He said in a patient voice, ‘Because I assume that over the years you and the other children in the creek have found a way into the house to play in it.’
‘I haven’t,’ Tamsyn said stubbornly. ‘There’s a ghost in there and if anyone goes inside it’ll get them.’
It was Stephen’s turn to smirk. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Tam. My uncle, my mother, that man Gummoe and Rebecca have been in there and no ghost has got them.’
‘Doesn’t mean there isn’t a ghost, doesn’t mean it won’t get them.’
‘Are you afraid?’ he challenged her. Her answer was totally unexpected.
‘Yes, I am. And before you laugh at me, Uncle Joe said he was scared during the war, that it’s right and sensible to be scared in the face of danger.’
Stephen gave a long sigh. ‘But the danger in the war was real. There’s no such thing as ghosts. It’s something people make up to be cruel and frighten others with. Perhaps to keep them away from something, like the location of a smuggling run or hide.’
Tamsyn tightened her face against his persuasion. ‘I thought you said we were going to play smugglers anyway. I’ll have to go in for my supper soon and Motley will be fussing for me.’
‘Oh, Tam! Look, we’ll play smugglers tomorrow. I want to look around the house now, just for a few minutes, that’s all. It’ll be exciting, I promise you. I’ll look after you in there. I won’t let anything happen to you.’ Tamsyn shook her head so he threatened her. ‘If you don’t come with me then you can’t be in my gang. Anyone who joins a gang where I come from has to do something exceedingly brave for their initiation and this can be yours.’
‘My what?’
‘Your way into my gang. You do want to be in it, don’t you?’
‘Yes…’
‘Well, come on then before Mrs Jenkins calls you.’
Tamsyn reluctantly followed Stephen to the huge front door. A quick scout around showed Stephen there was no way in at the front and he led Tamsyn round to the back of the house. The tall cedar trees swayed in the evening breeze and cast long dark shadows. Tamsyn wanted to hold Stephen’s hand but knowing he wouldn’t like it she clenched her fists and followed close on his heels. He pushed at the two back doors and rattled the windows.
‘Everything’s locked up,’ Tamsyn whispered behind him in relief. ‘We daren’t break in.’
‘One of the kitchen windows shook when I touched it. The latch is loose. I think I can get it to move and the window open. Then we can climb inside.’
Tamsyn held her breath and her stomach did a backward flip when Stephen got the window open. Trease had left a wheelbarrow close by. Stephen wheeled it under the window and climbed into it to give him the extra height to get in through the window. With his head and arms hanging out, he beckoned to Tamsyn.
‘Climb in the wheelbarrow and give me your hand.’
With a mighty gulp she obeyed and the next moment Stephen had hauled her up and through the opening. He was kneeling on the wide scrubbed draining board and when Tamsyn was beside him he lifted her to the floor. She made a frightened protest and as he jumped down beside her he took her hand.
‘Shush. I’ve told you there’s no need to be scared. I’m your leader and will defend you with my life.’
Tamsyn clutched her leader’s hand tightly; nothing would have made her let go.
There was just enough light stealing in through the windows for them to see to move about but everything in the kitchen looked big, dark and looming. Stephen led them out of the room, through the short corridor and into the hall. The stairs seem to rear up in front of them and Tamsyn imagined all sorts of horrible creatures rushing down at them.
‘Can we go back now?’ she whispered shakily. She was clutching the back of his shirt.
‘We’ll just take a quick look upstairs,’ Stephen said bravely, but her fear was infectious and his heart was thumping wildly.
‘No!’ she protested, yanking back on his hand and shirt. ‘We’ll be got for sure if we go up there.’
‘Just to the top of the stairs then. We can’t back out now.’
‘But Stephen…’
Stephen didn’t think he’d prove himself much of a leader of their gang of two if he turned tail and ran now. It was all right for Tamsyn to show she was scared, she was after all only a small girl however hard he might pretend otherwise, but he had to show her he was almost a grown man and scared of nothing.
‘You either come with me or go back by yourself, Tam,’ he hissed through the gathering darkness.
Too afraid to leave him, Tamsyn followed his steps up the stairs, clinging on to him. At the top he could just make out her staring eyes.
‘So far so good. See, there’s no one here but us. Listen, you won’t hear anything but our own breathing.’
Tamsyn was too scared to look around and she didn’t want to concentrate on listening either. She was sure that any moment now they would hear the most horrendous screams and groans and a huge white monster would loom up from somewhere and get them.
‘I… I want to go back…’
Stephen ignored her fear and walked round the landing, trying to fight down his own growing panic as he studied paintings and furniture in the gloom. A small scratching sound was heard from an undetermined part of the house and Tamsyn gave a small scream.
‘What was th-that? Oh, Stephen, I want to go home,’ she wailed, running round him and clamping her face to his chest.
Instinctively he put his arms round her. ‘Be quiet, Tam,’ he whispered in her ear.
They stayed rigid, listening. There was a scurrying noise and they both jumped. ‘It… it was only a m-mouse,’ Stephen stammered. He took a step back to the top of the stairs, taking Tamsyn with him. They moved gingerly, one step at a time, picking up speed with each one.
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed the half-hour and the sudden noise made the boy and girl jump and quicken their pace. A clock in one of the bedrooms joined in and there was a sudden big bang which seemed to come from behind them. The open window in the kitchen creaked as a breeze caught it. There seemed to be noises all around them, getting closer, coming for them. Stephen grabbed Tamsyn’s hand and they ran down the steps, through the hall, the corridor and into the kitchen. Gasping for breath, Stephen threw Tamsyn up on the draining board. She needed no encouragement to scramble through the window and jump down into the wheelbarrow. She waited just long enough for him to join her then they were running as fast as they could away from Trevallion House.
* * *
Jossy Jenkins cut the engine of the Iseult and Alex leaped ashore from its sharp bow with the mooring rope to help guide the boat, a locally built motor launch, into the boathouse. He’d enjoyed the excursion with Jossy and his son Victor, who did oak barking for the tanning trade and oysterdredging in the winter for a living, and he was feeling light-hearted. It seemed days, rather than hours, since he’d been at Verrian Farm and joined in the elation at the birth of Miles George Kellow.
Watched by a bright-faced gathering of Kennickers, the Iseult and its three-man crew had slipped out of Kennick Creek in the mid-afternoon and was soon out in the main course of the River Fal, all set to explore some of the estuary’s eleven winding miles. They passed the point where the merging waters of Lamouth and Cowlands Creeks united with the river and soon after that passed Church Creek with its jackdaw-infested fifteenth-century church tower.
Victor didn’t speak much but Jossy eagerly told Alex about anything of local interest. ‘I like the services in the old and new Kea churches, sir. Worshipped in ’em, man and boy, and sang in the choir. The vicar, he lost his son in the war. There’s a little mission church, built in the last century, standing behind that ruined tower we just saw. Back there in Cowlands Creek you’ll find the little village of Coombe. ’Tis some pretty and famous for its plums.’
‘Ah,’ Alex smiled. ‘The famous Kea plums. I know about them, in fact I’ve tasted them. Mr Drayton used to have some sent to Captain Treva
llion every year in the nursing home. I understand that they’re part of the local livelihood and people come for miles around to buy them.’
Jossy handed the boat’s wheel over to Alex. ‘I’ve ate Kea plums every year of my life. It was nice of Mr Drayton to think of the Captain like that.’
On the other side of the river was the vast Tregothnan estate of Lord Falmouth and its magnificent castellated mansion. When they sailed past Tregothnan’s boathouse, the boatman stood up straight and saluted the Trevallion flag.
Here and there on the shore children enjoying the school summer holiday waved to them. Some were swimming, some shrimping, others were out in small rowing boats.
Alex felt his tension ease as the salt air reached his lungs, the fresh breeze sifted through his hair and cooled his skin. He tossed aside his hat and opened the top buttons of his shirt. He felt free like this, free from the restrictions and expectations of society life, free to be himself. He thought of Rebecca and how good it would have been to have her here too.
They sailed into the Tresillian River, one of the many waterways which fed the Fal, passing St Clement village where men tarring a boat waved to them, and on past Pencalenick. As it was a full tide they were able to reach the picturesque old village of Tresillian. That was as far as they could go and they turned back at the river’s ancient bridge which stood adjacent to the impressive gatehouse of the Tregothnan estate. Alex watched the slow-moving traffic on the main road to Truro on the other side of the attractive village cottages. Then he looked down at the freshwater channel lapping round the boat. The mudflats, mostly covered by the tide now, provided a habitat for a wide variety of water birds and Alex lifted the binoculars round his neck to spot, among other birds, mallards, oystercatchers, curlews and sandpipers.
Retracing their passage, they entered the Truro River, passed through Malpas and sailed on to Calenick Creek, just south of Truro. For centuries it had housed a corn mill and a tin-smelting house, the chimney of which was still standing. The tidal mudflats and saltmarshes, flanked by an ancient semi-natural woodland, were a paradise for water birds, including some wintering wading species.
There was a spot near the village where until about the time of the Great War there’d been a boatbuilding yard. Its history lent much to the tranquillity of the creek and Alex, Jossy and Victor went ashore there to eat their sandwiches and drink from their flasks of strong tea. A couple of locals were enjoying the quiet and Alex chatted to them about the boatbuilding.
They sailed back down the creek and on to Truro. They didn’t disembark but stayed close to Newham to admire the impressive view of the city’s three elegant cathedral spires. Once more they turned to retrace their passage and Alex asked Jossy to stop a moment so he could talk to some boatbuilders at Sunny Corner. Then they made their way to Malpas and moored up near the ferry where the waters of the Truro and Tresillian rivers converged. They crossed the jetty and walked up the steep ferry-slip to the Park Inn where Alex paid for a round of drinks. Then it was time to head for home.
‘I can’t remember when I last enjoyed a day out so much, Major,’ Jossy said, grinning as he lit his pipe. He tapped the side of the boat. ‘’Tis years since the old girl’s had a good outing.’
‘It clears the head, clears the lungs and clears the mind,’ Alex said, smiling back from the wheel.
Jossy looked at the banks each side of the river, screened by woods. He said rather slyly, ‘The oysters’ll be spawning now. If you stay till October you’ll be able to eat local oysters, sir, when the dredgers start work. ’Tis said the Romans put ’em in the river. You can have a thousand for half a crown. Boats d’come from all over, St Mawes, Porthleven and Fowey, to dredge the river. And the French come over to buy our local oysters and you know how particular they are about their food.’
‘I’ve tasted the local oysters, Jossy,’ Alex said quietly. He met the old man’s shrewd eye. ‘And I daresay I will again.’ Jossy crammed his pipe in his mouth, satisfied.
At the end of the day, as Alex helped moor and tidy up the Iseult, he was satisfied too. He looked up as he heard a sudden shrill of excited voices and a clattering of shoes. To his surprise he saw Stephen and Tamsyn holding hands and running towards Ira Jenkins’ cottage as if for their lives.
Chapter 11
Rebecca was helping Loveday in the kitchen of the gatehouse. She was washing dishes while Loveday chopped beef into cubes at the table. They were discussing the events of the day before.
‘I think things might be working out all right,’ Rebecca said, wiping a dishcloth over the same plate for the twentieth time.
‘Why do you keep saying that?’ Loveday said, unconvinced, as she cut off a piece of fat and put it aside for Motley.
‘Well, take yesterday. Master Stephen apologised to Tamsyn and they played quite happily with Captain Miles’s model railway and down in the creek. They were even late getting back to Ira’s for Tamsyn’s supper.’
Loveday chuckled. ‘Tamsyn made the boy repeat the apology and then Mrs Fiennes gave him what-for afterwards. He won’t be too quick to push her around in the future.’ Then she frowned. ‘I’d like to know what they got up to though. Tamsyn was restless all night and said she had bad dreams.’
‘Probably some silly game or other that got her imagination going. But the point I was making is that the children are getting along with each other now. And Mrs Fiennes went to tea with the vicar’s wife and said she got on famously with the Ladies’ Guild. I really think she wants to settle here. As for the Major, I was amazed when I heard the full story from the Kellows about how he stayed in the yard with the men while they were waiting for Gwen to deliver her baby. They reckon he was nearly as worried as they were until they heard the baby cry. I saw the Major in the lane and he told me Gwen had given birth to a boy but he didn’t tell me he’d said that Captain Miles would have been proud to have it named after him, or that he chose the second name, George.’
‘Well, you’d hardly expect him to tell you everything, Becca. He’s your master and is as closed-minded as they come.’
‘You’re missing the point again, Loveday,’ Rebecca said, drying her hands and facing her friend at the table. ‘The Major was interested enough in the Kellows and the baby to stay for the birth and choose a name, one that the Kellows believe belonged to a wartime friend of his. It means the Major is beginning to feel at home.’
Loveday looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps, but I think ’tis still too early to say for sure.’
‘Well, at least it gives us some hope,’ Rebecca said, getting exasperated. Loveday Wright couldn’t see anything if it didn’t happen under her nose.
A noise by the door made them look up. It was Alex and both women flushed, hoping he hadn’t overheard them talking about him.
‘Mrs Wright, are you making pasties?’ he asked, giving them both a rare smile.
‘Yes, Major. Don’t you like them?’
‘I like them very much. I used to buy one at a baker’s in Truro every time I visited Captain Trevallion. Can you make me a really big one? And send it down to the big house when it’s cooked, please? I’m going to spend the morning there. There’s wine in the cellar but could I have a flask of coffee to take with me, say in ten minutes, please?’
‘Certainly, Major.’
‘There’s another reason to believe things are looking up,’ Rebecca said as she made the flask of coffee. ‘He complimented you on your cooking last night.’
‘He’s generous too. He’s paying me a handsome wage for this work, it’s much better than when I was taking in sewing. It means I’ll be able to buy Tamsyn a new pair of shoes for the wedding.’ Loveday went on cutting the pasty beef. Then she made a statement that Rebecca never thought to hear pass her lips. ‘Some handsome when he smiles like that, isn’t he?’
* * *
Alex unlocked all the drawers of the desk and those of a tall filing cabinet in the study and turned everything out on top of them. He put letters and documents into ord
er of importance to correspond with the list of business he’d received from Robert Drayton. Anything personal of Miles’s he put aside, after examining it poignantly and sadly. Miles had secured stocks and shares in several companies, some that Alex had recommended to him himself. Some of the companies had gone out of business during the war, others were thriving. The farming and sheep rearing of the estate were only small beer against the other concerns Miles had successfully run to keep his beautiful home and small piece of land functioning well. Alex had to make a decision about what to do with each concern.
He worked until mid-morning then turned his attention to the file he had found on his first visit to the study, the details of the concerns of past Trevallions. He was in no particular hurry to wind up Miles’s affairs, to decide the future of the house and estate, to leave Cornwall.
He studied maps of old mine workings once belonging to the Trevallions. There had been some on the north coast, at the far west of Cornwall, and nearer to home in a small village called Chacewater. Study of old documents revealed that Roland Trevallion had overstretched his means. There had been no capital with which to keep the family properties by the time the bottom had dropped out of the coppermining industry. Other land and the houses owned at Truro had been gradually sold off, until only the house Alex was now sitting in was left.
After Roland’s death his son Vyvyan, Miles’s father, had made enough money through the tenant farms to keep Trevallion as a going concern.
Alex was puzzled over a discrepancy in the accounts of sales of mining property and began to pore over an old map.
Rebecca brought his lunch at exactly one o’clock. A pasty, as big as he could possibly manage to eat, was wrapped in a tea towel to keep it hot and Loveday had sent down a bowl of strawberries and clotted cream for dessert.
Trevallion Page 11