Trevennor’s Will, page 22
‘Yes,’ she replied, feeling terribly embarrassed. ‘I just have to know.’
Benjamin yawned, slowly and carefully, before answering and relieving Isabel of her burning curiosity. ‘Jeremy was the child of one of Kitty’s gentlemen. He was deliberately conceived and the gentleman was happy to go on providing for us. The other one did not object, or else she wouldn’t have had the baby.’
Isabel thought she couldn’t blame any woman for wanting Nick’s baby, and she was glad that before the bright perceptive boy had a chance to read this in her face, he drifted off to sleep.
* * *
Across at Gwithian another young man was talking to someone about his sister. James Leddra had walked to the village from St Ives. He had recovered from his ordeal in the sea and had found another ship to sail on and was soon to leave Cornwall again. When he had learned that Mary Ellen and her daughter had moved from St Ives to live at Gwithian, in the house of the gentleman she favoured, he had thought at first not to go and see her, that she wouldn’t want him turning up there and causing her embarrassment. But as he was about to go off to the other side of the world, and because he had so narrowly escaped with his life and might easily lose it in another incident on the fickle sea, he felt he ought to see Mary Ellen and his little niece while he had the opportunity, if only for a few minutes.
As he walked through Gwithian, James saw Denny Rowe sitting on the doorstep of the Leg of Mutton inn, an almost empty tankard beside him. Denny moved the tankard so James could pass through, and when James had been served he brought his drink back to the doorway for a chat.
‘Not a local man then,’ Denny said, squinting up at James’s earrings and banging his inverted chest as he drew on his pipe. A string of tight coughs spluttered through the side of his mouth. ‘Have to sit out here, ’tes easier on the breathin’.’
‘Aye,’ James sympathized. ‘I’m a St Ives man born but not often there, hardly set foot on land for years till a few weeks ago when my ship went down near Trevaunance Cove with all hands lost.’
‘’Eard about that. Cryin’ shame. Strange thing, isn’t it? Bein’ the sole survivor in a tragedy. ’Appened to me once, down the Purchase Mine. Went down with me shift, was the only one t’come back up again. Makes ’ee think, like there must be some special reason fur ’ee being spared.’
James nodded, a slight movement of the head, but enough for the two men of different ages and livelihoods to share the moment as though they belonged to some special brotherhood.
‘I got kin in this village,’ James said.
‘’Ave ’ee now? Who’s that then?’
‘They live in Trevennor House.’
‘Oh?’ Denny’s head swung up sharply from his tankard, his rock-hewn face full of hostility.
‘Not them Kempthornes,’ James said hastily. ‘I know how everybody do hate they.’ He looked embarrassed. ‘My sister, she lives there… with her little maid…’
James waited while Denny chewed over who lived at Trevennor House and what relationships existed there until he arrived at the correct people. James expected more hostility, or moral outrage, but Denny returned to his pipe without batting an eyelid.
‘You look like yer sister, I can see it now thee’ve mentioned it. ’Tes none of my business what folk do. I’ve seen the little maid, she’s as sweet an’ dainty as a maid should be.’
‘Thank you,’ James said. ‘I thought to call on them. I’m going away to sea when me new ship’s made ready to sail – she’s having a bit of work done on her. I don’t want to make no trouble for Mary Ellen. What sort of welcome do you think I’d receive there?’
‘Well, that Kempthorne woman! She’d rather spit on ’ee then pass ’ee by. He’s not so bad, but I wouldn’t like to say whether ’e’d ’preciate you turnin’ up on the doorstep.’
James’s expression told Denny he was torn about what to do. Denny added, ‘But they’re your kin. I’d go if I was you, yer sister might be glad t’see ’ee. I ’eard there was a bit of trouble concernin’ the little maid.’ Denny explained about Morenwyn’s fall and how she was still unconscious.
James was deeply worried and braced himself for the walk to Trevennor House by buying another tankard of ale. ‘Thank ’ee kindly,’ Denny said. ‘But will ’ee look up an’ down the road a minute first?’
James did as he was asked. ‘What am I s’posed to be looking for?’
‘A woman about my age, as tiny as a buttercup with a little stern face that would frighten the Devil himself.’
‘Can’t see no one about anywhere.’
‘Good on ’ee, boy. I’ll ’ave that drink now. ’Tes the missus, you see. I promised ’er I’d only buy one drink. She’d chitter on me somethin’ awful if she sees me with this one.’
James handed the ale over and scratched his head. ‘P’raps you shouldn’t have it then.’
Denny winked and swung his chin to the side. ‘Nah! I promised I’d only buy one. Good luck with yer sister.’
James made straight for Trevennor House, but the closer he got, the more he dragged his heels. If the Kempthornes were as bad as their reputation then his sudden appearance could spoil things for Mary Ellen and Morenwyn, just when they’d found themselves in comfortable surroundings. If Edmund Kempthorne ever thought to offer Mary Ellen marriage and elevate her status he might think again if he was confronted with her rough and ready relatives. And if Morenwyn died from her fall, it might be just the thing to encourage Kempthorne to throw Mary Ellen out.
Not being able to bring himself to go to the front door, James had his eyes on the path that led to the back of the house and the servants’ entrance when he heard a door being slammed and an outburst of crying. A maidservant rushed past him in a flood of tears with two more female servants running after her. The maid ran past James but the other two came to a halt after a few steps. James dived out of their sight behind the high wall and listened to them. It soon became apparent that the maid had fallen foul of one of Deborah Kempthorne’s cruel moods. Despite Morenwyn’s predicament there was no way James could ask to see Mary Ellen now. He turned about. One more drink with the coughing ex-miner and it was straight back to St Ives for him.
Chapter 17
Charlie Chiverton saw only the occasional person up on the cliffs, although sometimes he saw anything up to one hundred men escorting a long line of mules and mine ponies on the way to a smuggling run, or taking the contraband they’d received away to their hides. It was rare for him to see a gentleman. He was surprised to see one up here on Godrevy Head today. Charlie had come this morning to have a look at the sea to the west, to study the depth of the red stain flowing out to sea, marking the course of the waters from the Red River and giving the superstitious Charlie a sign of how well his alluvial tin workings would do.
Unsuitably dressed against the harsh buffeting winds, the man was standing in an exposed spot under the dawn light and looking across at the isolated Godrevy Island and its adjoining wild treacherous reef of rocks. The Stones stretched for a mile out into the surging sea. The gentleman was as motionless as the sketchy grey-tinged clouds that sat on the horizon in a luminous pink sky.
Charlie’s first thought was that the man, who looked as if he had spent a night in heavy drinking, was going to jump the hundreds of feet into the ocean. It was not unknown for the insane, the despairing and the heartbroken to commit suicide along the stretch of wilderness coast where he lived. Those who did were usually young, as was the hatless dark-haired man Charlie was watching now. Charlie’s wife had spurned another youth to marry him and he had leapt to his death from the very spot where this gentleman stood. So as not to risk another tragedy, Charlie moved up silently beside him.
‘Ye all right, sur?’ he asked in a soft voice with his pipe clamped between his worn teeth. He made ready to yank the other man backwards if he tried to jump.
The young gentleman’s head spun round and he exclaimed through brandy-laden breath, ‘What the hell…’
‘Sorry if I did frighten ’ee, sur. I don’t expect to see nobody up ’ere this time o’ mornin’. Not thinkin’ of jumpin’, are ’ee?’
‘No, no,’ the gentleman expressed astonishment. ‘I suppose you could say that I’m up here because I’m so very glad to be alive – or rather, that someone else is alive. I needed to be alone to think things through.’
Charlie’s canine face was screwed up against the wind. He blinked hard to get a clear picture of the other man’s face and recognized him from Laurence Trevennor’s funeral. Edmund Kempthorne’s features were not so handsome now, blotchy from the salty blast of the sea and lack of sleep and in need of a shave. He was leaning with both hands on his walking cane, his knuckles blue with cold. Charlie felt an instant dislike for him. His instinct told him this man was a master of deception and could never be trusted.
‘Oh, why’s that then? If ’ee don’t mind me askin’,’ Charlie said.
Edmund looked at Charlie for a moment. He didn’t care who the shabby little man who had suddenly appeared beside him was, he needed someone to confide in and this stranger would have to do.
‘It’s my little daughter. Three days ago she took a bad fall down the stairs, from the very top. It’s a very tall stairway, the main one of Trevennor House. She was knocked unconscious. If it had not been for my sister’s riding instructor who was in the house at the time she might have died. He knew what to do and rode at once to fetch a doctor. The doctor was able to come straightaway to attend to her. She was unconscious up until last night and we didn’t know if she had suffered any brain damage. Thank God, the doctor says she is very fortunate. Given time and sufficient rest, she should make a complete recovery.’
‘I’m sorry about yer dattur but glad to ’ear she’ll be all right. Just a tacker, is she?’
‘She’s three years old. People say that Morenwyn is the living image of me,’ Edmund said proudly. ‘I adore her. I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost her.’ His face twisted with emotion and he turned his head to stare at the lonely island across the sea.
Charlie saw Edmund in a different light now. He knew he was not married and it was unusual for a gentleman to acknowledge his illegitimate offspring. This one clearly loved his child, too.
Edmund suddenly gave a tremendous shiver and realized he was freezing cold. He pulled his inadequate coat in tight and his teeth began to chatter. ‘Brr, I… I’m f-freezing. I… I didn’t realize there was so little shelter. Are you by any ch-chance on your way to Gwithian? We could w-walk there together. I would appreciate the company. Perhaps you would tell me your name.’
When given the opportunity, Charlie liked to chat and he was curious about this young man. He pulled off the ragged tartan scarf round his neck and offered it to Edmund who took it and wrapped it gratefully round his own. Charlie puffed on his pipe, he had acquired a knack of keeping it lit in even the foulest of weather. Edmund looked at him enviously, he did not seem at all cold, but then Charlie did look as if he had grown an extra layer of thick skin.
‘You learn to keep warm livin’ up near the clouds,’ Charlie said, as though he’d read Edmund’s thoughts. ‘I’m on my way nearly to the village. I’ll be followin’ the Red River up-aways to my tin-streamin’ workin’s upstream. You get particles of tin in the waste that runs into the river from the copper works, you know. I shall ’ave a good day today cus the sea’s a deep red.’ He ignored Edmund’s look of puzzlement and went straight on, ‘My name’s Charlie Chiverton and I reckon thee to be Mr Edmund Kempthorne and your good lady sister to be Miss Deborah Kempthorne. That makes ’er ridin’ instructor a friend of mine, Nick Nancarrow. ’E’s a good man, is Nick. Got an intelligent ’ead on ’is shoulders.’ Charlie would not normally tell anyone, even folk whom he knew, any of his business, but it might prove useful to Nick if he could glean what this gentleman felt about him.
They turned their backs on the double island in the sea, immediately feeling more comfortable with the wind behind them. Edmund was still shaking with cold but managed to control his jaw.
‘I shall always be grateful to Nancarrow,’ Edmund said, rubbing his arms vigorously to help his circulation. ‘I had no idea it was so fearfully cold up on the cliffs,’ he added breathlessly.
‘Well, you got the force of the Atlantic Ocean blowin’ all the way across from America hitting ’ee.’
‘If I plan to come up here again I will remember to wear warmer clothes and a lot more of them.’ Edmund wrapped his arms round his body and beat his hands on his upper arms.
‘’Tes ’an’some up ’ere in the spring and summer. Try again in a few days if there’s a hot sun and no wind.’ Charlie plodded along sure-footedly a little way in front.
‘I may even bring Morenwyn up here on the first warm day after she has recovered.’
‘Went ’urt ’er none. Fresh sea air’ll ’elp ’er to thrive.’
Charlie helped Edmund along by pointing out the safest passage for his soft-booted feet to take, avoiding pits and rabbit holes, kicking aside small rocks that he might trip over.
‘Do you live in this area, Chiverton?’
‘Ais, got my own little shack on Reskajeage Downs back-along the cliffs aways. Lived there fur years, ’twas where I took my missus back to the day we was married. She were a fine ’an’some woman. I loved ’er dearly but she died many a year ago now. Never ’ad no children, mind. She would ’ave loved littl’uns, would ’ave made a good mother. She were a ruddy good wife. Worked as a bal-maiden when I went down the mines and alongside of me when I took to tin-streamin’.’
Edmund looked at Charlie and there was a quiver in his voice as he said, ‘You really do appreciate the ones you love when you lose them, or think you are going to lose them. I hate death, the very thought of being buried under the ground. I can never bring myself to look at a dead body.’ He shuddered then stumbled over a low ridge of rock weathered into a honeycomb appearance that was just sticking out of the ground. Charlie helped him up and waited for him to brush himself down. Their passage was very slow and it was a long walk back home for a soft-living gentleman in thin clothes.
‘I’m not familiar with this area, Chiverton. Whereabouts is Reskajeage Downs?’
‘Aw, ’bout a mile or two, mebbe more on from Godrevy Point where we wus standin’ jus’ now.’ Charlie didn’t want Edmund Kempthorne to know exactly where he lived. ‘I usually walk ’cross the cliffs rather than the roads. There’s some hellish drops along the way, you ’as to know where to put yer feet.’
‘My cousin Miss Isabel Hampton was killed along there in a coaching accident, at a place the locals call Deadman’s Cove. Did you by any chance see anything?’
‘I came across it ’ours after it ’appened. The bodies ’ad been taken away by then and looters ’ad picked the wreckage clean, nothin’ left but a few sticks fur kindlin’. Some pretty pieces of wood. I’d like to ’ave seen the coach in one piece, ’tes a rare and wonderful thing t’see on the roads.’
‘Apparently my cousin wandered away from the wreckage and fell over the cliff, but as far as we can tell no one actually saw her fall.’
‘On this part of the coast the roads are never far from the sea. She could ’ave fell, but then she could ’ave bin pushed over by the looters, poor soul. I’ve known a few to go over in my time – men, women, children, horses, dogs, cattle. Some of ’em must ’ave bin pushed.’ Charlie wanted to get off the subject of people falling over the cliff and spoke of something different. ‘What with so many ships going down along this coast, I’ve had some good pickin’s over the years.’
‘You sound as though you’ve had an interesting life, Chiverton. You say you know Nick Nancarrow?’
‘Aye, known un since ’e was a young ’un. ’E was born ’n’ bred in Gwithian.’
Edmund had good reason to be curious about Nick. He saw him as a fortune-hunter; what other reason could there be for the handsome drifter to declare his love for his plain-faced, bad-tempered sister? Edmund had no intention of allowing anyone to drain his newfound fortune away from him, even though he was grateful Deborah spent so much time preening herself in front of her bedroom mirrors and having fittings for new clothes that she took less interest in his affairs these days. She certainly meant to snare Nick Nancarrow for the marriage altar. She was having arrangements made to have her first marriage, which had never been consummated, annulled. What Deborah didn’t know was that Edmund had told her lawyers not to go ahead with the proceedings. When Nancarrow saw he was getting nowhere he would soon wander off out of their lives.
‘Nancarrow was a close acquaintance of my late uncle’s, did you know that?’
‘Aye, Mr Trevennor was a fine gentleman and well respected in the village. He weren’t too proud to pass the time of day with me and he treated my wife like a lady. It was natural for him and Nick to become friends.’
‘I understand Nancarrow is a drifter, but he seems straightforward, honest and hard-working.’
‘He is that.’
Edmund stopped. With his dark eyes screwed up against the wind and flying grit, he stared into Charlie’s bloodhound eyes. Charlie met his gaze squarely and clenched his fists which were stuffed inside his pockets, immediately on his guard.
‘Tell me, Chiverton, if you were me, would you be concerned if Nancarrow was paying court to your sister? He is, after all, much younger and of a different class, but she is quite taken with him.’
Charlie’s overgrown eyebrows flew up and he burst into a fit of coughing to cover his amusement. He had seen Nick the day before and had taken a letter from him to be passed on to Crantock. Nick had said the Kempthornes were an evil lot and he had to stick around to keep an eye on them. He hadn’t mentioned what his tactics were concerning Miss Deborah Kempthorne, but then no man would want to admit that, even if he did have an ulterior motive. Charlie knew why Nick was acting in this uncharacteristic way and didn’t envy him having to make up to that ungainly spiteful woman. Charlie thought that by now Nick must be wishing he had tried to get the information he needed about Isabel Hampton’s safety from the brother instead. Strange though, the way Nick had spoken about Isabel Hampton. Almost as if he had grown fond of her…
