‘I wonder you know how to recognize such a thing,’ she was stung into answering. ‘It can hardly be a frequent occurrence. From the way the Pendewy girls were fawning over you, I should think you’d had your fill of adulation for one day.’
‘Do you think I give a damn about the Pendewy girls?’
‘It certainly looked as if you were interested from the way you were being so attentive to them.’
‘And that bothered you, did it?’
She gave him an angry look. ‘It’s not the sort of behaviour I’d expect from the man I’m supposed to be marrying.’
She bit her lip, wishing she hadn’t spoken so recklessly, especially as Ran said nothing for a few minutes, and continued to lean against the mantel, studying her.
‘Forgive me, Morwen.’ The sarcasm in his voice belied the words. ‘I’d begun to overlook that little fact. I’d always thought the lady that I expect to marry was warm and loving, and not a firebrand.’
‘Firebrand?’
Ran gave a short laugh. ‘You’re right. It’s hardly the word to use in the present circumstances. Iceberg might be more to the point. Are you going to tell me what I’m supposed to have done to produce this freeze between us? I don’t care for guessing games, Morwen, and this childishness is unworthy of you.’
The words brimmed on her lips …Is it me you want, or Killigrew Clay? Or is it just the power? Bess had said it in all innocence. If he married Morwen, he would control it anyway. So why make this offer to buy into it, unless the desire for power was so strong that he had to have it all legal in his name, before a wedding ever took place. Her thoughts surged on. When – if – they married, he would then own two-thirds of Killigrew Clay, and he could overrule her father’s wishes any time he chose.
She hadn’t realized he was striding across the room towards her nor that her breath was so tortured in her throat as all the possibilities presented themselves to her in a horrifying kaleidoscope. She didn’t realize it until she felt his large hands gripping her arms, hurting her, and she gasped out as his face seemed to blot out everything in front of her.
‘Morwen, darling, for God’s sake, stop tormenting me like this, and tell me what’s wrong,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I thought we were over the bad times, but clearly I was wrong. And if you can’t share your worst fears with me, what hope is there for us?’
‘What hope is there for us, anyway?’ she choked out. ‘Everything we are is based on lies and shame, and I don’t know who to trust any more.’
He held her close, feeling the rapid beat of her heart against his. In his arms, she wanted to twist and flee, but he held her too tightly, and she was trapped.
‘Trust?’ Ran said huskily. ‘Who else should you trust but me, my dearest girl?’
‘Who but you can I trust the least?’
Her voice quavered, and slowly he put her away from him, looking incredulously into the lustrous blue eyes that could become even more beautiful when softened by love. Eyes that looked up at him now with nothing but accusation in them. He sat her down on the sofa, still keeping his hold on her arms, and feeling the trembling in her body.
‘I think you’d better explain that remark,’ he said at last. ‘When did you stop trusting me, Morwen, and why?’
If it was painful to speculate on the possibility of his power-lust, it was even more painful to speak of it. It was sordid, and made a mockery of all they had been to one another. But they had come too far for her to back down now. And the only way to find the answer to a question was to ask it.
‘Is it me you want, Ran, or the clayworks?’
For a minute, he didn’t speak. She was conscious of many things in that instant. The tick of the clock in the corner of the room. The soft movement of the curtains in the salt breeze through the open window. The drumming of Ran’s heartbeat. The sudden look of disgust and disbelief in his eyes.
‘Dear God! What miserable bastard put that idea into your head? You’ll tell me, Morwen, and I’ll see him swing for it.’
He rarely swore in front of her, and she knew by his savage tone how much he was affected.
‘It wasn’t a man—’ she said through dry lips.
He stared at her.
‘What does it matter who it was?’ she said shrilly. ‘What matters is whether ’tis true or not!’
‘What matters to me is whether you believe it’s true,’ he raged, ‘and I don’t need any more answers on that.’
He got up from the sofa, looking down at her, his hands clenched by his sides.
‘Are you going to tell me who it was?’ he demanded.
‘No! It doesn’t matter. Don’t try to make me, because I’ll never tell.’
His mouth twisted. ‘Your loyalty to the lying bastard is touching. Obviously, you prefer to believe him to me. Unless you’ve managed to dream all this up by yourself, which seems more likely. In any case, there’s nothing more to be said, and you may as well go to bed. I promise you I shan’t bother you with my company during the night, in case you were wondering. You know where to find your bedroom.’
She felt totally destroyed by his manner, knowing she couldn’t expect anything else. And nothing was solved. He hadn’t told her anything, and now it had become impossible to ask.
‘We’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning, Ran,’ she mumbled as she got unsteadily to her feet. ‘We won’t bother you any longer than necessary.’
‘Good,’ he said curtly. ‘I have that casual appointment with Mr Pendewy that I may as well attend. He’s asked if I’m interested in buying into his clayworks business. I hadn’t taken him seriously, but since I intend to stay in Cornwall with or without you as my wife, I’ll see what he’s got to offer, if only out of politeness.’
Morwen reeled with shock. She couldn’t fathom out the meaning behind his words. He could just mean he was still genuinely intrigued with the idea of combining a clay-stone business with china-clay. Or it could be that one of the Pendewy girls had caught his eye after all, and if Ben Killigrew’s widow wasn’t ready to marry him, he was quite prepared to set his cap in another direction.
Or it could just mean that he was so stunned by Morwen’s lack of trust in him that he wanted to get as far away from her as possible, just as quickly as he could… but she couldn’t take the risk…
‘Ran, Daddy and me want you to come in with us. We want you to buy into Killigrew Clay,’ she stuttered, forgetting everything about waiting a few weeks.
Forgetting everything but the fact that she was losing him, and she just couldn’t bear it.
For a second, she thought he was going to turn her down flat. She wouldn’t blame him. She deserved it.
‘Then I accept,’ he said coldly. ‘If only as a business arrangement. I have every respect for your father, and I’ll go to see him tomorrow, after I’ve seen Pendewy.’
‘You won’t still go through with that?’ she said in disbelief.
‘I haven’t decided yet. When I do, I’ll let you know.’
He strode from the room without saying goodnight, while Morwen stood there, feeling like a wrung-out rag. She wasn’t sure who had won, except that the future of Killigrew Clay was presumably saved. But if this was how it felt to be a victor, then she would hate to be a loser at Randell Wainwright’s hands.
What was certain was that she had sold out. Ran had his partnership, and there had been no more mention of marriage, which was hardly likely with such bitterness between them. To Morwen at that moment, whether the question would come up again in the future seemed as remote as the stars.
Chapter Twenty-Six
By the end of July there were many changes at Killigrew Clay. Walter had found his own place there, and was happy to take his Pit Captain’s instructions as well as Hal’s.
There had been several formal meetings with Daniel Gorran and the three prospective new partners at the lawyer’s chambers in St Austell. Hal Tremayne, Morwen Killigrew and Randell E Wainwright had signed the papers that made them equal partners in
all that parcel of land and rail tracks that made up the boundaries of Killigrew Clay workings. Notices had been posted at St Austell and Truro town offices and announced in The Informer, so that no one was in any doubt of the new ownership.
The clayworkers had taken to the new order of things suspiciously at first, and then welcomed the change, when Ran spoke to them with the same confidence as the Killigrews had always done, promising that the installation of new machinery to replace the old was to be his first priority. Together with attention to cottage repairs and proper maintenance of the rail tracks, which had been badly overlooked during the time of Ben’s failing fortunes.
To Morwen, Ran was polite and businesslike. He never mentioned marriage, nor sought her company more than was necessary by way of being a family friend, relative and business acquaintance. Because of the ties that linked them, they were bound to meet, but to an observer, the tall likeable American was a perfect gentleman, and not one to take advantage of a pretty young widow.
It frustrated Morwen beyond words. She knew she had hurt him by her accusations. She too was hurt, still unsure whether to trust him completely. He had got what he wanted. He was taking over Killigrew Clay. Other women in similar positions to Morwen’s might have carried on the business without a man by their sides. She had her father, of course… but Hal was no businessman, and Randell had all the qualifications needed to make Killigrew Clay the success old Charles Killigrew had always meant it to be. It was what everyone wanted, and she must be grateful…
Morwen seemed to cling to her family more and more lately. She was glad for Freddie and Venetia that their marriage looked set to being the happy-ever-after she had always hoped for him. Matt had begun writing to them all again, and now she could picture him and his family and feel that Matt was a part of them all once more.
Bess was more than relieved that Ran had bought into Killigrew Clay. It eased the burden on her man, and should take some of the problems away from Morwen. A young woman should be attending to home and children, not concerning herself with the workings of claypits. Bess smiled ruefully at the thought.
But for fate, both she and Morwen would still be working every day at the pits, scraping and stacking the clay blocks for drying in the sun and wind in the linhay, ready for despatching to the port.
She didn’t often bother with thoughts of the past, but even now she sometimes found it hard to believe that their lives were no longer those of hardship, spent scratching for pennies. The old days, cheering off the clay blocks piled pyramid-high on the loaded waggons to go careering down St Austell’s steep cobbled hills, were like something from another age. And best forgotten, Bess thought keenly.
Jack and Annie grew ever more anxious as the weeks passed; anxious, yet filled with hope and anticipation. Surely nothing could go wrong now… it was a daily silent prayer in Annie’s mind, and a constant fear in Jack’s.
The doctor said that Annie needed fresh air and gentle exercise, and it did her no harm to go visiting her St Austell relatives occasionally, as long as Jack took her in the trap, and providing she wasn’t jolted over too many bumps in the road.
‘We’ve a fat chance of missing bumps in these bloody roads,’ Jack swore as the trap lurched over a deep rut on the way home from Killigrew House one fine Sunday afternoon in early August. He glanced at Annie, seeing the pallor in her cheeks as she clung to the side of the trap. ‘I think ’tis time these jaunts stopped, dar, despite what Doctor Vestey says. The babby can get all the fresh air he needs when he’s born—’
‘I think ’tis time for stopping the trap while I try to decide if I’m suffering from indigestion or something more,’ Annie said with a sudden small gasp.
Jack felt his heart jump in spasm. He reined in the horse at once and twisted to look at his wife.
‘Christ, Annie, you’re not telling me the babby’s started, are you? There’s two more weeks to go yet—’
‘You try telling that to the babby,’ she mumbled, trying to make a joke of it and ending up with a grimace as the sudden powerful wave of a contraction rippled through her.
Jack felt paralysed with fear for a few moments. They were roughly halfway between St Austell and Truro, and Annie’s labour with the twins had been swift and furious. This pregnancy had been condemned by Doctor Vestey from the beginning, and the thought that his lovely Annie could die drummed through his head like a curse.
‘If you’m sure, dar, we must get ’ee to Truro hospital.’ In times of stress, Jack reverted to the old way of talking, telling Annie at once how alarmed he was. She shook her head quickly, and he saw that her eyes had darkened with the pains. He thanked God that they hadn’t taken the children visiting that day, but had left them with their grandparents in Truro.
‘No time,’ she said with difficulty.
Jack looked around huntedly. ‘But Annie, ’tis as far back to St Austell as ’tis to Truro, and we can’t let the babby be born on the open moors!’
His brain panicked at such an eventuality. He was as strong as any man, but when it came to birthing, it was women’s work, and the farther he was from the scene the happier he was.
‘Take me to Ran’s,’ Annie gulped. ‘He’ll send word to Doctor Vestey to come to me there. I can’t go further, Jack.’ The words ended on a little scream that she tried hard to suppress. She knew that some women had long and dry labours… Morwen herself had told her that Justin had been born that way… but Annie thought fervently that anything would be preferable to this sharp and excruciating pain that seemed to cut through her with knife-edge keenness.
‘Hold on, love,’ Jack said through tight lips. He urged the horse forward, knowing that Annie chewed her lips with every rough bit of land they crossed. Ran’s house seemed an endless distance away, its comforting square shape seeming to come no nearer as the sun began to sink low on the horizon and the shadows lengthened.
He wished desperately they hadn’t stayed so long at Killigrew House. He hoped even more that Doctor Vestey would be at home when they sent the messenger, and not out on some evening’s entertainment of his own.
At last they reached the approaches to New World. Jack told Annie to stay put while he hammered at the door. He hardly need have asked. She was convulsed with pain, trickles of sweat running down her back and between her breasts, praying that she would be able to bear each new contraction.
Was it ever this bad with the twins? Annie suddenly thought in fright. She couldn’t remember. Time had dulled the agony, but now she had to make a desperate effort to remain conscious each time the waves of pain tossed her high and then threw her down again. It couldn’t be happening so quickly, she thought in terror. There would be no time for the doctor to get here, and she couldn’t deliver a child by herself…
‘Jack—’ she croaked.
In a second he was back with Ran. ‘It’s all right, Annie. We’ll get you inside and into bed,’ Ran said, in a voice as soothing as warm honey. ‘My housekeeper will stay with you while Jack goes to Truro for the doctor, and if you want her, I’ll send a maid for Morwen.’
‘Oh, yes!’ Annie moaned. ‘But don’t send a maid, Ran. You know how they dawdle. Go yourself, please! ’Twill be quicker.’
She could only speak in short, staccato sentences. Everything was such an effort. She wanted to reassure Jack, but his scared white face kept floating back and forth in front of her and wouldn’t stay still.
She realized in a lucid moment that it was because he and Ran were carrying her up the stairs to a cool bedroom and laying her gently on a bed. Mrs Enders, Ran’s elderly housekeeper, fussed round her, but Annie surmised correctly that the woman would be as useless as a chicken in helping to birth a child.
She tried to keep very still and let the waves of pain take her up and carry her along with them, feeling the welcome touch of a cooling cloth on her forehead each time the contractions came. She tried to smile her thanks at Mrs Enders, and tried even more to ignore the woman’s mutterings that the doctor had best come soo
n or they’d be in a sorry state…
She felt the warm flood as her waters broke and felt herself being padded with a towel. She was becoming light-headed, trying to tell Mrs Enders that she must remove the towel to give her son room to emerge into the world, but somehow the words wouldn’t come.
And anyway, the pains didn’t seem so severe now. Nothing very much seemed to be happening any more. The pains dwindled to an irritating twinge every few minutes, as though they wanted to occur, but something was preventing them.
Annie didn’t care. It was such a relief to be rid of the pains for a while that she didn’t care about anything. She even drifted in and out of a restless sleep, while the daylight faded and the moon rose in the sky, and still the doctor didn’t come.
It seemed a long while later that a cool hand gripped her plucking fingers, and she recognized it at once. Annie Tremayne wasn’t the first to feel that strange sense of trust in those soft feminine hands.
‘Morwen?’ she croaked. ‘Is that you? The babby don’t seem to want to come after all. Do you think ’twas all a false alarm?’
‘I don’t think so, my love,’ Morwen whispered. ‘I think the doctor must see to ’ee, and I’m sure he’ll be here soon.’
Annie gave a thin smile. ‘Poor Ran. He never thought his house would be turned into a hospital, did he?’
She gave a sudden shriek, her nails biting into Morwen’s hands as the pains returned more savagely than before, and she knew instinctively that something was badly wrong.
Her relief when Doctor Vestey and Jack appeared at the bedroom door was almost overwhelming. Jack gave a loud cry at seeing the way his wife’s face was distorted, and after giving Annie a brief examination, the doctor sent him packing at once.
‘The young woman will assist me,’ he snapped. He looked directly at Morwen. ‘You’re up to it?’
‘Of course,’ she stuttered, wondering what he wanted of her. But Annie’s sobs were so heart-rending, she knew she could never leave her until it was all over, one way or another.
Family Ties Page 35