She drew in her breath. The offer was there, and she only had to say yes. She ached for it to happen, to renew the feelings that had been born in a hotel room in London. All the love she ever wanted was in Ran’s eyes, in his arms… She swayed towards him, hiding her face against his chest.
‘No, my love,’ she said in a muffled voice. ‘Not until I’m free to love you.’
She moved away blindly and turned the key in the door with shaking fingers. It would have been so easy. It could have started a precedent. Stolen afternoons, secret meetings, a haven of love… but it would be wrong. She decided in those sweet moments of indecision that being unfaithful in spirit was not the same as being physically unfaithful. The one was so much the lesser evil after all. It had to be, because otherwise God wouldn’t let her suffer so because of it.
Ran let her go, but at her final look back, there was understanding in his face. He didn’t love her any the less for her refusal. And if Jane Askhew accepted his invitation, which of course she would, then that was something Morwen must accept as well. If God intended her to conquer her jealousy, it was only right that He gave her something significant to be jealous about. She applied her own logic to the situation, and felt oddly reassured by it.
She hurried through the busy Truro streets to pay her visit to her sister-in-law. Annie was obeying the doctor’s orders very stricdy, and was resting in bed for her afternoon hour when Morwen arrived. The twins had been sent off to stay with Annie’s friend for the afternoon.
‘How lovely to see you, Morwen,’ Annie said in delight. ‘You don’t often come over here. Where are your visitors today?’
Morwen explained quickly.
‘You’re probably glad of a bit of time to yourself,’ Annie remarked. ‘However much we want visitors to come, it’s always nice when they’ve gone, and we can relax, isn’t it?’
‘I never really thought of it before, but you’re right,’ Morwen said slowly. ‘I was feeling quite guilty at the relief I felt when they all went off this morning, but now I don’t feel so bad. And how are you?’
‘I’m fine,’ Annie said cheerfully. ‘Jack’s wonderful and helps with the girls, and I know this baby is going to be all right, Morwen. I just know it.’
Morwen felt a tug of envy. She looked fulfilled and happy, even though the swell of her pregnancy made hardly a bump beneath the covers yet.
‘I know it too,’ she said suddenly. ‘As long as you take care and do as you’re told, I know you’ll be all right, Annie.’
‘I want this babby so much, Morwen,’ Annie said, with a catch in her throat. ‘Jack was supposed to keep away from me, but how can you expect a man to lie with his wife and not want her? I know I can talk freely to you, because you’ll know what I mean.’
Morwen felt the colour stain her cheeks. What would this simple girl say if she knew how long it had been since Morwen slept in the same room with her husband? Even worse, that this very afternoon, she had been sorely tempted to spend the hours in the arms of her lover instead of coming here?
‘I understand, Annie,’ she murmured, hardly knowing what to say. ‘And I know Jack wants what’s best for you.’
‘He’s what’s best for me,’ she said softly.
Morwen cleared her throat. ‘Can I get you some tea, Annie?’
‘Oh, I should have thought of it sooner, and offered you some! Will you pull the bell cord, Morwen, and the maid will bring it up. I’m due to get up soon, but I might as well laze here awhile longer, if you don’t mind. It’s so nice to look out of the window and see the river.’
The house was on the edge of the town, and the busy river wound past the gardens, taking the ships and sailors to the sea. The sight of it reminded Morwen of Ben’s new anxiety, and she prayed fervently that the cargo would soon get safely to France. She stayed long enough for some tea, and then got back in the trap for home. She passed Ran’s New World, and deliberately kept her eyes ahead, and tried not to imagine how wonderful it would be to be its mistress. The tang of the low moors was in her nostrils, and she wondered how Matt was faring, back in his old world high above St Austell.
* * *
Louisa was fascinated with everything she saw. There were plenty of folk at Killigrew Clay who remembered Matthew, the Tremayne boy who’d run off to America. There were few who would have recognized him for the same scallywag, and muttered in some surprise at the fine man he’d become. Hal escorted Matt around Clay One, proud to be showing him off with his comely young wife and son.
Cresswell was bored. He didn’t understand the way these people spoke, and although the milky-green claypool was interesting enough, and the white mounds of clay waste glinting in the spring sunlight were unusual, he’d far rather be doing something else. He trailed through the various parts of the clayworks, listening as his grandfather Hal explained it all to his mother, and wondered how anybody could work here day in and day out, and not go crazy with boredom.
‘So this is the linhay,’ Louisa murmured, eyeing the open dries with the thatched roofs, beneath which the white-bonneted bal maidens laid out the clay blocks to dry in the wind and sun. ‘I could never quite understand what Matt meant by it, but now I see. And the kiln – where’s that, Father? It always sounded such a fearsome place to me.’
Hal liked the way she called him Father so naturally. He pointed out the kiln, where the strongest men worked stripped to the waist, bodies glistening with sweat, as they spread the semi-solid clay with long spades to distribute it evenly as it began the long process of drying. It was blisteringly hot and humid, and Louisa felt her clothes begin to stick to her, and was glad to spend the shortest time possible there.
Outside, everyone seemed to be dusted white from the dust and clinging particles of clay. And she remembered how Matt had once told her how the men would often scoop up a mouthful of the clay slurry to swallow, being a finer cure for dyspeptic stomach than all the doctor’s medicines.
‘Have you seen enough, honey?’ Matt said smiling, when he had been hailed by so many old acquaintances that his head ached with trying to recall all the names. They were part of his past, like forgotten ghosts coming to greet him, and he was both touched and somewhat embarrassed, because his station had changed so much while theirs was still the same.
‘I’m ready,’ Cresswell said instantly. Louisa laughed, ruffling his dark hair.
‘Cress doesn’t find all this very entertaining, do you, honey? All right, let’s go see the cottage and then we’ll visit the church. I don’t want the flowers we brought to wilt before we get them there.’
Hal watched them go with a slight sadness. He had longed for Matt to come home. He had missed his son all through the years, but Hal was nothing if not a practical man. And it was obvious that Matt didn’t belong here any more. They had all moved on, and found their own places. Matt’s was in America now, and if Hal felt strangely content, it was because he had been able to see it for himself.
* * *
‘You mean you once lived here, Father, in this awful little house?’ Cresswell said incredulously.
Matt laughed, but there was an edge of steel in his voice when he answered.
‘This was the happiest cottage on the moors, son. We didn’t have much money, but we had so much love between us that we always thought ourselves rich compared with other folk. Morwen told me that old Charles Killigrew, Ben’s father, once said as much too.’
Louisa curled her fingers around his.
‘I think that’s the loveliest thing I’ve heard, Matt,’ she said softly.
‘Well, I should hate to live here,’ Cresswell said, irritated because his parents seemed so charmed by this miserable hovel, and were as good as shutting him out by the way they were looking at each other in that soppy way.
‘Then just be glad you don’t have to,’ Matt said smartly. ‘But if we hadn’t all lived in such a crush, I might never have felt the need to be free and gone to America. I’d never have met your mother, and there would have been no y
ou. So be grateful to this cottage and your grandfather Hal and the rest of them!’
‘But where did you all sleep?’
Matt laughed. ‘Your Aunt Morwen had a corner downstairs behind a curtain, because she was a girl and needed some space for herself,’ he told him. ‘My Mammie and Daddy had their own bedroom, and we four boys had the other. We were lucky to have two bedrooms. Most of these cottages have only got one. Shall we knock at the door and ask if we can see inside?’
‘Oh, Matt, honey, we can’t. It would seem like we were condescending,’ Louisa said quickly. ‘Really, I don’t think it’s such a good idea—’
‘Nor do I,’ Cresswell grumbled. ‘I want to go back and collect my things for the move. Granddad Hal is going to show me how to fly a kite. Can’t we go now?’
‘We’re going to the church first,’ Matt said shortly. Some day soon he was going to get to grips with Cresswell. It didn’t need his sister Morwen, or any of his Cornish relatives to tell him what an unbearable little snob his son was becoming. It was partly the teachings of that exclusive school, of course, but in Matt’s opinion it needed a father’s influence to knock some humanity into the boy.
He jerked the horse into action and the trap took them across the few miles to Penwithick church. Memories rushed back at Matt now. He hadn’t been here when they brought Sam to rest. He hadn’t even known his brother was dead until long after the tragedy. But he’d been one of the mourners when they brought Celia Penry’s coffin to the churchyard. He’d supported the Penry family, as had all the Tremaynes, walking behind the coffin with the great company of clayworkers, and ached for his sister Morwen who had lost her dearest friend.
He hadn’t been here for the happier occasion either, when Morwen had married Ben Killigrew. News of that too had been one of the gaps to be filled when he finally made contact with his family again.
‘It’s such a beautiful little church,’ Louisa murmured. ‘I’d like to go inside for a minute or two. Cress, if you like, you can stay here in the trap.’
‘It’s too cold. I’ll wander around the churchyard looking at the names,’ he said.
‘See if you can find your uncle’s grave, then,’ Matt suggested. ‘We’ll be with you very soon.’
He went inside the cool church with Louisa. It smelt musty and old, but to Matt it was still part of his life. The Tremaynes had never been great church-goers, except for the three necessities of giving thanks for a birth, for marrying and burying, but it didn’t mean they didn’t have a simple faith, or the need to know that there was a Divine Being somewhere in the universe. He and his wife knelt in silent prayer for a few minutes, each concerned with private memories, and then went out into the sunlight again.
Their son was pottering about among the granite stones, peering into one faded inscription after another.
‘It’s over here,’ Cresswell called. ‘It says Samuel Tremayne, beloved husband and father, 1830–1855.’
They threaded their way through the crumbling headstones and humble crosses until they found the one with the stone that Ben and Morwen had erected to Sam’s memory. Beneath his name was his wife Dora’s, who simply hadn’t wanted to live without him, and had died barely weeks after Sam’s accident.
There was a well in the churchyard, and several jars left nearby for flowers. Louisa filled one of them with water and arranged the posy she had brought. She had never known Sam, but she could feel the great sorrow of Matt’s emotion, and shared it with him.
‘It says he was a father. If he had children, what happened to them?’ Cresswell was suddenly curious.
Matt gave a small smile. ‘You’ve been fighting with them practically ever since you got here, Cress. Don’t you remember me telling you all about it a long time ago?’
‘No, I don’t think so. You mean Walter and Albert?’
‘And Primmy too,’ Matt nodded. ‘They were Sam and Dora’s children, and after they died, Ben and Morwen adopted them and brought them up as their own. It was a fine thing to do, but no more than I’d have expected of our Morwen. She always had the warmest heart.’
Louisa gave a shiver. ‘Matt, I think it’s time we left,’ she said gently. ‘We’ve to go back to Killigrew House and collect our belongings yet, and your mother won’t want us descending on her after dark. Have you seen enough for one day?’
He took a last glance to the far corner of the churchyard, where the wild flowers grew in such golden profusion over Celia Penry’s grave, and guessed accurately that his sister Morwen had carefully planted them there.
Matt gave his wife a sudden hug. ‘More than enough. There’s a limit to how many old ghosts you can be comfortable with. It’s time for the living now, and I can promise you that until you’ve tasted Mammie’s Cornish pasties, you haven’t tasted anything!’
Chapter Nineteen
Morwen suddenly felt free. With the new arrangements, she had a whole week to herself! She faced the fact that, as much as she loved Matt, their lives had changed, and they no longer had quite the same empathy towards each other as the young Tremaynes who had run barefooted over the moors.
It would be impossible to be the same, but at last she no longer thought of it with guilt and regret. Just as the pain of Celia’s death had left her overwhelmed with guilt, and had finally passed, this was passing too. Matt was her loving and much-loved brother and would always be so. But their lives no longer ran the same course, and she accepted that too.
Ben’s feeling about the visitors’ temporary departure was much the same as Morwen’s, though his aggression was directed to only one of them. It seemed a long time since she and Ben had been alone in the evening, and Morwen realized what an effort it was to try and behave normally with her husband as they discussed everyday affairs. But the tension between them doubled as Cresswell’s name was mentioned.
‘Thank God that little ponce has gone. I tell you, Morwen, one more day with him in the house and I’d have been unable to keep my hands to myself. He upset everybody—’
‘Well, he’s gone now, so let’s forget him for a while, Ben,’ she soothed. ‘I’m more concerned with what’s happening at Charlestown. Have they done the repairs to the ship yet?’
He scowled, and the ugly scar on his cheek seemed to swell and redden as he raged.
‘It’s hopeless to try and get anything done quickly these days. They keep promising tomorrow and then the next day, as if they don’t realize that every hour that passes is costing me money. I’d get your Jack to come and look at it, but the French captain’s got a contract with the boatyard at Charlestown, and won’t break it.’
‘Is it really as bad as you said?’
He looked at her with an expression bordering on dislike. She knew that superior look, and hated it.
‘Don’t you ever listen? We’re nearing disaster. Is that bad enough for you?’
‘But Ben, why won’t you be sensible and accept help from the family?’ she said, appalled at the venom in his tone.
‘Because they’re your family, not mine, and I’ll see hell freeze over before a Killigrew accepts help from his own clayworkers,’ he snarled.
Morwen felt the blood rush to her cheeks. ‘How dare you humiliate me so?’ Her voice shook with fury. ‘My family is your family or so I thought. Marriage is meant to be a partnership, but there’s precious little appearance of it in this house!’
She went to push past him, but his hand reached out and grasped her wrist. He hurt her, twisting the flesh until she almost cried out. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. He pulled her close to him. The children had long gone to bed, and from the strong smell of spirits on his breath, she guessed he had had his fill of drink throughout the day and evening.
‘Marriage?’ he slurred the word. ‘I seem to recall that marriage means a wife sharing her husband’s bed, and when you come back to mine, I might feel more charitable towards you. Or do you have someone else on your mind these nights? I doubt that dreaming of him will keep you warm, so when
you feel the need of a real man, you might try knocking at my door again. And I just might let you in, if I’m feeling generous.’
She shook herself free. ‘I’ve no wish to sleep with you, or to feel your hands on me, ever again. I loved you so much, Ben—’ her voice broke a little. ‘So much that I would have died for you, but you’ve managed to chip away at my love with your hatefulness over the years until there’s nothing left.’
He stared at her resentfully. ‘Well, that’s fine talk from a clayworker’s daughter to the man who puts a roof over her head and provides for her and her children – and her brother’s children—’
‘You see?’ she said hopelessly. ‘You can’t forget, can you? You’ll never let it be. What happened, Ben?’
His eyes narrowed. He looked at her, seeing the way her breasts rose and fell inside her gown. She was as alluring as ever. She had always been unconsciously sensual with those flashing blue eyes and that voluptuous mouth. He had always wanted her. But not any more.
Not when lying with her might mean the death of him. It wasn’t something he could tell her, no matter how much he taunted her with sharing his bed, guessing that she’d never agree. For the first time, he admitted to himself that he was scared. Scared of dying, of pain, of becoming the hulk that his father had been. He’d rather have a clean cut than linger for years like old Charles Killigrew. Still, she deserved to know some of it. Why shouldn’t she suffer, like he was suffering, with the threat of death constantly by his side like an extra shadow?
He spoke caustically. ‘What happened was that I was told I’m going to die. The hellish part is not knowing when. It’s like hovering over a pot of boiling oil, and never knowing when you’re going to fall in. It’s slow death by inches. Are you satisfied, my lovely wife?’
‘Oh Ben,’ she murmured, weeping inside for him.
And wishing desperately that there wasn’t this barrier between them that was impossible to cross. But was she failing so badly in her duty? Should she make amends by sleeping in his bed, giving him comfort in the most basic way she could? The terrible thing was, if she slept with her own husband, she felt that she betrayed Ran, and that thought was the most shaming of all.
Family Ties Page 25