Clay Country

by Clay Country (retail) (epub)

  Didn’t the old fool see how vital all this was to her? She was immediately ashamed of her thoughts as she saw Charles’s jaw slacken and the hated dribble begin again. She wiped it quickly.

  ‘Did you know Jane Carrick’s come home?’ Charles suddenly perked up, and Morwen knew that Ben must have told him. Charles hadn’t commented on it before, and the waves of jealousy washed over her again.

  ‘He did mention it,’ she muttered. Charles’s face broke into a grotesque smile.

  ‘She was always a lovely girl. Daughter of my old friend and his hag of a wife.’

  Charles Killigrew had lost the art of discretion since his illness. Or perhaps since his listener was only Morwen Tremayne, it didn’t matter. She felt less like Ben’s wife right now, and more like the young girl Charles had brought to Killigrew House to be his housekeeper when he’d sent his sister Hannah packing. Holding out a helping hand to the bewildered Morwen Tremayne after her friend Celia had killed herself in his clay pool…

  ‘Are you going to read to me or sit there mooning like a love-sick calf?’ Charles suddenly complained.

  Morwen clenched her hands. Sometimes she wanted to hit out at everyone, at anyone. Sometimes the frustration was just too much… she saw the watery old eyes that had once held such fire and swallowed her pride. She picked up the newspapers and read until Charles had had enough and her voice was hoarse.

  And until she was so tired of reading about the war in the Crimea, that she couldn’t wait to get out of the house and have her mare saddled up, and be away from the musty confines of the sickroom. Sometimes she felt that it stifled her as much as it must stifle Charles.

  It wasn’t too far to the wide sandy beaches bordering the ocean. The great granite cliffs were lashed by great curling waves that foamed against them. The sea was whipped up by the Atlantic wind, and for a second Morwen breathed in the salt breeze and wondered if her brother Matt breathed in the same air, all those miles away in America.

  Then she remembered Hannah Pascoe’s words. The letter from her son Jude had said that Matt had left New York and gone to the gold diggings in California. And Morwen had traced the state of California on the map of America and felt like weeping at discovering it was twice as far away as New York.

  Matt had truly gone from their lives and they would never see him again. It was as though she heard it whispered in the rush of the waves on the shore, as though it was carried on the wind like an omen. And Morwen was too much a daughter of Cornwall to disbelieve in omens.

  She raced her mare along the sands, her hair tumbling wildly about her. She leaned low, feeling the strength in the mare’s body, and revelling in the freedom of the gallop. At that moment she felt free of all ties, loved or hated.

  She deliberately pushed all thoughts of Ben and Jane Askhew out of her mind, but unwillingly then, her thoughts centred on her own family with a thrill of unease.

  They were all changing. Matt had begun it. Now Freddie’s head was being turned, and Jack wanted to leave the clay. Even her Mammie had taken up new work as a seamstress instead of working with the clay. A good thing she had, since Hal had become Works Manager, of course. It wouldn’t have been seemly for his wife to continue being a bal maiden.

  Morwen tried not to consider how she herself had changed, but she couldn’t avoid it. Four years had made a huge difference in her life. From bal maiden to housekeeper for Charles Killigrew, to wife of his son, Ben, the new owner of Killigrew Clay. Ecstatic at seventeen, scared of being barren at twenty-one…

  Only Sam stayed the same, she thought with a rush of thankfulness. Sam, the eldest, who had always wanted to be like their Daddy, and was now Captain of Number One pit, like Hal had been. Sam was always the same, like a rock in a stormy sea.

  Chapter Eight

  Sam Tremayne finally got the truth out of his brother Jack. Sam was tired of hints and snubs. If something was wrong, then he wanted to know of it, though it took a bit of goading to make Jack finally bawl out his frustration while they were both on the day shift.

  Jack hated the thankless task of moving clay waste from one point to another. He did it carelessly, his mind far away from the non-productivity of what he was doing. When the two of them were far enough out of earshot not to be overheard, Sam rounded on his brother for his slipshod work.

  Jack threw down the long-handled shovel with which he’d been piling waste into the little truck for tipping on to one of the white pyramids surrounding the works. Jack was shiny with sweat, his face grimed with dirt beneath the white clay-dust that lay over everything, workers and tools alike.

  ‘I’m sorry I don’t work fast enough for ’ee, our Sam!’ Jack scowled. ‘Mebbe not all of us are as besotted to make a fortune for the bosses! I do my work—’

  ‘You don’t do as much as the other men,’ Sam snapped. ‘You’re lazy and insolent, and you shame our name wi’ your ill-temper. Nobody gets a civil word from ’ee these days. If there’s summat on your mind, let’s have it!’

  ‘You’re a real boss’s man, our Sam! You’m starting to sound just like ’em. Even Daddy never got so uppity. I wonder you don’t wipe Ben Killigrew’s arse for un—’

  One minute he was standing with his hands on his hips, glaring at Sam. The next, he was feeling a great crack across his nose and seeing stars. He staggered backwards as blood spurted out. He would have fallen, if Sam hadn’t lugged at his collar so tightly he could hardly breathe.

  ‘You snot-faced little bugger!’ Sam bellowed. ‘I’ll wipe the ground with you if you don’t wake up your ideas! What in God’s name is wrong with ’ee, Jack? We used to be such good uns together, but I don’t know ’ee any more—’

  ‘I want to get out o’ the clay!’ Jack almost screamed the words at him, his eyes bulging in a face suddenly scarlet as Sam shook him by the throat in his fury. ‘I want to get out, like our Matt did! Don’t ’ee understand? I can’t make it plainer—’

  Sam suddenly let him go, and Jack fell back against the clay truck, breathing heavily to get back his wind. His throat was sore where Sam had near to throttled him, and the blood from his nose ran into his mouth. He tasted it with disgust.

  Sam handed him a rag in silence, digesting what his brother had just said. Jack looked at him warily as he wiped the mess from his face.

  ‘Is that what ’tis all about?’ Sam demanded. He had never even considered this possibility, and couldn’t think straight for a few minutes. The clay was his life, same as Hal’s, and it still surprised him that anyone brought up in a clay-working family could want to leave. There were comparatively few who did.

  ‘That’s it,’ Jack muttered. ‘Now I s’pose you’m going to laugh at me about that! ’Tis as funny as our Freddie wanting to go to some posh London school, ain’t it?’

  Sam remembered that this was the brother who’d once followed him closer than a shadow, who had once wanted only to be like Sam… he felt an odd lump in his throat, seeing the defensiveness in his brother’s eyes. They had grown apart, but Jack still needed Sam’s approval. That, too, was part of what ailed him. He expected Sam’s anger – that was painfully clear.

  ‘I’m not laughing, Jack. It saddens me that ’ee didn’t confide in me before now. We might have managed not to snarl at each other quite so much of late.’

  Each felt a sudden embarrassment, and Jack quickly turned away as another truck came trundling towards them with its handler and its load.

  ‘Well, now you know, and I’d thank ’ee to say nothing to Daddy. I’ve as much chance of going my own way as a snowball in hell, and there’s enough upset for now wi’ Freddie’s schooling.’

  ‘Does anyone else know of it?’

  ‘Only Morwen,’ Jack muttered, suddenly wishing he’d held his tongue then and now. It had been his secret and he could brood on it with some dignity. Now it was shared, and he hated to sense pity from anyone. It was a family failing often misconstrued as false pride. He glared at Sam, daring him to sympathise with him.

  And Sam,
knowing him too well, shrugged and turned away as someone called for assistance from Clay One’s pit captain.

  ‘I’ll not tell folk. Just as long as you do your work while you’re here. There’s no room for idlers, especially one of my family. Just remember it, Jack.’

  If that was a hint that he’d be thrown out if he didn’t pull his weight, Jack knew it wasn’t a straw he could grasp. The disgrace would be too much. No Tremayne had been forced to leave their employ because of bad work. Sam knew it as well as he did.

  Jack stared broodingly after his tall brother, tenderly tested his nose and decided it wasn’t broken, and began to shovel the clay waste into the truck again with a savage fury.

  * * *

  It was late afternoon when Ben came home from Truro. Morwen had whiled away an hour with her mother in Miss Fielding’s Tea Rooms, then strolled about the town, trying to take an interest in shops and gardens and acquaintances.

  And all the time her mind was miles away, wondering what Ben was doing, and more importantly, whom he was meeting. She moved listlessly in the St Austell street when someone blocked her path. She did not look up to see who it was, her mind being too full of personal matters.

  ‘I see we’re too fine now to say good-afternoon to our husband’s relatives,’ said a frosty voice she hated intensely.

  Morwen looked into the face of Hannah Pascoe, Ben’s aunt and forced a dutiful half-smile. There was no reason she should pretend real warmth towards this woman, who had never shown her anything but dislike and reminded her all too vividly of an episode in her life that was still painful.

  ‘Good-afternoon, Mrs Pascoe,’ Morwen said evenly, and made to pass, but Hannah Pascoe still stood in front of her, and Morwen saw her narrowed eyes rake Morwen’s trim shape. Morwen could swear that there was a distinct smell of whisky coming from the woman’s lips.

  ‘No child expected yet, I see,’ Hannah sniffed. ‘I wouldn’t have thought Ben lacking in that direction. My brother would be glad to see a grandson, I daresay. It would be a poor do if he went to his grave without seeing the fortunes of Killigrew Clay assured, Morwen Tremayne, even by one of your family!’

  ‘It’s Morwen Killigrew, Ma’am! If you’ll please let me pass—’ Her face flamed with angry colour, but there were enough curious bystanders already turning round at Hannah Pascoe’s shrill voice, without adding to the peep-show. What in God’s name had got into Ben’s aunt today?

  ‘I’ll excuse you nothing!’ Hannah suddenly hissed. ‘You’re nought but an upstart worming your way into my brother’s household. Making my own brother turn me out—’

  ‘That was done by your own efforts, Mrs Pascoe,’ Morwen snapped, too reckless now to mince her words. ‘You were always an unpleasant woman, and Charles Killigrew was well rid of ’ee. He’d have been dead long before now with all the upset you’d have brought him!’

  ‘Well! Such talk from a clayworker’s daughter!’ Hannah glanced around, noted a few nods from some elderly dames, and drew courage from them.

  Hannah swayed slightly, and Morwen was certain now that she had been drinking. She was filled with disgust. It had been Jude Pascoe’s weakness. She had never thought it would be his mother’s too. It seemed infinitely worse for a woman to take to drink. The street women did it, but not ladies of quality.

  ‘I wanted words with you, Morwen Tremayne,’ Hannah went on, her hand gripping Morwen’s arm.

  ‘Then say what you have to, and let me go,’ Morwen said shortly. The sooner she could get away from this odious woman, the better. Hannah’s face suddenly crumpled, and to Morwen’s horror, two large tears trickled down her angular face.

  ‘My friend is dying,’ Hannah said abruptly.

  Morwen stared at her. The words were totally unexpected.

  ‘I’m sorry. But what has this to do with me?’ She didn’t want to know this woman’s problems.

  Charles Killigrew had paid her off when he dismissed her from his house, and she lived comfortably enough with her woman friend in St Austell town. There was no reason to think Ben would do less for his aunt when his father died.

  ‘My friend. Miss Emily Ford,’ Hannah mumbled. ‘She’s dying. When she goes, I’ll have no-one. Jude won’t ever come back from America, and I’ll be lonely. I don’t want to be lonely. Not when I’ve got family living close by. What do you think my chances are, Morwen Tremayne, for Charles taking me back?’

  Morwen listened in horror. This terrible old woman wanted to come back to Killigrew House! She couldn’t imagine Charles Killigrew ever agreeing to it. Nor Ben… she swallowed drily. She couldn’t be sure of Ben. He had a soft heart, and Hannah could wheedle when she chose, putting on that pathetic tone…

  Morwen’s thoughts seemed to streak ahead. If Hannah Pascoe moved back to Killigrew House, and if her son ever took it in his head to come back to England, he’d naturally expect to move in too. Morwen would be under the same roof as the man she loathed, the man who had raped her dearest friend, Celia Penry, and caused her to drown herself because of the shame…

  She shivered as she heard a cackling laugh.

  ‘Your face is a picture, Morwen Killigrew! I take it you won’t speak up for your old auntie, then?’

  Morwen shook her off as if she was a poisonous insect.

  ‘I’d as soon speak up for a plague rat,’ Morwen snapped. She thrust past the spiteful old woman, holding her head high as she heard the tut-tutting of the town dames nearby.

  Let them think Morwen Killigrew was heartless to her husband’s relative, she thought furiously. They didn’t know Hannah Pascoe like the family did. They didn’t know her devious ways…

  Morwen felt a shiver run through her. What if the friend where Hannah lived – Miss Emily Ford – was really dying? What if she did come to the house, relying on Ben’s generosity, and he allowed her back?

  She remembered Hannah’s own raging words when Charles Killigrew had hired Morwen to be his new housekeeper. She had said then that she’d never live under the same roof as Morwen, and Charles had told her good riddance. But the fact was as true from Morwen’s angle. She couldn’t and wouldn’t live under the same roof as Hannah Pascoe. If she moved in, then Morwen would have to leave.

  She tried to tell herself how foolish she was being. She knew it, but the nagging thought wouldn’t leave her. Somehow, the feeling that if Hannah came back, then so would Jude, seemed an inescapable nightmare.

  * * *

  Morwen put on a smile as she glanced up towards Charles’s windows, but the smile dropped as soon as she went inside the house. She wished Ben were here. She felt suddenly adrift, like a small boat tossed about on a vast ocean.

  Then she heard Ben calling her name, and wondered if she was dreaming until she saw him come out of the drawing-room. His arms opened and everything shifted back into place again as she went into them, safe in her own world.

  ‘I hoped you’d be at home when I got back from Truro, darling,’ he said.

  ‘You went off without telling me! I was so anxious.’ She bit her lip, not wanting to betray her anxiety that he had been visiting Jane Askhew. Minutes later, she thanked God that she hadn’t, as Ben revealed where he had been.

  ‘I went to see an old gambling friend of mine,’ he went on. ‘He has a flourishing boatyard in Truro, and I wondered if he might have a place for a young apprentice. Building boats is a fine career for a young man who has a feeling for wood—’

  Morwen felt her heart leap with joy.

  ‘You did this for our Jack!’ Her eyes shone brighter than they had in weeks. ‘Oh, Ben, what did your friend say? Was he agreeable to it?’

  Ben laughed, holding her close, loving the quick excitement in her eyes, and the rosy flush on her cheeks. Seconds ago she had looked so flustered, but the anxiety on her face had vanished now.

  ‘Why shouldn’t he agree to it? He owes me a few favours. I told him the young man in question was my wife’s brother, and would be a keen worker. He’s willing to see Jack and take him on
right away if they find themselves in agreement. He’ll need lodgings in Truro, of course, but that’s no hardship. There’s plenty of homely places ready to take in a personable young man who can pay his way.’

  He felt Morwen’s arms around his neck, and her soft warm mouth pressed to his in her pleasure.

  ‘Thank you! I had no idea you were going to do this—’

  ‘You thought I was off visiting my lady Jane, didn’t you?’ He couldn’t resist teasing. Suddenly it didn’t matter. She laughed, secure in Ben’s love.

  ‘I didn’t think it for a minute,’ she said airily, crossing her fingers behind his neck as she did so.

  ‘Don’t you know that your tongue will drop out if you tell such lies?’ Ben grinned. He wished he could fulfil all her desires so easily, if it produced this sudden blaze of passion, this echo of the Morwen he had always loved more than life, and who seemed to have got lost in the everyday business of living.

  She pouted, saying that it was only a little white lie, and that didn’t count. Ben laughed again, and scooped her up in his arms to put her laughingly on to the sofa and to drop down beside her. Suddenly they both felt and acted like reckless children, instead of respectably married people, and it was a good and heady feeling.

  Ben teased her neck with his lips, sending warm shivers over her. Last night’s euphoria was still there after all, and all the Hannah Pascoes in the world couldn’t take that away from her. She opened her mouth to tell him of the afternoon’s meeting with his aunt, and closed it again. Why spoil these moments? There was time enough for talking.

  She wondered when he was going to stop kissing her… but she wasn’t complaining. It was ecstatically exciting, like the wonderful days when they were first married…

  ‘As a matter of fact, I did see Jane today,’ Ben said eventually. Morwen’s heart gave a jolt.

  ‘Now, get that mutinous look off your face!’ Ben went on, still laughing. ‘Father’s keen to see her, and I don’t see why he shouldn’t. Why should the mistress of Killigrew House fear the visit of an old friend of the family?’