She wasn’t ready to go home yet, and since she was in town, she decided to call on Justin at the lawyer’s chambers. Despite his surprise at seeing her, his greeting was like a breath of fresh air. Daniel Gorran had taken one of his frequent days off, and Justin said there was nothing to do here that couldn’t be left in his assistant’s hands.
‘I usually take my midday meal at The Anchor Hotel, Mother, so why don’t you let me treat you, and you can tell me what’s troubling you,’ he said with a grin.
‘Why should anything be troubling me? Why can’t I just call on my son for a change?’
Justin laughed. ‘Because I’ll be seeing you this evening, and because I know you too well. Something’s ruffled your feathers, and you’re needing a sympathetic ear. Am I right?’
‘And you’re becoming too astute a counsellor,’ she said drily. ‘But of course you’re right, and thank you. It’s a while since I’ve been to The Anchor.’
She smiled naturally for the first time that day, her heart lifting at his thoughtfulness, and the ease with which he proposed the outing. The Anchor was a very pleasant, genteel hotel, and there had been a time, long ago, when she had gazed in wonder at the rich folk alighting from their carriages and entering the establishment in their finery and taking an indulgent meal in the middle of the day. Justin hadn’t known those penny-pinching days, but she had.
They didn’t need a carriage to take them the short distance to the hotel. They walked along the cobbled streets in the warm May sunshine, and she thought how tall and elegant this son of hers was, and how she wished he too could find a love of his own. But he seemed in no hurry.
‘There’s that shadow passing over your face again, Mother,’ he said, as they were seated at an alcove table by the dining room window. ‘Do you want to tell me now, or should it wait until we’ve eaten?’
At her small sigh, he put up his hand.
‘No, let me guess. It won’t be Bradley up to his nonsense again, since the little brat has turned into a cherub at the thought of going to Ireland, though the Lord knows how long that state will last!’
Morwen smiled faintly, and let him ramble on, content to look through the hotel windows at the panorama of folk passing by in the street below.
‘So it’ll be one of the girls,’ Justin guessed.
‘Why should it be?’
‘Girls give parents more trouble, that’s why,’ Justin grinned. ‘So which one is it? Not Emma, that’s for sure. And Charlotte’s so high in love, she’s on cloud nine. So it must be Primmy. That’s my considered opinion, Ma’am, and I’ll send you my consultation fee in the morning.’
Morwen felt her mouth twitch at his nonsense. He had a lawyer’s sharp way of deduction, and he’d quickly come to the right conclusion. She felt his hand cover hers, and as his expression changed to one of concern, she looked into Ben Killigrew’s eyes.
She drew in her breath, knowing that in times of family troubles, her senses were always heightened, and then it seemed as if past days were the best of all days. It wasn’t always so, and of course she knew it. But she couldn’t help but wish that the joys and burdens of an expanding family didn’t weigh quite so heavily.
She blurted out the situation quickly and concisely, and Justin sat back with a faint smile on his face.
‘Is that all? I thought it was something terrible!’
‘Your grandmother thinks it is!’ Morwen said passionately. ‘Please don’t make light of it, Justin. She’s very upset, and it is Primmy’s whole future.’
‘Exactly,’ he said. ‘It’s Primmy’s life, and good luck to her. If she’s made up her mind, then don’t start putting doubts in her head. Anyway, we all know that Grandma Bess sees it as her role in life to make objections. She’s living in another age, Mother, and I bet she had plenty to say when you wanted to marry Father. Did you care what other folk thought?’
‘I cared about what my children thought!’ Morwen said, remembering the family discussions.
And remembering too, how the children had been the ones to provide the solution so simply. Walter, Albert and Primmy would live at Killigrew House with their grandparents, while Justin and Charlotte would live at New World with her and Ran. The children hadn’t been in the least put out that their mother wanted to marry again, and to a kind of cousin too.
‘Your children wanted the best for you,’ Justin said quietly. ‘And that seemed to be Ran Wainwright. From what I’ve seen of Cress and Primmy in these past weeks, I’d say he was the best for her. Let them sort out their own lives, Mammie.’
She smiled at him through eyes that suddenly prickled.
‘Do you know how long it is since you’ve called me by that name?’ she said softly.
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it without self-consciousness.
‘Maybe I should say it more often. But perhaps not for all the world to hear,’ he said, his eyes twinkling as he nodded to an influential business client at the next table.
He was right, of course. Due entirely to his own efforts, Justin was well respected in the town, and being heard to use a childish pet name for his mother in public, was hardly the best advertisement for an up-and-coming lawyer.
Morwen gave up worrying, and concentrated instead on the succulent fish dishes that the hotel provided, straight from their own Cornish waters, poached to perfection in a creamy sauce, and surrounded with tiny carrots and potatoes.
They had almost finished their meal when there was a sudden rustle at the door of the hotel dining room, and out of the corner of her eye, Morwen saw the head waiter talking rapidly to someone and looking in their direction. Her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, praying that it wasn’t bad news about one or other of her family. She hated unpleasant surprises, but as long as it didn’t involve illness, she vowed that she could always cope…
The head waiter wove his way between the tables and approached them. Morwen’s knife and fork clattered onto her plate, regardless of etiquette. It must be bad news, she thought desperately, her mind flitting through the list of family members like a litany.
‘Mr Killigrew, there’s a message for you,’ the man said quietly to Justin. ‘A runner has come from Doctor Vestey, to say that Mr Gorran has collapsed and been taken to Truro hospital, and that you are summoned there immediately.’
Justin leapt up at once, flinging down his table napkin. Daniel Gorran had been his mentor and his friend for many years, and had taught him so much more than the mere rudiments of the legal profession. He was a longtime family friend and lawyer too, and Morwen’s eyes were anxious, even while she sent up guilty thanks that it wasn’t one of her own that was in trouble.
‘I’ll come with you, Justin,’ she murmured. ‘You may be glad of my support.’
She heard herself speaking as if he was about to attend a wake, and wondered if that was truly to be the case. Daniel Gorran was a frail old man now. He had been very tottery at Justin’s party, and she had always had a sixth sense about these things…
They called a hire cab to take them to the hospital, and were quickly taken to Doctor Vestey’s office. He knew them both well, and greeted them gravely.
‘He’s been asking for you, Justin, and it’s a good thing you got here quickly, for I don’t think he’ll last out the day,’ he said, without bothering to dress up the facts. ‘You’d best stay here, Mrs Wainwright, and I’ll ask my nurse to bring you some tea.’
‘Thank you,’ Morwen said woodenly as Justin departed, his face white. Children shouldn’t be subjected to seeing folk die, she thought inanely, forgetting that Justin was a man, and used to seeing much of life’s darker side through his profession. The nurse brought the tea, and she drank it without tasting it, trying not to let herself imagine the hospital room where Daniel Gorran was dying.
An hour later, she wondered if she should go home, but it seemed wrong to leave Justin here by himself. No one had invited her out of the doctor’s office, and she wouldn’t have wanted to sit with Daniel Gorra
n, anyway. A man deserved dignity and privacy in dying, no matter how sympathetic the onlookers. But he’d asked for Justin, and that was different.
She was gazing out of the window when the door opened, and her son entered, looking stricken. His voice was young and bewildered, and very vulnerable.
‘He’s gone, Mother. It was horrible, like a light going out. One minute he was talking to me, still instructing me, and then his head lolled, and he was gone.’
The doctor came into the room and handed Justin a glass of brandy.
‘Drink it straight down,’ he ordered. ‘You’ve had a shock, and this will help to settle your nerves. And then I suggest you go home with your mother.’
Justin obeyed, swallowing the drink and coughing at the bitter taste. Then, to Morwen’s horror, he began to laugh.
‘Do you know what that kind, gentle old man wanted to see me for, Mother? He’s left me everything, and he wanted to tell me in person so that it wouldn’t be too much of a shock when his will is read. He’s left me the practice and goodwill, and his entire estate and investments. I’m rich, Mother, and you know what? It doesn’t mean a damn thing, because I’ve just lost the best friend I ever had.’
And then the laughter turned to tears, and he was weeping in Morwen’s arms.
Chapter Thirteen
Whenever Bess Tremayne was troubled, she resorted to her needle and thread, stabbing at the homely household linen repairs, even though there was no longer any need for her to take on such tasks. But she was more than troubled now.
She had never been as fey as Morwen, but she was a true Cornishwoman, and she didn’t dismiss signs and portents either. Even young Bradley had read out that spooky old tale and made them all shiver… though why she should remember that now, a month on…
But things were changing far too quickly for Bess’s peace of mind. Nothing stayed the same for ever, but she didn’t like the way her family seemed to be going in all different directions. Times were best when a family stayed together, and didn’t start moving about to foreign parts of the globe, so that you hardly knew who was where. To Bess’s mind, they should stay in the place where they belonged.
Now Freddie and Venetia had taken Bradley off to Ireland, a decision she thought was an outrage on Morwen’s part, and Jack and his family had gone up to London, which she privately thought of as a hotbed of sin. Primmy had gone to Europe with her American cousin and his mother, leaving Matt comfortably installed at Hocking Hall, and Justin had moved out of the family home as quick as lightning when he’d come into his inheritance.
Bess liked things to happen far more slowly. It was all too much for her, and none of it sat comfortably on her mind. And there was young Charlotte too, living the life of a lady in that Pollard mansion, and she could be heading for trouble by going all soft-eyed over the Pollard boy.
In the end, it probably wouldn’t come to anything, Bess thought, and she wasn’t at all keen that it should. The Pollards weren’t their kind. But then, she’d never thought the Killigrews were their kind either, and it hadn’t stopped her daughter from marrying one of them. Nothing stopped the young ones from doing whatever they pleased, and they took little notice of the wisdom of their elders these days…
Hal caught his wife sitting tight-lipped in their vast drawing room with her stitching. He was about to leave for the clayworks with Walter and Ran that morning, and knew at once that she wasn’t best pleased.
‘Now then, dar, what’s all this glum face about?’ he said. ‘I thought it was your day for seeing Morwen at the Tea Rooms, and you’re usually in a better-looking humour.’
‘Well, I’m not goin’ today and I sent Morwen a message to tell her so,’ Bess said tartly. ‘Me and the young folks seem to have too many different ideas from one another these days, and I’d as soon keep away as start an argument.’
Hal looked at her, frowning. ‘But you never miss the chance to gossip with our Morwen.’
Bess glared at him. ‘There’s enough gossip about us in the town, with all them newspaper accounts.’
He didn’t like this kind of talk, and he didn’t want to acknowledge the truth in it, neither. He pressed her shoulder as he stood beside her. He hadn’t left the house yet that day, but he still managed to smell of the outdoors. He was a simple man with simple tastes, not given to flowery speeches or gestures, but his voice was full of unease as he looked into her face.
‘What’s brought all this on, then? You ain’t still scratchy wi’ Morwen over this Primmy business, are you? It’s been over a week now since you last saw her.’
Bess gave an impatient sigh, wondering how it was that men could be so dense at times, and then put their finger on the itchiest spot just when you wanted to keep it to yourself. And she wasn’t one for putting thoughts into words easily, any more than Hal himself. But she was obliged to answer now, and she did so grudgingly.
‘Oh, well, I know they all have their own lives to lead, but I feel left out of it all nowadays. ’Tis as if I’m on a back shelf in the larder, and nobody thinks my opinion’s worth listening to any more.’
‘Well, that’s about the daftest thing I ever heard,’ Hal said forcefully.
‘No, it’s not,’ Bess snapped. ‘I knew you wouldn’t see it my way, but I can do without you standing there and patronizing me, Hal Tremayne. You’d best get off to the clayworks and see what’s to do, if you’re so all-fired up about these rumours about that woman clay boss.’
‘Aye, that I had.’
He moved back with some relief, glad of her lead, and never easy with what he called women’s tantrums. And Bess knew where his thoughts really lay. He’d been steeped in clay business for too many years to give more than lip service to domestic doings, when real troubles were looming.
And this new outrage that that bastard Askhew had blazoned across The Informer this week, had stirred up a hornets’ nest among the clayers. Some ferret of a reporter had got an interview with Harriet Pendragon, and she had confirmed that she had already bought up several small clayworks in the area to add to her grasping little empire.
Now she had her sights set on the big boys, according to Tom Askhew’s paper, and was going round them all with tempting offers. She had already approached several in the area nearest to Killigrew Clay, and it didn’t need a genius to see that it was surely their turn next.
It had prompted a hasty meeting between himself and Walter and Ran, resulting in the three of them deciding to present a solid front at Killigrew Clay today, assuring the workers that they’d do what was right by them – providing the clayers were loyal in return.
‘It has to be a two-way commitment,’ Ran had said to him shortly. ‘They have to see that we’re always ready to listen to them if they do right by us.’
‘All that sounds fine and dandy, Ran, but I ain’t so damn sure of their loyalty. They’ll be full of good intentions, but I know these folk better’n you. All theym interested in is a guaranteed wage and food in their bellies, and if the Pendragon woman was to offer substantially more—’
As he remembered the arguments between himself and Ran, he heard Bess draw in her breath as the needle jabbed into her finger, and drew blood. She brushed aside his sympathy, saying it wasn’t the first time she’d seen blood and it wouldn’t be the last. And both of them were secretly hoping that the tartly said words wouldn’t prove to be prophetic.
* * *
But by the time he met up with his son-in-law and grandson, Hal had forgotten the small incident. There was more important work ahead of them than sympathizing over a pricked finger.
The three men travelled on horseback, despite the fact that Hal found the exertion of it uncomfortable, stiffening his joints and tightening his chest by the end of the ride. But not for worlds would he admit it to the others. He knew there was a psychological advantage in the three tall, well-setup bosses arriving on horseback to overlook their clayworks. It presented a far more powerful sight than arriving in a carriage, however grand. Hal wasn’
t a particularly imaginative man, but even he could see that.
‘Something’s wrong,’ Walter said suddenly, long before they arrived at Clay One.
They reined in their horses and held them perfectly still. The moors were particularly abundant with gorse and heather now, and bursting into summer bloom. Ahead of them, the sky-tips sparkled in the sunlight as always, almost dazzling the eyes with their glittering whiteness.
But the sound of silence was what penetrated their minds most of all now. There was no rumbling of tracks, no throbbing of beam engines, no clatter of machinery…
‘The bitch has got here before us,’ Hal said harshly. ‘I’ll wager she’s rounded ’em all up now, and is wheedling her way into their confidence at this very minute.’
‘Then what the hell are we doing, wasting time talking?’ Ran said, digging his heels into his nag’s side so fiercely that the animal whinnied in protest.
Walter said nothing, but his jaw was set tight. He wanted no troubles to cloud his horizon right now, and certainly no clashes between himself and Tom Askhew. The Yorkshireman had long been his least favourite person, but he was Cathy’s father, and he felt obliged to allow the man a grudging smidgeon of respect on her account.
And he had no doubt that wherever Harriet Pendragon went, one or more of Tom Askhew’s minions would be sure to follow, with their usual muckraking. Newspapermen were like vultures, he thought scathingly. Bad news was always preferable to them than good, and they fed on other folk’s miseries.
‘The bastards got wind of it before we did, Grandad,’ Walter said, as they neared Clay One and the great dip in the ground towards the area around the clay pool. He swore beneath his breath as he saw Tom himself, together with a thin, ferrety-faced man he vaguely remembered seeing somewhere before. The man brandished a notepad as importantly as if it was a badge of office, and was clearly one of The Informer’s reporters.
The unusual silence among the men was broken by the sound of a woman’s voice. With one accord the three newcomers moved closer, reining in their horses at the back of the huge crowd assembled there. Pit captains, clayers, bal maidens, kiddley-boys skirmishing and being clouted by their elders to keep quiet, and the newspaper reporters busily worming their way to the front to hear better. But there was hardly any need. The woman’s voice carried clearly, and she commanded attention.
Family Shadows Page 17