Chapter Two
FOR FIVE DAYS, and many night hours, David and Alice, with spasmodic help from Percy, worked hard to thoroughly clean the Trethevy rectory and make it ready for the arrival of the bulk of their possessions from Herefordshire.
At the end of each working day brother and sister spent uncomfortable nights sleeping on hard beds in their respective rooms, having only a couple of blankets with which to cover themselves.
When their belongings eventually arrived and were placed in the spaces they were to occupy, and they had sufficient bedding to keep themselves warm, they awoke next morning with more optimism than they had been able to muster since their arrival in Cornwall.
Aware that the state in which they found their new home meant that David had needed to put off the work he was so eager to begin in this, his first parish, she said to him during breakfast, ‘Didn’t you have an invitation to visit Reverend Carter at his school in Devon any time this week? Why don’t you go there today? It would do you good to talk to someone who is able to tell you things you need to know about the parish.’
The school where the Tintagel cleric taught, St Dominic’s, was a small minor public school near Tavistock, some thirty-five miles away. In order to have a full day with him David would need to spend two nights there.
‘According to Percy, Reverend Carter has not spent enough time in the parish to learn anything about Tintagel, he has probably never even heard of Trethevy, and it’s hardly surprising. If Percy is to be believed no one has preached here for more than fifty years, at least.’
‘You should not accept everything Percy tells you, David. He enjoys gossiping – especially passing on gossip of a depressive nature. I doubt if he has even met Reverend Carter. Anyway, once you’ve spoken to him you can come back and meet with the Tintagel churchwardens. They will no doubt be very pleased to know there is a clergyman resident in the parish once again.’
‘You are probably right,’ agreed her brother. ‘They must find things difficult with Carter away from the parish for so much of the time. As for Percy, he does seem to delight in passing on depressing news. Earlier this morning he found ghoulish delight in telling me about the number of ships wrecked along this part of the coast and of the hundreds of sailors drowned. There are apparently some particularly dangerous rocks at the foot of cliffs not far from here.’
‘Well, forget about such gloomy things for a couple of days. It will do you good to be out in the fresh air, speaking to someone other than me and a melancholy old man.’
When David had set off for Tavistock, Alice turned to Percy who had harnessed the pony to the trap for her brother. ‘Ever since we arrived at Trethevy my brother has been working hard getting the house fit to live in. Now, while he is away, we will make a start on the thing that is closest to his heart – the church. Find a small ladder and bring a bucket of water, Percy. We will see how much we can get done before he returns.’
Alice’s words and the briskness of her manner dismayed Percy. Having seen the parson off the premises he had intended finding a quiet corner of the garden, somewhere out of the wind in which to enjoy a pipe and contemplate a leisurely day, with the possibility of a visit to an ale house at the end of it.
‘I don’t know as I’ve got time to do that, there’s things need doing in the garden!’
His protest was in vain. ‘Whatever you have to do there is not going to go away, you can do it another day,’ Alice declared, firmly. ‘Having a church of his own has been my brother’s dream for as long as I can remember. Instead, he has walked into a nightmare. I intend doing everything in my power to give him back his dream – and you are going to help me.’
Percy had not known Alice for very long, but it was time enough for him to recognise that she was strong-willed – far more so than her brother. He put aside any thought of enjoying an easy day in the parson’s absence.
‘What’s a bloody woman doing messing around in my barn?’
The bellowed question, directed at Alice by the large, black-bearded man who occupied much of the space in the narrow doorway of St Piran’s church so startled Alice that she dropped the bucket of water she was holding and almost lost the precarious balance she had on the fourth rung of the rustic ladder on which she was standing.
Descending to the slate-stone floor and stung by the angry stranger’s rudeness, she responded heatedly in kind. ‘This bloody woman would have been considerably bloodier had I lost my footing and fallen off the ladder! As to what I was doing … I was clearing up the mess in a house of God, made by some bloody farmer.’
Glaring at the man, she demanded, ‘Would that be you?’
Taken aback by Alice’s spirited reply, the man in the doorway opened and closed his mouth two or three times before replying, his tone somewhat less belligerent than before. ‘This place hasn’t been a church for as long as anyone can remember. I rent it for my animals.’
‘I think I’m right in saying that the church has been in the family of a Mr Batten for a great many years and that you haven’t paid a penny in rent since he inherited the estate from his father five years ago. Now he has given the building back to the Church and my brother has been appointed rector in charge of it. As it would seem it is you who are responsible for the disgusting state of the place you can take the bucket to fetch more water – and if you have nothing else to do you can help clean up in here.’
For some moments Alice thought she might have pushed the man too far as the face above the beard grew darker and his barrel-chest swelled until it seemed he was in danger of bursting the buttons of his waistcoat.
The anticipated explosion never occurred. Turning suddenly on his heel, the irate man left the doorway and strode stiffly away along the overgrown church path.
From a shadowed corner of the church interior, where he had been attacking the rust on a heavy iron latch removed from the stout entrance door, the noisy exhalation of breath from Percy was a combination of relief and admiration.
Breaking into a chuckle he said, ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day when Eval Moyle was backed down – and by a woman! Miss Alice, you’ve done what no man hereabouts has ever been able to do, and there’s never been a shortage of them as have wanted to.’
Still chuckling, he added, ‘Not only that, for a moment or two I thought he might even have picked up the bucket and helped you clean up!’
‘Are you telling me everyone is frightened of him? Why? He’s nothing more than a blustering big bully.’
‘Oh no, he’s more than that, Missie! Eval Moyle was Cornwall’s champion wrestler for nigh on ten years until men stopped challenging him after he left young Tristan Pethick crippled for life. He has a farm along the lane from here. It actually belongs to Eval and his brother, but neither are much good at farming and although they still live there together the brother has needed to find work on another farm so they have enough to live on. But you’re right about him not paying rent on this place for years. It’s because no one’s dared ask him for it – not even the Battens, and they’re as powerful a family as any hereabouts.’
‘Well he doesn’t frighten me,’ Alice declared, but her bravado belied her innermost feelings. She was a positive young woman who was not afraid of speaking her mind, but she rarely quarrelled outright with anyone and could not remember when she had ever before been angry enough to speak to anyone as she had to Eval Moyle, using language that would have deeply shocked her brother.
With reaction beginning to set in, she said, ‘I’m going to the rectory to make us a cup of tea. It’s a pity Reverend Kilpeck is away today. He needs to be warned about Mr Moyle. While I’m gone will you refill my bucket please, Percy?’
Showing newly-found deference, Percy said, ‘Of course, and I’ll have a go at scrubbing that wall for ’ee too, it’s not work the likes of you should be doing. But I don’t think you’ll need to say too much to the parson about Eval Moyle, he’ll hear of him soon enough.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alice
demanded.
‘Well, Eval is preacher in a chapel in Tintagel that attracts more folks on a Sunday than the church ever has.’
‘You surprise me, Percy. The very last thing I would have suspected Mr Moyle of being is a Christian preacher, even a dissenting preacher!’
‘Well, Eval was brought up a Methodist but when he wanted to become a preacher they would have none of it, so he ups and leaves them and took up with the “Ranters”.’
‘Ranters?’ Alice was puzzled.
‘That’s right. They call themselves Primitive Methodists, or some such, but them as don’t belong call ’em “Ranters”, on account of the shouting and hollering that goes on when they have one of their services – meetings that sometimes go on right through the night and keep anyone who lives nearby awake with their goings-on. There’s no doubt at all they’ll have enough of Eval before very long, but they seem to be suiting each other for the moment.’
‘Thank you for telling me, Percy, that’s something else I will have to tell my brother when he comes home. I can see there is going to be a whole lot more to living at Trethevy than just preaching to his parishioners!’
Chapter Three
THE FOLLOWING MORNING was wet and blustery and Alice had been kept awake during the night by a storm more ferocious than anything she had ever experienced before. It rattled the windows of her bedroom so badly that she was forced to rise and jam a wedge of paper between window and frame. It solved the problem of the rattling, but left a gap through which the wind howled for the remainder of the night.
Despite the weather, she and Percy resumed work in the neglected little church immediately after breakfast but they were destined not to be allowed to continue it without interruption. They had been working for no more than half-an-hour when an ill-dressed, windswept man with a great deal of untidy facial hair and only marginally younger than Percy rushed into the church.
For a moment he seemed taken aback at the sight of Alice working inside, but he was far too excited to be distracted for long from sharing the news he bore. Inclining his head with a brief ‘Ma’am,’ in acknowledgement of her presence, he turned his attention to her companion.
‘Come quick, Percy, a ship called the Balladeer’s struck the Lye rock and is breaking up fast. Word has it she was outward bound for America, so she’ll be well provisioned. There’ll be rich pickings to be had if we get there before the coast guards and revenue men. The workhouse master’s sent every able-bodied man and boy down to the shore to bring back what they can.’
‘What about those on board?’ The unexpected question came from Alice. ‘Have they been rescued?’
The visitor appeared momentarily puzzled before replying. ‘I doubt it, there’s not many survive being shipwrecked on this stretch of coast …’ Then, as though dismissing her, he turned back to Percy, ‘Are you coming? You’d best be quick or the whole of Tintagel will be there before us.’
When Percy looked at Alice uncertainly, she said, ‘We’ll both go to see what’s happening. I don’t know what the law says about gathering goods from a shipwreck, although it sounds as though it must be illegal if there’s a need to beware of revenue men. Fortunately that need not trouble us, we will be looking to see if there are any poor souls in need of our help.’
Percy showed signs of embarrassment and the visitor looked at Alice in disbelief before saying, ‘Of course we’ll have a look for ’em, but it shouldn’t put a stop to us picking up anything worth having. There’s little enough comes the way of folk around these parts that doesn’t need paying for in one way or another.’
As Alice, Percy and the old man – referred to by Percy as ‘Henry’ – made their way along a narrow path that led to the cliff-top they joined a horde of men, women and even small children heading in the same direction. It was apparent that word of the wreck had spread far and wide in the mysterious but efficient manner that news travelled in rural Cornwall.
Everyone was highly excited and Alice did not see a single face which appeared to show concern at the possibility of finding victims of the shipwreck in urgent need of help.
As they drew closer to the sea, the sound of waves crashing against the high cliffs grew frighteningly loud and such was their force Alice imagined the very ground beneath her feet to tremble. The wind here on the edge of the cliffs was stronger than inland and when she and her two eager companions reached a steep wet path leading down to a small beach that was heavily studded with huge glistening rocks, she found herself looking at a sea that was a foam-flecked cauldron. Caught up in its fury she could see a dismasted ship, lying askew on rocks just beyond a small headland, some distance from the beach.
All around the ship an ever-expanding raft of broken timbers and flotsam rose and fell with the waves, as did the bulk of the stricken ship. Only the bow seemed immovably impaled upon jagged black rocks that reared above the turbulent water each time a wave retreated.
As she looked, horrified at the scene, a gigantic wave swept in from the sea and for many moments ship and rocks disappeared from view beneath hundred of tons of surging water.
All along the fluctuating shoreline hordes of excited sea-drenched foragers, too impatient to wait for the sea’s bounty to be cast ashore, were plunging into the sea to seize something – anything – that might prove to be of value.
Some having rescued as much, or more, than could be carried were climbing back up the path from the beach, staggering dangerously under the weight of their booty and frequently shedding some along the way.
Then, as Alice and the others drew closer to the crowded beach she saw a small number of bodies stretched out in a line, well back from the water’s edge. All were naked, or almost so. When Alice commented on their state it was Henry who replied. ‘Some of their clothes will have been torn off by rocks and water, anything left will have gone to someone in need.’
Catching Alice’s expression of disbelief, he added, ‘Well, them as was wearing ’em have no more need of clothes, do they?’
‘But … what will happen to the bodies now?’
Henry shrugged and the answer came from Percy, ‘Depends. If the coast guards get here in time they’ll be buried in the sand. If the tide beats them to it they’ll be taken back out to sea again.’
Alice was horrified, ‘That’s dreadful! Those bodies are of men – Christians, probably. They deserve to be treated with respect. They should be taken off, buried in consecrated ground and have prayers said over them, at the very least.’
They had reached the sloping sand of the beach now and, giving Alice a pitying look, Henry said, ‘You pray if you want, I can see a firkin or two on their way in. They’ll bring me more cheer than any prayer I’ve ever heard said.’
With this, Henry set off at a short-paced but speedy shuffle, heading for the water’s edge.
Looking at Alice apologetically, Percy said, ‘There’s little to look forward to in the workhouse, even the smallest luxury is treasured by them as is lucky enough to benefit from it.’
‘I don’t begrudge them or anyone else the good things in life but they are still human beings and so were the men whose bodies are lying naked on the sand. They deserve the same respect that we would give to our own families.’
At that moment a hubbub on the small beach increased as one of a number of the small barrels being pitched around in the water came within the grasp of a number of men and women who, at risk of their lives, had waded into the sea in order to be first to lay hands on them – and a tussle had broken out.
It ended only when a large wave powered into the bay, sweeping the squabbling men off their feet and actually throwing the firkins over their heads, causing the scrabble for possession to shift to the mob onshore.
The same wave swept far up the beach and Alice retreated before it. Percy came with her reluctantly, casting a covetous glance in the direction of the heavily contested barrel, the contents of which had yet to be established.
Standing uncertainly at the edge of the excite
d crowd, wondering what action she should – or could – take in respect of the bodies of the shipwrecked sailors, Alice’s attention was drawn to some children scrambling dangerously among the slippery rocks that stretched on either side of the small beach. The waves of an incoming tide thundered around them, drenching them with spray.
Suddenly Alice heard the voice of a young girl calling urgently from among the furthermost rocks. At first she thought the child was in trouble, but as a woman broke away from the mob around the barrels and began running towards the sound, Alice was able to make out what it was the child was shouting.
‘Mama…! Mama…! Quick … I’ve found a body … it’s a girl.’
Scrambling over slippery, sea-drenched rocks Alice was marginally beaten to the spot by the caller’s mother, but she was in time to hear the woman demand, ‘What are you so excited about? Look at her … her frock’s been torn to bits by the rocks and she’s got no shoes on – if she ever had any. She’s not wearing any rings or jewellery, either. What’d you call me here for? Come on, back to the beach with me. There’s things coming ashore we can make use of.’
Arriving at the spot where mother and daughter were, Alice looked past them to where the body of a girl of perhaps thirteen or fourteen was lying half in a shallow rock pool, her body rising and falling with the ebb and flow of the water. There was a length of rope tied about her waist, the other end of which was attached to a splintered spar that might once have been part of a vessel – although it must have been smaller than the ship being battered to pieces offshore.
Giving Alice only the briefest of glances, the woman took her daughter’s hand and began scrambling back towards the crowded beach. Alice called after her angrily. ‘You can’t leave her here like this. Help me carry her to the beach.’
The woman looked at Alice for a second time, then, clutching her daughter’s hand more tightly said contemptuously, ‘She’s as well here as anywhere else. You move her if you want to, I’ve got other things to do.’
Beyond the Storm Page 2