Trevennor’s Will, page 29
‘A good day, cloud building up and rain by night, quite cold, I d’reckon,’ he said to himself.
He broke off a piece of the outer rim of an abandoned wagon wheel he had found on the road and pulled out some of the spokes to encourage his fire. Then he wedged the remains of the wheel into his pile of firewood, marvelling at what some folk were careless enough to throw away.
He was sitting down on the bottom step of his shack with his bowl of porridge when he was brought back to his feet. He put his breakfast aside. Gyver Pengelly was striding towards him.
‘An’what can I do fur thee, Gyver?’ he said bluntly.
‘Got a brew goin’, ’ave ’ee, Charlie? ’Tes bloody damned cold an’ I’m sure I can smell a kettle of tay,’ Pengelly answered, squinting through his beaten face. There was dried blood on his black beard and even though Charlie wasn’t given to cleanliness, he had never smelled anyone so foul before.
‘’Elp yerself,’ Charlie said, sitting down with his porridge again. He passed Pengelly the wooden bowl that had been his wife’s. There’s oats in the pot.’
‘Very civil of ’ee,’ Pengelly muttered, helping himself to tea and porridge.
‘What’s brings you along ’ere then?’
‘Oh, jus’ out fur a bit of a walk.’
‘You look like you’ve been through all the wars of the world.’
‘Huh! ’Twas nothin’. I’ll get my own back soon enough.’
‘Bin doin’ a spot of wrastling, so I’ve ’eard.’
Pengelly made a howling noise. ‘I’ll get that bastard an’ all!’
‘Nick knows ’ow to watch ’is back.’
‘Well, we’ll just ’ave t’see about that, won’t we? Where’s ’e to now?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Not with the wealthy bitch from Gwithian, I knaw that much.’
‘Then you know more than me.’
Pengelly poured the dregs of the watery porridge down his throat, wiped his beard with the back of his hand and dropped the bowl down with a clatter. He looked at Charlie with a glint of amusement, paused over his mug of tea, grinned, then drank it down in one gulp with a mighty belch.
Charlie watched him carefully, fully alert even though he appeared quite relaxed.
Pengelly threw his mug so it hit the bowl. ‘Tell me, Chiverton, do ’ee think p’raps Nancarrow was spendin’ the night with that sharp-faced ’Ampton woman, though I must say she’s a pretty wench in ordinary garb.’
Charlie made a mental note that his knife was readily to hand in his belt. He looked perplexed.
‘’Ampton woman, Gyver?’
‘You d’knaw the one I’m talkin’ about. The lady from Trurah who was s’posed to ’ave died in that coach smash back-along. Old man Trevennor’s hoity-toity niece.’
‘You been on the grog, Gyver?’
Pengelly smirked and spat. ‘I reckon you know what I’m talkin’ about. I said I saw ’er body down the cliffs but I lied. Miss Deb’rah Kem’thorne paid me well to get t’ridst of she. All the rest on the coach died but I never got round to seeing if she was dead. When word got round she must’ve gone over the cliff cus bits of her dress was found on the gorse, that’s what I thought too an’ that’s why I said I saw ’er body, but of course there was no body.’
‘Go on, Gyver, it seems you ’ave a story you want to tell,’ Charlie said quietly.
‘Last night I was talkin’ to Mr Edmund Kem’thorne. We talked about the wench I saw with Nancarrow up on the cliffs near Portreath the mornin’ after the coach wus wrecked. A tall woman, with soft brown ’air and a pleasing shape who talks well. Like the woman I saw with Nancarrow’s whore at Crantock. Where else would Nancarrow suddenly get a woman from unless ’e ’ad rescued ’er from that fine gentry coach, does thee think, Charlie?’
Charlie put down his bowl and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Even if what you say is true, ’tes no concern of mine.’
‘Aw, I reckon you could tell me a thing or two about it.’
Charlie looked at the stinking hulk coldly. ‘And what if I can?’
Pengelly rasped on his beard with one paw, and grinned. ‘I ’aven’t come ’ere after information, Chiverton.’
‘Aye, I know that.’
The air was electric between them. Pengelly’s hand went inside his waistcoat but Charlie got his knife out first. ‘I wouldn’t if I were you, Gyver. This knife ’as been sharpened on men’s windpipes.’
Pengelly got clumsily to his feet and faced Charlie as he stood on the step. ‘Now you wouldn’t want to cut up an old friend, would you, Charlie?’
‘You’re friend to no one, Pengelly.’
‘What do you think you’re going to do, pointing that knife at me?’ Pengelly laughed nervously.
‘Get a bit of information out of you, Pengelly, if you don’t want to feel the sharpness of it. Did Kempthorne pay you to kill me?’
‘Now, Charlie, there’s no need to talk like that.’
‘’E did, you ruddy swine. What’s Kempthorne up to now?’
‘How should I knaw?’ Pengelly growled.
‘You can’t work out anythin’ by yerself, can you, Pengelly! Kempthorne wants the ’Ampton woman to remain dead and wants any witnesses out of the way who can say diff’rent. I suppose ’e intended to send you on to Crantock after you’d finished with me. He’s not the sort who could stomach doin’ away with someone ’imself. Am I right?’
Pengelly’s blotchy fearful eyes narrowed and he shouted a profanity. Then he turned his head and vomited over the fire. Charlie came down the steps and stood cautiously at his side, waiting for him to finish. But while he was still spewing, Pengelly whipped out his knife and lunged at the hand Charlie held his knife in. Charlie cried out as Pengelly’s blade made a long inch-deep cut above his wrist and his own knife fell out of his grasp. Pengelly went in for the kill but Charlie hurled himself backwards and fell at the foot of the steps.
Pengelly stood over him and laughter roared from his belly. ‘Not quick enough fur me that time, Chiverton.’ He wiped his hairy chin. ‘And do forgive me awful manners.’
Charlie’s eyes bored into Pengelly’s while he pulled off his neckerchief and wound it round his slashed arm.
‘Not much point in doin’ that,’ Pengelly boomed. ‘I’m gonna give thee a few cuts to join un.’
‘You’re not man enough,’ Charlie spat.
‘Well, I’ll just see ’ow loud you can squeal.’
Charlie was counting on the fact that Pengelly would want to torture him to death rather than despatch him with one swift throw of the knife. He read the human hulk right. Pengelly came at him with the knife tight in his fist ready to plunge into his gut. Charlie held his breath and waited. When Pengelly was bending forward close to him, the knife an inch away from his vitals, Charlie brought his two feet up into Pengelly’s huge middle and thrust him away.
Pengelly staggered back. He kept hold of his knife but a moment later he was howling and gagging on his own blood. He had fallen back onto one of the strong wooden spokes of the wagon wheel and it had entered deep into his back.
Charlie flung himself to his feet and knocked the knife from Pengelly’s hand. ‘Looks like I’ve got the advantage now, Gyver,’ he said, friendly like, but with a grim face.
Pengelly struggled to get off the spoke. It wasn’t a pleasant noise that reached Charlie’s ears. ‘Help… me,’ Pengelly pleaded.
‘Yes, I’ll help you. It’ll be a pleasure. This is for the folk on the coach and the danger you’ve put Miss Isabel Hampton in.’
With that Charlie’s face looked like a friendly puppy’s, but it betrayed his intentions. Pengelly’s eyes grew to twice their size as slowly Charlie raised his foot. Pengelly howled in terror. Then Charlie put his foot on Pengelly’s chest and plunged it forward.
Chapter 23
Nick had headed his horse across the clifftop from the road and was trotting back along the route he had taken with Isabel from Charlie’s shack when he saw the little man running towards him. Nick picked up speed and, when he reached Charlie, threw himself from the horse.
He grabbed Charlie by the shoulders, dwarfing him as though he was a little boy come to him hurt. Charlie was panting and there was blood seeping from his arm and blood across his shirt front. ‘What’s happened, Charlie?’
‘Gyver… Pengelly… tried to kill me… Isabel Hampton’s in danger… the Kempthornes know she’s alive…’
Nick exhaled a long breath. ‘Where’s Pengelly now?’
‘Over the cliff… with a wagon spoke through un. ’E was some powerful man to drag…’
‘Thank heavens he’s dead! But are you hurt badly, Charlie?’
‘Naw, ’ad worse ’n’ this out workin’. I’ll stitch it up meself later. Never mind me, boy. I was on my way to Crantock to warn the women. I take it you’ll be going there now. What do ’ee want me to do?’
‘You go on to Gwithian,’ Nick said, tightening the kerchief to stem the bleeding from Charlie’s arm. ‘If you go to the parsonage, I’m sure Charlotte Thomas will bathe and bandage this and from there you can see what the Kempthornes are up to. I’ll go back to Crantock and get Isabel away to safety and have someone come to stand guard over Kitty and her brother.’
* * *
Miles away along the coast Isabel trudged her way wearily through the sand dunes. She was heading, almost without realizing it, for one particular spot on the cliff. It would have been quicker to go along the beach and climb up, but she was in no hurry to get there, or back to Kitty’s sympathetic looks and soothing words and Benjamin’s quiet understanding of yesterday’s events.
She had hardly spoken a word to Kitty since the other woman had torn a strip off her and Nick for kissing in her kitchen and she wished she did not have to stay under Kitty’s roof for these last few days until Richard arrived home. It wasn’t that Isabel was ungrateful to Kitty for her shelter and friendship, she knew that everything Kitty had done was in her best interests. But Kitty had cheated her out of the crowning moment of her life, and Isabel had nothing to say to her. It was unbearable. Not until she could get away from Crantock and resume some semblance of her old life would she be able to try to forget the man she loved so desperately.
All was quiet and lonely up on the cliff. There were no wheeling birds today to give her a sense of freedom. She was out in the open, all the wildness of Nature about her, but she was a prisoner. Prisoner to her future, prisoner to her memories of Nick’s kisses and caresses, her want and need for him. Their rapturous moments together yesterday had been spoiled and he would not bother to recapture them against Kitty’s watchful eye or disapproval. When he had left last night, he had given her only a polite goodbye. Those moments could not have meant the same to him as they had to her.
Isabel was now on the spot where she had stood with Nick and watched the waves race one another in a frenzy onto Crantock beach. The depth of her pain was almost too much to bear, but she could not move from this bitter-sweet spot. She was rooted in the memory of a moment too wonderful.
She heard a dog barking and smiled fondly. Talland had come after her. He bounded into sight and lay at her feet, caught for a moment in her desolation. Then he lifted his head and leapt up, edging close to Isabel. She looked round to see what had startled him. Moments later a figure came into view, following the way they had come. She saw at once it wasn’t Nick; she watched intently and her breath caught in her throat when she recognized who it was.
* * *
Deborah Kempthorne had not had a wink of sleep all night. Despite Edmund’s reassurances that he had spoken at length to Gyver Pengelly before seeing him out of the village and Pengelly had said he was only taunting her, Deborah was intensely jealous of the very thought that Nick had another woman. She had wanted to send someone over to Tehidy and see if Nick was really there but Edmund had put his foot down and refused to allow her to give the order. He had pointed out she would ruin everything with Nick Nancarrow if he knew he was being spied on and surely she didn’t want to risk that. He would be off on his travels again, and a handsome man like Nick would soon wheedle his way into another wealthy lady’s affections. But Deborah wasn’t going to leave things there. She would demand Nick give up his job at Tehidy and move into Trevennor House and be in charge of the stables where she could keep her eye on him at all times, and she would do away with his uncharacteristic coyness about sharing her bed.
She was going to tighten her grip on Nick and reassert the hold she had over her brother. Edmund and Mary Ellen had had a vociferous quarrel last night ending with him storming off and sleeping in another room. He had gone out early this morning and Deborah had seen him talking to a village wench; presumably he was off somewhere now making up for his lost night. Now would be a good time to go to Mary Ellen’s room and try to bribe or threaten her out of the house and out of Edmund’s life.
Deborah made her way along the short corridor and tried Mary Ellen’s door. The child had just gone to breakfast with her nursemaid and Mrs Christopher, so her mother would be quite alone.
Mary Ellen was heavily asleep, and by the strong smell of brandy in the room, under the spirit’s influence. Deborah closed the door softly and moved to look down on her. She took a vicious pleasure in seeing the first wrinkles appearing around Mary Ellen’s usually splendid eyes, a few grey roots in her wealth of shining hair. In a few years’ time Edmund would be looking for someone younger; getting rid of Mary Ellen would do him a favour, he could remember her as she was.
Deborah prodded her arm and whispered, ‘Mary Ellen…’
The other woman did not stir. Deborah moved closer and shook her. Mary Ellen was too deeply asleep and the smell of brandy was all about her. Deborah looked at the nearly empty bottle.
‘How much of this did you drink?’ she hissed irritably.
There would be no bargain made with this woman today. Even if Edmund stayed out all day, Mary Ellen would have such a massive hangover she wouldn’t be capable of understanding any proposition. Deborah looked at her closely. There was a certain hardness on the pretty face which Deborah knew was reflected on her own. Mary Ellen would not give up her man easily, one who was also the father of her child. She was probably hoping Edmund would marry her some day, perhaps for the child’s sake, and set her up as a lady. She would never let go of Edmund. She would run straight to him and tell him of any attempt to pay her off, and Edmund would be furious. But Deborah couldn’t let anyone else have one of her men.
She held Mary Ellen by the shoulders and shook her violently. The only response was a rolling of the head and a small moan. Deborah let her fall back on the pillows. She stood still for a few moments listening for sounds of anyone moving about upstairs, but all was quiet. The only sound was Mary Ellen’s heavy breathing in the dark clammy room.
Deborah set her face and pulled a pillow out from under Mary Ellen’s head. She put the pillow down over her face and pressed hard. It was so easy. Resistance came only at the end when Mary Ellen put up her arms and clutched desperately at Deborah’s, but only for a moment. Even when all resistance stopped and Mary Ellen’s arms fell down to the bed, Deborah kept the pillow where it was for another few minutes, just to be sure.
She put the pillow back under Mary Ellen’s limp head and tidied her hair round her blue face. Mary Ellen looked quite peaceful apart from her colour.
Deborah left the room but kept her hand on the door and looked back into it. ‘Mary Ellen!’ she called out. ‘Are you awake yet? I want to talk to you about that child of yours.’ Deborah waited, as if for a reply. Then she mumbled, ‘Drunk again, I’ll have to leave it until later.’ She added to herself, and I might just take your daughter for a little walk later this morning, it’s time I took an interest in her…
* * *
Nick charged into Kitty’s kitchen where she was stirring soup on her brick oven. He grabbed her arms and whirled her round. A spoon clattered on the floor and Kitty gave a cry and stared at him dumbly.
‘Where’s Isabel? Where is she? In her room, in with Benjamin?’ There was a hopeful note in his voice but the urgency in it alarmed her.
‘Why? What’s the matter?’
Nick gave her an impatient shake, making her tawny eyes grow in size. ‘For goodness sake, Kitty! Where is she?’
‘Out walking. I tried to keep her inside but she was determined to go. I can’t keep her locked up.’ Kitty was alarmed now. ‘What’s happened, Nick?’
He let her go and rushed to the door. ‘Which way did she go?’
‘I don’t know,’ Kitty wailed. ‘She hasn’t spoken much since yesterday. I just let her go, Nick. It would have done no good making her mope round the house all day.’ Kitty ran after him and she grabbed him by his jacket. What’s happened? Is it the Kempthornes? Are they after her?’
‘Not yet I hope, but they know she’s alive and living here. Charlie was attacked by Gyver Pengelly a short while ago and Pengelly was paid by the Kempthornes to come here and kill Isabel.’ Kitty stifled another cry. ‘Charlie’s hurt and Pengelly’s dead but I’m worried the Kempthornes might have sent someone else here to make sure Pengelly does his job properly. You pack her things, Kitty. I’ll find Isabel and get her away from here as soon as possible.’
Outside, Nick thought hard. He pictured the solitary boathouse at Penpol Creek. But would Isabel go there alone so soon after the drownings?
‘Talland went off through the dunes a little while ago,’ Kitty said. ‘He usually follows Isabel.’
‘I’ll search the dunes and the cliff and pray to God she went that way. If she comes back before I do, make her stay in her room and lock the doors.’
* * *
‘Good morning to you, Isabel. If I may say so, you look exceedingly well for a corpse.’
‘How did you find me?’
‘By means of a mutual acquaintance of ours. A miscreant by the name of Gyver Pengelly. He was spitting fire about another acquaintance of ours – Nick Nancarrow. He talked about Nancarrow having a woman. I questioned him and realized it was you. Pengelly was able to tell me where you were.’
