwen said, out of breath. Another surprise for her birthday…

  Bess asked for the buns first, and Morwen burned with impatience as she handed them over. Freddie hopped from foot to foot and was ordered to go outside to the privy at once, or he’d be left at home that night.

  ‘Mammie, don’t tease me!’ Morwen pleaded. Bess relented at once, and told Morwen to follow her upstairs to the room she and Hal shared, with the curtained-off portion for Freddie. The three older boys shared a second upstairs room, while Morwen had one corner of the one big downstairs room for herself. It meant waiting for everyone to go to bed before she had complete privacy, but at least she could pretend it was a room of her own in a big house, like the one where the Killigrews lived.

  Upstairs, Bess took out Morwen’s white muslin dress from the clothes recess. It was Morwen’s second best, and she was lucky to have two good dresses. Her Mammie did sewing for the townsladies at times, and had been given the discarded dress for Morwen. It was fresh and neat, but far too plain to wear tonight… at least, it had been.

  Now, there were ribbons sewn across the bodice, swathed and crossed, and looped around the hemline too. The ribbons transformed the plain muslin into a frivolous affair of blues and mauves, and Morwen gasped with pleasure at her mother’s handiwork.

  ‘Mrs Pollancy gave me the ribbons, and when Mr Killigrew asked us to supper, I knew just what to do with them,’ Bess smiled. ‘You’ll be the prettiest girl there, our Morwen!’

  ‘It’s beautiful, Mammie! The best birthday gift ever!’

  Morwen held the dress against her. The silk ribbons were soft and shiny, smoothly sensual. How must it feel to wear a dress made entirely of silk… she couldn’t imagine it. It must be wonderful, but no more wonderful than the way she felt at that moment. She wouldn’t disgrace the company at the Killigrews!

  And following hard on that thought was another one, sliding sweetly into her mind before she could stop it. Ben Killigrew would see that not only could Morwen Tremayne look like a lady in company, but that she could behave like one too.

  Chapter Two

  Hannah Pascoe’s face darkened as she studied the guest list her brother had just handed her. A deep suspicion sharpened her tongue even more than usual.

  ‘There are seven guests here called Tremayne, Charles. Wasn’t that the name of the common girl on East Hill today?’

  ‘Quite right, Hannah,’ Charles Killigrew said, watching the satisfying spiral of smoke from his best Havana cigar curl around his elegant drawing-room. ‘Morwen is the daughter of my new pit captain, Hal Tremayne—’

  ‘And this – this Morwen person – is coming here—?’

  Charles looked directly at his sister. She recognised the edge in his voice.

  ‘Are you going deaf, Hannah? Yes, this Morwen person, who happens to brighten up my day whenever I see her, will be coming here this evening, with her entire family. And as my housekeeper, I shall expect you to give them every courtesy, the same as you give the Carricks and the Gorrans and that whey-faced friend of yours. Is that clear enough?’

  Hannah’s lips tightened. She understood Charles very well indeed. He was generous and affable, but his moods could change quickly, as his clayworkers knew full well. He was fair, but sometimes unpredictable, and at home and in business, his word was law. Hannah knew at once when she had gone too far.

  ‘I’ve never given you cause to complain, Charles,’ she said stiffly, swallowing her fury. ‘But you don’t give me much time to cater for seven extra people—’

  ‘This house can cater for seventy extra if I wish it,’ he retorted. ‘There’s food and plenty. If not, then send out for more, and don’t bother me with trifling details. And tell that old hag of a friend of yours to get that sourpuss expression off her face if she’s coming here tonight. She’s enough to turn the wine to vinegar.’

  Hannah counted to ten, trying not to betray her mounting rage. She knew she had p
rovoked her brother’s aggressive mood. But really… inviting a common bal maiden and her family to Killigrew House, along with the prosperous Carricks from Truro, and the dignified Gorrans. Couldn’t Charles see that these Tremaynes would be out of place? Sometimes she thought Charles was going daft in the head.

  Ben joined them while the harangue continued, which annoyed her even more, especially since he seemed to find their verbal battles so amusing. Hannah could be quite fond of Ben, if she wasn’t always comparing his lot with her son’s. Ben had everything, while Jude…

  Where was Jude, anyway? Hannah’s thoughts went off at a tangent as she stormed away to the kitchen to vent her anger on the housemaids. She hadn’t seen her son since early morning when he’d left the house. Hannah had her suspicions as to where he went. There was too often a whiff of the sea on his clothes, a reckless gleam in his eyes, a simmering excitement…

  Hannah would like to come up a bit in the town. If only she could meet a well set up widower with a bit of money, so that she wasn’t dependent on Charles… and so that she could stop fretting that Jude might be hob-nobbing with those wretched, infamous wreckers, the scum of the Cornish coasts.

  She had no real proof, aside from the unexplained amounts of money Jude sported from time to time, and a feeling in her bones. She should demand to know, but something held her back. If she knew for certain, then she would have to tell her brother, and Jude would be sent packing. Charles would have no truck with such activities, and Hannah couldn’t bear the disgrace of it all.

  So she said nothing, to her own self-disgust. Only to her dear friend, Emily, did she hint that Jude’s movements were a constant worry.

  * * *

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me you’d invited the Tremaynes to supper tonight, when I was asking about Morwen earlier, Father?’ Ben exclaimed, still grinning at the sight of his aunt marching from the room, broom-pole stiff.

  Charles laughed. ‘I wanted to surprise you, m’boy. Thought you’d enjoy having two pretty girls in the house. Which reminds me. The Carricks will be here soon. You’ll enjoy seeing Jane again—’

  Ben sighed. ‘You’re not still trying to marry me off to Jane Carrick, are you? I like her well enough – as a sister—’

  Charles moved to the crystal decanter on the side table and poured a drink for them both. He eyed his son lazily as he settled into a deep leather chair.

  ‘But you don’t love her – is that it?’

  ‘Good God, I hardly know her!’ Ben exclaimed.

  ‘You’ve known her for years. I’ve always thought it would be a good match, and her parents certainly think so, Ben. It would bind us together more strongly, with Richard Carrick being my partner in the clay works, for all that he likes to keep it a silent partnership. You and Jane—’

  ‘No!’ Ben said harshly. ‘You may manipulate other peoples’ lives, Father, but you won’t manipulate mine!’

  Charles looked at him in genuine surprise.

  ‘Manipulate? That’s an odd word between father and son, when I only want the best for you, boy. As for the love business – I didn’t love your mother when we were wed, but that can come later. We had you, didn’t we? All that romantic nonsense soon passes, and Jane’s a comely young woman now, you’ll see.’

  Ben gave a muffled oath. His father wore blinkers on this topic, but he could argue until the moon turned blue. Ben would marry whom he chose, and when he chose. He wasn’t ready yet. He was only twenty-one years old and had plenty of time, and he was determined to stand up to Charles in this.

  He glanced at his father, knowing he was well able to take care of himself. He’d had to, in the fancy London college that Charles thought so elite.

  Ben had believed that only girls fought for their honour, but he’d had to fight for his too. He’d proved his masculinity and virility to his own satisfaction in the London bawdy-houses along with the college rowdies. He’d also proved himself on the gaming tables, amassing more money, shrewdly invested, than his father ever guessed about. He liked the feeling of independence it gave him.

  Ben Killigrew was a fine fellow now, with his modulated Cornish accent spiced up with plummier vowel sounds, to his father’s pleasure. But Ben had seen plenty of low life in London, enough to be sickened by it. He had decided that fornicating merely to spin the broadest, lewdest tale to a group of roaring, table-thumping college students, wasn’t what he wanted out of life. There must also be love…

  And love was not what he felt for Jane Carrick. Ben had no intention of making her his life’s partner to fulfil some dream of their parents. He hadn’t seen Jane for a year. To him, she would always be – just Jane. They had begun to make a game of their supposed fondness for each other. Now he wondered uneasily if it had been wise. He pushed the thoughts away from him for the moment.

  He drained his brandy glass, feeling the warm sting of it in his throat, and thought of the other girl he would see that evening. A vaguely pleasurable memory of holding Morwen Tremayne against him filled his senses. It wasn’t the first time he had recalled it. She had felt soft, rounded and feminine, gazing up at him for a moment with those extraordinary blue eyes, like a startled fawn. He wished the moment had been longer…

  ‘Have you seen your cousin today, Ben?’ Charles said abruptly, preparing to leave the room.

  Ben shook his head. ‘He keeps out of my way. We don’t have a lot to say to each other when I first come home.’

  ‘He’d best get used to seeing you about the place then,’ Charles snapped. ‘I’ll not see you two bickering as though you were children. You’re young men now—’

  ‘Remember that, Father, when you’re wanting to choose me a bride. I’m old enough to choose my own, wouldn’t you say?’

  For a second, the older man said nothing, then he roared with laughter and clapped his son on the back. The brief irritation changed to good humour. Charles Killigrew liked what he saw in his son, despite the clashes he guessed would have to come between two strong-willed men.

  * * *

  While the Killigrew men conversed, Jude Pascoe stole up the back stairs of the house, concealing the bottle of French brandy beneath his jacket until he reached his own room. It was fair produce of the sea… though he doubted that his mother would agree, and the brandy must be well hidden from her eagle eyes. He placed it beneath the loose board in his closet, the small spoil of a recent wrecking.

  Jude’s blood ran faster at the excitement of it. There was little else to do here. He had no fortune to expect like his cousin, Ben, whom he resented bitterly. Not so much Ben himself, as what he represented. The pit owner’s son, well educated, and slipping easily into boots already well heeled. While Jude had the legacy of a drunken father and a caustic-tongued mother who expected him to be grateful for his uncle’s patronage. Grateful was his mother’s word, but her tone was brimful of her own humiliation, and not surprisingly Jude felt exactly the same.

  He thrust the brandy beside others stacked in his closet for selling at a profit to a kiddleywink inland, where the landlord didn’t question its source. He had just finished when his door opened, and Jude’s head spun as he stood up quickly to face his mother, on his guard as always.

  ‘So you’re back,’ she snapped, her eyes scanning the room. ‘And not before time. You’re to tidy yourself for this evening. We’re having guests for supper, and you’ll not disgrace me. A scrub with a yard broom wouldn’t come amiss, and a rake through that tangle of thatch you call hair. Have you no pride in yourself? Look in the mirror, and how you appear. You’re a fine contrast to your cousin!’

  Jude’s dark eyes flashed. He was roguishly handsome, without the refinements of his cousin, and he didn’t need reminding of Ben’s advantages.

  ‘Then you’d best get out of here and let me attend to it, Mother dear,’ he growled sarcastically. ‘Unless you’re offering to scrub my neck for me?’

  Hannah swept from the room, slamming the door after her. He was her son, and for that she tolerated him, but th
ere were times when she cursed the day she had let Ned Pascoe sweet-talk her into marrying him. If she’d known that Jude would be the result, she would have sent Ned packing without a second thought.

  * * *

  A dozen miles away in Truro, Jane Garrick put the finishing touches to her toilet. It was a while since she had seen Ben Killigrew. She liked him very much, though not in the way her mother thought. Liking wasn’t loving, and Jane didn’t love Ben, despite the fact that Mary Carrick hoped that her one ewe-lamb and the Killigrew boy would make a match of it. She’d dreamed of it since the children were babies, even though her husband teased her for indulging in romantic fantasy and assured her that people in this Victorian age had sense enough to choose their own life partners. Mary thought that sense didn’t come into it where the emotions were concerned.

  Jane smiled as her mother entered her bedroom, twirling around in her shot-green taffeta gown with the deep neckline and puffed sleeves, a matching fan hanging from a cord at her wrist.

  ‘Will I do to meet the Killigrews, Mama?’ Jane smiled, knowing the answer. ‘I’m not too fine for this evening?’

  Mary kissed her, handsome in her own rustling grey gown.

  ‘You look beautiful, dear. Ben won’t be able to take his eyes off you tonight—’

  ‘Oh, Mama,’ Jane said in exasperation. ’It’s not only Ben we’re going to see—’

  ‘I hope you won’t bother giving the time of day to that ruffian cousin of his,’ Mary said, deliberately misunderstanding, knowing that Jane disliked Jude Pascoe intensely. She saw the expected frown on Jane’s finely arched brows.

  ‘Poor Mr Killigrew, having that lout in the house,’ Jane said with feeling. ‘No, Mama, that’s not what I meant—’

  The chimes of the grandfather clock made Mary exclaim at the time, and curtail her daughter’s attempts to explain.