‘What on earth is Clem Trenchard doing alongside Peter Blake? He’s certainly keeping surprising company these days. And that’s Blake’s coach coming after them.’ Oliver pulled Kerensa into a doorway where they watched Blake and Clem dismount next to a group of exclusive houses and apartments. They were even more shocked when the coach stopped and the door was opened and a footman handed out Jessica. Then Clem signalled the footman away and helped Catherine Lanyon and a small woman neither Kerensa nor Oliver had seen before down onto the dusty ground. Oliver propelled Kerensa along quickly until they were standing in front of the unexpected gathering. Clem had given Catherine his arm, and Jessica was holding the small woman who was shrinking back, when Clem saw his arch-enemy and the woman he had always loved.
No one spoke, all faces were stunned. All but Oliver’s showed signs of being uncomfortable. He spoke first, bowing his head to Catherine. ‘Good morning to you, Miss Catherine. This is a most unexpected meeting.’
She could only squeak, with a small curtsey, ‘Sir Oliver.’ And seeing Kerensa’s eyes on Clem, she clung to him possessively.
‘Is something wrong?’ Kerensa asked. No one replied. ‘Jessica? Clem?’
There was still no answer and Oliver demanded in icy tones, ‘Her ladyship has asked you a question. I hope one of you will have the decency and respect to answer!’
A serene voice from within the coach broke through the tension. ‘We have come here for Kerris’s sake, Sir Oliver,’ Rosina answered, peeping out of the coach door. ‘Kerris is the woman with Jessica. She was the maid of the unfortunate Miss Dinah Tredinnick and up until yesterday, when my husband confronted her on Trecath-en Farm, she had lost her memory of the terrible night she was forced to run away from here. She’s here now to collect her belongings and, hopefully, painful though it may be, to see if she has any recollection of who might have been responsible for her mistress’s death.’
Oliver went up to the coach and was surprised to see Kenver ensconced in it, a blanket covering his useless legs. ‘I can see this is serious business,’ he said, amazement clearly written on his face.
‘And it is none of yours,’ Clem said coldly at Oliver’s back.
Oliver swung round and looked as if he was going to swipe Clem across the face. Kerensa hastily moved between them. ‘Please, Oliver, I don’t want any trouble. It’s not our concern. Let’s go.’
He pulled her gently out of the way. ‘It is everybody’s business to find out who has been perpetrating these vicious murders. The family of the last murdered girl was known to me.’ He turned on the man he despised. ‘Well, Blake? Have you nothing to say? I’m aware that this was your mistress’s house.’
Rosina gasped from within the coach and Catherine made a noise that indicated her outrage at what the baronet had said. Jessica glared at him and Clem’s face went dark with anger. ‘There was no need for that!’ he snarled.
‘Why don’t you just go to hell, Pengarron,’ Blake uttered, ‘where you belong!’
Kerensa’s face paled and she tugged on Oliver’s arm but he was not prepared to go yet. He stared at Kerris. She shrank back behind Jessica and began to whimper.
‘Please, Sir Oliver,’ Jessica begged, ‘I know you have the right to speak but you’re making things worse for Kerris. I’ll come over to the Manor later and explain everything to you and her ladyship if you like.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Jessica,’ Oliver said icily. ‘Her ladyship asked you all if anything was the matter. We both would have offered any assistance to you but your father and others see fit to throw only contempt upon us.’ Without another word, he took Kerensa’s arm.
* * *
The house Olivia went to was in a quiet area of Penzance known as Back Lane where the houses backed onto fields. There were tidily kept flower beds in front of it and iron latticework supporting climbing plants reached up the walls.
She knocked quietly but there was no response. She tried the front door and finding it unlocked stepped into a dark hallway. Venturing further into the house, she found all the downstairs rooms had their curtains drawn. She peeped out of every window in each room, looking for signs of the active figure of Timothy Lanyon. In the parlour she stopped in front of a mirror and through the gloom patted her red hair back in place after the ride. She had left her pony in a hostelry, hoping no one would recognise it.
A few minutes ticked by and her excitement grew at secretly meeting a man she was more than attracted to. Every nerve in her body was on end. A clock on the mantelpiece struck eleven o’clock, the appointed hour for the meeting. When the last chime died away, she jumped at the sound of the outside door being opened and closed quietly. Light footsteps moved through the hall, went up the stairs and entered a room overhead.
Olivia waited a short time longer, then assuming Timothy had gone to an upstairs room to watch for her own approach, she went back to the hallway and called his name.
‘Timothy? I’m down here.’
There was no answer. There were no more sounds. Eventually, believing that perhaps she had imagined an entrance in her eager anticipation, she tentatively climbed the stairs, pausing on each step, listening.
Up on the landing she saw there were four doors, two leading into rooms at the front of the house, two at the back. All were open wide. Olivia thought it would do no harm to peek into each room. If there was still no sign of Timothy, she would leave. She wasn’t going to hang about waiting for any man, not even the good-looking parson.
She looked in the two back rooms first. They were both spotlessly clean and, apart from a few basic items of furniture, empty and cheerless. She could detect a slight whiff of perfume and wondered if other ladies had come here to meet a secret lover – but surely not Timothy. The first front bedroom she entered was much the same as the other two. She went to the windows. People were about in the locality but no one could be seen approaching the house. That was it then, she decided, a quick glance in the last bedroom and she would go. And Timothy Lanyon could go to purgatory for all she cared!
The furnishings in the last room were in complete contrast to the others. They were packed in close together and lavish drapes hung from the window and round a huge four-poster bed. Fresh flowers were arranged in crystal vases. A full china tea service set for two people sat on a lace cloth on a walnut table at the side of the room. A sparkling silver kettle hanging from a shiny hook was simmering over a tiny fire.
There was a ghostly atmosphere about this room but despite horrid little prickles of fear tormenting her spine, she stepped further inside. Surely all this could have nothing to do with Timothy. He was a man of the cloth. That didn’t necessarily mean complete obedience to his calling but if he had designs on her person it would be nothing like this. It was as if a scene for a grand seduction had been set… and left deserted.
Then she smelled a strong wave of perfume, sickly, sweet, overpowering. And before she could turn round in terror, she knew she had walked into a trap.
Chapter 21
‘Good morning, Olivia. It was good of you to accept my invitation.’
‘Captain Solomon!’
‘Won’t you sit down and make yourself comfortable, my dear?’
Hezekiah was behind the door, reclining in a plush upholstered chair. His clothes today were discreetly elegant, his pure white wig not overdone in style. Olivia knew she was in danger, she knew what it was that he wanted from her. Her mind raced and she quickly deduced there was only one way out of this situation. She would have to play along with the hateful dandy until she could find a means of escape. She forced a beaming smile to her lips.
Hezekiah knew she feared him and raised a rounded eyebrow, the only expression that revealed his surprise at her not showing terror and pleading with him to let her go, and Olivia knew she had bought a little time.
She put her purse down on the table beside the tea things. ‘I knew it was you,’ she said, summoning up all her courage and employing what she hoped passed for a sultry
voice.
‘Oh? Not the handsome Reverend Timothy Lanyon?’
‘I hardly think the parson’s style is to write a billet-doux to procure a secret meeting with a lady. From what I know of Timothy Lanyon, he is rather gauche and bashful.’ She hated to lie like this about Timothy who was the direct opposite of manhood to Hezekiah Solomon. ‘And I saw little inflections in the letter’s handwriting that I knew could only be yours.’
‘But I thought you cared for him, Olivia,’ Hezekiah said, utterly relaxed and in control, his words flowing easily from his cruel lips.
She narrowed her eyes then dropped them, raising them the next instant with pouting lips. ‘Not when there are other gentlemen around taking a deeper interest in me.’
‘Gentleman such as I?’
She hoped he did not see her gulp. ‘Such as a gentleman who is a seasoned lover, has his own means and lavishes a lady with exquisite jewellery.’
‘You wear my gifts?’ he challenged her.
‘Quite often,’ she lied. ‘In public, and in private when I think only of you.’
Hezekiah’s serpent eyes swept intimately over her slender body. ‘I thought you had no care for me.’
‘A lady does not like to give in to the chase too quickly, Hezekiah,’ she got out, trying to sound flirtatious, though the words grazed her throat. ‘I have not seen you of late. You have not been to the Manor to see the interest I have in you.’
‘It delights me to hear you say so, my dear.’ Hezekiah rose and glided towards her and she knew it was to claim a kiss as proof of her assertions.
She closed her eyes tightly; she would not be able to go through with it if she looked at him up close. He put his effeminate soft white hands on her shoulders. His lips were silky smooth, not clammy and cold as she feared, and he moved them so delicately, so lingeringly, so persuasively over hers she couldn’t help but respond to him a little. If it helped to fool him, it also increased her terror that he had breached a small, sacred part of her.
‘Relieve yourself of your hat and cloak, my dear, and we will take tea together,’ he said cordially.
Olivia faced the window, noting the bottom half was very slightly raised, as she slowly removed her hat and cloak. If she couldn’t rush past her captor and down the stairs and out of the house, perhaps she could thrust open the window and somehow climb down the trellis outside. She would rather throw herself to her death than let this vile man do what he intended to her.
When she returned her attention to Hezekiah he was coming back from the door which he had closed. He was putting the key in his waistcoat pocket.
He showed her to a chair at the table. She sat trying not to shake, forcing a smile which she feared was rigid. He placed a small silver teapot on the table.
‘Would you care to pour, Olivia, my dear heart?’ he said with a graciousness she found sickening.
‘Of course,’ she replied, but couldn’t stop her hands from trembling.
‘You are nervous,’ he remarked, sitting opposite her, his chair nearest the door.
‘Well, it is my… I haven’t done…’
‘Of course, I understand. But have no worries. As you have said, I am a seasoned lover. You are not regretting your decision to come, are you?’
‘No,’ she said with a long, nervous laugh.
She was turning the consequences of this entrapment over in her mind. There was no doubt Hezekiah Solomon intended to ravish her, but how did he think he could get away with it? Was he really willing to risk her telling her father? Hezekiah couldn’t rely on saying that she had agreed to meet, lie with him, and was crying out in shame. For all he knew, she might have left the supposed letter from Timothy Lanyon at home which proved she thought she had been embarking on an innocent romantic meeting with the young parson. Would Hezekiah have his way then kill her, perhaps make her look like a victim of the horrific murders perpetrated around the bay? A thought occurred to her so terrifying that it almost made her gag. She put her teacup to her face to hide her despair. Might Hezekiah Solomon be the murderer who was known to torture and cut up his victims?
‘This is a splendid room,’ she said, making the next sentence a bid for her life. ‘We could meet here often.’
‘You would like me to lavish more gifts and attention on you, Olivia?’
‘Very much,’ she replied, sipping tea without realising she’d done it.
Hezekiah put a thumbnail to his lips and pondered on the lovely young woman across the table. Was she telling him the truth? She was very nervous. But then any woman about to lose her virginity would be. She was proud and haughty and intelligent. Had she really thought she was meeting that foolish parson? Had she worked out the truth of the situation and was attempting to dupe him? As far as he could tell, she had spurned his many expensive gifts. She had been openly hostile to his face. But it didn’t matter now. She was here and she would be his, on his terms.
She drank a second cup of tea and the pot was empty. There was nothing more she could do to spin out the time.
He smiled, and the ravages of time fell from his face; he had his prize at last, and his smile was angelic, recognisable from his younger days. It chilled Olivia to the marrow. He made a flowing turn with his hands. ‘Shall we proceed, my dear?’
She couldn’t speak. She would never consent. She allowed him to pull back her chair and aid her to her feet.
‘Are you frightened?’ he said softly in her ear.
‘Yes,’ she admitted.
‘That is good. I am suspicious of a lady’s previous virtue if she doesn’t admit to being frightened.’
Olivia swiftly moved away from him and a dark look crossed his face. ‘I need a little space, Hezekiah,’ she explained with a forced smile.
She was watching and praying for the least chance of escape. If she stood close to him and tried to slip the door key out of his pocket he would be sure to notice. She didn’t want to make him angry if she could avoid it. She didn’t doubt that behind his effeminate appearance he was not only cruel but very strong.
She took off her fichu, revealing the creamy skin above her bosom which he looked at appreciatively. Olivia thought the window her only possible means of escape, but she couldn’t climb out easily in her skirts. Perhaps she could turn this terrible situation to her advantage. Hope gave her bravado and she began to undress with a sort of eagerness, which she hoped would deflect any suspicions he had regarding her compliance.
He looked satisfied and removed his dresscoat, folding it with meticulous care over the back of the chair behind the door. She noted this; perhaps she could use his fastidiousness. Her dress was off and she stood vulnerable in her shift and stays – a lover wouldn’t expect a girl to disrobe completely her first time. Now all she had to do was to watch him. She moved towards him and he looked pleased, unbuttoning his waistcoat and turning slightly to give it the same treatment as his dresscoat. This was her opportunity, possibly the only one she would have.
She grabbed the chair he sat on at the table and lunged at him, bringing it viciously down on his shoulders. He howled like a wild animal, spitting and swearing at the pain and her deception. Praying the sashes would move easily, she flung up the bottom window, bruising her hands as she did so. She screamed as she heard him throw off the chair and get to his feet.
She saw the flash of a sharp blade in his hand and threw herself over the wide windowsill. Her feet scrabbled for the trellis and she felt a sting across the back of one hand clinging to the sill and knew he’d cut her deeply. Snatching both hands away she threw herself on the mercy of the trellis. She couldn’t gain a firm purchase and slipped, only saving herself from a plunge by clutching at ironwork on the way down. Her arms were wrenched in their sockets, her fingers scraped of skin, but she didn’t feel a thing. She hit the flowerbeds a second later in a crumpled heap and heard Hezekiah shouting profanities and pounding down the stairs. She had to get away.
She’d got to her feet when he rounded the side of the house. His wig
had fallen off and his thin yellowing hair lay plastered to his scalp. His withered face was contorted with hate and fury and madness. He held a long-bladed knife in one hand.
Olivia backed away from him, unsure whether her legs would carry her weight after the fall. They hurt badly. A desperate scream tore from her throat and she turned and ran back the way she had come earlier this morning, which now seemed like an eternity ago.
Hezekiah ran after her, assaulting her ears with the things he would do to her when he caught her. ‘You bitch! You deserve this! You’ve been asking for it for years!’
A shout in front of her broke through her terror. Forcing her eyes to focus, she saw Kane.
He had seen her pony in the hostelry and had been scouring the town for sight of her or the Trenchards and Blakes. He had heard her screams through the bustle of the Greenmarket and had torn along Back Lane to be confronted by the horrifying sight of his sister running half naked down the lane pursued by Hezekiah Solomon.
Kane thrust Olivia aside and pulled out his sword.
Hezekiah surveyed him with a hideous smugness. ‘Scum,’ he hissed. ‘Prostitute’s spawn. Just like that bitch there, you deserve to die!’
‘Put that knife down, Solomon,’ Kane warned. ‘You can’t win against a sword and my youth and strength.’
‘No, I probably can’t,’ the sea captain said conversationally. He threw back his hand and with tremendous force sent the knife towards Kane’s belly. Kane cried out and dodged. The knife skimmed the side of his stomach. Olivia, huddled on the ground where she had collapsed, screamed and screamed again as Hezekiah advanced on her and kicked her viciously in the body. He hadn’t killed Kane Pengarron but the assault on his sister would ensure she received his attention while he made his escape.
While Kane attended to Olivia, Hezekiah ran on until he came to more houses, then slowed down to a quick walk so as not to arouse curiosity. As it was, people would wonder why the dapper Captain Hezekiah Solomon was abroad improperly dressed. He smoothed his scrappy hair and straightened his shirt, making quickly for the house he lived in to pick up some of his personal belongings, some clothes, his money and jewellery. He had to get away before Kane Pengarron caught up with him and raised the alarm. Hezekiah was not unduly worried though. He’d known Sir Oliver Pengarron would not rest until he tracked down the murderer of his pathetic offspring and he had a berth on a ship bought and paid for, ready to make his escape to France. Kane Pengarron might search all of Penzance, but the captain would be bribed to keep his silence.
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