The mutters of agreement dispelled any brief sympathy the clayworkers had for Charles’s plight. At least Killigrew would be suffering in warmth and comfort, while they eked out their existence in their miserable hovels. Hal couldn’t blame them for their resentment.
‘Do you wish me to go to see Ben Killigrew?’ he demanded. ‘’Tis hardly the time to badger the man—’
‘’Tis exactly the time!’ The shouts went up. ‘If he’s less sharp than usual, then so much the better. Push him to the limit, Tremayne. You owe it to all on us!’
He looked around the gaunt grim faces, seeing the desperation in some, and the anger in others. At that moment, Charles Killigrew’s stroke meant little to them. It changed nothing, and they wanted action. Already, six men had signed on with Bultimore and Vine’s and would be in danger of being thrown out of their cottages when Killigrew found out they were working at the rival pit.
Why hadn’t they listened to him and shown some sense? Hal thought savagely. The cottages were tied to Killigrew Clay. They were all tied to Charles Killigrew, and those that scabbed by taking work at other pits might gain a few shillings, but stood to lose their homes, mean as they were.
He’d seen the leaflets flooding the district, in the kiddleywinks and pinned to trees and cottage doors. He’d set Jack and Freddie to collecting them and burning them, but it was too late to stop more discontent among the men. The Penry men were two who had been tempted away, and Thomas Penry had informed Hal bitterly that he and his son had nothing but bad memories of Number One pit, where they saw their pretty Celia in the milky pool every idle day… Hal couldn’t blame them for wanting to leave.
But he didn’t relish being spokesman for the strikers, and felt acutely embarrassed to go to Killigrew House and speak to Ben about money matters at such a time. A man had a right to die with some dignity without being harassed about business matters…
The sound of wheezing chests and racking coughs stopped his thoughts at once. What in God’s name was he thinking about? Nobody said Charles Killigrew was going to die, and these men depended on him. The clayworkers were in more danger of dying from pneumonia and bronchial troubles if they didn’t soon get some warmth and nourishment for themselves and their families.
‘I’ll go to Killigrew House today,’ Hal said abruptly. ‘’Twill take some time, so my advice to you all is to go back to your homes and keep as warm as you can. I’ll send word as soon as there’s anything to report.’
‘And tell Killigrew we ain’t moving none of his clay blocks until we get our dues!’
Hal pushed through them. It was a waste of time coming here every morning, but it was a way of holding the men together, of keeping some kind of daily routine, so that complete lethargy didn’t add to the anger and frustration they all felt. This last development alternately maddened them and gave them a spark of hope, and they didn’t bother to hide the reason for it.
Some said quite bluntly that if Killigrew died, maybe the young owner would be more sympathetic, and openly wished it would happen… others said more cynically that all Killigrews were tarred with the same brush, and that once Ben Killigrew was in charge, he’d be as greedy as his father…
Hal stormed into his own cottage, his face tense and set. Bess and Morwen looked up from their sewing, busy as always, and the fact that his womenfolk were the only ones earning any coppers for the family shamed him as a man.
‘I’m to go to Killigrew House,’ he said shortly. ‘The men insist on it, and nothing less will satisfy them. They want the truth about Charles Killigrew, and they want their money—’
‘’Tis a bad time, Hal,’ Bess exclaimed. ‘You can’t expect a favourable reception with the poor man lying ill—’
‘Tis hardly a favourable reception I get from the men every morning,’ he snapped. ‘There’s no help for it. I’ll talk to Ben and see what’s to be done.’
‘I’m coming with you, Daddy.’ Morwen threw aside her sewing, her face defiant. ‘I’ve not been able to get Mr Killigrew out of my mind since I heard about his collapse. He was good to me for all his devious methods, and I – I’ve a fondness for him. Please don’t try to stop me.’
Hal looked at her bright eyes and determined chin, and gave a small sigh. Stopping his wilful daughter when her mind was made up was like trying to stop the tide. He saw the colour in her cheeks and wondered suspiciously for a moment if it was only Charles Killigrew for whom his girl had a fondness. It had better be… any other notions would be foolish indeed.
He reassured himself with the thought that Ben Killigrew would be doubly distraught at present, if reports of his young lady leaving him for another were true. He would be in no mood to take kindly to a clayworker’s daughter giving him soft looks. He gave a brief nod as Bess said quickly that she had no objection to Morwen visiting Charles Killigrew. She added that she thought he might welcome it, since he had been calmed before by Morwen’s presence.
Morwen’s heart beat faster as she got ready to leave with Hal in the Killigrew trap. It was a shock to see some of the clayworkers outside the cottage when they left, running behind the trap to be sure Hal Tremayne was really on his way to see the boss. They had always trusted him implicitly, but trust, like their weekly pay envelope, seemed a thing of the past these days.
Morwen was truly anxious about Ben’s father. A stroke could be a cruel affliction, leaving a strong man as weak as a baby, disfigured and helpless, while his brain remained aware of all the humiliation he suffered. To some men, the indignity would be harder to bear than the illness itself, and Morwen was sure it would be so with Charles Killigrew. Her heart ached for him, and nothing the clayworkers said or did could change that.
And nothing could dispel the sudden glow at the thought of seeing Ben again. They hadn’t met since being together at Penwithick church, when their love for each other had been too strong to withhold any longer. No one knew it but themselves, and it was a secret she cherished.
‘There’s no telling how we’ll find Mr Killigrew, Morwen. If you feel ’tis too much for you, ’tis not too late to change your mind about coming—’ Hal said gently when they had ridden in silence through the mud-churned tracks for a mile or two.
‘I’m not afraid to face sickness, Daddy. I just hate to think of anyone in pain. If it was a perfect world, there’d be no more suffering—’
She spoke quickly, guilty that her thoughts had been far from Charles Killigrew at that moment. They had been with Ben, and the sweet young love that surged through her veins whenever she thought of him. They had been transporting her to a heaven of her own, shared only with one man… her breath came more sharply in her chest, wanting him with a great wave of longing.
Needing his strength and his love, and remembering the ecstasy she had known in his arms on one perfect night… if it was wrong to be thinking such thoughts when his father lay ill, possibly dying, it was just as impossible to dismiss them, when every turn of the wheels through the clinging mud brought her nearer to him…
She heard her father give a short laugh.
‘I doubt if a perfect world will happen in my lifetime or yours, my dear.’
She refrained from answering, for how could she say she had already had a glimpse of hers, when Hal was so obviously full of concern for the men in his charge? Morwen’s heart ached for him too, for her family and all the others. And then her thoughts turned to her brother Matthew as the trap lurched along, rocking so badly she would surely be bruised all over by the time they reached Killigrew House.
‘Daddy, do you think we shall ever see our Matt again?’ she said sadly. They had discussed him for hours, and got nowhere in understanding him. Bess mourned the loss of her son, but came the nearest to knowing his wish to be something different… she’d known it too, and accomplished her own modest desire at last. Matt had presumably found his way that much sooner than she had.
‘I doubt it,’ Hal grunted. ‘Unless you’ve a mind to travel to America as well, and break your mother�
��s heart twice over, Morwen!’
‘I have not! I don’t agree with the way our Matt went, but don’t condemn him for wanting to make his own life, Daddy. We can’t all be copies of each other,’ she said pointedly.
‘Mebbe not, but I’ve a pride in our Sam I can’t deny, and the rest of ’ee too, Morwen. Our Matt – well, mebbe one bad apple in a sackful ain’t too bad to some folk—’
‘Don’t say that! He’s still our Matt, and nothing can alter that—’ she said heatedly, hating to hear him so bitter. ‘Matt’s not wicked!’
‘And nothing alters the fact that he went off wi’ that prize wastrel Jude Pascoe, and I’ve my own suspicions about that young un,’ Hal retorted. ‘But we’ve enough to think on without fretting over things we can’t change, Morwen. So unless you want to greet Charles Killigrew with a stormy face, we’d best talk of other things or stay silent.’
She bit her tongue hard and turned away from her father’s set face. He spoke of change as if it only happened to others, but they had all changed. Time changed everything and everyone. She felt older than he did if he couldn’t see that. She felt much older than her seventeen years. Girls matured quickly when they began work in a clay pit at a tender age. They were ready for marriage and child-bearing and widowhood before the fine ladies of the towns had discovered how to crook their little fingers at tea parties. Morwen was ready for love and for Ben Killigrew…
Thinking of fine ladies reminded her immediately of Jane Carrick, and Morwen wished her luck with her new life. She would probably need it, but Morwen still envied her, because it was a life she had chosen. She had heard the gossips gleefully discussing it all, and of its effect on the young Killigrew boy. They thought he’d got his comeuppance, and it must be galling for him to know folk believed him to be thrown aside for a brash, hard-talking Yorkshireman, when he was happy for Jane and Tom.
How sweet it would be to tell the world that it had never been Jane Carrick that Ben Killigrew loved, but Morwen Tremayne, the daughter of his father’s Number One pit captain… and that was where the fantasy ended, for it was hardly likely to happen so flamboyantly, if it happened at all.
As the trap entered the imposing gates of Killigrew House, and the solid stone-built building came into view, Morwen felt an appalling depression settle over her, as dire as a premonition. Was she mad, to think she could ever be accepted as anything but a housekeeper here? Her heart thudded painfully as her father grunted that they had best knock at the kitchen door for admittance, unconsciously reminding her even more clearly of her place.
* * *
Cook was pleased to see her, falling on her neck and confiding in her ear that the new housekeeper was a bit of a trial, but preferable to Hannah Pascoe for all that! Morwen laughed at her blunt words.
‘You are a tease, Mrs Horn!’ she said huskily. ‘But tell us quickly. How is Mr Killigrew? We’ve heard such tales—’
‘I’ve no doubt,’ Cook said dryly. ‘But ’tis pitiful to see un, my dear. The poor man can’t speak without dribbling, and he’s that vexed at his disability. He’ll be that glad to see ’ee, though. Like a little ray of sunshine you’ll be to un!’
‘And – and Mr Ben? How is he through all this?’ she asked hesitantly, feeling it a reasonable query. Mrs Horn sniffed.
‘Well, if he’s got a broken heart, he’s hiding it mighty well, that’s all I can say! Mebbe he’s too taken on wi’ his father’s trouble, but what wi’ all that, and callers to the house, and unsigned letters arriving calling Mr Killigrew terrible names on account of this here strike, well ’tis no wonder he can’t spare a thought for himself. But my guess is that he’s not as upset over Miss Carrick as his father would like him to be!’
‘So the newspaper piece we heard about had an effect?’ Hal broke into the woman’s chatter. Mrs Horn looked at him, annoyed for a moment at being diverted, then rushed on again.
‘That it did, Hal Tremayne. Did ’ee see it? We’ve a copy in the kitchen—’
‘Later, perhaps. We’ve come to see Mr Killigrew if we can. Will you ask Mr Ben if he’s well enough, please?’
Mrs Horn gave her usual sniff. ‘’Tain’t my place. I’ll send for Mrs Tilley, and she can pass on the message to Mr Ben, if you’ll wait a minute.’
Morwen could have smiled at her dogged insistence on keeping her rightful place, as she sent one of the skivvies scuttling off to find the housekeeper. But she was impatient to see the invalid for herself, and even more impatient to see Ben.
Mrs Tilley appeared a little later, smiling pleasantly enough, and saying that the doctor was with Mr Killigrew, but that they could go upstairs if they wished.
Morwen’s heart pounded as they entered the sick room. The doctor was just snapping his case shut after his daily examination of the patient. Ben leaned over the bed, wiping the spittle from his father’s chin. The doctor looked keenly at the two visitors.
‘Please don’t tire him. It’s good for him to see new faces, despite the fact that he says he wants no one to see him looking like an ape! But he knows you both, and the young lady will be good for him. She’s a calming influence. I’ll call again tomorrow, Ben. Don’t bother to see me out. Good-day to you all.’
Hal moved awkwardly towards the bed. How in God’s name was he going to put the clayworker’s case to this pathetic lump of a man? The face was twisted sideways, one eye drawn down like the corner of his mouth, the flesh beneath his jowl sagging like a chicken’s crop. He felt a deep sorrow for the man… and then remembered that it was Ben he’d come to petition, not his father. Though how could he do that in the circumstances… ? Ben looked weary to the bone with worry, yet Hal knew he had better take some results back to his men or there’d be more stone-throwing, and maybe worse…
Morwen pushed past him to go to Charles’s bedside, ignoring them all, even Ben. He was there and he was whole, while the sight of this poor wreck of a man made her want to weep. She caught hold of his useless hand, and saw his watery eyes gladden at seeing her there.
‘I’m so sorry, Mr Killigrew,’ she whispered. ‘If there’s anything I can do for you, please tell me.’
He attempted to speak, but it emerged as a guttural choking sound, accompanied by bubbles of spittle. Morwen gently wiped them away with the cloth Ben silently handed her. Killigrew’s eyes rolled, and his other hand waved towards Ben.
‘He wants to talk to you,’ Ben’s voice was harsh with anguish at seeing his father like this. Whatever their differences, he would never wish this on any man, let alone one that he loved.
Morwen saw Ben fetch a black writing block and thick chalk. He placed the chalk in Charles’s hand and held the block in position. It was painful to watch his struggle to form words with his left hand, and he finally sank back, his eyes full of fury and exhaustion at performing such a small task. He had written only one word, and it was for Morwen.
‘Stay.’ She read slowly. ‘You want me to stay here a while, Mr Killigrew?’
Ben finished the sentence he was unable to speak.
‘My father wants you to stay in this house, Morwen,’ he said tensely. ‘I know how you helped him when he was taken ill at your cottage, and I know how you helped me.’ He avoided her eyes, lest Hal saw the blaze of love he wouldn’t be able to hide.
A sick feeling washed over Morwen, not understanding Ben’s reason. All she heard was Ben telling her his father needed her as a nurse, to help him and his son as she had done before.
It seemed to Morwen in those heightened moments that he was as good as telling her they should forget all that had happened at Penwithick church… maybe now, when he could so nearly be the new young owner of Killigrew Clay, he truly did regret confessing that he loved a clayworker’s daughter…
‘Morwen?’ She heard Ben’s voice, more urgently now. She forced herself to look at him, unable to believe that her surmising was true, her senses too numbed to think otherwise.
‘I’m not sure if I can—’ she began thickly.
‘Y
ou must make up your own mind, my love,’ Hal put in swiftly. ‘If ’tis the men you’re worried about, they can’t object to your staying here as Mr Killigrew’s nurse, and I know your Mammie would wish it.’
She felt as though she was screaming inside. Did no one understand that it wasn’t what other people thought that mattered? It was only Ben… only Ben… and Charles Killigrew. At his croaking sounds, she turned her wounded eyes towards him.
‘Stay,’ he managed to make the first intelligible word since his collapse, and his eyes closed with the simple joy of it. Charles Killigrew, whose forte was roaring like a bull, had managed to say one word.
‘Your clothes are still here, Morwen, and your room still ready for you,’ Ben went on. ‘It would mean so much to us both. You’ll not be here as housekeeper, but as friend and nurse.’
Friend and nurse… it was so much less than she wanted. It was the difference between an ant hill and a mountain, and she felt as choked as Charles Killigrew at hearing the polite request from Ben’s lips. Oh, she knew he couldn’t have begged her as a lover… but if she was everything to him as he’d professed, he could have given some sign, some recognition…
As it was, she heard herself agreeing woodenly, and it was as though all her dreams were dying as she saw the relief in Ben’s eyes. He wanted a nurse for his father, and he had got one, Morwen thought savagely. She was disturbed enough to believe it was all he wanted of her. Distraught enough to wonder if he was even having second thoughts about Jane Carrick going off to marry Tom Askhew. She couldn’t think clearly about anything any more.
She heard her father address Ben in a low, urgent voice.
‘Can we talk privately, Ben? There are matters I must discuss with you.’
The clayworkers’ strike… how futile it all seemed to Morwen at that moment as she saw the two men leave the room, and she was left with the pale shadow of the man of whom she had once been so much in awe. He had always seemed so god-like… but there was nothing god-like about any of the Killigrew men, Morwen thought with a bitter irony. They were just men, with feet of clay, like the substance they gouged from the earth. And they didn’t even do that for themselves. What fools the rest of them were, to dance to their tune…
Killigrew Clay Page 23