Clay Country

by Clay Country (retail) (epub)

  ‘I’m sure they will, Mammie. Ben will see to it,’ Morwen said with relief.

  Bess laughed, and handed Morwen a fresh-baked bun that rivalled anything that Fielding’s Tea Room could provide.

  ‘Does Ben have a finger in that pie as well? He don’t have shares in Boskelly’s boat-yard, does he?’

  ‘No, but folk respect his wishes, Mammie. ’Tis useful at times.’

  ‘Oh, ah! ’Tis useful to have a name and a fine house and a reputation for fair treatment. So tell me, what’s the news about the rail tracks? Your Daddy keeps tight-lipped on it lately, which means he knows nothing, and won’t admit it.’

  ‘You don’t think I’m going to betray anything I know, do ’ee?’ Morwen teased.

  Bess pounced on the hint. ‘So you do know summat. Out wi’ it, our Morwen, and ’twill be just between ourselves.’

  Morwen shook her head sadly. ‘Mammie, I never thought you’d suggest such a thing. Ben was summoned to Bodmin yesterday, and was told that Engineer Trent had died from the consumption in Switzerland—’

  ‘The poor man! But wasn’t Ben in a fury over the need for more delay? If the rail tracks aren’t in use soon, ’twill mean using the old waggons to transport the autumn clay blocks to the port. Your Daddy’s been bemoaning the fact for weeks now.’

  ‘Listen, Mammie! A new chief engineer has already been appointed. Knowing the situation here, the business of Killigrew Clay was given priority. He’s studied all the information, and was present when Ben went to Bodmin. And since there was no real evidence for subsidence, or of rogue tin mines under the moors, he says the rail tracks can begin full use again. Ben’s gone to the works to inform Daddy today, since it was too late when he got home last night.’

  Her mother’s eyes were shining when she finished speaking.

  ‘Thank the Lord for it! I daresay Ben will get the town excursions going again while this fine hot weather lasts, and after the autumn despatches, the children can go on their annual excursion to the sea. Quite a few on ’em thought their babbies wouldn’t get their treat from Killigrew Clay this year.’

  She smiled broadly. ‘And mebbe my menfolk will show more cheerful faces from today. Dora says that Sam’s been a real sore-head these past weeks, and Primmy’s teething and screaming is nearly driving her to the kiddleywink.’

  Morwen was thankful she had been able to bring good news for once. She changed the subject.

  ‘You’ll have heard the news from the war, Mammie?’

  Bess looked vague, her thoughts still on more homely affairs. Morwen looked impatient. Ben had been so full of it, and it was surely important to them all.

  ‘There are great hopes that the French soldiers will conquer Sevastopol very soon! They’ve been bombarding the city for several weeks now. They say it will all be over by the middle of September—’

  ‘Oh, Morwen, lamb, what does it mean to folk like me? ’Tis no more than a name I’ve heard Ben mention. As long as my family is safe around me, a foreign war means nothing.’

  Morwen was shocked, and realised in an instant how effortlessly her own attitudes had changed since being Ben Killigrew’s wife. At one time she, too, would have felt nothing for a war across the sea. But now she shared Ben’s fervent wish for it to be over. She even shared Jane Askhew’s anxiety for her Tom to come home safely, and knew that she meant it sincerely.

  ‘No doubt you’ll be joining in the celebrations on the moors, though?’ Morwen said coolly. ‘When the news comes, they’ll light bonfires as usual, and dance around them—’

  ‘Oh, we’ll all be there then,’ Bess said happily, oblivious to any reproof in her daughter’s voice.

  * * *

  Ben was so cheerful, it was as if he had been given the moon and stars on a plate. His works were in full production again. There was no more talk of the men not getting their fair dues and bonuses. The rail tracks could begin operations the very next week.

  Meanwhile, he had teams of men cleaning the tracks from the mud and grime that had collected on them in their idleness. Others cleaned and polished the little rail trucks, and made them as comfortable as possible for the re-opening of the town excursions to see the porcelain hills glinting in the sunlight, and watch the mysteries of the clay works at first-hand.

  Ben had ridden over to Truro and called on the Carricks, receiving a stiff welcome from Jane’s mother, and an enthusiastic one from Jane and her father. Cathy remembered him and climbed all over him. And he had never felt so good as when he gave the news about the rail tracks to Lew Tregian for The Informer.

  Morwen would like to have gone with him, except that she had no wish to meet Mary Carrick again, who had always either snubbed her or ignored her on the few occasions they had met.

  ‘And The Informer will announce that the rail excursions are to begin again?’ she asked on his return from Truro. ‘I hope that folk won’t be afraid to risk the journey because of what’s happened, Ben.’

  ‘I hope so too,’ he commented. ‘But since you and I and various others will be taking the first invited tour from St Austell town to the works, I hope it will prove our faith in it, Morwen. I’ve asked Jane and Cathy and her parents. Mrs Carrick has declined, but Richard is agreeable to bringing his daughter and granddaughter. I’m going to invite thirty or more notables from the town, and have promised to let Lew Tregian know their names when they accept. He’ll print them in full for the readers of The Informer to read, and has also said he will be on hand to report on the day.’

  ‘So you spent some time with Mr Tregian in Truro too?’ she asked with forced innocence.

  Ben laughed, twirling her round in his arms until her long hair spun around her head and around Ben’s shoulders as he held her close, capturing both of them in its dark tresses.

  ‘Yes, my jealous darling, I spent some time with Lew Tregian. It was not all in Jane Askhew’s company. It seems to me that we’ve had this kind of conversation before!’

  But this time it didn’t matter. Ben was too elated by his own news to bristle at her words, and Morwen was too sure of his love to waste time on real pique.

  Besides, she hadn’t expected the first rail journey after its long absence to be such an occasion. Nor to be included in the list of notables. She said as much to Ben.

  ‘Included! Morwen, you and I are the owners of Killigrew Clay!’

  She stared at him. ‘Don’t be silly. I own nothing. I’m just your wife—’

  He shook her gently, his eyes teasing. ‘And if I were to die…?’

  ‘Don’t say such things! ’Tis bad luck!’ Quickly she crossed her fingers behind her back. She would have crossed eyes and toes too if he hadn’t been laughing down at her. But it was her old Ben, her teasing, laughing, wonderful Ben, and she forgave him everything.

  ‘All I’m saying, you goose, is that if I were to die, then Killigrew Clay would be yours. It would belong to you. How does that sound to you, Morwen Tremayne?’

  She was numb. It had never occurred to her. His teasing with her old name told her he guessed at her feelings. Morwen Tremayne, clayworker’s daughter, the sole owner of Killigrew Clay? It seemed as unlikely as suddenly donning a crown. As for what her family would think…

  ‘Ben, I don’t want to hear any more of such talk. I never want it to happen, because if it did, it would mean I no longer had you. And I wouldn’t want to live without you—’

  ‘Darling, stop it,’ he commanded as her voice wavered. ‘I was only stating a fact for your own security. We’ll forget it was ever mentioned. Instead, help me draw up the list of people you’d like included on our excursion to the porcelain hills.’

  ‘How grand it sounds.’ She was forced to smile. ‘I know that’s what the townsfolk call the clay-tips, but they always seemed no more than cosy places where Celia and I could keep out of sight for a while in our tea-breaks.’

  Her smiled slipped a little. How far away it all seemed. With a little shock she realised that for a second she hadn’t been able to
recall Celia’s face clearly, though four years had done nothing to dim her memory of the awful events of that time.

  Ben was still holding her, and she felt his lips touch her cheek, and heard the swift sympathy in his voice.

  ‘Come back, Morwen. Does it still pain you to remember?’

  She nodded. ‘I think it always will,’ she said simply. ‘I can never forget what your cousin did to her, any more than I can understand how my brother Matt could have gone off to America with him the way he did. It was as if he could charm his way into any person’s mind that he chose. If I was old Zillah, I’d say those people were ill-wished to have Jude Pascoe’s attentions.’

  She shuddered. Celia had found Jude charming and exciting… to Morwen, the very thought of him had been odious.

  ‘Well, there was at least one person’s mind he couldn’t charm,’ Ben said drily. ‘I thought we had decided never to mention Jude’s name in this house. The less I know of his doings, the better—’

  ‘I would still like to know of our Matt’s doings,’ Morwen said sadly. She took a deep breath, knowing she was clouding this lovely day, the best day the Killigrews had known for some time. She put a smile on her lips.

  ‘Are we going to begin this list for the excursion? And do I have to go knocking at fine folks’ doors to invite them?’

  ‘You do not!’ Ben caught her determined gay mood. ‘We’ll have invitations sent round to their houses, and do it as grandly as my lady wishes.’

  * * *

  So there were to be celebrations all round. The next issue of The Informer took up half a page in telling people that Killigrew’s rail tracks had now been declared safe by the new Chief Engineer of the district, and that therefore the excursions to Killigrew Clay would begin again immediately.

  Those wishing to enjoy the benefit of the fresh moorland air, the views of the town and the sea, and the excitements of the clay works, were advised to contact the Killigrew Clay offices in St Austell town, where bookings could be made. The first excursion was by invitation only, and there followed an impressive list of the wealthy and the elegant who wished to be known as Ben Killigrew’s guests. Particularly as Morwen had suggested holding a fine tea for them at the house afterwards, an expense to which Ben readily agreed. It was a sound move, he told Morwen. There were plenty of people who considered an invitation to Killigrew House to be a status symbol.

  ‘I know that,’ she smiled. ‘Why else do you think I suggested it? Invite them to tea, and they’ll all want to come on the excursion!’

  Ben laughed, delighted to see the lights dancing in her eyes once more. ‘Mrs Killigrew, I’d say you have all the makings of a shrewd businesswoman,’ he said admiringly.

  ‘Thank you, Sir, but I think I’ll leave all that to you. Just so long as you’ll agree to joining my family on the moors for the bonfire dancing on Saturday night. You know they’re lighting them to celebrate the victory at Sevastopol. Please say we can go, Ben!’

  ‘My lady is so knowledgeable all of a sudden,’ he teased. ‘Of course we’ll go! Do you think I’d deny you the pleasure, my pagan love?’

  He smiled back, and she wondered if he understood more of her feelings than he ever revealed.

  For it would be so good. So good to dance around a bonfire, one of the glowing orange faces whirling and laughing, with the scent of woodsmoke in their noses and stinging their eyes, and the crackle of bracken underfoot. To smell the wild gorse and the crushed purple clover, and to be a child of the moors once more…

  She smothered the thought, reminding herself that she couldn’t ever go back…

  Only for a little while, just a little while…

  Chapter Sixteen

  There were no folk like clay folk for knowing how to enjoy themselves, Morwen thought elatedly on Saturday night.

  An exuberant clayworker swung her around the bonfire in a wild dance, oblivious of the fact that she was now Mrs Ben Killigrew, and that her husband was somewhere in the crush of merrymakers, clapping his hands to the tune played on an old penny-whistle the same as all the rest – stamping and hollering and laughing on the summer-baked earth beneath a starry sky, while the wood-sparks from the bonfire burst into the air like fire-crackers.

  They celebrated the victory at Sevastopol. Half of them had never heard the name. Most never knew the whereabouts of the city. They celebrated the victory all the same. And they celebrated their own fortunes.

  The French were apparently the real victors, and the French were allies of the British; the little Queen and Prince Albert had recently been fêted during their timely visit to Paris and the prestige of it all had reached the humblest ears. And Killigrew Clay could hold up its head again.

  To the clayworkers, the last was the most important of all, and they danced and sang with even more gusto because of it. Ben Killigrew was their hero once more. And Morwen Tremayne Killigrew was one of them…

  She caught sight of Ben’s beaming face in the bonfire’s glow as Eric Leeman swung her around, hair streaming, skirts flying. It was a joyous night that had begun with dour faces at Killigrew House that morning, and Morwen thought privately these simple folk with their simple ways were probably better off than someone like Ben, who had received his latest batch of London newspapers as he enjoyed his luncheon glass of porter.

  Some of the London papers were less cautious in their reports than the country ones, telling of the huge casualties of war on both sides.

  ‘God knows the Russians are our enemies,’ Ben had sworn at the grim reports. ‘But to think of the poor devils defending their city and losing a thousand men a day is monstrous. The French are clear victors, and pray heaven it will all end soon.’

  ‘Surely it must. Now that Sevastopol is taken—’

  Ben spoke tersely. ‘It must have been a hell-hole. The city burned for twenty-four hours, and no-one could get near it for the heat. Think how many perished in that time alone, who might have been saved with medical help. Our soldiers are demoralised—’

  ‘How can that be? We and the French have won—’

  ‘There’s national pride involved, Morwen. The French have the honour and glory of this particular victory. Our morale is already at its lowest in the Crimea, with our great losses in previous battles and with the Asiatic cholera sweeping through the camps like the plague in the warm summer weather. The raw recruits we keep sending are more of a hindrance than an asset, and the lists of dead or missing are staggering. It’s all here, in bold print, or written between the lines for those who care to see it and are not dazzled by the glory of war!’

  Morwen had hardly dared to comment as Ben’s face grew more stormy. Morwen suddenly felt alarmed. Killigrew Clay needed him here. Their own troubles had resolved for the moment, but the safety of the rail tracks was still to be tested and proven. No-one had taken that into any real consideration in the euphoria of the chief engineer’s report. But surely Ben would not think of enlisting for the war even now…

  ‘Ben – dar—’ she said timorously.

  As if he read her thoughts, he smiled briefly, his voice heavy with sarcasm. She knew it was directed at himself, not at her. She knew his impotence at being an onlooker at anything.

  ‘Don’t worry, my love. I would be as raw a recruit as the meanest clayworker if I offered my services now. We must put our own business to rights and think of the importance of putting fine china on society tables.’

  Morwen had rarely heard him speak so bitterly. She ignored his inference that clayworkers were of little account.

  ‘Have you not forgotten the importance of the china clay in medicine and in newspaper production?’ Morwen said quietly. ‘Aren’t these things of equal importance to our wounded soldiers and their loved ones at home?’

  Ben didn’t speak for a few moments, then finally he nodded slowly, the heaviness in his voice lifting a little. ‘You have a fine knack of reminding me of my inheritance, Morwen. But so be it. You had best read the more cheerful bits of news to my father, and lea
ve out the gloomy details, for I swear I couldn’t trust myself to be so selective.’

  He had asked to be left to himself for a while, and Morwen knew it was better so. Ben would wrestle with his own conscience, and eventually see that he could do no more than he did already. His clay works provided far more than pretty china.

  Once his frustration lifted, he would see that he played his part in supplying ingredients for medicines that might mean the difference between life and death for the British soldiers and their allies in the Crimean war.

  And by the time the festivities high on the moors began, Morwen had sighed with relief that Ben had come to terms with himself again.

  * * *

  ‘Did I ever tell ’ee you dance like an angel, Morwen?’ Eric Leeman bellowed in her ear. They twirled madly, making earth and sky spin together for a few wild seconds.

  ‘’Tis more than I can say for you, Eric Leeman!’ she gasped as he trod on her foot for the tenth time. ‘I shall have bruises all over if you don’t stop squeezing me so tight—’

  ‘’Tis the only chance I’ll ever get to hold ’ee, now you’ve gone up in the world, my pretty. No other maid could ever hold a candle to ’ee, though, Morwen.’

  She giggled, revelling in his harmless flirtation. It meant nothing. Eric had had too much ale, and would never dare to be so bold at any other time, especially with the boss’s wife. But the night was gay with laughter and merriment, and clayworkers and bosses mingled like currants in a cake.

  Ben didn’t begrudge her this excitement. He stood easily with her Mammie and Dora, little Primmy cocooned in a warm blanket in Dora’s arms. When Morwen finally extricated herself from Eric Leeman’s damp clutches, she danced across to join them, and the two younger children began leaping up at her at once.

  ‘Dance wi’ us, Auntie Morwen!’ Walter begged.

  ‘An’ me—’ Albert echoed in his piping voice.

  Morwen grabbed at both their hands, loving the clamouring of the two small Tremayne boys, their hair as unruly as Freddie’s ever was, their blue eyes large and sparkling. One day they would be as handsome as Sam, their daddy. As handsome as Hal, and Jack and Freddie – and Matt.