A Cornish Girl

by Gloria Cook

  She found John alone in the coach house, where he was cleaning down the small carriage she had travelled in. ‘Hello. Where’s David?’

  ‘That was straight to the point,’ he smiled, dropping the chamois leather. ‘David sneaked in here early this morning while I was getting this ready to be pulled out. I had very little time to talk to him and when I bade him to go back to the Greeps he swore he’d run off for good if I didn’t let him stay.’

  ‘Where is he now?’ She liked the searching way John was gazing at her; she couldn’t deny it was good to be in his company, but the matter of David was a serious one.

  ‘Up in the hay loft where I first put him. I’ve managed to take him something to eat and drink. Don’t worry, Sarah, he’s fine for now.’

  ‘I’m sure he is. David came to you because he considers you a friend, but what now? He can’t sleep in your quarters with the other grooms and stable boys.’

  ‘I promised him in the Greeps’ back garden I wouldn’t let him be homeless or go to the workhouse. I’m sure I can talk him into returning to the Greeps for a few days until I can find him a job here. I’ll take him under my wing. Make sure he gets off to a good start.’

  ‘That’s very noble of you, John. Why are you willing to take David on? The new squire will expect you to be responsible for him.’

  ‘He reminds me of myself. I want the boy to have a chance,’ John emphasized. ‘I like him.’

  ‘You’re a good man,’ she smiled, meeting his lingering looks. He was leaning ever more towards her and she was gradually moving in on him. ‘Have you seen anything of Laketon Kivell?’

  ‘That devil. No, reckon he’s keeping his head low. He knows he’ll soon be out on his ear – well, if anyone can get him to go, that is. He’s not a man to be crossed.’

  ‘Whatever you do, don’t go near him, John.’

  ‘Has he threatened you?’ John’s strong face darkened with concern.

  ‘No. I just don’t want anything to ruin … to ruin things for us.’ There, the words were out of her mouth, they had just run off her tongue. John meant a lot to her and as if her inner self wanted to confirm it her hand reached up to his face.

  ‘Sarah, darling –’ he kissed her hand – ‘in a while I’ll send David safely on his way. Will you come back here tonight? Please? I’ll be waiting for you.’

  ‘I will, as soon as the house is settled. I won’t let you down, John.’

  Tempest chose to sit in a quiet corner in Poltraze’s drawing room during the wake. She had not been concerned about how the influential men and ladies would treat her, but she found herself the focus of a lot of attention. People approached regularly and engaged her in polite and probing conversation.

  ‘They find you fascinating, Grandmama,’ Kit said proudly. ‘I gather that much has been said but little has been seen of you over the years.’

  ‘Mainly, I’m sure, because they haven’t met someone who has got away with murder.’ Tempest sipped her sherry. Female eyes were on Kit voraciously. His origins were not of the highest order but his wealth and looks made him an excellent prospect as a husband or lover. But Kit did not see past Tara and she was more than drawn to him. Tempest saw their future clearly. After a respectable time to allow for mourning, Kit would take Tara as his bride to his new house. Nothing could be better, and all would be well, she would make it so. She had been to Paradise Cottage to carry out her deadly intention but men were there keeping watch on Laketon. He was not there now: at this very moment, unknown to everyone but her, he was skulking somewhere inside Poltraze itself. She sensed it with every strand of her being. If she told Kit he’d search the house and it would put him in terrible danger. She wouldn’t take that risk, but another risk she would take and only by herself, later today.

  At her trap, Tempest looked up at the upper regions of the old house. The west wing seemed to have a heavy dark shadow over it. Laketon was up there, in the new master suite he had shared with the dead squire. She must make her move before he made his.

  Laketon sniggered as his distant cousin drove his great-aunt home in her trap. Thought they were in with the gentry, did they? They’d never be really accepted. He’d had enough of spying out the guests’ movements. He lay down on the bed with his boots on, feeling for the weapons on him, a pistol, two knives and a length of cord, his precaution against sudden attack, weapons to kill. Michael Nankervis wanted him out but he would be the next one to die. He pulled the pistol from his waistband – hard steel with an ebony butt. It had been Joshua’s, one of a pair, and his brother had its twin. No doubt Michael now had his gun with him; very useful to Laketon. He’d shoot Michael and switch the guns, make it look as if he had accidentally killed himself. The servants knew their master was jumpy and was keeping close to Kit Woodburne for protection. Once alone he would be even more nervous; understandable for him to whip out his gun during some sort of fright, trip over and tragically shoot himself up through the chin. Life would progress, and when he felt the time was ripe he would pursue his hold over this property again via the pale-faced Adeline. He would take Poltraze back, by all that was savage and unholy he would, or he would burn it down to the ground.

  The idiots in the house thought he was holed up in Paradise Cottage but he had slipped past the other idiots stationed there to keep watch on him. He had taken his personal things and left a letter of resignation. It would seem he had gone for good. He grinned at the opulent drapes above his head, his eyes showing the madness that had taken him over. He would use this bed again, but rather than keep to one lover he would entertain a string of them. He would have everything. If only Joshua could see it all.

  After dark, Kit, Michael and four brawny sailors from a vessel owned by the Howarth Shipping Line surrounded Paradise Cottage, bent cautiously and ready to spring into action.

  ‘There’s no lantern lit,’ Michael whispered fearfully, near the front door. ‘Do you think he’s in there?’

  ‘Where else would he be? For his own reason he’s keeping out of the way,’ Kit replied. ‘It’s likely he’s expecting a visit like this, we must be careful, keep ourselves low. He may have set a trap at the doors. I’ve ordered the men to break through the back door then to stand back in case they’re fired on. We’ll do the same here.’ His mind travelled to Tara. It would be so good when he got back off the ship and would be able to tell her she need no longer live in fear of his villainous kinsman. Pray God, no one but Laketon got hurt in the process. On his signal, the call of an owl, the assault on the cottage began.

  Sarah stole from the house, climbing out of a window of a little-used back room. She reached the stable block quickly, her slippers making no sound on the cobbles. She took no lantern – the moon provided the right sort of light for the meeting she was involved in.

  The coach house was nearby. Once she was inside the door, John pulled her into his arms. He took her breath away in a hungry kiss. She kissed him back then pulled her lips away. She could make out his strong outline in the scrap of moonlight filtering in through a high window. ‘What if I had been someone else?’

  ‘I could never mistake anyone for you, darling Sarah,’ he murmured, threading kisses down her neck. ‘I saw David off to the village before darkness fell. We’ve no one to think of except ourselves. We won’t be disturbed. No one ever comes here at night. It’s believed to be haunted.’

  Sarah looked over her shoulder. The atmosphere in the house was particularly heavy and disturbing tonight, as if something even more sinister than its ghosts was there. Had that horrible sense of presence followed her here? No. There was only John and herself and perhaps a harmless mouse or two.

  John pulled her face back to him. Their lips met again in a powerful kiss that went on and on. He held her face, he stroked her arms. They got to know each other. He squeezed her waist and pulled her in to him tighter and tighter. She gripped his hair, ran her hands along his broad shoulders and down his back. His lips travelled down from her throat, down and down, and she enc
ouraged him to carry on the tantalizing journey. Their breath was coming fast, their hearts were beating the same urgent tune and their lower regions ignited into fire, growing hotter and hotter.

  ‘I want you, Sarah,’ he breathed huskily against her ear, nuzzling her there. ‘To lie with you will mean everything to me. I’ve made a comfortable place, if it’s what you want.’

  ‘It is what I want, John.’ Sarah slid her lips across his chin. ‘Take me there.’

  He led her past the coach and smaller carriages to the back wall, where he had laid down straw and blankets. The moonlight reached the very spot, turning it into a place of enchantment. Sarah was totally aware of John, as if she had known him for ever. She knew his wonderful smell, the movements of his limbs, the turn of his head, the glitter in his eyes, his smile and the soft and the frantic demand of his lips. It was the most fantastic thing to feel his lips on her, to have a man bestow love on her as a devoted mate, tender and loving and full of giving. She wanted John and she wanted to give all of herself to him.

  His heavy breathing of desire filled her with a burning need for him, but he was waiting for her and this meant so much to her, to have a man put her feelings first. She let her shawl fall off her shoulders then took a firm hold of his hands.

  ‘This means more to me than a secret meeting, Sarah. I care for you very much. More than that, I’ve never said this to a woman before, I love you, Sarah. Whatever happens I want you to know that.’

  Could she tell him the same? She had thought she was in love before but that had been something born out of her desperate need to be needed, to have someone take care of her. She could take care of herself now. Did she need someone with her throughout all of her life? She had a future beckoning her in the town or abroad at any time she pleased. After the recent tragic event all she knew was she had a boundless longing for John.

  ‘You don’t have to say anything.’ He caressed her face. ‘This is enough for now, to have you here with me.’ He took her in a lover’s hold and showered her with light kisses and touches, quickly building them into something stronger and demanding and exquisitely intimate.

  She was lost in the depths of beauty of how it should truly be when lovemaking progressed. John was sensitive and knowledgeable, bringing her to experience the essential dimension of her being. With him she encountered the full mystery of being a woman. This was more than a union of eager bodies. It was a meeting of supreme physical contact and in the end for Sarah, of souls. She lay fully loved and sated in John’s arms, only wanting to stay here with him.

  Tara couldn’t sleep and wondered why she had bothered to get into bed. Her mind was a tumult of emotions, sorrow for Joshua, gladness for her freedom, the love in her heart for Kit. She had felt lonely and empty when he’d driven his grandmother home and anxious for him to return. Kit figured greatly in her future and she was full of fear that Laketon Kivell could so easily devastate everything. Kit and Michael were sure he was keeping low in the cottage and she was worried what they might do. Michael did not have the courage to be in the forefront of a confrontation to demand Kivell get off the property but Kit did. If anything was to happen to him …

  If only she had thought of something herself to get rid of Kivell but she did not have the physical strength to carry it out, or the authority now. She pummelled the pillows and tossed them down the end of her lonely bed.

  She got out of bed. How was she to get through this night? Sarah was probably having a poor time too; she would go to her. Tara’s lantern threw ominous shadows on the floor, the wall panels and in window crevices and up on the long ceiling. Sarah wasn’t in her room, her bed had been turned down and her nightgown placed ready, but was left untouched. The wardrobe door was open; she had changed her clothes. Fear shot through Tara. Was Sarah trying to do something about Kivell on her own, or worse still had he snatched her for some reason? What if he wasn’t in Paradise Cottage but was actually here in the house? He knew well its many rooms and passages, there were many places where he could be hiding, or concealing a hostage. She must rouse Kit and Michael.

  She saw a folded sheet of paper on the dressing table. This could be a clue to Sarah’s whereabouts. It was part of the letter from Amy. Tara and Sarah had exchanged the news of their letters, but Tara picked out something Sarah had kept to herself, of Amy encouraging her to join her in California. Was Sarah considering it?

  She heard a noise and silenced a gasp. It wasn’t close and was rather like the rustle of leaves. Something was very wrong. Rosa Grace! Before she did anything else she had to make sure her daughter was safe and she flew out of the room to the nursery.

  Laketon had brought with him a bottle of brandy and because even now he liked to keep up his standards he was drinking out of a glass. It was so funny, hilarious, that these people, probably spending a restless night, could be racking their brains wondering where he was and all the time he was here, lying in comfort on the squire’s bed. Kit Woodburne had returned. He must be wishing he was in Tara’s bed, perhaps he was. Laketon couldn’t imagine Michael had gone down to Wellspring House. He would be in the library, gloating that he’d murdered Joshua and had got away with it, not knowing his biggest problem was still in the house. That’s me! Laketon pointed to his chest, gurgling in quiet laughter. In a minute he would go down to the library and kill the new squire, then nip out of the house avoiding the hue and cry and disappear for a few weeks. He had paid the madam of a brothel that serviced his tastes handsomely to provide him with an alibi. He poured another brandy in celebration.

  ‘Uh?’ He sat bolt upright and spilt the drink over himself. Someone was there at the foot of the bed. He could just make out a figure in the darkness, the figure of a woman. A ghost …? Chills rode his spine and for the first time in his life he knew real fear, then he scorned himself. Supernatural or not, nothing would get the better of him. His hand shot downwards for his gun.

  ‘Don’t move, Laketon.’

  He froze, aware now there was a gun trained on his chest. ‘Great-aunt? It’s you? How …?’

  ‘I knew you were here. At Burnt Oak they thought I went up for an early night but I came here. You’re not the only one who has been hiding in this house and waiting for the right moment, Laketon.’ Tempest’s voice was as hard as frost.

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘You know why, to stop you hurting anyone else, Laketon. I won’t take the risk that you’ll hurt Kit or Sarah, and the world will be better off without you.’ Tempest had a firm grip on the gun. ‘You can’t talk me out of it. I don’t care if I hang for this crime or if I’m damned to hell.’

  ‘You’ll go to hell and I’ll be right there with you,’ Laketon hissed, licking his bottom lip. ‘Have you thought of that? I won’t let you rest in the afterlife.’

  ‘I’ll take my chances with God’s mercy. But I probably won’t hang, I’m sure the Nankervises will be glad to cover for me. All I want is you dead, Laketon. Goodbye.’ She fired.

  At the same moment Laketon lunged forward and threw the bottle of brandy at her. The bullet hit him with a force that shocked him as it ripped straight through his heart. After the thud in his chest and his yell of terror he plunged down dead, hanging over the footboard of the bed.

  The bottle struck Tempest on the shoulder, smashing and showering her with glass and alcohol, making the gun fly from her hand. The force sent her staggering back to lose her footing. She fell to the floor hard. As she went down her neck hit the heavy scrolled foot of a chair.

  Tara stopped short of her daughter’s bedroom. What was that? A shot! It sounded as if it had come from the west wing.

  Kit and Michael were back in the house having discovered Paradise Cottage was empty. Hearing the shot they raced up the stairs, Kit in the lead. They caught up with Tara hurrying down the corridor.

  ‘The shot came from the west wing, Kit. I thought I’d heard someone creeping about. It must have been Kivell.’

  Reaching her, he eased her towards Michael. ‘Ke
ep her out of the way. Fetch the men.’

  ‘Sarah!’ Tara cried. ‘She’s not in her room. That monster might have hurt her.’

  Kit ran on to the suite, his firearm held out before him. If Kivell had hurt Sarah he’d rip him apart with his bare hands, show the barbarous swine no mercy. The door to the suite was open. He listened hard. There were no sounds coming from within. He got the crushing brooding sense that something of untold menace was waiting inside. The first room, the sitting room, was steeped in shadows. Kivell could be anywhere, behind the door, crouching behind a chair.

  Kit went in, hardly daring to breathe. He could smell brandy. With the gun held out in front of him he spun round here and there, flinching every now and then, expecting to be hit by a bullet. At one point his throat constricted as if a cord had been wrapped around his neck and would choke out his life force. It was just his imagination. He was allowing himself to face an adversary with all the cunning and intent of a predator and with the madness of a depraved heart and mind. His hand trembled and he brought up his other hand to steady the gun, whipping his body to left and right, behind and ahead, expecting Kivell to suddenly leap out at him with a horrendous scream.

  The door to the bedroom was ajar. Putting his side to the wall, he quickly looked inside. Nothing was moving and nothing was making a sound. At first all seemed dark and formless then he made out a strange shape slumped over the foot of the bed. It was a man. Kivell had killed someone. It had to be a servant – Hankins? Had Kivell got the truth out of him?

  Letting his eyes stray he saw a second figure down on the floor. It was a woman. Sarah! He let out an anguished moan.

  Tara heard him and breaking free from Michael she went in. ‘What is it? Sarah!’ She saw the body on the floor by the light of her lantern. ‘It’s not her!’

  ‘Who then? Grandmama!’ Kit cried in horror. He glanced at the body over the bed, recognized it was Laketon and he was dead. He fell to his knees beside Tempest, his flesh pierced by splinters of glass. ‘What has he done to you?’