Trevennor’s Will, page 27
High up in the cliff, gulls were nesting and while they tolerated one or two big black crows that occasionally flew too close to their homes, they didn’t like the intrusion coming from below. Isabel wasn’t concerned over the territorial birds, they were too far away to harm her except for spotting on her head or clothes and she was too carefree these days to care about that. She studied the deep blue shells of millions of mussels that clung to the lower parts of the cliff, but she screamed shrilly and made Talland bark in alarm when they entered the last dark cave and two noisy pigeons suddenly flew out and startled her.
The girl and dog next ran alongside the tidal river of the Gannel as it was being rapidly emptied of its sea water. Two more dogs appeared and Talland ran about with them. Isabel followed the river’s twisting bank; the water was low enough to paddle in in some places but it was always too dangerous to swim in. The sea had left the rest of the beach in rippled sand and various sized pools; the deeper the water, the deeper the colour blue. On the other side of the river, Pentire Point East stretched out as a headland, with New Quay reaching the other way inland.
When he got bored with his companions, Talland chased after Isabel. She envied the dogs their lifelong freedom. The trek she had made with Nick had awakened a thirst for the outdoors in her blood. She had asked Kitty if she could acquire a horse for some much-needed exercise but Kitty had deemed it inadvisable. Few ordinary young women were accomplished riders and it would draw attention to herself.
Isabel knew her restlessness came mainly from a deep-rooted longing to see Nick again. To hear his voice, even to have him swear or hurl an insult at her. To feel safe with him nearby. She was desperate to see him again even though she knew it would break her heart, because she could never have him. She watched the receding sea and sighed for the man who might as well be all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, he seemed so far away from her.
Talland whined, as if he wanted to tell her that if she remained still for much longer she would become too cold. Taking his sympathetic hint, she walked slowly back over the dark wet sand, paddling through some of the freezing cold water pools. The scruffy dog padded along a little in front of her, asserting his independence, but occasionally glancing back to make sure he was heading for where she intended to go. Isabel retrieved her shoes from where she’d left them on a path at the back of Kitty’s house, and then meandered along it, following the course of the Gannel again. It was a narrow rising path sheltered on both sides by dead hawthorn bushes that were covered with ivy, and gorse bushes just waking up from their winter sleep and showing touches of small golden flowers. Isabel sniffed them and liked their almond smell. After a while she realized Talland was no longer with her.
At the end of the narrow pathway she came to green fields and a low bank leading down to the beach where black sea-weeded rocks jutted out of stony sand and driftwood lay dotted about. Way across the river was a high bank with the occasional cottage nestled in it. Isabel realized that if she had waited down on the beach for the tide to recede further, she could have carried on walking right up the side of the Gannel. She kept to the path and soon the stony stretch of sand she had looked down on was behind her and what seemed miles ahead was wide golden ridged sand and the snaking river. The river was so low she could not believe she had watched large fishing boats on it and cargo barges carrying limestone, coal and earthenware to unload at Fern Pit or three miles up at Trevemper on a flood tide.
Everywhere was quiet, no one was about, she was gloriously alone.
A solitary white swan floated up the shallow water remaining in the river and Isabel clambered down the bank to survey its graceful passage. Her melancholy had gone and she followed the footprints on the hard wet sand left by two gulls. She felt a sense of adventure, the kind of feeling that had been ‘corrected’ out of her as a child. She balanced one foot in front of the other on the sand ridges as she proceeded upriver, and on skirting a wide pool of sea water she was splashed by a playful Talland who had decided to rejoin her. Capitulating fully to the mood, she took off her shoes, hitched up her petticoat and waded in and out of the pools, laughing as the dog dashed about sending up sprays of cold water over her.
Kitty had warned her to be very careful if she ever ventured up the Gannel. The tide came in and out rapidly, ‘always like a lion, never like a lamb’, spilling out over the river bank and covering the sand where she was, and all that she could see, completely.
Isabel lingered in several spots, letting time tick by, but scanning the river often and when she did fancy it was filling up again she kept close to the bank or the rocks where she could easily climb out of danger. She was unconcerned, knowing the bank and fields would give an easy walk all the way to Kitty’s back door.
When she came to the wide wooden bridge that gave a short cut to wagons and pedestrians travelling to and from New Quay and Penpol Creek she sat on its edge for a few minutes then ran across its flat boards and back again, not wanting to risk being cut off on the wrong side by the tide. In a short time the bridge would be completely submerged and a stranger would not know of its existence.
Talland barked and led her into Penpol Creek where five small boats were moored in a few inches of muddy water under a high, tree-lined, grassy bank. No one was about on the jetty and the only sign of life was the smoke issuing from a ragged looking cottage set well back. There was a ladder running up the bank under the cottage and Isabel pictured happy urchin-like children scrambling up and down it in play. But today it seemed everyone was keeping out of her way and she was glad of the fact.
She and Talland investigated the boats, all of them black-stained at the bottom and brightly painted on top. They found nothing interesting or threatening and chose one painted red and blue and named Tyak Mor in white lettering to sit and dream another hour away in.
Isabel closed her eyes and shut her mind to the scolding she would get from Kitty for staying out so long. She was savouring these moments for the times when she would be tied to a grand house, a husband she did not love, a nursery, and a social life that no longer held any appeal for her. She would try to remember the tangy salty ocean air and the sun that warmed the fragrant wild flowers and leaves, the clean embrace of the wood smoke from the cottage; the swish of the wind stirring the spindly trees on both banks of the creek, the distant churn of the ocean and the nearby trickles and lapping of water, the calls of the seabirds. There was the homely smell of Talland’s musty coat which he refused to have groomed, his snores as he snoozed with his nose in her lap. When she needed to in the future, she would retreat here. Isabel put her hand in her pocket and touched the tiny conical shells she had taken from the little smuggler’s cove. She would be sure to take them with her as part of her cherished memories.
She retreated now from the possibility of her life being in danger, from the talks Kitty thrust on her about Richard Grenville. Isabel had tried to think about her fiancé, to make plans for her future with him. She had spoken to Kitty and Benjamin as though she was looking forward to it, but she knew Benjamin at least wasn’t fooled. The way Kitty went on about Richard Grenville, it seemed she thought their future marriage was more important than the fact that two people could be capable of plotting her murder, people who even now were probably spending vast quantities of her money. Isabel squeezed the shells in her pocket and instead of thinking about the shame and hurt of what had happened in the cove, she substituted a tender embrace, a gentle kiss, soft romantic words. Then she retreated completely into her own small world of here and now and the need to see the man she knew she loved and could never have. More time ticked slowly by.
Talland jumped out of the boat and Isabel’s eyes sprang open. He had made a terrific splash. Back to her full senses, she felt the boat rock alarmingly. It was floating fully on its mooring rope and she knew the tide was rising faster than she had imagined. She tried to pull the boat on its rope up to the bank to scramble ashore but it wobbled so much she was afraid of falling into the water. She could not swim and was gripped with panic. Looking over the side of the boat, she realized she could wade to the bank with the water up to her thighs if she was quick about it. Talland had swum to the bank, only a few lengths away, and ran up and down it, barking encouragement to her.
Hitching up her skirts to an unseemly height, her shoes held high, Isabel slipped over the side of the boat and waded ashore. It seemed that with every step the water grew an inch and she was soaked through to the waist when in utter relief she threw her shoes onto the grassy bank and scrambled up beside Talland.
She was cold, muddy and scratched but she told Talland it was a small price to pay for being safe. She would hasten home and dry herself and change, hoping to avoid Kitty and a severe scolding.
A curious noise further along the creek and across the tidal river made her look that way and she was surprised to see a wagon coming across the bridge. The sea was nearly up to the level of the bridge and would soon cover the path the wagon would need to take. Surely it was too dangerous to attempt a crossing now. Kitty had told her how some folk had met their deaths trying to race the river and according to legend the spirit of one drowned man was said to haunt it.
Isabel waved frantically. ‘No! Go back!’ she shouted, running along the bank. ‘It can’t be done. It’s too late!’
Her pleas were futile, carried away on the wind and lost in the distance. If the wagon was washed off the bridge, it would plunge into deep, swiftly moving water. There would be no chance of the people swimming to safety, the undercurrents would drag them down and wash them out to sea in a matter of minutes.
It was a nightmare. The tide suddenly swirled over the bridge and the driver of the wagon, whom Isabel could see was a stout man of about fifty, tried to stop his two brown nags and get them to back up but the icy cold water whipping about their hooves sent them into a panic and they reared up. The driver shouted terrified orders. The woman at his side, probably his wife, screamed and screamed. Talland barked madly and Isabel screamed too.
The water rose and surged. One of the wagon’s back wheels was floated off the bridge as though it was happening in slow motion. Isabel watched in sheer horror as the wagon, the two horses and the two people were sucked off the bridge and sank into the whirling sea water.
In only a few moments there was no sight of the wagon, the horses or the people, but Isabel could still hear their terrified screams. They were calling to her, shouting to her to save them. But how could she? She screamed back at them to stop and put her hands over her ears.
Rough hands took her shoulders and turned her round and were pulling her away from the edge of the bank. They were trying to drag her down with them! Trying to take her in their arms and hold her tight and take her to join them in their watery grave. Why should they do that? She wanted to live, to see Nick again. She wanted Nick.
‘Nick! Nick!’
‘I’m here, Isabel! I’m here, my love. ’Tis all right. Look at me, be still and look at me.’
She heard his voice, somewhere far away, breaking through her horror. Then his voice was in her ear, tender, gentle. He was smoothing back the hair that had fallen wildly about her face and lifting her chin to look into his deep blue eyes.
‘Nick! Is it really you? Are you really here?’
‘Yes, Isabel, my dear beloved. I have you safe in my arms now.’
Her eyes wide in disbelief and fear that she was dreaming, she looked up into his face. It was true. He was really there, his wonderful handsome face looking caringly down on hers. Only then did she feel his strong arms about her. The cold white fear left her and she buried her face into his chest and cried wretchedly.
There was a small boathouse on the bank of the creek and gathering her up, he carried her into it. He sat on a barrel and held her very, very close, stroking her hair, caressing her soft wet cheek. Talland sat still and quiet at their feet and they waited together for her distress to die away.
Nick stroked Talland’s head then ordered him home to guard the house.
Isabel clutched Nick’s shirt and used it to wipe at her eyes. She was shaking. Nick edged himself out of his coat and wrapped it round her.
‘Did… did you… see?’
‘Aye, I saw,’ he replied quietly, shuddering at the memory. ‘There was nothing anyone could do for them. It was foolhardy to try to cross over with the tide coming in so fast.’
‘They were so frightened. I… I hardly saw their faces yet I could see their fear. I’ll never forget it. Oh, Nick… those poor people.’
‘Hush, Isabel.’ He nestled his face on the top of her head.
‘I wanted you to be here… and then you were… I wanted…’ She looked up earnestly into his eyes. ‘How did you know I needed you, Nick?’
He had been rubbing her arm gently and moved his hand to cup her chin. He could feel a small quaver there and looked into her eyes, so grey, bright and startled.
‘Kitty was worried with you being out for so long. I could tell by your tracks you had to be along here somewhere. I wanted to come days ago, but Edmund Kempthorne’s little daughter took a bad fall down the stairs and I was the one who went for the doctor.’
‘Morenwyn? I’ve heard about her but have never seen her. Is she all right now?’
‘Aye, thank the Lord.’ Nick hesitated, sighed and went on with distaste, ‘I’m afraid Deborah Kempthorne thinks I have a liking for her, she’s so jealous she would have been suspicious if I’d left before Morenwyn had safely recovered. She made out she was distressed and needed me to lean on. I’ve been worried about leaving you for so long, Isabel. Recently I fought with Gyver Pengelly because he was making threats against you. I was afraid he would see you here and Kitty’s just told me he did, yesterday, but you and the villagers saw him off. I should have come before, but if I didn’t turn up for work they would have asked in Gwithian where I was and Deborah Kempthorne would have been too curious… I’ve let you down, Isabel, I’m sorry.’
She looked deeply into his handsome features. ‘You haven’t let me down, Nick, and you’re here now. Is Kitty very angry with me?’
Nick smiled at her. ‘Yes, hopping mad. She was worried Pengelly had come back and kidnapped you.’ He then said on a stern note, ‘I was worried about you too when I arrived at the house and Kitty told me you’d been out all morning. I’d hate to see you hurt.’
‘I’m sorry, Nick,’ and fresh tears brimmed in her eyes.
He gently wiped the tears away with his shirt and smiled again. ‘Kitty will be fine when she knows you’re all right, she cares about you. So do I. I’ll take you back in a few minutes. Kitty’s had to go about her business and Benjamin’s sleeping, he doesn’t realize you’ve been out for so long.’
‘Dear Ben, I’d hate to think I’ve been worrying him. Nick, why didn’t you tell me about Benjamin before we arrived at Kitty’s house?’
‘Kitty never talks about him to anyone but me, I was the only one she allowed to see him. I thought it was her place to mention him after I’d gone.’ Nick suddenly held Isabel tighter and she clung to him. She could feel his warm breath in the hollow of her neck, it gave her a lovely shivery feeling.
‘I’ve got a lot to tell you, Isabel,’ he said.
‘Would Edmund and Deborah really wish me harm if they knew I was alive? The note you sent suggested Uncle Laurence’s fears were well-founded.’
‘I’m afraid so. I don’t trust Edmund at all and I’m certain Deborah would try to kill you.’ Nick sighed heavily. ‘Oh Lord, I hate that woman, her sort’s the scum of the earth. I’ve got close to her, you see, I’m supposed to be teaching her to ride.’ Nick couldn’t bring himself to tell Isabel just how close he had got to Deborah Kempthorne, the things he’d been forced to say, that he’d had to hold and kiss her. He held on to Isabel’s slender, softly rounded body and drank in the beauty and femininity of it.
‘What shall we do?’ Isabel asked. She did not feel frightened at her own fate at that moment; she was too stunned by the tragedy she’d just witnessed and felt so warm and safe in Nick’s arms.
‘We’ll talk about it later, with Kitty,’ he said, just wanting to stay where they were, as they were.
She gently touched his split lip with the tip of a finger. ‘Did that dreadful Pengelly do this to you?’
Nick grinned as he relived the memory of Gyver Pengelly hitting the ground from his last blow. ‘He slept for hours after what I did to him,’ he boasted, then he was full of concern. ‘Did he hurt you?’
Isabel looked at her hands and smiled. ‘I thought I’d broken all my fingers striking him, they hurt for hours afterwards.’
Nick took her hands and kissed them, lingering over them.
Isabel stirred and touched his bruised lip. ‘Does this still hurt?’
‘’Tis nothing that a kiss wouldn’t make better,’ he whispered huskily.
She felt a new power surge through her, vibrant, raw and strong. It filled the core of her being. She knew she had captured a little part of this elusive man. She softly kissed his sore lip, taking her time as he had done over her hands, then pulled back and smiled.
A shiver ran up Nick’s back. She was about to ask another question but he wanted her touch again and he lifted her head forward and kissed both of her lips with both of his. It was a sensation so sweet, so delicate, mingled with the taste of her tears. He kissed her again. For the first moment under his full onslaught Isabel became rigid but she quickly surrendered and returned his intensity.
‘We’d better go back to Kitty’s,’ Nick said softly when reluctantly he brought the kiss to an end.
‘You don’t have to go off straight away, do you, Nick?’ Isabel asked fearfully.
‘No, my love. I don’t have to get back to Tehidy till tomorrow.’
He helped her onto her shaky feet. ‘Why are you so wet? Did you fall in the water?’ He laughed lightly as she told him about her and Talland’s adventure on the Tyak Mor.
