A Cornish Girl

by Gloria Cook

  Michael was there. ‘She shot him, there’s a gun beside her. What a brave thing to do, confronting that scum. Is she …?’

  ‘No, she’s still breathing. He hurled a bottle at her. There’s blood where her neck hit the chair,’ Kit said, carefully taking Tempest up into his arms.

  ‘Bring her to my room,’ Tara said. So it had been the old lady she had heard moving about in the corridors. ‘We’ll send for the doctor.’

  Leaving the coach house, Sarah and John had to be careful not to be seen and to keep away from the dogs. Something serious was happening. Men were running about, some of them curiously in sailors’ garb. Now there were urgent voices and the servants had been roused. She got back inside the house and closed the window. She met Michael by the stairs where he was issuing orders. He was in a jubilant mood. ‘So there you are! You’ve caused a lot of worry, girl. I’m happy to say Laketon Kivell is dead and there’s now nothing to worry about. Poltraze is about to start a new beginning.’

  ‘Kivell is dead? I’m glad to hear it. Was anyone hurt?’

  ‘Woodburne’s grandmother was here. It is she we have to thank for killing the brute. She took a fall and is lying down in Tara’s room.’

  ‘Mama Tempest is hurt?’ Sarah pushed past him to pound up the stairs.

  ‘Oh, she’ll recover,’ Michael threw over his shoulder. Nothing could dampen his joy. ‘And she’ll be a welcome guest here at any time.’

  Sarah approached Tara’s bed. ‘How is she?’

  ‘She won’t wake up,’ Kit said, his voice heavy with anxiety. ‘Her hands are so cold. I don’t understand why she was here.’

  ‘I do,’ Tara said, dabbing gently to clean away the blood on the side of Tempest’s neck. ‘She came here to protect those she loves. She knew how deadly Laketon Kivell was, that he was verging on the insane, and she must have been afraid about how he was to be ejected from here. She must have known that he was hiding in the house. We’ll never know what he was up to but your grandmother surely saved someone’s life tonight, perhaps several.’

  ‘I should have killed him myself ages ago,’ Kit reproached himself angrily.

  Tempest’s chest heaved and she gave a long rasping sigh.

  ‘Grandmama?’ His hopes rose and he cried tears of emotion. ‘She’s waking up. Grandmama?’

  He called to her several times then looked at the two women. What was Sarah doing? She had sunk to her knees and was clutching the bedcovers and crying. Shaking his head he ignored her. Sarah was overcome, that was all.

  Tara had a creased expression that was full of sympathy. There was no need for that. She should be ordering the maids to bring things, hot water and a nightgown for his grandmother. ‘She’ll wake up soon.’

  ‘She won’t, Kit. You know she won’t. Her injury was fatal. Your grandmother has passed away. I’m so very sorry.’ Tara’s heart was with him. He was in a mist of miscomprehension. She went round the bed to him. She ached to comfort him with her arms but he was standing rigid. His tears fell silently.

  He left the bedside. It can’t be true, she can’t be dead. But when he looked back at the figure in the bed, seeming so small and frail now, he had to admit the terrible truth. The woman he had once wanted to hurt but who he had come to love so much was dead. She had done what she felt she must to protect him and had paid the ultimate price. He went slowly back to her side.

  ‘Tara, please take Sarah with you.’ His voice emerged as if from across a barren landscape. ‘I wish to be alone with my grandmother.’

  Tara ushered Sarah to the door. Kit was partly in denial. He had retreated inside himself, blaming himself for his beloved grandmother’s death. Only Tempest’s love had brought him out of his former self-destructive brooding. Tara loved him more than ever and now she was afraid he would not allow her love to help him come to terms with his tragic loss.

  Twenty-One

  ‘So, we finally leave here tomorrow, I’m glad to say. Everything is packed.’ Tara was at her boudoir fireside, with Sarah. The coal had burned down. The grate was nearly as lifeless as their joint mood. In the week since Michael had moved his family into Poltraze they had felt more and more out of place and couldn’t wait to leave.

  ‘I’ll be up before dawn,’ Sarah murmured, as grimly as she felt.

  ‘And I will too. At least it was a pleasant surprise to learn Adeline has a good heart. She seems more than capable of taking over the charities and the emergency fund. But what are we to do from now on, Sarah? I don’t want us ending up like a couple of old maids.’

  ‘We can’t be accused of that,’ Sarah said, sighing, leaning forward with her chin in her hands. ‘We’re two widows who have never known love.’ That wasn’t true, but …

  ‘Did you form no lasting fondness for John Moyle and he for you?’ Tara asked carefully. Sarah had admitted she had been with the groom on the night of the two deaths but she had not mentioned him since.

  ‘He’s a good man.’ Sarah picked at her skirt. The grief of Tempest Kivell’s tragic end had distracted her for days. David Kent had been taken on as a stable boy but the youngster’s services were not required in Truro. John had been instructed to teach him how to handle horses and attend to the carriages and he had to stay at Poltraze. He had a commitment to the boy. She didn’t want to think about how hard it would be but it was best she go away and leave John in the past. Anyway, she couldn’t leave Tara in loneliness. The last place she wanted to go was Truro, to be in a strange town, living a life she was not born into and would never become fully accepted into, far from Burnt Oak, Chy-Henver and Kit. Kit was turning into a stranger. After taking Tempest’s body home to Burnt Oak, he had remained there. He had barely spoken at the funeral. Life had taken yet another depressing dip.

  Tara judged Sarah’s long silence as one that was holding many regrets. ‘John Moyle is an attractive man. It’s easy to see why you wanted to be with him. Don’t be ashamed of your liaison with him, Sarah. Everyone hopes to find love.’ She had hoped she’d found it herself but it seemed to have been for nothing. Kit had not been in touch for days and she did not like to intrude on his mourning.

  ‘I’m not ashamed. John and I … we weren’t meant to be, that’s all.’ Sarah kept her head down and her tears only just at bay.

  ‘But you do wish you and John had been meant to be?’ Tara persisted. ‘Please speak frankly, Sarah. I’d hate to think you’re putting aside your dreams because of me.’

  ‘I do have feelings for John.’ She toyed with her handkerchief.

  ‘Just feelings?’

  ‘No, more, I love him. I love him very much. I haven’t told him, he’s got a commitment to David now.’

  ‘And don’t you think he feels the same way about you?’

  Sarah recalled John’s disappointment as she’d told him it was best they go their separate ways. She had looked back at him all the way out of the stable yard and he had watched her every second, waving to her before she had finally gone. He had not tried to change her mind but she knew that was out of kindness for her feelings, not because he didn’t want her. ‘Yes he does, but everything’s so difficult. What about you and Kit?’

  ‘I’ve loved Kit for a while now. It’s the first time I’ve been in love. I wish we had become lovers. Kit needs someone, but we didn’t get close enough for that someone to be me.’

  ‘But Kit loves you too, I’m sure he does. You’re moving away but you should go to him. You should at least reach out and try to grab some happiness.’

  ‘I could say the same thing to you. Some things are only difficult if we allow them to be.’

  They stared at each other, drinking in the truth. Sarah sprang to her feet. ‘We’re both in love and we’re moping here and letting it slip away from us.’

  ‘Yes, when we should fight for what we want.’ Tara joined her, sharing her new energy.

  ‘We’ve got nothing to lose if we make our feelings plain to John and Kit. If John agrees to marry me it would mean me staying on here. It
will be the right thing. We’ll be on the same level. Would you mind terribly, Tara?’

  ‘Sarah, I’d never stand in the way of your happiness. It might not be easy for you living here as a servant’s wife.’

  ‘But there is another way, somewhere we could go to make a new start.’ Sarah’s eyes lit up like stars.

  ‘To Amy, is that what you mean? I haven’t mentioned it before but I admit I saw that part of her letter when I came looking for you the other night. It could be the very thing. Why don’t you go down to the stable yard and ask for my pony to be saddled, I shall go straight to Burnt Oak. You take John aside and make sure he listens to you. I’ll do the same with Kit.’

  Sweeping her shawl over her shoulders, Sarah ran all the way to the stables. Glum, John was showing David how to saddle a pony. Spying her huge smile he forsook his duties and went straight to her, smiling back. When they got closer they started running, arms outstretched. There were other grooms and boys about but she didn’t care as she flew into his arms. ‘Does this mean you’re not leaving me, Sarah? I’ve been so miserable.’

  ‘I’m sorry. With all my heart I love you, John. I want us to be together forever, with David too.’

  ‘I didn’t want to take you away from a better life unless it was what you were sure you wanted.’ John squeezed her tight and then David was included in their embrace. ‘We’ll marry straightaway and we’ll adopt David. We’ll settle down, the three of us, a proper little family.’

  ‘John, does it matter where we live?’

  ‘Anywhere in the world will do, Sarah darling, as long as we’re all together.’

  ‘In that case, how about California?’

  Tara was shown into Morn O’ May by Eula and then taken along to Tempest’s sitting room. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come, Mrs Nankervis. Kit has been so depressed. He blames himself for my mother’s death but there’s no need for him to, she knew what she was doing when she went to Poltraze. I’m confident he’ll come to terms with it in time but he needs help to see it from a different perspective. We’re all very grateful to the new squire for not linking her death with my dreadful cousin’s. My mother can rest in peace with no disgrace on her name. Please do your best to cheer Kit. I’ll leave you alone with him.’

  It was what she was hoping for, to have Kit to herself.

  ‘Hello, Kit.’ He was standing at the window, his arm leaning above his head on the pane, gazing out at the garden. She went straight to him. It caught at her heart to see him drawn and lethargic, in a grim world of his own.

  ‘Oh, Tara,’ he said, coming out of a daze. ‘It’s good of you to call.’ He rubbed at his eyes in a bid to become more awake. Weariness dragged at his eyes, he had not been sleeping well. ‘Forgive me, I’ve kept meaning to drop you a line. I haven’t deliberately been keeping away from you, never you, Tara. I just …’ No one was a more welcome sight than Tara. She was fresh and fair with her snow-white loveliness. Just looking at her he felt warmth and vigour seeping into him. She was springtime promise and summer beauty. He was a fool to have returned to his old bad habit and lock himself away from the one person he needed most in the world.

  Overjoyed that he was pleased to see her, she exuded all her love to him. ‘I understand, Kit. Your grandmother’s garden is beautiful. Part of her will always be out there and in here, her special room.’

  ‘I know, I do believe that, yet I can’t believe I’ll never walk out there with her again. If I hadn’t come here she wouldn’t have come to care for me and gone after that devil.’

  ‘She will walk with you, Kit, wherever you go.’ Tara slipped a hand round his. ‘She did what she did to ensure your life would continue. She wouldn’t want you to feel guilty about it.’

  ‘I know that too. She tells me in my dreams. It’s just so hard …’

  ‘Of course it is. Would it help if you took a walk round her garden now? Would you like me to go with you?’

  He nodded, his eyes fixed to hers. ‘I don’t know how I could have stayed away from you for so long, Tara. I have to say this, you mean everything to me. I’ve wanted to tell you that for a long time.’

  ‘And I feel the same way, Kit. It’s why I’m here.’

  ‘Tara, after we come in from the garden will you carry on walking with me for the rest of my life?’

  ‘Yes, Kit, I’d like nothing more.’

  A fortnight later a vessel of the Howarth Shipping Line set sail from Falmouth for Plymouth, where it would later sail on to America. John, Sarah and young David Moyle stayed in a cosy huddle up on deck until they left the Cornish coastline behind.

  Observing them for a short time from shore had been a gentleman, a passenger who had left a local hotel to board a ship bound for the West Indies. He was Irish, apparently, and wore a large hat and muffler and had a full beard. Leaning on a cane, he was only recently fit for the many weeks’ journey, having undergone a lengthy convalescence. He wore subdued clothes. The last really fine apparel he had worn had been put on the corpse of a miner who had succumbed to lung congestion, his lowly grave swapped for the finest tomb in the churchyard. Like the Moyles the gentleman was travelling overseas to start a new life. And just like the Moyles he had said goodbye forever to the one place they had in common – Poltraze.

  Read on for an exclusive extract from the next book in Gloria Cook's riveting Meryen series:

  A HOME FOR ALICE

  Coming soon from Ebury Press

  One

  Bang, bang. Shudder, thump. Fierce winds driving in off the downs were harassing the front gate in a series of nerve-jarring thuds and jerks. The solid wood gate could not simply have blown open; it had been made and set by craftsmen and it would take a far stronger tempest to loosen the iron latch. Someone had opened the gate and neglected to shut it.

  Until now the howling down the chimneys and whistling round the corners of the sprawling isolated property, Chy-Henver, had not bothered Rachel Kivell as she sat in the snug office of the six-bedroom cottage, built fortress-strong, as was the carpentry workshop, stores and stable across the backyard. Let nature do its worse, she thought. Slates could be replaced, downed posts righted, and the garden she was so proud of was protected by stone walls, trees, willow fences and privet and box hedges. She was eager to finish the business paperwork, to slip up to her room and re-read James Lockley’s love letters, every one of his loving messages to her, permeated with wonderful promises. To dream about the future they would have together – that was as soon as James, the village doctor, had found a way clear of the one complication that stood in their way.

  Putting down her pen, tapping her fingers on the kneehole desk, she waited for the untimely caller to knock. A harsh gust drew the wildly dancing flames in the register grate to leap towards the chimney top, sending back down soot and debris to scatter on the rug. The wood smoke made Rachel cough and stung her eyes. She dashed off a note to send for the chimney sweep, since she oversaw the domestics for her brother Jowan and their cousin, Thad, master carpenters and cabinet-makers, the owners of the business.

  The gate slammed against the immovable granite post. Rachel heaved a sigh. Why no summons at the door yet? Whoever was imprudent enough to arrive on business or to call on her in this heathen weather was taking their time.

  Her impatience vanished as quickly as it had taken a hold. It might be James! He might have dropped his doctor’s bag or something, causing the delay. She lived in hope that he might turn up at any moment. She jumped up and fussed with her appearance in the hall mirror. Her lynx-eyed, flushed reflection shone back at her, proof of how James made her feel, happy and warm, and so excited that sometimes she could hardly breathe. Since falling in love with him she daydreamed about him all the time. Jowan and Thad teased her laughingly about being so absentminded. They would be furious if they knew the real reason behind it.

  At the door she twisted round a silver bracelet on her wrist in anticipation, but there was no knock. It wasn’t James. He would never loiter, playing games.
The disappointment was crushing; she would never get used to it, but it was something she willingly endured. James could not be easily available to her. He had a busy profession and he had a wife.

  In times like this her eyes lost their fierce blueness and her shoulders flopped. She raised her eyes accusingly to the ceiling, where she could hear Dora, the daily general housemaid, making the beds. ‘I suppose I’ll have to see to the gate; you certainly don’t intend to.’ When she had hoped it was James she would have been dismayed to hear Dora coming down, since she was apt to babble and pry.

  Rachel knew Dora’s reasoning. The woman wasn’t lazy, but she refused to do anything outside her province and that included the front garden. Rachel couldn’t blame Dora for not wanting to venture outside. She had complained she’d been blown along every inch of the road from the nearby village of Meryen, the copper-mining community where she lived. ‘Air out there’s as thick as porridge and as dark as Hades,’ she had declared. ‘Something sinister lurking in it, if you ask me.’

  ‘I can well believe it,’ Rachel muttered, shrugging on her short coat and wrapping a shawl over her head. She took a deep breath and braced herself. Even with the copious shelter in the garden she was about to be buffeted about like a twig. The weighty front door was nearly pushed in on her. On the other side she had to tug on the brass knocker to get it shut. Holding on to an upright in the porch, she shielded her eyes and peered through the shrubbery all the way to the gate. It was being rocked, seeming to rise and fall on each forced journey before being violently slammed against the post, the wind seeming intent to tear it off its hinges.

  Clutching the shawl about her face, her head lowered, she started off along the paved paths. Nearly all the blooms of the camellias had been blown off. Bushes were being blown this way and that, like groups of lurching drunken men, snagging her full skirts. Her eyes drawn against dust and grit, she urged herself on. The gate was broad, its bars thickly constructed. It would take a strong arm to hold on to it with the elements using it as a battering ram. Not a particularly hard task for Rachel, she was strong and had the necessary determination. It wasn’t as if the men could be summoned to do the job. Jowan and Thad, with the two men and two boys from other branches of the family, were in the church, installing newly carved pews.