by Sara Seale
Men are fools that wish to die!
ls’t not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?
Is’t not fine to swim in wine,
And turn upon the toe... .
“What a fetching piece to have strayed onto Tremawvan territory,” Adwen Pentreath whispered in her ear, and as the procession came to a sudden halt she was aware of Craig and Brownie and the servants grouped on the terrace, watching.
Craig walked across the lawn to give the traditional May Day greeting to the Hobby Horse, then his eyes strayed to Tina. He had been watching her with pleasure as she turned and twisted in the dance, her bare limbs flashing, her hair flung back in charming disorder, then he recognized her partner and his face hardened instantly into displeasure.
“Go back to the house, Tina, and put your shoes on. The lawn’s too wet for barefoot dancing,” he said.
The light died out of her face and she was conscious suddenly of the curious glances of the mummers.
“Yes, Cousin Craig,” she said, lowering her lashes, and as she turned to obey him she heard Adwen Pentreath observe with impudent amusement:
“Cousin Craig! How delightfully old fashioned! Won’t you invite me to stay for breakfast so that I can meet my other cousin, Belle?”
“No,” said Craig. “And I would prefer you to keep away from Tremawvan in the future, Adwen. The parade’s moving off. You better go with it.”
“Shouldn’t I have joined in?” Tina asked at breakfast, oppressed by Craig’s and Brownie’s silence and wishing that Belle had not taken to having a tray sent upstairs.
“On the contrary, you danced very charmingly, Tina,” he replied courteously.
“Oh. Why don’t you like your cousin?”
“Get on with your breakfast and don’t ask silly questions,” said Brownie tartly. “You’d better do your packing in good time, too. You’ll not want to be hanging about the house on your last day.”
They had relegated her to her proper place, she thought, feeling snubbed and unwanted, and when, that evening, she said her good nights, it was no surprise when Craig added:
“I’m sorry I can’t take you to Truro tomorrow, Tina. I have to be early at the cannery. Zachary will drive you, so I’ll say good-bye now.”
“Goodbye, Cousin Craig,” she said, offering to shake hands because she did not know how to take leave of him. “Thank you very much for having me for the holidays.” He shook hands with her formally and his face was suddenly like the younger Pentreath’s, challenging, dark, the face of a pirate.
“When you come back in July you will please remember to call me Craig,” he said and his smile was sudden and disconcerting.
“Yes, Cousin Craig,” she replied, blinking with polite surprise, then she lighted her candle and went up to bed, her shadow long and a little forlorn on the silent staircase.
CHAPTER FIVE
I
IT was on a hot day in August that Tina’s shifting values crystallized into a certain whole and she knew that she could safely give her affections to Tremawvan.
Looking back on the few brief weeks since she had left school she knew the year had changed her. She had felt emotion as she had stood with the other girls in her long white frock, performing the last disciplined act of school life, because, for her, more than for the others, a period had come to an end. She had none of the certainty of those others, watched by their moved parents exchanging one form of security for another. Belle was there, it was true, but she looked smart and unutterably bored, and already Tina was experiencing an adult understanding of the workings of her stepmother’s mind.
Farewells, emotional and even now nostalgic, were no longer important. She would not see any of them again, and for the school’s record the name of Clementina Linden was undistinguished, soon to be lost in obscurity. How strange, she thought, singing in the dappled sunshine the familiar words of the school song, that so much effort to conform should mean so little in the end, and for a moment Belle’s own distaste for emotion touched her and she was glad when the long day finished and the school gates closed behind her forever.
She and Belle spent a week in London, shopping with bewildering haste, attending theatres and restaurants with a disregard for expense that shocked Tina.
“But can you afford all this, Belle?” she asked once and her stepmother answered unthinkingly:
“Rich Cousin Craig pays the bills so why should you worry?”
“Oh!” said Tina, her pleasure diminishing. “But, Belle, ought we—I mean, shouldn’t we try and save his pocket a little?”
Belle laughed. In the heady intoxication of reckless extravagance she was becoming careless, she thought ruefully.
“My dear, Craig knows perfectly well that I can’t afford to fit you out and pay other expenses as well. He said you were to enjoy yourself so I’m only taking him at his word. You’d better make the most of a little gaiety. You won’t find life at Tremawvan very exhilarating, you know.”
On further consideration Tina supposed it was not very much for Belle to expect. Craig could well afford to give his cousin a week’s holiday and it was true that Tina’s new clothes must be costing her a good deal.
Back at Tremawvan, Belle lost interest in Tina and reverted to the indolent indifference which she used as a shield against Brownie’s bickering and the boredom of her existence. The companionship of a newly-grown-up stepdaughter was the last thing she wanted and Tina realized that as far as Belle was concerned she was an irritant rather than an asset. Only to Craig could she turn for the consideration which still surprised her, and he at least accorded her the compliment of equal status when Belle and Brownie forgot she was no longer a child.
“Will you wear the white frock for me?” he had asked her on the first evening of her return. “I would like to have seen you on your Speech Day!”
She wore the frock for dinner and Craig fetched wine from the cellar and made a little celebration of the occasion. Belle rather mockingly drank the toast he proposed, her eyes hard as she observed the delicate color in the girl’s shy face.
“Such a fuss!” she said lightly. “You musn’t give Tina the idea that she’s now the daughter of the house. She will soon have to be thinking of a job of work.”
Craig made no comment but his own eyes were suddenly shrewd and a little contemptuous, and Belle said quickly: “I must own you made the frock very nicely, Brownie. White is trying to wear, I always think.”
“Not to the young,” Brownie replied ungraciously. “Tina looks very well in it—very well indeed.”
“You made it beautifully, Brownie,” said Tina warmly. “No other girl had anything as nice. They were all envious.”
“Well, I hope your shopping week was as successful,” remarked Craig, his eyes appraising her thoughtfully.
“I have some lovely things, but I’m afraid poor Belle must have spent a lot of money,” she answered with a grateful smile for her stepmother.
“No doubt she did,” said Craig dryly, wondering how soon Belle would present him with the bills.
“I haven’t thanked you yet for paying for our hotel and all the theatres and things, Cousin Craig,” Tina said and his chin lifted autocratically.
“I told you to drop the courtesy title when you came home for good,” he said. “You aren’t a little girl any longer.”
She lowered her lashes in silence, feeling rebuked, and Belle asked with her crooked smile:
“Does it make you feel elderly, darling?”
“Craig’s younger than you are, Belle, and the child calls you by your Christian name,” said Brownie.
Soon after dinner was over Belle announced rather crossly that she was going to bed, and Tina went out on to the terrace alone. Craig had been kind, trying to give her a special welcome, but it had not been a comfortable evening. Belle had lost the easy tolerance of the past week and Tina could see that she did not like her cousin’s small attentions.
It was growing dar
k and every so often a bat swooped across the lawn. The stillness after the noise of city traffic was very marked and the old loneliness came back and the familiar sense of not belonging, so that she jumped when Craig spoke her name behind her. He had a habit, she thought nervously, of watching her unobserved, and she turned to meet him, aware for the first time that his influence in the past year of her life had been important.
“Hullo,” she said a little lamely. He came and sat on the stone balustrade which divided the terrace from the garden, and the scent of his pipe was pleasant and familiar on the night air.
“It’s nice to be back,” she said.
“It’s always nice to be home,” he replied. “But you were looking a little lost.”
“I think I feel a little lost,” she said. “School over and a new life beginning. It’s all rather insecure, somehow.”
He looked at her leaning against one of the pillars, the stiff folds of her white organdie skirt ethereal in the dim light.
“Yes, I can understand that,” he said quietly. “But you’ve no need to feel insecure, Tina.”
“Haven’t I?” She sounded surprised. “But you have roots, Cousin Craig.” She laughed and apologized. “I’m afraid I shall forget quite often. It’s become a habit to call you cousin.”
“Can’t you yet think of Tremawvan as home?”
She looked down and away from him and with the slight movement the soft hair fell forward on to her bare shoulders.
“Home is where you belong,” she said gently.
“And you don’t feel you belong here?”
“It isn’t what I feel that counts. It’s what I am.”
He smiled faintly.
“And what are you?”
“I don’t know,” she replied on a note of distress. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”
“No, what is it?”
“Well—you were very kind showing me a—little attention tonight, but will you please not do it very often? I mean of course I don’t suppose you’ll want to, anyhow.” He smoked his pipe in silence, his arms folded, and his steady regard became so long that she was forced again into speech.
“You see, Belle doesn’t like it.”
His head went up and for a moment the old arrogance was back.
“Belle doesn’t like it!” he exclaimed. “Do you think I give a damn for the whims and objections of my not very gracious cousin?”
“You don’t understand,” she said quickly. “Belle doesn’t mean to be ungracious. She’s—well, she’s not the right sort of person to have been landed with a stepdaughter and not much money. I—I don’t want to upset her.”
His voice was gentle again when he replied:
“I think you place too much importance on what is due to your stepmother.”
“No, I think I’m just beginning to understand how difficult things have been for her. Craig—when I find work and go, can Belle stay here?”
“Are you going to leave, then?” He sounded polite, almost disinterested.
“Well, I shouldn’t think it would be easy to find work here, and anyhow you can’t keep me for ever.”
“I remember you telling me once, Tina, that at your age you had to do what was arranged for you,” he said.
“But that was school age. It’s different now.”
“No different at all. Belle’s responsible for you until you are twenty-one and you’re not yet quite eighteen. You’ll still have to do what’s arranged for you.”
“Y-yes, she said doubtfully. “But Belle wants me to find a job.”
“Belle will want whichever way her own comfort is best studied. If you want your stepmother to stay here you’d better make up your mind to stop yourself.”
His voice had the familiar autocratic ring and she tried to read his face in the gathering darkness.
“But don’t you want ... I mean, I’m not your responsibility ... Belle is a Pentreath, but ... I don’t think I understand you very well, Cousin Craig,” she finished, at a loss.
His pipe had gone out and he put it in his pocket and got to his feet.
“I, on the other hand, understand you quite a lot,” he observed, “but don’t expect much help from Belle, if you’re in difficulties. Come to me instead. Good night.”
II
Towards the middle of August Tina had her eighteenth birthday and Craig unexpectedly announced he would take a day off from the cannery. What would one like to do?
“Could I go over the cannery?” she asked. “Just for a short visit, I mean.”
He looked surprised.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested. Tin cans aren’t at all romantic, you know.”
“I didn’t suppose they were,” she said, a sudden idea growing wildly at the back of her mind. “But there must be plenty of work in your cannery—work even I could do. If you could—if you could find me some simple job like banging lids on tins or something, I could do it to repay you for my keep.”
His mouth twitched at the corners.
“Have you ever seen a cannery in action?” he asked a little dryly.
“No,” she said, “I expect it’s very noisy.”
“Very. All right, Tina, you shall go over the works, and the mine too, if you like, only it strikes me as an odd way of spending your birthday.”
So on this hot August day she set out with him to Merrynporth, a luncheon basket in the back of the car, a new white handbag, his birthday present to her, laid carefully on her knees. Belle had declined to join them, and Tina thought it would seem odd picnicking alone with Craig on the first outing she had ever had with him.
He took her over the cannery, introducing his foreman and many of the workers, explaining meticulously the methods used in the factory.
Bewildered by the noise, Tina was glad to get in the car again. It seemed to her terrible that such dirt and clamour and sweated labor should have been Craig’s background since he was a boy. An apprentice, like any other raw lad, he had spent the early years of his manhood following the lodes underground, working later in the cannery itself, until, on Keverne’s death, he had taken over the management, learning enough to take full charge when his father died.
“It seems so wrong that you should have missed so much when it wasn’t necessary,” Tina said dryly. “Belle always said your father was a very hard man.”
“Well, I don’t know that I think that was particular evidence of hardness,” he replied judiciously. “Plenty of good business men believe in starting their sons at the bottom.”
“But your brother didn’t.”
“No, but he was the eldest, and, I think, my father’s favorite. Dad never forgave himself for the accident which killed him. He took no more risks after that with his surviving son.”
“Then there were risks?”
“There are always risks in a mine.”
They had stopped for lunch on Tudy Down beside the little stream where Tina had bathed last summer, and the remembrance suddenly brought the color to her face.
“Did you really see me naked that day?” she asked suddenly and, at his startled expression, added with faint embarrassment, “Last summer—when you told me to buy a bathing suit or make sure I wasn’t seen. I’ve always wanted to know.”
“Have you, Tina?” His eyes rested on her gravely. “Would you mind if I had?”
She had finished her lunch and lay on her stomach by the stream, plunging her bare arms into the cool water.
“I don’t know,” she answered slowly. “No, I don’t think I would...”
She caught the expression in his vivid gaze and looked away quickly. He had a habit of ignoring a question he did not choose to answer.
“Do you still want a job in the cannery?” he asked.
She looked up swiftly and her flush died.
“Yes, please,” she said humbly. “If you think there’s something I could be really useful at. I’m afraid I haven’t many talents.”
“But one rather priceless one.”
“Not in the cannery. No, Tina, you’ll not work there or anywhere else if I can prevent it.”
His voice was autocratic and his eyes suddenly very blue in his dark face. She sat back slowly on her heels stretching her wet hands out in the sunshine, and he tossed her his own clean handkerchief.
“Thank you,” she said. “You don’t think I’m capable of earning a living, do you?”
“Anyone’s capable of earning a living,” he replied impatiently, “but I don’t want you working when there’s no need.”
She dried her arms and hands carefully, not looking at him.
“There is need,” she said. “I can’t be a burden to Belle till I’m twenty-one.”
“You won’t be.”
“Or, more still, to you.”
He watched the sunlight playing on her down-bent face. “I wonder what’s given you this strange sense of obligation,” he said, and she looked up quickly.
“It isn’t so strange,” she answered. “If it hadn’t been for me, Belle wouldn’t have been hampered after father died. She’s still quite young and very good-looking. She might even have married again.”
“Is that what she tells you? She isn’t destitute you know, Tina. She could have made a home of sorts for you if she had chosen.”
“You don’t care for her, much, do you?”
His lips twisted a little bitterly.
“I’m a Pentreath. I know the breed,” he said.
“You disparage each other?”
“Probably, but for different reasons. Now, let’s have no more of this nonsense, Tina. I want you to make Tremawvan your home for as long as you like, and with no feeling of obligation at all, and for that I’m prepared to accept responsibility for Belle, which is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but—well, I don’t see what you get out of it.”