Trevallion

by Trevallion (retail) (epub)

  ‘Here you are, Major. Loveday said—’

  ‘Come here, Becca,’ he said, not listening to her, beckoning with his hand.

  She put his lunch down on top of a pile of scattered papers and walked obediently to his side.

  ‘There,’ he said, pulling her closer and pressing a finger down hard on what he been studying under a magnifying glass on the desk. ‘What do you make of that!’

  Rebecca was taken aback by his unexpected exuberance and the fact that he had her imprisoned by the arm, but she looked at a large piece of badly creased and faded parchment he had spread out over the desk.

  ‘Um, it’s a map of Cornwall, isn’t it? An old one.’ Somehow he seemed to expect her to know exactly what he’d found that was causing him so much excitement.

  ‘Yes, it’s a map. But see there?’ He pointed to a spot near the coastline.

  She nodded, still puzzled.

  ‘It’s the site of an old copper mine called the Wheal Fortunate.’ Alex pointed to other old documents he had scattered about. ‘I’ve been studying these and from what I can make out this little mine and the scrap of land it stands on was never sold by any of the Trevallions. It was probably so small that when the lodes ran out, long before the slump in the eighteen sixties, it was just forgotten. And from what I can gather, there was a house built in the area. One of Miles’s forebears, a crotchety old character by the name of Aristotle Trevallion, had it built there because the sea air was good for his lungs. From these documents it appears the house wasn’t very grand, and it had its roof ripped off in a gale. The house seems to have been forgotten and is probably gone now but there’s no record of the land it stood on being sold. If that’s so, it belonged to Miles and he probably never knew of it.’

  Rebecca leaned closer to the map, taking in the area under and around Alex’s finger. ‘There all that time, well, the ruins anyway, and no one knew. It’s near Perranporth, on the other coast. It’s very wild and beautiful on those cliffs.’

  ‘I’m going to take a trip there to see what I can find.’ Alex leaned over the map, his nose practically on the spot he was so excited about. He did not realise he had pulled Rebecca with him. ‘I never thought I would come across something like this.’

  Their shoulders were touching, they were almost cheek to cheek, but he did not seem to notice the closeness he had contrived. Rebecca straightened up and moved away from him slightly.

  ‘Brought my lunch, have you?’ he said absentmindedly.

  She had been wondering what he would drink with the pasty as he had not asked for another flask, then she saw he had been down to the cellar and brought up a crate of wine. A crate! She knew it was more convenient than popping down to get a bottle or two every day but she hoped he would not dispose of them too quickly, or let her father see them. Trease had made remarkable progress with the gardens and was the happiest she had seen him in years. She didn’t want alcohol getting the better of him now.

  Alex selected a bottle of white wine and searched about for glasses.

  ‘I don’t think Captain Trevallion ever took a tipple in this room,’ she said quietly.

  He did not miss the hint of disapproval in her voice and surveyed her with mild amusement. ‘I was going to ask you to share the bottle with me. Help me celebrate my curious little find.’

  ‘Then it’s a good job Loveday didn’t bring down your lunch – well, dinner we call it. She doesn’t approve of anyone drinking unless it’s one on Christmas Day.’

  ‘A good job? You talk differently too, as well as having different names for meals.’

  Rebecca wasn’t sure if he was making an observation or poking fun at her.

  ‘I’ll get you a glass, Major, from the drawing room. Thank you for the offer of the drink but I have to get back to the gatehouse. Mrs Fiennes wants me to go shopping with her in Truro.’

  ‘You’re not cut out for that sort of thing, are you?’ he asked seriously, knowing how tiresome Abigail could be.

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Rebecca said. With the fate of the estate in this man’s hands, she was not about to whinge.

  He smiled at her for a moment. ‘You are a most graceful liar, Becca. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about your wages. You earned much less than a shop assistant on Verrian Farm but now you’re doing two or three jobs at the same time as well as looking after your father. I propose to pay you two pounds ten shillings a week.’

  ‘That is very good of you, Major.’ Her eyes were wide at his generosity.

  When she came back with a wine glass she found him scrabbling about on the floor. ‘I knocked over a pot of pens,’ he explained.

  Becca smiled down on his dark head. He couldn’t see her, he was facing the other way. She thought what a strange man he was, quiet and moody most of the time, but kind and understanding. Understanding of her father’s heavy drinking, and her preference for a simple country life working on the farm rather than being dressed up as his sister-in-law’s companion.

  ‘Hello, what’s this?’ he said, tossing away a pen that had rolled next to the chest. ‘There’s something under here. Two finds in one day?’ He pulled out the mysterious love letters signed S.B.

  * * *

  After lunch Rebecca and Abigail were driven by a very proud Trease in the Spyker into Truro. He had shed some of his slack puffiness with the hard work he had put in over the last three days and looked quite fit and sleek in his blue and grey chauffeur’s uniform. Rebecca was wearing one of the dresses Abigail had given her and now that she was this close to the city she felt some of the importance and sophistication Abigail emanated; she hoped she would see lots of people who knew her.

  Rebecca’s hopes were realised; they received many curious looks and some people stopped to gossip and be introduced to Mrs Fiennes. Abigail was impatient to get into the shops and launched Rebecca through the doorway of every shop that sold or made ladies’ clothes. When she told Rebecca she was going to buy her a hat for the Jenkins’ wedding, Rebecca tried to protest. It fell on deaf ears. Abigail saw a lovely picture hat, ideal for a special occasion, in a shop in Cathedral Lane. Just right for Rebecca, she said, whose wealth of hair wouldn’t sit under a cloche hat.

  Abigail was impressed by Truro’s shops, which were mainly owned by local traders, and she thought its cathedral absolutely splendid. Rebecca told her that as a child she had often stayed with her uncle and aunt in St Austell Street, which was not far from the cathedral.

  When the shopping, including a lacy negligée set for Margaret Jenkins’ honeymoon, was safely in the Spyker under Trease’s watchful eye, Abigail declared that her feet were aching and her throat was dry and it was time for afternoon tea. She ordered Rebecca to take them to the Red Lion Hotel, the city’s leading hotel and the best place to meet people of consequence. As they walked along Boscawen Street, a tall well-groomed man in a dark suit lifted his hat and smiled charmingly at them.

  ‘Mrs Fiennes and Miss Allen.’ Neville Faull stretched out his hand, lingering over Rebecca’s fingers and Abigail’s eyes. ‘How good to see you again, Mrs Fiennes. I hope you enjoy your visit to Cornwall and the Trevallion estate as much as I did the visit to your beautiful home in Berkshire.’ Neville Faull stood out like a god of Scandinavian legend against the backdrop of simple shops. He was elegant in manners and dress. He smelled of expensive tobacco and exotic aftershave.

  Abigail looked straight back into his shameless eyes and said huskily, ‘I hope I do indeed, Mr Faull. Already I can tell you I am quite taken with Trevallion and its little creek.’ She touched Rebecca’s arm. ‘I can understand why Rebecca loves it and is so strong and healthy looking.’

  After that remark, Neville Faull took his time looking Rebecca over. In reality it was only a few seconds but she knew he’d taken in every detail of her appearance, her smart clothes, high-heeled shoes, her hair tamed in a twist Abigail had told her how to do, pinned under a wide-brimmed hat Abigail had insisted she wear. Rebecca had added a tiny touch of colour to her face f
rom the cosmetics Abigail had given her. Before today, Neville Faull had only seen her in her riding clothes.

  ‘You have had a marvellous effect on Miss Allen, Mrs Fiennes, but then Miss Allen is a most attractive young lady anyway. I shall not detain you, I’m on my way to the rural council chamber for a meeting. I hope, when the Major permits, to see you both on the estate shortly.’

  He lifted his hat again and walked away. The two women watched him. Rebecca was flattered by what he’d said and Abigail was thinking what a great pity it was to have to present and keep up a moral front for Alex if she was to gain the estate for herself and Stephen. She and Rebecca looked at each other, smiled their mutual appreciation of the man who’d just left them, and carried on to the hotel.

  ‘Are there many men like him about this area?’ Abigail said lightly. She was curious to know.

  ‘No one quite like Mr Faull,’ Rebecca replied, taking another appreciative look at Neville Faull’s impressive back.

  ‘He is attractive, but as I’ve told you before, Rebecca, he can’t be trusted. I can’t speak about his professional manner or his dealings in his position on the rural council, but you keep your distance.’

  ‘If he asks me to go out with him again I won’t accept.’ This was true. Rebecca had designs on Joe Carlyon.

  ‘Good, I’m glad to hear it.’

  As they stood outside the elegant entrance to the Red Lion Hotel, Abigail knew there would be only one reason why a man like Neville Faull would ask out an inexperienced girl like Rebecca. Abigail couldn’t afford to upset Neville Faull. If she did he might spill the beans about his affair with her, but she wasn’t going to stand by and allow him to seduce Rebecca either.

  Chapter 12

  Since Stephen Fiennes had arrived at Trevallion he had longed to go riding but having had his ear boxed by Joe Carlyon he was reluctant to ask the groom to saddle a pony for him. After the first week, however, he screwed up his courage and made his way to the stables, taking Tamsyn and her dog along with him. He didn’t care if people saw him as a spoiled brat but he didn’t want to be thought of as a bully. The estate folk had turned out in force to go to church on Sunday, hoping to meet and impress their new master and mistress and Stephen had made sure that he’d behaved like a perfect gentleman and that Joe had noticed. Because his uncle had been reluctant to be drawn into long conversations and had refused all offers of social contact, Stephen had made a good attempt in his stead, even delighting the vicar by suggesting he might be prepared to join the choir.

  Stephen felt he had proved that he could play sensibly with Tamsyn and he hoped Joe would say no more about him hurting her. Stephen took charge of all their games, however. He was Captain Redbeard, Tamsyn only a pirate. He was King Arthur, she only a humble knight. He was commander of the fleet, she only an ordinary seaman. Tamsyn was quite happy with this; after all, she had Motley who growled at Stephen every time the boy came near him.

  Joe was in the stable yard grooming Polonius, the horse Alex usually rode, when the two children approached him. ‘What can I do for you two, then?’ he murmured, keeping his eyes on his work.

  ‘Stephen wants to ride,’ Tamsyn piped up.

  ‘I can speak for myself, Tam.’ Stephen was careful to keep the anger out of his voice but it carried a haughty tone. ‘If you please, Carlyon.’

  ‘Your mother’s told me you can ride well,’ Joe said, carrying on with the curry comb as if he had no interest in the boy. ‘But she also said I was to go with you, at least at first. She doesn’t want you getting lost.’

  There was no outburst, just a scowl. ‘Fair enough,’ Stephen said.

  ‘Can I come?’ Tamsyn pleaded. ‘Motley will be good and stay here.’

  ‘Well, it’s not really up to me, Tamsyn,’ Joe said, looking at Stephen with raised eyebrows. ‘Can she?’

  Stephen smiled widely at Tamsyn and said, very sweetly, to Joe, ‘Of course she can.’

  ‘You’ll have to run and ask your mother, Tamsyn,’ Joe said, trying to figure out Stephen’s true mood.

  ‘Ohhh. She’s gone over to Verrian Farm to look at the new baby. I’ll run and ask Mrs Jenkins, she’s looking after me.’

  ‘No, you can’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair to put the responsibility onto Mrs Jenkins if you were to fall off or something.’ Tamsyn looked very disappointed and Joe was surprised when Stephen offered a solution.

  ‘She could ride in front of you though, Joe. That wouldn’t hurt, surely?’

  ‘Can’t see your mother objecting to that.’ Joe thought that perhaps the boy wasn’t as bad as he first thought but the main reason Stephen wanted Tamsyn to come along was so he could show off to her how well he could ride.

  They trotted along the lanes, Joe on Polonius with Tamsyn happily tucked in front of him and Stephen sitting importantly astride Hamlet. Then Joe took them through the woods, down a well-trodden path beside a stream. Stephen spotted a butterfly drinking water at the edge of the stream and jumped down off his pony.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Tamsyn asked.

  ‘I’m going to catch this butterfly to add to my collection,’ he informed her curtly.

  ‘Don’t you dare! That’s cruel,’ Tamsyn called back, wriggling down beside him. ‘That’s a painted lady. It’s beautiful, all insects are beautiful and they should be seen alive, not pinned dead on boards. Captain Miles never captured butterflies.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Stephen demanded. ‘You never knew him.’

  ‘Uncle Joe said the Captain was a kind man so he wouldn’t have done anything cruel.’

  Tamsyn looked at Joe for confirmation and Stephen began to feel ashamed. ‘I wasn’t really going to touch the stupid butterfly,’ he said harshly. He mounted his pony and as Joe lifted Tamsyn back up in front of him he stole a look at the butterfly and admitted to himself that it was indeed a beautiful creature and probably looked best when seen in its natural habitat.

  They trotted on, stopping at a spot which overlooked Kennick Creek. The tide was fully in and the waters lapped and sparkled up to the high bank. Joe tethered the horses to an oak tree and sat down with a cigarette while the children pulled off their shoes and clothes down to their underwear to swim. Stephen was an excellent horseman but Tamsyn was a much better swimmer. They splashed and played about, pretending to be saboteurs, swimming out to sea from Falmouth Bay to plant explosives on a German submarine.

  ‘German submarines used to hide themselves just outside Falmouth Bay, even around the Manacles, a group of very dangerous rocks,’ Joe told them when they were out of the water and getting dressed. ‘There used to be warships moored up in the river. Times are more peaceful now and very soon there’ll be the regattas. You’ll enjoy them, Master Stephen, won’t he, Tamsyn?’

  ‘You will, Stephen,’ Tamsyn agreed. ‘You’ll be able to watch Joe row. He wins nearly all the races.’

  Stephen ignored Tamsyn and flopped down beside Joe. ‘Will you teach me how to row?’

  ‘If I’ve got the time. You could always ask one of the other men in the creek, they’re all good boatmen.’

  ‘I might do that,’ Stephen said haughtily. But he really wanted Joe to teach him. He asked the groom what every boy asked every man. ‘What did you do during the war, Joe?’

  ‘I went to fight with Captain Trevallion. We were at Passchendaele. In fact we weren’t that far from your uncle.’

  ‘Were you really brave?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I just did my duty like every other man.’

  Stephen was very serious. ‘What happened to Captain Trevallion? Was he blown up?’

  ‘The Captain’s injuries were caused by a mine exploding next to him,’ Joe said grimly. ‘He suffered very much.’

  ‘My father was an ace pilot before he was shot down,’ Stephen said sadly and proudly. ‘Uncle Alex was blown up during the war. He didn’t get hurt much but he came back a real misery. I hate him!’

  Tamsyn sucked in her breath and looked at Joe, expecting him to tel
l the boy off. Stephen looked angry and sulky but Joe could see he was also very sad.

  ‘’Tis best not to say things like that, Master Stephen. Major Fiennes lost all his men during the war. He told me about it. It’s affected him very badly. I’m sure he doesn’t mean to be miserable.’

  ‘He doesn’t even speak to me,’ Stephen said, his voice dropping. ‘He found an old map in the study of the big house and all he wants to do is lock himself away down there and look at the silly thing!’

  ‘Well, some men are uncomfortable with children, they can’t get used to them. Go on trying to talk to him, take an interest in the estate, give him a chance to come round. But, if you like, I’ll take you out on the river, you and Tamsyn together, mind. Becca will lend us her boat.’

  Stephen seemed satisfied with this, but persisted, ‘You will teach me how to row?’

  ‘I’ll see.’ Joe left it at that. He dug in a pocket and took out a bag of humbugs and offered them to the children. He thought he might have done some good in suggesting Stephen take an interest in the estate, but he had not missed the wistfulness in the boy’s voice.

  * * *

  Rebecca had gone to Truro again with Abigail that morning but had the afternoon off to tidy up Allen Cottage, see to her father’s laundry and cook him a meal. She didn’t change her clothes before she left the gatehouse but carried her old ones down to the creek with her. After putting the washing in to soak she went outside and looked about to find Joe. She wanted him to see her all dressed up.

  She found him further along the creek, helping Jossy Jenkins and some other men to wash down and spruce up the Lady Harriet. Joe waved to her and shouted ‘Hello’ and then ignored her as he got on with his work. Rebecca went back home, feeling dejected.

  Her father was there, rooting about in a box of odds and ends he kept in the bottom of the cupboard under the stairs.