‘Fun is hardly the word I would choose! They are devious and dangerous games, at times,’ Ben said seriously. ‘But I’m truly delighted to hear you take such an informed view of world affairs, Morwen.’
‘You’re pleased to discover that I have a brain too?’ she said teasingly.
He laughed, and caught her around the waist, thickened and swollen now as the birth of their child became imminent. She was still close to him, in body as well as spirit, and it was where they both wanted to be.
* * *
It was not until March 30th, 1856, that the formal treaty of peace was signed. The Crimean War was over at last, and because of the electric telegraph, news of it was not slow in reaching the four corners of Britain.
As always, bonfires were lit to celebrate as towns and villages received the joyful news, even though to those not personally involved through soldier sons and husbands, the war had been no more than a distant happening in a remote part of the world. Victory was still something to savour.
The celebrations went on for days or weeks, according to how organised were the communities. On the moors above St Austell, there were additional celebrations.
Through the diligence of Ben Killigrew and the land surveyors, and the enthusiastic and determined team of construction engineers, the new Killigrew railway was ready to transport the clay blocks to Charlestown port by late April, and the clayworkers intended lighting their own bonfires high on the moors when the last of the despatches had gone.
They would celebrate the end of a war together with the hoped-for beginnings of new prosperity for Killigrew Clay, and they would raise their ale jugs to Ben Killigrew for the security of their jobs. The boss could be justly proud of his achievements.
His silent partner and official Works Manager, Hal Tremayne, echoed the sentiments the clayworkers voiced noisily at the end of the day shift when a chain of bonfires was lit right across the top of the moors, proclaiming to the townsfolk of St Austell that Killigrew Clay was in full production once more.
‘I’m so happy for Ben, Hal.’ Bess hugged his arm in a quiet corner amid the din and excitement of the clayworkers’ celebrations.
‘And rightly so, dar. I’m proud to call him son-in-law. He’ll rise above anything this town can throw at him—’
‘With your help. Don’t forget that, Hal.’
He put his hand lightly over hers. ‘I do forget it, and so should you. Our part in all this is to be kept silent, Bess. Put it out of your mind, and we’ll go on as we are, as we’ve always been. Is it enough for you, dar?’
For the first time since the wonderful news from Matt, he wondered if she wanted more. They had had it in their means to buy their own fine house, and to rise up in the world. Hal had been so certain that what they did with Matt’s money was the right solution, but more than four months had passed since that ecstatic day, and now he looked uneasily at his wife for a moment in the bonfire’s dancing light.
She spoke simply and he knew that she was sincere. ‘I have all I ever need right here, Hal.’
And yet, in Bess’s eyes, he suspected it was perhaps not quite all. The family was not quite as complete as it had once been. Still, Hal counted himself as one of the happiest of men. He had a wife he adored, a snug house, and their children.
Jack was as happy as ninepence in Truro, proving himself to be something of a craftsman for Boskelly Boats, and moving closer towards a lasting attachment with Annie Boskelly.
Freddie had recovered from whatever nightmare had haunted him some months back, and when he had finished his time in the school in St Austell, it was all settled that he, too, should be apprenticed to the Boskelly firm. Right now, Freddie was dancing around the bonfire with a group of his old kiddley-boy friends, and a giggling froth of young bal maidens.
The two younger Tremayne boys would be fine and successful boat-builders, Hal thought, with his own insight into their characters. Even though they no longer worked with the clay, it was good for brothers to be together, and that was satisfaction enough for any father.
But at such moments of reflection, he could never ignore the sharp sadness for Sam, and for Dora too. Matt was gone from their lives, and yet had come suddenly close to them all again, and more letters had been exchanged since that glorious day in early January. Hal was the first to admit that he, himself, had never fully been able to accept Sam’s death.
He knew that he was more stooped than before, his thick hair greying rapidly, his step slower. Sometimes he felt as though he aged as quickly as old Charles Killigrew, whose days must surely be numbered now.
He kept such morbid thoughts from Bess, who had seemed to glow with new life ever since hearing from Matt. Strictly speaking, they didn’t have favourites… but if they did, then Matt was surely hers. Just as Sam, his firstborn, had been his. Though he would always have a special place in his heart for Morwen, his girl…
Morwen was fulfilled at last, Hal thought. She had Sam’s three children safely under her wing, and they had settled into their new life at Killigrew House as though they had been born to it. And very soon now there would be another much-wanted child…
The bonfire on the moors sparked and showered, drawing shouts of excitement from the crowd, and loyal toasts to Queen and country. Countryfolk danced and sang as though in some pagan ritual. In St Austell townsfolk continued to echo the same sentiments with less exuberance.
Hal Tremayne was prepared like everyone else to stay out on the moors all night if need be, until the last fire had died out. His heart swelled, knowing he was truly a part of all this. He was among the clay folk that he loved. His wife’s hand was tucked tightly in his. He was home.
* * *
At Killigrew House Morwen was having very different thoughts about feelings of contentment. She was far from comfortable. Her pains had begun early that day, but she had said nothing to anyone until it became clear that it was going to be a long exhausting time before anything happened.
Nurse Wilder looked at her at intervals throughout the day, and said that since the waters had broken early, the birth was almost certainly going to be a dry one.
The thought filled Morwen with apprehension, and by late evening, she was threshing about on the bed, while Ben wiped the beads of perspiration from her face and neck, and muttered that it surely should not be like this, and perhaps the nurse needed assistance… He heard Nurse Wilder say crisply that there was no earthly need for Doctor Pender to be here, and she would be the first to send for him if the need arose. This was a perfectly normal birth, and Morwen was strong and healthy…
Ben gritted his teeth and tried not to flinch when she gripped his hands so tightly he thought she would stop his circulation. The midwife had given Morwen a twisted towel to bite on, but it was Ben’s strength that she needed.
‘I never thought the pain would be so cruel, Ben!’ she gasped out as the next searing contraction subsided.
Each time it came it carried her high to a peak of agony she had never known before. And each time the pain enveloped her, she remembered Celia. It was uncannily as though Celia was there beside her, wanting to share the pain, yet unable to relieve her of one fraction of it.
In a way Morwen could never have put into words, her own pain was a kind of exorcism for what she and Celia had done. They had rid Celia of an innocent, unwanted child…
That faraway time kept flashing in front of her eyes, and yet it was as though she saw it all through a mist. She was still holding Celia, as she had done so tenderly then… but was it now that Celia was supporting her? She was too muddled to know, but now she knew Celia’s pain, and was part of it at last.
‘Hold on, my brave girl.’ Ben’s voice was hoarse with his own emotion. ‘Nurse Wilder says it can’t go on very much longer. The baby will soon be born, and you’ll forget the pain once you hold our child in your arms.’
‘I don’t want to forget!’ She mumbled the words through dry lips. ‘As long as I remember the pain, it will remind me how muc
h this baby was wanted, dar. I don’t expect ’ee to understand what I’m saying—’
He wiped her face with a damp cloth, his hands gentle on her burning flesh. There was a shake in his voice as he spoke.
‘Perhaps I do, my Morwen. Ramble as much as you like, as long as you come back to me from wherever it is you’ve gone.’
God, but he would give anything to spare her this. He could hardly bear to see her in such agony on this bed where they had loved so gloriously. For the first time, Ben was truly afraid of losing her…
Nurse Wilder came into the room, lifted the bedcovers to take a look at Morwen’s progress, and shooed Ben out of the room.
‘’Tis women’s work from now on, Mr Killigrew, and ’tis best that the missus and me get on with it alone. You go downstairs and get ready to wet the baby’s head when ’tis all over. I promise you it won’t be long now, and it’s all coming along nicely.’
She spoke as though it was a rabbit stew coming to the boil, Ben thought irritably. Her manner was clearly meant to dispel a troublesome husband’s worry, and send him away where he could be more usefully employed.
The strongest men had been known to faint after their insistence on seeing a child born to prove that it wasn’t switched at birth, and besides, Nurse Wilder had never been in favour of the idea. The indignity of childbirth was best left to those who could face it.
Ben could hardly wrench himself away from Morwen, yet neither could he bear to stay. Her beautiful black hair was spread about her like rats’-tails on the white pillow, her face was swollen and distorted with pain, yet she was still more dear to him than anything in the world.
He bent swiftly to kiss her, regardless of Nurse Wilder’s scolding. As he let her go, Ben felt as though he left most of himself behind in that large lonely bed.
He went downstairs and poured himself a large glass of brandy. He needed it. His hand shook, and he thought grimly that women were the strong ones after all. His thoughts were scrambled. He should go and tell his father that the birth was imminent, but he found the moments too private to share.
Somewhere in the house, he heard the faint sounds of laughter from the other children. He prayed humbly that his own child would be as whole and healthy as those three. He didn’t often pray, but suddenly Ben Killigrew found that his eyes were tightly closed, and a plea for his beloved wife’s safe deliverance came from somewhere deep inside his soul.
* * *
The celebration fires still burned brightly as dusk began to enhance the moorland scene. The flames leapt skywards, and townspeople far below stood outside houses and taverns and looked upwards to enjoy the spectacle. And many wished they had been born with the same lack of inhibitions as the clay folk. Peace had made victors of them all.
To the sounds of such rejoicing, Justin James Killigrew was born. He cried lustily as he came into the world, beating his small fists in the air as Nurse Wilder turned him upside down and smacked his bottom.
‘You have a fine boy, Mrs Killigrew! He’s a fighter already, by the looks of un, and the spit of his Daddy. And with all the cheering all over Cornwall to welcome un, I’d say he was born under a lucky star!’
Morwen turned her head towards the nurse, the exhaustion of the birth miraculously beginning to leave her at the longed-for words. And with it went all the bad memories… for one poignant second she imagined Celia’s smile. It was contented at last. And just as suddenly, the image faded and was gone.
Morwen held out her arms for the baby, hers and Ben’s, and gazed down on the perfect little face, to make the acquaintance of her son. His eyes were open, and they were deepest blue Tremayne eyes. But his downy hair was lighter than her own, the rich deep brown of his father’s.
A smile of pure joy lit Morwen’s face as she touched the baby’s velvety skin. She put her lips to his cheeks and whispered a soft hello. The moment was enough to send a lump to Nurse Wilder’s throat, who had seen it all before.
‘Once you’re tidied, I’ll let your husband bring the other babbies in to see ’ee, Mrs Killigrew,’ Nurse Wilder said briskly. ‘They’ve been plaguing to see their new brother or sister, so mebbe now we’ll all get some peace! And once all’s in order, I’ll send someone to let Doctor Pender know the babby’s arrived safely. He’ll be here to see ’ee now ’tis all over.’
She couldn’t resist a small sniff. Doctors! What did they know about birthing, the time when you really got to understand the heart and soul of a woman?
And this one… this brave and beautiful one… had spirit enough for ten men. Nurse Wilder, who thought little of the male species, thought it a shame that they even had to be involved in producing such a picture as this.
When she had got things all tidied-up to her own satisfaction and not before, she gave a small nod, as Morwen sat up in bed with the blanket-wrapped child in her arms, impatiently awaiting Ben and the children.
Nurse Wilder called down the stairs, where Ben was having a difficult time in keeping the children still once they had heard the baby cry.
‘Is everything all right?’ he asked roughly.
‘If a fine and lusty son is what you would call all right, Mr Killigrew—’
She got no further, as Ben rushed past her with Primmy in his arms, taking the stairs two at a time. The boys raced ahead of him, too excited to wait downstairs. Ben reached the bedroom, and Primmy struggled to be out of his arms, trotting across the room towards the bed on her uncertain little legs.
The three of them peered into the face of their new brother, awed into sudden silence. And Ben stood at the bottom of the bed for a moment longer, while they had their fill. His heart was full, knowing that everything he ever wanted was here.
It was a little tableau he wanted to imprint in his memory for ever. Morwen leaning over the baby with her long black hair caressing his tiny cheek; the three children that were Sam’s and theirs, flushed with excitement; Morwen’s sudden awareness as she looked towards Ben, and the fulfilment in those incredible blue eyes; and the love they shared, as endless as eternity.
Ben wasn’t a man to whom tears came easily, but emotion threatened to overcome him at that moment, seeing the five of them so united in love. This was his family… Morwen stretched out her hand towards him, wanting to draw him into the circle.
And to Ben, she had never looked more beautiful.
Next in The Cornish Clay Sagas:
Family Ties
A heart-wrenching saga of love and family, Family Ties is the brilliant third installment in Rowena Summers’ Cornish Clay series, perfect for fans of Maureen Lee, Linda Finlay and Lesley Pearse
Find out more
First published in Great Britain in 1987 by Severn House Publishers Ltd by arrangement with Sphere Books Ltd
This edition published in the United Kingdom in 2019 by
Canelo Digital Publishing Limited
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United Kingdom
Copyright © Rowena Summers, 1987
The moral right of Rowena Summers to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781788634687
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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