Pengarron Pride

by Pengarron Pride (retail) (epub)

  Oliver spoke to Charles Crebo. ‘How are things, Doctor?’

  ‘Not so bad as I feared, Sir Oliver, but tragic all the same,’ the surgeon-physician said in a heavy voice, without looking up from a patient on whom he was expertly stitching a badly gashed head wound. He waited for the miner’s groans and oaths to die away before going on in precise short sentences. ‘Sixteen dead. Twenty-three injured, some severely, some not. Many are missing. Four amputations, two legs on the same patient, he’ll probably die; two arms, each on a different patient. Two men comatose, one will certainly die. This patient will recover.’

  ‘There’s very, little hope of getting any others out alive, sir,’ Matthias added. ‘Several feet of tunnelling has given way out under the sea. There’s tons of rubble to get through and far too little good air for further rescue work. It’s badly ventilated at the best of times.’

  ‘Nearly as bad as the accident at the Trewhelah Mine at Porthtowan last year,’ Oliver said gravely. ‘That, it is said, will shut the mine down about two years early. Let’s hope that won’t be the case here. Have Sir Martin Beswetherick and the other owners been informed?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ replied Matthias. ‘I saw to it straightaway.’

  ‘Good.’ Oliver waved his hand at the fug caused by the tallow-dipped rush candles. ‘You need more light in here. Jack and I rode over with two lanterns. I’ll fetch them and more candles from the miners. I’ll replace all that are used so they will have no fear of going without sufficient light down the mine or in their homes in the winter. My elderly servant, Beatrice, would have been of considerable help to you with her herbs and potions. I know you respect her skills, Dr Crebo, but unfortunately she’s more or less housebound. The Reverend Ivey will ride over at first daylight, he’s too old to risk the moors after dusk. He’s pleased you are here, Renfree, to comfort the bereaved.’

  ‘It was good of the Reverend to say that,’ Matthias said, ‘but we’re all doing our best.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll agree with that,’ Dr Crebo put in. ‘People have been good enough to rally round quickly. As soon as the Blakes got back to Marazion they organised a bundle of sheets and bandages for me to bring with me. Tomorrow they’re sending over food, extra to their monthly contribution for the miner’s children, and the medicines that I’ll recommend.’

  ‘Mistress Blake’s idea, no doubt,’ Oliver remarked, rubbing his chin. Clem grunted in agreement, he also not wanting Peter Blake to take the credit. Oliver looked directly at Clem, and said to Dr Crebo, who had risen to his feet and was wiping his bloodied hands on a piece of cloth, ‘Have you enough proper help in here, Doctor?’

  ‘We can manage, thank you, Sir Oliver,’ Charles Crebo said almost gaily, lifting his wig to scratch at a troublesome spot. ‘This young fellow, Trenchard here, stopped a miner from bleeding to death under my instructions while Renfree and I were vainly trying to resuscitate another. They have both kept their wits about them while others have gone to pieces.’

  Clem became aware of the amount of blood on his shirt and breeches and was embarrassed at this unexpected praise. But he looked straight at the baronet to see his reaction and received a small shock. He could have sworn Oliver Pengarron almost smiled at him. But he did not want praise, however faint, from the man he despised more than any other and jerked his head away.

  After collecting the bundles of candles the miners wore round their necks to light their way underground then riding the half mile to the cottages to obtain more, there was nothing more Jack could do to help. Knowing few of the Wheal Ember folk, he kept out of the way. The cries of a boy who was having his crushed fingers amputated upset him and he returned to Conomor and Meryn.

  He talked to the horses, explaining what had happened up on the cold inhospitable cliff top and why they were there. Conomor’s sleek black coat shone in the light of a small bonfire, giving the stallion the warrior-like appearance that appealed to Jack’s youthful sense of adventure. He occupied himself by telling a story out loud, urged on by the eerie surge of the invisible sea below, describing danger and doom heroes and wickedness overcome. Conomor became Jack’s own horse and Meryn the pony he’d brought with him on his adventure to rescue a beautiful maiden imprisoned in the treacherous clifftop castle of the evil Lord Pendragon. Jack was getting to the heart of the colourful tale when a pair of long clinging arms were thrown about his neck and he was almost toppled to the ground.

  ‘Thought ’twas you,’ Heather Bawden purred into his neck.

  Thrusting her away, Jack said breathlessly, ‘What on earth do ’ee think you’re doing of, maid?’

  ‘Can’t see no one ’ere but you,’ Heather said, pouting her lips and moving up close again, ‘so who the ’ell were ’ee talking to?’

  ‘No one,’ he replied gruffly. To hide his embarrassment he turned to Conomor and stroked the stallion’s strong velvety neck. ‘Was just thinking out loud, that’s all. The horses like it, it soothes them. What do you want anyway?’

  ‘I wanted to thank ’ee fer goin’ fer the doctor. When they pulled out my tas he was nearly done fer, bleedin’ buckets, got a proper ’ard bash on the ’ead, poor bugger. The doctor told that tall fair man, you know the one I mean, the good-lookin’ one who ’ankers after Lady Pengarron, well, the doctor told un ’ow to stop the bleedin’, saved ’is life, I d’reckon.’

  ‘Well, I’m glad to hear he survived all right. Who’s your tas?’

  ‘Carn Bawden’s ’is name. It was on ’is pitch the accident ’appened, a thousand feet down. ’E’s a tributer, works on contract, not like the tut workers. ’E’s more skilled, you see,’ she ended proudly.

  Unaware that he was supposed to be impressed by this information, Jack said, ‘Never heard of him, but then I don’t know many folk up here. Don’t come up this way too often.’

  ‘Don’t ’ee now? My name’s Heather. What’s yours then?’

  The screaming from the makeshift hospital started again. The boy who had lost his fingers was terrified and in agony. If he was able to go down the mine again, his days of racing the other boys up the ladders were over. Jack would have pressed his hands over his ears if he hadn’t had company.

  ‘Well, what’s your bloody name? Or are ’ee too stiff-necked to tell me as you work fer ’is Lordship?’

  The screaming stopped; the boy had passed out.

  Jack sighed with relief for himself and the boy. He was glad Heather was there to give him something else to think about. ‘Jack, that’s my name. I’m the groom at Pengarron Manor. ’ It was his turn to be proud to tell of his occupation.

  Heather stood on tiptoe and peered into Jack’s face. ‘You ’aving me fer a fool?’ she asked suspiciously. ‘You’m too bloody young to be a groom at an important place like the manor.’

  ‘I am then,’ Jack retorted, ‘and that’s the Gospel truth. I was stable boy till I was eighteen, then Barney Taylor, he was the groom, well, his rheumatics finally got the better of him and he took to his bed for good and Sir Oliver didn’t take on nobody else but made me the groom in Barney’s place. That was two years ago and now I’ve got two stable boys working under me.’

  ‘Fancy,’ Heather said, swaying her broad hips. ‘Thought there’d be more’n three of ’ee workin’ in a big place like the manor stables.’

  ‘Sometimes someone comes over from Sir Oliver’s stud,’ Jack said grudgingly.

  ‘This ’is Lordship’s ’orse then? The big black un?’

  ‘Aye, he’s magnificent, isn’t he? I’ve ridden him occasionally, when His Lordship’s not had the time to exercise him.’

  ‘Oh, ’ave you now? What’s it called them? Somethin’ bloody silly, I d’reckon.’

  ‘It’s not silly at all,’ Jack returned defensively. ‘He’s called Conomor.’

  ‘Conomor, a warrior’s name, eh? I ’eard ’is master’s a warrior in bed.’

  Jack was attracted to this wild-looking mine girl and wanted her to stay and talk but he wished she would not use such coarse language.
He was not used to it, spending most of the time about the manor where no one spoke like that. He hoped Heather could not make out his blushes. He didn’t speak, wondering instead if she really did know that Conomor was the name of an ancient warrior or if she was poking fun at his fantasy tale to the horses.

  ‘Still, Jack, you mayn’t be a warrior but you’re my ’ero fer gettin’ the doc to me tas. I reckon I d’owe ’ee somethin’ fer that.’

  With swift movements she pressed her curvaceous young body to his and dragging his head down she kissed his mouth fiercely with wet open lips. Before Jack could recover his startled thoughts and feelings she wrenched herself away and disappeared into the darkness as unexpectedly as she’d come out of it.

  Jack pressed trembling fingers to his stinging lips. His, insides were heaving with a new intense sensation that was almost painful. The terrible reason for his being up close to the bleak looming mine buildings had completely left his mind.

  Chapter 7

  ‘I don’t think I can face another funeral,’ Kerensa confided to Alice Trenchard on Alice’s next monthly visit to the rambling Tudor manor house. They were chatting in the comfort of the summer house, a few days after the dead miners had been buried in one communal grave.

  ‘Aye, it’s been a grim year so far, and I know what it’s like, having lived and worked on a mine face all my life before I came here to work. Beatrice was talking to Rosie and she believes the same as me, that the mine disaster was caused by a scoffer not leaving behind a didjan for the knockers.’

  ‘Could have been. Even if you don’t believe in the little people, it doesn’t do to offend them. But it’s a heavy price for the tinners to pay for not leaving behind a piece of pasty or hevva cake.’

  ‘Well, I hope there won’t be the need for another funeral for a very long time,’ Alice said. ‘As it is, Ben Rosevidney will soon find himself digging new graves over the old ones on the south side of the church. Thank the Lord he won’t be digging one for Philip and David now they’ve got over the measles. They were so poorly and I was so afraid Jessica was going to catch it. I was grateful to the Sampsons on Polcudden Farm offering to take her but I missed her so much. If anything happened to her…’ Alice shuddered. She dearly loved her eight-year-old twins, tall, strong, blond and robust like Clem. But Jessica, the daughter she had longed for, had replaced Clem as the one she most desired to return her love.

  Alice had long accepted that Clem would always love and mourn his loss of Kerensa, but now she had Jessica it didn’t matter so much. And nothing could detract from the close friendship she had formed with Kerensa from the days she had lived at the manor as Kerensa’s maid. Alice was content with life as a farmer’s wife and since the deaths of Clem’s mother and grandmother she had presided over the Trenchard household with a firm but fair maternal hand.

  ‘I would love to have had Jessica over here with us, but of course Clem wouldn’t have approved,’ Kerensa said, knowing Clem would not allow any of his children under the Pengarron roof.

  ‘No, I s’pose not and it’s a shame, but it would have meant risking your children getting the measles. There’s no children now on Polcudden Farm.’

  ‘Well, that’s true, of course. So Jessica hasn’t developed any spots then?’ Kerensa asked, watching her own daughter at play with her dolls and Bob a few feet away.

  ‘No. You don’t think she could still get them, do you?’ Alice anxiously dropped her knitting in her lap.

  ‘Probably not, but Beatrice says the illness can lie low for a week or two before the spots appear. But don’t worry, Alice, she has plenty more of her coriander seed remedy all ready prepared in case it’s needed.’

  ‘Has she? Well, that’s a comfort,’ Alice said truthfully. She glanced around before she spoke next. ‘How is the old mare anyway? She’s teaching Rosie all sorts of things when she comes over here to help her with her herbal teas and ointments. Rosie’s learning really fast and it comes in very handy at times, both for us and the beasts. Clem doesn’t like it, as you can imagine.’

  ‘Beatrice is fine, a bit shaky on her legs these days but still as tough as old boots.’ Kerensa frowned. ‘Why doesn’t Clem like Rosie coming over here? I know he doesn’t think it right that our children mix. I suppose I can understand that although I don’t agree with it, but Rosie?’

  ‘Don’t be offended, Kerensa,’ Alice said, looking at her knitting. ‘He fears she may not be safe from Sir Oliver’s… how shall I put this?’

  ‘Charms?’ Kerensa suggested and laughed.

  ‘Yes, something like that,’ Alice replied, eyeing Kerensa curiously. ‘I thought that would upset you a bit.’

  ‘Half the men in the county are afraid their womenfolk will fall under Oliver’s charms, why should Clem be any different? And Oliver does turn the head of many a young girl.’ Kerensa leaned forward and whispered in a wicked tone, ‘Has it crossed your mind that you may not be safe when you come over here, Alice?’

  Alice laughed heartily with her friend. ‘I suppose Clem takes me for granted. Perhaps I should hint that… No, I’d better not, he wouldn’t take it kindly, being Sir Oliver.’

  ‘He doesn’t mind you coming over here to see me, does he?’ Kerensa asked, concerned.

  ‘Not really, he knows it wouldn’t be fair to curb our friendship. He, um, likes to hear about you.’

  ‘Does he?’

  There was an awkward moment of silence. Kerensa thought it best to get back to the measles. ‘I had a good look at my three for spots when I put them to bed last night. I saw no sign of any but as usual Kane and Luke were covered in scratches and bruises from the mischief they get up to.’

  Alice retrieved two dropped stitches of her knitting, glad the conversation had turned back. ‘You mean from the mischief Luke gets Kane into.’

  Kerensa chuckled, ‘Yes, and Luke was most put out by me looking for spots. He said he had no intention of catching the measles, that it was not dignified to have me fussing over him and he is far too old for that sort of thing. Can you imagine it, Alice? Luke saying things like that at six years old! Whatever will he be like at sixteen, or twenty-six?’

  ‘Like his father, without a doubt,’ Alice said firmly, pausing in her knitting to nestle more comfortably into her chair. She let herself relax; she enjoyed this time spent away from the eternal bustle of farm life and made the most of it. She trusted Rosie to look after Jessica for a short while and the twins would be working with Clem and their grandfather.

  ‘I expect you’re right about that, Alice,’ Kerensa sighed. ‘Oliver encourages both the boys to be rather on the wild side and while he sees Olivia as sweet and ladylike, he likes her to be independent too.’ She stood up and took a bunch of red roses out of the vase sitting on a small round table made of local serpentine. ‘These are for you to take home, Alice,’ she said, laying them down carefully.

  Alice thanked her and, as all young mothers do, they chatted on about their families. Alice asked why Olivia was repeatedly smacking one of her dolls and wagging a disciplinary finger at it.

  ‘Oh, that’s supposed to be Luke,’ Kerensa explained. ‘He’s upset her by not letting her join him and Kane in his game of soldiers, British against the French, in the orchards. He has his games all planned with great care. Bob is not allowed to go anywhere near them because he gets too excited and once knocked over a really splendid fort the boys had built. Michael and Conan, the stable boys, are roped in if they’re not too busy and Jake joins in as a general sometimes, with the other gardeners as infantry men. In fact everyone if they’re not female has joined in with Luke’s games at one time or another. Nathan has, Oliver of course, who enjoys them as much as the boys, Matthias Renfree once or twice when he’s been here, and even the Reverend Ivey.’

  ‘Matthias Renfree?’ Alice raised her eyebrows. ‘I wouldn’t have thought he’d approve of war games.’

  ‘He’s very patriotic, Alice. He plays the part of a military surgeon.’

  ‘How about the Re
verend Ivey? I suppose he plays the clergyman from the nearest church.’

  ‘No, actually the Reverend likes to be the old King, who’s said to have loved to take his armies into battle.’

  ‘Fancy that, the Reverend Ivey wanting to be a king. You never know about people, do you? Young Luke wants to be a soldier when he grows up, I take it?’

  ‘Oh yes, he talks of nothing else. He wants to join the same regiment as his father, the 32nd Regiment of Foot.’

  ‘Well,’ said Alice, sipping from a glass of elderberry and mint cordial, ‘sounds like Luke will make a good soldier and God help the French or anyone else who might be the enemy when the time comes. I suppose it’s him who usually wins and Kane who ends up killed or wounded.’

  ‘Usually,’ Kerensa nodded, picking up Alice’s knitting to admire it and see how far the garment had progressed, ‘but not always. I fear that like most men Luke sees war as romantic or heroic, he enjoys being stretched out with strips of rag stained with berry juice and pretending to be dying in agony. Once, he even got Michael and Conan to carry him into my sitting room to, as Luke told them to say, “present the body to the grieving mother”. I was horrified! Oliver just laughed. I think he was even proud of the boy’s adventurous spirit.’

  ‘Makes you shudder just to think of it,’ Alice said thoughtfully. ‘My boys can be just as gruesome about their games and I’m afraid on the odd occasion they let Jessica play with them she’s just as wild. I’ve just had a thought,’ she added, putting her hand on Kerensa’s arm. ‘If old Beatrice was allowed to join in Luke’s games she would make a good neighbourhood witch!’

  ‘I ’eard that!’ came a rasping voice from a distance.

  Alice burst out laughing. ‘Oh dear.’

  Kerensa hid her smiles behind her hand as Olivia rushed off to help Beatrice shuffle and grunt her way into view.

  ‘Missus Mouth-it-all’s ’ere again, I see,’ she screeched. ‘Makin’ fun of an ole woman. I’ll tell ’ee one thing, Alice Trenchard, if I wus a real witch I’d turn you into a big fat toad!’