Hal’s eyes blurred, and he dashed away the unmanly rush of emotion. And then he turned his head sharply as a whispering voice seemed to fill his head to bursting.
‘Daddy, don’t be afraid. ’Tis me, come to guide you. Take my hand, for we’re to travel the road together.’
Hal was awestruck as Sam’s voice suddenly filled his head and his heart, and Sam’s image was beautiful and ageless in his vision. Gladly, so gladly and confidently, he reached out his hand to take the one that invited him on the journey, and felt its grasp, as warm as summer.
Chapter Fourteen
A pair of truant kiddley-boys came upon the wandering horse a while later. They crouched down in the bracken, hearts trembling, and fearing an ear-cuffing from the old boss when they were discovered. And then, since there was no sign of Hal Tremayne breathing fire and brimstone on them, the braver of the two became curious and started dancing about the moor in a frenzy of release from the morning chores.
He stumbled over the old man with a yelp of fright, and the second boy rushed to see what had happened. For a moment neither of them spoke as they stared down at Hal Tremayne’s inert body.
‘Be ’e hurt?’ the boy said in a scared voice. ‘Looks like ’e fell off his horse. What ought we to do about un, Davey?’
‘I think ’e’s snuffed it,’ the other one croaked. ‘He ain’t movin’, and as far as I can tell he sure as hellfire ain’t breathin’.’
As soon as the fear was put into words, the two of them sprang away from Hal Tremayne as if all the demons in hell were after them.
‘We’d best go and tell t’other bosses while theym still there,’ Davey said quickly, grabbing the other’s hand.
They turned and raced away, thankful to be doing anything rather than stare down at the lifeless body in the bracken where it had fallen. They were barely eight years old, and the sight of Hal Tremayne with that strange, soft, welcoming smile on his lips when he’d been so angry a little while ago, was more unnerving than if they’d found him bleeding to death with a knife stuck through his heart.
They raced back to Clay One where Walter was reorganizing work shifts with George Dodds now, and the American boss was still talking and arguing with the reporters a little distance away from the rest. With one accord the boys split up and babbled out their findings to each man.
Walter’s face went white as he grabbed the frightened child by the shoulders and shook him until his teeth rattled and his eyes bulged.
‘Are you telling me the truth, you young whelp? You’re not inventing the story to save yourself from a hiding?’
But even while he spoke in a desperate way as if to shield himself from the truth just a little longer, he knew in his soul that it wasn’t likely! Hadn’t he himself been aware of a strange kind of acceptance in Hal when he’d last spoken to him? Hadn’t he felt a compulsion to touch him, one last time, and to thank him for acknowledging his own worth so unexpectedly?
He glanced across at Ran, who obviously had no such reluctance to accept the news, as young Davey Stithian babbled it out to him. Ran leapt onto his horse at once, scattering the newspapermen, and knocking the notepads out of the younger man’s hand as he galloped away from the pit.
Walter was less able to move. His legs seemed to have turned to lead, and it was only when his father-in-law came stalking over to him, followed by his insufferable minion, that he felt the first real stab of pain at what he had heard.
‘This is a turn up then, lad,’ Tom Askhew said in his hated nasal voice. ‘Ain’t you off to see if ’tis true as well, same as me and young White here? ’Twill be a twist of fortunes if the old man’s popped his clogs just now, but mebbe you young uns will be coming’ into a useful bit o’ brass—’
He said no more before Walter’s fist caught him fair and square on the jaw, and he went sprawling to the ground, taking Ellis White with him in the process. Before Tom could catch his breath and bellow out abuse at being manhandled by his son-in-law, Walter had grasped him by the throat and was hauling him to his feet.
‘You keep your bloody nose out of my family business, you Yorkshire toe-rag, and if my Grandad really is dead, you’d just better show some proper respect—’
Walter stopped speaking, as the horror of his own words sank into his brain. He dropped Tom Askhew again, ignoring his avowed howls that he’d pay for this insult to his wife’s father. He went running over the moors in the direction that Hal would have taken, without waiting to untether his own horse. Above his own panting breaths, he could hear the two newspapermen running and cursing behind him, and he was also aware that the news would have spread like wildfire, and that a great crowd of clayers was starting to follow on behind.
Ahead of him he saw the two riderless horses, and then he saw Ran Wainwright kneeling beside something lying in the bracken. And Walter knew, with all the certainty in his soul, what he was going to find when he reached him. Hal Tremayne was dead, and nothing was ever going to be the same again.
* * *
The crowd behind him fell silent, circling at a respectful distance as Walter reached his stepfather. Ran looked up at the white-faced young man and spoke rapidly.
‘He must have gone quickly. There’s no sign of a struggle, and no anguish on his face. The doctor will no doubt have the proper words for it, but I reckon his heart just gave out. There was nothing anybody could have done, Walter.’
He heard the words, but they meant nothing. The only thing he could absorb was that his beloved grandfather was dead. He was consumed by sorrow, and yet, even in the midst of that sorrow, Walter felt a vitriolic anger that was suddenly impossible to contain. He had to blame somebody. He had to hit out, to release the surge of emotions inside him. He found himself shouting.
‘His heart didn’t just give out. It was wrenched out of him by all the upset going on at Killigrew Clay. He gave his life to it, and now it’s killed him.’ He turned round to the hushed crowd and the busily writing reporters, angry tears streaming unheeded down his face. ‘Do you hear me, you bastards? This is what’s left of Hal Tremayne, who always did right by you, and who you were ready to betray by listening to the voice of a harlot.’
There were gasps in the crowd, and Ran pulled at his arm, his voice harsh. He mourned the loss of this good man as much as anybody, and in particular he dreaded the thought of having to tell Bess and Morwen, but he was able to be less emotional than Walter.
‘Be careful what you say, boy. Every word of it is being recorded—’
‘Do you think I give a damn about that? Hal Tremayne never minced his words, and I’m Hal Tremayne’s grandson and proud of it. And nobody tells me what to say and what not to say,’ he snapped, shaking off Ran’s arm.
George Dodds stepped forward, for once having the sense to tactfully intervene, before their young Works Manager made even more reckless remarks in the hearing of the muckraking reporters. He spoke loudly, addressing them all.
‘I’m sure folk always say things they don’t mean on occasions like this, and ’tis best for all on us to overlook it and forget it. But right now, I reckon we’d all like to see Hal Tremayne taken home. If you wish it, Mr Wainwright, I’ll see that a cart is brought down from the works, and me and some of the men ’ould be proud to accompany him home.’
Ran agreed at once, and there were mutters of sympathetic assent from the clayers, before George Dodds turned to Tom Askhew.
‘And if you put Walter’s damning remark about the Pendragon woman in the newspaper, the lot of us will deny it was ever said. Ain’t that right, folks?’
As the clayers became more vocal in defence of their Works Manager, Tom Askhew suddenly found himself being pilloried and heckled on all sides from the more aggressive of them. Ran thought grimly that if ever he needed a show of loyalty, it was being given him now. Hal himself would have relished it. Ran spoke quickly to George Dodds.
‘Do as you suggest, George, and we’ll stay here with Hal until you return.’ He spoke coldly to Tom Askhew.
‘You heard what my Pit Captain said, and you’ve heard the opinions of the clayworkers. I’d advise you to heed it well. And we have no further need of you today.’
The look Tom gave him was one of pure hatred, but Ran was not a man to flinch from the likes of that one, and after a moment Tom shrugged and moved on with his assistant. Ran turned to Walter at once.
‘You were a bloody fool to slander the woman in public, boy, but I trust the loyalty of the men will see that no real harm’s been done,’ Ran said crisply.
Walter didn’t answer. His limbs had felt so heavy before, and now they felt as if they were turning to water, and he sank down in the bracken beside Hal. He stared into his face, as if trying desperately to see what final thoughts had been going through his mind to bring that strange, glad smile to his lips. If Walter had been a more fanciful man, he’d have said it was as if Hal was truly happy to be going to the better place that pious folk said was beyond the grave.
Walter wasn’t a religious man, and such talk always made him uneasy. But when you saw such a wondrous expression on a man’s face, it was hard to dispute the thought that he had glimpsed something not of this life, just before he slipped out of it.
Ran produced a hip flask from his pocket, and thrust it under Walter’s nose.
‘Take a stiff drink,’ he ordered. ‘You need it, and it will give you strength to face your grandmother.’
The flask was already at Walter’s lips, but he spilt some of the bitter spirit as he flinched at Ran’s words.
‘Dear God, how am I going to tell her? I can’t do it, Ran. I can’t tell my mother either. I can’t—’
‘Pull yourself together and stop behaving like a snivelling idiot,’ Ran said harshly, knowing it was the only way to deal with this. ‘Would you have some stranger tell them? Don’t you think they’d prefer some loving member of their family to break the news? When the time comes, you’ll find the words. We both will,’ he added, lest Walter thought he had to deal with this burden alone.
But, dear Lord, there were so many of them to tell, Ran thought in a momentary panic of his own. And some of them couldn’t be contacted soon enough to attend the funeral, either… they’d get word to Jack and Annie in London right enough… but Matt’s wife and son – and Primmy – were God knows where in Europe. Freddie would want to come home, and somebody must go to Ireland to tell him in person. That would have to be arranged quickly.
As for the rest of them – well, they’d just have to inform them all as quickly as they possibly could. There was so much to do after a death, but Ran knew that in many ways the business side of death relieved the initial grief and shock. He remembered that now, and he looked more compassionately at Walter as the boy’s colour began to return.
He felt a swift sympathy for him. Walter had been devoted to Hal, even more than the rest of the grandchildren. There had been a special kindredship between them that grew out of their inborn love for the clay. Walter had also been on the crest of a wave with the arrival of his new baby. Everything in his world had been rainbow hued, and now he simply looked crushed.
Ran became practical. ‘Do you think Justin would go to Ireland to tell your Uncle Freddie? He’ll be the best one, I think, having no ties, providing he’ll leave his beloved practice in his clerk’s hands for a few days.’
Walter looked as if he didn’t understand what was being said to him, and then he nodded slowly. It was as if he mentally braced himself, and somehow managed to shake off the awful inertia that had held him in its grip.
‘I know he will. I’ll ask him,’ he said. ‘And once George brings down the cart for Grandad Hal, I’ll suggest that the rest of them get back to work. It’s what Grandad would expect. He’ll not want production to stop because of a’dying.’
Unconsciously, he used Hal’s own phrase, but Ran could see that his back was straighter, and his eyes were clearer. There would be many times when Walter would feel Hal’s passing keenly, but right now he was shouldering the mantle Hal had left him, and Ran felt touched and proud.
‘I think you’re right,’ he said, more gently. ‘It might be a good time to talk to them now, if you feel able, before they take Hal home. They want direction, Walter, and you’re the one to give it.’
Walter looked at him, his eyes and his heart still full. He was twenty-five years old, and he wasn’t ready for this. He’d been proud of the responsibility that had come his way, through his own love and efforts, yet there were times when he felt as helpless as one of the young kiddley-boys.
He knew he could no longer indulge in such feelings. Through all his grief, common sense told him that as far as his work and as far as Killigrew Clay itself was concerned, nothing had changed. The clay was still there to be brought out of the earth. Men passed on, but the clay remained, and if the essence of all that it stood for was to survive, the work must go on.
He stood up, brushing down the fronds of bracken from his clothes, and dashing the tears from his eyes. Except for the clayers who had gone back with George Dodds, and those who couldn’t bear to stay, many more still remained, crouching silently in a kind of ghostly vigil, uncertain what to do. Walter saw that Ran was right. They needed direction, and he was their Works Manager. He walked slowly across to them.
‘You all know what’s happened,’ he said, trying to be as efficient as it was possible to be. ‘And I know that you all share my sorrow and that of my family.’
The mutters of agreement heartened him, though several groups of bal maidens who were openly sobbing unnerved him. He turned away from them, unable to stand much more of this.
‘You all heard Hal Tremayne earlier this morning. You know that he dearly wanted us all to get on with the work we’re paid for. I’m obliged to leave that work in your hands today, but I know I can trust you not to shirk it. I know, and you know, that Hal Tremayne will always be with us in spirit. He was one of us. We’ll all miss him, but the best thing we can do to honour his memory is to carry on in the way he’d have wished it.’
He hadn’t meant to say as much, but if ever there was a time for honest speaking, it was now. And it was obvious that the clayers appreciated this fine young man who wasn’t ashamed to say what was in his heart. In their eyes, it made him more of a man, not less.
One by one, the groups began to disperse and to return to Clay One. By now the news would have got around to the other Killigrew pits, and Walter knew he needn’t do any more.
‘Well done,’ Ran said quietly. ‘That was a fine speech, Walter.’
‘Was it? It wasn’t intended to be. I’m no speech-maker and never have been. Grandad always said—’
He stopped abruptly. Hal always used to say that Walter would find the right words for speechifying when the time came, and until then it didn’t matter a tuppenny toss whether he spoke up or not. And he’d been proved right, this very day. The sad thing was that Walter couldn’t tell him so. Or maybe he could. He knelt down beside Hal, and touched his cold face for the first time.
‘I’ll not let you down, Grandad, and I promise ’ee they’ll always remember the name of Hal Tremayne and all that he stood for.’
He stood up, straighter than before, and Ran knew the first searing shock was receding from his mind. There were other ordeals to come, but thankfully, this one was over.
* * *
Bess paused, her stitching stilled, as she heard the mournful sound of Penwithick church bell tolling in the distance. Tolling for some poor lost soul, she thought. Some clayer, perhaps, with the misfortune of falling into one of the clay pools, like that young friend of Morwen’s had done, all those years ago.
She hadn’t thought about Celia Penry in years, but the sound of that tolling bell could always remind her, and always chill her bones. You couldn’t always hear it from the house here, but when the wind was in the right direction, the sound was blown clear over the moors and down into St Austell town.
She turned her head as the door opened, and felt a surge of gladness as her daughter
came into the room. She hadn’t expected to see Morwen today, since she’d sent the message to say she wouldn’t be jawing with her at the Tea Rooms. But she’d regretted sending the hasty note ever since, knowing the day would stretch endlessly in front of her, and missing their weekly gossip.
But now Morwen was here, and with an anxious look on her face. She came across the drawing room and knelt beside her, taking Bess’s cold hands in her own.
‘I was worried about you, Mammie. It’s not like you to miss our day in town. Is everything all right? You’re not feeling ill, are you?’
Bess smiled. ‘I’m not ill, dar, I just didn’t feel like going out, that’s all. But we’ll have some tea here instead, and you can tell me all that’s been happening, and I’ll try not to let off too much steam about the young uns.’
‘All right. And I’ll try not to say too much to provoke you,’ Morwen said with a laugh, thankful that after their recent scratchiness, all was well between them again.
Bess rang the bell for tea to be brought in, and told Morwen she might as well stay for a bite to eat since it was nearing midday.
‘I doubt that the men will be back until later,’ she commented. ‘Your Daddy won’t miss the chance to spend a day up at the clayworks, whatever Ran does. And Walter will be tickled pink to be showing ’em both around.’
‘You make them sound like visitors,’ Morwen said.
‘So they be, compared wi’ Walter. Not that your Daddy ’ould like to hear me say it. But ’tis good for a man to know when to take a back seat, and that boy took to the clayin’ like a duck to water,’ Bess said, with such satisfaction and pride in her voice that Morwen laughed out loud.
‘You and Daddy always did have a soft spot for Walter, didn’t you, Mammie?’ she said, without any jealousy on account of the rest of her brood.
Family Shadows Page 19