by Gloria Cook
‘There’s no need for you to go, Sol. Or for you to worry about doing anything, Mother,’ Amy said. ‘I’ve not long left him. That’s what I meant when I said the situation between Sol and me doesn’t seem so important.’ She told them what had happened, what she had done.
‘And your father’s gone for good? And he has all that money?’ Sylvia’s tone was hushed. She was shaking with emotion.
‘I thought it was the right thing to do, Mother.’
‘Yes. Money was all he ever really wanted.’ Sylvia went outside and stared at the workshop. Amy and Sol followed her. ‘So, it’s all over. My marriage. All those years of building this up. He could have come back and started over again. He could have found the courage. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want me. Or his daughters. Amy?’
‘Yes, Mother?’
‘Did your father ask about Hope?’
‘No, I’m afraid he didn’t.’
‘Is there anything else I should know?’
Amy couldn’t tell her that Morton had blamed Toby for his downfall. It would be cruel for her mother to have to bear that. ‘He said he’d make it up to me.’
‘But not to me. Well, he would never do that. Did you believe him?’
‘Of course not.’
‘I could go after him,’ Sol had said. ‘Ask him to sell the business to me, for an honest price. I haven’t got enough money of my own but my grandmother would willingly lend me the rest. That way, the future would look quite settled.’
Sylvia whirled round. Sol was close to Amy – at one point he had mouthed to her, ‘I’ll make it all right’ – and they had moved hastily to put distance between them. Sylvia’s usual gentle face was a mask of bitterness. ‘No! I forbid it. I will not put more money into that man’s pockets to waste on drink and whores. And I will not be beholden to you, young man. You may believe your fine and noble sentiments now, but you are a Kivell, son of the dark-hearted.’
‘Mother! How could you?’ Amy gasped.
‘Because of life’s cruel experiences, that’s how. I believed your father when he said we would have a good life together. We did, or so it appeared for many years, but it was a sham. Then his rotten ways sent Toby off to his death and he didn’t cry one tear of sorrow or remorse. He let Titus Kivell send his son here.’ She pointed at Sol. ‘You may not own your father’s evil ways but I feel the restlessness in your soul. Staying here, marrying Amy, would end up stifling you, and your resentment would turn you into some sort of copy of either your father or my husband. No, I will only put my trust in God from now on. If it’s His will that I end up in the gutter, so be it.’ With a proud lift of her head, but also seeming about to disintegrate, Sylvia went back inside.
Amy and Sol gazed at each across the few yards of ground. Dare they grasp a few words, a few seconds together?
‘Amy!’ came her mother’s shout.
Shaking her head, her hands up to her face, almost in despair, Amy ran inside, leaving Sol alone.
The kitchen was empty. Amy felt empty, desolate. Sol had offered a way out of the family troubles and her mother had tossed it away. She heard Sol ride out of the yard.
Sylvia came into the kitchen with Hope. ‘Gone off already, has he?’
‘He’ll come back. You can trust Sol. You were far too hard on him. There’s something I want you to know. I’m going to tell Sol he must go off on his travels soon, do what he’s always wanted. I’m not going to be responsible for tying him down. I believe him when he says he loves me. I’ll wait for him, no matter how long it takes. After I’ve told him that I promise I won’t try to see him alone.’ She’d glanced at her tiny sister. ‘Hopefully, there will be no new baby. My babies can wait until years into the future.’
Now, Amy was glad it was raining hard as they rattled along in the carriage, it meant that no one was likely to be out in the village and they wouldn’t be seen. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to think they thought themselves to be going up in the world, when in truth they were nearing the bottom. ‘Are you nervous, Mother?’
‘Of course,’ Sylvia answered stiffly, across from her on the plush, buttoned seats.
Amy sighed and stared down at her gloved hands. It was dreadful, living like this, her mother so remote, treating Sol like an outcast. If she left the house to hang out washing or feed the hens she was monitored by her mother. It was unnecessary, she intended to keep her word and not seek to be with Sol alone. When she had told him he should think about setting a date for his travels, that she would wait for him, he had smiled, a special, love-bound smile for her, and said, ‘We’ll leave it all to fate.’ It had heartened her so much, and she and Sol kept in communication by letters, she slipping them inside crevices in the garden wall, he leaving them near the hen-house. Alone in her room she read his letters again and again, and at moments like this, when Sylvia was frosty, she clung to hopes for a happy future.
‘Mother.’ She dropped her voice to a whisper as they left the village behind and turned into Bell Lane. ‘You’ll be relieved to learn that nature has paid me a visit. There will be no baby.’
Sylvia let out a loud breath. ‘I am relieved. Are you?’
‘Yes. I don’t want a reason for Sol and I to marry quickly.’ A tiny part of her had lied, but she most wanted to prove Sol’s love for her was real. He wrote in his letters that he was working hard to get her mother to trust him.
‘I’m glad to hear it, Amy.’
With Sylvia seemingly a little softer towards her, Amy tried some conversation. ‘I wonder who these ladies are that Tara mentioned in her last letter. We’re going to be out of place there, don’t you think?’
‘Take heart.’ Sylvia gave her a half-smile. ‘We don’t look too bad a sight in our best clothes. If it’s too awful, I’m sure Miss Tara will understand if we don’t go again. At least, we’ll get to see inside the big house. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do.’
Amy became aware of the excitement in her mother and she was glad she had this respite from their troubles. ‘We’re not doing too badly, are we? I mean, the squire’s paid in advance for Sol’s work on the new boathouse. It’s unusual. Perhaps Tara had a word with him.’
‘Well, in her letter she wrote that the squire is taking a personal interest in all that Sol does.’
‘He’s not so bad, Mother.’ Amy bit her lip. Could she bring her mother round to relaxing some of Sol’s banishment?
‘Not so bad, but only in some ways.’ Sylvia would not relent. Amy had to go on hoping she would.
They were shown into Poltraze by the butler, whose dark suit of clothes was of better quality than the most well-off merchants in Meryen. Stocky and thin, ageing, yet well postured, he did not so much as glance at them as he ordered a maid to take their cloaks. Amy peered about, as Sylvia was, trying to see everything. The great staircase and the gallery above seemed to go up and up. Did they hit the clouds? They saw for themselves they were no rivals for the sky as they were led up the stairs to the drawing room.
‘Mrs Lewarne, and Miss Lewarne, ma’am,’ the butler intoned just inside the double doors.
‘Thank you, Fawcett.’ Tara got up from her chair to meet them, all smiles, looking like a creature from a fairytale in a royal blue velvet two-piece gown, a scrap of white lace on the crown of her hair. ‘Amy! Mrs Lewarne. Thank you for coming. Do sit and make yourselves comfortable either side of me. You are the last. Let me introduce you to everyone.’
Chairs and sofas had been arranged in a circle but to Amy and Sylvia the ladies seemed at some distance from each other. Tara sat in a graceful sweep of skirts and Sylvia and Amy copied her, both self-conscious and trying not to show it. There were six of them in all. Tara started with the lady of smug appearance across the flowing wool carpet from her. ‘This is my sister-in-law, Mrs Phoebe Nankervis.’
‘How do you do,’ Phoebe said, with her cut-glass accent at its most nasal.
‘And Mrs Anthea Nankervis, wife of my husband’s second cousin, the Reverend C
larence Nankervis, vicar of Meryen.’ Tara gave the full details, thinking it unlikely Amy and Sylvia knew anyone from the church, as they were Methodists.
Anthea Nankervis was white-haired, plump, and a bit vague. ‘Good afternoon to you.’
‘And the final lady is Mrs Dorcas Keast, wife of Poltraze’s steward. I think we represent a fairly broad spectrum of those residing in and involved with Meryen.’
They drank tea from brittle-looking cups and Amy and Sylvia feared they would easily break, and they ate the fancies as delicately as they could, hoping it was in the correct manner. Tara brought up the ideas put forward on the day she had gone to Chy-Henver.
Dorcas Keast had an ordinary accent like Amy’s and Sylvia’s, but unlike them she didn’t appear overawed by the occasion. Rosy-cheeked from an outdoor life, she pushed her tongue into the corners of her mouth to free cake crumbs. ‘I’ve got five young’uns, ma’am. A bit of schooling would do ’em good.’
‘And there is to be a doctor in the village,’ Tara said proudly. ‘It’s a long way to go to St Day to fetch a doctor in an emergency. I’ve got my husband to agree to provide a fund to pay the costs of deserving cases.’
‘Doctor? Doctor?’ Anthea Nankervis screeched when confused. ‘What’s this?’
‘A doctor,’ Tara said patiently. She wanted more useful women on the committee, but it would be unthinkable to exclude the wife of the parish vicar. ‘Hopefully we’ll secure someone for the post soon. A suitable house is being found on the estate for him.’
‘Deserving cases, Tara?’ Phoebe said curtly. ‘That will be just about everyone in the village.’ She hated being part of this ridiculous meeting and was furious that money was to be allocated to the rabble while she had to endure the embarrassment of existing in a poky house. ‘Has Joshua agreed to a site for this school?’
‘Yes, it will be built at the entrance to Bell Lane,’ Tara said proudly. ‘Things are progressing well since I first spoke to Amy and Mrs Lewarne.’
Both Amy and Sylvia flushed when all eyes fell on them. Sylvia ventured to speak. ‘Things are getting better in the village. The constables ordering those of the most unfortunate habits to clean around their homes has stopped the cholera taking a hold.’
Phoebe wrinkled her nose in distaste. What a subject to bring up. Why should she have to endure the presence of two such unsuitable women? Tara would make the Nankervis name one of scorn. ‘I should think so too. If people make their own problems they deserve to receive a worthy fate.’
‘The deaths of children can never be seen as worthy,’ Amy said curtly. Phoebe Nankervis had barely made eye contact with her or her mother, making it obvious she thought them beneath her.
Phoebe made a face, conveying she cared nothing of her opinions.
‘Have I seen you in church?’ Anthea Nankervis screwed up her furrowed face as she studied Amy and Sylvia. ‘Where did you say you come from?’
‘We’re from Meryen,’ Amy replied. ‘We don’t go to church because we’re Methodists.’ She knew that wouldn’t go down well, she might as well have said she and her mother were convicted criminals.
‘Methodists indeed!’ Anthea Nankervis put her bonneted head up a huff and refused to say another word.
Tara shot Amy and Sylvia a look of apology. She had been naive to think women across the social divide could mix amiably, and she was angry that it was those on her side of this chasm who were behaving rudely. ‘To move on to something else. I’ve been thinking we could make scented gifts, lace items, cloth picture frames and that sort of thing. We could have a sale of work to raise money for our own poor fund.’
‘Oh, really, Tara.’ Phoebe snickered. ‘You can’t seriously expect me to do that sort of thing! Who will benefit from this poor fund?’ She aimed her cold eyes straight at Sylvia. ‘Deserted wives? We must be careful that those who purport to struggle aren’t already receiving help from an unusual source.’
Amy opened her mouth to return with something equally hard, in the hope of putting the beastly woman in her place. Sylvia was wiser, she knew that was impossible. Phoebe Nankervis was a bitch and would always come off the superior, and she wasn’t going to have Amy making a fool of herself. She said coolly, ‘We are not dull-witted. We shall know who genuinely needs help and where it will be met with humble gratitude.’
Dorcas Keast grinned at Sylvia. ‘Quite right.’
Tara called the meeting to a halt. There was nothing more to be accomplished today and she wanted to spare Amy and Sylvia any more unpleasantness. After glaring at Phoebe, she rang for Fawcett to see her, Anthea Nankervis and Dorcas Keast on their way.
‘I’m so sorry you were put in an uncomfortable position,’Tara said, as she descended the stairs with Amy and Sylvia.
‘I wasn’t expecting to feel comfortable, Miss Tara,’ Sylvia said graciously. ‘This is no place for Amy and I. We shall be glad to work for the committee behind the scenes, if that is agreeable to you.’
‘I understand,’ Tara said sadly, remonstrating with herself for being thoughtless in the first place. ‘I still may call on you occasionally?’ She would so like to talk to Amy alone. It was plain there was some great sadness upon her. She was withdrawn, distracted.
‘We’d be honoured,’ Sylvia said. She refused the carriage home. It had stopped raining and she said she and Amy would enjoy the walk.
‘What did you think of the place?’ Sylvia asked, when they were out of Poltraze’s magnificent grounds.
Amy had been thinking about Sol being there, working somewhere on the boathouse. ‘There’s a lot of grandeur but our home is far more comfortable.’
‘I’m glad we’ll never be subjected to that dreadful sister-in-law of Miss Tara’s again. I don’t envy her living close to such people. Dorcas Keast seemed a good woman.’
It dawned on Amy that Sylvia was being bright and chatty. When she linked her arm through hers and talked about putting together a few gifts for Tara’s sale of work she was heartened to know she had been forgiven. It would give her something wonderful to write to Sol about.
Phoebe had gone only a little way home when she ordered the groom to turn the trap round and return to the big house. She had been rude to Tara’s unrefined acquaintances and rude to Tara herself. She would not gain an improvement in her circumstances if she made Tara hate her. There was nothing for it but to go back and eat humble pie.
Sol had constructed the planked walls of the boathouse and put in the two long windows and hammered on the felt roof. He was sizing up shelves for storage when he saw he was about to be joined by the squire, a not uncommon occurrence, unfortunately. He wasn’t about to stay in a confined space with Joshua Nankervis and he went outside into the cold winter air. ‘Ah, I was hoping to see you today.’
‘You were, Sol?’
Sol winced as the other man’s face lit up. His interest in him today, however, could be used to make a very practical gain. He produced some papers from his inside jacket pocket. ‘I’ve been going over the Lewarne accounts books and I’ve come across some outstanding dues to Morton Lewarne commissioned by your late father.’ It hurt to do so but he turned a flirtatious smile on Joshua. ‘Would it be an imposition to ask you to settle these? I have the Lewarne women’s interests at heart, you understand?’
‘Oh, indeed, give them to me and I shall instruct Keast to ensure the bank is given appropriate notification forthwith.’ Joshua was ecstatic. It would give him an excuse to present Sol with the cheque. ‘The Lewarne ladies have just left the house. I hope their meeting with my wife was satisfactory.’
‘Yes.’ Sol’s mind was on getting the bills paid. It amounted to over five hundred pounds. Morton had obviously been too cowardly to ask for payment off the estate, but it was a good thing he’d kept meticulous details. Amy and Mrs Lewarne had thought it a waste of time presenting the bills, but now he had pulled it off it might help him go up in Sylvia’s estimation. He hated seeing Amy downcast, because of him, because of their loving.
; He had gone against Sylvia’s wishes the day she had bawled him out and had left Chy-Henver to track Morton down. Morton must have flagged down an ore waggon or a carrier and got away, for even with the dogs, Sol had failed to locate him. He would have got Morton to agree to sell Chy-Henver to him, and kept it a secret, ensuring Amy, her mother and baby Hope always had security. But it hadn’t been fate’s way for him to find Morton. Things must go on as they were, not an altogether bad situation, for he got to see Amy most days.
Joshua offered Sol one of his father’s cigars. It never failed to delight him that he had inherited the old man’s well-stocked tobacco cupboard, the contents of which he kept from Michael, and even Laketon. Sol took one, and the two men smoked and looked at the boathouse. ‘It’s coming along well. I do so like the ornamental finish. I’m very pleased with what you’re doing.’
Sol allowed him to engage him for twenty minutes. ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me I’d better get on.’
Joshua left him, trying not to show how reluctant he was to do so. He climbed the steps up the bank and was set upon almost at once by a figure sweeping out from behind a clump of trees. ‘I saw you together. You can’t keep away from him, can you?’ Laketon grabbed his arm.
Joshua tried to pull free but Laketon had him in a strong grip. ‘I am allowed to see how the work on my estate is progressing.’
‘You’re not allowed to favour someone’s presence on it. I’m not a fool. I’ve seen the way you look at him. Why do you persist? Sol would never reciprocate your attention.’
‘It makes a change from someone who’s too clingy. Laketon, you let your jealousy run away with you.’ Joshua was angry but he was also nervous. Laketon had always been demanding, seeking reassurance that there would never be anyone else, and he’d always made threats that he’d never let him go. Sometimes when he was in one of his jealous moods his eyes shone in a dreadful way. Joshua knew it was to frighten him, to control him, and it worked.