‘I’m not prepared to divulge his name,’ Rebecca said mysteriously.
‘But you can tell me what he’s like. Is he kind and handsome?’
‘Very.’
‘Is he a professional man?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do I know him?’
‘Yes. He’s closer to you than you’d think.’
Loveday gasped at what she thought was the truth dawning on her. ‘The Major. It’s the Major, isn’t it? You’re very close to him. He’s obviously very fond of you. Has he been making romantic talk to you? Be careful, Rebecca. Men of his class tend to make sport of women of ours.’
Rebecca laughed and the sound rippled over the water. ‘I never thought you would be this fanciful, Loveday. I can tell you honestly that it’s not the Major, he’s simply a friend to me – like Mr Drayton is to you,’ she added mischievously.
‘Is that the truth?’
‘I swear it.’
‘Who is it then?’
‘I’m not telling.’
Loveday chewed over what she’d been told. If Rebecca was seeing a ‘professional man’ then it wasn’t any of the young men of the estate or surrounding area. She hoped Rebecca had not set her sights too high and would end up getting hurt, but it was good to see her bright and happy as a young woman of her age should be. But then, what did age have to do with it? She had felt old and finished, resigned to life as a war widow when Stanley had been killed. But she was only nine years older than Rebecca. Why shouldn’t there be someone for everyone? Of course Mr Drayton wasn’t good-looking or anything, but what did that matter?
She leant on Rebecca’s shoulder to whisper, ‘It is romantic though, isn’t it?’
When they were all safely on shore Joe offered to walk Loveday to the gatehouse to fetch Tamsyn. ‘I’m the only one with a lantern and I don’t want you spraining your ankle in the dark,’ he said. ‘Are you coming, Becca?’
‘I think I’ll go home and wait till Dad gets back. I won’t sleep until I know he’s got back safely.’
Loveday knew she wouldn’t find a sleepy little girl whom Joe would have to carry back down to the creek. Tamsyn was full of beans anytime of the night or day and although Loveday didn’t like her missing her usual bedtime, a regatta day was special.
* * *
When she was sure that Stephen was sleeping, and knowing her brother-in-law would not be back yet, Abigail slipped outside and stole along to Joe’s cottage. Joe would have seen the Wrights safely home by now and would be waiting for her.
They sat side by side on his small lumpy sofa, with only the moon as light.
‘Stephen enjoyed the regatta,’ Abigail said. ‘I don’t have to worry about him not wanting to stay and live here.’
‘The Major’s made his decision then?’ Joe asked, putting his arm round her.
Abigail leant contentedly on his huge chest. ‘Seems like it. He hasn’t said anything but he’s showing so much interest in the estate, especially some little nook he’s discovered on the other coast, and after the way he enjoyed himself today, well, it speaks for itself After you’d won that rowing race, Alex looked almost human.’
‘Almost human? What a strange thing to say.’
‘He’s a strange man,’ Abigail said defensively, with a hint of spite. She hadn’t got over the shame of having her advances to him rejected or the hurt at the cruel things he’d said after she’d told Rebecca off. ‘Anyway, never mind him. I’m glad you and Stephen are getting along so well, he was very proud of you today.’
Joe said thoughtfully, ‘He’s not a bad boy when you get to know him. He got an earwigging from Tamsyn for leaving her to her own devices, but on the way home they were chatting nineteen to the dozen. Stephen’s got her eating out of his hand.’
Abigail gave a small laugh. ‘I think that works both ways. She made him apologise and that’s something Stephen hates.’
Joe kissed the top of her head. ‘Do you want to go upstairs?’
She settled her head more comfortably. ‘No, I’m quite happy just to stay like this.’
* * *
Rebecca was dozing in the kitchen of Allen Cottage when she was awakened by a knocking at the door. She opened it to find the landlord of the Oystercatcher and his son there.
‘Evening, m’dear. We’ve got someone belonging to you,’ Basil Hartley informed her cheerfully.
‘Don’t tell me,’ she sighed resignedly. ‘One very drunken father.’
Basil Hartley moved aside and his son, Tom, carried Trease into the kitchen. Trease was fast asleep and snoring, beer all over his moustache. ‘Shall I carry un upstairs for ’ee, Rebecca?’ Tom grinned.
‘You know the way, Tom. The bedroom to the left.’
Basil disappeared outside and dragged Alex, who wasn’t quite in the land of nod, in through the door. ‘Where does this one belong? The gatehouse or has he moved into the big house?’
Alex lifted his head and tried to speak. ‘Oh look, ish my lillal Becca. Shesh my right-hand man, you know, B-b-Basil. Ishn’t she pretty?’
‘There’s no point in taking him up to the gatehouse and disturbing Mrs Fiennes,’ Rebecca said drily. ‘And I’m sure you want to get back home, Basil. Will you carry him up to my room? I’ll sleep on the settee.’
* * *
Alex woke up and stared round the strange room he was lying in. The rose-patterned curtains were drawn across but he could see the sun was up and it was a hot bright day. He tried to clear his brain and make out where he was. It was obviously a woman’s room. Pink walls, pink candlewick bedspread, a frilled pillowcase, a few feminine things on the tiny dressing table. On a pink-painted wooden chair, the only other piece of furniture in the room, was a hand-knitted woman’s cardigan and a doll which had seen better days.
‘Where the hell am I?’ he murmured to himself. He hoped he hadn’t gone home with a strange woman from the pub and… He didn’t want the estate to think badly of him. ‘Probably wouldn’t have been up to it anyway,’ he comforted himself. Then he frowned. What if the woman lied? What if she blackmailed him? What if she was married and had a huge angry husband? This is what you get for getting legless, he reprimanded himself. Bloody idiot.
Alex pushed back the bedcovers and saw he was only in his underpants. He heard someone coming up the stairs and pulled the bedcovers swiftly up to his neck. He broke out in a cold sweat as the person turned the door handle.
‘Becca!’ he sighed with relief.
‘Who did you think it was?’ she asked sternly. ‘By the look on your face I would guess somebody’s husband.’
‘Don’t be silly. I know precisely where I am.’
‘Liar,’ she said, throwing back the curtains.
Alex cried out as the sunlight hit his eyes. ‘Close them again, for goodness sake!’
‘Just realised we’ve got a thumping headache, have we?’ She looked down on him with a superior expression on her face.
‘Why are women so heartless when a man’s had a few too many? What’s wrong with it? It damn well infuriates me. It isn’t as if I do this every day of the week.’
‘As long as it doesn’t encourage my father to.’
‘Well, there is that, but I don’t think Trease will go back to drinking like he used to before I came here.’
‘Oh? Think yourself a good influence on him, do you?’
Alex looked ashamed. ‘You have a horrible way of putting me in my place at times, Rebecca Allen. What I meant was that Trease is happy now he’s back working entirely on the cars. It’s given him a new lease of life.’
‘Well, I’m grateful for that.’
‘I suppose he’s just woken up with a splitting headache too?’
‘No,’ she said briskly, tossing Alex’s clothes on the bed and making him wince. ‘He was up and out at work hours ago. He went to the gatehouse first to tell Mrs Fiennes she needn’t worry about you. There didn’t seem any sense in hauling you all the way up there last night. Get dressed. Breakfast is in te
n minutes.’
‘My clothes are damp and crumpled,’ Alex said, holding his shirt away from his body in disgust when he came into the kitchen.
‘That’s because you fell into the creek while Basil Hartley was trying to get you out of his boat. By the way, he’ll be expecting someone to pick up your boat later today – and your gratitude.’
‘I know, I know,’ Alex said irritably, sitting at the table because his legs were still a bit wobbly. ‘I suppose that’s why Trease undressed me.’
Rebecca put a pot of tea on the table. ‘Dad wasn’t fit to even undress himself last night.’
‘Who did then?’
Rebecca said nothing, pursing her lips as she poured the tea.
‘Not you? It wasn’t you?’
‘It was. How do you like your eggs?’
A bright colour crept all the way up Alex’s neck and face and disappeared under his untidy dark hair.
‘Well, I could hardly leave you in wet clothes, could I? And don’t you look pretty when you blush?’
‘Damn and blast it, Becca, you’ve got a mouth like a shrew! I think you’re damned well enjoying this.’
Rebecca smiled at him very sweetly. ‘You didn’t say how you like your eggs.’
‘I don’t want anything to eat,’ he said tartly, spooning sugar into his tea.
As Rebecca made toast for him, he came up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry about you having to undress me, Becca. That was out of order on my part.’
She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘Don’t take it to heart, Alex. I’m used to it.’ He was bedraggled and needed a shave. He was looking very serious and it made him seem young and vulnerable. It was no wonder Loveday had thought that he was the handsome young man she was seeing.
‘I don’t want you to have to do the things you’ve been used to like that, Becca. That’s not the sort of life you deserve.’
* * *
‘That was a good time the Major had with you men last night in the pub,’ Ira Jenkins said to her mother- and father-in-law as she shared a mid-morning cup of tea with them outside their home. They were sitting with their backs to the kitchen wall, on a bench Jossy had made in his younger days.
‘Yes.’ Jenny laughed brightly, putting her cup down on an old washtub that served as a table. She rubbed at her stiff fingers. ‘He got a bit too merry. Basil and young Tom had to leave him to sleep it off at Trease and Rebecca’s cottage so Mrs Fiennes wouldn’t be disturbed. That dear maid, she’s a good little soul. She took it all in good part.’
‘The regatta was a great success,’ Jossy said, screwing up his wrinkled old face in huge satisfaction. ‘The Major thoroughly enjoyed himself. Reckon we’ll be hearing good news from un soon about keeping on the estate. Can’t see any reason why he wouldn’t want to keep it on, even if it was only for the summers, t’come down for the regattas. He’s a natural river man.’
Ira nodded. ‘And Mrs Fiennes loves the creek. She told Joe and Joe told Loveday and Loveday told me. Master Stephen positively revels in it. He was a bit nasty to little Tamsyn to begin with but they’re good pals now.’ She chuckled. ‘They’m always off somewhere up to mischief, and he being a big boy too. He takes good care of her, mind. I’ve hardly had to look after her while Loveday’s working lately.’
Jossy lit his pipe. ‘And if the Major keeps Trevallion, ’tis all down to Becca, we mustn’t forget that. Somehow she’s managed to bring the Major out of his shell, and I bet he’s been brooding over something to do with the war, I’ve seen the look he used to have on his face before.’ Jossy tapped his big nose. ‘You mark my words, m’dears, all we got to do is just sit back and wait for good news. The big house won’t be empty much longer.’
Chapter 28
From the moment that Alex had triumphed at the regatta, he felt more confident in himself, enough to come to a decision about the Trevallion estate. He was going to keep it. He hadn’t made up his mind exactly what he was going to do with it but he wanted to make sure the Kennickers, in particular Rebecca, would have no fears for their future. He felt good, he was beginning to feel in charge of himself at last, like he had been before the war when decision-making had come easy, when he had faced the world with ease, taking it for granted he’d sow his wild oats, then one day get married and raise a family at Carsham Hall.
As he rode Polonius through the fields early one morning, he realised that he’d hardly thought of Carsham Hall since coming down to Cornwall. It hadn’t meant much to him when he’d come back from the war; it meant nothing to him now.
Where do I belong? he thought, as he slowed the horse to a trot and looked down on the river. Here? Miles’s face sprang into his mind, the angry, taunting vision of it he’d seen in his nightmare when Rebecca had comforted him. He felt uneasy. He shook the memory from his mind and let his thoughts travel to Perranporth, to the old mine ruins and the site of Aristotle Trevallion’s house. Miles didn’t haunt him there. A heron soaring up from the river below captured his attention and brought him back to the present. His dream of Miles may have disturbed him, but there was no doubt that he had found some peace here on Miles’s property.
Throughout the week since the regatta Alex had visited many of the farms, he had sailed the Trevallion boats and continued to spend money on the big house and grounds. He knew the estate workers had relaxed too, he was sure that most of them took it for granted he was going to keep the estate. He was on his way to Verrian Farm now.
‘Good morning, Frank, Howard,’ Alex said gaily as he trotted into the farmyard. Howard, the young farmhand who had taken over Rebecca’s job, was standing beside his boss holding on to a sheep. ‘I’m glad I caught you. I thought you might be out working on the harvesting. I’d like to give you a hand.’
‘I’m waiting for the vet,’ Frank explained. ‘I brought the ewe into the yard to show the boy here her bad foot. Be glad to have your help in the fields, Major. ‘Tis good of ’ee to offer.’
‘What’s the matter with her?’ Alex asked curiously, stroking the ewe’s shorn back. She was a small animal who yielded a small amount of wool, as was typical of most Cornish sheep.
‘Bit of foot rot, I believe,’ Frank replied. ‘I don’t want to lose her, she’s a good breeder, is Pandora.’ He affectionately touched the ewe’s ear and she seemed to respond to him.
‘The estate men did us proud at the regatta,’ Alex said, grinning at Howard over the fuss the farmer was making of his sheep.
‘Aye, and the Jenkins boys did well the following week racing their boat up to Fowey. That can be a tricky journey if ’tis bad weather, specially round Dodman Point. They did well in the harbour races too. Wish I’d seen them.’
‘So do I,’ Alex agreed. He thought the talk about the regatta would go on but what Frank said next nearly sent him reeling across the yard.
‘I was surprised to learn that young Rebecca is seeing that estate trustee bloke.’
Alex thought he couldn’t have heard right. ‘What are you talking about, Frank?’
‘Mr Faull. Rebecca’s been seeing Neville Faull.’
‘But she can’t be!’ Alex gasped. ‘Becca wouldn’t go out with Faull if he was the last… Are you serious about this, Frank?’
Frank wished he’d kept his mouth shut. ‘They’ve been seen, sir. At the cinema in Truro, canoodling in the lane and walking together through St Mawes last week.’
Alex’s face turned purple with rage. Forgetting why he’d come here, he left Frank and Howard standing with the ewe and ran to Polonius. His mind was in a fever. He knew Rebecca had nurtured hopes over Joe but apart from that he’d thought she wasn’t interested in men. He had seen men casting admiring glances at her but he had never seen her reciprocate. Now to be told she had a man in her life, and of all people Neville Faull! He rode out of the farmyard at breakneck speed, Polonius’s hooves showering dust over the astonished farmer and his young hand.
* * *
Rebecca was in her room at the gat
ehouse thinking about the evening she had spent with Neville at his Aunt Mildred’s house, unaware that a storm was about to break. She was hanging up the dress she had worn, freshly laundered and ironed, in the small wardrobe, remembering Neville’s compliments on how she had looked.
Neville’s Aunt Mildred was a charming woman and had quickly swept away Rebecca’s misgivings about dining in her house. There had just been the three of them and after dinner they had gone into the large cosy sitting room to drink coffee. Neville relaxed with a cigar and brandy. They had played cards until ten o’clock. Then Aunt Mildred ‘remembered’ there was a letter she ‘simply must write’ and left Rebecca and Neville alone.
Neville had put the cards back into their box and smiled at Rebecca from across the table. ‘Good old Aunt Mildred, she knows when to make a strategic withdrawal. Well, my dear, what shall we do now?’
‘You can tell me about the paintings in this room, Neville. I’m fascinated by them.’
Neville looked over his shoulder at a portrait of a young man in early Victorian clothes and long side whiskers. ‘So that’s who you’ve been glancing at all night. My grandpater, Edward Arthur Penlewey Faull. And I thought you were making eyes at me. That’s not very flattering, Rebecca.’
Rebecca laughed at him and got up to take a closer look at the portrait. ‘He was a very good-looking man, your grandfather. He had longer hair and more of it about the face but you look just like him, Neville.’
‘That’s better,’ Neville said, stroking his neat moustache.
He came to where she stood with her head slightly tilted. Moving her hair away from her shoulder he kissed the soft skin he had uncovered, then he did the same on the other side. Rebecca closed her eyes and leant against him.
‘Have you got any more family apart from your Aunt Mildred?’ Not having had much of a family life herself, looking at Neville’s grandfather’s portrait had aroused Rebecca’s curiosity in his.
Trevallion Page 27