by Jane Jackson
He strode swiftly towards The Bull where Cyrus Keat waited. Meeting him the previous evening and learning he had been employed as clerk of works on a recently completed harbour expansion in north Cornwall, Charles’s impression of the man had been favourable. After Keat left, agreeing to return the following midday, discreet enquiries of the landlord who knew far more about his customers than they realized, had confirmed Charles’s own impression. Now the money had been agreed, he planned to offer Keat the post of clerk of works to start in two days’ time. Then after a drink and something to eat he would leave for Porthinnis.
His position with Kerrow & Polgray had required him to travel to wherever he was needed. Enjoying the challenge and changes of scene, he had never minded what some might have considered loneliness. Indeed he preferred to rely solely on himself. He knew this to be a legacy from his motherless childhood. His father’s response to the loss of his wife had been to send his son off to boarding school so he might concentrate on the business.
Having effectively lost both parents, Charles suffered a wretched few months before finding salvation in his studies. High marks won his father’s approval and, eventually, the offer of a position in the company.
After startling both partners by stating the conditions of his acceptance, he had carved a niche for himself that proved invaluable to K&P while allowing him to retain the freedom to do the job as he saw fit.
He had spent twenty years comfortable with his own company. His short-lived marriage and the complex process of annulling it had made solitude even more appealing. So he was shaken by the strength of his desire to share the morning’s events with Jenefer Trevanion.
‘Are you sure you can manage?’ Jenefer asked Tamara as they followed the path to Trescowe’s rear entrance. Each carried a large rice pudding baked golden brown with sugar and nutmeg.
‘Of course I can. Don’t fuss, Jenna,’ Tamara chided, her smile wry. ‘I get enough of that from my mother.’
‘She seems very solicitous.’ Jenefer saw temper flash in Tamara’s eyes.
‘That is not concern for me; she simply wants to prove her influence is greater than that of my husband. Which it isn’t and never will be.’ She blew a gusty sigh. ‘Mama has never really forgiven me for marrying Devlin.’
‘But she appeared delighted,’ Jenefer said.
Tamara grinned. ‘That was relief. After all, I was carrying Devlin’s son. Imagine the scandal. Certainly she is thrilled with his position as Mr Casvellan’s bailiff. Devlin is polite to her for my sake, but he will not tolerate her attempts to interfere.’
‘Will she still be there when you get home?’
Tamara pulled a face. ‘Probably, unless Devlin gets back before I do. I hope he does for she will leave at once. My condition forbids me going to the dance, but I’d have hated to miss the harvest dinner as well.’
‘I know. But—’
The sound of tramping feet and laughter reached them on the breeze. ‘You go on,’ Tamara urged. ‘Warn Roz.’
‘They’re on their way,’ Jenefer shouted above the clatter as she entered the big kitchen.
‘Did you persuade Tamara to stay at home?’ Roz’s face was flushed from the heat of the cooking range.
Jenefer set the pudding down on a table crowded with brimming platters and bowls. ‘Her mother is there, and nagging her to death.’
‘Then we must find her something to do sitting down.’
As Tamara waddled in Roz hurried to her, took the pudding and passed it to Jenefer who found a space on the table.
‘Tamara, may I ask a favour? Would you mind watching the children? Make sure they have enough to eat and drink, and the smaller ones aren’t bullied or left out?’
‘You want me to sit in comfort while the rest of you rush about, fetching and carrying?’
Roz’s blush deepened and Jenefer rolled her eyes heavenward.
Tamara laughed. ‘Of course I will.’
‘We just want to take of you.’ Roz patted her arm gently. ‘That’s my godchild you are carrying.’
‘True,’ Jenefer agreed. ‘But there’s a far more important reason.’ Seeing Tamara’s bafflement, she pulled a face. ‘We’re terrified of Devlin.’
‘They’re here,’ Margaret called above the racket of voices and booted feet as the harvest labourers entered the yard. Jenefer heard the squeak of the pump handle followed by splashing water.
Tucking a stray curl into her cap, Roz went out to greet them.
During the next hour Jenefer, Roz, Margaret and Sarah hurried between hearth and table. As reserve evaporated, voices grew louder and laughter more uproarious.
Needing escape, Jenefer carried a trayload of dirty plates to the scullery. Fastening an old Hessian towser over the white cotton apron Roz had supplied, she filled the sink with hot water from the copper, added lye soap, and began washing the plates and cutlery.
‘Here, miss, you shouldn’t be doing that!’ Margaret gasped, horrified.
‘Yes, I should. You’ll need them for the puddings. Besides, while it’s lovely to hear everyone enjoying themselves, I’m not used to so much noise.’
‘Making some racket, aren’t they?’ Clicking her tongue, Margaret smiled. ‘Be even noisier at the dance.’
‘Will you be going?’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world. Look, why don’t you let me—’
‘I’ll tell you what would really help,’ Jenefer interrupted with a smile. ‘More water to top up the copper.’
‘If you’re sure. But it don’t seem right, you doing this.’
‘I worked in the fish cellars, Margaret,’ Jenefer reminded her. ‘Now I run a business. There are people in the village who consider me quite improper.’
‘Well,’ Margaret tossed her head. ‘More fool them, that’s all I can say.’ Reaching for the buckets she scurried out to the pump.
Touched, Jenefer plunged her hands back into the hot soapy water. Where was Charles now? Had his meeting been successful? Was he still in Truro, or on his way back? Would he arrive in time for the dance tonight?
Sarah came into the scullery carrying another tray piled high with plates and cutlery. ‘God a’mighty, miss! You shouldn’t be doing that. Where’s Margaret?’
‘In the yard fetching water. We’ve already had that argument and I won.’
Setting the tray down, Sarah snatched up a cloth and began wiping plates. ‘Missus need ’em for the puddings.’
‘How is Mrs Varcoe coping with the children?’
‘Got some way with her, she have,’ Sarah said. ‘Looked like there might be a bit of trouble with a couple of the bigger boys. But she told them to behave, or they could eat their dinner in the barn. Then she started telling the young ones about the great storm. How it blew roofs and chimneys away and broke down the harbour wall. Hanging on her every word they are, with eyes big as saucers.’
As Margaret clanked in with the buckets, Sarah returned with her tray of clean plates to the kitchen.
It was after five and the light was beginning to fade as Jenefer slid down from the cob’s back and led him towards the stable in Harry Rollason’s yard. The butcher emerged from the back of his shop still swathed in a blood stained apron.
‘Just put the bar across, miss. I’ll send the boy to unsaddle ’n.’
‘That’s kind of you, Mr Rollason. I’m running a little late.’
‘Dinner all right, was it?’
Slotting the broad wooden plank into place, Jenefer left the stable. ‘It was a great success. There was enough food to feed an army, and the workers ate like one. But I daresay by the time they’ve walked home and got changed then walked down to The Standard and danced for an hour or two they’ll be ready to do justice to the harvest supper.’
‘Shall us see you there?’ he grinned.
‘You certainly will. With such a good harvest this year we have plenty to celebrate.’ She started towards the gate.
‘Here,’ he called after her, ‘I know what I was g
oing to ask you. How’s mister settling in up Kegwyn?’
‘Very well, I believe. But it’s him you should ask, not me.’
‘I’ll do that. Be there tonight, will he?’
‘I have no idea,’ Jenefer said cheerfully. They both knew he was fishing. He would have heard she had accompanied Charles Polgray to view Kegwyn. Now he was curious about the exact nature of their relationship. She wished she knew. Giving him a wave, she left the yard and walked down the hill towards home.
Would Charles be at the dance tonight? She really hoped so. She had missed him.
As Jenefer opened her door, Lizzie came out of her cottage, wiping her hands on her apron.
‘Go all right, did it, bird?’
‘It was like feeding the five thousand, Lizzie. I’ve never seen so much food vanish in so short a time. But they certainly earned it. Speaking of food, what have you made for tonight?’
‘Two squab pies and two apple tarts. Cooling now they are.’
Lizzie’s squab pies: layers of bacon, apple, onion and mutton with a little cream added for moisture and richness, all encased in shortcrust pastry, were a welcome addition to every village supper.
‘I made a dozen scones this morning,’ Jenefer said. ‘I’ll take butter and two jars of strawberry jam to spread when I get there.’
‘You’ll do no such thing! ’Tis Susan Mitchell’s turn for organizing the supper. You know what she’s like.’
‘Ah,’ Jenefer nodded.
‘Get teasy as an adder she would if you tried to help. Just give her the basket and leave her do it. Oh, ’fore I forget,’ Lizzie said, ‘mister called to see you.’
Jenefer’s heart leapt. She tried to speak but no sound emerged. She cleared her throat. ‘When?’
‘About half an hour ago ’t was. He said he was on his way home from Truro.’
That he was already thinking of Kegwyn as home made her feel warm inside. ‘Did he—?’
‘I could see he wanted to ask but didn’t like to.’ Lizzie nodded. ‘So I put ’n out of his misery. I said you was up Trescowe helping with the harvest dinner, but you’d be home before dark. Then seeing he was here I thought I might as well ask ’n.’
‘Ask him what?’
‘If he’s going to the dance.’
‘Lizzie!’ Jenefer gasped, startled and delighted.
‘He said he would if you’d go with ’n. Well, you can’t blame the man for not wanting to walk in by hisself. They’ll all be gawping at ’n as it is. Anyhow, he said to tell you he’d come by about seven. So you’d better go on in and get yourself changed.’
‘Thank you.’ Jenefer planted a kiss on her neighbour’s cheek.
‘Dear life! What’s that for?’ Lizzie tossed her head pretending impatience, and went back into her cottage.
Closing her door, Jenefer crossed to the range. Stirring the embers into life she added a small shovel of coal from the scuttle then pulled the big black kettle over the flames. Pulling off her hat, she unbuttoned her jacket as she ran up the steep wooden stairs to her bedroom. Her heart beat faster. Charles was taking her to the dance. Flinging her hat and jacket onto the counterpane, she opened her wardrobe. What should she wear?
Chapter Fourteen
Jenefer dabbed a little rose water on her wrists and throat, then fastened around her neck the single strand of pearls that had belonged to her mother. She wished – but stopped the thought before she could complete it. Wishing could not change the past, and time spent looking back was precious time lost. Tonight she was happy. Though happy was far too weak and colourless a description for what she felt. Joyful anticipation bubbled inside her like sparkling wine.
Stepping back she examined her reflection. Her gown of rose-pink figured muslin had a wide neckline, short puffed sleeves and a high waist with the fullness of the skirts concentrated at the sides and centre back. Her white silk stockings were held in place by garters above the knee and on her feet she wore white kid slippers, each adorned with two pink silk rosebuds that matched her dress.
After brushing her hair until it shone, she had gathered it into a coil pinned high on her crown. Damping the tendrils in front of her ears she twisted them around her finger into loose curls, grateful for naturally wavy hair that spared her the need for heated tongs or the discomfort of trying to sleep with a headful of rags.
Fetching a long cloak of dark-green wool lined with cream silk from the wardrobe, she took one final look at her image. Rosy colour in her cheeks made pinching them unnecessary, and her eyes had a definite shine. A knock on the door made her start.
Catching her breath as excitement zinged along her nerves, she ran lightly down the stairs. She dropped her cloak over the back of a chair and crossed to the door, pausing for an instant to draw a deep breath before opening it. Charles stood on the threshold. Seeing her he immediately removed his hat.
‘Miss Trevanion.’ Though his bow was a perfectly judged politeness, his eyes gleamed in the candlelight and the corners of his mouth tilted upward.
She matched his formality, bobbing a demure curtsy while her heart quickened at the contrast between his reserved manner and the warmth in his eyes. ‘Good evening, Mr Polgray.’ She stepped back. ‘Please, come in.’
Bending his head to avoid the low lintel, he straightened up and she felt his gaze like the brush of fingertips as it swept from her hair to her slippers before returning to her face. ‘You look … beautiful,’ he said softly.
Buoyed by delight she felt as if she were floating. ‘Thank you.’ Closing the door she turned to him. ‘Please forgive me, but I must ask for I have found it hard to think of anything else. Was your meeting with Mr Daniell successful?’
In the candlelight she saw surprise and pleasure flare in his eyes. Then he nodded. ‘It was. He has agreed to advance most of the fifteen thousand.’
Jenefer clasped her hands together. ‘I’m so pleased for you. Though with such a sound investment he could hardly have turned you down.’ She paused. ‘You said most. What is the shortfall?’
‘Three thousand.’
She nodded. ‘That’s not too bad. I don’t suppose you expected to obtain the full amount anyway.’
‘How did you—? Of course. No doubt you receive requests for financial investment every day.’
‘Not quite that often,’ she demurred. ‘And certainly not for the sums you are accustomed to.’
‘I’m curious, have you ever agreed to advance the full sum asked for?’
‘Yes, but only in a few exceptional cases. What was your opinion of Mr Daniell?’
‘Shrewd and hard, but not unfair.’ Charles held her gaze. ‘He requires the deeds to Pednbrose as security.’
Jenefer absorbed the implications. Then shrugging lightly she nodded. ‘In his place I’d have done the same. What time period did he stipulate?’
‘Two years. His original offer was for eight thousand repayable in three.’
‘But that wouldn’t have been anything like enough.’
‘I know,’ he reminded gently.
Jenefer pulled a wry face. ‘I beg your pardon. Of course you do.’
‘Anyway, after some further negotiating we settled at twelve repayable in two. I return to Truro next week to sign the agreement and give him the deeds to the property. Now the money is finally in place work can begin. My plan is to have it completed and operational in six months. That will leave me the remaining eighteen months to repay the loan. But to achieve that I shall have to improve profitability by—’
‘Eight thousand a year,’ Jenefer said. ‘Then why not tell the villagers of your plans tonight? It’s one of the rare occasions when the whole village gets together. Now the harvest is over many have no work. Truly, Charles, tonight would be the ideal opportunity to make your announcement.’
She saw his brows lift and realized that in her excitement she had used his first name. Before she could cover her gaffe he caught her hand between his and raised it to his lips.
‘Then tonight i
t is.’ He lowered her hand but did not release it and the warm strength of his fingers curled around hers created a sensation at the base of her throat like softly beating wings. ‘I am used to working alone.’ His tone was soft and bemused. ‘I never ever imagined— But talking to you—’ He shook his head. ‘Forgive me, I’m rambling.’
‘You’re not. It’s the same for me.’ His fingers tightened on hers and her heart lifted.
‘You are more familiar with these gatherings than I am,’ he said. ‘When do you think would be the most suitable time?’
She thought for a moment, thrilled that he should ask. ‘When supper is announced. That’s when people mingle and chat, and there are bound to be questions.’ Awareness of their linked hands, of his nearness, made her quiver inside. ‘By then everyone will have become used to your presence. If you wish, I can introduce you to different people so you will be seen as approachable.’
He raised her hand again, his lips grazing her knuckles. ‘Jenefer.’ He spoke her name softly and for the first time.
Something turned over inside her. ‘Yes?’
‘You have so many facets,’ he murmured. ‘When I came to Porthinnis I never imagined— Meeting you at Trescowe.…’ He shook his head and a crease appeared between his brows. ‘I wasn’t – I didn’t expect—’
‘Nor did I.’ That his reactions echoed her own touched her deeply.
‘Jenefer, we need to talk. But—’
She slanted him a wry look. ‘This is not the time?’
Releasing her hand he picked up her cloak and held it open. She turned her back and he set it gently around her shoulders. His hands rested there for a moment and she sensed he was about to speak. But he didn’t, moving away instead. He put on his hat then opened the door. Reaching for her basket containing the scones, butter and jam, she blew out the candles.
The sky was clear and filled with stars, the night air cold enough to make her glad of her warm cloak.
As they set off up the cobbled yard he drew her hand through his arm. ‘I cannot have you fall. How would I manage? You are quite literally my right hand.’