Trevennor’s Will, page 19
‘Course, Laurence Trevennor was not as grand as the Bassets,’ Nick said, ‘but he was one of the finest men I’ve ever known. His successors are a right bloody pair, not that they plan to live at the house for long. You’re lucky Mr Basset’s got a son to carry on with his plans, Sid.’
‘Aye, s’pose so.’ Sid quaffed at an ale jug he had secreted behind the bale. He passed it on to Nick and brought up his second favourite subject.
‘That there maid who brung our crib don’t half fancy you. You’m all right there I’d reckon, Nick.’
‘Not me, Sid. ’Tis you she’s got her eye on,’ Nick replied with a grin.
‘Naw!’ Sid exclaimed, spraying his shirt and waistcoat with ale. ‘I’ve worked here nigh on twelve year from a stable boy and she’s never given me as much as a second look, no matter what bait I dangle before her. ’Tis a fine looking stallion she d’see in you. She’s looking fur a stud.’ Sid leaned over and elbowed Nick with a wicked smile. ‘Give it to her, will ’ee?’
Nick thought about it while eating a mouthful of fresh crusty bread, then answered slowly, ‘No, I don’t think I will.’
‘What? Give up a chance like that? With all that bosom hanging out just fur thee? Yourn damned lucky you’ve got the looks to be so choosy.’ Sid eyed Nick suspiciously. You’re a funny bugger, you are, Nick Nancarrow. I know you don’t prefer the company of men lest I wouldn’t be sitting so close to you. You ain’t married, I’ve asked ’ee. Got a sweetheart somewhere, have ’ee?’
Nick thought about this too while swigging from the ale jug. He pulled a long straw out of the hay bale and wound it round his finger. Finally, after keeping Sid on tenterhooks, he said softly, ‘No, I don’t think so.’
Sid did not think much of this answer and slapped his knee hard. ‘What sort of an answer is that, boy! Good-looking man like you oughta know if he has one or no. I ruddy well would and whether she was good t’lie with.’ Then Sid nodded his greasy head and looked knowingly. You have, haven’t you? And she’s given you a bit of trouble, eh?’
‘Not a little trouble, Sid, a good deal of it. But she’s not my sweetheart.’
‘She worth it?’
‘Aye, she’s worth the trouble,’ Nick said to the barn floor. He hadn’t thought so at first. When he’d pulled Isabel’s inert body round to him he would rather have had any other task in the world than the one given him by Laurence Trevennor. He would never have believed then just how much Isabel was to change.
He didn’t need Sid’s probing questions to be brought to thinking about her. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Not just because he had the task of finding out if her life was at risk. He found he was continually going over every moment he had spent with her since he had discovered her at the coach crash until the noncommittal farewell he’d given to her at Crantock. There were moments when he longed to hurry back there to see what she was doing, how she was behaving, how well she was getting on with Kitty and Benjamin. But for now she was safe while he kept an eye on the Kempthornes… and every day that passed was one closer to Richard Grenville coming home and then Isabel could be put into his hands.
No matter how his thoughts of Isabel ran, they always ended up with remorse over his insensitivity. He’d thought about it often and why he’d acted that way in the cove, why he had not simply taken her into his arms and kissed her lovingly and seen if anything would have progressed from it. He had not wanted to be seen to be romantic, loving, making some kind of commitment to her, but few women liked being suddenly manhandled in any situation. No wonder Isabel had been so horrified at his actions. He wanted to make it up to her, to tell her he was sorry.
The harsh call of a peacock proudly strutting its way around Tehidy’s subtropical garden brought Nick back to the present. Sid was waiting for him to go on but he forced Isabel’s lovely face from his mind and talked of the horses.
‘The first gelding will be easier to put through his paces but the other will be a good puller, I reckon. I’ll tether it to a tree and encourage it to pull away until it’s had enough of it. That’ll put paid to it pulling the wrong way and putting the pair of ’em out of balance.’
Sid was impressed. ‘Would never have thought of that meself. Something like that could keep a carriage under control and stop a nasty accident like the one at Deadman’s Cove. Four dead, from Truro, I believe. Ever hear what happened to the horses, Nick?’
‘They broke free and were all rounded up eventually and taken safely back to the Antiss stables in Truro.’
‘Thank God for that. Hate to hear of good horseflesh going to waste.’
‘Aye, me too.’ Nick ate his crib and wondered what Sid would say if he knew he had been there at the scene of the Antiss coach crash.
‘You going over to Gwithian again later on then, Nick?’
‘I might.’
‘On that mare loaned ’ee from the Trevennor stables?’
‘I might.’
‘I reckon you got some woman over there.’
‘Just one I’m doing business with.’
Sid guffawed and slapped Nick heartily on the back, making the neck of the ale jug he was about to put into his mouth knock against his teeth.
‘Well, boy, when you’ve finished doing business with this woman, send her over to me!’
Nick pressed his fingers to his bruised lips. ‘Steady on, Sid. I might need these lips for kissing. Seriously though, I’m teaching a lady to ride, and believe me, you wouldn’t want anything to do with this one.’
‘Oh? A lady, eh? From what stables?’
‘The lady or the horse?’
‘The horse, you fool. But what’s the lady like anyway?’
‘’Tis a horse from Laurence Trevennor’s stables and the lady is his niece.’
‘Not the one who died?’
‘Sid, are you ruddy mazed? I’ve yet to teach a ghost to ride side-saddle. She’s Miss Deborah Kempthorne who used to live at St Ives.’
‘She paying you well?’
‘Aye,’ Nick replied, but he had not received a single penny so far.
‘She a good learner then?’
‘Ruddy useless. If you ask me she scares the horses.’
‘She’s pretty? Old? Young?’
Nick knew what Sid was leading up to. He snorted. ‘She’s plain-faced, cruel-hearted and built like a cart horse. Definitely not my sort of woman.’
Sid chuckled and made a lecherous gesture. ‘They’re all the same lying down.’
‘No, they’re not!’ Nick blurted out, not liking that last remark. It brought a terrible sight to mind.
Deborah was nervous of horses and Nick was well aware that her proposition that he teach her to ride was a ruse to get closer to him. He’d never forget the first lesson. It had been a dreadful experience for him. She’d made him call at the house for her and made a great show of it in front of the servants. Mrs Christopher hadn’t been too surprised when Nick had gone to Trevennor House after Laurence’s funeral but her face was agog at the sight of him leading the new lady of the house out to the stable yard with her clinging to his arm, saying Nick this and Nick that, and he apparently hanging on to her every word. He wished he could have a quiet word with the housekeeper and tell her what he was up to.
His heart had sunk when Deborah dismissed the two stable boys. Without their help, actually getting Deborah onto the horse, a gentle, mature mare, and the largest horse in the stables, had been a most difficult manoeuvre.
When they were finally trotting through the village, he having to lead the mare by the reins because Deborah insisted she hadn’t the confidence yet, they had passed Denny Rowe sitting up in a hedgerow near his home, as was his habit, to watch the village life pass him by and to sneak a quiet pipe of tobacco when Meena was busy and unlikely to catch him at it. Nick had wanted the ground to swallow him up. Denny had merely nodded at him and doffed his cap to Deborah. Deborah wouldn’t usually have replied but she called back a loud ‘Good day to you’, seeming to want everyone to know she was abroad that day. Nick was glad the Rowes’ cottage was not near the heart of the village and resolved he would never ride that way with his pupil again.
Thankfully Deborah was too nervous to ride for long but things had been worse for Nick when they got back. She had pretended to fall to the ground when he’d helped her down from the horse and she’d told him to help her into a stall so she could sit awhile.
‘Just so I can return to the house in a calm state,’ she had said in a deliberately shaken voice as she’d lowered herself none too gracefully onto a stool. ‘I don’t want Mrs Christopher to worry about me.’
Privately Nick thought Mrs Christopher couldn’t have cared less about Deborah but she’d have plenty to think about if he was forced to linger in the stable with the woman.
‘You did quite well for a first time, Miss Kempthorne,’ he said. You will have to try to trust the mare. I’ve known Belle for years and she’s never thrown anyone. A horse can tell when its rider is nervous of it. I understand Miss Isabel Hampton rode Belle often and she had no trouble with her,’ he added, hoping to gauge something of how Deborah felt about her cousin.
Deborah’s face stiffened and she smoothed down her riding skirt with taut fingers but she looked up at Nick from her ridiculously feathered hat with what she probably thought was a soft smile. ‘Everyone is different, Nick. I’m sure I shall do better next time. You will have to be patient with me.’
She did no better the next time nor the one after that. All she succeeded in doing was getting Nick anywhere she could alone and, by the scowls he was receiving from some of the villagers, folk who were his friends and who had once trusted him, ruining his reputation for integrity.
Nick knew he’d find out nothing of what he needed to know from Edmund Kempthorne. Edmund had invited him to play cards and Nick had lost all the money he’d had with him; Edmund was a skilful cheater and just as skilful at keeping his thoughts to himself. Nick was still hoping the riding lessons would prove useful in getting information out of Deborah but he didn’t want to get too close to her, that could mean unwanted complications. Isabel had told him she was an accomplished horsewoman and he wished it was possible to ride with her instead. The thought of holding and kissing Deborah, which he knew she was angling for, was most uninviting, but kissing Isabel’s soft lips… and he had missed the opportunity.
Sid had been watching him while stuffing food into his mouth. You’re off again,’ he said, after the last swallow. ‘Don’t even blink an eyelid.’
‘Eh?’
‘You’re thinking. Off in a world of your own. Got something on your mind, have ’ee?’
‘That’s right, Sid. ’Tis time to get back to work.’ Impatiently he made for the stall of the second gelding. The sooner the task Laurence Trevennor had set him was over and Isabel came back from the ‘dead’ and got married, the sooner he could get on with his old life again, living free and easy and unhampered. He would dally no longer. After his work here was finished for the day, he would somehow force the Kempthornes’ hand.
Chapter 15
Later in the day, when Nick turned up in the Trevennor stable yard as arranged, there was no sign of Deborah waiting for him dressed in her ill-fitting voluminous black riding clothes. A maid was sent to tell him that the mistress had been taken with one of her sudden headaches and requested his company in the parlour. Nick had taken more care with his appearance for this riding lesson which did not go unnoticed by the maid or her mistress.
‘That will be all, Dorcas,’ Deborah said, employing the softer voice she retained when Nick was about. ‘I will ring if I need anything.’
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Dorcas replied dully, dipping her knee. She shot Nick a look of sympathy before leaving the room.
Nick was glad he did not receive any strange looks or cutting remarks from the servants here; Mrs Christopher and Wenna Sweet, the cook, had put their heads together and concluded there must be an ulterior motive for the attention he was giving their dreaded mistress. Mrs Christopher had taken him aside soon after the riding lessons had begun and told him that whatever he was doing, the household and the Thomases knew he was trying to look after Mr Trevennor’s interests. It helped with what he had to do, knowing that some of the folk who’d known him all his life had retained their trust in him.
The parlour curtains were almost drawn and Deborah was reclining on a sofa with her feet on a green velvet stool. Her fingers were massaging her furrowed brow. The room, like the whole house since the Kempthornes’ arrival, was gloomy and sinister and filled with the smell of Deborah’s sickly perfume and stale sweat. Nick wanted to throw her outside and let in the two bloodhounds, which she insisted were to be kept outside when Edmund wasn’t there. He wanted to thrust back the curtains and pull open the windows and let the clean fresh air fill the house that by right belonged to Isabel. He resisted the urgent need to take off his necktie and standing close to Deborah he put on a kindly smile.
‘I’m sorry to find you unwell, Miss Kempthorne. May I suggest an infusion of rosemary tea? My mother and Mistress Trevennor swore by it for headaches.’
‘How kind of you to be concerned, Nick,’ Deborah said sweetly, ‘but Charlotte Thomas was here a short time ago and made the same suggestion. She went straight back home and fetched some for me and I’m relieved to say the worst of the headache has lifted and I am beginning to feel quite comfortable.’
‘Good, I’m glad to hear it.’
She had left off her black mourning clothes and was wearing a gown of pink with a muddy-green stripe over a silver-grey petticoat. Her hair was in a freer style than usual. A little rouge and paint on her lips did nothing to enhance her hard features.
‘Did you have a good day at Tehidy, Nick?’
‘Yes, thank you. The horses I’m training are shaping up nicely.’
‘It’s such a beautiful place. Quite sheltered now from the winds and elements with so many trees planted and growing on the north slope above the mansion, which in itself is a magnificent creation. They have the greyhounds there, odd-looking creatures but appealing I think, and those beautiful birds of paradise. There is also a bowling green and lake and the many and varied plants obtained from exotic countries. The excellent gravel walks do not get a lady’s skirts muddy. It is paradise on earth.’
Nick raised his eyebrows at her lyrical description of Tehidy, knowing she had never been invited there and was unlikely to be in the future. He toyed with one of Laurence’s snuffboxes. You know Tehidy well then, Miss Kempthorne?’ he said, baiting her. If he had to make advances to this despicable woman he wasn’t going to be entirely gracious about it. It worked. Deborah looked most annoyed but did her best to hide it.
‘I heard only the other day that the Bassets’ steward was complaining at the amount of poaching perpetrated on the property. Forgive me, Nick,’ she changed tack while struggling to get to a sitting position, ‘would you like to sit down? I can offer you the drink of your choice. My brother has replenished the spirits table.’
‘I wouldn’t say no to a nip of brandy. You stay put, Miss Kempthorne, and please don’t ring for someone. I can help myself.’
With the brandy bowl warming in his hands, he leaned back against Laurence’s writing desk and looked at her from under his long fair lashes.
‘Is Mr Kempthorne about this afternoon?’
‘Did you wish to see him, Nick?’
‘No, I was merely curious,’ he looked right into her eyes, ‘… wondering if we are likely to be disturbed.’
Deborah flushed with pleasure and gave a noisy gulp. ‘We shouldn’t be.’
He walked to one of Laurence’s many open bookshelves and ran a finger slowly along the spines of a row of books. ‘Laurence always allowed me the use of his library. He was the main influence for my learning to read and write. I was wondering if I might borrow a book.’
‘Of course you may, Nick. Take as many as you like.’ Deborah rose awkwardly and tottered across the room and stood close to him. She watched his big rough hand flit from one thick volume of poetry to another. ‘I don’t know why Uncle Laurence didn’t have a proper library made in one of the other rooms.’ She eyed Laurence’s zograscope, which he used to magnify specimens and detailed maps, his harpsichord and collection of flutes and guitars. ‘I’ve always thought there was too much in this room.’
‘He liked all his collections to be in the room he felt most comfortable in,’ Nick stated, over her tilted face.
‘You knew him very well, didn’t you?’
‘From childhood. I admired and respected him very much.’ Nick took down a heavy book entitled Olde Cornish Verse.
‘You are a romantic, Nick?’
He moved closer to her and smiled deeply. ‘I’m told I can be.’
Her eyes were rooted to his. ‘I can believe that.’
‘Oh? Why is that?’ he said in husky whispers, almost in her ear.
Deborah flushed again and lifted her wide shoulders in an embarrassed shrug. ‘Well, I… you…’
It was the perfect moment for Nick to plunge in. He put the book down and moved just a breath away from her. His gaze held her full attention.
‘Please don’t take offence at what I’m about to say, but I’ve grown very fond of you.’
‘Oh, Nick!’ It was beyond Deborah’s wildest hope. She moved a hand hesitantly forward and one of his moved to clasp it firmly.
‘You don’t mind?’ he said softly through the thick air between them.
‘Not one little bit,’ she breathed, giving an unsightly shudder.
‘Can I call you Deborah?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘Deborah…’
‘Yes, Nick?’
Nick’s gut twisted but he had to say it. ‘Can I kiss you?’
She said, ‘Yes,’ with a breathy sigh.
He put his other hand on her waist and bent his head forward for the kiss, the only one he had ever given that he was not looking forward to. Deborah allowed him to do all the work and he could not tell if she was unused to kissing or playing coy with him. She kept her eyes closed when he drew his lips away and then moved into his body. Putting her arms tightly about him she rested her face against his chest. He felt like a sacrificial lamb primed for the slaughter, but held her close. Her perfume had a heavy mildewed smell and her form felt heavy and cumbersome. He prayed she did not expect the situation to be taken to its fullest extent.
