‘Freddie, this has been a shock to you, the things he said to you so viciously.’ Freddie nodded, still scarlet-faced.
He went on in an even voice. ‘I promise you that Captain Peterson will leave Killigrew House immediately, and we will never see him again. As for you, Freddie, I am wondering what we should do with you?’
Freddie looked at him in alarm.
‘I did nothing, Ben. I weren’t spying, truly!’
Ben gave a short laugh. ‘I know that you weren’t! But does the London school still appeal to you, or would you prefer to stay in dull old Cornwall after all? If you don’t like the idea of working for Killigrew Clay, I’m sure we can find some other worthy employment for you. I’ll speak to your father about it. But if you still want London, Freddie, it’s your choice, and at least you’ll be alert to certain dangers—’
This time it was Freddie who hurled himself into Ben’s arms. The tears he’d been too old to cry streamed down his cheeks as he wept against his champion.
‘Oh, don’t let them send me away, Ben! I don’t want to go to London any more. I want to stay here with you and Morwen and Mammie and Daddy and the rest on ’em.’
‘Nobody’s going to send you anywhere, Freddie,’ Ben said calmly. ‘We’ll have to think about your future, though. You’re too bright to be a kiddley boy for ever, and your Daddy tells me you’re good with your hands. As good as Jack, I hear.’
Morwen listened to him, turning her brother’s attention away from the shock of the afternoon, and thanked God for Ben’s cool head. She knew him well enough to know how he seethed inside at the indiscretion of the two men in his own house. Peterson would be turned out at once, if he hadn’t already left.
‘Perhaps I could work wi’ Jack in Truro,’ Freddie quavered, as the new thought struck him. ‘I’m good at whittling toy boats out o’ wood. There ain’t such a difference in making real ones, I daresay.’
‘I daresay there’s not,’ Ben said gravely. He smiled briefly at Morwen. His confrontation with Neville Peterson was yet to come, but mercifully the day may not have been a complete disaster for Freddie after all. He had the resilience of the Tremaynes in his blood, and Ben knew full well what an asset that could be.
As Freddie snuffled against his chest, his hand reached out for Morwen’s, and she knew he forgave her for insisting that the charming but evil Neville Peterson be a guest in Killigrew House. The visit was over.
Chapter Fourteen
Ben threw down the Truro Informer in disgust. Morwen was used to his moods regarding the war in the Crimea now, but since what was delicately referred to as the Peterson affair, his attitude had changed slightly.
Morwen knew he could be as dogmatic as his father. Just as much a champion for what he considered right. Just as intolerant of the weaknesses of others. But she couldn’t blame him in any way for his reaction towards Neville Peterson.
Her own brother’s tetchiness in the few weeks since Captain Peterson had quit the house was enough for that. For Freddie, the trauma of seeing Peterson and David Glass together, and of being subjected to Peterson’s tirade, had lasted only a few minutes, but the shock of it was taking longer to erase.
It was a constant worry to Morwen, especially since she and Ben and Freddie had come to a mutual agreement that they should tell no-one else of the incident. Morwen would dearly have liked to confide in her mother why Freddie was so out of sorts with everyone of late, but it was too embarrassing a tale.
But it was not thoughts of Freddie, nor yet another newspaper report of the war that was irritating Ben this morning. It was August. The days in Cornwall were long and hot, and seemingly so in another part of the world. Ben picked up the newspaper again at Morwen’s terse enquiry as to what was annoying him now.
‘Just listen to this. They print this rubbish as an antidote to war. They think we’ll forget what’s happening to our soldiers by filling our heads with it!’
‘Since I have no idea what you’re talking about yet, I can hardly comment on it,’ Morwen said tartly.
He began to read the piece aloud. ‘The Queen and Prince Albert are enjoying the blazing sunlit days in Paris. Together with the young Prince of Wales and the Princess Royal, they are receiving the accolade of the French people. Paris is full of banners, flags, arches of flowers and illuminations for the royal visit.’
‘It sounds wonderful!’ Morwen said wistfully, a faraway look in her blue eyes as she tried to picture it all. Visiting any foreign country was an excitement Morwen hadn’t yet discovered.
‘Wonderful for the few, I daresay. Amid all the glitter of a royal occasion, the French are easily able to forget that they are unwilling allies of the British in the war.’
‘Isn’t that a good thing?’ Morwen demanded. ‘We should do anything we can to stay on good terms with our allies. The Queen and Prince Albert do us proud by visiting abroad in troubled times.’
‘You understand nothing,’ Ben snapped. ‘They waste the country’s money which could be put to better use providing more hospitals for the sick and wounded. While they drive about like poppycocks in their pretty carriages, men are dying in the Crimea. The royal party don’t go to the front, do they? They don’t risk contracting Asiatic cholera the way our soldiers do.’
‘They give people hope for a better future, Ben. That’s worth a good deal to ordinary folk. But you’ve never quite understood the way ordinary folk think, have you?’
She could feel the tension growing between them. Another simple discussion was in danger of turning into a blazing argument if it wasn’t stopped immediately. She saw the glint in Ben’s handsome eyes, and knew it was too late.
‘And you do, I suppose? You have insight into every poor bugger who lies dying in the mud and filth of a battlefield, do you? Can you guess at his thoughts at knowing his queen is graciously bestowing her favours on the French at this time? Wouldn’t he rather have an extra bandage to soak up his blood?’
‘Ben, stop it,’ Morwen snapped back. ‘You’re talking nonsense. And please don’t swear. You demean yourself—’
‘I apologise! I was under the impression I could speak as I liked in my own house!’ He spoke with exaggerated sarcasm. ‘I know your precious queen rules the country, but I hadn’t realised that petticoat rule had reached the backwaters of Cornwall yet. Perhaps you’d like me to walk backwards when I leave your presence, my lady?’
‘I’d like you to stop acting the goat and stop treating me as if I’m a complete ninny!’ Morwen leapt to her feet, her eyes blazing. ‘As to being your lady – sometimes I think you forget that’s what I’m supposed to be. I’m sorry if I don’t always live up to your expectations.’
She stormed out of the room, not heeding his angry shout after her. Her eyes stung. She was as badly out of sorts as Freddie. She wished she could run to the moors and shout out her frustration to the wind and the wild gorse, but those days were past. She was Killigrew’s lady now… and she had never felt less like it.
If only she could have spent the day in her Mammie’s calming company… but that too was denied her. Jane Askhew was coming to stay for a week, bringing her little daughter, Cathy, with her. It was an added indignity. Especially, as in a rash moment, Morwen herself had given the invitation, knowing it would please Ben and old Charles Killigrew, who constantly complained that he saw so few people outside the household. He had become a trial to all of them, and to his nurse in particular, who threatened daily to leave him.
* * *
Ben banged out of the house a short while later. He didn’t even bother to say good-bye. Morwen bit her lip to stop it trembling, wondering what was happening to them. They were together as they had always wanted to be. They had each other… and they did nothing but wrangle.
He still had to sort out the problems with the clayworkers after Hal had come to Killigrew House and told Ben bluntly all that had gone on at the meeting among the men. Ben had reluctantly agreed to Hal’s suggestions and was going to the works today to give
his new orders to the men himself. He was never one to shirk a duty or to pass it on to someone else.
Morwen gave a small sigh. Would he have been any different if he had gone to the war after all? Would his masculine needs have been satisfied then? Perhaps all men needed to be involved in the battle for survival on a larger scale than the comparatively small demands of a clay works.
She was still sitting on her bed staring aimlessly into space, when one of the servants came with a message.
‘Mrs Tilley says I’m to tell ’ee the bags have been sent up to the guest room, Ma’am, and the young lady and the little un be waiting for ’ee in the drawing-room.’
‘Thank-you, Fanny,’ Morwen answered.
Why couldn’t Jane have waited a little longer until she felt more composed, she thought crossly. A quick glance in the mirror showed all the marks of a previous argument on her face. Flushed cheeks; sparkling eyes; full mouth… Ben always said she looked almost at her most beautiful after an argument… her most beautiful being after they had made it up…
Morwen pushed such bitter-sweet thoughts from her mind and went downstairs to greet the visitors. Jane was as immaculate as ever, cool and fair, the little girl a small replica of her mother. To ease the moment, Morwen exclaimed at once on how much Cathy had grown since the last time she saw her.
To her surprise, the child hung back. By now she was more usually a little chatterbox at Killigrew House.
‘She’s been complaining of not feeling well, Morwen,’ Jane said anxiously. ‘I was in two minds whether to come or not, but she insisted so much that she wanted to see the old gentleman, that I didn’t have the heart to refuse.’
‘Didn’t you want to see Ben and me too, Cathy?’ Morwen teased her. ‘And the horses?’
Cathy clung even more to Jane’s skirts, and looked pleadingly into her mother’s face. She was definitely flushed, Morwen thought uneasily, and hoped there was nothing really wrong.
‘Drink, Mama,’ she spoke in a thin reedy voice.
‘I’ll send for some barley water,’ Morwen said at once. ‘Perhaps ’tis just the journey that’s tired her. Does she have a sleep during the day? My brother’s babby does.’
She bit her lip. Why couldn’t she remember to say baby the way Jane would? But Jane merely nodded.
‘I think we’d both like to go to our room and settle down, Morwen. Perhaps you’d send the barley water up. When Cathy’s asleep, I’ll look in on Mr Killigrew, and then you and I can have a talk. You must tell me how your pianoforte lessons are progressing.’
Morwen realised with a start that of course Jane would know nothing of the summer-house incident. She knew that Captain Peterson had gone, but not the real reason for it. There was a need for more lying…
The memory of how painfully Morwen had had to lie to cover up her friend Celia’s pregnancy before and after the girl’s death swept into her mind. Lies and deceit were abhorrent to Morwen’s honest open nature, yet it seemed that the devil plagued her with the need for them.
‘I’ll see that there’s some tea waiting for ’ee – you – when you’re ready,’ Morwen said quickly.
When would she ever lose the memories? When too would she ever rid herself of this feeling of inadequacy whenever Jane Carrick – Jane Askhew – was around?
She watched her carry her tired little daughter upstairs, and felt a stab of jealousy, not for the young lady this time, but for the completeness of her life. She had her adored Tom, and she had their child…
* * *
‘Fanny!’ She snapped in her frustration, as the maid appeared in the doorway. ‘Take some barley water to Mrs Askhew’s room at once, and tell Mrs Horn to have some tea brewing in about half an hour for the lady and myself.’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Fanny bobbed, and sped to the kitchen, to relate that the mistress was in a foul humour and they had all best steer clear of her.
* * *
The next hour was tedious for Morwen. She was obliged to sit about and wait for Jane to reappear, and the day dragged. When her one-time rival finally came into the drawing-room with a rustle of skirts, it was obvious at once that she was disturbed.
‘Morwen, I’ve spent some time with Mr Killigrew, and just looked in at Cathy, and I fear she is ill. She’s feverish and rambling, and I would deem it a great kindness if you would send for Doctor Pender to take a look at her. I’m so sorry to be a burden to you—’
‘Don’t be foolish! Of course you’re not a burden. Fanny shall go for the doctor at once!’
Morwen tugged at the bell pull and the maid came running, fearful of more acid from her mistress’s tongue. But once told what to do, she scurried off at once, and Morwen gave instructions for the doctor to be taken straight up to Miss Cathy’s bed.
‘May I sit with her for a while?’ Morwen said at once. ‘’Tis said I have the calming touch in my hands, Jane.’
‘I would be so grateful,’ Jane said at once. ‘I always feel so helpless when she is ill, and I fear so that it might be the measles. There’s so much of it raging in the towns, and I thought we had escaped it. I shall be in such distress if we’ve brought it into this house, Morwen.’
‘There’s little you can do about it if ’tis so, but we should not count chickens until ’tis confirmed,’ Morwen said, although her heart leapt at Jane’s words. Measles had already killed many…
Upstairs, one look at little Cathy Askhew’s raging cheeks, and Morwen had little doubt that this indeed was what ailed the child.
She soothed her hot forehead with a damp cloth and gently lifted the child’s nightgown where the tell-tale spots were already spreading over the small body. As Jane saw them too, Morwen heard her muffled weeping.
‘That won’t help the child,’ she snapped.
‘I know!’ Jane wept. ‘But if Cathy’s really ill – oh, you don’t know what it’s been like for me all this time without Tom. At times of crisis I want my husband with me. I miss him so!’
Morwen was momentarily ashamed of her harshness, and even more shamed at the guilty thought that she couldn’t ignore. Just as long as Jane didn’t turn to Ben as a substitute for Tom…
It was a recurring thought, and was as much a thorn in her flesh now as ever. And it was wrong to feel that way, when this poor sick child looked so tiny and pathetic, with hardly the strength to fight a virulent illness…
* * *
Doctor Pender confirmed that Cathy had the measles, and instructed the women to keep the child warm and in bed, and to drink as much fluid as she could. There was little else anyone could do, until the disease had either run its course, or…
Ben arrived back at the house to find Jane in a state of total collapse. Morwen felt sorry for her, but was impatient at her lack of control. Jane was the butterfly; Morwen the practical one; and this kind of hysteria helped no-one.
‘You’d be more use to Cathy by sitting and reading to her instead of wallowing in self-pity, Jane,’ she finally said testily, thinking this a fine way to spend the evening.
Ben rounded on his wife. ‘How can you speak so cruelly, Morwen? If you had a child who was sick, you’d know what Jane was suffering!’
He spoke angrily, twisting a knife in the wound. Jane seemed quite content to let him comfort her as an old friend, and the sight of Ben holding her and protecting her, seemingly against the sharp tongue of his barren wife, was suddenly too much for Morwen.
‘Well, someone should be sitting with Cathy, and since no-one else seems capable, I suppose it had best be me! ’Tis all I’m fit for, after all, to be someone’s skivvy!’
‘Morwen, don’t be ridiculous!’ Ben’s rasping voice came after her, but she sped on up the stairs and into the child’s room. Why, oh, why did she always let Jane Askhew make her react in this way? Even now, when Jane was clearly upset, the hated jealousy was still a part of Morwen.
‘Is it you, Morwen?’ Cathy’s weak little voice came from the bed. Morwen hurried across and put her cool hand on the little girl’s h
ot forehead.
‘Yes, ’tis me, my lamb. I’ll sit with you and read to you, shall I?’
Cathy shook her head. ‘Story ’bout the clay,’ she mumbled. ‘Tell ’bout the big boots.’
Morwen was startled for a minute, and then she remembered how charmed Cathy had been when Morwen had once told her about the clayworkers’ long boots, made especially for each man on his own special last by the local cobbler. Each man could be identified by his own footprint, and Morwen had made up the tale of the clayworker striding over the mist-laden moors and leading a group of children to safety by making them walk in his bootmarks.
She was surprised Cathy could remember it, but it had evidently stayed in her mind, and the child became drowsy as Morwen’s soft voice related the same tale once again.
By the time she had finished Cathy was asleep, and Morwen rose stiffly, turning to see Jane in the doorway. Morwen put her finger to her mouth and tip-toed out.
‘Morwen, you shame me. You’re better with my own child than I am,’ Jane said humbly. ‘Forgive me for putting on such a show downstairs. I’ll try to be calm while I’m here. It all seems too much at times, with no news of Tom, and now Cathy—’
Her voice broke, and Morwen put her arms around her. For once, it didn’t seem odd to be comforting Jane Askhew. It seemed natural and right.
‘You’ll have news soon, I’m sure,’ she whispered. ‘Be patient a little while longer, Jane. And Cathy will get well, I promise you.’
She had no way of knowing if she spoke the truth, but she offered up a silent prayer that it would be so. A prayer for herself too. She wanted Ben back. And every moment that Jane and Cathy spent here, Morwen knew that he wasn’t wholly hers.
She mustn’t think like that. If Cathy was her child she would be so grateful for all the help in the Killigrew household… but during the next critical days, Morwen began to wonder if Ben was taking too much on himself, because Tom Askhew was not here to comfort his own wife.
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