‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘That would be very nice.’
And I tried to tell myself that it was because I was anxious to escape the claustrophobic atmosphere in the dining room, and nothing to do with the way I felt about Tom at all, that made me accept his invitation so eagerly.
* * *
We went to the beach. We walked along the firm sand just above the low-tide line and I found myself wishing desperately that I could unburden myself to Tom. But of course I could not. I did not know him well enough, and in any case it would have been a shame to impose on the respite from my turmoil that his easy company afforded me.
There was a little chill in the air this evening, a sure sign that summer was drawing to a close, and I was glad I had thought to pick up a light shawl. The sun was lower in the sky too and sinking fast without the brilliance of the glorious sunsets of the last weeks. Further along the beach I could see the old woman I had met on my first evening crouched down on the tide line.
It was a peaceful scene. It calmed my ragged nerves and after a while I began to be very aware of Tom walking beside me. We were not touching, yet the skin of my arm, bare beneath my shawl, seemed to prickle and reach out to his as if some sort of energy filled the space between us. For a little while it seemed more real than any of the problems that tormented me. I forgot even that Tom was one of them – a smuggler and common criminal, someone I should have more sense and more integrity than to become involved with. I simply savoured the feelings he was arousing in me, tasting them tentatively and liking them.
We talked a little, but not of anything of great consequence. Then Tom said suddenly: ‘How do you find Francis?’
The surface of the magic bruised a little; I did not want to think about Francis, much less talk about him, and I could not understand why Tom should mention him now.
‘I really have very little to do with him,’ I said evasively.
‘And Selena?’
This time I was more frank. ‘I don’t like her,’ I said.
Tom laughed. ‘You are not going to become friends, then?’
‘I don’t think that’s likely.’
‘She’s a strange woman,’ he agreed. ‘I fancy though that her bark is worse than her bite.’
‘Perhaps – but she’s a terribly cold person. I would like to see her show more kindness and affection towards Charlotte,’ I said – and immediately felt guilty for discussing my employer with him. Dr John had been right to warn me that I talked too much! ‘It’s not my business, of course,’ I added.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Tom said. ‘You are Charlotte’s governess, after all. It’s only right you should be concerned about her welfare, especially since she’s such a lovely little girl.’
‘Oh yes, she is,’ I said, relieved to be able to change the subject. ‘She’s enormous fun, and very quick to learn too. But then, you know that without me having to tell you.’
He nodded but there was a thoughtful look on his face and it occurred to me suddenly to wonder why he had raised the subject of the Trevelyans. It was as if he had wanted to draw me out concerning them for reasons of his own. Why I should think this I did not know – he had, after all, said nothing whatever out of the way – but over the years I had learned to trust my instincts and just now my instincts were all whispering to me that Tom had a hidden agenda.
Oh, perhaps I was being overly suspicious, I told myself. Such an idea would never have occurred to me if I had not discovered that Francis was in the business of free trade and Tom was an associate of his. As it was, I could not help feeling that he was trying to gain an advantage in some way – and making use of me to do so.
‘Do you know, Charity, your hair is the exact same colour as Charlotte’s?’ Tom said suddenly, as if he had only just noticed.
‘Is it?’ I laughed a small embarrassed laugh.
‘Yes. And such an unusual colour too.’ He stopped walking, reached out and pulled a strand free from my combs, twisting it around between his fingers. Breath caught in my throat, a tiny sharp shard of excitement twisting deep inside me, and all my doubts were momentarily forgotten.
‘But very pretty,’ he said. And tugged on it lightly, pulling me towards him.
To my shame I made no effort to resist. His lips grazed mine; they tasted of the salt in the wind. His hand moved to the nape of my neck, holding me there, my lips against his, for a long moment. Such a gentle kiss and yet it seemed to draw the very heart out of me and I wanted it to go on for ever. Then, just as gently, he released me, drawing back and smiling at me crookedly.
‘Now I suppose you are angry with me.’
I shook my head. My pulses were fluttering, my senses spinning. I had never been kissed by a man before.
‘Why should I be angry?’
‘For taking advantage of you.’
‘No. You can kiss me again if you like,’ I said before I could stop myself.
His grin widened. ‘If I kissed you again, Charity, I surely would take advantage of you. I think it’s time we were getting back.’
But he took my hand, his fingers curling round mine with a firmness that set the sharp sensation in my stomach leaping once more. And he held it as we walked back across the sand.
‘I shall see you next week. Take you and Charlotte to the fair,’ he said when he left me at the cliff gate.
I nodded. There was a joy in me that felt a little like the anticipation that fills me each year at the coming of spring, when the first buds begin to burst on the trees, the first spears of the snowdrops push through the hard earth and there is warmth at last in the sunshine.
Next week. I could scarcely wait.
* * *
‘Mrs Durbin, did Julia have any family?’ I asked.
I had found her in the parlour, dusting the mantel ornaments with vigour – it seemed to me sometimes that Mrs Durbin carried out every task on the run. Hardly surprising, since she had no help whatever in the house.
Ever since the cryptic conversation I had had with her when she had spoken in defence of Julia, I had been wondering how I could persuade her to tell me what she knew. And on one of my sleepless nights, when the boards above me creaked like ghostly footsteps, it had occurred to me for the first time that Julia must have a natural family somewhere.
With the realisation had come a pang of excitement and I could scarcely believe that I had not thought of it before. If I could discover who they were and go and see them I might find them less reticent than the Trevelyans. And perhaps Mrs Durbin would see no harm in telling me what I wanted to know.
I had waited patiently for my opportunity. No, I had waited impatiently – but I was anxious neither Francis nor Selena should come upon me discussing Julia with the old housekeeper.
Now, though I wanted my enquiry to sound sufficiently casual so as not to set Mrs Durbin on her guard, I could scarcely keep the eagerness out of my voice, and Mrs Durbin’s duster paused in its energetic work. She looked at me over her shoulder, head cocked to one side like a bird, her faded eyes screwed up warily in the ripe-apple face.
‘What are you asking that for?’
‘Oh, I’m just curious,’ I said. ‘Charlotte goes to see her Grandfather Trevelyan and her uncles and cousins. I wondered if she had any relatives on her mother’s side.’
Thankfully my explanation seemed to satisfy her.
‘Her father used to live nearby, but he lost his farm long ago and moved to Launceston.’ She picked up a china dog, rubbing it energetically with her cloth. ‘It’s too far for the little maid to travel alone, and Mr Francis and Miss Selena would never take her. There’s bad blood nowadays between them and Harry Stacey.’
A pulse jumped in my throat. Harry Stacey. Stacey. For the first time I had a name for the family who might be my kinfolk by blood, not just by marriage!
Just then the clock on the mantel struck the hour and Mrs Durbin looked at it sharply.
‘Lawks, is that the time! I’ve a fowl in the kitchen waiting to stew. It’ll
never make good strong stock if I don’t get it on. And here I am gossiping!’
She bustled out and I was left alone, frustrated that the conversation had ended so suddenly, but excited too with the new shreds of information I had gleaned.
As Mrs Durbin had said, Launceston was a good distance away, with the wide, wild expanse of Bodmin Moor separating it from any place I had ever been. But at least Julia’s father was still in Cornwall – unless, of course, he had died, or moved on again…
But even that possibility failed to dampen the exhilaration I was feeling. I could not believe that fate had brought me so far only to lead me up a blind alley. At last I had a name to go on; somehow I would find a way to follow it up. And then, perhaps, I would discover a whole family I had never known I had.
* * *
Wednesday, the day of the fair, dawned cloudier than of late and distinctly cooler. Tom arrived after breakfast, just as he had promised.
I had expected we would walk to the village by way of the cliff path but to my surprise Francis offered to drive us. He wanted to view the livestock, he said. But since I knew livestock – apart from horses – played no part in Francis’ life, I thought a more likely explanation was that he did not want his daughter to be seen arriving on foot and perhaps a little dishevelled. He was, I think, very jealous of his position in the community, even if some of the villagers, at least, must know that his wealth came from smuggling.
As we left the house by way of the main door the storm clouds were casting a dim grey light and I decided it would be sensible for Charlotte and myself to take cloaks in case rain set in. Whilst the others walked on up the rise I ran back into the house to fetch them.
The door that led from the hall to I knew not where was standing ajar and I glanced at it curiously. Apart from the time I had seen Mrs Durbin emerging from it with a tray, I had never seen it open. As the front door banged after me I heard footsteps on the staircase that I could glimpse behind that open door and Mrs Durbin emerged. Her face was a little more flushed than usual and she seemed surprised to see me.
‘Oh – I thought you’d all gone!’ she said, sounding flustered.
‘I’ve come back to fetch our cloaks,’ I said. ‘I thought it might be going to rain.’
She nodded, standing stolidly in the doorway as if to protect whatever lay beyond. Her stance and the expression on her face, sheer discomfiture, puzzled me. I ran upstairs, collected the cloaks, and when I came down again there was no sign of Mrs Durbin. The door was firmly closed.
Francis and Charlotte were already in the carriage when I made my way back up the rise. Tom stood in the drive, waiting. He handed me in and I thrilled to the light but firm touch of his fingers on mine. Durbin flicked the reins and we moved off slowly up the steep drive under the heavy trees.
Apart from the visit with Charlotte to the churchyard I had never been into Morwennan village. Today it was a hive of activity. As we drove along the narrow street, villagers touched their forelocks and I had to suppress the urge to giggle.
Tom noticed.
‘You must get used to that sort of thing when you are with the gentry,’ he whispered in my ear.
‘Are you used to it?’ I whispered back.
‘Oh no, but I can carry it off,’ he replied, smiling.
And so he could. I realised I still knew next to nothing about Tom’s background apart from the fact that he was from Falmouth, and I found myself wondering about it. I wanted to know everything there was to know about Tom.
* * *
In spite of the lowering sky Morwennan village was a hive of festivity.
Stalls and booths with gaily coloured awnings had been set out along the streets, which were crowded by people dressed up in their Sunday best. As we mingled with them Charlotte darted between us, holding first on to Tom’s hand, then her father’s, then tugging excitedly at my sleeve. We watched tumblers performing the most amazing acrobatic feats and mummers entertaining, and the usually quiet village was noisy with the scrape of fiddles and the cries of pedlars selling their wares.
‘Oh, look – look!’ Charlotte cried as we made our way to the village green and we saw that, though it was autumn, the May pole had been erected and a dozen or so little girls were dancing round it, threading the gaily coloured ribbons into an intricate pattern. As we watched, Charlotte bobbed up and down excitedly, and I knew that she was itching to join in.
Privileged she might be, compared to these children, but living in comfort at Morwennan House meant she was missing such a lot of fun and companionship, I thought regretfully.
As the dance came to an end a great wave of excitement rippled through the crowd and, following the craning necks and pointing fingers, I saw a strange sight bobbing its way along the street – a long boat-shaped structure covered in a tent of tarpaulin and hung with painted panels.
‘It’s the Hobby Horse,’ Tom said.
I laughed aloud in delight. Almost every village in Cornwall had its own version of the Hobby Horse, and this one was no exception. There was, of course, a man inside the structure, balancing it on his shoulders, and though he was completely hidden he could clearly see out well enough, for every so often he made a dash for a pretty girl in the teasing crowd, enveloping her in his flowing cloak.
‘I’ve never seen a Hobby Horse do that before!’ I exclaimed – each village Hobby Horse had its own customs.
‘He’s giving them a pinch,’ Tom explained. ‘It’s supposed to bring good luck.’
As the Hobby Horse drew nearer I inched closer to Tom, not wanting to be singled out. But just as it came level with us a young village lad shouted a bawdy comment and the unwieldy horse turned in our direction, hesitated for a moment, then made a dive at me.
‘Tom!’ I squealed, but he only stood by laughing as the Hobby Horse grabbed me, pulled me momentarily into the folds of fabric, and gave me a sharp pinch.
I laughed too. It was just so silly! But the laughter died in my throat as I saw Francis’s face.
His expression was one of outrage and fury. To my utter disbelief he raised his cane and brought it down sharply on the Hobby Horse as he might do on an aggressive dog.
The man inside the horse was not hurt, of course – he was far too well padded for that – but he nudged Francis playfully two or three times, making sport of him. Villagers were staring, open-mouthed, at his sudden display of fury, a child laughed loudly, pointing, and his mother clapped a hand over his mouth and drew him away as if she was afraid he might be the next to feel the sting of Francis’s cane. Charlotte stared at her father in puzzled dismay. Tom frowned. Even Francis himself was startled by his own reaction, I think, and a little ashamed, for he turned red and began to bluster.
‘Impertinent lout! They go too far, these country clods. He would never have dared lay a finger on you, Charity, if his identity was not concealed by that ridiculous get-up! I’ll find out who he is and have him horsewhipped!’
‘He meant no harm. It was only a bit of fun,’ I protested.
‘And she’ll have good luck too, Papa!’ Charlotte put in. ‘Did you not say a pinch from the Hobby Horse brings good luck, Tom?’
‘Indeed I did.’ But Tom still looked serious. No sign now of his ready smile. And for me too some of the spirit of fun had gone out of the day, for I knew instinctively why Francis had reacted so angrily.
It was not just that he was offended that it was our little group that had been singled out for attention. It was because I was the one who was pinched. I, who looked so much like his beloved Julia. For a crazy moment it had seemed to Francis that it was not me, Charity, who was the subject of the Hobby Horse’s attention, but Julia herself, and he had struck out unthinkingly at the man he believed to be violating her.
I shivered, frightened by the violent and unreasoning emotions my similarity to his dead wife awakened in this man.
‘I am going to the field where the livestock market is being held,’ Francis said, blustering still. ‘It’s the reaso
n I came today. And I would like Charlotte to accompany me. Look after Charity, Tom – see she is not bothered again by some drunken hobbledehoy – and I’ll meet you outside the ale house in an hour, or as soon after that as my business is completed.’
‘Oh, Papa, can’t I stay with Tom and Charity?’ Charlotte pleaded.
Francis smiled at her suddenly, his loss of composure forgotten.
‘Well you can,’ he said teasingly, ‘but I thought you might like to look at the ponies and see if there’s one that takes your fancy.’
‘Oh!’ Charlotte skipped excitedly into the air like a spring lamb. ‘A pony! Papa, you don’t mean…? You are not going to buy me a pony?’
‘No promises. I said we would look at them. But if there’s a suitable one, and at the right price… It’s too far for you to go to your grandfather’s to ride Moonlight as often as you’d like, and the meadow beyond the Hollow would make a home for him and a practice ring for you… Well, what do you say? Are you coming with me – or do you still want to stay here with Charity and Tom?’
Charlotte caught at Francis’s arm, her face alight.
‘A pony of my very own! Oh – a pony!’
Her pleasure was infectious; I felt my own mood lightening again. What a surprising man Francis was! Clearly it had been in his mind all along that he might buy Charlotte a pony at the fair, yet he had made no mention of it until this moment. He had kept it a secret, as he kept so many things secret. But for all his faults there was no doubting he loved his daughter very much and took pleasure in her happiness.
* * *
‘Well,’ I said as the two of them headed off in the direction of the horse fair, ‘I hope Francis doesn’t expect me to teach Charlotte to ride as well as to spell and do sums! I’ve never been on a horse in my life!’
‘Then you should!’ Tom said. ‘There’s no greater pleasure than galloping across the moors with the wind in your hair.’
Morwennan House Page 15