As Gabriel Tremayne had requested, she had fetched a footman, ordering him to take great care in helping Mr Tremayne up to the house. A physician-surgeon had been sent for. Despite Gabriel Tremayne’s protests, it had been necessary for him to forsake his dignity and allow himself to be carried. The sunlight had been too bright for his eyes and at his exclamation of pain Kelynen had pulled his shawl, which she supposed he wore to keep the cold out of his scrawny body, over his face. She had followed on, all the way up Chenhalls’ granite stairs, which were worn down and darkened in parts through centuries of use, and divided off at the top in three directions. Then they moved along the long dim corridors to Gabriel Tremayne’s bedchamber, which faced the sea. By this time he had slipped into a deep sleep.
‘Does Mr Tremayne have a manservant?’ she’d asked the footman. He was one of the fellows who had been there on her arrival and the solemnity he had displayed then had vanished. Older by about five years than the man he had carefully lowered down on the stout bed, he had shaken his head wryly and grinned.
‘’Fraid not, Miss Pengarron.’ Kelynen tolerated his impudence in exchange for the information he offered. ‘Never known a gentleman like Mr Gabriel before. Sees to himself in all things, he does. He hardly had a shirt for his back when he come here, and what he did have was worn to death. Sir Rafe ordered a complete new wardrobe for him.’
In between watching the patient to ensure he was actually breathing, for he seemed so still, Kelynen glanced about the room. It was tidy and blank, like an unused guest room. Gabriel Tremayne seemed not to own a single personal possession. ‘How long has he lived here?’
‘A few months. Sir Rafe got a letter from Vienna. It said for him to come at once, that Mr Gabriel was in a bad way. Sir Rafe was about to go up to London and he sent Mr Josiah to fetch him. He was badly undernourished when he arrived, his hair like it’d never seen a barber’s scissors. He’s a strange gentleman. Spent all his time in the music room at first, making up new tunes. Sometimes he wrote ’em down like a man demented. Got a touch of the Tremayne mad—’
‘Go on,’ Kelynen ordered sharply.
The footman shifted on his heavy feet but didn’t seem embarrassed. ‘Begging your pardon, miss, I was going to say the Tremayne madness. Well, we had the devil of a job to get him to eat and we used to find him asleep in the oddest places. And he do like a drop of sweet nectar.’ The footman made a drinking motion. ‘The women servants believe he’s grieving over a broken heart. Don’t know about that, but Sir Rafe tried speaking to him. Mr Gabriel didn’t like that – he’s secretive, you see, shy too, if you ask me. Then he took every instrument he could carry down to the tower and forbid no one near him. Well, none of us servants would argue with that; the tower’s bad luck. His food trays were left in haste, I can tell ’ee. Sir Rafe said to leave him be, see if he’d come round to some semblance of proper behaviour on his own. ’Tis a wonder Mr Gabriel let you help him, miss. Thank the Lord he did.’
Kelynen had thought it a decisive nudge of fate that had brought her to Chenhalls and the tower folly. Even a day later might have meant different consequences for Gabriel Tremayne. ‘And where is Mr Josiah Tremayne to be found at present?’
‘Gone abroad, miss. To some business meeting, I shouldn’t wonder. Won’t be back till nightfall, if he’s back at all. Got his own little house, he have.’ The footman grinned to himself as if he had some secret.
‘And what is your name?’
‘Jacob Glynn, miss.’
‘Well Glynn, go down to the kitchens and order hot water to be brought up. I take it I can safely leave you to attend Mr Tremayne? See to it that he’s in a fit state for the physician’s consultation. I’ll inform Sir Rafe of what’s happened.’
‘You can trust me, Miss Pengarron.’
When Jacob Glynn had gone Kelynen took a closer look at Gabriel Tremayne. Breathing in low gasps, he lay rigid on his back, his hands gripping the shawl. His hair, so fair it was the colour of parchment and as long as his waist, was splayed out over the shawl. Cautiously, gently, she touched his wrist and felt his skin was papery and cold. Was madness the cause of his self-abused state? She thought not. He had spoken lucidly to her. It was more likely his condition was brought about by a broken heart. What depth of love had he lost to reduce him to near death? Had he realized what he was doing?
She touched the shawl. It was of woven patterned silk, a woman’s shawl – his lost love’s? He stirred fitfully. When she looked back at his face she stifled a gasp. Gabriel Tremayne’s depthless eyes were open and fixed on her.
‘You will be looked after now,’ she said in the soothing way employed for the ill or the young.
‘You have been very kind, Miss Kelynen Pengarron,’ he croaked through dry lips. ‘Please accept my humble gratitude.’
‘It will take a long time for you to become fully well again. Please persevere with the physician’s directions.’
‘Your tenderness commends you. I entreat you to perform one more favour for me. Tell my uncle to send the physician away.’
‘I could not do that. Mr Tremayne, you must allow sense and let the doctor attend you.’
‘No! I forbid it. If I am bled it will drain the last of my constitution and I shall surely die.’ His eyelids fluttered down to his sunken cheeks. ‘I have not the strength to stay conscious. Miss Pengarron, my life is in your hands.’
Sir Rafe had looked alarmed when she went outside and told him about his nephew’s adversity and his wishes concerning the physician-surgeon. He thanked her and said he would consider his nephew’s request, but decided, in view of his nephew’s deep slumber, to allow Livvy to continue with the portrait. Kelynen had stepped aside, introducing Rex to Lady Portia, but all the while stealing glances at the baronet. He made a commanding figure, posed slightly sideways on his feet to form a diagonal composition, with a cat in his arms, another on his shoulder, the rest, induced with nibbles, about his feet. Kelynen did something Livvy hated and peeked at the unfinished portrait. She was impressed, believing it to be Livvy’s finest so far, with a good sense of staging and a pleasing lack of drama.
The physician-surgeon summoned to Chenhalls had still been with the patient when she had left. Had Gabriel Tremayne been bled? Was he still alive?
Kelynen came to from her reverie to feel Sophie and Luke’s eyes intently upon her.
‘Well, Chenhalls has certainly made an enormous impression on you, Kelynen,’ Luke said, as if awed by her account. ‘I can safely assume you’ll be going there again?’
She was embarrassed. It was not often she displayed her feelings, and then usually only to her parents or Beatrice. ‘I might return with Livvy to keep her company.’ She wondered if she should inform Luke of Livvy and Timothy’s estrangement, but decided he did not own the sensitivity to be of any use to them.
The coffee arrived and Sophie poured it out while Mary handed the tiny brittle-looking china cups to the guests. Luke thanked Mary graciously. All the while he gazed at Sophie. She ignored him most of the time. The atmosphere became strained. Luke fidgeted. Kelynen began to feel sorry for him. His feelings for Sophie seemed to be growing deeper by the second, while the adoration he was aiming towards her was making her cross.
Kelynen had complained about his egotism to Sophie and Sophie would know his reputation as a carousing womanizer. Sophie was capable of destroying a rake’s intentions. She was within her rights to shield herself, to maintain her independence and remain a widow for the rest of her life if she desired, but sometimes she came across as a little cold. If she were told Luke was in love with her and was not set on a dishonourable campaign, she would still, in all likelihood, continue to stamp on his heart. Sophie was a lost cause to him, just as it appeared that the country wouldn’t win the war in the American colonies. And Luke was no more likely to take advice about it than King George was from his ministers to give into the colonies’ demands.
Kelynen alighted on something unrelated to Chenhalls, something that wou
ld hopefully ease the tension. ‘A baby was abandoned outside Perranbarvah’s church two days ago. The Reverend Lanyon came across it on the steps. Rather than resign the child immediately to an institution, he took the child to Vellanoweth. Kane and Jessica have agreed to take the child under their care, to give the mother time to hopefully reclaim it.’
Sophie put her coffee cup down and leaned forward. ‘How very sad. Was there anything significant about this foundling, Kelynen? What is its age?’
‘It’s a newborn and it was wrapped in the finest quality silk.’
‘Not the misfortune of some poor village girl then,’ Luke remarked.
‘I think I should like to view the child,’ Sophie said. ‘Would your brother mind?’
‘You think you have some notion of who the child and its mother is, Mrs Carew?’ Luke anticipated the question on Kelynen’s lips.
‘It’s hardly a probability,’ Sophie said briskly, her eyes lowered. ‘Those of us in more fortunate circumstances have a duty not to ignore the needy or abandoned, don’t you think? Could we not ride there now, Kelynen? I’m restless suddenly and would welcome the exercise.’
‘Could we not make it on the morrow instead, Sophie? I thought to engage myself with estate business at Ker-an-Mor Farm today, to discuss the tenants, and how next to raise monies for the deserving poor with the steward.’ To fend off dissent from Luke she fed him a brusque glance.
‘Pardon me, Kelynen, I will donate a hundred guineas to the Parish Poor Fund,’ Luke said, hoping it would impress Sophie. ‘And there is really nothing so urgent that Matthias Renfree cannot attend to alone. In fact I think he would prefer it.’
‘You mean you would prefer it,’ Kelynen snapped, stung by his latest disregard to her present rightful position on the estate. ‘I consider it ill of you to keep pushing me out.’
‘Kelynen, dearheart, that was not what I meant,’ Luke protested civilly, throwing an anxious glance at Sophie. ‘I just thought the child’s need was more pressing than any other.’
Kelynen grew red with embarrassment and anger. In two carefully chosen sentences Luke had made her seem selfish and stupid. She hoped he declared himself to Sophie and that Sophie crushed his hopes as if he were an insect under her feet. It was a childish reaction, Kelynen knew, but she was unrepentant. There was little about Luke to commend him; she was foolish to have felt sorry for him. He did not really care about the foundling. He only wanted to go to Vellanoweth to remain close to Sophie and to be seen as caring and compassionate. It seemed that all too often men were liars and cheats, or weak or selfish. Wilmot Carew had wasted most of his wealth and the end of his life. Sir Rafe and Josiah Tremayne, apparently, were lacking in honour. And as for Gabriel Tremayne… she could not make up her mind about his tremendous imprudence.
‘We’ll go now to Vellanoweth, Sophie,’ she said. ‘Just as you please.’
Hiding the depths of her hurt, she glared at Luke. ‘I cannot prevent you from accompanying us – Kane is your brother too. But I give you notice that hereafter I shall distance myself from you and relinquish my connections with the estate until Father’s return, for I cannot bear your interference. I shall remain in residence with Livvy, where I demand that you do not seek to trouble me.’
Nine
Luke rode at a respectful distance behind Kelynen and Sophie to Vellanoweth Farm, his dark eyes either on the ground or on Sophie’s back.
His first instinct after the haranguing from Kelynen – when Sophie had left the room to change into riding clothes – was to berate his sister for humiliating him. But he had realized Kelynen’s hurt and had sought to explain himself. To reassure her that he had no reason to try to eject her from her responsibilities to the estate. Their father was in excellent health and should live another twenty-five years at least. Except for a tragedy it would be a long time before he came into his inheritance, in which case Kelynen would almost certainly marry.
Refusing to look him in the eye, Kelynen had stood at the parlour window and from the high vantage point of Sophie’s house had watched the busy scene across at the Mount, of sailors and tradesmen loading fresh provisions or unloading cargo from the many ships in port. More two- or three-masted vessels were out at sea, and with the tide in, rowing boats were ferrying goods and people to and from the Mount and town.
‘You’re only saying this to gain in Sophie’s estimation. Well, you’re wasting your time. She loathes you.’
Luke had felt his chest tighten. ‘She’s said as much?’
‘She despises your type. She sees you as an irritation, a pest. She’s offended by your addresses towards her.’
He had been aware his presence was unwelcome here, but was crashed by the fear that Kelynen’s assertions may be true. ‘I’ll pursue my chances.’
‘You have none. If you were a gentleman at heart you would step back and leave Sophie alone.’
He had nearly declined to go to Vellanoweth, to retreat and rethink his campaign. But he could not turn up here uninvited again and Sophie was unlikely to yield to an invitation of any kind from him. So he went with them to his brother’s farm, praying Sophie would notice his new humility and that an opportunity would arise in which he might make an impact on her.
In the sprawling farmyard at Gulval, further round Mount’s Bay, Luke allowed a labourer to help the ladies dismount in the front courtyard. Once inside the farmhouse parlour, which was furnished comfortably and in a slight carefree disorder, Luke remained passive while Kelynen explained to Jessica Pengarron the reason for their visit.
‘I’ll fetch the baby down from the nursery,’ Jessica said. ‘It’d be wonderful if the mother could be found, but even though the little mite’s only been here forty-eight hours, we’re already getting mighty fond of Betty, as we call her.’ Jessica was the daughter of a former tenant farmer on the Pengarron estate. She was lovely in a raw sense, forceful in spirit and inclined to be outspoken. She pinned a golden curl behind an ear and stared at Luke, puzzled by his quietness and his interest in the foundling. She was aware of the fraught mood between him and Kelynen and assumed it was Luke’s fault, for she herself had clashed with him many times. She thought it typically selfish of Luke to stay at the manor and interfere with Kelynen’s endeavours.
‘So it’s a girl child,’ Kelynen said. ‘Is she extra work for you?’
‘No. Not in the least. The foreman’s wife was safely delivered of a son last week and she’s kindly agreed to come regularly to the house to feed Betty, and Betty tends to sleep soundly. She’s about a week old, I’d say. Harry and Charlie, my sons,’ she explained for Sophie’s benefit, ‘are fascinated with her.’
Jessica went upstairs and returned shortly with the baby wrapped in a lacy knitted shawl. Kelynen took her, cradling the sleeping foundling with ease, used as she was to babies in all branches of the Pengarron dynasty. She pushed back the baby’s soft cotton cap. ‘She has pretty, fair hair, of a pearly tint. I took little notice of her before.’
‘That’s one small clue to her parentage,’ Luke said, coming close. He had no particular dislike of children and wanted Sophie to be aware of this. ‘She’s of a good weight, isn’t she? So her mother went to the full term of her pregnancy. Does she have any distinguishing features, Jessica?’
‘No moles or birthmarks, if that’s what you mean.’
‘May we see the silk she was wrapped in?’ Sophie asked, also on her feet, staring down at the baby’s peaceful face. It seemed lost on everyone but herself that the baby had the same colour of hair as her own. ‘It might be a significant clue.’
‘It’s drying on the washing line. I’ll send a maid to fetch it,’ Jessica said. She had not met this friend of Kelynen’s before and did not take to her, finding Sophie Carew distant and feeling her innocent persona to be deceptive. ‘Have you any particular interest in the baby, Mrs Carew?’
‘I am merely concerned about its misfortune, Mrs Pengarron.’ Sophie’s tone was clipped and, Jessica thought, defensive. Jessica noti
ced the longing, covert gazes Luke was giving her. She glanced at Kelynen and they passed a look of understanding over the sorry condition of Luke’s heart. Jessica was astonished. She had not thought Luke capable of heroine worship.
‘Darling! Harry! Charlie!’ a strong male voice soared on joyful notes through the house.
Jessica’s round face broke into a sunny smile. ‘Kane, my love, we have visitors. We’re in here.’
At their father’s call, young Harry and Charles Pengarron dashed inside from the garden where they had been playing under the supervision of a nursemaid.
After being introduced to Kane Pengarron, a retired army captain, Sophie retreated to a corner. She watched, straight-faced, throughout the affectionate embracing that went on among the Pengarron brood. Kane gathered up his sons in his powerful arms. Sophie decided she approved of Captain Pengarron, an adopted member of the family, a kind-eyed, reddish-haired, commanding man, dressed in good-quality clothes but suitable for fieldwork. He was clearly selfless, even-handed, generous and loving. The silk had been forgotten, but Sophie had no desire to view it in the presence of so many people.
‘How good to see you all. You must stay for luncheon.’ Kane grinned, putting his sons down so they could peep at the baby. ‘Mrs Carew, you are curious about the little one?’
Suddenly all eyes were on her and Sophie could not prevent herself blushing. ‘I… well… I thought, it’s improbable I know, but I thought that somehow I might recognize her.’
Her discomfiture made Luke love her more. Kelynen was pleased to see a softer side of her emerge. Kane was sorry he had embarrassed her. Jessica became more suspicious of her.
Someone else came into the room. ‘Is there space for another?’ He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing dark, sober clothes, and the hair around his gentle face was fine and blond. He was not unlike the Pengarron children, who in turn were like their mother.
‘David Trenchard!’ Luke cried. ‘I’ve not seen you for many a year. How well you look. Oh, I am sorry. I quite forgot the reason for your leaving the Yorkshire circuit.’
Pengarron Rivalry Page 6