Killigrew Clay

by Killigrew Clay (retail) (epub)

  Morwen’s cheeks felt scorched. Were they all discussing the works to patronise her parents? Did they think the Tremaynes incapable of talking about anything else?

  ‘Morwen talks sense, Ma’am,’ Hal replied. ‘’Tis not the first time the notion’s been thrashed out—’

  ‘Nor the last,’ Charles agreed. ‘But there’s pennies to be counted before we rush in with new-fangled ideas. We’ve worked well enough without rail tracks until now. The men do well enough with two shillings and more a day. There’s always the prospect of an increase, Hal. With rail tracks to finance, such a prospect might be impossible. What say you, Daniel?’

  Daniel Gorran was his respected accountant, and was nodding now, but with some caution. Charles kept his outgoings to a minimum, but rail tracks would be an undoubted advantage over other clay works, and Killigrew could be sticking his head in the sand by not seeing the fact.

  Dangling the bait of a wage increase before Hal Tremayne was a trifle underhand in Gorran’s opinion. He hated anything underhand. It wasn’t the way he conducted his business.

  ‘A major construction like a railway needs to be considered from all angles. I’m sure the townsfolk of St Austell would appreciate it, but the important issue is the advantage to Killigrew Clay itself. I can only offer facts and figures and give advice, and it’s too important a matter to discuss over a glass of fruit cup!’

  ‘How right you are, Mr Gorran!’ Mary Carrick exclaimed. ‘Can we not talk about something other than china clay?’

  ‘I agree with you,’ Gorran’s wife said. ‘Shall you be going to Truro Fair next week, Mary?’

  Morwen didn’t hear the answer. She spoke in a low, indignant mutter to no one in particular.

  ‘Since Mrs Pascoe was complaining about our clay waggons, she should be the first to welcome the idea of rail tracks!’

  ‘Well said,’ Ben said dryly. ‘But even Killigrew wealth is not a bottomless pit, Morwen!’

  She glowered at him, forgetting where she was.

  ‘When he pays his workers such a pittance that some of them can see the stars between the slates of their cottages because the repairs aren’t done, and they’re too poor to move elsewhere! Who gets the benefit of all that wealth, Mr Killigrew? Not the clayworkers’ children who are lucky to get an hour’s schooling a week, and don’t get sent to fancy colleges in London to be educated—’

  ‘Well, well,’ Ben said quietly. ‘So the workers have a champion, do they? I’d say your education is fairly wide—’

  Morwen suddenly heard her brother Sam speak furiously.

  ‘Apologise for being so free with your words, Morwen,’ he snapped at her.

  ‘Oh, leave her be,’ Jude Pascoe said lazily. It was a change to hear a clash of temperaments that wasn’t his own and his mother’s, and a change from the usual dreary suppers he was forced to attend in his uncle’s house. ‘She speaks her mind, which is more than most wenches do.’

  Morwen’s hands clenched until the fingernails bit into her palms. Wench, indeed. She hated Jude Pascoe for putting her in her place while seeming to defend her. Would he call Jane Carrick a wench? She raged inside.

  Ben gave a short laugh. ‘It’s different,’ he agreed. ‘Don’t fret, Sam. The Tremaynes won’t get a black mark because of your sister’s freedom with words. It’s always best to know where you stand. As for cottages needing repairs – I suggest you tell my father. He can’t do repairs he doesn’t know about.’

  He turned away as though tired of the bothersome Tremaynes, but in reality incensed by his cousin Jude’s crudeness. Anyone with half an eye could see Morwen wasn’t a wench… anyone with two good eyes could see that she was very comely. And wasn’t it her birthday? Ben felt suddenly reckless.

  He went across to his father, and whispered in his ear. Next minute, Charles called for silence.

  ‘If everyone has a glass, then let’s drink to the birthday girl among us. To Morwen, the prettiest girl this side of Truro!’

  Morwen flushed with pleasure and embarrassment, but Charles was obviously sincere. He strode towards her and put his great bear arms around her.

  ‘I’m also claiming a birthday kiss,’ he chuckled, and tickled her cheek with his whiskers for a moment as he kissed her soundly. He grinned at Hal. ‘But since I’m sure any pretty girl would prefer to be kissed by a young buck, do we have your permission, Hal, for my son to give her a birthday kiss too?’

  Morwen’s heart leapt at his words, a mingling of horror and mortification. Would Ben really kiss her in front of all these people, including his Miss finelady…? She was left in no doubt as Charles let her go, and she was held in an embrace she already knew. The pleasing male scent of him was in her nostrils as his face blotted out the rest of the room. His mouth touched hers, strong and sensual. It was all she had imagined it to be, without ever being aware that she had imagined its touch. The nearness of him was warm, excitingly so…

  It was a light kiss, no more than a brush of his lips against hers, which was all that etiquette allowed. Ben moved away from her smilingly, as though as embarrassed as Morwen. Yet, just for a moment, she thought his breathing was as ragged as her own from the contact between them. That he had turned from her to the little cheering group of young people because he couldn’t look into Morwen Tremayne’s eyes without giving away the secret yearning in his own.

  Was she mad? Letting such dreams get the better of her? All the madder, because she didn’t want to dream of herself and Ben Killigrew. Their names could never be coupled together. They were from different worlds. An owner could kiss a clayworker’s daughter on this sort of occasion, and it meant nothing. Morwen’s throat felt oddly thick. She heard her brother Freddie start his chanting about being kissed by Ben Killigrew, and snapped at him to behave himself or he’d get a wallop, company or no company.

  * * *

  Celia Penry pushed her bonnet back from her hot brow and took the mug of tea Freddie Tremayne had brought her for her tea-break, and stared in disbelief at her friend, Morwen. Freddie had told her a tale, and she still didn’t believe it.

  ‘Your Freddie’s turning into a little liar, Morwen,’ she said baldly. ‘Telling me Ben Killigrew kissed you in front of everybody at the Killigrew House last night! If I hadn’t seen you going off as smart as paint, I’d never have believed you went there at all!’

  ‘Well, it’s true, so there!’ Morwen’s nose went up in the air as Celia’s tone said more than words her opinion of folk who hob-nobbed with bosses. It was bad for the rest of them. But you didn’t turn an owner down flat when he issued an invitation, either! The Penrys might understand that, if they weren’t so knee-deep in thinking themselves a race apart from the Killigrews. Morwen forgot that it had been her opinion too…

  ‘Now you’re the liar,’ Celia said rudely. ‘Why should he kiss you? And why would you want him to, when you always said what a snot-face he was!’

  Morwen’s blood began to boil. Celia was her best friend, but sometimes she was as blind as a bat in sunlight.

  ‘People change, dumb-bell,’ she snorted. ‘Ben Killigrew’s not as gormless as he used to be. He’s – all right—’

  ‘But did he kiss you?’ Celia squealed. It was the only important bit to know. ‘The truth now, Morwen, on your crossed fingers and toes.’

  ‘Cross them all, eyes as well,’ Morwen said, putting it to effect. She felt the mischief dancing inside her. She twirled away from Celia. ‘Catch me if you want to know any more!’

  She whirled away, racing over the uneven ground and away from the constant hum of noise from the little trucks shunting between the settling tank and the kilns, the drone and beat of the beam engine, the shouts of the men and the scrape of shovels and picks. Together with the rush of water, it was an unending symphony, receding into the background as the two girls scrambled up, up, up, to where the small shining hills of the spoil heaps glinted in the sunlight. Celia finally caught up with Morwen, and they both fell in a laughing heap on the dusty clay wast
e.

  ‘Tell me!’ Celia demanded. ‘I don’t believe Ben Killigrew kissed you at all! Why should he?’

  Morwen’s eyes seemed bluer than ever. Blue as the sky, and the endless distant sea beyond St Austell. She relived the moment as she related it to Celia.

  ‘It was because it was my birthday! Mr Killigrew kissed me first, and said he thought I’d prefer a young buck to kiss me instead. And then – then Ben kissed me. That’s all!’

  Neither spoke for a few seconds. Morwen was caught up in the wonder and glory of it all once more, because whatever the reason, Ben Killigrew had kissed her, and it was the first time in her life that a young gentleman had done such a thing. She heard the caw-cawing of the sea-birds overhead, as though they were laughing at her for imagining for an instant that Ben might be remembering it too.

  ‘Ben, is it?’ Celia said caustically. ‘Watch out, Morwen. Posh folk only have one reason for kissing girls like us. He’ll be wanting to lift your skirts next—’

  Morwen hated her for spoiling the moment.

  ‘He’s not like that—’

  ‘They’re all like that! What was the posh supper like? Did you have to act all hoity-toity?’

  Morwen tossed her head. ‘No, I didn’t. It was funny, anyway. Even posh folks have arguments, it seems, and Ben’s cousin Jude upset his uncle at the table for not minding his manners, and Mr Killigrew swallowed the wrong way, and cursed Jude even more for making him spill his wine.’

  Morwen giggled at the memory. It had been better than fireworks to sit back and see how that miserable Mrs Pascoe had tried to calm her brother down, and how Charles Killigrew had roared at her to mind her business and see to her son’s antics.

  One argument had spawned another, and she had been absurdly pleased to see how Ben was able to cope with an awkward situation without losing his dignity like his blustering father, and that stupid red-faced Jude.

  ‘Ben’s going to come to the works soon—’

  ‘What?’ Celia looked sceptical. ‘Don’t tell me he’s going to soil those fine gentleman’s hands by working alongside us!’

  ‘Of course not,’ Morwen said crossly. ‘But he wants to see it all for himself, and his father seemed well pleased.’

  ‘I bet he was! But can’t you see, it’s you he wants to see, ninny! He only ever looked down his nose at the clay pit before, didn’t he? He means to sport with ’ee, Morwen, and only bad can come of it. You keep un at arms’-length before he does you a mischief—’

  ‘Shut up about un, can’t you?’ Morwen was suddenly hot and upset. ‘He wouldn’t bother with me! He’s got a lady-friend, name of Miss finelady Jane Carrick from over Truro way. She was there last night—’

  ‘Don’t mean nothing,’ Celia said doggedly. ‘Many a young buck has one girl for marryin’ and another for sportin’, and you mind you’re not taken for a fool, Morwen.’

  A bellow from below reminded them that their break from work was over, and they slithered down the shining spoil heap. Celia ran ahead, and Morwen felt the soft warm breeze sting on her lashes, and dashed away the stupid dampness there. Of course Celia was right. She wouldn’t consider Ben Killigrew for one more minute. It was madness. It was courting heartbreak to admit to the sudden rush of warmth inside whenever she thought of him, or know that her heart raced erratically whenever she remembered the touch of his mouth on hers.

  She ran down the slope towards the pit, and thought how illogical it was to look down on the town of St Austell from the summit of a spoil heap, to where the Killigrew house had existed for several generations of lordly folk.

  Looking down… when Morwen and the human ants scurrying about in the clay works were of the lower order, and the bosses lived in the beautiful houses near to the sea, where the land was lush and green. It was hopeless to think that one of them could truly love a clayworker’s daughter.

  * * *

  The Tremaynes had left the Killigrew House before the finer folk last evening. Bess had remarked dryly that they had probably all sighed with relief at the fact. Had they known it, the arguments that Jude had provoked continued long after the Gorrans had departed. The Carricks were old friends, and Charles Kiliigrew felt free to speak his mind in front of them.

  ‘If Ben’s prepared to spend some time at the works, then so can you, my lad. One day a week for both of you for a start, until I decide what’s to do with you both.’

  ‘You’ve no need to lump me with Jude Pascoe, Father,’ Ben said angrily. ‘I’ve said I’m willing to go, to learn about the business from all angles—’

  ‘Especially if they’re covered up by soft wenches’ clothes,’ Jude said slyly. ‘But you don’t really expect me to use a pick and shovel and fill those dirty little wagons with clay, do you, Uncle?’

  Charles rounded on him at once. ‘If you don’t like the arrangement, Jude, I’m sure you can find some other place to live and sleep. And when you can explain the workings of the clay pits that provide the food in your belly and the clothes on your back, then I may reverse my idea of you as a parasite in my house.’

  He turned away from Jude’s glowering face, and the mortification on Hannah’s. He turned to Jane, and asked her to lift the mood of the evening, and play them all something light and frivolous on the pianoforte. She agreed with a smile, too used to these Killigrew outbursts to be embarrassed by them.

  As Ben stood beside her, ready to turn the music, their parents thought what a handsome couple they made, and Jude Pascoe slumped back and drank as much of his uncle’s brandy as he dared, knowing he’d be in for another head-rocking later from his mother. If it wasn’t such a soft life, he’d cut and run. He’d get right out of here and across the sea, to that land of golden dreams across the Atlantic Ocean… but he was weak enough to enjoy the soft life… as long as it lasted.

  * * *

  ‘Can I be excused now, Mr Killigrew?’ Jane asked, when she had played half a dozen pieces. ‘It’s warm in here, and I’d like a turn in the garden.’

  ‘Of course, my love,’ Charles beamed. ‘I’m sure Ben feels the same. Go along, the pair of you.’

  They could hardly contain their laughter until they were out of sight in the shubbery. Charles was so obvious in throwing them together.

  ‘What an evening!’ Jane giggled at last. ‘Heaven knows what that poor family thought of us all!’

  ‘You’re not patronising, are you, by calling them poor?’ Ben grinned, remembering how Morwen bristled on that score.

  ‘No, and well you know it. Why do they always take offence so quickly, do you suppose?’

  ‘Perhaps it all goes with being poor,’ Ben said dryly.

  ‘Are we talking about the same person?’ Jane asked. ‘You were very taken with Morwen Tremayne, weren’t you, Ben? She’s very beautiful, but please be careful—’ she stopped in embarrassment as he laughed and asked why he should be careful of a pit captain’s daughter!

  ‘Careful that you don’t break her heart,’ Jane said, to his surprise. ‘You’re quite capable of it, Ben. If I was as enamoured of you as your parents think I am, I’d be quite jealous of the way you looked at her tonight. And certainly jealous that you kissed her!’

  ‘One meaningless kiss!’ he mocked her. But it hadn’t been as meaningless as all that, he realised. It had been more pleasurable than he had expected it to be, and had filled him with a sudden powerful longing to keep her in his arms. He had wanted to bend her to his embrace and make her soften to him. The feeling had been so strong he had ended the kiss quickly, afraid that he might betray his sudden desire to everyone there.

  Had Jane sensed it, or been upset by it? He felt a sudden concern, and asked if she had really minded. She leaned up and pressed her lips to his cheek as naturally as a sister.

  ‘Dear Ben, of course I wasn’t upset. Just be sure of what you’re doing, that’s all. And if I can help in any way by diverting attention from the lovely Morwen, just tell me how and when. Just as I shall expect you to help me when you come to Tru
ro Fair.’

  Ben looked at her sharply, seeing the quick colour in her cheeks. ‘In what way? Have you found someone special, Jane?’

  ‘Very special,’ she said softly. ‘And just as impossible for my parents to accept as your father accepting Morwen Tremayne as a wife for you! I won’t say any more at the moment, Ben.’

  Her mouth shook slightly. She could still hardly believe the way love had come to her, swiftly and spectacularly.

  Even to speak of it might diminish its glow…

  ‘You know you have a trusted friend in me, Jane.’ Ben assured her. ‘Let’s walk around the gardens, and let the parents think we’re billing and cooing, since it pleases them.’

  She agreed, mischief in her eyes at the game they played. She took his arm, and he teased her, and wondered if she guessed how her soft words had stirred a new and intriguing thought inside him. An impossible thought, of course. Marry Morwen Tremayne? Yet it was a thought he couldn’t quite get out of his head, enticing and heady.

  Chapter Four

  The two girls stood at a distance from the cottage on the moor. Even though the spring weather was warm, the customary curl of smoke rose from the chimney. They knew that the air inside would be thick and cloying, with the mixtures of peat and the old woman’s evil-smelling pipe, and the herbs and potions she boiled. Old Zillah’s hovel.

  Celia licked her lips. She had teased Morwen into visiting the old woman, against their parents’ wishes. Zillah could tell them their marriage prospects, Celia had coaxed…

  ‘We don’t need a crystal ball to tell us that!’ Morwen had scoffed. ‘We’ll marry clayworkers, same as our mothers did.’

  Celia gave a sly grin. ‘Don’t you have better plans now, Morwen? Now you’ve been kissed by Ben Killigrew, don’t you have a fancy to lie between silken sheets of a night?’

  ‘Fat chance! And don’t go prattling on about that, Celia. I’ve had to bribe our Freddie to keep his trap shut, to stop folks baiting me!’