And what of Bartholomew? The identity of Trenchard’s killer was unlikely to be known by anyone in this area. Had he already started the journey up to London?
On his way to Gereint, Oliver whispered to Luke. ‘We’re too late! Have a care how you present yourself in front of your mother, and for heaven’s sake, don’t mention your cousin’s name, at least not at first.’
They trotted out into the lane and were soon passing through the village. Kerensa tried to ignore the curious stares of those who had come out of their poor housing to see who, suddenly in their midst, was on horseback. They wore stern, subdued expressions and black clothes. Usually she would offer greetings, but she was afraid these people were discussing the bad news she was dreading to hear.
When the houses gave way to open moor again the riders stepped up their pace.
They arrived at the track that led off to Greystone’s Farm. All the way along the muddy, stony ground Kerensa glanced nervously at Oliver. Her stomach was bound up and she had to keep remembering to breathe. How would she bear it if Clem was dead? It would be her fault, she should not have agreed to meet Clem alone. Bartholomew had made it known, rather nastily, looking back, that he knew she and Clem had been lovers.
In the course of a busy day on a farm few people would be about the yard, but labourers were loafing about grim-faced and there was a cluster of dairymaids and female servants, red-eyed from weeping. They watched the newcomers with wary interest. As was the custom throughout Cornwall in the event of a death, all the farmhouse’s curtains were drawn over.
Kerensa felt a bolt of terror course through her and an overwhelming sense of loss and failure. ‘Oh, no. It’s really happened!’
Oliver reached for her hand. ‘I’m so sorry, my dear.’
Luke chewed on his bottom lip. If he had told his father about Bartholomew’s character all this could have been avoided. They dismounted. Luke gathered in all the reins and passed them on to the farmhand who came forward.
The front door of the farmhouse was opened and Catherine appeared, in a black dress and black shawl. The black lace on her head made her skin glow an unnatural white. She held her head high, a picture of strained dignity.
Leaving Oliver’s side, Kerensa ran to her, her heart slashed in half, her tears unstoppable. ‘We had reason to believe something terrible might have happened here. I’m so sorry, Catherine. Please don’t be angry with me. I had to come.’
Catherine gazed at her coolly. For a moment she wanted to order Kerensa off her property. Then the charitable side of her understood her distress, and that she had assumed the victim was Clem. Of course, she would grieve for Clem. She had loved him for over twenty-four years. And how could Clem be expected not to love her still? This woman, as youthful-looking as a girl, beautiful and perfect in every way.
‘It wasn’t Clem. He’s hurt but the doctor’s attended to him. Philip was killed trying to save his life from Sir Oliver’s nephew. Bartholomew Drannock is also dead, drowned in a bog.’
‘Oh, my God!’ Kerensa cried out. Her relief that Clem was alive was replaced by a different sorrow, she knew how grief-stricken he would be at losing one of his children. Bartholomew’s death meant nothing to her. ‘I’m so sorry. Where is – I mean – can I…?’
‘Can you see Clem?’ Catherine finished for her quietly. She looked at Sir Oliver.
‘Mrs Trenchard, I would like to offer you my condolences on the death of your stepson and to express my deepest regret and horror at my nephew’s part in it,’ Oliver’s voice was firm but not without emotion. ‘Also, I am willing to agree to Kerensa’s plea if you are. I should very much like to talk to you alone, ma’am.’
‘He’s in the sitting room, with Philip,’ Catherine said.
Kerensa looked from her husband’s pitying expression to Catherine’s pale suffering face. ‘Thank you, both of you.’ Then she stepped over the Trenchard threshold.
Catherine gave a small cry and made to show she had changed her mind.
Oliver prevented her, gently. ‘It’s hard for us, ma’am, but I have learned that nothing is to be gained from denying that they have a special bond. I see you have a well-kept garden. Will you take a turn round it with me? We have much to discuss.’
* * *
Clem was sitting on Catherine’s spinet stool alone. Philip was laid out on a platform of boards and trestles, used only recently for the celebration at the end of the harvest. He had been too tall for the length of a table. Four large candles were lit, one at each end of the platform, giving a passive golden light over the bold, fair features. Philip’s body was dressed in his best suit of clothes, his meaty hands crossed over his chest.
Kenver was to make the coffin. He’d been to grieve, to take his nephew’s measurements, and had been driven home in the trap to get on with the saddest task of his life. Lydia, the nursemaid, had taken John and Flora to stay at his house. There was a lot of sorrow and anger at Greystone’s, and Catherine had thought the twins best not subjected to it.
‘This shouldn’t have happened to you, son,’ Clem’s voice was thick with tears. ‘It should’ve been me. I’m the one who should be lying there dead.’ He wept, as he had wept almost continuously since Philip’s last breath, putting his hands over his son’s cold hands.
Forced to reach for a handkerchief, he also pulled the letter out of the pocket of his clean breeches, where he’d put it after the doctor had stitched his bone-deep cut.
‘Oh, God, Philip, why did you bring me this?’ He studied the sheet of thick folded paper, instrumental in the atrocity. The writing was Jessica’s. He broke the seal. ‘I s’pose I could read this to you, eh, Phil? Just about, without Catherine to help me.’
With difficulty he made his eyes focus on the spindly writing. ‘Your sister starts off by greeting everybody, then it says, “I am sending you all good news, I am having another baby.” Hope the next baptism goes better than Harry’s, eh, son?’
Clem did not read out the rest of the letter. It confirmed Bartholomew Drannock’s news that Kerensa had returned the greater part of her love to her husband. He let out a howl of despair, a terribly savage sound. ‘Has my life come to this?’ he yelled, face contorted. For a second he almost went out of his mind.
Then he tore the letter into pieces and stuffed them into his pocket so Catherine would not chance upon them. There was no need to add to her grief and misery by allowing her to learn about his unfaithfulness. She had not questioned him about the reason for Drannock’s assault, and he prayed she never would.
Checking his emotions, he got up and stroked Philip’s cold brow. ‘You died a brave man, and all because of what I did. Forgive me, son. You worked hard on the farm, wanting to make it bigger and better. I promise you, from now on I’ll forget myself and what I’ve always wanted, and do everything I possibly can to carry out your wishes.
‘I’ve sent for David. He can say a prayer in the churchyard for you, you’d like that, my dear boy, I know you would. I’ll tell Rebekah all about you, how many prizes you won for wrestling, how you were the Mount’s Bay champion for a year, and the champion of the moor. I won’t let anyone forget you, Philip. You did wrong, that’s why Rebekah’s here, but we all do wrong. If only I hadn’t. It’s you who’s paid the price.’
If only he had not loved Kerensa so much, yet for all that had happened, he would give anything for her to be here right now. He would tell her he was glad she was happy with Pengarron and to get on with her life and forget him. He longed to hold her one more time. He had always longed for the impossible.
The door opened and he braced himself for the intrusion. He was petrified with astonishment when he saw who came in. To have Kerensa here, now, was too incredible.
‘Hello, Clem,’ she fought to keep her voice calm. Seeing him so stricken tore at her heart. ‘I’m so sorry about Philip.’
‘Kerensa, I don’t understand.’ His voice was hoarse, barely audible after so much weeping. ‘How? Why?’
‘Can I c
ome in and pay my respects to him?’
‘Yes, I’d like to have you here.’
She closed the door and moved to Clem’s side. A few months ago they had held hands and looked down on their sleeping grandchild, now they did the same to his lifeless son.
‘What happened, Clem?’
‘Drannock tried to kill me. He shot Philip, then Philip managed to tip him into the bog. Philip died in my arms, peacefully. Drannock did not. You know why it happened, Kerensa?’
‘Yes,’ she sobbed. ‘Because of us. Forgive me, Clem. If I had been stronger and not—’
‘You’re not to blame. If I’d stopped being so selfish all these years, looked only to Alice and then Catherine, you would’ve forgotten me. How is it that you’re here, Kerensa?’
Kerensa explained. ‘Oliver’s with Catherine now. Luke’s waiting to see if there’s anything he can do. Jessica and Timothy should be on their way.’
‘And he didn’t mind you coming to me? Can’t quite believe that.’
‘It was Oliver who persuaded Catherine to let me see you alone. I don’t know what will come out of this, but I hope we can all put suspicion and bad feelings behind us, and in future meet as equals. Try not to hate Oliver, Clem, for the sake of Jessica and Kane’s children.’
‘Yes,’ Clem said bitterly. ‘This is the time to be noble, but I’m sorry, I can’t feel anything but hatred for the man who took you away from me, and whose kin murdered my son.
‘Kerensa, stay and say a prayer for Philip, and after, although I’d like you to stay, I must ask you to leave me, for Catherine’s sake. You see, I’ve changed too. I can’t go on putting my own feelings first.’
She felt the tenseness in his hand and took hers away. ‘Very well, Clem. I’ll do whatever you want.’ Bowing her head in a short prayer, she looked at Clem’s fierce face and walked towards the door.
‘Not yet!’ he cried out. ‘Not yet, Kerensa. I thank Pengarron for letting you come to me like this. Just don’t leave me yet.’
She ran to him and wrapped him into her body. They wept together for Philip and everything they had lost.
* * *
In the pleasant little garden, Oliver walked with Catherine, somewhat unwillingly, on his arm.
‘What is it you want to say to me?’ she asked, her tone dipping and rising, like the hills they faced.
‘Forgive me, ma’am, I have to ask you, is my nephew’s body still in the bog?’
‘It is, for now. The bog is not so deep that a body cannot be retrieved. The constable will arrange for it to be brought up when he’s taken away all the evidence he requires. I take it that in due course you will dispose of your nephew’s remains?’
‘I’ll get the body away from here as soon as I possibly can.’
Oliver was aware of her using his arm for support. She was growing weaker, probably from shock and numbness. He took her to a painted wooden seat, and rather than stand sat down beside her. He needed to be close to someone himself right now. For a moment he wondered what Luke was doing, then how Kerensa was comforting this lady’s husband.
‘I had not the slightest idea my nephew had turned into the sort of man who could so lightly set out to kill another. If I had not tried to manhandle Clem off my property that day, we wouldn’t have arrived at this point now. I apologize unreservedly to you, ma’am. You are the only one innocent in all of this. You and Philip, of course. You had a fondness for him, I understand.’
‘I shall miss him very much. Clem will have to run the farm single-handed now, although it is to be hoped David, Philip’s twin, will stay a while.’ Catherine glanced at him sharply. ‘You mystify me, Sir Oliver Pengarron. Does it not kill you to know your wife more than likely has her arms around my husband?’
‘It gives me real pain, far worse than the physical kind, but I’ve already let my jealously nearly destroy my marriage. I thank God every minute, that Kerensa realized she loved me more than him. I loathe Clem. How could it be otherwise, when it’s not possible for Kerensa to forget him?’
‘So, you are saying that we should allow them to fall into each other’s arms whenever they meet?’
‘No, Mrs Trenchard, of course not. These are special circumstances today and, well, I’ve put his need before my own.’ Oliver was silent for a moment, then said, ‘I can hardly believe I’m pleading for understanding in the case of Clem’s feelings for Kerensa and hers for him. I’m thinking of the future, when our families come unavoidably together. It would be better if we can meet with some sort of ease. May I call you Catherine?’
‘Why not?’ she replied tartly. ‘Our spouses are on first-name terms.’
‘Catherine, do not feel disgraced in front of your people here because of what’s happening this very minute in your house. Consider this. I don’t think that you and I will ever find peace if we continue with our desire to keep Kerensa and Clem aloof. I have had, against all that I believed sanctified, to allow my heart to grow to the size wherein I can accommodate this. You, dear lady, are feeling, quite rightly, abused and pained, yet I am sure you have a heart that is greater than mine.’
Catherine gazed down forlornly. ‘But Kerensa loves you more than she does Clem. Do you suppose this notion of yours will stop him yearning for her?’
‘I can only hope so. I’ve never been a man to settle for less than full measure, but now,’ he smiled grimly, ‘in the odd moment of compassion, I think about what I forced Clem to settle for all those years ago – absolutely nothing. Thank God he had Alice and now you, Catherine.’
‘You know that when Clem first asked me to marry him it was because he believed Jessica needed a stepmother. Then, when she fell in love with Kane, he came to me and asked me again, for himself. He says he loves me and I know he does.’ Catherine was crying softly. ‘But it hurts so much to know he’d rather have Kerensa with him now than me.’
‘It’s only for a little while, Catherine. We will not be staying here long.’ Oliver took her cold hand. ‘It’s you who will be here for Clem after we’ve gone and for all the days ahead when he’ll need help coming to terms with his grief. Kerensa doesn’t want to remain for that. She wants to be with me.’
‘How kind you are to offer me comfort, when in a way, your grief is of the worse kind, knowing your nephew is not only dead but the perpetrator of a capital crime. Come inside the house, Oliver, and wait with me.’
* * *
Although most of the workers had drifted away to their usual tasks, Luke wandered off behind the outbuildings, where he could not be seen.
Looking out across the vastness and loneliness of the moor, some of the old, heavy sense of isolation returned to beleaguer him. He could not face journeying alone to London. In the light of what had happened, his play, his hopes for its success, seemed unimportant. He would shelve its presentation, his dream, for the time being.
From the evidence around him this was a well-kept farm. Philip Trenchard had achieved his dream, his life cut undeservingly short by a man who had allowed his wish to be rich and free to wander the world to be corrupted by evil. The cost of his crime would affect Jessica and Cordelia, and to a lesser extent his father and mother, for the rest of their lives. All so tragic and unnecessary.
The sound of horses brought Luke out of his musings. It was Jessica, Timothy and Jack who clattered into the yard, with the farmhand sent as messenger. Jessica and Timothy went into the house. Jack approached Luke.
‘I thought you might be glad of some company.’
‘I am, thanks Jack. How’s Cordelia?’
‘Shocked, upset. She’s got Morgan and Alicia with her.’
‘Alicia can’t be feeling sorry Bartholomew forfeited his own life.’
Jack looked grim. ‘She feels she’s avenged Lord Alex by ill-wishing it on him. I’m glad, at least, that’ll stop. ’Twas getting unhealthy; an obsession with her. Luke, what’s Sir Decimus going to think about Bartholomew’s death?’
‘I was worried about that at first, but he can’
t connect it to you, I or Alex. I wish Bartholomew had not asked my parents to bring up his child. She’s going to be a constant reminder of him and this dreadful tragedy.’
‘When will you go up to London?’
‘I intend to stay and support the family and look to my property. I’ve done a few things for Polgissey and the estate but much needs my urgent attention. I’m sure Cordelia and Morgan Kinver will agree we’ll all rub along together.’
‘Luke, I’ve been thinking. The Countess of Kilwarth has a great liking for the theatre, she knows a lot about the profession. Why not send her your play and ask her what she thinks about it? That way it wouldn’t be gathering dust. Start on the next one too. You need to do that, not just concentrate on work.’
‘Thanks for that, Jack. It’s good to be back sharing in each other’s lives. I’ll do all you suggest. Now, let us not give the unfortunate people here more burdens, and see to the horses for those of us who are soon to leave here.’
Forty-Six
Clem and Kerensa had come out from their private vigil and met Oliver and Catherine. There had been no unpleasantness. Gaunt, crushed, Clem merely gave Oliver a curt nod and looked lingeringly at Catherine.
Jessica had flown to her father, giving full release to the grief she had held back on the journey.
‘Your brother’s at peace, sweetheart.’ He had wound his arms around her tightly. ‘Don’t upset yourself too much, you’ve got the baby to think about. Perhaps the Reverend Lanyon will take you in to see Philip. Your stepmother and I will join you in a while.’
‘Of course,’ Timothy said quietly. Leaving Catherine’s side, he placed a consoling hand on his brother-in-law’s shoulder.
The two couples were left alone. Oliver wanted to go to Kerensa and take her back, but stayed his ground. He and Catherine exchanged glances of affinity.
‘I’d like to express my heartfelt sympathy to you, Clem,’ he said in a solemn, sincere voice. ‘Please, will you allow me to attend to the matter of my nephew with the constable? That way, you need only attend to your family and your grief.’
Pengarron Dynasty Page 28