A little further on Matthias could see Clem, with one of the twins alongside him, driving a team of docile oxen as they ploughed up the next field. Morley and the other twin were following in their wake removing rocks of granite that the plough had churned up and carrying them to the edge of the field to be used later for walls. Matthias passed them unseen – the last thing he wanted was the Trenchard menfolk making fun of him.
As he closed in on the farm itself he slowed his horse down from its canter to a plodding walk that matched his wilting spirits. All his bravado had disappeared by the time he reached the yard, and he made up his mind to give the flowers casually to Alice.
He prayed fervently that Rosie would be nowhere about today. But the good Lord must have decided he was capable of going forth without divine help, for there was the object of his romantic desire drawing water from the well in the middle of the yard. Matthias dismounted, braved the walk through a gaggle of hissing geese and endeavoured to look serious. His face was fiery red.
‘Good morning to you, Rosie.’ He peered nonchalantly up at the sky.
‘And to you, Preacher,’ she replied evenly, only looking at him briefly out of a moody face.
There it was, ‘Preacher’ again. Did the girl see him only as a disciple of God, perhaps like a monk, unmasculine and unapproachable. He must make the point at the Bible classes that many of the apostles had been married, even St Peter.
‘Busy are you, then?’ He hoped his voice sounded natural.
‘Aye, I am. Alice and I are doing the big wash.’
‘Um… seen any sign of Ricketty Jim today?’
‘Aye, he prepared some dung pots for Clem then took himself off. Wanted to see him, did you?’
‘No, not particularly… I… I was just wondering how he fared during the storm the other night.’
‘He was all right. If the weather’s rough he comes and stays in the barn. We invited him inside but he says he couldn’t bear to spend a minute under a proper roof.’ Good, Matthias thought, smiling tightly, he’ll probably never think of getting married then.
Rosie had stopped turning the stiff iron handle and was staring at him. Matthias gulped.
‘Is… is there something wrong?’
She reached for the pail to take it off the giant hook. ‘Pretty flowers,’ she remarked slowly.
To his horror Matthias saw he was actually holding them. He had intended to take off the ribbon and hide it in his pocket and leave the flowers hitched on his saddle.
‘They’re yours!’ he blurted out, his cheeks on fire. ‘I mean, they’re for you… if you’d like them.’
Rosie straightened up sharply and stared at him with disbelief written plainly all over her face. ‘For me?’
‘I only thought…’ Matthias was stumped, stupefied. What happened next was up to Rosie. He had made it plain by his gift that he had intentions towards her. Now, how would she react? He held his breath. A proverb raced to mind – fools rush in where angels fear to tread.
Rush? He pondered on the word as Rosie lifted the heavy pail to the ground. Before this moment he had never given her the slightest idea he saw her as anything other than a little girl. He should have tried to find out how Rosie felt about him first, before making this declaration to her. Matthias frowned, all the family had thought he was interested in Rosie because of his more frequent visits. Couldn’t one of them have hinted that he might be interested in her? Then this wouldn’t be so difficult and embarrassing now.
Completely taken aback, Rosie said, ‘I’ll find a crock to put them in, Preacher.’
He had been staring anxiously at her pale face trying to read her reaction. ‘Eh?’
‘Thank you,’ she nodded at his hand, ‘for the flowers.’
‘Oh! Yes, of course.’
Matthias stepped forward with the flowers in his extended hand. Rosie accepted them and a smile brightened up her face. There, it was done.
Then disaster. Rosie shrieked as he knocked over the pail and bitterly cold water splashed over her feet and lower legs, leaving the hem of her rough woollen skirt dripping on to her shoes. He apologised profusely. ‘I’m sorry, I’ll fetch some more water and bring it into the house. I should have lifted the pail down off the hook for you in the first place, I’m so sorry.’ Then he added hastily, ‘You go inside and dry off.’
Rosie changed hurriedly out of her wet skirt and stockings and sat shivering on her little bed. She pictured her gift of flowers as she’d left them lying on the kitchen table. She’d been given what she considered the most romantic gesture in the world, and the bouquet of flowers had obviously been picked and made up with much care. Then she thought of Matthias. She was still shocked. Matthias Renfree, giving her flowers, declaring with them that he had an interest in her. It was all so much to take in.
How long had Matthias been interested in her? She must be the reason he had been calling so often at the farm these days. But he hadn’t shown any particular interest in her. But then Rosie recalled the times he had sat next to her at the table, how Alice always called to her to come and greet Matthias when he dropped in. Rosie had thought it had been out of politeness because he was a man with some standing in the parish. She looked out of her tiny bedroom window down into the yard. There was no one by the well now.
If Clem or Morley had been about, if anyone had witnessed the fiasco, Matthias would have died of shame. Feeling exceedingly foolish he drew another pail of water and carried it into the kitchen with more care than was necessary. Rosie was not there, her shoes were in the hearth and presumably she had gone to change into a dry skirt and hose. Thankfully Kenver could be heard in the next room busy about his crafts. Only Alice and Jessica were in the kitchen. Jessica was putting her rag doll to sleep beside the curled-up purring fat body of Scrap, the cat, in a wooden toy cradle made by her Uncle Kenver. Alice was arranging the flowers in a tall clay pot crafted by the same hand. She greeted Matthias with a cheery smile.
‘Hello, Preacher,’ she said pleasantly. ‘This was very kind of you.’
‘Is Rosie cross with me, Alice?’ he asked worriedly.
‘Cross? For giving her these lovely flowers? Why on earth should she be cross? If I was her I’d be over the moon with delight.’
‘Well, she might not want me making such gestures, she hasn’t been very friendly lately, but what I really mean is, is she upset that I tipped water all over her feet?’
‘Well, it did rather spoil the moment,’ Alice smiled, ‘but it was an accident. Rosie’ll understand and it’s just the thing she needs to bring her out of her sulky moods, a bit of romance.’
‘I hope so. Oh, Alice, I hope so.’ He felt a little shaky and sat down without waiting to be invited.
‘That’s right, make yourself comfortable.’ Alice sniffed at the vanilla fragrance of a heliotrope blossom and looked at it thoughtfully. ‘You really took Rosie by surprise.’
‘Oh dear, I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to…’
‘Don’t you worry now, you’ve made your feelings plain and that’s the hardest part over with. The family will be fair pleased, particularly Clem. He’s been trying to shove the two of you together for over a year but it was a devil of a job to get either of you to notice one another. Now, at least you’ve noticed her.’
Matthias lifted Jessica up on his knee to stop her staring at him. She didn’t understand the conversation her mother and Uncle Matthias were having but he looked a bit excited today and she wanted to know why. He kept ducking his head from her so she began earnestly to rearrange his tidily combed dark brown hair and this he happily succumbed to.
‘Do you think she likes me, Alice?’ he asked, peering anxiously under Jessica’s armpit. ‘Do you think she’ll mind me calling on her?’
‘I don’t see why not. It’s high time the maid got married.’
Alice gave the embarrassed young man an old-fashioned look.
‘And it’s high time I got married, Alice?’
Alice slipped the las
t flower into place and carried the heavy pot over to a huge oak dresser, yet another piece of her brother-in-law’s excellent craftsmanship, made from timber scraps Oliver had had sent over to him. She poured a mug of steaming tea for Matthias and herself from the never-empty pot on the brick oven, then sat herself at the head of the table. Glancing at the door that shut off the staircase she listened for Rosie’s returning. There was no sound from upstairs. She turned to Matthias.
‘I love Rosie like she’s my own sister. Clem absolutely adores her, you know that.’
He nodded and Jessica stubbornly yanked back his head.
‘Jessica, don’t be so rough, my handsome,’ Alice checked her daughter, then went on to Matthias, ‘No one could make a better husband for Rosie than you, Matthias.’
With ‘Preacher’ now dropped, he recognised that Alice was speaking as surrogate mother of his intended bride. He opened his mouth to respond but Alice held up her hand to silence him.
‘Hear me out,’ she ordered kindly. ‘You’ll not find a better wife than Rosie, brought up as she is on a well-run farm. She’s a good Christian girl and will support you in this ministry you’ve taken upon yourself, but,’ and Alice emphasised the ‘but’, ‘are you sure, Matthias, that you have room in your life for a wife? Most of the time these last years you’ve been almost totally absorbed with God’s work, as you call it. A wife could be more of a hindrance than a help to you if you’re not prepared to put time and effort into a marriage. Have you thought of that? I wouldn’t like to see Rosie hurt.’
Matthias did not have the opportunity to reply. Rosie lifted the latch of the stairway door and joined them. Her face gave nothing away as she made for the teapot. Pouring herself a mug of the almost black liquid she sat down on a stool in front of the hearth.
Alice smiled maternally at her. ‘Nice and dry now, m’dear?’
Rosie nodded.
Then Alice cast a glance at Matthias. Jessica had climbed down off his lap and returned to her doll and he swept his hair back in an attempt to tidy it again. It made him look younger and rather vulnerable. He was gazing at Rosie with the side of his face cupped in a hand. Alice looked satisfied. He was smitten all right. She could think of no reason why Rosie should reject Matthias. After all Clem’s proddings and machinations, it looked like all that was needed now was to allow nature to take its course.
Chapter 23
Bartholomew sat across the room from Kerensa. He looked all round her sitting room and Kerensa fancied he was thinking that his mother should have lived in similar surroundings. The tall windows were opened wide and the heady scents of spring flowers refreshingly invaded the room on the warm tingling-fresh air. His eyes flicked from pictures to portraits, ornaments to vases of flowers, mantelpiece to curtains, carpets to ceiling, furniture to the sewing she’d put aside.
‘I’d be happy to show you over the house when we’ve discussed the reason for your visit, Bartholomew,’ she said, bringing him out of his reverie.
‘I’d like to see over it very much,’ he replied. ‘It’s something I’ve always wanted to do, but I don’t want you getting tired climbing lots of stairs and walking along long corridors.’
‘Because I’m going to have a baby?’ Kerensa smiled.
‘Aye,’ he lowered his head shyly, his blunt, selfish attitude showing its decline since the time she’d slapped his face on Perranbarvah’s beach, ‘but I didn’t like to mention it.’
‘I can manage, don’t you worry, but if I tire I’ll ask Polly to show you what you might miss.’
‘I’m going to live in a house like this one day,’ Bartholomew declared, looking up at the high ornate plaster ceiling and spreading his big hands to encapsulate the whole building.
‘I’m sure you will, Bartholomew,’ Kerensa told him sincerely.
‘’Tis not just a dream,’ he emphasised. ‘One day it will be a reality and I shall invite you and Sir Oliver to dine with me – if you will do me the honour.’
‘I will look forward to it.’
The dark Pengarron eyes were bright and alive. Kerensa thought he should be captured in just this way on canvas and the portrait deservedly hung in its place beside the one painted of Oliver three years ago to mark his fortieth birthday.
‘If someone wants something badly enough they usually find a way to achieve it. Of course, how you go about it is a different matter altogether.’
Bartholomew smiled mysteriously. ‘You need have no worry on that score. You see, fate has been kind to the Drannocks at last.’ He paused to gain maximum pleasure before he relieved Kerensa of her burning curiosity. ‘I’ve come into some money – rather, I’ve come into a lot of money, an inheritance, in fact!’
Kerensa resisted the impulse to fly across the room and take Bartholomew by both hands and dance him round the room but she could not hide the excitement in her voice.
‘Oh Bartholomew! I’m so pleased for you, that’s really wonderful news. I could cry with happiness for you.’
‘Well, I have cried,’ he said proudly, ‘and I’m not ashamed to admit it.’
‘Having money isn’t everything in the world, of course, but life can be wretched without it and it does take away a lot of worries. And how, when, did this happen? If I’m allowed to ask.’
‘Of course you may ask. I want you to know the whole story. ’Tis only right and proper, after your kindness and generosity to us, that outside the family you should be the first to know.’
Laughing with utter delight, Kerensa said, ‘And I was so afraid you’d come today with bad news and now I feel I’m bursting with energy. Why don’t you tell me all about your good fortune while we look over the house.’ She held out her hands and he jumped up to help her to her feet.
As they climbed the principal staircase, Bartholomew took in each Pengarron face that stared back at him from the portraits high up on the ascending walls. Their clothes changed with each generation and century, but it was their eyes that claimed his attention. Even in the females they spoke of their highborn place, their assurance and dignity of belonging to an old aristocratic Cornish family. Bartholomew felt that he knew them.
In the long gallery that overlooked the stairs and great hall they stood in front of the portrait of Oliver. First impression showed a contented man, but closer observation revealed a light in his eyes that betrayed a restless spirit. Beside it was a radiant portrait of Kerensa.
‘There is a more recent one of us all together in the library,’ Kerensa said. ‘It was painted out in the gardens, the only place Luke promised to keep still enough for the sittings.’
Bartholomew studied the ones in front of him. ‘You look beautiful and serene but Sir Oliver looks restless, happy enough I suppose, but as though he wanted to be on his way.’
Kerensa was not surprised at the accuracy with which Bartholomew had summed up Oliver’s mood at the time. Her heart ached at how things had changed. Oliver had always been over-energetic and inclined to impatience but the contentment on his face had been replaced with hurt and resentment. He had been away for three months now and she couldn’t bear to think of how she missed and needed him.
Moving quickly on and passing by the portrait of Sir Daniel, Bartholomew’s grandfather, she said, ‘Tell me how you’ve come by this inheritance of yours, Bartholomew.’
‘I’ve received a letter from a lawyer in Marazion, who in turn had received one from a lawyer in Portsmouth,’ he began, offering her his arm in a natural movement. ‘I don’t know all the details yet but it seems a sailor uncle of my father’s, Obadiah Drannock, many years ago married a wealthy merchant’s daughter in Portsmouth. Over the years he made a sizeable fortune as a merchant himself in cottons, silks and other fine goods. There was no issue from the marriage and after his wife died he willed his wealth and business interests to my father and his heirs. About a month ago he died an old man, and with my father dead too all of his fortune comes to me.’
Kerensa let out a long soft sigh. ‘I can hardly take it in.
Wishing no ill will to your late great-uncle, it’s a pity the money wasn’t available many years ago when you were growing up. And it’s a pity your father didn’t live to enjoy it.’
‘Aye, Father’s been gone nearly a year now,’ Bartholomew said thoughtfully, angling his head for a closer view of a dour sixteenth-century Pengarron who shared a blank expression he’d seen often on his father’s face. ‘Doubt if all the money in the world would have cheered him up though. ’Tis Mother who would have had the benefit. Sir Samuel Pengarron,’ he read the name plate under the imposing picture. ‘Strange…’
Pulling at his arm Kerensa moved him on and said quickly, ‘Will you take advice on how to use the money? You don’t want to waste it or have it stolen or have someone dupe you out of it. I mean, you’re not used to a large amount of money and you don’t know how to run a business. Will you go to Portsmouth? Will you sell your share of the Young Maid? What does Jenifer say about this? Are the children excited? Goodness, I feel so elated. Would you like some tea?’
Her joy was infectious and he laughed heartily. ‘I’ve never heard you go on like this before. Reminded me of Mrs Tregonning. No, I don’t want any tea, thank you, but I think you are in need of some. We’ve seen most of the rooms on this floor, I think we ought to go back down.’
Back in Kerensa’s sitting room, without being asked to Bartholomew rang the tinkling silver bell on the small round table at Kerensa’s side and resumed his seat.
‘I will take advice,’ he said seriously. ‘I thought to ask the Reverend Ivey.’
‘That would be the best idea,’ Kerensa said approvingly.
Polly appeared and Kerensa ordered the tea, insisting Bartholomew join her, and as an afterthought asked for a plate of cakes and biscuits. Polly was relieved, she had had a hard task trying to get her young mistress to eat since the master had so mysteriously gone off.
Bartholomew finished off all the cakes and biscuits after Kerensa had taken her own meagre helpings. He also drank the teapot dry and the one after that. Then assuring Kerensa his hunger and thirst were fully satisfied, he spoke of his immediate plans.
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