Pengarron Dynasty
Page 12
Soon the roof and chimneys of the house came into view, and with each step they climbed, more of the building was seen. At one end was a tower-like construction, the windows containing over five hundred panes of leaded glass, a viewpoint from the sea and something of a landmark. Luke paused to savour his cliff-top home.
With its hint of stately importance, Polgissey excited his blood like nothing else had before. Bought from the last of the Dobles, an old Cornish seafaring family, Mr Doble now permanently resided in Bath. Luke felt it was his presence that had breathed first life into the house. As if he had lit a bright candle of hope inside its solid walls that would last a lifetime. He felt empowered by it, and with its feeling of being a safe haven, he wouldn’t be surprised to see angels hovering over it. Here he would weave his dreams and build his fantasies.
‘You hold Alicia in high regard,’ Cordelia said, hiding her jealousy as they approached the rough path to the front door. Luke was expecting a consignment of gravel so the ladies would not be troubled by dusty or muddy shoes or skirts.
‘You’ve not let that fact pass you by then.’ Luke hugged her playfully.
Cordelia felt enriched to be an important part of his life, and she was enjoying her new position as mistress of the house, but she despaired that he would ever see her as anything other than a former childhood companion, the little cousin he liked to protect and cosset, or as someone to lean on and take for granted. She had not the slightest notion how to go about changing the situation.
Then he made her soul soar up to meet the colour-splashed sky. ‘But you I hold the highest of all, Corrie.’
That evening, entertaining his father at his table and then up in the tower room, which he used as his study, and with Jack fidgeting in a chair near the door, Luke proudly talked of his play and his plans for the next one, then gave the history of Polgissey and its last owner.
‘I got it for a very agreeable price. According to our family lawyer, Cecil Doble was an inbred fool anyone could exploit. His wealth was in steady decline and he’d been forced to sell his shares in the East India Company and just about everything else he owned. There’s a few pieces of eastern art in the house Livvy might find interesting. I shall add my own things in due course. By the way, Father, how are your shares?’ Luke didn’t pause to find out. ‘This coast is savagely wild, isn’t it, Jack? Never experienced anything so stimulating. The village will celebrate a very noisy festival as well as the usual bonfires on Midsummer’s Eve. Something about the legend of a sea monster. Needs to be kept at bay or it’ll annihilate the village or something, eh, Jack?’
‘’Tis the evil spirit of a dead pirate the folk of Porthcarne sent to a deserving death a century back. Must be drummed out to sea every year or it’ll eat the babies and carry off the women,’ Jack said, shuffling his feet.
‘It’s the custom of the landowner to provide the ale and rum, so I’ve been informed. Well, I don’t mind that. Should be good fun,’ Luke rejoined enthusiastically. ‘Might prove useful inspiration of a sort for my plays.’
‘Absolutely fascinating,’ Oliver said, and not as he could have done: ‘Yes, I know all this.’
Helping himself to more brandy, he noticed Jack watching the clock. ‘Looks as if Jack’s about ready to retire. I take it I’m welcome to stay the night?’
‘Tonight and any other night. I intend to stay up late and write,’ Luke replied, then, ‘Yes, Jack, off you go. Tomorrow will be a busy day for you.’
‘What will he be doing?’ Oliver asked, when he and Luke were left alone.
‘Carrying on with an inspection of all my properties, but first he’ll start the training of one of the Kinver brood as stable boy.’
‘I’m so pleased you’re all happy here. I’ve noticed how well Cordelia gets along with Mrs Rosevear. Now Luke, I’ve had some discreet enquiries made in London about Lord Longbourne’s death. The official verdict is accidental death, also of his mistress. He’s been buried on the family property. There is very little talk about it now.’
Luke looked grim. ‘We can rest easy then. I’ll inform Jack and Alicia tomorrow.’
Oliver was serious for several moments. ‘Does the woman make Jack happy? She is hardly his kind.’
‘You sound as though you don’t approve of her, Father, but let me assure you she’s a very remarkable person. Sometimes I wished I’d married her myself.’
‘You are lonely in that respect?’ Oliver puffed on his long clay pipe.
‘Not for the cares and burdens of a wife. I don’t want to socialize until I’ve accomplished my play and offered it to the theatres, but I miss having a woman available. I don’t want the bother of running a mistress, and after some of my experiences this year of brothels they no longer hold appeal.’
Wryly, Oliver shook his head. ‘Do you know how hard done by you sound? The answer to your problem is obvious, it stares you in the face.’
‘What? I can think of no solution.’
‘Just wait awhile, son, it’ll come to you.’ Holding up the empty brandy bottle, Oliver swapped it for a full one. ‘This is good. Untaxed, I presume? Did you know there’s a really good smuggler’s hide on your land?’
‘Hal Kinver, the villager you saw today who shares your height, has mentioned something of the kind. I’ve assured him his operations will get no opposition from me, but God help him if my name is attached to any.’ Suddenly Luke became forthright. ‘Father, we’ve talked of many things tonight, about all the family, but you haven’t mentioned Mama once. When are you going to make your peace?’
Sighing, Oliver hunched his thickly muscled body over his knees. ‘Have you not seen her of late?’
‘She was here two days ago, with Polly O’Flynn and Beatrice – the Lord alone knows how her old bones stood up to the journey. They brought us a wealth of gifts and household things. I couldn’t get a straight answer out of Mama either. Surely you’ve not fallen out of love with her?’
‘That, Luke, is impossible.’
‘I’m relieved to hear you say so. I suppose you don’t want to talk about it?’
‘No, there would be little point.’
Luke was alarmed. ‘But surely this estrangement is only temporary?’
‘I hope so.’
‘Hope so?’ Luke was on the edge of his seat, fervent, waving his hands in exaggerated circles. ‘Make it so! You and Mama have a love most others would never find if they searched a lifetime. You can’t possibly let her go. No amount of achievement, lands or titles could match having a woman like Mama. Damn it, Father, I was going to write a play based on the love you both shared.’
Long, dull moments ticked by. The bracket clock on the ebony mantelpiece ticked and tocked, striking a boom at one o’clock. A candle guttered out. Luke watched the wisp of smoke evaporate. Oliver sat forward, hanging his head. Luke said, ‘What are you going to do about Clem Trenchard?’ Oliver knocked back the remains of his drink. ‘It was doing something about Clem Trenchard which brought me to this loneliest of states. What I’d like to do, and I don’t mean this as a jest, Luke, is to choke the breath of life out of him. He’s being very clever, playing a waiting game. Using the continuing infection in Kane’s leg as an excuse to stay on at Vellanoweth. I shall have to ensure that I am more clever than he.’
* * *
That same night two gentlemen were setting up the pieces for a game of chess, in a public house in Duke Street, a few streets away from the burnt-out Longbourne house.
The walls were mirrored, enabling Sir Decimus Soames to keep himself informed of all arrivals and departures without actually appearing to. Pale-skinned and fat in a soft, wobbly manner, and delicately scented, he was dressed in crimson, the coat floral-panelled with silver frogging. Huge jewels glittered on all his fingers and thumbs, more were pinned on his neckcloth. His wig, casually understated in design, gleamed brilliant white in the glow of the rich candlelight.
‘You missed my thirtieth birthday bash, dear boy,’ he said in his highly cultur
ed voice, putting his knee against his companion’s under the small square table. ‘I threw a magnificant masked ball. Such a pity you were out of the country again. I’ll make it up to you tonight.’
A large, deeply tanned hand, completely unlike Sir Decimus’s, carefully weighed a black marble pawn. ‘Running guns and provisions to the highest paying cause in the colonial war is a risky business. You’re lucky to see me here alive and well, sir.’
Sir Decimus reached across and stroked the tanned hand before its owner had time to withdraw it. ‘Quite so, and now we’re sending you off on another little task so soon after the St James’s Street debacle. I know you and the others searched Longbourne’s house for this evidence he boasted he had and found nothing, but it’s occurred to me that your cousin may know something. He was one of Longbourne’s favourites, the only friend he had in the end – the others were all heartily sick of his pleas to lend him money. I’ve had Pengarron’s lodgings searched but found nothing. But I want to be sure, and who among us can get as close to him as you? You were going to Cornwall anyway, you say. Why?’
‘Just family business. It’s many a year since I set foot in the county.’
‘What’s it like all the way down there, Barty?’ Sir Decimus ran circles with a pointed fingernail on the other man’s wrist, where the end of a tattoo depicting a bird’s tail was evident. ‘Your cousin couldn’t wait to scuttle off home with his precious servant chappie. They spent so much time together, you know, I thought they were of my persuasion, but on the only occasion I managed to prise them apart, darling Luke disappointed me. After that he left his chappie at Longbourne’s house and made a point of plundering every bitch he could lay his hands on. Such a waste. Luke is,’ he kissed his fingertips, ‘simply divine.’
Bartholomew Drannock withdrew his hand, his dark face stern. ‘Cornwall has its own beauties, sir.’
‘Oh tush! You continue to walk the straight path too, eh? Shame, shame, you’re nearly as delicious as Luke. Your dark colour spoils you a little but I like the gold earring. You wouldn’t consider coming over to the other side just for one night?’
Bartholomew Drannock kept a heavy-lidded expression. Letting out a deadly laugh, Sir Decimus beckoned to a youth of about thirteen who had been lolling against the wrought-iron spiral staircase and giving him his eye for several minutes.
‘So be it. Bitches for you and whelps for me. You know what to do when you see your cousin? You’ll not be swayed because he’s kin?’
Bartholomew Drannock leaned back in his chair, grave and unyielding. ‘I know where my loyalty lies, Sir Decimus.’
‘Excellent, if only I could be sure all our members were as reliable as you, Drannock. You’ve borrowed enormous sums of money over the years and always repaid it promptly. Go, I shall expect word from you shortly.’
Sixteen
Ben Penberthy helped Kerensa climb up into the Vellanoweth trap, then got up into the driver’s seat of the four-wheeled carriage.
Reluctantly, Jessica handed up Harry to Kerensa.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll take very good care of him.’
‘I know.’ Jessica reached up and arranged her son’s bonnet to keep the sun off his face. She was worried to be letting him off the farm without her for the first time. ‘You’ll bring him back in plenty of time for his next feed?’
‘I promise, Jessie.’ Kerensa’s smile also fell on Clem. Because she had his grandson in her arms, he was within his rights to come forward, and watchful eyes could make nothing wrong out of it. ‘You’re taking him to the manor, m’lady?’
‘To Ker-an-Mor.’
Clem said nothing. His eyes flickered to her face conveying a chaser to his note. Where can we meet? She had destroyed the note for safety’s sake but re-read it in her heart every day. So far she had given him no answer.
The more she saw of Clem, during brief moments in the house or yard, the more she found herself responding to his longing to be with her. Each time she left Vellanoweth she saw the hope die in his eyes, the sadness in his expression grow stronger, and she wanted to be with him, to reassure him, give him her affection and her love.
To be alone with Clem would be dangerous. She feared Oliver would find out and the inevitable confrontation that would follow, but it wasn’t her main concern. Since their marriages, she and Clem had twice ended up in situations where they had nearly made love. She knew neither of them would hold back now.
She did not look away from Clem quickly, even though Jessica was eyeing them. She gave him a half smile, left him with half a hope.
* * *
Rosie Renfree knocked on the office door of Ker-an-Mor Farm and entered the spartanly furnished room.
Sitting grimly at the desk, Oliver growled irritably, ‘I thought I’d made it clear I didn’t want to be disturbed.’
He was throwing himself into work, going meticulously over reports of every concern of the farm and estate, and then going over it again, no matter how trifling the issue. Nit-picking. Tossing away plans and re-forming them. He had to keep busy, give himself no time to think or his misfortunes would overwhelm him.
Ignoring him, Rosie said, ‘I think you will for this young man, sir.’
Looking up, Oliver stared at her and the child she was carrying in her arms. A fair-haired child with striking blue eyes, presently yawning and stretching with strength and vigour.
‘Is it Harry?’
‘Yes, sir, he’s come for a visit.’ Oliver sprang up to claim hold of his grandson, Rosie’s great-nephew.
‘It was good of you to ask Jessica if you could bring him here to me, Rosie.’
He gazed down at Harry. A month had passed since the accident and the baby had grown in breadth and length. Oliver kissed his chubby cheeks.
‘I didn’t, sir.’
Someone else came into the room. ‘Hello, Oliver.’
He raised his brows. ‘Kerensa! You are responsible for this? Jessica has relented at last?’
‘I was able to make her see it wasn’t fair to keep him away from you.’
‘I’ll see to some tea.’ Rosie left, closing the door carefully.
Left alone with his wife, Oliver set stern eyes on her. The gulf between them had iced over part of his heart, as it seemed, on the few occasions they were now together, it also had hers. The sense of betrayal over what he saw as her fickle love for him sat in his guts like a hard rock. Then Harry gurgled, and he remembered that except for Kerensa’s thoughtfulness, his grandson would not be here.
‘Thank you for bringing Harry to me.’
‘He was as alert as this all the way here, enjoying the view of his grandfather’s land.’
Kerensa moved across to her husband and grandchild and took off Harry’s bonnet. She was so close to him that Oliver could smell her soft perfume, feel the warmth of her body. He had missed this more than he had admitted to himself. It made him agonizingly aware of the gaping chasm in his life, and having Harry here forced him to fight back a show of emotion.
Looking closely at Oliver’s face Kerensa saw his eyes misting over. ‘I’ll take my tea in the parlour and leave you alone with him. Where’s Kelynen?’
‘She’s at Rose Farm. Did you want her for anything particular?’
‘No. She left this morning without saying where she was going, but I took it for granted she’d come here.’
Kelynen had refused to divulge her plans but she had not been shy at using her direct tongue. ‘Mama, when are you going to forgive Father? I think you’re being too harsh with him. And please don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about. Two people can’t be as much in love as you and he one minute and not the next. I won’t accept it.’
‘I haven’t fallen out of love with your father, Kelynen. I never will.’
‘So?’ the girl demanded in a rare show of adolescent impatience.
How to explain? Kerensa didn’t know herself. ‘Our situation is complicated.’
Kelynen studied her as if she were an ancien
t sage, her eyes at that moment as penetrating as Oliver’s. ‘Please, Mama, don’t let it become more complicated. You know what I’m referring to.’
Kerensa had baulked at being under her daughter’s disapproval, while she was sure Oliver was getting her wholehearted support.
‘Kerensa, could we talk afterwards?’ he said.
She nodded and left the room.
Oliver held Harry close. Not for a second had the impression of the accident or the shame of the aftermath left his mind. He might have too much pride, but he wasn’t heartless. This baby may not actually have his blood in him, and he was very much a Trenchard in looks, but he was Kane’s son and Oliver loved him for that. He wept softly so as not to disturb him.
Kerensa forgot the tea, preferring to avoid Rosie and the servants and the unasked questions they would have in their eyes. Rosie would also be concerned about Clem, wondering if, despite the fact that others were always about at Vellanoweth, they were meeting elsewhere. She had seen the same question in Oliver’s eyes.
Nipping along the passage, she quietly mounted Ker-an- Mor’s stairs, intending to look out across the fields which swept all the way down to the cliff edge, but instead she found herself in the bedroom where Oliver had been sleeping recently. Where they had slept together during the harvesting most years, when he worked alongside the men and she helped the women with the food and ale. The bed, on which they had fallen exhausted and content, or made love in, staying all night in each other’s arms, was neatly made.
Her things were not quite in place, as if someone had picked them up and placed them down without thinking where they actually belonged. Oliver was carelessly untidy but everything was in order. It didn’t seem right. Nothing was right.
Downstairs just now, Oliver had looked lost and soulless, and emotional in the way of one not being in control as he had taken Harry in his arms. She wanted to descend the stairs and beg Oliver to come home, to suggest they reconcile even if they couldn’t make up their differences, and resume their marriage with whatever each had to offer.