After that Sunday afternoon visit to Frances Nansmere, he’d gone home and drifted off to sleep in a chair and one of those awful nightmares had returned. Kerensa had woken him and he had clung to her in fear for a few moments. It was more likely that this was the reason he had not gone to see the old harlot Meg. It was better to be working on the land again, filling his lungs with dust, smelling the earth, stretching his back.
The day’s work came to an end without further incident and Kane stalked off and made straight for his horse. Clem had to run to catch him before he mounted.
‘You’re in a hurry. Didn’t even give me a chance to thank you.’
‘I promised my mother I’d get back in time for a family supper on Ker-an-Mor Farm.’
‘I see. How is she?’
‘She’s very well. Happier now she has all her children home.’
‘Yes, of course. Thanks for your help today, Kane. If the weather stays kind we should have all the fields done in another week or so.’
Kane knew that Clem was wishing he could ask to have his regards given to his mother. He doubted the wisdom of Clem’s getting married again. As far as he could see nothing would change Jessica Trenchard’s character.
‘You coming tomorrow?’ Clem asked, feeling shy at asking. Kane Pengarron had the title of captain now. He was no longer a little boy playing with his own sons but a gentleman he should touch his forelock to.
‘I thought to help out at Orchard Hill Farm tomorrow,’ Kane replied lightly.
‘Well, you’ve been a grand help here today.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Kane swung into the saddle and was about to say goodbye when he saw Jessica standing quietly alone in front of his horse.
When Clem noticed her, he said, ‘I’ll see you, then,’ and moved away. He hoped that Jessica would put things right. It wasn’t good to have bad feelings building up between Kane and Jessica. Clem liked Kane but even though Jessica was entirely in the wrong he would have to side with her in the end and on top of everything else that would cause uneasy feelings between him and Kerensa.
‘I’d like to talk to you for a minute, please,’ Jessica said to Kane in a rigid voice. Her face was flushed and dust-streaked from her day’s labour and she held her bonnet loosely in her fingers, allowing her long golden hair to sweep down over her shoulders. Kane was mesmerised for a moment then got off his horse and started to walk in the direction of Ker-an-Mor Farm. Jessica fell in step beside him.
‘I was very rude to you earlier on. I owe you an apology,’ she said, looking down at the ground.
Kane looked at her closely to see what kind of mood she was in. He could only think that she looked as cherubic as she had as a little girl, and that didn’t help.
‘Did your father tell you to talk to me?’
‘No, I don’t need anyone to tell me what’s a right and proper thing to do!’ she snapped.
‘Well, if you can’t even make an apology without being rude then I’m not in the least bit interested to hear it.’ Kane mounted and rode off, leaving Jessica wide-eyed and biting her lip.
‘I didn’t mean it to come out like that,’ she lamented to herself. ‘Oh, what is it about that man that makes me…’ And she knew she had hurt herself this time more than she had him.
Chapter 14
Knowing that Oliver and Kerensa would stay at Ker-an-Mor Farm for the harvest period, Hezekiah Solomon took the liberty of calling at the Manor in the hope of seeing Olivia alone. This could be the ideal opportunity to work on the plans he had to seduce her. He knew Luke would be busy in the farm’s office, that Cordelia found the farm an ideal place to daydream, and Kelynen, whom he hated, would never be far from her parents’ side. Olivia, who had her own painting studio in the Manor house, was most likely to be at home.
Polly O’Flynn told him firmly that there was no one to receive him, but having made a point of checking that Olivia’s pony was in the stables, Hezekiah insisted on paying her his respects – ‘Now that I am here,’ he hissed.
Olivia was furious at being dragged away from her painting, especially by this horrid little man. She hated his debauched face, his ornate clothes and his overpowering colognes and she hated the very thought that he might be considering her as a wife. Whatever his reason for calling on her, she would not see him alone. She brought Shaun O’Flynn, who had been sitting for her, into the parlour with her and kept Polly in close attendance.
‘It is a pity you have had a wasted journey, Captain Solomon,’ Olivia said coolly, reluctantly giving her hand to be bent over and kissed, still wearing her painting smock over her dress. She did not ask him to sit down or offer any refreshment.
‘But it is always a pleasure to spend even a few moments in your delightful company, Miss Olivia.’ Hezekiah looked unperturbed but inside he felt venomous that he should be treated so discourteously and that she should bring a loathsome child into the room with her.
‘It is a most busy time of the year for the family,’ Olivia said, looking at the door.
Hezekiah kept up his smiles which Olivia found ugly. ‘I know and it is for that reason that I felt I could not call at Ker-an-Mor Farm and ask after the health of your dear parents. I do miss their company.’
‘They are well,’ she said curtly.
Shaun had been fiddling with a book on a table and sent it thumping onto the floor. Hezekiah jumped back and looked at the boy as though he’d like to kill him. Polly gathered up the book and Shaun ran to clutch her skirts. They shared the same feelings of fear that gripped Olivia every time the strange retired sea captain was about.
‘Ah, an endearing little boy,’ Hezekiah smiled, but his teeth were clenched tightly. ‘How old is he now?’
‘He’s… he’s four, nearly five,’ Olivia blurted out.
Hezekiah took a shilling from a pocket. ‘Here you are, little boy.’
Shaun refused to take it. He moved behind Polly’s back and hid his face away.
‘Oh dear,’ Hezekiah said, the words rolling off his darting tongue like acid. ‘He’s a little shy.’
Olivia knew she had no choice but to take the money for the boy herself. Swallowing a hard lump in her throat, she moved towards the hateful little man. He pulled his hand towards his chest so she would have to come closer.
‘Thank you, Captain Solomon. I’ll see that Shaun gets it later.’
Hezekiah had removed his gloves and Olivia could feel his warm clammy flesh when he took her hand and slowly placed the coin in her palm. His serpent eyes claimed her fearful attention as he retained her hand for a moment.
He’d known he wouldn’t be able to stay for long, but Olivia’s cool behaviour meant it was time to go already. His plan was not working out at all. Damn these Pengarron women! What made them so unseducible? Why did they ignore or spurn his subtle attempts at bedding them? Kerensa Pengarron cared only for her husband and this girl was probably ‘saving herself’ for her future partner, all properly legal and churched. He swore at that moment that he would not let Olivia Pengarron slip through his fingers as he had her mother. And when that time came he would not spare her. There would be no gentleness, no light touches, just delicious lingering pain.
As if she read his thoughts, Olivia snatched her hand away and the shilling hit the floor and rolled away. Hezekiah kept his eyes on her as he retrieved it and put it on a table.
‘I must bid you good day, Miss Olivia,’ he said in an amiable tone. ‘I have other friends I wish to see before the afternoon is over.’
‘Thank you for calling, Captain Solomon. I’ll tell my parents that you enquired after them.’
Hezekiah knew he was being given a rebuff but he also knew she was shaken. He would use the tactic of staying away from her for a little while – and then he would pounce!
When he had gone, Olivia sank down on the nearest chair. Polly came back from the main doors after seeing him out of the house, with her son still clutching her.
‘Are you all right, Polly?’ Olivia gasped
, waving a hand in front of her face.
‘I was going to ask you that, Miss Olivia,’ the housekeeper answered, shaken through and through. ‘I don’t care what excuse I have to make in future, I shan’t let that awful man into the house again unless his lordship’s home.’
‘Open all the windows in the room, will you, please? I shall feel we haven’t truly rid ourselves of that dreadful little fop’s presence until his perfumes have been erased.’
With the help of a plateful of sweetmeats, Olivia had just persuaded Shaun to adopt the position she required for the sitting again when there was a tap on her painting-room door. Shaun sprang up and rushed to cling to her and they watched the door wide-eyed in fear that Hezekiah Solomon had come back.
The Reverend Timothy Lanyon was shocked by the expressions on their faces when he put his head round the door. ‘Good Lord! Surely I have not startled you so much?’
‘No, no! We thought you were someone else,’ Olivia cried out.
Coming fully into the well-lit room, Timothy went straight to them. ‘You have both been frightened out of your wits. What has happened, Miss Pengarron? Who did you think I was?’
Shaun stared up at the parson who grinned down on him. When the boy grinned back, Olivia began to feel rather foolish.
‘Captain Solomon was here a short time ago, Reverend Lanyon. I find him rather discomfiting.’
‘Did he frighten you?’ Timothy persisted.
‘Yes, I admit he did, a little. I was most annoyed that he had called. I was trying to paint.’
‘And now you have me disturbing you,’ Timothy said uncertainly. ‘Polly sent me up, she didn’t think you’d mind for a moment or two. I’ll say goodbye and leave you to get on.’
After Hezekiah Solomon’s frightening presence Timothy Lanyon’s was utterly desirable. ‘I shall not mind if you stay, Reverend Lanyon,’ Olivia said, and the parson’s delight was evident.
Shaun went back to his seat and plate of sweetmeats and Timothy looked cautiously at the sketching on the easel. He didn’t want to risk stirring up her artistic temperament. The expression under his dark brows was full of admiration. ‘This is excellent, Miss Olivia. You have made a good likeness of young Shaun and captured the very essence of his spirit.’
Olivia was embarrassed and suspicious of his sincerity. ‘I don’t like my work being seen until it is finished,’ she said sharply. The afternoon was not working out at all well. It had taken a lot of cajoling to get Polly to agree to Shaun sitting for her in the first place.
Timothy ignored her outburst and moved tactfully to the other side of the easel but swept his grey eyes over some of her finished work propped up or hanging on the walls. She watched him from the corner of her eye, wondering what he was thinking. If he criticised her work, she would order him to leave.
‘I see you have painted many of the servants. They are very good. I believe there is one of your earlier works in the Parsonage. It is signed 0. E. M. Pengarron. They are not Sir Oliver’s initials, I understand.’
‘You are correct, Reverend Lanyon.’ He wasn’t like the brash man she had quarrelled with at the Parsonage a few weeks ago and since then she had noticed he had been politeness itself to her and the other ladies after the Sunday morning services. She put her paintbrushes down and moved across the room to him. ‘Do you really like my work?’
Before he could answer, Shaun wailed, ‘Can I go now, Miss Livvy? My head’s aching and I want to go outside to play.’
‘Very well, you may run along, Shaun,’ she replied indulgently. ‘We will carry on with your picture another day.’
‘His mother is not far away,’ Timothy said, explaining that he had taken no liberties by entering her private domain at the top of the house.
‘His mother is never far away,’ Olivia whispered confidentially and made Timothy smile in conspiracy.
When Shaun had rushed off, noisily clattering along the corridor and down the stairs, with Polly calling after him to be more careful, Olivia swept a hand through her auburn-red hair then took off her smock. ‘I also have had enough of being in this stuffy room for one day. I think I will take a walk outside.’
‘Would you care for me to accompany you?’ Timothy asked carefully. ‘I’ve really called to see Beatrice but I daresay she can wait a little longer.’
Olivia made a quick comparison between this young man and the shrivelled-up elderly fop who had recently left. ‘Yes, I think I would, thank you. I’ll get Polly to serve cold drinks in the summerhouse.’
They took a long walk around the gardens, straying into the hardly speaking. When they were seated in the cool summerhouse, Timothy said, ‘You have a good studio at the top of the house, Miss Olivia.’
‘My father had the room adapted for me. I would not have thought you’d approve of ladies taking up the occupation of painting, Reverend Lanyon.’ Olivia was suddenly eager that he would thoroughly approve, that someone other than her indulgent family should be genuinely interested in her work.
‘Oh, I don’t think that you ladies should always be retained solely for household and childbed duties,’ he smiled back, brushing at the wispy bits of hair that fell about his strong face.
Olivia smiled too. ‘You are a surprising man.’
‘Am I? In what way?’
After hating being in the company of one man who had called at the Manor this afternoon, she was enjoying being hostess to this other. She began to wonder why she had been so outraged with Timothy Lanyon before. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said, ‘you just are.’
His grey eyes looked humorously at her over his glass. ‘I trust you meant that kindly.’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘Well, I am not surprised that you are such a talented young lady. I hear you are having an exhibition of your work.’
‘Yes, I’m quite excited about it. It’s nothing grand, just a chance to show off my skills and hope that other people will be in agreement with you. Will you come to view it?’
‘Indeed I will. Oh!’ Timothy suddenly jumped up and splashed his drink down his frockcoat. Then he was worried she thought he was being ill-mannered again. ‘Forgive me, Miss Olivia.’
She was alarmed. ‘What is it?’ and without thinking, she added, ‘Timothy?’
He blinked and looked delighted while being flummoxed at the same time. ‘I… I… have just remembered that I have an appointment in Marazion at four of the clock this afternoon and I haven’t yet seen Beatrice. I’m afraid I’m not at all organised with my sister spending so much of her time at Trecath-en Farm.’ It was somehow endearing to see him flapping about in his natural manner.
‘I know the reason that a parson calls on a parishioner is confidential but I am curious as to why you are calling on Beatrice. I’ve never known her to ask for you, or the Reverend Ivey before you, until now.’
‘She hasn’t asked to see me. I was told she was very ill. I feel I have a duty to his lordship’s servants to offer comfort to them when they are ailing.’
Olivia laughed gaily. ‘There is no need for concern, Reverend Lanyon. Beatrice has not been ill. I’m afraid the truth is that she’s been very drunk again. If you go now, you will not be late for your appointment.’ She held out her hand and he took it, kissing it lightly while looking into her eyes.
‘May I venture to ask whether, if I have reason to call here again, my presence will be more welcome than a certain retired sea captain’s?’
‘I can assure you that I could never think of you in the same way that I do that man,’ Olivia answered softly. ‘The door will always be open to you.’
She clasped her hands together after he had gone. She knew she had been rather brazen, having no right to offer such an invitation to a young man, even the parish parson, without her father’s consent or at least her mother’s presence. Sitting back to relax in the summerhouse, she didn’t care all that much.
* * *
With the able-bodied Trenchard menfolk in the fields from dawn to dusk, Kerris wa
s enjoying the quietness at the farm with only Catherine and Kenver around her. She kept the house spotlessly clean, did the laundry, fed the fowls, attended to the dairy and vegetable patch and Jessica’s flower garden. While she worked she made up stories about who she was, sometimes pretending that she was mistress of the house. When she made the daily walk to the fields with Miss Catherine, she kept well away from the harvesters and was always happy to get back to the peace of the farm again.
Catherine, who had unsuccessfully argued with Clem that Kerris’s identity was too important to be left until after the harvesting, plied her with questions. But Kerris warded them off by asking questions of her own about the wedding and what changes Catherine was proposing to make once she was installed as mistress here, or by humming to herself and looking blank. Catherine soon realised she was getting nowhere with her enquiries and gave them up.
Kerris was getting less and less shy of Kenver and often when they were alone in the afternoon, with one or more of Clem’s dogs who remained as guards, they would sit in the sun outside the kitchen door or inside in the cool, and chat. They spoke of the forthcoming marriage, the weather, about Kenver’s crafts, the chores Kerris had done, how much she’d come to love the dogs and Kenver’s favourite subject, something that he was amazed about – the way the wild cats that abounded on the farm allowed her to touch them and pick them up.
Kerris knew these idyllic days were drawing to an end. The day before, Clem had told Catherine that the reaping of the crops would take just another day or two. Kerris felt apprehensive about having the other Trenchard menfolk round about the farm again, even of having Jessica back. She was still kind to her but she was bad-tempered these days. And Kerris was still unsure of her position, despite Kenver’s promise that she would never be put off the farm. She felt more secure knowing that Clem was to marry Catherine. It meant that even if Jessica married and left, Catherine would still be here and would need her to do the heavier work. She felt safe with the kind, attractive lady.
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