‘Where is everyone?’ Luke said.
Jack could see enough in the thickening gloom to be satisfied that everything outside the stables was in good order. Not that at this moment he cared much. Was it really only a year ago he had mounted a Pengarron mare and ridden off with Luke, excited by the fact he was to see something of life at last? Luke, accusing him of being an old spinster and a dullard, had roused his sense of adventure. By God, how he wished he had not.
Yet he could not really say he wished that, otherwise he would not have met Alicia.
It was a relief to toss away the reins tormenting his blistered hands, and place his feet on familiar ground. Approaching his wife, he gently rubbed her gloved hand. Her body snapped upright. ‘What? Where are we?’
Luke, breathing in the tangy-sweet air, heard the fear, the miscomprehension in her voice. ‘We’re safe at last, Alicia, and thankfully at the end of our journey. We’ll go inside and eat and get warm.’
Michael and Conan, who had drifted off to sleep due to their extra labours, crept forth from their accommodation over the stables.
‘Hello, who’s there?’ Michael, the slightly braver of the two, and Jack’s acknowledged next in command, called out cautiously.
‘What the hell have you been about? Come and take our mounts at once,’ Luke snarled at their half-hidden figures. ‘Is his lordship at home?’
‘Oh, Mister Luke! Jack!’ Michael simpered, leaping into full view and bowing again and again. Conan followed, thrusting his own head down low. Michael said, ‘We’re some sorry not t’ be here ready for ’ee, sir. And no, sir, his lordship’s over the stud, for a foaling. Her ladyship and Miss Kelynen and Miss Cordelia are gone too.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Luke rasped under his breath. He broke into a fit of coughing. The two stable boys watched wide-eyed, as he hacked and gasped for a full minute while Jack vigorously patted his back.
Next instant, Luke was barking huskily, ‘What are you two standing about for? These horses are not in good form but do your best for them. Tomorrow, put the pony out to pasture. Don’t you dare send anyone to inform Sir Oliver we’re here. Come along Jack, bring Mrs Rosevear into the house.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Jack reverted to the use of Luke’s proper title in the presence of the stable boys. He made no response when Michael said he was glad to see him back safely. He would rather have gone straight to his cottage, reached by a short walk behind the orchards, but he knew Luke would not be argued with. He gave his arm to Alicia. Statuesque, but like a wraith in the dark, she could only stumble a few steps. Luke helped guide her along to a door which opened on to the long corridor that ran to the kitchens.
‘Mrs O’Flynn! Come at once, if you please!’ He shouted for the housekeeper, risking his sore throat. ‘We’re in need of assistance.’
Polly O’Flynn, plain clothed, steadfast and efficient, wife of the estate gamekeeper and head forester, was there in a moment. Luke noticed she had stepped into middle age during his absence. Her cotton-capped hair was now completely grey, her jawline no longer firm, a pound or two of weight was added about her hips. A strange melancholy seeped into him. It was only a little thing to see a change in a servant, but it was more than just change. It was ageing, and it was irrevocable. What other unpleasant surprises lay in wait for him?
‘God in heaven is merciful!’ Polly exclaimed, bending at the knee. ‘Her ladyship will be that pleased you’re both home safely, and in time for Master Harry’s baptism. I suggest you go along to the library, Mr Pengarron, there’s a fire lit against the chill in there. I’ll see to your needs at once.’
She turned to Jack. ‘Your cottage is in proper order, Jack, all ready for your return.’
Luke thanked Polly, who hastened away, then he had to wait for Beatrice, dangerously out of breath, to come upon him and his party. She instantly gleaned the story from the men’s appearance and their near-fainting female companion.
‘’Ad a feelin’ you wus about to spring yourself on us. ’Ome at last then, and brung trouble with ’ee too by the look of it. Tes some wonderful to see ’ee though, boy.’
He refused to be hugged by her, something he had never done before. ‘You can see the state we’re in. Bring medicines to the library.’
Unused to this sort of rebuff the old woman was perplexed for a time then, grumbling about her ‘poor ole legs’ and declaring ‘’e should’ve said please!’, she shuffled away to her newly allotted ground-floor room.
‘This way,’ Luke said testily, heading off a disapproving look from Jack, who saw his treatment of Beatrice, at the least, as a woeful lack of good manners. Sometimes Jack’s correctness and honesty made Luke feel small and worthless. ‘We need to get cleaned up before my parents arrive back.’
Fronting a line of servants, primed by her to be unobtrusive, Polly knocked on the library door and entered. Like the entire house, the room was panelled in dark Pengarron oak. Cosy and draughtproof, furnished for comfort rather than ostentation, the room was lined from floor to ceiling with books, on any subject that had taken the family’s fancy.
Luke had ordered many volumes himself: classical literature, medical and natural history, diaries, mythology, poetry, the arts, philosophy, theology. He had always meant to wade through them, but rarely had he taken a book off the carefully catalogued shelves. Now he observed them with interest and a sort of hunger. They would be very useful, if only… No, it was best he kept those thoughts, that longing, at the back of his mind – it would be deemed a silly venture.
Hot beef broth, bread, cheeses, cold meats and puddings, cordials, red wine and canary were laid out on the long table. Luke rectified his earlier misdemeanour by enquiring after the health of Polly’s young son, Shaun, then resuming his acquaintance with the manor’s cook, Ruth, and head housemaid, Esther King, and Cherry, his former nursemaid and now young Samuel’s. He allowed Polly to introduce a couple of new underlings, a boot boy and a footman. Jack gave all four women a warm hug.
When they had gone to their usual duties only Polly remained, and moving about economically, placed more logs on the blaze. Surreptitiously, she eyed the woman Mr Luke had referred to as Mrs Rosevear, where she reclined a few feet away on a sofa, which had been pushed up close to the huge stone fireplace. Cushions had been placed behind her head and shoulders and under her feet. The men had laid their coats over her, but still she shivered. There were no apparent wounds on her person but she rubbed at her right arm as if it troubled her.
‘I’ll fetch some blankets for the lady, sir.’
Jack stood with his back to the fire, hands clasped behind him, until the heat was too fierce for his scorched flesh to bear. His moderate, rather narrow face wore an expression of trepidation. He and Alicia being here was not sensible. Her presence should be kept low-key.
‘Perhaps I should take Alicia away with me now, Luke.’
Helping himself to wine, Luke gave a shrug.
‘Whose is this house, Jack? Luke?’ Alicia whispered, incapable of a higher tone, for the harrowing episodes of the last week and more had sapped her strength.
‘We’re in my father’s house, Pengarron Manor,’ Luke replied soothingly. ‘Jack will take you to your new home shortly. It’s small and barely adequate compared to what you are used to, but I’ll arrange to have every comfort put in place without delay.’
‘You are too kind, Luke. You also, Jack. I can never repay you both for all you’ve done for me. All you tried to do for Alex,’ her voice faltered and Luke shied away, grim faced.
Polly came back with soft wool blankets and traded them for the men’s coats. She detected the smell of smoke on them. Mrs Rosevear was wearing a plain dress and a brown cloak. The hood was pushed back and her hair, shining honey-gold in the flame light, was breaking free from a neckerchief Polly recognized as one of Jack’s. Her shoes were at odds with her clothes, made from some fragile gold-coloured stuff and high-heeled, more suitable for a smart social occasion. Her face, half hidden by a delicately
shaped raised hand, appeared neither commonplace nor noble. She appeared to be on the early side of twenty. Who was she with? Both Mr Luke and Jack seemed familiar with her.
‘Will Mrs Rosevear require anything, sir? Nightclothes? Help in retiring?’
‘Clothing, yes. See to it personally, please, Polly.’ Luke’s severe bearing forbade further probing.
Polly left again and Luke swore profanely at another knock on the door. Esther King carried in Beatrice’s box of medicines and the old woman followed eventually, puffing and blowing and complaining, ‘All this biznuzz will be the end of me.’
‘I’ll tell you all about our misfortunes on the morrow, Bea, I promise. And if you see my mama before I do, I forbid you to say anything to her. You’ve no excuse, you’re sober for once.’
‘Damned cheek!’ Beatrice hid her hurt by twisting up her ugly face and pointing an accusing finger. ‘Goodness sake! When ’ave I ever spoke out of turn, eh? Tension enough in the ’ouse as tes. Youm only goin’ to add to it.’
‘What’s the matter?’ Luke demanded.
‘Find out fer yerself.’
Luke and Jack exchanged wry looks. Beatrice hesitated. Luke and Jack had always been on close terms but this new affinity suggested something deeper, deeds done and secrets shared.
Luke went to the door, opened it for Beatrice, then lowered his head to kiss her on the cheek when she got there. Pacified, for in all probability Luke would confide in her more than in his parents, she shuffled off down the corridor, muttering to herself.
Jack looked down at Alicia. Her eyes, glittering like huge dark gems in the firelight, betrayed perplexity and anxiety. For much of their long journey, made arduous by their aches and pains and need for secrecy, she had slept or had longed for sleep. Luke had seen fit to drug her against hysterics for the first part of the way. He had done this against Jack’s protests. Had he known Alicia as well as Jack did he would not have used this resort.
Alicia, or Sophia Glanville, as he had known her for many months, was strong and brave, intelligent and resourceful. And tender-hearted, kind and friendly, and a good and willing listener. Jack had fallen in love with her some time ago.
He crouched down beside her, tucking the blankets around her more securely. ‘Don’t worry about Beatrice, she likes a bit of trouble but she’s completely harmless.’
Alicia grasped his hand tightly and, because it was her touching him, he did not feel the sting of his burns. ‘Are you sure she’s not a witch? She looked straight into me. She’ll know.’
‘You must forget all that superstitious nonsense,’ Luke said forcefully but not unkindly, ‘Forget everything that fortune-telling wretch at the countess’s private theatre show ever told you. She was an actress after all, and a charlatan. Anyway, are we all not very much alive? And who can hurt you now? You are under my protection and Jack will constantly be at your side.’
‘I’ll get you some broth,’ Jack said gently. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.’ Patiently, wanting only to see her sit up straight and be as composed as he’d known her before, he helped her consume half of the bowl’s contents and take a few sips of wine. Refusing the glass Luke offered him, he swore privately never to betray his convictions again.
Luke downed two glasses of wine, poured a third and ripped a plump leg off a chicken carcass. Eating on his feet, he shared out the ointments, salves and tinctures into two lots. Buttercup salve for burns, comfrey for bruises, soapwort to soothe inflamed flesh, a gargle for the throat.
‘I have no need of them, Luke, my arm is just a little sore now. I just want to rest, lie on a soft clean bed. I’m so tired.’ Alicia yawned, and gazed pleadingly at Jack.
‘We should go before Sir Oliver returns,’ Jack said, suddenly wanting nothing less than being under the scrutiny of the baronet’s eagle-sharp eyes.
‘You’ll have to carry her. I’ll get a lantern and light your way,’ Luke said. ‘And for God’s sake, act naturally.’
Act naturally! With death and shame behind them, and he with a wife of a higher class brought home with him. Jack let out an almost hysterical laugh.
‘The lady will remain until we’ve been introduced,’ came a strong, authoritative voice from the doorway.
Luke whirled round, hurting his stiff arm, and met the direct stare of his father’s stern eyes.
‘Welcome home, son.’
Kerensa pushed past Oliver and rushed to Luke. Paralysed with emotion, he embraced her tightly, burying his face against her neck. Angry with himself for putting his feelings on display, he finally found his voice. ‘It’s good to see you again, Mama.’
When he let her go, his eyes were damp and he felt ashamed. Ashamed to be seen crying, ashamed to come back home a failure. His father was the next to be embraced, then Kelynen and then the tiny Cordelia, and by the time he had given his final hug he had buried his feelings away deep inside.
Jack was welcomed home, but in view of his bandages handshakes were not exchanged.
‘Michael informed us of your and Jack’s injuries,’ Oliver said, pushing Luke down on a chair and taking his son’s wrists to study his wounds. ‘Tell all.’
Luke and Jack glanced at each other.
Luke spoke, ‘There was a fire at the inn we stayed in on the first night of our travels home. It was only by God’s grace we escaped alive. The lady is Alicia, Mrs Jack Rosevear. Jack has taken a surname.’
Oliver raised his black brows.
Tearing her eyes away from Luke, Kerensa exclaimed, ‘You’re married, Jack? Really? How wonderful. We’re very pleased to meet you, Mrs Rosevear. It’s terrible you had such a perilous start on your journey down here.’
Alicia tried to rise but Kerensa was beside her, perching on the edge of the sofa, bringing a candlestick near so she could gain a clearer view of the groom’s wife. She was astonished at the extent of the fearfulness staring back at her. Flawless skin over fine cheekbones, a lovely mouth and perfect poise spoke of refined living.
‘My dear, is there anything I can get you? You’re obviously in shock, unwell. You and Jack must stay here for the night, mustn’t they, Oliver? We insist. Thank God, you’re all safe, thank God.’
‘I am in your debt, Lady Pengarron, Sir Oliver,’ Alicia said in her well-modulated voice. ‘I’m just dreadfully weary. I’m happy to be wherever Jack is, his cottage will do us very well. I’m afraid my clothes were all destroyed in the fire. Your housekeeper is kindly finding me something to wear for the night.’
‘We shall raid our clothes presses for you,’ Kelynen interjected.
Oliver was standing at the back of the huddle, his mind on something learned at a gentleman’s coffee house in Marazion earlier in the week. Surely his son and his groom had not been involved in something so sordid, deceitful and dangerous? Yet Luke had a reckless streak in him, he was headstrong and rebellious, his disability was proof of it. It was hard to believe it of Jack, but he and his wife were distinctly mismatched. ‘Was anyone unfortunate enough to have died in this fire, Luke?’
‘The landlord’s son and two of the guests perished, Father,’ he replied immediately.
‘I see.’ Oliver’s penetrating eyes fell on Jack, who made a jerky movement backwards. A guilty reaction? ‘Her ladyship has offered you and your wife our hospitality, Jack. You shall receive it. And I shall have a long talk with you by and by.’
Again Jack and Luke’s eyes met. ‘About what, may I ask, m’lord?’
‘You may not. The lax manners of the capital city will not do here, Jack Rosevear.’
‘I’m very sorry, sir.’ Jack looked down.
Kerensa shared Oliver’s suspicion that there was more to Luke’s story but now was not the time for more interrogation, and not with Kelynen and Cordelia present.
‘I’ll ring for Polly to prepare a room for Jack and Mrs Rosevear. Sit down everyone. Luke, I’m sure you’ll be interested to hear all about the precious little nephew you’ve not yet seen.’
Six
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nbsp; On the other side of Mount’s Bay from the Pengarron estate, at Gulval, up on high ground and surrounded by lush landscape, was Vellanoweth Farm, the home and property of Captain Kane Pengarron, Kerensa’s adopted son. The sprawling, well-kept house and husbandry buildings faced the bay, all vantage points from which to view St Michael’s Mount, a small island a short distance out in the green waters.
On the summit of the Mount was a castle, once a monastery, once a fortress, now inhabited by titled gentry, and this graceful structure, parts dating back to the twelfth century, had been in sight for most of Kerensa’s journey to the farm. To her, the castle maintained an other-worldly quality and inspired her to rein in her pony just inside Vellanoweth’s farmyard and, with a company of hens pecking among the cobbles, she compared her life and her family’s to the world of legend and superstition.
At the beginning of her marriage, Oliver had been the wicked overlord. And while the subsequent years had been mainly happy and fulfilling, all too often, cruelly and unexpectedly, a goblin or a witch had sought to destroy her or her marriage, and once, in the person of an evil, effeminate sea captain, had almost destroyed one of her children. Now Luke was home, still as restless and bad-tempered as a sprite, and as lost as a prince on a quest for some unattainable treasure, his sense of undervalue as strong as before, and hiding a secret.
What lay behind the tale of the mysterious Alicia Rosevear? An innocent maiden or a sorceress? Luke acted as if he had rescued her from a dragon. She had certainly weaved a spell over Jack. He was besotted with her and she showed an affectionate concern for him, but there must be more to their union than this. Kerensa was sure the fine-faced, sweetly mannered young woman played the greater part in the secret both men were keeping.
Looking up at the blue mantle of sky where brilliant white clouds glided cheerfully, she prayed long and hard to ward off anything or anyone about to spring out of the mists of darkness and threaten her or her beloved family’s happiness again.
Kerensa felt the gentle warmth of the sun, tasted the sea-fresh air, and slipped into the tranquillity that was always in this place. She loved it here. She was calling on the one child who welcomed her presence at any time. Kane never saw her weekly visits as being too often, her advice or concern as interference. She was allowed to make as much fuss of Harry as she liked. Having had such a terrible start to his own life – for the first two years he had been brought up in a brothel, starved and beaten – Kane believed one could never bestow too much love on a child. The high-spirited Jessica was of the same mind, and, Kerensa thought, still smarting at her ill-spent morning, had never accused her of smothering, impeding or suffocating her or Kane.
Pengarron Dynasty Page 4