A Cornish Girl

by Gloria Cook

  When the count-house bell rang for croust time, Sarah gave her notice to her tribute leader, who expressed his disappointment at losing a good worker. She told no one else but the news would soon be spread anyway. She ensured Dinah Greep couldn’t offer some mocking explanation for her apology by sitting in the middle of a group of bal-maidens and young children. Outside, in the shelter of a storage shed, she hugged her mug to warm her hands and sipped her pennyroyal tea, nibbling on a rock bun she’d bought as a treat at the village bakery.

  Dinah sat as close as she could get to Sarah. After stuffing her face with half of her lunchtime pasty and gulping down her hot drink, she started up a hymn, singing with vigour. There was always a lot of singing at the mine. Others joined in, and some were smiling at Dinah in delight. Sarah stayed silent but was amazed.

  ‘Isn’t it wonderful,’ Elizabeth Coad whispered in a reverent pitch to Sarah. ‘The maid has seen the light. She went to chapel last night and during the altar call she fell to her knees and gave her life to the Lord.’

  ‘Yes, wonderful,’ Sarah said drily.

  ‘You must come along on Sunday, Sarah,’ Elizabeth said, her leathery hands clasped in enthralment. ‘There could be rejoicing in heaven for one more.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Sarah wondered if heaven really was rejoicing over Dinah Greep. Dinah was attempting to catch her eye, and the ragged lines of her thin lips were pulled back in the widest smile. Sarah doubted it was a sincere smile. She knew better than most not to lightly give away her trust.

  The next day was pay day, market day in Meryen, something that had grown up in recent times out of the expansion of the village as the copper trade had grown. Stallholders, wagon traders, pedlars and quacks turned up each month and set up their wares in a clearing on the edge of the downs, in shouting distance of Chy-Henver, Sol and Amy’s Kivell carpentry business. The tribute leaders doled out the money individually to the male surface workers, women and children. Those who didn’t work on tribute were paid by the purser of the mine as a whole and had to buy something at the mine shop first to receive it, at up to twenty-five per cent mark-up.

  Sarah’s wages were docked for the three days she’d had off following Tabbie’s death. It meant no hardship to her. She had plenty of food in store and all that Tabbie had left her. The question was how she could sell the valuables, and there were a lot of them, without being accused of stealing some of them, as Tabbie certainly had done. Close examination revealed that a few of the items, including glassware and tea caddies, bore the Poltraze crest. She would have to work out what she could comfortably sell and the rest she would bury deep out on the moor. But where could she find a buyer she could trust and who would give her a fair price?

  Looking about at the market traders there were none that dealt in the valuable stuff Tabbie had concealed in battered old chests and the nooks and crannies of her makeshift walls – she had left Sarah a detailed description of where all could be found. Sarah had been astonished at all the wealth: pocket watches, candlesticks, miniature pictures. Why hadn’t Tabbie sold up – her resourcefulness would have found suitable buyers – and lived comfortably in more traditional surroundings? She could even have afforded a maid. Tabbie had obviously been content in her unorthodox life. Knowing her as she did, it must have pleased her simply to relieve the rich of some of their trappings. Sarah wanted to get away from Meryen and start afresh, to leave all the tormenting memories behind her. It was a great relief not to have made it inside Burnt Oak, to have gone cap in hand to Tempest Kivell. The sight of Titus’s lookalike had purged her of ever wanting what might be her moral right. She would never have left Titus and his cruelty behind if she had taken anything of his. She was cross with herself for putting aside her pride that day. Now that a stranger who bore his looks was about locally, the man from Tabbie’s vision, she wanted to move away as quickly as possible and go to her family. Unfortunately, it couldn’t be done in a tearing hurry. She had no wish to continue at the mine but was working out her notice so as not to arouse suspicion about her intentions or what might be in Tabbie’s home. In the past she had heard people remark that they were waiting for ‘the old witch’ to die so they could look over her shack, ransack it they’d meant, hoping to find stuff of value.

  On paydays she usually bought herself something small, a handkerchief, a scrap of lace or ribbon or a cheap household item needed in the shack and some food, perhaps a pie or a saffron cake to share with Tabbie. She didn’t want anything for herself today but stopped at an aged olive-skinned gipsy laden with a huge basket hanging from her neck, packed with haberdashery, clothes pegs, combs and other items. There were twists of cloth which contained spells and concoctions to cure various ills or to lure a sweetheart. ‘What will ’ee have, little bud?’ the gipsy grinned, making rugged furrows in her inscrutable, weather-beaten skin.

  ‘I’ll take a look, Peg.’ Sarah took her time choosing presents for her family. A lace-edged handkerchief for Aunt Molly, a painted comb for Tamsyn, now aged twelve, and a jointed dog puppet for Arthur, one year the senior. While she looked, Peg, who had astonishing white teeth glowing through crinkled lips, rattled off Sarah’s fortune.

  ‘I see mixed fortune ahead of ’ee.’ Everyone has that, Sarah thought. ‘Them as should won’t. Them as will, you won’t want.’ Why did those of Peg’s ilk talk in riddles? Even Tabbie’s sayings had needed to be interpreted. If only Tabbie hadn’t been near accurate about Titus’s return. Who was the stranger who looked so much like him? Her mind had been in a fever while hurrying home after their startling encounter. Discovering Tabbie dead, slipped away into the next world whilst alone, and looking none too peaceful, had meant she’d given little thought to the stranger. She must forget about him. Let the Kivells deal with him. It was none of her business now. She would move away under her maiden name and leave her wretched past behind without looking back. Just one thing she would do, write a letter of thanks to Tara for her kindness in Bell Lane. She smiled while imagining Amy’s delight at her good fortune. She’d wait until after the reunion with her family and then fill a letter with the wonderful story. She had money of her own and if Aunt Molly, Arthur and Tamsyn allowed her to live with them it would be on the same level and not as a burden. She paid Peg the price of three farthings.

  ‘You shouldn’t be smiling, m’dear,’ Peg said in an urgent tone. ‘You should be on your guard.’

  ‘Not this again,’ Sarah wailed. Why couldn’t the netherworld let her be?

  ‘Then you know what I’m talking about. There’s one who wishes you terrible harm. There’s great upset ahead for ’ee.’

  Sarah couldn’t bear to hear any more. It had taken years for her to become positive, to believe she had a future worth living. She hastened away from the gipsy. At least she hadn’t been told she would fall in love again. She would have screamed if she’d heard that ridiculous notion.

  Within a minute she was faced by a Kivell.

  As Sarah was walking away from the gipsy pedlar, Dinah was making her presence known to a Johnny-go-Fortnight. A man of about thirty, in a rough suit and faded yellow- and green-striped waistcoat, with sallow skin, crooked yellow teeth, a thick, tobacco-stained moustache and a chin thrust out pugnaciously, he was one of those traders who talked the girls and women of less foresight into taking out fortnightly terms on expensive wares. Dinah had bought a pair of shoes and petticoats from his wagon, and a brooch, supposedly of a real ruby. She hadn’t understood that if she got behind on a payment, at a very high credit price, she’d owe twenty-five per cent interest on top. She had avoided him the last two fortnights when he’d arrived expecting instalments from his customers. Today she marched up to him boldly.

  ‘You’ve been hiding from me!’ Abner Jago accused gruffly. ‘You’d better have money for me t’day and it’d better be in full.’

  Dinah handed over nearly all her wages to catch up on the belated weeks. She only had a few pence left to give Miriam towards her keep. ‘Sorry to have kept you waiting, A
bner.’

  Ignoring her confident grin, Jago snatched away the money and counted it on a sweaty, grimy paw. ‘There’s still a shortfall. What d’you intend to do about it?’

  ‘I’ve got an idea about that. Hopefully I’ll soon be able to pay you everything I owe.’

  ‘You better had. Pay up prop’ly next fortnight and I’ll let you buy something else. If not I’ll go to that Bible-punching brother of yours and demand my money.’ He half-swung away from her, his piercing eyes searching for new customers among the milling mine workers, the traders to the mine and the villagers.

  Dinah didn’t lose her confidence but actually crept up to him, ignoring his stink, and spoke into his ear. ‘I know a way we can make a lot of money, Abner.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he bawled, shaking his head as if her whisper had lodged something abominable in his ear.

  ‘Shush!’ She was anxious Jeb didn’t see her hanging about him. So convincing was her act as a devoted member of his chapel he actually believed she was a repentant sinner. If he spied her with Abner Jago, known for his shady dealings, he’d change his mind and never trust her again, and she might lose her home. He had urged her in the past to join a dress club with the more careful girls, who to avoid debt bought clothes and took turns wearing them. The Anglican clergy didn’t approve of this practice, and Dinah wasn’t one to share anything with anyone. She whispered, ‘I know where we can get good stuff just for the taking.’

  ‘Go on,’ Jago muttered. The girl was a nuisance, but she also had no morals, and she might be on to something.

  ‘See that woman over there by Peg the gipsy?’

  ‘The pretty one? Widder of Titus Kivell? Lived with old Tabbie Sawle, who’s just dropped off the edge.’ Abner had always admired the beauty of the young woman who had never come near him to do business.

  ‘Yes,’ Dinah replied sourly, going on harshly, ‘she wears a silver pendant round her neck, a very expensive piece, if you ask me. It’s been said for years that Tabbie Sawle was stashing away things she got from shipwrecks. Where else could Sarah Kivell get such a good piece of jewellery? Come from a ship’s rich passenger, I shouldn’t wonder. Or the old hag stole it. Tabbie hadn’t worked in years but she always had money. Bought well at the shops. Seen it myself. Abner, the Kivell woman is working out her notice. I reckon she’ll be off then, probably on the proceeds left by the old woman. She got Tabbie Sawle her own coffin, you know, made from good oak. There must have been money lying around for that. When Sarah Kivell’s working at the mine, someone could break in and take away what she’s got. Would be as easy as falling off a log.’ And it’ll serve the bitch right, Dinah thought, the malice shining out of her beady eyes.

  ‘Someone? You mean me?’ Jago muttered in poor temper.

  ‘If you’re not interested I’ll find someone who is,’ Dinah said, disappointed, but hoping to talk him round. There was no one else she knew as dishonest as Abner Jago, there was no one else she could approach like this, to relieve herself of debt and to make enough money to get away from the hard, dirty life of a bal-maiden. She burned to wreak a glorious revenge on the high and mighty Sarah Kivell. ‘But think of it, Abner. It could be easy pickings for a great reward.’

  ‘I’ll consider it,’ he said, not quite so antagonistic now. ‘I need to know exactly where Tabbie’s Shack is. Tell me where to go. You can meet me there later today. You sure we can creep up on the place without the lovely Sarah knowing we’re about?’

  ‘It’ll be as easy as breathing.’ Dinah was so happy she didn’t consider that Abner Jago would surely know where Tabbie’s Lane was and that it would be easy to find the shack from there.

  In Sarah’s path, Jowan Kivell stood tall and resolute, but not in a confrontational manner. ‘Can I talk to you please, Sarah? It’s very important.’

  Sarah was annoyed to be waylaid by one of Titus’s illegitimate sons, but she knew Jowan as an agreeable Kivell. At nearly twenty, he was in charge of Sol and Amy’s business and lived at Chy-Henver, with two carpenter kinsmen and a sister. ‘Is it about Amy? Have you heard bad news?’ Sarah was always in fear of dangers for her friend from shipwreck, foreign diseases or natives.

  ‘Grandmama Tempest asked me to talk to you. Can we go somewhere quiet? There’s no one at Chy-Henver. The others are looking round the market.’

  ‘If I must,’ Sarah mumbled, frowning. She marched off towards the cottage where she had spent many good times with Amy. She could have lived there. Amy had begged to take her in. But it was Sol’s home too, and Jowan’s. Other Kivells had always been dropping in. Sarah couldn’t have borne that. Jowan followed her, a respectful thing for a Kivell male to do. They didn’t usually walk behind a woman, or anyone else for that matter. She reached the back door of Chy-Henver then turned round and faced him.

  He smiled. It was a smile one could easily return for he was light-hearted in the main and had smiling eyes. He had the Kivell dark good looks, and firm, strong expressions, which made him a prize worth catching to many a local girl. It would be years before any girl was likely to succeed with him for he was flirtatious and free-willed. ‘Would you like to go inside?’

  This was probably about the stranger she had met outside Burnt Oak. It was a serious business and she accepted this. Jowan swept out a big dark hand to intimate she should lead the way. It had been ages since she’d been in Chy-Henver’s large, comfortable, well-furnished kitchen, where she and Amy had sat at the hearth and drunk tea and chatted. She was hit by envy of her friend’s happy marriage and two healthy sons. Amy had all her family, including her mother and little sister, with her. Sarah missed Amy more than ever, and now, bereft of Tabbie, she was hit hard by loneliness. Then she remembered that she would soon be reunited with her own family. Nothing else mattered. She had no reason to be off-hand with Jowan. He had been horrified at how his father had treated her and he had always been respectful towards her.

  ‘Would you like to sit, Sarah? Can I get you something to drink?’ Jowan eyed the kettle warily. His sister Rachel hated him touching things in here. She complained he always left a mess, which was true.

  To show she was not hostile, Sarah sat at the table. ‘A drink of water will do, thank you.’

  On the table was a blue and white china jug of water, covered with lace that was weighted round the edge with glass beads. He fetched two cups off the dresser hooks, poured the water and sat opposite her. He couldn’t help taking a lingering look. He admired not only Sarah’s loveliness but her strength of will and he felt sorry for all her suffering. As his father had taken little notice of him Jowan had not had any strong feelings about Titus until he’d tried to murder Sol. Now he hated his father’s memory. If he had his way he’d have Titus’s body dug up from Burnt Oak’s grounds and buried in the loneliest spot out on the downs. ‘I’m sorry about Tabbie. You must miss her.’

  ‘I do, a great deal. Jowan, what’s this all about?’ She told him about her guess.

  ‘Yes, it’s partly about him. His name’s Charles Howarth. It seems he’s my half-brother. He’s due to dine with us at Morn O’ May in a few days. He told Grandmama he was the result of a brief love affair between my father and some married lady. Her husband owns a shipping line at Bristol. He accepted the child as his own. There are no other children. Grandmama has had his background checked. Apparently, he’s of excellent repute; a philanthropist. He runs the Howarth Shipping Line now his adopted father is old and doddery. The mother sadly became deranged and ended her days in a sanatorium. I got a strong feeling Grandmama was hoping Howarth would turn out to be trustworthy. I’ll be interested to meet him. The other thing is, Grandmama was wondering why you were near Burnt Oak on the same day as Howarth. Can I ask, did Howarth happen to make himself known to you beforehand and you went there to speak to him? Or had you gone there for some other reason and the meeting was just a coincidence?’

  ‘I just happened to be walking that way,’ Sarah lied. She would never reveal the truth. It wo
uld probably lead to Tempest offering her some help and she would have the bother of turning it down. ‘I was shocked to see someone who looked so much like … your father.’ She couldn’t bring herself to mention Titus’s name now. Disgust and loathing for him had replaced all her love. ‘I can tell you, Jowan, that I didn’t take this Charles Howarth as a worthy man. He shouldn’t be trusted. He was offensive to me and looked at me as if I was dirt. I know this isn’t unusual due to our stations but there was something really horrid about him. He knew who I was; I found that chilling. You should tell your grandmother all this.’

  ‘I will, Sarah. She won’t be happy to hear it. She was quite ill before Howarth’s appearance but since then she’s returned to her former self. Thank you for disclosing this to me.’ He sipped his water, his head bowed.

  Sarah saw he was troubled. ‘Did Tempest by any chance see this man before he arrived? You know what I mean?’

  Jowan met Sarah’s concerned eyes, stretching his long legs out under the table. How beautiful her eyes were, the sort of eyes that stayed in a man’s mind long after he’d gazed into them. ‘Yes, she had a vision. It’s what made her ill. She warned us about all sorts of bad things happening. It was like she was expecting the end of the world for the Kivells. Now she seems to be allowing a hasty judgement to cloud all that. I hope I can convince her she should be suspicious of Howarth. Are you hinting that Tabbie saw something too?’

  ‘I think she saw the very same thing. Tabbie gave me dire warnings too. Well, I shan’t be round here much longer to worry about it. I’ve given in my notice at the mine.’

  ‘I know.’ He smiled at her. ‘Word gets round. Good for you, Sarah. Listen, please don’t think me forward, but if you need help with anything before you go, I’m here. Sol and Amy would like me to help you if I can.’