Trevallion

by Trevallion (retail) (epub)

  Rebecca glanced across at the children to make sure they were still there, safe and sound. ‘Don’t patronise me,’ she said crossly.

  ‘Well, well, well. Don’t say I’ve got another militant modern-day woman like Abigail on my hands.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Some of you women seen to have lost the ability to know your place since the war.’

  ‘Well, of all the…’ Rebecca was astounded and outraged. ‘Some of us weren’t content to be humble marriage fodder before the war either, Alex Fiennes!’ She swung her head round, sending her hair across his face.

  ‘I was only teasing. Rebecca?’

  She swung back, almost bumping her face on his chin. He made a funny face at her and fell on his back laughing hysterically. When he wiped the tears away she was looking down at him wryly. She shook her head. ‘Just like a little boy. Now I know where Stephen gets his spoiled brat ways from.’

  ‘But we are friends?’ he said, grinning.

  She smiled back. ‘Yes, of course, and it’s good to hear you laugh like that. And,’ she pointed towards his bandaged hand, ‘as your friend I demand to see that hand of yours. It smells terrible. I should think it’s about ready to fall off by now.’

  He held it up. ‘Go ahead.’

  With distaste written clearly over her face, Rebecca gingerly unpicked the knot of dirty bandage and unwound it from his hand. She was afraid of what she’d see underneath, but there were only healing scratches on his fingers and a clean piece of lint in the middle of his palm. The skin round it was clean and healthy. She looked at him questioningly and he grinned.

  ‘I’ve been cleansing it in salt water every day. Did you think I’d risk getting an infection and having the formidable Nurse Maisie Uren after me?’

  ‘But you shouldn’t have kept that filthy bandage round it,’ Rebecca asserted.

  Alex became serious. ‘When you’ve seen the horrific injuries I have and men lying injured in mud and filth you don’t make a fuss over such a little thing. I’m glad you didn’t have to see those sights.’

  ‘Like Captain Trevallion?’

  ‘Especially Miles.’

  ‘I was about eleven when I last saw him. He was on leave at the time. He threw a big party for the estate on Trevallion’s lawns. He was such a handsome man, and kind and caring. The women cried for a week when we heard news of his injuries. We didn’t know they were so serious. We all hoped he’d recover from the head injury and come home and run Trevallion from a wheelchair. He would have had the strength and determination to do it.’

  Alex looked up at the sky and said in a small voice, ‘I suppose your father and I don’t rate very highly to you, Becca. Neither of us have coped well.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Rebecca told him sharply, drawing his dark eyes to hers. ‘You’re a man of honour, I can see that. You and my father lost so much during the war. I don’t blame either of you for anything.’

  ‘But you admire Joe more for the way he’s coped?’

  She frowned at the thought of Joe Carlyon. ‘No, not really. Joe may not have turned to drink and he works hard, but he has a coldness about him. I think he’s afraid to love, to show his emotions, unless it’s something like yesterday when he found an excuse to fight my father.’

  ‘Is that how you see it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Rebecca turned to check on the children’s whereabouts again.

  Alex sat up beside her. ‘Do you think all men are brutes then?’

  ‘No, of course not.’ She smiled at the question.

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t know much about them really.’ She took a clean napkin from the picnic basket. ‘You’d better put this round your hand.’

  ‘Thanks.’ When he’d done it he said, ‘I’m going somewhere else tomorrow of interest to me. Remember those letters I pulled out from under the chest in Miles’s study?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied, full of interest. She had not told Alex that Tamsyn had found them while they were cleaning the room. She was very curious about them.

  ‘They were signed S. B. I’ve done some investigating, well, pulling out old papers and things, and I kept coming across the name Susannah Bosanko.’

  ‘Bosanko? That’s the surname of Captain Miles’s fiancée, Miss Harriet.’

  ‘Yes, and Susannah Bosanko was – is, apparently – Harriet’s great-aunt. I mentioned her name to Jossy Jenkins and he reckons she’s still alive. She lives in Falmouth and must be about ninety years old now. She never married, and, most interesting of all, was an old flame of Roland Trevallion’s.’

  ‘Roland? The gentleman who hanged himself and haunts the house?’

  ‘The very same. Jossy and I are going to take one of the boats to Falmouth tomorrow and I’m going to look her up.’

  ‘I almost wish I could come with you,’ Rebecca breathed, wild thoughts running through her imagination as to what the relationship between Susannah Bosanko and Roland Trevallion must have been for her to write such intimate love letters.

  ‘You’d be welcome to come but I can’t see Abigail dispensing with your services for a second day.’

  Stephen and Tamsyn, who had been running about and creeping through the clifftop growth playing smugglers, were walking towards them.

  ‘I was about to call to them,’ Rebecca said. ‘They look hot and tired.’

  ‘Come on,’ Alex said, putting things back in the picnic basket. ‘Let’s go down into Perranporth and I’ll treat my “family” to an ice cream.’

  Chapter 16

  Abigail was strolling along the creek, trying to lift the remnants of the headache with fresh air and exercise. She kept away from the cottages, not wanting to speak to anyone. It was a quiet afternoon and she was glad that no one was about. Insects and butterflies flitted among the grasses and wild flowers, the sun was pleasantly hot. The tide had filled the creek and boats bobbed gently on the water. A shelduck was shovelling its beak horizontally into the fine surface mud of the last part of the beach left uncovered by water to extract small organisms. When it looked up it made a rasping call, as if it was chattering to someone, then went back to looking for the rest of its meal. Two elegant swans were swimming into the creek – Abigail had heard about this particular pair. They were called the Trevallion’s swans and if Alex would only allow her and Stephen to have the property they would become her swans. She could see herself writing to old acquaintances, the few who knew nothing of her reputation, casually mentioning her swans. If only…

  After a while she walked up through the woods towards the big house. She knew the doors would be unlocked because Alex had told her about the workmen. She was pleased he was having work done on the property and hoped it was because he’d decided to keep it rather than to make it a more attractive purchase to any prospective buyer. She wanted to take a long look at it, to plan changes of her own if Alex said she and Stephen could have it. Why wouldn’t he tell her what he was going to do, even if it was only one stage at a time? It affected all their futures.

  She frowned, the angry thoughts making her head thump. When she neared the house she could hear hammering and banging and promptly turned back, deciding to find a quiet nook by the river to sit and try to relax and make her plans with her eyes shut. She’d go to a little spot where Stephen and Tamsyn played. She had seen them there from a distance and thought she could find it.

  She was successful, following the steps down through the woods, but as the trees thinned out near the water’s edge she caught sight of a figure, a man, and cursed under her breath. Now she would have to try somewhere else. Tamsyn’s dog was with the man and he called to it. Abigail realised it was Joe Carlyon. Now that was different. She smiled to herself. She admired his broad shoulders and muscular arms, his dark curly hair and tough tanned hands – there was more than one way to cure a headache.

  ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you, Joe.’

  With Motley racing about for sticks he was throwing, Joe had
not heard her approach. ‘Mrs Fiennes. Good afternoon. Out for a walk?’

  Abigail massaged her brow. ‘Trying to get rid of a headache actually.’

  ‘That’s a shame. A nice quiet sit-down by the river should help.’

  ‘Yes, that’s why I’m here.’

  ‘I was just taking a short break to play with Motley. I’ll leave you to it.’ He called the dog to him so it wouldn’t bother the lady.

  ‘Don’t let me drive you away,’ Abigail purred. ‘If you have the time I’d like to hear a little history of the creek. I’ve quite fallen in love with it.’

  She sat down on the dry warm grass, stretching out her long slim legs, letting her skirt rise towards her knees, slipping her cardigan off her shoulders. She threw back her head to let the sun warm her slender throat then she turned her head slowly to look at the groom.

  ‘Have you always lived in the creek, Joe?’

  ‘Aye, my family goes back four generations.’

  ‘Really? Nearly as long as the Trevallions.’

  ‘That’s right, Mrs Fiennes. But I’m the last Carlyon now.’

  Abigail watched him flexing and tightening his huge hands, something he did often. ‘Perhaps you should consider getting married, Joe. Have children to carry on your name.’

  He shook his head. ‘Never seem to have the inclination.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense. A man like you must have had plenty of adoring females throwing themselves at his feet. You must be tempted.’

  Joe looked at her pouting red mouth, the lips slightly parted with her wet pink tongue sitting provocatively on the lower lip. He knew she was flirting with him and he didn’t mind one little bit. He admired her physical attributes as much as she did his. He knew what sort of woman she was, doubtless he wasn’t the first servant to receive her attention in this way. ‘I’ve not been tempted so far… and why should women throw themselves at me?’

  Abigail shrugged demurely. ‘You’re an attractive single man. There must be some young woman who has her sights set on changing that status.’

  Joe sat down facing her, making Motley sit close beside him and caressing her neck. ‘There’s none that I know of.’

  ‘What about Rebecca?’ Abigail said, mentioning the first young woman who came to mind, unaware that she had spoken unwittingly near the truth.

  Joe laughed. ‘Becca’s like a niece to me and she’s not interested in men anyway.’

  ‘It’s a pity there’s no suitable young man, honest, ambitious, well set up for her. I’m afraid I probably upset her this morning,’ Abigail said, changing tack, as she recalled the girl’s angry face when she’d shouted at her outside Stephen’s room. ‘I was unnecessarily short with her. She hasn’t had a good time of it since we arrived here.’

  ‘She refused to speak to me this morning when I wanted to tell her I was sorry for fighting with Trease yesterday,’ Joe sighed. ‘Seems a lot of us have reason to say sorry to her.’

  ‘I hope we don’t drive her away from the estate.’

  Joe frowned. ‘What makes you say that, Mrs Fiennes?’

  ‘Well, you’ve known her for so long that you probably take her for granted, perhaps you haven’t noticed what a strong-minded young woman she is. She may not be content to stay here all her life. One day she might decide to spread her wings.’

  Joe frowned again. ‘I hope not. Couldn’t imagine the creek without Becca.’

  ‘At least she’s having a day out with the Major, perhaps that will cheer her up a little.’

  ‘Aye, hope so, but Becca’s not one to bear grudges anyway.’

  Abigail turned over on her side, running her hand down over her waist and hips, letting it rest on her thigh. ‘You must be glad to be back doing your proper job.’ She was pleased that Joe’s eyes had followed her hand and rested upon it.

  ‘I am, but it would be even better if I knew it was permanent.’ He raised his eyebrows at Abigail.

  ‘Don’t ask me, Joe. I’m afraid my future lies at the whim of the Major as much as yours does, and it’s no good me asking him. He’s always been reluctant to tell me anything’

  ‘At least the Major looks better for the few days he’s been here.’

  ‘Perhaps, but he’s still troubled by old memories. I was hoping…’ Abigail hesitated, then she thought it wouldn’t hurt to confide in Joe and tell him some half-truths about her hopes. ‘I was hoping that down here he would be able to put it all behind him and make a fresh start. If Trevallion made him forget those terrible memories then he’d stay on here and Stephen and I could start a new life too. But he had another bad night last night. It was a good thing Rebecca was there. She’s the only one who seems able to calm him.’

  ‘Well, we’ll have to pin our hopes on her then.’

  ‘It looks like it.’

  Joe made to go. Abigail looked disappointed. He crouched down and looked at her closely. ‘I’d invite you to my cottage for a cup of tea but it would cause gossip.’

  ‘Thank you for the thought,’ she said, running her eyes over the strong hairy chest she could see inside his opened shirt, the red marks left from his fight with Trease exciting her.

  ‘Perhaps some other time, Mrs Fiennes.’

  Abigail gave him a long lingering look. ‘Perhaps…’

  * * *

  Abigail watched Rebecca’s serious face in the reflection of her dressing-table mirror.

  ‘I’m terribly sorry that I shouted at you this morning, Rebecca,’ Abigail said, toying with the multitude of cosmetics in front of her. ‘I had such a dreadful headache, you see. The noise of the children playing was going right through me. And then I heard you and Alex raising your voices as you reprimanded Stephen followed by the silly fuss about who was and who was not going to Perranporth, well, I’m afraid I lost my temper.’ Abigail pouted slightly and put on her most appealing look. ‘Say you forgive me.’

  ‘Of course I do, Mrs Fiennes,’ Rebecca said, feeling embarrassed by this. She met Abigail’s reflection in the mirror. ‘I’m just sorry we all disturbed you.’ She smiled and Abigail felt she might get some information out of her now. Rebecca could be rather formal and tight-lipped.

  ‘You are sweet. I went for a walk down in the creek and the fresh air did wonders to clear my headache away. It was quiet and peaceful there. It got me thinking though. What do young people like you and unattached people like Joe Carlyon do for a social life living in such a quiet place as this?’

  ‘Oh, there’s lots to do,’ Rebecca said, waiting patiently for her mistress to choose which fragrance she would wear tonight. ‘There’s church and some people sing in the choir so there’s choir practice. There’s the cinema in Truro, people go there occasionally. There’s friends and family to visit. Soon there’ll be the regattas on the river, they’re really popular and that means rowing and sailing practice. There’s the pub just up the river, of course. Some of the men, including Joe, go there perhaps two or three times a week.’

  ‘Joe tells me he’s the last of his family,’ Abigail said, picking up a frosted glass bottle labelled Le Fleur. ‘I can see he works very hard. Who cooks and cleans for him?’

  ‘Loveday and I used to take turns, but apart from the occasional meals Jenny or Ira Jenkins cook for him, Joe usually does it for himself,’ Rebecca replied, carefully spraying Abigail’s wrists and neck with the perfume.

  ‘Oh, he must be cross with us coming here, taking you and Mrs Wright away from him.’

  ‘Joe doesn’t mind,’ Rebecca said, reflecting on how much things had changed since the Fiennes’ arrival on the estate. ‘He likes his own company.’

  ‘Spray a little perfume on my back as well, it’s cooling,’ Abigail said. She shivered slightly as the perfume hit the skin exposed by her low-cut dress. ‘The continuity of the creek will be threatened if men like Joe don’t settle down and rear families in it. I suppose women flock around him, a good-looking eligible bachelor.’

  Rebecca knew Abigail was watching her again and she answered with a s
traight face. ‘Joe doesn’t seem much interested in women, Mrs Fiennes.’

  ‘That’s because he hasn’t met one yet who’s taken his fancy,’ Abigail said archly, making Rebecca frown in puzzlement.

  * * *

  ‘Did you have a good time on the coast?’ Abigail asked Alex while they waited for Loveday and Lilian Grubb, who was helping her to serve dinner tonight, to tell them the meal was ready.

  ‘Yes. Has your headache gone?’

  ‘Yes, I feel much better now. A walk in the fresh air of the creek does wonders.’

  Abigail helped herself to another cocktail. Alex was drinking beer. He looked particularly handsome tonight. There was more colour in his face and his dark eyes were brighter and livelier from the coastal air and the interest he’d found in his excursion. Apart from a clean shirt, he was still in his casual outdoor clothes. He hadn’t put on his dinner suit since they’d arrived. He’d refused to let anyone unpack for him and it was probably still in his suitcase.

  Abigail swung her long string of jet beads with her fingers and lingered by him as he lounged across an armchair going through the letters Mr Drayton had left for him. She was wearing her most provocative evening gown, a flimsy sheath in shimmering pink chiffon with shoe-string straps, cut low at the back down to her trim waist, with a scoop neckline at the front as low as she dared. A red-sequined headband dressed her sleek short hair, which she’d pushed behind her delicate ears. She wore a slave bangle above the elbow and fluttered an ostrich-feather fan. She looked elegant and beautiful, and hoped Alex would notice her efforts.

  ‘Stephen thoroughly enjoyed himself. He was absolutely tired out and went to bed early. And little Tamsyn enjoyed herself too, Mrs Wright is terribly grateful to you for taking her out. How about Rebecca?’

  ‘What about her?’ Alex said absentmindedly, his eyes rooted to what he was reading.

  ‘Did she enjoy the day out?’ Abigail asked sweetly, determined not to get exasperated with her uncommunicative brother-in-law tonight.