by Jane Jackson
Chapter Three
Turning to the long glass Jenefer cast a critical eye over her reflection. The pale blue dotted muslin gown was fashionably cut with a high waist, low neckline and three-quarter sleeves. But conscious of village sensibility she had added a softly gathered kerchief of white gauze. Crossed in front and tied behind, it covered her from throat to waist.
She knew her modesty was appreciated. One day while in the back room of Tresidder’s grocery store collecting the books, she heard two women enter the shop talking in shocked tones.
‘Some beauty she is,’ one sniffed. It was clear from her tone that this was not a compliment. ‘Near ’nough falling out of ’er bodice she was, and in church too.’ She made a sound of disgust. ‘All prinked up like Lady Fan Tod.’
‘’Tis the latest fashion,’ the other said.
Discerning a note of envy Jenefer compressed her lips on a smile.
‘You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. It might be fashion, but she ’aven’t got a ha’pporth of style. You’d never see Miss Trevanion making a show of ’erself like that.’
‘That’s true,’ the other agreed. ‘Always dress fitty and proper she do. All right, Hannah? How ’ee doing?’
As Hannah returned their greetings, Jenefer had gathered up the books and slipped quietly out through the back door, amused that the villagers would happily accept her involvement in matters normally considered men’s business, yet took offence at revealing gowns.
With a satisfied nod at the image in the mirror she turned away, picked up the slop bucket and carried it carefully down the wooden stairs. She liked knowing she could afford silk and velvet. But gauze and muslin were far less trouble to keep clean.
Leaving both halves of the door wide open to admit light and fresh air, she tied a coarse hessian apron over her gown. She emptied the slop bucket down the privy and rinsed it with rainwater from the barrel. After cleaning out the ashes from the range, she brushed up the hearth and refilled the coal bucket. Scrubbing her hands free of dust and soot, she changed her rough apron for a clean one of starched white cotton. She washed and dried her breakfast dishes, made her bed, then took ironed linen from the wooden airing frame above the range and put it away in the chest of drawers and closet.
Hanging her white apron on the hook beside the door, she pulled a wooden chair up to the table and drew the neat pile of ledgers and folders forward.
She re-read the letter. Signed by Edward Barton, it requested her most earnestly to consider transferring her financial affairs to Barton’s Bank in Helston. Were she to do him the honour of calling in to see him the next time she was in town she would, Mr Barton promised, be assured of his immediate and personal attention.
Re-reading the letter, Jenefer rubbed her forehead. Why? During her first year in business, Mr Barton had been the most vociferous of her critics, telling anyone who would listen that her financial dealings, matters for which she was unqualified and, by nature of her gender, totally unfit, should cease immediately.
She knew that the way in which she had dealt with her dramatic change in circumstances had upset many people. But her choice had been stark: find work or starve. She had faced insults and criticism with a polite smile, biting her tongue till it bled. She had sobbed herself to sleep from exhaustion and loneliness, then forced herself to get up next morning and go calmly about her business.
Though Mr Barton’s change of attitude was in some ways a relief, she had no idea what had brought it about. Had she failed, she would have proved him correct. How he would have crowed. Instead she had prospered. People were attracted to success. Hoping, perhaps, to learn the secret. Maybe that was sufficient reason for his interest.
Refolding the letter she set it aside. She could see no benefit in moving her account from the Helston branch of Praed’s Cornish Bank. The bank’s connection with William Percival in Lombard Street, London, was convenient for her as Mr Lukis, the Guernsey merchant for whom she was an agent, also had links with William Percival. Opening a ledger she started work.
‘Dear life, maid. Look at you.’
Jenefer raised her head as Lizzie Clemmow’s voice broke her concentration. Holding a tray Lizzie stood in the doorway deliberately blocking the light.
‘Hello, Lizzie.’ Jenefer straightened up, wincing at the stiffness in her neck.
‘Hours you been sat there.’
‘You don’t know that,’ Jenefer said. Lizzie fussed over her like a hen with one chick. ‘I might have just—’
‘Don’t you spin me no yarns,’ Lizzie scolded. ‘Been bent over they books all morning you have. I know because I been to the pump twice and looked in. ’Tidn no good for you.’
Setting down her pen, Jenefer flexed her shoulders and arched her back. ‘I know,’ she admitted. ‘The trouble is—’
‘Last half of the month you always got more to do,’ Lizzie recited the familiar excuse. ‘Maybe so. But ’tis time you stopped for today. You going to shift they papers?’ Waiting while Jenefer moved the pile aside, she set the tray down and whipped off the covering cloth.
‘Oh Lizzie,’ Jenefer’s mouth watered as she looked at the steaming plate of roast lamb, roast potatoes and green beans in rich gravy. Beside it was a small dish of blackcurrant pudding topped with clotted cream. ‘That looks wonderful.’ Her empty stomach gurgled. ‘If you keep feeding me like this I shall soon be as fat as one of Mr Rollason’s pigs.’
‘Get on,’ Lizzie scoffed, folding the cloth. ‘There’s more meat on his apron than on your bones.’
Jenefer eyed her. ‘You’re all flattery.’
Snorting, Lizzie flapped a hand. ‘I worry ’bout you, bird. All this work.’ Her gesture encompassed the ledgers and account books, the piles of invoices, receipts and correspondence.
‘I’m fortunate to have it.’ Turning to the dresser Jenefer reached into the drawer for a knife and fork.
‘I won’t argue with that,’ Lizzie said. ‘You do some fine job too. But ’tidn enough.’
‘I suppose I could accept more,’ Jenefer said. ‘But I enjoy my afternoon walks, and your brave attempts to teach me to cook.’
‘That’s not what I meant, as you well know,’ Lizzie said. ‘’Tis time you was married.’
‘Not you as well.’ Jenefer sighed, and began to eat.
‘Someone else been telling you? Your sister is it? Some happy little soul she is. She and Jared are a lovely couple. I never see her but she got a smile on her face.’
‘No, not Betsy.’ Jenefer swallowed a mouthful and groaned with pleasure. ‘Lizzie, this is delicious.’
‘There’s plenty on the joint to have cold tomorrow. Who was it then?’
‘Tamara, Roz—’
Shaking her head, Lizzie sighed. ‘That Tamara. Wild as a hawk she was. Mind you, her mother was a good part to blame. Always fussing and fretting. ’Tis no wonder the dear maid spent her days out riding or walking on the moors. But since she married she’ve settled down lovely. As for Miz Casvellan, a proper lady she is now, dear of her.’
‘So you think I need settling down?’ Jenefer teased, forking up another mouthful.
‘What you need,’ Lizzie retorted, ‘is a man who’ll look after you like you deserve, but leave you be yourself.’
Surprised and deeply touched, for she knew her neighbour had been brought up with very traditional views, Jenefer smiled. ‘Lizzie, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. But with your Sam and Tamara’s Devlin already spoken for, I fear I am doomed to disappointment.’ Even as she spoke a vivid image of Charles Polgray sprang to mind: his unusual grey-green eyes, straight nose, sculpted mouth, and firm jaw. She recalled the way the sun glinted off strands of gold in the brown hair that sprang in unruly waves from his deep forehead and curled on his collar. She blinked, her skin tightening in a shiver.
Since parting from him she had relived their ride countless times, unsettled by her response to a total stranger.
‘Get on. You don’t mean that.�
�� Lizzie was brisk. ‘I got eyes. And I aren’t the only one.’ She nodded meaningfully. ‘We seen the way Mr Ince do smile at you.’
Mr Ince. William. ‘Lizzie, he smiles at everybody. He is a very amiable man.’
‘That’s as may be. And you can say being polite and pleasant is part of his calling. But whenever he look at you he do colour up. I never seen him do that with anyone else. Anyhow,’ − she gave Jenefer no chance to respond − ‘I’ll leave you finish your dinner. Mind you don’t move till you’ve et all that pudding.’
Jenefer picked up her spoon. ‘Not so many years ago,’ she said darkly, ‘you would bob a curtsy when we passed in the street. Now you scold and bully me—’
‘Some state you’d be in if I didn’t,’ Lizzie said, not the least bit cowed. ‘With all this work you got, who else is going to make sure you eat reg’lar?’
‘I don’t know how I’d manage without you,’ Jenefer admitted.
Lizzie waved away the gratitude. ‘My Sam says you moving in here was handsome for us. You had that lovely great range put in my kitchen—’
‘That was for my benefit,’ Jenefer interrupted. ‘You’re a far better cook than I am. And if you’re cooking for me, it’s only right that you eat the same.’
‘We’ve never et so well, and that’s God’s truth,’ Lizzie said. ‘I remember when all we had on a Sunday was taties and point. The bit of meat so small you had to point to see ’n.’
Jenefer smiled. ‘I love this pudding. Will you show me—’
‘After we’ve finished all the jam. When are you going to get they broad figs and quinces?’
‘I thought – as I’m going up there anyway – this afternoon.’ Another shiver danced over Jenefer’s skin and anticipation quaked inside her.
‘That’s more like it. Do you good to be out.’ Lizzie paused in the doorway. ‘I know what I was going tell you. Old Mr Kneebone passed away last night. Janie Couch told me when I was up the pump.’ Lizzie shook her head. ‘’Tis a blessing really. He was never the same after Minnie died. ’Twas like as if part of him went with her. Fifty years they was married.’
‘Cora will miss him.’
Lizzie nodded. ‘That’s her mother, her father and her husband all in two years. Poor soul. It don’t bear thinking about. There’ll be a big turn out for the funeral.’
Jenefer nodded. ‘Will you cook a joint of topside to slice cold? I daresay Mr Rollason might have a nice ham as well. We’ll need extra flour for bread.’
‘Wheat or barley?’
‘Both. And butter. Tell Hannah and Mr Rollason what it’s for. I’ll settle up as usual at the end of the month.’ She stood up, smoothed her gown then raised her hands to the thick tresses coiled high on her crown, suddenly and unaccountably nervous. ‘Perhaps I should stay here this afternoon.’
‘What you talking about? Pednbrose was your home. ‘Tis only right you should be there when he look round. Any’ow, you told me Mr Casvellan was proper friendly with him.’
‘I know.’ Jenefer was in an agony of indecision. ‘He seemed very pleasant, but—’
‘Fer goodness sake!’ Lizzie threw up her hands. ‘You aren’t still fretting? Turned out for the best, didn’t it? Martin Erisey was never right for you. You can’t be dragging the past around with you like some old sack. It happened, it’s over. Now leave it go.’
‘You’re right. I know you’re right.’
‘I am too. Now, you know you said mister was looking for a house to rent? I b’lieve there’s one going up on The Terrace. Mrs Avers’ mother’s place? Ruth who works for Mrs Avers was telling me they don’t want to sell so they’re looking for a tenant.’ She handed Jenefer her bonnet. ‘You tell ’n. He’ll be some pleased. And he’ll owe you for that.’
Jenefer threw her arms around her neighbour and hugged her. ‘Thanks, Lizzie.’
‘Get on,’ Lizzie shooed her out.
Chapter Four
A straw bonnet shading her face from the bright sunshine and a basket swinging from one hand, Jenefer strolled down the main street. She returned greetings, stopped to ask after an ailing parent or a sick child. She sympathized with complaints about prices and their effect on business. And all the while her thoughts kept leaping ahead to her meeting with Charles Polgray. She barely knew him, yet anticipation fluttered in her stomach.
She couldn’t ever remember feeling like this about William though she had known him for two years. Yet less than an hour spent in Charles Polgray’s company was long enough to convince her the two men were as different as limestone and granite.
William was steady, dependable: devoted to his calling and his parishioners. It had taken him months to convince the well-to-do in the village to support his plan to start a school for poor children, and almost as long again to persuade them to contribute to the cost of slates, chalks, a blackboard, pencils and paper. How could one not admire such a man?
Yet despite his bold new ideas and forward thinking he could not – or would not – accept that she might feel about her work the way he felt about his. As he never tired of telling her, a woman’s greatest happiness would be found in the role for which God and nature had created her: a comfort and support to her husband and a loving mother to his children. Anything else was self-indulgence.
She doubted he had offered this opinion to the elderly unmarried ladies in the parish. He would not wish to offend the most loyal members of his congregation. That his lofty pronouncement might offend her had apparently never occurred to him.
The trouble was, part of her believed him: the part that yearned to love someone who would love her in return. Yet hearing him condemn as self-indulgence the business she had worked so hard to establish infuriated her. He had not lived her life, suffered her losses. Yet he was utterly convinced he knew what was best for her: that his way was the right way, the only way.
At least Charles Polgray had not patronized her. She had prepared for it, made wary by his coolness during their introduction. So she had tested him, surprised and delighted by his dry response to her teasing and irony. But the directness of his grey-green gaze and the powerful tug of attraction had caught her off-guard.
From his questions it appeared he was as curious about her as she was about him. Why else would he have manoeuvred her into accompanying him on his search for a house? Tremors radiated from the pit of her stomach.
At the bottom of the street she entered the builder’s yard. Lifting a new coffin from two saw-horses in his workshop, Eddy Barnicoat laid it on the bed of the waiting cart.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Barnicoat.’
Glancing round, he came towards her, raising a finger in salute. ‘Miss Trevanion.’
She indicated the coffin. ‘Is that for Mr Kneebone?’
He nodded. ‘I’m taking ’n down there now.’
Removing coins from the stocking purse in her basket, Jenefer dropped them onto his callused palm. ‘Cora told me her father wanted to be laid to rest beside his wife. Is this enough to pay for the coffin and the grave to be opened?’
Eddy glanced at the money and nodded. Beneath bushy brows his gaze was sharp. ‘Cora never gave you this, and I’ll tell you how I know. Because last week she told my missus she was going up the farm to get harvest work. ’Course, then her father took worse and she couldn’t leave ’n.’
‘Ah.’ Jenefer caught her lower lip between her teeth.
‘So when I tell her she don’t owe me nothing, she’s going to ask where the money come from. What am I s’posed to say then?’
Jenefer thought for a moment. ‘Perhaps Mr Kneebone gave you the money when you used to keep him company on a Saturday afternoon? You didn’t mention it to Cora because you didn’t want to upset her.’
Pushing his cap back, he scratched his head. ‘I dunno.’
‘Mr Barnicoat, if you tell her the truth, she will feel obligated to repay money I don’t need and she cannot afford.’ His glare told her he wasn’t comfortable taking credit for her actions. ‘You know I’m
right.’
He blew a sigh. ‘Don’t have much choice, do I?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Nothing to thank me for.’
Jenefer touched his arm. ‘Even so, I am grateful.’
‘Get on with ’ee,’ he muttered. ‘If this village knew the half of what you do—’
‘But they don’t, and I prefer it that way.’
Clicking his tongue he raised his eyes heavenward. ‘If you say so.’ He nodded a farewell.
A few minutes later Jenefer climbed the hill leading towards the headland, her boots stirring puffs of dust from the dry dirt road. On her left a high stone wall hid a hillside house and garden from prying eyes. As she approached, a gate in the wall opened. A tall, slim figure clad in clerical garb of black coat and breeches emerged, his back toward her as he fastened the latch.
All-too-familiar conflict erupted within her. While not exactly handsome – a point in his favour for she had noticed that such men often treated everyone they met as a mirror, expecting their high opinion of themselves to be reflected back at them – William Ince possessed an open countenance and pleasing manner.
‘Good afternoon, William.’
He looked round, his pale cheeks turning pink and pleasure crinkling the corners of his blue eyes. ‘Miss Trevanion! Jenefer.’ Whipping off his round wide-brimmed hat he bowed, fair hair flopping over his forehead. ‘This is an unexpected pleasure. How are you?’
‘I’m well, thank you. You may not have heard, but Mr Kneebone died last night.’
His smile faded. ‘I will call and offer my condolences to Mrs Eustace. I assume the Methodist minister will conduct the funeral?’
Jenefer nodded. ‘Mr Barnicoat is on his way there now. The coffin and grave have been paid for. But should there be any additional expenses please don’t say anything to Cora. I will settle them.’
‘Your generosity is truly admirable.’
‘I prefer anonymity to admiration,’ she replied. Then added, ‘I am fortunate my work enables me to make such gifts.’