Killigrew Clay

by Killigrew Clay (retail) (epub)

  ‘My father is sedated as usual for the night,’ Ben said shortly. ‘He’ll be told in the morning, and by then I want your note in my hand. Give me your answer, for I’ve more to do this night yet.’

  ‘Be rid of the partnership, Richard!’ Mary Carrick put in shrilly. ‘The Killigrews have proved themselves a ruthless family, and I want to be disassociated from them!’

  He wished it too, yet there was a surge of admiration in Richard as he looked at Ben almost covetously. He had never felt a weaker man, seeing the boy’s defiant look. He envied Charles his son at that moment, and knew he could never hope to be like either of them.

  ‘I’ve had a long friendship with your father, Ben,’ he said slowly. ‘I would wish to be still his friend, but in the interests of Killigrew Clay, I’ll agree to sell my half to you.’

  Ben gave an audible sigh of relief. He needed control of the clay works, and this was the first step. Leaving Killigrew Clay in the hands of old men, one weak, the other an invalid, was certain to lead to more disaster. He held out his hand to Richard Carrick, who grasped it firmly. Richard turned away to write his note, while Mary looked at Ben with open dislike, where once she had adored him.

  ‘You don’t even think to ask after Jane!’ she said in annoyance. Ben just managed not to explode with anger at the petulant remark. He was openly sarcastic in his reply.

  ‘My time has been too occupied with seeing the effects of an accident, Mrs Carrick, and to thinking what can be done about it! But since I have a moment, then how is Jane? Well, I hope?’

  ‘Do you really care?’ Mary burst out. ‘She’s well enough, I’m told, if you call being married to that – that Yorkshireman a life suited to my daughter!’

  ‘If they love each other as I believe they do, then she is more than suited,’ Ben retorted.

  He turned from her, sick that she could be so shallow, when more important matters were at stake. Though no doubt Mary Carrick thought him an opportunist for pressing this night’s meeting with her husband. It was not his intention to appear that way, but having secured his note, and handed over the shares to Richard Carrick’s safe keeping, Ben wasted no more time with them. His next move was none of their business, anyway, and would probably only have damned him even more in Mrs Carrick’s eyes.

  Before he left, however, he begged the use of a guest room to wash and tidy himself, a request that was agreed to unwillingly. It should partly redeem him in the lady’s eyes, Ben thought humourlessly, with her dogged attention to etiquette. He washed away the smell of smoke from his skin, smoothed his hair, and brushed off as much dust as he could from his clothes. He needed to be presentable in the next hours. He made his escape gladly from Jane’s home, where he’d once spent so much time in other days.

  He knew the address of the house in Truro that he now sought, though he hadn’t frequented it. It was discreetly hidden in a side street, and he remembered the coded knock on the door, given to him by a wag at his London college, surprised that Ben hadn’t discovered it for himself, being so close to home.

  The door opened, and he entered, giving the friend’s name, and then his own. George Foggerty was a member of various gaming establishments across the country like this one, and his name held good for entrance. Ben went at once into a different world, of softly-lit rooms with plush red furnishings; of gentlemen busily intent on their own pursuits and barely looking up when a newcomer entered; of heaped notes and silver coins and IOU’s tossed into the centres of tables with a carelessness that said their owners were prepared to win or lose considerable amounts by the throw of a dice or turn of a card.

  It was just what Ben had anticipated, and all the old skills that had proved so lucrative in the past were about to be put to the test. He had never been a compulsive gambler, but his erstwhile college friends had known him for a damned lucky one. He counted on that too.

  He hadn’t been back in the county often enough in past years for these gentlemen to know him, and he was thankful not to recognise any of them. Not that it really mattered a damn to him. He was here for a purpose, and unconsciously his fingers flexed themselves as he saw the sidelong smirks from one to another, as if wondering how this young whippersnapper expected to beat such regular gamblers as themselves. And anxious to see whether he had enough funds to make a game worth their while. If not, they’d soon have him out of here… Perriman’s wasn’t a club for the chicken-bellied…

  Several hours later, the smiles were gone, and the gentlemen all knew they had underestimated the talents of the newcomer. The air was thick with cigar smoke, the faces tense, the untidy piles of money and notes all heaped in front of Ben Killigrew. He’d gambled with money and the few shares he still had left, and it had paid off handsomely. But it still wasn’t enough. He’d done his calculations in Gorran’s chambers, and knew what he needed.

  ‘Who’s brave enough to gamble for higher stakes?’ he said boldly. ‘One throw of the dice or one turn of the cards, highest number the winner in either case. Who’ll risk it?’

  ‘I’ve had enough for one night,’ growled one large gentleman.

  ‘And I—’ agreed another, and another.

  ‘What’s your stake, Killigrew?’A hard-eyed man of obvious prosperity said. Ben hid a smile, guessing he would be the one. He had the look that Ben had seen so often in the London gaming houses, unable to resist a challenge, no matter how risky, greedy to the last, and with ample resources to cover large losses. Ben was well pleased with his surmise.

  Instead of pushing all his winnings to the centre of the table as the man clearly expected, Ben drew out a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and opened it out for the man to see Richard Carrick’s writing and signature. All would know Carrick’s name in Truro, a most respected lawyer, and know that the note was authentic.

  ‘This represents a half-share in Killigrew Clay,’ Ben said calmly. ‘You may not know the name of it so well in Truro, but Carrick was my father’s partner, and has now signed over his half of the partnership to me. I’m prepared to stake this note against your matching one. You’ll see the amount it represents.’

  It was the biggest gamble of the night. If the man refused, Ben doubted that any others would take him up. If he agreed, then Ben could lose everything he’d gained so far this night. The gamble could be a disaster… but it was a risk he was prepared to take. He needed to double his advantage before he faced his father. The man stared at Ben’s unflinching eyes, and then gave a raucous laugh.

  ‘I’ll take you on, Killigrew! No man can continue to have the luck of the devil, and that’s what you’ve had, by God! We’ll have witnesses for this transaction. Steward, bring pen and paper, and let’s make it legal. There’s plenty here will be happy to see me avenge their losses tonight!’

  Ben smiled more coolly than he felt. If the bragging was meant to undermine his self-confidence, he’d heard it all before. Let them all think he had beginners’ luck, but he knew every trick of eye movement and trembling fingers, every sleight of hand and bead of sweat on the forehead. They were novices compared to some of the gamblers he’d met in London, but this last wager was the biggest of his life, and he too was beginning to feel the strain, and the clamminess in his hands that he didn’t want.

  ‘Bring me some powder and a towel, Steward,’ he ordered, once his opponent’s note was signed and witnessed. The other guffawed, clearly seeing this as a sign of Ben’s unnerving, but it was merely a precaution, and one that was regularly practised by those experienced city men who had taught Ben his expertise. But powder and a towel were brought to him forthwith, and the gambler was obliged to wait until Ben was ready.

  ‘What will it be?’ he asked the hard-eyed man. ‘You have the choice. Cards or dice. One turn or one throw only, remember.’

  He looked at the man unwaveringly, letting a flicker dilate his eyes as the man chose cards. Immediately, he changed his mind and called for dice instead, just as Ben had anticipated.

  ‘No more change of mind allowed,’
the Steward of the house declared. ‘Dice it is. Gentlemen, will you please agree that this is a new pair, with the seal unbroken?’

  He brought forward a sealed box, at which the opponent waved his hands impatiently.

  ‘All right, man, we can all see that you know the procedure. Now, let’s get on with it. I’m anxious to become the new half-owner in this clay works!’ He spoke arrogantly, as though the idea of it was a novelty to him.

  The Steward broke the seal on the box, and tipped out the two dice in front of Ben’s rival. As he was the challenger, it was his privilege to throw first. The gentlemen remaining in the club crowded round, half of them eager to see Jervis Penhaligon teach this young upstart a lesson, the other half just as eager to see Ben Killigrew wipe the complacent smile off the old reprobate’s face, and give them some satisfaction for the times he’d taken their money from them.

  Penhaligon rubbed his fingers together to make them supple, and threw the dice into the centre of the table. A six and a five. He scowled, amid the cheering of the watching crowd. He’d have hoped for a clean sweep to make certain of his victory, but he drew deeply on his cigar, unable to believe that his young opponent could have any more luck than he’d already had that evening. He could well stand the loss, but that wasn’t what mattered…

  He watched intently as Ben picked up the dice, weighing them in his hands and feeling their coolness change to warmth against his skin. The time he took began to unnerve his opponent now. He could see it in the quick drawing on the cigar, but Ben wouldn’t be hurried. There was no sound in the room but the shallow breathing of the waiting crowd and the click of the dice in Ben’s cupped hands.

  And then he let them go, spinning them across the table, while the watchers craned and stretched to watch their progress. One dice rolled quickly, to end face up with six black spots clearly visible on the white surface. A small cheer went up. The other dice teetered momentarily as if undecided which way to fall, and then dropped with painful slowness to make a perfect pair of sixes.

  Amid the deafening applause, Ben smiled in satisfaction at his rival, unable to disguise the relief in his eyes. He extended his hand, thankful that none had guessed how his heart had pounded sickeningly in that final moment.

  ‘A fair win, sir, wouldn’t you say? And let no one deny that Jervis Penhaligon was a worthy opponent!’ Ben said generously.

  The man’s eyes flashed for a moment, and then he laughed, acknowledging the gamesmanship in Ben’s words and gesture, and quick to respond to it with a strong handshake.

  ‘A fair win indeed, boy,’ he agreed. ‘And if you ever consider another kind of partnership, I can think of no better ally on the gaming table!’

  ‘Thank you, sir, but I think I know when to stop,’ Ben commented. ‘Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’d like to settle things with the Steward.’

  He could hardly believe his good fortune. This night, which had begun so appallingly with the accident in St Austell, had turned into one of unbelievable luck. He wasn’t insensible to the sorrow of that accident, nor to the fact that there was still a great reckoning to come. But out of it had come the chance and the guts to do something he’d hardly dared to think about.

  As he rode away from Truro and headed for home in the pre-dawn hours of the morning, with a pale pink-gold light already streaking the deep curtain of the sky, he still couldn’t believe he’d done it. Yet here was Penhaligon’s note safely inside his coat, along with Richard Carrick’s note signing over the half-partnership of Killigrew Clay to him. He had doubled the value of Richard’s share in one reckless venture.

  There were also the shares he’d held onto at the gaming house, and all the money he’d won besides. Unknown to his father, Ben had been quietly rich before, but now he had power as well as riches, and this had become the strangest night of his life.

  Despite the trauma of the accident, the exhilaration of what he’d already accomplished and the soaring realisation of all he could achieve in the future was more intoxicating to his senses than wine. At that moment, Ben truly felt as though he held the world in the palm of his hand.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Exhaustion overtook him long before he reached Killigrew House, and he didn’t remember stabling the horse or stumbling upstairs and falling across his bed without even removing his clothes. He knew no more until Morwen was shaking him gently, and he awoke to a blindingly bright morning, and the vague realisation that it was the beginning of a new era in Killigrew Clay. He was still drugged with sleep, not too sure what that new era entailed…

  ‘Are you all right, Ben?’ Morwen said. ‘Your father’s been asking for you. I can’t make many more excuses to him. The doctor’s due soon, and he’s sure to tell your father about the accident. You must tell him first, Ben!’

  Memory rocked his brain. He sat up so fast that his head spun, but there was no time to waste in lying abed. He had to speak with Charles, and there was a town meeting at noon. He mustn’t be late for that, and by then, he must have something definite to say to the townsfolk. He was determined on that.

  ‘Ask Mrs Tilley to send me some washing water, will you, Morwen? I look like a rag-tag. And tell my father I’ll be with him in half an hour.’

  She was bursting with impatience and curiosity.

  ‘Ben, what happened? Aren’t you going to tell me where you went last night? You look terrible, but there’s such a strange light in your eyes. Oh, please tell me!’

  Not yet. He had to see his father first. Then he would tell Morwen Tremayne everything she needed to know…

  ‘Later,’ he promised. ‘Are you going to delay me still further by standing there like a defiant chick? Do as I asked, there’s a love.’

  She flounced out, thinking his words condescending, while Ben smiled at her stiffly retreating back. Just as he’d seen her that first day in St Austell, when he’d so enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. It seemed so long ago now. A long time since he’d not loved Morwen Tremayne. He wondered now if there had ever been such a time…

  He heard the knock on his door, and Mrs Tilley came herself with a jug of hot water to fill his washing bowl. He must have been dreaming, and he had no time for that…

  ‘We’re all very sorry about the accident, Mr Killigrew,’ the housekeeper said fussily. ‘’Twill be a terrible blow to your father to hear of it—’

  ‘He hasn’t been told yet, has he?’ Ben said sharply.

  The woman shook her head indignantly.

  ‘Miss Morwen was most particular that no one should say anything to un. Most insistent she were—’

  ‘Good. Thank you, Mrs Tilley. That will be all.’

  She went out reluctantly, clearly wanting to hear more about the accident, but Ben wanted to speak with no one but his father. His head was clear. He recalled everything that had happened since first hearing of the waggon crash in St Austell, and he was his own master now. Charles must be made to realise it, and more. Ben intended being master of Killigrew Clay.

  He was ready in less than half an hour. He went into Charles’s bedroom. In his pocket were the spoils from last night, the barter that would make him king. The brief remorse was quickly smothered. In his place, he knew that Charles would do exactly the same. Charles had built an empire, and wouldn’t want it to crumble because of incompetency.

  Ben went quickly to Charles’s bedside as the old man tried to mouth some words of greeting. The words still resembled gibberish for much of the time, and Charles still looked frail and twisted. Despite his pity, the sight of him strengthened Ben’s resolve. He caught at Charles’s trembling hand.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m so late, Father,’ he said steadily. ‘I have a lot to tell you. Will you listen patiently and try not to get upset?’

  Charles nodded, a look of suspicion in his eyes. Ben plunged in, telling him as calmly as possible of yesterday’s accident. He heard the choking noise in Charles’s throat as he tried to comment, and wiped the bubbling saliva from his chin as it dribbled down
. He went on, telling him everything in a flat monotone, while Charles watched him unflinchingly. That cold watery stare was unnerving, but the presence of the notes in Ben’s pocket reassured him. He had to go on.

  ‘I went to Truro to inform Richard Carrick, Father. He had a right to know. Your partner had a right to know.’ He repeated the words slowly, as though to a child. He saw Charles give a small nod, his throat working as though to speak, but the words remained unformed. Ben gripped his hand more tightly.

  ‘Father, Richard is no longer your partner. He has lost interest in Killigrew Clay, and although he wants to remain your friend, he and his wife are embarrassed to keep on the business interest because Jane and I will not marry each other. Do you understand what I’m saying? Richard was prepared to sell his half of Killigrew Clay, and he has sold it to me. I had my own investments to buy him out, and I am now your legal partner.’

  He waited for Charles’s reaction before going on. His father’s eyes seemed to dart from side to side as if unable to comprehend, but from the hard squeeze on Ben’s hand, he was quite sure Charles understood. Was the old devil pretending to be more infirm than he really was? Ben wondered for a second, but there was no way of knowing for certain.

  ‘Father, it’s not enough. I need to have total control of Killigrew Clay. The clayworkers must have someone at their head who’s capable of immediate action on this strike. You have to sign the business over to me entirely. I beg you to do this—’

  ‘How dare you suggest such a thing while your father lies so ill! I never heard anything so underhand in my life! I always thought you were too good to be true, Nephew!’

  The shrill voice of his Aunt Hannah made Ben whirl round in a rage. He hadn’t heard her come into the room, and nor had she needed to be announced, being part of the family. She arrived at Killigrew House whenever she chose, knowing full well that if she waited for invitations, she would wait for ever. Ben glared at her furiously.