For a moment, his conscience pricked him about leaving Mama on her own, but only momentarily. Mama was better equipped to hold her own amongst the gentry than was he. She had lived with people like the Bolithos and Trelawnys, if not with as wealthy a people, until she was two and twenty when she met Father quite by accident while visiting friends in Bristol and wed him two months later. They had been happy together for over thirty years. She deserved to know why he had betrayed her and the family in the end and died so horribly.
“Do you all get weary of working in such a remote location?” he asked the assembled servants. “At least I think it remote after living in the city all my life.”
“It’s not so bad.” The giggly maid fluttered her gold-tipped lashes. “We get plenty of visitors, though none so handsome as you.”
“Chesten.” The cook rapped the girl’s knuckles with a wooden spoon.
David laughed. “I expect your visitors don’t come here to the kitchen either.”
“Too good for the likes of us.” One of the footmen sneered into his tankard of ale. “’Cept when they’re wanting one of our girls.”
While the others hushed the youth, David sat up straighter, every fiber alert. “They bother the maids?”
“Never you mind, young sir.” The cook tramped back to the fire and began to stir a pot of something savory. “He was sweet on one of the maids, but after one of the gentlemen came calling here, she left us showing a lot of coin.”
“And there’s only one thing a girl does to get that much of the ready that quickly.” The footman’s mouth quivered. “And she been going to chapel with me every week.”
Perhaps not just one thing.
David made himself take a large bite of his sandwich and chew slowly before speaking so as not to let anyone think he was too interested. “That seems ungrateful, just leaving without notice.” David took another bite and waited.
“Without notice or where we can find her.” The cook slammed the lid onto the pot. “Ungrateful chit.”
So he couldn’t follow up with the maid. But how did he ask who had sent for her without sounding salacious?
A ringing of a bell from the dining room made the point moot. The servants went scurrying to their duties, scooping up plates of cheese, nuts, and hothouse strawberries or empty trays. David’s own repast was finished, and he had no more excuse to remain. So he thanked the cook and departed, making his way to a bench outside the stable as though he had merely been soaking in sunshine instead of going back inside after his walk. He considered questioning the grooms, but they were too busy taking care of the horses to give David opportunity to engage them in conversation.
He had learned something, though. One of the maids had disappeared just as the physician in Falmouth said was likely to have happened. She could have placed something noxious into his food and ensured the right plate set down before him. But she certainly hadn’t acted on her own. Someone had paid her. She probably didn’t even know why or what was the intended result.
David rose and returned to the house in time to greet everyone as they exited the dining room and entered the parlor. He sought out Mama to ensure she was all right. She was deep in discussion about the benefits of orgeat over cordial with Mrs. Bolitho and merely nodded at him. But Morwenna walked right up to him, her eyes full of concern.
“You never rejoined us.”
“The lure of a fine day and country fare in the kitchen was too much for this simple man.” He held out his arm. “Shall I escort you into the parlor?”
She tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow. “I’d rather a walk outside myself, but am afraid that won’t do. Tristan and Jago will join us, and I cannot go walking with three gentlemen.”
“Will you ride beside me? I need to talk to you.”
“I don’t know. You see—”
What she saw he wasn’t to know then. Pascoe and Rodda commandeered her attention, and David crossed the room to make his apologies to his hostess for abandoning her table.
“I understand you did not fare well after your last visit here.” Mrs. Bolitho’s wrinkled face crumpled further. “I hope you are improved now?”
“Yes, ma’am. A momentary disposition is all.” He bowed, accepted her offer of a cup of tea, though he had already had more than he wanted, and moved to Mama’s side.
“I think,” she said for his ears alone, “these people have empty lives.”
“Not at all. At least the Trelawnys spend a great deal of time and money helping those less fortunate around them. Lady Trelawny is always planning some function to entertain or raise money for the good or making warm clothes for the children. And Sir Petrok is a magistrate and—you’re laughing at me.”
“You champion them well despite how things have gone for you here.”
David allowed his gaze to stray toward Morwenna. She had extricated herself from Rodda and Pascoe to talk to Mr. Bolitho—or rather listen to him with seeming interest in whatever he was saying. She was pretty and kind, and she also enjoyed entertainment, simple entertainment, like romping on the beach with two dogs nearly the size of ponies.
“She thinks I’ll abandon her like everyone else she has loved.”
He wouldn’t abandon her if he could manage it, but he had betrayed her belief in him.
If only he could talk to her before they reached Bastion Point . . .
He didn’t have an opportunity to talk to Morwenna before they departed from the Bolitho home; however, he did grasp the chance to talk to one of the grooms. He dropped his purse containing its single guinea, to give himself an excuse to ride back to the Bolithos’. “I’ll come up with you all shortly.” He wheeled his mount around.
Sir Petrok looked dubious. “Should you be traveling alone after . . . knowing someone doesn’t want your existence to continue?”
“I’m likely safer alone, sir.” David spurred his mount ahead before anyone could think of a way to keep him with them or decide to accompany him.
He reached the stable yard in moments and asked a lounging groom if he’d found the purse. “It’s light enough as it is.”
“Here you go, sir.” A boy with a pitchfork hurried up to hand David the pitiful excuse for a purse. “I put it aside thinking it were sommit you’d be back for, seeing as Sir Petrok left handsome vailes for us.”
“Vailes?” David didn’t know the word.
The outdoor servants, all appearing now, stared at him as though he were daft.
“You know, vailes. Money for our service,” the youth tried to explain.
“Kinda like a tip in a chophouse,” one of the older men explained.
Chophouses, David knew—establishments where a man could get a hearty meal for little money. They weren’t fancy like many inns; they simply provided meat and bread for working men. One laid down a few pence to ensure good service.
“So do you give good service to those who give better vailes?” he asked.
The grooms exchanged glances and didn’t reply.
David laughed. “Don’t dare admit it, eh? Does anyone come calling who doesn’t give good vailes?”
They shrugged.
David decided to take a chance. “Anyone been here who might have given that maid good enough vailes she could leave her post?”
“Lots of folk could have persuaded our Nell away,” the stable boy said.
The others made gestures for him to be quiet.
“What’s it to you?” the eldest groom asked.
“I’m looking for whoever that is. I owe him something.” Empty though it was, David tossed his purse in the air and caught it. A guinea was nothing to turn one’s nose up at, and if one of them talked enough, he would give it up.
But silence prevailed for so long he knew he would have to ride along soon or be benighted.
“I respect your loyalty to the guests of your employers.” He tucked his purse into his pocket and gathered his reins. “I needs be on my way then.”
“It’s not that we won’t
talk,” one of the younger grooms said. “It’s just that we’ve had a lot of callers of late. All of you today and t’other day, and that pretty lady, and one of the gents and any number of folk.”
Not helpful, but he tossed them the guinea anyway. “Divide it among yourselves for what you did tell me—and for my vailes to those in the kitchen for their care.” Without looking back, he rode off in search of his party.
He knew only a little more than he had. The pretty lady would have been Mama. Lots of gentlemen could be anyone in the county or beyond. No one mentioned a couple, folk who had known them. That would have commanded comment if the Trelawnys had been there.
Thought of the Trelawnys now at Bastion Point urged David to ride faster than his usual trot, the only speed at which he was comfortable. He was already sore from the long ride two days ago. Tomorrow he might not be able to walk from the sort of exercise he was unused to and his weakened constitution of late. He needed to reach the Trelawnys and—what? Confront them? Outright accuse them? Just because the Bolitho servants hadn’t seen them didn’t mean they hadn’t been there.
Yet if they were responsible for the attempts on his life and his father’s death, why had they been surprised to learn of Father’s death and been distressed about it?
He didn’t know those answers, but he could answer that they were involved in all of this. As much as he might wish to deny it, he could not. And he needed to tell Morwenna.
But clouds began to roll in from the sea, bringing on darkness early. His mount began to weary, and he had to slow long before he caught up with the party. By the time he spotted his traveling companions, they had nearly reached Bastion Point and the sun hung from the cliffs, ready to plunge into the sea. They had reached the gates with their lion guards by the time David drew within hailing distance, and then warning Morwenna was too late, for as the porter swung the gates open, a man and woman appeared on the drive holding hands and all but running.
“Morwenna.” David edged his mount beside hers. “I wanted—”
But she was reining in and sliding to the ground, her face white. “Mammik? Tasik?” Her voice breathy and strained, she stumbled forward on her overly long habit skirt.
David dismounted as well and grabbed her mare’s reins along with his own. The others had halted, their faces registering shock. Morwenna looked about to faint, and David released the horses to stand behind her.
The couple gathered before her, holding out their hands as though waiting for her to make the first move of welcome.
“It is you.” Morwenna did not hold out her hands or take theirs. “You’re not dead.”
“We’re very much alive.” The man David had glimpsed in Father’s office, looking younger than what must be well past forty years, stepped closer and took one of her hands in both of his. “It’s been a long time coming.”
“We’ve missed you, child.” The lady took Morwenna’s other hand. “Except you’re not a child now, are you?”
“I haven’t been for years.” Morwenna freed her hands and crossed them to grip her upper arms. Her voice was as cold as the Irish Sea.
Tears filled Mrs. Trelawny’s eyes. “We can explain . . .” She blinked and looked past her daughter—to David. Her face brightened.
He realized his error in being with Morwenna at that moment, but the time for making himself scarce had passed.
Mrs. Trelawny looked to her husband. “Branek, look, this must be the other Mr. Chastain.”
“You know them?” Morwenna turned on David, her eyes flashing, her fists clenched. “You know my parents?”
“I haven’t met them officially—”
“But you knew they were alive? All this time, you knew—” She choked and pressed her hand to her lips.
“I think,” Sir Petrok said from behind David, “this is not the place for this reunion. Branek, Arabella, we are happy you are home at last. Let us continue to the house—”
“How could you not tell me?” Morwenna seized David’s lapels. “How could you?”
“It’s a complicated story—” David’s explanations all jumbled in his head until nothing would emerge with any coherence.
“I think,” Branek Trelawny said, “he didn’t want to tell you we’re responsible for the death of his father.”
CHAPTER 20
MORWENNA FELT AS THOUGH SOMEONE HAD PUNCHED her in the belly. “You lied to me.” She yanked so hard on David’s lapels a button flew off. “How could you? How—”
“M’lady.” David’s fingers curled around her wrists and gently removed her hands from his coat. “I did not lie. I didn’t tell you . . . I couldn’t . . .” He closed his eyes and his face twisted.
“I think,” Tristan said, “I shall ride on for home. Care to join me, Jago?”
“I do.” Jago bowed from his saddle. “I shall call in the morning, Lady Penvenan.”
“Do what you like.” Morwenna still glared at David as she dismissed Jago and Tristan. “You let me talk about my parents. You listened to me talking about them vanishing and probably being dead. And you never . . . You never . . .” Her throat closed and tears burned her eyes.
“Leave the poor lad alone, child.” Her father grasped her shoulders and drew her from David. “We shall talk in the house.”
“I’m thinking Pascoe has the better notion.” David managed a half smile.
Morwenna wrenched herself free and headed up the drive. Her father, her grandfather, perhaps Mammik called after her. She ignored them. Footfalls and hoofbeats followed her. She walked faster, wanting, needing to be alone even for the few minutes’ trek along the drive. Her heart raced ahead of her, her thoughts close behind.
She loved David. She had begun to trust him, and he had betrayed her.
“Why, why, why?”
What was wrong with her that everyone left her in spirit, if not body? David washed ashore in her life and created havoc. Her parents returned and created havoc. She was better off alone.
She reached the front steps. The entry doors stood open with footmen ready to take up bags and see to everyone’s needs waiting on either side. Morwenna rushed between them and headed up the two flights of steps to the nursery, to her son, whom she would not abandon. The hour was late and Mihal slept while Miss Pross worked embroidery onto the hem of a petticoat.
She glanced up at Morwenna, set her needlework aside, and rose, motioning Morwenna back into the corridor. Morwenna shook her head and stood beside the crib, gazing at her son. She might have only chipped blocks and dented tin soldiers for him to play with, but he would grow up knowing he was loved. Surely that was more important than all the advantages of wealth.
“I will try to give you both.”
She would manage on her own somehow. No more letting others lie to her, if only by omission. No chaos of heart and mind.
She ghosted her fingers along his thick, dark hair, then left the nursery to speak with Miss Pross. “Thank you for taking such good care of him.”
“It’s been a joy to me.” The glow in Miss Pross’s eyes said she spoke truth.
Truth, yes, she spoke truth and, to Morwenna’s knowledge, always had. And if she could do so, surely others did as well.
She believed David spoke truth to her, but he had kept secrets from her, important information.
Yes, she was better off on her own, away from love, away from lies. Yet if she returned to Penmara, she would rob dear Miss Pross of the joy of caring for a child when life had denied her her own offspring. What if she didn’t clear her name and find investors for the mines? She might lose Mihal to his guardian, Penmara to the trustees. She hadn’t done so well on her own so far, not since she refused to live at Bastion Point and let her grandparents help her. Conan might have lived had she insisted she bring her grandfather to help. Conan had been just as determined to manage on his own . . . and he was dead. Though she didn’t fear for her life, Morwenna found herself struggling with her thoughts as she descended to the first floor. Everyone was gathered in
the parlor with cups of coffee or tea, plates of sandwiches, pasties, and cakes. A fire blazed against the chill of an early spring evening. In the candlelight, everyone appeared weary.
She scanned the room in search of David. He perched on the edge of a settee beside his mother to one side of the room. Mrs. Chastain was drawn but composed. David met Morwenna’s gaze and his eyes, more gray than green, held pain, before he looked away from her.
Of course he did. The Trelawnys had wronged him. How could he bear to remain there with people who admitted they had caused his father’s death?
She approached her parents, who sat in adjacent chairs beside the fire. Mammik wore a woolen gown and shawl as though the temperature were one of deep winter. Or perhaps she was ill? She didn’t look ill. Her face, though lined at the corners of her eyes and creased at her lips as though she spent much time smiling, was still beautiful. Her hair was now threaded with gray, startling against sun-darkened skin, making her look anything but English.
She smiled at Morwenna and rose to embrace her. “You have every reason to be angry with us, but please try not to be. We never forgot you.”
“You have odd ways of showing it.” Grandfather spoke the words Morwenna couldn’t bring herself to say aloud to her parents. “A single letter would have sufficed some.”
“We haven’t been where letters can get delivered,” Tasik said.
“Or written,” Mammik added.
“But you have been in England for some time, have you not?” David rose and crossed the room to stand with his hands in his pockets and one shoulder propped against the mantel. He fixed his gaze on the younger Trelawny couple, and his face was hard.
Mammik sank onto her chair as though all her woolen trappings were too heavy for her to hold them upright. “We landed in Bristol over two months ago.”
“And after we concluded our business there—”
“After you hired my father to—what? Build a boat in secret even from his family?” David interjected.
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