Clay Country

by Clay Country (retail) (epub)

  Mention of Jane’s daughter gave Ben a chance to collect his senses. ‘Where is she – the child and the mama?’ he added.

  Jane gave a soft laugh. ‘I’m afraid Mama’s confined to her bed with a summer cold, and I know it’s wicked of me, but it’s quite refreshing not to have her stalk me around the house. She’s sure I’m going to run off again at any minute. And Cathy’s having a sleep in the nursery. Would you like to see her?’

  ‘Of course. After I’ve spoken to your father, Jane—’

  She stopped her prattling. ‘Oh, I forgot that you were asking for Father. He had to go to Falmouth yesterday, but we expect him home this afternoon. You’ll stay until he arrives, won’t you? Take some lunch with me and Cathy, and then I won’t feel so lonely.’

  He agreed smilingly. He had never had any intention of leaving until he had consulted with Richard Carrick anyway. Being with Jane again would make a pleasant diversion.

  ‘Then you must tell me all that’s been happening since we last met, Ben. I know you married Morwen Tremayne, and I’ve heard something of your present troubles. Father still takes an interest in Killigrew Clay, even after all this time.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Ben said, without giving anything away. ‘I suppose it’s hard for him not to. He was involved in it for long enough. And you seem to know everything of importance in my life already! I’d rather hear about you, and about how Tom is faring in the Crimea.’

  Her face shadowed a little as she led the way to the nursery, and from the longing in her voice Ben didn’t need to be a genius to know that she was as much in love as ever with her plain-speaking Yorkshire husband.

  ‘I wish I knew. I miss him so, Ben. This new idea of newspaper war correspondents may be wonderful, but not for the women who know their husbands are in as much danger as the fighting men! I worry about him all the time, and I can’t confide in Mama, who never had a good word for Tom as you well know.’

  She hugged his arm. ‘Of all the people in the world, Ben, you know how much Tom always meant to me. If it wasn’t for you, I might never have known the happiness I’ve had with him.’

  At her sudden indrawn breath, he kissed her cheek. She smelled of lavender and rose-water.

  ‘We made a good pretence of being in love, didn’t we?’ He said lightly, ‘Perhaps too good a job. It made it all the harder for your mama to bear when she discovered it wasn’t me you meant to marry after all!’

  ‘If she hadn’t been so stuffy and narrow-minded she’d have welcomed the man I loved, not been so snobbish about him just because he’s a newspaperman. Father managed to get over his resentment, but I don’t think Mama ever will.’

  She sighed, and they went into the airy nursery together. In the heavy oak cot a child was stirring. Ben watched as Jane spoke tenderly to her and lifted her out. The child was the image of her mother, with none of Tom Askhew’s coarseness. At two years old, Jane’s daughter already had her mother’s grace and charm. He saw the small arms wrap themselves around Jane’s neck, and felt a sharp and unfamiliar envy. Killigrew House, too, cried out for children to fill its rooms.

  Long before Richard Carrick arrived from Falmouth in the late afternoon, Ben was cocooned in a very different atmosphere from the one he had left in St Austell. The Carrick house echoed to the sounds of Cathy’s childish laughter, and Ben felt more alive than he had in weeks.

  Somehow the fact that he’d been unable to plunge straight into his railway discussions made him feel as though he had been given a reprieve, in which he could play with this delightful child and her equally delightful mother.

  Richard Carrick came home to find the extraordinary sight of Ben Killigrew on his hands and knees, with Richard’s granddaughter clambering over him. It was such a domestic, intimate little scene, that for a few seconds, he felt the same regret as his wife, years ago, when they finally knew that the feelings of Ben and Jane weren’t leading them towards marriage.

  He came towards Ben with outstretched hands, the genuine fondness he’d felt for Charles Killigrew’s son obvious in his eyes.

  ‘How good it is to see you, m’ boy!’ he exclaimed at once. ‘Though unfortunately I can guess what brings you to Truro and my door. It’s sad that it takes a crisis to renew the acquaintance of old friends, Ben.’

  ‘I regret it as much as you,’ Ben said, the afternoon’s interlude over. ‘Can we speak privately, Richard?’

  Jane got to her feet immediately.

  ‘We’ll leave you two alone. Cathy’s allowed ten minutes in Mama’s bedroom, and then it’s time for her bath. Will I see you later, Ben? Can you stay for dinner?’

  He was tempted. Morwen wouldn’t expect him home after their short-tempered exchanges that morning. He could stay the night if it was offered, and he knew that it would be. They were all old friends.

  But it was the very eagerness in Jane’s face that stopped him. It was dangerous to slip so easily into this role that was Tom Askhew’s by right… he was out of sorts with Morwen, and Jane was missing Tom…

  He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. But we must meet again, Jane. Perhaps you and Cathy could spend some time with us. My father would be delighted to see you again.’ She nodded, as though she, too, sensed the danger in admitting to feelings that had temporarily thrown them closer together than they had ever been.

  ‘We must arrange it,’ she said. ‘Give my warmest regards to your father, Ben.’

  ‘And my greetings to your mother,’ he said evenly.

  Not by the wildest stretch of imagination could he send Mary Carrick warm regards, and they both knew it. Jane was still smiling as she gathered the protesting Cathy up in her arms and left the men to their discussion.

  There was a small silence, and then Richard offered his visitor some brandy and suggested they go to his study. Both knew Ben was here on business, and the width of Richard’s desk between them put it on a more comfortable footing than here in the drawing-room where Jane’s fragrance still lingered in the air.

  ‘So. I presume you think I can help you over this business with the railway, Ben.’ Richard Carrick saved him the trouble of broaching the subject. Ben nodded.

  ‘You’ve guessed why I came, then?’

  ‘I’ve read the reports The Informer blazoned over its pages, to say nothing of Tregian dragging up the old fantasies about porcelain earth, and all the implications of its being so fragile,’ Richard said drily. ‘Your family lawyers can’t help?’

  ‘They say their hands are tied,’ Ben said in annoyance. ‘You’ve always been sympathetic to my cause, Richard, which is why I’ve come to you.’

  Carrick looked at him through half-closed eyes. This was the young man he’d have liked for a son more than anything in the world. He was also the man who had bought him out of Killigrew Clay, and as good as snubbed his only daughter. If he took notice of his wife’s wishes, he would tell him to go to hell and back, but the truth of it was, he admired Ben Killigrew now as much as he ever did and if there was any way to help him, Richard Carrick was the man to try.

  ‘Tell me everything you’ve done so far,’ the lawyer’s voice became professional.

  Ben related it all quickly, from appeasing the first outraged cries of the Honourable Mrs Stanforth to his latest efforts to find Chief Engineer Trent.

  ‘We could get in a specialist engineer from another part of the country.’ Richard shrugged, rubbing his fingers across the bridge of his nose. ‘Or we could force the Bodmin doctor’s hand by legal means to get the name of the clinic. Or we could simply go ahead with an independent surveyor’s and engineer’s report, take the whole thing to court and leave it to the judge to decide on it.’

  ‘Let’s go ahead with that,’ Ben said at once, seeing a glimmer of daylight begin to emerge.

  Richard smiled ruefully. ‘I was thinking aloud, m’ boy. Nothing’s that simple, and nor could it be done in a matter of days or even weeks. The courts move slowly—’

  ‘But quicker than waiting three months
for the man to return from the clinic, surely?’ Ben felt his blood pressure begin to rise again.

  ‘The point is, will the judge be willing to listen to the case, when three months is a fairly short time, and in all honesty, won’t affect your business? If the clay blocks were at a standstill and waiting to be shipped, it would be a different matter. But I’m well aware, and so is the town of St Austell, that the spring despatches have just been safely delivered to Charlestown, and there’s no real need for movement on the railway until the autumn. The excursion trips that take place in between are merely goodwill on your part. I hardly think the small returns they bring in affect the fortunes of Killigrew Clay! Besides, the county mining officials would take a very poor view of our importing outsiders from upcountry. If it came to that, and they were to overrule our own folk’s decisions, your name would be dragged through the mud. We Cornish are very insular. You know that as well as me—’

  ‘I hadn’t expected to be listening to a summing-up speech!’ Ben said testily.

  ‘Then you had better get used to it, Ben. This is a serious matter, and no matter how much I want to help you, I have to consider all the facts.’

  ‘So you think I must sit it out for the three months until Engineer Trent gets home?’

  ‘It would seem the sensible thing to do, and stand you in good stead with St Austell townsfolk,’ Richard agreed. ‘Especially if you let it be known through the newspaper that you’ve the well-being of all concerned at heart. Such words never hurt anyone’s cause.’

  Ben sighed heavily. ‘I can’t pretend to like what you’ve said, but I can see the sense in it. Can I call on you again to discuss it?’

  ‘Any time. And if you want me to act for you, I shall be honoured. I have fond feelings towards your family, Ben.’

  * * *

  Dinner was over by the time Ben returned home. He was still in a state of frustration and indecision, and it didn’t help his boorish mood to find the dining table cleared so that he was obliged to ring for food to be sent to him directly.

  He could hear the sound of the pianoforte. Someone was practising scales with all the nervousness of a beginner, and the tuneless noise jarred on him. It would be Morwen, of course. She obviously hadn’t heard him come in. He had expected her to be waiting for him. He had expected his dinner to be ready, the table set, a smile of welcome…

  He crashed his chair, striding away as the maid scuttled about setting his place, and ignoring her quaking look. Killigrew men could be gentle and kind, and they could also be stubborn and aggressive. It didn’t pay to be in the vicinity when the latter mood was on them, as servants knew very well.

  He threw open the door of the drawing-room. Morwen was at the piano, her face puckered as she hit yet another wrong note. She was beginning to wish that she had never mentioned the instrument. She was so intent she didn’t look up for a few seconds. Enough time for Ben’s precarious temper to explode.

  ‘Is it too much to expect my wife to welcome me home these days?’ His voice throbbed with resentment. ‘Am I no longer master in my own house? The food cleared away, and this caterwauling to greet me—’

  Morwen felt colour flood her face. He was hateful to belittle her like this. More hateful than she ever thought he could be. She leapt up, banging down the lid of the piano in a fury. Her day too had been a bad one.

  Seeing her sister-in-law Dora, and envying the happy little brood of children at the cottage… seeing old Zillah and getting nowhere. Being on the moors and finding the ghosts of the past less comfortable than she might have hoped…

  ‘I’m sorry! I didn’t know I was your servant, expected to hover at the window for my master’s return!’ She could be as sarcastic as he. ‘I’m sorry if my playing doesn’t please ’ee! I daresay even your Miss Finelady had to practise her scales before she became so perfect!’

  ‘Will you please stop using that ridiculous name for Jane?’ Ben snapped. ‘It might have been quaintly charming once, but it sounds like the pique of a jealous woman now.’

  Morwen gasped with shock.

  ‘Perhaps that’s what I am! Perhaps the feeling never really left me. Perhaps ’tis as well your Jane is away in Yorkshire, or I might be even more jealous—’

  ‘Jane and her baby are staying with her parents in Truro indefinitely while her husband’s away in the Crimea.’ His voice was clipped and expressionless. ‘If I had any sense I’d take the next boat to the war myself. At least I’d be acting like a man and doing something positive, instead of this bloody impotent feeling at being able to do nothing!’ Morwen completely misunderstood him. Where she had been so flushed before, her face paled at his words. She stood taut and rigid, swamped in sudden misery.

  ‘Why do you talk so? Do you want to get away from me so badly? Have I failed ’ee so much, Ben?’

  He failed to see the hurt in her eyes.

  ‘Why must women always relate things to themselves? God Almighty, but they must be the most self-centred creatures on this earth! Don’t you know that I’ve more things on my mind than petty domestic squabbles—’

  ‘But not so much that you couldn’t spend some time visiting Jane Carrick, apparently!’ Morwen flared at him. ‘Was she the attraction that took you to Truro today and made you stay so long?’

  ‘I won’t listen to more of this. Perhaps when Jane comes to visit Killigrew House and to see my father, you’ll see how a real lady behaves. You could take a few lessons from her, and not only on the piano, Morwen!’

  It was the biggest insult he could have given her. She was still reeling from it when he banged out of the room, and went hollering about the house demanding food and drink.

  Morwen felt the tears blur her vision. What was happening to them? They weren’t just drifting apart. They seemed to be spinning away from each other at frightening speed.

  She tried to understand Ben’s problems with the rail tracks and the works. She knew how desperately he wanted to keep Killigrew Clay’s good standing in the town, and that it must be a retrograde step to resort to the old clay waggons for the autumn despatches. If no-one else thought so, Ben would. Morwen knew all of that.

  What she hadn’t known was that Jane Carrick was back. Jane Carrick Askhew, Miss Finelady, whom she had always seen as her rival, no matter what Ben said. Jane was here, vulnerable without her husband. And Ben had invited her and her child here… ostensibly to see old Charles Killigrew, but in reality…?

  Morwen’s throat ached with the sobs she refused to allow. It was foolish to let the old jealousies taint the love she and Ben shared, but she didn’t have the sophistication of a town girl. A girl like Jane Finelady.

  Despite the jewels Ben had given her, the carriages and fine clothes, and her status in St Austell town, deep down she was still Morwen Tremayne, clayworker’s daughter. The ring on her finger might have changed her name, but it hadn’t changed the heart and soul of her. And not even all old Zillah’s potions could do that.

  She was still as lost and bewildered at that moment as the night she had first set foot in this house, so conscious of her humble gown decorated with bright ribbons, and seen how fine the Carrick ladies were in their silks.

  But it was more than those memories that bruised Morwen now. It was the humiliating knowledge that she hadn’t been born a lady, and nothing was ever going to change that. She despised herself even more for knowing how much it mattered.

  Chapter Seven

  Bess Tremayne still wasn’t happy at the thought of her youngest going away to London to some posh school. She was afraid that too much education for one member of an ordinary family, especially clay folk like themselves, would inevitably alienate Freddie from the rest of them.

  It was all very well for her son-in-law, Ben, whom she respected enormously, to give the scheme his full approval. Ben had probably profited from his own clever college, but if Freddie was merely having his head turned by the St Austell schoolteacher’s glowing reports of him, then Bess couldn’t help her misgivings.
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  ‘You wouldn’t hold the boy back, would you?’ Ben had asked, when they had all discussed the idea together in the schoolteacher’s presence. ‘At least let him take the exam. If he doesn’t pass, there’s an end to it.’

  ‘And if he does?’ Bess said.

  ‘You’ve still got two choices. Let him go or let him stay. We can help with the clothes and books—’

  Freddie saw his mother’s eyes begin to glint, and put his own spoke in before they got on to another battle about money. When folk had none they always worried about it, Freddie thought, but they never wanted to take it from those who had more. He was young enough not to let such things worry him.

  ‘Nobody asks me what I want!’ he complained.

  ‘What do ’ee want, our Freddie?’ Jack jeered. ‘To swank about like a little lord, and come back here telling we clay folk how to run our business?’

  ‘Shut up, Jack,’ Hal snapped, embarrassed that the schoolteacher should hear such talk, and hoping Ben Killigrew didn’t think the words applied to himself.

  ‘I think we should do as Ben says,’ Morwen spoke up. ‘At least let Freddie have his chance to pass the exam, and then decide.’

  Her young brother gave her a grateful glance. He had always adored her, and even if he thought her very fine nowadays in her new clobber, he knew that she still championed him.

  ‘Can we leave it there then, Mr and Mrs Tremayne?’ The schoolteacher rose in some relief from these argumentative clay folk. ‘Clearly you need to discuss it further, and you can let me have your decision in due course.’

  ‘That we will,’ Hal said heartily. He was slightly uncomfortable with the schoolteacher in the Tremayne house, and was glad to see him leave. He was long past feeling awkward with the Killigrews, but with an educated man like the schoolteacher, he always felt aware of his own lack of schooling.