It was as though the tardy summer had decided to make its appearance at last, and catching Morwen’s own mood, it was Ben who suggested a picnic by the sea, several weeks after his aunt’s death had ceased to be news. There was no mention of including Jane Askhew in the invitation, which guiltily pleased Morwen even more.
‘Didn’t you say young Freddie was coming for the day on Sunday? He can come with us, if you like.’
‘Oh, he’ll like that, Ben!’ Morwen said, her blue eyes glowing. ‘Mammie said he was complaining only this week that he hardly ever sees you.’
‘Is it that important to him?’ Ben said in surprise. Morwen laughed, hugging his arm.
‘Don’t you know by now that you’re his hero, darling? I suspect that all this talk of going away to a London school is partly because he wants to be just like you! Though I still think the rest of my family has reservations about it.’
‘Thinking he’s going up in the world? Freddie’s got a sensible head on his shoulders, my love. He’ll do all right.’
The townsfolk smiled with discreet sympathy when they saw her, on account of the Pascoe tragedy, and with approval on account of Ben’s statement to the Truro newspaper. The Killigrews were popular folk once more.
* * *
Freddie arrived at Killigrew House on Sunday morning, agog to hear at first-hand about the recent house fire. He hadn’t been able to catch his sister alone since then, and his parents had hushed him up whenever he wanted to talk about the accident, but Morwen could usually be persuaded to tell him more. He was aggrieved when it didn’t seem to be the case this time.
‘But what happened to the old biddies, our Morwen—?’
‘You’re not to talk about the ladies like that, do you hear?’ she said crossly, knowing it was exactly how she thought of them herself! ‘It will upset Ben to hear you speak so of his aunt and her friend—’
‘Ben ain’t here yet, is he?’ Freddie sulked. ‘You never used to be so feared o’ telling the gory details, our Morwen. Did they frizzle like mushrooms in a pan, do ’ee suppose?’
‘Freddie, will you stop it!’ she snapped. ‘You’re not a child, and you know well enough why we don’t talk of it in this house. Poor Mr Killigrew’s not well enough to know of it.’
‘I ain’t telling un. I just want to know it all!’
‘Well, you know as much as I do, and if you want to come with us for the picnic, you’ll keep quiet about it, or I’ll send you packing, do you understand?’
Freddie scowled at her. He was so like Jack at that moment, she almost laughed out loud. She felt an odd lump in her throat at seeing his look.
‘You’m a snob, our Morwen. I don’t like ’ee much any more. You ain’t so nice as ’ee used to be.’
‘Oh, Freddie, don’t say that. Families should love each other, not fight—’
‘Why?’ he said mutinously.
Why indeed? If she thought about it, the Killigrews and the Pascoes didn’t love each other! She couldn’t answer his question, and was relieved when Ben came breezing in with the picnic basket, asking if they were ready or if they were going to sit around indoors all day when there was glorious summer sunshine waiting for them outside, and Freddie could gallop his horse along the beach if he was careful.
Freddie perked up at once. Ben threw a quick smile at Morwen, as if to acknowledge her remark. At that moment Ben was definitely Freddie’s hero.
And the beach was so beautiful that day, as if it had been specially spruced and polished for the occasion. The sands were soft, but still springy where the incoming tide had recently washed them clean.
The tang of salt was sharp and refreshing, the ocean a glittering sheet of diamond points where the sun struck its rippling waves, the sun high in a clear blue sky, the distant horizon gently hazed, and beyond it… beyond it…
Morwen listened to the horse’s thundering hooves as Freddie galloped him along the sands, kicking up the virginal sand in golden flurries, her brother’s young voice squealing and shouting with pleasure. Ben watched and encouraged him, calling instructions, hands on hips, boots shining, hair ruffling in the warm breeze, master of all he surveyed.
Morwen watched the two of them as she sat back on her heels, spreading out the cloth and opening the luncheon basket. They were perhaps the two she loved best of all, she thought suddenly, and it was as if she had never realised until now just how dear her youngest brother was to her.
Ben, of course, she loved more than life, but the rush of emotion she felt for Freddie in those moments took her by surprise. Why should it be so? And suddenly she knew.
It was all wrapped up in the feeling of the morning. Being here, close to the sea, carefree and child-like, the distant horizon reminding her of other days, other times…
If Freddie had looked like Jack in his black mood, then how much more did he remind her of Matt right now! Her dreaming brother, who hadn’t been content with Cornwall, but wanted a different life, needing to be free and unfettered. The first one of the Tremaynes to break the ties with the clay, followed incredibly by her Mammie, giving up the rough job of bal maiden and taking in the sewing for the genteel ladies of St Austell town. Then Morwen herself, becoming housekeeper for old Charles Killigrew, and eventually marrying the young boss. Now Jack had left to train as a boat-builder, and if all went as planned, then soon it would be Freddie’s turn to leave… So many changes… and only Sam the eldest stayed the same. Sam, following in her father’s footsteps so squarely…
‘What ghosts are you laying this morning, my darling?’
She jumped as she heard Ben’s gentle voice, and yet it seemed as if she turned her head in slow motion, as if she could hardly bear to lose the images forming in her mind. It brought them all so close, these water-colour ghosts, Sam and Jack and Matt… and Freddie, hurtling along St Austell sands…
She met Ben’s eyes as she knelt on the damp sands, her hands immobile in her lap. Soft hands now, that had once been as roughened as her Mammie’s used to be, working with the clay blocks, drying and stacking and loading, for the prosperity of Killigrew Clay.
And Ben saw the darkness in her blue eyes, the emotions that she could never hide from him, and caught his breath at the loveliness of his fey and beautiful wife. He dropped down beside her and gathered her roughly to him, rocking her for long private moments, the two of them enclosed in a warm, magical world of their own, where words were superfluous.
Sand suddenly stung her face as Freddie laughingly flipped it over them, and shrieked out that he was starving, that the horse was tired, and when were they going to eat the picnic?
The spell was broken, and Ben broke away from her with a bellow that Morwen knew covered his own emotions, as he told Freddie to come and help if he wanted food.
Morwen turned away, inexplicable tears misting her eyes for a moment. Knowing that she thought of her brother Matt that day as she hadn’t thought of him for a long time. Wondering how he fared, if he prospered or ailed. They didn’t even know if he was married or had children. She caught her breath at the thought of Matt’s imaginary little American children.
The one thing they did know, according to the late Hannah Pascoe, was that Matt had broken the bonds with her son Jude, and to Morwen that was the best news of all.
She had always suspected that the two of them had boarded the ship for America in unnecessary haste, all those years ago. It had coincided rather too timely with a wrecking along the coast, where a man had been killed and no culprit had been found.
She would never believe her gentlest brother capable of killing anyone… just as she would always believe anything of Jude Pascoe.
But she realised now just how her mother felt, missing her lost lamb so badly at times. Bess rarely spoke of Matt, but the memories didn’t die. A son was always a son, no matter what he did or where he went. The cord was never really severed.
‘Come on then, if you’re starving!’
She spoke brightly to Freddie, when the day threaten
ed to turn into a maudlin one, at least on her account. ‘There’s pasties and jellies and fruit drink, and apples and cheese. Enough to satisfy an army of greedy schoolboys!’
‘I want to swim afterwards. Is it all right, Ben?’
Freddie bypassed his sister on that score as his teeth sank into one of Mrs Horn’s juicy pasties, the meat and potatoes at one end, the jam at the other, in true Cornish tradition. Miners’ fare, for a complete meal in one tasty pastry package while they toiled underground in poor lighting and dank conditions. More happily enjoyed on this summer day on a sunlit Cornish beach with the scent of the breeze lifting their spirits.
‘It’s all right by me!’ Ben stretched out on the sand. ‘There’s no work today so we may as well enjoy ourselves as long as you stay decent and don’t alarm other folks, nor the horse.’
Freddie laughed at his teasing.
‘We’ve got the beach to ourselves, by the looks on it. Mammie gave me a towel in case I got wet, and said I was to keep me underpinnings on at all costs.’
Morwen burst out laughing. ‘A lot of good they’ll do you afterwards if you swim in them, ninny.’
‘Don’t stop him or he’ll take them off, and I can’t bear such a sight so early in the day,’ Ben grinned.
They were just like a family, Morwen thought later, as Freddie scampered off to the water’s edge in his ridiculous long underpants, his skin weathered to a deep bronze by the moorland winds, the young muscles tensed and strong as his screaming leap into the waves made the cotton fabric cling wetly to his body.
She couldn’t avoid seeing the bulging shape of him, and realised that her baby brother was fast growing up. She felt a great tenderness towards him to know it, and averted her eyes so that he wouldn’t know she was aware of it.
Ben was aware of it too. He hadn’t realised how quickly Freddie was growing either. He was a young man already. Sam’s children were the only babies in the combined Tremayne and Killigrew families now. The days merged into years under their noses, and no-one ever realised how it changed people until suddenly confronted with a man who only yesterday had been a boy.
It must be the relaxing sea air that was filling him with such introspection, Ben thought. That, and the strange, wistful look he had glimpsed earlier on Morwen’s face. He knew that look when she gazed towards the horizon.
It was Matt she missed then. Ben would give her the moon if he could, but he couldn’t give her the two things he knew she yearned for most. News of Matt Tremayne, and a child of her own to fill her empty arms. The anguished thought was in his head before he could stop it.
‘It’s time we were leaving,’ he said abruptly, when Freddie had rubbed himself dry with the rough towel and draped his underpinnings over a rock to dry in the sun; Ben’s own thoughts were less than comfortable.
Freddie gave a howl of protest, but Ben was adamant; obediently, Morwen began to gather up the remains of the picnic and thrust everything into the basket.
‘Don’t argue, our Freddie. We’ve been here several hours already. The sun’s prickling my skin, and a lady has to protect her white skin at all times.’ She laughed up into Ben’s eyes as she spoke, seeing the answering smile there.
Freddie snorted. ‘You’m turning soft, that’s what! You ain’t a real lady, anyway. You’m just our Morwen—’
Ben gave him a friendly cuff about the ear. ‘That’s just where you’re wrong, then,’ he said smartly. ‘Morwen is my lady. What’s more, I’m not so sure about her being “our Morwen”, either. I prefer to think of her as my Morwen. ’
The little glow Ben’s words gave her softened with sympathy as she saw Freddie’s glum look at being chastised by his hero. She gave him a quick hug. He wasn’t too big for that yet, even though he squirmed away almost immediately.
‘He’ll never stop me being “our Morwen”, will he, lamb? Part of me will always belong to you and Mammie and Daddy and—’
‘Now you’m really being soft, our Morwen!’ He was hot with embarrassment, and started to laugh as the old familiar phrase tripped off his lips.
He felt an odd satisfaction. For all Ben’s cleverness, he couldn’t separate the Tremaynes, even if he wanted to. Deep down, they still belonged together, however many wives and husbands and oceans parted them. Even Freddie knew that.
‘Can I come into your study with ’ee when we get back to the house, Ben?’ he said eagerly now.
Ben ruffled the boy’s dark hair affectionately.
‘Why not? I suppose you want to look at my London newspapers, do you?’
Freddie grinned. ‘’Tis not only the war doings I like to see. ’Tis all the grand places I’ll be able to visit if I go to the posh school. Mr Pengelly said he had a quick look at my examination paper, and thought I did well enough.’
‘He shouldn’t have done that. It should be sent straight to London—’
‘Ben, don’t be so pompous,’ Morwen protested. ‘What harm does it do for Freddie to know he’s done well?’
Ben shrugged, shaking the sand from the cloth and fastening the picnic basket securely.
‘Probably none at all, but it’s not the way things are done. Freddie will need to learn that if he goes away to school. The lazy country ways are very different, and it’s not only his formal education that will need attention.’
‘What a funny remark to make!’
‘Then forget I made it,’ he said lightly, before he said more than he intended, and alarmed her needlessly. There was no point in stirring up trouble before trouble was upon them.
* * *
They reached Killigrew House, tired and dusty and gritty with sand. Morwen said that she must brush it out of her hair immediately, and that Freddie must wash himself properly before setting foot in such elegant surroundings.
‘I were washed enough in the sea!’ he howled. ‘Besides, Ben said I can go with un to his study, our Morwen—’
Mrs Tilley appeared before she could take him by the ear and march him right upstairs to a jug and basin and attend to his ablutions personally.
‘Begging your pardon, Sir and Madam, but a visitor’s come while you were out.’
She sounded flustered and a touch excited. Not Jane Askhew again, surely… but Mrs Tilley was used to that young lady’s visits now, and wouldn’t be in such a tizz about that.
Ben exclaimed impatiently. It had been a good day so far, and he wanted nothing more now than to relax in his study for an hour or so, and perhaps take an evening stroll with Morwen after dinner that evening. He wasn’t in the mood for company. Freddie Tremayne was lively enough, but by the middle of the afternoon, Ben had had enough chatter for one day.
‘Who is it, Mrs Tilley? And where have you put the person?’
‘I didn’t know what to do with un, Sir. In the end, he asked to see your father, and I thought it would be all right, him being such a splendid gent an’ all, and wearing the uniform of an officer of the Queen—’
‘Who the devil is it? Didn’t he give his name, woman?’ Ben demanded, as she continued to flounder at the way the young master glowered impatiently at her.
‘O’ course, Sir. I have his calling card here,’ she said stiffly, annoyed that Mr Ben thought she was slipping in her duty. Unannounced visitors on a Sunday when she was trying to take a catnap didn’t endear her to her role as housekeeper, for all her fondness for the Killigrew family.
She thrust the card on the little silver tray under Ben’s nose. He stared at it for a few seconds, not recognising the name immediately. Nor would he, he thought, when recollection came. The last time he had seen it there was no prefix of Captain before it, nor the proud name of an army regiment beneath it.
‘Good God!’
Neville Peterson… Captain Peterson now, he amended grimly. Images spun through his mind. He recalled a tall, well-built young man with corn-fair hair. Good-looking, authoritative, and with a family well-heeled enough to buy him into any rank of any regiment he preferred. Money that had always bought him out of any s
crapes, large or small…
Neville Peterson, one-time scourge of a class of elite sons, whose parents were all politicians or minor royalty or something vaguely important in the city… one of an even more exclusive band that Ben had hoped fervently never to meet again in his lifetime…
‘Who is it, Ben?’ Morwen said curiously, when he seemed to do nothing but stare at the gilt-edged calling card.
‘Someone I used to know at college in London,’ he muttered, since there was no help for it. ‘How in God’s name did he find his way here?’
‘You don’t sound very pleased about it! He must have been a friend of yours.’
Ben suddenly looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. His voice was suddenly harsh.
‘You’d best go home, boy. I can’t entertain you any more today if we’ve got a visitor. Come back some other time, and I’ll show you my maps and papers.’
‘And the pictures of the coffee-houses in London where ’ee used to go?’
‘Get off home, Freddie. Tell your mother you’ve been tolerably good for once.’
He smiled as he spoke to take the sting out of his words, hoping he didn’t betray his eagerness to get Freddie away from the house. His own actions annoyed him. He was over-reacting to a visit from someone he hadn’t seen for over five years. People changed. Neville Peterson might well have changed too.
Morwen saw her brother out, glancing back at Ben and wondering just why he seemed so agitated. He covered it well, but she knew the signs. She noted the twitching nerve at the side of his mouth, and way his hands clenched and unclenched without his realising that they did so.
Ben wasn’t pleased that this old school-friend had called on him, and she was wise enough not to comment until she met the man for herself.
‘I’d best go up to Father’s room and join them,’ Ben said tersely. ‘I hope it hasn’t been too much excitement for him.’
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