‘I haven’t been out of the house,’ Eliza lied, adding with assumed indignation, ‘I saw it through the window. ’Sides, I’m scared of horses, I wouldn’t go near one.’
This too was a lie, in London she had never been able to pass by a tethered pony without stopping to stroke its muzzle, but Moyle was unaware of this and Eliza continued …
‘I think I should tell you, sir, there’s a dog from one of the places along the lane that barks whenever it sees a horse. If it barks at your pony it could run a mile or more in fright and might well hurt itself if its leg got caught in the reins and trips it over.’
Eval Moyle was far from satisfied with Eliza’s reply but at that moment there was the sound of a dog barking in the distance. Seizing the opportunity it offered, Eliza said, ‘Listen! That sounds like the dog. I hope your pony hasn’t reached that far yet, sir, or you’ll never find it again.’
Her words succeeded where Jory’s threats of jail had not.
‘I haven’t finished with you by a long way,’ Moyle threw the words at Jory, but it was a parting threat as he hurried from the rectory garden, leaving Alice, Eliza and Jory greatly relieved.
It was Alice who was the first to speak. ‘That was a very timely intervention, Eliza, but did Moyle’s pony really break free of its own accord?’
‘Well, it wasn’t really tied to the rail,’ Eliza admitted. ‘The reins were just wrapped around it a couple of times. It wouldn’t have taken much for the pony to do it by itself.’
‘But no doubt the process was accelerated with a little help from you?’ Jory suggested, adding, ‘You are a very resourceful young lady, Eliza, and I am in your debt. I am not unused to violence and can hold my own with most men, but I don’t think I would have lasted long against Eval Moyle without suffering a severe beating.’
Pleased with the coast guard officer’s comments, Eliza was clearing the tea things away when Jory began talking to Alice.
‘I have received a letter from the coast guard headquarters in London, the storm we suffered here, in the South West, was even worse than we realised at the time. Of all the ships wrecked around our coasts there were only a handful of survivors. Perhaps one of the most tragic was the foundering of a ship named Cormorant on Lundy Island, in the Bristol Channel. It had a number of female convicts on board, being carried to Australia. They were all drowned and some of their shackled bodies are still being washed up on the island …’
The crash as tea things fell to the ground from the tray Eliza was holding interrupted what Jory was saying and, seeing the distressed expression on Eliza’s face, he hastened to apologise, ‘I am so sorry, Eliza, it was quite unforgivable of me to talk about such things in front of you.’
‘It … it’s all right,’ Eliza said, the tears that had sprung to her eyes giving the lie to her words, ‘It’s just … I’m sorry about the tea things.’
Once again she faltered and Alice came to her aid. ‘Don’t worry about them, Eliza, I’ll pick them up and take them in. It is going to take you a long time to get over your horrible experience. You go to your room now and rest for a while, you are looking very tired.’
Giving the young girl a wry but warm smile, she added, ‘Your first working day has been rather more eventful than I trust your normal duties will be. You will not be expected to deal with bullying dissenting preachers as an everyday occurrence.’
‘I apologise once again, Eliza, and I trust Miss Kilpeck is right – but I think you should keep out of Eval Moyle’s way for a while.’
Alone in her room, Eliza found she was shaking, but her distress had nothing to do with the visit to the rectory by the Primitive Methodist preacher. Her mind was filled with thoughts of the women with whom she had travelled from the prison hulk moored at Woolwich to the Cormorant and who had remained shackled in the forward hold of the ship during the storm.
She had thought of them at the time when the storm was raging, but only in passing. Now the sheer horror hit home of what they must have experienced, shackled and helpless as they were, when Cormorant was breaking up on the rocks of Lundy Island. Imagining their plight, memories of her own ordeal flooded back.
Flinging herself face down on to her bed, she began sobbing into the pillow.
Chapter Fifteen
THE DISSENTING PREACHER did not return to the Trethevy rectory and Alice and Jory spent a pleasant time together, taking full advantage of the opportunity to discover more about each other.
Jory learned that Alice and David came from an ecclesiastical family, their late father having been Dean of an East Anglian cathedral before his untimely demise while Alice was still young. His death seriously affected their mother’s health for the rest of her life and she eventually died too, having been nursed by Alice for many years.
Since their mother’s death Alice had kept house for her brother in various parts of the country, while he waited for an appointment to a parish. It eventually came through the nepotic influence of their uncle, also a Dean.
Unlike Alice, both of Jory’s parents were still alive and his family owned a large house and estate on Cornwall’s South coast, close to the ancient town of Lostwithiel.
Much to Alice’s surprise, she learned that Jory’s father was Lord Kendall, a family ancestor having been raised to the peerage as a Baron during the English Civil War.
‘Does that mean you are in fact Lieutenant the Honourable Jory Kendall?’ she queried.
‘A quite meaningless accolade,’ Jory admitted. ‘It’s not as though I will ever inherit the title. I am the third of five brothers and the wife of the first of them is expecting what the family hopes will be a future heir to the title and estate.’
‘Does it trouble you to know you are unlikely to inherit the title?’ Alice was puzzled by Jory’s apparent indifference to the situation.
‘Not at all. It means I have none of the responsibilities that come with the inheritance and I was able to leave home and pursue a naval career without the distractions that come with being heir to a large estate. At least, I could before hurting my leg.’ Patting his thigh to emphasise his remark, he added, ‘Actually, it seems to have confounded the prognosis of the surgeons by mending itself.’
Alice had observed that Jory had a slight limp, but had never thought it might be anything serious. Now she asked, almost casually, ‘What did you do to it?’
Giving her a wry smile, he said, ‘I did nothing, it was a Malayan pirate’s large-bore musket ball that did the damage. It made such a mess that the ship’s surgeon wanted to amputate the leg, but at the time I believed it looked far worse than it really was and refused to allow him to operate. He wasn’t terribly concerned by my refusal, saying I was probably going to die anyway! Fortunately, I was right and he was wrong, but it put me ashore and set back any chance of promotion for a while. However, I anticipate returning to sea-going duties again before too long.’
Shuddering at the thought of an operation that would have removed Jory’s leg, Alice said, ‘I am glad your leg was not lost, of course, but surely the work you are doing is important enough to keep you in Cornwall?’
‘We are at war with China and need to put more ships to sea. With my seniority I might possibly be given a command, even though it would certainly be of something small, like a brig, or perhaps a schooner.’
The thought of returning to sea was quite obviously pleasing to Jory Kendall, but Alice hoped his departure would not happen too soon.
When David returned home that evening he was told of the incident involving Eval Moyle’s cattle and the threatening attitude the Primitive Methodist minister had adopted towards Alice and Jory Kendall.
The Trethevy rector was furious and his first thought was to seek out Moyle and take him to task for his actions but he was dissuaded from such a course by Alice and Jory. Both were aware that David was not a violent man – and Moyle most definitely was!
David accepted, albeit reluctantly, that discretion was preferable to foolish valour on this occasion b
ut he said, ‘Whatever course of action is taken, Moyle cannot be allowed to flaunt the laws of the Established Church in such a manner. He must be warned of his conduct by a letter from the archdeacon, or perhaps from the bishop.’
‘Think very carefully before you do anything, David,’ Alice said. ‘If you bring the Bishop into the matter he might decide to take Moyle to court. That would really stir him up, and possibly alienate some of your parishioners. Think about the possible consequences before you take any action against him.’
Grudgingly, David saw the wisdom of Alice’s advice. He was still a newcomer to the parish and although Moyle preached in a dissenting Church he was a local man – and in Cornwall that counted for a great deal.
When Jory concurred with what Alice had said, David agreed he would do nothing without first discussing it with Alice, and perhaps consulting Jory too.
Aware her argument had won the day, Alice made an effort to move her brother’s thoughts away from the difficult dissenting minister. ‘You have said nothing about your visit to the churchwardens at Tintagel, how was your day?’
Her ploy worked immediately. His face lighting up, David said, ‘It was most successful. The churchwardens were delighted to hear I will be taking on Reverend Carter’s duties. It seems they have a waiting list for christenings and weddings – especially weddings. There are at least two prospective brides who are likely to give birth out of wedlock if not married very soon. There are also a number of mothers asking for churching, to give thanks for the safe delivery of a child. So it looks as though I will be kept busy and able to add a little to our income.’
The problem of Eval Moyle forgotten for the moment, David beamed at his two listeners. ‘One of the churchwardens is Henry Yates, master of the poorhouse and the meeting gave me an opportunity to thank him for his help and generosity in helping to bury the unfortunate victims of the shipwreck. He was delighted to have his contribution acknowledged and I feel he is basically a good man. He has promised to bring many of the poorhouse inmates along to my first service in Tintagel church. I doubt if they will boost the collection at all but they will certainly add to the congregation numbers and that should impress the bishop’s office – and Reverend Carter. Yates was helpful in other ways too. I happened to mention that I am going to find it difficult to keep the churchyard and rectory garden tidy here at Trethevy and he says he has a very suitable candidate to take on the task. It would seem this young man lived with his grandmother and took excellent care of her and when she died applied to join the army. He was accepted, but before he actually signed the papers he was injured in an accident whilst working temporarily in a local quarry. He badly broke a leg and as a result ended up in the poorhouse. Yates assured me the leg has healed now, but has left him with a bad limp. He can work as well as any other man and is pleasant, honest and strong, but these are not the easiest of times and there would seem to be no employment for anyone with even the hint of a disability – especially a poorhouse lad. I have said I am willing to give him a trial.’
The poorhouse master’s reported praise for the out-of-work young resident of his establishment failed to impress Alice. ‘Having someone from the poorhouse working here at Trethevy might be satisfactory in summer, but in winter, or when there are storms about such as the one we have experienced recently, even a fully able man could not be expected to walk to and from Tintagel on a dark morning or night. For someone with a disability it would be positively dangerous!’
Jory had been listening to the conversation and now he spoke for the first time. ‘I know the lad in question and have gone into his background very thoroughly. His name is Tristram Rowe and if you were to take him on I think you would find him as dependable as anyone you are likely to wish to employ at the rectory. A couple of months ago he applied to me for work and he was willing to do anything I was able to offer him. Unfortunately, I could not take him on as a coast guard but I felt sorry for him because of my own experience of a serious leg injury and found a few odd jobs for him around the coastguard station. He did them well, completing all that I gave him to do much more quickly than I expected. He is a very likeable young man and had I been able to take him on permanently, I would certainly have done so. I told him I would be happy to recommend him to any potential employer. So there you are, I have now done exactly that!’
‘Thank you,’ said David, then, turning to Alice once more and appearing slightly embarrassed, he said, ‘Er … Yates and I discussed the problem of the distance between the poorhouse and Trethevy and I told him we could probably put young Rowe up here, at the rectory.’
Forestalling Alice’s predictable objection to this latest proposal, he added hastily, ‘Not in the rectory itself, of course, but there are the rooms over the stable, Percy only occupies one of them. Rowe could have one of the others. I have no doubt he would make far more of tidying it up than Percy has.’
‘Give him a room of his own and he would be in absolute heaven,’ Jory said, enthusiastically. ‘He feels the ignominy of living in a poorhouse very strongly.’
Shifting her gaze from one man to the other, Alice shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of resignation before addressing her brother. ‘I can see that whatever I feel about the matter will make no difference and it is you who will be paying for him. When is he coming?’
After throwing a brief but grateful glance in Jory’s direction, David replied, ‘I told Yates I would speak to you this evening and if you were in agreement with the arrangement I would ride to the poorhouse tomorrow and meet with Rowe.’
‘You will like him,’ Jory commented, positively, ‘you too, Alice.’
‘Whether I like him or not is quite immaterial,’ Alice replied, ‘he will be working outside and not here, in the house. In fact, it will make life easier for me. Now we are to have two outside workers, he and Percy can come to a mutual arrangement for feeding themselves.’
Alice was aware she was behaving in a peevish and probably unreasonable manner. It did not help when realisation came that she was more upset because Jory had sided with David against her than by the fact her brother wanted to take on another employee, when it was not at all certain they could really afford the additional expense.
Chapter Sixteen
DAVID WAS AT the back door of the rectory, instructing Percy on his day’s work, before leaving to carry out his own parochial duties on foot, when Alice called from the kitchen. ‘David, tell Percy to have the pony and trap made ready. I am coming out with you.’
Taken by surprise, David asked, ‘Why? I am only going to the poorhouse to interview the young man recommended to us by Henry Yates. There is really no need for you to come along.’
‘If he is to be employed around the rectory grounds I want to form an opinion of him too. Besides, I would like to see what conditions are like in the poorhouse, especially for the women and girls accommodated there. If you had a wife she would be expected to take an interest in such things. As your sister, I am the next best thing.’
David had to admit to himself that she was right. A parish priest’s wife was expected to involve herself in a great many aspects of parish life. He was secretly delighted that she wished to involve herself in his work … but was also aware she was basically opposed to taking on another employee. Her presence at the poorhouse could lead to Tristram Rowe being deemed ‘unsuitable’ to work at the rectory.
Nevertheless, he knew it would be futile to argue the point with her. ‘I will tell Percy – but bring a coat. There is a chill wind blowing from the sea.’
*
Alice enjoyed the drive to Tintagel. She had only rarely left the Trethevy rectory since she and her brother arrived there, but with Eliza now fit enough to take on many of the household chores she intended being less tied to the house.
As though reading her thoughts, David asked, ‘Do you feel quite confident about leaving Eliza in charge of the rectory in your absence?’
‘Perfectly confident. After witnessing her resourcefulness in
dealing with Moyle yesterday I would entrust her with any task.’
Less assured than his sister, David said, ‘Yet we really know so little about her, and she has no references.’
‘In view of the manner of her arrival at Trethevy that is hardly surprising,’ Alice retorted, ‘and we both know that many servant references are exaggerated simply because the employer is anxious to be rid of them. I like to think I am a good judge of character, indeed, you have said so yourself, on many occasions.’
At that moment the pony and trap rounded a bend in the narrow lane and were immediately in the midst of a small flock of sheep being driven by a diminutive, bow-legged farmer who had a weather-beaten face that must have witnessed the seasons of more than three-quarters of a century.
Allowing his sheep to enjoy the grass that was plentiful on the lane’s verges, the farmer doffed his stained and misshapen hat to the young rector and for almost half-an-hour regaled the sister and brother with tales of past parish priests, and the current gossip of the area.
By the time the conversation came to an end sheep were scattered the length of the lane for farther than could be seen and, with a series of unintelligible commands, the old man sent his patient sheep-dog off to round up the flock and bring them back to their garrulous shepherd.
Resuming their journey, David and Alice discussed what the old farmer had told them about the area and, long before the subject had been exhausted, they arrived at the poorhouse.
The building was not as large as Alice had imagined it would be, but David explained that this was merely a parish poorhouse and soon to be superseded. A law had been passed by the parliament in London, ordering adjoining parishes to amalgamate into ‘Unions’, with a view to saving money by having a single poorhouse – or ‘workhouse’ as they were becoming increasingly known – to serve a much wider area. A far more rigorous routine would be enforced in these establishments, with the intention of discouraging those it was felt were able to work, from claiming aid.
Beyond the Storm Page 8