Pengarron Dynasty

by Pengarron Dynasty (retail) (epub)

  ‘Please come back, sweeting, I miss you all of the time.’ He tried one of his old tricks to manipulate her, by looking up under her chin with puppy-dog eyes. ‘Don’t stay angry with me. I promise not to shout at you like that ever again. You can have anything, do anything you want. And the good folk of Polgissey are missing you too, they were all asking about you after church on Sunday. Surely you’ve not forgotten Little Min?’

  ‘Don’t look at me like that, Luke,’ she cried indignantly. ‘Do you think I am five years old?’

  He straightened his back. ‘Sorry. Look I am really sorry for everything, Cordelia.’ He thumped his fist to his forehead, truly serious now. ‘I know I’ve got to rethink how I treat you. I will, I promise. Just please come back with me!’

  Her small mouth pursed, she smoothed over her skirts and patted her hair, and Luke noticed how pretty she looked. She was wearing rose-pink, with gauzy trimmings, her black hair sparkling with diamond clips. Finally he realized she had grown up.

  ‘I’m missing some of the people of Polgissey too.’ Especially Morgan Kinver and his fine voice, the sensitive way he looked at her, their interesting conversations, and more. ‘But I’ve other things to consider.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, I might want to get married one day and you would be reluctant to let me go. Bartholomew will be returning overseas soon and he’s asked me to take charge of Tamara while he’s away on his long journeys. Uncle Oliver wants her to stay here, but he’s said if I feel I’d like to strike out on my own, which is something I’m seriously considering, he’ll give me one of his houses in Marazion.’

  ‘You can’t really want to be a glorified nursemaid!’

  ‘It’s better than being an unappreciated housekeeper! Whatever I decide to do it will be my decision and mine alone.’

  ‘What’s happened to you, Cordelia? You’ve turned into a tough little madam. Did I upset you so very much?’

  Tears sprang to her eyelashes. ‘More than you could ever know. I said I’m considering all my offers. One thing is certain though, Luke, if I was to return to Polgissey that dreadful Amy Curnow would have to go!’

  * * *

  ‘I should think Olivia and Timothy will arrive soon, my dear,’ Oliver remarked casually to Kerensa, across the celebrator’s chair. He was in fact annoyed with Olivia for being so late. Beatrice’s party was in full swing, the classical musicians had been replaced by those suited for country dancing. Beatrice’s gin was being watered down but she was becoming inebriated nonetheless, clapping her hands, swinging her legs against the chair, singing rude ditties to the raucous tunes.

  The waterwheel was announced, a noisy circular dance involving much clapping, foot stamping and hooting, and tossing and swinging of the women. Kerensa came round the back of the chair to shout in Oliver’s ear. ‘Livvy hasn’t been out of the house for days. She’s been in a strange mood since Mr Spears suddenly left for London. She said he was a hard taskmaster then he suddenly lost interest. I don’t think her painting is going well, either that or she’s getting childbearing moods.’

  Oliver rested his hand on her shoulder, a gesture as natural as breathing to him, and while he listened to Kerensa, feeling her sweet breath on the side of his face, he prayed he would not feel her stiffen and move away from him physically or mentally. ‘We must make allowances for her then.’

  Aware of his hand, the discerning lightness of it, Kerensa felt a strong desire to close her eyes and enjoy the familiarity of his nearness. ‘Perhaps Timothy has been called to a sickbed or something and she’s waiting for him to return.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps.’

  As the music gathered pitch and pace, Beatrice chuckled all the louder and clapped her hands all the faster.

  Kerensa was worried that all the frivolity would wear her out and make her ill, but Beatrice, catching her piercing inspection, waved her away. ‘Get out there an’ enjoy yerself, an’ I mean both of ’ee.’

  Oliver still had his arm about Kerensa. He put his lips to her ear. ‘Dance with me?’

  Kerensa glanced at the wild scene of laughing, frolicking dancers. Red-faced, hot, relishing every moment, they were making the most of the free entertainment and food and drink: those given time off from the harvesting on Ker-an-Mor Farm were still being paid. The frivolity was addictive. Nodding her assent, she stepped out on to the floor with her husband.

  In respect for the lord and lady of the manor’s entrance into the circle, the music halted for a second then carried on at its strident speed. With the other revellers Oliver and Kerensa galloped round and round the great hall, twirling, cavorting, stopping at short intervals to clap their hands and stamp their feet, then pitching off again. When Oliver swept her up off her feet Kerensa laughed; when he lowered her down she flung her arms round his neck to steady herself. He was laughing too.

  Bartholomew was watching them with satisfaction. Waiting for such a scene had delayed his return to London, he had planned to finish his errand for Sir Decimus Soames long before this.

  Luck was on his side. On rare occasions, Sophia Glanville had been left unguarded. Bartholomew had no doubt that Mrs Jack’s true identity was that of Lord Longbourne’s mistress; careless of him not to have made sure she was dead. Jack had unhitched himself from his wife and gone to the stables with the new groom. Luke, returning from somewhere in a violent mood, was now slumped on the dais at Beatrice’s feet, fast getting drunk.

  Sophia, apparently, was taking a turn in the early evening air.

  Thirty-Two

  Alicia was in the apple orchard, grateful to be away from the noise, the overbearing heat and the activity, which to her standards bordered on the barbarian.

  The apples on the trees were swollen in full fruit, windfalls lay on the ground. She was saddened to find her first memorial to Alex was impertinently encroached by long grass and weeds which stung her hands when she tried to uncover the pitiful circle of stones.

  ‘My favourite dog is buried hereabouts.’

  The intrusion of the voice made her gasp and look up crossly. Bartholomew Drannock, whom she neither liked nor trusted, was offering his tanned hand to assist her to rise. Alicia allowed the mannerly act but made no comment. She felt the first prickings of apprehension, sure he was about to proposition her. He had made a practice of staring at her, had winked at her once or twice for no reason.

  ‘Her name was Sky, she died as a puppy, kicked by one of the horses. I hate it when something dies young and unnecessarily, don’t you?’

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘An answer to a certain question will do for a start,’ he drawled, coming closer, leaning towards her.

  ‘It’s no! And if you bother me again I’ll tell my husband, Luke and Sir Oliver.’ She stepped back, turned on her heel but got nowhere. He wrenched her round then pushed her back against the apple tree.

  ‘You misunderstand me, Miss Glanville.’

  Alicia felt her insides shrivel up with terror. She thrashed about trying to get free, but his grasp was too strong.

  ‘Oh, dear God. You’re a member of the Society!’

  ‘Intelligent and perceptive as well as lovely and good-natured. No wonder the mealy-mouthed Longbourne leaned on you and no wonder Jack adores you. Well, he did. Is he no longer interested in the cuckoo in the nest?’

  ‘If you’ve come to kill me, do it now. Don’t hurt Jack, he’s no threat to Soames’s clique,’ Alicia pleaded.

  ‘And brave. What a remarkable person you are.’ Bartholomew lowered his voice dangerously, ‘Unlike your lover was. He whimpered to be spared. A pathetic sight. So ungentlemanly.’

  ‘You murdered Alex?’ Alicia stopped struggling and glared at him with pure hatred.

  With lightning speed he thrust a long blade into the tree, beside her neck. ‘With this very knife – the traditional blow to the heart. I’d hardly stepped off my ship when Sir Decimus handed me the contract on him. Sir Decimus thought it would make things more interesting, me being
Luke’s cousin. Longbourne died quickly, if that’s any comfort to you. I’m not a sadist.’

  Alicia opened her mouth to scream but did not get the chance to utter it. He clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘Longbourne threatened to name names. I’m certain anyone foolish enough to try to blackmail the Society would’ve had evidence stashed away somewhere. You think Luke has it, don’t you? I’ve seen you searching Polgissey when he wasn’t there. Where is it, Sophia? Tell me now or my knife will find its way into your heart, and then Jack’s.’

  ‘Stand back from her or I swear I’ll kill you!’ Bartholomew turned his head a fraction.

  Luke was there, harsh-faced and sober, a short firearm held out at full length, his expression deadly. ‘I meant it, Cousin. Move away from her or I’ll shoot you where you stand.’ Bartholomew loosened his grip on Alicia. She kept her terror-filled eyes on him. He gazed at Luke with an ice-cold smile. ‘You know what I want, Luke. Hand it over and I swear neither I nor the Society will ever bother you again.’

  Luke aimed the weapon between Bartholomew’s eyes. ‘Do you think I trust anything you say? The Society owns you body and soul.’

  ‘Believe this, Cousin. I wouldn’t hesitate to carry out the Society’s policy and remove all witnesses to Longbourne’s death, except for one man. Your father. I owe him everything. He has my first loyalty. I didn’t come here intending to kill this woman. If I was forced to, and then had to kill Jack, I might even have to kill you. No, I couldn’t murder my uncle’s son and heir, nor mar his estate with a Society killing, it would bring him into Sir Decimus’s scope of attention, and you know how dangerous he is.

  ‘I’ve written to Sir Decimus, stating that Jack’s married a local servant and you are content with your new estate and pastime. He trusts me, you need never fear him again. You can read the letter, take it to the post yourself, if you so choose. Then the three of you can go on with your lives. But you do see, if Longbourne had written down the evidence he said he had, I can’t allow it to continue to exist. Show me, and we’ll destroy it together, and you can watch me add to my letter that I’m confident such evidence was just the prattlings of a pathetic man.’

  ‘Why could you not say all this before?’ Luke kept the gun on the same level. He had never liked Bartholomew, but he had changed from an insolent youth, who had done his best to care for his younger brothers and sisters when they had lived in poverty, into a cold-hearted killer. ‘If I hadn’t been so obsessed with my play I might have realized there was more reason for you being in Cornwall than to offload your child.’

  ‘I needed to study your set-up, and because of the affection I hold for your father, I also wanted to be sure this bitch did not mean harm to you in any way, Luke. I’m confident she’s only obsessed with her brat, that she took the only way, in marrying Jack, that promised its security. Now, where’s the evidence hidden?’

  Luke lowered the gun but stayed fully alert. ‘I’m grateful you think so highly of my father. If what you say is true, we need fear the Society no longer. First, I’ll read your letter and watch you add the appropriate addition. Then, I will send for the document – where I have it kept will remain my secret. You surely did not think I’d have it here or at Polgissey? We will burn it together, and then that will be the end of the matter. After that, Bartholomew Drannock, I hope to never set eyes on you again. You will certainly not be welcome here when I inherit the estate. Stand back from Alicia. Leave the knife, I’ll get it.’

  Smiling sardonically, Bartholomew did so.

  Alicia spat at him. ‘You murdered the man I loved. One thing I have learned from the Cornish is the power of ill-wishing. I wish you dead, a violent death, a painful death, and I wish you to feel a hundredfold the terror you made Alex suffer. I shall repeat these words every day and not rest until I hear that you are dead!’

  Thirty-Three

  When the last party guest had gone, and Beatrice, out of necessity, had been put to bed by Polly O’Flynn and Esther King, the Pengarrons, the Drannocks and the Lanyons gathered round the dining table, set with a cold supper. Oliver dismissed the servants and the family served themselves.

  The merry atmosphere in the ancient house was changing into one of disquiet. Pensive and brooding, Luke ate nothing but drank glassful after glassful of wine, and every so often he shot Bartholomew, on the opposite side of the table, a look of utter loathing. He felt sick to his stomach to be facing this man across his father’s table.

  Short hours ago, he and Bartholomew had stolen away to Trelynne Cove, where they had burned Alexander Longbourne’s hateful document, which Luke had fetched from a bank vault at Marazion.

  ‘Also a letter from you to the authorities, Luke!’ Bartholomew had congratulated him. ‘In the event of your and the others’ sudden deaths you were going to bring the Society down. Now let us forget this ever happened. I wish you good fortune and success with your plays. You have nothing to fear now about approaching the premier London theatres.’

  Luke did not want his good wishes, and Alicia’s counterwishes to Bartholomew still chilled him to the marrow.

  Cordelia was nibbling her food. She had witnessed Alicia turning to Jack, weeping with distress, which neither of them cared to explain. They had retired to their room and declined to come down to supper. She hoped they were not worried about the baby, but her main thoughts were about her own future. If she chose to care for Tamara, should it be here at the manor or at Marazion? Or should she choose to explore something entirely different?

  Kelynen tried to raise everyone’s spirits with reminiscences of the party, but it was a lost cause and she soon excused herself to slip off to the library. There, with Rex, she would examine the figures of produce and income, the gains and losses of previous harvests.

  Kerensa was quiet, thinking about Oliver.

  Oliver was quiet, thinking about Kerensa.

  Olivia was there. She had arrived just in time to offer Beatrice birthday wishes, her explanation, morning sickness that had lingered all day. She was pale and wan and temperamental. She was not eating because the smallest morsel would not stay down long inside her.

  Only Bartholomew appreciated the food. Swallowing a giant forkful of ham and pickle, he waved his two-pronged fork in the air. ‘Tell me about your paintings, Livvy. I regret, that except for those in the manor and on Polgissey’s walls, I haven’t had time to see them for myself.’

  ‘What paintings?’ Olivia snapped back. She was hot and uncomfortable, her back ached and her head ached. Her feet felt too small for her shoes. She dreaded the time when she would waddle about looking fat and cumbersome. From the first week when she had realized she was pregnant, she knew she would hate the entire process of childbearing.

  ‘My dear…’ Timothy cautioned her.

  ‘What’s wrong, my love?’ Oliver asked, glancing at Kerensa. They exchanged a look of parental concern.

  Olivia scratched a fingernail along the edge of the enormous table. Her voice dropped to an emotional whisper. ‘Everything’s wrong. I used to just dash off anything with brush or pencil, now nothing flows, nothing feels natural any more.’

  ‘Why do you think that is?’ Oliver asked gently.

  ‘I don’t know!’ Olivia proclaimed irritably.

  Cordelia had been listening. ‘Perhaps it’s something to do with that horrible Mr Spears.’

  ‘What would you know about it?’ Olivia glared at her little cousin, who appeared uncommonly bright, not her usual moping, simpering, dull self.

  ‘Livvy, dear, please don’t be rude. Perhaps I should take you home,’ Timothy said, embarrassed. Her moods were getting on his nerves. He gestured an apology to Cordelia with a lift of his earth-brown brows. ‘Cordelia may be right. You’ve only been this way since that fellow suddenly lost interest in you.’

  ‘When did you meet George Spears?’ Olivia glared suspiciously at Cordelia. Something must have made him forsake her – had she found the reason? She hoped there was a reason, the not knowing why he had sudden
ly rejected her was humiliating and was destroying her confidence.

  ‘She hasn’t met him, only heard of him,’ Luke interjected, bored with the conversation.

  ‘I have met him actually,’ Cordelia said perkily. Unusually for her, she welcomed being the centre of attention. ‘I happened to be in the rose garden one morning, a few days ago, and he chanced upon me and was very rude indeed, utterly patronizing. I told him of it in no uncertain terms, and, in view of it, that he couldn’t possibly be of any help to you, Livvy.’

  Cordelia waited for applause from all those around her, but before anyone could respond, Olivia leapt to her feet, sending wine glasses toppling and plates of food colliding in a noisy sequence. ‘How could you? How dare you! You deliberately offended George Spears and he will make sure no one ever takes my work seriously. He was my one chance of making a debut into the proper art world, no longer to be thought of as a stupid woman dabbling in painting at a whim to the neglect of her husband, and you, you sanctimonious little bitch, you’ve ruined it for me.’

  Timothy jumped up and tried to stop the tirade, but Olivia thrust him away from her. ‘Look at you, preening yourself and believing you’re witty and worth a second glance, and what for? Luke hasn’t a clue that you’ve been in love with him for years, and he’d never want a plain-faced, child-woman anyway!’

  Luke gasped in horror. Cordelia was in love with him? Too drunk to think past this astonishing revelation, he hung his head.

  Humiliated beyond measure at Luke’s reaction to her long years of worshipping him and sobbing desperately, Cordelia made for the door.

  Simultaneously, Timothy seized one of Olivia’s flailing arms. ‘That’s quite enough! Not another word from you. Home, lady. And tomorrow I’m bringing you back to beg your cousin for her forgiveness.’ Careful to keep his wife steady on her feet, he dragged her towards the door at the other end of the room. Olivia was now sobbing wretchedly too. Only the fact that her daughter was pregnant made Kerensa feel she must go to her rather than Cordelia.