The Carpenter's Daughter

by Gloria Cook

  Joshua pushed the ring gently in place. ‘It fits perfectly. Tara, don’t be nervous. I believe you’re going to be perfect for me. Well, people must be wondering where we are. We’re about to be stared at. Ready to go down?’

  Tara breathed in nervously and slipped her arm through his. ‘I am.’

  The Long Corridor was filled with myriad lights from the chandeliers and the tall candles burning on every table, shelf and windowsill and in the wall sconces. The orchestra was playing a country dance and as the ladies hopped and skipped their dresses were like a paradisiacal garden of moving colour; embroidered satins and silks, frills, lace and flounces galore. Their jewels glittered in every nook and cranny.

  ‘Ah, ah!’ Darius sang out, drink a little heavy on him, beckoning to the couple. ‘Here they are, my son and my wife’s dear niece.’ With Estelle at his side, he was engaged with the titled Bassets of Tehidy, the county’s most important mining family, whose country seat was not many miles away. The elderly, but boisterous, Sir Luke Pengarron from Mount’s Bay, and a general and a duchess were also attending him. Michael and Phoebe were not far off, and while pretending to be merry and bright, the pair had him under surveillance. ‘Hush! Hush everyone, I must have hush!’

  The music stopped. Tara felt her insides shrink. Every eye in the room seemed to be on her and Joshua. He put a reassuring hand over hers. The touching gesture left little use for an official announcement. Tara watched the horror take hold of Phoebe’s haughty features and her fight to keep an undignified scowl at bay. Michael quailed. Joshua squeezed Tara’s hand, to let her know he’d seen the display too, that he didn’t care about it and was even amused. Tara glanced at Estelle. She was holding herself as a queen, a conqueror. This, more than anything, grated on Tara’s nerves.

  Unused to so many people and such a volume of noise in one space, the evening took off in a blistering whirl for Tara. Congratulations were given and kisses were planted on her hand. She was crowded and jostled. Gentlemen who wouldn’t have passed the time of day with her before declared they wanted the honour of a dance with her. Joshua forestalled them by saying that only he was to dance with his lovely bride-to-be.

  Darius demanded she take the floor with him. ‘You’ll make my son a good little wife, won’t you?’ He pushed his heavy face close to hers.

  Trying to follow his forceful steps, Tara wanted to turn away from his alcohol-laden breath. ‘I’ll do my very best, sir.’

  ‘Sir? You’ve never referred to me as Uncle Darius. Now you must call me Father. Mind that you do right by Joshua or I’ll not only turn you and Estelle out, I’ll ruin you both. I want a grandson, the next heir, under this roof next year. Understand?’

  What else could she say except for, ‘Yes, Father.’

  He gazed into her eyes. Tara forced herself to return the look. ‘Mmm, I think you’ll do us well. Joshua likes you, it’s easy to see why. Now find yourself someone to talk to, I want a word with Michael.’

  He escorted her to Estelle. Estelle hugged her arm. ‘What did he say to you?’

  ‘He was his usual pleasant self,’ Tara said off-handedly. She was trying not to be unnerved by his threat. Could he really harm her when she was Joshua’s wife? ‘He’s got something to say to Michael.’

  ‘Michael? Can’t think what he’s got to say to him.’ Estelle lifted her chin and peered around the room as if she were gloating about something. Tara knew she was lying.

  Tara found out the reason for the gloat while she was waiting for Joshua to bring her some punch. Phoebe confronted her in a fury of skirts and hissed in her ear. ‘Was it her idea, that bitch, your aunt? My father-in-law is turning us out. He won’t have us up in London with him any more and he says this house is too small for everyone. Michael and I have been ordered to move into the Dower House. It’s because we have daughters. Females mean nothing to him. Take warning, girl, produce a healthy son or Darius Nankervis will set an unjust punishment on you. He’s served one on me. I’m resigned to stay here for ever and rot!’

  Tara was left with the uneasy knowledge that she really must take Darius’s threat to her seriously. Joshua returned to her. ‘Good news, isn’t it, that we won’t have to put up with carping Phoebe under our roof any more? The Dower House will suit her very well.’

  ‘It must be awful to feel rejected though. Why doesn’t your father want Michael with him at St James’s Square?’

  ‘It’s not the sort of life Michael enjoys. He has no money of his own and feels like a hanger-on, and Phoebe never ceases to embarrass him by holding up what she perceives as his faults in public. Actually, it was Michael who went to Father and requested he stay on the estate. He’s content with a quiet life. He’s not happy about living in the Dower House, of course, but he’ll be spending a lot of time here in the library, poring over old documents and things. He’ll be compensated by being able to get away from Phoebe more often.’

  ‘I’m pleased for Michael that he’ll be getting something he wants.’ Tara would be more pleased if he and Phoebe were to live miles away from Poltraze.

  That night Joshua changed into the clothes he kept for the gardens. The guard dogs were used to his nocturnal wanderings and didn’t bark or follow him. He took a route to the side of the house and soon entered the woods. He knew the paths well and only a little care was necessary to make a safe passage deep into the heart of the trees.

  He came to a little hut. It was lit inside by the orangey yellow glow of a single lantern. Laketon rushed to him. ‘At last! It’s been a terrible day for me. Tell me nothing will change.’

  Joshua hugged him. ‘I’ve promised you that nothing will. We’ve known that this day must come for me. I can’t get out of marriage like you can.’

  Black-haired and of a good build like the Kivell men, but more polished in features and in movement, Laketon searched Joshua’s expression. ‘I’ll hate it when you have to be with her.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ll have to at some time. The old man wants me to produce a son. Tara won’t be bothersome. She’s simple and pliable and eager to please. An obedient child.’

  ‘You’ll have to be careful, Joshua. Is she the puppy-dog sort? Will she trot along after you? If our secret is ever discovered and Titus gets to hear of it he’ll kill us both with his bare hands.’

  ‘I promise I’ll always be careful. We’ve both got everything to lose. Laketon, dearest, don’t fret.’ Joshua took command in the little hut, not a usual occurrence for it was Laketon who tended to be intense, especially when jealous. ‘I promised I’d come to you tonight and what a night we will have. Let’s not waste a moment of it.’

  Nine

  Amy heard Stumpy barking excitedly. Pleased to hear him happy again she left the Saturday baking to see what was the cause. Just inches outside the back door she was knocked off her feet. ‘Ahh!’ Stunned and winded, she lay in an undignified heap on the path.

  Before she could call her wits together, strong, gentle hands were lifting her by the shoulders until she was sitting up. ‘Amy, are you hurt?’

  Blinking hurriedly, she found Sol there. ‘What? Stumpy’s never done anything like that before.’

  ‘I’m sorry, it wasn’t Stumpy. It was my dog, Rip. They’re chasing about together. I’ll keep them under control.’

  Amy became aware of the two dogs barking and leaping over the stepping stones across the stream. ‘I don’t want them frightening Floss, my cat,’ she said indignantly.

  Sol let out a sharp whistle. The barking stopped. The dogs settled with their muzzles down, sniffing their surroundings. ‘I’ll help you up.’

  ‘I can manage.’ In between giving Sol chary looks, she got up by herself and brushed the dust off her skirt. She would have bruises on her legs and elsewhere. ‘I didn’t think to see you here again.’ He turned up at the workshop intermittently and not at all for the last three days. She and her parents had hoped not to see him again, although she wished for the chance to find out more about his friendship with Toby. Her m
other was hoping to learn more too.

  ‘I’m not tied here.’ She expected his answer to be delivered with his usual uncivil, annoying cut-off manner, but he seemed more forthcoming. ‘The workshop’s padlocked.’

  ‘My father’s gone to collect some sandalwood from the timber merchant at Falmouth,’ she replied in a lofty tone.

  ‘For the linen chests ordered for the doctor’s wife at St Day.’ Sol nodded, as if in everyday conversation.

  ‘Oh, you know about that.’

  ‘I know what’s in his order book. He’s getting hopelessly behind and his timber store is low. He should have got the timber yard to deliver. Morton’s work is sought after. He has the feel for wood – it’s the only good thing that can be said for him. Where does he keep the key to the workshop?’

  ‘He takes it with him.’ Amy was reluctant to answer his questions but she couldn’t help meeting the beguiling darkness of his eyes.

  A light wind teased the tendrils of her hair falling free at her temples. Sol followed the gentle movements. ‘He does have a spare one?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, can you fetch it?’ He leaned forward, gazing at her directly.

  ‘I don’t think he’d want you in there alone.’ Amy’s attention was caught by the shadows that danced across his strong face.

  ‘Morton’s got doors and window frames to make for the new houses under construction. He needs my help.’ Sol never backed down from any sort of disagreement and he was enjoying the sparring.

  Amy wouldn’t have admitted it, but a little part of her was too. ‘That’s for him to say. And if you are so concerned you shouldn’t have taken time off.’

  Sol shrugged off the accusation. ‘You want his reputation to suffer?’

  Amy was vexed with his mixed messages. ‘That’s not your business.’

  ‘You want your mother to worry when the orders stop because word’s got round Morton Lewarne is unreliable?’

  ‘Don’t you bring my mother into this!’

  He picked up a small square package he had set down on the garden wall and started off for the house. ‘I’ll ask her what she thinks. I want to see her anyway.’

  As fast as her bruised legs would carry her, Amy went after him. ‘Why do you want to see my mother? You can’t. She’s unwell today. She’s in bed resting.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve got something for her.’ He held up the package.

  ‘What is it?’ Amy couldn’t hide her interest.

  ‘It’s something Toby made at Burnt Oak.’

  ‘Toby . . .’

  Sol lowered his hand. She knew he wouldn’t hand it over unless she dropped her protestations. ‘You’d better come in for a moment then.’ To hold on to a little status, as daughter of his employer, however strange the situation, she added firmly at the door, ‘Be sure to wipe your feet.’

  Once in the kitchen he put the package into her hands. With emotion climbing up her throat, she carefully undid the leather wrapping and found a four-inch cube of polished wood. With a sense of reverence she lifted the hinged lid. Inside, in circular grooves, sat a set of small wooden balls as men. ‘A game of solitaire. It’s exquisite.’ She touched one of the men. Tears gathered at her eyes. ‘Toby made this by himself?’

  ‘The box, the board and the men. He could work with confidence when he wasn’t being put down. He left it with one of my younger brothers, Jowan, and he played with it each time he came back. He said that Morton would never believe he’d made it himself.’

  The tears slid down Amy’s face. ‘Solitaire. A game for one person. I never knew he felt so alone. Poor Toby.’ Sol was watching her, with a trace of hardness, she felt, as if wondering how sincere she was. The men on the board shook with her trembling and she nearly collapsed with grief, sobbing as if this was the first time she’d cried for her brother. ‘Oh my God. Toby felt I let him down, didn’t he? I should have done more to protect him.’

  Sol took the box from her and put it on the table. Amy searched for her hanky in her apron pocket and wept into it. After a minute she shook herself back into control and dried her eyes. ‘Thank you for bringing it. It will mean a lot to my mother.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m sorry for you both.’

  Amy felt she had crossed a bridge with him. On the wrong side of it he had despised her, blaming her as a contributor to Toby’s misery. ‘Will you tell me what you know about Toby?’

  ‘By and by. I should get to work. You can trust me, Amy. Morton’s got some good tools, all neatly in place on hooks on the walls, but I’m not here to steal them. A craftsman uses his own tools. I’ve left mine beside the workshop. Will you fetch the key?’

  ‘It’s in my father’s den. Give me a moment.’

  When she returned, Sol was running a hand over the little round table at the side of her father’s chair. ‘Please don’t touch it. My father gets mad if anyone does more than run a duster over it.’

  ‘It’s a mighty interesting piece. What my second-cousin Laketon would call a quizzical. Incorporating hidden compartments, with the most important ones most cleverly concealed, no doubt.’ He held out his tough brown hand for the key. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t lose it. Croust in a couple of hours?’

  Against her will she handed him the key, yet the kindness this wild-eyed young man had shown Toby made her feel that his word could be trusted. The solitaire would bring her mother great comfort and she was grateful for that. However, she gave an impatient sigh, ‘Yes, very well.’

  She had a mug of strong tea and a thick slice of freshly baked caraway seed cake on a tray ready to take out to him when he appeared once more in the kitchen. The bruises on her legs and posterior were making her move stiffly. ‘Oh, I was about to—’

  ‘Thought I’d save your legs. They must be black and blue and swollen from the bump Rip gave you. Are they?’ He eyed the area covered by her skirt.

  Amy met his insolent grin by pursing her lips. ‘That’s my business. Sit down.’

  Sol chose the head of the table, ignoring her frown. ‘You like to give orders. You’re a bit like my Grandmama Tempest. You’re probably unaware of it but sometimes you lift your chin as if everything else in the world is beneath you. I don’t like that sort of cake.’

  ‘I’ll get you a saffron bun.’ Amy couldn’t believe she was waiting on him. Perhaps it was because she had enjoyed cosseting Toby. She wanted Sol to know this. Then she was cross with herself. It wasn’t important what he thought of her. She had loved Toby and had sought to protect him from their father’s bullying in every way she could. If this man thought otherwise – too bad.

  What should she do now? Busy herself with a few little jobs? Leave him here on his own? She had never been alone with a young man before, and indeed propriety forbade it for a decent girl even when she was engaged to be married. She was powerless to order him out. She must go upstairs to her mother, take the solitaire game to her; when she’d gone up earlier Sylvia had been asleep.

  ‘My family doesn’t wear black when one of us dies,’ Sol said, munching on the bun.

  ‘I wouldn’t expect your family to,’ she replied, making a show that she was about to leave the room, as if dismissing him.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The Kivells seldom show respect.’

  ‘We enjoy life. We celebrate the life of those who have left us.’

  ‘Don’t you grieve?’

  ‘Of course. I didn’t eat a morsel for a whole month when my mother died. My family aren’t totally devil-hearted.’ He had a way of raising his brows that invited a conversant to see his point of view.

  Amy felt she had been rude to him. ‘No, I don’t suppose you all are. It was kind of you to bring the solitaire. I’ll take it up to my mother.’

  ‘She won’t want you eating the midday meal alone with me, and I don’t want to disturb her rest. I’ll eat outside later. There’s a nice spot on the garden wall.’

  The mine surface workers finished early today and shortly afterwards
there was the buzz of chatter and the tread of boots and heavy shoes as they made their way home. Sarah tapped on the kitchen door. ‘Hello. I know your father’s not here. All right to come in?’

  Amy was scrubbing down the table. ‘Yes, do. I’ve got some baking put aside for you. Goodness, Sarah, you look bright. Are you going to the market?’

  ‘No, of course not. I can’t leave Mother and the little ones that long. I just fancied a few minutes chat before starting on something at home.’

  ‘Have you agreed to see Jed Greep at last? He’d make you a good husband.’

  ‘I think I could do better than him.’ It was said with confidence, without a trace of the usual doldrums Sarah was in, and it made Amy stare at her.

  ‘Who then?’

  Twisting her work-roughened hands shyly in front of herself, blushing prettily, and now less bold, Sarah ignored the question. ‘See you got that Kivell fellow here again. What’s it like? Are you afraid?’

  ‘I’m not happy about it but there’s nothing about Sol to be afraid of, I think . . . goodness knows how my father is going to explain the situation to Reverend Longfellow in chapel tomorrow. There must be as much talk about us in the village as there is about Tara’s engagement to Joshua Nankervis. What are they saying about us up at the mine?’

  ‘No one knows what to make of it, except to say that Mr Lewarne must be scared of the Kivells for some reason,’ Sarah said, offering an apologetic smile. The villagers were saying a lot of contemptuous things about Morton Lewarne. A yellow-bellied coward and a cruel father to, ‘that poor little boy, God rest un’, the most common ones. Great respect was held for Sylvia Lewarne and there was a fondness for Amy, but even Godley Greep, a man of the stoutest heart, was too afraid to enquire if the Lewarnes needed any support against the Kivells. ‘Has your father told you exactly why he’s allowing it?’

  ‘No,’ Amy sighed, handing over a food parcel wrapped in cheesecloth for Sarah to take home. ‘Mother keeps demanding to know but he just clams up.’ Sarah’s buoyant spirit struck her again. ‘That’s a pretty bonnet you’re wearing.’