The Carpenter's Daughter

by Gloria Cook

  Amy had crossed over the stepping stones of the little stream and was on the moors, at the summit of the hill which sheltered her home. The sun was beginning to fall, leaving behind rosy glows and dark pinks, which fed into blues and mauves, which in turn defined gorse and bracken and stubby, wind-bent trees, and the distant hills and cairns. When Amy was younger she had seen the silhouetted chimneys and engine houses of the mines as mystical castles and fortresses, the smoke rising up out of them as the cooking for banquets or imprisoned fire-breathing dragons. The world had been a safe place back then. Now she knew how hard and dangerous and disfiguring the work at the mines was, how often young people died from accidents and lung diseases. There was no such thing as an old miner. Back then she’d no notion her brother would die before he reached manhood and that her family would be torn apart.

  Now it seemed there was a real possibility that she would lose her mother too. The last time she had gone upstairs to the labour room, an hour ago, her mother’s cries resounding round the walls, Frettie Endean had ordered her away. ‘’Tis’nt going to be no quicker for you wishing it, maid. It’ll be a while yet. Mrs Greep and I are doing our best for your mother but she’s very tired. Go away and pray, that’s the best thing you can do for her.’

  Unable to stand the grunting and straining sounds from her mother, and the screams, Amy had sought refuge in the timeless land, the ancient landscape, scarred by the stone and brick mineral workings, and the equally ancient criss-cross paths of fox and badger tracks. She’d said prayer after prayer and now she was listening to the echoes of long ago. With her was Stumpy, mournful and watchful, his ears alert, as if he too were searching for echoes, perhaps of Toby’s voice. For a snatch of a moment, Amy thought she heard Toby calling her name and she tried to keep it inside her head.

  Stumpy suddenly took a few guarded paces forward until he was looking over the drop, which graduated down in sweeps of ledges and rocks. ‘What is it, Stumpy?’ Probably just a rabbit but she thought it was time she went back. If darkness speeded up or a mist suddenly rose, even though she wasn’t far from home, a safe passage wasn’t guaranteed.

  Then she saw him. Sol. Climbing up to her, swift and athletic. His black hair swept back by the wind. He was like some warrior of old times. He was coming to her by way of the moor, as he’d done the first time. She went to the edge to meet him, and although he didn’t need her help, she reached a hand out to him. The warm grasp of his fingers made her feel safe, and a quickness filled her being, as if she had never really been alive until this moment.

  ‘Amy, is there any news?’

  In the twilight, she could see the raw energy in his eyes. ‘Sol, it’s good of you to come back. No, Mother’s having a difficult time.’

  He cupped his other hand round hers and she felt wrapped up in security. ‘You mustn’t worry. I’ve spoken to Grandmama Tempest. She says all will be well. We must go while it’s safe.’

  ‘You speak about us to your grandmother?’ Amy allowed him to lead the way, and Stumpy and Rip brought up the rear, like a couple of guards.

  ‘Grandmama is interested in all I do so of course we talk about you and all at Chy-Henver.’ She allowed him to help her climb down over the rocks and point out places where it was safest to put her feet. If not for the pain and risk to her mother she would have wanted the journey to go and on. It was a wonderful experience to be protected and cared for as if she were someone precious, to be attended in this way.

  They came to the stream. Amy stopped and listened for sounds, hoping to hear a baby’s cry and not the agonized sounds of her mother still labouring to give birth. All she could hear was the tinkling of the water over the stony bed, the wind now buffeting all in its path. ‘It’s gone quiet in the house! It’s too quiet. I shouldn’t have stayed out so long.’

  ‘I’ll get you there quickly.’ The granite stepping stones stood out in the diminishing light and Amy could nimbly step across them, but Sol swept her up in his arms and they were over the stream in a trice. He didn’t set her down. He ran with her up all the way up the ash path and to the back door. She had her arms tightly round his neck, anxious for her mother, yet enjoying the sensation of being close to his strong body. He put her down and she withdrew her arms. He opened the door. ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Yes.’ She didn’t want him to leave now. If either of the women were downstairs they’d raise their brows at Sol’s presence but it didn’t seem right to exclude him. Somehow, at least for the time being, he was part of Chy-Henver. And if there were terrible news, she would need him . . .

  In the kitchen, like apprehensive children, they gazed at each other. There was still no noise coming from above. ‘What do you think is happening?’ Sol whispered.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Her voice was hushed, and her insides tied themselves in knots. They crept along the hall and looked up the stairs. Apart from the sound of an occasional footstep and some low voices overhead there was silence. ‘Oh, Sol, if anything’s happened to Mum . . .’

  He put his arm round her. She was shaking and trying not to cry and she pressed herself against him, while looking fearfully up the stairs.

  The door of her mother’s bedroom was opened. ‘Amy, are you down there?’ It was Frettie Endean.

  She glanced nervously at Sol and reluctantly left the comfort of his embrace and climbed up a couple of steps. Sol moved back thoughtfully out of sight. ‘Yes, I’m here. How’s Mum?’

  ‘Twas a bit of a struggle all the way along.’ Frettie, stout and forbidding, in a white, blood-spotted apron, appeared on the landing. ‘Your mother’s worn out. But, my bird, God be praised, we got a little maid in the end. A little sister for you.’

  Amy let out a cry of relief. Her mother had survived but she was still doubtful over the baby. ‘Why isn’t she crying?’

  ‘Aw, she made a squawk or two but she’s breathing fine. Tedn’t every baby who comes into the world bawling its head off. Put the kettle on, we’m all parched up here, then come up and see them.’

  It took a few seconds for the good news to sink in, then, ‘Oh, that’s wonderful! A sister! That’s wonderful! Thank you so much, Mrs Endean. I’ll be up in a minute.’

  Amy jumped down to the foot of the stairs. Sol emerged from the shadows. ‘Did you hear?’

  ‘I did. Congratulations.’

  She was so excited she ran to him, about to give him a hug. Sol’s arms were reaching out for her. Realizing the full import of what she was about to do, how deep a friendship they had formed, and perhaps even more, she stopped and glanced down at the floor then up at him, shy and full of strange hopes. Then regret, for the moment was lost, and that was just as well, for he would be leaving Meryen altogether soon.

  Sol shrugged, his expression impassive, giving no clue to what was on his mind. ‘It’s really wonderful news, Amy. See, you never need doubt Grandmama Tempest’s word. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Fourteen

  That night Joshua came to Tara in bed, an increasingly rare occasion. ‘The old man’s just arrived home. He was singing. I’ve never heard him sing before but he is somewhat in the grip of inebriation. Michael was working late in the library again. Father ordered us to help him upstairs. Then he sent for your aunt, and announced as cool as could be that he’s leaving here tomorrow and never coming back. I suppose I need hardly tell you, my dear, how glad I am about that. Life should settle down quite nicely from now on.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Tara replied. She wished her Aunt Estelle was leaving with her father-in-law. Estelle crowed over her plans for Poltraze. Mrs Benney, who made it plain that she thought Estelle was beneath serving, would be dismissed, then gradually after that the rest of the staff. Estelle would do everything possible to keep Phoebe down in the Dower House. Michael would be asked to reserve his visits to the library to twice a week. Only a few ladies had left a calling card for Estelle or had been ‘at home’ to hers. She intended to form a set of these receptive ladies – all of lesser gentry – over which sh
e would reign supreme, and make the set so desirable, with high teas and musical soirées and parties, that other ladies, of higher social significance, would eventually wish to join. Tara was expected to play a full part in this – until she was with child. Estelle pressed her to be quick about producing the next heir, as was the wish of Poltraze’s lord and master. Tara knew enough about her husband to be sure Joshua would stamp on many of Estelle’s schemes but it meant rocky times ahead. As for the question of the next heir, there was a complication in that department with Joshua so unwilling for intimacy.

  Instead of keeping his distance as he’d done on the few times he had slipped in beside her, Joshua shuffled close and put his arm over her. ‘What’s the matter, my dear? You are so serious. Are you tired?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ She moved towards him, bridging the gap between their bodies. She was hopelessly shy about intimacy but she had grown to care for Joshua and was hoping to become his wife fully. The waiting for it to happen was unnerving. Why was Joshua so reluctant to perform this duty as a husband, a duty men were reputed to seek eagerly? Also, if she didn’t conceive a son, Darius Nankervis, residing in London or elsewhere, was vindictive enough to carry out his threat to throw her and her aunt out.

  ‘What is it? I want to know about anything that’s troubling you,’ Joshua said.

  ‘I wish . . .’

  ‘You may have anything you desire, Tara.’ He planted a small kiss on her cheek and gentled a finger down it.

  Taking a calming breath, Tara put a hand on his shoulder. It seemed at last he was going to become amorous and she would lose her virginity. She was scared, but Joshua was kind and caring. She trusted him and thought she might even fall in love with him. Tiny tremors of delight began to form inside her. ‘I’m fine, really.’

  ‘Good.’ With that he cupped a hand under her chin and kissed her. Not for a mere second as before, this time he made it last. His hands travelled over her. Tara forgot to breathe. Lovemaking was about to finally happen and she hoped her responses would be all right for Joshua. As best as she could she made herself relax. He tugged at the buttons that journeyed from her throat to her waist on the smooth material of her nightgown. His hands were roughened from gardening activities and the tiny mother-of-pearl buttons were obstacles to him. She manoeuvred her trembling hands through his and undid the buttons, feeling shy and daring. Joshua gave a sigh and pulled the nightgown down off one shoulder and kissed her there, wetting her flesh. He hiked up the hem of the nightgown, lifted his nightshirt out of the way then mounted her. He was shaking, urgent, clumsy. It seemed he had no idea what he was doing. It must be his first time too. She was given over to fear, not liking the experience at all, but she moved to give him access.

  He halted. ‘Hold on to me, Tara, try not to be afraid.’ His voice was wobbly.

  ‘I’m not,’ she whispered, to reassure him.

  He fumbled. She felt a probing. A lot of discomfort. She closed her eyes tight, horribly embarrassed in the darkness, and waited. Just a few moments more, then the act of love would be consummated and she would be his and he would be hers.

  There was more probing. Tentative and awkward. Tara willed him to go ahead quickly, to get the greatest pain over with. Joshua suddenly rolled off her. Tara lay still. Too stunned to react. He rubbed a hand down her burning face. ‘There, there. You were very brave. That’s enough for one night.’

  She knew a terrible disappointment. Joshua’s breathing was at a normal rate, so he hadn’t been excited at all. Then it struck her that he was detached from her in some way. There must be much more to the act of love and she began to doubt if Joshua would ever perform it with her. Would the cautious, faltering breaching of her body render her with child? She had no notion and there was no one she could ask. Trying not to give way to tears of disenchantment and humiliation, she waited for him to get up and leave her.

  Estelle lay awake long into the small hours. Darius was on his back, snoring like a contented, rumbling steam engine. He was sweaty and smelled of cheap female company – he had declared he would have a bath in the morning then take his immediate departure.

  ‘You won’t be missed for one single moment, you old devil!’ The instant he stepped into the landau tomorrow for Truro, to catch the next post coach, she would rule the house.

  She dozed off and thought she was dreaming. There was someone in the room. It was so real she sat up and moved aside the lace draped from the post. Darius demanded a lamp be kept lit so he’d have no trouble finding his way to the water closet, and she peered through the yellowy gleam. The low light cast many shadows but all was as usual. The huge room was choked with dense walnut furniture, ugly stuff that lent a heavy atmosphere. She would replace it with items on lighter feminine lines. Just a few hours left to endure the perverse hulk at her side and Poltraze would be all hers.

  She was about to lie down when the hairs on the back of her neck prickled. She peered about again, instinctively pulling the covers up under her chin. Then she was almost swallowed up by the fear of knowing there really was someone in the room. Someone who was not a servant or a friend. ‘Who is it?’ She reached out to the bedside cabinet for something she could use as a weapon.

  The figure leapt forward and before she could summon up a scream she was struck hard across the face. She came to seconds later to see a small moving light at her side. She could smell tobacco. Stunned for a moment she thought Darius was up and walking round the bed, smoking. A glance in his direction showed he had blood on his head. Then she detected something else. Something unbelievable. Something deadly. Lantern oil had been splashed all over the bedcover. The next scream died in her throat as she was struck again. She was thrown back on the pillows. In terror she stared up, trying to recognize her assailant. The figure was tall and broad, undoubtedly a man, but who she couldn’t tell, he was in black and had his face covered. She made one last attempt to scream but he gripped her by the throat, yanked her up then slammed her head against the headboard before pushing her down. Estelle was barely conscious but to her terror she was aware of him tucking her up tightly in the bedcovers.

  Estelle couldn’t move. Somehow she made her lips work. ‘Who – who are you?’

  The whispered answer fed her terror to a frenzy. ‘I want you both out of my way.’

  As she struggled to free herself and find the strength to scream, he dropped the cigar on the bed. Estelle felt almost immediate agony as tall raging flames ate into her legs. She was able to scream at last. She screamed and screamed, and even as she fought to get away from the bed she was aware of Darius burning beside her. She screamed and howled and shrieked. Long after her final scream ended its echo filled the house.

  Fifteen

  ‘Hello, Mrs Hichens. I thought I’d pay you a visit.’ Titus pulled up a chair beside where Nancy had been left sitting, placing it where he could not look into her twisted, drooling face. ‘I saw your relative leave. I suppose she’s given you your dinner. I noticed she didn’t spend much time here. Probably didn’t talk to you much either. I don’t suppose anyone does, not even Sarah, that dear, sweet, young daughter of yours.’

  Nancy nodded and muttered, as if she was listening and agreeing with him.

  ‘How about I catch you up on all the news? It’s two weeks since part of the big house was burned out. ’Tis reckoned the squire fell asleep smoking one of them grand cigars of his. Burned alive he was, he and his wife. And two others. A pity.’ Titus’s expression changed from being conversational to dark grimness. ‘Pity there hadn’t been more dead.’ Then back to chattiness. ‘Big funeral, of course. Gentry came from all over, to show their faces, that’s all. No one will miss that rotten old devil, Darius Nankervis. He deserved a terrible end and that’s just what he got. Couldn’t have thought of a better end for him myself. If you ask me, there’s a sense of justice being done throughout Meryen.

  ‘So, with Darius gone we’re moving into new times. Got a new squire. A different individual altogether. People are
hopeful he’ll do something for Meryen. Can’t see it myself. He’s got no vision, no backbone. But he’s got a dear little wife, as comely as a girl can be. She’s friends with young Amy Lewarne, another interesting little piece. I like young girls. Young Mrs Nankervis wouldn’t pay no mind to me, and nor would Amy, and anyway, my eldest boy will have Amy, one way or another, so therefore I’m paying special attention to your dear little Sarah. Mind you, don’t think for a minute that I believe her to be third best. Not at all. She’s the prettiest of the bunch, a beauty. She’ll bear fine handsome children, so you can be proud of her, Mrs Hichens.

  ‘Yes, times are changing. There’s plans for even more houses to be built. There’s people coming in from other parishes to mine the copper and even from across the border. English! That’s why my family are coming out from behind our walls. We’re going to turn our skills into proper businesses, build our own little empires. People are suspicious, even hostile towards us, those who dare to be! I’d like to see their fears realized, but, well, things have to be done differently now – mostly. One day soon, kin of mine will own the forge, the watchmaker’s, the hostelry and other establishments. All bought and paid for at a fair price, mind. Well, more or less. The present owners can stay on and work for us, there’ll be plenty of work with all the expansion.

  ‘I’m planning to buy out the carpenter, Lewarne.’ Titus fell silent, every muscle in his hard face grew pinched. He was furious Sol had put himself as an obstacle in the way of his plan. They had nearly come to blows in the Nankervis Arms. Titus had reached across the barrel table. ‘You’ll do as I say! You’ve started going your own way a little too much and I won’t have it! I’m putting a bid to Lewarne and you can’t stop me. I want the business for you, for goodness sake!’