‘We haven’t decided yet. We don’t really want to sell it. My father loved it so. We’ll maybe rent it to someone we know and trust, but we intend to keep the ownership of it for when we come home on visits.’
But she smiled at Bess with genuine warmth as she said it, and was rewarded by seeing some of the colour come back to her face.
Even so, Morwen was more troubled than she admitted. When Bess had gone so white, saying she was losing another of her sons, it had seemed all too much like the premonitions Morwen had from time to time. As if she saw a glimpse of a future she didn’t want to see. She refused to dwell on it, and got the discussion back to Justin’s birthday party as quickly as she could.
‘’Tis all going forward,’ Bess said in some relief. ‘You ask him who he wants to invite, and let me know how many there’s likely to be, Morwen, and I’ll see to the catering. I take it that Albert and Primmy will be bringing a few of their friends to liven things up?’
‘I’m sure they will,’ Morwen said with a smile. ‘And Charlotte has a young man too, though I’m only supposed to refer to him as a friend at the present time.’
The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough, with one and another putting in their spoke about the whys and wherefores of Charlotte meeting a young man, while Morwen let the conversation drift through her head, trying not to think how everything was changing. She was almost glad when the sun went lower in the sky, turning moors and sea alike to a pastel world of pink and gold. And the women left the Tea Rooms and went their separate ways.
* * *
Albert and Primrose Tremayne were at that very moment relaxing on floor cushions in a fragrant smoke-filled studio, surrounded by a group of their Bohemian artist friends. They leisurely extolled the wonders of their beautiful universe, becoming more and more expansive with the effects of the forbidden substance they inhaled.
As one of the young men suggested a midnight picnic on the beach on a particular night at the end of the month, the date triggered a recollection in Primmy’s mind.
‘We can’t. We have to go to our brother’s party on that night. We’ll have to leave it until another time,’ Primmy said drowsily, ‘but you’re all invited to come to the party as our guests!’
‘Not a good idea, Primmy,’ Albert said, his words terse as always as the smoking seemed to tighten his chest, even though he never took in as much as the rest of them, and was far more clear-headed than most. The anxiety he felt from the swirling shapes that the drug produced in his brain, and the sense of breathlessness that accompanied it, alarmed him far more than the desire to be transported into a magical world akin to that of the fabled Thousand and One Nights…
Not for worlds would he admit any of that to the rest of them, though. This was his studio, and he was Jack-the-lad here. So he smoked very little, and was thankful for the success of his own charade, even though he felt he was letting his friends down by his actions.
‘Why is it not a good idea?’ Primmy said to him. ‘Justin will want us there, and you can do his portrait as a birthday gift from us both, and I’ll play the piano, and our friends can sing and entertain.’ She began to laugh shrilly. ‘We could introduce them as the entertainers, and nobody need know they’re really our guests at all! What do you say?’
She blinked through her darkly dilated pupils at the wishy-washy outlines of the group seated all around her. She really was feeling rather ill, and it was becoming extremely urgent for her to go to the water closet… she retched suddenly, and a rainbow stream of vomit spattered those nearest to her. They all shrieked with hysterical laughter as if she had done something terribly funny.
Albert yanked her to her feet, where she swayed alarmingly. ‘Come on. You need to clean yourself up,’ he said.
Primmy shook him off. ‘Don’t manhandle me, sir!’ she said, in as pompous a manner as she could. The group erupted into more laughter, and then Primmy knew no more as all her bones seemed to turn to jelly and she sank down in an unceremonious heap over the nearest of them.
When she awoke, it was night. She was in her own bed, and Albert was sponging down her heated face with a cool cloth. There was no one else in the room, but the windows were open, and a cool breeze blew the curtains slightly inwards. She gave a low groan, feeling as if she was dying. She always did – afterwards. The tremendous burst of mind-expanding energy and excitement of it all was never worth the feeling that came later. She knew it, but still she did it.
‘You’re a fool, Primmy. It will kill you if you go on like this,’ Albert said quietly.
‘And you’re so noble,’ she said weakly. ‘You were the one to try it first, and now you’re going all pious on me.’
‘I never thought you’d get so addicted, and I don’t want to lose you,’ he said.
‘I’m not addicted! I can stop any time I want to,’ she said indignantly.
‘Then you won’t mind if I put the rest of the stuff down the water closet, will you?’
Her voice was full of panic. ‘No, don’t, Albie – please don’t. Just leave me a little. I promise it will be the last time.’
‘This was the last time,’ he said, seeing how the perspiration broke out on her forehead at the thought that he was taking away her supply. But he had to do it. Dear God, if she went on like this, she’d be a raving lunatic in no time at all. And if that happened, it would surely break his heart. She was his sister and he loved her, and he couldn’t bear to see her already getting so out of control. The drug was already degrading her.
For a moment, he wondered how his upright family would react if they only knew. His blood ran cold at the thought. Morwen, and their grandparents, in particular, were so proud of the two of them setting up their own establishment in Truro; the talented artist and the accomplished concert pianist. It had all sounded so very grand – and it had all become so very sleazy.
Not the work, of course. The façade of respectability stood them in good stead. Fond mamas brought their daughters to have their portraits painted, as well as commissioning studies of their family groups; and Primmy played at the several concert halls in the surrounding towns, and was invited to the best soirées to perform. The high life they led was a glittering success, and their secret life was gutter low.
‘Albie,’ Primmy said huskily now, breaking into his brooding thoughts. ‘I know you’re right. I do know it, really I do. And I want to be over it. So be strong for me tonight. Don’t give in to me, there’s a love.’
And he didn’t, not all through that long night when she begged him and cursed him and lashed out at him to give her what she craved. He had no idea if he was doing the right thing or not. He only knew he had to save her from the demons that plagued her while there was still time.
* * *
The man walking with his dog through the streets of Truro took a stroll along the lower banks of the Truro River where the more bohemian of the town’s inhabitants lived and worked. He didn’t normally come this way, nor this late, but the lurcher needed his exercise, and was strong enough to fend off any attackers who might be out and about after dark.
He paused suddenly, and his blood froze for a moment, recognizing the sounds of a woman shrieking and blaspheming. The sounds were coming from the upstairs windows of a house that stood apart from its neighbours, and he hesitated, wondering what to do. The last thing he felt like was putting up his knuckles to some unknown assailant. And if he’d been anyone else, he might have slunk away to the nearest Inn, and forgotten what was probably a normal domestic row between husband and wife. He disliked violence of any sort. And he disliked the entire female sex with their simpering ways and perfumed bodies.
But he wasn’t anyone else, and there were other instincts that he’d been trained to follow. He wasn’t a newspaperman for nothing, and this was an area that was reputed to harbour murky shades of life, as well as the successful arty set who were supposedly so respectable. There might be a story here.
Ellis White crept forward, his hand cl
utching his dog’s collar, and straining his eyes and ears to hear words and voices. There wasn’t much light coming from the upstairs room, and the moon was obscured by clouds, so he could creep right underneath the bedroom window and listen intently without fear of being discovered. The woman was still shrieking, her voice tortured.
‘Albie, I’ll never ask you for anything else. But for God’s sake, if you love me, don’t put me through this hell—’
Ellis caught his breath. He didn’t know the woman’s voice, and he didn’t immediately recognize the name, though it seemed vaguely familiar. He searched his memory, but he couldn’t readily place it. The man was speaking in a low voice now, and he had to strain his ears to try to catch the words.
‘You know I love you, and I always will, but it’s wrong, my lovely girl. We’ve got to stop, and we both have to accept it.’
‘I don’t want to stop, you bastard!’ the woman screamed. ‘Don’t you understand? I can’t live without it—’
There was a sudden scuffle from above, and Ellis White scrambled back in the shelter of the bushes, snatching the lurcher back with him in the process. The dog gave a low growl, and he clamped his hand over the animal’s mouth to keep it quiet. Ellis could barely breathe himself now, keeping all his senses alive and excited at what he might be on the brink of discovering here.
He didn’t yet know what it was, but he sensed instinctively that it was something that should probably be kept secret. And therefore something that the anonymous letter writer in The Informer might be able to use to his advantage. Ellis took a perverted pleasure in being the unknown scandalmonger of the district. He had a power that no one suspected, not even Tom Askhew, his hated boss, and he took great delight in making those in authority squirm.
He jerked up his head as two shadowy shapes approached the dimly-lighted window of the bedroom. He couldn’t see who they were, but he knew they were young. The man’s tall, protective stance, together with the long, dark hair and sensual shape of the woman clinging to him, were proof enough of that.
They had seemed to be walking backwards and forwards around the room, but now, without warning, the woman thrust her head through the window and vomited. Ellis scrambled back further into the bushes, disinclined to be sprayed by the filthy stuff.
He fell heavily over his dog, and the lurcher let out a howl of rage. At the same time, the man pulled the woman inside, and within seconds he had thrust his head out of the window. He held a lantern aloft, while Ellis cowered unseen under cover of the bushes.
‘Who’s down there?’ Albert shouted. ‘Clear off, whoever you are, or I’ll set the constables after you.’
Ellis had to decide quickly what to do. Whether to run, or to play dead. The dog was behaving itself, and before he could decide, the woman had appeared again, putting her arms around the man and pulling him inside. She seemed quieter now that her brief bout of sickness was over. And Ellis heard her voice quite clearly.
‘Close the window, Albert, and let’s go to bed. I promise I won’t ask you for anything more tonight, darling. I’ll be good, really I will.’
And as the man complied, Ellis White’s jaw dropped open in disbelief as the proverbial penny dropped. Dear God, this was a scoop and a half, he thought. The Killigrew sprogs were committing a crime he’d never have dreamed of, and he doubted that anybody else had either.
Incest. It was worse than bastardy in his eyes. It was obscene. And it was going to make a bit of very interesting information on the Letters Page…
He’d have to be careful, though. He was knowledgable enough to know he couldn’t name names. Unless you actually caught the pair of ’em canoodling, you couldn’t actually accuse them, or you’d be in court yourself with a libel suit against you. But innuendo was the next best thing. Better really, because you could keep it going as long as you liked… and it was easy enough to put the idea in folks’ heads so clearly that there’d be no doubt who the culprits were… Never was there a truer phrase than the salacious pen being mightier than the sword, Ellis thought gleefully. But Albert and Primrose Killigrew sharing a bed as well as a kitchen… who the devil would have believed it?
* * *
‘Don’t do it,’ his lover advised him flatly, when he’d rushed home and related all that he’d seen.
‘Why not?’ Ellis was deflated at once. He rarely shared his intentions with anyone, but he trusted Leonard, and he’d been all fired up to begin on his letter that night.
‘It’s not worth antagonizing the clay folk for your own sadistic pleasure,’ Leonard said, studying his polished fingernails with a satisfactory air. ‘Anyway, you can’t really be sure of what you saw. The girl might have been ill, and her brother was just helping her to bed. If she was about to faint, he’d have had no option but to support her, would he, my dear?’
‘I do know what I saw,’ Ellis said firmly. But he hesitated now. Leonard’s judgement was usually sound. ‘Do you think I should wait for more evidence before proceeding then? Maybe go back another night to find out more?’
‘If you must. Personally I think these clay folk are a terrible bore, and I don’t know why you waste your time on them, Ellis.’ His pale eyes suddenly flashed. ‘Unless there’s one of them that has a special interest for you?’
‘You know there is not!’ Ellis said quickly. He hadn’t known Leonard long enough to want to lose him now. They were extremely compatible, and he had high hopes of it being a long-lasting relationship.
‘Then forget all about them for tonight,’ Leonard said, more affectionately. ‘Come and warm yourself by the fire, my dear, and later on I’ll cook us a nice supper.’
And Ellis willingly gave himself up to delights of a very different nature from that of composing a letter about people he couldn’t have cared less about in normal circumstances. But the images of the two he’d seen in the house by the river remained at the back of his mind, all the same. Once the glimmering of a story had been ferretted out, it was not his way to abandon it for ever.
But he was prepared to wait. After all, what was the hurry? If the two of them were truly cohabiting, it was unlikely they were going to stop. And he was probably the only other person to know it.
Chapter Eight
For once, supper time was calm in the New World household. Morwen had related some of the conversations with her sisters-in-law and her mother that day, and mention of their Uncle Jack had the children clamouring to know when they could go out in a boat.
‘For goodness’ sake,’ Morwen said, laughing, ‘your uncle builds them for rich folk to buy. He doesn’t take children for pleasure rides.’
‘Why not?’ Bradley said at once, always ready to argue. ‘I bet Sammy’s been in one of his boats.’
He didn’t like his cousin, but that was nothing unusual, thought Morwen. At the moment, Bradley didn’t like anyone. Without thinking, she dropped a bombshell into the conversation.
‘Freddie and Venetia will be going on a boat soon,’ she said to Ran.
‘Oh?’ He looked up from his leek and veal pie at this unusual piece of information. ‘Don’t tell me they’re dipping into some of her daddy’s money and taking a trip?’
Morwen looked at him mutely as all the children stopped eating and waited expectantly for her to continue. Why on earth had she mentioned it at all! It didn’t take a genius to know that Bradley was going to throw an almighty fit once he learned that his favourites were shortly going to leave Cornwall for good.
‘I’ll tell you more about it later,’ she murmured.
‘Tell me now,’ Ran said, adding to her annoyance. ‘It can’t be such a secret, can it?’
‘You seem to have secrets from me,’ she retaliated.
He stared at her. ‘Good God, what does that mean? I don’t have any secrets from you!’
‘Yes, you do,’ she said, thinking that at least she’d turned the conversation away from Freddie and Venetia. ‘You’ve had a letter from our Matt, and you’re not going to tell me what’s in
it.’
Ran gave a half-smile. ‘I have not had a letter from our Matt, though I have had a letter from California. All right then. You tell me your secret, and I’ll tell you mine.’
‘Later, Ran,’ she said, trying to tell him with her eyes that her secret wasn’t for the children’s hearing. But she’d reckoned without their impatience.
‘We want to hear it too, Mammie!’ Emma shrieked, and Bradley howled in accord, while Luke banged his knife and fork on the table in unison with the chorus.
‘Be quiet, the lot of you!’ Morwen snapped. ‘You’re a disgrace at the supper table.’
‘Tell me, Morwen,’ Ran ordered in a none too patient voice himself, and she sighed, knowing that the calm was over.
‘Freddie and Venetia are planning to move to Ireland next month—’
As she had expected, she got no further before Bradley leapt to his feet, his eyes blazing.
‘It’s not true! You’re a liar, and I hate you!’ he shouted. ‘They wouldn’t go and leave me behind—’
‘For pity’s sake, Bradley, stop behaving like an idiot, and sit down,’ Ran said irritably. ‘What your aunt and uncle do with their lives has nothing to do with you—’
‘Yes, it does. They always said I was their special boy, and they wouldn’t go and leave me.’
‘Well, you’re our son, not theirs, and if they’re going to Ireland to live, then you’ve got no choice,’ Ran snapped, as always losing patience very quickly with his volatile son.
They were so alike, Morwen thought. So damnably and vulnerably alike when it came to never being able to find the right words to say to one another.
‘I’ll run away,’ Bradley yelled. ‘I’ll stow away on the boat taking them to Ireland and live with them. I’ll help Uncle Freddie with the horses, and you won’t stop me!’
Ran didn’t believe in hitting children unless the circumstances were extremely deserving. He considered it a coward’s way to behave. But as if she watched the scene being enacted in slow motion in front of her eyes, Morwen saw him rise from the table and walk slowly round to snatch Bradley up by his collar and yank him to his feet. He shook him like a rag doll, his voice low and tight.
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