by Jane Jackson
She had been looking at her husband. Pierced to his soul, Charles focused his gaze on the ornate gilt frame. The portrait was too painful a reminder of vows shattered and trust betrayed. He struggled for words but they stuck in his throat.
Casvellan turned. ‘But to the matter in hand.’ He was brisk, businesslike. ‘How will you fund the project?’
Charles felt himself relax, back on firm ground. ‘Kerrow & Polgray, our family company, will provide some of the investment. To keep the money safe, and secure from outside influence, I am setting up a separate company for the harbour development.’
‘Let me know when you have completed the legalities.’ Casvellan rose to his feet and Charles followed. ‘I am interested in becoming a shareholder.’
As he shook Casvellan’s proffered hand, Charles’s relief and triumph strengthened his determination to succeed with this, his first solo project.
‘I am very much obliged to you, sir.’ Folding the drawings he stowed them in a leather pouch.
‘Not at all. Expanding the harbour and increasing the number of cargoes will bring new prosperity to the village. God knows it’s desperately needed. How much disruption do you anticipate?’
‘I hope for very little. The fishing boats must be free to come and go, and cargoes loaded and landed as usual.’
Casvellan’s quick smile softened the austere cast of his features, making him appear much younger. ‘I wish you luck, Mr Polgray.’ He tugged on the bell pull by the fireplace. ‘Will you take some refreshment?’
‘Thank you, no. I have another call to make in the village. On my previous visit to inspect the harbour there wasn’t time. May I ask, were you acquainted with Colonel John Trevanion.’
Casvellan nodded. ‘I knew of him.’
‘When he died his estate was entailed to me. I had hoped to come before, but business commitments prevented it. Now that I am here, courtesy demands that I call on Miss Trevanion. However, as we are strangers, I am concerned that my arriving unannounced might cause her alarm.’
‘Your consideration does you great credit, Mr Polgray.’ Casvellan’s mouth quirked. ‘But you need not be concerned. Miss Trevanion is a lady of remarkable fortitude. She will bear your visit very well.’
While Charles was puzzling over the gleam of amusement in his host’s eye, the door opened and a maid entered.
‘Have Mr Polgray’s horse brought round to the front, Amy.’
‘Right away, sir.’ With a swift look at the visitor she hurried out.
Casvellan accompanied Charles through a spacious entrance hall of rich dark wood and twin pedestals supporting huge curved urns filled with roses, lilies and trailing greenery. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘At The Standard.’
‘I think you will soon be looking for a house,’ Casvellan said, adding drily, ‘If only for space to accommodate all the paperwork.’
Charles laughed. ‘I swear it breeds.’
‘I still have two rooms full from when I was a justice.’
They walked side by side down wide shallow steps. A groom appeared leading Charles’s horse.
‘A handsome animal,’ Casvellan observed.
Charles inclined his head. ‘From you, sir, that is praise indeed. He has excellent paces, but shies at his own shadow. I hope to train him out of it.’ He put on his hat, replaced the pouch in his saddle-bag, then turned and extended his hand to Casvellan. ‘I am much obliged to you.’
‘Perhaps on your next visit you might care to see my thoroughbreds.’
Charles felt unfamiliar warmth in his chest. How long was it since he had known happiness? ‘I should like it above all things.’
As Charles turned to his horse, the stable lad appeared leading the brown gelding and two young women came round the side of the house, their arms linked. He recognized the shorter one from her portrait.
‘What remarkable timing,’ Casvellan murmured. He turned to the women and extended his hand. ‘My dear, this is indeed fortuitous.’ He drew his smiling wife to his side. Ruthlessly suppressing bitter memories, Charles bowed as Casvellan introduced him.
Making a graceful curtsy, Roz smiled up at him. ‘I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr Polgray.’
‘And I yours, ma’am.’ His host had spoken the truth: the portrait did not do justice to her quiet radiance. His gaze flicked to the other young woman. Tall and slim, she stood motionless; her gloved hands linked in front of her, her features half-concealed by the brim of her plain straw bonnet. She emanated a dignity that seemed at odds with her unflattering coat. Was she an indigent relative perhaps? Taken into the household as a companion for Mrs Casvellan?
To Charles’s surprise Casvellan beckoned her forward. ‘Jenefer, my dear, permit me to present Mr Charles Polgray.’
She curtsied and Charles bowed stiffly, surprised by Casvellan’s mode of introduction that intimated hers was the higher status.
As he straightened she raised her head and he looked into a heart-shaped face framed by feathery wheat-gold curls. Her fine straight nose was dusted with freckles and her mouth – her soft, full-lipped mouth— Wrenching his gaze away he met violet eyes whose cool direct gaze startled him.
‘Mr Polgray,’ Casvellan said gravely, ‘regarding the call you mentioned? You are spared all anxiety. This is Miss Trevanion.’
Chapter Two
Turning away as Jenefer Trevanion and Casvellan’s wife said their goodbyes, Charles frowned in puzzlement as the lad led a raw-boned hack to the mounting block. Why was she riding such an animal?
‘She borrows it from the butcher,’ Casvellan murmured, causing Charles a moment’s unease that his thoughts, normally so well concealed, had been so easy to read. But perhaps he had not betrayed himself. The contrast between horse and rider was all too obvious.
‘Jenefer,’ Casvellan demanded, with equal amounts of amusement and frustration, ‘when will you come to your senses and choose a mount from my stable?’
‘When I have time to enjoy riding for pleasure.’ She smiled at him. ‘You know how much I appreciate your offer. But living where I do I have no suitable stabling. And if I kept it here I should have to walk over from the village, which entirely defeats the purpose. Mr Rollason’s cob cannot be called handsome, but he serves me very well.’
‘If ever you change your mind—’
‘You will be the first to know,’ Jenefer promised, then turned again to her friend.
‘Will you permit me to offer a word of advice, Mr Polgray?’ Casvellan’s murmur recaptured Charles’s attention. ‘Miss Trevanion’s standing among the villagers, and her business experience, could be of great benefit to you.’
‘Indeed? In what respect?’
‘The harbour development, what else?’
Charles felt a tingle down his spine as he registered what his host had said. ‘Her business experience?’
Casvellan nodded, his voice pitched low. ‘Do not allow the fact that she is a woman prejudice you. You would regret it. She has a shrewder grasp of finance than many men of my acquaintance.’
Seated on her horse’s back, Jenefer adjusted her skirts, then gathered the reins.
While he would not dismiss Casvellan’s advice, Charles preferred to learn more about this decidedly unusual young woman before making any decision. ‘Miss Trevanion?’ Her violet gaze met his. ‘Are you returning to Porthinnis?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then as we are both heading in the same direction will you permit me to escort you?’
After a fractional hesitation she inclined her head. ‘You are welcome to ride with me, Mr Polgray.’
‘I am obliged to you,’ he said drily. Politely and with some subtlety, she had made clear her independence. Common sense demanded he steered clear of this enigmatic young woman. But he had done the sensible thing earlier in the year. Now four months on, his attorney was still trying to extricate him from the mess. Besides, the longer the company continued using Hayle harbour, the more money they were losing.
Catching the gleam of amusement in Casvellan’s gaze, he swung himself into the saddle and raised his hat in farewell. It took a moment to control his thoroughbred’s prancing before he joined the young woman who sat poised and calm on her butcher’s horse.
They rode side by side down the drive. Today had proved remarkably fortuitous. Casvellan’s suggestion that he consult Jenefer Trevanion had taken him aback. But as he thought about it he saw how her connections in the village might prove very useful.
‘Mr Polgray? Forgive me for interrupting,’ − her smile softened the irony in her voice − ‘but if you prefer to ride in silence, why did you apply to accompany me?’
Anger rushed through him. He controlled it at once, recognizing it as unfair and irrational. A deep breath steadied him. ‘I beg your pardon, I—’
‘Was deep in thought. So, now you are back with me, may I enquire why it has taken you so long to come and view your inheritance?’ Her tone was courteous. Yet he sensed guardedness and realized that, like him, she was reserving judgement.
‘I would have come sooner but for the demands of business.’
‘And what is your business, Mr Polgray?’
‘We have interests in copper and silver mines, shipping and cargo brokerage.’
‘We?’
‘Kerrow & Polgray. The company was founded thirty years ago by my father and his cousin.’
‘What is your role?’ Though her questions were surprisingly blunt there was no doubting her interest. He found himself responding with equal candour.
‘Samson Kerrow, my father’s cousin, runs the Cornish end of the company’s business: the copper and silver mines. My father is based in Swansea. He ships coal from South Wales to Cornwall for the mine engines. The ships carry copper ore back to Swansea to be smelted. We also have a silver mine in Mexico. I was there for much of last year.’
‘May I ask why?’
‘Mining is a dangerous occupation at the best of times. But injuries and fatalities at our mine in Guanajuato had reached a level that was totally unacceptable.’
‘And you were supposed to change all that?’
He nodded. ‘That’s my job: well, part of it.’
‘So what did you do to put matters right?’ The intensity of her interest surprised him.
‘I employed a new manager, set new safety rules and altered various working practices.’
‘Did it have the desired effect?’
‘I believe so. By the time I left, the number of injuries had dropped to single figures, morale was higher and production had increased.’
‘Congratulations. That was well done.’ She sounded sincere. But so had Eve, with her warm welcome, her delight to see him safely home. Had he only stayed in Mexico another month— Too late for regrets. But anger still simmered.
‘Mr Polgray, about Pednbrose—’
‘I have not yet had an opportunity to view the property. Having lived there, you know it well.’ He hesitated. If he allowed Eve’s treachery to influence his decisions, he could all too easily forfeit valuable assistance. But he was wary of trusting a stranger, particularly a woman. Casvellan was not a man to give his recommendation lightly. ‘I wonder, would you care to accompany me to Pednbrose?’ When she didn’t immediately respond he cursed himself for his clumsiness. ‘Forgive me. It may be too painful—’
‘Not at all,’ she was quick to reassure. ‘I visit regularly.’ She laughed. ‘It is a ruin, Mr Polgray, not a shrine. When I lived there we had a large and very productive walled garden. Since the fire it has become very overgrown. But rather than leave the fruit to rot, I have been picking it and making jam.’
His brows rose. ‘Jam?’
She shrugged. ‘If I am honest, my neighbour, Mrs Clemmow, does most of it. She’s the expert. But my efforts don’t burn or bubble over as often as they used to, so I think I am improving. We keep a dozen jars each. The rest we give away on Feast Day or at Harvest Festival and Christmas. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Your generosity?’
‘With your fruit.’
Charles shook his head. ‘To object would be … pointless.’
‘Then on behalf of all those who have benefited, I thank you.’
Was she mocking him in particular or men in general? He realized he didn’t care. His next words surprised both of them. ‘I need to find a house to rent. I should be most grateful for your assistance.’
She glanced at him. ‘Surely you would do better to make enquiries from an agent.’
‘I should much prefer to view the properties unofficially and at my own convenience first.’
‘Which presupposes I have the time and inclination to abandon my business in order to help you.’
‘What is your business, Miss Trevanion? And before you scold me for asking, may I remind you that your questions concerning my business were somewhat forthright.’
‘A fair point, Mr Polgray. I am a bookkeeper.’
‘Indeed? For whom?’
‘Now you go too far,’ she chided. ‘Your assumption that I would reveal such information to a man I met barely an hour ago insults us both.’
He was actually considering an apology when he glimpsed laughter in her violet eyes. She was a most unusual and intriguing young woman. ‘I most humbly beg your pardon, Miss Trevanion.’
Her laughter touched something deep within him and he felt himself respond as she shook her head. ‘Humble? Oh no, Mr Polgray. I think not.’
‘Well, at the risk of insulting you further, were I to offer a contribution to a worthy cause of your choice – I’m sure the village has several – might you perhaps find the time, and the inclination?’
Her gaze met his. As he held it he saw the pink in her cheeks deepen to rose. ‘A generous contribution?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Then I might. On condition you are willing to wait until I have completed my current tasks?’
‘Of course. I too have business requiring my attention.’
‘Then shall we say Wednesday afternoon? Two o’clock?’ Jenefer suggested. ‘At Pednbrose?’
He nodded. ‘I look forward to it. Meanwhile, tell me about the village.’
Her brows arched and her smile faded. ‘Mr Polgray, your manner of address tells me you are more used to dealing with men. My father had a similar habit. Because I recognize this, I am not disposed to take offence at your abruptness. However, others might feel differently.’
His anger dissolved as swiftly as it had erupted. As much as he disliked being corrected, he disliked even more the fact that she was right. ‘I beg your pardon.’
‘Granted.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘To answer your question, the village is suffering greatly. Prices keep rising and pilchard catches have been disastrous. At least this year’s harvest promises to be plentiful. But there is a desperate need for more work.’ Turning her head she held his gaze. ‘What has brought you to Porthinnis, Mr Polgray?’ She raised a hand to forestall him. ‘Yes, you wish to view your inheritance. But from what you have told me, I think it very unlikely a man as busy as yourself would come solely for that purpose.’
He was silent, once more weighing Casvellan’s advice against his preference for working alone. ‘If I tell you, it must be in confidence.’
Her brows arched. ‘On such short acquaintance you would accept my word?’
‘With Mr Casvellan’s recommendation.’
‘Ah.’ The corners of her mouth lifted. ‘You have my promise, Mr Polgray. Whatever you tell me stays between us.’
‘I intend expanding the harbour and its facilities.’ As he described the proposed changes and additions he saw her eyes lose focus. Assuming she had grown bored, and surprised by the disappointment lurking beneath his irritation, he fell silent.
‘I can see it,’ she said softly, and turned to him. ‘Did Mr Casvellan tell you the harbour and surrounding land is owned by the Berkeley family?’
Unaccountably relieved he nodded.
‘Should
you need the name of their attorney—’
‘I already have it. But I thank you for the offer. I have taken a twenty-year lease on the harbour and surrounding land. As soon as the legal and financial details are settled I intend to call a public meeting, tell the village of my plans, and offer work to all who want it.’
Relief and delight widened her smile. ‘Really?’
Charles nodded. ‘Obviously, once construction is complete the nature of the work will change. But men willing to adapt may be sure of continuing employment.’
Her eyes were bright and she seemed to glow. He couldn’t tear his gaze away.
‘Mr Polgray?’ One gloved hand strayed uncertainly to her cheek. ‘Is something amiss?’
‘No,’ he said hastily. ‘No, not at all. Clearly the subject of employment matters a great deal to you. I just don’t understand why.’
‘No,’ she said softly. ‘You wouldn’t. I intend no disrespect, but to you the villagers are simply a means to an end. You see them as a workforce. I, on the other hand, know what it is to be without money or a home. I worked in a fish cellar, Mr Polgray. Not for long: I was too slow and too clumsy. I would not have coped with even those few days but for the kindness of those working alongside me. So I know from experience how hard life is for most of the villagers.’
He stared at her, a frown tightening his forehead. ‘You? A fish cellar?’
She nodded. ‘I hated every dreadful moment.’
‘But – why?’
‘The fire,’ she said simply. ‘We – my sister and I – lost everything. But thanks to my education and the fact that after my mother’s death I had taken over the household accounts and then my father’s free trade transactions, I was able to offer my services as a bookkeeper. Village women don’t have the luxury of choice.’ They had reached the junction. She reined in her horse. ‘And here we are. I’ll bid you good afternoon, Mr Polgray. I must return my mount to his owner.’
Charles tipped his hat. ‘Thank you for your company, Miss Trevanion.’ Never had a journey passed so quickly. ‘Until Wednesday.’