by Gloria Cook
Amy had no time to delight in the news that she was to keep her friendship with Tara.
‘Amy! Amy, come quickly!’ It was her mother shouting to her.
Stuffing the letter into her apron pocket she raced up the stairs. Sylvia was leaning forward, wincing and massaging her back. ‘Mum, what is it? The baby?’
Sol was suddenly there in the doorway. ‘I heard you from outside, Mrs Lewarne. Is there anything I can do?’
Sylvia was calm. The onset of labour had brought her out of her moroseness – at least she wouldn’t have to lumber about, keeping at home, for another month or so. She looked from Amy’s worried face to Sol’s. He was wide-eyed but steady. ‘Now I don’t want anyone flying into a panic. I’ve been suspicious about it all day and now I’m certain. My labour’s started. It’s a bit early but there’s no need to be concerned about that. Amy, I shall require a few things, which I’ll mention when Sol has left the room. Sol would you be good enough to fetch Frettie Endean? She acts as the midwife round here. She lives next door to the general stores. The house with the window boxes. She’ll fetch Mrs Greep, so I’ll have plenty of help. Now, the pair of you, don’t look so shocked. You must make haste but there’s no need to tear around like mad hounds. It will probably be a few hours before it’s all over.’
‘I’ll be back shortly, Mrs Lewarne,’ Sol said.
‘Is there anything I can get you?’
‘No, thank you. Is my husband in the workshop?’ The mild contraction Sylvia was having was subsiding and she eased herself down. Amy held her hand.
‘He’s gone out somewhere in the cart. I’ll track him down.’
‘You will not. I forbid it. I don’t want him here. Do you understand, Sol?’
‘I do entirely, Mrs Lewarne. I will pray you’ll be safely delivered.’
‘He’ll pray for me?’ Sylvia said, after he had gone. ‘What a strange young man he is. I’ve never thought much about Burnt Oak and its people before, but now I’d be curious to go there and see exactly how they live and meet some of the Kivells, especially Sol’s grandmother, Tempest. Amy, dear, I need a clean nightgown, and will you bring the draw sheets. Don’t get the crib ready yet . . .’ The crib was in the spare room, where Morton was sleeping. With the high infant mortality rate and the dangers of childbirth, Sylvia, like most expectant mothers, thought it was tempting fate to get anything prepared until the confinement was safely over. She had not even made a new garment for this baby.
Amy did these tasks. She was trembling with fear for her mother’s safety and the hope of receiving a healthy brother or sister, and excitement at the prospect that she might soon be able to leave the house for a greater length of time and go to Burnt Oak, and do just what her mother had mentioned. ‘Mum, I know about Tempest Kivell’s mystic powers. We know how Sol adores her. I suppose her Quaker background is what influences him to pray.’
‘Even with the family’s remote ways news has always got out about them. Her husband, Garth, tried to make her forget her religion. He was even worse than Titus. He used to beat her, and Titus and their daughter, Eula.’ Sylvia warmed to the theme to forget the impending dangers of giving birth. ‘Then one day Tempest had suffered enough and she murdered Garth.’
‘What?’ Amy raised her perfectly arched brows as she bundled up the soiled linen. She knew enough about the mysterious and frightening process of birth to know her mother had just had her ‘show’.
‘Oh, it’s true. The constables were certain of it. Garth was shot through the heart, but they were all too scared to press charges. It was all hushed up and put down as an accident. Mind you, the constables were glad, as all decent folk in Meryen were, to see the end of Garth Kivell. He was an unspeakable sinner. He’d wait outside the church or chapel in a drunken state and hurl foul language at everyone, even the children. Tempest was a beautiful, sixteen-year-old heiress when he snatched her off a Falmouth street. Garth kept her locked away at Burnt Oak until she’d conceived, forcing her to marry him – what else could she do? He’d ruined her. She hasn’t been seen out since she killed him. Oh, my goodness!’
‘Is it another pain?’ Amy asked in alarm.
‘No. I’ve been very remiss. With the grief of losing Toby I’ve not really considered all the implications of Sol working here. He’s young but he’s already got a poor reputation about certain behaviour. What must people be surmising? I hope you’re not spending time alone with him, Amy.’
‘Of course I’m not.’ Amy blushed, for it was a lie. Nowadays she saw more of Sol than anyone else. ‘Tempest Kivell sounds fascinating. She was good to Toby and he liked her. She obviously dotes on Sol.’
‘Amy, some of the things said about the Kivells are probably exaggerated and even fanciful. But you will be careful with Sol? Promise me. He’s handsome and he can be kind and amusing, but he’s hardly to be trusted. You won’t ever let your heart be swayed? When the Kivells want a woman they’ll resort to any sort of wickedness to get her.’
‘Mum.’ Amy was amused at her plea. ‘I listen to Sol if he mentions Toby, but I’m more likely to exchange cross words with him than anything else. I’m not about to fall under the spell of someone who keeps a string of loose women at his beck and call. You’ve nothing to worry about. I’m never going to leave you or the baby.’
Sylvia gripped her bulging front as she was taken by a slightly stronger contraction. ‘Don’t you think for a minute about sacrificing yourself for me or this child. I want to see you settled. I want to have grandchildren running about my feet. Amy, you mustn’t be afraid to cast your eye around. Do you hear?’
‘Yes, Mum.’ She couldn’t think of anything else to say, so she asked, ‘Want a cup of tea?’
‘Yes, please, my love. Amy, when your father shows up, you’re not to allow him anywhere near this room.’
Amy nodded and went downstairs with the laundry.
When the pain eased Sylvia smoothed at her stomach. ‘I hope you’re a little girl. I hope we’ll both come through and you’ll help to ease the grief in my heart.’ There had been so many days when she had wanted to be with Toby. Now she wanted to live for Amy’s sake, to make sure her daughter did well with her life. A new child couldn’t take Toby’s place but a baby girl would give her someone to care for. ‘Please God . . .’ She made a vow, if she did bear another son she would not allow his father to ruin his life. She spoke to an image, the last horrid, pathetic image she had seen of Morton. ‘This child is mine and mine alone.’
Thirteen
Across land at the Wayfarer’s Inn, Darius and Titus were in their usual room. All day long, women had come to them and left, and they had drunk themselves into a contented stupor.
‘How’s your . . .’ Darius waved a cigar about in one thickly veined unsteady hand from the bed he was sprawled on. A poor quality sheet covered his nakedness. ‘How’s your boy getting on at . . . at Chy-Henver?’
‘Sol?’ Titus slurred. He was on the bed across the room, in the same state of undress. When he was with Darius he drank beer and he was in a good mood, rather than a violent one brought about by spirits. ‘I’m going to pull him out. The business is flagging, it’s in trouble. Sol says it’s obvious Lewarne’s got himself into debt.’ Titus roared with mirth. ‘He’ll soon have no choice but to sell up cheap. To me!’
‘Then you’ll let your cousin, the chap who drinks and whores with my son, buy it at a far higher price?’
‘Laketon wants it but I’ve decided to keep it for Sol. It’ll be something to encourage him to come back to after he’s sowed his wild oats. I don’t want him gone for good. There’s other good carpenters at Burnt Oak, there’ll be someone to keep it going for him. Another of my sons, Jowan, can continue his training there.’
‘So you have it all worked out.’ Darius lay staring up at the ceiling. It was rough and patchy, the beams ragged. The place was a dump. He didn’t have to tolerate these conditions. ‘What are we doing here? I could be whiling away my time in brothels as fine as palaces
. Where new girls are taken on every year. I can mix with society and gamble for real money. I’ve got what – five or ten years left. I’ve enough wealth to see me out. To look after myself and myself alone.’
‘What about your family?’
‘I’m not like you. You like producing children. Family isn’t everything to me. I had one son who mattered to me and now he’s gone I’m left with nothing. I’ve married off Joshua to money. I’ve done all I can and all I ever want to for him and his brother. I’m going to leave them to it. They all hate me. I hate them. Time we all parted. When I’m sober and able to travel I’ll go up to the capital and never come back.’ Satisfied with his decision, Darius lit up a celebratory cigar. ‘Have you got any plans?’
‘I might take another wife.’ Titus also smiled in satisfaction, and anticipation. ‘Are you still planning to have yours committed to the asylum?’
‘It would have been fun but I can’t be bothered. I—’
‘Shush! I can hear a familiar voice. Ah – ah! It’s Lewarne and he’s with Marcie. So he’s got his appetite back. Shall we go and spoil it for him?’
‘No. Let him have one last time. Shows how desperate he is if he’s come here openly. Titus, my friend, things are going our way.’
Darius drifted off to a noisy snuffling sleep. Titus dressed and reared up over him and whispered, ‘I’m not your friend. I didn’t try to save your mealy-mouthed son. I heard his screams from the woods but he was dead when I reached him, and if he hadn’t been I’d have watched him drown with pleasure.’
Michael was happily ensconced in the library at Poltraze. He was up on the ladder, carefully pulling out old documents from a high corner shelf. Life was good for him. Here in the library he didn’t feel the despondency, the sense of the almost sinister as in the rest of the building. The room was once an early Elizabethan dining room, where no one had suffered an untimely death. He was able to pursue his ambition to record the family’s long and varied history, no longer distracted by the draining complaints of Phoebe, or shrieking voices as she clashed with Estelle. Estelle made it plain she did not like him so often in the house, especially when he studied late and slept on the couch, but he paid no heed to her. Or to the disinterested reception he received from his father. The old man would be leaving for London soon. Michael hoped he’d stay there, and quickly wine and dine and whore himself to death.
He heard voices approaching. Two females were coming along the Long Corridor – the library, like most of the downstairs rooms, branched off from it. He paused, hoping they would pass by and not enter the short connecting passage and arrive to bother him. He was not blessed with good fortune. He recognized one of the voices, the raised shrill of his wife. Damn it! Phoebe came up from the Dower House twice a week for a family dinner; always a strained affair. What was she doing here today?
‘Michael? Michael, are you in there?’ He didn’t have time to descend the ladder and conceal himself behind the heavy curtains. Phoebe came bursting into the room. ‘Oh, so you are here, as if I couldn’t have guessed.’
‘What is it? You’re disturbing me.’ Michael had never been afraid of Phoebe, as people whispered about him, he simply found life easier to allow her and others to believe that he was browbeaten. Due to his new contentment, and from his superior height up the ladder, he felt a greater power over her and saw her for the ridiculous cackling woman she was.
‘I’ve come to root you out. I haven’t seen you for days.’
‘Days?’ he replied with scorn.
‘Really, Michael. You get so caught up with the silly business in this place you forget the passage of time.’ Phoebe threw off her cloak.
‘Neither I nor your daughters have had your company for five whole days. Have you been here all this time? When I asked your prissy sister-in-law just now if you were here today, she said she didn’t know, and when I said I’d take a look for myself, she was quite rude to me.’
‘Tara rude? I find that hard to believe.’
‘Are you friendly with that whey-faced snippet?’
‘We are polite to each other.’ Michael considered for a moment. ‘Actually, I do like her. The servants like her too. She’s bringing a sense of concord to the house. She’s Joshua’s wife. You might as well make the effort to get along with her, Phoebe. And Tara’s not at all whey-faced, you can’t accuse her of being unattractive.’
‘Are you taken with her?’ Phoebe exploded, advancing on him until she reached the ladder.
‘Don’t make a fool of yourself, woman.’
‘How dare you!’
‘Phoebe, I spend a lot of time here because I find the company of the books soothing and entertaining, whereas I can’t say the same for yours. I’m sorry I’ve neglected Cecily and Jemima. I’ll drop down to see them before they go to bed.’
Phoebe was blown off course by his attitude, but she was also pleased. Was he getting into the stride of being a man at last? She was always quick to change her mood to best suit her interests. ‘Forgive me, my dear,’ she lowered her tone to sweetness and cajoling. ‘I’ve been disappointed not to see you. I know I can be a little demanding, but I’ve missed you. Now we’re to have renovations to our home I’ve been hoping to discuss them with you, to make plans.’
‘The craftsmen will know what’s best to do. You have a good eye for design, I trust you to choose well to brighten up the house.’
‘Thank you. Don’t you miss me a little bit?’ Phoebe put on the coy, eager look she gave when he approached her to make love. She enjoyed this side of life, he was a sensitive lover and she was missing it.
Michael was torn. With the harassment of the move to the Dower House and his five-day stay here he had been celibate for two weeks and suddenly his loins burned. Then he heard Tara calling to the lap dogs as they chased about on the lawn. Such a gentle voice, young and kind. She would never try to trap Joshua with sensual inducements to win her own way. He envied Joshua at that moment. Joshua had a honey-tongued, honest-hearted angel for a wife and he had a jealous, manipulative harpy. Phoebe craved a son, not because she wanted another child, but to put it up as some sort of importance. It hadn’t sunk into her ambitious mind that his father would take no more notice of his little branch of the family if she produced one. If she did she would never cease to nag him to further their position. His desire evaporated. ‘You must excuse me. I’m in the middle of something. I’ll be home to see the girls later.’ He turned away from her on the ladder.
Sol had missed the communal dinner at home in the principal house at Burnt Oak, shared by his ten brothers and sisters, his father’s two common-law wives, his Aunt Eula and her family, and his grandmother. The individual families separated after dinner – he was pleased to learn tonight that his father was out – and he went straight to his grandmother’s sitting room, where she would be alone.
Tempest Kivell put aside the book she was reading and smiled at him. ‘Hello, darling. Oh dear, you look worried. What is it?’ Her voice was like honey, which toned in with her handsome appearance and simple clothes. Her Quaker background meant she never wore jewellery except her wedding ring, but she didn’t need sparkling stones to enhance her natural grace and excellence.
Sol bent and kissed her cheeks. He chewed his lower lip. ‘Mrs Lewarne is in labour. Amy is so fearful. I’m not sure she’d cope with another loss. She’d be left with only her wretched father, and hardly anything at all when he’s forced to sell the business. Things seem as bad as they could be for her.’
Tempest lifted her head and appeared to gaze into space. Too restless to sit, Sol watched her intently, this woman whom he loved so much, his friend and confidante as well as doting grandmother. She was in her mid-fifties but looked years younger. Her hair was stark black, her own colour, and her eyes the deepest blue. When she called on her gift of second sight, as she was now, she was still as a statue, as if turned to exquisite marble, a regal image.
She rejoined him and smiled. ‘Don’t worry. There won’t be a
ny complications with Mrs Lewarne’s confinement. You’ve said you’ll stay at least until after this baby is delivered. Is this still your intention? Are you restless?’
‘Not really. There’s time enough for me to see the world, and I somehow feel an obligation to Amy and her mother. It unsettled them badly, my going along with Father’s plans for Chy-Henver, and I’d like to stay on a little longer for Toby’s sake. To all intents I’m keeping the roof over their heads. Morton’s got himself into debt. Chy-Henver could be turned round with hard work and dedication, but Morton’s getting more and more difficult. He’s like a cornered rat and knows it’s likely he’ll have to sell up soon. I don’t really want Father or Laketon to buy the business, but it looks as if Morton will have to let it go for a grossly unfair price. What would Amy think of me if she finds out this was the intention all along?’ Sol paced about on the red and blue carpet. ‘I can’t let Amy and Mrs Lewarne be put out of their home. There would be barely enough to buy a decent house, and although Morton could work for another carpenter, the way he is now, it’s unlikely anyone would take him on. It’s all such a mess.’
Sol’s face was creased with worry. It was the first time Tempest had seen him concerned like this for someone outside the family. He was a young man used to having everything his own way, everything going right for him. It warmed Tempest that he thought so highly of two women who had been strangers to him until a few weeks ago, that he was willing to take responsibility for them. She had known from the moment of his birth that he was not going to inherit the brutal strains of his father and grandfather. He made her life, when she thought what it might have been if not for Garth Kivell, worth living. When, through her religious beliefs, she fell into the throes of guilt at killing her husband, she saw loving and fostering Sol into a worthy man as her redemption. She reached for his hand and he went forward and grasped hers. ‘Listen to your heart, Sol. Listen to the little quiet voice within you. You’ll know what to do. I promise you.’