A Cornish Girl

by Gloria Cook

  The rest of his childhood had been no easier, the nightmares of belonging nowhere had continued to plague him. It had seemed to him at the time that every other boy at the school had a wonderful home life. He had hated listening to them enthusing about how they could twist Mama round their little finger, how Papa was so proud of them and about the games they played with their siblings and friends. He had wished and wished he could make friends but always some dark wall inside him had prevented it. He gained a reputation for being strange and the boys had avoided him.

  He had seen little of Miss Minion, whom he remembered as someone akin to a waxen likeness of Queen Elizabeth, with a squawking voice and a tendency to hiccup. She had been forced to take to her bed when he’d reached his teen years and he had come under the guardianship of her lawyers. There had been days when he had spoken to no one but the servants, but wanting only to be alone he had brooded over his origins. On Miss Minion’s death he had been left her house and a considerable fortune, in respect that he had fulfilled the proviso that he had turned out to be a successful, respectable young gentleman. He’d had no need to seek work. Investment in the local railway and in ironwork factories had seen that he lived exactly as he willed.

  For a while he had been distracted by a life of women, drink and playing the gaming tables but his underlying misery had driven him to decide to seek his real mother. He had hoped the nursemaid had lied, that he was actually the son of some poor girl seduced and deserted. He began to daydream that she had desperately wanted to keep him but had reluctantly given him up, perhaps even taking him to Miss Minion, or abandoning him on her doorstep, so he would have a better life.

  He had enquired at every orphanage and workhouse and charity within a wide radius. He had even tried the brothels. He’d asked discreet questions in the houses Miss Minion had been associated with, thinking he might be the child of an acquaintance’s servant. Everywhere he had drawn a blank, and he had been left with the worm, of being an unwanted nobody, chewing away at him all the more. Sometimes he thought he’d go mad and eventually he had resorted to drugs to ease his torment. If not for the chance meeting with the sea captain he might never have known who his parents were. The most hurtful thing was hearing from the former Howarth servant that his mother had gone insane after giving birth to him, hating the fact she had carried the result of the rape in her body. Could not Prudence Howarth have felt something for him? She had been the other half of his parentage. Was he so vile? Like something rotten, like carrion? She’d made him feel he was. She had prayed she would miscarry – she had wished him dead. And he had wished that too.

  Remembering all this made him feel sick. His head went muzzy and he put a hand to his brow to rub at the tension. He realized he was nearly at Burnt Oak, having led the horse there by instinct. There was a commotion in the hedge. A large feral cat ran across the road ahead of him with a sparrow in its mouth. Impervious to Kit or arrogantly ignoring him, the cat let the bird down on the road but as it tried to flutter away it reached out and played with it with a tormenting paw. Kit dismounted. He grabbed the cat by its scruff as it picked the bird up in its mouth again. ‘Drop it!’ He shook the cat until it was forced to let the bird go. Kit dropped the cat down and hissed at it to get away, which it did, and he picked up the trembling shocked sparrow and closed gentle fingers round its tiny body. He could feel its heart pounding but it didn’t seem to be too badly hurt.

  The cat slunk back, meowed in complaint and circled about his legs. ‘Get away! Cruel bully.’ He marched back to the horse and holding the trembling bird carefully, he rode on. When well away from the cat he stopped and opened his palm. The bird flew away at once. ‘Ah, thank God.’ He knew the cat had only followed its instincts but he hated seeing the suffering of something smaller and less powerful.

  Jowan was in his grandmother’s sitting room, drinking Kivell-produced mead before the meal. His grandmother was in her chair, regal and calm, like a duchess. His Great-Uncle Genesis, and Aunt Eula with her husband, Jack, his eldest sister Delen and a half-brother, Hugh, were also there to make up their minds about the expected guest. As ordered by his grandmother all were dressed formally.

  It felt very odd when he was facing his new half-brother with his clear Kivell looks. No wonder Sarah had received such a shock. It was an odd and uncomfortable situation despite the pussyfooting pleasantries, the small talk and polite smiles. Staying on his feet, hot and stuffy in high starched collars and a tie, although determined not to let Sarah’s distrust of Charles Howarth prejudice his opinion, Jowan took a dislike to the man. Howarth was trying hard to please, which was understandable, issuing witty anecdotes about nothing in particular, but he was vague about his life and was warding off direct questions. His grandmother seemed keen for everyone to form a good opinion of him. The others were nodding and smiling a lot. Was he the only one to have noticed Howarth’s reticence? But perhaps he was being unfair. Howarth was outnumbered. He had got a cold reception the first time here and must be feeling ill at ease.

  By halfway through the meal Kit had grown more or less at ease. He had spoken to everyone and had received politeness and hospitality in return. Only with Jowan was he finding it difficult to strike up a conversation. The younger man’s suspicion of him was plain, deliberately so. ‘You run a carpentry business, I understand, Jowan?’

  ‘I do,’ Jowan watched him closely from the other side of the table. How genuine was Howarth’s interest? ‘It’s the property of my brother Sol and his wife.’

  ‘I’m sorry not to be able to meet Sol. I’d like to look over the business, if I may. To see where you live.’ He had been invited by the others to view their workshops and enter their homes.

  ‘Come when you like. You have left a great responsibility behind you in Bristol.’ Jowan wanted to talk about Howarth’s affairs.

  ‘Indeed,’ Kit included all with a sweeping glance. ‘But the Howarths have always retained very good managers.’

  ‘I’d have thought you’d spend time in Falmouth looking up contacts and forging new ones.’

  ‘That wasn’t the purpose of Charles’s journey down to Cornwall, Jowan,’ Tempest interjected. She was aware Jowan was set on an interrogation. It was important that the family should learn all about Charles, she was eager to know all about his life, but she didn’t want him to feel on edge.

  ‘I know what Jowan means, Mrs Kivell. A good businessman never stops seeking opportunities.’ Kit turned back to Jowan. ‘I’ve ridden to Falmouth and done just that, but I wanted to stay fairly close to Meryen and get the feel of the locality you all live in, the mining community included. Gwennap was the closest I could get without infringing on you. Mostly I have kept quietly to myself.’

  ‘Has anyone spotted your likeness to us?’ Jowan leaned towards him, his eyes piercing the other man’s face.

  ‘Yes,’ Kit answered at once. ‘Sarah Kivell has. She informed me that she wished to be known henceforth by her maiden name. She stared at me. It’s a particular dislike of mine, being stared at, and I’m afraid I was rather sharp with her. At first, you see, I’d assumed she was some insolent village girl. Later, I was ashamed of myself. I called on her prior to coming here and offered my apologies. She refused to accept them and ordered me away and I promptly withdrew.’

  ‘You took the trouble of finding out where she lived and went to Tabbie’s Shack?’ Jowan didn’t like this. He could imagine how Sarah would have hated being disturbed by this man.

  ‘Of course Charles would do so,’ Tempest chided Jowan. ‘He’s a gentleman. Charles, Sarah actually told you she has disowned the Kivell name?’

  ‘She told me she hated Titus.’ Kit looked down for a moment. ‘Sorry to have brought it up, but you might as well know.’

  Tempest, like the rest, wondered what had caused the monumental change in Sarah’s attitude, but this wasn’t the time to speculate about it.

  ‘Do you have a wife, Mr Howarth?’ Eula put in, and Tempest blessed her for changing the subject
.

  Jowan had told Tempest about Sarah’s intention to leave the village; the sooner the better. It appeared she had finally put Titus and all he had meant to her behind her. Tempest was pleased about that. Jowan had always liked Sarah and it touched Tempest that he was protective of her. Tempest did not have the same strong emotional link with Jowan as she did with Sol, but she loved him a lot. He was the one grandchild who wasn’t jealous about Sol being her favourite.

  ‘I’m not married,’ Kit told Eula, putting on a sweet sort of smile. ‘But I think when I get back to Bristol I’ll start looking for a bride. It’s time I settled down. I’d like to have a large family.’ He couldn’t think of anything he wanted less. He didn’t ever intend to encumber himself with a wife – one who would surely disapprove of his lifestyle – and he had no care at all for children, he had no idea how to relate to them. He didn’t believe he could ever fall in love, anyway. Family life was alien to him, in fact he was rather frightened by it, of the commitment and possible rejection it might mean.

  The lunch was eaten with the talk, as if by some silent agreement, centring on the running of Burnt Oak and its many crafts and trades, the Kivells all feeling there would be other times to get to know more about Charles Howarth. Kit was only really interested in Tempest, in finding the best way to bring her down for her crime of rejecting Titus. If she had shown him a mother’s love, as all mothers should do without exception for their children, then Titus might have grown up to be a good man, and Prudence Howarth might not have been raped to ultimately bear him and cast him into a life of hell. He felt the food, although delicious, was choking him, and he was careful not to make too free with the wine. He’d drink himself into a stupor when he returned to his house to purge himself of this boring, cringe-making experience. He didn’t want to admit he actually admired and was excruciatingly jealous of the family’s easy closeness.

  The rest of the visit was kept formal, with Kit leaving after making arrangements to call again in a day or two.

  ‘What did you think of him?’ Tempest asked the gathering, when back in her sitting room after waving off her guest.

  ‘He seems agreeable enough but I still don’t know what to make of him,’ Genesis answered first, as was his due as the elder. ‘He won’t be around for long and may choose to never come down to Meryen again. He’s a kinsman, and while we should stay careful of him I suppose we do have a duty to offer him hospitality.’

  ‘It’s obvious you would like to form a closer relationship with him, Mama,’ Eula said in a reserved tone. ‘But I can’t forget how much your vision distressed you. All that couldn’t have been for nothing.’

  ‘But his character was found to be exemplary. I have thought much about the vision and every possible way it could be interpreted. Charles turning up would have thrown my world upside down anyway. It could be that.’

  ‘It could be anything, Grandmama,’ Delen said. ‘I shall reserve my judgement for now.’

  ‘Me too, until I get to know him better,’ Hugh said. ‘I don’t think you were impressed by him at all, were you, Jowan?’

  ‘I can’t say I was.’ Jowan was tight-lipped. ‘I don’t trust him. When he knew he was related to us, why couldn’t he simply have written to introduce himself? To have spent days at Gwennap before coming here means he must have been spying on us. Why all the drama? I shall go to Sarah, keep her informed of events.’

  ‘I thought he seemed rather shy,’ was Jack’s deliberation. ‘That could explain his actions. He might have been deciding whether to actually approach us or not.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tempest said quickly. ‘We should give him the benefit of the doubt for now. He’s not used to mixing in with family life. In a way it was brave of him to come to us. Thank you all for being here. Tell the rest of the family about Charles. We shall hold another council about him again soon.’

  Kit’s mind was on riding fast to his house and drowning himself in a luxury of fine wines, but at the outer gate he recalled that the opposite direction led to Poltraze. The lady there was lovely and it tugged at the side of him that liked a mystery and a challenge to get to know her. How did she fare with a husband who preferred a man in his bed? The big house was bleak and it shunned entertaining, in parts its grounds were as ruined as a battlefield. Tara Nankervis adored her child and apparently found a little purpose in her charities, but her life must be wearisome in the extreme. How much longer could a young and vital woman go on like that without turning into a sorry drab? He would welcome some distraction right now, and the lady might too.

  He presented his false identity at Poltraze’s massive carved front doors, was invited into the echoing tiled hall by the stiff and ceremonious butler, who raised astonished brows, no doubt over his likeness to the Kivells, before taking his card up the dismal grey stone stairs to the drawing room. What a discouraging place this was, built by and then added to by philistines.

  The butler returned. ‘The squire is unavailable, sir. Mrs Nankervis will receive you.’

  After the butler had announced him and retired, Kit stretched out a hand, smiling lightly. ‘Thank you for—’

  ‘You’re the intruder!’ Tara exclaimed, distinguishing his broad build and Kivell looks. She hurried to the bell pull at the mantelpiece.

  ‘Please, I mean you no harm.’ He put up his hands. He didn’t want to be ejected from the house. Tara Nankervis was not only favoured with exquisite snow-white skin, she also had a fascinating spirit, usually restrained, he was sure, but which had come to the fore in her belief her home was under threat. ‘I’m sorry about my trespass. I can’t explain it. It was something I did on impulse.’

  Tara restrained her hand but kept it raised to the bell pull. ‘Do you often act on impulse, Mr Howarth? Or should I say Mr Kivell?’

  ‘If you would kindly let me explain the obvious, Mrs Nankervis …’

  ‘Oh, you have an explanation.’ Tara was shocked to have him here but she was also curious to know something about him. ‘I’ll allow you five minutes.’

  Kit gave a brief account of why he was in the area. ‘Of course, one of my first thoughts was to call on the local squire and I had heard about the splendid gardens here. The light was dimming on my first arrival and I was astonished to see the state of them. I wandered about, in something of a daze, I suppose. Then I left. I felt it wasn’t the best time to call.’

  Tara knew he wasn’t telling the full truth, and that he was an individual always careful in his approach and ready to seize the advantage. He’d had a cheek wandering about the grounds. It would be wise to send him away, but presentable visitors to Poltraze were rare nowadays. ‘It must have been strange for you to meet your real family.’

  ‘It was a somewhat emotional event. My grandmother, Tempest Kivell, was very pleased to receive me. I shall be making myself more acquainted with all the members of the family in the next few weeks. I’m looking forward to it.’

  Tara nodded. ‘May I ask what your family in Bristol thinks about you coming down here?’

  ‘My mother is dead. I confess that the others do not know. It would distress them and I had no wish to do that. I had to come. One has a burning desire to know about one’s exact origins.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ Tara didn’t know how to entirely sum up this man but there seemed no real need to urgently be rid of him. His company was better than none. ‘I’m sorry my husband is not here. Would you care for some sherry?’

  ‘I would, thank you, Mrs Nankervis.’

  She was pleased he did not gush out an acceptance but had replied quietly and humbly. ‘Do sit down.’

  Sherry glass in hand, Kit waited for her to take a seat on the end of a striped silk Georgian sofa, near the serpentine fireplace, one of the few splendid masterpieces about the place, and then he sat opposite her, at an angle where he could best see her face. She was like a marble goddess yet soft and tender, as if waiting to be brought fully alive. He saw the sadness edged behind her fair eyes and sensed a need in her
to see right and justice done. As with every beautiful woman he met he desired her, but he had respect for Tara Nankervis. There was nothing shallow and conniving about her.

  ‘I see the gardens are being restored,’ he said.

  ‘Yes. It was a terrible blow to Mr Nankervis to have lost so much.’

  ‘Was it a blight that caused the destruction?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  Kit could tell she had very little interest in the gardens. She had no reason to be proud of anything about Poltraze. She was wasting her life here. He would keep the conversation to the usual topics discussed in a grand drawing room with a lady. He would enjoy this afternoon and hope to be invited here again.

  Jowan made straight for Tabbie’s Shack. Sarah was outside drawing water. ‘Hello. I came because Charles Howarth told me he’d been here. I hope he didn’t upset you.’ He looked for signs of this in Sarah’s expression but she was always difficult to read. It would be good if she was glad to see him.

  ‘He did a bit. How was the meal?’

  ‘I didn’t like him particularly, but in fairness I haven’t really had the chance to get to know him. Grandmama seems to be quite besotted with him. He’s a lot like Sol in looks. I think she sees him as a sort of replacement. He admitted that he’d met you and offended you and was sorry for it. I’ll be keeping a close watch on Mr Charles Howarth. He’s coming to Chy-Henver soon. I’ll be able to find out more about him then without Grandmama jumping to his defence.’

  He was gazing at Sarah, enjoying the way her black hair was falling long and free and was ruffled by the wind. ‘How are you, Sarah? Could I take a quick look at what you’re hoping to sell? I’ll be better able to see how the dealer and I will carry it out from here and down Tabbie’s Lane.’

  ‘Come inside.’ Sarah didn’t mind Jowan’s company. She was grateful to have his help.

  ‘I’ve always wanted to see inside Tabbie’s home.’ Jowan smiled to himself. He would stay here as long as he could. After Sarah had been in her new house for a few days he’d call on her there. He knew it was unlikely she could be enticed back to Meryen, but he was more than taken with her and was prepared to live in hope.