* * *
The family discussions continued, and Morwen knew Ben was becoming irritated with them. They called at the little house on the Sunday after Ben had been to Truro to see Richard Carrick, and while Ben and Hal discussed the clay business, the two younger boys still wrangled. As usual, any mention of the school exam drew sneers from Jack.
‘I don’t see why ’ee wants to go away to London, anyway,’ he scowled at Freddie. ‘You’ll only come back all poncified—’
‘That’s enough o’ that talk, our Jack,’ Bess said sharply. ‘Go and get some sticks for the fire and cool your temper before we sit down to tea.’
Jack left the room, still glowering, and Morwen followed him outside after a glance at her mother. Something was definitely wrong with Jack. He’d stopped following his brother Sam about the way he used to, and apparently he’d lost interest in his work. Something had changed him and Morwen meant to find out what it was. She remembered she had meant to tackle him long before this.
She watched as he bent to throw the sticks into a basket. Jack was broodingly handsome, and she hated to see him so obviously unhappy.
‘Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or shall we start a guessing game?’ Morwen said calmly.
‘What’s it to you?’ he retorted.
She snatched at the scruff of his neck and hauled him up from his bending position. He was a good deal taller than his sister, but she was older than him, and had as good a Tremayne temper as his, and her blue eyes blazed at him.
‘It means a lot to me, when you’re upsetting the whole household wi’ your carryings-on! Mammie’s upset, and Daddy don’t know what’s got into you, and I think you’re just plain jealous of our Freddie—’
Jack hooted derisively.
‘Jealous o’ that little cow turd?’
He gave a sudden howl of rage as Morwen’s hand shot out and slapped him hard across the cheek.
‘It’s pretty obvious he’s got more brains than you, Jack, if all you can do is ridicule him. Maybe you’d have liked the chance to go away to school—’
‘No, I wouldn’t!’ he said viciously, rubbing his cheek. ‘I don’t want to work the clay no more, neither, Miss Know-All! I want to work wi’ wood, same as old Thomas Penry used to in his spare minutes, but a fat chance I’ll ever get at that. Nobody ever asked what I want.’ He echoed Freddie’s words. ‘I’m just meant to work the clay, same as the rest of ’em. Our Matt got out, and now ’tis our Freddie’s turn. What chance would I have wi’ all the upheaval they caused?’
Morwen looked at him in astonishment. It was about the longest speech she’d ever heard Jack make. Normally he was the more taciturn of the brothers. Or maybe none of them had ever stopped to listen. Then something in his words stirred her.
‘What did you mean, about Thomas Penry? When did you ever watch him work wi’ wood?’
He was still belligerent.
‘Plenty o’ times! I especially mind how he made a beautiful coffin one time. He said he were making it wi’ love, and I watched how the golden wood shavings spun in the sunlight. The smell o’ the wood was fresh and tickled my nose, and at the end of it all, he had a beautiful pale box wi’ a snug-fitting lid, fit for a princess.’
He stopped abruptly, seeing the dawning look on Morwen’s face. How could he have forgotten for a second? He cursed himself furiously.
‘Fit for Celia, you mean,’ Morwen said in a choked voice. Neither would she ever forget the sight of that lovely pale-coloured coffin, when the thought of her friend Celia lying inside it had haunted her dreams for weeks afterwards, and turned them into nightmares.
‘I’m sorry, Morwen. I didn’t mean to remind ’ee. But you asked me about the wood-carving—’ Jack’s voice was suddenly steeped in misery. She swallowed back her pain, and patted his arm as if she was the mother and he the child.
‘It’s all right. It took me by surprise, that’s all. Have you said any of this to anyone?’
He shook his head. ‘They wouldn’t understand. They only understand the clay.’
He was filled with bitterness again.
‘Will you let me talk to Ben about it, Jack? I don’t think he’d want a clayworker who wasn’t devoted to his job—’
‘I don’t want un giving me the push! Daddy ’ould be disgraced—’
Morwen heard the sudden panic in his voice.
‘Ben won’t do that, I promise,’ she said quickly, though she had no guarantees how Ben would react to anything these days. ‘It’s just that we like to discuss things together. Like in our own family.’
‘If that’s the lane you follow, you’ll come up wi’ two and two making five, same as we!’ Then he shrugged. ‘Tell un if ’ee must. Just so long as ’ee don’t tell Daddy.’
‘Not until you want me to,’ she promised, which Jack reckoned was neither one answer nor another. It had to satisfy him for the present, since Bess was calling for the firewood and telling them their tea was getting cold.
Morwen didn’t mention what Jack had told her until much later. Ben had been quiet all the way home, and she knew his mind was still caught up with his railway problems and the absent engineer. It seemed no problem at all to Morwen to call in another one, but she refrained from giving her opinion, having been told shortly often enough that the clay was men’s business.
She gave an unconscious sigh. Nobody thought so when they put their daughters to working with the clay, and their wives and mothers too. Whole families under one clay boss… the pretty-sounding name of bal maiden hid a dozen menial jobs, from scraping the dried clay blocks, to stacking and drying and loading… Jane Carrick had once asked her the meaning of the name, and Morwen remembered snapping at her, thinking the question patronising.
And so it was, Morwen thought freezingly now, refusing ever to think of Jane Carrick as any kind of friend. And certainly not now, when she had come home to Truro while her Tom was away at the war, and Ben had obviously been moonstruck at seeing her and the little girl…
‘I’ve asked you the same question twice, Morwen,’ she started at Ben’s annoyed voice, as the carriage clattered through the gates of Killigrew House. ‘I said what was wrong with Jack tonight? He was even more morose than usual, if that’s possible.’
She bridled at once, immediately on the defensive.
‘You don’t like Jack, do you?’
‘I hardly know him. He doesn’t give anyone a chance to know him, does he? I always thought Matt was the secretive one, but Jack comes a close second. Is he ill?’
She was tempted to tell him then, but she knew it wasn’t the right moment. She wondered if Ben was bored with Tremayne family problems. It had never occurred to her before. She stuck out her chin in a gesture of defiance.
‘Jack’s all right. He may just be a bit out of sorts lately, that’s all. He’ll do his work properly, never fear—’
Ben spoke shortly as he helped her down and let the stable-boy take the carriage away.
‘Did I say that I doubted it? Don’t read things that aren’t there, Morwen.’
‘Why do you treat me like a child?’ she said in a little rush. ‘I’m not a child. I’m your wife. Or maybe you’re regretting that now—’
‘I don’t know what on earth you’re talking about. But I don’t intend having an argument out here where my father can watch us and get upset.’
Morwen looked up to where Charles Killigrew’s windows glinted in the early evening sun. She waved her hand and smiled. She couldn’t see the occupant of the bed, but knew that he would be able to see her and Ben through the side mirrors.
‘I’ve got some work to do in my study,’ Ben went on. ‘Ask Cook to send in my food on a tray, will you? I’d rather not be disturbed.’
So she was to dine alone. Morwen couldn’t help thinking he did this deliberately, to punish her for something. Was it just because of her family, or the fact that his emotions were disturbed now that Jane Carrick Askhew had come back into his life, no matter how innocently?
Or was it because of Morwen herself? Perhaps he had simply fallen out of love with her…
The thought filled her with a poignant pain. Such things happened, but she would never have believed it would happen to them. They had been such passionate lovers, such true kindred spirits. She wouldn’t believe it… but the thought remained in her mind, like a recurring nightmare.
She went to bed early, wishing Ben would come to join her; that they would recapture the old sweet loving and he would kiss all her fears away. The night was warm, but she shivered beneath the sheets, needing his protective arms to hold her. Needing Ben as she had always needed him…
She must have drifted off to sleep before he came upstairs, because she felt the sudden dip of the bed as he slid in beside her, careful not to wake her.
Once, he would have pulled her into his arms, and asked her laughingly how she dared to sleep without him! Once, they would have gone upstairs together, arms entwined, because this was their special place and they never wanted to be apart.
She must have made a small sound because she felt him half turn towards her. Her hand reached out to touch his skin. Her hands were cold and the touch startled him, but to Morwen his instinctive flinching away was a rebuff. Her eyes were suddenly blinded with tears.
‘Are you tired of me, Ben?’ she said huskily.
‘What are you fretting about now?’ He pulled her close, enveloping her in his embrace, and the warm familiar smell of his body was more erotic than oriental spices. His voice was exasperated, teasing, and she nuzzled her face against his chest, finding comfort in the tangle of body hair beneath her fingers as she felt the smooth rhythm of his heartbeat.
‘I don’t know,’ she mumbled, suddenly as insecure as the Morwen Tremayne she had been before she fell in love with the splendid Ben Killigrew, heir to Killigrew Clay.
She was still Morwen Tremayne, running barefoot across the moors with the wind in her face, her black hair streaming out behind her like a banner, young Freddie dancing at her heels and calling her as batty as old Zillah for believing in potions and miracles and the magic of the Larnie Stone.
The thought made her breath catch in her throat, and she felt Ben’s finger lift her chin until her eyes met his in the soft moonlight cast across the bedroom. His face was very close, eyes searching hers, his mouth no more than a whisper away.
‘I thought we always shared our secrets, my lovely,’ he said gently. ‘If there’s something troubling you, then tell me.’
Here in his arms, she could tell him anything. It had always been that way, and the words suddenly tumbled out, and if she brought family problems to the sanctuary of their bedroom, then she prayed he would understand. She heard the rumble of low laughter in his chest.
‘You Tremaynes always did make mountains out of molehills, didn’t you?’ She felt his hand stroke her dark hair, and shivered as his fingers gently raked through its glossy strands. The caress stopped her fiery retort. She didn’t want to argue with Ben. Not tonight. Not now…
‘Our Jack doesn’t mean to be disloyal—’
‘Morwen, nobody’s accusing him of disloyalty! If he wants to make something of his life away from the clay works, then good for him!’
‘You don’t mind? If you don’t, then ’twill be easier for Daddy to understand—’
Yes, she was still Morwen Tremayne, still with the clayworkers mentality deeply ingrained in her, Morwen thought ruefully. She couldn’t adapt to sudden changes of fortune the way Ben did.
‘Is Jack serious about this? It’s not just a whim because of Freddie’s chances?’
‘I’m sure it’s not. He really means it, Ben, and I don’t like to see him unhappy. If I had my way, I’d like everybody in the world to be happy! I know it’s foolish. It’s no more than a child’s dream—’
She was suddenly aware that his hands had moved lower down her body, curving the line of her waist and hips and kneading her rounded buttocks. His hands began slowly caressing every part of her body and his touch was telling her that he thought of her in no way as a child. She was his woman, his wife.
She felt a thrill shoot through her so unexpectedly it made her gasp aloud, and then his mouth was hard on hers. He prised it open, his tongue probing sweetly and seductively, and she could feel him hardening against her.
Without warning, he pulled her over him, so that the long fall of her hair covered them both like a blanket. She felt the power in his body as her own opened instinctively to enclose him inside. That first touch was as potent to her senses as it had ever been, as hot as fire, as sweet as honey.
He released his mouth from hers a fraction, just sufficiently enough to murmur against her lips.
‘I think you talk too much. We have more important business to attend to, and I want your thoughts to concentrate solely on your husband for the present!’
Morwen felt the reckless laughter well up inside her at his arrogance and undisguised passion.
‘Yes, clay boss!’ she teased him as she sank down on him, and knew by his own indrawn breath how affected he was by her. She knew it and gloried in it.
‘I’d say you were the boss at this moment,’ Ben said hoarsely, his pulse beginning to race at her instant response.
He buried his face in the softness of her breasts, white and full above him, and tasted their sweetness. His hands pulled her into him, deeper and deeper, and Morwen felt every nerve-end throb with the pleasurable sensations flowing through her.
Sometimes their union was slow and languorous and more sensual than the finest tuning of an instrument. At other times, it was boisterous, exciting, the beating of drums, the pounding of flesh on flesh, heart on heart, a hungry, desperate need. It was that way now.
The flames spread wider, filling every part of her as she felt Ben gasp and twist beneath her, holding her tight in the sudden culmination, the rush of heat, the moment of release. They clung together without speaking until the pulsating movements eased. They rolled sideways to lie together, still part of each other, still joined in love.
They had been apart too long. Apart in spirit, and in such bodily contact as this, which was as God-given as the moon and stars and just as magical. The gift of procreation…
Morwen hid her damp face from his. Both their bodies glistened from exertions far more exhilarating than a gallop across the moors, but the simile made her smile. She had been the rider, he her willing steed… she mustn’t spoil things now by an emotional reaction. But as their breathing slowed, and she became aware that Ben was already sleeping in her arms, she remembered that little phrase that had slipped so sweetly into her mind.
The gift of procreation…
Could any two people love more deeply than themselves?
They shared a physical love that was as spectacular as life itself, and yet they were denied the ultimate prize.
Morwen heard the sudden lashing of rain against the window. The day had been warm and beautiful, but the sound of the rain chilled her, and she moved gently away from Ben to slide into her nightgown. The rain was like a portent. Whenever she felt she had everything, something happened to spoil it. And always, the thing that she wanted most seemed ever out of reach.
* * *
It wasn’t unusual for Morwen to awaken and find herself alone. Ben was too restless these days to stay in bed once he was awake. But after last night, Morwen did think he’d still be beside her in the morning, to indulge in a few lazy, sleep-hazed moments of remembering how beautiful it had been…
She was disappointed to stretch out her hand and encounter nothing but his pillow. She sat up too quickly and felt her head swim. But the rain had stopped and the sun shone, and she brushed aside her brief pique and decided to take a ride along the shore after breakfast. It was a while since she had galloped across the sandy beach, and it might help to make last night’s halcyon mood linger a little…
Ben would have looked in on his father, and once she had washed and dressed, Morwen went to pay him her morning visit too. Charles
was scowling at the nurse, who flounced out as soon as Morwen appeared. Morwen hid a grin, knowing that for all Charles’s indisposition, he could still send a servant off with a flea in her ear. He said so often enough.
‘What have you been saying to Nurse Stevens, you wicked old man?’ Morwen smiled at him when she had straightened the newspapers spread over the bed. Charles gave a snort.
‘Blasted tyrant!’ he said in his laboured manner. ‘She makes me so tidy and tucked in that I can’t even twitch. If I want my bed in a mess, I’ll have it! Fool of a nurse says she’ll go off to the war herself if I’m not careful and nurse soldiers who’ll appreciate her. I told her good riddance!’
Charles was determined to have his say, though it took a while for the speech to end. Morwen wiped the dribble from his chin without comment, while her eyes took in the screaming headlines in the London newspaper on the bed, telling of more battles, more outrage at the appalling conditions in the hospitals, the cholera and the heroic efforts of Miss Nightingale to relieve the suffering.
Morwen felt a brief sympathy with Nurse Stevens, who might well feel that her services would be more appreciated elsewhere.
‘Don’t get upset, Father,’ Morwen said evenly. ‘It doesn’t do you any good. How was Ben this morning? He’d already gone when I awoke. Has he gone to the works?’
‘No. Gone to Truro,’ Charles grunted.
Morwen felt her heart leap. To Truro? Where Jane lived now? Her thoughts spun. She couldn’t think of anything else but that Ben must have gone to see Jane. Reason didn’t enter her thinking.
After last night… after their wonderful night, when she had been transported somewhere close to heaven… she felt sick to her stomach, and her breakfast threatened to reappear. She forced the feeling down. She must be going mad to let such a small comment disturb her so. Was she really so unbalanced that she could feel physically sick with jealousy? It was degrading. She made herself speak naturally, seeing Charles’s unblinking eyes watching her.
‘Did he say why?’ she asked.
‘To see somebody,’ he said, with such an infuriating blank expression that Morwen could have screamed.
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