Morwen supposed Lew Tregian felt obliged to be flowery in his praise of Tom Askhew, but she couldn’t help feeling that part of his account was more like an obituary. She shivered.
Reading about Tom Askhew and his family revived all the old anxieties about Ben and Jane. She knew it was unworthy of her when Tom must be in very great danger now, and Jane deserving of everyone’s sympathy, but it didn’t stop her thoughts…
A sudden ragged snore made her realise that Charles was sleeping soundly, and had probably heard no more than a little of Lew Tregian’s account. It didn’t matter. For a second Morwen wished she dared screw up the newspaper and throw it away, so that Ben wouldn’t read it, but that was being petty.
What did she have to fear from Jane Carrick Askhew after all these years? The parents had wanted Ben and Jane to marry, not the couple themselves. She knew it as well as she knew her own name, but she hoped fervently that the Crimean War would soon be over, and that Tom would come back safely. Morwen now had her own reason for wishing it.
She tip-toed out of the bedroom, whispering to the nurse in the adjoining small dressing-room she occupied, that Charles was asleep. The nurse was efficient and capable, but privately Morwen didn’t think she had much heart.
Perhaps it was best for a nurse to be like that. It wouldn’t do to get emotionally involved with patients. How would Florence Nightingale fare amid the horrors of the Crimea if she wept over every wounded hero?
There was that wretched Crimea again, Morwen thought crossly. It slipped into everyone’s thoughts, whether they wanted it to or not. She looked at the grandfather clock ticking away solemnly in the corner of the passageway.
It was a long while until lunch time, even longer until three o’clock and the piano lesson, but with not really enough time for her to visit her mother and be reassured that it wasn’t incredibly foolish for a young married woman to learn to play an instrument when her days might be better occupied…
Thinking of her mother reminded Morwen of Matt at that moment. She had never traced her brother’s movements on Ben’s atlas from New York to California and the gold diggings after all. It would be something to do.
If Ben were here he could no doubt tell her in a trice which direction it would be, but she could surely find it for herself. Morwen went into Ben’s study and across to the huge family atlas he kept on a side table.
It was open at the page showing the area of the Crimean war. Morwen put a marker in it, and quickly turned the pages until she found the American continent. New York was printed boldly, and she felt an odd sensation, just gazing at the name of the town where Matt had begun his new life. But where in the maze of place names was California?
Morwen was no scholar, and it took a long while before she finally found it; then she was aghast. It was as far from New York across land, as Cornwall was from New York over the ocean. It was so very far away… her eyes were damp as she left the atlas as she had found it.
Her mother had been so buoyant on hearing news of her lost lamb. It would break her heart all over again if she realised that Matt was now twice as far from them all. Morwen resolved there and then not to tell her.
It was a tedious day without Ben, even more so because of Morwen’s growing nervousness as three o’clock approached. Her palms were clammy as the clock struck, and she was sure she would be useless on the pianoforte.
Mr David Glass would wash his hands of her after one lesson, and Ben would be angry at her stupidity. And somewhere in the north of England, as though some soft whisper on the air told her exactly what was happening, Jane Carrick Askhew would be laughing at her…
The rap of the heavy door knocker made Morwen jump, and she was furious to know how feebly she was reacting. She waited in the drawing-room with fast-beating heart as Mrs Tilley went to usher the tutor into the house. She smoothed down the cool fabric of the ice-blue afternoon dress she wore, and tucked a stray tendril of her black hair into its fashionable comb.
Footsteps neared the room and the door opened. Mrs Tilley was composed, her face blankly respectful.
‘Mr David Glass, Ma’am.’
She moved aside and left the room, and a young man of about Ben’s age stepped inside. He was quietly and elegantly dressed, and seemingly as nervous as herself. He was pale and good-looking. For some reason he instantly reminded Morwen of a poet. When he smiled, a nerve at the side of his mouth twitched, and it was Morwen who stretched out a hand to greet him. He held it almost reverently, and cleared his throat in some agitation.
‘I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Mrs Killigrew,’ he said huskily. ‘I was so pleased when your husband engaged me to instruct you. I’ve seen you many times about the town.’
‘Have you?’ She was taken aback as his face coloured, giving him the look of a young and eager fawn.
Her nerves disappeared. He seemed entranced by her physical appearance, yet Morwen knew instinctively that she had nothing to fear from David Glass. His adoration, if adoration it was, was of the ethereal kind. Ben had probably known that too, she guessed intuitively. She gave the young man a brilliant smile that made him swallow hastily.
‘Should we not begin, Mr Glass?’ she said gently. ‘I’m sure you’re an excellent teacher, and I’m a very eager pupil.’
He flushed with pleasure now, and Morwen thought how clever and sensitive her wonderful Ben had been, and how wickedly devious to let her go on thinking she was to be taught by some stuffy elderly gentleman. David Glass was almost childlike, and she was sure they were going to get along famously.
Chapter Five
Ben was well aware that there were few gentlemen with whom a lady could safely be left unchaperoned. They included the family doctor, lawyer, respected relatives, churchman and tutor. He had resisted his natural aversion on first meeting David Glass, and listened to the recommendations of others as to his teaching ability.
That David Glass reminded him all too well of those pale earnest youths at his London college was an undeniable fact. But it was never wise to go by looks alone. Besides which, there was no hint of scandal attached to his name in the town, where such things had an uncanny way of becoming public knowledge.
But by the time he got home to Killigrew House that evening, the pianoforte lesson was the last thing on Ben’s mind. He was in a fury. The meeting in Bodmin hadn’t gone well, and there seemed to be deadlock among all concerned. Even the surveyors and engineers were arguing among themselves now, each one refusing pointblank to give a firm decision until the specialist engineer was consulted. And he was at present ‘travelling abroad’…
Ben made up his mind to go to Truro and consult Richard Carrick, bypassing the Killigrew lawyers, who seemed useless in advising him. Carrick was a one-time partner in Kiliigrew Clay, and always sympathetic towards Ben, despite his wife’s antagonism with the whole family. More importantly, Carrick was eminently respected among the legal profession, and might well find a loophole no-one else had considered.
Morwen knew better than to discuss musical scales and arpeggios with Ben while he was in this mood. He raged over the absence of the chief engineer more than anything else.
‘For all we know, he might be caught up in that bloody war in the Crimea,’ Ben said savagely. He drank deeply, the level in the whisky decanter lowering rapidly as he poured himself yet another glass. He threw himself into a chair, his body tense with exhaustion and anger.
‘Can’t you do anything without him?’ Morwen said anxiously.
He glowered at her. ‘Do you ever listen when I speak? Watch my lips, Morwen! The bastards won’t budge until we get the chief engineer’s say-so, and that’s final.’
Her face went a brilliant red. ‘Don’t treat me like a ninny, Ben—’
‘Then don’t act like one,’ he retorted. ‘How many times do I have to tell you before it sinks into your head? No matter how many times I plead and argue to keep the railway open, it’s still stalemate—’
‘Then it seems pointless to keep trying. Where’
s the sense in it?’
Her simple logic infuriated him even more.
‘Stick to women’s doings, will you? Mind your business, and leave me to mine!’
He shouted at her, sounding so much like his father in the old roaring days that she was shocked into silence for a moment. But not for long. She didn’t have to listen to his insults. He could drown himself in whisky for all she cared. She leapt to her feet, her eyes blazing.
‘I see ’twas a waste of time to wait up for you tonight! I had expected some interest in my afternoon, but there’d be no pleasing ’ee if I told ’ee I could play the entire works of Mozart after one lesson!’
She made to flounce away from him. His arm shot out, his hand catching hers and holding her fast.
‘I’m sorry, love. My mind’s a million miles from such things at present. Play for me tomorrow when I’m in a better humour.’ He couldn’t hide the tension in his voice.
He couldn’t relax enough to make the words sound sufficiently contrite for Morwen. She snatched her hand away.
‘I prefer to play for Mr Glass! He appreciates me!’
She saw the ghost of a smile on Ben’s mouth, and completely misinterpreted it. She thought he was laughing at her, while the idea of David Glass appreciating any young woman, however beautiful, was the one thing that could amuse Ben at that moment. Morwen stormed away from him, her head held high.
She would show him! She would prove she didn’t have to be born in a mansion to understand the rudiments of music! She would prove that other men could look at Ben Killigrew’s wife and find her attractive, even if Ben was too busy to notice. She slammed the heavy door behind her childishly, and didn’t care.
She lay shivering in the cold sheets for an hour, wishing Ben would come to bed and take her in his arms and tell her to forget all this nonsense that was causing the rift to widen between them. By the time he came upstairs, she was ready and willing to forgive him his bad temper. She longed for his tenderness, for him to be the Ben she loved…
‘Next time you go into my study, please leave things the way you found them,’ he snapped, as he got into the other side of the bed and turned his back on her.
Morwen lay wide-eyed and unmoving, staring up into the darkness. The harshness in his voice shocked her again. The soft tears slid down her cheek, and the thought churning about in her head was how two people who had been so much in love, could have grown so far apart with such little effort.
* * *
Ben was ready to leave early next morning. Morwen always rose early, and was eating breakfast when he told her briefly that he intended seeing Richard Carrick. She wondered at once if he had seen the piece in the Truro newspaper about Jane Carrick’s husband, but pride stopped her asking him.
‘When will you be back?’ she said instead. ‘Cook likes to be told if there will be one less for dinner.’
She was still upset from the previous night, and the words sounded prim and sarcastic.
‘I don’t give a damn for Cook’s requirements,’ he said curtly. ‘She can prepare dinner for ten people and throw the lot to the street urchins for all I care. Don’t bother me with such piffling matters—’
He looked at her coldly, very much his father’s son at that moment – voice, words, attitude. Charles Killigrew had once been this arrogant, lord of his domain…
‘And please don’t be so unfeeling, Ben!’ she said furiously. ‘I asked a perfectly civil question, and I’ve a right to a civil answer!’
‘I expect to be home later this evening. If not, then you’ll see me tomorrow. I daresay Richard Carrick will offer me a bed for the night if necessary. Does that satisfy your domestic little mind?’
Her face burned at the insult. His railway might be under threat of closure, but it was no excuse for belittling her in this way. He had overcome crises before, and needed her support. She was bitterly hurt that he didn’t seem to need her now.
‘I daresay I’ll manage to fill my time without you.’
She concentrated on her breakfast and didn’t look at him. He pecked a swift kiss to her cheek, as though he couldn’t wait to be out of the house and away from her.
Morwen resisted the temptation to grasp at his hand and hold it to her lips, and beg him not to leave her like this. But such sweet shared moments seemed far removed from the business of the day.
* * *
Morwen spent most of the morning with Charles, after assuring Cook that it didn’t matter in the least if she had to throw good food away later, much to her own outraged sense of thrift. Bess Tremayne would be horrified if she could hear her daughter’s airy instructions to Mrs Horn, but the days when Morwen Tremayne had to consider where every penny was spent were long gone. Whatever the outcome of the railway affair, she knew that as well as Ben. She thought he was taking the whole matter far too seriously. It would resolve itself, and meanwhile, Killigrew Clay was flourishing. There was an endless demand for china clay, and ships from far and near put into Charlestown port, eager to fill their holds with the white substance known fancifully by some as the porcelain earth.
And if their own clay waggons were forced to go through St Austell town’s narrow hilly streets once, or even twice more, while a new railway course was being constructed, what would it matter? They had done so for many years before, and with only one bad accident… despite the trauma of that occasion, it had served to make other pits using the town route doubly careful, and no responsible waggoner would risk a second slur on the good name of Killigrew Clay…
There were times when lack of what was called ‘a good education’ was preferable to all the arguments and discussions such schooling produced, Morwen concluded scornfully.
Clay folk would see two sides to a question, consider the best course and act on it, not go all the way round the kiddleywinks to try to find a solution, and get nowhere!
After Morwen had eaten a light lunch, the stable-boy saddled her mare. She didn’t want to arrive at Sam and Dora’s cottage in any of the Killigrew vehicles, acting the lady. She wanted to ride, to feel the wind in her hair and capture the essence of springtime in her nostrils. She wanted to embrace the wild freedom of the moors and forget all the troubles that seemed to come with being the wife of a gentleman!
Most young girls thought that was the day all troubles ended… and they generally did, Morwen thought guiltily. But she couldn’t quite feel that innocent euphoria today.
And no matter how she toned it down, there was a world of difference in the Morwen Tremayne who had once raced bareback on the wild moorland ponies, and the elegant Morwen Killigrew in her smart green velvet riding habit who dismounted at the old Tremayne cottage to visit her sister-in-law.
‘’Tis good to see ’ee, Morwen,’ Dora said with forced heartiness. She surreptitiously wiped her hands on her apron, and gave Morwen an uneasy smile. Morwen smiled back, ignoring the faint smells of cabbage cooking and baby’s urine. Dora was a loving wife to Sam, but she was none too clean in her habits.
‘I thought I should visit my nephews and niece more often,’ Morwen tried to be natural, but it was difficult with Dora’s eyes assessing her fine clothes and the gloss of her hair with its silvery combs, and the string of pearls Ben had bought her on her last birthday gleaming around her neck.
She knew at once that she should have worn something even more demure. But why should she? Dora didn’t dress up for her, so why should she dress down for Dora? The usual strained atmosphere existed between them, no matter how much Dora fussed over getting Morwen some refreshment, and the boys came hurtling down the stairs as soon as they heard Morwen’s voice and scrambled on her knees, begging for a story.
‘Don’t ’ee go messing up Auntie Morwen’s fine clobber now,’ Dora said crossly, her embarrassment at Morwen’s appearance making her take it out on the children. ‘She don’t want ’ee climbing all over ’er—’
‘Oh, they don’t worry me, Dora! Of course I’ll tell them a story. Where’s Primmy?’
‘She be asleep,’ Dora said abruptly, and then shrugged. ‘I daresay ’twon’t hurt waking her up just this once. She’s near due for feedin’ anyways. She’s crochety wi’ the colic when she wakes, so I’ll feed ’er first, then ’ee can wind ’er if ’ee’s a mind to it, and if ’twon’t mess up your velvet.’
Morwen refused to take offence at Dora’s obvious resentment. Instead, she held the two little boys on her lap, their large blue eyes fixed on her face as she related a story to them. She had to resist hugging them too closely, and to avoid letting her eyes stray too often to where Dora was by now nursing the baby to her breast, her voice softened and cooing to the child as she sucked. Morwen had to steel herself not to let the overwhelming ache of longing sweep over her, as Dora performed the personal and private task Morwen so dearly envied. When Primmy was satisfied, Dora deftly replaced her breast in her dress, and matter-of-factly handed the baby over to Morwen.
‘Hold ’er over your shoulder,’ she instructed. ‘I’ll fetch a cloth to put over ’ee first. She’ll belch a few times.’ Morwen looked down at the perfect little face, the mouth with a film of milk around it, the eyes half-closed with contentment. Did Dora have any inkling of how blessed she was? Morwen thought passionately. To have three beautiful children like these…
The boys had slid from her lap now, bored with the baby, and as Dora put the cloth on her shoulder, Morwen held Primmy against her body and patted her back. Primmy was heavy in her arms, her face warm against Morwen’s, belching gently. It gradually dwindled to a faint hiccoughing, and Morwen sat the baby in her lap, facing her.
Her eyes opened wider now, as though she knew that these were different arms holding her. Morwen spoke softly to her, and her heart twisted as a sudden beatific smile spread over Primmy’s heart-shaped face.
‘’Tis only more wind,’ Dora said prosaically. ‘She’s the windiest babby in creation. If tain’t one end, ’tis t’other!’
‘She’s beautiful, Dora,’ Morwen said softly. ‘You’re so lucky!’
Clay Country Page 6