‘You can stop feeling sorry for yourself, Peter. You can eat a good meal today and come back to loving me tonight. Then tomorrow you can make the first moves in finding out who killed Dinah Tredinnick and what happened to her maid.’
Chapter 13
Although some hay had been mown before, the harvesting began in earnest at the beginning of August. Clem thought Kerris’s identity could keep until after this busy period was over, and having ridden over to the Parsonage to arrange the wedding date with the Lanyons, he thought he could forget about that, too, while he laboured in the fields. And even though Jessica objected to his forthcoming marriage, scornfully shouting that he must be mad and it would never work, he was determined to go through with it, seeing by her reaction that it was the best thing that he could do where she was concerned, and hoping the prospect itself would calm her down. It worked to some extent because she became quietly and moodily abusive as opposed to being her usual noisy, boisterous self. He hadn’t told Catherine of Jessica’s objections, only that she had misgivings over their plans.
Kerensa had mixed feelings about Clem getting married again. Even after her long and mainly happy marriage to Oliver, the love she kept in her heart for Clem made her a little jealous of Catherine Lanyon. And she couldn’t see how the genteel lady would make a suitable wife for a working-class farmer who was one of nature’s loners and inclined to moodiness. Kerensa had overheard Jessica lamenting about it to Olivia and Cordelia and she felt there was trouble ahead. Clem was in danger of making himself very unhappy.
Oliver treated the subject with scorn. He made Kerensa wince with his sarcastic remarks. ‘Is the oaf trying to better himself by marrying a lady?’ he sneered. ‘If he ever sees that the logical answer to the problem of his unruly daughter is to marry her off to a suitable young man straight away he’ll back out of this marriage and make an even bigger fool of himself.’ She almost felt Oliver was trying to hurt her in some way. She knew he was still jealous of the fact that she had once been betrothed to Clem and was suspicious that she still loved him. He was probably afraid even now that there was some risk that Clem could take her heart away from him. She was careful not to discuss the Trenchards with Oliver now.
But while Oliver could dismiss the matter as a source of scornful amusement and apply himself to the hard work of harvesting the fields of Ker-an-Mor Farm, Clem found he could not. As a happy bride-to-be Catherine Lanyon was eager to show off her new position and insisted on riding to Trecath-en Farm every day to help prepare the food for the harvesters.
Surprisingly, Jessica did not object to this. With Kerris content to be left in Catherine’s company, it meant she could leave the farmhouse kitchen this year and do what she liked best – work with the other women in the fields.
She had her own hook, inherited from her great-grandmother, and joined the long row of women, bent nearly double, as they made their way down the length of a field, not stopping until they had reached its end. Then they walked back to the starting side and began the journey again. They worked under the baking sun in light clothes and long bonnets from early morning until ten o’clock when Kerris and Catherine arrived promptly each day with the ‘fuggan’, the traditional raisin cake, freshly baked and delicious.
After a brief rest the harvesters went back to work and the two other women retreated back to the kitchen, leaving food and ale for the dinnertime crib. They returned with the late-afternoon provisions and sometimes stayed, keeping out of the way, until it was too dark to work and the daily toil ended.
Like the other women, Jessica couldn’t help being impressed by Catherine’s behaviour. She walked across the fields alongside Kerris instead of riding her pony and was careful not to get in anyone’s way. As she poured out cider, which the Trenchards brought along in the early morning in heavy jugs, she spoke to everyone without airs or graces. Most noticeably of all, she gave Clem plenty of space. Except for giving him a longer, brighter smile, she doled out his food and drink in the same way as she did the other men’s. The labourers were impressed that a lady should spend time among them when they were work-dusty and sweating. The children liked her because she brought sweetmeats and biscuits for them every day and had a ready supply of cloths and ointments to tend their blisters and sunburn.
Clem employed a small army of men, women and children who came from all over the district, most of whom who were happy to work for their food, cider and ale and the companionship they shared. The harvesting was a time of reunion, of meeting old friends, of fondly remembering those who had died since the last harvest.
While Jessica worked in one field in the formation of women going before the men who bound, tossed and pitched the sheaves, Clem and the twins and Ricketty Jim worked in another, reaping with specially made hooks of extended length. This was skilled labour and they worked with Matthew and Paul King who spent their time here when not fishing each year, for the chance of earning some extra shillings. They swung their scythes in each hand alternately, swathing down the com, urging the accumulating burden forward until they had enough for a sheaf. These were then bound up by women, some of them fishwives and bal-maidens who came straight from their shift at the mines. Behind both work forces came the children, garnering the remains of the corn into ‘riskans’ – little bundles – and the old men who set up the sheaves expertly in the proper position for the ‘shocks’.
Kane came to help during the third week, feeling he had put in enough loyal work on Ker-an-Mor Farm for a while. Luke had not wanted him to work on the land at all, but he was furious at him helping the Trenchards and would hardly speak to him now. Kane knew Luke’s reasons and he was sympathetic. He could cut up to two acres a day but Luke couldn’t even swing a scythe owing to his useless arm. But he wasn’t going to allow his younger brother to bully him.
He stood at the top of Trecath-en’s valley and looked across the patchwork of barley bleached grey by the sun, yellow oats and tanned wheat, with roughly half cut and sheaved. The remainder swayed in the warm winds, bending and rolling not unlike the sea and sighing like a distant tide.
It was easy to pick out Jessica, her waist-length mane of golden curls bright against the pale landscape. She worked first in the line of women, as befitted her position as the farmer’s daughter, and Kane was captivated by the grace and ease with which she moved despite the back-breaking work. He could tell even from this distance that she shared in the cheerful pride and satisfaction of the harvesters. But he doubted if she would have a cheerful word for him.
Jessica reached the end of the field and instinct made her look up. She saw Kane striding towards them leading his horse and she stared at his commanding figure as she walked back to the starting side of the field. He was tall and upright and his bearing was so much like Sir Oliver’s he could be his natural son. Perhaps he was, Jessica mused. The Lord of the Manor had been a notorious womaniser before his marriage. She made up her mind not to look into Kane Pengarron’s eyes. It was not easy to keep up the barrier she had erected against him when she looked into those startlingly gorgeous brown eyes.
It was the afternoon crib time and after arranging with Clem to work in his field, Kane sat down beside Ricketty Jim under the baking sun, leaving the women to the shade of the hedge and a solitary elm tree.
Ricketty Jim broke off a piece of treacle toffee he’d been keeping cool under a large slab of granite and passed it to Kane. ‘In return for this excellent wine you’re sharing with me, sir,’ he said, swigging from a bottle. ‘You were always fond of a piece of toffee as a young’un, as I do remember.’
‘Yes,’ Kane laughed. ‘The other children and I used to pester you as much for your toffee as for your stories.’
‘Aye, ’tis hard to believe you’ve all grown up now. But I’ve another brood taking your place. Rosie and Matthias Renfree’s children come over to see me in my little shack, and sometimes Miss Kelynen with her dog. How’s the harvesting going on Ker-an-Mor?’
‘Very well. Father and Matthias
are pleased. It’s cooler working there where the fields reach down to the cliff edge and the sea breezes blow in than it is here.’ Kane glanced around Trecath-en’s fields. ‘I should think Clem will finish his harvesting at about the same time.’
‘Let’s hope we don’t get no rain to speak of. We had a few drops last week and for a while it looked like the clouds were building up. I’ve seen too many crops flattened and ruined by a sudden heavy shower.’
Kane was looking at Catherine Lanyon who was occupied with the children. ‘What do you think about Clem planning to marry the parson’s sister?’
‘Well, ’tisn’t for me to say whether he should marry her or no. But, to speak as I find, she’s a grand lady, is Miss Catherine. Ready to pitch in where she’s needed and doesn’t interfere where she’s not.’
Kane grinned. ‘Sounds like the ideal woman.’
‘Could be, but I don’t know much about them,’ Ricketty Jim said, looking at Kane from his shrewd brown eyes. ‘Are you by any chance…?’
‘Looking for an ideal woman?’ Kane chewed thoughtfully on his toffee. ‘My first priority is setting up my own farm.’
‘If you don’t mind the presumption, sir, I thought p’raps you would be taking over Ker-an-Mor Farm as your own one day.’
‘It’s been suggested, even by my brother who will inherit all rights to the Pengarron properties, that my father gives me Ker-an-Mor Farm, including the stud. But I want to set out on my own, build up my own life. I don’t mind taking risks.’ He picked up a stone and turned it over in his hand. ‘What do you reckon Jessica thinks about Catherine Lanyon becoming her stepmother, Jim?’ he asked. ‘It’s all round the parish that it’s in hope of taming her wild behaviour that Clem is taking a lady as his second wife, that he’s taking another wife at all.’ Kane tried not to but his eyes sought Jessica often. Ricketty Jim noticed this. His eyes took on a shrewder look and seemed to bore into Kane’s.
‘Course, if the maid married herself then Clem wouldn’t have to get married again.’
Kane had been absently tossing the stone in the palm of his hand. Now he struck the ground with it hard, making dust rise. ‘I asked you a question.’
‘Aye, so you did,’ Jim replied mildly, picking up the stone and weighing it in his own hand. ‘Who can say what goes on in that particular mind?’
Jessica was sitting with a group of woman who were discussing the physical attributes of the male harvesters. She had not been taking in what they said until a certain gentleman’s name was mentioned.
‘I thought ’twas a toss-up between Philip and his father, well developed as they are, as to who cut the best figure here,’ one woman said amid much stifled laughter. ‘But when I saw Cap’n Pengarron walking down this way, well!’
Another woman prodded Jessica with her tankard of ale. ‘What do you think, Jessie?’
She went bright red at the sudden question and the gathering roared with laughter.
‘Well, you d’knaw Cap’n Pengarron better than we, don’t ’ee, Jessie?’ a girl of her own age giggled. ‘Played as a young’un with un back-along, probably been lookin’ un over since he’s been back, eh?’
Jessica felt almost panicky and couldn’t understand why. She thought desperately for the right thing to say to ward off the interest of those now staring at her in amused anticipation. A small child saved her further embarrassment by falling on a sharp stone and setting up a loud wail. Jessica sprang up and reached the child the same time as Catherine.
‘Is he all right?’ she asked Catherine in a shaken voice.
Catherine picked the little boy up and gently pulled his hand away from his leg. ‘It’s only a small cut but he fell very hard. I’ve brought the Reverend Timothy’s medicine box with me. If you would like to hold him, Jessica, I’ll clean the cut and apply some ointment.’
Catherine motioned for the boy’s concerned mother to sit and enjoy her rest and Jessica followed Catherine to the medicine box.
‘I’ve brought some fresh tuckers with me if you’d like to replace the one you’re wearing, Jessica,’ Catherine said kindly as she cleaned the child’s cut.
‘You’re very thoughtful,’ Jessica replied, rather brightly owing to her recent escape, and Catherine thought they were becoming friends at last.
Clem, who couldn’t bear to see children hurt, came up to them. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘He fell over,’ Catherine explained, smiling up at her fiancé. ‘It isn’t serious though, he’ll forget all about it in a few minutes.’
Clem lifted the little boy up and took him to his mother, bouncing him up and down on the way until the child squealed with laughter.
‘Your father told me he likes children,’ Catherine said, watching proudly.
‘Aye, he does. Me and the twins are the most important things in his life,’ Jessica said pointedly as she changed her tucker and cast the sweat-stained one carelessly on the ground.
Catherine picked it up and put it in a linen bag, her lips taut at the rebuff. Then Jessica touched her arm. ‘Thank you, you’ve been a great help bringing these little comforts for all of us.’
‘As long as I’m not getting in the way.’
‘No, you’re not doing that here.’
Jessica walked away and found Kane on her heels. She refused to turn round and show the respect he was due as a gentleman. He spoke over her shoulder. ‘Was the little fellow badly hurt?’
Angrily aware that the other women were watching them intently, Jessica whirled on him. ‘We don’t need your help in tending the young’uns!’
Kane brought his lips together and lifted his chin. He gazed angrily at her then moved off to his horse to fetch his scythe.
Clem had overheard her stinging retort. Taking her by the arm he marched her out of earshot of the others. She struggled to run away but he held her firmly.
‘I’ve had just about enough of your rudeness to my friends, Jessica! You’re getting spiteful now and I won’t have it, do you hear? One more remark like that and I’ll confine you to the farmhouse with your uncle. Why are you so nasty to Kane anyway?’
He shook her when she didn’t answer and was surprised to see tears streaming down her face. He let her go and she ran off. He stared after her until he realised that Catherine had come to stand beside him. He shook his head. ‘I just don’t understand her any more. She was actually crying. Have you any idea what that could be about?’
‘It could be because of me,’ Catherine replied quietly.
‘I don’t think it was that.’
Catherine offered no more suggestions but her mind was busy thinking. Since his proposal of marriage, Clem had not even held her hand and she wanted so much for him to hold her. Could his daughter be wanting someone to hold her too?
Clem passed Kane the sharpening stone for his scythe. ‘I’m sorry about Jessica just now. I’ll get her to apologise properly to you.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Kane said, glancing at Clem then attacking the stone.
‘I’d rather she did. I don’t want her to go on behaving like an ill-bred waif and stray, thinking she can do and say what she likes to who she likes.’
Kane passed the stone to another reaper and waited until he’d moved away. ‘There’d be no point if she did not mean it.’
‘You think she wouldn’t?’
Kane shrugged, looking at the field he was about to begin work in. ‘It doesn’t really matter.’
Kane toiled behind David, who worked behind Philip, with Clem in front. David became concerned at Kane’s rapid, furious strokes at the wheat. Afraid of getting his ankles sliced through, he suggested they change places. Philip’s arms were stronger than his and he moved faster, so he was safe from Kane’s pace.
Kane had not yet gone to see the old woman called Meg who might be able to give him information about his real mother. He wasn’t sure why not. He’d asked himself if he was afraid of what he might stir up. It was obvious by the way he had been kept starved and i
ll-treated as an infant that his real mother had not loved him; probably the reverse. But he wanted to know something about her. What her name was, how old she had been when she died, that sort of thing. Frances had said there was a mystery of some sort surrounding her death. Instead of simply learning about his past, something gruesome might come to light and the episode could escalate and he didn’t want to upset his parents. Kane also considered that if Meg couldn’t or wouldn’t help him, it would mean another visit to Frances Nansmere for the names of the other harlots who had known his real mother. Did he want to step into the madam’s parlour again? He liked her but he wished she wasn’t quite so persistent in her amorous advances. And he certainly didn’t want to listen to any more of her nonsense about his being in love!
A stab of pain in his side made him straighten up and gasp. David stayed his scythe and signalled to the other men to halt.
‘You all right, Kane?’ he asked. ‘Can I get you a drink of water?’
‘No, no, thank you,’ Kane replied, smiling to make light of the sudden interest he’d caused. Philip and Clem had come to his side. ‘It’s just my old wound playing up. Catches me out now and again.’
Kane was embarrassed. Clem was staring at him as if he was a nuisance and he knew the wheat would be cut faster without unnecessary hold-ups caused by the Lord of the Manor’s son. He also felt responsible for the dampening of spirits caused by the spite he’d received from Jessica. If he hadn’t turned up, the work would have been progressing satisfactorily. He had a sudden urge to shake Jessica Trenchard. He wanted to bruise her emotions as she had his. She had quite spoiled his homecoming when it had been important to him to return to the way things had been before he’d joined his regiment.
‘Let’s get back to work,’ he growled. ‘I promise I won’t stop again.’
He wouldn’t stop now if his stomach burned and threatened to spill out of his flesh. He swore under his breath in the foulest oath he knew. Damn that incident in the Caribbean! Not that it mattered in itself. But all those months he had lain recovering his life and strength he had suffered the recurrence of his childhood nightmares. They obviously derived from the days he’d spent in that brothel. He dreamed of shadowy figures rushing about, shouting and screaming at him. Of being hurled away from all he sought comfort from. Of wild laughter, leering faces and voices. Of a terrible hunger and fighting to get food. And beatings. Always he was beaten. Kicked in the legs, whipped across his back and punched in the face. Worst of all, when he cried for his mother, a hundred voices screamed back at him, hissing, ‘What mother?’
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